#and i need more sam rep

[maxiewinchester]

does anyone know if there’s a place to get a shirt like sam’s iconic purple dog one? or a replica 👀

[heartless-aro]

Instead of celebrating things that include the aromantic, asexual, and aroace flags/communities as “including the whole set,” we need to start asking why alloaros and non-SAM aros are not explicitly included where aroaces are.

[fluttervee]

my kingdom for a rat grinders spinoff season. give me an inversion of the seven, please please please

[abby420]

we need more characters in their 20s 🗣️ i cannot keep going back and forth between relating to either teenage girls or 40 year old men we need a happy medium pleasE

[munsonify]

Hello! Since u write for Joaquin could we get a fic based on the song Moonlight bc Kali Uchis please 🥹 thank you in advance 💘

a/n. hi! absolutely, thanks for sending this in! ❤️ i love joaquin and i love kali uchis this is my shit. i decided to do this based off of lyrics and the vibes i get from the song. also i perhaps went a little to heavy on the setup of the fic but shhh. i hope you can see the vision i had for this! (click link on title to see song on spotify)

moonlight - joaquin torres x fem!reader

summary. you’re always joaquin’s plus one at events, and tonight was no different. this time around, however, after joaquin attended to what he needed to, you two were desperate to get away from the crowd and enjoy each others company

content warnings. so much fluff, sexual tension, established relationships, r in a dress+heels, secluded make out sess, joaquin being insatiable and absolutely adorable, very little alcohol consumption, pet names (pretty girl, baby, baby girl), thunderbolts spoilers

word count. 3362

———

it was important that joaquin and sam made public appearances together to keep up a good image. with everything that’d happened within the past few years - the snap reversal, sam taking over the responsibility of being captain america, several mishaps that had to do with superhero’s, ones that usually didnt give them the best rep - they needed to make sure the public knew they were on their side. that they are here to help.

and, while joaquin didnt mind attending these events, it was always nice having you around. with you around, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders eased up. he’s personable, charming, kind, and you know that of him very well. that didn’t stop him from becoming a little stressed during these sort of relations and the formality of it all. when you’re by his side, delicate hand placed on his bicep, a sweet, reassuring smile shining over at him, he remembers that it’s all okay. he remembers to loosen up a little, to breathe, that you always have his back.

more importantly, you help joaquin remember why he began doing this in the first place. people need someone to step in and protect, someone who’s dedicated and passionate. he knows he can be that person, it’s who he strives to be every day. and, despite making one too many lighthearted jokes to the wrong person, or nearly knocking things over from walking aimlessly, he still manages to charm people over. you admire every last bit of that about the man.

tonight there was a fundraising event sam thought was best for them to attend. fundraisers were always a little easier for joaquin, a little less tense. while government hearings had a lot more on the line, a little more difficult to navigate, fundraisers first and foremost required his compassion and empathy. easy. regardless, he was able to bring a plus one, a spot he filled without hesitation.

that’s how you, joaquin, and sam ended up in the back of a limo, riding steady through new york city to the venue.

“you think bucks gonna be here?” joaquin asked, leaned back and casual in his seat. you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked in his suit with his hair combed back out of his eyes, strands that curled slightly at the ends through the gel.

“now that he’s working with valentina, there’s no way in hell he’s not,” sam scoffed, head shaking slightly. he was right. while bucky might not be the best at public relations, valentina was, both out of necessity and desperation. she knew how to work and redirect a crowd. besides, he was there during the incident - crumbling buildings, cars gone airborne, people turned to darkened shadows-, it was only right he made an appearance. it wouldn’t be a surprised if valentina dragged the rest of the newfound “team” along with them.

joaquin couldn’t help but chuckle, his mind clearly fumbling through a long line of remarks to spew out. “poor guy can’t even articulate senate cases properly, there’s no chance he’s making it through trying to justify what happened,” he joked, earning another scoff from the man. the small smirk the played on yours and sam’s face was enough to egg him on. joaquin straightened up his shoulders as he began to impersonate bucky the vest he could, voice deepening slightly, trying his best to be brooding.

“the incident was… very bad, very unfortunate, ya know. it was a very bad thing that happened. i just so happened to be there when the very unfortunate thing occurred.”

a small giggle slipped from your lips, smiling wide at joaquin as he spoke. sam was pushing back a small smile that tried to force its way onto his face. even if he didn’t want to admit it, joaquin was amusing. only sometimes. the three of you didn’t get much else in before you’d finally arrived at the venue, pulling up as close to the entrance as the driver could.

sam was the first out of the vehicle, stepping out and immediately being hit with camera flashes, a few of the photographers shouting to get his attention. joaquin was next, though he stalled only slightly so you could give him a gentle, reassuring kiss on the lips. he ignored the camera flashes and the voices as he stepped out, immediately turning to offer you a hand, one you accepted gratefully. he helped you out of the limo, letting go only when you found your footing, the heels you wore a little higher than you were used to.

joaquin was quick to offer his arm up to you in replacement of his hand. your hand slipped right below his bicep near the crook of his elbow, throwing a smile his way as he begins guiding you up towards the entrance. he gave the photographers a few polite waves as you two followed sam inside. you realized during the flashes of the cameras that you’d accidentally left traces of lipgloss on his lips.

“baby,” you cooed quietly as you stepped into the building, giving his arm a small squeeze to get his attention. joaquin hummed a pleasant ‘yeah’, head turning towards you. “you’ve got a little lipgloss on you.”

all he did was give you a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders before he leaned in to whisper. “i think i’ll live.”

joaquin continued to walk you proudly through the venue, eyes wandering around to figure out where he should be. sam stopped him to give him some direction, a few pointers to keep him afloat for the night. be respectful, show that you care, be optimistic about rebuilding what was lost. he could do that.

many business were destroyed during the attack, apartments in shambles and cars wedged into poles. with you by his side, hovering in the vicinity as he spoke, or simply seeing you in the corner of his eye entertaining a government official in his boring, long drawn out story, he was able to keep pushing. a journalist had a few pressing questions for joaquin to answer, ones he was more than happy to answer. in regards to what the world could expect from him and sam in efforts to make sure that was a contained incident, he gave the best answer he could muster on the spot.

while they may not have a proper plan, they had spoken on a few occasions about it. this was his time to keep it short and simple, dodge the question a little, maybe even throw in a small joke.

“as we move forward with the relief team, our biggest priority is making sure everyone gets back on their feet. we’re closely monitoring any activity that occurs in the area, and so far we’ve been in the clear. have you seen yet? the dust finally settled.”

that finalized the impromptu interview, joaquin bidding her a goodbye with a firm handshake, before the journalist walked off. he’d been speaking with people for what felt like nonstop, the two and a half hours starting to bear down on him. right when the exhaustion threatened to sink in, he caught eye of you. the prettiest, most respectful smile graced your face, lips still shiny with lipgloss. you held a champagne glass loosely in both hands as you nodded along with the woman in front of you.

joaquin slowly found his way towards you, tuning in immediately to the conversation you were having. he was sure the conversation was nice, he realized quickly she was speaking of a book she published. she only stopped for a few seconds to shake his hand and introduce herself, eyes lighting up when she recognized who he was. she was quick to stumble back into the conversation, detailing a little more on her research.

for once, joaquin didn’t feel like he needed to take the lead in the conversation, or have much of importance to say. he let you finish out what you had started, watching as you nod along and add quips and responses at the perfect moments. he nodded along, too, despite being thoroughly distracted.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. you had your hair made up nice to accompany long, delicate black dress you wore. the fabric hugged your curves perfectly, sitting just right on your body. there was a slit in the dress that dragged up one of your thighs just high enough for joaquin’s mind to slip away slightly. it wasn’t until he noticed the glass in your hands shift to only one, reaching your free hand to give the woman a firm shake. he mindlessly followed your direction, shaking her hand right afterwards.

“it was very nice talking to you, ma’am,” you spoke, your polite smile still gracing your lips. she offered the same sentiment before she excused herself, walking off to greet someone she seemed to know. your shoulders visibly relaxed when she was far enough away, body turning towards your boyfriend for the first time in around an hour. joaquin seemed just as relieved to be by your side again without all of the formality.

a hand of his slipped to your waist, tugging you slightly towards him in a gentle, unprovoked sort of possessiveness. he simply missed having your attention and having you near him, something he made that very clear to you. you knew his tell signs, you were always quick to pick up on them. the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you made your heart flutter, even more so now that he’s speaking to you in a whisper.

“missed you, pretty girl. think i can steal you away for a second?” your nose scrunched up slightly at his compliment, humming out slightly as you began to think, a fake sort of contemplation that joaquin could see right through. you let your free hand move to smooth up his chest, fingers sprawled out slightly, feeling his heartbeat quicken just barely under your touch.

“i think so, handsome,” you finally said, hand moving to smooth the white button up you’d wrinkled slightly. joaquin’s large hand found its way to your lower back, before gently guiding you through the busy room. he helped you weave through people until he found a staircase to ascend. that’s when his hand moved to yours, walking you up the stairs all the way to the second floor.

joaquin didn’t stop walking you guys through the building until he found a narrow, empty hallway that didn’t seem to be of use. there was a lengthy window at the end of the hallway, one that let a sliver of moonlight shine through. gently illuminating the ground. the warm light from inside of the venue helped you properly take in your boyfriend in his entirety. he truly did look handsome tonight, he always looked especially good in a tux.

you always tried to take a moment to take him in when he was done up like this, something about him in formal making your knees a little weak. joaquin noticed every time you started to zone in on it, too, you gave it away easily. he was careful with the way he corned you against the wall, his hand grasping your glass and setting it on the ground, far enough away that it wouldn’t get kicked. he noticed the way your eyes were dragging along his face, your bottom lip being tugged between your teeth. your hands smoothed against his shoulders, feeling his muscles even through his tux.

“busy night tonight,” you spoke, filling the silence as joaquin’s hands found their way to your waist, his hold firm as he keeps you against the wall. you decided to wrap your arms around his shoulders, trying to discreetly tug him near you a little more.

“i know, barely got to see you,” he spoke lowly, eyes trailing down to your lips. his tiredness was evident, though he seemed a little more lively now that he had you alone for the time being.

joaquin gave into you happily, moving to slot himself right against you, broad chest against yours. he tried not to think too hard about how your chest felt against his, soft and in view, something he thanked himself for. he’d bought this dress for you, and even though his intentions were for you to have another formal dress to add to your collection, the plunging neckline was a very nice bonus. joaquin’s lips found yours in a soft, needy kiss, slotting between yours with a little pout.

your lipgloss clung to his lips again, this time making an audible clicking sound when you pulled away. when his eyes opened up again, eyelashes fluttering, you were already looking at him. your eyelids were hooded slightly as you admired his gentle features, noticing the stubble that was beginning to grow in. you brought a hand over to to reach for his jawline, fingertips dragging across the subtle hair with care.

“let’s get outta here, baby,” joaquin whispered just before leaning in for another kiss, this time a little slower, more intentional. you kept your hand at his jaw to cradle it, kissing him back with a desire that’d been pilling up since the moment you’d gotten here. between how good he looked, the way he took the lead and guided you around, and the multiple lingering stares you gave each other all night, there was no reason you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

“and leave sam alone?” you questioned breathlessly, lips parted slightly after the kiss he’d given you. joaquin smiled a little, shaking his head at your words. his arms moved to wrap around your waist, moving you away from the wall just a little. he gave you another quick peck on the lips before he responded.

“bucky’s here,” he pointed out, maintaining an eye contact that kept you just as breathless as before. “besides, he’s a big boy. he can manage the last 40 minutes alone. we’ve done our part.”

“i’m sold,” you told him, giving him a smile to match his. this time, you pulled him in for a kiss, a lot more forward than his had been, a deeper kiss, yet still slow. your tongue swiped against his bottom lip teasingly, as if trying to get a rise out of him. it worked the moment you pulled away, joaquin’s eyebrows knitting together at the loss of contact.

a hand of his found the back of your neck, holding you firm, guiding you back to his lips. that’s what kickstarted a slow make out session, joaquin’s lips warm against yours, coaxing your mouth open just enough for his tongue to find its way in. the kiss was a little wet and laced with need, so much so that you’d hardly remembered where you were.

only a few minutes had gone by with his lips on yours in a perfect unison before the two of you heard footsteps nearby, pulling you away from the moment. a small string of spit attached to your lips and broke quicker than you could process it. you glance over to see three men walking past you, not even noticing your presence as they continue on and talk. joaquin’s eyes, however, never leave you. he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear.

your eyes finally made their way back to him, a loving, dopey expression on his face. you brought your other hand over to cradle his face in your hands, feeling his arms going back to wrapping around your waist again. you were both lovesick, giddy, tired. it was evident in his eyes, though filled with so much love, that he was worn.

“if we’re quick enough sam wont even notice we left,” you whispered to joaquin, watching his face light up. “you’re tired, i can see it in your face. it’s time to get us home.”

he nodded at your words in a silent agreement, letting you reach down to grab his hands, finally guiding him like he’d been doing for you. still, he helped you gently down the stairs, letting you steady yourself in your heels as you descended. you thought you were being stealthy, quiet, quick. clearly, it hadn’t been good enough, sam appearing behind you two just before you’d exited the building. you whipped around at the sound of his voice, stopping in your tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

“you couldn’t even bother to say bye to me?” sam asked, a little offended. his eyebrows were raised slightly as he stood there staring. joaquin stared at him for a split second before he raised a hand up, waving at him.

“bye, sam,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. all sam could do was fumble with his phone, moving to send a text.

“take the limo, i’ll find a way back,” he said as he alerted the driver, stuffing his phone away again.

“you sure?” joaquin asked, despite tugging you towards the exit. sam nodded, before shooing the two of you away. you both turned on your heels and scurried away before he could say anything else. your hand gripped his as you waddled your way to the sidewalk, stepping off to the side to wait on the driver to pull up.

joaquin took this opportunity to pull you into him again, arms wrapped protectively around you. this time, instead of kissing you, he simply kept you secured in his embrace. your arms wrapped back around his shoulders, tugging him closer to you. he hummed contently the moment you hugged him close to you. his cologne invaded your senses as you rest your head on his shoulder, his warmth engulfing as you wait.

“did i tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” joaquin asked against your hair, a soft kiss pressing against your head. you smiled against him, nodding gently as you thought back. even before you’d left the hotel room earlier in the day, he was showering you in compliments. even if he hadn’t, his actions spoke loud enough - his lingering eyes, heated kisses, slightly roaming hands -, he was a doting boyfriend.

“yeah honey, you did,” you told him, your voice slightly muffled against him.

“good,” joaquin replied contently, smiling as he continued to hold you close. and, as much as you loved being in his embrace, you were beyond happy when your ride pulled up. you realized quickly how feet were aching as you waddled some more towards the vehicle. joaquin held the door open for you, guiding your head down to help you into the limo, following close behind you, shutting the door. you watched with a small pout when he didn’t sit next to you, rather in front of you. it wasn’t until he motioned towards him, eyes trailing down to your feet that you caught on to his intentions.

you lifted a leg up to rest your foot on joaquin’s thigh, pointing slightly as he immediately starts to undo your heel. he was always so gentle with the way he grabbed ahold of you and treated you, you sometimes wondered what you’d done to deserve it all. the moment he slide your heel off, he ushered you to switch feet, undoing and sliding your other heel off just as gently.

“that’s gotta hurt your feet, baby girl,” joaquin said, concern itched in his expression, setting your heels in his lap as you rest your feet down against the floor. you grumbled out in agreement, playing up your pain just a little. you got what you were searching for, your boyfriend quick to coo out apologies and praises to you.

it was only right for him to play into it, even if he hadn’t quite realized you were over exaggerating a little. after everything you’ve done for him tonight, standing by his side and accompanying him, being his biggest supporter, tugging him out the moment he showed signs of exhaustion, it was the least he could do. joaquin appreciated you beyond words. it was only right to show his gratitude to you, his rock. he couldn’t have gotten luckier with you.

[blondeaxolotl]

do you have au versions of the staff sam and crewel yeah like. The staff

Sam n Crewel mention you're getting them first (the others later because my hand started to cramp after I drew these two) Crewel is a kitsune, honestly it's because I noticed Crewel has 3 tails attached to his coat and it instantly reminded me of a kitsune, that just tickled my brain nicely I couldn't NOT make him one after that connection (also gives me the excuse to draw him even more pretty harahrhar)

Sam is a grim reaper, and just like Skully they're based on my vers of grim reapers (which in reality it's just my heavily headcanoned depictions of Black Butler reapers, hence why there are green eyes in Sam's "shadow". So yeah they're basically Kuro Reapers in TWST)

Now mini lore ramble for Sam, only the NRC staff are aware Sam is a Grim Reaper and not a human, the students do not know and fully believe Sam is a human just like Silver. The reason for that is in this day and age it is deemed very unlucky if you were to spot a grim reaper in the wild while they're not in disguise, like to the point where people believe if you saw one, you will be hunted down by the reaper because you're not supposed to know they're there. Though that's mostly what the living believe. But for reapers, they disguise themselves to avoid causing a panic, their whole job and what they're known for is they collect souls from the recently deceased. Meaning if some random guy saw a reaper casually walking down the street, they'll immediately assume someone has died and people have yet to figure out who and where. It just causes a whole panic mess to happen because now everyone is just expecting to find a dead guy somewhere while in reality the reaper was just going out shopping. Now you could imagine what nightmare that would cause if a NRC student saw Sam walking around out of disguise. There would constant rumours about there possibly being a dead student/professor somewhere on campus and that would both be tiring but also bad the for the schools rep, it's just easier for everyone and Sam himself if he's just pretending to be a human.

ONE LAST NOTE THOUGH: Despite being perfectly disguised, people who went through a near-death experience are able to see through a reaper's disguise and can only see them as their true form while everyone else still sees a human. People who have gotten so close to death and having their soul reaped but were able to get out of it by a thread, have not only gotten a second chance in life but as well are now able to see the ones who were going to take their soul if luck didn't decide to be on their side that time (this also includes overblotters).

Don't worry, these people won't "get hunted down" for being able to see them. The whole "reapers will hunt you down if you saw them" thing is just a myth the living made up, reapers only disguise themselves to avoid causing a panic from making people believe someone died when no one did. They don't care if you can see their true forms, they just tell you to keep it down so people don't freak out about them just existing in the same room as them.

That's about it for now, hope the lil mini Sam reaper lore is interesting enough hehe, feel free to ask any questions- OH forgot to mention but reapers are very fucking blind. Both in and out of disguise and desperately need glasses to see, that's why Sam has glasses now, he's useless without them lmao. (Kuro fnas already know this but this is just for everyone who doesn't know yk)

[kitty384]

Operation: Talk Some Sense Into Your Best Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky’s overprotectiveness during your pregnancy hits an all-time high, and you enlist Steve and Sam to stage a much-needed intervention.

Warnings: Pregnancy, overprotective behavior (comedic), fluff, light swearing, established relationship, mentions of nausea and hormonal shifts

I love my husband.

I really do.

But if he tells me I can’t lift one more thing, I swear on all things holy I’m going to strangle him with the world’s softest maternity blanket.

“Bucky,” I say slowly, placing the folded stack of towels into the linen closet. “It’s laundry. I am literally moving fabric from one surface to another.”

“You’re carrying our baby,” he says seriously, crossing the room like I just lifted a car. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a feather.”

I blink. “Towels are not heavy.”

“Towels can cause accidents. Back strain. Slippery floors—”

“Did you just make that up?”

He gently takes the remaining towels from my hands like I’m an elderly Victorian fainting woman. “You’re pregnant. Not allowed.”

I stare at him.

He stares back, unbothered.

This is getting out of hand.

It started around week sixteen.

Just a slight uptick in Bucky’s worry level. Not too crazy. Just a few extra check-ins. Some hovering. The occasional “do you want me to carry you to the couch so you don’t have to walk there?”

Cute. Kind of funny.

Week seventeen? He downloaded three pregnancy tracking apps and started setting my hydration alarms.

Week eighteen? He wouldn’t let me walk to the mailbox alone. Said it was “uneven terrain.”

Today?

He told me I needed a spotter to get out of bed.

I’ve had enough.

I find Sam and Steve in the gym, predictably trying to one-up each other with pull-ups. Steve is winning. Sam is swearing.

I walk in, arms crossed, belly slightly more obvious in my fitted t-shirt, and glare.

They both stop mid-rep.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam says, wiping sweat from his brow. “You good?”

“No. Your best friend is driving me absolutely insane and I need backup before I fake a dramatic fainting spell and run away to Aruba.”

Steve blinks. “I’m sorry?”

I sigh. “Bucky is in full-blown dad-mode overdrive. He won’t let me carry a grocery bag. He walks me to the bathroom like I’m made of glass. I caught him googling pregnancy-safe shoelace techniques last night.”

Sam chokes on his water.

Steve raises a hand. “Wait—shoelaces?”

“He thinks I’ll fall over if I bend forward.”

Sam snorts. “Okay, that’s a little much.”

“A little?” I throw my hands up. “He almost tackled me for opening the fridge.”

“To be fair, that thing is kind of heavy—”

“STEVE.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I exhale, then lean against the wall. “Look. I know he means well. I love how much he cares. But if someone doesn’t talk him off this overprotective ledge, I am going to scream. Or cry. Or both. At the same time.”

Sam claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll handle it.”

Steve nods solemnly. “You’ll have personal space again in no time.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Operation: Chill the Hell Out is a go.”

They corner him in the kitchen that afternoon.

I’m not even in the room—I’m just around the corner, eavesdropping like a professional.

“Buck,” Sam says, “we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About how you’ve turned into the world’s most intense dad before the kid’s even born.”

Steve jumps in. “You’re stressing Y/N out.”

“She’s pregnant,” Bucky replies, confused. “She shouldn’t be stressed.”

“That’s your fault!” Sam yells.

“I’m protecting her!”

“You’re bubble-wrapping her soul, man.”

Bucky grumbles. “I just… I worry.”

“We know,” Steve says gently. “But you can’t hover her into safety.”

“She’s tough, Buck,” Sam adds. “Let her be.”

There’s silence.

Then, Bucky sighs. “She told you about the shoelaces, didn’t she?”

Steve and Sam answer in perfect unison: “Yes.”

That night, I walk into the living room to find Bucky setting up a foot massage station like I’m royalty.

I raise an eyebrow.

He gives me a sheepish look. “Truce?”

I sit beside him. “Maybe. Are we done banning me from bending over?”

“Yes.”

“And from picking up my own snacks?”

“Yes.”

“And from standing in the kitchen while a microwave runs?”

“That one was one time—”

“Bucky.”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll dial it down. I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. Or them.”

I reach for his hand and place it gently over my belly.

“We’re okay,” I say softly. “But I need you to breathe. And maybe… let me pee without an escort.”

He laughs.

“Deal.”

He still carries the laundry sometimes.

But now he lets me do it with him.

And when I tie my own shoes the next morning, he claps.

So… progress.

Masterlist

Request

[authortelevision]

george, the hockey player: chapter one ₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,747 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ george clarke slow burn, university au, hockey george

you start university in bristol as a film student and meet a hockey player who will change your life completely

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The train ride to Bristol had been a mix of nervous excitement and mild existential dread. The city, with its hilly streets and graffiti-covered underpasses, felt like a place where something big could happen. But right now, all that mattered was getting through move-in day without looking like a complete disaster.

You haul your suitcase up the stairs of your new flat, already regretting bringing so many decorations. The shared kitchen is a mess of half-opened suitcases, stacked IKEA crockery, and the awkward small talk of strangers who will, apparently, be your new best friends.

A girl with pink-streaked hair and round glasses glances up from where she’s struggling to assemble a drying rack. “Oh, thank God. Someone else who looks just as lost as I feel.”

You laugh, setting your bags down. “Completely lost. Do you need help with that?”

“Please. It’s like IKEA’s playing a cruel joke on me.” She grins. “I’m Lily, by the way. I do history, unfortunately.”

You introduce yourself just as the front door swings open and two more people walk in, dragging boxes. One of them, a guy with messy brown hair, lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is it. Our prison for the next year.”

“I hope not.” says a voice from behind him.

The four of you quickly exchange introductions, and you learn that the negative voice is Matt who is studying Economics, and the other is Sam, taking Biology. Within ten minutes, you’re all gathered in the kitchen, swapping stories about where you’re from and who packed the weirdest thing (Matt wins with his five-kilo bag of protein powder). It’s surprisingly easy, the awkwardness fading fast.

Then, Lily claps her hands together. “Okay, so Freshers’ Fair is happening today. We need to go.”

Sam frowns. “That’s the one where all the societies try to recruit you, right?”

“Exactly. It’s essential. Free stuff, maybe a few weird clubs, and we can all pretend we’re super well-rounded people.”

You weren’t sure if you had the energy after lugging all your stuff around, but the idea of seeing what Bristol Uni had to offer was tempting. Plus, it beat sitting in your empty room.

“Alright,” you say, standing up. “Let’s go get bombarded by enthusiastic second-years.”

————

The Student Union building is packed, a sea of students weaving between booths with banners ranging from “Join the Debate Society” to “Quidditch Team Tryouts This Weekend!” Every few steps, someone shoves a flyer into your hands, promising everything from cheap cocktails to life-changing friendships.

Lily gets dragged away almost immediately by a group advertising a Feminist Reading Club. Sam disappears in the direction of the Rugby stall, while Matt, despite his initial complaints, is deep in conversation with a Chess Society rep.

That leaves you wandering alone for a bit, taking it all in. The Hockey Society booth catches your eye, but only cause there’s a crowd gathered around it, and a bunch of sporty-looking guys are chatting with possible members. You consider stopping, but hockey isn’t really your thing.

Instead, you find yourself drawn to a quieter stall tucked between the Art Society and the Drama Club. A banner reads “Photography Society – Capture the Moment”, and a student with a camera slung around their neck waves at you.

“Hey! You interested in photography?”

“I mean… kinda?” You glance at the sign-up sheet. “I do film, so I guess I already mess around with cameras.”

The student grins. “That’s basically half of it. We do sports photography, exhibitions, and the occasional trip. No pressure, though.”

It sounds like exactly the kind of thing to make friends you need. Before you can overthink it, you pick up a pen and sign your name.

By the time you regroup with your flatmates, your bag is full of leaflets and your group decides to escape the chaos and grab something to eat. The campus cafés are packed, so you settle for the Student Union bar, where the tables are sticky, the nachos are cheap, and the music is just a little too loud for a casual conversation.

Matt dumps his bag of free society merch onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

He pulls out a ridiculous amount of random freebies like stress balls, lanyards, a frisbee, and even a reusable coffee cup with Bristol Uni Quidditch Team printed on the side. Sam snorts. “Did you even sign up for Quidditch?”

“No, but they were giving out free stuff, and I’m not an idiot.”

Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She turns to you, seeing your tote bag. “So, what made you go for Photography Society?”

You take a sip of your drink, considering. “I think I just wanted something creative that wasn’t coursework, you know? Something fun, no pressure.”

She nods. “Good call. I was considering the Creative Writing Society, but then I overheard a guy saying they only discuss ‘serious literary work,’ and I feel like I’d get kicked out for writing fanfiction.”

“That sounds insufferable,” you say with a laugh.

“What about you, Sam?” Matt asks. “You looked way too invested in that rugby stall for someone who claimed they definitely weren’t joining a sports team.

Sam shrugs, looking vaguely guilty. “Okay, maybe I’ll go to tryouts. I haven’t played since school, but it might be fun.”

“You just want an excuse to go to the sports socials,” Lily teases.

He smirks. “And what if I do?”

The conversation drifts into plans for the rest of Freshers’ Week—pub crawls, club nights, and the dreaded 9am introductory lectures no one is ready for. It’s strange how quickly everything is falling into place, like the awkwardness of earlier has already faded into something more natural.

Eventually, you all decide to head back to the flat, the evening air crisp as you make your way across campus. Bristol feels alive at night, students spilling out of bars, the hum of conversation echoing down cobbled streets. The streetlights cast long shadows, and for a brief moment, you pause to take it all in.

Lily nudges you. “You alright?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I think I am.”

————

The next morning, you wake to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the faint clatter of someone making something in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you forget where you are, then the unfamiliar ceiling and the plain white walls bring you back to reality. Your new life at university has officially begun.

After forcing yourself out of bed, you shuffle into the kitchen, where Lily is perched on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie, her pink-streaked hair all over the place. “Morning,” she says between bites.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug and searching for the kettle.

Matt wanders in next, still in his pajamas. He blinks at you both. “We should’ve made a pact never to speak before noon.”

Lily laughs. “Good luck with that. We’ve all got a welcome meeting at ten, I’m not sure where yours is but mine is in the Oliver building.”

Right. The dreaded introductory stuff. You groan internally but force yourself to stay optimistic. First years always say it’s useless, but there could always be something important about the university you wouldn’t know about.

After breakfast, you grab your bag and head out with Lily, who insists on walking with you even though the history department is in a completely different building. “Moral support,” she says dramatically as you weave through the crowds of students trying to find their way around.

The film department is tucked inside a modern glass building that looks sleek and intimidating. Inside, the lecture hall is already filling up, the hum of conversation blending with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. You slide into a seat near the middle and pull out your laptop, trying not to look as awkward as you feel.

A few minutes later, a girl with short curly hair and a nose ring drops into the seat next to you. “Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m Ava,” she says, setting her laptop down. “Film Studies?”

You nod. “Yeah, first year.”

“Same! What kind of films are you into?”

That kicks off an easy conversation, by the time the lecturer finally arrives and starts their speech about “the power of storytelling in visual media,” you and Ava have already bonded over your mutual love of indie films and your shared distaste for pretentious film bros who only talk about Pulp Fiction.

The lecture itself is mostly introductions—professors explaining what to expect, a few awkward icebreakers with the people sitting nearby, and a long-winded speech about academic integrity. By the time it’s over, your brain is buzzing, and you’re more than ready to escape.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Ava asks as you head out of the building.

“Definitely.”

The two of you make your way to the campus café, where you spot Sam and Matt sitting by the window, deep in conversation. When they see you, Sam waves you over.

“How was your lecture?” Matt asks as you slide into the seat across from him.

“Long.” You take a sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“Boring. I already regret choosing Economics.”

Ava laughs. “Wow, you’re all so motivated.”

“Oh! This is Ava, by the way, we both do film studies.”

As the conversation continues, it starts to hit you, this is your new life. New friends, new routines, new experiences waiting just around the corner.

————

By the time the sun sets, the nerves of the first day have been replaced with something else entirely: anticipation, excitement, and the lingering feeling from the vodka shots you definitely shouldn’t have taken so quickly.

Your flat has changed into pre-drinks. The tiny kitchen table is covered in half-empty bottles, discarded mixers, and the remnants of an intense game of Ring of Fire. Someone’s put on a ridiculous throwback playlist, and now everyone is shouting the words to Mr. Brightside like it’s a national anthem.

You’re sat on the counter, legs swinging, cradling a drink you don’t need but don’t want to put down. “Okay,” you announce to no one in particular, “I think I might be a tiny bit drunk.”

Lily cackles from where she’s trying to apply eyeliner on a very uncooperative Matt. “No shit. You’ve been swaying for, like, ten minutes.”

You blink, realizing that the floor does seem to be moving slightly. “That’s just because I’m—” You wave your hand in the air, trying to find a reason. “—graceful.”

Sam laughs, throwing an arm around you dramatically. “You’re gone.”

But the night is young, and there’s only one destination in mind—Lola Lo’s. Everyone has been hyping it up since you arrived, promising neon lights, questionable cocktails, and the kind of night you’ll only half remember.

After one final shot (a terrible idea in hindsight), you all spill onto the street, voices loud and laughter echoing down the road. The walk to the club is only fifteen minutes, but your brain seems to have abandoned all sense of coordination.

Somewhere along the way, you trip over nothing and stumble into Lily. “Okay,” she says, catching you, “I think we need a pause.”

You find yourself plopping down onto the curb, the cold pavement grounding you slightly. Sam sits next to you, amused. “You know they’re not gonna let you in like this, right?”

You groan, resting your head on his shoulder dramatically. “I know.”

Matt crouches in front of you, squinting like a concerned doctor. “Alright, what’s the game plan? We can’t have you getting turned away at the door.”

Lily laughs. “We could walk in first and pretend we don’t know them.”

You gasp, offended. “Betrayal.”

Ava, who has been quiet up until now, holds up a bottle of water she somehow smuggled out of the flat. “Here, drink this. Try to look less… like this.” She gestures vaguely at you, which is fair.

You take a sip then make a face. “This isn’t gonna work in time.”

Matt nudges your shoulder. “Alright, let’s problem-solve. How do we make you look sober?”

“Serious face,” you declare, straightening up and attempting your most responsible expression. It lasts about three seconds before Sam bursts out laughing.

Lily wipes away fake tears. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna fool the bouncers.”

You groan, dramatically falling back onto the pavement. “Okay, new plan. I’ll just live here now. The curb is my home.”

Ava rolls her eyes but helps you up anyway. “Nope. We’re getting in that club. You’re gonna drink water, act normal, and stop being a liability.”

You let them half-drag, half-walk you down the street, still giggling. Maybe you won’t get into the club. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow with no recollection of this conversation.

Somehow—somehow—you make it past the bouncers.

Lily had given you a very serious pep talk before you reached the front of the queue: “No swaying. No giggling. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything stupid.” You had nodded along, doing your absolute best to channel the energy of someone who had only had one sensible drink and definitely wasn’t clinging to Sam for balance.

Miraculously, the bouncers barely look at you before waving you inside, and suddenly, you’re in.

Lola Lo’s is everything people hyped it up to be, neon lights glow under bamboo decor, the music vibrates in your chest, and the air smells like a mix of fruity cocktails, sweat, and regret. Your flatmates disappear into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of the dance floor, still slightly overwhelmed.

But there’s one thing you do know, you need another drink.

Stumbling your way to the bar, you lean against the counter, blinking up at the bartender like focusing really hard will make you seem more sober. “Can I get a—” You pause. What did you want? A cocktail? A vodka and coke? You squint at the menu, as if the words will rearrange themselves into the perfect choice.

Eventually, you just blurt out, “A rum and coke, please,” and slap some cash onto the bar, feeling very responsible.

The bartender hands you your drink, and you turn around. Too fast.

Because the next thing you know, your arm collides with someone, and suddenly, your entire very full drink sloshes forward, spilling straight onto them.

“Oh shit—”

The guy flinches, looking down at his now-soaked shirt. “Oh, for fu—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply before looking up at you.

And that’s when you see him properly.

Tall, messy brown hair, sharp features softened by the kind of face that probably gets away with way too much just by smiling. But right now, he’s not smiling, he’s staring at you, stunned, as cold rum and coke drips down his front.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hands flying to your mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, no, it’s not fine!” You grab a handful of napkins from the bar and start patting at his chest, which is definitely not helping, because now you’re basically rubbing the mess into his already ruined shirt. “I didn’t mean to—oh my God, I’m such an idiot—”

He lets out a breathy laugh, finally grabbing your wrist gently to stop your attempts at fixing the situation. “Hey—hey, it’s fine. Seriously.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly, your brain catches up with what’s happening. You just spilled an entire drink on a very attractive guy and are now borderline manhandling him in a drunken panic.

This is not how the night was supposed to go.

“I’ll buy you a new drink,” you blurt out.

He smirks. “What, for me or for you?”

You open your mouth, then shut it. That was a fair question.

Before you can respond, Lily appears out of nowhere, looking between the two of you with sharp amusement. “What the hell did I miss?”

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “Your friend just redecorated my shirt.”

Lily glances at you, then at the napkins still clutched in your hand. Then she grins. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

But when you peek up, the guy is still looking at you, not annoyed, not pissed off, but amused. Like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all night.

“I’m George” he says, still smiling.

George. You’ll keep that in mind.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

author notes:

hello everyone !! sorry i’ve been gone for so long !! i’ve been very busy with uni life and have kind of abandoned this account !! but i’m back and i’ve decided to bring my uni life into this new slow burn i have !!

I KNOW THAT GEORGE DIDNT GO TO BRISTOL BUT I DIDNT KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT HIS UNI TO WRITE ABOUT THAT ONE !!

much love x

[savanir]

Death of the Father, Death of the Son

Part 2

part 1 is here and the og prompt can be found here again thanks for the prompt @mynameisjag as you can see I am not done with it yet

The aftermath of the gala was an absolute disaster in Jazz’s humble opinion.

At first she didn’t know what to think… 

When they wheeled out the body bag that supposedly had Vlad’s corpse in it, it just didn’t feel real.

Everything became a lot more real when her mom got back from her trip to the forensic lab, It really was Vlad. The GCPD went through this whole identification of the body process, everyone was already pretty damn sure for obvious reasons but they had to follow protocol. Elaborate time wasting in Jazz’s humble opinion.

Jazz stares at her phone while sitting in the overly expensive fancy hotel room fauteuil. All of a sudden she no longer really minded that Vlad had given them all their own private hotel room, the girl wasn’t stupid… She knew he did it in the hopes that her mom would magically change her mind about him and this way she wouldn’t get in the way. Interrupt them. Whatever.

But now it just gives her privacy and room to think. And think she does, thinking is all she seems able to do now.

This whole mess is just great rep for Gotham… ‘out of town millionaire gets assassinated on their first night in the city. zero hesitation’

People are mass sharing all the leaked dirt on Vlad on social media with the hashtag #Welcome to Gotham.

At the very least any potential harassment towards her or her mom was nipped in the bud once it became widespread that Vlad had actually hired some guy to kill her dad.

Ancients…

He hired a mercenary, some assassin, to kill her dad. Jazz vividly remembers when Danny would vent about the things Plasmius would threaten him with. but she always figured he did it to rile her brother up. 

For some reason she could believe the whole making her brother his son thing, just like she got the marrying her mom thing. And yet she never thought he would actually follow through on the murdering her dad thing.

…And what does this mean for Danny?

her phone is still blowing up but the only people she actually responds to are Sam and Tucker. Sam is mostly worried, asking how they are holding up and if she needs to come over and kick some corrupt police butt, or overly pushy paparazzi butt, or just nosy people in general butt. The offer is sweet but Jazz already saw how her mom verbally tore the rumour about a ‘battered wife/gold digger’ situation apart with facts and logic, so she’s not worried.

Jazz supposes that’s a good thing that somehow came out of all this… her mom got some of her spark back. 

Meanwhile Tucker is all in the GCPD systems and sharing the results of the police investigation with the rest of the team.

because of that Jazz knows that the Bats have already shown up to do their own brand of investigating, and also that the police don’t know shit.

It figures… The police also didn’t know shit when her dad was murdered and Danny got kidnapped. And they were all too happy to accept the fake dead Danny that got found in the forest, welp, kid found, he’s dead, case closed.

useless.

It’s been several days now and it’ll probably take another week or so before something concrete gets brought to the public.

Jazz thought she might get a vigilante visit at some point but they haven’t shown up yet. At least not to ask her anything… who knows maybe they have already spoken with her mom and she simply decided not to tell her as to not distress her or something, that would make sense.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

It’s late in the evening now but she checked up on her mom earlier that day, she had been furiously going through all the things Vlad had gifted her and tossing them in a tiny and overly full garbage can.

“Jazzikins, once this whole thing is over we should head straight to his Wisconsin estate and burn it to the ground” Jazz can already see the fire burning in her mom’s eye, she’s completely serious.

“that will probably be extremely suspicious and get us in a lot of trouble mom” It would be very cathartic though, she will admit that.

Jazz had sat down and watched her mom go about her business, exorcizing Vlad from her life perhaps.

Eventually her mom sighed and asked, “how long do we still have to stay in this awful place?”

"We have to be available for the GCPD because they are still doing their investigation. They will most likely still have some questions, and i want to make sure there will be no misunderstandings with the notary later as well"

"That's my smart girl" Maddie pinches Jazz's cheek, "what do they still even have to investigate... though, perhaps it would be a good thing if they found his killer, that way I might be able to thank them myself"

Jazz winces, "Mom..."

"You're too sweet jazzy, you got that from your father" Maddie gives Jazz a kiss on the forehead before she goes back to what she was doing before.

Internally Jazz disagrees with her, she doesn't feel bad for Vlad at all, she's just looking at the bigger picture because she has info nobody else does.

Whoever killed Vlad was prepared to kill a halfa... and the implications of that fact terrify her and give her hope at the same time.

Danny is still out there somewhere, but he's most likely being exploited in some way.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

And here she is, still staring at her phone, refreshing the feed and gradually feeling more worse as she skims the headlines.

the psychiatrist in her is telling her she’s doom scrolling and it’s unhealthy, what is she even looking for here? If the authorities identify the killer, will they even tell her? Tell her mom? they probably would to ‘aid with the grieving process’. but that tends to only happen when they have actually caught the killer.

And who knows when that will happen.

This is pointless anyway, if something useful gets found out Tucker will most likely be the first to know out of all of them.

Jazz refreshes the feed again.

nobody seems to think a Gotham rogue did it, they would have made it a spectacle. 

No, all the theories seem to think it was most likely the work of underground crime syndicates, or Vlad pissed someone off in some other country while doing business, and Gotham was simply the easiest place to get him killed, even though now the Bats are on the case. or, or…

She groans, gets up and makes herself some tea when she hears it. She’s turned around with the Fenton Anti-Creep stick raised and ready before she really knows what she’s doing and she sees two figures emerge from the shadows. Big and small. Batman and Robin.

Robin pointedly looks at the creep stick, batman disregards it entirely, "we would like to ask some questions"

Jazz looks at batman and then at Robin and then just sighs, grabs her tea, accepts that this is happening, sits down with the stick ready to go at any time and says, "go ahead"

Robin takes a strategic spot closer to the window, perched on the back of the gaudy couch for some reason and Batman gets closer perhaps to loom over her more? But he also sticks to the shadows, perhaps to make her feel a bit less intimidated with the distance? She decides to just stop thinking about it from that point on.

Batman goes over the statements Jazz already gave to the police, she mostly focuses on her drink while she elaborates on some of the things she said, but eventually…

“Most people seem to think this was an act of revenge but when the police asked you what you think the reason is why Masters got murdered you simply stated you don’t know, judging by the footage of the interrogation you were agitated”

Jazz frowns, “it had been a long day, at the time I wanted it to be over with”

“These statements are vital, especially from close acquaintances”

Her jaw tightens, “so you would like me to give a proper answer now?”

Batman stays quiet,

“The revenge part is obvious, but I just don’t think that’s all there is to it. I think someone wanted shut him up”

“and why would you think that?”

Jazz thinks very carefully and makes a decision.

“Vlad was not an easy man to kill…” she trails off, still thinking about how she’s going to explain this one properly, without revealing everything.

Batman stays quiet again, Robin however pipes up, “Because he’s rich?” 

She had basically forgotten he was there and there is a moment where she just blinks at him still perched on the back of the couch, “Well, as I am sure you both have seen by now he was more than capable of paying his problems to go away, but no, that’s not what I meant”

“hrn, go on”

Jazz swirls what little tea she has left and kind of wishes it was actually some kind of alcohol… even though she’s too young for that, and then she goes on, “Vlad was not human, not fully anyway, I don’t… know… exactly what his other half was-”

 A lie, but Batman decides to leave it be for now, no need to interrupt the young lady here, if he were to point it out she might clam up and stop talking entirely. 

"-He had gifts, one of them is intangibility, another invisibility"

They are aware that something is very different about Vladimir Masters. That much became clear when they activated the scanners they got in the forensic lab and took a good look at the corpse themselves. Those results confirmed some of the claims and accusations that everyone saw during the gala.

And it seems those close to the man knew of it as well.

Jazz goes on,

"Whoever attacked him must have been prepared for that... and considering there are only four people who know about it at all, that is… before… you know," she trails off.

"Only four" Robin mutters. 

Batman glances at the boy before asking, "Who knew?"

"Uh, me. Uhm two friends of mine who are currently back in Amity Park... and my brother, Danny"

"Tt, So that's three"

"Robin-" 

"My brother is not dead!" Jazz slams her hands on the table,  "The monster who killed my father kidnapped him, and now they are using him! The body that was found in the woods is a fake, planted by Vlad so my mom would stop looking and focus on him instead"

"Why would he-" Robin starts to ask while keeping a careful eye on the absolute vehemence coming from Jazz. One thing is very clear to both him and Batman though, Jazz believes what she’s saying wholeheartedly.

"He was an idiot, and obsessed with my mom. That's a very long and frankly unimportant story, but the proof is all in Vlad's lab in the basement of his estate. I can proof the body that was found was fake, my brother is alive" she buries her head in her hands, suddenly all the anger seems to be replaced with sorrow, 

"he's alive"

Robin shuffles uncomfortably side to side. He's gotten better at comforting distressed civilians but he's a little out of his depth right now. seeing as this is sorta his fault right now.

He looks over to his father to see what he'll do.

Batman just looks contemplative. Which isn’t useful for the boy at all.

It's then that Nightwing speaks up through the communicators to them, "B, I'll go to Amity Park and investigate both the Fenton household where the attack happened and then check out her proof at Masters estate"

Batman really doesn't like the full picture that's being painted here.

"Miss Fenton,"

Jazz rubs her hands over her face before taking a deep calming breath and giving batman her full attention again, "yes?"

"If I understand this right, you're saying you think the same assassin who took your father's life has now targeted Mr. Masters."

"Yes"

Robin shakes his head, "most assassins have some code of honor. It would certainly be a bad look to go after a former client like that"

Jazz scoffs,"Well it's been several months now. I don't know if Vlad kept in contact with that monster and managed to piss them off after the fact, that too could all be on his computers in his lab"

Batman grunts and  heads for the windows and Robin hops up to follow, "You'll hear from us miss Fenton"

She lets out a shaky breath when she's sure they have well and truly left. She figures she should update Sam and Tucker that she finally got a bat visit but the urge to refresh her social media and news feed doesn't come back.

With the supposed World’s Greatest Detective on the case she’s certain actual progress will finally be made.

She just hopes it’s not too late.

[dirtyvulture]

Alpha!Natasha Romanoff x Omega!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: Jealous Alpha Nat x Clueless Omega Reader 

Semi-public sex, claiming/knotting/breeding. Please, and thanks to you, God of Lust. 

AN: I accidentally made Nat beefy even though you didn’t ask for it. 🥺 I hope you don’t mind, anon! Shoutout to @mostlymarvelsstuff for helping brainstorm this one.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to spot you?” Natasha asks for what you feel is the thousandth time.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll only be using the ten-pound weights anyway,” you respond, a little annoyed at how oveprotective she can be sometimes. 

“Well, I’ll be right over here if you need me.” Natasha parts with a kiss on your forehead before going over to her favorite exercise, the bench press. You weren’t much of a fan yourself, so you grab a pair of dumbbells and stand in front of the mirror. 

You hear the gym door open as you’re in the middle of your set of curls, but you don’t think much of it. You can see Natasha in the reflection of the mirror, balancing a barbell with two times your weight on it and you pause to admire the impressive flexing of her arms as she brings down the bar to bounce off her chest.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You snap out of your ogling to find Sam Wilson standing behind you with a wide grin on his face.

“Huh? Oh, hi, Sam.”

“Need some help with your workout?” he asks, boldly putting his hand on your shoulder and steering you toward an empty bench. 

“Um, not really.”

“Come on, I can show you some new moves. It’ll really diversify your workout.” He sounds so earnest, you don’t want to deny him the opportunity. Plus, it’s just Sam and he’s completely harmless, and you’re where Natasha can see you if anything goes south.

“Okay fine,” you relent, watching as he adjusts the bench so you can sit up and rest your back on it. 

“Have you done shoulder presses before?” Sam asks as you take a seat. He stands behind you. 

“Uh, these?” You bend your arms and press them up.

“Yeah! Just add some weight to it.” Sam hands you your dumbbells. 

You start your first set, not struggling too much with the weight. Sam holds his hands under your triceps, following your range of motion in case you can’t complete a rep. 

After you finish your first set of 12, you go into your second set, although your arms are already tired. Sam’s hands brush the undersides of your triceps more than once.

“Come on, Y/N. You got this. Push, push, push.”

“Phew,” you pant, dropping your dumbbells to the floor and shaking the ache out in your arms.

“Those are too easy,” Sam says, going over to the rack and picking up a pair of 15 pound dumbbells. 

“Oh no, I stick to the tens,” you protest.

“You got this. I won’t let you drop them on your head. Besides, Romanoff would kill me if that happened.”

“Or, I can still kill you before that happens,” someone growls from behind you both.

“Nat?” You didn’t even notice her come over. The collar of her low-cut shirt is soaked in sweat and the veins in her arms look like they’re straining to escape. 

“What the hell are you doing, Wilson? She didn’t want a spot,” Natasha says in a low voice that makes you tingle.

“Oh, I wasn’t spotting her, I was just showing her some new exercises,” Sam says, suddenly backing away from you on the bench.

“And you don’t think I can do that?”

“Well, uh, no...” Sam stutters. “I know you’re more than capable--”

“I’ll take it from here,” Natasha interrupts.

“Sure. I’ll...I’ll see you two around.” Sam scampers away. 

“Come on, Y/N,” Natasha says, hooking her arm under yours and pulling you up.

“Oh, are you done with your workout?” It wasn’t unusual for your mate to spend upwards of two hours in the gym.

“This one,” she says, whisking you out of the gym. 

“Nat, are you okay?” you ask as she drags you into the locker room. You look down at her black shorts and notice the tent forming at the center. “Oh.”

“It seems someone forgot who their alpha is,” Natasha growls, pushing you against the lockers and looming over you. 

“Nat, someone can walk in--” you squeak as she removes your shorts, easily lifting you with her strong arms and pressing your back against the lockers. 

“Good. So they can run out and tell everyone who’s alpha you belong to.”

“Fuck.” Her deepened voice and aggressive tone has you soaking your panties.

“Who’s your alpha?” Natasha asks, now holding you up entirely with one arm so she can pull her shorts down. Her cock is dripping with pre-cum, fully erect, the veins on it pulsing. You clench around nothing, aching to have her sheathed inside of you.

“You’re my alpha,” you respond, whining as she teases your folds with the dark tip of her cock. 

“No one else’s?” she asks, almost as if she’s a little insecure that you’d leave her for someone.

“Just yours. All yours,” you insist. “Please, Nat.”

“Good.” Her arms flex as she steadies you before lowering you on her cock. You moan as she stretches you out, clawing onto her biceps and shoulders in pleasure. 

“Harder, Nat,” you whimper, unable to make a sound as her thighs slap louder against yours, bouncing you on her dick. 

“You are my omega,” she growls, burying her face against your neck and tracing her tongue teasingly along the mating mark she left there months ago, when she first claimed you as hers. She bore a similar one on her collarbone, in the perfect outline of your teeth, a mark she wore proudly. “Mine and only mine.”

“Yours,” you pant, clinging onto her. “Claim me again, Nat. Knot me and make me yours.”

You feel her chest vibrate as she moans at your words and you swear you can feel her cock throb harder inside of you. Natasha mumbles something in Russian, a language you never bothered to learn but loved to hear when she was so turned on she couldn’t think in English. Her thrusts come harder and you swear you’ll be bruised tomorrow. But you don’t care, tearing at her shirt so you can feel her sweaty skin against yours and take in her scent.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Natasha moans, starting to lose her rhythm. You clench harder around her, desperate to feel her hot cum spill into you. You can’t wait to carry her pups and start a family with her one day. “Do you...Do you want my knot?” she asks, knowing that if you take it, the two of you won’t be able to disconnect very easily. In fact, she’ll probably have to carry you out to your room, and who knows how many eyes will fall on you two on your way there.

“Yes, yes, please. I don’t care who sees us,” you reassure, digging your nails harder into her biceps. “Fill me with your pups, Nat.”

That does it for her, and with a final hard thrust, her knot slips into you without difficulty and you feel her cum gush into you. You sigh in satisfaction, dropping your head against her chest and pulling aside her shirt collar to expose her mating mark. You bite into it and Natasha’s body goes rigid with a moan, and she finishes cumming with a few hard pulses. 

She wraps her arms around you, balancing you against her chest, as she reaches for some towels to throw over your back. You hook your legs around her waist and she pulls up her shorts as high as she can, carrying you out of the locker room, with her cock still inside of you. 

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

AN: These two. 😅 Absolutely insatiable.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[countessravengrey]

I've been seeing a lot of posts talking about how scared and terrible at being a congressman Bucky was in Thunderbolts, most often citing the scene with the reporters.

See, I have a different take on this scene and others in the movie, because before I saw the movie, his political career had me asking myself, "What the fuck was he thinking?" But it was his reaction to everything that caught my attention. I got the sense from the scenes where he's politicking, that he was 'playing dumb', if you will. Which led me to believe that Bucky's foray into politics was more pointed and strategic than it appeared.

I imagine it goes something like this:

Post-TFATWS, Bucky was concerned by the fact that not only had Walker not been incarcerated, or at the very least gotten some court-ordered therapy, but he'd been given a shiny new suit and designation. Who was this Valentina person enabling this disaster of a human?

After asking around, he realize that he wouldn't be able to bring her shadiness to light as the Winter Soldier--despite the recent acknowledgment of him as a hero (Fuck right those grunts addressed him as Sergeant at the end of TFATWS you BETTER show my boy some respect!) and not the villain he was so erroneously punished as--and attempting to do so could get him back in trouble, especially with a newly-minted President Ross (aka the Real Villain of CACW™️) ready to bring the full force of the US government down on the heads of any enhanced that even look at the line, let along step out of it. And even if he'd captured Valentina in the middle of some shady dealings, he knew she was connected enough to get out of it. He couldn't ask Sam for help, what with him being newly busy doing Cap shit and all, so...

And it was around this time that someone with Brooklyn's interests, or at least politically motivated to be allied with Brooklyn, approached Bucky. "Brooklyn still remembers what you did for this country" "You're a hero in our book" "We need someone representing us who KNOWS us" or some other such. The optics were clear: Brooklyn felt Bucky was their homegrown hero, a Brooklyn boy, and they were ready to back that up with their votes. And it hit him. Here was a potential path to bringing down Valentina.

So, he took the nomination, and then he took the win. But he couldn't look like he was going after her personally.

So he played dumb in front of the press and in the chamber. He pretended to be a newbie rep out of his depth. And in the background, he was whispering in the right people's ears, sending them in the right direction.

Remember that Bucky is a strategist and tactician, too, he just wasn't the straightforward kind that Steve was. He was the sniper, watching carefully for his moment, and then taking the shot when no one was paying attention.

And when it looked like the whole thing was going south, he turned to what he knew: the Soldier. Who cared if he lost reelection or was asked to step down afterward? None of that mattered to him. It was a means to an end, and when that end was not forthcoming, he said fuck it and went for a last-ditch effort to do things by the book by bringing in witnesses, even if the tactics to that goal were a bit off-book lol

Bucky was playing us all.

[dropoutconfessions]

I get the feeling that most of the people who want more tranfem rep on Dropout don’t really understand that most of the people on their productions are asked to be there, and Sam simply goes with the people he knows from CollegeHumor. He works with who he knows, it’s not a moral thing. If anything, just pester Sam to invite more tranfem comedians on Game Changer… Or watch Um, Actually for a change! Show has had a transfem person on every season, and she usually wins!

(Also, if people can’t understand that M&M is taking the piss out of Harry Pooper, they need to re-open the schools.)

Okay I'm just gonna break this down because this is a lot to go through

All of us know that. We know that people who appear on Dropout shows are asked to be there. We want them to ask more transfems. That's the whole point. What did you think the argument we've been making is? It's very obvious that this is a Dropout hiring practice thing, we know this, that's why we're talking about it.

People keep saying Sam only goes with people he knows from CollegeHumor and then turning around and saying that Dropout does a good job of introducing people to other creators. It's one or the other. You can't have both.

No one said it was a moral thing. It's a representation thing. It's the kind of thing that gets you a fanbase with a whole demographic of people feeling like they don't get to see themselves on "the stage". Which makes it a moral thing. But once again, no one said Sam was evil for this. That's not a thing people have been saying, or everyone would be evil because transmisogyny exists throughout our society. "Do better" does not equal "Fuck you you scumbag".

Why do you think we're talking about this if not to pester dropout into hiring more transfems? The only reason we started talking about this is because a) dropout has a tumblr prescence and b) they have listened to fans on tumblr about other issues like platforming zionists in the past. This entire conversation started with transfems pointing out a trend in dropout content and people going for their throats for it.

I personal watch a lot of Um Actually. I would like more than 1 episode a season of representation for the entirely of the platform of Dropout. Actually, more than that, as someone who doesn't watch drag, I would like more representation than 1 episode per season from 1 show on the entirety of that platform where that representation is always the same woman. I love Sephie, that doesn't mean she should have to rep every transfem ever all at once all the fucking time.

Yeah fair point on the mismag, some people are just assuming. But also I do think they should've maybe gotten some Jewish and transfem people to work on that on both sides of the screen.

Overall, it feels like you took a glance at like 5 posts complaining about transfems complaining about dropout.

[bucky--barnes]

alright i haven't written fanfic in close to a decade but watching Thunderbolts* again last night has officially pushed me over the edge. i haven't proof-read this and it is unfinished but i had to get it out. dabbling in WinterSentry.

~update~ it's posted on AO3 with additional chapters!

---

As a general rule, Bucky holds people at arm's length. It's easier that way: keeping those around him a safe distance from learning more about him or what lies under the surface. Muddied by flashbacks, heartbreak, and the look in his countless number of targets' eyes before they closed for the final time, it's hard living in his own head. He doesn't need to subject anyone else to the horrors of his past or the confusion of his future. 

Before he emerged from the hut on the outskirts of Birin Zana a renewed man, before his final reset as the Winter Soldier, before he ended up on Zola's table with a pain so powerful he couldn't see straight, he was a happy kid. That's how he remembers it. Young, hopeful, strong-willed, bull-headed, but with a soft spot. A soft spot for early mornings before church making eggs and toast for his sister and mother, for the feeling of a dame in his hands as their feet joined rhythm and the rest of the room faded away, for the smell of the boardwalk on a hot summer's day, for Steve.

No matter the day, no matter the hardships, no matter the pain, Steve made him feel like he was home. He put on a tough front when he was at work or moving his way around the dance floor but when it was just him and Steve, he allowed himself to let go of that steely exterior and truly enjoy himself.

He hasn't felt joy like that in nearly a century.

Instead, he busies himself with his work, whatever that may look like. At first he found comfort at Sam's side, acting as a right-hand man once again. Now he's on the floor of the House of Representatives, wearing these monkey suits that never seem to fit him just right. It sure as hell isn't where he thought he'd end up as he dealt with the backlash, the exposès, the nightmares, but he likes to be busy. He needs to be busy. It's the best way he's found to keep his head atop his shoulders.

His newest piece of work? The ragtag crew he somehow got saddled with. The Thunderbolts. The New Avengerz. Whatever they're calling themselves this week. And a piece of work they are. When he got the tip from Mel about Valentina's latest manmade horror, he thought he was wrapping up these operatives to drop at the door to her impeachment trial. Now, they're being called the next reign of heros. Protectors of Earth. Our last hope. Blah blah blah. He couldn't care less what PR spin Ms. De Fontaine puts on it. He's just glad he has something to focus on - something to put his energy towards. 

It helps that he's no longer the least stable part of a group. A lot of work has gone into making that possible. Though, it's easy to look put together surrounded by this lot. His shortcomings were always so obvious when he stood next to Steve or Sam; his past haunting him in the shadows as he tried to redeem himself through these paradigms. But the Thunderbolts? They've all got demons. Somehow that's reassuring.

They've come a long way since Bucky flipped that limousine and disarmed them one by one. He was ready to rinse his hands of the whole issue, let John Walker and his little friends act as evidence to put an end to Ms. De Fontaine's delusional plans. But after rescuing Bob from his own torment, alongside these antiheroes who put up more fight for near strangers than any House rep does for their own constituents, Bucky found a new role for himself. Leader.

----

Interpersonal skills are not his strong suit at the moment. He used to be able to talk his way out of a fistfight with the boyfriend of whoever he was trying to woo at the bar. To convince pharmacists to let him pay late for whatever medication Steve needed so urgently. To figure out what people needed and how he could exploit that. After decades of being on ice getting any and all humanity electrocuted out of him, he wasn't so suave. Not as charming. It made him feel like a shell of his former self, trying to regain the confidence he once had.

He admired how close the team had grown. Truly. He didn't mind exchanging his Brooklyn studio for a floor at the Watchtower, trading long silent mornings for organized chaos. He enjoyed getting to see Ava come into her own as a team member, John beginning to learn to bite his tongue, Yelena letting go of her past, and Alexei embracing them, flaws and all. Though he couldn't seem to let his guard down, no matter how natural it all felt. Not after Bob got inside of his head.

---

It was a slow week around the tower and everyone was busy with their own antics. It wasn't Bucky's job to keep track of them when there wasn't a mission so he didn't care to find out who was going where that weekend. He kept up a consistent routine on days where he didn't have missions. He had just finished up his post-gym shower and was headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee when he heard hushed, hurried breathing coming from down the west corridor.

He snaps into stealth mode in moments like these: stopping dead in his tracks, holding his breath, and listening carefully to assess the situation. The muffled whimpers led him to round the corner, finding a mess of a man curled up against the wall, sitting with his head in his hands.

"Bob?" Bucky said quietly as not to startle him, bending his knees to settle on the floor next to him.

Bob's head snapped to look at the super soldier, faltering backwards in surprise. "O-Oh, hey. I didn't- uh, didn't hear you- hmph. Come over." He tried to get the words out between his sniffs and eye wiping. He found it hard to meet Bucky's steely gaze. His cold demeanor was off-putting most days. Analytic and critical. "I thought I was the only one around," he laughed dryly.

Bucky watched as Bob searched within himself to find strength but couldn't. His shoulders were still curled in, jumping erratically as the man tried to catch his breath.

"What's going on?" Bucky asked in an even tone, free of judgement.

"Oh, hah. Nothing. Just uh. The usual, right? Soul crushing guilt." He tried to brush away the tears left on his cheeks but his sleeves were too wet. He turned them around and kept brushing, eventually dragging them down his neck to clear away stray tears. "I was trying to calm-... Calm myself down. But uh, didn't work. I think-... I think it's a-.. Uh, panic... Attack." He breathed out the final word before taking in a sharp inhale.

Bucky rested his left hand on Bob's shoulder, keeping it steady there even as he flinched at the touch. "S'alright. Try breathing with me. Let's see if you can do that," he instructed, staying still as not to startle him further.

Bob's eyes searched Bucky's face and shoulders, avoiding the other man's gaze as he looked for any sign of judgement. Any sign that he was too much to deal with. He began to even out his breathing, closing his eyes for a moment to match the in's and out's to Bucky's. He struggled to stop the jittering breaths, growing frustrated and embarrassed with himself.

The hallway was still as they sat together. Bucky gave him some time to try and calm down but it was becoming apparent that measured breathing alone wasn't going to work. Bob began gasping, quietly at first, taking in huge breaths and letting them out slowly. But then they grew into whimpers, then sobs. He turned his head away, shutting his eyes tightly as he balled his fists in his lap. It didn't take long for his concentration to disappear entirely, shifting his body away from Bucky to make himself ever smaller. 

Bucky took his hand away as Bob leaned in the other direction. This was not his strong suit. He furrowed his brow and moved to sit properly on the floor, unsure what to do next. 

"You're alright. You're safe here. Can you sit up? Plant your hands and feet on the ground?"

Bob lifted his head for a moment, peering at Bucky through the wet curls pressed against his face. He couldn't control the gasps for air or the shuddering breaths that followed. His eyes were wide and scared. Something about it made Bucky's chest tight.

"May I?" Bucky asked quietly, holding his hands out. Bob made a quiet noise of affirmation as he nodded quickly. Bucky carefully grabbed Bob by the shoulders and guided them to press flat against the wall. He moved his legs individually so that the soles of his feet on the floor, knees close to his chest. Bob placed his palms on the floor to steady himself, distracted momentarily by the help.

"Alright, look at me. You're alright. You're safe. This feeling inside of you is temporary, alright? Just focus on my words," Bucky instructed, sitting just to the side. "You're stronger than whatever is tearing you up inside, alright? Just believe-..."

Bucky was cut off abruptly. In the midst of talking to the trembling figure in front of him, he placed his right hand - his human hand - atop of Bob's. As he trailed off, the room started to go dark. Suddenly, there was a noise behind him, like that of a cattle prod. His head whipped around and it was just hallway, but not that of the west corridor. He turned back to where Bob had been seated, nowhere to be seen. He shot up quickly and balled his fists, a growing growl turned scream echoing through the halls.

"Bob?" He yelled out, checking his surroundings once more before he headed towards the sound. Green light filled the space, growing brighter as he rounded the corner to a vault. He quickly ducked back behind the wall, afraid of what he was about to see.

He didn't remember much from being the Winter Soldier. He may not recognize the current space he was in but he was all too familiar with the set up. Concrete walls deep underground, winding hallways to a large, cavernous room, set up with all sorts of foreign equipment. He took a peek around the corner again when the sound of electricity and yelling subsided, flinching but not turning away when it started up again. 

He saw himself. Strapped to a chair. Mouthguard clenched between teeth. Arms flexed within their binds. Screaming. Gritting. In pain. Over and over again. Getting shocked. With HYDRA onlookers, the likes of Rumlow and the rest of the STRIKE team, watching. 

He could almost feel the shocks pulsing through his head. He remembered that pain. He remembered what it was like to have his brain shattered over and over. He watched as the machine turned off and let go of his limp body, tears unidentifiable against sweat on his expressionless face. The shell of himself listened as he was told to stand, spit out the mouthguard, and head into his chamber. The slow march of a broken man began and Bucky's eyes followed him across the room, until his gaze met Bob's, staring with his mouth clenched shut from behind a group of scientists.

Bucky blinked hard a few times and suddenly he was back in the Watchtower, Bob's face just a foot from his own. He yanked his hand away and stumbled backwards and fell onto his back, moving slowly to sit back up. His own face was blank but he could feel tears on his cheeks.

"Bucky... I'm sorry- I didn't-... I didn't mean to-..." Bob started, too shocked to continue.

Bucky stared at the floor for a moment before looking back up. "I thought you said you can control that," he gritted through his teeth.

Bob's heart seized, embarrassment forcing the blood into his cheeks. "I- I can! When I fo- focus... I wasn't, uh, I wasn't focused..." He cleared his throat, frantically wiping at his face once more. The panic attack had subsided after the surprise of the memory hit him, but the feelings that Bucky had been experiencing filled him instead.

Bucky cleared his throat and moved away, causing Bob to deflate some. "I-... Uh. I'm sorry you had to see that." He coughed out, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain his composure. He stood up abruptly and adjusted his shirt. "I need to... Go. I'm sorry," he sputtered once more, turning on his heels and heading out of Bob's line of sight, leaving him dumbfounded on the floor.

[greypistacchio]

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is the autistic rep we deserve

DEAN.- The general vicinity? That's all you've got? CASTIEL.- Yes, which is why I need your help. It seems this is gonna involve talking to people (...). But it seems I lack a certain... DEAN.- Skill?

how wonderful that there's no self-deprecation in Castiel's voice as he acknowledges this, nor is there an ounce of shame! instead he sounds puzzled, like he can't put his finger on exactly what it is that he's getting wrong about human social interactions? he has been studying Social Skills 101 through TV shows, which will surely be enough to pass as A Human Man!

(spoiler alert, it doesn't, because you can have an amazing repertoire and still mess up by not knowing how to tell what is and isn't appropriate depending on the context and the people you're with)

the beautiful thing about Castiel's trouble adjusting to the human world is that he never beats himself up about how unexpectedly difficult it seems to be for him. he's aware that his "people skills" are "rusty", and what does he do about it? he asks for help without it becoming a big deal.

something in the very chill way he goes about this makes me super happy. unlike lots of other autistic-coded characters, Castiel doesn't feel dismayed whenever his lack of social skills gets in the way, and what's more! his friends never shame him for it! yes, Castiel often says things that are inadvertently funny to everyone else for reasons he can't figure out. yes, Castiel misreads social cues more often than not, and whenever he explains his thought process about them out loud it's clear that he has been trying to build himself a mental handbook about Human Interactions For Dummies. yes, Castiel tends to clarify figurative language for others despite it not being something he was asked for, and yes, he often takes sayings at face value and struggles to understand what they mean because he's going off of literal meaning.

and you know what's beautiful about all of this! the fact that neither Dean nor Sam give him hell about it!!

even though there is never any label assigned to Castiel per se, which on the other hand makes sense because when exactly would he find the time and motivation to go get diagnosed... the show makes it clear enough that he is, in fact, on the spectrum. the way he talks is described by alluding to Rain Man, which is about an autistic man played by Dustin Hoffman. Castiel's favourite Heaven is that of an autistic man who's happy to fly his kite in a beautiful meadow for eternity.

Castiel is as explicitly autistic as he can be, and he's never made to feel bad about the struggles that come with it. what's more, though! many of Castiel's most beautiful qualities and choices are directly related to autistic strengths.

for example, the strong sense of justice. Castiel has got a heart of gold that's in the right place, and he can't bear the idea of falling back into line if it means not doing what's right. but he isn't an arrogant assbutt about it. instead of trying to preach some holier-than-thou crap, he thinks out loud about what's right and what's wrong and the consequences that each option comes with. he is genuinely invested in doing what's right.

or the unwavering loyalty and devotion to those he cares for. Castiel loves the Winchester brothers deeply, and Dean in particular, because they listen to him and have actual conversations about the stuff Castiel asks himself questions about. they are the first people who treat Cas as an equal, as a friend, as family. and so Castiel does the same. he loves them enough that he'd rather swallow Purgatory whole to stop Raphael, who is planning on resuming the Apocalypse, than let his brother put Dean and Sam in the line of fire. he would rather protect the family he's found than comply with the Heavenly Plan.

or his extraordinary ability to notice the smallest things. as shown often enough whenever Castiel is taking his time to appreciate what's around him, he has an extraordinary eye for the subtlest details. even when he uses his powers, he is immediately able to figure out stuff in very precise detail.

or his boundless empathy. what enabled Castiel to rebel against Heaven in the first place was his inability to ignore how much Dean was hurting. nevermind how many times Uriel snapped at him for giving the mud monkeys too much credit, or how utterly racist most angels seemed to be towards human beings. Castiel was immediately struck by the pain that Dean felt, and in the end he stood up for what he figured was right because of his willingness to put himself in Dean's shoes to understand his point of view.

or his genuine authenticity. no matter how many times others screw him over and take advantage of how very sensitive he is, and how badly he wants to do what's right and will save people, Castiel still wears his big heart in his sleeve. in a world where most characters lie and deceive and betray and pretend their way through things, Castiel remains genuine in his quest to do the right thing. he keeps being open about his feelings and his motives and what he longs for, even though it is something that can and will be exploited to his detriment, because he doesn't know how to not be his true self.

or his complex and intense emotions. even though Castiel admittedly struggles to express his emotions in a typical way, and at first had trouble identifying and naming them too, there is never half a doubt that he feels them deeply. everything Castiel does is imbued with so much emotion, and if there's one character with a strong sense of transcendence it's him. if there's one character who created free will and stopped Fate dead in her tracks out of love, it's him. if there's one character whose fury was enough to decimate Heaven, it's him. if there's one character whose embarrassment was strong enough to keep him in Purgatory, it's him. there is an explicit acknowledgement, in fact, that Castiel has a larger-than-life heart that's always been a core part of who he is. no matter how many times it lands him in trouble or brings him great distress.

or his great tactic ability to analyse situations. as shown time and time again, Castiel is an extraordinary asset to have in one's team due to his sharp intellect regarding strategic planning. he is Team Free Will's brains, and every time he's involved in a case or an offensive he voices all the foreseeable concerns and possibilities so they can be ready for them. whenever someone is upset or conflicted, and by someone I mostly mean Dean, Castiel is able to analyse everything that has happened to figure out what Dean might be feeling and why. from the very first time they meet, Castiel is able to put together the many pieces of Dean Winchester at the speed of light, and when he himself makes mistakes he has an insane sense of introspection that enables him to realise what happened or didn't happen so he can improve moving forward.

and let's not forget his expressiveness. yes, Castiel's voice is often flat and monotonous. yes, he makes interesting word choices that don't quite land in many contexts. all of this is a clear result of his trouble with unspoken social cues regarding what is and isn't "appropriate" in a certain situation, or with certain people, but he nonetheless expresses so much all the time. in fact, I'd say that he's one of the most emotionally aware characters in this whole show, and he has a fucking ton of lines that are absolute bangers and capture really, really nuanced and complex thoughts and feelings beautifully.

all in all, Castiel is beautiful autistic rep, and I'm so very happy that he exists!!

[copperbadge]

Hey Sam, this came across my feed on twit and I wondered if you’d heard about it at all? :(

https://www.reddit.com/r/duolingo/comments/18sx06i/big_layoff_at_duolingo/

Direct link for the curious. Short version, a post on Reddit reported that Duolingo laid off a "large percentage" of its staff, replacing them with AI. I hadn't heard about it, but I knew there were reports about Duolingo trimming its offerings and losing a lot of goodwill after revamping itself a year ago; they've been public about their use of GPT-4 AI starting last March, and it was a tentpole of this year's annual convention, so I was aware of that as well.

The Reddit post is by a former Duolingo contractor, who also shares their severance letter, which is terse to say the least. They state that of their four-person team, two people were let go, with the others left to "babysit the AI". They say that they're a translator and that the people who remained were recast as "curators" for AI translation.

But the post is also not otherwise sourced. So here is everyone's periodic reminder that if the only source is Reddit and Reddit isn't citing other sources, you need to dig a little.

All journalistic sources I've seen (that aren't paywalled, like the Bloomberg article most of them cite) are visibly using the Reddit post as their entre, but also state that the percentage of contractors who were let go is about 10%. That's 10% of contract workers, not 10% of all staff, although admittedly I don't know how many people Duolingo employs, contract or otherwise. 10% is a meaningful chunk, but Duolingo has said that the contractors were let go because their projects had wrapped. While company reps state that this all could be related to the use of AI, they've also said that it's not a 1:1 replacement.

Mind you, the company isn't offering much in the way of backing that up, either.

So there are a couple of issues. Some workers probably were let go simply because their work was finished; the Reddit user doesn't seem to be one of those. We are still seeing that at least some of these jobs were replaced by AI, which is undoubtedly a harbinger of things to come. We don't know what impact this will have on the app. We don't know what kind of work the majority of those people were doing. There's a thread in the Reddit post about whether the voices are now "AI voices" but there's no citation to back up the idea either. They definitely aren't doing AI voice generation for the Latin, where one of the voice actors has a nice voice and also a very loud pet bird.

There is a bigger issue of contract work in the digital and translation industries in the first place; a lot of these people should have been full employees and would have had more protection from this if they had been. Translators have also been brutally devastated by machine/AI translation, which is its own issue. But these are separate and much larger problems that are in no way unique to Duolingo.

I don't like taking this stance because I feel like I'm defending both Duolingo and AI, which isn't my goal. My goal is to remind people that if you see a single source offering a vague statement, you should fact-check. 10% is likely a lot of people but it's not "a huge percentage". We have no real numbers on who was fired, just this person on Reddit saying they're a translator and they were let go. Do I believe them? Absolutely, I have no reason not to and the basic gist is backed up by statements from Duolingo. Do I trust this person's intel? Not especially, after the loud axe-grinding noises they made while posting. Do I trust Duolingo, whose goal is to make money and not look bad while doing it? Not especially either, simply from the standpoint of "the bigger the company the more they're likely to screw you".

But the point is we don't have good data, and this is a complicated and nuanced issue involving a lot of different factors. So either you have to let it go on past, or you have to be prepared to dig a little deeper than a person posting to Reddit about getting laid off.

In any case, Duolingo is one of the few activities that brings me joy right now (I know, I'm working on the issue) and is the only language learning structure that has ever actually worked for me, so despite the new intel and despite the fact that I know a lot of people think of Duolingo's revamp the way I think of Tumblr's new dash, I'm going to keep on with it.

(Plus I paid up for a year, so I might as well at least use it until the year runs out and then reassess.)

[wayward-robin]

1x08 – Bugs rewatch thoughts

Ah Bugs… infamous and memorable for the rep it gets as the worst episode of the entire series (not my personal worst, that was last ep!).

Is it ridiculous? Oh absolutely! But every season needs a wacky ep and this at least is better than the weird bug ep of Buffy’s early season run.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not the strongest plot, the CGI is not great and it’s incredibly goofy but none of the guest victims of the week were horrifically annoying so I don’t actually mind rewatching it.

And it did introduce the element of Sam and Dean’s relationship with John in that the younger rebelled, while the older remained the good little soldier. That was a point I remember them both clashing over a fair amount as the season moves on. They have very different views and memories of their upbringing.

I get Dean’s impossible position. I can relate to being stuck in the middle of parents and younger siblings. Rock meet hard place basically.

Dean slapping Sam’s butt will never not make me laugh. I know it was a throw in during the take they decided to use but JP’s face was hilarious!

I just enjoy the Sam and Dean moments in this ep more than the plot to be fair. The hustling, the BBQ, Dean falling in love with that shower. I love little moments like that as much as the bigger plots.

A rare sighting of Sam driving Baby. He did this a fair amount early on didn’t he? I know JA got progressively more possessive over Baby as the years went on. Did JP get banned from driving her or something?