#Roll Compactor

[idexindia]

A Beginner's Guide to Understanding Roll Compactors and Their Benefits

Pharmaceutical, chemical, and food production industries always have the requirement of precise particle control to ensure product quality and process efficiency. And roll compactors simply fit the bill. They are designed to transform raw materials into fine powders by compressing them into solid, compact shapes between two rotating rolls. The efficiency of this process improves particle consistency and increases bulk density. Not only that, roll compactors are environmentally friendly, too; they help to reduce energy consumption and minimise waste.

[trustedlocalservices]

[mightyhaul]

Mighty Haul is a trusted waste management company based in New Orleans, Louisiana, offering reliable and affordable dumpster rentals and portable toilet rentals for residential, commercial, and construction site needs. Our range of roll-off dumpsters and clean, well-maintained portable restrooms ensures your project stays clean and compliant. Proudly serving New Orleans, Metairie, Kenner, Chalmette, and surrounding areas—count on Mighty Haul for professional, on-time waste solutions tailored to your needs.

[alixero]

Not me daydreaming about going on a date with the attractive Asian person from our cleaning crew while working today

[isaut]

btw kuroro 100% believes he can win me back… he sends gifts on my birthday, flowers on mother’s day and on our wedding anniversary, along with a gift. it’s so so gross

[mayuri-manufacturer]

Compactor Storage Systems Manufacturer In Pune – Max Space

Max Space Racking Systems is a leading compactor storage systems manufacturer in Pune. Explore our space-saving solutions for efficient storage. In a world where efficient storage solutions are paramount, Max Space Racking Systems emerges as a trusted compactor storage systems manufacturer in Pune, India. Compactor storage systems are a vital component of modern storage solutions. They offer a space-saving and highly organized way to store a wide range of items, from documents and files to goods in warehouses and distribution centers.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 8 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 3.6k words

You and Bucky finally talk back at his apartment. Without work and the public watching, you can finally be yourselves again. But what will that look like now the truth is out?

Warnings: 18+ language, mentions of HYDRA and the Winter Solider, adult content, p in v, dirty talk, mentions of bratting, dirty talk, oral (f recieving). S is for Sir.

A/N: This is the last chapter and I'm so excited to share it with you! Thank you so much for reading, whether it was from the start, part way through or you're just here for the smut! If you enjoyed this series please reblog to share with your friends :)

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 7 | Bucky Barnes

The ride back to Bucky's apartment was filled with fraught silence. The driver tried desperately to make conversation before turning the radio up and tuning in to the coverage of what was apparently several attacks on several political offices.

Bucky paid in cash as he always did and you rolled your eyes, stepping out close behind him, his shadow. And he loved it, had missed the smell of your perfume when you tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Mr Barnes —"

"Let's not talk here," Bucky could feel how tight his smile was, the edge in his voice.

You were finally here, finally coming to his home where he'd spent hours preparing for you — only to come back and shove the flowers into the trash compactor. He'd downed the bottle of wine he picked out sat in the bath while the water went cold and then he'd shoved the dressing gown to the back of his closet and decided he'd done as much crying as he felt became a man of his age.

Now you were here, his apartment was a mess, he had no food in and he was pretty sure he hadn't even put his clothes in the hamper from yesterday. He felt like a boy again and despite the decades of time that had passed since he'd last seen his mother, he could hear her scolding him for his slovenliness. Hear his father's raised voice —his stomach turned.

None of this was right anymore, not his life, not this day, not the awkwardness he felt with you when he'd been so happy before.

He was right, his apartment was as he left it. Dirty dishes by the sink and his coffee table covered in books, candy wrappers and cups.

"Come in, I guess, can I get you a drink?" He offered, getting a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, at least that was full, maybe Anna had sent someone round.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you're drinking." You sat awkwardly at the breakfast bar, watching him, and a prickle on unease ran up his spine.

He still wasn't sure who you really were. Sam had told him you were security, but did he even know your real name?

Bucky placed the glass in front of you and opted to stand on the other side of the counter, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and undid his tie, watching your eyes tracking his movements as he went. That was real, he knew it, he didn't imagine the way your throat moved when you swallowed, or flick of your eyes to his forearms.

"Okay, you wanted to tell me your side of things so. You said back there —"

He was still replaying what you'd said, that you cared about, had been frightened for him.

"You have to know, I wasn't sent to —"

"Sleep with me?" Bucky took a swig of water to try and calm himself down, "sure, you said."

"I was tasked with making sure you're safe. You get lots of letters, nice letters, from kids and enhanced people and that's lovely. But you get a lot of hate mail too, it just doesn't reach your desk and Sam— he was worried."

"Do you even really know Sam?" This had stung Bucky as much as anything else, that Sam would lie so much something had to be true and he really hoped Sam had been telling the truth about your bravery during Project Insight.

"Yeah, I do.I've worked with him, as Captain America, I've done private security, undercover ops, freelance stuff…that was true. He trusts me, that's why he trusted me with his best friend." You looked at him pointedly, making sure to keep eye contact.

You hadn't looked away from him the entire time, you weren't shaking or nervous, you were telling the truth — or you were an insanely good liar because Bucky could hear your heart beating when you got excited, and right now, it was a steady thump.

Bucky wasn't so sure he was still best friends with Sam, he had a lot of apologising to do for the way he'd spoken to him.

"You worked for SHIELD?" He used his glass to wave at your faded Kevlar vest.

"Yeah, I did." He could see in your eyes, you knew what was coming next.

"Were you there?— Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, were you there?"

"Yes." You said it proudly, chin up, and he he was reminded of why he was so drawn to you. Your persistence, your pride in your role, your willingness to take responsibility. "I was there."

"And did you follow your orders then?"

"I followed the right orders,"

Bucky's heart sank momentarily

"— I listened to Agent Hill. I did my job, not as directed by SHIELD officials, but by the principals it was founded on. I protected the people. I protected Sam and Captain Rogers, Agent Hill and Agent Romanoff. I shot one of my colleagues, point blank, to protect them." You did look down then. "I was mostly a desk agent before then, it changed my life and I'm still not sure if I'm glad of that or not. But it did. I have to live with it, what I did, killing him. I had to make it mean something, so I found Sam after and I've been freelancing for him every since. Is that what you wanted to hear?" You looked like you were fighting back tears.

Bucky ducked his head, ashamed. Of course you did. Sam was a man of principal too, he wouldn't have been friends with you if you'd have run away or listened to the HYDRA agents. But it also wasn't everything he wanted to know…

"And did you see me?" Bucky let the question hang, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I saw you, yes. I saw you as him, the Winter Soldier and I saw you drag Captain Rogers from the river. I saw you walk away a different man. And it's that man I promised Sam I'd protect."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, "I don't need protecting, sweetheart."

"Seems to me like you do, if you keep forgetting you're a congressman and not a superhero. You were going to go back into the building today, if I hadn't called that cab."

"That's true." Bucky downed his water, he'd have walked back in without a second thought, he was still a little troubled by how easy it had been for you to lead him away.

"It's what makes me care about you, Mr Barnes, more than the job required."

It was your turn to look awkward now, playing with the condensation on your glass of water, the ice clinking when you moved it between your palms.

"You don't have to pretend I meant anything more to you to make me feel better, I just wanted to know the truth."

He was lying and he knew it, but he hoped you didn't.

"Hmm —" your gaze slowly moved over the counter, tracing up his arms until it felt like you were trying to see his secrets, eyes keen and trained on his own. "It meant a lot more to me than that, and I think it meant more to you. You know — I really never meant to hurt you, Mr Barnes, I got carried away. Sam was right to remove me from the position, I would've got us both in trouble or, worse, killed."

Suddenly there were tears spilling over your cheeks.

Bucky had never been good with crying, it was in many ways his biggest weakness. He wasn't an idiot, he'd spent years comforting his sister, Steve, the Howlies. But crying just seemed to make him panic.

"Oh - oh no —" he rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head against his chest, one hand rubbing circles on the small of your back, the other stroking over the back of your head. "I hurt myself, I was stupid and reckless, inappropriate and unprofessional. Regardless of who you are, I should never have —"

You looked up, your arms circling his waist and pulling him closer, "I'm glad you did, I wanted to, I still —" you ducked your head, wiping your finger over the smear of mascara on his white shirt. "That'll stain."

"I don't care, what were you going to say?" He cupped your cheek in his vibranium palm, thumb nudging your tears away.

"I hated not seeing you every day, I hate being apart from you, I know that sounds pathetic, we only had a few weeks together but I —"

Bucky bent down and pressed his lips to yours, salty from your tears. He licked away the sadness, holding you steady against his body. You hesitated for a moment and he kicked himself, ready to let you go, back away and call you a cab, then you sighed into his mouth and kissed him back.

Everything felt right again, the way you allowed him to take some of your weight, leaning back into his palm, your lips parting for his own, hands clutching at his shirt and in his hair.

It felt the same. But it was still different, now that the truth was out.

"You're in your head," you whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear and searching his gaze.

"It's hard not to be," Bucky bent forward, resting his forehead against yours, "you taste the same —but—"

"But —"

"At the hotel, you — the things you said and did, what was real?"

You pulled back further, "are you asking me if I wanted to have sex with you? Of course I did, none of that was — no one asked me to do that." A little crease appeared between your eyes and Bucky fought the urge to kiss it away.

"Come on now, you know what I mean. I may be an old man but I understand playing these games, the bratting, calling me sir — I —fuck — I spanked you, sweetheart. What of that was you maintaining this illusion of the sweet little secretary, and what was real?" He could feel his ears going pink at the memory, your gasps, your begging voice asking for him.

"Would you think less of me as an agent if I wanted you to spank me, if I enjoyed playing the little brat for you?"

Bucky paused, "no, of course not, it was so sexy and I was thrilled you wanted to share that with me, sweetheart, I would've been happy no matter what you wanted to do."

"You still call me sweetheart," you tugged on his tie and he allowed himself to be brought closer to your lips.

"You're still sweet to me, regardless of what you tell me next. Unless you don't like it?"

"I like it." Your voice was breathy, dreamy and far away. "And you're still Mr Barnes —"

"That's my name, sweetheart."

"Hmm…." you lifted your chin, your lips against his, "you could still be sir to me, if you want to be."

"Oh I want to be—"

And then he was kissing you again because he couldn't help it, he had to kiss you. And you were pulling at his hair, tugging him down and arching up into him.Bucky slid his hands down your back and scooped you up into his arms marching away from the kitchen towards his bedroom. He didn't care that his sheets were messy anymore, if he got his way he'd have to change them all anyway when he was done with you.

"You like it when I take control, hmm?" He asked gruffly, nipping at your ear. The sharp sensation had you arching in his arms, trying to press yourself against him, get some friction, but it was too hard.

"I trust you, sir, but I also like that frown you get when you want to be mad at me," you kissed his cheeks and then between his eyes where Bucky knew he had a permanent wrinkle forming. "It's so sexy, I just can't help myself." You bit your lip, smiling cheekily.

He debated between dropping you to the sheets to enjoy your shocked expression or lowering you gently, but instead decided to sit himself, keeping you in his lap. Above him your face was all smiles, your eyes lit up with excitement and your mouth parted slightly. Your tongue darted out to lick nervously at your lip.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, allowing you to settle in his lap, arms looped around his neck and your fingers playing with his hair.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind, sweetheart, couldn't stand being without you."

You both paused, bodies still, drinking in the moment.

"Then don't be, let me stay with you." You kissed him softly, coaxing him back out of the nervous shell he'd found himself in. "Let me be with you."

You pressed your hips forwards to rock against the outline of his cock and smiled when he gasped.

"You're torturing me," he groaned, dropping his head to your collarbone and pressing kisses through your shirt. His fingers made light work of the buttons, pushing the heavy kevlar vest off first and then the softer cotton.

Shyly you brought your hands up to fiddle with your bra, plain cotton to match the shirt, "didn't expect to be doing this today, had a whole lingerie set picked out for after your speech and —"

Bucky took your hands and placed them in your lap before quickly releasing the clasp of your bra and sliding the straps down your arms slowly, "you look gorgeous," he praised, ducking forward to lap at a pert nipple.

"So you don't want to see the blue lace I chose?"

"Oh I definitely want to see the lace, but right now, I just want to see you, sweetheart."

With that he lifted up, easily turning you both so you were sprawled on the bed beneath him.

"I think I promised that I'd kiss every inch of you," he lifted an eyebrow, ghosting his lips down over your collarbone and the swell of your breast. You lifted up into him but all he gave you was a flick of his tongue on your sensitive nipple.

"Tease," you groaned, tugging on his hair.

"Brat," he countered, sliding lower, kissing down to your belly button. "These have to go," Bucky began unbuttoning your office slacks, "god please say you're wearing neat little cotton panties to match that bra."

"Mr Barnes!" You covered your face with your hands and pushed at him with your foot, "you said you liked it."

Bucky caught your foot and kissed your ankle before placing it over his shoulder, "I do, I mean it — wait." His fingers slid over your ankle holster, "do you still have weapons on you?" He could feel himself getting harder, his underwear pressed uncomfortably against the wet head of his cock.

"A few, wanna find them?" You slid your foot from his shoulder down to his chest.

"Fuck, yes." And then he pounced, all pretence of romance and delicacy out of the window along with your trousers, ripped down the seam to allow him better access.

You were wearing neat cotton panties, as predicted, but Bucky didn't think he'd seen anything sexier than your concealed ankle holster, or the knife hidden on your thigh.

Bucky trailed his fingers over your thigh and then followed with his tongue, pressing down under the strap. You writhed against the sheets, "please." You whined and Bucky throbbed — that tone, the pout, your eyes. He was worried things would be different, that he would notice the previous lies in the new truths. But this was you just as you'd been at the hotel. Just as you'd been kissing him in his office.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can have anythin' you want when you beg so pretty." He slurred, lust drunk, love drunk and preparing to bury himself between your thighs.

Your panties were gone in a second, torn and thrown over his shoulder into the darkness of his room. Instantly forgotten when his tongue touched your clit, swirling and then pressing in a steady rhythm.

"Shit," you grabbed at his hair, mussing it between your fingers and tugging, the pain was a delicious flash down his spine urging him on.

"That's it sweetheart, take what you want," he speared his tongue between your folds, lapping at you, squeezing your thighs and encouraging you to wrap them around his shoulders.

You obliged and with a final tug you went taut beneath him, thighs locking around his head.

"Good girl, give it to me, c'mon," Bucky mumbled against you, pressing you apart with his thumbs and catching your arousal on his tongue.

You panted above him, one arm covering your eyes, the other hand still tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, kissing you as he went. He was painfully aware that he was still clothed and though the image of you, naked, aroused, post orgasm, beneath him while he was still in his suit was incredibly sexy. He needed to feel you.

Before he could move though your hands were on him, tugging at his buttons and pawing at his trouser zip, pressing the heel of your hand against the firm length of him.

"Please, Mr Barnes," your eyes were wide, that doe eyed expression back, "fuck me."

"Fuckin' hell," it was like his entire body was hard, his whole being. He shoved his trousers and underwear to the floor, his shirt open and half off his shoulders, undershirt rucked up when he pushed you back down, looping your leg over his hip. "You're irresistible, do y'know that?"

You smiled, slowly, and tugged him down so you could whisper in his ear, "takes one to know one —sir." Your hands were all over him, sliding up his back, teasing down his chest. He was surrounded.

Your kisses were as needy as he felt, fervent, teeth clashing as you attempted to get closer, your hands clasping at each other, Bucky didn't bother to line himself up, he didn't need to. As you writhed and arched into each other his cock caught against your soaking folds, he knew when he was against your clit by the high whine that resonated from you.

"Puh-puh-puh-" your begged, rolling against him until finally he was buried inside you, blissful heat and the tight wet feeling of you thrumming around him overtook you both.

"You feel so fuckin' good, could stay here forever," Bucky kissed your temple, giving you time to adjust, for that glassy look to fade enough to know you're ready.

"God yes," you breathed and Bucky drew back, watching your mouth open in time with his thrusts, almost shocked at the sensation and the little punched out 'uh-uh-uh' noises you made. "Wanna stay, missed you so much - yes -uh - just there - yes!"

Bucky dropped to his elbows, caging you against the bed, narrowing his vision until all he could see was your face, feel the puff of your breath on his cheek and smell your perfume.

It was everything, this is what he wanted, what he'd missed, the hollow part of him that was never satisfied before. He'd known it as soon as you'd walked in his office door and he'd been completely helpless to let go of you. You were meant to be here, with him, around him — you were everything.

"Fuck —" he was close, he could feel it building and he wasn't sure if — "sweetheart, I'm so close, god I —" he pulled back, meaning to finish in his hand, on your belly or legs if you'd let him but..

"Don't you dare," you locked your ankles behind him, "I wanna come with you - I'm so so close — oh god oh god — "

He could feel you fluttering around him and, helpless to stop himself, he came hard, flush against your writhing hips he kept himself buried as he twitched, spent, inside of you. He was so happy, so tired, he let his forehead drop to your shoulder where he placed a single kiss.

"I mean it, I don't want to be without you anymore," he whispered, afraid to look at you.

"I don't want to be without you either." You closed your eyes and he allowed himself to just indulge in the feeling of your warm soft body wrapped around his own.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. Do you need anything? I could order take out, run you a bath?" Bucky offered, lifting himself onto his elbow to better view you.

"I don't need anything…although…"

"Yeah," Bucky felt dreamy and far away, he caught your eye and you were smiling again, that low indulgent smile.

"I can't really keep calling you Mr Barnes, can I?" You smirked.

"I guess not," Bucky let out a chuckle, "you can call me Bucky, that's what all my friends call me."

Your smile deepened and Bucky blushed, of course you knew that, he'd forgotten his own notoriety for a moment.

"Bucky." You whispered, stroking a hand over his cheek, scuffing your thumb over his stubble. "Bucky," you sighed his name again, curling into him, tipping him over onto the bed and moulding your body with his. "I like it, I think we need to try it out properly though."

"Yeah?" Bucky said, half listening while he let his hands wander over your back. "How would we try it out."

"Hmm…" You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, rubbing yourself against his half-hard cock. "How about — please fuck me, Bucky?" You did your best pout, eyelashes fluttering and breasts pushed forwards.

Bucky opened his eyes to find you giggling as well.

"Yep, that'll do nicely." He agreed, before rolling you over again with a laugh of his own.

[pathologicalreid]

so I’m basic and love a good sick fic. can I request a fluffy sick fic where Spencer takes care of reader 🥰

heatmiser | S.R.

who? spencer x gn!reader category: fluff; hurt/comfort content warnings: germs, the flu, fever, migraine, nausea/vomit, a christmas movie, medicine (tylenol) word count: 1.07k a/n: i also love a good sick fic! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy!

The pillows on your previously claimed side of the bed smelled like your boyfriend’s shampoo, laying on your side, you could only smell the tea tree through one nostril as you brought the blanket further up on your body, tucking the fabric beneath your chin and closing your eyes.

You tried to close your eyes and fall asleep, but the whistling of your nose prevented your brain from being fully able to relax. While you were hyperfocused on your attempts to sleep, you didn’t even notice Spencer coming home until the bedroom door opened, leaving a stream of light that lead straight to your face.

An embarrassing keening noise escaped your throat as you rolled over in the bed, trying to evade the warm light from the living room as you did so. “Hey, love,” Spencer greeted you gently, making note of the darkness of the room, probably thinking you had a headache instead of whatever demon had decided to take over your immune system.

What you initially thought was a migraine had revealed itself as what was most likely the flu. You mumbled an incoherent greeting as you stared in the direction of the bedroom window. Yesterday, you had felt a rush of energy, prompting you to cheat a blanket up against the blinds, blocking any and all light from entering your sick cave.

You heard the door click closed and felt the mattress dip down slightly beneath you, “What’s wrong?” His voice was tentative, placing a hand on your blanket-laden hip and trying to figure out why you were cocooned in bed at two in the afternoon. Gingerly, Spencer reached a hand up to sweep a lock of hair off of your sticky forehead, in the process, his fingers felt just how sweltering your skin was. “Oh, honey,” he whispered sympathetically, pulling the blanket down and revealing your sweat-dampened skin.

Releasing a pathetic whimper, you pawed at the fabric of the blanket. Despite the heat emanating from your body, you were freezing. “I feel like I went through a trash compactor,” you mumbled miserably, blinking at Spencer as he tried to haul you into a sitting position. “Spence, wait,” you said as he pulled your torso upright, you wavered unsteadily on top of the bed, your head felt like it weighed the same as a kettlebell.

“Wait, what?” He asked quickly, taking up an oh-god-are-you-going-to-throw-up tone with you. His hand was placed on the small of your back, rubbing small circles over the fabric of your hoodie until you stopped swaying.

You frowned as you looked up at him, meeting his brown eyes, “I have germs.”

Spencer’s gaze softened as he cupped your flushed cheeks in his hands, “What I think you have is the flu, baby. Did you go to a doctor while I was gone?” He asked, obviously concerned over the fact that when he left for a case, you were fine, but upon his return, you were immobile in bed.

Reaching your arms up as Spencer tugged your hoodie over your head, providing you with a moment of relief as you were left in your t-shirt. “I thought I’d just tough it out,” you muttered as your boyfriend tossed your discarded clothes in the laundry hamper.

“Doctors aren’t enemies,” Spencer chided gently, smoothing your hair back for just a moment before moving the bedroom trash can to your bedside – not fully convinced that you weren’t going to ralph off the edge of the bed at any given moment.

You hummed as you watched his movements, he walked into the bathroom and returned with a damp wash cloth, draping it over your head and pressing the cool fabric into your skin. “I have grown rather fond of you,” you responded absentmindedly as you closed your eyes and basked in the relief that the washcloth was providing you.

Moving his hands and trusting that the cloth would remain on your forehead, Spencer returned to the bathroom, rifling through the drawers before he came back into the bedroom with a thermometer in hand, “Open,” he instructed, waiting for you to open your mouth before he stuck the bulb under your tongue, and you clamped your lips shut around it. “I wish you had told me you were sick,” he said, knowing full well that you couldn’t respond to him with the thermometer in your mouth.

Part of you considered the idea that he said that because you couldn’t respond.

When the thermometer beeped, he pulled it from your mouth, flashing the results in your face, “One-hundred and one,” he read aloud. “How long have you been sick?”

“They call me Heatmiser,” you mumbled wearily, sitting up was beginning to take too much of your energy. Your fever-addled brain didn’t even register that he had asked you a question.

Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Who is Heatmiser?” He asked, taking the washcloth from your forehead and looking at your flushed skin.

Your eyes narrowed, “You don’t know Heatmiser? We have to watch Heatmiser,” you told him, looking around in the bed for your laptop.

“Are you hallucinating? Do we need to go to the ER?” Spencer asked you, tone stiff and serious as he thought you were delusional with fever.

Shaking your head, your shoulders slumped forward, “’m not hallucinating, I just feel gross.”

Crouching down to the floor so you wouldn’t have to look up to meet his eyes, Spencer took your clammy hand in one of yours, “I know, baby. Do you want to take a shower? It might help you feel better to rinse off and put on new clothes.”

You leaned back in bed, head falling on soft, tea tree scented pillows. “Later?” You negotiated, “Being vertical makes my head spin.”

He nodded, pulling your blanket up and over your lap, “Have you taken anything? I really want to try to get your fever down.”

Shaking your head almost imperceptibly, you tilted your head to the side, “Didn’t take anything,” you answered.

“Alright,” he said, standing back up and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be right back with some water and Tylenol.”

Offering him a halfhearted smile, you fiddled with the soft blanket that covered your lap, “And then we can do Heatmiser?” You asked him hopefully, watching Spencer pass through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Sure, baby, then we can do Heatmiser,” he placated, still not entirely sure what you were talking about.

[artbyblastweave]

In my opinion, the original sin that turn the MCU into a success but is now making it flounder is the need to build up. They seem to have little confidence in just throwing something crazy at the audience. Want to use a new character or new development in a crossover? We need to justified it with a movie or a Disney+ show first.

The DCEU, ironically, in their attempt to shortcut the buildup to their cinematic universe by jumping right at making crossover films early on, ended up being better at worldbuilding. (The first) Suicide Squad was a failure, but it succeeded at establish right from the start a world in which superheroes and supervillains are Just A Thing That Exists. James Gunn only needed to build on that when he came in.

Yeah, this articulates something that's a major thrust of what I've been talking about- the hype train that the MCU builds for every single new character makes it very difficult to believe that there's anything going on in this world that they haven't told us about.

Photon is the first example of this where I realized this was happening as I was watching it. I actually liked Wandavision on balance, visible behind-the-scenes rewrites notwithstanding; an enjoyable little dénouement on the in-universe clusterfuck that was Endgame, an opportunity to extract some actual acting out of Paul Bettany. And I actually liked what was done with Monica Rambeau re: going to sleep and then waking up with five years and your mother gone, very compellingly fucked.

But the thing is that Photon/Spectrum/Captain Marvel 2/whatever she's currently going by is close to the last superhero who needs a nine-episode backdoor origin story that's pulling double-duty as the first big solo outing for a different B-lister. She's like the platonic model of the superhero who's just kind of Around And Fleshing Out The Universe, to the point that like half the humor of Nextwave (and half the horror of her role in Ewing's Mighty Avengers) is metatextual commentary on her frustration that editorial seems to have forgotten about her despite the fact she led the Avengers at one point. The Gunn-style take on her character basically writes itself, right? But that's not how the MCU rolls! She can't just have been around (else why haven't we heard about her before?) so her origin needs to be daisychained to a character whose origin was daisychained to another character, and on and on in such a way that everyone is three degrees removed from each other max and the world feels like it's gone through a trash compactor.

[wolvietxt]

𝓭ay 𝓽wo.

bucky barnes + forced proximity.

crammed into the narrow utility closet, you’re trying your best to ignore the fact that there’s barely enough room to move. bucky stands just inches away, his broad shoulders practically brushing the walls, and you’re wedged so close together you can feel the warmth radiating from him. it’s a situation you’ve never imagined ending up in, yet here you are, all because some rookie agent accidentally tripped the lockdown protocols during a mission debrief.

you glance at bucky, who’s leaning back against the wall with a look of mild irritation, arms crossed over his chest. it’s not the ideal place to be stuck in, but you decide to make the best of it. "well," you start, a grin spreading across your face, "at least it’s not a trash compactor or an air duct. i’ve seen enough movies to know those would be way worse."

he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not as amused as you are. "couldn’t be much worse than this," he mutters, but you catch the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

you keep talking anyway, hoping to lighten the mood. “you know, if we’re gonna be stuck here, we might as well take the opportunity to get to know each other better. i mean, i know you’re really into old music, but what’s your favorite song? like, if you had to pick just one.”

bucky lets out a long-suffering sigh, but there’s a glimmer of something softer in his eyes as he looks down at you. "doesn’t matter," he grumbles. "doubt you’d know it anyway."

“try me,” you counter, undeterred. “i might surprise you.”

he rolls his eyes, but he answers anyway. “fine. ‘it’s been a long, long time.’”

you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “aw, that’s a sweet choice. i wouldn’t have pegged you as a hopeless romantic.”

“i’m not,” he says quickly, but there’s a slight flush creeping up his neck, and you catch it despite the dim lighting.

“sure you aren’t,” you tease, leaning against the wall beside him. “maybe you’ve got more of a soft spot than you let on, bucky.”

his gaze flickers to you, a touch of defensiveness there, but it melts away as he looks at the amused expression on your face. “you talk too much, you know that, sweetheart?” he says, but there’s no real annoyance in his tone, just a gruff fondness that makes your heart skip a beat.

“yeah, but you like it,” you shoot back, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “admit it - you’d be bored out of your mind if it was completely quiet in here.”

bucky huffs, his gaze dropping for a moment, and you swear there’s a hint of a smile finally tugging at his lips. “maybe,” he concedes, his voice low, “but that doesn’t mean you have to prove it every second.”

“oh, but i do,” you say, grinning at him. “it’s my duty as your personal cheer squad. someone’s gotta keep things from getting too gloomy, and you know i’m right.”

he doesn’t respond right away, just glances at you with a mix of exasperation and fondness. there’s a tension in the air, a kind of charged silence between your banter, and the confined space only seems to amplify it. the longer you’re stuck in here, the more aware you become of the closeness, the way his blue eyes linger on yours just a little too long.

“you know,” you continue, your tone softer now, “i’m really glad i’m stuck with you. it could’ve been anyone else, but i’d pick you every time.”

bucky’s gaze snaps to yours, and something shifts in his expression, the usual guardedness giving way to a vulnerable softness. “why?” he asks, and it’s not a challenge - more like he genuinely doesn’t understand why you’d choose him over someone else.

you take a step closer, your chest almost brushing against his. “because you’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be,” you murmur. “and because, even if you don’t show it, you care… about the team, and about me.”

his jaw tightens, like he’s holding back something he doesn’t quite know how to say. “maybe i do,” he finally admits, his voice rougher than before, “but it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“why not?” you press, taking the last small step that leaves barely any space between you. “what if it could be a good idea?”

bucky doesn’t move away; if anything, he leans in, his voice dropping even lower. “i’m not the type of guy you should be stuck with,” he says quietly, but there’s a longing in his gaze, like he’s waiting for you to contradict him.

“that’s for me to decide,” you reply, your voice steady as you reach up to touch his cheek. “and i’d say ‘m exactly where i want to be.”

he closes his eyes at the touch, like he’s letting himself believe you, just for a moment. then he leans down, his forehead resting against yours. “you make it too damn hard to push you away,” he murmurs, the faintest smile ghosting across his lips.

“good,” you breathe, your heart racing as his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. “because i’m not going anywhere.”

it’s all the encouragement he needs. bucky closes the distance, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment. his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens as he lets himself sink into it, like this is the one good thing he’s allowed to have.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, still tangled up together. “see?” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his. “being stuck together isn’t so bad.”

he huffs a soft laugh, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “guess not,” he concedes, his voice barely above a murmur. “but next time, let’s try finding somewhere with a little more space, alright?”

you laugh softly, leaning up to kiss him again. “deal.”

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[idexindia]

CCS Machines in India: A Complete Overview

Contained Compaction System (CCS) machines are advanced dry granulation systems used primarily in the pharmaceutical, chemical, and food industries. CCS machines are designed to improve powder processing operations by converting fine powders into densified sheets, which can then be granulated to achieve a desired particle size distribution. These systems are used to enhance powder characteristics such as flowability, compressibility, and density.

[cheshitora]

what sort of scenarios do u think the bllk boys would die from final destination style 🫣!!!!

ALICE HOLY SHIT I NEEDED THIS

WARNING : CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR FINAL DESTINATION SERIES/DEPICTIONS OF DEATH

FINAL CALL : obviously this might not be the most accurate list but this was fun. i fkn love final destination and finally saw bloodlines this past week. if you havent seen the final destination movies, you should (only if youre okay with violence and gore ofc)

♕ isagi ─ isagi survives until the end as he should. in a way, i can see him either being alex (fd1) or kim (fd2). kim was the ONLY one able to survive and beat death and i feel like isagi can cheat death too somehow

† rin ─ has a great chance of surviving til the end too with isagi but somehow ends up dying anyway like carter from fd1. makes it to the end but is hinted that he dies from a falling sign post the secknd the credits roll lol

† bachira ─ bachira. probably dies like hunt in tfd. getting his ass stuck in the pool's drain pipe and getting disemboweled. shit traumatized me pt.1

† nagi ─ this is so vivid in my head but the boy in fd2 that gets squished by the glass panel falling on him. that boy made no attempts to move and neither would nagi

† chigiri ─ this one might also make sense if done right but in fd5 when candice dies from falling off the bar during gymanstics practice. shit traumatized me pt.2

† reo ─ this one was tricky until i thought of fd3 when ian spirals after watching erin die. bcuz obviously reo does spiral when nagi chooses isagi over him so i can see him going rampant like ian and dying by being sliced in half

† kunigami ─ pre wildcard kunigami dies from saving someone obvi, like darlene in fd:bl and then gets bisected from a lamp post. post wildcard kunigami would die the same way just without saving someone

† sae ─ idk why this one was funny to think abt since sae is so nonchalant but he dies like julia in bloodlines. going for a jog just to get hit in the face with a soccer ball and fall into a garbage bin. and then proceeds to be crushed by the garbage truck compactor

† shidou ─ i have two specific deaths in mind that fit so well but i think i'll go with ashley and ashlyn's death in fd3. he says it's a natural tan. but then he probably decides to do a tanning bed session only for him to burn to death

† otoya ─ okay, i have to give otoya and karasu bobby and erik's death in bloodlines. otoya trying to save karasu from his fate only for the mri machine's magnetism to go up and extract any and all piercings from otoya's body. which then leads him to get folded into the mri machine when a wheelchair impales him

† karasu ─ he has bobby's death. getting his head busted in with a loose coil from a vending machine that is being extracted by the same mri machine. at least they die together

† oliver ─ also very vivid in my head but it's what he deserves. being an asshole at a massage parlor and as he's left alone, he gets his head crushed by a budai statue

† yukimiya ─ alice, i'm sorry. but yk this one works too well. olivia's death in fd5. getting laser surgery on his eye only for the laser to mutilate his right eye and then he proceeds to fall out of the building and land on a car. and then his eye pops out of his head (which then gets run over)

† barou ─ it's hard for me to imagine barou dying or getting killed but i'd have to say maybe lewis's death in fd3. gets his head crushed by a weight machine in the gym.

† hiori ─ i don't think hiori has an impactful death but it's still scary nonetheless. billy's death in fd1. shrapnel flies from train tracks as a train passes by and decapitates him (this is funny tho if you think of isagi as alex)

† kaiser ─ i have to include his bitchass in here somehow. lowkey thinking abt peter from fd5, who tried to kill molly and sam to take their lifespan but ends up getting killed with a meat spit. yeah, sounds abt right (and i bet you he'd try to take isagi's lifespan too)

† ness ─ if kaiser's here, ness will be here too. but this plays out so well in my head. erin's death. getting shot in the face with a nail gun, multiple times. shit looks like it hurts

[trustedlocalservices]

[doctorbitchcrxft]

All Hell Breaks Loose | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, dean's lowk suicidal, dealing with trauma from a sexual assault please please please take care of yourselves!!!

Word Count: 4442

A/N: I combined episodes pt. 1 and 2! Enjoy!!!

As a result of things going on in my personal life, the start of my season 3 release has been delayed for a month from now. I just want to give myself some extra time to make sure the season is perfect for y'all! i hope you understand. see ya real soon. <3

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

After the Djinn captured you, your relationship with Dean was beginning to heal. You still couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with him despite knowing he would never treat you the way the guard had. Slowly, you became more comfortable with him initiating touch, in contrast to the way you’d previously been tensing under it for the past several weeks. 

You reclined in the backseat humming along to the radio as the Impala rolled to a stop in front of a small diner.

“Hey, don’t forget the extra onions this time, huh?” Dean told his brother while he handed him some money. 

“Dude, we’re the ones who’re gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions,” Sam sighed, getting out of the car.

Dean grinned and leaned to look at Sam. “Hey, see if they’ve got any pie.”

Sam glared at him and shut the door.

“Bring me some pie!” Dean begged. “I love me some pie,” he murmured to himself.

You giggled at your best friend and closed your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat. Your solace was broken soon after by the car’s radio going static. When you sat up, the café was seemingly empty. 

Without needing to look at Dean, you grabbed your gun from under the seat and ran into the building. Upon entering, you discovered a customer in a booth, dead, lying face down in a puddle of his own blood.

“Sam?” Dean called.

You moved around the counter to find the employees also dead behind it, their throats slit. Dean opened the door behind the counter and looked around outside. “Sam?!”

You noticed something on the door. “Dean, sulfur.”

Dean’s eyes widened in panic, and he raced back out to the car. “Sam? Sammy!”

“Dean, he’s not here—” you lamented.

He cut you off by bellowing, “Sam!”

“Dean, passenger’s seat,” you ordered. 

“Wh—”

“You’re in no condition to drive. Do as I say,” you commanded.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but his shaken nerves wouldn’t let him. Expertly, you quickly got out of the parking lot and back out onto the road. 

“Call Bobby,” you instructed Dean, and he did so.

“Bobby,” Dean said. “It’s got Sam. I don’t— We need help killin’ this son of a bitch, man. And I’m gonna kill ‘im myself. Damn it!” He slammed his hand on the dashboard, and you shot him a concerned glance out of the corner of your eye.

You motioned for Dean to give you the phone. “Hey, it’s (Y/N).”

“Hey, kid. What’s goin’ on?” Bobby asked through the phone.

“I have no clue,” you replied honestly. “We literally just stopped at a diner, the radio went static, and everyone in the place wound up dead. No trace of Sam. Sulfur on the door, though.”

“Damn it,” Bobby muttered. “I’ll meet ya halfway. Where are you?” 

“Uh, somewhere in Iowa,” you replied. 

“Alright. Just drive like you’re headin’ to my place. Take US-20 and I-29 and I’ll call you about two hours from now.”

“Got it,” you replied. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Dean, you’ve gotta keep your head, man,” you urged him.

“I am,” he grunted.

You shot him a questioning, deadpan look. “Really.” 

He said nothing in response.

“Call Ash for me.” You handed him your phone from your back pocket, so you didn’t have to look while you drove.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Ash said once you’d gotten ahold of him.

You laughed. “Hey, Ash. Listen, would love to catch up, but we’re in deep shit right now.”

“How deep? Like, trash compactor deep or Sarlac pit deep?”

“Sarlac,” you responded.

“Damn,” he muttered. “What’s happenin’?”

***

“This is it. All demonic signs and omens over the past month,” Bobby told you and Dean. You’d met each other just off the highway and laid out a map on the hood of the Impala.

“Are you joking? There’s nothing here,” Dean scoffed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, come on, there’s gotta be something. What about the, the, the normal, low-level stuff? You know, exorcisms, that kind of thing,” Dean pressed.

“Dean, I think that would’ve been the first thing he looked for,” you gently reminded him. Bobby nodded.

“Well, how are we supposed to look for Sam? What, do we just close our eyes and point?” Dean gruffly snarked.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

“Ash, what do you got?” you asked, picking up your phone.

“Okay, listen, it’s a big negatory on Sam,” Ash said quietly.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“I did find something, though,” he whispered.

“Ash? You okay?” you asked.

“I can’t talk over this line, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. We’ll come to you, then.”

“What? No!” Dean grabbed the phone from you. “Come on, Ash, I don’t have time for this!” A moment later, Dean pulled your phone away from his ear. Ash had apparently hung up on him. “I guess we’re going to the Roadhouse. Come on.”

***

Bobby drove a little ahead of you and Dean in the Impala. You were still driving due to the fact that you didn’t want Dean’s reckless driving to get the both of you killed before you could help Sam.

When you arrived at the Roadhouse, though, all you found was a pile of charred wood and ash.

“What the hell?” you breathed out. 

You got out of the car and headed toward where the bar had once stood. You stepped over debris looking around for any sign of Ash, Ellen, or Jo. You were pretty sure Jo was still working at that bar Meg had found her at, but you knew that somewhere in the rubble would be the bodies of Ash and Ellen.

“Oh, my god,” Bobby muttered. He stepped up behind you.

“You see Ellen?” Dean asked you and Bobby. 

“No. No Ash, either,” Bobby replied.

You pulled in a sharp breath upon noticing Ash’s watch in a pile of rubble. “Oh, fucking hell,” you breathed out. 

“Oh, Ash, damn it!” Dean grunted.

You couldn’t take standing in the debris anymore. You moved back to the Impala and leaned against it, facing away from where the Roadhouse once stood. 

Bobby walked up behind you a moment later. “This is…” he trailed off.

“What the hell did Ash know? We’ve got no way of knowing where Ellen is. Or if she’s even alive. We’ve got no clue what Ash was gonna tell us. Now, how the hell are we gonna find Sam?” Dean questioned, pacing between you and Bobby. 

“I don’t know, Dean, but we’re gonna, okay?” you said.

Suddenly, Dean clutched his head in pain. 

“Dean?” you asked.

He groaned and doubled over. You rushed to catch him before he collapsed to the ground. Dean suddenly stood back up, still furrowing his brow and clutching his head.

“What was that?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know. A headache?” Dean guessed.

Bobby scoffed. “You get headaches like that a lot?”

“No. Must be the stress,” he chuckled. “I could have sworn I saw something.”

“What do you mean? Like a vision? Like what Sam gets?” Bobby asked, interest piqued.

“What? No!”

“Dean, what’d you see?” you asked.

Suddenly, he doubled over again. 

“Dean!”

The older Winchester fell against you in pain.

“Dean! Hey!” you said, grabbing the side of his face.

“I saw Sam,” Dean panted, suddenly coming to. “I saw him, (Y/N).”

“It was a vision,” Bobby said.

“Yeah. I don’t know how, but yeah. Whew. That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels,” Dean chuckled.

“What else did you see?” you asked.

“Uh,” he thought for a moment, “there was a bell.”

“What kind of bell?” you asked.

“Like a big bell with some kind of engraving on it, I don’t know,” Dean shook his head.

“Wait, engraving?” you questioned. “Was it a tree? Like, an oak tree?”

Dean seemed surprised and confused. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I know where Sam is,” you said. “Cold Oak, South Dakota. It’s the most, like, notoriously demonic town ever. All the inhabitants fled. It’s surrounded by miles of woods.”

“Okay, well, let’s go,” Dean urged, immediately moving to the driver’s side of the Impala.

“Wait, Dean—” you tried.

“No, (Y/N), I’m driving.” Dean left no room for protesting.

You slipped into the driver’s seat wordlessly, shooting a concerned look at Bobby. He returned it, but nodded to reassure you. 

The drive to Cold Oak was completed mostly in silence, clutching the door handle as Dean sped well over the speed limit. 

“Dean,” you tried about two hours into the drive. 

“Hm.”

You reached out for his hand to wordlessly support him. He returned your gesture and squeezed your hand, offering a stiff, tight-lipped smile. You knew he appreciated your support, even though he couldn’t verbally express it.

***

Night had fallen by the time you reached the town of Cold Oak. With guns shouldered, you trudged through miles of woods. Suddenly, you came to the edge of the town. You saw Sam fighting with a man in an army uniform, who he knocked on the ground. 

“Sam!” Dean called as the three of you hurried toward him.

Sam smiled, “Dean!”

Suddenly, you saw the man on the ground behind him get up and grab a knife from the ground next to him. “Sam, look out!” you cried, running toward him.

The man drove the knife through Sam’s back.

“No!” Dean screamed, and your concern for Sam was quickly replaced by anger and hatred toward the man who’d twisted the knife in the younger brother’s back. 

You sprinted after him, running as fast as your legs could possibly carry you. Just before the man reached the tree line, you stopped and raised your shotgun. You barely had time to aim before you needed to take your shot, otherwise he would disappear into the trees and become impossible to find. You fired once, then reloaded, then fired again. Your heart dropped when you realized you missed him.

“Fuck!” you cursed.

“(Y/N)! Get your ass back here!” Bobby called.

You ran back to where Bobby stood over a crying Dean on his knees holding a slumped over Sam. 

“Oh, Jesus, his back’s bleedin’ really bad,” you said. “Dean, hold on, I’ll just go back to the car ‘n—”

“He’s gone, (Y/N),” Bobby said gently. “Sam’s gone.”

“Oh, my god,” you cried. Tears began to stream down your face as you fell to your knees next to the boys. Dean refused to let go of his brother, and you put your head against Sam’s shoulder, crying silently. You hugged Dean with your left arm to try and support him and brushed a hand over Sam’s hair with the other. “Oh, god,” you murmured into the back of Sam’s shoulder. You sniffled and suddenly remembered you needed to be strong for Dean. You rose from the floor and wiped your eyes. “Um, let’s get him into that inn. Gotta be a mattress in there. We can, uh, lay him down till we figure out what to do with him.”

“We’re not doin’ anything with him, (Y/N),” Dean warned firmly. 

“Still, c’mon,” you said, beginning to help Dean get his brother’s body up the stairs of the building. You laid him on a mattress in the corner of a room on the second floor. 

You sat wordlessly on the bed, resting your hand below Sam’s knee, and Dean sat in a chair he’d pulled up to the side of the mattress.

Neither of you said anything for hours until Bobby returned.

“Dean? Brought this back for you and (Y/N),” Bobby said hesitantly, holding up a bucket of fried chicken.

“No, thanks. I'm fine,” Dean replied.

“You should eat something,” you urged, taking the bucket from Bobby. “Thanks, by the—”

Dean cut you off harshly. “I said I’m fine.” He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. 

“Dean…” Bobby trailed off. “I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time... we bury Sam?”

“No,” Dean nearly growled.

You tried your best to speak gently. “Dean, I think we should. I get it if you don’t wanna do a hunter’s funeral, but—”

“Hell no, (Y/N). Stop.”

“I want you to come with me,” Bobby said.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Dean replied.

“Dean, please,” you begged.

“Would you cut me some slack?” He stood from his chair.

“I just don't think you should be alone, that's all. I gotta admit, I could use your help,” Bobby explained.

Dean snorted coldly.

“Something big is going down— end-of-the-world big,” Bobby continued.

Dean yelled, turning to Bobby, “Then let it end!”

You shook your head. “You don’t mean that.”

“You don't think so? Huh?” Dean was suddenly in your face.

You held your ground. “Back up, Dean.”

Dean didn’t listen, continuing to chastise you. “You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd turn around, and get the hell out of here.”

Bobby stepped closer to the two of you. “Dean, she’s just trying to—”

Dean suddenly shoved Bobby. “Go!” he roared.

You shoved Dean back before he could do anything else he’d regret. “Hey! When you’re ready to get in control of yourself, you fucking let us know. Let’s go, Bobby.”

You turned on your heel, Dean muttering shocked apologies that grew more distant as you left the inn.

*** You and Bobby sat in silence in his living room, each nursing a beer. 

“It’s a little early for drinking, but hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” you’d said when you retrieved a beer from Bobby’s fridge, trying to raise your own spirits.

“Bobby, I know Dean,” you started, staring at the ground. “I’m scared he’s gonna do somethin’ stupid.”

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ll send him straight to hell if he does,” Bobby responded.

You tried to laugh, but even your laugh sounded sad. Silence fell between the two of you for a moment.

“This really isn’t good, Bobby,” you murmured. “Not even just for Dean. Sam’s my best friend. He reminds me of my little brother so much sometimes it’s scary. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do without him. I don’t even wanna talk to Dean right now after the way he treated both of us—”

Bobby tried to cut you off. “(Y/N), he’s grievin’—”

“I don’t care! You don’t treat people like that,” you replied. “I’m pissed at him. But he’s all I got left aside from you. It’s like everyone I ever care about ends up dead. My parents, my brother, now Sam.”

“Kid, I think that’s every hunter,” Bobby coaxed. “How much family do I got? How much does Dean have? This line of work, nobody gets out without losin’ someone.”

You nodded, staring at the ground thoughtfully still. “It just sucks, man. I want Dean to be happy. I want you to be happy. I wanna be happy. I mean, that Djinn gave me a taste of what my life would be like without hunting, and I still wasn’t satisfied. Maybe I’m just not meant to be happy.”

“It’s all in what you make of it. It’s not fun by any means, but I’d take this life over normal any day.”

You nodded. “Me, too.” *** Later, you were shooting beer cans off the top of a fence to blow off some steam. Nothing was seeming to work, though. You noticed some sandbags Bobby had piled against the side of the garage and hurled your gun at it. Chest heaving, you picked up one of the bags and threw it to the ground. You got down on top of it and punched over and over and over again until your knuckles bled and bruised. Your hands shook as you looked down at them, tears streaming down your face. You let yourself scream out in frustration with everything that had been happening these last few weeks. First, the prison guard. Then, the Djinn, and now, you’d lost your best friend. And you were surely about to lose another one. Whichever direction this was going to send Dean, it wasn’t going to end up being good.

You sat in the yard behind Bobby’s house for hours until stars started to appear in the sky. Numbly, you moved back into Bobby’s house. Bobby was nowhere around, and you settled for sleeping on his surprisingly comfortable couch with a crocheted blanket wrapped around your body. You curled into yourself and eventually settled into a dreamless sleep. 

***

A knock on the door pulled your attention away from your journal. Your socked feet padded across the floor to your shoes, and then to the door. You opened it and nearly gasped in surprise at the sight of Sam standing in front of you with Dean.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Dean said.

You turned in an attempt to wordlessly communicate with the older brother, but he looked away almost immediately. 

“Sam,” you breathed out.

“Hey, (Y/N/N).” Sam wrapped you in a hug, stepping into Bobby’s kitchen. You tried to relax into your friend’s embrace, but you couldn’t at the horrible thought of what Dean may have done to himself to get Sam back.

“Sam,” Bobby suddenly sid from behind you. “It's good to... see you up and around.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He looked back down at you when he pulled away from your hug. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Don’t mention it,” you replied; the words feeling more reflexive to you than having any true weight to them. You tried to resist staring Dean down, but he seemed to be getting the message nonetheless. 

“Well Sam's better. And we're back in it now, so... what do you know?” Dean chuckled.

“Dean,” you spat. “Outside. Now.”

Sam seemed confused, but you marched out the front door with no explanation.

As soon as you made it far enough away from the house that Sam couldn’t see you through the window, you wheeled around to face Dean. “What the fuck did you do?!” you yelled, gripping the edges of his jacket resting against his chest.

“(Y/N)—”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face. “What did you do, you fucking idiot? You made a deal? Huh?”

“I couldn’t just let him die, (Y/N),” Dean uttered.

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do! How do you think Sam’s gonna feel when he finds out, huh?! Because I know you didn’t tell him,” you argued. “I cannot believe you!” You turned away from him and ran a hand through your hair. “How long did they give you?”

“(Y/N)—”

“How long, Dean?”

“One year.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut. 

“Which is why we gotta find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch. That's why I'm gonna kill him myself. I mean, I got nothing to lose now, right?” the man continued.

You wheeled back around to him, eyes blazing. “Nothing to lose?”

“I'm not even supposed to be here, (Y/N)!” Dean protested. “My dad died for me. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I-I— It's like my life could mean something.”

“What, and it didn’t before?! You seriously think that little of yourself?” you questioned angrily. “Fuck you, Dean!”

“(Y/N), please—”

You cut Dean off. “No! Don’t tell me to understand. Because I can’t. I fucking knew you’d do something like this.”

“Why does it bother you so much?!” Dean roared, stepping closer to you.

“Because I love you, goddammit!” You stumbled back from him when you realized what you’d just admitted. Stunned, you brushed past him to go grab your bag from inside Bobby’s house. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called after you, but you wouldn’t turn back. You continued to the house, wordlessly grabbed your bag from next to the couch, and headed out to Bobby’s garage.

“(Y/N), where are you—” Bobby started.

You cut him off. “I’ll call you later.”

You grabbed one of the sets of keys off the wall of Bobby’s garage, hoping the car worked, and marched out to it. Thankfully, the sedan started, and you pulled away from the junkyard. 

Angry tears streamed from your eyes as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. You were unbelievably angry with Dean, and the fact that he would be gone in a year was too much for you to bear. 

You drove for hours and ignored calls from both brothers and Bobby. As evening fell, you found a remote crossroad in southern Wyoming. You dug forcefully into the gravel and shoved an Altoid tin filled with everything needed to summon a crossroads demon into the dirt below. You covered it with the displaced gravel and stood back up. 

“Funny seeing you here,” a sultry voice purred from behind you.

You turned to see a beautiful woman in a sleek black dress with glowing red eyes staring you up and down. 

“How do I get Dean out of his deal?” you asked firmly. 

She laughed coldly. “Ooh, cutting straight to the chase.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth and tsked, circling you. “You can’t, hon.”

“And why not?” you hissed.

“That’s way above my paygrade, dollface.”

“Please, c’mon,” you begged. “You could drag me straight to Hell right now if that’s what it takes.”

The demon hummed. “As much as I’d love that, no can do.”

“Why?” Your voice broke as you asked.

“I can’t break a deal to make another,” she replied simply. “Besides, I don’t hold the contract.”

“Well, who does?” you questioned.

“Why would I tell you,” she smirked. “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“Wait!” Before you could even get the word out, she was gone. 

You knew the brothers would be going after the yellow-eyed demon and the guy who’d killed Sam, so you finally decided to listen to the singular voicemail Sam had left. Maybe the demon was the key to breaking Dean's deal.

“Hey, (Y/N), uh, Dean won’t talk about why you took off,” his voice began. “I’m hopin’ you’re coming back, so, meet us at Fossil Butte Cemetery in Wyoming. We’re thinkin’ that’s where the demon’s gonna be. Anyways, so… see ya later, I guess.” And then the line went dead.

Fury burning in your eyes, you sped to where Sam said your group would be. It was abandoned for miles around, and you had to drive over about a mile and a half of grass to get anywhere close to the cemetery. When you got out of the car, black smoke suddenly began filling the sky coming from the cemetery you were headed toward. With a gun and knife in hand, you ran to the cemetery and stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of the spiraling smoke pouring out of a crypt facing away from you. You noticed Bobby and Ellen hiding behind a tombstone and felt momentarily relief at the fact that Ellen was still alive. However, your relief was short lived when you saw Dean being thrown through the air by an invisible force and down against a tombstone. 

‘The demon,’ you thought, creeping around the right side of the crypt. You saw the demon saying something to Dean while Sam stood pinned against a tree. The demon’s back was to you, and you could hear what he was saying more clearly as you moved toward him.

You couldn’t pay any mind to it, though, and you took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity to jump on its back and wrestle the Colt away from him. The demon yelped in surprise as you grabbed the gun and held on for dear life; throwing yourself over the demon’s shoulder to try and yank it out of his hand. 

You succeeded in getting it away from him much to your surprise, and you pushed yourself up to see the ghost of John Winchester wrestling with a cloud of black smoke shaped like a man. The body the yellow-eyed demon had been possessing had fallen to the ground, dead, and the cloud of smoke pushed John to the ground. 

It rejoined its body and stood, turning its venomous gaze toward you. A smile spread across your face, and you shot the demon square between its eyes. The yellow-eyed demon fell to the ground, dead. 

You rushed over to where you noticed Bobby and Ellen trying to close the gate the demons and ghosts were pouring out of, completely ignoring John and his boys. You helped Ellen shove the door closed with one final push and leaned back against it, panting. You turned around just in time to see John disappear into a haze of white light. 

The brothers stood over the demon’s body, and you turned to Ellen. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you told her. “And I’m sorry about the Roadhouse.”

She nodded and smiled half-heartedly at you. “Jo wasn’t there, so, uh, that’s all that matters, I guess.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“Kid,” Bobby started, and you turned to him. “What happened with Dean that made you leave?”

“Bobby—”

“Look, ya don’t have to tell me. But at least say ‘goodbye’ next time,” he softly scolded you. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” you replied.

He paused for a moment. “Are you gonna leave again?”

You stared at the ground. “I’m not gonna watch Dean die.”

He nodded. “Will you call every once in a while?”

You grinned sadly. “Of course.” You wrapped Bobby in a hug, and Sam and Dean walked up behind you. 

“Good shootin’ back there, sweetheart.”

Your heart almost broke at the nickname, but you steeled yourself and turned to face the brothers. “Thanks,” you told Dean shortly. “I’ll see you around, guys.”

“Whoa, where you goin’?” Sam questioned.

You gave him a hug and cupped his cheek. “I’ll call you when I figure it out.” You lightly patted his cheek and turned away without saying another word to Dean. You could practically feel his eyes staring you down as you walked out of the cemetery and back to your car.

*** The Colt cast a heavy air over your— well, Bobby’s— sedan as it peeked out of your duffel bag. Even though it had no bullets left, its mere presence was putting a target on your back that you were well aware of.

You knew that simply killing the yellow-eyed demon wasn’t going to be enough to break Dean’s contract. You weren’t sure how, but come hell or high water, you would figure it out. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[eqt-95]

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out

please👉👈

oh anon, i am definitely the wrong person for this one, but here goes nothing:

- - - - - -

Lena has a secret. 

No, it isn't that she’s doubling as a superhero in her free time. That’s Kara.

And no, it isn't that she has an unquenchable crush on her best friend. They'd solved that eons ago.

And definitely no, it isn’t that her toy collection is extensive and well-stocked. Everyone at game night already knows about that.

The secret went like this: 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Lena replied with the innocence of a Luthor.

“So it just so happens that the bartender who has been making eyes at you all night is now being sized-up by my sister?”

“Correlation without causation. I thought you were a scientist,” Lena shrugged and tried her best to conceal a knowing smile.

“Uh-huh,” Alex replied with an arched eyebrow that said much more. “And that fact he grabbed your ass on the way to the bathroom?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well I for one am not about to do a bunch of paperwork over an NDA because Kara can’t keep it together over this ass-hat groping you, so if you will excuse me-”

- - - -

And this: 

“Hey babe?”

“Hm?”

“What’s this?”

Lena looked up from her work and squinted at the letter gripped in Kara’s hand. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some administrative stuff,” Lena hummed and returned to her work.

“Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’. It looks like you were served.”

The scowl that followed was one that could be seen from space which meant it was impossible to ignore from across their apartment. Lena rolled her eyes. 

“It’s just Morgan Edge playing bully again, darling.”

“Yea but,” Kara continued, eyes skimming the multi-page document that now had a few extra crinkles in it. “He’s suing for patent rights? Who does he think he is-”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just-”

But Kara was already gone through the terrace door and halfway across the city.

- - - -

And most of all, this:

“Ms. Luthor, The Sun has accused you of covering up nearly a dozen fatalities since-”

“Lena Luthor, it has been alleged that Obsidian North’s stolen technology was found in L-Corp’s latest-”

“Ms. Luthor, how do you explain the recent deaths associated with-”

“How do you sleep at night when your maniac brother is still on the loose-”

“No comment,” Lena repeated for the eighteenth time. She pushed ahead, trying to find a path between L-Corp’s front door and the waiting car that would take her home. Unfortunately, the best path was also the longest. Worse, when she looked ahead, her car was nowhere to be found. What she did find was wall-to-wall traffic and no chance of freedom.

Great.

More questions were hurled, a flash sent blotches across her vision. Another came an inch away and sent her staggering. It felt like a garbage compactor except worse because garbage compactors weren’t sentient creatures known for shouting lies while doing its job.

She clambered through the crowd and found a gap. She glanced around for her security guard who was lost amidst a second offshoot of angry journalists and misinformed citizens. Now wasn’t the time for manners as three journalists and an oversized camera pivoted toward her, so instead of waiting, she booked it down the sidewalk.

They followed with vigor and ignorance and a stubbornness that would have made Lillian proud, shouting rather uncreative conspiracy theories and growing closer by the second. Lena turned a corner then, in a move she might have patted herself on the back for, slipped into an alley. She breathed a sigh of relief until-

“Ms. Luthor-”

“Lena Luthor-”

“-you can’t hide from the truth.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lena heaved, staggering backwards in the kind of stereotypical way she mocked television shows for.

The cameraman was fastest, breaking into her personal space and jamming the lens into her face.

“Ms. Luthor-”

“-is it true Supergirl won’t speak to you?”

“-how does it feel having National City’s Darling reject you?”

What happened next might have been comical if Lena weren’t breathless, irritated, and fuming that her anniversary dinner was being interrupted by a wave of wannabe reporters hanging onto the coattails of the marketing dollars that funded their tabloids. 

Be that as it was, she was not in her usual smirky-mood when the burst of air sent all of them turning on heel to find an equally irritated and equally fuming Supergirl towering over them with the kind of anger usually reserved for the extra-bad baddies.

“S-supergirl,” they all seemed to whimper in unison. 

The camera was fumbled then dropped. The lens splintered with a deserved crack. A few short seconds later, it was the only evidence anyone with a press badge had been there.

“Where’d you take them?” Lena asked when Kara whooshed down moments later. She pushed off the brick wall and closed the distance, raising her hands to fix Kara’s ruffled cape.

“I considered the middle of the Pacific-” Kara shrugged.

“Oh is that right?” Lena smirked, letting her hands climb to brush an errant strand of hair into place.

“But then I remembered the whole ‘hope, help, and compassion’ thing,” she continued, her own hands finding a home on Lena’s waist. “So I dropped them off just outside the city limits instead.”

And there it was: the secret. Somewhere between Kara, all beet-faced and rage hovering over the cowering reporters and then dragging said group of gaggling reporters to the edges of town, Lena felt it - that tiny pang of warmth and safety and appreciation that always came with her overprotective Kryptonian. It also usually sent a tiny pang of something else through her.

“Well that was very big of you,” Lena replied, the gap between lips narrowing. “But just so you know,” she continued, her breath ghosting across Kara’s lips, “I had it handled-”

Kara skipped her lines and closed the gap, pressing lips, hands, and body against Lena until her back found the brick wall again and nothing but the taste, touch, and smell of Kara consumed her. Lips dragged to Lena’s jawline then neck then exposed shoulder. Hands grabbed against the restrictions of fabric. Lena cursed (again) the constraints of a supersuit.

“I really need to design you a new suit,” Lena huffed.

“Probably for the best.” Kara replied, fingers venturing dangerously close to public indecency. “Alex says we need to leave before someone sees us anyway.”

“Tell Alex to stop committing voyeurism. There are websites for that.”

“Oh, she did not like that,” Kara snickered, lips pressing a final kiss to the crook of Lena’s neck. 

“Turn that thing off and take me home, Supergirl.”

“What about our reservations?”

“I have other dinner plans tonight.”

- - - - -

ask game