#making someone uncomfortable in public is not a heinous act

[isakaru]

a core tenet of my beliefs is that people deserve basic kindness and respect regardless of how rude or annoying or obnoxious they are. if the most obnoxious person i know told me they couldnt afford food and i had the money for it you bet your ass im gonna buy them some food

[userkoo]

jungkook has had to publicly state that he is a human being with a right to privacy twice now when that number should be zero

[terraliensvent]

You seem like a really non-biased and heartfelt person running this blog. I appreciate your honesty with every reply, it’s very commendable.

My time in the terra server has been confusing to say the least. I thoroughly enjoy it, and yet at least once a day something that strikes as off putting will happen. I am not one to vent, nor post on blogs like this, but, with the trial mods out there’s something on my mind that I just can no longer hold within. I am beyond, overly uncomfortable with Xiao being a trial mod.

This make strike weirdly, but I don’t seem them as a face, nor representative of how Terras should be. They are cold, unemotional, biased, and overall picky. They ignore you when they feel like it (and, apologies if I am misgendering, I do not know their pronouns at the time), and only talk to their friends; the staff, or anyone with “good art”.

It sucks? Because, I wanted to be their friend and they ultimately shoved me away. Maybe I am a little petty, but I just do not find their presence as a trial mod welcoming. It honestly makes me feel a little, no, very afraid to talk.

So, I’d like to know your opinion? On Xiao? What should I do? Can I even do anything??

i really appreciate the kind words anon, i try my best to give my genuine viewpoints, as i think a lot of owners of blogs like these can be too disconnected from their topic and it feels out of touch imo

on to the topic at hamd

i dont interact much in the server on a personal level anymore after the whole blowout with architechals, but what i will say is that i am never really too fond of the picks for staff

i wanna use bear and pokii as an example, since during that situation in the callout thread, they were incredibly heinous toward former mod milo (who i actually really liked, they were super down to earth and friendly), and that combined with the behavior exhibited by bear toward ponyzilla, like how can you clearly copy a design you offered on in the past and act like theres no similarity whatsoever

anyways

i dont know much about xiao (besides the fact i have them blocked lol, i guess they annoyed me at some point) but if your character assessment is true to your experience then i think thats pretty on par with how terra staff is in general. cliquey, disconnected, and cold unless youre someone they want to be associated with for clout.

for you specifically anon, id say keep talking how you want to, xiao seems like a person who really isnt the best to be friends with in your case, and if you find yourself being cut off or talked over or pushed aside by them in the public chat, i would politely but sternly point it out. people really love to ignore stuff like that in terras because you arent one of the elite staff members who everyone wants to talk to, but you deserve respect as well.

so in short, maybe stop trying to be friends with xiao and focus more on the friendships youre already cultivating, and dont be afraid to stick up for yourself if you feel yourself being pushed away from public spaces. terras has a lot of mob mentality and often will let things slide in fear of rocking the boat. if you feel yourself being unwelcomed by a member of staff, stand your ground and collect screenshots. if you get brushed aside, it just helps you build more of a case in the event that it becomes too overwhelming to even be in the same spaces as them

[digiitallife]

The tragic case of the New York Subway Woman on Fire has left the city grappling with questions about safety and justice. On a calm Sunday morning, a horrifying act unfolded in Brooklyn's Coney Island-Stillwell Avenue station. Sebastian Zapeta, accused of committing one of the most heinous crimes, allegedly set a woman ablaze on a stationary subway car. This shocking event has not only shaken commuters but moreover ignited broader concerns about crime in the subway system. Investigations are ongoing to supply a New York Burning Summary, detailing the events leading to the tragedy. The victim, who is yet to be formally identified, was situated alone in the prepare when her clothing was intentionally ignited. Authorities are leveraging forensic tools and video surveillance to distinguish her. The exact name of woman in New York remains unknown, but officials emphasize the gravity of her loss, regardless of her circumstances. Brooklyn Area Attorney Eric Gonzalez has confirmed that Zapeta faces murder and arson charges, with a potential life sentence. Described as an “unspeakable crime,” this incident has reignited debates about security in the city's vast subway network. The catastrophe moreover brings attention to the challenges of managing such an broad system. With 472 stations and millions of daily riders, ensuring safety in every corner is a logistical challenge. The frequenting question, “What is on fire in NYC?" resonates far beyond this incident, symbolizing deeper issues of crime, homelessness, and mental health. As examinations proceed, New Yorkers remain on edge, searching for answers to prevent such devastating events.   Details About the Suspect The alleged culprit in the New York subway woman on fire case, Sebastian Zapeta, has a alarming history that has raised public concern. Zapeta, a Guatemalan citizen who was deported in 2018, reentered the U.S. under vague circumstances. The New York Burning Summary indicates that he approached the victim and set her clothing ablaze, later fanning the flames. Police captured Zapeta hours after releasing surveillance pictures, thanks to three high school students who identified him. He was captured wearing the same gray hoodie and paint-splattered pants seen in the footage. During interrogation, Zapeta reportedly admitted recognizing himself within the images but claimed ignorance of the incident, possibly blaming alcohol consumption for his actions. This case has stirred debates about the adequacy of immigration enforcement and mental health support. Critics question how someone with a known deportation record could reenter and commit such a heinous crime. The aggravating details of the attack raise uncomfortable questions about responsibility. Zapeta's arraignment uncovered further chilling details. Prosecutors allege that he calmly watched the woman engulfed in flames, making no effort to assist her. The name of woman in New York remains unknown, but her suffering has sparked outrage. This case also highlights gaps in subway security. Questions like “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?” reflect both the exacting tragedy and the metaphorical burning issues of public security and criminal justice. With the indictment set to be unsealed in January, all eyes are on how the justice system will handle this shocking crime. The Victim and Her Identity The heartbreaking case of the New York subway woman on fire has captivated the city, with inhabitants mourning the silly loss of life. As of presently, the name of woman in New York remains unknown, but officials are determined to identify her through fingerprints, DNA, and video surveillance. The victim, believed to have been experiencing homelessness, was seated at the end of a subway car when her clothing was ignited. Brooklyn District Attorney Eric Gonzalez emphasized that each victim, regardless of their circumstances, deserves justice. “No one deserves such a tragic end,” Gonzalez stated, calling for compassion as authorities piece together the victim's life before the attack. Community leaders, including Rev. Kevin McCall, held a vigil at the Coney Island station to honor her memory and highlight the vulnerability of individuals living on the streets. This incident has started broader questions, such as “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?”—both literal references to the tragedy and symbolic of societal failures. Critics contend that the need of resources for homeless individuals and inadequate subway security contribute to such horrific results. The New York Burning Summary reveals that the woman had no prior interaction with the suspect, making the assault even more incomprehensible. Despite the vast network of subway cameras, ensuring safety for all riders remains a challenge. The victim's story serves as a grim reminder of the dangers faced by vulnerable populaces in urban settings, underscoring the need for systemic changes in support and protection. Subway Safety Concerns The tragic passing of the New York subway woman on fire has reignited debates around security in one of the world's busiest transit systems. The sheer size of New York City's subway—472 stations and millions of every day riders—poses significant challenges to effective policing. While the system boasts a vast network of cameras, episodes like this highlight persistent security gaps. On the day of the tragedy, officers were present at the Coney Island station but patrolling a different platform. They responded only after noticing smoke, raising concerns around their ability to prevent crimes in real-time. This has led to questions like “Is subway woke?" with critics accusing authorities of focusing on superficial policies rather than tending to deep-rooted safety concerns. Governor Kathy Hochul's earlier order to deploy the National Guard for irregular bag checks demonstrates an acknowledgment of these challenges. However, the horrifying incident leaves many questioning if these measures are sufficient. The New York Burning Summary underscores the need for a more proactive approach to policing the subway system. Subway crimes, particularly murders, are on the rise. Whereas overall felonies in the system have declined by 6%, high-profile incidents like this one overshadow those gains. Commuters now wonder “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?" as the subway's notoriety for safety continues to be addressed. This tragedy also emphasizes the significance of addressing mental health and homelessness issues within the subway system. The New York Subway Woman on Fire case is a grim reminder of the need for a holistic approach, combining law enforcement with social services, to guarantee such horrific events never happen again. Community Reactions and Public Outrage The horrific case of the New York subway woman on fire has activated widespread public outrage and grief. New Yorkers have come together to express their shock and request accountability from city authorities. Many community leaders, including Rev. Kevin McCall, have held vigils and supplications for the unidentified victim. Despite not knowing the name of woman in New York, the public acknowledges the significant tragedy of her passing and the broader implications it holds for subway safety. This incident is a focal point in the ongoing discussion about systemic safety gaps in public transit. Questions such as “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?” go beyond the literal flames to highlight the simmering issues of vagrancy, mental health, and crime in urban spaces. The helplessness of individuals in the city's subway system has become a pressing concern, as many commuters fear for their safety. Public criticism has moreover been coordinated at the city's leadership. A few argue that the focus on progressive policies—often labeled with phrases like “Is subway woke?”—has not translated into effective safety measures. Instead, the lack of proactive intervention continues to uncover riders to potential harm. As the investigation unfolds, city officials are pressed to restore trust in the transit framework. The tragedy of the New York Subway Woman on Fire serves as a rallying call for reform, pushing for a balance between enforcement and social services to address the root causes of such incidents. The Role of Surveillance and Policing The case of the New York Subway Woman on Fire underscores the significance of surveillance and law enforcement in public transit. New York City's subway system is prepared with cameras in stations and on trains, yet the effectiveness of these tools has come into question. On the day of the occurrence, police officers were present at the Coney Island station but were patrolling a different platform, highlighting the difficulty of observing such a vast network. The New York Burning Summary uncovers that speedy action from bystanders and advanced surveillance technology helped recognize the suspect, Sebastian Zapeta, within hours. However, critics contend that the system remains reactive rather than preventative. Questions like “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?” have become metaphors for the gaps in safety that persist despite technological progressions. Efforts to improve safety include deploying the National Protect for random bag checks and increasing police presence. However, these measures often face backlash from those who feel they don't address the root causes of subway crimes. The debate around “Is subway woke?” reflects the pressure between implementing inclusive policies and guaranteeing stringent security measures. The appalling death of the New York Subway Woman on Fire has reignited discussions on how to superior allocate resources for safety without compromising the subway's accessibility. As the investigation proceeds, it's clear that more proactive approaches are required to prevent such horrific incidents in the future. Broader Implications for Subway Crime The murder of the New York Subway Woman on Fire has brought national attention to rising subway crimes, sparking debates about how to address these issues effectively. While overall subway felonies have decreased by 6%, high-profile incidents like this overshadow those statistics. Murders within the transit framework have risen, with nine reported this year compared to five in the same period last year. This case raises questions about public security and social responsibility. Many are now asking, “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?”—both literal inquiries around the tragic event and metaphors for the systemic failures contributing to such violence. The subway, often considered the city's lifeline, presently faces criticism for not giving a secure environment for its millions of daily riders. The phrase “Is subway woke?” has been used in public discourse, criticizing perceived misaligned needs in addressing safety. However, experts argue that systemic changes, including mental health support and resources for powerless populations, are necessary to prevent such tragedies. The New York Burning Summary highlights that the victim's death was preventable with more robust safety measures and better social interventions. As city leaders grapple with these challenges, the focus remains on restoring public trust in the transit system and guaranteeing no other New Yorker faces such a tragic fate. Moving Forward with Justice and Reform The case of the New York Subway Woman on Fire serves as a stark reminder of the need for systemic reform in public security and justice. As the city awaits the unsealing of Sebastian Zapeta's indictment, there's a growing call for a multifaceted approach to addressing subway crimes. Brooklyn District Attorney Eric Gonzalez has promised to seek justice for the victim, whose name of woman in New York remains unknown. Community leaders continue to demand reforms that address both immediate safety concerns and long-term systemic issues. Questions like “What is on fire in NYC?” and “What is on fire in New York?” highlight the broader challenges faced by the city in overseeing homelessness, mental health, and public safety. This incident also underscores the significance of balancing enforcement with social administrations. While increasing police presence and surveillance can prevent crime, addressing the root causes—such as poverty and mental illness—is equally basic. The New York Burning Summary calls for a comprehensive strategy that guarantees both justice for the victim and safety for all commuters. As New York City reflects on this tragedy, the subway system's reputation as a safe and efficient mode of transport hangs in the balance. The case of the New York Subway Woman on Fire has illuminated the urgent require for change, pushing for reforms that prioritize the safety and dignity of each individual who depends on this vital public service. Read the full article

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

------------------------

“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though. 

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?” 

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?” 

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

----------------------------------------

Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

[logicalbookthief]

This is a bit late, but I did want to talk about the press conference in Ch 306. The way the Top 3 tried to smooth things over with the rightfully upset citizens left a lot to be desired. None of it played like a sincere apology or admittance of guilt, it felt like a way of placating the public so that heroes could once again act without scrutiny, all under the premise that it is for “the greater good,” a nebulous claim at best.

What I do find interesting is that the press conference follows the same pattern as the Todoroki family in the flashback, just on a larger scale. 

First, you have Endeavor focusing on what he can do as Endeavor to make it up to the public. No mentions from him or the reporters of the family he hurt, the fact that his son is one of the villains he’s sworn to take down. But isn’t that exactly what he did in the past? Used his job as an excuse not to engage with the children he considered mistakes and to continue to view himself as “good” despite the heinous truth of his private life?

Likewise, the focus of the Top 3 appears to be maintaining the image of heroes in society, not on righting the wrongs they have already done and promising to do better. If anything, they’re relying more than ever on dichotomy of heroes vs villains to regain public support. For instance, Hawks admits that he kills Twice, yet cites it as his own “lack of virtue” that prevented him from helping Twice, so he resorted to killing him. Completely neglecting the fact that his crime is that he chose to kill Twice, specifically while Twice was crying and running away from a hero who had the upper-hand. Even as he seemingly apologizes for his actions, he’s justifying his murder, and nobody calls him out on it, only because Twice was a criminal. So what’s to stop Hawks from doing something like this again? 

Nothing. Just as there’s nothing to stop Endeavor from continuing to act as a hero when he’s proven to be person capable of violence against his own children and spouse.

And I wish we would’ve had more people speaking out against them than that one reporter, who was quickly dismissed even though she brought up valid points. But isn’t it telling that she’s dismissed after asking for the same thing Touya wanted as both a child and now as an adult?

Accountability. 

However, Endeavor (and also Hawks) skirt the issue. At face value, they’re not denying what they’ve done and not asking for forgiveness. But they are asking the public not to hold them accountable because if they did, they wouldn’t be able to act as heroes any longer. They are preying on people’s fears surrounding the villains and prison breaks to avoid any punishment for their actions. Like, what do people think the villains will go to jail for when they’re caught?? Murder, which is what Hawks did. And I shouldn’t have to explain why child and spousal abuse is also a punishable offense.

Endeavor is correct in claiming there’s nothing he can do to change what he did in the past. But there’s no growth in saying he can’t do anything to atone except be a hero who stops the villains, because that is exactly what he’s always done. Hide behind the hero persona, when it’s Enji Todoroki who needs to try to make amends.

And what he and Hawks fails to do so stupendously here is admit they were in the wrong. They admit to doing these things, but they don’t admit they were wrong to harm the people they did. Endeavor tells the reporter he can’t change what he’s done so there’s no reason to act contrite, but that is bullshit.

Because you know what? It would matter! It won’t change what happened, but for a man set on proving he’s better than he was -- a low bar to begin with -- he’s failed a simple test of character. 

Just as it would’ve mattered to Touya if his dad had said, “What I did to you is wrong, creating you for only one reason and then abandoning you when you couldn’t fulfill it was wrong, you’re not to blame in the slightest and I’m sorry I treated you this way” rather than ignoring the problem and his own culpability. 

Would it have changed the fact that Enji bought his wife and engineered his children to surpass his rival? Would all of Touya’s inner turmoil have disappeared in an instant? Hell no. But it absolutely would have mattered! 

And it would’ve mattered for him to be condemned for this, both by his family and the public. Rei might’ve called him for running away in private, but not where Touya could see or hear. When she confronted Touya, she gave the same advice as Enji, albeit it was at least with the understanding that his father was not a good person or someone he should waste time trying to please. However, she did so with the same goal as Endeavor had when he tried to convince Touya to pursue a life outside of heroism-- not to help Touya, but to stop his behavior from disrupting the family unit and keep the power main power (in this case, his father) system in place.

Sound familiar? It’s the same as what the Top 3 tries to do with the press conference. Shut down any criticism, scapegoat the villains as the root of all the problems society is now facing, all in order to maintain the system of power in place.

It is the exact type of dynamic that created Dabi, and as we see in this chapter, what’s his response??

Right. His goal was to have people finally think critically about the heroes they put in positions of power and for heroes who commit crimes to be held accountable for their actions just as the villains are. Since they’re all getting away with abuse and murder without so much as a slap on the wrist, he’s going to act accordingly. He’s going to commit more crimes in his pursuit of this goal.

Once again, the heroes show they believe that beating (or in Hawks’ case, straight up killing) the villains will be enough. Instead the inability to understand  victims who do not fit into the “good” victim role or help the people whose pain makes them uncomfortable will lead to the very thing the heroes say they’re trying to prevent.

[ddarker-dreams]

Do Well. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

warnings: dabi is just a huge asshole, emotional manipulation, implied panic attack word count: 2.6k.

“Would you be a dear and wait here for a few? I need to take a call.” 

Dabi tilts his head alongside his words, glints of amusement present in his sapphire eyes. You’re certain the bastard picks up on every subconscious movement your body makes at the question, feeling like an open book before him. Despite your valiant efforts, human biology doesn’t operate in your personal interest. The challenging premonition causes your lips to curl down, fingers twitching on the wide straw of your milk tea. Pausing mid sip, you pull back, eyelashes fluttering. It’s the subservient behavior he wants to see, and considering the alternatives, you’re tripping over yourself to give it to him.

“... Of course. I should just stay here, right?” It’s more of a question posed for your sake than his, information vital to keep your head above water. Any movements on your behalf that even hint at disobedience could lead to dire consequences, ranging in severity. The worst of which is being confined back to his dingy apartment, with nothing but your thoughts to entertain yourself. All the faux smiles, carefully timed giggles, and strategic brushes of skin against skin would be for naught. You worked too hard for these trips outside for it to fall through your fingers like sand. 

Your captor makes a point of giving you a once over, lackadaisical visage a front for a predator in waiting. Condensation builds up against the plastic container in hand, making it tricky to tell if it’s your hands growing clammy or the drink. Time passes by at a snail’s pace, neither of you making the slightest of movements. People go about their lives in happy-go-lucky bliss, none the wiser to the potential harm that Dabi poses. Feeling finally returns to your body as he stands, seemingly content with the exchange.

He shoots you a coy look over his shoulder, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

Dabi snickers at how your nose scrunches up, waving and slinking off with his phone in hand. You watch his retreating figure, still in disbelief over the unfolding events. This would be the first time since being kidnapped that you’ve been on your own in public. These special little outings were a privilege, one that you had worked diligently for. Consistently being on your best behavior, day after day, in the presence of someone you abhor from the depths of your soul is no easy task. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your body when he’s out of sight, eyes darting around in excitement.

This is a prime location to make an escape, the outdoors of a crowded mall in the afternoon. Everyone ranging from families, to couples, and employees on their lunch break are walking around. Lively chatter fills your ears, and you observe every possibility as if it’s your last. While it’s likely a futile dream, the rush your quickening pulse brings demands attention. Lithe fingers shake by your side, every ounce of your strength devoted to keeping yourself from unraveling at the mere concept of being free. He has to be watching. You know him well enough that he wouldn’t have offered the opportunity to escape on a silver platter, there’s got to be measures in place. 

There’s no way he isn’t keeping an eye on you now, making sure that you hold true to your word of behaving. 

Your shoulders slump at this cruel reality. The act of looking around excitedly would be too much of a give away, an observation he’d surely bring up later. An eruption of goosebumps dot your skin, even in the sweltering summer heat. Taking another sip of your drink, you abandon hope of escape, certain it’d be a mistake should you try it. Though he’s purposefully kept you in the dark on most of his relationships with the League of Villains, you can safely assume he’s interconnected with enough unsavory figures to locate you should it be necessary. In contrast to the sugary goodness that coats your tongue, a sour taste in your mouth develops at this blatant flaunting of power. What an asshole. 

To be so self-assured that even in the event of your escape, hunting you down and bringing you back into his loving arms is still within the realm of possibility. Your eye twitches at this realization, mentally flinging numerous curses towards him. He didn’t have to make it so obvious, rubbing salt on the theoretical wound of your pride. Too preoccupied with festering thoughts of resentment, you fail to notice a figure taking a seat next to you on the bench. 

“Is the drink not good or something?” A light, masculine voice asks from your left. Darting around immediately at the interruption of your venomous thoughts, you spot a man around your age. Sporting messy brunette hair and a casual get up of a tee with a pair of jeans, it tugs painfully on your heart to see someone living an uninhibited life as you used to. This envy mutates into horror, as you realize being caught speaking to a stranger is going to land you in boiling water. Dabi’s consciousness is a minefield in waiting, daring to blow at the slightest wrong movement. 

What do you do? It might leave a wrong impression should you not say anything. The current times are plagued by high tension.  Numerous League of Villain attacks have rendered the surrounding regions on constant alert, news anchors telling folks to be wary of anyone or anything suspicious. Weighing your options, you decide to dismiss the stranger in kind as fast as humanly possible. 

Just act natural, act natural… “W-why do you say that?” 

Shit. Your first conversation with someone other than Dabi in over half a year has left you thoroughly horrified, pupils no doubt dilated and voice meeker than a mouse squeak. The stutter has you wincing, your naive companion undoubtedly picking up on it. You want nothing more than to shoo him off, but in fear of drawing unwanted attention, attempt to suppress your frayed nerves. You’ve been through worse than a strained conversation and made it out relatively unscatched, but this feels like a different type of battle. 

“You just seemed to be making quite the upset face,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the thought. He must’ve been referring to the glowering thinking about Dabi brought out from you. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything. I was just waiting to pick up my little sister, and happened to catch you scowling.” 

“The name’s Ryota. And you?” 

Suppressing panic that threatens to drown you, you swallow thickly. “I’m uh, Hina. The drink is fine… I just have a lot on my mind.” 

The lie is seasoned with enough truths that you hope it isn’t too transparent. Giving away your actual name could hint back to missing person’s cases, the thought of which would greatly displease Dabi. Besides, if it had been as simple as going to the police, you would’ve done it by now. You’ve grown uncomfortably familiar with Dabi’s workings, killing off a few people or bribing them would be one of the least heinous things in his portfolio. You figure the best case scenario here is that this well meaning Ryota character leaves you be, or else dire consequences will come to fruition. 

“Good to know, Hina-san. My lil sis talks about boba often, but I’ve never gotten that into it. I figure since the store’s right here, I should surprise her with a drink. What would you recommend?” 

You can’t help but greedily soak in the normalcy an interaction like this brings with it. The irritation from being drawn into a conversation is replaced with pity, a stronger resolve to keep this bystander out of harm’s way blooming. There’s no time to be wasted on the warmth erupting in your chest, or on the first genuine smiles in months that’s settled on your lips. To see the best humanity has to offer, after being subjected to the worst, is a much needed breath of fresh air. While it may be greedy to fixate on these aspects, you find yourself wanting to savor the moment of being a regular person. 

Surely, Dabi would understand your logic. 

“It depends on her tastes. If she likes sweeter drinks, I’d recommend Thai milk tea. If you’re not sure, classic milk tea is always a safe bet.” You’re proud of how you’ve been able to pull yourself together, speaking like you used to. With this, he should be set to leave, or at least you want to believe this. Unfortunately for you, life is never so easy. He doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere anytime soon, crossing his legs and leaning slightly closer to you. Realizing your mistake of radiating friendliness, your muscles go taut. 

You need to do something about this before it’s too late. 

Ryota scratches his head, mulling over your advice. “I’ll keep all that in mind. I appreciate your insight.” 

“It feels nice to be able to chill and talk like this every now and then. If I’m being honest, I was somewhat against my sister coming out to hang with friends,” Ryota’s tone takes a turn for the somber, face looking crestfallen. “With all the chaos that’s been around, y’know. It feels like everyday I wake up to more of those League of Villain stories. It feels like it’ll just be a matter of time until something happens near here.” 

“I’m sorry that--” 

“Things sure are rough,” A voice that brings out every negative emotion possible speaks up from behind you, Dabi’s familiar figure slithering into sight. He takes a seat on the bench, close to your person, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulder. “I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow her for a bit. You mind?” 

Neither of you were expecting the sudden interruption, Ryota trying to piece everything together. “Oh, uh, not at all.’

Everything hits you like a ton of bricks. From Dabi’s rich cologne that mixes in with the smell of ash, his hair brushing against the side of your face, to the possessiveness of his grip. He squeezes your shoulder, looking from Ryota to you. It takes a moment to register what he’s communicating, but you’re able to decipher the gesture. In a last ditch attempt to salvage this situation, you confirm Dabi’s statement before things get ugly. Nodding your head, you watch with bated breath as Ryota looks from Dabi to you. He gets up from his spot on the bench, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It was nice talking to you.” 

Ryota heads off towards the mall doors, leaving you in the clutches of the devil incarnate. You feel how terribly warm Dabi is next to you, words wanting to spill out to justify the actions that led up to this moment. Before you get the opportunity to ramble out your thoughts, Dabi places a finger on your lips, looking at you with the same grin as always.

“Making some new friends, hm?” He inquires, drawing out the syllables. His finger goes south, lifting up your chin, and holding you close to his face. “Awe, babe. You look like you’re aboutta cry. Don’t give me that look.” 

You’re not sure if you should feel horrified at his sudden spike in talkativeness, or relieved over not having to speak your piece yet. The words wouldn’t be able to leave your mouth even if you wanted them to, a lump forming in your throat to coincide the dryness of your tongue. Dabi makes a point of emphasizing his engulfing height, having to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. Not wanting to make a scene, you do everything within your power to still the tears that are threatening to spill out. There’s no visible signs of wrath, not that you can pick up on. He watches with great interest as you calm yourself, releasing the grip on your face and leaning back into the bench. 

When you appear sufficiently soothed, he speaks up once more, voice grating your ears. “So tell me, doll. What was all that about? I knew you’d be hurting for company in my absence, but I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to speak to someone else.” 

“I… I was approached, and… I swear, nothing happened. He just-- just wanted to know about a drink for his sister, and--” 

Dabi gently flicks your forehead, unable to stifle his cackling any longer. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I saw everything.” 

It doesn’t settle in immediately, the hypothetical cogs and gears of your head turning in slow motion. Your heart is pounding so violently that you hear it in your ears, your face erupting into a bright red. Humiliation, indignation, and finally, loathing take turns dominating your mind. He’s always had the best of times playing with you at your own expense, poking and prodding to see what reactions he can get. There’s a knee jerk reaction to want to slap him, anything to let out these overflowing feelings. Knowing that getting bothered is what he finds the most pleasure in, you’re further motivated to gain control over yourself. 

A deep breath. Inhale, exhale. You continue repeating these steps, biting your tongue to the point it stings. Dabi rests his head on his fist, watching you calm yourself down through lidded eyes. You really do get yourself worked up so easily, it’s endearing. He wants to pinch your cheeks and tease you more, but is feeling generous enough to give you this time to gather yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to play with you later, occupying himself with this cute sight placates him for the time being. When you finally reopen your eyes, you’re met with the deplorable sight of Dabi’s crooked grin. 

“Can we just… go home? Please?” You hate how weak your voice sounds. You hate everything about this situation, about the life that you’ve been forced into living. How you have to adapt to unspoken rules, subjected to twists and turns that never let you lower your guard. Most of all, you hate the person who has done this to you. His touch, his scent, his voice, all of it. You want nothing more than to scream at him at the top of your lengths, ripping that satisfied looking off his flesh and ridding yourself of this turmoil once and for all.

“Hm? Already? I thought you were hoping to get some dinner out tonight.” Dabi keeps up an air of nonchalance, likely wanting to hear you repeat yourself. Not willing to give in outright, you instead bunch up the fabric of his jacket with your hand. 

“Dabi…” 

It’s a low plea. You know you’ve gotten your point across ages ago, but he’s deriving too much pleasure from seeing how you squirm. The painful utterance serves you well, earning the slightest bit of reprieve as he gets up. On shaky legs, you follow after him, head downcast. Fixating on the tops of your shoes, you wonder if distracting yourself might do anything to ease your tormented soul. The events of the day have left you thoroughly exhausting, and nothing sounds better to you than sleeping for as long as he’ll allow you.

“Alright, alright. Let’s head on back,” he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. No longer having strength to muster up in retaliation, you let him do as he pleases, still fighting down sniffles. “Don’t bother your pretty little head about this.” 

You don’t bother honoring him with a reaction. 

Dabi takes a final glance over his shoulder, spotting the pesky man from before, who is still waiting against a wall. He takes a mental picture of the notable features, lips settling into a deep frown. How troublesome. Before you notice anything, he picks up his pace, continuing the walk back to his apartment. Ideas and resentment swirl within his mind like a tornado, pent up frustration begging to be released. 

All in due time, he thinks.

[wizkiddx]

Need your person

ahhh i have really no idea what i am doing. Anywayyyss this is a really angsty Harry fic, I have a part two but not sure how I feel abt it - so we will see if it ever sees the light of day x x x 

“Tom? I’m back!” Nadia declared as she heavily shut the black gloss front door of her boyfriend's place. She was wrestling with a ridiculous amount of shopping bags, that bounced against her calves before deciding to just dump them at the door- they could be dealt with later. Naturally, she’d blame the excessive haul on her friend that she’d met for lunch; Georgia almost forced her to buy all the clothes...right?

Once she had done so, she glanced around the almost still house, making her left eyebrow quirk up a bit. Since Tom and Harry returned for Toms latest filming venture their house hadn’t been quiet for a moment thereafter. With Tom, Harry, Harrison and herself and Y/n (Harry’s girlfriend) living there- fair to say there normally was at least someone messing around and causing chaos. Before she could read any more into it, Tom appeared round the corner, a small smile as he caught sight of his lovely and almost certainly shopping addicted girlfriend. 

“Hey”

“Hey” He replied back, smile tight-lipped and a very awkward atmosphere falling over the normally most easy-going couple. Nadia didn’t like it, choosing to address it straight up. 

“You gonna tell me why the weird vibe then?” Bags long since forgotten and abandoned, the couple naturally entered the sitting room- Tom landing heavily on the plush cream sofa. 

“I-er... look I know she’s one of your best friends but... well Harry’s got a pretty conclusive photo and account taken by some fan. She’s been cheating on him.” Nadia was unaware of her jaw falling slack while she stood above her boyfriend, arms folded and shaking her head slightly. 

“No Y/n wouldn’t. Come off it Tom you know too, there’s no chance.”

“I’m serious Nads. Harry’s confronting her now, shits really fucked him up.” Tom had this hard tone behind his intense gaze, something that Nadia had only seen a handful of times in their 1 yes relationship. It scared her. 

“ Nonono rewind though. Y/n wouldn’t cheat on him... she’s so in love with the boy!” Tom knew this would be tricky, especially with how close the two girls had gotten over that first lockdown and then ever since. Sometimes he questioned who the relationship was between, Nadia and Y/n seemingly just made for each other in a platonic kind of way. He sighed heavily, digging his phone out his back pocket to show her the picture, all the while watched by her intense hazel gaze. Not saying another word, Tom just held his phone out for her to take, photo on the display. 

“Swipe next to see what she says” after a short time Tom added, Nadia squinting at the phone and clearly zooming in on the blurry image. 

It did look pretty damning, Y/n and an unnamed man with his arm around her- pulling her almost flush against his chest, even at the public cafe they were seated outside. Though the image was grainy as hell, Y/n looked upset, as if he was comforting her. He, just for information, was a fairly attractive man- Tom would fairly admit. Clean-shaven, crisp white shirt on, jet black hair perfectly styled and a strongly carved face. 

That was the issue though, why Nadia’s lips parted with a silent and almost non-existent breath outwards- most getting stuck in her throat. She knew the face, briefly, from an encounter when the boys were away filming. She’d been so busy concentrating on Y/n at that moment about a month ago, it was a surprise she recognised the face at all. 

Suddenly feeling her heart drop, Nadia followed her boyfriends instructions and swiped left, revealing a screenshot of an Instagram direct message - along paragraph giving an exact recount of the day (or at least this ransomers recount). To paraphrase:

“ she just kept going ‘Harry can’t find out. I can’t tell Harry.’ She sounded upset but I just thought you should know”

The fan was obviously well-meaning but just so so wrong. Nadia gulped a little before looking up at her boyfriend, who was unconsciously tensing his jaw. He did that when he was uncomfortable or nervous and hell was he. 

“Where are they?”She muttered voice quiet which Nadia hadn’t realised till long since she’d spoken. It was just tense. 

“In the garden but we need to leave them be it’s not-“

“-FUCK” Predictably, Nads didn’t let Tom finish, already turning on her heel and rushing into the kitchen. Tom yelling something and following, but that’s not what she was concentrating on. 

Her best mate needed her. 

Even at the far end of the kitchen,  Nadia froze at the sight through the garden windows. Y/n was sat with her head in her hands, clearly crying and rocking slightly on the black wicker garden furniture set while Harry stood above. 

Harry. 

Harry was seething with rage. Nads could see him yelling at her, arms being flown round to articulate his anger furthermore. Because Harry didn’t open up easily. Because Harry was so in love with someone that apparently betrayed him so completely. When he saw that DM he just couldn’t ignore it. He’d always been self-conscious, Y/n knew that most of all. It felt like a knife was plunged and then twisted deeper into his chest. And who committed the heinous act? The person he had trusted most int he world. 

“Tom, I will explain but for now you just have to trust me.” Tearing her eye line away from Y/n’s crumpled body, which flinched with every harsh word Harry yelled- as if he were trying to get a reaction from her. Tom just looked at Nads in disbelief, arms crossed protectively and waiting for more. 

“Look…I-I know for a fact she didn’t cheat. There something you both don’t know but it’s not this at all.”

“Nadia I know your close but.-“

“I’m being very fucking serious Tom. If you trust me you have to go and get Harry away. Bloody look at him- she’s not arguing back! He’s hurting them both.”

“ He has a right to be angry.” Tom tried to counter, feeling uncomfortable with how easily Nadia brushed off such a serious and real accusation. 

“Tom for both their sakes, please...I’m begging you to help me” It was the desperation in her brown eyes. Making Tom shift from foot to foot. He was so torn but Nadia must have a reason. This isn’t just her bullshitting to protect a friend, he could see that much. As she grabbed his hands desperately, Tom already knew he was going to follow her.  And she could most definitely see it too as she minutely smiled in thanks before walking with purpose toward the back door. 

—————

You needed an out. Now. 

When Harry had first cornered you in the house with a steely gaze and asked you to have a conversation in the garden, you’d been running on adrenaline. Naturally, you thought he had somehow found out- but this? He had got it oh so wrong. But what hurt most was the fact you couldn’t say anything. You knew his heart was breaking, the fact he was screaming at you and calling you names you thought he never could even associate with you, it was only because he was so hurt. Yet at that moment, you couldn’t fathom how to explain the truth. That was the issue… the truth would hurt him too. So maybe it was easier this way, him hating you and suddenly not being apart of each other's life. Because that would still hurt him less than reality.

With that thought, your body decided to just make this even harder. What did it do you ask? Choose that exact moment to fail you again. Your thoughts all suddenly got jumbled, it felt like your brain was on some sort of rollercoaster. Brief moments of clarity when you weren’t swimming in a pool of disorientation. But to be honest, those moments when you could see the pain on his face, they hurt more than just sinking into oblivion as your body sorted folded over on itself. 

You were stuck fighting two battles neither of which you were sure you could win.

—————

It was just then, as Harry launched into another ‘how dare you betray him’ spiel that Nadia and Tom opened the door. Nadia making an immediate beeline to Y/n, holding her shoulders and trying to support her into an upwards position - leaving Tom to deal with a ball of hurt and rage that was Harry. 

“Mate you need to stop it’s not making any-“

“Fuck off Tom this is between me and her.” Harry snapped back, slapping his brother's arms off his. 

“I know but it’s not going anywhere.”

“Tom”

“Harry I’m serious give it a minute. You need to cool down” Tom urged, still slightly concerned by the rage in his brother's eyes, while Tom gently reached out to hold his shoulders. The younger man needed a bit of grounding and the contact meant Tom could half steer him toward the house.  With a quick glance of worry back to Y/n and Nadia, Tom followed Harry inside- arguing him up the stairs into his room. 

Meanwhile, Nadia was getting more and more concerned. Y/n could barely hold her body up and she was shaking. 

“Y/n what do you need um the-the finger prick thing?… What’s happening?”

“Yeh and uh…Need the... in the fridge get the oat milk and my-my bag.” It was a bit of a weird request but Nadia wasn’t going to question it and ran inside, grabbing the oat milk that seemed to rattle and then Y/n’s bag which was just in the countertop, knowing that was where she kept her finger prick test. Although this wasn’t about her either - Nadia was slightly terrified, shakily shouting for Haz who had to be somewhere in the house. 

“Okay okay, do you need my help?” Nadia spoke with trembling hands, unzipping the little pouch to reveal the red device and all its apparatus. During the month the boys had been away Nadia had seen Y/n do this a thousand times, but it still scared her at the thought. Luckily Y/n shook her head and took the device, pricking her finger then squeezing the blood onto the sensor film. While it beeped away measuring her glucose levels she smiled weakly at her friend. 

“I’m just low I think, can you get the sachets out the milk?” Because of course, Y/n was such an idiot she had hid her essential medication within a carton of oat milk, which was genius and stupid in equal measure. Genius because everybody else in the house was absolutely disgusted by oat milk being a thing so no one would ever try to make a cuppa with it; stupid because in moments like this, who was to know that the bloody oat milk carton could save her life?

“Do I need to phone an ambulance… you-you don't look good Y/n/n.”

“No” Y/n swallowed thickly, grimacing slightly at the reading that just appeared on the device - by far the lowest it had ever read since she had started having to do these stupid measurements. “If I pass out then yes but… I just need the glucose strips” Nadia nodded, still trying to prise the plastic packages out the empty oat milk container. Wordlessly Nadia finally phished one out and ripped it open immediately thrusting it into Y/n’s mouth - at least 70% certain that was what she had to do with them. 

While all this was happening Harrison wandered into the garden and looked at the scene in front of him in a bit of shock. Y/n was deathly grey, looking as though she was fighting every urge in her body to just relax everything and collapse into unconsciousness. Nadia kneeled in front of her, already working on ripping another packet open. After taking a moment or two to process what was happening Haz knelt down next to Nadia. 

“You need me to do anything?”

“I -er don’t think so… actually Y/n?? Y/N????” Nadia started violently shaking Y/n whose eyes had finally slipped shut. “Fuck shit fuck… you need to ring an ambulance Haz.”

“Your serious?”

“Deadly. I’ll explain later just get your phone… tell them she was having a hypo and now she’s unconscious. The er the number on the machine thing was 2.8”

Harrison didn’t argue; he did what he was told and an ambulance was immediately dispatched while Nadia followed instructions of the operator that had been put on speaker, still dropping the sachets of liquid down into her mouth. In fact, when they heard the ambulance pull into their road, Y/n started to stir- groaning and heavily blinking her eyes open. 

It was a bit of a blur, but the paramedics came in and slowly Y/n started to get more with it. 

“You know what happened to you love?” The kind-eyed Liverpudlian lady asked, removing the oxygen mask that was put on her as a precautionary measure, in the haze of them arriving. 

“Blood sugar low?”

“Uh-huh, you’ve just had a hypo. Are you type 1 or 2?”

“Um, I-uh…” Y/n flicked her eyes up to see Haz still stood looking very concerned while Nadia spoke to the other paramedic in hushed tones. “Neither… I got pancreatic cancer and so…so my whole pancreas is kind of dying.” Y/n could practically hear Harrison's eyes bugging out his head - but kept her eyes firmly on the blonde stout lady. She wasn’t ready to face that yet.

“Oh, lovie... you have to be really careful yeh? Hypos can turn to a coma really quick and you know what happens then.”

“I’m sorry, I uh guess I forgot to eat and then been running on adrenaline cos of…” Because of Harry. But she wasn’t about to pour her heart out to a complete stranger so instead shut her mouth. Emma, the paramedic, seemed t9 get the message and again smiled down at her gently.

“It’s okay I get it... so you know then that because you lost consciousness really we should be taking you to the hospital? Get your bloods checked?” The grimace on Y/n’s face was more than enough to answer her.

“Please I just want to sleep-“

“You need to go to hospital Y/n/n” Haz interjected who had been completely silent and still in shock. Yes, she wasn’t his girlfriend, but they were bloody close and he still hadn’t really had an explanation. 

“I just want to sleep and-and I got a lot of explaining to do” Y/n made the mistake of momentarily looking up to see Harrison’s glassy eyes and Emma followed suit. 

“You the boyfriend?”

“No, i- um I’m his housemate.”

“If we are even still together” Y/n mumbled her eyes trained on the ground. In response, Haz huffed indignantly sitting down right beside the slightly crippled girl and slung his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that hey? Everything’s is gonna be fine.” Her head came to rest on his arm making Haz bend down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She was sort of the other sister, having been on the scene much earlier than Nadia had, he’d come to really get on with her. 

After a moment of just being there with Haz, Y/n simply thankful he didn’t seem to hate her or believe the rumours anymore, Emma spoke up. 

“So a hard pass on the hospital is it? Because then we should just think about getting you inside to rest.” Y/n nodded hard, very clearly expressing her preference, making the two chuckle. “They’d only be checking your blood levels which I can get a doctor to do tomorrow morning from home. I’m not supposed to say this but it's okay to stay.” It was all going swimmingly until they heard a very very familiar voice. 

“What the hells happening?” 

[fanfics-of-marvel]

I’ve always had the curiosity of what would happen if Bucky was to be placed in a predicament where he took a love potion and ended up falling for the reader but as time went on he end up getting more intense and obsessed

Hey, there! Thanks for the great prompt, I had a lot of fun writing it! :D I think I went itno a bit different direction but I hope you’ll still like it! ♥

Send me a request or choose from my Prompt List!

——————————————————

Release date: 24/01/20

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Y/N: The obnoxious agent Brianna Markus almost fulfilled her plan forcing Bucky to drink a love potion and fall for her forever when his eyes happened to land on you.

Words count: 4.6K

A/N: Okay, I didn’t mean to write it this long but I just got carrried away! :D Also, this is an AU where witchcraft exists. Agents Brianna Markus and Lilliy Pennington are made up for this story. They do not resemble any actual characters.

Warnings: Mention of desire to murder somebody

Requests | Masterlist

Taglist: @all-things-marvel-related ; @steeeeverogers ; @chipilerendi ; @starkershomelife ; @merlin-288 ; @nutellakirb ;

I’m not a native English speaker, so there might be spelling or grammatical mistakes.

This fic is my own work, it is not to be re-posted on this site or posted anywhere else without my knowledge and consent!

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“You have to drink it, Bucky.”Agent Brianna Markus said with a smug smile.

Bucky looked down at the bloodred liquid in the little glass bottle. Inside his head he cursed the moment inwhich he accepted the bet.

Agent Brianna Markus was anobnoxious person, too over-confident and insolent as hell. She believed to besuperior over everyone who wasn’t a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. and those who were butwith a lower rank than hers. The type of people Bucky despised. He alwaysavoided her at the base and hated when they were assigned on common missions.But what he really hated was the fact that she took any possible chance toflirt with him. And she did that completely openly and sometimes too direct asto make him or the people around them uncomfortable. Bucky always pushed heraway but she was insistent. And she had found her way to him fulfilling herlittle plan.

You were observing from aclose distance alongside other agents. Just an hour ago Brianna had fooled Buckyinto a ridiculous bet which he was certain she would lose. And then she wouldhave stopped talking to him forever except on missions or only on work-relatedtopics. That was, of course, if Brianna lost. If Bucky lost, however, he was totake a love potion sitting across her, so when he opened his eyes he would seeher and fall for her forever.

Any person would laugh atthis. ‘Love potions? Give me a break! There’s no such thing’. But what wasknown only to S.H.I.E.L.D. was the fact that witches lived low-key among usjust like there were gods from outer space. Bucky was more than certain thatthe love potion was genuine and that he would be trapped into an illusion forthe rest of his life being in love with the worst person he’d ever met. On anyoccasion he would just toss it back at her and loudly state that he would nevertake it. But now? Oh, how smart she turned out to be. There were at least 20agents who observed everything. The setting of the bet, what the bet was aboutand the fact that Bucky lost. And he was so certain he’d win that he got out ofhis skin and acted all over-confident and obnoxious himself. There was no wayout of it. There was no going back. There weren’t any written rules about betsbut everyone knew the unwritten ones. Including everyone in that room at themoment.

“Come on, Bucky! A bet is abet!” Brianna kept on pressing him.

“Yeah, Barnes! You have to!”Some other agent said.

“You lost, Barnes! Drink it!”Another one added.

The ‘crowd’ went crazy as theystarted cheering for Bucky to drink the love potion. The only one quiet wasyou. You who was secretly in love with Bucky but who was too shy and unconfidentto approach him in any way. You who was the complete opposite of Brianna. And nowshe seemed to be the one to win the competition even though she cheated. Youwanted to stand up and yell against everybody else until they left Bucky alone.You even pictured yourself kicking Brianna’s ass, then rescuing Bucky from thispredicament. But your quiet and shy nature didn’t allow you to even move. Youcould only hopelessly observe the happening.

Bucky’s hand started shaking. Aroundhim there was a beehive of voices pressuring him to drink the love potion. Hecouldn’t take it anymore. He closed his eyes and drank the magical liquid.

Everyone gasped and the entireestablishment went completely silent. Brianna’s face lit up in expectation ofBucky to be finally hers. But he just kept his eyes closed. He felt some tinglysensation inside of him and could still taste the sweet liquid in his mouth.‘It must be working already’, Bucky thought to himself too terrified to openhis eyes.

“What is he doing?” Somebody whisperedto the person next to them.

“Open your eyes, lover boy!”Somebody from the back yelled.

But Brianna sat therepatiently. She knew he would eventually open his eyes.

“What is this?” Suddenly,everyone heard the voice of Nick Fury himself as his authoritative figureappeared at the balcony just above them.

Everybody jumped startled.Including Bucky who opened his eyes. But they didn’t land on Brianna. No. They happenedto land on you.

“May I ask why is everyonesitting around like this chatting and nobody is actually doing their work?”Fury asked unamused. “What if there is a sudden alien attack? Hmm? You’llinvite them for a cup of coffee hoping they’re not hostile?”

Nobody even dared to move amuscle. Everybody were just staring at him terrified. Even the bold Brianna whowas too distracted to see where Bucky’s eyes were.

“Everyone back to work andknow that if I see this one more time you’re all out of the intelligence!” Furystated firmly and continued on his way.

You sighed in relief andrestored your breathing. Everyone just looked at each other saying things like‘that was close’ or ‘man, that was scary’. Only a few seconds later did youlook back at Bucky remembering what you were all doing there. And with quitethe shock you noticed the way he was looking at you.

“Bucky?” You heard Brianna’s heinousvoice.

She snapped in front of hiseyes but they wouldn’t move away. She followed them and with a terror noticed hiseyes were looking at you.

“NO!” Brianna screeched.

“Ohhhhh” Some people startedlaughing at the twist of the events.

“Wait, is it Y/N?” Someoneasked.

“What happened?” Somebody wastotally confused.

“Bucky and Y/N sitting on atree K-I-S-S-I-N-G” Somebody felt the need to sing.

You couldn’t have been moreembarrassed. You even hated having to submit your reports which seemed like toomuch public exposure, let alone this. You wanted to sink into the ground andstay there forever.

A door opened on the upperfloor. Everybody looked up at the balcony.

“Is it Fury again?” Someoneasked terrified and all agents ran towards their working stations likecockroaches when the light is turned on in the kitchen.

Only you, Bucky and Briannaremained where you were.

“You will pay for this!”Brianna shouted.

“How do I have anything to dowith this?” You tried to protect yourself.

“Oh, you think I haven’t noticed?”She got up and walked towards you. “The way you look at him. With yoursparkling eyes. You want him, too.” Brianna was standing right above you. “Andyou dare to tell me you have nothing to do with this? You barely waited foryour little chance to ruin my plan and get Bucky to be yours!” She yelled herlast words which made you jump startled. “I swear to god, Y/N. You will pay forthis!” After which Brianna retired to her office.

You were sitting therebreathing heavily. Just a few minutes but they turned your world upside down.What was to happen now?

“Y/N, you’re so beautiful.”You heard Bucky’s voice from a distance.

You slowly looked at him andnoticed the stupid expression on his face. It would appear he was madly in lovewith you. And how couldn’t he be? He took a freaking love potion and you werethe one he first saw.

“Bucky…” You started softlyand walked towards him. “You’re not really in love with me. It’s magic.”

“Magic is your smile for itmakes me melt every time I see it.” Bucky replied as he got up towards you.

Those words took your breathaway. Nobody has ever spoken in such a manner to you beforehand.

“Your eyes are like twostars.” Bucky continued his love poetry. “Shining beautifully and bright makingyou want to gaze at them for all of eternity.”

You found it really hard tohold yourself. After all, you were in love with him. And now suddenly – he wasin love with you, too. It all sounded tempting but your common sense was stillwinning.

“Listen, Bucky.” You said.“I’ll find a way to fix this. I’ll ask Brianna who did she take the love potionfrom and try to get an anti-dot or something. You’ll be fine.”

“I am fine when I am aroundyou.” Bucky was so close to you that you felt really uncomfortable.

He was leaning down as to kissyou but you stepped away. You were scared that if he did you might fall for himeven more and then your common sense would be swept under the rug like it neverexisted.

“Y/N, where are you going?”Bucky followed you.

“Back to work. What you shoulddo as well.” You said accelerating your pace.

But Bucky was following you inseparably.You were passing by some agents who looked at you two weirdly.

You finally got to yourworking station which you shared with agent Lilly Pennington. She wasn’tpresent earlier, so she had no idea of your misfortune.

You basically ran inside andclosed the door after you. Lilly looked at you startled.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Sheasked you concerned.

Before you managed to sayanything Bucky appeared at the small square window of the door and placed hisface and hands on it. He had that stupid expression over his face again.

“What is going on?” Lillyasked confused. “Y/N? Why is agent Barnes looking at you like that?”

“Oh, Lilly. If you knew.”

“Well, I can know if you tellme.”

“I love you, Y/N!” Abruptly,Bucky shouted from across the door.

“What?” Lilly screamed barelyholding her laughter.

“Oh my god!” You mumbled sittingon your chair. “What am I going to do?”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait…”Lilly said. “Start from the beginning. What is happening?”

You briskly explained theongoing situation to your partner. And after she spent 10 minutes in genuinelaughter you noticed Bucky was still gazing lovingly at you through the windowof the door.

“What am I going to do,Lilly?” You asked without a hope.

“How about embrace it?” Sheasked back. “You are in love with him. And now he’s in love with you.” Shespoke smugly.

“Look at him!” You shoutedpointing out at his stupid blank expression. “He’s not himself. He cannotfunction. Why would I want him like that? He just follows me like a puppy.That’s not a meaningful relationship.” You placed your face in your hands.

Lilly got up and walked to thedoor. “Let’s see.” She said but before you managed to react in any way sheopened the door.

Bucky walked inside stillstaring at you the same way. You got up ready to kill your partner. Instead,you saw her standing in front of Bucky. He didn’t move his eyes at all.

“Hello, Barnes?” Lilly saidwaving and snapping in front of his face. There was no reaction.

“See? He’s a zombie!” Yousaid.

“But he’s your zombie.” Shereplied smugly. “Take him. What woman doesn’t want an idiot at her feet?”

“Lilly, this isn’t funny!” Youshouted.

“Then why am I laughing?” Shewas enjoying this way too much.

Suddenly, Bucky walked towardsyou. You stepped backwards startled but almost immediately your back hit awall. Bucky stopped in front of you. He leaned down towards your lips. Insteadof your lips, however, Bucky tasted the wall for you had moved away at the rightmoment.

“Bucky…” You said as you walked away. “We havea problem. This can’t work.” You turned around.

As you stopped you felt himright behind you. You made a step, he made a step, too. You made two steps, hefollowed you in exactly the same way.

“I need to talk to Brianna.”You said and flew out of your office.

At the end of the corridor, thestairs, two floors up, another corridor. Bucky followed you inseparably.

You stopped in front ofBrianna’s office and knocked.

“Come in.” You heard herunpleasant voice mixed with irritation. She hasn’t forgotten the mishap fromearlier.

You walked in followed byBucky. Brianna’s facial expression changed from ‘I had a bad day’ to ‘I’m goingto kill everybody in this building starting with you two’.

“Look, Brianna.” You said. “Iknow there’s tension between us and we don’t really like each other but we haveto fix this.” You said pointing at Bucky who was still staring at you.

On his turn, Bucky got down onone knee and held your hand. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

Brianna literally broke thepencil she was holding. The parts flew in the air and hit the two oppositewalls.

“We really need to fix this.”You were basically begging her.

“Please, Y/N, marry me!” Buckywas insistent in his trance. “Please, be mine!” He said after which he startedkissing your hand.

“That could have been me.”Brianna said through her teeth angrily.

“Y/N!” Bucky continuedmentioning your name as he now got down at your feet and started kissing them.

“Brianna, please.” You weredesperate. “I’ve never asked you for anything else.”

But she was just looking atyou enviously without saying a damn word. You looked at your feet. Bucky wasnow hugging your leg whispering “Y/N, marry me.”

You walked out of Brianna’soffice dragging your right leg which Bucky was still holding. Everyone lookedat you with confusion and surprise.

“Y/N, where are you going?”Bucky asked you sad.

“Oh, look, it’s the lovebirds!” An agent that was present earlier shouted.

“How’s the love life?” Someoneelse said.

“Look at Barnes! His mind isgone!” Somebody laughed.

“Gone at Y/N!” Another oneadded.

Everyone was laughing, eventhose that weren’t present earlier. You saw the girl’s bathroom and savedyourself there. Luckily for you, there was nobody inside.

“Get up, Bucky!” You decidedto be firm.

He obeyed. That stupidexpression was on his face again.

“I have work to do.” Youcontinued. “And you have work to do. Now we will go out from here and we’ll goin different directions. I’ll go back to my office, you’ll go to yours, right?”

“Your lips are so beautifulwhen they move.” Bucky said.

You sighed. “Bucky, this isn’treal! You’re not in love with me and you don’t want to marry me! You need torealize that!”

“I’ll rip my metal arm off ifyou want me to.” Bucky wasn’t making sense at all.

You were staring at him inpure shock. What were you going to do?

“Where is he?” You heard thedistant voice of Sam.

“Oh, thank god.” You said inrelief.

You walked out of the bathroomfollowed by Bucky. “Sam, over here!”

He looked at your directionwith his eyes and mouth wide opened. You walked to him with a hope.

“You need to help me!” Yousaid desperately.

“What have you done to Barnes?”Sam asked you angrily.

“Me?” You were offended. “Itwas Brianna!”

“But they say he’s under yourspell or something.”

“My spell?” You were losingit. “Brianna wanted to give him a love potion, so he’ll be hers but he ended upfalling for me.”

“You’re so beautiful whenyou’re angry, Y/N!” Suddenly, Bucky said still staring at you.

“Alright…” Sam was losing hispatience. “Come here, lover boy.” He said pulling Bucky aside.

“Wait, no… Y/N!” Bucky shoutedat you but Sam managed to hold him back.

You sighed in relief andwalked back to your office. You told Lilly what happened and tried to work butyou were still pretty shaken. You were released to go home earlier. You spentthe entire evening wondering what Sam did to Bucky but you knew it was theright thing. You hoped that by now he was all fixed and that tomorrow would beback to normal. As long as he didn’t remember anything of course.

You got to bed pretty earlytired from all of today’s emotions. You were just falling asleep when suddenlyyou heard the window in your living room breaking. You jumped out of bed as yougrabbed your work gun. You walked out of your bedroom ready to fire. Youweren’t prepared for what you were about to see in your living room.

“Y/N!” Bucky shouted injoyance to see you.

“Freaking hell, Bucky!” Youshouted back.

He was carrying a big bouquet offlowers and a box of chocolates.

“Why did you leave me, Y/N?”He asked with a sad tone. “I love you, Y/N!”

Bucky walked to you and got onhis knees again. He gave you the flowers and chocolates. Then he pulled thebelt across his body and a small guitar appeared from behind his back. Yougasped. Bucky started serenading you with a love song.

“Oh my god…” You whispered asyou grabbed your phone.

You dialed Sam. “Listen tothis!” You said after he answered and placed your phone at Bucky, so Sam couldhear.

When Sam arrived Bucky wasfondling your face explaining how perfect it was. How every inch of it was justwhere it had to be and how every shape and curve was perfectly placed. Thatwas, of course, after he was finished with his little love serenade.

“Jesus Christ, Bucky!” Sammumbled as he grabbed him once again and pulled him from you.

Bucky started fighting andscreaming your name but two other agents appeared at the door and helped Sam.You knew things weren’t over yet. You took a deep breath and took care of thehole in your window until a craftsman could fix it.

In the morning you got to thebase as any other day. You were beaten. You couldn’t sleep at all. Sam wasalready waiting for you in your office.

“How bad?” You askedconcerned.

“Come and see for yourself”.Sam led you.

You got to a double room forinterrogations. Bucky was in the inner room with a mirror. You were on itsother side that was a window.

“Y/N, where are you?” Buckysaid dragging himself over the floor. “Why did you leave me, Y/N?” He wasnearly crying.

Your heart was breaking seeinghim like this. It was obviously torturing him.

“All night long.” Samclarified. “He’s been like this since we got him here.”

You looked at Sam with wateryeyes. “What are we going to do?”

“We are not going to doanything.” Suddenly, you heard Fury’s voice behind you.

You looked at him startled andbowed for some reason. “Director.”

Both Fury and Sam looked atyou weirdly but ignored it.

“Brianna was already sent to demandan anti-dot from that witch, so we can fix agent Barnes.”

You sighed in relief. Itshould all be over soon.

“Y/N, my love.” Buckycontinued. “Where are you, Y/N? I need you! I love you! Y/N, don’t break myheart!”

“Do you want to go out?” Samasked you noticing how those words were affecting you.

“I can’t torture him anymore.”You said and abruptly opened the door and walked to Bucky.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Samasked running after you but it was too late.

“Y/N?” Bucky asked with ahope. “Is that really you?” His eyes were all puffy. It seemed like he hadcried a lot.

“Yes, Bucky, it’s me.”

“Y/N!” Bucky yelled and walkedto you. He was once again at your feet.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Samasked you irritated.

“Y/N, I love you!” Buckycontinued. “I breathe only for you!”

“Agent Y/N, what do you thinkyou’re doing?” Fury wasn’t charmed, either.

“Let him have a little bit ofpeace until Brianna comes.” You replied.

Neither Sam, nor Fury approvedyour doings judging by their faces. But neither of them also knew that you wereactually in love with Bucky and seeing him like this was killing you on theinside. Even though it wasn’t real.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”Bucky uttered lying on the floor at your feet. “Please, Y/N, marry me! I can’tlive without you!”

You sat down on the floor andsmiled at him. “Yes, Bucky, I will marry you.”

You heard Sam and Fury’sreactions. You were happy you didn’t see their faces.

“Oh, Y/N!” Bucky was losinghis mind even more. “I’ll make you very happy! And I’ll make you lots of kids.Like, at least 20!”

Fury walked out and Samstepped away. Neither of them wanted to witness this.

Secretly, you wished this wasreal. You were so in love with Bucky that you were ready to give him the 20kids he was talking about. Maybe adopt some of them, though.

Bucky started blabbering aboutthe wedding and all kinds of things as you just sat there listening to him, sohe wasn’t torturing himself being away from you.

Shortly after, the salvationcame. Fury got back alongside Brianna and a young witch. She was carrying theanti-dot. For a moment you got really sad. A few minutes later you would benothing more than just a colleague to Bucky again. You knew you couldn’t ‘keephim’ but he was starting to grow on you. Him and his stupid behavior and hiswords of enchanting you.

“Oh, that’s pretty bad.” Saidthe witch observing Bucky from a distance. “That’s really bad. How much of thepotion did you give him?” He asked Brianna.

“Well, the whole one.” Shereplied unceremoniously.

“Girl, I told you he has totake just a small sip!” She almost yelled at her. “A small sip and he’ll be inlove with you but still his self. But this?” She pointed at Bucky. “I bed hedoesn’t even eat. This amount of love potion is deadly! Have you forgotten whatI told you?”

Everyone looked judgingly atBrianna. You looked at her with rage.

“You cannot give this muchlove potion to a person!” The witch continued. “They become too obsessed withtheir loved ones and refuse to do anything else, including eating and drinkingwater. The potion itself is harmless but the consequences of the dose arelethal!”

You were ready to pull outyour gun and split Brianna’s skull in two.

“Y/N, why are you so angry?”Suddenly, Bucky spoke. “I want you to only be happy! Don’t be angry!”

“Oh my god, give him theanti-dot!” The witch said handing you a small glass bottle of a dirty whiteliquid. “Don’t torture the man anymore!”

“All of it?” You asked withprecautions.

“Well, since he had drank theentire love potion, yes!”

You looked at Bucky. He wassmiling like an idiot. You two were still sitting on the floor.

“Bucky, I have something foryou.” You said lifting the glass bottle in front of his eyes.

“For me?” Bucky asked surprised.“Y/N, you shouldn’t have! I should give you presents!” He said as he got up andwalked away.

“Bucky, wait!” Everyone jumpedstartled after him.

“Where is it?” He startedsearching for something. “I swear to god, Y/N, it was right here!”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” You triedto comfort him. “Drink this and you’ll feel better.” You handed him the bottle.

Bucky observed it for a whilebut eventually took it in his hands.

“Come on, drink it.” You said.“For me. If you really love me!”

“Of course, I love you, Y/N!”

“Then drink it. To thebottom.”

Without hesitation Bucky drankthe whole liquid. You saw the expression of disgust over his face. Then itchanged to pain and uneasiness. Bucky sat on the floor seemingly sick. You alljust observed.

“Argh” Bucky said rubbing hisface. “What the hell just happened?” He finally revealed his face after a fewmoments and looked around. “What am I doing here?”

“Bucky, do you love Y/N?” Samwas brusquely direct.

Your heart skipped a bit.

“What?” Bucky asked totallyconfused.

Everyone sighed in relief. Atwas all over.

“Thank you.” Fury said at theyoung witch. “You are free to go now. Agent Markus.” He looked at Brianna. “Inmy office!”

Just a few moments later theatrocious Brianna was released of her duties in S.H.I.E.L.D. Everyone was sohappy about it that you all even threw your little party.

“Will somebody please explainto me what happened?” Bucky asked confused and disoriented.

“What do you remember?” Samasked him.

“Brianna had me… well, shewanted me to… I drank it. I drank the love potion. I remember that.” Then puredisgust was written all over his face. “Was I in love with her?”

“No.” Sam replied. “Thecircumstances were such that you fell for Y/N.”

Bucky looked at you but youlooked away. You really needed fresh air, so you just walked outside withoutsaying a word.

While you were sitting outsideand thinking over the past 24 hours Bucky came to you and sat down. He seemedto be better.

“Do you remember anything?”You asked him.

“Vaguely.” Bucky replied.“Just some flashes in a way. I really felt the love, though. I really felt likethere was nobody else but you.”

“Well, that was the potion.”You laughed.

“Was it?” Bucky slipped.

You looked at him confused.

“Anyway…” He seemeduncomfortable. “I wanted to ask – did I really break your window?”

You chuckled. “You did, Bucky.You broke my window to serenade me.”

You two started laughing.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll pay forit.”

“Don’t worry, Bucky. It’sokay. It’s important that you are back to your old self that is not in lovewith me.” You said in an even tone with a pinch of disappointment.

“That is not quite true.”Unexpectedly, Bucky said.

You looked at him surprisedand confused. Was this some residual effect from the love potion?

“Y/N, I am in love with you.”Bucky said gazing into your eyes. “I always have been. I just never… had thebravery to say it out loud.”

You were getting paranoidready to scream for the witch again.

“That’s not the love potionspeaking. It’s me!” Bucky was insistent.

You got up ready to run awayfrom him. You weren’t ready for this again.

“I love the way are too shy toeven submit your reports but are unstoppable to beat a criminal’s ass.” Buckycontinued. “I love how you tilt your head in small twitches when you getnervous. And how you try to hide it which usually makes you twitch even more.And I really love the fact that you are such a beautiful person and thecomplete opposite of Brianna.”

You felt like that now he was getting you under a love spell.But this one was for real.

“Y/N” Bucky said as he heldyour hands. “Please, be mine. For real this time.” He whispered as he leaneddown and kissed your lips.

Your body trembled at thetaste of him. You’ve waited for this for so long.

“How did you know?” You askedafter the kiss was over.

“By the way you look at me.”Bucky replied. “Or more like by the way you avoid looking at me.” He chuckledand so did you.

Hand in hand you got back atthe base. You couldn’t have been happier – Bucky was finally yours and Briannawas gone from your life. It took some time until the others accepted that Bucky’slove for you was real and not another love potion. Sam never truly got over itand actually slipped Bucky some anti-dots but his love for you never faded. Atyour wedding Sam finally accepted the truth and even became the godfather ofyour first child.

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Thank you for reading! If you liked it please react - reply/like/reblog! Your support is appreciated!

This fic is my own work, it is not to be re-posted on this site or posted anywhere else without my knowledge and consent!

[imtryingmyfuckingbe]

Werewolf of Portland

Pairing: Dean x FBI!Reader

Word count: 10K

I’m not good a summaries, but I drew inspiration from anytime the boys give actual FBI Agents the “talk”, as well as that episode where Jody calls them out for using Bobby as their “supervisor”. This is a repost because I accidentally deleted the original, but it gave me time to edit it better. I’m thinking of doing a second part if I get enough feedback or requests for it, so please, please, please tell me what you think. I’m hungry for feedback haha. Also I know nothing about Portland or official FBI Badges so please keep that in mind as you read.

Warnings: Canon violence, profanity, and a plot twist I didn’t even see coming

Werewolf of Portland

The repugnant, putrid scent overcomes the clearing, spread by the gentle breeze. Despite the green grass littered with wild flowers, the unforgiving scent of rotten eggs clings to the workers’ hazmat suits. Flies buzz incessantly around the body, like that of an opaque blanket if adorned with beady eyes and veiny wings.

While the forensic cleaners work to gather the corpse’s remains for transportation, Agent Y/L/N stands at the edge of the control zone. Her day started at 4:39 in the morning, wherein she spent the next five hours scouring the field alongside her team. Even with her duties tended to, she refuses to leave the scene. The sparse clues yielded in the first examination plague her mind.

No fingerprints, no shoe prints, no footprints, no DNA; the list of what they don’t have extends further than what they do.

The body itself— what little the attacker left of it, at least— covered the majority of the scene. Torn to pieces, heart removed; remains scattered. She hopes the coroner can get something from her examination. The lacking evidence in addition to this being the fourth body found places an insurmountable weight on Y/N’s shoulders. 

The public’s outrage cries for the FBI to put the criminal behind bars, but they’re no closer to identifying witnesses, let alone a culprit. Y/N signs, running her hand through her hair. No matter the amount of cases she faces, no matter how gruesome, she never lets it desensitize her. If she becomes numb to the pain of blood and guts, she fails to invest herself in solving the case.

Turning from the scene, she instead takes in the myriad official vans and workers putting about. Her partner speaks with forensics, gathering whatever helpful information they can provide. A small side glance her way and the lift of his hand by his side, he beckons Y/N over. However, her lead feet refuse to move. Still engulfed in the horror show behind her, she takes a moment to collect her thoughts.

Y/N struggles to keep her emotions in check. Rage courses through her veins at the heinous acts humans commit, to fulfill sadistic pleasure or cure one’s demons. Unfortunately, in the FBI, she must swallow her anger and sadness, replacing it with a monotone voice and calculated expressions. Taking a breath, she departs from the border and heads towards Agent Colt. 

He finishes speaking with the worker, who leaves the partners in peace.

“They’ve got nothing. We’ve got nothing. Not for this one, not for the past three.”

She already knows this. A thought tickles the back of her mind, but she cannot name it. “All right. Maybe they got sloppy; maybe this time the coroner will get something. Anything.” Elijah rolls his eyes, pursing his lips and rubbing his chin. Y/N knows he’s saying We can’t base our investigation on maybe. Another sigh. “Fine, let’s run through this again.”

Elijah leads the way to their company car. “So, the heart. That’s the main focus. It’s missing.”

“Yes. This points to it being personal. It takes a lot of passion and hatred to rip through someone’s chest and remove their fucking heart. Which, another thing, the hearts aren’t just removed. They’re taken.”

“Right. Okay, haphazard blood splatter; no pattern. I’d say our killer is disorganized. Listless.”

“Not completely. I mean, there’s an even month between each murder. That leans more towards organized. There’s ritual. It’s not really first come, first serve, ya know?”

Elijah pauses at his door, fingers clasped tightly around its handle. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, staring off into the distance. Y/N knows that look. She’s seen it in herself, survivors and fellow agents. He’s not looking at the clearing, but trying to connect the dots. Perhaps the weight of solving this doesn’t rest solely on Y/N’s shoulders.

As Elijah returns from his reverie and yanks open the car door, Y/N hears a deep, raspy voice greet the local law enforcement. Her partner settles into his seat, staring at her with drawn eyebrows and pursed lips. She holds up a finger.

Casting a quick glance behind her, Y/N finds two suits mid-introduction with the sheriff. The pair hold up identification booklets, much like the one in her pocket. Their suits hang too loosely off of their bodies, their dress shoes too scuffed. The longer she watches their body language, the larger the pit in her stomach grows. She turns around to lean against the car, keeping focus on the men. They talk for a moment more before the sheriff nods in her direction.

Y/N watches their shoulders tense, standing taller from the rigidness. Yes, she muses, something is off.

The window she leans against pulls on her coat as Elijah rolls it down. “Hey, you coming?”

Pondering for a moment whether she should let him in on her instincts, Y/N decides against it. “Yeah,” she leans down, poking her head through the window. “I’m going to stay here, actually. I want to see if I can squeeze anything else out of the uniforms.”

Elijah chuckles. “We’re uniforms too, you know.”

She returns the laugh. “Right, well, you head back to the office. Make a fresh pot of coffee, too. I’ll meet you there.”

He holds two fingers to his forehead before dramatically sweeping them across his face. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Y/N stands as he rolls the window back up, patting the roof. Elijah peels off while she returns her attention to the still-gawking men. Their postures only straighten as she nears; if they stood any more rigid she’d swear they were wax figures. “Harold,” she acknowledges the sheriff. He nods. “How’s it going on your end?” Y/N keeps the men in her peripheral but focuses on Harold. 

Harold’s eyes shift to the pair, then back to Y/N. “As I was telling your fellow agents—” at this statement, the men share a glance, “—still nothing.”

“Right, well I want to go over everything again. Give me a moment.” She finally turns to greet the supposed agents. “Gentlemen, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” Scanning their faces, she studies them for any quirk of the lips or perspiration on the brow.

The taller one speaks first. “I’m, uh, Agent Pert and this is Agent Bonham,” he gestures next to him.

Pert and Bonham? Really? She refrains from rolling her eyes.

Instead, Y/N doesn’t respond, using the pressure of silence in her favor. Harold clears his throat, uncomfortable with the tension. She ignores him, keeping focus on the men before her. Most of her suspects break under her gaze; very few can sustain their façade in an encounter with her steely eyes and stiff posture. Harold excuses himself,  unable to withstand her harsh eyes. The men continue to stare, neither willing to relent. Unfortunately, this renders them at an impasse. She, too, will not look away or speak.

Agent Pert concedes, taking the lead. “Right, well, we’re here from DC to investigate the murders. What have you got?” His voice imperceptibly wavers— if untrained, Y/N wouldn’t notice the quiver— the corner of his lip twitching. 

Ignoring his request, she commands, “Let me see your badges, agents.”

Another conversation through a shared look before they hand them over. They’re good, the badges. A smidgen off center of authentic. If not for the incorrect serial code and too high insignia placement, Y/N would accept them at face value. She closes the booklets and pockets them, earning a small Hey of protest from the short one. Cocking an eyebrow, she dares them to challenge her.

“Impersonating a federal agent is a crime, I’m sure you know.”

“Impersonating a— call our superior and check! Let me see your badge!” Crew cut exclaims, indignant.

“I’ll lend my badge after I’ve talked to your superior officer.” She wonders how far they intend to take this rouse. 

With their business card in hand, she retreats a few steps. As she dials the number the little whisper in the back of her head pesters her further. The questionable agents and unsolvable case remind her of… something. 

“Agent Willis,” a voice grunts.

“Willis? What’s your outpost?”

“Headquarters. Who is this?”

“Agent Y/L/N. It appears I have two of your agents here; I’m sure some wires crossed when you sent them down? What were your orders for Agents Tyler and Grohl?” 

“Who are you to question my authority, Agent?”

His growl pulls the pressing thought to the forefront of her mind. 2005, in Cincinnati on her first case. Similar to her case today: bodies piled up with no leads and peculiar circumstances. She ran into someone claiming to be FBI, too. Fresh from the academy with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she accepted his excuse of  bureaucratic miscommunication; why don’t we work the case together? 

She laughs. “Wait, hold on. I know you.”

“Noyoudon’t,” he spits out, too quickly.

“Yeah, I do. Fuck, what’s your name?” she mumbles, more to herself than him. “Singer! Ohio, we worked a case together. Culprit never caught and you went on your merry way.”

He blubbers, failing to produce a proper excuse. “I don’t know a Singer, Agent.”

She rolls her eyes, finally turning to face the men. The stricken look on their faces only further points to the truth. “All right, Willis. Even if that were true, you also don’t know your agents’ names. They introduced themselves as Pert and Bonham. Really, Singer? Rockstars’ names?” The humor of the situations drains, replaced with its severity. “All right, I’m taking your men in. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put and wait for mine to come get you.”

“Wait— Y/L/N, right? Hear me out,” he pleads, urgency ringing clear in his voice.

“You have ten seconds.”

“Listen, they’re there to help. Your attacker ain’t what you think it is. I closed that case in Cincinnati, thanks to your help. But, it wasn’t a person. It was a vampire.”

She laughs again, this time wild and unbelieving. “Yeah, right. And this one is a fucking Chupacabra.”

“No, it’s not. We think it’s a werewolf.”

“You’re fucking nuts. No, I’m calling this in.”

“Y/N. Wait. Talk to them, please. People are still in danger. Their names are Sam and Dean. Winchester.” The desperation in his voice settles with unease in her chest. Her time on the force yields too much experience in discerning honesty from duplicity. 

Rather than respond, she ends the call and returns to the newly named Winchesters. They stand unmoving, shoulder to shoulder; if not for the wind tussling the tall one’s hair, she’d think they were statues. “So.” They squirm under her gaze. “Which one of you is Sam and Dean?” Their eyes widen at her remark, startled by her knowledge of their true identities. 

Crew cut juts his chin out and squares his shoulders. “I’m Dean. That’s Sam. Why don’t you tell us who you are and how the hell you know our names?”

“I’ll be the one asking questions, gentleman. I’ve half a mind to put you in cuffs. First, you impersonate a federal agent; second, your pal Singer brings up werewolves? Sounds like three peas in a pod headed for St. Christopher’s Asylum to me.” Neither respond. “Thirty seconds, boys. You have thirty seconds to make me believe you or the only way you’re leaving is in cuffs.” For emphasis, she pats her hip, whereupon the cuffs hang.

The pregnant silence leers on.

“25.”

Sam sighs, running his hand through his hair. “All right. There are things in this world that you don’t know about; that not many people know about. The bumps in the night, the clichés; most of them are real. Have you had anything happen to you that you can’t explain? Or had an unsolvable case?” He pauses for her answer, but she only looks on, hands on her hips. 

Vampires? Werewolves? What the fresh fuck? Her mind reels with the implications of his statement; even still, it doesn’t feel wrong. A few cases come to mind instantly: the serial killer who left victims’ eyes burnt out, people torn to shreds in supposed animal attacks by nothing from these parts. How many victims faced the unknown rather than human wrath? She can handle psychopaths, serial killers, the insane. She knows that evil; deals with it regularly. But the supernatural? No.

“Right, well, we hunt those things. We take them out,” he gestures between himself and Dean.

Y/N’s hands drop from her sides, falling limp at her thighs. “Just you two?” She whispers, cold and disbelieving.

“No,” Dean speaks up. “Not just us. There’s a lot of us out there.”

“Listen, I’m going to need more than just your word. I don’t know you, and I sure as hell don’t trust you. What can you give me that will make me believe you?” Despite not wanting it, she needs proof. Plus, if they turn out to be nuts, she can lock them up and toss the key; no harm, no foul.

They nod once, curt but understanding. Sam takes a step forward, hand raised in her direction. “This’ll take a leap of faith, Agent…”

“Y/L/N.”

“Agent Y/L/N. Let us work on this with you,” Sam implores. “And if we’re wrong, you can book us yourself.” 

“Sammy, hold up. Who’s to say we can trust her either? She’s just some Fed. Who’s to say she won’t cuff us anyway?” Dean protests, turning towards Sam.

While the two quietly argue, Y/N takes a step back. Running her tongue over her teeth in concentration, she ponders the options. Even if Sam offers her control, she knows their type: they won’t let her actually take the lead. Dean reminds her of her father, and that man never relinquished supervision. In order for this to work in her favor— seeking the truth, protecting the public— Y/N must fulfill the role as the dutiful public servant. Perhaps they’re not fucking lunatics, and this thing turns out to be real, she’d be way out of her element anyway. Still, she refuses to give up control.

Staring off towards the field, where the body once laid, she contemplates the little evidence recovered. Vics torn to shreds, no prints, no DNA. Local PD swears it’s a cougar, an animal indigenous to the area. Even still, animals are simpler than humans. They kill for sustenance or safety. The brutality of this kill, the length of the claw marks, lack of fur, ritual occurrences; it all points in the wrong direction. Y/N would quicker say some furry decided killing offers more sexual release over cosplay than call it a fucking cougar.

“If you expect me to try to trust you, or at least what you say, then I need your trust, too. This goes both ways,” she interrupts. The men cease their heated discussion, turning towards her. “I don’t like what you’re telling me. I don’t want to believe it. But… I trust my gut, and I think you guys are either great liars or telling the truth.” Sam smiles, but Y/N holds up a hand. “However, I will not put my eggs in one basket. I need insurance that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain. This means I’m taking point, and you guys are consultants. Anything you know, you tell me. Anything you find, you tell me. Anything you do, you tell me. Capiche?”

Sam nods before Dean, nudging his side to encourage his agreement. Dean tosses his hands in the air. “Fine. Where to next, Agent?” Venom drips with each word. 

“I need to get back to the station. My partner, Agent Colt, will be—”

“Colt? Agent Colt? The irony.” Dean interrupts. Sam elbows him again, and Y/N chooses to ignore him altogether.

“I’m going back to the station. I’ll talk to the Uniforms and tell them to give you anything pertinent to this specific scene. Anything to do with the others can wait until tonight. Meet me at Carlton’s, off of Hamilton street. I’ll bring the files for the other Vics.” She hands Sam her business card, not trusting Dean to keep it. 

“What about our badges?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, exhausted. “Fuck, man. I’m trying my hardest to ignore the federal crime you committed right in front of me. Prove you’re right and you’ll get them back. Until then, you’re consultants employed by the Bureau.” 

She pushes passed them, heading towards Harold. Their boots crunch on the gravel as they lag behind her. He halts his conversation with one of deputies upon their arrival. “Sheriff, these two are fresh blood from the academy.” She juts her thumb over her shoulder. “HQ thought this would be a good case for them to learn on the job. Tell them anything you know and let them case the scene. I’m going back to the station to meet up with Elijah.”

“But—” Harold begins. Y/N levels him with sharp eyes and pressed lips, stopping him in his tracks. “Right. Okay. Follow me, Agents.” Sam and Dean shoulder passed Y/N, catching up to the Sheriff with a few long strides. 

Y/N stands for a moment, hands in her jacket pockets, watching the two men. If this turns out to be a rouse— if she let two criminals onto the field with her permission— that’s her head. Shaking the thought away, she turns. She’s able to hitch a ride back to the station with the forensic profilers.

———————————————————————————————————

Elijah spared his questions when she returned, thankfully. Instead, he shoved a hot cup of cop shop coffee into her hands before continuing their earlier evaluation. “Right, can’t be disorganized, but he’s definitely passionate. That shows connection to the victims.”

Y/N sips her coffee. Forcing the bitterness down her throat, she also swallows her new knowledge. She must work this case like any other, for it might be. “You think it’s a man?”

Around the bite of an apple, he says, “Yes. Female offenders aren’t typically serial murderers; they’re passion killers. Black Widows, Angels of Death, you know the type.”

“I do, but Wuronous diverged from the typical female murderer.”

“Yeah, that’s one of many. Most other women utilized poison for their kills. The ME didn’t find any traces of cyanide, arsenic, or tetrodotoxin— nothing. Doesn’t fall in line with what we know.”

Y/N simmers. She knows this, of course. “Let’s keep the possibilities in mind.” She sifts through the crime scene pictures, lining up the photos of the different victims side by side. “Placement doesn’t seem to matter, so that leans away from obsessive compulsiveness. The offensive wounds support this, too.”

“Y/N, what are we reaching for? We don’t have a profile, a motive; nothing.”

“Not true. Let’s lay it all out, one more time. Hearts are taken, gruesome attack wounds, lower body left alone. Maybe these are passion killings, and the only thing in common with the victims is the killer. I mean, people come and go all the time here. Maybe they knew the Unsub outside of Portland. The ritualistic pattern of the murders makes me think the killer stalks the victims in the month down time; gets to know their schedule, comings and goings. They’re all aged between twenty-five and thirty-five. Maybe the killer is attracted to the ages rather than physical descriptions. Also—” Y/N stops, sighing.

Even as she tries to string everything together, she knows Elijah is right. Too much of the evidence contradicts any profile they could scrape up. Ritualistic but not obsessive, disorganized but keeps to a schedule, passionate murders between unrelated victims. Nothing points them in any definitive direction. They’re grasping at straws here. 

Sam and Dean creep to the forefront of her mind. She downs her coffee in one go. It heats her stomach, and she blames her rising temperature on the beverage rather than brimming anger. Clenching her fists, she crushes the paper cup. Elijah reaches over to rub her shoulder, massaging her tense muscles. “It’s okay, Y/N/N. We’ll catch this son of a bitch,” he encourages, misunderstanding her frustration.

She rubs her eyes, forcing them open. Wordlessly, Elijah fills hands here a new cup of coffee, topping himself off as well. They sit in silence, pouring over their respective files. The victims must have connections; even if Y/N allows herself to believe the Winchesters, she can’t believe monsters don’t have rituals. Psychology reaches further than humanity— scientists observe it in animals. In order to keep hope and keep going, Y/N trusts in the knowledge that all things in existence operate off of some code. 

Another sigh, another gulp. “One more time. From the first victim. Elijah, there has to be something.”

He purses his lips, clear indignation warring his exhaustion and winning. Even still, he nods. “All right, Vic One: Stephanie Lane, age 27. She worked at the local vet clinic on Broad Street. Usual nine to five, Monday through Friday. Killer got her leaving work Thursday night, July Fifth, around six p.m. Scratched her up, took her heart. Passerby found her body two days later.” He wets his lips, staring at her file.

Y/N nods in confirmation, already well aware of the facts. With a fine-tooth comb, they revisit each victim after Stephanie Lane. Jonathan Grism, Marcus Kent, and, the most recent, Gabrielle Shaw. All with varying occupations and seemingly no connections, aside from enjoying the casual run or grueling hike. Despite their apparent love of nature, the Unsub chose to kill them in their daily routine.  

On a whim, Y/N searches each date (July 5th, August 3rd, September 2nd, and October 1st) for any similarities in the dates, coming up short and further exasperated. Elijah keeps to himself while she abuses her keyboard, refusing defeat. Only on her fifth page of Google searches does she find anything worth noting; unfortunately it supports the Winchesters. Each murder occurred on a full moon. 

She slams her laptop closed, finishing her coffee and crushing her cup. “I need a break, Elijah. Just some time to clear my head and get fresh eyes.” She stands, tossing her cup into the wastebasket. Elijah leans back, clasping his fingers behind his head. “I’m getting some sleep. You should too. You look like shit.”

Elijah laughs. “Thanks, Y/N/N. You don’t look too much better yourself.”

She shoves his shoulder as she passes, shouting a goodbye over her shoulder. Elijah hollers something back, but she’s already out of the front doors. The crisp air helps the fog in her head, supplementing it with aches in her bones. Her boots crunch leaves with each step, and she forces her focus onto the noise.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. 

Werewolves?

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The supernatural?

Crunch, crunch— smack.

A broad chest stops her, calloused fingers grasping her upper arm to steady her. Y/N looks up, palms pressing against a soft t-shirt, into effervescent green eyes. Dean grins down at her, the left corner of his lip tilted in an almost-sneer, if not for the mischief in his eyes. She rolls her eyes, pushing back against his firm chest. He releases her, hands up in mock surrender.

“Agent, fancy seeing you here.”

“Where? Outside of the station where I work? Must be kismet.” Sarcasm drips from her words like venomous honey, sickly sweet and sticky.

“Well, to be fair, you did say to tell you anything we find, so here I am.”

Her heart stutters, excited. They found something. This could be the end of the murders. Straightening her back and returning to Agent Y/L/N— locking Y/N into a tight box at the back of her mind— she faces Dean head on. “All right, what have you found?” Her voice lacks the previous emotion, all business and no play.

Dean sighs, a look flitting across his face and disappearing before Y/N can place it. “Walk with me.” He turns on his heel without awaiting her response, starting down the sidewalk.

She follows, despite the annoyance burning the bottom of her feet with each step. They continue down the street in silence, save for their steps and the seldom passing cars. While she wants answers, Y/N knows pestering delays the process. Dean seems like a man who has been through the ringer a couple times. If he shares similarities with herself, he won’t share anything until he’s ready— another form of control she wants to rip from his fingers.

By the time they reach the doors to the Sunshine Diner, Y/N must clench her fists to bury the frustration of unanswered questions. Dean holds the door, motioning for her to go in. In the back right corner of the restaurant sits Sam, typing furiously on his laptop. So. It appears Dean did search for her once they found something. Pleased at the notion, she lets some of the annoyance roll off her shoulders.

Dean settles in next to Sam, Y/N taking the opposing side of the booth. “So, get this,” Sam begins. “Your murders started four months ago, right? Well, turns out a small werewolf pack traveled from Washington to Portland because they drew too much attention to themselves. One of our connections in Seattle worked the case until they completely disappeared, no trace, no nothing. Within a month of leaving Washington, the Portland murders began.” He finished, peering at her through the too-long tendrils of his hair.

Y/N schools her face into indifference, despite her racing heart and sweating palms. He sounds so sure and calm, like they run into werewolves grocery shopping. Dean looks at her, too, sharp eyes searching for anything in her expression or body language. 

For a moment of reprieve, the waitress approaches the table. Rushed and rough, the trio relay their orders: Sam an egg white omelet, Dean the Bacon Supreme, and Y/N another black coffee; she ignores her shaking hands and clammy skin. The server jots down their choices, rushing off to the next table.

Y/N clasps her fingers together, leaning forward. “That sounds like a nicely wrapped present with a bow on top. I need your process. How did you come to this conclusion? Who is this supposed hunter?”

Sam squints at her, mouth  agape. “Those are your questions, really? Nothing about werewolves?” He turns to Dean, bewildered. Dean shrugs, looking all too comfortable for the topic of conversation.

The server returns with their drinks,  setting the three coffees and one orange juice in front of the respective customers. As if purposefully slow, she takes her time to offer creamer or sugar, unaware of the tension. Dean taps one of his fingers on the surface of the table while Sam makes polite small talk with the waitress. Y/N continues to study the men before her. Finally, the server leaves once more.

“Listen, if I’m going to believe your bucket of crazy, then I’m going to believe it. So, no. I’m not going to ask about werewolves, I’m asking about the details of your research. I need to know how credible you are.”

This time, Dean leans forward, staring straight into her eyes and speaking low. “The hunter we know in Washington, Richard, kept track of them enough to know their comings and goings. He put out the word through the Hunter grapevine that he needed help with the… extermination of the pack, but by the time anyone could come to help, they migrated south. To here. We know it’s this pack because the victims share the same hobby: doing shit in nature. Runners, hikers, whatever. It makes them easy targets—”

“— Except they weren’t killed on hikes or runs. They were killed after work or errands or—”

Dean continues speaking, as if she hadn’t interjected. “—This specific pack only eats the heart, a common characteristic of werewolves. However, a lot of them eat more of the body, and depending on what they eat points to which pack is most likely to be the attacker. These sons of bitches blend in, except on the full moon, where they go apeshit for hearts. Richard identified the pack leader; Sam found where they’re holed up in. Good enough for you, Agent?” 

She wants to slap the pleased look straight off of his plump lips and pretty green eyes. Instead, Y/N props her head up in her palm, keeping her eyes level with Dean’s, swallowing her ire and replacing it with feigned kindness. “Yes. When are we going to get them?” The thought of coming face to face with a monster rushes like winter water through her veins. She reminds herself she deals with monsters on the daily; hers only lack claws and fangs, and whatever else. The circumstances only vary slightly.

“We? There is no ‘we’, sweetheart. We kept you in the loop, like you asked, but you don’t know Jack from Shit about how the gank these fuckers. You do your job, and we’ll—”

Y/N raises her hand, silencing Dean. “Listen, sweetheart, I know the area. I’m guessing they’re staying at the Crest Apartments off of 205, right? Developers left it abandoned when the surveyors refused to clear it due to landslide likelihood. I know the woods, the city, everything. As for what I don’t know, you can teach me. I may not be trained in proper monster lore, but I know how to fight.”

Dean leans further forward, meeting her at the halfway mark of the table. He lowers his voice, speaking gruffly as if to admonish. “You might be an agent in the normal world, but to us you’re just a civvie. No matter what you think you can do, no matter what you think you know, you’ve never faced these things in real life. I’m not about to put your stubborn ass in danger just so you can prove a point.” 

Y/N opens her mouth to retort, but Sam grabs Dean’s collar and pulls him back. “Enough with the pissing contest. I get it: you’re both badass,” he interrupts, at his wits end. “Listen, Y/N,” he begins, softer. “I’m sure you’re good at what you do. You got the location correct without any intel, save for what you know about your city. But Dean’s right. If you come, you’re more of a liability than helpful.”

Y/N closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it for five counts. When she exhales, she forces a smile upon her lips, albeit a bit sardonic, and opens her eyes. The men stare at her, awaiting her response. She stands, instead, straightening her jacket. “Gentleman, I’ll see you tonight. Bring an extra weapon, seeing as I’m sure normal bullets won’t kill a werewolf. Nine o’clock?” Rather than wait for a response, she nods her head and departs onto the street once more.

———————————————————————————————————

From the moment she stepped outside of the diner to the moment she parked her car behind Sam and Dean, her phone rang. Y/N assumed the alternating unknown numbers belonged to the brothers, likely wishing to dissuade her from joining their crusade. She ignored them, deleting any voicemails they left. She knows they’re right; she doesn’t know left from right when it comes to monsters. But it’ll be a cold day in Hell when she lets some terror run rampage in her city.

Instead, she chose to bide her time researching werewolf lore between several more cups of coffee. Luckily she came across a duo well versed in their knowledge: the Ghostfacers. Although they posted their most recent content a year ago, she assumes lore stays the same. Silver bullet, shot to the head or heart, werewolf down for the count.

Y/N alights from her car, closing the door. Sam and Dean stand at their trunk, rummaging through— an entire arsenal of weapons? Y/N still has half the mind to arrest them. First impersonating federal agents to knives and machetes and guns in a hidden compartment of their car? She forces anxiety down, instead choosing once again to believe Sam and Dean are not raging psychopaths. Every bone in her body screams to cuff them and book them; her entire career banks on capturing nuts jobs like these two.

Still, she makes her way to their car, stopping at her front bumper to lean on it. “So. Silver, huh?”

Sam turns to face her, loading his .45 absentmindedly as he takes in her appearance. Gone is her official suit, in its place jeans, boots, and a well-worn long-sleeve. Dean rummages through the trunk, ignoring her presence. “You researched,” Sam replies, more so a statement than a question.

“I don’t go in half cocked. Pun intended. Got any leftover bullets? I’ve got a .45, too,” she muses, patting her hip for emphasis. 

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other occupied with a magazine. “For the last time,” he begins, turning to face her, “I don’t want you here. We don’t want you here. If things get hairy in there, we can’t protect you, Y/N. You’re a liability. You don’t know—”

“— Jack from shit, yeah, yeah,” she dismisses, waving a hand. “Stow the crap, I’m coming. Now, do you want me going in defenseless or do you have silver to spare?” She stands straight, squaring her shoulders and holding her head high. 

Sam covers a laugh with a cough, his attention trained on Dean. Y/N forces her unwavering gaze onto him, who in turn rolls his eyes. His shoulders sag in defeat as he returns attention to his trunk. Wordlessly, he passes her a simple pistol, already loaded. She adjusts her grip, searching for a comfortable hold. 

“Thanks.” 

Dean barely nods his head. Y/N leaves the pair for a moment, returning her own gun to the glove box and locking it. 

Upon her return, Dean closes the trunk with a deafening slam, leaning against it. “All right, let’s get some things straight. We go in first, you follow. We’ll call clear and then we move forward as a group, understood?” Y/N wants to roll her eyes— Dean seems to forget she works raids on the regular— but she nods. “Good. We counted five. You see someone who isn’t us,” he motions between Sam and himself with his gun, “you shoot. Bullet to the heart will do the job.” He delivers a pointed look in her direction, awaiting confirmation.

“Got it.”

He looks at her for a moment, his eyes alight with enough fire to bore holes into her clothing. A familiar look hides behind his façade of rage; it rests on the tip of Y/N’s tongue. Perhaps a concoction of grief and hope. She sees it in herself when a case grows too heavy; grief for the pain and hope for the end. In this moment, Y/N feels like she knows Dean. 

The moment breaks when he shakes his head and walks heavy footed to the building. Sam falls in line with Y/N, resting a hand on her shoulder to slow her. She cranes her neck to look him in the eye, skin burning whereupon his palm rests. “He doesn’t want casualties. He doesn’t have the best way of showing it, but Dean cares about people. He’s got enough blood on his hands.” Sam squeezes her shoulder, sparing a tight lipped smile, before dropping his hand.

A few long strides puts him next to Dean, shoulder to shoulder. Y/N hangs back, processing Sam’s vague confession. She understands the need to protect others. The most pressing motivation for joining the Bureau stems from this desire. These men fight in a war separate to her own, but not dissimilar. They’re two sides of the same coin, both Y/N and Dean aching to save, save, save. 

She shrugs her shoulders, pushing the nerves building in her chest down to her toes. If Sam and Dean tell the truth of the awaiting horrors, she needs to ready herself. In matters of life and death, anxiety only increases the chances of death. Adrenaline only carries her so far before it peters out.

Dean stands at the front door, gun raised and legs parted. Sam stands to the side, hand on the handle. Y/N, as promised, stands back and behind Dean. With a nod from Dean, Sam pulls the handle, opening the heavy door. The brothers file in first, flashlights illuminating the unfinished floor and walls. 

Their footsteps echo as they clear each room, a foreboding cadence through the empty halls. Dean looks back at Y/N, ensuring she still follows. She keeps her gun pointed to the ground and her senses open. At the first corner, Dean holds his arm out. Sam and Y/N flatten themselves against the wall while Dean looks around the corner. He nods, stepping out into the open once more. 

A crunch from the right hallway drags Y/N’s attention from the brothers proceeding to the left. Peering down the corridor, she finds it empty. Just as she turns to catch up, another crunch sounds, followed by a squelch and a footstep. Looking behind her, Y/N finds Dean and Sam halfway down the hallway. “Dean!” she shouts as quietly as she can. He doesn’t turn. “Dean. Sam!”

Nothing. 

She sighs, frustrated. One side begs her to run down the hallway to warn them; the other implores her to follow her gut and the noise. Another wayward glance in their direction and Y/N turns right. She steps carefully, avoiding debris. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. 

The further she travels down the hallway, the darker it gets. Footsteps and low voices grow closer as she reaches another left or right turn. She presses against the left wall, sparing a glance down the right corridor. Empty. The left hallway, however, offers cover to three silhouettes crowding in front of a closed door. She startles back, heart hammering against her ribs.

Y/N holds her breath, calming the relentless anxiety in her chest. Breathe in, hold four seconds, breathe out. Rinse and repeat. She looks back to where she last saw Sam and Dean; they’re gone. Great. Now she's truly dug herself an early grave. 

With one last breath, Y/N turns the corner, aims and shoots. One of the people— werewolves— yowls in pain, collapsing to the ground. Yellow eyes glow in the dark, the only light from their end of the hall. Guttural growls roll from their chests as they stalk towards Y/N. She fires again. It hits the plaster, sending dust and shards flying. 

“Fuck.” 

The monsters pick up speed, running full force in her direction. She fires one more time, hitting one in the leg. It crashes to the floor, knees hitting the ground with a sickening crack.  The other continues. Y/N whips around, running down the hallway towards Sam and Dean— she hopes. Her feet thump with each step and she pays little mind to the trash and tools on the ground. 

A foolish mistake, it seems, as she stomps on an empty chip packet. Her right foot slips from beneath her, sending her careening to the ground. The side of her head smacks against the concrete. Her vision blacks for a moment before the pain spreads in webs from her cheek to her neck, down her back. The heavy footfalls of her pursuer sound muffled compared to the needling throbbing in her head. 

With a groan, she pushes herself onto her hands and knees. A hand on the wall stabilizes her, she clambers to her feet. An unfortunate time to do so; the werewolf runs full force into her, slamming her onto the ground once more. Autopilot takes over as she raises her palms to the man’s chest, pushing as hard as she can.

He snarls, snapping his teeth as he tries to reach her neck. Y/N blocks his throat with her forearm, using her spare hand to blindly search for her gun. Instead of the handle, she grasps a wrench. Good enough. With as much force as she can muster, she clobbers the werewolf’s head. He falls off of her, a hand pressed to his bleeding forehead.

In the second of reprieve, she spots the pistol a few feet away. She throws herself through the air, grabbing the handle before turning onto her back, the gun pointed towards the monster. 

He dives after her. Bang. The shot rings out through the hallway. His body tenses before relaxing completely, eyes half lidded and empty. Y/N rolls out of the way as it collides with the floor. Her breaths come ragged and short, but the fight persists. The unforgiving footsteps of her aggressors afford little time to catch her breath; she pushes herself up once more. 

Panting, but not yet done, she turns towards the thundering steps. Sam and Dean race towards her, guns at the ready. “Oh, thank God.” She drops her guard and lowers her pistol to her side, leaning against the wall to catch her breath.

Dean reaches her first, fire in his eyes and coating his words. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to stay with us, Y/N!” He grabs her chin, calloused fingers tilting her face to get a better look at her wounds. He pulls back, lifting and examining each arm. Y/N, too spent, lets him search for whatever he wants to find. She feels the welting of a bruise on her right cheek and a trickle of blood from her forehead.

“I got— I got three,” she gasps, watching Sam turn the werewolf over. 

Dean releases her, shaking his head. She touches her cheek, wincing at its sensitivity. “Oh, how nice. You also almost got yourself killed. I swear to—”

“—Dean,” Sam warns. “There are two more. We can worry about this later.”

“I got— I killed one of the others, but the third one I just hit in the knee.” Admitting to killing something, despite it being a monster, settles heavily in her stomach. She presses her hand to her lips, forcing her lunch to stay put. 

No time to puke, Y/N, she scolds herself. 

Shaking her head, she compels herself to focus. She nods at Sam and Dean, who take their positions at the front once more. This time she has no intentions of abandoning their protection. They stalk forward, albeit not as carefully as before; the ruckus certainly alerted the rest of the pact to their presence. Turning the corner, they find the werewolf Y/N shot first. A trail of blood leads the room they convened outside of, the door open this time.

The trio step lightly and quickly to the room. Dean peers in before entering. Inside, the wounded werewolf leans against the wall, a hand pressed against his thigh. Dean shoots him on the spot, wasting no time. Another body lies in the corner, torn the shreds. Aside from the two corpses, the room yields no tell-tale signs of the rest of the pack. Even still, Sam and Dean survey every nook and cranny. Y/N hovers by the door, working on slowing her breath and calming her heart. 

She peaks out into the hallway, just in case. The darkness limits her view, but she can’t hear anything either. Her ears ring, a relentless low buzzing from hitting her head and firing her gun too closely. Dean places a hand on her lower back as he passes, alerting her to his presence. The warmth spreads through her body, even when he lets go and walks ahead.

“Do you think they left?” she wonders aloud. It’s what she would do, but packs could think differently than humans.

Sam walks next to her, looking at her in his peripheral. “Maybe. But we want to clear the whole building, no stone left unturned and all that.”

She nods, instantly regretting it. Her brain tumbles around her head, hitting the walls and throbbing. Y/N rubs her temple, but says nothing. Lord knows Dean would already have a smartass retort on the tip of his tongue. Instead, she concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. 

They clear the first floor easily, no signs of the last two. Dean leads them back to the front of the building to the stairwell. The door refuses to open, no matter how much force they use. The handle turns, but something on the other side blocks its pathway. Sam and Dean brace their backs against the door, plant their feet on the ground, and push as hard as they can. It budges slightly, only enough for them to see inside.

One of the railings torn from the stairs leans against the door, while another, wedged between the railing on the door and the first step of the stairs, holds it in place. They’d have to get in there to open the door. The brothers try once again, opening it a smidgen further. 

As Sam and Dean discuss the next step, Y/N formulates her own plan. She knows the boys, Dean in particular, won’t like it. Stepping closer to them, she chooses to stand next to Sam, hoping for his support.

“Listen,” she interrupts. Both brothers run their attention to her, Sam’s eyebrows raised and Dean’s drawn down. For a moment, she wonders if they have other facial expressions or if they always look this perturbed. “I can fit in there,” she motions to the opening in the door, a crack about a foot wide. Dean opens his mouth to disagree, but she holds up a hand. “I’ll get in there and move the railings so you guys can get in too. Quick and simple. Won’t go off on my own, promise.”

Sam and Dean meet eyes, silently coming to an agreement. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Fine. Be quick.” He sets his steely gaze upon her face. “And, I fucking swear, Y/N— if you go off by yourself I will kill you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure, you will.”

She shoves passed him, knocking his shoulder on purpose. He grumbles something under his breath, but moves out of the way. A deep breath in, Y/N sidles through the opening. She barely makes it, struggling to get around the railing. Once inside, she grasps the leaning railing, using her whole body to pull the steel from where it’s wedged. Inch by inch, she gets it out of the way. 

It hits the floor with a reverberating clang, settling in the alcove beneath the stairs. The other falls to the ground, closing the door with its force. Y/N sighs, throwing her head back in frustration. Fists bang on the other side of the door, Dean shouting her name along with profanities.

“I’m fine, you oaf. Give me a second,” she yells back, exasperated.

“Hurry up, Y/N.”

She groans, sinking to her knees for more leverage. Breathlessly, she retorts, “I. Am. Trying.” With a grunt, she pushes the steel into a vertical position. “All right, you should have enough—”

“Need a hand?” a low voice taunts from above.

Y/N looks up. An unassuming woman stands at the platform of the first level, hands on her hips and an all teeth grin baring her lips. “Dean?” she yells, urgent and frightened. The door opens with enough room for Sam and Dean to squeeze through.

Dean barges in first, gun raised. He casts a glance at Y/N, following her gaze to the landing. Mechanically, he pulls the trigger. The woman falls with a thud. Y/N lets out a breath, hands white knuckling the railing and eyes trained on the body. Sam grabs the metal while Dean pries Y/N’s fingers off, more gently than he’s been with her all day.

She looks at him, eyes wide. As much as she wants to act fearlessly, she’s seen more people— things— die in front of her today than in her entire life. Dean nods, as if to say It’s okay, we get it. She steps back, letting him take the railing. Together, the brothers shift it to rest upon the other. 

Y/N closes her eyes, clenching and unclenching her fists. Her nails dig crescents into her palms, the stinging centering her. Okay. Okay. I can do this. Her skin burns under the gaze of Sam and Dean, even if she can’t see them herself. Opening her eyes, she focuses on the men before her. 

“You good?” Dean asks, warm and low, a hand reaching out to her.

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.” She motions before her, allowing them to take the lead again. 

Four down, one to go, Y/N reminds herself with each step. The task seems less daunting with the odds in their favor at three against one. On the second platform, they exit into the hallway. The builders didn’t get so far as to hinge a door to the opening, thankfully. The trio stalk down the corridor, straining to hear anything out of place. 

The end of the hallway yields a wall and two doors opposite of each other— one opened and one closed.  The brothers broach the entryway of the open room, clearing it with a quick sweep. Similar to how they entered the building, Dean stands in front of the closed door while Sam grasps the handle. Pushing it open, Dean rushes in, Y/N and Sam following closely behind. 

The door slams shut behind them. Y/N whips around, ready to fire and finish the job. She stumbles, lowering her weapon, jaw dropped. Dean steps in front of her, half blocking her from— “Elijah?” Dean looks back at Y/N, brows furrowed and lips parted. Sam rests a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he taunts, almost as if scolding her. “I see you’re running around with scum. I thought you were better than that.”

She shakes her head, struggling to wrap her head around the man before her— her friend— being a monster. “What— how…”

He rolls his eyes. “Wah-how? Blah, blah, blah. You were always so naive.” He twirls a knife between his fingers, a small smirk dancing on his lips. Y/N looks away, unable to handle Elijah being the culprit she sought so long to capture. “When they came to town all those months ago, I caught one of them. I was ready to cuff ‘em and book ‘em, like we’re trained. But Eddie, the one you shot in the leg, Y/N, presented an offer I couldn’t refuse.” His voice glides like silk over her skin. It takes everything not to vomit.

“Only downside is once a month I’d get a little craz—”

The shot rings clear in the air, stopping Elijah’s tirade. Y/N’s head shoots up in time to watch him crumble to the ground. He settles with a soft finality, folded over himself. Dean turns around, saying something, but she can’t hear him. She shakes her head, tears stinging her eyes. Her knees give out, collapsing. Sam falls with her, softening the blow.

She pushes off of him. “Get off of me, get off of me,” she screeches, banging her fists into his chest until he releases her. He holds his hands up in surrender as she scrambles a few feet away. 

Y/N rests on her knees, forehead touching the cool ground as if in prayer. Dirt and dust grind in her wound, she knows, but she can’t feel it. She can only replay Elijah’s fall. The separation of the man she knew and the man who he became felt too small. She never noticed a difference. He acted the same: kind, funny, a good agent. A good friend. 

Her sobs wrench in her chest, burning her throat. She wants to scream, but it comes out strangled, reverberating from the ground back to her— furious and despairing and inconsolable. Running her fingers through her hair, she grips the roots needing something to hold. Everything feels new in a terrible, sickening way. Just yesterday she believed she and Elijah would put the murderer behind bars. Now, she knows monsters exist. She fought one. She knew one.

Y/N breathes in, steeling herself. The man she knew died four months ago. She pushes herself onto her hind legs, wiping her tears. The burn of her fingers against her wounds calm her. Dealing with physical pain numbs the emotional. She presses her fingers to the bruise, hissing but reveling in the tenderness. 

She struggles to her feet, all too aware of the aches in her legs, and turns to face Sam and Dean. They stand by the door, leaning on the border. In her moment of desolation, they moved Elijah somewhere. Out of her sight. Not wanting attention, or Are you okay’s, she pushes past them, avoiding contact. Silently, they follow her to the stairwell and out onto the street. The cool air dries her tears and fills her lungs. For the first time since peering around that godforsaken corner, she can breathe. 

Sam and Dean keep a respectable distance, letting her lead them to the cars. Wordlessly, Y/N returns the gun to Dean’s grasp, leaning against her front bumper. She tilts her head back to gaze at the waning moon. 

“You good?” Dean asks, settling next to her.

She looks at him, really looks at him, for perhaps the first time. The green of his eyes highlight the bags beneath them. His laugh lines contradict the exhaustion heavy on his lips. His shoulders hang low, weighed down by the knowledge of darkness and pain.

Y/N sighs, accepting the beer he offers her. “I’ll be all right.” She means it. Maybe her monsters don’t have fangs and claws and familiar faces, but they’re monsters all the same. “You know what’s funny?” Dean raises an eyebrow, taking a swig of his El Sol. “I’ve seen worse,” she giggles. 

Dean looks away, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Yeah? Like what?”

She sips her beer, too, thinking of a good story. “One time there was this weird inbred family that captured people and hunted them down. Had a barn with cages and shit. They kept their victims cars in a junkyard-graveyard thing, and—”

Sam and Dean share a look before busting out laughing. She glances between them, offended at their mockery. “All right, I’ll keep my stories to myself, then.”

“No,” Sam gets out between bursts. “No, we, um— we hunted those guys. Thought they were monsters. Turned out to be hicks with too much time on their hands.”

It’s Y/N’s turn to laugh. “No fucking way! Must’ve just missed each other.” She shakes her head, taking another sip.

“Small world,” Dean whispers into his bottle. 

They settle into a comfortable silence, the tension from the day drained. Y/N lets her mind wander— from meeting these men to now, and everything between. She tries to think back to before all this; before yesterday. The person who stood on the outskirts of the caution tape versus the person who sits on the hood of her car are miles apart. 

“Oh, that reminds me.” She pushes off of her bumper, unlocking her car. From the inside door she grabs two small booklets. Y/N passes the fake badges to the respective users. “A few tips: don’t use famous names. That’s the first thing that gave you away. Secondly,” she takes Dean’s badge back, opening it up. “Your official federal insignia is too low. It should be square with your picture. And your serial code is the wrong date. The first number—sometimes letter— is the year this was manufactured. We get new badges every two years, alternating between numbers and letters. Right now,” she says, opening her own booklet, “we are on letter Q.” She passes the badge back to Dean, who pockets it.

Sam nods, “Thanks for the information.”

“Yeah, I just love helping people—”

“— impersonate federal officers,” Dean and Sam interrupt, saying it in unison.

She laughs. “I’m glad you guys didn’t turn out to be crazy.”

In another pocket of silence, they finish their beers. Dean grabs the empty bottles, tossing them into a beat up green cooler while Sam turns to rest on the side of the Impala. Y/N readies herself to say goodbye, ignoring the ache in her chest. She refuses to admit it aloud, but she wishes she met them under different circumstances. She wishes she met Dean under different circumstances. 

Despite only knowing him for two days, Y/N can see herself in Dean. He bears the same weight she bears. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that his eyes remind her of fresh cut grass at the beginning of fall. Paired with his smell of cinnamon and gunpowder (a scent she knows all too well), she can’t help but want to know him. If they had met in a bar, she would definitely have taken him home.

Dean returns to her side, this time shoulder to shoulder. “You think you can handle that?” he inquires, pointing to her forehead and cheek.

She touches it gingerly. “Yeah, I think so.”

He nudges her shoulder with his, and she looks up at him. “You did well, tonight. Better than I thought you would, honestly.”

She grins, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s what you get for doubting me.”

He looks ahead again, and she does, too. The sky brightens as the sun returns for its reign. The fatigue from the last twenty-four hours settles in, and, without much thought, she rests her head on Dean’s shoulder. He tenses for a moment, and she feels him look down at her, but he lets his shoulders sag again. He places a hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently, as if to say I’m right here. I’ve got you. 

At least, she hopes that’s what he means. 

The sun finishes its creep into the sky and the stars fade into a blanket of pink, orange, and purple. Y/N and Dean hop down from the hood of her car and Sam meets them between the bumpers once more. Sam dips down to hug Y/N first, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and squeezing tight. She fights not to groan when his grasp aggravates the aches in her bones. He releases her, casting a smile in her direction.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N. Here,” he passes her a torn piece of paper with two numbers scrawled across. One has an “S” next to it, the other a “D”. “These are our numbers. Call us if you run into anything else.”

She nods, grinning too. “The same applies to you guys. It doesn’t hurt to have someone on the inside.”

He pats her arm before taking his leave, settling into the passenger seat. Y/N turns to Dean. He doesn’t look like much of a hugger, so she extends her hand for a shake. Rolling his eyes, he grabs it, but wraps it around his waist. Dean envelopes her in his arms, holding tighter than Sam with one hand in her hair and the other barred across her shoulders. This time, she welcomes it, in spite of the pain. 

He lets her go, but keeps his hands on her shoulders. “I mean it, Y/N.” His voice is low and sinful. “If you need anything, call us. Call me.”

“Anything?” she drawls playfully. He nods, regardless. “Even just to talk?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” His right hand travels up to her neck. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, not entirely sure of his intentions but welcoming anything. He pulls her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Get home safe, Y/N,” he mumbles upon releasing her.

“You too, Dean.”

She waits for him to get in his car before she clambers into her driver’s seat. Her bones creek as she settles. Twisting her keys in the ignition, she rolls the windows down and heads home. Werewolves of London blares across her speakers, and she laughs. Yeah. She’ll be all right.

Taglist:

@angelicthreads

[mommyslittleboi]

By Rebecca Goldstein

"Recently, there’s been a “kink” that has become more widely known as DDLG. This abomination, which stands for “Daddy Dom Little Girl” is essentially pedophilia-lite and is super uncomfortable, abusive, and wildly problematic. Yes, I’m kinkshaming. No, I don’t care. I don’t need to be part of this specific community to speak about it, especially since these people have no problem going out in public as adults in children’s clothes, or going to the park and playing like children around other children. It is absolutely deplorable that they subject outsiders to their kink without their consent, so why should outsiders not be allowed to have an opinion on it?

Essentially what DDLG is is that there’s a man (or a woman; the creepiness of DDLG doesn’t discriminate) who is the “dom” and sort of acts like a father figure in the relationship. They control the “little” and make rules for them, punish them, reward them, etc,. It’s literally like being a parent. They parent their significant other. A brief search on Tumblr shows the toxicity of the culture: the “little” tends to dress in little kid’s clothes like adult-size onesies, they get pacifiers, diapers, and stuffed animals, which they call “stuffies”, and they choose an age to act– one of the most popular is the age range 2-5. They get into what’s called a “little space” where they escape from their real adult lives and act like children– and that’s when their “daddies” or caregivers are most sexually attracted to them and they have intercourse. The little is supposed to follow the notion that “Daddy knows best and is always right” and is essentially not allowed to say no or they’re punished. Do you feel uncomfortable yet? It’s literally grown ass adult people CHOOSING to have sex with other adults that are DRESSED LIKE CHILDREN. Yes, they are two consenting adults, but the concerning part is the fact that an adult has to see a person acting and looking like a child in order to get aroused! Beyond that, it’s literal abuse to not be allowed to say no.

There are various DDLG groups on Facebook and Tumblr featuring some heinous shit: role-play scripts using the term “princess parts” for a female’s vagina, “prince parts” for a penis, and honestly? A lot of the word “no”. These scripts feature the “little” speaking like a damn child, and there’s an obscene amount of spanking. In one of these godforsaken role-plays, the “little” details humping a stuffed animal to her “daddy.” It’s thoroughly concerning that these people refer to their significant others as “mommy” and “daddy.” Even Freud would thoroughly disturbed.

While BDSM and calling your partner “daddy” or something similar during sex is a bit more understandable, there is absolutely no reason and no justification behind acting and dressing like a child in order for sexual gratification. I refer to it as “pedo-lite” because while it’s not technically pedophilia since both parties are consenting adults, it’s damn near it since one of the parties is attempting to portray a child for sexual pleasure.

DDLG is disgusting and deplorable: acting and looking like a child for sexytime is really gross, and while I’m obviously not going to police what’s going on in your bedrooms (as long as you don’t police my midget porn!), if you’re into this: your desires are bad and you should feel bad. Pedophilia is horrendous and this is basically legal pedophilia. It is completely wrong"

110% agree. The fact that someones aroused by childlike behavior is gross. Unfollow me if your upset about it.

[koi-has-joy]

the secret to being "boring" is to say everything

Voltaire

    Here are a list of words that I know and would like to inform others of!

Tractable - easy to control, obedient

Extrinsic - external, on the outside

Rugged - rough, harsh, bumpy

Yogi - someone that does yoga

Torturous - painful

Orderly - organized, neat

Unique - one of a kind

Receptive - open minded, willing to accept new ideas

Apt - likely, most likely

Nonplussed - confused, unsure, unprepared

Oscillate - rotates, sways back and forth

Throng - a large crowd

Homage - public display of respect

Extricate - escape, remove, free yourself of something

Regress - go back, return to a previous state

Bait - lure, attract, tempt, intisce

Reciprocate - give back, pay back, in return

Idiom - an expression that’s not meant to be taken seriously

Credence - faith, trust, belief, confidence

Kith - friends, acquaintances

Impose - to put in place, force upon

Novelty - something new, original

Taper - to decrease, decline, lessen, reduce, go away

Harangue - long angry speech, rant

Eyesore - unpleasant sight, ugly, unpleasing to the eye

Whim - impulse, sudden desire

Arbiter - somebody that’ll settle a dispute or argument

Legitimate - lawful, legal

Lieu - instead, in place of

Faze - disturb

Archaic - old fashioned, out of style

Bedlam - chaos, commotion

Outlandish - bizarre, unusual, weird

Temerity - courage, gull

Terse - short, brief, to the point, concise

Ornery - mean, grouchy, grumpy

Triskaidekaphobia - fear of the number 13

Modus Operandi - pattern/method of doing something

Egregious - shockingly bad, outstandingly horrible

Denigrate - degrade, criticize, belittle

Gratuitous - unnecessary, unneeded

Iconic - well known, famous, popular

Tact - caution, sympathy, sensitivity, thoughtfulness

Ultimatum - final choice/option/chance

Affront - insult, an offense, a sign of disrespect

Toilsome - involving hard work or labor

Innocuous - not harmful or offensive

Offhand - offensive, carelessly, indifferent

Nepotism - family bias, favoritism

Listless - lifeless, lacking energy or enthusiasm

Insinuate - imply, to suggest, to hint at

Vivacious - full of life, energetic, lively

Indignant - angry

Noisome - stinky

Ostentatious - flashy, extravagant, showy

Neurotic - overly nervous, unstable

Atrocious - terrible, shockingly bad, horrible

Paraphernalia - tools, objects that go along with a particular activity

Recoup - regain, recover

Anomaly - unique, out of the ordinary, unexpected

Yore - a long time ago

Essence - the key element, the basis

Relish - great enjoyment

Stupor - in a daze, state of unawareness, near unconsciousness

Chagrin - disappointment, frustration, annoyance

Hinder - to delay, to obstruct, slow it down

Obviate - prevent, eliminate

Ordeal - challenge, experience of difficulty

Liable - accountable, responsible

Somber - gloomy, grim, serious, sad

Onset - beginning of something, start

Umbrage - offense

Trepidation - fear, nervousness

Discomfit - to make someone uncomfortable

Etymology - the study of words

Meddlesome - nosey

Orientation - the act or process of becoming familiar with something

Nemesis - rival, enemy

Staunch - dedicated, devoted, loyal, reliable

Bonafide - real, actual or genuine

Ire - anger

Loquacious - talkative

Lucid - clearly

Indigenous - native, from originally

Ethic - a set of morals

Jovial - happy, cheerful, friendly, kind

Exacerbate - to worsen

Aspire - to hope for, to dream of

Nullify - numb, cancel out, void

Tout - flaunt, boast

Logistics - plans, steps, arrangements, the process of managing or coordinating

Kismet - fate

Subrosa - secret, hidden

Hone - to sharpen or perfect a skill

Onus - responsibility

Wane - decrease, lessen, decline

Harbor - keep, hold on to 

Obstinate - stubborn

Sycophant - suck up, flatterer

Taut - stretched or pulled tightly

Battery - a long list or series

Lethargic - tired, unmotivated

Unwarranted - unfair, undeserved, unjust

Envoy - message

Status quo - normal, the usual, the way things are

Ubiquitous - everywhere, existing or present everywhere

Extraneous - extra, unnecessary, unrelated

Divisive - separation or hostility

Expound - explain in great detail

Snippet - a small bit of, portion

Histrionic - overly emotional, dramatic

Oraion - formal speech

Ensemble - a group that performs together

Succinct - brief, to the point

Superlative - the best

Tenet - opinion or belief

Acclimate - get used to, adapt

Innate - something you’re born with

Reparation - something you do or pay to make up for something that you’ve done wrong

Watershed - turning point

Ad Nauseam - to the point of annoyance

Yearn - crave, long, desire

Taboo - wrong, forbidden, restricted

Optimal - the best, ideal

Heinous - wicked, evil

Ergo - therefore

Affirmation - approval

Vilify - degrade, criticize, condemn

Edify - change for the better, improve, to instruct

Nexus - center

Magnanimous - generous

Amenable - open, willing, agreeable

Gaggle - noisy group

Inclusive - sharp, clear, direct

Consolidate - combine, unite

Altruism - selfless

Laconic - quick, brief, short, concise

Mesh - connect, work closely together

Yield - produce, grow

Snide - rude, mocking, insulting, sarcastic

Rescind - change, reverse, cancel

Lackadaisical - slow, lazy, unenthusiastic

Seethe - not showing/expressing intense anger

Wince - flinch/cringe in pain

Harmonious - agreeable, peaceful, friendly

Abscond - escape, flee

Trite - unoriginal, overused

Stupendous - extraordinary, astonishing

Evolve - to develop gradually

Repercussions - consequence of a previous action

Absolve - getting rid of guilt/responsibility, flee

Excursion - trip, journey

Negligible - insignificant

Mishap - accident

Sadistic - getting pleasure off of other people's pain, cruel, vicious

Malleable - impressionable, influenceable

Amity - peace, harmony

Existential - pertaining to existence or being

Obsequious - excessively obedient

Loathe - to hate

Solicit - to ask or request

Intricate - complex or detailed

Prodigy - a person or thing with extraordinary traits or abilities

Replete - having plenty, being full of

Delude - to mislead someone into believing something that isn’t true

Homonym - words that sound the same with different meanings

Elusive - hard to catch or pin down

Juxtapose - to put things side by side for comparison

Witless - without intelligence or wisdom, foolish

Zenith - a climatic or highest point

Vehement - very emotional or earnest

Unwieldy - difficult to carry or move due to size, weight or shape

Obligate - to hold someone to accomplishing a task

Transact - to exchange or conduct business with others

Purport - appear or claim to be or do something, especially falsely

Timorous - showing or suffering from nervousness, fear or lack of confidence, timid, without courage

Negate - to deny or cancel

Paltry - small or meager

Petty - of little importance, trivial

Reciprocate - to give in return

Pungent - having a strong smell or taste

Intrepid - confident, fearless

Eschew - to avoid or refrain from using

Divergent - moving progressively away from each other, tending to be different or develop in different directions

Cajole - to persuade through the use of flattery

Tangible - touchable, clear or undeniable

Luminous - glowing or brightly lit

Recuperate - to regain, to restore health or strength

Abnegate - to give up or renounce

Deteriorate - to become worse over time

Maxim - a saying or phrase that expresses a truth or rule

Evanescent - vanishing or fleeting

Usurp - to take wrongful possession

Dominion - sovereignty or control

Tenure - the conditions under which land or buildings are held or occupied

Vicissitude - a change of general situation or circumstances

Undulate - to make wave-like motion, to move like a wave

Prim - formal, proper

Relinquish - to give up or surrender control of something

Sapience - great wisdom or acquired knowledge

Resplendent - shining brightly and pleasantly

Atonement - amends made for a past wrong

Enigma - a mysterious or puzzling thing or person

Fraudulent - deceitful or fake

Reconcilable - capable of being restored to harmony

Iniquity - a weighty wrong or injustice

Jeopardize - to put at risk

Rigmarole - a complex, usually absurd procedure

Salience - the quality of being prominent or standing out

Ameliorate - to male a situation or problem better

Debase - to reduce in value or character

Advocate - to make a case for, to actively support a cause or person

[youreawizardharr]

Magical Capabilities

This post gives a detailed explanation behind the magic used by the Chapman family.

Credits:

Cropped renders by Arsheraldica (DA)

Fate/Prototype by Studio Lerche

BlazBlue Character Emblem

Tagging: @cradlesonanetwork

Warning: Contains religious context, read at your own discretion. This post will have originality, rest assured. If you feel uncomfortable, please ignore this post.

Note: This is part of my Cradlesona lore

┈     ┈     ┈     ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟     ┈     ┈     ┈

Magic the Chapmans harness is ancient, powerful, and more complex than modern magic. Stories of old have stated the ancestor of the family was gifted the capability to use such magic through Divine Intervention. No one knows why or how this came to be, for the records were lost centuries ago, and no one is for certain where they are located. The Magic Tower learned about this magic, seeking it for their own purposes, kidnapping members with this magic to conduct inhumane experiments on them. The experiments conducted were so gruesome that most of their test subjects perished, resulting the Magic Tower to be thorough with concealing the evidence, leaving no traces behind.

The previous Kings of Hearts and Spades investigated the incidents, suspecting the Magic Tower of these heinous crimes, but found no such evidence to back up their claims, thus the cases went unsolved.

Lancelot reopened the cases sometime after Eirene appeared in Cradle, researching into her background. However, he found nothing about her in Cradle's public records, stopping his search when Amon caught wind of it, informing him of the history revolving around the Chapman family name.

The Archon Seal is engraved on the skin of their upper back, an obvious sign that the user is part of the Chapman family, making them easily distinguishable from people with ordinary magic. The Thirteen requested the Chapmans find a better way to hone their abilities, so that the civilians aren't harmed.

The seal itself restrains the magic from going haywire, appearing once the user becomes of age. It keeps the Angel inside of them from taking every opportunity to control the vessel. It is a connection between the user and the Angel, acting like a conductor for the host to harness its' magic. The user will experience a burning sensation along their upper back once the seal has been activated, it usually lasts up to a few seconds, allowing the user to fully manifest the characteristics of the Angel within them.

The Telesmic Stages

The Aeon stage is the beginning of the four telesmic stages, and appears once the Archon Seal is activated. The user has no control over the Angel within them, and have limitations with their magical capabilities.

The first sign that the user has entered this stage is by looking directly at their eyes. However, one might note that they are eeriely similar to the red eyes of those who harnesses ordinary magic. Upon closer inspection, a distinctive pattern forms along the pupil as veins near their temples bulge.

The user will manifest barely noticeable wings with no halo. Despite their magical limitation, they are still a formidable force to be reckoned with. The seal will contain the Angel once the user becomes hyper-aware.

Eirene had entered this stage upon finding herself in the conflict between the Red and the Black armies. The Angel within her sensed ill intent and, once the Archon Seal activated, controlled Eirene completely. She had only used simple spells by the time Blanc and Oliver arrived. The two stopped her before she could do any real damage.

The Pleroma stage is similar to the first stage, with the same eerie red eyes. The only difference is that the user will manifest five transparent wings rather than four, and still lack a halo. Their magic pushes passed the limitations of the Archon Seal, allowing raw energy to seep through the cracks of the restraints containing the Angel inside them.

Eirene entered this stage upon honing her magic with the help of Harr Silver after learning about the truth of her father from Amon. It was due to her emotional distress, which caused her to nearly hurt the people she came to cherish with all of her heart. Although it was not her fault, nor was she aware that it happened, she blamed herself.

The Gnosis stage is an incomplete form of Gnosis Overload. The user can manifest all six wings, a transparent halo, and still be able to harness Angelic magic. Although their magic is not at its' full potential, it can still cause extensive damage to surrounding areas. Even while in this state, the user is not in control, therefore, the Angel goes haywire upon sensing ill intent. It cannot distinguish friend from foe, though someone close to the user can reach them with their voice.

Users who achieved Gnosis are able to keep up with those who mastered Gnosis Overload, but cannot defeat them in battle.

Erza Chapman was a user who achieved Gnosis right before his death. He transferred the majority of his magic to his daughter, Eirene Chapman. Amon Jabberwock murdered him by extracting the Angel from his body, sealing the Angel within himself.

The Gnosis Overload is the final stage a user can achieve. Their magical potential is passed its' limitation, and is at their most powerful. At this point, the user has fully manifested all the characteristics of the Angel inside of them. However, this does not mean the user is invincible, as they can still die even while in this form. Killing them will be a tough feat to accomplish, though not impossible. Find their weakness, exploit it.

Angels wield sacred relics known as Holy Artifacts. They are the Warriors of the Divine. Users can conjure these artifacts to wield in times of peril, but these weapons are at their strongest when used in Gnosis Overload. The ancestor of the Chapmans wielded the Gauntlets of the Abyss, also known as the Fists of Destruction. It was said he used these sacred relics to protect the country of Cradle. Another case is that Erza Chapman was able to conjure the sacred relic Excalibur, also known as the Holy Sword of the Heavens, for a brief time.

Arion Chapman was able to completely master Gnosis Overload, and conjure the sacred relic Vijaya Dhanush, also known as the Bow of Victory. His Angel is the only one that has fallen from the Grace of the Divines.

After her noble intentions of sacrificing herself for the sake of Cradle, Eirene Chapman achieved Gnosis Overload after intermixing her father's magic with her own. She conjured the sacred relics the Lances of Longinus, also known as the Lances of Destiny, and used them to defeat Arion Chapman in battle restoring peace at last.

Additional Notes

Unlike people harnessing ordinary magic, the Chapmans do not have to worry about Angelic magic chipping away their lifespans, which is the very reason the Magic Tower wanted to research and experiment on them.

The defining characteristic of an Angel is their Grace. It is an energy all Angels are consisted of, it is a material only unique to them. It is an energy of creation, of Divinity, of the Goddess.

The Chapmans are the only ones capable of harboring the Grace without suffering from the harmful effects.

[maknaesdancersrappers]

here are the kinks I am comfortable writing about:

Acarophilia: arousal from scratching. Scratching is often an element incorporated into rough sex.

Accidental stimulation: refers to accidental physical stimulation and situations that arouse adrenaline and cause arousal.

Actirasty: arousal by the rays of the sun. This may be enjoyed through sex outside.

Agoraphilia: fetish dedicated to sex in public places.

Altocalciphilia: a fetish for high heels, usually worn by women but not always.

Amaurophilia: kink for being unable to see, blinded or blindfolded during sex

Anal penetration: a fetish for anal penetration with foreign objects (not sex toys or penises). Inserting objects that are not designed for anal safety (porous, without a flared base, with sharp edges) can cause damage.

Anonymous sex: a kink revolving around anonymous sexual encounters where one or both parties is unaware of the other’s identity.

Aquaphilia: fetish for water and having sex in or around water.  This can extend to a fetish for swimwear or posing in water even if it doesn’t involve sexual activity.

Asphyxiation: a highly dangerous kink dedicated to choking, smothering and strangulation.

Begging: kink for begging and pleading (to have sex, for release/orgasm, to perform an act, etc.).

Blindfolds: a type of bondage that blocks a person’s vision.

Bondage: restraint of a person, either by physical item (cuffs, rope, etc.) or instruction (known as mental bondage).

Breath play: choking and limiting breath.  Being aroused by this is known as hypoxyphilia.

Breast/nipple worship: the act of worshipping someone’s breasts or nipples.

Caning: the act of hitting someone with a rod known as caning.

Clothed sex (endytophilia): the affinity for sex while fully or partially clothed.

Cock worship: similar to breast worship. This fetish involves verbal, physical and mental adoration of a penis – including fake ones (strap-ons).

Collaring: the act of wearing a collar to show submission, loyalty and/or devotion to a dominant.

Cuckold: where men know – and sometimes watch – their wives engaging in affairs.

Cunnilingus: this kink can be geared towards receiving oral sex as a woman or giving it either as a man or woman.

Dacryphilia: arousal caused by tears or crying.

Degradation: if you like when your man talks down to you during sex, you might be into degradation.

Double penetration: penetration of a woman’s vagina and ass via a combination of toys, penises or both.

DVP: stands for double vaginal penetration. Unlike double penetration (DP), which is simultaneous anal and vaginal penetration, DVP involves two penises or one penis and one toy in the vagina.

Exhibitionism: a common fetish for being naked and performing sexually in front of a person or persons.

Face fucking: an extreme form of blowjob where a man roughly fucks a partner’s mouth.

Face sitting: the act of a woman sitting on a man’s face while he performs oral.

Face slapping: a slap across the face brings you to attention and corrects your mistakes.

Flogging (flagellation): hitting someone with a multi-tailed tool known as a flogger.

Food play: incorporating food into sex.

Gags: a form of mouth bondage.

Group sex (Polyiterophilia): group sex and multiple party scenarios can be quite hot, but they can also be uncomfortable.

Hybristophilia: arousal by the knowledge that one’s partner has committed a heinous act or crime.

Impregnation: the fascination with making someone pregnant/conception during sex, typically from a man’s point of view.

Intercrural or interfemoral sex: thrusting between someone’s thighs without penetration.

Intoxication: taking drugs or alcohol during or before a sex scene. Intoxication can lead to poor decision-making, risky behavior and mistakes that could be dangerous or even fatal, especially when mixed with edge play.

Katoptronophilia: a fetish for having sex in front of mirrors.

Knife play: a type of edge play activity that involves actual knives or blades or the implication of.

Masochism: enjoyment of pain, punishment, and torture.

Medical play: role play involving medical scenarios, medical implements (scalpels, needles, speculums, etc) and/or medical uniforms.

Mixophilia: a kink related to watching yourself having sex. Recording sex and mirrors are two ways to enjoy this kink.

Odaxelagnia: kink for biting or being bitten.

Olfactophilia: attraction to smells, especially pungent body odors.

Omorashi: the Japanese word for a fetish related to having a full bladder and urinating on oneself.

Orgasm denial: type of play where someone’s orgasm is denied entirely, limited/ruined or delayed.

Pecattiphilia: fetish for sinning and breaking religious rules.

Pet play: any kink where someone acts like a domesticated pet.

Quirofilia: fetish for hands.

Ropework: a kink for rope as used as the specific type of bondage.

Sadism: the kink for providing pain.

Sensation play: a light kink where partners exchange sensations on the skin.

Sensory deprivation: any play that prevents someone from using one of their five senses.

Somnophilia: the fetish for sexual partners who are asleep.

Spanking: this is a fetish that many people have tried in the bedroom. A firm hand comes into play as punishment or enticement in many power exchange relationships, including domestic discipline (more on that here) relationships and schoolgirl roleplay.

Stockings: items that are often fetishized. Some people like all of them. Others prefer those that are lace-topped, hooked to a garter belt or with a visible seam down the back.

Strap-on: fetish specifically for using strap-ons. Anal, oral or vaginal penetration can be achieved.

Teasing (Tantalolagnia): To enjoy teasing as sexual gratification.

Telephonicophilia: the fetish for phone sex and dirty talking over the phone.

Triolism: a fetish for threesomes.

Uniforms: many women love a man in uniform, but not every couple incorporates this into their sex lives.

Vincilagnia: kink for being tied up and at the mercy of another person.

Voyeurism: a kink for watching someone else while naked or engaged in sexual activity.

Wax play: using wax during sex.

Zelophilia: arousal due to jealousy, either your own or someone’s jealousy over you.

taken from this site.

[c-sand]

Your tags on that literati post are so true. Both of their viewpoints are right but people still rally against Jess as if he's somehow the devil's spawn. Also acting like he broke up Dean and Rory intentionally when??? The entire relationship was based off of Rory trying to appease Dean's overbearing ass esp after she had to tell him she loved him just for him to get back with her??

It’s one of those really good moments where everyone’s right and no one’s really wrong -- even though basically everyone likes to say that Jess is. 

It is completely okay that Rory is feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She likes Jess, she wants to be with Jess. [I mean, Jess moved to town and, let’s just be honest, he handed her that book and got her lit reference and immediately somewhere in her gut (even if she didn’t notice) she went, “Oh wow, Dean and I suck huh? Can’t wait to slowly and painfully let our relationship die -- in an agonizing experience for all involved, but especially for the audience.”] But, the statement that everyone in the town is watching is not a lie or an over exaggeration. Everyone in the town is watching. Everyone in the town is judging. They all hate him. They literally had a town meeting once to kick this TEENAGER out, as if that’s acceptable behaivor. Not even her mother can find it in herself to not be an asshole say passive aggressive remarks about how she had zero issues kissing Dean in public and showing him affection and she didn’t have this problem with Deaaaaan -- all while her daughter is literally concaving in on herself from the judgement she’s facing from her new relationship with Bad Boy, Jess “I stole some baseballs, once” Mariano.

Despite her saying this is the first time her and Dean have broken up, it’s actually the second time he’s turned her into an ex in a not so graceful way. But, unlike the first time Dean decided to drop kick her into the sun (because, she’d been dating him for basically no time at all, truly, and therefor hadn’t come to the expedient conclusion that she was going to give him fourteen children after her mother sold her for two goats) where it absolutely wasn’t her fault that Dean is emotionally incompetent and manipulative -- the second time he breaks up with her, it is partially. Not completely. Dean’s emotionally abusive and extremely possessive. It hits a point where she’s literally flinching from him when he’s screaming at her -- her friend having to save her from a clearly violent situation. Dean’s behaivor is an absolute disaster, so he’s definitely at fault for the relationship’s end, too.

But, Rory meets Jess and immediately connects with him (and Rory is not allowed to talk to someone that isn’t on Dean’s pre-approved communications list, so it’s a big deal)and starts drifting away from the heinous situation she’s in. (Because, she JUST went through this with Dean, when he was out here planning how to murder Tristan only a month or two prior. Despite what I see all of the time: this behaivor did not manifest out of nowhere to make way for Jess. Dean was always like this). She completely disconnects from Dean. She’s a shadow self around him. For good reasons, obviously. But still, she’s not present. She’s so obviously into Jess, it’s a mess, she can’t even hide it. She cheats on him. She spends that whole dance staring Jess down and talking about him and flat out being a disaster. In this very moment, this break up is her fault. 

It was so public. Everyone saw it. Everyone hates Jess. Everyone’s watching. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone feels comfortable just ragging on this kid to her and everyone else 24/7, as if that’s appropriate. Everyone loves Dean. Everyone. Everyone. Everyone. Everyone.

She’s got this guilt about how she treated him (even though I still don’t think it was anything compared to how Dean treated her), she’s never had a second boyfriend, she feels crazy pressure. She never in the entire show seems to realise that she was in an abusive relationship, so she just feel like she destroyed Dean and she feels horrible. She doesn’t want to hurt him any more than necessary, blah blah. The fact that she doesn’t want to flaunt it is perfectly understandable and perfectly reasonable. There’s so many reasons she doesn’t want to. A third is the town. A third is Dean. A third is her mom. No one likes Jess, but her and Luke. It’s totally okay that she wants to integrate into society slowly lolz

Jess is also not wrong. Jess is also right.

Was Jess obvious that he liked Rory? Of course. Did he put in much effort to hide it? No. Did he put effort into pretending he liked Dean? Absolutely not. But, if Rory wanted to be with Dean, she would be with Dean. Jess seemed to basically just take any time he could get with her that he could get with her, but there was never any actually pressure for her to be with him. The pressure she felt was from inside herself, because she liked him and didn’t like Dean anymore (which is beyond understandable and duh) and was trying to keep liking Dean and stop liking Jess and pressure pressure. But, that wasn’t on Jess. He even took time to try and understand why she did like Dean. It is not his fault she couldn’t think of a single reason.

He never came out and said, “I like you, please dump your boyfriend.” He never even said he liked her, before she kissed him. It was obvious, he pulled a bunch of stunts to get to spend time with her, but she had free will, she did not have to spend time with him, if she didn’t want to. After she kisses him for the first time, she tells him to keep it a secret. She doesn’t speak with him. She essentially chastises him for trying to move on, criticizes his girlfriend (he IS actually dating this girl -- they don’t just makeout, they go on dates, they talk on the phone, they do things together -- Shane is his girlfriend), is really degrading to, both Shane’s looks and intelligence. 

She likes Jess, she hates him, she likes him, she hates him. And it’s true she’s struggling with how she feels, how she thinks she should feel, what she wants, what she thinks she should do. But, to Jess it’s like a roller coaster of emotions. 

They’ve already done their initial limbo, upon getting together, where they couldn’t figure out how to touch without it being awkward and uncertain. XTC “Then She Appeared” all over the place and she apologized to Dean for being crappy about how she handled everything and now Jess thinks they’re in a comfortable place. And right out of the gate, they rewind back and she’s asking him to hide, again. Secret kisses. Hidden affection. Her reasoning are sound and clearly he’s not incapable of understanding, because he doesn’t put up much fight before asking her how long they interact on the down low. It’s not really a hostile conversation. She’s not flinching in fear. But, his feelings are sound, too. It’s a quick whiplash back to a, “Okay, but this isn’t a public situation,” that it had ended on before the summer. It’s totally rational for him to have a negative reaction at hearing she wants to temper their interactions, to make things more comfortable on Dean and the town -- even if that’s not exactly what she means -- even if it’s actually about her being uncomfortable and nervous.

Rory isn’t wrong. Jess isn’t wrong. They’re both right. And then understand each other at the end of the conversation. They’ll tone it down for awhile until she feels more comfortable. She feels more comfortable, later, and they tone it back up. Rory isn’t evil demon spawn for feeling uncomfortable being judged by everyone. It’s all good. Jess isn’t evil demon spawn for not being happy he’s being asked, again, to keep it quiet. They’re both just feeling their feelings. Neither was hurting the other in the conversation. Rory has some selective memory about how many times her and Dean have broken up and that’s honestly the most harmful part of the conversation, because I rejoice in those two separations, so have some respect for my joy, girl.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

A Rant That Nobody Asked For

I read a comment on here the other day that said that Harry Styles career can’t die unless he does something outrageously heinous or controversial, and unless he’s publicly hated more than he’s liked, I actually disagree with that. I don’t know why it bothered me enough to write this whole thing but here we go.

The entire Kardashian brand is built on feeding off of public outrage. People seem to not understand that they want you to hate them. They know that a large portion of their audience dislike them, but follow and pay attention, just to see what thing they do next that they can hate on. Brands are doing that as well. Where they are intentionally putting out overtly racist clothing, slogans, advertising, obviously offensive products, because really and truly, consumers want to be apart of the outrage, consumers enjoy dragging shit. A European makeup brand made a lipstick color called the n-word, and after the outrage on twitter, the lipstick sold out in less then ten hours. I think there are people who think that they’re being helpful or effective by hating the Kardashians, but in actuality by hating them you’re feeding into their machine, you’re putting money in their pockets.

So people always tweet things like  how is James Charles still getting millions of views despite his gross behaviour, how is Camilla Cabello still able to headline tours after calling Normani the n-word repeatedly, how is Kodak Black still making music even though there’s several rape accusations against him? The last one I’d argue is because the volume on rape allegations drops significantly when the accusation comes from black women, and we don’t listen to them or give black women’s voices the validity we should. But overall the reason these people still have careers is BECAUSE some people hate them. (I don't think Camilla is publicly hated but hear me out) That’s what they want. By calling out people who fuel they’re careers off of outrage, you’re fighting a fruitless battle because you’re appealing to the sympathy of people who actually don’t give a fuck. They know what they’re doing, they don’t care who’s hurt, they don’t care the real world affect of their words, they don’t care about learning or growing from their actions, but they bank on the fact that you care about those things and will take time out of your day to try and break it down for them. They exist to antagonize their audience and then get the label “controversial”. I’m 100% positive that Kylie Jenner knew that people were going to mad about Kylie Skin, but she let them be mad, she let them hate on her loudly, she let that hate act as free promo, and then her skincare line sold out. If Kim Kardashian put her hair in braids, and no one said anything but instead she lost a shit ton of followers, if all the people who disagreed with that unfollowed her, she would’ve never done that shit again. But because the outrage actually gained her followers and traction, she continues to do it. Everyone knows what cultural appropriation is. Everybody does. Maybe not everyone understands why it can be so damaging but everyone knows what it is. So famous women right now who are posting pictures of themselves in cornrows or bindis or in Native headdresses, they know better. They know people are going to be mad, they know people are going to be hurt, they know this. But they profit off of it. They are dependant on your outrage, for a surge in media attention. I’m not saying that these girls are heinous human beings, but I’m saying it’s 100% intentional. It’s intentional. You’re wasting your energy in the comments trying to educate them, trying to get them to see why people are upset, they don’t care. They don’t care why you’re upset, they just want you angry, and then once you’re angry they’ll flip it on you and play the victim and talk about how intense and evil social media has been to them. These girls posting incredibly photoshopped pictures of themselves, and pictures with their ribs jutting out from their bodies, not disclosing all of the surgery they’ve had to impressionable young girls, they are literally profiting off of their viewers insecurity.  It’s business. It’s a game. 

(This is a side note but with all of the PR relationships Harry’s been in, really and truly him having a girlfriend might have a really negative impact on the girls linked to him, but they have positive affects for Harry. Because when he has a girlfriend, his fans feel insecure, they compare themselves to this model girlfriend, they wonder if this is the kind of woman he wants and I don’t look like that, what’s wrong with me? They hurt, they get uncomfortable, and often respond with intense hate, but really that hate comes from a place of insecurity and pain. But see, when they’re hurting, he can turn around and ask you to pay him to tell him that he loves you.)

This is getting longwinded but what I’m getting to is that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it never has been, the opposite of love is INDIFFERENCE. Being publicly hated doesn’t always end careers, in fact public outrage can be manufactured to gain traction and attention for a person or brand. The only answer to truly get rid of those kind of people is to respond with silence and indifference and the removal of your attention. This is why I think that honestly, Harry has every possibility of his career dwindling away. I don’t know that he’ll ever be “unsuccessful” because he has his core audience but I think we’re seeing more and more that we live in a world where everyone is really ready to jump on a hatred bandwagon, that the careers that really die, are not the people who you’re angry at. The careers that die are the people that you are entirely indifferent to.

It’s been proven that Harry Styles is incredibly sensitive to the point where he and his fans cannot even stand constructive criticism. It is greatly important to him to be publicly upheld and adored, and I think that that proved itself with the TV show he produced that was based on him, because he couldn’t even allow the character that was meant to vaguely represent him to be a fully fleshed out character with flaws and negative attributes, instead the character ended up being a lot like what Harry presents to the world, a caricature of a great guy. Harry presents an image that is meant to be interpreted and digested in whatever way you like. If you want him to be a feminist he is, if you don’t want him to be he’s not, if you want him to be a bad boy? Gay? Straight? A sweetheart? A rich sugar daddy aesthetic? A true artist who only cares about the music? He’s a walking fan fiction on purpose, because it is of such high importance to him to be adored and to be accepted that he presents nothing, and allows his fans to do all the work in implanting their own vision on him, and then his fans sustain his fame for him out of personal obligation and emotional ties they have to the idea of him they created, right?

Harry isn’t designed to be someone that can be hated, he intentionally straddles every topic, and stays right in the middle and never says anything controversial, to the point where he really doesn’t share any actual opinions. He spews apolitical sweetness and kindness, and creates a pseudo-political activism aesthetic without actually giving opinions, because he doesn’t have to, he’s dependant on the fact that his fans will project their opinions onto him, and assume he’s on whichever side they’re on. He’s not sustaining a career based off of the music, because the people who listen to his music, listen to him as a byproduct of already loving him. The people who pay attention to his content, do so out of love for who they believe he is as a person. Harry Styles is really not a celebrity who has many casual fans. I think in terms of his looks, he does, casual fans who will comment on his look at the Met Gala, or comment on him being good-looking, but not many casual fans who would sit down and listen to an album of his, you know?

The emptiness fans are feeling now comes from the fact that Harry used to pander to maintaining his audience at an emotional level, and insinuate a relationship between he and his audience, that he no longer cares to feed, and all the Harries, whether they admit or not, are feeling the distance and feeling his withdrawal. I bring this up because, now we're seeing even some Harries are growing not hateful, not resentful, but indifferent towards him. They are getting exhausted of having to maintain their ideal of him, and having to fight themselves into liking something that's really not there. As someone who's still kind of in the Harry Styles bubble, I can't argue this 100% but I do feel that there is a level of indifference towards him from the general public.

(Another side note: One similarity between Harry and the Kardashians is what I call convenient stupidity. They claim smarts and being smart business people, Harry specifically is obsessed with putting out an aesthetic of intellect, but when it’s convenient for them, they want you to assume that they are stupid and/or not responsible for whatever your upset about and/or that they don’t understand what they’ve done. If you think they’re stupid you’ll underestimate them and you’ll never assume that you’re the one being played. By keeping you thinking that you’re mentally above them, they manipulate you, every time.)

Harry couldn’t even commit to the rock music aesthetic fully, because rock music, real rock music, has to come with commitment and controversy, and he’s so obsessed with being adored across the board. I highly doubt he’ll ever get involved in real controversy or that he’d use controversy as a marketing ploy, just because we’ve seen time and time again that he’s prioritized public adoration over the actual quality of his work. But like I said, as he pulls away, the manufactured love between him and his fans is getting harder for them to hold on to, it’s getting hard for them to rearrange information to make him the guy he was to them. I’m telling you, what’s going to kill Harry is not intense hatred, but indifference. As he tries to gear himself to an older audience, he's not going to be able to manufacture the same blind adoration that 1D fans were able to give him in the beginning. We're already beginning to see indifference towards him grow.