#sorry about anything I missed in the tags

[d3v1ls4dvocat3]

Doomed

James “Bucky” Barnes x Fem! Reader Smut

Summary: When Bucky notices the new neighbor, he can’t seem to get her out of his head! Whatever will he do?

W.C: 1600

Tags: Smut!, pervert! Bucky, panty thief! bucky, guilty bucky?, mentions of lingerie, AFAB! Reader, age gap but it’s not specified, male masturbation, breast fixation, nipple fixation, p in v? kinda? it doesn’t actually happen, Bucky POV, mentions of steve, mentions of war and Buck being the Winter Solider

MDNI!! Let me know if I missed anything!!

He remembers the exact day you moved into the apartment across the hall.

It was only a few days before the new year. Everyone on the floor had seemingly left to be with family, not that he bothered to keep track of his neighbors whereabouts, but he had noticed the overall lack of people when he made the unfortunate trip out of his apartment to see his therapist every other day.

That made your appearance even more noticeable.

Bucky liked to keep track of everyone he saw day-to-day anyway, it helped calm his nerves (rather he told himself it calmed his nerves) and luckily enough for him, you didn’t want to stop and introduce yourself.

Over the next few weeks, he only saw you a handful of times. You both never said anything, barely even looked at each other. It was nice.

Of course, nothing lasts forever. His therapist was sure to tell him that, much to his distain. Strangely enough, it was on one of his trips coming back from another session with Dr. Raynor that he found you cursing to yourself standing outside your apartment.

A part of him wanted to just walk by, and avoid the headache altogether. But he could hear a quiet voice in his mind that sounded a lot like Steve telling him to man up and help a poor lady in need. He sighed mentally and cleared his throat to grab your attention.

You looked up with slight shock and embarrassment. “Oh.. uhm, I’m not in your way am I?” You asked.

He frowned. “No, sorry. You look like you’re having some trouble there?”

Your eyes seemed to light up. “Is it that obvious?”

Bucky chuckled lightly and stepped closer to you, offering a hand of assistance. You gladly handed him your key.

“This building is old. These keys get stuck all the time. You’ve gotta know how to turn it to get it to unlock,” Bucky said as he fidgeted with your lock.

You watched him with unwavering eyes. Unknowingly to you, he was watching you out of the corner of his eye. This was the first time he’d really gotten a good look at your face. You were young, way younger than anyone he’d talked to recently. Most likely a college student. You held yourself with confidence but not in a way that made you seem cocky. You just had a sense of determination he hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was refreshing. Reminded him of sunlight.

He immediately frowned at that thought and focused his attention on your lock. Within a moment a quiet ‘click’ sounded through the small hallway. Your face lit up with a smile so bright he almost had to look away.

“Oh my god, thank you! I seriously thought I was fucked there,” You exclaimed.

He nodded and stepped back. “No problem. You can come get me if it does it again. I’m pretty much always home.”

You smiled again, gentler this time. “I will. Seriously, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He watched you escape into the comfort of your home. He smiled, unbeknownst to himself and turned to his own apartment.

Cute.

_____

The next time he saw you was only a few weeks later.

Since the door fiasco, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. He wasn’t sure why, but something about you was like a breath of fresh air. He felt almost addicted to it, to how he felt at that moment.

So when he opened the door to the laundry room he was understandably surprised to see you. He was also even more surprised to see you in nothing but pajama pants and a very very small tank top.

And no bra.

He was going to turn around. Laundry could wait. Just as soon as his hand hit the door knob, he heard an intake of breath.

“It’s you!”

He sighed.

Bucky turned back around and smiled. “It’s me.”

You were smiling that same damn smile. He felt weak in his knees.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” You said happily.

He nodded. “I don’t get out much.”

You hummed in understanding. “I get that. I’m still getting used to the city myself.”

It was quiet for only a moment, before you noticed Bucky’s small basket of laundry. You quietly moved over and motioned to the washing machine.

“I’m almost done with the dryer,” You said. Bucky muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ and began throwing his clothes into the washer. Once he was finished you both sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I don’t think I ever got your name…?”

Bucky himself was surprised at the question that came from his mouth. You also seemed surprised for a second before grinning.

As you said your name, he watched your lips form the word. Your name fit you, he thought. He whispered it to himself, trying to commit it to memory. Although, he was sure just like everything else about you, he wouldn’t forget it.

“James,” He said in return.

“Nice to officially meet you, James,” You practically purred. He felt his knees go weak again. He feared that might be a common occurrence around you.

As the silence fell over you again, Bucky began to struggle with his most recent thoughts. He questioned why he was acting like a teenager with a crush again?

Bucky had been through more than twenty men combined. He’d done things so horrible he couldn’t even speak about it. He’d seen things that would make anyone want to commit suicide. So why, out of all things, was a girl making him feel so weak?

He quietly looked over at you again. He traced the outline of your figure. Your hair down to your eyelashes. His eyes moved to your lips, plump and wet from where you’d licked them while talking.

He continued trailing down until his eyes stopped on your breasts. He felt guilt wash over him immediately at the practically sinful sight before him. He could perfectly make out your tits. The cold air in the room had made your nipples perk up just enough to poke through the already thin tank top.

Bucky glanced away quickly as the buzzer from the dryer sounded. He turned slightly to hide his tightening pants. You bent over to grab your clothes and he practically called out to god to strike him dead right there before he made a fool of himself.

It felt like years before you were up again and leaving the room. Before you closed the door, you waved bye to him. Bucky had to force every once of what he’d learned as an assassin just to seem normal enough to wave back.

Once the door closed behind you, he groaned and put his face in his hands. He tried to calm his breathing, using some of the techniques Dr. Raynor had taught him in one of their very first sessions. It was probably close to ten minutes before he felt okay enough to remove his hands from his face.

Bucky needed to calm down. You were just a girl. There was absolutely no reason to be feeling like this.

He repeated that to himself as he took his clothes out of the washing machine. As he went to throw them into the dryer, a small bright red thing caught his eye.

He grabbed it before he could even process what it was. He held up the laced piece of clothing he wasn’t sure would cover anything and knew he was doomed.

“Fucking dirty girl…”

_________

He was a pervert.

He knew he was a pervert. He felt guilty and ashamed and terrible.

However,

The thought of you wearing nothing but those red laced panties and a matching bra had been plaguing Buck’s mind. He couldn’t stop. He’d tried. He’d done everything he could think of.

He’d taken a cold shower.

He’d gone for a run.

He even tried to watch some of the movies that Steve had written down in his journal of things he “absolutely needs to watch and listen to” or whatever the blond had said.

Nothing could get that image out of his head.

It was three in the morning when he was fed up and aching and he needed release. He hadn’t meant to grab them. He was simply caught up in the moment. His hand stroking up and down his cock. He moaned and stroked faster.

Once the soft fabric touched his tip, he had to stop himself from instantly cumming.

“Oh fuck…” He moaned. Bucky wrapped the thong tightly around his hand. In his mind, he imagined your hips rubbing up and down his hard on. Teasing him in every way you knew would rile him up.

“Something wrong, Barnes?”

He groaned. He was fucking up into his fist now. He imagined flipping you over, grabbing your hands with his metal one and using his other one to squeeze your breasts.

He imagined kissing down your stomach until he got to those red panties and slowly, sensually kissing down them until you were begging to feel him. Begging him to touch you.

“Say my fucking name, doll,” He moaned.

He imagined your hands wrapped around his back and he mercilessly pounded into you. He imagined your soft lips wrapped around his full length, with your bright eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him.

He cursed.

“Nice to officially meet you, James.”

Suddenly he was cumming into his fist. He continued to stroke his cock until he was spent. As he calmed down, he looked down to see the mess he’d made with your undergarments.

“Fuck.”

He was seriously doomed.

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Chapter 8

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1201 (approx.)

GIF by dazedandkaitfused

Another month passes by with the Avengers going on more missions.  Some with you, some without you.

Steve walked into the lab to talk to Bruce and was surprised to see you there.

“Y/n” he exclaimed. “It’s good to see you, does this mean you have your full memory back?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, or maybe not, but I’m no further along in my memory recall than I was at the Romania mission.  I decided to come back to see if Bruce can help with the Flashback program he created.”

“Sure” Bruce responded.  “It’s still experimental so I can’t guarantee anything, but we can try for sure”

Bucky walked into the lab at that moment.  “Hey Y/n, what’s shaking.”

“Hey Buck, I’ve missed you” you say to him with a huge smile. “Fancy going drinking tonight?”

Steve frowns at the 2 of you.  “Oh can it Captain.  Why don’t you go back to your fiancé, or did she find out about you and dump your sorry ass already?”

Steve walked out of the room, shaking his head and headed to the gym to vent some frustration on the poor punching bags.  Tony was sure he’d be forking out for some new ones in the not too distant future.

Bucky looked at you. “That was a bit harsh Sweets.”

“No lectures Barnes” you said.  “Just drinking, before I start this flashback program with Bruce tomorrow.”

Later that night, Bucky takes you to the local bar on his bike.  You love the freeing feeling of the wind in your face, your arms wrapped around Bucky’s abs, even though there was no romantic spark between you.  A few of the others joined in on the party, happy to have you back and wanting to celebrate.

“Cap not joining us?” you question nobody in particular. “Typical..”

“Sweets.  Harsh” Bucky reiterated his comment from earlier.

“I don’t get why you’re jumping to his defence so much, Buck.  I mean I know he’s your friend and all, but you know what he did.”

“All I’m saying is there is more to the story than you know Y/n.  So just be careful what you say without all the facts.  You wouldn’t want to say something that you can’t take back.”

You blow him a raspberry. “Whatever, come dance with me Barnes.”

You and Bucky are having fun on the dance floor, dancing and singing along to the songs when Steve walks in.

“Hey Steve, How’s Noah?” Nat enquires of him.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected, missing Y/n of course.  He’s with Pepper, so I know he’s safe but I wish things were back to normal already.  What’s going on there” he asks, pointing to Bucky and Y/n.

“Nothing serious, she’s just blowing off some steam” Nat tells him.  “You know Buck would never.”

“I’m done with this” Steve declares.  “If things don’t move along with this flashback program Bruce is going to try, I’m either just going to tell her, or I’m leaving and moving on with mine and Noah’s lives.”

“Well that’s a bit dramatic, but whatever you think is fair Cap.” Nat replied.

NEXT DAY IN THE LAB

You’re laying on a bed, all wired up and ready to go.  Bruce starts the program, which basically sends you to sleep, allowing you to access memories that your brain is subconsciously stopping you from remembering.

You see more missions and they all make sense.  Some are successful, some not so much.

You wake, realising you’ve been “under” for about 3 hours.

“How was that kid?” Tony asked genuinely curious as this was the first time they’d put Bruce’s theories to a physical test.

“Meh, I saw a heap of missions, some went well, some didn’t.  Nothing earth-shattering.  Is that all my life has been the last 4 years?” you asked sounding a little disheartened with the fact that there’d been nothing other than the missions coming through.

Your brain was struggling to reconcile that you’d had no significant relationships or even good hook-ups to remember this whole time.

Tony looked apprehensive, in truth, he was weighing up in his mind how much to tell you. “Well, no it isn’t, but you got a heap of memories back today, so we should try again tomorrow, see what more comes back.”

“Ok. Yeah, I am super tired after that so I think I’m going to go rest for a while.  I’ll see you for dinner later tonight” you responded.

You get back to your room, turn on the shower and jump in.  You always felt soothed in your muscles and soul when you’re under the running water.

You’re glad to be getting your memories back but you still feel like there’s so much missing. 

You’re startled as you hear a cough at the bathroom door, turning to see Steve standing there, leaning against the door frame.

“Rogers, you can’t be in here, we are not picking up where we were when I left.  You shouldn’t see me like this.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all before, but ok, I’ll wait in here for you.”  He said, moving into the bedroom.

You yell after him “No, you’ll leave, I’m not doing this with you Rogers.  Seriously, have some respect for me if you don’t have any for anyone else, even yourself.”

You take your time, going through your skincare routine and a few other things that were unnecessary.  If he is waiting in the bedroom for you, you’re going to make him sweat, or get fed up and leave.

You wrap your hair and put a towel around your body and saunter into the bedroom.

You see that Steve is lying on the bed, eyes closed.  Thankful that he seems to be asleep, you start getting dressed. 

“Well, isn’t that a great view to open your eyes to”

You shriek and grab the towel covering yourself.  “Geez Rogers, you about gave me a heart attack.  I thought I told you to leave.”

“Sweetheart, I just want to talk to you.  That’s all I’ve wanted this whole time.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, Captain.  Save that for your fiancé, if she’ll even talk to you after I work out who she is and let her know what you’ve been doing.”

“Dammit Y/n, just give me a chance.  Sometimes things have simple explanations.”

“Listen Steve, I’ve already told you, no explanation can fix the fact that you cheated on your fiancé with me, when I had no idea.  You took advantage of my lack of memory for your own gain.  One day I might forgive you but I don’t think I can ever forget it.  I just hope you’ve come clean with her.”

Steve sighed “Honestly, I haven’t, I keep trying, but each time she shuts me down.”

Steve gets up off the bed, kisses you on the forehead and says “Just know that when you’re ready for the truth, I’ll be here” and with that, he leaves the room.

You thought you’d got him out of your system but that kiss left you a bit flustered.  You sat there for a while wondering what he meant and what truth he could possible tell you that would change anything.

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash @mrsnikstan @harrysnovia

[waynes-multiverse]

Don't Blame Me (3.01)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x FBI Agent!Reader

Season 3 Summary: The deeper you fall into the world of all things supernatural, the more the lines between right and wrong begin to blur. With a little help from some magical friends, can you finally change the Winchesters' fate and give them the happy ending they deserve?

Warnings: 18+, language, flashbacks with enemies to lovers vibes (SPN S2 & 3 are saying hi 👋), canon adjacent re-writes, same old S2 cliffhanger (I'm genuinely sorry lol)

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Welcome back, guys!!! It's seriously been way too long. I got distracted with life and a ton of other projects, but I'm so happy to share more of those two knuckleheads 🤍

This will not be updated regularly but as much as I can. Thank you for understanding 🫶

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist|| Tag List || Ko-Fi

1. Lemons

November, 2006

One by one, people rushed out of the elevator, all either busy on the phone, stuck in research papers or the casual morning conversation with a colleague, until the stuffy thing eventually reached the 27th floor of the Hoover building, the ding not coming soon enough as you impatiently tapped your heels on the dingy linoleum before hurrying to your desk with a heavy stack of files.

You’d been up all night, racking your brain till your skull almost broke. It certainly felt like it a few times last night, catching yourself reaching for the wine glass more often than you used to, sometimes even wishing it were something stronger, like whiskey or a goddamn shot of tequila.

Unfortunately, a comfortable level of alcohol made the gruesome pictures that lived rent-free in your head slightly more blurry, and was a cure-all for a goodnight’s sleep. Better than NyQuil, or anything else you could get over the counter at the pharmacy at least.

But that’s the thing about signing up as an FBI profiler and specializing in missing children – there would never be a peaceful night for you ever again, and you knew that. You were fine with that deal, though, because in the end, you always helped the ones that needed it the most, which was probably the best sleeping pill of all.

Halfway through a cup of the blackest coffee and a bowl of sugary cereal to keep the engine running, a shadow cast over your cubicle before a folder unceremoniously dropped down in front of you. Curious as you were, you ignored the messenger at first and immediately pried open the folder, skimming over its contents.

Dean and Samual Winchester. Brothers. Born in 1979 and 1983, respectively. No noteworthy jobs. No steady address since 1983 – the year their mother was killed in a house fire. The younger one went to Stanford, pre-law, but dropped out a year ago after his girlfriend passed – also in a fire. Huh. Their father then died a few months ago in a hospital, while the brothers still continue to aimlessly drive around the country in a black ‘67 Chevy Impala, committing crimes along the way. Certainly, a lot of death seemed to surround that strange family and accompany them wherever they went.

“Can you get a profile going for me?” The deep, gruff voice ripped you from your trance and caused you to blink up at the man before you for the first time.

“Uhm, and who are you?” FBI agents were typically rude, stand-off-ish, and generally unpleasant to deal with. Everyone essentially thought they were a big shot, and the guy’s giant ego in front of you seemed to be no different.

“Special Agent Viktor Henriksen,” he introduced himself, a crooked smile shaping his lips. “And you’re Y/N Heller, top of your class at Columbia. Your boss says you’re the best one he’s got, and I need the best for those two. They’re a special kind of fucked in the head.”

You smiled half-politely at him, biting back the sigh, and said through your teeth, “Well, let me be the judge of that, Dr. Phil.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll come to the same conclusion, sweetheart,” Henriksen replied cockily, making you clench your jaw at his little nickname for you. Guys in the FBI were the fucking worst. All of them were a bunch of competitive, cocky, alpha assholes. “I need a profile ASAP. They’re on the road and already have a couple of murders under their nasty belt. I know they’ve only just begun.”

You frowned slightly at the armchair analysis. Everyone always thought they knew everything. Funny how all those experts still seemed to need you, though.

And well, your first instinct told you the brothers weren’t as twisted as Henriksen made them out to be as you studied the folder in front of you once more. All you saw so far was a lot of trauma and some misguided notions that surely required extensive therapy – maybe even a pill or two.

“I’ll get right on it.” You gave him a resolute nod and accepted the case. Your curiosity was piqued, but not for the reasons Henriksen probably hoped it was. Either way, you needed more information first before giving a final judgment.

January, 2007

Henriksen stormed into the little trailer with you in tow, several heads turning your direction and bodies ducking out of the way as a group of police officers scowled at the two of you. Your superior bickered with the lead detective for a good fifteen minutes about jurisdiction, a true dick measuring contest, while your head was still with the young woman you interviewed at the jewelry store an hour ago.

Sam and Dean Winchester had taken Milwaukee under besiege – or rather a bank. Which you, frankly, found quite the odd duck. You really hadn’t taken the criminal duo for bank robbers. Petty theft? Sure. A full-on, big bank robbery with hostages and witnesses and TV cameras? Not so much.

You knew they used fake credit cards to keep themselves afloat – you collected their receipts religiously like your mother cutting out coupons from the papers. But maybe the brothers finally got tired of filling out one stupid application form after the next and needed a quicker fix. So, why not rob a bank?

Crazy people usually do crazy things.

However, speaking with a few witnesses of a jewelry store the brothers frequented earlier that day only left you with more questions buzzing in your mind. The two of them seemingly became even bolder, pretending to be FBI agents this time to inquire about a recent robbery – another odd thing to do.

Were they checking out the competition? And on top of it all, the oldest Winchester also cheerily flirted his way into the store clerk’s goddamn panties.

Patriot my ass, you thought with a scoff, repeating the words of the young woman. Who would do such a thing? You didn’t know whether to be offended or appalled.

There was a little itch in your gut that told you something was definitely off about the brothers, and it bothered you that you still hadn’t figured out what it was. No matter what evidence landed on your desk, you could never quite put your finger on it.

Nevertheless, the facts remained the same: Dean Winchester committed at least one murder and was a main suspect in several others. And together with his little brother, like a co-dependent Bonnie and Clyde, they frolicked randomly throughout the country, committing crimes that ranged from petty theft to grave desecration and, in a recent development, murder. They were raised on the road by a grieving ex-marine and never knew a real home, aside from cheap motels and an old car. Talk about “screwed for life.”

Judging by the ruthlessness of the crimes, however, the profile of the perpetrator simply didn’t fit the Dean Winchester of the infamous stories, heard in whispers around the Hoover hallways.

Furthermore, chatting to a few alive victims and witnesses of past cases in your research journey only led to more question marks than closure points. Every single person, young to old, male to female, poor to rich, all described the older Winchester as kind, sweet, and utterly charming. Could it all just be an act? The seductive means to a bitter end? The Manson and Bundy of the 21st century?

But then you also had to consider the source of their supposed crimes, the reason they did what they did. And well, if you asked the Winchesters personally, they’d probably claim they’re saving the world from real-life, flesh-eating monsters and whatnot.

Monsters – the stupidest thing you’d ever fucking heard. Did these grown men really believe in vampires and ghosts like two little kids? Or was it just a clever ruse to scam people? Some long con like those paranormal investigators and psychics, which everyone knows is just bullshit served in a crystal ball.

On the other hand, you had treated patients with a shared psychosis before, a folie à deux, but the brothers certainly took the whole goddamn cake and ate it, too.

Still, there were too many other puzzle pieces in play that simply didn’t fit, finding yourself surrounded by loose ends. You’d always hated those.

“You know, if I come to more field adventures with you, maybe I should finally get a gun, huh?” You smirked at your grumpy superior.

The bank robbery marked your third time away from your boring desk. Henriksen asked you for help with a few of his other cases as well, seemingly having taken a liking to you – a rare thing indeed. The guy was usually a hardass, and it took you a few weeks of schmoozing to win him over. However, once Henriksen had taken you under his wing, he had promised that if you proved yourself, he’d put forward his recommendation for your special agent training at Quantico’s academy and mentor you.

That was all you’d ever wanted. Truthfully, when the FBI recruited you during your master’s at Columbia, you’d never thought once about taking a weapon into your own hands and storming a building. But you wanted to do more, help more than what you could achieve from your boring, gray cubicle.

“You’re not ready for a gun yet, rookie. I don’t want you to fucking shoot me.” Henriksen laughed tauntingly and picked up the phone, ready for his threatening call to the brothers after you thoroughly coached him on what to say to get them to crack. “I’ll teach you how to shoot when we get back to DC, alright? Then it’s just you and me and the gun range, rookie.”

“Just remember to stick to the script, alright?” you reminded him with a frown, which only earned you a dismissive eye roll.

Of course, your superior didn’t stick to your profile and invented his own little background story, which was only remotely along the lines of your analysis.

What surprised you, though, was how defensive the older Winchester became upon the mention of his dead father, hearing the inconsolable grief in his voice even over the strained phone line. He sounded lonely and lost, and it admittedly tore on your heartstrings a little. Losing a parent was never easy, and you couldn’t help but sympathize – even if he technically was a potential killer during an on-going bank robbery and threatening the lives of around ten hostages.

And then, poof.

Never did you think there was any way the Winchesters could possibly escape the crime scene. Henriksen had that bank building locked down, sealed, and surrounded. And yet, the brothers still fled the awaiting claws of law enforcement, escaping with a clever plan straight out of a movie.

In all honesty, you were impressed – and slightly more baffled.

April, 2007

April finally marked a big break in the Winchester case. The brothers were caught during a break-in at a museum in Arkansas, and while Henriksen and his partner Reidy celebrated their big win like Olympic gold, you weren’t entirely sure it was even a participation trophy, finding the whole situation oddly suspicious.

It seemed too easy, and even though your superior told you to just accept it and grab a beer, you obviously couldn’t. Henriksen was cocky and eager, and Reidy was a downright idiot, so it was up to you to convince them you were right – which never worked. The men always loved to tune you out. You’d learned a while ago you had to work twice as hard as any man ever would just to be seen and heard.

Standing in the little gray and bleak room of the Green River County Detention Center, you watched Henriksen and Reidy through the one-way mirror as they interrogated the oldest Winchester, who seemed to collect a few drops of sweat on his forehead once he realized the FBI was involved. While you wished you could be in the room with them, laying down the law, you always loved the advantage of watching a suspect’s interrogation. This was where you truly learned all about a person of interest.

On top of it, this was a special occasion as it marked your first real observation of the brothers. It was more than boring black letters on a simple white sheet of paper, stuffed in a folder with a bunch of crime scene photos. The brothers were finally in a cage without an escape, and you were gifted the joyous task of studying them like zoo animals. Every facial twitch, every nervous tap of a finger, every insecure lick of chapped lips was noted by your brain and added to your overall analysis.

“And after Milwaukee, your brother is now a suspect in a murder case himself. I’d say for you two, ‘screwed to hell’ is a major understatement,” Henriksen told the older brother in his usual cocky attitude, which caused your eyes to roll back into your head.

The Milwaukee murder case was the strangest thing as of yet. One of the bank hostages was killed, and yet, that same hostage emerged alive and swore she did not have a twin sister. Neither were there ever any hospital records of a twin, albeit there was a dead body that looked like an exact replica of that woman. How was this possible? And more importantly, what did it all mean?

“Well, where there’s life there’s hope, huh?” Dean smiled up at the two agents, and you assumed he really had to believe that, considering the prickly situation he found himself in.

“See? That’s what I kept thinking as I was searching for your asses all over hell and gone,” Henriksen smirked and leaned closer to Dean over the metal table, which was the usual FBI dick move of intimidation. “Your dad taught you well. The way you cover your tracks, and after Milwaukee, the way you vanished,” your superior whistled lowly, which coaxed a soft laugh out of the suspect. He seemed to be proud of his escape, which, frankly, you couldn’t blame him for. It was pretty awesome. “Near went nuts trying to find you. Ask him,” Henriksen nodded to Reidy.

“He near went nuts,” Reidy confirmed, and you tried not to puke into the closest trash bin.

Honestly, “near went nuts” was the understatement of the year. That idiot Reidy didn’t even go through half the shit you went through when Henriksen stormed into your apartment at 3am and woke you up by slamming a bunch of files on your mattress.

Incidents like that weren’t a rare occasion, either. They happened quite often, and it was safe to say that Henriksen was positively obsessed with the brothers, which in return, was pretty common for FBI agents. Most of you were like bloodhounds, and once someone caught a trail, they would start digging and never stop until they held a bone between their pointed teeth.

“Shit,” you muttered when the public defender stormed into the room to save your main suspect from his interrogation.

Quickly exiting the room, you went across the hall and snuck into Sam’s, knowing you only had a few minutes before the attorney would fetch him, too. As your colleagues only made little progress with the oldest Winchester, you decided to pursue your own course of action and look for answers, hoping the younger brother was more willing to talk than his counterpart.

“Sam Winchester? I’m, uh… Dr. Heller. I’m a profiler with the FBI.” Smooth. Technically, you’d never interrogated someone on your own before. Usually, you’d sit in while Henriksen asked the hard questions, whispering your suggestions into his ear as you observed the suspect’s demeanor.

“FBI? Great,” Sam murmured with a huff, clearly not amused. He seemed annoyed to be stuck here, which wasn’t unusual for any criminal in his shoes. Still, something seemed different about his irritation as if it was geared toward someone specific, most likely his own brother.

“Yep, you and your brother made quite the headlines in DC,” you noted as you carefully took a seat opposite him. “Look, uhm, can I ask you a couple of questions?”

The younger Winchester scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Kinda? I mean, it’s not like I’m here for official business or anything. I don’t even know if it’s legal,” you spluttered.

Sam furrowed his brow at the waterfall of words. “What?”

“Uh, nothing.” Subtly clearing your throat, you folded your arms on the table and took a deep breath. “I just need a few answers, okay? Off the record. I’m just-, I’m curious,” you admitted.

Leaning back in his chair with narrowed hazel eyes, Sam placed his cuffed hands in his lap and studied you. “Okay…?”

“Listen, I’m not an agent, but my two colleagues are, and they want you and your brother behind bars, preferably with the death penalty hanging over your heads,” you told him truthfully and swallowed the lump in your throat. “But, uhm…”

“But what?” Sam now leaned forward, titling his head in intrigue.

“But if you really didn’t commit these murders… if your brother didn’t, then you need to tell me who did,” you said and caught his gaze.

“Why would you say that?”

“Isn’t it true?” You shrugged your shoulders and sent him a small smile, which he mirrored. That was when you knew for sure your gut was right about the brothers from the start, but you still didn’t feel any closer to the truth.

“So, you think my brother’s not a killer?”

You chuckled. “Didn’t say that. I just don’t see him as the cold-blooded type. Crime of passion? Maybe, but the victims were all strangers to you guys, right?” Sam nodded, and you felt confident enough to continue, “None of the crimes fit the supposed perpetrators, which doesn’t happen that often. So, who killed all those people if it wasn’t you or your brother?”

Sam broke a smile, shaking his head, the mop of hair moving with him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

You cocked your eyebrow. “What? The monsters thing?”

The younger Winchester just stared you straight in the eye and wet his lips before there was a noticeable shrug of his broad shoulders.

Great, you were dealing with delusional loonies.

“Told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” he smiled triumphantly.

You squinted your eyes at him. “You got caught on purpose, didn’t you?”

Another shrug.

“Why? Is there a monster here, too?” you snorted your question in mock.

“Ghost, actually.”

“Huh.” You frowned and tapped your fingernails against the metal surface. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth, Sam.”

“You can’t help me either way,” he said simply as if he had already accepted his fate. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Please.”

“If you didn’t believe me even a little, you wouldn’t have come in here to talk to me in the first place,” Sam mused cleverly, earning him a scoff from you.

“Sorry, but I’m not crazy. If you don’t wanna talk to me, that’s fine. Have it your way then.” With that, you rose from your seat and walked to the exit, pronouncing it a hopeless case.

“It’s not crazy if it’s true, though,” Sam added before you closed the door behind him.

You were greeted by the defense attorney and your two colleagues, who accompanied a cuffed Dean Winchester into Sam’s room for their counseling before Henriksen shot you a raised look upon your break of protocol.

“Uh, I was just checking on Mr. Winchester’s mental health for his psych eval,” you excused your behavior with a clear of your throat.

“Hey, why didn’t I get the pretty agent?” Dean threw in and grinned tauntingly at your superior before flirtatiously wiggling his eyebrows at you, deliberately scanning your figure like any low-life criminal would.

And yet, here you were, not buying into whatever he was trying to sell you as you met his green eyes and recognized it was all just a façade. For a moment, it even felt like he realized you knew and saw right through him.

“What can I tell ya? We left her a choice, and she chose the handsome one,” Henriksen retorted, smirking broadly.

“Ouch. So hurtful today,” Dean muttered in jest as the agents shoved him inside the bare room and shut the door behind him, breaking his eye contact with you.

“Going rogue?” Henriksen raised an eyebrow as soon as his attention was back on you, ripping you from your momentary stupor. You offered him a sheepish shrug as a response. “Did you at least find something out we can use?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I think they’re planing to break out.”

Henriksen laughed loudly, the sound mocking in nature. “Oh, they can try all they want. They’re not gonna MacGyver outta this one.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you cut into his laughter, causing it to halt as he threw you an annoyed look. “I’m just saying… they’re highly delusional. They actually believe all the bullshit they’re selling. They live in their own world and play by their own rules.”

“Yeah, well, the real world is starting to catch up with them,” Henriksen retorted. “Don’t worry. They’re not getting out, and come Tuesday, we’ll have them locked up tight in a Super Max, preferably with a straitjacket, but I’ll leave the details up to you.”

“Great, thanks.” You scowled deeply.

But when Tuesday rolled around, you were able to deliver a big, fat ‘I told you so’ to your superior instead, as the Winchesters managed to escape once again. Gone with the wind.

February, 2008

The last ten months remained quiet as you went through your special agent training at Quantico and finished your Psy. D. thesis before going on your first few assignments as Henriksen’s new partner. Most days, he still called you rookie, although just to tease you.

Your twenty-third case then landed you in the hospital with a life-threatening stab wound. After two surgeries and a short-lived coma, you were in the green, according to the gazillion doctors and tests at least. You quickly found your old spirit again when a new lead about the Winchester case came in – the first one in goddamn months. Naturally, Henriksen rushed right to Colorado, where the brothers were supposedly held by police, while you annoyed your doctors for an early discharge. Without any luck, though.

Regardless, your partner swore to keep you updated and reserve the main interrogation until you were back on your feet, so every time your phone buzzed on the plastic bedside table, you hurried to answer it, awaiting any news.

“Would you slow down? You’re only gonna hurt yourself more,” Patrick reminded you with a chuckle as he handed you your vibrating phone before you could clumsily tumble out of the narrow bed.

“Don’t you wanna get them, too?” you smiled at the young prosecutor in the creaking chair next to you.

“Oh, I can’t wait to grill them on the stand,” he grinned in return.

“See? But not without my files you won’t,” you smirked and joyfully picked up, recognizing the Colorado area code on your display. “Special Agent Heller, hello?”

“We got ‘em,” your partner’s voice chimed cheerfully through the phone. “Live and in flesh. Just talked to them.”

“You didn’t threaten them, did you? If you come in with a wrecking ball, they’re gonna block me when I’m trying to talk to them. I’ve told you this,” you reminded him sternly but were unable to hide the grin fully.

“Relax,” Henriksen brushed you off, and you were sure there was an eye roll involved. “I promise I had a very cordial chit-chat with them.”

“Uh-huh.” You frowned and teased, “Why don’t I believe you?”

In response, a deep chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Get better and get that ass out of that hospital bed, rookie. I’ll call you as soon as I have those two on a plane to DC, alright?”

“I’ll be happily waiting by the airport bar.”

Needless to say, that call never came, and the Winchesters never made it to DC – neither did your partner. Everything changed after Henriksen’s death, but most of all, you.

September 2008

As the sun downed outside your office window after a long day that just added to an endless row of long days, another shadow crawled across your desk and disturbed your solitude as you pressed pause on the Wu-Tang Clan and removed your headphones.

“Special Agent Dr. Heller?”

This time, you even glanced up, considering they had at least managed to call you by your full title. “Brown-nosing straightaway. I like it,” you cast a grin on your lips and deadpanned, “If you leave your case file on the stack with the others, I’ll make sure to prioritize it, mm-kay?”

The young agent smacked his lips, bobbing his head. “Uhm, actually, I’m your new partner. Special Agent Owen Slater,” he introduced himself with a smile, holding out his hand.

However, when you coolly leaned back in your chair instead, he dejectedly dropped it. “So, Number Four, what do you have to offer?”

“Wow, they really didn’t lie to me when they told me you were hostile, huh?” He scratched his beard, obviously pondering his next move on how to break down your walls.

“Nope,” you confirmed without batting an eyelash. “I just have high standards.”

Warily, he lifted one eyebrow. “Which are?”

“Don’t be unorganized, don’t be lazy, and don’t be a dumbass,” you listed off, smiling complacently.

“Okay, and the three agents before me were…”

“All of the above, yes,” you confirmed, nodding. “When did you graduate Quantico?”

“Uhm, a month ago,” Owen replied, swallowing as his Adam’s apple bobbed with nervousness.

“Great, so they sent me a rookie,” you huffed and got out of your chair with an eye roll, packing up for the night.

“Well, I was a soldier before that. Army Ranger. Did three tours in Iraq. Also had medical training,” he informed you in an attempt to woo you. And granted, it worked.

“Military man, really?” You met his hopeful gaze, cocking an eyebrow.

He smirked widely, albeit cockily. “You like that, huh?”

“Well, it means you’re not completely useless. At least you know how to take orders without questioning my authority.” You grinned at him and watched his smile disappear.

“Yeah, they also told me you were bossy,” the young agent quipped and scratched the back of his neck. “And – I know you’re still working on the Winchester case, even though it’s officially closed.”

“It’s not closed. I don’t care what forensics says. I know they’re still alive,” you muttered bitterly like a reflex. “No one should make the mistake of underestimating them. Trust me. Two months ago, I even found surveillance footage of Sam Winchester. I mean, granted, it’s blurry and very pixelated, but I’d recognize that mob of hair anywhere. And if Sam is alive, then I know his older brother isn’t far. Dean Winchester did not just get swallowed by the Earth.”

“I believe you.” Owen shrugged simply and without any second-guessing, causing your brow to furrow.

“Why? No one else in the FBI does. They all think I’ve gone nuts,” you shared.

“I don’t think you’re nuts,” Owen replied. “Well, maybe a little after I met you.” He chuckled as you fixed him with a glare. “But… you have a 98.7% solve rate. I don’t think you’re wrong a lot. You have great instincts, so I’d be a… dumbass not to bet on those.” He smiled slyly.

Impressed, you approved. “Not bad.”

“So, you wanna go for a drink, get to know each other, discuss this blooming new friendship?” your new partner in question asked with a puppy dog look.

You smirked. “Are you buying?”

Hiding his smile behind pursed lips, he nodded. “Sure.”

“Alright,” you accepted and strolled with him to the elevators. “I know a great bar. They have the best and most expensive whiskey.”

Owen took your teasing in stride, though. “I had a feeling you’d say that. But when life gives you lemons, you’re actually supposed to ask for the tequila and salt. My mom always used to say that.”

You snorted as you pressed the button to the ground floor, laughing, “God, I knew you were a momma’s boy.”

His head snapped to you, eyebrows quirking together. “What, how?”

“Smelled it from a mile away. Call it another instinct,” you sassed.

Owen smacked his lips, shaking his head. “You’re creepy.”

“You know what’s creepy? You not even denying it, momma’s boy,” you teased him and cockily folded your arms over your blouse.

“If I pour alcohol in you, are you gonna get meaner or nicer?”

“The latter.” You laughed.

“Thank God,” he sighed dramatically and grinned, “But don’t worry. You’re gonna like me. I’m gonna wear you down until we’re tying friendship bracelets.”

“Oh good grief… We’ll see.”

2. Tequila – FEBRUARY 24

I've been wanting to write this chapter for ages and show the reader's side of the beginning years. Those flashbacks were so fun to execute. Sam's deliveries in prison still kill me 😂

But rest assured the next part will definitely pick up where we left off in Season 2 😉

For all you newbies to this series: You can catch up on Season 1 and 2 in this master post 🩵

Ko-Fi ☕️Tag List 🤍

SNEAK PEAK 3.02:

For a bullet wound that surely had grazed an organ or two, you strangely felt fine, noticing none of the machines were even connected to you, which caused you to raise your eyebrow. Something odd was going on, and as soon as you rose into a sitting position, you realized what it was as you glimpsed back down at your own physical body in a damn hospital bed.

“Shit,” you cursed and clenched your jaw.

All of a sudden, the afterlife became a very real concept to you, albeit you’d listened to a thousand stories about it from the Winchesters. Still, a small part of you hoped it wasn’t true, as naive as that might have sounded. Seeing was believing, after all, and now, you definitely considered yourself a believer. Better late than never, right?

TAGS:

Even though it's been a while, I've tagged those who asked me to whenever S3 finally posts, so here it is. Let me know in the comments if you're still interested to be tagged in future chapters 🩵

@questionableppls @charmed-asylum @djs8891 @idreamofdeanie @xlynnbbyx

@deans-spinster-witch @jamerlynn @lyarr24 @hobby27 @never-here1992

[ladysomething]

Any fic recs for Mpreg???

only a couple to be honest!

also sorry for not replying this for months, either. same reason as the last post lmaoo

Until I See You Again by loveleclerc

an au, but has so many amazing vibes. HOWEVER, the last chapter (the epilogue) is really sad lmao, so if you don't like sad endings then just read everything up to the epilogue and then don't read the final chapter. you won't miss anything for the story but you'll save yourself some pain haha

if I pass this quiz, will you give me your babies? by anonymous

unhinged vibes. mind the tags. BUT really fun and sexy.

All For Show by loveleclerc

just straight up porn with pregnant Charles.

if I had words series by @formula-fun

not necessarily mpreg, bc it's about a miscarriage, but obviously it does feature. it's a two part series, one from Charles' POV, one from Max's, and tbh I read it by doing the entirety of Charles' and then the entirety of Max's but I kind of wish I'd read them alternating (i.e. ch1 of Charles', then ch1 of Max's. but a personal preference!)

[tookishcombeferre]

Thanks for the tag @shychick-52

So, this, I've thought a lot about actually.

The whole Protector sublot both does and does not make sense to me. I've watched it all the way through twice now, and I really, really don't like it. (Personally.)

My personal issues with the Protector subplot are as follows:

I dislike the fact that it encourages secret keeping from trusted adults (Mom, Dad, Aunt Tilly, Mr. Cedric, etc.) which is something that the show actively states is wrong in the previous episode about Gnarly and the Fliegel. ("The Fliegel has Landed" is one of my top 5 episodes, right up there with "Substitute Cedric" in terms of life lessons taught and their importance.)

I dislike the fact that it makes all the adult characters feel really stupid and flat as characters. They have absolutely no, to use a DnD term, passive perception - apparently - because they never notice Sofia is missing. They're all completely incompetent, and it makes no sense.

I just have an absolute personal disdain for the way Sofia is treated by the Protectors. She is *not* a teenager. She is not a mini-adult. Sofia is 11 ... 11 and 1/2 at the most, and Chrysta treats her like she's a minimum of 15 or 16 and I hate it.

However, my primary issues, as a parent, are with points one and three.

Someone. I do not care who. From Sofia's initial trusted circle should be with her in the Mystic Isles. Mom. Dad. Cedric. Tilly. SOMEONE. (Who is not an animal.) Should be with her to supervise.

I know the show spends a lot of time establishing Minimus as a guardian of sorts. He's really protective. He's safety conscious ... HE'S A HORSE. A smart horse. But, he's a horse.

I cannot describe to you how WITH Miranda I am with every. single. word. that comes out of her mouth in the finale I am. But, I am. I am with Miranda 3,000%.

Trust me when I say Squish and I will be having a long talk in the next couple months about how Sofia made some BAD choices about not telling her family about Prisma AS SOON as she was encountered. Prisma should have been the FIRST thing Amber and Sofia were talking about at the dinner table, the first thing Sofia was talking to Cedric about the next time she visited the tower, and Baileywick should have been on HIGH ALERT for any sign of her. Period.

There is no way Sofia should have been keeping her Protector status from her parents and trusted inner circle. Nope! Nope, nope! Bad writing. Terrible writing! No thanks. Don't like it.

And, I suppose, if the Protectors actually treated Sofia like a child in school, someone who was *learning* how to adventure and not actively putting her in danger, it might not be so bad. But, the first thing Chrysta does is like basically feed Sofia to polar bears ... so like ... I don't exactly trust these people's judgement. Nor do I trust them with the life and emotional well being of an 11 to 12 year old kid.

(Again, I am speaking as a parent. Y'all are free to feel however you want about the Protectors, I just ... I hate them. I'm sorry. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that I also had a lot of responsibility heaped on me by adults who I was supposed to trust at a young age so it just hits me in a sore spot? But, oooo I just cannot *stand* them. "Get this by sunset." "Save us Sofia, you're our only hope!" "You have to help us!" "We're basically minor gods, but we're helpless!" ICK! Major ick!)

And, before anyone asks the difference between the Protectors (specifically Chrysta) and Cedric?

He's actually useful! He actually teaches Sofia useful skills! What does Chrysta do other than complain about stuff and tell Sofia to do better without showing Sofia anything? SOFIA HAS TO TEACH CHRYSTA HOW TO TEACH!??! Like, what? Excuse me???? Huh??? What are we doing here? This is a show for children! Please, please, I am begging you! Let the adults have at least one competent bone in their body. It will not detract from having the child as your main character. I promise.

Meanwhile, Cedric taught Sofia and the rest of her classmates better in one class period than the Good Fairies did in like 2 whole years! And that's while he was still "evil!" (And strapped to a chair.) Like, hello?? (Maybe the real lesson is just that fairies are just notoriously bad teachers? I dunno.)

So, like, yes, Chrysta improves as a mentor. Fine. I'll give you that. But, she still treats Sofia WELL more like a peer than a mentee. And, I'm not super comfortable with that? I don't like the dialogue between them. I don't exactly know how old Chrysta is supposed to be, but she's definitely older than Sofia is. Maybe she's supposed like an older teen? I'm not sure. But, I do not like the way that they're coded as equals. There was a clear and distinctive barrier between Cedric as Mentor and Sofia as Apprentice literally from the episode in which she was called that onward. And, while Sofia is CALLED a trainee by Chrysta. That is NOT coded into their relationship in the same way it is in other relationships Sofia has in the show.

And, I. Do. Not. Like. That.

Chrysta is dismissive. She's arrogant. She's mean. She's not likeable. She actively blames Sofia for stuff that isn't her fault. I mean, dang, I wouldn't blame Cedric for getting into a fist fight with Chrysta just for putting Sofia though more than half the crap people put him through his whole life.

And, yes. These are all things that Cedric also can be and was throughout his redemption arc, but he is also shown over and over again to be equal parts protective and caring as well as being a mean and arrogant. Chrysta is just ... not protective or helpful.

Sofia ends up saving Chrysta well more than Chrysta ever saves Sofia. For being on the side of good, Chrysta is not very willing or able to care for Sofia, emotionally OR physically, and that's something that I just ... I can't stand. If they were going for mentor foils? They failed. Epically.

Chrysta as a character is cool. I just can't stand her as someone who is supposed to look out for Sofia because she doesn't. Like, the whole episode they're in Wei Ling? Chrysta is basically gaslighting Sofia about not asking for help until Sofia tells her off! UGH! I just ... I'm sorry! This is a sore spot for me. You stepped right into one of my pet peeves in writing for children.

It all boils down to that I just don't like what message it enforces. What the writers set up with Cedric is that he's crotchety but there is good in him, and when push comes to shove, he's going to stand up and protect the people he loves. He deeply cares about Sofia. He really wants to be good more than bad. He's just a little turned around about how to get the respect he deserves as human being. Sofia is helping him get there through her child-like hope and, really, just being around him. Truly, he's kind of like Carl from Up. He just needs another human being to bring life back into his life. Cedric likes mentoring Sofia, and there's a well established distance and boundary between them. In many ways, Cedric is doing a lot of his own development behind the scenes, Sofia is just there accompanying him on the journey. (Honestly, the Carl and Russell metaphor isn't a bad one for the two of them.)

With the Protectors, by contrast? From the moment Sofia appears, that boundary just isn't there. They immediately are willing to take her on as a near adult trainee. They put her with a trainer who clearly expresses contempt for her IN FRONT of them. This trainer is actively prejudiced against Sofia as a person, and this trainer treats Sofia, not as a child, but as a peer. In many ways, Sofia acts as an ACTIVE, not passive, catalyst for Chrysta's development.

And, I'm just NOT down for that. I'm not about it. It's not in my spirit.

There is a big difference between using life experiences and wisdom to help someone process what they're living through - what Cedric does for the class with "The Sorcerer's Secret" song - and what Sofia ends up helping Chrysta to do in getting her Fairy Wand. Big Difference. HUGE.

So, again, Squish and I will be having LONG chats about why it's important to evaluate these kinds of relationships. Healthy relationships and boundaries with adults. Because, the Protectors? That's NOT it.

There should be a firm line with all the adults involved in Sofia's life telling her "NOPE. Sorry. No more. Not because of anything you did, but because this never should have happened in the first place. This is not your circus. Not your monkey. Not your problem. You are done in the cupcake war. The end."

Sorry if this was rambly and disjointed. But, darn. This hit in a place for me. I do not like this arc. I like it less each time I watch it.

If Cedric hadn't saved her in 'In Cedric We Trust', Sofia would have been seriously hurt or worse by Prisma! That's proof that she has no business being a Protector at her age, let alone the ONLY Protector of the EverRealm!! What if such a thing were to happen again post-series- bested by an enemy or even just getting injured by pure accident, with nobody around to help (well, I mean, normally she'd usually have Minimus or Skye with her, but still)??

That's why I totally think Cedric should have been her magical bodyguard, like I discussed in this post.

@tookishcombeferre @bettathanyou @fantadym

[gen4grl]

you would think after all the yapping i do about these losers i would have a plethora of art uploaded … no… so here is my first kantrio post lol

i did these over the last month while watching the olympic weightlifting and jamming to kpop (stan red velvet and kiss of life BTW!!!)

[maskofenigma]

Fallen London's recurring topic of Love is really interesting to me as a sort of throughline between various stories and i want to ramble about discuss that briefly. i dont call it a theme because thematic statements are usually more complex than a single word, at least in my mind, but a lot of Fallen London's storylines incorporate love into their themes.

there's the obvious things ofc; the Manager and the King, the Duchess and the Canigaster, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, the Bazaar's whole situation. Love is a common motivator that many people can relate to, so it's no surprise that it appears in this capacity. Even so, these instances also underpin a lot of the setting's character, particularly the latter two examples, explaining why the neath is the way it is. but if we broaden our horizons just a bit, you can start to see it appearing all over the place (though maybe thats just confirmation bias lol).

the youthful naturalist loves discovery and life, and evolution in that context is a story about what one is willing to endure and sacrifice for that love. Love is a constant theme in the Light Fingers storyline, between moon milk and poor Edward, but also shows in Mr Fires's love for London (strange and deleterious though it may be) and the protagonist's love for either the Hybrid they protected or the diamond they'd been after. I don't know as much about the other ambitions (yet), but Nemesis is all about avenging a loved one by any means necessary, and you could see Bag a Legend as a love for the hunt or a love of fame, though even i’ll admit thats a bit of a stretch. Idk about Heart's Desire i’m still working on it but there's probably something. Its literally about what your heart desires but there’s absolutely a deeper connection with the Marvellous and stuff. No spoilers i'm still working on it :3

i dont know a ton about SMEN's story either, but i know from a ludonarrative perspective that it tests the players love for their character, forcing you to ruin this silly victorian who you are presumably quite attached to in the search for knowledge (perhaps another kind of love?) With what little i know of it, i’d honestly be shocked if there wasn’t anything there. if ao3 has taught me anything, there was definitely some kind of love going on between those two space bats, but im not sure if ao3 is a reputable source in this specific instance

The Flukes are literally sick with love for lost Axile, and a lot of the Masters are shown yearning to return to the High Wilderness. Many of the Irem Destinies regard love in this way, love for the sun, for the liberation, for ones partner, for london, for the people of the neath, and on and on. im not very far along with the railway but im 100% certain itll crop up again there, whether with Furnace Ancona or the Efficient Commissioner or the masters or whatever else. same goes for the Exceptional Stories and the myriad tales ive yet to unlock. Weve started to see a glimmer of it in firmament, with the imminent lucifer fire guy, but i wasnt really sure what his deal was. the idea extends to the other Sunless games from what i know, though ive yet to play those. Mask of the Rose is a romance, so thats pretty clear cut; sunless skies seems to have a lot of content relating to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert; and sunless seas seems to have it present in a few storylines, though i couldnt point to anything specific at this time. even small things, such as the way that the railway steel seems drawn to Hell and the sorrowful properties of sphinxstone, makes for a setting that is inundated with longing and heartbreak in a fascinating way.

viewed through this lens, fallen london's perspective on love is tragically earnest: love is painful and unfair and yet so very necessary. as someone who's aromantic and a hater, i call that an L. but from a thematic perspective its very interesting how often this occurs and how it connects a lot of fallen london. In so many other narratives, love is a conclusion, a reward or climax. In fact, mass media seems allergic to depicting an active and healthy relationship, and instead relegates such matters to a single ceremonious kiss. But for fallen london, a game where kisses are currency and romance is taxed, the concept of love is afforded such an interesting amount of care and reverence. Fitting for a setting wherein the insisting incidents all relate to love in some way or another

it may be comedic and at times quite absurd, but fallen london to me is a game deeply concerned with love and its influence on people. and idk i think thats interesting. if you're looking for the theme or message of a given fallen london story, look to love, always.

does that count as a thesis? i certainly dont know

[javierduffy]

just a few javieran horse headcanons because i like them a normal amount

branwen

- tall AND fat. kieran makes sure he’s always fed (maybe even accidentally a teensy bit overfed. just because kieran can’t help but indulge him when he butts him with his head or nuzzles at his pockets when he knows there’s treats in there. but never too much because ‘obesity is a problem, even in animals !’). probably about 17hh, taller than average for a kentucky saddler but nothing too big. especially since kieran himself is quite tall

- VERY well-tempered, both naturally, as well as because kieran has literally made him bulletproof. bagged him, blanketed him, stood, jumped, backflipped onto and off of him. this kindly gentleman of a horse only spooks when he wants to be bratty specifically.

- i think he’s about 6 or so, came from the stables kieran worked at after being orphaned, he was just a colt when kieran was just a kid. kieran learned how to birth foals quickly, and branwen happened to be one of them. with the way that they fell in love with each other and the way that branwen whinnied and pranced up to the fence when kieran came back to buy him after the army didn’t work out, you’d think that horse was born just for him.

- his favourite treats, in order, are rutabaga (kieran’s secret for branwen’s glossy coat. also why he’s kinda fat.), boiled potatoes mixed into his oats, apples, and fresh greens. he’s simultaneously incredibly easy to please because of the simplicity of the latter parts of his favourites list and also very needy and complicated because kieran so loves to make his pony happy with his absolute favourite treats, so he tries his very best to get branwen’s eccentric tastes pleased once falling into the VDL’s.

- i always say “a horse’s favourite thing to do is hurt itself”, and i think this statement holds relatively true for branwen as well, though there’s a 25% chance that he’s actually hurt, a 50% chance that he’s only mildly injured or spooked and he’s playing it up to get kieran to dote on him, and a 25% chance that he will protect kieran with his life when they’re in a dire situation (see: snake on the ground or gunfire nearby. or even god forbid a spare tumbleweed find it’s way rolling nearby.) despite kieran’s last wish being his horse getting injured. branwen thinks that he’s gotta be The Man and protect his dad sometimes. it does not help in any situation ever whatsoever.

- branwen is the PERFECT companion for a trail riding date. he’s settled, calm, has a great gait, and as a gelding, truly is not worried about other horses being “faster” than him, so he never gets rowdy nor has any problems when partner riders/horses crowd him. kieran is allowed to ask for as many kisses as he pleases because branwen will never jump when javier’s gold-tipped boots poke him in the side and boaz irritatedly flicks his flank with his tail. truly a goated wingman. also never complains about long rides, and enjoys being out of camp with his rider for as much as physically possible for both of them, so he’s never barnsour in either direction.

boaz

- as an american paint, he’s naturally short and stocky. saddle ends up being a bit loose, though, as javier isn’t as dedicated to keeping him perfectly fed or groomed. he loves him, sure, but horses are somewhat of tools to him, so he kinda does slightly more than bare minimum to keep him kempt and healthy. around 14.5hh, slightly shorter than average and quite dense with muscle

- temperamentally a bit volatile. this horse has just as much drama as his rider, if not a little more. doesn’t like something ? ridden too long ? that stick looks too much like a snake ? hasn’t spent enough time with kieran that day ? he will snort and grunt and bunny hop if javi isn’t on him, and shudder hard enough the saddle shakes underneath him if he is. boaz likes to please his rider, but he also demands pleasure himself, and has no issue with “accidentally” placing a hoof on his owners nice, intentionally clean boots, and subsequently slowly leaning more and more of his weight onto it when he doesn’t immediately get what he wants. bratty pony. generally, he keeps javier safe, though, when it comes down to it.

- around 5 years old. after dutch found javier trying to steal chickens the first time they met, he soon took him back to that ranch and their first take as gang leader and member was a 1 year old grey paint colt for javi to train and subsequently ride. until he was rideable, javier rode a morgan that was formerly hosea’s, named carolina, while he lead boaz everywhere behind him.

- favourite treats, in order, are corn cobs (especially dried), prickly pear fruit AND cactus, sugar cubes, and sliced apples. will force javier to share his maiz with him. javier has always sliced his apples up since he was a colt, not only because javi simply finds comfort in toying with his knife, but also because boaz will not eat them otherwise. javi will also cut all of the spines off of the cactus before letting boaz eat them.

- in terms of injury, boaz is the most dramatic tank on the planet. this horse could arthur morgan-style run face first into a tree and then fall off a cliff and walk it off. but not before he gimps and limps and whines and teeth grinds his way into javier leading him instead of riding him for the next mile or two. once kieran started taking care of him, there is also a 25% chance of boaz faking a terribly painful injury just to get kieran to dote on him.

- kinda the worst wingman ever LMFAO easily annoyed, easily aroused, easily offended, and as a stallion, HAS to walk in front of the “herd” (his rider’s boyfriend and his horse). pins his ears back, smashes into personal space, flicks branwen with his tail (and preferably kieran, if he can reach him) even sometimes will nip at branwen if the latter tries to calmly make this date a date and not a life or death race (whoever loses, their dad is gay) and walk side-by-side to aid their riders’ hand holdings. will make executive decisions via stopping or veering off for fresh green grass beside the trail, will at points actively attempt to shudder javier out of his saddle (has succeeded once when javi was distracted by a story being excitedly told by kieran), and will also spook and take off running so fast javier thinks it must have broken his neck from the velocity. generally makes trail rides a living hell, but kieran finds it charming, and it makes for some cute shoujo-style “omg … *reaches out to help you up after your horse bucks you off because he saw a log that looked nothing at all and everything like a cougar and pink and white soft bubbles surround me* are you okay ? here, let me help.” moments. maybe some day boaz will be allowed off of the national american terrorist list written by javier “rizzless rider” escuella

ok im tired and that’s all i can think of please enjoy and feel free to contribute 👍 i love them so bad im gona cry

[housederiva]

I published the next chapter of the Rookanis slow burn I’m writing, the links right here if you’re interested

And thanks again for over 4k hits on it, I wasn’t expecting even 4 people to click on it to begin with xx

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[trash-can-sam]

What happens when your coworker kills your other coworker but both of you are in a relationship (kind of) with the same ethereal woman who had an admiration for said dead coworker.

+bonus Evandrey because it’s funny to me (I’m sorry Eva.)

[shadyvoidhologram]

I was laying in bed overthinking, as you do, and started to go on a depressive doom spiral. And then, to distract myself I started thinking about the things I like.

[Spoilers and some gross details incoming, you know what Mouthwashing is about]

So, eventually I started thinking about Curly being in a similar headspace as I was, laying down, incapable of doing anything, constantly in pain and hearing time and time again how quickly things are going to shit and that it's all your fault.

Him replaying his mistakes over and over on his head, imagining the many ways things could've gone a different way if only he had done something instead of ignoring the issues to "keep the peace".

Remembering every interaction that led to the accident, Anya's confession, his friends poorly disguised resentment, him ignoring and filtering details of his crew's mental state, her taking the gun, the notice, Jimmy.

Him being a coward and disguising his hate of confrontation with the guise of being a good friend.

And then comming back to reality, to is burning flesh. To the blood, shit and bile staining the bandages, robe and bed, to watching and hearing his friends suffer and die, unable to do anything.

When the kid dies, in the midst of all the emotional chaos, he feels some sick sense of relief knowing that probably Swansea will deal with both of them quickly and it'll be over at last.

Then Jimmy finds the gun.

And he can't help but laugh. He remembers the conversation they had and he cackles bitterly because not even in death can her wishes be respected. She trusted him and he failed her even after she was gone.

Soon enough it's just the two of them left.

Through muffled ears he hears Jimmy rambling, talking to himself, asking questions and answering right after, he sees him moving the bodies around. When Jimmy carries him from the infirmary to the common room table he's still as stone, not a sound leaves his mouth, he doesn't look at the bodies thrown on the chairs around the table, he doesn't even breathe.

But all of Jimmy's attention, hatred, idolatry, and envy are on him only. Eyes glossy, cut pieces of a one sided conversation and a tentative smile on his lips when he reaches for the slightly dented knife.

He screams until his lungs close and his throat burns. When he's fed parts of himself he cries and throws up until he is forced to swallow and keep it down.

He's dehidrated, half delirious from the blood loss and emotionally checked out when Jimmy picks him up and tells him they can still fix this, he knows what to do. That he's going home.

Sure, he thinks, he wants to go home.

When he's placed on the cryopod he just stares at Jimmy talk to himself at him some more, about being heroes and everything being all right now. Then he steps out of sight.

It's on the silence after the loud bang when his brain starts working again, he's completely and utterly alone on a crashed ship of a company that's closing it's doors, with a now depleted shipment that wasn't even important enough to guarantee a search party, and no way of fending for himself in the case of 20 years passing and no one coming, even less if the power gave out before that.

As the cryopod finally starts to cool, the few tears he has left fall from his remaining eye.

He hopes he doesn't wake up to see what happens next.

..ok see y'all when I wake up-

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

Today on "tumblr ads that I wish were rebloggable":

I'm not wildly fond of tumblr ads promoting weight loss all willy-nilly, but the theming of this one combined with the fact that I saw it on a blog that I first followed for Dracula Daily posting has me losing it. Lose weight how, pray tell, dear tumblr ad? Lose blood weight? Because someone's drinking it? Am I going to be running through Transylvania because there's a vampire chasing me?

[prophecyofgray]

club penguin was a transgender website for transgender people & every motherfucker in that game had something lgbt going on. dot she/he/they bisexual. aunt arctic she/he lesbian. PH she/they lesbian trans woman. gary the gadget guy he/him gay trans man. rookie he/they gnc af gay transmasc. jpg he/him gay trans man. idk what the fuck cadence has going on and i don’t think they would want me to figure it out but either way i respect it. klutzy any pronouns bisexual. Any questions

[glownery]

wishing everyone who celebrates a happy easter and an even happier transgender day of visibility 🐣🪩🫶🪽

[shitouttabuck]

wip wednesday

tagged by @rewritetheending @onward--upward and @alyxmastershipper 💓💓💓

i haven’t reeeeally started writing anything other than planning this out broadly because it’s very plot heavy but got a little lost thinkin about the intimacy of shaving the other day so this is from x files au in some shitty shared motel room while they’re cryptid hunting or chasing aliens idk we’ll figure it out

When he emerges, hair towelled dry and in clean clothes, Eddie frowns at him. “What?” he asks. “Promise I didn’t finish all the hot water.” “No, you just look—” Eddie gestures at Buck’s face, “—scruffier than usual.” “Oh,” Buck says, running a hand over his day-four stubble. “I forgot my razor.” “Oh,” Eddie’s face clears, “just use mine.” Buck swallows. “Um. Okay. Thanks.” Eddie nods at him and goes back to squinting at his phone, so Buck about-faces and re-enters the bathroom. It’s not a big deal, he tells himself as he foams up his face. It’s like—like sharing a hairbrush. Intimate, sure, not something you’d tend to do with people you don’t know well, but it’s not a big deal.  He wets the razor and brings it to his throat, heart hammering there so violently it feels like his Adam’s apple is trying to get out. If his hand doesn’t stop trembling he’s going to nick himself, and God, he is being absolutely fucking ridiculous. Deep breath. The razor glides over the thin skin of his throat, muscle memory even as he stares at himself in the mirror. Doesn’t think about Eddie doing this every morning, using this very razor. Blade edge kissing his jaw the same way it kisses Eddie’s. Doesn’t think about Eddie doing this for him, hand holding his chin as he shaves Buck carefully, grip firm when he turns Buck’s face this way and that. Doesn’t think about Eddie kissing where the blade kissed him first.  Doesn’t think about any of that when he rinses the razor clean and slots it back into the travel mug, where Buck’s toothbrush rests against Eddie’s with such easy familiarity it’s about to spark a whole new crisis. 

tagging @try-set-me-on-fire @jeeyuns @housewifebuck @anxieteandbiscuits @forthewolves @zahlibeth @athenagranted @buckactuallys @transboybuckley @icecreampotluck @diazblunt if you have anything to share today or later!