the usefulness of anger and outrage

Fire and Ice // A Dylan O’Brien Smut

Prompt: He’s a die-hard Mets fan, but you just so happen to be dedicated to the Yankees + request

Warings: NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Fingering, Oral (both recieving), Different Kinks (masterbation kink also releasing on girl’s face), Basically the dirtiest and most descriptive smut I think I’ve ever written. 

Relationship: Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Word Count: 6,200 (Sorry not sorry, I got carried away with the details)

Song: Bad Things by Camila Cabello and Machine Gun Kelly

A/N: I literally grew up loving the Yankees (still do) and I honestly don’t know how I hadn’t thought of this before. Also, get ready guys ‘cuz some cool things will be happening the next few weeks and I really hope y’all like it. 

P.s. I was originally gonna post a gif, but then I saw these two pictures and fucking lost it.

Your name: submit What is this?


“Oh, for the love of God!” The young woman complained before taking a long gulp of her drink as she watched her team’s pitcher fail for the fourth time tonight. “Sal, I swear, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Well, at least you’re still in the lead.” The bartender chuckled, wiping down the countertop in between the two.

“Yeah, no thanks to Bryan Mitchell.” She sighed, shaking her head in disappointment.

It wasn’t exactly one of the biggest games of the season, but to her it just about was. The Mets had a surprising comeback in 2016 and the last thing her Yankees needed was to lose to that pathetic excuse of a baseball team. With her eyes glued on the television in this small but cozy downtown bar, (Y/N) placed her glass of whiskey back on her lips and let the hard liquid tear its way down her throat.

As soon as the batter of the opposing team failed to successfully hit the ball, (Y/N) let out a much needed breath of relief. Her attention was completely dedicated to the game playing on the tv screen. Well, that is, until she heard the sound of the front door opening. She didn’t quite know why, but (Y/N) felt inclined to look at whomever was arriving at this small bar she frequented so much. And, boy, was she glad she did.

Her breath hitched in her throat the second she caught sight of the incredibly handsome guy walking inside, a backwards cap settled on his dark brown hair that she felt the sudden desire to run her fingers through. The first thing she noticed was the sexy as hell scruffy, but surprisingly tame, beard on his jaw, her imagination immediately lighting on fire with dirty thoughts. His toned arms and veins straining against his muscles as he coincidentally sat on the stool beside her and lifted his arm to get a hold of the bartender was what caught her focus next. The employee instantly strode towards the beautiful stranger and asked what he wanted to drink. He politely made his order and (Y/N) couldn’t find it in herself to take her gaze off of his plump and inviting lips.

Embarrassment like never before washed over her now blushed cheeks when he, suddenly, turned to her with a confused expression and she realized she had been caught staring. She tried her best to dart away from his stare, but his eyes locked onto hers and eager chills ran down her spine when a small smirk made its way on his pink lips. She took the opportunity to really look at his eyes and they certainly didn’t fail to make her knees weak. They weren’t just a regular hazel color, they were warm with a liquid golden-brown that also had a spark of mischief in them she felt so inclined to get to know. It was strange how they both connected so easily just through looks even though neither one of them believed in love at first sight. The two did, however, believe in infatuation at first sight.

The smirk on his face didn’t leave even when she managed to break the stare the moment she heard the crowd cheering on the tv and she, immediately, turned to discover what just happened in the baseball game. Dylan certainly noticed that his Mets had just made a homerun, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the girl in the stool next to him. She wore high-waisted jean shorts that definitely worked in favor of her, breath taking, legs and his mind already came up with different scenarios of them spread before him. Her shirt wasn’t revealing in any way, it was just a plain Star Wars tee, and yet he still felt attracted to it. Maybe it’s the fact that he already knew they had a common love for this geeky movie series without even needed to exchange in small talk. But, the way her natural hair perfectly fell on her shoulders made Dylan want to push it aside and nibble down on her inviting neck.

“Are you serious?!” The gorgeous girl shouted, angrily pointing towards the screen even though she knew the umpire couldn’t actually hear her. “That was clearly foul play!”

Her words sparked interest in him and, reluctantly doing so at first, Dylan eventually turned his head towards the sports game. A smile lit up on his face as he watched his team celebrate their newest point only to, suddenly, remember the girl he had his eye on was complaining about this very achievement.

“Foul play?” Dylan questioned and (Y/N) immediately turned around towards the source of the charming voice. “Wait, are you a Yankees’ fan?”

“A proud one to be exact.” She smiled happily and if it weren’t for his shock with this new discovery, he certainly would’ve swooned at how beautiful she was.

“Perfect.” He sighed, only now realizing the bartender had left his drink in front of him when he was too busy gawking at her just moments ago.

“What?” She asked, genuinely confused at his odd reaction and watched him take a sip from his bottle of beer. Then, the realization hit her like a truck and she shook her head with disappointment. “Oh, no. You’re a Mets fan, aren’t you?”

Dylan didn’t even say anything. He just put his bottle back down on the surface and reached behind his head to turn his baseball cap forwards. Immediately revealing The New York Mets logo stamped on the hat and (Y/N) held back her laughter at the unexpected situation they found themselves in.

“A proud one to be exact.” Dylan repeated her words and, this time, (Y/N) actually let a laugh fall from her lips. It was music to his ears and he desperately wanted to hear it again.

Their attention was back on the game when the sound of bickering and chaotic commotion came from the tv, both now focused on what was happening. Neither one of them knew why the two teams were now fighting, but their hearts lodged in their throats as they watched the players lunge at each other. It was hard to tell who exactly started the fight, but by the commentaries coming from the voice-overs it seemed to be the Yankees’ fault.

“Of course.” Dylan shook his head, taking another gulp of his beer. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

(Y/N) immediately turned to glare at him, rage and frustration rushing through her veins at the sound of disregard towards her favorite baseball team.

“Excuse me?” She hissed, completely offended at his remark.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does the 2000 World Series not ring any bells to you?” He retorted with a cocky smirk.

“You mean the year we completely destroyed your team’s ass?” She replied, a grin on her face as she proudly spoke. “Something we had already accomplished countless times and would continue doing ‘till, literally, this very day.”

“Roger Clemens and Mike Piazza.” Dylan simply stated, chosing to ignore her bragging and (Y/N)’s eyes widened at the familiar names.

“There’s no proof Clemens intentionally hit Piazza in the head with that fastball.” She defended and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Seriously? You’re really going to defend someone who gave a fellow baseball player a concussion just because he had terrible anger management?”

“Okay, you know what?” (Y/N) scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. “At least we have players that are actually good at pitching.”

That spiteful comment was enough to spark something in him other than desire for this girl and, needless to say, Dylan was outraged. No one can just mock his beloved Mets and think they can easily get away with it.

“Says the girl whose team lost to us, their biggest rivals, in a 15 to 6 defeat in 2008.” Dylan retaliated and didn’t expect the sudden chuckle (Y/N) let out.

“Sure, but what’s one losing game compared to the 27 different World Series said girl’s team has already won?” She shrugged and Dylan hated the fact that she was right. “Making her baseball team the one with the most wins ever.

“And sweetie,” (Y/N) continued, placing a hand on his thigh that sent lustful jolts throughout Dylan’s entire body. “You’re sad little team isn’t even close to being an actual rival of ours, not when you’ve only won a pathetic amount of 2 World Series. How about you try to insult me when you catch up with us big boys, huh?”

“Fuck, I don’t know what drives me crazier.” Dylan whimpered at her touch, his eyes boring into her dilated ones and there’s no doubt both of them clearly wanted to rip each other’s clothes off. “The fact that you keep dissing my Mets or the fact that you’re extremely sexy talking so passionately about baseball like that.”

With a sly smile on her face and confidence she didn’t actually know she had in her, the young woman extending her hand towards him.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She greeted as he slipped his own hand into her grasp and shook them together. “Huge Yankees fan who apparently also happens to be very sexy.”

“Dylan O'Brien.” He smiled back at her, a small chuckle escaping his throat at her comment. “Long suffering Mets fan.”

“Nice to meet you, Dylan.” She laughed and he laughed along with her when her eyebrows, suddenly, furrowed. “Wait, why do I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere before?”

“I, uh-” Dylan nervously scratched the back of his neck. “I’m an actor.”

“Hey, that’s right!” She exclaimed, now putting together the puzzled pieces in her mind. “You’re that kid from that werewolf show.”

“Yeah, Teen Wolf.” He corrected and she let out a long oh of realization as she remembered all the times she flickered through her channels and passed by this show without second glance.

“So, what brings a Hollywood star like you to this unknown bar?” (Y/N) asked, a playful smirk on her lips. “Shouldn’t you be out partying with models or other celebrities?”

“Nah, I hate that stuff.” He shook his head. “I really love my job but despise the attention.”

“I see.” She smiled, not expecting to meet such a humble famous person. Living in LA, you meet a few here and there and they’re usually always very egotistical. It’s quite refreshing to get to know someone that’s the complete opposite.

“But, what about you? What do you you do?” Dylan asked, taking another gulp of his beer.

“I’m the, um, GM of the Dodgers.” (Y/N) stated nervously and it took everything in him not to spit out his drink in utter shock. The woman giggled at his astonished gaze, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

“Y-You’re the General Manager of the fucking Los Angeles Dodgers?!” Dylan exclaimed after he managed to successfully swallow his alcohol.

“Why so surprised?” She challenged and Dylan couldn’t stop staring at her in complete awe. “Is it because I’m a woman?”

“No!” Dylan frantically shook his head. “It’s because I was already so attracted to you and, now, fuck… I think you might just be the death of me.”

“Well, O'Brien.” She grinned and Dylan suddenly moaned when she unexpectedly gripped tightly onto his thigh. “I’m very attracted to you, too.”

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” He asked, beyond ready to do so many sinful things to her that even the devil himself would be ashamed of.

“Ah, the game’s still on.” She shook her head as she pointed towards the television. “Can’t stop supporting my Yankees just for a hook up.”

“The fact that you work for one baseball team yet your favorite is a completely different one amazes me.” Dylan chuckled, his eyes lingering over her body before landing back on her own.

“What can I say?” (Y/N) shrugged, the actor internally moaning when she bit down on her bottom lip. “I like to keep people on the edge of their seats.”

“Well, you certainly have me on mine.”

The sexual tension between the two was so strong that even the bartender could feel it seething off of them and taking over the entire room. He, honestly, thinks he could cut it with a knife from how palpable it was. (Y/N) still hadn’t removed her grip on his thigh and Dylan silently prayed to any god out there that she wouldn’t, his body craving her touch so much it made him hazy.

“How about a little bet to make things interesting?” She proposed and Dylan’s eyes perked up with intrigue.

“Go on.” He gestured, leaning in closer to her.

“If, after the game, the Yankees have won, you have to tweet out that my team is better than yours.” She stated with a grin and Dylan immediately scoffed at her proposal. “However, if the Mets win, you can take me to your place and have your way with me.”

Dylan’s cock already felt hard just at the offer alone as he watched her take a sip of her whiskey with a naughty smirk. It took all of the self control he had in him not to moan out and crash his lips against her red ones from the beautiful lipstick she was wearing.

“Deal.” He nodded and they shook hands for the second time tonight.

The two eagerly watched the game, both way too excited with what would happen right after. (Y/N) knew that, even if she does win, she definitely won’t be spending the night at her own house. They would constantly and shamelessly glance at each other, neither one caring about embarrassment. The lust and desire was so strong at this point that every stare, glance or lick of the lips was more than welcome. Not only were their bodies attracted to one another, but so were their minds. The two had more in common than they imagined and they enjoyed every second of mindless chatter and laughter. Dylan loved it when she laughed carelessly at his stupid jokes and (Y/N) felt like she was on cloud nine everytime he listened to her speak with such intrigue.

“Seventh inning stretch.” (Y/N) sighed, taking a sip from her third drink of the night as she groaned at the score. “And it’s tie.”

“Want to make things even more interesting?” Dylan smirked, narrowing his eyes in mischief and (Y/N) swooned, still not used to this man’s beauty.

“Just how interesting are we talking here?” She grinned, putting down the glass of alcohol she had in her hand.

“Let’s raise the stakes of this bet.”

“I’m listening.”

“If the Yankees win not only will I tweet they’re better than the Mets, but I’ll also record a video singing the Yankees’ theme to go along with it.” Dylan quirked his eyebrows and (Y/N) carefully listened to every word that came out of his mouth. “However, if my team wins, you have to come back to my place tonight and go on a date with me.”

(Y/N) eyes widened at the request and she, suddenly, felt her heart beat a little faster. With a happy smile now spreading across her face, she took her glass back in her small hand.

“Alright, O'Brien.” She nodded, clinking her drink with his. The sound echoing in their little bubble as they stared each other down. “I’m down with that, but you better start warming up your voice because there’s no way the Mets are going to win.”

It was as if the words she said immediately cursed the entire game the moment they fell from her red lips. The Mets were unexpectedly scoring homerun after homerun and (Y/N) would cringe everytime they did. Dylan, on the other hand, had a permanent smirk on his face the whole game. He would watch in awe whenever (Y/N) would angrily scream at the television screen and he couldn’t wait till she screaming under him. It didn’t take long for the game to end and (Y/N) question her entire existence. It’s not that she didn’t want the things that came with Dylan winning, oh she definitely wanted them, it’s the fact that her incredibly skillful and talented Yankees lost to the fucking Mets.

“Well, well, well.” Dylan grinned, standing up from his stool as (Y/N) groaned at his taunting. “Looks like my sad little team caught up with the big boys.”

The beautiful woman glared at his mockery towards the exact words she used just a few hours ago. They were meant to work in her favor not Dylan’s. She stood up from her own stool and took a step towards him, their faces now inches from each other.

“It’s only the beginning of the season.” She defended and Dylan smiled at her proximity, the smell of alcohol on her breath making him drunk on her. “The Mets won’t survive the entire year and you fucking know it.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Dylan retorted and she couldn’t keep her stare away from his lips as he tugged the bottom one in between his teeth, (Y/N) instinctively doing the same. Dylan’s eyes looked down at hers and it was as if their little feud immediately disappeared and now all they could focus on was what was going to happen next.

“Okay, okay.” The bartender broke their stares, blushes painting both of their cheeks. “(Y/N) take your boy toy and get out of here already before you two start having sex on my countertop.”

“Sorry, Sal.” She cleared her throat and Dylan nervously scratched the back of his neck. “We were just leaving.”

The two shared smirks, lust taking over both of their pupils before they ran out of the door. Sal laughing at them as he closed his bar down.

“Kids.” He shook his head with a smile plastered on his face.

The ride to Dylan’s house was surprisingly pleasant. They found more things they shared in common like their love for goofy comedies and their incredibly similar taste in music. Dylan put his phone in the radio of his car and they spent the rest of the ride singing loudly to the songs they both knew by heart. Laughter was the second main theme of the night, right after desire.

“Do you want something to drink?” Dylan asked the second he unlocked the door to his one bedroom apartment and they both walked inside.

“No,” (Y/N) chuckled as she watched him throw his house keys on a small table and turn around to face her. “I’m pretty sure I had enough at the bar.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He laughed, nodding. “What about something to eat?”

“Not hungry.” She shrugged. “But you can eat if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I’m hungry.” Dylan licked his lips, walking towards her in a predatory fashion and (Y/N)’s swallowed nervously at how sexy he looked. “Just not for food.”

Her breath hitched in her throat at his comment, jolts of lust rushing through her body and landing in her core. Dylan didn’t even wait for a possible response before crashing his mouth on hers and kissing her with such force he had to hold her lower back tightly so she wouldn’t fall. Both of them have been anticipating that moment the entire night and it was so much better than either could’ve expected. Their lips meshed together in sync with the perfect combination of hard and passionate. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his neck to drop his baseball cap off his head and finally be able to run her fingers through his dark hair. The second Dylan bit down on her bottom lip, she tugged at the roots provoking a moan to escape from his mouth. The sound sent shivers down her spine and she knew that she desperately wanted to do more than just kiss.

(Y/N) broke the kiss to take a breath, but Dylan didn’t dare stop. He pushed her waist closer into him and she moaned when she felt his growing bulge against her body. Dylan left lingering kisses on her neck which spread goosebumps all over her skin. (Y/N) tried to reach down his back and pull the blue t-shirt off of him but Dylan just grinned against her neck.

“I’m in charge here, remember?” Dylan stated, his hot breath fanning across causing (Y/N) to shiver in response. “And I want to take things slow.”

“Fuck.” She whimpered when he nibbled on her pulse point and began sucking, clearly wanting to leave a hickey there.

Dylan took his time leaving kisses and hickeys wherever he damn pleased and it drove (Y/N) crazy. His provocative touches and the way his lips moved against her skin made her knees weak, wetness already pooling in her panties just from the teasing alone.

“Do something.” She moaned.

“Are you gonna beg for it?” He snickered and (Y/N) moaned again just at his dirty talk.

But, (Y/N) does not beg. She never had to beg to a man before and she won’t start now. Then again, she’s never met anyone like Dylan before. He had her wrapped around his finger just from one night alone.

“I don’t beg.” She shook her head and Dylan slipped his hands down to her ass, squeezing roughly.

“You might as well start learning how to.” Dylan’s face returned to hers, their lips slightly touching. “Because I love it when a woman begs.”

“And I love it when a guy actually fucking touches me.” She retorted and the smile on Dylan’s face didn’t go unnoticed.

He let go of her completely and she whimpered at the loss of contact, wanting desperately to feel his body back on hers. They took this moment to stare at each other and both loved the sight. The two had swollen lips from kissing so hard and smudged red lipstick all over their lips, chins and cheeks. Dylan placed his hand on the hem of her Star Wars shirt and pulled it off her, (Y/N) slightly shivering at the new lack of warmth. He kissed her gently, mostly to tease, as he unbottoned her high-waisted shorts and let them fall on the floor. As she stepped out of the jeans, Dylan licked his plump lips in appreciation at her gorgeous body. She was wearing a matching pair of simple a bra and panties, but the black heels she had on made her look beyond sexy to him. Dylan’s cock twitched against his jeans, desperately wanting to be inside of this breath-taking woman in front of him.

“Take off your bra.” He commanded and usually (Y/N) wouldn’t like being the submissive one during sex but this dominant side of him was turning her on more than she expected.

Slowly reaching behind her back, she unclasped the bra and brought the straps down until she was finally bare. Dylan’s eyes immediately stared at her breasts, the rosy pink nipples perked and ready to be played with. Which was exactly what he decided to. He took two quick steps towards her before returning his hands on her waist, (Y/N)’s back arching the second Dylan’s lips attached to one of her nipples. His hand carefully massaging the other breast he currently wasn’t working his tongue against. She couldn’t contain her moans at finally being able to feel something, but her core still ached in anticipation. When Dylan bit down on her nipple and pulled at it with his teeth, (Y/N) had to press her thighs together to be able to relieve some of the pressure.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Dylan tsked, shaking his head before removing his mouth. He pressed the hand that was on her breast on her thigh and pushed her legs apart. “I call all of the shots.”

“Ple-” She was just about to beg but realized what she was going to do and stopped herself immediately.

“What was that?” He smirked, gripping onto her skin and (Y/N) whimpered at the pressure that was in one place but should’ve been in another. “Were you about to beg?”

“Never.” She panted, his lips back on her nipple.

“Oh, come on Yankees Princess.” He snickered and she not only moaned at the new pet name but the feeling of him sliding his fingers closer to the place she needed him most. “All you have to do is ask.”

She chose to remain silent, not at all trusting her own voice and mind. (Y/N) was already putty in his hands and she didn’t want to give him anymore satisfaction. That is, until he completely broke away from her and took a step back. She stared at him with wide eyes and Dylan grinned sexily before removing his t-shirt. She felt cold and odd without his touch as he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of his pants. Their eyes full of lust and desire never left each other even when he unbottoned his khakis and brought them down to the floor. Dylan kicked them away, but didn’t approach her again like (Y/N) expected. Instead, he folded his arms across his toned chest and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m not touching you until you beg for it.” He challenged and her jaw dropped in awe.

Her eyes broke their gaze to look over his body and she swallowed nervously as she took the sight in, frustrated with herself because she now felt inclined to actually beg. Thanks to his crossed arms, Dylan’s muscles were pressing against his skin and it made her head spin. (Y/N) bit down on her lip when she looked at the trail of dark and scruffy hair above his boxers which held the massive erection bulging against the fabric, precum seeping through the cotton. Her core throbbed like never before thanks to the handsome man in front of her.

“Fine, fuck it.” She groaned and Dylan’s ears perked at her words. “Dylan, please touch me. I need you.”

It wasn’t exactly as desperate​ as he initially wanted, but it was enough for the desire pulsing in his own veins. He, too, wanted to touch her just as much as she did. And in a matter of seconds, Dylan rushed to her and instantly ripped apart her panties. Before she could even complain, his hands moved down to her ass and lifted her up. He kissed her passionately, tongue and all, as he brought her to his bedroom. Placing her down on his empty desk, Dylan spread her legs and fit himself in between them.

He trailed wet kisses down her body and (Y/N) buzzed with excitement. Once he reached her stomach, Dylan kneeled down in front of her and gripped his fingers against her heated thighs. He licked his way towards he left thigh and trailed his tongue close to her core. Just as he was about to touch her there, Dylan immediately switched course and began licking her right thigh.

“I’m gonna kill you.” She hissed through her clenched teeth and Dylan chuckled against her skin.

“Patience, Yankees Princess.” He teased as he nibbled. “Good things come to those who wait.”

She grunted, but accepted none-the-less. Although it’s not like she actually had a choice, the Mets did win after all. (Y/N) ran her fingers through his hair, slightly pulling the strands and Dylan would hum in appreciation. The vibrations shooting through her body and increasing the pain in her core.

When Dylan felt like she’d been teased enough, he let his tongue trace against the place they both desired the most. (Y/N) immediately moaned, not at all caring how loud she was being. His tongue spread apart her soaking wet folds and the young woman’s hips bucked when he momentarily trailed against her swollen clitoris. Dylan’s hand grasped tighter onto her legs as he gently slid his tongue into her, the ache in (Y/N)’s core now being replaced with pleasure and satisfaction.

She whimpered when he pulled his tongue away after working inside of her a few minutes but almost screamed out the second his lips attached to her clit and sucked furiously. One of his hands came into contact and slowly slipped a finger inside of her, her hips bucking instantly at the delicious pumping.

“Fuck.” She moaned and Dylan’s hard cock felt uncomfortable in his boxers as he watched her become a panting mess.

The feeling of his finger inside of her heat and pressing against her soft walls made his head spin, his dick begging to replace his hand’s place. But, Dylan was determined to make her cum with just his hands and mouth first. When he felt she was ready for a second one, he put another finger in and pumped at a faster pace. One of (Y/N)’s hands was buried in his hair and the other gripped tightly on the edge of his desk, her knuckles going white at the pressure.

With the mixture of his fingers curling against her walls and his tongue drawing figure eights on her clitoris as his lips sucked, it was more than enough to quickly build up an orgasm inside of the woman moaning uncontrollably. It didn’t take long to build and, the second Dylan unexpectedly bit down on her clit, her orgasm spilled over her entire body. Dylan didn’t dare stop what he was doing when her legs shook intensely along with her back arching up against the wall. He didn’t even stop when they did. The sounds that fell from her swollen lips and the way she looked as she came made Dylan greedy and he desperately wanted it to happen again. (Y/N) was still sensitive from her first orgasm and in a matter of minutes, she was cumming for the second time tonight. The sensitivity of her core making it easy to reach the edge of her pleasure again.

Even though Dylan removed his head from her inner thighs and attached his lips back onto hers in a forceful kiss, (Y/N) could still feel the burning of his scruff scratching against her tingling skin and she truly hopes the sensation never goes away.

There was more precum spread across his boxers that earlier and Dylan was beyond ready to get rid of the excruciating pain his cock felt from the lack of attention. He made his way back in between her legs after pulling his underwear off and kicking them somewhere far from his body. Dylan brought his hand to his member and pumped a few times in preparation. (Y/N) immediately moaned at the sight of him touching himself and Dylan certainly didn’t expect it.

“What-” He smirked, biting down on his lip at the feeling of his own thumb spreading around the precum on his tip. “Do you have a masterbation kink?”

“Maybe.” She confessed, a bright blush painting her cheeks as her pupils dilated when he increased his pace.

“Damn.” Dylan groaned, throwing his head back with shut eyes. “As much as I love this new discovery, I really want to fuck you right now.”

“Oh, please do.” She grinned, spreading her legs apart even further.

Dylan didn’t even need to think twice before placing both of his hands back on her thighs and lining himself at her entrance. His cock throbbed as he coated his tip in her slick wetness, lubricating himself. The two loudly moaned the moment he easily slid into her, the feeling of them becoming one making their bodies throb with excitement. Dylan let his forehead fall on her shoulder as he waited for to adjust to his size.

“Go ahead.” She stated when she was ready and Dylan immediately pulled back before pushing in again. He started thrusting into her slowly, moaning shamelessly at the feeling of her soft and wet walls tightly around him and (Y/N) loved the delicious feeling of Dylan stretching her as he pumped their bodies together.

(Y/N) wrapped her legs around his waist, giving him a new and deeper angle which he gladly accepted. His hands now moving their positions to thrust harder into her, his left palm flat out on the wall behind her and his right gripping harshly on the edge of his desk. She, however, decided to keep her hands on the arching muscles of his bare back. Considering how turned on they already were, it didn’t take much for the familiar knot to grow inside of the two. Dylan had to use every ounce of self control in him not to cum the second she unintentionally clenched around his shaft and, instead, he sunk his teeth into her shoulder.

Dylan pounded deeper into her, now continuously hitting her g-spot no one had ever found until this very moment, and his dream of hearing the beautiful Yankees’ fan from the bar screaming under him finally came true. Her voice echoed in the room along with the sounds of his desk mercilessly banging against the wall and wet skin slapping against wet skin.

“Fuck, I’m almost there.” Dylan panted, loving the feeling of her breasts bouncing against his bare and sweaty chest.

“Me, too.” She shouted, bringing her own hand down to her clit since Dylan was using his for stability.

It took her about 15 seconds of furiously rubbing her already overly sensitive nub before she felt the tight knot inside of her explode and spread mind blowing pleasure throughout her entire body. Dylan tried to hold his orgasm in him the best he could since he didn’t exactly want to cum inside of her without a condom. It was extremely difficult to contain himself, especially when she clenched around him again and dug her nails into his back, but Dylan somehow managed to contain himself as he shouted in frustration. Once he noticed she was back down from her high, he immediately pulled himself out of her and took a step back.

“On your knees.” He panted, his voice weak as he pointed to the ground in front of him.

Even though she was completely hazy from the ground breaking orgasm she just had, (Y/N) slowly slid off the desk and instantly fell to her knees. Dylan didn’t know wether or not she fell due to how weak her legs were or if it was actually intensional​ but the second she gripped his member and licked his tip, the thoughts immediately flew out of his head. Dylan’s mind now focused on her taking him into her warm mouth. His hands instinctively dug into her hair as she slowly bobbed his cock. In a matter of seconds, (Y/N) hollowed out her cheeks to make an even tighter environment for him and Dylan moaned shamelessly at the feeling.

(Y/N) absolutely loved that when her tongue grazed his wet member she could taste her juices on him and she decided to deepthroat him in appreciation. She took him in as far as she could, her nose buried in the patch of his dark hair and her throat gagging at the fullness. But, Dylan definitely loved it because his dick instantly twitched in response and he quickly pulled himself out of her mouth. His hot cum squirted out of his tip and he watched with hooded eyes as it painted her blushed cheeks. Normally, (Y/N) would never allow any man do such a thing to her but the way Dylan was looking at her with pure pleasure and enjoyment swimming in his dark pupils was enough to make her want it to happen again. His liquid dripped from her face and made its way down her breasts, Dylan unable to contain his groans at the sight.

“So, I’m guessing this is your kink.” She chuckled, coating one of her fingers with his release and putting it into her mouth.

“One of many.” Dylan smirked, extending his hand for her to grab with her free one.

They stared at each other with satisfaction in their eyes as he helped her stand, both of them simply knowing without the need to actually say that that was the best sex the two ever had.

“I’ll be right back.” Dylan stated, placing a lingering kiss on her lips before walking away and disappearing into his bathroom.

One of (Y/N)’s eyebrows quirked at the sudden sound of water from a sink running momentarily but, when he returned to her with a small and damp towel in his hands, everything made sense. He kindly wiped away the now sticky cum on her skin and she smiled up at him.

“Now about that date.” Dylan grinned, throwing the towel on the desk when he was done cleaning her body. “How does the premiere to my new movie with a romantic dinner afterwards sound?”

“A first date in the eyes of the public?” She questioned, challenging him. “Borderline crazy.”

“So, is that a yes?” He smirked and (Y/N) instantly laughed.

“Definitely yes.”

Building a Revolution

Overthrowing a powerful government in the name of the people is a popular plot.  It certainly has a great appeal.

However, before you get all excited about writing a story where the angered people scramble together an army and launch themselves against the government, you might want to take a step back and figure out how they got there in the first place.  A revolution isn’t built around one big event: there are things that lead up to it, and there are smaller frustrations that may go unnoticed, but because it’s a part of everyday life, it’s a constant reminder.  They might not be the things people point to when identifying what started the revolution, but they certainly kept the wood for the fire warm.

At what point did the government begin to ruffle feathers?
It’s going to start out small.  It will be annoying, but dismissed as bearable.  It may cause a bit of an obstacle, but nothing that people can’t work around.  Perhaps the government won’t let working class or its colonies to use the official currency.  Perhaps items of higher quality were held for only certain people the government deemed worthy. 

When did the government start adding to the little things?
For one reason or another, the government starts putting restrictions or laws on more things. They’re still able to work around them, but people will talk to each other about their frustration over it.  It’s also important to remember that the government will have a reason for it.  Maybe the new law/restriction is more cost effective,  Maybe it’s intended for protection.  Some examples might be that the colonies/citizens are limited to government approved materials.  Or they’re banned from traveling to a certain place, and that place happens to be on the fastest path to another colony/town.

What started sparking outrage?
Perhaps the government overspent on something, or they went to war and are now low on funds, so they introduce a tax on an item that’s considered an everyday luxury.  Or perhaps a ban is introduced and it affects something that everyone normally gets, but not necessarily a need.  There’s still not enough to pick up arms and fight, and the people might at this point lobby with the government to reconsider some of its strategies. 

When did it start picking up speed?
Perhaps the first tax isn’t bringing in enough funds.  Or the government feels the people aren’t paying as much as they should.  So another tax is introduced.  Or perhaps the ban isn’t that effective and so another ban is introduced to keep people from finding loopholes.  Maybe the government has to ban certain imports.  Anger with the government is increasing at this point.  The citizens/colonists may understand why the government is doing it, but they know they’re getting the raw deal.  Attempts to get the government’s attention become more aggressive, but there isn’t harming of other people.

How does the government respond?
So the government responds to the people’s cries of outrage, but not in the way they expected.  Another tax and/or ban is introduced, or even a new law.  Perhaps citizens/colonists are forced to use a material they are opposed to.  Perhaps the government realizes that if it doesn’t do something, it’s going to lose control over its citizens/colonies.  The militia/police force is increased to keep an eye for rebellious acts.  Arrests are made daily, and the people might be released if nothing is found.  Perhaps the government starts forbidding certain things to be said in the media, so people are forced to rely on word of mouth, and must do so carefully because of the increase in arrests.  Perhaps at this time, the idea of revolting is mentioned while others insist on trying to be diplomatic.

When does the physical conflict happen?
Perhaps there was a scuffle with the police force.  Either the citizens/colonists attacked first, or the police/militia acted aggressively.  Perhaps there was a massacre of some kind.  Maybe there were incidents that didn’t result in injury or death, but it came close to it.  Perhaps the government or citizens/colonists made a precautionary move that made the other party highly uncomfortable.  As the incidents, whether of violent or nonviolent nature, increase in number, the intensity also increases.  Influential people of the citizens/colonists begin to suggest a revolution, or to declare independence.  The government begins to realize they’re losing control unless they take more drastic measures.

When does the idea of a revolution actually become a threat?
Revolting or declaring independence becomes something that many people agree with.  The government perhaps realizes this and so starts making laws or regulations to keep it from happening.  Weaponry might become illegal for citizens/colonists so they won’t have anything to fight with if/when a revolution actually happens.  Curfews might be enforced.  Those outspoken about the government might be tailed.  The influential people work hard on a new government or system to replace the oppressive government.  Perhaps they just plan to outright revolt instead of declaring independence.  But either way, the citizens/colonists are only one word from the government away from declaring war.

It may seem like a lot to work on, but there are events leading up to the revolution that will resound with some people more than others.  Or there are events that will become a bitter memory that will help give some depth to each individual character.

Some things to consider when building the revolution:
It is not as black and white as it may seem.  Both sides are going to be guilty of doing something wrong; it’s just going to be more obvious in the government.  There are going to be people among the citizens/colonists who side with government and they’re not necessarily going to be bad guys.  When creating the conflict, keep in mind why people would choose one side over the other.
Stages will overlap.  A revolution isn’t going to be cleanly cut as posted above.  There are several times when a “stage” will mix with another “stage”, while others may blend right into the next one.  Timelining the process and placing each event can be extremely helpful as you try to keep events straight.
The revolters are most likely going to be the underdog.  They may have experienced people on their side, but if the revolution is going to made up of average citizens/colonists, they’re going to be at a disadvantage.  The government is going to be in control of an army and other resources.  The revolters are going to have to work to achieve their goals.

getting past the filter

I’ve been reading right-wing media - not all the time, because the point of the exercise is understanding and past a point it just breeds exhaustion. But my impression is that the way right-wing media interprets the protests and the outrage and the fear and anger at Trump’s presidency is something like this:

The left won a lot of battles in a row, and they got used to winning every fight they got into, so they picked fights that they couldn’t possibly really care about, just to grind our faces in the dirt. And then they lost! And we won! And they are handling this with immature hysteria and obstructionism and riots, and we basically have to wade through them to put the country back on the rails, and where we fail it’s their fault and where we succeed it proves that they’re ineffectual and intellectually bankrupt and have no tactics beyond crying and complaining and calling people racist. And they’re complaining about things they were fine with under Obama so they’re not actually sincere anyway. And they still have a stranglehold nearly everywhere, but maybe now people’ll start to see through them and we’ll have a chance to roll it back.)

(Some examples of fights we ‘couldn’t possibly really care about’: making employers cover health care plans that included contraception coverage, making bakers bake wedding cakes for gay people, letting trans people use restrooms of their choice.)

And the presence of the narrative imposes a sort of filter, where things you do that make sense within it, or reinforce it, don’t get seen by half the country. Sometimes that doesn’t matter. But sometimes it really does; sometimes I want to be able to talk to the people who voted for Trump and be heard and be understood to be saying what I’m actually saying and not just ‘blah blah liberals won and won and won and can’t handle losing and are going to call you racist no matter what racist racist racist’.

So, obviously, I think this narrative is unfair in many, many ways. But what I’m really interested in right now is, what could a person do or say in order to slip past the narrative? Because it’s, well, encompassing - narratives usually are. Peaceful protests fit into the ‘the left is all bluster and whining’ arm of it and violent protests fit into ‘the left is a danger’ arm of it and no protests fit into the ‘we are the silent majority’ arm of it. And there are battles which really are worth fighting but which are trivial and silly to people sufficiently removed from them, like fights over letting trans people use public restrooms. 

But narratives are not all-encompassing - the vocal opposition of Senator McCain to Trump’s conduct doesn’t fit into it at all, the conservative judges overturning Trump’s executive orders doesn’t fit into it very well, the testimony of veterans about why their translators saved their lives and deserve the opportunity to live here which they were promised doesn’t fit into it.

Those are, of course, all examples of conservatives who can challenge the narrative by already having credibility within it. I can’t think of a great way for a liberal to establish that credibility - emphasizing that you understand why they believe the things they believe was tried very loudly during the campaign, and I think it mostly totally failed (both at establishing that, and at going from ‘we understand each other’ to ‘the filter you’re seeing me through isn’t capturing what I want and what I actually want is reasonable and comprehensible and human’.)

I feel like one important project of the next few months is figuring out how to communicate past the filter, how to say things that aren’t easily sorted into the narrative, and how to build from there enough trust that our concerns and fear and anger are heard as concern and fear and anger, instead of being easy to round off as ‘they lost and they’re sore losers’. I want past the filter. I want to be able to make myself understood. And I do still think that there’s some way that can be achieved.

You know that annoying thing older generations sometimes do where they perceive everything as a personal slight? Like your phone rang during a meeting and they act like you purposefully were out to ruin it for them, or you wore a hat to dinner and they’re convinced you were trying to tell them how much you disrespect them.

Regs really act the same. “They made a flag!!! They’re clearly trying to SPIT ON DEAD GAY PEOPLE!”

It’s like this bizarre overreaction hissy fit that they use to paint others in the worst light possible to mask or excuse their ridiculously uncalled for outrage. Every action of the group they’re bitter about is clearly personal and out to get them.

And both have an uncanny resemblance in the fact that they back up their anger with outdated rules and world views.

But its just a hat Aunt Judy, its not a message of intent to destroy your respect; and its a damn flag y'all, not a campaign to destroy our own community or somehow impede on your mutual ability to show pride with a flag. Get a fucking grip. Times have changed. People wear hats indoors and new marginalized identities have emerged. Get used to it.

anonymous asked:

/watch?v=lwk1DogcPmU you were right about the "He wanted to show how much people would do for just 5 bucks" thing you said.

Of course I was right. I watched the videos and actually took the time to understand what the context was.

But now watch as people look at nothing but the end of the video where he jokes that the “secret Nazi salute” is a brofist, to then ignore everything else that was said, ignore the serious context behind it, to say that oh, well, actually, he just admitted that he was a Nazi and that all of his subscribers are Nazis.

Everything is an outrage. Everything is “problematic.” 

You know, I could take and twist absolutely anything to make it sound like a problem. I could very, very easily sound serious about something that isn’t a problem and doesn’t exist, use some emotive language, make it appear as though I’m sincere, and bam, just like that, I could manufacture outrage. It’s not difficult. You don’t need a whole ton of experience. You don’t have to be a journalist or an expert. All you need is to be sincere and reasonable about other issues, be genuine there, and then pick the right time to pretend to take a breath and share about how upset some fantasy issue makes you, how much it hurts, how damaging it is. Leave out a few key details, focus on your agenda, but make it sound factual and important.

People eat that up.

And it’s great, right? Because if someone else comes and says, “Hey, but you’re forgetting about this” or “But if you actually think about it, it’s not actually an issue because of X” then there will always be someone that is outraged by your lack of outrage. People are far too invested in enjoying the outrage. They love tearing other groups, other individuals, down. 

That’s what this site is. That’s what a huge part of the media is. And there are so, so many people that buy into it because they get to be outraged. Because, remember, being outraged means that you can claim to be outraged on a specific group’s behalf, your own group’s behalf, and if that ties into the current narratives about “marginalised groups,” then that outrage now equates into them being Good.

Very few, aside from people that don’t care about news or issues because they’re too concerned with their actual lives, care about truth or fairness or justice anymore. No. Those things don’t matter. Goodness isn’t about being a good person. Now, Goodness is about how angry you are. How enraged you are about the latest manufactured crisis.

You don’t think something is a problem at all? You’re a monster.

You think that something isn’t a big deal? You don’t really care.

You’re not happy with something, but you’re not angry? You’re refusing to understand what others are going through and have no real care or empathy for them.

You’re angry, but you think it’s wrong to call for violence? You’re busy defending the Evil, so you can’t really be angry, you’re just tone-policing and harming minorities.

You’re so enraged that you call for violence, and either support riots and burning or actually go out and do those things? You really do care and understand and support the poor minorities, you’re finally Good!

You see? 

We’ve managed to move from a time where we were slowly changing the law to protect the hated and the vulnerable. Society’s attitudes as a whole were slowly changing for the better, the way that things should happen. It was frustrating and upsetting that things couldn’t change all at once, but progress takes time and at least there was hope for a better future. And where have we suddenly jumped to? A time where we should still be on that path, getting better and better every day, but instead, it’s nothing but hate, outrage, manipulated feelings of hurt and a desperation to be seen as an Other to claim “oppression points” where we should all be going, “What we really want isn’t majority vs minority, but a whole bunch of different individuals that live together, who can celebrate their differences but still support other’s differences and, at the end of the day, work together so we’re one big, better world.”

We can’t acknowledge that, though. If we do, if people accept that things are better, not perfect, with changes that still need to be made, but better than it used to be, then they’d have to accept that outside of actual, horrible and specific instances, there’d be no need to be angry. But anger is all they feed on. It’s constant. Forever. 

I bring this up here because look at all the manufactured outrage over one joke that was in very poor taste, and then deliberate misrepresentation of other things, all to stir this controversy, when there are actual issues that deserve to be addressed.

Oh, Pewdiepie is antisemitic. Save the Jews from this neo-Nazi scumbag.

(Shh, don’t mention the antifa and anti-Trump individuals that unironically use swastika flags with no context aside from “protest.” Shh, don’t mention that a German court recently decided that firebombing a synagogue wasn’t antisemitic, but legitimate criticism of Israel. Shh, don’t mention how a British Labour supporter was given a peerage for deliberately whitewashing a report into antisemitism. Shh, don’t mention the antisemitic attitudes that are prevalent in Islamic communities throughout the world. Shh, don’t mention the abuse of Jewish students on college campuses from left-leaners under the guise of “anti-Zionism.” Shh, don’t mention actual examples of neo-Nazis and their specific antisemitic words and actions. Shh, don’t mention that antisemitic hate crimes are actually increasing and that Jews actually are worried about personal safety.)

We’ve got to protect Jewry everywhere from a Youtube star that made a very tasteless joke! We have to dismiss and hate a Youtuber that’s Jewish because he wasn’t offended by the outrage, and is Pewdiepie’s friend, so knew the context better than anyone!

Please, please, everyone, get angry, get outraged over this joke, because if you don’t, that means that you don’t care about Jews at all, you white supremacist, neo-Nazi-supporting antisemite!

It sickens me. All of it.

And, sure, I’ll say it, because why the fuck not.

As a Jew? I deserve better.

On lesbian socialisation

We all know how female socialisation works, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone discuss the concept of lesbian socialisation, how it affects us, with what consequences - and how it’s like female socialisation, squared.

To put it in a nutshell - female socialisation teaches you that you are inherently worth less than men and you must always defer to them and prioritise them and their feelings over yourself and other women. Lesbian socialisation teaches you that you are inherently worth less than male-attracted women and you must always defer to them and prioritise them and their feelings over yourself and other lesbians.

Keep reading

Thank You

This is probably my sixth or seventh attempt at this, and I’m struggling to find the right words to weave this tapestry of deep gratitude. My first attempt was very emotional and maudlin; the second was too short; third attempt came across as indulgently self-important; the fourth draft made me seem like a total wanker; and the fifth iteration I quit half way through, because (if you can forgive me this moment) it still scares me to come online after everything.

Keep reading

218-ORCLUB [Orc-Club]
-The Grump Pokemon
-Ability: Anger Point/Hustle - Rampage(HA)*
-Dex: “ORCLUB is always carrying a club that has been charred till it gets white, they use this club to hunt and socialize. Male ORCLUBs like to brag about their clubs and more often than not will compete to show of who has the biggest one.”
    -Fire Punch
    -Wood Hammer

–>Evolves after learning Outrage<–

219-ONIRA [Oni-Ira]
-The Furious Pokemon
-Ability: Anger Point/Hustle - Rampage(HA)
-Dex: “ONIRA are lonely by nature and have a very short temper, making the coexistence of more than two almost impossible. They rely only on their hearing and sense of smell, making them very paranoid, anything that disturbs them will launch them into a fiery frenzy where they will attack anything in their path.”
-Sig. Move: Fire Hammer “The user swings and hits with its strong, heavy fist on fire. It lowers the user’s Speed, however.”
   Type: Fire
   PP: 10 (max 16)
   Power: 100
   Accuracy: 90%
    -Dynamic Punch
    -Fire Fang

*Attack is doubled but the user can’t use status moves

Some things I have learned from fandom over the years:

1) Sex!

…no, really. So much sex.

Everywhere. In every conceivable position. Using the whole chicken.

2) Sometimes you are going to inadvertently upset people. Their response may be reasonable or it may be blown out of proportion. Anger does not mean someone is right to feel outraged or hurt. It also doesn’t automatically mean that they are wrong. 

Pay attention to content. Recognize that you may be in the wrong here. Remember that you deserve better than to be abused. Try to find a middle line that values the worth of everyone involved. Listen to what they have to say, make amends where you can, but don’t allow it to eat away at you and recognize that there’s nothing wrong with drawing a line and walking away to protect your own sanity. 

3) Obsession. You’re my obsession. Who do you want me to be… Wow, people will find all sorts of ways to twist characters around and get them together. 

Mortal enemies? Family members? Friend in deeply committed monogamous relationship with someone else? Family pets? Clearly meant to be. 

Are those two species even compatible? How could you even ask such a question? They’re meant to be! 

How did you even fit those two fandoms into the same universe? I don’t know, but I’m impressed. And a little bit weirded out. 

4) Sometimes others will upset you. Take a deep breath. Remember there is someone else on the other side of the computer. Consider your options before jumping in. The internet gives you the luxury of time to think before you respond. Take advantage of that.

6) Your fandom is not my fandom, but your fandom’s okay.

7) Everyone has the right to control their own internet experience. There is nothing wrong with requesting content warnings. Many people are happy to provide them in hopes of creating a safer environment.

There is also nothing wrong with someone refusing to provide content warnings. Sometimes they’re too much work or it’s difficult to remember things. Sometimes one doesn’t know how to discern what it is one is meant to be tagging. Sometimes one just doesn’t want to. There’s no burden of responsibility requiring that any given part of the internet is a safe space.

Even within areas that do encourage tagging and trigger warnings, there’s no perfect system ensuring that things won’t slip through the loop. There will be times when it is your job to decide for yourself whether it’s worth it to leap into the unknown and take your own risks. You always have the freedom to back out of corners of the internet that make you feel uncomfortable.

8) You know that one weird, perverted story you’re ashamed to admit you ever read, much less enjoyed enough to bookmark and download and go back to over and over again? You’re not the only one who read it, you’re not the only one who loved it, and you may suddenly find yourself in a room full of people all exclaiming how marvelous it is. It’s a good feeling.

9) Sometimes people will make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. The block button isn’t hugely helpful against full on stalkers, but it can certainly create a helpful barrier between you and the person who implied that you hugging a friend platonically is on order of molesting a child. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

10) “This story has been deleted,” may be some of the most tragic words you have ever seen.

theotakufairy  asked:

The S and M family reactions to one of reiji's potions or something going wrong and now their teenage girls are back to being baby/toddlers with the mind set of one

Reiji will be one lucky duck if he isn’t beaten up by half of his brothers and the Mukami family. No one messes with their kids.


Shu: When Shu looked around the house for his daughter, he wondered why she wasn’t in her usual areas. He was always aware of where she was, but this was the first time this had happened to him. Turning down the hallway, Shu is in shock when he sees a tiny baby with ocean blue eyes crawling to him. Was this an illusion? After seeing a spilled potion next to his daughter, Shu picks her up and goes off to find Reiji. He wants his daughter to be back at her proper age.

“Of all the things to happen…Reiji better have a solution for this…”

Reiji: Reiji had been working in his lab with his daughter when she slipped and broke several glass tubes on the table. When she yelped and fell, some of the liquid reached her tongue and was powerful enough to immediately transform her into a baby again. Reiji would be horrified when he finds her in her state, and he would look through his books and notes to quickly create an antidote. He was going to fix this issue as soon as possible if he didn’t want his wife to be upset.

“I’ll have to hurry before your mother comes home. I don’t want her to worry.”

Ayato: When he heard glass crashing on the tiles of the kitchen, Ayato ran and burst through the door, only to find his daughter as a little girl again on the floor. He scanned the scene and swiftly saw how his daughter mistook one of Reiji’s potions for her usual soda. Believing that Reiji did this on purpose, Ayato would take his daughter and go find Reiji. His wife would have to beg him to stop when he grabbed Reiji’s shirt collar and threatened to kill him for the experimentation.

“Give Ore-sama the cure or else Ore-sama will kill you as proper compensation.”

Kanato: If there was any day to mess with Kanato, today would not be one of them. No one ever touched his daughter without his permission, so when Kanato discovered a little baby instead of a teenager in the dining room, he screamed in agony. When Reiji encounters Kanato, you can bet that Kanato is berating him for being stupid and leaving his work out for no reason. He demands Reiji to give his daughter a cure because if he doesn’t, Reiji will pay back in blood.

“Shut up and give her the cure! Don’t you see what she looks like, you idiot?!”

Laito: Laito would be deeply upset to find his precious daughter as a baby again. He is worried about what else the potion can do to his child, so he’d teleport immediately to Reiji and explain the situation, hoping that there is a cure for his daughter. If Reiji announces that he doesn’t have a cure for her, Laito will be sure to use his manipulative schemes and force Reiji into finding a solution. Yes, blackmail, twisted words, and a smile were going to be used in this case.

“If you don’t want any future problems from me, I suggest you get on with it.”

Subaru: Oh hell no. Subaru will not tolerate this and immediately become outraged when he finds his daughter crawling around as a baby again. A poisoned potion will get a punch from an angered Subaru, and Subaru would order Reiji to give his daughter a cure. With some help from Shu, Subaru would be successful with explaining the issue properly, and he’ll get the treatment needed for his daughter. Who knew parenting could be stressful?

“Oi, you better have a cure for her. If not, I’ll break your neck.”

Kino: It would be rare for Kino’s daughter to visit her Sakamaki uncles but when she did on one particular day, Kino would be completely exasperated to find her as a naughty toddler. Now he really wishes he exterminated the vampire race entirely. He may or may not unleash his army of ghouls on the mansion and command them to target mainly on Reiji, but it will all depend on what Reiji says to persuade Kino that he possesses a cure and if his wife doesn’t know yet.

“Did you hear that, Yuri? It looks like we’ll have to destroy Reiji for doing this.”


Ruki: Ruki demonstrates more maturity in this, but he is quietly steaming when he discovers that his daughter is no longer a teenager after visiting the Sakamaki mansion one day. When he becomes utterly irritated about the situation later, Ruki would remark how careless Reiji is for leaving his potions out in the open, and would request for a cure. He can only hold out his patience for the Sakamaki a little longer before snapping and getting heated about it. 

“Fix this issue before things get ugly. I want her back to normal now.

Kou: Kou would be so sad when he picks up his little girl and sees that she wasn’t how he had left her four hours earlier. Complaining about her age and appearance to all of the Sakamaki brothers, Kou would whine to Reiji about giving his daughter a cure. If that didn’t work, he’ll drop the weak facade and turn things into a darker situation. Kou always gets what he wants, so if he can’t extract an antidote from Reiji the first time, he has other methods for trying.

“If you don’t do this for me, I’ll make sure to have my fans give you a visit~”

Yuma: Someone better hold Yuma back from punching the lights out of Reiji when he sees that his daughter is a mindless tiny baby again. Yuma would be extremely pissed, and he’ll call Reiji out for being irresponsible. He refuses to believe that this was a mere mistake, and he may even accuse Reiji of trying to murder his own daughter with poison. Someone will have to negotiate something with Reiji because Yuma is rather emotional and angry at the moment to reason.

“You bastard! I’ll wring yer neck if ya don’t fix her body! Fuck you nobles!”

Azusa: As though things couldn’t get worse for this sweet father, Azusa is in tears when he finds his daughter as a toddler. How will he explain this to his wife and the Mukami family? He doesn’t want to trouble anyone, and would ask Reiji for any possible solutions to cure his daughter. He’d do anything to get her back to normal. Of course, the Mukami family and Azusa’s spouse will find out eventually, and they’ll be at his side to support him all the way.

“Reiji-san…please…I’ll do anything…just help…my daughter…”

-Admin Yuuzuki

Duty of Care

Prompt: A selection of times the Reader looked after Leonard. 

Pairing: Leonard “Bones” McCoy x Reader

Warnings: Drinking? Mentions of divorce? Swearing? Heated moment in the middle but not full on smut? 

Note: My first try at a Star Trek AOS fic so sorry if slightly out of character. It was also a bit longer and bit angstier than I expected. 

You hesitated outside the Medbay for a moment before a glance at the time forced you in. Christine looked up as you entered and wordlessly pointed to the office at the back. Giving a nod of acknowledgement, you crossed the room to it, the door shutting behind you. 

Leonard sat at his desk, head bowed and brows furrowed as he glared at the PADD. Dark shadows sat under his eyes and he ran a weary hand through his hair. “You need to rest,” you said, breaking the silence. 

Keep reading

Anger comes in waves. Something happens, we become outraged, and then it starts to simmer. We’re still angry, but it becomes subdued — until, of course, the next time Trump decides to move forward with another nonsensical, heartless decision, be it claiming that children are terrorism threats or that we should turn away helpless people fleeing war-torn countries. Then we remember to turn the heat back up to a boil. For many of us, myself included, it’s easy to forget to be angry when you are not being directly impacted. As upset as I may be, it’s still easy to categorize something terrible like the travel ban as An Unimaginable Thing That Is Happening To Someone Else in the back of my brain. But the thing is, it’s not unimaginable — it’s someone’s reality. And we have to force ourselves to remember that every day.

I don’t need any proof that bi women’s experiences are typically closer to straight women’s than to lesbians’, beyond the fact that you so rarely see any of them express the same visceral anger lesbians feel when faced with homophobia.
Most bi women are able to remain completely cool and detached about it (”like a therapist”) and even condemn our angry reactions to homophobes, and that tells me everything I need to know. The same bi radfems who get outraged at genderists’ misogyny are completely apathetic when it comes to their homophobia, and we’re supposed to believe their straight privilege doesn’t shelter them from most of it and/or ensure they benefit from it?
They tell us to calm down, be nicer, don’t judge this book before you’ve read it, move on, stop with the pointless squabbling and go do more productive things with your time, they pride themselves on not getting involved / not caring as much as we do about homophobia - and then act completely stunned and betrayed when we assume they don’t have a clue what our oppression feels like and group them with straight women. But if they never choose to side with the people actually angry about homophobia, if they would rather find fault with our reactions than with the bigotry we are reacting to, what do they expect…?

Baby Washington

George Washington x Reader ft. kiddo hamilsquad

Modern AU

Author(s): Lil Laddie

Sequel to: Meeting the Family, Becoming Part of the Family


Warnings: Implied smut, pregnancy

Request: HOLY CRUD-OLA I’VE BEEN GONE FROM THIS FOR SO LONG! I love all of the Imagines I may or may not have binge-read at 1AM… Anyways, could you do one-I know y'all are realllly busy, but maybe sometime in the future, maybe- more sequel to the “Becoming Part of the Family” with the reader pregnant and Alex flips out like “I’M THE CENTER OF ATTENTION HERE NOT SOME BABY!” and then when the baby is born its a girl and James and Mullifan wants to dress her up like a doll? Thanks babes!😍❤💓💖❤❤❤ - anon

A/N: I decided to split this into two parts, I hope you don’t mind. I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCH! I seriously love writing the kiddo hamilsquad with George as their dad. You can expect a the second part of this request to come up on Thursday! I hope you liked this and if you want me to write more about this little family, I WOULD LOVE TO! We’re hoping that requests will be open again in a week or two. Hope your day is amazing! Love you cute kids!

“How do you think the boys will react?” You asked, turning to look at George who was driving you both home for the Doctors office.

“I’m not sure…” George said, a smile on his face from the news the doctor had gave you.

“Do you think they’ll be upset?” You asked, growing worried.

George sensed your anxiety, taking one of his hands off the steering wheel and gently interlaced his fingers with yours. “They will be happy as long as we are happy. You need to relax, everything will work out.”

You sighed, knowing he was right. The two of you had just come back from a doctor’s appointment that had surprised the both of you. By some miracle, you were pregnant. Last you checked, George wasn’t able to have kids.

George had tried with his last wife and the tests always came out negative. After going to a couple of doctors, it turned out it was not possible for him to have kids. Yet here you were, already over two months pregnant. How you hadn’t noticed this whole time was a mystery to you.

George squeezed your hand, pulling you out of your daydreams. Turning from the window to look at him, he still had a huge grin spread across his face. This may have been the longest amount of time he’s smiled for, besides your wedding, your first Christmas with his kids and that one time the boys had a roller skating competition that got way too competitive.

“This is a miracle, (Y/N).” George said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m finally going to have a kid with the woman I love.”

“I think if the boys see you this happy, they will love the baby more than anything.” You grinned, leaning across the middle console to give him a kiss on the cheek.

The two of you were terrified, to be honest. A baby was a big responsibility and you already had 7 boys to take care of. The only thing giving you the hope that you could get through this was the love you were already feeling for this baby. It was going to be a perfect addition to the family, you could already tell.


“Boys! Family meeting!” George called up the stairs after the two of you had made it home.

“Right now?” Aaron yelled from the bedroom that was closest to the stairs.

“Yes.” George yelled back, moving to sit next to you on the couch.

You watched as the boys ran down the stairs and into the living room. Alex pushed Thomas out of the way to plop down on the couch. Thomas glared at him, taking a seat on the floor right in front of you.

“Boys, we have something to tell you…” George trailed off, trying to think of the right way to say it.

“Is everything okay?” James asked, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Nothing’s wrong! It’s just…there’s going to be a change in this house…” You paused, not knowing how to tell the boys.

“Are we getting a dog?” Lafayette asked loudly, his puffy bun moving as he jumped with excitement.

“Not exactly, but there is going to be a new addition to the family.” George smiled, watching the boys around you grow more excited.

“A cat?” Thomas squealed, imaging a small tabby cat just to himself.

“A hedgehog?” John shouted over the other boys excited giggles and whispers.

“A baby?” Hercules asked, looking at the two of you with a knowing smile.

“Hercules wins! You’re getting to get either a baby brother or sister.” You said, the smiles dropping from half the boys faces.

“Another one?” Alex screamed in disgust.

“Do we know what gender it’s going to be?” James sat up, his face lighting up at the mention of a baby.

“Not yet, we’ll have to wait a couple more months to know.” George explained, placing his hand gently on your knee. “We would like it if you boys would want to come to that ultrasound with us. We can find out the gender as a family.”

“As great as that sounds, we don’t need another baby.” Thomas sassed, Alex and Aaron nodding behind him.

“There’s barely enough room for all of in this house, no need to add a smelly baby to it.” Aaron scoffed.

“Plus, it’s going to take up all your time. I AM NOT LETTING THAT HAPPEN!” Alex screeched, his face scrunched up in anger.

“Boys, calm down. The baby is so small it will barely take up any room, if we need to move to a bigger place we will. And Alex it will not take up all our time, you boys will still be just as important to us.” George sighed, his hand on your knee tightening in frustration.

“I think the baby sounds amazing!” John said, taking the attention away from the three outraged boys. “It’ll be fun to have another sibling.”

“I hope it’s a little girl! We can dress her up and play with her. I’ve always wanted a little sister.” James beamed, his voice being louder than usual due to his excitement.

“I call dibs on being her favorite brother! I’m going to always be there to protect her!” Laf boasted, turning to the others with a smug look.

“Laf, we’re not sure if it’s going to be a girl yet.” You giggled, Laf’s proud stance not fading.

“I can tell, just by the vibes in the air, it will be a girl.” Laf smirked, having a feeling he was going to be spot on.

“Laf, you’re going to have to fight me for that position of favorite brother. This kid will love me from the beginning, trust me.” Hercules grinned at Laf before turning to look at you and George. “Let me know when the ultrasound is, I don’t want to miss it for anything.”

“NO! NO BABY, NO ULTRASOUND! IT’S ALREADY STEALING ALL THE ATTENTION AND IT’S NOT EVEN BORN YET! I AM THE CENTER OF ATTENTION HERE NOT SOME BABY!!!” Alex yelled, glaring at you and George before storming up the staircase to his room.

“Alex!” George yelled, standing up from the couch and chasing after him.

You watched him run, feeling a pit of guilt in your stomach. You had caused Alex to have a complete meltdown and two of the other boys to be angry at the two of you. You stood up hoping to follow after the two and help with whatever argument was about to go down. Looking back at the other Aaron and Thomas you hoped they would not react the same way Alex just had.

Making eye contact with Thomas, he narrowed his eyes at you. Standing up and stomped into the kitchen. You followed quickly after him. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, his face in his hands. You placed your hand gently on his shoulder, sitting down on the stool next to him.

“I can’t believe you want to add a baby to this family! Are we not enough?” Thomas asked, his voice cracking with sadness at the end.

“Is that why you’re angry? You feel like we’re trying to replace you?” You asked softly, Thomas’s tense shoulders slumping down.

“Maybe…but why do you need to add another member to the family? I’ve really tried to be a good son.” Thomas looked up from the counter to face you, his eyes were welling up with tears.

“Thomas, it’s not like that at all.” You said, pulling him into a tight hug. “Your dad and I love you so much. We could never replace you, even if we tried. We weren’t planning on having a baby, it was a surprise to us too.”

“You didn’t plan this?” Thomas sniffled, his head pressed against your chest.

“Nope, didn’t expect it to happen.” You said, rubbing Thomas’s back.

“Have you ever heard of a condom?” Thomas asked, the tears slowly disappearing and drying up.

“Thomas! Of course we have!” You laughed, pushing him away from your hug as he snickered.

“Just wondering.” Thomas shrugged, smiling and standing up from his seat. “You can plan on me being there for that ultrasound. If Alex gives you anymore crap, I’ll beat him to a pulp.”

“That’s not necessary, but thank you!” You smiled, watching Thomas leave the kitchen and George enter.

“How’s Alex?” You asked, watching George plop down on the seat next to you.

“He’s in shock. He doesn’t want a baby to take away from him being the center of attention. He agrees to go to the ultrasound, but he said that he can’t promise that he’ll like him or her.” George sighed, pulling you into his side.

“Hey, that’s still progress!” You smiled, a matching one appearing on George’s face at your optimism. “We still have 7 months to convince him that this baby will be great.”

“Once again you are completely correct..” George grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I hope that Laf’s prediction was right…”

“Me too.” You sighed, imagining a beautiful little girl with your hair and George’s eyes.

“I’ve always wanted a little girl.” George said, his eyes glazed over as he too had his own idea of how the little girl would look.

“She would be beautiful.” You snuggled closer to George, closing your eyes in content.

You couldn’t wait for this new addition to your family. You didn’t know who it would be yet, but they were already perfect in your eyes. The boys were just as excited as you were, all of them talking about it all night. The future was coming quickly and all of you, even Alex, wanted time to move quicker. You wanted this baby and you wanted it now.

Resistances and Dalliances

Chapter 20: Shadowlight, Part II

“Were you expecting someone else, lady Pathfinder?” Mashiar laughed.

“Mashiar…” Ryder said, heartbeat racing and mind still filled with her screaming senses and the terrible pain of loss and betrayal. “Why reveal yourself now?” she asked, trying to stall and reorient herself enough to make sense of the situation; not to mention figuring out how to stay alive. She knew Firaan was deadly with his namesake weapon of choice and she doubted that she was in a position to stop someone like that in the tight space they were in without injury; well, perhaps with SAM to aid her she could do it, logically she knew she needn’t be afraid, yet she couldn’t help but be aware of how dangerous the man was and feel threatened by it.

Keep reading

Time is one of the worst media brainwashers on the shelf.  This month?

This RIGHT HERE is why the “mental health” industry (and affiliated systemized identity-policing known as “psychology”) needs to be treated like the bullshit it is.

“eat slowly!  take more naps!  breath deeply!  don’t do things that feel icky in your body!”  It’s great advice, but you might as well just tell people, “don’t be poor.” Because ain’t nobody got time for that.  Not the working class.

And never mind the corporations spewing lead and other toxic chemicals into our environment, engineering processed foods to be convenient + addictive and selling them as “healthy,” and manipulating the public with advertising 24/7 in ways so subconscious and insidious they should be (and sometimes are?) illegal.  Just spend more time on “you!” “Master your mind.”  It’s post-Calvinist faith-healing flowing through 20th century business-coach-guru bullshit into a convenient system of social control.

And the thing is, “spend more time on YOU” is the right idea!  But it’s not poor mental health and depression that’s stopping people.  It’s power.

Any reasonable person would look at our society and be angry.  Outraged.  We don’t act out our anger due to threat of force.  When we do act it out, we punch at simulacra: talking heads with superficial and imagined power over us instead of corrupt cops and politicians and the bourgeoise.  We fight each other instead of the people truly hurting us.

Pssh.  Mindfulness.  Meditation.  It’s another way to make people self-blame for their unhappiness.  Unhappy?  Monitor your thoughts and feelings for sin and violence and anything irrational or unreasonable!  Still unhappy?  Monitor your monitoring!

Anything anything anything to prevent people from trusting their judgement and taking direct action.

–from a reply by @salamanderinspace in a longer thread

Reblogging here for general relevance to dark siders, and specific relevance to Jedi dogma. Relinquishing your power to experts, and being assured that is the “right thing to do,” is normalized, political, and suicidal.

I keep having occasion to quote tweets, but to wit:

for cishet aro/aces who want to “reclaim” the word queer, let me tell you about the history of the word queer’s reclamation. the q slur first started being reclaimed by LGBT people in the late 80s, during the AIDs epidemic. in May 1990, the organization Queer Nation was formed and they passed out flyers at New York’s Gay Pride Parade that read:

“Ah, do we really have to use that word? It’s trouble. Every gay person has his or her own take on it. For some it means strange and eccentric and kind of mysterious […] And for others “queer” conjures up those awful memories of adolescent suffering […] Well, yes, “gay” is great. It has its place. But when a lot of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning we feel angry and disgusted, not gay. So we’ve chosen to call ourselves queer. Using “queer” is a way of reminding us how we are perceived by the rest of the world.”

their explanation for reclaiming the q slur was their anger with being persecuted for being gay, labeled as disgusting and sinful for being gay people during the AIDS epidemic. they were reclaiming “queer” to remind themselves of every time they heard “queer” while being bullied and beaten by their family+peers for being LGBT and therefore, remind them of the harmful bigotry cishets portray. they were outraged by all the violent hate crimes happening to LGBT people every day. Queer Nation’s goal was to eliminate homophobia, and the increase of gay, lesbian and bisexual visibility. they wanted to make it clear to straight people that queers would not be restricted to gay bars for socializing and for public displays of affection, and to call attention to the fact that most “public” space was in fact hetero space. through parodying straight behavior (such as “spin the bottle”) at these events, queers refused to be invisible while publicly questioning the naturalized status of hetero coupling activity. queer people were LGBT people standing up against the bigotry and violence due to the increased homophobia and transphobia during the AIDS epidemic. they were making a political statement that they did not deserve to hide or be ashamed for being LGBT, did not deserve to hide or be ashamed for being sexual and LGBT. that cishet people would have to deal with LGBT people and their affection, whether bigoted cishet people liked it or not.

throughout the years, trans and sga/mga people have been attacked with the q slur, had it muttered in our direction in passing or yelled at us while being beaten. queer is still a slur for so many LGBT people, they’re still being harmed by it every day. not for being perceived as “weird” or “not the norm”, but for specifically being LGBT. for being trans and/or for being sga/mga. queer has been and continues to be a word that LGBT people have exclusively been attacked with by cishets. and if you’re cishet, you can’t “reclaim” a word that didn’t harm you in the first place, that doesn’t only have a history of not harming you..but a history of you harming others with it. 

Siren Song - 5

Although Y/N had been exposed to magic her entire life, few rooms had left her in awe; her breath caught in her chest. She was transported into an alternate world, a subterranean haven disjointed and isolated from the rest of the castle and its inhabitants. As she stepped into the Slytherin common room, Y/N brimmed with an overwhelming sense of house pride. With her initial sweeping glance of the room, she knew this was where she belonged. This was her house. The sorting hat had chosen Slytherin for her for a reason, and Y/N was tooth and nail determined to make the most of her placement.

She surveyed the room closer, familiarizing herself with her new surroundings. The long room was bathed in soft green light that danced upon rough stone walls and Y/N’s eyes immediately were drawn to the large, ornate windows that offered no tableau of the night sky. Her eyes widened when she realized she was gazing into water and, much to her amusement and satisfaction, Y/N felt as if she were peering into an untamed, overgrown aquarium.  

“Wicked, huh? We’re under part of the Black Lake. No other common room is underwater.” Blaise had been watching Y/N’s reaction to the room. “It’s my favorite thing about our common room.”

“It’s awesome.  I’ve never been in a room like this before.” Y/N continued to search the room, her eyes settling momentarily on dark green blown glass lamps suspended by thick metal chains dangling from the ceiling, massive tapestries that dominated wall space and told moving stories about the trials and achievements of Slytherins past, high-backed chairs and large and small tables crafted long ago from some dark and sturdy wood, plush leather sofas sprawling in front of a tremendous stone fireplace, a fire that roared, crackled and glowed bright from its many embers, a tall bookshelf that contained an assortment of old, important looking books, and numerous serpents of all sizes incorporated into the architecture and decor of the room. The common room was dotted with several Slytherin students either doing homework or chatting with friends.

Visually overstimulated by the opulence and detail in front of her, Y/N turned her attention to the distinct smell of the room. If you had asked her an hour ago what she believed a dungeon smelled like, Y/N would have replied with damp, musty, stale, or stagnant. Pleasantly surprised, however, she couldn’t have been any more incorrect about this room. The Slytherin common room instead smelled of leather, rich-wood furniture, parchment, and burning logs from the fire. Occasionally, a whiff of cool, sharp lake water drifted into her nostrils.

Y/N inhaled deeply, “I could get use to this.” She turned her attention to the boy next to her, “Thanks again for bringing me here.” She smiled at him. “Could you also possibly point me in the direction of where my room might be? I want to check and make sure all my stuff got here okay. I already know my owl is in the owlery, but I’ve not seen my trunk or anything in hours.”

“I can do better than just pointing you in the right direction.” Blaise walked to the back of the room and Y/N followed. He approached a swarthy girl with thick, unruly eyebrows. “Hey Millicent, could you do me a favor?” Blaise had heard a rumor that Millicent fancied him and he was willing to exploit this crush. “Y/N here is our new Slytherin. Snape said she’ll be in your room. Would you be a doll, Millicent, and show her where that is?”

Millicent stared at Blaise and nodded, “Sure, Blaise. Anything else you need me to show her?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Whatever she needs, thanks.” Blaise spun around and addressed Y/N, “I’ll be in the common room for a bit if you want to find me after you’re done getting settled.” Often apathetic to the people around him, Blaise couldn’t help but be attracted to Y/N; she was like a shiny new plaything, but Blaise allowed that she probably wouldn’t let anyone treat her as such. Nonetheless, he wanted to get to know her better. And to be perfectly frank, she was appealing to look at and he wasn’t bored with her yet.

Blaise glanced at Y/N’s lips and wondered what they tasted like.

“I’ll be back here after I’m situated,” Y/N promised the boy. She turned to Millicent ready to follow her. The pair exited the room and proceeded up a spiral stone staircase to a dark door on the left. Carved on the front of the door was the Slytherin serpent standing upright with a coiled tail. Millicent pushed back the door and the girls entered the room.

Echoing the design of the common room, the entire back wall of the room was one large panel of glass that pressed against the murky green water of the Black Lake.

“Okay, now that’s fucking cool,” Y/N emphasized her approval of the room.

“Your bed is that end one I’m guessing, closest to the lake. The other three are mine, Pansy’s, and Daphne’s.” Millicent pointed at each of the fourposter beds. “Looks like your things are here. If you need the bathroom or shower,” Millicent waved her hand, “go through that door. I’m going to head back to the common room and work on my essay. Transfiguration is kicking my ass.”

“Thanks for showing me everything,” was all Y/N managed to get out before Millicent had turned around and disappeared completely.

Y/N approached her bed and flung herself upon the deep green comforter. She sank into the the material feeling as if she were floating on a cloud. The fabric was soft and silky, and Y/N knew she wouldn’t have trouble falling asleep tonight. She listened to the room around her and could faintly make out only the low bubble and gurgle of the lake around her. Her room was incredibly peaceful and Y/N couldn’t help but wish she didn’t have to share it with three other girls. Especially Pansy Parkinson.

After arranging her belongings for what felt like an eternity (and exploring the low ceilinged stone bathroom), Y/N returned to the common room with her class schedule, wand, a blank piece of parchment, a red quill, and a pot of ink. She intended to find Blaise and ask him for help with directions to her classes. Scouring the room, Y/N failed to locate him. The common room was considerably more crowded than earlier, but Y/N noticed an empty leather sofa directly in front of the fire. Placing her belongings on a dark end table by the sofa, Y/N walked to the tall bookshelf and browsed its contents. Settling on an ancient book about the founding of the Slytherin house, Y/N returned to her spot on the couch and decided to read until Blaise reappeared.

Absorbed in her book, she payed no attention to the three pairs of footsteps approaching the back of the sofa.

“You can’t sit there.” The voice coming from behind Y/N was cold and familiar. “L/N,” snapped Draco Malfoy, who was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, “you need to move. That’s my seat.”

She whipped around to face her aggressor and met his gray eyes. “Do you have assigned seats or something?” she asked defensively.

“Not per se. But I always sit there — it’s my seat. And you need to find somewhere else to move to, away from me, because I’m allergic to blood traitors like you,” he spat his words like venom.

However handsome he was, Y/N thought Draco was acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Well, Malfoy,” she stressed his last name as he had done with hers, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not moving just because you tell me to. If you want to sit next to me, you’re more than welcome to, there is plenty of room. But if you’re going to keep insulting me and calling me a blood traitor, let me stop you right there. Because I won’t listen.”

Draco narrowed his eyes viciously at Y/N. He wasn’t use to being challenged by his housemates. How dare she speak to him that way… Who did she think she was? She was below him, a blood traitor. Fire from her words surged within Draco, and for a fleeting moment, his anger seemed to dissolve into something else entirely. He was torn and couldn’t determine if he was experiencing outrage or desire. Where was this coming from? He wanted her to shut up, but he found her combativeness to be oddly enticing. He rebuked himself and dismissed the thought as quick as a lightning strike. Yet he couldn’t pull himself away from her. Instead Draco leaned over the sofa, purposefully encroaching upon Y/N’s personal space, and whispered loudly, “Move, or I will move you myself.”

His breath was warm on her ear and neck and smelled of peppermint. Y/N was twitching nerves inside, but she hardened her face and projected calm confidence. She could fight fire with fire and decided to do just that. She slightly turned her head and positioned her mouth by the blonde’s ear.

“Touch me,” Y/N replied slowly in a whisper, her breath now electrifying Draco’s skin, “anywhere,” she pulled away from Draco and stared, challenging him again, “and I will jinx you all the way to the hospital wing. Now please leave. Me. Alone.”

Draco was shocked not only by Y/N’s feistiness, but also the palpable tension that existed between them. Taking a step back from the sofa, Draco quickly replied, “Tonight you can sit here. Since it’s your first night, I’ll let it slide. If we see you sitting here tomorrow, we will really have a problem, won’t we now, boys?” he asked Crabbe and Goyle. The three boys laughed and sneered at Y/N before leaving to find an open table across the room.

“Well Malfoy,” Blaise had strolled out of the boys dormitory in time to witness the scene unfold and sauntered up to Draco. “She certainly ruffled your little white peacock feathers,” Blaise snarkily alluded to the preening pets that the Malfoy family kept on their lawn.

Snapping his head up towards Blaise, Draco growled, “Leave it alone, Zabini. Or else.”

He chuckled at the blonde’s hollow threat before turning to leave him, “Whatever you say, Malfoy.” Blaise felt his friend’s heavy, blistering stare as he joined Y/N on the leather couch.

Draco sat fuming at the table irritated by both his interaction with Y/N and Blaise’s subsequent, snide comment. And the fact that they were now sitting together in Draco’s spot. Since when did Zabini and some random girl get to insult him and get away with it? His pride stung, he was ready to regain his composure, move past tonight, and then stonewall Y/N for good. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind; she filled him with contempt and something else Draco was hesitant to identify.

Some of the police chiefs he worked with, he noticed, had an increasingly gung-ho mentality. Under the 1970 federal crime bill, the annual budget for Santarelli’s agency jumped from $75 million to $500 million. It seemed like every police department in the country wanted a piece. That wasn’t so unusual. But it was what they wanted that Santarelli found concerning. “They didn’t value education or training. They valued hardware,” he says. The city of Birmingham asked him for an armored personnel carrier (APC). Other chiefs wanted tanks. Los Angeles asked him for a submarine. “Anything the police chiefs could dream up do make themselves look more fearsome, they wanted,” Santarelli says …
Chief John Nichols doubled up the personnel on his narcotics unit and started arresting and imprisoning heroin dealers instead of merely chasing them off, as the city had done in the past. The result was an impressive stat sheet on the enforcement side: 1,600 arrests. But cracking down on dealers opened the city up to turf wars. In one ten-day stretch in June, Detroit logged forty murders. It was one of the first examples of the sort of self-perpetuating, self-escalating feedback loop created by the modern drug war. Crackdowns upset the established black markets. That created lucrative new opportunities for rising dealers and those who weren’t caught in crackdowns. They’d then wage war to claim the new markets, with most of the victims being low-level pawns and the occasional bystander. The resulting bloodshed would spur outrage and anger, giving law enforcement and political officials more reason to order crackdowns and ask for more authority to use more force. The pattern would repeat itself for decades in US cities, in Latin America, and on a tragically large scale in Mexico in the 2000s.
—  Rise of the Warrior Cop: The Militarization of America’s Police Forces by Radley Balko
The NHS and the Reality of the New Junior Doctors' Contract.

I am a junior doctor who works in the Accident and Emergency department of a Midlands’ hospital.

It’s a hard job, like many within the hospital. The pressures on the staff and the department itself are considerable.

Over the past months, with the evolving dispute surrounding the contract for junior doctors, I, like my colleagues, have watched with intrigue. Intrigue has made way for indignation, disappointment and anger.

We have tried to remain professional despite the thinly-veiled attacks on our integrity and sense of vocation, our outrage cemented in false statistics and sensationalist reporting designed purely to denigrate the NHS and every single person who works within it.

The furore has dimmed somewhat since the announcement of imposition of the new contract, in the media at least. This has at least given us all time to reflect on what has happened.

I have read as many articles and posts from as many different sources as I have been able to. Many are in support of the juniors and the NHS as a whole whilst some have demonised the BMA. Others have tried to simplify this action to a pay dispute.

I’d like to try to describe my last week to you and explain why this is a dispute about something else entirely.

This is about life.

It is about providing the opportunities for patients to have their lives cared for, adequately and professionally, so that they can leave the hospital in a better situation than when they arrived.

This is about fuller and happier lives for the families of those patients who can build new memories, enriched by the presence of a loved one.

And it is about life for the people providing that same care.

We need the environment and the system in which to optimise the delivery of the care we are capable of giving in order to save lives, improve them and empower them. It’s what we strive for every day.

We also need the environment to balance our own working lives against our need for social interaction, rest, learning, adequate nutrition and maintenance of our physical and emotional health.

Without this, it is not possible to offer the best care that any of us can hope to provide.

And that is a travesty for patients.

From last Saturday (20th Feb) in seven days, I was Rota’d on for 72 hours. This comprised of:

Fri 19th: off
Sat: 14-0200
Sun: 14-0200
Mon: 12-21
Tues 12-21
Wed: 2200-0800
Thurs: 2200-0800
Fri: 2200-0800.

In reality, I worked nearly 85 hours.

On Sunday evening I left work at 0340, got home at 415, went to bed at 0500 and was up at 0930 before another 10 hour shift that turned into twelve hours.

I had one proper break all week- that is, half an hour to sit and eat a sandwich and have a cup of tea. I had one proper meal.

I missed my scheduled teaching for the week because I was on nights. I had a meeting on Thursday morning after my night shift to discuss why I had missed so much teaching and the extra e-learning I would need to do in order to compensate for this, as well as that already required that I was yet to complete.

I crashed my car on the way home.

That night I led the care of a seven week old in cardiac arrest due to an undiagnosed narrowing of their aorta and a hole between the atria in their heart. We were successful.

The other patients I remember from the week were a gentleman who I told required further investigation because he had a brain tumour; a lady on chemotherapy who had an overwhelming infection; a 10 year old with a life-threatening asthma exacerbation; and a lady who had been hit with a hammer in the eye.

We were so busy one evening we had someone with a supraventricular tachycardia, another with a bowel obstruction and another with a diabetic ketoacidosis in the waiting room- we just had no space to put them into a room.

These people were critically unwell and there is an energy that comes with that. This is what we are trained for. This is what we do.

The patients that turn out to be more difficult when you are tired are those inbetween; blood results unremarkable, imaging without abnormality, but distinguished clinical signs.

Send home or admit? GP follow up or medical review? Non-specific abdominal pain or appendicitis?

When you are tired, the mistakes lie here. In the grey areas. And it is so easy to miss.

For example: A man comes in with a respiratory tract infection. You treat it. He is epileptic. You refer him, and he is to be transferred to a medical bed. You are not informed there is a delay in transferring him to the ward. He doesn’t receive his regular medication because you didn’t prescribe it in your rush to see the next patient. The nurse tells you and they prevent a fit. You feel awful; but until you see his face you can’t even remember him because you’ve seen 10 patients since and numerous relatives.

1g of paracetamol prescribed; but the patient is 45kg and you didn’t check. She should have had half that. My colleagues prevent me overdosing her.

I enter the department each day and look at the bed board and hope I don’t recognise any names of patients that I treated the day before.

I’m tired when I start.

We finish late on shifts because we can’t leave these patients. We aren’t clock-watching.

It is not straightforward to hand over the details of a case to a colleague and ask them to contact intensive care. It is better for the patient that we do it ourselves; so that is what we do.

Sometimes, there is nobody to hand over to. So we stay on. Because that is what we do. That is what is right.

We don’t take breaks so we can tell your relatives your blood tests results and the likely course of a new diagnosis or life event. That is normal.

We do this in an increasingly litigious society where our mistakes are magnified and we are punished, rightly, for our errors. Twice this week my consultations have been recorded by relatives, once without my knowledge at the time.

Is that right?

Is any of this right?

Is it right I am being pushed more and more by my seniors, by my health secretary, by my government?

Is it right that I am in increasingly difficult environments that make it more likely that a patient will come to harm? More likely that I will end up in court with the coroner? More likely that my career will stall? More likely that my health will be affected?

I go on holiday in my fixed annual leave and realise it is the first time I have had to process the cries of the woman I comforted after we lost her 5 month old daughter on Boxing Day. A week after she had lost her husband in a motorbike accident.

I remember the 11 year old who tried to resuscitate her 42 year old mother. We couldn’t save her. She wouldn’t let me go when I told her and I watched her grow up in front of my eyes as she comforted her father when he arrived and was so stricken with grief he couldn’t get up from the floor for an hour.

I need to be alert, well-rested and healthy. For these patients and these relatives, they deserve for me to be at my best.

And I need to be at my best for me too.

I do this job so families and friends can share more precious moments together. My chosen career doesn’t afford me the same opportunity.

If the new contract is, as planned, imposed in August, this week will be more normal for my colleagues.

Being at my best will be impossible.

And despite not agreeing that the care I provided last week deserved the £6.54 per hour (£5.40 if calculated under the terms of the new contract) I received, that is not what our profession is concerned with.

For patients and all healthcare staff, this contract is morally, ethically and fundamentally wrong.