#expect expect lot... LOT... of canary

[qoldenskies]

Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi

um huhhhh?????

sorry. So I just read Coming Undone and AGDHJAKQKAKZJSKAKAOSOXKJSKA. Basically. So I guess my question is: how long have been writing for the fandom or just writing in general? Because that is some SKILL, my guy. Like. Huhhh???? Why you gotta craft the most beautiful, well paced, and some how plot centered around one happening with 3 distinctive parts that are well balanced and very nourishing to my angst craving soul??? And the length?? AAAGGGHHHHH

HOW DO YOU DO IT??? HOW DO YOU MANAGE PULL OUT BANGERS TIME AND TIME AGAIN??? WHAT LED YOU TO BEING SO SKILLED IN THE WHUMP?? HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR POPCORN???

AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Just. Wow. You deserve so much love my guy. All the work and effort. Geeeez. Props honestly.

thank you for writing ^v^

HEEHEHE THANK YOU ;~; and i've been writing my whole life!!! somewhere out there exists files of things i wrote when i was like 6 or 7 years old on my grandma's computer before i even had internet access ... honestly i may have been doing it seriously even longer than drawing, it's always been my Thing teehee

but i started writing for rise in june 2024! im a newbie

[sassylittlecanary]

In 1987 Dick Grayson really said “Fuck victim-blaming. Men should take responsibility for their own actions and also treat women like people.”

And we love him for that.

The New Teen Titans Vol. 2 #34

[reidsbookclub]

An Accidental Marriage

Spencer Reid x fem! reader fluffy fluffy fluffy

Spencer Reid never thought he'd start his morning by nearly choking to death on his beloved coffee. But, then again, he also never thought he’d get accidentally married and find out about it at the same time the rest of the 6th floor at the FBI.

Yet here he was—standing in the BAU’s bullpen, coughing and sputtering as the one person he never expected to see in Virginia stormed into the room and screamed:

"DID YOU KNOW THE MARRIAGE WAS REAL?!"

Everyone seemed to freeze. The usual hum of the FBI’s elite profiling unit went completely silent as every single agent turned to stare at the scene unfolding before them.

Emily Prentiss slowly set down her mug. Luke Alvez raised an eyebrow. Tara Lewis and JJ exchanged glances. Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s self appointed gossip queen, visibly perked up like a cat spotting a canary. And Spencer? Spencer was still choking.

“Marriage?” JJ echoed, tilting her head. “Spence, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

His childhood best friend—you—stood in front of him, arms crossed, expression half exasperated, half completely bewildered. What were you doing in Virginia? You wen't supposed to finalize your move until next month. Did he get the months wrong? He never got the months wrong but then again thinking about you always did something to his brain, he thought.

“I went to get my license updated, Spencer. My license. And do you know what I found out?” You didn’t wait for him to answer, waving an official-looking paper in front of his face. “I have been legally married for ten years and nobody thought to tell me?”

Spencer finally managed to recover, rubbing his throat before he pushed his glasses up his nose, his mind whirring. “Wait, wait, wait—how is that even possible?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Crash maybe it’s because we signed a legal document at that stupid fair years ago thinking it was a joke when it was actually real!” The moment you called him Crash, the way you had since you were kids (a nickname born from his clumsy nature and his inability to stay upright for long), something clicked in his brain.

The fair. The marriage booth.

The backup plan.

“Oh my God,” Spencer whispered.

“Oh my God is right!” you cried

Penelope practically vibrated in her seat. “Wait, wait, wait—did I just hear correctly? My favorite boy genius has been secretly married for ten years and didn’t know it?! This is better than any rom-com I’ve ever seen!”

Luke smirked. “And you never thought to check?”

“Why would I check? It's Spencer!” Penelope cried

Rossi, who had been listening with an amused expression, leaned back in his chair. “Alright, kids, humor the old man. Start from the beginning.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, and plopped into the nearest chair. Spencer sat beside you, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” you started. “Spencer and I grew up together in Vegas. We were best friends. Like, inseparable. Hi, by the way names Y/N and I probably know a lot about all of you.” Spencer nodded. “We met when we were six years old. Statistically, most childhood friendships don’t last into adulthood, but we were an anomaly.”

Emily waved a hand. “Cute, but get to the part where you got married.”

You rolled your eyes, not liking that people didn't like Spencers facts. “When we were kids, we made a pact. If we weren’t married by forty, we’d marry each other. You know, as a backup plan.”

JJ let out a small aw before covering her mouth.

“Then,” Spencer continued, “when we were twenty, we ran into each other while I was visiting my mom in Vegas, Y/N was supposed to be visiting her sister in California but missed her plane. There was a fair at the local community college, and we thought it would be fun to relive our childhood for a day and spend the whole day together like we used to.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “And that’s when we saw it. The stupid marriage booth.”

Luke frowned. “Marriage booth?”

Spencer nodded. “It was part of the fair attractions. A fake wedding setup where couples could take pictures, sign a certificate, and get one of those novelty ‘marriage’ papers. We thought it was funny—like a way to get a head start on our backup plan.”

“Turns out,” you grumbled, “since we were in Vegas, it wasn’t fake at all.” The room went silent. And then Penelope excitedly screamed.

“Oh. My. God.” Penelope clutched her chest like she was about to faint. “That is the most romantic accidental love story I have ever heard.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not romantic! It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know, kid,” Rossi said with a smirk. “Sounds a lot like fate to me.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “That’s exactly what the lady at the DMV said when she showed me the proof!”

Tara leaned forward. “And now what?”

You glanced at Spencer. “I guess we get it annulled.”

For some reason, the thought sent an odd pang through Spencer’s chest. Annulled? Why did the thought of getting it annulled make him want to through up?

Emily leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Or—” she drawled, eyes gleaming mischievously, “you could just stay married.”

“What?” you and Spencer said in unison.

Tara shrugged. “You were childhood best friends. You made a pact to marry each other if you didn’t find anyone else. Maybe this was fate stepping in early.”

“Fate,” Spencer repeated blankly.

“Oh, you cannot annul this,” Penelope gasped. “This is the most romantic accidental love story ever. Think of the story you’ll have for your grandchildren!”

Just as you were beginning to protest, agent Grant Anderson strolled into the bullpen, carrying a stack of case files. His gaze landed on you, and a charming smile spread across his face.

“Well, hello,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You blinked at him. “Uh, no, I guess we haven’t.”

Anderson’s smile widened. “You must be new. Are you visiting, or is this a permanent thing?”

Spencer, who had been silent for a moment too long, suddenly stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. His jaw clenched, his normally gentle brown eyes darkening with something sharp and territorial. His hand curled around your wrist, firm but not forceful, and then—“My wife,” he said.

And before you could react, before you could process what he just said Spencer Reid—your childhood best friend, the genius who was accidentally your husband, the man you have been in love with since you knew what love was—grabbed your face and kissed you.

The bullpen erupted in cheers. Penelope squealed. JJ gasped. Emily shouted, “Go Reid!” Rossi laughed like this was the best thing he'd seen in years.

Anderson took a step back, holding up his hands. “Well. That answers that question.” When Spencer finally pulled away, you could only stare at him, breathless, heart pounding, lips tingling. “What—what was that?!” you managed. Spencer swallowed, adjusting his tie. “A leap,” he said simply. You blinked. And then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him back. Tagging some friends because for some reason I can't find my taglist

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @boldlyvoid @milla984 @reidsaurora @reiding-and-writing

[wandixx]

Phantom, the Young Justice member part 4(-ish, I think) they're unconnected, don't wory

Post TUE, but like, right after

“Recognized: Phantom B-08”

Zatanna and Artemis disengaged from the spar, turning to Zeta-Tubes almost in tandem with the rest of the Team. Wally caught himself preparing to the fight.

There was simultaneously a lot and very little Team knew about Phantom. They knew his favorite constellation, his favorite level in Doomed and his typical fast-food order and which parts were better or worse than Nasty Burger in every fast food place they visited. They didn't know whether he was ghost or meta or something else, they didn't know his non-hero name or if he had one at all.

There were things falling somewhere in between on this spectrum.

But they knew for the fact that he wasn't supposed to come in today and that he didn't use Zeta-Tubes unless situation was really dire. Yet even then it usually required a lot of convincing, as seen during whole Klarion-two-Earths debacle. At some point during it, Wally considered how faster would it be if he just asked Phantom to stack up on high- calory food and run to pick him up instead. In the end he didn't say anything, because ghost agreed, sounding like he was just sentenced to the gallows. Understandable, considering his... everything around portals in general, but especially ones that feel like they're taking someone apart. But! The point was, hearing Zeta-Tube call out Phantom was not normal nor a good sign. Fact that they didn't know what was going on or expecting him was unprecedented.

Wally sprinted out to get fire blanket. They owned actual weighted blanket, carefully washed and [wietrzony] to make sure it wasn’t smelling bad to anyone with enhanced senses, but for some reason fire blanket worked on the ghost the best.

He was back before other boy fully settled against wall of the Zeta-Tube, tugging at his hair like he did when he needed to calm down. It’s not like slowly breathing really did anything for him. Wally wrapped him up, making sure it was tight enough that hands he put down would not have room to do any real damage. It tended to happen when he was like this.

Wally very carefully didn’t think about the fact that Phantom didn’t even have enough energy or presence of mind to leave Zeta-Tube even though it was always first thing he did. Even, or maybe especially, when he forgot where he was for a moment.

Rest of the Team crowded around them, talking soft encouragements, rubbing his back and hair, tapping rhythm for him to… just overall ground him, Zatanna made up some ice too. Phantom seemed to shrink away from they’re touch, as much as he could when they were everywhere. Black Canary sharply told them to back away.

They all took few steps back, because something was really wrong and they weren’t helping but they had to try and–

Light erupted from somewhere under the blanket and traveled up and down Phantom’s body. Everyone, including Black Canary, lunged towards the boy, because what was that? What was that? Was Phantom dying in front of all of them?

Tired blue eyes blinked at them from under the shock of black hair. It was still undeniably Phantom, he stood in the same place and looked the same, except of eyes and hair color and lack of general air of otherness, but-

“My name is Danny Fenton, I'm a halfa, half ghost half human hybrid created in specific lab accident and no matter what, if my family ever dies you can't let Vlad Masters become my legal guardian. Doesn't matter if it means court case, kidnapping or murder,” he rushed out, words tumbling over each other, like he made this little formula and learned it by heart and wanted to get it out before he forgot any part of it.

Everyone just… froze for a moment.

And then Phantom started hyperventilating, swaying were he stood, so they jumped back to action, dragging him out of machine and onto some chair M’gann moved in. Black Canary ran him through breathing exercise (Phantom was breathing, Phantom was breathing, Phantom was breathing and it was so wrong Wally felt hair standing on the back of his neck). With mutual effort from Robin, Kaldur and Zatanna, there was a bag of ice in ghost’s (halfa’s?) hands, to help ground him. Artemis tapped on his shoulder in tandem with Canary’s instructions, while Conner run off somewhere. There was fifty/fifty chance he went to get something or just needed to get away. M’gann flew away muttering something about making a tea.

Wally felt really lost but also overwhelmed by the need to do something, so he tried singing (or humming, at least) some songs that you’re supposed to play when resuscitating someone. Then it hit him, that it felt too fast, maybe because his main thing was being fast and he was a bit too wrung out to focus on being slower, maybe because song itself was too fast, he didn’t know. He sang something slower anyway.

He could almost see the moment when Phantom, or Danny, he said his name was Danny, calmed down enough to understand where he was.

“Hello Danny”

The boy slumped a bit and refused to make eye contact with anyone.

“Hi Black Canary”

“Are you quite alright?”

“Who is attacking?” Wally blurted out without really thinking. They needed to know and, honestly, he was known to be the guy who never thought before he spoke.

Pha-nny whipped to look at him, visibly startled, which was not a good look considering he wasn't really epitome of calm even before.

“No one I know about, why would they?” he asked, sounding way too clueless about it.

“You used very quick mode of transportation, that is also really triggering to you,” Kaldur explained patiently, “one that you usually only travel through in case of emergencies—”

“And had panic attack as soon as you showed up which had not happened after first three times, meaning you were already pretty shaken before going in,” Robin interrupted.

“We want to know happened to make you use it this time?”

There was another slow blink.

“No one is attacking anymore. I won. I won. I saved them. I won,” he said, descending into panicked mutter. Black Canary motioned them to move away again, because clearly, crowd was not helping him.

“Hey, breathing is constant demand, don't forget about it,” Artemis snapped.

“Who did you win with? Who did you save?”

Phantom just glanced at Black Canary and got back to staring into middle distance, technically present in mind and body but clearly not fully. Wally didn’t want to know what horrors made him crash so hard. There were few things that could make him stop joking, even less that could do this.

“Would you…” Phantom whispered and then his breath hitched. Ghost just stared at all of them for a moment, jumping from person to person like terrified rabbit, wide eyed and terrified. Something glass or ceramic shattered behind them.

“Oh, Danny”

“M’gann what’s going on?”

“We’re alive Danny,” she said with conviction surprisingly strong with how soft she sounded before “We’re alive and well and whatever you saw or think you saw, it was a lie. We’re alive and well”

“But-”

“He didn’t kill us”

Artemis pushed her way back to the ghost and shook him by his shoulders.

“What happened, Phantom?”

Phantom or well, Danny, looked through her like he was once again recalling something, that shouldn't be in his mind to be recalled.

And then he explained future that won’t happen, with sauce explosions, dead families and court of talking eyes.

And then he made them promise. Wally doubted any of them would be able to keep it, and everyone knew that, but they promised either way.

[daistea]

(Def not King lurkin into your asks)

Saw that you take requests,,, 👀

What's your thoughts on a sexual relationship with Mithrun? I always get a little stumped with those requests, and you're just *chefs kiss* when it comes to your characterization of him

CRIES HELLO THANK U ILY

ummm tw: spoilers maybe? and nsfw

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Pre-Demon

Mithrun is a total slut, sorry.

That's not a bad thing, obviously, it's just what he is. I mean, he doesn't admit or acknowledge it. He has a very difficult time accepting his preferences. He's just a slut in denial.

That's all.

Pre-Ending, Post-Trauma

Mithrun hasn't had a real boner in forty years, sorry.

He has no interest in being intimate with anyone. He's really casual about the subject, though, because the Canaries--- sans Pattadol--- are pretty honest and open with each other. Shameless.

Fleki thinks he needs to get laid, but she doesn't care enough to push the subject.

Mithrun isn't emotionless, though. He's just preoccupied. His sex drive is extremely low at this point. However, he's observant enough about others to notice how you feel.

He'll have sex just for the sake of having it. He's kinda forgotten how it feels. And he still has pleasure receptors and nerves and all that nonsense. He can still physically react. You just have to do some work. He's not going to be super enthusiastic, but still consenting ofc

Mithrun is a total pillow princess at this point.

It's a bit calming, actually. Kind of therapeutic.

He's relatively quiet, but sometimes he can't help but exhale shakily, or groan. His touches are light. He's not very passionate. But sometimes he looks at you with these slightly dark expressions, as if he's considering something more. Something you don't quite understand.

Post-Canon

It starts out slowly. Mithrun doesn't immediately regain a sex drive. It needs cultivating.

The first time is really important. Depending on who you are and what you're like, it could range from soft and explorative, to rough and frantic.

Mithrun is a switch. I see a lot of depictions of him as a bottom, and I see that point of view, I really do. But I genuinely believe he'd work both roles. He would like to be dominant sometimes. Other times, he just wants to sit back and let the new feelings take over.

He likes being called a good boy.

He doesn't really enjoy the fact that he likes being called that. It's demeaning and it kind of makes him a little irritated, but holy crap does it set him on fire. 'Good boy' should only be invoked in the most passionate or rough of moments.

Mithrun can be rough when he feels like it. He can push you against a wall with the intent to make you forget your own name. He can leave bruises with how tightly he digs his fingers in. He bites, as always, but harder.

Speaking of biting, he'll usually bite your shoulder to keep himself from making much noise.

Mithrun wants to consume you entirely. He wants every inch of you. Your focus should be on him and him only. He likes hearing his name from your lips. Over and over. And he will often ask you who you belong to. He sounds calm in those moments, though, level-headed and scratchy as always, but there's a hint of expectance between his words.

He'll say it back, too, but in a very casual way, as if he doesn't quite understand why you want him to say that. Of course he's yours. Does it need to be acknowledged?

He has no shame, either. Anywhere, any time, if he wants it then he'll initiate it. He only pulls you into private alleys or closets because he knows that's what you prefer.

When you take charge, he enjoys that too. He likes looking up at you, taking in the view, letting his hands wander.

Whether he's top or bottom really depends on his mood.

If he's feeling especially jealous or possessive, he leaves a lot of marks.

He likes praise. He doesn't really give it back, though.

He's not very talkative during the deed, but if you talk often he'll just end up clamping a hand over your mouth.

He enjoys wrapping his fingers around your neck. He doesn't really like that in return, though.

No mirror sex.

He really likes oral. He can be a little selfish with it, actually.

Mithrun isn't a sadist LOL but he does like to tie you up sometimes and leave you hanging. It also depends on how you are as a person and what your dynamic is like.

If he's not in a dominant mood, he's a pillow princess again. Those are the days when he's not feeling as much, when he's not as locked in to his desires. Or, when he's just mentally or physically tired.

No matter what mood, he still needs a lot of care and affection. He needs every ounce of your focus.

He doesn't provide much aftercare. You're the one doing that, no matter who topped. But he eventually learns a bit and starts kinda reciprocating out of sheer habit, because he knows it would make you happy.

As I always say, Mithrun stares a lot. His gaze follows you everywhere, and he'll never get tired of the sight of your body.

He sorta passes out afterwards. It's one of the rare times when he doesn't need a sleep spell. He often will just pass out on top of you.

In general, he's a switch and how he acts is highly dependent on his mood for the day. He needs a lot of attention and affection, and likes to mark you up. He lacks shame, he'll initiate it anywhere. He's relatively quiet, but breathy. Sometimes, he touches you like you're porcelain about to crack. Other times, he manhandles you like a rag doll and does whatever he pleases. If you're able to, manhandle him in return, he'll probably get a little pissy with you but it's still funny.

:0 !

★・・・・・・★

[boxbug]

A Canary’s Final Flight

My piece for @trafficzine 4th edition! Get it for free here! 200 pages of excellent art and fics, incredible work from all participants and from the mods especially!! huge shoutout to the mods for real

Process notes under the cut! (I struggled a lot so it's a bit of a novel)

So the entire process was a Ride. I knew when I picked this prompt that I was going to have a hard time, because Jimmy’s final death had been illustrated a billion times over by extremely talented artists. But I had a Vision of the snapshot of the second before the impact, when everything is still but you know what’s about happen. It was very much inspired by the clip of Fog by Jabberwocky, bu the thing is, they have the advantage of all the build up of the fall, and that’s when the trouble started.

This was my first version, and obviously it wasn't working. And I was trying so hard, with so many iterations! Small wings, big wings, no wings, different poses, less backgrounds elements. I'd done compositions were everything seemed peaceful but something is Wrong, but it wasn't working this time.

So instead I focused on what rendering I'd like to do - I tried a painterly approach, for that visceral feeling, but it wasn't working either (but hey, I did keep the red sky, so, progress)

At this point I'd been doing back and forths for weeks and I was just as lost as at the start. Now that's my tip for people who make art of any kind, in situations like that, stop thinking about how you can make the best piece possible, and think about you can have fun with it (because when you aren't it's visible). And for that was, 1 - going back to using ink and pen nibs and doing way too detailed inking, and 2- looking at Dave McKean's covers for Sandman (which, funnily enough, was also a reference for my previous trafficzine piece)

And from there I was actually going somewhere! Between the jagged rocks, the red sky, and the increased verticality with the borders, I had hit the vibes I wanted.

I did some experimentation with the border, and even though I really liked the bad boys I drew they were taking too much away from the lonely desolation, so I actually used Red (Unecessary Redstone)'s idea of all of Jimmy's worldy's possessions scattered on the ground post impact, with the idea to make it looks like the central image is his grave being dug.

(and yes for a short amount of time the were supposed to be clock markings on the sun, but there was already enough going with the wings so I scrapped that) (also fun fact the reason why the wings aren't fully material but more ghostly is because my toddler cousin was watching me draw the very first draft and asked why he didn't just use his wings and i went :( so the wings are a metaphor now)

So from there I found a bunch of picture and took some myself, cut and assembled everything together, added shadows in all the appropriate places, and repainted some elements so that everything would look better intergrated (some of the wheats are basically 100% handpainted, the cardboard as well). This took a suprisingly long amount of time, but I was done!

Well I wasn't expecting to have that much to say, but I hope if you're still reading, it was at least interesting!

[uranometrias]

an ode to fake hatred — dean winchester

→ premise: the one where sam notices the exact moment dean starts to view you as someone more than just a third party on their mission to locate john winchester!

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: crack <3 , very short, mostly in sam's pov. takes place sometime during s1. reader is described to have lost a significant other <3

→ a/n: this is actually an excerpt from my dean x female! oc fic that i published on wattpad, but i thought it'd be cute to publish as a short little imagine too! <3

You had never felt like much more than a weapon to be wielded. Something to smite, to kill, and to be used. Never destined to be more than the thing forged to bring someone else to their destiny. Sitting in the Impala though, brought you a happy exception.

You never felt like anything outside of normal sitting inside that car.

You lets your toes wiggle as they sit up on the dashboard, knowing full well that the moment Dean catches you, he'll have your head. But, you'd filled a lot of your time with the Winchesters by getting under the skin of the eldest. He had not been happy about the fact that Sam had asked you to come along, but apparently some nightmare had him convinced you weren't safe if you were on your own.

Dean hadn't been as keen on the plan, but over time he'd warmed up to you in his own Dean-like way. You weren't sure exactly why Sam had even let you sit up front, you'd become quite accustomed to sitting in the back, familiar with every divot, every nook, cranny, and percy magazine Dean had hidden under the seats.

You'd even found having to lean in between driver and passenger seat to feel like part of the conversation between Sam and Dean, an expected part of your day-to-day schedule. Not today though, your muddied shoes had become decoration for the floor, and Sam's snorting as he takes in your polka-dotted socks.

A little childish, sure. But, they were also exceptionally comfy. Especially when she was forced to wear boots and sneakers most times of the day. You offer sam your middle finger in response to his snort, and that serves to make him chuckle. The sound helps to ease some of the tension you felt. Without meaning to, your eyes scan the outside of the car, and you hate the way your eyes light up of their at the sight of Dean finally coming out of the gas station.

His hands are full of all sorts of junk, and his smiling like the cat that ate the canary. You know nothing good could come out of it. You smack your teeth the second Dean's opening the passenger door, poking his head in, and chucking the entire pile right at you. Snacks smack your face, raining down like a junk-food shower. It makes you swing at him, just barely missing his face as he jerks away, shutting the car door behind him.

You find your lips curving up into a small fond smile when you hear the way your retaliatory actions make him chuckle. Sam is watching you closely, eyes jumping from you and then to his brother as Dean stands outside and pumps the gas. You're so caught up in watching Dean that you don't even notice the way Sam is reading you like a book.

He was no dummy, and he thanked his lucky stars that as the days began to roll together the arguments that used to fill up the time between you and Dean had started becoming far and few in between. It was precisely why he was sitting in the back, he had a bit of a hypothesis he was testing out. He'd never push a grieving person back into the dating fray, Lord knows he wasn't ever going to be over Jess.

But... there was something oddly poetic about the way you and Dean, two people who were a lot more alike than either dared to admit seemed to have found this new rhythm.

There was a quiet push and pull, both of you tiptoeing closer and closer to some massive fork in the road that would spin you down a different path forever.

Sam wasn't sure which way you two were headed though, not completely. Especially because tender looks when the other wasn't looking was not quite enough to prove anything. If it were all of Dean's taunts about you and Sam being in love would have a bit more merit.

Sam leans back, caught off guard when Dean returns, sliding into the car, and digging through the pile you'd let partially spill onto the floor, before finally offering him his own assortment of junk to quiet the grumbling of his stomach.

He hates the way you all live sometimes, but he knows your profession makes it hard to be too picky. As the impala comes back to life, Sam is looking between Dean and you again.

You're kicking your feet happily, mouth full of what looked like your favorite gas-station snacks, as well as something else that looked more like Dean's favorite. It was small things like that, that you did deliberately to garner a reaction from Dean.

The two Winchesters catch eyes in the mirror, and Sam is certain he looks smug as he stares down his obvious older brother. His eyebrow then quirks at the way Dean suddenly seems to take in the way you're eating his food, before his eyes jump to your feet perched up on the dashboard.

Sam chokes on a laugh the second Dean's hand flies out and swats at your feet. You let out a shocked gasp, glare pinned straight on the oldest. "What the hell's your problem?" you seethe as Dean's eyes roll.

"Get your damn feet down." he demands, swatting at your foot again.

It makes you smack your teeth, popping his hand as a small tussle ensues with Dean trying his hardest to remove your foot from off the dash. "You're lucky enough to be sitting in the front, and you wanna go 'head and mess it up." he scolds. Sam's stifling a snort, watching as you lean over the center console to flick his ear.

You don't move your feet, in fact you let your body slump until your feet were near touching the windshield, and Sam's eyes are back on Dean, almost wondering what he'll do next. "Oh, nice. That's real mature." Dean grumbles, but there's no real bite behind the words, and you seem to know as much. What with the way you smile up at him in a way that makes your eyes close, and exposes all your teeth.

"I don't get paid to be mature." you retort. "It's actually my life's mission to piss you off, Deano. Deal with it." you mutter with a shrug.

Sam notes the moment Dean's eyes seem to soften as he stares at your side profile. You're looking ahead though, no longer giving him your attention. "Well trust me, you're doing a damn good job." Dean's sarcasm makes Sam huff out a laugh, the quiet nose ignored by you and Dean once more. It was always like that with you two. Easy to get lost in the moment and forget who else could possibly be around.

"Good, I'll be here all week."

"Someone kill me now." Dean grumbles, and this makes you turn your head, jaw dropped as you gasp dramatically.

"Take that back." you demand as Dean's eyes roll at your dramatics. "You love me, and you know it." you accuse, finger pointing right at him as it jabs into his cheek, pushing his head away from the road. A nuisance, that's what you were, the kind that lingered under his skin, and all in his mind. He hated you most times, liked you a lot more than normal at other times. It was a nauseating experience.

It wasn't like you were unattractive, you were just annoyingly sweet towards Sam, oftentimes getting him in a way Dean didn't. If he was honest, it was the most annoying part of your whole arrangement, feeling like the stranger with his own brother.

You called him Sammy like it was the name he'd been birthed with, and he never had any quips or qualms about it. And you'd tug at his arm like a silent shadow, saying everything with your eyes when he'd look at her. No matter how tired, or exhausted he might have been, he always, always understood exactly what you were trying to convey.

And when he'd fall asleep in the front seat of the impala, you'd slip multi-colored scrunchies from off your wrists and make ponytails in the shaggy mop of hair he'd sported, and never once received more than a playful eye roll. He laughed at all your jokes, laughed until he couldn't breathe. He smiled, and let it reach his eyes.

He listened to every incessant ramble of yours. Never complaining, never telling you to shut up, only listening devotedly. And you talked, a lot. Talked about anything and nothing at all.

You were annoying, Dean knew that from the very first night you'd met. You grated on every single last nerve he had, and seemed so oblivious to just how unwanted your presence was. You laughed too loud, ate too slow, asked too many questions.

You forced yourself into conversations that didn't concern you, and made every motel room, every space they stepped into your own. Even now, your perfume filled the impala, making it smell much to sweet for the job you did, for the sort of life you lived. You were just wildly out of place, and Dean hated you for it.

Still, he turns his head back towards you, taking you in as you continued to gawk at him like he'd really wounded you, and he smirks. Mostly because he knew you were only playing up your dramatics to fill the empty spaces of the road trip. "Do I know that?" he queries, and it makes your eyes narrow. "Believe me, sweetheart. The only thing keeping you from becoming a hitchhiker is Sam's dumb little crush on you." he says firmly, and you snort.

Sam scoffs, because he doesn't have a crush on you. Not really.

"That was almost convincing." you reply. "But, your heart's just not in it." and with that, you're effectively shutting him up. You kick your feet some more, ultimately getting bored of the action, and deciding to sit up straight. Your feet though, don't touch the ground, instead you sit criss cross applesauce, and go back to eating your 'breakfast'

"Shut up." he gripes back, and you go through the motions of pretending to zip your lips. Your eyes wander, a devilish grin wiggling onto your face as you take in the radio. You're trying your best to get your hand on the dial, gasping when Dean's hand whips out and stops you. ''Would you just sit still?" he demands, and you want to scream. Mostly because road trips with the Winchesters could go on for hours, and what did you have if not your ability to piss him off?

"Would you just sit still!" you mock him, voice dropping a few octaves. "It won't kill you to listen to something outside of -" and you turn to look back at Sam. "What did you call it? Mullet Rock's greatest hits?" you call back to your very first hunt partnered up with the boys. "I happen to know that if you just flip your dumb cassette over, you'll like what you hear." you say, and Dean's shaking his head at you.

"My car, my rules, princess."

"You're the princess." you shoot back gruffly.

"You two are unbelievable." Sam comments, and that shuts you and Dean up instantly. Dean's grip on the wheel is tightening just slightly, all traces of humor escaping him for the moment, as you pivot your entire body, facing the window as you go back to quietly eating chips. Sam's not sure what's gotten into the both of you, if it had something to do with the fact that you weren't alone and were behaving as such, or if you both had just realized just how obvious you were being with your interest.

There's a brief moment where none of you are talking, only the quiet thrum of whatever was playing from the radio filling the space. That is until Dean's hands, quick as lightning are crossing the car to snatch the bag of chips from your grasp. You gasp exaggeratedly, and Sam's stifling another laugh, because Dean's pretending to be so unbothered. Grumbling something about spending extra money on snacks for you when you spent all your time eating his shit anyway.

Sam witnesses the second Dean sets the bag in a space that's perfectly accessible to the both of you. Cutting eyes at you, as you narrow your eyes at him, before slyly letting your hand move to the bag. Sam supposed this could serve as the answer he needed for his hypothesis, his eyes catching Dean's again in the mirror. Though, there's no smirk on his face this time, in fact, no smugness in his eyes at all instead... he finds that he's happy for his brother.

Even if the idiot didn't know why yet.

[meocities]

The Lack Thereof

Mithrun/Reader - 1423 words, hurt/comfort

You're nervous. You're sad and lonely and hurting, and on top of it all, you're nervous.

Mithrun stares at you from across the bedroom. He's been doing that a lot lately — you've noticed how his eyes linger. You notice a lot more than you let on about him, but you’ve realized that he ends up knowing anyway. You can't keep anything secret from him — he'll find out that you're hiding something, at the very least, and then he'll just keep staring until you tell him.

He's doing that now. Staring. His eyes bore into your own, and when you look away for a second, glance back, look away again, he moves his staring to your hands. You're wringing your fingers in your own grasp. The edges of your cuticles are dry and picked. Your skin might have bled a few times from your nervousness, and though the blood was the only thing that could have given your anxiety away (blood that had long been cleaned), you know Mithrun sees the red-flushed divot of wounds even from the distance you're keeping.

Mithrun raises an eyebrow, and the anxiety compounds in your stomach. It burns your skin, just as much as the memories do, and you know you're strong but you think to yourself, god, I want to cry.

You're strong, and you're brave, and you've always stood up to everything that has ever been thrown at you, and you're so tired. You're so tired of the effort. You wonder if he can relate.

So you bow your head, and you know Mithrun's eyes have gone wide — as much as they can, anyway — staring at you still. He's silent, unmoving on the bed the Canaries had set him up with after the new kingdom's establishment. Of course it would be silent. Of course he would be staring. You’re the one who invaded his room in the middle of the night, after all. You know you're lucky that he doesn't care.

Yet, for now, you're still looking at the floor while the former captain of the Canaries looks at you, with your hands wringing themselves into shreds, and the hole in your stomach is eating you alive. You know he expects something of you, so you take a breath (it's shaky, and you cringe because you know your words aren't going to come out right) and deliver, ineloquently, “you don't care about most things, right?”

Mithrun's told you his story. How he became a dungeon lord — and how he lost that title in five years. How he's been recovering over time, slowly but surely, thanks to the help of Kabru and his Canaries, and the noodle shop that he lives above, and everyone who's had the smallest bit of faith in him along the way. And while Mithrun's made endless progress, you know he still has trouble desiring, sometimes.

You can't imagine asking this of anyone else.

Mithrun nods his head slowly, and you realize you've looked back up at him when his brows furrow together. “I don't,” he says.

“Can you do me a favor,” you say, expecting to stop there, but highly reluctant to even consider the thought of him rejecting you before you even get the real question out. “Can I join you?”

Mithrun looks down, gaze sweeping his bed, before turning back to you. It's a silent question, and you nod, cheeks aflame. Are your legs shaking? You feel unsteady. You aren't sure if you're breathing right — feels too shallow, as if you're afraid to even make a sound. Your hands, still fidgeting with your fingers, twist a joint in such a way that your knuckle cracks, and you wince at the sound interrupting the silence. Mithrun remains quiet, and you think that you might never have taken a deep breath in your life.

He breaks this silence a moment after. “Why are you asking this of me?”

There's lots of things you can say to this — lots of things that go through your head in response. It feels delicate to dissect, yet heavy. Emotion and cognition flit through your brain, and you think about analyzing yourself in your typical pattern of being self-aware, but it feels like too much. There's no good straw to grasp onto, but the one thing that comes to your mind is that, despite not knowing him for long, there's something about him that makes you feel as if he's the only person in the world you can go to.

I don't know wouldn't suffice as an answer. Moreover, you would feel bad about not communicating to the best of your ability. To him, you say, “I trust you,” and you don't think about how his distance is the most familiar thing you've known.

He doesn't seem convinced, but he shrugs and lifts his head to lay on the side of the pillow — moving to make room for you. Your heart thuds hard in your chest, and you're both terrified and not. You wipe your sweaty palms on the surface of your clothes, because you don't want to put that on Mithrun, not at all — there's no need for him to see that you're any more nervous than he already knows you are. While your hands are wiped off, you approach the bed, lifting your leg so you can slide over the top, knees bent as you sit by his waist. You're so close that your knees are touching the right side of his waist. The bed wasn't very big to begin with, and by the way Mithrun moves his arm out to make room for you to lay down, you know he's aware of the proximity.

Which, this action makes your chest ache. He wasn’t supposed to be caring — he wasn't supposed to make this easy. You're tempted to pull back for a moment before Mithrun raises his eyebrow at your hesitation, and you bite your tongue even as your eyes begin to moisten. You won't cry, you know this for sure — you refuse to be weak in front of someone as strong as him, and even though his eyes narrow at all the things you won't say, you give up part of the act and lay your head down on his chest, nosing your face into his neck. Your left hand comes to rest on his stomach so that you're curled into him, and you can already feel the moisture from your breath condensing on the skin of his neck. You won't cry, you remind yourself. You won't cry, and if some tears do drop on Mithrun's shoulder beneath your face then it was an accident. You didn't mean to.

Slowly, his arm comes around to cradle you into his side. Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your spine to pull you closer, stroking along the bone of your back. You can feel yourself shaking, frozen in place — you don't want to move, but something like this is so unfamiliar. You never would have expected this from him, of all people — wasn't the point of seeking this out from him because he wouldn't be overwhelming? Wasn't the point of this to have an image of being loved?

Yet, with Mithrun’s fingers at the slope of your back, the image you had is colored and crisp. Even if he's pretending, it almost feels like he actually cares about you.

He can feel that you're shaking now — there's no doubt about it. Your breathing rattles through your chest as your fingers grip the fabric on his stomach, and you feel his abdominal muscles clench for a moment before he forces them to relax. He shifts his face above you and you feel lips on your forehead — he pressed a kiss to your skin, you realize, and your heart shatters into a million pieces. You're warm, you're burning up, and all you can do is sling your arm across his ribs, tuck a leg between his, and bury your face so far into Mithrun's neck that you don't know where you end and he begins anymore.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this — nothing this nice. You're still shaking, but you're held tightly. Why did he desire to hold you?

You vocalize this sentiment. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, and your voice is quiet. Devastated. Unsure.

Mithrun doesn't look at you. He doesn't even shift his position. Just hums a short noise in the hollow of his throat — something you feel the vibrations of tickling your nose — and says, “I trust you, too.”

[randomfandoms234]

I think Grian should be evil more in life series fanfiction

I just think it’d be neat, don’t get me wrong I like Grian as a good or morally gray character! Their fun to read and I greatly enjoy fanfiction like this.

But they often forget that Grian willingly joined the watchers!, and often say ‘oh Grian may be the admin but he doesn’t have a lot of control’

But what if Grian did have control? Like he does in Wildlife,

Grian as a villan can be done so well I imagine him being possessive of his players. They’re his so he gets to decide what roles they may have

Being turned into watcher makes it so his moral code is mucked up he decides what roles fit his friends better based on their mental states

Some examples of this are Scott and Jimmy

Scotts good at the game but defied the rules so he gets the blessing ability this is not a blessing it’s a curse because the blessing allows him to know all the torment that is happening and never being able to defy the rules again.

Jimmy is the canary because Grian believes that he wouldn’t be able to handle the bloodshed (this assumption is wrong of course ) and that he has the ability to make others care for him quickly, but Jimmy also has the ability of prophet (predicting the life winner twice) however this future can change if something in what the watchers deem to be right changes Joel was originally meant to win Secret life but because Scott caused Jimmy and Scar not to win Scar was able to. (This is why I often think of Jimmy and joel with the song no longer you from epic ) The timeline expected changed so the winner was no longer Joel.

What if he does the games because Watchers are naturally possessive of players? He likes his friends so he makes sure he can keep them forever

What I’m saying is Grian can make a compelling villan in life series fanfiction

He can still care for his friends and everything but his way of looking at the world is so twisted that they are forever tormented

He’s like a bird owner who broke their birds wings so they could never fly away.

He injures them and torments them cause isn’t that how a watcher shows their love

Grian can work as both a hero and a villan or even a antihero but evil Grian gets underutilised

[pinksatinpanties]

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO — misha collins

summary. Abstaining from sex wasn't a gargantuan sacrifice before you met him. The 90 day rule should be a walk in the park - at least that's what you thought when you made the commitment. Misha respects your boundaries, even during intimate moments when you beg him not to.

pairing. boyfriend!misha/celibate!reader

word count. 1.95k

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⎯⎯  warning(s) author's liberal agenda | smutty talk but no smut | teasing | soft dom!Misha | brat!reader | begging | no beta we die like everyone on spn

part 1 - part 2 - part 3?

You took a vow of celibacy six years ago. When friends and coworkers discovered this information about you, they looked at you as if you had three heads on your shoulders. The concept of a young woman in her sexual prime purposefully abstaining from sex was entirely too much for them to grasp. Why? They demanded to know every single time. Instead of explaining that mediocre sex wasn’t worth the risk of pregnancy and STDs or the stress of uncertainty before test results came back or the fact that your reproductive rights were under attack, you simply replied “Because!” with the sweetest smile you could muster. You knew you didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

No, you weren’t waiting until marriage. No, you weren’t joining the nuns at the monastery. No, you didn’t hate sex. It was a lot simpler than any of those things, in your opinion. You were simply tired of sharing your body with people that didn’t cherish it as much as you did. 

Sex with you was a privilege, not a right. And you were holding out for a man that knew and respected that. No matter how long it took, and even if you never found The Guy, you were perfectly happy dating your vibrator for the rest of your life because it meant that your dignity would remain intact.

A handful of guys pursued you over the years. You told them upfront that you were celibate, some tried to convince you to sleep with them anyway, you maintained that boundary, and that was all it took for them to lose interest and disappear.

Then you met Misha inside a Whole Foods on a Thursday afternoon. He asked you out to dinner and you dropped the bomb right then and there in the health and wellness aisle, expecting him to fall back like the others. But he only said “Cool. Do you like Italian?” He didn’t make a sexual proposition after that first date or any of the several dates that followed. 

It wasn’t until three weeks into dating Misha that you finally considered the fact that he might be The Guy. But at the same time, you didn’t want to throw away your six year streak for some temporary fling. So you resolved that you would adhere to the 90 day rule. If he couldn’t hold out for three months, he wasn’t planning to stick around for that long anyway. In that case, good riddance.

When you shared this with Misha, he didn’t pout. He didn’t complain. His eyes actually lit up. “Would it be crass to mark my calendar?”

Your will was iron-clad for the first 26 days.

DAY 29

By the 29th day, you were begging Misha to fuck you. 

Making out with Misha was better than any sex you’d ever had before. His pink lips were full, soft, and always topped with a coat of cherry chapstick. He was very skilled with his tongue - rolling his over yours, fucking your mouth with his tongue, and swirling it around the inside of your lips.

You had invited him over to watch a film you missed in theaters that had just dropped on streaming services, but that was a distant memory now that you were squirming underneath him on your couch.

He rejected your advances while smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He loved hearing you beg and whine for his cock, the bargaining, suggesting oral compromise. 

“Just let me suck it at least!”

“No,” he chirped in a sing-song tone as he shook his head from side to side. “Oral sex is still sex.”

“A handjob then,” you offered.

“Still sex.”

“Fine. Let’s finish the stupid movie.”

DAY 47

Things were getting hot and heavy on Misha’s couch and you decided to cop a feel. Rubbing his erection through his pants made his breath hitch. He clenched both fists in an effort to stop himself from shoving his hand between your legs and making you cum all over it right then and there.

“Stop touching my dick,” he groaned.

You obeyed immediately, but you didn’t want to. “You’re really holding me to this 90 day thing, huh?”

“Yes. And you’re about to lose your kissing privileges, missy,” he warned. “If you keep teasing me.”

“You’d never deprive yourself of my lips,” you scoffed.

“That may be true,” he conceded. “Come.” Misha got up and headed down the hall.

“I’m trying to.”

“Come, not cum!”

Misha got a huge kick out of making you walk over to the calendar hung up on the wall of his bedroom and count the days leading up to the 90th day. 

“See? It’s only 43 short days away. Not as long as you think. You can do this.”

You had no idea where he got all this sexual discipline from, but it was sexy. It made you want him even more.

DAY 56

It was late now, half past eleven. After closing your laptop for the night and taking a short shower, you returned to your room. You dried off your body with the towel, then ripped off your shower cap and flopped into bed. 

Misha was filming a movie in California for a couple of weeks, but he made sure to text you every day while he was out of town. He hadn’t texted you ‘good night’ yet. It had been several hours since he last texted you, but that wasn’t unusual. Your boyfriend only touched his phone on set in an emergency.

Your boyfriend. No one had carried that title in a long time. You were glad you found each other. Looks didn’t matter, but damn, did they help…

You sandwiched the buzzing vibrator between your cunt and a pillow. You pretended you were riding him instead. Whimpering and moaning in the dark for him.

Misha. His tongue in your mouth. His hands cupping your breasts. His body all over yours. 

How big was his dick? Was he circumcised? What would he sound like? What would he taste like? You had to know. So many unanswered questions…

The jarring sound of your ringtone forced your eyes open. You looked down at the glowing screen on your nightstand. The innocent picture you had taken of him kissing the nose of a friend’s little rabbit sitting in his hand covered the entire screen along with your pet name for him and the green and red buttons.

“Hey,” you panted - a little too soon after answering.

“Hey, baby,” Misha greeted. “Just got off of work and I’m headed back to my room now. What are you up to?”

“Uhh… I was just- um…” You hadn’t thought this far ahead, just impulsively answered the phone. But hearing his voice only made the rumbling beneath you feel that much better. “I just got out of the shower.”

“Oooh,” he teased. “Are you also running a marathon? You sound out of breath.”

“Um, no, I uh- Fuck.” You bit your lip to keep from moaning. “You’re not behind the wheel, are you?”

“No, my driver’s taking me back. What’s that in the background? It sounds like some kind of buzzing or…”

“Kinda caught me…hmm… in the middle of something here.”

“Are you… touching yourself?” He spoke into the receiver in a hushed whisper. “That is so inappropriate.”

“I’m sorry. I-”

“Such a filthy girl,” he murmured. You could practically hear the smirk on his face. “Phone sex is sex too. You know better.”

“Oh…” you let a small, breathless moan escape your lips. “Maybe I need to be punished. Maybe then I’ll learn not to be so filthy.”

“Later. Call me back when you’re ready to behave,” and he hung up on you.

DAY 68

You had a surefire plan to break him today. He invited you over for lunch at his place. You showed up at his door with pink lacy lingerie under your baggy tracksuit. You couldn’t even wait to finish the salmon over rice that he made for you. 

“It’s getting really hot in here,” you declared, dramatically fanning yourself with the fabric of your hoodie at his dining room table.

Misha turned to spot the thermostat and pointed at it with his fork. “It’s 72 degrees in here.”

“Well, I’m reeeally hot.”

“Then take your jacket off,” Misha took a bite of his food.

“Whatever you say,” you purred. The hoodie unzipped and came off. 

Misha started choking when he looked up at you. You thought he was exaggerating for comedic effect until he stood up from his chair and started pounding at his chest with the side of his fist.

You stood too. “Oh my god… oh my god!” It took a second for you to remember the Heimlich maneuver, but as soon as you did, you ran over to embrace him from behind and pulled your arms back and up. Half chewed salmon and grains of cooked rice were projectiled across the table.

“Are you okay?! I’m so sorry!” You placed a small hand on his arm and did your best to ignore how muscular he was. Now was not the time.

Misha cleared his throat. “I’m good. And don’t be sorry. If I had died just then, at least the very last thing I would’ve seen is you wearing this.” He placed two big hands on either side of your waist, gently caressing the lace covering your body.

“In that case-”

“Nope!”

“Come on, Mish…”

“You’ve held out for over two thousand one hundred and ninety days before you met me. You can wait 22 more.”

“I can’t! That was before I knew you. I can’t wait another minute, Misha, please. I feel like I’m gonna spontaneously combust.”

“No, baby,” he smirked. “But it’s good to know that I have this effect on you.”

“Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re celibate. What difference does it make to you if we have sex now or 22 days from now?”

“The difference is honoring your wishes. You said 90 days. Your celibacy is important to you. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret just because you got really horny from kissing me.”

“I won’t regret having sex with you. Trust me.”

“I’ll make sure of that,” he said, just matter-of-factly. Like it wasn’t supposed to turn you on. “Just think of how much better it’ll be knowing we waited.”

“It seems so easy for you…”

“Easy? Ha! That little stunt you pulled over the phone made things very hard.”

“Hard, you say?”

“Yes, when I got back to my hotel room… psssh, I haven’t pumped my dick like that since I was a teenager.”

“Well, send me a video next time.”

“You horny little shit.”

DAY 83

You two had formed a habit of napping together during the day. The emotional bond was long since formed. Exploring forms of intimacy other than sex had been very rewarding for the two of you, but it didn’t stop the biological urges.

“Mishaaa, pleeease,” you whined beneath him after a post-nap makeout session. “Seven days is close enough.” 

“No, it’s not.”

Just when you thought the begging couldn’t get any more pathetic, tears began to fall from your eyes before you could stop them. “Misha, I’m actually quite literally begging you.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Misha murmured. “You want my cock that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fuck you so good. Just like you deserve.”

Your breath hitched and your eyes lit up.

Misha grinned like a supervillain as he brought his mouth to your ear and whispered “In seven days.” 

You completely deflated and lay there in his bed, staring at the ceiling as you grabbed one of his pillows and plopped it over your face. The smug bastard actually cackled as you screamed into the pillow.

⟡ ₊ . ༄.°

[qoldenskies]

Augh I wanna read ur au so badly but I know that I wouldn't be able to handle it TwT I know this may seem rude but could you give like a small summary of what happened so far? Not enough to make people that wanna read it disappointed that they learned too much, but... I wanna know the story but I wouldn't be able to handle reading it based on the snippets I saw because of how well it's written

anooooooon there is sooooo much that happens that i cant actually think of a way to properly summarize it, especially because id argue the premise ITSELF is a bit of a spoiler even though i havent necessarily been cagey about it. the first fic in the series is really meant to be a bit of a boiling frog kind of story, where you KNOW something is wrong (outside of the vague tags, it's the only information i want really provided; something is wrong) but it doesnt really become too clear until its too late, and its only explained in the aftermath of all the horror. i really think what would be best to describe as like,,, pre-existing knowledge for the comic? would be pretty much every landmine they're stepping on and are going to step on LMFAO, but describing the abuse that already happens might be a bit time-consuming for me. 'cause there's a lot.

although i will say there is really painful significance to donnie locking himself in the laundry room and they probably should not have knocked on the shield that is a REALLY loaded thing to do. cc!leo's outburst about c!donnie moving tools around also comes from something that happened, if cc!donnie came back to things out of place he would probably have a panic attack

[betweenlands]

Jimmy Solidarity's Guide To Dying First

Congratulations and/or sorry that happened! Dying first in a series is always really rough, and people are probably going to feel bad they ended your series early. Unless you're me. They don't feel bad about killing ME off first, which is probably why I beef it a lot.

Anyway, here's some specific ways you might have your death invalidated or made about me:

Are you new to this series? Oh my god I am so sorry. The Watchers are about to be SO weird about you and I honestly hope I die next so I can take some of the heat off you.

Did we die in the same incident? Expect the Watchers to say I died first anyway.

Are you Lizzie? Expect the Watchers to say it's because of our ~sibling bond~.

Are you Scott or Tango? Expect the Watchers to make up something about our whirlwind romance dooming us both.

Were you TEAMED with Scott or Tango? See above, except it's actually because my "curse" is super contagious or something.

Were you teamed with ME? See previous two points.

Are you Pearl or Grian? Expect the Watchers to say it was totally, definitely because of wanting to ensure the same person didn't win twice, even at the cost of the canary curse being broken.

Are you Martyn? Same as above but also -- Lol. Nerd.

What else should you expect?

You're going to start growing feathers. Sorry! The Watchers are going to try to "canary-code" you too, so they don't have to stop being weird about me.

The Watchers loooove to take credit for things that were barely even them. If anything happened involving the two of us for five or more seconds, it's a sign that I "cursed" you to die first.

If you're really lucky, the Watchers will make up some nonsense about toxic fumes or something that ensures I still get the brunt of their weirdness.

See you soon, probably, because for some reason Martyn has decided to cater directly to the Watchers and make it his sole goal in life to ensure I permadie as soon as humanly possible!

Love or whatever, Jimmy Solidarity

[lordsofdungeon]

One of my favorite ways to interpret Mithruns personality is that his blind acceptance to doing things that the Canaries tell him to is not a symptom of his lack of desire but a part of his personality that has been transformed from one thing to another.

I personally think that Mithrun was, before his time as a dungeon master, extremely reliant on people pleasing to get by. I imagine his inferiority complex, as well as his illegitimate connection to his parents would push him into a corner where he felt like he needed to keep up an act or a show. I think a lot about how it's mentioned that he was the perfect example of an elf, and elves have a large expectation to keep up good face in any situation, to help out when they can. I imagine that's put him in the place of listening to other people or giving them what they want from him to get his needs met.

I think that contributes to his behavior with the Canaries. He's rather obedient, despite being their leader, and obviously that just happens to be because of his disability and the fact that he literally does have to rely on them to have his needs met, but I think in general he's been shown to be obedient to the others without question. He has no desire to trust them, but he doesn't have any need to distrust them either.

He has no actual reason to say no to them, he has no need or desire to care about his appearance, or the way touch feels, or how dignified he is, or anything of the above. But due to already BEING a people pleaser before being disabled, these are the patterns of behavior he falls into. I'd imagine it puts him in a lot of risky situations, because he has no desire to actually look out for his wellbeing, he might go along with things for one reason or another because he doesn't have a reason enough NOT to go along with it. This is one of my favorite traits of his, is his strange obedience found in his apathy.

He isn't blindly obedient, either. Which is the part that endlessly fascinates me, and leads me to believe that it definitely isn't a symptom of his lack of desire but a personality trait warped due to a lack of desire. He's gone from people pleasing for the desire of approval and praise, to people pleasing out of the lack of anything better to do. It's simply a pattern he fell into when he was younger, and continues out of habit.

[blueboybot]

Your Husband Is A What?

Damian/Duke is trapped in a weapon (like one of those cool big ass anime swords) and it's up to Danny to get him back to normal.

Travelling back to the past seemed fun but unfortunately all the other heroes think he's a little crazy, and yes, he may have a few screws loose but his husband really is trapped in this weapon damnit.

_______

How they met could be made into a book with the title Love At First Fight, because that's exactly how they met each other.

Danny had taken a route that was basically a dark alley, so there really wasn't no surprise when a couple of guys tried to rob him. Well, Danny was not one to back down and with a trusty steel pipe he found right next to the dumpster he began taking them down.

In the aftermath Danny's jeans had become ripped jeans but he wasn't sure if they could be considered proper clothing to wear anymore, which pissed him off so he got one more hit in with the steel pipe to the nearest man next to him.

Footsteps as light as they were still alerted Danny to one more thief in his vicinity. Without much hesitation he turned swiftly and dashed towards his opponent. Steel meet steel as his attacker counteracted his attack with a weapon of their own. Danny still had powers though, so using a bit more strength he sent the other's weapon flying in another direction, giving him the opportunity to strike.

He didn't know when he lost his own weapon but somehow him and his attacker were now fist fighting on the floor. It was only after the adreneline had calmed down somewhat that Danny was able to see he was fighting one of Gotham's heroes.

Quickly separating himself from the hero he profusely apologised before dashing off to deal with the action of beating up one of his favorite heroes.

What followed afterwards were a series of events that always ended up with the two meeting each other and engaging in a 'battle' of sorts. One thing led to another and for some reason they ended up kissing in the same dark alley they first met, away from any prying eyes. After that night things changed significantly.

Danny always knew the indentity of the one that became his love because of the otherness he could feel beneath their skin that reminded him of himself and eventually he told them about Phantom.

It took a lot more meet ups in secret before they were finally comfortable enough to officially meet each other's family and it had gone a lot better than they were expecting.

Sometimes they would help each other out on missions and this time was no different. They were dealing with another crazy magician who thought he could take over the world by using the power of an ancient deity. They managed to stop him but before he could be detained he fired of one more spell that trapped his boyfriend in his weapon and used some sort or artifact to send them careening through a portal.

Luckily for them they ended up with the JL, unluckily for them no one seems to know who they are.

____________

Flash: Are we sure he should be in the watchtower?

Black Canary: He's not doing anything bad, look at him.

Phantom using his lover as a swing: ^o^

Green Arrow: He thinks that's his husband trapped in there.

Black Canary: He could be.

Flash: How old is he anyways, he looks too young to be married.

Superman: C'mon everyone let's not talk about him while he's right there.

Greenlantern: Look at him! Does it looks like he cares?

Phantom still using his lover as a swing: ( ≧ᗜ≦)

Superman: It's still rude.

____________

Based slightly off of Aba from Guilty Gear.

I imagine Danny pulling a Sayaka (from Madoka Magica) and stabbing the sword through him for a power-up and everyone panics for a hot minute before realizing he's fine.

[kit-williams]

A thought occurred. A terrible premonition.

Admittedly I don't know much about 40k but I have heard about the Lamenters and their supernatural bad luck.

And I've had a tedius few days (my ride had to cancel so I had to walk around on a hot sunny afternoon, can't find the TV remote, tripped going up the stairs, lost three hairbands with ten minutes of trying to do my hair, and more) SO my thinking:

A squad of baselines who also just have... the worst luck. Their called Canary Squad on account of an old Terran story of a bird being used by miners to suss out dangers somehow. When they go, just about anything that can go wrong does. It's safer for those who go in afterwards... but let's just say the mortality rates for this particular squad is high.

You would think command would get rid of such an unlucky team, but no. Besides the nightmare of red tape, clerical errors, delays and scheduling that is the administrative powers if the Imperium, their higher ups have... mostly figured out how to use this for their benefit. Mostly.

These poor souls could, and have, gone on patrol in a peaceful sector where Nothing Was Wrong... and it ended with a lot of fire, explosions, a Cult getting into a fight with some rebellious locals, a small Ork Warband crashing near their location, and a Chaos Space Marine accidentally getting teleported in the middle of the mess.

They always have some kind of injury or bruise or story, no matter what they do or say.

And then they meet the Lamenters. Everyone expects for them ALL to meet some horribly unfortunate end. Canary Squad jokes their gonna accidentally kill off a bunch of Space Marines, the Lamenters are already mourning these brave men and women they will inevitably lead to their deaths.

Only... that doesn't happen.

Oh, things go wrong, sure. They get hurt, and things are very touch and go for most of the mission, but... the mission is a success?

What?

Nobody died (on their teams, at least), they completed the mission, and managed to get off planet (by launching an airtight tank into space for someone to pick up) and back onto their ship.

It turns out their individual teams/chapters bad luck just... cancelled each other's out.

When a Canary trips, their paired Lamenter pauses to help them up, which delays them just enough to not get crushed by a sudden collapse when the support beams in the building fails. A Lamenters foot goes through the floor, causing the Canary to stumble/fall, which saves them from a malfunctioning pressure gauge that explodes and would have put metal scrap through the baselines skull.

A Lamenter saves a Canary from a sudden drop, and because they had to bend/kneel to catch them they avoid the thing that would have hit him and sent him tumbling down that same drop.

A Canary accidentally activates a security alarm/trap/defense, but the Lamenters bolter misfires and causes a power outage, cancelling said alarm (and possibly causing the people there to think it was a malfunction due to the power outage).

They get surrounded, somebody drops a grenade, somebody else kicks it, and it lands near something explosive and/or flammable. The Lamenters cover their baseline buddies, and suddenly there are no enemies. The building/ground does begin to collapse tho.

Like a weird symbiosis. One sides bad luck counters the other, and they just keep cancelling each other out until they end up in a kinda-okay situation? By their standards at least.

Everyone is baffled, but none of them are gonna complain. If anything they think it's a gift/blessing from their genefather or them Emperor (or both). They all get very attached to each other.

All of this to say:

*Lamenter holding up his designated human* "this is my lucky charm."

I genuinely wish I could add more to this but like the idea is complete and wonderful and that the idea their combined bad luck is so bad that it cancels each other out because the bad luck is trying to get them killed and trying to get the others killed just this is peak

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Town Ghosts

Ok, so this is inspired by this post.

Danny almost lost his balance as he turned on Casper High’s street corner. Catching himself in the nick of time, he resumed his uncontrolled dash down the streets of Amity and finally made it to his locker just in time for the first bell to ring. As he looked up from his locker and noticed how sparsely populated the halls were, Danny frowned. First bell indicated they had 5 minutes before the actual beginning of class, and usually that meant a decent amount of stragglers were still chilling around.

“Damn it, do we have an exam?” Danny mumbled as he took out his phone to text Sam and Tucker.

Wheres everyone? He sent

Assembly, came the answer from Tucker to which Sam added, We saved u a seat

Danny didn’t bother answering and instead quickly gathered his things from his locker before hurrying down to the assembly hall. Everyone was talking which meant he wasn’t late, and he managed to catch Tucker waving him over. Danny maneuvered his way to his friends before sagging into the promised saved seat.

“I swear, if Boxy wakes me up at 2am again to rave about packing peanuts one more time I will put him in Soup Time for a month.”

Sam winced. “Rough night, huh?”

Tucker patted his shoulder in commiseration.

Danny closed his eyes. “At least tell me assembly is taking Lancer’s period?”

“We still have half of it afterwards,” Tucker answered.

Before Danny could groan, the teachers started shushing the crowd. As he looked up to the shoddy stage, Danny could see a blonde woman wearing all black.

“Nice boots,” Sam whispered.

“Hello everyone,” started the woman on stage. “My name is Black Canary, you may know me as a member of the Justice League.”

At that Danny sat up straight, suddenly way more aware. Simultaneously, a wave of whispers started amongst the crowd which was quelled by the numerous teachers shushing everyone. Once silence had been more or less reestablished, Black Canary started again.

“I am here as a spokesperson in our efforts to raise awareness about discriminations against meta humans. This initiative started as a personal project of a lot of the founding members of the Justice League. Did you know that recent studies that show that violence against meta humans is disproportionately more frequent than violence against baseline humans? In fact-”

And one she continued for the next half hour, after which she had some students distribute some pamphlets with different phone numbers on them. There was a little more time dedicated to a few exercises and a video of a testimony from a former meta human criminal. As the presentation progressed, Danny started relaxing more and more, to the point that he was half asleep when time for questions was announced.

“What about ghosts?” Paulina’s voice came through the mic the teachers had passed around, “Are they covered by all those fancy laws you mentioned?”

And yep, Danny was fully back to being awake now.

“Ghosts?” repeated Black Canary, in an even tone but before Paulina could answer, another voice cut through the room.

“Ghosts aren’t people, Paulina.” Valerie’s voice came through sharp and clear.

Paulina’s eyes narrowed in on her former friend. “Says who?”

“Says science!” Valerie exclaimed. “Though I shouldn’t expect a Phantom groupie to understand that.”

“You’re just jealous.” Paulina flicked her hair dismissively.

Danny sank into his seat as he tried to block out the very public argument happening in front of him. Black Canary seemed to be observing the exchange with curiosity, while the teachers were trying to reach Paulina to get the mic out of her hand. There were a few students with their phones out, filming the whole debate and Danny would bet it would be on the school forum by the end of the day, probably sparking yet another Phantom debate.

Just then, as if it wasn’t enough, Danny could feel his ghost sense activating. As he turned his head, he caught a green shimmer at the edge of his vision zooming past the window.

“Come on,” he mumbled. “Gimme a break.”

“Do you want backup?” Sam asked.

“I got it,” Danny grumbled. “Cover me.”

“For sure, dude,” Tucker answered.

Danny stood up and shimmied his way down the rows of chairs to a teacher with Paulina and Valerie still arguing in the background. When Danny reached the nearest teacher he asked for leave to go to the bathroom and by was granted it after which a teacher finally managed to get the microphone away from Paulina. As Danny walked out of the room, he could hear Black Canary’s fading voice asking a question as he got further and further away.

“What do you mean by 'ghosts'?”