#Harvard does at least

[ivystitches]

i’d heard so much about how rory is kinda insufferable in the later seasons, but why didn’t anyone warn me about lorelei

#why does she behave like a child? #why does everyone treat jess like that? #why is she always so fucking childish with her parents #rory wanted to goto harvard so she just didn’t apply any other place? and then when her dad said that ivy leagues are difficult to get into #and lorelei doesn’t know how hard these admissions can get #and all of that is true!! rory could still get rejected because everyone else applying is just as perfect as her #i don’t really understand i barely liked lorelai in season 1 #and i just can’t bring myself to like her afterwards #she’s so immature #and she behaves like the child in the relationship #‘my daughter is my best friend’ but she shouldn’t be? you should be her mother? you could be your daughter’s best friend #but your daughter shouldn’t be your best friend at that age #like she’s what 14 when the show starts #at least wait until she goes to uni #and what was that with when chris is having a baby with his gf #why were they so mad at him #he didn’t wanna same the mistakes he used to! why is that a sin in their books?! #lorelai is understanding towards everyone but her parents also #the only person i’m rooting for in this show is emily gilmore #also sookie i love her so much #gilmore girls

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

.

#jade watches gilmore girls #UGHHH #dean mocking rory about Harvard is the worst... #he's so needy and annoying #lorelai warned him about how rory is a perfectionist and he knows what a hard worker she is #he knows how important harvard is to her and he just mocks it instead of understanding why rory is stressing #like she can't see lane as often and lane only voices how sad that makes her once and never guilt trips her #she never even got mad about her moving school #and the fact dean was ready to break up because she'd be going to college (i had my problems with Jess but at least he understood- #-and looked how far it was so he could consider travelling to her to see her and was upset she dropped out) #the way he does that mocking tone a lot #you should care about Harvard because it matters to your girlfriend #i was going to say if lorelai saw/heard the way he talked to her and act with her...but remembered she thinks he does no wrong because- #-shes obsessed....ehhhh

[cinderellakinnie]

mmmmmmmmmm trying to work some shit out yeehaw

#so in terms of struggling i think i know issue #and waz looking thigns up etc #and like i dont have diagnoses other things complicated blah blah #to get help they say just do this thing but then you look and the thing is actually 4p different tasks in disguise #like with job apps but anyway #i think i have autistic burnout so im finally looking at ways to help bc i might as well #gonna get a fucking hoodie or two bc picking out what to wear HAS been a challenge actually #and ppl get weird when i wear my harvard one even tho its funny 2 me #anywya one of the things thsy said was to engage ur special interest and dont just binge watch tv #but the thing is #my (presumed) special interest is star trek (and sometimes music and musical theatre shit) #what are you asking me to do here website #engaging in star trek is going to involve at least a little tv #i own a lot of pyjama bottoms and like these bright pink tracksuit bottoms which r funny to me #thats why top issue not bottoms #a lot of my jumpers are nice but theyre not comfy in the right sensory way theyre for wearing not as a way to accomodate me #anyway need to properly function this why does my brain only do this in the middle of the night #then make me too sad to do anything during the day >:(

[fukashiin]

how they admire you from afar

— w. ace, deuce, floyd, kalim, jamil

⤷ times when they stare at you and think "wow theyre pretty"

ACE TRAPPOLA

- you? beautiful? him staring at you because of it?

- audacious. seriously

- he stares at you so much and he hates YOUR guts for it somehow

- like why do you have to look so breathtaking when doing the most ordinary of tasks? do you WANT him to stare at you? (not like you’re aware of how much he does anyway)

- and you miss the salty side eye he gives to the previous person you were talking to

- fail to notice the subtle pouts he sends your way and he ignores you back for the next week

- like literally what is his problem

- but the time he spends trying to “ignore” you doesn’t last for long

- because. you don’t know. how beautiful you are in his eyes.

- scribbles the most illegible notes down in his journal back in his dorm because he just can’t get rid of the sight of your face (no human is supposed to be that pretty. he’s just being ridiculous)

- posts weirdly ominous captions on his magicam stories about how “he’s going to lose it” or “how can someone be THAT blind?” 

- he removed you from his close friends just so you couldn’t view it

- and he’s still wondering why you aren't taking the hint? ace please wake up you're going to harvard

- the next day is his basketball tournament. you were invited

- and the moment he was about to shoot the ball through the basket, he saw you amongst the crowd, cheering for him, yelling his name, encouraging him to score a point for NRC’s team

- he misses the shot with his hand a centimeter away from the basket and the ball bounces off the ring

- the whistle blows and the tension falls off of everyone’s shoulders

- he’s not ashamed in the least. in fact he was still focusing on you. why did you look so confused? head tilted and everything? now is not the time to distract him when he’s in a tournament you know? this is a very important day for him and he absolutely cannot miss this shot.

- he comes back to his senses when both teams that were competing against each other disappeared from the ring. only turns out it was time to take a break and he was informed of his foolish mistake 

- he sees you running up to him, scoffs, and turns away

- why do you have to put him through so much? just when will you notice his dumb advances towards you?

- but all his thoughts dissipate into thin air when you smile at him so sweetly and reassure him that he’ll do better the next round

- he really hates you

- and he’s really down bad for you

DEUCE SPADE

- no. he can’t accept this. he won’t accept this. what happened to his first priority to become NRC’s notable honour student?

- stage 1: denial

- his gaze settles on you entirely, while you’re taking notes in class and you’re unaware of a hungry gaze that burns into the back of your head

- deuce then realises that he’s been balancing on the front two legs of his seat this entire time

- slips and hits his chin directly on the edge of the desk when mr. crewel calls out his name

- pull out the bandages with my melody characters cutely printed onto them, he’s going to need it 

- but when your hands come in contact with his skin

- he absolutely

- FOLDS

- “let me bandage it up for you” you said. “i promise it won’t hurt one bit” you SAID

- stares at you the whole time while you’re focused on cleaning his bruise (caused by you)

- he takes notice of the bandages and feels the childish tears pricking at his eyes (caused by you)

- mutters a weak ‘thank you’ once you’re done and when you push your hair back to get rid of the accumulated sweat on your forehead, he feels an arrow shooting right through his heart

- can he blame you? everything you do is just so seemingly flawless and attractive that he can’t help but wonder if he’s truly worthy of your attention. after all, you are aware of his past 

- spams his mother’s phone once he’s back at the dorm in the evening, telling her that there’s this person who’s so drop-dead gorgeous that he can’t get them out of his mind and he’s begging her, asking her what he should do with such unfamiliar feelings that poke at his heart

- except ms spade was probably dealing with a workload that evening and had her notifications off for the entire day (and probably forgot in the process so she’s worried about his son not texting her for one whole day)

- they’re bothj so silly

- the next couple of days fly by, same as ever, with deuce admiring your features at the other side of the table while you help wipe the crumbs off of grim’s face during lunch

- his entire thought process was just about how dreamy you were, he’s so lovestruck it’s insane

- and great seven does he thank them above for being able to live this day

- because you suddenly remembered that your fridge back at ramshackle dorm was out of stock

- so you offered deuce this golden opportunity to head to sam’s store together to help shop for missing groceries that you desperately needed to fill your fridge again 

- he snaps out of his own thoughts and nods his head. violently. was he trying to mimic those bobble head figures?

- you were content and looked at him with that killer-smile

- instant K.O

- ace watches from the sidelines and gets up to purchase another deluxe steak hamburger that the cafeteria was handing out for a limited time

FLOYD LEECH

- completely ditches his work at mostro lounge just to sit at the booth you’re at to stare at you

- he doesn’t even say anything

- he just stares

- maybe even twirls a lil strand of your hair if you consent to that

- and he’s completely head-over-heels for you. but who knows that other than jade and azul thanks to their gifted intuition? not you, for all they know

- absolute menace

- casually slings an arm around your shoulders, wrap his arms around your waist from behind-he does all of these and starts a countdown out of nowhere for the person that you were conversing with to get away from the two of you

- you: (　ﾟдﾟ) Floyd: (*^ω^*)

- what’s that about personal space??? yeah he has zero idea of what that is while he continues staring at you

- your lips to be specific.

- every part of you just seems so-pretty? whenever you two have mixed classes together all his thoughts go right through the window and you’re the only thing that his eyes see

- leaves the classroom feeling pretty goofy. slacks his arms behind his head and accidentally whacks a student right in the face with his elbow

- hallway chases are nothing new

- you have to run twice as fast as you do in PE

- he justt thinks you’re so cute the nicknames are endless

- “my adorable shrimpy” “my cutesy little sherbet in a cup” “my one and only mike wazowski”

- they’re not even related to sea animals anymore

- revoke his pet name privileges please

KALIM-AL-ASIM

- smitten the moment he makes eye contact with you

- menace number #2 (lovingly)

- what’s wrong? you don’t want a costly chandelier installed in ramshackle’s lounge? Funny! kalim does not bother and your complaints fall on deaf ears

- cups his cheeks in his hands and kicks his legs while he watches you from afar like a little high school girl

- he has a big fat crush on you and he isn’t afraid to show it

- INSISTS jamil that they should bring back every traditional cuisine from their hometown for you to try out

- sends unprofessionally written love letters onto ramshackle’s doorstep when he’s away for the holidays (jamil modified some parts of the letter to not make it too hard to understand)

- think his only love language is giving gifts? absolutely not. doesn’t even know what the five love languages are but masters them all (and it doesn't even take him any strenuous effort)

- rambles to jamil about how beautiful you are during lunch. proceeds to even make an hour-long powerpoint presentation to show to his 30 younger siblings back at home with low-quality images downloaded from shutterstock.

- “how pretty are they?” “are you two going to get married?” “can i see them in person some time? I’ll be nice!”

- no you did NOT give him permission. but you’re okay with that. you love him too much to scold him anyway<333 

- one time you were invited to scarabia’s dorm where they were holding a large banquet (kalim sat beside you and mindlessly kept placing portions of food from the table onto your own plate-it started overflowing you HAD to stop him from grabbing the tongs)

- by the time everything was settled, you went back to your own dorm to get a goodnight’s rest

- but kalim was so adamant on not letting you go that a student from his dorm basically had to rip him off of your figure 

- he loves you and your cute face so much 

- scratch that he loves everything about you from head to toe

- when he was back in his room daydreaming about you, he heard the door burst open

- turns out it was jamil needing to inform him about the upcoming dorm leader meeting happening the next day

- kalim accidentally called him “teddy bear” thinking it was you who decided to come back and give him a farewell kiss

- jamil took his first shot that day

JAMIL VIPER

- jamil viper is not like the other guys

- no he’s different

- he stubbornly pushes all his surfacing feelings down and outwardly ignores the elephant in the room!

- which is his abrupt crush on you

- but seriously-he has no idea what to do

- when you offered to help him make dishes for the next dorm feast scarabia was having

- he couldn’t stop staring at the way your hands handled the kitchen utensils so effortlessly 

- and how you looked so laser focused on chopping the ingredients with beads of sweat starting to form on your forehead

- he’s DEFINITELY not into you at all. there’s nothing outstanding about you. he does not think you’re even pretty in the least. (press X to doubt)

- kalim takes notice frustratingly quick and suddenly he’s not a dorm leader anymore but a persuasive wingman

- kalim: you like them right??? do you want me to confess to them for you???? i promise i wont make you look stupid!

- jamil: PLEASE STO

- but when you start to become aware of the subtle signs and how he’s much more softer when it comes to you, jamil assures you that you had no fault in this at all and he’s stupid for letting such affection get to his head

- “It’s not you, it’s me.”

- (he secretly tells himself that it is kind of you because you’re just too charming to take his eyes off of??? inflexible much)

- but he still continues to stare at you. he doesn’t even know if it’s out of pure habit or if he’s just shameless anymore (news flash: it’s both)

- throw your personality into the mix and he’s very much in love

- and you were kind enough to not pay mind to it. when you do notice and call him out-he’s flushed. he’s flustered. bro ascended.

- and when you do accept his feelings, he’s relieved. he even offers to cook for you every day 24/7. and you’re rather surprised at his ability to balance all his responsibilities on his shoulders without a single slip up.

- sometimes kalim would walk with you guys in the hallway when arriving to your locker to pick up some books for your next lesson. jamil doesnt particularly mind but

- why does it feel like he’s the one who’s third wheeling?

- but in all honesty, he doesn’t mind in the least

- because he knew that you reciprocate his feelings so sincerely-and he’s grateful for it.

- mega W if you start dating jamil you won in life

#i had way too much fun writing this #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #floyd leech x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper

[ex-mortis-evie]

Would you mind doing me a bit of a favor real quick?

It’s no big, just hear me out okay?

So I’ve been studying hypnosis for a pretty long time now, and I’ve discovered, well, let’s call them quirks for now.

These quirks are what makes a brain different from other brains around them, it’s what makes us ourselves.

It’s remarkable too, seeing how our little quirks can be affected by what’s around us.

Some people are intelligent, so they tend to read books or listen to other intelligent people.

Others though are dumb. Like, really dumb.

Of course there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s something I’ve picked up on.

What’s fascinating though is how much they tend to overlap.

What do I mean by that? Well, I’m showing you right now.

Even the smartest people or the dumbest can listen to somebody talk.

And that overlap can be exploited, to say the least.

After all, it’s getting harder to tear yourself away from listening to me, right?

Nod that head.

Good listener.

I can’t even blame you though. All humans are naturally curious. Especially those on both sides of the intelligence spectrum.

The intelligent seek out knowledge and the dumb tend to lose it.

The dumb will fall into any trap you set for them.

And the intelligent will fall into any trap, too. You just have to convince them to listen.

Just look at the world outside.

How many smart people are taken advantage of daily.

How many dumb people are taken advantage of daily.

The overlap keeps spiraling and spiraling.

And as it does, you’re starting to see the similarities too, right?

Nod your head.

Good listener.

It’s not hard to see how the smart and the dumb relate to each other.

One gains intelligence, the other loses it.

But, what if they overlapped?

What if that dumb blonde you gawked at the other day was corrupted into an honor grad from Harvard?

What if that scholarship standard guy was made into a bumbling mess at the snap of some fingers?

It’s not hard for either.

All it takes is for them to overlap a bit.

For their minds to mesh together a bit.

Feeling thoughts bubble and pop.

And bubbles form into thoughts.

Memories fading.

And new ones being made.

You were always dumb.

You were always smart.

You’re so stupid.

You’re so intelligent.

After all, it’s so easy to be dumb.

After all, it’s so easy to be smart.

All you have to do is be pretty and sexy.

All you have to do is think and talk.

People will listen to a ditz.

People will listen to a genius.

They’ll understand why it’s so good to be dumb.

They’ll understand why it’s so good to be smart.

Don’t think about it.

Think about it.

It just makes sense.

#brainwashing #hypnosis #hypnosub #hypnotized #mind conditioning #mind control #brain drain #hypnotism #covert hypnosis #hypnok1nk

[mentalisttraceur]

The good news about all the problems with prestigious universities in the US is that they're losing credibility.

Used to be, if you told me you went to Harvard or whatever, my default impression of your mind was mildly positive, even a touch intimidating. Now I know to think of legacy admissions, wealthy families cheating or gaming the system, and higher-than-normal odds of you failing upwards or at least succeeding more on connection than merit.

In other words, knowing you went to a school of Ivy League caliber used to shift the probabilities in my mind in your favor. Now it shifts them against you. It no longer makes me see greater odds of good intelligence or work ethic. It does make me suspect greater risk of unethical or selfish decisions, having low emotional maturity, being stunted in perspective yet overconfident, or being somehow toxic to a workplace or community.

[spectersgirl]

Hi!! If u still do request i have one. Can u do one where harvey x reader has a stubborn son (like a mini teenage version of him)? love your fics btw!!

This is part two!! Part one is here!

Mini Harvey (p2)

---

You were reading peacefully when you noticed the voices of your son and husband raising louder and louder. The tension crackled between Harvey and your teenage son. Oliver, much like his father, was headstrong and determined, especially when it came to his desire to pursue a career in law.

This time, the argument centered on Oliver's college decision. He was adamant about attending Stanford all the way in California, but Harvey, ever the protective father, had different ideas. If Oliver was going into law, the only option in Harvey's mind was Harvard, his own alma mater.

A few more minutes of yelling passed, followed by the slamming of a bedroom door, and then it was silent. You decided it was best not to get in the middle of their argument this time, knowing that at least one of them would be coming to you for a venting session anyway.

As if on cue a gentle knock interrupted the quiet, and there stood Harvey, looking an odd mixture of pissed off and nervous. "I need your advice," he admitted, a touch of vulnerability in his voice. "Oliver and I... I just don't know how to get through to him."

You beckoned him to sit beside you, offering a soft smile. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" you joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Harvey managed a small smile. "He's got my stubbornness, that's for sure."

You giggled and placed a hand on his back, rubbing it softly causing him to relax into your touch just a bit.

"He's just so insistent," Harvey confessed. "I want the best for him, but I'm afraid I'm just pushing him away. I just wish I knew how to make him see my reasoning."

You paused before responding, meeting Harvey's gaze. "Harvey, sometimes it's not about making him see your reasons. It's about understanding his. Have you even asked him why he wants to go to Stanford over Harvard? Ask him about his choices instead of getting him to come to your side. He needs to feel heard and supported."

Harvey nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. I've been too focused on what I think is best for him without even thinking about his perspective. Thanks, baby."

He gave you a quick kiss to the temple before standing and leaving the room. As Harvey left, you prepared yourself for the conversation with Oliver, which was sure to come any minute. Soon enough, another knock sounded through the room.

"Mom," Oliver began, "Dad just doesn't get it. He won't even listen to why I don't want to go to Harvard, he just always thinks he's right and knows what's best”

Inviting him to sit down, you spoke gently. "Dad just cares about you, Oliver. But maybe he's not expressing it in the best way. Have you tried seeing things from his perspective? He might have valid reasons, but he needs to listen to you too."

Oliver's frustrated demeanor softened as he mulled over your words. "I guess I haven’t. Thanks mom, I’ll go talk to him."

Later that evening, when you were getting ready for bed, Harvey entered and closed the bedroom door behind him.

“Hey, did you talk to him?” You asked.

“I did. We both apologized and I heard him out, then I explained that no matter where he decides, I’ll always be proud of him.”

“I’m proud of you, I know it was always your dream for him to go to Harvard but it makes me so proud to see you let that go and let Oliver choose his own dream.”

Harvey smiled, with a touch of sadness behind his eyes. He walked over to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“When did our little guy get big enough to argue with me about colleges?” Harvey murmured into your hair.

“Don’t get all sentimental now, we are not having another”

#harvey specter x reader #harvey specter #harvey specter suits #suits fics #harveyspecter #request #suits #requests open

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Just Like This

Summary: Working a second job in a bar to help pay for Sammy’s education, Dean finds a kindred spirit in bar manager Y/N. When a drunk Douchebag gets too handsy with her, Dean quickly jumps to her defence but faces harsh consequences.

Pairing: Bartender!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Rating: Teen

Bingo Square: Getting Fired for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: sexual assault (groping), fluff, angst, fighting, minor violence, Chuck is a complete and utter asshole in this, getting fired, quitting in solidarity, first kiss, friends to lovers

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Okay, it feels like an age since I’ve written anything that’s just pure floof. I hope you enjoy this fluffy, protective, besotted Dean fic. Please be kind. I’ve had my angst hat on for a long time, and though this was really refreshing, it’s also a little daunting!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

It wasn’t the best job in the world, but as part-time work went, Dean knew it could be a hell of a lot worse than this. He worked with his dad in the garage during the day and worked four nights a week and two shifts at the weekend in Shurley’s Sports Bar. His wages and tips went to his dad to help pay for Sammy’s education. Sure, the kid had a full ride to Stanford; however, he still needed to pay for accommodation after freshman year and the thousands of books he needed for his coursework. And at least this way, his dad didn’t put himself in an early grave by working all the hours God gave him. Lord knows he’d done enough of that when they were kids.

Shurley’s was a decent bar. It had a prime location between the University of Kansas campus and downtown, so it always has a steady stream of customers. It quietened during the summer when the students went home or on their travels, but the locals still made trade steady enough. The owner, Chuck, was a bit of a dick, but he barely showed his face around the place, and the other staff were decent, making it a great place to work.

“Hey, Dean,” Y/N said as she came out of the back office. Y/N was the bar manager and a great girl. They had a lot in common; both lost their mothers when they were young and looked after their younger siblings while their fathers worked three jobs to try and make ends meet. Y/N’d had to drop out of college when her father took unexpectedly sick, having to take care of him and her little sister. Now that her father had passed and her sister had a full ride to another prestigious college, Harvard, Y/N lived in the tiny apartment above the bakery where she worked four days a week and in the bar four nights a week and every Saturday night. The rest of the time, she studied part-time to finish her college education and sent every spare cent she had to her sister in Boston.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled at her. She was pretty, too, and Dean wasn’t afraid to admit that he had a massive crush on her. Not that anything would ever happen because she was her, and he was… well, he wasn’t good enough for a girl like that. “How are ya, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Dean. How are you? Oh! Did you manage to get Sam’s apartment sorted?” Y/N asked, and he smiled that she’d remember such a thing.

“Yeah, it’s all good now. We managed to get the rest of the deposit together,” Dean said. “Thanks for the extra shifts, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Y/N smiled. “I still can’t believe landlords can actually do that,” Y/N shook her head as she headed behind the bar and started filling the refrigerators with bottles of beer and wine to prepare for the busy Friday night shift.

“Yeah, us either. But it’s done, and he has somewhere to live,” Dean said as he put the last menus and condiment buckets on the tables. “What needs to be done next, boss?” he asked, smirking when Y/N chuckled. She hated being called that, but he seemed to be the only one she didn’t scold for it.

“I could use a hand changing over the barrels if you’ve got time?” she said, breaking up the cardboard that the bottles had been housed in.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Dean headed into the storeroom and started shifting the beer barrels behind the bar as Y/N continued putting bottles in the fridges and replacing the almost empty spirit bottles with full ones to accommodate the busiest night of the year: Friday night football and Freshers Week.

The bar was packed with customers, the warm, sunny weather drawing even more of them in than usual, and of course, Chuck had decided tonight was a good night to show face and ‘help’, putting the staff on edge. Dean had gone with the head down and get on with it attitude, glad it was three deep at the bar so he had an excuse not to have to entertain Chuck for very long.

Y/N had been running around after Chuck all night, finding this paperwork and that invoice and the employee payroll for the past six weeks. Eventually, when he couldn’t possibly ask for anything more, she’d escaped the office, having brazenly told her boss that she was needed front of house to help serve customers.

“I swear,” she’d said as she tied her little black server’s apron around her waist, “It’s like he fucking knew tonight would be the busiest night but still came to check months old paperwork! God, that man is insufferable!”

It wasn’t often that Y/N showed her annoyance, and Dean couldn’t help but think it was cute. Though, admittedly, that could be his crush talking, her furrowed brow and tiny pout were adorable.

“What can I do to help?” he asked as she took her place behind the bar.

“I should be asking you that question!” she giggled. “What do you need me to do?”

“We could do with someone collecting and cleaning the empty glasses, if you wouldn’t mind?” he responded, smiling as she picked up a basket, cleaning spray, and a cloth before he’d finished his sentence.

“You got it,” she winked and headed onto the floor to clear and wipe the tables down. And that, Dean thought, is what makes a good boss. Someone who works with the team to achieve the same goal. Someone who isn’t afraid of stepping in to help by doing the most mundane tasks that are below their pay grade.

Y/N was a breath of fresh air for him in so many ways. She was bubbly and caring, and no matter what was thrown her way, she responded with an air of calmness and dignity that he admired.

“Hey, man. What can I get ya?” Dean asked the next patron, finally taking his eyes off the girl slowly taking over his every thought.

“Be careful,” Dean said as Y/N headed back onto the floor to clear more glasses and tables. “It’s getting rowdy out there. You know what those college boys can be like.”

“Thanks, Dean,” she smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He knew she would be. He’d seen her handling every kind of drunk customer. Still, he’d watch her closely because he was more worried than usual. The crowd tonight seemed even more enthused thanks to the local sports team playing. It still surprised him how often the female staff got touched inappropriately and had the most vulgar things said to them by too drunk and far too confident men. More than once Dean had had to step in and stop something from going too far, and he’d do it as many times as he needed to for Y/N or any of the other female staff.

Y/N managed to get around most of the bar unscathed, but there was a particularly boisterous table of men who only frequented the bar when the Chiefs played. Dean had been watching them all night because they seemed to have forgotten their age and tried to out-drink their much younger counterparts. They’d already run their mouths off to the bar staff, and now one of them in particular had their beady eye on Y/N as she moved from table to table, collecting empty glasses and bottles.

Swapping her tray out for an empty one, Y/N made her way over to their table, and the second she got close enough, the balding guy with the beady eye was quick to rear his hand back and smack her ass. Dean’s hackles rose, and he was on high alert as he watched her give the douchebag a piece of her mind. But he didn’t stop. Douchebag wrapped his arms around her waist and tried pulling her onto his lap. All the while, his douchebag little friends laughed and cheered him on like he’d won a fucking prize.

Dean saw red as he ran around the bar and strode purposely over to the group of middle-aged men amid a mid-life crisis and pulled Y/N from his hold, dragging her behind him to protect her.

“The lady told you to leave her alone. I suggest you do that,” Dean fumed, only getting angrier at Douchebag’s smirk.

“Oh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a jealous boyfriend trying to protect his girl! You know, if she were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t let her out the house wearing something so…” he paused as he leered up and down Y/N’s body, “revealing.”

“Listen, asshole, you don’t want to piss me off right now. Why don’t you and your buddies call it a night and go home? You’ve clearly had too much to drink, and we don’t take kindly to people assaulting our staff here,” Dean’s jaw was clenched, but he’d somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

“Sorry, man,” Douchebag smirked as he stood. “Just can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl showing off half her body like a Goddamn little tease. She’s asking for it, really.”

That was the last straw, and as Douchebag made one final (and unfortunately successful) attempt to get his hands on Y/N, Dean pulled his fist back and punched him square on the nose. The resounding crack as Dean broke the guy’s nose was satisfying, as were the synchronised grimacing ‘oohs’ that the audience this little corner of the bar had attracted.

“You broke my nose, asshole!” Douchebag spluttered. “I’m reporting you for assault!”

“You do that,” Y/N said, “and I’ll have you arrested, too. This whole bar and the CCTV saw you grope me twice and clearly saw me trying to get you off me! What he did,” she pointed at Dean, “was save me from being sexually assaulted!”

“Come on, man,” one of Douchebag’s friends said, patting him on the back. “Let’s get you to the hospital. It’s not worth it.”

“Damn straight it’s not!” Dean yelled. “Any way you spin this, he doesn’t win, so get the hell out and don’t come back!”

Tail between their legs, Douchebag and his friends left the bar. The second the door shut behind them, Dean was next to Y/N, checking her for injuries.

“I’m fine, Dean,” she insisted, but her eyes told a different story. The encounter had shaken her up, and Dean wanted to fix it, needed to fix it.

“No, sweetheart, you’re not. You’re–” Dean began but was interrupted by the shrill voice of Chuck.

“Winchester, my office, now! You too, Y/N.”

Seeing Y/N sitting beside him on the other side of the desk was strange. This was where she did all the paperwork, payroll, ordering, and invoicing, so to see Chuck on her chair was disconcerting. And not good.

“I don’t know what was going on out there–” Chuck began, and Dean scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re bar manager was sexually assaulted by a customer. That’s what happened!” Dean sat forward on his chair, raising his voice. He only calmed when Y/N placed her hand on his forearm.

Chuck pursed his lips at his outburst and continued speaking as if Dean hadn’t interrupted.

“I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, sexual assault or not,” Chuck looked pointedly at Y/N before he continued. “It’s no excuse for my staff to behave violently.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Dean fumed. “That… scumbag… touched her ass and her breasts and tried to force her into his lap! You see those bruises, right?” he asked as he pointed to the dark purple fingerprint marks on her arms.

“Inappropriate comments, slurs, even touching, is to be expected when you work in a bar–” Chuck was interrupted again, this time by Y/N.

“There are no touching policies in every strip club in the country for a reason, Chuck! You cannot expect it to be any different in a fratboy sports bar! No one should go to work expecting that being sexually assaulted is okay!”

“For God’s sake, Y/N! So what a guy touched your ass and tits! You should be flattered!”

“It was sexual assault, Chuck! That guy,” Y/N pointed behind her in the general direction of the bar, “touched me without permission, and I could have him charged! You too with how you’re behaving!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic! I feel sorry for your boyfriend if this is how prudish you are!”

“Hey, that is–” Dean interjected, but Chuck kept talking.

“Dean, you’re fired. I cannot, and will not, allow a violent brute to work in my bar.”

“You can’t do that!” Y/N protested.

“Watch it, or you’ll be gone, too!” Chuck threatened, but Dean knew it was an empty one with her. He needed her too much. The bar would burn to the ground without her in charge.

“No need. I quit. Effective immediately. I cannot, and will not,” Y/N glared at Chuck as she repeated his words to him, “work in a place where I’m expected to be sexually harassed and assaulted and ignore it. I cannot, and will not, work for a man who fires a good person for helping someone in need.”

Standing, Y/N took off her apron and name tag and threw them on the desk. She unhooked the keys from her belt and pulled the cash box towards her, opening it and pulling out two brown envelopes, handing one to Dean and putting the other in her pocket. Once she’d locked the cash box, she tossed her keys down on the cheap metal desk with a satisfying clang.

“Really? You’re going to quit over him?” Chuck scoffed.

“Yes. Dean is worth a thousand shitty bar jobs like this one, and I’d choose him over any of them in a heartbeat,” Y/N said with her head held high. “I hope you know you’ve just lost your two best workers on the busiest night of the year. Come on, Dean. Let’s get out of this shithole.”

Dean didn’t protest. He stood up, smirked at Chuck because he just couldn’t help himself, and followed Y/N out of the bar and onto the street.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to do that. I’m a big boy, and I can look after myself,” Dean said after walking in silence for a few minutes.

“I know you can, and yes, I did. That was unfair and undeserved. Especially because it was my fault,” Y/N responded.

“Hey, don’t ever… it wasn’t your fault. Things like that are never the woman’s fault, you know that, right?” Dean couldn’t believe she’d ever think something like that would be her own doing.

“I know, but if I’d listened to you and let Marcus clear tables instead of me, none of this would’ve happened.”

“No. I won’t hear it. You didn’t ask to be groped by a balding douchebag going through a mid-life crisis, sweetheart. Don’t ever apologise for someone else’s wrongdoing,” he reassured her.

“So, what do we do now? We both kinda needed that job,” Y/N chuckled, but it held no humour.

“Well, I might know a guy who owns a wine bar downtown. A classy establishment, so the tips are better. And we’d be treated right,” Dean said, thinking of the bar Cas had tried to get him to work in for months.

“You have a buddy with a bar, and you chose to stay working in that shithole?” Y/N asked in disbelief. “Why? What would possess you to stay there? Willingly?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Dean smirked. This wasn’t where he envisioned this conversation going–if it ever happened at all, that is–but the perfect opportunity had presented itself and he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take it. “I got to see you almost every day.”

“Come on! You did not stay there for me!” Y/N scoffed, and Dean shrugged his shoulders, his lips tugging upwards in a shy smile.

“I did, actually. Can’t think of anyone better to spend so much time with.”

“Dean Winchester,” she grinned. “Are you flirting with me?” The teasing tone in her words was one he’d never heard before, and he liked it.

“Do you want me to be flirting with you?” he’d asked, needing to hear her say it before he did something stupid because he’d misread the signals.

“Yeah… I think I do,” Y/N giggled, stepping closer to him, bumping their arms together as they stepped in sync down the sidewalk.

“Yeah?” he asked, checking again because, quite frankly, she was her and he was him.

“Yeah.”

Dean stopped walking and gently grabbed her forearm to stop her from walking ahead. Feeling brave, Dean placed his hands on her cheeks and dipped his head, slowly lowering his lips to hers. Every inch closer he got, he switched his gaze between her lips and her eyes, making sure this was what she wanted.

When there was no hesitation and nowhere else to go, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers. They were as soft as they always looked, softer even, and tasted as sweet as he’d imagined they would.

Y/N pressed herself closer to him with a low hum and slid her arms up his chest, resting one hand on his pec and the other curling around his neck. Dean licked her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth and let him deepen their kiss.

He failed to hold back a groan when his tongue met hers, the feeling so much better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. Dean couldn’t remember how long he’d wanted this, and now that it was happening, he knew he’d do whatever he could to keep her in his arms, just like this.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#j3bingo #just like this #au dean winchester x reader #bartender!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #fluff

[staplegrapes]

Bust a Move (Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader)

Description: Omaha convinces the squad to go line dancing. For as much as you enjoy dancing by yourself, you can't seem to peel yourself off the wall. You hope to be am invisible bystander, but that doesn't fly with Bradley Bradshaw.

Word Count: 2.6K

TW: None

A/N: It is implied the reader is either a pilot or WSO but it does not go into detail. No use of Y/N.

✨Gender Neutral Reader✨

When Omaha suggested line dancing after training today, you were fully convinced the pilot was joking. Never, once in your months of working with him, had he mentioned it before. Sure, he was from the Midwest, it made sense, but still. You would never have guessed that 5 hours later you would be watching Omaha absolute kill it on the dance floor.

You had heard of Dixon's Country Bar in passing. Even having never been through these doors before, the wooden floor, cowboy memorabilia on the walls and the dim lights didn't surprise you one bit. What surprised everyone is that it appeared Omaha was a regular here given the remarks thrown his way the moment your crew walked through the door.

"Neil! Good to see you bud!"

"Hey! Save some chicks for the rest of us!"

"These your pilot friends?"

When did this man have time? You wouldn't claim to know everything about him, but it feels like you should have known this. Makes you wonder what you don't know about the rest of the squad. But at least now you knew how well they danced.

Rooster, Payback and Fritz picked it up without any issues. You knew Rooster and Payback could dance, but there's a difference between just dancing and picking up choreography as fast as they currently are with no practice. Or maybe they did have practice? Were you the only one who didn't line dance on the weekends? Well, obviously not.

Harvard, Yale and Fanboy were doing their best to keep up with the other three. A little stumble here and there was pretty normal, but they were doing well enough you were slightly impressed. But if a dance had too many spins or was too fast, the three of them often excused themselves off the floor to grab another drink.

And then there was Bob.

Oh, Bob.

You could have predicted this, but Bob was... struggling. Despite both Phoenix and Halo attempting to help him out, it was a battle. He seemed to always get the hang of it by the end of the song, which seemed frustrating. You couldn't tell by his face though. He was having a blast and that is all that mattered.

Coyote was quite good at this as well. Early in the night his smooth moves were catching plenty of looks. Yet, you didn't see much of those moves later on. He was now on the sidelines cashing in on some of those looks, trying to "pick up some digits" as he would say. Same with Hangman, except he barely tried to dance, just flirt, as usual. You barely saw the man step foot on the dance floor unless it was to follow some girl.

Not that you could judge honestly. Your crew had already been here an hour and you had yet to even inch near the dance floor. And it seemed odd, since you've always liked dancing alone in your kitchen. The unfamiliar environment and your lack of knowledge of these dances created some sort of invisible glue between your shoulder blades and the wooden wall. You should have realized you were gonna be the stick in the mud tonight. You should have stayed home. But no one seemed to notice too much. They were all having a great time, so you continued to sip your drink and enjoy the show. So there you stand, homing all the drinks, past and present. That was to be your excuse if anyone were to ask.

Harvard downed his third beer as he headed back for the dance floor. You looked back down to your drink. It was slightly cooler than room temperature now. You weren't the designated driver, but you also just didn't feel like drinking here. If you were gonna dance, which you kept saying you were gonna do you weren't gonna be able to do it well, inebriated.

You weren’t having a bad time. Watching your colleagues drunkly dancing was quite amusing. Watching Bob have the time of his life was nothing short of joyful. Still, something was uneasy in your chest. You felt like a burden for not being able to leave the wall. Either way, you stayed and watched, breathing through the slight anxious feeling in your chest.

It was well into the night, despite this, Rooster was still wearing his sunglasses. He felt they added to his ensemble. It also made it easy to keep stealing glances of you from the side. Something about the way you were standing there was setting off alarms in his head. He could tell something was off. Not that you were one to cut loose often and be the center of attention, but you didn’t seem genuinely content in your spot. Maybe you weren't feeling well? Maybe something or someone made you uncomfortable? Maybe you were tired? Was training rough on you today? Whatever it was, he saw through the facade.

Between songs he decided to go check on you. Slapping Payback and Omaha on the shoulder as he passed by, he slips off the crowded floor. As the lights changed between songs, growing brighter, even with his aviators he was struggling to see you as he got closer.

You saw him making his way over. Oh boy, you knew he was gonna tease you about this. You just didn't have the same ability to let go and relax like he did. That's what you liked about him. You always worried your inability to do just that was what he didn't like about you. As he gets closer and out of the lights, he pulls his aviators off and hooks them onto the collar of his tank top.

"That wall heavy?" He asks in a raised voice as the next song begins to blare over the sound system.

"Huh?" You're not sure if you heard him right. He walks up next to you, not quite so close to the wall, but close enough to hear you over the crowded room.

"I mean, you're holding that wall up. It's a pretty big wall, with all that wood paneling..." He nods towards the wall.

"Oh shut up." you chuckle.

He smirks as he takes another sip of his drink that's been keeping you company at the table. Looking back to the dance floor as the song hits it first repeat, he turns back to you.

"So, what's the song?" He questions, looking down to you without dropping his head. His expression is one of pure intrigue. As if whatever the answer is, is something that he's been dying to ask you. Yet, you don't even know what he means.

"What song?"

"What song is gonna get you out there?" nodding towards the floor.

You shrug. "I dunno. I don't really know any of these, let alone the dances."

"You wanna hear a secret?" He whisper-yells (the softest he could possibly speak and you'd still hear him), leaning down to you. You tilt your head in his direction.

"Me neither." He smiles.

"Yet, somehow you're nailing all these dances?" You retort unconvinced giving him a playful smack on the side of his face which he attempts to block with a grin. He nods his head laughing.

"I wouldn't say I'm 'nailing' them all. Did you see me during that Watermelon one? I had no clue what was happening."

"You're telling me you've never done this before?" you press further.

"Well," he leans back against the wall, "not never, but it's been awhile." his silence is not enough for you and he catches your expectant look before shrugging and continuing. "I had a few friends college who'd go out line dancing once or twice a month. I tagged along occasionally. The songs are different now."

You hummed as your eyes wandered back towards the dancing. A few minutes of silence holds over the two of you.

"So what is it then? You're shy?" He looks down into his drink. You shrug, not knowing if he sees it or not, but silence would answer his question, so it is just as well.

"I dunno, Rooster. I just can't seem to peel myself off this wall."

"Well, is there room for two?" He leans closer to you in an endearing manner.

"No, Roos, go back, you don't have to stay up here with me."

"I've been dancing for an hour. I want a break."

"Suit yourself" you mumble into your drink.

"You want me to keep dancing when I claim to be exhausted? What if I pass out?"

"I'm sure someone will give you mouth to mouth." you smirk. He smiles turning back to face the crowds.

"I'm sure you would."

You blush. How was he so casual about throwing comments around like that? Your comment implied he was getting attention, nothing more you made sure of it. Did it not phase him that he just implied the two of you... Bradley Bradshaw. "You’ve been hanging with Hangman too long." you say, diverting your face away from his gaze as casually as possible.

He laughs. A full laugh. He has such a good laugh. It puts you at ease. For a moment, you're able to forget you're blushing at his comment and this feeling of overwhelming anxiety from this whole night. It's just you and him joking as usual.

You two stand there for awhile more. Some of the crew tries to pull Rooster back to the floor, but he just shakes his head. You can't stop the small feeling of joy when Rooster chooses to stay with you. Makes you feel your company cannot possibly be THAT bad.

"You dance though, don't you?" he questions

"Uh yeah, once in awhile. Why?"

"Your foot is tapping right now." he quips, his gaze dropping to your foot.

You freeze up, realizing he's right. He pushes himself off the wall with his shoulder to get a better look at you offering you a hand.

"Alright, you're gonna dance at least once. Deal?"

You wanted to say no just to avoid the situation. But the way he had come up to check on you, the way he's staying with you without actually making you feel guilty, you couldn't leave him hanging. You take his hand and shake it.

"Um, sure." You mumble. He smiles as he goes back to lean on the wall again.

"We'll wait for a good one." He notes with a wink as the two of you watch some girl reject Hangman for the third time that night. It was just not his night.

Your situation aside, you and Bradley were marveling over the fact there had yet to be one song Omaha didn't know. Every song he breezed through it like it was as easy as reciting the alphabet. The two of you could pick out the other regulars, but most of them had certain ones they were less familiar with. That was not the case with Neil "Omaha" Vikander. His consistency was popular with the crowd for sure. It was endlessly entertaining to see this new side of him.

"Alright, here it is." Bradley says, shaking you from your thoughts a few songs later. He grabs your (finally) empty glass placing it on the table along with his, grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the floor. In that moment you finally feel your shoulders leave their contact from the wall and it felt great, still your stomach was doing backflips in an anxious response. You would have likely felt more anxious if it had not been for Rooster's firm but comforting grip on your wrist as you two navigated the crowd. Eventually he found a spot near the back edge of the floor. No one would be trying to walk through there, or hopefully look back there. You were nervous enough as it was.

As you attempted to calm yourself, you realized you recognized the song.

"Footloose? Really?" You ask him, as the extended intro played. He beams at your familiarity with the song.

"Of course! It's a classic. One of my mom's favorites." You didn't miss how his smile lit up a little more when he mentioned his mom.

"Isn't this song fast?" You question.

"It's not that bad. It's pretty easy. Just follow me ok?" you nod as your eyes dark around the floor but Rooster slaps your arm lightly to grab your attention. "Don't worry about the people around us. They're doing their own thing.” And you then noticed how he had put you in the spot closest to the corner, that way you only had one person in front of you and him next to you. You appreciated the less pressure of this spot and he probably knew that. Before you could think too hard about it, the song started to pick up.

"You ready?" He smiles to you doing a few hops shaking out his shoulders.

"No clue." you shrug with a smile. No going back now.

And he was right. The dance itself really was not too hard to pick up. Were you a natural? Not in the slightest. Yet, you felt like you did much better than you had actually expected. Some of the moves weren't far from what you did in your kitchen. When you do mess up you look to Rooster who starts you talk you through it with a smile and a string of encouragements "There you go!", "That's it," "A natural, what did I tell ya?". It calmed you just enough to pick up the moves before the next verse. Every few moments when you were actually getting the moves, you'd dare to look over to Rooster who would be looking right back at you with a wide grin splitting his face. When the song ends you can't help but laugh looking back to him

"Hey, that was great." He raises his hand and you give him a high five. The two of you are just smiling at each other before you're interrupted.

"Aye, you finally made it down here!" Payback calls out, making his way over. "C'mon give it another song!" He does a little shimmy and you smile. Once you got out here it was easier, it was just that initial push off the wall. So that's what you did and yes, you were not good. But having Payback and Rooster beside you, it didn't feel like you were being a bother. Both of them were just glad you were on the floor. The whole squad, minus Coyote and Hangman who are still trying their best to not leave here alone tonight, migrated their way towards the three of you and it was a good time.

Eventually the night comes to an end as 2 AM hits the clock. The crew, including Coyote and Hangman, heads outside and after saying farewells heads in different directions. Of course, Bradley and you are the only two who are parked in the same direction. So you walk in a comfortable silence down the street.

"Thanks for helping me get out there tonight." you thank him after a few moments.

"I didn't do much. You just needed a push." He shrugs.

"Yeah, but if you hadn't, I wouldn't have had as much fun as I did."

He nods silently. A block passes by and he finally breaks his uncharacteristic silence just as your car comes into view.

"Hey, if you want to, we can always go again." he adds nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I kno..." but he cuts you off before you say any more.

"Just the two of us." he finishes.

You pause, processing what he just said.

"Figured maybe that would be less pressure." He shrugs, obviously trying to ease the tension his last phrase just created.

"I might have to take you up on that." You smile, having a hard time looking up from the ground the closer you get to your car, feeling his eyes are still on you.

"Hey," He calls and you know he's trying to get you to look at him, which you grant him that silent request.

"I hope you do." He tilts his head down in sincerity.

"Have a goodnight." He smiles and pats the side of your upper arm, as he spins around and heads back towards his Bronco.

"You too! You smile standing by your car.

He turns back as he continues walking.

"Already did." he chimes with a wink.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Every summer is gonna be a Top Gun summer from here on out.

#top gun fanfiction #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #character x reader #reader insert #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you

[nerdofspades]

Continuing from this post, with some more details being pulled from this reblog.

When Phantom sees Batman hanging out on a roof in Amity Park (where he can be seen easily, but only by someone who can fly) the first thing he does is sneak up on him.

For Phantom, it's easy. Invisibility, intangibility, and flight make it ridiculously easy for him to not make noise while approaching someone. He just needs to not breath too loud while he approaches. (Or speak. Both of these things are also easy for a ghost. Or a half ghost like him.)

So Phantom does that, and if it's pay back for all the times Batman startled him while he was working. No one needs to know.

The first thing he says is that Batman looks like he's looking for a fight. Batman does not jump or look startled in anyway. Danny is disappointed.

(Danny did manage to sneak up on Batman. Bruce just has excellent control over his reactions to maintain his persona. He also knew Phantom to be mischievous and was expecting this.)

So, Batman doesn't skip a beat and tells Phantom it's just a precaution. Mostly for if a less friendly ghost spotted him first. He wasn't going to start any fights.

Phantom gives a nod and says "good, you're learning."

Which sets off Batman. Because Phantom was not supposed to know. Danny scrambles and manages to brush it off. Batman has Fenton tech. He clearly got it from someone and if it were Jack and Maddie, Batman wouldn't be having a conversation with Phantom. Jazz has never been particularly good at the tech and hunting stuff, but she's got an interest in ghostly psychology. That leaves Danny, and that kid has been in and out of town all summer. That and with the only consistent access to the ghost zone in FentonWorks, it pays to have friends inside the house. And Phantom uses Fenton tech too. Gotta get it from somewhere.

While everything Phantom says is technically correct and factual something about the way he says it (the panicked rambling) doesn't sit right. Batman decides to "make polite conversation." With Phantom about the Fentons.

The more he asks and the more Phantom talks the more concerned he gets. Jazz has basically become Danny's parental figure in any situation where Jack and Maddie aren't technically required. Sure she inherited their genius, but at least half her drive to succeed is tied to getting out of there. They don't have safe food to eat and the entire house has been contaminated with ectoplasm due to Jack and Maddie's lax lab safety. (Phantom off hand mentions that the ecto-contamination will probably have effects on the kids that aren't constantly wearing jumpsuits.)

And the amount of things Jazz and Danny do that Jack and Maddie apparently just don't notice is astounding. Both kids sabotage or steal particularly nasty ghost weapons on a regular basis. Danny sneaks out more nights than not and his parents notice less than five percent of the time.

(Phantom specifically does not mention why he knows all of this, but it is obvious to Bruce that he and Danny do not have a professional relationship. He doesn't have it actually figured out, but he probably thinks they're dating.)

Batman wants them out of that house. Now. It's only when Batman directly brings that up that Danny realizes he's fucked up and said too much. He debates back tracking and trying to play it down again. But. By now he's spent enough time with the League to know about his adoption tendencies and has spent enough time listening to Jazz, Sam, and Tucker to know that he's actually right. That house is fucked up. Trying to cover it up now would just make Batman more convinced he needs to take them in.

So Danny does the opposite. He tells Batman that trying to move them now would be worse. They don't want to be separated and one or both of them would immediately sacrifice everything to help the other if separated from their parents.

The only way to make sure they stay together would be for Jazz to take custody of Danny. So, either she gives up Harvard and stays in Amity so Danny can finish high school with his friends, or Dannt gives up Amity so Jazz can stay at Harvard. Even if Danny manages to convince her to go to school, she now would need a full time job to take care of them on top of needing to pass her classes as a full time student to maintain her scholarship. Doing both would likely be impossible.

They will not thank him for intervening.

(Danny does not mention his obsession. He does not say that leaving Amity is not an option for Danny. That it would mean so much more than just leaving his friends and support network behind.)

Bruce hates it, but concedes. In this case. For now. He quietly resolves to get as much money into Danny's bank account as he can without making it obvious. No need for the League to know about that.

He also suggests that Danny and Jazz get therapy. Offers up a League contact that they can meet at the Watchtower if they don't want to visit anyone local. Especially with their relationship to Phantom. (And now the League.)

Oddly enough, Danny takes the offer. Jazz does too, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. Danny knows that Jazz can't actually be his therapist because of their relationship, and the main reason she's been toeing that line is because Danny didn't have other options. Now that he has one he can take some stuff off her plate and even get her some help off loading all the crap from their parents and taking care of him. So yeah. They take the therapy offer.

(This does nothing to curb the League's belief that Danny is one of Bruce's kids. Jazz gives them a little confusion, but it's not like Bruce hasn't taken in kids with families before.)

(Bruce does remember to handle his actual business before leaving. He was there to give Phantom a League communicator so they could call him for major ghost problems outside of Amity and he can call them if he gets in over his head. While Danny is good at what he does, Batman does not want to call a civilian child to a battlefield if he can help it.)

Dinah (Black Canary) takes them on as patients. Because neither one is directly connected to the League and Dinah spent minimal time with the ghost gear stuff, she doesn't have any concerns about being able to stay professional. She does tell both of them that if they have concerns about that, or if Danny becomes more involved in the League, they can tell her or Batman and they'll work to find a suitable replacement or address those issues in another way.

Neither of them talks about Phantom at first. Jazz opens up much faster, but she also has an easier time obfuscating the relationship between Phantom and Fenton.

Danny doesn't talk about Phantom at all.

Both of them raise a million red flags for Dinah regarding their family life, but both of them reiterate that they would rather not bring it to court.

Slowly, eventually. Danny feels safe. He's still slow and hesitant. He asks a few questions to verify that even the nosiest League members don't know what he tells her. (Manhunter has gotten several talks about not digging into Dinah's memories and if he has to, staying away from any that take place in this room. There is no camera and everything is hard copy. If Bataman were to try and open that door, it would set off an alarm. The walls are lined with lead and so on and so forth.)

Then Danny tells her outright that he and Phantom are the same perosn. They tall for quite awhile about the accident, hero work, his parents, and more. At the end of the session Dinah can tell this is something Jazz has been avoiding with the gift of hindsight and Danny says he'll tell Jazz she can open up about it.

Things look good for them.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #justice league #black canary #jazz fenton #long post #give these kids therapy #parental neglect

[inkdrinkerworld]

please please please more lactation kink with aaron, it suits him so well, literally obsessed!!! - xx

ahh same nonnie!!! did this one with reader initiating it! cw: cockwarming, lactation kink, 18+ only, mdni

there's not a moment aaron wants you more than when you're in bed in just his old harvard sweater and a pair of boy shorts.

your hair is messed up from the day, and you look tired after having to take care of your daughter while he was at work.

"baby," you're practically falling asleep on yourself as you try to climb on his lap. "what're you doing, pretty girl?"

his hand brushes some of your messy hair back, tucking the strands behind your ear as he tilts your face upwards.

"wanna be close," you grumble, leaning your cheek into his hand as you twist in his lap.

"you're as close as we can be with our clothes on, honey." aaron would laugh if you didn't look so desperate for the closeness.

"take them off then," he pinches your hip at the snap in your voice and you relent a little. "please aaron."

he does as you request, pulling his boxers down and stroking his cock to get at least semi hard, before pushing your own boy shorts down your legs.

you let out a content sigh and then strip off his harvard shirt, laying chest to chest with him.

"you're gonna leak all over me, sweetheart." his hand strokes your back soothingly. aaron wouldn't make it an issue if you're comfortable with being sticky all night, but he knows that at some point when you do leak you'll wake up upset.

"do the thing," you say, sitting up just a little so that your nipple is close to his mouth. "please aaron, just wanna be close and sleep."

how could he ever say no to you. even exhausted you want him and he'd never begrudge you that.

"'course honey," he kisses your lips. "tell me if you want me to stop and put the nursing bra on you."

"mhm, thank you." you sigh and settle on the bed as aaron shifts positions so you're more comfortable as he starts sucking on your nipple.

#tittyboy!hotch #aaronhotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x black!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x yn #cw:lactation kink

[tgmsunmontue]

To wake, perchance to dream WIP 1/?

Hangster - Jake wakes up 10 years in the future and thinks he has amnesia. Instead it's a glimpse of what his life could be. When he wakes up right before being called back to Top Gun for the special detachment he's going to try his damndest to make that future come true...

CHAPTER ONE

                Jake wakes up too warm, pinned beneath the weight of someone’s arm and he opens an eye and squints out into the glaring morning light.

                This is not his room.

                He has blackout curtains in his room, not gauzy nets that blow around in the breeze from an open window.

                This is not the couch in Javy’s apartment.

                Nor is it the guest room at the Machado’s home.

                He didn’t drink anything last night, but he’s feeling stiffer than he usually does.

                Something is… not right.

                “Hrmgh.”

                He shifts so he can glance over his shoulder at the owner of the arm and sleepy-mumble and his mouth drops open in surprise.

                Bradley Bradshaw.

                Not only Bradley Bradshaw, but at least half-naked Bradley Bradshaw, spooning him and… wearing a wedding ring. And hopefully maybe pants.

                Fuck.

                He pushes the arm and attached hand away, wiggles away a little and then sees the ring on his own hand and just stares at it.

                What the fuck is going on.

                He’d remember getting married right?

                Surely?

                “Jake… turn off the sun.”

                “You’re the one that didn’t shut the curtains,” he says, and he has no idea what made him say that, but Bradley just groans, pulls a pillow over his head and Jake decides that now is a good time to run for the bathroom.

…            …            …

                He looks old. Not bad, but he’s definitely got more wrinkles than he did when he last remembers looking into the mirror and he’s either got some weird type of amnesia or he’s dreaming or he’s in an alternate timeline. Those are his top three theories and he knew being obsessed with science fiction as a teenager would come in use someday. He uses the bathroom and cups his hands to drink some water from the tap.

                Right.

                Information gathering.

                Best place to start is going to be his phone, if he can find it. Surely he still has a phone in the future and hasn’t allowed anyone to insert a chip into his brain. He dries his hands and tiptoes back into the bedroom, takes in the naked torso of Bradley Bradshaw and okay, he did good if he somehow managed to lock that down, regardless of timeline or potential amnesia. He spies a phone on the side of bed he woke up on, lying on a flat platform type thing, along with a watch and something that looks like it attaches to his ear, which he leaves. He pulls the curtains closed and hopes that buys him a little more time before he grabs a pair of jeans tiptoes back out, carefully closing the door behind him.

                He pulls the jeans on and walks down the hall, phone gripped tightly in his hand and takes in the pictures on the walls. This version of himself and Bradshaw are definitely married, couple of photos that can be nothing but wedding photos. They have lots of people in their lives if the number of photos are anything to go by, although he doesn’t recognize half of them. It’s only just after six in the morning, the clock in the kitchen informs him and he spies a coffee machine and it’s already on, filling steadily and he wonders who turned it on or if these things are automatic now.

                While he waits for it to finish he open his phone, going to contacts and scans through them.

                Abbey. Admrl Simp. Alex. Alicia. Amber. Austin. BamBam. Best Person Ever. Blake. Bob. Brendan. Bryce. Dan. Dave. Dickhead. Directory. DJ. Fanboy. Fritz. Hadley. Halo. Harvard. Hin. Hondo. Jack. JB. Javy. Jared. Jason. Klaus. Kyle. Mark. Matty. Mike. Mom. Morgan. Neil (not Omaha). Nick. Nix. Olivia. Omaha. Payback. Penny. Per. Pete. Phil. Robert (not Bob). Rooster. Sally. Scott. Steffan. Tony. Voicemail. Wayne. Yale.

                There are so many names he doesn’t recognize and he feels his breath coming a little short and forces himself to calm down. Panicking will not help. There are names he does recognize so he will start there. Actually, now that he looks he realizes he recognizes more, but they’re callsigns of other pilots, not friends he’d expect to have in his phone. Except if he has somehow time travelled then maybe they’re his friends now too?

                Javy though, he knows Javy now, and he looks at the most recent messages from Javy and is glad he didn’t immediately call him, because admitting he didn’t know Javy had kids and that apparently they’re under his care… Fuck. Where are they? He swallows down the rising panic again, years of training kicking in and walks down the hall and carefully pushes open the almost closed door he’d walked past earlier and sure enough there are kids in there. Three of them, and he’s not sure what’s the most surprising, that Javy finally got hitched and settled enough to have three kids, or that he apparently trusts Jake to look after them. Jake and Bradshaw that is. Apparently.

                This bedroom is bigger than the room he woke in, but it’s clearly been decorated for these kids in mind and he wonders how often they stay over, to have individual beds. He doesn’t know kids, he was the youngest of four and they were all pretty close in age. He’s been deployed while his brother’s and sisters had started having kids, sees them irregularly at best. But he can probably hazard a guess at ages. Their names are above their beds, two being cribs and he peers in, wonders just how little these children are. Alleisha, James, Brandy.

                Alleisha is in a bed, and he’d put her around six or seven years old, can’t really project her length int height, and being tall doesn’t always equal age anyway. She’s definitely the oldest by far though, the little boy, James, maybe two or three, splayed out like a starfish, thumb lax in his mouth and he looks so much like Javy it makes him smile and something in his gut relaxes an infinitesimal amount. The fact that he looks older, that Javy has kids is making him think he’s got amnesia. That’s more likely than time travel, but he’s feeling a little bit sick regardless, everything unfamiliar.

                He moves over to the final crib and there is a baby, a legit, tiny human, it can’t even be a year old, and it’s eyes are open, watching him quietly and he freezes, wonders what he’s meant to do with it. He’s seen other people do things with babies. Knows the theory. In theory. Okay. He can fly multi-million dollar planes, he can pick up a baby. He leans down, making a shushing noise and he gets a wide grin and a slap to the face for his troubles as he picks Brandy up and cradles her to him. She’s heavier than he thought she’d be.

                Right. What do you do with babies. Diaper change right? Oh god. There’s a change table and he lies her down, looks at the snaps and zips covering the baby and wonders if he should just go and wake Bradshaw up and get him to deal with it. Except this is Javy’s kid. Plus he doesn’t need anyone’s help. He works at the zipper and snaps and finally finds a sodden diaper before he realizes he’s going to need a new one, fortunately located right beneath the change table, along with some wipes. Okay. This is going well.

                He pays attention as he undoes the little tabs, knowing he’s going to have to do the whole thing in reverse, and he has a fucking engineering degree, he can figure out a fucking diaper. Fortunately only a wet diaper and he wipes, wipes again, wonders how many times he’s meant to wipe before deciding that someone else can take the next diaper change. There’s a little diaper pail which he’s grateful for, one hand not leaving her little body, terrified she might just roll off. When do babies start rolling around? Planes don’t move unless you tell them to, she’s moving all limbs independently and with no apparent control, sucking on a fist but thankfully quiet and happy. He doesn’t want to see not-quiet and not-happy if he can help it.

                He takes her out of the weird sack thing, assumes it’s a blanket thing for sleeping and carries her back to the kitchen, desperate for coffee now, and he realizes he’s going to need to feed her. Okay. Javy wouldn’t have left a baby here without food and he opens the refrigerator and sure enough there’s a few bottles already lined up and he grabs one out, the high-pitched squeal that Brandy lets out a clear agreement that he at least is on the right path.

                There’s an electronic bucket type thing beside the coffee machine which makes him think of a mini ice-bucket, it has the same brand logo as the bottle and he wonders if it’s really that simple. Puts the bottle in and presses the button on the front, and it’s definitely doing something, button turning from blue to red. Brandy is almost headbanging in excitement so he again feels like he’s once again picked the right step. While he waits for the button to hopefully change color again and provide a warm bottle he opens his phone again, wonders if he should message Javy and tell him they all made it through the night. Is that something he would do now?

                He opens up the photo gallery instead and okay… if he has amnesia then he’ll just wait to get his memories back. Whenever he’s in a photo his smile is so wide it splits his face. His camera roll is filled with photos of Bradshaw and these kids, and a dog, and some people he doesn’t recognize, but then there is Javy and a woman… he zooms in and heads back into the hall to look at the photos on the wall more closely. Phoenix. Natasha Trace. She’s in a lot of the photos as well and he opens up his contacts again, scans through the names. There’s no Phoenix, Trace or Natasha… but there is a Nix and he opens them as he walks back to the kitchen, hoping the bottle is hopefully done because Brandy is getting less patient.

                Fortunately it’s clearly designed to be operated by either an idiot or sleep deprived parents and the light is now green and flashing and he swirls it and tries to squirt some in his mouth just to check the temperature, Brandy seems horrified at his actions and makes a high pitched squeal of displeasure, struggling to get to the bottle but he doesn’t want her to get a burnt mouth or anything.

                “It’s okay baby girl, I’m not stealing it from you…”

                She makes the same displeased squealing noise, hands reaching for the bottle and Jake wonders if he’s meant to hold her, or get a cloth to cover her or something. Ah well. Problem for future Jake. He hands her the bottle and moves into the living room, settles into the corner of an incredibly comfy sofa and she squirms a little until she’s nestled into the crook of his arm, eyes wide and watching him, both hands clasped on the bottle and he doesn’t resist the urge to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

                He opens his phone again and navigates back to the messages, looking for Nix and then opening the message history. The messages between them alternate between scathing teasing and then more serious things about the kids, he’s sent her lots of photos and he clearly has a lot to do with these kids. To have the bedroom set up like it is, it looks like a permanent thing, except his messages with both Javy and Phoenix are as recent as yesterday, so nothing has happened to them to explain why their kids are here, with him and Bradshaw.

                Fucking hell.

                Bradley Bradshaw.

                Phoenix he can kind of get his head around in a way, especially if she’s married to Javy. Bradshaw on the other hand, he doesn’t know if they’ve managed to exchange any casual civil words with each other. When flying they simply seem to rub each other the wrong way and when not flying they really rub each other up the wrong way. And yet here he is, apparently married to him and looking after his best friend’s kids. What has become of his life? In another world he’d definitely have made more than one pass at Bradshaw, but he’d never got even the slightest inkling that it would be welcomed, let alone reciprocated.

                And yet here he is.

                He glances down and startles, Brandy has finished the bottle, is sucking in air and he knows enough that that can’t be good so he takes the bottle from her, which she gratefully allows him to do. Then a dog appears, looks at him and gives a soft whuff before settling on the floor just near him and Jake wonders if the dog is his. He doesn’t want to move, Brandy apparently content to simply lie with him, the dog as well and he’s wondering if he needs to let it out when he hears footsteps approaching and he twists his head.

                “You look good like that…” Bradshaw says, and he’s almost upside down, smiling at him softly, like he expects Jake to say something back and he has no idea what it might be.

                “Morning…”

                “Morning…” Bradshaw replies, giving him a weird little smile like Jake didn’t say quite what he expected. “Thanks for letting me sleep in…”

                “You’re, uh, welcome…” Jake says, shifting and standing up because he feels too vulnerable lying on his back on the sofa with Bradshaw sort-of looming over him. Of course, now he’s got an even better view of Bradshaw and he can’t help but look his fill, Bradshaw in nothing but low-hanging sleep pants and looking sleep-tousled. He also looks older, maybe in his mid-forties, but he’s still firm and smooth and Jake wants to lick a stripe over his stomach. Nothing wrong with his sex drive at least.

                “And this is why we don’t have kids ourselves. Get your mind out of the gutter Mr Bradshaw, we’ve got kids today and cannot go back to bed…” Bradshaw says, moving close to him and taking Brandy from him and he lets her go, misses the warmth of her tiny body.

                “Pity…” he says, and finds he means it, because even if he’s freaking out about this weird waking-dream he’s in, Bradshaw is still a certified snack and Jake wants him. And apparently he took his name when they got married. He’s not surprised he was willing to give up Seresin considering how little he cares for it even now.

                “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me tonight. And tomorrow morning if you’re feeling athletic enough.”

                “When am I not feeling athletic enough?” Jake asks, because he can’t imagine his personality is that different even if he can’t remember time lapsed.

                “Mmm, there’s that fighting spirit. Like it when you feel like you have to prove a point.”

                Then Bradshaw is kissing him, his fingers sneaking under his shirt to stroke Jake’s bare skin and he feels his entire body erupt in goosebumps, suddenly hyperaware, every little hair on his body standing on end and seemingly aching for attention. He’s not used to this, not used to someone who just touches him and moves him like they know exactly what to do and god it feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

                “Come on, we better get breakfast going for trouble one and trouble two…”

                “Yeah, course,” Jake agrees, because he’s the one out of time and place and he’s going to need to figure out a way to break that news to Bradshaw and a little more time sounds good. Regarding breakfast though, fortunately Bradshaw seems to be the one that makes it, but he watches carefully which cupboards and drawers have what items, his mind racing trying to figure out whether he’s suddenly going to remember everything in a rush, or have it trickle through.

                “Morning uncle Jay…”

                “Morning,” Jake replies, knows the greeting is for him because he’s also getting a hug to his side and he likes being called Uncle Jay, wants to hear it all the time. God, no wonder these kids have a bedroom here if he’s already this much in love with them all. Best case of amnesia ever. He needs to figure out how to let Bradshaw know about that too, not to freak him out, but just to let him know, because he should probably get checked out even if he does feel fine physically. The fact he’s missing a chunk of time isn’t normal. Of course, there is the chance that he’s still dreaming, but his dreams have never seemed real like this.

                Or as domestic.

                Or as detailed.

                The dog makes another quiet whuff and he can hear the front door opening, but it’s clearly someone with a key and he has to stop himself from freaking out that he’s going to have another person he doesn’t know enter his new reality.

                “You two wearing pants?” a woman’s voice calls out and Jake catches Bradshaw’s eye roll.

                “Jesus Amelia, of course we’re wearing pants, the kids are here!”

                “Well, I have to ask.”

                “It was one time, and you didn’t knock…”

                “And I’m still getting therapy for it,” a woman apparently called Amelia says, pulling a face and Jake doesn’t know whether to smile or say something or… okay, he’s being hugged in greeting and he hugs back, swallows back the automatic nice to meet you because he clearly knows her already, even if he has no fucking clue who she is. She’s definitely younger than him and Bradshaw though.

                “Aunty Amelia!” Alleisha says, and Jake feels a spark of jealousy at the joy and excitement in her voice, directed at someone else, and then reminds himself the love and affection are not a finite resource as he watches Amelia hug Alleisha, then James and then slaps Bradshaw on the ass, making him squawk. She just laughs and takes Brandy from Bradshaw, and the baby just goes happily. Jake is so confused.

                The dog paws at him and whines, and he glances down and pats her; she’s definitely his, with the way she’s hovering near his side. Bradshaw is looking at him with a raised eyebrow though when he looks up from paying her attention, but goes back to setting out bowls and glasses of water, cuts up fruit and slides another cup of coffee across to him with a soft smile. Jake smiles back, wonders when he might get a moment alone with him. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out.

Best Person Ever>> Stop staring at his ass. You’ve been home for two weeks. Honeymoon period should be over.

                He glances up and Amelia is smirking at him, and he doesn’t know where she fits into all of this, who she is to them, other than someone he has in his phone as Best Person Ever and judging from her smirk he wouldn’t put it past her to have changed that herself. He shoves his phone back in his pocket. If he’s been home for two weeks then he’s probably been deployed, which means he’s still in the Navy. That settles some of the uneasiness in his gut, not everything in his world is that different then. And this is what he comes home to. That’s pretty fucking cool.

                They eat, Brandy being placed in a highchair that materializes from the laundry and she’s given some slices of banana to mash up, which is gross and horrifying to watch. The expression on his face must be amusing, because both Alleisha and James are giggling at him, and even Bradshaw is hiding a grin, but he gets up and brushes a soft kiss on his forehead, murmurs something about every time and he wants to know what the hell he means. Amelia is also eating breakfast, making herself at home and wiping at James’ face and even though he has no idea who she is it doesn’t feel wrong that she’s here and part of their domesticity.

                “Right, I’m taking Lady Alleisha and Knight James to their swimming lessons. I’ll be back after we’ve visited the library… We might also swing by a playground on our way back.”

                Bradshaw is nodding like this is the standard routine and Jake just smiles, because the kids are happy and excited and now he has his opportunity to talk to Bradshaw. Tell him that he’s not… well. Can’t remember anything.

                Yeah.

                This is going to be awkward as fuck.

CHAPTER TWO

#To Wake perchance to Dream #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun maverick fanfiction

[lineffability]

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?!

oneshot. 5k. human au. the story of how crowley becomes a nanny. no, not that one. the other one. the fine type. this fic was inspired by @densewentz and this stunning piece of The Nanny/Crowley art that blew my socks clean off. i had to write it.

She is entirely perfect and utterly boring.

Aziraphale Edenson, ever the picture of perfect pleasantry, has recited three consecutive poems in his mind while she's been speaking, and he could almost swear one of them had been the entirety of Ginsburg's Howl. He can't be certain, as he's drifted. In front of him, the Mary Poppins palimpsest is finishing her impassioned speech that had begun somewhere in her childhood only to end, in a satisfying narrative conclusion, he is sure, in the childhood of Warlock, his unexpected teenage protegé, and somehow between those two childhoods she had also wedged in his, Aziraphale's, childhood too, though he isn't sure quite how that is possible. It seems she has done her research rather thoroughly. 

It is not polite to interrupt people, so Aziraphale does not. He smiles, he nods at the right moments, and he offers more tea, and then he ushers her to the front door with perfect manners only to say, in one last moment of mental impasse, "Well, thank you so very much, Mrs Poppins, I will be sure to contact you by the end of the week. It has been so very lovely to meet you."

It only occurs to him half an hour later why her smile had faltered, and he smacks his hand to his forehead, producing a noise that sounds very much like oh, bugger. 

A string of interviews follow this initial one, and after a fortnight, Aziraphale gives up. It’s not that the applicants are unsuited: rather the opposite, their credentials battle each other for excellence: if one has twenty years of experience in royal nanny service, the next will present a doctoral degree in Nannyology straight from Harvard. After all, Villa Eden is not only a beautiful and prestigious estate in the nicest part of London, but he offers a pay check that the best paid nanny in the world might have envied, promptly losing her her title. An honest wage for honest work, he thinks, and he certainly does not know what to do with a twelve year old boy. So if someone does, money shall not be the issue. 

The thing is: hiring a nanny is… it’s like selling books. Aziraphale is selfish. Aziraphale does not want to hire a nanny. He does not want to share his space, his routines, his library, his home. He can do it for Warlock, for a few months, because it is the right thing to do. He does not love it. But he likes the kid enough. Especially because his parents… well, they don’t. Not properly, not like they should, and that is enough for Aziraphale to feel a bristling sense of injustice, and a burning desire to bestow the boy with a love that might not live up to the parental ideal, but make him feel safe and liked and cared for, at least. 

So maybe he has to hire the Mary Poppins nanny, after all, to help him realize his wish, to support him in his quest, to breach the friendly but unbreachable rift between the old, reclusive neighbor and the bright, young boy that has been parked here by his parents, like a pet, while they are away for travel for half a year. Aziraphale huffs. 

He stares out the window of his conservatory, but can’t make out the expanse of his glorious estate. That’s because it is cloudy and gray and rainy and grim, and also winter, which might have something to do with it. Darkness has settled over the hill and his mansion like a heavy blanket. His clock chimed five not a minute ago, and yet it is already pitch-dark. Aziraphale likes winter. It grants you more alone time that needs not be justified as much as during other seasons. The weather today suits his mood. With a grim face, he makes up his mind to hire the nanny. 

In a dramatic last minute coincidence not at all necessitated by the narrative, the doorbell rings precisely in the moment Aziraphale starts to dial the number on the resumé.  

Aziraphale puts the receiver back down. He walks to the main entrance. 

(He does not believe in servants: for the same reason that he does not believe in nannies.)

When he opens the door, it takes him a moment to make sense of the picture of personified misery he is presented with. 

“Cosmetics,” the picture of misery says. 

“Excuse me?”

[continue reading]

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #azcrow #good omens fanfiction #inefficable #the nanny au

[chiisana-sukima]

Oh when you used to sing it to sleep

@jinkieswouldyoulookatthis and @blue-chimera - thank you both for your kind and thoughtful replies to my reblog of this post. The og post is getting quite long and also I don't want to put too much writing effort into a reblog that's susceptible to disappearance, so I'm continuing here instead.

I agree with you both that Dean's parentification and Sam's continued acceptance of vs rebellion against it as an adult are an important part of their dynamic. Dean's dying words in the finale attest to this beautifully (as well as many other things throughout the course of the show); I love you so much, my baby brother. To a certain extent Sam is Dean's baby and always will be.

I think though to a large extent, the framing by both Sam and Dean of Dean as Sam's parentified elder sibling is a mutually employed, mostly cooperative sanitization of the central and most damaging aspect of the roles they internalized through their upbringing: Sam is a monster and Dean is the tool to "take care of" it (double reading of "take care of" 100% intentional on my part). Because of this, while readings of spn through the lens of Dean's parentification are definitely valid, I do think they sometimes risk distorting or leaving out important aspects of the characters' personalities, motivations, and relationship.

Jinkies, in my fruitless quest to process without reblogging a take I knew the OP wouldn't appreciate, I had listened to the interview before posting, and I think while Jensen is being flip, he's also getting at what he sees as a truth in the brothers' relationship. I think he's right from a Doylist/co-creator/actor's perspective--Sam is the protagonist who we see through Dean, the deuteragonist's, eyes. Dean, as a piece of the narrative artifact, Supernatural, is there to save Sammy in a way that Sam (up to that point anyway) is not a piece of the narrative artifact whose purpose is to save Dean. From a Watsonian/in-universe perspective though, I think he's mistaken, and that his mistake is the reason his take sounds uncharitable, even aside from the flippant part.

It's just not a very convincing analysis imo to frame a character who spends the first few seasons rejecting immoral power, the next few in an arc that ends with him willingly subjected himself to eternal torture for the good of the world, and the one after that intending to sacrifice himself dramatically to rid the world of one particular species of monster but doesn't because Dean asks him not to, as self-absorbed or not particularly concerned with his effect on others, including on his brother. Likewise, Dean holds up well as a parentified older sibling with no sense of internal self and abysmal self-esteem in some ways, but in others not so much. He does have interests and priorities and a sense of purpose outside Sam. They're all over spn every day, much more so in fact than Sam's are. They're just not enough to override his Sam prioritization.

The main place I think this analysis fails on Dean's side though is that he, as an adult, is just not a very good parent. Obviously as a child he couldn't be expected to be a good parent (or a parent at all) and as an adult he's already damaged and so it's understandable that if big brother-ing Sam is how he chooses to spend the rest of his life, he may still not be equipped to do it. But he fails on such a fundamental, obvious level at the the most basic aspects of parenting--providing safety, unconditional love, and preparing your child to go out into the world as an independent adult--in ways that once he's a grown up are absolutely within his power to at least attempt (for example: if he wants Sam to be safer, it would ultimately have failed because of Fate, but the logical thing to do first would be not hunt. Dean could've followed Sam to Palo Alto. He could've told him to go to Harvard Law if he can't tolerate Stanford after Jess dies. Could've refused to support him throwing his life away of a mission of revenge. Bought him his own car, encouraged him to have his own tastes. Told him convincingly that trusting Ruby was a bad decision but Lucifer is still not his fault).

None of that is meant to be insulting to Dean though, because I don't think that parenting Sam is Dean's real job--even from Dean's perspective--and I don't think his real job is palatable enough that it would be better for either of them if he admitted what it is head on. What his and Sam's real jobs both are imo is being a container for Sam. On Dean's side, this means holding Sam in his arms with love or if that's not enough, holding him in the panic room, which, from this perspective, is also an act of love. Substituting his judgement for Sam's is an act of love. Not encouraging Sam to hold his own interests first or to grow towards independence are acts of love. Given the nature of (what I believe to be) Dean's actual job, they are effective and competent acts of love undertaken under impossible circumstances, even if the results are sometimes pretty horrific. Because they're still better than the alternative.

Likewise on Sam's side, doing his job well means being a model monster--go to an Ivy, exercise, eat healthy, cultivate empathy, don't have desires of your own, hold yourself to an impossible standard, suppress your anger, kill other monsters when they get out of line. And in the moments he can't manage all that--because who can?-- submit to Dean. When he does those things, he's succeeding at his job, and while it would be nice if "let your brother hit you" or "jump in the Cage with Lucifer" wasn't his job, in the world of spn, it is. He is right to be contained by Dean and wrong to have opinions or priorities of his own unless Dean approves them first.

I do think this sometimes ends up looking like Sam has better self-regard, because Dean's job is to "take care of" Sam, and Sam's job is also to "take care of" Sam. But actually they both have absolutely abysmal shit self-esteem. "I should submit to eternal torture because it's my fault someone else is going to do terrible things he could choose not to do if he wanted" is not the thinking of a person with healthy self-regard. The reason neither of them could fill a thimble with their self-esteem or healthy boundaries imo is because neither "monster" nor "blunt instrument" is a person. Neither of these roles is better or more healthy than the other. Fundamentally, if you don't see yourself first and foremost as a human person, then your life is going to suck horribly. And neither of them see themselves that way.

#spn meta #sam winchester #dean winchester #my meta #discourse in the linked post #long post #i am ofc like all of us to some extent projecting #some of you have been fortunate enough to not have had a monster to fail at 'parenting' and it shows

[darkmagyk]

So, Legally Blonde is a super fun movie, but man...something about the framing has always frustrated me.

Elle Wood's got a 4.0 at an extremely competitive school. She got a 179 on her SAT. She is the president of a major Sorority. That means she probably handles tens of thousands, at least, dollars of fundraising a year, plus all the other administration. It is a giant organizational and and financial operation and she's in charge of it. And to get to be president, she probably held at least two other offices the previous two years that she was also very successful in.

She's beautiful, smart, rich, and white. What about her isn't going to be absolutely Harvard material. I understand why her parents and Warren don't think it's a good fit. But her advisor? The admissions people (the rich, white, genius from a top tier school is their diversity pick?) The people who she's meeting in that scene after she gets there, when they are comparing backgrounds? The work she's done with Delta Nu is 100% on par with the other people.

It doesn't feel real, it feels like the movie has to keep making people discredit her, mostly arbitrarily, so it can say "yeah, she likes fashion, but also, she works hard." "Yeah, she likes fashion, but she knows random facts about fashion and hair care that allow her to bamboozle people on the witness stand."

The movie seem to just...want to minimize all her accomplishments until she decides to get into Harvard. They dismiss her 4.0. They dismiss her sorority as a silly group of friends, not a major administrative endeavor.

Ironically, the sequel actually does a much better job at showing how Elle's background made her a formidable player beyond knowing random facts about haircare. It understands that sororities are basically giant networking events, and Elle uses that, and all those social skills she picked up doing her administratively heavy job, to get shit done in Washington. She uses her Delta Nu connections to find political allies and to swell up ground support. She uses her social connections to learn how the world works from unusual sources. It shows that she was actually built for the world she's inhabiting, once she learns the rules. And the world also...invites her in. She says to a connection "I want to get on your staff" and then she just...does it. She has to learn the ropes once there (again, something she does via her networking and organizational skills), but all that history isn't a waste of time.

I just...I really wish I could watch that movie and not think about how it doesn't know what the fuck its talking about.

#legally blonde

[boxofbonesfic]

A Doppelgänger interlude:

Title: What I’m Thankful For

Pairing: Ransom x Reader, Lloyd x Reader

Summary: Lloyd and Ransom have quite a lot to be thankful for this year. 

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Dark!Ransom, Lloyd Hansen is his own warning, Nonconsensual Drug-use, Drugging, Mind games, Threesome, Darkfic, Smut

“I think it’s working.” Ransom sounds like he’s speaking to you from miles away. You’re floating, or at least, it feels like you are, your body suspended in warm syrup. He picks up your wrist, jiggling it. You giggle—it’s funny. You don’t know why, but it is. 

 “She’s supposed to be asleep,” comes the irritated voice of your brother-in-law. He’s leaned against the wall, his mouth twisted into a scowl beneath his mustache. “She look asleep to you?” For some reason, his annoyance is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen, and you snort as you double over laughing. 

 Ransom cups your chin, running his thumb across your lips. You stare up at him, glassy eyed. 

 “I don’t think she’s going to remember this,” he chuckles, patting your cheek affectionately. “Are you, Sweetheart?”

 Every nerve ending feels like it’s giving off fireworks as Ransom reaches underneath the hem of your baggy t-shirt. It’s one of his, the Harvard one, he loves you in it. That holds true tonight, too, as he cups your breasts beneath the fabric, humming appreciatively. 

 “This is my favorite shirt you stole,” he praises you. You grin up at him dopily as the words swim in one ear and out the other. “Looks so good on you.” 

 “I’d like it better off,” Lloyd remarks, and Ransom rolls his eyes. “Arms up, Princess.” You lift your arms up like you’re told. There’s not enough processing power left in the conscious meat of your brain to realize that you don’t have much choice. Whatever cocktail of chemicals is coursing through your bloodstream right now has made you more than pliant—you’re obedient. 

 Lloyd clucks his tongue appreciatively at the sight of your breasts, reaching forward to pinch one of your nipples between his fingers. You keen softly and he smiles. 

 “Much better off.” 

 Ransom sits you up so that Lloyd can slide onto the bed behind you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt as you slump against him. Ransom leans forward to kiss you, and you hum with pleasure. His lips are soft, familiar. His tongue in your mouth tastes like bourbon. You moan against him, and he chuckles. 

 “Greedy girl,” he mumbles against your lips, tapping your nose when you moan with displeasure. Distantly, in the gray matter of your subconscious, you’re aware that something is wrong, but you can’t put your finger on what it is, not when your skin feels like fireworks sound and your husband is doing that thing with his mouth on your cunt—when did he get down there?

 You don’t remember how your legs got draped over Ransom’s broad shoulders, his eyes glinting up at you from between your thighs. Lloyd’s mustache tickles against the side of your throat as he sucks hard at your pulse point. 

 “You’ll leave a mark,” Ransom says, pulling away from your sopping core. Your hips twitch and you whine, but he levels a sharp little tap against the fleshiest part of your thigh to quiet you. 

 “We’ll just say it was you, won’t we little brother?” Lloyd hums. Your breath catches as he tweaks your nipples. He makes a pleased noise deep in his throat at the noise you make, and does it again. If there was a part of your brain that was capable of rational thought, you might compare the sure, entitled way that Lloyd touched you with Ransom’s knowing confidence. But all you could focus on was the sensation of it all. 

 Lloyd grinds his hard cock between the cheeks of your ass, gripping your hips to ensure you stayed still—you don’t know when he took his pants off. You’re floating from one moment to the next, only aware of what’s happening right now as your husband draws letters and shapes against your clit that make you shudder and babble.

 “P—please,” you moan around Lloyd’s fingers, and he nips the shell of your ear. You don’t know what you’re asking for. Your tongue moves against his fingers, and his laughter vibrates against your back as you try to force the words out anyway. Your cunt seizes and you shake and moan, your eyes rolling. You’re cumming, you realize belatedly, your body convulsing. 

 Ransom pulls away, drawing the back of his hand across his glistening mouth and chin.

 “Was that what you wanted, Sweetheart? You’re going to have to speak up,” he says, and the both of them laugh riotously. “Use your big girl voice.” You can’t figure out what’s funny  as you lay there between them, your thighs trembling. 

 And then Ransom’s inside of you, his head back, groaning. Your thighs are wrapped around his waist—when did I get here? When did this go so far? The head of his cock is pushing deliciously against your cervix, and Lloyd’s against your back muttering darkly in your ear, his words sliding down into your buzzing head like oil.

 “Such a good girl.” Lloyd’s leaning you forward, and you rest your palms against Ransom’s chest. “Fuck, I couldn’t stay away.” Something cool and wet drips between the cheeks of your ass, and you feel his thumb press against the pucker of your entrance. You’re already so full of Ransom, there’s no room, you can’t—You don’t realize you’ve spoken until Lloyd laughs. 

 “Yes you can, Princess,” he hums. “After all, you’ve done it before.” The gel tingles, and you whine as he eases his thumb inside. You pant when he pulls it out only to replace it with his middle and index fingers, scissoring them inside you as Ransom rolls his hips into yours. Your limbs feel loose and heavy draped over your husband as Lloyd positions himself behind you, the thick, throbbing head of his cock pressing tightly against your asshole until it pops inside.

 You’re panting. The whole of your body feels warm, your cunt clenching desperately around Ransom, who groans into the nape of your neck as Lloyd seats himself all the way inside. 

 “M’full,” you complain, gasping for air against Ransom’s throat. Your teeth scrape against his skin. “Ran?”

 “Fuck—It’s okay, babe,” he says distractedly. You groan as Ransom sinks in while Lloyd pulls out, the two of them working your body in tandem. “Y-you’re doing so good—ah shit—so good.” 

 Lloyd’s leaving more bruises on your neck and shoulders, cursing and groaning as he sinks in with obscene, wet squelches. You wail, and the sound of it bounces off the walls and back into your ears. 

 “Go ahead and let it out, Princess,” Lloyd growls into your hair as he pulls your head back. “It’s just the three of us here, after all. Isn’t that right Ransom?” He pants. “Just you, and us. All. Fucking. Night.” 

 —

 You feel like you’ve been run over by a truck. It’s a struggle to sit up, thanks to the pounding headache and the soreness between your thighs, and as you stagger out of bed and into the ensuite bathroom, Ransom doesn’t even stir. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror—you look like a crime scene. 

 There’s horrific bruising on your neck, love bites ranging in size all the way down past your collarbone. There are finger shaped bruises you just know Ransom’s hands will fit perfectly into if you were to check them, and God— your face heats as your thighs rub together stickily. You’re sore everywhere. 

 You climb into the shower, still taking stock of each new ache and bruise as you find them. It’s like Ransom beat you to a pulp last night. Your face warms. You don’t really remember it, snatches of sweaty skin and low, lust filled words are the only things you can draw up from your memory of the night before. The images just… stop, after a while, becoming more feeling than recollection. 

 You can clearly remember prepping for you and Ransom’s first Thanksgiving. It was supposed to be small, intimate—your sister and her latest flame, your brother and his wife, your parents. You’d gone to Ransom’s family’s place the year before, and it had been… impersonal. No, you’d been looking forward to doing things with your family this year, only to have Lloyd show up completely out of the blue while you’d been prepping. 

 You narrow your eyes as you stand under the spray, massaging soap into your sore muscles. He’d claimed his car was having trouble, but you weren’t that naive. He was jealous—you were taking his twin away, after all. It didn’t matter how much time you devoted to the relationship, you would always be the interloper. 

 You rinse off, shutting off the water before stepping out of the shower. You quickly wrap a towel around yourself, wincing as your core throbs. In the bedroom, Ransom is still sound asleep as you make your way across the room to the closet. It’s still new to you, having this much space just in your bedroom, but Ransom won’t settle for anything smaller. You squeak in surprise as you flick on the light, clutching the towel tighter around you as Lloyd’s smirking face appears before you. 

 “Easy, Princess.” He’s holding one of Ransom’s shirts. “Didn’t pack anything to wear, so I figured I would borrow something.” His eyes drag over you unabashedly. “Wasn’t trying to scare you, scout’s honor.” 

 “You should knock.”

 “I did. I think you were in the shower. I figured you didn’t want me coming in there.” You’re not sure, but you think his smirk widens. “Sorry for the intrusion, sis.” For some reason, you don’t like the way it sounds when he says it. He slides past you, brushing against your bare shoulder. “Thanks again for letting me stay for turkey day.” 

 “You’re welcome, Lloyd.” The words are clipped. “It’s not like you could drive all the way back to the house.” And all the repair services are closed. He lingers in the doorway for longer than you think is appropriate, and as you’re fixing your mouth to ask him firmly to leave, Lloyd licks his lips. 

 “I’m finding I have so much to be grateful for this year,” he purrs. You hate the way it makes you clench, in spite of yourself. “Let me know if I can help with dinner.” He takes another long look at you as you busy yourself selecting a t-shirt from the dresser on your side of the closet. “If I know you, it’s delicious.” 

 You don’t let go of the towel until you hear the door click closed softly, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

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#doppelganger fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans imagine #lloyd hansen x reader #ransom x reader #ransom x you #lloyd x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x you #darkfic