I'm Getting Biphobic Vibes From The Sylkie Thing.

ZEMOS ACCENT

MATT IN THE SHE-HULK TRAILER

here

THE MANDALORIAN + Pedro Pascal Tweets

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

am I doing this right

A few weeks ago I caved and bought Minecraft for my switch, and it has been the best decision I've made all year. Now I present to you, my collection of 16 cats, all named after Top Gun characters, because that is how bad my Top Gun brain rot is.

First up we have Iceman, he was the first cat I tamed after spawning outside a village and kicking out the local librarian for his house. It took me ages to get a name tag for him but he has always been iceman in spirit.

Maverick of course is next, this isn't the original Maverick, the original has since been renamed Merlin for reasons I will explain if and when I ever get to the end of this shitpost. I'm not sorry. Nevertheless, this Maverick looks much more like him than my original Maverick.

Goose was the second cat I tamed, also from the same village as Iceman. There was no reasoning behind naming this one Goose beyond needing a Goose and having a specific cat in mind to name Maverick.

This is Carole, Goose's beloved wife. She's named Carole because I had a need to reunite her with Goose, and because she's a Calico cat, so it would be very unlikely that it would have been a male cat. Carole now fills my token female cat spot until I take another and call her Phoenix.

This is Rooster, the spitting image of Iceman due to a breeding mishap (I forgot that fish make them breed so I was running around feeding them all like a doting top gun cat mum and iceman and maverick were just a bit too close) however Rooster is every bit Maverick and Iceman's son as he is Goose and Carole's.

Hangman was also the result of an accidental breeding with Maverick and Iceman once again. I stopped feeding them at the same time after that. However, Hangman does have the personality similar to that of Maverick's so I think he makes a fine addition to my weird accidentally bred family.

This is Slider, again I needed a cat to fill his role and this is a cat that I tamed very early on after killing a witch. However, when I was running back the 1000s of blocks to my home I lost him somewhere along the way and could not find him. I gave up and stumbled across him last week while transporting four dogs that I had tamed in the forest.

Viper and Jester are my two most recent additions, I was running out of names to call my cats and remembered these two after reading an icemav fanfic this morning.

Merlin was the original Maverick, however I renamed him Merlin for two reasons; one being that the cat that is now named Maverick looks a lot more like Maverick than this one, and secondly because this is another cat that I stole off a witch and Merlin seems a very fitting name for a magic cat.

I have 6 more cats to introduce in another post because curse Tumblr and it's 10 picture limit

So like the 15th season is the last season

Supernatural ending

So first off I would like to say that I really enjoy supernatural. I am currently on Season 12 episode 8. With supernatural coming up on their 14th season I was thinking about how they could end the show. Now they could probably go pass 14th season but I was still wondering. So here’s how I think they should end it. Supernatural has to end with Sam and Dean dead, this is unfortunate but it’s true. Carry on my wayward son is a must. Standing in front of sam and deans house has to be Mary, John, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, and Castiel. Then we show each of their faces and each one of them say “Saving people. Hunting things. The family Business.” So it would go something like this:

Mary: Saving

John: People.

Ellen: Hunting

Jo: Things.

Bobby: The

Castiel: Family

Dean and Sam: Business

Then it ends with an acoustic version of carry on my wayward son showing everyone else they have loved as family and of course the Impala has to be there.

That is what I hope for.

Modern Howlies

Okay, I know it’s really unlikely and unrealistic and what not but I don’t care

Just imagine: The Howling Commandos alive in modern times. Not through science or serums or cryofreeze, those stubborn assholes just won’t die. They are mildly crotchety old men who wave canes at family reunions and play bingo on weekends and still try to be involved with espionage whenever possible because their retirement home is just so BORING. (Whenever possible is limited to when Gabe and Peggy’s grandson Antoine and their niece Sharon bring them little pieces of ‘classified’ information and asking for advice, and it’s a far cry from their commando days but it’s something so they’ll take it. One more game of scrabble and someone is getting punched) (yes they are all in the same retirement home. Practically attached at the hips they are, especially now that most of the families have spread and moved onto their own lives.)

Then one day Sharon comes in, jittery and more excited than they’ve ever seen her and tells them that They. Found. Cap! Alive! That night the nurses find out that 90 year olds can still be as rowdy as twenty year olds if they are excited enough.

Golden haired fucker doesn’t visit them till after aliens invade New York and for that Dernier repeatedly sacks him upside the head with his cane when he does finally come. (They’d never missed being in the action so much as when they had to watch Cap on the tv, fighting fucking aliens without them to watch his six. And maybe they are a little jealous of these Avengers, but sue them, he was their Captain first.)

All is well, though the rest home gets a few interesting stories because even now they can convince Steve to do some ridiculous shit if they push hard enough. It’s entirely worth the property damage to see him grinning like he hasn’t since before Sarge fell. (And that’s still a gaping wound in all of them, especially now when they are almost all together again. But it’ll never be all of them because Bucky is never coming back)

Then DC happens and they see SHIELD fall on the news (HYDRA, fucking HYDRA the whole damn time and Gabe grips his chair so hard his knuckles turn white because where are Antione and Sharon, are they okay?) and most importantly they see a dead man trying to kill Steve and what the fucking FUCK!?

SARGE!?

WHAT THE HELL SARGE!?

Then hydra’s Intel hits the web and well.

Now it’s war. (It was before, but y'know. Fucking personal now, that’s their Sarge)

So they pour over every piece of Intel they can get their hands on (which is everything the black widow put out their because they may be old but they are the god damn Howling Commandos and their captain and their Sargent need them) and they pull up bases for Cap to tear apart. On her good days Peggy is on the phone helping them and it’s almost like old days and it’s the most purposeful they’ve felt in years

But their most important mission is finding Bucky and bringing him home. And like hell they are sitting this one out. Fuck that, that’s their boy out there somewhere. So they get their leads, they fear up as best they can and they set out. It really does feel like they old days then. Dugan still wears that damn hat and he still has that fucking mustauche. Monty still wears his beret and Dernier still shouldn’t be allowed near explosives (or maybe he should, if you ask Dugan his opinion.) and speaks mostly in French so he and Gabe can have private conversations just to annoy the others. Peggy makes them promise to bring him to visit her when they find him and sends along a letter addressed to Sargent Barnes of the Howling Commandos.

It takes a while, and Steve rants at them to get back to the home before something happens nearly every day on the phone but sorry cap technically we don’t need to take orders anymore, but finally they find him in some old safe house that really is a house in Europe.

Bucky looks out his window one day and see a group of old men standing on the walk staring at him and just feels confusion and familiarity and then - are those the men from the museum? Yes, yes they are! Holy shit it’s the fucking commandos! How are they here, they are ancient, what the fuck guys!?

He sneaks out the back and the chase begins.

They follow him across Europe yelling at him to come home every time they get close no matter who is around (to damn old for this shit, get your punk ass home you little fuck, don’t give a damn who can hear us) and Dernier keeps lecturing him in French. They nearly choke on their coffee the first time he responds in perfect French, something snarky and oh so Bucky and the fucker takes that opportunity to disappear into the crowd. Asshole.

There are close calls and sarcasm and somewhere along the line Morita shanks somebody and Gabe beans a hydra agent over the head with an IV pole and Dugan knocks another one out with his walker.

Just, ninety something year old howlies chasing Bucky across Europe and despite his winter soldier training managing to keep getting the drop on him.

like the star? brighter.

dr. jack abbott x f!resident!reader "vega" aka "wildcard"

wc: 2,205 synopsis: just another normal day at the pitt—except it's not. for the first time in a long time, jack might have found an equal in every sense. tl;dr: dr. abbott meets a new resident for the first time.

contents: 20-year age gap (vega is 26, jack is 46), usual pitt dynamics. probably lots of medical inaccuracies that im not gonna apologize for. very quick mentions of mental health issues. this is totally self-inserted and vega is totally based in lots of aspects of myself. gonna probably update this list when i have more creativity.

gigi's note: this man and the pitt have been consuming my every waking thought so of course it culminated in the fastest fic i've ever written. i have a whole little series planned for these two, but im gonna try to write at least some of them in a manner where you dont necessarily need to read the others. read the end notes for more info!!! enjoy!!!!

PLAYLIST HERE

It had already become a habit—more often than not, Jack’s days off ended up being spent at the Pitt. Not that he minded; the Pitt’s chaos was better than the chaos inside his head that ran free when he was alone at home. At home, the silence was suffocating—he had too much time to think. Here, every beep and shout gave him a reason not to listen to the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull. Here, he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was damn good at it.

To Vega, being in the Pitt made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t mind the chaos—she thrived in it. Being surrounded by it sharpened her focus, made everything else—the endless voice in her head, the black monster inside her chest threatening day by day to swallow her whole—fade into nothing but background static.

Today was no different. The Pitt was, like usual, a chaotic hellscape; machines humming, monitors beeping, medical staff shouting orders, the scent of antiseptic filling everyone’s nostrils. The kind of place that felt both alive and dead at the same time. Jack had just arrived after a few hours of sleep after his night shift, clutching a cup of coffee in his hand, when he first spotted her across the ER in trauma two—a woman who didn’t seem to belong here, but did. Jack had barely any time to take a proper look at her before she was on the move again.

She moved fast, braid whipping against her back as she called for suction, adjusting doses, her hands slick with blood. The Pitt demanded everything and she gladly gave it. Without hesitation, without pause. It was what she lived for.

“Push another 20 of epi. I need suction—no, hold it, go with 50 cc,” she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos as she worked. Controlled. Sharp. The team moved, almost grateful for the authority in her voice. She didn’t miss the way Santos’ hands trembled, or how Whitaker clung to her words like a lifeline.

Jack hadn’t seen her before—not that he was keeping track; new faces came and went. But something about this one made him look twice. He caught sight of her again—tall, dark hair, sharp, moving fast between patients. She was a calm center, a fixed point in the storm. She worked with precision, her hands a blur as she gave orders, her focus unwavering as she moved around and directed the team with an ease that made it look effortless, a mixture of experienced residents and interns following her every instruction without hesitation. She moved around the room like she owned it. She was focused.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, voice neutral.

“That is my star resident,” Robby said with a hint of amusement in his voice, noticing his curious gaze. “Wildcard.”

Then, still working on the patient, she felt it. His stare. She was used to people’s eyes on her all the time in this place—curious glances, usually directed at her tattoos whenever they poked out; interns sizing her up, sometimes with grudging respect, sometimes openly doubting her abilities to handle the weight of the Pitt. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t the usual ER gawkers or old surgeons with smug superiority. This was different. Something else.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He had seen his fair share of capable residents, but something about the way she moved—almost like she was born for this—caught his attention. She was completely in her element, cutting through the chaos with a level of focus that suggested she’d been there before. Not that Jack expected anything less, but there was something about her that piqued his interest.

She felt the weight of his gaze, analyzing, unapologetic. She recognized that old, instinctive prickle at the back of her neck—the kind of awareness she only felt around people who could do damage. Not the loud, blustering types, no. The quiet ones. The wolves pretending to be men.

But she was no sheep.

Vega didn’t look up, focused solely on the person in front of her. She let him look. Let him think he was unnoticed, but she felt the scrape of it against her nerves.

“Wildcard?” Jack asked, nodding toward the scene, his tone cool but intrigued.

Robby grinned, stepping back slightly to give Jack a better view. “Yeah. Earned it on her first shift. Handled a mass casualty like it was nothing. Nerves of steel.”

Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he just watched her as she worked. There was a quiet intensity to the way she moved. She wasn’t loud or flashy, didn’t seek attention; instead, she commanded the room with a quiet authority, in a way that spoke volumes about her ability to take charge when things went south. It was a quality Jack respected, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it out loud. She wasn’t just surviving in the chaos—she was thriving in it. Something he did, too.

When the patient was finally stable, able to wait for the OR, Robby called her name. She peeled the paper gown off and turned towards them, tugging off the gloves with a sharp pull, and met Jack’s gaze head-on.

“Wildcard,” Robby said, “this is Dr. Jack Abbott. Jack, this is Dr. Vega, also known as Wildcard.”

She barely heard his voice—she already knew who he was.

Dr. Jack Abbott. The ER’s storm cloud, a man with a reputation for being as sharp as he was reckless. She’d heard plenty—everyone had. Stories traded in break rooms, warnings half-uttered with a mixture of respect and almost fear. A doctor built out of sharp things and bad habits, all jagged edges and rough temper. A man people either followed or avoided. And now here he was, giving her that look like he was trying to decide if she was worth his time.

Their gazes locked—not an awkward glance. She didn’t look away as most people did when meeting him for the first time, usually too nervous to look him in the eye. No. There was a beat of silence, a brief exchange of recognition, as if both of them could feel something shift in the air between them. Subtle, but undeniable. She sized him up in a fraction of a second, eyes sharp and unreadable, but he knew what that look was. For the first time in months, Jack felt something in his chest unclench, some flicker of recognition that made the blood in his veins hum with something dangerously close to life.

None of the stories she’d heard did him justice. He wasn’t the washed-up, better-than-everyone asshole she expected. For a second, the ER didn’t exist; the screaming monitors, the sharp tang of blood and bleach—gone. It was just him. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, slight tilt of his head, the heavy kind of presence you could feel in your teeth. The way he looked at her—not polite, not exactly curious. He looked at her like a man who was curious to see what would happen if he pushed. Good. She was tired of polite. She was tired of fake pleasantries.

She looked younger than he expected. But there was something else in her eyes that made her feel older than she probably was. Experienced.

Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but the kind that dared him to make the first move.

“Dr. Vega.” His voice was low, neutral, but her stomach did a dangerous twist.

There was a familiarity in the way he looked at her—not exactly recognition, but that kind of animal instinct of like recognizes like. The people who knew what it was to thrive in the places others avoided. The people who thrived in the chaos.

She couldn’t help the slight curve of her mouth, barely there, but enough to be noticed by him.

“Heard things about you, Dr. Abbott,” she said, her voice even, threading a fine line between professional and personal. “Thought you’d be scarier.”

Her words were like a soft challenge, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and it was Jack’s time to quirk an eyebrow, his eyes darkening, a flicker of something dangerous and amused sliding into place. Was she mocking him? Or was she just testing the waters? He couldn’t quite decide.

Jack tilted his head slightly, a slow, crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She met his eyes head-on, unblinking. No one held her gaze for long—too sharp, too cold—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped, assessing. Not leering. Calculating. Like a predator working out if she was worth the risk.

“Stick around, Doc,” he replied. “You’ll get there.”

Oh, she fucking liked that.

Robby snorted, glancing between them with an amused look in his eyes. Jack wasn’t the type to be rattled easily, but there was a palpable tension now between the two of them, something that felt familiar yet almost… uncomfortable. Different. Jack didn’t show it, of course, but Robby knew him better than everyone.

Vega had had a lot of first meetings since walking into this ER not more than four weeks ago. Most were forgettable, most faded by the next shift. But there was weight to this one. The air around them felt tight, stretched thin in a way she recognized from old fights and late-night emergencies. The kind of moment where you either stepped up or stepped aside, where you either fought the wave headfirst or let it wash over you, carry you with it.

“How’s day shift treating you?” Abbott asked, and Robby’s eyebrow went up, already seeing where Jack’s head was going.

Vega realized—these two men knew each other better than everyone else.

“The coffee could be better,” she replied, finishing what she was typing on the computer.

Jack’s lips quirked, a flicker of dry amusement in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Night shift coffee’s better,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup, the steam rising from it like he was making a point of something, just for her.

Robby’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the interaction with newfound interest, like a new TV show that was starting to catch his attention. He shook his head. “Don’t you even think about stealing her from me, Abbott.”

Jack’s eyes found hers again, and neither looked away. “Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But the way he said it—quiet, edged—suggested otherwise.

Robby drifted off to take care of another matter, and she half-expected him to do the same, say something smug or look away. He didn’t. Neither did she. She raised her eyebrows and smirked at him, almost as if she was daring him to do something about it.

“You’re welcome to try, Dr. Abbott,” Vega said, her voice smooth, low, carrying a spark of challenge that showed itself in the way his jaw tightened slightly.

It was brief, but it was there. The smallest tell that he was just a little thrown by her, caught off guard. She liked that. She liked that a lot. Probably more than she should’ve.

He wasn’t used to being challenged quite like that. There was something about her—something too familiar in the way she carried herself that made him pause, that made him stop in his tracks.

“Noted,” he replied, five simple letters carrying more weight than normal. It felt like a promise. Or a threat—she couldn’t tell.

Both excited her, both made her heart skip a beat and made her skin prickle with something she couldn’t decipher yet. The air between them tightened, thickened. That kind of electric stillness you only get before a bad decision—the kind you’d make twice just to feel something. The kind she was built for.

He held her gaze, and she held his, never once faltering, up until she turned her back to see another patient. Jack was rattled—it’d been a while since someone managed to do that. She pulled a chart off the rack and moved on to the next patient with effortless grace. As he stared at her back, he felt an inexplicable pull, one he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel. For the first time in a long time, something in Jack’s chest pulled tight. Not enough to show, but enough for him to feel it.

Even as she walked away, she still felt it—a tug in her chest, his gaze burning between her shoulder blades, the awareness of his eyes on her as she crossed the room.

Jack didn’t move. Not yet. As she was about to disappear behind a curtain, his voice called after her.

“Vega,” he said.

Not Wildcard. Not yet. He said her name like a question. Or a challenge—she couldn’t decide. She paused. A beat. Half a heartbeat. Let the silence hang there, heavy and thick and hungry. Then she turned her head, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

“Like the star?” he asked, voice low, rough, unreadable, his eyes full of things she couldn’t decipher.

For the first time since clocking in that morning, a real smile spread across her face.

“Brighter,” she said softly and went back on her way.

She didn’t need to look back to know he was still watching her.

Good.

gigi's note: PLEASE tell me your opinions on this and what you think of the series!!!! the future pieces are gonna dive deep into vega's mental issues (which are my own). not gonna be exactly a slow burn because i hate slow burns, i just prefer the burning head-on lol comments and reblogs are most welcome!!!

my inbox is always open and i would loooooooove to yap about this man. xoxo <3

Haha. I love it

Twilight AU where Bella is rightly Creeped the Fuck Out by Edward rather than intrigued by him and, hoping to defuse the situation before it becomes a Thing, decides to talk to his “sister” about his behavior

What Bella knows about the fallout: Rosalie is out of school for a couple of days, and upon returning gives Bella a thumbs up from across the lunch room but offers no further explanation. Edward is absent from school for a couple of weeks, even when the rest of the Cullens are all there, and then carefully gives her space from then on out.

What Bella does not know about the fallout: Rosalie “Rapist Eater” Hale tore her surrogate brother’s arm off at the shoulder and beat him around the head with it while yelling “Don’t Stalk Girls” until Emmet and Jasper pulled her off of him and made her give the arm back.