#mutual questions

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[vaguely-concerned]

lucanis is a 'I could sit in our quiet kitchen on a grey tuesday afternoon drinking coffee and talking with you about nothing much in particular forever and be the happiest man who ever lived' romantic, not a 'classic tropes and grand gestures' romantic. this is a distinction and conceptual gap I personally feel is crucial to understanding what's going on with him when romanced. for all his almost painful sincerity and clear depth of feeling he's not a very effusive guy by nature, but in the history of time no one has ever, with their whole soul, chest and being, been so genuinely and openly happy to just do laundry and taxes with you.

[keferon]

The tac net crash chapter is one of my favorites so far~

Ah and. Guess what. I just discovered that including this post, I made 50 pieces of fanart for Mistakes on mistakes until.. I’m so sane and normal about this story can you tell��

[mohntilyet]

i have to be so real. sometimes you have to outright not give a shit what the author thinks. i’m not saying to disregard how a character is portrayed and give into fanon characterisations but sometimes i will see fans be like “(head writer) omggg do you think this character is a good person?” “how would this character react if xyz happened?” as though that’s not a question you can and have to answer for yourself.! any character can contain multitudes and if you keep limiting your perception of them solely on word of god its not fun for the writer or even yourself anymore. THINK FOR YOURSELF. INVENT NEW WAYS TO FUCK YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERS OVER

[deerspherestudios]

saw your post about holiday asks and you caught me in JUST the right mood because I always get in such a festive spirit when winter goes around. Anyway mychael's thoughts about snow? Would he like sledding? Ice skating? Making a snowman? Snowball fights? Snow angels? What about baking cookies? What are his thoughts about Santa? Favorite Christmas movie? How would he react to Christmas presents? What about picking out a Christmas tree with the player? How about taking a ride in a one horse open sleigh? Christmas shopping together????????? What about making gingerbread houses? Much to think about......

Truthfully, he doesn't know what he doesn't know about Christmas but he's doing his best! Context for bandage on Mychael's nose.

[m-robinavitch]

TROPE TUESDAY!!!!! Yessss let’s gooook

Accidental pregnancy + sibling’s best friend with Abbot!reader x Robby?👀👀💕💕💕💕

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MY LOVE-

A continuation of this ask here.

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Abbot!Reader

Trope: Accidental Pregnancy w/ Sibling’s Best Friend

“I guess we have to tell him now-“ you wanted to cry. Wanted to run away like you used to do when you were a kid and you broke Jack’s expensive speakers that you poked because the holes looked fun to stab. You had been feeling like shit for the last week- nauseated and lightheaded and were so exhausted even a trip to the store had you take a 3 hour nap to recover. Robby was adamant that you should go to the doctor, even looking around for the best one around where you lived because this was supposed to be just a long distance fling. A fling that lasted for 10 years almost. A fling where you call each other once a week and spend hours on the phone until either of you fall asleep- usually you first, but Robby loves to hear you sleep because it feels like you’re in his bed again. A fling- but he whispers that he loves you in your ear while he fills you up and takes you apart. A fling- but neither of you have even tried to even date anyone else because they don’t compare. A fling but other than Jack- Robby is the first person you want to tell everything to and he can’t wait to listen. A fling- because it would break your brother’s heart that you’ve lied to him for this long.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do this,” Robby’s voice broke through the silence on the phone. He would love nothing more than a child with you. The nights where he had you asleep on his chest and he stroked his fingers along your back- he let the fantasy play out in his mind. Robby wanted you to have his baby, he wanted you to give him a beautiful baby with your pretty eyes and soft hair. Robby wanted to marry you. But he was still grappling with the fact that you wanted him. Even a decade later- he still didn’t believe you wanted him and that you deserved someone who wasn’t a mess. Someone who could give you the world and not fuck it up. He was already old and broken- even if you slowly put pieces of him back together. He wanted you to be sure because not only will this mean you’re stuck with him forever- Jack might never forgive him and Robby knows that you can’t live without either of them.

“I want this,” you wanted him. You’ve wanted Robby since you first met him. You’ve wanted more than weekend long visits back and forth every other month or so. You wanted more than phone calls and texts. The only thing that held you back was Jack. At first it was because of the age difference and it really was a fling- mind blowing sex only. But then you spent more time together and- your sister in law died, you couldn’t spring anything more on your brother. And it’s been so long now that it’s become second nature to hide it. Jack was all you had left of your family and was one half of your heart while Robby was the other half. You’d lie in bed sometimes missing him and crying because you were thinking too much about the missed opportunities- you could’ve had Robby fully if you had just told Jack years ago. Maybe you would’ve had kids already? Well it doesn’t matter anymore. “I want you.” Bite the bullet. You made a plan to visit your brother next week.

Jack was a little surprised about your random visit- happy of course because he loves you and continues you to try and get you to move closer but he’s resigned from the fact that you were an adult now. An adult who makes her own decisions. It was hard. Because he still remembers carrying you in his arms- pink bundle of blankets that his parents handed to him. He still remembers walking you to school every morning and tying your shoes. He remembers crying when you graduated kindergarten because he couldn’t imagine you growing up and not being his baby sister anymore- he cried the same way at your high school graduation. He remembers how small your hands were in his. They still felt small- sitting across from him with tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me anything- you know that.” He grabbed your hands in his, ducking his head down so you can look into his eyes and- why is Robby pulling up? He tried to tell him that it wasn’t a good time right now but you stopped him- told him you asked Robby to come. His mind was racing. He needed to know what the fuck was going on because he feels like he can’t breathe because something is wrong with you and Robby is here and- are you sick? He can’t lose you. He’s lost so much already and-

“I’m pregnant,” Oh? Oh- well, as far as situations that’s not the worst that could happen. So you’re pregnant? Okay well you can move in with him and- why do you take Robby’s hand?

Oh?

Oh.

Robby deserved the way Jack’s fist connected with his nose.

[shepscapades]

7. Lincolnshire Posy: II. — Composed by Percy Grainger, Performed by the Dallas Wind Symphony

It’s been on my mind lately that I had a lot of these Spotify song requests that I finished and never got around to posting, so I’m gonna try to chip away at posting these over the next few weeks! BUT Hi Ghost :] It’s so funny this was the song you ended up getting the number for; I had actually listened to it on loop during the deepest trenches of ranchers brainrot however many months ago, so I’m really happy I ended up being able to draw something for them!! <3 This is also the part where I expose myself for being an unashamed band kid =w= Grainger’s one of my favorite composers, so I listen to his works a lot and couldn’t help associating the really soft hopeful horns with this kind of healing period for the ranchers ;w;

I probably won’t ever really go into the details of the m-1 server’s overall plot, but I think the general vibe for m-1 ranchers is that these little moments of soft sunlight and healing bones were some of the most needed for them, so that’s why scenes like this always stand out in my mind <3 Context aside though, I think m-1 ranchers are just super sweet so!! figured I’d Full-Send share this soft doodle of them :]

[clubnate]

VINYL/ CD/ CASSETTE COLLECTORS! EDIT CLOSED

I'm doing a university project around music in physical media and it would be super helpful if anyone who collects could fill out this quick survey for me about yourself and your collection history!

give me as much or as little information as you want, feel free to go crazy about your favourite albums or cd designs, it would all be really useful <3

Thank you in advance and please reblog so i can get as many responses as possible :)

[anyataylorjoys]

Ella Purnell as Rhiannon Lewis SWEETPEA 🔪 Season 1

[chimerafeathers]

i love that isafrin can be the most straightforwardly romancey, wholesome pairing on a surface level and then you go one (1) level deeper and run into siffrin’s seething guilt and convoluted feelings around touch and intimacy and the extent to which they want or don’t want those things in a specifically romantic way or if he was trying to seek connection and love in any way he could once he knew that Isabeau wanted those things from him in that context, and the combined power trip/self disgust at “manipulating” Isabeau’s desires without his knowledge to make themself feel wanted and in control. and then you keep going and there’s also Isabeau’s own warped self image (still, in spite of all his changes, fearing that he’s someone that would be shameful to know), his “emotionally stable pillar” role and self-taught therapy talk masking his deep fears of real confrontation (struggling loop after loop to confess, not wanting Odile to confront Siffrin about their weird behavior in the sus quest bathroom talk) and how Siffrin’s fear of vulnerability and Isabeau’s fear of Pushing Too Hard allow both of their issues to fester unspoken long after it’s clear that the problems exist.

all this to say. duality of isafrin. makes my heart full and warm and happy to see the sweet, fluffy, silly love and connection between them (mutually romantic or otherwise). and then also. the delicious, delicious complications. gnawing on them like a dog with a beloved bone

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[the-last-butter]

HC they first met a year or two after Yelan got her vision; post fighting the in abyss but when Kaeya was still navigating his identity from Kaeya, Brother and Right hand of Diluc Ragnvindr to Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain and Quarter master of the Knights of Favonius.

[noxemma]

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

Parts 1&2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

———

Thank you all for the comments and reblogs. I honestly didn't expect so many people to enjoy my little spin on colorlessjay's story idea and I'm really flattered. Hopefully, this next part lives up to the others and thanks for continuing to read! ———

Blackbird singing in the dead of night ... "I should, um, that, that's Jack, so I should-" Cas stutters an explanation as he grabs for his phone but it slips off the nightstand, the Beatles continuing to croon from the ground.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise

"Jack, hey buddy! How did everything go last night?" "Great! Mr. Sam is awesome, even if he did make me go to bed at nine. He helped me with my math homework and this morning he made something yummy for breakfast. It's a piece of bread and you cut a hole out of it, then put the egg- Oh, hi Mr. Dean!" Cas turns the phone and Dean sees the kid's face fill the screen. "Oh, uh, hi Jack!" Dean gives a little wave, smile blooming because it's nearly impossible not to at the boy's infectious enthusiasm. "Sounds like you had a good time with Sam. He didn't burn it did he? Last time he tried to make them he almost burned down the whole house." "No, I did not!" Sam barks. Jack's giggling is almost loud enough to drown him out as the image blurs, and he's replaced by Sam.

"Glad to see Egg-in-a-Nest is still a fan favorite," Dean laughs, leaning over the bed closer to Cas so he doesn't have to keep stretching back awkwardly and they can both get into view.

"Yeah, well, I figured if it worked on me as a kid ... well, Jack just wanted to say hi and make sure you guys made it okay," Sam says, but Dean notices a weird tone in his voice and a squinting of his eyes. "Dean, are you-?"

He's suddenly very self-conscious about the fact that neither he nor Cas have shirts on.

"Right, well, uh, why don't you give the phone back to Cas so he and Jack can talk. I'll call you in a minute," Dean says to Sam who nods, before Dean turns to whisper to Cas. "Hey, I'm gonna go grab my bag so I can change. Can I have the keycard?"

"Oh! Of course. I got one for both of us; I must have forgotten to tell you last night. Yours should be on the table by the coffee maker," Cas murmurs back, eyes so close he can almost map the waves of dark blue in his irises. "Thanks," Dean breathes, frozen in place until Cas turns his head to respond to Jack's barrage of questions. "How long was the drive? How far away is Las Vegas? Have you seen Uncle Gabe yet?"

He hightails it out the door only stopping long enough to grab the essentials and opting for the safety of a door between him and the attractive professor before slowing down to pull on his dirty t-shirt and shoes.

Even before he's in the elevator his phone is buzzing, and he knows it's Sam. "Hey, Sammy," Dean answers with false brightness as he jabs the button for the lobby. "Don't 'Hey, Sammy' me, Dean. Please tell me you didn't sleep with my professor." Dean opens his mouth but Sam barrels on, "And don't tell me you didn't because I have eyes. You were both shirtless! In the same bed! And I'm pretty sure you don't own grey sweats or orange underwear!"

"How the fuck do you know what underwear I'm wearing?"

"Like I said: eyes. I saw you get off the bed before I handed the phone back to Jack. Now, I want answers."

"Look, I didn't sleep with him. I mean I did, but just because there was a mix up with the room and ours only had one bed. Both of us were so exhausted last night, or rather this morning, that it didn't seem worth the effort to figure it out." "And the clothes?"

Dean sighs and watches the digital number decrease.

"I desperately needed a shower but didn't realize I'd forgotten my bag in the car. Cas over-packed and lent me some clothes," Dean explains, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose to try and stop the headache he feels coming on. "Look, I promise I'm not looking to hook-up with your English professor, no matter how hot he is. I'm just here to play fake fiancé as a favor and maybe get a little extra padding for your tuition fund, okay?" Dean tells Sam, not particularly interested in analyzing why telling the truth feels so much like a lie.

He opens his eyes to find the elevator doors open he steps off only to bump straight into a guy who walks in without waiting to let anyone off. Dean curses as the jolt sends his phone skittering across the fancy marble floor.

"Watch where you're going," the man snarls, lip curling disdainfully as he takes in Dean's outfit. "Bite me!" Dean barks back, rubbing his arm and bending to pick up his phone, sighing in relief when there are miraculously no cracks.

"Dean? Dean!" Sam's worried voice calls from the speaker.

"Hey, sorry. Some entitled asshole knocked the phone out of my hand-"

"What did you mean 'fake fiancé'?"

Crap, I totally forgot to tell him about that little change in plan.

"Right, so the thing is ..."

Dean explains the whole backstory that Cas had told him about Jack while he grabs his bag and the shoes from Baby.

"Look, Sam. I know what I'm doing, okay? I promise I won't kill anyone or anything and even if I do, I know a great kid lawyer who'll get me out." "I'm not a lawyer yet," Sam groans before finally heaving a resigned sigh. "Just don't hurt yourself or Professor Novak, okay?" "You have my word, bitch." "Yeah, yeah. Call me later, jerk."

The bathroom door is closed and Cas is nowhere in sight, so Dean just starts changing. He's just pulling his burgundy overshirt on overtop the plain black tee he may or may not have picked because it clung a bit to his arms and chest, emphasizing the muscle there, when Cas comes out of the bathroom. Dean hasn't known the man long, but he feels confident that Cas is uncomfortable in the get-up. He has on khaki pants and a light blue button up with a tan striped tie that is somehow twisted backwards. His hair is tamed and there has to be some sort of product in it to keep the whisps and curls under control.

"Uh, you look- Should I change? I don't think I have anything that could be considered, what is that? Tax accountant chic?" Dean teases but only to stop himself from worrying about how woefully underdressed he's going to look in comparison. "No! Er, no. You look wonderful," Cas rushes as he glances over Dean once, then slows down for a more in-depth perusal that has Dean's blood heating again. "If I wanted you to change, I wouldn't be dating you." "You're not dating me," Dean mutters, wincing at how petulant it sounds and hoping Cas doesn't pick up on it. "Dean, if I wanted someone to play pretentious boyfriend, I could have invited Mick. My parents would probably love him, but I would never actually date someone like him." Cas trails off, clearly uncomfortable and trying to figure out what to say, but all Dean's mind can think is:

"You wouldn't date him, but you'd date me?"

"I may not have known you for very long, but I can tell that you are a kind, hardworking man who cares about your brother and the feelings of others," Dean tries to keep breathing as Cas continues on, getting closer until he's right in front of Dean, "You're smart, funny, intelligent, and I think I could probably talk to you for hours. So, yes, I would date someone like you."

The warmth that blossoms at Cas' proximity and flattering description of him cools to lukewarm at the two extra words that change the entire meaning of Cas' little speech.

Right. 'cause Cas would never date me either, just 'someone like me'.

"Uh, thanks, Cas. I always appreciate compliments and it's good to know my first impression didn't do irreparable damage to your opinion of me. I think you're pretty great too and I've enjoyed getting to know you," Dean reciprocates, forcing the palatable pieces of the truth out of his mouth, the rest, like how he's opened up more to Cas than he has to anyone else in years, sticks painfully behind his teeth and under his tongue. "Of, of course, Dean," Cas says, brow slightly furrowed as if he can sense something is off about Dean's response but can't quite pinpoint it.

Thankfully, Cas' phone starts ringing, this time blaring an old version of the Candy Man. "Gabriel, we are headed out now. No! Do not strangle Balthazar, he is allowed to dislike Celine Dion," Cas rolls his eyes at Dean, quiet for a few moments as Gabriel speaks. "Yes, he will be joining us for brunch, though not if you keep calling him that. Fine. We'll see you soon."

"So, uh, are we driving to this place or ...?"

"Oh, no. My parents are having it catered in the penthouse," Cas tosses out like it means nothing. "Oh, the penthouse. Great," Dean grumbles as he follows Cas out.

———

Before Cas even gets his hand up to knock on the penthouse door, it swings open. "Castiel, thank god you're finally here. If I have to hear Bal talk about how much he hates Titanic one more time, I swear I just might have to take drastic measures." "Good morning, Gabriel. Glad to see you're not overreacting," Cas says dryly, rolling his eyes. Dean peeks over his shoulder to see Gabriel in a theatric faint against the doorway. "After all I do for you-" Gabriel moans. "None of which I asked for."

Gabriel's eyes pop open and he looks like he's about to say something cutting when his eyes lock on Dean over Cas' shoulder. "Ah! You're still here. Castiel, would you mind introducing me to your paramour?" Gabriel asks innocently like he hadn't broken into their room this morning and doesn't have pictures of the two of them cuddling on his phone. "He's not my paramour-" "Didn't look that way this morning," Gabriel sing-songs. "-he's my boyfriend, and fiancé as far as any of our other relatives know. Gabriel, this is Dean. Dean, this insufferable idiot is my brother, Gabriel." "Don't let him fool you, he loves me," Gabriel insists as he sidesteps Cas to thrust out a hand to Dean.

"Uh, nice to finally put a face to the name, 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean says, wincing a little as Gabe crunches his hand in a punishing grip and pulls him in. "Now. I know the engagement is fake, but what are your intentions with my baby brother?"

Gone is all the mirth and mischief from his eyes, replaced by a fierce protectiveness that Dean knows well and has to admire. "I just want to make Cas happy. In whatever way I can."

The words come out so easily and Dean is surprised by the truth behind them.

Gabe nods, finally relinquishing Dean's hand. "Great. If you're done being an absolute bag of dicks, I believe we have a torture session disguised as brunch to attend." "You're mean when you're hangry, 'Cas,'" Gabriel teases, unwrapping a piece of taffy he pulled from who-knows-where and popping it into his mouth before leading them both into the penthouse. Dean had known that the penthouse of a Las Vegas hotel was going to be fancy, hell Elvis had lived in one, but nothing prepares him for the opulence he steps into.

Dean's jaw is on the floor as they pass beneath crystal chandeliers. A quick peek into the two rooms jutting off the entry way shows one to be a miniature movie theater with eight seats and the other a mini lounge complete with a pool table and fully stocked bar. Cas is impossibly unfazed as they swing by the living room that houses a hundred-inch flatscreen, a fireplace, and a baby grand piano and Dean can't figure out if he truly doesn't care or if he's just used to witnessing his family's wealth. They stop just short of the dining room, low murmurs echoing out to them. "Dean, are you sure you want to do this?" Cas whispers, ignoring the way Gabe arches his brow as he waits for them just in the doorway. "I'm sure," Dean says, lacing their fingers together for a quick, supportive squeeze.

Cas nods and they step into the lion's den together after Gabriel.

——— "Castiel, how lovely of you to finally join us," a woman's sharp words slice at them the moment they enter the room. "I was beginning to think you might not have shown up at all. Who is that with you?" Cas keeps a smile on his face, but his hand tightens around Dean's and Dean can see the tension around his eyes. "Naomi," Cas nods stiffly in acknowledgment before introducing Dean, "This is my fiancé, Dean."

"Dean," Naomi says his name like it's something slimy. "What is it that you do?" "I'm a mechanic-" Is all Dean manages to say before he is cut off. "'Naomi,' is that anyway to treat our dear mother, Castiel?" a man seated next to Naomi asks, words laced with venom. "Have some respect." Dean's eyes narrow as he focuses on the familiar looking guy before placing him as the asshole who'd bumped into him earlier that morning at the elevator. "She has made it very clear that I am no son of hers, so her given name is the most respectful thing I can call her, Michael, though I'm sure I could think of a few less respectful ones if you'd prefer."

Dean wants to whoop with pride, but he bites his lip, knowing if he says anything now it will be a long, long brunch and he's starving.

"Enough! Everyone, just sit so we can begin," booms an older gentleman Dean assumes is Cas' father, Chuck, based on how everyone follows the order as he takes his seat at the head of the table. Naomi claps her hands twice and waitstaff emerge from the kitchen carrying trays of food. Dean watches in morbid fascination as each tray is presented to Chuck first then brought around to each person, the waiter or waitress serving a portion from their tray to the plate on the table or pouring what looks to be mimosa into champagne glasses, completely ignored by everyone. "Chuck is at the head of the table, Naomi is to his right. Next to her is my older brother Michael and I think that is his fiancé," Cas whispers to Dean. "Abagail. Then you have Balthazar, our cousin. Uriel's wife, Sarah, is next to him and that's Uriel at the foot of the table. Moving on, Marv, the family attorney is on the other side of Castiel and our aunt Amara, is to dear old dad's left," Gabriel takes over explaining. "Basically, everyone one hates each other but we all play nice because tearing out each other's jugulars would probably make for bad press." Dean's head is swimming with names and faces, which only gets worse as he glances at all of them and realizes that underdressed is a gross overstatement. He's just contemplating stabbing himself with the salad fork (because yeah, the table is set with about a million different utensils Dean can't hope to guess the function of), when a flash of silver appears in his periphery. "Uh, sir? Would you like some-" Dean turns toward the server to respond, which seems to startle the gangly man so much that he stumbles back. Dean watches in horror as time slows.

The server fails to regain his balance, tripping over his own legs. The silver tray with a strange beige looking meat substance teeters on the waiter's hand before tipping and clattering to the floor with a splat and a clang. Time speeds back up as Dean leaps from his chair to help the man up. "Hey, I'm so sorry about that ..." "Uh, Garth, and I'm the one who should be apologizing." Dean hauls him to his feet before helping him grab his tray.

"Seriously, it was my fault. No need for you to take the blame for something I caused. You okay?"

Garth smiles and nods, "I'm a little bruised but definitely in better shape than the fois gras." Dean guesses that must be the meat on the floor, but he honestly has no idea. "Uh, you should probably sit back down now," Garth whispers, whipping out a cloth from somewhere and scooping up the meat, another person stepping in right after him to mop the spot.

He turns to heed the waiter's advice only to find everyone's eyes boring into him with varying emotions. Chuck, Naomi, Uriel, Michael, and Marv all stare at him with disgust and disdain. Abagail and Sarah with horror. Balthazar and Gabriel regard him with astonished amusement. Amara sears him with an intense emotion that borders on lascivious.

The other waitstaff all have soft smiles of gratitude.

And then there's Cas. Cas stares at him with pride and affection and something else that is warm and comforting. So, he doesn't look anywhere else. Just plops down and acts like nothing happened, Cas' hand finds his under the table.

"Dean," Naomi calls to him, his name icy and cold on her tongue. "I will let your impertinence slide as I am sure that you are not accustomed to silver service or etiquette, but the rule of thumb is to not interact with the staff." Dean tries to tamp down the anger bubbling in him, he really does. But then Naomi gives a little pretentious sniff and Dean can't help himself. "Thank you all for the wonderful service. Everything," Dean can't quite bring himself to lie because the truth is he hasn't had a bite of anything that tasted good, "Looks wonderful. Though I can't vouch for its taste, but that's probably due to my unrefined palate. Garth, would I be able to get some regular old peasant eggs and bacon?"

The scowls on him deepen and whispers begin to fill the room but the waitstaff can't hide their beaming and snickers and both Balthazar and Gabriel do a poor job trying to stifle their laughter behind their champagne glasses.

"Honestly, Castiel. If you can't even control your boyfriend, how are you expected to raise a child," Chuck throws out casually. "This is why he should come live with us. He needs the stability of two responsible parental figures." "Hey! Cas is a great father!" Dean snarls, old wounds scraped open and bleeding at the memory of being questioned about his own ability to raise Sam. "Dean," Cas says softly, placing a hand on his arm. "Ignore them, I do. Let's just get through this, okay?" Dean sits back in his seat, angrily chewing a piece of bacon that Garth ended up getting him, delivered with a grin and a wink. He resolves himself to let it go and stay silent for the rest of the miserable brunch.

It's a great plan, except Naomi just has to open her mouth. "Dean, I'm not sure you're aware, but Jack is Castiel's nephew," she corrects both the nickname and Jack's heritage, "not his son. Castiel will never be a real father, not with his ... condition." Dean tries to count to ten, tries to picture Sammy telling him not to, but he looks to Cas and all restraint flies out the window when he sees tears burning at the edges of his beautiful blue eyes. He jumps to his feet, slamming his hands against the table as if he didn't already have everyone's undivided attention. "Damn! Did you hear that, Cas? Turns out you can't be a father because neither of us can get pregnant. Guess that means we should stop trying so hard," Dean shouts, sarcasm dripping from every word. There is a full second of silence where time seems suspended before all hell breaks loose. Gabe sprays mimosa out of his nose at the inuendo and proceeds to struggle between laughing and coughing. Cas is staring open mouthed up at Dean, unreadable emotion in his eyes. Everyone else gasps and clutches their metaphoric pearls like he'd stood up on the table, pulled down his pants and underwear, and yelled "Pudding!" while shaking his junk at them. Naomi, unfortunately, appears to recover first. "How dare you-" "How dare I?" Dean asks incredulously. "How dare you? I may not be up to date on proper etiquette, but I'm pretty sure berating and belittling your son's fiancé, whom you've just met, is frowned upon. Also, how dare you question Cas' ability to be a parent? He is Jack's dad in every way that counts. He provides for him and loves him unconditionally and would do anything to protect him, which is clearly more than you two can say about yourselves. And he's not doing it alone anymore. He has me and I promise you: I'm not going anywhere." "Don't you speak to my wife that way," Chuck yells at Dean, standing and matching his stance. "And how could Jack possibly benefit from you, Dean? How much do you actually make as a mechanic? Will you be able to help with Jack's college and expenses? Did you even go to college? " "You know what, no. Happy? I didn't go to college. I've never had and probably never will have anything that amounts to material wealth. But what I do have is a G.E.D, a give 'em hell attitude, a decade of experience raising my brother, who got a one-seventy-four on his first shot at the L-SAT and is a few semesters away from graduating in the top ten percent of his class at Stanford, and a whole lotta love for Jack and Cas. So, you can keep your etiquette and complicated silver wear and awful tasting expensive food. I'd rather be poor and happy with a dick in my ass than rich and empty with a stick up it any day a'the week," Dean finishes, huffing and shaking as the rage still claws at him and begs for a bruisable outlet other than an inflated ego.

"Dean ..." Cas breathes beneath him and Dean wants to kick himself. He was supposed to make Cas look good, look stable. And now he'd probably fucked everything up. He doesn't look at Cas, even though he can feel him tugging at his overshirt. He can't look at him yet, needs another moment to scramble together a protective wall from the disappointment and anger he's going to find in the haunting blue. He chooses to stare down Chuck and Naomi who are apparently stunned speechless, as is the rest of the table. "Dean," Cas growls his name this time, but Dean still needs just one more second.

He doesn't get it. Cas is up on his feet beside him, grabbing his face in both hands and pulling him into a kiss.

Cas lips move against his, working at his lower lip until Dean's lips part and Cas' tongue is exploring his mouth. Dean shudders at the sensation, reciprocating eagerly and needing to taste Cas. "Thank you, Dean," Cas whispers as he pulls away far too soon, Dean's lips naturally chasing after him. "Cas?" Dean asks, dazed, confused, and licking the last traces of Cas champagne breath off his lips. Cas doesn't answer though because the room explodes in a cacophony of shouts as everyone jumps to their feet, excluding Abagail and Sarah who shyly give Dean secret thumbs up. Over the din, Dean hears Michael roar that Cas is uninvited from the wedding. "If Cas isn't going, then I'm not. And, judging from your tanking stock, you need me to present a united, family friendly front for the press. I mean that is what this whole wedding is, right? A merger between the Shurley Corporation and Roman Enterprises?" Neither Michael, Naomi, nor Chuck respond. "I'm loathe to agree with Gabriel on anything, but I'm on his and Castiel's team for this one. You bastards," Balthazar says the last part to Gabe and Cas with something that might be considered affection, shocking Dean with his British accent. "If Gabriel and Castiel aren't going, then I'm bloody well not either." "Chuck, Naomi, it's been a pleasure, as always," Cas spits toward them, grabbing Dean's hand and dragging him towards the door. Dean is still too out of it to resist, so he follows Cas, fingertips hovering over his swollen lips, barely registering Gabriel scrambling after them shouting, "Mom, pops, I gotta say, I think this is the best brunch you've ever hosted!"

———

Tag List (I think I got everyone who asked but lmk if you want to be added or removed):

@colorlessjay @destielfangirl24 @chokinghazardchirp @o-birdseed-o @examishbookwyrm

[d3rpydoods]

on my goddamn hands and knees right this moment- major props to @junkanimate for rendering this goddamn shitpost for me when i jokingly asked if anyone would want to pick up my slack

Update: the pfp is a drawing Hanzo made for him btw

[invisible-goats]

You're chatGTP: how do I make an omelette?

I'm chat GTP!

Here's how you make an omelette

Take 3 eggs per person

Grate some cheese and chop any other desired toppings

Crack the eggs into a bowl

"Cracking an egg" is a term used in the trans community to refer to helping someone realise they are transgender

Combine your trans friend with salt, pepper and toppings

Top your friend

[jesuistrestriste]

Sage hear me out...

Divorced dilf art who calls his younger gf mommy

art stays cooped up in the house all day—everyday—when you’re out at your hot new job.

he thinks about all the guys your age who probably ogle you and try to make passes at you, not knowing that you’ve got a man pushing 40 waiting at home for you with dinner and a pair of warm, strong open arms.

sigh.

when you do get home, he’s there to greet you (as always). he walks over and holds you close; kissing your cheek, and then your lips and your neck. each one soft and sweet and attempting to wipe your mind of any flirtation from younger men that you may or may not have endured throughout the afternoon.

“hi,” he whispers, and you slide your fingertips down his lower back, making him tremble like a wet kitten.

“hey, baby,” you hum in return. you’re shorter than him, and so when he leans his weight into you his forehead naturally falls into your shoulder. he smells like warmth and outdated cologne and need.

he mouths at your neck in the next moment, his hands sliding to lovingly cup your waist, “i missed you so much.. can i have you now?” he breathes out, his voice shaking and pleading. you feel something thick and warm press into your hip from inside his sweatpants.

and you chuckle and shake your head. he bites his bottom lip to stifle a petulant whimper.

“i missed you too,” you nip at his ear, “but i need you to use your manners if you want something from me.”

he stiffens for a moment before he stumbles forward a bit, taking you with him and gently pushing your back up against the door. “i’m sorry.”

the apology spills from his lips with an earnest desire to make his obedience known. he’d never want to disappoint you. you’re all he has these days.

“can i… can i please have you now?”

a breath. a shake of your head. a rock of his hips against your body followed by a sorrowful, begging moan.

“no?” he shifts against you, his body aching for yours.

“you’re forgetting something, Art.”

it only takes a moment for him to process your words before he’s mumbling a slurry of “i’m so sorry”s into your neck. but apologies only go so far, don’t they? he needs to correct his behavior. he needs to show you that he knows what you want from him.

“please…” he whispers, “please, mommy..”

the honorific rolls off his tongue like honey, heavy and sweet. it hangs in the air between you two and then you let out a low chuckle, “much better.”

“mommy,” he breathes out again, his erection involuntarily pulsing against your body through his clothes, “mommy, mommy, mommy—ngh“

his tone grows more desperate with each mumbling of the word; higher in pitch and more urgent. your hands move up to stroke his short blonde hair, and then you whisper into his ear.

“what do you want?”

god, what doesn’t he want? he wants your hand down his pants, your perfect cunt wrapped around his unworthy cock, your mouth, your lips, your tits. everything.

but he knows you. he knows that this is a trick question. you’re phrasing it like you’re going to give him something, a treat—a reward, but it’s a bit of a trap.

there’s a right and a wrong answer here. pick the wrong one, and he’s in for a night of painful orgasm denial (coupled with a ruined one to end the evening).

but luckily, art is smart. he knows what you want to hear.

“i.. i wanna eat mommy out.”

you pull back gently from him; and judging by the look that spreads over your face when he says that, he picked the right response.

you smile, and then your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders. in an instant, art finds himself being pushed down to the floor in front of you. he can’t help but scoot forward and shove his boner against your ankle, rutting himself into your soft skin as he dribbles precome in his briefs.

you lean back against the door, hiking up your skirt, before you’re looking down to him expectantly.

“don’t make me do all the work, baby,” you practically purr.

art’s hands scramble up your thighs to your panties, which he peels off of your sticky core with wide eyes, letting the thin fabric garment fall to pool at your heels. you giggle.

you kick them off to the side, feeling your boyfriend’s hands clutched around your legs. you sling a leg over his left shoulder, spreading your folds for him to see, and he wastes no time in parting his lips and engulfing your heat with his mouth.

you groan, letting your head loll back, and you move your fingers—letting them wander to the back of his hair once more to push his face further against you. you grind on his eager tongue, feeling him flick it over your clit as he whimpers and suckles. what a slut.

his baby blues look up to you with weighted lids, lapping at your cunt like it’s something he’s been starved of for years. his pupils dilate intensely as he stares up at you like you’re a god; something holy and unreal. and when you shake over his mouth’s ministrations, getting close, he lets out a long, drawn-out whine into your core.

he’s murmuring something that sends vibrations up your spine from the coil deep in your gut. it’s hard to make anything out when he’s drowning in you and loving it, but you can decipher bits and pieces.

“please, mommy”

“come in my mouth, mommy”

“give it all to me, mommy”

“i can take it, mommy”

you’re everything he’s ever dreamt about. you bend his perception of time and space and reason and logic. how could a sweet, beautiful, young thing like you ever want a washed-up, older athlete like him?

he prays that you don’t only like him for his money, and then he closes his eyes and mouths at your sensitive bud. he drools all over it like a sick dog, his brows pinching up as he moans out incoherent pleas for you to finish.

and holy fuck, you come hard.

a strangled cry jolts out of you as your back arches, mixing with a helpless sob from art, and then you absolutely soak his tongue with your juices. it gushes all over his face and he swallows as fast as he can; hell, he nearly chokes on it.

“ffffuck! art! oh my god, good boy, good boy, such a good boy!”

you rock over him until your orgasm recedes, and you pull his head back from you shakily by your tender hold on his hair. strings of your slick cling to the lower half of his face and the tip of his nose; a lewd squelch echoing out as he’s forcefully disconnected from your body. a dazed smile graces your lips and you peer down to watch as art’s hips shake against the hardwood floor and a dark stain appears at the front of his sweats. it’s a pathetic sight, really.

but you watch him moan softly and keep his gaze trained on you as he wipes his chin messily with the back of his hand.

“was i good?” he whispers, like he’ll cry if you say no.

he needs to hear you say it when he’s not lost in the throes of your climax.

your chest is still heaving while you try to slow your labored breaths, but you lean down anyways and meet his lips with yours. you taste yourself on his tongue. he shudders and winces.

you pull back, your bottom lip brushing his.

“so good, baby..”

art kisses the corner of your mouth softly, just once. he’s melting into you.

he loves you. but he swallows that down for now. he opts to murmur out something that’ll sum up everything he feels in a more palatable manner. something that makes him seem less desperate to keep you all to himself for as long as you can tolerate him.

something that he’s earnestly dying to say.

something that he knows you deserve to hear.

“thank you.”