#the mustache has grown on me actually

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[thetasteofsunshineonyourtongue]

ID: A digital drawing of a portrait of Travis Matagot set into the yellow-white rectangle of an Illimat card, with the words "The Malewife" below it. In the portrait, Travis is smiling wryly at the viewer. He's a white man who looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with brown eyes and stark white hair, which is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck with a red ribbon tied into a bow, with curly pieces framing his face. He has an old-fashioned looking mustache that is also white. He's wearing an 18th century outfit, with a white cravat, a dark orange striped waistcoat with leaf details on it, and a dark green coat with gold embroidery on it. Emerald earrings with pearls dangling from them are in his ears. The background is a simple dark brown. End ID.

The divination for The Malewife is transformation, yearning, impulse, will, and bottoming

[darlingkikki]

wait need a 141 scare actors x reader blurb

Synopsis: A horror night worker sees you and gives his men a task; make sure you leave smiling. Pairing: TF141!Scare Actors x GN!Reader (first meeting vibes so nothing too crazy but Kyle’s too great for me to keep it lowkey lmao) Word Count: 3.6k (I think) Warnings: negative self-talk, reader is very lonely (reasons up to you) a/n: Let me know if I missed any warnings or did not keep it gender-neutral and I will fix it <3. You gave me the green light and you will pay dearly for how badly I wish I were a better writer. Happy Halloween!

A man with an interesting mustache and beard combo greets you at the gates.

“Admission for one?” He asks, glancing over your shoulder to check that your friends or partner aren’t lagging. 

The question pokes at the part inside of you that recoils into your shell when others notice how alone you are, the forever raw wound that no positive affirmations or small bouts with talk therapists have been able to scab over. It’s constantly bleeding, oozing thoughts in voices you both recognize and don’t. They cover a wide variety, though they lead back to you, a homing missile locked onto your actual self and not the warped beyond-recognition version they are about. The version no one who knows you sees. You’ve been told you’re actually not that bad; you’re still stuck on why they used the word actually in something meant to be complimentary. 

One therapist (the one you felt could help, but they decided a job in another state was more important than your problems), said that the best way to combat these thoughts is to fight them, think louder and harder in the opposite direction, even if you think you’re lying to yourself. So, that’s what you did. You psyched yourself up in the mirror for the better part of an hour as you pulled on your costume and repeated to yourself that this was normal. 

Why should an infamous horror night be such a big deal? People go out alone all the time.

“Yep,” you say with a forced smile. It’s enough, but it doesn’t feel like enough. So, you over-explain because your mouth never knows when to quit. “I love going to these alone, really puts me in the Halloween mood.” 

The man tilts his head to one side, observing that slight pinch of your expression. Your voice is light and measured. And that smile. You’re performing. Everything about this is fake, everything about you is fake, a mask worn when the switch in your brain flips to ‘social interaction mode’, so strangers think of you in a certain way. You want him to know you’re not the least bit insecure about being alone. Not at all. The distant sounds of screaming and laughter inside the park don’t carve into you like an ice pick.

You’re not fooling him—no one can, as far as he’s concerned. He’s posted at the entrance for a reason, not because he’s grown too old to run around and scare people with grotesque makeup or prop weapons. He’s an assessor through and through. One brief conversation and he knows whether someone will be a good sport or one of those rude assholes that think it’s cool to scream back at the actors or posturing snobs who shit all over their efforts. You may be lying to him and yourself, but you won’t be a problem. 

Something about you reminds him of someone. He draws the comparison only after you school your smile to a blank expression. You have smile lines around your mouth, evidence that the muscles aren’t under-used, he just wonders how many are genuine. 

You’re still staring at him as he extends his hand towards you, palm up. 

“Give it here,” he orders and gestures towards your own, which has been clutching the fabric of your costume as if you think it’s trying to escape.

You stretch out your fingers, persuading them to relax and hold out your clammy hand so he can press a stamp down on the back of it. The design glows a bright lavender when light catches it at a certain angle, indecipherable enough that you can’t figure out exactly what it says or depicts. You’re about to pull away when he stamps you again. You don’t ask why, assuming it’s because the first was too light or smudged. With a gentle parting squeeze, your hand is your own again. You start towards the exit as he’s stuffing the stamp back into his pocket. 

He speaks again just as you’re about to be past his shoulder. His voice is soft but gritty like a smoker's. “You have yourself a hell of a night, alright?” 

“Yes, Sir.” You curse yourself for your unnecessary use of the title as you make it past the entrance to the park. You don’t know why you called him that, but it makes more sense than it should. He has a natural ability to garner respect, you felt it even in that brief interaction. He chuckles, rough and deep, as he pulls his phone out to make do with his mission.

You take a break from screaming and scurrying away from zombies and slashers to do something fun.

And what’s more fun than blowing too much money on playing carnival games until you win one of the large plushies? It seems easy enough after the woman running the stand explains the game to you—until you’ve sunk twenty bucks into it and only manage one ring on a bottle. The others have bounced off and landed on the ground. 

The stares of the wide-eyed plushies feel less like they’re cheering you on and more like they’re mocking you. Are you seriously playing a child’s game alone? And losing? Why? So you can win a dumb stuffed animal? You’ll leave here the same way you came and you deserve it.

There’s no way one is even worth the amount that you've lost so far. You’re ready to throw in the towel when you sense something behind you. 

It shouldn’t be something that spells danger, not with the woman who has been pocketing your money standing just a few feet away, but your body seems to ignore that fact and react as though Michael Myers himself is lurking behind you. 

You whirl around and your bones turn to ice when you find yourself face-to-chest with a tall, imposing figure. You’re too aghast to scream, mind-body connection severed, you’re left gaping up at the man like a fish out of water. He can’t have been there long, but you’ve been so caught up in the game that he could’ve been standing behind you the entire time. 

The man does not react to your fear, just meets you with an uncomfortably realistic-looking skull mask and unblinking eyes. His posture is rigid, like one of the decorative scarecrows you saw near the entrance. His eyes rake over your body in a way that reminds you of an x-ray, lingering on something for a prolonged moment. Whatever he sees, it pushes him to speak to you. 

“This one’s fuckin’ awful.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, dark pools glinting with humor, but you’re too busy trying to calm your racing heart to respond. He’s used to people being afraid of him beyond the context of working at events like this, so he steps around you and picks up the pile of rings on the table. You press a trembling hand to your chest and take deep, pacifying breaths.

In and out, you tell yourself, over and over, until your heartbeat no longer resembles the sound of galloping horses. In the time it takes you to collect your bearings, he's thrown each ring over the tops of three bottles effortlessly. Anxiety dissolves into confusion, even more when he turns to you and then jerks his head towards the higher shelves, ignoring the slightly annoyed woman behind the counter. She was probably hoping you’d spend another couple of dollars.

“Oh.” Confusion melts into realization. Your lips curl upwards, but something still doesn’t feel right. He’d broken character to help you for seemingly no reason. “Thank you, but you didn’t need to-” 

“Already did. Pick the one you want.”

His insistence is sharp but harmless equally. The prize is yours, so no use in trying to out-polite the man. 

When you look back at the shelves, it’s with a radiant smile. Even though you hadn’t exactly won one yourself, the kindness of the skull-faced stranger was enough to silence your worries. The perfect one picks you before you pick it. There’s a lone skeleton with cutesy eyes and a squishy body surrounded by a sea of adorable plush pumpkins and black cats. You point to it and the woman behind the counter hands it over with a half-hearted “congrats”. The stranger in the mask smiles at your choice, though you’re not looking at him. When you’re done giving testing squeezes to the plushie, you turn to the man to thank him again, but he’s nowhere to be found, gone just as quietly as he’d appeared.

Sometime later, plushie in your arms, you find the line for a walk through the cornfield. It winds around plastic dividers like a snake, but what else can you expect from the major attraction when the night is in full swing? You join the line, picking at the white tag sewn into the leg of your plushie. There’s a couple in front of you dressed in matching costumes; they decide the wait is the perfect time to get reacquainted with one another. A worker ropes off the divider so no one else can enter and the distracted group of friends in front of the couple doesn’t notice or care about them, so no one else accompanies you in the awkwardness of listening to smacking lips and affectionate hums. Bitterness swells in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pill without water. Stroking the soft underbelly of your prize helps—somewhat. You think about the sweet, albeit intense, scare actor until the giggling couple with now identically smudged makeup walks hand-in-hand through the entrance.

There is little to no light inside of the field. The brightest thing is the moonlight, which makes walking down the dirt path between corn stalks an even more eerie experience. It’s almost peaceful, ignoring the creepy props lining the paths and the random actors hidden in the stalks itching to grab at your ankles or jump out at you (three have accosted you so far). And soon to be a fourth as corn rustles in front of you, leaf blades bouncing off each other harsher than when skimmed by the wind. 

Another couple of steps and a man in a bloody burlap sack-like mask pops out with outstretched arms and a loud “boo” to top it all off—you yelp, nearly dropping your plushie on the ground.

The man responds with a laugh, infectious and warm, before tugging off his mask. Odd, you think, because none of the other actors had prolonged the interaction after leaving you short of breath. Well, none but one.

“I’m Kyle,” he introduces himself, flashing a disarming smile. It’s dazzling, you almost miss him holding out a hand. “Sorry for…you know, just doin’ my job and all.”

Without the disturbing mask, he’s quite pretty, the kind that makes you immediately comply and give him both your right hand and name. Your stamps glow under the moonlight, and he sighs in relief, shoulders relaxing. He thought you’d have left by now.

“Nice meeting you,” he says, bowing at the waist. 

He’s prince-levels of charming, much too relaxed for the environment. His costume is more normal than scary without the mask, just a deep red tunic and dark-wash jeans. You can make out small bits of hay stuck to his hair and clothes. It makes for a dorky and cute visual. 

He does not slink back into the corn as the actors before him did. Instead, he straightens, making a face at the stuffed animal you’re holding.

“You win that for yourself?” 

“Tried to, but one of the actors ended up helping me, actually.”

He quirks a brow. “You pick it because it looks like him?”

You don’t know how he guessed so quickly, but you nod, sheepish that he’d caught you clutching it so protectively, like you were holding a dear gift from a loved one. 

It’s just a stupid toy a stranger won for you. Won for you. You hold it tighter.

Kyle shakes his head, muttering “smart bastard” under his breath and then his eyes are on you. He has that deep shade of brown that’s impossible to say no to.

“The way to the exit can be a bit borin’,” he explains, his lips pursed in thought. “You alright with some company?”

And now you’re even more confused. Was he even allowed to? And why would he care if you’re bored?

“Will you get in trouble?” You ask, glancing towards the quiet path, trying to gauge how long you’d be pulling him away from his job. From what he’s saying, you can assume the exit is near, but you can’t see it from here.

“Nah, you were the last one coming through, so I’m free to roam,” he shrugs, stepping out of your way so you can walk side-by-side.

You soon discover Kyle is even more of a gem than you’d initially realized. He's more than just a beautiful person to look at, he’s funny, and more friendly with you than strangers ought to be. He asks about you. You don’t know what to say at points, but he doesn’t seem to mind. When your voice wavers or your tongue fumbles, he’s patient. He’s genuinely interested, actually listening, and those pools of brown are as distracting as you thought because soon you’re walking underneath the cobweb-decorated archway signaling the end of the walk.

Your heart clenches. You’re not ready for your night to be over. You’re not prepared for your time with Kyle to be over, to face that tonight has been one of the few times you’ve been the target of considerate treatment and could very well be the only time.

You miss the reflected disappointment in his features because a harsh sound cuts through the air, similar to the rev of a car engine. Then it happens again, just as cacophonic followed by maniacal laughter, and a large man barrels through the corn so quickly you scream and nearly fall over into Kyle’s arms. 

“Fuckin’ hell ‘Tavish, you nearly killed my new friend here,” Kyle laughs, patting you on the back. Reassurance. You’re in no danger. 

The chainsaw wielder lets the act go rather quickly, lowering it to the ground and regarding you with a mischievous grin. 

“Just doin’ my job,”—the man waves off the accusation—“Not my fault Price chose a screamer.”

You squint at the man who’d nearly given you a heart attack. Price chose you? Who’s Price? Kyle claps the man on the back of the head. They interact as old friends, brothers. 

“Sorry,” Kyle turns to you, apologetic. “Should’ve warned you about the main event. Got a bit distracted.”

In fairness, you were too. You don’t mention that it was because of his eyes..

“Apology accepted,” you say, “Though your friend is on thin ice.”

“Me?” The man in question scoffs like you’ve accused him of a grave sin. His lips press together to keep his laughter at bay, though he’s got about as much tact as the hair on his head, which is shaved on both sides, leaving a strip of hair down the middle. He’s cocky, you can sense that. Cocky people are to you what salt is to a snail, though Kyle doesn’t seem the type to surround himself with the bad kind, so you try not to curl in on yourself.

“Not jus’ his friend,” he says, sending you a wink, “I’m John, Johnny if yer feelin’ brave.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and nudges you with his shoulder to get you walking towards the park exit, a straight shot from the cornfield. “Come on, we don’t need to take this.” 

“You scared me too,” you remind him as Johnny takes up the space on your left side, “Don’t think I forgot about that.”

He snorts, “Touche.”

“A screamer an’ not afraid to knock you down a peg,” Johnny notes, “I like ‘em already.” He hasn’t stopped staring at the side of your face. You wipe your hand across your cheek in case something is on it. 

The walk through the park is quiet, save for Johnny and Kyle throwing friendly jabs at one another. Most people have already left; the last few actors send looks in your direction and carnival game runners are shutting off their lights and closing down for the night.

“You have fun tonight?” Johnny asks you once the parking lot comes into view. Only a handful of clusters of cars remained in contrast to when you’d arrived.

The most fun you’ve had in a while. You’ve grown used to that heavy chunk of loneliness sitting in your chest like a rock. You drag it around behind you, a life sentence. Let it tether to your emotions and bog them down, anchoring your feet in some instances and letting the ground swallow you whole in others. You’re going home with a small part carved out. A crevice where something less bitter and more sweet can wedge itself in and find a home, spreading far and wide if you’re lucky.

The two exchange toothy grins when you respond positively, a cheerful smile cracking your face open for them to see. The look withholds a meaning that you aren’t privy to. Price was right, as always. A special someone deserved more smiles tonight, and they’d accomplished their mission.

“Found you any earlier an’ I would’ve won you one of those too,”—Johnny gestures to your plushie—“Ah’ve got an arm on me, a mean one when it comes to the bottle toss.”

Kyle and you roll your eyes. You assume the people in his life have grown quite comfortable doing so. Your initial descriptor of cocky was accurate, but he’s endearingly cocky in a way that doesn’t put you off too much. 

“Watch it, the big guy will take your head off,” Kyle warns.

“He’s not even here. I can say wha’ I want.”

“He’s right behind you.”

“Nah, he’s—” Johnny spins around and gasps, similar to how you’d reacted earlier, though he is a bit more dramatic. “Steamin’ Jesus, where’d you come from?”

You turn as well, hoping it’s who you’re thinking, and it is. The man who’d won you the plushie you’re holding.

He looks at you in the same way as before, though his imposing figure seems more relaxed than it had been. You presume these men are all friends. They seem comfortable enough around each other to be.

“Price wants to see us,” he says, his deep voice rolling from his chest the way water does over the smoothed rock on the bank of a river. You can hear it much clearer now that your heartbeat isn’t thrumming in your ears. 

“Can it wait?” Kyle glances towards you. “Wanted to make sure they made it out alright.”

Another chip at that loneliness, but you don’t want to jeopardize anything with him and Price—who you assume is his boss—even if you’d prefer he continues lessening the weight holding you down beneath your rib cage.

“You’ve done enough, Kyle,” you say, pointing behind you with your free hand, “I can see my car from here, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“We cannae let ‘em go without makin’ sure, Simon,” Johnny insists, echoing Kyle’s sentiment and steamrolling over your assurance. 

Simon, finally a name for the face, or at least the parts of it you can see. Kyle and Johnny had shed their costumes, yet he wears his like a second skin. His stiff demeanor from earlier seems more of a costume than anything he’s wearing. 

Simon glances over your shoulder to where you’d pointed, dark eyes impossible to read. Johnny turns up the dial on his charm. At least that’s what you think he’s doing when he gives Simon a wide-eyed, puppy-like expression, pressing his palms together in front of his face and tipping his head forward. The picture would be complete if he sunk onto his knees with a bible in his hands.

He has the energy of the youngest son in the family. The visual brings a laugh tumbling from your lips and Simon relents, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Go on then, we’ll watch from here.”

So you do, waving at the group, who murmur their goodbyes, and then walking to your car. 

You walk slower than you need to, relishing in the experience of people wanting to ensure you made it anywhere safe. It’s a luxury. You strive for it like people dream about vacationing or owning a house. Unfortunately, time stands still for no one.

Chancing a look at the group of men as you climb into the driver’s seat, you find six pairs of eyes. Kyle smiles broadly, you get another wink and smirk from Johnny, and Simon blinks at you from behind his mask. You barely know them and yet their reactions are all so distinctly them. You beam, holding up the plush skeleton and waving one last time like an Olympic athlete holding up their medals before resting it on the passenger's seat.

Alone again, you push your key into the ignition and your car comes to life. The dashboard bathes everything in a golden glow. Come morning, when you’re bathed in a similar hue by the rising sun, you’ll think about this night. You’ll think about them, each of them, and you’ll wonder. Hugging your prize from the night, you will implant the memory into the grooves of your brain, where it can sit safe and snug, just as looked after as you’d been. You’ll wonder if any of them will end up in your life again, and hope the answer to that question is ‘yes’.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine having deep discussions with the Whitebeard pirates

Ace: Have you ever wondered why the world government opposes people so far away from them, doing what we do?

Marco: [mutters] I wish you would just stop saying odd shit.

Whitebeard: well we're breaking the law, obviously.

You: It's a little deeper than that. It's because what many pirates do, is the same thing the world government does.

Marco: We are not similar in any way.

You: no, think about it, what does the world government do? They lay out a bunch of rules and if you don't follow them, they use violence to force most of the world into following them. And if a nation elects not to join the world government, or can't afford to join, they raid and pillage those islands and take their citizens as slaves.

Izou: On the other hand, if a nation does join the world government, they have to pay heavenly tributes, because if they don't, the Marines will raid and pillage your country. But if they pay the heavenly tributes, the marines will protect their nation from outsiders, like pirates and non-world-government-nations.

Whitebeard: However, on top of paying the heavenly tribute, the average person also pays local and national taxes, so it's a heavy burden for some countries.

Marco: Oh my gods, it's like a protection racket, that common thugs run, just on a massive scale.

Whitebeard: and, like many pirates.

You: they don't like pirates, for the same reason they don't like common thugs, because you all are muscling in on their turf.

Thatch: so most governments are just organized, and socially acceptable, thuggery.

You: Not all, look at Alabasta for instance, King Cobra has a lot of social programs for his people. Food programs and affordable housing for the poor. Medical programs that put a doctor in every village and a bunch of other stuff. The people should receive something back from their government besides 'protection'.

Ace: I know a lot of nations that are in the world government have a large lower class that they exploit labor from and bleed them dry with taxes, tolls, and fines. I can never forget what I saw at the Grey Terminal out of the Goa Kingdom's Great Gate.

Thatch: That's because in "normal society" they value wealth, and look down on and take advantage of people who don't have it. Meanwhile, in pirate culture, we value strength and look down on and take advantage of those who are weaker, like how we raid other crew's ships because we can, and they can't stop us.

Izou: [sighs] That's an oversimplification If I ever heard one.

Thatch: [steps into Izou's space bubble.] You got something to say to me?

Izou: I've been to both world-government nations and non-world-government nations, and I can tell you that they value both strength and wealth. It's just different classes value one over the other. The upper and more privileged class values wealth, and daintiness because they can hire the strong. While the less privileged value strength, because it helps them survive, because they don't have money.

Thatch: I know that, did you forget I grew up poor as shit, mister little daimyo's vassal-boy.

Izou: And I was a wandering beggar minstrel before that, also keep Oden's name out of your mouth.

Thatch: how about you fucking make me?

Marco: [hops between the two men and dramatically claps his hands together like a clapperboard.] Aaand scene, that was a brilliant performance, gentlemen.

Ace: it was almost hard to tell that you two are actually friends.

Thatch: [huffs] Alright, I'll take it back, I'm sorry Izou.

Izou: I'm sorry too

You: you all are too fighty.

Ace: bitch, you're the most stab happy out of all of us.

You: I am not

Whitebeard: Just last night, you stabbed Vista's hand with a fork because he kept reaching over your plate.

You: ... I did do that, but only after asking him to stop three times. Which is more than reasonable, he's a grown-ass adult, and he, and his fuck ass mustache, should know basic table etiquette by now.

Ace: and then you stabbed me for no reason, with the same fork!

You: that was for good measure, just in case you got any ideas!

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[roostersbby69]

Runaway bride

Summary: It’s your wedding day and your best friend, Bradley, tries to talk you out of it.

Warnings: swearing, drinking

You smoothed down your wedding gown that your soon to be mother in law had handed down to you. It was hers when she married your fiancés dad.

Derek was her son, he had an older and younger brother and had grown up in a rich family. His father owned a business and his mother was retired.

You liked Derek, you liked his family, and his brothers. But they were so stuck up and self centered that this wedding wasn’t about him finding love, it was about growing and inheriting his father’s business.

You wanted a family and wanted to be loved, but Derek says he loves you, and you say you love him, but sometimes it just doesn’t feel like love.

Your mother in law stepped back and admired you, “Aw, my dress looks so good.” She turned to grab your veil as you rolled your eyes.

She pinned it to your hair and clapped her hands, “Okay, let me touch up your makeup and I’ll-”

“Actually,” you cut her off and turned towards her, “I think I just want a moment by myself for a second.” You folded your hands in front of you.

“Sure,” she dropped her hands to her sides, “but don’t be long, we’ve got a wedding to start.” She walked out and you sighed, you turned towards the mirror and looked at yourself.

The dress was beautiful, but something was missing. You couldn’t quite tell.

The door clicked open and you groaned, you whipped towards the door, “Mrs. Lisa didn’t I tell you that-” you stopped yourself as you saw Bradley standing in the doorway in his tux, “Bradley.”

You picked up your dress and walked a couple steps towards him, “What are you doing?”

He stepped inside and closed the door, his eyes never leaving you, “I just wanted to…” he was caught in a trance at the sight of you, “you look beautiful.” He breathed.

You turned towards the mirror and sighed, “It’s too much. I look like a Victorian corpse that’s going to be executed.”

He choked back a laugh but didn’t hide his smile, “It isn’t, you look breathtaking.” He walked closer to you and stood behind you in front of the mirror.

“What are you doing in here?” You looked him in the eyes as his left your dress and met yours.

He paused for a second as you just stared at eachother for a moment.

“I just wanted to talk for a second.” He rubbed his hands together, nervously.

“About what?” You turned to him and looked up into his eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” His words made your face twist.

“What do you mean?” You shook your head and played with your fingers.

“Do you want to marry him? That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Why are you worried about that?”

“Because you’re my best friend, Y/n. I care about your safety and your feelings, and I read that brides have an emotional breakdown before the wedding.”

You had to hold back a smile as he rambled, “You know…” you turned back to the mirror and sighed, “I don’t know.”

“If you want to be a runaway bride just say the word and I’ll get you out of here.” He rubbed your arm, “I know it isn’t my place but, I don’t think he’s good for you.”

You whipped around, “What do you mean? How do you know what’s good and what isn’t good for me?”

“He’s so professional and uptight. And snotty, and smart. It’s like he has no personality other than politics and business shit.”

He looked handsome in his tux, he barely knew Derek, he was just a family friend.

You smiled, “Yeah but my parents want this for me. And Derek wants to start his business after the wedding.”

“Yeah, but enough about Derek. Enough about what your parents want. What do you want?” He stepped closer and towered over you.

Your eyes flicked down to his lips and mustache, you always loved his mustache. You often wondered how it felt on your lips, on your neck, on your nipples, on your belly. You shouldn’t be thinking about this.

“I want…” your eyes flicked to his neck and hands as veins coursed through them.

“Come on, tell me what you want.” His eyes darkened as they ran over your breast’s that were spilling from the top of your dress. He knew what he was doing to you, and he liked it.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whispered, almost barely audible.

“That’s what I thought.” He said and shrugged his tux coat off. He set it on the back of a chair and walked towards you slowly. You watched him and your eyes trailed over every inch of his body.

“I’m not going to fuck you in this dress.”

“What? Why not?” You pouted.

“Because, so let me take you home.”

“I-I can’t. I have to walk down the aisle in 5 minutes.” You bunched your dress up in your hands and pondered the thoughts that swarmed in your head.

He shook his head, “Then I’ll do it myself.”

-

Your dress trailed behind you as you held your bouquet in front of you, the music played slowly as the people in their seats stood and turned to you.

You put on a half assed smile and walked slowly towards the alter, Derek stood, smiling, with his groomsman behind him. And there was Bradley, in his tux, hands folded in front of him.

You caught your mother’s eyes and fake smiled towards her then looked ahead again.

Your eyes locked with Bradley’s as you approached Derek, who was still smiling.

The bridesmaid took your bouquet and you turned to hold hands with Derek.

The officiant walked beside the two of you and held his book, “You may be seated.” The crowd sat and watched the two of you, which made your stomach turn.

“We come here today to celebrate-” The priest started but Derek cut him off, “Can we just skip to the I dos?”

The officiant looked at him like he was a ghost and nodded, “Does anyone wish to object that these two should not get married?”

The crowd was silent and you found yourself looking for Bradley to raise his voice, which surprised you.

“Y/n, do you take Derek to be your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health?” You looked to the people sitting and looked to his parents that was staring at their son, not even batting an eye at you.

You looked back to Derek and very quietly said, “I do.”

Your hands were shaking against his as you felt sick, your face was hot and tears sprung to your eyes.

“Derek, do you take Y/n to be your wife, you will take care of her, love her, comfort her, in sickness and in health.”

“I-” Derek didn’t waste a thought.

“I object!” Bradley stepped up.

Your eyes looked up to him as he walked out of the groomsman line and stood closer to you.

“Excuse me?” Derek turned around.

His parents gasped at the scene.

“You don’t love her.” Bradley make a disgusted face at him.

“You have no place to say that, ignore him.” He turned to the priest, “keep going.”

“You don’t know anything about her.” Bradley kept on, getting closer and closer to you.

“You don’t know that, I know everything about her.” Derek turned to him.

“You don’t know what her favorite color is, or how she takes her coffee, or how she hates peanuts because of how they get stuck in her teeth, you don’t know that she hates whiskey because she says it taste like nail polish remover, or her love for reading romance books because she wishes someone would love her like they love each other, or how she loves taking baths because it relaxes her, you don’t know that she wants to move to the beach so she can watch the sun go down over the water, or how much she loves baking even if she doesn’t make it right because it clears her head.”

“Okay that’s enough. And why do you know all of this.” Derek waved his hand at him.

“Because I love her.” Bradley looked to you as the crowd gasped.

—————————————————————

[shoukiko]

idk if your requests are still open (sorry if they aren't!! m(_ _)m) but if they are, could i get some headcanons for the ghosts boys? thank yoouuu (* ^ ω ^)

YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES ANYTHING!!!!!!!! BARKBARKRBRAKBRAKBRAKRAKBRA

(I didn't know if I should write about Ajax and Elias or not;;;;)

Call of Duty: Ghosts Headcanons!!!

Keegan

He's good as his job, always getting shit done.

but oh my god is he a bad influence on you

"Want a shot?" "I'm not 21 yet, Keegan." "I asked if you wanted a shot, not how old you were."

On roadtrips he's never allowed to drive, but he will backseat drive. "You should take this highway instead" "I know a faster way" "If you go down this road you could probably reach it easier"

Snores when he's asleep, I feel like he may have sleep apnea or something like that.

HE'S REALLY LOUD TOOOO

Mumbling in his sleep if he's asleep in a chair

That's another thing, he can fall asleep literally anywhere. Chair? Yes. Under the bed? Yes. Under a table? Yes.

He has sharp canines, I don't make the rules. He uses them to open things

He LOVES your scent, he likes having just one thing of yours just to hold and have near.

I don't think he would call you Kid if he was interested in you, I think he'd stick with your name or "Hun". Unless you're older than him, then he uses generic shit like "Babe"

A man of a few words, he gives short answers, pretty blunt, but in text he will ramble on and on~

He likes writing, he finds that it's easier for him to process his words and gives him time to think.

Logan

Good boy, very good and well behaved boy.

Grown man, but good boy

He's actually really mischievous, they took a trip (The team) to Italy while on leave and when visiting the Tower of Pisa he offered to take Keegans photo.

Gesturing for him to lean, pose, scooch back, just so he can get the perfect photo.

Only for him to take it, snickering to himself because he made Keegan pose extremely far from the tower so the photo just looks silly.

Keegan had a good laugh about it, only after he put Logan into a headlock

He does the same to Hesh, always asking for some water, then being like "I didn't ask for this" so Hesh takes it back and when he comes back empty handed Logan is like "Water?"

He's very quiet, way more than Keegan.

He only gives nods or gestures, speaks when he needs to though, like in call outs and such.

He'd call you Love

Whispering sweet nothings into your ear

Can you imagine Cody Callahan doing that? Kill me plz

Hesh

HE HAS A THING FOR HANDS I JUST KNOW IT, I JUST KNOW IT YOU CAN'T TELL ME OTHERWISE!!!!!

HE LOVES HOLDING YOUR HAND AND JUST RUBBING YOUR FINGERS

YOU CAN FEEL HOW ROUGH HIS CALLUSES ARE

HE TILTS HIS HEAD WHEN HE LOOKS AT YOU BECAUSE HE IS JUST SO ENAMOURED WITH YOU

CAN YOU TELL I LOVE HESH, CAN YOU????

He's a gamer boy, console only. Xbox..... Don't argue with me (You can have your own I was /j)

Before shaving his head, he had a hairstyle similar to DJ Pauly D. Let's keep it shaved.

He refuses to have a mustache, just straight up refuses. He will shave the minute he sees it coming in.

Beard or Goatees are pushing it, but he shaves anyways (except the sideburns of course)

That man loves veggies, he's the type to just steam a bunch of em and that's his dinner. Literally just that.

He likes stealing food from you, picking from your plate. If you don't like something, you best believe he's there eating it for you

"David, I'm full" "Give it here, babe."

Merrick

His memory is impeccable

He will always rememebr your favorite things

He's not big on gift giving, but when he does give gifts they're incredibly thoughtful.

Drives a really beat down pickup truck

Calls it his baby girl

Don't judge him >:(

Resting bitch face, eyebrows always furrowed

But then he sees you and his expression softens because he just loves seeing you.

Has the heartiest laugh imaginable, slaps his knee when laughing too

Asks for help putting on his face paint :((((

He just wants a reason to be touched by you

Kick

Earbuds in 24/7 when not on a mission.

He needs music to function!!!

He's the type to put on some hardcore music and pretend he's fighting someone, like the people that imagine their own animation edit when listening to a song they like

He sneaks food to Riley sometimes, when they're all eating, he's the one throwing stuff on the floor for him

Unironically uses "COWABUNGA"

He's just a lil.... ya know... right? Just a little (He's gay)

Kinda short, like 5'6-5'8

Has ADHD

Wears insoles (hims feet hort)

I know he doesn't have a name, but his name is now Hunter Cameron and his last name is Miller

Has freckles and a chipped front tooth

That's all I got :3

for now :3

[demonslayedher]

The Taisho Secret canon content regarding The Legend of Zenitsu has unfortunately made me have to give up beloved concepts in this future!Zennezu headcanon post. Most specifically, Old Man Zenitsu's with a mustache, because Word of Gotouge says he never grews facial hair. Zenitsu is probably far more disappointed than I am about this.

But also, it has all given me a much deeper headcanon about "The Legend of Zenitsu" being a bonding experience in their marriage, for Nezuko is a big fan, like so, what with Nezuko being a willing model for Zenitsu's praise-worthy paintings.

And is my brain spinning headcanons again? Yeah.

--

Zenitsu wished he could rub it in Tanjiro's face that he got a book deal. Not on everything, just on "The Demon Slaying Arc ~Fated Encounters~," "The Heavenly Maiden Arc ~I Am Willing To Die For You~," and "The Life of the Man Who Loved The Spirit of the Plum Tree Arc." No one else deserved to know "The Tastiness of Nezuko-chan's Cooking" anyway, for Zenitsu had described it too well and it would be like sharing his wife with a bunch of slimy readers. Bad enough that he still had to share with Inosuke all the time.

But Tanjiro didn't rub it in. He smiled and made as kind a sound as even, and congratulated him.

Maybe Tanjiro had grown too mild to say or feel anything more than that.

Because Zenitsu had a publisher and small fan base, he got paid a small advance to keep writing. Not even to stop going to an office job in town, if he wanted to to keep spoiling Nezuko with nice things. The stroke to eager made him write "The Beautiful Swordswoman Nezuko Arc" in one night, but "The Golden Dragon Wandering Alone Arc ~Go And Rescue Nezuko!~" was one he slogged through. It was getting to be a handful, going to work and raising a kid living up to expectations now that people had them of him. It felt good at first, but it made the writing less fun.

His heart was hardly in it when he wrote the "Botamochi from Zenitsu Arc." The sales tanked, and Zenitsu's publisher didn't bother him when he said aside his pen for a while. It was a long while, and there were other things going on anyway.

Not long after Tanjiro died, Nezuko caught a flu that was going around. It honestly made Zenitsu a little glad to have an excuse to leave his kid with Aoi for a while so that he could have Nezuko to himself while she was contagious. He didn't need anyone's help to take care of him, because every cell down to his soul cared only about how he might pamper and comfort her.

"Nezuko-chan, come on and drink a little. It'll make your throat feel better."

"I can't. I don't want to," she moaned. Tears escaped her hopeless eyes. She still must have felt so gutted, and Zenitsu knew he could do little to fill her for the time being. Some of that hopeless look must had been from thinking she'd never be free of the headache, but at least that much he might be able to soothe.

"Why don't you rest your head on my lap for a change? Here, I'll stroke your forehead for you."

"You should sleep."

"I can do it in my sleep," he smiled to her. "Actually, did you know that the legendary hero Agatsuma Zenitsu can be even more powerful when he sleeps?"

At this, she gave him a weak smile. The first he'd seen lately. "Yes."

"It's true! It's because he can hear the sound of his wife at his side. It powers him up like lightning coming right out of his empty eye-sockets! Actually, there was one time when he blinded his enemy before the roaring sound of his power knocked him over."

"Or the sound of his snoring."

"No, no, it's thunder like it shoots right out of him! You see, it all started one night in a terrible, creepy forest, when he saw a helpless man swooped backwards into the tree tops..."

When Nezuko recovered, Zenitsu picked up his pen again, and published "Rumble of the Knock-Out Secret Swordsmanship of Zenitsu Arc ~The Legendary Man’s Eyes Shine With Light~" not long afterward. It sold decently, and it was nice to hear that he had some fans who were excited about it.

Life fell back into a new busy normal, and Zenitsu's muse was fickle. "The Potato Feudal Lord Arc" was just a passing thing for fun, not something he'd ever tell his publisher about. It was more fun for a while to try out other things, like painting. As long as Nezuko was his model, Zenitsu found he had a knack for it. He ran into Yushiro one time though, who told him he was a hack, and they got into a big argument that ended with Zenitsu throwing all his brushes and unused canvases at him and daring him to do better. Those had all cost a lot of money, so Nezuko was not happy about that. Likewise, she wasn't happy when Zenitsu refused to sell a painting of her and tore his pants while throwing a fit.

By the looks of Nezuko's ledgers, it looked like Zenitsu was stuck at that desk job, selling electricity around the little mountain foothill town. He had been there so long that he got promoted for being good at sitting in the same chair for years, and that meant moving closer to a bigger town, closer to the growing metropolis, where Zenitsu felt right at home and Nezuko assured him she would adjust.

What would Tanjiro think, now that nobody bought charcoal anymore?

The world that once had demons seemed further and further away and the droll of adulthood stretched on, and powers he couldn't behead with a swift Thunderclap and Flash fought amongst themselves. More and more, there were expectations of Zenitsu, and people depending on him. He had to assure people they would still have light and heat even as Tokyo burned, and the sound of planes rattled his ears almost daily. He was a man of his community now, and the only one his family could depend on. At Nezuko's insistence, they collected nearly-blind Kanao and his nephews and niece, and he tried to insist to Inosuke to stay with them in town where there were bomb shelters, but Inosuke, just as responsible for his own family, felt he kept them safest going deeper and deeper in to the mountains.

Nezuko knew nothing but worries. Sometimes, he almost wished she could be back to a childlike state of mind, protected from all the pain and horrors she so unfairly had to endure. In the darkness of a bomb shelter, he hugged her close as she trembled. "Say, Nezuko-chan. Do you remember that time..."

"What?"

"...that time the great hero Agatsuma Zenitsu was a teeny-tiny, but very, very strong mouse?"

He could hear her worries lift, however slightly. Maybe that was all a mouse could do.

"Actually, it was when he was a little boy. You'd never guess it, but he was very cowardly. That was a terrible warlock with a fancy red mark around his eye painted him with a magic white makeup that turned him into a mouse!"

She stifled a snort against his chest. "Uzui-san..."

"Yeah, that was the warlock's name! Did I already tell you this story before?"

"A mouse?" his son clung tighter to him, sometime he hadn't done in years. Even when he was little he always clung to Nezuko instead anyway. Zenitsu could tell by the tone of his son's voice that he was already teary-eyed and sniffly.

"Yeah. A little mouse who thought he had no power at all. That the world was too big for him. But as it turns out..."

What really hurt was Nezuko's reaction. She sighed with disappointment, and lamented that this was why he spent so many long hours away from home.

That was a story Zenitsu recorded later, as a memory of those times. It stayed on his bookcase at home next to the Potato Lord story, now that the world was quiet again.

Business picked up really well. The world got brighter, and so did the indoor lighting. As a general sense of optimism filled the world again, the small but dedicated base of "Legend of Zenitsu" fans called for a new installment. He responded well to praise, and soon gave them "The Dragon Palace Arc ~Eternal Nezuko~," but being so busy as a highly promoted seat-warmer at the office meant he had things he had to do while sitting in that seat. He put on weight again, and spent a lot of sad, long evenings stuffing cookies in his face while streaming with tears that he couldn't be eating one of Nezuko's homecooked meals instead. "Sitting In A Happy Circle and Boiling Tea in Our Bellybuttons Arc" was something he secretly wrote at his desk as a form of silent protest. His publisher rejected that one after reading only one page.

Of course! He had to be at home to write his best work! He had to be in the same space as his muse, Nezuko! Another quickly written revenge work of his, "The Future Holds Zenitsu Arc," was considered one of his better ones.

After that, he was satisfied with writing for a while, and he muse pushed him to start playing (perfectly) the piano. Nezuko was not thrilled about the piano he bought.

If only he had taught it to Nezuko, then. Her joints all bothered her, but she kept sewing out of willpower.

This new hobby inspired another novel, and Nezuko inspired another novel after that of course, and the stress of their son getting married and wanting a lavish wedding inspired another novel and another novel after that was a desperate attempt to strike it big and get out of the debt that wedding cost them. After all, Zenitsu's daughter-in-law was a cutie and he wanted to spoil her. It made Zenitsu remember how cute Nezuko was when they were newlyweds, and before that too, of course, and now too, and before he knew it he had written yet another novel, despite his dwindling fan base. Nezuko sure liked that one, though, and that was all that mattered.

The years went by. Zenitsu felt he lost his mind over how his granddaughter got cuter every time he saw her, and he eventually reached some arbitrary age when his company could only promote him to retired. Aside from the aches in his legs, he felt as young as he always did, though. Kanao said it was probably the effects of Breath technique. It sustained them without reaching a threshold at which it would be dangerous to them.

Zenitsu still wrote sometimes. He stayed busier when his busy-body grandson read the old unpublished "The Birth of Zenitsu Arc" and insisted on learning Thunder Breath. That was like a new job Zenitsu never asked for, especially since he still only knew one of the original six forms, but Kiriya sent him a letter askeing him to give it a shot, for who knew what the future held. Certainly not demons, Zenitsu was assured of that much. If Yushiro gave his novels a bad review one more time, he'd make sure of there were no more demons left in the world.

He got back in touch with Inosuke. He thought it might never happen after he abandoned the old house and charcoal mill, but the whole time, Inosuke had been on the mountain next to it, where he had always been King of the Mountain. He still took care of the house, he said. But a King still had to be King. They weren't the only people on the mountain, though. Aoi paid house calls. Still, Zenitsu gave Inosuke a stern lecture about making Nezuko (as well as Kanao) worry, so Aoi made sure to drag Inosuke into the bigger and bigger city sometimes.

Zenitsu's newest hobby to drop money on was photography, but now that he was a pensioner, Nezuko did not mind so much. She even agreed to let him fulfill his dream of taking her to Paris. He was glad he had that camera, to prove how the city could not outshine her.

He was glad he took her when he did. Her joints made it harder and harder for her to get around, even though she always smiled and insisted Zenitsu's legs must hurt more. He didn't like it when she laughed and joked around about chopping her legs off to grow new ones.

"Grandpa," his youngest granddaughter looked to him with a tearful face, "Grandma was saying something about being a demon again. I wish she'd stop that."

"I know, right!? She's a princess, and the very spirit of a plum blossom tree! A shrine maiden too!"

"There's no way someone like Grandma would ever go to hell."

He paused, and his stomach sank.

Nezuko gave up her sewing. She spent more and more time in bed, but with no desk job to sit at and a grandson taught enough that he could be told to go off and practice on his own, Zenitsu spent his days writing again. He took a long time on that novel he wrote for her, putting in all the sorts of parts he knew she liked. Sometimes he couldn't help himself and reads parts aloud to her without telling her everything else that already happened in the story. She smiled and enjoyed each fragment anyway.

"I've finally got the title for this one!" he announced. "It's called, 'I Will Be In Love With You A Thousand Years Arc.' Perfect, huh? Well, maybe it's still missing something. A million years, maybe?"

"Zenitsu-san... tell me a story..."

"I am! I'm telling you the greatest story yet! It's about this immortal princess who..."

"Tell me a real story..."

He paused and listened to her heartbeat as she took a breath--a simple, unpracticed breath in tired human lungs. Nezuko still made the same warm sound that she always did. It had a different resonance when she was a demon, and when he carried another life inside her, but it was always uniquely her.

"I want to hear... about the time you spent with my brother."

"Tanjiro? Yeah, he... hasn't been in these for a long time. Maybe I'll bring him back."

"You cared so much about him," she smiled from her futon. "That was why you protected my box, before you even met me."

"He... yeah."

"I'm glad you were such good friends... I want to hear about all those good things that happened to you. About your Ojiisan, and your little bird..."

"Yeah," he grimaced to a smile, and the inside of his nose zapped like a storm was brewing. "I had a lot of good things happen to me. A lot of bad things too."

"It's up to you to decide if you're happy or not. I hope... you'll decide you were happy."

"Yeah," he said, the snot already flowing. "The happiest. I'll tell you all about it. I'll make it my best story ever."

"You promise...?"

He kissed her forehead. "I'd never be able to come up with anything better than the truth."

[simpforwebtoonmen]

Long time no see

A/n: don’t worry, I see ya’ll requests and I will be getting to them 😭

Warnings: not proofread, dumb, might be ooc, I wrote this at 1 am so a lot of it might not make sense lmao

˚✧₊⁎ You were a friend among Daniel’s group in Jae won High. But with recent events, you haven’t seen a lot of your friends in a while. And after so long, Daniel comes to visit you to invite you into his gang. But upon meeting you again after so long, he couldn’t recognize you at all… ⁎⁺˳✧༚

You open the door to reveal Daniel, the smaller one. Though he wasn’t all that small anymore and was definitely thinner, and a lot more muscular. Honestly, you wouldn’t have recognized him if Zoe hadn’t shown you photo’s of him.

You smile and wave at him, “Hey, Daniel!” you greeted. He looked taken back and looked at you confused. He then cleared his throat, “hello…is (name) here?” he asked. “huh? im standing right here…” you deadpanned and pointed at yourself.

Finally, it clicked for him, “oh gosh, (name)!? Is that really you!? I almost didn’t recognize you! Your hair is (shorter/longer) and you have a completely new style!” he exclaimed, almost excited. You flip your hair dramatically, “yeah, I look good, right?” you teased. And despite you joking, he nods in agreement, “yeah, you look really good!”

-

After catching up for a bit, he mentions how you used to be fighter and how he would like you in his team (gang). You said it’d been a while since you fought and that you’d wouldn’t really be that much help, but for some reason Daniel thought otherwise. And with his cute face and nearly begging, you agreed.

And now you stood in front of the rest of the crew members. Most you recognized from school, but there was a certain blonde that you hadn’t recognized.

“Who’s this chick?” Zack questioned, nearly scowling down at you. You almost thought he was looking down at you. It was something he had done before but never did it again after the fact. You smiled up at him, despite his rudeness, with a hint of tease. “What? you don’t recognize me?” you asked him.

It only took the sound of your teasing voice for Zack to know who you were. “(name)!? What the hell, long time no see!” he greeted, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “uh huh,” you simply said, still not letting his past rudeness slide. He then lets you go and sheepishly smiles down at you, “you see (name), about before, you know I wouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did if I had known it was you, right?” nervously rubbed his hands together.

you hummed, “right, well, don’t let it happen again,” you warned, but it was more of a tease than anything. Though, Zack couldn’t tell through his fear, “right right, of course!”

After that you turned to the rest of them, nodding your head, “Vasco, Jay,” you greeted. “Wow, (name). I couldn’t recognize you at all!” Vasco said as he approached you, Jay nodding on agreement. If you were being completely honest, you couldn’t recognize Vasco either. He’d grown buffer, has a beard instead of a mustache, and he cut his hair, plus a few new tattoos. He’s also changed his style into a biker gang type style, along with Jace who you’d only seen recently as well. Jay didn’t change much besides his physique and expensive suits.

And now… you turned to the last person, someone you’ve never seen before. “(Name), this is Hudson. Hudson, (name),” Daniel introduced the two of you, gesturing to each person with his hand. “nice to meet ya!” you smiled. “Yeah…” he responded, keeping his face neutral.

Just then, Zack and Vasco started bantering about who knows what. And when things began to grow my violent, Daniel and Jay had to physically separate them.

Suddenly, Hudson stood next to you and leaned down, “You’ve known them for a long time, right? Were they always like this?” he asked. You nodded, “Yeah, actually I think they were way worse than this,” you nodded as you recalled the memories of all the fights they’d get into with one another.

Though despite not seeing each other for a long time, you were happy to see that not a lot has changed since you last saw them, well, despite their physical and mental improvements, they’re basically the same as they were before. You smiled as you thought to yourself, “it’s good to see everyone like this again. Some things just never change.”

[parab0mb]

I made it! And in time! Despite some tribulations, I managed to complete this art piece for @hatstacheweek right on time for the first day’s theme of Summer/Beach/Pride (wasn’t sure if all the themes were required but I got em all anyway). I'm normally pretty ambivalent when it comes to shipping, but the Hatstache ship is cute and has grown on me a bit, enough so that I decided to put something together this year.

So please enjoy this alternative AHiT ending where Hat Kid gets to actually spend some time with Mustache Girl and enjoy a day at the (formerly) Mafia Town beach (also they have some kind of strange bacon towel, how about that 🙂).

~~~~

Its admittedly not the most inspired drawing, and I tried to do something different with the shading this time around but kinda got lazy towards the end so the quality is all over the place, but I'm actually really happy with this piece: Its definitely one of the more detailed things I've drawn in a while (I even included a background! 😲) and I've been struggling with art motivation-wise for a while now but I genuinely enjoyed working on this from beginning to end.

If time allowed I honestly woulda worked on it even more, but I was determined to post it on time, so I'm satisfied with it as is.

[wellofdean]

Just wanted to split this off from this post about why Mary Winchester is excellent because it's getting so long, but I wanted to respond to these tags from @kayliemalinza :

#sometimes i feel people hate john for reasons that while valid in our universe less valid in the spn universe#but mary gets it way worse#<-- prev tags yessss#also doing the math wasn't she like 28 when she died#i'm glad they didn't recast and of course samantha smith looks her own age#but mary is in fact YOUNGER THAN SAM AND DEAN AT THIS POINT#they are not children#and the tags copied above i think explains so sos ooo much#bc so many fans glommed onto dean because of similar family issues#and that means they are struggling as much as dean is in s12#and just can't disconnect that quite yet#but god#GOD how she struggles with that emotional intimacy#she was raised as a hunter you don't think she's chockablock full of maladaptive coping mechanisms too?

Because I whole-heartedly agree with this. John Winchester was not a good father in some major, major ways, and Sam and Dean had a childhood straight out of a...well, a horror/fantasy genre show...but I think people forget that Sam and Dean also do truly love John and truly are more or less at peace with their memory of him later in the series, and there has to be a reason for that, too. It's not that he's a mustache-twirling villain; it's complicated. He loved them, but he wasn't always able to do it right. They love him, but he hurt them and made the what they are, which is a double-edged sword.

It's really natural that we all identify with Dean, and get angry at people who hurt him, but I think it's important to realize that Dean processes his anger about Mary leaving pretty quickly, because it's not really anger and resentment, it's confusion, disappointment and hurt. And I think Dean is grown enough to own his own feelings, and able to accept that she needs time and space, and he's not such a child that he isn't capable of separating his legitimate feelings from her legitimate needs. It takes him time, but he gets there, because, and this is another conversation, Dean is really very reflective and emotionally intelligent, actually.

I also do agree that a lot of fans, in identifying with Dean, map their own feelings about their parents onto Mary, and dislike her for reasons that have nothing to do with the story being told on Supernatural, which is essentially a very healing one. Since I'm a Gen-X old, and the mother of an adult son, I actually had a pretty different experience, and as much as I love Dean, in this storyline, I identified a lot with Mary.

On the one hand, she has to be so proud of her two big, beautiful, brave and heroic sons, but at the same time she does not know them! They don't need her, and they are trying to protect her from the things she feels they should have been protected from, and at the same time, as adult men who are still, in some way, motherless boys, they are hungry (especially Dean) for her to be something that she never had a chance to grow into. I loved it that her own exigencies were too strong to LET her stay. I loved that she could not accept the role of mother that had been stolen from her, and could not sit still to let it just kind of settle on her shoulders.

It made me think that (aw yeah!) there was a difference between John's sainted white nightgown conception of his dead wife (his motivation to be what he was), and Dean's memory of her as the cutter off of crusts from his sandwiches, or the mother that he comforted when she was sad, and he was just a little man. I'm so glad that Mary turned out to be so much more than that. She is a woman with her own competencies, her own damage and baggage, and her own ideas about how to make things right, who doesn't agree with her sons all the time, who makes mistakes, who fucks the wrong guy, still loves her problematic husband, and can't actually cook, thank you very much. I love that her own disorientation and her own will are so strong that she really can't allow who she actually is to be subsumed into the communal role of 'mother'.

I think that socially, we don't really think about what we ask of mothers, or how hard we judge them. We underestimate what they give up of themselves to satisfy that role. My son was born when I was really young, and fellas, IT WAS HARD under more or less perfectly normal circumstances, to make the transition from being just me to being a mother. My magnificent son is amazeballs, and is a human being that I am so fucking proud to have made out of my very own actual body and raised to be the excellent human he is, and we are really close, but I was not always prefect, and even now when he is a grown adult, I still chafe against the perception of me as 'his mother' and not just ME all the time. One of the very greatest things about my son is his incredible ability to let me live, and make space for the fact that I am also a person, and not just his mother, and I am so, so grateful to him for that, so....

Yeah. As much as I didn't want to see Dean hurt, I LOVED Mary, and love that they wrote her as her a full human being and not a tropally perfect mother. I loved seeing her as a flawed parent that deserved her adult children's understanding and mature love, who deserved her own space and her own processes. What's more, I loved seeing Dean process his feelings about her, and seeing him become a son who was capable of loving a real human woman who happened to be his mother. So... yes. I love her.

Mary Winchester forever. A+.

[waitmyturtles]

A little bit more on I Feel You Linger In The Air (reincarnation, the novel version, and more)...

I am back home and recovering from a somewhat INSANELY stressful work trip (WHEW! TIRED!), and I've missed writing meta oh so very much, BUT! A couple of things will be happening in my meta life soon: The Old GMMTV Challenge Bad Buddy Meta Month starts next week (FINALLY, EEE!), Last Twilight starts tomorrow, the Den-Panuwat-penned-and-Only-Friends-adjacent series Playboyy starts next week -- we got a lot going on.

AND, AND! AND! I did myself something good while I was away. I HOUSED the novel version of I Feel You Linger in the Air, because, BECAUSE! I still can't help screaming mentally about that finale -- even though reading the novel actually made me realize that episode 12 of IFYLITA was a touch redundant.

Related to the IFYLITA novel and series: I got an ask in my inbox that somehow disappeared (@porjomkwan, if you're still out there -- thank you for the ask!) that asked about my thoughts on the theme of reincarnation in IFYLITA, and cited this fabulous post and reblog by @tipsyjaehyun and @clairedaring about this theme. Tipsy and Claire covered the majority of the ground that the drama series captures regarding reincarnation -- in particular, the GORGEOUS focus on the northern Thai blessing ceremony that calls back to a human host the 32 spirits that a host carries with them throughout their life/lives. Those spirits can be incarnated and/or reincarnated within repeated and/or beloved figures of the host's memories and reincarnated lives. (That explains why people like Ohm and Kaimook, in Jom's present life, are reincarnated as Khamsean and Fong Kaew in Jom's life of 1928 Chiang Mai. And it explains how Jom can continue to be called to different eras involving Yai, from Commander/Warrior/Mustache Yai of ancient Thailand, to 1928 Chiang Mai Khun Yai, to present-day Chiang Mai Yai Kanthorn.)

@clairedaring notes in their reblog that in the novel, the foundational theme of reincarnation AND of Jom and Yai being forever bound to each other is confirmed, directly and heavily, by Commander Yai. Claire quotes from the novel Commander/Warrior Yai speaking to Jom :

"Jom-Jao, listen, though you are fated to be apart from me, my love will never fade, and it will follow you like a holy spirit, protecting you in my place. No matter where fate brings you, no matter the danger you encounter, may those misfortunes fall upon my spirit instead of yours."

I want to confirm that this is my understanding and experience of the centering and grounding of reincarnation in the series as well (@porjomkwan, this answers your question to me!). And, this very much speaks to what I understand was a gentle criticism by Thai audiences towards the show as this season of the show ended -- because the Commander Yai period really sets in stone what Jom can expect for the rest of his live(s) regarding having Yai in his life again in another time period. In which case, I agree HEAVILY with @clairedaring that IFYLITA absolutely needs a season 2, because that Commander Yai period is so definitive of how this first season gets contextualized in the end of the entire piece.

A couple of other quick notes on the novel before I move to a comparative final point:

1) JOM. JOM IS A SASSY B IN THE NOVEL. DAMN! I honestly think Nonkul Chanon could DEF handle being a touch more sassy. "I'm a grown-ass man," Jom says at one point. Yes, you ARE, HONEY! Sassy B Jom courting and standing up to Commander Yai? It was a WONDERFUL story line. (BTW, the quality of the writing of the IFYLITA Y novel was, as expected, wanting, especially by way of a fan translation. But I have to agree with fans of the novel from Thailand and elsewhere, that the story itself was SOLID.)

2) The history behind the Commander Yai period is FABULOUS to learn about. (@tipsyjaehyun has some context about the various eras of Yai here, if you don't mind a few novel spoilers.) In particular, I spent a LOT of minutes reading about the lengthy reign of the Ayutthaya Kingdom in Thailand, and just -- as an Asian and an Asian-American watching Thai shows, getting deep into this reminds me of my own accountability and responsibility for trying to grasp what an average Thai viewer will bring by way of education-based historical awareness into shows like IFYLITA. This long Wikipedia article is a must read if you want to go deeper into IFYLITA context!

3) My third point on the novel leads into what I quickly want to note by way of at least one comparison to another show that did reincarnation themes differently, but also beautifully, by way of an original Y novel.

Until We Meet Again is a permanent FAVE of mine -- and it captures reincarnation, at least a different style of it, within its drama context. In UWMA's context, a red thread tied between the passed bodies of the lovers Korn and Intouch ensures that their spirits will find each other again in the future.

As noted within UWMA, different Asian cultures have different reads on the meaning of the red thread, from China, to Thailand, to elsewhere. This article notes northwestern and Vietnamese beliefs regarding the red thread, and this Wikipedia article notes the Chinese origins of the myths of the red thread. (Remember than in IFYLITA, the blessing ceremony of calling 32 spirits back to a host is cited as being from northern Thailand -- meaning, many of these myths, legends, and practices are utterly regional, and very tied to specific regional cultures that we can learn more about as viewers. Super cool.)

In UMWA, Korn's and Intouch's spirits inhabit other bodies -- namely, Dean's and Pharm's personages. And Dean and Pharm take on some characteristics of the spirits they provide a home to, and, even more interestingly -- Dean's and Pharm's OWN behaviors reflect the regrets and/or resistances that Korn and Intouch bear to each other, with Korn's spirit being far more forward with love than he was when he was alive; and Intouch's spirit being far more fearful of that love, knowing in the end where his love led to -- their deaths.

In IFYLITA, we see Yai's spirit being reborn essentially into different version of Yai, and all of them called Yai. In the novel, Jom treats all of these Yais as Yais that he can fall in love with -- he is in love with all of them, because the spirit of Yai is essentially a singular spirit being reborn into various different versions of the body of Yai (quick spoiler: the modern-day Yai is only half-Thai).

I happen to REALLY love these various interpretations of reincarnation between these shows, and certainly many, many more shows and movies across Asia that touch upon reincarnation as an essential theme of HOPE, of love, of joy. The various ways in which these practices are regarded, from Buddhism, to Hinduism, to Shintoism, and other Asian spiritual practices, are fascinating to learn about, including their regional variances. And they speak very much to me as an Asian, as to how I learn about cultural practices, nuances, and mores. (A comparative cultural example is how food -- like, say, a dish like Hainanese chicken rice -- differs among Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore.)

But also, as an Asian watching shows like UWMA and IFYLITA -- I *know* that when I'm watching a show that's based on spirit reincarnation, that I'm not necessarily watching a "sad" show. I remember, of the day dramas of Japan and Korea that I watched when I was younger, that I absorbed better understandings of ancestor worship and elder respect. If a house had an altar with a picture of a passed-on elderly relative -- surely it was understood that that relative had passed away and one could be sad about it. But their spirit is meant to be honored at the altar, and especially in Japanese and Korean family dramas with these kinds of scenes, you can see characters speaking to the pictures of those who have passed on, having conversations, and being the subject of annual ceremonies of honoring the dead.

In other words, what I utterly LOVED about the IFYLITA novel -- and what I truly hope a season 2 will capture -- is that the Yais of the various eras were not despondent when Jom left them. Those Yais knew that a future Yai would experience Jom again. Korn and Intouch knew their spirits would meet again one day: it was Dean and Pharm that needed to come together to make that happen.

I wrote quite a bit about the Asian cinematic tradition of sad and/or open-ended endings in my review of The Love of Siam, and I think one reason why I absolutely cannot shake IFYLITA from my system -- and even UWMA, too, although UWMA has a confirmed happy ending -- is that IFYLITA is utterly reflective of this practice of the open-ended ending, at least for the show's first season, because we KNOW, through reincarnation, that Jom WILL encounter Yai again. If you read the novel, you know that Commander Yai promises this. But even if you don't read the novel, and we never get a season 2 -- to see Yai Kanthorn strolling right into Jom's arms, without very much other context, is enough, at least for an Asian audience, to know that the spirits did their thing again. Dramatically, I do think the finale could use more finessing (cc @lurkingshan and @neuroticbookworm, to whom I said this when I finished the novel), but now that I have the novel's context, I know HOW the finale could have been improved.

I took this ask as a major excuse to just unwind more and more on a piece that I totally loved in IFYLITA, and I hope to heck that we get a second season. I am thrilled that I made IFYLITA my debut into Y series reading, because the story is just so solid, and as I often say about my really beloved shows -- IFYLITA does not shy away from being rooted in assumed knowledge about cultural practices that an Asian audience can automatically check into. It really felt familiar and homey to watch this incredibly made and well-told story about an enduring romance, and I'm so appreciative that IFYLITA will be a show I'll be holding close as this year closes out -- a year that started off on the strongest Asian note with the fabulous Moonlight Chicken. MLC and IFYLITA encapsulating 2023 for Asian audiences? We were fed really, really well.

[whoslaurapalmer]

RSU: asoue netflix

there are, in fact, things i do like or appreciate about the show!!

-i genuinely do love seeing babybea!! actually having a scene where she interacts with lemony is really great and it's such a precious scene too. her lil beret is fucking adorable. -the henchperson's coroner van in reptile room saying CORNER -olaf smashing the lights in the hallway in hostile hospital is truly scary and i always liked that part -"it's been eight minutes, do you want some tea?" is incredibly iconic. something i could see book!jacques saying as well -I'D GIVE ANYTHING TO SIT AND TALK WITH HIM AGAIN -honestly lemony's physical placement in the scenes was overall done really really well. lemony is an undeniable part of this world and this story and we get to see him there -also his costumes were stellar -i really do like seeing the denouements, like physically seeing them move around and in and out of scenes was really, really cool, like visually seeing the hotel and the three of them pretending to be two people honestly was incredible. in my initial notes about season 3 i said tv was made to show the three chapters that happen simultaneously and i stand by it bc it was neat to finally see!!!!!!!!!! -the green hotel has grown on me, too. i must say. same with the denouements having mustaches. -you know, show!poe was hilarious, honestly. when i think of mr. poe, i do in fact think of show!poe now, without fail. -"i speak all of them hella fluently" -oh the reveal of jacques' vfd tattoo in ersatz elevator was great -i think the song references in the dialogue were really fun!! 'i can hit a blackbird flying in the dead of night', 'oh, i'll tell you what i want', 'what's that thing james brown said?' -oh, that murakami quote, too!! -they really crafted an atmosphere on the show, with the sets and the clothes and the colors, and there were a lot of little background details to zoom in on or catch, and although maybe it wasn't an, expected atmosphere? it makes the show feel like a solid, contained world -violet's outfits were super cute!! -jacquelyn kicking the payphone off the hook and dialing with her heel -although it could've been handled differently, i liked the scenes of vfd in the background in the first season. i liked seeing more of gustav!!!!! -"look, here's a picture of us." "there's no one in that photograph." "we're locked inside the piano." -lucy punch as esme really was inspired -i love the pattern on the sugar bowl!! -not to keep bringing up reptile room but just the room itself. monty's house itself. it's always SO beautiful. like there's actually a lot of heart and love in his house and i just love the big glass windows so much -just seeing the books get the opportunity to be adapted as a whole -- even if, yeah, i don't consider it an overwhelmingly successful adaptation -- was still great and a real highlight of my life! the anticipation of it, watching the trailers (watching the mysterious completely unrelated trailer...........), getting my tattoo which was based off a season one eye design, the idea of the show brought back a lot of interest and love for the series!! and i know it brought a lot of new fans to the books afterwards, or previous fans back to the books!! and that's nice.

[leonsleftbicep]

Bake Me Back To Eden

Chapter: II

Ao3 Version

Word Count: 1,183

Tags: Bakery AU, Modern Setting AU, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Vessel/II/III are dating, IV doesn't know them… yet!, Trans II, Nonbinary Vessel, Genderfluid III, They/Them Pronouns for III, It/Its and They/Them Pronouns for Vessel.

Summary: II has an early appointment with a client. heads to Ivy Sprigs for his morning coffee and ham & swiss roll.

II had to go out to work earlier then usual. His client decided to book a five - six hour appointment at nine in the morning. To top it all off he had to shave the grown out scruff on his jaw, and trim his mustache this morning because it was getting in his mouth.

He made his way to ivy sprigs like he did most mornings when he made his way to work, because they took the same route. It was surprisingly hotter than it usually was in the mornings so he rolled up his sleeves and pulled up his hair in a messy bun. not caring how he looks at the moment. 

once at ivy sprigs he went to open the door but it didn’t budge, odd. he decided maybe today wasn’t the day to get coffee but then he heard the jingle of the bell for the door and turned to see IV.

“was just opening up, come on in i’ll get you a ham & swiss roll” Ivy says with a soft look, looking a little longer then usual just to notice II’s more put together appearance and detailed neck tattoo. IV turns around and walks back in, he silently takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. II follows IV in, hold his bag strap a bit out of habit and to calm himself. 

“you can come sit behind the counter with me, no one else is here yet. just us two” IV says with a soft grin as he prepares II ham & swiss roll, like he did every morning for the past month. 

II sits down on a stool near IV, watching as he heats up one of the baked good he likes. 

II looks at the ivy tattoos on IV’s wrists and forearms, “how long have you had those?” II asks while he sets down his bag and pulls out his sketchbook. 

“long, long time. they where originally stick and pokes i did back in uni. then i actually got the rest done by a professional.” IV answers as he hands II the warm ham & swiss roll “i’ll get you that coffee made for you in a second” IV smiles as he starts to clean up the counter. 

II takes a bite of the roll and hums “i could fit you in for a session between some clients if you’re in need of someone to do some designs for you” II offers. 

IV looks over at him with a very obvious blush on his cheeks, “i need a touch up on some tattoos on my thighs, but it would be a while till i can get the money” IV thinks as he looks away and continues to clean up the counter. 

“it's on the house, you already give me free coffee and baked goods” II responds as he sits up straight in a bit of a defensive stoic posture. 

“I consider you a friend now, so it's the most I could do to repay you,” II says with a bit of a softer tone than usual. IV just looks at him with a completely red face and chest. 

“Are you okay Ivy?” II asks worried IV would pass out. 

“im.. im fine, just a bit flustered by-“ was cut off by a whistle “wow Ivy wasn’t expecting you to have a snack this early in the morning” evaline giggles as she walks into the front, she looks II up and down “your that tattoo artist that works up the street, right?” 

IV groans “Lii this is Evaline but i don't think she needs any introduction” he grumbles in an annoyed tone as he motions to her. 

“I like to make myself known,” Evaline smirks, “get your man his coffee, he has work today” she commands as she slaps IV on the rear and makes him squeak. 

II chuckles and covers his mouth “sorry that is just, very funny. it’s understandable now why my partners think you are such a peach” II smiles with so much passion that makes his crows feet really shine. 

IV flusters “im going to go make that coffee for you” he says as he walks off. 

evaline snorts “im going to kill that man if he doesn’t get hitched soon” she says through gritted teeth as she puts her hands on her hips. “believe me i'm trying” II mutters. 

Evaline and II just make eye contact and then act like neither of them ever said that. 

A few moments later IV walks back in with II’s coffee in hand. “So what time is your first?” he asks as he sits on the counter and looks at II. “Nine because this lady is insane” II say before taking a sip of his coffee, “i hate mornings” II grumbles. 

Ivy just looks at him softly “I'll keep that in mind, next time you have an early one just text me so I have it all setup for you” IV offers. ii’s eyes flick to his as he thinks for a second, “i don't have your number?” II say simply. 

“well i can give it to you, yah goof” IV chuckles and puts his hand out for II’s. II looks confused for a second before he understands and gives IV his palm. “you can call me or text me anytime you need m- anything from the bakery” IV says as he internally cringes at the slip up. 

II doesn’t notice the slightest slip up and watches as IV writes his number on II’s palm. the wet ink drying quickly on his skin, the warmth of IV’s hand on his. it makes II sweat.

II’s head was now on a heywire, it couldn’t shut up about IV, he hasn’t felt like this since his first girlfriend in highschool. 

II looks at IV, his eyes scanning over IV’s face wondering if he felt the same. it felt so clique but it was all true, he felt like he was falling head over heels. 

IV and II stare at each other in the eyes for a while, slowly leaning closer and closer unknowingly. 

“eh hem” Erie coughs as her and Evaline stand in the doorway, “works about to start up, we have a couple people outside.” 

Ivy looks at the two and then back at II “i have to get to work, and i bet you do as well” Ivy holds Lii’s hand and kisses the back of his hand. “I'll see you tomorrow,” Ivy says before walking off.

II sits there and tries to collect his thoughts, mulling over what just happened as he holds his to go coffee in one hand as the other is still where IV let go of it. 

Once II zones back in he starts to pack his stuff up, taking a bite of his roll as he focuses on getting out of the cafe as his face gradually redens. 

He runs out of the bakery with a roll stuffed in his mouth, his coffee in hand, and his other hand clutching the strap of his bag for dear life. 

‘The Angels’ Group-Chat

Lii: hey, days all weird today. im on my way to work now. Text me if you need anything.  Thea: hello honey, on your way home pick up some ice cream, poor Vess is all sad today.  Verna: IM IN LOVE AND I CANT HAVE BOTH MY BABIES WITH ME TO COMFORT ME THROUGH THIS!! :::(

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking

A Dieter Bravo x OFC fic

Notes: Title comes from the Harry Styles song. I heard it on the radio one day and the line “Now you’re in my life, I can’t get you off my mind” just screamed Dieter to me.

My Dieter is (mostly) sober and trying to put his life and career back together after hitting the bottom during the filming of Cliff Beasts 6. He is still a menace but he’s working on it. There will be comedy, angst, fluff and possibly some smut (not sure how explicit my narrator will get).

Narrator is an original female character loosely based on myself. She is around Dieter’s age, not thin, and introverted. He turns her life upside down and she’s not quite prepared for it.

Tagging @rhoorl because her Dieter in “Working Title” inspired me to start this fic!

Chapter One below the cut

I met him in a bookshop, of all places. Not exactly the environment you’d expect, but sometimes fate works in mysterious ways. Bookshops are one of the few places I frequented where it’s even remotely possible to meet a man. I’ve never liked bars or clubs; too noisy, too many creeps trying to be charming and getting too hands. As an introvert, I prefer quieter surroundings, like bookshops, museums, and botanical gardens. Not exactly hot spots for single guys, but I wasn’t trying to meet anyone. I was always open to whatever might happen, though.

I was in The Last Bookstore in downtown L.A. It was the first day of my summer break and I’d challenged myself to get out of my box a little and do things I’d never done before. I’d taken the train into the city, which I’d never done by myself. Of course, once I got into L.A., I ended up in my preferred habitat, surrounded by books.

I had spotted a book on my to-be-read list on the top shelf. Being petite (the polite way of saying I was short), I couldn’t quite reach it. I was debating whether the shelves were structurally sound enough for me to try standing on the bottom shelf to reach it when I heard a low, warm voice behind me say, “Let me.”

An arm reached up, easily plucking the book off the shelf and handing it to me. “Good choice,” the voice said. “That’s one of my favorites.”

I knew that voice. Turning to see the man who stood next to me, my suspicions were confirmed. It was Dieter Bravo. He was wearing a baggy gray t-shirt, a well-worn pair of jeans and some god-awful Crocs that had seen better days. His hair looked like he’d forgotten to comb it that morning and his scruffy beard and mustache could use a trim. But he was wearing glasses and his deep brown eyes were looking directly into mine, so that was all I saw.

“Thanks,” I managed to say, hoping I wasn’t blushing or anything ridiculous like that.

“No worries,” he said with a smile. He indicated the small stack of books in my hands with his chin. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” I said. Real smooth, doofus, I told myself. I tried to start over. “I read a ton of YA for work, so I’m trying to read more ‘grown-up’ stuff during the summer.”

He leaned against the bookshelf, his broad shoulders blocking the aisle. “YA?,” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Young Adult,” I explained. “I work in a high school library. A lot of it is really good, but after nine or ten months of dystopian love triangles and hot werewolves and teenagers with weird diseases falling in love, I find myself craving something more substantial.”

He smiled again. “I can imagine,” he said. “So, a librarian, huh? Oh, I’m Dieter, by the way.” He held out his hand and I shook it. It was huge and warm and made my knees melt.

“Um, yeah, I know,” I stammered. “I recognized you. I’m, ha, a big fan of your work.” I felt like a complete idiot as I stumbled over my words. “I’m Emily.”

“Well, Emily, this might be a dumb question, considering your line of work, but do you come here often?” He chuckled as he seemed to realize how cliched his questions was.

“Actually, this is my first time here,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to visit this shop, I never got around to it. I live out in the boondocks, so I don’t get into L.A. very often.”

“It’s great,” he said. “I don’t get here very often, though. Always too busy, it seems.”

We chatted for a bit, about the books we were buying, and favorites we’d both read (and made a few recommendations to each other when we mentioned titles the other hadn’t read). Then the conversation turned back to bookshops.

“I usually end up at Barnes & Noble,” I admitted. “There’s a good indie bookseller in Riverside, but it’s kind of small. My absolute favorite bookshop is Vroman’s in Pasadena. I don’t get there as often as I’d like, though.”

“Vroman’s,” he said, wrinkling his forehead. “I think I’ve heard of it but I’ve never been there.”

“Oh, you should go!” I said. I loved talking about my favorite bookshop and started rattling on. “They have all kinds of great stuff besides books. Plus a wine bar.”

“Whoa, books and booze? Sign me up.” He smiled that radiant smile I’d seen in a million photos, the one that always made me feel funny inside.

“Then you should definitely go.”

“Is that an invitation?”

I was stunned, but managed to speak without stumbling too much over the words. “Sure, why not?” Holy crap, he’s flirting with me!

Dieter pulled out his phone. “Let’s see,” he said, scrolling through the phone. “Um, I’m free Friday evening. I have a meeting at two, but I should be out of there by four at the latest. It’s in Burbank, I can probably make it to Pasadena by five, if that works for you?”

My tongue felt like it was swollen to twice its normal size. Was he actually asking me out? Or had I accidentally asked him? “Um, yeah,” I stammered. “Friday’s good, yeah.”

“Okay, then.” He tapped away at his phone and then slipped it back into his pocket. “It’s a date. Friday, five o’clock, Vroman’s.” He winked and now I knew I was blushing like a fool. He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have a meeting with my agent in an hour, so I’d better go pay for these and get going.” He pulled his phone back out and opened up the Contacts app. “Here,” he said, handing the phone to me. “Put in your number.”

I did and handed the phone back to him. He put it back in his pocket (oh, how I tried not to look too closely at that pocket, afraid he’d think I was checking out his crotch), then held out his hand again, wiggling his fingers. “Your phone?”

“Oh, yeah.” I pulled my own phone out of my purse and handed it to him. He opened my Contacts app and typed in his name and number. As he handed it back to me, our fingers brushed against each other and he smiled.

“See you Friday.” He turned and walked away, heading for the cash registers on the ground floor. I stood in the aisle for several minutes, staring at my phone. I had a date with Dieter fucking Bravo, and he’d given me his phone number.

I waited until he’d left the store, then went to the register myself. “Hey, you just missed Dieter Bravo,” the clerk said. “I got his autograph.”

I got his phone number, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. The kid behind the counter was thrilled to have had an encounter with a celebrity; he didn’t need me rubbing his nose in my good fortune. That didn’t keep me from texting my best friend Sam once I was back on the train headed for the IE. We’d been friends in elementary school before her family moved back East the summer before junior high. We’d kept in touch over the years, first by letters and now by text and Facebook.

<Went to downtown L.A. today. You’ll never guess who I ran into>

&lt;somebody I know?>

<Dieter Bravo>

&lt;Get out! Where were you?>

<The Last Bookstore, really cool shop.>

&lt;Were you cool about it? Please tell me you were cool about it>

<As cool as I could be, lol. Must have done okay. We have a date Friday night>

Sam replied with a string of emojis and punctuation marks. &lt;Don’t fuck with me, Em. It’s not funny>

<Totally serious. I have his phone number and everything.>

I clicked over to my Contacts and stared at the screen. The name “DB❤️” stared back at me. It was real.

<I want details!>

I sketched out the encounter for her.

&lt;You’re living in a rom com, I swear. But be careful. Heard he’s a bit of a wild child. Make him wear a condom. You don’t know where he’s been>

<Shut up. I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date. Eww.>

&lt;I know, you’re Miss Sensible Shoes. LOL>

It was joke between us that Sam had grown up to love wearing stiletto heels and clubbing while I preferred flats and quiet evenings. We always said it was a good thing we lived so far apart or we’d never have remained friends. And yet Sam was the one who was married with three kids and a job in finance, while I was still unattached and basically living paycheck to paycheck.

<I’ll tell you all about the date, I promise. Luv u>

I put away my phone and stared out the window, watching the backyards and alleys of Southern California flash by. What a world, where I woke up in my tiny condo thinking the highlight of my day would be a new book and lunch at Olvera Strett, and now I had a date with a famous actor. Only in L.A. I mused. It really is La La Land.

[mischiefbuckley]

how people could see last night’s episode and still continue to not see how queer coded Eddie’s character is is beyond me at this point like that conversation alone that Eddie had with the dad of him not accepting of his son for being a cheerleader like it’s literally a direct parallel to Eddie’s story and how growing up he’s grown up under the the culture of being raised Catholic and even attending Catholic schools and how again he was raised in a Mexican household with a Mexican dad and raised with the culture of machismo and how that inherently is how a lot of Mexican guys are raised that they aren’t allowed to show their emotions if not they are seen as weak and not being a “true man” and how you just grow to dismiss your feelings and not actually acknowledge them. So again with that in mind just think about how Eddie starts thinking about his childhood and the way he was raised growing up and he realizes he denied a certain part of himself because he would be viewed as “weak” to his dad and other men in his family

[hanahaki-disease]

Will Never Stop Me Reaching Forth (to see you again)

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

Summary:

“And it felt like forgiveness. Like maybe perhaps Percy could forgive him for what he’s done to Tim, for what he’s done to Gotham, to all those poor souls he’s reaped—for what he’s done to him.”

*******************************************

“Time has not been kind to you has it, my dear?” Jason sucked in a staggered breath as he looked up to the man he considered his grandfather.

He didn’t think going back to the manor was going to be this hard. He hasn’t even actually stepped into the building itself, and here he is, tearing up at the sight of Alfred on the front steps.

The butler hasn’t changed much since the last time he saw him. His hair had more gray and a few more wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, but his suit was still pressed perfectly and his mustache trimmed to perfection. Pristine white gloves at his side, clean of any dirt or dust from his meticulous cleaning, and a smile in his eyes as he looked at Jason.

“Hi, Alfie.” If Jason didn’t know the man as well as he does, he wouldn’t have been able to see the way Alfred’s eyes glossed over or the way the man desperately wanted to reach out and give his grandson a hug. But Jason couldn’t help himself, he wanted to be a little selfish in this short visit to see his brother and engulfed the butler in a tight embrace.

God, it felt great to know that not everyone had given up on him.

When the butler pulled away, he led Jason into the foyer. “My, you have grown since I last saw you, dear boy.” Alfred said. “But I can’t imagine you’re hear to simply catch up with me after all these years, have you?”

Jason shook his head. “I need to talk to Percy. I…I hurt him, Alfred.” His hands were suddenly very interesting. “I don’t know what came over me or why I did it, but I need to see him, even if he doesn’t want to see me.”

“You brother was devastated after your death, master Jason,” Alfred let his shoulders drop. “He was inconsolable for weeks and blamed Master Bruce just as you have, but make no mistake, the boy will always want you near. You are his elder brother, he has and continues to look up to you and the legacy you’ve made. Even if you don’t believe he should.”

There was a lump that had gotten stuck in his throat at the words. Percy…blamed Bruce for his death? The words didn’t make sense at first, feeling like a lie than the truth, but the way Alfred looked couldn’t refute the statement.

Since their arrival at the manor, Percy has had Bruce wrapped around his finger. Jason knew Bruce loved them all equally, yes, even Dick when he was broody and combative towards the guy. But there was a different kind of attentiveness and adoration Bruce had for the youngest of them. Bruce never hesitated when Percy wanted affection, never shied away from holding his hand or granting a hug. He made sure there was time to help Percy and Jason with their homework and that they always had the ocean themed band-aids in the first aid kits.

Before he died, Jason could count on Bruce. Jason had considered him his dad by default because he never knew his biological father and Willis wasn’t always the best when he was around, but that doesn’t mean the Jason trusted him immediately. It took him a while to let down his walls and actually let himself be cared for. Percy, though, he clung to Bruce as if he was their real dad. As if Wayne blood ran through their veins and they had always been part of the family—Bruce made it seem like it though.

So to hear that Percy was so distraught with Bruce to blame him (even if he was only slightly correct) just didn’t sit right with Jason.

“Where is he?” Jason asked, not wanting to stall long enough to let regret settle in his mind.

“He often spends his days in the library when he is not at school or where ever he disappears off too in the summers,” Alfred answered.

“What do you mean by that? Where does he go?”

“If I had the answer, master Jason, I would have told you,” the butler sighed. “But the boy refuses to tell us where he goes and I cannot help but grow more and more concerned every time he leaves.” Jason furrowed his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “He’s left four times in the past three years, and each time he returns, scars and injuries he’s never had before appear on him. Sadness has taken hold of him, and yet he refuses to acknowledge or reveal the cause.”

“I am afraid he’s developed that habit from master Bruce,” Alfred said. “Perhaps he will tell you, and we can put and end to whatever it is that plagues him.”

“That’s if he wants to tell me,” Jason ran a hand though his hair. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he says he hates me after I see him, but I’ll try.”

“That is all I ask, master Jason.” With that, Alfred turned to leave towards the sitting room down the hall. Hands clasped behind his back and a solemn air around him as he walked, leaving Jason even more confused and guilt-ridden than before.

What had Alfred meant when he said that? Why has Percy been leaving, and by ‘leaving’ does he mean the manor or Gotham entirely? Because if it’s the latter then there must be another reason besides teenage rebellion. Jason knows that Percy was a smart kid, he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks unless he was absolutely certain he had the upper hand. Someone must he forcing his hand, something has to be important to have his little brother go MIA every few months and it be kept a secret from both Bruce and Alfred…Well, he could understand keeping it from Bruce, but Alfred?

The halls were quiet as he made his way to the library, the path easy to recall with each step. He knew which boards in the floor would creak under his weight and how many strides it would take once he got to the second floor (twenty if he was starting at the stairs, thirty-two from his old room.) Jason memorized the feel of the curtains on the windows and the polished wood of the walls. The familiar sights of the antique paintings besides gilded sconces and the soft linen of the lampshades.

He knew which doors led to room and which ones were closets. Knew which wall sections had secret tunnels behind them or hidden compartments. Jason could point out what floorboards held Batarangs and masks beneath them, which ones held hidden, priceless heirlooms, and which ones had extra Nerf darts for their standoffs.

Jason could paint the sight of the library from memory from how long he had holed himself up in there. Weekends spent curled up in his chaise with a stack of books picked from both the manor’s selection and the public library. School nights of rest traded for lamp-lit evenings and tepid tea as he read book after book in the quiet of the manor.

He remembers the times where Bruce had to carry him out of the library because he refused to leave, preferring to remain content in his bubble than socialize at the boring gala they hosted. A fond smile stretched across his lips remembering the few times when Percy had cuddled up next to him on the nights neither of them could sleep. Restless limbs and racing minds keeping them awake but exhausted as Jason read a loud his current novel.

The library was exactly the same as it was years ago. The same old oak shelves and leather bound books, hand made rugs on the carpet and artisan furniture clustered in the expansive room. Jason never had the chance to finish reading through it all, hadn’t even completed the shelf he started in his corner.

His corner.

Jason hadn’t even made it to his secluded little area of the room in his bittersweet remembrance. There were times when Jason preferred to sleep and live in that little corner. He wonders if Percy’s claimed it for himself while he was gone. Did he bring his own blankets and pillows or just kept using his? Did he do his homework there, did he try and read all the books Jason had around it, did he fall asleep on the nights he couldn’t in his own bed?

Seeing Percy under the thick knitted blanket on the chaise was a surreal experience. It was like he was looking at himself almost five years ago, curled up with a book and the natural light of the rare Gotham sun illuminating the old papyrus pages of a well loved book. Black textured hair and colored eyes tracing the words, oblivious to the world outside the hardcover pages.

Time seemed to favor his little brother. He had grown nearly to Jason’s height, his lanky arms were beginning to fill out and the baby fat on his cheeks were slowly being chiseled away to show off a strong jaw and a sculpted nose. But the kid still had a ways to grow. Gangly legs spilled lazily under the blanket and onto the floor, elbows digging into the cushion beneath him and awkwardly pressed into his chest, as if he was trying to make himself smaller.

When he got closer, it was then Jason recognized the book Percy was reading. Pride and Prejudice. His favorite book, and not just any copy, Jason’s copy. The one filled with messy handwriting in the margins and doodles in the corners. The one with highlighter accentuating his favorite paragraphs and lines. The one with sticky notes upon sticky notes of his thoughts and predictions and comments from every time he’s read the book.

The one with their mother’s name scrawled on the title page. Her loopy cursive claiming the book as hers and her son’s, their names in blue ink and fish stickers with hearts and stars covering the entirety of the page.

“You know that’s my spot.” Percy jolted at the sound of his voice, looking a bit displeased about being interrupted before realizing who it was that spoke.

“Finders keepers.” He closed the book and shifted to sit up in his seat. He tossed the blanket to the other side of the chaise and gingerly placed the book on the side table next to him.

When Percy looked at him, Jason was taken a back for a second. He knew that Percy and him looked similar; the shape of their eyes, the ridge in their nose and the point in their eyebrows. Their mirrored widows peak and cleft chin, lopsided grins and full lips—even the speckle of freckles across the bridge of their cheeks that were a bit more hidden in Percy’s tanned skin than on Jason’s. Percy’s hair had gentler waves than Jason’s near coils, but both boys had the same black color they got from their biological father. And Percy’s eyes had been greener than Jason’s blue, though that didn’t matter now since the Lazarus pits tinted them to a teal instead of the aquamarine they used to be.

They were near identical to the untrained eye. Even down to the shock of white in their—wait.

White? In Percy’s hair?

Jason took a breath, deciding to focus his eyes on the peeling dry skin on his hands. “I’m sorry.” When he looked up to his brother, he couldn’t make head or tails of what he was thinking. His expression stoic and unchanging. “Looking for you should have been the first thing I did when I cam back to Gotham, you’re right, and I cannot apologize enough that it wasn’t.

“And I’m not trying to justify my actions or excuse them, but these past few months I have been blinded by pit-rage,” Jason confessed. “I wake up with a plan to get revenge and I go to sleep another step closer to it. I get so—so tunnel visioned trying to stop the Joker and getting Bruce to understand that looking for you and seeing if you were okay was never a thought that crossed my mind.”

Jason could see the hurt building up in Percy as he spoke. His eyebrows twitching to furrow but he was trying to keep himself expressionless, trying to keep Jason from knowing his feelings. “And I understand if after this you don’t want to talk to me anymore. I-I’m dangerous Percy, I’ve killed people. Bad people, yeah, but when the green takes over I…it’s hard to tell whose the good guy and whose not.”

“I just…I don’t want to hurt you,” Jason said. “I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret because I can’t control myself.”

Percy didn’t speak for a few seconds, he just sat there, eyes downcast towards the floor. “You did hurt me though. You hand me in a choke hold against the wall because you thought I was Robin.”

“I know, and I am so sorry about that. If I’d known it was you, I’d never have done it.”

“So then it’s okay to do that Tim? You know he’s my best friend, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why? You could’ve killed him!’

“Because I was angry Percy!” Jason shouted, rising to his feet.

He could feel the beginning heat in his finger tips from the pits, egging him on to leave and fight something. To feel warm blood run cold, avenge his younger self, to draw Bruce’s attention and make him realize the consequences of his own undone actions. “I was angry at Bruce because he replaced me months after my death. I was angry that Bruce let my killer run free! That he’s enabling him to hurt and kill other people! I thought I’d be the last one he’d let hurt, that I would be the line in the sand and that my death would finally put the Joker in the ground where he belongs.”

Jason sighed, falling back down in his chair, head in his hands, defeated. He knows that it wasn’t much of an excuse. Jason wanted to hurt Tim in the Robin suit because he was angry at the kid whose not even a month older that Percy for putting on the suit. Angry that Tim replaced him when his body hadn’t even gotten cold in the casket yet.

“I was, and still am, angry that Bruce couldn’t stop the Joker.” Jason dug the heels of his palm into his eyes. “Because if he let the Joker live, then you could get hurt. And I…I can’t let you get hurt by him, Perce, I can’t loose you to him. I just can’t.”

Jason could feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, spilling out in the gaps his hands could not cover. There was a tightness in his chest, like a boulder in between his lungs and rib cage that wouldn’t let him take a full breath of air. It was constricting. Debilitating. He can’t break down like this in front of Percy, he’s supposed to be the big brother. Supposed to be strong and confident so that Percy could learn in his footsteps.

But how can he do that when he’s been gone for almost half of his life, when he’s been buried under ground, resurrected halfway across the world, and out for blood in the streets of their home? When he never spent a moment of his second life wondering where Percy had been but trying his damnest to keep him safe.

That’s all he’s ever done, kept his brother safe. And yet, he was the one who hurt him. He had put his hands around his throat and sliced his cheek prying off that stupid domino. He had kicked and punched and jabbed at him, leaving behind welts and purple skin.

God, he was a shit brother.

He heard Percy shuffle in the chaise across from him, his bare feet nearly silent on the hardwood floors, before the cushion beside him dipped further from the second body. Tentative arms wrapped around him, landing softly over his back and threaded through the gap between his chest arms. The weight of Percy’s head against his shoulder almost brought another round of tears from him. It was a familiar feeling, all those nights he’d fall asleep against him, either in the old wooden crate from their childhood or the chaise sitting unassuming before them.

The weight of his brother against him was reminiscent of a bygone era. Where the worst thing that could happen was broken ankle and detention. A time when Jason could laugh and smile freely without the sound of the Joker haunting him from his memories, when green and purple were just colors and loud booms were for fireworks and not bombs. When Jason could trust the safety of cape and cowl to protect him and his brother.

Could he trust it now? After all he’s done, all he’s said, all he will do in future—is he still allowed that safety? The peace of mind that comes with a parent’s unwavering love and patience, is that still something he can rely on?

“You won’t lose me Jay,” Percy said, placing his full weight onto him, his arms tightening in their hold. And it felt like forgiveness. Like maybe perhaps Percy could forgive him for what he’s done to Tim, for what he’s done to Gotham, to all those poor souls he’s reaped—for what he’s done to him.

For what it’s worth, Jason was glad he wasn’t the only one crying once he wrapped his own arms around Percy. As soon as he wrapped him up tight, leaning his chin on his him, Jason could feel Percy’s hold tighten. The boy buried his face into his shoulder and let the barely contained sobs loose, making him shake like a wet chihuahua as he cried. It only made Jason hug Percy tighter, as if he was assuring him that yes, he was real, and yes, he was alive.

He can’t imagine what it must have felt like for Percy these past few years. Estranged from Bruce (which was still a weird notion) and dealing with his own problems. Problems that left him scarred and scabbed and with the weight of the world on his shoulders, like a soldier in a war.

Jason pulled back from the hug, his hands coming to cup Percy’s face. Red eyed, flushed cheeks, and a disbelieving smile when he looked at him. Carefully, Jason tilted Percy’s head to the side, wanting to examine the streak of white in his hair. “How’d you get this?” Jason thumbed the strand, the wave straightening out before bouncing back into place.

“How’d you get yours?” Percy wiped his tears on the back of his hand when Jason let him go.

“The Lazarus Pits decided to redo my hair as an extra little gift besides the insurmountable rage,” Jason fluffed out his hair. “Now spill.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I got it from holding up the sky?” Percy chuckled, only to laugh a little harder at the look of confused disbelief on Jason’s face.

*******************************************

The boys are back!!! RAHH🎊🎉‼️

Hope you liked it, and keep an eye out for two BtFR updates this upcoming week. They’re semi-important for the lore

Thank you for reading!!!!

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