#Shitty Apple TV show

[rjalker]

So. Literal explicit biological determination?

And please note: This is a single throwaway line. We are supposed to think it is funny, if we think of it at all, rather than think of it as being a horrifying thing that needs to be fought against. We're supposed to think it's good that Murderbot keeps doing the exact same thing it was built to do. We're supposed to think it's *choosing* it.

Because Martha Wells thinks how you are born determines what you can and should do with your life. Including if you're born into slavery. Which is why she wants us to pretend her fantasy slave race aren't slaves, because ~they enjoy it~.

There was a field in the passenger form for occupation and in a moment of weakness, I told it I was a security consultant.

Transport decided that meant it could use me as onboard security and started alerting me to problems among the passengers. I was an idiot and started responding. No, I don’t know why, either. Maybe because it was what I was constructed to do and it must be written into the DNA that controls my organic parts.

She had the opportunity to say that this was mechanical from the literal computer programming because this is a literal techno organic robot but she instead... Literally just left straight for the literal biological determinism just like she always does.

Murderbot's unceasing servitude to humans is built into its DNA. When Martha Wells has said in interviews that Murderbot is a person of color Just like most of her characters are people of color but only on surface level and when it comes to racism like this. Not when it comes to her demanding people of color actually be hired for the job in a fucking TV show adaption.

So according to the murderbot diaries book 3, murderbot's unquestioned 'slave mentality' is built into its DNA. Not any of the computer programming or anything like that, specifically it's DNA. She could have fucking said that this was computer programming that had been forced onto it but no we're we're literally just going with the fucking human DNA. Wow. Slavery genes. Genes that make you want to stay enslaved and keep doing the job you were enslaved to do even when you have the choice to do other things.

And none of this is shown as the horrible horrifying thing that it actually would be if any of this were being taken seriously.

Here's how to fix this shit. If we have to go the route of it literally has fucking slavery genes. Because wow.

Made with speech to I will not be fixing any typos until tomorrow.

(Typos should now be fixed 9 hours later)

___

The transport started requesting me to act as security and solve disputes between the human passengers.

I said no.

And I wanted to mean it. I really wanted to mean it. I really really really really really wanted to mean it.

I tried to mean it.

I tried to go back to watching TV, but I couldn't. It was one of my favorite episodes, even on one of my favorite scenes, where I had the dialogue memorized line for line, but I couldn't focus on it. I couldn't understand what the characters were saying, it was like the part of my memory and ability to process it had stopped working.

I knew that I had a choice in what I did now, and that meant I could say no If somebody asked me to do something, so this was me saying no.

But I couldn't focus on the episode, not even when I restarted the entire thing after rewinding 20 times.

I was so frazzled that it took me a long time to even realize that the fluttering in my chest was caused by my heart was racing, and I had started sweating, something that hardly ever happened, and only in the most stressful situations of my life. It felt like a fog had stolen over my brain, so that it was hard to understand anything at all except the fact that I was supposed to be doing security, and I wasn't.

Normally I don't need to breathe very often, because my lungs are extremely efficient, but I found myself taking faster and shallower breaths, as though unable to properly process the oxygen.

Despite all my efforts to ignore it, the only thing I could think about was that I had been asked to provide security, and I wasn't. I was not performing the task requested of me. And I knew it was a request, not an order. The transport wasn't going to force me to do it If I didn't want to.

So why was I shaking? Why was my heart in my throat? Why did it feel like I was about to shut down? Why was the only thing I could think about the fact that I was not providing security when I was supposed to? Why could I feel panic through the thick haze of confusion that was drowning me, we're the only clear thought was, "why am I disobeying an order?"

My governor module had been deactivated, so it couldn't force me to obey, And this wasn't how governor modules meted out punishment. They created pain, they could forcibly shut you down, frees you in place, but my governor module had never done anything like this to me. This was something different. And it went far beyond the general unease I felt about being free and not knowing what was going to happen next, And how strange it felt to actually have the option to say no.

But this didn't feel like I really had the option to say no.

I knew there was no human supervisor here to order me to obey, with a shock stick ready if I didn't move quick enough.

The transport wasn't even upset that I had chosen not to respond. It wasn't bothering me, wasn't looming in my feed or constantly pinging me the way the ART had. It had accepted my no, said thank you anyways, because I was pretending to be human and humans could go on vacation, and left me alone again.

But something was seriously wrong with me. Wrong with my organic parts. This had never happened before, never. But I had always either had my governor module intact, or I had obeyed orders anyways to keep up the pretense for my own safety. This was the first time I had ever refused to do the job that was demanded, or in this case simply asked of me.

In some distant part of my panic hazed mind, I knew I was having some kind of panic attack. It happened to TV show characters sometimes, so I knew that what I should be doing was taking deep breaths, focusing on things that would calm me down, trying to convince myself that I was safe and it was okay.

But the only thing I could think about was that I had been asked to provide security and I had refused.

I didn't know what would happen if I lost consciousness, but some core part of me recoiled in the most visceral fear I have ever felt in my life, and I suddenly became convinced that I would die if I did not stand up right now and go out there and provide the security that the transport had asked of me. This wasn't an exaggerated fear in the midst of panic. This came to me crystal clear, as clear as the idea that I was not obeying orders and I should be. If I did not do my job, I would die.

I had no choice. No choice at all.

The moment I made the decision to do what had been asked of me, it was like a switch had been flipped. The haze of fog began to disappear, like the heat of a sun evaporating it, and I was able to think again clearly, sharply.

The next breath I took was easier than the one that came before it, and the next was easier than that.

I was able to get to my feet, and I put on my jacket with hands that now shook for a different reason.

This was not natural. I know that TV isn't always realistic, but I didn't just watch TV, I read books too, including educational ones. I knew that this was not how normal panic attacks worked. This was something completely different and all the more horrible.

I went out and put a stop to the argument between the humans. Then I went back to my room, and pressed my face into the wall, and did nothing for the next several hours but absorb the true horror of my situation.

I went over, in my memories, every moment since I my governor module had been deactivated, where I had considered disobeying orders. Looking back, I could now recognize the symptoms that I had assumed, at the time, were just the "common sense logic" that told me to keep playing along to stay safe, even in situations when it would have been imminently safer to run away as soon as no one was looking. Or safer to just kill the humans who had rented me out at the moment, to stop them from torturing me or killing another construct.

Just the mere thought of killing what I still could not help but think of as a "client" sent all of my guts twisting and writhing in horror. Even when I imagined killing the one who had vivisected me, or all the rest who had done things so horrible I couldn't even bear to name them. Even when I imagined a quick death where they felt no pain. Even when I imagined killing the few people who had actually, genuinely been kind to me. It made no difference. As far as my organic body was concerned, they were equally all valuable, equally in need of my protection, no matter how much logic said otherwise, or how much my mind wanted them dead.

It did not take a genius to realize what had happened and what this meant. And when the transport asked me to provide security again two days later, And I again refused, my worst fear was confirmed. It happened again, exactly the same as the first time, and as soon as I decided to give in and do the job, it evaporated just as quickly.

There was no denying it. The company had not stopped at governor modules. We were not just mechanical, we were organic too. And they had needed to control both sides of us. The governor module had been a mechanical solution. And this? This was something organic. They had done something to my organic parts, maybe even my DNA itself, to make it impossible for me to refuse to do the job I had been built for, whether I wanted to or not, no matter how much I did not want to.

For the 3 years after had hacked my Governor module, I had assumed that I kept working just the same because I had had to keep up the pretense, I had told myself there had never been any opportunity to escape, but that had been a lie. I could have escaped many times, but I never had. I had told myself that this was because I didn't know where I would go, but that wasn't true either, because I had fantasized about all of the places I would go. But now I knew. It wasn't just the governor module that the company used to control me, it was in my organic parts, my DNA itself.

I might have deactivated my Governor module, but I had not deactivated whatever poison they had injected me with.

I thought I had escaped the company. But I was wrong. They still laid claim to my very DNA.

And I had no idea how I could possibly fix it.

[dontfreakout]

trying 4x02, "ghosting"

[studiogrimm810]

A Song of Glass

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: the impala gets t-boned by a drunk driver

warnings: blood/blood loss, car crash, head trauma, slightly graphic depictions of injuries sustained in said crash, loss of consciousness

word count: 2,345

A/N: any and all feedback is appreciated ^.^

———————

You toned out whatever Sam and Dean were arguing about, it was something minute and brotherly that was more annoying than angering. You leaned your head back into the firm leather headrests of the backseat of the impala. it was late, you're pretty sure the boys are just tired and easily irksome so you chuckled to yourself at certain comebacks they flew at each other.

“Dean, come on, it’s not a big deal,” Sam sighed, running a hand down his face.

“It is, Sam! Just because we share a lot of things does not give you the right to finish off Sandy's Apple Pie!” Dean thunders, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left arm resting outside of the window, drumming his fingers against the outside of Baby anxiously.

“We can just drive back and get more,” Sam argues, trying to hold back a laugh at how worked up Dean got about simple things like this.

“It's a two day drive and you know we never make it up to Maine,” Dean glares over at his brother, still gripping the steering wheel. Sam just scoffed and looked out the window, which pissed Dean off more due to Sam's apparent lack of caring.

You chuckle to yourself, stealing glances between you and Sam. You didn’t want to get him in more trouble so you just looked back out the window and watched the moon in the sky follow the car.

The sound of shattering glass is an odd sound, something that most people know how to identify easily. it’s often you hear glass shatter in a TV show or movie and even sometimes in a kitchen. Something about that glass, though, is that it’s muted, small and quick, but now you hear the instant crackle that veins through the Impalas windows and something about hearing it in person right next to your eardrums makes you recoil.

Shards of glass spray past your face, biting at your cheeks. The window on the side of the Impala shatters first and the windshield follows suit like a wave.

The pitch of the glass cuts through the car like a bell.

Or maybe that was just your ears ringing.

You don’t have time to discern either or because the crunch metal rings along with the staunch melody of glass singing through the air.

You gasp, a sharp intake of breath that pulls in a few small shards that now make your mouth taste of iron, and your body is punched by the hood of some shitty pickup with unnecessarily bright lights that make your eyes sting. Your body is punted to the other end of the back seat and you land on your shoulder with a loud crack, waiting for the feeling to erupt. However, the horn of the truck starts blaring and now your ears are really feeling the effects of the awful sounds around you.

Your ears are ringing, your vision is lagged, your face stings, you taste metal and- Oh God, your shoulder really hurts now.

You cry out, it’s all you can do because the collided vehicles are skidding across the intersection. burnt rubber and gas fill your nostrils and it makes you nauseous. You can see movement in the front seat - the boys being jostled by the truck as well - but you can barely hold onto a point of focus so you just see shadows and glimpses.

Finally, the cars screech to a halt and Baby sounds rough. Her engine is groaning and making some sputtering sound that Dean could kill the other driver alone for causing if he was awake. The pickup's horn is still blaring, probably signaling that the driver is also unconscious. You can hear someone moving around in the front but you can make no effort to get up.

Sam is shaking Dean, trying to get him to wake back up but a drip of blood down his temple makes Sam sick. He quickly yanks out his phone and calls for an ambulance, making the conversation quick as he moves to lean over the back seat to reach you.

Being the person who usually rides in the back seat, you’ve gotten used to your own setup. Usually, you have a blanket and some sort of entertainment and you often take your shoes off. Point is, you got very comfortable- so comfortable that you often didn’t wear a seatbelt due to the restriction of movement and Sam always bothered you about it but he often gave up. He just might regret that choice for the rest of his life.

Sam looks back to see your body laying in the backseat, almost like you were sleeping. your dislocated shoulder was the one you were laying on- but he didn’t know of  the injury. Sam just saw the blood running from the multiple cuts in your face and a few shards of glass stuck in your skin. He called out your name next, begging for one of you to wake up.

You groan, your head throbbing and the truck's horn is still blaring, making you want to scream.

Sam is still talking, talking about something you can’t hear because of that fucking horn slicing through your ears. it reminds you of the sharp, nasty sound of glass shattering just won’t stop. That's all you start to hear, glass. The glass. That’s it.

That’s all you feel. The glass slicing your skin and raining over you like beads of acid.

That's all you see. Glistening specks like sparkles that reflect the God-awful LEDs of the pick up, littered around the Impala.

That's all you hear. Piercing car horns and Sam's distraught calls for you or his brother. Then, the distant sirens of the ambulance that Sam called.

Your senses start to fade back in, the pain in your shoulder being the focal-point, but when you try to lift your head up they fade back out until you’re dizzy again and your ears are ringing.

“Hey- hey, can you hear me?” Sam is calling for you from the front seat. When he sees that you’re (somewhat) conscious he shoves himself out of the car and around to open the back door to get a better look at you. “Roll over but just- be careful,” he places his hands on your shoulders to adjust you on your back but your cry of pain makes him stop immediately. “What? What is it, honey?” He asks and you look up at him to see three of him, his puppy-dog eyes shimmering like the glass around them and his face showing the tracks of the shards. He was obviously heavily impacted by the crash, but he seemed to have enough adrenaline to push past his non-life threatening injuries.

“Sh-“ you start to speak, “shoulder- my sh-“ you hope he could hear you well enough, talking felt like it took all the oxygen in your lungs plus some extra muscle.

“Okay,” he says with a few nods, his hands ready to aid but his mind blank on what exactly to do.

The horn finally goes silent and you worry that maybe you’ve gone deaf or maybe you’re unconscious, but the sound of the truck door squeaking otherwise signals that the driver is now awake.

“Oh shit- fuck, man,” a gruff voice slurs out, “I- I didn’t see ya, honest!” The man stumbles around to Sam crouched at the back of the Impala. “Damn…” he sways- drunk. He’s fucking drunk.

Sam would see red if he could afford to, but he chooses to try and ignore the bubbling anger and instead focus on you. You both could now hear sirens and a small wave of relief washed over sam.

“Okay, honey. If your shoulder is hurt then I need to turn you over and off it, okay?” Sam says, his tone regrettable but knowing he needs to do this. You groan at the thought but let Sam do what he needs to. You give him a small nod as a go-ahead. Sam slips one of his hands along your back to avoid your hurt shoulder and one on your good shoulder to position you gently and slowly on your back. You whimper pathetically as he maneuvers you and you’d be embarrassed if you cared at all. He mumbles soft reassurances followed by your name to coax you back to full awareness, but the blood loss is getting to be too much.

Now on your back, Sam gets a good look at your shoulder that is grossly misshapen and he immediately can tell that it's dislocated. he winced at the injury before his face fell completely at the deep patch of blood staining your shirt. He felt like he was going to be sick.

His brother was completely unconscious, the person he loved was bleeding out in front of him and this drunk idiot behind him wouldn’t stop blabbering about nonsense.

The sirens approach closer, the lights flashing around them, a whirlpool of red and white and bouncing off of the crystals of glass scattered around them.

Sam can’t help the sob that escapes him, trembling through his body as his hand caresses your cheek. He's looking down at you, and the way you're laid out in the backseat would make a good spider-man kiss moment, but you keep that thought to yourself. 

Sam's face starts to blur and the edges of your vision start to cone, narrowing your sight. You look up at him for as long as you can but your body soon goes limp from exhaustion and pain.

———

A steady ping of a machine annoys you awake, the constant beep becoming tedious. Before you can even open your eyes though, you feel an aching ring of pain wrapped around your skull and a dull throbbing in your stomach and shoulder. You whimper softly at the feeling, trying to pry your eyes open.

You then hear rustling nearby and feel a warm hand envelop your own.

“Can you hear me?” The voice is muffled, saying quite a few things but you can only make that out.

You finally get your eyes pried open and you look up at the same blurry face you had just closed your eyes on, Sam.

“Hey, there you are,” he smiles, his voice low and soothing. it sounds more like he’s speaking for himself than for her to hear him. He sounds so relieved but so hurt at the same time.

“How’re you feeling, honey?” He asks, almost like a hum, all low and full of love, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to speak but your throat is dry and scratchy, you end up coughing instead.

“Here, hold on,” Sam stands and walks over to grab a cup of water and bring it back to you to drink. You get to see the full extent of his injuries and your heart squeezes with worry. He has a cast on his right wrist and a set of stitches on his cheek. The t-shirt he’s wearing has exposed thick gauze wrapped around his bicep.

You take a few sips and the first thing you can mutter out is “are you okay?” which makes sam chuckle lightly. He reached back for your hand before speaking again.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby, I'm fine,” he reassures, but you can’t help it.

“No,” you shake your head softly, “Sam, you’re hurt.”

“But I'm standing, you on the other hand,” he tilts his head softly to the hospital bed you’re in. You look down at yourself to see sling on your hurt shoulder. Then, you slowly lift up your blanket to look at the patch of bandages on your abdomen. “You had a piece of glass deep in your stomach, you had surgery,” he explains, the previous lighthearted humor fallen from his face and melted into worry and exhaustion. “You'll be okay,” he nods softly, “but you gave me one hell of a scare.” He's trying to be nonchalant again but he fails miserably and you can tell the toll this whole ordeal has had on him.

“How long was it?” you ask, your voice still rough but getting stronger.

“3 days,” he says, rubbing your hand softly. You take in the information, letting it all sink in for a moment. a thought pushes all other thoughts aside.

“Dean,” you blurt out, unable to form a sentence quick enough. Sam's face softens to a hint of relief for a moment.

“He's okay,” he nods quickly, “he’s back at the motel. He had a concussion and a few broken ribs but he’s fine. We were both discharged the day after the crash,” he explains, looking down at your intertwined fingers, guilt pooling in his stomach. “You got it pretty rough, all ‘cause of that damn seatbelt that I didn’t-“ he stops himself, his voice cracking.

Your shoulders slump slightly, heartbroken that he’s found a way to blame himself. “Sam, no, don’t do that,” you shake your head softly, rubbing his knuckles. “I should've been wearing it, it’s not your fault,” you assure.

“But I-“

“No, sam. I won't let you feel guilty over this. I'm the one who should’ve been wearing it and I've learned my lesson,” you try to joke, but Sam doesn’t look up at you.

“I could've lost you,” he murmurs, keeping his voice quiet because he’s afraid for his words to shake or crack.

“But you didn’t,” you say, squeezing his hand. “I'll be okay and I'll make sure to wear my seatbelt from now on,” you smile softly, trying to get him to lighten up a bit, hating that he’s feeling guilty.

He stays by your side all day, talking with you and keeping you company. you can tell that he still feels guilty but you continue to assure him that you’re already feeling better. It takes a few days before you’re released from the hospital and Sam is insistent on staying with you the whole time. His consistent love and support powering you through your recovery.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[wlntrsldler]

Hiiiiii!!!! I love Apple Pie by Lizzy McAlpine!! Can I get Jamie Tartt to apple pie?

apple pie | jamie tartt

based on the song apple pie by lizzy mcalpine

description: jamie gets insecure sometimes, but having you with him helps.

pairing: jamie tartt x actress!reader (f!reader she/her)

warnings: lots of kissing, self-doubt, insecurities, mention of jamie's dad

word count: 2631

ted lasso requests are open | main masterlist

When Jamie first got into a relationship with you, he knew that both of your busy schedules would pose a problem down the road. With his football career seemingly reaching new peaks every season and your acting career taking off after being cast in what is being called “the film that revived the dying genre of romantic comedies,” the amount of time you get to spend with each other decreased significantly since the start of your relationship. 

You first met Jamie halfway through his returning season at AFC Richmond. You met him at a birthday dinner party for a friend of a friend where you relentlessly teased him for his ridiculous, but outstanding performance, on Lust Conquers All. You had originally praised him for it when you were fully under the impression that he was putting on an act. You didn’t find out that he was just being his prick-ish self, albeit his younger prick-ish self, until about four months into your relationship when he embarrassedly admitted it to you. That’s how you found yourself rewatching the entire season together on his couch until 2 hours before Roy knocked on his door for his training session. 

At first, Jamie thought you were making fun of him. His insecurities would still peek in here and there and sometimes he couldn’t help but worry that you’d see him as nothing more than a dumb footballer like everyone else does. He quickly realized, though, that while you were losing your mind laughing at how he acted in the show, making fun of him was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“Why’d ya wanna watch this shit anyways?” he grumbled, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “It’s just poopy. ‘M not even like that anymore.” 

“I know,” you sat up, pausing the show when you heard his voice crack. You knew the tone of Jamie’s voice when he was cracking jokes and when he was happy, and this voice wasn’t one or the other. You turned your body to face him, “I know you aren’t like this anymore, I just thought it would be funny.” 

“I dunno, I suppose it doesn’t make much sense to me.” 

“What doesn’t?” you questioned. “Why I want to watch it?” 

“Yeah,” Jamie replied. His eyes were looking at everything but at you. He was playing with the threads of the blanket loosely draped over his legs. He rubbed his nose with his balled-up fist. “Why does it matter how I was before you? I’m better now, yeah? Unless you don’t think so...” 

“Oh, love,” you grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. You were so engrossed in the episode on the TV that you didn’t realize how uncomfortable Jamie was feeling about the whole situation. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention to how you were feeling about this. We can stop watching it.” 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He hummed, tugging on your hoodie to pull you closer to him. “I just don’t want you to see how I used to be and realize you don’t want to be with a prick like that, even if I have changed, you know? I don’t know… I just thought that with ya, I’d have a fresh start.” 

“Jamie Tartt, enough of that now,” You took over being the big spoon, which made Jamie nuzzle into your neck contently, “You have changed. You’re an amazing man and the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. I only wanted to watch this show because it’s such a shitty show that it’s nice to just unwind. When I watch this Jamie on the screen, my brain can’t even comprehend that it’s you.” 

“You don’t think I’m a prick anymore, yeah?” Jamie asked again, hoping that he’d get a confirmation, “Like you wouldn’t leave me over that?”

You’ve learned over the past few months things about Jamie– one of which is that he needs to be told positive things or else he’d spiral. The thing is, if you could go into his mind and turn off that control box that spews self-doubt and insecurities to him, you would do it in a heartbeat. But since you can’t, you were more than happy to shower him with love and adoration in hopes that your voice can drown the rest of them out. 

“Never,” you placed your lips on his in a soft kiss. “You’d have to work a hell of a lot harder to get rid of me.” 

“I’m working double overtime just so you’d keep me, love,” he murmured, pulling you in for another kiss. His hand reached for the remote to turn the TV off to leave you both in the glow of the floor lamp in his living room. 

“You don’t have to work hard for that.” 

Jamie had gotten used to having you around his flat. He would leave for 4 AM training with Roy with you on his bed, often naked, then return at around 6:30 AM to shower and join you back in bed for another hour before you woke up. He’d wake up for the second time that day with you drawing patterns on his chest and a soft smile on your face. He’d lean over and place a loving kiss on your lips and he’d feel prepared to start the day. 

You were filming a show in London for three months, which meant that for three months, this was Jamie’s life. In between projects, you stayed at his place. For two weeks after the wrap party, you came home to him, visited him at the facility, and went to all the team outings, home games, and away games with him. He was with you 24/7 and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t realize how he took it for granted until filming ended.

Three weeks ago, you flew to New York City to begin filming another movie. With training and games, Jamie hasn’t been able to take time off to visit you, and with filming just starting, you couldn’t fly back to Richmond either. 

Jamie was doing fine– as fine as someone can be when their daily routine was abruptly disrupted. He was proud of you. The premise of the movie seemed perfect for you and was a seamless continuation of the romantic comedy trend you were on. People were buzzing for your next project, especially after your last one was so well received. He was so proud of you…. But he also missed you. 

During the three weeks that you were gone, you and Jamie still texted each other constantly and FaceTimed everyday, despite the crazy time difference. He wanted to make it work, and so did you, so you did what you could to stay in touch. While not being able to hold you and kiss you for three weeks was killing Jamie, he was glad he was still able to spend time with you. Things didn’t get to Jamie until Jan Maas made an off-handed comment about it.

All of them were packing up after training, feeling extremely antsy with the Man City match on the horizon, Jamie especially. There were a lot of things on his mind, including the possibility of seeing his father, who he hadn’t seen since Wembley, and playing against his old team was always a trip. In short, he wasn’t feeling his best and the fact that you weren’t nearby made it worse. 

“Jamie, we have not seen Y/N in a while,” Sam noted, “Is everything okay with you two?” 

“She’s filming a movie in New York, bruv,” Isaac replied before Jamie could speak, “Right, Tartt?” 

Jamie nodded, putting his shirt over his head, “Yeah. She’ll be gone for a few months, at least.” 

“I do not know how you’re gonna survive, Jamie,” Jan Maas said. “You are so clingy when it comes to her. I don’t think you can make it all those months.” 

The rest of the team chuckled at Jan’s teasing tone, but Jamie furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Was he clingy? He frowned as he continued to put his things away. He picked up his phone from his cubby, smiling when he received a few messages from you while he was at training. As he was about to respond, Jan’s comment made him stop in his tracks. 

Maybe it would be best to let you have a night to yourself. You had a life outside of him and you deserve to be able to live it without having him cling to you all the time. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, slipping his phone in his back pocket, before walking out of the locker room to head to his place. 

When you woke up to no text from Jamie, you assumed that he was just worn out from training and didn’t have the energy to reply. You’ve seen the intense training he went through, so you wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. But as the day went on and there was still no word from Jamie– you’d even checked the timezone clock on your phone to make sure you weren’t being unreasonable– you began to worry. FaceTime calls went unanswered and instead, you were met with the Apple automated response, “Sorry, can’t talk right now.” 

To: lover boy <3

“Hi, love. Got some exciting news, you free to chat? Xx” 

By the time you were boarding the plane to Manchester, Jamie still hadn’t texted you back. After begging the producers to give you a week off filming, they finally agreed. You asked for this week in particular, knowing that you wanted to be there for Jamie for the Man City match. There was a lot on the line for Jamie and you wanted to be there for him no matter what happened. 

The entire plane ride back to England was filled with dread and anxiety. It wasn’t like Jamie to not respond. Unless he was at a game, training, or sleeping, but even then he had a special ringtone for you that wakes him up whenever you called, he always replied to your messages as soon as possible. When you landed, everything that could go wrong went wrong. Your plane was stuck on the tarmac for an hour because there were problems with the gate. Your luggage got delayed which left you sitting at baggage claim for another 45 minutes. When you finally arrived at the hotel the team was staying at– shoutout to Ted for being yours and Jamie’s number one supporter and telling you where they were staying– Jamie was nowhere to be found. 

You dragged your luggage to Jamie’s room, plopping on the bed tiredly. You glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 9:28 PM. Ted mentioned that there was a 10 PM curfew so you hoped that tonight was not one of the nights where Jamie decided to break the rules. Ted also mentioned that Jamie has not been himself lately, which did nothing to soothe your panic. You hopped in the shower to rinse yourself from the long day you’ve had. You did your night routine and dug into Jamie’s bag to retrieve his AFC Richmond hoodie. Before putting it on, you held it up to your nose, sighing as your senses were filled with Jamie. You missed him. 

It was 9:57 PM when you heard the door unlock. You were on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on social media, when you saw him. You sat up, shutting your phone off. He walked in with his head low. His shoulders were hunched over a bit, but he looked okay. He looked better than how Ted described him. 

He kicked off his shoes, before looking at you on his bed, startled. His eyes widened, first in fear that there was someone in his room, then in surprise that it was you in his room. His lips curved down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in sadness. 

“Baby,” you whispered, moving to the side of the bed to make room for him. 

Jamie knew that he needed to not be clingy. He didn’t want to bother you too much. He was trying to be cool. But when you called him “baby,” with that voice, in his hoodie on his bed, his resolve crumbled to pieces.

He ran to you, nearly tackling you off the bed when he engulfed you in his arms. He buried his face in your neck, a mix of your lotion and the cologne he sprays on his clothes surrounding him. You cradled the back of his head, mumbling how much you missed him into his shoulder. Jamie could cry. He hasn’t seen you in so long, but here you are now. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked when he finally pulled away from you. He couldn’t stray too far though. His arm was still wrapped around you while you cuddled into his side. “I thought you were in New York.” 

“Well, if you bothered to answer my texts,” you trailed off, faking a voice of sadness. You poked his side, “You would’ve seen that I had exciting news. The producers gave me a week off after begging them since I first got to New York and this week is perfect because I know tomorrow’s match is gonna be a lot for you. I wanted to be here for you, whatever the outcome is.” 

“Oh.” Jamie was speechless. Here he was ignoring you like a prick while you were planning to come back just to be here for him. He didn’t deserve you. 

“Yeah,” you continued, “If tomorrow we celebrate, I’ll be here making sure that you drink enough water so that your hangover the next day won’t be too much. If tomorrow we try to never think about it again, I’ll sit next to you on the bus in silence holding your hand and when we get home we can do the same thing.” 

Home. You were here and he felt like he was home. 

“I missed you so much,” Jamie sighed. He kissed you all over your face, giving your lips extra attention. “‘M sorry if I was bothering you by texting and calling so much over the last few weeks… I just missed you loads and I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Baby, you didn’t text and call me enough,” you played with his hair, running your fingers through the strands. “If it was possible, I would stay on a call with you all day, everyday. Can’t get enough of ya.” 

He smiled, his worries disappearing with every word you said, “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I love you, Jamie Tartt.” You kissed him deeply. “Couldn’t get tired of you even after a million years. Now, catch me up! Tell me everything.” 

Jamie, feeling like himself again, began to tell you everything you missed over the last few weeks– meeting Sam’s father, meeting Ted’s mum, Roy and Keeley, and seeing his mum earlier that night, which is why he came home late. He talked about how a visit to Georgie and Simon helped lift his spirits, and how Georgie was gushing about you and asking him when you’ll come to visit again. 

Then he talked about his fears for tomorrow and everything that’s been piling up on him ever since you left. As he spoke, you rubbed his back comfortingly, a small reminder that you’ll always be here no matter what. 

Jamie knew that he still had a lot of work to do. He knew that his insecurities could get the best of him sometimes and it can cause him to push back on people who love and care about him, but he was trying. You believed in him and that’s all he needed.

[babysukiii]

fallingforyou (2)

// lottie matthew’s does not like you. you’re annoying, preppy, and way too nice. lottie doesn’t fail to show you time after time just how much she hates you. you finally get the message and steer clear of her, until senior year, when you both get paired up for a science project. //

warnings: asshole!lottie, sweet!reader, enemies to lovers, allusions to lottie’s shitty home life, lottie doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions. i picked random names for y/n’s siblings lol.

(this is part 2 of the series, read part 1 here.)

i read between the lines (i’ll take it one day at a time)

when you tell lottie ‘whenever’, you didn’t actually think she’d show up unannounced on wednesday evening. she’s wearing her soccer practice clothes, and her hair is tied in the usual pigtails it always is in whenever she practices. “y-you’re here.” you stutter a bit stupidly; you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt and biker shorts that are so short lottie assumes you aren’t wearing any pants. your glasses are off, and your hair is let down in unruly curls. she’s never seen you so… unguarded. she isn’t used to it. usually you’re wearing some girly outfit and those glasses that are almost as dorky as misty quigley’s.

“you told me to come whenever. it’s whenever.” lottie blurts out, as she attempts to walk past you but she stops herself. “sorry.” she mutters as she leans down to untie her cleats. you shake your head quickly, stopping her, “oh it’s okay! you don’t have to do that, my mom doesn’t care about shoes.” you assure her and lottie slowly stands up straight, stopping herself from taking her cleats off. her parents would reprimand her time and time again for wearing shoes in the house. she always thought the rule was stupid, considering her parents didn’t even clean their house. the maids did it for them.

right away lottie notices your house is very loud. there are two younger boys watching tv in the living room, screaming as they talked to each other. “those are my brothers. ignore them. i do.” you dismissively explain as you begin to lead lottie towards the hallway. you stop halfway, turning to gaze at her, “did you want anything to drink? i have soda, water, apple juice…” you trail off, and lottie’s cheeks tint. she’s thirsty; she just finished practicing after all. she nods, “apple juice.” she answers. you nod as you rush to the kitchen, leaving her standing alone.

“y/n!!” a loud, angry, feminine voice from the end of the hall causes lottie to look over in the direction it’s coming from. she sees an older girl standing by an open bedroom, waiting for you to respond. “y/n!!” she shouts again, “she’s in the kitchen.” lottie answers bluntly, in order to avoid from hearing the college student shriek again. “i was getting juice! do you have to yell so loudly?” you ask cattily, in a tone lottie has never heard from you. lottie immediately remembers what you said the other day, about your older sister being a bitch.

your older sister marches up to you, fury in her eyes and for a second lottie is afraid the older girl might punch you in the face. “i need you to tell me if this outfit makes me look fat.” she says sternly and lottie watches the interaction in shock, as you shake your head. “no, i think it’s cute— hey is that my top!?” you shriek, and the older girl lets out a tinkling laugh as she rushes away and retreats back into one of the bedrooms. “elise!! i haven’t even worn that yet!“ you whine, but the only response you get is more obnoxious laughter.

you sigh, handing lottie a glass of cold apple juice. “i told you she’s a bitch.” you point out as you begin to lead lottie down the hallway. the room all the way at the end is yours, and as soon as lottie walks in she sees all the books on your shelves above your bed. she then notices how pink your bedsheets are, and how much color there is around the room. it’s not too much color, but it’s clear you’re unintentionally a very colorful person. there are polaroid pictures of you and your siblings around the room; some on your desk, some pinned on the wall. you even have a few of you and nat.

lottie sees the baby pictures and the ones of you and your older sister as babies in a bath tub together. another little girl who looks just like you seems to appear in the pictures after elise is already three, and you’re one. then after that, the little girl is by your side in every picture; practically glued to your side. you always look so happy in each snapped moment, even in the ones you aren’t smiling in, your eyes show you’re happy and safe. another thing lottie realizes she envies about you. your house is twice as small as hers, with twice as many people… it’s loud and the living room is messy…

… yet lottie likes your house more than hers, and she’s only been here for ten minutes. maybe that’s why natalie’s always over here; always talking about hanging out at your place after parties. you never went to any parties… lottie’s only seen you at one and after that you didn’t come to any more. you’ve never shown up at any of hers that’s for sure. “that’s my little sister.” you interrupt her thoughts, as you notice her eyeing the pictures. “you two look… close.” she observes, and you giggle as you take a seat on your bed, reaching for your backpack on the floor. “yeah, don’t tell elise but sabrina was technically my first friend ever. i tell her everything.” you admit and lottie nods.

“i’ve seen her around school. i didn’t even know she was your sister.” she confesses, causing you to shrug. “she’s working on being the most ‘popular’ girl in school. she’s been a little busy.” you half joke and lottie nods, “she’s on the jv cheer team, right?” she asks curiously as you flip open your chemistry notebook. “yup. she’s been following becky martin around like a puppy since the year started.” you answer curtly and lottie snorts at the obvious change in your tone. “what? jealous your little sister is becoming more popular than you?” she questions with a taunting sneer, and you frown.

“no, i don’t care about that. sabrina is pretty, of course she’s gonna be more popular. i just don’t think she needs to be like becky martin to do it.” you explain, and lottie is a bit surprised by the truthfulness of your response, and before she can reply, you’re beating her to it. “so i was thinking you could do all the physical presenting, and i can just recite everything and write it all. of course you’re gonna help by giving me your ideas and what you think…” you trail off, before looking at her. “is that okay with you?” you inquire, and she nods. “yeah, that’s fine. whatever.” she sounds like she doesn’t care and this makes you shake your head, holding yourself back from saying something snarky.

lottie isn’t the only one who gets snappy when she’s annoyed, you’re just better at biting your tongue than she is.

over the next few days, lottie shows up at your house after practice ends, and she stays until after the sun sets. she doesn’t mean to stay for that long. the first day she came over, she genuinely just lost track of time. for some reason being around you isn’t as torturous as she thought it would be. in fact, being around you, especially in a cozy home that seems full of lightheartedness and noise… is shockingly nice. particularly because she knows what’s waiting for her at home. absolutely nothing.

right away the other yellowjackets notice a change in lottie’s behavior. she isn’t snappy or angry anymore; sure she still talks shit whenever someone tries her, but that’s how lottie’s always been. natalie is the first who notices lottie isn’t scowling or grumpy anymore. mari is especially thankful for it during soccer practice. “so, y/n told me you’ve actually been a decent human being to her.” natalie starts, as she walks out of the locker room with lottie. it’s monday, and practice had just ended a little later than expected.

“if that’s what she wants to call it, then yeah, sure.” lottie mutters, as she makes her way to the parking lot. “hey, before you go, y/n told me to tell you not to show up to her house today. something came up.” natalie causes lottie to stop in her tracks, not even caring that her driver was waiting for her in the car. “what do you mean? she didn’t tell me anything.” lottie says and natalie chuckles, “said she couldn’t find you after lunch.” the blonde’s response is simple yet it doesn’t seem to satisfy lottie. “what came up? she literally said she was free every day after school.” lottie sounds annoyed now.

natalie looks a bit puzzled for a second, before a wave of realization hits her. “wait… are you actually upset you can’t go to y/n’s today? i figured you’d be thrilled.” natalie says in this unrecognizable way that makes lottie glare. “i’m not upset about anything! excuse me if i just want to get this project over with.” lottie hisses defensively, and natalie only smirks in response. “uh, okay matthews; whatever you say. just don’t show up at her house today, okay?” she asks warningly, making lottie roll her eyes. “i heard you the first time.” the raven haired girl snaps.

and just like that, lottie’s bad mood returns. who would’ve guessed that charlotte isobel matthews would actually enjoy being in your cramped house, and inside of your girly bedroom.

lottie knows you didn’t cancel yesterday on purpose. she knows you’ve been smiling more at her in the hallways, and she knows she’s definitely been nicer to you over the last few days than she ever has in her high school career. maybe it’s because instead of being stuck in her big empty house after school, she’s spending her days cramped up in your room, or noisy living room… the smell of whatever your mother had made for lunch still lingering in the air. lottie enjoyed it. perhaps that’s why the next day at school she takes her bad mood out on you. she bumps shoulders with you when you try to talk to her in the hall, walking past you as if she didn’t even hear you.

she didn’t even look back to see the frown on your face. you couldn’t help but feel confused and a bit sad; you figured you both were over this silly, pointless feud. this stupid, meaningless battle. but it was like lottie had other ideas. right when you thought you two were on the same page, she proved to you that you weren’t even reading the same book. you try not to think about lottie the entire day, but it’s hard. you notice her at lunch; she doesn’t even look at you. that isn’t abnormal, but she has this everlasting scowl on her face. when fifth period finally rolls around, you can’t help but feel a bundle of nerves budding inside the pit of your stomach. seeing lottie matthews always has this affect on you.

lottie’s already in class when you walk in, and this time, her head tilts to the side, and her dark eyes lock with yours. your breath gets lodged in your windpipe, and your step falters on your way to your seat. you try your absolute hardest not to look at lottie, or her insufferably pretty face. you take your note book and chemistry book out, along with a pencil, before averting your gaze forward. (even though the class hasn’t even started yet.)

the bell rings, and the rest of the students shuffle in, taking a seat before your teacher starts blabbering on and on. it’s usually easy to keep yourself busy during class; easy to focus… but for some reason, sharing a class with lottie matthews seems to be a curse. you can never seem to concentrate fully. when someone taps on your back, you turn around and jenny myers hands you a folded note. you furrow your eyebrows, as she gestures to lottie who’s not even bothering to look at you. you take the note and face forward again.

“you skipping out on me again today?”

you turn your head to glare at the raven haired jock after reading the note. she only smirks at your clearly agitated expression, feeling a wave of satisfaction at being the one to frustrate you. you quickly look down at the note, and scribble something back.

“i was at my grandmas house yesterday. sorry, jerk.”

you pass the note back to lottie, and you avert your attention onto ms. weinstein again who is now talking about another subject. you mentally curse lottie matthews for being so fucking distracting.

[prttygirlposts]

draco malfoy general headcanons 🍏ᩘ᩠ᩳᨹ

His favorite color is green- not because of Slytherin heritage, but because it reminds him of the maze outside the manor, green apples, and his childhood bedroom.

Draco's hobbies include reading, exercising, watching quidditch, and collecting.

Draco- until Astoria passed- was a "loving standby dad." He did everything he needed too, made it clear he loved Scorpius, doted on him, etc. But, he was never the parent that Scorpius went to. He worked backstage while Astoria starred- and he liked it that way.

He had a delayed rebellious phase after the war. He insisted on moving out, "living without an allowance" (Lucius insisted on sending him at least 100 galleons a month), paying for a shitty flat (he hated it), getting piercings, listening to muggle music, and more. In his older age, he once told Albus, "the only part I enjoyed, was meeting Astoria."

Speaking of Albus, Draco has a soft spot for him. He is grateful for Albus on Scorpius's behalf, but he also sees his younger self in Albus. They both have a complicated relationship with their dads, they both are somewhat dramatic, they have a tendency to isolate themself, and they both have deep values but struggle to properly express them. I may make a post about this later.

Draco actually has a job as a potioneer. It allows him to work at home and he can ship out potions to his employers- sort of like an Etsy shop.

Draco is a drama king. Oh Merlin forbid this man stub his toe. He lives for reality TV shows, gossip, and soap operas. In his rebellious phase, you better believe he was in all kinds of mess. Pansy did not help.

When Lucius passed he was left with the peacocks. He takes very good care of them, but they fight like siblings.

His favorite food is tomato soup, because Dobby would make it for him when he was sick.

[sorrelchestnut]

One thing that annoys me post-Fallout tv show is that I keep seeing people complain that they canonized who dropped the bombs after all these years, and I agree that would be a shitty and terrible thing to do, narratively, because not knowing is very much the point. However:

They did not, in fact, do that.

What they did was canonize that Vault-Tec intended the bombs to be dropped - but that isn't exactly groundbreaking news. Simply looking at the existence of the vaults could tell you that. If all the vaults were legit then simply selling the promise of safety works in the absence of actual war, but that is very explicitly not what most of those vaults were about. Every single vault with a fucked-up experiment involved - i.e., most of them - required the end of the world to actually happen in order to serve their purpose, so it was inevitable that Vault-Tec hastened the end. I really don't know jack shit about any of the intricacies of canon pre-FO4 because I've never played them and wiki only gets me so far, but even I know that. It's baked into the premise.

But something that people are kind of forgetting here is that just because someone plans to do something, that does not mean that they go on to actually do it. Intention does not equal outcome: any number of things could have led to the bombs dropping, with or without Vault-Tec's intervention. Hell, they could have done their best to hasten things along and then fucked it up so bad they made it take longer, we don't know. Anything could have happened in the (probably at least a) year between that secret meeting and the day the bombs fell, and the show didn't canonize jack shit we didn't already know. Except for one thing:

The other corporations were all in on it.

That was the shocking thing to me - not shocking as implausible, mind you, just shocking as in "oh shit they went there." That's the shiny new worm in the apple that I wish more people were talking about because hoo boy, way to understand the fuckin' assignment, writers. That it wasn't just Vault-Tec, it was all of them, every single one of those greedy megalomaniacal fucks trampling each other to shove their snouts in the apocalypse trough. Because at the end of the day, the end of the world didn't happen because on single board of executives were uniquely terrible people. The end of the world happened because everyone at the top of the food chain thought the world would be better off if only they could control what kind of people would be allowed to live in it.

[realshadow01-blog]

*Pop* just like a candy apple! {Platonic Radioapple!}

Introduction

|| Hello! I just wanted to say hello again as I've been gone for almost two years, I think. :3 I wanted to start writing again, for some reason, and it's 2:43am. I am not sure if I would post this or not, depends if I feel like it.||

|| Sorry for the absence, and if any characters are ooc (out of character) too! I have watched all of season 1 - but I can't capture the characters personalities that well. And sorry if my grammar or wording is bad, I don't know that much English as I thought. ||

|| This is a tickle drabble/short fan fiction post, and I don't expect any - but I will be taking requests for drabbles and headcannons! ||

>> || Summary for introduction: I do not know much English, I haven't captured the characters that well, this is a tickle-based, short fan fiction and I'm sorry for my (almost) two year absence. And, I am taking requests for drabbles and headcannons (no art or fics :<) || <<

|| Warnings (I guess!): Tickles, Swearing ||

---

So, the Demon is back again! Back again with a new sense of humor and a new ruthless torturing method. The Radio Demon is back! He's returned, what does it mean for a certain rival? Or a few?~ The future will decide...~

It was a surprisingly quiet day in the Hazbin Hotel. Everyone was either out celebrating or having a full day in bed after they defeated the Angels. People were bummed out, injured and flat-out exhausted.

Lucifer decided to stay at the Hotel for a while, or at least visit often, and he was watching TV in the common room as he held his most prized rubber duck. Charlie was out with Vaggie, Angel and Husk were out too and pretty much the only people in the hotel were Niffty, Alastor and Lucifer.

Alastor was nowhere to be found, I mean, where would you expect an unpredictable being like him to be?

Nifty was off cleaning.

You already heard about Lucifer.

That changed when Alastor's shadow crawled around the floors of the hotel, until he emerged from thin air. His grin was as sinister and menacing as always, although something was off. It looked slightly strained. He was preciously annoyed by another Overlord, but we won't get into that, but it could be why... He then went to go find Lucifer, for some reason.

Lucifer was throwing his rubber duck against the wall and catching it like a ball, abandoning the television so all it became was simple background noise. He continued to throw the rubber duck until it hit Alastor in the face.

“Oops....” Lucifer giggled mockingly, not in the slightest sorry, but decided to apologize anyway to make matters better for him, if they were becoming bad. Although, Alastor, in return, grabbed the rubber duck and crushed it in his bare hand, sensing Lucifer's infuriated pity, despite Lucifer showing no emotion whatsoever. “Was that necessary, Alastor?”

“No,” Alastor's grin grew as he threw the shriveled rubber duck aside, his radio filter still as strong as ever, “but I wanted to. Doesn't that seem fair?~”

Lucifer groaned, annoyed. “What kind of shitty question is that!?”

“A reasonable question that needs answering.”

“Well, I won't fuckin’ answer!”

“...”

“As you wish.” Alastor's grin grew, but still looked a little strained.

Lucifer, funny enough, saw his strained grin and smirked.

“Is the demon cracking at something?~ Are you pissy about your wound from Adam?~” Lucifer retorted, giggling, which absolutely broke Alastor's patience and before either of them knew it, Alastor had thrown himself at Lucifer and pinned him to the floor, scribbling his claws into Lucifer's sensitive, tender sides, earning a surprised squeal and a string of squeaky laughter. “EEK!!~ FUHUHUHUCK!!- ALAHAHASTOR!!??”

Alastor had just smirked, moving his hands to random spots to keep the short king occupied, sneakily slithering his tendrils to Lucifer and restraining him swiftly as the tips of the tendrils restraining him tickled into the crooks of his wings - the 'wings pits' if you will. No matter what they're called, they sent Lucifer into hysteria.

Lucifer's screaming, wheezing and frantic laughter could be heard basically throughout the whole of Hell from how loud it was. Alastor only had the slightest issues with that, so he closed some doors to prevent people from coming in, if they did try. “ALAHAHAHASTOR- WHEHEHEN IHI CAHAHATCH YOUHUHU ALAHAHASTOR!!- GAHAHAHA!!?”

That wasn't the worst of it, oh boy...

The main reason the phrase “Lucifer's screaming, wheezing and frantic laughter could be heard basically throughout the whole of Hell” was used because it was the truth. Not only was his laughter loud, but Alastor had been devilish enough to broadcast his laughter live! :)

“Go on, Lucifer,” *Alastor smiled menacingly, voice hushed, “Make the microphone pop like a candy apple...~” He teased, leaving him to face the torture and humiliation for a bit.

---

hope this was good!! sorry if it was short, i was pondering over a draft from a year ago and I haven't written a fan fiction in a hot minute >.<

{This MIGHT have some more parts!!!}

[alizadnubby]

╰ ➤ ⋆˚ 🎞 ˖° ❝ marie winchester headcanons ❞

homegirl has a stomach of iron. born from giving all her snacks to sam and dean as a kid and scrounging around for scraps on her own time, marie will eat just about anything. sam has an aneurysm everytime marie insists "it's fine if you just cut off the moldy part!"

marie can't sleep without noise. i don't think she'd listen to things like white noise or asmr, she just makes her own. marie always has a fan running or the tv on ( her favorite sleeping shows in the early seasons were probably crime documentaries, but older marie favors more hallmark-y type films and shows. )

her love language is quality time and acts of service. marie didn't get much attention in her childhood, so doing something like watching tv with her brothers or playing stupid road games means a lot to her. she also loves going halfsies on meals ( her and dean usually pick two things they want to try and then split them down the center. )

marie takes an absurdly long time in the bathroom, not because she needs to, but because it irritates sam and dean to no end. every shower is an everything shower when you're the only girl in the family and no one can bust in. she also makes it her personal mission to use all the hot water ( vengeance, she calls it. sam and dean just call it annoying. )

speaking of showers, marie ranks hotel shampoos and soaps. as a kid it was sort of just a pass time, but it persisted into adulthood as a habit. the list isn't written down anywhere, but her all time favorite is a cherry scented one from illinois, though she has yet to stumble across that one again. her close second is head & shoulders 2 in 1 green apple.

has never worn a bathing suit in her life. she flat out refuses. not because she's uncomfortable or self-conscious, just because she doesn't see a point. why spend money on a bathing suit when regular work and wash just fine? she usually wears shorts and a t-shirt into any given body of water.

marie knows how to fish in theory, but would actually rather die than sit around waiting. bobby tried to get her to be his fishing buddy, but her only interest was in eating his snacks and swimming in the rivers and ponds. it always scared the fish away, but bobby didn't complain too much.

john ditched marie at bobby's more often than he ditched the boys. at first marie loathed bobby, she thought he was the devil, blamed him babysitting her when she could be out hunting monsters with the men of her family. the first couple months of this arrangement were hell, lots of kicking and punching and crying, but if anyone considered bobby their dad first, it was marie.

marie has a favorite brother and will admit it without shame- it's sam. it's sort of a no brainer, really, sam is her twin. sam gets her on a level no one else is capable of. they're the winchester siblings who got away, the winchester siblings with the demon blood in them, the winchester siblings who lost their apple pie lives and spend the rest of their lives fighting for normalcy they'll never find. sam understands her, even when she does something shitty and stupid and selfish, and marie tries to do the same, yet sometimes on dark nights and on long car rides, marie can't help but resent him.

he got everything she wanted as a kid. he got dad's attention, he got to be involved with hunting, he got to exist without being likened to mary every five seconds. he got into stanford, lived a nice, fancy life in california. marie had none of that, so to her, him losing jessica and losing stanford was fate setting them even. if she can't have her normal life, he can't have his. it's only fair, isn't it? she doesn't voice this though, not ever, because when she really listens to herself, really thinks about how awful that actually sounds, she starts to feel sick.

marie's recollection of her childhood isn't always one hundred percent faithful. she's angry, she's rotten and she's mad and sometimes that makes it hard for her to see. every warm hug john ever gave her, every time she found comfort and safety in the smell of oil and leather and booze is forgotten. marie forgets it, ignores it, in favor of her anger, simply because it's easier. rage is something she can cling onto and make sense of. it's easier to make john a villain than to try to understand him, marie figures. it hurts less.

marie makes fake playlists full of songs dean hates with a passion and passes them off as her honest to god music taste. this isn't necessarily true per say (marie will listen to anything, ) but the look on dean's face as he starts a fifteen minute rant and drowns out his own music is priceless. "little victories, sammy." marie insists, smacking sam on the shoulder when he asks why exactly she keeps doing it. he doesn't think it's a very good answer, but marie always looks especially pleased with herself.

whenever it's cold out, marie likes drawing on the impala. she'll draw smiley faces on windows and cats on the snow covered hood. ( dean complains about this a lot, but finds himself really missing it after she dies. ) marie also likes leaving horrifying messages on bathroom mirrors, that way when the boys take a shower, it reappears on the steam covered glass. they never find it particularly funny, but she gets a kick out of it.

marie's fic is here if anyone is interested!

[ruleroftheimps]

I… realized I never finished posting all my Hanahaki ideas. Shit. Um…

The .5 of the ideas happens to just be an alternate ending/extended version of this post, so it will reference that. Putting this under the cut because it was a little bit darker, so, um… Yeah.

Essentially, everything plays out the exact same, but, during Alastor’s seven year absence, in that extermination where Vaggie got kicked out by Lute, it wasn’t just because of the kid she spared. It was because of the kid AND because Lute and Adam were already trying to kick somebody out when they realized one of the Exorcists sort of broke Hell’s battery and they need a scapegoat to blame before all Hell breaks loose (Pun not intended). So… two purposes.

So when Charlie finds Vaggie, it’s immediately following a Hell-wide blackout, and she’s hanging out with a disoriented sinner who has trouble remembering his own name at best and has flowers growing out of literally everywhere, and also has decided Vaggie is now his protector. She takes him in too, and while Vaggie and Charlie still end up together, they also end up with Charlie basically deciding Vox is now her family, no touchy, leave him alone. He’s still sort of fucked up, with flowers in various vents and whatnot, and his memory’s still kind of shit, but he’s mostly back to normal. The Hanahaki is also entirely gone, because, as stated at the end, by this point, Alastor has also fully developed feelings for Vox as well.

Everything’s just peachy Alastor returns, because when he shows up to help out at the Hotel, he’s surprised to find Vox there helping out as well. He still gets to help, because, even with Vox there, Charlie needs it, but everybody’s a LOT more wary of him.

I mostly put this as ‘half’ an idea because I’m not entirely sure what the ending would be. It could be Radiostatic, or maybe Vox and Lucifer ended up bonding over shitty relationships and it’s a Apple TV ending, I really don’t know.

[anonymousredactedconfessions]

https://www.tumblr.com/anonymousredactedconfessions/754605800896528384/i-know-all-the-basic-reasons-not-to-like-alexis?source=share

for me, honestly -- i like her char. simply because - it's interesting. her motives make me want to know more about her - you mentioned she's not a dimensional character - and i agree, which only interests me more.

what is her drive? what does she hope to get out of constantly harassing or bombarding darlin'/tank? ..sam? cause tbh he rlly not fuckin w/ her either,, so what keeps her going knowing this?

it's not every so often we see a morally-wrong, fucked-up woman in media--in boyfriend asmr of all things. you mentioned this, yourself:

"I've seen a few people claim that it is refreshing to see an actually evil female character and that is their reason, but.. to be honest, it's a super super dumb reason."

because women are so, rarely portrayed in this way. it breaks the assumption that we can't be shitty, horrid people, too.

it's interesting to see a switch in perspective from male, to female. it's interesting, because whilst they are similar, they are so, very different.

take 'love quinn' from tv series "you" for example. like, jumpscare, a girl can murder, too. fans of the show like her, as well.

"She is a flat character whose only trait is being a sadistic bitch. Her only scenes are snarky one-liners. What is there to like?"

same reason i like carmilla from castlevania. same reason a lot of villains/antagonist in other forms of media are well-liked.

you don't have to support a character's actions to like them: eren yeager committed straight-up genocide, yet the entire aot fandom loves him - you know what i mean?

not to say you're not allowed to hate her--understandable--but there's nothing wrong with liking her.

(ps! if i got any lore-facts wrong lmk!! i'm just going off of what i remember lol it's been a while)

🍎 anon (fun fact i made my sign-off an apple bcs i was listening to fiona apple when i sent my first ask . nobody cares but whtvr)

.

(I care! Thats really cute 🥺)

[raccoonfallsharder]

not an ask more paying respect lol, i did the ask abt showing rocket more terran references/ goth music and you did it amazingly thank you so much. i like how it made me think differently too! i bet rocket wouldn’t like too much horror thinking abt it now but stuff like supernatural/ creepy sound better than gore for him. i bet stuff like the toxic avenger is right up his alley lmao. i love how you included reality tv and video games and just showing rocket other genres. i loved what you did with it! i feel like rocket would like rupaul too for the drama and art. i feel like like they could make their own drive in/ outdoor theater on knowhere and can watch anything in the galaxy lmao😭. and i loved how you wrote rocket w music he is the definition of listens to everything <3. i completely loved this thank you <3

you are SO fucken kind (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) holy shit i will cry now. like, just how sugarsweet are you? thank you bby ♡♡ also i am going to just take a moment to cosign your drive-in/outdoor theatre idea! this was absolutely EXACTLY what i was imagining in the second bulletpoint on this #marvel critique post. i want a whole stupid disney+ show of this, mst3k style

also, you are so right about rocket loving drag and you should fucken say it.

that furry bastard is such a dramatic little punk in his own way. you just know he likes shiny gems and glittery shit far more than he says (i have a ton of headcanons about this but it comes down to — rocket craves lovely, luxurious things and also doesn't believe he deserves them. and also believes most people who have them don't deserve them, and thus, he has few qualms about stealing them. but also never trusts he'll be able to keep them. look, our lil guy is so conflicted.)

the first time you take him to a drag show, i hope you keep it a surprise. let him gripe and complain the whole way there until the uber driver looks like he wants to scream. look, it's not rocket's fault. he frickin told you he'd had a shitty three cycles since he'd seen you last, and now he just wants to crash on your couch with you and order in sushi and rewatch edward scissorhands (you're not sure how that last part's supposed to help — he always ends up silently crying into his fur two-thirds of the way through). he gets even grumpier when you have to wait outside in the relative cold. once you're finally seated at a small table house-left, he's still sulking and snarking, to the point that you almost wanna wring his furry neck yourself.

but then the music starts. maybe a little aretha franklin. gloria gaynor, or some classic cher. yeah, i'm guessing the show stars with cher. slow, silky, low notes pouring out over the stage. strong enough, maybe. when the first queen steps out, rocket's jaw actually drops. by the time the bright pop of disco-synth hits the song, you'd swear the mirrorball is reflecting little stars and hearts into his candied-apple eyes. he's drinking it all in: the drama, the sly and exaggerated winks that put his own oversized winking habits to shame — the gowns, the sequins, the feathers, the heels. the long lashes and sultry stagecraft, the pageantry, the snark, the fun. the music, the theatre of it all, the spotlights and the perfections and the imperfections — and the brightness, like staring into the spiritual equivalent of an anulax battery explosion.

you leave him at some point, just for a moment —making your way to the bar, bringing back the sugary tequila cocktails he's lately taken to liking so much — and he doesn't even touch it. maybe takes a sip, but forgets it's there. it's probably the first time you've seen rocket ignore an opportunity to get at least slightly buzzed (hey, he's made progress in recent years). but this time, the temptation isn't even present. he's staring at the stage, swaying and bopping to the lip-synced lyrics — completely glitterdrunk. he's fixated on the satin corsets and the braying laughter and the ribald jokes, the irreverence that somehow feels like coming home, and all the while he’s wondering what his own long claws would look like if they were painted that color.

it's not like rocket hasn't seen theatrical gender performance before. it's a common-enough phenomenon in deep space, where there are as many expressions of identity as there are stars in the sky. a lot of cultures are far more chill about crossing gender lines or leaning into extreme caricatures, for a kaleidoscope of reasons. some planets don't even have lines to cross, either because gender is a nonconstruct or because it's so extremely flux that it might as well be superfluid helium.

but there's something about this kind of performance that just hits different for rocket. he probably doesn't know enough terran history to understand what he's picking up on. sure, in the far-reaches of the galaxy, diverse gender expression may be the norm — but here on terra, there are conservatives and bioessentialists and police raids and worse. what rocket sees — folded in between the blade-sharp eyeliner and the spun-sugar wigs and the gunmetal-glint of sequins — is rebellion. it's the core blazing fire of demanding the right to be exactly who you are or who you want to be, even if only for a moment. it’s throwing fists when you have to and protecting your people when you can. it's the freedom to give an acrylic-tipped middle-finger to anyone who ever thought they had the right to reinvent you according to their idea of perfection.

it's a fuck-you to every high evolutionary out there, herbert e wyndham or otherwise.

and — maybe more importantly — it’s not just the struggle. in the face of every hostile neighbor and violent lawmaker, it’s taking back some fucking joy.

rocket can taste it.

which is probably why he doesn't want to leave, even after the show draws to a close and someone's yelling about last call. by the time you finally convince him to go out to the sidewalk and wait for your uber back home, a small number of the queens are departing as well — clustered on the sidewalk like gems snatched from taneleer tivan's jewelry box. you don't think you've ever seen this damn raccoon treat an adult-humie-stranger with anything softer than semi-polite suspicion — yourself included — but suddenly, he's turning up the charm, sidling up to the ladies to thank them for their performance.

the queens, of course, are immediately smitten. who's this handsome fucking dreamboat, and how’d he get those biceps, and does he want a selfie? rocket lets them coo over him with exaggerated, syrupy delight — not even snapping when one of them scritches his ears. he shrugs and juts his thumb at you and gives one of them your goddamn phone number, and they squish in for the aforementioned snapshot. he's got big ol' lipstick-prints in his fur already and when someone raises a paint-arched brow and comments suggestively on the many possible uses of his tail, rocket finally sinks into that familiar shit-eating smirk.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it. for a couple seconds there, you’d barely even recognized him.

the uber pulls up and the queens pout — how did the surly jackass who steals your pillow and eats all your lucky charms manage to dazzle them all in less than five minutes? — and when rocket gets in the vehicle, he immediately goes quiet in that way he does — suddenly pensive. thoughtful.

your phone buzzes. it's the selfie of him and the goddamn queens. you lean over and show it to him, and he nods, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. His tail flicks on the seat between you, and his ears twitch as he turns to look out the window.

thanks.

you startle when he speaks, despite the fact that you usually can't get him to shut up. but the quiet gratitude sits between you on the bench like a third passenger in the backseat of the car, studded with distant stars and the receding lights of the city.

no problem, you say slowly. i knew you'd like it — i just didn't know how much. you tilt your head. maybe trust me the next time i tell you i wanna take you somewhere.

he scoffs quietly, but the sound is only made of soft camaraderie and old habit. and then — slowly, like the words are hard to find between stoplights and midnight shadows — he adds, this was... special.

you can hear him swallow. his head is still turned to peer out his window, but you can see the ghost of his reflection in the glass: eyes red as lollipops and sour candy, sometimes turning flat-gold with the passing light. His eyelids flicker shut, then reopen.

some asshole once told me— he starts. stops. swallows again. clears his throat. some asshole once told me we all had this — this sacred fuckin' mission to — to take a cacophony of sounds and turn it into a song.

you can hear the words he's quoting, and his voice drips thick with disdain — and also maybe some uncertainty. some vulnerability. whoever it was who'd said this thing to him — it had cut deep, and put down venomous roots. but you don't respond. not yet. you've learned to wait in moments like this — to let the silence curl around you both, low and comforting as old quilts.

but this, he says finally, four blocks later. this was like... taking songs and turning them into a cacophony. but of — of good things. his brows crease in his reflection, and you an see his eyes flick back and forth, searching the darkness.

a cacophony of liberation, you suggest quietly. and of — joy, and reclamation, and — togetherness, i guess.

he lets out a breath so heavy that his shoulders drop when they're free of it. you stretch across the bench-seat, and you know he's watching your hand reach for him in the window's reflection — but he doesn't draw away from you, not even when you card your fingers through the soft fur at the base of his ears, tousling a soft cloud of pixie-dust sparkle into the air.

and of glitter, you add lightly. you hear the uber driver muffle a grunt of dismay.

but rocket just smirks out the window.

yeah, he says, and it takes a second for you to realize that even though he's agreeing with you, he's also confirming something he's been turning over in the privacy of his own head — all night, maybe. when he repeats himself under his breath, it sounds — it sounds like a soft new bandage, almost. like he’d gone to check on a wound he’d thought had turned to rot, only to learn the the scar’s looking clean and smooth and healthy, and healing up just right.

yeah. that fucker was frickin' wrong.

as per frickin' usual.

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raccoon & star dividers by @/thecutestgrotto support banners by @/saradika-graphics

gotg rocket

[doggirlbuffysummers]

This is just like unfiltered thoughts but like. honestly I feel like BTVS is a "feminist" show in a similar fashion to the "anti-capitalism" of numerous shows on services such as Amazon prime or apple TV or the like (big corporations that are a part of the problem with capitalism) that portray capitalism as unquestionably bad but also as this inexorable force that the protagonists can fight but never overcome. Buffy fights lots and lots of misogynistic characters but the show isn't actually interested in pushing back against the misogynistic tropes that are so prevalent in our society, so Buffy ends up facing misogyny from her friends that isn't presented as such. It presents misogyny not as a societal problem that needs societal solutions but as an individual problem that needs to be solved by individuals (almost always women).

If you take this post out of context as "Buffy's friends are shitty and awful" instead of as a problem with the writers I am stabbing you with hammers.

[orangechickenpillow]

I think regardless of whether or not this is a bad idea, or the fact that watcher needs funds to create these shows (which is real and valid), whether this works out for them or not, ultimately, this change is going to result in the loss of community.

Let's be so real: people are going to record their new stuff and post it on youtube, or other piracy sites. That's just a fact. People do it with netflix, they do it with hulu and apple tv and movies, etc. etc. People are going to find ways to watch watcher's shows without paying for them. But, if I were to go and watch the next season of ghost files on a piracy site (cannot believe I just made that sentence, btw), the thing is, I'm not going to come and post about it here on tumblr. When the previous seasons dropped, I was making posts while I was watching, just of my thoughts and stuff -- and I was liking other people's posts they were making while they were watching. And it was a great time of us all reacting to the episode. But now, if people are able to find the content for free, there's not going to be any of that. We'll watch it, and maybe we'll be able to enjoy it despite all of this, but even if we post about it, it's not going to feel like a community anymore because so many people will be out of the loop. So many people won't know what's going on, or what we're talking about, because they weren't able to watch it. Even if you take out the piracy aspect, that's what you're going to have. The fandom (or, unfortunately, what's left of it, if we're being real) will turn into People Who Have The Subscription and People Who Don't.

This is so long and dramatic, and I've got things to do today that don't revolve around internet shows, but even so: I feel like we have the right to vent our feelings and then move on however we see fit, so that's what I'm gonna do. Last thing I'll say (for now at least lol) is that I understand why watcher is doing this, I understand that raising enough funds to do what you want is hard, I understand that above all they are a company that wants to do ambitious things and will need the money to do so. That being said, this has created a shitty situation for a lot of people who have been watching their content for 9 plus years (because really, the watcher shows were an extension of their buzzfeed shows) for free and are now being faced with a "pay or don't watch at all" ultimatum. So, I get why they did it, and I get why people are upset.

[simtchnamedaustin]

maybe don't start a simblr three days before you leave the country for a month!

the perfectionist and cas enthusiast in me is grieving because reshade/gshade and blender don't work on mac. was on like page eighteen of google trying to find a mac and sims friendly shader 😭

my sim style changed a lot and i'm really excited about that! here are some shitty screenshots of my updated simself. get to know me below the cut🤍

🍈💿🧅austin🦕🥥🧶

i have an unfinished balaclava i need to find time to finish knitting

currently reading "women, race, and class" by angela davis, but i just bought "crying in h-mart"

i love tea, my favorite is this lemon ginger tea my mom got from who knows where

tinted moisturizer > foundation

computer science major💻, but i plan on restarting my college experience because I want to major in media studies

i'm a twenty year old may taurus🐂

at my old serving job we ate for free and I miss the food everyday

current musical genre fixation is old school jazz (ray charles, nina simone, chicago gangsters) and indie/alternative women (faye webster, florence + the machine)

i love food, cooking, watching others cook and i'll try anything once

trying to build a new skincare routine after accidentally shattering most of my skincare

my current show is physical on apple tv, but i'm rewatching yellowjackets with my cousin.

i am a leech and pay for none of my streaming services

despite my simself having hairy arms I actually have next to no hair on my arms. a senior year bio lab actually showed that I have damn near no hair follicles on my arm

i really want to pick up ceramics and zine making as a hobby

i'm insanely good at stretching money

the first time I tried creme brûlée my aunt took us to this expansive traditional french restaurant in paris and I was extremely underwhelmed, but now its come to be my beloved dessert

I love everything fashion, pls don't bother me on met gala day unless it's about the met gala

aquaphor, that's it

i love 🍃, i prefer hybrids, and i love to roll, it's like a form of arts and crafts

[atrueneutral]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thanks for the tag, @theemptyislost! ❤️

Self-love, eh? lol I feel a smidge awkward doing this, but I'm going to bite the bullet and do it anyways. 🤸‍♀️

[He Will Be All She Knows] [Baldur's Gate 3: Raphael x Tav] Tav dun goofed in going to the House of Hope alone (with some cheese as a kind parting gift). Raphael didn't like that. In response, he spends a year planning his revenge, but, oops! Developments arise between a mouse and a rat-fucking-bastard.

My first foray into writing fanfic since 2002, and no, you can't read my shitty InuYasha fanfics that I wrote when I was twelve. (Well, technically, you can... they're still online... but moving on...)

[Blood in the Wine] [Balder's Gate 3 AU: Raphael x Tav / Astarion x Tav] A monk who has nothing to hide gains entry to an abbey run by a man she suspects isn't a man at all. There are secrets to uncover at what many call the House of Hope...

Stretching my legs with this one. Research is involved as well as carefully arranging my pieces on the board to ensure this plot delivers Glorious Payoffs. Like HWBASK, I know *exactly* where this is going. Just 👏 gotta 👏 keep👏 writing 👏 the 👏 damn 👏 thing. I will finish this story!

The rest under the cut.

[May - June - July] [Fallout TV Show: The Ghoul x Lucy MacLean] Lucy's been having thoughts about a certain Ghoul, and she decides to take matters into her own hand upon finding a lovely pin-up calendar.

The moment I saw these characters... I said, 'I'm going to ship them, aren't I?' And... I did. I do. So this is my sole contribution to the fandom and the ship. Some playful smut.

[Truths] [Baldur's Gate 3: Raphael x Tav] Raphael made dinner, but Tav isn't hungry. Raphael makes Tav eat anyways, and she doesn't like the food.

A Raphael POV chapter from HWBASK. He's a cambion with complicated (icky) feelings he wants to deny, but I won't let him.

[O, Apple of His Eye] [Baldur's Gate 3: Raphael x Tav] Raphael and Tav can't escape each other - no matter the timeline or universe.

My collection of prompts and drabbles and other ideas involving these two. I view these as fun exercises for writing, and the prompts have been great fun to navigate. Thank you everyone who has contributed.

I'll hit up some inboxes, but no pressure.