#i don't feel like tagging all the characters besides mine

[gamebunny-advance]

NSR + OCs Doodle Dumps

Some bad sketches from before *that* happened.

Notes under the cut.

Puella Mayday: Mayday dressed as Madoka Kaname + Kliffby. Just a silly doodle. Don't expect anymore characters in the crossover.

UPA B2J: The pose is based on some official keyart (I think it's the boxart). I wanted to finish this, but I'm just not feeling it anymore.

E.G. Sketch: I couldn't remember what he looked like, so I tried to draw him again. It looks off.

Young Kliff: Another idea for a younger Kliff. It's a lot different from my earliest interpretations of that prompt. This version is based more on some early concept sketches of him. I imagine young!Kliff as someone who was drawn to rock because he found belonging in the subculture, so he took it pretty badly when his "home" essentially crumbled around him the same way his "real" home did.

System & White: System is a "character" in Desynchronized that I've alluded to several times (especially in the Headcanons series), but has never made a proper appearance. In short, System (aka Orca) is the literal system which controls the 1010s thought process without being filtered through their individual personality cores. As such, it doesn't technically have its own body and exists in every 1010. If I ever needed to show it visually, it would manifest as a black haired version of whichever 1010 it was currently possessing.

DDMC Redraw: I started a sketch of a redraw of my Doki Doki Mermaid Club title screen. I lost interest in it at some point. I think the composition could be a lot more interesting.

[The original piece]

Kun3h0's Eye: Originally for that poll about Kun3h0's eye, I was just going to use a base and draw all the different answers before I eventually decided to do a unique drawing for each. Some unused sketches included a tentacle, a glitch, an invert colored eye, and an alternate design for the bunny eye patch.

Kun3h0's Things: I was trying to fill the page with various things that are important to Kun3h0, but I never quite finished it. There are more things I could have added, but these are the things I drew:

The GAB Nano: Kun3h0's transformation trinket, storage device, and remote to contact GAB. It's capable of producing various things including power-ups, snacks, toys, etc., granted that Kun3h0 has enough "credits" to purchase them.

Various Keychains (GAB, UFO, Octopus, Strawberry, and Bead Chain): Rather than save her credits for more useful things, Kun3h0 has a habit of cashing in her credits for various trinkets and keychains. The sailor octopus is of course a reference to E.G. while the rest are either in-universe references or based on real keychains I own.

Alien Mascot: The mascot of Kun3h0's favorite discontinued soda brand: Cosmic Caffeinators

White Rabbit Batteries: Kun3h0's preferred brand of batteries. They're modeled after white rabbit milk candies, a childhood favorite of mine.

Cosmic Caffeinators (Raspberry flavor): A soda so unfit for human consumption that it works better as coolant fluid. This is the pink stuff that colors Kun3h0's ears. Despite supposedly being discontinued, this stuff is available in abundance at the arcade Kun3h0 works for.

Detective Floats: Revisiting an old concept for a soda themed OC. He used to run a soda fountain, but I've tried reimagining him as a private investigator from a Strawberry Shortcake-esque world who teams up with a demon slaying bounty hunter from a Doom-esque world. He's cute, but I'm not totally sold on this design. I've got too many string-bean characters (and he is in fact my proto-string bean, but he's since been displaced by the likes of Kun3h0 and The Prince Formerly Known as Frog), so I may experiment with his body type a little more down the line.

[rebelcliche-archived]

a few things i feel the need to point out and i’m sorry if i come across as a bitch, but it’s making me uncomfortable on my blog, where i shouldn’t feel upset or uncomfortable or anything of the like: - do not refollow me if i’ve softblocked you, please. - do not follow me if you are going to interact with people on my dni bc i don’t want to see them on my dash - i will stop interacting with you if i write you something and you ignore it / you ignore me when i try to engage with you in any way you are BEYOND free to block me if any of this annoys / bothers you. no hard feelings, i understand. i realize all i’ve done lately is bitch on the dash, so sorry about that, but i’m starting to see why people are leaving tumblr and rping elsewhere. this fandom can be very saddening and isolating and i’m reaching a point where i’m contemplating leaving, myself.

[ambcass]

can you do cobra kai characters with a cheerleader gf reader??

should be studying but...

a/n: im deadass ab to passout bru but wtvr i havent posted ina while ig... inbox is open btw :3 also this is not proof read D:

SPECIAL TAGS TO: @yippeeyoppee AND @humilityshown

ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ:

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ: ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ: ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ:

Miguel! tried to make it obvious that he liked Reader but she mistook his feelings for friendship. Poor baby got friend-zoned so many times because of how obvious Reader was:( One time, Miguel bought Reader followers (specifically roses) before their school's rally and Reader told him what of a supportive friend he was. But he didn't give up. He tried his hardest to let Reader know that he liked her, regardless if she felt the same way back, he would have gotten the message sent out. Reader did her fair share of kindness though. When she can, she'd go to the dojo Miguel is in and cheer him on like it was just practice.

Reader was so relieved when Miguel expressed his feelings towards her. She always thought that he was just being nice and that his actions shouldn't get into her head. Miguel brought her a basket he made with all the things she liked (candy, stuffed animals, drinks, etc.) and a lego flower bouquet.

Miguel! always goes to Reader's rallies to cheer her on. After the rallies, he would praise her on how good she did and how she should consider doing karate with him. He's scared that she'll get hurt but he knows that she can do it.

Eli! first laid eyes on Reader when the cheer squad was practicing after school. He saw a cute girl land a cartwheel with a smile and knew he was in love. He was just "Eli" when he met Reader but as soon as he turned into "Hawk" he automatically turned into a cocky bastard. He grew closer with her and always tried impressing Reader with his Karate moves but she wasn't always impressed. Many girls had a thing for Eli and tried making a move with him but it never worked. He would always find a way to sneak you back into his conversations.

Eli! confessed to you when the two of them were at a party and he was so drunk he just started talking random shit. Reader couldn't care less about what he was saying until her name was brought up. She took out her phone and started recording whatever he was about to say.

"Reader is the girl I have a crush on. Don't tell her though...I'm just so jealous of those ass jocks that she has to cheer for. She's so pretty, smart, and independent. Gosh, I wish she was mine."

Eli! had a smug look on his face but reeked of alcohol. Reader smiled and flicked Eli's forehead, telling him to go to sleep. He replied with "Yes, ma'am" and did as told. She kissed him on the forehead and slept beside him. When the both of them woke up, Reader showed Eli the recording and asked him if there was anything he would like to tell her. He was so shy but he was able to admit his feelings for her. The two then shared a passionate kiss and cuddled for a long time before someone told them to get off the couch. Hey, they were still at a party after all.

Eli! always asks Reader to accompany him to parties. Not only does that keep the unwanted girls away from Eli, but he feels he's safe when he's keeping Reader safe. Plus he wants to have fun with his girl, maybe have a drink or two. The only thing he absolutely hates is when older guys, guys that aren't even in high school anymore, try to hit on Reader like she doesn't have a boyfriend that is ready to kick ass with her. Otherwise, Eli wouldn't ask any girl in the world to party with him but his one and only girlfriend.

Robby! didn't think he would have a chance with her. Due to his financial and overall living conditions, he didn't think it was possible. Reader was just too popular for him. Any interactions with her would result in Robby trying to hide his feelings but he fails every time with the pink shade that appears on his cheeks and that soft smile he always gives Reader when he talks to her is all it'll take to make Reader realize that he wants to be more than friends with her.

Robby! asked Reader to be his girlfriend in the most romantic way possible. He got tips from Daniel and TRUST me when I say that they worked. Which really surprised Reader since how closed off Robby usually was Robby and Reader were hanging out during the Fourth of July at a park waiting for the fireworks show to start. He brought chips, sodas, and a handwritten note. A few seconds before the show started, he handed the note to her and asked her to open it. The note read, "Roses are red. Violets are blue. The sky is beautiful but not as beautiful as you". As she read the note, the fireworks started to bang. She looked at Robby with so much awe as he asked, "Reader, may I please be your boyfriend?" She cupped his face and Robby leaned in for a kiss. A kiss under the fireworks.

Reader doesn't mind at all that Robby doesn't take her to big fancy dates. In fact, she prefers small dates instead of big ones such as crafting, picnics, or even hanging in his house. Well, his mom's house. The second you two hang out in Johnny's small ass apartment, then Johnny would burst into the room while handing Robby a condom and asking him to stay safe. Reader can't stop laughing every time this happens. Robby is just annoyed that his dad thinks he would do sexual activities in his house.

"Better safe than sorry" Johnny threw a condom packet at Robby and closed the door shut. Robby's face turned red and threw the condom in the trash. Reader was just there cackling non-stop while Robby seemed like he didn't want to talk to his dad ever again.

Demetri! like Robby didn't think that Reader would ever like him back at all. His little phase with Yasmine faded quickly when he found out what a bitch Yasmine was to literally everyone (pls pretend that this is canon). He was just a nerdy lanky freak who hung out with the "boy with the lip" who later left him just to be cool. Reader was there for Demetri when Eli left him. She wanted him to be beside her at all times. Reader invited Demetri to watch her practice. When he does come, he would sit on the bleachers reading comics or doing homework. Anytime he sees a couple in the comic book he's reading, he would imagine that it's you two together, fighting crime. (or wtvr they're doing)

Demetri! is a shy baby and was practically clueless about how to ask Reader out. He thought of everything but he was either doing too little or too much. He didn't want her to think he was a loser geek that everyone made fun of. He wanted to be more than that. More than what everyone pictures him to be. His confession was simple. He slid a note into your locker stating that you should meet him after school, in the fields for something.

Once reader got there, she was in her cheer uniform and holding her silly pom poms. Demetri looked down at her with a deep blush and it was easy to make out that he was sweating. Demetri couldn't get his words out but before he was able to make words out, Reader cut him off,

"Would you like to go out sometime?" She asked him. A shocked expression appeared on his face. "Uhm sure, ya'know I was gonna ask you that". He was smiling hard, like really hard. Reader chuckled and held out her hand. "Well Demetri, care to accompany me in practice," she said in an old-fashioned tone. He held her hand in response, "Why yes Reader, I would love to" he raised his brow and the two laughed it off walking back to the gym.

People didn't get why Reader would date someone like Demteri but she didn't care. Any time he came back from Comic-Con and bought something back for her, she'd wear it to school. Her friends would look at her funny and ask "Why would you wear nerdy shit like that? You look like a geek" but Reader wouldn't care and that's what Demetri loved about her the most. Just because she was popular, it didn't mean that she couldn't be herself around her friends. Demetri loved teaching Reader nerdy things about him, such as the difference between DC and Marvel, which animes were "peak", and board games to play. Sometimes Reader would try to teach him how to do stunts but that obviously results him into ripping his pants.

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 9

Frenemies/Tenderness AU

NINE: Grow Me Something Better

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: While staying at Riley's house to heal and recuperate, he presents you with a surprising proposition.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mention of minor character's death, Unapologetic Fluff, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Been a minute. Hope it's worth the wait.)

Word Count: 3.2K

-

Chapter Nine

'Looking around and all I see is people happy with what they're given Life is pretty sweet, I'm told I guess I'm just shit outta luck growing a lemon tree I'm gonna burn it down And grow me something better...'

— Post Malone, "Lemon Tree"

-

Simon wakes slowly, his conscious mind rising like an air bubble in deep water.

He floats up through the dark depths of sleep, passing through the amorphous shapes of dreams to pop awake in the warm reality of his own bed.

His eyes are open but remain hooded, a sigh escaping his lips as he rolls onto his back. It's been ages since he slept this hard. It feels strange, waking lax and loose-limbed, thoughts fuzzy. He blinks at the muted brightness of the room, brows furrowing as he glances down to see sunlight laddered across the foot of the bed. Grunting, his head turns to squint at the clock on the nightstand, shocked when he sees it's nearly fifteen after ten in the morning.

"…the bloody hell?" he mumbles, confused and feeling unaccountably late for some unknown reason.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, head swiveling to take in the empty but rumpled sheets beside him, brows furrowing deeper.

Where are you?

His hand slides over the sheets, cool to the touch, and a frisson of cold panic takes hold. "Dee!" he barks out, his voice pure gravel.

The house is silent.

Grumbling under his breath, he throws off the covers. Plucking at the front of his T-shirt, he notices the tell-tale stain on the left side of his chest where you had drooled on him in your sleep. His gaze softens at the sight even as his anxiety propels him from the bed.

"DEE!" he bellows, his deep voice booming through the house like a sudden clap of thunder.

Still no answer.

He's in the hall and jogging down the stairs in seconds, socked feet slipping as he rounds the banister in the foyer. His eyes dart into the sitting room, noting that the telly is on before his eyes zero in on the kitchen door. He barges into the room, sees an abandoned mug and a protein bar wrapper on the island, but you're nowhere to be seen, and neither is Fiona, for that matter.

Had you talked her into taking you home?

He sees the kettle is still switched on and circles round the island with a muttered curse to turn it off. He's already making plans to find you and bring you back when his eyes catch movement through the window above the sink. His heart thuds hard in relief when he sees you ambling around the back garden, looking over the fallow flower beds.

"Bloody hell," he mutters with a sigh, bracing his hands on the edge of the sink. His eyes track your meandering progress around the yard.

You're moving slow and stiff, but you're moving, bare feet shuffling through the wet grass. Shaking his head, he goes back upstairs to retrieve a towel, a pair of socks and his shower slides, before heading out to join you.

He sees your head turn as he steps outside, pausing to drop the bundle in his hands on the patio chair before walking out to meet you. The corner of your mouth ticks up as he comes to a stop beside you.

"Your garden looks like shite, Ri."

Simon grunts. "Never here long enough t'mess wif a garden. 'Sides, don't know owt 'bout gardenin'. Pay a lad t'mow an' trim. Tha's good 'nough."

You cluck your tongue in disapproval. "Shame to let it all go to waste. You could have a lovely garden with this much space."

"Tha's more yer thing than mine, doll. I'd muck it up, fer sure."

"You would not," you mutter, nudging him. "You'd be a good gardener. You've got the patience for it."

He hums, unconvinced but not in the mood to argue about it. "Never had a garden before. What about you?"

Your eyes took on a distant look, a wistful, sweet smile on your face. "My mum kept a garden. I can still remember it."

Simon slants a cautious look your way, taken by surprise. You rarely speak of your mum. You had mentioned a car accident when he had asked, but didn't say more, the subject closed. He understood enough to know to say no more about it.

Of course, he had looked up the news articles and police report. It had gutted him, reading it. Your mum had slid off the road during a rainstorm, the car flipping over into a flooded ditch. Too injured to free herself, she had ordered you to unbuckle yourself and climb out a broken window to safety. You had sat on the muddy bank and watched as the car slowly filled with water, unable to do anything as your poor mum drowned. You were only six.

"What was in her garden?" he asks, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

Your eyes widen slightly as your mind travels back in time. "Roses along the fence line, a lilac bush outside the kitchen window. She had vegetable and herb beds; I remember weeding them with her. She planted daylilies in the back left corner and..." You pause, then sniff out a little laugh. "Her 'apple-less' tree was planted on the right side."

"Apple-less tree?" he repeats, confused.

You nod, an amused light shining in your eyes. "Mum bought the sapling not long after she and da got married. No one told her that she would need at least two apple trees to get them to bear fruit. They produce by cross pollination, so with no other apple trees nearby, no fruit. It was pretty to look at when it bloomed, but it never produced a single apple. Da used to tease mum about it, called it her 'apple-less' tree. He loved winding her up, making her laugh..."

Your words trail off, a look of longing on your haunted face, and Simon feels his chest constrict, then has to look away. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you back towards the patio.

"C'mon, doll. Need to get ya outta this wet grass. Too cold fer ya to go barefoot, yeah?"

He leads you to the chair, having you sit down before he kneels by your feet. Taking up the towel, he begins to gently chafe your feet with it to dry and warm them up at the same time.

He glances up at you, then looks back down. "Ya know, if ya wanted, ya could plant yerself a garden here. Be nice, comin' home an' sittin' in my back garden with summat to actually look at."

You sniff a laugh, shaking your head. "I'd have to be over here all the time to tend to it. I wouldn't torture you like that," you joke, prodding his chest with your toes.

He grunts a laugh then moves to the other foot, pausing when he sees the bruised shape of Finch's fingers wrapped around your ankle. His fingers graze it with the lightest touch before he curls his hand around it, hiding the mark. "Wouldn't mind it— havin' ya around." His hand slides down from your ankle to cradle your foot. "Least I'd know yer safe."

You can hear the concern in his words, marveling at his penchant for taking on your problems, like you're his responsibility to bear. You wiggle your foot in his grasp, drawing his attention back to your face. Smirking at him, you quip, "Should I move into the garden shed, so you can keep a closer eye on me?"

He goes very still as he peers up at you, caught up in your words. His fingers flex around your foot, deep umber eyes gleaming and earnest when he answers, "No. Ya should take the room across from mine."

You try to make light of it, sniff in amusement like he's still joking, but you can see that's he not, and your smile fades. "Ri..."

His eyes dart between yours, his body coiling, ready to pounce on any argument you might pose and rip it to shreds. "I mean it, doll. If ya want t'put my mind at ease, then move in wif me."

You heave a sigh. "Ri, I know this whole thing with Jerry has put you on edge, but—"

"No," he says emphatically. "Listen t'me. This ain't a spur o' the moment decision. 'M not over-reactin' 'cause o' wha' happened las' night. This has been on my mind fer awhile now."

His accent has grown so thick, you know he means every word he says. "Ri, you just avoided me for a whole week because of a bad row. How are you going to do that if we live together? I'd be in your personal space— all the time."

"Then be in it, I don't care," he growls, clasping your foot to his chest. His eyes have grown fierce with his determination. "Get in my face, give me fuckin' hell, run me outta my own bloody house. Doesn't matter. 'S what I want."

You shake your head, dubious. "Ri, I know it's in your nature to be protective, but you don't have to take care of me. I've been on my own for awhile; I know how to take care of myself." Then you consider what occurred the night before and amend your statement. "So long as I use my common sense, anyway."

His strategic mind tells him to fall back, go at it from a different angle instead of pushing the same point. He focuses on your foot, rubbing it gently between his big hands, bits of dead grass littering the paving stones between his knees.

"'S not jus' about protectin' ya," he murmurs lowly, keeping his voice even and soft. "Ya work yerself to the bone, doll, jus' t'keep yer head above water. If ya live here, ya won't have t'pay rent. Place is already paid fer. We can split the bills, if tha's what ya want, or don't. Doesn't matter t'me. It's worth it t'have ya here lookin' out fer the place while 'm gone. It would help us both out, don'cha see?"

He's wise to your hesitation, but he knows he's got those cogs turning in that sharp little mind of yours. He's revealed his strategy, appealing to your common sense, the one thing he knows you will always fall back on when making an important decision; your practical nature is your default setting. Now, he just has to wait for the other shoe to drop.

"And what about what happened in Shoreditch?" you push back, and there it is.

"I was... outta line," he admits, gaze dropping. "I took it too far. When ya wouldn't say where ya were goin' or what ya were doin', comin' home exhausted, I was convinced ya were seein' some bloke who was usin' ya fer what he could get. 'S why I decided to track ya. I wanted ya t'lead me to him. Was gonna have a word with the sorry bastard."

You scoff at the notion, but don't comment on it, more pressing questions needing to be addressed. "And how did you do it? Follow me, I mean."

He almost balks, but then grumbles it out. "I stole yer phone, had yer GPS signal boosted an' linked to a receiver. 'S how I found ya so quick las' night. I know it was a shite thing t'do, but 'm glad I did it, now."

While you aren't pleased to hear what he did— you're right pissed about it actually, yet you're somehow not surprised. On the one hand, he basically stalked you, but on the other, you couldn't deny his actions were done out of concern and ended up saving you from a terrible situation. Not knowing what to do or how to feel, you chose to set aside. For now.

"I want to talk about what you said to me in the alley. You accused me of giving lap dances to pervs to pay my rent. Why even ask me to move in with you if that's your opinion of me?"

This is the one question he has been dreading above all others. This could all blow up in face if he did a bad job of explaining himself. He didn't expect you to excuse what he said to you, but he wanted you to understand what led him to do it.

"Ya tol' me once that yer da taught ya self-defense, yeah? When yer bein' attacked, ya go on the defensive— ya fight. What did yer da tell ya do?"

Your brows knit together, wondering where he's going with this. "Go for the weakest points on the body. Hurt them before they hurt you, so you can get away."

He nods. "Tha's wha' I did in the alley that day. I wasn't expectin' ya t'catch me out there. Then when ya tore into me, and I... I went on the defensive; I went fer yer weak spot. I didn't say what I did 'cause that's what I thought of ya; I said it 'cause I knew it would hit ya the hardest."

He ducks his head to meet your gaze. "I ain't in no position to judge ya, doll. I kill fer a livin'. Wha' the hell could be worse than tha'? I won't pretend I like the thought o' ya strippin', but I won't judge ya fer it. Yer jus' tryin' t'get by the best ya can."

You scoff again, shaking your head at how dense he can be sometimes. "I'm not a stripper, ya fuckin' eejit. I clean the private rooms at The Grind. Did you not notice the club was closed that day?"

Simon had never been so glad to be proved a fuckin' eejit. Your words are like a soothing balm to his mind. For the past week, the thought of other men seeing you naked, putting their filthy hands on you, had eaten him alive. Yet as pleased as he is to finally know the truth, he's also confused by it.

"Then why go t'all tha' trouble t'hide yer job?"

"Would you want to admit you make your money scrubbing cum stains off the walls? It's basically a brothel, Ri, and I get paid to deep clean sex rooms and toss out used condoms. It's disgusting; it's bloody embarrassing."

Simon nods in understanding and returns to his task, working his too-large socks onto your cold feet, then slips the slides on them. It's almost comical how big they are on you. Gripping your knee, he looks up to meet your eyes again. "Ain't no shame in makin' an honest livin', doll. I would never think less of ya fer it."

He gets back to his feet, resolute to see this through to its end. "I know we fight, doll, an' I doubt that'll ever change. Thing is, no matter how hard we fight, no matter how pissed we are at each other, when we need each other, we show up. We take care o' each other. Tha's as close t'family as I'll ever get, doll. It ain't perfect, but it's real an' it's ours."

With that, he leaves you to make up your mind.

-

You're quiet the rest of the day, and Simon knows you're thinking, picking over everything that was said, analyzing it, deciding if his offer is the best thing for the both of you. He leaves you to it, gives you your space, knowing there's nothing else to be done for it; you either will or you won't; he'll accept your decision either way.

When you knock at the door to his office and poke your head in to say goodnight, he wishes you the same, then listens as you go about your routine before bed. He wonders if you'll get much sleep tonight, because he doubts that he will. Still, there's a calmness that settles over him as he gets into bed and turns out the light, the knowledge that you're just a room away and safe giving him the peace of mind to close his eyes and rest.

The next morning, he wakes, checks in on you, goes for a run, checks in on you again, then goes to the Dog to fix the door he broke, leaving a note on the island to let you know. He hopes you'll still be there when he returns.

As he replaces the door, Ollie tells him about the police investigation that's been opened on Finch for multiple sex offenses. His informant relayed the news that Finch is now considered a fugitive on the run, after his car was found abandoned in a car park near Heysham Port in Lancashire. Simon is pleased, glad that their plan worked, glad that he played a part in ensuring that Finch never hurts you or anyone else again.

When he returns home, the house is empty, but your old messenger bag is still hanging on the peg by the door, your trainers still set next to his old boots in the corner. He wanders to the patio doors and there you are, almost ankle-deep in the mud of one of the garden beds, a pile of dead plants uprooted and tossed to the side.

Simon crosses the yard, his heart beating fast in his chest. "What're ya doin', doll?"

You stop, stand up straight and arch your sore back, hands on your hips. "Decided I want the vegetable garden here. Need to go by the nursery later, and the hardware store, too. Need some proper gardening tools."

Simon nods calmly, though he's pumping his fist on the inside. "I'll take ya. Jus' say when, an' we'll go."

You nod, sniff, then slant a look at him. "When I move house, I'd rather keep my couch. Yours is shite. Like sitting on a slab of concrete."

He huffs but nods. "Tha's fine but keep your grubby mitts off my Barca. Tha' stays, no matter what."

You shrug, then start picking your way out of the garden bed, taking his hand when he holds it out to you. You both peer down at your mud-caked bare feet, and Simon shakes his head. "Get over t'the hose an' wash yer bloody feet. I'll go get ya a towel an' some clean socks."

Later, while you're wandering the nursery perusing the plants, Simon goes off on his own, returning a few minutes later with a receipt that he tucks in his pocket without saying a word. You end up bickering over who's going to pay for everything as the cashier looks on with bored disinterest, then split it down the middle.

The following morning, you get up and head downstairs to make yourself some coffee, when you happen to spy Riley in the garden, the water hose extended out to the far-right corner of the property. Curious, you go out to see what he's up to, but your steps slow to a halt when you see what he's done.

There are now two new sapling trees planted at the back of the garden, a muddy spade and empty soil bags tossed into a nearby wheelbarrow. You step up to stand beside Riley as he waters them, looking up to meet his gaze when he bumps you with his shoulder.

"Couldn't get ya one like yer mum's. Had t'get dwarf apple trees cause o' the housing code restrictions. Figured ya'd still want apples, though, so I got ya two."

Linking your arm through his, you turn your head to swipe at an errant tear, but your smile is radiant when you look up at him again.

"They're perfect, Ri. I love them."

He's smiling underneath his mask when he says, "Ya know I did this fer purely selfish reasons. I like those little apple hand pies ya make."

You laugh, poking him in the side. "You'll be waiting awhile, then. It takes a couple of years at least before they'll produce any apples."

He shrugs, not bothered at all. "Tha's alright. I don't mind waitin', if you don't."

You stare up into his warm umber eyes and shake your head, heart overflowing. "No. I don't mind waiting at all."

-

Prev. >> Next

-

Taglist

@stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha @igotmajordaddyissues

-

[estoricwaterlane]

Heart to Heart

characters: Bruce Wayne

fandom: DC

pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!reader

tags: angst,jealously,breakups,fluff

a/n: this is my first time writing a fic on Tumblr so I have no idea how to format sorry if this is an eyesore 😭. also wanna low-key make this one shot a series lollll

Confused is what you were, your ex banging on your window and shouting at you to open up was not how you thought your Friday night was going to be.

You and Bruce had been in a relationship for over a year, and had been going strong, until the last month. Your work schedules had conflicted and you both seemed to argue a lot more, and so you both decided to have a break from one another, hoping to get your thoughts together and come back to each other in a better place.

"What do you want, Bruce? It's late and I have to be up early." You said, opening the window, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at the dark figure who had climbed onto your small fire escape, "and shouldn't you be working?"

"I was." He said, moving closer to you.

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it, placing it on the couch behind him, "Then why aren't you now?"

"You." He said, and you scoffed, "I'm not going to ask again."

"It's not like you'll answer, you never do." You replied, looking at the wall above his head.

"Were having a charity banquet, next week, I need a date."

You raised a brow, "You have plenty of women willing to go with you."

"You are my girlfriend."

"Am I?" You questioned, "Cause last time we spoke, we were taking a break."

You stepped up closer to him, he could feel your body heat coming off you, your face inches away from his.

He looked away.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." You ordered softly, and he slowly turned his head towards you, looking into your eyes.

"I don't want a break anymore, I want you." He told you.

"And you think a few words and you'll have me back?" You laughed, stepping away from him, "No chance, you made your decision. And I made mine."

Bruce grabbed your arm and pulled you against him, kissing you deeply. You didn't kiss back, but didn't pull away.

"Come back to me." He whispered, and you shook your head, "I want you."

"You want arm candy." You said, pushing him away, "You want a pretty face, to sit beside you, smiling as you show off."

He kneeled and hugged your thighs, burying his face into your stomach.

"I want you to be with me, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I don't want a break, or a pause. I want you, all of you, I know I fucked up."

Your breath hitched, and your hands rested on his shoulders, "Okay."

He looked up at you, "Okay?"

"Okay."

"You'll come back to me?"

"I'll come to the banquet, and see how things go from there."

Bruce stood up, towering over you, and nodded, "Good, good. I'll, um, see you then."

He kissed your cheek and walked out, the fire escape creaking under his weight.

You leaned against the window frame, letting out a deep breath.

You weren't sure about this.

[kirain]

Hi there! I just ran across your blog purely by coincidence (I've been hunting through the Gale tag 👀) and I am absolutely appalled that people would talk to you so harshly about liking Gale. I wish could honestly say I was surprised, but with everything Else I've seen on the internet, I can't say that.

However, I just want you to know that there are absolutely TONS of us here on tumblr who like both Astarion AND Gale! I created this blog because fell in love with Astarion, but not long into delving into this world that is Baldur's Gate 3, I found Gale, and he SERIOUSLY resonates with me. So guess what? I fell in love again.

No one deserves fandom hate of any kind, for any reason, and I truly hope you find your tribe of loving, accepting Galemancers and Gale-accepters soon. And if you don't or if you're struggling, you're welcome to join mine. 🥰

Thank you! Us Galemancers have to stick together, and I'm glad you enjoy both characters! Unfortunately, I have noticed there's a lot of people like this:

As well as the cruel messages I've personally received. But since my post regarding the discourse, I've been getting far more messages like this:

As well as these in the notes of my posts:

And that's really refreshing. 😊

Of course, I know that the vicious Astarion fans are a minority, and I should've clarified that I don't think anyone should have to apologise for something they didn't do. Astarion fans who don't spread hate: you have nothing to be sorry for. You're not responsible for what other people in the fandom say and do. Don't feel guilty. ❤

Also, I want to thank you @astarioffsimpmain, and all the anons who sent me these messages. I'm sorry I couldn't get to each one individually. I tried over the weekend, but life had other plans lol. Genuinely, though, they were a delight to read, and I'm happy to see so many people praising Gale and Astarion alike. It's been a treat seeing everyone come together after so much discourse. It's almost like a perfect representation of their in-game relationship. Sleeping on opposite sides of the camp in Act 1, but beside each other in Act 3.

[desceros]

hello! so new writer here, I'm just starting out with writing x readers, but I'm having a bit of trouble. I saw in a previous post that when you are reading a fic marked x reader, you want it to actually be an x reader, and (as much as possible) not be an oc from the writer. And I agreed with that and want to try to make my reader self-insertable for everyone. the only problem is that I'm not sure how much I can have set opinions for them and have things up in the air. You've written a lot, so I was hoping you'd have some advice? If not that's totally fine. I appreciate you and your writing 🫶 hope you're having a good day!!

hmm well what i Specifically meant by that was when you have someone who has a fic that is written in the first person or third person with a named character who has a physical description, but they've tagged it as "reader-insert". to me, that's not a reader insert. that's an oc, and your fic is incorrectly tagged.

to me, a reader-insert fic is very specifically a fic in the second person without a name or physical description as much as possible. which isn't to say that oc fics are bad!! i write them myself in other fandoms. i just... don't really like reading oc fics for fandoms where my brain has decided This Is A Reader-Insert Fandom. Nod Nod.

so there is a delicate art to writing second-person fics with the intent of having it function as a reader-insert. the balance between giving enough flavor to have it be compelling vs so much that a reader can't comfortably put themselves in an insert-chan's shoes is actually a real passion of mine!! it's one that is kind of... something that you eventually get a Feel for after writing them for a while.

that said, here are some little tricks and whatnot so hopefully you can shortcut things a little. also, obvious warning since you're asking desceros dot com for writing advice, but this is a long post:

first, embrace the fact that you're going to exclude some people. no matter how bland and empty you make an insert-chan, you're going to exclude someone. and that's okay! if you try to cast Too wide a net, you're going to have a boring, bland insert-chan, and that's not going to make Anyone happy. still, there are a few things that i keep in mind since i want to appeal a broader audience: 1. try to be mindful of race coding, and avoid it. very specifically, describing hair (length, texture, care, etc.) and blushing or general discoloration of skin besides bruising are both something i avoid. i don't describe someone's night routine beyond, say, taking a shower, putting on lotion, and brushing teeth. this allows for black readers to more easily read your fics, which is something i'm particularly passionate about since i've had friends who feel excluded from the reader-insert community because they're black and that really makes me sad. 2. avoid describing favorite things, clothing, etc. little things that don't matter don't need to be described. does the reader need to know that your character is wearing a green sequin dress? or does it matter that they're wearing a pretty dress? 99 times out of 100, the latter suits the writing just fine and allows for a reader to picture what THEY think is a pretty dress. hell, unless i'm writing something that involves removing clothing, 9 times out of 10 i won't even mention what a reader is wearing, because it doesn't matter, and describing it gets in the way of someone's imagination. same thing with favorite foods, what someone is eating for breakfast. in symphony, viola-chan is famous for a baking cookies--but i don't specify what kind, and i won't. because my favorite cookie is different from someone else's, and the specifics don't matter. what matters is that they taste comforting, and everyone else likes them a lot, too. 3. avoid physical descriptions where possible. as i said before, i typically don't mention hair at all. instead of having someone run their hands through your hair, i have them stroke your nape. same basic touch, but one allows for short-haired readers or curly-haired readers to insert easily, one doesn't. i don't mention an insert-chan's size or height, other than a relative "you're shorter than donnie" or "leo's bicep is so much bigger than yours." i try to avoid weight-coding as much as possible so that fat readers can feel just as welcome as very skinny readers. that stuff just doesn't matter, and so cutting it out broadens how many people can read and feel represented.

4. keep unimportant details vague. for example, in a lot of my fics, the insert-chan has a family, but communication with them isn't mentioned. the status of the family or its makeup isn't important. a lot of writers will tell you to kill them off for convenience sake (which i do sometimes write inserts with dead families), but to me this is just lazy. you can have an insert-chan with a family. but instead of showing their relationship with the family, show how that relationship has shaped the insert-chan's personality. for example, in the latest fic i wrote, infinite singularity, the insert-chan's family is alive and well, but they're distant. not only does this mean, yay, i don't have to define what that family is--but it also allows me to show that piercing-chan avoids pain, emotional as well as physical. now i don't have to say you don't like pain. i can show it. and that always makes for more powerful writing.

so that's how you keep things broad. but there's a flip side to this, which is "how do i make an insert-chan compelling without any details?!" and the answer here is, well, add details!! which, hey, didn't we just say to eliminate details? to which i'd say, yes, Except for the Ones You Need.

1. give your insert-chan something they like to Do. whether this is a hobby or a career, this one has several functions in your story. one, it gives you something on which you can hinge characterization. for example, in my fic electromigration, that insert-chan likes camping. now i can have conversations about it, have an excuse for you to know how to do things camping-related, etc. it propels the plot forward. and two, it gives your insert-chan something interesting, which is the secret to a good character. you don't want to go too overboard on this, since again we don't want to overload the insert-chan with things that aren't helpful, but one, maybe two hobbies, or a job, makes them rounder and makes the fic more enjoyable to read.

2. give your insert-chan a personality dot dot dot carefully. now this one sounds weird. "don't i want to have a blank canvas onto which people can put themselves?" well, kind of, but really, no. that's how you get a bland character that's so boring no one wants to read your fics. and it doesn't even have to be a mild personality! in my fic goldilocks, that insert-chan has a Very strong personaity, such that i've even gotten requests for a chef-chan/reader fic. but because i've stripped away all of the other identifying things, it can still read as an insert-character without being an oc. that said, this is a tricky one. the more personality you give, the more people you alienate. but also, the less personality you give, the less interesting the fic. it's a delicate balance, and one you'll figure out eventually as you write more and read more.

3. give your insert-chan a story. this one is one that is more relevant for longer fics, but is still helpful to keep in mind for shorter fics. what i mean is, okay. you're writing a reader-insert. but for a moment, treat it like an oc. where did they come from? how did they get to new york? what personality arc do you want them to have over your plot? are they going to change, and if so, how? for this, let's look at my fic amaranthine. the history is vague enough that it doesn't impede a reader's imagination, but there are enough details that you Feel like there is a story that was happening before, and you've dropped in at this point to ride along with these people before you leave them to go on their way again. things like being best friends with raph after he found you drunkenly crying on the sidewalk. things like leo having known you and donnie were gonna be a mess when you got together. things like splinter always loving to drink tea with you. these are small details that make the world feel rich, but not so much that it's impossible for a reader to build their own narrative around it.

anyway, these are just some broad tips, and i hope you found them useful!! my main, tldr thing i'd say is just to write. it's going to take practice. writing in general is hard, writing something new is Really hard, writing something new and being picky about how you want it to come out is REALLY REALLY hard. so be kind to yourself, and remember that this is supposed to be fun. don't fret, don't get stressed, just take it cool. maybe write a few that you don't publish, just so you can get the voice under your fingers and take some of the pressure of Oh God People Are Going To Read This off your shoulders. i always do that when i enter a new fandom, and it's soooo helpful.

good luck, and let me know if you have any specific questions! :D

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Tell me about Dean falling in love with a girl who has long covid - maybe they met when he saved her from a monster and they became friends, she occasionally helps him with research or patches him up if he gets hurt. He doesn’t hear from her for a while, and when he goes to check on her, he finds out she’s in the hospital with Covid - a monster he can’t save her from. He realizes he loves her, but may lose her. After she gets out he keeps coming to check on her because he knows she tires easily/has trouble breathing at times.

@deans-spinster-witch thank you for this ask. Actually thank you all that submit asks or sent me story prompts, I am going to get to them all, but I thought this one would be a good place to start.

First let me start off with my disclaimers:

1) I haven't see the last few seasons of SPN, so I don't know how they addressed COVID, if they did at all. So think of it as alternative timeline, not really canon.

2) My COVID representation is probably not 100% accurate, either by the reader symptoms or that I don't mention Dean wearing a mask or that he was able to be in the hospital with the reader.

3) I just POV and I think I may have jump from 2nd to 3rd person writing? I did my best to correct it, but sometimes I can't seem to correct it. Also did my best with editing, but I am sure I missed something. Flashbacks are bold italic and internal thoughts are just italic.

4) I am not sure if this is 100% what you were looking for. It does end on a cliffhanger, so I will be posting a second part. It was getting hella long coming in at 7,500 words. 😬 sorry.

5) swearing, hints of past trauma that we may get more in the second part. Self doubt/hate. Angst heavy!

Okay think that's it. It's a Y/N x Dean focus story with Sam making an appearance via phone. Characters are not mine but the work is. So please don't post as your own.

Feel free to like, reblog, send me feedback in the comments. And if you have a story idea, send it my way via asks or message. Or if you want me to tag you on my work let me know.

Okay think I have stalled long enough. Here it is, my first story back from 3 year break.

JUST BREATHE-



"Excuse me, sir, you can't be up here." A female voice, strong, laced with exhaustion, mixes with the sounds of the hospital. Doctors are being paged, staff are going in and out of rooms, and machines are monitoring patients. All of it, white noise, too, Dean. Because he can't look away or tear his eyes from what is in front of him. Y/N is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator. What happened? How did it come on so strong and so fast? He had just seen you last week when he came through town on his way to his next hunt. Picking up research that you had done for him since Sam was working on another case in California. You were the best…no, are, you are the best researcher he knows…you have to get better; you can't…

"Sir! I will have to ask you to leave if you're not family. The ICU is only for families." The female voce, insistent on getting him to pay attention to her. Tired, she was just so damn tired of no one listing to her today; she had better things to do than police people about.

"How long has she been here?" Dean asks, his voice firm but slightly wavering. He can't look away, watching as the vent goes up and down, breathing for you. Y/N, come on, you have to pull through; I can't lose you, Dean thinks, trying his best not to break. He prayed to God if he thought it would help if he thought the ass would be listing.

"Sir, I can't give that information if you're not family." Dean looks away from you for a moment, noticing the nurse standing beside him. She is dressed in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back, and a mask on. He can tell she is on her last nerve with him, and he has to win her over. He can't leave you, not now. "So, are you family?" she asks again.

"Umm…" He knew he needed to lie. If he told her that you were just a friend, he would never get answers and would never get back to this floor again. It was dumb luck that he could get your room number out of the receptionist downstairs. He pulled himself together to give her his winning smile and wink. "She's my sister." Clearing his throat, he looked back to you.

The nurse looks down at the chart in her hand. "Miss. Moore didn't have a brother listed as next of kin, but then again, a neighbor brought her in." Looking back up to Dean, he doesn't respond. "How about we go somewhere a little more private to discuss your sister's condition?" She lightly grabs Dean by the shoulder and turns him away from the window and you.

********

Dean did his best to listen to the nurse, but all he really wanted to do was get back to you. It was driving him crazy that he couldn't do anything; this wasn't caused by a demon, monster, or anything in his wheelhouse. You were brought in about a day or two after he had seen you. Your neighbor had come over to borrow something and saw you in the window, passed out on the floor. COVID had hit you hard, and you just couldn't shake it; your lungs filled up so fast with fluids that you passed out.

That was a week ago; you had been in the hospital for a week and on a ventilator. The doctors feel that your body just needs time to fight off the infection.

"She seemed fine when I saw her last; how could this happen?" Dean questions, trying to be as respectful as possible without raising his voice and getting kicked out.

"COVID hits everyone differently; we really don't know why. Some people may never get it, and some…" Not finishing her statement, the nurse looks away from Dean.

"Can I go back and sit with her?" Dean asks, more like pleading with her. He just wants to ensure you're doing alright and stand watch until you wake up. He doesn't know what else to do.

"I am sorry, but no," the nurse replies as kindly as possible. Seeing that he will protest this, she quickly adds, "But, you can come back during visiting hours. You won't be able to go in the room; we have to keep it clean because of COVID, but you can see her from the window." Hoping this will be a compromise he can live with. She doesn't want him to get upset and have to call security and have him escorted out. She can tell he cares for her and is scared.

Dean will take it; he knows he has to. You're the strongest person he knows. You will get through this; you have to. "Alright, I guess I will come back then," Dean says, getting up from the table.

********

Walking out of the hospital, Dean calls Sam to tell him what is happening and that he wasn't leaving until you were back home. Screw the world, let the monsters run amuck, and let demons rain hell on earth; he had more important things to do. "I don't care, Sammy, I am not leaving again. This is the only number you can reach me at, and only you," he says, getting into the Impala and firing it up.

"Alright, Dean. I hear you. Do you want me to come? I am almost done here." Sam offers, knowing that Dean won't take him up on it.

"No, I am good, but thanks. You stay on the West Coast until the world calms itself down." Letting the engine run for a bit, Dean takes a second. This has been the longest they have been working apart. It's been hard on both of them, but at least Dean has you to talk to. He has been leaning on you more since Sam was in California. Could Dean have caused this? Was he asking too much of you?

"Dean, hey, you still there?" Sam breaks through his intrusive thoughts.

Clearing his voice, "Yeah."

"You know, she will get through this. She's going to be okay," Sam says, trying his best to reassure him and get him out of his head because even if they are miles apart, he knows his brother. Dean is blaming himself right now for something that he can't control.

“Yeah, I know… I just… what if I…..”

"No, don't think like that, and don't think you had anything to do with this happening." Sam quips back, knowing where his brother's thoughts are going, and he will not have him spiraling out.

"But I ask so much of her. You know she will never say no. Even when she has other things to do, she always drops everything when I ask for a favor. God, I am such a user…"

"No, you're not. Y/N is strong, and she said she would tell you if she didn't want to do something. She wants to help; she thrives on researching this stuff, and you know it." Sam states, "Come on, you know she would rather research lore or listen to one of your 'tales from the front lines,' as she likes to call them, any day of the week."

The thought of you saying these words to him as you patch him up, 'Alright, Dean, what tales to do we have this time?' or how your voice would be giddy when he called you about a case he found. "Yeah, you're right, Sam," Dean replies. Feeling a bit better after talking with Sam, he always knows how to keep him from spiraling too much.

"I know I am; now go get some rest. She's going to need you when she wakes up."

"Night brother"

After hanging up the phone, Dean didn't want to go to a hotel or bar, but he was now wired and needed to do something. Pulling out of the parking lot was second nature, and he found his way to your driveway.

Sitting there, looking at the modest, two-bedroom, two-bath house, he would consider a second home for as much time as he has spent there. It was odd to think about walking through that door and you not being there. When getting out of the car, the sound of the door opening and closing is the only noise that breaks up the silence of the night. Taking a few steps, Dean stops himself from knocking like he usually does. Habit, he thinks. Pulling his keys out, he flips until he finds the one for your house.

It was an argument you had won, not that he didn't want a key. Of course, he did, but he didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands should something happen.

"No, I don't need a key, Y/N," Dean protest, not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"Yes, you do; now take it." You say, holding out the key for him to take.

"I don't need it; you're always here. Why would I need to get into your place when you're not here?" he questions. Finishing off his beer, he gets up from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. "You want another one?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

You get up and follow him. "Don't change the subject, Winchester," you say, following him and sitting on a kitchen stool. What if I wasn't home tonight?"

Tossing the empty bottle in the recycle bin and turning to face her, he can tell by the severe look on your face that this is an argument that he won't win. But why make it easy on you. "But you were," giving you a smirk, he opens the fridge to pull out two more bottles. "Besides, where would you be on a Friday night? You have a hot date I don't know about?" he questions. Handing one of the bottles to you.

He struggles slightly to open the bottle with his left hand since his right is currently in a sling. After putting his shoulder back into place and stitching him up, you open the beer in your hand, hand it to him, and take the other one from him. "Maybe," you say cryptically, a twinkle in your eyes.

"Really? Didn't know you were dating anyone?" Dean is slightly put off by this. It's not that someone would want to date you; it's the opposite. You're beautiful, and he always wonders how you were still single after all this time. Intelligent and funny, any guy would be lucky to call you his. Heck, he would like to call you his.

"I am not," you say, putting him out of his misery and his slight spiral of another guy touching her, kissing her… But I could still be out. Do you want to be sitting out in your car waiting for me to get home?" you question, pushing the key towards him. "Just take the dam key. It's only a key. I am not asking you to move in with me."

If you asked him that, he would say yes in a heartbeat. But the reality of his life, what he and Sam do for a living, gives him pause to take the key. "I just don't want anyone else to get their hands on it."

"Who, like Sam? Of course, you can give a copy to Sam." You joke, knowing what he's getting at but trying your best to keep this conversation light.

"No, not Sam. I am thinking Crowley, another demon or monster, or worse, Lucifer. I would hate for anyone other than Sam or me to get their hands on this and come after you."

"Dean, that's not going to happen."

"But it could, you know it could."

Letting out a sigh, you decide to pull out the big guns to get him to take this damn key. "A key is not their first choice to get in. You have put up all the wards you could think of." You say, proving that you are as safe as possible. "Heck, you made me even get this thing." Snapping off your leather bracelet to show off the anti-possession tattoo. "and you know how much I hate needles." The black tattoo shows nicely against your light skin and hides the other barely visible scars.

"Yeah, I found out real quick that day. I think I still have scars on my arm from you digging your nails in," he jokes, bringing his hand up to his wrist to run his fingers around the tattoo and the scars he knows are there.

"Haha, that's real funny." You fake laugh. " Just take it, please. It will make me feel better if you have it." You do your best puppy dog eyes as you push the key closer to him.

Dean takes a moment before caving. "Alright, but I am only going to use it for emergencies." he conceits, taking his keys out and putting your house key on the ring with the rest.

Getting up from the stool, you smile at him, "Thank you, Dean," you say sweetly and hug him.

**

Dean shakes his head, trying to shake the thoughts from that night, as he shuts the door behind him. He stood in the entryway, just taking in the quietness of the house, holding his breath, waiting for you to come down the hallway, saying, ‘Dean, you look like shit; what were you up against this time? Let me get you patched up, and you can tell me all about it.’ Guiding him to the kitchen, you would pull the first aid kit and a beer from the fridge.

Watching these memories play out in front of him, it's not until he lets out a shaky breath that he had been holding that he feels the tears run down his face, "Fuck! Y/N, you got to get better, okay…." choking back, "I can't lose you." The thought of losing another important person in his life. Someone who should have a happy and long life and who, without them, Dean wouldn't be standing here today. He owes everything to you.

Dean can't bring himself to step past the entryway, feeling like an intruder. "I can't…" feeling pressure in his chest, he turns and walks out the door. Locking the door and making the short walk to his car, the pressure subsides once he is in the driving seat. Knowing he can't stay in the house. Too many memories of you and his dark thoughts will keep him up. He also can't put the car in drive and go to the motel just outside of town. It's like his body won't let him leave.

*******

Y/N POV

You were in the hospital for two weeks, and Dean was by your side, or somewhat outside your hospital room, every day, every hour he could be. At least that is what the nurse told you once you were awake. Your 'brother' Dean has been by your side. The first time they told you this, you looked confused, which caused concern from the staff.

"Your brother, Dean," the nurse says again, her voice laced with concern as she points to the window that looks into your room from the hallway.

You turn your head slightly, your body stiff from being in bed for so long, and the breathing tube just being taken out. There you see him, Dean Winchester, raising his hand to give you a short wave, and a look of relief washes over his face, which is covered with a slightly heavy five-clock shadow. You give him a smile and look back at the nurse. "Yeah, sorry, of course, he's my brother. Just didn't know anyone called him?" you reply, "Can I have some water?" you ask, you're throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Sure," the nurse says, filling a cup and handing it to you. "Well, the doctor will be in soon," she says, giving you a short smile and walking towards the door.

"Umm, can my brother come in?" you ask. Knowing that no matter what she says, Dean will make it in here one way or the other. The nurse hesitates. "It's just that I would like him to hear what the doctor says. I am still groggy, not sure I am going to remember everything he tells me," you add, hoping this will pull on her heartstrings just a bit.

Which does work, "Sure." she replies, giving you a smile and then walking out the door. She briefly talks to Dean before walking away, and Dean enters the room.

"Hey, sweetheart," Dean says, shutting the door behind him and walking towards you.

"Hey yourself," you reply. You try to sit up a bit more, but you struggle a bit.

Dean quickly gets to you. " Here, let me," he says, finding the remote for the bed, setting you upright, and then readjusting your pillows. "Good?" he asks once it looks like you're settled.

Feeling slightly embarrassed that he saw you like this, you’re sure you're a mess, bed hair, hospital gowns, and oh man…your breath has got to stink by now, right? Trying your best not to breathe out, "Yeah, thanks." you quickly reply. Dean sits in the chair next to your bed but doesn't say anything. Okay, guess you will start. "So brother, hum?" you quip.

He smiles at this and looks away from you to the bedding. "Yeah, I had to say something; otherwise, they would never let me back in." Then, looking back at you, a slight panic sets in that you might be mad at him for this small lie. " You're not mad, are you?" he asks.

"No, of course not," you reply, wanting to reassure him that everything is fine. This does, as relief washes over him a second time. You hold out your hand for him to take. "Just wonder what Sam will say about having a little sister, that's all. I am sure he will hate being the middle child," you joke.

Dean gives a short laugh: "Oh, Sammy will be all right with it. He will be happy to hear you're awake, is all." Dean's fingers rubbing your hand back and forth are nice.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask, trying to remember the day before you were brought in, but it's all a blur. Was he coming to see you? Was he working on a case?

"I was coming back through, and you had helped me with the case in North Carolina…" lowering his voice, even though you're in a private room," that Dinji." Dean recounts, seeing you not remember. He continues, "I stopped by your place, and your neighbor was out and said you were in the hospital."

None of that is registering at all, like last month, which is a blank slate. Fuck, what else are you not remembering? "And you have been here this whole time?" you ask, wondering what the state of the world must be like if he has taken himself out of saving the world for two weeks! Is Sam okay?

Dean's eyes, bright green, lock with yours, cocking his head slightly to the side, with slight confusion at your shock that he was here the whole time. "Of course, where else would I be? I wasn't going to leave you alone here," he says, a matter of fact.

You're about to reply to this, ask more questions, ask how Sam is, but before you can, the doctor enters the room. "Miss. Moore, welcome back," he says, looking at your chart and then at you and Dean. And this must be your brother?" he asks, holding his hand for Dean to shake.

Dean does, letting go of yours, the loss of him, his touch is apparent. "Hey, doc, when can I take my sister home?" Dean asks.

The doctor starts to talk, but you're not listening; your mind drifts to Dean. He put his life on pause for you? Wow, that's something, but you're sure he would do it for Charlie, Jody, Claire, or Alex, right? Yeah, of course. Dean sees you as family, which is what you are to him; that's what you will always be. Yes, you were close. He and Sam saved you from the vampire nest, explained everything about their world, and gave you a purpose.

You feel a slight pressure in your chest. Now that you're awake, how long will he stay before he leaves again?

"So I will get the nurse to start the discharge paperwork, and you guys should be out of there in a few hours," the doctor says. Giving you a smile.

Not hearing anything but that, you just smile back and look towards the window. You hear Dean thank the doctor, and he leaves the room. "nice guy," Dean says, filling up the silence.

"Yeah," you reply. You’re not sure what you are feeling; it's almost like a weight on your chest, pressure. Maybe it is COVID; it will be better once you get home. It has to, right?

******

You didn't know Dean could fuss over you more if he tried. He insisted that he be the one to wheel you out of the hospital, only after he made sure the car was pulled up as close to the door as possible so you didn't have to walk too far. Then, when he pulled into your driveway, he insisted he carry you the short walk to the front door.

"No, Dean, I can walk. My legs aren't broken; I had COVID, that's all." you quip back as he comes over to your side of the car to pick you up.

"The doctor said you shouldn’t over-exaggerate yourself, that's all," he replies, trying again to wrap his arms around your waist and pick you up from standing against the closed car door.

You block his hands again. As much as you would like his arms around you, have him cradle you; where is this coming from? You also don't want him to hurt himself, or God forbid the neighbors see him carrying you bridle style. "Yeah, walking the three feet to my front door is not going to kill me." This comment is like a punch in the gut for Dean; it's written on his face. Shit, was my COVID scare that much of an effect on him? But why? Trying to write your wrong, you try to play it off. "Come on, man, I have been on my back for two weeks and must move a little bit." You quip back. Playfully pushing him aside and walking towards the door.

You get to the door but realize you don't have your keys, you didn't have those, or your phone when you were brought into the hospital. You wait for Dean to come up behind you. He doesn't say anything, pulling out his keys; he opens the door and lets you walk in first. You shuck off your jacket and shoes and go to the living room. Sitting on the couch, you try to hide the sigh of exhaustions that you feel from the small activities you just did; but it slips past your lips and is not lost on Dean.

"Want me to make you some tea? You hungry?" Dean asks.

"No, I want you to tell me what's happened since I was in the hospital. Did all the evil in the world decide to take a break while I was out, and that's how you got to have some time off?" you question, motioning him to sit next to you on the couch.

Dean shrugs at this, "No. I just told Sam I was taking myself off the board, is all." he says casually.

"Taking yourself off the board? Hum, I didn't know you guys could do that," you ask, Giving him an intuitive look.

Dean is giving you nothing back, shaking his head, looking around the room, and clapping his hands together. He points towards the kitchen, "I am going to make that tea for you." He walks away before you can stop him, leaving you to your thoughts. Something else is happening, and you know who to call to get the truth out.

******

Making that call seem more complicated than usual since Dean didn't leave your side for anything. Three days, three days of hovering and mothering you, and as much as you care for Dean, and possibly secretly loved him. Let's face it, those chest tightening pains at the hospital, the loss of his touch was not COVID symptoms, it was your heart telling you what you already knew. You were in love with Dean Winchester, and the fact that he dropped everything for you made your head spin and feel like the most important girl in the world. But you are a realist, and Dean Winchester is out of your league. He sees you as the little sister he got settled with, not the girl he wants to kiss and do other things with.

On top of that, you are sure his opinions of you drop a few points since you found out really quick that to pass the time while he waited for you to wake up, he decided to clean your house from top to bottom. The sheer embarrassment when you found out had you want the couch to swallow you up right there. "Excuse me, you did what?" you ask, thinking you didn't hear him right when you ask; the following day, a book you usually had on your coffee table was now on the bookshelf that it was never on.

"I did some cleaning while you were…" Dean says, not finishing that statement while he grabs the few dishes off the coffee table and heads towards the kitchen. He never finishes that statement. Whenever he says it, he never says 'when you were in the hospital' or 'when you were sick.' After three days of the hanging statement, you get frustrated over that.

But knowing he cleaned your house, how clean is clean? Did he do your laundry? Yep! Did he clean under your bed and put stuff away on your nightstand? God forbid he did a deep clean in your closet—oh, the embarrassment. "Why?" you ask, now following him, waiting for an answer that you sure won't come.

Dean has his back to you, rinsing off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "What? It's not a big deal. I had time, plus the nurse thought it was a good idea for you to come home to a clean hose." He says while wiping down the counter.

You try your best to breathe and calm down. Yes, all that is true, a clean house to come home too make sense. But having him go through your personal and private things, fuck, him cleaning your underwear. He will never look at you as desirable again, not like he did before. You look up from the floor to see him watching you, waiting for a reply. "thanks, I guess," you say, defeated. "I am going to go take a shower." You say, needing just a few minutes by yourself, shake off this feeling of rejection you know he doesn't realize he caused.

"You need some help?" he asks, approaching you and walking a step behind you.

You take a second, knowing again that he just wants to help, but God treats you like an old woman. Because you know that his offer of 'helping you out' in the shower does not imply sexy times; it's he saying he thinks you are weak and that you're going to get tired, fall, and hurt yourself. You get to the bathroom door. "No, I got it, thanks," you say, opening the door and shutting it before he can say anything.

*****

Dean POV

I know I am being overprotective, maybe even going overboard with not letting her do anything, and perhaps the deep clean was an overreach. But in my defense, I thought I could lose her, and if she was going to, no, when she was going to come home, I wanted it to be in a clean, COVID-free house.

I turn away from the bathroom door and walk towards the living room. I start to clean up, picking up the discarded blanket from my makeshift bed; even though she has a spare room, it's on the second floor away from her, and I want to be close in case she needs me in the night.

The rigging of my phone pulls me from my thoughts of her. Picking up, I see it's Sam. "Hey, what's up?" I ask, dropping the blanket and myself onto the couch.

"Just checking in, how's Y/N?"

"Good, still low energy, but I am just happy she’s walking and talking, even if I am annoying her."

"You, annoying her, I can't believe it," Sam says, with fake shock. "You know she can take care of herself; she has been doing that for some time now." Sam reminds me. Knowing that my hovering is coming for a place of love for Y/N, but it could be doing more damage than good.

"I know, it's just…" I pause briefly, looking back to see the closed bathroom door. "Sam, she just looked so helpless there lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to those machines…and there was nothing I could do…nothing that could save her…I just had to wait."

Sam knows that's not my strong suit, "I know, I get it, but maybe just ease off a little. I am sure it's making her feel like a burden, you doing everything for her."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I will try."

"I know I am." He clears his throat and paused briefly before asking what he knew I would not want to answer: "So when are you heading back to the bunker?"

I pause momentarily; the idea of leaving you hadn't crossed his mind. "Umm…" Hearing the door open, he looks to see you walking out of the bathroom and down the hallway to your room, wrapped in your navy-blue plaid robe, hair slightly damp from the shower. "Not sure yet, but I will keep you posted. I got to go." I say quickly, hanging up the phone. I know that she can take care of herself, but at the same time, I don't want to leave her again; what if I do and something happens, and there is no one here to save her again. Sam's right, though; I have to back off, or I am liable to smother her.

*****

Y/N POV (about a week later)

Something seems to have changed in Dean in the last few days. It was like the old carefree Dean was back. He hovered less, not watching my every move, and even went on a quick day trip to the bunker to pick up more books for me to read since I had read everything in my place twice, and if I was going to be stuck inside I wanted to do something productive. Granted, I had to ride shotgun on this trip, so although we got out of the house, I was still under his protective eye. But he wasn't babying me anymore; he cracked jokes, smiled, and even complained when I made him watch the same movie repeatedly.

Dean was going on a food run, and this was one outing he didn't let me go on. Too many people, could possibly get sick again, so he didn't want to risk it. But he also hated doing it, leaving you alone. "You're sure you're going to be fine," he asks again, standing in the doorway, you on the other side, trying your best not to push him out and lock the door.

"Yes, Dean, you'll be gone for an hour. I think I can survive." you quip, pushing him playfully, "Go, I promise, no running around the house with scissors or jumping on the bed. I will keep my butt on the couch until you get back."

Dean's worried face slightly softens, knowing that you will be fine, but that pit in his stomach—the thought of him walking out that door again and not having you in his sight—will never go away. "Okay, but call me if you feel off," he reminds you again.

"Yes, now go." You reply with a smile. Yes, he was getting on your nerves slightly, but you still loved the guy for it.

You watch as he pulls out of the driveway and down the road before you head inside. Walking to your room, you find your cell phone charging, and you quickly make the call you've been waiting to make since you got home.

He picked up on the second ring: "Y/N, everything alright? Dean texted me to say he was going on a food run. Do you need him? Are you not feeling well?…" Sam blurts out, a lengthy, run-on statement that has you slightly spinning.

Trying your best not to laugh at him. "Sam, calm down; I am good. I just wanted to talk to my friend. How are you?" you ask, wanting to ease into this discussion. Plus, you really did want to know how he was doing; ever since you came home, you only talked to Sam when Dean would call him and have him on speakerphone. Even then, Sam was instructed not to speak about cases he was working on. Dean had a theory that possibly COVID was stress-induced, but you know it wasn't.

"I am good, making my way back to the bunker. I have a case in Wisconsin, so I'm in your area. I was thinking of seeing you guys once it's done."

"Oh yes, please do, Sam. It's been ages since we've hung out together. I feel like a movie marathon is needed."

"Yeah, if you're up for it. Dean tells me you get tired easily. Is anything else not the same?"

"Umm…brain fog for sure; I lost all memory of the week before I went into the hospital. Some things don't taste the same. But honestly, Sam, can we not talk about me for a bit. Tell me about the case in Wisconsin; what are you hunting this time." You inquire, done talking about yourself, need a distraction, and avoid asking Sam what you want to know.

Sam, being the best friend, a girl could ask for, knew that a distraction from your symptoms was what you needed, and although it would be breaking his promise to Dean, he could hear it in your voice, the need for some kind of normalcy, at least what normal is considered for us. Giving you all the details, you can come to the same conclusion that it was a vengeful spirit and a simple salt and burn job is in order.

Once Sam is done talking about Wisconsin, a lull in the conversation forms, and you look at the clock to see Dean should be home soon. "Sam, can I ask you something?" You feel slightly nervous and try to figure out how to phrase your question.

"Of course, you can ask me anything."

Taking a breath, you wait a second before asking, "How was Dean when he found out I was sick? He said he 'took himself off the board' and has been hovering since I got home. He's gotten better, but those first few days, it was like he was a different person."

Sam can tell by the last statement that you're trying to bring some levity to an otherwise heavy question, a question that he is surprised you have to ask. taking a breath, he thinks about how to say, ‘You idiot, he loves you! and you love him!'

"I am glad to hear that he's lost up the reins a bit," giving a chuckle, "but honestly, Y/N, he was devastated. I know he's my big brother, and he tries his best to hide his emotions, but I could tell that night when he called to tell me what happened, he was scared. Scared that he was going to lose you, scared that he might have caused this to happen to you."

"How could he have caused COVID? I mean, I get he sometimes can have a big ego, but, come on, he can't cause an infection."

"No, but he thinks he has been asking too much of you, wearing you down. I can't say whether he's right or wrong. You and I know you occasionally burn the candle at both ends."

"Yeah, I am trying to get better at that. But Sam, he was treating me like I was 90 years old. He wouldn't let me do a thing around here. And did he tell you he cleaned my house—my whole house—before I got home? I mean everything."

"Oh man, I am sure you were not happy to hear about that."

"Your damn right. I wasn't."

"Look, it's not my place to say, but I will tell you this, remember that night when you and I got a little tipsy, and you might have let slip your feelings for a certain green eye hunter?"

Fuck, of course, he remembers that night; that was right after you had helped him and Dean take down a wraith, and Dean was out on a beer run. "Yeah, you asked me why I never seem to be dating anyone, and I said I can't be with the one guy I want, so why be with the wrong guy at all."

Sam waits for you to connect the dots, and although you're not sitting in front of him, Sam has a feeling you're making the connections: "Let's just say Dean has the same idea, and he has his eye on a hazel eye researcher that he thinks he can't have."

You're about to protest Sam's statement that Dean has no feelings for you other than sibling love, but before you can, you hear the front door open and Dean yelling, "Honey, I am home," sweetly.

"I've Got to go, Sam. Talk soon," you say, and hang up before he can reply.

*********

Sam's words kept rolling around in your mind all night, distracting you from Dean. During dinner, you were quiet, letting him lead the conversation and not making it known when he mentioned Sam might be stopping by in a day or two that you two had talked earlier. "Oh, okay, sounds good." you responded, still thinking, 'He has his eye on a hazel-eye researcher that he thinks he can't have.'

Dean went for girls that were the complete opposite of you, blonde, curves in all the right places without an ounce of fat to be seen, the girl that guys walk across fire for, not the girl that they run into fire to get away from. Not the girl who is socially awkward around strangers, who can put her foot in her mouth easier than anyone, and who has more of a backstory than is worth mentioning. No, Dean goes for simple, noncomplex girls, which makes sense, given his life is entirely of danger and complexity. Why go for a girl to add to it.

Dean can tell your mind is elsewhere, and he is slightly worried that you're lost in your head or that this might be another symptom. "Hey, space cadet, you with me? Because if you're not watching the movie, I will gladly turn it to something we haven't seen twice this week," he jokes, hoping to make fun of the situation.

His voice shakes you from your thoughts, and you look over at him; his eyes have just a hint of worry to them. The blanket across both of you, him in a simple white t-shirt and sleep bottoms, you in gray leggings, tank top, and open cardigan. Perfection, you and Dean cozy up on the couch, not a care in the world, him teasing you about your love of disaster movies, and you forcing him to watch the same one repeatedly, and he does; why? Because he loves you. He loves you like a sister, a friend, someone he cares for, just not someone he’s IN love with.

"yeah, sorry, I think I am just going to go to bed." You shake off that last statement: he's not IN love with you. God, you really know how to cut yourself deep, don't you? Getting up from the couch, you grab your water glass and head towards your room.

Dean gets up with you, "here, let me help you," he says, walking around the couch and placing a hand on your lower back.

This is the last straw, the final statement of his wanting to help you, again treating you like you're helpless. "Stop! Just stop!" you yell, feeling yourself boil with rage you knew you had been keeping at bay. You know his hovering is with the best intentions, but for you, it's blurring the lines between what you want from him and what you know he can give you. Your mind won't let it be accurate even after what Sam told you today.

Dean stops his hands from touching you, standing still like he is frozen in time. "Y/N, hey, I just want to help. You look tired, is all." His voice is soft and sweet.

He’s trying to placate you, like he would a child or grandparent, "Dean, I am fine; I can walk ten feet to my room on my own and not get lost or fall down, okay!" You lock eyes with him and see his face fall, and in that moment, you know that he's hurt; you've only ever yelled at him when you were injured and need him to find you. But that was screaming for him, not at him. You know that you should feel bad for your outburst, you do, but you know that this is not real, that this ideal version of him and you playing house can't last.

"What is wrong? Is this another symptom? Did something happen while I was out?" he asks, wanting to understand your sudden change since this morning. You start walking away from him, wanting to get into your room and away from him, knowing he will get the truth out of you. You don't want to hear his excuses or him placate you even more about why he and you will never be a thing.

You turn halfway down the hall to look back at him, standing there watching you. "No! It's not! I am a capable woman who can take care of herself. Stop treating me like I am dying, Dean! You saved me once; that should be enough for you." Turning back, you reach your door, hand on the handle to open it, when you hear Dean.

"What does that mean?" Dean questions, his footsteps pad against the hardwood floors, standing right behind you; you can feel his breath on your neck, "I know you are capable; you are the strongest woman I know." his voice low, sending shivers down your body, you feel his hand on your arm, turning you around to face him. He sees your tear-stain cheek, "Fuck, Y/N, talk to me; what is going on? Why would you say saving you once was enough?"

Your eyes, trying and failing to hold back the tears, are now on the brink of spilling out. He needs to just let you go. You lean back against the door, knowing he took that little movement as exhaustion, and you are. You are exhausted by talking about this repeatedly, tired that he just can't let you leave, won't give up, and will go back to seeing you only when he needs something. He needs to go back to his life and let you put him back into the box of things that you don't let yourself have. Taking a breath, you run your hands over your face, wiping the tears and pushing them back inside. Putting on your brave face, "You know, Sam will be here in two days. I think you should go back with him. Go back to the bunker, and 'put yourself back on the board.'"

Throwing his line back at him, telling him he needed to return to work and that you would be fine without him. Will you, though? In time, maybe? You turned the door handle and stepped into the room, never breaking your eye contact with him. He shut the door in his face and flipped the lock, not giving him a chance to speak, knowing that he would not force his way in.

To be continued

[littlewestern]

I must inquire about your feelings on douglas and oliver 👀

(Tags by @mean-scarlet-deceiver)

Absolutely! These tags are fantastic, and I think this is a great time to talk about a phenomenon I've noticed in certain fandoms. I don't have a word for it yet, but something that can happen, especially in cases like this where a ship is sort of a foregone conclusion (either for lack of options for the characters or - in this case - because there's one really compelling point of shared development), is that it can often feel like we are *supposed* to ship something, and that there aren't any other options.

I think 10x11 is absolutely one of those ships, and I can totally understand why it might not work for some the same way it does for others. It's easy to fall into the trap of complacency or to feel like there's not actually anything there and the rest of the fandom is just shipping cardboard cutouts. And because everyone treats the ship as default, there's no one out here really up on their soapbox for it or making any groundbreaking content. It runs the risk of feeling stale.

Luckily, I'm here, and I do this shit for free. In point of fact, you couldn't pay me to stop. So let me make the case. Hopefully by the end of this we'll all come away with a better understanding of the characters, their relationship, and ourselves. (I like to aim high.)

So there are a few major pitfalls that this ship can succumb to right out of the gate that I think can frequently make this a harder sell as a romance specifically:

First, the rescue. The foundational text. Everyone loves Escape!, and for good reason. It's an extremely rich vein to mine for drama and feelings and having these characters bond in a way that feels complex and authentic and real... And it also can make a relationship founded on romantic love between them feel compulsory on the part of Oliver. This is not at all cool or fun or sexy or even really in-character, and I expect it's one of the reasons this ship can be hard to work with at times. To put them in a romantic context without any kind of examination of what is desired vs. what is owed feels rushed and disingenuous to me. If your only reason for shipping Oliver and Douglas is that one of them saved the others' life - full stop, no further examination required - this ship is going to be quite boring and a little iffy besides. This is a fantastic foundation, but it can't be the only thing holding them together, or else you've just reinvented the booktok romance novel.

The second pitfall is one that isn't the fandom's fault but is definitely worsened by years of fandom dilution: Oliver lacks a lot of direct and explicit characterization as a result of showing up late to the RWS party. He has this great origin story, fucks up once, gets a few funny scenes, and then about drops off the page. This leave shippers in a bit of a predicament, because really compelling character romance needs really compelling characters in the first place. Oliver has such a great backstory and that immediate bond we talked about with another well-developed character who also has a great backstory. It feels like it should be very easy to make this work, but it just... doesn't. Because Oliver in-canon is often a role-fill character. He's great, but no one (least of all the later season TVS writers) can seem to agree what his personality actually is, so he ends up being written to slot wherever he's needed or to achieve a specific narrative beat. The resultant 10x11 content which is informed by this feels flat and boring because if the only goal is for them to end up together, you simply have to write that happening and it occurs. Fandom Oliver often has no desires or wants outside of getting together with Douglas, his knight in shining paintwork, and it makes for dry reading.

So how do we reconcile this? What can we do with this information to make it work in favor of our desired outcome instead of as a hindrance to it? How do we use the facts to enhance our fiction?

The first key is remembering that Oliver is actually a little badass who, for 95% of his time on the run, did not actually need any help. The only reason he got to the point at which Douglas could come rescue him was because he fled under his own power from the southern part of the country all the way up to Barrow. His journey only ended there because they ran out of coal, which probably wouldn't have happened if Oliver hadn't also elected to take a coach and an unrelated break van along with him. Because, again, he's a badass. When the big engines say that Oliver has "resource and sagacity", they're absolutely correct. There's material to work with here, we just need to spin it out.

So let's start there. Let's give Oliver that plucky spark back, and have him be a wee bit peppery as a treat. A guy doesn't outrun packs of rabid diesels only to come out the other side a meek and obedient little bore. Let's really lean into his loyalty and bravery too, since an engine willing to risk his own life to save the lives of some lowly rolling stock must be both. And finally, let's also have him really appreciate that second chance he's been given! My favorite Oliver characterization is one that swings at every wild pitch just for the joy of feeling and moving and being alive.

What Douglas has given him isn't a debt, it is a gift, and paying him back doesn't mean feeling like he owes him anything, it means hitting the rails every day with as much enthusiasm and excitement and verve as a little engine possibly can. I like an Oliver that works hard and plays hard and - crucially to the relationship in question - I think Douglas likes this too. Here's a pair of guys who are both brave, loyal, adventurous, quick-thinking, generous, and god damned happy to be alive. Their experiences in Escape! shouldn't make them rescuer/rescuee, it should make them some of the only guys on the railway who know what it's like to look death in the face and laugh. They're equals, and more importantly, friends.

And maybe I buried the lede a little bit there, but I think this really is the crux of it. To me, this relationship is one that starts as a very long, very close friendship with that little bit of extra complexity always simmering below the surface and the little bit of weirdness of falling in love with the guy who saved your life isn't something that should be swept under the rug, it should be an active part of the core relationship conflict.

Oliver looks at Douglas and thinks: He's my best friend. I love him. He saved my life. I don't know whether that last thing is influencing the other two and I'm worried that trying to find out will ruin everything.

and Douglas looks at Oliver and thinks: He's my best friend. I love him. I saved his life. But I don't want him to think he owes me anything just because I did.

So Douglas is waiting on Oliver, and Oliver is waiting on his complicated feelings to resolve themselves. In the meantime, in Ray world, I like to imagine them carrying on a very raucous and boisterous friendship/working relationship involving a lot of pranks and good-natured ribbing, because I think the Little Western being the most efficient branch line while also being the one comprised nearly entirely of chucklefucks is hilarious.

I also like the idea that during all of this, Oliver is constantly going through romantic partners because, again, just happy to be alive here! But also because maybe if he finds the right engine those sticky feelings he has towards his bestie will go away. And all the while Douglas looks on and smiles and plays his cards very close to the chest.

Maybe even gets himself a girlfriend in the meantime.

I have this whole arc plotted out for a story I will never write where Douglas and Emily become an item and everyone else loses their minds because oohh it's just so cute and they look so great together.

Very suddenly Douglas has a girlfriend and also very suddenly Oliver does not have a best friend anymore. And (much to Oliver’s surprise) he’s kinda upset about it!

At first he thinks it has to be jealousy, because like... On one hand, he’s over the moon for Douglas. Douglas seems happier now, quicker to laugh and more easygoing (not that he wasn’t always). But on the other hand, they’re not hanging out as often anymore and it’s not really fair that Douglas lands the perfect partner on what is ostensibly his first attempt when Oliver’s been trying and failing at it for so long. He writes it off as him being jealous of Douglas and tries to put it out of his mind.

Except he sees them together, and he sees how happy Douglas is in-person and how Emily is nice enough but all wrong for him. For one thing, she’s the *safety* engine, which– ha! Douglas? Not the most risk-averse engine to ever grace Sir Topham Hatt’s Railway. For another thing, she’s not willing to go on any of Douglas’s more adventurous errands. Too, her more staid nature doesn’t seem to be rubbing off on Douglas at all, so it’s a source of friction in their relationship. Oliver delights a little bit at that, and goes out of his way to tell Douglas he’d be happy to see how fast they can get the goods train to the harbor, speed limits be damned, just because Emily won't like it.

When Oliver explains this to Mavis later (the third time they’ve rehashed this subject this week) she pauses to fix Ollie with a Look.

“Are you sure you’re not jealous of *Emily*?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Oliver scoffs, dismissing it before the words have really sunk in. “If I were jealous of… of her, I’d– I’d be–”

And then the other shoe drops.

“Oh.” “Mhmm.” “Oh no.” “MmHMM.”

Oliver has fucked another of his relationships, the only one that actually mattered in his estimation. And now he’s stuck, because this is the happiest Oliver’s ever seen his best friend. And a real best friend wouldn’t try to sabotage that just because he was too stupid to see what was plainly obvious to everyone. No, he has to be cool about this, and it’s going to nearly kill him.

But hey, look who else in the yard is single and pining over a Caledonian engine. You wanna have a Great Western Time about it?

Again, because I am a sucker for true romance, this sorts itself out in time. Douglas and Emily realize they're not actually that great a fit for one another, Oliver and Duck get as much out of their time together as they like before moving on, and Douglas and Oliver get to have a long overdue conversation about what they mean to each other - no jokes, no bullshit. I'm sure it would all be very cute and romantic, if I were the type to write that sort of thing.

In the meantime, I hope I've at least made a case for why this ship tickles me and where I think everyone can improve in their writing of it. Thanks for the ask, sorry it was so long!

[take-it-on-the-run]

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Dean Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Dean Winchester didn't want to know what life was going to be like without his brother, and he didn't intend to learn

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Suicide attempt, angst, major character death, minor injury, typical cannon violence, angst with a happy ending

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Simon & Garfunkel title. This has been stewing in my drafts since August, so I'm very happy I was able to finally finish it! This is set around season 5 (Dean is 30 and Sam is 26). PLEASE heed the warnings, and please don't read further if this story will make you uncomfortable. Unbeta'd and every single mistake is mine :)

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Rain clung to a man as he peered over the rails of a bridge he couldn’t name. It was big enough to have a name, he was sure of that, but not big enough for people to be driving by at three in the morning.

His hands wrapped around the steel beams meant to keep cars from tipping over into the rushing waters below. They were cold to the touch, but he didn’t feel that. He could barely place one foot in front of the other, let alone feel anything besides the hollowed-out hole in his chest.

His car was parked just off the side of the road less than half a mile away, keys still in the ignition, lights blaring onto the tree trunks that ran on for as far as the eye could see. There was no one for miles, the only souls accompanying him in those moments being those of the rodents scattering into crooks and crannies to hide from the rain.

A heavy weight shifted in his pocket, nudging against his thigh, reminding him why he was standing alone in the rain. He couldn’t comprehend that in the morning, people would come looking for him, that he would be missed; that he would be mourned. He only knew the pain that was engulfing his very being, pushing him closer and closer to life’s edge.

He wanted to compare it to Hell, but he knew that in Hell he’d at least pay for what he’d done in the form of flames and pure, unimaginable agony, like he’d experienced all those years ago. Here, he could only wallow in the fact that he was alive, and the only person he’d give his life for wasn’t.

The first time he tried to pitch himself over the rails, his foot slipped and his head collided with the metal. Blood trickled down his forehead as he remained on the ground. Any other time, he’d be able to climb anything, anywhere; but now all he could hear was the sound of the river below calling for him.

Join me. It said, beckoning him to his feet once again.

Though he couldn’t see me, I was there watching him as he tried to will himself to take his own life. Standing a mere ten feet from him, leaning on the opposing set of rails, I watched as he clambered upright. In complete honesty, I didn’t know if he’d do it or not. I did, however, know that he wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to pass in a horrible accident three weeks before at his own hands, leaving his brother the only survivor. His name was in my book, and I was meant to take him to the great hereafter, only to find him standing over his brother’s body.

The man didn’t know it, but his brother was there too, watching him on that bridge. He tried to get his brother to hear his pleas, but he couldn’t, so he turned to me.

He begged me and begged me to not let his brother take his life. This had happened many times since I started my life’s work, people trying to offer me their souls in place of a loved one’s, but my duties remained as they were. I’m a pathway to the afterlife. No more, no less. Never once had I prevented someone from dying, never once had someone slipped between my fingers, and never once had I stuck myself in Earthly affairs.

I leaned into the rails silently, letting the rain fall onto my bare skin. I could imagine how cold it was for him, shivering and bleeding as his world seemed to crumble.

His brother clung to my side, clawing and tearing at my skin as he wailed for me to let his brother live, that his soul should be enough for me to have.

I turned to him and looked into his widened eyes, and all I could do was wonder. Wonder why such a young man was content in his own death, and why he didn’t want his brother to die as he did.

“You Winchesters and your family bond. You know Samuel, there aren’t many people out there who aren’t pissed at the person who killed them.” I said as I acknowledged the youngest Winchester for the first time since he started our conversation.

“He didn’t-” Sam looked to his older brother, still oblivious to my presence, “-my death wasn’t his fault. You got your soul, now you can report back to your big boss and just leave Dean alone, please.”

I turned to him, ready to tell him that my kind didn’t deal in souls, but was interrupted when the click of a handgun made Sam and I turn our heads.

“Are you my reaper?” He asked, matter-of-factually, poorly aiming his pistol in my general direction. I took a step toward him, the rain beginning to fall more violently.

“We both know you’re smart enough than to try and use that on me, Dean,” I said, ignoring his question as I took more steps toward him.

“Answer-” Dean readjusted his slipping grip on the gun, eyes wearily trained at me. “-answer me.”

“I was your reaper, yes,” I answered, closing the distance between us, cool metal pressed against my chest.

His eyes were green and sunken; packed with tears, veins, and blood. His pupils darted around my face expectantly, begging me to do something, make his pain simply go away.

I felt a heavy pang in my chest, that hooked onto my heart and sunk to my feet.

I reached up to his face, gently cupping as I skimmed my fingers over untrimmed facial hair. He flinched as my hand made contact, probably expecting to get ripped from his body.

“Don’t be afraid, Dean. He’s safe.” I said gently. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my palm as he let out a heavy breath.

“He isn’t angry at you. You know, he practically begged me to come stop you.” I smiled, smoothing over the gash on his forehead. The deep cut disappeared as my fingers skimmed over it, offering him some relief.

“It’s not fair-” Dean choked out, coughing as the weather around us began to take its toll on his body. “-Sammy, he’s got a whole life ahead of him. College, a big lawyer job, a normal life. All I’ve got is hunting, and waiting to run into someone sharp enough to finally get me.”

His teeth chattered in his mouth, and the metal against my chest disappeared as he let his arms drop to his sides.

“Big talk coming from someone who’s barely thirty,” I said, watching as Dean pulled away from my hands, and returned to leaning on the rails.

“It’s the-” Dean starts.

“-the life, yes. So I’ve heard from a great number of hunters.” I finished his thought as I joined him on the rails. “Why is it that all of you think your lifespans are so short? Hunters back In, I don’t know,” I wave my hand as I’m trying to come up with the words, “the seventeen hundreds still lived longer than a lot your folk do nowadays.”

He creased his eyebrows, his eyes flickering over my face.

“All I’m saying,” I take a long look at the sun starting to crawl its way over the horizon, “is that ‘the life’ doesn’t have to be your life, Dean. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you don’t have to die in some horrific fight that finally puts you down. Hunters have died of old age, you know.”

He looked at me, the freckles on his face more visible now that the rain was calming down, “but Sammy… he deserved his happy ending more than I ever will. He got out. Got a full-ride scholarship to freakin’ Stanford. Had a girl. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him how proud I was. I’d stand outside his dorm room for hours, trying to figure out a way to come see him without Dad, or without him hating me. I shouldn’t have dragged him back into this, and now he’s dead. In my place.”

“It’s the natural order of things, Dean. If not him, then you, and if not you, then some other person had to die that day.”

“But it didn’t have to be Sam. I would’ve gone just the same way as he did, but at least he’d have something dragging him forward, to move on.” He looked at me again with those tired eyes, letting out a sharp breath as his hands clung to the railing again, leaning his torso off halfway.

“Dean,” I said cautiously, watching his knuckles turn white as his heart quickened and eyes shut, “Dean.”

His feet were moving fast, and in one swift moment, he was off the bridge. His body flung over almost effortlessly and catapulted him down to the rocky waters below.

I turned away, expecting him to appear next to me in a moment, but his voice rose through the air instead.

“What…?”

I looked over the railing, only to see Sam was holding his forearms, holding him from his forearms before he could drop.

I turned to the younger Winchester brother, who was solely focused on trying to save his brother’s life, his spectral hands losing their grip the longer he held on.

“Dean, hold on, please. Please, man, just hold on. Don’t give up on me.”

Dean’s head snapped up, looking straight at his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean choked out, his legs starting to kick frantically as if he were trying to walk on air.

“Help me, help me get him up. Please.” Sam turned to me, struggling to hold onto his brother.

I blinked and I was beside him, yanking up on an almost-limp Dean, and throwing him onto the road of the bridge.

Dean lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Sam knelt beside him, his eyes filled with remorse.

“I didn’t want to give up on you, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the damp morning breeze.

Sam’s heart clenched at the sound of his brother’s voice, filled with a mixture of pain and regret. “I know, Dean,” he replied, his voice choked with emotion. “It’s not your fault. You never gave up on me. You took all of dad’s crap, and I mean all of it. The yelling. The hunting. The abuse.”

Dean looked at his brother before he went still, not saying a word as he clutched his chest with pale blue hands. His breaths grew shallower, his body beginning to tremble from the exertion and the cold rain that drenched him throughout the night. Sam glanced around frantically, feeling helpless in the face of his brother’s suffering.

“He needs help. Help him,” Sam said, his voice urgent as he looked up at me, desperation clear in his eyes.

I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation. “I’ll do what I can,” I replied, my voice solemn. “But I can’t interfere with the natural order of things.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he refused to give up. “There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, just help him.”

I hesitated, the pull that the Winchester seemed to have with the universe was something even Death couldn’t withstand; but who was I to interfere? As I looked down at Dean, lying battered and broken on the ground, I could hear the cracking of his ribs drowning out my thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, I knelt beside Sam and Dean, moving Dean’s hands away from his chest with little force. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, my voice softer.

I laid my hands on Dean’s chest, warmth spread through his body, chasing away the chill of the rain and easing his pain. His breaths grew steadier, his trembling subsiding as color started returning to his hands.

Sam looked on in awe, tears welling in his eyes as he watched his brother’s condition improve before his very eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

I nodded, a small smile touching my lips. “Take care of him,” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, and I nodded. “He’s gotta lot of fight left in him, and someone has to keep him up and running.”

I chuckled, moving to the side of Sam as I waited for him to pull away from Dean. The two of them sat there in perfect silence, staring into the blankness in front of them. I could barely hear Dean’s breath through the wind that curved between the air around us.

“I have to go, Dean,” Sam said, turning to face them as they both sat on the edge of the empty road.

“I can’t do this without you Sammy, I don’t want to,” Dean said, catching stray tears with the back of his hand. He took his brother into a firm hug; it was as if he was holding him to Earth, and to life itself.

“I love you so much,” Sam said as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean taking in a shuddered breath. Sam slowly pulled away from him, and stood beside me, trying his best to smile, “bye, Dean.”

Dean looked up at his brother, nose red and raw from the tears that coated his face, hiccuping as he failed to drown his emotions with a weak smile, not saying a word. He scooted away from the road, sitting himself up against the rails as he watched me and Sam walk down the bridge, and out of view.

I can’t say that I forgot that day, especially when I was called again for Dean. He lay on a hospital bed, his once dirty blonde hair replaced with silver tufts, complemented by wrinkles brought on from years of stories to tell, and different kinds of scars in new places.

He looked just as he did that day on the bridge when he came to stand by me, watching the woman beside him, hair just as gray as his, holding onto his hand. An anti-possession tattoo peaked out from under her long sleeve as she reached over to plant a kiss on his forehead, watching as his heart monitor ran flat. After a few moments of silence, nurses came into the room, looking over Dean’s body as the woman shuffled out of the room and walked through Dean and me with a shudder.

“Hello, Dean,” I said, smiling gently, preparing to lead him out of the room when there was a laugh from behind us. Two hands were placed firmly around Dean before I could realize who it was.

“You ready? We’ve got a lot to catch up on, you know.” Sam said as he pulled away from his brother, the both of them smiling like I’d never seen before.

[nekoannie-chan]

Tunnel

Title: Tunnel.

Fandom: Marvel, X-men.

Ship: Ororo Munroe X Logan Howlett.

Word count: 523 words.

Square: B5 “Dealing with past traumas.”

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Logan helps Ororo.

Major Tags: Mention claustrophobia.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @marvelrarepairbingo, @marvelrarepairs Marvel Rare Pair Round 3 2024. MRP-066.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

Logan and Ororo advanced cautiously through the dark underground tunnel; however, they did not know exactly how they had gotten there; one moment they were in a forest, and the next they were there.

The air was stale, and the sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls. All was darkness now; it wasn’t supposed to be happening. Ororo began to feel a tightness in her chest. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, and a cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

Logan immediately noticed the change in her partner. His eyes caught the trembling in her hands and lower lip, even if she was trying to hide it.

“Are you alright, Ororo?” he asked with concern, stopping beside her.

She tried to smile, but it was more of a nervous gesture than a genuine expression. She didn’t respond.

He nodded sympathetically, but he knew they had to get out of that place immediately for Ororo’s sake.

“Let’s move on carefully,” Logan indicated, placing a hand on Ororo’s shoulder before continuing.

Each step seemed heavier than the last. Ororo struggled to maintain her composure as the tunnel narrowed around her. The walls seemed to close in on her as if the whole world was conspiring to crush her. She tried to remind herself that she was a warrior, a leader, but the sense of panic kept growing inside her.

Logan noticed that her breathing was becoming more ragged and her movements clumsier. “Ororo, we need to get out of here. Right now,” he said firmly, gripping her arm with determination.

She wanted to protest; however, she nodded her head, unable to articulate a word.

Logan led Ororo through the tunnel, desperately searching for a way out. But a section of the tunnel collapsed, blocking their way forward and trapping them in darkness.

Ororo’s heart was pounding in her chest; the air was getting even thinner, or maybe it was her imagination; she felt as if she was beginning to choke as the tunnel walls seemed to close in on them. Logan took Ororo’s hand, trying to convey some calm.

“We’re going to find a way out, Ororo. We’re in this together,” he said in a reassuring tone.

Ororo clung to Logan’s hand. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath, not even feeling able to use her powers to get out of there quickly.

Time seemed to stand still as the feeling of desperation grew more and more every minute.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally managed to make out a faint light at the end of the tunnel. They hurried towards it; they had to get out of that place as quickly as possible for both their sakes; they just hoped it wasn’t another trap or that when they managed to find the exit, there would be something worse.

When they finally made it out of the dark and stressful tunnel, Ororo dropped to her knees on the ground, inhaling great gulps of fresh air. They had made it, though for some reason it didn’t exactly feel like a triumph, but at least they had survived.

[cherryblossom-chopper]

》Bloody Knuckles《

Content: Ace Fluff. Ambiguous Reader.

————— ୨୧ —————

"I can't believe you, you idiot." you snap, staring down at your partner, "Getting into an all-out brawl over something so stupid makes you stupid."

Ace won't meet your eyes. His freckles glow like embers as the moon rises in the sky. "It wasn't stupid," he muttered. His shoulders slouched.

His men would laugh at him if they saw him like this. On his knees, nearly begging for attention and forgiveness from his lover. They would congratulate (Name) for taming the beast that Whitebeard could not.

You sigh and ruffle his hair. "Well, then, why did you start a fight? You can’t run Whitebeard's name through the mud like that. You're one of his top men; you must be more aware of yourself," you scold Ace.

"That big wig, slumming it for fun, insulted you," Ace growls, his nose scrunching up as he bares his teeth, "He stared at you all night. I'm glad Marco went with you when you left."

You heave another sigh and crouch down on his level. "What did he say?" you ask softly, "Let it out." Ace was fragile like a bomb, especially about you. Even the slightest disrespect towards you set him off.

"I can't say," he tucks his chin to his chest so he doesn't meet your eyes, "I won't say it."

You quickly hook your fingers under his chin, making his dark eyes meet yours. "Ace," you say firmly, not breaking eye contact with him, "Tell me."

He purses his lips, his ember freckles flaring brighter at your closeness. "He kept talking about your body," Ace frowned, "He wanted you in the same way I want you." His breath was hot with frustration and anger.

You sigh, and your hand moves from Ace's chin to his cheek. "It's okay, Ace. We'll probably never see them again."

A small sheepish smile appeared on his face. "Yeah, you're probably right," Ace replies and holds up his hands.

You gasp at his bruised and bloodied knuckles. You snatch his wrists and closely examine his hands. "Damn it, Ace," your agitation wells in your chest again.

"Not all of it's mine," he says in an attempt to placate you, "Besides, I had to defend your honor."

"Give me a minute," you sigh before running off to get a first aid kit from the ship's doctor. When you return, you find Ace leaning against the mast. His eyes closed, and his breathing steady.

"Asleep already?" you sigh with a little smile. You kneel down beside Ace and gently shake him awake. When he blinks sleepily up at you, your face heats up. Ace is so cute.

You sit beside him and carefully clean the blood from his skin. "I still can't believe you," you sigh as you wrap Ace's knuckles.

"I don't like it when ignorant scum insults you," Ace huffs, "Sue me." You roll your eyes as you carefully wrap up his second hand. "Well, I appreciate you defending me, but I don't think Whitebeard will be pleased hearing about it."

"Well, he can suck it," Ace pouted, "It's my job to protect you. I love you and don't want you to feel like you can't rely on me."

You hum softly in reply as you pack up the first aid kit.

Ace examines his bandaged hands before grabbing your shoulders, "Please tell me you know that. I need to know that you will let me protect you."

You smile and rest your hands on his biceps. "I always rely on you, Ace."

He nods before leaning in to kiss you, but his kiss is nearly all teeth.

————— ୨୧ —————

Want to keep up with your favorite characters? Join my tag list to be notified as soon as I post something new!

🏷: @slurp-imagines @kristaline2dmensimp @cipher-p0 @undercoverweeb @aykxz98 @Ryzio @lavenderkaye106 @chimooky @bolinhodadestruicao

[sailorspica]

reijean v-day 💝⚔️

see vee's prompt graphic for this. i tag anyone in any fandom, i want to hear about your OTP!!

💝 favorite canon scene:

these panels in the 57th scouting expedition right here.

in the anime the only internal monologue we get is from jearmin, which is a big rewatch tell of oh shit! why are reiner's thoughts private (armored hehe). but the ONE time, ONE time we get reiner's thoughts in this arc in the manga... it's about jean. and it's not like he takes over narration like armin did when he encounters annie alone, or like jean does once these three meet up. it's just one stray 💭 of "jean really... is different."

sure, other characters note jean's maturity since joining the corps, but recognition from reiner stands out here as a vote of confidence from marcel!reiner, AND four years later: when he still describes jean as "an irresponsible jerk who only ever thought of himself," even though reiner knows first hand that jean grew so, so much after trost. and it's his fault.

💝 a song that reminds you of them:

i previously posted SASAMI's I Was a Window, but another one that screams reijean to me is Till Death by Japanese Breakfast. briefly, it's about marriage, but she wrote a whole book about the context that this song and her relationship come from, which i highly recommend.

so many images in it are so post-rumbling to me: "get these days to go by like the swaying of a ship," (the studio recording starts with ocean sounds); "sing me to sleep, soothe this insomnia"; "your embrace healing my wounds / teach me to breathe, teach me to move." the beginning of verse 2, "steering on hostile waves of panic, like fighting a wheel that pulls to the right" makes me think of a later jbrekkie song, Slide Tackle, which IS reiner.

💝 favorite official picture/graphic:

back to back on the vol. 32 alliance cover baby!!

💝 favorite fanfic:

i have to say two:

vermin by @oxygenbefore1775: delicious cadet days, delicious fucked up time in reiner POV, delicious, smart tangling with the technological/material/cultural gaps between the walls and the rest of the world. how much of RBA's deep cover is culture shock? the total lack of guile jean has while running roughshod over the land mines in reiner's head with just "bunny." god.

from shiganshina with love by @fromriches-tosin: this is really the one that lured me in. it feels like a locked room, three-hander play, when even being in the wide open air (well, not reiner) is claustrophobic because two characters are intertwined and dug into one another. and as someone who has inhaled shelves' worth of eruri fic and doujinshi, vee's levi is one of my favorites.

💝 favorite fanart:

oh, this and everything by @mikibagels. one thing about reijean that goes so hard is jean's growth spurt, cadet and post-rumbling reijean both have height difference. similar vein, @valmendy illustrating reiner's flirting from never let me go: "i feel like i missed out on my little brother growing up." hello???

💝 why i ship:

i binged the anime so late, just in time for season 4, and when the finale came out i could hardly think of anything other than "we're scouts, we don't know when to quit."

back in my day (i'm turning 27 this month), one dude beating up another in shounen launched a ship, a fleet of ships, and kept it afloat for years, but yams gave us their more obvious, huge interactions in the last... fifteen chapters. but there's so much history between them that screams to be noticed on initial reread and rewatch: the reijearmin (horrendous throuple name) date that was the female titan arc, that jean keeps his cool when the 104th hop on the armored as reibert and ymir try to flee, the whole return to shiganshina, the echo i come back to of "the jean kirchstein i know only thinks of himself."

with jean's OVA, they're the characters whose moms we see the most of besides carla jaeger??? the difference between karina and jean's mother is vast, yet their sons turned out so similar, despite it all. so caring, so haunted by that care. jean takes his leadership in the post-time skip survey corps so seriously, he agonizes over his field leadership in trost, while reiner feels like he killed marcel and bertolt and doomed annie, and in his lowest, lowest moments still manages to protect and worry for falco and gabi.

also, another big why: you people. this is such a cozy pontoon. 😘 happy valentine's day!!!

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓸 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱! ♡

Hello everyone! ♡

I just want to start off by saying thank you to everyone who enjoys my work, whether it be my x Reader content or my OC's ♡ I appreciate it so so much!

I honestly can't believe that I'm almost at 200 followers, especially since I still have Cathie Cafe orders left to fulfill from my 100 follower celebration (which I apologize about the wait! Please know that your orders are coming ♡)

I just want to take a moment to mention some of my dear friends and mutuals (so if you don't wish to be tagged, please let me know!)

@midnightmah07 - Mah, you were one of the very first people I met on Tumblr, and one of my first friends too. I can't thank you enough for your friendship and constant support! You're an amazingly talented artist, with OC's and OC x canon's that I just adore! Your encouragement and kind words is one of the reasons why Ruggie is the character I've written the most stories for lol ♡

@scint1llat3 / @crystallizsch - Ian, I feel you're probably one of the people I'm closest with (besides Mah) and I am so grateful to be your friend. You're so encouraging and kind, and talking with you is so much fun! I can't thank you enough for your friendship. I love your OC's, and you are such an incredibly talented artist! I tend to write more for Jamil now, and I'm sure you know why lol ♡

@skriblee-ksk - Kris, you have been a supporter of mine for such a long time, even before we ever officially spoke to each other. I noticed you would always like my work, and I appreciated it so much! I can't thank you enough for your constant support, and I'm so glad we started talking and became friends! You're a wonderful person and artist, and I hope to support you just as much as you have for me ♡

@boopshoops - Shoopy, thank you for being so welcoming! Your care for others (whether it be their work, OC's, etc) is so genuine and kind, and you're an incredibly talented artist. Your OC's are amazing, and I feel very grateful to have you as a mutual ♡

@cheerleaderman - Jan, thank you so much for your support! You're so kind, and an amazing artist! Your OC's are all incredible, and you're such a talented artist. It's always a joy whenever I see you pop up on my dash, and I'm grateful to have you as a mutual ♡ (Idia enjoyers have to stick together lol ♡)

@demonichikikomori - I know we haven't really spoken much recently, but thank you so much for your friendship D! It's so much fun to have someone to talk Utapri, Hypmic, and Charisma House with! You're an incredibly talented writer and artist. I can't wait to play the new Utapri game when it comes out soon, and we can add each other as friends! ♡

@nicoliharu - Coli, you were another person I met early on, and I can't thank you enough for your friendship. You're such an incredibly talented artist, and so kind. You're so encouraging, and I appreciate it so so much ♡

@offorestsongs - Thank you so much for your support, Algy! Your OC's and OC x canon's are great, and I love learning about them! You're such a talented artist, and I'm so glad we're mutuals! Thank you so much for enjoying my work ♡

@br3adtoasty - I know we don't really talk, but thank you for being mutuals with me! You're an amazing artist, and I love your OC's so much! It's so fun learning about them, and it always makes me so happy whenever you pop up on my dash. I'm honored to be mutuals with you ♡

@stationerykid / @selfinserttothestars - Again, I know we don't really talk, but I love your art!! You're so talented, and the way you draw characters I just ADORE! It always makes me so happy whenever you pop up on my dash, and I'm so honored to be mutuals with you ♡

@cakeheavenly999, @justm3di0cr3, @viilpstick, @kimetsu-chan - You're all very talented, and I thank you very much for being mutuals with me ♡

Again, thank you everyone for your support! I am very honored and grateful that so many people enjoy my work ♡♡♡

Thank you! ♡

[sotwk]

Hi! What character do you think most people get wrong? Or what’s a character that you see differently than most other fans?

Hi Elleth! What a great question--and the kind of topic I'm amazed anyone wants to hear my opinion on!

I'm of the belief that there is no wrong way to write fanfiction or headcanons. I support creative freedom in all fandoms, even in one so "classic" and "high literature" as Tolkien's work. We all have a right to our own takes, interpretations, and AUs, as long as it's all done for fun and love of the original content!

Some takes on characters are more popular, some are less popular, and that's all there is.

I'm one of those writers who tend to be more canon-compliant and less "out-of-the-box" creative, whether in Tolkien or any other fandom. I guess my Type-A mind likes having a structure and "rules" to work with! I like to tweak things here and there to please myself, usually by "saving" doomed characters, but for the most part, I tend to run with what Professor Tolkien wrote and fill in the blanks as best as I could.

What do I see differently from most other fans?

I'm probably in the minority regarding Thranduil's "once in an immortal lifetime" love for his wife, his Elvenqueen, the mother of his children.

The "Eldar marry only once" custom, as described in the "Laws and Customs of the Eldar", is one that I personally subscribe to for my Elven characters, but perhaps even the most for Thranduil.

Not only does Thranduil have zero desire to marry again after the death of his wife, but he never takes interest in anyone else romantically, passionately, or sexually, ever again. Most writers enjoy giving him a second chance at love by having him fall for and/or marry someone else, and that's totally valid, but I personally don't envision that for his character.

In my mind, Thranduil in his youth was disinterested in romance, and perfectly content with staying unmarried for his immortal life. But then he met Maereth, who changed almost everything he believed about his own purpose and destiny. He saw her as his life partner, someone meant to exist alongside him and he beside her, forever, whether on Middle-earth or Aman. That's how he explained the deep affinity and immutable love he felt for this lady, anyway. She was simply irreplaceable.

Thranduil is arrogant, self-assured, and supremely confident in his attractiveness, and combining this with this extroverted, mischievous nature means he tends to be a playful flirt. But he views love as the most serious of matters, and the giving of one's heart as nothing to be trifled with.

Another unpopular take of mine is that Thranduil is not lustful or easily sexually attracted to others. He did not even feel that desire for Maereth until he had already known her for a few centuries. While their marriage included a healthy sex life that begot many children by Elven standards, without Maereth, Thranduil's interest in sex disappears entirely (again aligning with what was written in LACE).

Although I wholeheartedly agree that Thranduil is a sexy character, I suppose I just don't view his character as actually being very sexual. (Hopefully that makes sense?) There is more than enough to preoccupy him with his many duties: standing guard against The Enemy, serving his people as a good king, caring for his wife, and raising his children and grandchildren well.

SotWK Fancast: Jennifer Connelly as Elvenqueen Maereth

I could certainly write countless essays about how much Thranduil loved Maereth, but goodness, I really need to actually write STORIES about it! Part of my writer's block is probably intimidation, since I feel I have to justify Thranduil's eternal devotion to this one special person. What a lady she must be! He certainly must have had many good reasons to love her so dearly!

Receiving Asks certainly helps motivate me, so thank you again for this great question and giving me a chance to share my thoughts!

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[dirty-bosmer]

The very talented @sheirukitriesfandom came up with this writing game. Thank you so much for the tag! I'm finally recovered enough from my trip to take a stab at all the tag-games I've missed. It was both nice and a bit challenging to revisit my old works. Forgot a lot of what I had written, honestly 😅

Tagging: @atypicalacademic @justafoxhound @elavoria @kookaburra1701 @nuwanders @thequeenofthewinter @skyrim-forever @gilgamish @chennnington @throughtrialbyfire @thana-topsy @mareenavee @paraparadigm @ladytanithia @nine-blessed-hero @wispstalk @sylvienerevarine @expended-sleeper

And as always no pressure if you're not feeling it. Also consider yourself tagged if you see this and are interested in joining in :D

The rules are to share:

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

lmao I don't think humor is a strength of mine, so I combed through very briefly and pulled at the first thing I saw that made me snort.

Mathieu swore he'd had conversations of more substance with mudcrabs while five brandies deep, and yet it always fascinated him how little his Speaker could say in so many words.

(from The Illusionist Part 2)

A line from your fic that makes you sad

If she could hold the quill steady, she would write it ten times over. She’d say, I miss doing nothing with you, being nothing but with you. If nothing were as blissful as those hours spent beside you, perhaps I wouldn’t fear it so.

(from The Illusionist Part 2)

A line from your fic you're proud of

The Midyear sun blazed high and proud above Kvatch. Below, the city scrambled on. Another Midyear, another Middas. Magnus rose, its ascent resolute.

(it's actually the first line of The Illusionist Part 1, and it has surprisingly remained unchanged since my first iteration of the fic??? Unfathomable to me lol)

A line from your fic you think could have been better

Only one? 😅 Truth is, I'm perpetually editing old chapters, so I could pretty much insert the entire series of The Illusionist here.

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character

Lucien gurgled or perhaps chortled, then spat out a mouthful of blood. “I thought you preferred silence, dear Sister.”

(Lucien sucks so baaaaddd and I get progressively meaner to him, sorry. Kinda hate what I've done to him, but he is a loser and someone has to bully him, and the burden so happened to fall upon me 🤷‍♀️)

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww'

Nim's hair draped around his face, shielding him from the dancing flames of the brazier, and when Raminus closed his eyes, she was the only light that existed in all of Mundus, brilliant and blinding. 

(Crying about my nerd Raminus Polus, what's new.)

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism

The shop windows taunt him from his periphery, but he will pass one hundred more if that’s what it takes to prove his presence. His footfalls are heavy. He persists, learns how to walk again, how to exert his body upon the world if only to feel it press up against his feet. 

(From Treacle)

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

“If we’re such pious servants, then why does Nana always speak of the Daedra as though she drinks with them every Fredas?”

From Slither and Writhe. It is referencing an OC of mine so idk if its really an easter egg, but I just think it's funny how the protagonists in TES games go about collecting daedric artifacts like they're halloween candy.

A line from your fic that's shocking

And if her mother had only been more inquisitive about her work, she’d know the difference between the stench of decay and fouled wounds and that of flesh mending itself together beneath fresh stitches and salves that Sylawen lathered on diligently with deft fingers everyday.

(from Slither and Writhe. A lot of lines in that fic are kind of er... gross 😅 It is about a necromancer, after all)

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

Abrim is gilded in the torch flame. Every part of him is a different shade of brown such that Scar-Tail needs only look at him in flickering light to feel he’s travelled all of Tamriel’s woods, seen every kind of tree there is.

Ramble time. While trying to describe this character, I was thinking of my uncles, how dark their complexion, how different the shades of brown are in their skin, their eyes, their hair. Growing up as a latina I used to find brown so boring and so common because I was preoccupied with a set of beauty standards that women in my community paraded about, only to realize they were full of internalized colorism :D Anyway, that was a decade ago, and there's this line I remember reading, and I have no idea where from— somos el color de la tierra, we are the color of the earth, and I think more people should be romanticizing brown because it's so diverse and so beautiful 💕