#fuck off with that nonsense and let the man be homosexual

[impishtubist]

I AM BEGGING SOMEONE TO WRITE POST-OOTP FIC WITH REMUS AND HARRY GRIEVING TOGETHER THAT DOESN’T CONTAIN EVEN A HINT OF REMADORA PLEASE WHY IS THIS SO DIFFICULT FOR AUTHORS TO WRITE

[fortunatetragedy]

OC origins name tag!

Heyyy @the-golden-comet tagged me for a game I haven't seen before and made a request. Sorry it took me so long :>

I want to know how you came up with your original character’s names and personalities. Are they based on people in your real life? Are they straight from your brain? Are they a mix of several people?

Up top, I'll just say in general, I don't intentionally base characters off of people I know. They come out of my own fucked-up brain. Like I'll recognize similarities after the fact, and then consider going back to therapy to address issues I have with So-and-So /j but I don't purposefully base them on people.

Cole Sullivan

I'm 99% sure my roommate and I were driving and I saw a real estate sign with the name Sullivan on it. That's the first name that popped into my skull when I sat down to start the first draft and asked the Lawman archetype in this story what I should call him. Man I wish I could tell you I put any more thought into picking his first name than I did his surname. "Cole" was unusual for 1835, when he was born, and it became a family name based on me having to backsplain in draft 2. IDK where it came from initially. I didn't leave myself any notes so I'm going to go ahead and say I was high and basing it on "What name is Royston going to be shouting in various different scenarios." Shit I almost forgot the personalities part! "No nonsense" and "determined" is how I wrote him in draft 1. Once I got to know him, I realized he's fucking funny, and he genuinely gives a shit about doing the right thing, which clashes with the fact that he's, you know. In the Army. Now that the Civil War is over he has a harder time justifying staying in, other than he doesn't know who he is outside of it.

Arthur Royston

I used a random name generator for him. Originally only had the concept "gambler" in mind when he showed up for draft 1 and legit thought I was going to end up killing him so I didn't care too much what his name was I'M SORRY ROYSTON THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A 275-PAGE NOVEL. In draft 2, when I knew him better, I went "Yeah sure that looks like a name an orphaned 20-year-old would think was cool enough to replace his dusty old government name with let's go." Christ, his personality... chaos, homosexuality, and psychopathy. He loves a challenge, loves proving people wrong, loves doing things that are impossible. Has brought a knife to a gunfight and won (he doesn't know how to shoot.) I watched my roommate's cat when I was having trouble sorting out his personality and observed the following parallels: paranoid, deadly, obsessed (with my cat), just wants to be held like a baby.

Khalid Abandonato:

I named this little guy in 2014. Time fucking flies, man. His surname is supposed to be Abbandonato (Italian, means "forsaken," refers to the fact his Science got him kicked out of the Traditions.) I misspelled it somewhere and never fixed it and it just stayed that way. IDK if I misspelled it originally or I misspelled it when I redid his character sheet from memory and at this point I'm too lazy to investigate which one it is. Have since blamed it on him fucking with time and breaking something. "Khalid" means "eternal" in Arabic and was, in 2014, a not-so-subtle hint that the character Ascends one day. Since he was young when he was taken from his parents, I decided he would have kept his given name even if he adopted a new surname. His personality... max Intelligence stat, emotional maturity of a 12-year-old, talks a mile a minute. Based him on the scientists/engineers I've known who all know So Much and are So Excited to share it (with diagrams!) whether or not I've known wtf they've been talking about or not. That was his "original" personality--his daughter remembered him as being nonviolent and a font of information about the world, even if he was eccentric and prone to going into Quiet. He's retained that after the Storyteller's put him through the wringer, I think. He's just a bit twitchy. And has picked up "it's OK to use shortcuts in Medicine/Science" and "my Corpus is a perfectly acceptable piece of laboratory equipment" due to what happened to him prior to getting slapped into a Paradox Realm.

Hey tag list what's up ;)

@leahnardo-da-veggie @cowboybrunch @finickyfelix

@lychhiker-writes @jev-urisk @aintgonnatakethis

[biarritzzz]

I want to hear some of these stories because I heard an insane one on Reddit from a woman who was involved with this woman for 8 freaking years and then she decided to marry a man and cosplay as being straight. It’s crazy. I could never involve myself. I don’t get why gay ppl even entertain religious ppl like that. I run, and anyone who supports them.

There was this Moroccan-descent woman she (my date, let’s call her L) was seeing. Of course they had to be discreet, L couldn’t call her directly, they could never meet up in the city she lived in, they could never hold hands because what if somebody from the community (Arabic) saw her, etc. Already a complete nightmare. On top of it, L discovered (I don’t remember how) that her girlfriend was engaged to a much older man in Morocco and was going to marry him soon. She had kept that entirely from L and when confronted about it, said she was fine with it and that sleeping with a woman was haram, bla bla bla.

She had options, living in Europe. But she still chose to marry a man from her fucked up culture instead of cutting ties and never looking back.

L also dated a Turkish woman and it was the same shit: couldn’t hold hands, always having to meet up in another city for safety and privacy reasons, never calling her directly because her father was looking through her phone bills (yes all these grown women still lived at home with their parents) and there was a risk he could wonder about that number popping up and start asking questions. The fucking paranoia, my god.

And then L found out -through some FB snooping - that her girlfriend was going to marry her cousin (yeah…very common) and once again the same story repeated itself.

Just like in your Reddit example, these women always choose their culture in the end and I don’t believe these are cases of lesbians but bisexuals anyway. A lesbian would cut ties forever, however hard that may be. A lesbian will still stay loyal to her culture though.

I once met a muslim lesbian at a party (she was from Algeria) who straight up told me that if her parents back home ever found out about her homosexuality, they’d come murder her. Imagine living with that threat over your head. Couldn’t be me.

I think lesbians who are foolish enough to engage in this type of interethnic dating do so out of loneliness and lack of options. The same way lesbians are more willing to consider a LDR than the average straight woman. Because of the minuscule dating pool.

I think sharing the same culture and values is crucial and you are only adding problems and stress to your life when you decide to ignore that.

That hasn’t happened to me because 1) I’m an atheist and the very hint of religion/irrational nonsense immediately turns me off and 2) I’m only attracted to European women.

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

What is wrong with both characters being bi in a gay movie? We are same sex attracted just like you gays are. You sound biphobic. Love between two bisexuals of the same sex is still gay love and romance.

Let's break this down one sentence at a time.

"What is wrong with both characters being bi in a gay movie?"

I never said it was wrong. I said it was annoying and disheartening to pick up a book expecting to read about a gay romance only to be met with characters showing attraction to the opposite sex. It's annoying to want to read about lesbians, only to have to slog through heterosexual pining. How can you call a movie "gay" when it features one or both characters actively desiring the opposite sex? Don't you think it's a little fucked up/insensitive to call something gay only to hit a heterosexual wall? If you're going to call something gay, I don't want to pick it up and read about how the main woman finds a certain man oh so sexy or would die for him or what the fuck ever. Like... Of the times I've found myself harboring affection for two people at a time, they've both ALWAYS been women. I hate how often in these "gay" stories it seems like the MC is in love with only one person of the same sex and that's it. This makes it seem like homosexual love is some one off phenomenon and that--if it weren't for this one partner--the characters could live a "normal" life. This is a problem that wouldn't be present if both characters were explicitly gay.

"we are same sex attracted just like you gays are"

Gay people are EXCLUSIVELY same sex attracted. A bisexual person could go their whole life happily dating the opposite sex. Gay people cannot. Do you realize how big of a wedge that puts between us? How vastly different our experiences are? You're not "same sex attracted just like gays are" you're same sex attracted like how bisexual people are. That is to say, you have the option of something else.

"You sound biphobic"

I should be able to talk about being fed up with the over saturation of heterosexual nonsense without being accused of being hateful.

"love between two bisexuals of the same sex is still gay love and romance"

The relationship is homosexual, sure, but I don't know how to explain that gay people deserve stories that feature people who are like them. That is to say: homosexual characters that don't have opposite sex desires/pining. I don't know how to explain to you that the moment a character expresses attraction the opposite sex, I lose my ability to relate to them on the basis of sexuality. I lose any representation the book promised and that I was expecting. THAT is angering.

Hope this helps.

[simplysummers]

Hi :)

About a month ago I got a bunch of asks asking me to test my ‘dashboard osmosis’, and try to give a summary/brief paragraph about my thoughts on a few fandoms that I’ve seen floating around tumblr recently. Out of the six asks, I’m only involved in one of the fandoms, so please take this with a pinch of salt. All is meant in good fun and I’m not here to judge or ridicule anyone for their interests (I’m a Star Wars geek for goodness sakes, that’d be very hypocritical of me) I thought it would be easier to answer these all in one post, spare spamming my mutuals with my nonsensical ramblings.

@esquire-chicken

Hey bestie. I am HERE to deliver.

Okay so for the Loki fandom, I get the vibe a LOT of you are LGBT+, so many people have been raving about Loki being a confirmed bisexual and as much as I can’t stand this man (I’m sorry!!) I’m honestly here for it. We love to see the rep. I also saw lots of people raving about him being a confirmed hero, so, I guess that’s cool too? Yay?

I feel like this fandom can be a little defensive, which is highkey terrifying, but I suppose we all have our faves. But i want yall to drink some water and…idk play with chalk for an hour from time to time.

@treasureofmy-heart

I know absolutely NOTHING about Six of Crows, but from your dash I know that Jesper is a big favourite. He seems like a cool dude, maybe a bit mentally unstable but cool nonetheless. I like Wylan’s aesthetic! Is he gay? He seems kinda gay…. Oh and Nina is absolutely beautiful. I feel like everyone in the fandom fancies her but she’s just a powerhouse bitch who ain’t taking shit from anyone. I can’t really explain this but I feel like your fandom has some extremely talented artists. Like the art you’ve reblooged is phenomenal.

Hey anon 😎 I’m not going to lie I had to Google what the desticule was because I’m uncultured as fuck, and then I realised it’s related to Supernatural which I STILL know nothing about, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

But I can safely say yall are BATSHIT INSANE AND I LOVE YALL FOR IT. didn’t you guys take over tumblr at one point??? Like weren’t people who hadnt even seen Supernatural spewing random facts like possessed puppets? Yall are demons and I just adore every single one of you for it. Didn’t that one guy Jensen steal the show or something? Like what an icon. I know nothing about him but I stan. You guys have my eternal gratitude just for existing.

@quillsink

Chandler should’ve been confirmed bisexual that is all I have to say. I know absolutely nothing about Joey but I am a Chanoey shipper through and through because of you. Like yes. Phoebe is a queen and I love her with every fibre to my being, I feel like she is an underappreciated icon and deserves more attention. Uhmmm let me thinkkkk, Ross is a questionable dude and not a lot of people like him, aaaaand Monica needs a cup of coffee, as does half of your fandom :) I know this said more about the show rather than the fandom, but I feel as though these are common beliefs amongst you all.

@lirinck2

Bestie I have absolutely NO idea what this show is about but I LOVE their fashion sense, I feel like that’s a really big people pleaser amongst the fandom. A lot of the characters seem to have deep trauma from what I’ve seen, and I think that might resonate with a lot of its fans (lmao ‘cause same), alongside the fact it seems under appreciated and accepted in its time. The dark and eerie mystery settings give off a thriller fandom vibe, and I’m honestly intrigued. I legit want to watch this show. You’ve got me hooked.

Ahh last but certainly not least. I’m not going to touch upon the Hamilton fandom because my opinion in that regard is well known enough as it is, but for the amrev fandom, I can say 10000%, we are all absolutely fucking ridiculous (affectionately).

I mean, you have your factual posters like Amanda, Julia, Elle, Byrd, Sarah, Sev, and I (from time to time), alongside this you have your slightly loopy but absolutely loveable fanfic writers/artists like Ink, Hannah, Polly, Ray, Tori, Clair, Sofia, Rose, and Lin. We’re all quite vibey, a little crazy and very homosexual, but yknow, we get by.

*sigh* but then I bring thee down to….the shitposters who actually terrify me and deserve exorcisms; Kit, Lisa, Hayhay, every Alex ever, Su, Mellisa Tracyn, Jon, honestly this list is just endless here. Yall scare me and I’m actually in awe of that fact. We’re a very diverse fandom, as you can tell. You guys NEVER know what this bunch will come up with, they’re a ticking time bomb and it’s great, they keep us on our toes. Love you guys.

-

Lmao I hope did your fandoms justice, and like I said, none of this is to be taken seriously, it’s all in good fun!

[bedbellyandbeyond]

He’s Back

(Story Post)

Kent didn't seem to know what to do with the crying werewolf on his front, but he patted his back until he settled down. Nathan eventually pulled away and wiped his eyes. “I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me…” Dax decided to come out and make his entrance. “I thought you said you were going to punch him.” Kent’s entire demeanor changed and he was immediately on guard again, dipping to scoop up his rifle. “Who the fuck's that?” Nathan stepped back and held a hand out to his partner. “This is Dax.” “And who the fuck is Dax?” Kent said gruffly. “I'm his boyfriend,” Dax said, walking over and taking Nathan's hand. Kent huffed. “You really are one of those type, huh, Nate?”

“Nate?” Dax inquired. “He calls me that to antagonise me,” Nathan sighed. “I've told him a hundred times it's just Nathan. And put your damn rifle down, Kent.” Kent backed up to the porch to put his rifle down on the balcony. Then he just stood there and crossed his arms. “…So, did you have the kids?” Nathan crossed his arms too. “What if I did?” “Don't play games, dog breath. If I have children, I oughta know about it.” Nathan placed his hands on his hips. “I had my kids, yes.” “Where are they?” Kent demanded. “They're back home being babysat,” Nathan answered. Kent growled. “You came all the way out here and didn't even bring my fuckin’ kids?” “Well, I had Dawson’s kids, but he's dead,” Nathan said shrugging. “You damn mutt… You really want to go that way? You really want to say you had Dawson Grace's kids, the name that went down as the man executed for murdering four people?” Kent asked. “They're my fucking kids. I have a right to see them.” “Why the fuck should I bring them to you?” Nathan asked. “You literally don't exist to them. They're fine without you.” “So what, you've got this limp dick raisin’ my kids?” Kent growled, shoving a finger towards Dax. Dax pushed out a hip. “Nathan was right. You really are an asshole.” “Dax is there for me,” Nathan said. “He actually gives a shit. You've done nothing for me or my kids.” “Yeah, as if I had a fuckin' choice!” Kent scrunched his nose. “Don't you think I would've wanted to be there?” “You didn't even want me to have them!” Nathan said. “Yeah, when I was convinced I was gonna fry!” Kent said. “I didn't want to leave kids on this Earth with a fucked up legacy like mine!” “If you want to see my kids, you'll have to earn it!” Nathan stated. “You'll have to help me.” “Like shit. I don't have to do shit for you,” Kent stated. “Look at what you did to my fucking face.” He jabbed a finger at his own long scar. Nathan shook his head. “You'd be dead if it weren't for me.” “How the fuck do you reckon that?” Kent growled. “I told you APID could help you,” Nathan stated. “I told you my case workers would do something about your case, so long as you were really innocent. And they got this for you.” He motioned to the cottage. “Much better than that hell hole of a cave you had in the ravine.” “I liked my cabin,” Kent said stubbornly. “And if you hadn't come along, I would've still been there, alone, without the black suits bothering me all the time.” “But you'd still be a wanted man,” Nathan stated. “You'd get caught eventually and then the cover up wouldn't be a cover up. You'd be dead. But you're a free man now. They gave you a whole new life.” Kent grit his teeth. “I never asked for it. I was survivin’ on my own.” “Surviving's not necessarily living though,” Dax commented. “No one asked you, Dix,” Kent snapped. “It's Dax...” “Don't fuckin' care.” Nathan crossed his arms. “If you're going to keep being an asshole, we'll just leave and you'll never see your kids.” “I don't even know they really exist,” Kent said. “You could just be lyin’ to me.” “...Are you fucking kidding me?” Nathan grabbed Kent's shirt. “I wouldn't lie about the pain and labour I had to go through to bring those kids into this world. Is this a fucking lie?” He lifted his shirt, exposing his stretch marks and C-section scar. “Is this a fucking lie to you, Kent?” Kent paused and placed his hand on Nathan's stomach, feeling the scars that webbed across his skin. “You really were fuckin’ pregnant, huh? Man like you...” “Don't touch me!” Nathan pushed Kent's hand away and lowered his shirt. “I came here hoping you would help me. Do you think you could do that?” “Remains to be seen,” Kent said. “Do you at least have pictures of my kids?” “Yes, of course,” Nathan said. Kent sighed. “What do you need help with?” Nathan took a deep breath. “My transformation's started triggering during the day time, regardless of my wolf cycle,” he explained. “I become more of a half wolf, half man than the usual full wolf.” Kent nodded. “Ah.” “Does that ever happen to you?” Nathan asked. “What, this?” Kent immediately transformed, his height growing another foot, fur exploding out of his skin to cover him, bear ears and a big bear snout sprouting right out. The sheer added girth of him shredded his T-shirt and pushed Nathan back a step into Dax. They watched in shock and awe. Kent raised his head and let out a big bellowing bear call, making birds scatter from the trees. Then as fast as he'd turned bear, he was back to human, still a big bastard, but all trace of bear gone. “...You can control it?” Nathan asked once he found his thoughts. “Damn straight. If you're turning midday, it means you've got some control too,” Kent said. “Reckon you haven't figured it out yet.” “No, I haven't,” Nathan said. “Can you teach me to control it?” “Can you bring my damn kids?” Kent asked. Nathan nodded. “Next weekend.” Kent sighed. He eyed the APID agent still standing at the van, now lighting a cigarette. “Tell the black suit to fuck off and then come inside the house.” He waited at the door with Nathan, and Dax told their escort they’d be good on their own for now. Hanover got their overnight stuff out of the back before driving off. Kent held the front door of his cottage open for Nathan but promptly closed it in Dax's face. Nathan opened the door up again to let Dax in. On the inside, the cottage was surprisingly clean and spacious, open to a kitchen and living room, two rooms off the living room and a ladder up to a loft above. “Part of the deal is you stop acting like an asshole to Dax,” Nathan stated. “It's alright, Nathan,” Dax said. “He's just being the possessive ex.” “Ex?” Kent growled. “Are you fucked in the head? I'm not gay.” “The closet is deep with this one,” Dax remarked. “Let me guess, your parents told you God would send you to hell for liking boys.” “I don't believe in no fuckin' God,” Kent stated. “Where in the Bible did the bastard say ‘Thou shalt turn into a fuckin' bear and be hunted like a damn animal’? What fuckin' passage?” “The book of Daniel has some stuff...” Nathan muttered as he started looking around and picking stuff up. Dax blinked, turning to his boyfriend. “I didn't strike you as religious, Nathan.” “I'm not,” Nathan said as he fiddled with a little whittled wood fox. “Well, not really... I was the one whose parents told me I'd go to hell for being gay. They shoved religion in my face all the time.” “You never talked about this,” Dax said. “I don't like to talk about it,” Nathan said placing the fox down and picking up an owl figure. “It really changed my relationship with religion.” “Bunch of nonsense,” Kent stated. “Bible people really rub me the wrong way...” “So if it's not religious, why are you so scared to acknowledge your latent homosexuality?” Dax asked, taking a look at the wood fox as well. “There ain't nothin’ to acknowledge,” Kent said, taking the carving out of Dax's hands and putting it back on a shelf. “You can keep on as you are, I ain't gonna stop you. It just ain't natural, that's all. And it ain't me.” “We're not here to get hate-crimed, Dax. Show him your pictures,” Nathan sighed, placing the owl down again. “You take more than I do.” “Right, yes. One moment.” Dax pulled out his phone. “I made an album.” “Album?” Kent frowned and narrowed his eyes. “On your phone?” “Yeah, I don't think most people bother making them, but I like organising my memories,” Dax said before turning his phone towards Kent. The bear man took up the phone and squinted at it. He looked at the image that showed Nathan in the hospital with the twins bundled up in his arms. Their faces however were obscured in the photo by angle and all the swaddling. “Do you have a better one? I can't see them in this...” Kent huffed. “Yeah, just swipe through. There's a bunch,” Dax said. “Swipe?” Kent asked. Nathan nudged Dax's arm. “He lived under a literal rock for the last twenty years. He doesn't understand smartphones.” “Ohhh...” “Shut up, I have one of your damn smartphones the black suits gave me,” Kent said. “But do you know how to use it?” Nathan asked. Kent wrinkled his nose. “Just show me how to see the damn photos.” “You're going to have to learn to use it if you want contact,” Nathan said as Dax went to stand beside Kent and showed him how to swipe through the album. Once he got the hang of it, Kent started swiping on his own. Dax had taken what seemed to be hundreds of photos and they went up in chronological order from the day of the twins' birth all the way to a photo of Korsgaard holding them at his house just before the couple left. Kent didn't get that far, however. He was silent as he continued to look at each photo one by one. He would often pause at any photo that had both kids in it clearly and he would quickly skip over any picture with Dax in them. He was eventually transfixed on a photo of both kids holding hands while asleep on Nathan's chest. “Oh, that's a good one,” Dax commented. “They both fell into a food coma. Nathan, as a cis man, doesn't produce a lot of milk, so it's very rare that they’re fully satisfied once he's dry.” “Wait, what photo is that?” Nathan snatched up the phone. “Ugh, you had to pick one with my fucking tits out, what the fuck...” “What are their names?” Kent asked. Nathan sighed and picked a different picture before pointing to each child respectively. “Grace and Gabriel.” Kent blinked. “Grace Grace?” “Grace Cassidy, you selfish bastard,” Nathan said. “You really think I'd give them your surname?” “Kids get the father's surname. It's how it works,” Kent said. “Yeah, guess what? I'm their father,” Nathan stated. “What do you mean? You're the mother. You gave birth to them,” Kent said. “I... I literally don't have the patience right now to explain how wrong and insulting that is,” Nathan stated. “Not to mention, ‘Dawson Grace’ is dead, remember?” “So, Grace and Gabriel Rivera,” Kent stated. “I'm not changing my kids' names to their deadbeat dad's,” Nathan asserted. “Especially not a made up one.” “It was my mother's maiden name,” Kent growled. “Oh. Still.” Nathan shrugged and handed Dax back his phone. “Her name is Grace after my grandmother who raised me, not you.” “And Gabriel?” Kent asked. “I just like it,” Nathan said. “I might have trouble with religion, but I like biblical names.” Kent rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Nate.” “Stop.” Nathan balled his fist. “You saw the pictures. You better help me.” Kent turned away and went to the kitchen. “Tomorrow. It's gettin’ late.” “What? But wouldn't night time be better for the wolf and all that moon stuff?” Dax asked. “Yeah, if you want to go berserk and rip an arm off,” Kent said. “Best time to practice is when the wolf is the weakest. High noon, middle of your off weeks. Do you know where you are in the moon phases?” “Yeah, I keep track on my phone,” Nathan said. “You can do that?” Kent asked. “Yeah, there's an app for everything,” Nathan said. “App?” Kent asked. “Application,” Dax said. “Did you have a computer before going on the lam?” “No, not really.” “We're really at square one then, huh?” Dax sighed. “Well, I suppose we should call the agent to take us to our hotel.” “You're staying here,” Kent said. “There's a bed in the loft.” “No thanks, I like running water,” Nathan said. “I'm not asking,” Kent said. “If those damn black suits take another step on my property, I'll start shootin’.” “Incredibly illegal,” Nathan said. “Quick way to get your hunting license revoked. Not to mention, why do you need a hunting rifle? You're a literal bear.” “Hunting as the bear's real messy,” Kent said. “Not to mention, I don't want to be hunted. I got a few scars from that...” “Fair enough. Still not sleeping here,” Nathan said. “I have plumbing and power,” Kent stated. “I'm not used to using it much but it's there.” “But running water, though?” Dax asked. Kent turned on the kitchen tap and it ran clear. “Spring water.” “...Why do you want us to stay here so bad?” Nathan asked. “It's not like that. I just don't need you wasting my time getting back here tomorrow,” Kent stated. Nathan nudged Dax. “What do you think?” “I think he's lonely,” Dax muttered. Kent growled. “What?” “Can we see the loft?” Nathan asked. “Be my fuckin' guest.” Kent motioned to the ladder. “There's a mattress. Place was furnished when I got here.” “You're actually thinking about this?” Dax asked as Nathan started to climb the ladder. “Let's just see if it'll work for tonight,” Nathan said as he got up to the top. The mattress up in the loft looked to be of good quality, with fitted sheets, pillows and even a duvet folded up in the corner. “This is actually kind of nice...” Dax frowned and climbed up after him. “...We already booked the hotel.” “Call and see if we can cancel,” Nathan said. “Maybe it's just a fee.” Dax sighed and leaned over the railing of the loft. “Is there a good foot path around here?” “‘Round the lake,” Kent said. “Why?” “If I can get a good run in tomorrow morning, maybe it'll be worth it...” Dax sat on the bed and crossed his legs. The loft roof was so low there that his head brushed the ceiling. “What's for dinner?” Kent shrugged. “Venison.” “Oh dear...” “Correct.” Nathan sighed. “Dax's vegetarian.” “Then he can eat a tree,” Kent growled. “Come on, you had a garden back in the valley. You must have some greens,” Nathan said. Kent huffed and put his hands on his hips. “It's as cold as a witch's tit for too long up here. I'm working on it, but my garden's not even close to harvesting time.” Dax collapsed onto the futon. “And I suppose Uber Eats is out of the question?” “Uber what?” “I'm going to starve.” Kent checked his fridge. “Relax, you limp dick tree muncher. I went into town a couple days ago... I think I have some bread and butter... Oh, there's a jar of pickles and some mustard.” “...Can you do something with that, Dax?” Nathan asked. “There's plenty of berries I picked too,” Kent said. “I blend my own jams.” Dax sighed. “I can probably work something out... Maybe I can make a smoothie tomorrow for breakfast...” Nathan rubbed his shoulder. “When we have some time tomorrow, we'll get some food in town. For now, we can work with what's here.” “Easy for you to say. You can eat venison.” Kent, tall as he was, smacked the wood at the end of the loft floor. “Absolutely no fuckin' up there, got it?” “With your ugly mug around?” Nathan huffed. “Wouldn't dream of it.” “Hey, you're the one who busted it up in the first place,” Kent said. “I added character, but I’m not the one who added that nasty mullet,” Nathan said. “Fuck off... I’m going out for firewood.” Kent huffed and just walked off muttering ‘stupid dog’ under his breath as he put his hand through his hair. Dax sat up and watched until Kent went outside and the door closed behind him. Dax then put his hand on Nathan's shoulder. “He's really into you, huh?” “What?” Nathan shook his head. “He fucking hates me.” “No, he really doesn't. This whole interaction he's been trying to separate us. You didn't even see how he looked at photos of you with the kids. I bet you if I taught him how to delete photos, he would've removed any of them with me in it.” Nathan frowned. “You have nothing to worry about. He's not going to come out if that's true and I'm with you. I chose you.” “I know that. I'm not threatened, I'm just, well you know, I'm nosier than I am tall,” Dax chuckled. “He’s kept his eyes on you from the very second he spotted you until the moment he went out that door. If he ever made eye contact with me, it was only a passing glare. He's almost like another Wano, to be quite honest. I'm half waiting for him to declare a dual for your hand...” Nathan chuckled. “I don't think you have to worry about that. You're good.” “I mean, if you think about it,” Dax said lying back in the bed. “I almost feel sorry for him. The last time you met, you were single. He's been alone out here for months probably thinking about you and the kids. Must've been a slap to the face when I showed up.” Nathan patted Dax's leg. “If you're so obsessed with him, you can date him.” Dax smiled. “I won't lie. He's a lot more handsome than I expected from your descriptions. Not to mention, when he transformed right in front of you, tearing his shirt off, and then when shrunk down he was just shirtless and ripped... Come on.” “I’ll give you that. It was kinda hot...” Nathan admitted. “And pretty gay.” “Right? How old is he, anyway?” “Not sure.” Nathan thought about it.  “He must've been in his twenties back when he was accused and it's been twenty years.” “So, his forties. You like your men older, don't you Nate?” Dax teased. Nathan frowned and lightly punched Dax's leg. “Shut up. Reid said the same damn thing... It's not true.” “How old was Hugh?” Dax asked. “You said he had grey hair.” “Shut up!”

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

can you give me drowsy headcanons, ramble, or anything please, i am so deprived. do not be afraid to make it super long, the more the better, i just love drowsy chaperone and love to hear other people (plus you’re one of the only people i’ve seen who knows a lot abt it)

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE

I’ll divide this into a few different parts, going from least to most excruciatingly sad :)

1. general headcanons

2. in canon things i noticed and think about daily

3. a full analysis of man in chair’s connections with the drowsy chaperone as an in universe show (trigger warning for abuse ment, alcoholism ment, suicide ment)

SECTION ONE: HEADCANONS

- okay the chaperone is trans I don’t make the rules

- also her name is ambrosia :) she forsook her last name :)

- she’s about 12 years older than janet and kinda hung with janet’s family after leaving her own for a while . essentially she’s a big sister to janet

- aldolpho has some lines where he asks if the bride is big and/or burly and while in canon this is supposed to show he’s kind of a womanizer I like to believe it’s because he was fully prepared to fight her if needed

- speaking of which Of Course janet is ripped she does gymnastics

- my batshit crazy headcanon for this show is that dee dee allen from the prom is a descendant of roman bartelli no I will not elaborate

- is aldolpho one of those bitches with pets that definitely shouldn’t be legal? yessir

- post show kitty becomes a star okay I just want her to be happy

- the “pastry chefs” do discover a love of baking post show and now run a shop along with performing in feldzeig’s follies which might maybe be a front for some crime too

- TRIX DROWSY AND ALDOLPHO WORLD TRAVELING POLYCULE CAUSING PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE

- underling’s name is james I will not elaborate on this either

- show never says what trix does so I’ve decided she’s an explorer. she charts maps and punches colonialists and drags her stupid friends along with her, the only bitch in the show with a braincell

- drowsy was a former vaudeville child star pre transition - she left the business but was a mentor to janet

- I do have a headcanon for mic’s name but in the spirit of every actor who’s ever played him I won’t fucking tell

SECTION TWO: SHIT I NOTICED

- robert refers to himself by full name a lot of the time which is v interesting given he’s named after the writer, bob martin (whose wife is also named janet van de graaf). the real bob martin is like five feet away at all times playing mic

- idk how to describe it but the dynamic kitty and feldzeig (VICTOR felgzeig. we have a name from one (1) line) have when talking to each other is so snappy and funny and good

- aldolpho’s lines in spanish are mostly romantic bullshit but his first one hints that he has/had a wife who, if we’re taking the translation literally, refused to touch him. yeah I’ll bring this up in analysis

- the “pastry chefs” provide liquor for the wedding even though it has absolutely no relevance to their mission of stopping it :)

- drowsy is like. SUPER endearing towards janet and despite her bad social skills it’s super clear she cares a lot about her

- robert speaks fluent french apparently

- everyone says “ew” after aldolpho reveals his affair with drowsy despite her being a certified milf

- the body language of drowsy in the end of the show where she takes mic’s hands and breaks the barrier between reality and fiction is just so good. she was iconic the whole show but I honestly think this final bit is what won beth leavel the Tony in the end

SECTION THREE: OH NO

before diving into the way the drowsy chaperone affects his character, we need to understand what exactly it’s playing off of. to fully understand mic’s attachment to the drowsy chaperone, we need to outline what led him to isolating himself and living in fiction to the extent that he does.

mic’s father left his family at an early age and his semi estranged alcoholic mother was the one who began his love for theatre. mic grew up in a broken household and eventually moved on to land in a one sided marriage, which lasted a few months until he slipped up and expressed his discomfort with the situation, after which he and his wife split. nowadays, he lives alone in his apartment surrounded by records he uses to escape to a better life - his favorite of which being the one his mother gave him, the drowsy chaperone.

symbolism in the drowsy chaperone regarding mic’s life can be split into two main categories - mommy issues and internalized homophobia. there isn’t nearly as much mom symbolism as there is the latter, so I’ll cover that first.

drowsy covers both bases, but she definitely has some undeniable mom symbolism going on. drowsy marries aldolpho and mom dreams of being swept off her feet by a latin lover, both feel they’ve wasted their chances at love, both drink to forget, etc. this is where the idea of the drowsy chaperone being mic’s ideal way for things to work out, a positive parallel, comes into play. given that we don’t hear too much about mic’s mom other than her connections to major life events and the record itself, we can assume they grew apart in one way or another. the key difference is that drowsy finds a happy relationship for herself and retains her bond with janet, unlike what we’re led to assume mom was like.

further elaborating on the drowsy chaperone representing mic’s ideal fantasy version of events is the wedding the drowsy chaperone’s plot centers around. here’s a list of the things that didn’t stop that damn wedding:

- a minister not showing up

- the groom cheating on the bride with the bride

- the bride having a complete mental breakdown

- indirect mafia interference

- direct mafia interference

on the flip side, what little mic says about his wedding indicates it sucked absolute ass. he spent the entire ceremony in internal distress as he went through with a life changing event he, at that point, knew at least a bit that he didn’t want. I think he also implies he had severe diarrhea on the wedding day? it gets worse when you realize mic’s relationship before the wedding wasn’t any good for him either - he was playing along the whole time because it would be cruel not to, right?

throughout the show, mic is pretty clearly shown as an extremely repressed gay man. there are five specific instances that point at romantic and/or sexual attraction to men directly and another moment outside of his commentary that pretty much confirms it if you look a little bit deeper. thus, here is what I propose - to mic, the drowsy chaperone’s wedding plot represents a world where he was able to ignore that part of himself and have a happy marriage with his wife despite all the overwhelming obstacles thrown at him. however, bits and pieces of that internalized homophobia manage to show themselves throughout the drowsy chaperone anyway despite its happy ending. here’s a rundown on a few significant instances:

- by the end of the show, the “pastry chefs”, who had literally been planning to kill feldzeig, have left their life of crime to perform with him. this symbolizes how in mic’s ideal world he would have been able to turn away from what he perceived at the time as living wrongly - his homosexuality

- at the same time, the “pastry chefs” have this line, spoken in regards to janet: “if she gets married and leaves the show... there ain’t no show.” this is a take on mic’s subconscious concern that he might lose himself if he goes on with his marriage pretending everything is alright - of course, as we already know, he doesn’t listen

- “cold feets” is a pretty obvious instance of mic’s hesitation

- aldolpho’s line in spanish regarding the wife who won’t touch him flips to reflect on mic’s treatment of his own ex wife - she was alien to him as a lover, just as aldolpho was to this woman

- janet recalls her meeting robert at a point in the show and states “we spooned, briefly, then he proposed.” though mic’s relationship pre marriage was much longer than that, it must have felt that way to him - just as quick and nonsensical as janet describes

- just as janet is caught in showbiz but has a toxic love for it, so does mic with his own repressed life

- janet has a line in “show off” that alludes to her experiencing harassment/assault: “I don’t wanna be cheered no more/ praised no more/ grabbed no more/ touched no more/ loved no more” , which I believe represents the way mic perceived his intimacy with his wife - labeled as love yet unenjoyable for him

- “I look into his eyes... I get all woozy. and that’s... love, isn’t it?” is another very clear nod to mic’s misconception of love based off the only thing he’s ever experienced, relationships with women he’s had to fake

- this is the part where I tell you the lyrics to toledo surprise are a metaphor for actively suppressing gay thoughts. I’ll just leave you with “if it tries to rise; don’t let it”. these lyrics are not comprehensive enough to make a dish - trust me, I have tried. it’s also notable that they serve a double entendre as instructions on how to beat the shit out of someone, but several lyrics are also directed towards the singer/audience. for example: “it’s a snap/ try it folks/ whip your whites/ split your yolks” is an easy metaphor for the unhealthy mental gymnastics required to repress oneself so wholeheartedly

it’s also worth noting the obvious just for the sake of it - mic copes with all this by isolating himself in a safe spot where he can use musicals to escape and live his ideal fantasy, even if it’s only for a short time. there are plenty of nods to this throughout the drowsy chaperone as well. in “as we stumble along” drowsy notes that “the best that we can do is hope a bluebird/ will sing a song/ as we stumble along” - to mic, musicals are his bluebird. while mic mostly indulges in these fantasies, he knows to a certain extent the sheer amount of time he’s spending in them is unhealthy. the first line of the show is “I hate theatre” and I think that to an extent? he does. obviously mic loves theatre as a concept, that can’t be denied. what he hates is the way he’s allowed it to confine him.

with all that out of the way, let’s move on to the most important moment of the show. if you’ve ever seen the show, you’ll know exactly which scene I’m talking about immediately. I’m referring to, of course, the infamous “l-ve while you can” scene. as janet stands at the alter she asks drowsy for one final word of advice, which is partially obscured by aldolpho dropping his cane. “l-ve while you can.” it’s a simple moment, but mic reveals to us that he’s been agonizing over it for years - did drowsy say “live” or “leave”? it occurs to everyone eventually, whether a couple days after the show like with me, or years after like with bob martin’s replacement on broadway that the most likely answer is that she had said “love while you can”. it’s this moment, when you realize why mic had never seen that as an option, that the drowsy chaperone’s status as a musical within a comedy within a tragedy is solidified. mic had no love in his life - his parents hated each other and he was forcing himself into relationships in which he felt nothing. to him, living and leaving were options, but loving never was. so he locked himself away.

as the final note on the record is playing, all power in mic’s apartment shuts down and the fantasy is ruined. the superintendent arrives and further invades his space, breaking the private sanctity he had built up for so long. she fixes the power and before mic can stop it from happening, the final note of the record plays. and the super recognizes it as a musical. she makes a remark about how much her wife loves musicals and leaves, completely unaware of what she’s just done.

mic sits in silence for a while. and then he begins to sing. gradually, the cast members begin to echo their songs, dancing around him but never touching him. then drowsy appears and sings harmony to mic. and she takes his hands. the show ends with the entire cast, including mic, taking off on trix’s airplane as the curtain falls, drowsy handing mic his record as the plane takes off.

some people interpret the ending as mic committing suicide, finally deciding between live and leave. I don’t personally believe that and neither does writer and original mic bob martin, but it’s still a valid interpretation. the drowsy chaperone’s ending is ambiguous, yes, but not to that extent. no matter what you believe the ending means, it was brought on not by the interruption of the fantasy, but by whatever realization the super’s remark about her wife triggered. as I see it, there are two main options here.

option one - mic realizes he still has time to live and to love. when he was younger the prospect of living as himself was unthinkable to him, yet now he sees that while he was spending countless years alone the world grew. drowsy offers mic her hand, an invitation to finally become what he had admired in her - someone who isn’t anywhere near perfect, but is damn well trying and living life without regret. he accepts.

option two - mic realizes that while he spent years alone the world moved on without him and he’s isolated himself so much from social interaction that he’d no longer be able to make a meaningful connection with anyone outside. so he stays inside instead, never trying, always trapped between live and leave. drowsy offers mic her hand - at least he’ll have a tune to carry with him.

I really want to believe we got option one. I think option one is the intended, really, given mic ends the show with a joyful goodbye to the audience. but the way that the ending is still left open for interpretation makes it so that we can never really know - we as the audience only get to be privy to a small part of mic’s life, and we don’t get the answers we want because at the end of the day they’re irrelevant to us - all we can do is make our own choice.

[bangtanlalaland]

together | ksj (m.)

synopsis ⇣ you encounter the world’s most handsome man, who’s also the richest, only to discover that he’s your long-lost childhood friend.

→part of the bring it back collection!

— 1920′s!au; friends to lovers!au

⇢pairing: millionaire!kim seokjin x textile worker!female reader

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 3.9k+

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: somewhat inspired by the great gatsby, some plots twists in here (have your popcorn ready plz), mentions of pining, soft love making in this, some sad stuff (sorryyyy, just adds to the drama), a splash of 1920′s slang (i tried ok)

a/n: just a reminder you guys, in case you’re wondering or expecting this, I am not basing this story entirely off of what happened in the great gatsby so plz don’t come after me. as stated above, this fic is somewhat inspired by the novel. I’d also like to add that most of the events taking place in this story is like a re-enactment of my own personal experiences, therefore this one is a little personal for me, but I am glad to have this chance to share it with you all. anyways, hope you all enjoy!

song rec: “together” by the xx

glossary

big shot—someone of high status/great popularity

bimbo—tough guy

bootlegging—illegal distribution of alcohol

cash or check—to kiss someone now or later

gay—happy (no connection to homosexuality)

jane—a female

jitney—a small bus that costs 5¢

nookie—sex

quiff—a slut

speakeasy—an underground bar (usually involves illegal distribution and/or selling of alcohol)

wingding—a lively celebration or party

Everything was planned. And you should have known this—that it was all an act/a gimmick. The fame, the money, the chivalry. And it didn’t get you anywhere but strung out on coffee and cigarettes—paired with a broken heart. Part of you wanted to blame your friend Betty for even dragging you to that pointless wingding, and then another part of you wanted to blame yourself for letting your guard down. The moment you saw his stupid, handsome face, you should have just walked away. You should have ended whatever was to come, right then and there.

But, you didn’t.

Instead, you chose to wind up in his bed and smothered by his arms. You chose to let yourself go, because at one point in your life, he was someone you trusted. The never-ending ache in your chest weighs upon you as if you’re carrying a rock that’s the size of New York state. You continuously tell yourself: You should have left. You should have said no. You should have just walked away.

Maybe if you said no, would he have ended up in your life some other way? Would you have been happier than you were during those moments with him? Could you even truly say you regret those experiences, even though at that moment it was exactly what you wanted? The past few weeks, you’d driven yourself mad, contemplating and replaying scenarios within your mind to re-arrange the pieces to the puzzle.

But, you end up with nothing.

You can’t think. You can’t eat. You can’t sleep. You can’t do anything without seeing him. Feeling him. Hearing him. And even smelling him. It’s as if he lingers in the spirit—like a ghost, haunting you every waking second of the day. Except, you know nothing about ghosts and how to rid of them.

And the memories…

You can��t forget the times when life was oh so simple—when you knew who he used to be, the he you grew fond of and loved with every fiber in your being. You can’t get over those shiny, gold, silky sheets you had become accustomed to lace yourself in, wrapped within his embrace. Both of your bare bodies glued together by perspiration, and those deep-chocolate irises that make you crumble under his gaze. Especially when he’d whisper to you with that voice of his dipped in comfort and say,

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more happier in my life.”

However, it’s too late. You tell yourself that it’s over, and there is no going back. Ever.

five months earlier

You wiped away the perspiration, on your forehead, with the back of your hand. As people say, “Another day, another dollar.” Literally. You’re only paid 16 cents/hr for your work at the town’s local textile factory. Your hands often find themselves cracked and dried by the end of your shift. It’s the roaring 20′s and everything was booming. Well, at least for everyone else except you.

“Oh, Betty! I told you already I don’t ‘party’.” You whined, while clutching your purse to head beeline out of the factory.

“You’re telling me that a doll like yourself doesn’t ‘party’ during this Jazz Age?” Your blonde-haired co-worker scoffed with a laugh. “Surely, you ought to be ashamed!”

Your mouth flew agape at her audacity, “Well-” You attempted to muster up a comeback, “Well- speakeasy’s are not even legal!”

Betty added, “Oh, you’re no fun! You know that?” You giggled at her frustrated expression since she seemed so conflicted.

“I know. Which is probably why a man would never want me.” Betty stopped you in your tracks, placing her hand over your arm.

“Oh, nonsense! You’re a doll and you know it.” She contemplated for a moment, “You just need some… opening up is all!”

You nodded in reply, “I suppose so.” Betty’s face lit up as if an idea popped up in that wild brain of hers, “How about this?” She gripped onto you tighter. “Why don’t you join me this weekend at Mr. Worldwide Handsome’s wingding!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t think you understand what “partying” means, when I say I do-”

“Now, now wait! Before you say no, it’s not what you think.” She reassured with a beaming smile.

“Who is this Mr. Worldwide Handsome?” You questioned, finally reaching the bus stop to catch a jitney.

Betty hesitated for a moment, “Why I don’t know. Well, I don’t think anyone knows.” You scoffed at her coy way of attempting to convince you.

“Oh, that’s just nonsense, Betty! If this is your way of trying to get me to go with you to that party- then, you’re doing quite an awful job at it.”

Betty rolled her eyes at you, “____, you’ve got it all wrong! I promise. It’s not what you think. It’s just a place where you can be yourself. He holds these gatherings every weekend and it’s so… lively! You can be free and… gay!”

—

You nervously stepped out of the automobile, as you and Betty were dropped off outside of the grand mansion where dozens if not hundreds of people gathered within the entrance of the establishment. Flappers and big shots roamed the premises.

“Why did I let you persuade me into coming here?” You whispered to Betty who had her arm interlinked with yours. You plastered a fake smile amongst the guests. Betty was dressed in a mini, black dress with sparkling fringes, a deep red lipstick adding an extra pop to her porcelain skin.

She cooed back at you, “Because you are my friend, and I was not going to take no for an answer.” As you relayed to your friend earlier in the week, you weren’t one of those “party girls” or “flappers” as they call it.

Seokjin roamed about his mansion, at the top of the stairwell, tapping his feet on the marble flooring below him, sipping on a glass of champagne in his hand. His handsomeness granted numerous glances and coos toward his towering figure. He sported his signature, jet-black mullet that’s slicked back. His white tuxedo glowed effervescently, blinding anyone within his perimeter. Plush, pink lips decorated his dashing face.

He busied himself in obtaining another glass of champagne as another server passed by. But when he turned away to face the entrance of the palace, his heart dropped, his lips parted distinctively, tongue sliding along the bottom of his lip. It’s as if everything and everyone around him had stopped, whilst his almond-shaped eyes landed on a Jane that he grew to be familiar with many years ago—two decades to be exact.

Ever since you both departed, he wanted desperately to find you again just as you did. He missed you, and you missed him, and there hadn’t been a day that passed when you didn’t cross his mind. You both grew up in the same quaint town, but then Jin’s family moved to the big city and that was when everything changed.

You both drifted apart, and it was now a good twenty years later that you both finally crossed paths. But see, that was only part of the plan. Seokjin hosted these grand parties, and spread the word throughout the entire city to fuck his way out of a heartbreak he thought was silly to have. He treasured the attention and the numerous dolls flaunting themselves at him—that eventually he’d forgotten all about you.

It was something about big gatherings, quite like these that made your insides churn. A sense of anxiety resided within you when being in the presence of countless individuals. You felt like all of their gazes were solely focused on you; you’d never been a fan of attention. Although, you were unaware this party would change your life.

Drastically.

You desperately attempted to shake off your anxiousness, scanning the environment for anything or something you could do or use as an escape. And then…

Champagne.

Perfect. You thought to yourself, hurriedly scurrying toward the server, grabbing a glass filled with fizzing liquor.

“Thank you,” You noted with a smile and took a sip, an attempt to calm your nerves. But you still couldn’t shake that feeling, that someone was watching you. And it was as if your worst nightmare had come true, because followed by that feeling, there was a voice. One that was calling your name.

“____?” Your body trembled of chills, and you turned around to discover the voice that was noticeably behind you. When your eyes met the tall, slender form, you nearly dropped your wine glass into shattering pieces.

With a gasp, “Seokjin?” you questioned, placing a hand over your chest where a thumping heart hides from behind. His pupils sparkled with something you thought was admiration, and then he shined those perfect, pearly whites that stole your heart in that moment. You thought to yourself, This is it. He’s the one.

“It’s been so long. Wow, I am speechless.” He stated, with an extended hand, “May I?” He probed, rising his eyebrows. You foolishly lended him your hand, his plump lips pressed a gentle kiss on top.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, curious to understand how the universe joined you both together in this moment.

“Follow me,” was all he said. He lead you through the bustling crowd, and into his office. He removed the jacket of his tuxedo while you admired the maroon-tinted walls paired with large bookshelves and persian rugs decorated the space—modern art pieces adding an extra touch. One in particular stood out to you, in which Jin noticed your stare didn’t break away.

“Edward Hopper’s Automat,” He added, whilst standing beside you and relishing the sight of gorgeous pearls that decorated your neckline—thanks to Betty. He was stunned at the beautiful woman you blossomed into. Considering that the last memory he had of you, was when he’d been taken away in a locomobile, and there you stood at the end of the dirt road—with puffy, wet eyes as you cried out his name, begging him to not leave. And so did he, as he waved you goodbye and tears streamed down his cheeks. It was when his entire world fell apart.

Jin lost himself for a moment, reminiscing on the past. “Seokjin?” You said for now the third time, an attempt to get his attention.

“Yes? I- My apologies,” he replied. You shook it off with a giggle, a warmth having filled up your heart. “No need to worry.” You dropped your head low, as a flash of heat washed upon your face, and suddenly you felt shy.

You felt the cool embrace from Jin’s palm on your back, and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he was already staring at you.

With a sigh of relief, he slipped, “I’ve missed you, ____.” You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in for a hug, and he smelt of the liquor he’d been dousing himself in, paired with a tantalizing scent of cologne, notes of bergamot, tangerine and a hint of fruity persimmon. As you pull away, you peer into each other’s eyes, his slender fingers graze underneath your chin and you both lock lips with one another—his own tasted of the wine they’d been soaked in from earlier. The amount of desire drowned by your kisses sent a wave of heat through the both of you, and before you could think of pulling away to catch your own breath, Jin pulled away, his fingers lacing into yours to lead you toward the master bedroom.

“I missed you too,” you replied, maybe a little too late, but you still made him smile. His hands found purchase on your small back, “I can’t believe that you’re finally here. I don’t think I’ve ever been more happier in my life.” You caressed his broad shoulders, admiring how he towered over you. Oh how handsome he’d become, you thought.

It was as if both of you read each other’s minds, an unspoken tension between the two of you—like gravity pulled you two together, your actions in tune with each other. He laid on top of you, caressing your body and placing gentle kisses along your jawline and onto your collarbone. His silky sheets felt like bliss under your now scorching skin.

“Seokjin,” You moaned. His fingers found the zipper on the side of your dress, and he removed his bow tie and waistcoat, while undressing himself completely. He gently pulled the delicate material of your dress down and off your body.

“So beautiful,” He slipped, while trailing kisses along your leg and worshiping your body as if he was truly in love with you—especially when he entered you and buried himself to the hilt.

He was your first and he knew this. When you slipped, “I’ve never- Oh!” He simply caressed your cheek and planted kisses onto your now swollen lips, drips of sweat clinging on his forehead, your hands grazing along his back—the heels of your feet digging into his bottom. You couldn’t get the rest of your sentence out, the feeling of his member too much for your being, but there was this nostalgic sentiment that followed afterwards—a drawn out moan muffled by kisses.

“You’re saying that a Jane like you hasn’t had any nookie? Ever?” He chimed in with a chuckle. You slapped his arm in reply, “Well, don’t make fun of me now!”

But instead, you both broke out into a laughter, having completely forgotten about the party that continued on just one floor below.

“You feel so amazing,” Jin moaned, thrusting his hips into your core, your walls clenched relentlessly around him and it made his cock throb. Leaks of pre-cum oozed into you paired with your own wetness, soaking his shaft completely.

“Oh, Please don’t stop!” He picked up the pace and rammed into you, losing control of himself, so much that the headboard knocked against the wall in a beat-making manner. “Don’t stop! Yes, yes!” You egged him on, fueling his hunger.

“You’re such a doll, you know that?” He slipped between breaths. Your being now glued to the sheets from the sweat that accumulated.

He eventually slowed his momentum as an orgasm shortly approached. Your walls contracted around him repeatedly, and you were instantly drowned in euphoria. You hadn’t processed that Jin’s fingers were rubbing your clit furiously, making your orgasm crash upon you. And right after, you felt the warmth of his semen painting your walls—his bedroom now filled with the harmony of your moans.

Seokjin fell beside you on the bed, his chest rising and falling.

“That was amazing,” He slipped in between breaths. But to his surprise, you’d risen from the bed to re-dress yourself.

“Hey…” He hopped up on his feet, his flaccid cock jumping in the process. “Where you going?” He asked, grabbing your wrist.

“I-I shouldn’t keep Betty waiting…” You trailed off, his eyebrows quirked upwards. “She’s my friend. I came with her tonight.” His strong grip pulled you closer toward him; his fingers caressed your face.

“When will I see you again?” He asked, his grip on you becoming tighter. You shrugged your shoulders, because you weren’t sure when you’d see him again or if you’d have the chance to. Some part of you had hope because you know where he lives now, and you know he’s not far away and out of reach.

When you attempted to pull away, he pulled you back again, “Cash or check?” You contemplated a few moments, and with a tilt of your head, you tiptoed to give him a quick peck.

But it all just felt like a dream. One that you didn’t know would come crashing down. Because that’s all you can remember now. His sheets, his face, his voice, his length, and his scent—everything was Seokjin.

—

You came back and more than once. But the next few times, you came alone. It became a routine, almost. You’d join him during the night, and the two of you would escape into the part of his mansion where no one was around—everyone else having occupied the lower level and the courtyard. He’d always bring you to his bedroom, never letting you out in public together. You should have known that was a sign.

Anytime you both were together, you were alone. Because truth is, Seokjin was embarrassed. He held a high status and couldn’t be seen with someone like you. That’s what he told himself. He thought you wouldn’t have come back after the first night, but then you proved him wrong. And he wasn’t going to turn down free sex, especially since you were inexperienced—which gave him more power in the bedroom. He simply went with the flow, taking you as you gave to him.

Yet, you didn’t understand any of it. Especially when one night you took the lead, riding him with your breasts on full display. He moaned your name repeatedly and admitted, “I love you, ____.” And you fell for it, you actually believed him, with his cock fully sheathed inside of you. You were both wrapped up in the moment, your feels at their maximum. Except, you meant it when you replied, “I love you too, Seokjin.” That was the difference.

But one night, he slipped.

You paraded through his estate during one of his parties, brushing past numerous guests and bumping into some, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. He’d normally await for your arrival at the top of the stairwell, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the courtyard or the balcony or the pool. Your heart thumped with a never-ending beat, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling.

Eventually, you found yourself entering the room that you remember oh so well, and you wished you hadn’t. The sight you witnessed sent a burning ache within your chest. Moans and groans filled the atmosphere as you neared the bed that contained those golden sheets you’d become familiar with. To say you were horrified was an understatement. Jin was plunging into another woman while another woman sat on the other woman’s face, a sudden churn of your stomach ascended—you felt as though everything you consumed that  day would come right back up.

“S-Seokjin?” You let out, and he abruptly stopped his motions, snapping his gaze toward you. His eyes blown wide and lips parted.

“Fuck!” He spilled, stumbling out of the woman he was in. You turned away, heading beeline for the door. He quickly found his grip on you, and you fought him off, pushing him away and continuously slapping him away.

“How could you? How?!” You screamed. The sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor echoed throughout the palace, as you strutted out and never looked back.

He knew that he fucked up, because truth is, he didn’t even know what he really wanted—but he knew he was selfish. He continued hosting more wingdings, and he never stopped screwing more women. He convinced himself that you were just another Jane he checked off his “To do” list. Because that’s who Seokjin had become. He was no longer that sweet, innocent little boy you once knew. He was no longer your only best friend that you could trust. He was no longer who you thought he was.

—

After receiving the test results from your doctor, that’s when everything sunk in, and you made a promise to yourself that you’d eliminate the abuse of caffeine and tobacco you’d taken within your diet. Although somehow, someway, Seokjin found out that you were pregnant (more than likely it was Betty who told him at his still ongoing wingdings, since you spilled who Mr. Worldwide Handsome is), and he had the guts to show himself at your workplace. He paraded through the establishment, calling out your name. To your embarrassment, you remained at your station, internally cursing yourself for having gotten involved with him.

“____!” He raged, searching for your tired figure. You let out a sigh of exhaustion. And there he stood, with creased slacks in his million-dollar man attire, but his gaze was only focused on you.

“____, we need to talk.” He reassured to you, but too loud for prying eyes nearby. You swiped away the sweat that clung to your forehead.

“Well, I am working. How dare you barge in like this as if you have the right?” You retort with a hint of rage in your tone.

He took a deep breath, not wanting to hear it from you. “Listen, I didn’t come to cause any trouble, alright? We need to talk about my baby.”

You scoffed in reply, “Your baby?” His eyes widen slightly, “I am the one carrying our child! This is our baby, not just yours!” He ran his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner.

“Last I remember, you were too busy having nookie with those quiff’s who were in the same bed you had knocked me up!” Your chest heaves of anger, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

“You can’t just show up here like you’re this-this- bimbo! Because you’re not!” You hadn’t even realized you’d been yelling the entire time, gaining the attention from your nearby co-workers—who attentively watch your riled up figure, courtesy of your hormones.

Jin attempted to speak, “____, I’m-” but then you cut him off, tiredly yelling, “Beat it, Jin!”

His face instantly contorted into an expression you didn’t like to witness. It was a face of pure defeat. His jaw clenched under your stare, but he turned the other cheek and strutted away. You can’t say you felt sorry for him or embarrassed that you called him out because deep down, you knew that he brought everything upon himself.

—

You had a baby girl, and the moment you met eyes with her, was when you promised yourself you would climb mountains, swim oceans, and fight any battle to protect and love her the correct way—because she is you and you are her. The first two months were tough, yet Seokjin was nowhere to be found. Betty had been there for you through every step of the way, and you were beyond grateful for that. Although, you felt guilty for not letting Seokjin see his daughter, because after all she is still yours and his child. You asked Betty to accompany you to his mansion, where you had hoped to encounter him—but to no avail, you turned up with nothing. The entire palace was abandoned, like a wasteland. No automobiles, no servants, no Jane’s, no Seokjin.

A few days later on your way home from work, you overheard a few pedestrians gossiping about him. “Mr. Worldwide Handsome? I can’t believe it! Is it true? That he’s really on the run?” One of them says, the other woman replies, “Look, it’s in the paper!” Your eyebrows furrow on the spot.

“Pardon me. Can I see that?” You probe, pointing to the newspaper the two ladies were observing, and surely they were right. His photo was in the daily paper, with the headline of the name of Mr. Worldwide Handsome. He was wanted for bootlegging. He never told you who he really was, all he mentioned to you was that he was indeed Mr. Worldwide Handsome, but never confided in you about his supposed work.

Now he was gone, and you had a feeling that he was never coming back, because the first night when you two were reunited, it was in that moment, just as he’d practiced with numerous other women for years—Seokjin had one goal in mind:

To get her.

[strawberryaziraphale]

reddie + radio

“So, I was in line to get some coffee and this random old lady came up to me today and said ‘young man, you look incredibly homosexual.’ I didn’t know what to do so I thanked her and bought her coffee. And I wasn’t even sucking a dick.”

Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle as he distractedly made a picnic supper, his friend, Richie’s, radio show playing in the background. Richie had worked hard to get his presenting position and he wanted to surprise him at the station, to congratulate him on his new late evening time slot. At first, they’d given Richie the popular morning slot but, after several unfortunate incidents, they realised he was impossible to censor. He proved to be a huge hit with listeners, though, and landed the later time where he could be as Richie-esque as he liked.

Eddie pulled up outside the radio station and removed the picnic bag, heading towards the building. The security guard let him through with a brief nod. The whole station had strict instructions from their star personality to let Eddie Kaspbrak straight through. The station was familiar to him; he often visited Richie during his breaks. Eddie had also, rather embarrassingly, discovered that Richie’s listeners knew exactly who he was since Richie apparently never shut up about him. He couldn’t be mad. No one knew he was The Spaghetti King outside of Richie’s booth.

Richie was still on air and, judging by the way his arms were flying about, he was mid-explanation about something. Eddie couldn’t help but smile as he watched him in action. Richie quickly spotted him and beamed, gesturing erratically for him to come in. The shorter man hesitated, looking at the red light, showing Richie was still on air. He glanced at Richie’s producer who just shrugged. Eddie took a deep breath and nervously entered the room. Immediately, he heard Richie signing off.

“...don’t go anywhere, ‘cause after these messages, I’ve got something pretty fucking exciting for you lot,” Richie was saying into the microphone, slapping several buttons before slipping off his headphones. He looked up at Eddie, taking in his sharp suit and neat hair, “hey, Eds. Lookin’ good. Hot date or something?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, sitting in the empty chair opposite his friend, “no. I was going to dinner with my best friend but he’s tied down with work.”

“Ah, shit, sorry, Spaghetti,” Richie looked genuinely crushed and he rubbed his neck awkwardly, “the next guy’s running late. They asked me to stay on until he gets here. You don’t mind, do you?

"No, I get it. Anyway, Erin messaged me,” he gestured at Richie’s producer who was clearly pretending not to listen, “so I brought you something to keep you going.”

As Eddie unloaded mini sandwiches and snack food items, things to be eaten quickly, Richie’s smile grew, “why, Eddie, you shouldn’t-” he was interrupted by Erin thumping on the window, gesturing at the mic. Richie rolled his eyes and shoved his headphones back into place, “and we’re back. It’s now nine and shit’s about to get serious,” as he hit another button, probably one of his many sounds, Richie gestured frantically for Eddie to put on the other pair of headphones, “before we do, though, my good friend, Eddie Spaghetti is gonna be joining me for this segment. Say a big gay ‘hello’ to the people out there, Eds.”

Eddie blinked at him, suddenly feeling rather shy, “erm, hello, L.A. Richie is kinda throwing me under the bus here.”

“Nonsense, my Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie chuckled with a wink, expertly eating a sandwich at the same time, “in fact, I can’t think of anyone better to help me with my next segment. Fucking relationship advice. It’s about to get personal. It’s time for Dr. Richie’s Love Lessons,” Richie hit another button and a catchy jingle played. Eddie smiled to himself, unable to resist speaking once the jingle ended.

“This man is not a professional doctor, do not take advice from him.”

“Hey, fuck you, Eds Spagheds, my advice is renowned,” Richie bragged, swigging from a can of soda. Eddie shook his head, massaging his temple.

“Call me one more shitty fucking nickname and they’ll be looking for a new host.”

Richie smirked, turning to look at Erin as he spoke directly into the microphone, “see why I love this guy?”

Eddie blushed as Richie’s producer smiled, nodding obediently as she put through calls. To Eddie’s surprise, most of the callers were LGBT+, requesting Richie’s ‘expert queer advice’ which was actually surprisingly good. They had callers about dating, how to propose to their partners, people just wanting to chat, one person just wanted to confess their freaky sex secrets much to Richie’s delight and Eddie’s disgust.

“Good luck with the whole sex dungeon thing, Bert,” Richie was moments away from losing it, wiping his eyes as he looked at Eddie, “what do you think, Eds? Want to go round and give that swing a ride?”

Eddie scoffed, “give me a break, the only thing I want to ride is sitting in this room.”

He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, having spoken before he’d thought about it. Richie himself looked stunned and...was he blushing a bit? Eddie was about to run out of the studio when Richie, making sure to keep Eddie’s gaze, leaned forward and spoke into the mic.

“I mean, like, I won’t say no. I’m not a fucking idiot. Everyone listening tonight will tell you how fucking in love with you I am.”

Eddie bit his lip to stop the wide smile from splitting across his face. He was about to reply when they were interrupted by a very awkward looking Erin.

“Um, I hate to break up this romantic moment but Chuck’s here,” she gestured at Richie’s replacement. Chuck waved at them smugly, waiting for Richie to sign off. The bespectacled personality glared at him, leaning in to the mic.

“Alright, show’s over, sluts. Get the fuck out of here unless you wanna stick around to talk about cars? Fuck that,” he saw Chuck flip him out of the corner of his eye, “I’m back again tomorrow night. Until then, stay gay.”

After they finally escaped the station, Richie and Eddie somehow managed to avoid talking about ‘the thing that happened’ until they got home. And it wasn’t so much ‘talking’ as falling into each other’s arms, kissing just as desperately. The following morning, Richie was awoken by a text message from his boss. He quickly shoved on his glasses, reading the message with a smile.

Rich, I don’t know what the fuck happened last night but those were your highest ratings. whatever it was, do it again. M

“Hey, Eds,” Richie rolled over, scooping Eddie into his arms and pressing a kiss into his neck. The shorter man hummed, covering Richie’s large hands with his smaller ones, “how would you fancy a new job?”

[tigerdrop]

If you ever write Gordon getting dicked down by benrey, I can only image benrey just losing his mind and unable to form coherent sentences just going on and on and thanking Gordon for letting him do this. Just constantly saying how good gordon is to him and thank you over and over again.

bro do i have something for u. i was going off about this exact thing just last night

what if benrey humped gordons pillow.. you know..... like a. its a. its a petplay thing okay fuckin leave me alone. gordons prolly got more than one pillow right. what if......he had his face buried in the other one (or, you know, an other one, idk) while hes doing it b/c it......smells like......gordon......

like hes on his knees bent over, going completely crazy on one pillow, while perhaps hugging his face into the other and his whimpers and moans r muffled and oh god im rabid

rotating in my mind. maybe he wouldnt have been able to get off just from that ordinarily. it was just, like, warming up. he was gonna just jack it over the pillow later (you know, b/c hes fucking gross, and maybe hes entertaining wild fantasies of marking gordons stuff. you know). but its actually gordon saying a bunch of degrading comments (and then saying that if he was a good boy, he would finish what he started) to him that pushes him over the edge and makes him able to come for real

benrey's going absolutely ape bananas on the pillow, uncoordinated and desperate to come, with gordon breathing shit like "fuck the pillow like you'd fuck me" right in his ear. gordon's crazed on the power of being able to make benrey piston faster with just a little dirty talk

god. like. the fucking groan that would rip out of him at that b/c he wants to do just that so badly. not like he can deny that thats what he was thinking about the whole time, right

benrey just starts babbling nonsense on exactly how he wants to fuck him, if he'd let him

like. if hes wanted to do just that for so long, so badly, but hes never been able to prove that hes been good enough for gordon to let him (or at least, thats what hes convinced the issue is. if its up to me, its probably bound up in gordons weird internalized homophobia issues about bottoming.......but yknow thats not the way everybody characterizes him so LOL). and he really starts rutting into it good and hard trying to prove that hed be good for gordon, hed make it real fucking good for him, and maybe if he does it right, gordon will let him fuck him just like that

seeing benrey fuck the pillow as if its actually gordon makes him feel. some kinda way. and maybe he decides afterwards or sometime soon after, he actually DOES want benrey to fuck him like that. and when it happens, hes got benrey by the leash, tugging him and instructing him on what to do, telling him hes a good boy and UH HEY why are you reading this message are you fucking homosexual or somethi

okay. so. like. thinking about. gordon finally getting over himself enough to consider letting benrey top him. but if theyre gonna do this, hes gonna be the one in control, still. otherwise whats the whole fucking point of the bit theyre doing? so hes very strictly instructing benrey what to do, making him sit there and fold his goddamn hands behind his back and not touch, not move, just sit there and watch while gordon gets himself ready, because he dont trust like that. if benrey cant behave here, now, then gordon doesnt believe hell be able to behave when benreys got his dick in his ass. its like the apocryphal "green m&ms" story - if you cant obey the little rules, then theres no guarantee that you can obey the big rules, either

so benreys just watching, and hes fucking sweating, b/c he wants to be so fucking good right now. if he doesnt behave, hes not gonna get what hes wanted for so long, and gordon sure as shit wont let him do it again. so hes patient. he pants, open-mouthed, and his dick just twitches and bobs but he doesnt touch it b/c he wasnt told to. but man, is it hard when hes watching gordon get his fingers inside himself like that. watching his face turn red, watching him sweat, wanting it to be his fingers inside gordon so goddamn badly and just make him beg for more. but hes certain he cant get away with that, so he doesnt, and he just sits there and suffers

what if when gordon first takes benrey inside him, benrey notices a look of discomfort on gordons face that remains there for a hot minute. and slightly concerned, benrey speaks up, “yo you good? do we need to sto-“ and gordon is stubborn and insists he’s absolutely fine, hes completely cool, chill, all that. and hes got this.....! yknow, horny glare on his face, showing he means business and that hes so fucking into this, just as much as benrey is

gordon coming more and more undone as he fucks his own ass, his reprieved "control" on the situation slipping, benrey's listening the best he's ever listened and all of it's making gordon so goddamn hot. he tries to make it sound authoritative when he asks benrey to fuck him, it doesn't come out that way at all but benrey's so spellbound by the permission that he doesn't notice or care. just dives right in :)

then, finally, gordon feels like hes ready, and its really obvious how embarrassed he is even when hes trying to play at maintaining control over the situation. hes saying a lot of defensive shit like "dont say anything weird, dont make any weird fucking comments, just. look. if you wanna do this, then, uh. cmon." as he gets himself on his hands and knees and tugs benrey over to him by the collar and basically presents himself to be fucking mounted, because, you know, thats what theyre doing here. thats what their whole fucking game is

now. look. my benreys got a big dick. most benreys got a big dick. this benreys got a big fucking dick and gordon knows this real well by now, so hes insistent that benrey takes it as slow as possible. and it takes every goddamn ounce of his self-control to do as gordon asks, but its so worth it, because just that slow press inside of him for the first time is so, so good. gordons unbelievably tight, and hes making choked sounds and gasping and even though hes being super bossy, hes already gagging for it, practically. and like what you said: benreys fucking desperate to rail him into the ground, but hes also deeply invested in listening to exactly what gordon says and making it as good for him as he can

and he gets himself buried to the hilt, finally, after so long hes sure hed be going soft if it wasnt gordon, if he wasnt so deeply into being bossed around like this. and gordon breathlessly tells benrey to give him a moment, jesus, let him adjust. so he waits. and he waits. until gordon tugs at his leash, and tells him to move. but slowly, okay. so benrey does as hes told, and when he hits just the right pace, gordon does him the kindness of calling him a good boy and his fingers tighten instinctively on gordons hips

thats all he fuckin wants, bro. he wants gordon to call him a good boy and let benrey fuck him silly. (theyre getting to that second one.) slowly, gordon lets him pick up the pace, and hes trying to hard to maintain control but benreys dick is ruining him. gordons legs shake, his arms start to give way, and his back dips lower and lower while he raises his ass higher. and hes so fucking vocal. so much higher and louder than when hes topping. his mouths starting to run off, ordering benrey to fuck him harder while he gives that leash a sharp tug, and "good boy" spills from his lips with a greater frequency

and benreys just pressing him further and further into the mattress, legs braced around gordons in rut like a fucking mating press, and gordons really starting to lose control over the situation. benreys asking him shit like "yo......is it good bro? am i good?" because he just wants to hear it from gordon - yeah, hes good, hes doing so good, hes a good boy. hes gordons good boy. its some of the most effusive praise benreys gotten, and it goes straight to his head. and gordons pulling that leash so fucking tight, bending benrey over his back, while his orders for benrey not to stop begin to bleed into pleas and his babblings starting to get incoherent. and when hes like "please, oh god, im gonna come," benrey goes for the extra credit and reaches around to jerk him off and gordon just breaks

starts hardcore running his mouth and begging benrey to come in him, god, he can bite a little if he wants, its okay, just keep going, and gordon comes with the loudest wail benreys ever drawn out of him. and hes so overstimulated but he meant it when he said he wanted benrey to fuck him until he came, so hes mumbling about how good benrey is for him deliriously until benreys telling him thank you over and over again as he comes deep inside gordon. and then he pulls out and starts licking gordon and nuzzling his head into him and other gay shit while gordon pats his head and weakly reiterates that, yes, he was a good fucking dog and he did very fucking well, thank you

My Final Message. Good bye

[maoam]

@ other lesbians who think sakura is gay: why do you hate yourselves so much lmao. if anything it’s lesbophobia to claim that that monstrosity of a character is one of us. also why do you hate ino? the disrespect of putting her into a relationship with sakura is beyond the pale. sakura, who spat on their friendship because she heard a rumor that ino might have a crush? and crushed everything they had under her heel without even seeking a confirmation or denial? you really think ino would be happy receive that treatment from a lover? cmon now. the enemies to lovers trope only works when the enemies start out on opposing sides of a larger conflict, not when they have a personal connection to begin with and then one person or both treats the other like trash. that’s unhealthy as fuck, especially if the one receiving mistreatment/abuse keeps going back for more. putting ino in a relationship with sakura is entrapping her in a dynamic of disregard for her emotional wants and needs because sakura never cared about them and was never there for her when she was struggling or grieving. not once. (sorry for the rant, these ppl me off.)

I know right like Sakura literally told Ino she won’t let her get anywhere close to Sasuke and Sarada does the same by keeping Ino away while Sakura is laughing awkwardly in the background! She also wanted Sai to call her ugly and got mad when he didn’t. -_-

Let’s make this clear to everyone for the 500th time. Sakura is attracted to Sasuke. Lesbians do not stalk men or want to see their dick, or beat up others for being in the way of their man hunting. Stop this nonsense.

Literally no lesbian ever has stalked a man in order to hide her homosexuality. Lesbians pretending to have a crush on a man is just “oh yeah he cute” and not literally crawling on the floor begging him to love you or getting horny seeing him naked (Konohamaru’s jutsu).

I know the idea behind this is to remove Sakura from all the responsibility of her stalking and harassing Sasuke since they were kids, and making her the poor victim who is being kept hostage in the relationship. But all you people are doing is making lesbians look bad.

MEN harass lesbians, not the other way around. This just shows people have no idea of the actual reality lesbians live. They have to deal with men hitting on them and still not backing off when they reject them, or tell them about their sexuality.

[ofhouseadama]

all creatures great and small episode 2 the liveblog

my dog is joining me on this one and she is a very fun shape

awww I love when a woman happens upon a naked man in a period piece because he's decided to strip down and walk into water

SARCASM DOESN'T BECOME A WOMAN OF YOUR RELIGIOSITY MRS. HALL

"and if it makes tristan green with envy, all the better" ah yes, there's the sibling nonsense

alright who hurt the farnon brothers

was it their father

"he let you drive the rover"

the immense little sibling energy here, we're all terrible little brats

"not as such, no" is one of my conversational weaknesses because of ainsley hayes from tww, I must admit

oh god that almost car crash got me worse than most of the jumpscares in the conjuring. i have trauma from matthew crawley, i think

"mrs. h" "i can feel your ribs" OH GOD THEY'RE FAMBLY

FOUND FAMBLY

my weakness, as a homosexual

oh I see we are about to start on some three brothers nonsense. as the youngest of three sisters I know EXACTLY how this is going to go because I was raised in the dysfunction lmao

oh tristan what is your dark tragic backstory

is it just your father lmao

it feels like it was your father

OH ANOTHER PRETTY BRUNETTE LADY

"hello, you need a lift?" "WHO'S THIS THEN, YOUR FANCY MAN?" OH MY GOD

oooh audrey hall backstory, so she used to work in a Big House?

oh i love a good fancy country house

oh it's MILL MONEY take me back immediately to North & South then

oh so Siegfried is Like That, i see

honestly if I had this much money I would also treat my dogs like this old lady, the way I would serve Lady some beef wellington. last weekend I hand fed her prosciutto while making a charcuterie board

UNCLE HERRIOT'S TELLING MUMMY OFF

this is so endearing tbh

"JAMES I BARELY RECOGNIZE YOU WITH YOUR CLOTHES ON" god I love her so much, she's so valid

"there's a river up there that's good for swimming"

i am... love helen

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING, TRISTAN

oh Siegfried handing the boys whiskeys makes me feel very fond of him

"tris?" I SNORTED

the immediate sibling energy between the three of them is sending me

"skip breakfast" AUDREY IS SO OFFENDED AND SHE'S RIGHT

"oh he's mentioned many things, all of them unholy" the way that Audrey is the team mom

i'm worried about this cow

oh did Tristan not actually pass his exams which is why he's avoiding PRACTICING VETERINARY MEDICINE

omg James is so smart, what a good lad

oh no Audrey what's wrong. who is Edward. do I need to fucking fight him

"he's still my boy"

oh god I'm gonna have to fight this Edward and I don't even know what he's done or who he is

"a son's promise to his dying father" ah yes, the daddy issues coming in RIGHT ON TIME

Siegfried is buying Dorothy's car solely to be nice under the cover of being an asshole

OH EDWARD IS HER SON, I'M ABSOLUTELY GOING TO FIGHT HIM

oh no he bought his little brother a car to be nice to his brother and his brother's a liar

oh no

DADDY ISSUES RIGHT ON FUCKING TIME

"you'll do, for whom and what is the question" IM SCREAMING

Siegfried is bringing a lot of big brother/surrogate dad energy and I know I'm about to get my feelings hurt about it

"aunty aulderson, have been since he was a pup" oh no it's cuuuuute

"he'll dance with five more by the end of the night, but never more than once" I'm--

siegfried said "emotional avoidance" and i support him

okay so is Audrey a widow or was she jilted and left with a son, inquiring minds want to know how much angst is due to be involved, I'm here for it all, though

OH GOD TRISTAN DIDN'T GRADUATE

"i couldn't bear the thought of failing, again" "it's hard isn't it, love?" oh god AUDREY WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU

WHO AM I FIGHTING

"oh don't be modest, it's terribly dull" mood

me, shamelessly muting this conversation because THIS stresses me out more than watching a new horror movie in the dark

"I BOUGHT YOU A BLOODY CAR. I WAS PROUD OF YOU." lmao we know which one hurts more and you're mad that it's that you were proud of him

oh yes, Siegfried bringing Disappointed Dad energy

"I think you'd best do it, Tris, earn your keep while you're here" LMAOOO middle sibling energy has arrived

god audrey and siegfried are so married

LMAO both james and tris running from siegfried

oh this is VERY cute, I'm so into it

[isolavirtuosa]

Maybe 1-5

[fanfiction] Dean/Castiel

Canon Compliant Coda

One minute I was sitting on the porch, having a beer with Bobby, and the next I was standing in the bunker next to an equally confused-looking Sam.

Parts 1-5

- 1 -

  One minute I was sitting on the porch, having a beer with Bobby, and the next I was standing in the bunker next to an equally confused-looking Sam.

“What the hell, Sammy,” I grumbled, staring at the once-familiar wall of the dungeon in front of us.

“I have no idea,” Sam said, brows furrowing.

“Dad?”

We both whirled around, my hand going for a gun that was long since gone.

“Dean?” Sam said, but the tone was all wrong.  That wasn’t how he said my name.

“Dad?” the man repeated.  He was tall, with brown hair that was longer than it needed to be, and it was obvious enough even for those of us who had no idea what was going on.

“This is Junior?” I asked Sam’s back as he was already moving to wrap his son in a hug.

The hug went on for a lot longer than I thought was necessary, and then my brother was turning around and gesturing to me with a warm smile.  “This is your Uncle Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean Junior said, his eyes a little wide.

Apparently my reputation preceded me.  “Hey yourself,” I responded, swaggering over to him.

I was suddenly wrapped in a very tight hug.

“Um, I guess you’re a hugger,” I said, patting his back awkwardly for a moment before finally just giving in to hugging my only nephew.

Sam was grinning like an idiot.

“I can’t believe you’re both here,” Dean breathed as he pulled away.  “I mean, it worked.”

“Um, what exactly is it that worked?” Sam asked.

“Castiel’s spell,” he said, like that explained perfectly why my brother and I had been ripped out of heaven and brought back to earth.

“Wait, Cass is-” I started to say, even as Castiel was slipping out of the shadows.

“Hello, Sam,” he said, nodding at my brother.  He paused, looking at me meaningfully.  “Dean.”

“Cass!” Sam said, and then there was even more unnecessary hugging.  He squeezed Castiel tightly, and when he let him go, he turned an expectant glance on me.

I stared pointedly at the wall.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here,” Castiel began to say.

“What’s up with you two?” Sam asked, gesturing between us.

“Nothing,” I said, which was swallowed up by Castiel’s very loud declaration that, “Dean is uncomfortable about my homosexual feelings towards him.”

“Wait, what?” Sam said, squinting at me.

“Cass, you know that’s not true,” I ground out, annoyed.

“Angels have sexual preferences?” Dean asked, scratching at his stubble.  “I kind of thought you were all asexual.”

“We mostly lack human desires,” Castiel agreed.  “Of course, some angels have-”

“Nobody needs a lesson on the sexual exploits of angels,” I interrupted him.

“I think I might,” Dean said, looking genuinely perplexed.  “I mean, all these years, and I never once…  But I guess now that I’ve heard it out loud, it’s starting to…  Yeah, I mean, Castiel talks about you a lot.  A lot a lot.  And he gets this soft expression on his face, and-”

“‘All these years?’” I repeated slowly, feeling my face harden even more.  “You’ve been helping Junior out for years?” I asked Castiel angrily.

“Other Dean needed my help-”

“Great, Cass, just great, so glad you could be there for him,” I said.  “Can we just move on to the part where you explain why the hell we’re here, and then get us back to fucking heaven where we belong?”

Castiel breathed out heavily, his lower lip sticking out slightly.

It was a ridiculous expression that looked completely out of place on his face, and I wanted to tell him so, but…

“You were not exaggerating,” Dean marveled to Sam, still staring at me in awe.

I was starting to wonder what exactly my brother had told my namesake about me.  “I need a beer,” I decided, throwing the dungeon door open and making my way towards the kitchen.

“Wow, look what the cat dragged in.”

At first the woman sitting with her boots kicked up on the table was unrecognizable.  Her gray hair flowed around her face in curls, wrinkles etched across a face with surprisingly youthful-looking blue eyes.

“…Claire…?” I asked incredulously.

She grinned at me.

“How are you still alive?” I asked, still trying to process this elderly woman as the young girl I’d last seen.

“Some of us are actually good at hunting,” she said with a smirk and a twinkle in her eyes.

I didn’t know what to do with that.  “I need a beer,” I decided, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Grab one for me!” Claire called after me.

“Can elderly people drink?” I replied, digging through the fridge and pulling out two tall bottles which were hopefully beer, the brand name unrecognizable to me.

“We can drink Dean Winchester under the table!” she called, a laugh in her voice.

I returned with the bottles, and Claire accepted hers, taking a long drink.

“That hits the spot after a long day of raising assholes from the dead,” she declared.

I sat next to her, running my fingers over the names etched into the table.  There were more now, covering the table from end-to-end.

“We decided the table had a nice nostalgic vibe to it,” she said, before nodding her head around the room.  “Updated everything else from the prehistoric nonsense you had in here before, though.”

There were screens and flashing lights everywhere.  It seemed pretty fucking awful to me, but hopefully whatever fool’s errand had brought us back here would be over and done with quickly.

Claire finished her beer, letting the empty bottle hit the table with a loud clink.  “I guess that’s an okay start, but you’re gonna need to keep ‘em comin’.”

“Slow down, grandma, I don’t want to have to pick you up off of the floor.”

She snorted.  “How the fuck old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, a hundred?”

She laughed even harder.  “Oh, god, you are precious.  I am the picture of youth and vitality.  You like music from the freaking 1970s and dress like an elderly lumberjack.”

I touched my flannel shirt self-consciously.

“And Jimmy certainly made a choice with that body,” she said, looking me up and down, and grinning madly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked irritably.  “…and also, ‘Jimmy’?”

“That’s just my nickname for Castiel,” she said, ignoring the rest of my question.  “It’s an inside joke, and there’s pretty much no one left alive who gets it anymore.”

“So you two have gotten close?”

“Well, I mean, we’re not having constant crises that require heavenly intervention like back in the Winchester days, but yeah, Jimmy’s always here to bail us out when things get rough.”

“Fucking fantastic,” I said, downing the rest of my beer.

“Oh my god, you really are mad,” she marveled at me.

“What am I mad about?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“That Jimmy looooooves you,” she swooned at me.

“You know what, you’re right,” I said, standing up.  “You’re not elderly at all, you’re twelve.”

“Takes one to know one,” Claire cackled at my retreating back as I took the glass bottles back to the kitchen.

There was a loud bustling back in the other room, signaling that the others had finally come up to join us.

Everyone stared at me expectantly as I came back into the room.  I looked at them blankly, handing Claire another beer and opening my own.

“So, did Claire fill you in about Temeluchus…?” Sam asked.

“Who in the what now?” I asked, taking a drink and specifically not looking at Castiel.

“And how the Michael sword and the Lucifer sword are the only way to seal him…?” Sam asked.

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“They need our blood-” Sam continued.

“You know, I really don’t need the details,” I said.  “Tell me what to do, we save the world, we go back.  Right?”

“Right,” Castiel confirmed.

“Okay then,” I said.  “Let’s save the world.”

 - 2 -

  They put us in the guest room that night.

“Being alive is weird,” I decided, studying the back of my hand.  “You gotta piss and shit and sleep…”

“And alcohol actually gets you drunk?” Sam suggested from the twin bed next to mine.

“Well, that part’s not so bad,” I said, letting my hand drop to my stomach.  “I could get into that part.”

“Maybe if you pray to Jack, he’ll let you get drunk in heaven, too.”

“Don’t need to be drunk in heaven.”

Sam sighed.  “It’s weird for me, too, you know.  To be back here.”

“I was never here.”

I heard him breathe in sharply at that, almost like a flinch of pain.

“And that’s okay,” I continued.  “I did my part, then my story was over.”

“We always felt you with us.”

“…Sammy, that is some new agey bullcrap.”

“It doesn’t make it less true.”

“So Cass helped you on cases.”

“That’s a bit of a non-sequitur.”

“Is it?” I asked, mostly because I didn’t know what a non-sequitur was.

“Well, I guess we were talking about our feelings, and then you brought up Cass, so actually, no, I do see where you’re coming from,” Sam decided.

“We were not talking about our feelings,” I said, offended.

“Of course not,” Sam replied in that patronizing way of his.  “Manly men don’t have feelings.”

“Damn straight.”

“So about your best friend Cass…”

“Did you want us to braid each other’s hair and exchange friendship bracelets?” I grumbled.

“I was thinking about more maybe just actually having a conversation…?” Sam suggested.  “Seriously, Dean, what is going on between you two?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“Oh, yeah, sure, okay.”

The smart play would be to not respond to Sam’s sarcasm, and just let the conversation die.

Sam sighed loudly.

I ignored him.

He sighed again.

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.

There was the sound of movement from Sam’s bed, which was the only warning I got before something crashed into my chest.

The smart play would be to just hold the pillow hostage and continue to ignore him.

Unfortunately, Sam knew that I could never possibly ignore such an obvious affront.

I threw the pillow back at him as hard as possible.

He was sitting up now, and caught it with a grunt.  “Dean, is this really…  I mean, you’re not actually bothered that Cass has feelings for you, right?”

“Of course I don’t care,” I growled, but I could already feel the anger dissipating.  Somehow I’d gotten better at letting go of things.  “I mean, of course I care.  About Cass.  About… whatever.  Feelings and shit.  I just… he dropped that bomb at me, and then he left.”

“He didn’t really leave so much as die…”

“He didn’t come back, Sammy.”

“He’s right here, Dean.  In the next room.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.  He’s here on earth.  He’s helping Junior.  He’s bonding with Claire.  He was even freaking helping you on cases before you moved on.”

Sam put his pillow down and seemed to lean forward, straining to see me in the dark.  “Dean, what are you saying?  Have you not seen Cass since he was taken by the Empty?”

“You just figured that out?”

“Wait, not even once?”

“He came once.”

“Okay…?”

“A little after you moved on,” I said, lying back down.  I closed my eyes again.

“…and did something happen?” Sam prodded me when I didn’t go on.

“Hello, Dean.”

My head was under the Impala’s hood, and his sudden appearance startled me so much I shot up and banged my head.  “Shit!  Ow!”

“I, uh… apologies…” Castiel trailed off, looking at me uncertainly.

“It’s fine, you just surprised me,” I said, straightening up and taking my hand from my aching head.  “You’re… here.”

“Yes, that is where I am,” he agreed.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

It felt like just yesterday that I’d last seen him, yet it felt like a hundred years ago.

Time moved differently in heaven.

“You look well,” Castiel finally said, breaking the silence.

“Being dead does that for a guy,” I said, trying to be glib.  Trying to break up the tension.

“It’s certainly true that a human can choose their favored appearance in heaven,” he said.

We weren’t saying anything that mattered.

“Dean, are you angry with me?” he asked, easily picking up on my frustration.

“Why would I be angry with you?” I replied, shaking my head.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he said, his head bowed slightly.

“Kinda, yeah,” I agreed.

“I’ll go.”

“What the hell, Cass.”

He forced a smile at me.  “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” I said, the anger rising in my voice.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“What exactly is it that you understand, because I don’t get you at all right now.”

He looked at me.

“Cass,” I said looking back.  I felt like something I hadn’t even realized was missing was suddenly right in front of me, but I couldn’t reach it.

“This isn’t how it usually goes,” he said after a pause.

“How what goes?”

“Us,” he said, gesturing between us.

“Then stop being so damn awkward.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“How am I being awkward?”

“Well, usually after I sacrifice myself for you, you say something like, ‘Cass, you are not dead, I am very pleased’, followed by a customary embrace in which you try not to show me your emotional face by making the embrace unnaturally long in order to get control of yourself.”

I tried to protest that, but all I could do was open and close my mouth like a fish.

“I understand if physical proximity is… no longer appropriate,” he continued.

“For Christ’s sake, can we just forget about what you said and go back to normal?” I asked irritably.

Cass’s expression hardened.  “No, Dean, we will not forget about what I said.”

I sighed.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“Whatever, Cass,” I said, turning my back on him and going back under the hood.  We both needed to take a step back or this was just going to keep on getting stupider.

And then he fucking left.

“Dean?” Sam prodded me.

“Just Cass being Cass,” I said, waving it off.  “He makes stupid assumptions about things.”

“Does he?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” I growled at him.

“So you’re not being a homophobic dick about him telling you that he loves you?”

“You know me better than that,” I complained.

“I know you well enough to know that feelings make you uncomfortable,” he said.  “Especially things you have no experience with.”

I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Cass said these bodies will only stay bonded to our souls for three days,” he said.  “All I’m saying is that maybe before we go back to heaven, you should figure your shit out.”

“Maybe you should figure your shit out,” I grumbled back at him.

“My shit is very figured, thanks.”

I rolled my eyes, but it was true.  My little brother had it together.  “Junior seems competent.”

“Yeah, he can hold his own,” Sam said, and I could hear the beaming dad-pride in his voice.

“I’m glad I could finally meet him,” I said, continuing down this little rabbit hole so we didn’t have to talk about me anymore.

“Me, too.”

“Hey, Claire got old, though, huh?”

“Dean, we all got old,” he scoffed at me.

“Yeah, but…” I started to say, hesitating.  “Claire just… always reminded me a lot of me, you know?  Didn’t know if she would…”

“She changed a lot after Kaia came back,” Sam put in quickly.  We never lingered too long over that kind of talk, no matter how much heaven had chilled us out.

“Did she?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Started hunting smarter.  Hunting less.  Making time for a life.”

“Good for her,” I said softly.  She’d figured it out before it was too late.

We were both quiet with our own thoughts after that, and eventually I remembered how to sleep.

 - 3 -

  “Hell no,” I said emphatically.

“Dean, no one uses gas-powered cars anymore,” Sam said, rolling his eyes at me.

We all stood in the garage, staring at the monstrosity that these hunters dared to call a ‘car’.  It was some froufrou, electric-powered nonsense, and there was no way I was getting in that thing.

“Impala or I walk.”

“The Impala hasn’t run in twenty years,” Dean Junior said.

“What did you do to my baby?” I asked, mortified.

“It’s a fucking old car, Grandpa,” Claire taunted me.  “They break down.”

While Claire and I stood there arguing, everyone else climbed into the monstrosity, with Junior and Sam in the front and the angel in the back.

“Looks like they’re leaving without you,” Claire said unhelpfully.

I clenched my jaw.

“You coming, Uncle Dean?” Junior asked, leaning out the window and giving me a shit-eating grin worthy of the Winchester name.

“Move over, chuckles, I’m driving,” I growled, stomping over to them.

“It’s a self-driving car, Dean,” Sam said, showing exactly where his son got that damn grin.

“Then I call shotgun,” I said, glaring at the two of them.

“Sorry, rules are rules, and Dad already called shotgun,” Dean said with a shrug.

I looked at them.

I looked at Castiel sitting in the back.

I looked back at them.

I focused on Sam.

He shrugged, unable to stop giving me that grin.

I sighed loudly.

“I can teleport there,” Castiel said, looking like some kicked puppy.

“Cass, no,” Sam said immediately, at the same time as Dean protested, “we need your help with the spell before we get there.”

And I looked like the jackass again.  “It’s fine,” I said, opening the door and getting in beside Castiel.

“Have fun, boys,” Claire said, waving to us as the car started to move out of the garage.

Castiel sat ramrod straight next to me, eyes forward.

I wanted things to be right between us again, I just had no idea where to start, and it certainly wasn’t going to happen with Nosy and Nosier sitting in the front.  “Do these joke machines have tunes?” I asked instead.

Sam groaned, slumping back against his seat, while Dean looked over his shoulder to give me a huge grin.  “I’ve got the perfect playlist.”

The familiar guitar riff of Ramble On suddenly filled the car.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!” I said, hitting the back of Sam’s seat excitedly.  “Is your son a Zeppelin fan?!”

“Don’t remind me,” Sam said, and I could feel his eye roll even though I was behind him.

“Dad had all your old tapes in the Impala,” Dean said, drumming his fingers against the console.  “We used to just drive and drive, listening to them on repeat.”

For some reason, that put a lump in my throat.

“Of course, then he would plug his phone in and make us listen to old crap like Deathcab For Cutie…” Dean continued.

I cracked up.  “Did he follow it up with some Celine Dion?”

“That was his freaking wedding song,” Dean said, making me laugh harder.

“So hilarious,” Sam grumbled.  “…The Power of Love is a damn good song,” he added under his breath.

“Looks like Junior is more Winchester than Sammy,” I said, patting my nephew on the shoulder and feeling pleased.

The next hour passed very pleasantly with me and Dean belting out classic rock while Sam pretended that he hated it.

At some point I glanced over at Cass, and he was looking at me softly, smiling like a creep.  He immediately looked away when he realized he’d been caught.

I continued singing, but I bumped my knee lightly against his.

He looked surprised, but then he smiled again, so I figure that was a good enough olive branch for the time being.

Of course, the longer we drove, the harder it was to ignore how fucking weird the world had gotten.

“You can’t even enjoy the road anymore,” I complained, watching as we passed an endless line of self-driving cars in yet another underground tunnel.  “The open air, your hand on the wheel…”

“As you did not typically allow others to drive, I don’t think we really experienced any difference in the transition to driver-less,” Castiel said, speaking for the first time.

“Ha,” Sam said.

Cass glanced nervously at me, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to make jokes anymore.

“Shut up, smartass,” I said, smacking him in the arm.

He looked relieved, but that kind of pissed me off.  Why did he think he had to walk on eggshells with me?  Why couldn’t he just be normal?  Was I really so awful to him?

“How about we stop and get some food?” I suggested, ready for a change of scenery.

That also turned out to be a terrible idea.

“Why are the burgers not made of meat?” I asked Sam, low and threatening.

“It’s better for the environment,” he explained.  “And for your health.”

“Samuel,” I said, my voice getting lower.  “I will have my meat.”

“Having a tofu burger just this once won’t kill you.”

“Yes, I think it will,” I said, jabbing my finger into his ridiculously broad chest.

“Dean, we need to meet Mellie and Rowena tonight, so we don’t really have time for this,” Sam tried to explain to me logically.

“I already rode around in your abomination of a vehicle all day, and now you’re telling me that I need to eat a… t-to…” I tried to get the word out, but it stuck in my throat.

“I’ll go pick up the food since none of you have any money,” Dean said, getting out of the car and moving towards the so-called burger joint.

“You bring me a real burger, kid, you hear me?” I called after him.

“I’m older than you, Uncle Dean!” he called back.

Sam followed after him, laughing.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” I grumbled, getting back inside the vehicle.  “I’ve lived longer than the brat, even if my body is… however old it is.”

“Thirty-nine,” Castiel said.

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Yes, well I had to choose which template of you two to form,” he said.  “I thought the time we spent fathering Jack together when he was a baby was nice, so I went with those bodies.”

“When Jack was a baby…”

“Yes, before he lost his soul,” Castiel said.

“You are so… you,” I decided.

“Yes, that is who I am.”

“You were… happy then?”

“Yes, very,” Castiel said.  “I was able to become a father and raise my son with his other two fathers.”

“I don’t think that’s how biology works.”

“How would you know?” he scoffed at me.

My jaw dropped and all I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed.  “Are you calling me stupid?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“Asshole,” I said, but I was smiling anyway.

Castiel looked pleased with himself, which made me feel… something I didn’t want to think about.

“So baby grows up and you leave the other two fathers behind?” I asked, deciding to pick a fight instead.  “No, wait, it was only the one father that you cut out of your life.”

“Dean,” he said, sounding weary.

“Oh, no, Cass, it’s totally cool that you decided to move on with your life and never talk to me again.”

“Dean Winchester, I did no such thing,” he said, his tone starting to get angrier.  “You are the one who didn’t want me around.”

“And how exactly did you arrive at that conclusion?” I asked him incredulously.

“You didn’t pray to me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.  “I didn’t know that I had to pray to the holy and powerful angel of the Lord Castiel to get him to deign to come and see me.”

“Prayer has never been like that between us,” he said, frowning.  “It’s our way of communicating long distance.  I treasure the prayers you send to me.”

“So that’s why you didn’t answer me all those times,” I grumbled shittily.

“If anyone can understand putting duty over matters of the heart…”

“So it was your duty to take care of Sammy and Junior… and Claire… and who the fuck knows who else… but not me?”

“Yes, Dean, that is correct,” Castiel said, blue eyes lasering into mine.  He opened his mouth to say something else, when the door to the car flew open.

“I’ve got burgers,” Dean Junior declared, getting into the car and tossing a paper bag to Castiel.

It bounced off his chest and slid to the floor.

Cass did not react.

“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Dean asked, looking between us leerily.

“No,” I said, at the same time that Castiel said, “yes.”

“You two were actually talking?” Sam asked, sliding into his own seat and passing me a bag.

“No,” I grumbled, digging through the bag and pulling out my burger.

“Yes,” Castiel said contrarily, still ignoring his food on the floor.

I unwrapped my burger and took a big bite.  I chewed thoughtfully.  There was something… different…  I looked at Sam in horror as a flash lit up the backseat.  My eyes shifted to Dean, who was looking pointedly forward as the car pulled out from the rest stop.  “Dean Junior.”

“Yes, Uncle Dean?”

“Dean Junior, you and I haven’t known each other long.”

“Less than a day,” he agreed.

“Less than a day,” I said.  “And in that day, I haven’t asked for much, have I?”

“Well, you wanted to ride around in a busted gas guzzler-”

“Dean Junior, I haven’t asked for much,” I repeated.  “As you may know, I died about fifty years ago, for about the… two hundredth and final time, after sacrificing my life to save the world so many goddamn times.”

“Dad did mention that, yeah.”

“So many goddamn times,” I repeated.  “And yet, I am a simple man.”

Cass snorted at that.

“Some might even say you are a meat man,” Sam put in.

Cass flat out chortled at that.

“Interesting that you mention that, Sam,” I said.  “Interesting that you mention my know predilection for meat products, when you have schemed here with your son to bring me this faux meat bullshit.”

“Yeah, okay, but the look on your face,” Sam explained, holding up Dean’s holophone and showing the picture of my mortified-looking face as I held the offending ‘burger’ away from me.

“Dean Junior, tell me the truth,” I said, eyes boring into my namesake’s.  “Were you talked into this by your embarrassingly uncreative father who knows nothing of true pranks and hijinks?”

“I was,” he said solemnly.  “Dad promised it would be hilarious.”

“And was it hilarious?” I asked.

“I mean, you just made this whole ridiculous speech, so I’m going to have to say yes?”

“Oh, Dean Junior,” I said, shaking my head.  “You know nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone thought it was hilarious, Dean,” Sam put in, gesturing between Castiel and Dean, who did in fact look like they thought it was hilarious.

“Simpletons,” I said, shaking my head.  “I have been gone too long.  But don’t worry.  You will remember.”

Sam was looking at me like I was crazy.

“Now where is my goddamn burger?” I asked, shoving the tofu burger back in its bag and throwing it at Sam.

“On the floor,” he said, nodding his head towards Castiel’s bag.

“Jackass,” I grumbled, picking the bag up.

“Like Cass would have eaten it,” Sam said with a shrug.

“Molecules,” Castiel agreed.

I unwrapped it and took a big bite, only to see that damn flash in my face again.  “You motherfucker,” I said, throwing the tofu burger at Sam’s head and sticking the landing.

“Childish much?” Sam said, grinning like a loon.

“My revenge will be all-consuming,” I said, slumping back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest.  “All-consuming.”

“Mm-hm,” Sam said, flipping through the pictures on the phone and laughing to himself.

 - 4 -

  “Dean.”

I woke up with a start, breathing in through my nose sharply.  My head rested against something hard and unyielding, but somehow familiar and warm.

I was drooling on Cass’s trenchcoat.

“If you do not mind,” he said, looking at me uncomfortably and holding his body stiffly, trying to keep himself as far away from me as possible.

“Shit,” I muttered, shooting back up to a sitting position.  “What, am I that repulsive to you?”

“Dean, you were drooling.”

“And you loved every second of it.”

Castiel looked startled, then frowned.

I groused and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.  “We almost there?”

“About an hour out,” Sam said from the front.  “Maybe a little less if traffic is light.”

“Great,” I said, staring out the window at the endless tunnels.  The future sucked.

We finally pulled into our seedy motel, which was a lot shinier and more electronic than I remembered seedy motels being, and then there was Mellie, standing out in the parking lot with a cock to her hip and a grin on her face.

“Hey, boys,” she said, waving us over.

“Mellie,” Dean Junior said, giving her a quick hug.

“Sam Winchester, is that you?” she asked, looking my brother up and down in amusement.

“It’s me,” Sam said, holding his arms out to her.

“Damn, my mom never told me how hot you were when you were younger,” she said, throwing her arms around him enthusiastically.

“Er…” he trailed off, patting Mellie’s back awkwardly.

“That must be difficult for Sam’s ego, as he has always believed himself to be hot,” Castiel murmured.

I cracked up, turning to grin at him.

Cass gave me a pleased look.

I forgot how much he was pissing me off for a moment and slung my arm around his shoulder, leaning in close to his ear.  “So who the hell is this chick again?”

“Mellie Hanscom,” Cas explained.

“No shit?  She’s Donna’s kid?”

“Perhaps in human years she would be considered an adult female.”

“I got that, Cass, thank you,” I said, patting his chest as I pushed away and moved towards the other three.  “Hey there, Mellie,” I said, giving her my best Dean Winchester smoulder.

“Hi,” she said, smiling back before turning to Sam.  “So this is your little brother?”

Sam’s lips twitched into a smile.  “My older brother, yeah.”

“Oh,” Mellie said with a slight frown.  “I thought he’d be taller.”

“Is this Shit on Dean Day?” I asked no one in particular.

“You sounded taller in my mom’s stories,” she clarified.

“He has always been this short,” Sam said helpfully.

“Everyone besides the Jolly Green Giant here is shorter than me,” I said incredulously.

“Why is Dad green…?” Dean asked, rubbing his stubble and looking genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t get it,” Mellie agreed.

“Dean, they don’t understand your references, either,” Castiel commented, pleased.

“Everyone knows who the freakin’ Jolly Green Giant is!” I said, exasperated.

“Yes, the large green man in a leaf toga who makes canned corn,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully.

Everyone had their laugh at my expense and then we finally got down to business.

“We summon Rowena, she does the Rite of Blood, and that starts preparing your bodies for the final ritual,” Mellie explained as she wrote a sigil on the door in her blood.

“Just tell me where to stand,” I said, not really thinking too much about all the blood and the letting of it in preparation to remove mine.

“Anywhere’s fine,” Mellie said, smiling at me cheerfully as she wiped her hands clean on a motel towel.

“We ready?” Dean asked.  When he received an affirmative, he started chanting in Latin.

“This is so boring,” I commented to Sam after about five minutes of it.

“This used to be our lives,” Sam said, giving me a rueful smile.

“Was it?” I asked, shaking my head.  “Man, I cannot wait to get back home.”

“Yeah…” Sam said.  “It’s been good to see Dean, though.  To have you two meet.”

“He’ll be with us before you know it,” I said with a shrug.

“That should sound ominous, but it’s weirdly comforting,” he said, scrunching up his face in confusion.

“Hello, boys.”

We both looked back towards the door where Rowena now stood in all her hellish glory.

“Mellie, Wee Dean, lovely of you to orchestrate this reunion,” she said, passing by them and pinching Dean on the cheek before slapping Mellie on the butt.

“I don’t understand any of these relationships…” I said.

“My, Samuel, this is certainly an improvement over the dour old man bit you had going on before,” Rowena hummed, squeezing Sam’s bicep.  “Now what say you we start this rite so I can get back to ruling my kingdom?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, shooting her a salute.

“Castiel, will you be joining us or remain sulking in the corner?” she asked, flashing him a bright smile.

“I will remain in the corner.”

Rowena chuckled at that, and suddenly she was pinning me down with her sharp gaze.  “Dean Winchester, it seems the rumors that you’ve been acting a right twat might be true.”

“Why is it always my fault?” I asked with a scowl.  “What, ’cause Cass is an angel?  Well, news flash, angels are dicks.”

“You certainly won’t broker any argument from me there,” Rowena said.  “But the real question is, how much of the angel’s dick have you seen?”

I just about spontaneously combusted.

“Rowena!” Sam cried, scandalized.

Mellie looked between us all with a fascinated look on her face.  “Wait, are Castiel and Dean a couple?!”

“No, we are not a friggin’ couple!” I snapped.  “I’m not gay!  Jesus.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Rowena said shaking her head.  “You two really are adorable together.  You know, my Fergus always was a bit sweet on you…  You seem to give off a very seductive aura that screams, ‘I’m the picture of toxic masculinity but also I’d like you to take me to bed and pull me apart slow-’”

“C-crowley was what now?” I asked, mortified.

“Ah, yes, he told me about the triplets,” Rowena said with a grin.

I clenched my jaw.  “We do not talk about the triplets.”

“You know, I’m not gay either,” Castiel put in from his corner.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Angels have no gender,” he explained.  “We have taken to equating ourselves with the gender of our frequently used vessels in order to accommodate your human languages which require such explanation, but Enochian has no gender-specific pronouns.  I myself have always used vessels of either gender.”

Dean proceeded to make a series of incomprehensible noises.

Cass burst out laughing.

I stared between them, confused about a lot of things, but most specifically about what had just come out of my nephew’s mouth.

“Enochian,” Sam explained, shaking his head.

“Wait, Junior can speak Enochian?!”

Sam shrugged, clearly jealous that his progeny had accomplished something he never even dreamed possible.

“He’s very good,” Castiel said with a proud smile.  “If only he could free himself of his human form and speak through his light.”

“If only,” Dean agreed.

“Well, this is all very amusing and all, but time is precious,” Rowena said, gracing us all with a threatening smile.

“Let the bloodletting begin,” I said, holding out my wrists to her, more than happy to change the subject.

“Dean, dear, we’re doing a Rite of Blood, not a bloodletting,” she explained.  “Unless that’s what you’re into?”

“I am into whatever you are into, Rowena,” I said, upping the charm.

“Oh, I did miss you a teeny weeny bit,” she said, shooting me a flirty smile back, then shoving me backwards on the bed.

“Okay,” I said, going with it.

“Lie back and enjoy the ride, boys,” she said, then started chanting in Latin.

Sam’s weight landed next to me, and suddenly the room was buzzing with energy.

I started to feel like I was drunk, looking at all the pretty colors swirling over our heads.  The ceiling seemed to be getting closer and closer, and when I tilted my head to the side, I realized we were now floating off the bed.  I felt completely serene.

And then we crashed back onto the cheap motel bed, the mattress squeaking loudly in protest.

“And we’re done,” Rowena said, clapping her hands together.  “Boys, it’s been lovely,” she said, leaning into our vision.  “Samuel, stay strapping,” she said, patting his chest.  “Dean… well, you’ll figure it out, dear.”

“Huh?” I said, still woozy from the ritual.

Rowena just smiled and disappeared from my line of sight, saying her goodbyes to the others.

“Did it work?” Sam asked, trying to sit up only to flop right back down on the bed.

“Rowena said it did, so that’s good enough for me,” Dean said, coming to sit next to his father.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Sam trailed off.

“High?” I suggested.

Sam nodded at me, a goofy smile on his face.  “High,” he agreed.

Dean and Mellie exchanged concerned looks.

“It’s a known side effect of the Rite of Blood,” Castiel explained.  “We should just let them sleep it off.”

Dean helped Castiel move Sam to the other bed, Sam laughing the whole way.

I caressed the comforter gently, rolling the texture between my fingers.

“Here you go,” Cass said, tugging off my boots and helping me into bed.

“Mm, thanks,” I hummed, rubbing my cheek against the pillow.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.  “Do you need liquid replenishment?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” I said, looking into his eyes for a moment and getting lost.

“I’ll watch over you tonight, if that’s all right with you,” he said, eyes taking on a questioning look.

“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes.  “My own freakin’ guardian angel.”

“Yes, your own freakin’ guardian angel,” Cass agreed, and then I was out like a light.

 - 5 -

  Sam and I sat in the back of the car together the next morning, sunglasses on and blankets wrapped around our shoulders.

“What the fuck did Rowena do to us?” I grumbled.

“She… activated our blood?” Sam said slowly, flinching at the sound of his own voice.

“And why the hell would blood ever have to be activated?”

“Something about… the ritual where they extract our blood to bind Temeluchus to the earth…?” he trailed off.

The front door of the car opened and Castiel slid in, leaning over the seat and putting a cup of hot coffee in my hands.

I felt myself smiling at him, and the smile was immediately returned.

He passed another cup to Sam, then faced forward again.

Dean slid in on the other side and started the car.

Mellie came over to us and the windows all rolled down.

“Great seeing you all,” she said, “but I need to haul ass back to Sioux Falls and get to work.”

Dean and Castiel gave her a proper goodbye while Sam and I mumbled something that might have sounded like human language, and then we were off.

I slept most of the morning despite the copious amounts of coffee I’d consumed, and slowly I started to feel like a human being again.  “Where are we going again?” I finally asked when I was ready to rejoin society.

“Lawrence,” Dean said.

“Of course,” I said.  “Back to Kansas.”

“Says the guy who will literally cross state lines just to pick up a damn pie,” Sam mumbled.

“I just don’t see why we couldn’t have summoned Rowena to the bunker,” I said with a shrug.  “Seems like this whole mission could go a lot smoother if we didn’t waste time floating around in these tin cans, getting high on blood rites…”

“I’m sorry, I would not have missed that for all the world,” Dean said with a snort.

Sam and I exchanged A Look.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means you two were funny as shit last night,” Dean explained, and yet it explained nothing at all.

“We went to bed right after the ritual,” I said, Sam nodding his agreement.

“Oh, we tried to put you two to bed,” Dean said with a laugh.

“It was not successful,” Castiel agreed.  “You know, now that I think of it, memory loss is also one of the side effects of the ritual.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam asked, looking between them nervously.

I just nodded my head, showing my support for Sam’s confusion.

“So you really don’t remember ordering room service?” Dean asked, giving us an amused look.

“Motels have room service in the future?” I asked, squinting at Sam.

He just shrugged.

“And then you had a race down the hall on the room service carts?” Dean continued.

“Oh, that sounds like us,” I said, relieved that we had just behaved like children and not actually done anything detrimentally stupid.

“I’m sorry, is it?” Dean asked with a laugh.  “I mean, my dad is such an… old man.”

“That is also true,” I agreed.  “Sammy certainly has the longest, thickest imaginable stick up his ass, but he occasionally knows how to pull it out and let his hair down.”

“Beautiful imagery, Dean,” Sam said.  “Who knew you had the sensitive soul of a poet?”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“So you also are accustomed to dancing on bars?” Dean asked, looking intrigued.

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam said again, as I nodded my agreement with him.

“Bars?  Dancing on them?”

“Isn’t that usually a thing that chicks do?” I asked, scratching at my stubble.

“And also something that the Winchester brothers apparently do,” Castiel contributed helpfully.

“I have never in my life danced on a bar,” I stated firmly.

Dean held up his phone, showing us both an image of what looked horrifyingly like me and Sammy, shaking our asses on a bar.

At least we were surrounded by a crowd of adoring-looking females.

“Listen, what happens during the Rite of Blood stays in the Rite of Blood,” I said.

“And your mother never needs to see that,” Sam added.

“Oh, I sent her the video.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She showed it to all her friends in the nursing home.”

“…”

“The video is very funny,” Castiel put in, helping as usual.

Sam and I proceeded to stew in silence.

Apparently the next step in the ritual to bind the Angel Whatever-His-Name-Was involved another spell performed simultaneously on the north and south sides of the hospital where Sam and I were born.

“I thought we would be going to the cemetery, why the hospital?” Sam asked as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Because this is the power spot of Lawrence,” Castiel explained.  “It is where Mary pushed you both from her uterus, setting destiny into mo-”

“Dude, please do not ever talk about my mother’s uterus again,” I interrupted him, aghast.

“Yes, but Dean, it was a monumental event that only Mary, with her well-formed uterus, could-”

“What the hell did I just say.”

“‘Please do not ever talk about my mother’s uterus again,’” he repeated in a very disturbingly accurate impression of me.

“And yet you keep talking about it.”

“I do not think that Mary would take offense.”

“I take offense, Cass.”

Castiel suddenly disappeared.

“Uh, we kinda need him for the spell,” Dean said.

“Why do you have to pick a fight with him over everything?” Sam asked.

“Why am I always the bad guy?!” I demanded.

Castiel suddenly reappeared in the front seat.  “I talked to Mary, and she was not offended.”

“You what?” I asked.

“She seemed a little annoyed with you, though, Dean.”

“For what possible reason would my mother be annoyed with me?!”

“Don’t we need to begin the spell?” he asked, changing the subject like the asshole he was.

“We should get in position,” Dean agreed.

“Dean and I will take the south,” Sam chimed in quickly.

“That wouldn’t make sense,” Castiel said with a frown.  “One of you needs to be at the north.”

“No, my son Dean,” Sam clarified.

“Ah, you meant Other Dean.”

Dean Junior rolled his eyes but smiled.  “Come on, Dad,” he said, opening the door.

“Wait, what if I want to go with Junior?” I protested.

“Father-son bonding time,” Sam said, scrambling out of his side of the car, and he and Dean took off at a much faster walking pace than necessary.

“Do you really just call Junior ‘Other Dean’?” I asked, giving Cass a weird look.

“Of course,” he said, his brows scrunching in confusion.  “You are Dean.  He is not you.”

“You don’t think it’s just a little bit insulting to be called ‘Other’?”

“You call that same man who is older than you ‘Junior.’”

“I was born first.”

“Yes.  You are the original.  He is the Other Dean.”

“Weirdo,” I said, getting out of the car.  I wasn’t smiling because of Cass.

I caught him giving me that soft look of his again, his own mouth curving in a smile.

I ignored it and moved towards the north of the hospital.

Castiel drew up beside me, and when we’d reached a little grassy area that he deemed the correct spot, we started setting up the candles and drawing sigils.

When I was seated in the middle of the candles, I used Cass’s phone to message Sam.  “They’re almost ready,” I informed him.

“Good,” he said, shifting from side-to-side and scoping out the area.  The only light came leaking out from behind the curtained windows of the hospital, clouds covering up any light from the sky.  “Dean?”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“…are we still fighting?”

I looked at him.

His brows were drawn together and his lips were pushed out, and I couldn’t help but marvel that this dope was an angel.

“Do you still think that I’m angry with you because I’m uncomfortable about your feelings?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then yeah, we’re still fighting.”

“Dean, I don’t understand.”

“Do you need me to draw you a friggin’ road map?”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

The phone buzzed.

“Ten seconds,” I said, and Castiel straightened up, ready to start.

We both counted down, and then I started lighting the candles and Castiel started chanting.  The wind picked up, but somehow the flames stayed lit, growing stronger and taller.  Everything seemed to be going according to plan.

Then a demon appeared and punched Castiel in the face.

[wrcns]

↪ introduction to wren d’ansembourg.

BASICS

full name: wren marcel d’ansembourg.  nickname(s): vtáčik ( ‘little bird’ in slovak, used exclusively by his fiancé tomas ).  age: twenty-five.  date of birth: 3 june 1995. zodiac sign: gemini.  place of birth: luxembourg city, luxembourg.  ethnicity: white. nationality: luxembourger.  gender: cis male.  sexual orientation: homosexual.  romantic orientation: homoromantic.  religion: roman catholic, though wren isn’t the most diligent catholic ( re: he hasn’t done anything religious of his own volition in years ).  occupation: when he isn’t running amok around his home in luxembourg trying and failing to do his royal duties, he’s an artist -- a painter, more specifically.  language(s) spoken: luxembourgish, french, german, english ( all fluently ). slovak ( not fluently, at this point the best he can do is string together his favorite swear words to make tomas laugh ). accent: his accent is extremely reminiscent of a german accent, though he’s been told it’s softer than the average german accent -- when he’s speaking english, that is. he’s been told his accents in french and german are negligible and difficult to notice -- especially at the pace he usually speaks ( i.e. - wren has never said anything slowly in his twenty-five years of living and doesn’t plan to START ).

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: maxence danet-fauvel.  hair color: brown.  eye color: blue. height: 180.34 cm ( 5′11″ ). weight: 83 kg ( 183 lbs ). build: lanky, athletic. tattoos: he has a tattoo of a wren on his left forearm ( here ) ; to date he doesn’t have any other tattoos but he’s constantly doodling things he’d be perfectly willing to get tattooed on himself - tomas has, so far, urged him to think about it a bit more.  piercings: he has three piercings in his right ear -- he wears a ring in the lowest one and studs in the upper pair.  distinguishing characteristics: his height, the fact that he always looks like he needs about six months more sleep at any given moment, the way he talks with his hands, the way he dresses. 

PERSONALITY

label: the odd duck. positive traits: capable, clever, compassionate, considerate, creative, curious, daring, dedicated, earnest, empathetic, generous, independent, loyal, observant, passionate, protective, reliable, selfless, warm. negative traits: competitive, irreverent, sarcastic, self-conscious. aloof, anxious, crude, haughty, hedonistic, impulsive, timid, weird. goals/desires: wren’s admittedly very excited to get married when the time comes, to continue living his life as happily as possible even within the protection program.   fears: genuinely doing anything to disappoint or hurt his family, losing his siblings or tomas.  hobbies: painting, driving his siblings absolutely nuts, dreaming up new pranks to pull on his friends and family, doodling ( on clothes, skin, actual paper - wren’s not picky ), chatting with reporters about nonsense things, going on twitter rants about the dumbest things, spending time with his family ( occasionally ), cuddling with tomas, exploring whatever city he happens to be living in as thoroughly as possible, playing soccer, learning how to make films ( god forbid anyone let this man hang onto a camera for a significant length of time ), looking at memes until his eyes hurt.    quirks: most of his sense of humor is based on memes, he almost always has paint smudges on his hands no matter what he’s doing, he’ll switch between languages when he’s talking without thinking-- especially if he’s speaking english and forgets phrases he’ll try and figure out what they are in the other languages he knows and go from there, he can come off pretty aloof but he’s a genuinely social person -- he just tends to be too-tired on any given day to be really over-zealous.  likes: visiting museums when he has the attention span, painting, planning pranks, learning new skills, playing music ( his guitar skills aren’t all that bad and he genuinely enjoys practicing ), mystery novels, memes -- especially if they’re brand new to him, pestering luca, spending time with tomas, planning dates when he’s in the mood, watching documentaries on super obscure subjects, collecting mismatched socks, hanging out with regular people, collecting art supplies, energy drinks, coffee, good beer, good food, flustering tomas.    dislikes: having to be involved in political matters of any kind, most hard liquor, not being taken seriously when he wants to be, people who take themselves too seriously, france, having to be serious for any length of time usually, anyone who fucks with his family.    

FAMILY

father: emile albert james d’ansembourg.  mother: adélaide marie d’ansembourg.  sibling(s): luca phillipe gabriel d’ansembourg, wendy juliette d’ansembourg, lara jeanne d’ansembourg.  pet(s): he doesn’t have any pets at the moment.  financial status: too rich for his own good.

RELEVANT INFORMATION

PERSONALITY — 

Wren is, first and foremost, a genuinely odd person -- or so he’s been told for the length of his life at present; it’s a title he accepts with the utmost pride and he’s the first person to admit that he’d rather be known as odd than known for anything else. He can be loud and abrasive-- opinionated in ways that would likely get him into more trouble were he not royalty but could likely get him into sticky situations he isn’t even vaguely prepared for as time goes by. He isn’t always nice in any traditional sense -- he has no problem telling people what he thinks of them, will rip them to metaphorical shreds with a broad smile on his face and be that much happier for it. He obsesses over miscellaneous things to an inane degree -- he’ll worry about how mismatched he can get his socks to be for over an hour on any given afternoon and turn around to obsess over any given style of art he’s currently fascinated with depending on the day. Wren is also one of the most loyal people in the world -- at least where his family and loved ones are concerned; essentially, when someone takes the time to get to know him and Wren understands that they love and appreciate him in a way that he needs ( whether he’ll admit it or not ) then he would do anything in the world for them the moment they need him and he tries -- on occasion and not always successfully -- to make that clear to those he thinks need to understand it.

RELEVANT BACKGROUND —

Wren has never been what anyone would label ‘a typical prince’ -- he’d likely be the first person to question what a typical prince was supposed to be and why would it be so terrible if he wasn’t fitting a mold that, in his mind, had been outdated for hundreds of years? A prince in title and status but perhaps not at heart — the inner workings of palace life never interested Wren unless he needed to be aware of them to pull off some halfcocked prank or another on a whim. To those who knew him in the palace he was a troublemaker on his best days and that suited him far better than being the dutiful youngest son that he was convinced no one believed he could be even if he’d had the desire to begin with.

In his mind, there was no sense in forcing himself to be a shell of the person he hoped to be and if that meant that he was seen as bizarre or odd or too “other” to be taken seriously, well, that was something Wren - by his teenage years - had come to accept rather happily. He was much more at home tucked away in his room with his face inches away from his laptop screen going down some internet rabbit hole or another -- his obsessions were long lasting, his hyperfixations even more so and it was never quite a surprise to anyone when he would emerge from his room looking as though he hadn’t slept in days but perfectly ready to talk anyone’s ear off about whatever subject had caught his attention for the time being.

As he got older he tried to strike a balance between embracing all of his hobbies and relationships outside of being a prince and making at least half an effort, even if it was a poor one, at being a “proper prince”. It wasn’t something he was gifted at -- politics of most sorts tended to give him a headache on his good days and he could waste breath on arguments for hours simply to have advisors admit that he was right in the long run -- something Wren would enjoy deeply simply for the satisfaction of it all. He wasn’t the sort of prince anyone would look to to guide a country and he was thankful, consistently, that it wasn’t his responsibility in the long run to do so. It was almost an accident -- too good to be true, in his mind -- when he met someone at a political function and bonded with them and when he met his current boyfriend it was exactly the way he felt.

He wasn’t always the sort of man anyone would look twice at or pay attention to for more than a wild story or acerbic quip but things were different from the moment they met and Wren found himself struck by the feeling of being seen in a way he felt so rarely that it was, in essence, a connection he couldn’t ignore. He half-expected their relationship to fizzle out as they got to know one another more deeply -- perpetually concerned that he would ultimately be too weird for anyone to take seriously where a long term relationship was concerned but as time went on and the world seemed to fracture around them one of the few things Wren had to cling to was his relationship with the man he loved. Politics became a subject Wren abhorred that much more as alliances formed and their countries were not overtly friendly or directly allied and Wren’s stress over their relationship ending because of him shifted to a deep concern that their relationship might end whether they wanted that or not. It terrified Wren in a way he’d never felt prior and in a fit of something just short of desperation he proposed in the hopes that nothing in the world would ultimately drive them apart.  

HEADCANONS —

— Wren has been out-- to both his family and close friends-- as gay since he was fourteen years old. It’s never been something he stresses about or something he feels the need to hide in any concrete way but he’s certainly not the sort of person to go yelling about his various ex-boyfriends or flings to the world at large. Where extremely personal matters are concerned Wren can be intensely private, though that need for privacy can, on occasion, be cast aside in his mind in favor of pulling off a particularly glorious prank or giving the media some piece of insane half-truth to froth at the mouth over which he’s found nothing short of delightful to play with in his adulthood.

— In the grand scheme of interests he has, art is paramount. It’s one of the only things Wren has ever been interested enough in to study properly and arguing his case to be allowed to attend art school in earnest is something he’s extremely proud of having accomplished. Painting, sketching, sculpting, photography -- art of almost any sort is enough to catch and hold Wren’s attention but painting is usually his go-to form of practicing where his own art is concerned, as the materials are usually far easier to come by when he’s traveling or in this case when he’s going to be essentially in protective custody for the foreseeable future.

— Wren and his boyfriend -- now fiancé -- have been dating for going on three years and Wren is as in love with him now as he feels like he always has been. He feels he can be most earnestly himself around his partner and takes advantage of that at every turn -- occasionally in the form of staging elaborate but ultimately harmless and loving pranks on him simply to give himself something to do and relieve any tension either of them happen to be carrying. Their relationship is an easy one and even with the political tension in the world that brought their engagement to bear -- it’s still perhaps the most settled and at ease with his choices Wren has ever felt in his life.

[peachyteabuck]

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough. 

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. “You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

[radreactions]

How would each of the companions come out?

Gosh, I can remember when I came out to everyone...interesting times!

Cait - She'd come out in spectacular fashion. Probably snogging a woman in a place not so private enough for it to be considered that they were discovered by 'accident'. Either way, she's unapologetic and even a little bit smug. If there's one thing that Cait definitely isn't, it's shy. Even about things like this.

Curie - It takes a considerable amount of time after she realised her true identity for Curie to even think about coming out to anyone. But when she does, it's when Sole and her are gathered around a quietly crackling fire, where she feels safe enough to bare her soul to her dearest friend in a voice so soft and vulnerable that Sole can't help but hug her gently.

Danse - He'd planned to do it a bit more...tastefully? Discreetly? Either way, his coming out moment went a bit differently to what he had planned. It happened after a motivational speech he gave the settlers of his resident settlement. They had word of Gunners comimg in and Sole needed him to give them all a pep talk before the big battle. Well, at the end of said pep talk, Danse was so nervous that he blurted out "I'm a homosexual" right at the very end. Cue Sole's facepalm and Deacon's exclamation of "I fucking knew it!"

Deacon - He was as discreet as ever, really. Tinted sunglasses. Sassy swagger. Skin tight rainbow leotard showing off a whole lot more than anyone ever really needed to see. Plus sensible shoes, of course. He would've worn stilletos but the HQ was a bit too heavy on the slime for him to risk those bad boys.

Hancock - Sole literally discovers the Mayor of Goodneighbour's sexuality when they walked in on him in the middle of a chem induced erotic interlude. To this day they still don't know the exact number of people that were in that room with him. All they know is, it looked a whole like a hell of a lot of fun.

Gage - It's a normal, routine day when it happens. When Gage just makes one suposedly innocent comment that grinds Sole's cognotive functions to a halt. Mason had just finished addressing his pack when Gage muttered, seemingly forgetting the presence of Sole entirely: "Who I wouldn't kill for him to suck my dick..."

MacCready - Everyone kind of already knew it ages ago, due to Mac being so positively obsessed with Grognak the Barbarian and his 'abs of granite' or whatever the comic books said. But when he officially came out to Sole, it was after a heabily muscled man wearing a skin tight shirt brushed close to Mac at the bar in Bunker Hill and Mac's furiously blushing face pretty much did all the talking for him. And no, he'll never live it down so long as Sole lives.

Maxson - The Elder doesn't really need to come out. Not that anyone ever really needs to, but nonetheless, the entire Brotherhood pretty much knows their Elder's preference for the muscular, no nonsense and importantly male type. Let's just say that while nothing is said and no overt actions are made by the Elder, that his wandering eyes and skintight flightsuit - especially tight around his crotch - does the talking for him whenever a soldier of his type reports in for duty.

Old Longfellow - The old geezer came out in the most unspectacular of ways on a late autumn evening around the campfire, sipping from his bottle of whiskey. He described his first boyfriend as being one of the most caring, compassionate people he had ever met. So much so, that it had gotten them nearly killed on occasion, ranging from taking Mirelurk egfs back to their nests or helping an injured Gulper. Ultimately, it was sickness that claimed him, but Longfellow was smiling when he said that the man was the truest love he had ever known. Despite driving him batshit crazy, of course.

Nick Valentine - Jenny was of course the woman he was going to marry, but old Nick had revealed on a quiet evening with Sole that he had once been pretty sweet on a young male recruit back in the day. They made a great team despite the unspoken tension between them, and when it finally happened at the precinct in the middle of a chem smuggling case, they agreed it could never happen again. Nick had Jenny, the recruit had a lady of his own with a baby on the way, and they mutually agreed it was better to indulge in each other just once but never again. The old synth smiles coyly when he recalls the story, seeming to be almost bragging when he reveals that they'd had sex on the police comissioner's desk.

Piper Wright - She comes out to Nat first of course, just casually mentioning other women with lifestyles like her just days before in an attempt to gauge her little sister's reaction. She's nervous and rambles, her hands uncontrollably fiddling in her lap until Nat grabs hugs her, at which point Piper disolves into relieved tears. She doesn't care what anybody else thinks, so long as Nat is behind her.

Preston Garvey - He's a furiously blushing mess when he quietly mutters his sweet truth to Sole one day while travelling to the latest settlement in need of their assistance. He scuffs his boots and fiddles with the safety of his gun, eyes diverted to the cracked and uneven ground while he bares everything to the quiet Sole. He only looks up once it's all out, and when he sees acceptance in Sole's eyes, it's the first time that he himself truly accepts that it's okay. That it's nothing to be ashamed about. That it's something to be proud of.

X6-88 - The Courser is as clinical as ever when he tells Sole his sexual preference. His eyes unwavering, hands by his side and lips firm as he states the truth about himself. He doesn't know what to expect and his uncertainty is as foreign as an irradiated, two headed goat, but he's quickly calmed when Sole hugs him and tells him in no uncertain terms that they're proud of him. It's funny, he thinks, because he's a little proud of himself too.