#which is why i neither voted nor reblogged it

[mxtxfanatic]

.

[phoenixyfriend]

A lot has been happening today that rep calls could affect. UN vetoes, KOSA, Julian Assange, UNRWA's funding crisis and Israel's demands that it be completely dismantled, the large number of bills we just learned are on the docket for the coming week, and even the good news that is recent successes by the BDS movement.

And like... I care about this stuff. I want to talk about it. But it takes an emotional and mental toll to do it, and it takes time, and... there are two reasons to write up reference, update, information posts:

Compensation. I'm not a journalist, but if I were, I would in theory be getting paid for the information I collect and share to my audience. However, I am not, and am doing this for free. I have gotten maybe $5 in donations since I started this project, and while I recognize that this is probably because people are (quite rightly) donating instead to Palestinian charities or local campaigns or something, it's a basic fact that I am not actually being compensated for this work.

Promoting change and activism. This is in fact my main goal: to have a positive impact on current events by giving people a guide on the news and politics because there's so much happening that's hard to keep track of, and if I'm already doom-listening to half a dozen political podcasts, I might as well save other people the trouble, right?

The thing is, like... most of the reblogs on my guidelines and helpful posts are from me, to me. I am the one reblogging. I am desperately trying to get these things to circulate so I can make a difference, but... no dice. Some of the posts are admittedly pretty long (my 'how to call your reps, here's some verbiage' post is 3.4k words), and I can imagine some people are saving it for later, and then maybe forget, or they don't want to share something controversial, and like... I do get that. I do.

But it does mean the posts aren't circulating, and thus they're having less of an impact, and I can't help but feel like there are other things I could be doing to help that would be more effective. More bang for my buck, except it's my time and effort instead of my money. Like, maybe it would have more an effect if I hunted down a wider variety of elected officials I could bother instead of instructing other people on how to bother theirs? Maybe going to protests (which would be a huge commitment due to distance) would be more effective than trying to help ensure that the effectiveness of "I actually have a vote and you are losing it" of calls has the weight of numbers behind it.

Especially since I did try to blaze it, and tumblr mods rejected the post. I don't know why. It's not against ToS, since none of it was disinformation or election interference, which is the only reason given on the FAQ for why things might not be approved for blazing, but who knows.

Maybe tumblr just decided the possible blowback on them for blazing a pro-ceasefire post would be too much.

I don't know. I just... it's just really disheartening to try to help and it gets stymied because, as much effort as it might be, it doesn't reach more than a (comparatively) tiny audience, especially when my relatively low-effort polls and shitposts get easily ten times as many notes with way less energy put in.

EDIT: This is not a post that I need to have reblogged. this is just me bitching. This a vent post. What I am asking people to reblog is my activism posts that I spend hours on to try and help nudge things in a better direction. Please reblog THOSE. This one doesn't need reblogging unless you have an actual comment. Reblogging this post just to reblog, with neither useful comment nor encouragement, is not helping me with my issue of 'not paid, not making an impact' or helping with any important causes.

[squirrelstone]

The International Boxing Association is corrupt af stop pretending their word means anything

This was originally meant to be a reblog of this post, but then I ended up on a rambling deep dive into the IBA's suspicious actions surrounding disqualifications.

What's happening with Imane Khelif is the same thing with Lin Yu-Ting. These are two intersex(1) women of color being discriminated against for being good at their job. And this is a feature, not a bug. I recently found out that in the 19th century, British and American scientists argued that only white people could fall within the gender binary; everyone else was suspect(2). The use of gender testing by the IBA is a remnant of that racist ideology.

Speaking of the IBA, their practices are arguably suspect based on their own meeting minutes. On page 2, the CEO and Secretary General stated that neither athlete was tested until it was requested by the Medical Jury and Technical Delegate. However, in the very next paragraph they said both athletes were tested the previous year and their results delivered after the competition, implying they would have been disqualified if not for the delay in testing. In that case, why not test the women before the event in the year they were disqualified? The CEO then went on to contradict himself by claiming that he had results from "two independent laboratories in two different countries" but that he couldn't get the second set of tests until after competitors arrived in New Delhi. And then of course there's the claim of "independence" when this is the doping authority chart:

The only situations they don't have authority over are multi-sport events (like the Olympics) and the sample collection for an international event not organized by the IBA.

Having presented their findings across seven paragraphs, the IBA only included the following line about the opposition: "Mr Adel Bouda, Acting Ambassador of Algeria in New Delhi, was invited to present the position of the Algerian side and requested a second opinion on the issue." That's it. One sentence. Didn't even acknowledge if the request was granted.

Oh, and when the IBA board of directors voted to disqualify Yu-Ting and Khelif, there were four members missing. The board's own rules state there should be 18 members, but as of right now there are only 17, three of whom were not in place until after the vote, so who knows how many people were in the meeting. Let's be generous and say sure, they had all 18 at the time, that means 12 voted in support of disqualifying them, or two thirds of the board. Not bad, it's a fair majority. Alternately, let's go the other way and say there were only 14 people total, in which case 8 voted in support of disqualifying them, or around 44% of what the board should have been there.

Fun fact! The President of the IBA Board is Russian. You wanna know who came in third overall? Russia. Which country did Khelif beat when it got down to 16? Russia. And who would she have been up against in the finals? China, one of Russia's (unofficial) allies. And which country did Yu-Ting beat in the semifinals? Kazakhstan, another one of Russia's allies.

We could go around and around about the IBA's suspicious behavior as a group, but ultimately the International Olympic Committee determined that their methods and outcomes were bullshit (3) and let these women compete.

-----------

(1) Neither Yu-Ting nor Khelif identifies as intersex in the cultural sense (unsurprising as neither of their home countries are very queer-friendly), but the general consensus in Western medicine would classify them as intersex due to their natural testosterone levels.

(2) This is the post where I learned this info, and supporting information can be found here and here. As a warning the second of the three links is a letter from the time period and contains outdated, racist and sexist language.

(3) This BBC article states "the IBA failed to meet set reforms following its 2019 suspension over governance issues and alleged corruption" so the IOC been calling them sus for a while

[kyluxtrashpit]

Sooo, I’m not sure if this will make you feel any better about the whole poll drama disappointment, but I thought I’d let you know where I think some of this may have originated from and why I think the bots rumor started rather than there actually being bots (though I will get to that too).

(as a disclaimer: I’m speaking only from what I’ve seen from my neck of the (kylux) fandom woods; there could absolutely be other people involved that I’ve simply seen nothing from)

A person, who happens to ship kylux but has promoted to all fandoms with that character, has been having fun with the ‘hottest SW man poll’. They’ve been reblogging links to it along with entertaining little edits to promote their favorite character with the hope of getting people to take part in the vote. Now obviously they’re voting for that character themself, but anyone who happens to see the post are no more obligated than anyone else who reblogs/sees the poll to vote for that person’s preference. (I’m a kyluxer too, and I love both of them, but despite the promotions I still didn’t vote for him because that’s not my opinion for ‘hottest SW man’) And I don’t know about you, but I’m sure there have been many people, myself included, who have voted in a poll someone they follow reblogged for something that person liked and, despite not having a stake in it personally, cast said vote in deference to them. I’m sure that happened in some cases with this situation, however I’m also sure part of what happened is that fans who’d have otherwise never seen the poll were able to cast their vote (I’m in this category as I don’t follow these sorts of blogs at all), as well as – because it was put out in a fun, silly way – led them to vote when they might not have cared to bother otherwise.

Now, I do agree it’s kinda stretching the general spirit of these polls, however what they’ve been doing is only really different in that they’ve been adding character edits along with multiple reblogs in an attempt to make it a silly little attention-grabbing promotion thing rather than merely a reblog or two of the poll. Again, I do think it’s been a bit much, but I will say I can appreciate the enthusiasm of someone who thought they were having fun in their fandom with a simple ‘for fun’ fandom related poll. Another consideration to make is that this person might be new to these things (and/or tumblr in general), which could be a reason for it as well. Plus, different people are going to react to and participate in things in different ways, and sometimes those ways differ from the norm enough to cause a stir despite no ill will or actual ‘rule breaking’ meant.

Nevertheless, that isn’t botting. I can see why people might feel it’s a little unfair even if it’s only exaggerating behavior people already naturally have with polls. I can also certainly understand why it could lead to some people getting rubbed the wrong way and then feeling upset, thus further leading to a sense of drama and subsequent botting rumors (and the origin person being a kylux shipper leading to the kylux fandom as a whole being scapegoated). But still, that’s not the same as botting. In the end, neither you nor anyone else are obligated to no longer be upset simply because of this explanation. That’s your right and you don’t have to like this any more than genuine botting, I just wanted to clarify a potential source.

However, if there IS real botting, that’s indeed an absurd thing for someone to be doing for a simple poll. Perhaps someone got out of hand because of the above person’s promoting; perhaps it’s just a rumor started because some people simply weren’t expecting the character to receive enough votes to persist in the poll – and hey, everyone’s got their own preferences and opinions on ‘hotness’, but the fact a character some don’t think should be lingering over others has endured so long doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a conspiracy. Of course, I’m sure there are people who also have their own opinions on what might constitute ‘botting’ and have considered what I described to be in that category. Which is totally fine too. I personally disagree, but that’s merely my opinion and no one else has to accept it. For the most part, I merely believe this was a situation that got a little out of hand and led to a bit of drama that’s now negatively painting people who meant no harm – because it IS just a fun little fandom poll.

As for the numbers bumping in seemingly large chunks upon refreshing (I don’t even know how you could see individual numbers for an individual character???), I can only guess at how these polls bring in the numbers in order to calculate percentages, both continuous and final. Is it in delayed chunks? Is it really one by one by one exactness??? Perhaps a combination of both, somehow??? While on your end it might appear to be an immediate change after your vote (so a one by one idea), upon a refresh it might ACTUALLY be registering assorted votes in collected chunks, altering the newly refreshed percentage in a way that might seem huge based on what it was before/after your vote, but actually isn’t due to a collected recalculation of ALL new votes. And by individual character numbers, I’m not talking about that character's percentage, which is a percentage of a whole being recalculated upon that refresh. A whole which shifts percentages up and down throughout as the vote total increases regardless of minutes or hours. For a long-term example: he could be at a 13% high at one point because a number of that character’s voters voted around that time, heightening his numbers amongst the pool of votes, then a few hours later is at a 5% low because even more overall votes have come in since and his were few to none, and then later up to 9% as another batch of his voter’s participated. These ‘batches’ ostensibly have more to do with time zones/people online seeing the poll post and not botting. And in the short term you can apply this concept but with the ‘batches’ being overall votes that happen to have some chunks for that character mixed in.

Honestly, I don’t know if any of that is fully true or not; I’m just going off general observation of the polls and vaguely educated(?) guesswork. I could be totally wrong and that stupidly long paragraph is nonsense. Really this whole seemingly suspicious numbers thing is something I’d not seen or heard about at all until your post, so...I’ve no idea there. If botting is happening, and someone did get out of hand with this, I think it’s likely piggybacking off this above person’s attempt at fun engagement, thus tainting and casting blame on said person and, in particular, their ship fandom (which is quite unfair as not all his fans come from kylux, or even from pairings to begin with). And if there isn’t botting and it’s all a misunderstanding, then it’s still doing that to this person and the kylux fandom because of people’s upset and blame shifting onto the biggest pairing he’s in. Either way, it’s just a really unfortunate turn of events. (of course, I’m still merely speaking from my neck of the woods, there could be other stuff going on outside it that I don’t know anything about.)

In short, I suppose I just wanted to say: hey, it’s sad to see you (and others) feeling upset or disheartened by potential botting in a simple SW fandom poll with the potential origin being a kyluxer, and maybe this could help at least give you a different viewpoint and understanding of what might be going on behind the scenes. Still, yet again, neither you nor anyone else has to care about or agree with anything I’ve said, I simply felt a desire to do so as a follower of you, awareness of this poll, and a kyluxer myself.

So first off, I do appreciate your thoughtful response! And I'll clarify a bit on what I was talking about and why I made the statement. Now I will admit that I do not have 100% concrete proof of anything, what I have is my own observations, those observations confirmed by others, plus some information that is admittedly rumour, but is from people I trust who aren't the type to start shit and wouldn't say anything unless it was something they'd personally seen or had no reason to doubt

And I don't think recruiting friends outside the fandom to vote is botting or any other kind of cheating - it's not, everyone does that, I don't think that's an issue at all and is within fairness. What I'm talking about is actual botting, using fake accounts to vote. Which, if you have either the programming know how or a bit of money to pay for a bot that's pre-made, is a lot easier than people think it is. I know how one could do it manually, but I do not know enough about programming to automate it (and I won't explain how, because then it might give more people ideas lmao). I don't think this is widespread either, like one single person with the know how can 100% make hundreds accounts and have them vote within a few minutes. And, if they've ever botted a poll before, it's even faster because the accounts may have already been made

So it started with me watching the poll near the end (I voted within the first couple hours of it being posted, but I was curious how it would turn out). I refreshed with 45-60 minutes left and saw 'oh Hux is gonna lose, okay, too bad but it is what it is' because he was at ~8% and the next lowest was Anakin, who was just under 12%. As the time ticked down, I refreshed again and saw a sudden shift, which surprised me. At that point, I started refreshing every minute or so because it kept going, every refresh was a big jump even at that frequency. Within less than 10 minutes (I don't recall the exact timeframe, but it was very fast, too fast), the total vote count had increased by about 300 or so and I watched it surge with every refresh. The vast majority of these votes, if not all of them, were for Hux as his percentage was the only one that increased significantly (the rest increased by less than a full percentage point, if they didn't decrease)

So while you can't see how many votes went for each person, polls do have the total vote count at the bottom and you can see the percentages, so you can tell if there's a sudden increase in overall votes and if those affect on particular vote choice more than any other. Which is why I found this suspicious because that many votes, that quickly, overwhelmingly for one option, it's highly unlikely it was done by real humans. Plus, we've all seen what happens with big polls both here and on twitter - people have literally paid like $200 to bot polls before and it seems sadly to just be becoming something people do

After I saw that jump, I went and talked to some friends in a private discord we use for chatting and some of them, too, had been watching the poll and having similar suspicions to myself. A more tech-savvy one said this is the kind of increases that are consistent with the use of bots. A couple of people also mentioned they had heard people talking about botting, but weren't sure if that was a joke or not (and it may have been, even if there was botting, it may not have been these people). I can't reveal much more without compromising the identities of my friends, who didn't want to speak out about their suspicions because they don't want to get targeted or anything. I am far beyond caring about that lmao, so I chose to say something about it because idk this kind of thing just really irritates me and as a kyluxer for a very long time, I feel like it's the duty of people in a fandom to call out bad behaviour of our fellows in a rational, non-harassing way

Now, again, I admit none of this is concrete proof. And if I'm wrong and everything was above board and someone did manage to conjure a few hundred people all at the same time at the last minute, well, that's genuinely miraculous like unbelievably so lmao, so good for them. If so, I'll rescind the post, apologize, and go back to having fun. But from the pov of statistics, what I saw myself, what my friends saw, and the added rumours, like. I have to say that actual botting seems far more likely to me. You're welcome to disagree, or think this isn't enough evidence to say it for sure happened, but I wanted to say something regardless because if someone is botting, or even just thinking about it, maybe pointing it out will shame them into stopping so we can go back to having fun

I hope you're right and it wasn't happening, and hell, it may not have even been a kyluxer if it was (there are non-kylux Hux fans out there), but I just find it hard to believe it wasn't happening at this point between what I saw, what others saw, and what I heard. And I think it's better to point out fandom bad behaviour than let it continue unchecked. I refuse to let that kinda shit happen if I can do something about it

[random-thought-depository]

I am curious what percentage of the population fits Jacopo-Belbo's definition of a functional adult (or, at least, the part of their definition they communicate in that post).

Jacopo-Belbo's declared standard for functional adulthood, in case you don't want to click the link (I'm not reblogging their post or tagging them on this because I judge it likely they'd be annoyed by that):

Re: ongoing first aid kit discourse, if you don’t have the following you’re not a functional adult: in-person Stop The Bleed training (USA, I don’t know about equivalent training in other countries, Google is free, stop asking me), NAR combat application tourniquets, Celox z-fold gauze, TacMed OLAES pressure dressing, NAR chest seals, and an annoying little bag to carry it all around in.

My offhand guess is that most people are not "functional adults" by this standard, so "if you don’t have the following you’re not a functional adult" here is roughly equivalent to "if you're a good person you wouldn't eat meat"; you can't really prove it wrong because of the inherent subjectivity of moral statements, but you can correctly point out that it's detached from the material conditions and normal standards of the society it was made in (and the person who made it probably knows that, and the statement reflects their belief in the superiority of their own standards over the normative ones of their society) and that lots of people who aren't "functional adults" by Jacopo-Belbo's definition are functional in the sense that they're getting by.

I don't actually have much data to back up that guess though, just some observations and inferences from my own experiences. So I decided to take advantage of Tumblr's new poll function to make a little calibration test of my intuitions. Also, that post does seem to have a lot of notes, and I'm curious how much of that is full agreement vs. reblogging to spread around the links and partial agreement but not fully endorsing it, and I think this poll might give me some sense of the probable rough breakdown of that.

I know Tumblr polls can be pretty unrepresentative because of social network effects, but I think this matter is probably going to be pretty orthogonal to the ways people who read my blog are likely to be unrepresentative of the general population.

Of course, one possible biasing factor is the post this is responding to stigmatizes not having this sort of preparation, and my poll question reproduces their framing for brevity. If it helps, a quick Google search says votes in Tumblr polls are anonymous, so you need not worry about being embarrassed, and you are completely free to reject Jacopo-Belbo's moral judgment about what answering "no" would say about you as a person (your thoughts are your own, after all). I'm not particularly interested in having a discussion about the reasonableness of their standards (which is why I haven't given my "take" on that question here), but I will note that at least in the richer and more stable countries nowadays most people will never have to treat a serious wound without assistance from medical professionals and this sort of wound-care training and supplies is one of those things where you'll probably never use it, but it's better to have it and not need it than to encounter a situation where you need it and don't have it. I'll also note that I suspect that post has an element of staking out a maximal position in response to maximal positions in the opposite direction (original discussion is here, here, and here if anyone wants to review it, I confess I have not done so because... well, look at the note count on the first one) and I'm not sure whether it's fully unironically endorsed by its own maker (the last criteria seems a little tongue-in-cheek).

Please note that I do not intend this post as an incitement to send internet hate mail to anyone; if you disagree with one of the participants in the linked threads and want to express your disagreement directly to them that's your right, but, like, I'm not encouraging that and if I wanted to start an argument with someone here I'd have reblogged or @ them. You do have my permission and encouragement to reblog this post to increase the sample size of my poll, though I'd prefer if this didn't get spread around too much.

I might pin this to the top of my Tumblr for a little while, to increase my sample size.

I think I forgot to switch the poll duration from 1 day to 1 week in my previous version of this post and I can't edit the poll once I've posted it, so I deleted and reposted with a 1 week limit. Sorry! However, @aurpiment already responded to my first version of this post, so I preserve their reply here:

Oh that’s my mutual! They were using hyperbolic language in frustration with another post on which there was discourseabout whether it’s reasonable to expect a household to have a first aid kit. Some people on that post thought first aid in general was unnecessary. I think you’re rather focused on the functional adult terminology. The spirit of their post is “of course you should know basic first aid, are you kidding me? It saves lives. It’s embarrassing to say first aid isn’t important. Go learn first aid for serious physical trauma.”

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Part Three (Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader Miniseries)

Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Link to Part One Link to Part Two

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: This is a light slow burn but nothing too intense. Fluffy moments, but some angst at the end. A brief bit of steamy stuff but no actual smut. Edwardian-era attitudes about sex, gender, and behavior. I lovingly rip off Little Women. Brief mentions of violence.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp

Autumn 1912

With the army stationed close, the new arrivals of men in uniform caused a stir. Considering that many of them were young and single, you and the other ladies in town were thrilled. You and your friends couldn’t help but notice and ogle them. Especially the handsome ones. How good it felt to indulge in the good, harmless giggling over attractive men!

At the shop, you worked with three other women close to your age- Mary, Ida, and Alice. After months of working together, the four of you grew in comradery. Sometimes, there would be an hour with no customers and no tasks. Then when a soldier or two passed by outside, one would alert the others.

“Come quick!” was the cry from Mary today.

The four of you would flock to the windows just to watch them. Today there were two. They were enjoying a cigarette. Though you had to look closely to see if one was the tall, lean gentleman with auburn hair and blue eyes. Or the gentlemen with high cheekbones and a dark mustache. To see if one would be Nicholls or Stewart. So far, you had not seen them at a calmer hour outside the shop.

Those men, you realized, were neither Nicholls nor Stewart even. But they were still handsome. One gentleman had red hair and the other had blonde hair. They chatted and smiled among themselves, ignorant of their admirers. Laughing as if in a joke. The four of you peeked from the edges of the window. As to not be obvious, of course!

" Which one is better- the redheaded one? Or the blonde?" asked Ida.

All of you case your verbal votes, bursting into more laughter

“I’ve singled it down to five I’d be content to marry just from this window!” Alice commented.

Part of your stomach curled. But you chose to ignore it. It’s not like Nicholls belonged to you! But why were you getting such…thoughts about that? Besides, there were obviously plenty of uniformed fish in the sea. You kept reminding yourself that. Ida's voice brought you back to the present.

"I’ve yet to even meet one!” Ida complained.

Pride swelled in your chest. The words came out of you. As if to show a small accomplishment among your peers.

“I’ve met two!” you blurted.

“Oh, Y/N! Two?” Alice asked.

They turned to you with big, curious eyes.

“Yes- Major Stewart and Captain Nicholls are their names. They were even at tea a few months ago!”

“You’re so lucky!” Alice sighed.

“I know one named Mr. Smith! The most handsome fellow I’ve seen. He has these dark curls that fit him so well@ And he was telling me all about how he dances back home-we need to have them dance!” Mary announced.

A new idea hit you as the four of you returned to look out the window.

“When will there be a dance again? I bet the officers are always at dances!” you questioned.

It had been a little while since you’d been to a dance. Not that you didn't want to go to them. It was Albert who would complain about them, but you loved them. But now with this job and your farm duties, you realized…you missed it. All that work left you too distracted and tired. The parties would slip by without your noticing. You missed going to dances. The thrill of dressing up in your nicest frocks, seeing your friends, sipping on lemonade, and having the chance to dance with dashing fellows. It wasn’t like the upper-class balls, but it was still something! You missed something you enjoyed so much. Something replaced by responsibility. Oh, how You would brave the later hours and your tired feet from work to be at one again right now!

“Ask around! Usually in the town hall when the older folks host one. Or check the newspapers!” Ida reasoned.

Alice looked up at you and then clutched your hand.

“We miss you, Y/N! You need to come to dances again!” she insisted.

“I’ll try if I can!” you replied.

“But Y/N, if you need to stay home and rest, I don’t blame you!” Mary said.

There were footsteps and the four of you shot up, away from the window. Mrs. Snow approached with her hands on her hips.

“Ladies! Don’t be so silly about soldiers you don’t notice when a customer arrives!” she scolded.

All of you returned to shelving products and standing at the counter, waiting for someone to come in. Dressed in Uniform or otherwise.

At the end of the day, you said your goodbyes and walked out. You went through the sloping sidewalks of town. Then to the outskirts where it broke into hills and fields. The grass grew long, and the trees were orange like they had a fire on top of them. Some leaves broke off to fly past you as you went home. You shivered beneath your wool scarf and thick, dark coat.

But as you walked up the slope and opened the gate to home, there was a sight in the bottom field that now made you smile.

With the entire field plowed, the turnips burst from the ground. So many it was like another sea. The crops here were in full fruition with the harvest. And the rent was getting paid. Somehow, some way, all would be well.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Saturday afternoon, you saw there was a knock on the door. You opened it and contained a gasp to see Captain Nicholls. He was dressed in a Norfolk jacket and held his sketchbook beneath one arm.

“Good afternoon, Miss Narracott! Is your family home? If not, then I’ll leave,” he said, taking off his cap.

“Oh, we’re here! Good to see you, Captain! You can come in!” Mum replied as she turned around from washing the dishes from the sink.

He bowed his head as he took a step inside- he was so tall he could have knocked his head into the doorframe! He looked about the inside of the stone house. So snug and lived in with potted flowers, embroidery, and kitchenware. He never scoffed at anything but admired them as if they were paintings.

“I hope I am disturbing nothing crucial!” he said.

“Why, nothing! Would you like some tea?” your mother asked.

“I would but I confess…there’s something else I’m here for…I’d like to draw Joey, please.” He asked.

“Why- draw!?” Mum questioned. She tilted her head, her eyes going to the sketchbook.

“Captain Nicholls is an exceptional artist, mum! I’ve seen a few of them!” you insisted.

He blushed and looked down.

“They’re nothing special But I have my hobbies, as much as anyone else!” he said.

“Why then- of course! Be sure to talk to Albert and make sure it’s all good with him!” she said.

She gestured out to the field. Nicholls got a chair from the kitchen As he walked outside, he went to the field where Joey was kept. Today Albert was brushing him off when he turned. He jumped seeing the captain and you walking just behind. The Captain sat the chair on the grass.

“Why-hello there, sir!” Albert cried out.

“May I have your permission to draw your horse, please?” he asked.

“Why-yes! Yes, of course, sir!” Albert spoke, fumbling with the brush in his hand. He turned his brown head back and forth, trying to decide where to go.

“No! You don’t have to stop brushing him! I can even draw that if you’d like!” Nicholls said.

“Let me start you some tea. There’s a chill in the air today,” you offered.

“That would be lovely, Miss Narracott,” he thanked.

But after you delivered the cup and saucer, he was already at it. He set the sketchbook up high, and you heard the scratch of his pencil. He smiled and thanked you for the drink.

“Don’t you have one? You should have one too, Miss,” he said.

“I will in a second, glad you still got your tea, sir."

Your voice halted at a thought.

Goodness! You remembered all the way back you promised him a welcome basket and never gave him one!

Your thoughts racing, you ran out and gathered whatever you could- a few spare chicken eggs in the basket, several apples from the tree (hoping they didn’t already have worms in them!), a couple of spare turnips, carrots, and the spare crops you could that was seasonal. From the ice box, you even added on a bottle of milk from one of the cows-one of the smaller ones yet to be sold, of course.

Though when you returned with the basket, Harold the Goose was back to bother everyone. He waddled up to Nicholls as he sat.

“Don’t you dare, Harold! Leave him alone!” you scolded the gander.

Harold waddled up. He bit the material of Nicholl’s pants and shook his head as he held it in his beak. Thankfully the pants were large enough that Harold got the cloth but not the leg. But Nicholls only looked down and laughed.

“It’s quite alright! I don’t mind it. He’s a good fellow.” He replied.

"He’s anything but! He likes to try and bite everyone!” you contradicted.

“Well, he’s fine as he is!” he said, raising a hand to assure you.

Taking a step closer, you saw him use an eraser to correct a line and then redraw it.

“Captain… how is it you draw?” you questioned.

“Would you like to see?” he asked.

“Yes!”

He gestured for you to stand beside him. He used his pencil to point out the lines and shapes. There was the scwhep, schwep sound of Albert brushing Joey.

“I observe him. I see his shape…and I draw an outline. “That’s what I like to focus on…shape and shadows,” Nicholls explained.

There was a crisp breeze that flew by. A few of the orange leaves from the tree fell and skittered across, crunching as they danced across the grass. Then he paused. He got up and returned with an extra chair.

“Would you like to have that tea and watch?” he offered.

You nodded. He then returned with a chair and cup for you.

He kept drawing. It was fascinating to watch as the pencil scratched across. You sipped at your cup and saucer watching the lines become a horse on paper. The black lines form the shape of Joey. His snout. He then carefully made shapes of the eyes and colored them in. Then he made the eyes and got right the diamond shape on Joey’s snout. You enjoyed his handsome profile. His bright eyes shone as he watched Joey trot around and eat grass. Flicking his tail on occasion. The Captain smiled at the animal; a smile that remained as his eyes lowered to the sketchbook. You heard the soft inhalation from his nose and the rhythmic scratch of the pen.

As he went down to replace his pencil with a new one in his pocket, it struck you that not a word passed between you two. And who knew how much time had passed? You only saw him drawing away. He smiled as he kept looking up and down. Then he used his new pencil for the long neck. Though Joey trotted and shook his head. Albert went to one end of the field and did the owl whistle. Joey then broke into a short gallop to the other end of the field. Despite the movement, Nicholls got the long neck and body of the horse.

“This is the one part that looks hard- the body…” you commented.

You sipped the last of your tea and got his saucer too.

“That’s why I like to draw the body in front of a real horse,” Nicholls replied.

As he lengthened the lines, he compared it to the model who walked to eat a new patch of grass. Then he went down. Indeed, the outline became correct in its likeness.

“Hey Y/N! Come give him a carrot! He likes it when you’re the one who gives it!” Albert called out.

You then got a carrot from the kitchen. You walked out to the field and held it up.

“Here Joey…here, boy…” you said.

Joey trotted forward. He didn’t refuse or buck away. And you didn’t have to turn back this time. Joey accepted the carrot, crunching on it. You offered your hand and gently petted his long nose. He didn’t buck away. But leaned to it. He even took a step closer for you to pet him more. As you looked into the horse’s dark eyes, you saw gentleness.

“See! He likes you, Y/N!” Albert said.

Even Nicholls smiled from his sketchbook. You then returned to admire the progress of the drawing.

Soon enough, it was a fine outline. But you had realized that a lot of time had indeed passed. The sun was about to dip and the sky became pinker. You wondered if one of your parents would scold you for avoiding your chores.

“I know I’m dull company, I am sorry if I wasted your time,” Nicholls apologized.

“Oh, don’t be!” you shook your head.

“I’m afraid I’ve overstayed. And I’m sorry- I should have asked your mother to be outside with us at least,” he apologized.

“No- I don’t…don’t think she minds!” you replied.

Albert took Joey by the reigns and paused before he returned the horse to his stable.

“I thank you again for both- the tea and the basket!” Nicholls replied.

He looped the basket around one of his handsome arms. The jacket did show the outline of a bicep and you tried not to stare or imagine things. Albert returned Joey back in. Even Nicholls couldn’t resist coming inside the stable to briefly pet his model and thank him.

The three of you walked through the garden to get to the front door. There again was the brown rabbit eating your flowers.

“Ol’Peter’s back for his own dinner!” cried Albert, pointing.

Even you couldn’t help chuckling. But Nicholls squinted.

“Peter?” Nicholls questioned.

The three of you stopped in your tracks. The rabbit continued to hop around. He stilled, his nose twitching.

“The rabbits here- Y/N loves them, you see…she doesn’t mind them eating her flowers, no sir!” explained Albert.

Turning over, you shrugged.

“I’d rather have rabbits here than some less pleasant creature! Besides…I rather like the idea I take care of them. They’re such cute little things, I think…” you added on.

He nodded. The three of you were still and quiet. Admiring the animal. You began to tread quietly as Nicholls said his goodbyes to your parents.

There was another “honk!” that stirred the rabbit. It began to hop away from the garden to escape under the fence door.

As you led your guest to the gate, Harold waddled out, wings wide. He went to Nicholls. The goose began to nip at Nicholls's pants and shake them again. But the Captain only smiled and laughed at him.

“I’m so sorry he’s so rude!” you apologized.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Geese have no concept of manners at all, Miss Narracott,” Nicholls replied.

The goose had a last shake. Once his beak let go, Nicholls tipped his hat as a goodbye and walked away. Albert waved him away as he walked down into town as the sun dipped down to an orange sky.

Whenever the weather was still nice, Nicholls would stop by for tea and to draw away. It was always on his days off or after duty. He would admire Joey. Sketching him or working on previous drawings of the horse. After work and in between chores, you had to go to check. Thankfully, your parents did not think it shocking for you to sit with him. While you were technically unchaperoned without your mother, Albert was present. Your parents were walking about with their own work, and you were in public in the open daylight. He would never tread in the house if you were going to be the only person inside.

Nicholls was also a gentleman. His large hands were only on the pencil and drawing, never inching to even the edge of your sleeve.

Winter, 1912

December finally arrived. Your family had to rely more on the animals than the crops. And Mum kept fussing at Dad for wanting to waste money on pub trips. Especially with Christmas coming up. Not that gift-giving to each other was ever grand. You were just planning on knitting and sewing things for your family, nothing more. Perhaps the odd little trinket from a few of your friends about town and the community or packages from your distant family. Those were things to look forward to.

It was even starting to snow. It piled up and around the house. Joey wore a blanket and the chickens and geese and cows remained in their stables too. It made you miss the presence of a gentleman who would sit outside to draw. But you didn’t want him to catch a cold either if he did show up.

As everyone gathered for church, all of you bundled up. Albert’s nose looked like a tomato. It was a week before Christmas, and all was astir. The little stone church was decorated with greenery and trees. People gossiped over potential gift ideas over organ music. The snow fell outside in white drifts to that blinking, bright morning. But before the service began, both Stewart and Nicholls approached you.

“Why, Happy Christmas Narracotts!” Stewart greeted.

“Happy Christmas!” Dad replied.

“Why- where will the soldiers be having their dinners?” Mum asked curiously.

“We’re all traveling home until after New Year's. We’ll be back then but…Jim here has gifts for you. All of you!” Stewart announced.

You felt your eyes get big.

“Really? Christmas gifts for us?”

Nicholls stepped forward.

“It’s not much, but it’s something!” he said.

From his arms, he handed four small boxes to each of you.

“Major Stewart where are your gifts?” you asked.

“None, I’m afraid. I wish I had half the talent James has in his little finger. You’ll have to settle for cards,” Stewart replied.

“Cards will be fine,” you replied.

But you looked down at the small, green box done up in gold ribbon. Then you looked at the Captain.

“Thank you, Happy Christmas.”

“I hope you like it when you open it, Miss. Consider it as thanks to all of you,” Nicholls responded.

Christmas Day arrived with the clinging of the bells from town. When all of you opened Nicholl’s presents that morning, it struck all of you that he had given each of you a drawing.

“Oh! How thoughtful! What a fellow!” Mum cried in delight.

For Albert, there was a completed drawing of Joey eating a bowl of oats. For Mum, it was some of the potted flowers in bloom next to a teacup. For Dad, it was Harold the Goose nipping at someone's pant leg.

And as for your drawing, it was of the little rabbit next to one of your flowers. So sweet and lifelike, you could almost stroke its fur on the page. You kept it in your room. You put a nail on the wall so you could always look up and see it.

Spring 1913

The days got warmer despite the chilled mornings. Mr. Lyons, his son, and his posse were back to collect the rent as usual, on the 15th of every month. Mum fixed him a cup of tea as the landlord plopped onto the chair. Somehow, there managed to be enough paper bills of money that suited him, many of which came from your job.

Dad looked him in the eye as Lyons recounted the bills with his thumb. You and Albert just stood up to watch. Despite the intensity of the situation, you knew there was enough. There’d be no threats. There shouldn’t be.

“You’re doing better. But I hope no new horses have caught your eye!” Lyons said.

“Of course not, sir,” your father replied.

“Good. And you will keep this up, will you not?” he asked.

“Course sir,” your father responded.

Lyons then turned over and looked at you. He broke into a smile. You folded your hands before you, but you felt Albert watching, his eyes darting.

“And how are you, Miss Narracott?” Lyons asked, turning to you.

“I am well and good, thank you.”

“I hear you work with Mrs. Snow at the shop. A year already! They speak well of you there,” he conversed.

“Then I am only glad to do my job well and honestly, sir,” you replied.

“That is well, quite well indeed…” he chatted.

Lyons looked out the window. He got out, squinting his eyes.

“Is that a rabbit eating the flowers?” Lyons asked.

You turned your head out. Indeed, there was a rabbit out in the flower garden again.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

Lyons shook his head, his sneer matched that of his son.

“The little vermin...Try and shoot it- make it your supper!” he scoffed.

“They don’t usually eat the vegetables- we shoo them off if they get in there. Only the flowers! They’re harmless!” you insisted, turning towards him.

“That’s only encouraging them. For me, I don’t tolerate the beasts in my grounds!” Lyons replied.

You frowned as he tipped his hat.

“But Miss, I do hope you stay well. And that I see you and your family in church Sunday.”

“Thank you, goodbye,” you said coolly.

Lyons, David, and his posse got into the motorcar and drove off. Albert gave you a small look. You only went out to the garden to make sure the plants and flowers were watered. Staring at the rabbit as he hopped about his business. At least the fresh air, sunshine, flowers, and the sounds of wildlife could wash you of his words. You could only stare blankly at the plants-not watering, tending, or planting any. As Albert approached you, you turned to him.

"You don't need to say anythin', I saw him with you..." Albert comforted.

"He...he means it..." you whispered.

From the look on your face, Albert brought you into a hug.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Captain Nicholls was back soon enough to resume drawing. He wanted to try to get Joey into a gallop. Conveniently, Albert said Joey was finally now able to ride people.

“He rides now! Rides splendid! And so fast, sir! Especially with me!" Albert boasted.

“Then- why not a drawing of you on him as he gallops! Or maybe just you on him!” Nicholls suggested.

You heard their voices echo from outside. You had to scrub the floors during that hour. As you bent down, making sure each bit of the floor was clean, you couldn’t resist trying to poke your head to see. You heard the patter of Joey’s hooves and neighing outside. Once it was half done, you took a break to go outside to them. You finished one last spot and then dipped the sponge into the bucket.

As you went outside and approached Nicholls on his chair, you saw he was getting the outline of Joey’s body.

“Hello, Captain,” you said.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he greeted.

“Could I see some of your other drawings, please?” you asked.

He turned his head and blinked at you.

“Please think nothing of it! I was only curious! And if you need to finish that one, then-”

“It’s alright! I'll show you! Give me a moment to find one…”

He flipped to the page before.

“Here- there’s Jaimie. The Major," he introduced.

You looked and saw the likeliness of Major Stewart on the page. You caught how Nicholls got the cheekbones and structure of Stewart’s angular face and the squinting, small eyes.

“It’s about perfect. Like he’s here!” you replied.

“I hoped so! Here- here’s one of my mother I made..." Nicholls continued.

He flipped to the page before that one. You saw a graceful woman’s face. She was a true English Rose no matter what some might say about her age. She had a high forehead and almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was done up into curls maintained by pins. She had a smile on her face. The smile that would offer you a cake if you were crying.

“She’s a beautiful lady…and she looks like she is a kind one, too,” you replied.

“She definitely is both! I wished every day to be more like her when I was young! Here’s one of a tree here in Devon. It burst into flowers this month. I saw it while on patrol. I had to try and get it drawn…” he continued.

He turned a page and there was a tree full of apple blossoms. They burst into blooms all over. The small delicacies of the petals connected to its center were exact. Yet Nicholls captured the leaves growing on the tree in between with decided pointiness. It was as if you could smell it if you tipped your nose to the paper.

“That one is beautiful too!” you cried.

“Plants and animals can be quite easier to get than humans. So, I used to start with those!” he responded.

The sound of a neigh brought you back to attention. Looking up, you saw Joey trotting about as Albert rode him. The horse then went out the open door of the gate to walk around. Albert touched the branches of trees from atop his horse. The leaves rustled above.

“I never had anyone ask about my little drawings...” Nicholls commented.

“But they’re lovely! You should share them more often,” you praised.

“Sometimes I fear if I speak too much about it, my colleagues shall think less of me.”

Your mother’s words echoed back to you. The conversation was almost a year ago.

“Should it…matter what they think? If you like drawing, you like drawing.”

“It’s unexpected. It is my job, Miss Narracott, to be a man of action and honor. Not an artist. I doubt I could survive on selling them alone,” he justified.

“I didn’t say you had to sell them. You can enjoy things, even if they’re things not every soldier does…”

“With my position, I lead groups of men. I do not wish the soldiers I look after to think less of me,” he explained.

“Does Stewart think less of you? He knows about your drawings…” you asked.

There was a slight cool breeze. The chickens clucked and a few wandered to explore the horse grounds. Harold even waddled up to look, though this time he was uninterested in nipping clothes.

“I only…feel like I must be a man for them and something like this...they could mock me...” Nicholls confessed.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself, Captain. Don’t be ashamed of what makes you happy…” you comforted.

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Miss Narracott,” he answered.

He smiled at you, and you felt as if firecrackers lit up inside you. So giddy, so close to him. Your fingers inch away. Your fingers could brush but you dared not. It then struck you that you were staring at him, and embarrassment flooded you. What would it be like to touch that hand? As you looked at his profile, you wondered what it would be like to embrace, and look into his eyes when he kissed, or if his hands wandered. If they undid your buttons. If you lay down on the field-any field, any floor. If you felt him crawl over you. If you lifted your skirt and...

Your body felt hot and your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

“I…I need to finish scrubbing the floors, excuse me,” you dismissed. Timidity and shame overwhelming you.

He tucked his head in as you walked straight back inside. Scrubbing with more ferocity than ever.

Summer 1913

“Tavistock fair tomorrow! I bet Joey’s going to win- he has to!” Albert announced at dinner.

“It would be nice if he won a prize,” you said.

“Prize or no prize, he’s still our Joey, that’s what,” Dad replied.

Taking a sip of water, all of you sat together in that dark kitchen. Finishing the last of your chicken, you and Mum began to pick up the dishes.

“Well, it does make a difference if there’s prize money!” Mum added, putting them in the sink.

After cleaning the plates, you walked upstairs. It was wise to pick an outfit for the fair. It was a large event and perhaps everyone and their mother would be there! You selected a light, white dress. Perfect for the summer heat while still looking as elegant as you could afford to. A straw hat with a pretty ribbon around it to give you shade.

Now what was missing was gloves. As you pulled out a drawer and looked through, you noticed something odd. You usually liked to wash all your gloves at once. Better to keep track of pairs.

But one of your gloves- cream-colored, nice for going out and about on a day you weren’t working- was missing. There was only one. But no pair next to it, like you liked to set it.

You knocked on Albert’s door. He opened it, still in his overalls and shirt with the smell of the day's work on him.

“Albert- you haven’t had any funny business with my gloves, have you?” you asked, putting an arm akimbo.

“Why no!”

“I still haven’t forgotten the time you took my doll outside without asking and dropped her in the mud!” you recalled.

“And I haven’t forgotten the times you pushed me off my sled in the snow!” he argued back.

Both of you laughed suddenly at his response. Breaking off and relaxing.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to sound cross. But…one of my gloves is missing. The cream one- did you take it?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t! I swear! And I wouldn’t know where it is!” he answered.

Taking a lit lantern for light, you then walked over to the laundry room. You looked over the baskets. Scouring through every item of clothing you could see. Your mum walked in.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Mum, have you been doing laundry? Did you wash my gloves?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t,” she said.

You looked and looked. Then you rechecked every spot. Sure enough, there were no gloves. And you didn’t find it in your room or the next morning either. You would just have to settle for another pair to wear. Maybe if you saved up a little of your wages, you could buy a new pair to replace them. Perhaps they were at Mrs. Snow’s shop, or they got lost outside.

All of you gathered in a cart and headed off, but Albert preferred to ride Joey. He smiled all the way through, though he kept his brushes and everything to make sure the horse looked as nice as he could.

The Tavistock, or Devon Goose Fair, was packed with people. Not caring that the September heat was still around them. There was loud music and the chatter of people. Fried food wafted under everyone’s noses. There were more goods and souvenirs than you could hope for. But you and your family hoped to sell some produce, of course, but also to win prizes for your animals. Especially the neighing, spirited star of your farm.

The Narracott station was set up and Joey was off to the horse show. You recognized many people around. You said hellos to Ida, Mary, and Alice as they went about. Of course, there were plenty of uniformed men out and about for all of you to giggle after and meet.

“Oh! I did meet Stewart! He sure is handsome! And so’s his friend!” Mary said.

“Stewart and Nicholls? Where are they?” you asked.

Mary pointed over there but then a sight froze you in your tracks.

Though once you got to the fair, you did see him. And this time there was another woman. A beautiful blonde woman who wore a lovely dress the color of a ruby that probably cost twice the one you had on. Her waist was as small as your neck. And wearing shoes and ribbons and jewelry that must cost the farm’s rent. And she was talking to him. And smiling. He was smiling too. You couldn’t make out the words, but she was speaking boldly. Her thick, dark eyelashes batted like a butterfly. She flirted as subtly as a train. Yes, this might not be encouraged for a lady to flirt. But she had money. She could do whatever she wanted because she had the protection of her family’s bank account. Nicholls smiled small and politely. He nodded and listened to her as she spoke, but he kept his attention on her.

A feeling hit your gut like none before. You didn’t want to watch it. You had to force yourself away. Before Nicholls could turn his head up to see you, you turned away and went right back to your family’s station without a word.

It made you hate yourself. Hate your own body that wasn’t hers, your hair that wasn’t hers, your skin and dress that wasn’t your skin and dress. That her family wasn’t your family. That her wealth wasn’t your wealth. You hated that you weren’t her.

Pure hatred hit you. It washed into you. It made you lose your taste for the food or the noises and music. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw something until it shattered. You wanted her to be shoved off a cliff!

But why…why…it wasn’t like…like Captain Nicholls and you were….were…were a couple. No. It wasn’t like you were engaged or even lovers meeting in the dead of night. He was in no way yours. You shouldn’t feel entitled to him.

One guest who went up was Mr. Lyons with his son.

“Why- Ms. Narracott! Good to see you and your family. It’s not too busy here, I ask?”

“It’s not,” you replied.

Your family, from the shade of the tent, looked at each other. He turned to your mother.

“Mrs. Narracott, I’d like to take your daughter on a walk around the fairgrounds. Could you accompany us?” he asked.

A small look was shared between your parents.

“Why…uhm, yes. Yes, I can. Let David tag along too-it’d be a break from all this selling,” she replied, though you noted a tone of hesitancy in her voice.

You walked up to be by Lyons’ side as your mother kept her pace to be on your other side. David was behind, picking his teeth with a toothpick. As you walked, Lyons kept chatting. The man kept discussing his new car, his job, what suits he saw, what he thought of each bit of the fair, and other topics so boring it was everything in you to keep smiling and nodding your head. Any attempts at listening halted at a flash of red. You saw a glimpse of that blonde girl in red still talking with Captain Nicholls and Major Stewart was there too.

You were tempted to take off one of your hatpins and stab the girl in her porcelain face. You did not and only grip your skirt, swallowing. Your mind far from any attempts at conversation. It was mostly your mother and Lyons doing the talking.

Just say it…just admit the truth, Y/N…you like him. You’re infatuated with him, with James Nicholls. Who wouldn’t be? You thought.

You would not let your jealousy get the best of you. You would not let it turn you to do something cruel and harsh. Weren’t Cinderella’s stepsisters jealous of her? Because they were less beautiful and knew? You would not turn into cruelty…It only hurt to see the man you realized was your Prince with a Cinderella…and not you. Nicholls would only see you as the nice girl who lived on the farm with the horse he drew and nothing more.

Besides, there would be plenty of other soldiers, you thought. Stewart is a nice young gentleman too and not too unfortunate looking. She’ll pick one, not two of them and even if…there will be others, you tried to comfort yourself. And Lyons liked you.

And no doubt, it was Lyons himself who took your glove in the first place! There was concrete proof! Then at least, you would attain what many women dreamed of, including you- a well-off man taking interest in you. A future secured.

But it was only in the privacy of your bedroom that you found yourself crying into your pillow. Crying over Nicholls and the girl.

[uozlulu]

Fic. Supernatural. Trapped in a Meme. Destiel.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Castiel, Dean; Destiel Genre Crack/Meme/Slash Rating PG (if you don’t count language, which is why this is Not Rated on AO3) Word Count 685 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary Dean and Castiel are trapped in a meme. The consequences for breaking it are dire. Notes I’ve been working on a series of four fics for an IwtV AMC season 2 hype event. As I was thinking about how to edit the week three fic to make it a stronger fic, this SPN fic came to me out of nowhere, so here you go. The headlines are taken from actual Destiel news memes that I reblogged to my Tumblr in the order I reblogged them to my Tumblr. I’m sure someone’s already done this fic out there somewhere but I didn’t see it on AO3 so I figured why not write it myself. I think the inspiration for this fic likely came from this Tumblr post by biverly-switzler rolling around my subconscious for a few days.

Also as a note, I’ve only seen seasons 1 – 8, the Scooby Doo episode, and portions of season 15 of Supernatural.

AO3 link

or read below

Trapped in a Meme

Castiel looked at Dean with the softest saddest expression. Dean’s heart tightened and he dreaded Castiel’s next words. In a seeming blink of the eye, they were no longer in the bunker, but somewhere undefined. It was dark, but there was just enough light to illuminate their faces. This place was not hot or cold. It was not dry or humid. It simply existed and they existed within it.

“I love you,” Castiel said. His voice was gentle. His eyes glistened with sorrow and satisfaction.

Dean’s mind went completely blank. He opened his mouth but he did not know what to say. His chest tightened and then he found words bubbling forth from somewhere that was not his own heart or mind, “Lin Manuel Miranda has been cast as Hermes.”

A long silence passed. Castiel blinked. Dean wrinkled his nose and said, “What the fuck?”

“Did Hermes switch vessels?” Castiel asked.

“How would I know?” Dean would have rubbed his face but he did not seem to have hands.

After a short span of silence, Castiel said, “I love you.” Again, his eyes shone with both sorrow and truth.

Dean’s heart tightened. His mind spun. Then words sprang from his mouth like before, “The Writers Guild of America votes to authorize a strike with a record-setting 97% approval.”

Neither of them spoke for a long moment and then they each tried to speak simultaneously.

“Dean –”

“Cas –”

They paused and when neither spoke, Dean sighed. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s how I feel,” Castiel said.

Dean stared at him and licked his lips. Before he could say anything, Castiel spoke again, “I love you.”

All thought left Dean’s mind. His lips moved on their own. “Tucker Carlson has been fired from Fox News.”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together. “Can foxes get fired from being foxes?”

“He’s a not a fox.” Dean paused. “Do foxes have a news network?”

“Of course they do. All animals do,” Castiel said. “I used to communicate with the bee network years ago.”

Dean considered this a long moment. Then he made a face. “How many times have we done this?”

“I love you,” Castiel said.

“The Winchesters was cancelled after only one season,” Dean said. He blinked and immediately hissed, “What the fuck? Fuck this.”

“I can’t take my clothes off,” Castiel said. “I don’t seem to have any hands.”

“I didn’t literally mean…” Dean’s voice trailed.

“I love you,” Castiel said yet again.

“Donald Trump has been federally indicted by the DOJ and charged with treason,” Dean said. He paused and then added, “Kyle Griffin tweeted, ‘NBC News has now confirmed: Donald Trump has been indicted.’

“This is fucking ridiculous. I’m citing sources now,” Dean groaned. “Also isn’t Paris Hilton president? Or was that a porno?”

“Dean, it’s okay if you don’t ‘return’ my ‘feelings,’” Castiel said, providing air quotes accordingly.

Dean held his gaze and then shook his head. “You know what? This is like an episode of Sailor Moon or something. So, we’ll try that.”

“Try wha –?” Castiel’s expression immediately changed, softening his eyes and returning the smile to his face. “I love you.”

Dean’s heart tightened. He took a deep breath and said with great purpose, “I know.”

Silence stretched between them. Dean said nothing more.

“We’re still glowing faces,” Castiel said. “Did it work?”

“Maybe if we tried another language,” Dean said. “Try Spanish.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” Castiel said.

“I’ll manage,” Dean said.

Before Castiel could comment, his face softened once again. This time he said, “Te amo.”

This time the words did not bubble up from somewhere else. After a pause for translation, Dean said, “Yo a ti, Cas.” Dean did not think about why it was easier to say in a language that he learned from his life experiences. There was no time. Reality returned and the Empty appeared. Dean reached for Castiel.

Castiel pushed Dean aside and allowed the Empty to swallow him whole as he said, “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean shouted after him but it was no use. Castiel disappeared leaving Dean alone.

The End

I realized that my last SPN fic is from June 25, 2013, so happy ten years since I last wrote an SPN fic lol

[capybaraonabicycle]

Let's write a dw episode together! (nuwho, companions for 9 poll)

We're writing a multidoctor episode with the ninth, the tenth and the thirteenth Doctor as decided by the last poll! Let's get to choosing some companions (for more info on that check below the poll. Or vote with your gut, whatever you fancy :) )

Check reblogs for the links to the 10 and 13 poll

Alright, I could have made this easy and given all of you some options for each Doctor that make sense. Or make you choose between the most popular companions and assign them to the Doctors myself. But I thought 'Why not go overboard?'

So you get to choose a companion era for each Doctor (see in the poll above) and then in the next round, I will give you some characters from that era to choose between. Which means you can technically give a doctor a companion they don't know yet. Or you could choose the same companion for more than one Doctor. Dw canon is flexible and there are mind wipes and timeline confusion and stuff - we can make it work.

If you want a certain character - no matter how much of a minor sidecharacter they are - please reblog and put the names in the tags (even for eras you may not have voted for). I will try to include as many options as possible that apply to the winning era. Or eras. I might give you options from the two or three most voted for next round. We'll see.

Neither the Master nor UNIT-operatives will be part of the companion options, I am planning on doing additional polls for them later. I will also add a poll asking whether to include some celebrity from history, either one we've seen before or a new one, so don't count them as companions here, either.

Check the reblogs or poll-who episode tag for the (identical) companions polls for the other two doctor incarnations! And do me a favour and reblog this! (don't foget to tag your dream companion)

[angstmongertina]

Make Me Write More Results/Sentences

Okay, my poll is over, so it's time to write. As i said in my little update reblog, since I didn't get all too many votes, each fic gets new sentences based on the number of votes it got, in an effort to force me to write more for all of them.

Thanks for playing, everyone (and thank you again to Jilly for the inspiration)! If you had fun, I might do this again on Tuesday for WIP Wednesday. No pressure to vote if you don't want to though. :D

Accountability sentences (and fic premises) under the cut! Please be warned that some of these sentences will probably make no sense out of context, and are also rough first drafts. :P

Letters to Nadia -- From a shared 7KPP 'verse with @teaandinanity's Valya where our characters' kids decided they were in love with each other. (4 sentences but I cheated and added an extra.)

But now, he’s finally, finally, made it back home, back to the safety of the empty study with a decanter of baijiu, free from prying and judging eyes. Free from her eyes. He groans, barely resisting the urge to dash out the door. For one thing, he’s not sure if he’s cogent enough to make it next door, and for another, she’s likely long gone to bed, never mind the fact that there is absolutely no way she’ll even want to see him in the first place. And that is a thought that stings worse than the liquor.

Evenly Matched -- The previously hinted at 7KPP Jaslen/Falon smut that I am PRAYING doesn't start a new ship in me. (3 sentences)

“My dear general,” and there’s the scowl she is familiar with, that seems to make its way across his face with almost military precision, “I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to. Are you quite well?” Her estimation of him is satisfyingly correct.

forever i'm yours, forever i do -- A retelling of Artem's second anniversary card that started as just an attempt to write out the smut and that VERY MUCH grew out of control HELP (3 sentences)

“You’d think you were the one getting married today, not me,” she says, amusement dancing in her eyes as she shoos him away. “Now go and tell my soon-to-be husband that no, he cannot come see me before the wedding; it's bad luck. Nor are you allowed back her to see her either.”

Oh Brother -- Again from the shared 7KPP 'verse mentioned above, Thomas' little sister's version of what happened. It's still in the very early stages so this is more exposition than anything. (3 sentences but adding in a fourth because it was half-finished anyway.)

The eldest daughter of the entire Galeric-Wu clan and the future heiress to the Galerford estate beyond, she could easily have humored and generally ignored a young cousin twelve years her junior and perhaps another girl, another future duchess, would have. But instead, Nadia had chosen to dote upon them all, treating her with the same understanding and love that she gave all of her friends and loved ones. Well, perhaps not all. Because it is an equally well-established fact that, despite all attempts to hide, dismiss, or minimize the fact, Nadia has a favorite cousin.

Spiral Point -- More 7KPP because the brainrot is real, but this time for Camyon's childhood friends AU. Here is their first interaction at the Summit, when neither of them actually recognize the other. :D (3 sentences)

There was no sensible reason why she should have been struck by his appearance, by the way his brow furrowed, first in search and then in recognition, but for one illogical moment, her heart climbed into her throat, only to settle back into her chest with an inexplicable twinge once he spoke. Of course it was about her cousin. He had known Cousin Jiya, a fact that her mother never failed to tease her with, when it came to her own lack of socialization at those academic events hosted by her fellow Jiyelese elite.

Dinghun Zhou -- My attempt at a fairytale AU, it's CinderLia. In an alternate universe in which there is no Summit, but there's still an event to try and find a wife for the perpetually single Duke Lyon. (2 sentences)

She pursed her lips, studying the flimsy pieces of parchment as though they might contain answers, or at least a logical explanation for her misgiving. Unfortunately, and just as expected, none were forthcoming.

Homecoming -- For the CoG story Teahouse for the Gods, because the A'Li romance was right up my alley but we didn't quite get enough of it, in my humble opinion. It's technically two different fics (I should really come up with a proper name for the other one) but I picked the one I had more inspiration for--which you may be unsurprised to learn is probably the angstier of the two. (1 sentence but I cheated again with two.)

It takes a moment for her to clear the memory out of her mind’s eye, to remind herself of the present, and in that time, he’s already stepped into view, though his head is turned, this way and that, as though cataloging every difference in the ensuing decades. Jacqueline darts to her side, half in shock, and she makes a mental note to sit down with the poor thing before his eyes fall on her and the entire mountain seems to hold its breath.

Seasong -- Back to Tears of Themis, a friend did some art for Mermay which inspired an AU in my head that I never got very far in because I am terrible at multichapter things. (4 sentences)

She knew of cages, had seen the ones that sunk, irrevocably, ceaselessly, to the bottom of the sea floor, had heard them whispered of by those unlucky few who had witnessed the capture of one of their own, and the stories of those even unluckier who had somehow managed to escape from such capture. She had heard of the fear, of the isolation, of the greed and malevolence of those humans, who hunted and tormented without need, who captured and traded without compassion. She had heard tales, once meant to frighten her away from the surface, of the many, many who were unable to escape. And now she was trapped in one.

Okay, that's everything, I think. If you read until here, thank you, and maybe see you on Tuesday for another poll? :P

[night-market-if]

Paper Lanterns Part 18

Paper Lanterns is a community based IF game here on Tumblr.  I need something to fuel the creative fires while I chip away at The Night Market demo, and I want to give you all a little something in the meantime.  Here’s how it will work.

I will post a snipped under the cut every few days.  At the end of the post will be three options.  Comment below or send me an ask if you would rather be anonymous, over which route you would like to see.  I will tally them up and write the majority option and post it in the following days. From there, we repeat the process until we, as a community, have crafted our story.

Please reblog and share this with others.  The more people we have participating, the more fun I think this can be for us.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 under the cut

We had a tie! So, winning votes are: Apologize and tell Hazel she is right, but you doubt that you and Malcolm will be able to work together

Apologize and try to get Malcolm to be on your side

The table went silent in that way that only came after chastisement.  In the corner, the sound of the purring grey cat Hazel adored, made its presence known, but otherwise, the three companions all sat at the table, trying to regain control of their emotions.

You needed to apologize. At the very least, to Hazel. She was right.  When things got bad between you and Malcolm, she was the one who had to pick up the pieces. After you had stabbed him, running away from the docks and what you had done, you had lain low for a few months.  Finally getting up enough nerve to go see her again, you had entered the shop, head bent in shame.  Hazel took you in her arms the second she saw you, and held you as you shook uncontrollably against her.

Neither you nor Malcolm deserved her kindness.

“I’m sorry.” They were the words that should have come from your mouth, but instead they slipped from Malcolm's. Your gaze snapped upwards. He had his arms wrapped around his sister in a hug, but was staring at you significantly over the curls of her hair.

“I’m sorry too, Haze,” you tell her.  

“I am going to disappear for a bit,” she says.  “When I come back later, I would like to sit down and play cards with you two like we used to.  I miss those days.”

In the meantime, you were both supposed to figure your shit out. The message was loud and clear.  

As Hazel left the room, the two of you remained sitting across from each other, a dinner table full of food between you.  You knew this couldn’t go on, but working with Malcolm seemed near impossible at this point. Maybe it always had been, and you had been a fool for even trying.

“If I find a way for you to get out of this, would you take it?” He asks.  The fire crackled behind him, lighting him in shadows.

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. Maybe you would. Then again, Malcolm’s ‘ways’ had never been particularly palatable.  “Why are you doing this? How did you even begin working for the Gatekeeper.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes ticking towards his old bedroom door.  You hadn’t noticed how tired he looks.  You know you look very similar. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he said softly.  “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and fell into the job.  You know as well as I do how hard it is to escape anything that has to do with a Baron.”

Your eyes shifted downwards. You did.  “Hazel said you were looking for my door home?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But it wasn’t why I took the job.  The job took me, really.”  Leaning forward, he rested his forearms across his legs, bending at the waist. “Button, I want to help you. I do. I don’t want to see you get hurt and knowing the things I do about the Baron of the Mists, you are headed in that direction.”

“But you can’t just betray your job,” you say simply.

“No. I can’t.”  Getting up, he rounds the table, sitting by your side.  You startle as he takes your face between his palms, pressing his forehead against yours.  You can feel the way he shakes against you and slowly, you reach out to rest your hands on his legs.  “I do not want to see you get hurt.  I am scared shitless about what this is going to do to you, and I have fought with myself repeatedly about how much I should tell you. What I can trust you with.” He swallows thickly as his voice breaks.  “But when it comes down to it, you knowing what I know, is going to be so much worse for you,” he whispered. “It’ll make you more vulnerable than you already are, and if anything happens to you-” he cut himself off, wincing at the near reveal.

“Say it,” you demand, your own words nothing more than a pained tone.

“If anything happens to you, I will burn the Night Market to the ground.” He tips his eyes upwards, those dark orbs holding power you rarely ever saw.  The son of a feared witch who had almost managed the same years ago.  There was no doubt in your mind that Malcolm could do it.

“So what?” you say, fear lacing your words. “I do my thing, and you do yours, and we just leave this at the door when we come home?”

He startled at the way you spoke. It wasn’t conclusive, but it offered hope. To at the very least be friends again.  “We could try that,” he agreed.  “I don’t know how well it will work because you’re hot headed, and I’m stubborn.  But, yeah, maybe.”

“Are you going to be pissed if I start uncovering doors?” 

He snorted. “I’d expect nothing more from you than a brutal fight, Button. You know that.”

He remained pressed against you, the two of you not having moved.  There was a desperation to your grip.  So much was being held back, and you wanted to demand he tell you everything or else this couldn’t happen. But Malcolm was warm and you were exhausted.

Voting now closed: Part 19 here

Curl up on the sofa and sleep next to him. Just for tonight.

Unravel yourself from him and tell him you don’t think this can work with so many secrets between you.

If he wanted a fight, you would give him one.  It was time to turn the tables on Malcolm Albright and uncover just who he was working for.

Please check out the Night Market demo linked below if you haven't already. Reblogs and feedback are also love! Also, there is a Paper Lanterns discord now. Click the link below to join.

Patreon || Ko-fi || Demo || Discord

[nekoannie-chan]

Faith in me

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant! Reader

Word count: 688 words.

Summary: Steve always had faith in you, however, he wasn't going to let you sacrifice yourself, but you were willing to do whatever it takes.

Warnings: Sad ending, character sacrifice.

A/N: This is my entry to @anika-ann 1111 Followers Challenge with the dialogue prompt #2:

“I thought you said you had faith in me.”

Thanks to my beta reader @saiyanprincessswanie

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

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

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

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

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

Tags: @sinceimetyou @navybrat817​ @angrythingstarlight​  @shield-agent78​ @charmed-asylum  @pandaxnienke​ @real-fbi @smokeandnailz  @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @xoxonotme​ @bluemusickid​ @leyannrae  @harrysthiccthighss​ @marvelatthisone

2011

 Trying not to be late you tried to walk as fast as you could. In a few minutes, all the members of the team would be present to go over the plans for the next mission. Although it would be short and simple, Steve wanted to make sure the team felt comfortable with the mission plan and what their roles would be.

"I'm not too sure," Brock commented with hesitation after you set out your plan while Jack shook his head.

"I have faith in Y/N," Steve replied. You smiled at his comment, knowing it meant your plan would happen.

The plan was infallible, there should be no mistake, especially since you had proposed it. There were only five more minutes left before the extraction, you started running to get to the meeting place.

Steve hugged you when he saw you, everything had been a success. They had obtained the goal, no one had any injuries nor were there any problems. Since then, you and Steve teamed up for whatever mission there was, not to mention that they were also among the best teams in the Organization.

2023

 After a heated argument, they finally managed to decide which team would go for each stone. You and Steve had to go to Vormir. There was a nervousness in Steve that you noticed, but it wasn’t the same as when he was frozen in ice. No, this tension about going into space ran deeper. 

The idea of getting the stones seemed easy. All you had to do was grab the stones without anyone from the past noticing and getting them back to base. You took Steve's hand as you looked at the stars in space. Who knew that space could be so beautiful. 

"In the end, it was no joke," you said, watching him enraptured as he took in the stars and the endless space around.

"I beg your pardon? “Steve asked with considerable confusion.

"Many years ago, you promised me that you would take me to the stars, and well... now... you fulfilled it.”

He smiled and squeezed your hand, yet he felt restless, he had a bad feeling.

“Y/N, do you think we'll make it?”

“Why wouldn't we? We are the good guys, we always win.”

"But...”

"Thanos took us by surprise, that's all, it was a simple mistake in reality," you replied. 

Steve and you stared at each other after what the Guardian of the Stone told you, neither of you dared to talk. You both had a decision to make quickly as time was running out. Immersed in your thoughts, you unexpectedly made a decision quietly. However, it looked like Steve was reading your thoughts, he didn't want you to sacrifice yourself, he thought there was another possibility.

"There's no way...”

"Steve, it's the only way.”

"NO! No way, I'm not going to allow...”

“I thought you said you had faith in me.”

"Yes, I have it, but...”

You approached him, kissed him while using your powers to knock him unconscious, so Steve could not raise any objections or prevent you from being the one to jump. From the beginning, everyone said they would do “whatever it takes” to get the stones and at this moment that’s what you were going to do. You had left him clues so that only he would understand to be able to make your return if that was even possible.

“All will be well, I promise you, I love you,” you murmured and ran to the edge of the abyss and leaped. As you fell, all the memories of the life you shared with Steve, living together, laughing, stolen kisses, appeared in your mind as if it were a movie until everything became dark.

"I love you," Steve seemed to hear that phrase when he woke up in what seemed to be a different place. Looking around he realized he wasn't. Steve didn't understand how he woke up in the small puddle of water until he saw the stone in his hand. It was then silent tears began to fall down his cheeks when he understood what had happened.

[vemuabhi]

Wait... somebody hold my pasta! Requets are opennnn! Bello, how are you?? I hope you are doing well!

I was wondering if I could ask for a Killer x Reader fic! I thought like, the reader is the new cook and Killer keeps hovering around like she's poisoning the food idk hahaha In reality, he just wants to be around, but doesn't know how to tell her.

Any special touches are so welcome! And please, take your time writing. I know you are swamped with requests and I'm not going anywhere haha Sorry for the gigantic ask!!

Thank you! Wishing you all the inspiration and love! 💙

Hello author san! Im happy to see you here in my box! This is my very first time writing for our favourite Pastaboy!! Im so excited to write for him. I hope its good and I hope you like it @holykillercake swan~~

MR. MASK

Pairing: Killer X Reader

Warning: none. Its Killer fluff!!

Word count: 2.3K

Likes/votes, comments, shares/reblogs are appreciated!

Summary : being the new cook of the Kidd pirates, comes with a very suspicious and also a curious mask dude.

"Yes. I know that and I added extra sugar for Kidd", you replied to the mask dude who was telling you, the official cook for the crew, how to make coffee for the captain.

"Just making sure", he said and started to make pasta.

"I could make it for you", you said.

"Its alright. I can do it myself. You can now go and serve the coffee to the gang", he replied without even looking at you.

'This jerk... why the hell is he like this?', you cursed under your breath and went to the rowdy gang. Mornings were the only time of the day, the assholes didn't drink.

"Heat! Wire! Wake up!!", you knocked the door and went inside. The roomies had a drowsy look on their faces. But ofcourse these two and Killer mostly stayed up guarding the ship.

Then you went to Kidds cabin and knocked once before entering.

"Captain, wake up", you said and carefully placed the hottest mug on the side of the night stand. He just grunted and turned. You knew, once Kidd woke up his drink would turn warm. So his was extra hot than others.

Once when a traitor was about to kill Kidd in his sleep, the first mate used the boiling hot coffee which was on the captains stand just in time. So... its not only a drink but also a weapon.

You quickly handed the rest of the crew, their mugs and went to the kitchen to brew the stew for the breakfast. Yes ofcourse it was wished by Kidd himself the day before.

You saw the first mate eating his pasta peacefully with his mask on. Before you were the cook, he cooked for the crew and this became his habbit to eat before the crew. He never removed his mask. Not once he revealed his face.

It would be a lie, if you said you weren't interested how he looked like and why he wore his mask always. But slowly you got used to him and his behaviour around you.

He always told you what to add and always asked what you were making. His special interest to the ingredients was weird. He looked at the ingredients and cut them for you everytime. As if you'd poison the food, if he wasn't around.

You were getting pissed by his actions day by day. You went to the stove and continued to stir the stew.

The breakfast was hectic with the rowdy crew and their massive appetite. You did feel someone staring at you once in a while. There would be 2 people if you felt like someone is staring at you. One being heat and other, the blond. Heat sat beside you, so you knew it wasnt him. And you made sure Heat could over come his shyness and ask you for food instead of staring.

You turned to look at Killer and yes, his mask was facing you. You shook your head and continued to eat the food.

And after a bit of training with Heat and Wire, you went to the kitchen to make lunch.

You got irritated when you saw the vegetables already cut. It was the work of Killer and you couldn't do anything but to sigh. You quickly started to mix the already cut veggies with the spices.

Making the Lunch was a bit peaceful. Because during this time, Killer and Kidd used to talk about some upcoming events and handled some paperwork. Sometimes they would build machines or new types of weapons.

The dinner was again a bit difficult. You could cut the vegetables this time but, he'd come to the kitchen and ask you what you were making. Sometimes he used to read books during this time. Sometimes it felt weird if... he wasn't in the kitchen.

Just like everyday after dinner, you now sat in the kitchen alone and looked at the new recipes, thinking what to make tomorrow. And like a routine, Heat came towards the Kitchen and stared at you for a few seconds before calling you.

"Hey.. Y/N", you immediately looked at him and knew what he was about to say. So you got up and went towards the fridge.

"Can I have any leftover dessert you made today", he asked as you closed the door with the dessert in your hands.

Walking towards him you placed the food before him and sat opposite to him.

He smiled happily and took a bite of the dessert and started to eat it with delight.

Yes you loved to see people enjoy the food you make. So you always made sure to save a portion for him.

You decided to ask Heat the question you had for months.

"Heat, can I ask you something"

He swallowed the dessert in his mouth and nodded.

"So... its actually about Killer", you said. Heat curiously leaned over to listen to you.

So, actually.. i feel like he is really suspicious of whatever I do and its really bothering me", you said before closing the cook book and sitting straight.

"How can he be so suspicious even after I am here for more than 4 months. I mean, if he has any problem with me, he needs to tell me right. What should I do? ", you ended with an ask and looked at him curious eyes.

He took another bite of the dessert and started to think carefully.

Finally he answered by saying, "I am pretty sure Killer is not doubting you. Maybe its better if you ask him"

"Why do you think its not the case?"

"Well, if it was... you wouldn't be alive. Its as simple as that."

'Damn that makes perfect sense. Why didn't I think like that', you mentally facepalmed yourself.

"Y/N, I believe there is something else. Why not just ask him", he suggested taking another bite.

"Yeah... thanks", you smiled at him and leaned back into your chair as you continued, "ill do that"

But ofcourse. It wasn't that easy to ask Killer. So a few days passed and one evening, the crew reached an island.

After docking, Kidd wanted to get drunk and fight other drunkards in the bar. Thinking it was a good chance to slip out of the place. The island was beautiful and the stars started to twinkle in the sky.

You walked aimlessly in the streets, which were a bit dark but still were beautiful. You didn't have to be scared. You are strong. One of the Kidd pirates. The one who always trains with the super soldiers heat and wire.

Then a park caught your attention. Walking in it you saw a slide.

'Ha... memories', you thought as you walked towards it.

The next thing you knew was you climbing up on the slide. You were ready to slide down it then you noticed the mask staring at you. You didn't know what to do. Your mind was blocked with the embarrassment. Still you slid down. Oh my... the 2 seconds slide was definitely awkward.

Both of you were so silent and just kept staring at eachother, with a blank expression.

You swore you could see his shoulders shaking. Was he... trying to hold back his laughter?

"What is so funny?", you asked with your cheeks flushed pink.

Damn he turned to another side to avoid looking at you, while he still tried to hold his laugh.

"I.. I just felt like... playing because its been a while", you tried to explain yourself while folding your arms. Then he slowly turned to look at you.

"I... didn't ask you anything", he said folding his arms.

"Tsk... why did you come here anyway?", you asked but you didn't receive any answer. You started to walk towards the swing now. He quietly followed you a few steps behind. Well you got caught so, there is no reason to hide or sacrifice the urge to play.

You sat on the swing and looked at him slowly coming towards you.

"Killer! Push the swing up high", you asked.. more like ordered.

He stood behind you in a blink of an eye and pushed the swing forward. It had been so long since you played like this.

The cool breeze felt so good. You chuckled as soon as he pushed you a bit higher. Oh how it felt like music to his ears.

After a while you asked him to stop it. You tripped as you felt a bit dizzy after swinging for so long. Ofcourse Killer was there to make sure you didn't fall down. You tapped his shoulder and made him to sit on the swing.

"Now It's your turn", you declared.

"Woah, you don't have to", he said but you didn't care and pushed the swing forward. If Killer didn't have his mask on, you could've looked at how he blushed at your actions.

Then you suddenly thought about what Heat told you. You decided it was the correct time to ask him as it was neither awkward nor anyone interrupted you two.

"So, Killer I wanted to ask you something for a while now", you saw that Killer definitely flinched when you said it.

"Wh..what is it?", he replied trying to keep him as calm as ever.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, you are always in the kitchen, asking me what I was doing, what I was adding, what ingredients I was using. It feels like you don't trust me", you pushed him again but he stopped to swing, by placing his legs on the ground.

"Oh no! I do trust you. I never thought you'd misunderstand my actions", he said facing you. You gave him a confused expression for which, he turned away and sighed.

"I was... trying to help you", he mumbled.

Your cheeks turned red at his answer. Then everything made sense. The way he always tried to make you know what the crew liked. How he cut veggies and other items for you. How he made his own pasta to lessen your work.

'God damn it! Now that I think, Ofcourse he was helping me', you started to curse yourself inside.

"So... you didn't knew it", his faced down looking at the ground beneath him.

"Im sorry. Killer please forgive me", you crouched before him and looked up at his mask. 'Aww how sad he seemed now.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice that you were helping me", you said taking his hand in yours.

"Its alright. It might've been my fault. I am this weird looking mask dude. No wonder you got scared"

"No no Killer. Its not because of your mask. Its not your fault. It was my fault. You are calm and collected. You always analyse things before hand. You solve fights between the crew members. You always did help me. You were always around me and made sure I didn't feel uncomfortable. You are an amazing cook and a great partner", you ended saying it.

Well with the last part you got carried away and got real close to his mask. As if you were kissing his mask.

Oh damn. You pulled back but... you were damn fricking sure, you saw shiney light blue eyes.

"Thanks Y/N", he said getting up and as you both still held hands, he pulled you up.

He placed his other hand on your waist to make sure you had balence before letting you go. He waved to you and started to walk towards the exit.

For some reason, you felt like, you'd really miss something if you just let him go now. As if... you'd not see him like always. Your legs worked their way and now you were running behind Killer.

"Killer stop!", you said and he tuned back to look at you. You couldn't stop your legs and almost tackled him down. But he was way too strong for you to tackle him down. So now, his arms were supporting you. Again!

You almost died with embarrassment but... you had to tell him.

"I didn't hate it", you said but he didn't reply. More like he didn't even know what to reply. Or... he didnt even understand what you meant.

"I didn't hate when you helped me. Infact I... liked it. Thanks for helping me then and also from now on too. So please do stay with me", you ended the sentence with looking down at the ground. It was quiet for a while.

'The fuck... why did it sound like a-'

"Is this a confession?", he asked

Your cheeks turned red at his question.

"Ah- I... But...", you struggled to come with an answer then you noticed his shoulders shaking again.

"Idiot! Dont laugh!", you shoved him back and started to walk away.

"Hey wait. No one dared to shove me and walk away", he said and followed you. You smirked at that and continued to walk with your head up.

He then continued, "Well.... except for Kidd, when he is on his period"

This shit made you to crack up and you laughed.

"Damn Kidd would kill you", you said as you placed your hand in his and you two continued to talk. You felt so warm in your heart when you held Killers hand.

Maybe something was about to start between you two.

Meanwhile in the bar of the island.

"*Achoo* I hope I didn't catch a cold", Kidd said as he snatched a drink from another person and started to make a ruckus in the bar.

XOXOXOXO

I hope you enjoyed reading this story. I hope I made justice to my very first Killer fic. I enjoyed writing so much for Killer. He is a comfort charecter of mine after Sanji. I tried so much to get a good plot for Killer.

Like/vote, comment, share/reblog to support me.

Follow for more!

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: My Top Ten Muppets

Listeners of NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour recently cast their votes to rank the best Muppets – an impossible decision, really. And yet, once the top ten list was read aloud on the podcast, I found myself completely unsurprised. It’s a list that made sense, a list of safe bets. It’s also an incredibly Muppet Show-heavy list, even though the competition was open to Muppets of all properties, including Sesame Street and my beloved Dark Crystal. The full top 25 list, available here, reveals that a few Sesame Street Muppets ranked in the teens, but still. We all know the top ten is where it’s at, and this top ten was neither creative nor representative. It struck me as a list of popular Muppets, not a list of the best Muppets. Most of my favorites weren’t on that list at all!

So, here’s my take on the ten best Muppets – and because I don’t believe in objective Muppet rankings, I want YOU to reblog this post and tell me your favorites!

10. Swedish Chef              

The Chef came in ninth on NPR’s rankings, and I gotta be honest, I’m on the same page with them on this one. Maybe it’s the fact that when he comes onscreen, there’s no way to predict how the sketch will end. Maybe it’s the bizarreness of human fingers on Muppet arms – and knowing that those arms indicate a frankly superhuman feat of teamwork going on under the table. Maybe it’s just the Popcorn video, which always brightens my mood. Whatever it is, the Swedish Chef is definitely tenth best.

9. Fozzie Bear

I like Fozzie. He’s an underdog, never giving up in his pursuit of fame and audience acclaim. And even though his whole shtick is that he can’t succeed – Statler and Waldorf always get bigger laughs during his bits – he objectively has succeeded, because he’s still around and making us laugh after all these years.

What puts Fozzie in the top ten for me, though, is that I genuinely find his jokes funny. Honestly. I really do. So maybe Fozzie Bear sketches don’t really work for me, but Fozzie Bear himself does.

8. Rosita

I mentioned my disappointment before in the “official” ranking’s lack of Sesame Street characters. Sure, the cast of The Muppet Show has had a notable cultural impact, but it would be a disservice to Muppetkind if we ignored the impact of their friends on Sesame Street.

I could never forget Rosita. She’s not the most popular Muppet; she’s never had a super catchy song or a roll-on-the-floor-laughing one-liner to rival the others’ success. But her “Spanish Word of the Day” segments have a permanent spot in my memory. She’s sweet, she’s sincere, and she’s an excellent friend to her more famous fellow Muppets. (And as a bilingual Muppet, she’s really hecking important – there’s an episode where she deals with some kids making fun of her accent, and it’s equal parts heartbreaking and heartwarming!)

7. Rowlf

While other Muppets have one-note personalities – see number 10 on this list above, and number 5 below – there’s also Muppets like Rowlf. He’s not an “Anything Muppet,” by any means – he’s a character in his own right – but Rowlf is a dog who rises to any occasion. He sits at the piano to bring both beautiful classical pieces and hilarious parodies to life, and it’s all music to my ears. He can be the Straight Man to more chaotic Muppets’ antics, but just one clip of “Veterinarian’s Hospital” proves that he’s got enough silliness in him to take center stage.

And all the while, no matter what role he’s playing, he’s still that chill dog I adore – calm and adorable, with that round black nose, those big fluffy paws, and those floppy ears just begging to be scratched.

6. Deethra

As much as I love the original Dark Crystal film, the Netflix prequel series Age of Resistance has one big thing going for it: its characters. The protagonists of this show draw me in and make me care, quickly and continually. And best among them all is Deet. Deethra the Gelfling – small and beautiful, kind and powerful. She cares wholeheartedly about the world around her, and that care begets a wisdom that balances out her naivete in fascinating ways.

Muppets are so often silly, and we love them for it. But Deet embodies the Muppets’ potential to tell a serious story, a potential we would be remiss to ignore.

5. Animal

Oh my god, Animal. If you want to talk about the sheer silliness of Muppets, you need to talk about Animal. There’s just no way around it. He’s loud – in both sound and color scheme. And he’s absolutely bonkers. I know every drummer has an Animal in them, and it’s likely that all humans do. We’re just not all comfortable with letting him out to play.

That’s what’s so great about watching Animal do his thing. He has no inhibitions; he is freedom, he is chaos. And he lets me feel a little freer by association.

4. Hup

I talked a bit about underdogs in the Fozzie Bear section above. There’s an essay to be written about the Muppet as underdog; it’s an essential Muppet quality. Muppets are characters you logically wouldn’t expect to succeed, but they persevere, nonetheless.

Hup is the underdog of Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance. He’s the Podling who wants to be a paladin. Dear god he’s adorable, dear god he’s funny, and dear god do you root for him (and his spoon) to save the day! Of all the characters in this show, he feels the most Muppety – and that’s why he’s higher on the list than Deet. He’s still a serious character in a serious story (when he cries… my goodness), but he’s got that classic Muppet spirit to him.

3. Elmo

You know, I just don’t get why Elmo gets such a bad rap. Is it that people think he’s annoying? Sure, he is! Muppets are objectively annoying characters – they all are. Yes, even the one you’re thinking of right now. But I fricking love Elmo. He’s joyful, he’s spirited, and he’s exploring the world around him in that carefree way only a child can – and he brings you along on that adventure! “Elmo’s World” is your world. “Elmo’s Song” is your song. Elmo’s laugh is fricking infectious. And yeah, I’m probably biased by nostalgia (my dad’s Elmo impression cracks me up to this day), but Elmo is a darn good Muppet and he deserves our respect and admiration.

2. SkekSil

On a completely different note… let’s talk about the Chamberlain. There aren’t really that many Muppet villains. There are plenty of Muppet henchmen, providing comic relief for a human actor who isn’t supposed to be seen as that much of a threat anyway. The Skeksis of Dark Crystal are a notable exception, and SkekSil, better known as the Chamberlain, stands out among them. He is evil and he is smart. I hate him, and at the same time, I am fascinated by him. He knows what he wants and how to get it, even though he’s nowhere near as strong as the other Skeksis. He is, in his own way, an underdog. He believes in himself, and he wields that confidence as a weapon, calmly explaining to his enemies why they should do what he wants. You just can’t look away. He’s an amazing character, embodying the dark side of Muppethood.

1. Cookie Monster

When my mom first shared that episode of Pop Culture Happy Hour with me, in which the hosts talked about their favorite Muppets, I first thought, “How could you decide?” And then Stephen Thompson said his favorite was Cookie Monster, and I shouted “YES!!!” out loud. Because he’s right – Cookie’s the best.

Cookie Monster is eternally funny, whether you’re five or fifty-five. Everything that comes out of his mouth is pure gold (“Why me not get royalties?”) He’s got the best songs – not only the classic “C is for Cookie,” but also “Me Want It (But Me Wait),” “Me Am What Me Am,” and the “Healthy Foods” rap. All the stuff I love about other Muppets on this list – the unpredictability, the ability to fit into any role a sketch requires, the lack of inhibitions, the confidence, the chaos, the unexpected moments of wisdom – he’s got it all. He’s irreplaceable, he’s lovable, and he’s the top of my Top Ten Muppets list.

[seizethesam]

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 3

A/N: Hello guys!!! Chapter three is here... I am so thankful for your comments, likes, and reblogs for the story. You cannot imagine how happy I am to be sharing my works with you. Please let me know what oy like or don’t like about the story, or this chapter. Thank you for all people who wanted to be tagged in the story! And please let me know about the songs!!! Do you like them? Xx

This chapter's song is "The Puppeteer" by Sleeping Pulse, one of my favorites.

Spotify YouTube

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Then…

“Hey, she’s waking up,” the younger man said. He looked like he was in his thirties and had dark wavy hair that he had swept back. His sounded cautious. Next to him was the older man.

“Where the hell am I?” You asked the older them; your voice was croaky from sleep.

“Good morning, my name is Hershel.” The man talked, he was much older than the other man, his hair was whiter than the snow. You did not know these people. The last thing you remembered was the sunset, the pain and a person carrying you in the dark. Maybe you did find what you were looking for all this time.

Now…

The room looked like an average suburban house room. The walls were light colored, and it had two tall and narrow windows on the opposite wall to the bed.

“What is this place?” you asked. You didn’t want to talk about yourself—no, you wanted to learn about them.

“This is my farm, we live here with my family, and this man found you in the woods.” Hershel spoke while the younger man was silently watching your every move. Hershel was cleanly shaved, making you think that they had a system here. “Your wound wasn’t too deep, but it still needs to be tended.”

“How long was I out?” you continued your questionnaire. Was there a chance that these people helped you out of the goodness of their hearts? Or did they look for something in return? The constant dilemma and the heaviness of distrust made your head feel dizzy.

“Almost a day.” Finally, the younger man spoke. He was wearing a dark brown shirt that matched his curly hair. “My name is Rick Grimes; you were pretty beat up when I’d found you. You were lucky…” He said, not knowing your name.

Lucky… What a funny thing to call someone these days.

“Y/N” you said, and Rick nodded.

You tried to get up on the bed but the biting pain on your waist didn’t allow you— not to mention the nausea. That was when you realized that neither your gun was strapped to your thigh anymore nor your knife was hanging from your belt in its rightful place.

“Where are all my stuff?” you asked both of them as Hershel let out a sigh and Rick took a step forward.

“I’ll let Rick explain.” Hershel said and left the room with sluggish steps.

He sat on the chair in the corner of the room and rested his elbows on his knees. He turned his head to you before he brushed his nose with his thumb. You were looking eye to eye.

“Like Hershel said, this is his place, his rules apply. He is good people,” his tone was persuasive, “he doesn’t want us to carry our weapons around the house, he is the one in charge... I took a risk bringing you here, and he looked after your wounds. In the time that you’re here…you have to follow his rules.”

“I won’t be staying long,” you said.

You did understand why he was strict about the weapons; he did not trust you. Well, likewise. You still didn’t know if you could trust them either. Yes, Rick had saved you, and yes, Hershel had tended your wounds. But still, you didn’t know these people.

“You got a group out there?” his tone was sharp, making you startle with the sudden question. He was looking for the right answer.

“No, I—I broke off with them,” you said, which was true, thoughts of them made your heart pound faster, pumping blood to your ears.

“Why?” Rick asked. You were being interrogated.

“They, umm,” you looked for the right words. They were assholes, and they killed my brother. No, he didn’t have to know that, “they weren’t my kind of people,” you finished.

“How do I know I can trust you?” you asked.

“You don’t,” Rick simply answered before he got up from his seat. He walked across the room and opened the door. “Your stuff is safe with me; you can take them whenever you decide to leave.” He said before leaving you alone in the room.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. A throbbing pain was spreading around the wound. You lifted the skirt of your top and saw the bandage red with blood, your face grimaced.

You looked for a weapon that you could defend yourself with, just in case…

You checked the glass cabinet against the wall, but there were nothing but blankets and towels. Then, you checked the nightstand and saw a first aid kit bag next to the novel Great Expectations.

You opened the first aid kit in a rush and found a pair of surgical scissors. You took the scissors and placed them under your belt where no one could see.

You heard footsteps approaching your way, getting closer with every step; so you put the first aid kit back, took the book and closed the drawer jut in time the door opened.

The door of your room opened to reveal a short grey-haired woman. She was holding a tray in one hand.

“Hi,” the woman said with a warm smile on her lips, “I heard you’d woken up.”

“Hello,” you said awkwardly enough. She seemed…nice. If that was the right word.

“I brought you some food, and painkillers.” She said, laying the tray on the nightstand next to the bed.

“Thanks,” you said. you honestly surprised how genuine people were—so far. On the plate, there was a relatively large piece of meat and small amount of vegetables.

“Daryl hunts for the group, the one with the crossbow,” she said, “you’ll meet him soon.”

Your mind went to the man who helped you at the cottage. You did a quick math on how many people still used crossbows for hunting. It was low. Maybe it was him, then again maybe not. Why did you even care?

You stepped your feet on the ground, sending a wave of pain through your body.

“You should lay down. Your stitches are still fresh,” the women said.

“Thank you for your concern but I’d rather eat outside,” you said hoping that you didn’t sound too harsh, even though you didn’t know her.

You knew you needed to rest and allow your injury to heal faster, but you also wanted to see the other people of the group as well. You wanted to see if they were okay.

You grabbed the tray from the nightstand continued your steps to front door, the woman following you behind.

“I’ll leave you alone,” the woman said, apparently, she didn’t know what to do with herself either.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way,” you called out after her.

“Carol,” she replied and left.

You sat on the stairs of the front porch of the large farmhouse. Hot summer sun was shining in the middle of the sky. Just a little further across the field were an RV and a couple of tents and on the other side of the field was a barn. You spotted a tent that was further away from the others.

You watched and ate as the people of the farm went about their jobs. Some of the women were cooking near the RV; some of the men were doing more heavy jobs. It looked as if they had it all figured out.

And there you saw him; the man with the crossbow who helped you at the cottage. Daryl. Except he had angel wings on his back this time and you smiled at the contradiction. He was sitting underneath a tree, sharpening wooden sticks as arrows. You wondered if he could use those as bolts for his crossbow.

His face was serious and so still, almost like he was made out of stone, completely focused on sharpening his sticks. He must’ve felt your gaze on him as he lifted his head and looked at you. You raised your hand and waved at him, but he didn’t seem to bother. Rude.

You finished your meal, took the painkillers, and tried to get up from your place, but as you were fully standing a sharp pain hit your belly like punch, making your face flinch. You put your hand on your wound as a reflex.

“You shouldn’t be walkin’ too soon,” a female voice said from the verge of the front door, making you jump on your feet.

You turned around to see who it was and saw a young woman who was around your age and had a short dark hair.

“It’s Maggie.” She introduced herself.

“Wanted to see outside,” you said, you weren’t lying.

“I get it, not many good people left out there,” said she.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you replied.

“Our feelings are mutual; we don’t trust each other—” she paused for a second, “but we can always make room for new people.” She smiled.

“Guess so,” you said. You were amazed how people were so nice so far.

You continued your day in your room. Hershel came every once in a while, to take a look at your wound and left. Maggie came once to give you spare clothes as yours were still covered in blood and dirt.

You heard the whole group filling the house when the sun began to set. You heard them talking about deciding what to do with someone named Randall. You didn’t want to get involved with their business, but you were also curious about what was going on.

When you got in front of your door, an old man with a Hawaiian shirt was talking with Daryl, “this group is broken,” said he. You didn’t understand what was going on.

When the night had fallen, Rick and couple of men were headed to the barn, and you were back in your room. You knew they had voted for something, but you didn’t know what for.

You were sitting on the bed, adjusting the scissor hidden behind your belt when you heard a knock on your door. You quickly, lowered your top and said, “come in.”

The door opened slowly to reveal Maggie. She was holding half a glass of water and a napkin.

“Hey,” she said smiling, “dad said to bring you antibiotics.”

“Thanks,” you smiled back. You took the glass and the napkin from her. Your mind kept wandering back to the earlier meeting. “Umm, can I— ask you something?” you said just as she was about to leave, not sure if you wanted to know.

“What is it?”

“Earlier, tonight… you guys were voting. What was it for?” you asked.

She didn’t respond right away. She was deciding whether to tell it or not.

“There is this boy, Randall,” she paused, “Rick brought him here a few days back, he was hurt pretty bad. They don’t trust him ‘cause he was with a bunch assholes,” she said.

“And,” you urged her to continue.

“They were decidin’ if they were gonna let him go,” she said finally.

They didn’t trust him. They didn’t trust you. What you made from it was that they were either going to let him be, or they were going to kill him. The resolution was still a mystery. You opened your mouth to ask Maggie what they decided on, but you were stopped when you heard a scream outside the house.

Maggie looked at you before rushing to the front porch, you were following close.

“What was that?” an Asian guy appeared out of the darkness. The scream was coming further away.

“I don’t know, go!” Maggie shouted, pointing to the direction of the scream.

You made your down the stairs and tried to make out what was going on but the only thing you saw was darkness. The screams stopped a few seconds later.

 Taglist:

Then, a sonorous gunshot sound filled the darkness.

Chapter 4

@spidergirla5 @twdeadfanfic @kamieshep @sophia-gwendolyn @jodiereedus22 @purplebtsmagic @itsmanillablog  @302rocks 

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

@dykeofwellington

#he’s no better than any other politician

#and is indeed actively worse than quite a few

#politics

#us politics I am curious as to why you think he’s actively worse than someone like Steyer, or Tulsi Gabbard, or simply in general. Why do you feel he’s actively worse than the rest? I would also love to know who you think is the best choice out of the lot? and you’re reasoning behind that?

--

Hey for some reason I can’t reblog the post where you asked the above about Bernie. I’m going to give a very brief rundown of thoughts. 

First, let’s clear up some rather broad, assumptions made: 

am curious as to why you think he’s actively worse than someone like Steyer, or Tulsi Gabbard, or simply in general. / Why do you feel he’s actively worse than the rest?

I never said any politician’s name. Just a general indication that he’s worse than a few. I think it’s interesting you assumed I meant those two and not that he’s worse than, let’s say, Julian Castro. 

I clearly said “no better than any other politician” which puts him on equal footing with Warren etc. so this assumption: Why do you feel he’s actively worse than the rest? is unwarranted. 

What I was saying was basically - no better than e.g. Warren and worse than quite a few e.g. Castro, Clinton (I know, come fight me leftists who drank the almost 30 years of GOP koolaid on her) etc. 

--

A quick rundown of issues I have with Bernie include, but are not limited to: 

Inability to deal with sexual harassment in his campaign in a meaningful way (he apologized and such, but there’s not to my eyes been a significant change)

General sexism in his campaign as well as sexism displayed by followers. He’s just got a sexism issue overall.

Lack of meaningful, recent civil rights record 

Unwilling to coalition build with colleagues in government (a profoundly necessary skill if you want to get anything done as president). Basically, he’s not a team player. We need team players. Team players is how DC works. (e.g. “Ms. Clinton, pointing out that Mr. Obama had to fight tooth-and-nail even for relatively centrist solutions such as the Affordable Care Act, draws the lesson that the next president must have a strong sense of practicality and realism; big rallies cannot wish away the complex politics of Congress. Mr. Sanders, by contrast, claims that Mr. Obama had insufficient revolutionary zeal.” Sanders’ view is not helpful nor realistic.) 

Lack of passing meaningful policy/legislation in his 25 years as senator which indicates an overall inability to solve issues within the existing system as well as a manifestation of the above mentioned inability to coalition build. While many senators propose many bills and pass few (that’s kind of par for the course) Sanders’ are particularly lack lustre. Of the seven enacted of which he was primary sponsor, three were designations (S. 885, H.J.Res. 231, S. 893) and one was a national park boundary movement (H.R. 1353). 

Bernie Sanders was the primary sponsor of seven bills that were enacted:

S. 885 (113th): A bill to designate the facility of the United States Postal Service located at 35 Park Street in Danville, Vermont, as the “Thaddeus Stevens Post Office”.

S. 2782 (113th): A bill to amend title 36, United States Code, to improve the Federal charter for the Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States, and for other purposes

S. 893 (113th): Veterans’ Compensation Cost-of-Living Adjustment Act of 2013H.R. 5245 (109th): To designate the facility of the United States Postal Service located at 1 Marble Street in Fair Haven, Vermont, as the “Matthew Lyon Post Office Building”.

H.J.Res. 129 (104th): Granting the consent of Congress to the Vermont-New Hampshire Interstate Public Water Supply Compact.

H.R. 1353 (102nd): Entitled the “Taconic Mountains Protection Act of 1991”.

H.J.Res. 132 (102nd): To designate March 4, 1991, as “Vermont Bicentennial Day”.

Medicare for All: it’s an incredibly complicated thing to implement and I’m personally not convinced Sanders’ plan is the right approach, nor that it would pass congress when introduced. 

Weak stance on gun control and relationship with the NRA

Tendency to shout over and shut people down, especially those asking questions he doesn’t want to answer 

His lack of attempting to control his supporters - their misogyny and racism - are indicative of the kind of person running the campaign. These things rot from top down. 

How powerfully his ego influences his actions, especially in 2016 when it took Obama hauling him into the white house before he finally stepped down and stopped running 

That whole Russia murkiness

His continued view that the primaries are rigged when they aren’t, he just lost, is actively harmful 

He has, or has benefited from, super PACs (he has some direct PAC contributions, but it’s not a large amount. Most of his benefits from PACs come in other forms than direct contributions). 

So, this is not something I particularly care about overall, because running for president is expensive (which is a Problem), and it’s a current reality to campaign financing. But he made such a big deal out of it I take vindictive pleasure in him having them/benefitting from them because I can now corner Luke Savage at a mutual friend’s annual Christmas party and tell him to shove it up his arse. 

Support of Gabbard who is a bit of a Russian plant (not to mention a terrible candidate overall) 

He is old, he is white, he is straight, he is cis, he is male - we have the most diverse range of potential nominees and if we think he’s the Answer or Saviour there’s a lot of unpacking of internalized stuff that needs to happen. 

A personal thing, but I really, really dislike his shoutiness. He reminds me of every socialist bro who has shouted down women and other marginalized people at parties I’ve been to (I know quite a few Jacobin/Socialist hacks e.g. aforementioned Luke Savage who uses the Sanders Certified approach If You Shout Enough They Can’t Get A Word In Therefore You Win to conversations and debates) and it leaves my skin crawling. 

No policy to address the needs and interests of First Nations/Native Americans including living standards, water access, education, treaty rights, any sort of reconciliation and addressing the issue of colonialism and genocide etc. (I think Castro is the only one with anything addressing Native American needs)

Breach of Clinton’s campaign voter data. Super. Shady. 

Ultimately, I’m not an idealist because idealism doesn’t make for good policy. While I dislike the term leftist because it invokes, to my mind, the blind, unthinking frothing wrath of Bernie Bros(tm), I do have leftist goals. 

However, I am practical about the approach, which will almost always be incremental. It’s like building a house: you lay foundations before you start on the walls, roof and insulation. Bernie wants an instant house to appear out of no where. That’s not how life nor government, works.

This isn’t to say we shouldn’t push to improve things and make for a better world, a more just society. But the reality is: we have a system we must work within and so we need people who can do that effectively. That said, we can and should try to improve the system on the way, as well. But burning it down and starting from scratch is a pipe dream. Best lay it to the side and fight for things that can actually improve lives today. In the here and now. 

in the end, I don’t like Bernie Sanders because he is an old, shouty white man driven by ego who is crude, mean, and isn’t a real democrat. I think we can do better. 

My current list of choices for the Democratic nominee (which is open to change. It will depend on how debates play out and further policy details put forward by candidates): 

Julian Castro (I like his platform the most; he has experience in DC from the Obama administration; knows how to be a team player; he’s young, intelligent and well spoken; has that “presidential” look that many voters like to see, which you know. Makes sense. Mostly I like his platform and everything I’ve heard and read about him has been positive. He also runs a (mostly) positive campaign! Unlike Some Old White Shouty Men. I can go on.)

Kamala Harris (She has a good platform with sound policy plans; she has grit and stamina needed to run against Trump; She runs a positive campaign - even using her funding to support other democrats currently primarying republicans/are just up for general re-election; she’s a senator so has experience and allies in DC with whom she can coalition build; she’s a team player; she will give us a good shot in Florida and N. Carolina; she has strong support from Black Americans who are the base of the democratic party; as DA she fought against prop 22 and prop 8 [yes, she’s not perfect as DA or AG but point to someone with a perfect track record. I’ll wait. I’m not here for perfection or purity politics, I’m here for someone who can win and will implement descent policy while in power], she pioneered one of the first open data initiative to expose racism in the legal system, lol she’s not a millionaire unlike Some Old White Shouty Man - which is neither here nor there for me personally, because again I’m realistic, just a refreshing thing. I can go on.) 

Elizabeth Warren (I’m rather luke-warm on her but she’s better than the other options.)

My ideal ticket, currently, is: Harris/Castro. 

Again - this is open to change. And, at the end of the day, I will vote for the democratic nominee in 2020 no matter what because we can’t have another four years of Trump. 

[winchesterandpie]

The Curious Case of the Missing Sweatshirt (Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 1,889

Warnings: Angst for a while, but it ends fluffy (I promise)

A/N: Here’s another one-shot! I hope you enjoy it! Nobody voted against angst, and I felt like writing it, so HERE IT IS. Don’t worry, it ends with fluff because I can’t write things that end in angst. Regardless, I don’t apologize 😈This fic has been minimally proofread because I’ve got a bunch of exams and I’m trying to get into a research lab, so I didn’t have a ton of time to proofread, so please excuse mistakes!! Gif is not mine, and feedback and reblogs are welcome! Love you guys!!

Series Masterlist

I hadn’t thought the day would come where I would return to the bunker without either Winchester. Yet here I was, walking away from the aftermath of a hunt, and I didn’t see them anywhere. They were stronger, more experienced than I was. Logically I figured that I would be the first of the three of us to kick the bucket.

“Cas! Cas, please! Help me!” I called desperately. “Please,” I said as my voice broke, giving way to sobs. I pushed my way out of the ruined house, scanning for any sign that the Winchesters were still alive. Please don’t let them be gone. Still in denial, I dug through the ruins as well as I could, hobbled by an injury to my side that bled heavily. Then I found it.

No. No, it can’t be. Please no. My eyes couldn’t deny the evidence before them. Dean’s prized handgun sat abandoned next to the biggest pile of rubble. Grief washed over me as I sank to my knees. Neither the growing pain in my side nor the threat of emergency services arriving allowed for mourning. I had no choice but to leave. Gingerly, almost reverently, I picked up the gun and limped to the Impala.

As I drove away, a heavy rain began to fall, sealing with finality the dreadful facts I didn’t want to face. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. With the last of my willpower, I made it back to the bunker and patched myself up. It felt odd to do a job that Dean had always done.

The reality of that last hunt came crashing down on me and I fought hard against the tide of emotion that threatened to overcome me but there was nothing I could do. The grief was too fresh and I was helpless against it.

Suddenly furious at the universe, I threw the pillows from my bed at the wall one by one. When that didn’t satisfy the ache in my heart, I moved on to upend the dresser. Then the nightstand. Then anything I could find that could be made a mess of, shouting angrily the whole time. Why should my room look alright if nothing in my world was?

“How could you?” I shouted at the ceiling, the words directed at… Chuck? The universe? Death? I didn’t know, and to be honest I didn’t care. “It should have been me! Not them!” My fist flew into the wall, bloodying my knuckles.

“It should have been me,” I could only repeat hopelessly, almost like a prayer, an attempt to get whatever cruel power took them to take me instead and let them go. As my eyes blurred, I stumbled down the hall to a different bedroom. A soft blanket laid invitingly over the bed, and I crumpled onto it.

My strength fled and I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They flooded, hot and wet, down my face until they ran out of water to spend. Tear tracks dried, hiccups set in, a headache pounded at my temples, until at last I fell asleep.

“What do you say? Victory dinner tonight?” Dean grinned at me from the kitchen table.

“Burgers?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Ooh, and don’t forget pie!”

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, sweeping my into his arms, holding me against him. “Can’t forget the pie.” Pressing a playful kiss to my lips, his wicked fingers began to dance up and down my side, taking advantage of my ticklishness.

“Hey, no! No fair!” I gasped through giggles, falling back onto the couch and trying desperately to curl into a ball to avoid the tickles. “Dean!” Sammy was rolling his eyes at us, I could feel it. “Fine! I yield!”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Dean laughed, his hands instead coming up to cup my face.

“If you two lovebirds aren’t too busy, I think I’ve figured out something with the monster we’re hunting.” A grin pulled at my lips at the interruption.

“Well, Sammy, I think we’ve wasted enough time pining for each other, it’s high time we had some fun.” Unable to resist his pout, I pulled him down for a quick kiss that he reciprocated appreciatively. As we separated again, Dean rested his forehead against mine before stage-whispering, “I suppose we’d better get this hunt over with, huh?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I responded, our lips brushing with every word.

“So get this…”

“Alright, now we’ve got to be fast. Get in, get out, before the neighbors notice.” The three of us were gathered around the Impala’s trunk, picking out our favored machetes. “Y/N and I will circle around back, go in that way. Sam, you go through the front, clear the upstairs. Everyone got it?” With a curt nod, and a last ‘good luck’ to Sam, we split up.

Dean and I made our way easily through the back door, met with no resistance. Within a few minutes, we’d checked the main floor, which turned out to be completely empty, and we’d met back up with Sam.

“That leaves the basement,” I whispered, a feeling of unease starting to rise from the pit of my stomach.

“Has this seemed… too easy to you guys?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Something’s not right…” Dean trailed off as he caught a flash of movement in the next room. Immediately, we were on the alert, moving stealthily to the room it had come from.

The moment we stepped into the room, the vamps jumped at us from every imaginable corner of the room. For every one that we cut down, another two took its place. All of a sudden, the floor shook beneath us. It was almost as if…

“This place’s coming down!” Sam shouted over the din of the fight. Another shockwave through the floor caused a hole to open up in the center of the room, and the ceiling trembled.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” It seemed that the vampires had the same idea, for the survivors vanished quickly. A final shockwave left only enough time to meet Dean’s horrified gaze with widened eyes before the floor fell out from under us, the ceiling coming crashing down to join it.

I started awake, my breath coming in heaving gasps as I slowly remembered where I was. With a shiver, I realized the room had grown cold and sought out something to keep myself warm. Reaching for the nightstand, my fingers were met with a soft fabric, one that I quickly identified as Dean’s hoodie. I hesitated only for a moment before pulling it on.

His scent, comforting and warm, met my nose and I curled tighter under the blankets.  For now, the hoodie kept the sadness at bay. If I closed my eyes, it felt almost as though he were just on a quick run for supplies and would be back soon. Nothing dangerous. Nothing unusual. If I tried hard enough, I could almost hear Sam moving about in the library. If only...

Meanwhile… Conveniently in the library

Sam and Cas stood worriedly over Dean, waiting for him to wake up. Cas had arrived to find Y/N gone, but quickly realized that the brothers still needed saving. He had healed them both, but Dean’s injuries had been worse, and he was taking longer to recover his strength.

“Cas?” he mumbled as his eyes squinted open. “Where’s Y/N?” When they didn’t immediately respond, he started to rise from the couch before freezing. “Where are we?”

“Uh, we’re back at the bunker, Dean.” Sam was relieved his brother was alright, but was nearly as worried about Y/N.

“And we just left her?”

“She had already left by the time I found you,” Cas said. “She came back here - your car is parked in the garage.”

“So where’d she go?” With a groan, Dean forced his sore muscles to support him as he rose. When no one had an answer, he continued. “Well, we’ve gotta find her. Sammy, try calling her, would you?”

“Our phones are no good, remember? They, uh, they kinda got crushed when the house came down on top of us.”

“Of course,” he sighed in exasperation. “I guess we’ll have to split up and search the place.”

And back to your POV

“Sweetheart? Are you in here?” I heard his voice, so familiar that my heart ached to hear it. I had thought my eyes had run out of tears, and yet I felt new ones gathering in my eyes. The door slowly creaked open, but I was too lost in my grief to hear it. “Sammy, I found her!”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” The voice continued to come closer, but I knew it wasn’t him. It simply couldn’t be him. But then the bed sank under the weight of something, and I shot upright, fully prepared to defend myself.

“Dean?” No, Dean is gone. This has to be some cruel trick. I froze, my mind and my heart fighting. On the one hand, I knew he couldn’t really be here, but on the other I desperately hoped he was.

“Y/N, it’s me, it’s ok,” he said quietly, his hands out in front of him, as if to show he meant no harm.

“How do I know you aren’t a shapeshifter or some other monster?” One tear trickled from the corner of my eye, then another. My heart was winning. But I had to know.

“D’you have a silver knife? Holy water?” I looked around for them, before shaking my head forlornly. The pain had overcome my instincts, and now it seemed I would pay the price. “That’s ok. It’s not a problem, sweetheart.” Then, he turned toward the door, calling, “Sammy, I need to borrow your knife. And some holy water.”

The taller Winchester came slowly into the room, the requested items extended carefully. Quickly, Dean made a small slice, before Sam had the pleasure of splashing some of the holy water on his face.

“See? It’s me, sweetheart. I promise,” Dean said quietly, arms stretching out for me.

“Dean.” Relief made my tears well to overflowing. Within a moment, his arms were wrapping around me, pulling me firmly against him. “I thought… I thought you died.” The words escaped almost brokenly through the sobs.

“We made it, though. I’m right here,” he murmured into my ear as his hand rubbed soothing circles up and down my back. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. I’m here now.” He held me, whispering reassurances for a long time as the tears dried. Sam had left us our privacy, for which I was grateful.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I said as I pulled back, my hands coming up to the sides of his face, re-memorizing every plane as though he could disappear beneath my fingertips at any moment. When my fingers stilled, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“What do you think of my hoodie? Pretty comfy, huh?” Dean grinned softly at me.

“Well, it’s no substitute for the real Dean, but it’s definitely comfy.” I returned the smile, content in his arms. He hummed happily, squeezing me reassuringly.

“Think we should have that victory dinner now?”

“I’d say we definitely earned it. And a pie.”

“A whole pie?”

“After the day you put me through? Honey, I deserve all the pies.”

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