#straight white girls who have never had a problem in their life and just need to make themselves look like us who have actual trauma and

[discopaddock]

BIEVRE RIVER - PIERRE GASLY

PAIRING: pierre gasly x fem!reader

GENRE: angst, fluff

NOTE: english isn't my first language so im sorry for any mistakes

WARINGS: sad and heartbroken pierre :(, mentions of crying, google translated french

PART TWO

Pierre never ever had felt in his whole life that ridiculed and betrayed. The love of his life ran away from their wedding, plus with his own cousin. He looked pathetic in front of his friends and family.

It was supposed to be his day, his great day and what? And a dick.

During his great day, he was sitting with tears in his eyes and on face, with McDonald’s and a bottle of Absolut in his hands on the beach by the river Bievre.

He dropped his phone on the floor in the church, probably pulling it down, while he was running away by sacristy with face all in tears.

He had with himself a wallet, bottle of vodka, food, car and Alexander McQueen on himself.

He was feeling woefully, but still he was wealthy and handsome. She didn’t take these from him.

And when he was sitting the next hour, virtually alone on that beach, he heard a voice behind him; small, brokenly and crying a little bit.

“Sorry, mind if I sit here?” Gasly turned around and saw a girl in white shirt and long black skirt with heels and a bottle of wine in one hand and a box from one of the best bakers in Paris in the other. She had red eyes, just like him, which didn’t make him feel better.

“No, no problem” he answered, and she nodded her head in thanks and dropped the shoes on the sand.

“I’m Y/N, by the way” she said, when she finally sat down. Pierre shouldn’t have been ready at that moment for any conversation, but something attracted him to that girl, who just like him had to cry for some reason on that day. So because of that he told her his name. “Sounds nice. What brings you here, Pierre?”

“Ah, putain” he slipped out, when he was thinking for a while in silence. “Ma fiancée s'est enfuie de notre mariage” he said eventually, hoping that she didn’t speak french. Ah, fuck. My fiancée ran away from our wedding.

“Je suis vraiment désolé. Désolé de demander” the girl said quickly, which made Pierre want to hit himself on his forehead. She wasn't stupid. I mean, in his opinion, she didn't look stupid. I’m so sorry. Sorry for asking.

“D'accord. Je suppose que je devais en parler à quelqu'un” he laughed and then took a sip of vodka. “Et qu'est-ce qui vous amène ici?” It’s okay. I guess I had to tell someone. And you, what brings you here?

He was curious. Maybe it was her boyfriend? Or girlfriend. Or completely something else.

“Dure journée de travail” Y/N answered him, looking for something in her bag. A hard day at work.

“Dure journée de travail?” Where do you work?

“A l'Ambassade,” the girl said. In the embassy.

“Alors tu es intelligent” Pierre told, making her laugh. So you are clever.

“J'ai à peine réussi mes examens finaux! Je suis terriblement stupide” she announced and then took a corkscrew out of her purse. I barely graduated! I’m terribly stupid.

Pierre thought that Y/N was cute. Pretty also. Her H/C hair cascaded down her back, and her E/C eyes, freckles on her straight nose, and dimples on both cheeks gave her charm. She definitely wasn’t ugly, that was something he could tell after watching her wrestle with the wine stopper for a while.

“T'aider?” Do you need help?

The girl nodded, then handed him the bottle, taking his vodka from him so that it wouldn't spill.

“Sur quelle chanson étiez-vous censé danser la première danse?” she asked completely out of nowhere, and when she heard the title of Ed Sheeran's most popular song from him, she twisted her mouth in a grimace of disgust. “Oh God! C'est la pire première chanson de danse! Sérieusement? Il n'y en avait pas d'autre?” What song were you supposed to dance your first dance to? This is the worst song for a first dance! Seriously? There was no other?

"Je voulais quelque chose en français, mais elle a choisi Ed," he confessed, pouring wine into the glass she was holding. He had no idea where she got it from, but he liked it. I wanted something in French, but she chose Ed.

“C'est peut-être encore mieux que tu ne l'aies pas épousée. Totalement insipide de sa part," she said, sticking the bottle and glass into the wet sand before opening the box. "Aide-toi." She pushed them under his nose and he took out two yellow macaroons. Maybe it's even better that you didn't marry her. She is literally so tasteless. Help yourself.

“Merci”

Pierre thought that Y/N might have been right, that it was better that he had not married Dulcinea. Yes, she was pretty and he really felt something for her, but he wasn't bad at writing stories either.

"Je suppose que je devrais rentrer à la maison," he said, when the sun had long since sunk below the horizon and both bottles had run out of alcohol. "Mais j'ai perdu mon téléphone quelque part et je n'ai aucun moyen d'appeler Charles," he laughed at his stupidity. Drunk him told her the whole story of his life, but he regretted nothing. I should probably go home. But I lost my phone somewhere and I have no way to call Charles.

Y/N put her phone in front of his face. Already unlocked with a view of the Dune Paul Atreides wallpaper. Or Timothee Chalamet, because he played him in the last film adaptation, after all.

"Entrez l'indicatif régional devant ce long numéro” she announced as he took the smartphone from her. Enter the area code before this long number.

“Quel est l'indicatif de pays de Monaco?” What is the area code for Monaco?

“+377.”

"Comment sais-tu cela?" he asked, typing in his best friend's number. How do you know this?

"Je travaille à l'ambassade, ça doit être clair," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I work at the Embassy, that's obvious.

About five or seven minutes after Charles answered the phone, he appeared on the beach looking very worried.

“Salut Charles! Tu me manques." Pierre greeted the Monegasque, whose expression changed to a concerned one when he saw Gasly's condition. The Frenchman got up from the sand and hugged Leclerc, who also wrapped his arms around him. He had never felt so sorry for him. And he knew him most of his life and was there when they kicked him out of Red Bull and moved to Toro Rosso. Hey Charles! I miss you.

"Je te suis aussi, Pierre. Je m'inquiétais pour toi" he replied after a moment as they pulled apart. I follow you too, Pierre. I was worried about you.

"Ah j'ai oublié! C'est Y/N. Mon nouvel ami. Y/N, voici Charles, mon meilleur ami” the blue-eyed man rushed towards the girl, dragging Charles with him. The brown haired woman hastily got up and almost spilled her wine from the glass, but she extended her hand towards the newly met man, shifting. Ah, I would forget! This is Y/N. My new friend. Y/N, this is Charles, my best friend.

Leclerc thought that Y/L/N was a really pretty girl. In Pierre's type.

"Comment rentres-tu à la maison, ma douce?" Gasly turned to her as she stowed her things into her rag bag. How are you getting home, sweets?

A red light bulb went off in Charles' head at that moment. His friend never asked his possible mates for one or two nights about transportation home.

“Métro," she replied shortly, and the brunette immediately shook his head. Subway.

“Non non Non! Nous vous conduirons avec Charles. D'accord, Charles?” The green-eyed man only nodded, because that was all he had left. The girl at first did not want to agree, but under Leclerc's pleading eyes she did, because she knew that drunk Pierre would not let her go so easily. No no no! We'll drive you with Charles. Right, Charles?

And so Y/N ended up sitting between Gasly's legs in a black Ferrari 488 Pista Spider. Brunette got his phone in his hands and after seeing it, he said that the next day he would go to the salon to replace the glass.

After a while, he also took a photo of Y/L/N looking out the window and showing her left profile in the frame. Pierre then thought that he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life.

He encouraged the girl to give him her phone number, which she didn't want to do at first because he wouldn't remember her the next day anyway, and Charles was looking at them strangely. I mean, he was looking pityingly at Gasly, not at her. He was the one who felt completely sorry for her being stuck with his friend in this situation.

“C'est mon domaine. Merci beaucoup pour le trajet, Charles," she said finally, and the brunette sighed in dissatisfaction. This is my estate. Thank you very much for the ride, Charles.

"Je te reverrai, n'est-ce pas?" asked the sad Frenchman, not wanting to let go of the brunette from his arms. Leclerc gave Y/N an apologetic look, and she had no option but to agree. We'll see each other again, right?

Y/L/N quickly said goodbye to the men and then got out of the car.

"Je pense que je suis amoureux, Charles," Pierre squealed as he watched the girl enter her cage. The Monegasque slapped him on the back of the head, muttering that he was an idiot. I think I'm in love, Charles.

In the meantime, the girl entered her apartment and leaned against the front door, then sat on the floor, and finally began to sob.

Her roommate, Eszter, heard her crying and immediately went to her best friend. The girl was perfectly aware of her entire afternoon and evening. She may have drunk all the wine herself, but it was almost alcohol-free, so she wasn't drunk at all (unlike Pierre).

"What's wrong, sweets?" Balog asked, crouching beside the younger girl.

“I met a guy whose wife ran away from the wedding and he was drunk as fuck and wanted my number, so I gave it to him, but it was a mistake, because he won't remember me tomorrow anyway. And at work this cunt had a problem with me and I cried and all, I'm fed up, I want to sleep." Esz barely understood anything of her friend's gibberish as she helped her up off the cold floor. She led her into the living room, then sat her down on the couch and gave her tissues.

"He was old and rich, wasn't he?" The brunette knew her platonic soulmate type very well, so she knew what to expect.

“He was maybe ten years older. And definitely rich. He showed me his Ferrari... And his friend who was driving us also had a Ferrari” Y/L/N dreamed, leaning against the back of the sofa. “But his fiancée ran away from the altar. Guess it's not that great. Or she was cheating on him. I don't know, I want to forget about it. Just like he does about me.

But Pierre did not forget. Same as Y/N about him.

[tinkasthoughts]

Part 5 of my fanfiction: IzuToga: Shades of Red And Green

Please check it out on wattpad, like, share, or comment if you’re interested in me continuing this story

---

**Location: U.A. Training Grounds**

Two weeks had passed since the heist at the investigation center. Two weeks since Himiko Toga had infiltrated Izuku's life in a way that left him completely unsettled. Her face, her pained expression as she saw Ochako hugging him, stayed with him like a haunting shadow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of her—those desperate eyes that made him feel like he was the only good thing in her world.

He stood in the training grounds, absentmindedly staring at the targets set up for quirk practice. His hands clenched, then relaxed. The sound of his classmates using their quirks, the shouts, and impacts all blurred into white noise. The world felt distant.

"Deku?"

Ochako’s voice brought him back to reality. She stood beside him, her usual bright smile dimmed by concern. "Are you okay? You’ve been… off lately. You know you can talk to me, right?"

Izuku forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m fine, really. Just… got a lot on my mind. But I’ll be okay."

Ochako frowned but nodded. "If you ever need to talk, I’m here."

Before their conversation could continue, Bakugo stormed over, his expression a mixture of annoyance and anger.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Deku?!" he barked, grabbing Izuku by the collar. "All you ever wanted was to be a damn hero, and now you’re letting some psycho villain mess with your head? You’re losing focus, idiot!"

Izuku blinked, taken aback by Bakugo’s outburst. The words stung, but they also hit a nerve. He was losing focus. He’d been so caught up in his emotions that he was slipping from his path. Bakugo’s grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You’re letting some lowlife villain distract you from your goal! Do you even want to be a hero anymore?"

The words hung heavy in the air. Izuku looked down, guilt washing over him. Maybe Bakugo was right. Maybe he was losing sight of what was important. He needed to clear his head.

---

**Location: Teacher's Lounge, U.A. High**

Later that day, Izuku found himself sitting across from All Might in the quiet of the teacher's lounge. His hands fidgeted in his lap, his thoughts jumbled as he tried to explain everything that had been going on.

"I just… I don’t know what to do, All Might," Izuku said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like… like I care about her. Toga, I mean. But she’s a villain. I know that, but…" He trailed off, unable to put his conflicting emotions into words.

All Might placed a hand on his shoulder, his blue eyes kind yet serious. “Young Midoriya,” he began, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s okay to care about people. It’s what makes you who you are. But never forget why you’re here. You want to save everyone, right? That includes people like Toga, but it also means putting your hero work first. You can’t help anyone if you’re distracted.”

Izuku nodded, trying to take the words to heart.

"And besides," All Might added with a chuckle, "I didn’t expect you to have so many girl problems your first year at U.A.! You’re quite popular with the ladies, huh?"

Izuku blushed furiously. "I-I-It’s not like that!"

All Might laughed heartily, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. "Focus on your training, Midoriya. You’re destined to be a great hero, so keep your head on straight."

Izuku left the lounge with renewed determination. He needed to put Toga out of his mind for now. His duty as a hero had to come first.

---

**Location: League of Villains Hideout**

Meanwhile, Himiko Toga sat in the corner of the League’s hideout, knees hugged to her chest. The usual glint in her eyes was gone, replaced by a faraway look that unnerved her comrades. Even Twice’s attempts to cheer her up had fallen flat.

Shigaraki, on the other hand, took pleasure in her suffering. “I told you, didn’t I?” he sneered, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “A hero could never love you, Toga. You’re disposable to them. Just like you’re disposable to us.”

Toga flinched but didn’t respond. She had heard it all before. She knew she wasn’t valuable to them unless she was her usual, chaotic self. But lately… all she could think about was Izuku. The way he’d looked at her with something other than fear or disgust. It confused her.

Shigaraki’s words were like knives, but Toga forced herself not to react. She overheard the rest of the League discussing their next move. They were planning something big, something dangerous. A break-in at U.A. High with the goal of killing Izuku, Bakugo, and Todoroki. They didn’t even bother hiding their plans from her anymore, assuming she was too broken to be a threat.

And the more she listened, the more conflicted she became. Could she really stand by and let them hurt Izuku? Could she watch as the only person who made her feel like she wasn’t completely lost was taken away from her?

When they went out to steal money to fund their scheme, Toga stayed behind. She couldn’t bring herself to join them. Her mind was in turmoil. All she could think about was Izuku—his face, his voice, the way he made her feel like maybe, just maybe, there was good left in the world. And for the first time, she wondered if being a villain was worth it. Would she give it all up just to be near him?

---

**Location: Bank **

As the League of Villains carried out their heist, Izuku and the others were there to stop them. A fierce battle broke out, but one thing was missing—Toga. Izuku noticed her absence immediately, his heart sinking.

“Where is she?” he demanded, his voice laced with fear as he faced off against Spinner. “Where’s Toga? What have you done to her?”

Shigaraki smirked, seeing the opportunity to twist the knife deeper. “Oh, didn’t you hear?” he said, his voice mocking. “She was disloyal, so we had to get rid of her. Such a shame… Her last request was to see you one last time before she died. A slow, painful death. So sad.” He chuckled darkly.

Izuku’s heart shattered. His vision blurred with rage, and before he knew it, One for All surged through him uncontrollably. His fists slammed into the ground, sending shockwaves through the entire bank, demolishing it in a single blow.

Todoroki rushed over, grabbing Izuku’s arm. "Midoriya! You have to stop! You’re going to destroy everything!"

The League, terrified by Izuku’s outburst, was forced to retreat. Shigaraki’s mocking laughter echoed in Izuku’s ears as they vanished into the night.

As the dust settled, Izuku collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Toga…"

Todoroki and Iida approached him cautiously, trying to offer comfort. Even Bakugo, usually so brash, seemed taken aback by Izuku’s emotional reaction. "Get up, idiot," Bakugo muttered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "We need to head back."

Izuku nodded weakly, wiping his tears. But the pain lingered. He felt like he had lost something precious.

---

**Location: League of Villains Hideout**

Back at the hideout, the League returned, laughing about their successful heist. But when they told Toga what had happened, how they had played with Izuku’s emotions, she felt something she wasn’t used to—guilt.

They had hurt him. Not physically, but emotionally. And it had worked. He thought she was dead.

She played it off, pretending she didn’t care. But inside, it tore her apart. Why did he care so much? Why did it hurt her to know that he was hurting?

Dabi, Shigaraki, and Spinner huddled together, discussing their next plan. The break-in at U.A. High. They talked about how they would separate the teachers from the students, exploiting a weakness in the new security system to attack Izuku, Bakugo, and Todoroki.

Toga listened carefully, her mind racing. She couldn’t let this happen.

---

**Location: U.A. Dorms – Izuku's Room**

In the dead of night, Izuku lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how hard he tried. All he could think about was Toga. Was she really gone? Was she dead because of him?

A soft creak from his window startled him. He sat up quickly, his heart racing as a figure slipped into his room. His eyes widened as he recognized her immediately.

"Toga?" he whispered, disbelief and relief flooding his voice.

Toga smiled softly, though her usual mischievous glint was absent. "Izuzu… I came to warn you."

Izuku blinked, trying to process the fact that she was alive and standing in front of him. "Warn me? About what? How did you even get in here?"

Toga sighed, glancing toward the door. “They want to kill you, ‘Wheels,’ ‘Scarface,’ and the angry loud blonde one. Shigaraki’s been planning this for a while, and they think they’ve found a way past the security system. They’re going to separate the staff from the students and attack you three directly.”

Izuku’s heart dropped. The thought of the League coming after him, Bakugo, and Todoroki wasn’t new—but hearing it from Toga’s mouth made it feel more real, more imminent. He took a step closer to her, his voice soft. “Toga… why are you telling me this?”

She looked away, with a face as if her thoughts were empty. For a moment, she hesitated, as if debating whether to speak the truth. But when her eyes met his again, there was a vulnerability in them that Izuku had never seen before.

“Because I care about you, Izuzu,” she admitted quietly, her voice trembling. “I know that probably sounds crazy coming from me, but it’s the truth. I couldn’t just let them hurt you. Not after everything. I… I couldn’t let them kill you.”

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded as he stepped even closer, his eyes searching hers for answers. “But… after what happened… I thought… you hated me.”

Toga’s gaze softened, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Hate you? I could never hate you, silly. You’re the only good thing I’ve ever known in this messed-up world. You’ve made me see that there are good people out there, people who care about others. And maybe… maybe I don’t want to be the person I’ve become. Not if it means hurting you.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Izuku’s heart raced as he processed what she was saying. He wasn’t sure how to feel—his emotions were a tangled mess of confusion, affection, and guilt. But one thing was certain: Toga wasn’t just a villain to him anymore.

“Toga…” Izuku began, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know much about romantic feelings… or girls in general, but I… I think I have feelings for you too.”

Toga’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at him, stunned. “Izuzu…”

“I don’t know what this all means,” he continued, his face flushing. “But I know that I care about you. And I don’t want you to get hurt. I want to find a way to protect you, to help you… but I don’t know how.”

Toga smiled softly, stepping closer to him until they were only inches apart. She gently reached out and touched his face, her fingers light against his skin. “You don’t have to know everything right now,” she whispered. “But just knowing that you care… it means everything to me.”

Before Izuku could respond, Toga leaned in and kissed him—softly, tenderly, like she was afraid the moment might break if she moved too fast. Izuku’s eyes widened at first, but then he relaxed, closing his eyes as he kissed her back. It was a moment of quiet amidst the chaos, a brief escape from the storm that surrounded them.

But the moment couldn’t last.

Toga pulled back, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and regret. “I have to go,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “If I don’t go back to the League, they’ll know something’s wrong. And they’ll come after me… and after you.”

Izuku’s heart ached. He wanted to stop her, to keep her here where she could be safe, but he knew she was right. If she didn’t return to the League, things would only get worse. “When will I see you again?” he asked, his voice laced with desperation.

Toga looked away, her expression pained. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “After this, I’m going to have to distance myself from them. Maybe go into hiding for a while. But… I’ll come back. I promise.”

Izuku’s chest tightened. The thought of not knowing when—or if—he’d see her again tore at him. “Be careful,” he whispered.

She gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You too, hero. Don’t do anything reckless.”

Toga turned toward the window, pausing just before climbing out. She glanced back at him one last time, her smile bittersweet. “Warn the staff about their plan,” she said. “But don’t let them know you got it from me. Keep everything discreet.”

Izuku nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “I will.”

And then, with one final look, Toga slipped out the window and disappeared into the night, leaving Izuku standing there, heart heavy with the weight of their shared moment.

[kqtzvv]

mafuyu rant 🫶

note: slight spoilers!

despite mafuyu having a “stable” and perfect life, she probably has the most miserable life out of all the characters in-game. her father is the money maker in her family and works very often, therefore not being there for mafuyu often which leads to mafuyu’s mom having to care for her. mafuyu’s mom would then take advantage of mafuyu’s feelings and emotions by guilt-tripping her and making it seem like she’s always in the wrong when rebelling against, hence why mafuyu now always puts on a good-girl persona. mafuyu always seeks for motherly support but never receives it, landing with kanade having to support her. in mafuyu’s fourth focus, she ran away to kanade’s house after telling her mom her true feelings and in mafuyu’s fifth focus, it gives us more in-depth lore of the aftermath after she ran away and her dad’s opinion. even after all that, her mom’s words and actions still haunt her, making her feel bad and consider going back home out of guilt.

mafuyu’s true feelings make her dispassionate, apathetic, lacking emotions & emotional attachment, hopeless, etc.

recently in her fifth focus, she is shown to be recovering and more signs of improvement after running away. now that her father is aware of the situation and trying to accommodate her needs, mafuyu feels more at ease and less stressed out to fit expectations.

in her cards and niigo’s entire layout, apples are always represented and are connected to mafuyu. the apple is seen to represent snow white and the seven dwarfs when she was poisoned by an apple from a witch, which relates back to how mafuyu’s “care” is actually poison/manipulation to mafuyu. the apple can be seen in multiple mafuyu cards and even ties back to her childhood

mafuyu’s mom would often encourage her to study no matter what and change her dream job to become a doctor, even though she’s always wanted to be a nurse since middle school. mafuyu’s mom even took away her only escape to freedom and her passion (almost throwing away her synthesizer, threw her phone in her aquarium, laptop, everything that could be used for niigo to connect with her).

to everyone who doesn’t actually know mafuyu deep down inside, she is seen to be intelligent, humble, kind, and overall a perfect, role-model student.

there are very much characters in-game that are able to see through her facade, attempting to talk and understand mafuyu as she is going through all of this. some notable characters are emu, rui, and shizuku. surprisingly, these three characters also have something in common with mafuyu.

emu: having to hide her negative emotions away from others and bottling up her feelings until she can’t do anything but cry

rui: not being able to understand his own dreams and feelings back then

shizuku: feeling the need to be perfect and fit idol standards, almost losing all of her true self like mafuyu.

emu is constantly scared of mafuyu because emu has the ability to see right through people to see if their smiles are genuine or not, which in mafuyu’s case, is not. emu still tries to cheer her up with her onomatopoeia, which, still doesn’t.

a huge thing the people that mischaracterize mafuyu is that she isn’t just a “depressed emo girl who can’t smile and is using kanade”, she is a girl who had to play a role in a story that she never wanted to be a part of.

“mafuyu’s problem would be solved if her mom died!” no it wouldn’t. even though her mom manipulated her for all of her years, mafuyu still loves and cares for her and would actually cry if her mom died. second who gave birth to her? her mom.

in short form, mafuyu isn’t in the wrong or straight up depression. i will understand if you dislike her but ignoring her entire backstory and shortening it to “depressed kid who’s dramatic” i will go mentally insane. thank you for coming to my ted talk!

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Avatar 2009 

Yandere! Human Miles Quaritch x Female Human Reader

Title: Love Thy Enemy Chapter 1

Age gap, Smut, and Yandere. Older man with younger woman.

Being the youngest scientist and the recruit was not pleasant. No one respected you or liked you besides the group you were assigned to and Trudy. You liked Grace and the clumsy Norm best.

But most of all, you liked head of security, Colonel Miles Quaritch.

He was the kindest man you ever met in your young life.

You remembered the first time you met the Colonel.

There was a new marine named Jake Sully. He looked lost and you offered to roll his wheelchair to his assigned room. The orientation room.

You and him entered where a Marine clothed man was walking around a group of sitting new joiners on benches.

His back was towards you and you couldn't see his face. You just saw that he was tall with loaded muscles.

Not that you belonged here.

Right when you turned your heel to leave you heard his silky smooth voice. "Where are you going, Girl?"

You paused and looked over your shoulder. Was this man speaking to you?

The said man had an odd look on his face. He was staring at you as if he had never seen another woman before. Like you were a guinea pig and he was a scientist. You recognized that look. Curiosity and amazement.

The man was handsome as hell. Tan skin, blue piercing eyes. Cold and merciless. Pink lips, a strong and smooth jawline, with a straight nose. A Greek God. What was more to your liking was that he had white blonde hair and cool clawed scars on his scalp. A warrior no doubt.

You felt insecure and scrawny in your lab coat. No man ever did an impression on you before like this.

"I was just escorting him here, sir. I don't belong here." You gulped in nervousness. 

The man was scrutinizing you. "Sit here anyway on the bench. I want you to hear what I have to say." He gestured with his head. 

You blinked. There were two available seats on the benches. One was next to a woman and the other next to a man. You sat next to the woman.

The Marine man seemed pleased with where you decided to sit next to. You wondered why.

He continued on about who he is. His name and his job. The rules of Pandora and the Navi.

You already knew all this. But out of respect you paid attention. You didn't notice some men were ogling at you. But the Colonel did.

"Dismissed." 

Everyone began to scatter and right when you stood up from your seat to leave, you were met with a broad chest. 

"Not you, come with me." Without an answer the Colonel walked ahead. You awkwardly followed and tried to keep up. He walked at a quick pace. 

He stopped in front of a door, he opened it and held it open for you to enter. An office?

"I don't have all day." He snapped. You flinched. Were you in trouble?

Quickly, you walked in. You felt like a bad student with a Principal.

What now? You were confused.

Now that you were in. You politely waited for the man to say something. He closed his door and said nothing. 

"Um. May I sit?"

He blinked in surprise. Why? 

He replied with a quick yes and walked over his chair. You two sat down and the Colonel was drinking you in. You felt nervous. 

"Who are you and where do you work?" He placed his elbows on his desk and leaned towards you and he clapped his hands together.

You introduced yourself and said you work under Grace Augustine in the Avatar Research program.

"You are under her?" 

He sighed. "Of all people."

What was his problem with Grace?

"Speaking of her…" you smiled at him. "I think I should leave. She is waiting for me at the lab." You slowly rose from your seat.

He narrowed his eyes like a serpent. "Sit." It was an order.

You immediately did.

He walked to you and leaned on the desk in front of you. "I think it is best for you to report some details of your work to me sometimes. I need a scientist in my field as well. How about you join my group?"

You tilted your face to look up at him looking over you. "Thank you but I am already committed to Grace."

He nodded. "I will talk to her. I am sure you will be an asset."

You gave a tight smile. "Okay."

The Colonel stood up and walked over to the door and opened it for you. "I will see you soon, Name."

You said goodbye to him and left quickly.

What a weirdo.

When you met with Grace, you apologized for your tardiness and explained what happened. 

Grace herself explained how she hated Quaritch and that perhaps being in his group sometimes will benefit the Avatar Research program too. She allowed you to go with him.

Meanwhile…

Quaritch was staring at the chair in front of him. He couldn't believe the whole time you were here he never knew your existence. As if you were hiding from him.

Fuck.

What a beautiful Angel.

Not just that. Your spine chilling voice. 

Name.

Sweet. Sweet. Name.

He needs a cold shower.

The next day, he wrote a paper to add you to his team and his new expedition beyond the base. 

He looked up your profile and studied you. Your young age, ethnicity, lineage and height were all there. 

He didn't really care about that. He just stared at your photos and id pictures. He printed them on paper and began to cut them to small sizes to carry them in his pockets.

When you wheeled that cripple in, he was surprised to see a harmless and innocent person like you at the base. So out of place. He felt an odd feeling of fear when you were about to leave without him knowing your name and where he could find you again. 

The next day, you and your team along with Jake Sully all walked together to the Cafeteria. You drank your coffee and Quaritch stared at you from time to time. 

He felt jealous he couldn't normally talk to you.

That will soon happen.

He imagined you socializing with him in public and walking with him. Like..

 A normal couple.

He has to get you alone.

[the-egg]

ahahdbajdjajd hcs for miguel x venom!reader (preferably fem but gn is fine i just love monster girls) tysmm u r doing gods work ❤️

Okay, so I did a little bit of research because I’ve never actually seen Venom, so I hope that this is good! Also, I’m still getting the hang of hcs so bear with me on this.

Tags: Implied smut

Word Count: 1k

===

Alright, so let's get this straight! After the end credits of No Way Home, you ended up getting infected with Venom at the bar and have been reluctantly adjusting to your new powers as a host to Venom. Except, the alien species you were infected with wasn’t from your dimension, so now you were seen as an anomaly to the universe, constantly being thrown from dimension to dimension to get you back to where you “rightfully” belong.

Miguel tried to hate you. He typically doesn’t feel very fond of any anomaly he has to deal with

But you were by far the most compliant anomaly he ever had.

You held no ill will toward the Spider Society and were more than happy to be sent back on your way in the totally humane Go Home Machine, not just once or twice, but about a dozen times or so

To Miguel, you were a breath of fresh air after all the fights he would go through just to keep the canon in place. He even made sure to take your missions personally whenever they popped up. Despite liking you, he had no idea why you were being transported to other dimensions.

The first couple of times he had to pick you up, you didn’t show any sign of being a potential threat. You were just a woman going about her day in a grocery store, or you were on your way to work. You weren’t out fighting crime in the dead of night as Venom until one day you were.

It changed everything between you and Miguel

One day you were just a normal civilian who had no shame in flirting with the tall, handsome man, and the next you were someone who could relate to him in a way other people couldn’t

He admired your capabilities, your fighting style, and your ability to stay in control of your powers

Most of all, he felt seen

You weren’t what was considered a "normal" superhero, and he wasn’t considered a normal Spider-Man

It was besties on sight

He couldn’t deny that watching you transform in and out of venom was hot as shit! The slow crawl as the black veins ran up your arms and neck was just—FUCK!

You had to admit that Miguel looked good from every angle you'd seen him

From his broad shoulders as he turns his back to you to the way he runs his hand through his hair

There were a few angles you would die to see him from, but you’d have to fuck around to see them ;)

Despite not being a part of the Spider Society, you would still occasionally help out on missions with him when he begged you

You two made a solid team. Honestly, you guys were great partners, and Miguel had no problem admitting that to you.

What he did have trouble admitting were his feelings for the woman who was strong enough to handle him mentally and physically

He’d occasionally joke with you, cracking a smile on more than one occasion, but he rarely flirted back with you

You thought that, despite being great friends, he was unattracted to the parasite you hosted

Disgusted as he watched you transform in and out of your form with big white eyes and a plethora of teeth

In reality, he thought that your form, the power that you held in your superhuman physique, was something he couldn’t keep his hands off of

Watching you switch from a woman with a gentle touch to a superhuman with a death grip was definitely not a turn-off for him

I could imagine that he would ask you out first and finally break that sexual tension building up between you two. Lyla finally beat it into him that he needed to keep one of the best people that had ever come into his life. Despite being equally attracted to him, you would only dance around the topic of romance with him. You enjoyed the chase and waited ever so patiently for him to finally stand up and cage you like he should have done when he first met you.

It went a little like this~

You had just finished tying a low-tier criminal to a lamppost when he appeared out of a portal. Heart skipping a beat, you walked over to him, still fully immersed in your "suit." Immediately, you knew something was off. He was completely vulnerable to you, as he wore a pair of slacks and a nice white button-down. You could practically hear his heartbeat racing; he was nervous. While you still didn’t know what was going on, you couldn’t help but jump right into your usual banter.

"Am I an anomaly again?"

Miguel tugged at his collar, looking away as he spoke to you

"I’m afraid I’m the anomaly this time."

"Oh no!" you feigned sympathy, but your smile gave it away. You took a step toward him and leaned in, your heart racing along with his as it caught on to what he was doing. "Do I have to send you back home?"

Hearing how pleased you were with this interaction, he smirked, leaning in as well.

Miggy boi wasn’t feeling too nervous anymore

"I was actually wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner."

Fireworks exploded inside of you as the excitement inside of you grew

You retracted venom from your head to let him see your face

Miguel had to resist biting the inside of his cheek as he watched your face come into view, with black veins still lingering on your neck

Fuck, it was like watching the devil turn into a siren. Irresistibly beautiful as you resist the temptation to commit a sin

but he knew that being with you was a blessing

He watched as your pupils grew wide as you spoke

"Only if I could come home with you afterward."

Could you blame Miguel for closing the gap between your lips right then and there? Could you blame yourself for running your hand through his hair like you imagined doing it a hundred times before?

The only thing you could blame Miguel for doing was stopping before you had half the mind to skip dinner and go straight to his place.

But it wasn’t fair to do that to one of your closest friends, your partner in crime, or your fellow pea in an unlikely pod

"Consider it done."

[legendary-pink-dot]

No Better, No Worse

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Santiago "Pope" Garcia x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Blindfolds, restraints, someone asking you to choose between 2 hot men and how dare you

Word Count: 866

Summary: "You're seeing TWO guys? Which one is, you know, better?" It's a simple question, but there's no right answer.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". No mention of Frankie's child.

"You're seeing TWO guys?" whispered your new friend, her tone equal parts shocked and weirded out. "Which one is, you know, better? Not just in bed..."

It's a simple question, but there's no right answer. 

Reducing it to "Well, one of them holds me down while he fucks me hard" and "But the other one goes down on me until I have to beg him to stop, that's just as good" would feel like cheating, somehow.

Thinking about them makes you smile as you grapple with the question: Frankie and Santi. Catfish and Pope. Santiago and Francisco. A pair of best friends and comrades, loyal and devoted. They're electricity and chemistry, and you need both to feel alive.

What a revelation that had been, dating one while becoming friends with the other, and suddenly one evening having that dynamic completely implode and form something new around you.

How Frankie had been a bit hesitant, letting you lead and tell him what you wanted, ever the detail-oriented soldier who prefers to follow, the calm pilot who immerses himself in whatever task is right in front of him. By contrast, Santi had dived straight in and arranged you into what he knew you wanted, as a planner who anticipates every need with a focused intensity that would have frightened you if he'd been anyone else. The sense of safety you felt around both of them had never been in question, despite the things they've done and what you knew they were capable of.

Santi's intensity unfortunately bled into his temper, running hot (but never dangerously around you) at the most trivial things, Frankie's quiet tones the only thing that could settle him. And you were the one who would always bring Frankie back to earth from the throes of his nightmares, more vivid and regular in the weeks after returning from a mission; you could always help him see what was real. In return they both took care of you, validating that your problems were important and mattered, even if they weren't life and death like theirs were. It became a closed circuit of care, flow and movement that would halt if one of you were to break away.

"Come on!" your friend prods. "You must have a preference, right?"

Both men have beautiful curls in their hair, perfect for wrapping around your fingers, at different times and for different purposes, and they both love it when you do. 

Two pairs of callused hands, their roughness patterned differently: Frankie had small indents on the sides of his fingers from years of gripping mechanic's tools, Santi with raised white scars slashing his olive skin from regular training with knives, his favourite combat skill and way to de-stress. Both felt incredible on every inch of your skin, at any pressure, in any configuration.

One night when they restrained you to the bed and put a blackout mask over your eyes, binding two of your senses, you were confident you'd be able to tell which one of them had those differently rough fingers and their tongue inside you. Just when you thought you knew, a wrong but familiar voice would whisper praise directly in your ear, sending you reeling and thrilling you extra at the same time, keeping you feeling alive and on the edge.

You also thought you would be able to tell which man was inside you, but in the end you didn't really want to. They kept the blackout mask over your eyes as they took turns sliding through your wetness and deep into you, switching frequently (or so you thought), both of their mouths spilling nonstop strings of filth to intentionally alter your focus, telling you what a good girl you were to take their cocks like this and how sweet your cunt was just for them. For both of them. The different sensations had fused into a singular, heat building in your core and the resulting climax setting off theirs, and your shared comedown created an abstract form in which concepts like separation and differentation no longer existed, the three of you sweaty and spent and a mess of tangled limbs.

"Seriously, if you were on the Titanic together and only one of them could share the floating door with you, which one would you choose?" Your friend can't believe that you still haven't taken a stand on this.

She doesn't understand, can't possibly know, that it's not just you and Frankie and then also you and Santi. It's you and Frankie and Santi. A higher value to all of you as a three of a kind rather than as a pair, and unable to remove one piece without breaking up the whole. But this isn't information your new friend needs to know; she was shocked and judgemental enough when you mentioned you were dating two men at the same time. The mere idea that you three subsisted together, needed each other in ways you were still coming to understand, would probably blow her mind. Best to keep that to yourself.

You finally settle on an answer that satisfies you. "I can't choose, and don't want to. There's no better and no worse. They're just... different."

[nintickleswitch]

Strung in Her Web

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Annabelle Cane, Statement Giver OC

Word Count: 1965

Content Warnings: CNC tickling, bondage, arachnophobia (no spiders directly involved, but they are mentioned and Annabelle has spider-like features), implied NSFW

Summary: Statement of Marjorie Winters, regarding a... A really weird first date. F/F, monster bondage + tickling. enjoy :)

Statement of Marjorie Winters, regarding a... A really weird first date. Let's just call it that. Statement given July 21st, 2014. Audio recording by Marjorie Winters, per my request. Statement begins.

Look, I'm sorry. I know this isn't how you usually do things. But... When I got an ad for your Institute last night, I knew I had to tell my story. I'm not really articulate in writing, though, and I don't think I could tell this to another person with a straight face. So I'll just do the tape myself. Hopefully I've done all the formatting correctly. Anyways, I suppose I should begin.

I'm a database administrator. It's not exactly a glamorous career, but it lets me live in London without going bankrupt so I suppose I'm happy with it. You've got to understand though, it's an incredibly demanding job. You have to stay on top of everything to make sure it's running smoothly 24/7, which means weird schedules and constantly scrambling to fix outages. At least I get the choice of working from home most days, which gives me room to at least half enjoy my hobbies.

On the flip side, it means I don't really get out much to meet new people. I've always been introverted, so making the effort to trek to a bar or club has never been worth it for me. IT also happens to be a boys' club for the most part, and the couple of fellow trans girls that I do know live overseas, which is a problem when you prefer women. So you can understand with the pressures of having to keep everything under control and my lonely lifestyle, I needed something to cut loose for once.

I never really trusted dating apps, but it wasn't like I had much choice. It was that or go out and try to mingle in person. I ended up creating a pretty decent profile, with a few cute pictures of myself, my job and a list of my hobbies. I actually managed to get quite a few hits - some from male chasers, which I mean, that does happen, but most from women who seemed to be genuinely interested in me.

I didn't swipe right on most of them even then, as I was somewhat picky about people in general, but there was one woman who caught my eye. Her stark white hair complemented her beautiful dark eyes and eccentric outfit so perfectly, along with that elegant spiderweb dyed into her undercut. I was almost magnetized to her from the start. So I swiped right, and it turns out she'd already matched me. I was giddy from excitement, my hands almost shaking when I dropped her a line. My flirting was... Beyond awkward, let's say, but she took it in stride and seemed to find it rather charming. In the end, she dropped the location of a cafe and invited me to meet her there around mid-afternoon. Of course, I accepted.

You know, it's odd. I don't seem to remember learning that much about her. I know her name was Annabelle Cane. She was just as gorgeous in person as she was online, wearing a beautiful vintage tweed suit with a maroon shirt underneath. It turned out we both liked black and white movies and thrift shopping. She said she was a huge fashion enthusiast, being really fond of needlecraft and weaving in particular. She liked a bunch of cool bands I never heard of, and eagerly listened to me ramble on about my job and my life, never once taking those piercing dark eyes off me, like she was studying my every move to see what she should do next.

When she brought up that she played piano, I decided to be a little bolder than I was. I took her hand, and said I figured - she had the most elegant hands. At this, she broke into a wide smile. For a moment, I saw something strange behind the corners of her mouth - like something *retracted*. But I blinked, and it was gone. She stood up, and said her flat was just a 10 minute walk away from here if I wanted to see just how skilled they were. I couldn't believe my luck. So obviously I followed her, up to a modest little flat decorated in dark wine, purple and green hues, styled effortlessly just like the rest of her was.

She poured me a glass of red, and told me not to be so nervous. That she was going to take care of me. Now, she was 5 years younger than me, and a couple of inches shorter, but the way she spoke made me feel like I was down on my knees for her already. I hastily downed the glass, and before I knew it, I was in her bedroom. She pushed me down onto the bed, kissing me with a hunger I hadn't experienced in years. Her deft hands made quick work of my outer layers, leaving me just in my camisole and skirt, stroking and pinching me in ways that had me sighing desperately for her before anything had even happened.

Eventually, she pulled away with a wicked grin, and asked me if I wanted to do something a little more special. Before I could ask what she meant, she grabbed several lengths of silk rope from a nearby drawer. I'd written that I had a fair amount of experience with kink in my profile from my college days, and I was always down to experiment, so I hastily nodded. I lay down on the bed prone, with my arms raised above my head, waiting for her patiently and eagerly.

She started with my body, her hands working quickly to create an intricate pattern that I only recognized as a web when she was finished. It was as mesmerizing as it was complex, and the tightness of it underneath my chest, around my hips and my thighs made me ache for her touch even more. Her work continued with my arms and legs, securing them to each of the four corners of the bed. I could hardly move by the time she was done. My heart pounded in my throat like a caged bird battering itself against the gilded wire as she told me to close my eyes, whispering the safeword in my ear before leaving imprints of her teeth in the cartilage.

The stroking started off slow, sensual. By that time I gathered she liked being in control, and I relished in it. I could tell she was having fun by her pleased little hums whenever I squirmed too much, digging her nails in slightly more wherever I was particularly sensitive. She pulled light giggles and soft, delighted moans out of me, mapping out every inch of my body with her hands. Even when she intensified the pace, making me buck and squirm and laugh properly with her clever touches, I couldn't help but melt into her touch. Her nails caressed my chest, up along my inner arms, circling my stomach and the grooves of my hips, dancing along my inner thighs... I was in heaven.

In fact, I was so caught up in how good it felt to let go that I didn't even notice that something was definitely amiss. I mean, I did notice, but not consciously. Trying to cut through all of those mixed nerve signals was almost impossible in my state. It didn't click for me until I felt a fourth hand tracing the curves of my neck until I realized what the problem was. My eyes snapped open, expecting to see a second person she'd brought along without warning me. But that wasn't what I saw.

Kneeling on the bed in front of me was Annabelle Cane. It wasn't the woman I saw before, though. Her eyes... Oh god, you don't understand. She had so many eyes. Protruding from her lips were a set of vicious looking mouthparts, clicking and chittering with excitement. And where I once saw two perfectly normal arms, she had four more, their languid movements unnatural. Inhuman.

Believe me, I tried to scream, with all my might I tried. But the moment I did, it turned into cacophonous laughter when every one of those six, swaying arms descended on my prone body. And I realized I never knew what true helplessness felt like until that moment.

One set plunged its thumbs into the pockets of my hips, kneading there mercilessly. Another raked its neatly manicured fingers from my ribs to my underarms, scraping those hollows with what felt more like stiff bristles than nails. I was almost reminded of the bristles on a tarantula's leg. One of my exes was a real exotics nut, and he'd often try to convince me how cute and fuzzy they were, holding his prized pets up to me with a wide grin. But all I could see were those beady little eyes, watching me like they were plotting my every move - the same eyes that were now staring down at me with utter glee.

The last set wrapped around my knees, squeezing the caps and skittering its fingers along the underside. Occasionally, they roamed to my tight calves, the tender underside of my thighs. And all I could do was laugh. Do you understand? I couldn't - I couldn't move an inch. If this was normal bondage, I would have at least been able to squirm - she certainly gave me plenty of room to, but I couldn't. It was like I was hypnotized under some horrible spell, like a fly caught in her web, forced to endure the barrage of unbearable tickling torture.

So I laughed. And I wept. Once I got over the shock of it, I even remembered that she'd given me a safe word. But I didn't say it. Because I think the worst part of it was, I didn't really hate it. I mean, yes, I was begging for mercy, begging to do anything for it to stop, and I was petrified with fear like I'd never been in my life. But I just... I couldn't help myself, I guess. The rush that came with losing all that control, terrifying as it may have been. And she was gorgeous, and such a skilled domme...

When it finally, mercifully ended after what felt like forever, I was a wreck. My hair was plastered against my forehead, I was sweating like crazy. My body couldn't stop... Trembling. That was all the movement she allowed. All she did, leaning in close with those clicking mandibles and those dark, beady eyes sprouting from her forehead and her cheeks, was whisper a single word to me in a low, husky voice:

And I answered.

"Safeword?"

"Chelicerae."

"Good girl."

She leaned in for a kiss, and it was... God. Intoxicating would be the best word for it. At some point, she bit my lip, and I started to feel... Fuzzy. Sensitive, helpless. When she finally drew back, that was when I saw what she really was. Each of her arms a chitinous, segmented leg with those bristly little hairs all over that scratched and tickled like cruel little brushes. But it didn't matter at that point. I was all hers.

Statement ends. 

I'll spare you the rest of the details. For my sake, and for yours. I think you know what happens next, and this statement is... Hardly appropriate for your archives at this point, I think. But I had to get it out there. Had to save whatever poor soul runs into her next. She's scheduled a second date with me at some contemporary art exhibit. I think I'm going to go. After all... I just can't help myself.

[shmaptainwrites]

Any way you could do a Hawkeye/Reader one shot with the prompt “ “i like you just the way you are” 🥺🥺

I love your writing style!

hi bestie! thank you and of course i can :) i did fem reader with this but if you’d prefer something different lemme know and i can edit it as soon as i can :))

Pairings: Hawkeye Pierce x fem!Reader

Warnings: alcohol, insecurity

Just the Way You Are

A time old saying your mother used to tell you for when things didn’t seem to be going your way was that maybe you just needed a change of scenery. You didn’t realize it would come in the form of a draft letter.

In a snap your life went from small town to war zone, thrown right in the deep end.

“A MASH unit? What’s that?” you frowned. “I thought nurses were stationed in Seoul or somethin’?”

“It stands for mobile surgical army hospital. We keep ‘em close to the front so the doctors can patch them up there so they’re well enough to get to Seoul or Tokyo. Someone will drive you to the 4077th first thing tomorrow.”

You nodded your head and thought that given the information it might be best to try and get some sleep.

That seemed to escape you and instead the gears in your mind turned at the realization that absolutely no one would know you here.

The girl who was pegged as innocent, vulnerable, too empathetic with terrible luck in love was unknown to whoever you were going to be working with and it was the perfect opportunity to start fresh, but as what was the question.

After a rather sleepless night of planning, you woke up bright and early to get on the jeep and head down to Ouijonbou. As soon as you arrived after the long and somewhat treacherous journey, your commanding officer, Major Houlihan, was quick to welcome you to her team of nurses and introduced you to your colleagues and showed you where you would be staying.

“Major Im really unfamiliar with the working of a MASH unit but I’m a hard worker and I’m ready to learn. Just might need a bit of educating here and there,” you smiled.

“That’s no problem, everyone here was in your position at one point or another. Us nurses have to stick together alright, (L/N)?”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded.

“I’ll let you get settled, but if you hear the call for choppers OR is that way,” she pointed and you nodded again in confirmation.

“Thanks again, Major,” you waved.

“Sure, you ever need anything you let me know.”

With the Major gone you got to unpacking and getting to know your bunk mates.

“So what did you do for fun back home?” Nurse Kellye asked.

“Oh…well,” you paused and thought for a moment. Your answer probably should have been something along the lines of reading or riding your bike around town, but you had decided you wanted to paint yourself as someone who was adventurous. Didn’t take no for an answer. Someone that other people looked up to and admired. So you embellished a little. “I have a motorbike,” you said. “I take it out on the freeway, ride it around town. Just to get outside, you know?”

“Wow a motorcycle?” Nurse Bellows looked at you in astonishment. “I could never bring myself to get on one of those things.”

“Takes a bit to get used to, but once you do it’s smooth sailing.”

Your conversation was interrupted by a call on the PA about choppers and the nurses quickly instructed you on the procedure as you ran out to the compound to await the ambulances.

Before you knew it you were scrubbed in all white, working alongside Dr. Hunnicutt with his patients.

Your particular area of expertise wasn’t necessarily in OR but you had the training for it so you got by with only a fumble or two.

By the time all of the wounded had made their way through OR it was dark outside and you wondered quietly to yourself if this was what every day was going to feel like.

Pure exhaustion, not even a single glimmer of energy.

It was no surprise to your roommates when you simply changed out of your dirty scrubs and went straight to bed. On your first day, showering could definitely wait.

Even within the first day you had developed quite a reputation with your fellow nurses. The Major loved you because despite your new personality you weren’t here to ruffle anyone’s feathers so you paid great attention to her instructions and carried them out to a T, but also managed to have some fun with your colleagues.

You were tossing around a baseball for some practice before your nurses versus enlisted men game when your partner overshot the ball and you had to run to catch it in your glove before it hit the ground.

“I got it! I got it! I-Oof!

You felt a large obstruction in front of you and stumbled back only to see the ball land on the ground.

“Hey, I was trying to…” you looked up and blinked a few times in astonishment. “H-Hawkeye?”

“Well, would you look at what Uncle Sam dragged in,” he chuckled. “What are you doing in this neck of the war?”

“Drafted, you?”

“Same,” he nodded. “I didn’t know you played baseball,” he motioned to your gloved hand. “Thought you were more of a stay at home and read type.”

You shrugged, “Uh, people change. I-I really gotta go Hawk, Cindy’s waiting for me. Maybe we can catch up some other time?”

“Sure, a drink in the officer’s club?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded. “I’ll see you around.”

Of the 400 people that lived in Crabapple Cove you had to run into one of them in Korea.

Your drinks with Hawkeye kept getting delayed. At one point it was because there was a camp wide outbreak of the measles and naturally a quarantine ensued, at another point there were back to back days in OR followed by everyone in camp sleeping like a log, and you seemed to have better luck getting a few dates here and there with some of the enlisted men who had taken a shine to you, unfortunately all of them didn’t seem such a good fit.

“Crazy how fast time flies huh?” Hawkeye asked when you finally sat down with your drinks.

“Yeah, feels like a couple of days, but I’ve already been here two months,” you agreed.

“And just as busy as the rest of us,” he chuckled. “Seems you’ve become the most popular person in camp.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you raised a brow and took a sip of your beer.

“Not bad, just different. Different from the version of you I grew up with.”

“Like I said, people change,” you shrugged.

“War will do that to a person,” Hawkeye sighed. “Anyway, how’s home?”

“Home’s nice,” you smiled. “Missing it more every day. I mean I left for nursing school and came back only to be shipped off.”

“At least you’ve got all the procedures fresh in mind. Sometimes I worry with all this meatball surgery I’ll forget how to take someone’s tonsils out.”

“If you need practice I still got mine,” you teased and he chuckled.

“Who would have thought coming from Crabapple Cove we’d find each other on the other end of the world.”

“Yeah, the universe sure has a funny sense of humour,” you stared down into your cup before taking another sip.

“You still read much?”

“Not since I got here,” you shook your head. “Major Houlihan’s got us working double time with all the wounded coming in and on top of it we need to keep the place spick and span.”

“Just make sure she doesn’t work you to your grave before the rest of the war does.”

“I’ll try.”

The rest of your night was relaxed, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off, before you could give it much thought you had ambulances in the compound and it was back to work.

It seemed your luck had run out for the night because patient after patient there was one complication after another and it was not looking up to be a good shift.

“Maybe you should take ten lieutenant,” the Colonel suggested.

“No I’m fine,” you shook your head, a blatant lie, but the new you wasn’t bothered by things like this.

“(Y/N), I think Potter’s right, maybe you should take a minute,” Hawkeye counselled.

“I said I’m fine, Hawk,” you insisted. “Just let me do my work please.”

You kept your head down for the rest of the shift in OR and once it was over you slipped out before anyone was the wiser and gave you a lecture on not taking more than you could handle.

Your eyes filled with tears before you were even halfway across the compound, but you refused to let anyone see you in such a state. Maybe you’d be the one working yourself into a grave before the war got to you, or maybe it already had.

—

“Can you close up or do you need a break?” BJ asked you.

“I think I’m alright,” you nodded, but before you could take the needle from him your joints locked and you pulled back in pain.

“Woah, maybe I should just take care of this,” BJ nodded.

“Hey, let me have a look at that,” Hawkeye said, pulling off his gloves and walking towards you. “No more wounded, right Klinger?”

“You’re all good, sir,” Klinger nodded from the door and Hawkeye took that as his cue to grab your other wrist and pull you to pre-op.

He sat you down on one of the beds there and wordlessly filled a bowl with warm water so that you could place your hand inside and loosen up your joints.

“Who the hell are you trying to impress here, (N/N)?” Hawkeye asked and you blinked and looked up at him.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” he nodded and took your hand out of the water, wrapping it in a towel and gently massaging it. “You’re pulling double shifts in OR, covering for your friends, and on top of it living this life that isn’t yours.”

“Hawkeye you don't understand,” you shook your head. “Everyone has always liked you. When we were in school the parents loved you because you knew when to be well-behaved and the kids loved you because you knew when not to be. I’m trying to even myself out and get better at the second part.”

“And you’re gonna kill yourself in the process,” he shook his head.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who’s been stuck in a town with only 400 people and half of them don’t even know your name let alone like you. No one’s ever liked me for me so I decided I was gonna be someone else.”

“I liked you,” he said quietly.

“W-What?”

“I like you,” he said plainly. “Just as you are.”

You blinked a few times more and stayed silent.

“And maybe you’d consider taking it easy for someone who likes you, and knows your name, and doesn’t care if you ride a motorbike or get hit hard in OR like we all do.”

He gently held your arm and leaned in, pressing a small kiss to your cheek before turning around to make his way into post op leaving you with a lot to think about.

—

Hawkeye and BJ found themselves aimlessly walking around the compound as they usually did when there was nothing to do.

“No wounded, post op is almost empty, peace talks are resuming, BJ dare I say it but I think the war is starting to look up,” Hawkeye chuckled.

BJ chuckled as they walked by the nurses throwing around Klinger’s baseball only for it to land by BJ’s feet.

BJ picked up the ball and tossed it to Nurse Jenkins while Hawkeye scanned the crowd for you.

“Hey where’s (Y/N)?” he asked. “She normally plays with you guys.”

“She decided to take it easy today,” Nurse Kellye told him. “I think she’s by the tent.”

Hawkeye and BJ turned in the direction of the tent to see you lounging in a chair with your feet kicked up and a book in your hands.

“If you’ll excuse me Beej, I’m gonna go check in on a friend.”

Hawkeye walked over to where you sat and pulled up another chair.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked and you looked up from your novel and shook your head. “I see you traded a glove for a book.”

“Temporarily,” you shrugged. “Baseball actually kind of grew on me. I'm not gonna quit that.”

“Fair enough,” Hawkeye chuckled.

“But I have decided to quit the double shifts, and all the extras if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” Hawkeye nodded.

You closed your book and put it down next to your chair and looked at Hawkeye.

“Thanks Hawk, really for telling me it was okay to stop,” you said. “You were right I would have run myself into an early grave trying to keep up with everything.”

“What are old friends for,” he reached out for your hand and gave it a squeeze.

You stood up from your chair and moved next to his, bending down so you were both at eye level with each other.

“And this is a little something just as a thank you for reminding me I’m alright just the way I am,” you whispered and leaned in, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to his lips only for him to pull you closer as the nurses hollered and whistled behind you.

“Would the old you say yes to me if I asked if you’d come on a date with me?” Hawkeye asked.

“By old me do you mean the one that grew up with you?” you asked and he nodded. “Probably not, but,” you quickly butted in. “The new old me would.”

“The new old you?” Hawkeye chuckled.

“Can’t stay the same forever Hawk, just like baseball can grow on a person in a certain way, you can too.”

“I’ll take it. Otherwise I wouldn’t be a man of my word.”

“Because you like me just as I am,” you smiled.

“That I do.”

tags: @robin-the-enby

[docholligay]

Shattered by Lee Winter

Full and fair warning to the pitchers of this book: I did not like it. I did not care for it at all. I am gonna harsh on it. I will never read anything by this author again. If you go further than this, it’s at your peril. 

The pitch: What happens when superheroes don't want to be superheroes? A departure from the conventions of the genre, this book explores the many facets of humanity. Of life. Of loss. Of discrimination and friendship and equality – and how we, as humans, need different people in our lives at different times and in different ways. When your world is shattered, how can you pick up the pieces? (Includes a butch protagonist.)

Nonspoilery: The seductive idea of “A butch superhero” is utterly undone by the fact that everyone in this novel is insanely self-aware and has not only been to therapy, but may currently be sitting in a session now. Pair this with a hilariously heavy-handed look at social justice and axes of oppression, and I think a gay twelve year old would really get a lot out of this. 

I earlier posted little snippets of this book and I think that really sums it up. 

Spoilers

So I thought the major and compelling problem I was going to have with this book is I have very specific and strong emotional surrounds with the name Lena, as I do with only a handful of names in the world. So a character was always going to struggle a little bit for NOT being her. I was worried about this. 

Boy, do I wish that had been the problem! Mostly it offered up funny asides, but it didn’t really affect my feelings about the book. 

Lena is of course an edgy, closed off bad girl with a tragic anime backstory which in and of itself would not cause me a problem, many such characters, a number of whom I like. It’s a trope, and, you know what? It’s a decent trope! Would that an edgy bad girl who is the best at what she does, which is morally suspect, is a little ‘done’ was my biggest criticism. In a good story, it’s not big deal for me. 

BUT OH. Anyway, she goes to bumfuck nowhere to go track down Shattergirl, who doesn’t play the by the rules and goes into hiding, and Lena is all up in trying to figure out how to lure her back, because she’s the best ever at getting superheroes to come back, even though we learn very early on that maybe governments aren’t nice to superheroes. 

So then we go on a magical world tour, in some latter-day, low budget, Christmas Carol interlude where we have to prove to Lena, I guess, that people are bad and capitalism sucks? I honestly felt this was more a problem of Nyah’s imagination and experience than humanity sucking. Of course there are the horrors, but there is joy and beauty, too, and Lena basically takes all of this shit lying down like, “Hm! I, a fully grown adult who engages with a difficult business, never TRULY understood how someone could consider humanity not worth saving.” Really? NEVER? I fucking love the world, I think humanity is capable of immense kindness and beauty, and even I could see how someone who utterly lacked imagination would consider humanity “not worth saving.” 

And of COURSE Nyah’s planet was perfect and valued science and no one chased wealth and blah blah I’m sure she’s actually just high as fuck on the nostalgia of a place she hasn’t actually been in 100 years, but the narrative doesn’t SEEM to challenge this. It seems to be like, “Oh! If only humanity were not so awful! Le sigh!” and then Nyah offers the one concession to the fact that he planet might NOT have been utter perfection is that they weren’t very creative. Good fucking God. 

And we land on Nyah being the new leader of the superheroes, because of course she used to be the old president of the superheroes, but was replaced with a dude that sucks because, And I quote the fucking book directly: “You mean he’s a straight, white male.” The whole book is this embarrassingly heavy handed. God forbid we have a single thought for ourselves, don’t worry, this book will supply it to you like you are a little baby bird who needs it regurgitated into your mouth. 

Anyway, it was all very fucking YA. I wanted it to be the pitch, and I suppose it was the pitch for a 12 year old lesbian, but it was so on rails, so black and white, that I was nearly insulted by it. This was not pitched to me as YA, but the only difference between this and YA is they suck each other’s clits. This is for adults who only read YA.

I was going to go more into this, but as it turns out, I don’t actually want to think about this book anymore. It MIGHT be my least favorite book of the year, and if it isn’t it’s a close second.

[bendingthelaws]

8

Abby had just come up behind Dimitri as he and Colt were discussing her pay.  She really had thought Colt had docked her, but he’d never said he would except when he had every right to.  She would have never complained if he had, and she now hoped that her mentioning it wasn’t going to be a problem with Colt and Dimitri.  They were like a little family in the office, even if the two men barked at each other a lot.  Professional hazard from working with lawyers from what she’d ascertained.  

“I, uh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”  She stood slightly behind Dimitri since he was still blocking the door into Colt’s office.

Dimitri’s teeth ground, the glare he was shooting at Colt was murderous, and he wanted to beat some sense into Colt; but the fact the babe was in the office would keep Dimitri from it.  In his old life, he wouldn’t have given two shits, but he’d left that life behind..mostly.  

He trusted few, even fewer trusted him, and he damned well liked it that way.  For those who he did trust and have his loyalty, he would rip the city apart for them.  He had the connections still to do it, and those who hired Colt often knew that.  It’s why they’d never had a problem with any clients; they knew better than to fuck with him.

If Dimitri ever figured out how to kill someone without touching them, Colt was sure that he would be the first victim.  “You didn’t cause any problems, sweetheart.  It’s just a discussion.”  He looked over at Dimitri with a “happy now” look and gestured for him to get out of the doorway.  They really needed to have this discussion because he needed both their help with what was going on.

After they’d both made it into the room, Colt leaned against the front of his desk, his hands grabbing the front edge on either side of his thighs.  “My brother called earlier.”  He caught  Dimitri’s eye roll and glared.  “We knew he was getting ready to indict Constantin Rakeovich.  We’re still his attorney of record.  Just after the intent to indict was filed, one of Colin’s interns disappeared.”  Now he had Dimitri’s attention and Abby paled.

“Sweetheart, sit down, you look a little pale.”  Colin motioned to the chairs in front of him or the couch off to the side, then waited for her to sit.  “A few days ago they received a,” he considered how to phrase this.  So far he’d been sucking at doing that well.  “An indication that she was not being treated well.”  He looked at Dimitri, it was clear that the Russian understood the meaning.  “Another was received two days ago.  This morning a package was sitting on his desk.  It contained a human eye.”  

Abby couldn’t contain it, she gasped and started to shake.  One of their clients was doing this?  Her stomach rolled and she felt light headed.  She wasn’t sure whether she was going to pass out or throw up, or both.  Constantin Rakeovich had been in their office.  He’d leaned up against her side board and talked to her.  He was charming and friendly.  Now she knew he had cut out some poor woman’s eye.  Her chest felt tight and she couldn’t think straight, panic was setting in. 

One look at Abby and he knew that she should not have been part of this conversation.  What the fuck had Colt been thinking including her.  His starched white shirt had more color than Abby did at the moment.  Colt was lucky he was out of arm’s reach.

“Darling, look at me.”  Dimitri gently took Abby’s face in his hands as he knelt down in front of her.  The girl was more like a little sister to him than an assistant and he was worried about her.  “Abby.”  He was fighting to keep his voice calm.  Thankfully her name got her attention. 

“You’re safe and we’re going to keep you that way.  Understand?”  Her head shook in his hands.  “Good, now you’re going to lie down on Colt’s couch till you have more color in your face.”  Again she nodded. 

Letting go of her head, Dimitri helped her to lay down and draping his suit jacket over her, before he stood up and walked over to Colt.  His voice dropped and his expression became hard.  “You ever pull that shit in front of her again, I will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine, Masterson.  Learn some damned tact and manners.  You seem to have forgotten both of those lately.”

[lean-mean-demon-genevieve]

It so upsetting knowing she won the rebound girl lottery and she still act like this and promotes like this. Like I just don’t get what her point is with all of this why keep at something that isn’t anything and then put a storefront up? What business model is she following? who is advising? Why does she look like a news guest from 1978 in that video what is with those books? what is that shine? Why can’t she put words together? When did she get stupid? Like she wasn’t a bright bulb but since her turn on Walker she has lost like 30 IQ points! What is this woman’s point at the point why can’t she just spend money maybe do reality show if she need her own cash at least that would be honest why does she keep trying to pretend she has substance? Townn is literally nothing and I had to fight auto correct to even spell it here so it’s less than nothing. Do Jared’s fans really like her this much that she has to pretend to be doing a thing? Wouldn’t they like her if she just went to the spa everyday?

I have a lot of jumbled thoughts. My theory is that Gen thought her life was going to be more full of notoriety that was INDEPENDENT of Jared. And that is what Towwn represents to her and why she will not let it go. It feels important to pursue, but not for the reasons she is claiming. Gen comes from generational wealth and a land of nepotism opportunity. Add to that the signature Middle Aged White Feminist urge to be seen as Mom of the Year, but also not “just a mom,” while centering yourself in every cause…and you’ve got our gal.

If you’ve taken note of how many times she has straight up copied bits and jokes from Jared’s social media that he did with Jensen, how many times she has referenced being a perfectionist and Type A, mentioned that she went to Tisch, or has to constantly be improving her health, then it should be clear that Gen is competitive as all holy f**k. She doesn’t just want to be seen, she wants to be recognized. And she wants you to recognize what a great job she’s doing. AKA, somebody’s mom was a frosty ice queen who didn’t praise her enough and now she is making it everyone’s problem.

The sick part is that since she’s attached to Jared, she never has to do anything very well in order to be liked. She is well protected in this fandom by the full spectrum of casual onlooker to rabid stan. She can stutter and ramble and fidget until the organic cows come home. She is always going to have the “Jared’s Wife” pass to fall back on because fans want to be her. A lot of fans see her “awkward book nerd” shtick as relatable, endearing, and goofy. But that only gets her as far a fandom and that’s not good enough for Gen.

She does not care about the Spn fandom. She cares about building a brand because her acting career was a flop and she has been unable to get out of Jared’s shadow since they got married. I actually think she resents him a whole, whole lot but that’s maybe another post.

Gen is too competitive to just give up and too starved for attention and accolades, so she needs a platform to showcase herself while “doing it all” and then some. I mean, what do you think the (also flopped) Now and Gen blog was for? Don’t you get it? She’s a supportive wife, a mom of 3 young children, has dogs and a great big garden, exercises obsessively regularly, travels across the map, and makes time for the photo shoots and other public appearances ALL WHILE LITERALLY TRYING TO SAVE THE PLANET!!

I mean, wow…I could never. How does she do it?? She’s a superhero…the BEST. 🏆

[spinrekiyo]

My main Korekiyo Shinguji hcs:

Korekiyo Shinguji • they/them (though doesn’t mind any) • pansexual • acespec • autistic • they have a service dog named meadow

Kiyo’s service dog is a white labradoodle. Her name is Meadow. She is 3.5 years old. Her tasks are circling Korekiyo in a crowd, dpt when overstimulated, keeping people distanced from them, staying near them giving a sense of security, picking up items if needed, making Kiyo take meds consistently, and calming them when in panic attacks or meltdowns. She is a very good dog.

Kiyo adopted Meadow from a shelter at around 8 months old. Her past owner was not kind to her and abandoned her. Korekiyo was looking for a service dog and a new best friend, immediately connected with Meadow.

Kiyo named her Meadow because it is a peaceful kind name for a peaceful kind girl.

Kiyo works online with a service dog training course though does training themselves.

Meadow is well trained and wasn’t too strugglesome to teach tasks due to her timid and calm nature

The only problem is she was a bit scared at first though Kiyo has a tame job that isn’t super loud.

Kiyo is ambiamorous. I cannot choose a main ship for them because I believe all of them could have potential. (I believe I may have been the starter of the shinsaiibo movement soooo….)

Korekiyo has two long scars that run along their nose + a slight crook in their nose

They have pretty crooked teeth and a few noticeable gaps + pronounced canines

Straight up missing a tooth

They have sh/harmful stimming scars all over their arms

Very sharp looking smile. Their smile turns upwards and is very pointy and like a snake grin

They have ed tendencies though have a softer complexion nowadays

Their hair is pretty thick in texture though silky and soft

They have a few scars from uh.. her that are on their chest and back and such. They als have a few freckles

They eventually get cool tattoos

They have their bridge pierced and their eyebrow and ears pierced

They enjoy collecting bones, photography, writing stories, DND with the homies, and sleeping

They have POTS

In my head, the timeline for their life is as follows

- mother dies when Kiyo is 8 years old, likely of illness or addiction

- mother was absent, Miyadera was the main caregiver. She’s 6 years older than Kiyo.

- Kiyo had social difficulties growing up though was viewed as a gifted kid

- Miyadera was in and out of the hospital since she was eight with respiratory problems that are genetic on her mothers side.

- Miya always struggled with jealousy issues and problems with being too controlling.

- Miyadera passed away when Korekiyo was 16 and she was 22. She had been extremely sick 16-18, then her health seemed to get a lot better from 19-21, but then got bad again leading up to her death. She never became well enough to pursue full time schooling or work.

-The grieving process for Korekiyo was horrific to say the least. With their older sister being the only person in their life besides their father, they struggled horrifically with suicidal ideation, attempts, and not leaving their home or bedroom.

-they missed the entirety of 10th grade due to her death.

- at 17, korekiyo signed up for danganronpa after watching a few episodes. It wasn’t terrible and maybe they could not want to die

- yeah no, it didn’t help. They consented to being put into virtual reality that felt completely real though it was still legally challenged afterwards for obviously unsafe practices and the fact that mostly minors without the ability to fully grasp what they were signing up for were the ones consenting to that.

- following the events of the game, those who watched it obviously had complaints and concerns with many of the people on the show. Korekiyos ‘sister’ plot was literally just ptsd being played for gags + Kiyo’s mind having the serial killer motive for game purposes. Kiyo never killed anyone they just thought they did.

- local authorities were noted on the situation with Kiyo and many others. They were sent to a psychiatric facility to help them recover to a point where they could be trusted to live a daily life without hurting themselves or others.

-during their treatment Kiyo cut their hair really short while in an episode

- some took longer than others..

- by the time Korekiyo is out of the facility they are 18 and are given financial compensation by team DR for the added psychological damage + exploitation

-they finished 11th and 12th grade

- they then finish and graduate highschool using an online program and getting any other credits they need through their university (they cannot do a public big graduation ceremony at this time)

-cue dysphoric breakdown + gender sexuality realization

- they begin university, specializing in anthropology. They are taking art history and such, where they rediscover Angie. At first that is a horrific ordeal though it quickly becomes pleasant as she has changed a lot and so have they.

- they have an impressive breakdown at school because they’re overstimulated and triggered and anxious which makes them take a week off

- after that week, their therapist suggests that they seek out a service dog as she thinks it will help with their autism and ptsd

- cue meadow adoption

-Kiyo feels a lot better after that because meadow helped level out their nightmares and soothe them a lot more

- Kiyo gets a job as an educator at the local museum near their university

- meadow and Kiyo get name tags it’s great

[regallibellbright]

Girl Genius Week Day 3: Crossover

@girlgeniusevents

Agatha was, in a word, baffled.

It’s not that she wasn’t used to massive bursts of light overtaking her vision in the middle of work, but usually, that was an explosion. And explosions weren’t usually because she was tightening the rivets on a pipe. (Except for that one time, but that had been a very different kind of explosion.) And explosions had never, in all her life, ended with her suddenly in an unfamiliar sewer system.

“... Huh.” Especially not a sewer system with a glowing white figure who had to be seven feet tall and had a voice that sounded like static electricity. “That’s new.”

--

Agatha hadn’t been any less baffled when the glowing figure turned into a young man about her age, dressed in some completely strange clothes, or when he led her out of the sewers into the city proper, which wasn’t just unfamiliar but alien.

Going to a coffee shop, at least, she understood.

“Let me get this straight,” said the proprietor, a man significantly older than either of them. She wasn’t familiar with the language, but she had no trouble understanding it for whatever reason. “You and Minamimoto were fighting - before meeting up with the Wicked Twisters later -”

“It gets it out of his system,” the young man interjected.

“- When suddenly there’s a bright light, he’s replaced with Mystery Woman here, and neither of you have any idea how?” the proprietor continued.

“I didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he said. “It’d be so boring without someone trying to kill me every other Tuesday.”

“Composers,” the proprietor muttered, shaking his head. Which was just another confusing thing about this whole confusing experience.

“My name is Agatha, by the way. Agatha Heterodyne. Not ‘Mystery Woman’.” They both looked at her. “It seems rude not to be introduced, under the circumstances.”

“Right. Well, we can’t be rude, can we?” the one her age said brightly. “My name is Yoshiya Kiryu, and this is Sanae Hanekoma. Don’t mind him, he just gets fussy over any major mysteries in Shibuya.”

“’Shibuya’? That’s where I am?” They both nodded. “That’s not anywhere in the Baron’s territory, I don’t think. I’m not even sure it’s part of Europa.”

“... The moon of Jupiter?” Kiryu asked.

“... The continent,” Agatha replied.

“Alternate universe. Of course that’s what it is,” Hanekoma said. “I have no idea why it didn’t drag her to this universe’s Europe, but clearly we’ve got a universe swap going on.”

“If you know what it is, clearly we can fix it,” Agatha said. “Are either of you sparks?”

The two looked at each other. “Sparks?” Hanekoma asked.

“The spark of genius? Of inspiration?... Madboys?” They both shook their heads, looking completely unfamiliar. “People who use science to bend the rules of reality? Go into a... another place, when they work sometimes?” She tried to keep the ‘science’ to a minimum, since they still looked bewildered.

“There’s more than one of you?!” Kiryu asked, eyes going wide suddenly. Hanekoma next to him looked just as unnerved.

“So you do have sparks!” This would be so much easier.

“Just the one you swapped places with,” Hanekoma said.

“Oh. That might be a problem, then.” She sighed. “Well, I’ll just get started, then. I’ll need all the scrap metal you can find, and...” A universe without the spark, that did sound dire, “and a pot of coffee.”

Kiryu sighed. “I’ll buy.”

--

Agatha then proceeded to build a bunch of Dingbots and a portal between universes. She also fixed the coffee machine! (”It wasn’t broken,” Hanekoma said.

Joshua took a sip. “I beg to differ, if THIS is what it’s capable of.”)

The coffee is of course inedible to anyone except Angels and the Wicked Twisters/Hachiko gang, who are all so traumatized that absolute coffee perfection just tastes like last Tuesday.

After Minamimoto got over the initial overwhelming nature of a universe where he was by no means unique, he helped Gil and Tarvek build the other side of the portal between universes. He’ll insist he’s never going back. Deep down, he enjoyed it a little.

[asarlaiochtsystem]

Branches of a Wreath (A Day In the Life of a System)

The body lays in the bed, sprawled out in the mangled manner it was accustomed to as a child. It’s always hotter in the body’s room than everywhere else in the domicile, always too dry and the body doesn’t intake enough water. The body awakes and now it is a girl, 18, normative.

Sara shook her head and grabbed her phone, flipping through the messages from her friends, letting them know that she was the one in front today. How did she know it was her? For Sara, the question was one that elicited anxiety and unease for she didn’t know the answer. She just sort of knew, something about it being her and her memories in this body. It was her likes, she had her own wants and problems compared to the others who shared the body. It was her beliefs, different from the others and realistically it was improbable that someone would fake seven different personalities with their own backgrounds, desires, likes, relationships and even involuntary reactions to stimuli. It was her, for better or worse. 

Sara pulled up the document with all of the notes:

8 desires white hair dye

Ark Server needs updating: Talk to Jackie

Homework done, please edit writing

Azrael needs more feathers to fix wings

Elaine needs more glue for the latex ears

SWP Table at 2:00p

SWP table? Wait, when did we… oh gods damnit Ginevra! Sara pulled her hair back and stretched, “Just what I wanted today. If she wants to help the socialists so badly she can do so on her time.” She knew that was a ridiculous proposition: they shared the time. Morning rituals and purifications were complete, it was time for breakfast.

“Morning Mike.”

“Morning mom.”

That wasn’t her name. It wasn’t even the name of the body. The body hadn’t used that name since middle school. The body’s name was Vanessa and her name was Sara. It wasn’t her mother, Sara’s mom was probably long dead by this point. Old age and drugs do that to someone. This woman was the body’s mother. You’d think a mother would know the name of their child, alas the sins of modern suburbia are endless and constant. This body would always be a “baby boy”, “Son”, “brother”, the stain of a false masculinity (or perhaps a denied femininity).

Sara liked driving to school, it was 30 minutes of alone time where it was just her, the road and the radio. They all had their own playlists: Death Metal for Azrael, Dark Synth for 8s, Punk music for herself, etc. We don’t have many friends… or any. I’d settle with being seen as an effeminate gay man at this rate. I get it, I’ll never look like the punk-y queer I imagine myself to be, but at the very least I want people to just know I’m not straight. Sara sighed, her hands sliding down the side of the wheel, “Your tells are so obvious, shoulders too broad for a girl.” Laura Grace spoke to her in these songs, there were few pieces of media that appealed to her dysphoria in a way that provided a sort of comfort. It didn’t make her feel better, it didn’t make her sadder, it was just comfortable.

**********

Azrael was in the car at the church when she woke up. She didn’t remember driving, must’ve been someone else. First things first, throw on the jacket, wipe off that shitty white girl makeup, grab your cigarettes in the glove box. What class did they have today? She grabbed their phone and flips through their schedule: “Workshop #2” in big letters. Oh for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t that Azrael was against interacting or writing, it was just uncomfortable for her. It felt like a knight without armor or a snake without scales: she didn’t feel safe. Have you ever had that feeling where you wish you had a weapon, not because you were going to use it, but because you wanted to just have it on you? She was feeling it right now. 

She kicked open the car door… well okay she didn’t kick it open, she pushed it open after opening it. The parking space dips over a bit, it’s hard to get up when you’re already 45 degrees inverted. When Azrael had finally made it to the front gates she heard someone come up behind her.

“Azrael, I know you didn’t pack your filth with you.”

She didn’t need to turn, she knew who it was, “Sara… bash our head into any walls again? Or were you weeping about how our daddy beat us as a child?” Azrael didn’t see her, but she felt the gritting of teeth, the redding in her face, the irish curse on her lips, “Relax, I’m just playing. Yeah I got my medicines, I’m not a fan of being in front for this sort of stuff”

“One, go hifreann leat. Two, SWP table today remember? Gotta get Gin out for that. Three, if you’re so nervous just don’t go,” Sara twirled her hair, some stupid thing she does to feel less dysphoric, “Besides, it’s just reading stories and responding, just following the patterns. Use our autism to our advantage.”

“You know,” Azrael began, “you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. Being a punk is overrated and just because mom and dad are shitty doesn’t mean you need to take it out on others. You’re not defined by their bigotry.”

Sara started to fade away, “Just,” she did that thing where she tries to say something, but wants to say it in such a way it doesn’t seem hypocritical, even though it is, “don’t worry about it.”

Azrael decided to not go to class, she spent the time instead smoking while she waited for… something. Loneliness, that’s the feeling that drives her up the wall. They didn’t have friends, not really. They walked to and fro, spent their time talking to themselves about nonsense, about what it meant to be a schizo like them. 

“That’s rich coming from you. You spent all that time criticizing me about not defining myself by the bigotry of others, and here you are calling yourself a schizo,” Sara sat on the wall above Azrael, at least that’s how she imagined it. 

“Why are you pestering me today? Don’t you have some racist ML to fuck or something?” Azrael took a drag, “Why can’t I deal with 8’s or Gin something?”

Footsteps, like actually real footsteps, not the ones she imagined when her sisters spoke, “Hey Vanessa!”

“Hey”, oh right, they didn’t tell anyone yet. What was this woman’s name again? Carol? Siobhan? Some Irish or Scottish name, the ones mothers give their children to make them seem mystical and mundane at the same time. 

“You weren’t at class today,” the girl looked at the cigarette in Azrael’s hand, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Right, people don’t really see her, “Only once in a blue moon, when my anxiety acts up bad,” Azrael could see she was upset, “It’s… herbal. Not like I’m chain smoking Marlboro reds.”

“Are those bad?”

“Reds? Yeah they’re like what soldiers and rockers smoke. They taste nasty.”

“And what about Herbals? Do they have nicotine in them?”

“Of course, but it’s not tobacco. It’s usually rose petals.” There was a pause after Azrael spoke.

“Can I ask you something?” 

When people ask that, it’s always the kind of question that tends to offend people,“Sure?”

“Why do you always seem so far away from everyone?”

Azrael looked at her, Grace, that was the name, snuffed the cigarette on the wall and crushed it, “Elaborate.”

Grace was a bit more timid now, “Well… you don’t interact with people, not really. Most of the time you sit on benches, you’re alone, you only walk from your car to class and back. You don’t really seem to do anything.”

She’s got our number… “Well, truth be told I don’t really do anything. I’m kind of scared to do anything honestly.”

“Too scared?” 

Ah fuck that was the wrong answer, “Yeah. I’m kind of agoraphobic and get bad social anxiety. Ask anyone who’s ever had a class with me. I’m kind of scared of showing myself to people.” Well shit, all in now, “If I’m being honest, I feel like the less of me I show to people, the better their opinion of me will be. Not even the people I am organizing with really know what I’m like; I don’t even think the people I hang out with online know what I’m like.”

“Oh…”, Grace grabbed her arm, “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

Yes “No, not really. I just prefer my solitude is all,” Azrael shrugged, “Any other questions?”

Grace shook her head, “Alright well, take care Ness…”

When Grace had finally gone out of sight, Azrael smashed the back of her head on the wall, “Fuck me, why couldn’t I tell the truth?”

**********

Elaine rubbed the back of her head, “Yep, that was Azrael.” Elaine smirked, pulled her hair back and folded the jacket and cigarettes up. She clicked her heels and started to walk towards the University Greens. Elaine always liked to lilt while she walked, today it was Nancy Mulligan, tomorrow it would be Star of the Co. Down. Everything was brighter to Elaine than it was for Azrael or Sara, physically and emotionally. Elaine was the ‘flower girl’ of the system, she always picked up flowers while walking and stuck them into her hair, dancing and skipping all the way to class. Elaine knelt down under a tree and started to pick the dogwood flowers on the branches, placing them one by one into her hair until she had a line of them in her braids. She sat down at the greens, looking around for the table she was to sit at, yet no tell-tale signs of socialists, least of all those she recognized. Hmm… oh the oak tree!

“You and your fucking oak trees,” Azrael was glaring down at Elaine.

“Oak trees are important,” Elaine retorted, “Oak, Ash and Thorn are the sacred woods. You of all people should know that.”

“I gave up on that nonsense about the same time Van gave up on leftism.” Azrael was being venomous, when she gets like this she lashes out at everyone. She usually only becomes this curt when someone else is upset.

“Who’s upset?”

“What?”

“Who. Is. Upset? You don’t get this way unless someone’s upset.” Elaine looked up towards Azrael, her dark hair and bright red eyes trying to hide the truth from Elaine.

“No one…”

Elaine sighed, “Don’t lie to me. I know you… well we both know each other better than anyone.” Elaine started to shape the branches around her into a crown, little pieces turned into something rugged, poorly made, and yet beautiful all the same.

Azrael sat next to Elaine sighing, “Sara’s still upset about that girl on twitter I guess.”

Elaine’s ears twitched, dropping the half-made crown, “Gehenna? We don’t even know her.” She knew that didn’t mean anything, when any trans woman dies they all feel it deeply. Least of all in cases as publicized as this.

“It’s not just that… it’s what it represents.” Azrael fell to the grass, looking up at Elaine, “Van’s mom still calls us Mike. Van’s mom still sees us as a boy. Van’s mom doesn’t even know about us, or even her own daughter. The killings only heighten the subtle kinds of transphobia. The deadnaming, the misgendering, etc. Those are, usually, borne of ignorance rather than cruelty, and ye-”

“And yet, they cut all the same. Death by a thousand plus one cuts,” Elaine placed the crown upon Azrael’s head: a little crown of thorns for the protector.

“Yeah. It all adds up right? What’s that Haywood quote? ‘I’ve got the marks of capital all over my body’? In our case, we have the marks of… a lot of different things on our body. If we were to take our internalized pain and wear it on our flesh we’d look something more akin to St. Bartholomew’s corpse rather than a person.”

Sara sat down next to them now, her hair was covering her eyes, makeup running down her cheek, “It’s just so tiring. I’m tired of martyrs, of eulogies, of the anemoia, of the slaughters and purges. Is this how Sun Yat Sen, Marx, Lenin, Goldman and others felt? Is our lot to suffer? To always desire change in a world that fundamentally hates us for what we are?”

Elaine sighed, “Martyrs die. That’s what makes them Martyrs; a personal sacrifice of some kind. There’s a difference between martyrdom and murder though. A martyr has to willingly give themselves up. It’s this submission to belief that martyrs them. People murdered in oppressive systems are victims. They didn’t ask for it, they didn’t deserve it.” Elaine closed her eyes and let the sound of peers laughing, birds chirping and the feeling of the sun fill her, “Anger is just a type of sadness. You feel powerless, you want to fix it, make it hurt less. It’s like a gaping wound with blood pouring out, nothing works to fix it and so you panic.”

**********

I wake up on the grass. I have flowers in my hair, my head is banging and I am alone with my siblings.

[sometimesraven]

Labels

Fandom: Quantum Leap (2022) POV: Jenn Chou

Summary: Labels were important to Jenn. Almost as important as her friends.

AO3 Link

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Jenn had known she was a lesbian since way back in high school. Back when ‘gay’ was an insult and ‘lesbo’ was still spray painted on your locker if you weren’t popular enough to be straight.

Back then, it was something she had to keep quiet. When mom caught her and her girlfriend stealing kisses at a sleepover it was like she’d just entered her timeline and killed all her future grandchildren personally. Jenn was almost glad dad wasn’t around for that.

Things were better these days and honestly she’d mostly forgiven her mom, but the fear never truly left her. She still wasn’t out at work, not officially — told herself some bullshit about how they “didn’t need to know about her sex life” as if half of them weren’t there at her parties seeing her get dirty with the first girl who’d pour her a drink and tell her she was pretty.

Ian was… a curveball she wasn’t expecting. Turns out their particular configuration of genitals didn’t matter so much when they weren’t attached to a dude. Even if she still thought they were ugly as hell, the idea of getting dicked down by a chick or a nonbinary person didn’t make her want to punch a wall. So that was something.

Still, it opened up a whole new world of insecurity. The first time she kissed Ian they had to spend the rest of the night assuring her she was still gay as hell, that she could be bi or she could still identify as a lesbian if that’s what worked for her, that the “gold star” wasn’t even a real thing anyhow.

That was the first time they saw her have a full blown panic attack. Not much left to hide once you’ve had that level of mental breakdown in front of someone.

It’s not like a change in what she knew about herself was unusual. People change, right? She used to be a felon and now she was working for the government and only sometimes doing illegal shit. Totally changed.

But if she was real honest, she had no idea how to be a person. Not for a long-ass time had she really known who she was or where she was headed. When she was a “gifted kid” her life was just… doing whatever was expected of her. When she reached “problem child” her life was defined by going against the grain and lashing out when someone tried to tell her to do shit. As a hacker she was defined by how much money she could steal. As a felon it was doing her time, getting that law degree and getting out of there. As head of security at Quantum Leap, it was making sure her disaster genius friends were safe.

In the times between working or school, she barely existed. Parties, hooking up, hacking some random database, spending way too much money at Zara with Ian… it was all just ways to fill in the gaps. White noise to hide the gaping void in her chest. She knew Ian understood — they were probably about the only person at Quantum Leap with a longer laundry list of issues than her. But she wasn’t sure they knew how deeply that mattered.

BPD, they told her in the therapy they made her get in her late teens after the fourth “accidental” case of alcohol poisoning. Emotionally unstable by nature. She knew the stigma; felt it in her chest when she saw Ian cuddling a little too long with someone else and wanted to shove between them and take back her best friend. When Magic listened to Janis over her and she wanted to tear a chunk out of her stupid face. When Ben and Addison got engaged and she knew that meant they’d spend all their time together and barely think about her anymore.

When she was a kid she latched on to anything she could reach to give her meaning. Dressed up like her favourite characters, cut her own hair on a whim, tried any drink or drug her peers offered in the hopes they’d think she was cool.

So to find a label for who she was always meant everything to her. One more piece of a puzzle with a thousand missing. “Lesbian” was the only thing she was that she had been able to find and apply by herself.

So when Ian held her close and assured her she could still have that label; that the meaning of the word wasn’t so rigid as the cis lesbians had taught her-.. that was when she decided Ian was her favourite. God, she’d kill for them if she had to.

Eventually, Ian helped her find more labels. Greyromantic. Polyamorous. Autistic was a surprise one, but she took it.

Her favourite label, though, was the one that described their relationship; that reassured her every time she saw them with someone else and knew she was still important. Queerplatonic.

Maybe one day she’d shed the fear her childhood gave her. She’d let down her guard a bit and allow her friends to see her for who she was instead of just what she allowed them to see. For now, she was just glad for one person to confide in. The rest could wait.

[soleminisanction]

You seem like youre frustrated with her character the same way I get with her too.

I think see the potential of the character she could be and should be with the correct writing and stories.

I really didnt like her Batgirl run either. There are bits and parts of it I do like and concepts of things there I love but I really dont care for it.

I also wish she wasnt used as a marketing tactic during "run" as Robin. If they were actually serious about it, they wouldve written her run differently and hopefully better.

Thats also the problem with all comic book characters, they have so many different writers with different ideas of what to do with these characters. Unfortunately some of them dont like the characters they write for. I know that Dan Didio hates Steph and never wrote her well because of that. (He also hated Dick Grayson and wanted to kill him off too)

Characters like Steph really are up to interpretation how they are supposes to be personality wise. Recently i havent been liking how shes been written for certain comics (Batgirls, Wayne Family Adventures)

You and I similar to seeing a character we want to be better. I see that she has all this potential to be a great character and love her despite all the garbage writing shes had over her 30+ years of existence

The lack of good stories is a part of it, yeah.

It's also the fact that, while she's hanging around not telling any stories of her own, her ability to do so often comes at the expense of other characters. Like a few months back, they randomly shoved her into a Titans line-up when she's never been a Titan, not once in her entire career, while the actual Batgirl who joined the Titans, Betty/Bette Kane, was nowhere to be seen. And she's part of what ruined YJ 2019, getting forced in awkwardly purely because a bunch of her stans spent months harassing the creators on Twitter, spewing racist epitaphs at the new black characters and demanding that she be included in a team she wasn't solicited for and, again, had never been a part of, purely because Tim was there and they decided he wasn't allowed to have a life without her.

And speaking of that last bit, don't even get me started on the Tim Drake Pride Special again or we'll be here all day. It is genuinely offensive how many people demanded that Tim's coming out be oriented entirely around the feelings of his straight ex-girlfriend.

That's why I can't read Batgirls, either. I can't stand the way they write the relationship between Steph and Cass, it's got no teeth, and perpetually reduces Cass to Steph's "Kato," the hyper-competent Asian sidekick who does all the actual work for an inept white person. Even the issue where they tried to make a big deal out of, "Ooo, this is a special CASS CENTRIC ADVENTURE, we're doing it COMPLETELY SILENT with NO WORDS!" turned out to be all about her running around trying to find Stephanie, and then they copped out with the gimmick and made it so the only words in the book were Stephanie's, talking mostly about -- surprise! -- herself, how great she is and how much she loves being a Batgirl.

Ugh. Spirit World can't come fast enough.

Honestly, when it comes to her run as Robin, I think the story itself could've been just fine if they'd left it as it was and just, hadn't made a big freakin' marketing deal about "OoOoOooOooOoo, the GIRL WONDER, how SPECIAL!!!" They didn't do that with Carrie. Or Tris Plover. Hell, at the time a few people pointed out how silly it was for them to make such a big deal out of her being a girl when Carrie Kelly is the most well known alt-Robin period and the co-star of one of the defining texts of the age.

But, y'know, Carrie was a short-haired butch tomboy with thick glasses who fought with a sling-shot, while Steph is the single most gender-conforming Bat-femme since Betty Kane and is consistently drawn to show off her child-bearing hips so. Yeah.

The part that honestly needs fixing is War Games, which I honestly think is still something that Steph needed to happen, because it did lead her to a moment of growth that she desperately needed (even if Chuck Dixon and Bryan Miller later ruined it.) I think you could fix that story up with just a few adjustments. But, hindsight is 20/20 and all.

I do have to caution a little against attributing malice where ignorance or incompetence is more likely, though. I've never seen any evidence that Dan Didio "hated" either Steph or Dick; rather, what he saw them as was expendable. By all accounts I've ever heard, when he was editorially mandating Dick's death in Infinite Crisis, he legitimately didn't know that Dick used to be the original Robin, he just knew that Nightwing wasn't Batman or Robin and thought that made him expendable enough to kill off for shock value. It took Geoff Johns talking him out of it at literally the last minute to get him to see sense.

(Seriously, you can tell that the page was drawn off a script where Dick got full-on murdered, and the original floppy release didn't have the hilariously awkward page they inserted into the collected editions where Dr. Mid-night promises to save him. It's kinda funny in retrospect.)

Stephanie was the same way, it wasn't that he "hated" her, he just didn't care about any character introduced after the silver age and thought that killing her off would be more ~shocking~ than letting her live and learn a lesson. Didio wasn't evil, he was just bad at his job. Your standard incompetent white guy failing up.