This Is The Cutest Thing Ever

Fake Scenarios In My Head #38

Click. Bright light flooded the bedroom as Casey flipped the switch on her side of the bed.

"Alex!" she whispered, gently nudging the spot where she suspected her girlfriend's shoulder was under the covers. "Alex, are you awake?"

A faint murmur came from the cocoon of blankets. She was ... awake would have been an exaggeration.

"Alex," Casey repeated more urgently this time. "It's important."

"Case ..." Alex's voice sounded sleepy and already on the verge of anoyance. "If you're not dying or there's a fire ..." The rest was lost in the pillow as she stretched and flipped the light switch next to her nightstand.

Click. Darkness.

Three seconds of silence. Peace. Almost enough for Alex to fall back into her well deserved sleep.

Click. Light. Mercilessly bright again.

"So ... did you know that crows can memorize faces?" Casey asked, ominous excitement in her voice.

2:46 a.m., Alex realized as she peeked at the alarm clock with one eye. She immediately regretted opening her eyes. Way too bright. Way too awake. Way too Casey.

She exhaled heavily, sounding suspiciously like someone desperately clinging to the last shred of mental stability.

"Casey, I swear to God ..."

"No! really, listen," Casey insisted, and Alex felt the mattress shift as her girlfriend sat upright.

"They recognize faces. Even years later. And they hold grudges. Like little winged mobsters."

It took Alex a few seconds to process the informatio. Then she slowly turned around, shielding her eyes from the bright light she blinked at Casey. Jittery, wide awake, full of expectation.

"Did a crow look at you funny today?" Alex asked hoarsely.

"I don't know!" Casey blurted out. A little too quick, a touch too guilty. Neither was a good sign.

"Maybe ... Well there was one at the courthouse, and I ... maybe I walked through her group a little … too fast. Not rude! Just ... efficient."

Click. Lights out. Alex turned around. Darkness. Silence.

Click. Casey wasn't finished.

"I read that they teach their children who to hate. Like ... a feathered feud. Over Generations. What if I'm Johnny Sack now, and the Soprano Crow family has marked me as their nemesis?"

Alex groaned into her pillow. "No crow is planning a vendetta against you."

"But what if they are?" Casey scooted a little closer.

"So! Did you know that a group of crows is called a murder? That's not even subtle!"

Click. Darkness.

Alex's voice came muffled from the pillow.

"I'm about to commit one ... on an overdramatic prosecutor if she won't let me sleep."

Click. Light on.

"They mourn Alex. For their dead! They hold real funerals! Or maybe they're investigating what or who killed their friend."

"Did you kill a crow?" Alex mumbled, barely audible.

"No! Of course not!" Casey almost sounded a little offended. Then, after a short pause:

"They bring presents, too. Shiny things. Or dead mice. That's either affection ... or a threat. What if I find a dead mouse tomorrow? Is that a gift or a threat?!"

Alex sat up. Her hair tousled, the eyes narrowed to slits and her voice low and dangerously calm.

"Honey" she said with a resigned sigh, "if a crow really does put a decapitated rat on your windshield then ... we'll deal with it tomorrow."

"But what if tomorrow's too late?" Casey whispered.

Alex flopped back onto the bed with a groan, pulling the pillow back over her head. With her arm she fumbled for the light switch.

Click. Light off.

Click. Light on.

"Plus! They can solve puzzles! REAL puzzles! They practically have their own escape rooms. They think ..."

"... so they're intelligent, petty and vindictive," Alex interrupted tonelessly.

"Exactly!" Casey breathed "They are me. In bird form!"

Alex peeked out from under the pillow with one eye.

"That's the most accurate … and terrifying thing you've said all night."

Click. Lights out. Silence.

Click.

"And magpies! Did I tell you about magpies?"

"CASEY!"

Click.

"Okay, okay! Lights stay off. But ... maybe we should get crow masks. Just to be on the safe side."

No answer.

"Alex?! Are you asleep?"

All that came in response was a muffled, resigned murmur from the pillow.

"I'm going to start wearing earplugs."

alex being avoidant and casey being anxious is SO real

CALEX headcanons — the series

part 1: running back to each other after breaking up and cursing each other out of their own lives

they have different attachment styles. toxic but they persevered long enough to last two years.

alex being an avoidant attachment and casey being an anxious attachment. both obtained from their own past — unhealed trauma that they carried with them.

they both healed each other but overtime, alex would catch herself relapsing and casey would always be there to catch her and coax her.

alex called the break up and casey cursed her out of her life, repeatedly yelling the sentences “i wish i never met you!” and “i hope you end up alone forever!”

alex spent her days regretting what she had done. drowning herself in work, purposely forgetting to eat, abandoning her feelings, and drinking and crying herself to sleep.

casey spent her days crying over alex. she would occasionally stare at her phone blankly hoping that maybe, just maybe, alex would call and apologize to her.

one night, alex, drunk, called casey. of course, casey picked up. she was waiting—longing for alexandra’s return.

“we we’re doing so well and i messed us up. i’m sorry my love. i really tried. i know you won’t forgive me. so, if not in this life, then maybe in the next one. i’ll be the best you’ll ever get”

sniffling, casey replied with a raspy voice. “why not now? why not in this lifetime, lex?”

there was no response from alex, only soft whimpers that could be heard from the other line. so, without any hesitation, casey grabbed her keys and rushed to their old apartment.

there, she found a cried-out alexandra. weeping, nursing a beer bottle. face red, eyes puffy, and voice raspy. “i don’t deserve you” she cried out as she saw casey’s figure.

casey sighs and walks over to her, sitting by alex’s side. “you’re all i ever wanted, you know?”

“but i’m shitty”

“so what? we all are. except you’re nice to me and you love me — deeply, endlessly.”

“if anything, we deserve each other. we’ll make it work. we already did. we can do it again”

alex, rubs her nose, smiling as she lays her head on casey’s shoulder. “i love you and i love that we’re in love”

SVU 7x02

See people saying that casey novak is overrated and i get so upset. What do you mean ‘overrated’ she’s underrated as hell

i hate svu tiktok

thank you polly very cool

cute puppy and stupid cat P.2 ig

sawdust flavored sandwich

added a new part !!

maroon

calex !!

first time posting a fic on here YIKES

i was going to make this longer but i got through one part and got bored

updated!!

inspired by Maroon by Taylor Swift

sue me

The first rays of pale sunlight seeped through the windows of Alex Cabot’s loft, illuminating the incense ash that sprinkled across the oak floor. 

Casey Novak, with her rumpled hair and wine-flushed cheeks, tucked her legs beneath her and knelt beside the record stand. She gently brushed the sandalwood from cardboard jackets: Rumors, Tusk, Mirage. Faint creases on sleeve corners told their own quiet stories of late‑night needle drops long before she’d moved in, long before Alex had made space for another toothbrush beside hers.

From across the rug, Alex tipped the soiled incense holder over the small trash bin, grimacing as the ash slid from the ceramic in a hush of gray. Her borrowed Harvard Law crewneck hung just past her thighs; every time she shifted her weight, Casey’s gaze caught on the swing of fabric, the easy way Alex occupied her own home—and now, somehow, Casey’s too.

They’d meant to review witness statements and crash early. Instead, Alex had put Fleetwood Mac on the turntable, and Casey cracked open some cheap‑ass screw‑top rosé. Everything after Blue Letter dissolved into laughter—burned popcorn, a debate over hearsay exceptions, Casey’s terrible impression of Judge Petrovsky that made Alex choke on wine and clutch her ribs.

Steam drifted from a single mug on the coffee table—the blonde’s jasmine tea. Casey had already stolen a sip, her lipstick print glowing a faint maroon on the rim beside Alex’s own. She lounged back against the couch, idly brushing her toes against the loose hem of Alex’s sweater, a slow, playful sweep that made the burgundy fabric sway and Alex glance down with a half-smirk. 

“How’d we end up on the floor, anyway?”

Alex asked, voice still rough with sleep. Casey, knees drawn up and heels resting in Alex’s lap, tugged her hair down from its haphazard bun and let it encompass her shoulders. “Easy culprit,” she said, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth. “Your old roommate’s bargain-bin wine demolished our sense of time management. 

Alex’s laugh was a quick, unguarded burst, sharp and melodic, filling the loft with the kind of warmth that made everything feel brighter. The sound bounced off the brick walls, then sank into Casey’s chest, stirring something she hadn’t realized had settled there. It was a sound she didn’t know she’d need this much. One she’d come to crave more than anything. Three weeks had passed since Casey moved in. Boxes were still haphazardly stacked in corners, a lone lamp perched on the dresser with no shade. But mornings like this, with Alex beside her, had a way of making everything feel rooted in place, as though they'd shared this space for years, not just weeks.

A faint draft slipped in from the fire escape. Smoke from the incense curled and spiraled, pale and gentle against the glass, wrapping the room in its quiet calm. For a few moments, they simply listened. The soft popping of vinyl static, the ticking radiator, the steady, almost shy rhythm of two heartbeats learning the same tempo. Outside, Manhattan kept its frantic pulse, taxis groaning across the wet pavement, but from up here, the noise felt decades away. 

Alex reached for the kettle, poured a second mug, and handed it over. Their fingers grazed and Casey’s pulse thrummed, not with urgency but with a grounded certainty that surprised her.

“So,” Alex said, voice soft enough that it nearly blended with the crackle of the record, “when we finally unpack those boxes, where do you want your books?”

Casey leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder. “Somewhere close. I’m tired of looking for things I’ve already found.”

Outside the window, snow began to fall, the first flake landing on the wrought‑iron rail like a single note on an open staff. Inside, two women sat amid incense ash and album sleeves, finishing lukewarm tea and memorizing a silence that felt, for once, like home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Two nights later, winter hovered indecisively above the city, unable to choose between sleet and snow. The courthouse steps were slick and gleaming when they stepped off the curb, breath visible in the cold.

“You didn’t even call,” Casey said, not looking at her. Her heels clicked down the sidewalk. 

Alex tried to catch her pace. “I was buried in witness prep, Casey. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“You don’t even have to ignore me,” Casey shot back, then stopped, folding her arms tight across her chest. Her shirt was damp, her curls frizzing at the edges, and her voice came out low. “You just forget.”

The words landed like a slap. Casey wasn’t raising her voice, but that calm, steady tone was worse. Alex opened her mouth, closed it again. They stood in the glow of a streetlamp, faces half in shadow.

“I didn’t forget,” Alex finally said. “I just… lost track of time.”

“You always do.” Casey’s voice broke, just a little. “And I wait. And I forgive it. And I keep showing up.” She was calm, but underneath her voice was that quiet, brittle kind of sadness that never announced itself until it was already settling in.

Alex ducked into a bodega, the kind with flickering lights and a handwritten sign for oranges out front, without a word. When she came back, she had a bottle of wine (actual cork, not screw-top) cradled in her hands. “Come on,” she said. “Walk with me?”

Casey hesitated. Then, she stepped out of her heels and scooped them up by the straps. “Only if you promise not to talk about depositions.”

“I solemnly swear,” Alex said, and Casey gave her a tiny smile.

They walked under a dull streetlamp that made everything look a little more golden. Casey tipped her head back and gave a spin on the wet sidewalk, hair flying. “Tell me again why we don’t just quit and move to Barcelona.”

Alex laughed, startled and bright. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“You do,” Casey teased, and twirled again, before handing the bottle back over. “Problem solved.”

A cab tore past, catching a puddle, Alex jolted to protect the wine, but the bottle tilted just enough to splash a crimson streak across Casey’s white blouse.

“Oh my god,” Casey gasped.

“Oh my god,” Alex echoed, horrified. “Casey, I am so sorry—”

“You spilled Rioja on the one thing in my wardrobe that didn’t already look like a crime scene,” Casey said dramatically, but her grin was spreading.

“I’ll replace it.”

“You can’t replace white-collar ugly,” Casey said, eyes dancing.

And then she started laughing. Real, unguarded, throw-your-head-back laughing. It bubbled out of her so easily that Alex couldn’t help joining in, half-doubled over with relief.

“I choose you,” Alex said between gasps, holding the wine like it was sacred. “Always. Even when I’m an idiot.”

“Especially when you’re an idiot,” Casey said, still breathless. “You’re kind of my favorite idiot.”

Then Alex tugged her closer, gingerly, because the wine bottle was still open, and Casey dropped her shoes and wrapped both arms around her neck. They swayed there, in the middle of the sidewalk, tipsy on nothing but each other.

No music. Just the soft rhythm of laughter, the spill of streetlight, and the way the world seemed briefly, wonderfully, theirs.

i just ran my hands through my hair and a Big Ass Chunk fell out

yes fr

so many people on this app are way too casual about being friends with diane neal