#like “hey! overlap! me too pal!”

[drbtinglecannon]

Just found a blog that's been routinely posting art over the last few years of their beloved rarepair from a game that came out 15yrs ago, and even if that pair ain't my jam I'm so inspired by their love for it

Like yeah I also should just keep making art/fic for my beloved little things even if they aren't popular. Make myself more things that cater specifically to Me

[winniemaywebber]

Honeysuckle Rose • Part 4

part one part two part three

masterlist

mood board by @hephaestn

taglist: @ginabaker1666 @sagesolsticewrites @hephaestn @manonsmanicmind @derry-rain @bobparkhurst @bloodynereid

Her head leaning on her hand, her elbow on the table, Olive feels Valencia glance across at her. She has seen her eyes softening as James talks, unaware that her mouth is slightly agape. A sharp kick under the table snaps Olive out of her trance, Val shaking her head and smiling, those gorgeous red lips parting and showing her perfect teeth as she makes eye contact. “Breathe, Ollie,” she teases, as the boys engage in a conversation about something or another. 

“Sorry,” Olive mumbles, awkwardly sipping her drink. “I'm not usually like this.”

“Maybe it's the booze?”

“Oh, probably. Yep, that's it. Not the most handsome man I've ever seen taking interest in me. Not that at all.”

“The most handsome, huh? Jesus, don't let him hear you say that.”

“Why not?” Olive giggles.

“He'll never fit his head through that door ever again. Not to mention us never hearing the end of it.”

“You girls wanna take a couple laps in the Jeep? Watch the sunrise?” Dougie asks, looking pointedly at Olive. 

“We're all far too drunk to drive, Doug, and I ain't walking all that way,” he pauses for a moment, feeling Val's eyes focus on him. “Only walking my girl home.” The classic furrow softens immediately. 

“That's what I thought, Everett. Good answer.” 

“What do you say, Olive? Wanna take a walk with me?”

“Sure,” she replies, nervously. She glances over at Val, who nods towards her as Ev helps her with her jacket. 

“Olive, see you tomorrow. Can you get here in time?”

“Oh, I'm sure I can,” a panic rising in her chest, hoping that somehow she was able to get back. Whether any time had passed between the two worlds, she had no idea and was terribly nervous to find out. Alas, she had to get home and check on Pearl, relieving Joan of her duties. But a few more moments with Dougie seemed so incredibly tempting that she felt herself taking his open hand and rushing out the door with him into the cold, morning air. 

“You don’t have a jacket?” He asks as he sees her shiver the second the warm club is behind them.

“Didn't plan on staying this long, actually.” 

He laughs a little, pulling off his own jacket. “Here,” he says, wrapping it around her shoulders. He pulls the sleeve up as she puts her arm in, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Wanna hold your hand.” 

His hand slips into hers and they begin to head towards the hardstand. Olive, pontificating how to make a quick exit without seeming rude, is distracted from her thoughts by an orange ember coming towards her face. Holding a lit cigarette in front of her, she knows he expects her to take it in between her own fingers. Instead, she drags on it from where he holds it, not once breaking eye contact and his mouth drops open.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat, moving the cigarette back to his own mouth as soon as she has blown smoke from her lips. “Where did you grow up?”

“Here,” she smiles. “I just moved back from London.”

“London? Wow, why?”

“Oh, errm,” she stutters, trying to formulate a story that has little substance but is not a lie. “I, uh…lots of things. I had a few things not work out. My grandma took a fall just over a year ago and she needs a carer. I decided to come home and take over.”

“That's real nice of you, Ol. I'm sure she's grateful.”

“I'm sure, too. She'll never say it, she's a grumpy old girl. But, I love her. She's my pal. Taught me how to be tough and I'm thankful for that.”

“Tough, huh?”

“Mhm,” she nods, realizing they are almost at the aircraft she fell from this afternoon. “What about you?”

“Lansing, Michigan. You probably haven't–”

“Never heard of it,” they overlap, Olive giggling and instantly going to cover her mouth with her free hand. 

“Hey, no. You gotta stop that.”

“Why, Dougie?”

“Because you have a pretty smile. And you shouldn't hide it, especially when it's me making you do the smiling, huh?”

A moment of silence passes between them as they reach the wing of Just A-Snappin, coming to a stop. His hand on her cheek, hers on his back. “Tell me more about Michigan,” she murmurs, their noses almost touching.

“It's real pretty,” he replies, his hand going from her cheek to her hair to move a strand that's blown in her face. “Real pretty in the fall especially.” He sighs, his thumb gently stroking her mouth. “I'll take you one day.”

“I'd love that,” she replies, moving closer. Just as their lips are about to meet, a loud, shrill horn noise is heard over the tannoy, followed by a thick accent. 

“James Douglass,” it commands. “Put that girl down and get to bed!” 

“Dammit, Red,” he mumbles, turning away for a second and squinting up at the tower. “I swear he has eyes in his ass, that guy.”

“Is this goodnight?” she asks, handing the jacket back.

“It is. I'm sorry. I wanted to walk ya home but–”

“Look,” she says, kissing him gently on the cheek. “The sun is rising.”

For a moment, he holds her close to him before breaking away, kissing her softly on the cheek, too. 

“Goodnight, Olive,” he says, beginning to walk backwards towards his destination.

“Goodnight, Dougie.” 

The second his back is turned, Olive begins to run in a full sprint towards the Red Cross Hut to retrieve her clothes. To her relief, Helen is snoring softly in the soft light of the sunrise, Val nowhere to be found. Assuming she's still with Ev somewhere around, she delicately places the dress upon her bunk, pushing out any wrinkles and creases with her hands. Pulling her shirt, overalls and boots back on, stuffing the headscarf in her top pocket, she makes a hasty exit, extremely careful to not disturb Helen. She sighs softly and turns over, causing Olive to freeze as she tiptoes towards the door. Luckily, she remains asleep, the rapid movement not waking her once. 

Returning to the plane and making sure there are no eyes on her, Olive runs around to the hatch she stumbled out of earlier. Seeing it left open, she hesitates, trying to reason with herself to stay. Thoughts of how devastated Pearl would be creep into her mind, cementing the decision. With a sigh, she climbs in, somehow finding long forgotten core strength. She reaches down and shuts the door with a slam, waiting a few moments. Closing her eyes, she waits, the blazing afternoon sun coming through the windows causing her body to overheat instantly.

Sadness crawling all over her, she kicks the hatch open again, her body suddenly heavy. Jumping out much more gracefully this time, she lands heavily in her boots, the scene around her seemingly unchanged. The group of girls she had originally been with were back in their usual spot, Olive now traipsing over to them casually, trying not to be seen. Heather greets her with a smile, her absence apparently unnoticed. 

“Taking a look at the plane?” She asks before the final crowd of school kids of the day make their way around the circuit. 

“Something like that,” she titters, grabbing a rake. “What time is it?”

Heather raises an eyebrow as she looks at her watch, trying to gauge the time as the warm sun reflects the watch face. “Errrm, it's two pm.”

“Oh!” Olive says, surprised. Seemingly no time had passed at all. 

—

“Hiya, Pearly Girly,” she greets, walking into the house. Kicking her boots off by the door, Olive begins to walk into the kitchen, reaching into the beige fridge to quickly gulp milk straight from the glass bottle that was delivered this morning.

“Hey, you,” Pearl greets, hobbling in with her stick. “Get a glass, for goodness sake!”

“I only wanted a gulp,” Olive laughs, now seeing that she'd somehow chugged half the bottle. 

“Some things never change, do they? You've been doing that since you were wee.”

“Old habits die hard, Grandma. Where's Joan? Am I late?”

“No, doll,” Pearl says, shaking her head. “She's out in the garden. Funeral director called.”

“Ah, shit,” Olive replies, peeking out of the window that's shrouded by a worn net curtain. She sees Joan pacing up and down the garden path, arms crossed and face growing more furrowed each second. “I'll make her a cuppa. You want one too?”

“If there's any bloody milk left,” she teases, leaving the kitchen. Olive titters and shakes her head as her back turns, clicking the kettle on. 

—

Pearl and Olive sit opposite one another, sipping from their mugs despite the boiling hot weather outside. 

“So, good first day? How did you like it?”

“Oh, I loved it,” Olive replies, a huge smile on her face. “I met some really nice people. Red Cross girls, took me under their wing and–” Olive pauses, realizing what she has said, seeing Pearl’s confused face. It settles in an instant, the ringing in Olive's ears subsiding as she sees her face return to normal.

“I used to love their jumpsuits. The headscarves they'd wear through the day while their hair was setting for a night at the club. I was always envious. There I was, sweating, beetroot red with a rake and overalls, while they were there looking all glamorous, handing out coffee and donuts to these handsome men. I would've traded places in an instant.”

Olive giggles. “I don't blame you, Pearly. I bet they were all beautiful.”

“They were,” she says, wistfully. “There was one man that caught my eye right before we moved. I never got his name, nor did we ever speak but you bet your bottom I was sat watching his every move whenever I could. He always had this dog with him–”

Olive, taking a sip of tea, inhales at the wrong moment and chokes as she hears Pearl’s words. “Jesus, Olive,” she laughs, trying her best to throw a napkin her way. “Wrong pipe?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replies, coughing a few more times. “Something like that.” It couldn't be the same dog, the same man. Surely not? Shaking her head through the shock, Olive trying to make sense of everything that's happened in the past few hours, Joan enters the room looking a little less stressed than the last times Olive has seen her. 

“Hi, Olive,” she smiles. 

“Joan,” she greets. “How are you?”

“Oh, better now I've got that sorted. Funeral home wanted to go through the order of service, and wanted to know how long my grandson's speech was going to be. You know our Kyle can talk.” Joan looks at Olive, her lips pursed slightly. “You remember Kyle, Olive?”

“Oh, er, yeah. I sure do.” How could she forget? Seeing him on the train while on her way home had brought up so much disdain that she'd felt nauseous for hours afterwards. Kyle, the first and only guy she'd let break her heart, and she'd let him do it because he somehow broke through all the toughness Pearl had taught her - and used it to his advantage.

“I do wish you two had worked out–”

“I wish he'd have been able to control himself and not sleep with my best friend.” 

“Olive!” Pearl scolds. Standing up, Olive announces her leave.

“I need to shower. Nice to see you, as always, Joan. See you tomorrow.”

—

Olive sits on her bed, wrapped in a towel and tries to breathe slowly. Laying down on the bed, her wet hair soaking into the pillow case, she closes her eyes and begins to try and ‘center herself,’ an exercise she'd been taught in Movement Class at drama school. Feeling her lungs inflate and holding her breath for just a moment, Olive hears a small knock on her door. 

“Ollie Pop?” Pearl calls, her voice etched with concern. “You alright?”

Breathing out slowly, Olive sits up. “Come in, Grandma.” As she does so, she puffs heavily and sits on the bed beside her. 

“I like our Joan, but her grandson is a twat.”

“Granny!” Olive shrieks. 

“What? You know if I curse, it's serious. He is. A stupid one at that.”

“Yeah,” she replies, sighing. “Besides,” she pauses, the panic attack pushed aside. “I'm a tough girl. Just like my Grandma.”

—

Laying in the softly lit room as the sun rises, Olive tries her best to read by the glowing lamplight emanating from her bedside table. The words scattering on the page, blurring into one another, she snaps it shut and sits up quickly as her alarm clock beeps, not wasting a single moment. Despite a night of minimal sleep, Olive gets ready in a flash, trying her best to remain as quiet as possible to not disturb Pearl who she can hear snoring from her room. Opening the door with a small creak, Olive smiles sweetly as her beloved Grandma sleeps peacefully, pictures of her husband on display on the table directly next to the bed. Closing the door quietly, Olive goes to the kitchen and boils the kettle for her morning green tea, waiting for Joan to come take over. Despite Olive figuring out that only a little time passes between worlds, she does not want to risk Pearl ever being left alone. Sipping at the hot liquid, she watches the sunrise through the garden window. Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, her mind goes back to the previous sunrise she saw, under the wing of a plane with Dougie. 

Finishing her tea, Olive quickly runs back to her room to collect her dog-eared copies of A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest, hoping to find time for some light reading throughout the day. Joan arrives soon after, instantly apologizing for yesterday as she walks through the door, eyes wide with anxiety. 

“Joan,” Olive says, waving her apology away. “Not you that should be apologizing really. You're fine. It's fine and we're fine.”

“Phew, good. Our Pearl awake yet?” Olive shakes her head.

“Not yet. She seemed to fall asleep pretty quickly last night, too.”

“She's a lot more relaxed now you're here, Ol. She knows you're safe and I think that pleases her.”

“I'm glad to be here,” she pauses, smiling awkwardly. “Right, off to work!” 

“Do you need something for lunch?”

“No, thanks,” she smiles, quickly adjusting her headscarf. “I'll grab a donut.”

—

Practically skipping to the airplane, she takes a quick look around to make sure nobody has eyes on her. Only a few early morning museum visitors are around, going into the building itself, trying to keep out of the cool morning air. Satisfied that nobody can see her, she clambers into the plane, body flopping into the aircraft like a hard loaf of bread. 

“I gotta get better at this,” she murmurs to herself, wincing as her core tightens. Leaning down, she slams the door shut and waits. A dog barks in the distance, her eyes clamped shut in fervent hope. She opens her eyes and gently fiddles with the door, her head sticking out slightly. Waiting on the ground is Meatball, tail wagging the second he sees Olive. 

“Hi, buddy,” Olive squeaks when she lands on the floor, a lot more graceful than yesterday's breathtaking bump. “Good morning!” Taking him by the leash, she retrieves her bag and begins to walk to the Clubmobile. 

“Hey!” She hears as her back is turned. “Who said you could take my dog?” There's Benny, a playful smile on his face that Olive instantly reciprocates.

“He did, actually. Waiting right there to greet me.” 

He laughs, leaning down to stroke the dog. “He just was excited to see his new best friend.”

“And so was I,” she replies, handing the leash to him. “I'd better run. Can't be late for my first day!”

—

“Aaah! You're here!” Val squeals, squeezing Olive into a quick embrace. “Come on,” she says, taking her by the hand and leading her to the hut. “Tat got a uniform for you, Lord knows where from but I gave her my measurements and what do you know, there was one spare, exactly your–our size.” 

Hanging on the small locker next to a bunk, is a blue jumpsuit, emblazoned with the American Red Cross logo on one pocket.

“Here's your space,” Val says, gesturing towards the locker. “We have our own showers so we keep most of our stuff in there, toiletries, make up, what have you. We usually use this for trinkets, but decorate how you see fit, doll.” 

Placing her satchel on the bed, Olive removes her clothes and slips into the jumpsuit, it fitting her like a glove. She stuffs The Tempest into one of the huge pockets while Val takes in her new look.

“Oh!” Val gasps, hands on her cheeks. “Don't you look adorable! Wait til Dougie sees you!” Rolling her eyes, Olive looks in the mirror one final time before heading to the door of the hut, Val close behind.

“Helen is already there,” she says, linking her arm with Olive's. “We'd better get there before she's rushed off her feet! Most of the boys are on the ground today, but they'll still be wanting coffee and donuts from us.”

“Makes sense,” Olive responds, waving to Tattie as she zooms past in her Jeep. She waves back, a smile on her face, the wind of the cool morning blowing through her perfectly styled hair.

“Tattie gets a Jeep?” Olive enquires, hoping there's no tone of malice within her question.

“Oh, yeah,” Val says, nodding. “She's the head honcho. She's General Spaatz's daughter, after all.”

“I dunno who that is, Val. Enlighten me.”

“In simple terms? Commander of the Eighth. That's all I know, to be honest. Don't make me go further than that, because I simply couldn't tell you.” She grins, flashing those beautiful teeth. “I'm so glad you came.”

“Me, too.”

—

“Olive! You're here!” Helen shouts through the hatch of the Clubmobile. Climbing down the stairs, she greets her new friend with a hug. Not used to this much affection all at once, Olive basks in it, feeling her face glow.

“Morning, Helen. Thanks for fixing up the bed.”

“You're so welcome, Ol. Nobody will be itching in our house! Not on my watch.”

“You'd think that should be the nurse's job, but here we are.” Val says, her tone scathing as she leans on the counter, flicking through a new copy of Screen Romances, Laraine Day and Robert Young upon the cover, cheeks pressed together. 

“Oh, I love Screen Romances,” Olive pipes up as Val reads through, that famous furrow brought out in concentration. “The gossip columns are savage.” 

“Oh, they so are,” Val responds, looking up, her eyes rolling slightly. “I live for it. I love the cattiness, the scathing remarks. Ugh, wonderful. I'll let you know if anything juicy comes up,” she says, nodding towards the hatch. “Someone's here to see you.”

“Donut from the prettiest girl in East Anglia, please.”

“Hey, Dougie,” she blushes, leaning out of the truck slightly.

“Look at you,” he says, biting his lip a little. “Blue really is your color.” 

“Oh, stop,” she replies, cheeks glowing even redder. “You're just angling for an extra donut.”

“Maybe,” he says, leaning up to meet her in the hatch. “And a kiss.” 

“Well, handsome, I can only give you one of those things right now,” she says, a donut in hand. “Meatball hair free, too. Must be your lucky day.”

“It sure is. Can I get a coffee too? Just cream.”

“Coming right up. No sugar?”

“Not when you're around. I'm sweet enough on you.”

“Are you trying to make me keel over?” She scolds, pouring the coffee into the cup. Brow furrowed, she hands him the cup, followed by a quick smile.

“Jeez, too much time with Valencia already. You've got that furrow perfected.”

“Maybe it was always within her, James,” she shouts, head still buried in the magazine. “Little help from me, and you being insufferable brings the best furrows out in people.” Olive shakes her head, giggling at the banter between the two. 

“Will you be at the club later?” Dougie asks, sipping the coffee. 

“I assume so,” Olive shrugs. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” he teases, winking as he walks away. 

“She's right,” Olive shouts from the Clubmobile. “You are insufferable.”

—

Both Dougie and Benny turn the second Olive enters the club, linked arm in arm with Val and Helen who stand either side of her. She meets the eyes of either man in turn, feeling her cheeks glow with that familiar heat the second she makes eye contact with Dougie. 

“I saw that,” Helen teases as they sit down, the same table as the previous evening. “You smiled when you saw Benny…”

“Helen–” Olive cuts her off, her cheeks now red with embarrassment instead of the previous limerence.

“But I saw that twinkle in your eye when Dougie looked at you.” 

Val nods enthusiastically, lighting a cigarette before offering one to her companions. Her attention on them is taken away the moment Everett walks up to the table, her eyes glowing as he greets her with a kiss on the cheek. 

Olive feels a presence behind her, before a glass - an Old Fashioned - is put at her place on the table. She turns to see Dougie, standing behind her chair with a whiskey in his hand. 

“Thanks,” she says, demurely, hoping that the blushing is now at bay.

“You owe me a dance later,” he says, winking as he walks back to the bar before she can even muster an answer. 

“Does he always do that?” she asks, turning to Val and Ev. “Ask a question then piss off to the other end of the room?” The couple and Helen burst out laughing at her tone, still not quite used to Olive's dry British humor. Not able to contain her own laughter due to theirs, she tries to pull herself together to reiterate the question. Ev is the first to compose himself, Val dabbing at his eyes with her handkerchief as he gasps for air a final time. 

“Nah, not always,” he finally says, looking for his friend at the bar. “He's just nervous, I think.” 

—

Feeling a wet nose at her bare ankle, Olive squeals and finds Meatball under the table. 

“Aaah, hi buddy!” she says, placing her drink on the table and beginning to pet him. “Were you good today? We missed you!”

“Speak for yourself,” Val mumbles under her breath as she reapplies her lipstick , only loud enough for Olive to hear,  causing her to shoot her a glance and giggle. Making sure Benny didn't hear, she smiles up at him. 

“Hi, Benny. How was your day?”

“Better now for seeing you. Let me get this fella squared away. D'you wanna dance?”

“Love to,” she grins, placing her jacket on her chair. Val winks at her as she exits, clutching Benny's arm as he gives the dog to Buck and a few men around him before leading her to the dancefloor.

“I'm warning you, Benny,” she begins as they begin to sway together. “I'm not much of a dancer. I hope you enjoyed having toes.”

“I'm just as bad, don't worry. Just wanted a moment alone with you.”

“That's sweet,” she replies, smiling as she places a hand on his shoulder. 

“So, how was your first day?”

“Oh, it was wonderful, thanks.” And she means it. It's the most fulfilled she's felt in years, these new people welcoming her and taking her under their wing. Everything that went wrong in London feels like a million light-years away; and being here, maybe it is. Benny narrows his eyes at her answer, trying to gauge any hint of sarcasm he may have missed. She shoves him playfully as they dance, giggling a little. “I'm being serious, Benny. It's exactly what I need.”

“If you say so,” he replies, smiling as he spins her away from him. With that spin, she crashes into none other than James Douglass, who automatically takes her in his arms. 

“Dog needs taking out, Benny,” he teases, gripping Olive's hand. He quickly spins her to a new spot on the dancefloor and grins. “Told ya, you owed me a dance.”

“I didn't hear you asking, James,” she teases, feeling her cheeks flush as his hand lands on the small of her back. “It was more of a statement.”

“Right, right,” he says, breaking away. “Will you dance with me?” 

“Yes, I will. But you'd better apologize to Demarco when he gets back.”

“Oh, I'm not sorry for anything, doll.” She tuts at him, letting him lead her nonetheless. Him touching her feels like lighting coursing through her veins, feeling her hair stand up on end. He moves closer as the band slows, their noses almost beginning to touch as they move in unison to the swelling music. Her inhale becoming his exhale, she moves and plants a soft kiss on his neck. She feels him gasp into her ear and it's enough to make her weak at the knees. Looking over his shoulder, she sees a light begin to flash red above the door.

“Hey,” she murmurs, gesturing towards the light with a movement of her head. “Does that mean something?” He turns and looks, his eyes suddenly downcast as he sighs.  

“Ah, shit. Yeah.” 

“I'll walk ya home,” Benny pipes up, suddenly behind them. 

“Nah, I got it, Benny,” James replies, taking his grip off Olive.

“No,” Benny says, a little sternly. “I'll do it. Olive, you ready?”

“It's fine, I can–” she tries to say, but is once again cut off by incessant squabbling, the two men fighting like catty school children. Looking towards Val for help, Olive sees Everett talking to a man with big brown eyes, hair slicked back into a soft pomp, his body seemingly racked with anxiety. Everett and Val gently push him in Olive's direction, him ushering her away unnoticed.

“Thanks,” she sighs, staring into the pretty cow eyes of the man that rescued her. 

“No problem. Harry Crosby,” he says, gesturing to himself, a hand on his chest as he introduces himself. 

“Hey, Harry. Olive.” He stretches a hand out and she shakes it.

“I heard the commotion. I'm heading back to write to my wife. She would never let me live it down if I wasn't a gentleman to others. I'll walk ya home, Olive.”

“Oh, Harry. That's so kind. Thank you.” 

As he holds the door open for her, she hears the arguing come to a sudden stop followed by a surprised “Crosby?!” and Val storming up to them. “Stupid boys,” is all she hears as she exits the club with Harry, her arm linked platonically with his. 

[herejusttosufferalong]

Hey, I am new to ur blog and totally love it!! Definitely my fav one on here & thank u for putting out ur perspective!

So, idk if this has been discussed here before (been here only for the past 2 days.. will deep dive into it🫡) but just wanted get some things off my chest as this blog seems to be a safe place to voice it out.

1. In one of their recent ivs with Kiss fm when asked about how to get out of the friendzone, he agrees to some extent with Nic, but when the interviewer said "just do a me & stay there", L was immediately jumped in to agree and looked visibly nervous, clearing his throat - this solidifies my opinion that he has feelings for her is and is afraid to confront them.

2. I may be reaching with this one, but I think the cast also knows what's up with them? Like Claudia keeps referring to herself as 3rd wheel, Johnny giving a teasing smile to LN when he talks about N and Luke T glancing at them while saying "fear of falling in love" & "oh, personal advice" when LN talked about insecurities.

3. Not to forget in the friendzone or love iv, she raises her brows & hits him with the paddle as of calling him out for sending "mixed message". Also, when she says "don't call me bro, pal or dude if u kiss me" seems to be directed at him. This is the only interview I couldn't get through cause the tension between them was seeping through the screen.

They definitely seem to have some kind of attraction towards each other but holding off for some reason (in some of the interviews they did prior to the promo tour, the ones they did indoors, he keeps giving her googly eyes & scanning her face with his eyes with a smirk & he wasn't like that with claudia. You can see N doing the same to him on some instances). My guess is that N has her guard up as she said she is cynical about love and probably decided to stay friends with him as it could affect their work life (but the maks slips off time and again). I believe that they caught feelings while filming s3 and it might've surprised both of them (remember, his break up with Jade also happened around the same time, she started dating someone else right after breakup so I cant help but notice how the timeline overlaps). He had just then got out of a LT relationship & probably they didn't want to act on his feelings. I am assuming all their bottled up emotions came out with full force once they reached the end of the promo.

From what I understand, they seem to be having an on/off relationship in terms of their feelings, very much like the ross & rachel dynamic he so often keeps mentioning (he said that Polin never get the timing right which is kinda untrue considering once C realised his love he got P, he seems to be talking about Nic & himself). I think the lines were really blurred & at this moment both of them are confused as to what/how they feel.

Now coming to him dating A, I think for him he believes dating A is safer cause he isn't going to lose anything there but with N if it doesnt work out he is going lose their friendship (like it happened with J for him). He really is like Colin & in L's own words, I hope he "gets some vision" & sees "what is right infront of him". For me, it looks he is probably lost right now & acting out cause he doesnt how to deal with his feelings for N.

Apologies for making it so long, I hope u find time to read it, but i had to get it out of my system cause its getting really tiresome to see people calling them disingenuous & questioning their friendship/love they have for each other & labelling it as PR/fake when in reality their dynamic seems too complicated.

First off, thank you and I really appreciate it!

Secondly, thank you for sharing, I pretty much agree with everything you said.

The only point I will add is in Brazil N mentioned that she used to be more cynical about love but that it was changing. Which was apparently a conversation that her and L had.

Then in the KISS interview she said that she loves love.

This is quite the progression. I'm interested to know what caused this change and why now? I have my suspicions...

[raggedannau]

Eddies big lift!!

SALLY:Well it’s a showstopper of an idea, Julie, I’ll give you that. But I just don’t believe it’s possible!

JULIE: No, it’s true! I swear, I swear!

POPPY: Ohhh, dear what’s happening my darlings is everything alright?

JULIE: Oh, hi, mama! I thought you said you were going to spend a quiet morning making costumes!

POPPY: [concern] How could anyone effectively do anything with you two talking so loudly at one another? I thought you two were fighting

SALLY: Our most clownarific marvelous Juliet here insists that the local porcelain mailman is enough of a powerhouse to lift every! Single! Neighbor! In the neighborhood!

POPPY: [With the tone of someone who’s heard this before] Oh, Julie, not this again…

JULIE: It’s true, it’s true! Popppyyy, you’ve seen it too!

POPPY: Now, Eddie is… Fairly capable what with carrying all his packages and such around, but--

JULIE: [Loudly Interrupting] So you agree!!

POPPY: I did not say-- Julie, we spoken of this Eddie is too fragile to be lifting our neighbors much less myself Barnaby or howdy

JULIE: [Triumphantly shouting] EDDIE! CAN! LIFT! A! HOOOUUUSSSEEE!!

POPPY: ohhh Julie

SALLY: Well, I simply can’t accept such a boast without proof.

JULIE: Oh, I can prove it! Look, here comes Eddie now! Watch this!

POPPY: What do you mean you can prove--

EDDIE: You got mai- oh dear

JULIE: [Overlapping him, running off in his direction] EDDIE, EDDIE, EDDIE, CATCH ME! QUICK! CATCH ME!

[Sound of packages hitting the ground and Eddie going “oof!” as he catches Julie.]

JULIE: TA-DAA!! See? See??

SALLY: díos mío!

POPPY: Julie Topsful! That is very dangerous

JULIE: oh come on-

POPPY: [in the deadpan of womanWho Is Sick of This Conversation] We’ve talked about this! He’s way to frail to be doing these stunts my dear

Eddie: wait- what?

SALLY: Although I love to see your shenanigans play out, Eddie is very fragile

EDDIE: what- hey! I’m perfectly capable of doing stuff on my own!

SALLY: fine! If your so capable then lift me come on [Snapping her fingers] Up, man! Up! Lift! Higher now-- with your knees-- all the way up-- there!!

EDDIE: [Overlapping with Sally’s directing] What, oh, uh-- yes ma’am!-- [Strained, lifting] oof-- here we go-- uhf-- alrighty-- hup! [A little “ta-da!!” jingle plays to signify Sally being fully lifted.]

SALLY: Hm. Passable, I suppose. But I’m still not convinced.

JULIE: POPPY NEXT! POPPY NEXT!!

EDDIE: [chipper, Man On The Job] All right then!

POPPY: Don’t you dare Eddie I don’t want you to crack!

EDDIE: [Tone exactly the same, backing off] wha oh come one I’m not helpless

JULIE: Oh, look! Wally, Franky [gasp] BARNABY AND HOWDY!!! THIS IS GREAT

Franky: What’s all the commotion about?

BARNABY: yeah we were in the middle of a joke contest

HOWDY: and I was winning!

WALLY: Hi, Julie. Hi, Sally. Hi, Poppy. Hi, Eddie. What are you--

JULIE: [interrupting Wally mid-greetings; he keeps going underneath her dialogue] EDDIE! LIFT WALLY INSTEAD!

EDDIE: Oh, okay! Up we go, little buddy- hup!

WALLY: Oh, I’m up here now.

SALLY: [Scoffs] That’s nothing! Wally weighs three apples soaking wet. Here, watch-- mailman, put him down.

EDDIE: Alrighty?

WALLY: I’m on the ground again.

SALLY: And hup!!

[Another “ta-da!!” to signify her lifting Wally.]

WALLY: Oh, and now I’m up again.

BARNABY: Life’s sure got its ups and downs, eh, pal? [less performer-y inflection] Uhh, but seriously, Jules, what’s this new game of yours?

JULIE: It’s not a game! I’m proving to Sally that Eddie can lift everyone in the neighborhood!

BARNABY: Ohhh, why didn’t you say so? Eddie, ya shoulda started with me. Seein’ as I’m such a tiny li’l pooch and all.

EDDIE: [voice wavering, seeing the writing on the wall here] Uhh BARNABY: I mean, it wouldn’t be much harder than liftin’ a couple envelopes, huh? Pickin’ up a li’l guy like me. It’s hardly even worth showin’ off at this point, when you’ve already managed guys so much bigger! But might as well just so you can say honestly you’ve managed the full collection, right?

FRANKY: woah! stop right there! Eddie is a porcelain doll he is much too fragile to be doing such things!

EDDIE: now wait a minute-

POPPY: he’s right my children Eddie is not like the rest of us

EDDIE: hey!

BARNABY: aaaah your right he is just glass ain’t he

HOWDY: yeaaah as entertaining as it might be we can’t have him breaking

EDDIE: [angry stomp] you know what…[grunt of effort] Hup-- all right-- little more--shoo--

[Big, forceful, weightlifter-style exhale as he gets Barnaby lifted; little “woah!” from Barnaby.]

JULIE: [overlapping others] YES!!

SALLY: [overlapping others, little applause] Oh!

FRANK: [overlapping others, accidentally being Genuinely Impressed a second] Oh my!

WALLY: [overlapping others] Oh, now Barnaby’s up there.

[One solid beat. Then, swoop! Before a big tumble Barnaby is swooped away by howdy while everyone else keeps Eddie steady]

BARNABY: Wow, uh-- I don’t even got a joke for this one. That was impressive, Ed. You all right?

EDDIE: [out of breath, audibly Not Just Fine also very upset] Oh, yep, j-just peachy, Barnaby. Thanks for askin’.

SALLY: Well I still say it’s only just passable but that was a big scare!anyhow [theatrical] Barnaby! Get over here! I’ll bet you I can lift you over my head!!

BARNABY: [in the tone of a man who wants to see how this plays out] Yeah, all right.

FRANK: [sternly] NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I’m ending this right now! We almost got Eddie crushed!!

JULIE: Oooh, let’s go see if Eddie can lift Poppy and Howdy next! We can save Home for the big finish!!

SALLY: Not if I can lift them first!!

BARNABY: Well, I know what I’m doin’ with the rest of my day. C’mon, li’l buddy, let’s catch this show!

WALLY: Eddie’s going to lift up Home? That’s the most. We can go to Howdy’s together and Home can pick out his own trinket.

POPPY: children thats enough! That was incredibly dangerous we must all remember Eddie is porcelain hes fragile

Franky: he’s a bit helpless as well

EDDIE: [his expression looks sad] I’m not helpless…

[Long beat.]

FRANK: [Frank looks at him, rotating his head a bit as if to shake it.] your to fragile for these games Eddie

EDDIE: Wha? Huh?

FRANK: it’s true Mr.Dearest we can’t have you breaking truly

EDDIE: I’m not!- [he sighs defeated] whatever here’s your mail julie..[he hands Julie a box walking away]

[trollex-is-gay]

Completely forgot to follow up to this post but HERE WE GO !!!

Also buckle up this post is long bc if there's one thing I will not do it is make brief post. Also I have a lot of opinions on this.

First off I have to put the one that's been on my mind the most: I think Velvet and Veneer would get on great with Electra but specifically two different versions of him. Velvet would vibe with pre-2018 rehaul Electra and Veneer would lean closer to post-2018 rehaul Electra. Both versions are major huffy puffy rich divas who don't like things not going their way, but post-2018 holds a slightly more mellow tone to him while still being just as much of an antag as his colorful counterpart, which I thing matches Velvet and Veneer pretty well. Idk if anyone else has noticed but Velvet has brighter and more saturated eyeshadow than Veneer in their final fits, at least it looks that way to me. Pictures for reference it makes more sense this way:

Second I have to mention one that's stuck to me hardcore and that's Poppy and Pearl but SPECIFICALLY post-2018 Pearl. Any possible starlight express fans seeing this post might think pre-2018 would be more sensible bc they're both pink but the thing is they have major personality contrasts. I think that post-2018 Pearl would get on better with Poppy because she has a younger and more peppier feel to her than her counterpart does, what she lacks in color she makes up for in being So Incredibly Confused all the time and honestly she just radiates Poppy to me far more than pre-2018, so yeah I think post-2018 Pearl would be good friends with Poppy. Hell great friends even. Though I ALSO think that Poppy would get along great with Rusty because he's a very excitable character and he has the EXACT determination and drive to succeed that Poppy has, the biggest difference between them though is that Rusty is a lot quicker to give up, he's got support but where Poppy has an entire kingdom at her back Rusty only had a handful of people and only two of them were complete steady support (I'm not knocking the Rockies bc their advice to him was genuine but hey read the room he knows the system sucks). Though on that note I think Rusty could get along good with Branch too, probably a tad bit closer with Poppy but they'd both be his pals in my eyes.

Poppy how come u get two cool train friends who happen to be a couple!!

Next up, I really do believe that both Greaseball and Flat-Top would get along with ALL of the rock trolls. But like specifically the rock trolls. Genuinely. Flat-Top would be more receptive to all of them while Greaseball would be less inclined to get personal with a lot of them and would chill better with the more titular guys like Barb. Flat-Top is just generally very punk and wild while Greaseball is very self-confident. I don't know how well Val and Flats would get on but I do believe he and Riff might get long better than he would any of the others. Greaseball would however get along best with Barb and mostly tolerate the others, maybe he'd enjoy Demo's company, but DEFINITELY not Blaze Powerchord. GB and Electra's rivalry is canon proof that diesel CANNOT STAND people as overconfident as he is.

^^^ pictured Barb and GB being silly because Greaseball's a self-absorbed dude and Barb is aggressive but what they have in common is they're actually goobers and few people truly see this. This is also part of why I think they'd be friends.

SAME PICTURE. Flat-Top is the brick truck on the left btw.

Anyway that's all I have for now it's like almost 11:50pm but I hope you see my vision and I hope I can convince people of each fandom to take a peek at the other bc as a trolls and starlight express fan I think these fandoms should have way more overlap, they're both goofy silly pieces of media that get looked down upon by the people outside of them for being fun and whimsical. Solidarity and all that.

[tame-a-messenger]

okay so shayne was actually on the first episode of culinary crimes. they have the whole reveal of the orange juice.

i'm guessing whenever we get damien on there he is going to be paired with arasha because I have been noticing that they tend to put these two in a lot of videos together. maybe want to try a new duo/dynamic for people to latch on? I feel like in maybe 100% of videos with damien in 80% arasha was also a part of it.

which is also a bone I have to pick a little bit. I feel like in games specifically, they are focusing a lot on the dynamics of certain groups, like angela, shayne, amanda, chance, courtney are one that people really enjoy so I think they push this group more. which ends up feeling a lit bit like they just stuck the ones that are not part of that group together when the "main" one isn't available? it might not be the intention but it ends up feeling this way, at least for me.

I love this "main" group, don't get me wrong. their improve game it's amazing but I also miss the variety that we used to get way more. I feel like any time one of them is in a video, angela for example, I already know who will be there with her without having to see it.

it feels kinda divided for me. two groups that don't overlap that much anymore and are kept separate.

anyway I don't know just felt like ranting a little bit

I totally messed up saying Shayne should be on lmao, I was meant to fact check if he was on already and I didn't.. My bad! (HOW COULD I FORGET THE ORANGE JUICE!?)

I do kind of agree with you about the "focusing on duos" thing. They have been casting Angela + Chanse + Amanda (all three or at least two at a time) in most videos one of them is in the others are sure to ALSO be there. Which I love their dynamics! but like you said, it feels like everyone else gets a little sidelined in favor of certain "duos/dynamics" which feels odd sometimes.

"I also miss the variety that we used to get way more. I feel like any time one of them is in a video, angela for example, I already know who will be there with her without having to see it."

Exactly. I want more variety OVERALL with everything Smosh is doing, with who's cast to what videos they do!

(although I'm wondering if maybe everyone is just such pals with everyone else that we are a little blinded?)(but hey, maybe I just miss Keith and Olivia in the bunch and have a longing for them)(orrrrrr I could be going feral over wanting the OG Games crew to meet the new cast.....I SO BADLY want Amanda and Angela to meet Joven...oh what I'd give to witness THAT)

In conclusion, I miss Damangela because I need their DRAMA. They bicker like no one else at Smosh and I've been missing it.. (EVERYONE IS TOO NICE TO EACHOTHER! ARGUE! COMPETE! I MISS IT!)

[deadricslover]

I'm super new to your blog and you write incredibly !!! Your bruce wayne fics are by far my favorite. Im not sure if your requests are open, but if they are, could I request suitors trying to get with reader thinking they have a chance with her, not knowing shes married to bruce and he gets jealous? i think it would be interesting seeing that dynamic! if you dont want to take this request it's absolutely no problem, wishing you a happy day! <3

the jealous type

here's my Masterlist!

I'm so bad at coming up with names💀

a/n: my god, you're so nice ilysm <3. But yes! I would love to write that, it's a great idea:) also, You didn't specify which actor so I'll try make it as neutral as possible. I hope you like it but personally I feel like I could have done better:/ MY REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN <3 unless I say they're not 😭💀wishing you a happy day life too😘

summary: ^^^ in the request

warnings: not proofread! strong language, some cringe 'flirting' even after the reader saying no, nonconsensual touching of the reader/tw SA, mentions of alcohol, petnames. please tell me if I missed anything!

pairings: fem!reader X actor neutral!Bruce Wayne

wow I hate people like these strangers. who doesn't?

----------------------------------

Overlapping talk and loud music floods your ears to the point that you can't focus your senses on any sound in particular; it's absolutely overwhelming, but in an exhilarating, euphoric way. You hadn't felt like this in a long time, and you'd been missing this rush of pure adrenaline and joy.

You got a call from your old college girl friends a few hours ago, asking if you and Bruce wanted to go out because you hadn't seen each other in what seems like an eternity. You were worried because Bruce had lately been on patrol as Batman so goddamn much and you hadn't spent a night with him in weeks, but once you told your spouse about the plan, he was immediately on board. Showering, changing, and getting dressed took neither of you long, and you were both out of the house and in the car in under an hour.

Once the car is parked, you exit the vehicle and proceed into the bar, grabbing Bruce's hand. Your engagement and marriage rings shimmer and sparkle in the changing colorful lights of the club crowded with people celebrating 21st birthdays and getting the Friday night buzz as you stroll inside. Before you can locate your friends, their voices reach your ears, so you follow the familiar voices and giggles until you find who you're looking for. One of your friends notices you and is immediately all over you.

"I haven't seen you in ages!" She exclaims as she squeezes you into a bone-crushing hug, which you gratefully accept and reciprocate. "You did extremely well with the Mr., didn't you?" When she mentions your husband, she returns her gaze to Bruce, as you do as well. He's smiling and running his hands through his hair as he introduces himself to your pals, instantly making them like him due to his attractive demeanor. You basically drool over him even just at his sight, still after this long being Mrs. Wayne.

"oh, you have no idea" you reply smiling with your eyebrows raised.

You quickly say hi to the rest of the group with Bruce's hand around your waist and begin to catch up on events from the previous few years. Bruce learns some embarrassing anecdotes about you being drunk in college that he will never let you live down.

"Just guess where we found her," another acquaintance, who was your old roommate, says

"The last place I'd think?" he speculates, slightly side eyeing you in a curious manner as to what the answer might be.

"just that. We came home to find her fully dressed and passed out in the empty bath." She remembers laughing her head off at the memories, and you remember laughing with her because it was such a hilarious story.

Before he lets out a breath and asks, giggling lightly, "why were you in the bath?!" he has a puzzled yet delighted expression on his face.

"Hey, I'm the wrong person to ask, I was pissed," you remark, removing a finger from your drink to point at him to add drama to the situation.

"Who's up for another round?" When your ex-roommate's boyfriend notices that most of our glasses are empty, he questions the group. You all agree to the request, and volunteer to order them because you hadn't done so yet, and your legs were in desperate need of a stretch after standing in one position all night.

You collect the empty glasses off a few people ending with Bruce's who was standing next to you.

"thanks, my love. do you need some help?" he asks placing a little kiss into your hair to which you decline and depart to your destination. You order the round and sit on a stool waiting patiently trying not to stratch off the baby blue nail polish you had applied days before. Instead you fiddle with the cool metal of the ring on your ring finger, twisting it round and round waiting.

"Can I buy your drink?" a stranger asks you drawing you out of your daydream.

"No, thank you. I'm getting my friends drinks" you reply trying to be as kind as possible

"oh, come on. Surely you would let me if I rated you out of ten" he suggests. That's an even bigger no, thank you very much.

"like I said it's ok, I don't want you to buy my drink" you say slightly less kind turning slightly away towards the wood surface Infront of you.

"hmm. You get a nine out of 10 from me" After a brief period of thought, he says. Why is he still in this place? also, why nine? You continue to ignore his remarks and stare at the enormous array of bottles containing alcoholic beverages that will give many people headaches and hangovers the next day.

"...because I'm the one you need" ......wow.... so lame. he's really getting on your nerves now.

"come on ,baby, just one drink I promise you will want more aft-" you cut him off

"I'm taken, but it shouldn't matter. I said no."

"stubborn. I like that in a female...why don't I just..." his hand starts to crawl up your thigh and your heart starts to race, before you get to push it away a comforting presence makes their way to your side.

"hey, darling. Everything ok?" he asks 'innocently' and 'not knowing what's going on'. grateful he came over when he did you look at the man in front of you and say

"yeah. everything's fine, Bruce" you lie smiling, wrapping your hands around his forearm swiveling back around to the bar as the stranger walks away.

"everything wasn't ok, was it?" he enquires concerned.

"he's just trying to get in my pants, that's all. No big deal." you reply shaking it off. Bruce doesn't seem to be convinced that it's all ok so he states with slightly sad and concerned eyes

"it is a big deal, petal."

"it would be, but nothing happened" you reply to which he doesn't seem convinced but goes with it anyways. He tried to propose the idea of him going over but you shut the idea down.

When the drinks are ready, you thank the bartender and grab them and return to the gathering, with Bruce keeping a careful eye on you. You two swiftly distribute them and get back into the spirit. The chatter continues, and people soon find themselves having to get into each other's ears to say something because the volume of music and chatter is so high. Bruce turns to you and says something into your ear but speaks louder than normal so you can hear him.

"I'm gonna to the bathroom. I'll be back in a second, you sure you will be ok?" you loved that he was concerned but there was no need to be.

"of course I will. there's loads of people around" you assure with a smile and he promises you he won't be two minutes. The second Bruce departed your friends go to the dance floor and tell you if anything happens to go straight to them and yet again you assure them you will be ok.

soon after, the same thing happens and a guy stands next to you with a drink in hand and starts trying to chat you up. You thought it would be something gross like the last guy but he seemed genuine about what he was saying.

"I really like your dress"

"uhm..thank you." you reply uncomfortable Im the situation

"oh my days. I'm sorry that sounded awful, uhm I didn't mean it like that. I have a girlfriend...and I just wanted to ask where you got it. She has been wanting a dress like this and her birthday is soon." He seemed really sweet but you didn't trust him straight away. you told him where you purchased your outfit and he reveals his plans of proposing too soon into the conversation. You are confused as to why he is sharing this information to a total stranger but your glad he trusts you?

"Actually... as I'm over here. My friend over there thought you were were as he said ' a fine piece of ass' and wanted to talk to you." he says as the other guy starts walking over. There goes your liking for the stranger.

"hey, doll. wanna dance?"

"no" you reply dryly

"come on one dance." he insists

"I said no."

"fine. we can take it slow if that's what you want." he adds a wink to the end of the sentence making it even more revolting to you.

"what's a fine lady like you doing here all alone anyways?"

"waiting for her husband" you reply

"ahh that's one of those schemes that girls use to make guys try harder, right?" he asks completely wrong also.

"what scheme?"

"you know. girl code or something" either he is pissed of his game from alcohol or you're missing something about being a girl but you lean towards the first option because that's more reasonable.

"yeah, I think you've got the wrong idea of what girl code is" Bruce says returning and placing his head on your shoulder and arms around your waist from behind. Him showing up is a weight lifted off your shoulders and he can sense this. he always arrives at the right time doesn't he?

"no I think it's right. the lady will confirm" stranger number three states confidently

"'the lady' has a name and would also much rather come back over to me --her husband-- and have a good time. okay? good." he says as he drags you away, ....anger? radiating off his form.

"I could have handled it." you state the truth.

"I don't doubt that. You're a strong woman" he compliments continuing to walk holding your hand.

"why are you mad then?" you ask innocently wanting the answer

"I'm not. He's just a douche"

then it clicks.

"Bruce... Are you jealous?!" you exclaim not believing it.

"why would I be jealous?" he asks glancing to you quickly, clearly lying but hiding it suspiciously well.

You knew why. he thought you would leave him for them. as if. Bruce is way better than them and he knows it but can't help the thought of loosing you flickering inside his brain. "I don't know. You're THE Bruce Wayne. I don't see why any woman would leave you for some sweaty shit face that hit on them at the club. Bruce, you're so much better and surely you can see that too, because I'm sure all the girls and guys here would leave their partners for you. But I wouldn't let that happen, I'd go full dad protective mode. That's how amazing you are and how much you mean to me. Id be a really shitty wife if I let them say all that to me, wouldn't I?" you needed to reassure him and you think you succeeded.

"That was so sappy and cute, and I loved it. But I'm not jealous." he replies

"that's what a jealous person would say" you state back which earns a look from him before an idea pops into his head.

"wanna go home?"

honestly he couldn't have said anything better right at this moment. That's all you wanted to do right now, go home and get into bed with Bruce and That's what you were going to do.

"mmhhmm yes that sounds good" you reply. getting out of here and alerting your friends about your departure. The ride home was quieter than the drive here and the air was thick. You knew why and it was because Bruce was jealous wheather he would admit it or not. He was. It didn't take long to get home and to get ready for bed so the next thing you knew you and Bruce were wrapped up in eachother's embrace drifting to sleep.

"have you calmed down?" you inquire hoping that his sleepy state would make him more vulnerable to the truth.

"there's nothing to calm down from" be says sleepily

"there is. You were jealous and got all protective, it was cute."

"stop" he says whining with his eyes closed

"only if you admit it." you toy with the hair on the back of his head making it hard for him to resist.

"fine, I was jealous but with good reason. I didn't want the possibility of another man stealing you from me. Because you're my everything, sweetheart" his little speech makes you radiate joy and love for him. As he drifts to sleep you continue to stare at his perfect features and take it all in as if it was the last time you were going to see him. He was so pretty and handsome; why he thought you would leave him for some bozo you meet at the club was beyond you but it would never happen so he had nothing to worry about, you were here in his arms and that's all that mattered to him right now. that's all that mattered to him ever. you and just you.

-------------------------------------------------

keep the requests coming!

[sibsteria]

Shock Value (Bam/fem!Reader/Johnny)

Warnings: drug use, heavy drinking, smutty, angst, fluff

Part One

Masterlist

It was 10pm now.

There was an instant stench of old booze as soon as they entered the complex, screaming and shouting, music changing volumes with each floor they passed through.

Nothing new, then.

Y/n had decided to hang back, neck down a few shots, of god knows what. It was dangerous just drinking something handed to you at a Steve-O party but, it’s not like she cared.

One taste she did recognise, the green liquid reflecting off the flashing lights, Absinthe.

She stayed on an unknown floor for a song or two, letting what she had taken hit her.

She was in for a big one.

Lugging her way up to the highest floor, which was of obvious knowledge that that’s where her friends would be, that’s where Johnny ran off to.

“Yoooo!” The slugged voice of Chris Pontius screeched over the music. Literally no-one payed attention to any loud noises, though.

“There she is!” A shirtless Steve-O was now dragging her by the arm over to where the rest of them sat.

She made eye contact with her curly haired pal, his eyes bulging out of his head when he travels down.

A couple of wolf-whistles later, she was settled into the bean bag chair that she had been thrown down into.

“I thought Johnny would be up here?” Her eyes squint around, no sign of him.

“Yeah, he’s around, probably up on the roof already.” Bam smiles at her, a rare sweet moment pulled from him.

She nods at that, choosing to partake in more drinking, instead.

She could see some of the carpet was already soaked in someone’s vomit. She raised an eyebrow, her phone only marked 10:30pm.

She was summoned over the one of the couches strewn about, a two fingered motion. She trips on something, slamming into the plush, an arm reaches around her shoulders as she sat.

“We’re gonna dare each other to do some stupid shit later, you in?” Bam mumbles out, smoke blowing from his lips.

“Always.” She takes the roll from his tattooed hand, letting the thin paper between her fingers.

Her lips close around the roach end, her nerve ends tingling as she pulls in a breath. Her lungs are blazing as she’s dragging it for so long, the end burning up. It burns her fingers slightly as it was almost at the end of its run anyway. She holds it for a few seconds before her chin is tilted to the left, an open mouthed Bam is urging her to pass it along.

She leans up closer, feeling his soft breath against her closed mouth, she lets the smoke out. It blows gently, he sucks it in tight. His head lulls back as he blows it towards the ceiling.

She giggles at him, everything is slowly starting to catch up with her, mostly the absinthe. Flakes of ash are falling against her arm which was overlapping with the one holding the bud.

It burns through her mesh, she frowns, this was a nice fucking top.

He goes to look at her, feeling her hand clamp around his, she’s pulling him up of the couch.

“Help me find some better booze, this is taking way too long.” She whines, he has a sick grin on his face.

“Follow me, sweetheart.” His tight-teethed accent is whispered into the shell of her ear.

He takes her to a locked closet, she’s about to say something before she yelps, he tugs two bobby pins out of her hair.

She stands there, leaning back against the cool wall as he works his magic.

A lock clicks and she knows he’s done it, yanking open the door he comes out with a couple of bottles, not wanting to completely rob the guy.

“You’re a gem.” She takes one of the bottles from him.

“Aren’t I.”

They walk back to their spot, not bothering to wait before they’re already swallowing mouthfuls from the high brand vodka. She smiles as she feels the harsh burn of the alcohol down her throat.

“Hey, shot off?” Chris is there now, setting up shot glasses.

“Do you have to ask?’” Y/n winks as she plops herself down, letting her bottles free pour into the plastic moulds.

“Last one to finish ‘em goes topless.” Bam’s snickering blunder sounds from behind the two sat on the floor.

“Oh, come on. He’s gonna be topless in an hour anyway.” She motions over to Pontius, holding a hand up to his mouth, covering his chuckle.

“Hey, you won’t be the first or the last girl with their top off tonight. I have full belief you’ll beat him, though.” His doe eyes make her weak, staring into her very soul, very drunk soul.

“Fuck it.” A couple of cheers from onlookers fuel her determination. Her visions a little off, she would’ve had a better chance if she wasn’t already on a spiral.

“Okay, y’ready?” Bam moves to join them, kneeling on the floor. Ten shot glasses lined up on either side.

“Mhm.”

“C’mon.”

The people hanging around them moved to join in the countdown.

She looked left, to see Johnny coming in from the patio doors, watching her with his eagle eyes.

“Two, one-” The chants are cut off by both of the competitors launching towards the shots.

He’s already ahead by one, fuck.

She reaches the eighth hurdle, thinking she has a chance until Chris’ celebration throws her off, he finished already.

She kneels, very fucked over, shit.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that.” Bam’s boozed up giggle makes her laugh too, even if this is at her expense.

“Jesus, fine.”

A couple more cheers pop off around them.

She looks over to Johnny, a glaring eye as he’s staring at her.

His eyes very clearly warning, don’t.

This is just what she needs to shove it in his face, even if it takes shoving herself into other peoples.

Her fingers grip the bottom of her mesh too, she yanks herself out of it, letting it fall to her feet.

She goes to unclip her bra, a hand stops her.

“May I?”

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Summer Lovin'." Sam Wescott X AFAB! Reader. A Commission.

Well hey, hey, hey! Lookie here a lovely Sam Wescott commission for the amazing @darkestamralime, I love Bug so fucking much and loved doing this for them! I went really in on it and did some editing to make it readable for everyone, don’t worry Bug has the OG version with her name in it! She wanted a 2.5-ish comm, I went above and beyond naturally, and I hope you all enjoy it!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Sam Wescott X AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Long Time Friends. Pining. Sam Is A Little Clueless. Deeper Feelings. Grief. Serious Emotions. Making Out. Teasing. Banter. Fingering. Oral Sex. Vaginal Sex. Cream Pie. Raw Sex. Breeding Kink. Sappy Emotional Stuff. Dirty Talk About You Getting Pregnant. 

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Going to camp every summer had a profound and positive effect on you. It gave you so many loves, for the great outdoors, camp fires, archery and hiking and canoeing. You’d been attending camp almost as long as you could remember honestly. You made wonderful friends throughout the years, some who you would only see at camp year after year, some staying as long as you, others eventually falling off and you losing touch but some of them you were pen pals with. 

One such friend was made when you switched camps, your old haunt sadly closed after many beloved years and you weren’t about to give up your summer habit so you were placed in a new camp that fateful summer by your parents. 

Camp Clear Vista is honestly, a really fucking good camp. 

Tons of activities, great staff, lots of other people to hang around with, the family who owned the camp were attentive and good at what they did but you were most taken with their son, Sam Wescott. You met that first year at their camp and you took notice of him pretty early on. He had a cute smile and even back then was a hard worker, more so than he should have been. You overheard his mom telling him one afternoon that while she appreciated the offer he should go for the afternoon swim at the lake with everyone else. 

He told her with a sad sigh, “Okayyy-”

A tone you’d come to know all too well as you got to know him better. His brow creased with worry, hands in his cargo shorts pockets, you watched as his mom ruffled his hair and said, “Really kiddo, take it easy, there is always time to help out lots more at camp when you grow up, just enjoy being a camper for now.” 

He nodded, a serious expression painting his features and after his mom walked off you made your way over. “Heya, Sam, right?”

He perked up, looking over to you, a small smile, “Yeah, Sam! That’s me, sorry I don’t think I know you? Yet anyway.”

“I wasn’t tryna be a creep but I heard all that. You okay?” You asked and he almost seemed embarrassed you overheard, “Uh yeah! M’ fine. I just know my folks and the staff have a lot of work around here, I feel like I should help out.”

You nodded, understanding just where he was coming from. “Yeah makes sense, but it’s like your mom said, there is time for all that later too. The work isn’t going anywhere, you should have fun like everyone else.”

“Suppose so.” He admitted shyly with a shrug, hands still in his pockets as his smile brightened, “Thanks.” 

He sounded so sincere it was nice. 

“Don’t mention it. You wanna come for a swim at the lake with me and everyone else?” You asked with a thumb over your shoulder and he took you up on it. That is where your friendship started on a hot summer afternoon at group swim.

You would pair up with Sam when you could and your activities overlapped. You would sit together at meals semi-regularly that first year. When camp was winding down you had made mention earlier about some pen pals you had from previous years at camp and Sam asked if you wanted to stay in touch. You agreed with a wide smile and produced a ripped sheet of lined notebook paper with your address on it. “First letter is on you Sammy.”

You got that first one within two weeks. Letters became a regular thing and so did your and Sam’s friendship growing every year you camp back to Camp Clear Vista. As years wore on and you and Sam both got older he insisted on stepping up more to help which cut into your hang time that had been steadily increasing year by year and well that wouldn’t do. 

You made the suggestion about getting more involved. You loved camp, you were older, wanted to start working towards giving back and if you helped Sam then that means any of his responsibilities would be done sooner. In addition to getting to spend personal time helping out once that was wrapped up you could indulge in whatever camp fun you wished. It was a great set-up really. 

Your training went swimmingly, Sam’s parents loved you, appreciated how hard you worked, how much you cared and the sheer amount of years at camp you’ve had under your belt. 

You became that person people talked about, girls excitedly on the bus with new friends who were first attending or to younger campers talking about you! The great, amazing, cool, older counsellor! Fun loving, great in crisis, fantastic at taking care of all the kids, talented and more. Your late teen years were spent helping oversee as Sam was moving right up along with you.

Both of you flourished in your new roles, would talk excitedly in the evenings around the fire about what you all got up to that day with your respective kids, who was in your bunk, the funny things that would happen. It was great. You got even closer still. Life at camp made sense, seemed almost too perfect, you wanted these summers at camp with Sam to last forever but those three months of June, July, August would fly by much too quickly for anyone’s liking. 

When Sam’s parents passed it was a terrible shock, an awful accident, one no one could have foresaw. 

When you heard the news you reached out. Pen pals no more, no you and Sam talked on the phone. You told him you could and would be there for him and so there were many nights where you would sit up on the phone those winter months and talk with Sam as he processed. 

You only missed one summer without the camp being open and it was hellish. You missed it, missed being outdoors, missed Sam. On the phone one night you asked how he felt about it and he hated it. Felt sick over it, he missed it all too.

You made the suggestion gently, softly, cradling the phone with your shoulder, sitting on your bed near midnight, “Why don’t you run the camp?”

So next late spring you and Sam were fixing up camp with a few other people, readying it for that year's batch of campers, the first year the camp was fully in Sam’s name. The camp looked great, it was cathartic being back there. When you saw Sam you and he dropped your bags and ran, a big hug that lasted so long and as soon as you broke apart there was excitement talking about all there was to do and how good it was to be back and to see each other in person.

Sam looked great and he told you the same. You were both past your teens, well into your twenties, had known each other over ten years at this point, so much history, so much emotion and neither of you campers or counsellors in training. Now Sam owns the place and you are one of the full fledged lead counsellors. When Sam took your idea to heart about reopening camp you were the first person he asked to join up. 

“You’ve been there, been there for the camp's golden years, you know how it should be, you get it, you know?” He sighed almost dreamly into the phone and you could picture the expression on his face perfectly. “You can help me make it like it used to be and better! Give these kids the kind of amazing summers we had.”

You were convinced three sentences ago but you loved listening to him gush so you let him go on about how perfect a fit he thought you’d be. 

It was two weeks after camp had been reopened that you and Sam took a moment for yourselves. You were sitting on that hill that Sam has always loved. The one he would sit on that could oversee the whole camp and gave a gorgeous look up at the stars. You and he were sitting there, sharing a drink when he first felt it. 

Looking over to you, looking up at the sky, cradling the can in your lap when he felt the beginning of deeper feelings hit all at once. 

How…

How had he never noticed this before, how had he never noticed you like this before? He had eyes, he was stupid but not that fucking stupid, he knew you were attactive and that you both got on like a house on fire. But it was almost like it was too obvious, you know? Like when you are searching for your phone but it turns out to be in your hand the whole time, almost offensively obvious once you notice it, the kind of thing to make you scratch your head and wonder how you could have been so oblivious. 

You cared. Really and truly and seeing how you were this week, with the kids, it made his heart melt. You taught them all archery and leading hikes and all the rest, you were amazing with them and they loved you. 

And Sam thought at that moment, that he just might love you too. More than he thought previously, maybe more than as a friend. 

“Hey?” He asked and your eyes were pulled from the sky to him, “Yeah Sammy?”

“I…I just wanna thank you for pushing me to do this. I know we are barely into the summer but this is just-it’s amazing. It’s just what I needed. I think my mom and dad would be really happy to know we reopened it and would be proud so just, thank you so much for coming back to hel-” 

You cut him off, a hand on his knee as you said, “Sam of course! What was I gonna do? Let you do all the hard work AND have all the fun yourself? No chance.”

Just as always you made Sam laugh and wipe at his eyes, breaking the tension with impeccable timing just before he got a little too mushy and in his feelings. He did however say, “You’ve been doing so good by the way, seeing you with the kids, you’ve been doing amazing, the kids all love you! I hear em talkin’ about you all the time. An’ I am so fucking glad I can help you anyway you need but you’ve really found out how to make it all work.”

You were so touched. Your body had changed as you got older, some stuff was harder for you physically than for a lot of people your age, it could be tiring but it was your body and you managed. Still him noticing, appreciating and not being weird or condescending about it, just the sweet regular Sam you knew so well, it was wonderful. You didn’t know you needed to hear it.

Sam was so busy with all this new responsibility, you both were to be fair, but the lack of personal time just you and him would not do. So one afternoon when you had nothing going on he made a concerted effort to seek you out for some friend time. 

He found you hanging out with none other than Steve The Kayak King himself when he asked if you wanted to hang out because he was free and you said, “Well sure, would love to Wescott but whatever shall we do?”

The tone made Steve laugh and Sam said, “Not sure, what do you wanna do?”

“I think I got a good idea.” Steve said holding up an ore and so it was decided.

A two person canoe ride with just the pair of you. It brings you back to the first time you did this when you were just teenagers and it feels good. 

It is quiet as you both paddle out, decently down the river, enjoying the peace of nature when Sam pipes up with, “Did you hear that Buddy is making your old favourite for lunch? He insisted and I think he’s right that it will be a big hit with the kids-”

You laughed and you dipped your ore deeper into the water before pulling it out and splashing Sam who protested, one hand up with an all too playful sounding, “Hey! The fuck is that for?” 

“For you talking about work STILL during our first legit solo camp activity of the summer! Knock it off and fuckin’ relax! Doctors orders, wait not just doctors orders, Steve The Kayak King’s orders!”

You said it in that half joking half serious way that made Sam grin but he scoffed too, looking over his shoulder to you with a squint, “Invoking the Kayak King clause? Low blow, real low.”

He turned to face you in the canoe to find you resting your ore across your knees with a big cocky smile thrown to him before a hand goes to your chest and you ask in mock innocence, “Me? Why Sammy my boy I only ever have the best of intentions.”

“Mmm I’m so sure.” He hummed. This was, great, better than great, just what he needed. 

As the paddling progressed, more conversation and jokes and banter flowed like water down the river you were riding on, it was too much to bear. All the feelings that had been growing, fuck, how long had he been in love with you without ever realizing it? Too long apparently because now that he was aware of it he couldn’t turn it off, couldn’t stop thinking about it and not of course, wanting to act on it, desperately. 

So instead of overthinking or taking too long or anything else that is instinctual to Sam, he does what he knows you would tell him to do which is to just go for it. So when you had stopped for a break and you were talking excitedly about something and the sun caught your hair like that, bangs all swept in the wind and wrapped in pink and white he made his move. 

He closed the gap and he kissed you and the only thought that was in your mind was, “Fuck yes.” 

Your hands met his shoulders and you kissed him back, his lips were so fucking soft and you leaned closer into him. You had heard that Sam was a damn good kisser, that Sam was damn good at a lot of things, but hearing and feeling are two totally different things. 

You were the one to break away first, just to laugh and he asked with that warm as fuck smile, “What? Is my kissing that bad?”

“No, no! Just-fuck Wescott, what took you so long?” You asked and he laughed too, “I don’t know, feel like a major fucking idiot right now though.” 

“S’okay, I’ll forgive you this time, so long as you make it up to me.” You teased and he asked, “And how can I start?”

“Riiiiight about-” Your hand fists in his collar and you tug him to you, much closer, your lips brush against his before saying that last word, -”here.”

He didn’t respond with words, he just kissed you again. He could do this more than that he wanted this, felt like he needed it.

It had started easy, fun and playful just like the relationship you had both had thus far but soon it shifted. You appreciate him stepping up and at long last making a move, finally waking up to how you both knew that he felt, that you felt, all that teasing, that flirting, those jokes and you getting him all flustered on and off coming to a head, you escalate. You nip at his bottom lip and that makes him kiss you deeper, more hungrily and one of your hands slides up into his hair and his hands go to your hips and on it goes. Passionate making out in this little canoe was quickly becoming stifling, you needed more room to touch, to feel him. 

So you make another helpful suggestion, a question really, “You opposed to fucking in the woods?”

He laughed, head tipping back, indulging in it for a moment before his head came back down and his nose brushed yours and he said, “I lost my virginity in these woods, remember?”

“That’s right with fuckin’ Toni Middleson!” You both shared another breathless laugh before you asked, “What ever even happened to her?” You asked as you pulled away to grab your ore and row to the riverbank.

“Don’t you remember? Her family moved states, never saw her after that summer.” Sam said and you hummed at remembering that yes that did sound right.

Soon as you were at the riverbank and Sam was helping you out of the boat, any talk of Toni was forgotten in favour of more physical closeness. It wasn’t like there was a rush but you did have more responsibilities to attend to back at camp, you were a solid forty minutes out from camp and after fucking it out you’d still have to make the return trip. Not to mention the fact that this was over a decade in the making, there was a lot of lost time to make up for.

There was no question in Sam’s mind of who would be on top, he had snatched a blanket from the canoe and had laid it down for you, ever caring, always concerned. He was on top of you, kissing down your throat, his leg between yours, allowing you something to press and grind against as he asked, “You comfortable?”

Between the soft grass you found and the blanket, his hand sliding up your shirt and his amazingly sinful mouth, yes you were very fucking comfortable. You hummed and nodded, your hands on his shoulders, tugging on his shirt and he said, “Good.” 

You moved him, tugged on his hair, bringing his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply and he groaned into it. You feel how hard he is against you, unable to stop the slight movement of his hips to gain some brief stimulation and you were getting pretty damn excited himself. You arched just a little into Sam’s touch, an encouraging moan into his mouth as he palmed one of your tits and he pulled back, “Fuck, this body of yours, so good-”

“Yeah it’s served me alright so far.” You teased, your hands sliding down his sides before hooking in his belt loops, you made him grind onto you and loved how his breath caught. 

“Cah-can’t take a single damn thing seriously can you?” He asked and you rocked against his thigh as you said, “Where’s the fun in that?”

You did however take this seriously, took what was currently going on seriously, you cared about him, so much.

You didn’t have the time or the words to communicate that because Sam was kissing you again, paying reverence to your body with wandering hands and sweet words before he had gotten your shorts off. He soon enough was between your thighs showing you that yes another one of those old camp rumours was quite legit. Sam Wescott was unfairly good at eating out. He took his time but didn’t need to, he seemingly read you perfectly, knew just what you needed, what made you arch and gasp, what made you call out his name into the trees surrounding you and what made your thighs tense around his head. He went about it in a wholly messy and wonderfully indulgent fashion, licking up every drop of you that he could, licks of his tongue, open mouthed kisses, sucking and slipping two fingers inside, moaning against your soaked slit about how drenched you were. 

He didn’t give up or stop until you had cum an impressive five minutes into his efforts and pushed him away with a shaking hand. “Fuck me Wescott-” You panted in disblief of how fast and how good that was.

“I mean if you insist.” He said softly and you laughed and helped him get his shirt off. 

You had seen a lot of him over the years, knew he had a good body but one particular part had always missed your line of sight, now however as he was taking down his pants and underwear, you got a clear eyeful. He was fucking goregous, long, thick, looked painfully hard and to be leaking pre-cum already, you wanted to wrap your legs around his hips and fill yourself with him so badly. He was taking in the view of you and with a shake of his head he confessed, “You’re so fucking pretty.” 

You reached out to him with both hands, “C’mon Sam, I’ve waited long enough, haven’t I?” 

“We both have.” He confirmed before his mouth was on yours, his body covering you once more. He nudged against you before pulling back and saying, “Shit, wait, I don’t have a condom-”

“S’okay, just pull out. I trust you.” You reassured him and you’d gotten this far, no way you could stop now.

He lined up and so soon you were treated to the feeling of him slipping inside you for the first time. Felt like the wind was knocked out of you but not in a bad way, a shared sharp inhale that made your make out pause, he breathed, “Oh fuck-”

“Yes.” You sighed, one arm looping around his neck, loving how close he was to you, how deep he was seated inside you. He started to move, fuck at an easy pace and you encouraged him readily with a low moan, “Yeah, Sam, mmf, that’s good-”

“Like that?” He asked, voice a little raw with the sensation, a purposeful grind against you, extra attention paid to give you some beautiful pressure on your clit that had you saying, “Yea-yeah! Like that!”

He was hitting it so well and he clearly loving it just as much as you were, “Shit, you-you are so fucking wet, feel so ahhn, incredible-” He sighed out that last word and it made you clench around him tightly. 

Neither of you were going to last long but after so much lead up, how could you? He asked, “I-I’m not gonna last, fuck, sorry, are you-?” He couldn’t get the question out, you were gasping out, “Mmmhm! M’ close, please, Sammy, don’t stop.” 

God he wanted it. Wanted to feel you cum on him but he knew if he did last long enough for that, to ensure your end, he would cum when you did, no way could he hold back, he slowly just a hair to prolong it, tried to fight back his orgasm. 

“No! Sam, please, please, I-I don’t want you to pull out now.” You begged and that made him throb inside you, nearly imperceptible but you feel him flex against your walls and you bite your bottom lip in response, dragged ever closer to the edge. He was looking down at you, “No? You want me to cum inside?”

“Yes.” You admitted. “Cum in you raw? You know how-God, how dangerous that is?” He panted and you again said, “Yes!” 

He continued, pace picking up once more as he asked, “Wha-what if it takes? What if I get you pregn-” He didn’t need to finish that thought you cried out, “I want it, fuck, it’s you! Course I want it, Sam please! Don’t stoppp-” 

He wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t dream of it and then with another deep thrust ending in a grind you cum, you fall over the edge, bliss overtaking, his name on your lips and midway through you hear him groan, holding all the way inside and more over you feel him cum. He makes sure to hold tight, gives you every drop, his body trembling just a little as he does so, mirroring the way yours does too. 

The come down is slow, sweaty and messy, more kisses as he refuses to leave yet, staying deep inside, he kisses over your cheek and your hairline and sighs out, “You’re gonna be the best mom.”

Fuck you really have always loved him, haven’t you? 

[darlinghowl]

i love following you and jess because 9 times out of 10 when one of you says you watched something both of you post/reblog stuff of that thing like aww look at the friends being pals and watching stuff together. i am third wheeling y’all’s friendship via tumblr gifs of movies and tv shows i’ve never seen <3

LMAO one of these nights we really really need to be like “hey we’re watching this, you watch it too” and then we can all participate in movie night <3

but yeah we’re roomies so we’re constantly watching stuff together unless we’re working or not in the mood to socialize even w each other, in which case jess has the stuff that He Is Into to watch and i have the stuff that I Am Into to watch so we get our “me time” since he’s more horror paranormal slasher gore sci-fi and i’m more fantasy romance historical fiction sitcoms. there’s SOME overlap but not much so it’s fun to be exposed to new media that i normally wouldn’t watch & i like to believe it’s the same for him <3

this IS the case w fullmetal alchemist with which i watched mmmmm 3-4 episodes? maybe? of the anime? it was enough to see nina happen and hughes get shot and i was like “actually i’m done here” but i know it’s v important to him and i was curious if the movie was any good and!! it was!!! so i’m glad i watched it

[gavotteandgigue]

Ooh something for DickJay week??? That sounds intriguing 👀

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So.

This ask was from MONTHS ago, and @bearly-writing​ asked the same thing at the time but I never managed to finish anything for DickJay week because I hit a massive brick wall made up of cement brick writer’s blocks. I ended up posting a snippet of a different fic and 5 months later I got a chapter out, so maybe if I post a snippet of what was supposed to be the fluffy DickJay submission, 5 months later a chapter will magically appear too? Excerpt behind the cut:

Artemis is just out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her long hair. She settles herself down onto the couch in the den of their floating base when she hears it. 

Sigh. 

It's a drawn out breath that hisses rather loudly with the inhale, before pushing out in an equally noisy huff on the exhale.

It’s Jason. He’s sitting over in the corner in one of the arm chairs with his legs curled up on the seat. He has a book in hand, which he doesn’t seem to be reading if the way his eyes are staring blankly off into space are any indication.

Artemis ignores him. She reaches for the remote and turns on the television. There’s a reality cooking show she’s recently found that features a chef with a fiery temper. He screams and shouts every time one of the contestants makes a mistake. She likes him. She thinks he’s funny.

Siiiigh. 

There it is again. Artemis glances over to see that Jason has at least closed the book. He’s now just frowning at the cover. It's one of those literary classics he really likes. Pride and Perjury or something. The pages are dog-eared and worn.

Eventually he opens the book again and Artemis resumes watching her show. She turns the volume a little higher just in case.

Siiiiiiiigh. 

This time Jason slumps backward into his chair and drops the book on the floor. He groans in frustration and picks up the book again.

Artemis shoots him a glare. "If you're going to devolve into histrionics like a puerile teenager, can you do it in another room? I'm trying to watch a show."

Jason perks up at her attention, and as if he didn't even hear her remark, he says earnestly, "Hey Art, do you think I'm good enough for Dick?"

"By the Seven Beards, not this again," Artemis rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh of her own. Hers though, is tinged with irritation. Artemis turns her head away from the TV to look at him. "I thought you had an agreement. No killing in Gotham. If it's good enough for Batman it should be good enough for him."

Jason shakes his head. "No. I mean like am I worthy enough?" He pulls his legs up to his chest and tucks his face behind his knees as he says it, so that the last words are so muffled Artemis can barely hear them. He looks dejected. 

On the TV, the chef on the show is picking up a pan of chicken and throwing it on the floor. "Shit!" the chef says. "Absolute shit!"

Artemis thinks so too. Something's happened that Jason suddenly feels insecure about his relationship with Dick. She supposes this needs some attention, but it wouldn't do to tip her hand to her level of concern.

So she turns the volume down on the TV, then unwinds the towel about her hair. It's still a little damp, but dry enough to detangle. She motions Jason over and hands him a comb.

He gets up and plops himself beside her on the couch, then dutifully begins to comb out her hair starting from the ends. Artemis nods in approval. 

"It's just that, I thought Dick saw past all the stuff people say about me," Jason starts talking without being prompted. "I mean, I think he does. Maybe. But I didn't expect everyone else to weigh in too."

"Everyone else?"

"Well, I expected Bruce to be a jackass about it. And he was. He put me through the wringer like I was just out to ruin his precious golden boy." Jason sighs again, but his hands are steady as he carefully works the tangles up the length of her hair. "But then Dick’s whole crew showed up while I was getting groceries. Wally, Garth, even Donna. It wasn't exactly a shovel talk, but let's just say that between the three of them there wouldn't be anything left to bury. I thought at least Donna would give me the benefit of the doubt, but Dick's her best friend, so of course she'll take his side."

Jason sounds plaintive and cranky, but it's pretty clear that Jason feels hurt. He stops talking for a moment as he finishes running the comb through the entire length of Artemis' hair. Then he parts her hair into sections starting at her crown. The boy knows how to french braid. Artemis is marginally impressed.

When he starts overlapping the sections, gradually gathering more hair as he moves down, he continues with, "And then freaking Superman showed up. Gave me a talk about it being a good time to work on being a better person if I wanted to go out with Dick."

He's grumbling at this point, but he keeps winding the braid evenly. 

"What did Dick say?" Artemis asks.

Jason doesn't answer immediately, which probably isn't a good sign. He gives another one of those long sighs again, and says in a smaller voice than Artemis is used to hearing, "Dick just brushed it off. Said that his friends are just looking out for him. Which I guess makes sense, if they don't think I'm good enough."

"And who's looking out for you?"

Jason just shrugs. "I don't need anyone to look out for me."

As usual, Jason's wrong. He may have his faults, but it's plain as day that he's harbored feelings for Dick for a long time. He'd probably walk bare-footed over hot coals for Dick if he only asked. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. She doesn't blame Dick’s friends for their loyalty, but the judgement is unwarranted. Artemis won't stand by and let Jason be bullied by his boyfriend's overzealous pals. And if Dick doesn't see what harm they've caused, then he has more than just a few choice words from Artemis coming his way.

Nevertheless, there's no reason to overreact. She'll wait and see what happens, and then make her move if necessary.

Jason finishes the braid and then looks around for something to tie it off with. Artemis hands him a hair band from her pocket and he finishes off the braid by adjusting some of the sections around her head.

"Anyway, thanks for listening," Jason gets up from the couch. "Wanted to get that off my chest. I'm sure nothing will come of it."

He looks a little more at ease as he picks up his discarded book and leaves the room. Afterward, she checks her hair in the mirror. The strands are neat and not too tight, and the style is well suited to keeping her hair from becoming a tangled mess during battle. The weave of the braid is thinner than a normal French braid though. It turns out Jason’s done a remarkably good job at plaiting her hair into a fishtail braid. 

Huh, Artemis thinks. Who knew?

............. to be continued

[winniemaywebber]

It's Been A Long, Long Time • Part 4

🌹🌸 Jo and Jean 🌸🌹

masterlist

read previous parts here: 1 2 3

“Rosie?” Jean murmurs, shaking him awake. He wakes with a start and a snort, the baby beginning to cry at the sudden ruckus. 

“Aw, jeez,” Rosie says, looking at you apologetically. “What time is it?”

“Six o'clock. Seems little guy here blessed you with a whole night of sleep and a little time to sleep in. Wish he'd do that for me and his Papa.” She winks at Rosie, patting him on the shoulder. “Go upstairs to bed, doll. That chair isn't the most comfortable.”

“You can say that again,” he groans, stretching as he gets up. “You look well rested.”

“I am. Thank you, Robert. I really appreciate it, we both do.”

He nods, yawning and scratching his head as he exits the room. 

“See ya later, Jean.”

—

Scooping the baby up, Jean begins to go through her regular morning routine: diaper change, bottle and a change of clothes. Her and the baby are both exhausted by the time this is all done, thankful for the moment the baby falls asleep with a warm, full belly so that she's able to fix herself breakfast. It's when the toast pops up that she hears her husband pad his way down the plush carpet stairs, greeting her sleepily.

“Morning, Mrs Crosby,” he murmurs, kissing her deeply. 

“Morning, Binger. Toast?”

“Yes please,” he answers, pouring himself coffee from the pot on the stove. “Rosie taking a nap?”

“Sure is. I don't think the baby gave him too much trouble. When I came down at six, the pair of them were still sleeping!”

“Six?” Bing replies, shocked. “That little imp.” He shakes his head, laughing as he takes a sip from his mug. “That's just the Uncle Rosie touch.”

“Hey, a little soft jazz, a soothing conversation and some swaying, he was out like a light,” Rosie announces himself, looking a lot more refreshed than he did two hours ago. 

“Here he is. Morning, buddy.”

“Hiya, Croz.” 

Jean places a cup of coffee in front of him, asking if he'd like some toast by pointing to the toaster. 

“Yes, please, Mrs Croz. Little man okay?”

“Oh, yeah! He's just taking his first cat nap of the day.”

“That's good. I hope you don't mind, but I made a few calls last night.”

“You know that's fine, Rosie. While you're here, treat it like your own home,” she says, handing him the plate of toast.

“Yeah, pal. You're family, Uncle Rosie.”

“Thank you, guys. I gotta tell ya, first call was to my Ma. Second to–”

“To Jo. We know, doll.”

“How sad is that? Can't even go one night without hearing her voice.”

“Neither can my wife,” Bing grumbles jokingly, wiping his mouth. 

“Seems we're in the same boat, Jean,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I promised her I'd bring her here to visit the very second we are married.”

“You'd better. But let us get home first. We can't be racing down the highway with a baby in tow!”

—

The boys clear up the dishes before getting ready for a day of golfing. Jean and the baby decide to take it easy, lazing around in bed, playing and snuggling until she hears a sudden knock on the door. The baby on her hip, she quickly descends the stairs in her stockinged feet, careful not to slip. Opening the door, she lets out a delighted scream, practically jumping up and down in the doorway.

“Josephine!” she squeals, the girls hugging tightly. Without a word, she takes the baby from Jean's arms and looks at him, a huge grin on her face and tears in her eyes.

“Oh, he's gotten so big!” she cries, holding Jean close again. “He looks just like you, doll.”

“Do you think?” 

“Apart from–”

“The eyes,” they both say, their words overlapping. 

“Oh yeah,” Jo laughs. “No mistaking those brown puppy dog eyes. How did Uncle Wosie do, huh, buddy? He do a good job?”

“Girl, I don't know what kind of magic touch your man has, but that baby slept all night long.”

“Was that after he called his Ma in a panic?”

“He called her panicking? Jeez, he told us he had it covered.”

“Robbie can be an excellent liar, Jean. Remember our favorite one? ‘I'll meet you at Minton’s when I'm home after my 25th mission.’ Psh.” The girls break into giggles, Jean taking her hand and leading her into the dining room.

“You need me to take him?” She asks as they sit down. 

“Absolutely not, lady. I'm getting my fill,” she says, squeezing the baby's cheeks and making him smile. “Oh, he's a darling.”

“How did you persuade your father to let you come out here? I thought his rule was you had to wait until you and Robbie were married.”

“Well,” Jo sighs, stroking the baby's soft blond hair with her cheek. “Mom saw how miserable I was when I returned home this morning from the Rosenthal house. I'd just slept in Robbie’s bed and it smelled so much of him that…I just missed him terribly, especially knowing he was here with you guys.  Mom saw that and rolled her eyes. ‘Go on then. I'll tell your father.’” 

“I know how fast you flew out that door!”

“Didn't even let her finish the sentence. Out of there like a shot. I missed you so much, Jean.”

“I've missed you, too, doll.” The pair hold hands across the table for a second, both of their eyes filling with tears at finally being reunited after so many months apart. They had been each other's glue, backbone and support system during war time, the both of them sharing a unique bond as they fought with their emotions involving their men being overseas, putting their lives in constant danger for the good of their country. Them having to be apart once the boys had returned home was heart wrenching, Jean finally moving into her marital home upstate while Josephine returned to her family home in Brooklyn after baby Crosby was born. That's why their bond was so incredibly strong and unbreakable: it was Jo that held her hand through labor pains, placing cool washcloths on her head as she screamed and fought through the indescribable pain childbirth brought. It was Josephine that was there as the baby entered the world, his father thousands of miles away. 

“There's a cute house for sale a couple blocks away. Perfect for a newly married couple,” Jean winks, looking knowingly across the table at her friend. 

“Ugh, I wish he'd hurry up with it already. I am dying to marry that man.”

“Don't we know it,” she laughs, standing up and turning to the stove to fix a pot of coffee. “I've been putting in a good word for you.”

“It's your job as my best friend to do such a thing,” she replies, staring down at the baby on her lap. “And yours, little man! Come on, tell me! Did Uncle Wosie say anything to you last night? I'm listening.” The baby gurgles, smiling up at his aunt. “Keeping it a secret, huh? He tell you to do that? Of course he did. The cheek of the man.”

“And yet,” Jean says, stirring the coffee. “You love him.”

“That I do, Jean. That I do.”

—

The door swings open a couple of hours later, the sun just beginning to set, the house sinking into the orange glow. The two men swing their golf bags in, neglecting to take off their shoes as they plod into the living room. 

“Jean?” Harry calls, gingerly opening the living room door. “We're home, sweetheart.” He takes in the vision of Jean and Josephine giggling on the couch, the baby napping in the bassinet next to them. “Well, I'll be damned. Look who's here!”

“Honey!” Rosie yells, rushing up to her and taking her in his arms. “Uggghh,” he growls as he squeezes her, his hands raking through her hair. “But how–when did you–”

“She turned on the sad eyes with Mrs Harris and she couldn't say no when she said she missed her best friend and nephew,” Jean answers, her heart melting as they embrace over and over again. Bing is grinning from ear to ear at the sight too, walking over to the couch and placing soft kisses all over his wife's face before finally kissing her on the mouth. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, reaching down to stroke the baby's head. “How was your day?”

“The best, Binger. I'm so happy she's here.”

“I know. I can see it. You tell her about that house yet?”

“Sure did. I'm sure she'll poke him about it as the evening goes on.” 

Harry nods, nuzzling into his wife as he sits on the couch. “Love you, Mrs Crosby.” 

“Love you more, Bing.” 

—

The four had sat down to dinner, all exchanging anecdotes as they ate. Rosie and Bing had regaled the girls with their heroic tales of war: Bing staying awake for seventy two hours to ensure Rosie and their other men were safe on the day of days. Rosie celebrating his twenty fifth mission by buzzing the tower, Josephine having received a play by play of the event from Red Cross Girl, Valencia. Beginning as a comforting penpal, Val had become a friend of Jo and Jean's, along with her friend Olive.

“Have you heard from Val, Jo?”

“Yes! This past week actually. What did she say? Let me think…” she trails off, brow furrowed as she tries to recall the letter's contents. “Oh, yes! She's back home with Blakely, and Olive went with her. It must be such a shock for her to go from little old England to New York City in the blink of an eye like that, but Val says she's taking to it very well. They're all very happy. Olive is staying with them until she’s ready to go to Michigan to be with Dougie.”

“We must see them before she leaves. I'm dying to meet Olive.”

“Me, too! She sounds so sweet according to Val’s letters.”

“Who, English?” Croz perks up, toying with his whiskey glass. “Oh, yeah, she's a doll. A little contained at first because of the British shyness, but once she gets out of her shell…”

“A funny, funny girl. As is Valencia. She really brings Olive out of that mentioned shell, actually. Birds of a feather. Remind me of you two, actually.”

“Well, seems we'll all get along just fine,” Jean says, beginning to tidy up the dessert plates. 

“Sit down, Jean. We've got it.” Jo shoots a look at Robbie, taking the plates from Jean. “You and Harry go sit.”

“If you're both sure?”

“Of course. Thank you for dinner, darling. It was magnificent.”

—

Retiring to the living room, Harry picks up his son, who is gurgling happily in his bassinet. 

“Hey, buddy!” he coos, kissing his face. He sits down next to his wife, his head leaning on her shoulder.

“Where are they gonna sleep?”

“Binger, we have something called a guest room. That's where our guests sleep, wouldn't you know.” He shakes his head at her, laughing. 

“Together?”

“Yes, together. I doubt they're going to consummate their long term relationship in the guest bedroom of their best friends’ house while their nephew is only down the hall.”

“You're right. My bad.”

“Mind in the gutter, as always, Crosby.”

“Only for you, Mrs.” 

Hearing a ruckus in the kitchen, Harry and Jean turn their heads towards the door. They hear sounds of splashing, Jo giggling and Rosie laughing heartily as someone slips, a squeak echoing on the tiled floor. Jean begins to snort, Harry joining in as he hears a thump. “Are you sure they're doing dishes in there?”

“I dread to think of the state of the sink, Bing,” she says, wiping her eyes. 

A few moments later, the couple join them in the living room, the front of their shirts soaked. 

“What in God's name?”

“Robert thought it would be funny to play with the soap. What he didn't know,” Josephine says, poking at his cheek playfully, “is that I can give it back just as good.”

“Is my floor flooded?”

“No, ma'am,” Rosie says sheepishly. “I dried it up.” 

Jean can't help but laugh at Rosie's expression, seeing that Jo - whose shirt was a little less wet than her man's - had obviously won the fight that Rosie had started. Looking between them, she smiles, seeing the twinkle in both of their eyes as they wipe soap from each other's hair, it flicking off of Rosie's curls.

“On that note, darlings, I'm off to bed. Jo, you're in the guest room with Rosie.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Jean, that okay? I can sleep on the couch.” 

Jean waves a hand in dismissal, shaking her head. “Josephine came here so you could be together with no disturbances or silly rules. Of course it's okay.”

“Well, I also came to see you and my nephew,” Jo says, hugging her gently. “But thank you. You're a darling.”

“Goodnight, friends,” she says, beginning to exit the room with Harry hot on her heels, carrying the bassinet and the baby upstairs.

“Let me tuck you in, honey,” he whispers as they get to the bedroom. “Make sure you're all cozy.”

“Yes please, sweetheart. That's a lovely idea.” 

“How would you feel about us putting this little fella in his nursery tonight? Try it out?”

“Maybe,” Jean hesitates. “I'd like to sleep, though.”

“Hey, it's the weekend. I'll listen for him.” 

“Okay,” she breathes out, shoulders falling. “If you're sure.”

“Always. He's my boy. I'd stay awake forever for him if I had to.”

“At least we know you could make it three days before you dropped, so that's something.”

“Hey, now. That was just a fluke.”

“Mhm,” she mutters, sliding into the bedsheets. “Are you coming to bed, too?”

“Soon, my love. I wanna make sure the baby goes to sleep first.”

“Okay,” she replies sadly. 

“Hey, now, Mrs Crosby. Don't give me that pout, as cute as it is. I'll be in bed with you soon.”

“Fine,” she huffs, arms crossed in mock upset. 

“Would a kiss make it better, hm?” 

“Yes,” she grins, arms uncrossed immediately to grab him. They kiss deeply for a few moments before she sinks down in her pillow, Bing tucking the sheet around her body. 

“I love you so much,” he says, kissing her temple. “So, so much.”

“I love you too, darling.”

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 @manonsmanicmind @hephaestn

[chikagestits]

Thank you for answering! (°▽°)

How much, out of 10, are you of each spring troupe member?

The event just started and I already feel like dying

Also sorry for the late response (^-^;

SUMMER || AUTUMN || WINTER

Mhm mhm!!! Please rest when you can and it's okay!!! BUT OH BOY SPRING NOW THIS'LL BE..... SOMETHING Sakuya: 8/10 Masumi: 1/10 Tsuzuru: 8/10 Itaru: 9/10 Citron: 1/10 Chikage: ???/10 If this takes me forever too then wELP Also, I don't know if I ever said, but the reason I put the "originally -/10" is because I put the initial numbers of what I think they are, and then when I start the analysis, sometimes I'm like "Oh, okay they're a bit higher than I thought".

Sunshine. Smiles. Laughter. That's me because I don't want anyone to worry about me. The "I don't have any problems, anything you want is fine", "if I complain, then I'm afraid of what happens" etc etc etc. I don't like thinking about Sakuya's family problems because it makes me want to kick all of their asses. Also, not spending a bunch of holidays/family type holidays with family, hahahahahaa yeah </333 This is very short, but it's still an 8/10 for Sakuya. Uhhhhhh I don't think I relate much to Masumi??? The only thing really is that I isolated myself on purpose at school, but that's.... kinda it jfkdlhjfdkl So Masumi's only a 1/10. Oh Tsuzuru, where do I even begin with you? Outside of the fact that he had to cook for his family and such, the main thing that I relate to is how he always put everyone before himself because it's been ingrained in him to take care of his brothers. For me, I was always the mediator between my siblings and our mother. If they had a problem with her, then I worked to make sure that the problem gets solved and shit, especially through her stubbornness. Asian moms, am I right? Now, it's much much less happening now, but I'm still the one who mediates. This is also why I have so much of my own shit bottled up, but will it surface? Who knows :3 I hope to god that I don't have someone like Mizuno because I would absolutely be like "Um hey, it's okay, I'm just me, I'm not any different", but I'd also understand if they can't approach me. I almost said I don't bite, but I've bitten so many people today jfdkhldjsfkfdsjvl There's other shit I've mentioned that overlaps with the other charas, but this rounds out Tsuzuru to an 8/10. ITARU OH BUDDY OH PAL I can't say much about him. Mostly because um. the reasons aren't same, but hiding an important part of myself, being afraid of past shit happening again, what's lasting relationships?, keeping my interests to myself but wanting to share it with the world, cursing a previous friend and calling them a dick—Wow! Love it <333 Anyway, if you create a new chara that's just Banri and Itaru then that's just Me. Solid 9/10 for Itaru. I'm not sure if I relate to much with Citron?? Being stuck in one thing for his whole life and wanting to be free from that fate isn't something I struggled with. I guess you could say I relate to him when he wanted to help Guy out by helping him be who is supposed to be. Back to the mediator thing, I always try to make sure that my sibs understand that it doesn't matter what our mom thinks, that what they want for their happiness is way more important than her beliefs. So yeahhhh Still, it's only a 1/10 with Citron. And now, what everyone's been waiting for. Chikage Utsuki. If I were to be honest with all of you, I've already known from the beginning, before I even got back onto tumblr and met most of you, that I could kin him. Like, yes, I write his character a lot and I seemingly understand his character really well. But that's because he's SO SIMILAR TO ME. First off, I have to mention that he's fully middle child energy and hey, guess what? I'm a middle child. If you look back to a lot of my other responses, you'll know that a lot of them link right back to Chikage too and that's the Worst ghfjdkhdjfsklf The reason I don't actually kin him? Well. It kinda hurts to. To see so much of myself in this character that gets A Single Event focused on him, not to mention it involves a major discomfort, if not trigger, of his. To see little to no development and actual happiness funneling into him while everyone around him grows is just. It hurts. But

it's so Chikage. Because it's also on him that he doesn't grow. He doesn't open himself up, he doesn't let himself be vulnerable. He wants to protect everyone and keep everyone happy while neglecting himself completely, and if that ain't just a perfect description of me, then I don't know what is. If I were to speak about Awakening Moon, I'd just like to say that I absolutely felt betrayed by my sibling. Because they knew, from the very beginning, about why our family split apart. I was always told I was too young to know the details, even when I turned the age that my sibling was at when it happened. Was I not allowed to know the truth? Well, I definitely held some resentment for them for being forced completely in the dark by everyone and lied to. But now, would I do whatever it fucking took to make sure my family's happy? Absolutely. Now, I say all these things, but I don't actually get sad or something when y'all call me a Chikage kinnie gjfkdlshjfkdl I think it's really funny and please continue to do it because hey, maybe I actually will one day. This isn't long at all because like I said, I'd already said so much about Chikage already, it's just littered in the other asks as well. But the true number is absolutely exceeding 10/10 for Chikage.

[incarnateirony]

Representation, Authorial Diversity, and more.

“I’ll take some beef jerky and a pack of menthols.”

Been a while since most of you thought about that line, hasn’t it? And for some of you it somehow sends some primitive lizard brain gaydar into overdrive and you can’t really pinpoint why, can you? It makes no sense, that line alone, and how it stands -- but between all of the talk of both Bobo Berens and LGBT media history, including The Celluloid Closet/Vito Russo or the Vito Russo Test, this moment actually puts a pin in a shift within our show, its handling of content formerly completely overlooked by creatives, and the importance of diversifying our writing crews that we all press for.

It was the moment our show leaned, and frankly-- should have been the moment the straights panicked. In fact, some of them did, just before it aired, and then everyone has played at oblivious since.

Before seasons air, we get news on new authors being added to teams, or other workers. Pre-S9 was no different, with fandom finding a tweet from Bobo Berens, our first open-closet LGBT author. I mean, Out And Proud. A true king.

The association if this is the mention of the Bechdel Test, a step aside of Vito Russo.

Now let us begin.

Well first of all I’m just gonna let everyone get a giggle at how Bobo handled the straight male knee coil:

But anyway the response to his initial tweet was a merry go round of concern trolling in the area of “OH DEAR I FEEL SO SORRY FOR YOU PLEASE ALLOW US THE NORMAL ASSBAGS OF THE FANDOM TO TELL YOU AN AUTHOR HOW STRAIGHT THE CHARACTERS ON THE SHOW YOU’RE WRITING FOR ARE” and I dunno, it’s comedy.

Whether or not Bobo was addressing SPN as a new project in particular -- and it, from a dark age of SPN I’ve covered the upheaval during -- this is important. Really, really important.

Let’s say that timeline does overlap Bobo’s, and he did implicitly believe it; he might have had to write them as Straight Guys; but his own deep-seated place in the LGBT community developed resonant text, he made change. Change enough that when his first script was put into motion, the showrunner took one look at it and, for the first time in recorded history, we had note of some sort of intent --

Misha went on to say “so that’s what we played there.”

Regardless of anyone’s misunderstanding about how the fandom riled themselves up prematurely and shot themselves in the foot by lighting a CW exec on fire in the middle of network level board/CEO rotation commotion, or whether or not it’s visible enough for anyone--

this, this moment, this content, created by this LGBT individual led to this first known forward motion of intentful creative subtext. People can hilariously try to argue semantics about it that summarily boil down to “I mean it could be metaphorical jilted lovers it could be this it could be jilted lover bros, it’s just a turn of phrase!” in a loop as they’ve done with this data for six years until it dies every time, but this was it. This was the moment.

There is a nuance in this sort of writing -- how easy would it be for Dean to come up and say, “I’ll take some beef jerky.” Dean’s the meat man, Dean loves meat! We’ve seen it in other, new, straight authors the first time they try to tick off the Dean checklist, but like many lessons, that extra line leading into that smile holds volumes of LGBT history unspoken.

I think several of us Old Gays(TM) have banged on about the necessity of reading the Celluloid Closet, because for as much as people think they’re chasing queer subtext around here, it’s like they have completely missed that there actually is like, a printed, accepted code of conduct on this shit, basically. That’s not exactly what it was released for, but if you’re LGBT and engaged in lit and over 40 like you’ve read and understand and know this.

I’m not going to sit here and over-needle that line; most of you felt it the second your eyes drifted over it; but the sum of it is -- why that, what charming secret comes with that smile, a dean we’ve never seen smoke either, how is this part of how Dean throws himself back before his ex buddy leaves more unseen, *why* is that the hook? These are ironically things that no lit crit study *beyond* excessive citation of Celluloid Closet will really capture. This is a form of queer coding -- not the villainous disaster type that queer coding actually *is*, but the subversive form as it’s begun to be casually addressed in the population with positive, resonant content by authors choked out by IP holders while trying to service an audience. Or sometimes, even starting to accidentally.

So you know, you can unironically double down on the simplicity of Dean implicitly probably being a smoker (a possible read of subtext!), and I think this is kinda where the bizarre split happened tbh, because dude bros double down subconsciously into each reading of this kind of coding-- Dean just smokes, or this or that, though it grows thinner by year. Not about why that line is tossed, and how, and does just set off some sort of TV pheremone we all swamp like a bee hive. None of these moments truly mean anything independently. But it is the perspective and voice the text begins to take. The difference between that and “Hey pal [chews on jerky before buying] marlboros and got any pie?” in one moment that knocked everybody around on their ass in the fray of it. And then it all just went gayer from there, as if framed by one sharp moment that set the rest of the tone.

Hopefully you’ve all read my giant post about the history of this all to remember what I mean by accidentally, but even Bobo posted on it before,

That’s all an aside to the general point but worth placing into the edge of the conversation here.

The simple fact is, an activist gay man joined the show, and possibly with ‘keep it straight’ notes wrote some stuff so resonant, due to his point of view in life and the world, that even the showrunner decided to further guide it in that direction. It blossomed a direction.

The direction was small and slow and meek at first, (well, in final product -- don’t get me started at how S10 looks if all the cut scenes were included) with subtext running as dull echoes in Colette (oh look he wrote that too), and maybe more obvious with classic heart songs -- but even this was more structured than “Misha inherited abandoned storyline they scrubbed the romance out of as best they could”, or “Sera Gamble is a dumbass” that just happened to feature great chemistry and some resonant elements, like Bobo mentioned, we all connected with. But to actually constructively choose to incorporate these, no matter how quietly, was... *new.*

And some called it queerbait and I’ve already given history lessons from other angles on why no, but also now why here, definitely, no.

By season 12 we gained Yockey, another LGBT man, another activist in his own way like Bobo, but his less in writing political stuff and more in writing LGBT specialist plays. And everybody loved him, and saw it, and Yockey gets a boat load of praise -- deserves a lot of it -- but sometiems I feel like Bobo gets trampled over without recognition of how he shifted the playing field, the calculated effort he started putting into mastering those accidental resonances into something new, and ultimately to guiding the new author crew, Yockey included, or Jeremy on this newest episode who thanked him.

The same man that picked up Wayward and connected Dreamhunter... back to his own work and moments. The insanity of yelling “HOW DARE YOU LESSEN DREAMHUNTER BY COMPARING IT TO DESTIEL!” when, dead ass, you’re looking at this author who has carefully incorporated work and, with an already resonant story, made another relationship familiar to us by making it similar. Because that’s how writing stories works! But either way, Bobo has been in here doggedly growing the breadth of the legitimacy of queer narrative in supernatural -- to the point that it HAS narrowly, quietly breached into text even if not “loud” or “visible” enough for some people -- and the point where the subtext is so wall to wall and flooding every piece of cinematography in shooting and not just set or lights but complete mise en scene -- a point where everybody OUTSIDE of fandom is just addressing this shit as what it clearly is --

...That’s something that came with bringing the scope of an LGBT male author into the show. Whether you like the volume he’s been allowed to take his work to or not is your own thing, but before yelling queerbait at any creatives, perhaps it’s time to play “sit down children, and learn to appreciate the activists who came before you and how they’re fighting for you right now”. You wanna yell at something, get organized, pelt the CW in a non-aggressive, non-light-on-fire way, do activism like the books Emily put together that are resultingly still on the current showrunner’s desk now 6 years later, but most of all, don’t take a shit all over content you would otherwise enjoy, at the expense of a man in the demographic you’re trying to represent, who has battled, LITERALLY, for both the women and the gays in this show. Wayward was his baby. This slow swing in S9 that turned into a loud din in S12? 

It wasn’t magic. It was a gay author. A gay author that has now climbed to be an Exec alongside dabb and the others and SURPRISE now suddenly everything’s so gay the whole goddamn world is seeing it. Literally SEEING IT, not just guys looking at each other with stories, but intentful, meritful choice in extremely bold cinematography choices that don’t require chasing a post-it on the wall, but instead are shot with care and devotion. Be that 12.19 Mixtape (OH DAT HIS) or 13.5′s Never Too Late (OH DAT YOCKEY. check what antis said to Dabb in his mentions after, even they saw it). Be that 14.18′s het drama PR promo (OH OOP DAT WAS HIS), be that 15.1-3′s entire tension and the openly addressed and so-called by media sources break up (OH DAT HIS), be that 15.7′s low key textuality (to which the new author thanked the elder for guidance, huh), or 8′s heavily shot domestic separation moment loudly filmed in the choicefully hollowed out and dimmed kitchen bereft of family -- this change? This had a moment. And you can find it.

I’ll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols.

So this has been eating at me ever since this whole topic came into play. 

Anyway full circle them trying to ride Bobo to Keep It Straight probably wasn’t their smartest idea ever. We gays are contrarian by nature so tell me to do it again, motherfucker. And now here we are in Destiel Divorce Season 15 as heavily managed by Bobo.

Everyone got so fuckin dramatic when Yockey said he was leaving like, tolling the burial bells of Destiel and-- like??? hello? BOBO? JUST? GOT? PROMOTED? Like Yockey didn’t make that entire platform all by himself, and hell, he didn’t leave without laying out unironic empty space of it. Yo guys, Berens done been here a WHILE to the point he’s now *callbacking his own season 9-10 material wtih him and dabb*. Like. Lmao. Guys. Guys listen. Listen. Think.

Whatever your weird goalpost is I’m not promising anybody’s anything is about to get hit. Whatever clown nose expectations you all have enjoy those and honk those loud and proud but remember most of those are yours. But respect the fact that Berens has essentially cornerstoned an entire queer canon within Supernatural discussion, of which others are included in as they joined.

And yes, queer canon. Not the way fandom throws it around for weird kissing spots, but articles of discussion of queer narratives, of which we can literally draw a wealth of episodes from LGBT authors or their understudies and literally point and go “all of that right there, officer.” Whether it’s visible or textual or undodgeable or marketed enough or glittery enough or whatever for everyone’s very unstable definition of “canon” -- Berens has literally cornerstoned an entire architecture of queer canon within this legacy show.

[princess-josie-riki]

Cragsters Max walks in with a lampshade over his head, giggling and turns on the light.

Cragsters Max: “Oh, that some party!”

Werner Werman is wearing his mother-like clothing while holding a sleeping Pebbles and he gives Cragsters Max a bitter look.

Cragsters Max: “Oh, hey, Werner. Hey, Pebbles.”

Werner Werman now looks at Cragsters Max angrily as he taps his foot.

Cragsters Max: “What? What?!”

Werner Werman: “Oh, nothing.”

Cragsters Max: “Oh, what relief.” (takes the lampshade off his head and puts it on Werner Werman) “For second there, me thought you were mad at me.”

Werner Werman: (takes the lampshade off his head) “Do you remember vhat you said to me zis morning?”

Cragsters Max: “Somethin' about root beer, right?”

Werner Werman: (takes a deep breath, flatly) “Nein.”

Cragsters Max: “Oh, wait, wait, let me guess. Me give up.”

Werner Werman: “Does...” (imitates Cragsters Max in a mocking tone with a goofy look on his face) ““You can take night off, pal!”” (normal voice) “...ring ein bell?”

Cragsters Max: (blows a raspberry) “Me no need this.” (walks outside)

Werner Werman: “Vhat?!” (walks to the door) “Vhere do you zink you're going?”

Cragsters Max: (opens the door to a trailer) “Me going back to work!” (gets in and closes his the trailer door)

Werner Werman: “Vork?!” (growls and rips off his foam rollers)

Cut to Werner Werman, not wearing his mother-like clothing anymore, walking outside to Cragsters Max’s trailer. He goes inside and finds Cragsters Max in his easy chair, watching TV. Two “clonk” sounds are heard on the TV.

Cragsters Max: (laughs) “He got hit in head with two coconuts!”

Werner Werman: (angrily) “So, zis is vork?”

Cragsters Max: “You know, it not as easy as it looks. Sometimes, me gotta move antenna, sometimes, me lose remote...” (looks at his rear) “...and sometimes, my butt itches real bad!”

Werner Werman: (sarcastically) “Oh, you poor, poor thing. By ze vay, you forgot your briefcase!”

He pulls a briefcase out from behind his back, and opens it up to reveal that it is filled with donuts and ice cream sundaes as he angrily dumps it all over Cragsters Max.

Cragsters Max: (quietly but furiously) “Oh, so this thanks me get for working overtime?”

Werner Werman is enraged. He balls his fists and fumes so hard, his entire body shakes. Then he loses his temper and goes ballistic on Cragsters Max.

Werner Werman: (screaming intensely) “Ofertime?!”

Crasgters Max and Werner Werman begin to argue intensely.

Cragsters Max: “Yeah, overtime, pal!”

Werner Werman: (overlapping Cragsters Max) “Oh, boy, ja, you're vorking!”

Cragsters Max: “You know what that means?”

Werner Werman: “Und zat’s ze kind of vork you’re doing?”

Cragsters Max: “​It means working when you just too tired to work!”

Werner Werman: “Schow me vhere I can sign up for zis, because I’ffe been vorking mein fingers to ze bone!”

Pebbles is heard crying, making Cragsters Max and Werner Werman stop.

[bagels-and-seagulls]

Could you maybe write something about jealous hot jock David? I love all of your aus soo much!

jealous…hot jock david??? what an idea oof

bad boy matteo + hot jock david

They ran in different circles. They knew that from the beginning, that their social spheres overlapped in very limited and strange ways, that Matteo knew one of David’s teammates from his old childhood football team that he quit as soon as his mom let him, and that David knew one of Matteo’s friend’s high school infatuations because she was in the same theater production class as him one semester that was wicked with costume design, but besides a couple of people in passing, it was a miracle that David and Matteo even met with how little they seemed to have in common before they ran into each other, how little their worlds seemed to revolve around the same sun, yet still finding a way to find their way towards each other in the dark. 

Now though, now that they lived out of each other’s back pockets and tucked in between the folders in each other’s backpacks, now they shared friends and acquaintances the way they shared their future. They were a part of each other’s lives so fluidly and solidly that they were like salt and pepper, or the sun and the moon, or the ocean and the sand, not alike, not really, but only ever to exist with the other, part of a complimentary set. 

Still though, they ran in different circles. Sometimes, just sometimes, David remembered it like a punch to the gut. 

“David, man, are you even listening?” Jonas asked with a huff. 

David hums. “What? Yes, of course,” he says like he was offended Jonas would even insinuate he wouldn’t. “Your professor was talking about that study.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonas starts and goes back to what he was saying before, like David had proved that he was listening enough when David was no where close to it. He took a sip of his beer, and tried to keep his eyes trained on the spot to the right of Jonas’ eye instead of looking over to where Matto was talking to some guy he had never seen before, but they were laughing like they were old pals, like they had an inside joke that David wouldn’t know about. 

David wasn’t a jealous person. Honest. He was the golden boy, the town wonder, the boy who could do little to no wrong, the type of person who was used to being fawned over, talked about by people with something like nectar stuck in their throats. He was the one people were jealous about. He was the one with the good grades, with the good looks, the good moves on and off the field… the good looking boyfriend. To be quite honest and not the least bit narcissistic, there weren’t very many people in the same league as David, not many people to really get jealous of if he were the jealous type. Which he wasn’t. Because David wasn’t jealous. Not usually. He was used to seeing Matteo lean up against Jonas, and kiss Hanna’s cheek, and dance with Hans, and split a joint with Carlos. He was fine with it. Fine. He didn’t feel anything but the normal amount of affection and second-hand joy he got when he saw that Matteo was feeling happy and open. 

So when something ugly, and bitter, and laced with rot and decay started making its way up David throat, making him feel a little bit cold, and a little bit angry, and a little bit like he wanted to pick a fight, and settled in the hinge of his jaw, he was surprised. To say the least. Pissed off. To say the most. 

He couldn’t pin it down as jealousy at first. Because he wasn’t used to jealousy normally. He thought that maybe someone had something that was a little funny, or a little off, and he was just now catching on, lagging behind the conversation, but no. He was getting it perfectly fine. What was making something a little mean and a little hot bubble up in his stomach was the sight of this boy he had never seen before bumping shoulders with Matteo, his boyfriend, sharing a smile that said there was something there, and lifting up his hand to light a joint that was between Matteo’s lips. 

David wasn’t a jealous person, so when he took a gulp of his drink and walked over to stand in front of Matteo, he was just as shocked to be over there as the pair he was in front of seemed. It almost felt like his legs were moving on their own for a second, and there he was, standing their gaping like a fish out of water, trying to find something to say, anything to make sense of what the hell he thought he was doing right now. 

“David?” Matteo asked with wide eyes and a question between his brows. 

“Hey,” David says, feeling a little bit like he was fizzling out, now that Matteo was looking at him like he was speaking in tongues, but then the boy was knocking shoulders with Matteo and tilting his head towards David like he was asking a question, and that monstrous feeling from before that made him want to come over and- and- Well, he didn’t know. Stake his claim or something. 

The thing was David isn’t usually a jealous person, just like he isn’t used to not being known, especially by the people Matteo runs with. 

“The boys were asking after you,” David says with a tight jaw at the way this guy seemed to be leaning closer and closer to Matteo by the second. 

“I’m sure they can manage a few more minutes,” Matteo said, meeting David’s gaze with something a little angry sinking behind his irises. And that feeling from before, the one that made David want to start a fight, was right there, stinging the back of his neck and demanding that he do something. 

Matteo and David stare at each other for a few more seconds, maybe even a minute or so, but the boy must get tired of the dramatics because he grips at Matteo’s shoulder and says, “Thanks for the hit, man. I gotta go,” and points somewhere behind him before pushing off the wall and peeling away. 

“Wait- Just,” Matteo calls after him, almost going as far as to reach out for his shoulder, and that- that- makes David purse his lips up and take another sip of his beer before he says something as stupid as what he’s thinking. “Fuck,” Matteo mutters and thumps his head against the wall. 

David keeps standing there, feeling a little better now that the boy was gone, but feeling a little bit worse at the same time because now Matteo is turning something mean towards him, and David doesn’t know if he’s ever seen a look like that before, not from Matteo, not to him. “You happy now?” He hisses and pushes past David and makes his way to the door. “Jesus fuck.” 

Matteo stomps out the front, and David follows him, feeling guilty and mad at the same time, feeling like they should exchange some words right now, even if he doesn’t know what kind of words they should be. 

“The fuck was that?” Matteo asks, spinning around once he’s in the nearly empty street, and throws an arm out towards the party they just left, keeping himself a few steps away, though he leans in like he’s thinking about getting in David’s space. 

“You tell me,” David throws back, feeling his heckles raise a little bit at the way Matteo was getting a little loud. “You’re the one that was flirting with him.” 

“Flirting? The fuck?” Matteo repeats like he was shocked to even hear David say something like that, like the idea was outrageous enough, and that makes David hotter, that Matteo wasn’t seeing the same thing he was. “I wasn’t fucking flirting with him. Jesus. I was trying to sell to him. I gotta make a hundred by the end of the week for my fucking rent, and that guy is usually dumb enough to buy.” 

“That makes it okay, then? Hm?” David asks, wanting to get in Matteo’s face, wanting to get louder than what was appropriate for a city street. 

“Makes it okay? I just said I wasn’t flirting with him!” Matteo repeats. 

“That’s interesting because that’s not what it looked like to me, and I’m pretty familiar with how you flirt,” David spits out, holding himself back from saying something a little more biting, trying to keep his anger under a tight enough lid that he doesn’t say something he’s going to regret as it comes out of his mouth. 

“So you’re telling me-” Matteo stops to wipe his face, like what he was thinking was waving around his face and buzzing in his ears, and then looked back up at David with just as much anger as before. “You’re telling me that you were- what? Jealous? And didn’t know how to handle it like a grown up? Jesus Christ, David.” 

“I wasn’t fucking jealous,” David denies immediately. He spits the word out like it was sour on his tongue. “I just don’t like seeing my boyfriend chatting some guy up when I’m in the fucking room.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Matteo yells. “I wasn’t chatting him up or whatever. Just admit you were jealous!” 

“So what if I was? You’re telling me you wouldn’t do the same?” David challenges, still simmering. 

“No, I wouldn’t. I’ve never fucking pulled that shit on you, have I?” Matteo responds and throws an arm out. 

“What?” David asks after a second of watching Matteo’s breath heave out and cloud in front of them. 

“You think you’re the only one that has gotten jealous before?” Matteo says, still boiling hot, even though David feels like he was just handed a piece of the puzzle he didn’t have before. “Jesus, I don’t pull any of that kind of shit on you,” he reiterates, and now he steps close and into David’s space. He points into David’s sternum. “Could you imagine if I just stormed up when you’re talking to your co-director for the play, and he’s- fucking- touched your arm like a million times already? Or that girl on the girls team that checks you out when you turn away? Or the president of that club you’re in that laughs at everything you fucking say? Or what about-” 

“I get it. I get it. Fuck, I get it, okay?” David interrupts and grips at Matteo’s wrist. 

Matteo tugs his arm away. “Do you?” He asks and seems deflated all of a sudden, like he was drained and exhausted by this. “Do you at all?” 

And David feels it too, tired and wrung out, and this so wasn’t worth an argument over, so wasn’t worth all of this, when it ends with Matteo looking at him hurt and sad, like David wasn’t getting it again. Because David can’t ever seem to get it. Not right at least. Not the first time or the second or the third. 

The thing about complimentary sets is that they can never be one and the same. The ocean will never be able to be rough and course like the sand, and the pepper will never be the same flavor as the salt. The sun will never know what it’s like to reflect light instead of give it off, constantly stuck as the shadow of something else, and the moon will never burn from the inside out, not knowing what it’s like to turn off, not even for a moment. 

“Matteo, I-”

“Everything alright?” Someone asks, and David turns towards the door to where Jonas is standing, looking between the two of them with big eyes. 

“Yeah,” Matteo says and fall a little flat. “I was just going home.” 

“Teo,” David says and steps closer. 

“Maybe you should stay at yours tonight,” Matteo suggests, though there was no suggestion in it, and then looks over to Jonas who just ticks his mouth to the side. Matteo turns to walk away, and Jonas follows him, looking over his shoulder to watch David look on in confusion and bafflement. And David is left standing there alone, feeling a little bit hollow and like he’s got something stuck in the back of his throat, watching Matteo walk away, not even looking back. 

David makes it back to his place and through a jilted explanation to Laura about why he was home at all before he caves and sends a voice message to Matteo. “I’m sorry, Teo. I don’t know why I did that, and you’re right. I was acting like a child. And I- I’m just really sorry. I’m not used to this,” he says. 

Matteo opens it right away but doesn’t say anything back, not for at least an hour. And David stares at the chat the entire time, trying to see if it would say if Matteo was typing or not, and holds his breath when it says he is eventually. 

u can come by in the morning, it reads, and David starts planning how he’s going to grovel the whole night. 

part 2