#really old fanfiction

[didhewinkback]

ii most wanted

a post engagement road trip for the something old kids aka i cannot stop listening to this song and ended up writing 2k words of smut about it

word count: see above, warnings: see above

---

The wind was whipping through your hair, the sun streaming in through the windshield, old 70s rock on the radio. The leather of the car seat felt like it was sticking to every inch of your skin but you didn’t mind. The weed you smoked made everything move in slow motion, all your senses heightened. Everything feeling loose, easy, free. Your hand making waves out the window through the wind, up and down in an addictive pattern. 

A warm palm slides on your thigh, his thumb moving up and down before squeezing and you all but melt into the seat, turning to look at him. He smiles over at you before looking back at the wide, empty road. 

“Y’ good?” he asks, lips twitching up into a smile.

“So good,” you say back, laughter bubbling over your words, heart skipping when he laughs with you. You can’t pinpoint what’s funny and maybe nothing is. It’s just… everything feels so warm and right and real. You turn back to look out the window, marveling at the open roads, the way it's just you and him for miles.

“Look good like this.” he mumbles, voice barely audible over the wind.

“What, stoned?”

“Nooo,” he laughs, shaking his head, wide grin on his face as he looks you over once more. “Meant y’ look happy. Relaxed. Look nice with that ring on your finger.”

You hum, holding up your hand with said ring on it, thumb twisting over the band, back and forth, taking a moment to admire it in the light.

“It’s a good one, innit?” you say and you can see the way his eyes roll even behind his sunglasses but he still grabs your hand and pulls it towards his mouth, thumb brushing over the ring once before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Your man did good, huh?” he says, releasing your hand to slide his back on your thigh. You slide your hand into his hair and he preens, leaning into the touch. 

“Yeah, my man did.” you say and he squeezes your thigh, a soft smile on his lips as you rake your hand through his curls, taking your time to study his profile. The cut of his jaw, the line of the beard he’s been growing out. God, he’s nice to look at. He looks good behind the wheel, too,  the flex of his arm as he casually holds the steering wheel, legs splayed wide, his lips moving as he softly sings along to the radio.

You’re struck for a moment at the view, at this man you’ve loved for most of your life, at the ring he proposed to you with gleaming against his hair and you think you want to have this view for the rest of your life. To get to be by his side till the day you die. You can feel it wash over you, almost bowling you over. Knowing he wants the same.

Your hand slides down his hair, playing with the curls at the nape before resting on the back of his neck, his muscles jumping at the touch before you squeeze once and he hums in appreciation. A deep sound from the back of his throat and - oh. 

It’s been warm all day but you suddenly feel a rush of heat from the inside out. Your eye catches on a bead of sweat falling down the side of his neck, tracing along the tendons until it pools into the collar of his t-shirt and you’re suddenly parched, desperation flooding your veins, overwhelmed by the need to taste, to touch and be touched. You could blame the high but you know it’s him, it’s always him. 

You dig your thumb into the muscle where his shoulder meets his neck, the spot that’s always bothering him. His hand tightens on your thigh for a second before he groans when the muscle starts to give way under your touch. 

“Harry,” you choke out, your voice reedy and he hums in response. “Pull over.” 

He snaps his head to look at you, confused, before he does a double take, brows shooting up behind his sunnies as he reads what must be obvious need all over your face.

“Y’ serious?” he asks incredulously and you nod fervently, shifting in the seat. “Baby, we’re in –”

“The middle of nowhere, we haven’t seen anyone for miles.” you cut him off, quickly undoing your seatbelt and sliding over on the bench seat, ignoring his muttered “jesus” as you press so against his side, his arm going across your lap as a makeshift belt, hand gripping your outer thigh. His eyes flicking between the road and you and you can see the swallow he takes before you’re leaning in to press your lips against his neck, taking your time to kiss along the skin. 

You keep one hand on the back of his neck, the other sliding down the front of his shirt, twisting in the hem before teasing at the waistband of his jeans, sliding down to palm him, biting down on his neck when he inhales sharply.

“Please,” you mumble against his neck, squeezing him once more, his hips twitching up to chase the touch. “Unless you want to keep driving and I can just -” 

You go to duck your head down but he stops you, hand tight on your thigh as he sputters out a “crash the bloody car if you do that” that has you laughing into his neck.

“Jus’ hang on a mo’ - let me -” he can barely string a sentence together as he drives for a bit longer before pulling off the road onto where there’s a dip in the tall grass, in between two cypress trees. You watch as his shaky hands throw the car into park, waiting until he pulls the keys out of the ignition before you’re turning his head towards yours to capture his lips in a kiss that has him moaning into your mouth. 

You kiss him once, twice, three times before he’s pulling back, mumbling a “let me get these -” and pulling his sunglasses off and throwing them on the dash before his hand wraps around your neck to pull you back in. Your tongue darts out to lick at the seam of his lips before he’s opening up, the first touch of his tongue against yours wrenches a moan from the back of your throat. His hands move up and down your sides, squeezing occasionally before they slide to your hips, shifting you both until he’s in the middle of the seat as he pulls you into his lap.

You slide your hand up into his hair, getting a steady grip as you kiss him with everything you have. His hands feel like they’re everywhere, all at once, sliding up and down your sides before they slide around your back and down, grabbing a handful of your bum as his tongue glides over yours. Everything is warm, perfect heat as arousal pools in your stomach, slowly losing your mind with every drag of his lips.

He wrenches away from your mouth, panting as he catches his breath, his blown out eyes darting all over your face. 

“Want me so bad y’ made me stop the car, hm?” he teases and you’re not even thinking of a comeback before you’re nodding and leaning back in. 

You kiss him slowly, taking your time to lick into his mouth, goosebumps erupting at his soft moan, the way his hands grip you tighter, the high making you feel everything ten times deeper. He knows just where to touch you to make you sigh into his mouth, his hands sliding up and down your thighs before resting back on your arse, the other sliding up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s gentle until he’s not, squeezing hard and laughing against your lips when you bite down on his in retaliation. 

You lose yourselves in each other, each taking turns to take over, mouths and hands exploring as you please. It’s when he’s got his hand on the back of your neck, controlling the kiss with an expert flick of his tongue that you can’t help yourself and grind down against him. 

“That’s it,” he says when he pulls away, one hand falling to your hips to encourage their roll as he kisses along your jaw. “Go after it, baby.”

“Need you naked,” you whisper, pulling his head back up towards you to kiss him again. “Need you - backseat.” 

He nods, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before pulling away. You climb off him and gracelessly climb over the backseat, breathless with laughter when you watch him do the same. He cups your jaw, kissing you deeply before pulling away.

“Get naked,” he murmurs and you both pull your clothes off as quickly as possible, hands banging against the roof and sides of the car, grunts from when you accidentally kick each other as you’re pulling your jeans off. He makes to hover over you before you shake your head, pushing him back against the seat so he’s sitting up as you straddle him, feeling his hard length right against your core, his eyes wide as he looks up at you, his hand coming up you cup your cheek. 

“Baby - someone could see you.” he mumbles and you simply respond with a roll of your hips, making him bite down on his swollen lips, his hands sliding up your thighs and resting on your hips.

“Want them to,” you say, reaching down to curl your hand around him, pumping a few times to watch his neck go taut as you line him up with your center. “Want them to know I’m yours.”

“Jesus- fuck ,” he grunts out, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, his head tipping back to rest on the top of the seat as you sink down on him in one fell swoop, his grip like a vice on your hips. 

You’re not so sex stupid to actually risk getting caught - you’re on an abandoned road in the middle of Tuscany - but there’s something about the idea of someone seeing you that’s clearly working for the both of you. You move your hips forward and back, getting used to the stretch as he leans forward to press a line of kisses down your sternum towards your chest, hands sliding up your back as he sucks a nipple into his mouth and gropes the other, soft hands and tongue making you melt.

“How’s it feel?” he mumbles against your chest, switching sides to your other breast as you roll your hips, both of you moaning at the sensation. 

“Good. Full.” you mumble, almost delirious in your pleasure, sparks shooting up your spine each time you roll your hips just right. “So full.”

You pull his head off your chest and back up to your mouth to capture his lips in a kiss as you start to find your rhythm, what was once rolls of the hips become full bounces up and down, making him groan against your tongue.  He pulls back, one hand falling to grip at your ass as he rests his head against the seat, brow furrowed as he watches you fuck him.

“Y’ so beautiful,” he says, eyes dropping down to where you’re connected. “Fucking - drenching me. In the backseat - shit.”

Your head grazes the roof with every bounce but you can’t be arsed to care, not when he’s looking at you like that, pure want and desire in his eyes, beads of sweat dripping down his chest, his butterfly glistening in the sun. He’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and he’s looking at you like you’re everything and nothing, nothing has ever felt better than this. 

“Y’ so good to me,” he grunts out, eyes following your every move. “Love you like this. So fucking hot.” 

Fire licks up your spine, your rhythm getting sloppier as his words hurtle you towards your finish. You can barely catch your breath as you dig your nails into his shoulders, grabbing his wrist and pulling it up to your face, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth. 

“Fuck. Y’ close, huh?” he asks and you nod around his fingers. “Let’s get you there, baby. Want you to come first, want y’ to come around me.” 

He pulls his hand from your mouth, leaning up to kiss you deep, his hand dropping to your clit, drawing mind-numbing circles that have you crying out against his mouth, your hips driving against his more aggressive than ever. 

“That’s it. Go after it for me. Want y’ to come, my gorgeous girl.” he mumbles against your lips, pulling back to watch your face with brows furrowed in concentration as he flicks your clit just so and you explode around him, feeling like you’re burning from the inside out as you come, moaning out his name as he doesn’t let up until you stop fluttering around him. 

You don’t stop your hips, continuing to grind against him despite the overstimulation, your hand latching on to the back of his hair to kiss along his jaw.

“Need you to come,” you gasp out against his jaw, moaning when he groans and grips you tighter. “Want you to fill me up. Want to feel it.”

“Shit - baby. Fuck. I’m -” He bites down on your shoulder, hands falling to your hips as he rocks his hips up to meet yours, thrusting once, twice, and coming, moaning against your skin as you feel his release coat your walls, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you against his chest.

The two of you breathing deep, panting as you try to catch your breath. He kisses against your collarbone, his hand coming up to brush your hair back behind your shoulder as he leans in to kiss along your neck before leaning back against the seat, looking well-fucked with rosy cheeks, a soft smile on his face as his chest heaves. 

“Got my balls all over the upholstery,” he says and you bark out a laugh as he laughs with you, both of you shaking with it. You lean back to ease him out of you, his hands helping guide you as you slide off his lap and sit next to him, your hands immediately reaching for each other, fingers interlocking as you roll your head along the top of the seat to look over at him.

“Just fucked you within an inch of your life and that’s the first thing you say?” you ask and he huffs out a laugh. 

“Y’ did, didn’t you?” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Can’t believe you just fucked me in the backseat. That was the hottest thing to ever happen to me.”

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“‘M serious. You’ve got no idea what you look like when you’re looking at me like that. Like ‘m the only thing that matters.” he shakes his head, taking a deep inhale before rolling his head to look over at you, deadly serious, his voice rumbling out like gravel. “Makes me feel like I’m on fire.”

He leans over to capture your lips with his, kissing you so slowly, so carefully, you can feel the fire burning in you once more, the fire that never quite goes away with him.

“I love you so much,” you murmur against his lips and he inhales sharply before kissing you harder, letting go of your hand to bring both hands up to cup your face, holding you in place while he drags his lips against yours. 

“Love you too, baby.” he mumbles, kissing you once before pulling back. “Lay back for me. Gonna make you feel how you make me feel.” 

“H, you already - oh” you cut yourself off with moan as he sucks a kiss behind your ear, at the spot on your neck that always drives you crazy as he gently pushes you back against the seat.

“Then we can smoke some more, make some sandwiches and take a nap.” he says, lips dragging against your skin.  “No rush, yeah? We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” you say, melting against the seat as his lips find yours once more, his hand sliding down your body until it falls between your thighs, making you gasp against his mouth. “We’ve got - we’ve got time.”

You lay back, eyes drawn to the way the sun reflects off his naked back, the pattern his lips draw against your skin making your eyes flutter shut as he presses his fingers into you. Your mind is still hazy but nothing has been more clear. This is all you want. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him. Till the day you die.

---

a/n: no ones dying btw its the song lyrics just wanted to make that clear. havent been able to finish writing someting in literal months, have requests in my inbox for not this, but here we are. my blog, my rules. not sure anyones still interested in reading this but i wrote it so im posting !

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[bonchobrick]

tw: slight suicidal actions (but not really the batfam are wildly clueless to the actual context to danny's bullshit hes not suicidal--in this fic--he's dead get it RIGHT brucie)

Au where Batfam are entirely convinced that the new vigilante in Gotham, danny, has time travel powers because he can vanish away from their senses completely

This becomes a problem however when 

Bruce searches for him because wants to save Jason. Danny can save Jason not in the--im a time traveler and i can bring him or you back from or to the past--but in the, I’m a ghost king and have domain over the dead haha

Batfam become really concerned watching Phantom fight because “if he has time travel powers why doesn’t he avoid getting hit every time he can” and get worried phantom is purposefully letting himself get hurt

Danny in all honesty is just vibin the entire time while the batfam is going crazy at every sliver of info they get about danny because like

okay hes a time traveler thats established they got over that

This guy whos somehow been able to stop and rehabilitate rouges (ghosts) in his town is 15??

he may be the kindest most self destructive kid they've ever met like who immediately agrees to help people who were trying to capture and interogate him because he 'thinks we are better than the last billionaire who did this' what the FUCK

Oh yeah and they find out as a bonus in the end that his normal unpowered form he is a teen with black hair and blue eyes (bruce no no dont do it dont--)

---

Bruce is losing his mind

Okay so at the start of this there’s an unknown vigilante (danny) that Batman tends to bump into. Except Batman isn’t sure what he is.

Every time they run into each other Batman can tell there should just be a person beside him but before he gets a glimpse and opens his eyes to empty fresh air.

A vigilante that can vanish before their very eyes?

What do the bats think about this?

They think this vigilante can control time and is doing that to sneak out of their gaze.

Now here’s where the funny part comes in

Bruce goes on a wild hunt to search for the vigilante with a plan. To make them turn back time so that he can save his son.

The problem with this?

Danny is not a time traveler most days–scratch that he's not one at all. He can save his son Jason though, in fact he wants to, it’s just he needs to figure out a way to do this whilst not blowing his cover that he is the goddamn ghost king.

So he pretends that he does have time powers and that he just… uh… needs a minute to figure them out… yeah that!

Cue Batfam getting progressively more worried about Danny because ‘if he could turn back time—why doesn’t he avoid those hits?’

They all kinda think Danny is like purposefully hurting himself so now Danny is forced to eat breakfast with them and sleep at their manor.  I mean he’s confused at why they always look so worried about something but he’ll make sure Batman’s son gets home soon! Plus the rich people temporary-living-situation without all the ‘I want to adopt you’ billionaire bullshit is pretty sweet!!

(somewhere in the ghost zone jason is tearing up laughing at the batfam as they struggle to not burst into flames trying to figure out danny-- like for christs sake they think the ghost king is an american doctor who and are trying to get him to spill where his tardis is)

[sirmanmister]

💥💥💥 BOOM POW GET KILLED GET KILLED GET KILLED!!!!!

This is a redraw from January 6 2023, in honour of it being 1 YEAR since I posted the last chapter of The Father(s) and Son(s)!!!!! A little bit over a year actually because it was April 10th and it took me a little while to draw this lol

So much has changed in the span of a year omg. And for THE BETTER?? Like I’m going to school, I made and lost friends, I’m slowly but surely getting over some social anxiety (still a wip tho!!! 😭😭) and I’ve found so many cool mutuals and artists and just!!!! AAA!! Not to mention my art skills have improved a whole HELL of a lot!! LMAO

I don’t write as much as I did when I wrote my fic initially, and I feel bad for that sometimes, but it’s just a testament to how things have gotten a lot better for me and it’s not bad that I’m busy. I’m still trying to cobble together some more writing to eventually get another fic out, cuz I do genuinely miss it, but we’ll get there when we get there!

Anyway. TYSM TO EVERYBODY THATS STUCK AROUND FOR SO LONG/CAME HERE FROM MY FIC IN THE FIRST PLACE I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOU MADE MY LIFE BETTER!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

Pspsps closeups/old pic under the cut!!

[ohitslen]

God’s #1 anti Vash the Stampede!

Just to be clear this is for my upcoming reincarnation fic 🫡

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Here we go friends! These chapters just keep getting longer. A larger plot begins to reveal itself to me. I am having a lot of fun here and I hope you are too.

Chapter 3 - Reading Between the Lines

< Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Read on AO3

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Bad memories, A spot of magic, Voyeurism, Reader description kept pretty neutral but I kind of got slightly more specific about black hair care so you're just going to have to live with it.

~6k words

The next morning, it rains.

The pitter-patter of rain against your windows wakes you up, because it sounds wrong. There’s only one small window in your room in Kate’s house, and when weather blows in it’s the sound of water trickling down and dripping off the thatch roof that’s loudest, not the rain itself. Here the sound echoes strangely in the big space, and you wake with a start, disoriented, your heart-hammering in your chest.

It feels like your life in town is the dream, trickling away faster than you can cup your hands to hold onto it. You fly out of bed and wrap a blanket around your shoulders, dashing out into the hallway, bare feet cold on the stone floor. The king’s bedroom is directly across the hall from your own, and you stare at the door, frozen and unsure if you’re willing to risk knocking, breath caught in your throat, chest tight, anxiety squeezing your ribs until they ache.

You’re sixteen and twenty-six both, living two lives out in one panicking body. You no longer belong here and you’ve never been anywhere else. Your father is alive, angry, terrifying, and he’s dead and buried where he can’t hurt you anymore. You are a tossed coin landed on it’s edge, waiting to fall.

The door in front of you opens, and you leap back on instinct, but breathe a sigh of relief when it’s John standing there, looking at you with surprise first, and then concern. “Sweetpea?” he asks, stepping forward to meet you, but leaving space between your bodies, like he knows that it would be worse for him to touch you right now. “What’s wrong?”

You press your shaking fingers to your mouth, holding back a sob. You swallow it down, pulling yourself together enough to speak. “I thought it was a dream,” you say at last. “I thought he was still alive.”

There’s no question who you mean. John reaches a hand out, an offering, and you take it, clinging to him like a life-line. He reels you into his arms, and you lean in, the solid, warm bulk of him as reliable and real as the earth below. “He’s not,” he says firmly. “I put him in the ground myself. You’re safe.”

You nod against his chest, feeling small and silly now. “I’m sorry,” you say, although you’re not sure what you’re sorry for. For showing weakness, maybe, for being lost in your own memory, for needing reassurance.

“It’s early yet,” he murmurs against the top of your head. “You should try to sleep a little longer.”

You’re not sure you could even if you tried, and even though you’re still tired, the adrenaline leaving your body cold, fatigue dragging at your bones insistently. You could maybe sleep against John’s chest, holding onto him, his heartbeat steady and strong enough in your ear to drown out the still-frenetic tempo of your own. “I think I’ll just get dressed,” you say, pushing away. He drops his arms instantly, letting you put a little distance between you.

He shakes his head, smiling at you fondly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Sweetpea, the sun hasn’t even risen. Go back to bed. I know just the thing to help. Go on.” He turns you toward your door and nudges you along.

There’s no point in arguing with him— You are tired, and although you suspect sleep will be beyond your reach, it’s cold in the hallway, especially now that you’re no longer pressed against John’s warm chest, and your bed is still warm when you climb back in.

Darkness presses down on you, heavy as grave-dirt, and you lay there, staring at the ceiling. You touch the crystal lamp next to your bed to light up the room, but that’s no better, really.

John knocks, but doesn’t wait for your answer before coming in, a dark wolf with blue eyes trotting in on his heels. “Go on, Soap,” he says, and Soap hops up onto your bed and lays down half on top of you, his head on your shoulder, tail wagging. John pats him on the head like he’s just a dog. “He’ll keep an eye on you.”

It should probably feel weird to cuddle up with a werewolf, since he’s really a man, and you’ll have to face that silly, crooked grin in the morning, but you need someone to cling to, and you’re to proud and cautious to cling to John. “Thank you,” is all you have it in you to say.

“He gets nightmares too. Usually sleeps across someone’s bed. I’m sure he’d be happy to stay with you while you’re here.” John says it simply, without a drop of judgment or condescension, and scratches behind Soap’s ear. “He’s a real good listener when he can’t talk back too.” He withdraws, tapping the light and throwing the room into darkness again.

You don’t even hear the door click shut. You bury your face into the thick fur around Soap’s neck and fall asleep almost instantly.

When you wake up again, it's with a very large, very naked man on top of you.

You yelp, scrambling back on your pillows. Johnny’s eyes snap open at your first movement, on high alert before he’s all the way awake. He scrambles too, and falls right off the side of the bed with a solid thud.

"Oh! Johnny I'm so sorry," you look down at him from the edge of the mattress, trying not to laugh. "I forgot you were here."

"It's alright, lass. I didna mean to startle ye. Ah shift back overnight sometimes. Price didnae remember to warn ye." He sits up and leans against the bed, forearms folded over each other. He looks no worse for wear, and like he slept as solidly as you did, those last few hours. There’s a faint imprint of lace from your nightgown on his face, and half of his hair is stuck straight up, the rest pressed flat. "Are ye feelin' better?"

“I am. Thank you for staying with me.”

“S’nothin’ really. Nicer sleepin’ with you than Gaz, he kicks awl night long. An’ Nox doesnae like me none, so I cannae stay with Ghost.” He grins. “Price lets me stay but he makes me sleep at the foot of the bed like a dog. Sometimes a man wants a cuddle, ye ken?”

You giggle. “I ken.”

"Really livin' up to yer name, aye Sweetpea?"

You laugh again. "Johnny, you know that's not my name, right?"

"No? What is it?" He shakes his head when you tell him. "I like Sweetpea better. Suits ye."

"Me too," you tell him. It has no connections to your previous life. It just reminds you of the pretty pink, purple, and white flowers that grow on delicate, curling vines that you like to grow over the side of the chicken coop.

There's a knock on the door, and Johnny leaps up to see who it is. You have to hold your hand up quickly to avoid getting an eyeful of things you're not supposed to see. He's absolutely shameless-- you suspect he wouldn't think twice about strolling down the hallways without a scrap on. You have a curiousity about men's bodies that you're too bashful to indulge, even if you're pretty sure that Johnny would stand still and let you look as long as you liked. Well, maybe not stand still. But you doubt he would mind.

It's Ghost at the door. He doesn't wait for an invitation to come in, but he has clothes for Johnny hung over his arm, so you don't mind. Honestly, you can bear a few overzealous men who feel entitled to your space for a few days, because after that you'll get to go home and get back to your life.

Ghost positions himself between you and Johnny, just as he had yesterday. "Price said you 'ad a bit of an episode earlier. You olright?"

"Just fine," you say brightly. "No need to worry."

"Och, let him worry, hen. He likes ta do it."

"I'm really fine," you insist.

"You want to visit the mausoleum? Might make it feel more real."

You'd be more interested in going there to visit your mother's grave, if you're going at all, but you think that you'll wait for a sunnier day. A gray, dreary morning like the one outside your windows is no balm for dark memories or old wounds. Sunshine might be. "Not today," you say. "Maybe tomorrow." You get out of bed as gracefully as possible, well aware that you have an audience. "Perhaps the two of you could step outside for a moment while I get dressed?"

Ghost glances behind him, checking to see if Soap is covered up enough for him to move, and then walks over to your closet and pulls out a screen that you hadn't noticed sitting in the corner there, and sets it up. "There you go, Sweetpea. You'll need help with all your fastenin's anyway, won't you?"

You imagine that he's smiling under the mask, more than a little smug about it, but you let it slide. "Very thoughtful."

"Try to be."

The blank face of his mask gives you nothing when you glance over, aside from that he’s looking back. It’s not the first time that you’ve wished for more insight into what he’s thinking, but there’s a gravity to his attention that you swear was never there before, and it prickles at the back of your neck even after you duck out of sight.

You choose a sunny yellow dress today, to counter the deluge outside, and remove the silk scarf wrapped around your head so you can twist your braids on each side from your brow back to the nape of your neck, pinning the lengths into a knot. You’ll have to redo them soon, but without Kate and her wife to help you, you know it’ll take hours, if not most of a day.

You walk over to where Ghost is sitting and turn your back to him so he can button it up for you. He hands you his gloves to hold while he does so, and you run your hands over the detail of white leather bones stitched on over the well-worn black leather, decoration and extra protection both. Idly, you slip one on, but your hands are so small in comparison to his that you have to stretch your hand out just to get your fingers arranged inside it properly. He stands behind you, and leans over you to gently pull them from your hands, as though to underline again how much bigger he is than you are.

The top of your head brushes his chest when you tip your head back to look at him. “Thank you,” you say.

“I’m always ‘appy to ‘elp,” he says. “I’m with you for the mornin’ anyway. Might as well make myself useful, eh?”

“Stuck minding me?” you tease, sweeping around to fold back the sheets on your bed, only to find that one of them had already done it. Ghost, most likely, judging by how neat it is. You touch his arm lightly in silent thanks, and the three of you leave your room together.

Other than insisting you eat breakfast (served in a communal dining hall, where they insist on bringing things to you rather than let you suffer the indignity of standing in a line, and watch you eat with unnerving intensity), they’re content to follow you around as you refamiliarize yourself with the castle, mapping out changes so you don’t get turned about looking for anything. You find a number of familiar faces here and there, and have an perplexingly similar conversation with anyone you know, where they welcome you back cheerfully, and grow a bit quiet and nervous when you insist that you won’t be staying long, and when you try to press them on that, you’re ushered out, told they’re too busy to chat, and that you’ll find time to catch up later.

You suspect that Ghost and Johnny are the source of their nerves, but both of them always seem to be a few paces out of (human) earshot, and minding their own business, talking about something else quietly between them.

"Where's Kyle?" you ask as you're hustled out of the the healer's work shop and back out into the hallway. It’s become abundantly clear, no matter how well they feign innocence, that your hulking shadows are making the staff nervous, and you decide not to subject anyone else to their company. If you can slip away from them later, you might be able to have an actual conversation.

“Prob’ly ‘oled up in ‘is workshop,” Ghost says. “Some weeks we ‘ardly see ‘im.”

“Wizardy shite,” Johnny adds, his tone disapproving. “As if there aren’t a thousand ways ta blow shite intae bits withoot wigglin’ yer fingers. Can blow up flour, did ye know, Sweetpea? In barrels isnae much different than black powder.”

“Still useful to have a little magic,” you say, flipping your palm over and conjuring a flame in the centre of it. It’s one of the few spells in your cache, and you’ve mostly just used it to light candles and the stove. Your lessons barely dipped beyond simple control— You’d been told that magic was no proper pastime for a lady. When you think back on it now, you think it’s more that your father never wanted you to have defenses that he could not control, or that could be used against him. A grim thought, from this side of things.

“Forgot you ‘ave a little magic in you.” Ghost holds his hands above yours, feeling the heat coming off the small flame. “Come on, pet. Let’s find Kyle. Might be enough to pull ‘is nose out of ‘is books.”

You close your hand, extinguishing the flame, and let them guide you through a few corridors and up a spiraling stone staircase.

Johnny hesitates at the door, nose wrinkling at the slight, hard to identify smell of complex magical wards that are carved neatly into the doors. You can feel the slight hum of it in your teeth. Ghost pushes the door open without knocking (you think all four of these men might be allergic to knocking), and steps inside.

You follow, and stop right there in the doorway while Ghost ventures in further. Kyle is shirtless, doing pushups over a heavy looking book. He doesn't look up, doesn't even stop when he turns the page, just continues the exercise one handed. He's in perfect shape, every muscle well-defined, putting even some of the finely-carved marble statues you've seen to shame. He has a frame for wiry muscle, but he's worked so hard that he's gotten bulky too, and although he's not as broad as Soap or as big as Ghost, it's clear that he's stronger than most men. Certainly stronger than men of his occupation have any need to be.

"What do you want, Ghost?" Kyle asks, still focused on his reading. "I'm busy, you know."

"Brought our girl by to see you, and you don't even bother lookin' up."

Kyle’s attention does snap up at that, brown eyes sliding past Ghost’s legs to you, still hovering in the doorway, Johnny a step behind, peering over your shoulder. Kyle scrambles to his feet, sending the book flying with a gesture. It settles on the desk behind him as he steps around Ghost, dusting his hands against his trousers before he takes yours, pulling you more fully into the space. His skin gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, but he's not the least bit out of breath. “Come on in, Sweetpea. Did you come all the way up here just to see me?”

“Of course,” you say. It’s a silly question, although now that you look around the space, you’re gripped by curiousity. The circular room is lined with bookshelves, each full of thick, leather and linen-bound tomes that hum with power. The whole room sings like a chorus, the sound not in your ears, but tickling the back of your mind instead. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I don’t want to interrupt, of course, if you’re working on something.” Although, now that you're looking, it seems like he’s working on many things, all at once. He has a carousel of research tomes open next to the desk, and neatly written pages laid out over the desk to dry, a stack of opened and unopened correspondence in a basket hanging from the side, ingredients measured out by a shelf full of bottles and jars of strange and familiar ingredients, and there are unlit candles set around the perimeter of an open area on the floor, a circle of iridescent tile set into the stone, pale and glittering.

“Nothing important this moment. Just studying while I wait for ink to dry. The mind grows dull if you don’t take the time to keep it sharp.” He glances at Johnny meaningfully, and receives a rude gesture in response.

“There’s more’n just books if ye want to keep sharp,” Johnny says, his voice flinty. “Isnae the only way to learn, ye know.”

You glance at Ghost. His mask looks back at you, blank as ever. “There’s a place for books, and a place for practical application,” you say diplomatically. “Wisdom can be found in many places.”

“In a pretty girl, for one,” Ghost says approvingly. “Would be good for you to crack a book once in a while, Soap. And for you to spend a little less time ‘oled up in ‘ere.” His head turns toward Kyle.

“I have a lot to do, you know,” Kyle says. “I can’t just shove everything to the side whenever I please.”

You drift closer to the desk, peeking at the tome he was referencing earlier, the pages opened to a chapter on illusion spells. Curious, you glance to his notes, humming with interest at the first page you glance at. It’s something about setting spells of illusion into fabric, weaving magic into the very stitches. “Are you trying to make a cloak of shadows?” you ask, picking up the page carefully by the edges, still mindful of the mostly dried ink.

Kyle looks over at you and smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Something like that. I didn’t know you were interested in magical theory.”

“She’s got a little sorcery in ‘er,” Ghost explains. “Maybe you should give ‘er a lesson or two. While she’s ‘ere.”

Your ears perk up at that, and you drop the paper back to the desk, forgetting it entirely. “Would you?” you ask excitedly. “I really would love to learn more.”

Kyle slips his shirt back on and beckons you over to one of the bookcases, smile turning sly and conspiratorial. “Can you give me a hand Sweetpea? I need something off the top shelf.”

You look up at the top shelf, which is well out of your reach. “Kyle, I think maybe you should ask Ghost.”

“Sorry, pet, I’m busy keepin’ Soap from pilferin’ alchemical ingredients.”

"Wasnae pilferin'! Just takin' a wee looksie. Isnae a crime."

"Soap," Kyle says pleasantly. "If I find anything missing we are going to have a long talk about it." He shakes his head lightly, sweet brown eyes finding yours, amused.

"D'ye think he means a good rough fuck?" Johnny asks Ghost, not quite quiet enough for you not to hear it. "Or an actual chat? Because that's goan ta change what I do here."

"I really don't think I can help," you say to Kyle, ignoring Johnny's query as much as you can. "Unless you'd like me to climb the shelves."

"Here." He crouches down in front of you and hugs your knees to his chest, other hand a higher on the backs of your thighs to hold you steady, and pops up. You let out a little shriek, and press your hands against his strong shoulders for support. "Don't worry, Sweetpea, I've got you. Now, can you grab that slim blue volume to the right? The one with no title on the spine."

Scanning the neat row of books, you locate the one he means and pick it up. "Ive got it," you inform him, laughing. "Now please put me down."

He slides you down his front carefully, adjusting his grip, your skirts bunching up and exposing your stockinged calves, and he holds you just above him for a moment. You loop your arms around his neck reflexively, holding the book behind him. He looks up at you, so dazzlingly handsome, you're almost surprised that he's real.

"Kyle," you remind him gently. "Please put me down."

“You sure?” he asks, bringing you down just a little more, so that your face is just above his own. “You look a bit tired today, princess. Could just carry you around for the rest of the day if you like.”

“That will not be necessary,” you say firmly. “But it’s a very kind offer.”

You hear a snort from the other side of the room, but you’re not sure if it comes from Ghost or Johnny. “Nothin’ kind about it,” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “Bastard just likes the idea of bein’ pressed up against ye all day.”

“You slept in her bed last night,” Kyle reminds him. “There’s no need to be jealous.”

“Ahm no’ jealous! Yer just bein’ a fandan charmer tryna cop a wee feel, an’ ye willnae admit ta it.”

You look over at Ghost, and he shakes his head. You imagine that he’s rolling his eyes, just as exasperated by the two of them as you are. He comes to your rescue though, carefully pulling you out of Kyle’s arms and setting you back down on the floor. “Thank you, Ghost,” you say archly, shaking your crumpled skirts out with one hand.

“Sorry, Sweetpea,” Kyle says, and you can’t help but note that he certainly doesn’t sound sorry. “If you read the first chapter of this tonight, we can do a lesson in the morning. This will probably be a step up from whatever paltry lessons the old wizard gave you— I know he took offence to the idea of training you at all, the closed-minded old bastard. If you have any questions, make notes, and we can go over it.” He taps the top of the book you hold. “You can write in it, if you like. I’ve scribbled in the margins a few times myself.”

You tuck the book into your pocket. “Thank you, Kyle. I appreciate that.”

“Anything for you, Sweetpea.”

You hesitate, a bit nervous to ask a favour when he’s already agreed to take time out of his day to give you a lesson in something you’re not sure you have enough talent in to warrant. He’s cleary a busy person, and you don’t want to waste his time.

Kyle senses your hesitation, and reaches for your hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Anything,” he repeats, brown eyes oh-so earnest.

Your ears feel hot. Flirting comes as easily to him as breathing, and even though you’re sure he means little by it, by his relationship with Johnny and the claim that John has laid on you, it’s hard not to grow flustered when he directs the full force of that sunshine smile at you. “Did you ever, um, help your sisters with their hair? I’d like to have a bath this afternoon, and wash my hair, but it’ll take me ages to rebraid it alone. I would really appreciate an extra set of hands if you have a spare minute tomorrow.”

He grins at that, pleased to be able to help you with something that Ghost and Johnny are ill-equipped to. The scar on his cheek dimples slightly when he smiles this hard, the slight flaw in his complexion more a dashing accessory to his charm than any detractor. “Would be happy to help. Do you have everything else you need? Oil? Curl cream?”

You hadn’t thought to check what was in the cupboard in the bathroom. “I’m not sure,” you admit.

“I have some. I’ll bring them by your room later this afternoon, just in case.”

Ghost offers to walk you back to your room, leaving Johnny behind to discuss something with Kyle, although as soon as the door closes, you hear a crash and a series of colourful swear words. You glance behind you as Ghost ushers you down the stairs. “Should we—”

“No. Trust me, Sweetpea. They’re just fine, and not doin’ anything you want to see.”

“Oh.” The implication warms you from the tips of your ears to somewhere in your belly.

“You’ve got the lads all worked up,” Ghost adds, as though you needed more context. “Competin’ with each other to get a smile out of you. Let ‘em blow off a little steam.”

“I don’t understand why they’re so concerned with me, if they have each other,” you say, trailing one hand over the wall, feeling the bumps of cool stone and seams between the cut blocks as you descend. “And John has made no secret of his intentions.”

He touches your arm to halt you, and moves past, taking a few extra steps so he stands below you, the near-hidden gleam of his eyes on level with yours. The two of you are alone here, where the curve of the stairs create a private universe, a pocket of stone and crystal light casting meagre shadow. "What are your intentions?" He asks. "Are you goin' to just let 'im take what 'e pleases?"

"I intend to go home," you say. "I won't be staying."

"Olright, maybe you do go 'ome. And what'f Kyle or Johnny came sniffin' round to court you themselves?"

"They won't."

"Why wun't they? You're a ray of sunshine sweet girl. You're the only one that don't see it."

"Ghost--"

"No, hush up for a moment, princess. You've got the wrong idea. I personally threatened every man that so much as looked your way. For years. Din't think about 'ow that'd make you feel. You're beautiful. Enough to chase, enough to go to bloody war for." His body is still, save for the slightest twitch of his fingers. “I don’t know why you can’t see it. You make us all crazy.”

The surety that John would really let you go slips as Ghost speaks, something fundamental about your footing in the world shifting uneasily beneath you. You had found comfort in the idea that you were quotidian, unremarkable. That the crown alone was aggrandizing, and you could pass unnoticed without it. Now you wonder if you’ve ever gone unnoticed, or if it was just that you had been too obtuse to see. “It doesn’t matter,” you insist. It’s easier to reject what he says outright, even if Ghost has never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt his words. The ground settles. “I will be going home in a few days, and once John has my official endorsement none of you will have to keep an eye on me again.”

“You won’t rid yourself of me that easily,” he says firmly. “Keepin’ you safe’s one of the only jobs that I do that’s worth doin’. I promised your mum I would, an’ I don’t intend to break my oath just because you don’t think you’re worth it.”

“My mother asked you to?” You had always thought Ghost’s orders had come from your father, setting the quiet, faceless, black-clad knight on your heels, as close as a shadow, only leaving your side when the king sent him off to fight, somewhere far and away. “Why?”

“Figured she could tell I ‘aven’t got an ounce of ambition in me. Used to, before I came ‘ere. Didn’t do me any good. Can’t trust my own head, sometimes. But if I can trust what’s ‘ere—” He puts his hand to his chest, head tipped slightly to the side. “— Then I know I can trust what’s in there.” He lifts his hand and taps his finger against your forehead lightly.

You blink at him, surprised by how much he’s said all at once. Abruptly, he turns around and continues down the stairs, finished the conversation. You spur yourself back into motion, sweeping your skirts up with one hand so you don’t trip. There’s no doubt that you could trust Ghost to catch you, but the risk of sending you both tumbling down the long spiral staircase has you moving cautiously.

He stays with you for a bit, offering help unbraiding your hair and unbuttoning your dress, and leaves without protest when you ask him to. Predictably, he’s quiet the entire time, as though he used up his daily quota of words all at once in the stairway.

You lay out everything you need close to the tub, and sink into a hot bath, sighing. This is perhaps one of the few things you really did miss about castle life— Hot running water. If you wanted a hot bath in town, you would either have to go to the public bathhouse, or spend a good hour boiling enough water to fill a tub at Kate’s house.

You hum happily to yourself, which turns to singing out loud, the acoustics in the tiled room too good to resist. You sing your way through a number of folk songs as you run a cloth over your skin and scrub your hair clean, hot water and soap washing away what little of the darkness from that morning that company and distraction hadn’t banished, clinging shadows in the corners of your mind scoured clean again.

You pull the plug and let the water start to drain, and stand up, wringing your hair out before you reach over to the towel you’d set aside for yourself, bracing you hand on the side of the tub.

“What are you two muppets doing?” John’s voice coming through the cracked open door startles you. And it startles Johnny and Kyle too, because they tumble through the door onto the tiled floor, landing on top of each other in a heap.

You clutch the towel to your front, unable to keep yourself from letting out a surprised shriek. It takes a moment for surprise to give way to anger, your shocked, wide-eyed gaze traveling from Johnny’s red face to Kyle’s guilty expression to John in the doorway, a complicated mix of stony anger and surprise in his blue eyes. Both emotions fade as his attention lingers on your exposed legs, crawling up slowly.

“I came to drop off— But he was—” Kyle starts to try to explain himself.

“Dinnae try to blame tha’ on me, ye fuckin’ roaster, Ahm no’ a’ fault for what yer doin’,” Johnny cuts him off angrily, shoving Kyle off of him. “Yer no’ better than me just ‘cause ye weren’t here first.”

“I wouldn’t have—”

You level a glare at him that has his mouth shutting so fast that you can hear the click of his teeth. “Get out.”

The two of them scramble up and nearly fall over themselves trying to get out as quickly as possible, mortified to have been caught. They start sniping at each other before they’ve even gotten out of earshot.

John, however, doesn’t budge from the doorway. You direct your fury at him. “John. Get out.”

He doesn’t scramble to obey like the younger men did, as is he has any more right to be there than they did. “Sweetpea,” he says evenly, as though he expects to be able to talk you down from your very justified anger with a few measured words.

“Now,” you snap. “Before I lose my temper.”

He hesitates a moment longer, but the look on your face makes him reconsider trying to have a conversation with you for the moment, and he leans into the room just enough to grasp the door handle and pull it closed behind him as he retreats.

You look at the ceiling for a long moment, swallowing down the urge to scream.

By the time Ghost comes to fetch you for dinner (unsurprising that the other three didn’t have the nerve) you’ve mostly calmed down, untangling your emotions as you do your hair. You hope that John will have news of your cousin’s witness, so you can count down the days. The longing for home has intensified, and all you want is to curl up in your bed in Kate’s house and cry. If it will be weeks, you’ll ask if you can go home in the interim, and come back when the time comes to make your speech.

Ghost helps you button up your dress. You’re so tired of needing help from them. Your ire bleeds over, and you’re snappy with him too, annoyed that you’ve had to spend so much time with men lately. Aggravated that you’re forced to rely on them for something as private as getting dressed, when they shouldn’t even be alone with you in your room to begin with.

You apologize on the way down the stairs, however. Ghost just chuckles in response. “Even when you’re snappin’, you’re a peach,” he says. “Don’t think you missed a single opportunity for a please and thank you. Can’t ‘elp yourself from bein’ sweet.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything,” you say. “I’m not angry with you, I shouldn’t be rude.”

“Think it would be a bit of a lark, you bein’ rude.”

You laugh, and it clears away some of the lingering bitterness, like sediment washing away downstream. You feel remarkably clear-headed when you enter the dining room and face the three sets of guilty eyes.

All three of them start to speak at once, and stop as soon as you raise your hand. “I don’t want to hear it,” you say firmly. “All three of you are grown men, and you should know better than to behave so shamefully.”

John frowns, not happy to be receiving the same share of the blame. “Sweetpea, I wasn’t—”

“I am not finished.” You cut him off with a sharp look. “I know I do not need to chastise any of you. All of you were in the wrong. But I share some of the blame too, allowing you all free access to my space in the first place. So here is what will change. One, I would like a lock on my door. No more popping in without permission. Two, you will all learn how to knock. Three, I would like a lady to accompany me for the rest of my stay here. It is not appropriate for me to accept assistance from any man with dressing, and I do not require shadows following me everywhere I go.”

Ghost shifts beside you. “Now ‘old on,” he says. “You need protection.”

“I need no such thing. I do not believe there are assassins waiting around every corner for me.”

“I should be with you,” he insists. “If somethin’ ‘appens—”

“What do you expect is going to happen?” you ask hotly. You’ve lived on your own for years, and your hiding place was apparently well known to everyone. If an assassin was coming to dispatch you, they would have already come. The opportunities had likely been plentiful.

“Ghost is right. You need to be kept safe.” John holds up both hands when you look at him, half a surrender and half a plea for you to hear him out. You raise your eyebrows slightly, waiting. “A compromise. A fighting woman. Someone that can help you with anything you need, and can defend you if something were to happen.”

You incline your head. It’s a reasonable compromise. “That would be acceptable.”

“Farah?” Kyle asks.

“If she’ll say yes, she’d be the person I trust most with Sweetpea’s safety.” John glances at you, and offers you a little smile, like he’s not sure that you’re entirely done scolding. “You’ll like her. I’ll have her meet you in town tomorrow. Want you fitted for something nice to wear for your speech.”

“There is a closet full of perfectly nice dresses in my room,” you say. “I do not need anything else.”

“Indulge me. Your cousin’s man will be here tomorrow night, and the day after we’ll have you make your statement.” John’s smile widens, turning the slightest, inexplicable bit smug. “Want you to look your best, if it’s to be your last day as a princess, hm? And then on to better things.”

You sigh. It can't hurt to give in on this matter, since you won't have to stay much longer. “Very well, John. Although I think it’s a waste.”

The look in his deep blue eyes is inscrutable, but his smile doesn't slip. “I disagree. Nothing you let me give to you could ever be a waste.”

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

[rickswh0r3]

hey!! i don't really know if you have a edit masterlist but could you or would you make an edit of glenn?? ^^

so babygirl

sorry @stevenyeunsgirlfriend i’m so late😣

[rosanishelios]

short EAH Apple angst animatic coming soon (like, pretty soon? I just need to edit it)

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[29625]

Slider is a kind of himbo who says “Can I watch Kitchen nightmare please?” to the TV voice assistant and continues to fail until Maverick comes in, grabs his remote, and screams “KITCHEN NIGHTMARE ON HULU” into it

[punctuation-completionist]

Have you seen the demicolon?

yeah, i mean i've heard of it but like. idk i am surprisingly neutral on the concept? i mean it's a fun idea but also it's not really viable in a writing context (formatting-wise at least) so it just. eh.

(demicolon thing for context)

[shapelytimber]

One of my goal in life is to make fanart of every fanfiction that has ever haunted me, and this time it's 'breathing water' by @thana-topsy

It's one of the very few fancfic I reread, I love it so much- The scene I drew is my second favorite scene in the story (I couldn't do justice to the n1 scene that makes me go insane ok sowwy),It's sad, it's badass, it's over the top I love it, but it's also near the end so oops spoilers

"'s alright [...] I just wish I could see the stars."

And my line and sketch as bonus :)

[wispscribbles]

In light of MW3, I’d like to do a little self-indulgent self-promo and recommend my old fic Love comes with a Price. I just reread it myself and it hits different now

[marsconer]

what if lupe garcia fanfiction ? she’s so girlfriend boyfriend

[nights-are-better]

i've seen a lot of stuff on this recently and wanna add in my opinions bc why not. there's stuff going around about how low engagement is on fanfics and people are right, i run an edit account (shameless promotion on it rn) and write fics (more shameless promotion) and i get a decent amount of attention, don't get me wrong i love when one person engages bc that means it's reached one person.

but back when i started my edit account it peaks pretty decently, then everything started slowing down and it's really sad, as much as i tell myself not to get hurt by the little attention it gets, i put so much effort into the edits and fics, just to feel a little short changed.

i bounce from more mainstream fandoms to more niche ones, i get engagement varies based on how big a fandom is so when i get little attention on my more niche edits i get it. but when it's a larger fandom, it hurts that i don't get much attention.

when it comes to fanfics, i get kudos, same logic, smaller fandoms, less attention not the issue. the issue i have is that no one comments, i get roughly three or less than. it's not that i wanna sit there and go 'validate me strangers, validate me' it just is a little encouragement when someone says they enjoyed it and can't wait for more (and i also struggle to leave comments on fics to, it slips my mind when you get excited with new ships or just fics).

i know there a bigger issues in fandoms (and the world), but the small sense of community i get within fandoms is quite nice, i've made some mates over the past few years and it's nice, becuase some pretty good friendships come out of one share interest.

it's worrying to me that interaction in fandoms seems to have fizzled out, but also how toxic a lot of them have become, i've seen so many saying they get rude comments, there's so much discourse. i sit back and avoid shit going down in fandoms bc at the end of the day, sure it's just a fandom, but it's also a community for so many.

sure fics/edits are made for the creators, i write a lot of 'no one asked for this' fics, but that doesn't mean you can't engage, leave a comment every once in a while if you enjoyed it, show the author some love.

[julietwiskey1]

The best thing about reading old fanfics that came out before the original work was finished are the comments that aged like milk.

“I’m so glad x didn’t happen.” X happened two episodes later.

“I’m glad they aren’t going to make y ship canon.” Became canon next season.

Or best yet. “It’s great because of Z.” Yet Z stopped being a thing for a while before coming back in full force. So that it both ages like milk and wine.

[whipitgod]

jensen and misha are great but i still want to bare knuckle box both of them