#jed in my pocket

[eyluvu]

I want to pick jedediah up and put him in my pocket

[sir-buddy]

MY BLORBOS!!! THEY MOVE!!!

I don't usually do animation, but I thought of this idea a few days ago and decided to try it!

[almostgenerallyalways]

mamas (don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader Category: angst / fluff / run-on sentences Word count: 3,1k CW: language, I’ve been to Texas once okay forgive me, divorce Author’s note: this was supposed to be a holiday fic but I got stuck on it and almost abandoned it, but here it is rescued from my drafts, shoutout to all the amazing tgm fic writers your writing truly astounds me

Summary: Every year around the holidays, you hear from your ex. This year when you don’t respond, he decides to show up at your door. 

2022

Jake UT  [November 23, 2022 at 10:24 PM]

Hey stranger

Visiting my mom for Thanksgiving

How’ve you been?

You ignore the message. How you’ve been in the last twelve months is not something you feel up to discussing with him.

You spend the next weeks dealing with crisis after crisis at work, leaning into the chaos like you have been all year. Your personal life? Garbage fire. Reconfiguring your entire pump setup two weeks before going to production, because the DoC slapped an import ban on one of your key suppliers in China? You’re on top of it.

But then, the week before Christmas, another message comes in:

Jake UT  [December 17th, 2022 at 3:47 PM]

Hey

In town for the holidays

Would love to see you if you’re free

Brett welcome too, of course

A pang in your chest, but curiosity gets the better of you, so you text back:

Thanksgiving and Christmas? Judy must be thrilled.

You’ve met Jake’s mom all of one time, ten years ago, but she made a lasting impression. Fiercely protective of her only son, she’d been wary of you at first (you were, in order of importance: Too non-Texan, too vegetarian, and too focused on trying to rescue an almost-due group project for your sustainable water management class in which no one was pulling their weight).

And yet, over the Thanksgiving weekend you’d spent at Jake’s mother’s house in Colton, she’d slowly warmed up to you. You’d asked her endless questions about her job as a project manager at Austin-Bergstrom, and she’d poured you half glasses of wine (still exotic, to you, back then) at the kitchen island, shooing Jake back into the living room.

She’d even called you, after you guys broke up, to say she was sorry to hear it, and to tell you to call her up any time you needed someone to talk to. You’d tried your best to keep your voice even, not to break down in tears for the seventh time that day, and never called her again.

* * *

“Dude. Put your phone away for two minutes.”

Jake looks up apologetically at his friend, and pockets the device. “Sorry. Just expecting a text.”

Sandeep holds out his bottle of Lone Star, and Jake clinks it with his own. “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry I wasn’t around at Thanksgiving, we were visiting Jed’s family in NC. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Jake takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid feeling like a balm to his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s been a big year, work-wise, so they owed me one. I wanted to spend some extra time with my mom.”

Bringing up his drink to toast again, Sandeep says: “Here’s to you, bud. And to getting that permanent assignment in California. At least we knew where to send our holiday card this year.”

Condensation drips down the neck of his bottle, and Jake spins it slowly in his hand, stopping himself from peeling off the label. He feels on edge, unmoored, despite this 6th Street dive bar being as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Sandeep’s got his number. “Seeing anyone else while you’re in town? I don’t know, Myers?”

Jake doesn’t look up, but feels his cheeks heat up fractionally.

His friend takes another swig of his beer. “I guess I should stop calling her Myers. You know, with the divorce and all.”

The bottle escapes Jake’s grip, and amber liquid sloshes across the table, into Sandeep’s lap. “Shit, Seresin! Grab some napkins, will you?”

* * *

 2012

 You’d always known there was an expiration date on this thing with Jake, which is why you’d been reluctant to meet his mom to begin with.

You wanted fundamentally different things. He, the Navy: Adventure, excitement, a chance to serve his country. You: Stability. A family. A place where you belonged.

Both of you: an opportunity to prove yourself.

It’s civil, as far as breakups go.

“You always knew I wanted to fly.” He says, over breakfast at Magnolia Café. There’s a hard set to his jaw that makes you soften in contrast, because of course you do, everyone who’s ever been near Jake Seresin for longer than ten minutes knows he’s always wanted to fly.

From your first date he told you about how Judy used to park him in her office at the airport when her summer childcare fell through; little Jake happily spending the day watching commercial jets taxiing and taking off in quick succession.

How her coworkers, the civilian engineers who’d stayed on after Bergstrom Air Force Base was decommissioned and commercialized, would regale him with stories about generations of F-4 Phantoms. Or the British Airways Concorde, one of only twenty of the ill-fated aircraft ever made, bringing the Queen to Austin in a little yellow hat. The Reconnaissance Air Meet bringing in the best fighter pilots from across all divisions of the military and abroad, to compete and show off their skills.

Jake would listen to them with stars in his eyes.

You pick at your migas, your appetite gone. “I know, Jake. I would never stop you.”

But you look at him, and you know your face mirrors his determination. “But I can’t come with you, Jake. I can’t start my career following you around from camp to base year to year. I’m forty-thousand dollars in debt getting this degree, and I need to follow my own plan.”

You haven’t moved in together, though Jake spends most of his nights at your tiny off-campus apartment, where you’ve made him countless cups of black coffee trying to fuel weekend study sessions. Where he would come in past midnight, back from the late shift at his part-time job at the H-E-B, and bury his face in your neck, waking you up even though you’d been asleep for hours. Where you would hold his sleeping head to your chest, his deep breathing somehow felt inside of you, and run your fingers up and down the bare skin of his back, trying to memorize him.

You’re twenty-two, you tell yourself. This is not the end of the world.

So you see him off at the front door, a box of his things clutched to his chest, and you force yourself to be strong. “You better be,” and you try to smile up at him, but you’re not sure you’re doing a convincing job, “You better be the best goddamn pilot the Navy has ever seen, Jake.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just puts down the box, and pulls you into a last embrace. You sink into it, the fundamentally safe feeling of his arms around you, then make yourself pull away after a minute, pretending you don’t see the wet stains on his shirt.

Later you look at all the spaces in your apartment he is now conspicuously absent from (no dog-eared volume of Game of Thrones on the nightstand, no boots by the door), and it hits you then; the crevasse he’s left in your life. It may run deeper than you thought.

* * *

Jake had gone to Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island, then designator-specific training in Pensacola, Florida, and done his best not to think about you.

It helped that his days were intense and exhausting. It helped that, on liberty weekends, girls would flock to him and his friends in bars.

It helped to be several states away from you.

It helped to be living his dream.

* * *

There is a bit of a backslide, that first Thanksgiving after, where you both think it can’t hurt to see each other for one drink, for old time’s sake, which ends in him taking you up against the door in your new apartment, your legs wrapped around his waist because he does not have the willpower or presence of mind to figure out the way to your bedroom.

He knows it was a mistake, at about five AM the next day, when the blue light of morning starts streaming through a gap in the curtains, illuminating your tousled hair fanned out over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of your chest so familiar to him he could cry.

Untangling himself from you hurts, and he does perhaps the most cowardly thing he ever will: he sneaks out before you wake up. But next week he’s shipping out, and the thought of the same dead-end conversation over coffee made just the way he likes it is unbearable, so he makes himself walk away.

Somehow it’s worse, the second time around.

* * *

You’d met someone else, like he’d known you would. He sees the engagement announcement on Facebook, browsing on his phone between drills, and likes the post. It’s the third year he’s been away, and he’s at TOPGUN by then, so he has a lot on his mind. He has a girlfriend, even, a local: cute as a button, beats him savagely at pool.

It doesn’t fully hit him until the first time he sees you with your then-fiancé, at a little holiday reunion of college friends. He sees you with that ring on your finger, another man’s arm around your shoulders, and he gets an acute sense of the alternate reality that could’ve been his.

It feels a little like losing altitude too fast.

Your initial reception of him is understandably frosty, but you seem too genuinely happy to hold a grudge. By the third round, when he sidles up to you at the bar, you give him a quick hug, looking up at him with a smile that squeezes his heart: “I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and pulls you back in, just for a moment, tucking your head under his chin. You smell like apple and magnolia, like nights spent with his nose pressed into your back.

You don’t invite him to the wedding, and he’s all too glad not to have to make up an excuse not to go.

* * *

Things settle, after that. Jake gets deployed and reassigned, breaks up with his girlfriend and eventually gets another. You get promoted to senior engineer, then project lead. You see each other, not every year but close enough, sometimes with your husband there, sometimes without.

He braces himself for the next Facebook post; that you’re pregnant, but it never comes. Over time, even that seems to lose some of its potential emotional impact on him.  

Until three weeks ago, when you don’t text him back.

* * *

 2022

 You kick your shoes off in the entryway, then head into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Before you can reach the tap, the doorbell rings, and for a second you think somehow, some way, your terrible Bumble date has followed you home.

Grabbing the biggest kitchen knife you own off the magnet strip over the sink, just in case, you creep back to the door, barefoot, to press your face up to the peephole.

You don’t really expect to see the guy you just left, the ice in your glass not even melted before you were thinking up excuses to get out of there, but you sure as fuck don’t expect to see Jake either.

The door feels heavier than usual as you slowly slide it open, or maybe you’re just a little stunned. The night air hits your skin, and you can make out the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

For a long moment, Jake just looks at you, but then he says: “What were you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

You follow the jut of his chin down the line of your arm, and contemplate the knife for a second, Jake’s sudden appearance having made you forget all about it.

“I thought someone might have followed me here.”

“Ah.” He says, a spark in his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile. “If you were going to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat, a knife is a terrible choice. I could give you some tips, though.”

Putting the damn thing down on your entryway console, you turn back to look at him. It’s not cold, exactly, in December in South Central Austin, but he looks underdressed: a long-sleeved light grey t-shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of a faded pair of jeans.

He looks good, you can’t deny it: he’s always had an immediate effect on you.

Jake, your somewhat gangly, sweet college boyfriend had it. Jake, ten years of military training later: older, filled out, fine crinkly lines starting to appear at the corners of his eyes (helped along by the California sun and God knows what far-off places), irrevocably still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

At that, his expression sobers, and he looks at you for a long moment before he says:

“You didn’t tell me.”

* * *

Fucking Sandeep, you think, rubbing the back of your hand across your eyes, because that fucker has not been subtle with the hints lately, tutting like a Victorian matron while you pass the time evaluating your Bumble matches with his husband during Monday night football’s ad breaks.

The granite of your kitchen countertop feels reassuringly cool beneath your thighs, and you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on the tile below:

“I wasn’t ready.”

Jake huffs, or so you assume by the little sound that escapes him, as you determinedly face only his sneakers: “It’s been a year. You sure told everyone else we know.”

That makes your head snap up, emotion rising in your chest in a way you don’t like, have always had to tamp down when it comes to him, these last ten years. “Fuck off, Jake. You know it’s different when it comes to you.”

He leans back against the fridge, arms folded, just slightly lifting his right eyebrow at you in that irritating way of his: “I could’ve been there for you.”

Fuck it, you think, all cards on the table then. “I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to exist on my own again after being married for five years to someone who didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was, Jake. Sorry my first impulse wasn’t to come cry on my hometown hero ex-boyfriend’s shoulder.”

His eyes soften, and he pushes off the fridge to come stand next to you, running his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter than a moment ago. “I’m being a dick. It’s just, you have to know, I would’ve been there for you.”

He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath: “It’s always been different when it comes to you too, sweetheart.”

You start to shake, a little, or maybe it’s your imagination. But your voice wavers as you say his name, everything about your tone a warning: “Jake.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head: “Our timing sucked, and I don’t regret our decision from back then. I’m proud of who I’ve become in the last ten years, and I’m proud of you. You think I don’t keep up with what you’re doing? The articles you’ve published?”

This stuns you, momentarily. “No, Jake Seresin. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t think you gave a shit about the latest advances in Texas drought management.”

Just being near him, the familiar smell of him bringing up memories you’ve had years to unsuccessfully repress, is overpowering.

He makes it worse by turning to you, face so goddamn heartbreakingly earnest as he says: “I couldn’t give you what you deserved, ten years ago, but I always told myself, if I was ever in a position to…” He swallows. “I tried to forget about it when you got married, I tried to root for you and Brett, I swear.”

His hand settles next to your thigh, not quite touching, and your hand comes down on its own accord to cover his. He straightens almost imperceptibly, uses his other palm to wipe a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

Cupping your face, he draws a deep breath. “I have a permanent assignment now, in San Diego. I know it’s…”

“Jake.” You interrupt, squeezing your eyes shut, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “I’m not remotely the same person I was back then.”

He moves to stand in front of you now, and you draw him in between your thighs. Suddenly it seems imperative that you feel him, that he holds you.

Dipping his head to yours, you can hear the smile in his voice, watery, tentative: “Then let me get to know you again. Get to know me again.” He leans one hand on the counter, the other tracing your cheekbone. “No pressure. I’m totally very cool about this. Whatever you want.”

You laugh, a little choked up through tears, but genuine. It feels liberating. “What if I say yes? How does this work?”

His smile broadens, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so goddamn close, nudging your nose with his. “Come visit me, for a start. I’ll show you the sights.”

You draw him in a little closer still, legs wrapping around his waist, one hand finding its way into his close-cropped hair, and you could cry for how familiar he still feels after all these years.

But when you close the gap between your lips and his, it’s like coming home and yet not at all: he’s different and rougher and sharper and it floods you with emotion, something big and terrifying and old and new.

He leans into the kiss, grinning, cards his fingers through your hair before he moves to cover your chin, your brow, the space next to your ear with kisses, and you remember this with a jolt to your heart – how singularly intense it is to be the focus of Jake Seresin, like the strength of the sun is aimed at you, how he never does anything by halves.

You take his chin in your hand, kiss him again for good measure, before saying, into the stubble of his jaw: “One visit. No pressure.”

The grin he gives you in return could power half this city: “One visit. No pressure.”

He dips his head to yours again, kissing the skin behind your ear as he tells you: “Southern California has a lot of drought problems, you know. I’ve actually been reading some really scary articles about it.”

.

.

.

i hope you enjoyed :):) - if you liked this I hope you’ll check out some of my other work:

where the wild things are (rooster x reader)

cross my heart (hangman x reader) masterlist

[preservationofnormalcy]

Radio host from Nothing-to-Fear here again! Name’s Io.

Now I get that MISSI’s none of my business, but can ya blame a journalist? I’m sure you get plenty on this site. But hey, lemme digress! Afraid I’m not too clued in on Perdition; Folks here don’t really talk about the other side of the state border, let alone cross it. My aim down here on the radio is to help people know their world a bit better, and stay safe about it.

Mind giving me a rundown of the town (Heh. Rhymes)? Hey, if I can’t get MISSI, this’ll be the next best story, yeah?

- Io Mason (She/They), KLRT 108.6

You must be new to the area. Not surprising the locals are a little hush hush about it, but I'd have hoped they would warn you. Perdition is something we don't like to talk about, either.

Perdition, Arizona. 1888. A 4-4-0 locomotive nicknamed Old Judge pulled out of the station in a nearby town heading to Perdition - and that was the last anyone ever heard from anyone aboard. We don't know what cargo it was carrying, who was aboard, anything. Something happened on the way, we're still not sure what - but the main result is Perdition is now a cursed place. A place of...death denied. Damned souls, doomed to wander the West until the end of days settle their boots there. Revenants by the truckload filter in and out of that death-infused pocket dimension, and we do our best to keep them from causing havoc. Perdition is blighted, hellish. Nothing grows, nothing thrives, but everything lives.

I've been there exactly once. Trying to negotiate a ceasefire between a werewolf pack nearby and Perdition residents took us on the only way in or out of Perdition - on the now ghost train Old Judge. The other agents and I had to set up a meeting with Perdition's mayor, Jed "Murder" Mulroney, in the town's one saloon, Aces and Eights.

I really didn't like my time there. One too many firefights. You should've seen Agent Fairweather, though. She was incredible.

[gummy-axolotl]

Jedtavious is so special to me, and I just........

When I was little, like, REALLY little, Night at the Museum was my favorite movie. I watched it all the time, I quoted it in my squeaky baby voice, absolutely loved it.

In fact... I loved it so much, that Jedediah and Octavious were my imaginary friends. I called them "Jed and Knight" and I would carry them around in my pocket and play with them and stuff.

Even just remembering this-

Shoot I'm gonna cry while writing this post lol

Anyway, those characters are so incredibly special to me, and as I rewatched the movies now that I'm older, and I see the beautiful jedtavious ship art... Idk

It's just so, so special to me. They're my friends. And they're together.

[tortoisesshells]

Writing ask: 4, 7, 11, 16 & 18

4. ... with dialogue I'm proud of:

I've yet to find a character whose dialogue I've enjoyed writing quite as much as Jed Foster's. From the Mercy Street (but with vampires!) extended universe/pastiche/whatever -

“Are you this surprised when the rains arrive in April, Nurse Mary? Or, if I may dabble in plain Yankee with you, when the sap begins to run in March? We are in an army hospital. They send us, among other things, their dying.” “These men were not dying,” Mary insisted. “The difference between ailing and dying is a very thin one, then.”

7. ... that I nursed in a daydream before finally writing:

Ch. 21 of Customs and Duties was a weird one - I had it in mind for over two years before I got to it, but because it was, at heart, a chapter about imperfectly understood illness and quarantine I ... sort of lost heart for it, by the summer of 2022. Still, it's a turning point for Customs, and I had been looking forward to writing it.

Would she pick a fight with him, next? He supposed she might, though he was not inclined to give it to her. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Norrington took a risk and held out his hand for the pry-bar, and Elinor Treat reluctantly handed it to him. Without the tool she had been half-brandishing as a weapon, she seemed – exanimate. A puppet with its strings cut. The pry-bar felt damp in his hand, and he was unpleasantly surprised to find it had left red marks where he had taken hold of it: blood. Not his. “Mrs. Treat,” he said, very quietly and slowly, “Mrs. Treat, are you hurt?” “What? – oh. That.” Elinor Treat seized a kerchief from her pocket, and wrapped it around her hand. “I thought it had stopped bleeding days ago.”

11. ... with characters I want to write more in the future:

I miss Them (the cast of characters of potc). Here's from the last non-drabble I wrote for them.

Here, Elizabeth began to sift through her assets. It was a quick endeavor: a few dozen palm trees, a few dozen casks of rum, the damned pistol that Jack was guarding as though it were a token of a lover, the fire which was too small to even be seen clearly from the other end of her new home. In her great-grandmother’s time, when London burned nearly to the ground, the smoke could be seen from the surrounding counties as though it were a tower to the heavens – but she had not London to burn. That made lumber precious, didn’t it? Elizabeth had a brief, frustrated sense that she might have a better idea of how long she could keep the island ablaze if she had paid more attention to the consumption of fire-wood in her father’s household, but of late she’d shied away from the house’s accounts as though she could keep her future away likewise. She sized up the palm trees she did have, and, careful to be quiet, padded through the darkness to get a sense of how great around the trunks were – how long they might burn. If she were to set the island alight –

16. ... from a recent piece I want to brag about:

This is clever only to me, but, from nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace

"Her fingers were numb – centuries had changed many things about Collinsport, but the wind at Widows’ Hill was ever the same – bone-cracking, blood-chilling, cold. She struggled with the knot at her neck."

I cannot resist some foreshadowing - Vicki, the narrator, eventually is hanged (she gets better. mostly.) - hence the attention paid to the struggle with the knot at her neck. No one said anything about it when I posted, so I'm being annoying about it now. (there's also a point where Jeremiah quotes one of the first things his doppelganger in the 1960s said to Vicki, which clearly a man in the 1790s couldn't know anything about. surely.)

18. ... from that one WIP everyone has that has no plot, just vibes:

From my "Will Turner finds promotion to authority vastly overrated" post-AWE fic:

“The only deal I am prepared to offer you, Mister Beckett,” said Captain Turner, wearily, feeling as impatient as he ever had alive, “Is that which is available to all deceased souls. If that is of interest to you – see Mister Maccus, there. If not, get out my way.” Will didn’t look to see what choice Beckett made, and either his half-hour’s practice of the posture of authority or the dreadfully carved doors dissuaded any further complaints. The pipe-organ of the cabin seemed to be laughing at him.

send me a number and I'll send you an excerpt of my writing!

[pineapple-coffee-writes]

Jed and Octy Watch Barbie

Prompt: the ADORABLE art by @dayraiser, which was made in response to a meme I made on my main blog

Ship: Jedtavius

Jed and Octavius were the ones to insist that the Museum go see Barbie in theaters. They saw the trailer on Facebook and didn’t stop bothering Larry until he agreed to take them.

Jed was thrilled to see Ken dressed as a cowboy in the trailer. Thus, Jed was insistent that he and Octy should dress up.

For Jed, dressing up was easy.

He convinced Larry to supply him some pink acrylic paint and the smallest brush he could find. Jed painted one of his many hats a shade of vibrantly Barbie pink.

But Octy wanted to join in on the fun. Jed’s response to this was to dip his hand in the paint and slap it onto Octy’s helmet.

“There ya go, partner,” Jed said through his laughs, “now you’re ready!”

Larry brought them to the theater concealed in his pocket.

He put them inside the popcorn bucket once they’d safely arrived at their seats.

Jed and Octy cheered when Ken and Barbie changed into their cowboy outfits. Jed flapped his hands excitedly, and Octy jumped up and down.

By the end of the movie, the miniature men were clinging to each other, shedding tears. The music and message got to them.

And after all of that, Octy wore his pink helmet more often. It suited him.

Jed also made sure to keep pink in his wardrobe.

[ideasvoid]

Hiii I hope you still take requests :) if so can I request survivor reader who's from ormond and knows legion and jeffg but ends up having a thing with a different killer? (Preferably deathslinger or ghostface- which is only half licensed so im not sure if you do write for him)

Thank you <33

Hello my lovely <3 I can most certainly try. I apologize if this isn’t exactly what you wanted, you didn’t specify too much on a scenario but that’s ok :) I will always hop at the chance to write my boy Caleb, he needs more love.

I hope you enjoy!

Ghostface - Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen

Sparks burst forward from the rust machine and you quickly raise your hands to shield your face. To say the trial wasn’t going well would be an understatement, currently David was being pulled up by that thing, Claudette was next to you, and the last you had seen Jeff was Two generators ago. Something was off, very wrong yet no matter how you strained your mind you couldn’t put your finger on it.

The machine erupted again, pulling you back to reality. Whatever that was anymore. Claudette stared horrified at the generator, her hands shook horribly and you could see the tears begin to well up behind her cracked glasses. You open your mouth to speak but the sound on a twig snapping cut you off, your throat going dry in seconds as your heart rate spiked. The snap was intentional, it always was.

Click, flash.

The two of you hopped to your feet, splitting off in different directions into the snow. The familiar cold stung your face and hands, fingers somewhere between a stinging pain and numbness that you hoped wasn’t the beginning of frostbite. Crunching of snow faded into the dull thumps and creaks of the wooden floor as you ran through the halls of the decrepit lodge of Ormond. You had spent so much time here before, now those memories felt like another life.

Clinging to the stair railing, you stopped. Straining to hear any footsteps. Was he gone? Certainly he wouldn’t have given up so easily,

Click, flash.

You bolted up the remaining stairs. You knew Ormond like the back of your hand, just up these stairs and around the corner and could jump out that window in the large room – a sudden tug at the back of your shirt halted your moment, said window mere feet away. The sharp edge of a knife came to gently glide along your throat, teasing, for now.

A long whistle came from the man behind you, his arm wrapping itself tightly around your waist, keeping you close to his chest. “So this is your old stomping ground eh?” He chuckled to himself at his clever little joke. “Bit of a dump now, though” his release of you caused you to stumble forward slightly, quickly whipping around to face him “Aw come on now, don’t give me that look” he twirled the blade in his hand as he looked over you, you could practically feel the smile he had on his face under that mask. “Can’t help it, you just look so cute all wide eyed, view up the stairs ain’t too bad either” he dodged you as you swatted at him, laughing as he pulled out his camera.

Click, flash.

“Now now, so violent. And they say I’m bad.” That smile surely got wider “I just wanted to get a nice picture of my favourite lil survivor before you go scurrying’ back that fire of yours. To which-“ Danny held up a finger, waiting a few seconds before a familiar boom resonated through the resort, a boom you could feel in your bones. He pointed to the window you had tried to escape from, slowly pocketing his camera and gripping his knife “I’ll give you a head start, better start runnin baby”

You didn’t need to be told twice as to darted for the window, vaulting it and leaving your kinda boyfriend not far behind. He’d see you later, coaxing you away from the safety of the campfire and into the fog, and you’d be waiting.

The Deathslinger - Caleb Quinn

The cold stung Caleb’s face before he had opened his eyes, winter air dry in his lungs. He had always disliked trials on Ormond, while it lended to numbing the ache in his leg and jaw, the freeze against his skin and snow always slowed his step and threw off his aim. Still, he had a job to do, conditions be damned.

The resort, despite his misgivings, was an interesting place; with tall towers that held strange metal chairs high above the ground and odd flat boards with holsters on them. You had explained the gist of skiing and the resorts old purpose to him, but you’d have to forgive him for not entirely understanding, he’s an old man from an even older time where such things didn’t exist. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the enjoyment from strapping sticks to your feet and skidding down a hill at several miles per hour and slamming directly into a tree in some cases.

A scream sounded throughout the grounds, Dwight thrashed as he was reeled in, hitting the ground with a hard thud as Celeb slashed him across the chest with his bayonet. One, two, three… someone was unaccounted for. He hefted Dwight onto his shoulder, hissing through his teeth as an elbow connected harshly with the back of his neck as he struggled. Caleb lifted the poor man onto the hook, your overlord quick to claim her latest meal.

He only offered the corpse a glance before starting towards the lodge. He had an idea where you’d be, a routine of sorts. The wooden floor groaned in protest as he stepped over debris and broken furniture, the hallway opening up into a large main room, fire crackling in its hearth and sat in front of it was you. Knees pulled to your chest as you stared off into the flames, it looked like you were somewhere else, somewhere he imagined familiar and warm. He approached you quietly, death to Bayshore lowered and at ease.

“You alright there darlin?” His question was quiet, a rare air of gentleness in his voice as he looked you over. When you gave no answer he gave a sigh, looking around before pulling one of the scattered blankets with the least amount of holes from an old chair and draping the raged cloth over your shoulders. Caleb lowered himself down next to you, letting out a groan that reminded you of one a typical dad might make.

An arm wrapped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into his side. “What’s the matter darlin?” You stared into the fire still, the echos of laughter and smiles of better times swirling in your mind.

You’d never see that again, you’d never see your loved ones again. They would never know what happened to you or where you went, you would forever remain a cold case and left in this hell to be murdered over and over and over and over again. You had Jeff, which was a godsend in this hell but even still he was also in the fog with you and the legion… they weren’t the same. No one was coming to save you, no one was coming to save any of you.

“I just…” your words were choked, your throat tightening as tears burned your eyes “I miss home so much… I-“ you tried to continue, but the words wouldn’t come. Caleb pulled you closer wordlessly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You clung to him like he might be ripped away from you too, sobs muffled by his duster.

“I know darlin, I know.”

[bichettes]

dbl extras || carrie

summary: thought i'd give you guys a rundown on how i imagined present-day carrie to be! help with imagining the story a bit. hope you love her as much as i do. reference pics or ““reference”” pics included

- full name: carina christina panganiban-st. james

- dob: august 26, 1998

- height: 5’8

- zodiac sign: virgo

- love language: words of affirmation

- skin tone through the winter, spring/fall, summer:

- miss girl is 10000% filipino! so jot that down

- she looks darker when she wears a white tee and she’s tan; she loves it (happens to me in the summer and it’s my fave thing)

- in tagalog “brown-skinned” is “moreno/a”

- her mom’s side would make comments when she was a kid about how dark she would get and the amount of comments grew when baseball became more serious

- her dads tried their best to shield her from the comments but they couldn’t protect her from everything :(

- anyways back to the fun stuff

- extroverted with introverted tendencies but since having penelope she has become more introverted but it tends to go away around friends and family

- hair colour: naturally dark brown but she does like to dye it

- feeling like this is the move for present day carrie

- ily jed 🫶🏼

- hair length: usually likes to keep it long, gave herself a buzz cut (with the help of her dads and pen) during the pandemic bc she was bored; now it’s grown out nice and long once again

- piercings? yes definitely

- left ear: double lobe, helix, flat, double forward helix

- right ear: double lobe, industrial, conch

- and maybe a cute lil septum piercing 😌

- don’t ask me how she could afford all this lol

- gets her nails done whenever she can, they’re cute or whateva

- loves cooking, loves being in the kitchen

- her dads however hate her in the kitchen bc she’s a mess, she doesn’t clean as she goes 💀

- definitely can sing, girl’s got pipes

- have tattoos? yeah, she’s got ideas

- even wears makeup on game days! i’m not talking a full face beat but she has her eyebrows done, eyeliner, and mascara on; keeps lipgloss in one of the pockets of her pants (they’re on a rotation)

- her teammates think she’s funny for keeping a sunscreen stick at the back of the dugout when she spends all nine innings with a mask on but they don’t know the harm of the UV rays! they don’t!

- fiercely loyal and protective of those she loves and her teammates; she will cut a bitch if needed

- wears glasses, cannot be bothered with contacts (20/20 vision is overrated anyway)

- build: thicccc thighs save lives and she’s got a cute butt she’s not afraid to admit that. i’m imagining rectangle/inverted triangle body shape, toned arms, girl is Strong™

- her kind of style:

- yeah she’s pretty cool :)

[saltygilmores]

A Really Really Old Interview with Milo From The Earliest Days of Gilmore Girls, TeenMag.Com

Name: Milo Anthony Ventimiglia

D.O.B.: July 8, 1977

Hometown: Milo was born in Anaheim, California, but he grew up in nearby Orange, CA.

How You Know Him: Most people recognize Milo from his role as Jed Perry on the short-lived but much-loved Fox TV show Opposite Sex. He's also appeared as a guest star on show's like C.S.I. and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Now, Milo has joined the cast of the terrific WB show Gilmore Girls as Luke's trouble-making nephew, Jess.

Taking the Plunge: Milo always wanted to be an actor, even when he was a little kid. "When I was eight, I was telling my parents, 'Hey, in twenty years, I'm gonna win an academy award,'" says Milo. "Then I really didn't dive into it until I was 18." When he was in high school, Milo was in plays, but he was too focused on playing sports?football, baseball and basketball?to think about getting into acting professionally. "Then, finally, when the opportunity came up as I got older, I was like, 'Wow, this is really something that I enjoy doing, and I think I could see a future career in it,'" explains Milo. "Plus, I'm not the best salesman, and I can't play guitar." What else was there for him to do?

First Paying Gig: The first professional paying job that Milo ever had was a small role on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. "I had one line," says Milo. "I walked down the stairs at some party Ashley was having because her parents were out of town. I have a girl on my arm, and I say, 'Relax Ash, we're just taking a little tour' and I laugh. It's a great glorious moment," he adds sarcastically.

Big Break: Besides that captivating bit part on Fresh Prince, Milo did a few commercials and appeared as a guest star on a few other TV shows. The public really started to take notice of Milo when he landed the role of Jed on Opposite Sex. This short-lived series earned Milo countless fans and some even made fan pages for him.

Becoming a Gilmore Guy: These days, Milo plays Jess, the new boy in Stars Hollow on Gilmore Girls. So far, we don't know that much about him. "He's kind of a mislead youth," says Milo. "He drinks. He smokes. He says rude things. He's kind of impolite. But, uh, he just doesn't want to be there." Jess is sent to live in Stars Hollow with his uncle, Luke, when he gets into trouble, and his mom just doesn't know what to do with him. Jess isn't just a typical bad boy though. "He's also really intelligent," says Milo. "So I think there's hope that he's going to turn out to be a good guy, or at least kind of he'll settle into his own in the town. He's always got a book in his back pocket." And guess who else is always carrying a book around: Rory.

Mystery Guy: Even Milo doesn't know that much about his Gilmore Girls character, Jess. The writers haven't told him where Jess was living before he came to Stars Hollow or even what his last name is. "I guess he's one of those Madonna characters," jokes Milo. We're guessing that both Milo and us Gilmore fans will be getting to know Jess a lot better in the coming months.

Good to be a Bad Boy: Milo admits that he's really having fun playing the bad boy role this time around. "I really enjoy it," he says. "I think, a lot of times, I kind of get stuck with the nice guy. The nice, indecisive guy who doesn't know how to make up his mind about anything. So, it's nice to just be the carefree, reckless youth." Plus, you get to do all those bad things without getting into any trouble. What a deal.

Sticking Around: There's been a lot of speculation about how long Jess will be a character on Gilmore Girls, so Milo wants to set the record straight. "I've got a two-year contract." says Milo. "I'm on for two years. It's kind of weird* My mom is so funny. Gilmore Girls is her favorite show, and so she goes on the web sites and spoiler boards and everything. In some places it says, 'Oh he's only a guest recurring,' and in other places it says that I'm only in two episodes," says Milo. "But no, I've got a two-year contract." So, go ahead and get attached to him girls. He's gonna be around a while.

Making Trouble: Of course, the news that Jess will be on Gilmore Girls for two years may upset some of the hardcore Rory and Dean fans out there. The rumors are flying that Jess is going to come in and break up that adorable couple. Milo isn't really saying what's going to happen. "Yeah, I definitely raise hell," he admits. "In episode number eight, which we just finished, I meet Dean for the first time. It was interesting. It was very quick but it was cool." Jess has already caused one fight between Lorelai and Luke, and it looks like he's just going to keep shaking things up in the sleepy town of Stars Hollow.

Movie Editing: If you look up Milo's movie credits, it looks like he's been in quite a few flicks, but it turns out, the poor guy has been edited out of most of them. For instance, in She's All That most of Milo's scenes got chopped. "It makes me laugh. My part was so miniscule," says Milo. "You see me walk in a door, and, right before I'm about to talk, they cut. So there's that. And then there's a whole following scene with myself and Kirin Culkin [that got cut], and then there's another scene in the movie that was totally cut. So, I kind of laugh when people are like, 'Oh, Milo Ventimiglia, She's All That,' and then they name something else, and I'm like, 'I wasn't really in those movies.'" There are a few movies that Milo managed to stay in, including one called Sheer Bliss, which hasn't been released yet. "I couldn't get cut out of that," says Milo. "I was the lead role." Sheer Bliss is about four guys who graduate from college and decide to try to figure out what the heck the want to do with their live. Check out the official website at www.sheerbliss.com.

Car Guy: Something else Milo is really into, besides acting, is cars. "I'm kind of a motorhead," he admits. "I'm a Chevy guy. I've got two Chevys." In fact, Milo was excited to learn that the teenmag.com shares a building with big name car magazines like Hot Rod and, even better for him, Super Chevy. He even wanted to stop by so we could take him to the car magazine floors and show him around. Milo said he'd call to set up a time to drop by. We're still waiting* (sigh.)

What's That In His Pocket?: Just like his Gilmore Girls character, Milo has always got a book with him. During down time on set, he's usually just sitting back reading a book. Currently, he's reading the Richard Bachman (aka Steven King) book The Long Walk.

Manly Movies: Milo's movie collection has got a lot of classic guy flicks in it. He's got The Godfather DVD collection, Goodfellas, Blow and The Matrix. But Milo's also into some old classics like movies starring James Dean and Marlon Brando. "I kind of dig all that old stuff," says Milo. Milo says that he really likes movies with good character development. He prefers movies "where it's not superficial. You have to kind of see what's going on in the mind of the character, to see their thought process without them giving it away or handing it to you on a plate." So he's a thinking guy. How cool!

Milo's Music: Like most people, Milo has a pretty eclectic music taste. "I listen to a lot of hip hop, and right now I'm stoked on a band called The Strokes," says Milo. "I was up at like five in the morning last week, just doing a bunch of stuff, and then I ended up just crashing on my couch and turning on the TV. I was falling asleep, and I heard the song and saw the band, and I was like, 'Who the hell are these guys?' I went and bought the CD, and I just haven't taken it out of my player yet. Then also like a lot of Deftones, and a lot of Orange County punk that I grew up with."

That's all for Milo. Don't forget to check him out on Gilmore Girls every Tuesday night at 8pm EST/PST on the WB.

[littledreamling]

Fluffbruary 50/50 Challenge: February 5 & 6 - Aquarium, Trust

Tags: aquariums, mentions of PTSD, Dream of the Endless has PTSD, healing, panic attacks, Dream of the Endless loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless, Trust

“Rose and Jed have expressed a wish to visit the aquarium,” Dream said, and Hob hummed affirmatively as he cracked an egg into the already sizzling pan. He and Dream were in his kitchen making breakfast; more accurately, Hob was making breakfast while Dream looked on, endlessly fascinated by humanity’s love of food in all forms. Hob had learned, through months of trial and error and patient compassion, to let Dream gather his thoughts without interruption, so he kept his attention on the stove until Dream was ready to continue his train of thought to its inevitable terminus, wherever that may be.

“I should like to accompany you.”

Hob nearly dropped the plate he was holding in shock. All at once, a million thoughts raced through his mind. Was Dream aware of what an aquarium was? Was he ready for that level of exposition, not only to the crowds of people, but also to the sheer amount of glass? Ever since Dream had opened up about his imprisonment, Hob had taken it on himself to guard the Endless from any situations that could potentially trigger his trauma. An aquarium seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

He kept his face carefully neutral as he plated up the eggs and bacon, though. He was sure Dream could detect his inner concerns, but there was no need to worry Rose and Jed unduly.

“Kids!” He called to the living room where the Walkers siblings were playing with Jed’s action figures. “Breakfast!”

He heard the clatter of plastic hitting the floor, immediately followed by the thundering of footsteps as they descended like a herd of wild animals. Rose usually protested being called a kid, insisting upon her mature age, unknowingly proving any point of immaturity attempting to be made, but evidently her stomach (or the knowledge that, in comparison to her uncles, she really was a child, and would be for a long time) overruled any objections. They both babbled their thanks as he handed them their plates, then retreated back to the table to dig in, leaving Hob and Dream in relative privacy once again.

“Love,” Hob sighed, trying to keep as much consternation out of his voice as possible. He turned to face his lover, propping one hip against the kitchen counter and burying his shaking hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“You would not want me there?”

“No!” Hob cried quickly, one hand dislodging itself and reaching towards Dream of its own accord. He brushed his fingers against the back of Dream’s hand cautiously; his lover had never been averse to physical contact, but the air between them felt charged and Hob found himself faintly surprised that the touch didn’t send them both flying. He glanced down, at the fine hand grasped in his, marveling at the delicate bones and smooth skin, and then back up, catching Dream’s gaze intently. “That’s not it at all. I would love for you to come with us. It’s just… I’m not sure it would be. Good for you.”

“How so?” Dream asked, a far cry from the indignation he would’ve responded with just a few short months ago. Hob decided to take the risk, knowing it could blow up in his face, but he had to make sure.

“You are aware of what an aquarium is, correct?”

“An aquarium is a transparent tank of water in which fish and other water creatures and plants are kept.”

“And you’re a smartass,” Hob remarked without heat. “I just don’t… I don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. There’s a lot of glass and I don’t want that to trigger anything unpleasant.”

“Do you trust me, Hob?”

It was hardly a question, and surely one that Hob didn’t have to think about for long.

“Of course, love,” he breathed.

“I will be okay,” Dream said with finality. “If I am uncomfortable, I will always be able to retreat to my realm. With you there, however, I do not see how it could be an adverse experience.”

Hob felt his heart clench in his chest at that. Being on the receiving end of Dream’s affection was such a new feeling; he often didn’t have room within himself to contain it all.

“Okay,” he said with a watery smile. “Okay. I’ll buy another ticket.”

—

Which is how, six hours later, he found himself strolling through the massive aquarium, hand in hand with the King of Dreams and Nightmares, watching Rose and Jed weave through the crowds. It should’ve felt disorienting to be standing next to such unfathomable power in the middle of a food court, but the domesticity of the situation overruled any lingering cognitive dissonance. 

So far, they had managed to avoid the glass-heavy sections of the aquarium. Dream had loved the touch pool, eagerly running his fingers over the varied textures of the sharks and rays. He had raptly watched the otters play in their enclosure, seemingly more comfortable with the single sheet of glass without a ceiling to box them in. Indeed, Hob was impressed by how well Dream had handled the vast majority of the trip. There was only one exhibit left, and he had been dreading it all day: Ocean Voyager. It was a crowd favorite and with good reason. The tank itself was bigger than a football field and held over 6 million gallons of water. And the entrance just so happened to go through a tunnel of glass.

Even as they approached, Hob felt his heartbeat kick up. The line ahead of them forced them to slow to a slither, which was fine by him. He wanted to give Dream every opportunity to back out before it was too late.

“Love,” he started, caressing the back of Dream’s hand with his thumb. “I just want to warn you. The entrance to this section is a tunnel of glass with water all around. It’s okay if you don’t want to go through this one, I can stay out here with you while Rose and Jed go ahead.”

“I…” Dream paused, seeming to consider his words carefully. “I want to… face that which causes me distress. I do not want to be trapped by my fear any longer.”

“You’ve done an amazing job today,” Hob smiled and squeezed Dream’s palm. “If this is what you want, I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”

The tunnel itself was, in Hob’s opinion, one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen. It was 100 feet of curved glass revealing the ocean above them, light filtering through the water to cast a blue-green tint on the crowd below. Sharks, fish, and manta rays all swam lazily overhead, a feat that never failed to take his breath away, his renaissance peasant mind temporarily blown by the engineering required to achieve such a magnificent display. The very first glimpse of it, however, stopped Dream in his tracks. He tensed, as stiff as a board next to Hob, all of his attention on the glass above them. His eyes were glazed slightly and Hob noticed that he wasn’t even breathing; his throat straining to get unnecessary air to his unnecessary lungs.

“Dream, love,” he said softly. “Come back to me.”

It worked, marginally. Dream ripped his gaze from the clear acrylic to Hob’s face, though it seemed to take an enormous effort. Hob made sure to reward the exertion with a small, private smile. Some of the tension around Dream’s eyes eased as he grimaced a tight, fleeting smile in return.

“That’s it,” Hob praised. “Are you with me?”

Dream jerked his head in a stuttering nod, more of a neck spasm than anything close to a controlled movement, but it was enough. At least he was mentally present, his eyes wary and watchful. Hob could work with it.

“Do you trust me?”

Another nod, this one far more confident and accompanied by a shuddering breath that caused his chest to flutter underneath his black sweater. Hob repaid him with another smile, hoping to convey all of his pride and encouragement in the uptick of his lips and the softness of his eyes. 

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said confidently, tugging them both over to the side of the pathway, out of the way of the majority of the crowd. Dream’s trust was no small thing, but he intended to wield it to the best of his ability. He knew, largely from experience with anxious students, that a tsunami of questions was often more harmful than helpful; statements of fact and taking the lead were the most effective strategies. “We’re going to walk through the tunnel as quickly as possible. I’ll be with you the entire time, my hand in yours. There’s a massive tank on the other side that I think you’ll probably like, so we can spend as much time there as you want. Does that sound good?”

Dream nodded again, his lips forming an affirmative syllable without the lung capacity to provide enough sound to be able to be heard over the din of the horde around them. It was enough. Hob squeezed Dream’s hand again, and then he was off, tugging an equally quick-footed Dream through the mass of people, weaving expertly down the length of the entire path, not once sparing an upwards glance. By the time they reached the darkness at the end of the tunnel, Hob was slightly winded and grinning, he was sure, slightly maniacally. Dream’s hand was still clasped tightly in his, nearly cutting off circulation to several fingers, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Dream hesitantly shook his head, the clench of his jaw already working its way loose in the comfort of shadows. They stood for a moment, or three, or twelve, Hob catching his breath and Dream regaining comfort in his own skin. It was a slow process, but Hob had all the time in the world. Watching the transformation in Dream was more fascinating than the fish, anyway. His shoulders squared, subtly, regaining their usual regal demeanor. His eyes softened, taking stock of their surroundings, the faux carved stone walls, the dark carpet, the children running underfoot.

Dream licked his lips an indeterminate amount of time later, then whispered, “Thank you.”

“Of course, my love. Would you like to continue?”

“You mentioned a large tank,” Dream said. “I should… like to see it.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s one of the largest in the world,” Hob gushed. “We just walked underneath it, but the next one is just a flat piece of glass, like the otters. Well, it’s not glass, it’s acrylic, and it’s not like the otters, because it goes all the way up to the ceiling, but it’s the same general concept.”

They walked as he talked, still hand-in-hand, through the darkened passage. As they approached the entrance, the very air around them hushed, as if they were about to enter a temple. Hob still remembered the first time he turned the corner, emerging into the vast room, lit only by the light streaming through the water in the floor-to-ceiling tank. It wasn’t uncommon for first-timers to stop in their tracks at the sight, the sheer size and magnificence of the tank in front of them proving to be overwhelming.

So when he guided Dream around the turn, he was prepared for the sudden halt and intake of breath. Watching the amazement on Dream’s face, however, was a new experience. His lips parted in awe, his eyes as wide as Hob had ever seen them. His pale skin was shaded blue from the water’s tint and his blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

“ Oh ,” he breathed.

“Come on, love,” Hob whispered. “Let’s find a seat, yeah?”

Dream nodded absently and Hob gently tugged him through the crowd. The entire room consisted of giant, shallow steps, large enough to act like carpet-covered bleachers. Children, and the parents of children, pressed close to the glass, ducking under the railings to smush their faces and hands against the clear barrier, endlessly entranced by the lure of the water and creatures on the other side. Hob and Dream were lucky enough to find a spot near the front, unbothered by roughhousing or antsy kids. Near the wall, shrouded by darkness, caught up in the splendor of the exhibit, Hob almost felt as though he and Dream were in their own world. There was soft, ethereal music playing from the speakers far above their heads, drowned out slightly by the murmurs of the people around them. The hand in his grasp had gone somewhat slack; all of Dream’s attention was on the tank. Any remaining trace of anxiety from the tunnel had summarily vanished, morphing into abject wonder, so Hob turned his own focus to the oceanscape.

The cerulean water, the vastness of the view, and the richness of the life on display never failed to take his breath away. Thousands of fish could be seen in front of the glass at any given time; grouper and stingrays and sharks all vying for his attention. And then the whale sharks swam placidly into view, and Hob felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. When he had proclaimed, in 1389, that he would experience all life had to offer, he had never thought to imagine anything remotely like this. How could he have ever known? His mates, he remembered, told stories of sea monsters, massive creatures glimpsed just below the surface, shadows lurking in the depths. As Hob watched the enormous whale sharks circle the tank, he wasn’t sure they had been altogether wrong. He couldn’t find it in himself to judge them or find fault in their misconceptions. He only wished that they, along with everyone else he had lost over the years, could’ve been here to witness the advancements that made such a wondrous sight possible.

They sat, curled against each other, for over an hour. At some point, Hob had turned to find tears streaming down Dream’s cheeks, left unwiped and undoubtedly unnoticed. Rose and Jed wandered through a few times, content to be left to their own devices to explore and retrace their steps through the entire aquarium. Hob trusted Rose to keep an eye on Jed while he and Dream basked in the oceanic light.

“Thank you, Hob,” Dream said finally. His voice was rough and gravelly, heavy with emotion. “Can we… Can we go through it again?”

“The tunnel?” Hob asked, trying to hide his surprise. “Of course we can. We can go anywhere you want. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Hm,” Dream hummed, then nodded. “I should like to. Get used to it. If this is the reward waiting for me, I am certain I can stomach the feeling of glass above me.”

With that, they stood. And with one last, marveling glance, they exited back to the center of the aquarium, right back to the beginning.

—

They went through the tunnel a total of seven times. Each subsequent journey took longer than the last as Dream grew more relaxed. Their steps slowed, their breathing slowed, their heartbeats slowed. Dream even got so bold as to take a ride on the moving sidewalk that traveled the length of the passage, focusing the attention that he would usually spare for the placement of his feet to the water above, watching the ocean life glide unhurriedly over their heads. Hob watched as Dream shifted, his entire frame unwinding, the stress and anxiety dripping off of every plane of his body, fraction by fraction, with every pass.

This, he thought, was true magic. This was the greatest pleasure in life. To be able to watch the healing process, right in front of his very eyes. To be able to stand by his lover’s side, their palms pressed together, their heartbeats pumping in peaceful tandem. To watch, with unending wonder, as Dream discovered true joy again.

And then Dream dropped his hand. They were alone in the tunnel, as close to the aquarium’s closing time as Hob ever let himself get, and he suddenly found himself, for the first time since walking through the front doors that morning, with two empty hands. His heart jumped, then immediately laid back down to rest, because Dream had done what they had seen so many small children do that day: he pressed both palms to the glass, his nose mere centimeters from the cold pane, his eyes alight with amazement. Hob’s entire chest cracked open at the sight. He stepped in behind Dream, curling his arms gently around his waist, hooking his chin over the bony arch of Dream’s shoulder.

“What do you see?” He asked softly.

“Life,” breathed Dream. “What do you see?”

Healing, Hob thought. Love. Trust.

“I see you.”

Read on AO3!!

[sir-buddy]

Two minis in a shirt pocket. What will they do?

[9leaguesofmirrors]

On With The Show! (a Jed Hunter x reader fanfic)

What's this? Something a little different?

I don't usually write x reader fics, but I had a super cute idea for one featuring Jed Hunter and I had to get it out of my system. Since it's not explicitly romantic, it feels more like a "Jed Hunter AND reader fic". I really hope you guys enjoy it!

NOTE: This story features a non-cis reader, I've done my best to make it as unspecific as possible (so it can be enjoyed by people that use any pronouns), so hopefully it turned out OK

As soon as the cast list gets sent to you, your heart goes heavy. It's not the fact that you've lost motivation to be part of the production, working with renowned director Jed Hunter is a pretty big deal, it's the character he'd given you

Nobody's to blame. You're extremely selective about who you talk about your transition to; Royston Vasey isn't exactly known for being the most tolerant of places. Not that Jed seems like that sort of person, but you can never be too sure. However, you trust your gut and send an email asking if you could speak to him in person

A few hours later, you receive a response:

Hello!

Hope you're taking care of yourself on this chilly day. I have a meeting tomorrow, are you free on Friday at 12pm? If not, we can figure something else out

Wrap up warm!

J.H. 😊

You roll your eyes fondly at the Mum energy that radiates from his email, it might be a little corny but it's nice that he cares. You send an email confirming the meeting and go about the rest of your day

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

Jed is waiting in the same room you held your audition, sat backwards on his chair as usual. He gets up instantly and goes over to greet you, taking your hand and shaking it with a smile

"Hello hello, good to see you!" He gestured to a chair beside his own and sits down "Glad you made your way here safely."

"Other than witnessing about 5 different people bleeding from their noses, yeah I got here alright." You say as you sit down

"There seems to be a bloody-nose-epidemic, must be nice for vampires!"

It was a silly joke, but you can't help but feel a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. However, the jokes would have to wait, at least for now

"I guess I should tell you why I emailed."

"I assume it's not because you missed me!" Jed laughed a little "Take your time!"

"Well," you explain "it's about the film. I'm sorry, but I can't do it."

The way Jed's face fell a little didn't feel good, he seemed genuinely downhearted to lose you. Nonetheless, he remained professional

"That's a shame, but I understand. Thanks for letting me know ahead of time." He opened his mouth to speak, then put his finger to his lips thoughtfully "If you don't mind, is there any specific reason? If not, that's kewl, but if it's something that happened during the audition process-"

"Oh god no!" You say quickly "The process was fine, it's not that. It's the character."

Right, now I sound like an entitled twat

"Not that it's bad!" You explain "It's..." Come on, get it out "the gender."

You could see Jed trying to work out what you meant. At first, it's a little odd that it's taking him so long to get it, but that's probably what happens when you grow up in Royston Vasey. He didn't seem digusted, just very confused

"Does it not fit the character? I didn't give it much thought, but-"

"Jed, I'm transitioning. Y'know, gender reassignment?"

Finally, the penny seemed to drop and he instantly put his hand to his mouth in surprise

"Oh my god!" He jumps up and starts pacing around the room, looking for something "I'm so sorry, yes! I get it now, let me just..." after a bit of rummaging in a drawer, he found his trusty clipboard

Once he sits down again, you manage to catch a glimpse of the paper clipped to the board - it's your information from the audition. You watch as he pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles out parts of it before handing the paper and pen to you

"If you could fill that in for me, that'd be kewl."

"I told you, I can't play the character-"

"And, as director, I have the power to pull a few strings!" He speaks with pride, the charismatic glee on his face feels oddly comforting "We may need switch the script around a little, but Jeremy and I can talk about that."

The last thing you want is to make things difficult, but this was also a huge opportunity. Being in a Hunter film is a big thing, especially in a small town like this. Plus, Jed's known for being very good to work with, and it's hard to find respectful directors these days

And, technically, he was the one that suggested rewriting the character for you. Part of you doubts how easy it'll be, but the chance has to be there

You take the clipboard and pen, seeing the scribbled out sections where your name and pronouns could go

"You've scribbled out my surname."

"Well yeah, so you can write your name in. The one you want me to use."

"I haven't changed my surname," you say, amused by the gesture "I'm not getting married!"

"Perhaps another day then." Jed laughs "If that's what you're planning, of course."

You smile and fill in the form, but your eyes are drawn to the comments he wrote during your audition. Despite the scrawled handwriting, you manage to make out a few of the sentences:

WOW!

So much natural talent

Easy to work with, lights up the room

"Someone has a wandering eye," Jed teases, taking the clipboard back "that's confidential!"

"Don't act like you wouldn't do the same!"

"OK, you got me there." He holds up his hands "But all my feedback for you was positive."

"I just don't want to cause problems on my first project with you. I guess I'm trying not to make a bad impression."

Jed gets up and goes over to stand beside you, placing his hand on the back of your chair. There's an earnesty in his face, relaxed and soft

"Being a director isn't just about creating a piece," he explains "it's my job to make sure everyone's happy. Cast, crew, if something's not right, people should feel comfortable coming to me for support." He moves to crouch in front of you "Don't feel like you can't talk to me or that you're too much, you're allowed to ask for help."

It's reassuring to hear that, and you can tell Jed means every word. And, as you both stand and shake each other's hands something tells you this is the beginning of a fantastic partnership

A/N: So... there it is. This was entirely out of my comfort zone, but I don't think it turned out too bad - let me know what you think!

[laiqualaurelote]

WIP ask game: 📄 👻. Thanks!

📄 What’s a WIP you never finished that you would like to go back and revisit?

Thank you for asking! I wanted to answer this in a way that was relevant to your interests, which means dragging up something that isn't even so much a WIP as a half-baked idea likely to never come to fruition, but! I always really wanted to write a heist AU for The English. I've mentioned this before in an ask to @calligeniascorner but trotting it out again here:

Cornelia and Eli meet while attempting to break into the same hotel vault. She's trying to elude security, he's trying to hack through a wall, they run into each other in the corridor and she's like "Quick, kiss me!" and he's like "What?" but then he sees the security guards coming round the corner and decides that fine, he'll kiss the crazy Englishwoman as a distraction. Once security has dismissed them as just another couple trying and failing to get a room and moved on, she's like "you don't need to do that by the way, I stole the master key" and Eli is deeply confused but decides to just roll with it. It has nothing to do with the kiss. It really doesn't.

Flashback time! This is the first step in Cornelia's grand revenge plan against David Melmont, who 15 years ago took everything from her in a long con. There's something of his kept in the vault of the Watts Hotel that she needs, which is why she has talked her way into hotelier Richard Watts' private office, drugged him and stolen his master key. It turns out that Cornelia, to her surprise, is an excellent grifter. It's her face. Some men look at it, apparently.

Meanwhile, this is meant to be Eli's One Last Job. He's only here because he's doing Touching Ground a favour. It's not even like he's friends with Touching Ground, but she seems to think he owes her just because he was there when her husband was gunned down by cops during a bank robbery gone awry, and she called him up from prison and told him to look out for her son. Problem is, White Moon's got himself tangled up with Kills On Water's crew, and they're going to send the kid into the Watts Hotel after a package that Black-Eyed Mog has parked there. Eli knows this is a suicide run for a thief as green as White Moon, so he offers to take his place on the job.

After the unexpected success of the Watts Hotel Job, Eli tries to walk away, but Cornelia's now set on recruiting him for her crew, which will also come to include: Thomas Trafford, the hacker who turned on Melmont 15 years ago because he fell in love with their mark, Cornelia - leading her to become the target of Melmont's terrible vengeance; Martha Myers, a former cat burglar who left the life to raise her son Jed, but who's been lured back because she, too, has an axe to grind with Melmont; and White Moon, whom Eli would prefer not to have involved, but it's this or letting him go back to picking pockets in casinos. At least on the job they can keep an eye on him. Eli really doesn't want to get another call from Touching Ground.

The other half of the story is told from the point of view of FBI Special Agent Robert Marshall, as he tries to piece together what led to the shocking robbery - and murder - of David Melmont.

👻 Is there a scene that you find intimidating that you have yet to write?

In my current active WIP, all the men and women merely players, I'm aware that at some point I need to retrieve Jamie Tartt from the wilderness and reform him. I find this daunting, not least because it's very difficult to write the Mancunian accent. But needs must.

(from this WIP ask game)

[brutallus]

no hate to takes on mr danny johnson jed olsen's body but do we really think a guy who spends a lot of his time sitting and writing is gonna have a 6 pack

really i think the only nice toned thing on him would be his legs from all the stalking he does. my dudes got a beer gut and love handles he tries hard to hide

also his nutrition is probably shit. he wouldnt get a lot of sleep (which lack of sleep also fucks with ur metabolism) ergo hes not gonna have a lot of energy or time for making a proper meal. dude is subsisting on instant ramen, hot pockets, cigs and coffee

the closest thing he gets to a workout is when hes out killing weaker people. he only picks battles he knows hes gonna win LOL

[theoperativeif]

The Girl and the Kingpin

The Girl and the Kingpin (Part One) 

Content warning for references to abuse.

This story is a tie in to a side plot in “The Operative” set before the main series. It contains possibly disturbing content and references to abuse. It is not vital reading so feel free to skip if that will be triggering content for you. 

The food processors clattered as they sorted through the leftover scraps, long gone was their clean hum when Jed has first purchased them. He wondered if Maisie would mind if he tossed the damn thing out. He slapped the metal sides, it seemed to groan before quieting down a little. 

"See it just needed some love darling." Maisie's voice sprung up from behind him. 

Jed grumbled, getting to his feet and turning around. "It's not that expensive to replace if we just-"

"No, we are saving up for another waiter." She said, crossing her arms. She was dressed in an exotic red silk dress, ruby earrings seemed to flutter amongst the light. Despite both of them getting up there in years she still could quiet a room with her beauty. 

Jed shrugged, smiling. "As you wish." 

She walked by him, planting a light kiss on his cheek before walking into the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder with a teasing smile. "Remember to toss out the trash!"

As if on queue Binny the bin bot rolled over to him, chirping happily as it slowly rolled, weighed down after collecting from the various receptacles. Jed gently patted it on its tiny head before gesturing for it to follow him, for all the fancy things they gave robots they couldn't teach this one to open its own damned doors. 

He passed by Griff the bouncer who chuckled to himself while enjoying a drink alone at the bar. 

Unlocking and opening the double doors Jed peaked his head out, looking down one way of the back alley and then the other way. All clear. 

Stepping out he watched as the bot slowly rolled to the giant trash bin, opening the top before extending itself nearly ten feet before overturning and slowly dumping out the multitude of bags stored inside. It froze, its tiny head swiveling to look inside the bin. 

"What's up Binny?" Jed asked, raising an eyebrow. "Another addict sleeping in my bin?" 

Binny slowly moved, dumping the trash out beside the bin before gesturing up at the bin with tiny outstretched arms. 

Jed slowly walked up, peeking inside he froze. Inside, covered in various pieces of trash was a small form. A child, staring up at him with hauntingly empty silver eyes. 

"It's okay," Jed started, slowly reaching down and pulling some of the trash away, that when he saw the blood, "I won't hurt you."

Maisie and Griff's eyes widened as Jed walked through the doorway, carrying the girl in his arms, she was a skinny thing, and her eyes darted around with fear.

"She was in the bin, she's hurt."

"Quick, get her to room two.' Maisie said, quickly leading the way while Griff moved behind the bar, grabbing up small morsels of food and a bottle of vodka.

They brought her into room two, which was one of the more fancy suites for their ladies of the night, happily today it was empty and just cleaned. Setting the girl down on a large towel his wife had placed atop the bed Jed stepped back, allowing Maisie to look her over. The girl didn't protest,  staring past Maisie and towards the door.

Griff slowly made his way in, a pack of crackers and a bottle of water in his hands, the vodka bottle snuggly fit into his pocket. He silently offered the water and crackers to the girl who shrunk back, shaking her head. 

"Sip it in front of her Griff," Maisie said calmly, peeling back some of her clothes, revealing cuts and bite marks. 

Griff sipped the water before offering it again, the girl reached out and grabbed it, taking greedy gulps before biting into a cracker. 

"We will take her to the hospital up the street, they should have some contacts with one of the local orphanages to take her in."

The girl's eyes widened as she shook her head, shrinking back into the bed as if some force would come and take her.

Maisie began wiping the girl off with a sponge, she wiped her neck and upper chest, brown and red blood coming off in large swaths. Maisie froze, her body going tense before standing up, and taking a step back. 

"Jed, look..." She trailed off, pointing at the deep scars on her chest.

Three circles intertwining were carved into flesh, with a single deeper X laid out next to them. They all knew what it meant, this girl shouldn't even be alive, he would never leave one alive. Maisie tense, fists clenching as she turned.

"We can't take her anywhere, the Heartbreaker's have ears everywhere, she will stay here for now." Maisie said, gesturing to Griff. "Griff grab your guns and lock the doors."  

"Oh fuck." Griff said, quickly turning and leaving the room. 

Jed clenched his fist, he knew what it meant, she was personally marked by the monster that held the entire district in his hands. 

Avarice, the hedonist kingpin, and he would come for his property.