#sift method

[karanseraph]

I would consider source in context. For example, is the source a scientist, but they are reporting information outside their specialization such that they are not an authority in this context? Or is the one reporting the information a random person on the internet but reporting on their first-hand experience as a user of a specific aspect of the internet?

I am becoming aware of the effect a lack of trust in the media has had on people, paired with a dearth of research skills.

[justanotherhh]

me: dammit stolas you can't just walk away from someone who's struggling to connect with you, even if they're doing so through the poorly processed means of yelling insults, you've gotta give them time to work through it and not need to control everything

also me: [is aware that i also need to engineer situations to go perfectly and if someone started yelling at me i too would immediately get triggered and leave the situation and cry and if i had portal-making powers would yeet them to another continent, never mind just outside the door]

[reasoningdaily]

Pioneered by digital literacy experts, the "Sift" strategy is a technique for spotting fake news and misleading social media posts, says Amanda Ruggeri.

It's no secret that misinformation is rampant on social media. And it's even more so in some subjects than others. Research has found, for example, that around two-thirds of the most popular YouTube videos on vaccines contain misinformation. The fall-out can be dire: an uptick in inaccurate anti-vaccination content online correlates with a decline in vaccination coverage, especially among children. That has led to larger outbreaks of potentially deadly diseases, like measles, than have been seen in recent years.

"Misinformation is worse than an epidemic," Marcia McNutt, president of the US National Academy of Sciences, put it in 2021, implicitly referring to the Covid-19 pandemic. "It spreads at the speed of light throughout the globe and can prove deadly when it reinforces misplaced personal bias against all trustworthy evidence."

HOW NOT TO BE MANIPULATED

In today's onslaught of overwhelming information (and misinformation), it can be difficult to know who to trust. In this column, Amanda Ruggeri explores smart, thoughtful ways to navigate the noise. Drawing on insights from psychology, social science and media literacy, it offers practical advice, new ideas and evidence-based solutions for how to be a wiser, more discerning critical thinker.

There are many reasons why misinformation travels so quickly – according to some research, even faster than accurate information. One reason is that people are far more likely to share a claim when it confirms their pre-existing beliefs, regardless of its accuracy. This cognitive bias may help explain why even more misinformation seems to be shared by individuals than by bots. One study, for example, found that just 15% of news sharers spread up to 40% of fake news.

That's a sobering statistic, but there's an upside. As long as individuals are the ones responsible for sharing so much misinformation, we're also the ones who – by being more mindful of what we "like", share, and amplify – can help make the greatest change.

When it comes to not falling for misinformation, being aware of our human fallibilities, such as our quickness to believe what we want to believe, is a good first step. Research shows that even being more reflective in general can "inoculate" us against believing fake news.

But it's not the only thing that we can do. In particular, researchers have found there are several simple, concrete strategies that we all can (and should) use, especially before we're tempted to share or repeat a claim, to verify its accuracy first.

One of my favourites comes with a nifty acronym: the Sift method. Pioneered by digital literacy expert Mike Caulfield, it breaks down into four easy-to-remember steps.

1. S is for… Stop

Perhaps one of the most pernicious aspects of the modern era is its urgency. Thanks to everything from our continual phone use to nonstop work demands, far too many of us seem to be navigating the world at a dizzying speed.

Being online, where both news cycles and content are especially fast-paced and often emotive, can put us in a particularly "urgent" mindset. But when it comes to identifying misinformation, immediacy is not our friend. Research has found that relying on our immediate "gut" reactions is more likely to lead us astray than if we take a moment to stop and reflect. 

The first step of the Sift method interrupts this tendency. Stop. Don't share the post. Don't comment on it. And move on to the next step.

2. I is for… Investigate the source

Posts show up in our social media feeds all the time without us having a clear sense of who created them. Maybe they were shared by a friend. Maybe they were pushed to us by the algorithm. Maybe we followed the creator intentionally, but never looked into their background.

Now's the time to find this out. Who created this post? Get off-platform and do a web search. And because search results can be misleading, make sure you're looking at a reputable website. One that fact-checkers often use as a first port of call might surprise you: Wikipedia. While it's not perfect, it has the benefit of being crowd-sourced, which means that its articles about specific well-known people or organisations often cover aspects like controversies and political biases.

While you're investigating, ask:

If the creator is a media outlet, are they reputable and respected, with a recognised commitment to verified, independent journalism?

If it's an individual, what expertise do they have in the subject at hand (if any)? What financial ties, political leanings or personal biases may be at play?

If it's an organisation or a business, what is their purpose? What do they advocate for, or sell? Where does their funding come from? What political leanings have they shown?

And finally, once you've run your analysis (which can take just a couple of minutes), the most telling question of all: Would you still trust this creator's expertise in this subject if they were saying something you disagreed with?

3. F is for… Find better coverage

If, from the previous step, you find that you still have questions about the source's credibility, now's the time to dig a little further. What you're looking for is whether a more trustworthy source, like a reputable news outlet or fact-checking service, has reported and verified the same claim.

No surprise, but I find Google has some of the best tools for doing this. Obviously, there's Google itself, and if you're specifically looking to see if news outlets have covered something, Google News.

But I sometimes prefer to use the Google Fact Check search engine, which searches just fact-checking sites, specifically. Just keep in mind that Google says it doesn't vet the fact-checking sites it includes, so to make sure your results are reputable, you'll need to do a little further sleuthing – I like to see if an outlet has signed up to Poynter's International Fact-Checking Network, which you can check here.

If it's a photo you're investigating, use a reverse image search tool to see where else the image comes up online. Google has one, but I also like TinEye and Yandex. (You can also use these for video: take a screenshot from the video and put that in for your image search).

Your goal? To see whether there are any credible sources reporting the same information as what you're seeing, and saying that it's verified.

4. T is for… Trace the claim to its original context

Often, you'll wind up doing this at the same time that you're trying to find better coverage, at least if you're using the tools mentioned above. But the idea here is a little different. You're trying to find out where the claim came from originally.

Even if you see that a claim has been reported on by a credible media outlet, for example, it may not be original reporting; they may have gotten that claim from another outlet. Ideally, the original story should be linked – so always go there – but if it's not, you may need to search for it separately.

Crucially, you want to figure out not just whether something like this really is true, but whether anything was taken out of context. If you're looking at an image, does how it was described in the social media post you saw line up with what its original caption, context, and location? If it's a quotation from a speaker, was anything edited out or taken out of context or, when you see their full interview or speech, does it seem like perhaps they misspoke in that moment?

Taking these steps before deciding whether to simply share a claim might feel onerous. But the time investment of just a few minutes may save you not only embarrassment – but help ensure you're not spreading misinformation that, at its most dramatic, can even lead to illness and death.

Today, anyone can make a claim on social media. And anyone can be the person whose re-sharing of that claim is the one who makes it go viral. That means it's the responsibility of each one of us to make sure that what we are posting, liking, and sharing is, first and foremost, actually true.

[crescentfool]

doing things outside of your usual is such a humbling experience...

[willypadilly]

I think a good thing about tumblr is you can NOT watch something, see how a bunch of mutuals react to it and what they hyperfixate on, respect them still but know you don’t want any of that and watch something else.

the best thing about tumblr is that you can watch a show and then you come here and someone has made a gifset of it and you can put it on your blog like a sticker in a journal

[reasonsforhope]

"A medical technology company in Australia is aiming for a world-first: it wants to launch a blood test for endometriosis (sometimes called 'endo' for short) within the first half of this year [2025].

In a recent peer-reviewed trial, its novel test proved 99.7 percent accurate at distinguishing severe cases of endometriosis from patients without the disease but with similar symptoms.

Even in the early stages of the disease, when blood markers may be harder to pick out, the test's accuracy remained over 85 percent.

The company behind the patent, Proteomics International, says it is currently adapting the method "for use in a clinical environment," with a target launch date in Australia for the second quarter of this year [2025].

The test is called PromarkerEndo.

"This advancement marks a significant step toward non-invasive, personalized care for a condition that has long been underserved by current medical approaches," managing director of Proteomics International Richard Lipscombe said in a press release from December 30.

Endometriosis is a common inflammatory disease that occurs when tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows in other parts of the body, forming lesions. The disease can be very painful, and yet the average patient often suffers debilitating symptoms for up to seven years before they are properly diagnosed.

While there are numerous reasons for such a long delay, symptoms of endometriosis are often highly variable, unpredictable, difficult to measure or describe, and dismissed or overlooked by doctors.

Today, the only definitive way to diagnose endometriosis is via keyhole surgery called a laparoscopy, which is expensive, invasive, and carries risks.

Proteomics International is hoping to change that.

In collaboration with researchers at the University of Melbourne and the Royal Women's Hospital, the company compared the bloodwork data from 749 participants of mostly European descent.

Some had endometriosis and others had symptoms that were similar to endo but without the lesions. All participants had a laparoscopy to confirm the presence or absence of the disease.

Sifting through the bloodwork, researchers ran several different algorithms to figure out which proteins in the blood were best at predicting endometriosis of varying stages.

Building on previous research, a panel of 10 proteins showed a "clear association" with endometriosis.

For years now, scientists have investigated possible blood biomarkers of endometriosis to see if they could differentiate between those who have endo and those who do not. Similar to cancerous tumors, endo lesions can establish their own blood supply, and if cervical cancer can be diagnosed via a blood test, it seemed possible that endometriosis could be, too...

Proteomics International claims patents for PromarkerEndo are "pending in all major jurisdictions," starting first in Australia.

It remains to be seen if the company's blood test lives up to the hype and is approved by the Australian Therapeutic Goods Administration (TGA). But that's not outside the realm of possibility.

In November of 2023, some researchers predicted that a "reliable non-invasive biomarker for endometriosis is highly likely in the coming years."

Perhaps this is the year."

-via ScienceAlert, January 9, 2025

--

Note: As someone with endometriosis, let me say that this is a HUGE deal. The condition is incredibly common, incredibly understudied, and incredibly often dismissed. Massive sexism at work here.

I got very lucky and got diagnosed after about 6 months of chronic pain (and extra extra lucky, because my pain went away with medication). But as the article says, the average time to diagnosis is seven years.

Being able to confirm endometriosis diagnoses/rates without invasive surgery will also lead to huge progress in studying/creating treatments for endo.

And fyi: If you have a period that is so painful that you can't stand up, or have to go home from school/work, or vomit, or anything else debilitating (or if any of those things apply if you forget to take pain meds), that is NOT NORMAL, and you should talk to a competent gynecologist asap.

[pellucid-constellations]

Azriel finds you in the cold.

Azriel x Reader (780 words, based on a request!, warnings: hypothermia, angst)

Masterlist here

~~

You were used to the cold. You grew up in its unforgiving teeth and clawed past winters when the bite felt almost too strong. There were methods to survive it, tactics to overcome the painful numbness that crept along your skin, but there didn’t seem to be a pattern to this cold. You were alone and this chill was with you. 

You should have listened to Azriel. 

It’s not a normal snow, he had warned, you should wait for me. But everyone seemed to forget that you were new to being fae, and when you were new, you felt invincible. You could live through the winters of your mortal years without a second thought. You couldn’t die from snow or ice or sleet. 

Or, so you thought. 

You huddled against the tree trunk, your fingers stinging and burning—but that didn’t make sense because the only substance that surrounded you was the blizzard. You could feel your body begin to slow, movements becoming labored when they shouldn’t. You hadn’t felt this kind of weakness since before becoming fae. 

Azriel was going to kill you; he’d be so furious to find your body here, surrounded by nothing on the outskirts of the winter court. Each soft whisper he’d pressed to your skin was loaded with adoration and praise for you being his mate above all else. He’d waited for you, he would tell you, and now you were going to die a meaningless death. 

Your grip on your cloak was concrete and rigid, but it was pointless. The snow had already seeped into the material and chilled you to the bone. 

You were tired. 

Closing your eyes seemed like the right decision. Sleep would help you gain the strength to sift through the white haze and find the border to these lands. 

Your lashes brushed your cheek and darkness felt warm. 

Until the incessant tug at your ribs became unbearable. Until a voice was calling you home and the concept of home ticked your heart rate up a beat. 

“Open your eyes. Please,” the voice stressed. Your body was numb and nothing was coherent over the whistling wind. 

There was pressure on your face and the air felt more stagnant, but everything else remained unchanged. 

Going against every muscle and desire in your being, you fought the weight of your eyelids and were met with the image of Azriel in the blistering cold. He was wrapped up to his neck as you were, but he was taking all of it off. 

“No,” you mumbled, the word barely a sound in the wind. 

Azriel’s gaze snapped up to you, his hands still clutching the scarf he was prying from his shoulders. His hands, with no gloves to cover his skin, cupped your cheeks. You couldn’t feel the heat of his skin, but you could feel the quivering of his fingers. 

“Good,” he seemed to mumble to himself. “Good, you’re awake. Okay, okay…” 

It was nonsensical and your brain was far too muddled to make sense of it. You only raised the dead weight of your arm to wrap stiff fingers around the material of his cloak. 

“Keep… it on,” you whispered. 

A spark of something shot across Azriel’s face. His lips parted as snow settled on his brow. “I need to take it off. I need to get you warm.” 

You let out a shuddering breath. Azriel, with his brows painfully furrowed, watched you for only a second more before he continued his motion to get you pressed to more of his skin and wrap the remaining area of his winter wear around you. 

“I love you, do you hear me?” Azriel spoke by your ear, the tone of his voice unwavering despite how his body shook. As if he wanted the strength to seep into your bones and warm you. As if that would work. 

He stood with you in his arms, your body now jarred by the change in temperature. He was moving quickly but not flying. Through a bleary blink, you saw the ice forming on the juncture of his wings.

“Answer me, y/n,” Azriel demanded.

“I’m tired,” you replied. 

“I know. I need to get past the border and then we’ll be home. You can sleep then, but not before.” 

You hummed a response. 

Azriel seemed to tense beneath you. “I love you,” he repeated. “Please don’t do this.” 

You wanted to tell him that you weren’t doing anything—that it was too cold for him to be here. But in the comfort of his arms, you let the darkness of his shadows lull you to sleep. In your dreams, you heard your name, over and over. 

[toobytoobs]

Random Captain Marvel things I think confuses the JL (yes, obviously this is inspired by Wonderjanga)

———

Everyone at the Justice League debrief meeting after a mission

Captain Marvel, randomly standing up and looking a little sick: “uh, please excuse me”

Batman: “Captain, you cannot just-“

Captain Marvel: *turns away and projectile vomits a bunch of letters onto the wall*

Batman: “…”

Batman: “you are excused.”

Captain Marvel, picking up the letters and sifting through them like it’s normal mail: “aw man! Another bill!”

Wonder Woman, shaking her head with a disapproving sigh: “man’s world and their idiotic delivery methods”

Superman: “oh Diana, that’s not- actually, nevermind”

———

Captain Marvel: *sitting in the JL watchtower cafeteria blowing out a candle on a small birthday cake.*

Green lantern, walking in to see him: “oh Cap! It’s your birthday???”

Captain Marvel with childlike glee on his face: “Yeah! I’m turning 11!”

Green Lantern: “wait wha-“

Captain Marvel: “and 3! And 41,024,618! And 350,597,120,140!”

Green Lantern: “excuse me what-“

Captain Marvel, checking an hourglass duck taped to his wrist: “oops! I gotta go or I’ll be late for Dinosaur sledding with Tawky Tawny!”

Captain Marvel: *zips out the room with the cake, leaving a very confused Green Lantern behind.*

Green Lantern: “Dinosaur sledding???”

———

Superman: *walks into the watchtower break room to see Captain Marvel and a younger blue version of him playing catch with a jar that holds a screaming worm inside.*

Superman: “Captain, who is this??? Why is there a worm in the jar and why on earth are you throwing it?”

Mr. Mind: “RELEASE M-“

Captain Marvel after chucking the jar straight at blue Captain Marvel’s head: “oh hi Supes! This is my older brother!”

Blue Captain Marvel after almost dropping the worm who is now screaming profanities: “holy crap! You’re Superm-!”

Before blue Captain Marvel can finish, a portal opens behind him and he gets sucked in screaming.

Superman, now with his fists up: “Captain Marvel! Get back!”

A younger girl version of Captain Marvel pokes her head out of the portal: “yo, Cap! Sivanna gave Tawny fleas and now Tawny seems like he’s gonna commit murder!”

Captain Marvel, flying into the portal without hesitation: “bye Supes!”

Superman, just standing there shellshocked: “I need to sit down…”

[laurelins-light]

The SIFT method developed by the University of Washington's Mike Caulfield is really good here for gut checking any type of information (not just history/science but also wellness and news info as well!) Stop Investigate the Source Find Better Coverage Trace claims, quotes, and media to original source context.

People on this website will really mock anti-vaxxers and flat earthers for ignoring scientists and getting their alternative facts from facebook, and then turn around and insist they know more history than historians and more archaeology than archaeologists because they read an unsourced tumblr post once

[inkspiredwriting]

The Case of the Missing Wedding Ring

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

For a man who had tackled apocalypses, and timelines, Five Hargreeves was astonishingly unprepared for the moment he discovered his wedding ring was missing. He stared at his empty finger, the gravity of the situation dawning on him as he rummaged through his pockets for the tenth time.

“Y/n is going to kill me,” Five muttered, running a hand through his hair. The ring had been a symbol of their bond, a piece of eternity they had vowed to keep. And now, it was gone.

Determined to find the ring before Y/n noticed, Five decided to enlist the help of his siblings. The mansion was a labyrinth of hiding spots, and if anyone could help, it was the rest of the Hargreeves.

He found Klaus lounging in the living room, casually flipping through a fashion magazine. “Klaus,” Five began, trying to keep his voice steady, “I need your help.”

Klaus looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, bro. What’s up?”

Five hesitated, then blurted out, “I lost my wedding ring. I need to find it before Y/n realizes it’s gone.”

A grin spread across Klaus’s face. “Oh, this is going to be fun. You know she’s going to murder you, right?”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Five replied dryly. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Klaus stood up, stretching dramatically. “Of course, dear brother. Let’s find that symbol of eternal love before Y/n finds you and makes you wish you were dead.”

Five and Klaus’s search quickly spiraled into chaos as they recruited the rest of their siblings.

Luther took the mission seriously, meticulously checking every corner and crevice of the mansion. “Are you sure you didn’t lose it outside?” he asked, lifting the couch to peer underneath.

“I’m sure,” Five replied, exasperated. “It has to be here somewhere.”

Diego, on the other hand, approached the situation with his usual intensity, flipping over cushions and even dismantling parts of the kitchen. “Maybe it slipped off when you were washing your hands,” he suggested, checking the drain for the third time.

Allison joined the hunt with a sense of determination, her focus on finding the ring unwavering. “Don’t worry, Five. We’ll find it,” she reassured him, peeking into cabinets and drawers.

Viktor, ever the calm presence, methodically sifted through various rooms, his face a mask of concentration. “Have you retraced all your steps?” he asked, glancing up from his careful search of the library.

Meanwhile, Klaus provided a running commentary, much to Five’s annoyance. “Maybe the ring ran off because it felt neglected,” he joked, earning a glare from Five.

As the search dragged on, Five grew increasingly anxious. He couldn’t help but imagine Y/n’s reaction if he returned empty-handed.

The siblings gathered in the kitchen, their faces a mix of concern and amusement. “What if we can’t find it?” Five asked, his voice tinged with worry.

“We will,” Allison said firmly. “We just need to think. Where’s the one place you haven’t looked?”

Five thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. “The attic. I was up there earlier looking for an old book. Maybe it fell off while I was moving boxes.”

The group hurried to the attic, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit hallway. Klaus couldn’t resist a final quip. “If we find a ghost up there wearing your ring, I’m out of here.”

The attic was cluttered with dusty old furniture and boxes of forgotten treasures. Five waded through the mess, his eyes scanning the floor. His heart pounded as he reached the spot where he had been earlier.

There, amidst a pile of old books and papers, glinted a small silver ring.

“I found it!” Five exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. He picked up the ring, inspecting it closely to make sure it was undamaged.

Klaus clapped him on the back. “Nice going, Sherlock. Now you just have to come up with a story for why you spent the whole day frantically tearing the house apart.”

Five slipped the ring back on his finger, the familiar weight reassuring. “Thanks, everyone,” he said, a rare smile touching his lips. “I owe you one.”

Later that evening, Five sat on the couch, his arm around Y/n as they watched a movie. She hadn’t noticed anything amiss, and Five was determined to keep it that way.

As the credits rolled, Y/n glanced up at him. “You seem unusually quiet today,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Five’s heart skipped a beat. “Just tired,” he replied smoothly. “Long day.”

Y/n nodded, her attention returning to the screen. “Well, I’m glad i’m home. I missed you.”

Five smiled, the warmth in her voice easing the last of his anxiety. He tightened his arm around her, grateful that the crisis had been averted.

In the kitchen, Klaus and Diego exchanged knowing glances, barely suppressing their laughter. “Think he’ll tell her?” Diego whispered.

“Not a chance,” Klaus replied with a grin. “But you know what? I think she already knows.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 2 - Parallel Paths

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings:  Use of L/N once, no use of Y/N

A/N: Don't hate me if you spot mistakes anywhere in this. My eyes where half way closed when I was editing this chapter.

Masterlist

           The bullpen at the BAU hummed with energy. An energy that could only be described as that of any high-stakes investigation. Phones rang constantly, agents moved swiftly between desks, and the air was thick with tension as they sifted through the evidence surrounding Leah Connors’ disappearance. Despite the chaotic backdrop, Hotch’s attention remained sharp, his eyes moving methodically over the transcripts of their interviews. Of the few findings Garcia had forwarded to him and so on. The leads were frustratingly thin, and the team was still no closer to finding Leah - or the unsub for the matter.

           The door to his office opened quietly, and the sound of your skates cutting the ice was replaced by the soft click of your boots against the carpeted floor. Hotch looked up from his papers. You seemed different now, more grounded off the ice, though that same quiet confidence still lingered beneath the surface. For a moment, there was a sense of significance in your presence, something Hotch couldn’t quite place, but he quickly pushed it aside. There was no time for distractions.

           "Miss L/N, thank you for coming," Hotch greeted, rising from his chair and offering a hand.

           You returned the gesture with a polite smile, though the tension in your eyes betrayed your concern. "Of course. I’ll do anything to help Leah."

           Hotch motioned for you to take a seat, and you complied, your fingers fidgeting slightly in your lap as you took in the scene around you. Your gaze fell on the case of books and impressive awards behind him.

           Hotch’s voice broke the silence, gentler than you expected. "You don’t have to be nervous," he reassured you, settling back into his chair across from you. "We just need a bit more information for the investigation. Can you tell us about your interactions with Mark Branson? Did you notice anything unusual in the days before Leah disappeared? Was he different after we left?"

           You nodded, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Look.... Branson’s… he's intense. But I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.” You glanced down at your hands as if trying to gather your thoughts before continuing. “He pushes us hard and expects perfection from all of us, but especially from Leah. She was always the standout, came from nothing to being one of the most promising talents in our category, and he didn’t go easy on her. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary before she went missing." Your gaze was focused on your lap as you spoke, finding it hard to consider the possibility that Leah could be dead and that Mark could be behind it. "In fact, Leah was in a really good place. She was focused, stronger than I’d ever seen her. If anything, she seemed more relaxed than usual.”

           Hotch listened intently, his pen gliding across the notepad as he jotted down details. “And what about her personal life? Did she mention anyone new? Any strange encounters outside of practice?”

           You shook your head. “No, Leah kept to herself mostly. Her circle was pretty tight - just the team, and her family, and that’s about it as far as I know. I don’t think she was seeing anyone, and she wasn’t involved in anything that wasn’t skating. She was laser-focused on qualifying for Nationals.”

           Hotch paused, leaning back slightly in his chair as he considered your words. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. “That kind of dedication… it must take a toll.”

           A soft chuckle escaped your lips, but it was tinged with fatigue. “Yeah, you could say that. Skating is everything to me though. It’s not just about the physical part - the mental battle is even harder. Every day you’re fighting against yourself, your own limitations, your fears. Sometimes it feels like the hardest thing is not competing with others, but competing with yourself.”

           Hotch’s gaze softened, and for the first time in the conversation, a hint of empathy flickered in his eyes. “I can relate to that,” he said quietly. “Leading the BAU is… similar. The pressure to get everything right, to not make mistakes, because if you do, people’s lives are on the line. It’s not just a job - it becomes a part of you, something you carry with you, even when you’re not working.”

           Your eyes met his, and for a brief moment, you felt a connection - a mutual understanding of what it meant to be consumed by your craft, the weight of expectations, the struggle to push through, even when it felt impossible.

           You looked at him, taken aback by the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. It wasn’t what you’d imagined from someone like Aaron Hotchner but as you listened, you realized how much you understood it. The stakes in both your lives were high, though in vastly different ways. In your world, perfection meant success or failure on the ice - or in the worst case, injury; in his, it meant life or death. And yet, the pressure was the same - the relentless drive to be flawless, no room for error.

           "It must be exhausting," you murmured, meeting his eyes, which now seemed softer, more approachable. "Knowing that every decision you make could save - or lose - a life."

           Hotch’s expression shifted, the lines of stress around his eyes easing ever so slightly. The stoic façade you’d first encountered at the rink was giving way to something more human, more real. "It is," he admitted quietly. "But it’s the responsibility we’ve chosen, isn’t it? Just like you push through the pain and exhaustion, to land the perfect jump or nail your routine, we push through because there’s no other option. People are depending on us."

           You couldn’t help but smile at the parallel. "Sounds like we’re not so different after all," you said, the words light but carrying a weight of truth. "Who knew that skating and solving crimes could have so much in common?" You smiled, a giggle escaping your throat.

           For a moment, you caught the faintest glimpse of a smile tugging at the corner of Hotch’s lips. It was fleeting, but it was there - genuine, if only for a heartbeat. "Maybe not as different as you think," he replied, the warmth in his voice was a contrast to the coldness of the case they were working on.

           It was a small moment, but it lingered between you, making the air in the room feel just a bit less heavy, a bit more personal.

           The room fell into silence, the weight of your conversation hanging in the air like a shared secret. It was an odd sensation - the ease with which you felt connected to Aaron. You had barely exchanged a handful of words, but somehow, it felt like you understood each other. Both of you were driven by something larger than yourselves, battling pressures and expectations that most people couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There was a silent camaraderie, a mutual recognition of the burden that came with striving for perfection.

           Leaning forward slightly, you tilted your head, a playful spark lighting up your eyes. "So, Aaron," you began, the hint of a smile playing at your lips, "you ever been on the ice? Or do you just stick to chasing bad guys?"

           He raised an eyebrow, the subtle curve of his mouth showing a glimmer of amusement. "Skating?" he repeated, shaking his head with the faintest of chuckles. "No, I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure."

           "You don’t know what you’re missing," you teased, your grin widening as you leaned back in your chair. "I’d offer to teach you, but something tells me you’re more of a solid-ground kind of guy."

           "Solid ground is preferable," Hotch agreed, though his tone was lighter now, the tension between you easing into something more relaxed. "But I’ll keep the offer in mind."

           You stood up, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape, your eyes never leaving his. "Who knows," you said, your voice carrying a touch of challenge, "I might just have to hold you to that one day."

           Hotch rose as well, his movements measured as he walked with you toward the door. "I’ll be in touch if we need anything else," Hotch said, his tone shifting back to the calm, professional edge you had come to expect from him.

           "Sure," you replied, taking a step toward the door before pausing. You turned a playful glint in your eyes. "And Aaron? Don’t wait too long. Skating’s harder than it looks."

           He watched as the corner of your mouth curled into a teasing smile, a subtle challenge lingering in your words. For a moment, Hotch's composed mask softened, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. "I’ll keep that in mind too," he said, his voice low, it felt warm.

           You gave a small nod before stepping out into the hallway, the soft click of your boots echoing across the bullpen. As the door closed behind you, the room felt strangely empty, as if your presence had brought a different kind of energy that still lingered even after you left. Hotch remained where he stood, his gaze fixed on the now-closed door, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

           There was something about you - something that went beyond the typical witness in a case. You were sharp, confident, with a quiet strength that had caught his attention more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just your determination, or the way you had navigated the questions with grace, although you had been nervous, but something deeper, something that stirred a curiosity in him.

           Hotch couldn’t afford distractions - especially not during a case like this. And yet, even as he turned back to the files on his desk, his thoughts lingered on you. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time you crossed his mind.

           As you stepped out of the precinct and into the cool evening air, a small, almost involuntary smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something had shifted during your time with Hotch. The weight that had been pressing on your chest since Leah’s disappearance seemed a little lighter now as if some of the tension had been released in that conversation.

           Hotch was still a mystery to you. He carried himself with a seriousness that seemed to define him, he was focused, intense, and always seemed to be a step ahead. But underneath that exterior, there was a kindness you hadn’t anticipated. You hadn’t expected to connect with him in the way you did, yet it had been impossible to ignore. It wasn’t forced, nor was it fleeting; it was real, grounded in something deeper than the investigation.

           As you walked toward your car, the events of the evening replayed in your mind. Every glance and every word exchanged between you and Hotch carried weight, but there was also an ease, a natural rhythm to it. He intrigued you, not just because of who he was, but because of the way he made you feel - like you weren’t alone in this and like he understood you on a level that others couldn’t.

           You weren’t entirely sure what this newfound connection meant, or where it might lead, but you knew one thing for certain: you were curious. Curious to see how the puzzle of Aaron Hotchner fits into the complicated web of your life and your training. Curious about where this path, as unexpected as it was, might lead you.

           The days following your statement seemed to blur into one another as the investigation picked up speed, each hour folding into the next with a relentless pace. The team was focused, pouring over every new piece of evidence and chasing down leads that, more often than not, fizzled out into frustrating dead ends. Surveillance footage, witness interviews, and reexamined case files all felt like parts of a puzzle missing a critical piece.

           Leah had now been gone for almost a week, and with each passing day, the weight of the ticking clock pressed down harder on the team. Time was slipping through their fingers, and they knew it.

           The team had set up shop at the nearest precinct to the Ice Pavillon, transforming the space into a command center of sorts, with whiteboards covered in timelines, maps, and photos of Leah and the other girls. Phones rang constantly, agents exchanged information in hurried voices, and the tension was palpable. Yet amid the chaos, Hotch remained as composed as ever, his usual focus keeping the team grounded. On the outside, he was the epitome of professionalism - his mind sharp, always assessing the next step. But lately, his thoughts wandered more than he cared to admit.

           And more often than not, they wandered back to you and your smile.

           The conversation you'd shared, brief as it was, had lodged itself in his mind, replaying at unexpected moments. There was something about you. It wasn’t just a matter of physical attraction, though he couldn’t deny that you intrigued him in more ways than one. No, it was something deeper than that.

           Hotch found himself thinking of you more often than was practical, especially in the middle of an active investigation. But he couldn’t shake the sense that there was a connection between you, built on something intangible - something that went beyond the case. It wasn’t just about Leah or the task at hand. It was about two people, both shaped by sacrifice and discipline, navigating their own battles in silence. And for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, that connection lingered in his mind, long after the precinct had quieted for the night.

           He knew better than to let his thoughts drift to you in the middle of an active case, but it was harder to push you out than it should’ve been. Your teasing smile and the way you'd playfully offered to teach him how to skate lingered in his mind. It had been a simple, lighthearted comment, but it carried significance. Maybe it stuck with him because it represented a world far removed from the darkness he faced every day. A world where people weren't just fighting to survive but striving for something more - something like perfection, beauty, and grace. It was foreign to him and yet, oddly enticing.

           "Hotch." Morgan’s voice cut through his trance, snapping him back to the moment. "We’ve got Branson in for a second interview."

           Hotch nodded, forcing the thoughts of you to the back of his mind. "Let’s see if we can press him for more details."

           For the next few hours, the team interrogated Mark Branson again, trying to poke holes in his alibi, searching for any slip-up or connection to Leah's disappearance. But once again, Branson’s story held firm. His alibi was airtight, and no new details emerged from the questioning. The frustration in the room was noticeable. Time was running out, and they still had no solid lead. The weight of the case bore down on Hotch, each hour that passed without a breakthrough tightening the pressure on his shoulders.

           As evening fell, the air inside the precinct had grown thick with tension. Hotch, feeling the strain, stepped outside for a moment of peace. The cool night air felt nice compared to the stifling atmosphere inside, providing a brief, much-needed reprieve. He stood alone for a few minutes, the not-so-distant hum of city life serving as background noise, his mind a whirlwind of unresolved questions.

           But he wasn’t alone for long.

           The sound of soft footsteps broke the quiet, and Hotch glanced to his right. You were walking toward him, still dressed in your skating gear, though you’d thrown a jacket over your shoulders to fend off the chill. The soft glow of the streetlights cast a gentle shadow around you as you approached, and for a moment, you seemed almost out of place - a bright figure stepping into the darkness that surrounded him.

           You offered a small smile as you neared, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Thought I’d check in, see if there’s any news, now that you kind of forced me to train without a coach today," you winked, pulling your jacket tighter against the breeze.

           Hotch watched you for a moment, the ease with which you moved, even off the ice, not lost on him. He nodded, his tone measured, and softer than usual. "Nothing concrete yet. We’re still working on it."

           You nodded, but the concern on your face deepened, the weight of Leah’s disappearance hanging heavily between you both.

           "Taking a break from practice?" Hotch asked, his voice low and steady as he leaned casually against the side of the building, the sharp lines of his face softening under the dim glow of the streetlights.

           You let out a quiet chuckle, though the sound lacked its usual lightness. "More like escaping it, today was relaxing in a weird way" you admitted, glancing up at him. "Branson’s been on edge all week, snapping at everything. I get it - he’s under a lot of pressure with Leah missing and being a suspect in your investigation - but it’s making training unbearable."

           "I’m sorry the case has disrupted your routine. I know how much it means to stay focused, and I can understand that especially now is important in your career."

           You shrugged, but the gesture didn’t carry the same casual weight it might have before. Your smile faltered as the reality of the situation pressed down on you. "It’s not just the disruption," you said, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "It’s everything, you know? Leah’s missing, and we’re all just… pretending like we can go back to normal when this is over. But it’s not that simple." You trailed off, your words hanging in the air, heavy with the unspoken fears you hadn’t yet voiced.

           Hotch studied you closely, his gaze softening as he saw the burden you were carrying. "It’s not easy," he said, his tone measured but gentle, "pretending everything’s fine when you know it’s not."

           You let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair in a gesture of frustration. "Exactly. Skating used to be my escape, the one place where I could shut everything out and just focus. But now… now it feels like just another thing I can’t control. Like no matter how hard I push, it’s slipping away." Your voice wavered slightly as you admitted the exhaustion that had been creeping up on you for days, the uncertainty wearing you down in ways you hadn’t expected.

           There was a long pause, the silence between you almost comforting on its own. Hotch didn’t rush to fill the space with empty reassurances. He simply stood there, letting your words settle, knowing full well the toll of trying to control the uncontrollable. In his world, no matter how meticulous the planning, no matter how hard they worked, there were always variables they couldn’t predict, dangers they couldn’t prevent. And yet, like you, he kept moving forward, because that’s what people like him and you did. You pushed on, even when the world felt like it was spiraling out of control.

           "I get it," Hotch said quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. "This job… it’s supposed to be about control. We analyze everything, and we prepare for every possibility, but at the end of the day, we can’t control the outcome. We just do the best we can and hope it’s enough."

           You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. It wasn’t what you’d expected from Hotch. But in that moment, you saw beyond the unrelenting pressure of leading a team and of making life-or-death decisions day after day… it wasn’t so different from the pressure you put on yourself every time you laced up your skates and stepped onto the ice.

           "Maybe we’re both fighting battles we can’t always win," you said softly. Your eyes met his, searching for something, something neither of you had fully acknowledged.

           Hotch held your gaze, his expression shifting, softening in a way that made the air between you feel heavier, charged with something deeper. The connection that had sparked during your first conversation still simmered beneath the surface, but now it had grown. Neither of you had to say it, but it was there - a recognition that you were both trying to control worlds that couldn’t always be controlled.

           The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like an understanding, a silent acknowledgment that few people would ever grasp. And yet, for some reason, you both did.

           "How do you do it?" you asked, breaking the quiet but keeping your voice gentle and curious. "How do you keep going, knowing that you can’t save everyone?"

           Hotch’s jaw tightened for a second, the question clearly hitting a nerve. He couldn't save everyone, he hadn't saved everyone and that burden would forever press down on his shoulders. He glanced down, his hands resting on his hips as he let out a slow breath as if weighing his response. "You don’t," he finally said, his tone quieter than before, more reflective. "You don’t keep going because you think you can save everyone. You keep going because every once in a while… you do. And that has to be enough."

           You watched him closely, the way his posture shifted ever so slightly under the weight of his own words. You could tell something was bothering him but didn't dare ask what, you didn't know him well enough for that kind of intimacy yet. It wasn’t just a rehearsed line; it was a truth he lived with every single day. And though he spoke with the steady composure of someone who’d been through it countless times, you could see the toll it took on him.

           The truth was, you understood. Even in your own world, skating wasn’t just about the wins; it was about the countless times you fell or crashed, picked yourself back up, and kept going - because you had to, because sometimes, the moments of success, however brief, made it all worth it.

           "That’s what keeps me going on the ice too," you admitted softly. "It’s not the perfect routine. It’s knowing that all the work and all the falls… sometimes, they pay off."

           Hotch nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "We’re not so different after all," he said, echoing the words you had spoken to him mere days ago.

           "No," you agreed, smiling back. "I guess we’re not."

           After a moment, a smile blossomed on your face, your mischievous spark igniting once more. "You know, I think skating could help you with all that."

           Hotch raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Skating?"

           "Yeah," you said, your grin widening as you leaned in slightly. "It’s all about balance, focus, and letting go of control at just the right moment. I think it might help you clear your head."

           He chuckled softly, shaking his head as if dismissing the idea. "I’m not sure I’d be any good at it."

           You shrugged, stepping a little closer to him, the air between you electric with an undeniable connection. "I’d be willing to bet you’re better than you think. Besides, it’s not about being good. It’s about trying something new - stepping out of your comfort zone."

Hotch studied you intently, the hint of a smile still dancing on his lips, as if he were weighing the possibility of it. "Maybe one day."

           Your smirk deepened, clearly pleased with yourself for planting the seed of an idea in his mind. "I’ll hold you to that," you teased, your voice light as you turned to leave.

           As you walked away, Hotch watched you go, captivated by you. It reminded him of the discipline and determination you must exhibit on the ice. You were so much more than just a witness in this case - more than a skater caught up in the chaos of a missing friend. You embodied resilience, someone who understood the immense weight of expectation, the relentless drive to push past your limits even when everything felt impossible.

           And as you disappeared into the night, Hotch found himself wondering just how much more there was to discover about you. What other layers of depth did you hold beneath your exterior? There was something about you that stirred a curiosity in him, a feeling that your world held answers he hadn't yet encountered. The thought lingered in his mind, prompting him to consider how your lives could intertwine in unexpected ways in the future.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Warnings: light angst

Words: 5160

Natasha sits at her desk in her private study, her chin resting on her hand against the armrest of the chair as her eyes remain fixed on the dull, cracked stone on the table before her. 

The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the bustling castle outside as the staff work to prepare for the upcoming birthday celebration of their queen. 

But Natasha’s attention isn’t on any of the preparations or details–she already told her mother the idea she had for the party so that she and you could enjoy the day despite your current hidden relationship. 

At the moment, however, her thoughts swirl as she considers the mysterious stone.

It’s clearly meant to hold some form of power, though not well it would seem, seeing how the surface fractured so easily when it simply fell to the ground.

As if it was barely able to contain the energy within. 

Based on what she has seen, her best guess is that this stone must be related to some sort of sorcery. 

She taps her fingers lightly against the desk, replaying the events in her mind. 

The effects of being around it—whatever they were—didn’t feel natural. Its ability to influence the mind like the way it did to her, to stir vivid memories as if she was back in that moment again, is too dangerous to ignore.

Then, there is another concerning issue.

Her brow furrows as she recalls the brief, vacant expression on your face when she had stopped you from touching it and the way you seemed disoriented before snapping back to yourself, with no memory of what had happened.

Despite your reassurance, the unease lingers in her chest even now as she considers the possible explanations. 

What’s worrying is that it reminded her too much of the effects of Dreykov’s Widow methods—the blank stares, the lack of control, the erasure of one’s will. 

Natasha’s heart clenches at the memory of when Dreykov had used you against her, forcing you to try to hurt her while under his control. 

She shakes her head at the possibility. 

No, it’s not the same. 

Dreykov is still imprisoned, and without a handler to activate any lingering programming, you shouldn’t be at risk. 

And yet…this stone did something. 

Her fingers curl into a fist as she resolves not to let history repeat itself. 

Whatever this is, she will find a way to protect you from it. 

Natasha picks up the stone, holding it closer to the light. Its surface glimmers faintly, but it offers no clues to its origin. She sighs and places it back down, frustration creeping in. 

The kingdom has so little knowledge about sorcery. There are no experts she can consult, no archives to scour for answers, no next step for her to turn to.

Natasha pauses, straightening in her chair, as she suddenly remembers that there is one person she can ask for help.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the thud of a stack of papers landing on her desk. 

Startled, she looks up to see Steve standing beside her, his expression serious but kind.

“These are the documents we found at Sitwell’s home,” he says, gesturing to the pile. “It’s enough to confirm his and Rumlow’s dealings against the kingdom.”

Natasha sifts through the papers, her eyes scanning the incriminating evidence. But as she nears the bottom of the stack, her frown deepens.

“There’s nothing here about who they were working with,” she mutters, frustration evident in her voice.

Steve nods grimly. 

“No names, no locations. Just references to ‘the supplier’ and ‘the broker.’ Whoever they are, they’ve covered their tracks well.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose as she summarizes the situation aloud.

“So we’re dealing with two unknown enemies—one who’s after the secrets of the Black Widow operations and another after this stone and whatever weapons are tied to it.”

She lets out a deep sigh. 

“And in the middle of it all is Y/n.”

Her voice softens slightly at your name, but the worry in her tone is unmistakable.

“This can’t get any worse,” she sighs again, shaking her head.

Steve’s sharp inhale makes her snap her gaze to him, her eyes narrowing in warning.

“What is it?” she asks, apprehension in her voice.

Steve hesitates, his jaw tightening before he answers.

“It seems word has spread about Sitwell’s death—and about a certain someone who was also spotted in a tavern near there around the same time. People among the houses and the kingdom are starting to connect the dots, or at least trying to.”

Natasha’s face hardens as she rises from her chair, slamming her hands on the desk.

“They’re trying to blame her for his death?” she exclaims, disbelief and anger coloring her voice. “The report clearly states what happened!”

Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture. 

“We omitted Lady Y/n’s presence at the scene in the official report, but we can’t hide the fact that many people did recognize her in that area. And with her current reputation, people are eager to jump to conclusions and conspiracies that she was involved in some way.”

Natasha’s fists clench as she glares at the papers on her desk, her mind racing. 

The thought of you being unfairly targeted, of such false whispers about your character spreading like wildfire through the kingdom, makes her blood boil. 

“They don’t know her,” Natasha says fiercely, her voice low but trembling with emotion. “They don’t know what she’s been through.”  

Steve places a steadying hand on her shoulder, his voice calm but tinged with sadness.

“People always look for someone to blame, someone to fear,” he says. “It’s easier than facing a real monster.”

His words are filled with a sense of understanding and sympathy that Natasha notices.

“Her situation reminds you of someone?” she comments, her tone quieter but no less probing. “How is Bucky anyway?”

Steve hesitates, his eyes betraying a flicker of hesitancy before answering simply. 

“He’s doing good.”

He doesn’t offer any more information about the man than that.

Natasha doesn’t mind, but she still presses on, deciding to confront him on the question that has lingered in her mind since she heard about it.

“Bucky told me how you stopped him from killing the Stark princess.” 

His eyes widen in surprise at the sudden topic, but she continues before he can speak. 

“What exactly happened after that?”

Steve regards her for a moment before he exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly in resignation as he recalls the past events. 

“After she was taken, Bucky and I tried to find her,” he admits. “We searched for days, but after what happened, Stark declared him as a fugitive. Anyone found helping him would be seen as an enemy of the kingdom. And with the peace treaty still newly established…”

“Bucky went into hiding,” Natasha finishes. 

“I convinced him to,” Steve confirms. “Told him I’d keep looking for her after he left, but the search was called off soon after.”

Natasha furrows her brows at the revelation. She thought only Steve and Bucky were the ones who knew about the Stark princess being alive.

“Called off? By who?”

Steve’s expression tightens in hesitance before he answers.

“Your mother was the one who ended the search.”

Silence falls in the room as Natasha stares at him, her mind reeling as she processes the implications of his words.

Her mother had known the Stark princess was alive. And yet, she had kept it a secret for all these years.

A new unease settled in Natasha’s chest.

If her mother had been willing to hide something this important…

What else did she know?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your hands cradle the sides of the cup, seeking comfort in its warmth, but it does little to calm the unease twisting inside you.

Steam curls softly in the dimly lit cabin, dissipating into the still air as you finally glance up, bracing yourself for the reaction.

Across the small table, Bucky leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

His gaze is steady and fixed on you—not angry, but filled with the quiet patience of someone who has seen too much.

“I wasn’t joking when I told you not to touch things you don’t understand yet,” he finally says, his voice calm but firm.

You wince at the reprimand, lowering your gaze to the cup in your hands.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you murmur. “One moment, I was behind Natasha, and the next…she’s telling me I hit her.”

Your fingers tighten around the cup as the memory flashes in your mind.

The faint glow of the stone had drawn your gaze, an inexplicable pull you couldn’t resist.

And then—nothing.

A lapse in time. A gap in your memory.

But this time, it was different.

Your voice drops to a whisper, raw with fear and dread.

“Bucky, I hurt someone this time. Someone I care about. What if next time it’s worse?”

His features soften in understanding at your tone. He exhales, leaning forward to rest his forearm on the table.

“You haven’t talked to Wanda about this?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“That’s…related to another problem I need to tell you about,” you admit hesitantly.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You inhale sharply before confessing, “The person I hired to fix the gates is actually Tony Stark. He’s in the kingdom.”

Bucky doesn’t react right away. His face remains unreadable as he considers your words carefully.

“Huh,” he mutters at last. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always had a knack for showing up when you least expect it.”

His calmness catches you off guard.

“You’re not worried?” you ask cautiously.

Bucky offers a wry smile.

“I’ve been running long enough to know how to stay ahead,” he sighs, glancing around the cabin. “Doesn’t mean I like it, but I can handle it.”

He studies you curiously.

“How did you figure out who he was?”

You scoff, shaking your head at the memory.

“He practically bragged about his identity when I confronted him,” you say, exasperation lacing your voice. “I’ve never met someone who manages to compliment himself in almost every other breath.”

Bucky smirks, nostalgia flickering in his expression.

“Sounds like him. Guess some things never change.”

His demeanor shifts, his amusement fading as he leans back in his chair.

“So…does he know who you really are?”

You hesitate, looking back down at your cup.

“No,” you admit before sighing. “And I don’t think I should tell him.”

With Tony in the kingdom for peace treaty discussions, revealing the truth would only complicate things—especially for Natasha. You can’t risk him finding out that his sister had been taken by one of her own people for all these years.

Bucky observes you for a moment before suggesting lightly, “What about the twins then?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief.

“What? No. Those two, especially, cannot know.”

His expression softens, understanding your apprehension.

“You said the three of you grew up together like siblings. I doubt finding out who you really are would change that.”

Your throat tightens in fear at the thought.

“Stark soldiers killed their parents, Bucky,” you remind him, your voice cracking slightly. “How can I ask them to see past that?”

Bucky sighs quietly with sympathy before answering.

“Because they know you. Not the kingdom. Not the name—you.” He pauses, his gaze steady and sure. “If anyone understands that, it’s them.”

Silence settles between you. Your fingers trace the rim of your cup as you wrestle with the thought.

“I just…I don’t think I can do it.”

Bucky sighs, but he doesn’t push further.

“At least consider having Wanda check on you,” he suggests. “If you’re still worried about what’s happening with your memories.”

You take a slow breath before nodding, reluctant but willing.

Bucky studies you for a moment before asking, “Are you still going to keep looking into that stone?”

A small, determined smile tugs at your lips.

“I need to figure out what’s happening. You said it yourself—I have to understand how it works. If I can do that, I can learn to control it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bucky deadpans, shaking his head. “I understand you want to regain some sort of control of the situation, but are you sure this is the best way to handle it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly. “But I know I’ll figure it out.”

He watches you for a long moment before nodding.

“All right. Just…be careful.”

You offer him a grateful smile before your expression turns more serious.

“What about you? Are you going to leave now that Tony’s here?”

Bucky is silent for a moment as he considers his response, looking around at his home in contemplation before facing you again.

“Have you told anyone else about what’s happening with you?”

You look away, hesitating. Talking with Bucky about this has always been easier than others since you know he understands what it was like not being in control.

With a soft sigh, you shake your head in response.

His expression softens, something gentle flickering in his eyes.

“Then I’m staying.”

Your eyes widen slightly, looking up at him.

“Bucky—”

“I’ll be careful,” he assures you before you can protest. “You gave me a heads-up, and I appreciate it. The least I can do is be here for you.”

His words hit you harder than expected. After everything—the whispers, the distrust, the isolation—it’s not something you’re used to hearing recently.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky replies with a small smirk. “But someone has to remind you that you’re not alone. We have to look out for each other—to protect the people we care about.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, the weight on your shoulders lifting just a little.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha slows her horse to a stop at the entrance of your manor. Swinging down smoothly, she lands lightly on her feet, her eyes assessing the newly installed gate.

The sturdy iron bars gleam under the sunlight, their intricate patterns hinting at the work of a master craftsman. A stark improvement from the wreckage that once stood in its place.

Whoever you had hired had done an impressive job.

A voice from behind pulls her from her thoughts.

“Queen Natasha.”

She turns to find Wanda approaching, a woven basket hanging on her arm. Beside her stands a man Natasha doesn’t recognize—tall, poised, his presence exuding quiet intelligence. He carries himself with effortless grace, his thoughtful gaze studying Natasha as much as she studies him.

Natasha offers a small nod in greeting. 

“Hello, Wanda.” Her gaze shifts to the stranger. “And I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

Before Wanda can respond, the man steps forward with a polite and respectful tilt of his head.

“Vision,” he introduces himself smoothly. “A…friend of Wanda’s.”

Natasha eyes him carefully, her instincts sharpening. There’s something calculated about him, as if he chooses his words with great care. But she doesn’t comment on it.

“What brings you here?” Wanda asks, her tone polite but cool.

Natasha takes out a sealed envelope from her side, the royal hourglass crest embossed in the wax.

“I came to deliver an invitation for Y/n,” she says. “For my birthday celebration.”

Wanda glances at the envelope and then meets Natasha’s gaze.

“She’s not home at the moment,” she says, pausing briefly before adding. “She’s visiting a friend.”

Natasha nods in understanding, already suspecting where you might be.

“Then I’ll leave this with you.” She extends the envelope. “This invitation is also extended to you and Pietro if you wish to attend.”

Wanda takes it without comment, tucking it away. Her gaze lingers on Natasha, assessing.

“If that’s all, Your Majesty, then perhaps you should return home.”

Natasha’s lips twitch in amusement at Wanda’s bluntness, but she doesn’t move. 

“Actually,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I was hoping to ask for your help.”

Wanda’s brows knit in surprise. 

“My help? With what?”

Natasha reaches into her satchel once more, this time retrieving a familiar object—the cracked stone. She holds it between them, its fractured surface dull, absent of the eerie glow it once emitted.

Wanda’s entire demeanor shifts. Her fingers tighten around the handle of her basket, her expression darkening.

Natasha studies her reaction before continuing.

“I need your help proving a theory of mine.”

Wanda’s gaze locks onto the stone, recognition flaring in her eyes.

“And you want me to do what, exactly?” 

“Channel some of your magic into it,” Natasha explains, keeping her voice measured. “I believe this stone is meant to hold a sorcerer’s power, but I don’t know the extent of its capabilities.”

Wanda doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looks at the fractured gem with barely concealed wariness.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that,” she finally says, a note of hesitation in her voice. “We have no idea what could happen.”

Before Natasha can push further, Vision steps forward, his voice even and composed.

“I must agree,” he says, eyes flicking over the fractured surface. “The stone, in its current state, would likely fail to contain her magic. The cracks compromise its integrity.”

Natasha shifts her attention to him, her sharp gaze narrowing slightly.

“You seem well-versed in this subject.” 

Vision offers a polite smile. 

“My family has studied sorcery and its potential for generations.”

From his pocket, he produces a small, glowing yellow stone—no larger than a pendant. The energy within it hums faintly, vibrating with an unseen force. 

“This was given to me by my brother before he disappeared,” Vision says, gazing at it with a flicker of nostalgia. “It holds only a remnant of power, but when I concentrate, I can still feel his presence.” 

Natasha studies the tiny stone—a miniature echo of the one in her hand. Vision’s words confirm her suspicion: these stones were meant to contain a sorcerer’s magic.

But that revelation brings an unsettling realization.

“Does that mean the power in these stones could be wielded by anyone?” she asks, voicing her thoughts aloud. “Even those without magic?”

Vision nods thoughtfully. 

“Theoretically, yes—if the vessel is strong enough to contain it. However, its effects would also depend on the source.” He gestures subtly toward Wanda. “For instance, Wanda possesses extraordinary strength and versatility in her powers.”

Natasha doesn’t miss the admiration in Vision’s voice or the way Wanda’s expression softens as she glances at Vision—the quiet smile she offers him. 

But she pushes past the moment, turning to Wanda with renewed urgency.

“Can we speak alone for a moment?” 

Vision catches the cue, offering a courteous nod before excusing himself. He strolls past the gates, hands clasped behind his back, leaving the two of them in private.

Once he’s out of earshot, Natasha’s expression shifts, her voice lowering.

“How is she?” she asks, cutting past the pleasantries. “Really?” 

Wanda crosses her arms, her posture becoming defensive.

“She’s fine,” she answers curtly. “Aside from the ridiculous rumors that she had something to do with Lord Sitwell’s death.” 

Natasha exhales slowly. She had anticipated this, but hearing it aloud cements the weight of it.

“I didn’t expect this to lead back to her.”

Wanda’s eyes darken, her stance firm. 

“You should have.” There’s a bite to her words. “With how people already treat her, it doesn’t take much for them to paint her as a villain.”

The unspoken accusation isn’t lost on Natasha.

Still, she meets Wanda’s gaze evenly.

“That’s why I came—to make sure she’s okay.” Her voice is softer now, more genuine. “Have you noticed anything…strange about her lately? Any unusual behaviors?”

A flicker of protectiveness and outrage flashes across Wanda’s face.

“What are you implying?” she demands. “That she’s not herself?”

Natasha hesitates. She doesn’t want to question your state of mind either. But after what she saw, she can’t ignore it. 

“Something happened to Y/n in town,” she admits. “I don’t like the thought of her mind being affected again either. But after everything, isn’t it worth checking?”

For a moment, it seems like Wanda is about to argue further, but as she considers Natasha’s question and the concern in her tone, her defensive posture relax slightly, though her resolve remains firm.

“She’s fine,” Wanda repeats. “I made sure Dreykov’s influence in her mind can’t be used again, and I’ve checked multiple times before.”

Natasha watches her closely for a long moment before slowly nodding.

“Alright, if you’ve already checked it out,” she says, pausing to gauge the truth in Wanda’s expression. “I’ll trust you. We all care about Y/n’s safety, after all.”

Wanda’s gaze sharpens, the weight of something unspoken pressing between them.

“Do you?” she asks quietly. “Because it really doesn’t feel that way—not with how you’ve been handling things.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue. She understands where Wanda’s anger is coming from.

Instead, she simply says, “We’re on the same side here, Wanda.”

Wanda’s eyes search hers, looking for something—anything—to convince her of that. But in the end, she only shakes her head, her expression unreadable.

“I wish I could believe that.”

With that, she turns and walks into the manor, leaving Natasha standing alone, the weight of unease settling deeper in her chest.

And for the first time in a long while, she wonders if you feel the same way.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After leaving Bucky’s cabin, you return to the manor, your mind a whirlwind of unease and resolve. 

The stone in your possession is still a mystery, and if there was anyone who could help you decipher it, it was the man currently hammering away in the makeshift tent out front. 

As you approach, the sharp clang of metal against metal echoes into the cool evening air. 

The tent, hastily set up near the manor’s entrance, is cluttered with half-finished contraptions, schematics, and tools strewn across multiple surfaces. A warm glow flickers from the hanging lanterns, casting long shadows over the disarray. 

Pushing aside the front flap, you step in.

Tony is hunched over a worktable, humming an offbeat tune as he shapes a small piece of metal. Sparks dance off the edges as he grinds it against a whetstone, the acrid scent of burning steel filling the air. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, too absorbed in his work.

You make your way to the table, pausing just in front of him. When he still doesn’t look up, you pull the cracked stone from your pocket and set it down with a deliberate thud.

The impact silences the rhythmic clang of his tools.

Tony finally stops, his hands stilling as his gaze flicks to the stone, then to you. A single brow lifts in curiosity.

“I need to understand how this works,” you state, gesturing at the fractured stone. “Your friend mentioned how you once tried to create something like it but failed.”

Tony scoffs, setting his tools aside as he straightens to his full height. His arms cross over his chest, an air of casual arrogance settling around him.

“First of all, I didn’t fail,” he corrects, wagging a finger at you. “I chose to stop. There’s a difference.”

You furrow your brows slightly at the revelation. 

“Why did you stop?”

“Conflict of interest,” he replies vaguely, leaving little room for elaboration as he waves off the question. Then he tilts his head, scrutinizing you. “And second, even if I were to humor this little project of yours, what makes you think I’d need your help?”

You shift, fingers tightening around the object hidden behind your back.

“Because you couldn’t figure it out yourself,” you reply smoothly. 

Tony chuckles, the sound dripping with amusement.

“And you think you can?”

Your grip tightens around the charred book’s worn cover. 

“Yes,” you say evenly, “with your help. And with this.”

With deliberate slowness, you bring the book into view.

The second Tony’s eyes land on it, his entire demeanor shifts. His casual smirk falters, and his body tenses, fingers twitching like he’s resisting the urge to snatch it from your hands.

He takes a single step forward, pointing at the book.

“How do you have that?”

You take a step back, holding it just out of reach.

“It was given to me.”

His expression darkens.

“Well, that doesn’t belong to you. So hand it over.”

You raise a brow, unaffected by his sudden change in tone.

“Help me,” you counter, “and I’ll give this to you.”

His jaw tightens, his gaze flicking between the book and your face. The seconds stretch between you, thick with tension.

Then, with a long exhale, Tony crosses his arms and tilts his head.

“Alright,” he says simply. “You’ve got my attention.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Pietro, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.”

You step into your room, the familiar space offering little comfort against the storm of emotions trailing in behind you.

Wanda looks up from where she stands beside your bed, momentarily pausing as she arranges another dress among the already spread-out collection. Her eyes flick to you, curiosity flickering in their depths.

Pietro follows in after you, hands waving in agitation, his movements restless.

“I just don’t get why you want them to stick around,” he huffs. “The gate’s already been fixed.”

You sigh, turning to face him, hands on your hips. Ever since you had revealed the news of Tony and Vision’s extended stay, Pietro had been nothing but vocal in his disapproval.

“I know you and Tony don’t get along, but—”

“It’s not just that,” Pietro interrupts, frustration evident in his voice. His fingers fumble inside his pocket before pulling something out. “Look, I searched through their things—”

“Pietro!” you exclaim, aghast. “You went through their belongings?”

He barely acknowledges your reprimand, stepping closer to show you a small scrap of fabric. You frown as you take it from him, running your fingers over the faded embroidery. 

The lines of an all-too-familiar sigil stand out against the fabric—Stark’s crest.

“They’re from the Stark kingdom,” Pietro says, voice laced with disapproval. “We can’t trust them.”

Your fingers tighten around the cloth as your gaze flickers away.

“They’re not bad people,” you say softly. “Not everyone from Stark is bad.” 

He scoffs in disbelief, rolling his eyes. 

“Sure. But do we have to involve them in our lives?”

You let out a tired sigh, realizing that Pietro’s resentment toward the kingdom was something you had anticipated but clearly underestimated.

“Bucky saved your life,” you remind him gently, hoping to reason with him. “Or did you forget he’s from Stark too?”

His expression twists at the mention of Bucky, as if the reminder conflicts within him. Crossing his arms, he shakes his head stubbornly.

“That’s different.”

“Come on, Pietro,” you try again, softening your tone. “Can’t you at least try to—” You hesitate, searching for the right words.

But Pietro is already shaking his head.

“Please, Y/n, don’t let them stay.” His voice is quieter now, almost pleading.

He looks at you with the same expression he wore as a child—the little boy who always counted on you to take his side.

You take a steady breath, grounding yourself before answering.

“I’m sorry, Pietro,” you say, firm yet gentle. “But it’s already done.” 

His lips press into a tight line.

For a second, it looks like he might argue further, but instead, he clenches his fists and exhales sharply through his nose. Without another word, he dashes off, the air around him rippling from the sheer force of his departure.

The lingering tension settles heavily in the space he leaves behind.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exasperated.

“Wait—Pietro!”

The only response is the distant sound of his retreating footsteps.

You let out another sigh before turning to Wanda, who has remained silent throughout the entire exchange.

“Wanda,” you start. “Can you talk to him? You’ve been spending time with Vision—maybe you can convince him that they’re not all bad.”

When she doesn’t immediately respond, you glance at her more closely. She’s staring down at her hands, lost in thought. Her fingers twitch slightly, as if turning over something unseen.

“Wanda?” you call again.

She blinks, her gaze snapping up to meet yours.

“Can I look inside your mind?” she asks suddenly.

You freeze. Of all the things you expected her to say, that was not one of them.

A beat of silence passes between you.

Wanda, sensing your hesitation, quickly waves a hand. 

“I just want to make sure the block I put in place is still strong after all this time,” she clarifies, her voice even but her fingers fidgeting slightly.

You shift, glancing away.

For a moment, doubt grips you—not because you don’t trust Wanda, but because what if she sees too much? 

Wanda watches you closely, and when you don’t respond, her shoulders sag slightly.

“Never mind,” she says, softer now. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

You snap your gaze back to her, guilt tightening in your chest.

“No, it’s fine,” you say quickly.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. 

You take a steadying breath, shoving aside your apprehension. You know Wanda—know that she would never pry deeper than necessary. And more than anything, you don’t want her to think that her abilities should be feared.

You reach forward and take her hand, gripping it firmly. 

“I trust you, Wanda.”

A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face, but she nods, inhaling deeply before closing her eyes.

A soft red glow encircles her fingers before she brings them up to your temple.

The moment her power touches you, it’s as if a presence brushes against your mind—gentle, cautious. It doesn’t force its way in, merely drifts through the edges of your consciousness, skimming the surface like a ripple across water.

For a moment, an uneasy thought lingers—what if she sees the truth?

But Wanda does not pry deeper. She simply searches for what she needs.

After a moment, the red glow fades, and she withdraws her hand.

You look at her, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Well?”

A smile breaks across her face.

“Everything’s good,” she assures you.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the unease within you easing just a little.

“That’s good to hear.”

Your gaze shifts to the array of dresses and fabrics spread across the bed. Some fabrics are cut into smaller elaborate designs, while others are carefully pinned together, awaiting final touches.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s all this?”

Wanda’s grin widens with excitement. She reaches for an envelope on your desk, holding it out to you. The opened seal bears Natasha’s family crest.

“To prepare for the Queen’s birthday celebration,” she reveals.

Then, in a playful gesture, she picks up a piece of fabric and drapes it over the upper half of her face.

“It’s going to be a masquerade.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

a/n: Thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox, @hellenheaven, @hotcocoandonuts, @alwaysgoodnight, @cactuslover2600

[infamous-if]

Hello! I hope this okay to ask, but how did the audition work exactly as in how did they pick which bands are going to audition for the night? Was MC's band just unlucky being in the same night as UW?

Hello! And of course it's okay! So basically there's an open call for bands and artists to send a video to BOTB and from there, they sift through the thousands and thousands of videos and narrow it down to about sixty or so.

Then BOTB splits those auditions to different nights and chooses a handful of bands at random to perform on a certain night. Then the schedule is sent out! There's no method behind who auditions when, it's completely random. It's the only way to keep it completely fair since there's never an equal amount of bands within the same genre to do it like that.

You can say it was just bad luck being stuck with UW on the same night, yeah :)

[aceandurmom]

Thinking about...

Orochimaru

“Lord Orochimaru?”

Peaking into the room you searched for the man,

“Sir?”

There was an echo of an object hitting the floor. Throwing caution to the wind, you pushed open the door. Rushing in, you tried to find the source of the sound. Nothing out of place was in his room, so you leaned your head against the door listening for any hint that you might be in the right place.

Gently tapping the door, you announced your presence once again. Just in case the young lord hadn’t heard you before. 

“Lord Orochimaru, is everything okay?”

An aggravated huff sounded behind the door. The Sannin panted behind the closed latch. 

“Is…is there anything I could do to help?”

Humming, Orochimaru pondered your request. 

“Enter. I need assistance with something.”

The door unlocked, slowly propping open. Seeing this as his explicit permission, you opened the door further. 

Slowly stepping in, you closed the door behind you. Turning, you faced him. Bowing your head in respect, you tilted your head in question. 

The sight in front of you was not one you expected. 

Bare, Orochimaru was underneath the shower head, water falling against his pale skin. His arms were held against the wall, pants escaping his parted lips in pain. Orochimaru wished the old bastard was still alive, even if only he could prolong his death longer. The pain he was enduring now was excruciating, not able to contain himself. 

-

He had brought you back from the Leaf Village during the Chunin Exams. Constantly by your side as soon as he saw you. You were one of the ninjas in charge of discovering his abandoned bases and scavenging for his notes. Any research or test subjects were to be brought back to the Hokage himself. The Third was definitely not your favorite of the quartet. He was a drunken pervert, one who never took care of the Foruth’s child like he promised. You were close enough to his executives to have known about the promise and it had left a rotten taste in your mouth. Since then, you had been going through Orochimaru’s belongings and sabotaging the others. Even if only to make his job harder. 

Whatever you found you hid away from sight, stashing them so that you could study them later. 

After days of skimming through his research, you found yourself enchanted by his notes. He was a mastermind in every way. His tactics may have been brutal, but the results spoke for themselves. 

You grew to admire him. 

And then he found you, stashed away in the base under the Hokage Summit. You had been searching for a missing notebook out of the collection you had acquired. 

He had appeared so abruptly, his chakra clouding your senses the moment he entered the room. He had made no move to conceal himself, not expecting someone to be there in the first place. He was only there to pick through the remaining research he had abandoned. Too distracted to notice the lone chakra source lingering in the halls.Noticing you, he had made to dispose of your body. Only to find you hungrily sifting through one of his old bookshelves. He noticed that many were displaced or gone, and the way you seemed so guilty had told him all he needed to know. 

So, without thinking through all of the possibilities, Orochimaru scooped you into his arms. In shock, you gaped at the man you had been told was a danger your entire life. He was holding you so sweetly, a questioning look lingering. 

“And what do we have here? An admirer perhaps?”

His voice melodic and saccharine.

Stuttering, you attempted to reason with him.

“I-uhm! I’ve been going through your work! I adore your research and all the studies you’ve completed! Even if your methods seem cruel to some people, none of them realize the extent of your work, or the results you’ve managed to accumulate!”

Eyes shining, you ranted about his work. 

“There is so much I wish to ask and learn from you!”

Orochimaru looked down at you, a smug smile stretching ear to ear. One of his hands came up to your face, flinching, you tried to protect yourself from harm. Instead, you were met with him fingering a strand of hair behind your ear. Cupping your face, the snake studied your features. 

“You wish to learn from me, to stay by my side, hm?”

You nodded frantically, eager to work for or with him. 

“Then you will be coming with me.”

-

You had learned that the man had managed to kill the Third. A feat you praised him for once you saw him again. You threw yourself at him, wrapping him in your arms and shouting in glee. The snake had been surprised, not expecting the thrill in response to his deeds. At the very least he had been ready for some screaming or hitting. 

The fact you had met him with such happiness…

Orochimaru was delighted. 

Which was why you managed to get away with as much as you did. He allowed you to do as you wished, as long as you informed him beforehand. 

–

He had allowed you to come in during his time of weakness. Eager for any kind of relief or help you wanted to offer. Not paying any attention to the blood pooling in the floor.

Seeing Lord Orochimaru in such a state wasn’t ideal, but you wanted to help him anyway you could. 

His head gestured for you to come closer. 

“Come. I need assistance with washing my hair.”

“Of course!”

You had gone to step near him, hands reaching out to wet his hair. The snake’s hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you. Confused, you were going to question him. Only for the Sannin to answer instead.

“Who’s ever heard of showering with your clothes on? Strip. Join me.”

He had made it sound so obvious, as if you were the one in the wrong to even think about only assisting. You didn’t want to overstep, to cross the boundary between associates and something else. But it seemed as if the man could care less about such trivial details.

You did as told. Clothes peeling away from your skin, graciously allowing Orochimaru the honor of admiring you. 

Fully bare, you steppin in the low shower, water soaking you as soon as you placed your foot in. What you weren’t expecting was the crimson red building up there. But it didn’t look as if he was bothered by it..so you ignored it as well. 

Orochimaru tried to contain himself. Shivering under the water, trying to appear calm. But your delicate skin accidentally pressing against his body was almost too much to handle. Pouring shampoo into your palm, you lathered the soap before combing through his hair. It was long, softer than you thought it was going to be. Too caught up in the surprise of the silkiness of it, you missed the way the Sannin was beginning to shake harder. 

Finished playing with his hair, you admonished yourself for getting distracted. 

You washed the shampoo from Orochimaru’s hair. Making sure every sud was gone before deeming him finished. Stepping away, you made to exit so that he could finish in peace. 

He stopped you from doing so, speaking to you since he could not move his arms as he wished.

“So quick to leave. You haven’t even spoken to me.”

He teased. 

“Sir-!”

You stayed.

Not possessing the ability to deny him.

[firelightmlpoc]

I recently received a DM from a fellow who was a junior mod in the Shipping Container server, & they’ve been gracious enough to allow me to use their words on the current happenings, covering the events of the 0303Emily internal happenings of the server at that time.

Now, you may wonder why exactly I’m bringing up the 0303Emily debacle, much less in association with Pansear?

Well, besides the fact that the accusations leveled against 0303Emily are baseless themselves (One example of why at the bottom of this post, completely ignoring the fact that Azriel was only a month or 2 away from being 18 at the time of the accusation while 0303Emily was just 20.), they indicate a trend between both accusations that further shows minimal actual PROOF & deliberate misinterpretations of situations to then twist things into a more negative light.

Now, the statement from the junior mod:

“first off, sorry this isnt really that well worded. i dont even know where to start with all this. i wanted to offer my view on things from the internals of the SC server and some info that might explain the origins of all this. ive wanted to talk about this for a while but im not a very confrontational person and i didnt even have a tumblr or twitter

i was a helper (basically junior mod that had bare mininum perms) on SC during the entire event, and while I did not participate in the decision because it was really complex and i was busy with finals but i did lurk the convo and read a lot of it. i dont have any screenshots of this because i left a few weeks later after the entire mod team basically dissolved and the server lost all its users.

basically a while back before the grooming accusations some kids (like under 18) on the server were going around looking up artists on furaffnity, e621, and other nsfw websites and then reporting it to the mods of SC and i think mainworld too. the mods were pretty "this isnt really our business" about it and told the kids to stop snooping, and that was the end of it.

a few months later still before the grooming the issue resurfaced with the same users going after nsfw artists, they were again told to mind their business but a few weeks later came back with the grooming accusations on top of it. the key thing here is that the mod issue was heavily centered around the nsfw art that emily had been making, along with several other users who were in nsfw servers that these kids had joined to snoop around. they logged thousands of messages from multiple users and sifted through them looking for anything that could be added to this report.

again i just want to emphasize that this was not at all about Emily and Azriel at this time. The entire report was about NSFW people were doing in private NSFW sites and places that the kids had to lie and sneak into because they were LOOKING for dirt on these people. It was not just emily but around a dozen users in our server that had been perfectly fine up until this point.

there was a lot of delay with getting this report finalized and the grooming accusation came later. however given the context this seemed to raise a few red flags for the staff because the accusors had been so intense about their search for info and the fact that the conversation between them was months prior, there was some question of if the accusors had coached or otherwise convicned azriel about them being groomed just to get more dirt on emily.

Well the SC mods were tired of the NSFW artists being reported and considering the number of people being reported (again, more than just emily) and the methods the accusors had taken, decided that this was basically tantamount to stalking and kicked everyone involved.

What you see on tumblr is the response to that. They went and said "SC is run by groomer zoophiles" and everyone who had a hate boner for pansear jumped on board and it went nuclear.

I dont really know if this helps but i am just tired of sitting here being unable to speak about it because i dont have a following and i really miss pansear.”

I want to further emphasize this part:

“again i just want to emphasize that this was not at all about Emily and Azriel at this time. The entire report was about NSFW people were doing in private NSFW sites and places that the kids had to lie and sneak into because they were LOOKING for dirt on these people. It was not just emily but around a dozen users in our server that had been perfectly fine up until this point.”

Minors actively invaded adult-spaces, willingly & ACTIVELY exposed themselves to adult content EXPLICITLY to ‘dig up dirt.’

So, with that in mind, why would they stop at that? Why would they stop at something so trivial as faking screenshots? Multiple members have actively made threats to people accused & they care not about spreading a falsehood (Just look at Pansear’s old Tumblr handle!).

And here’s the example I said I’d give earlier. Azriel starts the conversation with mention of the horrors of some NSFW content from the fandom & then gives an example. 0303Emily follows up with a shared experience. This is some of the ‘proof’ that was presented in the doc Azriel & Co. put forth.

This doesn’t even mention any of the other discrepancies in their own ‘proof.’ The ‘Zoophilia’ allegations are once again Anthro on Anthro characters engaging in sexual acts, just like the allegation against Pansear.

Don’t believe me? Their own google doc is right here on this chap’s post. Read through it.

And if you want to read more, read this. It further emphasizes on this matter.

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 6)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

Quickly, you closed the lockbox and shoved it back into its hiding place, hoping against hope that Thomas wouldn't notice anything amiss. You stood up, smoothing out your dress and taking a deep breath before making your way up the stairs to meet your husband.

But as you climbed the stairs, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of what you had just discovered. How long had Thomas been watching you? How long had he been planning this?

Was it all just a twisted game to him, luring you into his web of lies and deceit? These questions swirled around in your head, making you feel dizzy and disoriented.

"What are you doing down here, Love?" Tommy asked as you walked towards him as he waited for you half-way up the stairs on which you were now standing.  His voice was gentle, but his eyes held a questioning look, almost as if he knew something was off. You quickly pushed the thoughts to the back of your mind, forcing a smile on your face.

"I was just feeling a bit lonely and thought I'd come down and get a bottle of wine from the cellar," you lied, praying that Thomas wouldn't be able to tell. "Is that alright?"

Tommy regarded you for a moment before nodding slowly. "Of course, it is," your husband told you, his voice still gentle. 

There was a bead of sweat on your forehead, and you couldn't help but feel like Tommy knew exactly what you had found in the cellar. But how could he? It wasn't possible. You had only discovered it just now, and you had been careful not to leave any evidence behind.

Still, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. Your heart was racing, and you felt like you couldn't breathe.

You tried to act normal, but every second that passed made it harder and harder to keep up the charade. 

When you walked back upstairs with your husband and a bottle of wine in your hand,  you could barely focus on the conversation.

Every time Thomas looked at you with his intense blue eyes, your heartbeat quickened, and your mind racing with questions that you couldn't answer.

You tried to shake off the feeling of unease, but it lingered like a dark cloud over your head and that could remained there all night, even when you were intimate with the man you married. 

***

The following day, while your husband was out again for business, you went to the cellar again and discovered that there was a methodical process to the way that Thomas had rid himself of any obstacle that stood in his way.

His planning was impeccable, and his reach extended far beyond what you could have imagined.

The information in the lockbox revealed that there was no corner of your past that Thomas had not infiltrated.

He had targeted each and every one of your previous relationships, ensuring that they would end abruptly and tragically. The police reports indicated that the causes of death ranged from car accidents to suicide, but you couldn't help but suspect that he had a hand in each of them.

It was a terrifying realization, and one that made you question everything about your husband and your marriage. It was true that Thomas had always been protective of you, but you had never suspected that he would go to such extremes to keep you by his side.

In addition, you quickly learned that you had also been somewhat naive when it came to thinking that your husband was an honest and reputable businessman.  As you delved deeper into the information contained in the lockbox, you realized that Thomas was not only a gangster, but also a ruthless criminal with a violent streak. You had been aware of his involvement with organized crime, but you had no idea of the extent to which it permeated every aspect of his life.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust and betrayal as you sifted through the documents revealing Thomas's true nature. You had trusted him, loved him, and devoted yourself to him, but he had manipulated you from the very beginning.

You thought back to the early days of your relationship, when Thomas had swept you off your feet with his charm and charisma. You had been so blinded by love that you had overlooked the warning signs of his controlling behavior.

But now, the truth was staring you in the face and you knew that you had leave him without a second thought.

You could no longer bear the thought of his hands on you , his lips on yours. Every kiss, every touch was tainted by the knowledge of his twisted games.

You couldn't help but wonder what would become of you if you left. Would Thomas let you go peacefully, or would he come after you with a vengeance? You didn't know the answer, but you knew that you had to take the risk.

You made up your mind and gathered your belongings. As you prepared to leave, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

You felt light, free, and most importantly, alive. The thought of the life you had been living up until nowmade your skin crawl. You never realized that the man who you thought was your soulmate, the man you vowed to spend the rest of your life with, could be someone so dangerous and manipulative.

You walked out of the mansion, taking in a deep breath as you walked towards one of the Bentleys and opened the boot.

You placed your belongings inside, before slamming it shut and taking a step back. There was no turning back now, you needed to get away from him and fast.

You slid into the driver's seat, turning on the ignition and putting the car into reverse. As you drove out of the gates of the mansion, your heart raced.

Each new mile that separated you from Thomas felt like a victory, yet it was also tinged with fear. But the thought of never having to feel his icy grip on your heart again made you determined.

You had always known deep down that something was off about Thomas, but your heart had blinded you to the truth. Now, you knew without a shadow of doubt that he was dangerous, and there was only one way to protect yourself - by getting as far away from him as possible.

You had some money on you, but not much. It was barely enough to get you on to a train to London and from there, you'd have to figure something else out. You glanced at the mansion one more time before driving away, your heart racing with fear and anticipation.

As you drove, you couldn't help but wonder about Thomas and whether he would try to find you .

You told yourself that you were being paranoid, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of impending danger that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

Twenty minutes later, you arrived at Birmingham Train Station . You parked your car in the farthest corner of the lot, hoping that it wouldn't be spotted by anyone who might be looking for you.

You glanced around nervously, checking to see if you were being followed. Seeing no one, you made your way into the train station.

The station was bustling with activity, but you couldn't help but feel like every pair of eyes were on you. You purchased a ticket to London and made your way to the platform, trying to blend in with the other passengers.

Your heart raced as the train pulled up, and you boarded, taking a seat in a relatively empty carriage. You gazed out of the window, watching the city of Birmingham disappear into the distance as the train sped through the countryside.

The landscape was a comforting distraction from the turmoil of your thoughts. You couldn't believe what you had discovered about Thomas - it seemed like a twisted nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. You wondered if he would even notice that you were gone, or if he already had other plans in motion to track you down and it was then when an older looking gentleman took a seat across from you in the train car.

He looked at you in a way that made you feel nervous , but you couldn't put your finger on why. He seemed kind enough, but something about him felt off.

You tried to ignore his gaze and looked out the window again, taking in the picturesque countryside as it rushed past you.

The gentleman across from you spoke up, introducing himself as George. You hesitated for a moment before responding politely, still wary of him.

As the train journey went on, George engaged you in light conversation, asking about your plans in London and your thoughts on the beautiful scenery outside.

You found yourself gradually relaxing in his presence, enjoying the distraction from the chaos of your thoughts while still remaining smart and reserved, not giving anything away about your past or plans for the future. 

As the train pulled into London's Euston Station, George assisted you with your luggage as you disembarked the train but, just as you stepped out of the carriage, George waved towards two men  who were standing near the exit of the platform.

These men didn't catch your attention initially, but their sudden movement towards you made you feel uneasy, and you knew in your gut that something was off.

As such, you took your suitcase from Goerge's hands and quickened your pace, trying to make your way through the crowds of people at the station, but you could feel George and his men following closely behind you. You tried to maintain your composure as a surge of fear coursed through your veins, knowing that you couldn't let them see how terrified you really were.

"Going somewhere Mrs Shelby?" another man then said, suddenly appearing in front of you , effectively blocking your escape route. This man was younger than George, but still significantly older than you and his dark hair and green eyes gave off a cold, intimidating vibe as he scrutinized you with an intense gaze.

You hesitated before answering, trying to keep your voice steady when you finally spoke up. "I-I'm just here to visit a friend in London," you said, swallowing the lump of fear that had formed in your throat. "I don't know why you're bothering me."

The young man chuckled humorlessly.

"A friend, you say? I find that hard to believe, Mrs. Shelby."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. How did this stranger know who you were? Had Thomas already discovered that you had left? Was this man working for him?

Before you could react, the man lifted up his suit jacket, indicating that he had a gun . The sight of it was enough to make your heart stop.

"You are coming with us," he said, his voice as cold as ice.

The words hung heavy in the air, and a sense of helplessness washed over you. The crowds of people passing by paid no mind to the scene unfolding before them, leaving you feeling isolated and exposed.

Your mind raced, searching for a way out of this predicament.

You thought of screaming for help or trying to run past them. But common sense took over, reminding you that these men were trained and likely armed. They could easily overpower you or worse, put a bullet in your head without hesitation.

It was a terrifying thought, one that sent a chill down your spine.

The man with the cold, green eyes studied you for a moment before motioning to his companions. "Take her," he instructed quietly. "But be nice to her. She is precious cargo, and her husband demands that you take the upmost care in returning her to him unharmed," he then chuckled and, before you knew what was happening, rough hands grabbed your arms and pulled you away from the crowd and towards an awaiting car. You struggled against their grip, but it was no use – they were too strong.

As you were pushed into the back seat of the car, you stole a glance out of the window.

The busy streets of London were a blur, and you fought back the tears that threatened to fall. You had been so foolish to think that you could escape from Thomas Shelby, the man whose ambition knew no bounds and who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted.

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