blink with the brother

Some Things CAN Be Replaced.

Prompt by: @love-life-death-dd

When they got Matt back, everyone was joyous. Especially Pidge and Shiro.

A brother was returned to a smaller version of a family and everyone was happy as could be.

Pidge wasn’t as snappy, she got along better with everyone as she no longer had the burden of a missing brother.

Shiro wasn’t as stoic, and you heard his laugh more often. He’d even crack a joke or two, he was able to lighten up.

Keith of course was glad to have Shiro back, and even happier that Shiro returned in better shape than expected, all thanks to Matt.

Matt was a fantastic contributor to the team, and was a friend to all.

He tasted Hunks cooking, and loved to give him ideas on what the yellow paladin could whip up next.

Matt was always happy to listen to his little sister go on about her projects and modifications. He was proud of her intelligence.

He even became close with Coran and Allura, fascinated by their tech and stories of Altea and its past.

Shiro and the man were inseparable.

Then Matt was introduced to the Lions.

Lance hadn’t had a problem with Matt before, not a significant one at least. The guy was hilarious, and knew some of the best pick up lines.

But there were insignificant problems that the blue paladin had with the older Holt.

He was becoming Lances replacement.

In the past, Lance acted the way Matt did and was always brushed off, or received not as positive feedback.

Pidge was never interested in explaining her projects to Lance.

Keith and Shiro wouldn’t offer to train with him just for fun.

Hunk might ask for a taste tester here and there, but the Mice were requested more than he was.

Lance was fine.
It’s be fine.

It has only been a week and soon everything would be back to normal and Matt would just be another body in the castle.

Another person, just like everyone else.
But he only became more of a God as time went on.

When Matt met the lions, he had immediately been drawn to Blue.

Lance wasn’t sure why, the guy just was.
That made an uneasy feeling rise in his gut, and his blood slow in his veins.

“Yeah, this is my girl, Blue. Isn’t she a beauty?” Lance said proudly, putting a hand in the cool metal of her structure.

Matt adjusted his glasses with a sideways smile, “She sure is! Mind if I take a peek inside?”

Why couldn’t Matt have been interested in the Black lion? Or maybe even the Green lion?

Why did it have to be Blue?
LANCE’S lion?

“Uh, yeah sure, she might be a little protective though, ha ha.” Lance scratched the back of his neck and led Matt inside.

Why did Lance tell him yes?

After this entire week Lances dislike for Matt had only grown, and his dislike for himself only stronger.

Sure, Matt was better with his friends.
Sure, Matt trained better.

But Lance was one thing that Matt wasn’t, and that was the Blue Paladin of Voltron.

“Wow, the Blue lion looks different than the other lions.” Matt observed, making it to the cockpit and admiring her hardware.

Lance smiled a little, cautiously watching him. “Yeah, she’s meant for the water so I guess she does have a few quirks.”

Suddenly Matt sat down in the pilots seat, and Lance stiffened.

It was fine. It was fine.
Not like Matt could power her up anyway. Only the lions paladin could form that bond and—

“Woah!” Matt gasped.

Suddenly all of the lions screens turned on and lit up, the boys hands hovering over them.

Lances heart dropped.

“I think she likes me! Can you hear that Lance? It’s like it’s alive and purring, so weird!” Matt chuckled, and started testing buttons.

Lance didn’t like that.

Matt could take his friends.
Matt could take his friendships.

He could take his jokes and his lines and his personality and all of it.

But he wasn’t going to take his lion.
Lance couldn’t stand here and watch the boy iterate and touch his lions buttons and sit in that seat and—

“Woah, Lance, are you alright?”


The blue paladin shook his head, coming back to the present and looked down at Matt. He looked worried.

That disgusted the blue eyed boy.

“Wait, are you…crying?” Matt asked, face scrunching and he looked uncomfortable now.

Lance wiped his eyes, “Get out.”

Matt blinked, “What?”

“I said get out of my lion!!” He shouted, shoving Pidges brother. “Go train with Shiro! Cook with Hunk!”

Lance was suddenly crying harder and he just wanted Matt to go away. He was being rude and irrational and he’d be chewed out for it later but he didn’t care right now.

“I wish you were still stuck on that damned Galra ship!” The blue eyed boy shouted.

The cockpit fell silent.

Matt stood, bewildered for a moment, before his features softened. “Lance, I understand you’re upset. I’ll go, but I’m here for you if you need me.”

Lance remained stiff and quiet, minus sniffling, as Matt left the Blue lion.

The blue paladin gave it a few minutes, before shakily wiping his eyes and plopping down into Blues seat.

“God…”

Matt was even calm in situations where Lance just flipped out and made a fool of himself.

He could t think about it any longer.
There would be a lecture later and Lance could wait until then to get these feelings out again.

For now, he slept.

Sherlock “I Love You” Scene With Alternative Tragic Ending (4x03)


The “I Love You” Scene from 4x03 with an even more heartbreaking twist. (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!)


I discussed the final problem with a colleague and she had a pretty damn convincing point: it doesn’t make any sense that there were no explosives in Molly’s flat. Euros has no regard whatsoever for human life. She kills the guard and his wife and the three brothers without even blinking an eyelash. She’s even prepared for Sherlock to kill Mycroft - her own brother. So… why spare Molly Hooper? And so this idea was born.

Am I a masochist for editing this? Maybe.
Are you all gonna hate me for this? Possibly.
Do I deserve to be punched with a shovel? Well, most definitely.

Anyway - I’m EXTREMELY nervous about this. Even though I spent a lot of time and work on the special fx I’m not a motion designer and I’m afraid they might look a bit… cheesy? I don’t know. The lovely  @remember–the–best encouraged me to upload it because I was too chicken to do it. So, it’s all her fault really. *laughs* It’s blocked worldwide on Youtube so it’s exclusively on tumblr. You’re welcome, folks! ;-)

It’s a Start

Prompt request: Can I request one where Tony Stark has a little sister who’s very sweet to people and believes in second chances? Loki and Bucky are still trying to adjust to being at the tower but she goes out of her way to show them kindness and include them in things. They become an inseparable trio. It annoys Tony so she gets her guys to tease him with her cause he’s ‘jealous he isn’t allowed in their club

Characters: Tony Stark, Loki, Bucky, Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam WIlson

Warnings: cursing, rude comments, Tony’s kind of a jerk

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to write! It was definitely one of the more complex stories, so I wanted to make sure I got it right (hopefully I did). This is my first Loki fanfic, so feedback is always appreciated! Requests and tags are open! As always, thanks for reading!


You plopped your bags on the tiled kitchen floor and sighed as you stretched your sore arm muscles. “Thanks again for letting me stay here, Tony,” you said, turning around to face your brother.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he replied, placing your last two bags on the floor. He kissed your forehead and wrapped you up in a hug. “You’re always welcome here.”  

You were living in the Avengers Tower for the summer with your older brother, Tony Stark. Okay, so he wasn’t actually your biological brother. In fact, he wasn’t even a brother by marriage. You were Pepper’s seventeen year-old sister, and even though she and Tony broke up more than a year ago, he never stopped loving you like his own sibling. He would still cheer you on at your soccer games, take you to the movies, and just spend time with you. You had been living with Pepper to claim residency in New York to get a cheaper tuition rate at your first-choice college. When Pepper got called away on a job for the summer, it made sense that you would stay with Tony.

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among peasantry and princes

summary - virgil, his brothers patton and logan, and their mother octavia live a quaint life of peasantry in a small village far away from the rest of civilization. their lives are hardly out of the ordinary — that is, until a prestigious prince with an ego so large it outmatches even his castle takes an interest in virgil, which can surely only end in disaster. 

pairing - eventual prinxiety

word count - 1,258

warnings - n/a

tags - au, prince!roman, peasant!virgil 

a/n - ahh okay welcome to my first sanders sides au!! i literally came up with this today and wrote a prologue out of my excitement so there’s still a lot of plotting to be done lol. anyway, this is supposed to be set around the 1800′s, but obviously im not an expert in that particular era, so please excuse any inaccuracies with grammar/vocabulary! anyway ahh i hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave feedback! 

tagging - @ace-anxiety-sanders @pointless-blog-name @lampisimportant @pippa-frost @jinxed-unicorn @starrykid@pattykrabbies @alright-cupid 


It’s late into the winter when Octavia Sanders receives the letter — embedded with jewels and branded with Prince Roman’s notorious wax seal. Breathless and delighted all the same, she sprints into the common room, tail of her skirt bunched messily in a hand. “Boys, boys!” She exclaims tightly, drawing Virgil’s attention from his charcoal sketches that always left his hands stained in darkness, “You simply must hear what was given to us by the Prince’s page!” Octavia crosses the room in great strides, pulling her youngest’s—Logan’s—nose from his book and the broom from Patton—her eldest—in one movement. “Perhaps it would be worth your while to listen to a mother’s tale once in awhile—luck may be on your side, this time.” Though her tone is stern with authority, it’s hardly free of a lilt of excitement — considering the news weighing her tongue.

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| Scars | Tadashi Hamada

“Gotcha!”

Hiro jolted, nearly jumping out of his own skin as hands covered his eyes from behind.

“Haha, very funny,” He mumbled, ignoring his aunt’s laugh in the back of his ears. His mind was already running a mile a minute, going over possible deductions of who could be holding him hostage.

Hand texture, usual smell, height advantage, time of the day, others are at the lab-

In only ten seconds he had a pretty good idea.

“Get off Y/N,” he wiggled in your hold. You squawked in indignation at how quickly he had figured it out. What in the world?

“Who’s that?” You lowered your voice exponentially, trying to keep him still.

He jabbed an elbow lightly in your side, distracting you enough to loosen your hold. His palms came up to skillfully push yours from his face, slinking out like a snake.

“Nice try,” He turned to peer up at you through a thick mess of tussled brown locks, wide almond eyes perusing your form.

You huffed. “Not fair, you mini prodigy.”

Hiro’s lips curved upwards into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow, but it was instantly wiped off when you took the opportunity to roughly ruffle his tussles of hair.

“Quit it!” He whined and you laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” you let him go for now, glancing up the stairs. He caught your fast look and crossed his arms over his chest, giving you a knowing stare.

“What?” You broke his eye contact, unnerved. How a kid managed to do that to you was a mystery in of itself.

“He’s up there,” Hiro mused, starting to walk away. “How about you stop gawking and actually go say hi?”

Your mouth dropped open. “You little!”

You went to give him a lesson but he was already running away, snickers trailing through the air with him. You playfully shook your fist at his back, ignoring the slight pink tint to your cheeks.

“Brat,” you muttered with no bite in your tone, starting to head up the stairs.

He was indeed up there, you thought as you heard the familiar mumblings of his voice.

You paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing, lightly tiptoeing so that you could surprise him as well.

Your head peeked around the corner when you reached the top of the stairs-

And you nearly choked.

(In your defense, it was totally their fault their room didn’t have a freaking door.)

For a couple seconds your mind couldn’t process what it was seeing as you watched Tadashi Hamada lightly stretch, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Heat exploded across your face and you ogled helplessly, eyes fixed on the firm muscles of his back rolling underneath the skin, his pants dangerously low on his hips.

It was only when you saw his hands stray to his waist, probably to dispose of his lower article of clothing as well, that the choked noise escaped the back of your throat.

He stiffened, twisting around, confusion making his eyebrows furrow. When he saw your tense form he brightened for a second, just a second, before he went even more rigid, a shadow falling over his face.

As he was now faced towards you, you saw something you didn’t before, something that made any sense of a blush leave your cheeks.

Light patches of skin, lighter than the rest of his body crossed over his chest and splotched parts of his arms.

It was only a glimpse because Tadashi was shoving his shirt back on in no time, eyes darkened. However, it took only that glimpse to fill you with worry, especially now that he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Tada-” you began, only to be cut off when he turned away.

“Not right now,” he mumbled, shoulders trembling a bit. You stepped closer, concerned he may have taken your worry at his scars for disgust.

“But-”

“I said not right now, Y/N,” He repeated, firmer, a bitter tone to his words. They struck right through you and you pursed your lips together to keep them from wobbling.

Then your embarrassment, worry and shame all changed to anger.

“Fine then!” You narrowed your eyes. He met your gaze to see you walking towards him with purpose in your steps, eyes ablaze.

Tadashi backed up but stopped when you pushed a finger into his chest, teeth gritted.

“Try to push me away as much as you can,” you growled. “But don’t ever get the wrong idea about yourself mister.”

You slammed a fist onto the dresser beside you. “My house. Three hours. Come. Or else.”

Then you were swishing away, storming out the room and down the staircase again.

Tadashi stared after you blankly, your frustrated expression at the forefront of his mind. He didn’t know how long he was in space when he heard the footfalls of feet coming back up the stairs.

His mouth opened, ready to apologize but closed when he saw his brother round the corner.

“Oh,” he muttered.

Hiro blinked but gave it no mind, yawning as he walked past him to sit by his computer.

“Y/N told me to tell you to wear clothes you wouldn’t mind getting messy,” he drawled, starting up the monitor. Tadashi frowned and Hiro shrugged.

“No idea what that means, but I’m guessing you do,” he said.

Tadashi sighed, looking up at the ceiling. You would be the death of him one day.

He was knocked out of his thoughts when a fist connected with his gut, knocking the wind out of him.

He gawked at his brother, face an unmistakable expression of what the hell?

Hiro just smiled innocently. “She also told me to do that.”


Knock knock

Tadashi stood outside your door, nervously running his hand through his hair before pulling on his cap. When nothing happened after that fifth set of knocks, he contemplated just heading back.

Why had you asked him to come if you weren’t even home?

Before he could even consider leaving any further, frantic footfalls echoed beyond the door. You opened it with such vigour the hinge slammed against the door. You panted, staring up at your friend.

“Sorry!” You all but squeaked, trying to appear casual as you leant against the door, and failing. “Some of the paint spilt on me and I had to wash it off.”

You didn’t do much of a good job, Tadashi wanted to say but held his tongue, looking at the bright yellow stain of paint in your hair and streaking your chin.

Wait, paint?

“Come in,” you made a beckoning motion. He shuffled in, barely keeping up with you as you dragged him to your living room.

There were pillows placed strategically on the floor, a large, old white cloth lying on the tile. Bottles of paint and brushes speckled in between the pillows and around the blanket.

You plopped down with as much grace as a bear, rearranging your legs Indian style and patting the floor next to you. Tadashi hesitantly followed your suggestion and sat beside you, maintaining a little distance.

“Wha-”

You interrupted him by slowly reaching over to one of his hands. When he didn’t object, you swallowed and gathered your courage, holding the other and squeezing his weathered palms with your own, warmth traveling into your own.

You returned your gaze to Tadashi’s, who was staring back at you with something unrecognizable in those fragmented eyes.

Oh, Tadashi.

Intense distress settled at the bottom of your stomach. What had happened to him?

That was a stupid question, you chastised yourself. Of course you knew what had happened to him.

A memory of the same man before you flickered before your eyes, but this time he was in a bed, in a stark white room, gaunt, unconscious and barely breathing on life support. His locks spread around his face like a halo, a few gray hairs where there weren’t before, the equally white sheets about his form making him appear as an angel.

Six months. Six months he had been in a coma after the fire. He had barely survived, sustaining horrible injuries and leaving him unresponsive in a hospital bed for half a year.

At the time even the doctors where saying that they might have to pull the plug, it really didn’t seem that Tadashi was going to make it. Hiro had been devastated.

You didn’t like to think back to those dark days, the ones where the kid had become lost in his anger, hellbent on getting revenge. The debacle with Professor Robert Callaghan, where he had nearly destroyed half of the town when the portal gates had collapsed. Thankfully due to Hiro, Baymax and the rest of his friends from the robotics department, they had practically saved the day.

(You were the only one to know of their “secret identities” as Hiro could never ever lie successfully in front of you to save his life.)

But then soon after a miracle took place, the doctors detected brain activity that shouldn’t have been there.

Tadashi woke up.

It was only for five minutes, and afterwards he slipped back into his coma, but it was hope. Over the course of the next months he went in and out of full consciousness. Eventually your prayers were answered and he made a full recovery.

If you thought your heart had burst from joy, you couldn’t imagine to replace the emotion that passed onto Hiro’s face when he heard the news.

You smiled fondly down at your interlocked hands with said person, before it melted away.

Tadashi was different. Gone was the dork that annoyed you with his constant rambling of scientific discoveries, the kind soul who would drop anything to help a kid crying on the street, the cheeky grin that dimpled his handsome face when he stole your art supplies from under your nose.

He had come back broken.

Burn marks blemished places all over his body, the discolouration causing him to wear extra coverage at all times, the life sucked right of those honey brown eyes. The fire had not only caused trauma to his mental state, but it had also left its permanent stamp physically.

“I want to show you that you’re still beautiful,” you mumbled as an answer to his inquisitive scrutiny on you. Your thumb brushed lightly over a scar that peeked above the gloves on his hands that he now wore, a flush rising up your neck at your blatant words.

When you gathered enough courage to bring your eyes back to his you were blown away by the utter emotion that had rekindled on his face, slowly cracking away the mask he had built to block away the rest of the world.

He smiled, just barely, but a smile nonetheless. His hand squeezed yours back as he raised a brush at his side.

“Go ahead.”

You grinned.

“Thank you,” you breathed, inspecting his body in a way only an artist could, any lewd thoughts completely wiped from your mind. Then you scratched the back of your neck as you realized you didn’t have much to work with. “You’ll have to…”

Tadashi blinked before realizing what you were asking him to do. He grimaced, looking as if he had been stung, before taking in a deep breath and pushing away his fears. He rolled up his pants till they were at his knees, ignoring your protests as he shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his long sleeved shirt, putting that to the side as well. His gloves were thrown behind him to land somewhere on the couch.

The rest of the hour was filled with the whirring of the fan above your heads and a comfortable silence, interrupted only by your asks of what designs he would prefer you use. With every stroke of the paintbrush along his disfigurements and burns, it was as if you were healing a part of his very soul.

You created skies on his limbs, stars dotting the horizons of his chest, worlds in oceans on his wounds and heaven in a wildflower on his gashes. Entire universes were at the subject of your dexterous fingers as you dipped the brush in paint once more.

Eventually you took to flowers when you reached his shoulders, swirling the tip of your brush in water to remove the turquoise hue, dipping it in pink afterwards.

“Careful,” you mused as you returned the brush to the curve of his neck. “Pink might make you look girly.”

He chuckled, and you both gave wry smiles as you caught each others eyes. You knew he could care less, and that that was also a ridiculous stereotype.

Petals unfolded along his jaw, bending and curling up around his ears, expanding its beauty as you traced a blossom underneath a rather horrible burn splattering his left eye.

When you finally finished you exhaled a cool breath, observing your work and nodding in satisfaction.

“Stay right here!” You said, getting up in a hurry and rushing to your room, limping a bit from a dead leg, the blood rushing to it in pins and needles. When you returned, sitting back down, you held a handheld mirror.

“Here,” You offered him. He took it tentatively from you, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

He inhaled deeply once more, a motion you recognized as something he did to give himself courage, before lifting it up and from him so that he could see his reflection.

The clock ticked.

Both of you were reflected in the smooth of the silver, and you could see yourself peering curiously over his shoulder at his own expression. You grew anxious when he only stared, not reacting.

“Do you not like it?” You bit your lip anxiously. “I’m sorry, we can wash it off-”

“Y/N,” He interrupted you, facing you with his eyes glazed with something that looked suspiciously like moisture. “I love it.”

“Y-You do?” Your eyebrows went up before you laughed nervously, pushing his shoulder. “Ah I mean of course you do! I did it of course!”

He raised an eyebrow and you bit your lip again to restrain your utter joy.

“Thank you,” He said, and something must have really been wrong with you because simple words should not be able to have your heart doing flips. “I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” You puffed out your chest ridiculously, and was gifted with the sound of his contagious chuckle again. Your pride switched to perplexity when he picked up a brush himself, plunging it in the red.

“What? Did I miss a spot?” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to see any blank space you may have overlooked. He shook his head, and your heart jumped again when he scooted closer, lifting your arm.

“I just wanted to return the favour,” He mumbled.

“Oh? You don’t have-” You grew even more confused when all he did was swipe a small stripe of paint onto your forearm before putting the brush back down. “-to?”

When he was sure you were going to burst with questions, his lips tilted.

“I don’t need to add anything else. You’re already beautiful.”

You were one hundred percent sure you had died and gone to heaven.

Your face burned horribly and you pursed your lips when he lifted his hand to cover a smile.

Oh, funny was it?

“Wait,” You mock grimaced, peering at his face and pausing his laughter. “I think I painted this wrong. Verbena flowers have four petals right?”

“Actually,” he piped up. “They have five. And they’re not always pink. Some are shades of blue, white, or purple.” He licked his dry lips. “The genus was split somewhere along the European lineage-”

You just put your chin in your palm, watching fondly as he trailed off into scientific terms and ideologies you had no ability keeping up with.

As he did, the fire and passion returned to his eyes just as they had before his tragedy, and his voice became animated in the way only his could. His hands couldn’t keep still as he gestured and his body language told the story. It would have been better if you had baited him to talk about some kind of engineering or robotics, but this was just as good - he was a nerd in everything it seemed.

As he talked you saw a man without the pain in his eyes, without the burns, a genius of his own right making his mark on the world. Then you stopped seeing the past and saw the same man, now only hardened by life, the same generosity and cold cut intelligence in his voice, this time covered in scars and flowers.

And you realized you loved both.

“- had longstanding use in herbalism and folk medicine, usually as - ”

Tadashi paused, coming back down to earth when he noticed the look on your face. His lips pursed in a pout. “You’re not listening at all are you?”

“Nope,” you didn’t even try to argue, smirking. When he registered that you had tricked him, his eyebrows came together in frustration before a smirk curled his lips.

“I was wrong,” Tadashi said. “Actually, you do need a bit more paint.”

Before you could weave through the intentions of that statement he had dipped his entire hand in the paint and smacked you right in the face.

It didn’t hurt of course, but you were left stunned, his snickers in the background as you no doubt had a great red handprint on your visage.

You leaped forward in retaliation slamming both your hands in the paint and having every goal of giving him a new makeover.

He laughed loudly as you attacked him like a rabid animal, trying to escape. In your movements, you knocked off his cap and it went tumbling to the floor.

“Ha!” You said, straddling him as you reached to push your fingers in his face. You froze when his melted chocolate eyes crinkled in happiness, entirely more noticeable now that the hat was gone, his disheveled strands of hair accentuating them even more.

Tadashi stopped only a little after you did, and you realized too late your position.

You blushed and went to remove yourself. “Ah, sorry, so sorry-”

Your voice trailed off when he placed a hand on your hip, preventing you from moving.

Your breath hitched.

“I u-uh-” you stuttered, uselessly struggling further as he leant forward, nose touching yours and when had he reached so close? “What a-are you-?”

“You talk too much,” He murmured, ending your prattle successfully by closing the distance between your mouths.

Your raised hands dropped, going limp.

They regained life later only to clutch at his shoulders when your back hit the floor, paint spilling all around the two of you.

[MasterList]

Downright Neighborly

Fandom: WWE/TNA

Pairing: Jeff Hardy/Female Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: I return almost wholly whole from the land of concussions and I offer you this…kayfabulous indulgence! Tagging the always-beloved @toxiicpop, the ever-enthusiastic @oraclegazes, the King Captain @hardcorewwetrash  (my thanks for not keelhauling me for the IRS thing, cap!), and new tagees @karaboomhower, @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues and @superrezzy00 (not sure about these tags, work darn it!). Enjoy!


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The footsteps outside his door were quiet, but not quiet enough. Loki scowled at the book he was trying to translate - and making no headway in. “I told you not to bother me,” he said loudly. “I’m in the middle of something.”

The lack of response was so surprising that Loki looked up, only to start a little. His door was already open, and Thor was standing there staring at Loki like he’d never seen him before. Loki jerked to his feet. 

“Thor! You can’t just barge in,” he started to say, but then he realized - it was Thor, but he did not look as he had an hour ago. His hair was longer, for one, and he was taller, broader even than he already was. Loki blinked twice.

“Brother,” Thor said, and there was something odd in his voice. He looked like he wanted to say more, but was lost for words. Loki recovered himself, tensing. 

“You are not my brother,” he said. 

Thor - or the man who looked like him - flinched. Actually flinched, like Loki had struck him, something flickering across his expression that made Loki’s stomach drop. “I am,” he said. “I think - something has happened.” 

Something? I saw my brother not an hour past-”

“Loki,” the imposter said, his voice oddly strangled. He stepped inside and shut the door, and Loki tensed further, summoning one of his knives. “Are you…” He took a half step toward Loki, reaching out, and he brought the knife up. 

“Stay back or I shall call a guard,” he said, keeping his voice from trembling through an effort of will. “Explain yourself. Who are you?”

The man’s jaw worked and it looked like the gesture Thor made when he was upset and trying not to show it. Exactly like, and it was uncanny enough to make Loki feel suddenly cold. “I am who I say,” he said. “And you are - you are Loki.” 

Loki fidgeted under the intensity of that gaze fixed on him. “You have no proof of your words,” he accused, buying time. He glanced toward the window - and fell still. 

There was dust on his shelves. A thick layer of it, even though a moment before they’d been clean. The window and curtains were closed when he had left them open. And now that he was looking…

A thousand small details. This wasn’t his room. 

He felt his chest tighten, fear worming into his heart. Dust. Why should there be dust on his shelves?

Why had Thor looked so surprised to find him here? 

Something was very wrong.

“Loki?” Thor sounded uncertain, and that was wrong too, the list only growing longer. “Look at me. Please.” 

The please jangled against his strained nerves but Loki turned, unable to ignore him. “Is this the future?” He blurted out, feeling himself start to shake. Thor looked startled and covered it poorly, but for the most part he was still staring at Loki as he had been all this time, with a strange sort of hunger. 

“I’m not certain what has happened,” he said at length, which wasn’t an answer. 

Loki’s dread deepened. He swallowed hard and looked again at the shelves. At the bed, perfectly made. 

“Am I dead?” He asked, and wished his voice didn’t tremble quite as much as it did. 

Thor did that little jerk again, like Loki’s words hurt. “Loki,” he said. It wasn’t a no, and Loki felt himself start to shake.

“No,” Thor said abruptly, his voice rough. “No. You are not.” There was something fierce and terrifying and desperate in his voice, and when Loki looked at him, in his eyes. His brother, but…not. Half a stranger. “You live, and I will protect you.”

Shiro's Turn, Tumblr AU Shance

Shiro is Gay™ basically
—————————-
Shiro sipped his coffee while scrolling through his Tumblr, his brother asleep on the couch behind him. He was visiting for a week, since his brother was a bit of a hot gay mess and Shiro was mainly his emotional support.

Keith was currently pining after someone named Hunk who worked at a bakery, and when Keith started pining he usually ended up forgetting to take care of himself. Which was where Shiro came in.

For now, Shiro was content with answering Anon asks and the occasional doodle and reblog or like, eyes scanning the computer screen, slightly bored.

Unfortunately, he was taking a bigger gulp of his drink when he scrolled down enough to see the most gorgeous man that couldn’t possibly be real on his dash.

He inhaled too quickly and choked on his hot coffee, turning his head away to cough violently, brown liquid splattering onto the floor as Shiro hacked up his lungs.

His sudden loud bout of coughing startled Keith awake, the other man jolting up and flailing, falling off the couch with a startled yelp and a thud.

“Shiro! What the fuck, man?!?” Keith hissed, pulling himself up over the couch arm to glare at his older brother, furious at being woken up so rudely.

“Keith, I’m so fucking gay, holy shit-” Shiro wheezed through his tears, hand patting his chest as the coughing fit paused for a minute to let him breathe before starting up again.

“I knew that already, but why are we stating this fact again?” Keith questioned, raising an eyebrow at his dying brother.

Shiro merely pointed at the screen, still trying to get coffee out of his lungs.

Keith huffed and got to his feet, padding over to squint at whatever onscreen was making his brother react like this.

“Oh. It’s just a selfie of Lance?” He asked, blinking and turning to his brother.

Shiro had significantly recovered to the point of sitting upright again. “Yes? But he’s actually kinda hot?” The older man stated, rubbing his eyes clear of water to stare at the screen again.

The selfie was of BlueLionLance, and god he was adorable. Pretty blue eyes like the ocean, flawless tanned skin, brown hair that looked positively silky and soft, a bright grin with perfect white teeth and dimples. He was positively gorgeous, probably spent a lot of time taking care of his skin what with how smooth it looked.

Shiro’s fingers twitched, itching to feel Lance’s skin and hair in person to see if the other man was as soft to touch as he looked.

Keith took one look at the sappy, lovestruck look on his brother’s face and sighed.

“I’ll go get the ice cream, we can pine together on the couch and watch crappy romance movies.” He stated, already moving to the fridge.

Shiro smacked his head down onto the computer desk with a groan.

“Yeah. Good idea.”
—————————————
Shiro POV, he’s a thirsty boy, poor baby.
I’ll probably make an info list for this later, for worldbuilding. Hope you enjoyed! Wonder what I should do next for this….. oooohh, maybe a con! I’ve always wanted to try writing out one of those! :3

One time I was reading a story on @sixpenceee blog out loud, the story was ‘don’t blink’. And my door was open and my brother was across the room. When I finished the story my brother yelled “I’m scared to blink now” now that’s some sixpenceee shit there.

Aye Captain? - Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester (Pirates of the Caribbean AU)

Title: Aye Captain?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader, Jack Sparrow x Reader

Warnings: None

Prompt: Reader, Sam and Dean get sent to the potc universe, because of a certain candy loving angel (aka Gabriel). And in order to get back to their own time they have to go on a adventure. BUT the reader has already been to the potc universe before, because before she met Sam and Dean she was in a similar situation like this so she knows captain jack sparrow. So when they are sent there she knows exactly what to do and the boys are shocked that she’s been a pirate before. But reader is all playfully smug and tries to teach the boys all she knows?

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Originally posted by hellrobby

“I am so going to kill him. And this time I will make sure he stays dead!” Dean growled as he took a look around him and didn’t see anything familiar but his brother and you.

“You know it’s not going to work anyway.” Sam huffed as he ran a hand through his hair but Dean gave him a hard glare.

“Not the point Sam.” Dean grumbled and with a roll of your eyes you huffed.

“Exactly. Not the point Dean.” you gave him a look “Gabriel obviously wants to have fun and mess around. We don’t have to focus on how to get him back for it but on how to get back to our place.”

“How are we going to get back exactly when we don’t even know where we are?!” he exclaimed, giving you a look of disbelief and you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you this clueless and go look for something. Just stay here, I might have the solution.” you didn’t leave him any room for him to speak back as you disappeared through the crowd and Dean only blinked.

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obi-kenobi-wan  asked:

So, lately I have been thinking on an AU where Obi-Wan is in an accident and somehow is de-aged back to when he was about 19-20. The kicker being that all his memories he made after that age are now gone and he basically wakes up to a war he knows nothing about, his master long dead, and this new Jedi Knight named Anakin worrying over him more like a lover than anything.

He’s struggling.

That’s not unusual.

Obi-Wan has struggled a lot through the years since he became a padawan to Master Qui-Gon though after the initial terrible start and the years after it, they’ve made peace with each other and found a balance.

There had even been pride in Qui-Gon’s eyes when he had looked at Obi-Wan and his accomplishments, the look in the older mans eyes setting a glow in his stomach.

But his master is dead.

He can tell his master is long gone because he can’t feel him at all anywhere and he and Master Qui-Gon has the strongest connection in the temple that has been seen in decades. And he can’t feel him at all.

And the galaxy is at war.

The Jedi are…generals?

His hands tremble a bit and Obi-Wan tries not to let it show, takes a deep breath to try and release his fear and anxiety into the Force as he has been taught. ‘Be in the here and now Padawan mine.’ A warm voice echos in his voice.

Slowly he lifted his head to look at the others in the tent, meeting the worried blue eyes of a blond. “So what you’re saying is that I was…deaged? Knight Skywalker.”

The man winces. “Please, call me Anakin. You…yes. I’m not sure how old you are but the Sith artifact has clearly made you into a much younger man.”

“I’m nineteen.” Obi-Wan murmured, struggling with it again. Yesterday he had gone to bed in his quarters in the Jedi temple, he had been thinking about his exam and how good his Master smelled, desperately shielding the last thought from their bond.

Obi-Wan wrapped his hand around his braid, giving it a minor tug to try and center himself as he avoided looking at the people in the tent.

“Skyguy, we got through to the Council, Master Yoda says we should return to the sight of the change and he’s sent of Master Plo and Madam Nu to see if they can help us figure out how this happened.” The young togruta is back and is looking at him with the same fascinated expression as she had earlier.

“Good, perhaps they can get answers and we can get Obi-Wan back to normal.” The blond, Anakin, is looking at him again with those eyes so full of…of…

Of what?

The man is clearly more worried about him then is normal.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to do about this information.

He’s confused and lost and his master is not there to help him and apparently he’s in the…future?

For him its the future at least.

Force this was all wrong and he desperately reached for some kind of equilibrium that was fading out of his grip.

“Obi-Wan?” Someone took his hand and pulled it from where he was desperately tugging on his braid, forcing Obi-Wan to look at…Anakin?

The blond gave him a small smile, gently rubbing his hand between his own. “Its going to be alright Obi-Wan, its going to be alright.” He assured as he rubbed.

“…You have a mech hand.” Obi-Wan offered quietly instead, desperately latching onto the fact as if it was somehow important.

“Yes, I lost my arm.” The other hummed, giving a small smile. “And lightsaber. You were very worried about me at the time.”

“I was?” Obi-Wan was so lost.

“Yes, you were my master. You trained me.”

Oh, that made the level of concern make some sense at least. Force knew he worried about Qui-Gon all the time.

“…My master is dead, isn’t he. I can’t feel him.” Obi-Wan whispered, watching the other closely as if to get an indication of his emotions. And Anakin Skywalker wore his emotions on his sleeves, he could tell by the way he shifted and the look in his eyes that Obi-Wan was completely right.

“Yes. I’m sorry Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, struggling to release the overwhelming grief out of his systems. “Have…I trained you?”

“Yes.” Anakin was smiling at him, still rubbing his hands.

“Was I a good master?” Obi-Wan latched onto that almost desperately, green eyes wide.

“The best. You taught me very well.”

The knight hesitated a bit before reaching out and cupping the back of Obi-Wan’s head, pulling him forward and resting the padawan’s forehead against his shoulder. “Its going to be alright Obi-Wan. We’re going to fix this.”

“What if we can’t…what if this is how I’m stuck now? I don’t…have a master…” Obi-Wan wanted to say so much more. Say how lost he was, about how confused he was. But…

Nothing else came from him as he pressed his forehead against the others shoulder.

“Well…if nothing else, then I know the worth of your skills. You’re a Jedi after all.” Anakin smiled, stroking the short copper hair.

“…You’re very gentle with me. Are we lovers?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but question.

Ahsoka choked on her own spit in surprise as Anakin recoiled in shock, blinking at Obi-Wan who blinked back, flustering a bit. “N-No. I mean, we’re brothers in arms. Best of friends.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if that offended you…you just…kind of fall in under my type.” Obi-Wan shrugged.

‘Master Obi-Wan has a type?’ Ahsoka marveled at.

“Your…type?”

Apparently Anakin wondered about that too as he stared at him.

Flustering at the attention, Obi-Wan tugged on his braid. “Yeah…taller then me, blond, bit longish hair and blue eyed…I mean…I only had one not fall into all categories.”

Anakin blinked, mind flashing to Siri and Satine. “I see…that explains a few things.”

“I…I must have been a closed off master if you didn’t know that.” Obi-Wan tried awkwardly.

“…No, I think you were just a very hurt master.” The knight offered quietly, thinking back to those first few days in the temple. ‘Only one didn’t fall into all categories huh…I bet that one was someone you spent the most time with.’ It explained quite a few things about Obi-Wan’s behavior back then.

“…So we’re friends then.” Obi-Wan latched onto that.

“Yes. Good friends. Best of friends.” Anakin grinned a bit. “We have each others back. And this is our padawan.” He gestured to Ahsoka who waved happily.

“Our?”

“Well technically mine but eh, we share custody.” Anakin laughed.

Obi-Wan blinked then chuckled a bit in amusement. “Is that so. Well then.” He stood slowly and gave Ahsoka a bow. “Its a pleasure to meet you my padawan.” He teased a bit, eyes sparkling.

Ahsoka squeaked then bowed back, giggling happily. “Oh no, no one told me Master Obi-Wan was cute as a padawan.”

Obi-Wan promptly turned deep red.

Thank the Chicken Man (Juice x Reader)

A/N. I love this beautiful bean. This one shot doesn’t mean that requests are open, or that I’m going to be churning things out regularly again (I know I suck I’m so sorry guys I’m just so swamped with school its a mess), but I have been inspired and have a few other things in the works that I’ll keep you posted on. Anyway, you guys know the drill, I don’t own anything except the plot, blah blah blah, including the above gif, as much as I wish I could own this beautiful man and some of his biker brothers. 

Alright guys, enjoy!


Juice rolled down the street, enjoying the purr of his bike beneath him, the wind in his face. He heard Bobby and Tig behind him, but as he sped up they fell behind. They knew the drill anyway. The Chicken Man was nervous about strangers and wouldn’t talk to anyone but Juice. Hearing other bikes would spook him.

Juice rolled up beside the blue van, which was parked rather conspicuously in the middle of a backroad, got off his bike and walked up to the window.

“Juan Carlos.” the Chicken Man nodded, head twitching to look around the lot. “May I assume the stimulants are in your backpack bag?”

“Yes Chicken.” Juice couldn’t hold back his smile. This was his favourite part, the shady deals. There was just something exhilarating about it, and he had to admit he enjoyed when he was able to do something like this the rest of the club couldn’t. “May I assume you have the cash?”

The man looked around nervously, giving another jerky nod. “Yes. Would you mind getting in? Talking this way makes me feel very conspicuous.”

Juice couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Sure thing man.” He opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “You’re a lunatic, you know tha–”

He saw something move behind him, a flash of white. “Shit!”

He elbowed the Mayan (not a Mayan, he realized distantly, but a guy from that gang they were patching over), in the face, but hands, too many hands, grabbed him roughly and dragged him back between the seats.

There was shouting behind him, but he was too busy bucking and twisting to hear them properly. His arms were wrenched above his head roughly, pinned in a way he couldn’t shake off, and a gloved hand clamped down over his mouth. He shouted anyway, kicking and bucking and twisting and strongly regretting leaving Bobby and Tig behind.

The man with the hand over his mouth leaned down, and Juice recognized the president of the other MC. “You tell Clay, my bullshit MC’s got some reach eh?”

A fist slammed into his face and his head snapped back, slamming into the floor of the van. Distantly, over the sounds of fists hitting his face, his own grunts of pain, and the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear the Chicken Man.

“I’m sorry Juan Carlos, but I’ve run up a bit of a tab with these Mexican fellows.”

Juice was very tempted to tell the dick what he thought of his apology, and where he could shove it, but he was a little busy. He lost track of how many times he got hit in the face, and then when he was too dazed to fight back anymore they moved down to his ribs. He noticed distantly that one of the guys behind him was tugging at his arms, and when he bucked against them the jackass behind him dislocated his shoulder. He screamed, or at least he let out a strangled groan, and something absolutely disgusting was shoved into his mouth. He was pretty sure it was a sock. If it hadn’t been in his mouth he probably would have thrown up. As it was he was pretty sure he was going to need to wash his mouth out with soap.

He got hit in the face again, and all thoughts of being sick were knocked from his head.

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Tokyo ghoul:re chapter 131, about Touka and Kaneki

Well… Jokes aside, this chapter was really depressing. I knew from the very start of my experience with Tg that kaneki was probably going to die, but having it pretty much confirmed is disheartening anyways. The general mood is incredibly gloomy, kaneki’s health is so deteriorated that he looks like a ghost (he probably is one, in a sense).
I’d really like to spend a few words for Touka. The poor girl is getting so much hatred that’s unfair. First people called her abusive, then accused her of forcing kaneki to have sex because she wanted to trap him or something, last chapter she was a monster for keeping her pregnancy secret, now she’s literally the devil because she chose to put her child’s future before everyone (even Yoriko omg!!).
I’m going to write my two cents about all this drama, because I’m bored and insomnia is a bitch.
Touka is a woman, but let me put this straight, she’s still very young. She grew up in a world that hated her even before she was born. Touka had a loving family and her heart was filled with kindness and affection, she knew that specific type of warmth, she played with her brother and a little bird. In a blink of an eye she lost everything, even hope. Left behind, betrayed by all that kindness that was her father’s condemn. So Touka put herself together alone, struggling to survive, no one around to guide her, to support and promote her emotional growth. She cried silently, shamefully, hating her innate tenderness. She didn’t want to end up like Arata. Loneliness and rage, power and distance altogether, but… She met Yoriko and her eyes were gentle, too gentle to be ignored. She met kaneki and he was an idiot, a useless, indecisive weakling; his eyes were full of sorrow and Touka let them sink into her own pain.
Touka fell in love with someone, a stranger to be honest, and love itself is a difficult matter. She was lookin for an image, a memory, fond and terrible at the same time. Fear of losing as a twisted form of complacency…
She doesn’t know how to be completely sane, she’s still craving love without understanding its multiple faces. SHE WAS ALONE, missing that precious piece of herself, always longing, waiting… She doesn’t want to feel isolated anymore. Kaneki… He is not a perfect lover, he has troubles, he aches constantly, but he is… Somehow… Sweet. Touka doesn’t know him, not so much, not as good as she should. Their relationship is tainted by their own warped concept of love. But is this really so terrible? Is this really so incomprehensible for a girl desiring more closeness, more understanding, more REALITY? She wishes for kaneki to become a real person for once, to complete the puzzle of his shattered identity. Someone she can be with, someone she can care for without any fear. I know a lot of readers will not like this statement, but the harsh truth is that, for many people, sex represents a way of bonding. A direct, imperfect, exclusive one, of course. Emotions are not easily manageable, especially when you have spent most of your life fighting to be “just invisible”. Touka wanted her answers, wanted to put a name to her swirling feelings, so she made her move. Kaneki was more than willing to embrace their moment together.
Kaneki… He’s a young man. He was hurt a lot by the people he loved the most. He was told to shut up, to be a maggot (small, insignificant), to not upset anyone with his existence. His mother gave him the message he was a nuisance for the world and unfortunately he belived her. Kaneki doesn’t really want to live, to get attached, to feel. He’s good with his books, foreign worlds, inoffensive artificial emotions. Touka is the first ghoul he met after Rize. She is a blazing flame, she lives her personal hell with proudness and a bit of recklessness. She is beautiful and she shakes him from the inside. He fell for her twice, even when he didn’t know who he really was. Kaneki needs to be shaken, he really does. Kaneki enjoyed having sex with her and at the end, he quietly slept on her knees, SMILING. No one of them really thought about the consequences, they just AGREED to freed themselves from every intrusive thought, chasing after that precious thing so mysterious and always far away.
Kaneki and Touka are two young adults overwhelmed by a crazy world that has never really protected them (actually they are still learning how to protect themselves).
However this crazy world is also unforgiving. They are BOTH responsible of their actions, they had sex TOGHETER and sure as hell none of them wished to become a parent, especially not Touka. Yes, she has been carless, but Kaneki too. How can anyone ignore the torment she’s living? She found herself pregnant and nothing can change the past. So now, even tho she didn’t planned anything, she’s enduring terrible physical pain, even not knowing if her efforts are somehow useful, because she cannot let the creature inside of her die. And at first her greatest concern was still to PROTECT kaneki, sparing him from the responsibility of being a father. Kaneki has already the entire world on his shoulders, so she didn’t want to make him even more anxious. She was ready to live this hell alone, for Kaneki’s sake. I usually don’t like when other people try to impose their decisions on others, but I was still impressed by Touka’s abnegation.
I’m happy she chose to tell kaneki everything in this chapter. The baby is also kaneki’s and he has has the right AND the duty to take full responsibility.
Now please spare me the comments about Touka mentioning another girl or the childish argument “THEY DON’T SEEM HAPPY! THEY ARE SO FAKE!!”.
First of all, Touka is a sarcastic person. We know this from the very beginning of Tg. Touka uses irony every time she feels uncomfortable, embarrassed or scared. Even when she confessed a few chapters ago she tried to appear casual about the matter, even if her thoughts were complex and also tinged with sadness (remember her referring to kaneki’s suicidal tendencies?). Please don’t be ridiculous by giving meaning to Touka’s silly ice breakers. If you want to criticize use more convincing arguments. As for the “ they don’t seem happy! ” thing, well… OF COURSE they are not happy! Kaneki is literally dying, he doesn’t even know if he’ll be lucky enough to see this child’s face, the pregnancy itself has an high risk of failure, Touka and kaneki know this for a fact and it’s frightening. The world is burning, ghouls and humans are at each others’ throats more violently than ever and at the moment ghoulkind is definitely losing. They are starving and are forced to live underground. So… Tell me: what exactly should kaneki and Touka be celebrating?
At least kaneki tried to connect more this time. Touka gave him a ring, now he tells her in his typically childish way that he truly cares for her and that he wants them to be together like a real family.

As for Yoriko, I’m sorry for her, but I can totally understand Touka’s decision. Touka wants to protect her family, her child and the father of her child. You can’t help anyone if you don’t choose. It is painful indeed, but there is no other way. I guess Kaneki was really impressed by Touka’s will. His mother didn’t fight for him, so his son is already luckier in my opinion.

Disclaimer: I want to make this crystal clear, I’m not a shipping fangirl, or at least, I don’t have any favourite pairing at all in Tokyo Ghoul. I think none of these freaks should be allowed to experience romance and reproduce (lol).
Seriously tho, I really don’t have any particular love for Touka or Touken in general. This post is just my honest feelings spilling together because I can’t sleep at night.

YA Was Better In The Old Days

There are times when I really feel that modern girls are being ripped off in their YA. I grew up reading old WWII era Stories for Girls inherited from my grandmother and mother and let me tell you, restrictive gender roles and all, they let girls do more stuff than most of the current crop. And a lot of them were written around Girls Finding Their Calling rather than Girls Finding Their True Love.

For example:

In ‘A Friend for Frances’, Frances has to deal with the realities of being from a poor farming family and convince her parents to spend extra money on letting her go to a good school. She succeeds! She finds a best friend, learns about working hard to achieve your dreams, and ends the book a) all set to pursue her dream of gardening as a career and b) going to Holland to see the tulips because flowers are kind of her life. The only dudes involved in the story are her father, her brother, her best friend’s semi-present father and the Curmudgeon With A Heart Of Gold who gives her an after-school job.

In ‘Nancy Calls The Tune’, Nancy is a gifted musician and trained organist who takes a job in a church to free up the male organist to enlist and Do His Duty. Nancy and her housemate get jobs, work hard, Nancy helps maintain morale for the whole village and meets a nice man who respects her work-ethic and the housemate coerces a pilot into taking her over the channel to rescue her sister who is trapped Behind Enemy Lines. Some of the Patriotic Yay War Boo Cowardice stuff is pretty on the nose, but it still had a lot of Girls Doing Things.

In the entirety of the Swallows and Amazons series the girls were absolutely as competent as the boys when it came to sailing, exploring, and Making Up Cool Shit, and significantly more competent in the areas of cooking, supervising younger siblings, and making fires that wouldn’t go right out. It’s stated repeatedly in text that Susan, the ‘domestic one’, is the only reason they’re allowed to do most of it because she’s the one the parents can count on to make sure that Meals, Bedtime And Basic First Aid are applied at appropriate times. The assorted parents make it very clear to all the kids that John and Nancy may be the ships’ captains but SUSAN IS IN CHARGE IF YOU DISOBEY HER YOU WILL NEVER CAMP AGAIN.

‘The Daring Of Daryl’ features Daryl who is just SO EXCITED TO GO TO BOARDING SCHOOL THAT SHE RIDES A TRAINED BULL TO THE STATION RATHER THAN MISS THE TRAIN. An actual bull. Usual school story hijinks ensue, but I remember the book fondly to this day for Daryl’s almost Australian eagerness to embrace personal danger and sports. Again, very few dudes. 

It’s a bit older, but ‘Rilla of Ingleside’ is to this day one of the only WWI novels not only centered around almost exclusively female characters, but about girls who were at home, trying to cope with rationing and fundraising and answering the phone when any call might be to inform them of a death in the family. Rilla, a slightly spoiled teenager when the story opens, pulls her socks up and grimly soldiers on throughout. She raises money, knits socks, tries to keep her parents spirits up as their sons enlist one after another, somehow holds the family together when one of her brothers dies, and - with nobody blinking an eye - at fifteen adopts a war baby whose mother has died and whose father is overseas and takes care of it until the father comes back. There is a romance, but given that he’s also at war most of the time you don’t see much of him.

‘Dragon Island’ featured three girls who were shipwrecked (if I remember right) on an island with a significant komodo dragon population. They survived and didn’t get eaten and were generally plucky and good at problem-solving. They fished, scavenged, built shelters, all the good stuff. No romance unless you shipped the girls and let me tell you I did.

And there were innumerable Girl’s Own Stories and Girl’s Annuals and Girls Own Adventures in which girls scaled cliffs, captured spies, raised money for charities, thwarted evil capitalists trying to take the family farm, rode horses, saved injured animals, learned instruments, bested bullies, befriended strangers, went to sea, hiked up mountains, found treasure, put on shows, won scholarships, helped old people, won academic prizes, put out fires, and generally MADE FRIENDS WITH GIRLS AND DID ALL THE THINGS.

And every time I pick up a modern YA there’s at least one boy mentioned on the cover and Is It True Love and I just really miss the days when plucky, independent girls named Kate or Debbie or Susan or Abigail or Samantha were allowed to wear sensible shoes and pursue wildly varying hobbies and careers and solve their own problems that did not center around boys. Boys frequently did not even intrude on the narrative except as Annoying Brothers or Helpful Stable Hands.

I grew up reading stories in which heroines were expected to be plucky, tough, resourceful, independent, good at problem solving, unafraid of hard work and good human beings. My daughter is growing up reading stories about girls who fall in love and maybe, like, do some other stuff. I do not like this trend.

TLDR: I am old people and stories for girls were better in my day because there weren’t so many dang boys in them and also girls were allowed to do more things.

Family

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: “Could You Write Something Where The Reader Pretty Much Grows Up With The Winchesters And Her Mom Dies And So They Basically Adopt Her And The Reader Develops Feelings For Dean But Doesn’t Think He Feels The Same Way About Her? Thank You!”

Warnings: Mild swearing, death, mentions of sex. 

Word Count: 2009

Notes: Since you didn’t really specify any ending I just winged it, hope you enjoy anon! -Dani (You’re welcome for proofreading this, Dani! -Lottie) (Also Y/M/N means “your mom’s name”)

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