#in my defense some of the pictures coming out these days are insane and giving me so many ideas

[stormyoceans]

okay hear me out. jimmy as a famous rock star who has fallen from grace and decided to retire both from the music industry and the public eye. he lives in a big mansion out of town but no one has seen him in years

enter sea, a young reporter who takes up the challenge to get an interview with the infamous star. despite all of jimmy's refusals and the many doors quite literally slammed in his face, sea refuses to give up, and eventually his determination slowly starts to tear down jimmy's walls and find a way into his heart

#THINKING ABOUT JIMMYSEA EVEN WHEN IM WITH MY FAMILY MAYBE I DO HAVE A PROBLEM #in my defense some of the pictures coming out these days are insane and giving me so many ideas #100 jimmysea series #i will never get there but by god i can try #jimmysea #m: txt

[emchant3d]

part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

#steddie #trans steve harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevie harrington #runaway bride stevie #my fic #steddie fic

[physalian]

In Defense of Fanfiction (Or the perfect starting point for your original novel)

Fanfic gets a bad rap pretty much everywhere except Tumblr. It’s misunderstood and misrepresented by its average works, seen as juvenile and cringey, or a banal point of contention between a famous person or piece of media and its fans.

Outside of fanfic that writes about real people, especially smut fics of real people, I support the art wholeheartedly. Fictional characters are one thing, but personally, caricaturing a celebrity’s life for public consumption and writing or drawing them in compromising content without their consent is a little weird. You do you. Don’t like, don’t read, as they say.

Fanfic is the perfect starting point for a few reasons:

It places you in a creative box and forces you to work within those constraints

It does all the worldbuilding and character concepts for you

It lets you write way outside your comfort zone

When published and receiving feedback, it boosts your self-confidence

It's incredibly flexible

It’s practice. All practice is good practice

—

Behold your creative box

When I was little I had no idea the majority of fanfic was shipping fics. I always pictured and looked for canon-divergent alternate universes. Like, what if X happened in this episode instead of Y? What if this character never died?

Fanfic demands you work within someone else’s canon, whether it’s an OC in the canonical world, or the canonical characters in an AU. These are like little bowling bumpers saving you from the gutter, but also keeping you on a straight-ish path toward the pins.

The indecisiveness of too many choices can be too intimidating when you’re first starting out. You want to be a writer but you have no idea where to begin, what genre to pick, what characters you want to chronicle, what themes you want to explore.

Even if it sits on your computer never to see the light of day, you still got those creative juices flowing.

Pre-packaged worldbuilding

Sometimes all we want is to get to the good stuff. Maybe I want to write a story about elemental magicians but Last Airbender already exists and I just want to play in a pre-existing sandbox. So I write some OCs into that world and have a free-for-all.

I don’t have to come up with my own lore, world history, magic system rules and mechanics, politics, geography—any of it. I get to just focus on the characters.

Even if you’re writing an AU, like say a coffee shop AU, you don’t have to think about brand new characters, you can just think “What would M do?” and go from there. The trade-off is your readers will expect canonical characters to behave in-character, but I think it’s worth it.

Stretch beyond your comfort zone!

Do you hate writing action scenes? Go practice with a shonen anime fic. Need work on dialogue? Write some high-fantasy fic, or a courtroom drama. Practice a fistfight by watching fistfights and writing what you see, and do it over and over again until what you read makes you feel like you're watching what’s on screen.

But beyond that—practice genres that you aren’t super familiar with. If you’re new to fantasy, write fantasy fic. Or a mystery novel/show, thriller, comedy, satire, adventure, what have you. The nature of fanfic still gives you those “guardrails” and you can get some brutally honest feedback on how you’re doing.

And, of course, the realm of M-rated romance and smut fics. I haven’t because I think I would die of embarrassment if I tried and I never intend to include sex scenes in my works anyway, but if you do want to, use the internet as your test audience. Post it on a throwaway account if you’re nervous.

Build that self-confidence!

The fandoms I used to write for are super dead, so it’s insane how I still get email notifications that so-and-so liked my fic to this day. Comments are as elusive as ever, but random strangers on the internet telling me they liked my work is a magical reassurance that my writing isn’t actually awful.

Random strangers on the internet are, as we all know, beholden to no moral obligation to be kind to your little avatar face, or be kind to be polite. So a rando taking the time to like my work or even leave a positive comment can feel more honest than one of my friends telling me what they think I want to hear.

I tend to avoid the more present aspects of fandom like online communities, forums, social media, what have you, so I get a delayed and diluted aspect of any given fandom through completed works. Which means, in general, I get to avoid the worst and most toxic aspects of fandom and get to sift through positive feedback and critique.

Even if your fanfic isn’t written with stellar prose, it’s fanfic. We don’t expect Pulitzer-prize winning content. And if your work isn’t up to snuff, people are more likely to just ignore it than put you on blast (at least in my experience, I never got a bad comment or a “flame” in the old FFN days).

Fanfic doesn’t care about the rules of published literature

On the one hand, try not to practice bad habits, but with this point I mean that your layout, punctuation, formatting, paragraph styles, chapter length–all of it is beholden to no rules. I get as annoyed as the next reader with giant blocks of paragraphs, or the double-spacing between pages of single-sentence paragraphs, but if the story’s good enough I might ignore it.

There’s more than just straight narrative fics, though. People write “chat” fics, or long streams of text and group chat conversations. The scene breaks can come super rapidly–I’ve seen fics with a single sentence in between line breaks to show the passage of time. And without the polish of a traditionally published novel, I’ve never seen a purer distillation of author voice in any medium more than fanfic.

All practice is good practice

Even if it’s crack fiction, or a one-off one-shot, or something meant to be lighthearted and straightforward and free from complex worldbuilding and intricate plots. It really helps break writer’s block when you can shift gears and headspaces entirely and you can get relatively instant feedback to keep you motivated.

Beyond that, the “guardrails” help you stay consistent as far as character growth and personality if you struggle with designing rich characters.

The most recent fanfic I wrote was just a couple years ago, for a dead fandom I didn’t think would get any traffic whatsoever. It wasn’t my original works, but the feedback on that fic gave me the kick in the butt I needed to get back into writing more seriously.

—

In short, I support fanfic. I may not be proud of my earliest fics' prose now, but I am proud that they walked so I can now run.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #ao3 #ffn

[cherryanony]

IN DEFENSE OF ELENA GILBERT: Why Do Yall Hate Emotional Women?

Vampire Diaries - Elena Gilbert pictured doing nothing wrong

HUMBLE BEGINNINGS

I started watching The Vampire Diaries back in 2016, right as it was coming to its long overdue close. To say I was obsessed was an understatement.

I would spend hours, days, WEEKS, consuming fan content, rewatching episodes and scenes over and over agin, discussing stupid plot points and writing descions that were made and throughout all of that one question has always dangled over my head...

Why does everybody hate Elena Gilbert?

Despite The Vampires Diaries being a dark supernatural teen drama filled to the brim with freaks & weirdos, murderers, psychopaths, evil forces and THE ACTUAL LITERAL DEVIL... Elena Gilbert reigns as the most hated character on the show by viewers.

But, why?

Elena Gilbert starts off the show as a 17 year old teenage girl who just experienced some of the craziest trauma any person, let alone TEENAGER, could ever go through. She was in the car with her parents when they died off Wickory Bridge and now suffers from a serious case of survivors guilt, a trait and mo motif she struggles with and must come to terms with throughout the show.

She falls for two vampire brothers who bring nothing but more hell into her life, she finds out she's adopted, her birth mother is a vampire and a piece of shit, her birth father is her insane negligent Uncle John, she's lost more loved ones than one can count over and over again, and she's constantly paranoid and never safe because she's a doppleganger with special blood that many dangerous supernatural creatures want.

"But she's whinyyy and a crybabyyy😩..."

As if one of her friends or family aren't on the brink of death every episode. Elena didn't do enough crying if we're being honest.

Elena is by no means a perfect, innocent character. A lot of people are right about her flaws; she can be very selfish with a what-about-me & and look-at-me-this-isn't-you complex and she's constantly getting away with a lot shit since she's the main character. And a lot people say she never faces any consequences but.... she does.... and it's called...

VAMPIRE!ELENA

THAT'S IT! That's where everyone says her character went completely wrong, her character completely falls apart. But I'd argue that Vampire!Elena is a culmination of all her descions coming back to bite her in the ass.

Throughout S1-3, Elena struggles with survivors guilt. She should've gone off the bridge with her parents. She's depressed, she's moody, she's "whiny" all while feeling like the supposed "love of her life" is trying to "fix her" when she's not ready.

In season 4 episode 10, Elena clearly states that Stefan looks at her like she's a broken toy that needs to be fixed. I could go on a whole rant on what I think Stefan's problems are but to sum it all up — Stefan turned into a vampire at 17 years old — a teenager — and spends his entire vampire life struggling with his heightened personality and his Ripper Gene which led him down a path to losing everyone he's ever loved.

(He killed his own abusive father, lost his best friend due to his own brother who he forced to turn with him and now wants him dead after a wedge is driven between them.)

I say all that to say I get Stefan's character. He's scared and insecure, similar to Elena, to be alone and lose everyone he cares about. However, all of his efforts to better himself and relationships only drives people away. People bring up Damon killing Elena's brother, Jeremy, all the time

(again.. HE WAS WEARING THE GILBERT RING! HE'S FINE! YOU DON'T ACTUALLY GIVE A FUCK ABOUT JEREMY, NOBODY DOES!)

But NOBODY talks about Stefan endangering Jeremy and almost getting him killed by forcing him to continue the Hunter's Mark because he thought Elena being human again would make her be in love with him again. (sorry but that's fucking insane😭😭😭!!)

Stefan wasn't only afraid of losing Elena, he was also afraid of losing her to his brother. All these efforts drove Elena away, right into the arms of the person he wanted to keep her away from.

I think Elena felt as if Stefan was just like everyone else who wanted "the old Elena" back. The person that Elena use to be before the accident that the show alludes to in the first season. But that Elena is dead and gone, she'll never be the same person she was before going off that bridge. Apart of her died that night and again when she went off the bridge for the second time and became a vampire.

Elena struggles with being a vampire and basically dying twice and instead of being supportive Stefan immediately wants to fix and change her. Damon is the only one she feels free and alive with. A statement Elena makes herself throughout the show. Despite the stupid discourse over the Sire Bond, Damon was the one she felt the safest with after that plotline was resolved.

But enough about comparing those brothers, this is about ELENA! You know who she gets compared to..?

KATHERINE

KATHERINE IS A LOSER!

Before you raise your pitchforks, I love Katherine. Great character, great villain, but she's a loser!

People LOVE to compare Katherine and Elena!

"Katherine's such a badass and Elena is a whiny crybaby." But I would argue the opposite.

See Katherine's backstory here, despite everything Katherine's been through, the show makes a point that while, yes, Katherine is a survivor, she's also an avoidant runner. She spends 500 years running from the big bad Klaus and once he fianlly lets her go she continues torture, manipulate, and harrass people.

She continues her streak of only whining and complaining about the life she never had because of the things that happened to her, which... fair!

However, despite being given several chances with a romance with Elijah, a life with her daughter as a mother, all the people she's ever wronged helping her and forgiving her on her death bed, taking over Elena's body and essentially starting over in a new life and even being THE QUEEN OF HELL... it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough for Katherine.

She was given many chances to change, to finally LIVE HER LIFE but she chose to continue down her path of destruction. Which, in my opinion, is fine for her character! LET KATHERINE BE THE SAD AND TRAGIC CHARACTER SHE IS! She doesn't have to be some anti-hero badass.

The contrast of Katherine and Elena, two girls who had their lives and innocence stolen from them at a young age thanks to tragic events out of their control and two vampire brothers, is great and executed as well as TVD writing could do (infamously known for shitty writing and plot holes but I digress).

The pieces to the K/E puzzle were so obviously placed, Katherine who was jealous of Elena living the life she never got, chose the path of selfishness and power, and Elena chose the path of love and regrowth and not letting her past define her.

But viewers missed the big picture. Katherine is a survivor but where did that get her? Dead and unloved. Besides freedom from Klaus, she didn't get a single thing she desired. Not a life with Stefan or Elijah or as a mother with her daughter or as Elena Gilbert or Queen of Hell! No! She lost everything and blamed Elena. SHE LOST! SHE'S A LOSER!

She survived, but she didn't live.

In my opinion, Elena is the real survivor. She didn't let her past consume and lead her to a similar fate as Katherine. She chose to be selfless and to love again after being hurt.

She chose to be alive.

SO BACK TO THE PROMPT....

Why do y'all hate emotional women?

"Elena has experienced more grief than anyone I've ever met." - Sherrif Liz Forbes

Every character has went through a lot and have done similar, if not worst, things as Elena as a result yet she's the most hated character?

There's a pattern of fans hating certain female characters who are more sensitive and cry instead of bury their feelings and just punch a man and suddenly get crowned "Most Badass Female Character". Characters, not just female, expressing their emotions is strong and badass and might inspire audiences to do the same and not keep grief in and become self destructive. It's healthy and natural and makes the character not so one note.

It's not fair to compare Elena's trauma and experiences to other characters (espically not Bonnie, that's topic for a whole other post). But why do other characters get a pass despite being ten times more flawed and problematic?

Why are certain characters able to cry, complain, self destruct, fuck someone over, etc but Elena can't?

Genunine question.. let's discuss...

-*- I wasn't able to fully delve into my thoughts on Elena and certain TVD characters, plot points, theme, etc because this post will be 50 pages long. This is the brief version.

***There will be a part 2 to this post where I delve deeper into the trend of hating characters like Elena.

#the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #elena gilbert #discussion #fandom #essay #character #for the girls #delena

[hxneyhxrts]

Sun Bleached || Jake “Hangman” Seresin (part 7)

Part 6

note: you guys, i really feel like i say this everytime i post but you’re insane and you’re so incredible and i can’t thank you enough for reading my lil brain child. thank you a million times over. be safe, be healthy, thank your local dilf, and enjoy <3

warnings: explicit language, minor sexual undertones, allusions to smut (barely)

Lost

The weekend was a buffer. Two days off and away from Gwyn, two days to rest, two days for Jake to sort out his head.

He had been silently cursing himself for cowering behind the hope that Gwyn would wake up the next morning and not remember their night together. He was Jake Seresin. He wasn’t one to be chased into fear over some girl he thought was pretty.

But she was more than that. She was pretty, and thoughtful, and wonderful, and she put him in his place when everyone just rolled their eyes and said “that’s just Hangman.”

He wanted to impress her. More than he wanted to impress Maverick or Cyclone (or Rooster on the days he could admit he respected the pilot’s opinion). He wanted her to think of him.

“This is starting to sound like a lot more than a crush,” Bradshaw commented from the couch while he watched Jake pace the length of his living.

“Yeah, no shit,” he huffs, boots echoing through the otherwise empty room in a steady rhythm he tried to focus on. “You said it was going to go away.”

Rooster raised his hands in defense, gaping at Jake. “Yeah, I also said ‘maybe not’. How was I supposed to know you’d fall in love with her?”

“I’m not in love with her,” Jake hissed, coming to a sudden screeching halt. “I’m not.”

Bradley considered him for a moment, maybe saw the panic coursing through him, and dropped it. “You sure you don’t want me to call Trace for this? She’d probably have much better advice. Or even Bob. He’s a soft and sensitive sorta guy.”

“No,” Jake quipped, resuming his pacing. “I don’t want anyone else knowing about this. I didn’t even want you knowing about this.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

Where Jake would normally snap something back with every ounce of wit and bite he possessed, he now remained quiet.

It was bad.

It was so bad.

He had called Rooster in a moment of rare vulnerability, telling him to come by before promptly ending the call. He would never call the other pilot under regular circumstances, but he needed to vent, and Bradshaw was the only person who knew about this little problem he found himself in. So when the text from Gwyn rolled through at exactly 10:24 this morning, he broke out in a sweat and phoned Bradley.

The text wasn’t a big deal, nothing damning or terrible. But enough for him to know she remembered their night. In enough clarity to joke about it, apparently.

The text was a picture of her cat laying out in a small spot of sun attached to a message that read, “she’s been insufferably pampering herself all day. side effect of meeting THE Jake “Hangman” Seresin, maybe?”

So she remembered. Which meant she remembered that he had held her (not once, but twice), that he had been in her home, that he had traced her shoulders while giving her a gift he had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out.

She remembered.

And honestly, he should’ve expected it. She had looked at him with such clarity and spoke so clearly that even he knew she wasn’t wasted, but he had selfishly hoped she was.

“Would it really be so bad to just tell her? Maybe she feels the same way,” Rooster said after a long beat of quiet.

Jake scoffed, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t matter if she felt the same.” God, even the thought of her feeling the same made him dizzy. “Nothing could happen anyway. I’m in charge of this mission, and what would it say to Simpson that in my first job as squadron leader I end up dating a team member?” He swallowed. “I know you don’t get it, but some of us have a responsibility here, and I’m not fucking it up over some girl.”

Calling Gwyn “some girl” felt sickening, curling in his stomach unpleasantly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rooster rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be the untouchable Jake Seresin, whatever. I do know how to be a regular human being outside of this job, though. Just tell her.”

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Bradley sighed, standing up. “At least think about it.”

But his mind was already made up.

—------

“He bought you a necklace?” Alec all but screamed.

Gwyn shushed him quickly, glancing around wearily even though they were alone in the small cafe they had picked out for breakfast. “Would you keep it down?” she hissed. Alec was gaping at her, and she could understand why. “He gave it to me, but it was a gift from the team.”

“How the fuck did the entire team get you a present if none of them knew it was your birthday?”

And fuck, she had been avoiding that train of thought altogether. Because trailing down it meant thinking it through logically and coming to the conclusion that no, this wasn’t a group gift meant to welcome a newcomer.

This was something only from him. Just Jake.

The thought made her nervous and incredibly warm. This wasn’t part of the plan. This was the complete opposite of the plan. This was throwing a wrench right into her train of thought and wrecking it.

“Cheek, I think he likes you.”

God, did Alec not see that she needed a moment to breathe without him dropping these little bombs on her. Between this and her small hangover (made much smaller by the water he had forced her to drink), her head was beginning to split.

“Please don’t say that,” she muttered.

Alec’s hand reached across the small booth table and gripped hers in that familiar grasp, too warm and solid. “I thought you liked him, too.”

Gwyn hadn’t said as much to him, hadn’t even said it to herself, really. But he knew. He always knew. He had always read right into her and saw exactly what she was feeling before she did.

She couldn’t bring herself to agree with him, not yet. She couldn’t say it out loud. “Nothing can happen,” she said instead.

Alec knew that, and he knew how adamant she had been about not dating coworkers. So he stayed quiet, choosing to let her pore over her situation while the cafe noise swelled around them.

The small plane felt heavy where it sat against her sternum. She hadn’t taken it off before bed, and couldn't bring herself to take it off before breakfast either. Tucked beneath her shirt, the metal was warmed by her skin and sat in the valley of her chest. It was dainty, but she found it hard to ignore its presence, whether from the weight of it or what it meant to her.

Gwyn had texted him this morning. They didn’t text. They didn’t talk outside of work or the occasional team outing. They kept their relationship (however confusing it may be) within the confines of what they knew, and never let it creep into their personal lives. She had only texted Jake within a groupchat with the rest of the team, never seeking him out privately, but last night spurred something within her. Having him in her home, watching how he fit so snugly into her space with his perfect smile and his perfect face and his perfect everything, it had chipped away a little bit more at that resolve she had been wrestling with. So when she woke up this morning with the evidence of their intimate conversations around her throat, she had caved and given in to that little part of her that wanted more from him. She had spent a good hour thinking of something to send him, settling on an easy joke that fell in the same vein of their usual teasing instead of the “thank you for the gift p.s. wanna get coffee?” she had typed and deleted several times.

Alec had giggled when she told him, grinning like a madman at her distress. It wasn’t that serious, she knew that. But it had crossed an unspoken boundary between them, one that had started to crumble the moment she left her door open for him to follow her inside her home.

Ding

Her eyes flicked to her phone lying face up on the table, a knot forming in her chest as Jake’s contact name flashed across the screen.

Christ.

“Answer it!” Alec demanded, looking every bit the little kid Gwyn sometimes thought he was. She took a deep breath to calm herself before reaching for her phone.

Figures. I tend to have that effect on women.

An easy reply, more Hangman than Jake, but a safe one that made her breathe a little easier. It wasn’t weird, they were just having fun now. Nothing too serious.

“He’s flirting with you,” Alec grinned.

Why did she agree to breakfast again?

They huddled over her phone for about ten minutes crafting a response, Gwyn shooting down most of Alec’s ideas and insisting they were “too flirty”. She finally settled on something laid back and funny.

whatever you say Bagman

“Jesus, take him dinner first,” Alec had droned, making fun of her. But who cared? She was playing it safe to keep from jumping into something she couldn’t claw her way out of.

Another ding.

That’s Catman to you.

Gwyn turned her phone off after that.

—--------

Monday arrived far too quickly, and Jake had to all but drag himself out the door to head to base.

He had spent his entire “Gwyn-free weekend” thinking about her. He felt pathetic.

So when pulled up in his usual parking spot before the sun had even fully risen and the birds still hadn’t gotten on to their chirping, he felt exhaustion deep in his bones. Phoenix was just pulling herself from her truck parked a few spaces down, smirking at him as soon as her feet hit the pavement.

“You look like shit, Seresin.”

“I feel like shit, Trace,” he grinned. He’d never tell them, but this team had started to feel more like friends than coworkers recently. This easy parking lot banter was ritual at this point, and the shred of normalcy felt good in his aching chest.

They chatted as they walked, catching up with Bob once they got inside. This was easy, this was what he needed.

Their trio had almost made it to the makeshift classroom they had been using to go over dogfight tactics when a shout rang out further down the corridor.

“Go! Go! Run!”

Heavy footsteps followed, pounding closer and closer until Gwyn tore around the corner, Alec right behind her.

Fuck.

They were both wearing their flight suits, but Gwyn had unzipped hers to let it hang around her waist. Jake swallowed deeply at the sight of her almost completely bare chest only covered by a sports bra, and Christ, she was wearing the necklace.

She was wearing his necklace.

The small plane bounced with every running step she took, colliding with the swell of her breasts as she laughed.

Jake was completely frozen. He couldn’t handle seeing her like this, all bare skin and grinning, after spending an ungodly amount of time thinking about her over the weekend. He wished she had called off sick or something because his brain was sure to short circuit if this kept up.

Payback’s hulking form spun around the corner after them, charging behind them with purpose. At the sight of him, Alec cried out, “Fuck! Go, Cheek!”

She was laughing hard enough that her cheeks were flushed, and he hated how he could see the way it traveled down her chest with her suit undone. He found himself wanting to know how much further down it reached before cursing the idea completely.

“Jake!”

She was calling out to him now and hearing his name on her lips when she looked the way she did almost made his knees buckle.

‘Please,’ he begged silently. For what he didn’t know, just a small plea to the universe.

His arm shot out to grab her without his consent, and he found himself holding her waist to stop her for a moment before pulling back just as quickly. He couldn’t be touching her, not here, not with half of the team watching them.

Alec skittered to a stop behind her, crashing into the wall hard enough to rattle a frame or two hanging from it. He was smiling wildly down at her, but she was grinning up at Jake.

“No, no, no, he can’t save you now,” Payback chastised, but his tone was light enough that Jake knew there was no true malice behind it. Not a lot, anyway.

“He’s squadron leader, yes he can,” Gwyn childishly quipped back, panting hard and God she was still wearing that fucking necklace.

“Well maybe your squadron leader would like to hear about your little off-the-record flights.”

Jake’s eyes swiveled to Payback, then back to Gwyn who was still smiling. “What’s he talking about?”

He had been looking to her, but it was Alec who answered. “Is it really off-the-record if you know about it?”

Gwyn laughed. “And do it with us?” she added.

Jake’s head snapped to Payback who at least had the decency to look sheepish. “To be sure your sorry asses were being safe.” He looked to his squad leader before straightening his spine and continuing, a nervous glint in his eye. “And that is exactly why I’m upset.”

Alec scoffed, throwing an arm around Gwyn. “Sure. It had nothing to do with the fact that we dogwalked you out there.”

Phoenix snorted, a loud and sharp sound that resonated through the entire hall. Payback’s eyes snapped to her with a glare that did nothing but make her laugh harder.

“That kind of shit talking is exactly what got you guys into trouble.”

“You gonna punish us?” Alec taunted, causing Gwyn to cackle. This was a new side of them Jake hadn’t seen. Carefree and laid back without fear of consequences.

He envied them in that moment.

Payback smirked, his stern facade completely slipping then. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Go for it,” Alec challenged, reaching a hand around to squeeze Gwyn’s cheeks in playfully. “She likes it rough anyway.”

She batted at his chest with a blushing smile, but it had been said and it had immediately made Jake’s heart stop and start.

Images flitted through his brain quicker than he could stop, flashes of her panting and what she might look like panting beneath him while he-

“Gross,” Phoenix scoffed with a playful eye roll, effectively silencing Jake’s wandering mind and pulling him back to earth.

“Let’s get to work,” he choked out, dutifully ignoring the stare Gwyn had fixed on him.

—---------

Once again, Alec Shaw had gotten his way.

He had spent the night at Gwyn’s place and after listening to her toss and turn for most of the night, had shaken her out of bed before dawn to drag her to base for a joyride.

It was a stupid idea, and she knew that, but goddamn him and his ability to weasel his way into her common sense. Payback had caught them slipping out of the locker room, claiming he had to come in early for a meeting with the admiral, and cornered them until she let it slip that they were getting some extra practice in.

“Gotta beat Hangman somehow,” she had said, leaving out the part about taking a ride to clear her head of that very man.

The older pilot had smirked and challenged them to some drills and she had lost complete track of time while Alec ran his mouth from the backseat, putting an end to the flight when he snarked some ungodly comment about doing something gross to Payback’s mom. Once they hit the tarmac, they had taken off, trying to get out of the rival pilot’s line of sight and shake his wrath.

Until she ran into Jake.

And she had just been so overcome to see him, wide-eyed and so nice to look at when she was as giddy as she was.

So she ran right to him, open heart and arms, and tried to pour out all the excitement she felt right into him. But he had barely looked at her.

She figured it could have something to do with the shadows under his eyes or the hoarseness of his voice. Maybe he was just tired. But he had never looked like that, even after their worst nights out at the Hard Deck. He always showed up bright and early to work with an almost annoying pep in his step, as if he was rubbing it in everyone’s face that he just woke up and started the day perfectly.

He had pulled away from her. Then he hadn’t even looked at her before dismissing everyone. Guilt nudged its way into her stomach, a rancid taste in her mouth at the thought that he could be upset with her.

She couldn’t blame him, though. She had gone out on a flight he hadn’t expressly authorized, and she didn’t bother to run it by Maverick either. It was one thing to take laps when she was still at the academy, but she was a Top Gun pilot now. Things were different, expectations were higher, and she had danced right around them.

Gwyn spent most of the morning trying to catch his eye, praying he would give her a smile and she could breathe easier knowing she had just been overthinking, but he had completely ignored her or flat out avoided her the entire morning. He was upset.

He was upset with her.

Drills didn’t go much better. Her head was too far in the clouds to focus on anything happening around her, landing her and Alec as the first plane out. She had grumbled the entire flight back to the tarmac while Alec tried his hardest to soothe her.

She had even called Mo to try and kill time so she wasn’t obsessing over the entire thing. Mo had answered on the third ring and spent at least 10 minutes picking on her like the older brother he was before she hung up on him.

Now she was alone in the rec room, watching tv until Mav arrived for their afternoon class. Alec has sauntered off after whatever pretty blonde tech he had met and decided to hook his teeth into, so she was mercifully alone.

Until Bradshaw showed up. His flight suit had been discarded for gym shorts and a shirt that looked a few sizes too small the way it hugged his chest, and that ridiculous mustache that twitched when he smiled at her.

“There you are,” he smirked, sliding on to the couch cushion next to her. “Been looking everywhere for you.”

“What’s up?” She tried to keep her tone light even as her voice cracked.

Rooster shrugged, a too-careful gesture that told her it was anything but relaxed. “Just checking in. You seem a little off today.” He leaned back and stretched his legs out in the perfect picture of unbothered. “Everything okay?”

Gwyn didn’t know how to respond to that. Was she? She should’ve been. She wasn’t the first person in the world to have a riff with a coworker and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Something about it being Jake, though, made her feel off.

“Just peachy,” she lied. He didn’t believe it. She could tell he didn’t from the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, but he didn’t press.

The doorknob rattled and she looked up as another head popped in.

Jake.

“Oh,” he started, eyeing the proximity between Gwyn and Bradley on the couch. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He had started to pull back when Gwyn began speaking. “You’re not! Not at all!” She wanted to cringe at the obvious discomfort in her tone and how guilty she sounded at being caught so off guard.

Jake swallowed, finally meeting her eyes for the first time since that morning and knocking the wind out of her. “I was just looking for Phoenix.”

Her gut twisted a little at that, the smallest pang of disappointment and jealousy coursing through her.

“Got a hot date or something?” Rooster joked, but the words sunk deep into her muscles and made her go stiff.

Jake laughed, nothing more than a huff of air past his lips, but a happy sound nonetheless. “Or something.”

“She and Bob were just over in the mess hall last time I saw them,” she got out, just to have him look at her again.

She was a mess.

But it worked. Jake’s eyes found hers again, perfect green swimming with that same hesitation that had been there all day and then he was nodding sharply and ducking out again.

Silence blanketed them, and she wished Bradley hadn’t sought her out so she could handle this moment privately. After what felt like hours, the older man turned to her with a small look of understanding.

“He’s just had a long week,” he promised gently. Panic surged through her briefly about being so transparent that he had sniffed out her feelings, but it was soothed by the kind smile he offered her. She could see small traces of Captain Mitchell in that smile.

Words failed her. Refused to come even when she reached for them desperately. So she nodded once, and settled back into the cushions while Bradshaw stood and made his departure.

—---------

He was spiraling. So quickly.

Had been since the moment he saw her that morning, only made worse when he found her alone with Rooster.

He had been looking for her so that they could talk. He wanted to tell her everything, apologize for how awkward it would make their work lives, and be on his way. When he walked in on her and Bradshaw, alone and obviously deep in conversation, every thought about talking with her had vanished and been replaced by a wave of bitter jealousy. It was ridiculous, he knew that. Bradshaw was a lot of things, but he wasn’t conniving like that, and they were sat on complete opposite ends of the massive rec room sofa. There was nothing to indicate anything between them, but that was exactly the point. Nothing about the situation should have set him off, but it did. Because he wanted to be alone with her. He wanted to have her all to himself for a few minutes and chat about their day and everything Bradley could’ve had in that moment.

And that scared the shit out of him.

So he lied about needing to talk to Natasha and all but ran from the situation before locking himself in the locker room for the remainder of the afternoon.

Four o’clock had rolled around quickly, the only mercy the universe had granted him all day, and before he knew it, he was crossing the parking lot to head home. Home, where he could dwell on these feelings that made him stupid for another sleepless night and roll in to work to do it all again tomorrow.

This mission needed to end. Quickly.

He had almost made it to his car, the California afternoon nipping at his skin, when a shout rang out across the lot.

“Jake!”

He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Gwyn. He would know her from anywhere by the way she said his name alone. The way she shaped the letters so prettily and snaked them down his neck when she spoke.

He could pretend to not hear her. Just get in his car and leave without looking up and blame it on not paying attention. But he wouldn’t. Not with her.

Never with her.

She jogged up alongside him, smiling strangely at him when she came to a stop a few feet away. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied, trying (and failing) to sound casual. “What’s up?”

“Are we, um-” she trailed off, biting her lip. “Are we good? You and me?”

You and me.

You and me.

“Why do you ask?” he all but choked out.

Gwyn’s gaze dropped to her feet that now kicked at loose gravel. “I don’t know, you just, uh, seemed a little… different today.” Her hands came up to her neck to fiddle with the chain around it.

She was still wearing the necklace.

Breathing was becoming harder and harder, and Jake wanted to gasp for air like a man drowning just to fill his lungs again as they squeezed. “Fine,” he bit out. “We’re fine.” He let himself watch her fingers play with the small plane charm for another second before restraining himself again. “I have some stuff to take care of. I’ll see you later.”

He turned before he could see her face fall, but he still felt it. He closed himself into the safety of his car as quickly as he could, and pulled out before he lost his self control and begged her for forgiveness.

He didn’t check the rearview mirror as he left. He didn’t wait past the gate to see if she made it out behind him. He didn’t drive slowly to give her the chance to catch up. He just drove as his mind spun out.

Jake Seresin was so fucked.

And he knew it.

Part 8

taglist: @rachelccollier @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @the-winter-marvel33 @barbiewritesstuff @dilfsandtherapy @dempy @itevilhag @supernaturaldawning

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman top gun #jake hangman x reader #top gun maverick

[imaginedreamwrite]

So all the texts for the text phot dump are so cute, and some of them made me chuckle quite a bit. How about number 6 and number 1 with Jake or Colin or both of them ? Plus I really don’t wanna get ahead of myself because I feel like my asks are getting lost because of Tumblr, yesterday also two were lost. But fingers crossed this reaches you

They were odd friends from college, the computer whiz who could weave his way in and out of a computer system without being caught, and the musician who could count on one hand how many times he’d had an empty bed. Jake and Colin were fast friends, if not polar opposites, and had moved on from college to a shared apartment where their differences hadn’t correlated to many shared desires.

Until they’re neighbour across from them had moved out, and a new addition had moved in with a powerful whirlwind that captivated both Colin & Jake. Their new neighbour was quiet, they’d learned, a little bashful and shy but both Colin & Jake were equally set upon getting to know you.

Through interactions in the hallway when you were coming home or leaving, Colin & Jake had gotten to know you well enough to transcend neighbourliness. Eventually the invitation to go out as friends was made and with the invitation had come a direct surge of chemistry between the three of you that was cathartic and electrifying.

Neither Colin or Jake had really known why you never let your guard down enough to let them ask you on a date, even with the last year of them flirting heavily. Whether you were oblivious to their flirting because someone from your past made you feel as if you didn’t deserve the attention, or whether you were dealing with some leftover ramifications from an ex, it was clear that you hadn’t known entirely how much they wanted you.

It was quick to build, and even quicker to come to a cusp during the heat of the summer. By some miracle the three of you had gotten the same four day weekend with no restrictions, and given the heat blasting the city the decision was made for the three of you to leave. Colin or Jake had suggested a cabin by a lake that one of their family members owned, and they were quick to invite you.

On the day you were supposed to leave, Colin & Jake had made a quick descent for some last minute things for the four day weekend, leaving you to pack and give them notice when you were done. With a blow that drew them closer to their level of insanity, you’d sent them a text that you were ready along with a picture of yourself in some pretty little sundress with a bow at the back, almost as if you were wrapping yourself like a present for them.

Colin and Jake immediately blew up your phone with messages, both of them driven crazy by you and your self-defensive bashfulness.

Fuck you for looking so goddamn gorgeous today

I hate you

I mean I don’t hate you

I love you

But I hate you for being so pretty today

Your response was adorable, just as they had expected, and it was equally hilarious and endearing.

Wait, did you just flirt with me?

Have been for the past year but thanks for noticing

By the time they’d returned, there was a subtle shift in the air between you three. When they had arrived at your door to grab your things and leave, tension had churned and shifted. You appeared on the other side of the door with your bags and your pretty little sundress but instead of greeting Colin & Jake with your usual, you’d leaned in and kissed them softly.

“I think I’d like to take those dates when we get back.”

#Colin Shea x reader x jake Jensen #Colin Shea x reader #Jake Jensen x reader #Jake Jensen x reader x colin Shea

[beanghostprincess]

Okay this is my last post about trans girl usopp (until I come up with more ideas)

When they update usopp's wanted poster. They use a picture of her before meeting with Ivankov. She thinks she looks nice it's a good angle, shows off her eye lashes (and a little cleavage). she has a cute smile and her hair looked good that day. But fuck she wished they could of waited to update the bounty. They also referred to her as goddess which was nice but she still prefers God usopp

Sanji gushed looking at it. He puts it on the ceiling and blows kisses before going to sleep. He also calls her his goddess.

The red haired pirates got a hold of the bounty updates for the straw hats. Shanks was a little hesitant to give yasopp usopp's updated bounty. Worried about his and his crew's reaction to it, he doesn't want to start anything he can't finish. After some back and forth between yasopp and shanks he gave in and gave it to him (he snatched it out of his hands).

Yasopp was only in her life for 7 years. He really doesn't know her anymore. But he's really not shocked by her new identity. She was always 'soft' (soft as in kind and gentle not as in weak). She didn't have dolls, she didn't have that many toys in general. She played with diet, stick and bug. Typical "" boy"" things. Except the bug was a princess married to the stick who was a Prince and the mud pile was their Castle. She would also take rubber bands, if they weren't being flicked they would be in her hair (and mouth she had a bad habit putting things in her mouth) there were not a lot of little girls either. the village was notorious for having a lot of baby boys born there, she didn't have friends her age that liked the same thing she liked. Not a lot of boys wanted to play house with insects. He assumed it was a faze because after she found out about pirates she was obsessed and played pirates with the village boys. Guess it wasn't a faze.

The silence was long every one just wanted for him to react to this new information. They couldn't read his expression or tell what he was feeling at the moment. Shanks was about to say something but it was interrupted by yasopp. "She looks just like her mother, same smile and everything.............wish she wore something a little more flattering tho." He shoved the bounty in his pocket to hang up later. He noticed his crewmates still staring at him, getting defensive he yelled at them and shooed them away. If any one of them had something to say about his daughter they can answer to the barrel of his gun

Oh, no, PLEASE, send me all the Transfem Usopp idead you have (I love them).

This is just,,, So sweet. Yasopp being so supportive of her??? Shanks actually not wanting to show him the wanted poster at first because he's genuinely worried about how he might react??? Usopp looking just like her mother makes me go insane, honestly- It's the best trope for trans characters imo. I loved this!!!!!!!!!!

#trans girl usopp my beloved my girlfriend #one piece #usopp #transfem usopp #yasopp

[aita-blorbos]

(Technically Canon Characters, but it's from an AU/Fanfic)

AITA For Showing a Dead face to a Guy?

So, I (14??M) am Dead, but am also somehow alive again. I'm like a Zombie basically. I don’t want to get too into everything, but keep in mind I was murdered, trapped in a golden bear suit I was murdered with and my murderer who's a ghost, and I have no memory of anything in my life besides my death.

I stick to hiding in the woods, because I don't want anyone seeing me. I don’t know what would happen if anyone saw me, but I know it wouldn't be good. Only one person knows about me, who I'll call G(15M). He's a bit fidgety and nervous all the time, but is overall nice and apparently knows a bit about ghosts.

One day I end up hearing a voice from a Junkyard calling for Help. When I go to investigate, I find a piece of metal with strange neon goo on it. Confused about it, I just decide to go ask G about it since I was 99% positive it was ghost related. I went to his apartment (Just yelling at him through his window... I am aware that was dumb), and he seemed confused as well. He ended up just suggesting to see if there was more and see if it made anything. I went back to the Junkyard and found more pieces with the goo on it, but ended up making a girl out of the garbage. I'm not sure why, but the goo seems to match with whatever I made since it looks like it's bleeding.

I go back to tell G this and offer to try taking a picture if he gives me a camera since he's still kinda confused, but when he comes down to hand me a camera, his Dad or something comes down with him! I'll call him D, since he's a Detective. You can probably see why I would freak out if I didn't want anyone else to see me, a Detective is one of the worst types of people to see me! It also makes it worse since D is apparently a huge skeptic of the Paranormal, unlike G. I get a bit upset at G for this, but as I try arguing with him, D steps in and says "I believe you should calm down, and not begin yelling at him over a mistake caused by your decisions", which, I guess he's right about that, but it still pissed me off.

G explains he just wants to ask me some questions, and was even willing to let me borrow his camera. I end up allowing him to, but I get quickly upset with the guy. D starts questioning the answers I gave him, which admittedly were kind of bad at the time and kind of lied (I was scared of admitting the truth about being dead), he gets upset and questions me for "destroying private property" of an old Junkyard gate, he even ended up following miles across the woods to get to the Junkyard to see the person of garbage I made because I didn't trust him enough to get in his car. Looking back, these aren't the worst things ever and make sense, but they just made me more agitated at the time.

We get to the person I made who's out of garbage, and, before I can take a picture of it, he snatches the camera out of my hands. D ends up apologizing, but says he can't let me take a picture of it. Apparently some horrible incident happened where a Girl, S, was reported to be seen turning into garbage before going missing, and the person I made with junk looks pretty similar to her. Now, I had no idea this ever happened, I've literally been in the woods hiding for weeks, so I get defensive, thinking he's going to blame me for this. He ends up saying something snarky about how he doubts I haven't heard anything about it, since this incident was a pretty big deal around here, which I said was where I "probably" lived, so I admitted to lying.

D just sternly asks why I lied, and I explain it was because I thought he would see me as crazy if I said I was dead. Then, he just says G told him that already, and that he felt like there were larger issues to address than that. We begin arguing, then he says "I think you're a liar. I do not believe you're insane, or 'crazy', or even a sane person who only happens to believe something absurd, I simply think you're lying, and wear this suit for reasons I don't fully understand. I also believe this...body could possibly be some sick joke to make fun of this missing girl, and, frankly, your attitude towards me and others is starting to get on my nerves."

This was my tipping point, so I end up yanking my bear suit open to show my rotting face. D just stares at me terrified and too stunned to say anything, so I cover my face again and just say "Fuck you" before walking a few feet away and sulking on the ground. D ends up apologizing to me, genuinely apologizing, and promises to leave me alone like I wanted. I don’t apologize. I don’t know why I didn't. I felt bad for doing that, but I also felt too stubborn to? I don't know, my brain just feels confused right now. I feel like I already know the answer to this question, but I might as well ask it since I can't ask anyone else.

AITA?

EDIT: Ok apparently the junk person I made was S after all somehow. I don’t know how that even happened to her, but I guess that adds to D's point about it looking eerily similar (Since it was her.)

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #child death

[gduncan969]

What Does God Expect of Us?

Malachi 6: 6 - 8

“6 With what shall I come before the Lord, And bow myself before the High God? Shall I come before Him with burnt offerings, With calves a year old?

7 Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, Ten thousand rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, The fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

8 He has shown you, O man, what is good; And what does the Lord require of you But to do justly, To love mercy, And to walk humbly with your God?”

I’m finding it very hard to believe what I saw on a video posted by Jesse Watters of Fox News last night. The judge currently hearing the civil case against Donald Trump regarding his supposed tax-avoidance has just posted pictures on the internet showing HIMSELF HALF-NAKED in his bathroom?? NOTE: not pictures of Donald Trump or anyone else but pictures of HIMSELF! Is this for real or is it some kind of “AI” creation meant to destroy the judge’s reputation? I’ve watched Jesse Watters’ show many, many times and I’ve never felt he was being deliberately dishonest in his assessment of current affairs and he generally goes to great lengths to verify what he broadcasts so despite how hard I find it to believe, it very likely is true: the 70+ year-old judge just posted half-naked images of himself on the internet! Wow! The discussion panel on Watters’ program rightly concluded the judge has simply gone insane—there can’t be any other explanation. This is the same judge who, at the start of the trial, appeared laughing and smiling before the court cameras and the world watched as he gleefully opened his notes to begin the trial being prosecuted by an admitted Trump-hater who ran her entire election campaign to become District Attorney on her promise to “get Trump”. Today, the news media announced the results of the Virginia State elections and yet again I am dumbfounded by a story arising from it. The Republicans did not do well but there was one seat they won from the incumbent democrat, a married woman in her late 30's/early 40's (I guess) and they won it by the slimmest of margins. The astounding announcement is that she lost her seat because the Republicans found several pornographic videos of her and her husband having sex together which they posted on line and made available to the public—for a fee! Lost by the slimmest of margins?? Who in their right minds would vote for such a perverted candidate?

Corroding Standards

Over the last few decades, we’ve all seen a serious corrosion of the moral and independence standards of our courts and legal profession but nothing even close to this has ever happened. How should the American people respond to such a disgusting act by a sitting judge? We all agree that our courts and especially our judges should maintain a rigid standard of fairness and strict impartiality, as well as a great deal of decorum. Judges must be free from any outside interference or political influence but these criteria seem to have evaporated in the current woke climate and they’ve been replaced by a political correctness and partisanship that has destroyed our confidence in the system. Once again, we are left crying out, “Lord, what on earth is happening?” It surely doesn’t matter if you hate Donald Trump or love him, no one deserves to be judged by such a perverted judge. We expect far, far more from our legal authorities and I hope I’m correct when I say we generally still get it but my confidence has been seriously shaken these days when I hear that cell phones of two Ottawa police officers called to give evidence in the Truckers Convoy trial currently underway in Ottawa have been “accidently” wiped clean and their contents therefore are not available to the defense team, or the blatant lies that are being proffered by our politicians, presidents and prime ministers who’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar; or, the police in the UK arresting for the third time a woman found silently praying near an abortion clinic—after a judge had already thrown out the first two charges. These are just a few of the many instances where we’ve been left utterly disheartened by the corruption that seems to abound all around us. We expect better!

What Does God Expect of Us?

At the heart of the matter is not so much what we expect of others but what does God expects of us? It is not helpful for us to immerse ourselves in the corruption of others and get thoroughly depressed until we have a clear picture of how we stand with the One who counts the most, Jesus Christ. He is the best cure for our depression. Dwelling on all the other stuff that’s going on only leads to discouragement and that’s not where the Lord wants to lead us. So, at a fundamental level, what does God expect of us? Malachi spells it out in the three verses above.

First, He doesn’t need or want our material and intellectual assets. No matter how rich we are or how clever we might think of ourselves, we cannot purchase His favor with either of these even if we were to include offering to sacrifice our nearest and dearest just to prove how serious our allegiance might be. Throughout human history, misguided people have cut themselves, bled themselves, flogged themselves and sacrificed their children all to prove to God how faithful they are to Him. Even the Old Testament Jews perverted the animal sacrifices God ordained as a covering for their sin to a “show of allegiance” to merit His favor. They even tried the trick of using the Ark of God as some kind of talisman that would guarantee victory in their battle against the Philistines (1 Samuel 4) when by their very lifestyles they denied the allegiance to God they claimed to have. Closer to the present, Christians have bankrupted themselves to the prosperity preachers to show God how serious they are in proving themselves worthy of His favor with the added hope of a 100-fold bonus on their investment.

Second, God is not impressed by such a show of allegiance when it stems from a rebellious mind rooted in a corrupted heart. He will never play the role of an Aladdin who answers the call to do our bidding if He’s rubbed the right way. Through all of this He’s calling out to His people, “Choose you now this day whom you will serve..” (Joshua 24:15) because He is fed up with our vacillating performances between living for Him and living for the world.

Third, we have no need to ask Him what we must do to get back on track because He has already made that very plain to us: “..to do justly, To love mercy, And to walk humbly with your God” (verse 8). It would seem that many have no idea what these terms, "do justly, love mercy and walk humbly" mean. We as a race are on a very dangerous precipice and unless our God intervenes, we are about to fall off into the unimaginable Hell Jesus describes in Matthew 24. We’d better be found hanging on tightly to His irrevocable promises for our dear lives if the world continues on its present course. If this blog has scared you, know that if you’ve committed yourself to Him you are safe and your future is secure but remember to keep doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly with Him.

#christianity

[igneouswyvern]

I'm boutta go full crack mode because I have characters I need to headcanon-dump even though literally no one on this blue planet gives a flying fuck about them (it's Ys Memories of Celceta characters btw. if you care)

Putting this under the cut because this is about to get LONG. And bc I'm embarrassed. If actual Ys fans see this im going to crawl into a hole and die

Ok so I'm talking about these motherfuckers.

(Lefance (top) Eldeel (bottom)

(As I do this I'm looking at these two like. I haven't looked at pictures of them from the game in so fucking long. My headcanons have gotten so far away from canon that I completely forgot what these bitches look like in canon im so sorry)

(Also gonna preface this with: absolutely none of what I'm about to say here is canon. If it is I'll tell you. This all came from the recesses of my mind. I'm completely insane. Half of this is probably completely ooc anyways. But idrc at this point my headcanons are canon in my heart. so here we go)

Starting off with Lefance because he's easiest. So for those of you who don't know he's the king of an ancient kingdom called Celceta (hey that's the name of the game isn't that crazy haha). That's like all they tell us in canon. As for my personal headcanons. Well. So Lefance grew up with a mother, a father, and a sister who's either his twin or like 2 years younger than him, idk. She's probably younger he has big brother energy. But anyways Lefance's father was. A fucking terrible king. He was an absolute coward, he had a million guards protecting him and feared for his life. He also was just always at war, like nearly constantly. The kingdom of Celceta is landlocked (I don't think this is canon but idc) and EVERYONE wants to get that bit of land Lefance's dad owns. The king obviously wants to keep it because duh, so he's having to play defense from all sides, so yeah they're constantly at war. Lefance's father would never set FOOT on the battlefield. His mother, however, is uh. Yeah she's a warrior. Completely unrealistic for the times but I don't care it's my headcanon I can do what I want. So basically Lefance's mother is always out on the battlefield defending her kingdom. She got that patriotism. As for Lefance and his sister, they had a pretty normal beginning of their lives, they were super close and did everything together. Normal stuff.

NOW'S the fun stuff, cause my man has trauma. So basically one of the neighboring kingdoms sent out an assassin to take out the king and/or his children. At the time, 9 year old Lefance and his sister were out messing around near the castle walls, maybe wandering a bit too far, when all of a sudden this assassin comes into the scene. Before Lefance can think he's running screaming towards the castle from the evil man with a knife. He's about halfway through the gate when he hears the agonized scream of his 7 year old sister, and he turns around just in time to see the assassin pulling his knife out of her chest. By this point some guards have come running and pull Lefance to safety, but there's no saving his sister. She's been killed, through and through.

This is super important because he learns a few things that day. 1, if he'd had a sword on him at the time, and had known how to wield it, he could have stopped that assassin before his sister died (unrealistic but he was 9 of course he came to that conclusion). 2, if he hadn't run instantly at the sight of danger, he might have been able to pull her with him and save her life. 3, if his dad wasn't constantly making enemies with all these countries, no assassin would have come in the first place. So little Lefance makes a couple of vows to himself. He vows to be at peace with all the countries around him when he becomes king. And he vows to never run in the face of danger, especially when there's another person in danger as well. Third, he vows to learn how to wield a sword, so he can carry one with him at all times and be ready to defend the people he loves. So he asks his mother to train him up in the sword, and he becomes quite good at it.

Fast forward a bit, when Lefance is 23, his mother ends up dying on the battlefield (truly, it was about time she was always on the front lines lmao). 5 years later, Lefance's father dies of a mysterious illness that physicians claim was brought on by grief, and Lefance inherits the throne at 28.

Lefance ends up being a great ruler. He immediately forms peace treaties with the surrounding nations and halts their wars. And on the rare occasion someone does try to pick a fight, he stands on the front lines of the battlefield, ready to defend his people with his dying breath. In peace time, he's like, the most unrealistically good king of all time. He knows the name of every one of his citizens and checks up with them regularly. He gives out money whenever someone is struggling. Adults love him. Children love him. He's just an amazing guy tbh. He wouldn't even have a castle if he hadn't inherited it, he would have been perfectly content in a humble cottage. All of his guards are paid well and he personally covers any medical costs if they get injured. He has death funds set aside for their families if they die. He has a personal maid who only works there because she wants to. She gets paid a lot and has vacation days and medical leave. Also unrelated but she has a wife, no it's not realistic for there to have been perfectly approved gay marriage in this time period, no I do not care in the slightest.

Personality-wise, this guy is like, the most protagonist man of all time (funnily enough he's the side-est of side characters in the game itself). He's strong in battle but doesn't like picking fights, he loves exploring and discovering things just for the thrill of it. He's a complete extrovert. Also he has ADHD canon and real. He's fidgety and he has executive dysfunction and he cannot for the life of him keep track of any of his belongings (that's what his maid is for). He's terrible with social cues and oblivious as fuck. Also he's like, hyperfixated as FUCK on like, war machinery and weapons. Yes, even though he's a pacifist. He loves all the mechanisms and engineering that goes into making trebuchets and forging swords, but he hates that they're used to kill people. Very funny stuff. (Yeah. Yeah I know looking at his fucking grim ass expression in that portrait up there makes everything I've said here really hard to believe but just trust me here.)

All right now we've gotta talk about the other guy up there, Eldeel. As for the canon stuff, Eldeel is an immortal god who was around way back in Lefance's time and is still alive by the time Celceta happens like, 10,000 something years in the future. A FEW things I will say here are canon but pretty much everything else is completely made up.

So I'm not going to come up with theories as to how a god spawned into existence, but I like to think he started out not as a baby but kind of as a young child, and had to grow and mature like a human for a bit. I think maybe he wound up in the woods somewhere, and maybe a kind human mother happened to stumble upon him, and despite his angel wings and his clear unusual knowledge and maturity for a 6 year old, she decided to have compassion on him and take him in as one of her own children. And Eldeel always knew he was different, he had plenty of evidence to that, but he still managed to end up with a decently normal life for a bit there. He made friends, got older, got into trade, and learned to make money. And maybe he didn't really need food in the way his siblings did, and maybe he happened to have a pair of wings, and maybe he had a lot of knowledge about the world from an unknown source, but he was able to enjoy life.

And then his siblings started to age, started to get wrinkles and grey hairs, started to become more feeble, while he stayed young and handsome. And maybe he had to experience death for the first time when his mother died, and then again and again as each of his siblings passed away, until he was the only one left of their family. And maybe he stuck around with his siblings' kids and their kids for a little while, but maybe they passed away too. And still, Eldeel was here, just as young, just as healthy. And let me tell you, my man's got some BAGGAGE from all of this. The pain of desperately wanted to make connections with humans, but knowing all the while that it'll never last. That their time will come sooner or later, and there's nothing you can do about it. Watching each person you ever cared about age and die while you stay ever the same. So finally, after a couple hundred years, Eldeel decides he can't take this anymore. So he decides he's never going to get that close to a human being ever again. Maybe he'll interact with them on occasion, whenever necessary, but he can't build that emotional connection anymore. He can't let himself get hurt.

So he pulls away almost entirely. He has an insatiable curiosity surrounding everything humans do, but this time he keeps his distance. He watches them from afar, never getting close enough to really know them. And it's during this time that he starts to explore what his purpose might be, because I don't think whatever being higher in the pecking order than him decided to place him on this earth was merciful enough to give him any sort of guidance whatsoever. So he takes the two things he's interested in--designing and creating fancy contraptions, and caring about human affairs--and mashes them together, when he first designs some really cool invention. Like a lightbulb, maybe. And he shows it to a particular human he happened to have met once. And this human starts putting lightbulbs everywhere, every street lamp and every house has a lightbulb in it now. And Eldeel realizes he has the power to affect the course of history, through his inventions. And an invention, revealed at the right time to the right human, can give them just the right nudge they need to go in a particular direction. (And this is all I'm going to go on about the topic of Eldeel's purpose, mostly because I don't remember a lot of the lore of Celceta at this point in time.)

Now, fast forward a bit of time. Eldeel is 412 years old, and Lefance is 35. Eldeel recognizes Lefance as one of those humans who has the power to change history in some way, if given the right nudge, so he starts forming a connection. A non-emotional one, of course. But maybe, something about Lefance catches him off guard. Something in his cheery disposition, his excited nature, his kind spirit. And before he knows it, Eldeel is giving Lefance a complete tour of his hut, showing him all the fascinating human books he's collected over the years and read hundreds of times. Showing him the blueprints for all his latest inventions. Rambling on about his obsession with human culture. And maybe Lefance is a lot more interested than Eldeel was expecting. Maybe he actually cares about the things Eldeel cares about. And maybe Eldeel realizes Lefance's hyperfixation on weaponry and such, and starts showing him all the books in his collection. And maybe, after a while, he looks less at the books and more at Lefance. And maybe he invites Lefance to come back again. And again. And maybe they get to talking about the ethics of war, and keep talking late into the night. And maybe they move on to more personal topics, and maybe they share a little bit more about themselves and their personal struggles than they ever meant to. And maybe when Eldeel hears about Lefance getting into a battle and getting hurt, he rushes to the castle a little bit too quickly. And maybe, just maybe, they confess their undying love to each other under the moonlight out on the castle balcony.

I don't know what happens next, really. I doubt they get formally married, but I do think they start referring to each other as husbands somewhere along the road. And I'm not sure what to do with the fact that Lefance canonically has direct descendants. Maybe he tried out a relationship with a woman somewhere in here and wound up with a kid, even if the rest didn't work out. Maybe he adopted an orphaned kid and publicly declared them his own flesh and blood and the official heir to the throne, and the fact that they aren't actually blood related got lost to the history books. I don't really know.

Somewhere along the way the canon events from Celceta happen. I'm not really sure how it all shakes up (mostly because I forgot it's been a hot second) but somewhere along the way Eldeel winds up getting corrupted. And Lefance is the only one who can save him. Gay real and canon

And then, Eldeel begins to remember why he avoided forming such direct bonds with humans to begin with, as Lefance becomes ill with what seems to be an incurable sickness. (in canon, his ghost portrait is the exact same age as his living portrait from the memories, so I am choosing to interpret that as "he died from something other than old age," although it honestly would work a lot better if he did just die from old age.) And Eldeel tears his hut apart looking everywhere for a book that might possibly document this illness. He journeys all over the place trying to find a physician who will heal his husband. He even starts looking for books trying to answer questions like "how to make someone immortal" and "how to become mortal and go to the afterlife." Anything to be with his beloved. But nothing turns up. And he becomes more and more desperate, as Lefance becomes sicker and sicker. Until finally, Lefance draws his final breath. Eldeel weeps by his bedside for days. It's not like he has anything better to do. When you're 427, you can afford to take extra time to process grief.

And now Eldeel has truly learned his lesson. He'll never bond with another human ever again. And it's not nearly so hard now, because no human could ever be what Lefance was to him. He distances himself completely, and spends the next 9,000 something years doing what he did before Lefance, and fulfilling his higher-power-given duty. But eventually, Lefance's direct descendant Leeza becomes his personal attendant in the events of Celceta, which I must imagine was a blow to the gut. And then, Eldeel starts to become corrupted again, because idk, and apparently because his husband is the only one who can save him Lefance's ghost comes back to help Adol get Eldeel to come back to himself. And I imagine they share a sweet moment before Lefance gets teleported back to the afterlife where he's supposed to be. And Eldeel once again considers if there's any possible way he can die or otherwise go to the afterlife, because as much as he loves humans, he'll give up everything just to be with his husband for all of eternity. But the curse of immortality remains strong, and there is nothing Eldeel can do.

OK WALLPOST OVER. I'm on crack im so sorry im completely insane. I have so many thoughts about these two. And this isn't even getting STARTED on the details of their developing relationship OR how Lefance's trauma comes into play with their relationship. My only evidence for them being together is that they are shown to have been close friends back in the days of the kingdom of Celceta and well. Neither of them had a lady friend. Meaning of course, they gay [sunglasses] yeah. Yeah idk what else to say. Who give a shit about the actual main characters of the game who exist in the present day. All I care about is one random ship involving two characters whose interactions are very brief and completely platonic. And also creating entire intricate backstories for both of them. Because I'm clinically insane of course. But uh yeah. *throws this post at you* if you read this far im proud of you. and also highly embarrassed. Ok it's 2am im going to go ahead and sleep now

#ys #ys series #ys memories of celceta #ys lefance #ys eldeel #gay #mlm #i don't know why im tagging this when im mortified by the thought of anyone reading this #tbh im kind of proud of it too. like i think some stuff here is really well thought out here lol i do love my headcanons i hold them dearly #something something the mortifying idea of being perceived #ANYWAYS. it doesn't matter probably no one will read this anyway #i should sleep lol #wyvern rambles #midnight posting

[from-a-reckless-writer]

iv. couch.

read on ao3

To Lena: r u busy??? U didnt answer my calls. Dinner later?

To Lena: my place.

To Lena: Or yours! Can totally go to urs. If u want.

To Lena: Lena????

To Lena: where are u??

To Lena: Answer my calls

To Lena: Pls?

Kara rounds the corner of her hallway, keys bitten, dangling from her lips, as she types with both hands. Her 67th text message of the day to an MIA Lena Luthor sent. She fails to notice the creature lurking around the front of her door; dark fur shining under the cheap LED lights of Kara’s corridor.

She’s still deeply absorbed in her phone with worry, in the middle of jamming her keys in with one hand, when something furry brushes against her legs and Kara yelps.

She pulls the knob clean out of the wood in shock, her phone dropping to the floor loudly, the cat doing a duet with her with a startled yowl of her own.

Heart hammering and adrenaline racing, Kara looks down and sees the cat for the first time.

“Oh! Oh!” she gasps, “I didn’t see you there, buddy. I’m sorry for startling you!! I didn’t mean it.”

The door knob clatters loudly to the ground as it falls out of her grasp. And Kara sheepishly feels guilty for the hole in her door. But the cat meows loudly, catching her attention, as if in response to her apology.

She crouches down low, and reaches out a hand to touch the furball. She snaps a quick pic, sends it to Lena and pockets her phone.

To Lena: KITTY!!

“Oh, oh come here,” she coos, “where’s your collar? How’d you get here huh?”

The cat reminds her of Streaky. The first stray who ever took to her kindly. Although upon closer inspection, Kara realizes this one has striking emeralds for eyes, Streaky’s eyes were a more softer blue.

The cat surprisingly seems friendly, immediately leaning into Kara’s touch. Nosing at the inside of Kara’s wrist and it’s such a familiar gesture but she can’t seem to remember why.

And...oh, a small rumbling echoes through Kara’s palm!

Oh, they’re purring!

Kara doesn’t know how long she stays there crouched low exactly, but eventually, she stands up, takes her hand away, and picks up the damaged doorknob.

“Well, time for you to go home now, buddy,” she tells them, giving their head one last pat before dusting off her hands on her jacket.

“Go on, shooo. Shoo. Go home. I’m sure your human is looking for you.”

But the cat remains unmoving. It looks like they’ve decided to sit firmly in front of Kara’s doorstep, casually licking a paw, as if waiting for Kara to open her door.

“Are you actually waiting for me to open my door?” Kara makes a mental note to thank Rao that none of her neighbors can see her trying to hold a proper conversation with a cat.

“Look, kitty,” she says firmly, “I’m not your human.”

The cat just blinks owlishly at her. Eyes too green, too intelligent and-

Kara makes up her mind.

She turns her face skywards, takes a deep breath (This will probably backfire, she already knows. But she's always had a soft spot for strays.) and then she pushes her door wide open.

The cat races inside, cutting through Kara’s legs and almost tripping her.

“Well, somebody’s excited,” Kara mutters under her breath, she watches the cat head for her living room couch; watches as they pause all of a sudden, changes course and jumps onto Kara’s coffee table instead.

Where the cat then proceeds to knock down everything in close vicinity, even the picture frame of her and Lena together.

“Hey! No! Bad kitty-”

But the cat is already hopping down from her pedestal, landing on the frame directly.

And then things get weird.

The cat proceeds to stomp all over it, meows loud, like really loud; insanely loud for a cat their size.

Her paw seems to be almost pointing? At the other person in the frame.

“I-” Kara seems taken aback by the bizarre behavior, sure she knows cats are vastly different from dogs, but this…

This is just weird.

The cat’s meowing only seems to get louder.

How you land yourselves in these situations, Kara. I really just don’t know, at this point. She can almost hear Alex say.

“What are you- Are you- are you pointing? That’s- That’s Lena, yeah. That’s my best friend.”

At that, the cat seems to vibrate. They start clawing at Kara’s pant leg, meowing and meowing and meowing—

And then it hits her.

"-but it turns out that she’s a witch. And apparently, so am I."

The green, green eyes.

A pink nose nuzzling against her wrist.

“Lena?”

******

“Oh, Rao! Lena you’re a cat! What happened?! Oh, no, baby what did you do?”

Lena-

Lena The Cat—and okay, so she’s still wrapping her head around that one—just stays silent. She’s sitting on her lap, looking regal than any cat has any right to be. A judgmental look in her eyes.

Lena’s a cat. Cat’s can’t speak. Can’t answer Kara’s questions.

“Right. Sorry. Only meow,” Kara murmurs, embarrassed. For some reason even in cat form Lena manages to be intimidating.

“Okay so, uh d-does that mean you still understand me? Two meows for yes. One meow for no.”

Kara gets two meows.

“Okay, cool, cool. Great. You can still understand me, that's good.” Kara runs a hand down her spine, “Gosh, your fur is just so soft.”

She hears Lena give a small growl, body tensing, “Right. Right. Sorry. Not the time for pets.” Kara retracts her hand away.

“Uhm, so next question then, I guess? D-did you become a cat this morning? Were you testing out your uhm...gift?”

Lena meows twice. Kara nods, clenching and unclenching her fist underneath her chin. Fingers itching to run themselves through Lena’s soft fur again. Lena seems to sense this, and nuzzles her face into Kara’s hand, bumps against her repeatedly.

“Really?” Kara double-checks, giddy. If she were human Kara bets Lena would be rolling her eyes like she always does when Kara does something particularly dorky, but she just pushes her head firmer against Kara’s hand and meows twice.

“So uhm,” she starts, cautiously, noting Lena’s increasing purr, “is there like a spellbook for this or something? Something that can help you transform back?

Lena meows yes.

“Is it in The Tower or back at your place?”

There are no responses.

“Sorry, sorry lemme rephrase, is it in The Tower?”

She gets two consecutive meows.

Okay, to The Tower it is.

******

“Are you going to tell me why you’re cradling a cat in your cape or??” Alex raises a brow at her, a hand on her hip, left foot tapping impatiently. Her sister was heading out for the day, it looks like. It was just tough luck that Supergirl landed one minute before the elevator took Alex.

Crap. Now they have to explain. They didn’t talk about this. Lena still hasn’t told her if it was okay to tell people about her gift.

“I-I rescued it,” Kara says.

Well, that isn’t so far from the truth, right? She stares at the bundle in her arms, Lena the traitor staying silent all the while—green eyes shining all innocent at Kara.

Alex’s stares intensifies.

“From a tree,” Kara flounders, and Lena The Cat has the audacity to yawn, squirm and jump away from her arms. She lands gracefully, tail swishing up in the air and heads straight for the lab.

Alex eyes the cat suspiciously before turning back to Kara. She jabs a finger to her chest. “It better not have any fleas. It better not touch my training mat.”

“She won’t.”

Alex just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, grabs her helmet and walks to the elevator.

Before she goes though, Alex says, “You know, this is gonna sound weird, but I swear I think I saw that same cat slinking out of The Tower earlier this morning.”

“Alex, she’s literally a black cat. There are hundreds of black cats in the city.”

“You're being weirdly defensive about this. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

Alex seems like she wants to say more, but the elevator dings, and she’s never been more grateful that Kelly makes Alex pick her up from work. Alex huffs out breath, before conceding and disappearing into the lift.

******

The camera flash is what gets Kara busted.

But is it really her fault if she walked in on a cute kitty, hunched over, meowing adorably, trying to flip over the pages of a thick spellbook, with her teeny-tiny bean paws?

Lena hisses at her, teeth-bared and fur puffy.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you were just really, really, really cute okay?” She walks closer to the desk, carefully lifts a hand and scratches Lena behind the ear.

The hissing slowly devolves into purring, and Kara grins triumphantly. Lena lets herself be picked up after a few moments, Kara leafing through the pages for her.

“So, found anything yet?” She asks, cradling Lena close to her chest. A warm weight on Kara’s arms, and as much as she wants to get her real Lena back, she also isn’t too eager on giving up this version anytime soon. Then again, Kara thinks, it would be impossible for her to give up any version of Lena Luthor.

“Spell? Charm? Anything? Do you need to make a potion? Are we gonna get to make a potion? Oh, oh do you need a wand? Do you have a wa-”

Kara’s words get muffled as two black paws press against her lips. Lena’s green eyes narrowing at her. She meows at Kara. Loudly.

“Mkay, mkay. Shut up. Got it.”

Lena removes her paws, and Kara makes a gesture of zipping her lips together. This seems to appease Lena enough because the next second, a pink tongue darts out and she...licks Kara's nose.

“Did you- did you just lick me?” Kara gasps out.

Lena doesn’t even acknowledge her with a meow, just turns away and jumps out of her arms again. Before Kara can do anything about it though, her phone rings.

The screen lighting up with Andrea’s name.

“Danvers, I’ve got a story for you.”

******

“Alex, please, I’ll be quick. I promise. I’ll only be three hours at the most. Please just look after her,” she pleads, pouting and puppy eyes in full power.

It also helps that the cat burrito in her cape looks to be cooperating. Lena The Cat staring at Alex with wide round eyes.

Apparently, some governor was found dead downtown, and now Andrea wants her on the scene. She can’t just leave Lena all alone in The Tower. No matter how hard Lena’s been protesting, this is brand new territory for both of them. Nobody knows the extent of Lena’s powers.

Point is, Kara would feel a lot better if she were to leave Lena under the care of someone she trusts. Even if said someone, accuses Lena of being a stray with fleas. It's still better than leaving Lena all on her own.

“Ugh.” Alex groans and Kara knows she’s won. “If this cat causes trouble I will throw it out the window, Kara.”

“No!” Kara yells, distressed. “Don’t do that. She’ll behave. She promises.”

She puts her hand under Lena’s arms and raises her up to eye level—Simba style. “You promise to be good for Alex, don’t you?”

All she gets is a lot of squirming and screaming, there were also a lot of attempts at scratching Kara’s nose.

“See?” Kara says, chuckling nervously. “She’s telling you she’s good.”

Alex looks skeptical, her arms crossed against her chest.

Kara sets her down on the couch, and crouches down low.

She tries to pet her head, but Lena bites at her finger, she catches her teeth on the skin of her supersuit’s thumb slot. She bites deeper, her teeth accomplishing nothing but a few dents.

And oh, Rao she thinks she’s such a feral little cat but her pink adorable gummy snarl says otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispers, careful not to let Alex hear. “And then we’ll figure it out later, okay? The safest place for you right now is to be with Alex.”

She really doesn’t want to go, and based on Lena’s protests she doesn’t want Kara to go either. But well, Andrea had finally threatened to fire her if she disobeyed...which is...fair.

She’s aware she’s been doing a less than stellar job at being a journalist lately. Rao, what an understatement. This is basically her make it or break it.

“Look, I’ll be quick, promise. Be good to Alex,” Kara murmurs. She presses a kiss on Lena’s furry forehead. Lena finally unclenches her jaw and lets Kara go. The little whine she lets out, letting Kara know that she knows the battle’s lost.

“Both of you, be good,” Kara tells them sternly. “Alex, please don’t yeet my cat out of the window.”

Alex shrugs, staring at the cat with suspicion. “I make no promises.’

Lena is staring at Alex just as hostile. Great. They both deserve each other.

Kara sighs exasperatedly. Well, at least she tried.

******

She gets a very angry Alex Danvers on the line, right after she’s finished talking to some sources. It’s nighttime now, and when she checks her watch—yep, she’s left Lena in Alex’s care for more than six hours.

Crap.

“Hey, Al—”

“KARA IF YOU DON’T PICK UP THIS THIS THIS GODDAMNED HAIRBALL RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL NEVER SEE IT EVER AGAIN.”

There is loud meowing, and then, “What the- Get off! Get off me right no-”

The line clicks dead.

Kara Danvers quickly changes into an alley, manages to break the sound barrier.

******

It’s Kelly who opens the door.

“Hey, Kara,” she greets her. Kara is impatiently rocking on her heels, trying to peer past Kelly’s shoulders.

The place was quiet; ridiculously quiet, and Kara feels fear swoop in her belly.

“Please, tell me my cat is still alive,” Kara bursts out, Kelly just gives her a pained smile and oh, no, oh no.

She muscles her way past Kelly to a brooding Alex on the couch.

Lena is nowhere to be seen.

“Alex, Alex where’s my cat? Where is she? Where did you put her?”

Alex finally looks up at her, Kara taking notice of the red marks on her arm.

Oh no, Lena, what did you do?

“Calm down, I didn’t throw the little demon away. She’s-" Alex sing-songs before finishing, "on time-out.”

“Time-out?” Kara asks, voice shaking. Rao, does she really want to know.

Alex takes too long to answer, taking a swig of her beer first before pointing to a corner in the living room.

And there, she spots it.

It, being a small pile of laundry on the floor, next to an upside down hamper. A big white hamper housing one Lena Luthor. There's a crude cardboard sign stuck on it; "Kitty Jail". Alex has also stacked a few encyclopedia on top of it, no doubt an attempt to keep Lena from escaping.

“Oh! Oh, Lena!”

Kara superspeeds her way and scoops Lena up, the cat meowing immediately and curling into Kara’s chest.

“You named the cat after Lena?!”

Crap.

Kara turns around slowly, “Uhm yeah?”

Alex just shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Her eyes reminded me of Lena, okay?!” Kara yells defensively, pressing tiny kisses onto Lena’s fur.

“I’m sorry that Alex has been such a meanie to you," she coos, "I know you didn’t deserve it, baby."

Alex seems to perk up at that, because she raises up from the couch. “That,” Alex jabs a finger in their direction, Kara cradles Lena protectively, “That baby ruined my couch and she so totally deserves all the mean! All the mean in the world, Kara!”

Lena hisses in her arms.

“No, no. That’s not true. Lena is baby and she’s perfect and you’re just a meanie.”

“She ruined my upholstery! She left hair all over the place and that’s not even to mention the scratching!”

“Because you were mean to her!”

Alex scoffs, eyes bulging wide in disbelief.

“Get out,” Alex says, her brows pinching comically, “Get out of my apartment before that little devil causes more damage.”

“Gladly,” Kara says, and Lena meows her assent. They make their way past Alex, Kara unaware that Lena has stuck out her little tongue at Alex over her shoulder.

“And she’s not a little devil!” Kara calls out.

Alex slams the door in her face.

******

That evening, Kara pores over a thick spellbook, eyes swimming with Latin symbols with a purring machine on her lap.

By midnight, Kara has managed to pass out on her couch, a black cat curled on her chest.

The spellbook lay open on her coffee table, forgotten.

******

The first sight that greets Kara when she wakes up are green eyes.

Green human eyes.

And then it hits her.

“Lena!”

The spell had blessedly wore off by morning, and Kara’s never been more glad to see the sunlight lighting up Lena’s face.

For a moment, Kara’s assaulted with the mental image of laying in a pool of sunlight with a black cat stretching leisurely next to her.

“Good morning,” Lena purrs, and oh Rao, that sound is much, much better than her meowing.

“You’re back!” Kara gasps in awe.

“I’m back,” she whispers, she’s still draped fully over Kara on the couch. A blanket covering them both.

“Rao, I missed you.” A palm comes up to cup her cheeks, Lena automatically nuzzling into the inside of her wrist.

“Mm, I missed me, too,” Lena tells her, face breaking into a small smile. Kara traces her fingers up and down Lena’s spine. Oh, how she’s missed touching Lena’s skin.

Wait-

Skin.

Is she-

“Lena,” Kara begins, swallowing. Her nerves not going unnoticed.

Lena raises a brow at her. “Kara?”

“Are you- uhm- ah. Are you naked right now?”

Lena’s eyes light up like a cat’s and Kara knows she’s in trouble.

“Mm. It seems that I am,” Lena says, and all Kara can do is gulp.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

special shoutout to @mike-wachowski, @sexybread-png and @thebreakfastgod for their cat expertise without whom this silly little fic would not be written.

#catto!lena #COME GET YOUR CATTO!LENA CONTENT HERE! #I AM WELL AWARE HOW SELF-INDULGENT THIS IS AND HOW MILES AWAY IT IS FROM THE PROMPT BUT YEAH #oh oh and p.s yes they did have sex on that couch right after. #supercorptober 2021 #the reckless writer writes #a supercorp ficlet of sorts #if u see a typo no u didnt #supercorp

[g0ttal0ve101]

AoD Head-canons

Side note: None of these are actually canon! Spoilers for Angels of Death’s manga! If you rb this, please do not tag it with ZackRay. I respectfully do not want to be associated with the ship. Sorry there’s no Gray head canons, I’m not very familiar with his character. Love you all, lovelies!! <3

Zack

His favorite food is definitely Doritos. We drag him for the soda with cereal shit but that is for BREAKFAST. All the other meals? Chips. Do not @ me.

^ Definitely has a high metabolism. That’s why he’s so skinny but eats junk food all the time.

Steals/gets magazines from Cathy to look at the pictures and try to decipher what some ads are for.

Loves horror movies still to this day. Probably gets some of his killing tactics from the serial-killers he watches.

When someone finds out he can’t read/when he tells someone he can’t read, he gets angry as a defense from his embarrassment. He’s very self-conscious about it.

He’s very distant from Eddie (and possibly Rachel) because he reminds him of the children in the orphanage he had to bury. Plus, since his floor is associated with graves, it gives him very bad memories of the children there.

^ He was like an older brother to the children in the orphanage. While he doesn’t show it, he definitely felt depressed and frustrated after their deaths because he couldn’t do anything to help them. This also adds onto why he doesn’t like being helpless.

He hates lies because his mother left him at the orphanage and said that she would come back to get him later. (And possibly that they would “help” him with his burns.)

People might drag me for this, but I personally think Zack is straight. There were no given clues that he had a male lean at all and even included that Zack thought a woman was cute for her lie about being a fan. I dunno, I just don’t think he would be all with the guys in my opinion. But of course, I STAN OTHER SEXUALITIES FOR HIM!!! If I had to say he was queer, I would definitely put my bets on bisexual because I don’t think he would get the concept of transgender, non-binary, etc.

Rachel

Rachel was named after her mother.

^ She was much closer to her mother rather than her father and learned how to sew from her. Before her mother and father started to become alcoholics (and possibly drug addicts/gamblers) they were much kinder and let her have a small pet. Hamster, fish, outdoor cat, something like that.

Rachel loves to read fantasy novels and fairytales. Her favorite ones are Alice in Wonderland and Cinderella.

Bullied at school for being quiet and shy, however, she was very intelligent so all of her teachers loved her. People most likely called her a teacher’s pet. </3

Knows how to play fluent piano.

Rachel was closer to Zack than Eddie because she was used to being unfairly treated (because of her parents) and didn’t understand why he was being so nice to her. She began to believe that he was going to manipulate her or try to pull something that would end up hurting her. So, she refused his offer on top of Zack swearing to God.

^ When Eddie was laying in the grave, Rachel was going to invite him to join her and Zack to leave the facility together and that he could bury her after Zack killed her. However, she couldn’t say anything before Zack got to him.

Rachel is self-conscious about her looks because she isn’t as “grown” as the other girls her age.

I’m also pretty sure Rachel is straight. Please don’t drag me for this-once again there are no clues that she is. The only romantic interest she even (semi) had was Eddie. Soooooo…y e a h -

Danny

Not a head canon but take it anyway. People drag him for being a pedophile, but honestly NO. This man is so sweet when he’s not going insane about eyes, please. Danny stans out there STAND UP. Your man is definitely not a pedophile. He works with children for God sake’s, he was just so excited about seeing his mother’s eyes again that he lost it. The creators did an amazing job catching his mental instability. Just because he had jumped onto her does not automatically mean he has an interest in children. <3

I would say this man is definitely a clean freak.

Has a crush on Cathy, buys her clothes, talks to her the most out of all the angels, etc.

When he’s not wearing a doctor’s coat, Danny has some STYLE. Definitely a dapper gentleman if I do say so myself. He goes out looking fine.

^ Radiates easy-going teacher energy.

Danny’s favorite color is blue for obvious reasons. Walk into his office? Blue. Walk into his bedroom? Blue. Look in his closet? Blue.

Into astrology or something nerdy like that. I say astrology because of the blue moon that he relates to his mother’s eyes but he definitely has interest in nerdy things like that.

If I were to say his sexuality, I would assume it’s maybe bisexual?? But I have no idea once again NO CLUES. Actually, I’ve seen people ship Danny x Zack which…ALRIGHT GET INTO IT!!! Altogether though, it is presumed that he has an interest towards Cathy, so I would say definitely a feminine lean.

Eddie

(The sun. The absolute sun. Perfection. We do not slander Eddie here. If you dislike Eddie, get out of here. Immediately. /j)

Eddie’s favorite flower is the poppy flower! It’s actually seen in the anime that he has a vase of them and throughout the episode, he gives Rachel a few! The poppy’s flower language means “peace in death,” so this automatically makes sense as to why he loves them so much! Here’s a picture of one of the poppy flowers from the anime and an actual poppy flower!

Eddie is very insecure about his looks, which is one of the reasons he wears his mask constantly. While he does say it’s because it makes him feel like a professional grave-keeper, he also seems to be embarrassed/ashamed of his ginger hair. He never reveals his face to the girl in episode.eddie, didn’t plan to reveal his face to any of the characters in episode.0, and didn’t purposely reveal his face to Rachel in Angels of Death. He tells the girl, which I will call Elizabeth, not to look at his face while he’s making a grave, even though all she could even see was his eyes. So, he might have been insecure because ginger hair was so rare, along with his green eyes that are also the rarest eye color, and freckles that covered his face.

This head canon is a little disturbing, just a little fyi. Eddie became so lonely that he would put corpses into the freezers he had to look at them and talk to them as if they were still alive. He only chose a few because he likes burying the rest, but he couldn’t handle being so alone that he shoved the feeling of wanting to bury them aside and pretended to have conversations with them. Considering he was the youngest angel there, he seemingly didn’t like to interact with the adults because he felt uncomfortable. So, the corpses are probably children around his age and/or animals that he found roaming about.

Eddie is extremely good at math. This only makes sense because grave-work inquires a lot of math and he was seemingly creating graves at a very young age. This would mean he had a higher level of understanding in math than regular children his age and would most definitely be in advanced mathematics rather than basics. However, his spelling? Terrible. There was even this cute little comic strip from Sasuten where Eddie spells ‘because’ wrong and gets completely embarrassed about it. While he likes to write letters, that spelling would not be 100% correct.

Feminine. Very feminine. Other than his grave-keeping hobby, Eddie shows many characteristics that would usually be more feminine. Like planting flowers, cooking/baking, drawing, reading, things like that. He even appears feminine. He would probably be insecure about this also, considering he had three brothers who were “hooligans.” (As he would say <3)

Eddie has lots of nightmares about his older brother hurting him again and/or being abandoned…

^ Adding onto that, Eddie has the fear of being abandoned rather than being alone. He can easily be alone in the graveyard or on his floor, but he doesn’t like the thought of being abandoned by the other floor masters. This fear is also built up by rejection and abuse from the past.

Pansexual but closeted. He just wants someone to love him no matter what their gender is at this point. And yall can’t tell me he hasn’t killed a boy his age and DIDN’T LIKE HIM. I mean come on. Very much pansexual vibes from him. But he would never admit it.

Cathy

Obviously a diva so her favorite color is pink. Skinny legend!!!

Dyed her own hair without even thinking about transitioning it…just straight pink and blonde. I’m sorry Cathy, but HIRE SOMEONE NEXT TIME PLEASE-

Wears Gucci all day everyday.

Definitely acts extra and puts cucumbers on her eyes and lotion on her face like in the movies as she sleeps with one of those silky robes.

She loves packaged ramen noodles, even though she seems like the type to eat fancy. Nah, she’ll be electrocuting a bitch and eating her noodles while watching, like the icon she is.

Goes to every floor just to show off her new clothes and nails, then just D R A G S THOSE HOES. LIKE- “Awwww, are you an actor~? I saw you on the TV yesterday! Animal planet is my favorite~”

^ Doesn’t go to Zack’s floor because she doesn’t want to get her look ruined with a scythe plunged into her stomach.

Bisexual queen. Lucy and Danny are the only proof we need.

#angels of death #angels of death head canons #eddie mason #edward mason #zack foster #isaac foster #cathy ward #catherine ward #danny dickens #daniel dickens #rachel gardner #ray gardner #angels of slaughter #free to rb

[wheelsup]

the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon. 

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you. 

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger. 

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week. 

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept. 

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling. 

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you. 

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!” 

Your head just about exploded when she said that. 

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you. 

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”  

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.” 

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless? 

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.” 

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim. 

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured. 

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?” 

“That his girlfriend died last year.” 

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there. 

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit. 

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…” 

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.” 

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from. 

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not. 

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made. 

“There’s nothing I need from you.” 

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?” 

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea. 

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more. 

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off. 

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.” 

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

*

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch. 

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!” 

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales. 

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets. 

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down. 

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works. 

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so. 

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.” 

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend. 

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?” 

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income. 

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended. 

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill. 

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe. 

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.” 

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped. 

“Did you need something?” 

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!” 

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.” 

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line. 

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?” 

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.” 

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care. 

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him. 

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.” 

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency. 

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that. 

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here. 

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?” 

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.” 

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before. 

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath. 

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly. 

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.” 

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer. 

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you. 

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems. 

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that. 

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that. 

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him. 

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.” 

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

-

-

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

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if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid slow burn #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid enemies to lovers #criminal minds fic #mgg

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me 's SPN advent calendar 2020. prompt: phone calls and late night texts.

Cas isn't a serial texter.

And Dean's a-okay with it.

But for all that's worth, they sure seem to have a ridiculous amount of emotionally significant conversations via, or starting off as, texts. And most often, in the middle of the night.

*

>>> hello, dean. [12:07 am]

Dean jolts up at the sound, realizing he fell asleep still wearing his headphones, with the laptop on his lap (and a new episode of The Good Place playing) and rolls his eyes at himself, hitting pause before he can see what’s happening (because he has good reflexes, and because screw spoilers that’s why) and rummaging for his phone.

At this hour of the night, it has to be something important.

It doesn’t really strike him that Mechanical Engineering majors whose only other selfprofessed skill is air guitar aren't exactly the frontline warriors for midnight emergencies.

Cas's name shows up when he squints at the too-bright screen, and he sits up a little straighter.

<<< hey [12:09 am]

<<< you OK? [12:09 am]

The response is immediate.

>>> do you have peanut butter? [12:09 am]

And as if it's an afterthought, Cas adds.

>>> yes, I'm fine. how are you? [12:10 am]

Dean blinks.

<<< peachy. peanut butter? [12:10 am]

At least this time the response takes a while. Dean wonders if Cas realized it was midnight, and not exactly a time to run inventory on your best friend's stash of condiments.

>>> I ran out. [12:12 am]

Dean sighs, unable to help smiling.

It's not like he's a stranger to Cas's weird cravings when he's high. (There'd been this one time with pie and a traumatized Gas 'N Sip cashier that still sits heavy on Dean's conscience.) But he doesn't think Cas is supposed to be high right now — Dean's usually either invited or informed by an unspoken rule — which just means this is regular "jelly, not jam"-Cas, at his core a weird, persistently sleep-deprived economics major and astronomy nerd, that Dean may or may not have had a crush on for an embarrassingly long time, and who's also prone to grammatically perfect texting, deadpan, Disney references, and bluntness when the occasion calls for it.

<<< pretty sure i have some [12:14 am]

>>> :) [12:14 am]

>>> I'm coming over [12:14 am]

*

And weird as it may sound, that had turned out to be the night Cas told him he was gay. Said it had been a revelating moment, unprecedented and wholly unexpected — and apparently revelations come in pairs because it had been followed by an intense need for peanut butter, and the rest, he explained emphatically, was history.

Dean had just snorted, congratulated him, and brought out the fancier plates for sandwiches — shipped in from home instead of a sale at Target — all the while, repeating to himself in a loop, that this changed nothing between them, nothing at all, and Cas having the capacity to be attracted back to him didn't mean that he ever would be (or for hell's sake, he'd scoffed at his traitorous chick-flick-nonsense brain, is.)

*

The second time had been early — way, way too early and it was by pure chance that Dean was awake to respond at six friggin' am on a Sunday. Like, that’s practically nighttime. 

Goddamn stupidly-fit running-freak.

Dean picks up his phone blearily, tongue in cheek as he clicks on it.

>>> I miss you [6:28 am]

>>> I'd* miss you [6:29 am]

Dean's stomach twists, and he's not sure if it's in a good way, or a bad way, or what-the-sincere-fuck-are-you-talking-about way.

<<< what [6:32 am]

<<< wtf are you talking about? [6:32 am]

Nothing.

<<< cas? [6:33 am]

<<< dude [6:34 am]

<<< cas???? [6:34 am]

Dean swears at his screen, more queasy than irritated. He can't stop fidgeting, so gives up on lying down altogether and hoists himself to his feet. Better to get his friggin' toothbrush since he's already up, and now definitely awake. Cas was so paying for this later.

He comes back, mouth mint-fresh in theory but still tasting awful and of fear and dread, and practically sags when he sees his screen blare with two messages from Cas.

>>> sorry, I had to make a call. [6:42 am]

>>> I'm not taking the job. [6:42 am]

*

And that's how Dean finds out about Michael (Cas's oldest brother, entitled asshole) inviting Cas to join his and Lucifer's (second oldest, bag of dicks) firm the year he graduates — invite, of course, being a loosely used word here for expecting it blindly (out of some crap he calls 'loyalty') and being readily willing to manipulate him into it.

And it's how he finds out that Cas turned them down.

"It's not who I am anymore." Cas had repeated, third time probably, and surer than before, and Dean had nodded earnestly before realizing Cas couldn't see him through the phone, and humming his affirmation instead. "And if I go back there, I'm never getting out again."

Dean'd swallowed.

"I don't want to." Cas had said, voice trembling. "I am — my own person here. It shouldn't be like this but this is the first time I have autonomy, Dean. Here is free will, and here are you. I don't — I can't. I'm not going to let them take it away."

"Good." He'd sounded shaky to even himself. "Don't."

"Yes." Cas had promised. "I'm not going."

*

And eventually they'd moved past the heavy talk into why-didn't-I-hear-about-this-before territory, Dean being righteously annoyed at his best friend for keeping something so huge from him, and Cas making lame (but probably valid) excuses in the name of not knowing how to explain the situation until he knew himself what he was going to do, because Dean may've been the first person he'd confided in about the insane fuckery that been his childhood and adolescence, but that still didn't mean he'd understand this, broken and convoluted.

And then Cas had nicely segued himself out of Dean's target of irritation and added, "They asked Gabriel too, by the way."

"And?" Dean didn't ever have much care for Gabriel (third oldest brother, cares about Cas, still a jerk) but Cas shared an apartment with him, so he had to face him plenty.

"He's running off to Miami."

And Dean had thrown his head back and laughed until Cas had smoothly added, "And I was wondering if you would consider moving in with me." 

At which point, of course, he'd started coughing instead, because holy shit, it actually made sense (Sammy had left for Stanford two months back, and Dean lived alone in a space that had probably been two big even when there were two of them) and might actually happen, but Dean wasn't really sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his crush, sharing a friggin' kitchen with the guy.

*

The third time's after their first date.

(Because, well. It happened.

It happened with Dean leaning across the breakfast table to prove to Cas his bacon was superior (to cookie friggin' crunch, because goddamn is Cas a dork) and Cas taking a bite with their eyes fixed on each other's, and Dean turning red when Cas licked his lips and then, just like that, Cas swearing under his breath (definitely filed for later pondering, that bit), grabbing Dean, and kissing the living daylights out of him.

And Dean had kissed back with everything he had, hands cupping his face, and nearly melting in his arms - but then they'd separated for air and Cas had had an apologetic look on his face and when Dean had tried to lean in to kiss it away, he'd received half a smile and a shake of his head.

"Let's do it the way we're supposed to."

And Dean had known immediately what he'd meant. Let's not fuck this up by becoming best friends and roommates who sleep together. Let's...play safe.

"Okay. Uh," he'd rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Thursday." Cas had promised with twinkling eyes, though Dean had already known he was going to say that since he knew Cas’s week at least as well as he knew his own, and two days and an anxious half of a thursday later, they went on their first date. Burgers and beer, and Led Zepp, and hands held in the Impala. Four hours later, they were back, and in their respective rooms, and Dean couldn't stop thinking about Cas.)

When his phone vibrates, Dean reaches for the bedside table.

It's at least midnight, it feels like he's been in bed for ages, and the only reason he isn't asleep is because all his brain seems to be capable of at the moment is thinking endlessly about the date. Fortunately, he's not the only one — although he's better at hiding it (practise, he'd say) because his heart is in his mouth the moment he reads Cas's text.

>>> I think I'm falling in love with you [11:43 pm]

>>> already. [11:43 pm]

Dean is very grateful for autocorrect as he types back with too-excited thumbs and a racing heart.

<<< so much for doing it the regular way cas mosby [11:44 pm]

>>> in my defense, it's been years. [11:44 pm]

<<< that part i get [11:44 pm]

<<< me too [11:44 pm]

<<< but youre supposed to wait three days before calling dumbass [11:45 pm]

Jesus, he'd never expected to blush cause of texts, but here they are.

>>> I'm texting. [11:46 pm]

And he guesses he'd never expected to giggle (he's alone there, sue him) cause of them either, but Cas apparently exists to prove him wrong about himself.

<<< good for you [11:46 pm]

He sends, biting his lip, and then lies in the silent darkness for a couple of minute, devoid of text notifications entirely, thinking uneasily — before he gives up.

They're idiots, sure, but nobody is this dumb.

<<< so when the fuck are you coming over then [11:50 pm]

>>> on my way <3 [11:50 pm]

And thinking about the lightening speed of that reply and the fucking heart emoji is enough to sustain him the entire one minute it takes Cas to get there, gently opening Dean's door, and climbing into bed — fitting in Dean's space like it's been made for him, and kissing him in greeting after leaving his phone on the table next to Dean's.

*

As it goes, with the confessions and the midnight cravings (and the grocery lists that keep getting piled onto through the day, and random pickup lines Cas decides are perfect to send Dean daily once he's found a website for puns, courtesy of Claire, and of course, pictures of Grease, which clog Dean's cloud in dozens whenever the ridiculously cute cat does something even slightly out of routine, god bless her lazy soul) Cas might just be a texter.

But Dean's pretty sure he's more than okay with it, so it doesn't really matter.

#spnadventcalendar2020 #destiel #destiel college au #casdean #dean is bi #texting fic #destiel fluff #best friends to lovers #+ roommates :)) #deancas au #young dean winchester #young castiel #bluefirecas #rambleoncas #tearsofgrace #userpris #oh writing my writing #i had fun writing this :) #college aus almost feel like my roots at this point

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Learning Teamwork

Josh Lyman x Reader

Words: 2184

Summary: Two colleagues that usually butt heads are forced to play nice when the President sends them to attend to a Governor's Ball in his home state.

Notes: I have so much Josh angst I wanted to write something a little fluffier that I could still capture his signature snark in. (For the purposes of this, I made up a Governor that would fit the story so if there was one discussed in the show, they aren’t in this one.) I also wrote this in two days so… bare with me.

-

If you hadn’t been in the presence of the President, you might have thrown something at him.

“If the President addresses this now, the Republicans will stop at nothing to get back at him for it.” He spoke in that smug, know-it-all tone that drove you insane.

“This is about real people, Mr. Lyman, not the little politics games that you play all day.”

“Okay, everyone, I think that’s enough.” The President’s order may have halted your argument, but you could still feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you stared Josh down. The rest of the team made a very quick exit, hoping to avoid becoming casualties in you and Josh’s on-going battle. But when the two of you started for the door, President Bartlet’s voice called you back. “Not. You. Two.”

You grimaced and turned back around, reveling a little in the fact that Josh looked just as uncomfortable as you did. One stern look from Jed Bartlet, however, was enough to diminish that.

“Is it physically impossible for the two of you to let me get through one meeting without going at each other’s throats?” He urged, his irritated gaze switching rapidly between the both of you. “Not only are you both a part of this team, you are adults for Christ sake!”

“Sorry, sir.” You gulped.

“My apologies, Mr. President.”

God, even apologizing, he had to try and sound smarter than you.

“I’m not finished yet.” The President walked around his desk and grabbed an envelope from under a pile of other papers. “The Governor of New Hampshire is hosting a ball on Saturday to celebrate something that I can’t even remember. Frankly, I think it’s because his wife enjoys parties a little too much, but who am I to judge?”

You and Josh exchanged a look that consisted more of confusion than anger.

Bartlet continued, “Well, seeing as I used to be Governor of my home state, he’s been kind enough to invite me, though I also think this is more of a way to get more Democratic backing for his next election. Nevertheless, while I am unable to attend due to this whole mess with possible terrorism, I know just the two members of my senior staff to send in my place.” He looked pointedly at both of you.

The excuses tumbled over each other as you and Josh blurted them out, desperately pleading to find something that would change his mind. You hated political gatherings in general but the idea of being forced to go with Josh? It twisted your stomach into so many knots you thought you’d throw up.

“There’s going to be political fallout from all of this and I should really be around-”

“C.J. and Toby are going to need me to-”

“Y/N could go by herself.” Josh said suddenly, making your jaw drop. That little snake. “I’m sure there are plenty of young men that’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“Says one of the White House’s most eligible bachelors.” You fired back, forgetting who you were standing in front of.

“Enough!” The President slammed the invitation down on the desk in front of the two of you. “This isn’t about who is more desirable than who. This is about you two learning how to work as a team and not biting each other’s heads off every time you’re in the same room together! Now, I am calling Governor Thompson and telling him you’re going and the two of you are going to be the picture of grace and maturity. If I hear one word of anything else, so help me god, your careers will be so buried, it’ll take years before they see the light of day.” His voice echoed through the Oval Office, rattling you down to the bone. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Good. Now go do whatever you need to to free up next Saturday.” He sat down, putting on his glasses to look over other documents. “Oh, and find something nice to wear. Mrs. Thompson has always been a bit of a stickler with the dress code.”

With that, you were dismissed and you felt the dread settling in your chest. You were going to a ball. In New Hampshire. With Josh Lyman for a date. As you shouldered out the door together, you cast glowering looks.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

-

If the snickers from Sam and C.J. weren’t enough to drive you crazy in the week leading up to your flight, scrambling to find a dress was not something you originally had on your schedule. Even when you had found one you liked, there was the matter of rescheduling everything you had the weekend you would be gone.

At least Josh seemed to be having as difficult a time as you were. Any time you saw him in passing, he looked frantic and disheveled- which would usually bring you a small amount of joy, but for some reason, knowing you were in the same boat actually made you feel better about going with him.

“Hey.”

You looked up from the piles of work from your desk, surprised to see your unfortunate date standing in your doorway. It was the day before you were set to leave and you both had mountains of work to try and finish.

“What can I help you with, Josh?”

“I just came to say that this might not be such a bad idea.” He moved from the door to the chair, but he didn’t sit down. He just stood anxiously behind it, leaning on the back. He actually looked sincere- and a voice in the back of your head pointed out that, without his usual cloud of arrogance that always hung around him, he was actually very attractive.

No. Definitely not. You hated him.

“Which part? Going to a ridiculous dance so that Governor Thompson can get more clout with Democrats or the fact that we have to go as a bonding exercise?” Your tone was cold, even more so than usual. Call it overcorrecting for your brain’s traitorous thoughts.

“I think the President is right.” Josh’s posture changed, standing up a little straighter as his tone grew defensive. “If this is what it takes to get us to work together, then I guess we deserve it.”

“Funny, since when he first proposed the idea you suggested that I go alone.” You stood up, crossing your arms.

Josh mimicked your stance, his brow furrowing with anger. “Look, I came in here to make some kind of peace with you, and I don’t understand-”

“I know what you came here to do, Josh. You want to show me that I don’t understand Bartlet the way you do while you play some kind of martyr for going on this trip.” You leaned forward with your hands on your desk and he did the same. Your faces must have only been a few inches apart.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

You’d never wanted to kiss Josh Lyman more than you did in that moment and couldn’t hate him more for it.

-

Your seats on the plane were right next to each other. Because of course, they were. Josh got the window seat despite your protests, sticking you in the middle between him and a rather obnoxious businessman who was speaking loudly on his phone.

“Sir, I need you to turn that off as we prepare to take off.” The flight attendant instructed.

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

“Now, sir.” Her voice was a semi-irritated monotone that left little room for any argument. The man gave her an annoyed look and ended his call. “Thank you, sir.” She continued down the aisle to berate somebody else. Without the distraction of work, he sought out a new way to pass the time- you.

“What takes you to Concord?” He leaned a little closer to you than you would have preferred, but leaning back would basically put you in Josh’s lap so you stayed put.

“My coworker and I have an event to attend.” You motioned to the seemingly oblivious man on the other side of you.

“Just coworker?” His casual expression turned into a suggestive smirk and you felt his fingers run up your knee. You jerked away from him.

“Husband, actually, so how about you keep your hands to yourself?” Josh snapped suddenly, giving Mr. Handsy a death glare. You stared at Josh with wide eyes and forced your mouth shut to keep it from gaping in shock. The man beside you must have been as surprised as you because words came out as a whispered stutter.

“Sorry, I didn’t- she said- and I thought-”

“Yeah, well you thought wrong.” He stood up. “Here, honey, why don’t you take the window seat?”

You sat there, without moving, for a few seconds before he nudged your leg with his foot and you climbed over him to get to the seat by the window. Once you were both situated, the other man got suddenly very interested in the papers from his briefcase.

You leaned over and whispered in Josh’s ear. “Honey? Really?”

“Don’t start.” Though his voice sounded irritated, there was almost a small smile playing at his lips. You shifted awkwardly, trying to keep a smirk from your own lips.

“You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Do you want the window seat or not?” Now his smile had grown into a snicker, making you laugh lightly.

“Who would have thought you were such a gentleman?”

“Well, I’m a married man now, apparently.” He teased. You rolled your eyes.

“In your dreams, Lyman.”

-

After an hour of shaking hands and dancing with the Governor’s persistent son, you were ready to knock your head against the wall until you passed out. Oddly enough, you had yet to see Josh. Mrs. Thompson invited you to come early for tea so you hadn’t arrived together. You were beginning to think he’d bailed when you saw him across the room.

Pushing your way over to him, his eyes widened when he finally saw you.

“You look amazing.” He gasped, his eyes scanning your silky blue dress before settling on your eyes. “I mean… wow.”

You felt blush tint your cheeks as a smile spread across your lips. He cleaned up pretty well himself and you found yourself checking him out for what you wished you could say was the first time ever. What could you say? The man looked good in suits.

You must have stood there, staring at each other, for a few minutes before Ned Thompson came into view. Without a second to think, you grabbed Josh’s hand.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” You yanked him with you onto the dance floor, losing sight of the Governor’s persistent son.

Josh looked around, trying to see who you seemed so desperate to avoid as the two of you began to sway to the music. “What was that about?”

You checked one more time to make sure the coast was clear. “Ned.”

“The Governor’s kid?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t he, like, ten years younger than you.”

“He’s only eight, but yes.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed by his pestering. On the bright side, he was a pretty good dancer. “If I dance with him one more time, I think he’ll propose.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Just tell him you’re married to me.” Josh smirked. “Worked the last time.” You both chuckled and continued dancing. For a while, you forgot why you were here to begin with. You were enjoying yourself more than you cared to admit. In a room full of people, the only one you wanted to dance with was the man you loved to hate.

Maybe it was the other way around.

-

You sat up in bed, sipping coffee and reading the paper while the sound of the hotel’s heater droned on. The fluffy white robe enveloped your body perfectly, but the real warmth came from the sleeping form beside you as he turned over, swinging his arm so it was around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You smiled in both amusement and complete bewilderment as to how you got here.

“I don’t think this is what the President meant by ‘teamwork’.” You noted, folding up the paper and setting it aside.

Josh peeked up at you, half his face still smooshed against the pillow.

“Goodmorning.” He greeted groggily, rubbing his eyes as he slowly sat up.

“I made you coffee.” You handed him the little Styrofoam cup and waited until he’d had enough to wake up a little more. “What are we supposed to tell him when he asks how everything went?”

He thought for a moment. “You know, we didn’t fight at all last night.” He was right. Between the ball and, well, everything after that, not a single argument was had.

You shrugged and held out your cup of coffee for a cheers. “To teamwork,” Josh smirked and tapped his cup against yours.

“To teamwork.”

#josh lyman x reader #the west wing #bradley whitford #jed bartlet #the west wing imagines #josh lyman #c.j. cregg #sam seaborn #joshua lemon lyman

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hey, in that prehistory time travel thing you wrote about, when Bella gets a premonition/nightmare, do she and Caveman play very precarious charades or does she draw shitty, shitty cave art that Caveman perceives as dire prophecy? I mean, technically, it is. I also assume interaction with other vampiric cavemen is usually fraught with tension, but would they ever form a coven? Proto-Volturi/actual Volturi if Bella's power realises her food source's in danger and she rationalizes it for sympathy?

Anon is referring to this post. The TL;DR is that Bella becomes a prophet and ends up unintentionally married to a hot caveman vampire. She probably calls him Caveman.

How Bella Conveys Her Prophecies

Well, when she's human, she has her Voodoo Witchcraft Dreams where she speaks aloud. Sometimes, this is just nonsense, other times... it's not. So Caveman gets to witness Bella tossing and turning, muttering in tongues, and probably has an internal "Fuuuuuuuck" moment as he realizes that something may happen.

The other moments are when Bella just starts babbling to herself in gibberish, talking to "Hallucination Edward" as she tries to explain, a divine messenger who tells her important information sometimes. That's also weird.

I imagine as Bella becomes a vampire, she either gets waking premonitions in which she babbles in tongues for a minute or two while getting her information, or she has conversations with Hallucination Edward. It's a thing, Caveman just watches until it finishes.

Then, as you note, comes the charades.

Eventually, these two are going to learn how to communicate with one another. Either Bella will finally pick up the local tongue or the vampire will learn English. My money's on Caveman, I have no explanation in this, just that Bella mired in depression doesn't seem at the peak mental capacity to learn a language that has nothing in common with English.

Though even then there's a wide cultural disconnect between the pair of them and a lot of misconceptions.

Regardless, until that point, yes, we get shitty shitty shitty cave art. Because Bella is a terrible artist in my brain and I stand by that now. This is accompanied by interpretive dancing and poor acting via charades.

Caveman takes this all very seriously, as he should, because this is usually very important information. He just wishes for god's sake that the gods who speak through her were a little more intelligible. He gets it, they have to pass through mortal hands and tongues, but couldn't they try a little harder?!

They probably eventually work out a system where he gets pretty good at figuring out what's going on. People, when they run into them and those people aren't eaten, are amazed at his abilities and assume that he has some divine gift for interpreting the words of the gods. He believes he does too.

Bella thinks her pictures of horsies are great.

What About the Other Vampires?

Oh yeah, that's going to be a mess, and probably what most of Bella's visions are about: how to avoid conflict or else conquer their enemies.

Bella, with her insane gift, is a prize to be won and would be highly contested among the paltry vampire population that exists. She can protect them from other vampires, give them information on the best food sources, etc.

Caveman's going to have to constantly be protecting her (as is Bella, though all she knows is she keeps having weird visions about vampires and Edward is sitting there telling her about some new vampire out to get her every other day).

That said, by necessity, I imagine a coven is formed.

Probably only one or two more, given the precarious size of the population and how much they're going to need to travel to keep the human population sustainable, but more numbers means a better chance of surviving fights.

Caveman due to statistics, probably isn't gifted, and so I imagine Bella's gift could lead them to turning or else picking up a gifted vampire who complements what they already have. They need the offensive brawn of the group or a physical defensive measure like a Proto Renata.

Is This New Coven a Proto-Volturi?

... Shockingly, yes.

First, Bella unintentionally does what Aro does: she collects a core coven of very gifted members. There's herself, of course, and whatever other vampire they pick up to round out their numbers/supply a much needed military style gift.

And given how small the population of humans is, the harsh conditions they live in, I imagine that Bella realizes rather quickly that... they could wipe out the human race.

I imagine they pass through several villages which have been decimated by vampires. Either by immortal children, feasts, territorial conflicts, you name it. Now all those humans are dead, the survivors if there are any starve and freeze to death in the wilderness without society as a support.

This is... really bad.

Bella notes to Caveman that this can't keep going. First, Bella would rather not eat people period, but second if they keep eating like this then there aren't going to be people left. The reason they've been having all these territorial disputes is because vampires from god knows where have travelled into their territory to eat their people because they ate all of their own.

They're locusts!

Caveman admits that she... may have a very good point there.

I imagine Bella's tactics differ though.

The idea of keeping vampires a secret is a non-intuitive if brilliant solution. It's an easy way of tracking when you've gone too far: if the humans start noticing their numbers decreasing then you've eaten way too many people. I don't see it as something Bella would come up with.

I mean, god, imagine it. A group of Myceneans sitting around, in the age of gods when demons walk among us and devour who they will, and Aro says, "I'm going to save the world by making the gods disappear." It sounds insane, they're going to make everyone pretend demons don't exist? Why? And yet it works out such that the secret is something Bella takes for granted, something very natural to her.

This is not a plan that Bella would come up with.

In fact, now in the past in the age of gods and demons, I imagine she's not quite sure why vampires were ever kept secret from the human race. Feels weird, in retrospect.

I imagine what they do instead is protect their territory. They form a pact with the humans over a pretty wide swath of land: provide us a tithe and we will protect your people from the demons, and become a local pantheon. Any other vampires who come into the territory are killed, territory expands as Bella and company form alliances with other covens, and the human race...

Well, the sentence for petty theft is probably now death at the jaws of a vampire, and Bella probably tries and fails to get her coven on her nifty animal diet, but human clans aren't wiped out to a man anymore. Mankind survives and with the aid of a prophet vampire (who suddenly knows a weird amount about farming so as to keep the peasants from revolting) thrives with an industrial revolution.

It's weird times.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #bella swan #caveman vampire #bella/caveman #meta #headcanon #opinion