#i really do think me reading stone butch blues at midnight on new years and sobbing set the tone for this year but in a very good way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

potatocrab · 4 years ago

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the right way

It’s New Years Eve, 2279. Butch finally thinks it’s time to pop the big question.

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2810 words | [read on Ao3]

Butch couldn’t sleep. Not for the lack of trying, especially after an eventful night ringing in the New Year—heck, a new decade. It was well past midnight now, which meant he and everybody else in the Capital Wasteland was well on their way into 2280 and whatever it had to offer. Terrifying and exhilarating when he really thought about it, which was probably why he couldn’t settle down for the night.

Or maybe he was still too tipsy from the champagne Gob had served from the private reserves, mind heavy and clouded with a flurry of thoughts. No—if that were the case, he’d be blissfully passed out and curled around a pillow just as Rosie was, all giddy and giggly from one glass that she only agreed to because it was a special occasion.

They’d barely shared their midnight kiss beneath the fireworks display before she was teetering in his arms, flashing a lopsided grin and whispering about creating a show of their own. And a show it was—Rosie crawling into their bed after discarding her dress—only to fall asleep with her slip, tights and shoes still on. Butch wasn’t put out—quite the contrary—she was too damn adorable to be upset with.

He wasn’t about to disrupt her by leaving, risk the creaking metal floors of their Megaton homestead to find something to keep his mind occupied. Instead, he stayed right where he was, situating himself so he could watch her as she slept. It was something he found himself doing more of as of late, when she wasn’t snuggled up against his chest or curled against his body as the perfect little spoon. He couldn’t help but feel pensive, every stray thought focused on the future he was building with the woman beside him.

Now that their lives had slowed down—as much as it could, with Rosie being the Savior of the Wasteland—Butch had returned to thinking about settling down for real, more so than he used to in previous years. He’d thought about asking Rosie about ‘circlin’ up’ (as Moira put it) the previous year—had almost blurted out what he wanted on his birthday before realizing maybe he needed to tell her he loved her first. Plus, even skirting the topic seemed to send Rosie into a panic—he was sure a real proposal could result in a stroke—or broken nose number four.

Their relationship progressed—strengthened through the destruction of the Enclave, the activation of Project Purity, and the takeover of Adams Air Force Base. They said I love you more often than not, had regular date-nights, and were equally insatiable when it came to sex (Butch always knew it was the quiet ones). Even so, he spent nearly all of 2279 swimming in self-doubt, feeling not unlike how he did years ago when they were first starting out—back when he’d first kissed her in Rivet City.

Simpler times.

Instead of stressing about if she’d be journaling about his prowess at making-out, or if she liked him—liked him, he was tugging his hair out and pacing the town’s walkways, worrying about if she’d agree to marry him if he dared to ask. Butch had plans to pop the question at Christmas—but had chickened out when everything he’d meticulously set up suddenly felt overdone and too cheesy—even for him. New Year’s Eve seemed like the perfect opportunity, and he even thought about proposing right in the middle of Gob’s Saloon, deciding at the last possible second that Rosie wouldn’t want a public display. He thought the ring might burn a hole through his jacket pocket, but it was still there when he took it off at the end of the night, now slung over the back of the nearby chair.

One day, he sighed to himself, reaching over to tug the covers over Rosie’s exposed shoulder as she shifted. He trailed his fingers up, softly combing through her dark hair before resting his hand as gently as he could against her cheek. A tiny smile pulled at her lips, the smallest hum echoing from her throat as she titled her chin against his touch.

“Can’t sleep?” she mumbled, startling him slightly. He hadn’t meant to wake her up.

One, groggy, blue eye peeked open at him before she blinked the sleep from her vision, yawning in the cute little way she always did—curling up into a shell before stretching out like those cats they saw in the Commonwealth. After all this time, it still easily riled him up. It was oh so tempting to snatch her up in his arms, straddle her body and pepper her face and neck with kisses. But his brain froze, words stuck on his tongue as he continued to stare at her, Rosie looking back at him with the sweetest expression. That was the face he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life until he got old and died.

“Hey,” he finally said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, down towards her mouth.

She went still, scooting herself closer as her eyes slowly closed shut. Butch kissed her, slowly and gingerly, wanting to savor the moment in case his next move blew up in his face. When he pulled away, Rosie floated back with him, a little pout on her lips as if she was anticipating more.

He couldn’t help but smirk. “Stay put, gorgeous.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, the flattery doing nothing to subside her tendency to fret. Rosie always was one for paranoia. Butch affectionately stroked his fingers through her hair, kissing the corner of her mouth, her nose and the worrying crease in her forehead before pulling away.

“Lemme’ grab somethin’”

“You don’t need a—”

Butch cut her off with another kiss, wanting to laugh at where her mind was in comparison to his. How the tables had turned. Yeah, he didn’t need to be reminded about the birth control implant Doctor Li had helped her obtain. Goodbye, Vault-Tech condoms—questionably effective anyways, with how old they were and…he was getting off track. Focus, man, focus—hard to do when Rosie was pulling him back, drifting hands touching him in places he desperately wanted to be touched.

He pulled away from her with a sharp inhale, surprising her. “Woman, you are makin’ this way harder than I want it to be.”

Rosie scrunched up her face, utterly confused. “I—isn’t that the point of an erection?”

Butch blanched at her terminology, unable to find humor in the situation while it was at his expense. He groaned, turning his head into the pillow to avoid her curious stare. He couldn’t be mad at her, but damn if he didn’t feel like he’d just lost another opportunity—it almost felt on the verge of being perfect. Well, as perfect as a Wasteland proposal could get, especially coming from someone like him. He knew Rosie was the woman of his dreams, but he had a hard time believing she felt the same, even after all this time, even as she reached out to him to hold him in that moment.

“Butch?” her lips were soft as she kissed his cheek. She hooked an arm around his waist, feet cold through her tights as they slid through to tangle with his legs. “What is it?”

“Nothin’” he answered, voice muffled into the pillow.

“Not nothin’” she mimicked his tone, coaxing him to look at her. Even in the twilight of their room, the brightness of her eyes were easy to see, slowly relaxing him and reminding him of his earlier decision. Rosie’s lips curled up into a small, encouraging smile. “Are you going to tell me?”

Butch gulped down the bundle of anxiety fluttering in his chest and stomach. “Sure ya’ wanna know?”

She nodded, excitement flashing across her features. He hoped that would still be there in a few minutes. Slowly, he detangled from her, silently reassuring her as he’d done before. “Be right back.”

Maybe it was a good thing that without her glasses, Rosie couldn’t see what he was doing. Even so, Butch made sure to hide the ring in his palm, ensuring the silver band and stones in the cutout didn’t gleam in the moonlight. His heart was in his throat, but there wasn’t a good enough lie he could come up with on the spot to get out of what he’d set himself up to do. It was now or never.

“What is it?” Rosie asked again, squinting up at him as he re-approached, her curiosity rising as she glanced down to his fisted hand. There was a subtle, barely-there shift in her expression that made it obvious she had finally clued onto his intentions and moved to sit up, clutching the sheets to her chest as she stared at him with wide, bright blue eyes.

Butch hesitantly sat down on the edge of the mattress, scooting himself closer to her when she didn’t flinch away. He reached out for her left hand, letting out the breath he’d been holding when she let him take it, brushing over her knuckles with his thumb. He took another steadying breath, swallowing down the bunch of nerves in his throat—no doubt she could hear how loud his heart was pounding in his chest. Okay, even the voice in his head struggled to give him a proper pep-talk. Just…open your hand and—

“I was thinkin’…” he twisted his lips to the side—that’s not how he wanted to start. Marriage proposals were supposed to be romantic, grand gestures with dramatic declarations of love. Right? Right. Better place to start. “Ya’ know I love you, right, Rosie baby?”

“Y—yes,” she nodded, trembling slightly in his grasp. It did nothing to calm him down, wondering if all he was doing was scaring her. As if she noticed his apprehension, she clutched tighter to his hand, silently encouraging him to continue—so he did.

Slowly he revealed the treasured item resting in his palm, raising it up near her face so it was easier for her to see. Almost immediately there were tears in her eyes, and she sharply inhaled with a gasp that turned into a sob. Even if she might have guessed, the reality of the situation still stunned her senseless. Butch quickly reached up to wipe at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Rosie seemed alarmed by her own reaction, lips trembling as she tried to say something.

“Hey, hey, I—I’m sorry Rosie,” he pleaded, holding onto the ring as he brought her into a hug, tucking her close to his chest. “I shouldn’t’ve done somethin’ stupid like that, huh?”

She sniffled into the crook of his neck, shaking her head as her hands bunched into the fabric of his shirt. “N—no.”

Butch’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach—why’d he think this would be a good idea? Fuck. What a great way to start the new year—decade. He really was a chump—Rosie didn’t deserve him—clearly didn’t want to be with him forever like he wanted. He tried to pull away, but she kept him planted firmly where he sat. When he glanced down, she was titling her head back to stare up at him, nervously biting her bottom lip.

“I mean—” she paused, pulling away a little more so she could look at him more easily. “I mean, it’s okay.”

What? Butch closed his eyes for a few seconds to reset his brain. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He felt her hand, soft as ever, press against his cheek—fingers threading through the hair at the base of his neck. A simple touch—but it was just what he needed to calm his nerves. He fluttered open his eyes, darting his gaze from her face to his hands where he held the ring in his fingers. Rosie looked too, the glimmer in her eyes something he’d never seen before.

“Where did you…” she whispered. “How long have you…?” she breathed out a short, nervous laugh, smiling as her hand slid from his face to press against his chest. With his free hand he kept it there, if only so she could feel the rhythm of his erratically beating heart.

Butch mirrored her lopsided grin. “’Nother keepsake from the vault,” he explained, noting her surprise. “My ma’ gave it to me years ago, in one of her rare moments of clarity.”

“Told me to save it, not give it away to any floozy,” he continued, earning a wider smile from Rosie even as he felt a flush creep up his neck and cheeks. “Had it all this time, ya’ know? Always meant to give it to my best gal, when I found her.”

He pulled her hand away from his chest and brought the ring closer, poised to place it where it belonged if she said yes. God he hoped she said yes. Otherwise—well, Butch figured he might as well drown in the radiated waters surrounding the Megaton bomb. Better than heartbreak, right?

“Always thought maybe she’d be happy I was givin’ it to you,” he gave a little shrug, meeting her eyes. He felt brave enough to say the rest. “Your old man too.”

Rosie’s eyes were glossed over with tears again, and for a moment, he panicked. “I—I mean, I ain’t assumin’,” he gulped, shaking his head. “Only if you want—”

Butch groaned, pulling his hand away to drag down in face in agony. “Damnit, I’m not doin’ this right at all.”

“Is there a right way?” she questioned, pulling at his fingers as she scooted closer. “You haven’t asked.”

Duh. Of course. He peeked open his eyes, finding her looking at him with an expectant expression. Maybe he needed to start from the top—again.

“I love you Rosie,” he smiled at how freeing it was to admit, and how it made his heart warm each time he spoke the words like it was the first time. “I’ve been wantin’ to do this for a long time but the timin’ never seemed right, ya’ know? I wanna be with you, wherever you are, whatever you’re doin’.”

He held her hand tightly again, as if to ground himself to the mattress and give himself the strength to keep speaking. “I wanna be your husband, be a family—”

There were those tears again, rolling down her cheeks—confusing when paired with the bright smile pulling at her lips. Butch furrowed his brows, tilting his head to the side. “Did I—say something wrong again because--”

She let out a soft laugh before interrupting him with a kiss. So he didn’t say something wrong—maybe. This was officially the most confused Butch had ever felt in his entire life. Rosie pulled away, using one of her hands to wipe at her face as she half-laughed, half-cried, shaking her head the entire time.

“You—you still haven’t asked,” she said.

All that, and he hadn’t managed the most important part. Butch ignored the urge to mentally berate himself for his stupidity or to launch himself from the bed and give himself a concussion, nearly blurting, “Marry me?”

Rosie was kissing him again before the full question was out in the open, grinning against his mouth as she embraced him. Butch nearly dropped the ring into the tangle of sheets, nearly got swept up in the thrill of what it was to be kissing the woman he loved.

“’Preciate the enthusiasm, babe,” he mumbled, barely managing to break away. “Would like it—love it—more with an answer.”

Rosie was practically glowing, like a beam of energy had been directly injected into her soul. True to her nature, she had a very simple answer, “yes.”

Butch didn’t waste any time in sliding the silver band onto her left ring finger, brushing his thumb over the stone—it was finally where it belonged. Rosie shuffled even closer into his lap, sniffling away the last of her tears.

“Why all the cryin’, Rosie baby?” he quietly chuckled, pressing kisses across her cheeks and nose.

Rosie laughed, her arms around his neck tightening to keep him close. “I was—am—overwhelmed with emotion. You’re lucky I didn’t faint from shock.”

“The night isn’t over,” he retorted, smirking as he heard her tiny, delighted gasp. “Got some celebrating to do, don’t ya’ think?”

“I’d say so,” she answered with a bashful smile. “Future husband.”

Butch hadn’t expected the word to have such an effect on him, but all he wanted was to hear her repeat the term over and over again until it was burned into his brain. Rosie’s husband. He grinned, kissing her greedily.

“Future wife.”

#fallout 3 #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #butch deloria #rosie sheridan #rosie sheridan fics #the implication that butch has been wanting to propose for 20 months makes me feel things #classic butch in his feelings inner monologue #;_____;#crow gif FTW

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80hdean · 3 years ago

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I posted 5,823 times in 2021

86 posts created (1%)

5737 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 66.7 posts.

I added 6,031 tags in 2021

#cas - 1452 posts

#dean - 1102 posts

#destiel - 909 posts

#fanart - 786 posts

#misha - 364 posts

#fave - 337 posts

#destiel art - 300 posts

#jack - 287 posts

#meta - 265 posts

#jensen - 229 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and it hasn’t bothered me bc it’s so glaring to me that they might as well be wearing tshirts that say ‘i’m autistic ask me how!’ in ever a

My Top Posts in 2021

ok maybe it’s just bc it’s 3am or maybe that it’s fathers day and also pride month and also transnatural week approacheth but like I had a record scratch thought the other day and it won’t leave me alone… but it’s also like skirting the realms of propriety for a lot of ppl and it’s related to a convo about something that I don’t have any answers for I don’t have any hard opinions about whether it’s ethical or fetishizing or not in every context

but like hear me out, if we are into domestic curtain fic and we are into baby jack and/or give-them-a-baby-natural and we are into trans dean and/or trans cas truthing (which we certainly are, at least for the sake of this post)

if these things are true then I would like to respectfully ask: where is the (non fetishy non omegaverse) mpreg fic? maybe it’s not called that idfk but like, I can think of a hundred scenarios off the top of my head that would result in either comedy gold, cavity-inducing fluff or Peak Suffering that involve an oops baby scenario, none of which require any magic or angel grace or supernatural handwavey nonsense. like it’s genuinely 100% in the real world possible for a dude to accidentally get knocked up! it’s not super likely if he’s on t but it’s certainly a thing that could happen

anyways I just think dean is so full of disorders and trauma and secret desires for children and family that it would also be entertaining to watch what happens if he was also full of cas’ baby

11 notes • Posted 2021-06-21 08:14:19 GMT

this isn’t news but like yeah ‘when castiel first laid a hand on you in hell he was lost’ but also did you ever consider that when castiel first laid a hand on him, dean imprinted like a baby bird and was ruined for anyone else after that?

12 notes • Posted 2021-05-23 06:52:14 GMT

shit bro do you ever just read (or re-read) the letter in the beginning of Stone Butch Blues and feel the weight of a thousand bricks slowly crushing your chest so tight until suddenly you’re sobbing? no? me neither

For more than twenty years I have lived on this lonely shore, wondering what became of you. Did you wash off your Saturday night makeup in shame? Did you burn in anger when women said, “If I wanted a man I’d be with a real one?”

Do you ever think of me in the cool night?

I never could have survived this long if I’d never known your love. Yet still I ache with missing you and need you so…

The storm has passed now. There is a pink glow of light on the horizon outside my window. I am remembering the nights I fucked you deep and slow until the sky was just this color.

I can’t think about you anymore, the pain is swallowing me up. I have to put your memory away, like a precious sepia photograph.

13 notes • Posted 2021-07-15 02:54:57 GMT

it’s midnight and im back on my mpreg bullshit

akfjdkfj the non-cringey mpreg corner of this fandom (which seems to be like, um, four or five people lmfao it’s hard to know) is really rad and I appreciate the different angles everyone approaches it from, whether it’s baby-trapping someone (@autisticandroids’ mpregpocalypse), or it’s the body horror atrocity that happens when one is pregnant (postpartum prometheus by @dragqueendean & @nifedick), or it’s the angst angle of giving destiel the Most babies in the most tragic way possible (@astermacguffin’s au), these are all great!! I genuinely enjoy all of them for various reasons.

what I’m still not getting, though, is why it’s always cas being impregnated. I mean, the obvious answer is that it’s easy to invent some sort of handwavey angel magic that allows him to do pretty much anything with a fetus. but angel magic aside, are there character reasons for not inflicting this curse upon dean?

bc from where I’m sitting, it seems like a very entertaining way to cause dean Physical Suffering and Psychic Agony, as well as the gold mine of conflict between his fear of fucking up any life he’s responsible for and his deeply buried desires for that picket fence life he thinks he doesn’t deserve/isn’t cut out for.

I suppose that last part is arguable. It’s just one potential interpretation of the dean the show presents. resonates with me, so I ran with it but I don’t assume that’s ubiquitous.

perhaps the other issue is the characterization of cas, bc gender fuckery aside (i.e. I will not argue that carrying a human fetus is feminizing or whatever), gestating a human or human adjacent being inside a human vessel is difficult and strenuous and does make someone more vulnerable for a decent chunk of time (the degree of this varies widely, obviously). I kinda felt like towards the end of the show at least, cas had been beaten down so far physically/metaphysically (given his dwindling grace and decreasing mobility (though this is a rare hc of mine that I’ve never seen discussed on tumblr so it’s not a huge part of this argument)) that it is less interesting to me to make him more vulnerable? dean, in contrast, seems as strong and powerful as ever.

the other aspect is that to make dean pregnant you would either need to do more handwavey angel magic (which, sure why not what makes one magic more plausible than another?), or you’d have to make dean a trans man and deal with the fallout of that. I don’t think making dean trans is the issue, though, at least not in the tiny corner of spn fandom I find myself in, at least not for transphobia reasons. perhaps it’s just that the consequences of inflicting pregnancy on a trans man are arguably worse than on an angel, and therefore would be more difficult to parse and write in a non shitty and non cringe way.

or maybe it’s just me, succumbing to the brain worms? but I kinda think the extra consequence flavor is what makes the idea so spicy~

38 notes • Posted 2021-07-09 06:12:30 GMT

Okay!! I know we are all supposed to be horrified at soulless Jack and be sad that he killed Mary or whatever but okay like

Jack is autistic

there’s just...I am not capable of seeing him as not autistic. and I’m gonna not go into it but the fucking soulless arc for him annoys me bc it plays right the fuck into those “autistic people don’t have emotions and can’t feel empathy” horseshit narratives and it makes me very mad!!

anyways my boy Jack he just had some overwhelming emotions and was tired and anxious and he had a meltdown!

(he just happened to have a god-powered meltdown)

but Mary pushed him 😂 she did what every idiotic allistic person does to every autistic kid ever having a meltdown; she followed him and made direct eye contact and wouldnt fucking shut up demanding he stop stimming and start responding to her and as much as I like Mary and as much as this obviously sucks for the story on the show—

there’s definitely a part of me that saw that scene and felt righteous vindication bc IF ONLY we had the fucking power to make people just stop when they’re being too loud/pushy/demanding

so what I got out of this storyline was:

Jack is an Autistic Hero!

103 notes • Posted 2021-02-02 06:26:54 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Long post #not spn

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zingmagazine · 8 years ago

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DEJA ZING: Excerpts from Swann in Love Again (The Lesbian Arabian Nights)

Excerpt from Shelley F. Marlow’s Excerpts from Swann in Love Again: The Lesbian Arabian Nights:

After going through the mark twain cave, in Hannibal, Missouri, Swann drove to the middle of town to find a phone. She was directed to one bar -the phone had no dial tone and she was too tired to figure out how to use it. The locals in that bar were subtly hostile cowboys. Swann went across the street where the vibe was softer and asked some one how to use the phone. Swann called a friend of her aunt's who lived on a women's chocolate farm in Iowa, where Swann would visit next. While on the phone, she got a flash of recognition, noticing three soft shouldered women at the bar ordering food from a cardboard menu. She sat down near them on a barstool and ordered food. Two women were wearing blue jean shirts with slicked back short hair, fifties style.

Swann sat down and yacked it up with these three fellow inverts. They told her they drank at the Bordello almost every night and people wouldn't let them drive home if they were too drunk. Swann noticed that one of the women, whose name was Jane, had cutting scars from her wrist to her elbow. Jane caught Swann's eye looking at her arm.

Swann was wondering: was this ritual cuttings after too much drinking and too much despair? One dyke badgering the other verbally and the other cutting herself in response? Or too much harshness from the factory, low wages? Or just plain old quantities of suicide attempts?

They didn't speak about this.

Pat: Factory life sucks and we barely make enough to survive. Slavery was never abolished, really. Just rearranged. Ha ha ha ha.

Jane was pleased that her stone butch looking lover, Pat, for the first time in years was smiling, inspired out of her stoic depression by Swann's warm glamour. Swann liked Pat's roman nose.

Pat: Swann listen, is that your real name? Swann. Listen, you must as a traveler not lose your head. I mean things ain't always what they seem. This town may look cute as a baby kitten, but well, let it stay that way for you, don't push your luck.

The third woman was named Red, a woman in her sixties, who wore a pink leisure suit.

Red: She's right, a traveler shouldn't drink or get too happy. Swann, we do have some interesting architecture I'd like to show you, if there's a moment ahead for it. May be you'll decide to stay.

The four women sat for hours eating and drinking. Swann stepped outside around midnight for some fresh air. She heard something thinly wafting through the wind, putting an ear to listen it was a haunting sound, like witches incantations, a wild crying song, a crying working song.

Red joined Swann outside to smoke.

Red: That's the sound of the ghosts of the Mary Magdalene Laundromat that we hear, run just like a factory at this midnight hour. Let me tell you, this bar, the Bordello was the real thing run at the turn of the century. A popular one due to the Mississippi riverboats always bringing in fresh faces from all over. According to Granny, you could get a champagne, milk, seaweed, oatmeal, or even peppermint baths. There were glass floors and ceilings in some of the rooms. Anything you could imagine. Dames and men were on the menu as well as being customers. The reputation was a happy joint with happy workers. The usual bunch from the street urchins to unwed ma's all went to work there. Not the usual thing of the girls being sex slaves, this place was run by good witches. One day there was a witch hunt, according to my Granny. The law sided with this religious group, rumor was the law was bought. The same religious group started the Mary Magdalene Laundromat soon after. They took a large cross from the Bordello and hung it over the inside of the Laundromat doorway. The witches went west. All the new pregnant teens and orphans were taken to live there and run the religious laundromat day and night. All babies born there were put up for adoption, the word was the babies were being sold actuality-. And the mothers, well they didn't know which one was theirs, the priests wanted it that way. Before they closed the Bordello, this town was a flourishing joyous place with a little dark underbelly. My granny who used to work at the Bordello said once"Its been just a dark day ever since that laundromat opened."

She had family obligations and couldn't go west with the witches. And factory work don't pay so well. Now the women have grown old and finally the courts are closing it down, deciding on a date.

Swann is in awe at this bit of history when a woman with dyed red hair, pale warty skin and fifty year old bony hands walked up to the bar entrance with a look that Swann read as"I want a girl." Swann thinks: How come I'm attracted to this witchy babe?

"Hey, you witchy babe!"is what the woman said to her, right out of Swann's thoughts. Swann laughed and thought: Oh, here we go! And followed the woman inside.

View the rest of this project in issue #7 here.

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