i haven't been able to sit down and make anything this week at all

anonymous asked:

Romantic prinxiety Where Roman and Virgil don't get along but the theater needs another singer for there musical legally blonde ( if you haven't seen it before you can change it I just love that musical ) Virgil does it because he needs his grades up in theatre class. Virgil winds up playing Emmett and Roman plays Elle ( he's the only one who can hit the right notes and they don't care he's a boy ) they have to rehearse the kiss and turns out that they like it more than they thought they would

I love this prompt and it took a while to get enough time to sit down and write this, but I like how it turned out.  My school put on Legally Blonde last year, so I was familiar with it, but still needed a little refresher.  I also changed up the prompt a tad, but hope you enjoy!

Stick to the Script

Fandom: Sanders Sides
Pairing: Prinxiety, platonic Moxiety and Logince
Warnings: physical injury (nothing graphic)

Summary: Someone must’ve said Macbeth because they’re going to need a new Emmett.  Virgil is volunteered for the role and neither he nor Roman are too happy about it.

Tagged: @existental-crises @jordisama @here-to-vent @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @novagalaxy4real @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @emo-space-trash @evanisonfire @lollingtothemax @all-the-fand0mz


The stage was crazy this time of year, it wasn’t quite tech week yet, but the theater was bustling with students learning their lines and dance numbers. Virgil watched from behind a curtain on side stage as Roman and Logan performed their lines.

“Oh, and getting one of Stromwell’s daily quotes right is almost as important as acing the mid-term,” Logan recited.

“But you didn’t hear it from me.” Virgil finished under his breath.

“I still don’t get why you didn’t try out.” Virgil jumped and turned to face Patton, his heart racing. Damn, they really ought to get that kid a cowbell.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see me on stage,” Virgil said, crossing his arms. “I’m better back here as SM where there’s order and no surprises.”

As if on cue, there was a loud crash from the stage followed by a long, agonizing moan.

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anonymous asked:

B, Shiro and coran if you haven't closed already?

A glass settled down in front of Coran, startling him from his daze.  He sat up straight, eyes wide, and paused at the sight of Shiro.  He leaned against the side of the table, hip braced on the edge, a glass held delicately in his metal hand.  

“Apologies, Number One.  I didn’t see you come in.”  Coran rubbed over his face and took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.

“No problem,” Shiro replied, soft.  Casual.  “I figured you could use one of these.”  He held up the glass as if in toast.

Blinking down at the cup again, Coran realized it was about full with something dark colored.  It smelled strong.

Coran swallowed hard.  “I-”  Then all the tension drained out of him.  He leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumped, as he picked up the glass.  “Suppose I could, at that.”

“You know-”  Shiro cut himself off, then shook his head. “You know what I’m going to say.”

Nodding, Coran sighed.  “I do.”

Allura would be alright.  They’d gotten her in the pod in time.  She’d completed the mission before she’d gone down.  She’d saved the entire planet by deactivating the communications tower and preventing reinforcements.  She’d come home.  She knew the job was dangerous, and she’d embraced it anyway.

Yes, Coran knew all that.

It didn’t make it better when the girl he’d helped raise was asleep behind the glass, complexion gray and wane.

Shiro finally sat down at the chair next to Coran’s, still nursing his drink.  “Did I ever tell you about the trip to Kerberos?”

Pausing, Coran slowly shook his head.  “Not much. I know why you went.  Samples, yes?  Matt and his and Pidge’s father were studying the ice.”  It was, on the whole, a mission Coran could appreciate.  Stepping out into the cosmic waters for the sake of curiosity, then to apply it to one’s own past.  A noble pursuit if there ever was one.

“Yes.  I didn’t have much to do with that, except helping to hold the drill in place.  So, you know, irreplaceable.”   Shiro flashed a smile, just slightly wane.  “But humanity hasn’t mastered gravity control yet, so we were floating in our ship the whole way.”

Coran paused, mouth falling open.  “That was- entire movements!”  

Smile growing, Shiro nodded.  “A good while, yeah.  A couple pheobs, I think?  I’m still not 100 percent on the conversion.  You get used to it, really, even if it’s odd.  It’s nice, never being able to drop anything.  The real problem was that you had to strap yourself in to stay anywhere.  But Matt- you know how he is.  Thinks he’s funny.  Any time someone was distracted, he’d try to clip them to whatever they were closest to.  So, about three weeks in…”

Shiro talked.  Just talked.  Inane conversation, silly stories, sprinkled with teasing the team or Matt.  Never about Allura.  Never about Voltron.  Just- just air.

Coran sipped his drink, and he listened, and once he even laughed.

Mostly, he stayed quiet, and let Shiro a distraction from the thoughts in his head.

“I’ll be sure never to trust Pidge with those wrenches again,” Coran said, smiling thinly.  “Thank you for the warning.”

Shiro saluted him with the glass again.  “Just don’t tell her I told you.”

“I would never.”  He tapped the console and winced at the time.  “It’s getting late.  We should sleep.”  Taking the empty bottle, Coran stood with a groan.  while he was certainly not old, sitting for so long had not been good for him.  “And Shiro… Thank you.”

“Of course,” Shiro replied gently.  He didn’t get up, just watched with too sharp eyes.  “You would do the same for us.  Have.  You should get the same in return.”

Coran closed his eyes and nodded.  “I- yes.  Thank you.”  He took a deep breath.  “Have a good night, Shiro.”

“Good night, Coran.”

As he slipped out, Coran rubbed over one eye with the palm of his hand.

Allura would be safe.  She had come home this time.  Her potential loss was still so real, so world-shattering, so consuming.

But she wasn’t the only family Coran had on board.

That meant something too.

Marriage Material - Part 14 - Jim Kirk

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13

Summary: in this chapter, there’s a short trip into jim’s head.

Warnings: language

A/N: a jim chapter. s’all about how jim’s feeling, nothing that drives the plot. forgive typos, im really tired.


He didn’t start any wars that day— and it wasn’t for lack of desire to do so. He would’ve loved to shake the frustration from his system with a few phaser shots here, couple torpedoes fired there. He almost asked Spock to run bioscans on every nearby planet so that once a deserted one was found, he could launch the entire payload of long-range explosives onto its surface.

Obviously, societal norms, morals, and common sense kept him from doing so— but he was still tempted.

There was too much frustration in his system, too much pent-up energy he would have rather spent yelling at you. Nothing malicious, of course, just the usual shouts of “I’m so in love with you I can barely breathe, why can’t you fucking see it?” and “I just want to love you, and care for you, and make you feel the way I feel every time you look in my direction— what the fuck is wrong with you that you won’t let me?”

But he couldn’t do that. Not only because he hated the idea of seeing your eyes lose some of their precious light at his tone, not only because he didn’t think he could stand to hurt you even inadvertently with his volume— he was also terrified.

There was no closing the floodgates once they opened. If he told you he loved you once, he’d have to keep saying it, he’d have to keep assuring you of it, he’d have to keep kissing you in a way that made sure you knew it.

He pictured every possible scenario. You hearing that he loved you and walking out of his quarters without a second glance over your shoulder, you hearing that he loved you and heavy divorce papers finding their way to him in a sooner eventually than he was prepared for, you hearing that he loved you and continuing to fulfill your obligations only because you were obliged to, not because being around him brought you as much joy as it brought him to be anywhere in your vicinity.

The most poisonous scenario, though, was the one bursting with red, bursting with pink. You hearing that he loved you, you understanding that he loved you, you loving that he loved you. Your smile would rival brightness he thought only existed in every star his ship warped past, your eyes would be as filled as anything in his chest with emotions so foolishly blissful, so beautifully scary he’d be unable to look away. You wouldn’t need to say it back until you were ready to, until you were sure you meant it— but he would know it was coming, he would know he’d hear your voice returning his sentiments and it would be worth the wait.

It played in his head repeatedly. He hated so much that his every thought revolved around it, he hated even more how much he hoped for it to come true. He didn’t know what forces controlled the universe, he didn’t know if any forces did— but he asked whatever it was, whatever it wasn’t to give you everything you wanted and then to give you to him.

As he stepped through the doors of the medbay, he didn’t bother keeping a soft focus. He kept his eyes trained in the direction of Leonard’s office and didn’t dare perceive the hall holding the exam rooms he knew you’d be near.

“Alpha’s done, Bones,” he said as he walked through the agape door and planted himself in one of the chairs across from Leonard’s desk. “Time to drink.”

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Playing Pretend

Yoongi slowly walked toward the small house snuck in between bigger buildings at the end of the street. He needed to do this, it had been weeks since he’d last talked to his mother and he was sure she was getting antsy, if the the 121 missed calls and 53 voice messages meant anything. This was just how his life was and he needed to suck it up. Cause Yoongi had learned early on that pity and sadness only equated weakness. When he arrived at the door, he saw it was just as beaten down as the last time he’d seen it, the paint chipped so bad that it looked like an animal had attacked it. He sighed and rang the doorbell, adjusting the one cheap tie he had bought years ago for occasions like this. His suit was two sizes too big and his dress shirt still had a stain from his last visit (hopefully his mother wouldn’t be able to tell). I mean Yoongi wasn’t poor, far from that, his “extracurricular activities” paid well. But Yoongi also believed in not using money where it wasn’t needed. The money it would take to buy a better suit, he could just give to his mom. Combing his hair with his fingers one last time, Yoongi took in a deep breath and pasted on a fake smile. The door creaked open and before him stood his small, stocky mom. Frown lines more prominent, hair grayer, but smile just as bright as ever. Yoongi loved his mother (She was the only family that was worth shit anyway). And he knew what it would do to her to know how he actually survived. So a couple times a year he would dress up in his “office worker” costume and play pretend. He didn’t want to be a bigger disappoint than he already was. Right when she saw him, Yoongi was pulled into a bone crushing hug that smelled of cinnamon and old memories.

“Momf I canth brefthe” Yoongi muffled as his moms relentless hold tightened.

“That’s what you get for making me worried for days. Come back sooner. Have you no respect for your mother. I wait and wait and you never call or com-”

“Alright, alright sorry, I know I suck, I should come more often, but um… work gets very stressful mom.” Yoongi said cutting her off and finally pulling out of the hug. As soon as he mentioned work, his mothers face fell into a sympathetic and worrisome state.

“They’re not overworking you are they. If they are Yoongi say something, they can’t treat you however they want you know” His mother stated defiantly. Worked up on Yoongi’s behalf. She led him into the house and walked straight to the kitchen. If Yoongi knew his mother, he knew there was a feast waiting for him.

“I know mom. Thanks” he sighed sitting down at the table with copious amounts of food on it. “How do you always out do your self. Mom I’m not starving. I don’t send you money just so you can make me dinner that could feed an army.”

“Just say thank you and eat the food. If I don’t spend money on my boy then who else would I spend it on.” She asked, incredulous. She sat down beside him and started placing food on his spoon and plate. “I only need to see you happy to be happy.” Yoongi’s mom was a sap, and she knew just the words to melt his heart. Had it been anyone else, Yoongi would’ve scoffed and degraded their entire existence, but to his mother he could only smile and shove his face. He knew the routine by now, after stuffing himself with food until he weighed about 20 lbs heavier, Yoongi would be asked a series of questions regarding his personal life, then he would mention his workload and his mom would pack him the food he wasn’t able to finish (which could honestly last him a month) and he’d be on his way. The process took about 3hrs. It was simple and always the same. Except this time Jimin had called him nearing the end of the personal questionnaire portion of the evening and his mother had seen the contact info before he quickly hung up. Now he could’ve made any excuse to who Jimin was, If the idiot thug wasnt as possessive as he was, and hadn’t changed his name in Yoongi’s phone from “Rich Asshat” to “❤️Jiminie❤️”. I mean yeah he’d done it months ago, which gave Yoongi plenty of time to change it back, but Yoongi’s excuse of always being too busy remained strong. (Also there was the fact that his name was saved as “Suga😍👌🏾👅” in Jimins phone and he secretly loved the personal feeling it gave off, but you’d catch him dead before he admitted that). So instead of 3hrs it took 4 and a half, as he kept repeating that Jimin wasnt anything serious but rather just a casual relationship. And the hearts around his name were a joke, but his mother wasn’t truly convinced. So he now had to bring Jimin to dinner next time he came, and it had to be before the month ended, or he’d “see his mother’s wrath”. Yoongi grumbled and pouted the rest of the night and huffed an annoyed sigh as he grabbed the bags of food and gave his mother a kiss on the check as he left her home.

“I’m excited to see him.” She smiled, and then narrowed her eyes and continued, “and if I don’t then you won’t have a mother either.” Dramatic was her middle name.

“Yeah yeah” he waved as he left her behind. Playing pretend for his mother was a habit by now. And he sometimes believed she played along. How else would the warm scene of a broken down family, which consisted of a alcoholic, weak mother and her prostitue son making ends just barely meet make sense. Playing pretend was all the two had left, and they took their roles seriously. Cause when Yoongi left the cabinet under the sink would open and wouldn’t close the day before Yoongi next came. Their fucked up lives took breaks for only 3hrs a couple of times a year. Maybe that’s why when Yoongi was far away, he pulled out his phone and dialed the first name on his missed calls list.

“I don’ like it when ya keep me waitin darlin” the voice slurred as Jimin picked up the call.

“I was busy. With my mom. I told you. Why’d you call” he replied short and straight.

“Cuss I missd’ ma baby, and wanted ta play” Jimin continued, voice filled with flirtations. Yoongi fought back a smile, and kept his voice emotionless, he was prostitute, that owed Jimin a shit ton, nothing more and nothing less.

“On my way. But I need to talk to you about something. A favor.” Yoongi said, fully aware of the teasing that would follow.

“Anotha one, ya really like usin’ me don’ ya. Guess we'r jus gonna have ta add it ta ya list. What does ma darlin need.” Jimin asked amused. Yoongi sighed, this would probably equal a 2 weeks worth of fucking, but it really didn’t matter, he basically owed Jimin for life. And he wasn’t really complaining about it either.

“I’ll tell you when I see you.” Yoongi replied, “it’s not that big of a deal compared to what I’ve asked of you before”

“At this point it don’ matta darlin, I’m doin errythin for ya. An I don’ mind” Jimin answered with the same amused and flirtatious voice that now somehow seemed reserved for Yoongi. “Can’ wait ta feel ya baby” he added his voice dipping low. Yoongi hid the arousal from his voice as he just hummed back and then proceeded to end the call. He knew was fucked, but hey at least he was also getting fucked.

For @ask-gangtan (I’m obsessed)

Purgatory -- 1/???

Kaiba called it Purgatory.

When he rode up to the station the first time, Yuugi assumed the name came from the feeling that hit him when he first sat down in that chair and looked out of the glass windows all around them and saw nothing but black, twinkling sky above, and swirling blue-green-white-everything below. Sitting there in that unbelievable station, on the edge of earth and space, between everything and nothing… it really was like floating between two worlds.

But he was wrong.

He realized that only later, though.

After Kaiba told him to stop gawking and get to work.

After Yuugi handed over his first-try-codes and the hologram sphere that should have appeared between their chairs exploded across the observation deck in a scrambled mess of light, proving the translation from Yuugi’s own system to Kaiba’s tech wouldn’t so smooth after all.

After hours and days and weeks of gritting his teeth through Kaiba’s impatient snapping and ignoring him in favor of Mokuba’s advice, buzzing constantly in his ear through the game station’s speakers.

After he thought to ask in passing, three-fourths of his mind focused on finding patience, why Kaiba had created this station in the first place, since Mokuba said it had been in operation a good four years before he and Yuugi started talks about a celestial expansion of Spherium.

Kaiba had stopped typing, eyed him across the game table… and finally, after a long stretch of nothing, looked back at his screen, talking to numbers in place of his face. “It doesn’t matter what it was meant for before. Now, it’s just a compromise.”

Yuugi blinked, distraction turned to focus as he echoed, “A… compromise?”

“Yes. He found out the risks I was taking to get there, and refused to duel me anymore. To ‘encourage’ me. But he agreed to come if I could get him here.”

“It’s easier to get ‘stuck’ on his end than ours, apparently,” Mokuba supplied, but the explanation made no more sense to Yuugi’s ear, even as his heart pounded its understanding, undermining the dazed question he finally managed.

“His… he who?”

Kaiba gave a subtle sniff, told him to play the idiot, and pressed some button.

“Say hi for me!” Mokuba called, just before the line cut off and a golden light flashed before Yuugi’s eyes.

When he finally managed to open them again, recover his vision, he found… they were still right where they had started. Still in the Spherium room, Kaiba sitting before him.

But when Yuugi noticed the changing the lighting around him, and looked down… his throat closed up, and all he could do was stare. Stare at the world floating beneath the space station… the vast desert spread out in all directions, a single wide river snaking around to cut across the scene.

And there, just below them, a city… a palace…

All of it hazy, coming apart at the edges in… in broken, black pieces. Dissolving even as he looked.

Dissolving in a way Yuugi remembered well.

“Kaiba-kun…” he breathed, barely daring to even breathe enough to manage the name. “You didn’t…”

Didn’t what? Didn’t possibly? Didn’t dare? Didn’t actually…

…But even as Yuugi tried to form the questions, he heard how foolish they were. How blind to the man he was speaking to.

And Kaiba must have appreciated his circumspection, because he didn’t call or imply him a fool again. Just rose from his seat and made for the door, never looking back at him. “He’ll have seen the station. If he’s in a mood to come up, he’ll meet us in the duel room.”

Yuugi watched him go… his body frozen in his chair by the overload of questions speeding through his head. What had Kaiba done? How had he done this? How… how long had this been a thing? How often did he even do this? Had… had he been doing this since… since then? The last time that… that Yuugi saw…

…How could he have not known?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, alone, everything silent and unmoving save for the slow disintegration of the golden world below him… but eventually, Yuugi stood.

Followed.

He didn’t even have to know the way. The space station’s hallway was large, but straightforward. Simple to map out.

And he could hear them.

“–easier to show him than to waste time explaining.”

“You… you didn’t even ask him first?!”

He coughed on his own breath, tripped on nothing as the silver of the hall around him gleamed and blurred on a dime because that voice was–

“–have to complain about? I told you the risks are minimal this way.”

“That’s not the point! If he wanted to come that is one thing, but you didn’t even–”  

…Logically, the shock should have paralyzed him. Left Yuugi standing there, frozen in the hall, drinking in that voice until… until something interrupted him, because it didn’t matter how long he had to process this, it would never make sense, and he would never be able to grasp it.

But that wasn’t how it worked.

That voice… it had stopped because Yuugi hadn’t stopped. He had moved without even knowing it, drawn in by the sound, until… until he saw the owner.

There, standing beyond Kaiba, in the middle of another minimal room of sleek silver and bright lights, utterly at odds with the reality around him, and dissolving to black even as Yuugi stared… but real.

Atem.

Real, and there, and looking back. Staring right back at him… the same devastated wreck of overwhelmed emotions Yuugi felt crashing through those familiar crimson eyes as he… as he whispered to him.

Not with words, not anywhere Yuugi could hear him, but… but still Yuugi heard it. His name, that name, whispered not by a mouth or a mind, but there all the same– in his memories, and Atem’s eyes.

It didn’t matter how many years passed… Yuugi heard it because he remembered exactly how it should sound, and read that truth in that single, never broken glance.

And he didn’t know what he might be saying back with his silence, as Kaiba abruptly turned about and brushed right past him, tossing intentions over his shoulder about getting some work done if they were going to be so slow about this… but finally, Yuugi found the will to break the silence stretching out between them with a quiet, “Mokuba-kun told me to tell you he said hi.”

And Atem blinked, the film of astonishment clearing just a little from his eyes… and slowly, he smiled. A small, amused, easy thing that made Yuugi’s heart tumble over itself as he said, “Tell him I say hi, too.”

And Yuugi nodded… incapable of doing anything, save reflecting that smile right back.

It might get to be a habit

Rinch ficlet. The library, dumb jokes, a kiss.


It happened by accident, the first time. Harold hadn’t been at his desk but his bag was there, and his coat was hanging on the rack and John had sat there a solid half hour before he allowed himself to get up and look for him. He knew sometimes Harold went down to the stacks, where long, towering shelves of books made the basement feel like a particularly informative labyrinth, and he knew, too, that sometimes Harold would get distracted down there.

But it was tough on Harold’s leg, having to navigate all those stairs. And the stacks were dim and quiet, so far down that John would never know if anything happened.

So he’d gone looking. 

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anonymous asked:

possessive!oliver jealous!oliver I'm so here for this

Yes, okay, let’s talk about that! (Unestablished timeline because I suck, but Ollie’s still CEO okay? okay, good)

So they start dating, and for a while, it’s cool - they spend most of their time together, just the two of them, all wrapped up in their little bubble in Oliver’s apartment away from the rest of the world. So it’s not until Oliver takes Barry out to a party that jealousy rears its ugly head. 

It starts off well enough. It’s a formal social gathering - something to do with drumming up business for the company, Barry doesn’t really know. All he knows is that he needs to make nice with a bunch of rich guys for the sake of his boyfriend’s company. So he plasters on his most dazzling smile and shakes hands with every potential client, ensuring to talk Oliver up to the best of his ability. 

Of course, this doesn’t go quite as planned. A few of the guests take to him a little.. too well. Barry doesn’t notice it - but Oliver certainly does, and he’s livid. The women, he can deal with. They’re not quite as forward. They’ll linger their gaze a little longer, flutter their eyelashes, play with their hair and laugh along with Barry’s jokes. 

It’s the guys, though. The ones that let their eyes trail all over his boyfriend’s body appreciatively, leer in his direction, make suggestive comments and grip onto his handshake a little too long. That’s when Oliver finds himself clenching his jaw, trying to control his anger so that he doesn’t ruin everything for the sake of something that doesn’t really matter in the long run - it’s not like Barry would even take them up on any possible offers. Still, he can’t help the curl of jealousy that festers inside him.

The worst of it is, Barry just continues to be polite - to smile at the guys and carry on with amicable chat, unaware of the extra attention, because apparently Barry Allen is unaware of exactly just how gorgeous he actually is - all long eyelashes, gorgeous cheekbones and dazzling smiles. 

So when one guy stands a little too close, gives Barry the bedroom eyes, and rests his palm on Barry’s upper arm, Barry’s barely able to stumble through the flustered rejection he’s attempting to give the guy before Oliver’s yanking him to the nearest coat closet in favour of pressing him against the door, sucking bruising marks into his neck, and claiming him right then and there. 

They stumble out about half an hour later, hair askew and clothing well and truly rumpled, and it may or may not take Oliver a couple of seconds to realise that his fly is still down as they make their way through the deserted hallway and back to the party. No one says anything, but it’s painfully obvious what they’d been doing. Thankfully, a few of the potential clients have a good sense of humour, and arrange to meet with Oliver the following week, providing that he can drag himself away from his boyfriend for an evening. 

If he makes sure to lay his claim on Barry in the moments before he leaves for said evenings, well, no one really needs to know. 

Send me your headcanons and I’ll do a thing

Something About Us // Snowbarry 

Description // Drabbles reflecting on the women of Barry’s life. 

-

Felicity

Barry is bouncing on the balls of his heels. It’s great, really, because it means he’s less squirmy when it comes to poking and prodding him for tests at the Labs.

She has to thank Felicity Smoak for this. She admires her too, since, like she’s always known, the team has always benefited from a woman’s presence. Namely, today, she is keeping Barry occupied, challenging him to really demonstrate his abilities and take pride in his latest excursions.

‘You two going out for coffee?’ Caitlin is curious, watching the distracted way he’s staring at the blonde across the room.

'Uh, yeah,’ he replies, whipping his head toward her while she patches up his latest injuries. 'Just as friends,’ he feels he needs to add.

She fails to hide the inevitable twist of a knowing smile. ‘I think you two are kinda cute.’

In response, he rubs nervously at his shirt’s front. ‘Caitlin, we’re friends. I mean, I get it. She’s great; she’s into everything that matters to me, she’s kind, and ridiculously cute when she can’t stop rambling. And…’

All she needs to do is share a look with him, an honest look that says she knows what his mind is truly distracted with, and who his mind’s eye is conflicted in seeing instead of Felicity.

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Less Than 3

Coda for 10x10 based on Cas’s love of texting and emoticons. (ao3)

Castiel’s phone chirps at him from inside his pocket while he is driving down the interstate. He is on his way home from his search for Claire. He’d hoped she would want to come back with him, and allow him to take care of her. Even though things didn’t turn out how he wanted, as long as Claire is happy, that’s all that matters to him.

His phone beeps again and he decides that he should probably pull over, considering that most likely the texts that keep coming through are from Dean. He turns on his blinker and slides the Continental onto the shoulder and puts her into park. He digs his phone out of his pocket and unlocks the screen to find three texts waiting for him.

Dean

You find Claire?

5:08pm

Dean

I felt bad leaving her with those crazies, but I just couldn’t stay. I couldn’t trust myself not to do something dumb.

5:11pm

Dean

Cas?

5:15pm

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reservoirdogma  asked:

OKAY TALK TO ME ABOUT OWEN AND CLAIRE HEADCANNONS because I haven't been able to find anything online for them and it's killing me dead I shipped them so hardcore. (I usually don't even buy those token romances in blockbusters but this one hit all my buttons somehow)

OK THESE ARE LITERALLY ALL ABOUT THEIR FIRST MEETING/FIRST DATE BECAUSE I AM OBSESSED also I am posting this publicly because like you I have been consumed by claire/owen feels and I want to take the world down with me and damn it I want someone to write real fic ok somebody write fic

- owen had been working with the raptors for a while before claire landed her job on the island, and he happened to be passing by helipad when she was first arriving. she climbs off the chopper wearing her college sweatpants and an old t-shirt (one of very few times that he would ever see her without her signature heels-skirt-blazer combo) and struggling to carry her three large suitcases (filled of course with heels, skirts and blazers). he thinks she might be one of his new interns so he introduces himself and offers to carry her bags, but not before letting it slip that watching her try to manage it all on her own is kind of amusing to him – which claire does not take well. she brushes past his extended hand, very clearly annoyed, muttering something about a long travel day and delayed flights and missing luggage and not having time for this. he follows her, making another joke about how much stuff she has because ‘damn, I thought I was an overpacker…’ and she sends him the deadliest of deadly glares over her shoulder before a driver helps her into a car and she disappears, leaving owen wondering where in the world they could be taking his intern and why he feels like he misses her

- the next morning during InGen’s weekly check-in with his team and the raptors, he has a do a double take before realizing that the woman in the black pinstriped pantsuit and four-inch heels is the same woman from the night before. she is content to pretend last night didn’t happen and introduces herself in her most formal tone, extending her hand. he laughs, trying hard to resist the urge to brush past her like she had the night before, but she’s giving him this look that’s caught somewhere between pleading and contempt, so he plays along for her sake (and also, admittedly, for his)

- after her first couple of months on the island, she starts to warm up to him a bit. owen always finds time during the check-ins to talk to claire. he starts calling them ‘dual check-ins’ – claire checks in on the raptors, and he checks in on claire. she’s not crazy about the idea (‘how many times do I have to tell you, mr. grady? just because we are in the jungle instead of a conference room doesn’t make this any less of a business meeting’) and she does her best to keep him at arm’s length, but there are moments where she allows her guard to fall (‘okay, you can ask me ONE question. but then you give me an update on the raptors!’). he respects her limits, knows when to stop pushing her. her family is a sore spot, he learns quickly, so he doesn’t ask about them often

- as acting manager of jurassic world, she does her best to make it to every weekly check-in, but things just keep coming up again and again, so she only ends up seeing him about every other week. he asks about her when she’s not there, and he will only demonstrate improvements in the raptors’ abilities when she is there to watch. his obvious crush on her becomes an inside joke among the InGen board members

 - at the end of claire’s first quarter as acting manager, InGen holds an event in her honor. owen – who has somehow managed to avoid all of these annoying banquets in his past couple of years on the island – is one of the first to arrive. he sits at a table with his team and tries not to let his eyes wander over to claire all night (it’s bad enough that the InGen board members are joking about his crush, but now his team is giving him shit for it too). he can’t help it, though. she’s wearing the most beautiful gold dress, and she’s smiling more than he’s ever seen her smile before, and whenever her eyes connect with his he feels his heart drop down to his stomach. after all of the official board members and presidents and owners and shareholders have given all of their official speeches, owen stands up before he can think twice about it and taps his fork against his glass. he tells everyone to ‘toast to claire, the woman who keeps us all going.’ when owen’s eyes meet claire’s through the crowd, he swears there’s a tear in her eye. he catches a moment alone with her before the night is over, and she’s not sure if it’s the wine or his toast or the way he looks in that damn suit, but she asks him out to dinner the following night.

- she shows up to his place the next night, six o’clock sharp, itinerary in hand. she hugs him hello when he opens the door, and he’s so surprised that by the time he rests his hands on her back she’s already pulling away. she calls him owen for the first time and his heart just about stops beating. her smile drops when she looks down and sees the board shorts. ‘did— I’m sorry, am I early? do you need more time to get ready?’ ‘nope.’

- he ends up making her ditch the itinerary after the first hour and takes her to a burger joint in the park that she says she’s never been to. ‘why would I want to go to the one restaurant on this island with the lowest customer satisfaction ratings? we’ve almost closed it down three separate times.’ ‘claire, if you ever closed this place, I’m sorry, but I would resign on the spot. I’m pretty sure it’s written in my contract.’ ‘there’s no way that’s written in your contract.’ ‘well, it should be.’

- owen gets ketchup all over claire’s white sundress and she threatens to send him her dry cleaning bill (two weeks later the bill is taped to his front door)

- during lulls in their conversation, he talks about the raptors. he talks about the raptors… a lot. at first, she’ll admit, she finds it kind of cute – endearing, like the way a child talks about their dog. but it comes to a point where she can hardly get a word in edgewise, and finally she insists that they get back to her itinerary. he makes some snappy comment about her always needing to be in control which he immediately regrets, but it’s too late to take it back. ‘fine, we’ll forget the itinerary. I’m ready to go home.’

- they walk back to her place in silence, claire three paces ahead with crossed arms, and owen trailing behind rewriting his apology over and over again in his head. when they reach her building, she turns to face him only for a brief handshake. ‘goodnight, mr. grady. I’ll see you on monday.’ ‘goodnight, ms. dearing.’

 - things between them are inescapably awkward after that night. their conversations are all busines, and claire has to hide the fact that she misses all of owen’s annoying inquiries into her personal life, and that it upsets her that he doesn’t try to show off in front of her anymore

+ a while after the events of jurassic world, he takes her on a second date. he shows up with his own six-part itinerary and she can’t help but laugh at the fact that four out of the six steps are ‘kiss claire’