#kept staring at this gifset instead of posting it

[whenfatecollides]

Xena & Gabrielle + kisses

[pilvimarja]

For some reason I keep imagining a TKK3-set scenario during or post-film where Johnny happens to glimpse Daniel somewhere, but is in denial or tries to not notice him and mind his own business. Then, he hears someone confirm it's the same guy and winds up all flustered and trying to not stare or be avoiding being seen in the same spot.

Omg yes I'm low-key obsessed with Johnny post-TKK and wondering what he was doing in -85, if he ever saw Daniel after graduation (my guess is that he did, plenty of times over the years, but he mostly kept his distance until Cobra Kai) and how he felt about everything that happened between them and seeing Daniel grow into a successful and beautiful business man while his own life was going downhill. And what if he saw Daniel through the windows of the Cobra Kai dojo, training with Silver in a Cobra Kai gi! I wonder what he'd thought about that.

And one of my favorite AU scenarios is one where Johnny was in TKK3 instead of Mike Barnes! That's what drove me to make that one AU gifset a while ago!

I don't know if I'd want to see him in the role of a generic bully like Mike Barnes again, but I kind of like the angst of a scenario where Johnny was never able to let go of Cobra Kai and Kreese as a father figure/mentor, and when Silver shows up, he and Kreese use Johnny to play mind games with Daniel. And it'd be extra tragic if Johnny didn't know he's being used, that he genuinely befriends Daniel and bonds with him and falls in love only to find out that Kreese and Silver are using him and playing dirty.

Like, in my mind, this would be the moment Daniel finds out and Johnny is full of shame and regret :(((

[nrgburst]

AO3 fic title meme

Ganking this over here from DW:

Of the 20 most recent titles of your AO3 works (I am assuming just fic, not meta. Also I skipped older fics I re-posted from ffnet.) 1. How many are you happy with? I re-titled one I hated, so 19. LOL 2. How many are... not great? Speechless because it's not a perfectly apt way to describe Missandei by the end of this but Incoherent wasn't as striking, so I kept it. :P Also The Watcher because readers get the wrong impression that it's about Jon. (It's about Sansa and it's based on this GIFset. Yes, I know that Jon said it; doesn't matter. It's a Stark thing. Also yes, I know about the watcher on the wall line. Sigh.) 3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute? I usually title my fics before I write them, but since pinch hits/exchanges start with an external prompt instead of My Own Blazing Idea, my usual process for them is all backwards and I'm usually struggling to label properly as I write? Thus: Pearls of Wisdom, Speechless, OK Cupid and Encounters With a little help from my friends. 4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning? Everything else- they're like my thesis statement! This goes for all my chapter titles, too- they are literally the title of each part of my outline. Bound, for example: Threads, Ply, Warp/Weft, Snag, Unravel, Cleave, Splice, 結び (musubi: knot) to correspond with the state of Arya and Gendry’s bond in each chapter. This got me into trouble with Bend it, because I had originally planned it to be a two-shot. I broke it into three chapters when the second chapter started getting unwieldy long so I had to break its title in half too. So yes, the second chapter is called, "(Or ", and the third, "Break)". LOL I know I'm a hack okay. 5. How many are quotes from songs or poems? Recently only two: Speechless and With a little help from my friends. Revelations, Discretion and A Third Path have all song chapter names and corresponding lyric epigraphs though.  6. How many are other quotes? Familiar is a twist on a quote straight from Valkyrie|Brunnhilde's mouth.   7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork? Smitten- It's both a love story and the story of how a demi-god "dies" Blind Faith- this one is pretty literal. What if staring at the Death Star flashpoint blinded Jyn? 8. Which best reflects the theme of the story/fanwork? Deep Tie Knot- "because some ties are soul deep." A Deep Tie Knot is a suture knot within the body cavity. Also non-linear timeline. Bound- Red String of Fate reference, plus the "loving ties" reference Collateral both the idea of the handmaidens putting their lives up for Padme's and the idea of their deaths being considered collateral damage 9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/POV of the fanwork? Fork it- Ariel giving up on Eric but not on herself. Also she knows they’re not called dinglehoppers anymore OK Cupid- Miles being chill with what Aunt May wants 10. Which is your favourite? Smitten! Correct Maui's grammar and come up with an apt title why don't I? Runner up is Cleave (chapter title in Bound). Both drastically different meanings fit the story/chapter they are titled with! :DDDDD Tagging anybody with more than 20 fics! :DDD Off the top of my head @gizkasparadise, @scrubclubwrites, @yanak324 @sugarfey @icebluecyanide If I have missed you and you’d like to do this, please go ahead!

[hermannsthumb]

Prompt:an nsfw version of a desperate hermann using that Strength to pull newts body halfway into that room in pac rim 2

ok i can’t find this gifset in my posts for the life of me but hopefully everyone knows the scene. did you send me this ask well over 11 months ago? yes. am i only just now getting to it? technically i wrote a paragraph 11 months ago for it and then forgot so. better late than never?

enjoy: my attempt at precursor newt stream of consciousness style pov, a little bit of emotional sex, and another of the VERY few uprising (semi-)compliant fics i ever care to write lmao. 18+ content below cut

------------------------

They’ve got a plan, you see, reopen the Breach, end the world, Anteverse reign supreme, see you all on the other side, and that plan requires one Newton Geiszler be kept away from prying eyes and prying hands in the meanwhile before they’re nice and set. The prying eyes and hands of one man in particular: Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. Enemy number one. Avoid at all costs. (“Newt!” he says, smiling like Newt hasn’t seen in ten years, has he ever called him Newt before?) They invite Dr. Hermann Gottlieb for dinner, or maybe it’s Newton Geiszler who invites him, maybe it can aid the plan, one less problem to worry about, get the complete set—Newton would stop complaining, maybe, stop shrieking if he had his little friend—maybe Hermann can see. Can help him. He doesn’t. They force Newton to drift with them again afterwards. Remind him who’s in charge.

They set off more drones. Newton Geiszler is sent to find out what happened, but Dr. Hermann Gottlieb goes to find out too.

He grabs Newton by the shoulder and slams him against a wall, and presses his face close, and Newton—Newt is suddenly struck by how strong Hermann is. Was he always that strong? (How is Hermann here?) “Hermann?” Newt says, blinking, confused, “What are you doing? How did you—?”

Hermann holds up a badge, says something about clearance, but he’s still pinning Newt’s wrist to the wall. (Stop, stop, something in the back of Newt’s brain wails, but he can’t for the life of him figure out why. Why has he stayed away from Hermann for so long? Why would he ever want to be apart from Hermann?) Newt stares at Hermann’s fingers—long, elegant, lovely, wrapped around Newt—then his face. “Hermann,” he repeats. He brings his free hand up, just barely brushing one of Hermann’s cheeks.

“Hell,” Hermann says, then “oh, Newton,” and he leans in to the touch and his voice is soft, so soft, but his grip is tight. They don’t have time, do they, Hermann said drones, they have to take care of drones, or something, and he thinks Newt knows how. Does Newt know how? He missed Hermann so much.

“I missed you,” Newt blurts out, and Hermann lets out a hiss of breath, looks around—their little alcove is deserted, nicely off to the side, plenty of privacy—and kisses him. It’s unexpected, unprecedented, Hermann’s the one who said they had to take care of this thing in the first place, but Newt’s not adverse to it. He parts his lips eagerly when Hermann’s pushes forward with his tongue; he fists the back of Hermann’s heavy black labcoat when Hermann presses their bodies together; he allows himself the smallest ghost of a moan when Hermann shoves his blazer (expensive; fine, silky fabric; the price of about three of those whiskey bottles Newton Geiszler can put away in a single night) to the ground. Hermann’s cane clatters after it.

“Newton,” Hermann says into his mouth, his teeth grazing Newt’s bottom lip, light at first, then biting down hard. Did they ever do this before? Newt thinks he’d remember it, and maybe he does (stolen glances over a yellow line, the green, green glow of a specimen tank that Hermann holds him against, wandering hands in the dark of a bunk) but then again, Newt can’t even really remember yesterday. He knows he loves Hermann; he knows he’s always loved Hermann; he knows he likes how Hermann’s hot mouth moves to his neck, how Hermann’s trembling hands move lower, lower, how his fingers clench the silky fabric of Newt’s vest like he wants to—

“Tear it off,” Newt gasps. His hand is trembling, too, as he covers Hermann’s with it, curls their fingers together, gives a feeble tug. It’s crucial, for some reason, that Hermann does. (Newton Geiszler needs to be kept away from prying eyes, prying hands, Hermann Gottlieb’s prying hands, hands that grip Their vest shakily and pull.)

Buttons ping: one hits the toe of Newt’s polished Oxford, one bounces off Hermann’s chest, the other lands out of sight. Newt’s well-pressed shirt follows. Hermann’s pupils are dark and dangerous, and it makes something recoil deep within Newt at the same time he surges forward and steals another biting kiss. “Touch me,” he begs, shoving at Hermann’s labcoat, “Hermann, please—”

For a moment, a single, breath-catching moment, the pads of Hermann’s elegant fingers graze Newt’s chest (lean, toned; nothing like the Newton Geiszler’s of the past) and alight just below the chill-hardened peaks of his nipples; then, as if shocked, spring back. They clench around Newt’s open collar instead. “Ten years,” Hermann hisses, fury clouding his features in lieu of lust. “Ten damned years, Newton, and you waltz back in as if—”

“I know,” Newt chokes out, and he wants to say a million things, to apologize, to explain he didn’t want to, that the only thing from the last ten years that’s not a confusing muddled blur is just how badly he’s ached for Hermann, but it’s as if something is pinching the end of his tongue. Reeling him back by the neck. (Newton Geiszler is not in charge; Newton Geiszler needs to be reminded of who is.) All Newt can do is stammer, uselessly, “I’m—I don’t know why I—”

Hermann hoists him up by his lapels, enough that Newt’s heels hang an inch from the ground and the back of his head clunks, hard, against the metal wall. Newt’s voice trails off into a little squeak. The thing within Newt shrinks back further. “Did you think of me even once?” Hermann spits, an inch from his face. “Did you even—!”

His lower lip wobbles. His legs wobble, too. Suddenly looking very tired, and very sad, he drops Newt and sags against him. 

Newt’s eyes are wet. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I—” He swallows. They have drones to take care of, but Hermann’s lips are at his neck, his throat, the curve of his jawline, and tiny, dry sobs wrack his body. Newt doesn’t like seeing Hermann cry—he never did. “Hermann,” he says. Hermann’s lips go to the corner of his mouth. He’s murmuring Newt’s name.

There is a part of Newt that is screaming be cruel; be cold; shove him away, far away; we’re better than him; he’ll ruin it for us. So loud it’s almost deafening. Hermann Gottlieb is an obstacle. Hermann Gottlieb is a distraction. (Newt pets Hermann’s hair soothingly.) Hermann Gottlieb is a nuisance. “Hermann,” Newt says again, and Hermann (breath hot at Newt’s cheek, tears clinging to his long lashes) says “Newt.” Hermann Gottlieb needs to be eliminated.

Newt’s fingers tighten in the short strands of Hermann’s hair, grown-out from its DIY undercut. (Pull, the part of Newt screams, bare his throat, crush the life out of it.)

Index and thumb circle Hermann’s throat, still calloused from years of playing guitar. Newt might’ve played it for Hermann, once, might’ve even tried to teach Hermann to play it himself. Newt wants to squeeze. Newt doesn’t want to squeeze. There’s a tear on Hermann’s cheek. 

Calloused thumb at Hermann’s jaw instead; Newt’s head throbs, like something’s pounding furiously at the inside of it. Smacking a sledgehammer against it. Hermann catches Newt’s fingers and pulls them to his lips. He kisses the tips gently, one by one. His eyes are wide, and wet, and brown. Newt could crush the life out of him.

“Kiss me,” he says instead, and presses the palm of his other hand to the front of Hermann’s slacks.

Mouth dropping open, Hermann does. He works their lips together and touches Newt, toying with Newt’s nipple, caressing Newt’s abdomen, hips jostling forward insistently until Newt’s hand is sandwiched between them. Hermann is hard. Newt is hard, too. Newt doesn’t know when he had sex last. “Drones,” Newt says, blinking hazily. He has to do something with drones—set them off, maybe. Stop them. Did Newt already set them off? 

“I don’t care,” Hermann groans low in his ear. “Someone else—someone else has just got to do it themselves.” He rubs against Newt’s hand, and Newt wants to squeeze at him through the thick wool fabric—to make Hermann feel good. He does. “Ah—Newton—yes—!”

An explosion outside. It’s as if the building rocks with it. Newt slips in surprise, and Hermann hoists him back up with a single hand at his lapel.

He remembers how easily Hermann hauled him over here in the first place—how he’d torn Newt’s shirt open with ease, lifted him up by his collar. Newt feels a strange, desperate laugh bubbling in the back of his throat. “When’d you get so strong?” he says.

“What?” Hermann pants.

One hand still working at him through his slacks, Newt heaves another laugh and gropes at his bicep. “Big guy,” he says, though Hermann’s not noticeably more toned than a decade prior. “I’ve, uh, been missing out.”

Hermann’s eyebrows jump in surprise; he smiles, but it’s sad. “You have,” he says. “You’ve missed out on quite a lot, Newton.”

There are wrinkles, tiny wrinkles, at the corners of Hermann’s eyes. A few streaks of grey at his temples. I should’ve been there for those, Newt thinks. He works Hermann faster. “We’re going to save the world,” he says, even though it doesn’t quite seem right, “together. Like last time. And then—then we can—”

“Yes,” Hermann agrees in a moan, though Newt doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s breathing harshly. “Yes, yes.”

He slips his own hand down Newt’s expensive slacks, his expensive underwear, and grips at him clumsily. Newt whimpers and knocks his forehead against Hermann’s. “‘S good,” he slurs. When this is over, he decides, he’s going to take Hermann for a drink. Dinner. Catch up. Beg Hermann to take him back. They can do this properly, on a bed. “We can do it together,” Newt says. 

“You and I,” Hermann says.

Drink. Dinner. Catch up. Newt hasn’t been himself recently, is all. He’s sure Hermann will understand if he explains. He just needs to explain. Newton Geiszler doesn’t drink himself into a stupor each night. Newton Geiszler doesn’t know how to code jaegers. Newton Geiszler doesn’t wear fancy clothing or call himself doctor or spend ten years purposefully avoiding his best friend. That’s not Newt. Hermann will understand if Newt explains. “You and me,” Newt says, desperately, but he’s not sure to whom.

Hermann is kissing him in a hallway of Shao Industries with alarm bells and explosions overhead, and Hermann is kissing him in green glow of a specimen tank, and Hermann is kissing him in a darkened bunk, and Newt’s head is throbbing, Newt is reaching for Hermann’s throat. (Squeeze. He’s going to ruin it all.) “Newton,” Hermann gasps, shaking and shutting his eyes as he comes apart in Newt’s arms, and Newt could kill him now, if he wanted, squeeze his windpipe, crush his throat, wring the last bit of air from his lungs and leave him in a pathetic heap on the ground. He’s ruined it all. Newt could kill him. Newt should kill him. “Come on,” Hermann says, stoking the fire in the pit of Newt’s stomach with furious tugs, his chest heaving, his brown eyes wild and beautiful, “come on, darling, for me—”

Newt hasn’t been himself lately. Hermann’s cheeks are wet. He calls out Hermann’s name as he comes, and Hermann bites at his mouth, sucks on his tongue, strokes his cheeks and hair. He wants to tell Hermann he’s sorry; he wants to tell Hermann he loves him. There’s something pinching Newt’s tongue and reeling him back by his neck. “My vest is ruined,” he wheezes out. He doesn’t care. It’s ugly--nothing that Newton Geiszler would wear.

Hermann kisses his neck. “Good,” he mumbles. “It was hideous.”

Newt swallows hard. His head feels like it’s going to split in two. “I love you,” he says, and, swaying on his feet, voice cracking, “Hermann. My head—”

“I’ve got you,” Hermann says, gently, and they sink down the wall together.

[dimples-of-discontent]

My Cockles Crack Masterpost:

Hello, yes, did any of you need a little pick-me-up? I know I do. So I’ve collected for you all most of the Cockles crack that I’ve written. I left off collaborative pieces of crack and ones attached to long gifsets. But all the text posts (especially “Jensen vs. Jensen’s brain”) are all there. I’ll drop a cut somewhere since this baby is long but I hope you all enjoy. 

LONG LIVE TEAM DUMPSTER MANSION!!! 

Dabb: So, let’s have AU Cas.

SPN writers: Cool. Why don’t we ask Misha to do one of his accents?

Jensen: *flings door open* *pants* AM I TOO LATE?! DID I MISS IT?!

BONUS alternative by @postmodernmulticoloredcloak​:

Dabb: So, let’s have AU Cas.

Everyone: …

Jensen: *starts vibrating at a very high frequency*

Misha: …okay I’ll do an accent

Isn’t it so weird that none of Jensen’s kids look like Misha?

Jensen is CONSTANTLY hosting his own episodes of Queer Eye and every one is about Misha.

[Below the cut]

Jensen: *looks up suddenly and stares into the middle distance* *vibrates at a high frequency*

Danneel: What is it, babe?

Jensen: Somewhere…Misha is doing an accent. Badly. He’s doing it badly, but he’s still doing it.

Danneel: You’ve gotta go!

Jensen: You’re right, I’ve gotta go!

Somewhere in Austin a high-pitched whistle blows.

Jensen, holding his ears and running into the kitchen: Alright, alright! What?!

Danneel, points wordlessly at laptop screen where this is displayed.

Jensen: Oh no.

Danneel, accusatory: I thought you HID those!

Jensen: I did! *pause* Why would he look in my dirty laundry anyway?

*Danneel stares*

Jensen: Oh right. I guess he needed something to wear.

Danneel: Pretty dumb, babe.

Jensen: Hmmm…yeah. *pause, then, hopeful* I guess we couldn’t fly to Hawaii to get them, right? *pause* No, no of course not. *mumbles* Damn shorts.

Text convo, probably:

Jensen: mish miss you. send me a pic.

Misha: *photo of something random like an interesting leaf*

Jensen: no, i mean like i MISS you miss you. send a pic of you.

Misha: *photo of his foot*

Jensen: oh for fuck’s sake! *posts flex meme and tags misha in it*

Jensen: there now it’s public you have to do it. and you can fuck off.

Misha: *sends dick pic*

Me: god Misha has the perfect jawline. Not that it matters.

Lizard brain: lick it

Me: yes, yes if I actually had a real relationship with him that would be well and good but…

Lizard brain: LICKIT

Me: yes, yes I heard you but what’s crucial is that Misha is one of the very best humans out there not that he has the stubbled and chiseled jawline of a Greek god so I really think we should focus on…

Jensen (in the distance): oh my God! it doesn’t have to be a choice, dummy!! L I CK IT!!

Jensen’s brain: It’s Misha’s birthday. We love Misha. Say it.

Jensen: No. We are in public. I am just going to call him “the man” and post a cute pic of us in matching outfits.

Jensen’s brain: NOOOOOO…SAYITSAYITSAYITWELOVEHIMSAYIT

Jensen: God fine ok…but I’m using an emoji not words.

Jensen’s brain: Acceptable.

Jensen: And also I’m going to add “bro”.

Jensen’s brain: …. 😒

Jensen: So now no one will ever know.

Jensen’s brain: 🙄

(About this mess right here)

Jensen’s brain: hold his hand

Jensen: NO it will look gay!

Jensen’s brain: but…you are gay for each other? so who cares?

Jensen: Yes, but we can’t LOOK gay ok? So just shake hands.

Jensen’s brain: fine 🙄

**Jensen does whatever this subby, hand-groping bullshit is**

Jensen’s brain: is that…. is that how humans shake hands? in a non-gay way?

Jensen: Shut up.

Jensen’s brain: i’m just trying to understand

Jensen: Shut up, asshole

Jensen’s brain: 😏

Look, I know it’s not going to happen, but all I want in life is for Jensen to respond to Misha’s shirtless video by saying “Hey Mish, if you need a shirt I have a few old ones for you.”

New theory: Jensen gives Misha so many shirts because otherwise his natural inclination is to run around bare-chested and Jensen’s poor, queer heart cannot handle it. (Photo version.)

Cockles trash cat meme origin

So you know how you sometimes go out with you friends and one of them gets way too drunk and ends up getting confessional with someone they don’t know that well? And you kind of want to stop them but, y’know, it’s their life and their choices so you have nothing to do but sit back and watch and be equal parts mildly horrified that they are spilling secrets to a relative stranger and incredibly amused at how they will feel about it later?

THAT is how I feel watching Misha tell the same story, over and over, about wearing Jensen’s hand-me-down shirts.

Misha, you’re currently my intensely emotional drunk friend and you need to stop before you reach the point of crying in the club. Neither of us can handle that. Thanks in advance.

Misha on social media: hahaha…Jensen is my cabin boy…that means he’s a sub who likes BDSM…hahaha…gonna make a comment about a giant space tongue rimming Jensen b/c why not lolz…gonna post a pic of myself covered in white goo and imply that it’s come from the conclusion of a threesome with Jensen and Jared…haha I’m such a scamp…I’m just incorrigible…teehee…

Misha when a fan mentions clothing: WHAT’S A JENSEN??? I’ve never heard of one and even if I had I definitely wouldn’t have had any non-heterosexual thoughts or feelings about him…and we’re absolutely not so close that we share in casual intimacy without a second thought…what could possibly make you think that?? I DON’T EVEN LIKE JENSEN OK!!!

Stages of Cockles in Gifs.

I feel like Jensen is one con away from straight-up answering an only tangentially-related question with, “…and that’s why I love Misha. You do know I love Misha, right? Like, love love him, like the way we love our wives. I feel like you guys get it so let’s just move on. Next question!”

At the next con, Jensen and Misha will be projecting the words “JUST SO YOU KNOW, I LOVE THIS MAN” on the side of the building across from the hotel in case you somehow miss that message in their panels.

At the next con, Jensen and Misha will be screening a 12-minute video that is just them giggling while one of them films the other; there will be no lines and nothing else will happen. Fandom will deem it a masterpiece.

At the next con, instead of his usual classic rock covers, Jensen will be performing a spoken word piece about how great Misha is, accompanied by Jared on bongos and Richard Speight on the kazoo.

In the final episode we are brought to the realization that the show DOES exist in our universe and on our timeline and that this entire time J2M have ACTUALLY BEEN TFW and kept this cover story about being actors on a TV show to keep us from knowing what they are really up to. Most of the show is just footage of their lives, though some of the things on the show were just absurd and to keep us off track.

Misha Collins is an actual angel. Jensen Ackles is a grumpy-faced softie with the biggest nerd streak. Jared Padalecki is a fiercely loyal and intelligent guy who has fought off more than his share of darkness. Gen and Danneel are actually supernatural creatures though neither will fully commit to being an angel or demon. Vicki is too powerful to be captured on film. And of course Jensen and Misha have been husbands for years. It was hard to hide that one on the show.

Jensen: *does interview quote game on his own* Great! Now, I’m gonna go get Misha. He’s gonna be so terrible at this game lol…He has the worst memory and never watches the show…hahaha isn’t that so cute?

Interviewer: oh actually we weren’t quite done interviewing you…

Jensen: yeah but Mish is gonna be so bad at this and I can’t afford to miss that! Imma go find him right now!

Interviewer: you really don’t have to…we’re actually talking to you all individually.

Jensen: ….

Interviewer: y’know, so we can cut the clips together?

Jensen: ….

Interviewer: And because you probably have a lot of other interviews at this huge press event for your 300th episode?

Jensen: ….. Yeah, no, I’m getting him right now. Hey, Mish! Get in here!

Filming with JenMish (aka “why’s Dean wearing a seatbelt?”)

**Jensen makes a dirty joke and Misha cracks up** **Misha and Jensen playfully push each other around the front seat of the car** **Misha says one thing that is mildly amusing and Jensen falls over laughing**

Sanchez, conferring with Bob Singer: What do you do to stop this?

Singer: strap one of them down

Sanchez: You mean, like, tell them to get it together or else?

Singer: No, no. I mean LITERALLY strap one of them down.

Sanchez: ….

Singer: Why do you think they get tied to so many chairs? **sighs** These two have cost us so much in duct tape.

photographer: alright, everyone, fight each other for pie! jensen: mish, you should pull my hair. misha: why? it’s not like that would stop you moving your arm. jensen: …. jensen: misha. you. should. PULL. MY. HAIR. misha: ooohhhhhh! jared: I don’t want to be here for this.

Cockles is the gay booze cruise of ships.

a text exchange that probably happened: jensen: I can’t believe ur still going running on vacation jensen: nerd misha: hello to you too. … misha: awww, babe, you must really miss me! that comment is so sappy! jensen: shut up misha: you “dig” the “WHOLE THING” huh? jensen: fuck off misha: don’t I know it!! jensen: fuck OFF misha: now I have to go like it. … misha: ok done. you huge softie. jensen: not always misha: oh really? misha: how about now? jensen: not now jensen: call me misha; as you wish…

Jensen’s brain (Jensain): holy shit!! look at our hot husband!! mmm…we like the grey and the sweat and the beard and, hey, did we give him that shirt? Jensen: yep. Jensen’s brain: and he sounds all smart and sincere, which turns us on….WOW we’ve been apart for too long! Jensen: tell me about it. Jensen’s brain: Say something about how good he looks. Jensen: I can’t. It’s public. Jensen’s brain: You gotta. Jensen: I. CAN’T. Jensen’s brain: But how these bitches gonna know he’s yours!? Do you know how many people are looking at this video RIGHT NOW?! Jensen: OMG Jensen’s brain: OMG Jensen: they gotta know… Jensen’s brain: YESSSSS!! DO IT!! Tell everyone the sexy, scruffy, deep-voiced, poetry-reciting motherfucker standing in the sunlight belongs to you! Jensen: I can’t say that. I’m just..gonna…tease him? about something? Jensen’s brain: u serious? 😒 Jensen: Well…no… Jensen’s brain: tell him you like the whole package! Jensen: I cannot use the word “package” about Misha in public. Jensen’s brain: 😏 Jensen’s brain: Fine! Can you at least mention how strong he is? Jensen: … I guess that’s less…gay… Jensen’s brain: uh-huh, sure. way less gay. 🙄 Jensen: ok, I did it. now leave me alone. I have to post a picture of my family so that no one suspects I only logged in because I have alerts set for Misha. Jensen’s brain: … Jensen’s brain: hey, you know who looks sexy in flannel PJs?? Jensen: ALRIGHT THAT’S IT

me: *wakes up in a cold sweat and sits upright in bed*

But how much of the mockumentary did Jensen shoot??!?

Misha is busting out of his shirt and jacket in those EW pics again, which makes me think something like this exchange must have taken place:

EW stylists: So, what size is Misha? SPN costumers: Eh, he’s the small one. EW stylists: But…he doesn’t…look small? SPN costumers: Nah, trust us, he’s the small one. EW stylists: Uh, looks more like he’s a 6’ wall of muscle but ok Misha: What’s a clothes? I will wear it. *Jensen sobbing in the background*

”I’m Full Frontal in Here Dude: Guest Starring Misha Collins” title of Jensen’s sex tape.

Jensen’s brain: you should give Misha that valentine.

Jensen: Yeah, good. It will work for the video. Like, as a joke.

Jensen’s brain: no. not joke. he’s your valentine.

Jensen: No he’s…

Jensen’s brain: you can’t lie to me. I’m you.

Jensen: shit. that’s true.

…

Jensen’s brain: Sooooo…valentine?

Jensen: Fine, but I’m gonna call him “buddy” when I give it to him.

Jensen’s brain: 😐

Jensen: People can’t KNOW!!

Jensen’s brain: You literally just called him your valentine on camera on a livestream but OK WHATEVER make sure you say “buddy.”

Jensen: I did WHAT??!

Jensen’s brain: Why do I bother? 🙄

Destiel AU where Cas is a poet who writes secret poems for Dean and posts them anonymously to an Instagram account that he gets Dean to follow and Dean falls in love with the mystery man he feels is speaking to him…and then realizes it was the guy he already crushed on from afar.

aka AU where Destiel is Cockles (with some tiny changes)

[maximusthewolfe]

this isn’t over | (1/1)

Quentin contemplates his conversation with Julia 

Post 4x10 - and 10000% inspired by the pain that @lizardkingeliot handed to me with this gifset

Also on AO3

Yes it is.

Sleep was so far out of reach. Quentin couldn't close his eyes without seeing Eliot's desperate face pleading with him. The betrayal of his own words nestled deep in his chest, burrowing painfully deeper inside of him when all he wanted, everything he needed, was rest.

This isn't over.

Hadn't he spent the better part of this whole insane fucking situation begging Julia to say something like that, desperately grasping, waiting for someone else to see the importance of getting Eliot back? And now, when she was ready to keep fighting, he was giving up? Who the fuck was he? He waited in the silence of the room he'd commandeered for the night for some cosmic voice to echo, to help him out. None came. He covered his face with his hands and rolled over, the weight of everything they were up against crushing him, paralyzing him, destroying the fraying hold of his hope.

Yes it is.

How could he say that? Eliot was alive. He'd seen it with his own eyes. Penny had confirmed it again. Abandoning him wasn't right. Waving the white flag felt wrong, cold, fucked up in the face of everything they'd been through together. In face of the life they'd lived together. But he was tired. So goddamned tired. And tonight, the monster slipped through their fingertips. Again. This time with Eliot's body and the final piece of the puzzle. The last thing it needed, but not to create a body it would vacate Eliot's for. To resurrect someone else.

Of course it was over. Quentin just hoped the monster would make it quick. If he were dead, he wouldn't be forced to feel the guilt rising in his throat, hot and acidic like bile. Or, no, wait. That was actually bile. He bolted upright and stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of his sad excuse for dinner and the too-many after-dinner drinks emptied from his stomach into the bowl. When his body was done retching, he felt like even more of a shell than he had before when he was staring into the ceiling, waiting for an answer he knew wouldn't come. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, letting his face rest against the cool porcelain, closing his eyes against the relief it brought his flushed face. He saw a mess of dark curls and hazel eyes and a look that screamed don't let me go and his eyes flew open again, a renewed ache radiating in his bones.

He had almost gotten himself back to bed, peeling the sweaty, dirtied shirt from his back, when he heard the soft knocks at the door of the bedroom. He froze in place, praying that if he just didn't make a sound, didn't move at all, whoever it was would go away.

"Q?"

Julia. His muscles tensed further to keep him still. He counted the seconds in his head. One, two, three, four, fi-

"Look, Q, I heard you and I'm - I'm coming in, so, you know, deal," Julia said, the doorknob turning before she'd finished speaking.

Quentin sighed and slumped back onto the bed, not bothering with the covers. Julia opened the door, bringing a growing sliver of light from the hallway with her, and left it slightly ajar as she made her way over to the bed. Quentin kept his gaze on the sliver of light she left near the doorway. That was Julia, Quentin thought, hating how bitter the words sounded in his head, leaving a trail of light wherever she went. It just wasn't bright enough to scare away his darkness, this time.

"Are you okay?" Julia asked. Quentin felt the foot of the bed shift under Julia's weight, but he kept his eyes on the light.

"Is that a real question?" Quentin retorted, and the sigh that fell from Julia's lips was familiar. The last time he remembered hearing it distinctly was shortly before he was hospitalized the first time. It was the worried sigh of someone who didn't know how to mother a peer. He wished everyone would stop trying to save him. Where was the monster and its barely contained wrath when he really needed it?

"No, but you're not telling me anything on your own, so," Julia said. She sounded concerned more than anything else.

Quentin just shrugged, pulling his gaze from the light in the doorway, settling it on the midpoint between his feet and where Julia sat.

"You're obviously not okay, but I don't know what to do about it. I'm trying, here, Q."

"We all tried," Quentin said miserably, "We've all been trying, endlessly, for so fucking long I can't even remember a time when we weren't. And we keep losing."

"Who says we lost?"

A scoff ripped from Quentin's throat at that, humorless and filled with all the pain he couldn't find words for yet. Eliot. Eliot. Eliot.

"The monster wins," Quentin said through gritted teeth, his jaw tight, it had been tight for so long he was surprised it wasn't permanently spazzing, "It got the final piece, and it's not even building its own body. It wins, we lose. We lose, again. I'm tired of losing, Jules."

"This isn't you, Q," Julia said, reaching a hand tentatively toward him. She rested her palm on his shin and he tugged his legs to his chest, looking away.

"Don't do that," Quentin said quietly.

"Don't do what?" Julia asked, and the effort she put into sounding confused stirred something dark and angry inside of him.

"Don't act like just because you've known me for so long, you can say it's fine and it is." Like you can say I'm better and I will be. He wanted to say that, but admitting, out loud, that he wasn't okay was still not an option, even as he felt the last of his hope crumbling around him, burying him alive.

"Let me help," she said, her voice quiet and soft. Quentin hated it. God, he hated everything. Most of all, he hated himself.

Groaning, he rolled onto his side, away from Julia, and raked his hands over his face. He closed his eyes, and Eliot's face stared at him as soon as his eyelashes brushed the very top of his cheeks. I can't. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I can't get you back. Quentin felt the air as it left his lungs and he opened his eyes, blinking the apparition of the man he loved away.

Julia shifted again, Quentin felt her weight lift off the bed and relief flooded him at the idea of finally being alone again. Instead, she stepped closer. Fuck, he was tired. So tired of letting everyone who mattered down. So tired of disappointing. She knelt beside him, he could feel it even as he faced away from her, and a second later her hand was on his shoulder.

"I meant what I said, Q," she said, her tone still so soft, so nurturing, so much of what he didn't deserve. "This isn't over."

There they were. Those fucking words again. Words that were supposed to ignite a fire within him, spur him to action again, make him believe in something he'd clawed at every chance to hold onto for months. They felt like knives in his heart.

"This isn't over," Julia repeated, squeezing his shoulder. Quentin twisted away from her grasp.

It had to be. He couldn't take another loss. He couldn't keep begging for scraps when he was desperate for a meal. He couldn't keep hoping just to have it so mercilessly ripped from his hands the very next second. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't. He closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight. At least the Eliot that looked back at him now had that spark in his hazel eyes, that light, the emotion Quentin had missed most of all. He swallowed hard against the heat building behind his closed eyes, clinging to this image of Eliot. Clinging to the last scraps of Eliot's humanity he had access to in his mind, trying desperately to preserve it. Hell, it might be all he had, now. It was probably all he had, now.

"Yes, it is," Quentin repeated, his voice ragged, his breath acrid from the vomit.

All he had was the ghost of the man he wanted, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. He didn't know much, but after tonight, he damn sure knew one thing. It was over.

[shinichirosbabymama]

Happy Birthday Daddymenrah!

A/N: So today is the birthday of real bad bitch and GOAT @daddymenrah I decided to write her a little something following a hilarious conversation we had over whatsapp. Plus I’ve always been kinda equally horrified and fascinated by the thought of your fave finding your fanfic blog. But here we go, enjoy!!

‘Come on you guys, it’s bed time.’ Jeffrey cooed in a low voice to his chickens as they clucked and squawked as they made their way into their pen. It was dusk on the farm and time for his evening ritual.

Jeffrey made his way inside, stopping first to grab a beer from the fridge before firing up his laptop. It was once again his favourite time of day.

Jeffrey squinted at the keyboard over the top of his glasses as he slowly tapped in tumblr.com into the search engine (after searching for google directly through google chrome).

Once he had accessed the site he went immediately to the Neagan x reader tag - his personal favourite. Hell people really fucking loved this character and how could he blame them? He gave a low chuckle to himself at his own narcissism as the page loaded, his eyes searching anxiously for any new posts.

His heart skipped a beat when he spotted a new one - Professor Neagan. The title alone made the blood rush to his cock as he began to read. The story got hot really fast to the point where Jeffrey almost needed to palm himself out of frustration. This girl knew how to fuck. He could have spent himself on the first read right there but he decided to indulge.

He clicked on the URL - he had no idea what a 'menrah’ was but the daddy element was certainly attractive. He kept the imagine open in a separate tab as he began to scroll through the blog, the site of his own face across numerous gifsets pleasing him greatly. Maybe there’d even be pics of her.

His need continued to increase as his eyes flitted between the blog and the writing until he came across something that made his blood run cold. A man, who looked younger than him, was sprawled across the screen in front of him writhing around in some bed sheets.

'The fuck…’ Jeffrey hissed as he examined the tags daddymenrah had adorned this post with.

'Fuck’

'Daddy’

Each one was like a stab in the chest. Jeffrey cursed himself for allowing to think that just for a moment, he was her daddy and not this skinny little kid – Rami Malek.

What was so fucking special about him anyway? Against his better judgement he continued scrolling only to be met with more pictures, writing and declarations that she wanted to screw him. That was it. Jeffrey opened up her ask box (after taking 2 minutes just to find the damn thing) and typed out a quick message, the sound of his fingertips clattering on the keyboard filling the room.

Are you a Neagan blog or not? I don’t know who this other guy is but I like your Neagan writing the best.

Jeffrey rubbed the facial hair above his lip after he’d hit send. He hoped he hadn’t upset her with his impulsiveness. The thought stayed on this mind until he noticed a reply on the blog an hour later.

Well this is my blog after all if I want to write other characters then I will. Neagan will always be my priority but I’m open to other stuff. If you don’t like it don’t follow.

Jeffrey felt a stab of guilt in his chest – he’d been completely foolish to just message her so suddenly like that. He knew he had to make amends.  Agitated, he began to think.  After a few moments Jeffrey shoved his glasses higher up his nose as he focused on the screen. He knew what he had to do.

Jeffrey’s knowledge of tumblr had been limited to start with. But making his own blog took on a whole new level of technophobia. His paranoia led him to create a whole new email address which took nearly half an hour in itself. For the next six hours he carefully crafted his blog – titling himself Neagan’s bitch as he slowly filled the page with gifs and pictures. His follower count grew but barely.

Late that evening, exhausted by staring at the screen for hours on end, Jeffrey hovered his cursor over daddymenrah’s ask box once again. This time there was anonymity, no hiding. It was time to be Neagan’s Bitch.

Hey so I only just joined this site but can I just say your writing is fucking amazing. You write Neagan so well and so dirty! I think that’s my favourite part haha. Sorry if this is weird.

Jeffrey steepled his fingers until his chin, hoping that his little note was enough to make amends. He relaxed back into the couch, hoping to get out of his mind with some TV and the beer he’d long forgotten about earlier.

Jeffrey jumped awake a few hours later. The glow of the TV filled the dark room and he could feel dampness on his thigh where the last of the beer had spilled from his hand. He shot upright to grab a towel to dry himself with when he noticed tumblr still pulled up on his laptop.

As he approached the screen to shut it down he noticed something had changed. A box had appeared in the corner of the screen and Jeffrey’s heart palpitated with horror when he realised it was daddymenrah.

Thank you for your message. Your cute as hell. More people need to recognise Neagan as the god of fuck that he is. JDM can get it too tbh.

Jeffrey let out a choked sound at the sight of his own name. His hands shook as his fingers danced across the keyboard in swift reply – barely processing what was even happening.

I agree I don’t think enough people recognise Neagan’s sex appeal, I think most just think he’s some old dude lol.

Jeffrey perched on the edge of his seat as he waited for the reply. It came quickly once again.

Old dude? That’s exactly what I find so attractive about him though. He gets better the more he ages.

Well that certainly piqued his interest. Jeffrey ended up staying up most of the night talking to this girl. He felt like a bit of a creep but it was (mostly) innocent and in all honestly she fascinated him. He learnt that she was from the UK (which would explain why she was wide awake and he was dropping off), she was younger than he was (but totally legal! He reminded himself over and over) and totally infatuated with, well, him.

After that night Jeffrey didn’t let his phone out of sight. He constantly waited for her to text him. As soon as his phone screen lit up he snatched it up, searching for any information she was giving him. It was strange honestly – he couldn’t place what had led him obsessing over this girl online but that didn’t seem to stop him. She, on the other hand, was far more aloof. They communicated often and she made him burst out laughing with a deep chuckle often but he knew she probably wasn’t waiting for her phone to ping like he did.

Jeffrey had to constantly balance between revealing too much about himself and going too far in the descriptions of his on-screen characters. Even his vibrant strand narcissism could only go so far. But daddymenrah continued to indulge him without even knowing it.

This went on for a long time. Longer than he thought actually. He knew his girlfriend suspected him but he only grew to resent her. She didn’t talk about him the way daddymenrah did. She didn’t appreciate him. As he and daddymenrah got closer and closer he began to understand that she didn’t just want his body – she really understood him. She’d studied him a lot. And she liked what he saw. He knew her real name but he tried not to call her it for risk of her materialising too much for him.

Eventually he could tell that she was growing suspicious of him. She never got upset about anything but Jeffrey could tell she was kind of pissed that he didn’t share much.

I wish you would tell me more about yourself looool I hate emotional shit but I wish I just knew some stuff.

You do know stuff we talk all the time.

Yeah. About me.

Jeffrey sighed. She wasn’t wrong. But what could he do? If the truth came out she would never speak to him again. And his career would be in ruins. But at the same time he couldn’t bear to throw this away. What a ridiculous thought – a grown ass man getting caught up with a  girl who writes stories about him online. Jeffrey continued to scold himself as he fell asleep that night but he knew that a decision was inevitable.

The day started like any other. Jeffrey and daddymenrah texted first thing in the morning and then sporadically throughout the rest of the day. Jeffrey smiled and swore loudly when he drooled toothpaste all over himself when he was distracted staring at one of the many selfies she sent him reacting to some stupid joke he’d made. Sometimes she pulled the most horrendous faces but they always made him laugh. He loved to see a woman so uninhibited.

That night Jeffrey settled down on the couch of his empty house. He felt sick but he knew it was now or never. He had to make her understand. Hands shaking, he typed out a message.

Do you want to Facetime? I thought it would only be fair.

YES OF COURSE I DOOOO

Okay but first let me just say something.

Aight shoot.

This isn’t a prank or one of those fake videos or whatever. I’m sorry that I’ve been lying to you I just didn’t know what else to do…

Daddymenrah didn’t reply to that and instead the sound of the incoming Facetime call blared out loudly from his phone. Jeffrey swallowed down the bile that had been rising in his throat and answered the call, holding the phone as thought it were a grenade.

The girl he’d been talking to for all these months gazed back inquisitively from the screen and then froze completely still, a frown overtaking her features.

'Surprise doll.’ Was all Jeffrey could muster in a low voice laced with embarrassment.

'This isn’t fucking funny.’ Daddymenrah began to laugh, a high-pitched wild laugh.

'It’s not a joke…’ And then Jeffrey said her name and she stopped, going very quiet.

'WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK-’

Jeffrey had to hold the phone a good few feet away from him to cope with the noise as it bounced around his whole damn house.

'Please try to calm down. I said I was sorry – I couldn’t just tell you from the start darlin’’

'Shut the fuck up just book me a plane ticket. I’m coming over there right now motherfucker.’

Jeffrey let out a loud laugh. So this is a thing now – he thought.

[laufire]

i don’t see zechoraven, but i very much appreciate and can relate to your dedication to polyshipping.

I think I like ot3(+)s so much because of the exponential possibility of conflict lmao. Navigating the extra difficulties, each character’s priorities… I usually end up shipping them when I find the canon dynamics between 3+ characters already fascinating, but also simply when I like two ships for one character and I want to see them interact (which is why I love polyships that at least start in V form, as in, one character is with/has feelings for two people, and how that evolves -maybe to a triad, maybe not. Idk, I dig it xD).

Some of current fave t100 polyships, because why not:

Anything involving Bellamy/Emori/Murphy/Raven, simply because they’re my faves and I love them :P. In canon I’d pick Emori/Murphy/Raven (memoven? memoraven?) because we’ve gotten tons of good material, but rn I’m really into Bellamy/Emori/Murphy (…. mellemori?) because I ended up including a short-lived subplot in one of my WIPs and it has ~potential IMO. 

Bellamy/Raven/Shaw (zavenbell lol). Mostly due to my Raven-stanning, but I started to write a fic about a week ago and I can really get behind this. The funniest thing is that so far canon hasn’t contradicted it (partly because I kept details of how Shaw ended up on their side ~vague enough), and I even guessed right that a) Diyoza would love to get rid of McCreary and b) that Echo would see killing Shaw as the best move against Eligius. Now, if the show follows through and makes half of the self-indulgent shit I’ve written so far canon, I’ll explode xD.

Bellamy/Miller/Raven. Or more like, Bellamy/Miller + Bellamy/Raven (Miller is Very Gay and I’ve barely seen him interact with Raven -I don’t even remember if they ever talk with each other tbh-, so I’m not as into their dynamic as I might be otherwise. There’s also a fic in my drafs including them. Because. 

Bellamy/Raven/Wells. Again, more as a V ship with Bellamy/Raven + Bellamy/Wells, because we never saw how Raven/Wells could’ve played. I guess the right writer could persuade me. I have another WIP that deals with the Braven+Wellamy situation. At this point, just assume I have a WIP for almost anything with this fandom, paired with a mix of perfectionism and adhd issues that makes it really hard to follow through ¬¬

Bellamy/Echo/Raven. But with certain caveats because… well, I am very aware of the fact that, if I stanned Echo instead of Raven, I would at the very least dislike them (and Echo/Raven), and that makes me feel like a bit of a hypocrite lol. Alas, I can be into it. 

Murphy/Raven/Shaw (zurven, fight me). Blame this post by @murphystartedthefire -the idea of Shaw crushing on both of them is hilarious, okay. 

Echo/Raven/Shaw. The idea occurred to me last week, but I forgot until I saw that gifset xD. This is one of those cases where I just dig a high stakes conflict between 3 people and go with it. But seriously, the looks between them when Shaw found out she was after him were HIGH KEY HILARIOUS OKAY. That’s basically my whole reason for shipping them lol. But just imagine how awkward it must’ve been after Raven left? Both of them throwing hyper-vigilant stares to the other across the room, suspicious glances as they catalog the room for possible weapons, Shaw trying to keep at least three people between them at all times… LMAO.

And I honestly could get behind any Space Seven arrangement (including the fact that they obviously had group sex at some point, my girl Raven was NOT celibate for 6 years that’s ridiculous), because they’re my favourite dynamic in the show right now.