#and for making grammar and spelling mistakes

[shymoob]

Ever since I had my dream about Leon, I’ve had some head cannons pop up about him. These are all random and relate to nothing in particular:

- He always carries your bags for you. When you go on trips, he carries everything. He refuses to let you lift a finger. You don’t have to ask him, and he doesn’t even give you a chance to grab your own bag, he just does it. And he looks good as hell carrying around a duffle bag with your name on it.

- When you kiss his lips, they taste slightly of metal? Like iron. Perhaps it’s the grime from missions, or blood, but that’s what he’d taste like.

- One of the first things he’d do right after he’d start dating you is teach you how to shoot if you didn’t already know how. He’d disguise it as a cute date, but he’s really prepping you for the future. He’d disguise is scared of the danger he brings with him, and wants you to be prepared.

- During your first kiss, he makes sure you’re comfortable with it. He leans in super slow, making it super obvious. He gives you plenty of time to pull away if you need. He’s afraid of ever making you uncomfortable, especially in such a vulnerable moment like this.

- Wakes up every morning by rolling over, wrapping you in a big hug. He’s still half asleep when he does this, which makes it even cuter. He’ll lay like this for a few moments, before planting a big kiss on the side of your head. Then, he’d carefully pull himself up out of the bed, doing his best not to wake you.

- Remembers little things about you. You say you never found a key chain with your name on it? He searches every gift shop he can find, even on missions, to find you one. You say your favorite movie is a cult classic no one really knows about? He finds every piece of merch he can for you. You mention you’re getting headaches and your back is starting to hurt but you don’t know why? Leon knows that your period must be coming, and he goes to the store and gets all your favorite snacks, Tylenol, and anything you could possibly need.

Disclaimer: I am not a writer. I draw fanart. But I also get ideas in my head because I think about Leon 25/8. So sorry for spelling mistakes or grammar errors.

[jazziejax]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Bob Reynolds x OC!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - The beginning of a new chapter for the lost soul of the white assassin.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Graphic violence, mentions of torture, blood, murder, dark themes, body horror (mimicry), fire/burning, language (Russian with translations and in italics, sorry!)

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - ….i caved. And I’ve been in a marvel hole my entire life, but Brave New World and Thunderbolts* has made that hole…deeper. Hope you guys like it. I plan to follow some of the themes of the movie and this might become a series (one that I hope I could finish…) Hope you guys like it and please go easy on me, I’ve never written a fight scene before. Sorry for any spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 3, 343+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - ᯓ★

The hard winds in the tundra whisper as they whipped past, but cold never touched her. It wasn’t because she was immune to it, no—her body could still feel the brining chill. She would still catch herself tightening with each wind-shear gust rolling off the Siberian flats. But it never touched her because she had trained herself not to flinch in it. To never show a face to weakness, no matter how much one was suffering. She had long since learned that pain, discomfort, even blood, were things to ignore until the job was done. And she was only at the beginning.

She crouched in the snowy ridge overlooking the isolated blacksite, its edges cloaked in pine trees and gunmetal fencing. Frost collected on her lashes, wind biting at where her mask didn’t cover. The lower half of her face was hidden behind a metal plated fabric, matte black and smooth like the rest of the sleek suit clinging to her body.

There was then a subtle click that sounded in her arms over the raging wind. The mechanical sound emitted when she twisted her wrist once, and the black against her skin rippled outward, transforming in seconds into a ghost-white camouflage, a seamless shift of color and texture. The material adapted to almost reflect a mimic the icy surroundings—her body now a phantom in snow. With a low hum, she put on her hood, casting a shadow over the stark white braids that were on either side of her head. The sight of the compound ahead shimmered in her lenses that moved to cover her eyes when she pressed behind her ear, tagged with red infrared silhouettes and biometric markers.

There were guards waiting outside, just as she predicted.

She watched the place like a predator watches a prey. Her pulse remained steady, eyes narrowed, gloved fingers flexing only once before she moved. There was not a single disturbance on the ground as she dashed through the rather open field. No sound, not a crunch of boots on snow. It was almost like she slid from the ridge her she was perched upon, her hood low, blending into the terrain.

She noted that four guards stood in front of the entrance, unaware that death had already been marked upon them for hours from the woman gazing at the from the trees.

She approached from behind the tree line, darting between thick trunks, eyes calculating wind speed, line of sight, and stance of each of them. She could read the weight of their steps, the nervous tap of a finger near a trigger, the tension in their shoulders, all revealing how ready they weren’t. It made her job all too easy. She then closed her eyes briefly.

Four shots before the fifth step. Inhale. Exhale.

She exploded from the shadows, making her way to them in an unimaginable speed. Before the first guard could reach for his comm, she drove a short blade into the soft space under his jaw. His blood hissed against the dagger before it was yanked out, more spurting from his wound and tainting the white snow as he fell.

The second guard raised his gun, but a flash of white and an elbow to his trachea dropped him, before the same blade went into the side of his neck.

She caught his rifle before it clattered, spun it like a baton, and cracked the third guard across the temple. The last one barely got out a shout before her hand pressed against his chest, an electric like fire sparking through his sternum. His body seized, then dropped in silence.

All before a single alarm could sound.

She stepped over bodies with clinical detachment, eyes glowing faintly as she approached the wall panel beside the door. A twitch of her hand sent a burst of electromagnetic feedback through the nearby circuit board, blacking out the feed in one hiss of static.

She tore the ID card from one of the fallen and the doors slid open with a soft beep before a hiss.

It was dark inside, dim lights hanging far from the high ceiling. Her nanotech suit rippled again, shifting back to obsidian-black in a single fluid transition, as she lowered her hood just enough to let the dim hallway light flash over her pale brow. Her fingers traced the hallway wall as she moved deeper into the facility, steps soundless and her heart steady.

But then she heard voices, causing her to pause as her ears enhanced. They were from down the corridor. Deep, male and Russian. She could hear two, maybe three, and the light footsteps of one pacing. She pressed to the wall, just before the intersection, and tilted her head to listen.

“Did you hear something outside?”

“You’re paranoid, Michael. We’re on lock down.”

“Still…my radio is static—”

She peeked around the corner to see three guards. All of them armed as they stood in front of a reinforced door.

Her eyes narrowed as she absorbed every detail with a simple glance.The one on the left had a slight limp—which told her it was an old injury, and probably favors the right by the way he stands. The one in the middle was twitchy—younger than the others and his naïveté was apparent. Paranoia meant quick reflexes, but poor aim. The last one was quiet and relaxed, confident and skilled.

She pulled back, placing her back against the wall and took a breath.

Then her body began to split.

A second version of her peeled away from her spine, identical save for a slightly darker shade to her hair. It was braided the same but now shadow-touched. The copy looked at her, and no words were shared. Just a nod before the copy pulled on her hood.

The white haired woman nodded back, watching as the double moved, striding slowly around the corner and into the open. Her appearance caught one of the guards attention, causing him to step forward.

“Hey!” The first guard shouted, alerting the other and their rifles lifted. “Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

“You can’t be back here!” Another shouted.

She simply kept walking, her hood low and her face hidden. No answer.

“Shoot her!” The third guard yelled, causing the youngest to fire.

The copy dove sideways, twisting mid-air as flames erupted from her arms, lighting up the corridor in a blaze of firelight and ash.

The men panicked.

The all opened fire. Bullets tore through her side, some reflecting off the metal plate that covered her abdomen, others piercing skin, blood hitting the floor in small drops. But she didn’t stop—she stormed forward, fire blooming behind every footstep. One man raised his rifle higher the closer she got. She caught the barrel with one hand, the metal sizzling in her grasp, warping into slag as his eyes went wide with horror.

She yanked him close by the grip she had on the nose and seized his throat, flames licking up her wrist and onto his neck. His scream echoed through the corridor before she hurled him over the side of the railing like mere garbage.

The other two didn’t stand a chance.

She leapt forward, using their panic like momentum. Her foot hit the wall before she dropped into their midst, sending a kick to the knee, watching as the man crumbled under the shattered bone. A sweep of her arm sent another sprawling, their armor singed and steaming.

One tried to run.

She caught him mid-turn, ducked under his wild swing, and rammed her elbow into his gut, then delivered a brutal kick to the chest, sending him flying over the edge with a crack of broken railing when his head hit the corner.

And as quick as there was chaos, there was silence. Ash and smoke.

Only one guard remained.

He stood near the door, gun raised but as stoic as ever.

But then, with an odd turn of his neck, his face began to morph.

The doppelgänger’s features shifted, bone realigning, eyes flickering. The hair lightened, the build softened, and in a moment… it wasn’t the guard at all. It was her. Tedres. Brown skin and pale haired, eye shallow as ever. She didn’t even get time to recover before the copy moved over and they morphed back into one.

The transformation rippled over her like a muscle cramp, ugly and involuntary. She shuddered violently, nearly doubling over from the psychic weight of reclaiming her own skin.

It didn’t hurt. Not in a long time, not in a long time, but it was still uncomfortable. But she rose. Picked up a fallen rifle, wiped the blood from her lip, and without pausing, mimicked another fallen guard. Taking everything from his build, his walk, his face. Only difference was that he was now dead.

She then turned toward the door they had guarded, card in hand, expression blank.

The automatic steel door hissed open with a low mechanical whoosh after she went through a series of passcodes, expelling a burst of warm, recycled air into the corridor. She stepped in slowly, boots heavy against the cold metallic floor. Her senses sharp as ever as she took in the stale air, the hum of dormant servers, and the glitchy glow of the wall-mounted monitors flickering with green strings of corrupted code.

The control center was mostly empty. Swivel chairs were left askew, like their occupants had fled mid-task. The monitors short-circuited the moment she stepped in, static hissing across their screens, code twitching like dying nerves. Her presence—her power—was already warping the systems around her.

And then, ahead of her, a single man sat.

HIs hair was thinning, spine hunched, and hands trembling over a glowing console. He hadn’t turned around to face her.

“Я знаю, что это ты, Димитриова.” I know it is you, Dimitriov. He uttered shakily. His voice was cracked, but familiar. She paused at the sound, something in her chest tensing. But she said nothing at first. She let the illusion drop—the nanotech suit pulled itself back over her form like a tide receding, her face and hair fading into view. The rifle she’d held clattered to the floor behind her with a loud clang.

The man flinched at the sound.

Still, he didn’t face her. But she saw the slight tremble in his lab coat covered shoulders. She saw the way his knuckles gripped something in his palms.

“Тогда ты знаешь, зачем я здесь, Ковальский.” Then you know why I’m here, Kowalski. Her voice, now in his native tongue, was like static. It carried an eerie softness but was still raspy. Their air was thick and still, like the humidity before a monsoon.

She stepped forward, not as silent this time.

Her footsteps were heavier now, deliberately. The predator making herself known to her prey, sticking a fear deep within them when they know they couldn’t escape.

He still didn’t move.

She stood behind him for a moment, watching the soft tremble of his shoulders with mild amusement. Then, with a sharp twist, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

His face was already wet with sweat and tears.

“Пожалуйста! Пожалуйста, не убивай меня!” Please! Please, don’t kill me!

“Сыворотка не работает, клянусь! Я пытался! Я переписывал ДНК, но тесты устарели…” The serum won’t work, I swear! I’ve tried! I rewrote the DNA, but the testing equipment here—it’s all outdated…

She stared at him blankly, eyes unblinking.

“Но ты знал это, когда взял мою кровь.” But you knew that when you took my blood.

Her voice dropped, becoming venom, but her face never changed.

“И потом ты передал его каким-то ублюдкам в Америке. Ты не изменился ни капли.” And then you gave it to some scum in the states. You haven’t changed a bit. She spat.

His lips trembled. His hands lifted in surrender.

“Я… у меня теперь семья. Я изменился, клянусь. Мне жаль за все эти годы… Я никогда не хотел никому навредить! Я всегда хотел остановить тесты!” I have a family now. I’ve changed, I swear! I’m sorry for all those years… I never wanted to hurt anyone! I always wanted the testing to stop!

She said nothing.

She simply watched him pleased for his life as her gaze dragged over him like cold steel.

Then—she saw it. A flash drive clutched in his shaking hand that he held up in defense.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Ты хотя бы выполнил другую задачу, которую я тебе дала?” Did you at least complete the other task I gave you?

His voice came fast and eager.

“Да, да, я старался! У меня есть всё по поводу твоей сестры! Вот, пожалуйста…” Yes, yes, I tried! I have everything on your sister! Right here, please…

He extended the drive toward her. It was shaped like SpongeBob, childish and absurd in contrast to the tension around them. She stared at it for a moment, lips curling with disgusted amusement as her eyes flickered back up to his terrified gaze. She then snatched it from his hands, her sudden movement causing the man to yell, all while she crossed to the nearest terminal.

The computer buzzed as she jammed the drive in, twisting off the little sponge’s cartoon butt and revealing the USB tip. She stepped around the desk and stood before the glitching screen, her fingers flexing with growing tension as the files loaded.

It wasn’t long before an image appeared.

On of her. And younger version of her. Raw and scarred. It was a profile from a government record she thought was buried.

She simply blinked at the version of herself he had long forgotten before scrolling.

Then there was another picture, under all the words in her file came another photo. A photo of a girl that was older than the one above, similar features and a white patch of hair on her right side.

Lyra.

Two of her sister’s image appeared. One being older, her now, and her profile was outlined. Her last location pinged on the small map next to the photo, and Tedres’ breath hitched for a second, anticipating her location. But before she could fully take it in—

Crack.

Something slammed into the back of her skull.

White exploded behind her eyes. Pain surged. She barely staggered forward at the unexpected hit, but her jaw clenched to hold in the pain, shoulders tensing. Then she heard it.

Click.

The sound of a gun cocking. She blinked before raising her head to the back of her head, touching the searing pain to feel the warm wetness coat her finger tips. She brought her hand back to her line of sight, looking at the red that drenched her finger tips. She let out a short breath, almost like a tried sigh.

She turned around slowly, blood dripping from her scalp, bubble in her white tresses.

Kowalski stood there, hands shaking, wore framed glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. He held the rifle she’d dropped earlier, pointing it squarely at her. She eyed him as she stood up, her stature taller than the old man. Her eyes didn’t leave his as he gripped the weapon tightly.

“Не подходи!” Don’t come any closer! He shouted.

She stared at him.

“Ты из всех должен знать, что я не люблю, когда мне угрожают.” You of all people should know I don’t like being threatened. She deadpanned with a cold glare and took a step forward.

He fired.

The bullet ripped through the side of her right arm—burning hot metal tearing into muscle and flesh. She winced but didn’t scream. Blood dripped steadily from her bicep, the sound of the blood hitting the metal floors echoing in the silent room. She watched the blood for a bit before her gaze flicked to the monitor behind her.

The bullet had grazed her and shattered the screen—right through Lyra’s face. A slight frown etched onto her face before she looked back to him, her expression darkening more.

“Ты не можешь убить меня, Ковальский.” You can’t kill me, Kowalski. She stated, her voice dropping an octave.

“Оставайся на месте!” Stay back!

She tilted her head, calm and cold as ever.

“И это по твоему дизайну.” And that was by your design.

Her hands began to crackle. Blue-white energy gathered in her palms—rippling up her forearms like plasma fire building behind a reactor coil. It churned and surged beneath the nanotech like magma trapped under glass, the sound of the building radiation sending a chill down his back. The air vibrated, pulsing with escalating sound and charge.

His eyes widened.

“Что это?.. Что ты делаешь…?” What is that… What are you doing…?

Without taking another step, she punched the air.

The energy burst from her fist in a concussive shockwave—the blast flew from her body with a shriek of heat and force, smashing into his chest and sending him flying across the room. He hit the steel doors behind him hard—hard enough to dent them—then slumped to the floor in a broken heap.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t scream. All that came from his was a stained cry as he tried to recover.

She paused, eyes narrowing on his slimmed form. Her boots echoed softly as she walked over and crouched down. His chest smoked, but he didn’t bleed. Instead… something shimmered under his torn lab coat.

She tore it open and saw veins glowing a light green, skin shifting slightly like it was reinforced from within. She tilted her head at that.

“Значит, ты игрался в лаборатории.” It seems you’ve been playing around in the lab. She said, watching as his eyes cracked open… glowing faint lime green through the shards of his glasses.

She smiled, low and bitter.

“Или, наконец, кто-то начал играть с тобой.” Or, someone has finally begun playing with you.

She stood and turned away from him, moving over to the monitor and yanking the drive from the smoking terminal. The screen fizzled out, her sister’s face frozen in glitching pixels.

She capped the device and popped the little sponge toy back into her hand.

Then she walked back to him, palms buzzing again. The wound on her arm burned, but she ignored it.

This part… this part she needed to feel.

A small orb of concentrated energy built up in her palm, trembling softly with unstable, cracking light. She crouched down, ignoring the man the bang to panic as best he could in his crippled state. Her other hand reached out and grabbed his jaw—forcing his mouth open, his fingers clawing weakly at her wrist.

“Молись быстро, пока у тебя ещё есть шанс.” Pray quickly while you still have the chance.

“Потому что смерть придёт раньше, чем ты сделаешь свой последний вдох.” Because death will come sooner than your last breath.

He shook, panic overtaking him, and she simply watched as he tried to break free from her iron grip, giving him a few seconds.

She shoved the orb down into his mouth. Then placed her hand over it. Not to keep the energy in—he had no choice—but to copy the torture she had endured at his hand for years. To silence him like she had been silenced . She covered his nose too, watching him panic, whimper and writhe. Whatever he’d taken prolong his torture, and she wasn’t going to stick around just to see the light leave his eyes.

She stood, no expression gracing her features as she moved like a breath in the dark.

She hit the door release and stepped over his body without a care.

Back through the halls, she trekked over the blood.

Her suit shimmered white again as she meet the snow. This time she didn’t bother with the hood. The chill kissed her almond-brown skin, stark against the white tundra. Her long white braids whipped in the wind, blending into the snowfall.

She didn’t take a single look back. Didn’t have the urge to.

The building behind her exploded seconds later, fire ripping through steel, smoke blackening the sky.

But she just kept walking—toward the cold, toward whatever came next.

[identitty-dickruption]

every single person without dyslexia needs to answer for their crimes immediately

[noxemma]

Parts 1&2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

@colorlessjay thank you so much for the awesome story idea and the inspiration for the title, I really dig the idea of a romance in reverse (I'm not a phenomenal artist but this came to me in a vision, so I had to give it a go 😂). Hopefully you enjoy this next installment (Cas POV this time) as much as the last ones

---

Steering through the Rearview: A Romance in Reverse

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

---

Castiel takes the hint when Dean turns up the music. Not that he minds; he's not sure what had possessed him to say those words to Dean.

That's not entirely true, Castiel mentally chastises himself. Dean's words may have been gruff and stained with anger, but his eyes. His eyes had been sad and full of ... Caged hope? No, that doesn't sound quite right. It's not caged exactly, more like ... Castiel looks at Dean, searching for the right words to describe the beautiful and complicated man beside him.

Dean must feel him staring because he darts a quick, nervous smile his way. Hobbled, maybe. Unable to run free, but still wild and wanting inside.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?" Dean asks, turning the music down and letting out a chuckle that sounds forced.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I just got ... lost in thought," Castiel rushes to explain, trying to will the heat back down that he feels rushing to his cheeks. "Sam's written several stories about traveling. Lovely pieces full of nostalgia and wonder. I assume those were trips taken in this car, with you and your father?" "Uh," Dean starts, one hand coming off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, Castiel is quickly learning. "Yeah. I guess they must be. This was the most stable home we had for a good chunk of our childhood." Dean shoots a glance at Castiel, magnificent green eyes wide, like he's confessed something he shouldn't have, or didn't mean to. "That would make sense, then," Castiel responds with a warm smile that he hopes is reassuring.

He understands not wanting to talk about rocky childhoods. Or fathers, for that matter. So, while Dean's admission only stokes his already blazing curiosity about the man, he forces himself to let it go and let whatever band Dean has playing take over the conversation. To his surprise, Dean doesn't take the out, choosing instead to continue talking.

"Uh, Sam told me he, um, well, whenever I agreed to this, he told me that he wrote a lot about our childhood for your class. He also said you were ridiculously smart, so you'd probably be able to put some stuff together." Dean's not looking at him, but Castiel can see his hands tighten on the wheel and his shoulders tense. "He did," Castiel admits. "Although it is a creative writing class so I can't be sure how much is real and how much is fictional. But, well, we tend to write what we know. I try not to read too much into them, unless of course I'm worried a student might harm themselves or someone else. However, one story of his in particular does stand out."

"Yeah?" Dean's answer is breathless and high, compressed fear dampening the sound.

"It was about a boy and his brother and their father. They lived on the road, chasing down supernatural entities, trying to get revenge for their dead mother," Castiel tells him slowly, verbally approaching with his hands raised to show he means no harm. "It was really wonderful, best in the entire class, though I'm sure it was written with a heavy dose of creative license. Or did you really hunt monsters across the United States?"

Dean lets out a whoosh of air, relaxing back into the seat and letting color come back into his knuckles. "No. And, yes, kind of. Man, Sam has one hell of an imagination," Dean lets out a relieved laugh before continuing. "Mom died just a few months after Sam was born. House fire, or well, arson. The guy they think did it was a criminal who skipped out on his bail, but the police could never track him down. I think that's part of the reason why Sam is going into criminal law. Anyway, Dad took it hard and became a bounty hunter. It gave him a sense of purpose and resources to work on Mom's case in his spare time, for a little while anyway. But, as the years went by, and the leads went cold, he started taking comfort in a bottle. He was drunk when he totaled Baby. Nearly killed Sam and I." "You were in the car with him? How old were you?" Castiel manages to bite his tongue after the second question escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." "Nah, it's okay. It's practically ancient history now. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. Dad kept insisting he was fine to drive, and I tried to argue. And I know I should have tried harder, or hidden his keys or something but, but there was just no getting through to him when he got that way ..." Dean's eyes go far away and Castiel is pretty sure he's seeing something other than the road. His jaw clenches and he gulps before he blinks, eyes refocusing. "Anyway, can't change the past. Sam was in the backseat, so he was the least hurt, which was a fucking miracle." "And you?" Castiel breathes, riveted and horrified as more pieces of Sam's writing slot into place; the pretty paint facade of fiction washing away from the story, revealing the uglier truth behind it. Dean rubs his neck again, hesitating before admitting, "I was in the hospital for over a week. Bobby and his wife Karen fostered us until I turned eighteen. Gave me a job at his junkyard and taught me how to be a mechanic. Helped me get my GED and paid for me to go to trade school and get my ASE certification. Not to mention he helped me petition the state for custody of Sam once I had full-time employment and an apartment in my name." Before he realizes what he's doing, Castiel's hand is on Dean's knee, squeezing reassuringly as he says, "I'm so sorry, Dean. No child should have to go through that. I'm glad you had someone like Bobby to help you." "Thanks, Cas. Me too. But, like I said, it's all ancient history now." They both know he's lying but Cas doesn't call him on it because he's too busy trying to remain calm when Dean lowers his hand to cover his own.

"Cas?" Castiel asks, cursing how breathy his voice sounds and pulling his hand slowly back into his own space before he does something irrational like skipping the wedding and just driving around for the next few days. "You've called me that a few times now."

"Yeah. Cas. You know, the shortened version of your name or, as it's more commonly known: a nickname," Dean rolls his eyes, laughing like Cas has made some great joke. He stops when Cas just stares at him in confusion. "Hang on, has no one really ever called you that before?" "Um. No?" Dean's mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas in the passenger seat for long enough that Cas is worried they might start to drift off the road if he doesn't snap him out of it. "My parents were, um, very formal and ... strict," Cas explains quickly, pitching his voice high in a poor imitation of Naomi, "'Castiel, if I wanted you to be called something else, I would have put it on your birth certificate.'" Dean let's out a snort and the cold dread, which had begun squeezing its icy fist around Cas' chest at the memory of the woman who gave birth to him, recedes at the sound. "Seriously? Man, I can't imagine if I had to run around calling Sam 'Samuel' for the rest of his life. What kind of name is Castiel anyway? European?"

"Biblical. My parents were also extremely religious. They named all of us after angels. Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer." "Damn, and here I was feeling bad about myself for being named after my grandmother, Deanna. Although at least you aren't Lucifer. Does he really go by that?"

"He went by Nick until he died few years ago. Or at least that's what Gabriel told me," Cas admits.

Dean shoots him another look but doesn't press. Instead, he mimics Cas' action from earlier, right hand coming off the wheel to squeeze his leg. He knows the action is supposed to be comforting, but knowing doesn't stop the heat sizzling up his veins.

Cas closes his eyes to fight against the feeling. It doesn't help; green eyes and freckles emblazon against the back of his eyelids.

How long has it been since someone, besides Charlie or my students or Jack, touched me, intentionally? Months? Years?

Cas stifles a groan. Because it doesn't matter. It's clearly been long enough that his body is responding disproportionately, and he has to stop it. Now. So, he starts talking about the one thing he knows for sure will kill any errant desire he's feeling.

"My parents disowned me when I came out to them. Gabriel is the only one who still speaks to me. He would have probably been disowned too if he hadn't kept the family name and become so successful so quickly. This wedding is actually the first time I'll be seeing any of them beside him in well over a decade now." "Shit, sorry, Cas," Dean blurts before chewing his lip and darting more glances his way, clearly debating something. "You can ask whatever it is you're wondering," Cas encourages, welcoming the distraction. "Uh, why are you going to this wedding then? I mean, I get that they're family, but well, to quote Bobby, 'family don't end in blood. And it don't start there either.'"

The voice Dean puts on when quoting his surrogate father wrings a laugh out of Cas and the dangerous heat of attraction is replaced with an equally dangerous, though less embarrassing, warmth centered father up his body.

"I'm getting the idea that Bobby was a very wise man. But, to answer your question: I'm going because Jack is actually my biological nephew. I was friends with Kelly, his mother, and I raised him like my own when she died from complications shortly after giving birth. She never put Lucifer on his birth certificate and her parents never contested her choice to name me his as his godfather and legal guardian. But, somehow, Naomi and Chuck have found out about him, and they are threatening to petition for custody of him if I don't show up."

"Why? On what grounds?" Dean explodes, barely contained fury adding a growl to the words that sends a tingle up his spine and forces him to shift in his seat. "I'm a single father and a man who wouldn't be able to afford the house I'm living in if it wasn't paid for by my more successful brother, and gay on top of that," Cas ticks off, "Plus a few others, I'm sure."

Dean stays silent, but rage radiates off him in heavy waves. Cas is just about to try and call off the whole ridiculous idea, sure Dean will agree now that he knows what he'll be up against, when Dean's face brightens and he pins Cas with a wild stare, stealing the breath he was about to use to speak.

"Hey, Cas. How do you feel about being fiancés?"

Cas, ever a pillar of grace and decorum, chokes on his own spit.

"Shit, sorry. You're Sam's favorite professor and I'm pretty sure he can kill me without leaving a trace, so please don't die!"

"Why-" Cas starts, coughing and gasping a few more times before managing to get the rest of the question out, "Why would you want to be my fiancé?" "Well, you're gorgeous and kind for one, so who wouldn't want to be your fiancé," Dean says with a wink at him and Cas is grateful that his face is already red from nearly choking to death on his own saliva. "But I was thinking, we were already going to pretend to be boyfriends, right? So why not go for gold? We can knock off at least two of those reasons you mentioned. I practically raised Sam so I'm no stranger to the whole parent thing. We become fiancés and suddenly you're a two parent, dual income household. I mean, I'm not rolling in wealth by any means, but I do okay enough, though most of the money I make doing restorations goes to helping Sam out with tuition, but they don't need to know that."

"But we don't know anything about each other, how would we be able to convince my parents that we're planning on getting married?" Cas challenges, not quite daring to hope that they might have a chance at pulling this off. "Well, we've got approximately five hours to figure it out. Plenty of time, plus we already know a lot about each other." Cas tilts his head and opens his mouth, but Dean answers his question before it can escape.

"You know that I have a younger brother who I raised, that I work as a mechanic and a car restoration expert, not to mention you apparently already described me to 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean takes a breath and hurries on before Cas can interrupt, not that he would, "I know that your parents are mega douchebags who don't appreciate what an amazing son they have. I know that you're an English professor at Stanford and that you're an amazing dad, aside from a slight oversight in the stranger danger department. But most importantly, I know that Jack belongs with you and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help make that happen."

Cas' heart thuds in his chest at Dean's vehement declaration. "I- Thank you, Dean," Cas manages before his throat closes up entirely and he's blinking rapidly to keep the moisture forming in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. "Great!" Dean chirps, flicking on his turn signal and changing lanes to speed around a slow-moving truck. "So, babe. How did we meet? Because, somehow, I feel like telling your folks that I accidentally kidnapped your son will be counterproductive."

[severuwus]

Snape was definetely a bitch to his students, but at least he was a somewhat responsible teacher. He'd make his students scrub cauldrons or clean nasty potion ingredients for detention, but it wasn't him who sent 1st year students over to Hagrid's to wander around the Forbidden Forest at night ON THEIR OWN with only a dog at their side, while something unknown is attacking other creatures.

Y'all call Snape a terrible teacher for being scary and mean and abusing a toad, but I don't see anyone uttering a word about Hagrid and McGonagall literally endangering children's lives: McGonagall for thinking that sending 1st year students who had 0 experience in defense and fighting to accompany Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest at night was a reasonable detention (note: students had been warned multiple times to not enter it as it was a very dangerous place). And Hagrid. He deserves his own post on that scene alone.

Bro would have been dead furious if 11 year old Malfoy had told him about Hagrid separating him and Neville in the Forbidden Forest at night with only a dog as "protection" while some creature was actively hunting.

[lycheeloving]

ANOTHER MULTIVERSE FIC because I can't stop myself, apparently. An injustice!Superman one, this time. I imagine you were a small-time hero/vigilante in this one, so Superman knew (and liked) you before he turned bad, but you weren't super close, before.

-You wake up in an unfamiliar room, tied to a chair, not knowing how you got there. Kal doesn't ever let you leave the fortress. But you don't know how anyone else could have gotten in to take you here, wherever here is. Maybe it was Kal? But why would he do that?

-You spot a woman tied up in another chair next to you, it seems like she also just woke up. She reminds you of someone, but you can't remember who exactly... You want to ask her if she knows more about what's going on, when you realize you're both gagged. Shit. You can't even communicate with her!

-A man comes in, rambling something about how he's glad you're finally awake and about his plan finally taking shape. You feel like you should know this guy, but can't quite put a finger on it...

-Being unsure if you know who he is, as you're "not from here", he introduces himself. He's Lex Luthor.

-Wait. Lex Luthor? The Lex Luthor? The dead one, who was killed by Superman? Is this a prank? Because if so, it isn't funny at all. And quite dangerous for everyone involved.

-Luthor (if that is his real name) then focuses on the woman next to you. He addresses her as "Mrs. Lane".

-Lane as in Lois Lane? Like, Lois Lane from the Daily Planet? Clark Kent's, Superman's wife? Now you know something is extremely wrong. She's dead, too, and everyone knows not to mention her name unless they want to face Superman's wrath... You make a few muffled sounds beneath your gag, itching to ask about just what is going on here.

-Luthor says he's going to explain everything, don't be so impatient! He has a machine that can open portals to parallel universes, which is how he got you here. His plan includes kidnapping the person that is most important to Superman in his own universe (Lois Lane), the person most important to Superman in a second universe (You!) and then making the Supermen fight each other by threatening your lives. The only way to save you is if one Superman dies. This room is Superman proof, he can't hear or see anything that's happening in here, so they can't just swoop in and save you. After the fight, he's going to let the winning Superman enter this room, promising him that he can rescue Lois or you. Except not really, because he's going to try to kill the winner too, because that should be easier after he just fought another Superman, right? He hasn't opened a portal to let the Superman from your universe know about how he can save you, yet. He closed the portal he got you through immediately after kidnapping you, so he had more time to prepare everything. How he found you? Something about being able to detect kryptonian dna residue on you. And you were in Superman's fortress. Easy to combine that you must be important to him.

-That's... actually not a terrible plan! Sure, it might not work out exactly the way that Luthor is planning, but beating Superman with Superman is a great idea! Actually it'd be great if Luthor got a third one here. Two Supermen should definitely be able to defeat one Superman, right? Unfortunately you can't communicate any of this through your gag. Damn, you'd love to help him improve his plan...

-You wonder if he chose your universe completely randomly, or if he chose an evil Superman on purpose. You don't think he did, he didn't mention the regime with one word, and if it existed in this universe he wouldn't be working on this stupid plan. And Lois wouldn't be alive, probably.

-Before you can let your thoughts spiral even more, Luthor falls over. Huh? Is he unconscious? You spot Batman coming towards you. Ah. That explains that, then. Man, you haven't seen Batman in such a long time...

-"Are you two alright?" He quickly cuts through the ropes tying you to the chairs, freeing you. "Good thing you used your bat emergency-signal, Lois. I was able to get to you before Superman could fall for Luthor's trap." Wait, why would Lois contact Batman? Oh, right, sometimes you forget that he and Superman used to be friends, so obviously his wife would trust him too.

-He takes off both of your gags and then turns to you. "We figured out you're from a parallel universe, but don't worry, Nightwing is currently working on a way to get in contact with the Superman from your dimension, so-"

-"NO!", you scream, making Batman look at you in confusion. You quickly tell him to contact Nightwing, to make him stop trying to open a portal or god forbid, contact Kal!! Noticing the urgency in your voice, Batman quickly complies and lets Nightwing know to stop what he's doing, before asking you to elaborate. Phew! The last thing you need is an angry Superman wreaking havoc in a second universe.

-You start explaining to Batman about how your Superman started changing for the worse after Lois died (sparing the details, as she's kind of sitting right next to you), started to get darker, kill villains, everyone who did something bad, people who disagreed with him. Other heroes, even. People he used to be friends with. How everyone who didn't agree with him and join his regime, including you and Batman, had to go into hiding, trying to find a way to stop him. Clark, no KAL-EL found you at some point, but instead of killing you, he unexpectedly took you, basically imprisoned you. Kept you like a pet who's not smart enough to make their own decisions. (You never even knew he liked you like that at all, before that. Sure, he was always nice to you, but he had Lois!)

-Lois seems visibly shocked, whereas Batman just listens to you stoically. "All this to say, it's good to see you alive, Lois!" You smile weakly. She tries to smile back, but before she can respond, Batman cuts her off. "We should leave this place. I doubt it's very safe here. We should return to the Batcave, think of a plan." You spare one last glance at Luthor, who's still lying on the floor (Are we just going to leave him here? Huh. Ok.), then follow Batman outside.

-As soon as you're out of the building, something rushes past you. "Lois! Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" Not something. Someone. You try not to flinch as he fusses over her, while she reassures him that she's fine multiple times.

-After he's convinced she's not hurt, he turns to you with a gentle smile. "Hello! So you're close to the Superman in another dimension, then?" As he takes a step towards you, you instinctively take a step back towards Batman. Clark frowns at him quizzically. It's funny, he almost looks like a confused puppy. You would smile if you didn't know that this is all a facade to distract from his god-like, destructive powers.

-"Turns out the other version of you is some kind of evil dictator." Well, leave it to Batman to get straight to the point. Clark opens and closes his mouth a few times, thinking about what to say. "Well, I can assure you that I'm not like the Superman you know. I promise you, I'm a good person! At least I try my best to be one. You don't have to be scared." His voice is getting increasingly gentle, trying to reassure you.

-"Oh yeah? That's exactly what the Superman from my dimension would have said, before..." You don't mention his wife's death, not wanting to anger him. "The same thing could happen to you. You might be nice now, but who knows what the future holds?" As you're saying this, you slowly move slightly behind Batman. Just in case. He should have some kryptonite on him, right?

-Superman just frowns harder, then turns to Lois. "We should go home." He picks her up and turns to Batman. "Contact me as soon as you have plans for... handling the other me." With that, he takes off.

-Batman ushers you into the Batmobile, where Nightwing (another ghost, to you) is already waiting. You keep turning to look at him during the drive to the Batcave, while Bruce explains the situation to him. If they notice your weird looks, they don't mention it.

-You allow yourself to feel some hope. Maybe you can contact your Bruce? Help him out! Send a few still good Supermen! Your head is spinning with ideas, and you're sure Batman can come up with even better ones. You can't help but smile, your nightmare might finally be over...

[buff-muffin]

There’s a pretty common ASL brothers headcanon that Sabo teaches his brothers things like reading and writing among other things and I do think this is true to a degree. Like of course the bandits taught Ace the basics but you know little Ace and his whole “raaaa don’t tell me what to do. If I stay out of the house I can’t be a bother to you” mindset. And I certainly think Makino and the Mayor TRIED to teach Luffy but he only has a grip on bare basics. So Sabo had to teach more complicated things like grammar, multiplication, division and other things.

And honestly I could see him being a pretty good teacher. He knows how his brothers brains work and how to phrase questions for them so that they would understand. And considering Ace and Sabo had known each other for years by this point I could imagine Ace is use to Sabo being a teacher.

But Sabo as Luffy’s teacher is a little different. Because Sabo watches Luffy struggle with so many things he did when he was little. Phonetic spelling, contractions, fractions even simple things like buttoning up his own shirt are hard for Luffy. And while Ace is quick to call him stupid because it’s easy don’t be a baby. Sabo is patient with him because his own parents never were. He buttons Luffy’s shirts in the winter when he struggles, he sounds out store signs for him and break down maths questions to the point of rocks for Luffy to count. While I doubt Luffy was ever fond of class time, he was almost always met with patience helping him to learn

When Sabo left, Ace would not coddle him the same Sabo did even if he tried to and that Winter after Sabo’s death Luffy learned to button his own shirt and was so proud. He chose to leave Dawn in a button up vest as if to prove to Sabo he was grown enough to survive on his own and he didn’t need to worry.

[rhonissancee]

𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃

calloused hands muffle the faint tick tick tick sound, the mechanical heartbeat replaced with a live badump badump coming from their own chest. The engravings of the pocket watch looked precise, as if one had carved it with surgical precision. There was a latch, barely noticeable, almost as if meant to hide something beneath the timepiece's dial. Fingers moved to click it open— "Didn't daddy ever teach you not to touch what isn't yours, doe?" Shit.

extra images utc [in case y'all wanna see specific parts of the illust.]

[I added too many details only for the text to cover it hmphhh>:(]

Notes: Oh the red text does KIND OFF spell something out. So like have fun with that !!

[tsukis-marauders-microfics]

microfic biased off this post by @we-were-starss because why not

It had been a brilliant idea.

After all, they’d already planned to brew Polyjuice, and what else to use to for other than pranks?

Right before class, James had put his glasses on Sirius’s face, and then James had pulled off a strand of Sirius’s hair, and Sirius to James. They put it in their cups and drunk the whole bottle, causing both of them to crumple in pain.

When they arose from their fetal positions on the floor in their dorm, Sirius looked up, shocked to be met with his own face.

“Bloody hell, Potter. This brilliant!” Sirius said, examining his arms his arms, and flexing.

“Merlin, Sirius, how do you deal with your hair this long?” James brushed his fingers through his (Sirius’s) hair.

“How do you deal with glasses?” Sirius asked, taking off James’s glasses and squinting across the room. “Your eyesight is fucked, mate.”

“Are you two ready to go to class?” Remus asked, coming out of the bathroom and straightening his tie. Peter had music blasting in his ears as he attempted to put his shoes on. Remus walked over to “Sirius” and was about to kiss his cheek before James jumped back, and Remus looked at “Sirius” confused.

“It’s me. James. I’m James.” James said frantically “He’s Sirius” Remus’s brow furrowed before a wave of realization flooded his face.

“Polyjuice.” he muttered, as Peter pulled out his earbuds.

“Polyjuice?” Peter asked, standing up.

“Those two idiots took Polyjuice.” Remus sighed waving his hand between James and Sirius. Peter stared at both of them shocked.

“Smart as ever, Moony.” Sirius winked at Remus.

“I am not kissing you until this wears off” Remus called over his shoulder, walking out of the dorm. Sirius sighed lovingly, before continuing to examine his body and Peter bombarded them with questions.

☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼

Sirius and James had decided to just go to the others classes to draw less attention to themselves. They enjoyed walking around Hogwarts, nobody else knowing that they weren’t who they were supposed to be. They agreed to continue to take it throughout the day, but to have it end before quidditch practice (Sirius drew the line at him and James’s swapping positions).

The day started to get interesting after Potions, when Sirius said that he had to go grab something he forgot from his dorm. The others waved him goodbye and headed off to lunch, while he made the trek back to the Gryffindor common room.

Nothing interesting had happened, until he suddenly felt someone pull his robes. He yelped out of surprise, which was only heightened when he was shoved into a broom closet. Once in, the person moved their lips closer to his, but he was able to push the person off him with little effort. His eyes widened as he looked at the person in front of him.

“What the hell Reggie??” Sirius shouted. Regulus shushed him, and was beetroot red.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“Sorry??? Why did you do that?” Sirius recoiled, very confused.

“You said I could.” Regulus seemed to be making himself smaller as he adjusted his clothes.

“Why in the name of merlin would I say that? You’re my bloody brother!”

“What?” Regulus’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“I’m your brother! Why would you try to snog me?” Sirius repeated himself.

“You’re not my brother. You’re James.” Regulus tilted his head to the side, just as confused as Sirius. Suddenly, Sirius’s mouth dropped open.

“Fuck. Regulus, have you been dating James?” Sirius asked.

“James? Yes. You are James. Stop playing with me, Potter.”

“Regulus, I’m Sirius. Me and James took Polyjuice.” Regulus’s eyes widened in horror.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Sirius grumbled, his mind still spinning from the realization.

“I’m sorry. Actually, no. I’m not sorry. Me and James are together and if you don’t like it then that’s your problem.” Regulus snapped, his eyes aflame.

“I never said I had a problem with it, Jesus. Give me a second.” Sirius adjusted his (James’s) glasses. “I’m going to go talk to James.” Without another word, Sirius fled from the broom closet and ran all the way down to the great hall.

Once he was there, he scanned the hall, and then ran up to the table where the other three marauders sat. Once he got there, he stood over himself (James) and crossed his arms.

“Hello pads-prongs.” James corrected himself. “Care to join us?” Sirius stayed where he was and narrowed his eyes at James before shaking his head fondly.

“You brother-fucker.”

[bonicedemandarina]

Click for better quality!

Hey guys I'm still into wha btw, here's my art for the deciduous spells zine, just wanted to draw my favorite guys being happy for once.

I feel like my art always ends up being in a modern au idk how, it just keeps happening

[frooglet]

Readers: how many rounds of editing do you have to put your work through?

Writers: ...yes.

[bludhavens-finest]

“Nightwing doesn’t know to from too” “Nightwing doesn’t know you’re from your”

Nightwing has dyslexia.

[a-universe-needing-rest]

I think 9-1-1 really messed up with the back half of this season (and by that I mean the last like 4-5 episodes). This season had so many things going for it in terms of character arcs, and potential future storylines, and they disregarded pretty much all of it.

Before lab rats they had set up almost all of the characters with something for the season, and after they just dropped all of them??? For example Eddie’s whole choosing joy thing, and learning how to stand up for himself and what he wants, totally lost in the last few episodes because he learned that what he had chosen to do to get his son back and repair that relationship was wrong. Which like yeah Eddie really should have moved them back sooner and he belongs at the 118 with his family, but he should have realized that for himself, with some input from Chris, so we really get to see how their relationship has healed and how choosing joy helps that. But we got none of that.

Also we get barely anything from Maddie or Hen in the back half even though Maddie was set up to be worried about her pregnancy and how her most recent NDE affected her. And with Hen, they did such a poor job in showing us anything about her grief over Bobby, and the only real character moment we got from her was her turning down Captain, something that has been set up for her for a long time. Don’t get me wrong I think Chimney has grown a lot since the last time we saw him as captain and I think he would be great as Captain now especially after the last episode, but to basically take the position from Hen, when that is where all the signs have been pointing for so long kind of sucks.

As for Ravi, while I am so glad he is finally a main it feels like they didn’t give him anything this last bit. The climax of his arc was obviously him going to commit treason for the 118, which I was ecstatic about cause he is so apart of the family, but after Bobby died we didn’t see any of him mourning, or really bonding with the rest of them to cement that bond, even though we know he is truly part of the family of the 118 mains. I just wish we had gotten more time with him outside of the emergencies.

Don’t even get me started on Buck. Buck is my favorite and it just feels like we were strung along this season in terms of anything to do with Buck and his relationships, especially concerning his bisexuality.

Next Athena. I love Athena and I hate how much hurt she has gone through, especially considering this is the third time we have seen her grieve a relationship, and her future with that person. There was no need to put her through that again. We’ve seen her figure out a new future with Bobby after Michael came out, and we’ve seen her grieve over Emmett, the loss of their future together, and the loss of their past. Obviously with each of these she grieved differently and each of her relationships here were different, but with the way this show works they don’t show that very well, so they are comparable because they don’t show all of the complexities when it comes to her relationship and how she grieved differently. It just feel’s reused. Not to say that Angela Bassett didn’t do an amazing job with her performance because she did, but the show itself was the problem here.

There are so many things I can say about Chimney here. I do like how in the last episodes they gave him the arc that will make him captain, even though as I stated previously, I think it should have gone to Hen, because I do think he has changed and grown since the last time we saw him as captain, and I do think he will be good for that. However, I still think they really botched him after Bobby’s death. Especially considering both he and Maddie had NDEs this season. That could have created such a good partnering arc to her about how they feel about that. That could have been something serious for them to consider, about their futures, and just an amazing point to see more of their relationship. I don’t really remember if they gave him a clearer arc earlier in the series that they just gave up on otherwise I would touch on that as well.

Now for Bobby. I hate that they killed him off, especially in a way where he sacrificed himself. They took a character who was suicidal for a long time, who was finally able to be ready to live and live happily and they killed him in a self-sacrificing manner. I cannot repeat this enough. It feels like such a slap in the face to both the character and to anyone who related to his character in this way. I’m so upset about it. I probably would have been upset no matter how he died, but this is bullshit. He was finally ready to live and be happy with his family that he built, and they took that away. There are other ways they could have changed to show go let him live while still moving some else into the spot of captain, because I agree l that I think the show did need a change in that way, because they arcs and the way the show has progressed was calling for it, but I think there were better ways. I know it would have been out of character for Bobby to step down, or to retire without something huge happening, but I think maybe if they had just made so he had no choice, like an extreme injury(I know what show I’m talking about here but still), or something, where he could still be there for his family, and be happy, and grow old with Athena would have been better instead of killing him off. Also his entire send off felt extremely rushed, disappointing, and disrespectful to both the character and the actor.

Didn't really touch on any of the side characters here, but I get why we didn't really see many in the back half cause there was so much going on, but I missed some of them, and would have loved to see more of them, and also show how they were effected by Bobby's death.

As for the fans, I think it was an entirely disrespectful end to this season. Breaking promises that have been made in the past about killing off mains, hyping up things they definitely did not happen this season to increase engagement, queerbaiting(because yes they did fucking queerbait with Buck and Eddie, and they know they did, having a full episode about how Buck feels about Eddie, putting them in Buzzfeed together, and literally calling them Buddie in tweets and promotional things). I can’t speak for everyone but I can say for damn sure that this has broken my trust in 9-1-1 forever. There is literally nothing they can do to regain my trust. I'm pissed as hell. At this point I don't think I will be watching season 9. There are a few things that might change my mind if I happen to see them when it comes out, however this will not be the same as regaining my trust. Honestly, if I do go back and they do pull more of the bullshit we saw this season, I will not be continuing the show at all, which is a shame considering this show has so much potential (that is unfortunately so often wasted).

[weepingfishturtledragon]

I love the idea of Billy and Cap being autistic! I think they would have trouble with eye contact, take things too literally, have almost zero social skills (exaggerated by being homeless and not in school), as well as vocal and movement stimming. Like Rosa or Victor asking Billy to "wash the pan in the sink" which is exactly what he does. He washes the pans but they actually wanted him to do all the dishes, Billy is just so confused!

Or Captain Marvel going to a Justice League meeting and needing to talk with Batman who is also autistic but he has hyper eye contact making it very awkward. A stressed Captain Marvel thinks he's in serious trouble and Batman is over analyzing which makes him think Cap is hiding something. (he is but Batman doesn't need to know that)

[churrobird]

short mini-fic inspired by this post by @magnecalliope and tags by @femboyclownpierce

pangi enjoyers i dont know what inspired me to write this from pangi's POV because i dont really watch him outside of ros.... if i got his mannerisms wrong, im sorry

The tiled floor and wooden cabinets of the castle's kitchen were cold against Pangi's scales. The cold was really the only thing keeping him present, and a deep part of him despised it.

He dragged his eyes up from where he had been staring at a red stain (it wasn't blood, blood dried brown, but his heart thudded in his chest all the same) to look at Ros, desperately trying to ignore the red figure right behind her.

Pangi had found Ros in the kitchen, having tracked her down after noticing the absence of purple. She was leaning heavily against the counter, not quite falling over, with an open bottle of fruity wine in her hand. She wasn't absolutely wasted, not yet, but she was certainly on her way there.

She had looked at Pangi, her eyes wet, and asked him if she could complain to him.

Pangi was... trying, at this whole "being genuine friends with Ros" thing. It was hard, after Pili had burnt him so deeply; he didn't really remember how to be a friend.

But what he was good at was listening in on gossip, and if his love of messy chisme helped Ros get out all her woes, then no one could fault him for it.

And, Void, he knew Ros had issues, with all her violent and sacrificial tendencies and what he had heard Pili yell at her about her self-worth issues, but...

She went on, and on, and on. How she tried to make everyone happy, and how it never seemed to make her happy. Everything with Owen, which he had to shove down his old feelings of triumph about, which now felt sickening. Being Queen while Foolish was dead, and how Red and Green had hunted her every day, and how she didn't fault Pangi for it anymore, but it still scared her, even now.

It was when she finally started talking about Pili and everything he did, did Pangi ask for the half-empty bottle, and joined her in her drowning.

Halfway through whatever this was, with Pangi sobbing over his dead best friend who came back but didn't truly, and Ros sobbing over her twice-over murderer who made her angry and scared and confused, did Clown walk in.

It was an interesting experience, for Pangi's heart and soul, to be near-yelling about how Pili had died, and then for Pili's murderer to walk in the room.

All at once, he was slammed with this nauseous feeling of rage-terror-grief, spurred on by dulled memories of past lives and the haze of alcohol. For a moment, his mind screamed to just attack Clown right then and there, but the last remaining vestiges of his preservation instinct held him back.

That and... it would probably upset Ros. It was strange, how something like that mattered to him now.

Clown had just stared back at Pangi and, to his surprise, silently walked over to where Ros sat on the floor, and dropped down behind her, leaning against her back.

That's where they were now. With Ros still on a mad rant about Pili, and Pangi was trying to pay attention, trying to be a good friend, but it was getting harder and harder with a certain jester in the room.

Clown was entirely still. This alone set off every alarm bell in his head. A still, dead-silent Clown was a Clown that was planning to strike when you least expected it, and it nearly made Pangi ready his end crystals in his hotbar.

But the longer he sat here, the more he realized that wasn't all. Clown was still and silent, but he was relaxed. His posture loose, all of his weight supported against Ros. The archmage had an arm wrapped around the architect, something that normally would send the shocking fear of being grappled into anyone, but Ros had simply gotten hold of Clown's other arm, the grip being reciprocated.

For that matter, Ros was confusing too. Her hold on Clown tightened as she got more and more emotional in her ranting, until her knuckles turned white and her nails dug into the dark fabric of Clown's sleeve, like Lifesteal's deadliest player was just her emotional support stressball.

He would've expected Clown to protest in any way, but the only acknowledgment the jester gave was a soft, mumbled hum and his head lolling against Ros' shoulder, and that's the moment Pangi finally realizes,

Wait, is he also wasted?

He really didn't expect Clown to lower his guard at an event like this enough to get drunk, even if it was hosted by Ros. He also didn't expect Clown to be okay with showing off this much softness in the presence of someone like Pangi. He knew Ros and Clown were friends, by Ros' own admission, but he didn't know...

(It reminds him of Pili, and his gut churns. Days and nights spent deep underground, laying against each other and the potion machine. The sound of turtle eggs hatching and the feeling of Pili's soft fur against his scales. Sometimes, only when he's just moments from sleep, he would feel a soft, wispy caress on his head, and he felt safe.) (He felt safe with his best friend by his side, and a dark specter keeping watch over them.) (He wonders how Ros feels about getting both in just one person.)

He reaches for the bottle between him and Ros again. There's smudged purple lipstick on the rim. He doesn't care, hasn't cared about anything since Pili died, and takes another swig.

[raindropren]

I love DL!Pearl because She's Sad. Because nobody in the situation that caused her Loneliness was completely in the wrong. Scott and Cleo had their Reasons for not wanting to be with their soulbound/mates and while I would personally disagree with those reasons, that's not my choice to make, y'know? and to me, Pearl understands that in a way, but She's still sad, maybe alittle mad but more at the situation then truly at them. She plays up the anger slightly cause it's more fun to jokingly be angry and unhinged then just actually be sad.

Pearl was never in the wrong at first she was Sad, less-so angry at them, even if she had a right to be.

She's Sad, She's Lonely.

I love DL!Tilly(DL! instead of just Tilly cause my AU has her being a bigger part of everything) because to me, Tilly is the Mad one. They're Loyal. She's Loyal to Pearl and doesn't exactly like how Not-Angry Pearl is at the people causing her sadness, and Thus, is Angry for her. To me Tilly considers What Scott did as Pearls Soulbound to be a betrayal, and as an inherently loyal creature, That's maddening to them already.