#or maybe it was cockles all along

[cas-is-my-weakness]

So basically what jackles is saying is cockles is real but not destiel from dean's side I guess you win some you lose some

[perditty]

Cat knew the Braavosi words for mussels and cockles and clams, but along the Ragman's Harbor she cried her wares in the trade tongue, the language of the wharves and docks and sailor's taverns, a coarse jumble of words and phrases from a dozen languages, accompanied by hand signs and gestures, most of them insulting. Those were the ones that Cat liked best. Any man who bothered her was apt to see the fig, or hear himself described as an ass's pizzle or a camel's cunt. "Maybe I never saw a camel," she would tell them, "but I know a camel's cunt when I smell one." Once in a great while that would make somebody angry, but when it did she had her finger knife. She kept it very sharp, and knew how to use it too. Red Roggo showed her one afternoon at the Happy Port, while he was waiting for Lanna to come free. He taught her how to hide it up her sleeve and slip it out when she had need of it, and how to slice a purse so smooth and quick the coins would all be spent before their owner ever missed them. That was good to know, even the kindly man agreed; especially at night, when the bravos and roof rats were abroad.

Favourite Chapter: AFFC - Cat of the Canals

[rosewaterandivy]

answer July— ah, said July—

summary: from Summersong Request-athon, inspired by "July, July!" as requested by marvelous Meg aka @courtingchaos 💜 || The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

w.c.: 4700

pairing: e.m. x f!reader

themes: prosaic summer feels, the ephemeral nature of time, processing trauma, mention of previous bodily harm & its aftermath, insecurities and the like, body worship

a/n: long time, no see my fellow fiends. did i let this run away from me? maybe. do i care? not a wit! thanks for tagging along with the team, aka let eddie have a nice, normal summer for once - hope you enjoy! title from "Answer July" by Emily Dickinson.

Summer slipped by syrupy slow, lingering around the edges. All honey-coated and sweet, so much so in fact, that it struck one Eddie Munson as rather strange.

Granted, his spring had been touch and go what with being the town pariah and nearly bleeding his ever-loving guts out in the Upside Down and all. So maybe a slow uneventful summer was well-warranted after all of that.

May sprinted past with its final school bells ringing and a quick dash across the stage at graduation to snatch a diploma from Higgins before the school board could think better of it. He hastily threw together a quick campaign to welcome Will Byers back to town and only somewhat regretfully passed the mantle of Hellfire over to Henderson.

He got himself a job, nothing to write home about, but certainly something to pass the time and get him out of the house. Wayne insisted Eddie didn’t need to work and Eddie said the same for him, the never-ending cycle rearing its head once more.

The government hush money was, after all, nothing if not generous.

Still, he felt ill at ease in the new house. Liable to crawl out of his skin at times.

Besides, if it weren’t for the job, he’d have never set his sorry sights on the newbie behind the counter at the soda fountain.

Yes, of fucking course Hawkins, Indiana had an old-fashioned soda shop pharmacy combo.

Which did nothing to help his sweet tooth.

So, on the days he happened to close the record store, Eddie would peer across the street searching for a familiar head of hair, usually swept up onto a bun or ponytail by day’s end, and a smile that could melt the cockles of his cold, black heart.

The bell chimed as you rung up a sale for a customer at the register, the cash drawer grazing a bit of skin at your hip as you turned.

“Be with you in a sec!”

Eddie settled himself on a well-worn stool and drummed his fingers along the polished counter. He watched as you counted change for one of the old biddies who all but forced casserole down the throats of the Munson men after he’d been discharged from the hospital.

She thanks you and shoves a dollar in the tip jar as she makes to leave.

“Looking lovely as ever Pearl,” A low familiar voice says.

“Oh, you sweet talker,” The older woman swats at Munson still perched on his stool. She tsks and tugs at a lock of hair that’s fallen from where he’d tied it back in frustration. “One of these days I’ll come at you with my scissors, young man.”

Eddie sighs dramatically and swivels on the stool as she reaches the door, “Promises, promises. And yet…”

Pearl pushes the door open and says with a wink, “You’ll never see me coming.”

The door falls shut behind her, allowing him to return his attention to you behind the counter.

At the far end of the shop, you’re hefting open freezer doors and scooping out near perfect spheres of ice cream onto sugar and waffle cones, scoffing when someone requests a cup instead.

He’s surprised to see no one else behind the counter, there’s usually at least one person to man the counter with during the busier hours, the after dinner rush.

The door keeps chiming as people join the line, eyeing the offerings— campfire marshmallow, french toast, vanilla, strawberry, rainbow sherbert— the list goes on and on. Some lean over and whisper to their dates, earning a tittering giggle here and there. Sticky hands of children smack against the glass pointing out their selection as you shove another scoop onto a towering waffle cone.

And it’s then that Eddie decides he’s had quite enough of this.

Tossing his bag behind the counter and hopping over it, all long limbs and pointy elbows. His knees pop slightly as he passes behind you to grab a scoop from the water trough.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh, helping out?”

And without another word, he turns to the next customer and takes their order, only stepping on the toes of your Keds once or twice before locating the correct flavor.

“God,” He mutters under his breath, the tendons of his forearm prominent as he scoops a glob of pink cotton candy ice cream onto a sugar cone. “People actually like this crap?”

You merely shrug in response before sliding the freezer door shut and opening the next. It goes like this for nearly half and hour before Vickie stumbles in from the service entrance, her cheeks tinged pink and accompanied by a dazed look in her eye.

“Sorry, sorry!” She frantically apologizes, clocking in with her punch card.

Tying on an apron, which Eddie never bothered to do, she greets the customers at the till and rings them up while you make what could very well be the hundredth shake ordered that day, the mixer revving loudly over your retort.

“I’ll allow it,” You turn with a knowing smirk to Vickie, “But you owe me big time, Little Red.”

“Details?” She squeaks.

“Oh, that and more Vic,” You laugh as the machine whirs to a stop.

Deftly, you pour the shake into a cup and shake the canister of whipped cream vigorously. Eddie tries and fails to hide the blush coloring his cheeks as your shirt rides up with the motion. The ‘JERK��� emblazoned on your chest pulling taut against the swell of your breasts from the movement.

He nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Shit,” He rasps as his throat pulls tight.

Passing the shake over with a polite smile to a customer, you thump him forcefully on the back.

Which would be all well and good, if not for the fact that he wasn’t expecting it, and, as a result, falls bodily into your chest, legs tangling with yours, and takes the pair of you down to the mat behind the counter.

“Ow.”

Peering open an eye, he finds Vickie, arms crossed and toe tapping the tile floor, looking down at the both of you with a bemused pull of her lips.

“See, this is why it’s employees only behind the counter,” You say with a grunt as you peel yourself from the floor. “You’re not OSHA certified, Munson.”

Eddie digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, hoping that maybe he can just sink into the floor and forget this ever happened.

Because you’re warm, what with having worked up a sweat manning the counter single-handedly and your legs are nice; too nice maybe, with the way his heart is kicking up in his chest, to say nothing of what’s kicking up in his pants.

“Sorry,” He sighs, coming to a seated position. “Are you okay?”

Dusting your hands against the denim cutoffs you’re sporting, you turn and give him a smile. “Never better.”

Legs still tangled, you unwind your limbs from his, crisp white Keds knocking against scuffed Reeboks. He takes the hand you offer and allows himself to be pulled up, only to be greeted by six beatific smiles and less than subtle winks or nods.

“Sooooo,” Dustin drawls, fingers drumming against the glass of the freezer, “Fun trip?”

The ensuing laughter and taunts from what was formerly his favorite group of high schoolers, is enough to make Eddie miss the solitude of Reefer Rick’s cabin.

_

If May was a sprint, then June was a dive into cool water.

Rope swings lassoed around tree branches, splashing into a placid lake from great heights. Blankets spread on rocks and grass for makeshift picnics. The hum of cicadas as lips wrapped around lifted bottles of booze from the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.

Nearly a month gone and Eddie still hadn’t worked up the courage.

Which is how he found himself perched on rock formation that bordered Lover’s Lake with the boys— Harrington, Byers, and Argyle— playing barely tipsy lifeguard as you swam circles around Nancy, Robin, and Vickie. The latter two had somehow wound themselves into a Gordian Knot of limbs and had earned an eagle-eyed glare from one former captain of the swim team.

“Go to the shallows!” Steve called out, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his feet. “No, Rob,” He huffed and stood up, “You gotta use your arms, like this!” He demonstrated with a perfect backstroke that Robin seemed woefully unequipped to replicate.

“What?!”

Robin’s befuddled call echoed against the rocks lining the shore and spurned Steve into action.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, passing the bottle off to Eddie. “Stay there ya dingus!”

Steve’s body elegantly cut into the water and he surfaced to a smattering of applause from those still perched on the rock.

“Good form, I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Eddie decreed before taking long pull from the bottle.

“Now way man,” Argyle piped up, “That’s at least a 9.The way he slipped into the water like that? Some top tier stuff right there.”

He elbowed Jonathan who was preoccupied with blowing rings from his joint.

“Huh? Oh, uh. 5?”

Steve merely rolled his eyes and swam toward Robin and Vickie, who where no closer to shore now than they were when this whole charade began.

“You’re shitting me dude. A 5 out of 10?”

“Oh, fuck.” Jonathan completed one rather slow blink in Eddie’s direction. “I thought it was like, out of five. My bad.”

Argyle called out the new score from the judges to Steve, who had his hands full with Robin and Vickie’s frantically kicking and thrashing limbs, so much so, that he was rather relieved when you swam up beside him to help.

Eddie placed the bottle between his feet and leaned back on his hands, face turned toward the night sky.

Stars littered the inky blue like so many twinkling lights. A few lightning bugs buzzed further along the edge of the wood, a soft yellow glow to guide through the dark. The lake grew calm again, small lapping waves skirting the shore as distant voices grew closer.

“Hey man,” Argyle nudged Eddie’s shoulder with his, knocking him from his reverie. “How’s our favorite soda jerk?”

He smiled despite himself, “She’s fine, I guess.”

“Hmm. And Operation Meatball?”

Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, “Henderson got to you too, I see. That kid needs to get a hobby.”

Dustin, and the rest of his band of hellions, had gotten it into their heads that Eddie and you were destined to be. Had an entire notebook dedicated to plans and named the whole endeavor after a scene from Lady and the Tramp, which Eddie couldn’t even bring himself to protest.

“I dunno dude,” Argyle shrugged, “She’s schmokin and I may have seen her eye you a time or two.”

He was glad for the cover of night, because his face felt positively on fire.

“You know, if you’d—” Argyle began, only to get cut off by the sound of approaching footfalls.

“Hey guys,” You greeted, stepping onto the rock and dripping water onto Eddie’s arm. “Oh, shit, sorry Ed!” You take a step back and grab a towel from a nearby bag. Tying your hair up in the striped towel, you settle back at his side. “Ooh, got any more of that?”

He follows your eyes to the bottle at his feet, and stretches to grab it. Your damp fingers brush his along the neck of the bottle, and he, impossibly, blushes all the more.

“S’all yours.”

“Much obliged,” You say with a nod toward him.

Your lips wrap around the bottle, and Eddie can’t help but watch a rivulet of water trickle its way down your throat. His fingers itch to chase it, his tongue longs to taste it.

Jonathan deploys a well-timed cough and pointed glance in Eddie’s direction to excuse himself and Argyle.

“Catch you later chica,” Argyle promises with a grasp to your shoulder, “Lemme know when that horchata flavor comes in!”

You promise to do so with a laugh and a wave, before turning your attention back to the water. Eddie sits at your side, quiet, save for the movemnt of his fingers as he fiddles with his rings. There’s a few sounds from Steve dutifully pouring Robin and Vickie into the BMW with conferring with Nancy as she wrangles Jonathan and Argyle into the station wagon.

“You good?”

Turning at the sound of Nancy’s voice, Eddie can see your mouth pull into a smile, the white of your teeth bringing to mind a cheshire cat. Your elbow knocks into his as you duck toward him conspiratorially.

“Whaddya say, Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

Lightning bugs float around your damp hair that’s fallen from its turban, water slick waves drying slowly in the summer heat. A halo blurry gold around your head, Eddie loses all faculty of language, lost in the soft glow cast against your sun warmed skin.

“Take me home?”

He merely nods in response, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’m good!” You call back to Nancy and take another pull from the bottle.

“Call me when you’re home!”

The sound of car engines turning over fills the air, tires crunching over gravel and dried pine needles littering the forest floor. The heat of the day quickly dissipates, replaced with a soft breeze that alleviates a bit of the humidity. And it’s quiet on the shore, save for the clinking of the bottle as you take sips every so often.

For all his gregarious and dramatic antics, truth be told, Eddie didn’t quite know how to simply be. At least, not since spring break with the nearly dying and all of that. He’d returned to the land of the living a little more somber, recovering in the hospital between hushed tones from doctors and nurses, louder exclamations from Henderson and his brood, the comforting weight of Wayne’s hand at his shoulder.

Sure, he’d rallied.

Put on a brave face for the kids, found familiarity in a strained smile mirrored in Steve. Noticed his own body jerking in time with Robin’s at the sound of an unanticipated loud noise. Was quick to cover his discomfort with a joke buoyed by Argyle’s raucous laugh. Found himself helping Nancy plan outings to take everyone’s mind off of things. Sought out Jonathan to share a smoke when it all got to be too much.

But you—

He never minded the quiet with you.

Eddie could maybe, for a moment, let it fall away.

A clink of a glass bottle broke his reverie as it joined the others discarded on the ground.

“This is nice,” You said with a languid stretch, arms raised above your head and falling in a graceful arc as you settled back against the rock.

He had to agree.

“Can I uh, ask you something?”

Your voice had taken on an unfamiliar tone, almost as if you made yourself smaller and unsure. It wasn’t his favorite, he had to admit. Eddie preferred the unapologetic way you carried yourself, a royal flush of confidence which you bandied about with no inhibitions.

Timid didn’t suit you, at least, not in his humble opinion.

He knocked shoulders with you, tried to inject some levity into his voice.

“Shoot.”

“Well,” You squirmed next to him, “And you don’t have to answer this if like, it makes you uncomfortable— the last thing I wanna do is offend you, swear to God.” You take a breath to steel yourself. “I just, I noticed you weren’t swimming today.”

“Ah.”

“I mean,” You clear your throat, “You really never swim, not at Steve’s pool, not here. So.”

“Are you asking if I can swim?” He jokes, “Because, I’m definitely capable. Dear old Dad threw me into a creek,” crick, “And told me to get on with it.”

A hushed laugh falls from your lips, “So, you can but you don’t. Any reason why?”

“Well that,” He says, softer now, “Is quite the story.”

You hum, content with the response not pushing for more than he’s willing to share.

“Tell me someday?”

And oh, is he in trouble. Because the odds of that are more far likely than you’d think.

You’re quick to pack up after that. Eddie trails after you, tossing an odd can or cigarette butt into a trash bag and hauling it to the van. He scratches the light stubble of his jaw, nail catching along the scar decorating his cheek. It’s not as bad as it had been, mostly white with pink tinged edges, and receding into his jawline enough to slip most notice.

It’s not that Eddie regrets the scars, he did what he had to do— the whorls of pink and white puckered skin that now embellished him from hip to shoulder were a simple reminder of that.

Just not one that he’s keen to advertise.

He lets you fiddle with the radio, static crackling through the speakers before the opening riff of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” sails through. An easy smile lights up your face as you lean back in the seat and sing along.

I’ll be with you my darling, soon, I’ll be with you when the stars start falling

His grip tightens on the wheel and he wills himself to focus on the road ahead and not the soft croon of your voice. Which is kind of difficult given how sweet you sound, how desperate he is for your touch.

He rolls up to your apartment complex by the song’s end, having had the pleasure of your signing for the duration of the drive. And Eddie’s probably biased, but he thinks you could give Jack Bruce a run for his money.

He parks the van in front of your building, letting it idle as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You’re grooving a little bit in your seat, and Eddie allows himself a moment to be selfish— gazing as you shake out your mostly dry hair and sway in time to the song, a secret smile pulling at his lips.

Opening your eyes, you meet his gaze. Leaning over the consol, your fingers caress his jaw, turning him to face you fully. The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

I’ve been waiting so long, to be where I’m going in the sunshine of your love.

_

But July—

July passes like a dream, as delightful as the sugary syrup currently crawling its way down your arm. The bomb pop melting all too quickly in the height of the summer sun, trickles of red, white, and blue cascade down your sun hewn skin.

A screech pierces the air as Eddie leans over from his seat on the Harrington’s patio to lick the drips from your arm.

Loud enough to draw the attention of the kids and soon his soft huffs of laughter as replaced with a prolonged “Eeeewwww,” from the girls and an offended scoff of “Gross,” from Henderson.

“Can it!” Steve says, volleying a beach ball at his head, knocking his ever-preset baseball cap into the chlorinated water.

Eddie nods in thanks before continuing his assault of your arm.

“Shit, babe, no teeth!”

He ignores this and elects to dig his teeth into the temptation of your skin. You swat him away and recline back in your chair, Raybans affixed to your face, a pout on your lips.

“You’re no fun,” He grouses, kicking back in his recliner. “You use teeth.”

“Artfully,” You quip back in reply, “Poetry will be written about the exploits of my chompers, the deftness, the skill with which I decorate canvases of skin.”

And well yeah, Eddie would know. He has several bruises blossoming along his torso and thighs from said exploits.

So he really couldn’t complain.

He lets the clubmasters slide back onto his face, the blue polarized lenses giving the scene a cooler, dreamier tint. His hand falls to the side, fingers walking their way over to tangle with yours. You give him a quick squeeze before turning your attention back to your latest bookstore acquisition, The Handmaid’s Tale.

In fact, once Eddie got over himself and blurted out some amalgamation of ‘Can I take you out?’, you’d booped him on the nose in response, much to his horror, and waited a beat to say:

“Sure thing, stud,” — Eddie’s summer had only gotten better.

Was it annoying to have near daily occurrence of high schoolers singing “Summer Lovin’” at him? Yes. Were you worth it? Obviously.

Eddie had attempted to date, briefly and disastrously, in the past. In that respect, maybe he was a little gun shy.

But one night stands? Quickies? Handies after a deal at a party? Bjs in the back of the van?

Yeah, that he’d done. And was definitely the more enthusiastic partner in retrospect. And now, with you?

Well, suffice it to say that your first round in the sack wasn’t exactly picture perfect, and he’d nearly gotten a broken nose for all his effort. But, y’know, learning curve and all that, maybe some lighting was required so he could avoid getting socked in the mouth or something.

“Yuck, what is that?” Dustin says with thinly veiled annoyance, gesturing to your hand clasped in Eddie’s. “Hands Across America?”

“The fuck,” Eddie perks up, squinting as he flips his sunglasses onto his forehead. “Hands doing what now?”

“Pfft,” You blow a raspberry and lazily thumb over to a new page, “You don’t even know what day it is, or what’s going on.”

“Yeah, and I wish I knew even less.”

“Hands Across America was months ago, by the way.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

“Really and truly.”

“So, hey,” Eddie ignores Dustin’s gagging and turns toward you in earnest. “D’ya like sex?”

“Uh huh.”

“And travel, you like that, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then, sweetheart,” He drops your hand from his, drawing your interest away from the plot.

You huff, perturbed by the interruption and glance his way.

“Then you can fuck right off.”

Eddie raises a solitary finger elegantly, aristocratically even. Something practiced time and time again until it became second nature. It’d be kind of impressive if he weren’t so damned annoying about it, flipping the bird every chance he got.

A trait that, unfortunately, the young Wheeler had adopted as his own.

Despite yourself, a laugh breaks from your lips, loud enough to draw the other’s attention from the pool.

“God, I hate you.”

“Really and truly?”

“Oh, you bet sunshine.”

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, Steve and Robin had corralled the kids out of the pool and lured them away with the promise of pizza. Nancy sidles out from the sliding glass door with the cordless in hand, tossing it over to Eddie.

“We got the usual— cheese, pepperoni, and cheesy bread. But I know you’re particular, so.”

“Right on, Wheels. Good lookin’ out.”

Eddie grabs for you again fingers twining with yours as he rattles off the usual to the pizza guy as Nancy makes her way back inside.

“Hey man, can I get an order of mushroom and black olive with the banana peppers and a shit ton of red pepper flakes? Uh huh, yeah.”

He pulls the phone away from his face, tucking it against his jaw to mouth something to you.

You watch his lips, red from one too many popsicles, form the words.

“Garlic sauce? Hell yeah.”

He returns to the call.

“And the— Oh, you heard that? Cool. Thanks, man.”

He hangs up and tosses the phone onto a rumpled pile of towels, tugging at your arm.

“Ugh, what,” You grouse, finally dropping your book on the patio.

“You’re so far away,” He whines, draping the back of his hand across his forehead to heave a woeful sigh. “Oh, when will my beloved return from the war?”

You roll your eyes and clamber over to his pool chair, straddling his hips. “Okay, calm down Scarlett. Tara is thattaway.” You hike a thumb somewhere in the general vicinity of what you’re pretty sure is south. You laugh and crawl your way into his lap.

And, here’s the thing:

It’s easy.

A foreign concept in Eddie’s life up until this particular point.

Which is to say, that since the advent of your relationship with him, Eddie found himself spending more time on his knees than he ever had amongst the pews.

While there’s no catechism for for this particular piety, he’ll take this act of communion for what it is—

His lips and tongue spouting devotionals as he kneels between your thighs. And he’d never been one for God, but maybe He’d made it so two bodies can fit holy wholly together.

After all, he’d been penitent enough.

You twine a streamer of his hair around your finger, head slotting into the cul-de-sac of his throat. His arms wind about your hips, anchoring you in place.

Steve sticks his head out to say he’s forcing the kids on a field-trip to get the pizza, Nance and Robin are grabbing some drinks from the store.

You hum in idle contentment and sink further into Eddie, as if he could consume you entire.

If my body is of your body and your body is of mine, can ever the two be parted? What lies in me now does in you, a reflection in kind.

The marks that decorate his skin, both intentional and accidental, fail to define him.

If they ever really could.

You’d traced their shape, plotted their paths, and transmuted them before his very eyes. The weight, the lead sinking and skittering and pulling him down was no more.

“If I could,” you’d said softly one night, a riot of arms and legs tangled against his own, a lone finger rhapsodizing against his ribs, travelling a familiar continent. “I’d paint you golden.”

No, not gilt.

But gold.

It still daunts Eddie how freely he fell— for you and the effervescent joy that flourished in your wake. It used to unnerve him, if he thought about it too much. For the longest time, he wasn’t sure if what he felt was real, or simply a facsimile of love.

He learned not to dawdle in his darker moods.

He’d hummed at your declaration, so much more accustomed to gloomier comparisons. You’d turned up at him, cleaving your chin across the ladder of his ribs, eyes big and brighter than any star he’d ever seen.

And he hadn’t known what to say.

Weeks had passed and he still hadn’t a clue how to respond.

“Hey,” Dustin yells, striding out of the sliding glass door. “Dinner’s ready!” He waits impatiently, striking a similar pose to that of Steve when he’s at his wit’s end.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, shooing him away and slinging a leg off of the recliner.

He takes you with him, much to your protest.

“Noooo,” you whine, “Eddie, the physical therapist said—”

“That I’m fine,” He reminds you, securing his grip under your thighs as he carries you inside the house.

Your petulant pout demands satisfaction, and he acquiesces, dipping his head to yours in a quick kiss.

“Y’know,” he says, voice rumbling and low as everyone fixes up their plates in the kitchen. He sets you on the island counter, his hands spread just past your thighs, arms loosely caging you in.

He smells like summer— sugar and chlorine and salt and the tell-tale wisp of a cigarette. His hair is loose and wild, sheltering you from prying eyes as he rests his head against yours.

It hits him like a thunderclap and descends as quickly as revelation.

“I’d follow you into the sun.”

It’s not a declaration, but a simple fact.

Love.

He’d tell you someday, but not quite yet.

For now, he’ll watch your lips kick up in that adorable smile of yours, the kind that crinkles the corner of your eyes from the sheer amount of joy packed in it. Allowing himself to float on the thinnest of air just for a moment.

This summer, you’ve been his North Star, always there.

And he hopes you always will be.

[fanonsupremecy]

RomCom Movie Idea: Widower Actor Dads (played by Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins) that have been best friends forever that when their wives die in a horrible accident help eachother through the grief and eventually find out they're in love with eachother. But thats not the plot of the movie. The actual plot is that their daughters are getting lesbian married and they've been in the closet the whole time because they've been putting it off until the kids were ready which ok kinda makes sense I guess but even when the daughters came out they didnt want to steal their moment but they kept putting it off until one day the daughters come home from college to announce their wedding and so dad a is like "nows the time" and dad b agrees but then daughter a anounces that shes marrying daughter b before the dads get the chance to come clean and again they dont wanna steal their moment once again so they resign to wait until after the wedding but dad b is basically living with dad a now and so until they come out its a minor problem but dad b decides he wants to give the daughters his house as a wedding present when they finally do but until then they are in a pickly wickly predicament. So its really just wedding shenanigans and trying to keep The Secret (that could the the title of the movie; also maybe its too long for a movie and should be a show instead) and occasional flash backs to their relationship throughout the years until everything comes to a screeching halt on the wedding night at the reception cuz the dads sneak away and the daughters go looking for them and come across a couple getting hot and heavy in a closet only to open to tell them to move it along ("this is a wedding not a porn set") only to find out its their dads so its a big thing that the daughters are mad cuz the dads never told them but its quickly resolved (and maybe the daughters feel bad that the dads were gonna come out to them but didnt want to dim the daughters spotlight and resigned to waiting again and when the daughters hear the dads say that the daughters feel sad but really loved because of course their dads would sacrifice their own happiness for theirs, they always have) in time for a tabloid to come out with the scandal and for them to all hold a united front and the dads to say in an interview that they're not ashamed to be together (just a little embarrassed about the incident and wished it wasnt publicized, "it was probably Rhonda" "I never liked her") and when asked why they were in the closet so long "we said for the kids and we believed that excuse for a while -and also the excuse that we just kept putting it off for a more convenient time or when we wouldn't be taking the spotlight off the girls- but really we were just scared" and things die down eventually and they decide to get married too and their daughters walk them down the aisle (going full circle). And then their daughters adopt and they get to be gay grandpas together.

(Honestly its really just a cockles/destiel au fanfic and to be on the nose Jensen's character is named Misha Ackles and Misha's is Jensen Collins, or more subtly Jensen's is Ross Collins and Misha's is Nic Ackles.)

[chaoticwistfulness]

maybe the canon destiel was the non canon cockles we perceived all along

[laf-outloud]

https://www.tumblr.com/teamfreewill2pointo/727273366811262976

Will is STILL going on this. But they legit sound like they got a completely different ask from you because they are saying some things that are the opposite of what you've talked about. Especially after you did that point by point breakdown of his last ask like this.

First of all, saying its def fake because people know about The Flash actresses not getting along? That doesn't even make sense. Just because other people know about it, doesn't negate someone possibly working a con and seeing it with their own eyes. Something being somewhat known (I say somewhat because I literally watched The Flash and honestly am not even sure who they're talking about) doesn't mean that a person referencing that info is lying. IF it did, then Will would be lying about 90% of the stuff he posts as "itk" because a lot of it is stuff that anyone could assume based on info publicly available. So if other people knowing info makes everything else a person says a lie? Then Will is calling himself a liar too.

Also he keeps mentioning a J2 "fight" but you said that the anon never mentioned them fighting, so what does he keep bringing this up for? To try and make that anon seem less reliable?

The troll said that J2 are in a fight since last year, yet new cons were announced this year, so J2 are still signing up for cons together after this supposed fight. J2 are ott praising each other after the supposed fight. Their families see the other J as family after the supposed fight.

OFC they're still doing cons together? Why is this an example of anything? He literally spent the previous paragraphs saying how Flash actresses who hate each other are still doing cons together which literally negates this whole point about J2. And how would he know how their families view each other? Is he part of their families? No? Then he can NOT say this for certain.

I've said before that one of the reasons I knew Jensen wasn't angry with Jared after the finale was because he told an extremely affectionate story about Jared completely unprompted.

Ummm why tf would Jensen be mad at Jared after the finale??? For real? That's some heller/cockles/AA BS and it shows where Will gets his "info". I never heard about Jensen being mad at Jared after the finale EXCEPT from heller and AA trolls who claimed it was Jared's fault Dean died etc. That's the ONLY place I've heard it. Oh and now from Will.. so yea...

They used to send just to J2 fans, but since I've been ignoring them, they are expanding.

Oh and just had to throw this in - the audacity to think your blog, which gets basically zero engagement, is somehow so important that he thinks him ignoring that person somehow changed the whole way they operate is... well, I guess Jensen's fans egos are as big as his...

Huh... maybe they did get a different anon than me. If so, it's interesting Will keeps referencing what that anon wrote without actually producing the ask. It sounds almost as if he's trying to discredit any anon who points to anything that separates J2 (even if it is just business).

It's amazing the sensitive egos certain people have in this fandom to speak as the "one true authority" who must always be believed, even though so much of what they say is contradictory and can't be proven.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Nothing like a bonfire autumnal

It was a dark and slightly damp night at Crazy Claws' retreat for fellow Funtastics in Lake Delton ... and for some reason, Crazy Claws thought it might be worthwhile to set up an autumnal-type bonfire just for the sake of relaxation and maybe swapping the odd story or two over spiced apple cider. (And I mean the real sort of apple cider, not that God-awful Alpine Instant Spiced Cider. Thankfully, by way of some Wisconsin apple orchards.)

And while the night may have been chill, not to mention (as noted earlier) damp-feeling, what better night for an autumnal bonfire could there have been, come to think of it? Decently-seasoned logs and leaves adding their own aromatic distinction to proceedings which our entire party--even the likes of Touché Turtle and Pixie and Dixie couldn't resist the feeling inherent.

Crazy Claws had me and Huckleberry preparing the apple cider in the former's kitchen, making sure the whole was decently warm and richly spiced in its own distinct way ... and just be thankful Crazy Claws keeps a stock of insulated mugs to keep the whole warm in the circumstances, and as this little bonfire gathering demonstrated, such need not be for coffee exclusively. Tea, even....

And what an enthused sort of gathering there must have been, the sort somehow eschewing the ghost stories of the Scooby-Doo sort as would otherwise be endemic to the season in favour of more interesting stuff. Like "shooting the bull" in a rather lighthearted, animated sort of way you might say.

Like, for example, Pixie and Dixie just imagining the scenes of dazed and confused cats somehow attracted to the genetically-modified catnip they planted to give Jinksie a difficult time and maybe get him to stop chasing "them meeces" all that much. Somehow, catnip can't help but get to be an addicting distraction.

And even Dum-Dum, Touché's Boon Compadre, sharing anecdotes of summers with Bristlehound on a houseboat along the Mississippi River as much "chilling out" as seeking out Friday-night fish fry of the small-town tavern sort. The kind with overly generous, all-you-can-eat portions, and just hope the French fries aren't too greasy and indigestible enough to seek out some Tums afterwards. One place in Minnesota which Dum-Dum recalled took something of great pride in hand-cutting their French fries instead of using frozen such. "Somehow," Dum-Dum remarked, "they turned out especially crispy."

Still, though, with Huck and yours truly, much of our discussion was about fantasies of just wearing wetsuits in the early morning shallows of some lake and just meditating between ourselves, as if plans for the winter dive holiday with Peter Potamus' crew of divers were still simmering like a pot of Grace Cock Flavoured Soup Mix (and I assume you've seen the memes associated with the double-entendre that the name implies, notwithstanding a prominent illustration of a chicken on the front of the packet).

"To be candid with you all," Crazy Claws remarked, "curiosity took hold of this cat and he was able to purchase a few packets of this Grace Cock Flavoured Soup online a winter or two ago, attracted by that rather coy meme playing on the suggestive-sounding name. And mind you, the soup, though a little on the spicy side, turned out to be decent. Even when you had Lipton's and Wyler's instant chicken soups to compare against."

Which certainly warmed our cockles on a misty Wisconsin fall evening sitting by the fireside. Cattanooga Cats, eat your heart out.

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @theweekenddigest @zodiacfan32 @iheartgod175 @archive-archives @thylordshipofbutts @screamingtoosoftly @princessgalaxy505 @themineralyoucrave @thebigdingle @warnerbros-blog1 @xdiver71 @indigo-corvus @jellystone-enjoyer @a-gang-of-silly-bananas @warnerbrosent-blog

[sohelpmejack]

I got a nice cockles related comment on a Destiel video. It was in another language but I understood it. So I replied, in a related language I do speak (though I hesitated, since it's YT).

Someone replied to that with angry faces in yet another language, and Google translate gave me jibberish.

All it was was the oc said Destiel is bc of Misha and Jensen irl, and I said I dont speak their language but that I understood and I agree.

And person 3 comes along like "agshdjfjdj🤬🤬🤬"

🙄🙄🙄

Not sure if I should delete my comment reply. Idk. Not bc of the angry faces, but with cockles comments in a more public space, maybe I should just heart the oc and leave it at that.

Idk

[writer59january13]

Glory to thermodynamics in general...

and generation of heat in particular cuz yours truly spoiled with trappings

of Western Civilization.

How ideal I imagine

to dwell in a self sufficient domicile, where thrum of the central heater...

automatically activated

upon advent of twilight, or self adjusted/regulated

based on outside temperature

since writer of these words thankfully linkedin to PECO grid, (counts CAP and LIHEAP programs

for low income earners a dogsend),

subsequently scribe of Schwenksville not resident within "smart home",

nevertheless manually pressing button

invites emulation of Donald Trump zippered smile, when mechanisms set in motion

to spark convection currents warming cockles and muscles versus skin feeling cold and clammy.

One anonymous homo sapien appreciates basking, and luxuriating,

within climate controlled environment,

whether bone chilling deep freeze when/where old man winter furiously blows frigid air

into lovely bones of mine

sets indentured jaws chattering,

as on this dreary

and rainy April 30th, 2023,

or contrarily when sweltering

hazy, humid and hot

dawg days of summer

necessitates setting air conditioner

at refreshing sixty six degrees fahrenheit.

I could never survive

alone in the wilderness,

which dependence on creature comforts

inured me since birth,

but all the more power to people

(such as Dick Proenneke

pronounced pren-icky)

who lived off the grid,

and minimize their carbon footprint.

Truth be told, a non impactful lifestyle

tantalizes, teases, titillates...

yours truly, a garden variety generic human

dependent I vow woolly admit

on consonant contrivances

and conveniences conditioned

courtesy capitalistic consumeristic credo

decrying his dependence

upon flow of electrons,

whereby flip of switch (rather than fight) when systems of a down fully functional

instantaneously allows, enables,

and provides electricity

with absolute zero ability

to stave off blackout

attributed to sudden disruption

regarding power outage

linkedin with severe

kickstarted meteorological phenomena

or terroristic machinations

(possibly even homegrown unrest)

worst case scenario signaling the end

of the webbed wide world

reducing to rubble

(think being bombed

back into stone age)

annihilating comp fur table trappings

of twenty first century civilization

forcing survivors to learn basic skills

cooperation, integration, proletarian

and utilitarian virtues

altruistic, democratic, humanistic,

mechanistic, and socratic zest

begotten, distilled, and forged

nsync with opposable thumb.

Angst crimps existence

generating dystopian thoughts

despite countless factorial permutations,

differentiations and combinations,

this cyber surfer avails two alms

boot Grinchian genes snatched such balms

when tethered in utero umbilical connection,

etched bromide, which hankering calms

embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks

constantly subjected to exams

from the school of hard knocks,

which I bewail sets back and gloms

mine aim to revel in blissful contentment

but circumstances decreed otherwise

cursing this chap tubby haunted exhibited by sweaty soles of feet and palms

by veritable elfin grotto dwelling phantoms

hovering over sweet clover dials a mirage where dreams comprise psychedelic qualms

yes...Iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys

that spans the world wide web, and exude

premature ejaculatory ecstasy, puzzled if fie

totally tubular trod a tedious trek

along the boulevard of broken dreams.

What happenstance oft finds thyself to flail

amidst difficulty to maximize

optimal opportunities

searching for Holy Grail

or whatever constitutes such lofty

personal objective, perchance being hale

and hearty of body, mind and spirit

spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate

while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial

vim and vigor leaving a virtual cloud

of dust, though mindfulness helps

to pass go, and chance avoid jail

time, then maybe monopolized feedback offered and accepted

to this married caucasian nasty and shortish brute with one percent Neanderthal

toothless though I possess gumption pseudo quasi-vegetarian

enjoying poetry stone soup,

yet also subsisting

on supplementary vitamin and mineral packed glue tin free

NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male

thirty six years shy sans bing a centenarian,

which span of life best cut short acquiring tetanus courtesy rusty nine inch nail

hammered into faux coffin, cuz this impossible mission

(aery faced nincompoop) doth turn pale

at the prospect to fill up a space of land

best utilized by twittering

and tweeting birds - such as quail

mongoose, or ibis (though aye ne'er saw

one), where cremated ashes sail

across some verdant plain under

cerulean skies putting to rest every travail,

which thoughts of dem eyes spells

the main impetus explaining

this rambling spiel

warp and woof ova gauzy veil

imperceptibly looms closer upon

turrets of my digital sea faring gunwale

unwittingly capsized courtesy

Moby Dick sized whale,

and thus desperation

finds me pleading for salvation while swinging from vestigial yellowtail.

[cafeseoulmate]

{2:00 PM}

high school au; wc: 662

The beach is, for the most part, unsurprisingly empty at 2 PM on a Tuesday in September like you said it would. The sky is still very much clear of clouds and the scorching hot sunlight makes the blue waters sparkle to the point that if Sunwoo moves his head an inch to the left, the light could possibly blind him.

Next to him, you're picking up shells around where you're squatted on the hot sand, occasionally wincing and hissing at how hot some of the tulip band shells and cockle shells fell on your fingertips. Sunwoo managed to swipe a beach mat and hide it at the very bottom of his bag up until lunch, the red checkered fabric now protecting his socks from catching sand as he sits with his Walkman and earphones, but you haven't sat on it once since the two of you got off the bus after skipping school.

The reminder to ask you to sit down for a bit with him rests at the tip of Sunwoo's tongue but he holds himself back, a small smile resting on his features as he watches you fawn over your discoveries and collect them in your sling bag.

Normally, it would be him asking you to cut school and go somewhere, maybe at the convenience store across your high school or at the record shop two streets away. Today is one of the rare days where it's you who asked him to skip and go to the beach.

Frankly, Sunwoo wishes that it's you who'd initiate more often. It means that you want to spend time with him just as much as he wants to spend more time with you. It gives him a little more hope that you might actually like him back.

"Look!" You exclaim, unearthing a conch shell right under Sunwoo's mat. You wave the shell a few times in front of his face with a grin, eyes crinkling up in crescents right under the cap you borrowed from him, before pushing the shell's opening up to your ears. "I can hear the ocean here too!"

Sunwoo unconsciously matches your smile in amusement, nodding along. "I bet you can."

"Do you want to hear it?" You ask, extending the shell towards him again with a glint in your eyes that competes with the sunlight out in the sea behind you.

Sunwoo nods with a hum, beckoning you over with his hands as he scoots further into the beach mat and takes out his earphones. "Sit down with me for a bit, let's hear it."

You stand up from your crouched position, traveling the short distance to Sunwoo and plotting down next to him with a sigh. You then pass the conch shell over to Sunwoo who gladly humors you and places the shell in his ear, the artificial sound of waves entering his right ear.

"Pretty." He comments nonchalantly, eyes flitting over to you fondly as you place all of your shells on the mat. "You're pretty."

You feel your face heat up as you look up at him, expertly hiding your flustered state through the shadow of the cap on your head and a roll of your eyes. Of course you've noticed, the way he's been sounding more serious in what you've been used to as his mindless flirting. "Uh huh, sure." You feign sarcasm, your grin quickly giving you away.

Sunwoo scoffs half-heartedly at this, placing his hands behind him and leaning back as he basks in the warmth of the sun and your presence next to him. "I mean it."

"I know." You whisper back to him but your voice seemingly reverberates in his ears with the emptiness of the beach, nudging his side before going back on your shells. "You're pretty too."

Sunwoo almost topples over in the moment, feeling weightless as he clutches his chest while your back is turned to him.

Oh, you're going to be the death of him.

[wigglebox]

I'm a Misha cockles bait apologist. Sorry but misleading people into thinking you're dating your friend is really fun and I advocate for everyone to have a go at it once in their lifetime. Now, I'm not straight, BUT I have it on good authority that my straight friend who I pretended to be having a passionate gay affair with for over two years was having just as great of a time as I was and we are still friends to this day. So even if there's not a single bisexual bone in Misha's body I still 100% support him fucking around. It's the least he deserves for having to put up with the slightly weirdly performative “go up and entertain us” mentality of conventions. (This goes for Jensen as well obviously the discourse just isn't about him right now).

yeah i mean obviously there's a line i wouldn't want either of them to cross, but in my eyes they don't?

also i have a strange relationship with RPS and that's the fact i don't actually like participating in it and indeed despite seeing cockles stuff for years and years, and just kinda nodding along, i really couldn't help myself in 2019 after JIB. but it's still one of those 'this is the exception, not the rule' lol

but in that strange relationship i come to grips with the fact that the subjects of the real person ship can do whatever they want with the information once they learn it's happening.

and both of them kinda lean into it and are cute about it and sometimes a little *blush* and honestly if they're having a good time, then I'm having a good time. be it friends or something more cockles is still just fun lol and they're having a fun time with it and since they're the ones at the center of the ship, and they're not fictional characters and have a brain for themselves, i think it's only fair that they get to joke around about it as well. they've never told us 'fuck you fuck this ship this is disgusting what's wrong with you we're straight heterosexual men TM thank you very much' or anything they just are like 'haha yeah jensen's the horse' or 'why, i lived it'?' or whatever wlekfjawlkejfwa

like let them have some fun with it xD

and they've been having fun with it for years now and it's not like it's new. i don't think it's really misleading because there's still no actual proof cockles isn't anything more than just Good Bros TM just Guys Bein' Dudes TM or anything but i AM a support of them both doing whatever they want with the information that there's a chunk of fans who think they're together together if yo know what i mean.

so long as they're not being very offensive and throwing slurs around and making fun of it maliciously and making fun of their fans and putting us down and shit.

they lean into it, so i feel like we can too? like, we can too lol.

again i don't think it's bait, but i think it's fun for them maybe. like we know they know we know they know we know etc etc so on and so forth to infinity and beyond xD

if they're nothing more than Straight Friends TM then it's still funny like idk. i know some people will disagree with this entire thing and that's fine, but i also have a proclaimed straight male friend who always talks about his roommate like they're an old married couple and all that and make comments like that all the time. only difference is they don't do conventions or talk on twitter or Instagram xD

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

i'm ignoring the greater drama for a simple cockles ask: at the end of jensen's panel, when misha crashes, everyone has been saying jensen didn't know who was hugging him (that he thought it was j*red, etc) until he looked at misha, did a double take, and completely switched his body language to happy and relaxed. but when i watched the actual clip instead of just the gifs that have been circulating, the crowd yells when misha shows up on stage and jensen turns to see him before turning back to the audience which is when misha hugs him from behind, walks to the side and jensen makes a joke for the crowd like, "darn, hoped it was j*red" and then THAT'S when he looks at misha again and does the now infamous double-take-complete-change-in-body-language.

that made me curious though, what made jensen do a double take if he already knew it was misha? it seems like misha was trying to get jensen to look at him, like he was waiting for jensen to realize something, but it can't just be that he was waiting for jensen to realize it was him like was he wearing something he wanted jensen to notice??...idk idk i just wondered what was going on there and if you've had any thoughts on the subject (and i thought maybe itd be nice to cleanse the tl with a good old fashioned in depth cockles-antics analysis)

if you haven't been to/watched many j2 panels at cons, you may not know, but jensen basically has this entire onstage persona of The Grump that he plays up to entertain the crowd. (remember that that's what they're there to do, entertain a crowd, so they play things up for laughs.)

after dozens if not hundreds of cons, j2 have had a well-worked out routine where jared is the bubbly, talkative, affectionate one, and jensen plays a big grouch. here are a couple gifs that demonstrate the dynamic:

i've seen them play this comedy routine dozens of times, they're really good at it. (or at least, they used to be... 👀) when you see jensen just doing little solo interviews, like talking on zoom or w/e, he actually comes across as very sweet, shy, and thoughtful, but i think he likes to use this grumpy act as a way to deal with any anxiety or insecurity he feels over being onstage in front of hundreds of people.

like, the grumpy act isn't his actual personality, but he knows it's what the audience expects, he knows it makes them laugh, he knows how to play the role, it's familiar, and he doesn't feel awkward while doing it.

so my point in explaining all that, is that i think jensen was simply doing his Grump Routine when misha came out onstage. he doesn't typically do the grump routine during cockles panels (it's interesting to contrast jensen during j2 panels and jensen during cockles panels; his body language and behavior are very different, he adapts his persona to different dynamics), but he also doesn't really like doing solo panels either, he doesn't like all the attention being directly on him without help, so i think he was just in Grump Mode until he fully registered "misha's here, i can drop the act" and that's when you see his entire body relax.

i don't know what it was misha could have been waiting for jensen to notice, unless he was just playing along with the routine, but they often bring up private jokes onstage without actually letting us in on the topic.

if i HAD to guess, he could have been waiting for jensen to notice his bright red jeans, because misha famously has terrible style when left to his own devices and jensen famously tries to dress him with actual taste. it's pretty normal for misha to be dressed weird on saturday (when jensen isn't at the con) and sexy on sunday (when jensen has arrived).

jensen likes to make fun of misha's clothes and buy fashionable stuff for him to wear, so it's possible misha was going "look at my jeans, i know you'll hate them," because i can definitely see him doing that. however, that really is just a guess.

and that's today's lesson in jensen body language, newbies. 😄

[getouswh0re]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast. 

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end. 

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months. 

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated. 

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.” 

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy. 

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.” 

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex. 

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure. 

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train. 

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague. 

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night. 

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?” 

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you. 

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!” 

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!” 

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart. 

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!” 

That is when he activates his domain expansion. 

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way. 

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms. 

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...” 

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love. 

“In time and evermore.”

[seenthisepisode]

ok. feelin especially dumb rn. but. the jackles long con? was that an actual con or just a name for some event, like prequelgate? idk i would very much appreciate an explanation haha

Hi Anon! The Jackles Long Con is more or less a theory that Jensen was always (or since some time at least, possibly season 8) pro destiel. It's more or less based on his acting choices (king of microexpressions), his director choices (he just wants to cup Misha's face so badly it makes him look stupid) and what he said at cons. Now the last part is tricky because he said different things through the years, and he said different things to different audiences - that's why antis have a bazilion gifs from cons where he says that 'Destiel isn't real' and stuff like that (during panels with Jared to a bibro audience) and he said and acted completely differently at his panels with Misha (JIBcons my beloved).

There is also stuff like how salty he was when Misha was written off in season 7, how much unscripted emotions he adds to destiel scenes. Basically the thesis is that he was with us all along but because of reasons (the network, the show being advertised as 'about two brothers') he couldn't be openly pro destiel. I mean, hell, destiel questions were basically banned from cons so it's not unreasonable to think he was also politely asked not to talk about it either.

Aaand there is also the fact that he was so happy and excited when talking about 15x18 and then he fell silent after the finale and kept talking about his production company and hinted at a reboot since before the finale even aired. There was this online con in november when he was like: 'oh my favourite monsters are vampires' (and we know how Dean dies...) and also, what made everyone lose their minds, he was talking about the flannels and he said: 'well today i am wearing a grey/black and white one but tomorrow? tomorrow who knows, maybe blue and green'. There is also the thing with his beer company (he named a beer Eyes Like the Sky for example) but this is stepping into cockles territory but what is destiel if not cockles perserving.

And now he tweeted that article that basically voices all of fandom's questions and doubts about the prequel (like who is Dean narrating the story to? Cas?) and he says they have it figured out. He also has Robbie Thompson on board (wonderful destiel eps from him, also he gave us Charlie and Eileen).

Basically some of us think Jensen was/is playing a long game, a sort of 5D chess to make destiel canon but because of the show's marketing and stuff he couldn't be more open about it.

[sohelpmejack]

I posted 1,176 times in 2022

13 posts created (1%)

1,163 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@green-blue-heller

@deanandkastiel

@regardingjenmish

@wigglebox

@uhoh-spn

I tagged 1,112 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#cockles - 505 posts

#jenmish - 503 posts

#jackles - 168 posts

#misha fucking collins - 122 posts

#spn - 75 posts

#misha - 67 posts

#supernatural - 66 posts

#destiel - 63 posts

#spn nj 2022 - 49 posts

#jib 2022 - 42 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#ok the thing is. the reason i said it's not surprisng and there's a lot to unpack re why...well i guess i'm gonna unpack it a bit afterall.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Let's not forget that Jackles is holding up the rainbow too

2 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#4

I got a nice cockles related comment on a Destiel video. It was in another language but I understood it. So I replied, in a related language I do speak (though I hesitated, since it's YT).

Someone replied to that with angry faces in yet another language, and Google translate gave me jibberish.

All it was was the oc said Destiel is bc of Misha and Jensen irl, and I said I dont speak their language but that I understood and I agree.

And person 3 comes along like "agshdjfjdj🤬🤬🤬"

🙄🙄🙄

Not sure if I should delete my comment reply. Idk. Not bc of the angry faces, but with cockles comments in a more public space, maybe I should just heart the oc and leave it at that.

Idk

3 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

#3

Weekend:

Monday:

See the full post

3 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#2

Wait. Wait. Tinted glass. Tinted glass. 😎

23 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

ok that was trickier than I anticipated but here you go.

and I didn't remember until doing this that the Misha pic is *also* a double rainbow. thery're both double rainbows

389 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[spnshameblog]

i may be parasocial sometimes, but at least im not “jensen is a queer man in a relationship with another man, so he cant be homophobic towards fans” parasocial.

and i dont mean this as a general dig at cockles truthers (even though some of yall take it too far) and im also not saying that jensen is a whole grain homophobe (im convinced he is not and i, personally, dont think that his main problem with destiel is the gay part, but i think he resents giving ‘fangirls’ what they want and he doesnt care that his reluctance to ‘play into their demands’ comes off as slightly homophobic), but yall are so deep down this rabbithole of conspiracy theories and rpf truthing that you have fully accepted your theories as the truth and youre ignoring the actual harm and animosity jackles has displayed towards queer fans over the years. (”dont ruin it for everybody” anyone?)

YES i’m aware that the majority of the blame wrg to the handling of queer storylines, castiel and the pussyfooting around the actual canon confession is to be put on the producers, some writers and the people behind the cw and wb, but to say that jackles is entirely withoug blame is simply dishonest. 

tell me why misha’s and jensen’s actions and words are so different. even now when misha is obviously being gagged, he still manages to be more supportive than jackles ever was. maybe its not homophobia and maybe he is not doing it on purpose, but he obviously doesnt care all that much, bc it is very possible to be supportive while still pushing the mandated “up for interpretation” line. at the very least he neednt have played off of jreds idiotic rant when the fucking question wasnt even about if angels can experience human love or lust or not. let me remind you that it was a question by a mother of queer kids and they BOTH chose to no homo it, jred more offensively so, but jackles also heard a mom talk about how important that scene was to her queer kids and thought it was ok to debate whether or not the confession was romantic or queer at all.

and now you might say that its not his job to validate anyones feelings or anything and thats true, but then i need yall to stop acting like he was a secret destiel warrior all along. if someday down the line information comes out that he really was our agent on the inside all along i am fully prepared to eat my words, but as of now im working with the evidence i actually have.