#Should I call them Windmile?

[d34dbr4in]

MAY THE YURI BE UPON YOU 🗣️‼️

They are girlfriends because I said so and they were very dear to me.

[thevioletcaptain]

the ashes by imogenbynight

1.2k | mature | deancas

a 13.01 coda with dean scattering cas' ashes. technically this is canon compliant but i feel like i need to trigger warn for like… cannibalism? not really but. man. idk.

Dean sits with the ashes when they get back to the bunker. Sits with them and stares and goes a little insane with it, until he can’t stop imagining himself cracking open the lid and reaching his fingers inside.

Would Cas be soft? Chalky, velvety, like the white-charred remnants of driftwood after a bonfire? Would he be rough as his voice; as the sand his pyre had been built upon?

With a belly full of fire and whisky and desperate unease, he stares and stares as his thoughts spiral. As he thinks about pressing his damp index finger into the ash and raising it to his mouth. Swallowing it down and letting Cas become a part of him.

He could keep Cas forever that way; absorbed into his being.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Years ago, they worked a case where a young couple had been so frantic with love, intensified to the trillionth degree by the cruel touch of famine, that they'd eaten one another alive. Torn into each other's flesh with teeth as they clung together, ecstatic and bloody. Dean remembers feeling as confused as he was revolted by what had seemed to him a far-too-literal leap from desire to hunger.

Now, though, he kind of understands it.

Because it wasn't hunger, exactly, that lead to such a violent conclusion. It was need, followed through to its inevitable end. And he gets it now. Gets wanting to take the one you love into yourself and keep them there always. To hold them so wholly that they become a part of you, so you can never be parted again.

Of course, that's the thing that stops him, in the end. Not what should have stopped him--not the sick, visceral horror of what ultimately equates to eating his best friend's remains, no matter how he spins it--but the fact that tying Cas to himself in such an irreversible way feels like a betrayal. A punishment to Cas' spirit, however much of it still exists. He can't do that. Can't force whatever part of Cas' grace or soul might linger in the ash to endure however many years Dean has left as a part of him. Can't tether Cas so selfishly in death when Cas had never seemed to want to stay with him in life.

Cas might have been the love of Dean's miserable fucking life, but he's not under any illusions that the feeling ran both ways.

He learned early that it wasn't even possible--learned before he'd even fully slipped into loving Cas himself. Learned before he ever could have known how important it would be to him. Anna had told him, point blank, and he'd seen the difference in her. Human, feeling; angel, cold. And sure, Cas has come a long way -- had come along way by the end. He feels. Dean knows he feels, and feels for him, in particular. But his capacity for it is limited, and it's never been clearer than in his ability to leave Dean behind at a moment's notice. He's detached. Was detached.

So he can't force Cas to be a part of him. Would never forgive himself.

When he had eventually started falling, he'd hoped the knowledge that nothing could ever come of it would help keep him from toppling headfirst into something deeper than a fleeting infatuation. He hadn't been so lucky.

And now here he is, staring down a can labeled Cafe Bustelo Medium Roast and thinking the kind of thoughts that make his stomach turn in endlessly cycling fits of longing and revulsion, all because he fell in love.

It's half past five in the morning when he decides he can't keep the ashes in the bunker. Can't have the sick temptation. Less because he thinks he's actually going to do it, and more because he knows he won't be able to stop thinking about it whenever he sees the tin. So he scoops up the tin, and creeps down to the garage to the Impala, and drives west on US-36. 

Keeps driving until the rising sun starts turning the sky in his rearview a pale shade of pink, and he sees a few lonely lightning bugs blinking in and out of view on an quiet roadside near Phillipsburg.

He's pulled over before he's consciously decided to do so.

It's a pretty spot, is his first thought. Tall grass and scattered wildflowers spanning the open meadow which slopes down to a stream. A rusted old windmill stands vigil over the scene, slowly spinning in the gentle breeze.

Cas would like it here, is his second thought. Would gaze up at the windmill and make some observation about the ingenuity of human invention, and crouch down to watch the fireflies as they gently sink back into the grass at the arrival of the sun. 

The image is so clear in Dean's mind that he forgets, just for a second, that Cas is gone. Or-- he doesn't forget, exactly. He just isn't thinking about it so directly. Is so focused on the visual of Cas in the tall grass beside him, on the memory of his voice and the way his long fingers would look dipping between blade of grass that when he looks back down at his hands, at the coffee can he's holding with white-knuckled grip, the reminder of why he's here is harsh enough to leave him winded.

"I woulda brought you here," he says once he's caught his breath, like Cas can hear him, but it's a lie. They rarely had downtime, and whenever they did Cas almost always took off. Dean was lucky to get him to stick around long enough to watch a movie, most of the time. But he'd have wanted to bring him here. That much is true. He would have wanted to.

"I hope--" he starts, then stops, drawing his lip between his teeth and looking first to the sky, then to the ground, then just closing his eyes. Taking several deep breaths. "Man... Cas. Cas, I hope you're--"

Okay. Safe. Alright. Fuck, but all the words he has equate to alive, and with me, and whole, and underneath them all an unwavering current of coming home soon. Anything else feels like another lie. His throat clicks on a swallow.

"I hope you're happy," he says finally, and pries the can open. Stares down at the small cloud of ash that rises with it. "I'm gonna miss you for fucking ever, but wherever you are... I really hope you're happy."

With the windmill at his back, and the field of flowers spread out before him, he lets Cas' ashes run through his fingers as he gives him over to the earth, and he doesn't notice the texture at all. He's too busy thinking about how Cas' hand felt in his the last time he'd helped him to stand. How heavy he'd been, then. How light he is now.

It's not until he's preparing to return to his car, wrung out and cracked open and raw as an exposed nerve, that he notices the thin cut on his ring finger. He must have nicked it on the coffee can, or the fence, or the dry grass, and it doesn't hurt, but-- his blood is swelling from it in a bright red drop, and his hands are dusty with ash. His heart lurches at the sight of Cas' ash and his own blood mingling.

He raises his finger to his mouth.

Cas is holy on his tongue.

[also on ao3]

[butchwink]

anyway check out billions of eyes by lady lamb sound of the summer. its about aly and i meeting in montreal during the after tour after it was out already and i caught the greyhound back to ottawa just in time after the show she just playing forever. i had to run out to catch the bus dipshit!! i barely made my train?? fuck off via rail you couldve had this one if getting a job was a fucking possibility in this fucking hotsuit. im the scariest bitch in town and no one will give me experience but restaurants as a dj and dish and back of house miscellaneous helper of sorts. the real coach who closes shop and cleans the place. and fuck this wage bullsit

its all peanuts

[beauty-funny-trippy]

Reasons why we know there's something wrong with Grandpa:

• believes immigrants are eating their neighbors pets because he heard someone say it on TV (without any evidence) • thinks injecting disinfectant into our veins might be a good idea. (It's definitely not, don't try it.) • claims America's F35 fighter jet is completely invisible, even if you're right next to it (like Wonder Woman's plane)

• praises white supremacists and KKK members who were chanting antisemitic hate speech, calling them "very fine people" • focuses on imaginary issues like preventing children from changing gender while at school, but ignores real problems like school shootings • thought it was a good idea to give away our desperately needed Covid test machines to our adversary ("Grandpa, what have you done?" — he can't be left alone for a minute) • decided to believe Putin's lies, but dismiss findings from America's intelligence agencies • claims America had airplanes during the Revolutionary War

• believes in the Nazi ideology that immigrants are "poisoning the blood of our country," and says some migrants are actually subhuman "animals" • insisted that the U.S. would have fewer coronavirus cases if it conducted less testing (yes, a U.S. president in charge of controlling the crisis, actually said something this inept, repeatedly) • due to his incompetence and lies during the Covid crisis, the U.S. had one of the highest rates of Covid deaths in the world • thinks windmills cause cancer and kill whales • speaks endlessly about his concerns re: dying by electrocution from a boat battery or being eaten by a shark

• thinks he's above the law and, as president, should be able to commit as many crimes as he wants • is a billionaire who whines about how badly he's been treated, then he's chauffeured to his private jet • likes to discuss Arnold Palmer's penis • after NINE years of repeatedly promising to unveil his Healthcare Plan "very soon," he admits he still has no real plan —only "concepts of a plan" • has a bizarre attraction to the fictional cannibal and serial killer, Hannibal Lector (why? no one knows —and everyone's afraid to ask)

• advocates dangerous plots, like using the military against Americans who disagree with him, or using the DOJ to arrest them, or just telling people to "beat the crap out of them" and he'll pay their legal fees • thinks having a national day of violence is a good idea (we should never have let Grandpa watch "The Purge") • wants to be the "law and order president," yet this 34 time convicted felon incites people to riot and to commit criminal acts of violence • unable to take the loss of an election like a man, he had a temper tantrum like a toddler, that culminated in a treasonous insurrection

⠀This guy is so delusional, he claims he's a genius because he often speaks incoherently in something he calls "the Weave." Here are two examples: • "How disgusted were all when we see all of us are when we see three days ago when we viewed their parade." Asheboro, NC, 8/21/24 • When asked, "What specific legislation will you commit to, to make child care affordable?" He responded, “Well, I would do that, and we’re sitting down, you know; I was, somebody, we had Senator Marco Rubio and my daughter, Ivanka, who was so impactful on that issue. ...But I think when you talk about the kind of numbers that I’m talking about that because the childcare is childcare, couldn’t, you know, there’s something you have to have it, in this country you have to have it.” New York, NY, 9/5/24 ⠀If this was anybody else's Grandpa, the family would be having discussions about who's going to go with Grandpa to the doctor to find out what's wrong with him, and who's going to be in charge of finding him a nice convalescent home to live in. ⠀My suggestion is that it might be a good idea to elect a president who has no cognitive impairment and can tell the difference between reality and delusions. Personally, I think that's a rather important quality in a president.

[strangestcase]

man Im so glad classic literary characters don't have Tumblr could you imagine. What the fuck would Frankenstein post about…

0 notes

⚡️ transfem-prometheus Follow

She Cornelius on my Agrippa till I perform the Great Work

📓 miltonreader Follow

I just killed your cousin btw

⚡️ transfem-prometheus Follow

Make your own post????

18k notes

🪳 saamsa

I hate my dad

#gregor rambles

1 note

🐶 wardogz Follow

THINGS MY ROOMMATE KNOWS ABOUT:

-identifying tobacco brands by the ash

-disarming men in close combat

-creating cyphers

-the complete history of English crime

-forensic chemistry

THINTS MY ROOMMATE DOESNT KNOW ABOUT:

-heliocentrism

35k notes

🐈‍⬛ vanishing-cat Follow

Cats are the opposite of dogs. Cats are autistic. Therefore, dogs are neurotypical.

🌼 curiouslittlegirl Follow

You might be onto something here

♥️ croquetfreak Follow

Who painted my roses red ⁉️

62 notes

🔪 choirboy Follow

Im so running this island call me Usain Bolt

3 notes

🎩 hydeinside Follow

Putting gummy worms in blue rum to create a cocktail called “the pussy fucker” . Complete with pickle juice. Forflavour

🧪 dualityofjekyll Follow

UPDATE: don’t do this

#laboratory logs #ooooh fuck my stomach

7k notes

👰🏽‍♀️ brideintheattic Follow

Crawling

👰🏽‍♀️ brideintheattic Follow

Crawling

👰🏽‍♀️ brideintheattic Follow

My stupid cunt husband is remarrying I’m burning his fucking shit down

👰🏽‍♀️ brideintheattic Follow

Crawling again

24 notes

⚔️ caballer0s0 Follow

im gonna fight these giants

🫏 eeeeescudero Follow

They’re fucking windmills

⚔️ caballer0s0 Follow

Im gonna fight them

79k notes

🫅🏼doubtful-prince

[prinz-myshkin]

Hello! I love your art! I am starting to get back into art after many years, and wanted to animate it. What app do you use to animate things? Do you have any recommendations how to get started? Thank you!

Hey thanks so much! I use a program called Krita, it's free, it's great, it's got the basics of frame animation which is all I really care about. I guess my best advice is that whenever you start an animation project you might benefit from starting simple and adding complexity later. Animation gets frustrating fast whenever something is off and it gets tricky to fix or "get right" when it's in the context of all the frames surrounding it. In my fish loops I started with drawing a ball that stretched and flattened as it moved around and then went over it and added eyes, fins etc. to fit the movement. I think I would have gotten frustrated if I started with a whole complex shape and wouldn't have known where to go next. It's a muscle though and gets easier as you do it.

Pretty much everyone getting into animation I think finds this ancient series of chronophotographs by Eadweard Muybridge showing a horse in motion

It's great and a cool bit of photography history, and I made an exercise of it to try and copy it when I wanted to get into animation. I felt it helped me make sense of what is important in making an image move in a fluid way. It's a fun and not too daunting task, you might want to try it yourself.

Tilting at windmills

Also, if you just animate the bottom half of the horse you won't have to do as much work, so you should do that

As for the program itself, you can make layers static or add keyframes to them to make stuff happen, click window > animation to change the screen to access that part. Make a drawing, hit next frame and turn on onionskin so you can see where you were the frame before

The krita forums are also really helpful if anything technical goes wrong

Hope this helps! And also wasn't too much or too little information :)

[margowritesthings]

The French Are Glad To Die For Love

A Bridgerton x Moulin Rouge crossover

pairing: Colin Bridgerton x ? word count: 2.1k words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, un-beta'd, mentions of sex, spitting, lots of debauchery authors note: surpriiise! i have been sitting on this since part 1, so to celebrate part 2 tomorrow here's my new mini-series! i have never written for Colin before, so i'm nervous, but i loved writing this.

i also need your help! i cannot decide if this mini series should be Colin x reader or a Polin fic, where Penelope is Satine. I have created a poll here for you to vote, so please let me know!

and as always, enjoy! it's been a hot minute since I last published, so thank you if you're still here.

Bridgerton Masterlist

The stars sparkle especially brightly tonight, the crimson lanterns guiding Parisians and tourists alike through the winding streets, and Colin Bridgerton stands in awe of it all. 

He’d read stories, heard tales of this place during long nights at Whites, but nothing could have quite prepared him for what lay ahead of him, a long string of lights hanging in the sky leading the way to his destination. 

The Moulin Rouge. 

A house of debauchery and sin, of freedom and truth, filled to the brim with bohemians and artists and beautiful women unlike anything or anyone he’s ever seen before. Even now, 30 feet away from the illuminated windmill, he can hear the music and the joy spilling out from the building. His senses are filled with the perfume of hundreds of women passing him by the minute, all with real, toothy grins he rarely has the pleasure of seeing back home. It is far too impolite to be so happy in London society. 

Colin steps forwards, his boots crunching against the gravel and his coattails flying in the breeze. His shoulders brush more wonderfully merry, positively inebriated partygoers on his way in, catching odd fragments of conversations that would have scandalised him and his whole family were he elsewhere. 

But he wasn’t elsewhere. He was here, in the city of love, away from anybody who had ever known the name Bridgerton. His clean slate clutched close to his chest, waiting to find out what will be written on it next, Colin feels the fresh air on his face for the last time before his life is changed forever.

The heat hits him first, a symptom he knew all too well of too many people packed into a small space. But unlike every ball he’s been to, this doesn’t feel claustrophobic or fusty. It feels alive. 

There is a feast for the eye wherever one looks. Burlesque dancers showing off stockings and garters by kicking their legs up, toes pointing towards the aerial hoops holding acrobats hanging from the ceiling. Gentlemen, if you can call them that in this state, wearing top hats, arm in arm with their glasses raised high, spilling their contents all over the wooden floor. 

The music blasts loud from each instrument the band masterfully pluck or blow or bang, but laughter and conversation buzzes amongst the melodies. It is a near overwhelming amount of joy, one Colin certainly could use a drink to wash it down with. 

If he could just find the bar…

Bodies fill his view, so entangled in each other it is difficult to tell where one starts and another ends. Frilly skirts flow over the knees of suits as ladies dangle from the necks of patrons, sharing cigars and passing around bottles of an unknown green liquid. Rosy cheeks as far as the eye can see, wether from too much of that green stuff or the exertion of all that dancing, Colin can’t be sure. Between them all, in tiny empty spaces, he can just about make out rows of bottles and glasses. 

Weaving through the crowd is like treading through water, but their energy and joy seems to rub off on him. There isn’t a dance card in sight, women choosing their partners themselves whenever they like with a freedom Colin isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Is this truly what people are designed to be when they are free?

Eventually, his hands find the sticky wood of the bar, quickly lifting themselves back off it on instinct at the sensation. When Colin looks to his left, he sees a woman pouring a shot of liquor between her breasts, a man knelt below her waiting to lick it back up, and he quickly realises why the bar feels so tacky- every surface here seems to be host to someone’s revelry. 

“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, monsieur. Can I get you a drink?”

Colin’s attention is quickly pulled by the welcome, his gaze snapping to a tall French woman dripping with red jewels that compliment her rich brown skin perfectly. She is captivating to be sure, deep hazel eyes commanding Colin’s attention, competing with the most incredible curls of hair he has ever seen. Ladies of the ton are welcome no matter their race back home, but Colin has never seen a lady allowed to wear her hair so beautifully natural before. The Afro framing her face has more tiny rubies that sparkle under the cabaret lights, and Colin is speechless. 

“I…uh, pardon me, Miss, I-“ he sighs, giving up entirely at his failed attempt at decorum, “Is it so obvious I have never been here before?” 

She laughs, gems twinkling as her head shakes with mirth. 

“Not at all, but most gentlemen who have been here before know to wear a top hat. And there’s that look in your eye…” 

As she speaks, she pours out one finger of the green liquor Colin has spotted a few times already, sliding it along the wood towards him. 

“Wonder. Drink this. It will help with the nerves.” 

Colin looks down, finding himself fascinated with a drink that seems to glow of its own volition. He has smoked blends and meditated with world weary travellers from across the globe, drank tea containing unknown substances that left him staring at blades of grass as if they held the worlds secrets, and yet this… whatever it is, seems to terrify him.

The barmaid laughs again, that melodic sound with the real joy Colin very much enjoys. 

“It’s only absinthe, monsieur. Loosens the inhibitions, relaxes the body…” she explains, pouring a second out for herself and lifting it to him as if to prove her credibility. 

“Santé.” He toasts to health.

“Amour.” She toasts to something far greater.

It leaves no room for argument, and all Colin can do is lift his own glass and tap it against hers. 

It burns his tongue, leaving a fiery trail down his throat as he swallows and tries not to cough and splutter. A bitter yet herby anise flavour fights with his taste buds and seems to seep straight into his mind, teasing at those tense knots that held him back from fully immersing himself here. 

When his eyes eventually reopen, he finds the barmaid beaming at him, unphased by her own potion. Rather used to it, if she shares a glass with every newcomer, he should think.

“Be careful, though, monsieur. Many a man has spent a night with the stuff and swears he fell in love with a fairy dressed all in green. Ruined him for any other woman for the rest of his life…” She speaks words that belong in fairytale, with a tone containing such severity Colin is inclined to take every single one of them as gospel. 

“I dare say I should be careful, then. I do not think this green fairy would want to join the rest of my travels when she can instead entice all of Paris’ men to sin…” 

The residue of the liquor smells just as strong as the full measure, which Colin tries to blink out of his senses when he puts the glass back on the bar.

Almost as if society itself had cleared its throat at him, Colin remembers himself, remembers just where he is. Undoubtedly the most unique establishment he had ever set foot in, but an establishment all the same. 

“I beg your pardon, miss, I seem to forget myself. How much do I owe you for the drink?”

She considers him.

“Hm,  the absinthe I think… for you, a kiss.” 

Colin, already pulling coins from his breast pocket, pauses, a little grin tugging at the corner of his lip. The francs clink together when they fall back to the bottom of his pocket, a long forgotten currency of the past. It’s a perfect reminder of just how different things are here, how easily walls crumble between strangers and connection is offered so freely. He has never kissed a woman he has not paid for back home, so afraid of getting too close to another in case they ruin each other. Here, a beautiful woman leans over the bar, offering her flushed cheek for him to softly press his lips against. 

And he does. 

And it is lovely. 

“If any more handsome men capture the eye of Mademoiselle Belle, I will surely be out of business!” A loud, hearty voice pulls Colin from one blissful moment back into the party.

He regards a rather large man, clad in a red tailcoat and stunning golden waistcoat. His top hat, near the same to all the other gentlemen in the room but somehow grander, tops wild orange curls that match a fantastic handlebar moustache. A true ring leader to this wonderful circus of debauchery Colin has found himself in. 

“Harold Zidler, at your service. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.” 

“Colin Bridgerton.” He replies, offering a hand that Harold seems bemused at. Unsurprising, considering what passes for currency around here. Nonetheless, Harold shakes the offered hand. 

”I must say, your establishment is rather…” he hesitates, unable to find a word in any language he has picked up along his travels that quite captures the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps he could blame the absinthe, or the intoxicating hedonism he feels rooting its way through his mind, hidden in the brass notes from the band and thrown with each cancan kick of one of the dancers that surrounds him. 

Luckily, Harold seems well used to this phenomenon. 

“Isn’t it? And you have seen nothing yet! I assume you are not from around here?”

”It is rather obvious, I have been told.” Colin adds a glance to Miss Belle, who’s skirt frills bounce in the lights while she shakes up a cocktail. He adds, “London.” 

”Well, Monsieur Bridgerton, I promise you that what we have here in the Moulin Rouge is unlike anything you have back home in London.” 

Colin’s eye is caught again across the room, as a beautiful woman with blonde tumbling waves spits a drink into a man’s mouth. 

“I am inclined to agree with you there.” 

It truly is unlike anything back home. Colin has travelled across Europe and back again, seen incredible sights and met wonderful people. He has felt that ease that distance from London society and its unwritten laws and social rules that bind him back home can bring. He’s seen beauty and felt freedom and thought he might have found truth somewhere along the way, but it pales to whatever is contained within these four walls. 

In truth, it couldn’t be farther from London society.

”Just wait until you see my Diamond, Monsieur.”

… Perhaps not. 

Intrigue hits Colin as Harold pulls out a pocket watch on a brilliant gold chain. 

“Your diamond?”

”My Sparkling Diamond. The main attraction of the Moulin Rouge, my most sought after little chickee.” He speaks proudly, with a mist in his eye Colin normally finds on ambitious Mamas at grand balls, secretly trying to auction their daughters off to the highest rank. 

“I do not believe she is booked yet for tonight…” Harold adds, that mist darkening, disappearing, leaving a shiver stuck between Colin’s shoulder blades.

Not because this Diamond is a courtesan. Colin is hardly a stranger to the profession, and he bears no judgement. In truth, he admires the women he has been known to spend the night with, finding the courage of living outside society so freely quite brave indeed. No, that shiver came from Harold entirely, Colin just cannot figure out why. 

Harold excuses himself, though makes sure Colin knows to stay for the show, and Colin orders a whiskey on the rocks, insisting on paying in cash this time. Though singular in person, he has never felt less alone in his life. Looking around, there isn’t an empty chair in the house. If there were, there wouldn’t be room to put it down for all the dancers and patrons enjoying every ounce of the world they can. Music played straight from the soul ringing in his ears, Colin could make out every instrument. The lights dazzled in his eyes and the spot caught him every so often, lighting his drink up in his hand like golden ambrosia. 

And then, darkness. Silence. 

A single spot, though the mirrors scattered around catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people around him. Everybody is looking upwards, as if they all know she is coming. 

Even if he did know, Colin could never have prepared himself for what he saw when he looked up.

Who he saw.

The Sparkling Diamond, shimmering high on a swing hanging from the ceiling. 

The most beautiful, breathtaking, person he has ever seen. In any city, on any continent in the world. 

Crimson lips part as each and every person hangs on the breath she takes.

”The French are glad to die for love…”

don't forget to vote in the poll for your fmc!

[thegamingcatmom]

Vampire!AU where Mother Miranda takes you as her bride.

...

That is all.

.

.

.

JK-

Right so:

Miranda is obv. the Vampire Queen or whatever.

Alcina and her daughters are vampires too, obv.

So are the maids that were canonically experimented on. (Miranda gotta have some numbers.)

Since we got vampires in there, we also gotta have werewolves, right?

-> Enter Heisenberg and his lycans.

Sal is the butler (aka: The heart and soul of the house, bless him).

Donna is...a mystery.

"The Mold" is basically Miranda´s nest

Eva is alive and kicking.

And a vampire too.

She can be...scary.

Just like Momma.

The "vessel" operation is still going strong. However-

It´s her long deceased wife Miri´s trying to bring back.

Reincarnation style, if you will.

Uhhh, what else...OH-

The villagers are under some sort of vampiric mind control (aka the mold?) that allows Miranda and her coven to feed on them undisturbed.

-> Enter MC (aka The Disturbance).

aka: The bane and salvation of Miranda´s existence.

Miranda is hooked right away for obv. reasons (points to the aforementioned wife thing).

(Eva will be overjoyed to learn her Mama has returned.)

She must have MC.

Their wedding shall be a grand celebration for the whole village to see.

A celebration fit for royalty, as it should-

MC: "Uhhh...excuse me?"

Miranda: *gradually snaps out of her frenzied inner monologue to blink at MC with a mix of confusion and reverence*

MC: "I´m looking for a dude called Heisen...*checks her palm* ...bur-BERG. HeisenBERG. Do you know where I can find him, by chance?"

Miranda: *slow blinking*

MC: *slow blinking too*

Miranda: *remembers this is her soon-to-be bride*

Miranda: "Ah...forgive my...manners. *awkward smile cause being nice is indeed quite awkward, bride or not*...Heisenberg, you say? Why, yes...I am quite familiar with that...man."

Miranda: *fights back an instinctive hiss! cause werewolf*

...

MC: "...O-kay...? Can you tell me where I can find him, then?"

Miranda: *slow blinking*

MC: *slow blinking too*

Miranda, getting sus: "...And to what possible end, if I might ask?"

MC: *tf is that question*

MC, getting annoyed: "...Because I asked...?"

Miranda: *eye starts twitching as she fights back the urge to lash out at the sheer audacity-*

Miranda: *...soon.to.be.bride*

...

Miranda: "...Of course... *dark fake chuckle*...You shall find him in that factory of his. *points down the road* Follow this trail until it splits, then proceed to the right, where you will come across a large windmill. From there, it is rather impossible to miss."

Miranda, under her breath: "Unfortunately..."

MC, who is totally not weirded out by now: "...Okay...thanks. Uh...cya around?"

Miranda: *wedding bells*

Miranda: *satisfied smile starts spreading*

Miranda: "Hm...cya, indeed..."

MC: "..."

Miranda: "..."

MC: *slowly turns around and continues down the road*

Miranda: "...Little bat?"

MC: *stops in her tracks*

MC: *hesitantly turns around cause, despite being the only other person present besides Strange Lady, she still doubts whether that nickname was actually meant for her cause...whut?*

MC: "...Yes?"

Miranda: *satisfied smile becomes even more satisfied because her term of endearment has been accepted*

Miranda: *turns serious all of a sudden*

Miranda, doing her vampire compelling thing: "...Tell me."

MC, without hesitation: "He´s my uncle."

...

Miranda:

.

.

.

This was supposed to be a sexy vampire thing and then it turned into reincarnation & vampires vs werewolves with MC in the middle of it all cause our girl might just be the only one capable of uniting their worlds and ending a war that has been raging for centuries.

(Could this war have anything to do with a certain someone dying at the hands of a certain someone else? Good question. 🤔)

And it all starts with a (rather questionable) marriage.

THAT IS ALL.

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This post was brought to you by The Invitation - a (rather poorly made) movie about vampires.

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EDIT:

NO BUT LISTEN-

Miranda going "I'll take what is due", just like she did in Resi Village? Except what is "due" is her wife, who died at the hands of one of the lycans? Or even Heisenberg himself??

Miranda going "I've waited so long for you..." when she meets MC, just like she did in Shadows of Rose when she met Rose??

THOUGHTS FEELS IDEAS 😭

(Dammit, I might actually have to write it now cause I am OBSESSED. 😩🤌)

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Everyone immediately spreads out to look for El. They can’t find her inside the house anywhere, so they spread out outside, calling her name as they go.

“El!”

“Eleven?”

“El, please!”

Steve barely has time to get his arms up before something barrels into him, almost knocking him over. He shouts in surprise, windmilling his arms to try to stay up, and looks down to see El, face tucked in his stomach, arms tight around his waist. He smiles and wraps his arms around her. “Hey, El.”

She pulls back to look at him seriously. “I am glad you are here.”

He smiles. “Yeah. Me too.” He suddenly frowns. “So, you know-”

She nods. “You feel different.”

Steve grins. “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that’s a good different. Robin, too, y’know. We both came back together.”

“I know.”

By this point his shout had attracted everyone’s attention, and they’re all gathered around Steve and El. He looks at them. “How about we move this back inside?” He suggests. “Give us a second.”

Robin meets his eyes and nods, herding everyone inside, and Steve feels immensely grateful that she was brought back with him, that she’s his friend. “El?” He asks, forcing himself to focus. “Why’d you leave?”

She shrugs and buries her face in his stomach again. “Loud.”

“Oh,” Steve murmurs. “Think you can come find me next time things get too loud? That way either I can tell them to shut up, or you can go into a different room for a while. At least someone will know where you are.” He strokes a hand over her head. “I don’t have to tell you what’s in these woods. I know you’re more dangerous, but we’re not. I’d rather not risk it until we have to.”

“Okay. I am sorry.”

“I know. And it’s not your fault.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “We can blame Eddie.” She giggles, and he grins, proud to have made her laugh. “Ready to go inside?”

“Ready,” she nods, grabbing Steve’s hand and squeezing it. He squeezes back, a quick pump, and together they walk inside to see everyone sitting quietly in the living room, waiting for them.

“You wanna go sit down?” He asks quietly, and she hesitates, then nods, moving to sit by Mike.

“Okay,” he says, as Robin moves to stand next to him. “I’m sure you all have plenty of questions.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, “how’d you know about El?”

“We’re from the future,” Robin says.

“Right, cause that makes sense,” Dustin says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You have cleidocranial dysplasia. You’d never tell your mom, but you’re being bullied at school because of it. Your favorite movie series is Star Wars. You’re a brat with an attitude problem, but you’re smart, which means most people don’t call you on it.” Dustin’s eyes are wide. “Do you believe me?” Dustin nods.

“He’s telling the truth,” El says quietly to Mike, who looks between her and Steve before finally nodding. “Okay.”

Steve sighs. “We’re here because everything that’s going on—El, Will, Barb—it doesn’t stop. It gets worse. More people die. We want to stop it before it gets to that point.”

“Okay,” Nancy says, leaning forward. “How do we do that?”

“We don’t exactly know,” Robin admits. “We’re rewriting history just sitting here talking. We can tell you that Will’s alive. In danger, but alive. Barb we don’t know about.”

“El,” Steve asks quietly. “Could you find her?” She nods, and he turns the TV on, changing it to a channel filled with static. “Robs, I have a blindfold in my room. Second drawer in my nightstand.”

“Got it,” she says, racing upstairs.

He moves the coffee table out of the way and looks at El. “If you’re not ready-”

“I am,” she promises. “But I need quiet.”

“It’ll be quiet,” he assures her, smiling at Robin when she returns, black fabric in her hand. “Thanks. El?” He gestures to the floor, and she nods, takes a deep breath, and sinks to the floor in front of the TV.

He ties the blindfold on her, then takes a seat on the couch next to Robin, who immediately tangles their fingers together.

Everyone sits, quieter than they’ve ever been before, and waits.

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Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

heart to heart

cw. selfship-coded, childhood friend au, pre-canon, pre-relationship, slight angst, fluff, one piece spoilers

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

notes. apparently it isn't enough for me to brainrot in private about a character i've been obsessed with for a decade, you guys have to be subjected to it as well. whoops🤪

It is not hyperbole to say that early mornings are the only time of day when the Dadan Family base is peaceful.

The sun has barely risen, the morning birds have barely begun their song and most everyone is still snoring away in their cots. Early mornings and late evenings have become Dadan’s favorite time of day, citing them as the only times she is ever allowed a moment of peace.

That peace is stalled whenever Garp visits.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us,” you ask Ace a final time before you leave for your hometown.

Ace shakes his head with a small smile, “they’re more your friends than mine.” A true sentiment, in your six years of knowing each other, there is still a distinction between your friends in Windmill Village and your friends living among bandits on Mt. Corvo. “Tell ‘em I said ‘congrats’ though. We might end up seeing them later down the road.”

“As marines!” Garp calls over his shoulder gruffly, not waiting for you to catch up. He has one more year to change his grandson’s mind about becoming a marine before the two of you left Dawn Island for saltier pastures. If he knew that fact, however, you’re sure the marine would grab you both by the back of your shirts and drag you to the port in Windmill Village this second. “You should take after those boys!”

The boys in question are Demarius and Stacey.

They’ve adored Garp since before you knew Ace was his grandchild, constantly pleading for him to take them to a naval base. He promised to do so once they turned 16. The least you could do was bid your friends farewell before they lived out their naval dreams.

Ace rolls his eyes, “Pirate!”

“It’s too early in the morning for you two to start that old fight again,” Dadan grumbles, turning around to head back inside. This was enough kissing Garp's butt for her, tucking away her handkerchief. “I get nothing but headaches when Garp comes around.”

You snicker at the grouchy woman’s exit, looking over her shoulder. The door to the room you share is shut close but you can easily picture Luffy stretched out and snoring, limbs all over the place wildly. He’ll be adding to Dadan’s headache soon enough. “Alright, well, I’ll be back later,” you tell Ace unnecessarily.

“You should spend the night in town,” Ace’s disgruntled expression shifts into something warm. You remember a time when he seldom smiled and could only offer you scowls. It’s hard to believe how much he smiles now, your lips quirking instinctively at the sight. “You haven’t been in town for a while. Everyone probably misses you.”

You lean forward, wiggling your eyebrows, “aww, trying to get rid of me now? You’re just trying to get more of a cut at dinner.”

“Maybe,” Ace’s grin widens and you share a laugh before Garp calls after you, further away than he was last.

Damn for an old man he moves fast. “See you,” you nudge your freckled friend before turning on your feet, nearly tripping as you stumble after his grandfather. “I’m okay,” you call over your shoulder.

Garp is grumbling to himself as you approach him. You don’t need to hear his words clearly to know he is thinking about his pirate obsessed grandsons. “Those dolts,” he mutters. “You used to play marines all the time with those kids in town. Now they’ve got you talking about being a pirate. You’ll all be marines, mark my words!”

“I really only ever wanted to just sail on the seas,” you tell Garp truthfully. Even as a child when Demarius demanded you play marines because he always wanted to play marines, you never played because you aspired to be one. It didn’t have to be the marines, it didn’t have to be pirates, you just wanted to set sail on the ocean blue. Pirate merely became the subsequent medium you vowed to pursue. “The marines kinda seem,” you mull over your next words carefully. “Strict. I just wanna see the world, not be told what to do.”

“Discipline is a good thing,” is his rebuttal. He certainly was very strict in the training you unwittingly got pulled into once he discovered your true intentions.

Silence falls between you both but it isn’t comfortable, not like the silences you’re used to.

Silence in Dadan’s home is accompanied by snores or the movement of someone heading to the bath. Luffy mumbling in his sleep about the many adventures he and his dream crew are on causing you and Ace to share a look and chuckle quietly under your breaths.

It’s when you tell yourself ‘Today’s the day I actually do it’ and you count away in your head the number of Ace’s freckles until you inevitably mess up the count and have to start all over again.

It’s when it’s raining and you, Ace and Luffy sleep in an empty hollow of a tree, the croak of the frogs singing to the drops.

Silence with Garp is suffocating and the jungle is too quiet and your brain too full of anxiety-ridden hypotheticals to even think about your childhood friends you’d be bidding farewell to. Instead, the ones you wouldn’t be saying goodbye to were at the forefront of your mind.

Another minute of silence follows before you’re unable to stop the words from falling from your lips, “Mr. Garp?”

Garp hums gruffly, bark worse than his bite, “what is it?”

“Let’s say that, hypothetically speaking of course, Ace and Luffy do become pirates,” you begin nervously, wincing at how the older man’s eyes sharpened at the word. “Hypothetically!” You’ve been a recipient of many of the marine’s Fists of Love, despite not belonging to his family, you don’t fancy receiving another. “They hypothetically become pirates and end up getting taken in,” you lick your lips as you try to imagine the scenario.

To your discomfort, it is terrifyingly easy to imagine Ace and Luffy in shackles.

The spectacle the World Government would make of it all. The grand executions of the sons of Gol D. Roger and Monkey D. Dragon.

The vitriol of the onlookers spewing words of hatred and damnation. No one would know who they are, not the onlookers in the crowds or the marines holding the weapons that would end their lives. Devils, they would be called. 

There would be one marine who knew them, however. Who truly knew them and not what they represented. It only breaks your heart that in your many years of knowing the older man that you don’t know what end of the spectrum he falls on. No, that’s an incorrect assessment. What breaks your heart is that it has always been too easy suspecting precisely where Monkey D. Garp would fall.

In spite of your suspicions, you still part your lips and ask, “would you help them?” Uncharacteristically, you fiddle with your fingers, the index finger of your right hand being nestled by the thumb and index finger of your left. Clad in a tacky red button up with white roosters, the stocky man’s back seems broader than usual.

It’s the long pause between your question and his answer that sinks in your chest like a knife. “They,” Garp begins but you cut the man off with a laugh.

“Don’t be so serious,” you laugh so convincingly you almost believe you’re unbothered. “I was just messing around. I’m up in the air on the pirate thing but for all we know, Luffy’ll start talking about being the Marine King the next time you see him.”

The elderly marine laughs at the absurdity of your thought, “a king among marines, that’ll be the day.”

ー

“Your shadows not with you for once?” Stacey jokes lightheartedly as he leans his head over in mock surprise at the lack of people accompanying you.

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Garp would drag them onto that boat if they did,” anything to make those two follow in their grandfather’s footsteps. “Ace sends his congratulations anyways.”

“I’m still convinced that guy was replaced by aliens,” Demarius murmurs, squinting at the mountain’s peaks with narrowed eyes. You snort at the absurdity. You, along with your village-bound friends, had met Ace when he was more angry at the world and nearly all of the people inhabiting it. To say they’d been shocked when, the next time they met him, Ace was polite and all smiles is an understatement. Demarius’ suspicious glance lasts a beat longer before he turns his dark eyes to you, shoulders set back. “You can still come with us, you know.”

You remember being 10, running down these dirt roads playing marines with your friends as a rowdy quintet.

The battles you pretended to have against whatever made-up opponents Demarius decided you’d be fighting against. He’d always been the leader of the five of you ー him, Stacy, Pierre, Lisa Lisa and you ー would find yourselves on the tempestuous seas of the Grand Line, all odds against you.

“This is not a good day for battle but it is a glorious day to die,” you remember resolutely saying, words too heavy for someone who hadn’t been in a real fight her entire life until that point.

Real fights came after you met Ace and Sabo. When you began running amok in the capital and Gray Terminal. Real battle came when their angering the Bluejam pirates caught up with them. You couldn’t say you felt glorious fighting the Bluejam pirates in the flames of their hideout. Nor could you say Sabo’s horrifying end was glorious either. There is no glory in fighting but you will do what you have to to protect who you have left.

Pulling yourself from the memories, you shake your head, “you’ll see me at sea next year,” you vow with a grin. You lower your voice so the cantankerous marine behind you cannot hear what you say next. “It’ll just be in a way that pisses off the old man.”

There’s simply one more year to go.

You, alongside the other locals, wave the boys down until they become nothing but a speck on the horizon. Well, off their asses go. You sit on the porch step of what used to be the house that belonged to you and your grandfather. I think the last time I came here it was like, you purse your lips thoughtfully. Shiiieet, 3 months ago? You seldom spend time in the empty shack now. It is only good for your occasional visits and when you’re too lazy to head back up to Dadan’s. That is where home is now.

It’s wherever Ace and Luffy are.

Ace and Luffy who you know Garp loves but will always choose work first. He always has and he always will, so you will always choose them instead.

[queenbeehistoria]

WHAT'S UP THEN? — aot boys fighting

EREN: - y'all seen the way he did armin... - he should be working at popeyes the way he constantly give niggas four piece combos - he 100% got a pair of black air forces at home - please don't fall because you are NOT getting back up - don't win either because he IS spinning back, and i'm not talking about ballet

ARMIN: - he def pulls hair - HAIR PULL + UPPERCUT IS HIS MOVE - fights wild like a girl but has the fucking strength of a man - he will have you on the ground real quick - he hits first most def - one of those people that be like "WHAT'S GOOD, BITCH/HOE" when he squares up - windmills when times get rough JEAN: - he acts hella aggressive - "I'LL WHOOP YOUR ASS" *spends three hours taking off every piece of clothing* - jean can throw hands , he just afraid to get his ass beat - the only time you can this man to throw hands is if you talk about his friends or his momma - jean will have you in the hospital bout his momma CONNIE: - "WHAT'S GOOD?" "WHAT'S UP THEN?" "THEN SWINGGGGG!" - he's the dude that does walk + pants pull up when he's about to fight. - he a dodger for sure - that little duck + step back his signature fr. - and my man be putting in work too - connie got sasha & jean on the side. jean if they jump. sasha if somebody gf jump in, but sasha will jump in regardless of gender - people try to beat his ass bc he one of the ppl that play too much - he don't play about his family or sasha. that's the easiest way to end up in a emergency room. - makes sound effects when he swings

REINER: - another stripper - by the time he gets done taking off his clothes, you don't even want to fight him anymore - he cocky with it too - this man gets one good hit, "OH YEAH, YOU DON'T LIKE THAT. I EATS THOSE" and then gets dropped immediately - reiner the dude that talks hella shit before the fight. like so much shit, you think he gon win. and then he gets knocked tf out in like five hits

BERTHOLDT: - the only reason people be trying to fight him is because he tall as fuck - he got no idea what the fuck he doing - bert just swinging his arms and kicking his legs - some of hits land - he confused as to why he's fighting but he's not getting his ass beat - he got the spirit & he's trying 😭

LEVI: - he stomps people out - not even an army can get that man shoe off you - levi the type to leave they victim with brain damage - curb stomp depending on how mad you made him - you finna be walking around with permanent shoe prints on your body MARCO: - he's pepper spraying your ass AND he's calling the police - that man do not get down like that - jean is on speed-dial, and the man is on his way ERWIN: - "hello, 911? yes, there are a couple of delinquents in my front yard. they are telling me to come outside." - cops getting called real quick - he will not hesitate to put a bitch in a chokehold - you'll be pinned to the ground with the quickness. he get down, he don't play

FLOCH: - this nigga CANNOT FIGHT - he the person you gotta yell "GET UP, TWIN!" - floch try to fight like eren, but he gets reminded that he isn't eren everytime this nigga gets dropped - they be sweeping the floor with this man - he get like two hits in max. - definition of fuck around and find out NICCOLO: - niccolo got hands that will put you in the hospital & him in jail - he tries to avoid fights and just talk it out - he doesn't fight until sasha gets mentioned. now jean gotta hold him back. - niccolo one of them people where the fight turns from "HE BEATING HIS ASS 🗣🗣" to "damn, he's beating his ass... 😟" - this man is crazy as fuck when he fights - like eren, please do not fall because you are not getting back up - it takes hella people to pull him off - they get jean because he's the only one (besides from sash) that pull his buff ass back.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Your Eyes Whispered "Have We Met?" ~LA! Shanks x Reader~

Summary: Set in the Enchanted series. You meet Shanks but you aren't sure if you could trust him.

Author’s Note: I can't wait for more Shanks in season 2.

Based in my Enchanted series

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

You sat on the porch with Luffy, teaching him how to do some simple math. Luffy was a child that the Marine Vice Admiral Garp had asked you to take care of and educate him while he tend to his Marine duties. You were a smart woman with your father and mother being educators who taught in villages before settling in Windmill village.

"Math is stupid. Why do I have to learn it?" Luffy asked frustrated.

"I get that it can be challenging or upsetting but you need to know at least the basics," you tell him.

"Can we go to the docks later?" Luffy asked you.

"Tell you what, if you can finish this math sheet and get only five wrong, we'll go to the docks," you promised.

"Okay. Deal."

Luffy was smart. Even if you had to teach him in ways that were different, he was still smart. And you kept your promise by taking him to the docks to see the oncoming ships that came by to drop off some food or other goods.

"Woah! Y/n look! A pirate ship," Luffy says as he pointed at the large ship that stuck out from the other ships.

"Yeah. Why don't we go visit Makino," you tell him as you led him away.

Makino owned the bar in the village but she was one of your close friends.

"Go ahead and sit down. I'm just going to have a word with Makino," you tell Luffy.

"Okay."

"Makino, don't be too alarm. But there are pirates here," you tell her.

"Not again."

"I know. Just thought you should be prepared," you tell her.

"Thanks. Where's Luffy?" She asked. You turned around to see Luffy gone from his seat.

"Oh no. Luffy!" You called out before rushing out.

Luffy stood by the pirate ship as he stared at the crew. He had heard of pirates from his grandfather and Y/n but he never got to see them up close.

"What's this little urchin doing on our ship?" He heard. He looked up scared to see a man standing before him.

"I'm sorry."

"Where's your parents? A kid like you shouldn't be on a ship like ours," the man said.

"What's going on?" Luffy heard another man ask. Luffy looked over to see a tall man with crimson red hair that was covered with a straw hat.

"Captain. Found this kid wandering onto our ship," the crew member told him.

"What's your name?" The captain asked Luffy as he squatted down to his eye level.

"Luffy."

"Well, Luffy, do you know where the village bar is at?" The captain asked.

"Yeah. I can show you," Luffy nodded.

"Perfect. Come on lads, let's get ourselves a drink," the captain said.

"Who are you?" Luffy asked.

"You can call me Shanks. I'm the captain of this pirate crew."

"You don't seem so mean."

"Who said I was mean?"

"My grandfather. And my caretaker," Luffy tells him.

"Your caretaker huh? Maybe I should change their mind on me then huh?" Shanks smiled.

"Luffy!" You yelled out. Luffy and Shanks looked over as they heard your yell.

Luffy rushed over to the edge of the boat and looked down on the docks. Shanks looked down at the docks as well to see who was yelling for Luffy. He watched as Luffy smiled and waved at you as you looked up at him with your hands on your hips.

"Monkey D. Luffy! You better come down here right now or else!" You yelled at him. You crossed your arms as you stared up at him.

"Coming!" Luffy said. The crew chuckled as they watched the kid rush down to you after getting in trouble.

So that's his caretaker, Shanks thought to himself before heading down as well.

"What were you thinking? You know better than to go onto dangerous ships," you tell Luffy with a stern look.

"I know but-"

"I apologize if you were worried," you looked up to see a man in a straw hat walking over towards you and Luffy. You pulled Luffy closer to you before moving him behind you.

"The little lad was just curious. He wasn't in any danger if that makes you feel any better."

"It's not just that. It's just that you're a... you're a..." You tried to find the right words to say without insulting him, risking you in danger.

"A pirate? I can guarantee to you that I'm not like any other pirate captain," he tells you.

"And how can I believe you?" You asked him.

"Why don't you join me in a drink and I'll change your mind?" He asked you.

"I think I'll have to pass. We need to get going anyway," you tell him before rushing away with Luffy.

The next day was the beginning of your weekend off as Luffy was with his grandfather for the weekend. You brought some fruit and vegetables to Makino so she could get her first pick before you sold the rest to the rest of the village.

"You know those pirates that came in yesterday aren't so bad," Makino tells you.

"How so?"

"They're nice. And they pay," Makino tells you. You shook your head at her before helping her put some of the liquor that came in away on her shelves.

"The captain seems interested in you," she points out.

"Who's the captain?" You asked.

"The one with the red hair and the straw hat," Makino says with a smirk.

"Don't give me that look," you say, nudging her.

"I'm just saying. You should get to know him."

You shook your head at her before grabbing your basket and heading out to the village. You set up your small stand before sitting down on your chair and picking up your book to continue reading.

"This is nice little stand that you have," you heard. You looked up from your book to see the same pirate from yesterday.

"Oh. It's you," you say as you put your bookmark into your book.

"How much for the fruit?" The man asked.

"It's just two berry a piece," you tell him.

"Seems a little cheap for some good fruit," the man tells you.

"I get paid well for taking care of Luffy. This just gives me something extra to get him some treats for doing well on his homework or some other stuff for me," you tell him.

"Well in that case, I'd like to buy everything you have."

"Why would you do that?" You asked.

"I'd like to get to know you and how can I do that if you're behind this stand all day?" He asked you.

"You could always just join me behind the stand," you offered.

"True. But I would also like to grab a drink," the man winked. You shook your head at him before standing up.

"Alright. A hundred berry for all of them," you tell him. The man gave you the money before taking the fruit and vegetables.

"I'll meet you at the bar then?" You asked him as you closed up your stand.

"I’ll be there after I drop these off," the man winked at you.

You headed over to Makino's bar and sat on a stool to wait for the pirate captain. Makino gave you a look as she walked over towards you.

"Sold your food already?" Makino asked you.

"That pirate captain bought it all," you tell her.

"So you spoke to him?"

"A little. He's meeting me here for a drink."

Makino gave you a smirk before pouring a drink for you and one for the pirate. You looked over at the entrance to see the pirate walking in.

"Glad to see you had a drink ready for me," he said with a smile. He sat next to you before taking a drink of the alcohol.

"You know, I never got your name," you tell him.

"Where are my manners? I'm Shanks."

"Nice to meet you, Shanks. I'm Y/n," you smiled as you offered a handshake. He took your hand into his before placing a kiss on the top of your hand.

"Smooth," you say with a small laugh.

"How else am I suppose to impress a beautiful woman like you?" Shanks asked you. You shook your head at him before taking a swing at your drink.

"Where is Luffy?" Shanks asked.

"He's with his grandfather right now. A couple days off for me," you tell him.

"I see. Do you often get days off?" Shanks asked you.

"Not really. So I try to relax before Luffy comes back."

"I guess this gives us a couple days to ourselves to get to know each other," Shanks smiled. You smiled at him before looking down at your drink.

"Will you show me your pirate ship?" You asked him.

"Want to see it now while it's empty?" Shanks asked you. You nodded before putting some berry down for Makino.

"I got this," Shanks said before replacing your berry with his.

"I can pay for stuff too you know."

"True but I like to find treasure so berry doesn't mean much to me. Though, I think I found some good treasure in this village," Shanks tells you with a smile.

"Come on Captain," you say as you took his hat and put it on yours. "Take me on a tour of your ship."

"As you wish," Shanks smiled before taking you over.

[bigmanroykent]

some royjamie fic & podfic recs

i've been trying to make my Grand Return to Reading Fics for months because i miss royjamie so much and i have so many fics marked for later that it makes me cry but turns out. i'm not doing so well reading from a screen these days and only manage physical and audio books which makes reading fic a bit more challenging. so this isn't the huge spreadsheet with recs i had prepared in hopes of sharing it but here are the few i did manage to put there these last few months (with a special thank you to podficcers as well!!), please enjoy them too if you haven't read them yet:

from the mouths of babes by Dyece - Phoebe says something devastatingly insightful, and Roy has a minor Feeling about it.

as weak as a violet by tooshyforthis - After Keeley shuts the door in your face, you stumble your way to the place you call church. Jamie follows you. Always does. When you stumble your way to bed, he follows you there too.

Can't Start A Fire Without A Spark by Blackmustache - Things are changing at Man City and somebody needs to convince Jamie to come home.

i don't know what it is but i got that feeling by aisjustrunning - Jamie has been invited to a party (?) and now he has to buy a present for Roy Fucking Kent.

What you'd do to me tonight by fangrrlsing - “Vanilla vodka.” He shakes his head and Jamie is frozen under his eyes. “Such a child.” There is a gasp stuck in his throat, a protest. It hurts even though it shouldn’t. What should he care what a washed-up has-been thinks about him? Except this is Roy fucking Kent.

Their Love Was There by things_renew_themselves - Jamie and Roy hang out after the bonfire. Shit gets real.

everything by swimmingfox. I'm not kidding, their writing is wonderful and their podfics have been a lifesaver and I already have them linked because I was preparing a podfic rec post before I remembered that I had some other fics ready in my spreadsheet:

A Windmill In Old Amsterdam - Extra scenes from Roy and Jamie's night-time bike ride. Soft and sweet. Four in the Morning & Babe - Starting from S3E4, but then going off on its own. First Time - Jamie and Roy talk about Jamie's experience with his dad in Amsterdam. Jamie has a panic attack, and Roy is there to help. The Death of James Tartt - Jamie arrives on Roy's doorstep with the news that his dad is dead. Roy helps him through the first day and starts to realise his feelings for Jamie have changed. Sweetness prevails! Date - Jamie asks Roy out to dinner. It's nothing special. Honest. Or: Roy finds himself accidentally on a date with Jamie Tartt. Set post-S03! Brazil or, Shag Marry Avoid - Jamie invites Roy to Brazil, and incredibly Roy agrees. Jamie keeps getting erections. They're very much about Roy. Smug Fucking Prick - Jamie and Roy don't go for a kebab after their fight. Instead, Roy turns up at four the next morning, as they've got one more training session. Jamie is not having it. A Cute Little Roy of Pitch Black - Jamie gives Roy another one of his very thoughtful presents for Christmas. It's more of a hint than the last one. Shameless Christmas fluff! roy who by armadillo1976 / original - “Never heard of Roy Kent?” Jamie’s nose scrunches up.

strong (and capable) like an elephant by jedusaur (podfic by Silverkat1620)

it’s a long walk home by antspaul, swordguy - “If there’s a big man coaching Richmond…” Roy gestures broadly—as insultingly broad as he can. “I haven’t seen him.”

Jamie looks unimpressed. Like he’d been waiting to be hurt but expected more. Looks fucking disappointed. Roy’s not done.

“All I see is a little boy, barely two years into a job he thinks he deserves because he’s got the loudest mouth in the room. With a cheap win under his belt because he probably got on his knees for the referee.”

first, violent love by liesmyth - “What, you think you’re the first young prick who’s come round begging for a fuck? I told you, Tartt. You’re not half as special as you think you are.” - All the lads are cursed to speak their minds. Jamie and Roy fuck about it.

Scentr by PGHumfort - Freshly retired, single, and a little lonely, Roy Kent, who hid his omega status throughout his entire career, lets Keeley talk him into trying out the new, exclusive, anonymous dating service for the rich and famous she’s doing PR for. The twist? It’s purely scent-based with the idea that the body will intrinsically know a good mate on smell alone. You’ll never guess who smells the best to Roy!

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith kind of feels like he’s breaking the law when he steps on the marina.

He’s not, of course. The docks are open to the public, and he is The Public. Well, one of them, anyway. But looking at the myriad of speedboats and yachts parked (parked? Is parked the right word? God, Keith doesn’t know shit about boats), Keith is getting a little nervous. He feels like his shitty credit score is tattooed on his forehead, like a honing beam of judgement for the various rich people he can see drinking on their luxury boats at eleven in the morning because none of them have jobs. What the hell is Lance doing inviting them all on a ‘boat trip’, anyway? Lance sure as shit can’t afford a boat. He probably can’t afford to rent one, either. Keith once witnessed him pay for a single pack of ramen with a ziploc bag of pennies.

Keith stops at the parking spot (??) Lance texted him, glancing down at his phone, squinting, then back up at the boat at spot 93. It’s a decently large boat, but not equipped to live on. It doesn’t necessarily look like a party boat, but not like it’s for fishing, either. It looks, to Keith, like a decently nice boat. Probably a few ten thousand dollars.

Did Lance steal this fucking boat?

No, right? Lance isn’t good at stealing. Well, he’s not good at not getting caught. He’s shit at lying and usually just bats his eyelashes until he gets his way. He’s not even that successful at it. Certainly not successful enough to flirt his way into boat ownership. Probably. There was that time he flirted his way out of a speeding ticket, but still, a boat? That’s —

“Keith! Keith! Hi! Over here!” Keith startles at Lance’s voice, craning his neck over to try and see over the bow of the boat. He knows that tone of Lance’s voice — he’s definitely leaning over something and waving like a lunatic, beaming brightly, brown eyes squinted in his enthusiasm.

“Lance?” Keith calls, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Where are you?”

“Behind you, dummy! Turn around! You got the wrong boat!”

Keith whirls around, yelping as he slips in a puddle and his stupid flipflops — he knew he should have ignored Shiro and worn his boots — slide out from under him. He windmills his arms to no avail, landing flat on his ass.

Lance hyena laughs, because he is a horrible jackass who thinks Keith’s pain is funny.

Resisting the urge to roll off the dock and drown himself in the marina (if only because he can see some really long seaweed growing in the water and the idea of it touching his legs or something makes him want to throw up) Keith pulls himself to his feet.

“Let me up,” he grouches.

Lance wipes a fake tear from his eye, tossing down an honest-to-god rope ladder. “Oh, that was the good stuff. Hey, buddy, do you maybe want to trip again? I could use the laugh.”

“I’m gonna strangle you with this rope the second I get up there.”

“Mhm. Sure, Mullet. Mutiny your captain.”

“Ha!” Keith swings his legs over the side of the boat, pulling it up after him. “You’re no captain, you dork.”

Lance sticks his tongue out at him. “Am so! My boat, after all.”

Keith accepts Lance’s hug, squeezing back just as tightly. Lance’s hugs are always tight. He hugs like he’s seeing you for the first time in months, like he won’t see you again for ages, like he’s saying it’s-good-to-see-you and hello-goodbye and I’m-going-to-miss-you all in one. It’s intoxicating. It makes Keith want to hold him for eternity.

“Having a boat does not make you a captain,” Keith teases, forcing himself to pull away and act like a normal person. “How’d you get this piece of shit, anyway? No offense.”

Because this boat is kind of a piece of shit, especially compared to the one he was mistakenly in front of earlier. It’s not, like, falling apart or anything, but it’s a little rusty in some parts, and a whole heap smaller. He can stand at one end of the boat and walk maybe fifteen steps to the other end, straight across. The end he’s on has a cooler — filled with booze if he knows Lance, and he’d like to think he does — and some crates of what Keith can only assume is boat equipment (again, Keith doesn’t know shit about boats). The other end has the steering wheel, and dozens and dozens of pillows and blankets at the base of it. The inner walls of the boat have several cute paintings, ranging from silly doodles that are painted with the confident hand of a child and beautifully intricate landscapes.

Lance smiles again when he sees where Keith is looking, running gentle fingertips over a blocky drawing of some imagined creature.

“Veronica got this project boat with her ex girlfriend forever ago,” he explains. “It didn’t work when they got it. It didn’t even have an engine. She’s been rebuilding it forever, and I’ve been helping!”

Keith grins. “You mean you’ve been handing her tools and running errands?”

Lance glares. “I — did other things! I painted it!”

“That’s true,” Keith admits. He glances at the many paintings again, colourful and bright and dorky. “They’re nice.”

“Nice,” Lance scoffs, but there’s no hurt in his voice. “This boat could be in the Louvre!”

Keith has to physically shove down the gooey shit he wants to say to that. It’s not easy. His brain is annoying.

“Where’s everyone else?” he says instead. “I’m never the first person to these things.”

For the first time since Keith arrived, Lance starts to look a little troubled. “I was going to ask you that, actually. Hunk said he and Pidge were going to meet up at your’s and Shiro’s house? And Allura and Shiro have barely spent a day apart since they started that project at work, so I figured she was coming with you guys.”

“I thought the team was meeting up with you,” Keith says slowly. “Shiro left before me.”

For the briefest of seconds, Lance’s face collapses into something absolutely crestfallen. Just as quickly it shutters, and his eyes dull as he physically forces a pleasant look on his face.

“I’m sure they’re on their way,” he says. “I’ll call them, maybe they —”

Something uncomfortable begins to churn in Keith’s stomach. “Lance —”

“—hopefully they’re all okay —”

“Lance, maybe —”

“Hey, Lance!”

Pidge sounds downright giggly, which is beyond unusual. Keith can’t remember the last time he described Pidge as giggly. Maniacal, sure, sweet even — occasionally, Keith might add — but never giggly.

Immediately he’s suspicious.

“Hey, Pidge,” Lance says. There’s so much hope in his voice that it’s painful to hear. “You on your way over?”

There’s rustling over the phone, and a muffled hey, no pushing!, then some more rustling.

“We actually can’t make it,” someone says apologetically.

The crestfallen look is back on Lance’s face, and this time he can’t quite fight it off.

Hunk continues, totally oblivious. “This huge thing came up at work, so me and Pidge are swamped, and we figured if we couldn’t make it then it wouldn’t be a whole crew thing, so Shiro and Allura figured it would be best to finish their project too —”

“That’s fine,” Lance says. His voice is reedy. He hangs up in the middle of Hunk promising to reschedule sometime soon. The muffled bang of his phone hitting the wooden floorboards is deafening, a million times louder than the waves beating softly up against the side of the boat. Keith is completely frozen where he stands, looking at Lance with wide eyes.

What the fuck was that? Never in the time that he has known them has any one of his friends been so…callous. He’s spent his whole life measuring himself to Shiro’s example, for fuck’s sake. He’s always been proud to have friends as good as his, because they are good: good friends, good people. Sure, they’re all a little weird and scatterbrained and all over the place, but they’ve never blatantly blown someone off before. Especially not Lance; not when he’s been planning something for them for weeks. He’s hardly talked about anything else, even if he wouldn’t tell them any details so as not to spoil the surprise. He practically glowed every time he had the chance to bring it up, and that’s not just Keith’s opinion.

“Lance,” Keith tries, walking over to where he stands, motionless at the helm. He doesn’t so much as twitch at Keith’s voice, as if he doesn’t hear him. “Lance?” Keith tries again, hesitantly putting a hand on his arm. Lance startles at the touch. He looks lost for a moment, then he plasters that same plasticly pleasant look on his face.

“Lance,” Keith says again, for the third time in a row. It’s pleading, this time. Please don’t pull that with me.

But Keith doesn’t have the words for that, so Lance doesn’t hear it.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind taking this trip with just you,” Lance says, puffing out his chest in that bravado way of his he does when he’s trying his hardest to be obnoxious. “I mean, the stink of your mullet is a little suffocating, but I think I’ll manage.”

Beginning to feel like a broken record, Keith says his name again. He can’t quite keep the hurt out of his voice, for Lance and for him, really. It feels almost like a betrayal, like everyone would let then down like this, without so much as a word of apology. He can’t imagine how upset Lance must truly be.

“Unless you have somewhere to be, too?” Lance says loudly, cutting him off. His expression hasn’t changed, but there’s something almost pleading in his eyes, like he’s begging Keith to drop it, to take the bait, to change to subject.

Keith is most definitely reading into things. But he changes the subject anyway.

He raises an eyebrow, decking Lance in the shoulder. “I’m not the stinky one, Mr Axe Body Spray.”

“I have never used Axe in my life!” Lance shrieks, incensed. Some genuine incredulousness bleeds into his voice, which is both relieving and gratifying — it’s good to know that Keith can rely on his ability to rile Lance up in one sentence. “It’s a tasteful designer cologne that Rachel gets me for Christmas every year because she has no idea how to buy presents for people!”

“Yeah, that you fuckin’ bathe in.”

“I put a little bit on my wrists and neck, you jackass —”

“— and your arms and legs and face and hair and —”

“I am going to shove you overboard to be eaten by orcas, you shithead.”

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna take me on this boat ride you promised, or are you gonna keep stalling?”

Rolling his eyes and grumbling, Lance starts the engine, clumsily guiding the boat out of its parking spot (?????) and starting out to open sea. After sailing them far enough that they nearly lose sight of shore, Lance kills the engine, dragging the cooler over to the nest of pillows.

“I bought half the liquor store,” he says, voice muffled as he ruffles through it. “You see, the original intent was to get all six of us plastered, and getting Hunk plastered is both difficult and expensive.” He sounds a strange mix of bitter and amused, which Keith feels is understandable. He finally finds what he’s looking for, bottles clinking as he yanks two out. “I hate vodka, and since Pidge isn’t here to clown me for it, I’m drinking this entire bottle of bellini instead. I brought you scotch, since you are the soul of an angsty cowboy trapped in the body of an annoying nerd.”

Keith takes the offered bottle. He recognises the brand — it’s cheap, it’s gross, and it’s fucking concentrated. He takes a swig and gags.

“Lance, this shit tastes like gasoline.”

He bottle of something hits him in the chest, hard.

“Ow!”

“Gatorade! I thought ahead!”

Sure enough, Lance has thrown — rudely — to him a half litre bottle of red Gatorade, Keith’s favourite.

“It’s double smart, because not only does it make alcohol taste less shit, but it’s got electrolytes so you won’t get a hangover.”

Keith tilts his head questioningly. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Works for me,” Lance says, shrugging.

“Yeah, but you get drunk off two shots, twig boy. Fuck, you’re already tipsy and you’ve only had a third of that bottle.”

“And this bottle was only eight dollars! Hell yeah to me!”

Keith snorts, clinking his bottle with Lance’s and taking a swig, chasing it down with the Gatorade.

He makes a face. Unfortunately instead of making the scotch taste better, the scotch is making the Gatorade taste worst. Ugh.

“Oh, hey, I almost forgot the music! I brought your favourite album too, emo boy.”

Lance scrambles to his feet, tripping immediately on one of the many pillows. Keith surges forward, thrusting his arm around Lance’s chest, barely keeping him from faceplanting on the floor.

“Jesus, Lance. You’re the worst lightweight I’ve ever met.”

Lance giggles. The tension that had strung his shoulders after the call as melted away, at least a little. Keith doesn’t even feel the buzz of the alcohol yet, but he’s definitely feeling a little looser.

“How about you sit down, huh? You’re gonna fall on your face. Did you eat today? You don’t usually get this tipsy so easy.”

Lance squints, thinking for a minute. “Fuck, no. I made myself eggs this morning but then Sylvio was late to ballet and Lisa had already left to take Nadia to football so I had to take him and by the time I got back I barely had enough time to pack everything and get to the boat and —”

“Lance,” Keith interrupts, amused. “Get some of the food from the cooler. I’ll get the music. Where’s all the stuff?”

“Second crate,” Lance says, mouth full. Gross. “The one with the Moana stickers.”

Keith takes another swig of scotch, makes a face, and then sets it down, ambling over to the box. Between the waves gently rocking the boat and the slight heaviness of his limbs that he’s starting to feel, he barely makes it without tripping just as much as Lance would have, but hey. He successfully conned Lance out of picking the music, so who’s the real winner here?

“Lance, you pretentious indie dweeb!” Keith exclaims, laughing. In the box is a bright pink Bratz CD player that he no doubt stole from the back of one of his sister’s closets, and a stack of maybe forty CDs.

“Physical media rules!” Lance cheers. “Fuck subscriptions!”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Keith locates the album Lance was talking about, loading it into the disc drive and pressing play.

The future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary…

He carefully nudges up the handle, trying carefully to walk with the waves so he doesn’t drop Lance’s player as he brings it back to the pillow nest.

“I think you’re actually just too broke to afford Spotify, dude.”

Lance shrugs. “Eh, that’s part of it.” He tosses the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth, washing it down with another gulp of bubbling peach wine right from the bottle. Keith follows his example, making a face again, because Lord above the Gatorade does not help at all.

“Yeah? What’s the other part?”

“You sure you want to know?” Lance asks, setting down his wine and scooching closer to Keith. He crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, leaning forward, dark eyes wide and expression serious.

Keith nods, intrigued.

Lance’s eyes turn mischievous. “Well, you see, my favourite music is garbage pop music.”

Keith has been in the car with Lance before. He’s well aware. He’s heard more Kesha and Justin Bieber than any one person should ever have to, and he even likes their music well enough. Lance is just insane.

“Believe me, I’m aware.”

“And as you may also be aware, I am contractually obligated to be the most annoying person in any room.”

Keith snorts. “Okay?”

“Think about it, doofus. When I pull out the CDs, all the pop lovers roll their eyes, because they think I’m a pretentious indie asshole.” He gestures to Keith, referencing his earlier comment. “Exhibit A.”

“…Fair. Carry on.”

“But when whatever badly dubbed party music I’m in the mood for starts blaring from my speakers, all the indie people think I’m a poser! It’s a win-win.”

Keith laughs outright. He knows the exact kind of indie people Lance is talking about, and just imagining their scandalized faces is funny.

“No one pisses people off quite like you, Lance McClain. I’ll give you that.”

Lance preens. “Thank you. It’s a gift.”

They work their way through their respective bottles, and then they split a cooler, both of them well past tipsy by the time the album ends. Lance wobbles over to his CD selection and ruffles through for what feels like ages, whooping when he finds what he’s looking for. He flashes to case at Keith, showing ‘KARAOKE TUNEZ’ written in Lance’s loopy handwriting.

“No way,” Keith protests, although not very hard.

“Yes way!” Lance insists. He grips onto the steering wheel, heaving himself up. The boat lunches slightly, making them both laugh, but finally he’s steady on his feet — or at least as steady as you can be while drunk — just as Taylor Swift’s Love Story starts blaring. He grabs Keith’s hands and pulls him up, and both of them almost go tumbling again, but they manage to stay upright, leaning on each other and laughing themselves stupid.

“We don’t need them!” Lance yells as the banjos go off. Keith is so plastered that he barely remembers who Lance is talking about. It takes him a solid thirty seconds to remember that there were supposed to be four other people on this boat, drinking all this booze, and Keith and Lance have plowed their way through a good half of it on their own. Oops. “Sing louder, country boy!”

Keith does. He sings himself hoarse, actually, as Lance’s mixtape clicks through every great song from the last forty years, dancing around and shaking his head and revelling in the fact that there’s no one there to watch him. No one but Lance, who’s pretending to throw dollar bills at him.

It’s the most fun he’s had in ages.

He stops drinking at some point — not by choice, but something bumps the side of the boat and his bottle goes flying — but by then it doesn’t matter. He’s so plastered that everything is glowing and warm and fantastic and he’s dancing with Lance and he can’t remember what feeling bad looks like, or why he’d even bother in the first place. All he cares about is watching the sun go down, cheering with Lance as it does, then dancing around with him in drunken circles until one of them trips, dragging them both on top of the pillow next in a giggling mess.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” Lance suggests. His voice is so slurred that it sounds more like Lez jussay ere for whi’, but Keith thinks he’s got it. “The stars are nice.”

Keith snorts. “Sure. Stars. Not because you can’t stand, or anything.”

“I can so stand!” Lance protests, but he’s laughing too much for any true argument to come through. “Lemme — I’ll show you!”

“Sit down, dumbass,” Keith says, grabbing his shirt and yanking him back down. “You’re gonna go overboard and drown. Just — lay back with me a while.”

Lance looks at him a while, squinted look fading into something more open and relaxed the longer he stares. The lights on the boat are dim, but the darkness around them is so deep that they get swallowed up. Under the stars, Lance’s eyes are so brown and glossy they’re black, blacker than the ocean. Keith feels there’s a bigger danger drowning in them than in the sea.

“Okay,” Lance says softly. There’s a flash of his teeth as he smiles. Keith watches as his silhouette flops backwards on the pillows, arms resting in a heap around his head, beat-up pink converse slapping the ground as he relaxes his legs.

Keith takes a few more seconds to look at him. There’s not much to see, illuminated by the tiny lights in the boat, but Keith takes a moment anyway.

A hand shoots up, very narrowly missing smacking him straight in his nose. Long fingers curl tightly around the collar of his loosely-buttoned shirt and the next thing he knows he’s being yanked down, yelping.

“I’m not lying here alone, Mullet-head. This is a party.”

“Yeesh, okay, I’m coming.”

Lance doesn’t say anything more, bar a quiet huff of amusement, as Keith settles next to him. They lie in silence next to each other, their earlier energy slowly cooling down, just watching the stars, rocked by the gentle waves.

Keith is out like a light in twenty minutes.

———

When Keith wakes, three horrible things hit him at once: his head pounds, his mouth tastes like rotten fish marinating in dog shit, and everything around him is so, so goddamn bright it honestly feels kind of targeted. Fuck the sun.

“Lance, I hate you,” Keith mumbles, because he feels like blaming Lance is a safe bet. He squints until he locates the asshole in question, who is curled up with all of the pillows — which explains why Keith is currently laying on the cold hard floor — and still sleeping peacefully.

Ugh. How dare he.

Cursing, Keith drags himself to his feet, having to pause for a while on his knees to orient himself and fight down the nausea. When he’s finally upright, he stumbles over to the cooler, thankfully still cold, and gulps down the first water bottle he gets his hands on in three seconds. His next bottle he drinks a little more carefully, swishing the water around his mouth to substitute for brushing his teeth until they can get back to shore.

Once he actually starts to feel like a person again, complete with rational, semi-linear thought process, he looks around himself with fresh eyes. They’re a lot… farther out than he thought they were, but he figures everyone feels like that once the shore is out of eyesight. They can’t be too far, the boat’s gas tank isn’t all that big. They don’t seem to have lost anything overboard while drunk and dumb, which is good. He sees all three crates from before they left, and the cooler is obviously still here. Lance is still actively hogging every single one of the pillows, a couple blankets as well, totally dead to the world. Keith checks his phone, noting with a sigh of relief that he still has about half battery life, and it’s not even that late in the day — ten o’clock; plenty of time to ride home and recalibrate before work tomorrow. All is well.

He finishes his second water bottle, tossing the empty plastic back into the cooler for lack of other places to put it, and stumbles back over to the helm and the pillow pile.

“Lance,” he tries, poking him half-heartedly. “Time to wake up.”

Lance groans, grabbing one of the numerous pillows and shoving it over his head.

“Oh, come on. It’s ten in the morning. You’ve had a ton of time to sleep. Time to go home.”

“Keith, fuck off.”

Keith will deny the automatic quirk of his lips at Lance’s gravelly, sleep-heavy voice, along with the immediate and reflective satisfaction that bubbles up when Lance is annoyed.

It’s his own brain. He’s allowed to think and feel whatever the hell he wants in his own brain, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

“If you get up now, I promise to let you have first pick of the leftover sandwiches.”

There’s a pause, considering, and then a long, drawn-out groan as Lance bitchily unburies himself from the pillow pile and crawls over to the cooler.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Keith mutters, grinning.

It takes Lance’s zombie ass twice as long as it took Keith to wake up, because Lance is the most vampiric person Keith knows. The only time he ever sees the sunrise is when he just decides not to sleep through the night. Keith doesn’t think he’s woken up before eleven in years.

“Ready to head back?” Keith asks, once some of the life has returned to Lance’s eyes. He only grunts in reply, but that’s not a huge surprise. It’ll be another forty minutes until Lance can make himself speak again.

Keith settles against the side of the boat, rearranging the pillows so he can sit comfortably and dick around on his phone while Lance steers them back to shore. There’s no signal this far out, so he just ends up switching between cleaning out his camera roll and playing Temple Run as discreetly as he can, because he and Lance have a lowkey competition going on for this game for the past three years now, and Keith will not lose. Lance may currently have the upper hand but not for long, baby, because Keith has —

“Shit,” Lance says, very very quietly, and Keith feels dread pool in his stomach like a rock.

“Lance?” he questions, and inconspicuously as possible. “All good?”

“Fine,” Lance says, only his voice sounds very high-pitched and not fine, because Lance is a garbage liar. “Everything is manageable. No need to worry.”

Keith abandons his game, looking up to give Lance his full attention. He’s got one hand white-knuckling the steering wheel, despite the calmness of the waves, and the other jamming a bunch of buttons on a little device. His face is grey in panic.

“Lance, tell me what’s wrong.” He tries his best to keep his tone even and calm, but it doesn’t go well. The panic wells up in him and it wells up fast, because he can see nothing but blue skies and sea and the captain of the goddamn boat he’s on is looking like he’s on death row.

“Well, it’s all fine, really, but the thing is that the GPS is doing its level best to tell us where we are and it’s having a bit of a moment. A struggle, if you will. Honestly not that big of —”

“Lance,” Keith interrupts, sealing back the bile in his throat, “please tell me we’re not fucking lost.”

Lance laughs, high-pitched and humourless and scared. “Sure,” he says, once he’s gotten ahold of himself. “I won’t tell you.”

[stillwinchester]

i have this fic idea. cas is gone, amara is the new god, and jack stays on earth (he decides to go to the high school). dean griefs, but meantime he tries to be a better father for jack. he knows he screwed up a lot of things, so he starts to fix it. i even have an emotional scene where jack begs dean to look at him (just like dean begged mary). to see him. to notice him. and after this, it's a little better between them. they talk. a lot. dean says it wasn't jack's fault that cas is gone. he tells the stories about him from the past. and every day he drops him to school with a lunchbox he makes for him.

dean tries to move on, but it's hard. eventually, on parents' evening, he meets jack's teacher (let call him phil). they talk to each other, mostly about jack. dean explains it's a great kid, but he lost his father recently, so if the teacher could keep an eye on him, it would be great.

lebanon is a small town, so dean and phil bump on each other on many occasions, and finally, phil invites dean for a coffee.

dean doesn't stop looking for a way to rescue cas, but he opens up to phil. he tells him about monsters, his life, his fears. and he doesn't even know when it happens that they're dating.

one day, dean goes to the meadow (the one with a windmill) and says that he forgives cas that he's gone. and he will move on, but he will never stop loving him.

and then, they find a way. cas is back, unconscious in dean's bed. and dean stays with him all the time. phil understands.

cas wakes up, and there's a big hug. but before they have a chance to talk, phil comes in. dean introduces him to cas, saying it's his partner. and it breaks cas' heart.

cas knows there's no place for him in the bunker. maybe he never belonged here. he moves out to the small house, and he takes jack with him. but jack doesn't want to cut off from dean. they're still spending weekends together. and dean drives him to school. still doing lunchboxes.

cas and dean don't talk, avoiding each other. but dean asks jack about cas all the time, he wants to know, no, he needs to know how he's doing.

phil feels something’s wrong. he knows dean still loves cas. so, eventually, they split up. and there's no broken hearts or tears, they thank each other for this few months, accepting it as the best thing they can do.

but it doesn't mean dean immediately runs to cas. no, he needs to get his shit together. he decides to go to the AA meetings.

one time, jack leaves his backpack in impala, so dean takes it and goes to the house. cas opens the door. it's awkward, and when dean want to step back, cas invites him for coffee. he walks inside the house for the first time.

they start talking, and dean mentions he's attending to AA meetings. he says he's doing it for jack, and kinda for himself. cas is happy for him. dean chuckles that there should've been AA meetings for hunters, where they could talk also about all monster crap. and cas thinks it's a great idea, and dean should do this. even if it was just a joke first, dean starts considering this.

cas serves dean a pie, a cherry one - his favorite. dean's not sure if he deserves it, so cas starts eating it instead, saying how delicious it is. dean laughs and calls him asshole because angels don't even eat. they're fighting a little longer about the pie. and for a moment it's like nothing bad ever happened between them, it's like they had these silly movie nights when they were joking and teasing with each other, just enjoying the company. it feels like home.

weeks pass and it's better between them. dean stays on dinners a few times per week, mostly he's the one who's cooking (jack loves his lasagna). everything seems great, but then one evening, they have a fight. it starts from the stupid reason, but then cas' confession is on the table. dean yells: "you choose to left me!", and cas answers "i choose to save you", and then dean again: "how can you talk about saving me if it meant life without you?". cas is done, he whispers silent "i hate you". he regrets it, immediately. and when he looks at dean, he sees pain and terror on his face. “you don't mean it,” says dean, calmly this time and it's more like a question. like he's begging it's not true. cas shakes his head: “no, i don't. of course, i don't. i'm sorry, dean. i'm just... tired.”

and then everything happens fast because dean's tired too. he murmurs "screw this!", grabs cas by the lapel and presses his lips to his before he has even chance to react. cas freezes first, but a second later he melts into the kiss. he wraps his arms around dean's neck and kisess him back, slow and fondly.

"what was that?” asks cas, breathless. and dean grabs his hands, kisses his knuckles and looks into his eyes. “i'm done, cas. i'm done with tiptoeing around you, with hiding and pretending that I'm not crazy about you. fuck... i know you were hurt and maybe dissapointed that I wasn't waiting for you, but i'm here now, and i wont' leave you.”

and he finally says that he loves him. and there's happy ending for them after all.

yeah, this is a fic which lives rent free in my head. but i won't write it because i'm lazy.

[jamiesfootball]

In a different world, Roy tried to make it work with Keeley, but it would probably be the only thing he could focus on outside of work.

Work, which would’ve been business as usual compared to his own personal life. Which means Richmond would have had two coaches on staff that were so focused on their own problems that they ignored the Zava problem.

And maybe Roy notices that Jamie is a little off, but what’s that compared to trying to save your relationship with the woman you love?

(Not that it stops him from noticing)

And maybe he catches Jamie’s face when Zava steals that goal - but maybe in that version he doesn’t go up to talk to him at Sam’s and offer him comfort. Because there was no breakup in this version, so Jamie never tried to comfort him about Keeley, so Roy figures that’s not something they do.

Instead he gives Jamie a nod and a toast and that’ll have to be good enough to let him know that he sees them.

There’s no 4am training. There’s just watching Jamie push himself on the pitch, maybe harder than he should. With more teeth. With more rage. He’s self isolating from the team. Maybe Roy brings it up to Keeley, who asks if he’s talked to Jamie, and he says ‘maybe I will’ but he doesn’t get around to it.

Roy really really needs to not focus on Jamie Tartt. Not when the VC of Keeley’s firm has started hanging around, and roy knows that Keeley would never be unfaithful, he’d punch anyone who suggested otherwise, but right now the back of his brain is suggesting it would serve him right and he’s so torn up about it that he tries to overcompensate for it by treating her to an amazing evening in Amsterdam.

In a different world, Roy doesn’t learn how to ride a bike or go looking for windmills. He and Keeley stroll right over Skinny Bridge- not that they know what it’s called. No one points out the Fault in Our Stars bench either.

In a different world Jamie is in Amsterdam for the third time, and he isn’t bubbling with manic energy. He’s just manic. No one ever tried to soothe him about Zava. No one ever told him he could be the best. He’s in Amsterdam, he still doesn’t have a goal to his name for the season, and it feels like his dad is still there.

In a different world Jamie is still pissed with Dani about Zava, so he doesn’t vote tulip. He breaks the tie. Maybe he votes the way the old him would’ve voted, just to spite them. Just to prove to himself it didn’t matter.

It very much mattered.

In a different world Richmond has a very bad night, because they might’ve accidentally broken their star player.