#it was so accurate to the point of being creepy

[roz-boz]

Funny how after every "qUIrKy rELaTaBLe" protagonists I've read about in YA books the only character I was able to relate to on a personal level was James Herondale from TLH

[toytulini]

you know whats more annoying than dems calling vance and trump weird is all the condescending posts justifying it actually. like im a bit annoyed about "weird" being used this way but also like man if it fucking works i guess

but do i have to keep seeing daily posts exhaustively justifying how normie midwesterners use weird different or whatever the fuck man just shut up and call them weird then, stop justifying it to me

[shizdrone]

realised that as all of my irl friends fear me in tabletop games. even after all of this time, i am still successfully following in shizune's footsteps. next comes getting them into risk. australia will be mine

[michaela-o]

Random things i think Cybertronians would find adorable about humans ~♡

1. Humans getting spooked by random loud noises because humans are naturally very jumpy about loud noises

Imagine:

you're sitting over at Swerve's bar, just chatting, having your drink on the counter Swerve let you sit on, because your makeshift little table and chair are work in progress. Suddenly some bot decides to honk their horn near you which makes you yelp and jump (like cats when they get scared of cucumber) which makes you almost spilling the drink as you were about to take a sip.

The whole bar stops and laughs at you. You just look at the bot who did it with the most unimpressed look ever (ㅍ_ㅍ)

2. Watching you stretch yourself because Cybertroniams aren't as flexible as humans

3. Sleeping

this may sound a bit creepy but from what i saw Cybertroniams sleep very eerily still and almost never move when they're in recharge because they're very vulnerable when doing so. So i think when they have their first sleepover with a human and they happen to fall asleep sooner and they start to either sleep walk or sleep talk (which fun fact, i do a lot ( -᷄ ᎑ -᷅ ) ) the bots would look in utter confusion like- "ya all don't stay still?? How???" I think Cybertronians would also find cute how groggy humans are when they wake up and them needing proper time to load into the world around them. Oh god and wait till they hear about the weird ass dreams humans can have or humans trying to explain déjà vu to a bot💀

(makes me think of Sunder being frustrated bc he wouldn't be able to get into a human's brain😝)

4. Physical Clumsiness

The occasional clumsiness and lack of precision in human movements. I think a lot of bots would find this very amusing to occasionaly watch since Cybertronias are typically more coordinated and precise in their actions. Like imagine bot walking with a human who let's say just woke up earlier to a meeting and are slowly walking around occasionaly hitting themeselves or their arm with a corner of a wall because their sleepy processor didn't calculate the trajectory good enough. I think they would find this rather adorable (๑´>᎑<)

5. Emotional Reactions

Yes i think humans are way more sensitive than Cybertronians are. Human's exaggerated emotional reactions to minor events, like getting overly excited about a sports game or being deeply upset by a small mishap, could be seen as amusingly disproportionate. Like imagine you drop your favourite mug on the floor and it breaks as much as your heart in that moment. You walk around the ship super sad, like a kicked puppy, and the bots can almost feel the sadness dripping off of you so they ask: "Hey uh- you okay?"

And then you proceed to explain that you broke your favourite mug and that you'll never find a mug similar to your favourite one. The bot stares like ಠ_ಠ. Oh so that's the reason? Okay so apparently humans don't pack bond with only random things that are alive but even with things that aren't.

6. The uncanny valley effect

I think bots would find rather fascinating how human brain responds to this phenomenon. Like- the human brain can feel that something is off and can't be fooled. Imagine holoforms in Cybertronians. Like yeah they can look very appealing but only up to a certain point which when that point is reached it tickles that one part of the human brain which tells us "na-a-ah something ain't right"

At one point they wanted to wtiness this in real life so some bots (Percy, Brainstorm) made a set up of holoforms and real looking hologram of humans and waited for you to figure out which unsettles you the most. They were surprised that you were 100% accurate in this and that you were able to tell which one are holoforms and which aren't.

7. Expressions of Wonder

the awe and wonder in the human eyes when we are encountering something new or beautiful, such as a breathtaking landscape or a technological marvel. I think Cybertronians would find this pretty adorable, very innocent and reflective of our curious nature.

8. Human Fragility

I think the most popular one. The general physical fragility of humans, along with our tendency to bandage minor injuries or get flustered over small pains, might be viewed as cutely vulnerable for many Cybertronians.

Feel free to add anything you'd like !!😄🫶🏻🫶🏻

[sant-riley]

[Random Task force 141 × gen z! member headcanons]

A/N: Reader goes by the codename Teddy in my writing! Along with she/her pronouns :) I am also extremely biased with Ghost so her main pairing is more towards with him compared to the others <3. I know absolutely nothing about the military so this is not accurate I am so sorry💀.

CWs: Dark Humor, Age gaps, Simping, crude humor, cursing. (not sure what else but lmk!)

Chances are, you're the youngest in the entirety of Task Force 141. Just a good couple of years younger than Gaz.

When Laswell brought her in to meet the group, they couldn't help but stare at her in confusion. A tiny girl who couldn't have been older than any of them. Soap couldn't help but chuckle while Ghost nudged him in the side to shut him up.

"This is your new rookie on the team, her callsign is Teddy. Treat her well."

All the men nodded, watching the younger woman shyly smile and wave towards them.

First they realized that her humor was, in Ghost's words, fucked.

Any minor inconvenience had her saying she wanted to be hit by a car or some type of bodily harm, Price quickly whirling around with eyes widened. "Now, I don't think that warranted that kind of response, don't you think?" "Oh it definitely did, Captain." And she'd walk away without another word.

He swears he gets gray hairs from everytime you make casual talk of you dying. He actively tells the others to check on you bc he genuinely don't know if you're serious or not.

Ghost is not up to date with shit, man uses no social medias oncesoever so everything she spouts is wildly out of pocket. References to basic things like tiktok, Twitter, Instagram? He just silently stares at you like you're on drugs. You can't really use your personal phone on base but you try your best to explain memes to him. He sighs and rubs his forehead with a groan of "I'm too old for this shit, teds." "Oh come on! You have to at LEAST know the meme about the marines eating crayons!" "What the fuck are you on about?

The only ones who know vaguely what the fuck you're on about sometimes are Gaz and Soap, despite them still being a few years older.

Granted, they are not caught up with everything but they actively make it a point on leave to try and be up to date bc of you and your mannerisms. Plus it makes you happy when they fire back a quote they learned.

Can yall imagine Soap on tiktok, what random shit he'd have on his fyp bc he doesn't know how the algorithm works 😭.

Teddy has made every single one of them a personal playlist when she does have her phone, Soap once caught her adding songs and hasn't stopped teasing her since. Price and Ghost pretend not to care and barks at Soap to leave her alone but they're equally curious. Ghost contemplates stealing her phone to see it.

Doesn't matter how serious or dark their job may be, you simp for fictional characters, loudly. Price has learned to tune it out, Ghost although slightly jealous, finds it endearing, Gaz and Soap indulge you and will actively ask about why you like the characters you do and how much you love them bc they like to see you excited. It's a nice feeling when they're always in life or death missions.

You're the smallest one in here okay, everyone can easily throw you without batting an eye so they all take turns training you! They all despite knowing you can take care of yourself, would still like to teach you all they know so should you come against a taller/stronger opponent, you'll be okay.

You are the most protected person in the entire squad, esp when going out for drinks, Ghost will put you in the middle between him and Price and basically make a wall of muscle around you. He says he doesn't care and that he just doesn't want to be pestered by creepy people coming up to you but he will literally stare down any man or woman who even tries. He is the creepy one in everyone else's scenario. Soap just laughs and tosses back his drink.

They all notice your ticks and tells, seeing your leg start to shake when you're anxious, when you start cracking your fingers when you're restless, how you will avoid eye contact at any cost. They start to find ways to soothe you in their own ways. Price will give you a pat on your shoulder, sending you a smile.

Gaz nudges you with his body to take your attention off the situation, or he'll simply start asking you random dumbass questions just to see your face change.

Soap will, if he has gotten permission before, just pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, running around with you while you scream for him to let you go. Is also not against tickling you straight up to get you to smile.

Ghost tried to be as subtle as he can be. If yall are sitting close to each other, he'll make sure some part of his body is gently pressed against yours. Whether it be his foot, thigh, hand, some part of him will ground you. You try and reassure him that you know he doesn't care for personal touch but he just says to shut up.

Meeting Graves was a trip, for everyone involved besides you and Grave. Absolutely having no control over calling him a irl Fix it Felix. You were on Graves shitlist and honestly you wouldn't be surprised he betrayed yall for that one comment bc of how angry it made him.

Constantly being told to be quiet, but you cannot help it and will make little quips over comms. Ghost takes after you and starts to say horrible "dad" jokes that make you choke trying to hold back. Soap hates both of you and calls you unfunny.

They realize you're impulsive, especially when you show the amount of tattoos you have.

"I joined the military to fund my tattoo addiction." "You know what? That's not even a surprise."

Going home on leave is always a bitter experience, you never look excited to go home. So one of the guys (usually ghost) will offer you to come with them. It helps 3/4 all live somewhere in England so it's easy to see them/ take trips to their place.

They're all attached despite knowing better. They can't help it and they know they care for you so much more than other force members.

Ghost and Soap bristle when Alejandro makes a mention that he'd offer you a spot in his team, impressed with how you can take opponents twice your size.

"¿Te interesaría quedarte en México?"

"The Hell she will."

-

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!

[irndad]

Oh my gosh!!! Don’t date coworkers was so cute!!! Would you be willing to do one similar with Hotch? <3

It shouldn’t bother him.

Aaron thinks of himself as someone who adores professional candor, and wishes that his team possessed it in spades. It’s not as though she is professional in almost any other aspect. She excels in personality, and if he had any shame, it would be harder for Aaron to admit what an actual delight she is to his daily life. 

She’s kind, in a way that he’s found is rare in this world. Asks about Jack, remembers what coursework he’s struggling in and remembers to ask. She knows his coffee order, which she ascertained from reading the cup. He’s quite fond of her. David is always telling him that life is short and that any girl would be lucky to date him. In less polite terms. 

She’s beautiful. 

She’s all soft smiles and warm disposition, and she’s easy to like. She’s always the first to anticipate your needs, and Aaron can picture how he’d slot into her life, a part of him can see what it would be like to pick her up in his lavish car and drive her to the office, spend the weekends basking in her company. He’d be a good partner- he’d known how, once, and he’d try for her. 

She doesn’t date people she works with. 

The fantasy has gone too far in many ways- a version of life in his mind that lingers. She has morning ritual, and he knows it’s a little creepy he watches it from the perch of his office. She pins her hair up and puts on a coat of her lipstick, before she inevitably forgets she’s wearing it, and leaves a lip-print on her cup. It’s hard not to imagine it with her sat on his kitchen counter. 

But he knows this is a boundary of hers- and even though it’s just in his fantasies, it feels…well, wrong to fantasize about her like that. He’d heard her loud and clear, telling officer Berbrook that she makes a point not to date anyone in the Bureau. It’s arrogant to think he’d be an exception. 

This morning, she’s earlier than he’s ever seen her in the office. She’s got big, wraparound headphones and a skirt on, and two cups. She’d gotten him coffee. He might burst. He speaks out her last name when she realizes he’s in the room, and internally, a warmth blooms in his chest at the wide open smile she grants him. 

“Hi, you!”

“You’re in early.”

“Mm,” she says, her mouth still full of coffee, endearingly eager, “I know, but that coffee shop you love had fritters, and I thought you’d like one.”

Off limits. He feels his eyebrows scrunch into a frown before he speaks. 

“You didn’t have to do that. 

“No one has to do anything. I wanted to. There’s two in there, one for Jack. They keep well.”

A completely ridiculously short amount of time passes before he’s able to speak again, or more accurately as Garcia would put it, word-vomit. 

“I heard officer Berbrook asked you out. That is absolutely inappropriate- would you like me to handle it?”

“Nah,” she says back, “It’s all good.”

“Morgan told me that you have a policy of never dating anyone you work with-“

“I said that about Berbrook, Hotch. It’s not like, an off-limits thing.” She looks down at her feet. Her shoes are green, Aaron notices, helplessly endeared, “y’know, with the right person…I wouldn’t want to close that door, do you know what I mean?”

Her doe eyes peer up at him, and he knows that she’s hear 30 minutes before anyone else is just to be able to get him food, telling him that she’s open to dating coworkers, and once upon a time he could’ve taken a fucking hint. 

In his younger years, when he was bolder and better able to ask for the things he wants, he might’ve asked her out right then. Might have run him and made a dinner reservation, somewhere with candle-light for an evening that would end with her being kissed against a wall or a car. 

But for now, he takes a bite of his fritter and makes some plans. If he’s got a shot with her, that’s a revelation that’s going to need some intense planning and preparing for. He’d like to woo her, if that’s something he could ever get to do. 

“Good fritter.”

“I know, right?” 

[elizabethrobertajones]

kriles summer trust top is kinda problematic tho... lalafell r smol and should be wholesome.

Aw, come on.

I'm sorry but I have to disagree because within the fiction, lalafell are just as mean, gross and horny as anyone else. Gegeruju is a perv, and the whole Ul'dah Syndicate is full of evil little bastards. On the good side, lala are just as complex and grown up as anyone else - Tataru courts followers and dances in a skimpy outfit in the Forgotten Knight, Giott is a roaring drunk stereotypical fantasy dwarf (not to mention whatever the heck is going on with the Tomra and Komra dwarves in general tbh :P). And Lamitt's story was sweet but it did involve her having adult feelings for Ardbert.

Like, really, I can only think of 4 completely wholesome lala out of a cast of hundreds, and they happen to mostly be the ones we've interacted with a lot (Nanamo; Pipin who is a Heroic Knight archetype; Papalymo, who was a grumpy old scholar man; Krile). But that's more about them being main characters serving roles in the narrative rather than indicative of how lalas behave as a whole. In fact after going through ARR, meeting Pipin and finding One Good Ul'dahn Lala is an enormous relief (since the other one is apparently dead now).

And Krile is a main character now so she's allowed to step out of the shadow of being uwu cat hoodie girl who wasn't written with much depth outside of being serious and earnest and rather spooky; she's actually 22 years old according to the first wiki I found - regardless of if that's totally accurate she's definitely meant to be a peer of the other adult Scions and they all treat her like an adult. Her introduction cutscene has her ribbing Alphy as an older friend laughing at how a much younger one used to behave, so we're supposed to immediately understand on meeting her that she's post-teen since she knew 11 year old Alphy and was of course older than him since he was a freak entry into the Studium at that age. Probably a necessary writing moment because establishing lala's age with hilarious moustaches or deep voices or whatever is a part of how the game has to present them.

Out of the fiction, I know lalas are part of a much wider trope that people do find problematic as a whole (e.g. just because in universe Tataru has babes across the globe and that's normal to everyone involved, who are consenting adults in a world which wholly understands Tataru as a consenting adult, is it actually really creepy that it's happening at all because her body type is toddler-esque? Is it weird in general that lala emotes are SO baby in the same way miqo emotes are SO kitty?

ffxiv definitely goes waaay further into borderline creepy territory than many games with smaller fantasy races in it, when it comes to how lala look, so yeah I know it's a fraught area and can be discomforting to see the game present child-shaped people as having adult desires and a thing some people understandably set aside along with other elements as things they're not happy with co-existing in the game with things they really love.) We can absolutely talk about that on a meta level of how we relate to the game and feel about it, just like things we find racist or uncomfortable in other ways e.g. eng translation Hien's treatment of Yotsuyu being a really problematic point.

But, that's one thing, versus talking about us here in fandom and how we relate to it, and I think your ask is, well, really not very deeply considered on any level, but I think is talking about how we as fandom relate to lalas, based on an inaccurate reading of them in the game, meaning you're really not even analysing a thing about it and therefore your ask comes more in the terms of policing how we should FEEL about Krile's beach outfit, and dictating that we SHOULD find lalas smol and wholesome, and that therefore there's an inherent problem in anyone reacting positively to the outfit, rather than critiquing its place in the game in the first place. Having hit a cognitive dissonance in seeing swimsuit Krile existing you've come to me to complain it's problematic rather than taking any actual meaningful action. Ergo, this is a fandom problem to you, not a game problem. WE should find it problematic and say so, you are implying, shocked that so many people looked at a post about the beach outfits and no one commented as such.

Aside from lalafell being fictional and at no point other than the visuals are they treated as children (and emotes aside, playing through the MSQ as a lala wol you easily fall into seeing them as an adult because of course all the cutscenes share the same level of gravitas no matter what you're playing or what clown costume you have on any player), there ARE actually real humans who are built somewhere closer to lala than not, and would be drawn to playing any of the smaller races in a game (like, gnomes in WoW, halflings in D&D, etc) because that's just their chance at representation. And because FFXIV doesn't have anything other than precious moments doll-shaped people the look might be great in the sense that they have the proportions of a cherub statue and it is a lot harder to meet in the middle than a halfling (notoriously hairy middle aged bastards and much easier to read as adult, though that doesn't exclusively represent people who've had growth developmental differences), that IS still the only representative option some people have in the game and if they want to indulge it rather than play something else with proportions forced on them by many games, then what the hell is wrong with that?

And they WILL go to bat for lalas and get upset when people say that they have to be precious baby characters who act like children. I've seen that on tumblr: there's a whole lala community who keeps kinda low key and away from everyone else by their own admission BECAUSE as soon as they get too much attention they're deluged with hate for playing characters who have adult desires and dress fancy - or, you know, like any other random slutty elf WoL. The fact I wandered onto lala blogs at random and saw that complaint on the first pages should speak to how often they have to deal with it. And, again, within the fiction of the game their characters are completely 100% normal and doing what other lalas who are written by the game do as well. I KNOW those blogs are out there and they'd be scared of getting this exact ask, and it would greatly upset them and ruin their day and put them off having any interaction with the community, which fucking sucks. We're here to have fun!

That said I'm not a weirdo anti all up in others' business, it's also fine to just like lalas and stuff without some huge circumstantial justification like "they look like me" - or - "my IRL wife" or whatever - you can also just play a lala or ship with one and it's like, your business. If that's all you're doing and it's not a hypothetical child molester who also has a whole gallery of lala porn that the cops find when they impound the computer full of REAL CHILDREN stuff as well it's never going to be anyone else's business anyway, ever, and that's like, one hypothetical awful person for a whole fandom of normies who are just surprised by how much idk Pipin's deep voice rocked their world and changed their whole perspective on what a hot character was.

Like, granted, that one HYPOTHETICAL weirdo will make everything rancid because there are people waiting to jump on people who like lalas, but also it still won't actually change what other people are doing into being Evil just because someone who actually hurts children found lalas attractive too. That, again, was the hypothetical awful person's problem and not theirs. And in no way can we just casually imply ALL people who like lalas are just inherently going to be dangerous, like real children, or enacting a private psychodrama teetering on the edge of all that.

They could in fact be completely average and boring psychologically and also have a crush on Tataru. Or, I guess, normal amount of weird for a fandom, but basically average XD In a fictional world where these characters are treated as adults, even normal people will naturally end up drawn to them as adults because, well, that's the story that's we're all engaging in. It's not inherently a thought crime to do so, because, weirdly, thought crimes don't exist.

Also, of course, people will literally discourse that hobbits are child-coded and shouldn't be shipped or seen as sexy, despite the most famous halflings, who made the entire halfling race as a generic brand, all being middle aged, hairy, smoking, drinking, guys with normal adult desires and mindsets. I mean yeah Elijah Wood was 18 when they started filming LotR (over several years so he was Krile's age by the end :P) but also Frodo celebrated his 40th birthday before setting off on the Ring Quest in the book and he was the baby of the group aside from Pippin.

In any case, there's no fucking winning and so I can understand completely that if a fucking Hobbit from Lord of the Rings gets shit for being short, and people are getting called a perv for fancying Sam Gamgee, then why not just embrace it with a Lalafell because you're literally damned no matter what in the eyes of someone who won't meet a LOTR HOBBIT where he stands as an adult man.

There's some DEEP puritanical brainrot going on online and I don't want to be a part of it whatsoever, so it means accepting lala likers for the sake of protecting Merry and Pippin's right to be seen as hot, than like, I know which side of of the line I'm dragging my beach chair. It's not even a question. I'm defending people who think lalas are appealing.

ANYWAY none of this is my business, I don't even find lalas sexy, I just think Krile looks nice in her cute summer top and it's lovely that she's getting fashion advice from her besties, and there's a million reasons to be happy about that and for her as a character, and only miserable bastard reasons to go "aurgh aurgh it's problematic" and condemn the game and everyone who plays it just for enjoying something. Lalas are NOT smol and wholesome, they're short and people, and that's fine.

[randombush3]

(extremely talented, creative) stalker

alexia putellas x reader

based on this and a poem from when i was little. i chose alexia because she fit the character more and i rushed this immensely because i was being pestered for attention by multiple creatures. oh and i went for something decently light-hearted bc these hozier fics have been affecting my soul and ruining my spotify daylists.

happy monday people x

p.s. not proof-read because it's lunchtime and i'm hungry (edit: i just did my proof-read now and i've realised that it was in fact not lunchtime??? it was past lunchtime and i was just zoned out!)

Alexia doesn’t care much for art. Sure, she admires the effort, the time such talent sits behind a canvas and marks something that was once blank until others begin to value it. She agrees with the masses about the beauty of quaint watercolour paintings of the coast, and she lets Mapi rave about charcoal and graphite and oils as if she understands what is so special about the varying media. 

She knows she is only here today because the art is about sports. The gallery seems almost reluctant to allow the athletes in, worried they have brought with them their football boots and cones to dribble around, but it would be bad practice to prohibit the muses from the collection. She isn’t an idiot, though, and she knows that no amount of forced reading about the artist and other sophisticated matters will slip her seamlessly into the crowd. 

There are lots of people; people she has never heard of, but make it clear they are far superior to her by the way in which their eyes politely drop to the tattoos inked onto her calloused hands. Their skin is soft, accustomed to the stems of crystal champagne flutes, and the drawings that hold so much personal meaning to the footballer are scrutinised to the point of silent… offence.  

So much for appreciators of art, she thinks to herself, counting down the minutes until it is acceptable for her to leave. 

With a huff and a vow to never – no matter how much she earns – forget where she has come from, Alexia staggers, uncomfortable in these particular heels, towards the painting she deems easiest to understand. 

It is the largest in the room: deep, crimson reds on top of familiar greens, streaks of gold falling out of a ponytail. 

Call Alexia egotistical, but anyone would be drawn to a painting of themselves. 

The artist has done a good job, she guesses, not entirely sure if there is a deeper meaning behind the grass stains on her socks or the crumpled shading of her Spain jersey. It is a little creepy that someone she does not know has captured her likeness so expertly, so practised. 

“The nose isn’t quite right,” a voice says beside her. 

Alexia turns in surprise, amused enough by the stranger’s observation to examine her painted face, eyes not drawn from how majestic her image is beginning to seem. She sees no obvious issue, and so she replies, “I think it’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

She is still staring at herself, now impressed by the grandeur of the painting; its size, its quality. “Well, I am unsure how someone painted me so accurately when I was never called in for a… I don’t know, a consultation? And it seems a little weird to me that my hair is loose, because I tend to slick it back so it doesn’t fall out of my ponytail, and, you know, I always have something written on my boots, but otherwise, it’s fine. I doubt anyone here has ever watched a football match, so none of this will matter to them.” 

“It doesn’t bother you that someone might pay millions for a painting that you have deemed not-quite-right?” 

The voice is somewhat too interested, and suddenly Alexia swivels around to face its owner properly, worried she has spoken her mind to a journalist. 

“Those millions go to a charity that will improve women’s sports every–” 

You are definitely not a journalist, although once, when art really wasn’t paying, you had off-handedly typed out a few articles for one of the bigger galleries. 

Alexia knows you are not a journalist because you are dressed to be in front of the cameras, not behind them. 

Your hands hang by your sides, but in a rather unnatural manner as though you are itching to do something else, and she is briefly overcome by the horror that you seem elegant enough to be a potential buyer. Has she put you off? 

“Oh,” you interrupt, “don’t be so profound. Sometimes you footballers sound like change-making machines.” 

“There is change to be made,” she responds indignantly. 

“Hence the exhibition,” you allow with a little smirk, nodding towards the rest of the room. Although the biggest of the collection, you had asked for your painting to be displayed in the corner; a filter, in a sense, to ensure no one throws money at the largest thing in the room just because they can. “It creeps you out to be painted?” 

The question is curious, but Alexia no longer feels like she has been caged in an interrogation room. 

She thinks about her answer for a moment, torn between returning to gaze at the expanse of the scene in front of her or staring at you, wondering if you count as one of the works of art on display. 

“I have never met the artist,” she explains neutrally. You laugh, and it sounds infused with champagne and nervousness. “What? It’s like having a stalker. An extremely talented, creative stalker, but someone who studies me in secret nonetheless.” 

“No, I understand. She must have researched you until the ends of the Earth.” 

“The artist is a woman?” She isn’t sure she is surprised, but she asks you anyway, wanting to anchor you to the spot. 

“Alexia, this is an exhibition for women’s sports.” Your point is valid, but you have said her name and she is far more intrigued by the way that had sounded to praise you for your intelligence. You let out an airy breath and click your tongue. “I’d even say, given by the way she has painted you from the back, that the artist fancies you.”

“It’s the squats,” she easily replies with a giggle. “Who is the artist?” 

You take a step towards her, the sharp points of your heels clacking against the concrete floor. She follows your index finger to the white plaque beside the canvas, reading the name written in small, black letters. 

“I haven’t heard of her.” 

Alexia sounds so thoughtful that you have to hide your smile behind your palm, coughing to provide an excuse for the action. 

“Because you’ve heard of quite a few artists, haven’t you?” 

“I know the main four.” 

“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” 

“No.” 

Again, you laugh, and it is melodious and rich and Alexia wants to hear it for the rest of her life. Which is not normal, she tells herself, because you are some loaded stranger and she is only here for another hour before she can escape back to the pitch and her teammates who like her tattoos and admire her and respect her hard work without seeing her as some tacky social-climber who scrounged an invite to an area of society where she is institutionally unwanted. 

“Picasso,” she then offers, rather petulantly, looking at you with a childish frown. In her head, she estimates the distance between your bodies, noticing how you have not returned to your original position. 

“Ah, well done. He’s quite niche.” She doesn’t appreciate the teasing, and so she steps sideways to… put a stop to it somehow. Obviously, the plan had never truly been formulated, and it comes across as a half-lunge to push you away, but then you are swinging your arms as though the conversation is boring you and she desperately wishes you’d stay put. 

“What do you think about the painting?” she fires into the shortened space between you, the question wrapping around you like a rope that ties you to the spot. 

“It’s boring.” She scoffs, because after all, it is a painting of her. “The poor artist must have been tortured by the task, having to force her eyes to stay open while watching football matches.” 

And if Alexia were not so distracted by the way your swinging hand has begun to brush against her own, she would probably catch you out there and then. 

(But your touch is electric and she is otherwise engaged.) 

“Like, come on, can’t the sports photographers just get their pictures blown up? No one needs such an outrageously huge portrait of Alexia Putellas in their home, or stadium, or whatever. I reckon the artist is now regretting the angle she painted from, anyway, in case some pervert with more money than sense bids for it and hangs it up in his bedroom.” 

“Bedroom?”

The tips of Alexia’s ears go red, a stark contrast to the expensive silver hoops she sports, and you stop your fidgeting, hand resting on top of hers – perhaps unintentionally – as her misunderstanding wedges an awkward pause into the middle of your rant. 

“Sorry,” you apologise, “that was probably not the best thing to say, considering it’s a painting of you.” 

Alexia runs through what you have said, hoping her subconscious has caught it while her mind was preoccupied with what your sexual orientation might be. “Why have you come here if you are so against the principle of it?” 

“I was required to,” you explain, through half-gritted teeth and a jaw that tenses with leftover annoyance from a conversation you had with the coordinator. 

Seizing the opportunity to get a humorous punch back, Alexia quickly fumbles out a, “someone’s important.” 

She’d celebrate her victory over you, the way you blush in embarrassment, if you hadn’t started anxiously playing with her fingers. Suddenly, the air that bridges the gap between you is set alight and Alexia stares at where you are connected. 

You hastily pull away. “Sorry,” you say for a second time. “I have to sell this, and I’m nervous.” 

“Sell wh– The painting?” 

“No, Alexia, I’ve been sent by Real Madrid to hold you hostage so I have to sell this act.” Briefly, fear washes over the footballer’s face, tanned skin paling at the idea that you have a weapon concealed in the satin folds of your dress. Then, your hand makes a decisive movement and your fingers are intertwining with hers before she can run to safety. “I thought it was best to lure you in by flirting with you.” 

“You’ve been… flirting with me?” 

“God, imagine if I actually were here to kidnap you.” You hold up your joined hands so that she can see for herself. “Is your weakness women who bully you?” 

She blushes again, unsure how to handle what you have insinuated. 

Alexia grasps onto what little dignity remains and straightens herself, shoulders rolling back as she emulates the confidence she has been painted with. “Only pretty women,” she drawls. 

She is about to use whichever line appears in her mind first, completely unashamed by it because she has guessed you would tease her no matter what leaves her mouth, but some evil, cruel person clinks a small fork against their glass, clearing their throat, and your hands quickly return to your body, your attention drawn away from the conversation. 

“Thank you all for coming,” announces the event coordinator, clearly gearing up for a speech. “There will be time for more chatting later, but I cannot resist showing off our most talented artist any longer.” 

You roll your eyes. The expression is directed at Alexia, who chuckles privately, sunshine blooming in her chest that you have spared a silent comment just for her. 

“Y/n, darling, where are you?” 

An authoritative gaze searches through the crowd and lands on you.

The dots connect, Alexia begins to feel like an idiot, and you are sashaying away before she can ask you to stay.

[deadbeat-motel]

ᐯᗩGGIE ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᖇᒪIE ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

These two are simpler than the angel dust design I did since I didn't have a lot to go off of. Posted on Valentine's Day because yes I can.

I don't think Charlie is significantly different from her Pilot design because I genuinely think it was the best design from the cast (before the redesign).

Thoughts below, though TW for the creepy charlie image at the end:

My issues with their Original designs:

Vaggie:

The giant "X" over her eye is really distracting and even world-breaking because

1. Why had no one put 2 and 2 together that the only character in Hell who has a visible 'X' mark on her face might be related to the angels who also sport that X mark on their faces.

2. Why is it shaped like an X? Her eye was taken out via a single slash.

3. If the hair's purpose was to cover it, why would it show through it? What's the point of the hair then?

The hair that was supposed to cover that wounded eye looked so ugly and confused as to what it should be doing. I mean every shot that showed that thing in a sideview shot of Vaggie felt like the animators had to make their own guesses as to how that was supposed to look like. It was distracting for me personally and I hated it so much.

It's been said over and over again, but her clothes look like she works at McDonalds. I get needing to change her outfit so that she looks like she works at the hotel, but it's just been poorly designed.

Why change her clothes' colors from white to red? the white helped her stand out from Hell and the Hotel's majority red background. (In the finale, she at least has a non-red attire)

She's also one of the very few women in HH and she falls under the skinny stick side of it despite being an angel exterminator.

Her hair is kind of hard to visualize looking at in any way other than what it is when it's static. However, when it changed into a ponytail or a bob, it's actually really nice to look at.

Unsure of what that bow's purpose is for the design.

Charlie:

Charlie is a simple but very confused design. The pilot design was a lot more coherent than the current show design

It's disappointing to see the bouncy Pilot hair go and be replaced by that boring bubble braid of all things.

Her undershirt peaks out of her tuxedo.... why???? to separate the top jacket and the pants? You wouldn't need to do that if her pants were a different color like the pilot design.

Thought about it and was confused, as a demon with an angelic father, why didn't she have wings as well? She didn't need the 6 wings like Lucifer but maybe a pair of one would appear?

Out of all the characters for the show's redesign, Her's was by far the MOST infuriating to me. Her pilot design wasn't perfect but it was good, they had to downgrade her for some reason.

I didn't have much to say about Charlie. it basically sums up to "the Pilot design was better".

On to the thought process for these two:

Valerie the fallen:

Yes, she got a rename. Sue me.

I had to remove the moth aspect of her design because it doesn't seem like it makes sense for a heaven-born to follow the sinner's rule of "gaining features based on the life you lived" since she basically never lived right?

In this redesign (and eventual rewrite), Valerie is not ashamed of her exterminator background. In fact, she was known as the most recent "fallen" in hell. her short stature doesn't make her less of a threat to the demons.

She's also visually thick with muscle because why not let one of the show's women have a body type that isn't stick-thin?

She's using the wings that were torn off of her as both an interesting article of clothing and as a way to remind others and her that she is (or more accurately 'was') an angel who could kill them if she wanted to.

Her clothes are pure black underneath the pale feathers to show that while she is an "angel", deep down, she is far from a good person.

She's also getting an actual skin color because from what I gathered myself from the show's heaven. Most of the souls there still retain a human appearance (Adam, Lute, St. Peter, and the other random human angels up there still look human..... but just don't mind the fact that most of them are white.)

Her hair is that ponytail she had in the finale because as much as I didn't like that episode, some designs looked actually decent.

Also, her hair actually covers the eye scar properly.

I wanted to keep her ribbon as a splash of brightness on her design but the OG ribbon looks a little out of place on a warrior so It became that (Plus it pays homage to her OG moth influence with its shape looking like the fluffy antennas of the moth)

Gave the spearhead a little bit of detail on it plus a chipped side so that it has a bit of charm as an old weapon she still decides to keep around.

A note about Valerie's design is that I haven't tackled the armor of angels yet so I was unsure of what pieces of the undesigned armor to give Valerie as of now.

Charlie:

I honestly actually enjoyed her Pilot hair, so I tried to put it back and also simplify it a bit so there are not a lot of strands for me to keep track of. Plus it was a genuinely cute design for her. (There's a reason that version was used in the Verbalase video.) <- I'M JOKING

Replaced her button nose with a goat's because a friend has commented how it looked like the noses of the women in a Goofy Movie and I will never be able to unsee that.

Her hair is also a lot brighter compared to her washed-out blonde color.

She has the same design thought process as Valerie, Covering the darkness of her true nature with white fluffy fur which is stylized like feathers at its ends. She has pitch-black skin underneath and looks like a proper nightmarish demon like the image below.

I ditched the tuxedo look, since almost all the cast has a similar outfit already, and gave her a jumpersuit instead. (Idk what it's really called but that's what I think it is). It's a light grey because she's a mix of bad and good (though a bright grey because she prefers to be on the good side)

Her horns are there and visible because yeah it's cute but also helps her read as the half-angel/half-demon character she is.

Tiny goat tail because can you imagine every time Valerie holds the rare angel smile of approval, her tail is visibly wagging in glee and excitement???? My heart would die. I love these lesbians with my life.

Has wings from her father.

Anyways, those are my thoughts and redesigns... I wanted to add more details to them but I didn't really know what to add that didn't feel unnecessary.

Also bonus! Concept art of Charlie's true form:

[dani-says-stuff]

Weak Point

❥ Back to the Control Center

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Davos Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Summary: It was a well known fact that the Blackwoods and the Brackens hated one another, the houses would die before agreeing on anything. And it stayed that way until Davos Blackwood realized he might share one thing with the Brackens after all, his weak point.

Warnings: possible ooc davos?, i also made him Willem's nephew idk if thats accurate but whatever, allusions to smut but no actual smut, men being creepy, gross, and objectifying to reader (not Davos), mild violence, Daemon Targaryen, probably more stuff I don't remember... just tread carefully. its no worse than the stuff in the show. this is also very very unedited.

A/N: so, yeah, this is my first time ever writing for got/hotd so i hope i didnt screw it all up too bad. i started this just wanting to jot down this thought i had while watching the show and ended up getting SUPER carried away. i haven't read literally any of the books though so this could be completely messed up for all i know and i apologize for any lore butchering i may have done. i hope you enjoy !

Word Count: 6.2k

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

He was running.

His feet pounding against the ground as he wove throughout the trees under the cover of the black night sky. He hoped the torches carried in the hands of some of the other men didn't betray him, the dim yellow-orange glow casting light upon his face and showing off the panic he'd been trying his best to conceal, hidden poorly behind a half-hearted snear since Willem had returned to Raventree hall. 

Willem Blackwood had announced to the room, bursting at the seams with leagues of angry Blackwood men, that their King consort had granted them leave to do whatever necessary to bring the Brackens to their knees. To destroy their alliance with the Greens and join the right side of history, pledge their allegiance to the true Queen Rhaenyra. 

At first, like all the other men and boys in the room, Davos was excited. He was practically shaking in elation, itching with adrenaline, ready to storm Stone Hedge.

To make the Brackens pay once and for all. 

He imagined some sort of battle would come from the ordeal. They would go head to head once more, fight like they always had with the other house, bring them to their knees for their Queen. It would be bloody, but the potential violence against their long-time rivals was customary, expected at this point. Or maybe they'd ransack some houses along the border. Burn a sept or two, destroy some of the more important harvest fields the Bracken's relied more heavily on.  

That is what he expected to come from Daemon Targaryen's indirect orders.

But no, there would be no fighting this time. Not exactly. 

They were to exploit the Brackens weak points.

To poke repeatedly at their sore spots until they finally admitted defeat, desperate to have returned what was stolen from them. 

Davos Blackwood did not expect to have his weak point threatened as well. 

But alas, it was. His weakest point, by the name of Miss Lady Y/N Bracken, was in grave danger, and she had no idea.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

It was an unlikely friendship that bloomed when the two were young, still green and ignorant to the centuries of history between the houses they came from.

A young Davos was practicing archery down by the border stones, unaware the large rocks were truly meant for something other than the simple job of being large rocks in the middle of the open field. He was only told never to cross them by his father... who had also told him never to wander near to them unaccompanied. 

Nevertheless, here the young Blackwood stood, a crudely made target propped up against one of the stones, alone.

He pulled back the string, one eye closed, preparing to loose the arrow. His last arrow.

Maybe this one would actually hit the target. Every shot had found purchase on the fabric at least, just out along the outer border. 

He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he let go. 

The boys eyes flew open at the sound of a high pitched squeal and the frantic rustling of leaves, like an animal caught in a bush. He soon realized that his last arrow hadn't hit the target at all, but instead flew over the stone entirely and landed somewhere in the woods on the opposite side of the border.

Had he hit an animal? Had he been such a nuisance at archery, but his luck so spectacular, he managed to miss the target by a mile yet make his first kill?

Davos was still for a moment, if he crossed the border to find the animal, his father would surly be angry with him for his disobedience, but would he be proud enough his young son managed to strike an animal that the punishment would be forgotten? 

Surely his father would be more angry when he found his son's quiver one arrow short, and even angrier when it was explained how and where it was lost. 

But just as the toe of his boot made it across the border, the rustling of the leaves returned. 

What if he hadn't killed the beast with his misfire at all? What if he had only awoken it from it's slumber, and the beast he now wished he had paid more attention to when his father and uncle spoke of the miscreants on the other side of the border was angry and on the hunt for him. 

But, rather than some large hairy creature lumbering out from the bushes, eyes glowing and drooling with bloodlust for the one who dared disturb it, he was met with a young girl. A child of his age, if not a year or two younger--it was hard to tell with the distance which still separated the two children. The baby fat, still stubbornly hanging onto the girls cheeks, didn't help either. 

She emerged slowly, eyes curious and cautious as she scanned the area before her. Back and forth, left and right, eyes hungrily eating up each and every inch of the grass, hoping to find where the wayward arrow had come from. 

Finally her gaze found his own and he found himself calling his father a liar for the first time in his life. 

She was no beast, surely there couldn't be evil creatures over there as he had said. She was far too pretty for his father's claims to be true. She looked like something divined straight from the gods themselves. 

Her hair was tangled and sweaty where the strands had fallen loose around her face, released from the intricate braided style on the back of her head. The courtly dress draped over her figure, torn and dirty at the sleeves and rips along the bottom of the skirt with mud caked in the lower fabric as if she had been running wild through the trees. A wooden practice sword lay loosely in her hand, his lost arrow held in the other. 

She may not have been perfect to everyone, but she was to him. 

She moved forward, walking slowly, making sure to glance from side to side every few steps, ensuring the two of them were the only ones in sight. She finally stopped a couple of paces before him, she raised the arrow playfully, "I believe you may've missed your target."

"Did not." he shot back immediately, kicking himself for a little for his hastiness, but too proud to let a pretty girl think he had messed up that horribly. 

She smirked, shifting slightly on her feet, "Really?" 

"Really."

"So this is not your arrow?"

"Nope."

She hummed, looking down to the obviously hand-made and well-used projectile. The body bent in a continuous curve from over use and harsh slices in the wood from where a dull knife had been used to widdle it down. She played with the feathers on the end, running the soft material between her fingers, "You sure?" 

"Positive."

She looked up, catching the gaze of the boy just an inch or two shorter than herself, "You know I can see your bow right?" she lulled, unimpressed, "No matter how hard you attempt to shift yourself in front of it, I can still see it peeking over your shoulder." she slid around the stone separating the two, leaning down to compare the arrow with the ones firmly lodged in his target, "Not to mention the arrows are from the same bunch."

Davos stayed silent, eyes narrowed at the beautiful and strange girl before him, determined not to give in.

Perhaps if he was stubborn enough, she would forget the accusation like the maids that walked the halls at Raventree did. They always gave up before too long, scurrying off back to their duties when they'd catch him doing something he wasn't meant to. 

"Well alright then," the girl shrugged carelessly, returning to her full height, no longer crouched down on her knees, "Its probably for the best these aren't yours anyway. Shoddy craftsmanship," she spoke, caressing the wood once again, "I fear a blind man may have done a better job-"

"Hey!" he cut her off, stomping forward and ripping the arrow from her gentle grip, "I spent an entire moon on these!" 

"So it is yours then?" she questioned softly, a winning smirk pulled across her face. 

Davos could feel heat rush to his cheeks, quickly causing him to hang his head, eyes focused on the pebbles sown between the blades of grass below his feet. He already embarrassed himself enough in front of this girl, he didn't need her to see his skin flush a deep crimson as well. "No."

The two children stood before each other in an awkward silence. Both not sure what exactly to say, but neither wanting to leave just yet. 

She made the first move, stepping forward and coming to a stop beside him. No longer facing the boy head-on, but rather positioned so both were looking in the direction of the target. 

"So," she began, "how'd you manage to shoot so far off anyway?" 

"'m not good at it yet" he mumbled, face still stubbornly pointed down, "'S why I'm practicin'."

"Well, try again." 

He looked up at her confused, the flush finally fading from his skin, "What?" 

"Try again" she shrugged. "You have your arrow back, so try again." 

He sputtered, about to tell the girl off for telling him what to do, but the look in her eyes made him think twice. She was so sure of herself, so determined. He couldn't leave her there like a coward, he'd already made a fool of himself, it's not like it could be any worse. 

But he was wrong.

It could be worse.

The second he let the arrow loose, it failed to hit the target again, stopping about a foot short of the stone, stuck in the grass. 

She snorted, a hand flying up to her face to conceal the noise to the best of her ability, "Do you even know how to shoot?" 

He scoffed, turning to fix her with a nasty glare, "Of course I do."

"'Ya sure?" she smiled, "Doesn't really look like it from where I'm standing" 

His glare hardened, "And what do you know of it? You're just a girl." 

She nodded once, stepping forward to retrieve the arrow from the grass as well as the one from the target, "Maybe, but my older brother has been teaching me for years." she spoke returning to his side with a grin, "And I like to think I'm quite good." 

Davos only laughed. Like a girl would ever be allowed near a weapon, there was even less of a chance one would know how to use it. 

"I'm not jesting" she insisted, eyes narrowing in annoyance, "I do know how!"

"Sure," he laughed again, shoving the bow into her hands, "Give it a shot then, why don't you." 

"Fine." she dropped one of the arrows to the floor, shoulder-checking the shorter boy as she lined herself up with the target. 

It took her all of five seconds to load the arrow, align the point, and shoot.

And she hit the fucking center of the target too. 

She turned to face him and crossed her arms over her chest, the bow held in the crook of her elbow, with a smug smirk, "Believe me now?" 

"Whatever."

"Ok," she shuffled back to him, offering the bow back, "Your turn." 

He picked the arrow up and aimed, he was about to let go when-

"Stop!" she shouted, quickly moving behind him. "Don't be so tense" she scolded, poking him in the back, "Your elbow is too high," she moved it down slightly "You use it to help aim, it doesn't always need to be completely level." She kicked the inside of his feet next, "Widen your posture, your feet are too close. It'll mess up your balance and aim." 

"Are you done?" he gritted out, teeth clenching hard against each other. His arm began to ache, straining from the tension while she twirled in circles around him, giving him a whole explanation for each detail he had wrong. 

"Almost" She laughed softly, moving to stand over his left shoulder, "Just two more things" He groaned again, but she only giggled soft at his impatience, "Keep your eyes open. It doesn't have to be both if that's uncomfortable but keep at least one. Shooting blind is practically a death sentence. Lastly, just remember to breathe." she stated simply, "Holding your breath will lock up your muscles. Be fluid, not rigid." he nodded once, relatively relaxed bar the shaking of his tired arm on the string. "Good. Now shoot." 

He let go, and watched the whole way as the arrow soared through the air, hitting the target with a satisfying 'thunk'. It didn't hit the center like hers, but it was the closest he'd come thus far, landing on the inside of the ring just off-center. 

She jumped in excitement, clapping happily as she did so, "See! You did it!" 

"I didn't." he grumbled, "It still didn't hit the center."

"No, but it's closer" she spoke, excitement for the boy still heavy on her tongue, "All you need is some practice."  She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly, "You'll get there one day." 

He hummed unconvinced, he'd been practicing for almost a year at this point, and only now was he told what he was doing wrong. He doubted he'd ever master the art of archery but that was alright with him. He'd become more skilled with the sword during his training and found he enjoyed the blade over long-range anyway. 

Feeling her job complete, the arrow returned and an impromptu lesson to keep more from disturbing her peace, the girl nodded once and smiled at the boy, turning to cross back over the boundary and lift the practice sword she had abandoned on the other side. 

She was about to walk away, disappearing back into the thicket when Davos finally shook himself from his thoughts. "Wait!" he ran after her, quickly catching up to her and grabbing her wrist, "I'm Davos. Davos Blackwood." he introduced himself, annoyed he'd forgotten to do so earlier. 

She smiled, "Y/N Bracken." 

The two explored the underbrush for hours that day, picking through the bushes for berries and telling stories to one another. He soon found out her strange state of dress, was because Y/N had fled from the hall halfway through their meal. She ran, quickly escaping after overhearing her father and some lord discussing her betrothal. It would never go through of course, the Lord too upsettened by the girl's wild display to continue the conversation. 

She had fled through the hall, one of her brother's practice swords in hand and clumsily hitting the trees with it, hoping she could somehow teach herself to use the weapon so that her future would never need to be in the hands of another again. 

Upon hearing the story, he quickly offered his guidance to her, promising to bring two swords to the clearing the next day as long as she would bring better archery equipment. She would teach him the art of the bow, and he would show her the ways of the blade. 

Through their lessons with one another, they would ultimately come to the conclusion she preferred archery and he preferred steel, but both became skilled in the two practices nonetheless. 

Lessons slowly turned to practice, and practice turned to sparring until sparring gradually turned to something more over the years. 

Stolen kisses were shared in the shade of the branches. Words of affection whispered along the tall grass. Purple bruises and love bites exchanged under the cover of night and the watchful eye of the stars, easily concealed under the collars of their shirts. 

They hadn't begun knowing how divided they were due to their names, but even when they discovered it, they found the years of hatred between the houses hardly held a candle to the feelings they harbored for one another.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Fear flooded his veins when the words changed from those of violence against the men and soldiers, to violence against the women. Violence against the children. Violence against her.

"It is clear that our forces no longer intimidate them," a man decorated in silver plated armor called from the crowd, "how are we to persuade them, as you say, if they no longer listen?" 

"We shall change our tactics" a dark smirk slowly formed across Willem's face as he spoke to his men, "The crown allows us grace to do what is necessary to gain the allegiance of the Brackens." the name left his lips with a sneer, as if saying the name itself caused him pain, "So, perhaps we move our gaze from those who've come to expect us." 

The excitement of the room changed from one of violent delight, to one of lustful rage. All men in the room, old and young alike, seemed to understand what was implied from the words of both their Lord and their King. All bets were off tonight, they were to take whatever—and whoever—they wished, just as long as it pushed the Brackens to surrender by morning light.

Davos stayed frozen upon the stairs while his Uncle spoke, and the men cheered before them. Many of which, boasting clearly of the prize they wished to gain. The prize that would give them pleasure that night, as well as potential favor with their Lord and Crown. The bargaining chip above all else, the very soul that would surely break the camel's back. 

For if Y/N, Lord Bracken's most favored and precious daughter, were to be stolen and sullied, the Bracken people would surely be broken as well. Surrender would be all but guaranteed. 

That's how he found himself sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, subtly kicking rocks and twigs under the feet of his bannermen. Anything to slow them down. Anything that would allow him to get in front of them. Anything that would allow him to be the one that would reach her first. 

He'd heard the way they spoke about her. The things they wished to do to her. It all but made his blood boil, the urge to remove their tongues—or perhaps their manhood—was strong. It was what they deserved for speaking about his lady in such a matter. 

Yet he couldn't. He didn't care for his own safety, if he were to be hanged for defending his lady love's honor, he would do it a million times over. But the fact that the outcome on her could be worse if he were to confess, is what held him back.

He couldn't do anything in the bright lights of Raventree Hall, but if anyone were to come between his blade and his lady now, he cared not for what would become of them.

He'd kill a thousand Blackwoods if he must tonight. No one was going to touch her. 

When finally made it into the halls of Stone Hedge, he was out of breath and his lungs were burning. His breaths quick and labored as he gulped for air, but he couldn't stop until he knew she was safe. 

The words they levied against her echoed in his ears, filling him with a blinding rage that powered him forward, allowing the pain in his bones to evaporate from his mind. 

They spoke of her as if she were a piece of meat and nothing more. The beautiful Bracken girl ripe for the taking. The forbidden apple that was all but theirs for tonight. They spoke of how they wished to deflower her. To take her maidenhead, rip it away from her and claim it for themselves. "it's what we deserve after all the Brackens have done." he remembered hearing one say, "We deserve this." 

They didn't deserve shit. Hell, there were days Davos himself didn't believe he deserved her, if he didn't, then there was no way in hell they did. 

He tore through the halls, the anger in his soul bright enough to light the way. He abandoned his torch once he made it inside so none of the other men would be able to follow his trial. 

The screams began soon after he reached the second floor. The hushed symphony of horrific melodies carrying up the stairs and echoing down the stone halls, ebbing in on the wind through the windows of the keep, tempting Davos’ heart to beat faster in it's rhythm. 

The Blackwoods had begun their raid. He was running out of time. 

He cursed her in his mind, his beautiful girl more cautious than he, convincing him that their escapades should be confined to the secrecy the fields and forests provided. He had tried to persuade her to sneak into one of their homes, claiming she deserved the luxury and privacy of one of their bedrooms over his cloak on the harsh terrain. So she could feel the soft feather bed and furs beneath her back rather than the rough sticks and stones scratching her bare skin through the thin fabric. She always declined, arguing the need to keep their love in a place that matched that of which it was sewn from. Somewhere wild, free, and pure. 

He always laughed along with her, choosing to ignore the fear that gathered in the corners of her eyes. He knew the real reason, she was afraid they’d lose one another if they were to enter the enemy's halls, that they’d be caught and torn apart forever. So, he just laughed along and agreed full heartedly, dropping the idea so his girl could return to her usual carefree spirit. So her worries would be carried off on the chilled evening breeze, set ablaze in the light of the setting sun.

He lived for her, and if it was her wishes to stay confined in the bugs and dirt, he’d happily oblige without a complaint, even if he ended up with cuts along his palms, skin pierced by the rocks his cloak couldn’t cover as he hovered over her body in the foliage. 

But now, he was running through the large keeps halls, throwing open the doors of guestroom after guestroom in the residency hall. Panic increasing for each empty room revealed.

If she just let him come in once, if she allowed him to climb up the wall and through the window like he’d joked one evening, he’d know exactly where to go. 

Davos finally approached the last room in the hall, still no luck in finding her room. The voices of his men had increased, finally making their way to the level he stood.

And for the first time in years, Davos found himself praying. 

He wasn’t a particularly religious man and he hadn't been since his mother had ceased dragging him out weekly to worship the gods. He found himself finding solace in the heart trees for their beauty rather than religion and becoming more devout to the sword than the gods. But now, outside the heavy wooden door, he found himself praying quietly under his breath. To both the God’s he’d turned his back on and the ones she treasured. He prayed to both the Old gods and the new, that his own goddess would be sound and safe behind this very door.  

“Please” he whispered, “I know I haven’t been the most… pious over the years. I know I haven’t followed the rules you have set for the people” he laughed bitterly, “In fact, there were times I blatantly went against you just because I could. But please” he begged, feeling a burning form in the corners of his eyes, “please, I beg you, have her be behind this door. She doesn't deserve what's coming if I don't find her first. I may not believe you exist, but she does. Please don’t fail her now.” 

He rammed his shoulder into the door, the lock giving way after two sturdy blows, swinging open to reveal yet another dark, empty room. 

His heart stopped, split between the feeling of devastation and unadulterated rage. The emotions clawing their way up his throat, threatening to drown him if he didn’t release them soon. 

There had to be a mistake, she had to be here. Was he already too late? Had someone somehow managed to get ahead of him and steal her away before he arrived? It couldn’t be, he was the one to break the lock and sneak around the watch in the front of the keep. 

He wanted to scream. To curse the Gods, curse his uncle, curse himself.

But he couldn’t.

Instead, he punched the door frame, knuckles slamming into the stones and splitting open the thin skin from the force. A muffled curse left his lips, not loud enough to reveal himself to the men beginning their descent on the hall, but loud enough to reveal a sliver of the emotions pent up and burning its way through his veins. 

He was yanking at the strands of his tousled and sweaty black hair, pacing the area outside the open door. Mind racing as he contemplated what exactly he was meant to do next. 

But then he heard it. His saving grace. A muffled sound, a soft mumble coming from inside the bedroom followed by the quiet ruffling of sheets.

Davos whipped around, neck straining under the speed of which he snapped to face the inside of the chamber. There, he found it, shrouded in the shadows and tucked beneath the covers was a lump, with her beautiful, wild hair peeking out and laid upon the pillowcases.

He rushed into the room, slamming the door and bolting it behind him. 

It was the heavy slam that finally roused her from her sleep. She sat up in her bed, the white sheets falling down and resting over her legs as she did. She squinted into the darkness, unable to make out who it was but able to see the figure posted inside her room, the moonlight catching on the metal armor adorning the man before her. 

It was normal for a maid to come into her room, accidentally wake her in the later hours as they entered her chambers to gather things they had unknowingly left behind earlier in the day. It was strange for a knight or watchman to enter, on the eve of a gathering or a feast at the keep where her father had invited many guests a guard may be placed outside her rooms but never inside. 

“Sir?” she spoke, voice soft and confused, roughed slightly by sleep, “What is—” 

She wasn’t able to finish her question in full before the man hurtled himself at her. In a panicked haste she reached to her bedside, reaching for the heavy silver candle holder on the table, whacking the man repeatedly when he became close enough. 

“Fuck!” the man yelled, stepping back when she jumped up from the bed, swinging the candle holder before her. He reached up, one hand poorly acting as a shield before him while the other went to his brow, touching the now split skin from where she managed to strike him.

“Damn you woman” he yelled half playful and half serious, a proud smirk resting on his lips despite himself. Maybe his love didn’t need him to protect her after all. “I’m just tryin’ to help you!”

Y/N dropped the candlestick in an instant, immediately recognizing the voice that often found its way into her dreams and day to day thoughts, “Davos?” she whispered, now rushing forward, pulling him down by the neck to get a better look at the gash she’d made. “Gods, I’m so so sorry” she muttered, delicate fingers running over his brow bone and assessing the damage in the dim light provided by the moon, so focused on Davos’ injury, she failed to notice the soft smile tugging at his lips, “you–you just startled me. I’m not exactly expecting visitors in the middle of the night.” her brow crinkled in confusion, wiping away a streak of mud on his forehead and brushing through the sweat-soaked hair falling over his forehead, “And why on Earth do you look like you crawled through the riverbeds to get here?” 

He laughed, exhausted and relieved to see her standing before him. Davos reached out, grasping her elbows softly, proving to himself she was real. That he did make it in time after all. “I mean, not exactly, but that's close enough.”

She stepped back, eyes wide as saucers. Her sleep muddled mind, finally beginning to catch up with what was going on. Part of her thought it was all part of some strange dream, getting attacked in the late hours and suddenly her forbidden lover is standing before her in her bedroom. 

But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. So what in the seven hells is he doing here?

“You can’t be here!” she whispered harshly, “I–What? Davos, you need to go.” she sputtered rushing to open the door and shove him out, ushering him back off to raventree, “My father could–” 

He reached out, catching her wrist and yanking her back away from the door harsh enough her back crashed into his chest. 

“What–” 

“Stop.” he cut her off, spinning Y/N around so they faced one another, “You can’t open the door.” 

Her eyes grew even wider at his words, fear slipping into her gaze and he hated himself for being the one to put it there, “Why not?” a crash erupted not far down the hall, the sound of one of the vases clattering and shattering down onto the floor followed by a group of men, maybe three or four at least, cackling. She jumped, clinging onto his arms, her grip tight and nails cutting into his skin, “Davos? What’s happening? What’s going on?”

He looked anxiously up at the door as the footsteps grew louder, shifting Y/N and holding onto her with one arm while the other drifted to hold the pommel of his sword, “It’s a long story.” 

“Care to share the summary then?” she bit out at him, but her words were less harsh than she intended, the fear coating the statement making it far less intimidating than she’d prefer. 

“You’re in danger.” 

“Well, yeah, I kinda gathered that.” 

“This is the only one we haven’t checked,” they heard a deep voice say from through the wooden door. “Ya’ think its this one?”

“It’s gotta be” another spoke, tone giddy in a horrific kind of excitement, “It’s the last on the hall, surely the Bracken Brat is in here.” 

Davos spun on his heel, looking into her eyes with such intensity Y/N was unsure if she wanted to run or drop to her knees, “I have an idea. I need you to play along.” she nodded immediately, she trusted him with her life. Davos smiled softly, leaning down to place a long, tender kiss on her forehead, “Just remember I love you, ok? I’ll explain later, I promise.” she nodded once more, lifting on her toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. 

His gaze hardened a harsh sneer screwing up his features, the grip he held on her wrist tightening, “Stop struggling! I already told you, you can’t worm your way out of this one Bracken.” 

Y/N turned, swiping her arm across her vanity, a collection of glass jars and pots tumbling from the surface and crashing to the floor, “No!” she screamed, “I won’t! You can’t make me!”

The noise from the hall silenced, and both Y/N and Davos smiled. It was working. 

“Oh,” he laughed darkly, walking her closer to the door, both of them taking turns at shoving the furniture to fake the struggle, “I most definitely can–”

“My father–”

“Fuck your father” he sneered, reaching up and helping her mess up her hair further than the slight bedhead she still had, and stretching out the neck of her pale nightgown. He then grabbed her robe, throwing it haphazardly over one of her shoulders, “He can’t help you now, the Blackwoods are taking our revenge. The Brackens will finally fall once and for all.” and with that he swung open the door, tightening his grip on her wrists to drag her through the door frame. 

“What’s this?” Y/N laughed, overexaggerating her breathing to further fake the strain of the struggle as she faced the four men outside her door, “Is Willem Blackwood's little nephew so incompetent they needed to send four men just to make sure he could get the job done?” she snarked, trying to pull herself out of Davos’ grip. 

He growled, spinning her around and yanking her back against his chest, caging the girl in with his arms tight around her waist and arms. “What do you want?” he spoke, ignoring Y/N and looking directly at the men. 

“We were coming to get her,” One spoke up, gesturing at the girl with his sword, “but it seems we missed all the fun.” 

“Nah,” another added, stepping forward gleefully and running a hand over Y/N’s hair, “he just caught her, we can still get a turn later boys.” he smirked cruelly, dirty fingers dropping down to caress her soft skin. 

Y/N shifted at the Blackwood soldier's words, glancing up and seeing the expressions of sick joy on the other’s faces at his statement.

So this is why Davos had broken into her room. She could hear the sounds of what could be happening to her from the maids down the stairs, but no, Davos had reached her first. 

She moved slightly, subtly pushing more of her weight against his chest, seeking comfort in the small gestures, that he wouldn’t let that happen to her. He gripped her tighter when she did, to both assure her she would always be safe with him, and to keep him from relieving the men before them of their heads. 

“It’s just a shame young Davos beat us,” the youngest of them, a man looking to be in his late thirties, whined, “I had plans of all the ways I wanted to take her and ruin her for the first time. See her scream as I–”

“No.” Davos grit out, cutting the man off swiftly, clenching his jaw harshly between his words and a glare that could cut through iron shifting among the four men “None of that will be happening. She is mine. She is my prize for tonight.” 

“But–”

“No!” he yelled, sneering at the men, “I am the nephew of Lord Blackwood, you will not disobey me and my claim. I fought and won her. I claimed her. She is mine. My prisoner and I am not keen on sharing.” 

Y/n did her best to keep up the act. To keep the look of fear and anger on her face and struggle to get out of his grip. But something about those words and his tone of voice made her melt inside. She knew they weren’t all true, she wasn't a prisoner, but something about the way he proclaimed her as his made her think it wasn’t far from his true feelings. 

“I will be the one taking her back to Raventree. Go find something else. You will not be laying a single finger on her, am I clear?” The four men begrudgingly nodded their heads, walking back down the hall with wounded egos.

Davos “dragged” Y/n all the way through Stone Hedge and back out the main door. He found an abandoned horse not far from the gate and quickly helped her up on the saddle. 

“You’re really taking me to Raventree?” Y/n whispered as he too, hauled himself on the horse, settling behind her. His arms wrapped around her to grasp the reins. 

“Well I kinda have to” he responded playfully, words hushed into her ear, his breaths tickling her skin, “Wouldn’t make much sense for me to take a prisoner and release her that quickly now would it?” 

“So that’s all I am to you huh?” she hummed as they made their way through the trees, the cold night air pebbling her skin through the sheer nightwear, “just a prisoner?” 

He leaned down, kissing her shoulder, “Nah, you're much more than that.” 

“You sure?” 

Davos bit at her ear, watching with a smirk as she shivered, one she’d surely claim was from the cold, “I’m Positive.” 

They reveled in the moment of relief and playful joy that encompassed them on the journey back. They both knew it wouldn’t be before long when the reality of the situation would set in. The fear would return to her bones and he would need to fully explain in detail what was going on. They would need to come up with a plan on how to move forward. 

But for now, it was just the two of them riding through their forest on horseback. 

Davos swore he would be there for her when it came time for her to shatter. When she would feel safe enough to cry for the fate of her people who couldn’t be saved as she had once they found their way to his chambers for the night, and however many after Y/N Bracken was to be a “prisoner” at Raventree.

He swore that when she broke into millions of tiny pieces, he would be there with hands ready to bleed as he held her tight and helped put all the shards back together in the intricate puzzle that was her soul. 

He would always be there for her. He would always protect her.

He swore it upon the old gods and the new.

[jamminvroomvroom]

here me out, friends and bennies with oscar, but you guys both secretly have feelings for each other, then a fight breaks out cause he gets jealous at a club or something, then an angsty fight breaks but it ends with smut or something 🤭

messy

OP81 x reader

ty for the request! big in my oscar feels atm <3 i don’t loveeee how this turned out but i think i wanna expand this trope with oscar at some point

warnings: minors dni! 18+! language, creepy man in the club, implied smut, alcohol, sl*t is used in a not sexy way, implied physical fight, minor angst, some fluff

you liked to pretend there was nothing going on, that the way he looked at you didn’t affect you and that you hadn’t gotten all dressed up for him.

your relationship with oscar was complicated, friends with a bit on the side when the stress of his job and life got a bit too much and you each needed the extra comfort.

oscar didn’t seem like the type to engage in this kind of thing, in fact you’d never even looked at him that way before, until the night he won the f2 championship and you’d taken a heated tumble into his bed. it didn’t happen again for a while, you’d both managed to keep the urge at bay, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to the alpine fiasco, you were the one he called. you were the one he flew out to bahrain at the beginning of the f1 season, and you were the one that occupied his bed on most race weekends.

it wasn’t a thing, or, to put it more accurately, you both pretended it wasn’t a thing. you viewed yourself as emotional support, stress relief, a very close friend. you viewed him as a person that you could easily fall in love with, but you couldn’t get into the habit of thinking like that.

nonetheless, there you were in a club somewhere in japan, looking far too good to act like you didn’t have a motive. lando had dragged you and some others out, a double podium in suzuka the perfect excuse for a messy night in a foreign city.

oscar may have been good at hiding just how elated he was, but you knew him better than the media did, and you knew exactly how ready he was to celebrate.

in the spirit of having a good time, you’d disappeared over to the bar, fully intending on starting the night off on a high. you were ordering a round of shots when it got messy. it just wasn’t the kind of messy you’d anticipated.

a hand on your waist lured you in, assuming it was oscar, considering how confident the touch was. you leaned into it, but the hand felt wrong, the mould of it against the curve of you waist was wrong.

“what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” the mystery man slurred into your ear, making you shiver in all the wrong ways. the line was icky and the way you felt his breath hit the curve of your ear was just plain disgusting. he wasn’t oscar.

“not you, that’s for sure.” you mumbled, pulling away. the hand on the waist tightened and you panicked.

the next few seconds were a blur, a flash of indistinguishable words coming from the creep, oscar’s body between you and the man, lando stood assertively behind him. you couldn’t tell what was being said, the music too loud and the sick twist in your stomach too prominent to focus. all you caught was the delightful asshole calling you an “f1 groupie slut”, and that’s when everything slowed down.

oscar knocked him on his sorry arse, while lando tried to move you out of harms way. your best friend, who would never hurt a fly, as harmless as a person could be was furious, and you couldn’t keep up with his movements as he handled the situation. you caught lando guiding the less than impressed bouncers to the pathetic mess on the floor, while oscar turned to you.

“are you okay? i’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” he cupped your face, shocking you. pda was not his thing. you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, finally at ease.

“just… take me back to the hotel.” you sighed. the privilege of being an f1 driver, you supposed, was the way all he had to do was nod at the bouncers and they let him leave.

it was all too much, the unwanted attention, a new side of the usually monotonous f1 driver, the confusion. oscar had defended you like his life depended on it, like you were his to defend. it topped protecting a friend, he had been blind with rage until the guy was indisposed. oscar didn’t just do things like that, that’s what had shocked you more than anything.

you were in a daze when the fresh air hit you, getting into the car that pulled up. the ride back to the hotel was dead silent, the city lights being both a perfect distraction and a banging headache in the making. you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out the window, though, because if you did, you’d have to look down at his hand intertwined with yours, and you didn’t think you could face that quite yet.

you didn’t get it. were you falling for him? of course you were. but he’d never given even a smidgen of indication that he felt the same way, and now what? he was scrapping in clubs with drunken idiots? over you? it made no sense, you didn’t know how to make it make sense.

the car slowed and your door was being opened for you. you stepped out, finding your feet as you walked on shaky legs into the foyer. oscar’s hand found the small of your back and despite better judgment, you fell into step beside him. he was so familiar, so comforting, you knew you were too far gone.

the way he looked at you in the elevator was dangerous, like he was staring into your bare soul, like he wanted to take you apart and put you back together.

he stepped towards you in the enclosed space. you reached out for him meeting halfway and then it was blissful. his lips slotted over yours, fireworks, hands on your body, frantic. yours were in his hair, threading through his curtains, a symptom of too much time on the road without a haircut. you liked this look though, he looked older, more undone. your back was against the cold wall and you moaned when his lips hit your neck, marking you up for the first time ever. was he making a statement?

“oscar-“ you started, ready to open a can of worms and questions, but you were interrupted by the ‘ding!’ of the elevator. it seemed to break the trance you were in and you both shuffled out of the lift.

“i think i should go back to my room.” you said quietly.

“oh.” was all oscar could muster, not trying to hide his disappointment one bit.

“i’m just… oscar, i’m confused.” you averted eye contact, looking longingly down the hallway towards your room.

“about what? about us?” he sounded defensive.

“is there an us? i don’t even know what this is anymore.” you sighed.

“‘is there an us?’ are you joking?” the defensiveness progressed into a state of pissed off, another rarity for him.

“i’ve never seen that side of you before, we’ve never been like this before.” you pointed between the pair of you, the weight of the space seeming to heavy to bare.

“i couldn’t just let that guy freak you out, it scared the shit out of me watching someone make you that uncomfortable. the idea of someone getting into your space, touching you…” he trailed off.

“why? why do you care so much? because we sleep together? because you didn’t like that it wasn’t you touching me?” the frustration got too much and the words you’d been threatening to say for months came spilling out.

“because you’re too important to me! because you mean more to me than i can even begin to understand.” a raised voice that you couldn’t recall hearing hit your ears and your heart sped up, ringing in your ears.

“oscar, i’m scared.”

“of me?”

“of losing you. what we have now, well, it is what it is. but you’re my best friend and the idea of anything changing, as much as i want it too-“

“do you want me? do you?” his eyebrows furrowed and his voice wavered in a way that made your stomach drop.

your eyes betrayed you immediately and he was kissing you again, softer this time, passionately. the hotel corridor felt too exposed for such intimacy and he was leading you back to his room. the door shut and your clothes were gone, a trail of them formed from the entrance to the foot of his king sized bed.

everything about that night still lingered on your skin. his butter melting kisses, finger prints on your hips, the drag of his grown out hair tickling the delicate skin of your inner thighs. you’d made sure to leave your mark too, his thick neck bruised purple, the trace of your fingerprints right over his heart.

it was all permanent now, every kiss, touch, whisper of affection, and when you fell into bed with him, weekend after weekend, it was the bed that you shared. he was all yours and you were more than happy to let yourself fall in love.

[doctorprofessorsong]

Destiel fic recs

Another round of brainrot. I hope they never fix what's wrong with me.

Beggars Would Ride by Tiamatv (Explicit, 118k)

You had me at Aladdin AU. When Dean Winchester is caught stealing, he's given one chance for freedom. Go into the Cave of Wonders, grab the amulet, and get out. Things don't go as planned. Now he's got a moody ancient genie to contend with. But maybe he can use up two of his wishes and then grant the genie his wish: to be free. What could go wrong?

This fic is an absolutely delight. I laughed so hard, especially at the fun ways Tiamatv played with the SPN canon and the Disney movies. But beyond the humor is some really fantastic world building and a beautiful story about finding your way when you feel trapped by life.

Genie Cas is very cute and grumpy and sassy, and it's fun to watch him start to care. And Dean has so much heart it will make you ache. Sam and Jess are disgustingly cute but both are also whip smart and fun. And Jo (Jess’ sister in this) is the knife girl of my dreams.

This one is hard to put down.

Tourbillon Dreams by kayliemalinza @kayliemalinza (Mature, 40k)

Dean uses Bobby's life insurance proceeds to buy a hoarders house stuffed to the brim with cursed and haunted objects. But when he finds a clock that also happens to be an angel, things take an unexpected turn.

It sounds cracky and there is some delightful humor, but this fic packs a beautiful emotional punch. Dean is in his peak caretaking, competency mode and Clockstiel is adorable and entranced with Dean in a way that is just immensely readable.

There is something starkly gorgeous about the way Dean and Cas are physically so different and yet they find each other in meaningful and beautiful ways.

Love Is a Meat Loaf Song by followyourenergy @followyourenergy (Explicit, 68k)

A reimagining of canon where Dean is never saved and becomes a demon. He's bored waiting for the apocalypse when he happens upon a certain blue eyed seraph and they decide to work together.

This fic has all the delightful sassiness you expect of Demon!Dean and especially when he spends time with his frenemy, Meg. It also has just absolutely amazing angel lore and a deep dive into Cas and his trauma. All of this is wrapped up in a soft love story about two beings finding each other and seeing each other and breaking down each other's walls.

It's the entire package of funny, sincere and romantic.

Where there is Darkness by quiettewandering @wanderingcas (Explicit, 91k)

I may have popped this on at some point when it was a WIP but I have to renew my recommendation if so. Dean and Sam are lighthouse keepers, but Dean keeps driving off the third member of their team until Cas shows up. But will they be able to overcome their past to carve out happiness?

This Dean and Cas are so delicious. I am deeply fond of them both. They are fighting against so much baggage and yet they find in each other something so special. Sammy is also perfectly oblivious in the best way. It's hard to explain what makes this fic special except that it is so engrossing, you will be slamming next chapter

Valley of God by ValleyDean @valleydean (Mature, 145k)

I know. I KNOW. The MCD tag is daunting in a fic like this but I promise that while it is accurate, then ending is softer than you think and it's really the way it should end.

So there are a few things about this fic that make it absolutely delicious. First, it really delves into Cas’ trauma in a really gorgeous way. We don’t have enough fics that look at his angel trauma (we can't for me tbh) and this one uses a religious cult situation to delve into it. Second, Dean and Cas in this fic are just so messy and delightful. Dean wants to believe that Cas is good so badly. Cas wants to protect Dean the same way. It's crunchy. Finally, the atmosphere is amazing. It's creepy. It gets under your skin.

Is it dark? Absolutely. But it's also amazing.

The Darkest Sunshine by StarlightOfFandoms @starlightoffandoms (Explicit, 35k)

If murder husbands is your thing, this one is a delight of a fic. Dean Winchester is the Righteous Man serial killer, a notorious murderer who goes after monsters (in human form). People who are guilty of abhorrent crimes. But when he goes after Cas, a professor believed to have murdered several students, he discovers an innocent man being framed. Together with Cas and his team, Dean decides to find the real killer. He just has to pretend to be Cas’ boyfriend until they succeed.

The fake dating trope in a murder husbands fic was a total delight. So was the fact that Dean doesn't work alone and has a full support system to go after the worst of the worst. It's an intriguing concept done really well. Dean in this fic is an interesting blend of sociopathic tendencies, a strong sense of justice, and a willingness to do anything for those he is loyal to. Cas is intrigued by Dean and accepts him as he is. It's a really great combination.

A Weed In Any Other Place by VioletHaze @scones-and-texting-and-murder (Explicit, 63k)

On the other end of the spectrum is this fluffy rom com. There is some angst, but most of it is soft, sweet falling in love along with supportive friends and family.

Cas is a writer. Well, Cas had a book published and now he's desperately trying to write his second while convincing himself the first was probably just a fluke. Writers block is a bitch. That is until his car breaks down and he ends up at a little shop called Winchester and Son. By some weird trick of fate, it's exactly what he needs. He has the most productive day in years sitting in their waiting room. So he comes back, and keeps coming back. The extremely cute mechanic with green eyes doesn't hurt.

Cas is a disaster at social situations in a relatable way. Dean is struggling to put away some bad lessons from his dad so that he can find what he wants instead of what his father pushed on him. Both have a lovely support system. Charlie, in particular, makes me deeply fond in this fic.

i like your shoelaces (thanks! i stole them from the president) by you-cant-spell-subtext-without (ayreisha) @you-cant-spell-subtext-without (Explicit, WIP, 33k so far)

My lovely Tumblr wife is back at it, writing the most delightfully chaotic fic based on Misha's prompt awhile back for President Cas and Fast Food Janitorial Staff Dean Winchester. It's a Cinderella story and in equal parts hilarious and adorable. Also it is a Dean-saster/Cas-tastrophe pairing which is always fun plus there's a 2 person love triangle situation.

Dean's stuck in a miserable job with his only escape being his love of How I Met Your Mother and the Tumblr blog he devotes to the fandom. But when a handsome man walks in one night after hours, things heat up. Too bad the man in question is actually the President.

It's a romp and a love letter to fandom.

[intothedysphoria]

Max didn’t actually seem to dislike her brother that much.

From what Steve had seen the first week they’d moved, all the arguing and long frosty silences and all out fights, Billy would still sneak a note into her pocket every day of school. He’d argue with her classmates, teachers, even the cops if they ever gave her shit.

Billy had dropped her off at the Christmas dance, ruffling her hair a little before noticing Steve. All Steve really got was a grunt of acknowledgment. Which he supposed was better than a punch in the face.

Whenever Mike would make comments about Billy being insane or evil, Max would practically push him off his chair. Steve, not fancying a thirteen year olds left hook decided to put the subject of Billy off the table.

There was only a small amount of facts about Billy Hargrove that Steve knew to be accurate. He was about half a year younger than Steve, the only person he’d really bonded with was Eddie Munson and his dad was a real piece of work. As bad as Lonnie Byers, from what Steve had heard from Max.

Steves parents were Italian-Glaswegian and despite the fact that he bitched about them constantly, Steve loved his parents to bits. His nonna, his granny, his seven billion cousins, all of them were the friendliest people on earth.

The only person James had really disliked had been Lonnie. Until Neil. When his dad had a bad feeling about someone, he was always right.

Steve had been given a mission to befriend Billy. “That wee bairn isn’t being treated right”, that’s what his dad had said. So Steve, laden with spaghetti bolognaise and tablet, knocked on The Hargrove’s door when he knew Neil wasn’t home.

Billy answered, obviously post workout and stared wide eyed at the food. Looking closer at his tank top, Steve could see a pin of the Irish flag settled above his chest.

Steve, not known for his eloquence, mumbled that the food was for Billy and fled for the car. Anything to get out of an awkward conversation.

There were two washed Tupperware containers tucked under Steve’s gym locker the following Monday, accompanied by a note with surprisingly neat handwriting.

“My thanks to the Harringtons. Max loved the tablet.

Uilliam Hargrove”

Steve made a mental note of the way Billy spelled his first name. He had cousins in County Cork and had met a fair few Uilliam’s in his time. Evidently, Neil was the culprit for the anglicised spelling.

Steve’s granny was ecstatic that her cooking had been appreciated and invited him over for dinner pretty much immediately. Steve found himself delivering that message too. This time however, he didn’t run for the car.

Billy studied him, considering, then said he’d be delighted to join. His voice was both surprisingly polite and formed vowels in a manner that was unmistakably West Belfast.

He was charming. Utterly charming. Not the put on way Steve had seen him talk to Karen Wheeler (good god that woman was creepy) but in a way that seemed to just come naturally. Steves house was a blending of Scottish and Italian and Jewish and Irish and Polish and Billy genuinely seemed to love it all.

James sat them together at the table. Probably in an attempt to play Cupid, the meddling old man. Billy used it as an excuse seemingly to scandalise Steve. He was no prude but the way Billy slipped in innuendo after innuendo had Steves face burning.

Dinner turned into staying the night. Steve on an air mattress and Billy on Steve’s bed. Neil wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t there. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Billy disappeared forever.

Steve had never felt himself feeling such a burning sadness for someone and reached out so that they were clutching hands. Billy didn’t shove him away or call him a homo. Instead he clutched Steve’s hand even tighter.

The closer Billy and Steve got and the more Billy slept the night at the Harringtons, the more Billy’s relationship with Neil deteriorated. It got to the point where Billy was showing up with cracked ribs and broken toes, sometimes with Max hovering nervously behind him. Hell, they’d officially started dating with blood spurting out of Billy’s nose.

Until one day when Billy showed up looking the worst Steve had ever seen him. Max was having to support him in standing upright. He was clutching a note in his fist.

“Keep him.”

Out of everyone Steve had expected to go and give Neil a piece of their mind, it hadn’t been his granny. So while Steve was holding Billy’s hand, kissing him and being a bit useless, Maureen had apparently punched Neil Hargrove in the nose.

Funnily enough, Neil never really returned after that. He was somewhere in Alabama. Or Florida. Steve hadn’t bothered to learn where. All he knew was that Billy was a lot happier without him.

They could finally kiss in public. Go on sort of dates. Book nights of passion in sketchy motels.

Know that Max was ok and safe.

And never have his parents involved in his love life again.

For @shieldofiron and @dragonflylady77

Scottish Steve inspired by @ratbastardbilly

[cure-icy-writes]

Anyways I think you guys should watch/read My Dress Up Darling and here's why

-fundamentally, it's a story about the act of creation and love and fandom. One of the recurring themes is how artists dream of making something that others will fall in love with, and no one should be scorned for doing what they love.

-it has such an accurate representation of cosplay. there's more focus on photography than going to cons, but

-it's legitimately educational! You learn a lot about sewing and photography and crafting. I even picked up a makeup trick from this, actually, with the prominent lower lids being useful for slightly uncanny characters.

-There's an entire arc dedicated to mtf and ftm crossdressing. It's not portrayed as weird or creepy, but rather a hobby that some people just enjoy like anything else. And the manga makes a point of saying that there's literally nothing wrong with it and anyone who shames crossdressers is an asshole.

-It's super affirming of adults in fandom spaces! There's an arc dedicated to an older teen wondering if she should quit her hobby, but then she meets some older members of the community who encourage her and tell her that life doesn't end at 18.

-it's just affirming of fandom as a hobby in general, and says that it's not weird, actually, it's an act of love and community. It's not cringe you're just a hater.

-It's just a massive mood in so many ways. If you've stayed up all night on con crunch with a glue gun, if you've collected figurines of your blorbo, if you've gone to an anime convention with friends, it hits. And overall it really is a story about love and art, and I think more people should watch it.

[justthoughts1310]

ShikaTema is the Best Love Story in All of Naruto.

Okay, so Kishimoto and Ikemoto might do better with Boruto. However, as far as Naruto is concerned, ShikaTema is the best love story hands down. Let me explain.

Naruto x Hinata - Naruto spent 19 years either being oblivious to Hinata's existence or thinking she was weird.

Sasuke x Sakura - This relationship was so abusive that it was borderline criminal. I'm glad it's better now. I like Sarada, but Sasuke did not deserve a wife.

Sai x Ino - This is one of the better love stories. They kind of hit it off from the beginning in a lot of ways. However, aside from the light novel, we don't know much about it.

Asuma x Kurenai - Also, one of the better love stories, but we kind of just saw that they were together one day. Then before we know it, Asuma dies before the birth of his daughter.

Minato x Kushina - Another one of the better love stories. However, we were kind of rushed through the love story, because their entire love story was told in the past for obvious reasons.

Obito x Rin - I guess this is a good love story. I mean it almost ended in the destruction of the ENTIRE world, and Rin was in love with Kakashi the entire time, but what can you do? Did Rin and Obito end up together romantically? I have no idea. In death, Obito reverted back to his 13-14 year old self and spent eternity with 13-14 year old Rin. Yes, that's kind of romantic, but let's be honest, they can only be so romantic before it just becomes creepy and inappropriate (assuming the never age).

Now, the big one: Shikamaru x Temari.

I mean one could argue that this love story began with Temari fought Ten Ten. It was the first time Shikamaru noticed Temari. He took one look at her, and said that she had already beat Ten Ten. Naruto asked Shikamaru how he knew that, and Shikamaru said that he would not tell Naruto if Naruto couldn't figure it out himself.

Shikamaru vs Temari is the first time that Temari noticed Shikamaru, and she was utterly unimpressed with him until the very end of the fight when she realized that she was about 2 seconds for losing if Shikamaru had larger chakra reserves. From that point on, Shikamaru was never far from her mind.

Fast forward, these two lovely characters don't see each other again until Temari has to save Shikamaru from Tayuya. Shikamaru underestimates Temari's abilities, and Temari effortless kills Tayuya with her wind scythe jutsu. After seeing this, Shikamaru compares Temari to his mother.

This is important, because earlier, Shikamaru had asked his father why he married his mother, and Shikamaru's dad was basically like, "A good woman can change you."

Aside from a broken finger, Shikamaru visits the hospital to see how his severely injured friends are doing. Temari scolds him for being too emotional, because it seems as though Shikamaru is about to give up.

Shikamaru's like, "I don't need all this smoke." He gets up to leave, and his father is basically like, "You coward, are you going to let this woman talk to you crazy and all your comrades die in the future."

Shikamaru starts crying and this is the first time we see Temari show genuine concern and empathy for Shikamaru.

The next episode, I believe, Shikamaru is the one to see Temari and her brothers off from the Leaf Village as they head back to the sand.

Now, I'm going to fast forward to Shippuden. Yes, there's a filler arc in which Shikamaru saves Temari from another wind user. Upon returning to the Leaf, I believe Temari helps Shikamaru in the ninja academy with the students, and Shikamaru sees off the Sand Sibling again. You get the point.

Moving onto Shippuden, the first time we see Shikamaru in the village, we see him with Temari. Naruto keenly asks if the two of them are dating. Both Shikamaru and Temari think the assertion is hilarious, but it's actually pretty accurate.

Why, because without going through an entire play by play of every time Shikamaru and Temari were together in Shippuden, I will say this. If there's a Naruto episode with Temari in it, there's about an 80-90% that Shikamaru will be in that episode too, and that he will interact with Temari in some way.

For example, the war arc episode in which Konohamaru challenged Temari to a fight. Shikamaru did not need to be in that episode. Yet, Moegi and Udon went and found Shikamaru, so that Shikamaru could break up the fight. That was when Shikamaru said how scary Temari actually was.

There's even a shot little bonus video in which Shikamaru said, "What if it was Shikamaru Shippuden instead of Naruto Shippuden?" The an opening screen appears on the screen, and there's a silhouette of Shikamaru and Temari on the opening screen.

Temari is a long distance combat specialist. I feel that Shikamaru is mid-distance at best, but yet, both of them were in the same exact campaign during the war, and where was Temari? She was standing right next to Shikamaru.

When Shikamaru got caught up in the infinite genjustu, he dreamt of Temari by his side as they mutually agreed that marriage sucks.

My point is, as I skip a ton of points, Kishimoto had built up a relationship between these two characters for nearly 20 years. Mind you, that these characters DO NOT live in the same village. Temari has very little screen time. She has so little screen time, that she has a new outfit dang near every other time that we see her. However, the majority of the screen time she does have is with Shikamaru. The relationship between these two was set long before the light novels from Shikamaru were even considered.

[darlingofsatoru]

DRESS UP DARLIN’

⊹ synopsis: Various Jjk characters & how they’d react to you in certain halloween outfits.

⊹warnings: Implied fem!reader, very short drabbles, Reader uses makeup+ wears dresses in most, potentially ooc characters.

SATORU GOJO- ANGEL

Satoru can’t help but pause as you step out your room, eyes darting all over you shamelessly as you rummage through your handbag.

There’s only a few words that he can even think to describe you in that moment: Pretty, gorgeous, ethereal even..

“… I agr.. ee .. so I s— Satoru??” Your voice awakens him out of his thoughts, suddenly right in front of him.

He’s not even sure how that got past his senses but he lets out a content sigh, adjusting the collar on his outfit before beginning to admire your outfit once more.

An all white dress, no straps and a feather-like look to it along with matching wings

So this is why you told him to dress as a devil, matching outfits..

“…Huh, even prettier up close. I better keep you near today, huh, don’t want anyone stealing you!” He grins playfully, gently tugging you towards his embrace.

Halloween has always been fun but he’s sure it’ll be 10x better with you here.

RYOMEN SUKUNA- DEAD/CORPSE BRIDE

Truthfully, Sukuna has no interest in halloween.

It’s a silly tradition and he barely bothered to dress up, the only reason he did a little bit being you.

By barely bothered, he simply means that he’s wearing a light change of outfit that could probably be considered creepy (as if Sukuna himself isn’t scary enough) if you looked at it long enough.

Thinking of you, he groans as he gets up from his feet and goes to open his mouth to speak, stopping when he noticed you come into the room excitedly.

A white dress stained with fake blood (that doesn’t really look accurate to Sukuna, but he can appreciate the effect a bit, he supposes), not too long but also not too short for a wedding dress, paired with a classic veil covering your lipstick covered lips.

“Not half as bad as the deranged outfits most wear, I might even like yours, dare I say.” He smirks, enjoying the lift of spirit in your face from his words alone.

Maybe he doesn’t detest Halloween entirely..

YUJI ITADORI- WITCH

Yuji smiles widely, adjusting his top-hat excitedly.

He feels like Halloween was ages ago so the prospect of dressing up, especially with you, is great and has definitely put him into a good mood for the last week or so.

He actually wasn’t sure if a magician was scary but you’d suggested it could be, saying he could pull out weapons on unsuspecting bystanders (which, in his opinion, did sound pretty creepy).

“Hey, you okay in there?” He yells to you, rummaging the cupboard for the trick or treat buckets.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute!” You shout back, taking a few moments before you emerge with a broomstick in hand.

Yuji blinks for a few minutes once he catches sight of you but quickly smiles wider, waving enthusiastically.

He’s seen plenty witch costumes in his life but they don’t seem to compare with yours, the lovely black and purple dress having a matching hat and broomstick to come with it.

“Woah, a witch? That’s cool, the dark purple really suits you, you know?!” He immediately starts, gaining an appreciative smile from you.

He finds himself paying more attention to your smile, the pretty shade of purple once more showing but on your lips this time.

“Oh yeah, ah, I forgot to ask about the trick or treat buckets.. Where are they again?”

NOBARA KUGISAKI- NURSE

Nobara leans forward in the mirror, enjoying putting a bit more makeup than usual.

It’s not that she couldn’t but more that there’s no reason. What’s the point of being dolled up every day anyway, it’ll just ruin the fun of it!

So she works gently on her eyeliner, making sure not to smudge it whilst her mind wanders to what you’re doing..

Probably getting ready like she is or on your way here, likely the latter since Nobara happened to be a tiny bit later in getting ready today.

The doorbell goes before she gets to dwell on it, making a classic ‘ding-dong’ sound.

“One second, I’ll be right there!” She yells down the hall, quickly getting to the door and opening it.

It reveals just who she expected, you in a rather pretty nurse costume.

“I’ll grab my bag and we can get going!”

This Halloween is definitely gonna be the best, Nobara thinks.

CHOSO KAMO- VAMPIRE

Choso crosses his arms, embarrassment itching on his face at dressing up in general.

Being half-curse meant he didn’t do these things much if not at all, getting into a skeleton jumpsuit-like outfit.

“You still sulking?” Your voice echoes the hall immediately, his face picking quickly.

You’ve always known how to calm him, even unintentionally..

“It’s just a bit itchy, I’m not sulking.” He replies, pulling at the sleeves.

You nod in understanding, meeting his gaze as he finally looks up.

“…Ah.” He murmurs, eyes trying to be discreet as he studies your outfit.

A classic vampire suit, coloured black and red with a large collar.

“Do you think it’s alright? It took ages to find an eyeshadow to match the shade of red.” You sigh, gesturing to your eyes.

Choso nods, embarrassment seeping onto him as he notices he has a small blush engulfing his cheeks now.

“I think it’s more than alright,” He says, pushing the skeleton hood up.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO- BLACK CAT

Megumi sighs, growing bored of the high volume of noise rather easily.

He’d been dragged to this party by Nobara and Yuji to have some fun but it was anything but so far, having only felt bored the whole night.

Plus there was the fact you were apparently going to show up, likely dressed up like most people at this unpleasant party are.

“Megumi, hey!! You look pretty gloomy, you know?” A familiar voice awakens him out of his thoughts, revealing itself to be you immediately.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming.. Not that I blame you, it stinks like alcohol and sweat in here.” Megumi breathes out, taking a quick glance at you before avoiding your gaze and outfit entirely, cheeks too likely to heat up in front of you if he looked straight at you.

You chuckle and shrug, “I sort of expected something different but it’s not too bad, might loose my cat ears here though.”

He nods, he wouldn’t be surprised if anyone lost something in here, there’s people all over the place.

“So.. Wanna step outside? It’s pretty warm, you look like you’re melting.” You suggest, gaining a nod of approval from Megumi.

Maybe it isn’t so bad, at this overcrowded party, he’ll need to make sure to keep an eye out for your cat eats though..

A/n: First work, hope it’s not too boring!! Might not post for a bit after this but I do have a few drafts :D