#if it was marketed differently it would’ve been a hit

[lordprettyflackotara]

party monster || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)

Fred Weasley was never one to turn down an invitation to a party. Especially not one from Mattheo Riddle, to a Slytherin party.

Fred had felt like he had seen it all. He had watched the Hufflepuffs get giggly over champagne, Gryffindors try muggle grass for the first time, and Ravenclaws make tame mixed drinks that sent their minds into oblivion.

Slytherin’s on the other hand, went as hard as Fred liked. Of course muggle grass and alcohol was provided. The usual sex addicts were on the prowl for someone new to warm their bed. But what Fred enjoyed about the Slytherins the most, was their lack of fear to try muggle substances.

The most recent substance the most fearless had been trying was cocaine.

George refused to attend Slytherin parties, frowning upon the houses entirety. Truthfully Fred used to be the same way, until Mattheo offered him his first joint. The dark lords son had introduced him to an entire new world of highs, ones that Fred couldn’t find anywhere else.

For the past year the core Slytherins had been trying different pills, ones Theodore had been smuggling from a muggle born Hufflepuff who was naive enough to think they were being used for medical purposes. Fred had been to enough of these parties to where no one questioned his presence. If anything, he was often greeted and offered a cigarette at the very least.

It was highly unusual for other houses to venture into the Slytherins events, old superstitions still highly believed in. Fred would’ve been the same way, if it weren’t for Mattheo. It was an unlikely friendship, one no one could understand. Not George, Not Draco, no one. The ginger scanned the room, excited to find his friend. Word on the street about cocaine being smuggled into Hogwarts was spreading like wildfire. Fred knew he had to be one of the first ones to try it.

Strolling up confidently to the couch Mattheo always sat, the ginger waved. One of Penelope Clearwaters friends sat in Mattheo’s lap, her blue uniform making her stick out like a sore thumb. Mattheo grinned at the sight of Fred, gently pushing the girl away from sucking more hickies onto his neck. “Why don’t you go take a few shots with Pansy and i’ll meet you over there in a second?” He suggested. The girl glanced at Fred, taking the hint and starting her journey of finding Pansy.

Theodore Nott sat on the other side of the couch, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. “My favorite Gryffindor, welcome to another rager,” Mattheo chuckled, gesturing to the party that was occurring around them. Fred took a seat beside the brunette, greeting Theodore as well. “So Riddle, what do you have for me? You know I love to try whatever new hits the market,” Fred asked. Mattheo reached into his pocket, holding up a small plastic baggy of white powder.

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Previously he was under the impression that all muggle party substances were in the form of small pills. “That looks like it’s going to taste like shit,” Fred pointed out. A genuine chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips as he grabbed a small metal tray. “Thats because it does, you don’t swallow it, you snort it,” He explained. Fred watched curiously as he poured the powder onto the tray. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand.

Mattheo used the tip to slice it into three tiny lines, the small amount only furthering his curiosity. “How many milligrams is that per line?” Fred asked, trying to get a better grasp on the drug in front of him. Once Mattheo made sure the lines looked even, he set his wand aside. “Doesnt work like that. Nott, wanna lead by example?” He asked, gesturing the tray to him.

Theodore didn’t seem to hesitate at all, his nose hovering over one of the lines and inhaling it without a second thought. His lack of hesitance made Fred more confident. “Alright alright let me see what all of this hype is about,” The ginger interjected. Fred was determined to ‘one up’ Theo, the potions master always a bit too cocky for his liking. (Even if he thoroughly enjoyed spending hangovers with him.)

Fred mimicked Theo’s actions, holding one side of his nose as he inhaled the first line. Flames seem to spread through his nostril, the ginger deciding to ignore it and to snort the other line as well. Sharp pain washed over Fred’s senses, the feeling of the powder sliding down the back of his throat making him cough. “Look at that! Atta boy,” Mattheo said encouragingly, patting Fred on the back. As the brunette took a cigarette out of the box Theo gestured to him, he gestured to the party.

“Let’s get out there, shall we?”

Fred had never felt more talkative in his life. From Pansy, to Blaise, to Slytherins he didn’t know, he could not stop talking. Sober, Fred was a very social person. But he knew when to let the conversation fizzle out. But as of right now? That concept didn’t exist. He felt utterly invincible, as if the world itself existed around him for his pleasure and his only. His throat had gone numb, unable to feel the shots he downed repeatedly.

As he was talking to Blaise about his latest prank, his eyes briefly flickered to you. You were mesmerizing, a girl he had never seen before. Fred ensured to keep track of girls in his year, knowing which ones were taken and what not. But you looked to be the same age as him and he had never seen you a day in his life. You stood by the alcohol table, pouring raw tequila down your throat. Without excusing himself Fred left, abandoning his conversation with a way too drunk Blaise.

Fred knew he had to meet you, something about you calling to him. Even as you downed the liquor your hips swayed to the music, your curves intriguing Fred even more. The ginger didn’t feel one ounce of nervousness, the coke having imbedded in his mind. “Hey there, mind if I have a swig?” Fred asked. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, before handing him the bottle. “Thanks,” He said, taking a drink. Fred’s throat was completely numb, the firey liquid not affecting him at all.

He handed the bottle back to you, giving you a sly grin. Your lips were painted a dark red, your beautiful eyes accompanied by flattering dark makeup. The kind Fred could only imagine a Slytherin could pull off. “You have something right here,” You replied, pointing to your upper lip. In a sudden movement you stepped forward, wiping the very top of Fred’s lip. You held up your thumb, the faintest sprinkle of white powder coating the pad of your thumb.

“Thanks, been a wild night. When new muggle stuff comes in it’s always exciting to try it,” Fred said, unscathed by your action. If anything he was into it, thrilled that you were so touchy. “It always is, isn’t it?” You say, taking another swig of the bottle. Fred couldn’t help but grin, thrilled that a girl as hot as you understood his enthusiasm. It was difficult finding another student so adventurous, yet here you stood.

A girl behind you waved at Fred, a friend of Pansy’s. Fred waved back, making a mental note to talk to her later. “So, a lion playing with snakes?” You ask, creating conversation. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there, his eyes flickering in every direction. Soaking in the party, the music, you, the lights, Pansy’s friend-

“I’m a good friend of Riddle’s, great isn’t he?” Fred said. He gestured to the brunette who was currently dancing on top of a table, his tie loose and hanging around his shoulders. A cigarette hung on his lips, his hips occupied by grinding on the Hufflepuff in front of him. You nodded in agreement, shrugging. After tonight Fred made another mental note to ask Mattheo about you. You were awfully quiet for a Slytherin.

“A real charmer, that’s for sure,” You replied, your words laced with sarcasm. Your eyes flickered to Fred, shooting him a playful smile. “As are you. I see where he learns it from,” You continue, biting your lower lip. Flattery was the gingers weakness, a cocky smile creeping across his lips. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? My dorms gonna be empty. Roommates crashing with one of the boys,” You ask, pointing to the dungeons. Fred knew about the girls rooms being in the dungeons all too well, his visits down there frequent.

“Sure, lead the way little witch,” Fred purred. You grabbed his large hand, your skin cold to the touch. You led him through the hot swaying bodies, your hand gripping his his. As you both approached the staircase to go down further Fred looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Mattheo. The brunettes eyebrows were furrowed as he watched him, mouthing a clear question: ‘you good?’

Fred smiled and nodded, shooting him a thumbs up as he followed you down the dungeons. If there was anything Fred knew about Slytherins, without stereotyping them too much, was that they cared about appearances. They kept precise upkeep about their looks, (maybe not including Mattheo), that it teetered towards an unhealthy amount. In Fred’s opinion anyway. He didn’t have to deal with strict parents with pureblood ideologies, so he didn’t feel like he had room to judge.

As you led him further down the staircase he noticed several mirrors in between portraits, for students to use while heading up to the common room. Fred’s focus mainly was on himself, noticing how large his pupils were. You both reached towards the end of the staircase, Fred’s eyes still focused on the mirror. For a split second he squinted, noticing he didn’t see you. His hand was being held in mid air, your fingers not entangled around his palm like he saw before him.

Questioning was on the tip of his tongue, your abrupt words cutting him off. “My dorm is further down and I need you, now,” You say urgently, palming at Fred’s shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, unsure. “Did you see that? You weren’t in the reflection,” Fred asked, completely ignoring your statement. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the girls bathroom on the right side of the hall. “You’re paranoid, do you want to fuck or not?” You asked.

Fred shook his head, trying to rationalize with himself. He had a hot witch standing in front of him and he was about to fuck up a one night stand because of some muggle drug. “Absolutely,” Fred agreed, allowing you to lead him into the bathroom. Admittedly this was one place Fred hadn’t been, his knowledge of the room little to none. He was surprised that a velvet green couch sat almost in the center of the room. Would that have been his style choice? Absolutely not. Do witches tend to take their time in the restrooms gossiping? Fred believed so.

Your lips were on him before he could process it, his back hitting the couch. You tasted like raw alcohol, his tastebuds flooded with the sensation as you got on top of him. Fred was typically dominant, but he never minded a Slytherin topping him. You were so confident, tugging your shirt over your heard before reattaching your lips to his. Your touch made Fred want to immediately submit, his cock growing harder by the minute as you straddled him.

“Hard already? Naughty naughty gryffindor,” You teased, biting his bottom lip. Fred groaned, his hands flying to your waist. He guided you to grind against him, his cock growing achingly hard. You kissed down the side of his face to his neck, sucking at his sweet spot. Fred squeezed your thighs, whimpering as your lips littered his skin with marks. You kissed down his clothed chest, all the way down to his aching cock.

You teasingly kissed his hard on, maintaining eye contact as you did so. The ginger bucked his hips towards, throwing his head back as you unbuckled his belt. “If you want me to suck your cock you’re going to have to beg Freddie,” You say, unbuttoning his jeans. Spews of pleas left his lips faster than he would like to admit, “Fuck, please, touch me, please.”

A brief concern of how you knew his name crossed his mind, the worry fading as you shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs. Fred was decently known, maybe you had known him for an infamous prank or-

His spinning thoughts came to a screeching halt as you took him into your mouth. Fred couldn’t control his noises, you taking control of him and his pleasure one of the hottest things he had ever seen. As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, Fred chopped up his previous mental ramble to paranoia. Most likely he was coming down from his high, his body adjusting his mind back to normal.

Fred didn’t even know your name, but the moans he was making made it sound like he did. He was pure putty at your hands, willingly and merciless at your disposal. His tip brushed against the back of your throat, expectancy of the sound of gagging ensuing. Except it didn’t. Fred looked down at you in awe, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t have a gag reflex? What kind of magic was this?

He roughly grabbed the back of your head, pushing you down further onto his cock. You took his length with ease, saliva pooling to the base of his shaft. “Merlin, you’re a goddess right? Sent to me from above?” Fred panted, his mind trying to wrap around you. You pulled off of his cock, his hands not affecting your movement. He thought he had applied a decent amount of pressure, even if it was involuntary. What were you? Were you some kind of-

“Maybe, maybe you’re just my personal pet. My babies get the best treatment you know,” You purred. The ginger had no idea what you were rambling about, but what he did know, was that he wanted you to fuck him. “Ride me, fuck, please ride me,” He whined. Most girls would’ve asked for foreplay, head, or something along those lines. But you didn’t ask for either, instead lifting up your skirt and shoving your panties to the side. You guided his tip up and down your drenched folds, the feeling of your warm slick enough to make Fred groan.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so sensitive, his body on cloud nine just from your simple touch. You sank down onto his cock with ease, your walls clenching around him. Fred threw his head back, unable to formulate coherent words as you began to ride him. You seemed unfazed by his size, riding him like you had been doing so for years. Fred was not only unable to speak, but completely and utterly speechless.

You didn’t seem real, his unrealistic expectations for a hookup playing out in front of him. You leaned forward, one hand placed on his throat while the other tugged at his hair. “You like that huh? Feel good Freddie?” You asked. Fred groaned an agreement, his cock brushing against your g spot with every roll of your hips. Most witches would tire out by now, opting to switch positions. Yet you didn’t, your body not seeming to tire as you squeezed at the sides of his throat.

“So good, Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fred moaned as you licked up the side of his neck. He felt his orgasm approaching, the ginger flustered by the feeling. Was it the coke that was going to make him bust quick? Or was it how well you were riding him? His eyes wondered over your shoulder, landing on a large full length mirror. The presence of the mirror wasn’t surprising, but what was, was your absence. You weren’t present in the reflection, Fred’s head beginning to spin.

“Uh, you’re not in the m-mirror, I-” Fred stuttered, his high approaching faster than he wanted it to. He wanted to go all night with you, but why weren’t you showing up in the mirror? You sat up, your breast bouncing as you continued to ride him.

“You’re being paranoid Freddie, now why don’t you go ahead and cum for me?”

Fred’s hips stuttered as he came inside of your cunt, his head rolling back onto the couch. His ears were ringing, any sounds of you or the party dulling out into nothingness. He began seeing stars, his vision fading out completely. His senses had seemed to given up, Fred’s body unable to sustain itself, passing out.

\/

Fred had woken up a lot of strange places after a party. Most times he woke up beside a witch whose name he didn’t know. Other times he would wake up in random places, one time including the whomping willow. (To this day, no one has any idea how he survived OR got a good nights sleep.) Where Fred had never been woken up before, was in the male Slytherin dorms. Nor, had he ever been violently shaken awake by someone. Faintly he could hear a familiar voice calling out to him, but the words were incoherent.

“Fred! Wake the fuck up!”

He jolted awake, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sat up. Scattered,he looked around, unaware of where he was. His eyes landed on Mattheo and Draco, both of which seemed extremely concerned. “W-what..?” Fred stumbled out. His head was pounding with a rager headache, his body felt drained and spent. “Pansy found you uh-” Draco began, before shooting Mattheo a look that he should speak instead. Mattheo sighed, handing Fred a glass of water.

“She found you in the girls bathroom passed out with your pants pulled down and you uh, came all over yourself,” Mattheo informed him. Fred could feel himself turning red, clutching the water in his hand. His eyes widened in disbelief, becoming dizzy again as he rested his hand on his forehead to keep himself propped up.

“Do you have any idea how you ended up like that dude?” Mattheo asked, keeping his voice even. Bags hung under his eyes, his knee bouncing anxiously. It was rare Fred ever saw Mattheo sober, but he could definitely tell he was. You raced through the gingers mind, embarrassment flooding over him. You weren’t real? None of it was real?

A knock on the door alerted the trio, the Slytherins eyes landing on the new comer. “Well shit I see the party monsters awake,” Theodore said, waltzing in. His confidence made Fred uneasy, his stomach churning. “Do you happen to remember what happened last night?” He asked him, his voice breaking. Theo nodded, taking a seat. “Why don’t you drink some water and i’ll tell you all about it?”

Theo didn’t know Fred well by any means. Sometimes he questioned what Mattheo saw in the ginger, the prankster a bit too full of himself. It was a coincidence he saw him by the alcohol table, talking to himself. At first Theo assumed he was yelling to someone, or even on a muggle phone a lot of Gryffinors used. Cautiously Theo rounded the table, raising his eyebrows as Fred offered the bottle of tequila he had been cuddling to the air in front of him.

The brunette couldn’t believe his eyes, watching dumbfounded as Astoria Greengrass gave him a wave. Briefly his eyes flickered upwards at the Slytherin, before returning to the void in front of him. With a confused expression Theo decided it was none of his business, returning back to Mattheo with new drinks in hand. He figured he was just high, anyways. Unknowingly Mattheo had recommended Fred to Astoria, who was looking for a quick hook up to help her get over her ex.

A dumbfounded Astoria had beat Theo to Mattheo, her lips moving a mile a minute. She was weirded out by Fred’s behavior, the ginger confirmed to be talking to the air. Mattheo’s eyes flickered upwards, watching as Fred was heading towards the stairs. His hand was held out in front of him, a goofy smile spread across his lips. He made eye contact with Mattheo, who managed to communicate through all the noise and ask if he was good.

Fred seemed more than good, excitedly nodding and heading down to the dungeons. It wasn’t until the next morning Pansy came running, trying to get the boys to help her carry Fred before anyone saw him.

As the group sat in Mattheo’s room you watched from the shadows, invisible to everyone around you. You had died from a cocaine overdose in 1970, the curse of your afterlife being that no one could see you. The only time anyone did, was when they had done the drug themselves. You didn’t quite understand the logistics of it, other ghost able to see you, but no being with a beating heart could.

You had been shocked Fred had seen you at the alcohol table, after being used to being unseen for so long. As cocky and mischievous as you knew Fred to be from watching, you liked him. So much so that you knew scaring the ever loving fuck out of him was going to be the only way he would never touch the horrid stuff again. Party monsters like Fred, often times danced on the line between life and death. Their bodies, from what you could understand, would be into overdrive. That crossover allowed him to see you.

You thoroughly enjoyed fucking Fred, even if the ginger now regretted it. And as much as you wished you could see him again, you knew he deserved a better chance at life. “Bloody hell, i’m never touching that stuff again,” Fred groaned, cupping his pounding head. You smiled at his confession, walking up to Draco’s side. You stood beside him, the blonde unaware of your presence. Your mission was complete, Fred would be on a better path now. You smiled to yourself, watching as the ginger lifted his head.

His eyes widened, centered on you.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

He can see you?

a/n: can yall tell im into plot twist rn? lol. might do a part two if yall want it >:)

[noemilivv]

What the

HAZBIN HOTEL CAST

are like as …

PARTNERS !! (And before that!) (Pt. 2)

Also before I get into this, I would just like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for the immense amount of love I got on the first part of this!! I would’ve never thought I would’ve gotten so much love so quickly, so thanks a bunch for every like or reblog, they mean the world :)

Including: Vox, Velvette, Rosie, Cherri

Warnings: Sexual references (no smut), swear words, possible spoilers to S1

Vox

Crush!Vox had a crush on you before he even met you lmfao

You were a performer, a performer he really wanted to market, and he spent so much time gawking over you and that opportunity before he even met you

But once Crush!Vox got the opportunity to work for you and officially meet you, he was stoked, but don’t let that fool you, he kept his cool…on the outside

And, still, he spent more time gawking over you…

But now, that time Crush!Vox spent fangirling was now spent in his office. He would have to put so much concentration into not short-circuiting, he would not be able to catch what your saying.

After a few months of working with you, he invites you to a ‘business dinner.’

Yeah… ‘business dinner’ turns into fucking…

It took a few weeks after for Crush/Situationship!Vox to turn into BF!Vox, and to be honest, he isn’t sure where to start…

Sure, BF!Vox has fucked around quite a bit, but honestly… he’s never been in an actual relationship with a label, it’s a bit of a heavy weight and he’s scared to do it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.

His love language is definitely physical touch and acts of service, he’s not great with his words, he actually sounds like a dick in most sentences that fly out of his mouth, so actions are the only way he knows how.

BF!Vox fucks up his words a lot when he isn’t using his business persona, because he’s not used to talking like that, he genuinely has to keep a mental checklist to make sure he doesn’t fuck up his words — especially if you’re upset.

BF!Vox tries to show it through actions (in more ways than one) instead, whether it be a hug while your upset, doing an extra bit of your work if you’re having a rough week so you don’t have to worry about it, physical intimacy, the list goes on.

Overall, he may not be all he’s built up to be, but he genuinely has so much love for you, he just wishes he could tell you.

Velvette

Crush!Velvette is the kinda girl to absolutely stalk your ass when she likes you (not actually), whether it be checking your location every five minutes, digging into your social media pages (especially with the help of Vox), and so much more.

Crush!Velvette decides to DM you about a potential ‘business offer’ (gotta keep the name clean, yk?) to start out, and you guys meet for lunch to discuss it, yeah uh.. turns out you guys hit it the fuck off immediately!

Once you and Crush!Velvette really get close, you grow close to the other Vee’s too, sorta making you and honorary Vee member.

Your off with Vox and Val, and Val’s bitching about god knows what, until he slips about Velvette’s feelings for you.

“Oh yeah, fuckin’ Velvette is just SO into you now, like excuse me bitch?! What the fuck am I to you if you think so HIGHLY of THAT? No offense… But anywa-” Val rants off as you three cruise the street, without Velvette’s presence.

“VAL.” Vox glitched, cutting off Val mid-rant, gesturing to you beside him, before Valentino mutters a “Shit.” under his breath.

Yeah… Velvette found out, and she was livid, but only for a short period because she got sidetracked when she found out you felt the same.

Now GF!Velvette LOVES spoiling you, she’s also constantly getting you business opportunities with either her or one of the boys, tailoring you custom outfits no one else has, spending a shit ton of cash on you, she’s basically a sugar mommy…

GF!Velvette’s love language is gift giving. She could for sure spend several hours at the mall picking out gifts for you, from all different ends of the extreme, one day she’ll come home with a small, cheap trinket from HellMart that was stupid but nonetheless reminded her of you, and the next day she’ll come home with some expensive ass designer clothes and bag.

GF!Velvette thrives off of princess treatment, especially because of how she was treated with the Vee’s before your relationship, so she kinda expects it cause then she feels kinda empty inside without it, and she can get a bit bratty about it, but baby girl means well💕

Rosie

Crush!Rosie notices right away, and she’s pretty smart about it. She spends time with you, but not too much. She’s nice to you, but she pulls back to tease slightly. She gives you a taste of what life would be like with her, but not a big enough taste so your left wanting to know whats next.

Crush!Rosie catches onto the fact that you just might feel the same way, so she decides to just suck it up and ask.

After realizing you two feel the same about each other, you share a lovely conversation over tea about what you two want out of this, communication is very important to Rosie so she thinks if she gives it to you, you’ll give it right back, right?

You two decide, yeah, a relationship would be cool, and GF!Rosie is through the roof!

GF!Rosie is a very open and honest gf, communication is very important to her, it’s one of her top things she expects out of a partner, she tries her best to have an open mind when it comes to her partner, even if you two have a problem, and she expects the same from you — She’s very vocal in a civil way about her feelings and expectations — but don’t let that scare you, she’s a sweetie!

GF!Rosie’s love language is quality time and words of affirmation! Rosie doesn’t expect anything extravagant, (although it is nice, and she surely doesn’t mind it), but being with you is simply enough— and as stated before, she’s not afraid to speak her mind around her partner, so she thinks you look good? She’s gonna say it. She thinks you’re amazing? She’s gonna say it. That’s just how she is, and she hopes you can get used to it because she’s sure as hell comfortable with you.

Cherri

Crush!Cherri will be completely oblivious to the fact that you like her, it could be right in front of her face, and she’d have absolutely no idea. Unless you flat out suck her face off, she’ll have no clue. Which kinda stops her from confessing for awhile.

But after having a talk with Angel, she decides to go for it.

“Cherri, you’re telling me your a badass hoe, who can chuck bombs like it’s nothin’, but you can’t tell someone you wanna bang?” Angel goes off to Cherri as they watch the romcom on the TV infront of them.

She thinks for a moment. “Huh. Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna tell them!” Cherri announces, marching off,

“Wait now?! Yous leaving me ‘n Fat Nuggets alone!?”

And then, you get a knock on your door at 1am, and it’s Crush!Cherri, with bed head and peejays, going on and on, you didn’t understand a lot of it, you were fucking tired! But bottom line is, you got out ‘We should date’ and you did not pass that opportunity.

GF!Cherri tries to push you out of your comfort zone, and sometimes that leads to accidentally pressuring you, she won’t know unless you tell her (again, not the most aware person), but if you do she ends up feeling really bad, but she’s glad she knows now!

GF!Cherri’s love language is so quality time, it doesn’t matter if you guys are shooting bitches or cuddling on the couch or fucking, as long as she’s with YOU, she could care less

She may not be the best girlfriend ever, but as long as you stick by her side, she’s content.

[callsignseagull]

all you had to do was stay ✪ part 1

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter. 

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: Not much, honestly. maybe just a little angsty 

A/N: Here’s part one!! I hope you like it! It's a little on the short side but hopefully there'll be more soon :))

feedback is always appreciated :)

series masterlist

You’re sitting at the dining table, scrolling through your emails with one hand while holding your toast in the other. You’ve become a pro at multitasking.

“Mommy? Do you think they have churros at that market Penny is taking me?” Your daughter is munching on a toast of her own, crumbs sticking to her cheeks. 

“I’m sure.” You smile. “And I’m sure if you ask nicely, Penny will get some for you.” 

She grins before taking another bite of her toast and you can’t help but reach over and give her a kiss. You can’t believe how fast she’s growing up. At now five years old, Josie is your entire world. As shocked and scared as you were when you found out about her, she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.   

Turning back to your laptop, you flag the most important mails so you don’t forget to follow up on them later. The time before one of your books releases is always the most stressful, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. You got so lucky. 

You wrote and illustrated your first children’s book while being pregnant with Josie, it gave you something to distract yourself from all the changes you were going through. And then you posted about it online, it went sort of viral and then a publisher reached out to you. The book was an immediate success. It’s been translated in several different languages and they even make stuffed toys and board games based on your characters now.

And now you’re about to release the fifth book in the series. It’s hard to churn one out every year, but you’re scared that if you drop the ball, all you’ve worked for will be ripped from you. You want to give Josie the best life possible, so you work your ass off. 

When both of you are finished with breakfast, you clean up the table and tell Josie to put her shoes on. As you slip into your own shoes, you whistle for Muffin, the four year old poodle mix you adopted from a rescue last year, and he comes trotting around the corner moments later. 

After checking you’ve got everything you lock the front for behind you, hold your free hand out for Josie to take, the other holding Muffin’s leash. Then, the three of you take on the short walk towards the Hard Deck. 

Penny Benjamin has been a life saver these last few years, throughout your pregnancy and beyond. She’s been there for you whenever you needed her, day or night. You don’t know what you would’ve done without her. And now she’s somewhat of a grandma figure for Josie, and she’s probably the hottest grandma ever. Her and Amelia are the closest thing you and Josie have to a family, besides each other.

Today, Penny is taking Josie to a Food Market while you look after the bar for a couple hours. It’s still early and not many people will be there, but you’re glad you can help Penny out while still getting some work done for yourself.

“There’s my favourite little family!” Penny greets, as you enter the Hard Deck, her arms wide and Josie immediately runs towards her and into her arms. 

“Hi Penny! I’m so excited! Are you excited? Do you think they’ll have churros?” Josie rambles with glistening eyes, her dimples on show and for a moment you’re reminded of how much she looks like her father. You manage to push thoughts of him to the back of your mind most days but sometimes you just look at her and all you can see is him. 

You haven’t tried reaching out to him again. You know you should’ve. But it felt wrong sending him a text telling him he’ll be a father. And you doubted that he even wanted to be a father. So you decided you’d spare yourself, and your daughter, the heartache. Josie hasn’t asked about her father much, but when she did you told her that he’s a pilot in the Navy and that he loves her. You never want her to feel like she’s not wanted.  

✩̿✪̿✩̿

Jake knew he’d come back eventually. He just didn’t know it would take him so long. But if he was being honest with himself he knew that if it wasn’t for him being called back to Top Gun for some top secret mission he still wouldn’t have had the guts to come back here. Hell, he’s been living only a few hours north from here for the past couple of years. He easily could’ve made the drive down. But he’d always been good at coming up with excuses. But now he couldn’t. Not when he’s in the same city for the next few months. He’d constantly be looking for you. Seeing you in every face that just slightly resembled yours. He didn’t even know if you still lived in San Diego, though. But going to the Hard Deck seemed like the logical thing to do. Even if you weren’t working there anymore, Penny Benjamin might know where to find you.

As soon as he enters the bar he’s hit with nostalgia. Nothing has changed. He takes a look around and pretends he’s the six years younger version of himself, still naive enough to think that nothing will ever rattle him.

Since it’s still the early afternoon it’s not busy and there seems to be no one behind the bar right now. With a deep sigh he sits down in one of the barstools, then notices someone crouched down behind the bar, looking for something in a cabinet. 

His breath catches in his throat. It can’t be.

He hasn’t seen you in six years, and even though he can’t see your face right now, he knows it’s you. He can feel it. 

Now he really feels like he’s been transported back six years in time. You haven’t noticed him yet and he can’t hold back the words that are going through his head.

“Can you pinch me? Because I can’t believe you’re real. I thought I was dreaming.” He knows it’s a bit of a dick move, throwing his first thing he ever said to you at you now. But maybe you’re not as mad at him as he thinks? What if you don’t even remember him? He hadn’t thought about that. Fuck. 

✩̿✪̿✩̿

You almost hit your head when you spin around towards him.  This can’t be real.

“What are you doing here?” You must look like you’ve seen a ghost, but it honestly feels like that. He looks the same but he doesn’t. He’s filled out more, even though you never thought it possible. And he just looks overall more mature. It suits him. 

“What am I doing here in San Diego or what am I doing here at the Hard Deck?” He tilts his head, a small smile on his face. You don’t grace that with an answer, he knows what you mean. The smile slowly drops from his face, and there’s a seriousness in his eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“Why?”

“I want to apologise.” 

That makes you straighten up. Apologise? After six years? 

“I was an absolute asshole to you and you didn’t deserve that. I was going through a rough time and I took all that out on you. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I just left without saying goodbye. I got called on a mission right after graduation and when I got back I figured you didn’t wanna talk to me ever again.”

His words take your breath away for a moment. Never in a million years did you think you’d get an apology from Jake. 

“I-,” you stop, wringing your hands together. At a loss for words.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He smiles softly. “I’m in town for a while. Maybe we could … I don’t know … hang out sometime? Catch up?”

As much as you want to protect your heart and tell him no, you know you have to catch him up on what happened after he left. It’s not right to keep him in the dark now that he’s here. You know that.

“You don’t have to answer me now. Take some time to think about it. I’m sure you’re busy, with your books being such a success. And you’re still working at the bar?” He looks curious and you’re a little shocked.

“I’m just helping Penny out for a couple hours. You know about my books?”

“My nieces love them.” He grins. “I have to read them to them before bed every time I’ve got time to visit them down in Texas.”

“You’ve got nieces?” 

“Yeah, they’re two and four. Love them to death. My Mom’s been begging for grandkids for years and she’s so happy to dote on them every chance she gets.”

Your heart constricts. Two and four. They’re younger than Josie. Not only does she have cousins somewhere in Texas, she’s also the first grandchild to a woman who’s never met her. Who doesn’t even know about her. But you don’t know much about Jake’s parents. Maybe she wouldn’t be the biggest fan of a child out of wedlock. 

You glance at Jakes hand. No ring. 

You muster up the courage to your next question. You know the answer might hurt, but you have to ask him.

“Any kids of your own?” 

Jake shakes his head with a laugh, “No, not that I know of.” 

It’s just a joke but you feel like it makes your heart stop before it starts beating rapidly in your chest. This is it. There’s no better moment than now. Just get it over with.

“Jake, I-“ 

“Mommy!” Josie comes barreling through the door, Penny a few steps behind her. “Penny let me have Churros and they were delicious!” She wraps her arms around you and looks up at you with her sparkling green eyes.

Maybe you don’t even have to tell him. You glance at Jake and he looks a bit taken aback.

“Yeah, honey? Did you have fun?”

“So much fun!” She grins, showing off her deep dimples, and you run a hand over her head before giving her a kiss. You manage to look at Penny, who’s glaring at Jake. It takes all your courage to look at him. He doesn’t even seem to notice Penny, his eyes focused on the girl in your arms. You can’t read the expression on his face, has he already realised how much she looks like him? 

“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask you if you have any.” He smiles, his lips tight, then looks at your daughter and his smile turns more genuine. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Hearing the term of endearment again makes goosebumps raise on your skin. 

“Josie.” She’s not a shy kid, so you’re not surprised when she looks at him curiously and asks, “Who are you?” 

Your grip tightens around her but before you can say anything he replies, “I’m an old friend of your Mom.” 

You shoot him a really? look but he just shrugs his shoulders. Well, you guess it is inappropriate to tell your five-year-old daughter that he used to fuck your brains out. 

“Thanks for helping out.” Penny says, “Both of you.” She winks at Josie. 

Muffin comes trotting around the corner and Josie let’s go of you to throw her arms around the poodle mix. “I missed you!” While Muffin covers your daughter’s face in slobber, Jake huffs out a laugh. 

“A dog, too, huh?” 

You shrug your shoulders, not sure what to say to that. 

“Does the house have a picket fence?” It’s a bit of a loaded question, you think, but you don’t read too much into it and reply truthfully, thinking about the little house you put a down payment on a couple years ago. 

“It does.” 

Jake rubs his chest and gives you that tight lipped smile again. “I’m happy for you.” 

He means it, you can tell. “Thanks, Jake.”

He gets up from his seat at the bar, knocks on the wood a couple times then says. “Your husband is one lucky guy.” Another tight lipped smile.

“My wha-?” 

“I’ll see you around.” He nods then turns on his heel and before you can comprehend what just happened he’s gone.

“Mommy, why did he say your husband? You don’t have one of those.” 

“I don’t know, honey.” 

You watch him cross the parking lot to his car and it dawns on you that he thinks that all your dreams came true:  become a full time illustrator, fall in love, get married, adopt a dog, buy a little house, have kids.

Little does he know that you fell in love with him, had his kid, and did all of the rest on your own. 

taglist: @annathesillyfriend ✪ @lovebittenbyevans ✪ @heyhihellowhatsup0 ✪ @one-sweet-gubler ✪ @emorychase ✪ @wooya1224 ✪ @novagreen04 ✪ @iammirrorball ✪ @lolcaca ✪ @caitsymichelle13 ✪ @soulmates8 ✪ @soleilgrec ✪ @lilylilyyyyyy ✪ @winters-queen ✪ @i0veless ✪ @the-romanian-is-bae ✪ @mandyppp ✪ @dempy ✪ @mizuki80 ✪ @lumpypoll ✪ @averyhotchner ✪ @babyice1274 ✪ @captain-fandomwriter58 ✪ @hangmanscoming ✪ @caidi-paris ✪ @linkpk88 ✪ @djs8891 ✪ @xomrsalliej4787xo ✪ @lnmp89 ✪ @startrekfangirl2233 ✪ @gigisimsonmars ✪ @merishfit ✪ @clancycucumber230 ✪ @sky0401 ✪ @emilyoflanternhill ✪ @roostersforevergirl ✪ @celestialeviereads ✪ @blackwidownat2814 ✪ @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak ✪ @grxcisxhy-wp ✪ @atarmychick007 ✪ @dakotakazansky ✪ @fulla02 ✪ @alana4610 ✪ @callsignwidow ✪ @memoriesat30 ✪ @ebonyhogan24

[unclaimed-garbage]

My First Impression Rant on S2E8: “The Full Moon.”

SPOILERS FOR S2E8 “THE FULL MOON” OF HELLUVA BOSS

[Things that I liked about the newest episode]

The Art/animation:

The art/animation was super good as always. The fight scene were choreographed rather well and it was just awesome. (Shoutout to the effects team as well).

The music and voice acting:

The music and voice acting were also really good (though at some points, certain characters didn’t sound right??? Like there was one scene where Moxxie confronted the Cherubs and his voice sounded COMPLETELY different. Aside from that though, the emotion in Blitzø’s voice for example where absolutely STELLAR.

Unfortunately, I don’t have many good things to say about this episode because tbh, it was a HUGE let down for me.

[Things I didn’t like]

The goddamn plot:

The pacing here was fucking atrocious and especially bad this episode. The goddamn cherubs and Dhorks got more screen time than Stolas and Blitzø, which shouldn’t be the case given that the episode is titled “The Full Moon” and should’ve been about Blitzø and Stolas’ “deal.”

It was also incredibly strange because why in the world would Vivziepop hype up this episode only to have it barely feature the main storyline. Sure, it was nice to see less of Stolitz, but when you market an episode as being a Stolitz-centric episode that’s supposed to be where they break up, you should expect more focus.

Instead though, we got more of Dhorks’ and Cherubs’ rushed Alliance that went nowhere and was the A plot, while the most important part of the series was shafted as the B plot.

Speaking of shafting the B plot, the pacing was another issue:

The pacing was (once again) another huge issue for me. Blitzø and Stolas’ talk about their “deal” was EXTREMELY quick. Though it was incredibly well done both voice acting wise, mood wise, etc, the pacing just went too fast and it would’ve been nice to see more buildup.

Not only that, but with The Cherubs’ and Dhorks’ situation, the fight went on way too long when it didn’t even affect the actual plot or story. It just meant nothing narrative wise and just felt like a waste of time tbh.

That leads to my next issue, the stakes:

The stakes of this episode were meant to be incredibly high. This was the episode where Stolas and Blitzø were theorized (and confirmed) to break up. Despite this high-stakes moment that’s been forever in the making, with the Cherubs portion of the episode (that took up more screen time than the supposed main focus), the stakes were incredibly non-existent most of the episode and then quickly hit you like a brick in the final five minutes where the most important part comes to play.

Like sure, some may argue that the stakes and tension hitting you was supposed to be like that, but it just felt like bad writing to me.

This leads into the next issue which is tone/tonal whiplash:

This episode suffers from pretty bad tonal whiplash imo. While a good portion of the episode was used to bring Dhorks and Cherubs back into relevancy, there were moments where Blitzø went out (and met Fizzeroli later on) to buy new stuff for their monthly fucking.

Despite the audience heavily suspecting this episode would be Stolitz’s breakup episode, there was little to no buildup. In the beginning of the episode, we get Stolas and Blitzø’s duet talking about the full moon and whatnot. We know that Stolas will give the asmodean crystal to Blitzø, but we don’t know how he’ll react.

We see everything on Blitzø’s side going wonderfully, he’s buying stuff for their “deal” and whatnot making sure it’s perfect (because it’s heavily implied Blitzø is worried that Stolas is getting sick of him). On the other hand, we see no buildup on Stolas’ side. No buildup whatsoever. After the duet, he’s completely gone until Blitzø meets up with Stolas. I think that works against the episode and it’s intentions. So, it went from Blitzø being happy, to things all going to shit with little buildup imo.

The Episode’s intentions:

Honestly, this episode really rubbed me the wrong way, especially when Blitzø finally confronts Stolas about everything. It truly seems that they’re trying to paint Blitzø as the villain, when that’s furthest from the truth.

In scene one (which I’d previously screen recorded, but you can only upload 1 video from camera roll), we see Stolas asking for the book back. Permanently so he can give Blitzø the Asmodean crystal. Blitzø’s reaction here is VERY telling, as he automatically assumes he isn’t doing good enough in their “deal” and thus is jeopardizing his business and his employee’s livelihoods. This is just one example of the gross power imbalance in their “relationship” and like it or not, this scene alone proves that Stolas has created and upheld a gross power imbalance.

Scene/video two ALSO showcases the gross power imbalance in this situation. Blitzø is literally CRYING and BEGGING to keep the book because (as of this point in the episode), he is unaware of Stolas’ intentions and truly believes that the deal is being revoked and he’ll lose his business, job, and cost his employees’ jobs and livelihoods.

Scene/video three truly bothers me in more ways than one because STOLAS was the one who suggested the “deal”. STOLAS was the one who suggested they meet up on the full moon for sex. So WHY is he acting so surprised that Blitzø expected it to be about sex when that was the standard STOLAS set? It really does feel like the narrative is trying to sympathize and make Stolas seem like the victim when Blitzø is merely upholding the arrangement hess. been confined to.

Scene/video four REALLY REALLY grinds my gears after Blitzø rightfully goes off for being blindsided and given no chance to process what the hell Stolas has told him, Stolas is yet again treated like the victim while Blitzø is made to be the villain. Blitzø literally mentioned in the scene before this that he needed time to think things over and couldn’t have this thrown at him like that (and also rightfully goes off on him for seeing him as lesser and being toyed with).

Not only that, but it’s just misguided at best and downright malicious at worst that Blitzø’s trauma and abuse from Stolas is either completely swept under the rug or spun to make Blitzø be the villain in the situation when he’s merely fighting back against the abuse he’s faced.

The final part, The Hype:

Honestly, this episode was REALLY disappointing. It didn’t even reach the 30 minute mark and was the same/similar length as every normal episode, yet it was supposed to be so much more important. We were promised a good episode where Stolas and Blitzø would discuss their “deal,” yet it was shafted to the last five minutes and felt incredibly rushed and victim-blamey tbh. The hype for the episode didn’t really match what we got imo and I’m more disappointed with this episode than I’ve been with the other episodes in season 2.

Overall, I really hate Stolitz as a ship because of portrayal in the series and the episode heavily suffered because of it and also suffers from the usual issues due to the lack of proper pacing and the fact that it wasn’t even longer to allow for more time.

Rating: Tilts between a three and a negative infinity tbh

Maybe I’ll make a much more in depth/thought out say since this one was kinda a heat in the moment one I made while on my way home from Walmart. 💀

[blackreaderfics]

Hygge | Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Pairing : Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Rating :  T

↳ Summary : Nanami breaks his well cultivated routine 

↳ W.C : 4.4k

↳ A/N: the voices in my head got me y’all… this is a purely self indulgent fic featuring relatable king Nanami (I, too, do not dream of labor✊🏾) and black girlbossqueen Tiana

↳ Tags + Warnings: xenophobia from a side character, fluff, set in Tokyo, next door neighbors, cultural differences, salaryman x cafe owner, they can speak each other’s languages but not fluently

🎵 A Commuter’s Trip (The Commuter OST) by Roque Baños

🎵 Hello Stranger by KAI

Hygge (n.) | Danish

“the feeling of calm, comfort, and contentment evoked by life’s simple joys”

Nanami had a simple routine. Wake up at 6, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast by 7:45 and be out of the door—at the latest—a minute before 8. He had everything calculated to the T. If Nanami had been a minute too late—let’s say 8:01— he would miss the morning train and therefore be late for work, and he was never late. He had taken into account all contingencies i.e. a train delay, traffic, inclement weather, and made sure he was prepared for any and all possibilities.

That’s why, much to his chagrin, he was “Employee of the Month” every month since he had been promoted from associate to advisor. Most workers would’ve taken pride in that, felt their presence valued at their company. But Nanami didn’t care much for awards or titles, in fact, he just hated working period. He made sure to always clock out at 6 p.m. on the dot. One minute more would be overtime and he didn’t want to give his thankless job a second more of his labor. 

When he left work, he always went straight home. When his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, thoughts about the next day would drift into his mind. 

Did the market close up or down? What reports did he need to finish? There’s a client meeting coming up; the presentation deck needs to be prepared… Just two more days. Get through two more days and it’s the weekend. 

And so on and so on. Wash rinse repeat. 

He presumed this endless cycle of corporate monotony would continue until the day he turned 40, after which he could retire and live modestly in a country like Malaysia or the Philippines to catch up on all the reading he missed. Perhaps even find a nice woman and marry her while he was there.

The marriage part was new—an afterthought after years of daydreaming—and he didn’t really think much about the kind of woman he wanted to marry. What she looked like or what she did was more of an amorphous thought, a vague idea in his mind. 

Until her.

He met her by accident. Nanami had been cooking, a hobby he only indulged in on the weekends, and he was just in the middle of making a rolled omelet when he heard a loud thump outside his door.

His apartment building was more of an office building which meant that his floor didn’t get much traffic. The people who rented rooms were not really tenants who lived there, but workers looking for an extra workspace.  He had assumed the thump to be a delivery man outside his door so, naturally, he was surprised when it wasn’t the post, but a foreigner woman standing outside the room next door.

The woman had a heavy bag of groceries balanced in the crook of her arm and another by her feet that he presumed had been the source of the sound. When they made eye contact, he had been so startled that he quickly closed his door. The apartment next to his had been empty for months, but it looked like it had finally been rented out. 

He thought nothing more of it until her very presence began to infiltrate his well-maintained routine. Every morning, if he was quiet enough, he could faintly hear her humming as he got dressed. Other times, he could hear upbeat jazzy music on the weekends if he opened his window.

Every night, he was surrounded by the fragrance of whatever she seemed to be cooking. Most of the time it was sweet, other times it was savory. It wasn’t an unpleasant aroma, just noticeable to the point where its absence would feel strange. There were days when they would leave for work at the same time, though oftentimes he would end up holding the elevator door open for her when she left her apartment a few minutes after he did. 

In the brief moments they encountered, Nanami made small observations about her: She was an American. Beautiful. Unmarried—Americans wore rings on their ring finger to signify marital status, he’d noticed she didn’t.

He couldn’t infer her job or what exactly brought her to Tokyo in the first place from her appearance alone, however. He’d seen a fair amount of young foreign teachers in the city. He wondered if she was a teacher. She looked young enough. A missionary? She dressed modestly and wore sensible shoes. Her curly hair was often tied into a low bun. From the very slim list of what young American women did for work in Tokyo, he decided on teacher and his curiosity was sated. 

One day he found out. After a long day of work, he walked his usual route from the train station back to his apartment building but was redirected due to construction at his usual subway exit. When he alighted from the escalator he was on a different street entirely. The extra few minutes from this detour would undoubtedly cut into the time he’d set aside to unwind, and subsequently, he’d have to make a few adjustments to still get a full 8 hours of sleep.

He loosened his tie and sighed inwardly as he walked on. Since he’d moved to this district last year he didn’t make much effort to visit any new places. For all he was concerned, he only really needed to know his route to work and the nearest Starbucks. 

So when he passed by a small cafe called “Tiana’s Place”, it didn’t immediately click that the jazz he’d heard playing softly from her apartment was the same music that was playing now. It was familiar enough that it gave him pause. Where had he heard that song before? When he finally caught sight of her—his neighbor— through the glass window, it finally registered that she wasn’t a teacher or a missionary, but a cafe worker, and from the looks of it, she owned the place. 

He watched her dimples deepen as she interacted with customers, giving each and every one of them a tireless smile. Before he knew it, Nanami found himself inside the cafe whisked into the after-work rush of impatient office workers. She was so busy already, the only indication of strain being a moment when she blew the hair out of her face before the next customer walked up to order. He planned to buy something small and leave; he wanted to give her time to catch her breath but inadvertently in his musings he was already holding up the line. 

She was…right in front of him? And speaking to him now? It was the first time he’d heard her voice and he decided it suited her. She spoke in Japanese and, though accented, was clear and practiced enough in a way that impressed him.

“Are you still deciding, sir?” Impossibly large brown eyes waited in expectation for him to order.

He broke out of his reverie quickly enough to make it seem like his stalling was deliberate, his unmarred poker face further upholding the charade.

He scanned the prepackaged foods and retrieved the first thing that looked like bread. “Just this.” 

“Good choice,” She looked positively elated as she scanned the barcode and activated the card machine. “Beignets are my specialty.” She was beaming at him. Not in a “thank you come again” customer way but like in a he’d just made her entire week way. She was so laughably easy to please that it discomfited him.

He muttered a “thank you”, taking the package and turning to leave quickly before he met her eyes again. The Fall of Icarus was a cautionary tale for a reason, he wouldn’t risk another trip into the sun.

Nanami’s routine had drastically altered over the next few weeks. Every morning he’d gotten used to riding down the elevator with her. They greeted each other regularly, albeit a bit awkwardly, in the shared space—A slight bow from him as he held the doors open, reciprocated by a grateful wave from her.

The last time they shared an elevator, however, they'd accidentally brushed hands while reaching for the ground floor button. For some reason, that unnerved Nanami. So now, most times, he avoided that, opting to wait and listen to the click of her door before he left the house. For good measure, he started taking the stairs. As a result, Nanami had added an extra 10 minutes to his morning commute.

The detour, having yet to be fixed, took him past the café every day. Though Nanami knew the process of waiting in line would add an extra 15 minutes to his after-work trek, he did so anyway, calculating that picking up a quick dinner bento would be a fair trade to taking the time to cook something for himself. 

“What can I get for you today, sir?”  

He knew her name now—Tiana, from the name tag she wore, and the sign on the storefront. He noticed from the way her eyes would widen as he approached, that she recognized him now too.

“Black tea. No sugar, please.” He placed his usual prepackaged meal and packet of beignets on the counter, taking out his wallet. Nanami didn’t always plan to add beignets to every order, but he found himself reaching for them every time, dreading her predictable delight when he did. Ordering tea was another stroke of impulse he didn’t account for, but it wasn’t so busy now, he could enjoy it before he went home.

He decided on a table by the window, savoring the warm liquid as the sun set to a melancholy soundtrack of brass and bass. It was like being transported to another time, outside of crowded subway cars and the hustle of his high-powered office.

Nanami closed his eyes and felt something akin to contentment. When he exhaled, the stiffness in his shoulders abated, and the strain behind his eyes subsided. Was this what it was like to finally relax? 

He was about to take another sip of his drink when he heard a loud bang. The front door to the restaurant had flown open, a bulky man with greasy hair and a lecherous smile stalking in. Nanami’s eyes trailed after the man’s movements, the cup still raised to his lip.

“I’d like a dozen of those powdered donut things. Ya got any of those?” The man leered at the part-timer manning the counter. He sauntered back and forth at the register, eying the self-serve pastries in the display. 

“Sure, would you like them fresh? There aren’t enough ready-made ones for a dozen, but if you’re willing to wait there’s a new batch being made—” 

The man picked up a package of beignets that had been warming under a heated case and without warning, ripped open the package and took a bite.

“S-sir! You need to pay for that first!” The part-timer sputtered.

“Well, I’m waitin’ for that new batch. I wanna try before I buy.” The delinquent guffawed and attempted another gleeful bite only for the pastry to be smacked out of his hand and onto the floor.

He whirled around to face Tiana, bursting into laughter upon seeing her. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?” 

“Call the police,” Tiana stated calmly to her employee as she stared down the man. Her usual polite smile had been replaced with a stony-faced expression. “Sir, if you’re not going to buy anything then it’s best you leave.”

“Huh? What was that? I can barely understand you, foreign bit-AHh” A pressure on the man’s shoulder made him crumple in pain.

“Your ears must not be working. I can understand her perfectly well,” Nanami murmured, his vice-like grip squeezing at the juncture between the man’s neck and shoulder. While the delinquent whimpered pathetically at the deepening pressure, Nanami directed his attention to Tiana, motioning with a slight tilt of his head for her to step away. “It’s not worth your trouble, I’ll take care of it.” 

She nodded reluctantly and joined her staff member who was now waiting with a phone at her ear behind the counter.

Nanami appeared to be saying something to the man now, but in a volume that Tiana couldn’t hear. His face was calm, betraying no emotion while the delinquent paled gradually in terror, trembling under his grip. The moment Nanami released him, the man scrambled out of his grasp and prostrated himself on all fours.

“I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN PLEASE—” He shouted hysterically and proceeded to do a fervent bow of penitence. 

Tiana looked at Nanami quizzically but was only met with a mild shrug. 

“Alright alright,” she stepped around the counter to placate him. If he could just stop snotting up the floor she just mopped and get out of there, they could just forget this all happened.

The tinkling bell sound of the cafe door opening interrupted the scene; everyone’s attention shifted from the blubbering man on the floor to the police officer who had just stepped in. 

Before anyone could speak, the man sprang up from the ground and ran toward the policeman. “OFFICER! IT'S ALL MY FAULT I ADMIT IT! ARREST ME, PLEASE! JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Within 10 minutes the offender was cuffed—willingly, to the cop’s surprise— and whisked noisily out of the cafe just as quickly as he’d burst in. Nanami, suddenly uninterested in the commotion, walked calmly back to his table and gathered his things. 

Tiana made her way over to Nanami, eyeing the man through the window. He was currently being escorted to a police car on the curb. Still in hysterics, he’d practically thrown himself into the back of the car.

“Ok…what on earth did you say to that man?” She quirked an eyebrow at the blonde businessman.

That this cafe is his one and only oasis in the heaping pile of shit called life, and if even so much as one insignificant waste of air like him tries to ruin it he’ll have no choice but to chop his fingers off one by one and shove them down his throat so hard he’ll be shitting fingernails for weeks…among other things.

It would’ve been improper to divulge this to Tiana, of course.

“I asked him to apologize,” he said instead in simple English, a far cry from the eloquently horrific threats he’d made in his native language. 

“Really?” She asked, accepting the sudden change of language in stride. Her arms were crossed, her hip jutted to the side, face incredulous. “Just like that?”

“I’m rather persuasive.”

After a beat she laughed. 

Nanami didn’t consider himself a funny person. And frankly, he didn’t understand why she was laughing now but he welcomed it, if only to see that the earlier disturbance hadn’t caused her too much distress.

“Well, thank you kindly,” she drawled in between giggles, her southern accent now unmistakable when she switched to English. “Mister…” 

“Kento.” He offered his first name, aware he was skipping over several customary stages of familiarity. In any other case, anyone less than an acquaintance addressing him by his first name would be extremely frowned upon. But it was common business practice to use given names when dealing with American clients; he thought it fitting to do the same with her.

He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a silver business card holder, and passed over an impressive looking card: 

Nanami Kento, Investment Advisor

“If there are any similar issues please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He repeated an English phrase that had come in handy from past business dealings.

“Mr. Kento,” she repeated to herself with finality studying the card. Tiana faintly wondered why a guy with a fancy title—and the most expensive suits she’d ever laid eyes on— lived in the modest one-room apartment right next to hers. She pocketed the card and patted around for her own business card. 

“I would’ve given you my own card too. But if you ever need to contact me—”

“Boss!” Her part-timer called out, waving her over from where she stood next to a police officer holding a clipboard.

“I’d better go, you know where to find me.” She excused herself with an apologetic smile.

Unfortunately for Nanami, this little ordeal had cost him another hour of wasted time.

The next day Nanami waited for the familiar click of her door shutting before starting his commute. When he exited his apartment, he could still see the silhouette of her back walking towards the elevator bank. 

She left without an umbrella, he noted to himself as he walked part of the way down the hallway. He imagined walking up to her and bringing it up casually as they waited for the elevator. But as soon as she’d turned his direction he changed course abruptly, legs moving on their own through the emergency exit and down the stairs.

Work went on as usual. He sat at his desk going over the pitch deck, but his eyes could not seem to follow the text. Instead, he found himself gazing out the window, watching the clouds slowly darken in the horizon. 

“Fucking weather, right? News said it’s gonna rain like a bitch the next few days.”

His boss had walked up behind him, crouching at his eye level to see what Nanami was looking at. 

“Hope you brought your galoshes, rookie, we’re going overtime today for that big client meeting. Dinner’s on me.” His boss clapped a hand on his shoulder and went off to bother a different team.

He tried to return his attention to his work, but he couldn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the blue light of his computer screen. All he could think about was the rain.

Tiana had hoped that by the time she closed, the rain would’ve stopped. But she found herself outside the doors of the cafe, reluctant to leave. The rain hadn’t let up, and it didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon.

It was a day of disappointments. On top of forgetting her umbrella, Nanami hadn’t come into the shop that day. She’d gotten used to seeing him enter the store at the same time every day, and perhaps even looked forward to it. 

She took one tentative step outside, shivering through the draft of wind. She didn’t live far, maybe it would be alright if she just ran home with a plastic bag over her head. Tiana locked the door behind her and raised the collar of her jacket, clasping it with her hand to protect her neck. On the count of three, she lifted the plastic takeout bag over her head and took the plunge.

After a few strides in the pelting rain, it suddenly stopped—She had run into something or someone. The rain made it difficult to see where she was going so she blindly sputtered a reflexive “I’m so sorry!” in English at whoever it was that she had run into.

When she wiped the rain out of her eyes she could see nothing but an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit in the dim of the streetlights. It was Nanami and he was holding an umbrella over her head. His collar was unbuttoned without a tie, and he looked utterly exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced from where she stood underneath him.

“Mr. Kento? Are you alright? What are you—”

“I figured you could use an umbrella,” he said dryly and pretty pointedly at her makeshift plastic bag hat.

“Yea, I guess I could use one of those,” she laughed breathlessly and took the bag off her head, before giving him one of those heart-stopping smiles he loathed. “You saved my life.*”

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly, amused. Perhaps because her choice of words sounded highly literal, almost…cute?, in Japanese. He “saved her life” just by sharing his umbrella? Americans were known to have a penchant for the dramatic. But he didn’t bother to correct her, instead, he only hummed somewhat of an affirmative response.

They walked in a comfortable silence down a familiar tree-lined path leading to their apartment building. She noticed Nanami’s shoulder getting wet, and leaned closer to him. 

Feeling the imperceptible shift, he gave the woman beside him a sidelong glance. His eyes settled on the loose wisp of hair he’d always seen her blowing out of her face.

It bothered him.

Maybe it was the fatigue-driven delirium, but he was struck with the inane compulsion to brush that lock out of her eyes. He couldn’t have been more grateful for the umbrella currently occupying his hand, otherwise, he would’ve indulged it.

Tiana reached over and gently adjusted the umbrella closer over his side. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that nice suit of yours,” she said softly.

“I hate this suit.” The curt statement came off a bit more brusque than he’d initially intended, though, it was true. He hated that suit and everything it represented.

She looked at him curiously, wondering if this was another aspect of his humor. But from what she could see on his countenance, he was entirely serious. 

He glanced at her again, catching the confused look on her face. “I don’t mind if it gets wet,” he reiterated this time with the intended lack of severity, along with a kind of finality that implied an end to the discussion of his suit and his decision to prioritize her dryness. They continued the rest of the way, the umbrella above them biased towards her side.

When they got to the apartment he held the building door open, letting her walk through first. 

“Thank you again for yesterday. That man, he was—” she paused to conjure the correct word.

“He was being a nuisance,” he completed, pushing the button for the elevator door. Naturally, he had chosen the same number for their floors, and when they arrived at their floor he waited for her to alight before walking after her.

When they finally reached their neighboring doors, he set his umbrella on the hallway floor for it to dry and began to punch in the code for his door. 

“Mr. Kento, wait a moment.”

He stilled his movement and watched as she rummaged into her purse. 

Tiana pulled out a paper box from her bag and presented it to him, “I was going to give these to you earlier if you came in. Glad they didn’t get wet.”

It was a small gesture. Even so, he was reluctant to take it.

“You… didn’t have to,” he frowned, eyeing the box.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, either,” she shrugged. 

“We’re neighbors. We were going in the same direction,” he said plainly, though, he didn’t entirely believe the words as they left his mouth either. It was unlike him to go anywhere else except straight home after working overtime. He hadn’t run into her by some coincidence or divine guidance. He’d gone there on purpose, and he had a sinking feeling she figured that out already too.

“Then just think of it as a ‘thank you gift’,” she insisted, tugging gently at his wrist and nudging the box softly into his hands. “For being my favorite customer.”

He shifted uncomfortably to receive the box with both hands. It was an unfamiliar concept for him to be anyone’s favorite anything.

“Good night, Mr. Kento.” Tiana’s voice had an amused lilt to it. Nanami must’ve stood there frozen because she was already halfway through her door, a knowing smile on her lips.

He regained his composure and mumbled back a formal “Good night, Miss. Tiana,” —her name a bit alien on his tongue—before retreating back inside.

When the door shut behind him, he immediately shed his suit jacket. His body was much too warm despite one side being wet; his collar much too tight, despite his lack of tie.

Nanami stared at the assortment of pastries that Tiana had given to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he willingly ate dessert though he assumed if he had, it would’ve probably been with Gojo and his infantile palate.

Truthfully, Nanami didn’t really like sweets at all. The first time he bought those beignets, he’d just picked up the first thing in line that day and just…never stopped buying it. Over the past weeks, he’d amassed a bevy of unopened bags of the foreign confection and they were occupying the much-needed counter space of his kitchen. 

It was rather ironic for an investment advisor to be so frivolous with his money. Spending on foods he didn’t even eat when was supposed to be saving it didn’t make any sort of financial sense. He had been planning to retire by 40, and now he’d have to add an extra 5 years to his projections over mere fried dough.

Nanami turned over the yellow business card for “Tiana’s Place” that he had found wedged in the box. A simple “Bon Appétit ;) -T.” was written on the back.

He picked up a beignet from the box and took a bite—It was made for him, after all. He chewed it slowly, the consistency not too far off from that of a baguette. It wasn’t too sweet, either. In fact, it was…delicious? Better than any dessert he’s had before. Maybe everything he’d tried before this was just a crude imitation, a poor excuse for the craft of baking. 

Perhaps he did like sweets or even dessert right before bed. Maybe he didn’t even mind that he wouldn’t be getting his full 8 hours of sleep. If he concentrated hard enough, her faint humming as she got ready for bed filled the silence of his apartment. He could stay up even longer if at all possible.

When he finally closed his eyes, a rush of different kinds of thoughts flooded his mind. 

Some were more mundane: Maybe I’ll have a beignet for breakfast or It’s probably going to rain tomorrow. 

Some were imaginations: plump glossy lips curved in an oversweet smile meant solely for him. His fingers gently tucking that bothersome tendril of hair behind her ear. 

He finally drifted to sleep with one last thought just as simple as the others, a tiny hope that she would forget her umbrella again.

*A/N: Tiana’s words sound like a literal translation/unnatural because she’s a non-native speaker ex. “you saved my life” vs a more natural/colloquial “you’re a lifesaver”

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

[ofthehands]

Been thinking about the childhoods of the Sawyers again, this time in particular Drayton, and wondering about how the time period he grew up in might have shaped who he became. Generally I base his age on his actor, Jim Siedow, which just makes sense, we’ve never been given any reason to doubt he’s the same age as his actor. Which would mean Drayton was born in 1920 sometime, and would’ve grown up in part during the Great Depression and Dust Bowl. 

Now, of course the Sawyers would’ve been too poor to have a stake in the stock market, and whether or not the Dust Bowl would’ve hit them exactly depends on where Newt, Texas actually is, but for this little piece of analysis I’m going to make the leap and assume Newt would’ve been impacted by the Dust Bowl, and that the Sawyers were impacted by the job loss and industry cutbacks (via the slaughterhouse, most likely) of  the Great Depression, both because it’s interesting and because I think it makes sense. 

We know Drayton was born in 1920, and the twins were likely next, or at least the next surviving Sawyer children, born in 1945 (if you base their age on Edwin Neal’s age). Which is a big age gap, and we’ve discussed lots of reasons for this age gap, but one that isn’t talked about much that I think makes sense is the economic impacts of the times leading the Sawyers to be too afraid to have more children. They had Drayton when things were looking up- the Great War just ended and while many farmers were burdened with debt, the roaring twenties were beginning, and along with that came a boom in industrial production- it could be possible this is when the slaughterhouse came to Newt.  Only for all that to be yanked away when their son is about nine years old. The Great Depression comes first- wages are cut, many people lose their jobs, folks are going hungry. But the Sawyers seem to have at some point lived off the land somewhat, maybe they could raise livestock or grow food. For about a year, until the Dust Bowl starts, nearly a full decade of dust storms so intense they choked the life out of the land and left the Sawyers and many people like them not only in abject poverty, but absolutely starving. Of course they wouldn’t want another child- they probably only barely managed to clothe and feed Drayton. But, eventually the Dust Bowl does end, and the economy of the United States is boosted by the second World War, leading many Americans to feel secure enough to start having lots of kids, causing the Baby Boom. Which started around 1945, birth year of the twins. The birth order and timeline of the Sawyer family makes a lot of sense with these historical events taken into account, and the Texas Chainsaw universe is never shown to be different to ours historically beyond the existence of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, so I believe it’s entirely reasonable to assume these events did happen and did impact the Sawyer family in this way. 

So, with that out of the way, how did these events impact Drayton? As an adult Drayton seems to be a very anxious and money-conscious man. Which in the first film makes a lot of sense- he and his family are very poor, and he’s their only source of real income that we see. However, at the same time, the family is shown to have a collection of victims’ previous cars. Which is a bit odd. There could be a good bit of money there, which you would think would cross Drayton’s mind.  Of course, it would be important to make sure these cars aren’t traced back to them, so selling them outright would be risky, but selling parts of them as scrap or the whole cars to be scrapped could be a fairly easy way to make some more money. It would’ve been easier to get away with then, without cameras everywhere especially in the middle of nowhere Texas, and with the law caring/ believing as little about the Sawyers as TCM2 showed us they did.  But, the cars are collected anyway. Since Drayton is the head of the household and these cars wouldn’t be easy to hide, it’s reasonable to assume that Drayton allowed these cars to be kept. It could be argued that the Sawyers just aren’t smart enough to figure out how to safely dispose of their victim’s cars, and so they keep them in order to avoid suspicion. However, I would like to posit that these cars are an early sign of Drayton’s tendency to hoard. 

Hoarding is a fairly common behavior in people who lived through the Great Depression, and it can be handed down generationally as well- the children of (or in our case, children raised by) those who lived through the Great Depression often struggle with hoarding too. Hoarding behaviors are commonly associated with anxiety- the fear of not having enough, the fear of needing something and not having it- there is an anxiety around need. Which, of course, is an anxiety that was greatly exacerbated by the Great Depression and Dust Bowl- people in mass didn’t have what they needed, and like many traumas, these events left people with the unending fear of it happening again. Additionally, and notably,  hoarding can also be related to a number of mental health conditions, like severe depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and psychotic disorders. So how exactly does this relate back to Drayton Sawyer? 

To assume Drayton is a hoarder, or takes part in hoarding behaviors, based only on the car graveyard would be quite the stretch. However, this is far from the only time we see hoarding-type behaviors  in the Sawyers that must either be done by him or allowed by him. In the first film the Sawyers don’t seem to have too much of a hoarding problem. They use absolutely everything they get their hands on, which could again be a Great Depression/Dust Bowl influence, but their home seems rather sparsely furnished, and while they have a lot of animal bones laying about, its still easy to move through their home- it’s not particularly cluttered, just filthy. In the second film, however, with greater access to money, the Sawyers have started to collect things. The massive cave system they live in is full of strange items, all throughout the walls, and bodies are kept throughout their ‘home’ even when they aren’t being used- the giblets being stuffed into the walls, where Lefty finds them. They could burn something like that, or find some use for it, or get rid of it in some other way, but Drayton, who is in charge of their cooking operations undoubtedly, does none of this- he keeps all of it. He additionally is still very worried about money- he refuses to take a break or miss out on money for even one night, in spite of his advanced age, the fact that they have enough food to be selling food in mass, and that his business is stable enough for the woman at the chili contest to call him “Dallas’ favorite caterer”. Dallas is a big area- if he’s one of the most popular caterers in Dallas, his family isn’t going to go hungry. But Drayton expresses constant money anxiety anyways, and he keeps or allows the keeping of tons of strange and borderline useless items in their home- Christmas lights, skeletons, giblets, a stop light for some reason. If they lived still in the old farmhouse and not the cave system, their house likely would be full wall to wall. And, with the blood and guts in the very walls of their house, which is a cave and thus a fantastic place to grow all kinds of deadly molds, this behavior is definitely putting the Sawyers at a significant health risk. The Sawyer family, and Drayton specifically, show hoarding behaviors to the extent that it’s putting their health at risk. It may also seem like an odd thing, to keep mentioning the collection of bodies on the Sawyer property as a form of hoarding, but I think for Drayton it very much is. Meat is life for the Sawyers- they were raised in meat- and having it is all they have, often. So a massive collection of bodies and body parts, even when they’re not really being used and are likely rotting their home, soothes Drayton’s fear of needing and not having. If hard times come again, like they did during the Depression, or when the Sawyers could no longer work at the slaughterhouse, they’ve still got something, even if that something is nothing more than viscera in the walls. 

Now, of course, other mental health conditions could be impacting Drayton and causing his hoarding behavior. While Drayton doesn’t display a lot of obvious symptoms, we know psychotic disorders run in the family- Nubbins is heavily coded as schizophrenic, Edwin Neal based his performance off his schizophrenic nephew. Additionally, Drayton could have some type of severe depression. Throughout the end of the second film, Drayton talks about ‘quitting’, and how he’s been thinking about ‘quitting’ lately. Reasonably, it could be assumed he means retirement- he’s 66 after all. However, at the very end of the film, he refers to killing himself and his family in the same terms- “Maybe it’s time to just shut down. Time to shut down the show, yeah.” It’s possible that he did mean retirement originally. And it’s also possible he was always thinking of suicide. Drayton Sawyer may not seem like someone who is depressed, especially with business booming as it is, but depression doesn’t yield to success, and Drayton displays and follows through on suicidal intensions. It’s not a sure thing, but certainly not impossible. Additionally, Drayton could have OCD. Compulsive hoarding was considered a type of OCD, and 1/4th of people with OCD also display compulsive hoarding, and 1/5th of hoarders also display other traits of OCD. 

However, I still think one could argue these hoarding behaviors present in Drayton and his money anxiety are inextricably linked to trauma related to the Great Depression/ Dust Bowl. Especially since in disorders like depression and OCD, trauma- while not necessarily causative of the disorder- is a risk factor for the development of these disorders. So I do believe it could be said that Drayton is a hoarder, or at least shows signs of hoarding behaviors, and that this behavior stems from the impacts of the Great Depression/ Dust Bowl on him. 

I think, additionally, Drayton’s sadism and antisocial behaviors could stem partially from his experiences with the Great Depression/ Dust Bowl as well. I do believe there are other factors at play, ranging from potential generational abuse in the Sawyer family, to Drayton’s own desire for power and control leading him to exert that power as violence over anybody he can hurt and get away with hurting- namely his vulnerable and reliant younger brothers and the victims of his family. However, I think the Great Depression/ Dust Bowl could still have played a substantial part in shaping the way he’s sadistic, and forming within him a need for power and control. 

One of the more prominent ways I think that the Great Depression/ Dust Bowl shaped Drayton’s antisocial behaviors, is the way that it altered his view of people outside his family and the nature of human interaction. One of his snappier lines in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 was “It’s a dog eat dog world and from where I sit there just ain’t enough damn dogs!” which gives a pretty solid view into Drayton’s mindset. People can and will tear each other apart, and it’s important to him to be the one doing the hurting instead of being the one getting hurt. Of course, ignoring the cannibalistic implications of this sentence from the mouth of a cannibal would be silly, but taken literally the meaning is much the same. Drayton believes that the people he and his family kills and eats would at least harm and take advantage of him and his family if the shoe were on the other foot- maybe he even thinks its a matter of cannibalize or be cannibalized. And, of course, now that Drayton is on top- now that he’s scrapped out some deal of security by slaughtering others, he only wants more. Which makes sense if he grew up with barely any food on his plate, in a time period where others could pose a real danger, as they’re hungry too. Their neighbors realistically weren’t going to cannibalize the Sawyers in turn, but it was possible they might try to steal from them, or that desperate people might try to hurt them in order to take resources from them. It’s possible this could’ve happened to the Sawyers in Drayton’s lifetime, and it’s possible it never did but Drayton was raised with the idea in his head that it could happen- that the anxieties of older Sawyers before him imparted on him that he couldn’t trust people other than his family and that he should take what he can from other people before they take from him, regardless of whether the Sawyers were even cannibalistic during this time or not. I think that this anxiety around being hurt, baked into Drayton from a young age, manifested in his adulthood as an inward justification for his extreme and violent behavior, and in the way that he raised his younger brothers to continue this cycle- Drayton never breaks the cycle and imposes his beliefs and traumas onto his younger brothers, causing them to become even more isolationist and antisocial than him. 

Another way I think the Great Depression/ Dust Bowl would’ve impacted Drayton as an adult is by impacting how and why he expresses sadism. I believe that Drayton likely expresses sadism the way he does due to feeling helpless or out of control. This is an odd sentiment to apply to Drayton- he’s a very cruel and controlling man when he’s present in the films, and helplessness isn’t particularly befitting of him from the outside. However, despite what Drayton might admit or be willing to believe, he has control over almost nothing. He’s dirt poor, and likely disabled, trying to keep a gas station running in a tiny town when he can’t even always count on having gas. According to signs on the station, he sells barbeque and fishing worms as well, the barbeque sourced from their victims, and the worms likely just dug up out of the ground. He’s doing all he can to make ends meet, but whether or not he makes it really isn’t in his control. Additionally, he can’t keep his brothers under control. It’s not a particularly reasonable thing for him to want- the level of control he wants over his brothers, who are grown men, could certainly be argued to be unhealthy, he treats them quite like children. But it is still something Drayton clearly wants- he punishes them severely for disobeying him, and “I told you and I told you” is a pretty common sentence out of his mouth- he’s always vying for control of his brothers, even to the extent to not teach them about sex and to try and sway them away from ever having connections to people outside of the family, especially of a romantic variety, going so far as to try to make Bubba kill a woman Drayton assumed he had some kind of connection with. But, for all he does, he can’t keep Nubbins in the house, or Chop Top from getting into trouble and messing with Nubbins’ body, or Bubba from developing an interest in women. He wants control of them, desperately, but he can’t have that either. The only time Drayton Sawyer has complete control is when he’s tormenting a victim. It could be argued he torments them for the sake of tormenting them, not to have control, but to hurt someone for the simple enjoyment of causing pain. However, I don’t think this lines up with much of what we know about Drayton. While he is very cruel, he also shies away from violence at odd times. He enjoys poking Sally with the stick when she’s in his truck, but he also doesn’t like hearing her cry. He enjoys watching Grandpa bash her head in with a hammer, but also scolds his brothers for “torturing the poor girl”. Drayton clearly does enjoy violence to some degree, but I don’t think he enjoys violence for the sake of it. I think Drayton enjoys violence as a means to feel in control, and desires that feeling both because of his lack of control in his everyday life, and because of the way his life was suddenly upended by forces beyond his control or his family’s control at a young age.  

Ultimately, I’m not entirely certain that the creators of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre would’ve put much thought into the ways that the politics and economics of the time period the characters were born in would affect how the old scary guy who takes a chainsaw up the ass in the second movie thinks and behaves, so take this analysis with a grain of salt, lol, but it was a lot of fun to write, and I think that these factors are certainly something fans could take into account when thinking about and creating content of these characters. I greatly enjoy trying to unravel some of the mystery around the Sawyers with what little information we have, especially since these questions will never be answered in canon. Feel free to add on anything you think I might have missed with this topic, or any other thoughts that come to your mind! I love hearing other people’s theories and thoughts and such.

[cellarspider]

12/30 Things come to a head

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⛬

We return to that shambling mass of a film, Prometheus.

Content warnings for body horror, contagion-y stuff, something that loosely be described as medical horror, It’s Been 0 Days Since Our Last Incident, and me, going on a ramble about movie gore to distract myself from The Madness.

There's a lady in this scene who's had a number of speaking lines so far–the maybe-chemist. She has a name, but it doesn’t matter.

But I'm going to call her Doctor Frankenstein.

They have just got the helmet off the head, revealing that it’s truly, unmistakably humanoid. They have noted that there are “new cells” on the head. In the business, we call that “decomposition”, but Doctor Frankenstein is not concerned with this. In fact, she immediately proposes a new plan.

Doctor Frankenstein has had the brilliant idea to plug a big cable into the head like it’s a guitar amp, and zap it with electricity to wake it up.

Yes. This is what the movie goes with.

You know, Alien included a similarly shambolic first examination of an alien subject, but it was performed because said alien was attached to a man’s face, and all they had to try and fix that was the contents of a cargo ship’s medbay, with the only qualified personnel being the corporate android who had been ordered to consider the crew expendable. The crew of the Prometheus has no such excuse.

Well, except for David, he has precisely the same excuse, but he’s not trying to poke wires in anybody’s ears.

Doctor Frankenstein calls for enough amperage to run three electric kettles (cite 3), then all the way up to two Titan RTX graphics cards before the head starts to get what appears to be a massive migraine. 

I know this expression well, migraines can feel very much like someone is subjecting me to unnatural horrors.

This is getting a little extreme, though. Yes, when the head starts pulsing, they realize they may have made a mistake. 

I’d say this was inexplicable behavior on their part, unbelievably hasty and foolish–and I will say it, actually, it deserves to be said. But in context, this is the team that did so little prep for entering the alien structure that they didn’t notice the giant fuckoff skull carved into the outside of it.

Knowing how much Shaw and Holloway read into the intentions of the Engineers from the depictions they found on Earth, they probably would’ve interpreted this as a good sign, somehow.

Anyway, they put a sneezeguard down over the head before it explodes.

Good job everyone. This is like what would’ve happened if Napoleon’s savants took one look at the Rosetta Stone and decided “maybe we should try hitting it with hammers. Surely that’ll make the knowledge fall out.”

From a horror perspective, this scene only works in two contexts: First, gross-out. Generally found in schlock, exploitation, and outsider art flicks, the tone of gross-out content can be highly variable, but there are two general trends I'd mention, which are of relevance to this movie.

First, gross-out tends to exist in that weird alternate space where lots of comedy movies do: characters will behave in unreasonable ways for no apparent reason. Within the film, this is treated as the universal norm, besides maybe a straight man character who highlights the absurdity. Gross-out is often like that, but pushes different boundaries of acceptable behavior than a traditional comedy.

This is, bafflingly, what Prometheus increasingly feels like. It feels like it's transitioning into gross-out schlock, and yet it never goes all the way.

Second: the audience for gross-out is largely self-selecting. If you're watching John Waters' Pink Flamingos, you expect things to get messy. You are looking forward to things getting messy. A head exploding is perfectly par for the course in gross-out horror. One might even be disappointed if there wasn't an exploding head.

But again, this movie was not marketed on gross-out. It was marketed as a tense, Alien-esque horror movie. If you followed that premise like I did, you're not in the theater to view a debauched spectacle, you're there for the movie to put a well-paced squeeze on the characters and your nerves, where half the horror comes from having the room to really think about how frightening the core concepts of the series are.

Does Alien involve some shocking gore? Sure does! But in Alien, Kane's fate is not there to make you laugh and exclaim "ewww!" at how far the film's gone, the film tries to make you very aware of how horrifying his demise is.

So, there's an alternate way this scene works, if you're coming in from that perspective. I don't think the movie intended this as much as the gross-out, but it's what I drew from it at the time: the scene works if you decide not to focus your sympathies on the human characters at all, or even David, and think about it from the perspective of the head. 

It’s patently impossible that what they did actually “woke up” the brain inside that skull. But if we sink to the movie’s level and entertain the idea for a moment, what in the hell have they just done to this Engineer? The last thing the head would’ve remembered was running, falling, decapitation, and then this. They just tortured this poor bastard for no adequately explained reason. There’s none! “I think we can trick the nervous system into thinking it's still alive” is the entirety of the explanation. It makes about as much sense and seems as thoughtlessly violent as anything in Mad God (2021, content warning for body horror). 

I already spent all my anger about desecrating bodies in the name of shambolic pseudoscience, I have no more rage to give for now. And similarly in the theater, I hit my limit. I’d already hit a different limit back when they landed the Prometheus on top of some archaeology, but now I’d fully given up on this movie being what I’d hoped it would be. 

The maddening thing that keeps me obsessed with it is that it keeps throwing random scraps of that hypothetical movie into the mix anyway, bouncing me like a yo-yo between scenes. 

But for right now, the yo-yo is still on the descent. Having exploded the first sample of alien biology ever touched by science, they apparently stuck some of it in a generic, science-y DNA machine. What does the DNA machine tell them? 

“DNA match”. 

The movie does not actually explain what this means. It thinks it does, but in a very vague and handwave-y way that ends up being even more hilarious than if they’d just been out-and-out wrong. Because this is what I do for a living, I want to science at this for a bit. 

But I’ve written enough about it for an entire post on its own, so that will wait until next time.

⛬ 

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬ 

Citations for alt-text rambles, as well as some text-text rambles:

1. https://www.behance.net/gallery/78297841/Semiotic-Standard (contains a high-quality download for the symbols, should ye wish them for yourselves)

2. https://www.sculpturedepot.net/clay-wax-tools/product.asp?Steel_Tools 

3. Doctor Frankenstein calls for 30 amps first, then 40, then 50 in the space of several seconds. According to wikipedia, an electric kettle is about 16.6A, and a 288W high-performance graphics card would require 24A. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orders_of_magnitude_(current) That graphics card isn’t mentioned by name, but it matches up with the wattage reported by Tom’s Hardware for a Titan RTX (cite 4). Running with two of these things, you might be able to run 4k Ultra settings on some games without tanking your framerate. They could’ve been playing video games and seen way more exploding heads.

4. https://www.tomshardware.com/features/graphics-card-power-consumption-tested 

5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alien_(film)#Design

6. https://www.reddit.com/r/MovieDetails/comments/f4rf63/for_the_chestburster_scene_in_alien_1979_the/

7. https://i.pinimg.com/736x/8e/2f/9b/8e2f9b0716746aac7ce5b2f369bf4082--aliens--scene.jpg

8. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karyotype#Human_karyogram 

9. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centromere 

10. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centromere#Telocentric 

11. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G_banding 

12. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proteinogenic_amino_acid 

13. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hula_language

[mari-writes]

🦉🐈‍⬛

“Are you sure about this? You know I’ll support you not matter what. But dude, you’re definitely good enough to go pro!”

Kuroo glances at Bokuto, seated next to him at the bar. His friend is looking down into his drink, brow furrowed, shoulders drooping slightly. He sighs. “Yes, I’m sure. I have other things I want to do.”

Bokuto nods silently, still looking a bit dejected. And Kuroo understands. He really does. Their final university tournament is fast approaching. After that series of games, they’ll be focused on exams, job interviews, and preparing to move out.

The two of them had shared a university, including a bunch of classes, a volleyball team, and even a living space for the past few years. Their lives had intertwined so much so that Bokuto became more than just a “second best friend.”

He’s more like a brother now.

But their futures are finally heading in opposite directions, and Kuroo can admit—it’s a bit daunting. Emotions are running high. “It’s not like I won’t be involved in volleyball,” he adds. “I couldn’t stay away even if I tried. But I think I want to work from behind the scenes from now on.”

Bokuto’s mouth twitches into a smile. “You DO have a lot of options, don’t you?” Kuroo had double majored in Biology and Marketing & Communications, all while maintaining his spot on the team. He had been unanimously voted captain in his final year, of course choosing Bokuto as his vice. College had been crazy, but a good kind of crazy, for the most part.

“I want to keep ‘lowering the net,’” Kuroo says. “I want to get as many people interested in volleyball as I can.”

Bokuto’s grin turns toothy. He leans in to clank their glasses together. “Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!" They both take a long swig. The liquor burns Kuroo’s throat briefly before a warm, fuzzy feeling settles into his chest.

“You know, I’m really glad we were here together.” Bokuto’s voice is lowered, just loud enough to be heard over the din. Kuroo shifts on his stool, but stays silent, allowing his friend to continue. “It was… hard to accept that Keiji wouldn’t be continuing volleyball after high school. And even harder when he chose a different college.”

Kuroo nods in understanding. While it hadn’t been a surprise that Kenma announced he’d be choosing another path, it was still difficult to accept.

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without you here, Kuroo!”

Frowning, Kuroo reaches to punch his friend lightly in the arm. “Oi!” He tuts. “Stop that. Or else I’m gonna tell on you to your boyfriend. I know for a fact that Akaashi hates when you cut yourself down!” Bokuto just shrugs. “C’mon, Bo. You would’ve been fine. Great, even. I mean, aside from maybe Chibi-chan, you’re the best at making friends. You make your biggest rivals want to cheer for you!”

“Hey, Hinata’s not so ‘Chibi’ anymore!” Bokuto chuckles. “Have you seen his latest photos from Brazil? My disciple is turning into an absolute beast!”

They both laugh, and Kuroo relaxes. He’d been pretty worried about telling Bokuto about his plans. But now that it’s done, he finally feels at peace. “You’re going to go far with volleyball,” he declares, raising his glass once again. “I just know it. But someday you might want to put that Education degree to use, too. Hit me up when that happens, okay?”

Bokuto’s smile is blinding. “Yeah!” He nods enthusiastically. “We could coach at a school, or put a volleyball camp together or something!”

Kuroo winks. “Now THAT sounds like a solid plan.”

//

I’ve been thinking about Kuroo and Bo’s friendship a lot lately, especially since I saw that leaked sketch of them leading a kids' volleyball camp together. It’s just so special to me. 🥺❤️ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please comment and share!

[kickingitwithkirk]

Snow Globes and Forgiveness

Summary: Even though Chucks no longer creating the narrative, it’s not a Winchester Christmas till something goes wrong.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 3194

Warnings: wincest, cursing, m/m kissing, frottage, my attempt at flangst

For: @thepromiscuousduck @spnfanficpond Secret Santa exchange 2023

A/N: set after 15.19 & in this AU 15.20 doesn’t happen

A/N II: Apologies to all other participants for taking so long. Between a last minute switch, couldn’t rewrite until after new year & had a rebound of a bad respiratory virus that’s keep me mostly offline last few weeks.

A/N III: once again, brevity doesn’t exist in my vocabulary

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*gif credit to creator

Sam Winchester has never been big on the holidays.

Let’s start with a specific Halloween party and his disastrous bobbing for apples incident involving a girl he liked. Then there was that one Thanksgiving he’d been invited to by another girl who turned out to have hands like an octopus and spent the whole dinner, as his brother so eloquently put it, playing footsie with brace-face, not three feet from her dad.

Not to mention, others celebrated, or not, Winchester style; his dad either missed it entirely or showed up with a bucket of extra crispy from the colonel and passed out on a couch. The best was that one Christmas before Dean went to hell a few months later.

But this year was going to be different.

They’d been adjusting to normality reasonably well. Okay, so Dean is the one adjusting better in some respects and said since it’s the brothers' first non-Chuck Christmas, they had to make it extra special. Sam knows this was Dean’s way of trying to make up for all the shitty holidays during their childhood. And knowing his brother, he’s envisioning emulating Mrs. Butters, the wood nymph they accidentally released in the bunker, Jam Packed holiday extravaganza she’d done those few weeks before leaving.

While Dean was getting the tree (Sam would’ve bet more likely grabbing the first one he saw before hitting the liquor store), he sent Sam to pick out ornaments. Sam was trying to make an effort and found himself standing in the middle of a smaller retail chain store's Christmas section, overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices and feeling like a freak for not knowing what to get outside lights and colorful balls.

“First Christmas together?”

Sam’s head swiveled around, “Umm, I’m sorry?” The person who spoke said, “You’ve got that whole I’ve got no freaking idea what I’m doing look, so I took a guess it’s your first Christmas with your girlfriend…wife?”

“Uh, no, no girlfriend or wife.”

“Ahh, boyfriend.” Sam was about to correct their assumption when they continued, “That can be trickery,” and gave him the once over. “I’m guessing he’s not into frills and bows. You should head to the Christmas Market two blocks south of here. There are always booths selling unique or vintage items for the Holiday. Probably find something more appealing than this mass-produced crap.”

After one more glance, Sam thanked them and texted Dean where to meet up with him later, then headed out of the storefront and strolled down the street. He soon hears jolly holiday music and smells enticing scents wafting before entering the colorfully illuminated European style Market and is hit with the sense he’d been here before.

Sam shook his head, feeling ridiculous. Of course, he’d never been here before, but something about this place kept nagging at his memories of familiarity when the irresistible scent of hot, minty chocolate beckoned. After indulging in a creamy, decadent drink decorated with a soft peppermint stick, he walked around, taking in the wares for sale.

At one booth, he found strands of original bubble lights and instantly knew they’d appeal to Dean and his oft-denied inner child; another yielded hand-strung garlands and got popcorn and cranberry ones with instructions on storing them for future use. Sometime later, Sam is laden with so many packages and bags that even his long arms are having trouble juggling them when he sees an elderly woman seated by a table with a simple stand of lights.

The hunter in him was always looking for anything unusual which fit the bill. Smiling politely at the woman when approaching, Sam studied the few antique-looking items and decided they seemed innocuous and relaxed. He spotted an old snow globe, picked it up, and sardonically smiled at how it looked diminutive in his large hand and began examining it.

Sam took time to appreciate its craftsmanship. Its base was silver with hand-worked engravings and an inscription in a language he didn’t recognize. Giving it a shake, Sam watched the artificial snow gently drift over a scene of a log cabin snugly ensconced among evergreens and bare-limbed trees. He got that feeling again. Impulsively, he asked how much he was surprised not to have to haggle over the price.

Carefully taking the globe in her gnarled hands, the woman told Sam that it was crafted in the country of her birth but didn’t specify where. She carefully inserted it into an equally old wooden box, telling him it was explicitly constructed to house the globe to keep it safe during its travels. Sam hears rumbling and glances around, spotting an old pickup parking not far off, and turns back to find the woman has disappeared.

Frowning, he placed the box in a bag, gathered up the rest of his purchases, walked to the waiting vehicle, deposited the items in the crowded truck bed, and then climbed in noticed Dean peering through the cab's back window, “Couldn’t find any more stuff, Sam?” “Couldn’t find a bigger tree, Dean?” His brother says nothing while backing the truck up, “Good thing I got all that to decorate it with then.”

Dean grunted as he set his end into the tree stand and, catching his breath, huffed out, “This would’ve been the time to use some of those witchy tricks, Sam.”

“Or maybe a good time to start working out more and cut back on the burgers and pie?” Sam shot back. “Wadda you talking about?” Dean snapped defensively, “I’m in great shape!” Sam gives him bitchface and says, “Keep telling yourself that Dean.“

Squatting down to affix the supports to the tree, Sam continues. ”You got winded just carrying this down the stairs. We have to face it: neither of us is getting any younger. We had this conversation not long after dealing with Chuck. Yes, we’ll enjoy the everyday things we couldn’t before. But if we’re doing something or on a hunt and get seriously injured, Cas isn’t here to help. And you know Jack is hands-off, so we’ve ….”

“Whatever, Sam.” Dean interrupted, unsuccessfully tamping down his that hurt but not gonna acknowledge it look. “I’m going to take my out-of-shape self and get the rest of the stuff from the car. Unless you’re worried I might, I don’t know, fall and break a hip.”

“Dean, that’s not what I,” but his brother just left, and Sam sighed, knowing he’d put his foot in it again, trying not to express his true feelings. Since they got their freedom from the manipulations of heaven, hell, and all the other things that went bump in the night, the feelings he’d buried and thought were over had come back.

Before he said yes to Lucifer, Dean acknowledged Sam was an adult, and he needed to stop being overprotective. But there is a part, deep down, in both Winchesters that is psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent. That part in Sam is one hundred percent positive that if Dean found out, he’d be so disgusted by what a perverted freak he indeed was forcing Dean would cut him out of his life forever.

The bunker's door banged shut, and at the bottom of the stairs, Sam paused on the last tread, watching the scene playing out before him in the war room.

“Oh, come on,” Dean grumbles at an ornament, refusing to stay on a branch of the mostly decorated tree. He lets it go, and it begins coming off again. “That’s it, I’m getting my gun.”

Sam couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “Maybe I should’ve gotten some floaters and air fresheners instead?” He can see Dean mulling over that memory, “They were great.” Peering over at his brother, he asks, “Where did you disappear to? Thought you were going to help.”

Sam held up a grocery bag, “A peace offering? I know you aren’t going to change your habits, but I'm hoping we can compromise, at least when we’re not hunting. It’s 90% lean beef, and the pie,” Dean's whole face lit up, “Is made with almond flour and natural sourced sugar.”

Trading the wayward ornament for the bag, Dean states, “You deal with this,” Sam shakes his head when he hears, “Meatman coming to town” and sets about finishing the tree.

After cleaning up, the brothers sit in the library, drinking beer and watching an old Christmas movie playing on a laptop, when Dean casually inquires, “So what’s with the box?” Sam frowned before realizing he meant and remembered leaving the item sitting by the displayed swords. “It’s ahh, well,” Sam stammers as he retrieves the box, sets it on the table, and lifts the wooden lid. Dean raised an eyebrow at the contents, “Something you need to tell me, Samantha?” he snarks, removing the snow globe.

“I’m not sure why, but I'm drawn to it.” Dean frowned at his brothers' words and took a closer look. “What’s the saying?” He asked, pointing to an inscription on the base. “Not sure. I think it's a form of an older Germanic dialect. I was going to translate it later.”

Since nothing is screaming cursed object, Dean shakes it, making the snow swirl before setting it on the table, picking up his beer, and resuming watching the movie. He could feel Sam suspiciously eyeballing him asks, “What, Sam?” But Sam simply sighed, knowing his brother wouldn’t let it go. And sure enough…

“Did Santa ask if you were a good boy this year?”

Sam glances around trying to figure out where he’s at since a moment ago he was in the laundry and now starting at his decades younger self reclining against a headboard reading he hears his, their, name and watches himself huff in displeasure and getting up proceeds to trip over his own feet.

Following himself down a wood-paneled hallway, they enter a shabbily furnished living room, and spots his brother watching his younger self standing by a wood-burning kitchen stove. “Dean?” Turning, green eyes boggle, seeing Sam standing next to his own younger visage.

“What the hell you’d do, Sam?” Dean’s gravelly voice snapped and got Sam’s back up. “What makes you think I had anything to do with this?!” Dean looks at their younger doppelgängers arguing about something when young Sam stomps to a rickety kitchen table, plopping down on an equally rickety chair, crossing his arms, and glaring at its sacred top.

“Man, I forgot how bad your emoing could get,” Dean offhandedly commented, returning his attention to his brother, eyes hooded. “You were working in the library, so it's not hard to deduce you deciphered some curse cause now,” chucking his thumb toward the window, “We’re in the damn snow globe!”

Sam shot off bitchface #37, “It’s not a curse! I determined the words are an idiom. Слова не воробьи, как только они улетели, их уже не поймать.”

“Can you put that in English for those who don’t speak geek?”

“Words are not sparrows; once they have flown they cannot be recaptured.”

Dean got his running it over in my brain expression, “Yeah, I got nothing.” Sam concurred, “It didn’t make sense to me at first. But then I found a maker's mark hidden in the engravings. The records said they were a tradesman and spiritual alchemist.”

“What do idiot words have to do with Nicolas Flamel?” Sam's lips pursed, “Idiom Dean. And you know who Nicholas Flamel was?”

“Yeah, college boy, he created the philosopher's stone, turning metal into gold and some immortality elixir.” Sam waited. “He was in that Harry Potter movie, alright? What does that have to do with why we were here?”

“Okay, hear me out. Spiritual alchemy believers follow various paths to achieve the same goal, believing that, like metal, one’s soul can be transformed through stages of purification.” Sam began explaining the stages, and by the third, Dean heard enough.

“You're saying all the crap we’ve dealt with from heaven to hell has done some kinda colonic on our souls.” Sam began to speak, “Shut up, I’m on a role here. And if we take that idiom literally, one or both of us said something wrong and the idiom-alchy-snow globe Ghost of Christmas Past us to complete this whatever stage with an apology?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Great! Let’s figure out where here is, get to apologizing and the hell outta this glass ball.” Spying a discarded newspaper Dean tries picking up found he isn’t corporal. “Seriously?” Tipping his head sideways, he says, “Okay, December 22, 1999. We’re in Michigan..or Wisconsin?”

“Dean, what if it's something so bad there’s no way we can ask for forgiveness?”

That response made Dean's eyes narrow. “Sam, you need to tell me something?” His brother shook his head, but every warning signal in Dean was blaring like the bunker klaxon. He’d bet his entire collection of Busty Asian Beauties that Sam knew why that damn snow globe sent them here, but he was keeping it to himself for reasons.

Dean decided to hold his cards and play ignorant for a while longer. “Dude, what haven’t we done and forgiven each other for?”

Turning his attention to their younger selves made Dean feel a sense of nostalgia, missing how less complicated their lives seemed, even with the daily dose of Sam Winchester teen angst, which he always made up for.

Like now, offering to buy hot chocolate and giant pretzels triggered a memory, and the next moment, Dean was among a crowd wandering through the lighted tunnel entrance, following the loop by the salute to the armed forces towards the live reindeer exhibit.

“I remember this!” Dean exclaimed, “Dad left us in Somerset, Wisconsin, and were you all pissy ‘cause I kept giving you crap about this place’s name- Sam’s Christmas Village.”

“What else do you remember, Dean?”

They make a pit stop at the concessions, and while Sam is paying, Dean pulls out his flask, adding a double dollop to Sam’s. The kid needed to loosen up, then exchanged the cup for a pretzel with a smirk.

“This was the first time we got drunk together. Man, you were hilarious! Kept bugging me to go sledding,” Deans said, “And you fell off halfway down and laid there trying to catch snowflakes on your tongue.” Surrounded by softly falling snow tinted in hues of blues, greens, and reds, the brothers experience a memory trace of what happened that night.

Laughter fills the air as Dean staggers over, flopping on his back next to Sam, smiling at him when Sam’s expression changes and Sam leans over, his eyes' kaleidoscope colors disappearing into thin rings around dilated dark pupils as his fingertips caress the smooth, cinnamon-freckled skin and plush lips he was aching for when Dean pulled him tightly against him, noticing an unmistakable hard bulge pressing into his upper thigh as Sam instinctively started rocking his hips, seeking friction for his growing hard-on.

Dean feels his cock straining inside his jeans, slides one arm around Sam’s waist, another reaching behind him to cradle the back of his skull, angles his mouth up so he can drive his tongue into Sam’s mouth, feeling him suck on it with a sharp pull that shoots straight to his cock when wolf whistles from sledders passing by startled them caused Dean to bolt upright and dump Sam onto his butt.

Abruptly getting up, Dean grabbed the ropes of both sleds and dragged them downhill, leaving his brother perplexed. Scrambling to his feet, Sam rushes after, inquiring what happened, but Dean only responds that they need to head out before the roads ice over too much. The silent intensity of the drive back is broken only by music playing through the Impala’s speakers. Sam initially thinks Dean is concentrating on the road due to his intoxication. But Dean’s chewing his bottom lip signals he’s upset, and the knot in Sam’s stomach tells him to stay quiet.

Shutting the cabin door, Sam opens his mouth to speak, but Dean beats him to it, saying he overstepped boundaries that shouldn’t have been and won’t let it happen again. In a panic, Sam blurts out how his strange feelings for years were crystal clear.

“I love you, Dean, and want us to be together…like together together.” Dean shakes his head, “It’s the whiskey making you talk nonsense.” Sam’s stubborn streak surfaces, infuriating Dean, who shoves him back against the door and shouts in his face.

“Stop acting like a freak and go sleep it off!”

Sam feels like an ice pick is entering the base of his skull, and his stomach twists, knowing he’s the reason the person he cares most about in the entire world; he cares about more than himself is reacting like this, watching Dean disappear down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door shut. He fucked up royally, and suddenly his life was a mess when it seemed all was about to align an hour ago, making Sam wants to scream, to throw up.

Moving on autopilot, Sam shuts his room door, grabs his duffel, and haphazardly throws his belongings into it. Then, opening the window, he slips out and trudges back to town, heading for the bus station. By the time he arrives, his feet are so numb he shuffles across the linoleum flooring to the counter, setting most of his hoarded money down asked for the furthest distinction it’ll take him.

A short time later, the bus pulls out onto the main highway heading west as Sam leans against his window, wondering how everything outside seems so normal when his world has imploded. Dean turns his attention from the younger visage before him to the mature man beside him.

“This is why you ran away to Flagstaff.”

“You were right about me being a freak all along.”

Dean shakes his head, “No, Sam, it was my fault. I tried so hard to keep what I felt hidden, but that night..,” Sam's burst of laughter made Dean bark, “You think that’s funny?”

Eyes that never settled their color, hardened by the decades of horrors they’d lived through, were now gazing at him with unworldliness a thirteen-year-old Dean, after confirming everything in their dad’s journal was true, helplessly watched flame out like dying embers.

“No, Dean. The snow globe brought us back for the dissolution stage, dissolving false beliefs. We’ve been at cross purposes all these years for the same reason, each of us thinking we are the problem and the only way out is to no longer deny our feelings.”

Lifting his hand, Sam hesitated to let his fingertips explore the older, but still, so much loved, freckled skin again when Dean shifted, reaching his still-strong hand to cradle the back of his brother’s skull, angling his mouth up and breathed out against his lips.

“Sammy, we’re good.”

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

[sickly-qt]

Okay I just found your acc and I’m obsessed with drew! Do you think you could write something where she gets pretty drunk to the point of throwing up and she is so out of it she lets Finn see her? No pressure :)

wowowow, look at me, answering an ask for the first time in forever. I am trying my best lol. This is kind of important in terms of different characters becoming acquaintances but otherwise it's just shameless emeto. This also takes place a little while back when Drew and Finn had been dating for less than a year, presently they've been together for almost 2 :)

Enjoy! I'm sorry if i'm a bit rusty

~~~

Work events with an open bar always mystified Drew. She never really understood why an employer would encourage drinking to excess… or at the very least tempting their employees to drink to excess. These were the thoughts running through her mind as she picked up her glass and walked away from the bar, sipping on what must’ve been her third double vodka sprite of the night. She knew that she should probably slow down, the anxiety of being at one of Finn’s work banquets washing away with every glass of wine over dinner. Her head felt airy and conversation was coming easy and she was actually having a better time than she thought she would’ve, probably too good of a time if she were being honest. 

Drew was surprised when Finn had asked her to go with to be his plus one to his work event. Sure, they had been dating for around 7 months and they were basically living together, but things like this really cemented that they were serious in a weird way. He wanted to be seen with her in front of his coworkers as well as the new company that had just partnered with the company Finn helped run.

“Hey, Drew! Come and meet my new partner.” Finn called, grabbing her hand and leading her through the crowd. Everything went by her in a blur and made her dizzy, this is when it really settled in that she was undeniably drunk. They came to a stop in front of another surprisingly young couple. A tall blonde man who looked a little intense and a woman with reddish hair and brown eyes smiled at her kindly. Drew was just focused on seeming sober, and feeling like she was failing miserably. 

“This is my partner, Drew. Drew, this is one of the heads of the company we just partnered with, Remington Paxton and his partner Mila.” Finn introduced them all.

“Hi it’s very nice to meet you, and you can both just call me Remy.” the man responded, holding out his hand. He was almost alarmingly clean cut in the most crisp, and probably most expensive suit Drew had probably ever seen. Mila, on the other hand, seemed a lot more laid back in a simple blue tea length dress and beautiful silver heels, she looked like an auburn cinderella. 

“It’s nice to meet you both as well.” Drew said, shaking both of their hands and then promptly zoning out as Finn and Remy launched into a conversation about PR and advertising. She had a very loose idea of what Finn did at work in the first place and at this point Drew could barely wrap her mind around what she had to do the next day let alone how different PR tactics can be used to benefit marketing and advertising. 

“I never really know what he’s talking about once he gets going.” Mila said, taking a sip of her champagne. “I just smile and nod.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one.” Drew smiled, not really in the mood to conversate. She was starting to feel woozy and a little nauseous. All of the anxiety from before her second glass of wine, rushing back. Suddenly, the elegant ballroom felt stuffy and her dress felt too constricting, and she was really warm. She heard Mila start to say something else but Drew couldn’t be bothered to pay attention, everything was spinning and she felt lightheaded. 

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry I need to get some air.” Drew mumbled, sitting her drink down on the nearest table and rushing away. She had intended to actually do exactly that but on her way to the door nausea hit her like a brick wall and she gagged harshly into her hand. Drew quickly detoured to the bathroom, grateful that the unisex bathroom was open and she wasn’t about to be sick in a stall. She had barely gotten the door locked behind her before vomit rocketed up her throat, spraying through her fingers and dripping down her arm. She barely had any time to throw the toilet seat up before she gagged again, her dinner coming up in violent waves.

She steadied herself on the back of the toilet, her other hand gripping her stomach and she took a couple breaths. A knock at the door caused her to jump.

“Drew, it’s me. Are you alright?” It was Finn. 

Drew swallowed and flushed the toilet, walking over to the sink to wash her hands. She was a complete mess, vomit in her hair and down the front of her dress. The sight made her gag again. What was worse was the trail of sick across the floor and on the back of the toilet. “Fuck.” She whispered before unlocking the door and letting Finn in.

“Oh fuck.” Finn mumbled, seeing the state of his girlfriend and the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry.” Drew sniffled, drunk and emotional. 

“It’s okay babe. Uhm… let’s get you cleaned up a little and then we can let an attendant know that someone got sick in the bathroom and then we can go home, okay?” Finn had grabbed some toilet paper and started cleaning the puke out of her hair.

“I’m gonna throw up again.” Drew whined, feeling sick and now embarrassed. She covered her mouth with her hand before bending over the toilet again and gagging.

“Okay, okay. Just get it out.” Finn stood behind her, holding her hair out of her face and rubbing her back as all of the wine and vodka sprites came back up in a disgusting slurry. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Drew said, out of breath. She stood up straight and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths before a burp rumbled up her chest, sending her back over the toilet although nothing came up.

“Shh, no more apologizing okay?” Finn reached around her and flushed the toilet, still rubbing her back. “Are you done for now?”

“I think so.” Drew mumbled, blowing her nose with some toilet paper. “I’m sorry you had to see that, I feel so disgusting.”

“A little vomit isn’t going to scare me away, Drew. I love you, and I still love you after seeing you be a puke geyser.” He wet some toilet paper and tried his best to clean up the front of her dress.

“Thanks… I love you too…”

“Let's get you home my love.”

[spiritshaydra]

VERY LONG EMOTIONAL EARLY MORNING RAMBLING INCOMING I just want to say that even though I’ve never really posted about it, The Owl House is one of the shows I really really wish came out when I was in middle school, or early high school.

If I relate to Luz so strongly NOW as an adult, I would have clung to her like glue as a child during probably some of the worst moments of my life. When I was getting bullied relentlessly, the isolation, the not understanding why I stood out like a sore thumb and wanting nothing more than to have close friends and fit in, to be understood; having such a beautifully animated and written show about a weirdo teenage girl who didn’t fit in, who found loving friends and more, who got to go on adventures in a magical and mysterious land rich in lore, and then learned to embrace her weirdness and that it was okay to be different? It would’ve struck such a huge chord with me then like it does now, except back then it would’ve definitely been like getting hit by a train in a positive way.

I didn’t have shows with lead protagonists who were female while also being weird and geeky along with not being stereotypically feminine growing up- I couldn’t relate to any of the girls in my cartoons because usually the weird/nerdy girl character is used for gags and nothing more (or are completely sidelined) at best (or worst), or ended up being a love interest to the male protagonist at the worst (or best). I loved shows about adventure with cool fight scenes which were mostly marketed for boys, and even those with a wider audience usually didn’t have a girl as their main protagonist (and usually the female lead to those shows played the role of “girl” and the love interest for the main character)- plus the shows targeting preteen or teenage girls specifically at the time always felt… shallow.. I couldn’t relate to them. (I think the only show I watched that was aimed at girls that I liked was MLP:FiM, but by the time I reached middle school I had stopped watching it religiously like I did in elementary school. )

It probably didn’t help that I was a closeted queer who didn’t realize that I even was at the time. Hell, I didn’t even know that gay was a thing until I was thirteen. I was never taught that it was a thing and that it was okay. (Slightly conservative religious upbringing heyo) I didn’t understand why I was never attracted to boys nor why I never went through the “boy-crazy” phase that my mother always talked about when discussing about being a preteen and teenager. I was just a “late bloomer” and that “you’ll find the right guy eventually.” Then I started having crushes on girls… but I’m twenty and yet to have that sort of “boy (or girl) crazy” phase, and for the longest time I’ve thought that I had something wrong with me because of it. Hell, I still do even now, despite finding some solace with being on the aroace spectrum. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the numerous forced (hetero) romance plots that surrounded me growing up were one of the reasons why I don’t have a healthy view of how romantic relationships work.

So having a protagonist in an adventure show who was not only female, but also gender non-conforming, AND not having a male love interest, AND not having her entire character revolve around a romance plot, on top of not having a “makeover” episode where they removed all her weirdness to “fix” her that was written like it was a good thing, was ASTRONOMICAL. Luz was the first time I’ve ever had a true “Oh my god, she’s like me” moment with a character, let alone a major character. I felt SEEN. I remember audibly saying the words “she’s like me” when watching the show for the first time a year or so back. I wish I watched it when it first started airing in 2020; but I’m so glad that I was able to catch it as it was still releasing new episodes, instead of watching it after it had already ended.

Then when lumity became real I just… wow. I had never seen a sapphic relationship take front stage and you could see them evolve and grow, instead of “boom we in love and girl best friends now” with no development. It felt NATURAL. It resonated with me. If I was able to have cartoons that showed that it was okay to be queer, and that it was okay to not be in love with a boy, I’d probably not feel as broken and alone for being me.

I know Steven Universe had a handful of lesbian couples but they weren’t my age. They didn’t click with me like how Luz and Amity did. (Also the way that show ended makes me extremely angry 🙃 (Future specifically))

I just,,, I think twelve to fourteen year old me would’ve loved this show. If The Owl House had released when it was her time, I think she wouldn’t have felt so lost.

I think it would’ve been her guiding light.

Thank you The Owl House for making me feel seen!

[montammil]

In the Darkest Hours - Part One

CW: Lab whump (a little), multiple whumpers, inhuman whumpee, rockslide, obsessive behavior, pet whump (hinted), briefly mentioned abuse

When Liam was little, he saw one of the last ever documented Winged's ever to exist. Her wings were flame-red.

She was in a circus, but even child-him chose to ignore the bruises on her body, how every part of her except her wings were well-kept. He, and the audience, were too stunned to really pay attention. Not like they would've cared, anyway. Many people had Winged's as pets, no one was required to respect them.

The numbers dwindled down over the decades, and soon Winged's were even being poached. Masters had to keep their Winged's in closed doors at all times, and eventually the government took the last ones away.

Liam became infatuated with wanting to find more. He was sure there had to be at least one more left, but he was sure there were more than that. He was sure if he just looked and studied hard enough, he'd find something to find more and become rich. He'd even get a Winged of his own, and he hoped it'd have bright red wings, just like hers.

He started working for a private research center, surrounded by the research of all creatures that aren't human. Laws were different, there were more equal rights for others like the Horned, Scaled, and Gilled, but since there were no Winged's out there... there were no laws protecting them.

As he grew older, he grew more bitter. His obsession started to dwindle down by the time he reached thirty, and he thought he moved on, accepting that if there are any more Winged's on this planet, the chances of him getting his hands on them would be low.

Until one night, that is.

...

Alden has gotten better at hiding his wings, even if it still hurts like hell. He's managed to tuck them by his sides, and though it looks strange and unnatural, people still seem to shrug it off, considering he's done this several times.

He's glad he lives in a remote and cold area, because it gives him an excuse to bundle up and hide his wings better, and go to less-populated markets.

"Hey, Al. Haven't seen you in a while."

"Oh, hey, Em. Sorry, I've been kind of busy."

She chuckles. "I can tell. If you spend all your time in those caves, you're going to get hurt, you know."

"I'm fine."

She raises a brow but leaves it at that with a casual goodbye once he pays for his things. It's a miracle he can afford it, barely scraping by. At least he never has to worry about his medical expenses, since there's no way he'd trust any doctor with his wings. He'd get turned in, no doubt.

Alden goes to drop off his things at his cabin, and then decides some mining wouldn't hurt. He hit it big about a month ago, at least bigger than what he normally finds there. 

Since no one's ever down in the caves or the river, he decides to throw one of his jackets off. Everyone else in the town thinks he just gets cold easily, which is somewhat true, but not totally true.

He hums quietly to himself as he makes his way down the steep rocks. It's also extremely conventional he lives so close to the mining site. He grabs his helmet with a cap light from his backpack, his pickaxe and chisel, and leaves the rest of the equipment outside the cave. 

He knows where everything is, and he likes keeping his surroundings clear so no one gets hurt. He takes one of the mining lamps and lights it up, walking in further until he gets to his first spot of interest.

He sees something shiny in a small crevice of the rocks, so he picks up his pickaxe and chisel and starts hacking away at the rocks, trying to get whatever it is out of the crack. 

He has no idea what it might be, but it has to be valuable or it wouldn't be so deep in the crevice.

It's difficult work, and by the end of the day he's covered in sweat and dirt, and near what looks like the back of the cave. He decides he'll try one more location before leaving.

Just as he gets back to the close entrance of the cave, he finds one more area. He only hacks at the spot four times when he feels the whole cave start to shake. 

His head snaps up and he tries to look at what he's doing, but it's too dark, even with the light on his helmet.

Before he can rush out of the cave, the whole thing caves in and everything goes black.

...

"Dr. Schultz, you won't believe what we just found!"

"I really don't care," Liam responds bitterly, not looking up from his paperwork. "Can you shut the door on your way out, Blake? That'd greatly be appreciated--"

"It's a Winged."

That causes Liam to abruptly stop writing. His ballpoint pen falls out of his hand and onto his desk. He looks up at his assistant with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You're kidding."

Blake smiles. "No joke."

Liam quickly stands up from his desk and looks at him. "Is this real? You're sure?"

He nods. "He was recently transported here. He might be asleep for a while. Poor thing was in a cave that had collapsed."

"Show me now."

They make their way to a certain room, and Blake opens the door to room 640, where the Winged is located. He moves to open the door for Liam, but Liam shoves past him and throws open the door himself. 

He runs over to the Winged, who is currently laying on a bed with all sorts of medical equipment hooked up to him. He immediately goes to examining his wings. "Good, they don't seem injured much..." He frowns deeper at the color. "Blue. I wanted red wings."

"He's likely the last Winged alive," Blake mumbles, out of annoyance of Liam's reaction, or lack thereof. He knows a little about the slightly younger man's obsession with Wingeds, but he really thought he'd have more of a reaction at the extremely rare find, regardless of the color of wings.

Liam doesn't acknowledge him. He seems to be focusing on the Winged, taking in every detail. "Do we have any kind of file for him yet?"

"Not that I know of."

Liam continues to stare at the Winged in silence for several minutes. "I think we need to do some tests first before we do anything with him. We'll have to bring in some other doctors. Schedule an appointment with Dr. Herman for me. I have a lot of work to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and when he wakes up, notify me immediately." He doesn't wait for Blake to respond before leaving. He simply walks out the door without a goodbye, as per usual.

As soon as he's gone, Blake looks back at the sleeping Winged. He thinks the blue looks nice, shiny and almost iridescent.

History has proven Winged's are more comparable to obedient dogs than birds, given they are loyal and compliant, even if they start off stubborn and short-tempered at first.

Liam can have the Winged as his patient, but Blake wants a loyal pet. He thinks he's found the perfect candidate.

[louisisalarrie]

People are saying Louis has a grace period where he can’t do/say anything - meaning contracts I guess - but he is saying something. He’s saying he’s not with Harry. Surely if he was under any kind of NDA he wouldn’t be able to comment at all??

I’m not an anti. I would love the boys to be together. I’m just suspicious of Louis’ random out bursts where he does seem p*ssed off at Larry. I mean if he really loves him, wouldn’t he just say nothing? If I were Harry, I think i’d be a bit insulted if my boyfriend continued to make public denials (and referred to it as childish conspiracies) whilst I kept quiet.

Also, is Louis annoyed at Larry in terms of being linked to Harry OR is it more related to the insinuation that Freddie isn’t his and he’s not really denying ever being with Harry?

I know this is a contentious topic but I wanted to ask. No judgement either way from me!

Heya anon! I’m gonna break this down a bit.

Louis’ online presence has been very yikes since the first Bullshit tweet. You could see the moment his Twitter started being controlled in one direction, with how different his content became, interacting with the boys (Harry) slowed right down, and his typing style and tone changed. Social media accounts, particular for influential people with a large following, are ran by PR folks on their team. It means the artist can have a more hands off approach, and doesn’t have to worry about posting marketing content at certain deadlines etc., and it’s the easiest reach to get news spread fast. Now, in terms of how much control an artist has over their accounts, differs depending on their contract with their team.

One Direction were the biggest of the big. And when you have 5 teenage boys with huge accounts, it’s pretty safe to say they didn’t want one of them accidentally posting something incriminating towards themselves, the band, or their team, so, they would’ve had very little freedom on their social media when they hit the big point of their career a bit down the track. However, control is not entirely taken over, as the artist still needs to look authentic. They need to connect with fans, get them engaged, and tweet them back. Then, they get trending on Twitter and that’s a win for them, obviously.

So this kind of social media handover is specified in their initial contract, with subcontracts specifying exactly what and how the PR team and the artist will use it. The artist might need to personally post at least 3 times a week across platforms, for example: one tweet replying to a fan, one promo tweet for their music, and one Instagram post/story that ties into whatever the narrative/promo is at that moment, and the contract might be more lax during the months where there isn’t anything to be marketed. Other than that, the team will take care of everything else. That’s their job after all, to market the artist!

So, what’s the best way to dispel rumours about a conspiracy theory when the people in question struggle to talk about the theory on camera? A tweet, of course! It goes straight out to the fans, spreads like wildfire, gets their name trending, and screenshots go straight to the media. The artist doesn’t wanna deal with the inevitable backlash and chaos that ensues after a tweet like that, so, the PR folks say “let’s try and get them to stop talking about larry, by talking about larry…” which makes 0 sense right? If larry isn’t real, they could just leave it alone. Hell, larry aren’t the only pairing in the world, and plenty of other people who have had theories about them like this have just… never commented. Even when they had a big fanbase of people like larries, who believe that they are in a stunt relationship/have been hiding a relationship with another famous person, they’ve just left it alone.

If you have a watch of the Four Hangout interview, where they are all asked if there are any rumours they’d like to deny, Louis and Harry are dead silent. That was the time to do it.

So I think maybe your question leaves out the contracts and closeting of larry, as you’ve said Harry would be pissed that his man has kept denying their relationship to the public (it has been far and few between, though). I would be too, but he’s not doing it on his own accord. the boys, and many other artists in the industry, have been victims of closeting/het pushes. Even just basic PR stunt relationships, that straight people have, are for marketing purposes. There are narratives in place so these artists keep their name in the media, keep looking attainable to a fanbase with young woman fawning over them, and keep selling records/movies whatever it might be. I won’t go deep into Louis and Harry’s stunt relationships and narratives, but it’s very obvious they’ve been victim to them.

So, two birds one stone, right? Deny a relationship that your fanbase has a theory on, on Twitter so there’s proof and it reaches those fanbases fast, while encouraging the stunt narrative the public sees of you, ticking the boxes above. It’s a quick Band-Aid for now, because the longer they don’t say anything, the easier it is for people to assume they’re together. So a little tweet here and there helps. And, unfortunately, Louis has always been the one in the firing line of denials.

Even in the early days of Larry, back in 1d, I think Harry only did one denial on his own, with niall and Liam. H+L did a couple together, and then @Louis_Tomlinson took the reins. Every larry denial on camera was hilarious, poorly responded to, and was laughed at by the fandom. It didn’t jolt us whatsoever, but when you can’t see the person behind the tweet, it is meant to cause a bit more doubt for us. Did he post this on his own accord? Was it PR? It’s not as easy as looking at their body language and seeing them stutter in a video, and that was the point of moving the denials off camera.

These “ask me anything” tweeting sprees that happen, are for the sole purpose of pushing narratives. Louis ticks off a couple of things on his list each time he does one, which are: talk about F, get rid of larry rumours by talking about larry rumours (it’s an absolute joke, the way they do that hahaha), and promo some new music. He also replies to fans about football and other stuff, but that’s because he always has to keep it as authentic as possible. And he does like talking to us, he just has a couple of obligations during this.

In terms of F and bbg, I believe that’s a stunt so I don’t think Louis is mad about people not believing it, so I can’t comment on that, unfortunately!

Now, NDAs. This term is thrown around A LOT in this fandom, and the actual way one works can get lost in translation through misinformation and overuse of contractual language that confuses folks who don’t have a deeper knowledge of entertainment law and the entertainment industry. NDAs are not a one page contract that states a couple of things that you can’t do, and you just scribble a signature. They are big documents that are overlooked by several lawyers and adjusted/assessed/edited over a long period of time, depending on the importance of why someone needs to sign one. There are already basic drafts for fans/crew who see something they shouldn’t see etc., but they are edited to be specific as possible to that situation, so there are no blurred lines. There are no mistakes. No loopholes. Everyone around the boys has signed one, which I’ve discussed a little bit about before.

When it comes to keeping a relationship under wraps from the public, both parties need to sign a separate copy, often times of the exact same document. But, NDAs are different to other PR and marketing contractual Agreements. NDAs say “hey, don’t talk about this thing or any other of these things! It can’t be leaked! If you do, there will be huge consequences and you’ve broken the contract and we will take all your money and sue you and you’ll never have a career again!”, while marketing and PR Agreements are “hey, so people are talking about you being in a secret relationship, and you’ve signed an NDA so you can’t say you are in one, so we’re gonna give you a fake relationship to help keep things quieter and hopefully dispel the beliefs (which will make it easier for you to not say anything if people leave the topic alone!!) and we can get some good marketing in and grow the band yada yada yada”. Which, they thought would work, but we’re still here haha. So the two can be mutually exclusive for artists like Harry and Louis, but their team will obviously just sign an NDA.

So, my advice is, don’t take everything at face value. Louis wouldn’t want to lose any fans, regardless of what they believe in. And same with Harry. They just have different narratives to appeal to different demographics.

[440mxs-wife]

Treasure Quest, Chapter 1: The Stowaway

Pairing: Captain Dean x Rhaya Payton (OFC, eventual) Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Balthazar, Gabriel. Governor Darius Payton, Ashton Kane, Damon Sharpe (OMC’s). Carissa, Darcy (OFC’s)

Word Count: 4427

Warnings: Arranged marriage, overbearing stepmother, allusions to/mention of parent death, running away, scheming fiancé, search for buried treasure.

Summary: Rhaya Payton is the daughter of the governor of Ochana. She grew up listening to her father tell her stories of pirates and treasure maps. At a gala one night, her stepmother, Carissa, announces Rhaya’s engagement to Ashton Kane, a wealthy nobleman. Only problem is, no one checked with Rhaya first. After overhearing plans made by her fiancé, Rhaya decides to go on the run and stows away on Captain Dean’s ship. What will happen when he finds her?

A/N: Soooo, this has been rattling around in my head for some time, so I decided to (finally) send it out into the world. Not sure how many parts there will be, as it depends on where the story takes me. Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags for this. Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Captain Dean Winchester stood on the dock as he watched the cargo being loaded onto his ship, The Black Diamond. His crew was known as "The Devil's Foxes", mostly due to their crafty, yet highly successful, battle techniques. The crew was made up of men from all different ages, levels of expertise and backgrounds. Although Captain Dean was in charge on the ship, he often allowed his crew to offer their perspective, based on their life experience. He trusted his brother and ship's First Mate, Sam, to help him filter through the input and ultimately reach a decision.

From where he was standing, Captain Dean could see Governor Darius Payton's residence, a sprawling estate on top of a hill overlooking the harbor. The captain had stopped in Ochana many times for food and other supplies and had always found the locals to be friendly and helpful. They spoke highly of the governor and generally approved of how he ran things in Ochana.

Of course, Dean had also heard on more than one occasion about the governor's beautiful daughter, Rhaya. People spoke of her kind and generous heart, her willingness to help others at a moment's notice, and also mentioned her fiery spirit. Someone who was not afraid to speak out against an injustice, whether real or perceived, or however small it may appear. Rhaya was said to be a frequent visitor to the daily markets, as well as a silent supporter of the less fortunate.

To Captain Dean, Rhaya sounded too good to be true. In Dean's experience, the daughter of a wealthy elected official was likely to be a spoiled little princess. The ladies he'd met tended to hold minimal regard for anyone but themselves, especially the one from the last port stop. On one visit, Captain Dean had made the mistake of vocalizing such an opinion about Rhaya to a merchant in Ochana's marketplace. It was an error he was not keen on repeating anytime in the future.

The vendor nearly denied Captain Dean the opportunity to purchase an apple pie from his stall. Furthermore, he would've refused service to any Black Diamond crew member who tried to buy a pie on behalf of his captain. Dean apologized for his assumption and was grudgingly allowed to purchase not one but two pies. Though Dean's apology was accepted, when he was sent on his way, it was not without a scathing sideways glare from the merchant.

Captain Dean's attention to the cargo loading was briefly stolen by the sound of fireworks being set off over the governor's mansion. First Mate Sam walked up behind his brother and peered over his shoulder at the cargo manifest. "Everything about wrapped up? The crew was wanting to hit the pubs in town and celebrate," Sam mentioned.

"Yeah, almost done here. Send the crew out but warn them that anyone getting into trouble with the local authorities here will be left behind to sit in jail until we return," Dean replied. His eyes were still focused on the list before him until a thought suddenly struck him. "Wait, what are they celebrating?" he wondered.

"Word around town is, the governor's daughter, Rhaya, is engaged to be married," Sam answered. "Some rich, pretentious jerk named Ashton Kane, whose family owns a considerable chunk of land around here," he shrugged. "You gonna join us for a drink in the pubs?"

"I suppose I could be persuaded to have a drink or two. Sure, let's go," Dean grinned. "Need to get an early start tomorrow, though, at first light. I have a feeling we're really close to figuring out where 'The Shadow Pirate' hid his treasure," he explained as he and Sam walked towards the nearest pub.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya Payton stared out of her bedroom window with her arms crossed over her chest. Her soft pink lips were pressed together in a thin line in an attempt to control her growing anger. Of all the things her stepmother could have done, this, by far, was the worst. Rhaya's head whipped around at the sound of a knock at her door. "Go away, Carissa, I have no interest in speaking with you for the time being," Rhaya snapped. "Or ever again, if I had my way," she muttered under her breath.

Despite the warning, the heavy oak door to Rhaya's room creaked open. Instead of her stepmother, it was her father who poked his head into the room. Rhaya's shoulders sagged in relief, then she ran towards her father's outstretched arms. She threw her arms around his midsection as he enveloped her in his warm embrace. "Shh, everything will be all right, darling," he soothed.

At the gala, her stepmother, Carissa, had just announced Rhaya's engagement to Ashton Kane. He was from one of the older and wealthier families residing in Ochana, one with considerable land assets. Ashton stood next to Rhaya with a smug look on his face, like the cat that ate the canary. At the same time, Rhaya's face showed a look of utter shock. The shock turned to anger as Rhaya spun on her heel and stormed out, headed for the safety of her bedroom.

Rhaya vehemently shook her head against her father's chest, unconvinced that anything would be all right ever again. "She announced my engagement, Papa. Without consulting me," Rhaya scowled. She lifted her tear-stained face to look her father in the eye. "How could she do that? I don't want to marry Ashton, not now, and not ever! He's rude, cocky, self-centered, and he has a quick temper. Not to mention he's arrogant," Rhaya ranted. "You have to tell Carissa that I refuse to be shackled for the rest of my life to that--that--imbecile!"

Darius placed his hands on Rhaya's shoulders to try and calm her down. One hand reached up to cup his daughter's cheek. She resembled her mother so much with her long, wavy, strawberry blond hair and deep chocolate-brown eyes. It was sometimes painful for Darius to be holding his daughter and see so much of his wife. Rhaya's mother had disappeared when Rhaya was only eight years old and was presumed dead.

"Rhaya, I understand your feelings about Ashton. But dearest, I'm not going to be around forever, and I want to make sure you're taken care of when I'm gone. And Ashton, despite your.... well.... misgivings about him, has the means to ensure that you will have a comfortable life," Darius implored.

"Papa, please!" Rhaya exclaimed. "There has to be a way out of this. Will you.... will you please talk to Carissa and see if she'll agree to reconsider and end this unthinkable arrangement?" she begged.

Darius gazed lovingly at his daughter. His hand brushed the hair away from her face, his fingers tucking the stray locks behind her delicate ears. "I'll see what I can do, sweet pea. If Carissa won't end it outright, perhaps she'll agree to an extra-long engagement period," he grinned conspiratorially.

Rhaya fell back into her father's warm and safe embrace. "Thank you, Papa. I know that whatever happens, you will have done your best," she murmured.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the Governor's study

"How dare she embarrass me like that!" Carissa seethed. "Does Rhaya realize what kind of a fool she made out of me by running out after you proposed to her??" she snapped.

"It certainly didn't do wonders for my reputation either to be rejected like that, especially in public," Ashton retorted, hot on Carissa's heels. "I am considered to be one of, if not, the most eligible bachelors in Ochana," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, regardless of that, your agreement was with me first," Carissa reminded him. "And I will do everything in my power to make sure that Rhaya follows through on this arrangement," she vowed.

"Excellent. I must say, Rhaya is quite the spitfire, though I'm sure that in time, I'll find a way to cure her of that," Ashton smirked. "She will make a lovely hostess for our home," he replied smugly. "However, I can see that my first task will be to tame her wild nature," Ashton added.

"Good luck with that," Carissa muttered. "If you'll excuse me, I have guests to attend to and some damage control to do. I assume you know your way around here and won't need an escort?" she questioned.

"Of course, Lady Carissa," Ashton responded. He bowed as Carissa swept past him in a swish of the full skirt of her ball gown. As soon as she left, Damon Sharpe entered the study and walked over to where his employer was standing.

"Quite the situation you're in, Sir," Damon remarked.

Ashton waved his hand dismissively. "Pay no attention to Lady Carissa's squawking. Marriage to Rhaya is a means to an end. Lord Darius is in possession of a very valuable piece of parchment that will yield untold riches and power for us," he began.

"How exactly does this 'piece of parchment' do that?" Damon asked.

"My sources say it's a map to locate the treasure of Ridley 'The Shadow Pirate' Carlton. I have no idea how Lord Darius came to be in possession of such a valuable item, but I will have it," Ashton growled.

"What's your plan? You certainly can't come out and ask him for it," Damon reasoned.

Damon listened as Ashton explained his plan for obtaining the treasure map after the wedding. He mentioned his plans for securing the treasure, and what he was going to do about his "spirited" wife. Ashton concluded by saying that sometime after he returns from his honeymoon, he would force Lord Darius to resign as Governor.

"Once I have the treasure and I am named the new Governor, then I will rule all of Ochana. At that point, no one will be able to stop me," Ashton vowed, while Damon nodded in agreement. "Shall we return to the party?" he asked. Damon clacked together the heels of his boots, bowed, and strode out the door behind Ashton, then closed the door to the study behind him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Little did Ashton and Damon realize, but Rhaya overheard their entire conversation. She was on her way to confront Carissa for announcing her engagement without prior notice. When Rhaya saw Carissa leaving and Damon taking her place in the study, she decided to eavesdrop. Damon Sharpe was Ashton's most trusted advisor, and if the two of them were together, they had to be up to something.

Rhaya listened in horror as Ashton revealed his plot to Damon, which included her death under the guise of an 'accident at sea'. She knew at that moment that she could not spend one more night in this place because it no longer felt safe. Plus, Rhaya didn't trust Carissa not to try and rush the wedding preparations and force her into an expedited ceremony to Ashton.

Once Ashton and Damon had left the study, Rhaya slipped inside and walked over to her father's desk. She knew about the map that Ashton wanted to steal from her father. Darius had shown it to her many times over the years, as he wove his many tales of pirates and adventures at sea. Until a few moments ago, Rhaya had thought that it was some old prop to illustrate her father's stories. After what she'd just heard, she knew the map was real, and there was no way she was going to let Ashton get his hands on it.

Rhaya moved her father's chair out of the way and ran her hand along the underside of the drawer. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal of the key, and she dislodged it from its hiding place. She slipped the key into the middle left desk drawer and turned it slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Once the lock clicked open, Rhaya carefully slid the drawer open and removed the rolled-up parchment that she recognized as the map. She closed the drawer, locked it, and returned the key to its original place, sliding the chair back under the desk. Rhaya slowly opened the door and when she poked her head out into the hallway, she saw no one in the area. She rushed to the safety of her bedroom and bolted the door, intent on planning her escape.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as Rhaya got to her room, she stashed the rolled-up parchment in one of her trunks for the moment. She had just closed the lid and re-engaged the lock when there was a knock at her door. "Who is it?" she asked quickly.

"It's me, Darcy," she answered through the door. "Is everything all right, my lady? You haven't returned to the party, and your stepmother is becoming concerned."

Rhaya snorted under her breath before responding to her lady's maid. "I am a bit tired, you know, with all of the excitement from her announcement," Rhaya mentioned with a roll of her eyes. "Will you please let Carissa know that I have turned in for the evening?"

"Certainly, my lady. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?" Darcy asked.

Rhaya thought for a moment. "If you could come in and help me out of this gown, I would greatly appreciate it," she requested. Wherever Rhaya was planning on going, there would be no need for such elaborate garments that required assistance to put on and take off. Rhaya opened the door and allowed Darcy to enter the room.

Darcy got to work unfastening the buttons on Rhaya's gown, then moved to unlace the corset underneath. She grabbed Rhaya's nightgown from her closet and handed it to her. Rhaya finished her nighttime routine then slipped her nightgown over her head. Darcy picked up Rhaya's evening gown and hung it in the closet. "Will there be anything else, my lady?" she asked.

Rhaya took a quick glance around the room, then turned to face Darcy, her eyes shimmering in unshed tears. Rhaya was going to miss Darcy, who was more than just a lady's maid, she was Rhaya's friend and closest confidante. She only wished she could tell Darcy of her plans to leave Ochana. "No thank you, that will be all for this evening, Darcy," she murmured.

"You're welcome, my lady," Darcy replied, then paused halfway to the door. "Are you sure you're all right, Rhaya?" she wondered softly. At seeing the first tear rolling down Rhaya's cheek, Darcy rushed to her side and gathered Rhaya in her embrace. "Shh, 'twill be all right, sweetheart," she soothed as she rubbed circles on Rhaya's back. "I'll let Lady Carissa know that you have turned in for the evening and you are not to be disturbed," Darcy affirmed.

"Thank you so much, Darcy. For everything," she whispered. The two women stepped back from their embrace, with Rhaya wiping the tears from her eyes. Darcy gave Rhaya's hands a quick squeeze and then pecked her cheek before walking out, closing the door softly behind her.

As soon as Darcy was out of the room, Rhaya changed out of her nightgown and into a pair of trousers. She pulled on a white button-down shirt, then slipped her arms through the straps of a black leather, front-lacing corset. Rhaya grabbed a canvas bag from under her bed and hurriedly stuffed it with more clothes. In a smaller bag, she placed her toiletries, along with her comb, toothbrush, and hairbrush.

Rhaya stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her long hair, wondering if she should cut it now or stuff it under a hat. She decided to leave it as is for the moment, but quickly wove it into a braid. Rhaya thought it best to keep her options open regarding her hair in case she needed to change her appearance to escape detection.

After carefully placing the map in her bag, Rhaya secured the straps to close it, then took a longing look around her room. She hated the idea of leaving her father behind to deal with such vultures as Carissa and Ashton on his own. However, the fate that Ashton planned for Rhaya was far worse than her father having to put up with anyone's scheming ways. Once the treasure was found, Rhaya fully planned on returning to Ochana and banishing Carissa and Ashton from it. Forever. With her bag slung over her shoulder, Rhaya slipped out of her room and into the secret passageway that would lead down to the docks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While Sam was at the counter getting their drinks, Dean took the time to scan the pub for his crew members. For the most part, they all looked to be having a good time, generally behaving themselves. A few were sharing stories of past exploits, a couple of them each had a lady in his lap, no doubt bragging about something. They were a good group of men, hard workers that Dean was proud to serve with and have as part of his crew.

Sam returned to the table with two tankards of ale in his hand and a bowl of peanuts. "Here's to Ochana and the governor's daughter's engagement," Sam remarked.

Dean held up his drink in salute to Rhaya's engagement and took a healthy gulp of his ale. Tomorrow, he would resume the search for The Shadow Pirate's treasure, and he couldn't help but feel he was closing in on it. It was a quest he'd inherited from his father and former captain, John Winchester, one he was determined to see through to the end.

Sam didn't exactly agree with Dean's decision to continue the crusade their father had started, but he supported his captain. Sam wanted to get home to the wife he had waiting for him in Alcaria, who was pregnant with their first child. The happiness Sam felt at just thinking about his wife and unborn child was something he wanted for his brother. Unfortunately, there was yet to be a woman found who could understand and appreciate Dean's temperament and thirst for adventure.

"Dean, how long are you going to keep after this treasure? I mean, Dad crisscrossed the oceans for over twenty years, and still never found it. After Mom passed, he had the chance to settle down with that woman, Ellen, and happily live out the rest of his days with her. But no, he left her to go back out after the treasure, and she married someone else. Is that what you want? You still have time to find someone and the chance to have a family," Sam pointed out.

"C'mon, Sammy, you and I both know that I'm not cut out for a life like that. You are, and that's so great, but I'm not. Whoever I choose to settle down with will have to understand that I belong on the water, whether in this boat or any other. I have yet to meet a woman who can put up with me long enough to march my ass down the aisle," Dean remarked. "I'm beginning to think she doesn't exist," he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes, still of the belief that there was someone for everyone in the universe. It just sometimes it takes a little longer to find them, but they're out there. "You never know, Dean. Your soulmate may appear when you least expect it," Sam replied with a mischievous grin on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya crouched behind a tree near the docks, scanning the area for ships with no crew visible. Three ships were currently in port, one appropriately named The Dark Soul, which belonged to Ashton. There was also The Moon Raider, helmed by a visiting merchant, then a third ship. "Hmm, The Black Diamond," she read aloud after leaving her hiding place to stare up at the ship. She'd heard of the ship's captain, Dean Winchester, and that he was a fair and well-respected man. Realizing she might not have much time, Rhaya climbed aboard the ship with her bag and started looking for a place to hide.

She decided her best option was to hide in one of the lifeboats. Rhaya lifted the canvas cover and threw her gear into the small craft, then climbed in herself. She pulled out a blanket from her bag, then positioned the bag to use it as a pillow and curled up on the bottom of the boat. Rhaya drew the blanket around her shoulders and tucked it under her feet, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Rhaya thought about the events that led to her becoming a stowaway on The Black Diamond. Her day started with an unwelcome marriage proposal and ended with an escape from her home. She stared up at the canvas roof over her head, wondering what her father would say when her disappearance was discovered in the morning. She prayed he will understand and that he will remain safe while she's gone. By the time she doesn't show up for breakfast, Rhaya will already be at sea, far and away from her scheming stepmother and jackass fiancé.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As he had planned, Captain Dean was on deck at first light, calling out orders to his crew to begin the process of leaving port. Men scrambled around making sure everything was in place for them to begin their voyage. Heavy ropes that tethered the ship to the dock were unfastened and thrown into the water, then pulled up and stored onboard. Finally, the anchor was brought aboard, and The Black Diamond was launched back out to sea.

Captain Dean stood near the rail, one foot on top of a wooden crate as he gazed out over the open water. He took a deep breath of the salty sea air and exhaled with a smile. Captain Dean was never more at home than when he was on the ocean with his brother and their crew. He'd spent most of his life on a ship, chasing after the treasure of Ridley "The Shadow Pirate" Carlton.

"Smell that fresh air, Sammy," Captain Dean grinned. "Today's going to be a good day, I think. Clear skies, plenty of wind in our sails, calm seas.... can't get much better than that, I reckon," he mused.

"CAPTAIN DEAN!!" someone yelled from across the ship.

Sam gave his brother an amused sideways glance. "You were saying, Dean?" He watched as Dean started walking towards the shouting crewmember.

Dean turned around and pinned his brother to the rail with a glare. "Shut up, Sam," he muttered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya had been sleeping soundly in the bottom of the lifeboat, completely tuning out the noise that is usually present when a ship leaves port. Her warm blanket around her and the rocking of the ship as it bobbed up and down on the waves kept her from waking up. At least that was true until she heard a couple of crew members talking just outside of her makeshift bunk.

The men were talking about the events that occurred on their last night in port at Ochana. They competed with each other over how many pints of ale they drank, and how many ladies they danced with. There were even a few comments about her upcoming nuptials, and how nice it was, because it gave them all the more reason to drink. Rhaya rolled her eyes at that comment, thinking sarcastically how glad she was to have provided them an opportunity to get drunk.

Rhaya was so caught up in her own thoughts that she missed the sound of a match being struck by one of the men to light his pipe. It took a few seconds for the smoke to appear, but when it did, it seemed to head straight for Rhaya's hiding place. Her father used to have a pipe, but he'd had to give it up, because whenever she caught the smallest whiff of smoke, she sneezed. Rhaya knew that with one sneeze, her cover would be blown, and she would be discovered.

Unfortunately, luck was not on Rhaya's side, and the smoke slipped under the canvas. Rhaya felt her nose twitching, and the more she tried not to sneeze, the more her eyes watered with the effort. Finally, she could hold it in no longer, and she let loose with a set of three successive sneezes. All of a sudden, the canvas was ripped off the lifeboat and two burly-looking men were peering down at her over the edge of the boat.

"CAPTAIN DEAN!!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean strode over to where the two men stood by the lifeboat, trying to imagine what could be so important as to yell for him across the ship. "Gabriel, Balthazar, what seems to be the problem over here?" Dean asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"We have a stowaway, Cap'n Dean," Balthazar announced.

"A right pretty one, too," Gabriel added, waggling his eyebrows.

"What are you two idjits talking about?" Dean muttered, marching over to his men. A young woman cowering in the bottom of his lifeboat was the last thing he expected when he peered over the edge. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Get her out of there and bring her to my quarters," he commanded.

"Your quarters, Captain? Are ya sure, because if not, I'd be willing to share my quarters with her. You know, a simple case of ‘finders, keepers’," Gabriel smirked.

Dean did an about-face and was quickly nose-to-nose with Gabriel. "I'm the captain, she's a stowaway on my boat. I'm going to get some answers, and after that, I'll decide what happens to her. Is that clear?" Dean responded in an eerily calm voice.

"Crystal, Captain," Gabriel replied.

Dean turned back to resume his path to his quarters, where he was determined to get to the bottom of this matter. He wanted to know who she was and what the hell she was doing on his ship. Although, he had to admit, he had no idea yet what he was going to do with her. S'pose it depends on what she tells me, he thought. He figured whatever it was, it had to be pretty serious for her to risk her life stowing away on his ship. Beautiful woman like that, no telling what she was running away from, he mused.

By this time, Sam and Bobby had been brought up to speed on the situation. They arrived just in time to see Balthazar assisting Rhaya in climbing out of the boat. Once she was out and standing on the deck, Gabriel took one arm, while Balthazar took the other. Another crew member, Jack, picked up her bag, and they all headed for Captain Dean's quarters.

"Wait a minute, where are you taking her?" Bobby called as they walked past him.

"Captain's orders, he wants to talk with her in his quarters," Gabriel answered over his shoulder.

"Bobby, what's going on? Do you know her?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I think I do, and if she is who I think she is, things just got a whole lot more complicated around here," Bobby grumbled.

Part 2 here!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @lyarr24 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @jensengirl83 @wayward-dreamer @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride​ @ejlovespie @deandreamernp @emoryhemsworth @never--doubt @winchest09 @watermelonlipstick @makeadealwithdean @krazykelly @imherefordeanandbones @rooweighton @colereads @soaringeag1e @sams-sass​

[upalldown]

Wilco - Cousin

Studio album number thirteen from pioneering folk rock band produced by Cate Le Bon

7/13

I was quite wary of Wilco’s direction nearly a decade ago - not only was Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’s brilliance far in the rearview mirror by that point, but the releases of Star Wars and Schmilco didn’t inspire great confidence. On their own merits, I’ll defend both of those records as pretty great, but the former’s half-baked jam session feel and the latter’s laconic vibe (not helped by a throwaway album title) both gave the sense that Wilco was settling into a late-career phase of simply resting on laurels. Since that time, I’ve been happy to be proven wrong.

The band’s resurgence began with 2019’s Ode to Joy - one of Wilco’s most mellow records, but its delicate nature doesn’t obscure the catchiness, beauty, and emotion present in spades. This was followed by 2022’s Cruel Country, a sprawling double album advertised as the group’s long-awaited return to country, the genre that spawned them long ago. While it did add a steady touch of roots and twang, most of the expansive tracklist fit rather well alongside the mild fare of recent Wilco and solo Jeff Tweedy efforts, but if the marketing felt a touch overblown, the record still delivered, a rock-solid eighty-or-so minutes anchored by multiple career highlights. And now, only a year and change later, we have Cousin, the third installment of a perhaps overlooked but undeniably impressive run by one of contemporary indie’s iconic groups.

Cousin is an incredible-sounding album. By that, I don’t mean that the ten songs here are reliably great (but they are!), or that the musicians on the LP play their instruments well (they do!), or that the record is arranged perfectly into a nicely-flowing forty-three minute listen (it is!). Rather, it’s the standout production job which proves particularly notable, courtesy of Welsh musician Cate Le Bon. Le Bon’s involvement itself is a relevant departure, as she is the first outside producer on a Wilco album since 2007’s Sky Blue Sky. As someone without any expertise in production at all, but who is in possession of two working ears, I’d say the band hit a home run. Not only do the songs sound lovely, but the colorful, glossy, shimmery-ness which results gives the music of Cousin a distinct identity in its own right.

More on that last note - I single out the production so heavily not just because it’s wonderful, but also because in most other respects Cousin feels like more-or-less a “standard Wilco effort”. There are some “different” songs like the exceptional opener “Infinite Surprise” or the future classic “Pittsburgh”, both of which have an artsy tinge that the band have often wielded at their finest, and mark a transition from the more rustic feel of last year’s record, but a good chunk of the tracklist could’ve been pulled from various other Wilco albums - “Evicted” seems like a perfect Ode to Joy cut, for example, and the noisier title track wouldn’t be out-of-place on Star Wars. However, they all work together nicely, buoyed by the kind of drifting and ethereal vibe which the production style furthers.

All in all, the vibrancy of the cover art couldn’t feel more appropriate, with Cousin coming across as drenched in warmth - if still rather melancholy, it seems notably bright following the oft-grim Cruel Country. There may only be a few songs here which will take a place among Wilco’s finest, but this is a consistently strong album, and the band has never sounded better, at least from a studio recording perspective. And Tweedy’s songwriting remains in top form - the apathetic delivery of mass shooting-pondering “Ten Dead” hits harder than the more obvious enraged approach likely would’ve, while closer “Meant to Be” captures a sense of yearning beautifully - “our love is meant to be”, he sings, expressing the thought more as an aspiration than a fact. I won’t try to assess where Cousin fits within the panoply of Wilco albums, but it’s another worthy addition to a burgeoning discography. It’s a wonderful feeling when an old favorite is still in a groove and pumping out quality music after so many years. Here’s hoping that there’s decades more in the tank.

[aeaeaexxzd]

cant wait to do my master in television writing and producing next yr

Season 6 of The Walking Dead should’ve been the final season. For one, accuracy to the source material is not relevant because the televised remake was never intended to be from the very start. 

Secondly, there’s a reason they chose this black and white timeline system in the 6th season, remember that ? I don’t necessarily fuck with it but it’s a marker, it says something, so it doesn’t make any sense, stylistically, to go in that direction and then abandon it along the way, unless it had actual weight.

I’m aware of, and I understand the cultural impact that the character Negan had, it revived the show right after it would’ve been appropriate to end it. But I have a tendency to believe that if you can’t do something right with good intentions then you shouldn’t do it at all. Negan worked, he became even more iconic and marketable than Rick, and that’s all that mattered.

And in hindsight, I think that Negan’s storyline could’ve easily been told in the earlier seasons. He could have happened soon after the The Governors storyline or even replaced it completely, seeing as he wasn’t as much of a hit anyways. 

Commercially, ending a show like this after 6 or 7 seasons doesn’t work, we’re talking about money. And it’s when a story becomes solely about profit, that it truly dies, and that’s when watching a show like this becomes a chore for me. I’m not seeing quality, because I’m not seeing love for the story, for the characters, and for all the people who have to work on the project. 

The longer you make a show like The Walking Dead last, the more you risk ruining it. A lot of loyal viewers of audiences from many different shows can vouch for this about their favorite pieces of media. They’ll say “it got kinda bad towards the end” or “I stopped after x season”. I know for a fact that Glenn’s death on the show in season 7 lowered the viewership count significantly. Not to mention it’s release in 2016 was facing new competitors like Stranger Things, Lucifer, the Crown (Netflix), Westworld (HBO) and many more. It’s blatant the the show lost it’s relevancy. Nowadays it’s barely talked about, even less with the spectacular debut of the series adaptation of The Last of Us. People were craving a story like that, (survivalism, the apocalypse, love, found family) not because there hadn’t been one in a while, but because the one that already existed was failing. It’s easy to ruin a show. It’s easy to let things crumble and to make the wrong decisions. 

If you’re going to make a show last as long as 11 seasons, you have to do it right, and it has to be worth it. The audience matters. Fans and casual viewers alike give TV shows life and reputation. You can’t give them what they want, but you can’t punish them either. I genuinely don’t understand the choice behind this. People would have remembered The Walking Dead for what it was : an excellent apocalyptic, horror drama and thriller and ending the show at 6 seasons, or even 7 would not have hurt anyone, especially not the viewers.  

It seems that these days good stories are either cut short or prolonged until they are no longer so. There’s TV and there’s storytelling. You can have storytelling without TV but you can’t have TV without storytelling. And one of the main rules about telling a story is that it needs a good beginning just as much as it needs a good end. This is why you bring up Breaking Bad. This is why you bring up Avatar the Last Airbender. When a story ends where it’s supposed to you are left with good memories and accolades from everyone. It’s almost silly that a show about corpses walking around would end up one itself.