#just scrolled by back to back images of one in a cowboy hat and another with a Texas belt buckle and didn't burst out laughing

[babybrotherism]

it's a testament to j2 that they can be so aggressively Texas and im still so very fond of them

[hispipsqueak]

Your Cowboy

(Ushijima x F!Reader) NSFW

Summary

Ushijima and you have been happily married for a while and everything is perfect. But sometimes, you just want more.

A/N : Was this written just to satisfy my deep desire to see Ushijima in a cowboy hat? Yes. Am I mad about it? NO! (Also, if you have any Ushi dressed as a cowboy, my inbox is open ;) )

TW: daddy kink, unprotected sex, rougher sex (not BDSM, but rougher than usual), Ushi in a cowboy hat

Ushijima was, in all aspects, an incredible husband. 

He loved you and spoiled you with beautiful gifts, because you were his treasure. He would come home to you cooking dinner and wrap his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your neck before he would go shower and you never felt neglected. He was devoted, handsome, sweet, loving, the whole nine yards.

There was just one tiny little issue.

Ushijima was a little...vanilla.

The sex was amazing, don’t get it wrong, but it was always too perfect. Too sweet and pure. He would kiss down your body and tell you he loved you while rocking you gently on his cock. Missionary, loving...but always the same.

It was nice, but sometimes you just wanted something a little wilder. Ushijima was a large guy and sometimes you wish he would slam you on the bed, or wrap his large hands around your throat. You wanted him to...well, to put it plainly, to fuck you. 

But you knew Ushi wasn’t really that type of guy, so you decided to meet your needs virtually. He had just left to work and you headed back to bed with your laptop, scrolling through a porn site.

“Why does every girl in these videos look like they are being tortured? Pass...incest? Eughh...pass. No, no, God no, no...wait.” You muttered before finding stopping on a video titled “Back in the Saddle.”

You clicked on it and some cheesy western music started playing before a buxom blonde girl in denim shorts came on screen talking in an overexaggerated southern accent, in an old style saloon. You were about to click away to continue your search when the man walked into the shot.

He was tall, and built like a Greek God. He reminded you a lot of your husband actually. His muscles were on full display in his open flannel shirt, denim jeans that hugged his thighs and on top of his dark hair, he wore a deep brown cowboy hat. He pulled the girl to him like a ragdoll and kissed down her body. She ripped open his shirt and let out an exaggerated moan. As the cowboy lifted her and placed her on the bar. He tipped his hat before tearing open her shirt and ravishing her. You watched in amazement. The acting was terrible, the moans were over the top. But the image of your husband, your Toshi, in a cowboy hat, with sweat glistening down his chest as he slammed into you wouldn’t leave your mind.

You turned the video off as you began to run your fingers down your slit, rubbing at your folds, imagining Ushijima taking you as he wanted. You slipped a finger inside as you thought of him gripping your hips and pounding into you. You wanted him to fuck you sore. Another finger went inside as you grinded against your hand, dreaming of his thick cock. Your thumb grazed your clit in soft circles and you felt yourself come undone. You let out a soft cry as you gushed around your fingers. You sighed, suddenly sleepy and pulled the blanket around you. You wanted him to dominate you and use you for his pleasure, and you wanted him to do it in a goddamn cowboy hat.

-----

Ushijima came home, tired from work, but excited to see you. He walked in the door, expecting to see you in the kitchen or lounging on the couch. 

“Princess?” He called, putting his bag down by the door and slipping off his shoes. He walked around searching for you, and opened the bedroom door. He saw you sleeping under your dark burgundy comforter and smiled at how beautiful you looked. He walked in silently and pulled your laptop from the bed to place it on it’s charger. He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead before walking out and shutting the door.

Ushijima pulled the laptop out and placed it on the desk in your home office. He plugged in the charger and opened the laptop to make sure it was charging. 

What he didn’t expect was to be face to face with a woman orgasming on the screen. He quickly slammed the screen shut. Why was there porn on your computer? His face turned red. Was he not enough for you? Maybe he was spending too much time at work, or not making you feel special. Or maybe you weren’t enjoying sex. He looked around and closed the door, making sure it was shut tight, before opening the laptop again. If he wasn’t pleasing you, he was gonna learn what you liked.

Ushijima watched as the man in the video grabbed the woman by her hips and plowed into her. He cocked his head to the side. Did you like that? Ushijima was never rough with you because he didn’t want to hurt you. But if that’s what you needed, he would do anything to make you happy. He continued watching.

The cowboy in the video tipped his hat before going down on the woman. She gave a long moan begging her “cowboy” to “give it to her”. Ushijima considered taking notes, but decided against it. He put his head in his hand and continued watching, not noticing the door to the office click open.

“Toshi...what are you doing?” You asked, half-asleep and a little confused. The woman on the laptop screen chose that moment to let out an exaggerated moan. “Are...you...are you watching porn?”

Ushijima jumped and quickly closed the laptop. “I…”

His normally stoic face was pink with a heavy blush and he seemed at a loss for words.

“Um…” You started before he interrupted.

“Do I not satisfy your sexual urges?” He asked suddenly. Now it was your turn to blush.

“What, oh my....Toshi! Is that the stupid cowboy video?” You asked, your eyes widening. He nodded, a little ashamed to have been caught snooping.

“I apologize, my love. I did not mean to invade your privacy. But if I am not pleasing you, please tell me.” He said in his normal voice, swallowing hard.

You fought the urge to cradle him in your arms. 

“Toshi...you are the absolute love of my life. Don’t get me wrong, sex with you is AMAZING. Sometimes though...I just wish you might want to be a little rougher with me?” You mumbled the last bit.

He looked up at you. He suddenly stood, and towered over you. You looked up towards him and he pressed you against the wall with a quick kabedon. You shivered, and your mouth dropped in surprise. Ushijima stared at you the way a predator stares at prey. He then pulled away and said “I’ll be right back.”

“TOSHI?! What...where…”

He turned back around and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be right back, princess. I need you to wait for me in the bedroom.” 

He walked out the door and you could hear the jingling of keys and your front door close. Confused, and flustered, you decided to trust him and headed to the bedroom to wait.

40 minutes later you heard your front door open.

“Princess. You better be in that bedroom.” Ushijima said, his deep voice brimming with authority. You heard him place his stuff down and walk towards the bedroom. You sat up on the edge of the bed and he swung the door open.

Ushijima was standing in the doorway with a red flannel shirt and on his head...was a black cowboy hat.

Your face reddened. 

“Toshi…”

“Listen to me. You are mine. And I’m going to make sure you know it.” He said, his baritone voice causing your stomach to flutter. He pushed you back against the bad and climbed on top of you. 

He whispered in your ear, “If it gets too much, let me know and I’ll stop.” You nodded and gave a small smile. He started leaving hot kisses down your neck, and gripped the front of your shirt. He pulled it, ripping the material in two pieces with his bare hands and you gulped.

This was a new side of him.

He kissed down your chest and cupped your breasts in his hands. He squeezed them roughly leaving small bites on the tops of them as he worked off your bra. He tossed it to the side and began to lick and suck on your nipples, pinching and tugging wherever his mouth wasn’t. You let out a low groan as he sucked dark purple marks onto your skin. He pushed you into the mattress, as his kisses got lower. His hand held your hip down as he licked and nipped at your tummy. You pulled off his hat, and tossed it to the side of the bed.

He pushed your thighs apart and you could feel his breath on your clothed cunt. 

“Fuck, princess. Let me taste you.”

He pulled your panties down your thighs and ran his finger over your folds, collecting the arousal that was dripping from you. He pushed his finger to your lips.

“Taste yourself.”

You obediently opened your mouth and sucked on his thick finger. You could taste the sweet and slight tang of your arousal and he pressed down on your tongue, causing drool to slip out of your mouth.

“Such a messy girl. You’re so wet from this.” Ushijima chuckled. He pulled his finger out of your mouth and brought it back to your pussy. He slowly rubbed up and down before licking a thick stripe across your cunt. You clenched the sheets as he began to lick and suck at your sex. He let out a deep groan and the vibrations caused your head to spin.

“Toshi, that feels so fucking good.” You yelped as he continued to lap up your juices. Your eyes fluttered as he darted his tongue inside. “Fuck...daddy, don’t stop!”

Ushijima could feel his cock grow harder at the sudden nickname. He growled into your tight little hole. 

“Cum for daddy, princess.”

You felt your cunt tighten before releasing all over his tongue. He moaned at the taste and licked you clean.

He sat up and grabbed your face, pushing you on to your knees.

“Show me how much you love daddy’s cock.”

Your fingers fumbled with his belt and you pulled out his thick cock. Ushijima’s cock was massive, thick with two veins running on either side that led to the soft pink tip. You opened your mouth wide in an attempt to fit him in. 

“That’s it. Good job princess. Suck daddy’s cock.” Ushijima gripped your hair, pulling you closer. He could hear you gag on it, but, remembering your words, he continued to force it down your throat.

“This is what you wanted, Y/N? You wanted to feel my dick in your throat. You wanted me to use your body to please me?” Ushijima asked, panting. 

You moaned and tried to nod around his cock. Seeing him so feral and taking complete control was so fucking hot and you could tell he was enjoying it too.

“Fuck that feels good. You are so good for me. Swallow around my cock, princess. Make daddy cum down your throat.” Ushijima grunted, feeling his jaw tighten as he continued to fuck your mouth.

You cupped his balls and gently massaged them in your hand, lightly tugging and he let out a sharp hiss.

“FUCK...you are pleasing me so well, princess. This is incredible.” He pulled you off his cock.

“But I want to cum in that tight pussy. I want to claim what’s mine.” His eyes burned with determination and he lifted you onto the bed on all fours. He slid his cock up your slit and placed one of his strong hands on your lower back, with the other pulling your hair, causing your back to arch.

“Tell me what you want, love.” Ushijima whispered.

You whimpered.

“Please...fuck me daddy.”

He slammed into you and you cried out. His cock was so thick, you could feel your pussy clench around it automatically. He pulled it out and you could feel the veins drag along your walls, before he pumped back into you.

“Who do you belong to, princess?” Ushijima asked as he pounded into your cunt.

“Y-you daddy. I belong to...you.!” You sobbed out as stars danced in front of your eyes.

“That’s right. You...belong...to...me.” He punctuated each word with an even deeper thrust. You felt your body tense up and your eyes rolled back.

“G-gonna cum...so good...ahh.” You moaned, clawing at your bedsheets.

“I’m close as well, princess. Cum with me. Cum with Daddy.” Ushijima growled and you felt yourself combust.

“I - I - I’m CUMMING!” You wailed and Ushijima let out a low moan before you felt his cock twitch inside you. You could feel his searing hot cum pump into you, deeper than ever and your body shivered. He gripped you tight, leaving small finger shaped bruises you knew would show up tomorrow as he unloaded into you.

You both panted, coming down from your respective highs and he slid out of you. He pulled you to his chest and wrapped his biceps around you. You both laid in bed, sweaty and sticky.

“Was that good?” Ushijima asked, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead. You looked up at him with dazed eyes.

“That was amazing, Toshi.”

He had a soft smile on his face. He then suddenly reached over and pulled the cowboy hat from where it laid on the floor.

“So should I keep the hat?”

[theoriginalladya]

Dinosaur Brain

I have the most amazing friends, I swear!

The following ficlet evolved out of conversations about Rhys Shepard and Grunt and dinosaurs ... and then it had to have some commissioned ART, too!  Fabulous art by @thepixelagora​ who somehow managed to take my incoherent ramblings about this and turn it into the absolutely most perfect picture of events!!!!  Thank you so much for lending me your talents!!  

There is more to this story, but it wasn’t quite working how I wanted, so the rest will come later.  In the meantime, have the madness that started it all!!!

The story can also be found on AO3 here.

~~~

Rhys drops into an empty seat and starts eating immediately, his focus less on the food and more on the datapad in his hand. Across from him, a chair squeaks and shadows flicker in his peripheral vision.  Still, he pays little heed to the disruption until…

“You going all dinosaur brain?”

He would prefer to flat out ignore the question, but there are times that’s worse than responding to it.  Rhys doesn’t bother to look up from the pad.  “Not this again.”

Kaidan’s chuckle of amusement drifts across the table. “What?”

“You know what.”

Kaidan leans over and stabs a piece of Rhys’ meal, retreating quickly.  He chews with a thoughtful look in his eye, then swallows.  “Tell me honestly, when have you never been thinking about them?”

“What’s a dinosaur?”

The table wobbles as Grunt slams his tray down and sits next to Rhys.  This time, it’s Kaidan who is taken aback and Rhys whose interest perks up.  “You want to know what dinosaurs are?”

“Here we go,” Kaidan mutters, rolling his eyes and reaching for his coffee.

Rhys ignores him and turns to face Grunt. “O’Keer never imprinted them on you?”

Grunt shakes his massive head back and forth. “What are they?”

Rhys peeks over at Kaidan, his blue eyes sparkling with delight.  “Translated from the Latin, the word means ‘terrible lizard,’” he explains.  “They are creatures that lived millions of years ago on Earth.”  He grabs his datapad, pointedly ignoring the sputter of choked laughter from Kaidan, and scrolls to the end of the device before passing it over to Grunt.  “This is a Triceratops.  About eight meters long and three meters tall.  They are known for having three horns on their head; one long one above each eye and a smaller one over its nose, as well as a large frill made out of bone.”

Grunt examines the picture on the datapad then glances back over at Rhys.  “Looks like a mighty warrior,” he concludes with a sage nod.

Rhys grins.  “Actually, they weren’t the fighters.  Not unless they were attacked, of course.” He takes back the datapad and sets it aside.  “The real fighters were the Velociraptors and Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“You know,” Kaidan muses as he sits back in his seat, “I’m going to tell Wrex you’re calling him a tyrant again.”

“Oh, shut up!” Rhys hisses over at him.  He spends the next several minutes explaining about the two different dinosaurs to Grunt before he reaches into his pocket and nabs the Deinonychus claw he always carries with him.  “This is from a much smaller dinosaur, similar to the Velociraptor, called Deinonychus.  I found this on our family’s ranch when I was a kid.”  

Grunt takes the claw and squints at it, holding it up to the light and tilting his head.  “Doesn’t look very dangerous.”

Rhys chuckles.  Pushing his chair back, he stands and lifts a hand to about chest level, just above his elbow.  “They were only this tall when adults,” he explains.  “A smaller version of the Velociraptor, if you will, but older.  They were also very bird-like.”

“You know, Shepard,” Garrus comments from down the table, “if you keep making references like that, I’m going to start taking it personally.”

Kaidan almost spits out his coffee.  Rhys just grins as he retakes his seat.  

Grunt, however, stares at the datapad.  “So, what did you do with them?”

Kaidan starts to laugh uncontrollably.  Rhys kicks his leg beneath the table.  “We didn’t do anything to them.  They died out over time, long before humans were around.  We’ve spent centuries searching for their bones, fossilized in the earth.”  

The krogan sets the datapad down.  “Too bad.  I would have liked to go up against one of them.”

 ~

 A week later, while on duty in the CIC with his attention focused on planets, minerals, and potential prothean ruins, Grunt comes thundering his way through. “Shepard!”

Caught in the middle of running a scan, Rhys cannot give the krogan his full attention, and calls back over his shoulder, “Yes?”

Grunt makes some sort of disgruntled sound. “Shepard, what’s a ‘shark?’”

With his fingers flying over the haptic keyboard, Rhys’ reply comes automatically.  “Water dinosaur.”  A heartbeat passes, and he thinks about what he said before turning around to find the krogan standing there, a piece of paper in his hand.  It is an image of a Great White shark.

Kaidan is just exiting the cockpit and happens by during the conversation.  Giving Rhys a bemused look, he replies, “Really?”

Rhys shrugs back at him, but Grunt grins, a spark of delight in his eyes, and turns back toward the lift, chuckling in his usual, deep, rumbly manner.  It’s quite adorable, even if it does leave both men scratching their heads.

 ~

 Late in the Collector mission

Stops at the Citadel are opportunities Rhys never ignores.  This time around, however, he isn’t tracking down prothean specialists at the university or the archives, but shopping.  He returns to the Normandy a few hours before required, not surprised to find the CIC nearly empty as he walks through, bags in hand.  What does surprise him, however, is when the lift doors open and Kaidan steps out.  The other man sizes up the current situation and his hand shoots back out to hold the doors open for Rhys.  “What are those?” he asks, nodding at the bags Rhys carries.

Hopping inside, Rhys shrugs.  “Books.”  

Kaidan chuckles.  “Obviously.”  He reaches into a bag and tugs one free.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Rhys clarifies.  “On dinosaurs.”

The switch from amusement to… well, whatever the look in his eyes is now – half bemusement, half irritation? – is instantaneous.  Kaidan drops the book back into the bag without looking at it and slams his hand on the buttons.  “You need a fucking lab, I swear.”

Rhys chuckles.  “I tried, but Mordin won’t share.”  He’s the first one through the doors when the lift stops outside of Kaidan’s cabin.  The new arrangement works out better than expected, at least until this topic comes up in discussion.  “Besides, these aren’t for me.”

“No?”  Kaidan swipes his hand over the door’s interface.  “Who?”

“Grunt.”

Almost as if he’s listening in to their conversation, a soft, “Hehehehehe,” whispers through the walls of the ship as they enter the room.  

 ~

 2186, Citadel, during the Reaper War

While Kaidan heads off to do Spectre things, Rhys makes his way to Huerta Memorial Hospital.  After the incident on Mars and his time spent there, the desire to visit isn’t exactly thrumming inside of him, but Grunt is now a patient there, and it’s more important to check on how the krogan is doing.  Wrex’s assurances that Grunt is fine aside, Rhys decides to check in on him anyway, just to be sure.  Kaidan promises to meet up with him as soon as his responsibilities are taken care of, hopefully in time to visit the krogan as well.  

Entering the critical care ward, Rhys notices not much has changed in the weeks since his departure.  In many ways, it reminds him of the rest of the Presidium at the moment; hiding the true nature of what is happening in the Galaxy outside of the Serpent Nebula behind common, everyday things like Blasto movies, home redecoration conventions, and the latest varren races.  Nothing like sticking their collective heads in the sand.

Rhys enters to find Grunt sitting up in bed.  There are makings of a few scars – two across his face, another on his upper left arm, and one more across the broad expanse of his chest – but he appears greatly improved since receiving his injuries on Utukku.  As Rhys enters, Grunt slowly turns his bandaged head in his direction.  His voice is on the weak side, but there is an urgency to it that confuses Rhys at first.  “Shepard.”

Rhys takes that as permission to enter, removing his cowboy hat in the process.  “Hey, Grunt. How’re you doing?”

Grunt ignores the question.  “Shepard, what’s a kakliosaur?”

Startled, it takes Rhys a minute to digest the full question.  In the space between, he pulls over a chair and takes a seat.  “It’s… a krogan dinosaur, I guess,” he replies after a time. “Remember the Triceratops? Akin to that, I guess you could say.”

An added spark of life brightens the krogan’s blue eyes.  “Krogan had dinosaurs?”

Rhys chuckles but nods.  “I would point out that krogan are dinosaurs, but yeah. They had creatures very similar to Earth’s dinosaurs.”

Lying back, Grunt’s eyes close, but he manages a small laugh as he drifts back off to sleep.  “Hehehehehe.”  Rhys takes his leave a few minutes later.

After catching up with one another, Rhys and Kaidan reboard the Normandy.  Halfway through the CIC, Rhys announces, “We have a mission.”

They’re just passing Traynor’s station and she hands Kaidan several datapads.  Absently, he replies, “I know.”

Rhys sighs.  “A new one, I mean.”

That, apparently, is enough to catch the man’s attention, and he glances up.  “What?”

Using his chin to point to the galaxy map, Rhys continues, “We need to go to the Phoenix System.  It’s… important.”

Kaidan frowns.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

A grin slips across Rhys’ face.  He can’t help it.  “We are going dinosaur hunting.  Krogan dinosaur hunting, to be specific.”

The blank look in Kaidan’s eyes as he blinks owlishly at him makes it clear he has no idea what Rhys is talking about.  Either that or he thinks Rhys has lost his mind. Maybe both.  “Check your messages.”

There is a hint of apprehension in his steps as Kaidan walks over to his terminal and retrieves them.  “Shit!”

Rhys tips his hat just a bit and turns toward the elevator.  “See? Told you.  Anyway, let me know when we get there.  I know the director of the museum.”

He’s just stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the cabin when Kaidan calls over, “Have I mentioned you’re a menace?”

Rhys’ grin widens and he winks at him.  “Not this week…”

[something-tofightfor]

Four Times Over

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 6101

Rating: M (language, mention of sex, mention of drug use)

Author’s Note: I honestly think I might be unreasonably in love with this version of Logan.

Halloween one-shot #3, for our favorite #Blackhat. (Here Comes the Sun-iverse)

Summary: Planning costumes for you and Logan to wear to a charity event isn’t as easy as you might think. 

Tag list: (Please let me know if you wanna be added, removed, or moved to a different category!)

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie  @blah-blah-fuckit-shit  @dreams-with-thoughts  @wangmangagavroche​ @malionnes

Logan Delos:

@nananananananananananabatman​ @damalseer​ @chibiyanai​ @life-is-a-melody @songtoyou​

No Specific List:

@banditthewriter @padfootagain @madamrogersstorytelling @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x@rageshots @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @traeumerinwitzhelden @ladyblablabla @dreamwritesimagines @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf​ @honeyydippaa​ @binbonsadoration​ @ificouldhelpyouforget​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ms-delos​@jeanettexkillian​ @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0​ @projectcampbell​ @giggleberts​

“We’re not doing a couple’s costume, that’s stupid.” Logan was laying on his back on your bed, one arm behind his head as he looked over at you. “I have no problem wearin’ a costume, it’s for charity, but do you really want to be that couple?” You continued to scroll down on your tablet, eyes on the screen as you looked at pictures of people in costume. Logan… 

 “Logan, we are that couple. Look at what we’ve… what you’ve... “ You raised your fingers from the surface of the screen, looking at the rings on them and failing to keep the smile from your face. “I hate to tell you, Logan Delos, but you’re not the -” Logan shifted onto his side, reaching over to pull the tablet from your hands and setting it down on the nightstand. “Logan, what?” He moved closer to you, lips pressing against the bare skin of your shoulder as the hand that had crossed your body gripped your hip, holding you in place. 

 “I’m not what?” His voice low in your ear, Logan pulled you toward him easily. “Tell me what you were going to say.” Sighing, you turned your face toward his, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. You kissed him quickly, wrinkling your nose as you pulled away, Logan leaning closer to follow your movement. 

 “You’re not a playboy anymore, Logan.” He sighed, kissing you again and you felt his hand slide up your back,fingertips gliding up your spine. “The way you are with me is -”

 “It’s the way I’m always gonna be around you,” he mumbled, lips moving over your cheek and toward your jaw, your head settling against the pillow. “So get used to it.” He grinned, pulling back and licking his lips, hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you. “You married me, remember? I’m no different now -”

 “That’ true.” You blinked, staring up at your husband. “I did.” I would again, but there’s no reason to tell you that. “I’m just saying, Logan, that I’m sure people expect us to show up in some dumb couples costume because…” You closed your eyes, thinking. Logan had been to Halloween parties in the past, showing up in costume with someone on his arm, but they’d never matched, never gone as a pair, and you wanted to be the exception to that rule. I can’t tell him that, he’ll think I’m being ridiculous. And you knew that you were, especially as his lips descended to meet yours again and Logan moved on the bed to cover your body with his, the most welcome weight in the world. I just have to figure out the right costumes for us. 

 --- 

 “Any progress on the costume front?” You were sitting at Juliet’s kitchen table for a drink, Isaac and Emily playing in the other room while Mark and Logan watched a football game. “Mark and I picked the ones that we’re wearing.” She leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “He’s going as a cowboy, which is kind of…” She laughed and you did too, knowing that Juliet’s memories of Westworld featured a lot of cowboys. 

 “I suggested that to Logan, that I’d dress like an actual cowgirl, and I thought his head was going to explode.” You’d also suggested that Logan simply pretend he was in Westworld for the event, but your husband had shaken his head, mouth pressed in a firm line. “No. That’s… only there. You know I can’t think about you in a hat and boots, let alone see you in ‘em for so long without helpin’ you take it all off. Gotta keep that separate. No cowboy costumes for either of us.”  “What are you going as, Juliet?” She leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling. 

 “I’ve finally lost all of the weight I gained with Isaac, and Mark’s been… really encouraging about it.” Juliet took a breath, clearing her throat. “I know I’ve got two kids, but I still want to…” She shook her head and you heard the hesitation in her voice. “We won’t have the kids that weekend, and I just…” She’s embarrassed that she wants to wear something revealing? “Mark and I always joke about the fact that I wrangle the three of them so well, and so… I’m going as a ringmaster, but it’s…” Juliet pulled her phone out, opening her photos and swiping through them. “He’s always going to tell me that I look… will you tell me what you think? I can’t ask Logan, that would be weird, but…” Juliet slid the phone across the table toward you, a nervous look on her face. 

 “Juliet, you look amazing.” Your eyes widened at the image on the screen; Juliet in her costume, the tri-fold full body mirrors allowing you to see all angles of it. “Your chest looks amazing with that jacket.” You pinched the screen to zoom in, shaking your head. “Is that a corset?” She nodded and you spent a few more seconds looking at the picture. From the tall black heels and shimmering stockings to the highwaisted shorts and the tiny hat perched on her head, every piece of the costume suited the woman. “That’s a great look, Juliet. Everyone’s going to be staring at you.” 

 “Really?” She breathed out a sigh of relief, taking her phone back from you. “I’m so worried, but I just…” She hung her head for a moment, pausing. “William’s going to be at this party, it couldn’t be helped since he’s working for Nexcone now, and I also want to…” You wanna stick it to him, I get it. Show off what he’s missing out on, even though it’s been years. But you hadn’t known William would be there and the information was a shock to you, even though it was likely that Logan had known, as he’d received the guest list a week prior. Wonder why he didn’t tell me. “Hey.” She put both hands flat on the table, cocking her head toward the fridge. “Let’s get another drink and we can brainstorm for you guys.” 

 --- 

 “What about…” You sighed, fingers trailing in the water. “A Ghostbuster?” Logan shook his head. “A… priest?” He laughed and you did too, knowing that it was a no. Nothing priest-like about this one. “Gangster? Doctor? Han Solo? Luke Skywalker?” Logan paused as you said the last two, his arms going still beneath the surface. Maybe? 

 “No, I don’t like any of those, they’re too simple.” Give me something to work with, Delos. Come on. “It’s gotta be something that no one else will do.” You were about to open your mouth and suggest that Logan dress up as a police officer or some military member but decided not to, knowing that if you saw him in any kind of uniform, you wouldn’t make it out of the house to get to the party. 

 “Logan, we only have like ten days to decide, we’re running out of time, and you’re not being helpful.” The float you were on squelched as you flipped onto your stomach, crossing your arms under your chin as you stared at your husband, floating a few feet from you with his arms curled around a beach ball in the surprisingly warm October sunlight. “This is impossible. You’re impossible.” He laughed, using one hand to slick his hair back and away from his face, the thinly stubbled cheeks rounded as he smiled. “

 “Why don’t we decide on your costume, hmm?” He kicked beneath the water, floating closer to you and letting the ball go in favor of crossing his arms at the head of your float, face only a few inches from yours. “Got any ideas for yourself?” I have plenty, but you’re not going to like any of them. Logan simultaneously wanted to show you off and keep you to himself, and while he didn’t mind you flashing skin when necessary - two of your wedding dresses had been strapless and one had an open back - you knew that he preferred when you weren’t on display for people that weren’t him. But it’s Halloween, that’s the point. “Well?” You stayed silent for a few seconds, thinking, as you watched droplets of water roll down is lightly tanned skin. 

 “A witch?” He wrinkled his nose. “A skeleton? A cat? A princess?” Logan licked his lips. 

 “A sexy witch? A sexy skeleton? A sexy cat?” You laughed, eyes closing as you lowered your head to the raft beneath you. “What about a sexy firefighter? Or… Little Red Riding Hood, or…”

 “I could go as Rapunzel, Lo.” You looked back up at him, lips twitching. “Or even as Belle, you seemed to -” You were interrupted as Logan swiftly flipped the raft, dumping you into the water, but you surfaced laughing, Logan’s long arms wrapped around your waist and his mouth against yours without a second’s worth of a delay. 

 “Doesn’t matter what you pick.” He kissed the corner of your lips, teeth clicking together quietly as he pulled the upper half of his body away. “You’re gonna look incredible.” He held you up as he moved over to the edge of the pool, and it wasn’t until your feet found the ledge beneath them that he loosened his grip, hands sliding down from your waist. You hooked your arms around his neck, staring into Logan’s eyes as you though, memorizing every detail of the way that the water trickled down his skin for the thousandth time. So are you. “What about a sexy nun?” He kept a straight face for nearly three seconds and then you watched as his shoulders started shaking, head dropping down to his bare chest as you shoved him away from you, splashing while you laughed too. Jesus, Logan. 

---

 Two more days passed without any input from Logan on the costume front, and you were starting to get worried. Every suggestion that you made to Logan was turned down without hesitation by your husband. Werewolf, ghost, astronaut, video game characters … Logan wanted nothing to do with any of them, and you knew that if you left him to his own devices, he’d show up at the event in a store bought costume instead of putting any thought into it. I have to figure something out. You couldn’t blame him for being distracted, Delos had taken on a new client and Logan was working long hours to ensure that their teams were ready for access to the software, but it was still frustrating. You sent him a quick text - Headed to Juliet’s for dinner, I’ll see you when I get home  - and then tucked your phone into your purse before leaving the house, still thinking about your options. 

 But even an hour and a half later, you and Juliet full from dinner, Isaac in bed and Emily in her room reading, you hadn’t come up with anything. “I’ve got so many designer dresses and stuff that can be used as costumes, maybe you can look through…?” Juliet shook her head, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “I can’t help you with Logan, Mark’s a good six inches shorter than him, but maybe…” Juliet stood, gesturing with her glass. “Come on, let’s go into the basement.” You followed her down the stairs and into their large storage space, wondering what you could possibly do with formal clothing as a costume. “You can use anything you find in here,” Juliet said as she walked through the room. “Shelves over there, and then there’s a bunch of stuff hanging on the walls.”

 Thanking her, you spent the next twenty five minutes looking through clothes; ballgowns and cocktail dresses, actual costumes and even some of her old clothing, but it was useless. Nothing jumped out at you, and you didn’t want to offend any of the designers that had given her clothing by using the items as costumes. “Juliet, thank you, but I don’t…” She didn’t respond, and as you turned toward where she was standing, you saw why. “Is that…” You trailed off, stepping toward the other woman, who had pulled a garment bag out from the end of the rack, her fingers moving over the plastic. 

 “I felt so alive, you know?” Juliet unzipped the bag slowly, tongue sticking out between her lips. “I picked it out, and I tried it on, and it just fit. We did a magazine spread with it, I… I don’t think you would have seen it, but...it was beautiful.” She pushed the sides of the bag back and the fabric within expanded, coming into view. “I thought I was going to be so happy. I didn’t want to listen to anyone that said otherwise, not even L…” She swallowed, looking over at you. “I should have listened to him. I should have listened when William proposed and he gave me shit about it and when Logan came back from that trip, and when he was in the…” Juliet hung her head. “It would have saved me a lot of …” 

 “But then you wouldn’t have Em.” You shrugged your shoulders. “And Logan forgives you, Juliet. You were young and in love and you didn’t… you couldn’t have known, he hid it so well from everyone.” 

 “Not Logan. Logan always knew that William was a piece of shit.” Yeah, he did. You’re not wrong about that.

 “Juliet, come on. He tried with William, but he pushed him too hard.” You reached out, running your fingers over the delicate beading on the bodice of the dress, the lace stiff beneath your fingers. “He wanted to he happy because you were happy, Juliet. He’d never take that away from you.” You nudged her with your elbow, feeling yourself smile. “I’m sure you looked amazing in it, Juliet.” She nodded, agreeing to show you pictures of her in the dress when you went upstairs. She kept them? 

 “I wanted to keep the dress for Emily, in case she wanted to wear it, but… I don’t know. Seeing it again, it feels wrong to put someone else - my daughter - into a dress that started such a shitty marriage, doesn’t it?” Juliet turned toward you, her dark eyes wide. “I should donate it, someone would get use out of it, that couldn’t be bad luck, right?” You bit down on your lip, looking at the dress. “Or maybe I should burn it.” She’s going to throw it away. You stayed silent, looking down. You’d worn three different dresses - one for each of your weddings to Logan - but the one in front of you, the one Juliet had worn with William was entirely different than any that you’d chosen. It’s more old fashioned. “What do you think?” She said your name and you pulled your eyes away from the dress, staring at Juliet. I can’t ask that. 

 “Juliet, I could…” You swallowed. “I could use this as my costume.” You heard her gasp, but you continued. “Even if it doesn’t fit right, you…” You reached over, pulling the hanger from the bag and lifting the dress. “I could make this work.” You glanced over at the other woman, who was chewing on her lower lip. “Juliet, you said William’s going to be at this party, right?” She nodded, and your eyes went back to the dress, thoughts churning. He said no couples costumes, but… this could work. “I have an idea.” 

--- 

 Later that night, you stepped into your house, listening for Logan. “Bedroom!” He called out your name and you set your keys and purse onto the counter next to the garment bag, grabbing your phone before you headed up the stairs and toward the back of the house. “How’s Jules?” Your husband was on the bed, wearing only a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt, his eyes on the large TV mounted on the wall. “You were there late.” Wordlessly, you set your phone down on the bed and started taking your clothes off, pulling your shirt over your head. This is unfair, but I have to. “What are you doing?” Wearing only a bra and your leggings, you climbed into the bed, straddling your husband and flattening your palms on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him. “I’m not gonna complain, but what…” Logan swallowed, licking his lips as you pulled away, straightening up. He put his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking over the material at your waist gently as his other fingers flexed. 

 “We were looking for costumes, Lo.” You grinned, flipping your hair over one shoulder. “And I think we found… something perfect.” You moved your hands, pushing up his shirt to scratch your fingers through the trail of hair below his navel, which caused him to groan, shifting beneath you as his eyes closed momentarily. “I know you said no couples costumes, Logan, but I think I found the loophole to that.” You waited as he stared up at you, pupils enlarged and his lips parted, and in that moment you knew that he’d do anything you asked. “I can wear it on my own, but I… it’ll be better if we’re…” He nodded slowly and you reached back, grabbing for your phone and opening it to the pictures Juliet had taken only an hour or so previously. “Here.” 

 You handed him the device, watching as his eyes widened, a breath getting sucked in between his lips. “Is that… that’s her goddamn…” Logan glanced up at you and then back at the phone, tongue wetting his lips. “What did you guys do to it?” You laughed, pulling your phone out of Logan’s hands and tossing it off to the side before you reached behind you, unhooking your bra. 

 “Is that a yes, Logan?” You pulled the material from your body, flinging it into the corner and Logan nodded, eyes never leaving your face as he brought his hands up to palm at your chest, drawing a quiet sigh from your lips. “Lo?” 

 “Tell me what I need to do and what I need to wear.” His voice low, Logan nodded his head, waiting for you to lean down again so that he could kiss you, hands slipping around to your back. “Fuck, that’s perfect.” 

 --- 

 “That’s a gorgeous dress.” The woman that was working on your makeup stepped in front of you, bringing one of the brushes in her hand up to your eyes and telling you to look down. “It’s a shame you had to…”

 “It was my sister in law’s first wedding dress.” You let out a breath, staring down at your lap, where your right hand was resting atop the fabric of the skirt. “It ah… didn’t end well, as I’m sure you know, and she decided it was time to get rid of it, so we thought...” You heard the woman holding back a laugh, even as she applied the dark makeup to your skin. “I, uh, let her do the honor of…” You thumbed a large and jagged tear that started at the bottom of the dress and rose to over your thigh, still looking down. “She enjoyed it.” 

 “I’m sure she did,” the woman agreed, setting the brush down and picking up a larger one before dipping it into dark powder and using it near your hairline and down your jaw. “She throw it into a puddle or something, too?” You laughed, trying to keep still but the woman stepped back. “I’m done with your face aside from the lipstick, so you’re good.” You looked up into the mirror and almost didn’t recognize yourself - all of the visible skin on your upper body was a blue-gray hue, and the long, wavy wig that you wore was an even brighter shade than your skin, the ends curling around your elbows. “Hold your left arm out.” You did as the woman asked, and you watched as she bent down, a tiny brush in her hand, to add in the final details on the arm - which had been blacked out with body paint before she’d used white to draw on bones, making it look like your left arm was skeletal. The same effect had been done to your ribcage, a glimpse of it peeking out from the large tear in the bodice of the dress, and your right leg, but the detail there wasn’t as miniscule, and she’d finished quickly. 

 “This looks amazing, I can’t…” You shook your head, still looking at yourself in the mirror. “I’m so glad we called you guys.” The woman thanked you, her attention still on your hand, where she was using golden paint to add on a wedding band around your finger, Logan’s rings all locked tightly in the safe for the evening. “Will you put the flowers and my veil on, too?” You looked down, taking a deep breath. “I know this wig isn’t going anywhere, but…” She laughed, straightening up and nodding as she reached over, picking up the circular headband that you’d spent three hours making the day before, using fake flowers and adding paint, coffee grounds and dirt to make them match your dress before attaching the remnants of Juliet’s veil - and the bouquet that you were planning on carrying. 

 As she pinned the flowers into your hair, you finally grinned, turning your head from side to side. It literally looks like I’m dead, there’s even a flap of skin on my cheek.  “Stand up, I want to make sure…” You did, hands dropping to your sides as you stepped away from the chair and looked at the woman, lips pressed tightly together. “It’s done. You look…” The woman smiled, nodding. “Let me take some pictures for my portfolio and my site, if that’s alright with you.” She did just that, waiting until you’d picked up the bouquet to take the final few, and then exhaled in frustration. “We forgot the lipstick, I -”

 “Don’t bother.” You heard Logan’s voice from the doorway and immediately looked up and over your shoulder at him, even though you would have been able to see him in the mirror. Oh, wow. “It wouldn’t last.” The woman laughed again, shrugging and you turned to face Logan, wanting to get a good look at him. “Wow.” You watched as he swallowed, looking you up and down. “That dress… looks so much better on you… like that…” He stopped speaking, flexing his fingers a few times before he crossed the room and made it to you, one of his hands going to your waist. “Can I touch her skin, or…” You fought back a laugh, rolling your eyes. 

 “Of course, Mr. Delos. It’s airbrushed on as a base coat, so unless you’re being um... “ She cleared her throat. “Rough with the skin, it should be fine. The left arm and her right leg are a little more delicate, but…” Logan nodded, staring into your eyes and then he leaned down, gently kissing you on the mouth, breath fanning over your skin before and after.

 “Thank you.” He spoke quietly as he stood up straight, turning to face the other woman again. “You did… an incredible job with my wife, and your assistant was the same with me.” You nodded in agreement, again looking at Logan, whose costume was simpler than yours - an old but still well-fitting suit, silver-blue tie, his skin made pale via makeup, cheekbones more pronounced than they usually were. He had dark circles around his eyes and no product in his hair, which fell on either side of his forehead, freshly cut only a few hours earlier. Can’t wait to get my hands on that later. Neither of you had been willing to compromise on Logan totally shaving his face, but his beard had been neatly trimmed, and was shorter than you’d ever seen it. 

 After taking a few photos of the two of you together, your makeup artist followed you and Logan downstairs, where her assistant was already waiting. The pair said their goodbyes, Logan tucking cash into both women’s hands as a tip. When the door shut behind them, Logan pushed you against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, careful not to touch your left arm as he kissed you, sucking on your lower lip for long seconds as you put your hand in his hair, tugging on it hard. “Logan.” You swallowed, groaning and he dropped his head against your shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Logan we need to get going, we’re going to be late, we -”

 “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you in a dress like that.” He spoke in your ear, breath hot. “I don’t care if it looks like it got dragged behind a train, or if it’s the dress that I had to watch Jules marry that fuckin’ asshole in.” He kissed you again, both hands on your hips as he held you in place, and you knew that it was because he was trying to keep himself from touching your face or your hair. “Seein’ you in a wedding dress means as much to me now in a costume as it did the first time, and you pickin’ that one for the reason you did? I’m rock fucking hard right now.” Oh, Logan. “I love you, Mrs. Delos.” His voice changed and softened and he kissed you a third time, this one gentle and quick, “Let’s get to this party.” 

 You nodded as he pulled himself away from you, reaching into his pocket to let the driver he’d hired for the night know that you were coming out, and within a few minutes, the two of you were sitting comfortably in the backseat of an SUV, your feet on Logan’s lap and your heels on the floor. Logan took pictures of you as you sped through the night, you taking his phone from him and returning the favor, and within twenty minutes, you arrived at the hotel where the event was being held - flashbulbs nearly blinding you as Logan helped you from the car, hand wrapped tightly around yours. As you posed for pictures, you couldn’t help smiling up at your husband, eyelids heavy beneath the long, fake lashes you wore. Who’s going to figure out that this was Juliet’s dress first? Logan didn’t let you go until you were safely inside of the building and away from the crowd, and even then he didn’t step far away from you, the two of you pausing occasionally to talk to friends and business associates, the compliments about your costumes flowing freely. 

 Logan was in his element mingling with people, and after nearly an hour, you excused yourself to get new drinks and find something to eat, eyes scanning the room for Juliet and Mark. You found them sitting at a table, making a note of where they were in order to pull Logan in that direction when possible, and had just picked up your drinks when a voice reached your ears. “Marrying him finally killed you, hm? Dead and buried is probably still better than having to live with him.” Grimacing, you steeled yourself for the confrontation, turning smoothly to face William, who stood before you. “I haven’t seen Logan’s face look that pale since was still shooting -”

 “Wow.” You cut him off, raising an eyebrow and lifting one of the glasses to your lips. “I see you really went all out on your costume tonight.” William’s lip curled, his own eyes moving down to the scrubs he wore, a surgical mask hanging loosely around his neck along with a stethoscope. “You recognize this dress?” You spun in a slow circle, and when you finally stopped, facing him, you saw that his eyes had widened, mouth hanging open in shock. “Thought so.” You cleared your throat, leaning in. “Juliet’s the one that made the alterations to it, Billy.” You paused, looking down to finger the large tear at your waist before your hand smoothed over the dirty, tattered fabric of the skirt. “Took scissors to it and then, I shit you not, Billy, she took it outside in the back yard and stomped on it.” You took a breath, stepping closer and meeting William’s eyes. How far do I go? “We -”

 “There you are.” You felt him and heard him at the same time, Logan’s body pressing up against yours from behind. “I was wondering where you were with my drink.” He took the glass from your hand and you heard the ice clink against his teeth as he sipped it, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. “William.” There was a tense silence as the two men stared at each other, the disgust clearly written on William’s face. You hadn’t been this close to William since the bar in Las Vegas on Logan’s birthday, and didn’t think that Logan had either. “Bring a date with you, William?” Logan’s voice was venomous, and at his next words you stiffened in surprise. “Couplea Hosts here if not, I’m sure that’s more your -”

 “Fuck you, Logan.” William shook his head. “I -”

 “You’re not my type, Billy. Never were.” Logan raised the glass again, draining his drink. “Stay the fuck away from my sister tonight. I know I remind you every time I see you, but…” Logan stepped closer to William, using your body as a buffer by default. “Emily’s not here tonight, so you have no reason to talk to Juliet.” He sniffed. “None.” William opened his mouth to speak again, thought about it, and then turned away quickly, disappearing into the crowd. “Finish your drink, and then we’ll get you another one and we can go -”

 “Lo.” You turned to your husband, reaching up and touching the side of his face after you set your glass down on the table to your right, shaking your head. “Hey.” You shook your head. “I get it.” He stared at you, brow furrowed slightly. “I get it, Logan.” And you did - the need for him to get back at William in any way possible. Firing him wasn’t enough. Juliet divorcing him wasn’t enough. Taking back his position at Delos wasn’t enough. Logan needed to keep driving home the point that he’d won, and despite very nearly killing him, William had not. “Six years isn’t enough time, Logan. It won’t ever be enough time. But don’t let him ruin the night, alright?” Logan took a deep breath, his gaze softening. He nodded twice, leaning down to kiss you on the corner of your mouth, lips lingering for longer than necessary. He saw the dress, he knows Juliet finally got rid of it.

 “You’re right.” He grinned, one hand going up to run his fingers through his hair, the long strands of it falling immediately back over his forehead. “As usual.” You laughed out loud, tilting your head back and reaching out to hit him gently on the chest with your bouquet, Logan catching your wrist, his fingers closing tightly around it. “Stop.” He shook his head, fighting back a laugh of his own and pulled you into his chest, lips making contact with the top of your head directly in front of the flower crown you wore. “I won’t bring him up again tonight, I promise.” You nodded as Logan turned you back to face the bar, his hand finding yours and your fingers winding together. “Weird not to feel your rings, isn’t it?” You stepped up to the polished wooden surface of the bar, Logan holding up two fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Haven’t gone without ‘em since Nassau last Christmas.” 

 “Yeah, but it’s only for one night, Lo.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, waiting for the man to bring your drinks back. “Besides, if I was a real corpse bride, the people that killed me woulda stolen my jewelry before they threw me into a shallow grave.” You shrugged as Logan stiffened next to you, grip on your hand growing tighter before he let go. “What, Logan? That’s just the legend, I -”

 He reached out, taking both of your drinks from the man with a nod before he handed you yours and then held an elbow out to you. You took it happily, transferring your bouquet and drink to your right hand. “I’m glad we did these costumes.” Logan cleared his throat as he steered you through the crowd and toward the tables, his eyes scanning the room. “Not because of the way it…” He stopped, but you knew that he was hinting at William’s reaction. “But because it fits for us, and it’s like we’re takin’ what they say about us and ...” You hadn’t thought about it that way at first, even though you’d imagined what Logan would say and think, seeing you in a fourth wedding dress, even one that held such bad memories… but it was his turn to be right. 

 “They’re over there, Logan. By the window.” You raised your left arm to point out Mark and Juliet, still sitting at the same table as before, and you admired the work that the woman had done on your arm, the detail in the tiny, painted on bones of your fingers. I wish I had a talent like that. You shook your head as you kept walking, thinking about Logan’s words. “You told me not to pay attention to the press, Logan.” You shrugged as he paused, waiting for people to pass. “And now you’re worried because they think we’ve had ‘too many weddings’?” He nodded. “I mean, three in a single year was…” You thought, wetting your lips. “A lot, Logan, I’ll admit it.” He laughed, the sound comforting to you. “But you know what?” You stopped him, still ten feet from Mark and Juliet’s table, the hand rising again to his face, your thumb moving over the skin of his cheek and stopping briefly to press on the birthmark there. “You’re the only one I’m ever gonna wear a wedding dress for, and I’ll do it as often as you need me to.” Or you want me to. “And this time, tonight? It was my idea.” 

 “Your idea the first time, too, Mrs. Delos… at least with the timing.” He leaned down, carefully pulling his arm from yours and settling both of his around your waist. “You and your charitable donations.” He sighed your name as he kissed you, this one not quick, not gentle. Logan kissed you as if there weren’t any other people in the room, like there wasn’t some shitty cover of a Halloween song playing in the background, like the two of you hadn’t just gone off on William a few minutes earlier. You tasted the alcohol on his breath, could feel the coolness on his tongue from the ice in his drink. “Love you forever, Mrs. Delos.” Though he said a lot of things that made you want to roll your eyes at how un-Logan-like they sounded coming from his lips, that was a phrase he’d never said before. When your eyes flew open and found his, he looked just as shocked that he’d said it as you were to hear it. Shit, that… 

 “You said it, Logan. Must be true.” You recovered quickly, your lips twitching. Don’t dwell on it, not right now. “But if you kiss me like that again, all this makeup’s going to be for nothing, and we’re going to have to leave this party hours early.” He laughed, clearing his throat and you again began walking to his sister’s table, heart hammering behind your ribs. Love you forever.  Forever, Logan? Really? But you believed him, believed every word that came out of Logan’s mouth, because in the nearly four years you’d been together, he’d never once lied to you, and you didn’t think he was about to start - especially not with something like the way he felt about you. 

 “By the way,” he said quietly, leaning down to speak into your ear. “We are leaving early.” You turned your head to look at him, confused. “I’m gonna have to help you get all of that makeup off before you get into bed, and I think it’s gonna take a while.” He kissed your cheek and then straightened up. “Hey, Jules, Mark!” As you and Logan settled into seats at the table, you found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation about the other costumes in the room, instead focusing on the way that Logan’s fingers felt as they stroked your forearm, up and down, over and over. 

 Love you forever, too, Lo.

---

[ducktracy]

vintage toys and appeal

i love my vintage toys. i think they have a lot of personality and character, and it’s also fascinating to see how the standard of toys have evolved. i thought it’d be fun to compare various vintage toys (as in 30s-50s vintage) with toys from now, around 90s-20s (god that’s weird to say).

starting off with my favorite toy, a windup toy from the 30s. they had a whole line of these, sometimes he was a cowboy, or dressed in a suit and top hat, i’ve even seen one of him beating a drum.

what makes it appealing? porky translates well into toys because of how round and circular he is. he has good construction, and toys (especially in the 30s and 40s) took advantage of that. even though his face is kinda smooshed in, he has a solid construction. his body builds up—he has a foundation. parts aren’t just slopped on. not to mention, the aging makes the colors like even nicer, a nice yellow tinge. even though he has a standard expression, it isn’t blank. he isn’t staring off into space. he looks warm and inviting and even playful—they weren’t just like “ehhhh, let’s put his pupils to the side.” the toy maker thought he’d look best with the pupils to the side, and they were right.

here’s a goodie from the 50s, a squeaky toy. very appealing! the proportions are just right. the key for cuteness is to make the head bigger than the body (think of every cute cartoon baby, usually their heads are way bigger than their skinny bodies). the giant bow is another good touch. his cheeks are full and round, and he still has a relatively solid construction. good pose with the hands behind the back AND the legs together. it translates better than normal shoulder-width-apart legs. he’s been slimmed down (though he’d continuously get thinner and thinner as the years wore on), but still has a bit of a potbelly going on. it makes it fun to hold and touch.

so, what about toys today?

here’s a toy from around today. it’s cute, don’t get me wrong—cuter than some of the stuff i’ve seen as i frantically scrolled through my “porky pig toy” google image search. but it certainly feels lumpy, doesn’t it? i know it’s a plush toy, so it’s going to be lumpy, but there can be plush toys that aren’t too lumpy or bulgy. there are worse ones out there, but anyway. he doesn’t feel like he has a foundation. not necessarily discombobulated, but it seems like whoever made him just attached the various parts to him like a mr. potato head instead of stepping back and analyzing the hierarchy of his body. his legs stick out and his arms stick out, and his head looks flimsily attached, like it would flop back if you picked him up. and what is he looking at, his nose? i love my crossed eyes, but this feels like they didn’t know where to put his pupils and just put them to the bottom of his eyes. i think that’s my biggest problem with these toys—i guess all toys have some sort of a vacant stare, but this feels even more aimless and vacant. still cute nonetheless, though.

here’s some more. thay first one is what i was talking about with the squeaky toy’s legs and the arms behind the back—that toy does have the legs together, but it feels like they’re backwards. if you want him to be cutesy and bashful, put the knees together, not apart. instead he looks like he’s lining up in the von trapp family, ready to sing for a bunch of party guests. his head also doesn’t feel very well constructed, and his eyes feel like they’re sliding down his face. he doesn’t have a discernible expression except for happy neutral. that open mouth can’t fool me! do something with the eyebrows! body language! and he’s also really thin. second one, too, with the aimless pupils placed haphazardly towards the bottom. what is he looking at? why is he looking away? i know the vintage toys have him looking away, but he still feels like he’s acknowledging your gaze, somewhat. here it looks like he’s purposefully avoiding you, like he’s hiding something. i do like the subtle line of action, though.

here’s what i mean by toys feeling lumpy. another mr. potato head syndrome. i think the biggest difference between toys 80 years ago and toys now is that there was some form of artistry involved. the people making the toys back then had an eye for graphic design and knew how to translate a character onto a toy. they wanted kids to enjoy them and play with them, they wanted the toys to be FUN. and they were! now these just feel like the equivalent to “here, play with this thing while i watch tv and drink a beer”. i’m sure all of these recent examples were made in a factory somewhere, though, so that’s obviously a big factor.

i do like this one—at least it has some personality, somewhat. but again with the indiscernible expression. his cheeks slightly turn upwards, hinting at a smile buried in there somewhere, but it looks like he’s hesitant to take a bite, like he shouldn’t be doing it. where’s the excitement? anyone who gets to eat a sandwich that big should be happy! make the eyes and eyebrows speak for themselves!

here are a few more vintage goodies. some of the porky toys (well, a lot) looked “off model”, like the second one, but it’s still really appealing. solid construction and good body language, he looks happy and confident. and when’s the last time you’ve seen a porky toy using his design from the mid 30s? and i love the first one. who doesn’t want a porky bank with a log? i can only imagine what it looked like as a brand new toy!

this isn’t to say everything made today is BAD, certainly not. those newer toys are still cute, but they lack personality and confidence. the love for vintage toys also comes from “wow, i’m looking at something from 80 years ago that’s still been preserved. even though i’m not even 20 years old, i’m lucky enough to be looking at these relics from a time way before my own”, but i think there’s still a discernible difference between the two eras.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Festival Wear Me Down (DeanCas Coda to 13x18, AO3 link)

           “He’s where?”

           Cas sighs, turning the laptop around to better show Dean the screen. “In Southern California,” he says, “Or he will be, soon enough. Coachella doesn’t start for another week.”

           Dean looks from the website to his angel, blinking in response. He didn’t understand the words that had left Cas’s mouth. There were no clues as to what a ‘Coachella’ was, only pictures of young adults with too much money and time on their hands.

           “And you’re sure?” Dean asks, “How’d you find this out? Spell? Grace?”

           “No, actually,” Cas starts, tilting his head, “He, uh… he forgot to erase the browser history.”

           “You’re kidding,” Dean says. When his angel doesn’t speak up again, Dean accepts the fact. ‘For someone who doesn’t want to be found,’ Dean thinks, ‘he sure made it easy.’

           “Okay,” Dean says, “So… I take it we’re goin’ to this Coachella thing, right?”

           “It’s why I told you,” Cas says, brow raised, “Common courtesy for when you decide on a plan. I mean – imagine if I had just taken Sam and left you a note?”

           Dean blanches, flinching from Cas’s cool gaze. “Look, I’m sorry alright,” he says, shuffling, “How many times do I have to tell ya?”

           Cas shrugs. “Whenever I actually feel like accepting it.” Dean rolls his eyes, shifting his focus from his angel and back towards the laptop. He leans over and starts scrolling through the page.

           “So, what is this… Coachella?”

           “It appears to be some type of music festival,” Cas joins him, leaning over Dean’s shoulder. His hand rests a little farther up than usual, causing Dean’s skin to darken a shade deeper than regular. “I tried doing research… but the language on the sites I combed through made no sense – even to me. So I was going to call Claire in a bit, see if she could shed some further light on this. She seems to be the correct age as most of the attendees.”

           “This doesn’t look like music, Cas,” Dean grumbles, eyeing the list of acts he stumbled upon, “It just looks like the overproduced garbage that’s popular today… and Beyoncé.” He gapes when he reaches the ticket price. “Holy shit,” he curses, “What the hell?”

           “Yes, my apologies,” Cas says, “One of your credit cards is… no longer usable.” Dean glares at him. His angel doesn’t back down, and they match stares. It goes on longer than a beat, and Dean soon forgets why he locked eyes with Cas to begin with. The ire is replaced with a more familiar, heat. It spreads through Dean’s body.

           ‘I should look away,’ he thinks, ‘But we’ve been doing this for awhile? Maybe say something. Or would that be worse…’

           Sam saves him, the other Winchester walking in and carrying a stack of books. He drops the heavy tomes onto the table, startling the other men out of their spell. Sam squints at their near-identical looks of confusion.

           “What?”

           “No – nothing,” Dean says. He flushes, clears his throat and tears himself away from Cas (‘How close were we even standing?’). “I’m gonna go get ready,” he says, turning tail, “Cas – call Claire. Find out all you can.” Dean doesn’t stick around for a response, rounding the corner and sagging against the corridor. He knocks his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes. The cool stone does its best to cool the heat around his neck, but Dean still feels the hot blue fire of Cas’s eyes on him. As if the angel could see through walls.

           ‘Could he?’

           He distracts himself from those thoughts by listening in on the conversation in the other room.

           “Why do you have to call Claire?”

           “To see if she knows anything about Coachella –“

           “Coachella, why are we going there?”

           “I believe Gabriel will be attending the festivities.”

           “Ah, so we’ll be hunting.”

           “Do you know anything about this event, Sam?”

           “Not a lot,” a beat, “Just enough to know Dean’ll hate it.”

           “You know, I already got that impression.”

           Dean doesn’t wait around after that. Instead he strides back to his room, preferring to drown out the feeling of Sam and Cas talking about him with good music. At least get in some tunes before his ears bleed and he’ll never be able to listen to his songs again. Hopefully they find Gabriel within the first five minutes so he won’t have to suffer. Because between the archangel’s attitude, stuck-up kids with too much time and money on their hands, and the noise… Dean’s not sure he’ll make it out alive.

           “It’s a stupid concert, Dean,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “You’ve faced down worst… maybe it’ll be good… maybe you won’t hate it?”

           “I hate it.”

           Dean pulls at the red-and-black poncho, the rough material sticking to his sweaty skin (‘Claire said I had to be shirtless under this thing?’). While focused on his outfit, he doesn’t see Sam sneak up behind and force something on his head. Dean yelps, turning around to stare at a smirking Sam.

           The younger Winchester seems to be in his natural habitat (‘Figures… the hippie.’). His long hair was pulled tight into a bun, a little too close to looking like a unicorn. He was wearing a short, brightly colored tank top and some seriously distressed cut-offs. Claire had sent back hearts when they texted her pictures of Sam’s outfit. Very different from the laughing emojis she used to respond to Dean and Cas’s choices.

           ‘Speaking of Cas…’

           His angel was watching him in fond amusement, eyes shaded nicely by the cap smothering his usually wild hair. Like Dean he, too, is bare-chested – only the front of his overall shorts covered some modesty from the roving eyes of the elder Winchester. That, combined with the heat, means Dean will definitely go through more than one bottle of water. Especially if one of Cas’s nipples slips out – again.

           “What did you put on my head?” Dean asks, snatching the soft hat from its place. He looks it over, frowning, considering it. Usually, he would have just dropped the item to the ground and carried on. But the wide-brim bolero reminded Dean of a modern cowboy – what he had been trying to go for when he chose his clothes. Claire, however, nixed the shirt he bought to wear underneath, so now every time he raised his arms his love handles would peek out. And his boots would have been perfect, too, except…

           “Watch where you’re steppin’,” Dean grumbles, pulling his toes out from under Cas’s shoes, “You can’t just stomp blindly next to a guy in flip flops!”

           “My apologies, Dean,” Cas says, “The line was moving forward.”

           Dean turns away, fixing the hat back onto his head and muttering under his breath, “Stupid teens… why drink so much so early?”

           “Anyway,” Sam cuts in, moving between them, “I think we should go over the game plan now.”

           “Are you sure?” Cas whispers to him, blue eyes darting around the crowd, “In front of all these people?”

           Sam looks around at the same people Cas is cautious about, smirking. “Trust me,” he tells him, “No one will be listening to us. Plus, we’re almost at the entrance. Once we’re in we need to be focused.” He pulls a few things from a small backpack and hands them out to Dean and Cas.

           “So look,” he says, “I was able to make these crystal sensors using some of Gabe’s grace residue as well as a spell from the archives. It should glow the closer we get to him, so keep these around your necks at all times.” The other men slip the leather cords around their necks, Dean fighting with his hat to get it on. “And these,” he continues, handing them handcuffs, “Cas helped me carve the sigils in. Should make it so he can’t fly away or use his grace.”

           “Really?” Dean asks, eyeing the set of cuffs Sam wears like a bracelet, “I just thought you were trying to set a trend?”

           The younger Winchester shrugs, “I made it easy for myself. You’re more than welcome to do the same.”

           “Thanks but no thanks,” Dean says, “I don’t want to look too kinky in public…”

           “Yet you wear that…”

           Dean tries to kick Sam’s shin in retaliation, but only further bruises his foot on Sam’s bony legs. He bites back a curse and just glares at his brother’s proud smirk. Cas, on the other hand, takes the handcuffs and zips them away in his fanny pack. The bright neon thing was as severe and over-the-top as the rainbow bandana Cas tied around his neck.

           “What?” Cas said when picking his accessories out, “I like the colors.”

           “Next!”

           Dean’s thoughts are broken as the attendee calls them forward; he pulls out his phone and flashes the bar code, only blushing slightly as the woman double takes at their appearance. They don’t stand their long, her pushing the trio along and towards her colleagues, who search their bags. Dean got to skip that part, but still had to get scanned. After a few close calls with a handsy guard, Team Free Will had made it into Coachella.

           And they were not impressed.

           “Christ,” Dean mutters, pulling his brim up to scan the crowd, “This does not look like anything I saw in the pictures.”

           Sam claps him on the shoulder, “Instagram is a hell of a drug.”

           “Where do we even begin?” Cas asks. Sam pulls out his phone, and clicks his way towards an image of the grounds. It’s been carved into three distinct areas, highlighted in red, green, and blue.

           “Okay, I’ll take the left,” Sam starts, pointing at the red area. He trails his finger towards the blue, “Cas, you search for him on the right. And Dean –“

           “Will go straight down the middle,” Dean finishes for him, “Got it, captain my captain.” He takes a step as if to start, only pausing when Sam grabs at his wrist. Dean turns and frowns at his brother’s ‘stern’ face.

           “If you see him, don’t engage,” Sam says, “Text us, and be as subtle as possible.”

           A group passes by them, each decked out in outrageous outfits drenched in gemstones and flowers and patterns. Dean shoots Sam a flat look, “I think I won’t be the one standing out here, Sam.” The younger Winchester rolls his eyes, but releases him, turning towards his own path. He watches him disappear into the crowd until even the little bun at the top of his head is out of sight. Dean shifts his eyes to Cas, aware of his angel’s eyes on him.

           “You gonna be good, Cas?” Dean asks, “Do I need to give you ‘the rules’?”

           Cas tilts his head, squinting, “Rules?”

           “Never take a stranger’s food, don’t take any joints from a guy named Don, oh,” Dean smirks, “And if a man says he’s lost his dog – don’t follow him to his van to look for it.” He laughs, but his angel doesn’t seem amused.

           “I can take care of myself, Dean,” he bristles, “And here’s my advice for you: if you think something looks dangerous – don’t go jumping into it without at least telling Sam and I. I’d also ask you to wait but you seem very incapable of that lately.” Dean’s smile falls, the blow landing just under the belt like Cas anticipated. His angel turns on his heel and stalks into another crowd – leaving Dean all alone.

           Dean pouts, but finally moves on from his spot. He doesn’t do well searching for the runaway archangel, however, his mind still reeling around another.

           ‘I can’t believe he’s still mad about this,’ Dean thinks, ‘Doesn’t he realize that if he had come, it would have been worse. Sam would have been left all alone with Asmodeus – Ketch no doubt would have fled at the first sign of smoke. And if he had came with… that bastard would be trapped with no way for us to get to him. Been trapped with angels who would kill him for being kind and humans who would kill him because of who he is! But the worse part… if he had been trapped there, I never would have forgiven myself…’ Dean stops, the thoughts settling at the bottom of his stomach. He thought he’d rid himself of those thoughts before he went into the rift – made peace with his reasoning. His state of mind proving only how wrong Dean was.

           ‘Why can’t he see that I did it to protect him,’ he thinks, ‘He should know!’ But Cas doesn’t know, because then he would have to tell him his thoughts, his arguments, his… feelings. And Dean has been trying (‘I have!’), but it’s not enough. He can see it in Cas’s eyes that his best still leaves his angel with cloudy eyes and a timid smile. If he was any good at that, Cas would know why he couldn’t wait for him because he would know –

           “Excuse me? Can you take our picture?”

           Dean blinks back into himself, looking down at a young woman with loose, blonde curls. She bats her eyes at him and wiggles her phone. He nods, unsure what his voice might sound like. The girl returns to her friends, each striking a different pose. Dean takes a few pictures before handing it back to her. They gather round and flick through the photos and giggling appreciatively, chirping about angles and filters. The original girl steps back up to him, “Hey, these were pretty good. You wanna join our squad?” Her smirk and the way her friends’ eyes are all tearing into him like vultures clues Dean into what they’re really after – and it’s not his photography skills.

           “Sorry, ladies,” Dean says, backing away, “I’m really looking for my friend –“

           “We can help,” she says, stepping closer into his personal space, “Unless… you mean one of us –“

           “You’renotreallymytype,” Dean rushes out, coughing, “Yeah, sorry but I, I have to go.”

           She’s disappointed, but understanding, “Okay. Hope you find your friend then…” Her and her friends leave, Dean sagging with relief.

           ‘You and me both, lady,’ Dean thinks, ‘You and me both.’ He takes a swig of the canteen he wears, strapped to his side, and then one from the flask tucked into his waistband. Hopefully his thoughts stay focused on the mission and don’t drift further down the drain like they were before. Otherwise Dean was going to be parched.

           “Who charges twenty dollars for water?”

           Dean shot the cashier a dirty look and stomped his way off the line – the plastic flapping of his cheap flip-flops making his exit less threatening than he would have liked. He stalked over to a clear patch of dirt and sunk into the grass.

           Above him, the sun was nearly three quarters of the way done with its path. But the late afternoon sunlight was still strong, and the close bodies and the walking only further served to make him lose water rather than retain it. His canteen was bone dry, and his pride kept him from giving in to festival prices.

           ‘We’ve already blown so much of our credit on this hunt,’ Dean thinks, ‘I’m not spending any more unless it’s reasonable.’

           He leans further back, resting his elbows on the ground and stretching out his legs. Dean grimaces at his surroundings. From his place on the ground, he spies all the wonders of ‘Coachella’.

           In clear view of a cluster of port-o-potties, probably over fifty people wait in line for the bathroom. And standing downwind of it, Dean can tell that the outhouses have seen some shit. (‘Pun intended.’) If Dean were a lesser man, he’d find a different spot. But he’s tired, and he’s smelt worse things in his life than kale farts.

           Dean can also make out a few stages, where kids crowd around stringy haired beanpoles that just press a button. These idiots will listen to just about anything – he was sure someone played a yodeler that was remixed to hell and back. And the crowd went wild.

           ‘Maybe we should let Michael loose,’ Dean thinks, glaring at another group of men parading around in short, pastel onesies (‘How do you even pee in that?’).

           Feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket, Dean paused his judgment to check. It was a message from Sam:

           MOOSE: I don’t think I’ve found him yet. But I am having a serious problem blending in.

           Dean, curious, typed back for more info. Sam’s response was a quick picture of at least twenty girls, all discreetly watching him from various angles.

           MOOSE: I have a fan base.

           Dean laughs, typing away probably the most fun he’s had stepping into this place.

           DEAN: Watch out, they might think you’re the new Manson.

           He switches over to Cas’s messages just as Sam shoots him the middle finger. He taps at the buttons, a softer smile overtaking his face as he sends his message.

           DEAN: Any news, Cas?

           It’s awhile before Cas responds. Dean bides his time by searching the web, kicking his flip-flops on and off, and taking pictures of the funniest-looking people for his comedic spank bank. He’s just about to snap a great one of a girl with the president painted lewdly across her chest and back when Cas’s message pops up.

           ANGEL: Thought I saw him, but was just someone else.

           ANGEL: Also it is impolite to ask people if they are porn stars.

           ANGEL: I figured that would help, seeing as Gabriel is most likely where porn stars are.

           ANGEL: I didn’t get any help – all I got were slaps.

           Dean throws his head back and laughs, dropping his phone to his stomach. He laughs so long and hard; his stomach clenches and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Picturing it sends him into an even more intense fit of giggles. Cas walking up to a girl, asking her if she was a porn star, and then getting slapped. Him watching as she storms off, rubbing at his cheek – not to sooth the pain, but to ground his thoughts as he wonders what he did wrong. His big blue eyes turning downward like a dog in an ASPCA commercial.

           ‘I needed that.’

           DEAN: Nothing that exciting on my end. I’ll keep it in mind, though.

           ANGEL: Should we regroup?

           DEAN: Did you ask Sam?

           ANGEL: He agreed. We’re making our way over to your area. Where are you?

           DEAN: Near a few stands and port-o-johns. So, surrounded by crap.

           ANGEL: Hopefully you’ll still be there by the time we get back ;)

           Any and all mirth Dean might have been feeling in the moment dries up like a kiddie pool in the sun. He puts the phone away instead of responding to Cas’s ‘dumb text and damned smirk emoji’. Not even any of the losers that pass him by bring a smile to his face. And he sees some chick wearing the smallest of sunglasses that look as ridiculous as her overly baggy pants.

           Dean tugs the crystal off his neck and holds it up, frowning at the pinkish bauble. For all the hours he’s been here, it hasn’t glowed at all. Only now does it seem to take on a sort of hue, and that’s probably because of how the sun hits it.

           “Water, man?”

           Dean looks up to where a smallish man peers down at him, smiling. His hair is tied up in one long ponytail, and he’s covered in a scraggly beard. The guy must have been out there for a while, his white linen pants clearly dirty and covered in hand prints. Behind him is a small cooler, the words ‘WATER $5’ typed out on a piece of computer paper.

           ‘Sketchy,’ Dean thinks, ‘But probably the cheapest thing I’ll find out here.’ Dean leans just enough to tug his wallet out and slips the man a fiver, happily taking the cool bottle. It slips a bit, the heavy condensation drenching Dean’s palm.

           “You enjoy yourself out here,” the guy waves goodbye, “Don’t take things so seriously!” The little cooler trails sadly behind him as he disappears.

           Dean rolls his eyes, “It sure is…” Dean passes the bottle between his hands for a few seconds before opening it. When he does sip from it, he nearly cries from sweet relief. It was the perfect temperature, although tasted a bit too sweet for water. He didn’t care nor think too closely, instead guzzling the drink as fast as he could until there was nothing left of the plastic.

           He gasps, wiping away the residue near his mouth. The bottle falls to the ground, rolling a bit away. Dean doesn’t care; too sated by how quickly his thirst was quenched.

           ‘It’ll be awhile before they find me,’ Dean thinks, ‘I wonder if that guy could swing back again?’

           Before Dean goes searching, however, he gets distracted. His fingernails start shifting in colors, and his mind wanders as the pink turns to green turns to blue turns to red.

           ‘So pretty…’

           Cas happens upon the brothers in an odd state. Sam is struggling to keep Dean upright, the elder Winchester swinging round and round with glassy eyes and a bright smile on his face.

           “Is everything alright?”

           The brothers turn, and Dean leaps from Sam’s arms towards Cas. The angel catches Dean with a split-second to spare before he could fall to the ground. He notices a few things about Dean. His poncho has twisted itself, exposing more of Dean’s stomach, his jeans have a few new stains on them, and he seems to have lost his flip-flops.

           ‘No wait,’ he thinks, ‘They’re in Sam’s hands.’ Sam walks over, irritation painted clearly across his face. But Sam will have to wait, as Dean bounces up and down in Cas’s arms.

           “Cassss,” Dean slurs, “did’you… d’you know your eyes’s sparkle?”

           “What?”

           “Like sapphires,” Dean gapes at him, stretching his own eyes wide with his fingers, “Really big blue ones. Sparkle and shine… shiny shiny shiny…” he trails off, staring deeper than usual into his eyes. For once, Cas feels uncomfortable. But when he tries to pull away, Dean pitches a whine at the back of his throat, forcing him back.

           “Is he,” Cas starts, “Is he… okay?”

           “Does he look okay?”

           “Good point,” he says, “Do you know what happened?”

           “No,” Sam sighs, walking closer, “When I got here, he was full-on starfish staring up at the sky. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was watching the music –“

           “I was, Ssssammy!” Dean giggles, “It sucks, but it looks so pretty… like Cas’s eyes,” he leans in closer – nose to nose – “Not as pretty, but pretty, y’know?”

           “And then when I tried pulling him up he started flinging his limbs around,” Sam continues, “Trying to dance.”

           “Is he drunk?”

           “No,” Sam sighs, holding another object closer for Cas to inspect, “But I did find this.” He lifts an empty, plastic water bottle – crushed, probably by Dean in his frantic movements – towards Cas. The angel reaches for it, bringing it up to inspect. Cas can’t smell anything in it, so he tries a taste. A single drop snakes its way towards his mouth, and when it touches his tongue, he immediately knows what’s wrong.

           “He’s been drugged,” Cas growls, chucking the bottle away as if he’s been burned, “I could taste it – very close but not exactly like the drug you call ‘lysergic acid diethylamide’.”

           “Lysergic acid…” Sam thinks, groaning when his brain puts it together, “LSD? He took acid?”

           “A very strong dose,” Cas continues, watching Dean as his glazed eyes follow Cas’s lips – probably not understanding a single word, “And he warned me about not taking anything from strangers…”

           “Alright, this is bad…” Sam starts, “We can’t babysit him and search for Gabriel…” Sam looks off into the crowd, then up at the rapidly fading sunlight. Cas knows the younger Winchester is weighing his options – trying to decide between them.

           ‘Too bad we don’t have time for ‘between’,’ Cas sighs, hefting Dean higher up to where he’s almost standing.

           “Sam,” he says, “Go. I’ll look after Dean, you do another quick search – we’ll be here, and I’ll let you know if I see anything.” He doesn’t thank Cas, but his eyes shine with gratitude enough. Sam passes Dean’s shoes to his free hand, and wishes his brother a fond goodbye, like a parent would give their child. The older Winchester nods.

           “G’bye Sammy,” he says, “’N go cut your hair… s’too long… gonna trip over it.” Dean’s hand pets where he thinks Sam hair must be, which ironically is his thigh. Sam sighs and walks away, muttering under his breath.

           Cas turns back to his hunter, “Would you like to sit?” Dean scrunches his face in confusion, the words no doubt fighting for acknowledgment. But it gets across, because he nods before his legs give out beneath him. Cas has to guide him down. They end up sitting very intimately, with him practically cradling Dean, his hunter’s back to his chest. Dean thinks nothing of it, snuggling up against him. Cas wills parts of himself to stay strong.

           “Thanks, Cas…”

           “For what?”

           “For lookin’ after me,” Dean starts, “You’re always ssssoooo good at it… I ‘preciate it, really.”

           A warm smile blossoms on Cas’s face, and he’s glad Dean can’t see the blush slowly creeping up it. “You have no need to thank me, Dean,” Cas says, “I like looking after you.”

           “S’that why you were mad?” he asks, “’Bout me goin’ to th’other world? ‘Cuz you couldn’t look after me?”

           The memory woefully crushes the moment before it could fully bloom. The warmth stops, and is followed by an icy chill at the memories. “No,” Cas sighs, “There was… there was more to it than that…”

           “Oh no,” Dean giggles, “I said somethin’ wrong!” He reaches a hand out, waving it, “Yer wings are all tense… that’s no good. Stupid Dean… always gettin’ yer words wrong.” Cas stares at him, wide-eyed.

           “You can… you can see my wings?”

           “Course,” Dean sighs, “This shit’sposed to ‘open yer mind’ and ‘bring awareness’. Lotsa people see things they shouldn’t see – like around your head.” He twists, craning his neck around to gaze at Cas, “Iss sparkly, but different from your eyes. There ain’t just blue up there… but red, yellow, orange, green, and violet… even indigo! But they said indigo is basically violet, but I don’t buy that. Do you?” He looks back around, playing with his poncho.

           Cas watches Dean, concerned but also amazed. He’s never seen his hunter this innocent, but still so perceptive. It was like he was a child, wide-eyed and saying whatever came to mind. Satisfied with the simplest of things like tassels or the warm weight of Cas behind him.

           “Hey Cas,” Dean starts, “Can I tell you something?” He glances back, “But you gotta promise ta keep it a seeeeeecret!”

           He smiles, “You can tell me anything, Dean –“

           “Promise!”

           “I… I promise.”

           Dean nods, turning his focus back to his clothing. “I think I like you,” he says, “No… that’s wrong. I know I like you… like – a lot a lot.” Cas’s breath hitches, but Dean carries on, “And I’ve been thinkin’ – cause all I can do is think – and I don’t remember ever saying those words aloud: definitely not to you, but also never out loud in general, like when I was by myself. I was always scared I s’posed, but of what? You clearly like me back, other people’s opinions don’t matter ‘cept Sammy’s – and he wouldn’t care – plus, my ol’ man’s not makin’ an appearance anytime soon. He’s too busy fightin’ zombies to come back to life… anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, nothin’s keepin’ us from not being together but… us?”

           “And that’s dumb because we should be happy. Because things work out in the end even if we have to go through a lot. But sometimes places and ideas can be stronger than happy. Like… apocalypse ‘verse. That place is just a void – like… Empty. Here there’s so much life and so much color and voices… over there it’s quiet and gray. And when I think of emptiness, I think of you ‘n’ me. ‘Cuz you were stuck in the Empty, and that’s all I felt when you were gone. It made me feel… icky.” Dean scrunches his face up, turning back to find Cas’s eyes. He twines his fingers with Cas’s. “You stop the ickiness. It’s like, even when you don’t try, your grace just searches for my soul and lights it all up – pulling me into a high of its own. Your star stuff and my salt-o-the-earth soul combine and we climb up – past Heaven to somewhere even greater. And when your gone I’m here… but everything is muted, and I can’t understand why.”

           Cas knows he’s crying. But he doesn’t want this to end – even if this was all a drug-induced state, Dean speaks to Cas’s heart everything he’s been wondering as well. His words soothe the hurt left over from his previous actions, and he understands his hunter a bit more.

           “I don’t think I’m gonna remember any o’this later, Cas,” Dean admits, “Maybe bits ‘n’ pieces… but the fear is still gonna be there. It’s gonna be strong, and it’s gonna hold me back. I can feel them – like chains. They’re slithering like snakes, and usually that should turn any trip into a bad one. But I’m not scared o’them. I’m not scared because you’re here. You broke me free of chains once before and you can do it again.”

           “But that’s so serious,” Dean frowns, “And the guy said I shouldn’t take things so seriously. Which he’s right… that thinkin’ only got me in trouble. Ma and Jack and Charlie and even Ketch need me to keep a levellllll head. Gabriel walkin’ away wasn’t a failure, just a setback. But we’ve handled those in the past… and they only turn into failures when we let them. ‘N we’re too stubborn for that to happen. ‘M not gonna fail anyone ever again… I’m a hero. Billie said so…” He snuggles in deeper to Cas, sinking so his knees rest on Cas’s thighs, hat pushed off his head and into his lap. “’M thirsty again,” he tugs out the crystal that he shoved into his pocket earlier. Dean swings it around, “Wonder where that guy is?”

           “Dean?” Cas asks, “What are you doing?”

           “Last time the guy showed up, this glowed,” Dean giggles, “Pretty sure it did. Wanna see if it does it again.” Cas’s smile falls, and he reaches for Dean’s face, forcing his gaze from the crystal to him.

           “Dean, your crystal – it glowed?”

           “Yeah,” Dean says, “Which was weird… didn’t look like Gabriel. Looked like ev’ryone else here!”

           Cas releases him, letting his hunter play with the crystal, bouncing it from the leather cord and making it dance.

           ‘How much of what he said was true,’ Cas thinks, ‘If he saw the crystal… then he wouldn’t have drank the water. But if that wasn’t… then was anything he said?’ He looks at his hunter once more, taking in his bright eyes and childish laughter and his beautiful freckles. Cas smiles, ‘No… everything he’s said was truthful – his truth. I don’t need to doubt… but I should call Sam.’

           Cas pulls out his phone, calling the other Winchester and filling him in on what Dean told him – well, only the part about Gabriel. Dean starts tossing and turning, going “You promised!” Cas hushes him, covering the mouthpiece, “I’m keeping my promise – everything else stays between us.”

           Dean eyes him for a beat, but shrugs and leans up to pant a kiss on Cas’s jaw. The angel nearly drops his phone. He stutters through the call with Sam, promising to meet him at the gate. Hanging up, Cas stares at Dean. His hunter meets his stare, brow raised.

           “What?”

           “What was that for?”

           “What was what for?”

           “…The kiss.”

           Dean shrugs, “I wanted to kiss you? Not a lot behind kissing someone, Cas. I felt a deep affection for you and wanted to express it. It sucks holding everything in… sometimes you just gotta let the love out…”

           Cas huffs a laugh, agreeing with him. “Come on,” he sighs, “we’ve gotta go.”

           “Nnnnooooo!”

           “Dean,” Cas says, “We need to go. Let you ride the remainder of your induced state somewhere safe.”

           “But you’re here!”

           “And Sam?”

           Dean considers this, tapping his finger to his chin. He sighs, finding no argument with Cas’s logic. Cas watches his hunter pull himself up, like a newborn fawn in springtime. His steps are tentative and light – at times downright skipping – but he makes great time.

           Dean’s hand still glued to Cas’s… that’s a bonus.

           Dean opens a bleary eye, only to scrunch it closed once the sunlight hits. He has a headache, his body hurts, and there’s sand everywhere. “Who put the beach on my bed?” he asks, mouth stuffed with cotton.

           “More like why make your bed… the beach?”

           He startles, gaping at his angel sitting next to him. Cas stares out at the ocean, smiling, still in his outfit from yesterday save the boots that lay on the other side of him. The angel looks away from the water and down at Dean, smiling, “Sleep okay?”

           “I don’t… I don’t remember,” Dean admits, “Anything. What… where are we? Where’s Sam?”

           “Well,” Cas starts, “After we left Coachella, you demanded Sam drive us to the beach. From there, you proceeded to walk in the waves and discuss the importance and the insignificance of a grain of sand. By that point, Sam retired to the Impala.” Cas looks back, smirking. Dean follows his gaze, seeing his brother’s long legs sticking out from the open car door.

           Dean turns back to Cas, “Why would I be talking about sand?”

           “Probably because you were under the influence of drugs my brother tricked you into drinking.”

           The information slowly sinks into Dean’s awareness like quicksand. But the words’ meaning strings together quickly, and the hunter jumps up in fury. “Gabriel roofied me?”

           “No, not Rohypnol,” Cas corrects him, “Sam called it ‘acid’.” The anxiety lessens, but not by much.

           “Of course,” Dean rolls his eyes, “Like that’s so much better. The hippie drug at millennial Woodstock – what could be more fitting?” He plops back onto the sand, breathing his frustration out, digging his toes into the sand and wringing his fingers together.

           “Did I,” Dean starts, quiet, on unsure footing, “Did I do or… or say anything embarrassing?”

           “A few things,” Cas admits, eyes trained on the cresting waves, “But I don’t think anyone noticed or cared. You were one of many under the influence that day.” Dean’s chest sags, spine curving in on himself.

           “D’you… d’you remember anything I said?”

           “Most of it,” Cas smiles, eyes twinkling in the early morning twilight, “But I promised someone I’d keep it a secret…”

           Dean gawks at him. His surprise morphs back into annoyance soon enough, “Cas! Seriously?”

           “What?”

           “Just tell me!”

           “I made a promise –“

           “Obviously to me –“

           “Who said it was to you?”

           “Cas –“ Dean trails off, quieted by Cas leaning forward and planting a quick kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips. He pulls back, frightened and a bit… ‘hopeful?’ He shakes his head, breaking the spell. “What?” he asks, “What was that for?”

           His angel tilts his head, “What was what for?”

           “The kiss!”

           “Ah, the kiss,” Cas smirks, “It was because I was feeling affection for you, and wanted to show it. I believe it was you who told me that we ‘gotta let love out’…” Dean looks down, finding his feet more interesting than the knowing glint in Cas’s eyes. His angel just watches him, Dean can feel his gaze washing over him.

           “So,” Dean clears his throat, “So… Gabe probably high-tailed it out of here… knowing we’re here and all.”

           Cas shrugs, “That he probably did.”

           “Should we… I don’t know,” Dean says, “Go home?”

           “We could,” Cas says, “Or…”

           “Or…?”

           “I mean, those tickets were expensive… and Beyoncé performs tonight,” Cas argues weakly, smiling, “I’m sure spending another day here wouldn’t hurt. In the end everything will work itself out. And as long as we don’t give up… well, I think that gives us the right to enjoy a day off. Don’t you think?”

           Dean should argue with him. Tell Cas he’s crazy if he thinks they deserve a break now when all they should be doing is trying the next generational party or porn convention, searching for Gabriel. That ‘days off’ are for when everyone is back in their own universe with Michael and Lucifer’s charred corpses keeping each other company in a ditch.

           But he doesn’t. Instead, Dean feels a sort of clarity. Like in his drug-addled state, he managed to come to an epiphany – one that he doesn’t remember and Cas won’t tell him. And it should feel weird, not knowing if something life changing happened last night… but he feels better than he ever felt. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s still tripping or because of the way Cas looks at him – Dean assumes the latter because that seems more right.

           Dean claps Cas on the shoulder, “Yeah… yeah, another day won’t kill us. Besides, if Michael does wind up makin’ his way over here, at least I can say I’ve seen her perform live before I die. But…”

           “But…?”

           “Could we sit here a bit longer?” Dean asks him, blushing, “S’nice is all…”

           Cas’s smile grows even fonder. He pulls Dean’s hand off him and holds it in his hands. “I’d love that, Dean.”

           They watch the sun rise, just like that.

[kinsale42-blog]

Sake - part 2

"Jesse,” he whispered as he did so. “This…is a karaoke bar.”

A slow grin stretched across McCree’s face. “Why yes, so it is.”

“I do not sing,” said Hanzo. “Why would you think this place would suit me?” His eyes roamed over the other patrons. The establishment was maybe half full, thirty or so other souls. No one was singing. Yet. It was still early.

“It’s the only place in the neighborhood that serves sake,” said Jesse, as a server glided over to take their order. “So I’ve been told.”

"Who is telling you these things?" Hanzo asked, perplexed at the obfuscation.

"Ohhhh, I have my sources." And with that, Jesse turned his attention to the server, and Hanzo was forced to do the same.

He was reminded immediately of a girl he'd known back home, twenty years ago now. But as soon as she spoke, the memory was dispelled. Her voice was pure North London.

"What can I get you?" Her eyes moved between Hanzo and Jesse.

The gunslinger spoke first. "Sake for my friend here," he said, tipping his brow to Hanzo. "And would you perchance stock any rye whiskey?"

The young woman's face displayed that special variety of not-really-sincere customer service apology. "I'm sorry, no. We have a few different bourbons, some Canadian whiskey, and of course Irish and Scotch."

McCree actually did look a little disappointed. "Well then, I'll have a dram of..." He squinted as he tried to read the bottle labels behind the bar from across the room. "Laphroaig. I always say, may as well drink your smoke if you can't smoke indoors. With water," he added, and the server nodded and glided off.

"My," Jesse observed, "it seems we beat the rush."

Hanzo turned his head to see a group of energetic younger folks stream in the door and fill the tables and barstools nearest the stage. The noise level increased substantially, and Hanzo cringed inwardly. He was grateful to see their server--barmaid, he supposed she was called here--returning already with their drinks. She first placed the glass of scotch and water before the cowboy, then the tiny sake cup in front of the assassin. Hanzo lifted the cup with one hand and supported it from beneath with the other as the young woman filled it from a stoneware flask. When it was full, she set the flask on the table, and bowed slightly as she stepped away. Hanzo inclined his head in tacit thanks, while Jesse thanked her aloud.

The music started just after they had raised their glasses to each other and taken their first sips. Conversation was now virtually impossible, so McCree slid around the circular booth to sit next to Hanzo and get a better view of the stage. Hanzo took another swift drink, emptying the tiny cup. He refilled it from the flask as the fire of the wine masked the flush of excitement he felt from being so close to the loose-limbed cowboy. He wished he could appear as relaxed as McCree looked. Jesse. He really had to start thinking of him on first name terms.

Jesse took off his hat and placed it carefully on the seat he'd just slid across, covering the image of a flying crane woven into the upholstery. He ran his fingers through his hair to loosen it before he leaned back, his elbow propped atop the cushioned booth back and his hand dangling loosely so very close to Hanzo's shoulder.

"She's not half bad," Jesse said near Hanzo's ear, indicating the brown-haired girl who was singing a current dance-pop hit to her friends as she swayed behind the karaoke holo-screen, not even needing to watch the lyrics as they scrolled by. Hanzo nodded briefly, grudgingly acknowledging that his companion was accurate in his judgment. He hadn't really been paying attention. The physicality of the man next to him was too distracting. He could feel Jesse's warmth, smell the smoke and the whiskey and the spicy scent he wore.

Hanzo drained his cup again. The sake was surprisingly very good, or perhaps he was just that thirsty. His flask was down by a third, and Jesse was nearly done with his scotch. The barmaid must have noticed, because she slipped up to the table just as he was about to raise his right arm to flag her down.

"Another drink, sir?" she asked Jesse.

"If you please, miss. The same again."

She turned to Hanzo. "Anything for you, sir?"

"I am fine for now, thank you."

She nodded and faded away from the table again. Hanzo glanced at Jesse, taking in all the details his assassin's training had taught him to notice and remember in a split second. The way Jesse's hair curled slightly around the back of his ears, and how the few days' growth of beard was not all dark like his hair. There was silver interspersed among the brown, practically translucent against the tanned face. And were there freckles over his nose? He forced himself not to look again.

Even the sake could not make him forget that Jesse was a colleague first, and a friend second. And this sense of attraction he felt was misplaced and inappropriate, if not outright unwanted. Hanzo sighed softly, unable to control his reactions, and once more disappointed in that fact.

Another twenty-something was on the stage, attempting to perform what sounded like one of Lúcio's latest hits. He was not nearly as successful at navigating the wordplay and melodic pathways as the Lúcio himself was, but it was apparently very amusing to the group at the front tables.

The server appeared once more, and traded a fresh glass for Jesse's empty one, and placed a steaming plate of flat cakes that almost appeared to be made from battered wood shavings.

"From the lady at the bar," the barmaid said, indicating the general direction of the benefactor with a tilt of her head.

"Okonomiyaki..." breathed Hanzo as he inhaled the fragrance that took him sharply back to the markets of Hanamura. They were his favorite treat from the food stands as a boy, shredded vegetables battered and then fried and served with both sweet and spicy sauces. He turned to see who had sent them over, not sure who to expect. It could not be his brother. Genji was away in Nepal with another team.

"Tracer?" She waved when they made eye contact, then giggled and whispered something to the redhead next to her. Hanzo turned back to Jesse. "Is this your 'source'?"

"Could be," Jesse drawled, his accent always more obvious when he was trying to act mysterious. He sat forward and lifted one of the round cakes from the plate, ignoring the chopsticks that had been provided. He took a hearty bite, and when he took the okonomiyaki away from his face as he chewed, Hanzo could see the sauce smeared on the tip of his nose and across his upper lip. Jesse reached for a napkin.

Unable to entirely suppress a smile, Hanzo picked up a set of chopsticks and devoured a cake in a much tidier and efficient manner.

"Sooo delicious," he said. "I have not had okonomiyaki in far too long." Looking back over to where another of his gracious colleagues sat at the bar with her girlfriend, he raised his hand to salute her generosity. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up signal. When he returned his attention to his own table and the food and wine before him, Hanzo was surprised to see Jesse sliding away from him, back around the booth, to slip out the other side.

"Back in a couple," Jesse told him. "I need to show these young rowdies a thing or two about performing."