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kcatta-wodahs · 3 years

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Trans, Enby, or anything not Cis MC + OM Demon Bros!

TLDR; they all fuckin love you okay you’re wonderful

Lucifer

It happens right away honestly, as he is your introduction to Devildom

You arrive suddenly in the student council, with no fucking warning, and with a bunch of people who are saying they’re demons. And like yeah okay sorcery obviously exists in your world so we can work with this but

He looks at a file, and states your deadname, and in a fit of bravery or just “i guess im here now” you correct him.

The silence after that is palpable and every negative emotion you’re feeling as you wait shows up on your face.

Lucifer only has a slight frown, looking at the paper, and at you, before it clears.

“Oh. Humans. I understand.” He marks something on the paper, and repeats your name. Your real name.

“Should I assume that the pronouns listed are incorrect as well?”

He calls for a RAD uniform that you’re most comfortable with, while Diavolo gushes over “HUMAN!!!”

Okay, cool, you’re hanging with demons now but at least they respect your pronouns? Guess this is your life. Your next question is whether you’re dead lol

So he knows the whole time, but it doesn’t change a thing! He loves you the same.

When you’re closer, he is very to-the-point about caring for you when you’re feeling dysphoric.

He offers you tips, makes sure you maintain your voice training even if you’re embarrassed about it, and always pushes you to express yourself how you want.

Hell maybe they use that princely riches to get you whatever surgeries you might want!

And he will *very clearly* show you how much he likes your body, however it is.

After all, by the end of the game you belong to him, don’t you?

Mammon

When he's first assigned to be your guardian or whatever in Devildom, he didn't get the memo.

Didn't read the paperwork, cause he's just like me and puts off homework for way too long.

So he doesn't know these pronouns of yours that Lucifer has fixed in the documentation.

Which means, unfortunately, you have to correct him when he first speaks to Levi about you.

What's funny about it is that he'll complain about LITERALLY EVERYTHING having to do with you and you being a human and UGH he has to take care of a FRAGILE HUMAN

But when you correct the pronouns he doesn't even fucking blink.

You don't even explain.

You just say the correct pronoun after he messes up, and then he repeats you and *continues complaining about you* but this time in the correct pronouns.

This is the first moment out of a million of "hidden endearing things about Mammon" that you will come to learn.

Later, when you're closer, he will always be there to stand up for you and put up a fight if anyone wants to give you shit.

He will defend you to the end of time.

And he adores you. If he -- The Great Mammon -- adores you, then you must be perfect. So you can tell your stupid human brain to stuff it with the negative talk.

Leviathan

This one is written as AFAB

When you deny wearing the Ruri-chan dress for him, he's sad.

He KNEW you thought he was weird… and his thing for Ruri-chan was weird… and weirddmmm

So, you hesitantly tell him that… no, truly its not because of Ruri-chan

You just.. feel so sick when wearing dresses.

Something in you physically hurts, and you feel so *wrong* when in a situation where you're supposed to act "girly".

And you tell him that you don't really identify as female. You try to avoid that image whenever you can.

Levi is so touched that you would tell him and be honest with him.

He hugs you tightly and then turns beet red.

"D-Does that mean that you m-might.. kabedon… as Henry….?"

Cause he has that costume too and has never told anyone that he def would be seduced by his TSL hero.

You can get behind that one, and seeing how flustered he gets around you being yourself (through Henry?) has your confidence skyrocketing

This makes way to you flirting with ya boi 100% more often to see his adorable face.

Beelzebub

You go with him to work out, which is nothing really new, but this time he's looking at doing endurance training

...by swimming.

You have no idea what to do.

He didn't think twice about it, either. He didn't assume there would be any problem at all.

But for some reason your brain decided that his helpful and loving attitude wouldn't extend to this? Brains are silly when scared.

You try not to tear up when he questions why you've frozen in the doorway when he told you his plan.

You have no reason to be ashamed, or fearful, but the suddenness of the moment overwhelms you.

"I can't wear a swimsuit," is what comes out.

He pauses and then just looked vastly confused. He thought humans could swim..? Anyone could wear a swimsuit. You were wearing clothes right? What's the difference?

You wrap your arms around yourself, tryiing to soothe your nerves. "It's.. It shows too much.."

Then he looks you over, causing you to blush further, and he tips his head. "But you look nice."

Well if you weren't blushing before, now you definitely were. But it's not that. You hold your breath.

You try to explain without actually saying it, almost as if the word transgender has been blocked from your internal vocabulary.

But this babe just insists that you look great no matter what. Is it scars? Like everyone here has scars, it's okay. Weird toes? You should see Belphie's. There's a reason he wears socks all the time.

That almost makes you giggle, and you use that courage to say that you're trans.

He pauses for just a seond to blink. "Oh... nobody cares about that here."

He pulls you into a hug while you struggle for words. He tells you that you don't have to go swimming if you don't want to.

But he makes sure you know that he thinks you're wonderful. You're strong and brave and amazing. He will fight anyone who makes you feel differently.

Asmodeus

This one is AMAB

It’s seeing Asmo be unequivocally himself that gives you the courage to do it.

You haven’t even told your human friends yet. Your human family.

You’ve known for ages, but..

Seeing Asmo flounce over to you wearing the most STUNNING evening dress has you weak at the knees, for reasons other than he assumes.

He assumes that you’re wildly in love as you duck your head and try to mumble something through your shaking breaths, and of course, who wouldn’t be?

But when he coaxes you to speak up for him, delight of a whole different kind lights up in his expression.

“Could you… make me as pretty as you?”

Oh, darling, he wouldn’t even need to try.

He dolls you up, hosting a lovely makeover session in his room. What he doesn’t expect is for you to start crying when you look at yourself in the mirror.

Asmo’s unshakeable confidence is shaken. He rushes over to you, trying to brush away tears and learning what’s wrong.

That’s when you tell him what you’d been hiding for so long.

The adoration in his eyes catches you off guard, and he takes your hands lovingly. “Oh, honey..” he mumbles, affectionate and sweet instead of seductive. “What’s your name?”

He takes you out shopping the next day, and is always ready to help you be yourself.

He makes the switch almost instantly, and calls you the prettiest thing he’s ever seen even when you’re just waking up in the morning and kind of feel like a toad.

(You blame him for those mornings, though, since he’s the one working so hard to *thoroughly* exhaust you the night before.)

Satan

This one is AFAB

You and Satan have begun meeting rather often for tea.

It’s even gotten to the point where you’re both perfectly happy to sit in silence around each other. You’ve never been more comfortable.

But today, chaos reigns, and it has decided to make you clumsy today. Not even like, oh “that’s reasonable” clumsy.

No, you were enthralled in your fucking book, and you MISSED.

Tea, all down your chin and neck, and you hear a snort of derision.

Satan is looking at you, very clearly amused. “Very graceful.”

You huff and puff out your cheeks at him to prevent from blushing. “Shut up. Do you have a towel?”

Looking no less amused, he just pulls a new shirt from the dresser behind him and offers it to you.

You guys are chill. Good friends. Like. You don’t want to get up to go find a bathroom to change in. Your book is good and like Satan’s not about to be a creep, so you ask if it’s cool if you just change there, and he shrugs in response.

So, you swap shirts quickly, but when you’re dry he’s looking at you curiously.

“You have battle scars.”

You realize that you’d never told him. About your past, or your surgery, and you suddenly feel very self-conscious.

“It’s- .. Not exactly,” you fumble out, realizing that now, instead of finishing your amazing book, you have to deal with *coming out?* Ughhhhhh. “They’re from a surgery.”

Satan’s eyes don’t leave you. “I’ve read enough about the human world to know what they are,” he said, then he nods to himself. “I didn’t know you’d had such a fight.”

You are either very, very impressed or very, very confused and you really don’t know which to lean towards just yet.

“I’ve never been in a battle, Satan.”

“You fought to become yourself,” he answered, a small smile tracing his lips. “You never cease to impress me.”

Belphegor

The best part about becoming best friends with Belphie is the snuggle naps. It's the sweetest, calmest thing.

He is a little confused about why you insist on hugging a pillow when you nap with him, though.

He admits, its adorable. When he's big spoon he loves looking at you as you snuggle the big fluffy pillow.

When he wants to face you, though, he wants to be closer, he doesn't really understand it. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable but also.. why?

Eventually, he tries to get answers out of you by teasing you about getting closer *intimately*.

He does expect the blush.

He doesn't expect the look of despair that you hide from him.

He's stunned for a moment before demanding to know why the hell you would look so sad about that.

You try to shake it off, but Belphie's nothing if not persistent and annoying when he wants to be.

He learns that you have been trying really hard for months now to hide your body from him. To keep your personal info private, even while snuggling.

You didn't know how he would take it, after all.

What if he got something he wasn't expecting?

Honestly, Belphie sulks after hearing this. He flicks your forehead and glares at you for doubting him.

But he looks you dead in the eyes and reminds you that you could never convince him you were anything less than perfect.

If you expected him to be disappointed by whatever you hid during snuggles, he would never be. You would never be a disappointment to him.

Your next nap together doesn't feature the pillow between you, which makes your heart feel fit to burst while he snuggles you closer.

#hhhhh i posted this to the wrong blog at firsttttt #it took me fucking forever to finish this agh #it was so hard to come up with prompts that were unique and fun while not embarassing in any way #or well #not like bad bad embarassing?#i headcanon that all of them are some form of gender fluid or nonbinary anyway so like the demon bros just love you okay #bast babbles #my writing #obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me!#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor

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crashdevlin · 6 years

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Bottle: Ch. 1 A Magical Lie

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 3123

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship, non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: Younger woman/older man relationship (past), non-con (past), mutilation (past), torture (past), PTSD, depression, alcoholism

Tony looked up from his tablet as security escorted a young blonde woman into his office. Twenty minutes before, he couldn't have picked her out of a crowd. He hadn't known her name, nor her position in his company. Now, he knew that Cassandra Campbell (no middle, that’s weird) had been working as a lab assistant for 3 years. Tony knew she was 24 years old, that she had an impeccable attendance record and, according to her file, she was on the fast-track to a promotion. He also knew she was a liar.

Tony stood and offered her a chair, which she took. "So, I've spent the last few days going over all the files Natasha Romanoff released to the internet. A lot of info to go through, most of which I already knew, but there was one can of snakes." He handed her the tablet. A picture of her, probably about 16 years old at the time, smiled up at her. "A completely redacted file that doesn't even name you. If I hadn't remembered seeing you in the lab last month, you'd've gotten away with it."

The green-eyed woman set the tablet aside on the opposite office chair. "Gotten away with what, sir? What are you accusing me of?" Her voice was soft, her tone polite and completely professional.

"Well, you're SHIELD, obviously. Fury send you to spy on me? Or maybe you're Hydra, sent here to Nazi up the place?"

"Mr. Stark, I would love to give you the answers that you're looking for, but I'm not allowed to discuss my situation without the express consent of a level 8 or higher SHIELD agent. Since most agents of that prominence were Hydra, or killed by Hydra when they took the Triskellion, all I can say is this: I am not a trained agent of any agency. I am not a spy. I am just a lab tech."

"Why don't you go ahead and tell him about it? It's been a while since I've heard the story." A familiar female voice said from the doorway.

"Agent Hill." The blonde stood, nodding at the older woman.

Maria shut the door behind her and walked over to the desk. "SHIELD doesn't exist anymore, Cassie. You don't need permission to tell your story."

"I doubt Director Fury or Agent Coulson would feel the same, ma’am."

"Well, unfortunately, they're both as dead as SHIELD." Maria countered.

*Exactly*. The younger woman thought, before shaking her head. She took a deep breath and turned to her boss. "Nick Fury found me in a lab. Somewhere in the mountains in Europe, I was never really told where. Fury called me an experiment, but I believe I was just supposed to be an heir, a less disappointing one than my sister was."

Maria stepped in, then. "She was created in a Hydra lab using Red Skull's genetic material."

"Fury named me 'Joanna Schmidt' so that everyone would know where I came from. I was just happy to have a name instead of a number. Phil... Agent Coulson took me to the Fridge. He made sure that no one was too hard on me since I was only 10 at the time. He brought me books, convinced Fury to let me learn. After educating myself quietly in my cell for 10 years, Phil brought my case to Fury. I'd shown no abnormal physical or psychological signs, nothing that would warrant keeping me locked up. Coulson convinced him that I deserved a place in society. The only concern was society's reaction to me.” The young woman scratched at the back of her neck, her professional exterior cracking a bit. “Steve Rogers was of particular concern. Fury and Coulson felt that Captain Rogers might... be... enraged by my very existence. He has very strong feelings when it comes to the Red Skull and Arnim Zola, who was the one who thought up the idea of making a test-tube heir."

"Cap doesn't seem like the kind to rage against a woman, demon-spawn or not." Tony replied, pulling a glass of scotch off of his desk.

Cassie swallowed and cleared her throat. "There are videos, therapy sessions from the year after they thawed him out, that prove our concern was founded. I'm sure you could find them on the 'net. They were SHIELD files."

Tony nodded, letting it go, for now. "Okay. So, what? Hide in plain sight?"

"Sorta. Phil had Pepper place me in your California lab because he knew that... if Rogers found out that I existed, you and Pepper wouldn't let me be... hurt."

"Pepper, maybe, but I don't know... your father was an evil bastard."

"And he was dead long before I was even a thought." She defended. "I learned about Hitler the same way everyone else my age did; through books and the History Channel."

"Let the poor girl go back to work, Tony. The lab will fall apart without her." Pepper said, walking into the office without knocking.

The girl straightened up, her complete professionalism sliding back over her form. "Thank you, Miss Potts. That's very kind." Cassie started walking toward the office door.

"Just, uh, one more thing.” Tony called out. “You said you were in California. When'd you transfer?"

A flash of despair crossed her face, then disappeared. "A year ago, sir. Just before the initial construction was completed." She answered, turning halfway to the door.

"So, you were here when the Chitauri attacked?" Hill asked.

Cassie swallowed hard, hoping it wasn't as audible to them as it was to her. "I'd rather not talk about it." She responded, quietly.

"You're not the only one. Company's got shrinks if you need one. Get back to work." Tony said, nonchalantly, but the young woman thought she heard some genuine empathy behind the words.

"Maria, may I have a word on the way back to the lab?" Cassie asked.

"Of course." Maria followed her.

They walked a moment in silence for a few moments before Cassie stopped. Maria turned to her. "We both know Phil isn't dead." Her professional politeness disappeared, replaced by a slightly insolent attitude.

Hill scoffed. "He was stabbed, in the heart, by an Asgardian. He died, Cassie."

"That doesn't mean he's dead, Maria. I've got one word for you, and once I’ve said it, I want no more lies or half truths." Maria waited, expectantly. "TAHITI."

Maria blanched. "He told you about TAHITI?"

"Yes. It seems he wasn't very good with orders when it came to me.” Cassie shook her head. “Look, I know Fury wouldn't let him die and I've heard rumors about a silver-tongued agent with a receding hairline, flying around with a small squad, looking into enhanced individuals. Finding new people for the Index. I've heard things about him being back. Took a long vacation to recoup, but he's just fine now… after being stabbed in the heart, by an Asgardian. Sounds shady to me." She said, snarkily.

Maria shook her head, derisively. "What do you want, Campbell?"

"A phone number. He ditched his old cell long ago, but I read some internal emails that I probably shouldn't have seen that were all about you helping Phil escape from the Yukon. You have to have contact info. Please." The blonde almost begged.

"Cassie... I don't think this is a good idea."

"I spent a year thinking he was dead, Hill. I just want to hear his voice. That's all.” The green-eyed girl caught the older woman’s eyes. “You aren't a SHIELD commando, anymore. Fury faked his death and fled, so you don't need to run interference for him, Maria. Besides, a pretty little cellist knocked me out of the game before Phil even died. I just want to talk to him."

"Fine." Maria said, pulling out her phone. "I will give you his SAT phone number, but... don't expect it to be like your remember it." The woman warned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie waited until she was home to dial the number. "Pablo Jimenez." The voice on the other end answered. She smiled, involuntarily.

"That's a pretty good accent for a dead man." She said, sarcastically. She was met with silence and as it dragged on, Cassie thought to what Hill said about it not being what she remembered.

"Jo?" Coulson questioned.

Cassie could swear she felt her heart fall. "No. It's Cassie, now. Don't you remember?" She knew he didn't, though, and she knew that Hill had been trying to warn her.

"I don't. Did you escape when Garret hit the Fridge? How'd you get my number?"

"They fucked with your memories when they brought you back, didn't they?" Her voice broke as she battled her anger and sadness.

"How did you... I’m sorry. I'm a little lost here, Joanna. You seem quite upset that SHIELD dug around in my head."

"It's Cassie, Phil.” She spat into the phone. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t angry at him, that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t remember her. “I know Fury didn't approve, but... I didn't think he'd take it all from you." She said, sliding down the wall to crumple on her tile floor.

"Take what? I'm a little hazy on a lot of what happened before Loki killed me."

"My name, Phil. My beautiful, alliterative name." She sniffled through her tears. "I came up with this alias while laying on my bed in your arms, after our first time together." She fought to compose herself, knowing the silence on the other end was not his fault.

"Together?" He finally whispered. "I... with you?"

"Maybe it's better that you don't remember." She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry I bothered-”

"No, wait. Cassie. I'm sorry. I thought they'd just taken my memories of Project TAHITI, which I remember now, but I don't remember anything about you past your 16 eval."

*Of course.* She thought. *My 17 eval was when Phil realized his attraction.* "You remember TAHITI? Then go from there.” She sniffled again. “You came to me, stressed that GH-325 was having such horrible side effects. Remember?"

A moment of silence was followed by a low gasp. "You convinced me to resign from the project. I remember. My god. Can... can I talk to you, face to face?"

"I work at Stark Tower. I live in the Bronx. Why don't you access some more of those memories and remember my name, come find me?"

As she hung up without a goodbye, she heard Phil say, "Skye, can you trace-."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night as Cassie was walking home from the subway, she heard footsteps behind her. She reached for her pepper spray, but dropped it back into her purse when she heard, "’Cassandra Campbell’, because alliterative names are more fun."

"You cheated." She said, turning to him. She couldn't help a smile. Same old Phil Coulson in his same old suit. "You had your tech trace my call."

"But the name reminded me. And the picture. Brought back everything... I think.” He stepped closer to her. “I remember coming back to Los Angeles after a mission to an empty apartment. Pepper told me that you'd requested a transfer... as soon as possible."

Cassie sighed, leaning against a blue post box. "When you left for Portland, I was in your eyes. You were defying orders to be with me, telling me about secret projects I shouldn't know about, because I was all you cared about. When you came back, Audrey had replaced me. She was what you really needed, anyway, I was just the girl who gave you the confidence to go after her."

Coulson's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ech, don't call yourself a girl. That just makes me seem skeevy in the whole thing."

"I was almost 21 at the time, Phil. Long past being a girl. But emotionally…” She shrugged. “I spent my life in a lab and a cell. I couldn't compete with a first chair cellist who had her act together. I left quietly, and I think that was better for both of us."

She could tell he agreed. "So, why the call? Why now?" He asked.

She pushed away from the mailbox. "Well, SHIELD has fallen apart. After everything you've given them, I wanted to make sure you were okay. And hearing your voice after thinking you might really be dead..." She shrugged.

"Well, here I am."

She suddenly found herself with nothing to say. "So... have you heard from Fury?"

"What, you didn't get his number from Hill?"

She started walking toward her apartment again. "Nope. She's still trying to convince me that he's actually dead. Not that I really have nice words for him especially knowing that he took us out of your head."

"He's off in Europe, somewhere, anyway." They arrived at the door of her apartment building in silence. "I remember I tried to stop and talk to you when I dropped off the files to Stark last year. I saw you in the lab. I wanted to... but you didn't seem... you were busy." He concluded.

She nodded. "I was the only tech back then. There was still construction so we were running a skeleton crew."

A look of recognition crossed Coulson's face. "You weren't in the building when Loki got there, were you?"

She swallowed and turned away from him. "I'd rather not talk about it." She said.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "You were, weren't you?"

"Phil, the bastard who killed you took the building. I'm lucky to be alive.” She licked her lips and shook her head, turning to him.. “I'm lucky to be sane. I maintain sanity by not talking about it. I bottle. I'm good at bottling. Just don't touch the bottle."

Phil sighed. "I'm working to rebuild SHIELD. You should join."

"I think that'd be a mistake. I'm just a lab tech. Can't shoot, can't fight. Don't have the big brains. And with my genetics and the Hydra infiltration and my history with you... it's just begging for trouble."

"You’re smarter than you think. I’ve got your file back on the bus.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Coulson just continued. “Well, you have my number. I have your address. You need me, I'll be here."

"Of course. Good luck, Phil." She said, patting his shoulder before heading inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie sat on her little brown couch, her head hanging low as sobs racked her body. Everyone seemed to be mentioning it, the worst day of her life. Her hand rubbed against her chest, over her heart. She stood on shaky legs as her mind involuntarily replayed the raven-haired Asgardian walking into the lab and pulling her from her hiding spot under the lab tables.

He'd flicked her name tag. "'C. Campbell'. I think not. Embarrassed of your father's works, Joanna? Too ashamed to wear your legacy in your name?" She'd been terrified, unable to speak. She didn't question how he knew her real name. "You think you're a scientist, but underneath that scared Midgardian exterior, beats the heart of the super-soldier who built Hydra from the ground up. His blood flows through you."

"No. I'm not him. I'm just normal." She'd squeaked.

Loki had shaken his head and clicked his tongue. "You truly wish you were. But that's just the morals SHIELD forced upon you. What's really in your heart?"

Cassie started hyperventilating as she remembered his scepter touching her chest. Her heart rate had skyrocketed for a moment as her muscles strengthened under her skin. Her mind had gone into overdrive.

"What is your name?"

"Joanna Schmidt."

"Who are you, Midgardian?"

She remembered smirking. "Daughter of the Red Skull."

"And what is it you want to do, Red?"

"I want to run analysis on my blood and reverse engineer the super soldier serum in order to give you an army of soldiers to command."

He grabbed her hair and twisted, his left hand moving to rest over her lower abdomen. "Later. I want my turn with you, first."

He had taken her, right there in the lab, beaten her, and used a small triangular blade to carve deep into her chest. The rough way he took her had given her pain for days. But she hadn't cared while enthralled. She'd woken from her daze the next day, in the lab surrounded by samples of her blood and random slides and printouts. She'd been deeply confused as to why an Asgardian prince had chosen her for that. Rape was usually a power play, but he most certainly was in power of everything at that point, so there hadn’t been a rational reason for it. As much as she tried to find a reason, she couldn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie walked out of her apartment and headed for the bar down the street. She didn't really want to socialize, but she knew she was much less likely to break down in front of other people. *Time to go use a bottle to help me bottle.*

"You ever miss it? The 'no thinking, no conscience, just follow the orders without a question' empty-headedness?"

She turned to the voice in her apartment's side alley. She'd never met him, but she recognized Clint Barton, Hawkeye, from the news. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"I spent a long while with him in my head. Sometimes, it feels like I'm still following his orders. Sometimes, I just wish I was. Because it was so easy to just give myself to him. And I hate that." Clint sighed deeply. "I can recognize the signs of someone under his thrall, though, having been under it for so long."

Cassie felt her face go pale. "I deleted the security footage for you. It was like watching a poor quality snuff film, except you didn't die at the end." He jumped down from the fire escape he'd been perched on. "I thought maybe he was just having his way with you, but when he left, you just poured some alcohol on your wounds like it was any other Tuesday. Didn't even flinch."

Her heart fell. She hadn't thought of the security footage when she destroyed all evidence of her awakened super powers. "Don't worry. I'm the only one who saw. And I'd count that as a blessing."

She nodded, relieved. "So, how can I help you, Agent Barton?"

"SHIELD is dead, it's just Clint, now." He cleared his throat. "I heard that the bastard is dead. I figured you would be the right person to take for a drink to celebrate."

She gave an awkwardly sad smile. "To mourn, you mean?"

Clint nodded, once. "A little of both."

"I was going to have a drink, anyway, so I suppose you can buy me one, Clint."

#fanfic #avengers fanfiction #agents of shield fanfiction #angst #slight fluff #loki (marvel)#non-con #torture #alcohol as a crutch #steve rogers #clint barton #the avengers save the ofc

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builder051 · 6 years

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hi there! You by no means have to do this, just thought it was a cute prompt: Peter is on his way to spend the weekend at stark tower while it’s raining, and because he’s a Rebellious Teen®️ he didn’t take a jacket like aunt May told him to, so he’s soaked by the time he gets there. He makes it a couple hours before he gets all feverish and chilly and such, and by the middle of the night it’s a full on flu! And tony lectures him about listening to his aunt from now on (:

Hey! That is a cute prompt; in fact it’s a little bit too cute for me.

This is absolutely nothing against you, but I just can’t hang with the ‘character gets a cold after being out in the rain’ trope.

I have written a Spider-Man fic featuring the rain and sick/hurt Peter and caring Tony, which I will paste below for you. I hope that sort of satisfies??

If anyone else wants to pick up the original prompt, please go for it!

_____

Running (Spiderman: Homecoming)

This was a prompt from AO3. Warnings for a little angst and a little emeto.

_____

When they get out of the car in front of the Avengers compound, all Peter wants is to take the elevator up to his room and collapse across the bed. Or maybe he’ll take the stairs. He’s not sure he trusts the throb in his head to stay out of the realm of nausea if he’s closed up in another moving vehicle.

But he doesn’t even get a step through the front door when Mr. Stark’s hand crashes down on his shoulder.

“No,” Tony says. “You’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked about this.”

Peter sighs. His suit feels too hot and too tight, but it’s doing nothing for the prickling of cold goosebumps on his arms. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He continues to shuffle across the entryway. “I said I was sorry.”

“That doesn’t cut it, kid,” Tony says. He steps around Peter, blocking him from escaping upstairs. “Sorry doesn’t matter. I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”

Peter lets out another breath and shrugs. “I was just doing my job. Same as you.” He’s too tired to arrange his face into anything but exasperated and serious.

“If you still think we have the same job…” Tony breaks off shaking his head. “That’s the problem.”

“Oh, so I’m not allowed to save people?” Peter internally cringes at the whininess seeping through his voice. Mr. Stark obviously thinks of him as a child, someone irresponsible and too naïve to handle responsibilities. His tone isn’t helping, and there’s no way to explain that it’s born more of exhaustion than an actual attitude.

“Of course you’re allowed to save people,” Tony replies, as if this is obvious. “You help me. Together, we save people.

“But I’m not, like, legit enough on my own.” The level of irritation start to rise. “Better not let me physically drag anybody out of harm’s way. Then Ironman won’t get the credit.”

“Fuck, kid, it’s not about credit. You are not allowed to take risks like that. You could’ve been killed.” Tony’s hands are balled into fists. “So, excuse me for caring about your safety.”

“If I hadn’t been there, that little girl would’ve died!” Peter explodes. The image of her tear-streaked rosy cheeks still shows in his mind’s eye. “I have to be allowed to keep a little kid from dying.”

“You can’t sacrifice yourself!” Tony shoots back. “Not in front of me.”

“But isn’t that what you were going to do?”

“No. I jumped in front of you and incinerated the bastard. And the bullet.”

“Big difference.”

“It is a big fucking difference.” Tony jams a finger into the spider logo on Petr’s chest. “My life wasn’t on the line.”

“So give me bigger weapons! Better armor!” Peter comes back. He takes a step backward away from Tony’s reach. His suit is starting to feel like a Halloween costume compared to Tony’s plain clothes and serious expression, his Ironman suit stowed away in a briefcase like the high-and-mighty businessman he is.

“That’ll just fuel your risk-taking. That’s the last thing I’m gonna do.” Tony gives a derisive laugh. “I’m not turning you into me.”

Peter changes his tact. “If I die saving someone, I don’t care. That’s what I do. I save people on the ground.” He swallows hard and clasps his cold, clammy hands behind his back. “If I put that much value on my own life…maybe I am too much like you.”

“Yeah, alright,” Tony spits. “So I’ll just say goodbye to all hopes you’re gonna go on to discover a cure for cancer, or get a PhD by the time your 25, or be the governor of New York, or president of Stark industries. I’ll go flush your college fund down the toilet while I’m at it. Or maybe bust it on booze, since you’re not opposed to people fucking themselves up.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Yeah, you did,” Tony say. “You’re gonna throw it all away. Just like you did last time I offered you something.”

Peter’s chest fills with guilt, which mixes with his anger like baking soda and vinegar. The throb in his head increases to skull-splitting. He needs to get out of here, but Tony’s still blocking all paths upstairs. “You know what. I can’t do this right now. Fuck you,” he says, with as much force as he can while keeping his volume under control. He turns on his heel and shoves back through the compound’s front door.

A light rain has started to fall, and it quickly cools Peter’s rage. He feels bad the moment he’s on the other side of the heavy glass that fronts the building. The adrenaline fueling him is waning, and within seconds he goes from frustrated to emotionally limp.

He should turn around and apologize. Go up to his room and take a painkiller and a nap and let things blow over. But…he can’t. Something’s keeping him standing under the low-hanging clouds, hating Mr. Stark. And possibly hating himself more.

Maybe it’s pride. Or maybe masochism. But whatever it is, it leads Peter to point his boots away from the compound, toward a misty tree-lined ridge. He walks maybe half a football field before he starts feeling downright cold, shivering slightly beneath the fabric of his suit. By the time he reaches the tree line, his teeth are chattering.

The walk helps clear his head a little, but it does nothing for the pain in it. Earlier Peter had assumed it was just a post-mission crash, a little low blood sugar, a little dehydration, a little hormonally burnt out. But now that the throb has roughly timed itself up with the cold tremors wracking his limbs, he feels barely a step from feverish.

He weaves between trees in various states of leaflessness. Damp twigs and natural mulch crunch beneath his thin-soled boots. The softness of the forest floor feels uncanny, a sharp contrast from the hard tile and wood floors back at the compound. It’s almost like the little stand of trees wants to make him comfortable more than Mr. Stark does.

“What did I do?” Peter mutters under his breath. He backs up against a tree and leans into it, pressing his slightly damp gloved hands over his face. The pressure of tears is built up behind his eye sockets like water balloons about to burst. Mr. Stark’s probably going to fire him. Take away the suit again, for good this time. All because he can’t listen. He’s a hardheaded teenager with a lack of respect for authority. It sounds like a bad report card.

But all of it stems from a maddening desire to change the world for the better. What on earth is wrong with saving a little girl’s life? If he died doing it, there’d probably be a statue raised in his honor. Which is honestly a lot more recognition than he’s getting right now as Mr. Stark’s kid sidekick. Peter’s head gives a particularly strong throb, and he slides down the roughness of tree bark until he’s seated on the forest floor with his head pressed into his knees.

He doesn’t really mean to shut his eyes in the first place, but when Peter opens them, it’s downright dark out. The rain’s picked up, falling harder and colder through the network of branches over his head. He unwinds from the ball he’s been curled into and almost falls over. Vertigo takes over all fumbling thoughts, and Peter’s left to scramble for a hold on the tree trunk to keep from face-planting.

Peter painfully shakes his head and tries to remember where the fuck he is. It clunks into place along with why the fuck he’s there, and a fresh wave of guilt flows down to his stomach while quiet nausea works in the other direction. He’s only a few minutes’ walk from the compound. He needs to go back, if only because he’s freezing and wet and not feeling well. It hardly matters if he still doesn’t completely forgive Tony. He needs to think of himself, his health, and put attitude aside… So maybe Mr. Stark does have a point after all.

Peter finishes hauling himself to his feet, the roughness of tree bark pulling the spandex of his gloves. He starts back down the hill in what he hopes is the direction of the compound. It’s a little disconcerting that he doesn’t completely remember. And also that he’s having a hard time walking in a straight line.

When he breaks through the trees, rain starts hitting him hard. It’s turning to mixed sleet, and the moisture cuts through his suit instantaneously. Peter can’t control the chattering of his teeth, and his throat is so tight he’s going to fall over retching at any moment.

He walks forward, looking down so the icy droplets don’t cut against his cheeks. So when the sunny beam of headlights cuts into his visual field, Peter isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at. He blinks against the sudden brightness, trying to make out the outline of the car. It’s low-profile and red, inching along atop wet grass, though it’s obviously meant for stretches of highway. Or racetracks.

“Oh my god,” Someone shouts. The car’s driver door opens, and Mr. Stark emerges, looking frantic. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on under is Ironman suit, and no jacket to protect from the weather. He sprints up to Peter and grabs him in an embrace that seems to catch them both off guard.

“What the fuck, kid?” Tony asks. “I didn’t know if you’d gone back to the city, or into town, or… I definitely didn’t think you’d gone hiking…”

“Huh.” Peter’s too cold, and his jaw’s too tightly wired to say much of anything. But he feels his face crumple, and warm, salty tears join the droplets of cold rain streaming down his face.

“It’s ok,” Tony comforts him, patting him on the back with a touch too much force.

“S-sorry,” Peter chokes out. He means sorry for crying, sorry for leaving, sorry for yelling, sorry for everything.

“I’m not mad,” Tony murmurs. “Jesus, you‘re freezing. Get in the car. I’ll get you someplace warm.”

Peter means to say ok, but his body’s had enough of talking and shivering and pent up emotion. When he opens his mouth, he ends up pitching forward in a body-wracking dry retch.

“Or, ok, throw up a little bit first,” Tony says with what sounds like the verbal equivalent of a shrug. Peter heaves again, bringing up bile and not much else.

When he’s able to semi-straighten up, coughing, Tony maneuvers him over to the sports car, practically picking him up to stick him in the passenger seat. Then he walks around to his own side and sees to pointing every vent at Peter and blasting the heater.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re taken care of, ok?” Mr. Stark says. He pats Peter’s shoulder a little more gently this time. Peter has an idea he’s not just talking about right now.

He shakily nods. “Ok.”

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honestgrins · 7 years

Text

Reset || Klaroline

Caroline had a bad habit of staying late at work, but the hospital never slept as proven by the late night car accident victim rushing into their emergency room. Left with his older brother, she makes an effort to at least reset the poor guy's broken nose.

Warnings: slight mentions of past abuse, car accident, emergency room visit

"Go home, Caroline," Bonnie insisted, all but shoving her friend toward the locker room. "You've been on your feet for at least six hours, four of which weren't even your shift."

Sighing, Caroline rubbed at her neck tiredly. "I know, I'm going," she promised.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Bonnie snorted, following Caroline like a watchful parent. "Even doctors need their sleep."

As they passed the emergency room entrance, however, paramedics burst through the door with a gurney. "Motor vehicle collision, ten-year-old boy with a broken arm and labored breathing."

Jumping into action, Bonnie elbowed her way next to the stretcher as they rushed toward the trauma room. "Head wound, conscious?"

"Likely a concussion, some lacerations from the glass, barely awake," a medic explained. Caroline watched them disappear down the hallway, her heart clenched in worry.

Despite nearing the end of her residency at Mystic Falls General Hospital, it still hurt to watch patients come in dire conditions. Her desire to fix the boy's injuries almost sent her chasing after Bonnie, if not for the man running in the emergency room. He was pale and shaking, blood pouring from his obviously broken nose.

"Henrik!"

"Sir," Caroline approached him carefully. "I'm Doctor Forbes. Do you need medical attention?"

Shaking his head, he frantically looked around the hospital. "My brother and I were in a car accident, and the paramedics rushed him out of the ambulance before I could even stand. Where did they take him?"

With his swollen nose bleeding steadily, Caroline grew concerned about his own health. "They have him in good hands, but I'd really like to check out your injuries. Can I lead you to an exam room?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense with anxiety. "I just want to see my brother-"

"-and I can find you an update as soon as there's one to give," Caroline assured him calmly. "Until then, may I examine your injuries?"

His tongue ran across his chapped lips and he grimaced, probably at the tang of blood. "Fine," he sighed, weary.

"Thank you." Caroline walked him to the nearest exam room, grabbing a clipboard from the front desk. The nurse on duty glared at her, likely because he knew her shift ended earlier that afternoon. "Enzo, I'm taking room three for a quick glance-over. Will you let me know if there's any news on Bonnie's patient?"

"Sure thing, gorgeous," he answered in a smarmy voice. "I'll also let her know you have a patient yourself."

Taking the warning for what it was - crossing Bonnie Bennett was never a good idea - Caroline still rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she sang sarcastically. Turning back, she was a bit embarrassed at her patient's unimpressed expression.

Caroline coughed, letting him charge into the room so he could settle on the examination chair. "At the risk of making me seem like a bad doctor," she said in a prim voice, "I would like you to know I'm working on an extended shift with limited sleep. If that makes you uncomfortable, you can ask for another practitioner to take my place."

"I don't want to wait," he answered dismissively. His knee bounced erratically, his nerves likely on an adrenaline overload. "Can you just reset my nose and be done with it?"

Struck by his blase attitude about a painful procedure, Caroline tried to tamp down her natural curiosity by focusing on the clipboard. "Name?"

"Klaus Mikaelson."

Caroline filled in the intake form, forcing herself not to ask the question. "Seriously?"

Well, that didn't work.

Klaus frowned in confusion. "Pardon?"

"'Just reset my nose,'" she mimicked in a poor imitation of his British accent. "Get your noke broken a lot, or are you just a masochist who enjoys the pain?"

Giving her a wry, hollow smile, he shrugged. "More the former, love. I don't enjoy the pain, I'm just used to it."

She glanced up, meeting his eyes with an understanding of her own. Doctors received all sorts of training on how to look for signs of abuse; Caroline had a different eye on survivors who had long since survived their hell.

She recognized those eyes from her bathroom mirror every morning.

"Um…" Searching for the right thing to say, Caroline quickly gave up in favor of action. She gingerly traced the edges of his nose, noting where he hissed in pain. "Okay, I found the break," she warned. "I'm going to reset it one, two-"

A sickening crunch filled the room, nearly engulfed by Klaus's curse. "Fuck!"

"There, that should help with the healing," she said, plucking a couple of cotton balls from a jar. He accepted them easily, dabbing at his bloody nose. "Nope," Caroline chided, "stick them in there to help with the clotting."

Klaus sneered, but did as she said. He glanced up, as though daring her to laugh.

Professional as ever, Caroline just went about bandaging him up. Sensing his buzzing agitation, she figured a distraction might help him relax. "I haven't seen you around town before. New to the neighborhood?"

"My grandparents moved to Mystic Falls when my mother was in high school," he explained tiredly, clearly catching onto her game. "Despite raising most of her children in Chicago, she decided to bring out youngest brother back here."

"Do I sense some jealousy? Because trust me, growing up in Chicago sounds a lot more exciting than Mystic Falls. We have one bar that knew exactly who was underage. I mean, it wasn't exactly hard for a girl to get free drinks, but still." Caroline cringed the more she rambled. "Sorry, you don't have to answer, I'm just being nosy."

Klaus shrugged, showing no offense. If anything, he seemed mildly amused. "Not jealous," he clarified. "I suppose I should be glad Henrik will be raised here, away from… But I visit one weekend, and we get t-boned by some drunk driver." His breathing turned ragged, and Caroline could tell he was working himself up. His hands raised to cradle his head. "I can't keep him safe."

Caroline's heart broke for the guy, he was so upset. Poking her head out of the exam room, she called to Enzo, "Hey, anything on Bonnie's patient?"

"As soon as they stabilize him, they're taking him to CT to check for brain injury as a precaution," he answered. "Doc said things were looking good, though. He was awake and talking."

"Okay," Caroline nodded, turning back to face Klaus. "They're making sure his vitals are strong enough for some testing," she explained. "I heard before that his arm was broken, but it sounds like they're just doing checks in case other problems show up."

"He's ten," Klaus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

Shrugging, Caroline smiled wanly. "And he'll bounce back, provided everything goes well," she said. "People are resilient, kids especially." Klaus didn't seem to believe her, which made Caroline want to work harder to convince him. "Seriously, would you believe I became a doctor out of spite?"

Watching her carefully, Klaus at least seemed focused on her.

She tended to some other cuts on his face, like it wasn't a big deal she was sharing personal information with a patient. "Yeah, uh, I had this really shitty boyfriend in high school," she explained. "I ended up in the hospital for- Um, anyway, he came to visit. We were sitting there, and I made some comment on how cool it would be to be a doctor. Healing people, helping them, it sounded nice."

As she lost herself in the memories, Caroline smiled apologetically when the antibiotics made Klaus wince. "So, my boyfriend couldn't believe I thought I could handle a pre-med course load, let alone med school." Caroline snorted in derision. "Just because he failed out of a business major, I couldn't be a doctor."

"Well, you showed him," Klaus said, impressed. "Is that why you came back to Mystic Falls, to prove him wrong?"

"No," Caroline sobered. "No, he's in prison actually, good riddance. I came back for my mom, she had cancer."

Klaus nodded sympathetically, and Caroline hated to make him pity her when he was the one who had just been in an accident.

"She's fine now, in remission," she said, feeling incredibly awkward about blurting out her private life. "But yeah, doctor out of spite." She pointed her thumbs back toward her. "People bounce back."

"The moral of the story," Klaus noted. "Thanks, I suppose. Henrik could probably use some of that optimism."

Smiling, Caroline put on a final bandage. "You should call your mom, have her sit with you while you wait for Henrik. Enzo can finish your processing paperwork at the front desk," she said, handing him the clipboard after adding her notes. "I'll leave you a script for some mild pain meds, but you should probably have a full checkup once you know your brother is stable."

Before she could leave the room, however, a cold hand wrapped lightly around her wrist. Caroline turned back to face Klaus, bloody and earnest even with cotton balls up his nose. "Thank you, Doctor Forbes."

She was struck by his sincerity, something inside her begging to give him the same. "Caroline," she finally offered with a shy grin. "And you're welcome."

"Caroline," he tested on his tongue. "It suits you."

Snorting, Caroline rolled her eyes. "Okay, charmer, let's drop you off with the nurse. Don't believe anything he says about me," she warned.

"Would he say that you'd join me for a coffee one day?" Klaus asked. "Because I'd like to believe that."

"Smooth," she laughed. Still, Caroline was surprised to find that she wanted to accept. "I thought you were just here for a visit."

"For the summer." Klaus smirked, gesturing to his nose. "I promise, I'm usually better looking."

Caroline bit her lip in consideration. "I have no doubt," she muttered quietly.

"It doesn't have to mean anything, it could just be a thank-you coffee," he offered, just to tempt her a bit further. "Take a chance, Caroline. I dare you."

Nodding slowly, Caroline reached into the pocket of her lab coat for one of her business cards. "My cell number's on there, but any medical questions should probably be directed elsewhere. Got it?"

Klaus grinned, bowing lightly. "Last one, then," he said. "Where can I find my brother once he's done with testing?"

"Oh, Bonnie- Doctor Bennett will come and update you when he's ready for visitors," she answered. "The waiting room is going to be your best bet."

Squeezing her hand, Klaus nodded gratefully. "I'll call you for that coffee," he promised, heading out. "Something good should happen from today."

Caroline watched him go. She hoped good things did happen from today, and she had a pretty good feeling they would.

#klaroline drabbles #klaroline #elsewhere #i'm not sure about this one #my writing tends to get worse the more often i do it #so sorry

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writera · 6 years

Text

You Are Not a Liar

In the podcast Conversations with People Who Hate Me by Dylan Marron, Marron, the moderator, gets two different people on the phone at the same time, when one has said something mean to the other on the internet.

The latest episode, You Are a Liar, involves two conversationalists: Emma and Benjamin. Emma is a rape survivor, and when Benjamin read about her in the news, sent her the titular message, “You are a liar”.

Unlike some other conversations, at the end of this podcast, the phone conversationalists are at an impasse. Neither one has achieved what either of them would describe as an ideal outcome. On one hand, Emma is within her rights not to be compelled to remain quiet, and is within her rights to raise awareness on this issue. On the other hand, Benjamin ideologically believes that rapists should be treated as innocent until proven guilty.

I believe Emma behaved reasonably and correctly given the circumstances, and side with her in this story. But I think I know where Benjamin is coming from.

I will engage in a speculative discussion of Benjamin's position in order to deliver a point.

Benjamin repeatedly expressed that he needed "proof beyond a shadow of a doubt" to believe the allegations. This is not taking place in a court of law. If it were, it would be relevant that the allegations are to be shown "beyond a reasonable doubt"; a different statement, with different ramifications. Noting that there are no such protections for individuals in the court of public opinion, it is obvious that the standards "beyond a reasonable doubt" do not apply.

However, it may be argued that the court of public opinion can be more hurtful to the defendent than the court of law. Felonies, fines, and jail time temporarily affect a convict's life. However, they also permanently affect a convict's life. Beyond legal barriers imposed after sentences are served, a convict's image is permanently marred. The way people treat them and the opportunities afforded them are much inferior to the way an innocent person would be treated. The morale, self-image, social network and social viability of a convicted person can be permanently crushed. A convicted person can see themselves as an outcast, and live the rest of their life in obscurity, shunning connections to their old life; never trying to raise their profile.

Benjamin's position brings to mind the famous quote "It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer" (which I was taught rephrased as "It is better than ten guilty persons walk free than that one innocent be convicted"). This seems to be the sentiment evoked. This aphorism comes to mind because the criminal justice system is not a friendly thing.

It could be said that the criminal system is set up to crush and destroy those who enter it, not to build them up. This can be defended; it makes sense that the flawed individual who enters prison should be different than the individual who exits prison. The society desires that the individuals be corrected. This can be, in part, an emotional punishment. Those who do not show submission and contrition, but instead remain defiant, can be looked at with derision by the public: those people do not feel sorry for what they did. Furthermore, we study the convict for sincerity, to see if they truly feel that submission and contrition, and that they are not merely going through the motions. Those who have had associations built between what they did and feeling awful are freed sooner (parole) than those who are unapologetic. I would argue that being bullied into submission is quite a punishment. It is not effected by bars, but by people.

Perhaps Benjamin's concern involves not invoking the wrath of society upon a perpetrator who has not been shown in the court of law to be guilty. If all the ramifications of the justice system are invoked without the justice system, that can be said to be unjust. They are not however — the legal ramifications of a conviction are not necessarily invoked when public opinion goes against him. However it is possible that the emotional and social components of a conviction could be invoked, although most probably to a lesser degree, if at all, than when convicted.

It is also possible that the rapist lives an unapologetic, high life, without caring for the hurt he inflicted on another being. This outcome sets an example to other men that when they consider their behavior borderline, they can error on the side of stepping over the border. It also sets an example that such men can be unapologetic afterwards. Being unapologetic hurts the aggrieved.

Finally, my point. It seems that both the perpetrator and the victim are being chastized by the public. The victim certainly does not deserve this. How can we support both the notion of the benefit of the doubt, while loving and supporting those who are hurting? We must remember that the public, their opinion, society, and its punishment is entirely a construct of the sea of individuals. How can we support both our ideals and those who have been victimized? It is by each member of the greater public exercising prudence. When knowingly interacting with the alleged perpetrator, one should behave as if it is both possible he is a bad man, and that it is possible that he is a good man; this is called skepticism. Upon extensive personal interactions, one might form their own opinion, or reach their own peace with reality: this is called the benefit of the doubt. When knowingly interacting with the victim, one should behave civilly and compassionately, as opposed to dispassionately. As if the victim is justified in their truth. Bearing in mind that taking up the cause of the victim subjects your credibility and honor to the credibility and honor of the victim. Telling a traumatized person that their trauma is unjustified; taking the attitude towards them that they are wrong for expressing their truth: this is not the benefit of the doubt. If you are to extend the benefit of the doubt to the alleged perpetrator, I ask you to extend the benefit of the doubt to the alleged victim.

Benjamin seemed hurt and put upon when he apologized. As if he was apologizing for accidently hurting Emma in the course of perceivedly justified action. This is not an apology for the action, this is an apology for the "inevitable" outcome of the action, which is not an apology at all. Benjamin could not sincerely apologize, I believe because he retained unstated assumptions which were not discussed. To someone who doesn't see any flaws in their argument, being socially pressured into apologizing doesn't feel good (although ... it could be worse ... ).

Benjamin believes that he has to take sides. He believes that something is either true or untrue; and also that the allegation of rape has to be decided in the court of public opinion as true or untrue. He believes that because he believes that only one of two things can happen: that the man's life will be ruined possibly without cause; or that the victim can be validated in her experience. The moderator inexpertly attempted to separate these two outcomes. Benjamin is focused on the act: it either happened or it didn't. I agree that this is the case. One can't assert that it happened while also asserting that it possibly didn't happen: because those are different statements and they can't both be true. But one doesn't have to assert anything. Maybe this seems like a cop-out, but it isn't. And the reason it isn't a cop-out, the reason it isn't the same as passive, unvigilant, wishy-washy-ness, is that the court of public opinion isn't external. The court of public opinion is in the hearts of everyone.

Benjamin believes that he has to take sides. He believes that something is either true or untrue; and also that the allegation of rape has to be decided in the court of public opinion as true or untrue (perhaps so that everyone can know how to act). He believes that because he believes that the undisputed contest in the court of public opinion defaults to a victory for the aggrieved, and that this will ruin the rapist's life. But the court of public opinion is in the hearts of everyone. Instead of taking sides, you can change the court of public opinion. You can do this by changing your own opinion, and by helping others change theirs. Not to take sides, but to be supportive, and true to others.

When there are factions, and when we take sides, there are ramifications to taking sides. Who would want to be grouped in with rapists? If one gets a gut feeling that a statement they make might get them grouped in with rapists and subjected to public ire, then perhaps that should signal to you that perhaps it is time to pause and think — to build yourself into the best person.

I would assume Benjamin feels hurt that any of the societal corrective pressure would be exerted on him, when he feels his actions don't warrant it. This may seem especially poignant here to him, because probably, to him, Emma's side seems justified, but the rapist's side seems ideologically correct: this is a definition of conflict, and he is conflicted. He thinks because there is free speech, and he has good intentions, that he should be morally right to say any alleged truth he wants. He thinks that perhaps if he worded the same sentiment in a softer way, everything would be okay. Perhaps he and Emma would even be friends. ... This is not true, everything would not be okay, it would just appear to be okay. Diplomacy is not all about appearances, but they are an inimitible tool. Finding the right words authentically is different than finding the right words inauthentically.

But we can just love unconditionally. And be tolerant. And kind. And that is what it means to be supportive.

I believe you, Emma.

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