#look if I can forget crowley's height every time I draw him I can make female vessel castiel tall enough to cause problems

[jeanne-de-valois]

Hot Girl Cas’s actress is 5’6”. This is irrelevant because her being taller would provoke Emotions in Dean. She’s also got triple pierced ears, which is fun.

In Jeanne de Valois’s Supernatural, Hot Girl Castiel is 6′5″

#look if I can forget crowley's height every time I draw him I can make female vessel castiel tall enough to cause problems #spn #text post

[tales-from-the-watchpoint]

Moira, Mercy, and Doomfist getting back with a high school sweetheart? As fluffy as fluff can fluffily be if you don't mind. Thank you!

It felt like a lifetime ago when DOOMFIST was in junior secondary school. Perhaps he was a differentperson then, too- all bloody wrapped knuckles and boisterous grins, making allkinds of trouble for his teachers. He was gifted in academics, and he knewthat, but he still only came second in his class… because of you.

You got into the academy on scholarship alone, having to workfor every good grade you got with your own blood, sweat and tears. He didn’twant to admit it, but he was quite taken with you. Attractive, but not stuck upabout it; smart, but modest about your achievements. You repelled his advances,but as you later admitted, only out of shyness at his charisma.

When was the last time he had seen you? Twenty years ago? Maybeeven longer than that. But that time melted away when he looked at you, heavybackpack weighing you down, a tourist map in hand, and confusion written onyour face.

“…Um.” You approached him hesitantly, eyes still trained on themap. “E- excuse me…”

“[name].”

Your eyes widened, quickly shoving the map somewhere in the backpocket of your jeans, your attention now trained entirely on him. “Akande!”

The combined weight of you and your backpack felt feather-lightin Akande’s arms as he lifted you, grinning at your surprise.

“You got so tall! How did you get so tall?!” you exclaimed, now at the right height to throw your armsaround his neck.

“I grew, silly.” If Moira could see him now, she would haveexamined him for some kind of mental break- he smiled in public maybe two orthree times total, and even fewer times in front of his colleagues. But youwere here now, smelling like flowers and pure happiness, and he couldn’t helpthe wide grin that stretched across his face, the one that you returned inkind.

You placed your hands on the side of his face. “We have so much to talk about.”

MERCYremembered very little of her teenage years- a whirlwind ofadvanced courses, a bachelor’s degree in pre-med, and almost no time forsocialization. Not that any properly aged college students wanted to talk to theawkward, bookish teenager who graduated high school a few years too early.

Rather, she counted the first real days of her adolescence aswhen she met you- a patient that was sent in for minor knee surgery in thehospital where she was a resident. At 23 years old, you were the first crushshe had. You were funny, kind and charming as all hell even when in anunflattering hospital gown, bound to a wheelchair. She wasn’t supposed tointeract with the patients much beyond what was necessary- her position at thehospital still wasn’t guaranteed- but she couldn’t help herself with you.

You left the hospital with a grin and a slight limp, Angelafeeling torn between hope that she would see you again and hope that you wouldn’tget in any more accidents that required a hospital visit.

She tried to forget about you, and for the most part, she did.Her work; first as head of surgery, then with Overwatch, and now in the MiddleEast kept her busy enough not to think about silly things like short-livedcrushes.

That is, until a combat medic was assigned to work with her, aperson so familiar, but in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It hit her when you finally gave your name, accompanied with afirm handshake (so old-fashioned, but so charming all the same). “[Name].” yousaid. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She remembered that same name in the hospital records, and onthe medical wristband you wore during your stay. It was all she could do torestrain herself from hugging you, instead calmly introducing herself in turn.

A slow smile spread across your face as she spoke. “Hey, yourname sounds familiar…” you said. Then, you let out a noise of surprise andsnapped your fingers. “The hospital! I think I owe you a big thank you- youwere the one that inspired me to become a medic!”

If Angela could smile any wider, her face would probably splitin two.

MOIRAtried to remember you by touch, the way she knew you would wanther to. The way your hands felt in her hair, braiding it back with a sort ofprecision she could never match. The softness of your hand cradling hers in theback of English class.

Moira was a model student in every way- respectful, intelligent,punctual, and just enough of a toadie to be the favorite of every instructor.You were more of a class clown, the one pulling pranks and making jokes whileyou should have been paying attention. She didn’t think she was supposed tolike you, but she couldn’t help it when you smiled so brightly.

After nearly three decades of wondering, her memories werebeginning to fade. Moira supposed it had to happen eventually- what she hadwith you in secondary school was wonderful, but wasn’t meant to last. Even now,staying in the little Irish town you grew up in, your memories felt so faraway.

Maybe it was time to forget for good.

Her fingers traced over the scrapbook you made her in your lastyear together, full of good memories and your strange doodles. On one page,there was a photo of Mrs. Crowley, the incredibly strict and crotchety mathsinstructor, drawing a mustache and sunglasses on her face, head surrounded withscrews and baseballs. She laughed at that, remembering the day you snuck thepicture.

“Thought I told you not to come ‘round here no more.”

Moira stiffened- even with the bad American accent, sherecognized your voice.

“I suppose I couldn’t help myself, [Name].” she answered, hersmile growing as you waited for her to face you. Her hands held the scrapbooktightly now, face blushing in excitement.

“Dammit Moira, let me see you. What kinda shin extensions didyou get to make yourself so tall?” She felt your hands on her shoulders,turning her around to finally look at you, after all these years.

You had gotten taller, leaner, face thinner and more mature-much like her own, Moira guessed. Still, the mischievous twinkle in your eyehad yet to be extinguished, and she felt herself falling in love with you allover again.

#doomfist #akande ogundimu #sfw #mercy #moira #moira o'deorain #angela ziegler #overwatch #overwatch headcanons #overwatch imagines #overwatch x reader