#where’s that dangle tweet
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geno is actually allowed to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. get it straight nhl
#thinking about that steve dangle tweet where he was like: malkin is just VIOLENT#yeah he is AND WHAT OF IT
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Extensive protest gear/safety advice from a twitter thread. Additional images from thread will be in a reblog. Images described in read-more and in alt text.
link to full thread (link one)
link to free protest medical book "Riot Medicine" (link two) by Håkan Geijer (link three)
image id: Twitter thread from Gwen Snyder is uncivil @/ gwensnyderPHL
image one: Seeing people share that swim goggles are great against tear gas, which is something I used to believe and advise. Then I learned that blunt force to swim goggles can pop your eyes [out] of their sockets, so please don't wear swim goggles in situations where cops may assault you
image two: First tweet in image states "Plastic lab goggles are the way to go, ideally with ballistics protection so they don't shatter if you take a rubber bullet to the face. Contacts trap tear gas, and according to my ophthalmologist, polycarbonate glasses are your safest bet during protests." Second tweet in image states "A lot of plastic lab goggles are vented to prevent condensation, but you can use clear packing tape to seal them up. Conveniently, you can also leave the tape dangling a bit and then seal it back up when things get heated so condensation is less of a bother."
image three: first tweet in image states "Don't wear hanging jewelry or loose clothes, or anything fash/cops can hang grab and on to. It's best practice to cover your face (N95 it up to protect yourself/others), avoid wearing 'unique' or custom attire, and conceal tattoos. Wear your shoes that you can run in." second tweet in image states "You don't need a special solution to clean tear gas out of people's eyes. Water or saline in a cheap peri bottle is a godsend. Be careful not to touch the peri bottle to anyone's eyes directly if you're treating multiples, you don't want to be spreading infection inadvertently."
image four: first tweet in image states "Wet wipes are your friend. Clean any tear gas-exposed skin thoroughly and ASAP. I couldn't chop jalapenõs for at least a month after the 2020 gassings, my skin would burn just being around the oil in the air." second tweet in image states "Remove any tear gas-contaminated clothing ASAP. Keep it in a sealed plastic bag (ideally outside) until you can wash it (ideally multiple times). This is especially true if you have asthma or if you have pets - your clothes can give off chemicals that pets are very sensitive to."
image five: first tweet in image states "If you're thinking about a gas mask, do your research. The good ones are expensive, and there are a bunch of airsoft 'gas masks' that are just costume wear. Respirators and goggles together make a more affordable alternative." second tweet in image states "It's possible to reduce tear gas spread by covering a canister with a traffic cone, but the canisters are very hot and can explode, so be careful. DO NOT pick them up to toss them from the crowd unless you are wearing heat-protective gloves. They can burn you."
image six: first tweet in image states "Police will often fire smoke canisters along with tear gas to reduce visibility and increase confusion. There's not much you can do about that, but be aware." second tweet in image states "Tear gas is usually deployed not by a spraying mechanism, but by firing canisters into a crowd. These are heavy, metal projectiles. you do not want to take one to the head, and you should keep your eyes open and be ready to assist in case others do." third tweet states "Tear gas is an abortifacient. Not much you can do about that, but if you're pregnant or TTC [trying to carry] you should be very aware of that reality so you can make informed decisions on the ground."
image seven: first tweet in image states "'Rubber' bullets (also called baton rounds) are regular bullets covered in plastic. They are SUPPOSED to be fired at the ground so they hit people on a lower-impact rebound. In practice, cops will fire them directly at you. They are no joke." second tweet in image states "'Rubber' bullets can blind or maim you, especially when shot directly. Don't minimize the risk. If you take a body hit, ice packs help. When my partner got shot, we iced one site and not the other and the difference was MASSIVE. Consider carrying instant ice packs"
image eight: first tweet in image states "Know your local legal collective scene. If there's an arrest hotline, get that number on your arm in Sharpie. There's no guarantee you'll get a call, but if you do, use it to call them. Have quarters on your person for jail pay phones." second tweet in image states "Assume someone in your group chat is going to forget to lock their phone, and that cops will see what you've said in there. Be super-mindful about potentially incriminating speech." third tweet says "If you're white, mass arrests are really not the time to give police an earful. They'll often try and get their revenge by taking out their anger on the most vulnerable people in custody, especially nonwhite folks."
image nine: first tweet in image states "In my area, we generally recommend having an ID on you if you think you might get arrested (if you're engaging in jail-packing tactics, disregard). It's a personal choice, but it speeds up processing, which means you're less likely to get sent to county for the weekend." second tweet in image states "Don't thank cops at protests. Don't give them hugs and take cute photos with them. They aren't our friends, they use photos of that stuff for feel-good propaganda to counter accountability measures, and it makes the people they target feel like you don't have their back"
image ten: first tweet in image states "Prioritize your ability to run when it comes to footwear, but if you have steel toe shoes/boots that fit that need, that's a plus. Toes are vulnerable to police car trampling, and 'accidental' sideswiping by drivers who hate you and your cause." second tweet in image states "Photos are a complicated subject. Livestreaming is almost always a bad idea, since cops can use those streams to surveil, and since you may accidentally broadcast information that can be sued to identify or prosecute other protesters." third tweet says "Be very careful with night videography / photography at protests. I'm not going to say never do it, but be VERY mindful that folks tend to take more militant action at night and you don't want to accidentally incriminate anyone."
end id /
#protests#roe v wade#healthcare#activism#know your rights#protest tips#blm#reproductive rights#abortion#pro choice#resources#image described#image desc in alt text#resist#if anyone has suggestions/edits for image id lemme know!
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How about a request where the reader is a security guard at the movie setting where the boys were filming and instead of arresting the boys for trespassing they decide ro help them with shooting and offering the boys props.
BREAK IN RECORD
Characters: Hearsteel boys x GN!Reader
Implied male reader (reader can be seen as fit and not very bulky. They are taller than ezreal but shorter than k'sante and Sett. It says cleavage once, mostly because i have a slight obsession with man boobs, sorry not sorry) the characters are color coded, Alune is bold white (Looks like this)
You had been standing around, walking back and forth, sitting, crouching, counting tiles, all the sorts to keep you entertained in this job. Your partner had gone to the bathroom an hour ago, and you've begun thinking that he'd sunk into the toilet, but he's probably either sleeping or he ditched you.
So, in uncomfortable shoes and the mandatory clothing you're made to wear, you fiddle around with whatever you can that is not your phone or watch. Your phone, sadly, had died, and your watch kept the time for your sanity, so if you started to tweet with it, you wouldn't be able to keep track of time and that'd be horrible for you.
Though, your thought process was placed on pause when you heard some masculine voices and the padding of a pup walking around.
"This is a bad idea."
"Yeah, but it's gonna be great for this music video! We just have to check if there's any security around"
"I'd think it would be best to ask if we can use this place for recording.."
"But that's not funnnnn"
"It's logical so we don't get charged for breaking into a place we shouldn't be in!"
They sounded quite far away from you
'This would be fun,' you thought, thinking of ideas to entertain yourself in this boring setting.
You could totally scare them while they're recording or something. While thinking, you forgot that you were out in the open, though still in the dark.
Their dog, a cute Rottweiler, waltzed right up and leaned on your legs, getting his short fur drilled into the fibers of your uniform pants, not that you cared. You looked up from the dog to see a green haired boy, looking around as if lost.
"Ernest?! Ernest, where are you? We need you for this scene!"
He wasn't lost then. He just wanted to look for the dog.
Sadly, even though you wanted to have some fun and joke around with them, you couldn't. First, you didn't want to stress out the pup in your arms, and second, you were extremely tired.
You sighed and crouched down to the level of the dog, petting him before slotting one of your arms under his chest and the other around his hips before lifting him. You had expected him to wiggle around on your arms, but he surprisingly didn't, Ernest seemed to be very tame, or well trained, you guessed.
You walked out of the shadows, dog in arms, and walked towards the male from behind. You were quite a bit taller than him, his head most likely being around your shoulder or cleaveage.
"You looking for this pup?"
You asked, knowing that he forsure was looking for the dog in your arms. You just didn't know how you could approach him other than asking him something like that. Why did you ask that again?
The green haired boy jumped up higher than a cartoon cat and let out this ear piercing screech that your work partner most likely heard (from wherever he is). He teleported three times, once farther away from you, once behind you, and once in front of you with a shy smile.
You noticed that he really had one of the cutest smiles and wait. He can teleport?
You blinked once. Twice. Three times.
"You can teleport??" "WHERE THE HELL DID YOU COME FROM???"
"I asked you a question first?!"
"You're the one who scared me!!!"
"OH my fuckin- whatever. Not the weirdest thing I've seen. Anyways, are you looking for this dog?"
He looked at your arms, the dog he'd been srarching for was litterally asleep and just dangling from your strong arms. He blinked and chuckled before nodding.
"Ezreal!"
A rainbow of voices (see what I did there?) echoed down the hall with a few loud and quick thuds from behind you, making you turn around and the dog to wake up.
Placing down the pup, you grimaced at the need to explain to the group of men and lady because she's also running with them. This made you nervous.
This is not one of the reasons you wanted this job. Whatever.
---------------------timeskip---------------------
"We deeply apologize for breaking in and disturbing you,"
"We're really sorry, we will leave in a few, we just need to put the things we used to record away."
"There's no need to apologize. You guys didn't seem to know, and it's all completely understandable. Since you guys are done with recording, and I'm just about to leave to go home, I'll help out in picking things up!"
While speaking to the two, who introduced themselves as Yone and Alune, you watched as the boys played around with Ernest or sat around watching (Aphelios, Alune told you when she saw you looking at him. You really were just entraced by his hair color). They seemed like sibling to each other.
"There's no need to do that. We're the ones intruding in the space we're we shouldn't be"
"Nah, it's fine. I'm probably going to quit this job either way. My co-worker ditched me, and I don't get paid enough. Not only that, the boss is just rude in general."
"Whatever you say, but we wouldn't want to bother you with such.."
"Like I said, it's fine! Also, I would rather do something like this than walk around for 7 hours."
Walking away, Yone following you, and Alune telling the boys to start getting ready to move to the next location that Sett had planned out for all of them.
You helped Yone carry some of the heavy stuff before K'sante, with a gentle and kind smile, took it from both of your hands, like the strong man he is. Yone, kindly asked you if you would carefully carry some of the recording equipment and mics, and with a soft smile, you took some of the equipment and followed behind Aphelios outside the building where he shows you were their truck is.
They were parked behind your, now totaled, car. You were shocked and almost dropped the easily breakable equipment in your hands because of the sight.
Aphelios was no different. When he heard you gasp, he turned towards you and turned to see what you were looking at. From your eyes and body language, he could tell that the car that was in front of theirs was yours.
He grabbed the objects from your hands and placed them on the floor near the car before standing in disbelief. When they got here, Sett had parked well enough, that car was not fucked up when they arrived.
Just what happened?
Ezreal, Sett, and Alune were close behind, and they saw you both just standing there. Curious, they looked at each other before walking over to ask. Their reactions were exactly the same. They froze in place.
They knew who did it though.
Kayn and K'sante were next, but they didn't react as bad as the group did. Yone exited right after him, empty-handed and ready to go, but he really didn't expect to see the whole group looking as if they were ghosts.
That is before he saw the cause of such reactions.
"...KAYN!!"
That rage filled call-out shock all of you out of your stupor and made Aphelios crouch down, pick up the cameras and mics from the ground, and run towards their truck. Everyone, minus Alune, else did the same, minus Kayn and yourself.
After the long, loud, and embarrassing scolding that Kayn got from Yone, he was sent to the back of their truck, where he would hold the objects.
Yone apologized again and again and again, asking you how much you'd like to repay or buy a new car. Anything.
But you weren't as mad as you thought you'd be. Maybe it was because you were still on shock, or it was because you were bored of the car, or maybe it needed repairing. You don't know, but you just shrugged his offers off.
"Please, we have to repay this mess one way or another? How can we help? Don't you need a ride back home? I bet you're tired from work. Are you sure?"
"Actually.... Yone..."
"Yes?"
"I'd like to work with you guys"
That took Yone off guard. You must have gone insane! Your car, right in front of you, is completely destroyed, and here you're asking to work with them? After one person of their group literally just killed your source of transportation???
"You... want to work with us?? Like a dancer or singer? Or like an assistant manager??"
"I wouldn't mind either or actually. Though I would think being an assistant manager would be best"
Yone shakes his head in disbelief. You've truly gone insane. He sighs before reaching out his hand forwards, you instantly taking it in yours and shaking it.
"Welcome to Heartsteel [Name], we'll talk more about joining tomorrow"
"Also, Yone, I'll take you up on that ride"
---------------------------
Note!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY LORD THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE LMAO!!!
So so sorry it took so long! School just started again so I have to get used to the rhythm of school days again.
I decided to write this in a different format because I wanted to try something new. Not only that, I tried to add a bit of everyone, but I really wasn't able to 😰😰.
Either way!!! I truly hope you enjoy this little goofy thing. Thank you so much for requesting lovely anon!! 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡
#heartsteel#heartsteel sett#heartsteel yone#heartsteel aphelios#heartsteel kayn#heartsteel ezreal#heartsteel k'sante#aphelios#ezreal#heartsteel x gn!reader#heartsteel x male reader#yone#kayn#sett#k'sante#heartsteel alune#alune#i keep forgetting to add tags#ezreal x reader#yone x gn!reader#yone x reader#k'sante x reader#kayn x reader#sett x reader#alune x reader#aphelios x reader
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re: voltron being queerbaiting.
I feel like there needs to be a word for can't-believe-its-not-queerbait (suppose it could even be called that) because its a big enough phenomenon in 'progressive' stuff that ive seen that its hard to talk about.
Defining it like;
It spends months, sometimes even years hinting a character ~might~ be queer in something in the extra content and information (interviews, behind the scenes, official tweets, etc) in a way that is clearly to get more viewership and drum up the fandom interest by dangling Possible rep.
Interviews with cast and crew and promotional material treat the possible queer status like its a total spoiler and completely unreasonable to just say 'yeah they are bi/gay/trans it just hasn't become relevant yet' and be done with it.
When the rep finally does come it is either at a cost to the integrity of the plot/character development of the character(s) in question and/or they do a queerphobic trope (or multiple) like bury your gays or 'creepy pervert gay villain' whether or not its on the teased character.
With bonus points if:
The rep is blink and youll miss it in a way that it can be cut out of the media easily for marketing purposes
Its a company that isn't beholden to getting through to publishing (ie- indie company)
They act like they did the queer community a great service for giving lackluster rep after several years of taunting for views.
If you felt genuinely surprised that a media actually genuinely followed through on the tease and made a character gay/trans then it probably counts. It definitely counts if the bonus points get hit.
Its for stuff that FEELS like queerbaiting because they were being unnecessarily coy about it and then the followthrough was lackluster at best.
Examples include the aforementioned VLD and Supernatural.
The problem is I feel like people on tumblr would misuse it even harder than they do queerbaiting for shit like LoK that was genuinely trying to get around censors because its so contextual.
--
I've said it before and I will say it again:
SPN, despite how it feels on Tumblr, had literally millions of viewers who didn't see it how we saw it.
I do very, very occasionally run into cases where I genuinely feel like what you've outlined. Far more often, I run into cases where that perception makes a lot of sense if you're hanging out on tumblr but much less sense if you look at the sum total of the audience and all of the various opinions and comments of the many people involved in making the canon.
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wip wednesday
thanks for the tags: @energievie & @mybrainismelted !
Mickey cranks the window open wide, even though it’s November.
He stands next to it and lights up a cigarette, his pants hanging loose and undone around his hips, his belt dangling to the side.
Ian lounges on the bed, one arm bent beneath his head on the pillow. He’s cleaned up and his boxers are on, but that’s really the very most he’s willing to do. It’s after midnight and he’s exhausted—from the long day and the great sex, though he’s honestly not sure which one wiped him out more—and he has this guy in his hotel room that, for some reason, he really wants to show off his abs to for as long as he can.
Mickey takes another drag of his cigarette, smoke curling out his nose and getting lost in the cold air out the window.
“You can stay if you want,” Ian offers, scratching at his chest. “I have an early flight, but—”
“Nah. It’s cool,” Mickey says, cutting him off. He finally drags his eyes away from the window and they land right on Ian’s stomach—checkmate—lingering on the cut muscles as he takes another drag.
“You wanna go again?” Ian asks, even though he’s not sure he could muster up the energy for another round right now if he tried.
Mickey shakes his head as he blows more smoke out his nose. “Can’t,” he says, pinching the cigarette between his lips as he buttons his pants. “Got somewhere else to be, remember?”
Ian’s brows twitch. “I thought you were kidding about that.”
Mickey just kind of shrugs, ditching his cigarette in a half-filled water glass Ian left on the small table in the corner. He shuts the window.
Ian rolls his head along the pillow as he watches Mickey make his way across the room, finding his socks and shoes. He snags his shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head. Ian frowns when Mickey’s strong chest disappears under the fabric.
“You in Chicago a lot?” Mickey asks almost absentmindedly, checking his hair in the bathroom mirror and running his fingers back through it, smoothing out the strands.
Ian shrugs with one shoulder. “Sometimes. Don’t usually stay here though.”
Mickey hums, like that somehow makes sense to him.
He grabs his coat and scarf from where he dropped them by the door, shrugging them on. He looks around, pats his pockets for his wallet, keys.
“Uh, thanks,” Mickey says, his brow pinching after he says it, like he can’t believe he couldn’t come up with anything better than that.
“No problem,” Ian says easily, smiling. “It was fun.”
Mickey thumbs at his lip. “Yeah.”
Ian hesitates for a moment—a beat—but by the time he opens his mouth to say more, Mickey’s already turning the handle on the door.
“See ya,” he says, making his quick escape.
The door shuts behind him with a loud thud, the way all hotel doors seem to do, and Ian just blinks at it with a tired smile.
“Bye,” he says to the empty room, raising his hand in a mockery of a wave.
He grabs the blankets from the end of the bed and pulls them up over his shoulders, rolling onto his side. He’s fucking beat. Feels like he could sleep for a week.
excerpt from a new au i'm working on based on this tweet
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Have you had a chance to see "Daffy in Wackyland"?
CONGRATULATIONS! you are psychic in that this is a startlingly well timed ask i received a few days ago.
i have NOT, because there is currently no way to watch it. but. BUT! just yesterday this was tweeted out, alongside new promo images and a great interview about the making of the short. the short is evidently slated to hit the Ottawa International Animation Festival soon. here are the new promo pics that dropped:
also using this opportunity to address these asks that have been festering in my inbox (i am truly, genuinely sorry for the delay, @starkittydrops @awinger24!)
i’m REALLY hoping they do release it. i’ve kind of convinced myself they will, and that very well may be me being delusional? but i really find it hard to believe they’d hype it up so much without releasing it to the generic public. my hope is that it’ll get out to us once its completed the festival circuit, whether as an extra on HBO Max or maybe even a DVD of these shorts?? if that’s even possible?? i have no idea. i sadly know as much as everyone else, and that is: nothing
likewise, heading back to @awinger24’s ask—i’m again in the same boat with all of you in that i’m just a fan too and don’t really have any authority or knowabouts of like “OKAY GUYS! we just gotta do A B and C to get our precious cartoon! YEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!”. i do know that crew members were tweeting out about how vocalizing support and demand for these cartoons would be helpful. i’m of course a few months late to this, but i think the point still stands
regardless, i’m choosing to stay optimistic in that at the very least Daffy in Wackyland will come out. i think i partially have convinced myself that it’ll come out just because i have such a carnal raging desire to see this short and live it and love it that i can’t imagine a reality where it doesn’t come to fruition. that sounds incredibly selfish and it probably is! but in a more serious sense, i do think it’d be a catastrophically mean trick of them to dangle this carrot in front of our noses through interviews and publicity stills and us just. never getting to see it at all. i feel like something has to come out of this. but my speculation is as good as anyone’s, and it’s purely that: speculation.
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come over ; peter parker
warnings: sweet angst & fluff post no way home (btw i didn't really edit this, don't judge)
also, listen to "pistol" by cigarettes after sex while reading <3
it was cold, considering it was the start of december. snow continued to fall from the sky at a steady pace, adding to the snow-covered streets & buildings upon where spiderman sat. peter dangled his feet off the edge of the building, gloved hands resting in his lap as he peered out onto the busy streets. "last christmas" by wham mixed in with "all i want for christmas" by mariah carrey blasted from the shops below, families eagerly trekking up & down the sidewalks with gifts & winter attire.
peter sat alone with that familiar ache in his chest. he couldn't suppress it any longer. it overtook him, making him feel both heavy like a brick & as light as the wind. heartstrings likely snapped as he caught the figures of his former friends below, faces full of smiles as they headed to mj's work.
he was happy his old friends were safe, but it was still bittersweet. more bitter though.
moving away from the ledge of the building, he dusted off the snow that gathered on him, ignoring his cuts & bruises that made him wince, & he swung to his apartment window to sit on the fire escape. while his head rested against the rusted metal, feet moving back & forth to pass the time, he waited for you--the only person he has left-- to call.
he soon heard the sweet bluebird tweeting from his phone, the ringtone he picked for you, & felt a bit of tension ease from his muscles. swiping right on the call, he put the phone up to his right ear & lifted his mask to be just under his nose.
"hey, i just got in" your voice told him, sounding soft like sleep due to the yawn you let out.
"you sound tired" he noted, looking up to see if he could catch a glance of your apartment window, only to see a bit of light seep through the curtains a few windows above.
"i can say the same thing about you. so, come over" you insisted as you plopped onto your couch, letting out the smallest sigh as the cushions enveloped you after a long day of studying.
"i really miss you & i don't know what else to do..." you admitted, hoping that'd be an incentive.
feeling his chest grow a little lighter now, the ache going away, peter gave in. he didn't like being alone anyways.
"give me five minutes?".
he could almost feel your smile beaming from the phone "see you then, peter".
ending the call off with a smile, you reluctantly rose from the couch to pull out some cleaning supplies from your bathroom, knowing that he'd likely have a few things he'd refused to patch up, so you'd do it for him.
taking a quick shower to get off any sweat & body odour, peter closed his eyes as the water pelted his skin. he grew tired of looking at all his scars, so he learned to do his routine blindly. once his body smelt of an aloe body wash he bought a few days ago & his hair was freshly clean, peter didn't bother to look at his reflection as he threw on a pair of sweatpants & a hoodie, locking his door to make his way to your apartment. lightly knocking on your door, peter could hear a few pill bottles rattling & a kettle going off, making him furrow a brow as he listened in.
but once you opened the door, his senses tuned out & he felt somewhat normal again. your warmth pulled him in, & he held you close, even though his bruised ribs weren't fond of your body's pressure; but he didn't care. his eyes closed & his arms held you tight. the comfort of your body against his felt nice.
"i missed you" you mumbled into his shoulder, smelling the aloe on the skin of his neck, which was littered with some light bruises. pulling away to get a better look at him, your hands scaled his skin before resting on his slightly hollowed cheeks as you inspected an old cut that was healing quite well.
"i'm okay, you don't have to clean me up tonight" peter whispered, knowing you worried too much cared for him.
you looked into his eyes & gave a knowing a look, a look that said "i don't completely believe you".
"okay, just checking" rubbing your thumbs along his soft skin, his hands did the same to your waist before you pulled him inside, locking the door & heading for the couch.
as he got comfortable on the cushions, you nudged his knee to look at you pointing at the tea & pain pills on the small coffee table. looking back at you with a "really, i'm okay" look, you nudged him again, urging him to take them. smiling happily when he took a few sips of hibiscus tea & the two pain pills, peter nudged you this time, a small smile forming on his lips.
"thank you" he said, his eyes twinkling at yours in the dim light of your apartment, feeling your hand slowly reach out to hold his, waiting for him to accept your touch even though you were pressed into his side.
"you're always welcome" you smiled back, heart fluttering when he rested his head against your shoulder.
comfortable silence overtook you both for a while. peter was enjoying your presence, your touch--just being there with you seemed to somewhat cure of him.
resting your head on top of his, your left arm taking a hold of his left upper arm, you asked him "do you want to talk?"
the question made him shift to peer up at you, his tired face looking at your slightly concerned one, & he tightened his lips.
but you squeezed his hand again, "no pressure, okay?" you nodded to him, just letting the option be out there because you knew he needed it.
with his eyes faltering a little, peter became conflicted. "i don't want to burden you" his hesitant voice said.
"it won't burden me, spider boy" you squeezed his hand again.
putting his head back on your shoulder, peter squeezed your hand three times, a sign that he'll talk. he quietly updated you on everything you've missed for the last few days: seeing happy again at may's grave, his old friends continuing their lives during their christmas break from MIT, the loneliness that continued to creep at him--he slowly broke through his hesitation & took off the things that made him grow hollow.
as he spoke, peter took notice of your heartbeat, your hand in his & how they both grew with empathy as he went on.
"... i-i just feel a little lost" he ended his vent, sighing deeply & shutting his eyes as the emotions he keeps trying to hide break through the surface.
you stayed silent for a minute or so while you gathered your thoughts, rubbing his arm with your left hand & rubbing his knuckles with the other.
"peter, you know you don't have to be strong right now, right?".
unsure of what you meant, peter moved his head to the the couch pillow behind him & looked at you, trying to read you.
"i-i, i-i don't know what you mean by that" he didn't understand.
biting the inside of your cheek, you tried explaining it. "you've been through so much in these last few months-- hell i could even say these last few years-- but throughout everything, you've been so strong haven't you?" you asked him, seeing him nod his head.
"i had to be" he added, to which you agreed.
"right. so you haven't had much time, until now, to process everything & take your time with it, right?" he nodded again, slowly seeing what you were getting at.
moving your hand up to his cheek again, you sighed at him, looking so fragile & precious, so vulnerable.
"you don't have to put up a front or ignore what you're feeling, even in front of me" your sincere voice told him like a vice, coaxing him out of his old isolating habits.
"it's okay to not be strong all the time".
in response, peter just nodded his head & felt his eyes begin to water, feeling more & more comfortable to be in this state with you.
"c'mere, it's okay," you cooed at him, letting him rest in the safety of your chest, hugging him as he held onto you tight. "i'm here for you" you told him quietly, lips pressed against the top of his head.
peter hasn't felt so cared for in so long after it being an official year since his old life came to a stop. you reminded him whats its like though--his light through the fog, through the tears & the endless nights where he didn't feel worth it, where he wished his dark thoughts would just consume him to the point of no return--you, the girl he met on the roof while stitching himself up, helped him through it one by one.
retreating from your chest, peter rested his forehead on yours as your hands ran through his hair, the act so domestic; so normal. his teary eyes closed as he breathed you in, the hollowness in his chest was there, but it wasn't so bad this time.
"it's been on my mind for so long... i've been meaning to properly thank you but--".
sadly smiling, you almost paused him but he shook his head, his nose bumping yours a little.
"i need to tell you how much you mean to me, 'cause you're all i got. i wait for your calls every night. i feel normal when i'm with you, i feel okay & i don't get to feel that much anymore... i-i..." opening his eyes to look at you, he genuinely smiled with so much ease where he looked almost like his old pictures from his homecoming he once showed you.
"i wasn't sure i'd get another chance at this..." he hinted, throat becoming dry due to his nerves.
"what is it?' you asked, even though you knew. you needed him to say it.
"love. i didn't know i'd get another chance at love" peter finally confessed, squeezing your hand in hopes you felt it too.
he was still hurt. he knew he still needed time to heal. but, he loved you & you need to know it.
with teary eyes, you lifted his hand to your heart which was beating loudly against your chest, & you both chuckled. tapping his hand to make him open his eyes, peter looked at you with an adoring gaze, immediately knowing you felt the same.
"i love you too, peter" those five words sounded like heaven to his ears.
they became his favourite.
#tom holland au#tom holland one shot#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland#peter parker angst#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker#tom holland spiderman#spiderman x reader#spiderman mcu#peter parker fluff#spiderman no way home
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I deleted this ask, pretty frankly because I think if people want to express their frustrations about me like that, they should be able to do so without me butting my head in like I'm some kind of authority on how they should feel. But I decided I do want to respond here, on Tumblr, where I can feel like the people saying those things can still have their privacy.
I made a post on twitter... a couple weeks ago? Maybe? Saying I was going to draw Jenny with gnarly facial piercings as my "countercultural stance against people drawing her in those ugly gold hoops." I don't remember the tweet well enough to know if that's exactly verbatim. but that was the gist of it. I made this post because I saw a screenshot somewhere of someone complaining about Martin drawing her with a helix piercing, and how that wasn't exactly fashionable for the time, and how they preferred to draw her in more dangly jewelry. Which made annoyed me because I thought the helix was cute, and have long expressed my relative distaste for Jenny in dangling jewelry, because I like the thought that she's a little bit scrappy, and that they'd get caught on things or caught in her hair. And that I like the idea that she'd struggle wearing jewelry for autism sensory reasons.
So I made a dumb tweet about it, which I really regret, because I always try and veer away from those pressures of the Twitter Algorithm Machine, that beg you to be catty and reactionary and to insert your opinion into every little thing. But I absolutely fell victim to it that time, and for that I'm genuinely deeply ashamed and deeply sorry.
I don't know exactly the context for how it got here, and I don't want to go looking for it because, again, I want those people to have their privacy to say how they feel without it feeling like I'm breathing down their necks, but I do know that a person on twitter who likes to depict Jenny as a Black woman didn't like that tweet, and drew their Jenny in gold hoop earrings as a way to say 'Draw whatever you like, and don't let anyone tell you how to feel.'
I agree with that completely. And I honestly fully support this artist in their depiction and their feelings. I've said this in the past and I continue to think this, but their artwork of Jenny and Sophie is beautiful, and I've always found their take on Jenny to be really sweet and refreshing. I absolutely do not want anyone changing their opinions about this artist because of this, it was not wrong of them to make their post in response to my tweet, it's not wrong of them to assert their right to draw whatever they like. I don't know what else to say, I guess.
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Sidney Crosby for the character ask
actually i do have a very specific first impression of sidney which is that i was . can’t have been ten, probably closer to seven or eight and i was living w my dad and hockey was on and it was pens vs a team that was not the leafs, and i knew he was a leafsfan so i was like “why are you watching hockey if it’s not your team” and he was like “sometimes i like to watch it for sid the kid” and i was like. a kid? and he pointed out what must have been a truly baby sidney and i remember clearly thinking I Hope He’ll Be A Leaf Some Day… truly my delusions have always been there.
IMPRESSION NOW
well GOAT obviously
beyond that he is such a good leader and obviously just a huge awkward dorky sweetheart -- there are no stories of bad encounters with him, like, ever. i think my general vision of him is just someone who is so stubborn and willful and good, who has pushed all of himself into doing hockey and doing hockey well and has negotiated some kind of reward from the universe for it. definitely has The Tism. if i were a hockey boy i too wouldve jerked off to posters of young sidney.
also is aging incredibly as both a player and as a guy… i don’t think either sidney or the audience are ready for silver fox sidney crosby. but the time is approaching far more rapidly than either of us would care to admit
i do however believe that the instant he retires he will vanish into the distant nova scotian woods, or perhaps the sea, and we will never hear anything about him again.
FAV MOMENT
much like ovi, sidney is Old and thereby has an abundance of Moments. Here are some:
sidovi duelling hat tricks night (it was both of their moments, come on)
That one anecdote about him walking with reporters coatless somewhere in the negative tens, followed by them going through the tim hortons in the rink and people stopping and realizing who it is the moment that he goes into the elevator
2010 olympic golden goal
this isn’t technically a Sidney Moment but the steve dangle tweet about “has sidney crosby passed the torch followed by sidney crosby ripping out his opponent’s heart and eating it has been happening for the past six years” (the tweet itself is also about four or five years old)
The entirety of his Fucked Up Teeth era where he had to wear the fishbowl and fought a bunch of people . I think we don’t remember enough that Sid used to be an absolute bloody menace -- I’m pretty sure he’s either the only rookie or one of the only rookies with 100 pts and 100 PIM in a season.
he did the michigan before it was cool btw
IDEA FOR STORY
well let’s go back to the disappearing into the woods thing. have you guys heard of sable island perchance
well u see. there is an island off the coast of nova scotia
it’s got an electoral district and everything. Or it’s part of one. Which is weird because only a couple of researchers live there periodically.
anyway. king under the mountain type au where post-concussions sid decides instead to leave hockey, go back to nova scotia and become a lighthouse keeper/researcher. living on sable island, skating once a year on the thin-ass ocean ice when it freezes. disappears when the sport of hockey needs him most etc
in fact in this au he leaves in 2012, and because there’s no hope of his returning the penguins are. Substantially worse in the following year, not only breaking hard from the playoffs but also doing a leedle light tanking to get themselves a similarly touted prospect… 2013 first overall pick nathan mackinnon.
natemac who is and has always been a sidney fanboy numero uno AND a sicko who wants 2 win above all else. natemac who gets himself immediately into a war of wills with geno because geno wants sid to live a good life, a long and peaceful life away from where he has been and natemac who knows that there is something else going on. that sid gave up, but he is not lost.
so nate and geno play out nate’s rookie year; nate breaks in the offseason for sable island in search of sidney. cue geno coming along.
nategenosidney roadtrip 2 return to hockey nightmare psychosexual experience for everyone involved (geno has to contend with his feelings for sidney, a dear friend and colleague who he wants to both protect and win alongside, as well as his frustration towards nate, this doughy-faced and overemotional young firecracker… a lot like a certain sid, back in the day.) (sid has to deal with his feelings for geno, a respected teammate who he wanted to become captain after him but so clearly would rather not have that spot in his life replaced, and his new affection for this nate guy, someone who is so earnest and so competitive and so insane in exactly the same way as him that he’s not sure if it’s deliriously endearing or driving him nuts)(nate has to deal with his huge awfully enrapturing celebrity crush on someone he has always wanted to play with but who is apparently unavailable and has to deal with this sort of weird captainrookie mutual bullying homoeroticism he’s developed with geno)
i think this just ends up in a threesome tbh but who am i to say
UNPOPULAR OPINION
honestly… i do not find him that particularly attractive… i think it is maybe something to do with yalls competency kink (can’t blame u). the lips and the ass are great though he’s just almost too pretty for me.
also i am a sidstache truther
FAV RELATIONSHIP
genuine tie between nate, geno, and ovi
FAV HEADCANON
go read jes ticklefighthockey’s entire archive right now and then go read her entire ao3. THAT is true sidscholarship i do not feel as if i am anywhere near capable of that level of it
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Rwde bmblebe thoughts beneath the cut. Don’t want to see it don’t click.
What so now the official twitter posting a clip with a word for word quote from the clip is....confirmation it will happen? Really? Nothing about this tweet promises the bee's will happen, or did we all forget conveniently the FG trainwreck?
Something being tweeted by the official twitter is meaningless. Look at all the tweets about FG that where posted despite them knowing Clover would be brutally murdered at the end of the volume! A tweet is not canon material. A tweet isn't apart of the show. A tweet is not the same thing as something happening within the show.
And yes, we want the bee's to kiss because we don't like seeing people be queer baited. We don't like corporations stringing people along and ripping the representation away from them while laughing and calling them stupid for seeing what was being dangled infront of their eyes. Most of us who are calling Bmblebe queer baiting have lived through far too much of it. We don't want the bee's to have the same fate but we've seen RT pull this song and dance before. We know a tweet or a hint is meaningless to RT. This tweet is no more confirmation of something happening then any of the FG tweets and we need to stop pretending otherwise or nothing will ever change.
(Credit goes to a friend who wishes to remain anonymous for this edit)
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Day 11 of Ode to Phoenix
Inspired by Glen's tweet about Monica
"Monica Barbaro, who's representing female aviators everywhere in Top Gun: Maverick, gave my niece her own "Phoenix" Barbie on premiere day signed "keep your beautiful fire burning bright." The impact of "Phoenix" on young women is going to be incredible to watch"
Yes indeed, Glen, yes indeed
Summary: Natasha meets Hangman's family at an open house for the base
Pairings: Single Natasha "Phoenix" Trace
A/N: What do you do when need a little more time for your future Ode to Phoenix posts? Turn to a little real life inspo, apparently. No edits just straight from my brain to the page.
Open House
“Are you sure you’re not in for Six Flags?” Mash, one of the aviators from her squad, asks. Normally Natasha would be one of the first ones onboard for a day at the amusement park, but this Saturday morning she’s already dressed in her flight suit.
“Uh-uh,” she hums around the bobby pins held between her lips while she puts her hair up.
“C’mon! It’ll be fun, and we’ll have an even number.”
Natasha slides the last pin into place and checks the back of her bun in the bathroom mirror. “I can’t. I already have plans. Next time.”
Mash grumbles about having to ride by himself and lets her go. She pours herself a travel mug of coffee and checks her watch. Enough time to make a breakfast sandwich before Payback picks her up. English muffin, eggs, sausage, and cheese with Sriracha. He’s outside five minutes early, and she tosses everything in the sink to clean later before hurrying out to the car. She hands him the sandwich she made for him, knowing he’d only grabbed himself a granola bar for breakfast.
“Thanks,” he says excitedly. Natasha also passes him a paper towel so he doesn’t stain his uniform while cramming down the sandwich in four bites. She gives him a look of disgust and takes a reasonable bite of her own.
“I can’t drive and eat,” he says through a mouthful as he pulls off. “Damn, that was good, Phoenix.”
“Everything’s good with Sriracha,” she swears.
Fanboy can still smell the sandwiches when he gets in and pouts that he doesn’t get one. “Offer to drive some time,” Natasha teases, “and I’ll cook for you too.”
They get to the airfield and check-in, sliding their aviators on against the bright day. The skies are clear and the weather’s nice enough that their flight suits are comfortable. A range of aircraft is parked across the tarmac with tents set up in between for food vendors and family activities. Today is the base open house, part of the reason her squad is so eager to be elsewhere so they can avoid the traffic of military and civilian families coming to base.
But Natasha loves open houses. Getting to see children’s faces light up while they learn about what she does, hearing veterans’ service stories, or talking to families remembering their military loved ones are part of what makes her job meaningful. And there’s no moment more special than when little girls see there’s someone like them at the controls of such powerful machines.
The three of them take their time strolling toward the F/A-18 Hornet where they’ll be stationed for the day. Most of the time they’re absorbed in their own aircraft so it’s fun to get a chance to explore the others.
Her jaw nearly drops when she sees who else volunteered for the day. “Hangman! What are you doing here?” she sputters.
He grins toothily. As usual a toothpick dangles from his mouth. “I imagine the same as you, Phoenix,” he drawls. “Looking pretty for the cameras.”
She’s even more surprised to see Payback and Hangman go in for a man hug and him bump fists with Fanboy. Since when does he know her friends like that? Hangman and Payback give one another grief over their respective basketball teams and roll their eyes at her love for the Splash Brothers, Steph Curry and Klay Thompson. It is not just because they're hot or because Riley Curry gives stellar post game interviews, and it's not bandwagoning when you're from the Bay.
It’s not long before they have to break off their conversation to show visitors around the aircraft. As usual, the children get excited when they see aviators who look like them. Natasha can see them tug their parents over, pointing insistently. Along with Payback, Fanboy, and Hangman, she gladly crouches and gives high fives for pictures with the kids or joins in for family photos. A little girl is so excited to see Natasha that she flings herself around her thighs for a hug.
They meet a Korean War aviator and his family and two real life Rosie the Riveters who have been friends since their days building WWII planes together.
Natasha’s waving goodbye to a commander’s family when she hears high pitched voices squeal, “Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake!”
Three children come running full speed at Hangman. The oldest, probably no more than seven, gets to him first and launches herself into his open arms. He picks her up and hugs her tightly while she wraps her legs around him like a koala. The two boys go for his waist and leg so that he looks like a climbing tree of children.
He greets them boisterously, giving the little girl a big kiss on her forehead and ruffling both boys’ hair. “How are my favorite kiddos?” he asks. They all fight to speak over one another while a blonde woman and an amiable older couple catch up to them. This must be Hangman’s family!
“Is that your plane?” the little girl asks, pointing to the Hornet.
“It’s one like it,” he tells her. “Hey, Pheebs, you want to meet that cool lady I told you about?”
The little girl nods so hard that Natasha worries she might give herself a concussion. To her shock, Hangman turns toward her. “C’mon I’m going to introduce you to Phoenix.”
And suddenly, she’s surrounded by his family who greet her as if they’ve known her for years. The older couple are his parents. The blonde woman is his sister and mother of two of the children while the third is one of their cousins. Hangman waves over Payback and Fanboy to introduce them too.
“Phoebe, this is Phoenix. Phoenix, Phoebe.”
The little girl tucks her hair behind her ear and reaches out to shake Natasha’s hand. She’s wearing a flight suit with a patch that Hangman must have given her. “Do you fly with Uncle Jake?” she asks, leaning her head shyly against her uncle’s.
“Sometimes,” Natasha smiles.
Hangman grins at his niece and sets her down. “They can’t put all the best pilots on the same squad, sweetheart.” Has he really told his family that she’s one of the best pilots? “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Phoenix when you met her?”
Phoebe’s face lights up, and she turns to her mother. “Mommy, can I have it please?”
Noel, his sister, reaches into the large tote on her shoulder and pulls out a small helmet. She hands it to Phoebe who presents it solemnly to Natasha. “Could you sign the helmet Uncle Jake got for me please?”
Natasha’s still trying to catch up to this new side of Hangman who beams at his family and has a cool uncle fan club. “Of course, I’d be honored,” she promises. “I don’t have a pen though so–.”
His sister is prepared and hands her a sharpie. Natasha takes it gratefully and considers what to write. She glances at Hangman who’s watching her with a strange gleam in his eyes. Trying to figure out what’s going through his head almost distracts her from what she’s supposed to be doing.
Natasha uncaps the pen with Hangman’s help and writes as neatly as she can, Phoebe, Keep your beautiful fire burning bright. With Admiration, Phoenix.”
Phoebe’s mouth drops open and the helmet nearly tumbles from her hands when Natasha returns it. The Seresins gasp excitedly at the message. “Can you read what that says, sweetie?” Noel prompts her daughter.
Phoebe reads, following her finger along the words. Hangman gently adjusts it so she doesn’t smear the still drying ink. “Phoebe. Keep your be…”
“Beautiful,” Noel supplies.
Phoebe nods. “Keep your beautiful fire bur…”
Hangman helps her out. “Keep your beautiful fire burning bright. With Admiration, Phoenix. How’s that, skittle? What do you say?”
“So cool,” Phoebe says in awe. She looks up at Natasha, even more in awe. Natasha feels her heart bursting at how adorable and sweet Phoebe is. “Thank you, Phoenix.” Welp, there go her ovaries too.
“You’re welcome. Want to see what we have to do before we take off?”
“Gotta put my helmet on first,” Phoebe says, wiggling the gear onto her head. “Okay!” And without prompting, she slips her hand into Natasha’s. “Let’s go!”
His nephews, Connor and Declan, tag along at her side.
And the soaring feeling Natasha gets as they circle the jet together is the same one she had her first time behind the controls. Sharing her love of flying with them reminds her why she does this.
Hangman's family insists on pictures with all of them and adorable one of her and Phoebe that Natasha is too shy to admit she might frame.
He's just as shy when he thanks her for being so gracious to them after they've left.
"So you think I'm the best, huh?" she asks.
He bumps her shoulder. "Don't let it go to head. I was trying to inspire children here."
Natasha waves another family over. "Too late. I'm going to take every chance to remind you that you said that about me."
Hangman doesn't look at all put out by the threat.
Ode to Phoenix Masterlist
#ode to phoenix#28 days of phoenix#natasha phoenix trace fic#natasha phoenix trace#natasha trace fic#phoenix fic#jake hangman seresin
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return to sender
Fandom: bnha (my hero academia)
Relationship: Platonic Touya & Shouto post-War
Rating: Gen
Additional tags: fem!Todoroki, learning, healjng, and live all together
Summary (AO3 link in reblog):
Shouto visits Touya just before Valentine’s Day.
“You almost killed yourself in one of these when you were a dumb baby, you know.”
Shouto looks at Touya curiously. The sun wanes in the sky, still an hour out from sunset. The koi pond they’re sitting by reflects golden hues in the scales of the fish.
“What happened?” she asks.
Touya doesn’t look at her, focusing on the fish beneath their dangling legs instead. She doesn’t mind. It’s enough for her that the two of them can sit here, like this.
“You stumbled into the pond when no one was watching. Mom must’ve been gardening or something, I don’t know. You didn’t even yell. I found you splashing pathetically, half frozen in the water with tears rolling down your face.”
Shouto kicks her legs. The action is freeing. She’d never been allowed to in childhood; her tutors would snap a wooden stick across her shins. “So you saved me.”
Touya scoffs. “You would have killed the fish, and that was the only good thing that godforsaken place had going for it.”
It’s quiet out here, in the countryside, away from Musutafu. Away from the house, from the history there. Their father is away in Fukushima for a charity event, no longer a working hero with what the War had brought out.
Strangely, Shouto thinks he doesn’t mind. It’s almost inconceivable to consider, that her father spends his time out here with Touya, away from the public eye. She can’t reflect on it for too long without it becoming difficult to breathe.
“No one saw?”
“Obviously not. You couldn’t even figure out how to dry yourself. Just sniffled with smoke coming off of you.” There’s a twitch at the edge of his lips as he follows the koi as they float, suspended in the cold water. “I had to pick water weeds out of your hair after I dried you.”
The only thing Endeavor used to tell her about her siblings was how jealous they were of her quirk, how they would be grateful for the training she received, how superior she was to them. The only thing she had ever heard about Touya was that he tried to kill her as a baby, and if she didn’t train diligently, she would turn out to be a failure like him.
These moments are a blessing she doesn’t deserve, to sit across her brother like this and reminisce, to hear things so different to what she knew. It causes an addicting warmth to rise in her chest.
She’s lucky. She’s so lucky. It could have all been so different.
“Should’ve let you drown, honestly.” Touya says, eyeing her.
“I don’t think my body would have been good for the ecosystem,” Shouto says. “Then I would have really killed the fish.”
“Look at you. An environmentalist on top of being the golden prodigy.”
There’s still some resentment behind the words. He’s watching her now, assessing her reaction. She never knows how to respond, can only hope that what she says won’t end in a fight.
“I’ll add the endorsement to my twitter bio.”
There’s no burst of blue flames, in fact, Touya — Touya snorts, rolling his eyes. “That’ll be the most exciting thing on your entire profile. How is it possible for you to be even more boring online?”
“I’m not boring,” Shouto defends. “I tweet about exciting things all the time.”
Touya is already pulling his phone out of his pocket. He was given internet access two months ago (monitored, of course). Fuyumi had made a group chat immediately, which Touya had tried to leave six times before Fuyumi had started a group call to yell at him. He doesn’t text often — mostly reacts 👎 to memes Natsuo sends, 🙄 to questions Shouto asks, and 🫡 to every single one of Fuyumi’s texts, including the one where she told him to stop adding reactions to every single one of her texts.
“I recently had the amazing opportunity to spend two weeks volunteering at JCN,” Touya reads, sarcasm dripping from every word. Shouto thinks he would have been good at being a stage actor, or maybe a newscaster.
…she keeps that thought to herself.
“That is exciting,” Shouto interrupts. “And it’s important. Did you know that 93% of cats who are returned are euthanized? It’s even worse with the recent zoning changes —”
“You literally say exactly that here. I think you need more talking points.”
“You could volunteer with me next time.”
“Pass. I’d rather drown in the koi pond.”
“Not very environmentalist of you,” Shouto mutters.
Touya knocks his shoulder into hers. “Look at that,” he croons. “Baby’s first joke.”
They slip into silence. The sun slips further down in the sky. Shouto needs to leave eventually. She has class tomorrow, and her father will return here in the evening. Their relationship has gotten better, and Shouto has even forgiven him, but —
— but it was still hard, sometimes.
Empty trees shift with a slight breeze. The two of them sit in a single layer of clothing each. Their quirks are even more similar, now.
“Mom sent this for you,” she says, pulling an envelope and a small box out of her bag and handing it over. Touya raises an eyebrow but takes it from her, setting the package to the side, holding the letter in his hands.
He turns it over a few times. There’s only his name written on it, in their mom’s handwriting. It’s not a particularly thick letter, or anything particularly elaborate — Rei had used stationary gifted to her by Shouto. Touya sets it aside and opens the box.
“We made chocolate the other day,” Shouto offers by way of explanation. “Fuyumi helped. I brought you some.”
Touya picks up a chocolate piece between two fingers, but makes no move to eat it. After a few seconds, it melts instantly into his hand.
“Oh,” Shouto says. “I have some hand wipes —”
“Why are you still here?” Touya says, abruptly, coating his hand in ice and melting it off. The chocolate water drips into the pond. “You did your good deed for the month, and you can go home and sleep peacefully now.”
This happens, sometimes. The testing. The unsaid do you actually care? Shouto’s all too familiar with it herself. Pushing people away because letting them in made it your fault when they would hurt you.
(She can never convey just how deeply grateful she is for her friends, for pulling her in. )
She doesn’t move, but doesn’t push in closer either. “I didn’t visit to do a good deed,” Shouto rebuffs softly. “I visited because I wanted to spend time with you.”
“Right,” Touya scoffs. “Because you’re just so good and loving.”
“I’m not trying to be good,” Shouto says, trying not to let frustration leak into her voice. It’s a familiar conversation, and she’s not sure what spurred it, exactly. “I do love you. I come because I love you.”
“You’re fucked up, you know that, right?,” Touya says cruelly. “Just like me. I’ve tried to kill you your whole life, and you’re sitting here saying you love me.”
“You saved me, too,” she says quietly. Touya’s eyes narrow. “I don’t care if it’s fucked up. It won’t change.”
“How sentimental.”
There was nothing Touya hated more than sentiment.
“What did I do wrong?” Shouto says plainly.
“Why do you assume you did something wrong?”
“You’re upset. I made you upset.”
Touya rolls his eyes. “Not everything is about you, little hero.”
“But you’re upset.”
Touya stands up suddenly. The air around them heats up, and the frost over the pond begins to melt. Shouto doesn’t move, watching him carefully. “You seriously don’t get it,” he laughs. “You seriously don’t know.”
He stalks away from where they were sitting. Just when he’s gotten far enough that Shouto almost stands up to follow, he stops. She can see the energy slump from his form, and he turns back.
“You always needed things spelled out for you,” he mutters. “Could never understand hints unless they were said straight out to you. Even then, you’d still hang off of me until I pushed you off.”
Shouto waits.
“You’re the only one who makes such an effort, you know?” Touya says, finally. “If it wasn't for our birthdays just recently, I wouldn’t have even seen Mom. Even Natsuo barely knows what to say to me.”
Shouto doesn’t know what to say to that, either. She still lives at the dorms, only coming home for the weekend, and they’re still settling into their family dynamic at home.
“…I never saw Mom until I went myself,” she says eventually. “Sometimes I think it wasn’t a good idea. We…ended up crying making the chocolate. I think I made her cry. Even though she denied it.”
“Save it for your therapist,” Touya snaps.
“It’s not easy,” Shouto says. She takes a deep breath. It’s not easy to say this either, to be so candid about her feelings. But it was not talking about anything that got their family in this mess in the first place, so she continues. “We’re both learning. I think we might always be.”
“You want me to reach out,” Touya says, mirth underlying his words.
“Mom tried to save you at Gunga too,” Shouto says. “Most of your skin grafts are grown from,” she stops herself from saying what was left, “— from her.”
“This is how we show love in our fucked up family, huh,” Touya says.
“My therapist loves that topic,” Shouto shrugs, and Touya looks at her for a moment before doubling over with a wheeze.
“God,” he chokes out. “This is my life.”
“I’m happy you let me be part of it,” Shouto says.
“Fuck off,” Touya says back, but it’s without the heat of their earlier convo. He picks the chocolate back up. “Surprised you made chocolate and not your shitty noodles.”
“…”
Touya turns so quickly towards her Shouto has to suppress a flinch. “Don’t fucking tell me. Are you serious?”
Touya was always quick on the uptake. “I didn’t say anything,” Shouto says weakly. She’s glad they shifted conversation topics, but. This one?
“You?”
“I don’t know why that’s such a surprise,” Shouto says, definitely not sulking.
“What the fuck,” Touya says, laughing in disbelief. “Wow. Who is it?”
“…is that really important.”
“Yes,” Touya says with emphasis. “Absolutely. As your older brother, I have to know. It’s part of how things work. I have to approve.”
“What happened to our fucked up family dynamic?” Shouto asks.
“This is the only normal part,” Touya dismisses. “Tell me. Or the first thing I’ll tell Mom is that you never talk to me.”
“She’ll know that’s not true,” Shouto says, exasperatedly. Touya gestures give it up.
Shouto sighs. “It’s Bakugou.”
Touya’s silent for all of one second. “Explosion boy? You’re joking. This can’t be real. Shouto, he’s fucking crazy.”
“I just told you his name,” Shouto says. “And I’m crazy too.”
“You’re one of the sanest people I know,” Touya brushes off. “Unbelievable. He looked insane in that fight with AFO. Literally manic.”
Shouto is silent for just a little too long. “Shut the fuck up. You found that hot?”
“We’re friends,” Shouto stresses. “We get along. We have fun.”
“This is my next therapy topic,” Touya mutters.
“It’s really not that serious,” Shouto says.
“No, it really is. Unbelievable.” Touya eats a piece of chocolate, continuing to mutter to himself. “Blasty boy. Toga’s going to lose her mind.”
“Bakugou,” Shouto corrects, and Touya rolls his eyes with exaggeration.
The alarm on her phone rings, thankfully disrupting the moment. “That’s for my train,” Shouto says.
“You’re ru~nning~ a~way,” Touya singsongs.
“I am not.” Shouto stands, brushing dirt off the back of her skirt. Touya watches her lazily, making no move to get up himself. “I’ll tell you how it went the next time I visit.”
“I’m equal parts interested and horrified at finding out,” Touya says, looking up at her.
“You’re being dramatic again.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand in the air languidly. “Feel free to never come back too. You won’t be missed.”
She can hold his gaze. There’s no trace of the glee she saw in the forest the first time, no manic glint from the first time he hugged her.
Or — not the first time, actually. A time. And if she’s lucky, if he lets her, it won’t be the last.
Shouto smiles. “See you in two weeks, Touya-nii.”
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hm i wanna cuddle with haechan and jeno so bad
(＞﹏＜)
nO BUT MOVIE NIGHT WITH BEST FRIENDS HYUCK AND JENO WHERE YOU JUST CHAT AND CHAT AND EAT NTO EVEN PAYING ATTENTIONT O THE MOVIE AND THEN THE THREE OF YOU JSUT COLLECTOVLEY DECIDE TIS NAP TIME AAAAAAA
sharing a big blanket with the both of them with popcorn kernels scattered all around it but you don't care, you'll clean it in the morning. hyuck has his cheek pressed against your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you :(((( i remember a tweet saying haechan mentioned liking to sleep w jeno bc he lets him cuddle but this time its you and jeno :((((((((((( fave nap buddies :((((((((((
you have your head against jeno's back, hugging him as well as half his body dangles over the edge of the couch LMFAOOOO his face stuffed into the armrest of the couch and all AAAAAA
in the morning you're all confused as to why the fuck your backs are SO sore and blame each other HAHAHAHAH
soft hours open !
#asks!#anon!#haechan!#jeno!#nohyuck!#lee donghyuck imagines#lee donghyuck x reader#lee jeno imagines#lee jeno x reader#nct dream fluff
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for the 'send me a character' ask: Amy :D
Send Me a Character & I'll Tell You✨️
My first impression
my introduction to amy was through raphaels soulcalibur ii bio, and i already loved raphael so i was like "!!!! HE HAS A DAUGHTER?!?!"
My impression now
i truly dont think there is a character in all of media who i love more than i love amy tbh. i will say that where sc6 does a lot to actually give her a story, it also takes away in terms of characterization lol. sc6 is probably the corniest shes ever sounded, and i really hope sc7 does a better job with that
Favorite thing about that character
i LOVE jaded characters who have to learn to let people love them, who then would do anything to protect their new found loved ones
Least favorite thing
i just dont think a teenager needs to have so much skin showing tbh. its fine on viola because shes an adult but amys outfits have so many unneccesary openings, not to mention the fact that her openings do too much to get upskirt shots. not a fan
Favorite line/scene
unfortunately there are not that many to choose from lol but its probably a tossup between her soulcalibur 4 cutscene where she pushes raphael off a ledge, or in soulcalibur 6 when maelys told her raphael only wanted to be disturbed if there was a problem, and amy took out a knife and held it up to her own hand and said "how many fingers do i need to lose before it becomes a problem?"
Favorite interaction that character has with another
look i know raphael is her person, i love their relationship, but they just dont have anything interesting going on when they actually interact with each other. if you are allowing me to include viola in the mix, it would have to be when zwei saved viola from the angry towns people. but if its JUST amy, then its the noncanon scene from soulcalibur 3 where kilik is being very gentle in caring for amy while curing her of malfestation
A character that I wish that character would interact with more
literally any of them. make kilik wanting to cure her canon. let her be friends with talim. LET ME SEE THE SCHWARZWIND FOUND FAMILY I BEG!!
Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character
reptile/syzoth from mortal kombat 1 specifically has so many parallels with amy its actually quite funny. both were largely alone, and it was them against the world. both eventually found someone who loved them, who they in turn loved (raphael for amy, his wife for syzoth), both were then exploited by a mad scientist (azwel for amy, shang tsung for syzoth) who dangled their loved ones fate above their head, and if amys story is going in the direction i think its going, both her and syzoth are going to be unwilling participants in their respective mad scientist's depravity
A headcanon about that character
despite the fact that viola lacks memories of her time as amy, there are still echoes of amy that unwittingly present themselves and would stand out to anyone who knew amy personally before she lost her memories. for example, viola loves the taste of chocolate. it makes her feel warm and safe for reasons she cant explain.
A song that reminds of that character
overwhelmed by royal and the serpent
An unpopular opinion about that character
it was actually an interesting idea to have her lose her memories and there is quite the bit of potential in allowing that arc to play out again while still being true to who amy is. amy does not have to stay a pigtail wearing daddy issues having child forever, contrary to popular belief
Favorite picture
i dont want to repost other peoples art so i will instead link to the tweet my favorite art came from
thank you for the ask!
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Huckleberry
Summary: A cursed object sends Dean and Cas back in time to Tombstone, Arizona -- but Cas’ vessel gets left behind. (Aka, the one where Cas takes Doc Holliday as a vessel and Dean has a ball in this bitch.)
Word Count: 14.6k
Basically, I saw this tweet and went absolutely buckwild. Enjoy.
Read on AO3.
This wasn’t Dean’s fault. If anything, it was Sam’s. If Sam hadn’t made them catalog the contents of the bunker’s storage unit while he took the night off to have dinner with Eileen in the first place, none of this would have happened. So what, if Dean had tried to make it go faster by piling a bunch of the objects in a box and bringing it into the Dean Cave? So what, if Dean turned on Tombstone to keep him and Cas entertained? It wasn’t like he’d planned on Cas picking up some cursed object that – apparently – sent them back in time.
Or, at least, it had sent Dean back in time. Because, for the second time in his life, he found himself standing on the dusty dirt road of some Wild West town.
The blistering sun baked the desert earth, filling the dry air with the pungent stink of the horses and mules that slowly led the creaking wooden rigs down the street. A woman in a long-sleeve dress that was buttoned fully to her neck marshaled a flock of children down the boarded sidewalks, passing a couple of men sitting in the shaded overhang in front of one of the saloons. The men’s hats were hanging from their knees, revealing their sweat-glistened hair. One of them hacked into the spittoon as soon as the woman’s back was to them. Across the street, a man was sweeping the sidewalk in front of a set of batwing doors, and Dean figured it must have been pretty early, because there wasn’t anyone coming in or out of the saloon.
Not that the time of day was his focus at the moment, since he had some other pretty important time-related concerns. But first thing’s first: Where the hell was Cas?
The last thing Dean remembered, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, a bunch of ancient relic shit between them and an open notebook resting beside Dean’s knee. On screen, Wyatt Earp was pulling Johnny Tyler out of the Oriental Saloon by the ear. Cas had picked something up: a silver locket that dangled by a tarnished chain. Brows furrowed, he’d pried the thing open before Dean even realized what was happening. Cas had given a loud groan of pain – practically a shout – and the bright blue-white light of his grace erupted in his eyes. Dean had launched himself forward on reflex and snatched the locket out of Cas’ hand. Next thing he knew, he was here. Wherever here was.
And Cas wasn’t.
Dean looked down at the locket clenched in his fist. His heart was clogging his throat, and every time he blinked, he saw the image of Cas’ exploding grace tattooed behind his eyelids. What if Cas was dead, his wings burned forever into the floor of the TV room? What if he was gone and Dean was trapped in the past?
First thing’s first, Dean reminded himself, and categorically forced himself not to jump to the worst-case scenario – even though it was pretty easy to do. He wound up the locket’s chain and shoved it into his pocket, deciding to get his bearings before he figured out anything else.
He brought his eyes up, taking a closer look at the town of wood and adobe structures. The men were still sitting in chairs on the sidewalk; someone was hitching their horse to a post; a guy with a bushy, walrus mustache and a tin star on his vest was walking down the street – and it was weird, but he looked familiar. Dean rattled his head and looked away, trying not to make eye contact with the guy, because no matter who he was, he was a cop. His eyes fell on the man sweeping, and for the first time, he noticed what the decal on the plate glass window behind him read.
The Oriental Saloon.
Dean froze.
“No way.”
Quickly, he looked across the street at the saloon the men were sitting in front of. The Crystal Palace. A few doors up, there was the storefront for the Epitaph newspaper.
Dean’s chest swelled with excitement and, even though he was totally screwed, he couldn’t help the laugh that puffed out of him.
The man with the tin star wasn’t just any old cop. He was US Marshal and Chief of Police, Virgil Earp, Wyatt Earp’s brother. And Dean wasn’t just in any old Wild West town. He was in Tombstone.
“Cas, you better be here to see this,” Dean breathed out, and when his own words processed, his smile faded.
Cas couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t dead. Dean just needed to find him. Then, they could both get home – after getting their fill of Tombstone, of course.
Dean walked toward the Oriental, figuring it was as good a place as any to start the Cas search. He pushed through the batwing doors, hearing them flap satisfyingly closed behind him. There were only a few people in the saloon, the majority of them sitting around a baize-lined faro table as the dealer shuffled the cards. The saloonkeeper had finished sweeping. He was now behind the bar, wiping down the polished wood with a rag. Dean watched himself approach in the mirror behind the bottles of whiskey.
The owner glanced up. If Dean’s history was right – and, duh, it was right – the guy’s name was Milt Joyce.
“Morning,” Joyce said, slapping the rag over his shoulder. He leaned into the bar. His gaze flickered up and down Dean’s person, a funny look forming on his face, and Dean realized for the first time that he wasn’t exactly blending. “What can I do for you?”
Dean eyed the whiskey. Last time he’d traveled back in time to the west, the stuff had tasted worse than rubbing alcohol. He wondered if he should get a shot anyway, just to calm his nerves. But it’s not like he had any money on him.
Licking his lips in an attempt to quell the fluttering of his heart, he said, “Uh, actually, I’m looking for somebody. Thought he may have passed through here. Any chance you saw a guy about this tall –” he leveled his palm, indicating an inch shorter than his own height. “Dark hair? Ugly-ass tan coat?”
Joyce pulled a thoughtful face and shook his head. “Can’t say I have.” Dean tried not to let that get to him. It was a longshot, anyway. Cas could be anywhere. “You check with the marshal’s office?”
The idea wasn’t half bad. Dean could go back outside and have a chat with Virgil. Hell, maybe Wyatt and Morgan would even pitch in. Some of the giddiness returning to him, Dean said, “Thanks. And, uh, if he does come in here – can you let ‘im know Dean’s looking for him?”
Off Joyce’s nod, Dean turned and walked out of the saloon. He squinted up and down the street, trying to catch sight of Virgil Earp, but he was gone. Dean’s eyes lit upon the intersection with Allen Street, and he wondered if Virgil turned down there. He might have even been walking in the direction of the OK Corral.
And, while Dean was looking for him – and for Cas – he might as well do some sightseeing.
After ambling a block down Allen, the swinging wooden sign for the corral came into view, and the gross horse smell only grew until Dean’s eyes were practically watering. The high wooden gate to the corral opened, and a horse was being led out by the reins, a brunette man in a long coat tugging it along. Dean did a double take, stopping short, his boots scuffing against the dust, sending a coughing cloud around his ankles. It wasn’t Cas. The coat was too dark, the build was all wrong.
Dean exhaled, his shoulders dropping despondently. Try as he might, the creeping sensation that Cas was gone hollowed him out. Without really seeing them at all, he watched the man and the horse walk off, his thoughts spinning. He was in Tombstone, and all he could think about was Cas.
Because what the hell good was any of this if he didn’t get to educate Cas on the history of the place? Who would he drag all around town, from one future-tourist-trap to the next? Who’d start the movie over with him once they got home so he could compare the set to the real thing? Who’d humor Dean by allowing all of that with only mild complaining? Nobody except Cas.
The words kicked up a whirlwind inside Dean’s head. Somehow, they made sense of the warm feeling in his chest that he’d been experiencing for – well, fuck, years.
Nobody except Cas.
Despair and determination pulled his heart in different directions as he walked closer to the pen surrounding the corral and folded his arms atop one of the wooden slats. He scanned the area, eyes catching on the boxy building in the next lot over. C.S. Fly’s Photography Gallery was painted in giant curving letters on the false front. Then, he turned his attention to the stable, the sign overhead casting a shadow over his face, advertising the name that wasn’t yet famous. Wasn’t yet in the history books. And Dean wished he could have mustered a little more excitement about this.
Next time he saw Cas, he was gonna punch him for ruining this for him.
“C’mon, man,” he muttered. It felt more like a prayer, and maybe it was one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone walk around from the other side of the photo gallery. A tall shadow stretched across the bleached dirt.
“Dean.”
The voice wasn’t familiar. It was low and raspy yet honey-slow, dripping in a sweet Southern twang, the kind that left the taste of peaches on the tongue. Dean startled, his body going rigid and fingers itching toward his empty waistband, where his Colt should have been if he hadn’t been expecting a quiet night in with his buddy. He sized up the man in front of him – the swoop of ashy blonde hair that parted to the right, the fair mustache over a light brush of freckles, the sharp gray-blue eyes that looked as if they could see right through Dean. Slender in build, the guy was wearing a perfectly tailored gray suit, polished boots, and gray bow tie in the collar of his pastel blue shirt.
Dean’s heart skipped, and then it’d never beat so fast in his life. Because he knew this guy from extensive Googling. He looked nothing like Val Kilmer.
“You’re Doc Holliday,” he burst out before he could stop himself. He could practically feel his eyes twinkling. Catching himself, he tried to reel it in by clearing his throat before he could say something else stupid. Something along the lines of I’m your biggest fan.
Doc took a step closer, his long and skinny legs closing the space between them. He was a few inches shorter than Dean, which was jarring. In Dean’s imagination, he was a giant.
“For the time being,” he said, and Dean had no idea what that meant for a second. It dawned on him half a second before he was told, “It’s me, Dean.”
Maybe Dean should have figured that out right away, since there was no way the Doc Holliday would know Dean’s name. Still, his brain short circuited. Wide-eyed, he took another sweeping look up and down the person in front of him.
“Cas?”
Cas used Doc Holliday’s head to nod.
Dean was still having a hard time processing. “You’re riding Doc Holliday?”
“Temporarily,” Cas clarified. “When we were sent here, my vessel remained in the bunker. I didn’t want to take another one, but it was the only way to talk to you.”
Dean shook his head. “Okay, so you go for one of the most famous guys in town?”
Cas sighed in exasperation, and Dean was struck by just how familiar it was. Apparently, Cas was still Cas no matter what vessel he was in. “He was… in pain.” He reached into his trouser pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. The clean white was speckled with fresh red. “It’s his illness.” Tuberculous. It was the thing that would eventually kill him. “He was reluctant to let me in at first. He… took some convincing. I offered to heal him.”
Dean sucked in a breath, about to ask if that would mess with some space-time continuum shit, but then Cas added, “Not permanently, but I managed to repair enough damage to his lungs to buy him at least five more years of life.”
Dean figured he’d need it for everything that was about to happen.
An amazed breath forced its way out of Dean’s throat as the information sunk in. “Dude. You’re Doc Holliday. This is awesome!”
“Dean, focus,” Cas snipped, and it was still a little weird hearing him talking with that voice, with its Southern twang and ever so slight lisp. It was so unlike his real voice – or, well, Jimmy Novak’s voice. Still, there was something about it. Little hints of Cas just underneath. Dean was glad he was there, and not dead.
“Right, yeah,” Dean said, pulling on his mouth. “So, what the hell happened? Last thing I remember is you opening up that locket…”
Cas nodded. “Yeah, it must have been cursed.”
“Ya think?”
“It did something to my grace. I think I may be the one who sent us back in time. I must have taken us here because of the movie.”
“Well, can you get us back?”
“I don’t know.” He pressed his lips together in a forlorn line, his eyes, the wrong shade of blue, becoming apologetic. “Time travel is difficult. I don’t want us to risk us getting separated.”
Dean scoffed, because he couldn’t agree more.
“I tried praying to Jack. He may be able to bring us home, but I – I dunno. I don’t know if he can hear me,” Cas said, tone laden with anxiety in the way that always put Dean in mama bear mode.
“Look, we’ll figure it out,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt. An idea striking him, he reached into his jeans and pulled out the locket. “What about this? You think it’s still got any juice in it?”
“Maybe.” Cas plucked the locket from him with long, delicate fingers. He turned it over, frowning down at it unsurely. “Should we… open it?”
That sounded like a pretty stupid idea, but it was the only one they had. “Well, I figure it’ll either send us home or it’ll dump us somewhere else in time. You’re the gambler.”
Cas shot him an unimpressed glare, and Dean couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that stretched onto his cheeks.
“Fine,” Cas said, holding the locket in two hands. “Hold on to me in case this works. I don’t want to lose you.”
Dean knew what he meant by that, but the words still passed through Dean like a steel blade. He fought them down with a hard swallow, ignoring the voice in his head that wished he’d heard Cas say that in his normal voice.
He raised his hand and clapped it to Cas’ shoulder, hanging on tight. Holding his breath, he watched as Cas opened the locket.
And nothing happened.
There weren’t even pictures inside.
Dean huffed and let his hand fall down Cas’ arm. “Well, that was a bust.”
“We’ll have to find something else.” Cas looked at Dean, expression pinched in confusion. “Do you think there are any witches here that could help us?” As if Dean could possibly answer that question.
“Hang on, let me Google Maps it,” he droned.
Cas rolled his eyes and handed the locket back to Dean. Dean wrapped the chain around his fingers and dropped it back into his pocket.
From down the street, a cheerful voice called, “Doc! Hey, Doc!”
Both their gazes whipped toward the grinning man jogging up to them. He had a mop of sandy-brown hair on his head, and his mustache drooped past his upturned lips. Dean’s breath caught. His eyes snapped to Cas, wanting to share in the excitement, but judging from the stiff look on Cas’ face, he had no idea that they were being approached by another Earp brother.
“Hey, Doc,” Morgan Earp said when he came to stop in front of them. Still a little out of breath, he said, “Was coming to knock on your door. Didn’t expect to find you already up. It’s only 11:30.” He laughed merrily and clapped Cas on the back, rocking Cas’ thin frame in the unexpected friendly gesture.
“Uh,” Cas said, wooden and stilted. He was practically a deer in the headlights.
Morgan didn’t seem to notice. His attention fell to Dean. “Who’s your friend?”
“Dean,” Dean said before Cas could mess this up by speaking. He held out his hand. “Dean Winchester.”
“Nice to meet ya. Name’s Morgan Earp,” Morgan said, his hand warm and welcoming when he shook Dean’s it.
Cas finally managed to catch on. “Morgan Earp,” he said. “Of course. From Tombstone.”
Dean wilted.
Morgan shot Cas a skeptical look before seeming to decide it didn’t matter. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt, but it’s kinda urgent. Virg got some reports of some funny business in the Dragoons. Figured he’s gotta fulfill his US Marshal duties by checking it out. Asked us to come with.”
“What kinda funny business?” Dean asked.
Morgan shrugged. “Not sure. A group of cowpokers came in to report it, but they didn’t make much sense. Sounds like somebody slaughtered a bunch of cattle coming up from Texas.”
Dean’s stomach soured. He shared a heavy look at Cas, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Cattle mutilation was a demonic omen, but it usually didn’t happen while the cattle were on the move.
“You need an extra set of hands?” Dean asked, because these lawmen might have been legendary, but they were still just cops. That meant they had no idea what they were really up against.
“Sure,” Morgan said. He turned, waving for them to follow. “C’mon. We’re meeting up with Wyatt before heading out.”
Instantly, Dean’s concern turned to exuberance. He shot another glance at Cas, whose eyes were already waiting for him, looking at him with a raised brow. Dean was practically panting like a dog waiting for its owner to throw a stick. He bounded after Morgan.
Morgan led them back down Allen. He chatted the entire way, talking about the card game he was in the night before, and how it was a “shame you weren't there, Doc. You woulda swept up.” Cas was as stiff as ever, barely even nodding in response, but Morgan seemed content to talk enough for the both of them. Dean hung on his every word.
In fact, he was so wrapped up in the story, he barely noticed what storefront they were walking into until Cas stopped walking and asked dubiously, “Your brother is in an ice cream parlor?”
Dean blinked, looking at the decal on the glass window set into the door. He’d expected Morgan to bring them into a saloon or the sheriff’s office or something.
Morgan laughed casually. “You know Wyatt,” he said in the same teasing little brother tone Sam always used, “gotta get his scoop a day.” He pulled open the door, leading them in.
Dean hovered in the threshold for a second, looking at Cas over his shoulder. “Too bad Jack’s not here.” The kid was an ice cream fanatic. More than once, Dean caught him in the kitchen past his bedtime, eating the stuff right from the tub.
Don't tell, Jack would always say.
Give me another spoon and you got yourself a deal, Dean would respond.
Cas gave Dean a soft smile at the mention of Jack, the kind that always caused a swoop in Dean’s chest that he could never decide was akin to falling or flying. It looked a little different on Doc Holliday’s face, though. It made something pluck at Dean’s heart.
He missed Cas’ old vessel.
Sure it was still Cas inside there, which was the most important part. But Dean couldn't help but feel like something was missing. Maybe it was the touch of him under Dean’s hand. It was too different.
He’d get Cas into the right vessel again. He'd get Cas – both of them – home. But first…
Dean ran his hand through his hair to make sure he looked acceptable and followed Morgan inside the parlor. It looked almost exactly like a saloon, except, instead of a bar, there were tubs of ice cream packed into ice in a display case. A soda machine sat next to the antique register. The woman behind the counter gave Morgan a wave hello, which he offered back jovially, before he bee-lined to a table toward the back of the room.
And there he was: Wyatt Earp.
He was just sitting there at the table, like he wasn't the coolest person who ever lived. His narrow blue eyes scanned the open newspaper drooping from one hand to the table. His other hand was propped on the table next to a delicate saucer with melting strawberry ice cream. A silver spoon was pinched between his fingers. His long legs were crossed under the table, a rugged hat on his knee – perched precariously, but with the confidence of a man who knew not even an inanimate object would go against his orders.
Old pictures digitized and put on the internet didn't do his steely, commanding presence justice. Hell, they didn't even do the mustache justice!
Virgil sat across from him, wrapped up in his own newspaper.
Morgan strolled up to them like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“Morg,” Wyatt greeted without looking up. The sound of his voice was no-nonsense and to-the-point and totally All-American. “Good of you to join us.”
“Picked up a couple of strays on my way over,” Morgan said.
Finally, Wyatt lifted his eyes. They latched onto Cas first, lingering for just a second, barely enough time to give away the flash of pleasure in them before he nodded curtly. But Dean caught it. He always did when someone looked at Cas like that. Normally, it set his teeth on edge, even if he tried to hide it. He just didn't know why it raised his hackles in this case, but he didn't have time to figure it out before Wyatt’s attention moved to him.
Because, then the only thing Dean could think was, Holy shit. That's Wyatt Earp.
“Who’s this?” Wyatt asked, still scrutinizing Dean.
Dean opened his mouth to answer, but all he did was gap like a teen girl at a One Direction concert.
“I saw you heading into the Oriental not too long ago,” Virgil observed. Dean didn’t think anyone had been paying attention to him when he first arrived, but he guessed he’d been wrong. Now, Virgil was assessing him again, frowning at Dean’s clothes – and Dean really needed to change. No wonder he stuck out like a sore thumb. “Haven’t seen you around here. You new in town?”
“You could say that,” Dean answered, finding his voice. He looked at Wyatt and did his damndest to control his face. “Name’s Dean Winchester. I’m a…” He couldn’t say he was a marshal or else they’d ask to see his badge. Thinking quickly, he decided on, “Special Agent for Wells Fargo. Heard there was trouble outside town and figured I’d lend a hand.”
The brothers nodded, seeming to accept it well enough.
“Well, Mr. Winchester, this here’s my brother, Virgil,” Wyatt said, his newspaper rustling as he folded it up. “I’m Wyatt Earp.”
Dean couldn’t help the giddy rush that shot through him. “I know.” Wyatt looked at him sharply, so it was apparently the wrong thing to say. Trying to hide his flush of embarrassment, he amended, “I mean… everyone knows who you are, don’t they?”
Wyatt’s gaze was steady.
Morgan broke the tension with, “Jeez, Doc. Where’d you find this one?”
Cas tilted his head slightly. “I’ve known Dean for years.”
Dean's eyes wearily fell closed. Luckily, no one seemed to question it. Wyatt stood up and picked up his black duster draped over the back of his chair. “Good. We could use as many trustworthy men as we can get.”
Dean brightened again, because he was pretty stoked to hear Wyatt Earp call him trustworthy. He ignored the fact that he’d just lied to the guy’s face.
Slipping into his coat, Wyatt said, “Looks like we better rent some horses and move out.”
“You giving the orders now, Wyatt?” Virgil deadpanned, folding up his newspaper.
“Always am, Virg,” was the answer, and Dean honestly didn’t know if that was a joke or not.
When the Earp brothers walked toward the exit, Dean spun around, eager to follow. Cas stopped him by grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him back. “Dean,” he whispered urgently. “We don’t have time for this. We should be figuring out how to get home.”
He was right. Dean knew he was right. Longingly, he cast another long look at the Earps.
Screw it, he decided. He was going on a ride with the Earps. He deserved it. Besides, they were time traveling, which technically meant they had all the time in the world.
“Dude, come on,” Dean said, keeping his voice down. “When are we ever gonna get a chance like this again?” Cas gave him a level look, and even on a different face, Dean knew what that meant. Trying to convince him, Dean gestured out wildly with his hands and added, “Plus, for all we know, this could help us get home!”
“How?”
“I dunno! But cattle mutilations? Could be demony. And, who knows, maybe this is even our mess to clean up. We got no idea what kinda curse is on that locket. Maybe something followed us here.”
Cas pinched his lips, still seeming on the fence. “This isn’t a good idea, Dean. Those men… They’re his friends.” He gestured toward himself, really indicating Doc Holliday. “Won’t they suspect something?”
Admittedly, it was a good point, but Dean wasn’t about to let that ruin this. They could find a way around it. “You’ll be fine. You’ve seen that movie like, a million times. Just… act.”
“You mean, lie?”
“Same thing,” Dean said airily. He placed his hand firmly on Cas’ shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You got this. Agent Kilmer, remember?”
Cas sighed, still clearly not liking this plan. But he nodded, because of course he did. Because Cas always humored him. “Fine.”
Dean grinned, keeping Cas’ eyes. They turned fond, a small smile glinting in them. Dean felt the light of it spreading in his chest.
“You coming or what?” a stern voice called from the doorway.
The moment broken, Dean turned his head to the exit, finding Wyatt frowning in their direction. Dean cleared his throat and let his hand fall from Cas’ shoulder. He took a step back, putting some space between them.
“We’re coming,” Cas said.
Wyatt lingered momentarily, looking between the two of them, before turning around again. The ends of his coat fanned out around his shins.
“Guess we better not keep the man waiting,” Dean said.
Cas nodded. Then, as if Dean had said something he didn’t understand, his brow pinched.
Dean pulled a face. “What?”
“Nothing,” Cas said, shaking his head. “It’s… Doctor Holliday. He said something about a deacon who lacked the virtue of patience.”
He meant Wyatt. Wyatt was a church deacon, and Dean knew that because of the whole biggest fan thing. But he was still thrown off. “He said that? When?”
“Now,” Cas told him. “That was one of the stipulations of our deal. I’m allowing him to be aware of everything that’s happening.”
It probably shouldn’t have surprised Dean. After what happened with Jimmy and Claire, Cas was probably more than reluctant to take another vessel. No wonder he’d given this one room to breathe.
Still, Dean’s skin crawled as he remembered the way Michael let him be aware of everything. It was hell, being trapped in his own body, watching his own hands bend to Michael’s will. It was worse than hell – and Dean would know.
But Cas wasn’t like that. Cas wasn’t a dick. He was sure Doc was alright, so he let it go.
“Can he hear us right now?”
Cas nodded.
“Heh.” Dean wasn’t really sure what to say. It was a little weird, talking to Doc Holliday through Cas. But Dean’s whole life was weird, so this might as well happen. “Hi, uh… Doc. Hey. I’m…”
His mind formed coherent sentences. Something along the lines of, Thanks for letting my friend hitch a ride. We’ll be sure to give you your body back soon.
What came out was: “Big fan.”
Damn it, he was an idiot.
Without waiting around to humiliate himself even more, he turned tail and headed after the Earps.
Read the rest on AO3.
#destiel#deancas#destiel fic#deancas fic#dean#dean winchester#cas#castiel#my writing#docholliday#doc holliday#wyatt earp#wyattearp#spn#supernatural#spn fic#docatt#i arguably got carried away with the word count
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Velour of Velveteen Vanities is a manipulative abuser and a scammerˏˋ°•*⁀➷
I’m not using a quirk because I want this to be seen by everyone, please share this around as much as you can.
My name is Veruco Miopah, and I am a victim of Velour’s manipulations. I don’t think I am the only troll who has been deceived by his two-faced ways either. I have been a fan of the Velveteen Vanities channel for the past four sweeps, and he has been a comfort creator of mine ever since I watched that video about his iconic Starbucks story. I’ve spent over 10000 caegars on him in total to prove that I WAS a dedicated fan, which includes numerous dates with him (detailed below), but DOES NOT include being the one of the highest tier patrons to his patreon (100 caegars/perigee) which gave me access to his supporters-only Discord channel and the ability to join Discord calls with him and the other 100 caegar patrons. Velour would only arrange these calls once every three perigees, claiming he was ‘’’too busy’’’ to chat with his fans for an hour. Apparently he was not too busy to be going on other paid dates and appearing on other people’s YouTube channels tho!!!!!!
Velour’s YouTube channel was my life. I never had a lot of friends, so I turned to watching YouTubers for comfort. I know it’s stupid and sad now, but when I watched Velour’s videos, I felt like he could be my friend too. On camera, he is so positive and kind, it’s no surprise everyone seems to fall in love with him. And... I did. I was in love with this fake personality who REALLY only wanted money from me and all of his other fans. But now my eyes are open, and everyone else needs to open their eyes too.
As you all know, Velour offers a “Paid Requests” service on his online store, where he says he will do anything for you if you can name your price. I started off small, wanting autographs and personalised letters from him, and they always came promptly and were written with a real love for the person ordering them. I then became hooked, and one option caught my eye: You can pay to go out on a date with him. It was very expensive, yes, but I was starstruck so I didn’t care. I could go on a date with the man I loved! So of course I had to try it out.
I should have known he didn’t care about me when we discussed the date in full detail before going out, it was very methodical and seemed like he really wanted to cover his a**. The date itself was fine, wonderful even. He was just as kind as he was on camera, very attentive to my needs, and he gave me a hug like I paid for him to do. I was hooked, and could not wait to see him again on my second date.
That’s when the prices started to rise.
You would think that meeting someone in person and getting to know them would make you a known loyal customer, and I was! I bought and wore his merch (which he complimented me on and suggested other accessories I could also purchase!!), I was an active member of his servers and replied to his tweets often, and he knew me by name. But instead, the prices for dates started to double. It was obvious he was just trying to leech as much money out of me as possible, but I was smitten. He took advantage of my love and kept dangling the possibility that one night we could become official in front of me. He knew EXACTLY what he was doing and he didn’t care, because all he cares about is getting paid.
We went on five dates in total, and on the fifth date he broke my heart. I finally confessed my love for him and poured out all my heart, and he violently rejected me. He suddenly became very cold and very angry, stating that this is “not how this works”, as if I’m not supposed to expect a relationship from someone I have gone on MULTIPLE dates with. As if I’m supposed to be able to control how my heart feels!!! He wouldn’t hear my side of the story at all, and all he cared about was what I had paid for with ZERO regard for my feelings. I was crying, and when I wanted for just a bit of sympathy he stormed off because I didn’t want to pay him for another hug. He left me alone in the cold, while he probably went off to scam money out of some other poor, lonely soul.
He played with my heart, and he’s no doubt playing with all your hearts too. But it took me over 10000 caegars to finally see his true colours. You can all thank me for giving this to you for free!!!!
I’m disgusted that this man has been able to manipulate me and so many other vulnerable trolls’ hearts for so long. He builds you up and makes you feel like you’re special, but then never gives you anything in return. He takes advantage of you being his loyal fan by tricking you into paying extra for his services, and EVERYTHING costs money. A hug, a kiss on the cheek, holding hands, playing with his hair, even just a basic hi-five. I bet he’d make you pay to see his smile if he could get away with it.
I know I am not the only victim of this vile excuse of a man, and I encourage everyone who has ever been scammed or manipulated by him to also come forward.
Stop giving Velour your money. Stop watching his videos. Stop buying his clothing, and for the love of Her Imperious Condescension stop going on dates with him. He doesn’t care about you, he doesn’t care about any of his fans. He’ll lead you on and act like a Prince Charming, and then steal as much money from you as possible. He targets vulnerable trolls like me who are lonely and looking for some attention, and he’ll two-time as many women (and men) as he pleases). DO NOT give him any more attention or you WILL become his victim too.
Please also boycott the following YouTube channels, businesses, and trolls who openly support and defend him: BIFFSVOO Gaming & Aiolos’ Twitch channel (GonePostal), Cavius Hair and Beauty, Aeon Racing F1 Team, SkillShare, NordVPN, Squarespace, Audible, Honey, and Viltau Espino (Event organiser, Velour supplies his uniforms and costumes).
I wanted to be merciful and allow all of you to publicly announce your separation from Velveteen Vanities, but SOMEONE hacked into my system and is causing me too much trouble, so I CANNOT sit on this any longer. If I find out who did it, I WILL be reporting you to the authorities for sabotage.
!!! PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE !!!
#velour#velveteen vanities#velveteenvanities#velour velveteen vanities#velveteen vanities velour#BIFFSVOO Gaming#BIFFSVOO#aiolos hummel#aiolos#GonePostal#aiolos GonePostal#GonePostal aiolos#Aeon Racing F1 Team#Aeon Racing#AeonRacing#AeonRacingF1Team
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