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psychreviews2 · 1 year ago

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Spiritual Bypassing and Inner Bonding

Spiritual bypassing is a term coined by John Welwood, which defines his experiences he had in meditation communities where practitioners used meditation to skip the work of resolving emotional wounds and unfinished childhood development. To nip this problem in the bud, I chose a modality to explore that has helped me in the past and still helps to this day. Inner Bonding is a process by Dr. Margaret Paul which is a modality of healing that creates a solid foundation for spiritual or philosophical practices. Before we see the impermanence of the self, we first need to get to know the self.

Healing your aloneness

In Healing your aloneness Margaret get us to look deeper at the world we live in. She says, “our culture is rampant with people who are addicted to something — alcohol, drugs, food, cigarettes, work, TV, money, power, relationships, religion, approval, caretaking, sex, affection, romance — all ways to get filled up from outside of ourselves. That’s what addiction and codependence is all about — trying to fill oneself up from the outside.” The above list is not exhaustive. We can also read a lot, or meditate a lot and it is still chasing for something external.

To create some discussion on this I would like to take this time to ask you viewers to think about the answer to this question. “Have any meditation practices increased or decreased your disconnection with the self?”

It’s an important question, because this disconnection is all pervasive in our culture and we are all in the same boat, whether we meditate or not, whether we are spiritual or not, whether we have high status or not, or whether we think we are smart or not. The cultural messages are the same. “Just this next thing, situation, opportunity will do the trick. It will make you happy forever.” In actual experience we will always want more. This can include meditation that treats healthy desires the same as unhealthy ones, or endless expensive meditation retreats where the disconnection continues. What needs to be clear is that internal sources of motivation are more lasting than external sources. As you will see below, dialoging with yourself, validating yourself, and acting on your own behalf generates positive chemicals without the need of others to dialogue with you, validate you, and act on your own behalf.

For example, that long meditation retreat might not help a meditator’s disconnection, just how like that bigger house may not help a social climber’s disconnection. We will only find emptiness in the end because we get used to everything and develop a tolerance and boredom every time. [See: The Origin of Envy and Narcissism: https://rumble.com/v1gsnwv-the-origin-of-envy-and-narcissism-ren-girard.html] You can even do a great Loving Kindness meditation practice for yourself, but because you are so disconnected from your needs, it doesn’t work. A loving-kindness meditation practice can be helpful but it is at the level of self-affirmations. If you act on your healthy long-term needs, your self-esteem chemicals will start flowing and you’ll feel just as good as a meditation. Maybe even better. Certainly, if you want to investigate your consciousness with meditation, a healthy self will make it easier, not harder. This is a tough nut to crack.

To Margaret, it’s not just a bunch “losers” who are co-dependent. A lot of people, regardless of status, can be chained to one or more of the above addictions, and flaunt how superior to others they are, which is also another addiction. An addiction to approval, and an advertising addiction to the onlookers who look back with envy. For many people, their consumption and boasting about it to others is the only thing left of the pleasure once it disappears. They know their feelings of pleasure disappear into emptiness, but they ignore those feelings and look for substitutes, like social comparison to keep the happy chemicals going. "I did such and such a thing and you didn't! Therefore I'm superior." It may not manifest itself in a glib statement like that, but it comes up in conversation, and then the subject waits for some statement of approval, or a twinge of envy from the listener, to feed off of.

This kind of disconnection creates conflict when we require exploitation of others in our relationships to feed our identity when the social comparisons aren’t favourable. This looking outward faces away from where we need to look. By creating wholeness and connection within, it is easier to share that wholeness and connect with others because we don’t run out of those happy chemicals so easily. It’s almost impossible to be nice others when we feel empty.

Intention

For Margaret, her method of Inner Bonding starts with Intention. We need the Inner Adult to develop an intention to learn from the Inner Child, to replace the intention to protect. The protection here she talks about is not basic protection of your life and property, but over-protection that prevents us from getting our needs met.

Her methods remind me of Sigmund Freud to a certain extent [See: The Pleasure Principle: https://rumble.com/v1gurqv-the-pleasure-principle-sigmund-freud.html] but she prefers to keep the concepts simple so that people can easily use it. She defines the Inner Child as your “modes of being, feeling, and experiencing”, and the Inner Adult as your “modes of doing, thinking, and acting.”

How we can get cut off is the intention to protect becomes so repressive that it doesn’t even have a dialogue with the child. [See: The 'Ratman': https://rumble.com/v1gu9qj-case-studies-the-ratman-freud-and-beyond.html]. The child talks to us with authentic feelings in the moment, which requires us to move into a learning intention if we want to make that connection. The feelings are teaching us about ourselves all the time, but they can be drowned out by all the addictions listed above, or discounted by the adult.

Feel the feels!

Margaret reminds us that at this present moment with your feelings, there is a choice. The choice to learn from those feelings. This is the junction where the Adult can listen and find realistic ways to respond to those feelings of the Child. [See again: The Pleasure Principle: https://rumble.com/v1gurqv-the-pleasure-principle-sigmund-freud.html]. Every time those feelings are ignored and something external is used to numb the pain of the child, the sense of wholeness disappears, until you start listening again. When you get sensitive enough to feel the differences in the modes of connection and disconnection it can feel almost like flipping a switch.

The Abandoned Child

The Inner Child contains our memories and responds to the adult as feeling loved or unloved. The Inner Child is unloved when it is being “criticized, neglected, shamed, abandoned, rejected, and indulged.”

Margaret says, “The Inner Child learns to fear being rejected, abandoned, and controlled, first by external caretakers and then by the Inner Adult, and eventually projects these fears onto others, generally believing that others are rejecting, abandoning, or attempting to control him or her”, whether this is happening or not. The pain of rejection as a child is so unbearable that it gets compounded by the helplessness of children, when they have no Inner Adult to protect it from exploitation from others.

“The abandoned Inner Child is constantly afraid of being wrong because it believes that being wrong is what leads to rejection. Therefore, it strives to find the ‘right’ way to be in the world. It becomes addicted to ‘shoulds’ and rules as a way to control rejection. It develops a need to be perfect and a belief that it is possible to be perfect. Perfectionism and the fear of being wrong are symptoms of the internal disconnection between the Inner Adult and the Inner Child.”

When we do not learn to give ourselves approval then we have no choice but to look for it from others. This can open the inner child to abuse from others when all the power is given to others to provide the approval. This can be in toxic family relationships and also in the workplace. The abandonment is then complete inside and out. The fear of being engulfed in relationships keeps the inner child isolated, and contact from others can lead to defensive, over-protective, comments towards them and the Inner Adult.

The Loved Child

The loved Child feels safe and is open to letting the Adult know what we authentically feel and what we authentically want. If we cannot feel what is true, then we cannot access the wisdom of the Inner Child. When the Inner Adult is working well with the Inner Child, the Inner Adult provides the skill mastery, and the Inner Child provides the sensitivity and intuition of experience. The Loving Adult parents the Child by learning what brings the Child Joy and acts to bring it out. The Adult is balanced and not permissive or authoritarian in its actions. The adult can question the child’s desires and it doesn’t have to enable the child just like people can enable the addictions of others. The adult can use truth to teach the Child.

Inauthenticity

Margaret says, “the Adult expresses through action the needs and feelings of both the Child and the Adult,” on the other hand, “experiencing feelings without the action of the Adult leaves us stuck, and likewise, action without feeling behind it is an empty experience.” This is how our authenticity can evaporate. For example, Margaret says “if you feel warmth toward someone, but do not express it with some form of action, [people] never get a true experience of you. However, if you act affectionate without a feeling of love, then the act is empty, and may even be manipulative.”

Naturally others can also be inauthentic to you, and may even use shame and flattery to control your inner adult and child. When the co-dependent takes a low self-esteem identity from being shamed, or abandoned, then it can increase low self-esteem with all kinds of addictions which add to the shame. The cycle then leads to mental illnesses like depression.

Inner Bonding vs. Inner Slavery

Margaret also describes the opposite situation. She says that, “treating our Inner Child lovingly creates the inner connection that fills the emptiness from within rather than needing to fill it externally with addictions. The more we learn to treat our Inner Child lovingly, the more solid and full the internal connection becomes, leading to peace, joy, power, and wholeness, erasing the need to give ourselves up to be loved by others.” Your perceptions change, and how you look at those addictions. The addictions tend to lose their luster. The self-abandonment ceases and so does the slavery.

When people are disconnected from the loved child by the behaviour of the unloving adult, both parts are projected onto others and they mistrust their unloved parts of themselves. This leads to conflict with disconnected others as each person cannot access authenticity and share it with others. They can only share resistance, mistrust, hypervigilance, and pre-emptive strikes.

Choose to connect

The way out is for the Adult to listen and intuit the feelings and needs of the child and then the Adult has to make good decisions to satisfy those needs. When the inner child feels loved, the brain creates an internal source of loving neurochemicals that makes you feel more satisfied and content, and more often. Your perception of external rewards changes so that those external rewards look as empty as they are. The problem with external rewards is that they die out quickly, so like in an addiction, you constantly need replenishment to prevent emptiness.

Self-intimacy and relationships

This translates into relationships when how we show up often attracts people who are similar. Margaret says that, “most of us enter our relationships with low self-esteem, hoping our partner will make us feel whole and good about ourselves. This is one of the major difficulties in relationships, expecting our partner to be responsible for our good feelings. But it is only when we already love ourselves through loving connection with our Inner Child that we can truly love another, by wanting to know that person and by supporting his or her growth and happiness. When we do not love ourselves, we are threatened by the other’s growth. So instead of supporting them, we attempt to diminish and control them. When we do not know and love ourselves, we fear rejection / abandonment and domination / engulfment by our partner and find many ways to protect ourselves from our fears. A withdrawn or resistant person may touch off our fears of abandonment, so we protect ourselves by becoming controlling. A demanding or controlling person may activate our fear of being engulfed, so we protect ourselves by becoming withdrawn or resistant. We cannot give love when we are protecting ourselves from these fears. Until we know that we are lovable, we will be dependent on others to make us feel good about ourselves, and will continue to fear being abandoned or engulfed.”

For couples struggling and who want to go to therapy, Margaret has a warning about codependent therapists, “if the couple tries to get help through therapy, there is a good possibility that the therapist is an unrecovering codependent and therefore not helpful. A codependent therapist who is not in recovery cannot help others face their codependence. We cannot see in others what we have not dealt with in ourselves. Codependent therapists may even do more harm than good, since they may actually foster codependence in their clients.”

Margaret shines a light on our lack of self-intimacy, and how it makes us incapable of being intimate with others. She says, “the first prerequisite of intimacy is to be intimate with oneself. As long as we are looking outside ourselves for intimacy, we will never have it and we will never be able to give it. In order to be intimate with another person, we have to know who we are, what we feel, what we think, what our values are, what is important to us, and what we want. If we do not know these things about ourselves, we can never share them with another person.” Another way of looking at this is that, if we don’t know our true preferences, and it’s the same with our partner, it means we are locked away from our inner children and therefore cannot please each other, which is what relationships are about, pleasing each other. We may end up enabling each other’s addictions instead.

For Margaret, these inner bonds that eventually connect with others who are also inner bonded is “the most wonderful feeling we can ever experience.”

So now that we know what Inner Bonding is, how do we get more of that?

Here are 5 steps that Margaret lays out in her book, "Inner Bonding", to show us how to reconnect with that inner intimacy:

Inner Bonding

Step 1. Recognize your inner conflict: Becoming aware of your feelings

As we go about our day, our habits of repressing the Inner Child can make us unconscious of the existence of an Inner Child at all. Those with rigid personality disorders may never be able to complete step one, which is to analyze their feelings. In this case therapy is necessary.

Margaret says, “we cannot explore our feelings until we know we are feeling. Many of us have learned to numb our feelings with our substance and process addictions. Until we become willing to pay attention to and feel the feelings of our Inner Child, we cannot begin to learn about them. Feeling your feelings means focusing inward into your body — paying attention to your gut, your neck, your shoulders, your legs — wherever you hold your tension, anxiety, fear, sadness, grief, disappointment. It means not doing the things you normally do to not feel your pain — not taking that drink, not eating that candy bar, not turning on the TV, not working those extra hours, not yelling at your mate or your kids.”

Step 2. Respond as a loving adult: Moving into the intent to learn

For Margaret, Step 2 is switching from the intent to protect and to move into the intent to learn. For her we have to believe that our feelings have a good reason for being there. To do this we also have to be willing to feel emotional pain.

Belief in good reasons

For most people, who didn’t get the “good enough” parenting, we have lots of self-judgement for listening to those feelings. Margaret says, “we cannot truly embrace the intent to learn as our primary intent until we are no longer controlled by the fear of other’s judgment or self judgment. Until then, protecting against being seen as wrong and against experiencing the deep pain of shame will be more important to us than learning.”

Willingness to feel pain

“Most of us suffered pain — from being sexually abused, physically abused, or emotionally abused by being ignored, neglected, ridiculed, put down, yelled at, or called names. And we were alone and trapped with our pain and shame. We were too little to leave, to call a friend for help, or to find ourselves a therapist. For an unfortunate number of us, childhood was hell, and to survive we had to find ways to protect ourselves. As long as we choose to protect against [pain], the work we must do to avoid that pain controls our lives. In order to open to learning, an individual must decide that he or she is willing to feel and learn from the pain. Opening to learning from pain is an essential aspect in healing. Once a person opens to learning, he or she can learn to pay attention to the emotional discomfort and pain of the Inner Child. This facilitates understanding that there are good reasons for the discomfort or pain, exploring and challenging the false beliefs that are causing the present unhappiness, discovering what brings joy, and acting to bring it about. As the Inner Adult learns to handle the pain of the Inner Child, the door to memory opens and we can finally remember, grieve, and heal the experiences that created our core false beliefs about ourselves.”

Step 3. Dialoguing with your inner child

Now that the loving adult is responding to the child’s feelings there is an opening for connection. You can ask the child direct questions. Through the use of automatic writing, Margaret shows how the connection with the Inner Child can grow deeper. With practice, the diary can be filled up with what has been repressed for so long. Margaret instructs us to “ask a question directly to your Inner Child, saying the words out loud or writing them down, using your non-dominant hand when answering as the Child. Then gently move from thinking to feeling. Pay attention to the feelings in your body and allow yourself to react as if you were a small child. Let the answers to your questions float upward into your consciousness.”

You can also use a doll, stuffed animal, or a picture of yourself as a child to help the dialogue process.

How the adult can facilitate the dialogue is as follows:

The adult can ask simply “what are you feeling?” Then you can go into the body and find out and explain the emotions from the vantage point of the child. The adult can then validate the emotion without the threat of rejection, which is most important. The Inner Adult can respond by asking what the child wants done differently. At this point all the false beliefs that suffocated the Inner Child are revealed and can be explored by yourself or with a therapist. It is important that the adult thanks the child for the depth of inner wisdom, and most important the adult must find a real way to act on those requests so that the inner child doesn’t feel abandoned again.

What Inner Bonding practitioners often experience at the beginning of the process is a very resentful child that can spew expletives and communicate a lack of trust of the adult. The adult cannot use their old belief systems and defenses against the inner child otherwise it’s just more of the same repression as before.

When the child feels loved, the connection is warm and the trust is stronger. The feeling of being a victim disappears with each act of the adult to support the child.

Step 4. Dialogue with your Higher Power

To Margaret the Higher Power we are talking about is not the Inner Child or the Inner Adult, but the bond between the two. As long as the conversation between both continues the access to our Higher Power is open. She says, “the focus needs to be on what is loving to ourselves, to our own Inner Child, first and foremost. If we focus on what we think is loving to others, we may end up caretaking instead of loving, and our Child will get cast aside.”

Step 5. Take action

"Once you’ve had a dialogue with your Inner Child and your Higher Power, and decided what the loving behavior would be in a given situation, your Adult must make it happen. Just as you would take action to relieve the pain of your actual child, you as the Adult need to be the one to take action to relieve the pain of your Inner Child. Then, as explained earlier, when your Adult does what is needed to meet the Inner Child’s needs in ways that have long-range, positive consequences, your Child feels loved and cared for and your Adult has a sense of inner strength.”

Whether we want to blame our parents for our parenting, in the end, we are still the only ones who can change our inner state this way. Margaret says “one of the sad but true things about life is that if we didn’t get what we wanted and needed from our parents, it is too late as adults to get it from outside of ourselves. As adults, we can get all the love in the world from outside of ourselves and all it does is make us feel good for the moment, as does any addiction. As long as we continue to treat ourselves in unloving ways we will continue to feel unworthy or unlovable, no matter how much outside love we get. We have to give ourselves the love first, before any outside love can even come in any permanent way. Outside love cannot come into a closed heart, and unless we are open to learning and loving within, our heart is closed and other’s love is just a temporary drug.”

When our heart is open then the inner child can feel much more freedom. Margaret says, “One theme that runs throughout … is freedom — freedom from fear, from internal struggles, from inner resistance, from the need for emotional protection, from your own or another’s attempts at control, freedom to feel and the freedom to value that feeling.”

[Step 6: Evaluate your actions]

Margaret has also added a 6th step: Evaluate your actions. You can see below at 12:35:

youtube

Spiritual Bypassing interview with John Welwood: http://www.johnwelwood.com/articles/TRIC_interview_uncut.doc

Books by Margaret Paul:

Inner Bonding: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780062507105/

Healing Your Aloneness: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780062501493/

Do I Have to Give Up Me to Be Loved by You? By Jordan Paul and Margaret Paul: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781568387963/

Guided Meditation Instructions: http://psychreviews.org/inner-bonding-guided-meditation/

Guided Meditation:

Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/

Contemplative Practice: http://psychreviews.org/category/contemplativepractice/

#meditation #spiritual bypassing #psychology #Youtube

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swan2swan · 6 months ago

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The Camp Cretaceous novels were pretty bad, largely because it seemed like they just took the scripts and added a few narrative structure points around them. Also, they suspiciously didn't get around to the fifth season, which was an...odd place to leave it. Nothing significant happened in that chapter, I guess.

However...I do have great appreciation, because they were so accurate to the scripts that they surpassed the subtitles and helped me to figure out what everyone was saying in a jumbled scene:

Netflix subtitles are bad enough, so there was no chance of relying on them for that, and I listened to it ten or twenty times and still couldn't understand what Sean Giambrione was saying. Thankfully, the books existed.

There are a few other pieces of insight granted: for one, in the novelization, there's a Ceratosaurus locked up along with the Baryonyx and herbivores. I assume it was originally intended to be there in the boards and script, largely because of two lines like this one:

Darius and Sammy both say "predators", plural. Given the pipeline of scripting, recording, boarding, and animating, it's very easy to assume that they were scripted to have both Ceratosaurus and Baryonyx in the cages, but then they cut any Ceratosaurus references to leave only Grim in the cage--which is, in my opinion, far more efficient. Releasing multiple predators in one scene would have been tricky with the pacing they set, and having Grim be the sole figure we release makes his death hit harder later. It's kind of like how the original script for Star Wars had Luke take a shot at the Death Star with his targeting computer and miss, then go back for one last pass--clipping that just improves the pacing, and you already had Red Leader's targeting computer fail. You don't need Luke to try it without the Force once, just to show how much better the Force is.

But it's little details like this that make me appreciate the books: you can track where things changed, and ask why they changed things. One fun example:

The novel has Darius say "Big rivals with Masrani and Biosyn"--Paul probably read that line in the script, but Colin or another editor had them cut Biosyn from it to give the impression that Dodgson wasn't as involved yet, or at least to give them some leeway on what Biosyn was (remember that these scripts were written and wrapped LONG before Dominion started filming).

The point is, if you're looking at novels for Scoops or for Trivia, you have to approach it from a professional, production level: recognize what changes in adaptations...whether it might be Glen Powell giving an enthusiastic "Doc-Whoo-Whoo!" when he meets Doctor Wu (as opposed to the scripted "Doctor Wu!", which is more basic and open to any interpretation), or if it's Yaz running and hiding in a bush when the Suchomimus attacks, rather than being knocked unconscious by its tail (that's a little more difficult, but I know sometimes the violence in the show had to be pulled back, so it's possible that this was an example of a possible workaround if they couldn't pull off a particularly violent head injury that is Absolutely Necessary for the next episode's plot).

(Mr. Rodriguez above may be able to shed some light on this, as he is credited as a staff writer for this episode, but I don't know how involved he was in this part...I would also like to note that the episode did feature Yaz running and hiding just before she got hit, so Yaz's concussion does seem to be omissible, if one was required to eliminate it).

In conclusion: they're not adding things to the novels, because they really can't. They're not involved in the writing process. All that might be happening is that you're getting a glimpse of the production process. Which is fun, but in its own kind of way!

But keep in mind, too, that you're going to get a LOT more from the show in terms of expression and character depth than you will in the novels--the animators will put nuances in character faces, the actors and actresses will deliver lines in certain ways, and--in very rare cases--they may find something that they have to fix or delete after they've already sent the script to the novelist for reference. Again, very rare, but not impossible.

Remember, even children's cartoons are the results of the labor from professional adults--there's so much that you can learn from them to help with your studies!

I genuinely hate how the novelisations of jwcc and especially jwct add tiny bits to the plot that are actually pretty damn crucial, and how those details just... Don't get mentioned in the show during the same exact scenes. It annoys me because both are canon (show and novellas) but let's be real - half of us have no way of getting our hands on the novelisations, and we bend ourselves backwards trying to figure out certain points of the plot or even plot holes, only to find out that they were explained in the novelisations? Like, what's up with that. And, yeah, maybe I am biased but I genuinely think that the show should cover everything that is important and essential and don't leave things unspoken or purposely misleading. Because as of now, it sometimes looks like they finish making another season of the show, release it, and realise they forgot to explain something so they go like "whoops, we're gonna patch it up in the novelisations" which is like. DUDE. That's just a horrible slip on your side. Some of us genuinely watch it for the plot yk...

#jurassic world: chaos theory #jwct #chaos theory #jwcc #long post #sorry this is just one of my favorite things #NOTE: THIS IS ALSO ALL SPECULATION ON MY PART I HAVE NO CONFIRMATION #this is just me with years of experience and con panels and behind-the-scenes videos #I could be wholly wrong about most of this

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 3 years ago

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for writing prompts, I've always been a sucker for character studies, and I thought the contrast between John's very reserved routine where he was just cooped up in Kenwood vs. Paul's "king of swinging london" lifestyle post-touring years was very influential in their dynamics later on (think this was discussed in the Rob Sheffield ep. of AKOM), and dunno if it's your preferred kind of writing style - but I always loved the inner voices you gave each of them in ILTY, so would love your take on it!

inspired by you calling Paul a king instead of prince, which is the word I've seen more often :) this didn't end up being about their dynamic exactly and I went sort of off the rails in terms of style lol, but I hope you still enjoy <3

Diarchy ~1.1k words

(from Greek δι-, di-, "double", and -αρχία, -arkhía, "ruled")

“One day, you four will be bigger than Elvis,” Brian told them.

John can still recall Paul’s chuckle.

“Sir, that’s very kind of you and we are sort of brilliant, but no need for false flattery.”

Brian Epstein, immediately taken with Macca’s charm, which the leather trousers and greased hair only superficially concealed, broke into a smile.

“Believe me, I am not in the business of false flattery.” Then he locked eyes with John, with a stare so disarming it reaches across time and space and sends shivers down his spine right now, as he lies in bed, searching for motivation to get up.

Bigger than the King — every day, it’s getting harder to deny it, John realizes, as he pulls the covers up to his chin. Only, at some point, perhaps when he came face-to-face with Elvis himself, all of it – the money, the recognition, the power – became meaningless to him. Now, all he feels is the unimaginable weight of the crown, pulling him down and tightening around his brain, the burden of his medals squeezing his heart and making it ever more difficult to breathe.

Christ, does he want a cigarette right now.

Once again, his stubborn laziness has been defeated by a debilitating craving. John crawls off the king-sized mattress, so large that some nights he isn’t sure Cyn actually shares it with him. After putting on his glasses, he dons a dressing gown, which hangs off his shoulders like a royal mantle.

He is like Louis XIV, he thinks, slowly walking down the steps of Kenwood. He’s been reading a lot of history books lately, one of the only activities he still seems to enjoy, and the parallels haunt him. Here he is, in his closed-off palace, sequestered away from the capital and, whether intentionally or not, from life itself.

Here comes the Sun King, he thinks, floating into the kitchen, where Cyn sits at the table.

He is like Henry VIII, he thinks, rather off-handedly at first, simply in-keeping with the theme of over-indulgent regents — before falling into a minor spiral over what this comparison means for his current marriage.

He may have a son, but he is more and more becoming convinced that what he needs, his wife cannot provide.

He is like King Solomon, glued to his throne and writing his songs; apparently an authority on love and God even, appointed by birth, that is to say, by rotten luck. People come to him, seeking his wisdom, for they have dubbed him “the Smart One”, even whilst he spoils his sense of self, dropping acid and hallucinating three hundred concubines.

He is like Tutankhamun, the fallen Pharaoh; doomed young, buried in gold and treasure, the mask he wears remembered in lieu of his actual face.

How he longs for someone to finally open his crypt; how he fears for whomever might stumble upon it and suffer his curse.

* * *

Bigger than Jesus, Paul thinks, stepping through the gate at Cavendish Avenue. He doesn’t know why John’s misquoted words are in his head at this hour. It is so late that the street lanterns are dark and not a single fan is there to greet him.

As he comes down from the various highs of the evening – the party, the art, the coke – he finds himself contemplating the comparative.

“You’ve really gone and done it this time, haven’t you, John?” he remembers saying, his best friend half-smirking at him, in an attempt to cover up his profound fear of the disaster he had caused.

“Didn’t say ‘bigger’, did I? Wouldn’t’ve been wrong, though, if I had…”

Paul, unable to keep up his frustration for long, smiled.

“And what does that make us, then?”

John’s eyes glinted.

“Kings of King of kings.”

It’s overwhelming, Paul thinks, entering his quiet townhouse, while remembering his wild night — the celebrations may end, but the music playing in his head never does. Most moments, he is thankful for it, drinking up experiences and ideas alongside the free-flowing booze, but some dark minutes like this one, he wishes for peace; the kind he found so easily as a child, content to daydream on the back seat of a bus.

Everyone wants to speak with him now, everyone wants his consideration and stamp of approval, but the worst part: Paul wants everything, too. He’s not sure when it happened, but there is a looming sense that he’s walked past some point of no return, and he now feels a hunger inside him that will never be quelled.

Paul shakes the rain off his umbrella then hangs it up on his mahogany coat hanger, lifting it as if it were a sceptre. In the dim light, his silk shirt gleams like battle armour, like the glistening personality he has learned to put on when surrounded by crowds.

He is like King Arthur, he thinks, making his way toward the garden for one last smoke before bed; he’s been revisiting stories from his childhood as well as ones he never got around to, in an attempt to understand better. Although he tries desperately to re-distribute the reign he was bestowed with evenly across his Round Table, he will never not be the stand-out sovereign among his peers.

He draws a ciggie from his pack like the sword from the stone.

He is like Alexander the Great. He has built an empire atop another, once thought undefeatable, all before the humble age of thirty. He longs to herald in a new era of cultural sharing, and the fact he does indeed hold the power to do so is tantalizingly terrifying.

He is also plagued by a foreboding that the instant he gives in and lets himself relax, he will drop dead and with him his dominion disintegrate.

Although he tries to stop himself, Paul thinks he may be like the emperor from Andersen’s tale, clad in nothing before all his intimidated subjects. After all this time, he has never quite been able to shake the feeling that he is secretly embarrassing himself and, one day, a few words coming from the most ostensibly innocuous of sources will bring his entire kingdom down.

He is like Odysseus, King of Ithaca; so intoxicated with the thrill of adventure that he may never find his way home, all the while watching those around him give in to their fleeting desires or the whims of wily tricksters, only to pay the ultimate price.

And when it’s been this long, who at home might still be waiting for him to return? Who will grieve?

#<333333 #sorry I feel like I kind of didnt fully hit the mark on your prompt I just got really Really into this motif lol #anyways please do let me know what you think :)#fic #ask #anon #fiona.docx

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inspiteallthedanger · 3 years ago

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Hi there! Love your blog. I know you've talked about John and Paul wanting exclusivity with each other before, but I keep having a hard time believing Paul really wanted anything like that...he seemed much more noncommittal than John, much less dependent. That doesn't mean he didn't want exclusivity, but maybe he didn't--maybe he was fine with just a weirdly-close friendship? But I want to believe Paul did want exclusivity too. Can you point me to evidence/proof? Thanks!

Hello my love and thanks so much! In news that will surprise no one this is loooong. It’s going under the cut

This is an excellent point. And I think your read is completely correct. What I think we must understand is that they are both awful, terrible hypocrites. What they wanted from one another was not necessarily the same as what they wanted to give. See the fact they expected complete monogamy from their romantic partners, but never in a million years expected to return the favour (until Paul married Linda — as far as I’m aware there’s no evidence he wasn’t faithful after that).

The other note up front: Paul finds it almost impossible to express a feeling that might result in conflict. John finds it almost impossible to not express every emotion he’s ever had. That means we can often *see* John being gross and in love. It’s harder with Paul. We need to look at his actions and read between the lines more.

That aside, I do actually think your read about Paul is correct. He was a massive commitmentphobe. He moved in with Jane but seemed to take great offence at the idea they’d get married. He refused to live with or near the rest of the band more than once.

Why was he unwilling to commit? I think because he didn’t want to have to chose between a traditional family life and John. I’m sure it doesn’t need saying, but — had he even been able to let himself imagine and want a romantic relationship with John — he wasn’t picking between two equal things. John couldn’t give him kids and they couldn’t get married. They wouldn’t be accepted by society at large and Paul wouldn’t be fulfilling what he always imagined Real Men do when they grow up.

Also, even if we ignore that (and we really can’t) John was so hot and cold he didn’t trust that giving himself over would end well. Paul’s still not convinced John cared about him, because the thought of him not is so terrifying.

So with romantic partnership off the table, what Paul was left with to demand in terms of ‘exclusivity’ was John’s attention and affection. For them, that was predominantly expressed through creating music. It was allllll good for John to be married (and have girlfriends) but go to George to finish off a song? Cue Paul storming from the studio.

This is where we do see Paul actually show real annoyance about Yoko too. In Get Back, the thing he can’t let go? The thing he picks at over and over? “Get back in your bag” “After this is all over you’ll be back in your black bag” “For us to continue we’d have to get in a black bag”. He’s not saying, “Stop having sex with that woman” he’s saying “Stop creating your weird art with her”. I haven’t seen anyone mention this, but it really jumped out at me the first run through because I didn’t understand the reference for some reason.

While we’re on GB — see who Paul wants to collaborate with to the determinant of the whole band? It’s not George, Glynn, MLH, Mal, Ringo or George M. Who is he cornering to say that they’re going to have a crisis if he doesn’t come up with some more songs? Not George who is coming in daily with material. Paul, essentially: “What’s that babe? You have one line and a chord? Fucking brilliant. Inspired. Amazing. Let me spend the next three weeks obsessively crafting it with you. So proud of you, my little genius.”

They also seemed to have a mini crisis after How I Won the War for similar reasons because they were freaked out about what it meant for them now they wouldn’t be touring and having an excuse to be… whatever the fuck they were during that time. That’s when Paul comes up with SP and John basically moves in with him (thus giving Paul the idea that if just keeps coming up with projects he’ll keep John’s attention).

There’s also Stu (and note Paul gets rid of the rest of the Quarry Men pretty sharpish too — yes, they’re not as talented as George and Pete Best but they are also John’s besties). Even the J*p Tart thing. It’s about suggesting they aren’t good artists, rather than not being in love or anything (like John suggested about Paul and Linda).

Essentially, he seemed to want to be absolutely sure that John liked him best and worked himself to the bone to get it. He was so loyal to John and willing to put up with so much. The only time we really see him push back is when their creative partnership was threatened.

I said before that I don’t actually think Paul considered the idea of a fully romantic relationship with John until possibly after the end of the band. Tbf we don’t know how seriously John considered one with him, either. Paul just couldn’t let himself go there. That’s why it was always — to an extent — doomed from the start.

It’s possible that in India he was presented with that idea, freaked out, said no and then… felt terrible about it as we see play out in the next decade or so. (I’ve said I’m not sure about that, but it’s the one time I can really believe it could have happened).

The other point is what I put in a previous post: his entire relationship with Linda. He combined the positions and that really did seem to (mostly) get him through the break up (although he still went back to John over and over — despite how terribly John treated him — that’s real (unhinged) devotion).

This is a massive over-simplification, ofc, because there were other issues in their dynamic. The jealousy of the idea that the other might be more successful. Which, btw, they seemed to know and deliberately put a buffer in place by agreeing to take equal credit for all their songs. We don’t talk enough about how massive that was. They thought their partnership was more important than credit and put in a structure to ensure it didn’t cause issues later (even though that risked them not getting the credit they ‘deserved’). Although how much of that was fear of being left if one of them got too successful is uncertain.

So. We can see that he wants John’s exclusive commitment. But point was, he knew he couldn’t demand it because he’s not a complete moron and knows it’s weird to ask your best friend to swear to love you only (although I actually think they kinda did — see all the “we’ll be writing together until we’re 60”). This is a pattern for Paul, we see him sort of… ignoring what he actually wants and his own emotions because he believes he shouldn’t feel that way. “There’s no point in being sad my mum died, just have a good life” “There’s no point telling John not to have Yoko there all the time”. Note. He doesn’t say he doesn’t want to do those things, just he won’t let himself.

God this is long. But to sum up: there’s loads of evidence that Paul was super possessive of John. There’s loads of evidence that had they been in a romantic relationship that’s what Paul would have demanded. Paul couldn’t/wouldn’t consider a romantic relationship so he couldn’t demand the same things he would in that dynamic. That doesn’t mean he didn’t want to though. What ultimately made Paul go, “Well, I guess we’re over”/“Actually fuck this guy, I’m getting a divorce in real court and everything”? John insisting he had a new creative partner that was better than anything that had come before.

Hope this makes sense — shout if anything wasn’t clear.

#beth rambles #mclennon #Paul is a little freak #and I love him #seriously though guys #someone talk to #me about the black bag stuff #I’m going insane about it

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rosyfingereddawnn · 4 years ago

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"How's he the oldest" anon here. So I have a tendency to search up the voices of people I'm interested in, and Led Zep is no exception. I know ur a Jimmy stan, but how would you describe each member's (preferably speaking, but could add singing too?) voice? Also his voice is one of the reasons I thought "how's he the oldest" like-

oh my god i love this ask!! okay i’ll start with jimmy because you know. and also because he’s already been mentioned so might as well :)

jimmy has such. a soft, shy voice? like everything about him just screams “small. protect.” and his voice definitely fits. and you’d think his big vocabulary would make him seem older but it reminds me of a little tween reading sat prep material. also i wanna have a section (where applicable) for little quirks and i’ve noticed that when he’s especially shy or uncomfortable (or just really really excited!) he starts to stutter, and god it’s so endearing. ALSO HIS ACCENT IS SO POSH HE CAN’T PRONOUNCE HIS R’S RIGHT. i hereby declare he is the Youngest In The Band.

hmmmm okay we’ll go with bonzo next. his voice… it’s simultaneously exactly what i expect and also nothing like what i expect. his look makes me think it’s gonna be really deep, and it’s deep enough, maybe a Little higher than i originally expected the first time i heard it. but also it’s soft, for the most part and… i guess it reminds me a bit of jimmy’s in the way he speaks so eloquently sometimes. bonzo also has a pretty remarkable accent and i think, like robert it does also add to his image, in that it’s not at all posh. honestly it’s kinda homey in a way i think. Middle Bandmate (Older)

robert is next up, because i’m saving my little guy for last. robert has… a much stronger accent than you would think, listening to him sing and even just his look i guess. but it’s a little more nasally, a little higher than you’d expect? and it’s rough at times, just a hint of that rasp coming through. it’s also got a bit of a lilt to it, ans i’m including this as a quirk because it’s Allllll part of his charm. that’s how he draws you in. honestly i think he’s gotta be placed at Oldest solely in terms of his voice, because of that charisma and charm.

don’t worry, i would never forget about mr. john paul jones. his voice is honestly so lovely. one of my favourites i’ll be honest. the harder consonants are so clipped, but it’s somehow still very calming, because the vowels aren’t as pronounced i guess? also the way it kind of lilts too sometimes is very interesting, because it’s not like robert with that sheer charm but it’s more… self-assured perhaps? and at the same time, you can tell he’s really thinking about what he says with the changes in tone. QUIRK WINNER: HIS LISP. it’s the most lovely thing it always makes me smile. Middle Member (Younger)

this is much too long and you probably didn’t ask for an essay but here you are anyways anon 🥰

here’s a cute picture of the boys as a “you made it this far!!!” present

#asks #this was too fun #anon :)#jimmy page #john bonham #robert plant #john paul jones #led zeppelin

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years ago

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never been one for goodbyes

In the aftermath, the 126 take comfort in each other.

a series of vignettes about the 126 trying to come to terms with the events of s2e2

i may or may not have cried while writing this. spoilers for lone star s2e2 to follow

ao3

Judd doesn’t sleep that night. He pretends to for a while, for Grace’s sake, but when he’s certain she’s asleep again he slips out of bed and moves on silent feet to the patio, making a pit stop in the kitchen for whiskey. His fingers shake as they wrap around the glass and he finds he can’t steady his breathing. It doesn’t help that the air outside is foul, volcanic ash and smoke mingling to clog up his throat, but Judd doesn’t care. He won’t be out here for long, just enough to clear his head before he goes back to bed so Grace won’t find out.

Clearly, though, he’s not as subtle as he thought, because soon enough there are footsteps approaching and hands rubbing gentle circles on his shoulders.

“Come back inside, sweetheart,” Grace says, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.

He shakes his head, swirling his drink. There’s ash in that too, but it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t drinking it anyway.

“Judd.” Grace sits next to him, taking his trembling hands in hers. She’s looking at him so softly, and it breaks Judd in two.

“I can’t,” he chokes out. “I saw it, Grace, I saw him get hit by that rock, and I just -”

He breaks off and looks away from her, scrubbing roughly at his eyes. Grace nods and squeezes his hands, like she knows what he’s thinking. Hell, she’s probably thinking about it too; Grace had been on the line that night.

Judd had never seen his brothers’ bodies, but he’d seen Tim’s - or what was left of it. And now… Now, he can’t help but imagine their faces transposed onto his, fire reflected in their glassy eyes just as it had been in Tim’s tonight. He feels guilty for it, because Tim was Tim, not his old crew, but he’s stuck back in that night again and his hands won’t stop fucking shaking.

“I can’t do this again, Gracie,” he sobs, curling in on himself to try and contain the hurt.

Grace’s arms come around him. “You’re not alone, Judd,” she murmurs. “Not now. Not ever.”

And Judd lets go, leaning into her chest and coming apart in her embrace.

He would have been content to stay out here until the sun came up, but Gwyn eventually insists upon him going back inside. He gives in fairly easily, truth be told; Owen is tired of fighting right now. She doesn’t try to coax him to bed, which he’s grateful for, but she does sit with him, a silent, stoic presence at his side.

“Where’s TK?” she asks after a while. “I didn’t notice him coming in with you.”

“He’s with Carlos, I think.”

“You think?” There’s a quiet note of panic in Gwyn’s voice, and Owen hates himself for causing it. Hates himself more for understanding it, maybe even sharing it a little. “Owen -”

“He’s fine,” he says. “Or, he’s not… He’s with Carlos. That’s what he said, and I believe him.”

Gwyn nods, lips pursed. “Okay.”

They lapse into silence again, Owen feeling the weariness and heavy, heavy grief settling deeper into his bones with each passing moment. He and Tim hadn’t even been that close, but Owen has a duty of care. Everybody who clocks in, clocks out. It’s one of his rules, a rule he’s broken very few times in his career.

The first time was 9/11, his entire firehouse wiped out save for him.

The second was when TK got shot, and Owen thought his world was imploding all over again.

Today was the third time, which makes it three times too many in Owen’s book. It can’t happen again. It won’t.

“Owen,” Gwyn says, and she’s looking at him with those wide, pleading eyes that Owen knows he can’t refuse. “Remember what I said earlier? Please don’t bottle this up.”

Owen swallows thickly. “I won’t,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s a lie.

TK doesn’t know how long they spend on the stairs, curled around one another. Long enough for his legs to start to cramp, and it’s only the thought that Carlos must be just as uncomfortable that finally persuades him to let go.

“You okay?” Carlos asks as he straightens out, the first words either of them have spoken since TK walked in.

TK hesitates, a ‘yes’ halfway to his lips, but the lie is bitter on his tongue and he knows he can’t fake it. Not with Carlos. So he simply shakes his head and looks down at the floor, focusing on nothing in particular.

He hasn’t cried yet; he doesn’t know if he will. It’s usually these kinds of nights when the pull to his addiction is strongest - nights like Alex leaving him and finding out about his dad’s cancer and sudden, pointless heartbreak - but he’s just...numb. He keeps playing the call on repeat in his head, from the initial panic to the shock at seeing Tim, and he doesn’t feel it.

He doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

Carlos takes his hand and gently pulls him upright, offering himself as support. TK takes it, leaning heavily on Carlos as they shuffle to bed, the silence between them a comfort to him. His fingers fumble as he tries to strip off, and Carlos helps with that too, without TK even trying to ask him.

“Thank you,” he manages, his voice coming out hoarse and weak. In response, Carlos offers him a small smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are wide and expressive and horribly sad.

They fall asleep together as the sun begins to come up, TK’s head resting on Carlos’s chest and Carlos’s arms secure around him.

It feels safe. It feels like home.

Nancy’s been staring at her phone for the post half hour, her thumb hovering over the call button. She needs to do it, she knows this, if only out of basic human decency. But she’s not sure if she has it in her to say the words, not when she’s still expecting Tim to come walking down the hall and joke about her messing up his stuff.

None of this will be here in a week. Less, even. Captain Vega had promised to give her time, but Nancy doesn’t know if she has the strength to let go. They’d been a team, her and Tim, and Michelle before she left. Now it’s just Nancy, alone in the darkened firehouse, listening to the replacement crew go about their shift as if nothing had happened.

On impulse, and a sudden need to get it over with, Nancy presses call. It rings a few times, Nancy realising that it’s the early hours of the morning and she might not pick up, but then there’s a familiar voice coming down the line.

“Nancy?” Michelle says, her voice heavy with sleep. “Everything okay?”

“Michelle,” Nancy gets out, then stops, the lump in her throat choking her at the prospect of telling Michelle that Tim… That he’s gone.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Michelle sounds more awake now, concern bleeding into her tone. “I saw the volcano on the news; you’re all okay, right?”

Nancy doesn’t respond straight away, and clearly it’s enough to tell Michelle all she needs to know. “Who?” she asks.

“I… It happened so fast. I didn’t even realise at first.” Nancy sobs. “He’s just… He’s gone, Michelle.”

“Who, Nancy?” There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Not… God, Nancy, don’t tell me it’s Tim.”

Nancy can only choke out an affirmative before another sob crawls its way up her throat, and suddenly she’s sliding off the bench onto the cold floor. Michelle’s crying too, she can hear it faintly down the line, and it’s a small comfort to know she’s not totally alone in this.

Mateo doesn’t bother to change before speeding out of the firehouse, letting his legs carry him wherever. He can’t shake the feeling of guilt from his body, like if he’d just tried harder, been faster, done more, he could have stopped it.

Maybe if he’d helped Tim evacuate his patient. Because, really, Tim shouldn’t have even still been there by that pool. Someone should have helped him. Mateo should have helped him.

He’d heard what the others said. It was nobody’s fault, it was a freak accident, he shouldn’t blame himself… Thing is, Mateo can tell they don’t believe it either. He can see they all feel just as guilty as he does.

Still. Mateo knows it’s not their fault. He just wishes he could believe the same about himself. They’re not the ones who have to prove themselves, after all, but he’s still the probie. Still the one who’s out on his ear if he fucks up - like letting a team member get killed on call.

His feet come to rest outside the church, his breath coming in harsh pants and his whole body aching after running for however long. The sun is well and truly up, so it must have been a while.

He hasn’t been to church in a while, but there’s nothing like a guilty conscience to convince a man to go back. Is it selfish, this desire for redemption?

Does he deserve it?

Paul holds her until her tears have dried up and she’s almost collapsing on him, exhausted to her very soul. He holds her after, too, sitting on the gym’s floor with her as she stares blankly into space.

“You can go home, if you want,” Marjan eventually manages, pulling away to wipe at her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

“I’m good here,” Paul says.

Marjan looks at him then - properly looks at him. She’s not as good at reading people as Paul is, but she’d been a fool to not see how much he, too, is hurting. It makes her feel guilty for forcing him to be there for her, when he’d lost Tim just as much as she did.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Which is a stupid question, because are any of them okay? But it’s also the only question left to them; it’s a reassurance and a comfort and an answer wrapped together.

Paul smiles fleetingly. “No. You?”

“About the same.”

Paul nods and Marjan leans into him, not caring that they’re both sweaty and grimy. They sit in silence for a long while, until the sun is high in the sky and then some, taking comfort in the presence of someone else next to them.

And, carefully, they hold each other together.

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beeblackburn · 4 years ago

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The Anti-TBR Tag

I was tagged by @books-and-doodles! Thank you! And poor you, for I am a long-winded bastard.

1. A popular book EVERYONE loves that you have no interest in reading?

On general principle, I feel like the really popular stuff (Twilight, Throne of Glass, Divergent, The Mortal Instruments) ends up being stuff I’m inherently not going to be attracted to and some of them have their own hatedoms going on, so going after them in detail would be punching down (though I don’t particular like any of the above). So I’m going to try to go off the beaten path with these seven:

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab = nothing against her personally, though I heard her The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue was baaaaad, but apparently, she’s similar to Sanderson in the magic system being better than the characterization and I heard her writing’s got a white faux-female empowerment sort of thing going that I’m growing increasingly... discontent of by itself. I might try it out later, but I also got hundreds of books to drill through first and I’m in no rush.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo = I’ve been increasingly getting the sense that Six of Crows was a flash in the pan, Bardugo’s style more defined by fun than genuine substance. And given a rather scathing review that points out unearned shifts in characterization, lackluster supporting cast, and two really uncomfortable exploitative sexual assault fantasy scenes (one of which was underaged!), I’m gonna say no.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik = I generally like Novik! She’s a very solid writer to me and I’ve bought most of her books, so this is purely me not taking to the Wizarding School genre. Sorry, Novik, "a twisted, super dark, super modern, female-led Harry Potter" isn’t the selling point it once was, and even then, I probably wouldn’t have taken to it. Especially when I’ve already got The Gray House by Mariam Petrosyan to read.

The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson = I’ve got mixed feelings on Mistborn looking back: it’s hardly the worst of his oeuvre (Elantris is that and was admittedly his first book) and The Final Empire took a few narrative risks that I admire, I also found the resulting books a tad juvenile and I don’t take to steampunk, genre-wise. I’m not even that much of a Sanderson fan, so I’d rather just read the summary for all I care.

Storm Front by Jim Butcher = given what I’ve been told about The Dresden Files’ lessening of noir roots past the first few books, how it later became more flashy-and-bang magical, and how it’s pretty sexist early on (and from what I’ve been told, doubled down on it later on and having worse treatments of its female characters), I’m in no particular rush to read them. The urban fantasy genre on them only turns me off more.

The Doors of Stone by Patrick Rothfuss = hahaha, I’m sorry, I did read The Name of the Wind, and read select parts of The Wise Man’s Fear, but everyone, instead of waiting and devoting your time for this book to come, I would suggest reading Fitz, Who Is Actually Good and Can Wring More than Disgust and an Eye-Roll out of You in Robin Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings, given she is far better at characterization than Rothfuss.

Anything by Paul Krueger, Sam Sykes, and Myke Cole = fuck all three of these men and the idea that I’ll pay for their stuff. While I can’t demand any of you not buy from them and I’ll hardly claim to be a saint in terms of ethics, purchase-wise, I would beseech you all please don’t buy from these three authors who have a history of inappropriateness.

2. A classic book (or author) you don’t have an interest in reading?

Charles Dickens = look, I know his word count is padded because of serial installments back then, but I’m sorry, I wasn’t that impressed by the child-sanitized versions of Great Expectations and Oliver Twist. They were easily some of the most boring of out of the child-sanitized classics I read. It was the pictures that kept me going and barely at that. No thanks.

Emily Brontë = look, if I wanted shitty people being shitty to each other, I’d much rather read Joe Abercrombie because at least I’ll get some intentional dark comedy out of dumb shitheads being terrible to each other (Best Served Cold comes to mind). And I know we’re not meant to like these self-destructive people, but I’d rather not hate everyone that much.

Alexander Dumas = Three Musketeers really didn’t age well, just from the TV Tropes page and I’m not really looking forward to an adventure that goes out of its way to valorize its protagonists being adventurous assholes who dueled, drank, and womanized harder than anyone else and we should commend that because they were men. Ugh.

3. An author you have read a couple of books from & have decided their books are not for you?

Leigh Bardugo = like I said, I feel like Six of Crows (and Crooked Kingdom, to a lesser extent) was a flash in the pan and she’s been increasingly running on fumes ever since then. Good and fun with a decent eye for characterization, but hardly revolutionary, considering how I think Crooked Kingdom isn’t quite as good as Six of Crows, and the less said about Shadow and Bone, the better.

Neil Gaiman = I’ve read some of his stuff (and I didn’t quite see the hype over his writing, but liked it decently enough) but having heard that, in his Sandman run, he wrote in a transwoman solely to get killed for an emotional ending and how he defended that choice for awhile left a battery acid taste for me to read more. He’s a formative part of people’s childhoods, so I don’t blame anyone for being fans, he’s just not for me.

Steven Erikson = really nothing against the dude, I’m sure he's probably a decent guy, but I didn’t take to Gardens of the Moon at all and skimming Deadhouse Gates and Memories of Ice (which were admittedly better) made me realize its prose was something I would need a hard and sharp shovel to crack through, and the darting around of many, many POVs made me feel not invested in anyone.

4. A genre you have no interest in OR a genre you tried to get into & couldn’t?

I’ll answer both because I have the time:

I’m not interested in romance, mostly because it’s an entire genre built around the build-up. It’s usually the story about the beginning of a relationship, not the relationship itself. I’d genuinely like to read about the story of a romance that doesn’t stop shortly after the hook-up or before the honeymoon period ends. The City Watch parts of Discworld by Terry Pratchett, The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan and The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold all have romantic elements that are relatively undrenched in melodrama or frills, but none of them are pure romances, which is a huge problem. I can take romantic subplots in fantasy, but I can’t take the genre as-is.

Urban fantasy is a genre I’m not against having my mind changed on liking, but right now, I generally find it insipid, a shortcut to good world-building, short on great characterization, and an excuse to lampshade and pretense to being above fantastical clichés in a tongue-in-cheek attitude while still committing to them. I do genuinely like Rivers of London by Ben Aaronvitch, but that’s really the concession I can give the entirety of the genre. I took a crack at Rick Riordan and Cassandra Clare’s stuff, but it didn’t feel like my sort of thing. Again, would like to be convinced, but I’d much rather read a domestic or slice-of-life fantasy set in a more overtly fantasy world than the urban one.

Also, sci-fi, but I’m trying again with the Wormwood trilogy by Tade Thompson, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon, and either the Imperial Radch trilogy by Ann Leckie, or the Teixcalaan trilogy by Arkady Martine. I snoozed through Azimov’s Foundation and generally bored myself of hard sci-fi books, so I’m hoping contemporary sci-fi changes my mind on the entire genre.

5. A book you have bought but will never read?

A book I personally bought? Honestly, Traitor’s Blade by Sebastien de Castell. No particular reason, I just bought it at a closing-down sale at a branch of my bookstore on the cheap because the cover looked nice and didn’t really take to its blurb. I heard good things though, so if anyone else wants to read it...

I tag @vera-dauriac, @xserpx, @autoapocrypha, @kateofthecanals, @turtle-paced, @insecticidalfeminism, @secretlyatargaryen, @helix-eagle-hourglass-nebula, @xillionart, @jovolovo and whoever else that is following me and wishes to do this tag (I’d like to read your posts, so please tag me! :D)

#tags #book tag #anti tbr tag

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brideofcthulhu10 · 5 years ago

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Here we are, I apologize for the delay you guys but I can guarantee you it is so worth the wait! A humongous shout out to my incredible co-author @imlostinsantacarla for writing this with me, I had an amazing time and this is arguably one of the best written posts I’ve done so far. SO without further ado, I give you

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [3/4]

CONTENT WARNING: Offensive Language, Blood, Child Birthing Process, Intense Environment! READER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Marko

The soft silver moonlight slithered through the cracks and crevices overhead in the hotel, illuminating your form in a tender glow. You laid casually atop the dusty old couch worn from years of perpetual abuse, staring up into the cave’s ceiling at the little slivers of sky you could see between them, fingers fondling the soft blanket wrapped around you. Nerves caused your heart to stutter as another set of cramps waded through your body, making you feel nauseated. However, you put on a valiant front, hardly batting an eyelash as your boyfriend Marko sat beside you, eyes fixated on your form in an adoring fashion, though there was worry mixed within his countenance, a deep groove carved between his brows. Granted when you had initially announced your pregnancy you could have gone about it differently, however you were met with a joyous response from your adoring vampire. Originally David had suggested they turn you whilst pregnant to prevent any foreseeable complications, but there arose a new set of issues. Your infant would be a hybrid of vampire and human, something none of you even knew was possible. The potential need for a live body could mean that turning yourself before the birth could kill him or her in the process. Even if the birth could result in your death, unfortunately, all you could do was patiently wait, as going to a hospital was surely out of the question. Nevertheless, patience was a virtue- one Marko had yet to achieve.

The months of waiting grew heavier on him as time ticked by, whilst the haunting lack of knowledge grew more frustrating with any passing discomfort he witnessed. His inability to help you outside of a shoulder to cry on when your cramps became too unbearable to sleep through made him feel helpless, a sensation that not only was he unfamiliar with; it was one he absolutely loathed. The boys did their utmost best to be accommodating to the situation, and one certainly had to give them credit for the amount of effort they had gone through. Dwayne had gone to the library for a few books for yourself and Marko, including one or two children’s books for the baby. Paul had spent his free nights shoplifting for supplies you’d need. No one could dismantle and sneak out an entire crib like Paul could. The guy had created a craft in the endeavor. David, with the help of Dwayne, had scoped through the caves and old hotel rooms still salvageable and managed to reinforce one of the rooms closest to their own cave. You eagerly draped the walls in colorful fabrics, finding an old dresser for your child’s clothes with a surface now cluttered with stuffed animals. Toys were crammed into a wooden chest, a massive rug laid across the old wooden flooring to deter any stray splinters from harming you. Watching Paul and Marko stubbornly argue over the crib instructions was certainly the highlight of your pregnancy while David was barking at them to move out of the way when he came carrying in the glider chair in one arm and a mass of pillows in the other. Although, you had to draw the line once Marko had smacked Paul with a two by four. Surely, that was uncalled for. But according to Marko, not so! Best friend or not, no one said he had the building skills of a drunk monkey!

Tonight was the night that would mark round about the eighth month of your pregnancy, and, - if it were truly possible -, Marko nearly had a heart attack when your false contractions came into play a few weeks ago. This ignited a vigilant nature within him, motivating him to remain much closer to you than he had previously been, which resulted in a lot of checking up on every unusual sound that you made. It was impossible for it to be helped. Well, that's what he kept telling you anyway.

"You know, I can skip out on the hunt tonight…" Marko trailed off, cool fare fingertips dancing along the soft flesh of your arms, creating goosebumps to rise in their wake. The contrast between body temperatures was ghastly and you shivered, more at the electric shock that raced through you whenever he touched you.

"Babe, you skipped out on the hunt last night, and the night before, and even the night before that. Marko, you must be starving!" You sighed irately, tipping your head back in frustration before turning it in his direction. Ever since the news of your pregnancy, Marko's primal instincts to protect you and your child had grown in vast numbers. It was pleasant to begin with, almost endearing… Though, as months sped by it had grown a hindrance because the young man was hardly even caring for himself now, and he hardly ever left your side. Honest to God, it was smothering, leaving you almost agitated at the sight of him. He was aware of this, yet still could not resist the urge within him that called for him to aid you in whatever way he could. There was an ample amount of anxiety over future happenstances such as your water breaking, uncontrollable cramps, the ACTUAL birthing of the child! You were understanding of his concern, but there was only so much that could be done. After all, you wanted your baby just as badly as he did. But he couldn’t allow his health to decline due to his own worry, you needed him. And frankly, your sense of unease was bordering onto the bandwagon of fear when you saw Marko’s ribs sticking tightly against his translucent flesh, a plethora of dark circles sinking his blue eyes into his skull. He wasn’t eating, he hardly slept, and soon he wouldn’t be able to control his frenzies.

"I don't know, baby girl," Marko began hesitantly, his round eyes widening as they peered into your own thoughtfully. Worry had never been a good look on Marko, and now, you longed for the days where reading him had been more difficult. His anxiety was like a fungi, infecting your very aura at the same time. "I don't wanna leave in case something happens you know? I mean, yeah, I guess I'm kinda thirsty but that stuff can wai-" You interrupted him with your fingertips gently silencing his lips, your eyes having shut as you breathed deeply to calm your nerves. This boy was driving you nuts.

"Marko, I know how worried you are. I am too. But babe, I can tell that it's getting harder for you to be around me because you haven't fed. I really don’t want to start smelling like a fillet mignon to you, and if you’ve been looking at me like some mouth watering steak, we run the risk of the baby becoming appealing as well, I know you don’t want to risk that." You quipped with a quirked brow, lips tucked up into a wry smile as you stared straight at him. Your case was a good one, there was no doubt about it. There could be a very good chance that Marko, albeit not on purpose, could harm you or the baby if he smelled the scent of blood or even heard a too hasty of a heartbeat. And if there were to be an accident such as that, Marko would be plagued by an immense amount of guilt for all eternity. “Besides, it’s only the seven and a half or eight month point right now. I’m not having the baby for at least six more weeks. Right now, I need you to be at your best. Please babe.”

"But-" Marko began to protest.

"She's right, Marko." David piped up lazily from across the room, his eyes never leaving the book that he had been reading. He turned the page briskly before continuing, "You need to feed. It's the basic terms of vampire-hood. If you don't, you die! Now, what good would that do anyone then?" He inquired sardonically, a trace of a smirk in the air.

"Yeah, bud! David and Y/n are right! Just go on one feed with us." Paul grinned from ear to ear at his bestest pal in the whole world, despite the horrifying fact that said best friend had hit him in the head with a two by four. Excitement had been rushing through Paul's entire being during this whole process. He was going to be an uncle man, how could he not be excited?! It had been such a bummer since Star left with Laddie, it’d be cool having some new tiny mind he could influence. Not that he'd even get as far to really influence the child without getting a brisk smack to the back of the head by David before you and Marko could even lift your fingers. No, he would not be teaching your child about the world of “Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll” at five years old!

"I mean-"

"With the way you're going, you're gonna be a shriveled prune." Dwayne muttered out of thin air as he slowly rolled past Marko and yourself on his skateboard. The hulking raven haired vampire came to a standstill as he stepped slowly off of his board. Dwayne was also right. Marko wasn't looking his brightest. Feeding was a nightly routine for a vampire in order to ensure they took in the right nutrients their dead bodies could not produce for themselves. Especially since they weren't capable of absorbing those nutrients through human food any more. Marko had to feed, there was no whisking his way around it, no matter how many excuses he could come up with.

The trio of boys stared at the curly haired blonde, your eyes also capturing his form. There was a stretch of intense silence that flooded through the hotel as Marko thought over his options, pushing a mesh of frizzed blonde hair away from his face. He didn't want to risk going out and a possible complication occurring with the baby or yourself. But he also didn't have a strong desire to cause a catastrophic accident whilst going into a frenzy when your heart rate started skyrocketing due to cramps or whatever. Already his mouth was watering profusely as he stared down at his worn hands beginning to wither from lack of nourishment, the consistent thudding of your heart and the delectable rush of your blood in your veins made it practically impossible for the man to focus for much longer.

"Man, just go! I'll stay with her." Paul finally interjected, slightly irritated that his buddy was being such a pansy about the entire situation. "If anything happens I'll scream at the top of my lungs or something, man. I got this! Scouts honor!" Paul added sarcastically, flattening a palm over his heart as he raised his free one up by his head. The entire thing looked comical, it made the others laugh.

"Yeah, sure, let me get the flowers early for the funeral," Dwayne muttered, settling himself on another dusty old couch with a soft sigh.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dick breath?" Paul roared, brows pulled together in anger, punching Dwayne’s shoulder..

“Can you even give scouts honor if you were never in it?” you asked with a laugh to your tone, raising a brow at the blonde trying to rapid punch the utterly indifferent vampire planted in place.

"Dwayne has a good point, Paul." David sneered at his comrade, blue eyes lit up like torches watching Dwayne yank Paul into a headlock on it’s way to a noogie. "You remember the last time we-"

"Ow! Okay, I didn't know she wasn't allowed to drink alcohol! But she never drank any so I don't get why you guys keep bringing this shit up!" Paul muttered, managing to wiggle himself out of Dwayne’s iron grip. With stubborn stomps he huffed, flopping onto the edge of the fountain in the middle of the room, his chin resting on his hands. He stared at you and Marko for a moment before continuing. "Man, I swear I won't pull another stunt like that again! I can take care of her! Dwayne told me the gist of what she can and can't have. I can do this, buddy." it was practically the most pitiful thing you had ever seen, it even tugged a little at your heartstrings.

You looked to Marko for confirmation and from the twinkle in his eyes, you could tell he was thinking the same thing as you. 'Let's just let him do this so he can stop pouting like a brat.'

"Alright, alright!" Marko stated, gloved hands raising up in the air in defeat. "You can watch out for her, but if ANYTHING happens, man, you've gotta go and find me. No fucking around and no fucking weed either!" Marko was firm as he spoke, eyes boring seriously into Paul's.

The sun broke out onto Paul's face, his pearly whites glinting from the fires scattered around the hotel. You could tell in that moment that Marko had made Paul's entire century. "Fuck yeah! Scouts honor, dude. Just like I said before!" the blonde rocker was practically bouncing in his seat like he needed a piss. He hardly looked like a badass biker vampire that went out murdering people left, right, and center every night. He looked more like a baby rabbit.

“I fucking mean it man,” Marko firmly repeated. “No weed, no booze, no being a dumbass.” Although he was being firm there was a slight twitch to his mouth. Being stern with Paul was often impossible but you had to admit, Marko was doing a grand job without the two by four!

Paul threw his hands up in the air in such a rushing motion that you were surprised they hadn't flung out of their sockets. “God damn, trust me man. I’m not gonna let anything happen! You guys need to gimme more credit here, who’s the one that stole a fucking crib for you assholes?”

With a tenacious huff, you wedged your hands behind your back feeling that the full weight of your belly was determined to keep you jammed between cushions, but nevertheless, you managed to heave yourself up and off of the dusty old couch with an audible grunt. The four boys' heads turned to watch you, instinctively with brows furrowed. They thought they'd insisted that if you needed to be moved, they would help you rather than let you strain yourself any more than you had to. But you were impossibly stubborn! You had insisted on multiple occasions that it was necessary for you to move, even exercise to keep you and the baby healthy. None of them were willing to humor you but you’d found that tuning out their protests was the best course of action in most occasions. And by impulsive habit, Marko dove over to offer you assistance, though you only responded by swatting his hands away from you. You were fine!

“I’m fine Marko, don’t worry I can get up on my own. Anyway, Paul’s right,” you agreed, looking over at your friend who beamed with delight at your praise, arms crossed over his chest with a nodding head of total satisfaction as if you had just given a mighty speech. “He’s not gonna let anything happen. Besides, what could really go wrong in just a few hours?”

"Babe, don't say shit like that, you could jinx it!" Marko cried incredulously, eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Babe get a grip. There's no such thing as “jinxing” things." His worrying was really starting to bug you. And what did you do in turn? You did and said the exact opposite of him, a way to subconsciously counteract the apprehension that oozed out of him like a foul smell. Carefully you took his hands into yours and placed them on your taut belly. “See? Feel for yourself.”

For the past several months Marko had attested to being able to hear your unborn spawn within your stomach. Not necessarily thoughts, but emotions. Cluttered, wild, uncertain emotions that would come in jumbled waves. There was a weary contentment within you, sleeping soundly in a cradle of water kept safe within. Finally his muscles began to relax, tension beading out into limp arms as Marko pulled you in for a firm hug, holding you against him.

“You promise me.. If anything happens, you scream for me immediately. No toughing it out because you’re worried about me eating.” He mumbled sweetly into your hair, taking in a slow inhale of your heavenly scent. It was the one thing that could soothe his soul instantaneously, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Marko-”

“Please, Y/n.”

His plea made your heart ache with slight agony. It was a desperate rasp, his arms almost trembling. There was a rush of relief filling him when you wrapped your own arms around him with a tender smile. “Okay. Alright, I promise, if anything happens I’ll call for you,” you hummed in tender response. For a moment you had to take a moment to pause, feeling a low and deep, sharp pain stretching from your abdomen to your back. Instead of making a fuss you tried to ease your breathing before Marko could notice. You weren't prepared to allow a few false contractions to get the better of you and stop him from getting his fill of the blood he so desperately needed at this point. And you also weren't going to play into any of Marko's anxieties either. You could do that when he returned from his hunt. Gently you lifted his chin. His cold lips felt cracked against your own, cementing how desperately he needed to feed. Even his kisses grew hungry, and you had to pull away from him before this grew into a horror show. “Go, you goof.”

It had taken some further convincing for him to leave, by the time he finally left with David and Dwayne it almost felt otherworldly in that cave. The lack of presence was almost spooky, though thankfully Paul was nice enough to loan you his walkman to curb the initial silence. Playing his Def Leppard tape you sat back into the couch, breathing through the occasional cramps that would continue to sneak up on you in a pulsing fashion. Hysteria was always your favorite album, as the dulcet tones of the rock ballad began to lull you into a half sleep state. But the continuous bombardment of contractions had begun to grow concerning. They weren’t slowing down, nor consistent in their spaces between as they should be. Cautiously you sat up, counting out the seconds between the first and the next. One minute, two minute, three… and again. For a full minute your muscles spasmed and ached, almost drawing an audible gasp from your mouth. Again you counted. One minute, two, th- no! Now it came again at a two minute interval. In a haste you peeled the headphones from your ears, grasping your stomach as you leaned forward suddenly. Your legs buckled, every time you tried to stand the pain just dragged you back down. “Fuck.. oh go- Paul!”

The blonde vampire was so lost in his own world he was nearly jolted out of his seat by your panicked cries. “What, what’s up you- JESUS!”

Without missing a beat, Paul slipped on the floor beneath his feet, barely having the reflexes to catch himself before his face could meet the ground with a harsh smack. The floor was soaked! Seriously, who spilled water everywhere? “Damn man, what happened here? Why is it all-” again, his words were paused, almost as if they'd been caught in his throat whilst he looked over your doubled over form clutching your profound belly. “Oh- oh shit! Oh fuck no way! Shit, holy fuck shit are you-?? Is it?!”

“Yes! ” You cried out incredulously, cutting off his panicked questioning in a hasty fashion. A sudden cry escaped your lips whilst you gasped in desperation, your spine going erect as you flattened your palms out behind you to stabilize yourself. "Oh god!"

"Oh shit man, I better get Mark-" Paul began, face having dropped to terror.

"No! I swear to go- ow! Paul, if you even dare- I swear I will stake you myself! Ow!"

“What, are you crazy?!” He demanded, jutting his arms in your direction. “You swore you’d call him, dude! This is big, man, he’ll kill me if anything happens to you! Oh fuck but he’ll kill me if I leave you alone- Fuck!” Paul swiftly kicked over one of the tables, running his hands through his mess of hair. The thing looked more like a lions' mane in all honesty. “Bed! We gotta get you to your bed, like now!”

"And how are we gonna do that, asshole?"

Paul's face soured immediately at your insult and with a swift motion, he swung you up into his arms bridal style, paying little mind to your plethora of protests. “Shut up already. I’m not doing this for my fuckin’ health! But you gotta be in bed! I may be a dumbass but I at least know that much!” He muttered, carefully tightening his grip as you attempted to wiggle out from it. He rapidly stepped over tunnels and rocks whilst he swung his way into the cavernous nursery where your bed was nestled into a corner, his calloused fingers on one hand releasing your legs as he pushed the black curtains that draped heavily over the frame. And with that, he placed you gingerly down on the bed, staring at you with a perplexed expression with a hint of something else. Was- no, that couldn't be embarrassment.

"What're you staring at," you questioned, a nervous twinge to your voice. You rolled on your side to relieve some of the pulsating throbs that ran rampant through your muscles.”

"Uh- well- shit! I mean, we need to take off your pants, man. What if you start pushing and the baby suffocate or something?"

“I can’t even start pushing until I know how dilated I am,” your voice was quivering, clutching your stomach. “If I were to push too early it could kill us both.”

"Oh fuck! Where's Marko when you need him?!"

The dreaded predicament was growing increasingly deadly the more your body warned of its approaching birth, and soon you were left with a terrifying decision. Wiping away the thick layer of sweat misting your flushed cheeks, you managed to breathe out a hesitant response. “Paul.. You have to go get him.”

"I’m sorry, WHAT?!" Paul’s voice echoed in the caves at a high pitched octave. “No! No freaking way, I am not leaving you here, you’re having a fucking baby! What if something happens to you? Fuck Marko being haunted, there’s no way I would be able to live with myself!” Paul ranted on, throwing his arms in the air whilst he paced around the sides of your bed in an antsy motion.

Sobs made your chest spasm uncontrollably, rolling over again onto your back. No position provided relief anymore, the contractions following still at an even two minutes each. “It could be hours before I’m actually ready to give birth! We have to know h-how far I am a-and the only way to do that…”

“...Yes? What way, c’mon maybe I can do that!” Paul stopped dead in his tracks to face you, serene as he had ever been in his entire life.

“You’d have to stick your fingers in me,” you groaned with imminent embarrassment, receiving an equal look of humiliation and horror from Paul’s pale face. He looked down, then at the cave’s entrance. Guilt plagued him, this kind of decision had never been put in front of him before. He knew his options were slim, but he also knew where they hunted, if he could catch Marko’s scent outside he could easily find him. But again, he looked at you writhing in pure agony on top of your bed in tears. A knot tore at his own gut like someone was trying to rip them right out of him, his throat aching when he swallowed, a dryness had developed from nerves. “You sure you can handle it until I get back. You fucking swear you’ll be okay? Just for a few minutes.”

You could only nod in response as the pain was so debilitating it rendered you utterly speechless!

“Please, just go get him.” You managed to squeak out intensely. The expression of pain mixed with fear that captured your beautiful features truly did break his heart.

Paul sighed deeply in defeat, his fingers gently pushing your hair from your face. “Stay tough kiddo, I’ll be fast as fucking lightning.” You hadn’t even seen him leave, a huge gust of wind caused the bed to shudder, leaving you utterly and completely alone.

Kicking away your soggy jeans, you promptly pulled yourself to the top of the bed with your back pressed against the headboard. With every passing contraction you fought to breath evenly through it, fingers tightly clutching the sheets beneath you. “Fuck...god Paul hurry please!”

Paul flew as speedily as he could carry himself through the air, his nocturnal eyes aflame, rapidly scanning the ground for any sight of his buddies. The fresh scent of blood wafted through the cool night's air which coaxed him closer to the boardwalk, perhaps a mile or two north. The fucking sand dunes, of course! Sure enough, amongst a towering, crackling bonfire stacked high with the charred remains of surfboards that belonged to screaming Santa Carlites currently being devoured, there he spotted the trio of vampires tearing and ripping into the flesh and bones of unfortunate victims. Their blood spraying in odd directions, splattering across their clothes and hair. "Marko!” Paul yelled far louder than he needed to, panic evident on his countenance whilst he clumsily crash landed into the wind whipped rouge sands below. The display caught the attention of his brothers immediately as they finished off their prey in a geyser of crimson fluids, leaving the ground stained.

Marko dropped the lifeless shriveled up human carcass he had been cradling savagely in his arms to the ground with little interest for it any longer. His previous frail lineament now long gone, replaced with a healthy complexion. Although Marko felt he was back to his full capacity, he couldn't help the immediate apprehension and terror that sparked within his chest as it panged in his gut nauseously. "Paul?! Dude what the fuck are you doing here, where’s Y/N?? What's wrong?" He asked, panic straining his voice.

"Dude! Fucking hurry up! I think Y/n's in labor, man!”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Marko demanded, grabbing Paul by his jacket. “You fucking left her?!”

“Marko, man, listen! One minute she was okay, the next she's screaming bloody murder and the fucking floors drenched!" Paul panted, doubled over as he'd flown here with all his might. "Before you ask, she's on her bed, okay? I took her there myself, even with her kicking and screaming. Dude I swear I didn’t just ditch! I swear, man I didn't wanna leave her but she said she needed someone to stick their fingers inside her or fucking whatever cuz if she pushes the baby will die, I dunno man but I'm not itching to do that ever!"

Marko said nothing, primal instincts kicking in full throttle as he sailed through the air and headed straight for the cave. His mind wandered to perilous details in furious cluttered thought, things that already created all the more apprehension to to twist in his gut, turning them round and round. His thoughts immediately went to the fact that you were alone in the hotel, in the purest of all agonies, having to go at this on your lonesome. The closer he sailed over the coastline the more he could hear. Your voice was just in the distance carried on the winds in gut wrenching cries that tore him apart. His next thoughts dwindled on your safety as well as the babies. He was very aware that there was no doctor involved in the mix, which meant no hospital and certainly no pain killers. He was terrified as his mind blasted through the worst of the worst. Didn't women used to die of childbirth back in the day? Was there a possibility that you could die?

Marko hadn't even noticed that the others boys had been hot on his heels, prepared to offer aid wherever they could.

"Marko, man! Slow down!" David called, struggling to keep up with the pace in which his pal was flying. The little bugger had gotten a head start, fueled by his pessimistic contemplation. But Marko didn't halt or slow down for that matter. There was no time for any of that! He had to get to the hotel and into your room as swiftly as possible, he wouldn’t dare slow down! What the hell was David even talking about anyway? Slow down?! Slowing down would do nothing but increase the chances of something else going wrong. He knew that the moment you'd spoken the words of, "what could go wrong in a couple of hours", that you had completely and utterly jinxed the entire night!

His body dove and swerved through the hotel passing caves and holes, nearly crashing as he sped to a desperate stop inside the nursery. Your screams were crystal clear, as though they were right there, yet the sound rattled his ribs until he thought he would pass out. Still hidden away behind pitch black curtains, he could almost see your pitiful form writhing in limitlessly excruciating anguish. Rapidly his steps carried him to your bedside where you were still smothered in fresh blood, wrenching away the curtains. The sight was a visage of carnage torn straight from hell itself! Yet you only saw your dearest prince, and it was truly a sight for sore eyes left distorted by cruel tears. His coarse hand clutched yours immediately, providing the first rare moment of sanctity you had felt. The sudden motion and contact from him startled you tremendously, causing you to shriek when another contraction sent you into a panic. "Hey, it's me, baby girl. It's just me." He cooed comforting down at you, his free hand smoothing your damp hair from your sweat slick face. He probably looked like hell, still covered head to toe in his latest victims blood. That probably wasn't the most hygienic state for him to be in during the birthing of his child. But he had to work with what he had. There wasn't exactly running fresh water in the hotel anyway. It was almost unbearable for him to watch you, the color drained from your cheeks, grasping his hand until he swore he heard bones begin to crack.

“Marko.. I-I can’t push yet.. I d-don’t know how far I am,” You choked out, pressing the back of your head into the mattress when pulsating rivers of agony wove through you in cruel waves. The pain was now a disarray of spontaneous choreography, a violent tempo swelling and spreading throughout your entire body, leaving your brain foggy and black spots waltzing at the corners of your vision.

Before Marko was able to utter a word, the three boys bounded into the room, breathless and covered in a film of dampness, no doubt most likely from the crashing waves of the sea that battered along the cliffs' edge. The intrusion was noisy and agitating, leading to Marko's eyes becoming beacons of flourishing orange and his head whipped towards the guys. "Will you guys get lost? I'm not about to have you guys stand there like the Triplets of Fucking Bullshit while I try to figure out how dilated Y/n is!" he practically roared, the cave was shuddering for a moment as specs of dust flitted sporadically to the ground.

“Marko, baby, please calm down," you begged him, placing a hand on his forearm. The sight of him still smeared in blood was one thing, but such rage even at his brothers almost frightened you, his head practically whipping around to face you with fangs bared and piercing white hot eyes tearing into your own. It felt like he had stared straight through into your soul which was certainly not what you needed currently. The petrified expression left plastered across your palored cheeks made Marko feel incredibly remorseful, running his fingers through his hair. He was running on little sleep and barely had enough to satiate his lingering appetite, leaving him still quite exhausted.

"It's fine. We'll clear out. C'mon boys." David stated, Dwayne having already left. He stared pointedly at Paul though, who was staring at you in fright. He felt as though he should be there, however, with David staring at him so intently, he glanced over your way. You could only give him a weakened smile, your gaze assuring him you were safe now. Paul hung his head low and squeezed past the spiked blonde boy briskly. And David followed suit, not sparing another glance your way. It seemed cold but truthfully, David wasn't entirely sure what to make of the situation. Heightened emotions made him uncomfortable. David was better away from this specific spotlight, and currently his friend was in a frenzy he wasn’t willing to have escalated in such a delicate moment. He'd deal with the aftermath once the storm had passed. Marko could deal with the storm singlehandedly if that's what he so desperately desired. I mean, David hadn't knocked you up, so why get his feathers ruffled when he wasn't wanted there anyway?

“You… owe th-them an... a-apology,” you managed to pant out, wearily smacking his arm when a moment of relief between contractions allowed your voice to return.

Marko huffed, shimmying off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair as he climbed on top of the bed with you, shutting the curtains. “I’ll make it up to them later babe, now’s not the fucking time.” Marko grumbled indignantly, his vampiric features morphing back to his human ones.

It was incredibly important for Marko to ensure that you were dilated 10 centimeters. This was not just for the babies sake but also for your own. If you pushed too soon it could prove fatal for you and your child. There was an instinct in you that told you to push, though Marko insisted adamantly that you hold off on pushing for the meantime. Stress riddled Marko to the core as he knelt down in front of you on the bed, his fingers comfortingly stroking your inner thighs prior to pulling back and nearing your entrance. To begin with he slipped in a finger, pushing softly as the books had told him until he reached the surface of the cervix which if he hadn't been reading the books that Dwayne had given him, he would have thought it didn't exist. Instead, he was met with a rubbery balloon-like texture which he knew was the bag of waters that held your baby. He slowly retracted his finger and added a few more, until he was certain that you were way past the 5cm mark. "Ow! B-babe! Tbh-that hurts!" You complained loudly, back arching off the mattress as you flinched, brows knitted together in contorted pain.

"Really?" Marko snapped, eyes meeting yours whilst his fingers froze within you. "You've had much worse in there and a few fingers hurt? Sheesh!" He stated slowly, his expression flattening momentarily. And suddenly, as if by magic, the tension that had been suffocating the pair of you lifted somewhat, causing the pair of you to chortle for a moment before you winced, a grimace clouding your expression.

"Shut up you complete asshole, h-how about I sh-shove a watermelon up you butt, s-s-see how you like it,” you breathlessly laugh, leaning your head back against your pillow. “So, c-can I p-push now, or not?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain that you're 10 centimeters now, babe."

Some form of twisted relief washed over your soul in that moment as you let the instinct to push was over you. There was a slow, long drag pulling through your back. It was like a tiger had dug it’s hooked claws into you and was pulling them down through your flesh. The endeavor was tiring, grueling in fact, leaving you dizzy and exhausted. But yet there was a set determination that took over you whilst you pushed desperately. Your toes tightly curled in place, grunts and panting replaced by blood curdling screams that sent chills down any who heard it. Tears made it impossible to see, the salty concoction of tears and sweat staining your face. Everything burned, you were fearful you may pass out. Though as soon as you pushed you found yourself holding your breath, to which Marko had to coach you through how to breathe. A deep breathe in and another deep breathe out. In through the nose out through the mouth. Well, more like, in through the mouth and back out again. He also had to remind you when to rest,especially when he took note of exhaustion blanketing across you.

“Marko- I can’t! No, no! Fuck I can’t it hurts so fucking bad,” you cried out until your throat was raw, having to be snatched by him before you launched up, pinned precisely in place by his steel grip. “No, god, I can’t do this! Please, I-I can’t I can’t it h-hurts!”

"Come on, baby girl you can’t stop now! You have to hold still, it’s gonna be okay, you've got this." Marko encouraged ceaselessly, offering his pale hand to you to hold. Using his other he cemented you in place, knowing one wrong move could kill the baby. Your strength caught him by surprise when you snatched his hand tightly, grateful he couldn’t feel the crushing grasp of your fingers as his dead bones began to crack. Fortunately for him, years of rigor mortis and rot had decayed most of his nervous system by now. He held your head back on his chest, continuing to coax you with tender words. “Almost there baby, almost I know it hurts, I know, I’m so sorry baby." He whispered softly into your ear, his cool breath fanning across your hot flushed skin. You swallowed thickly, almost as though you were in a trance as you continued your strained pushes. A pinkish liquid spilled out and onto the sheets in a cruel, seeping motion. Marko noted it’s scent carried a heavy copper tone and glanced down as the pale salmon tint deepened into a dark crimson hue. Your screams had nearly numbed his ears by now, although it was not a sound he desired to grow accustomed to.

Marko softly unwound his arms around you, though he kept his left hand in your ironclad grip. He needed to ensure that blood was the baby’s head crowning and not some horrendous miscarriage. He wouldn’t dare mention the alternative to his mate mid-birth, pushing away the blankets covering your legs and to his amazement there was your baby's head crowning momentarily before slipping back inside. From what he'd read, this was a completely normal process, your pushing, in conjunction with your contractions would continue to shift the baby down the birthing canal and out of you. Your heels dug into the mattress with your back arching upward as your mouth was aghast in treacherous suffering, a hideous cry drawing tears from your eyes. The room began to sway, the pace of your heart was that of wild horses unleashed on an open plain. Heat grasped you from every angle, it was getting harder to breathe the more you fought through it. Fear grabbed hold of your lungs, squeezing violently, picking up your heart rate until Marko could hear it thundering beneath your rib cage like a frightened animal wanting to be let loose of its cage. Your rapid labored breaths carried a concerning pace that had him beside you once again.

“Marko.. T-the room..,” you tried to whimper out between screams, head swaying to the side staring at the pitch black curtains that somehow seemed to be seeping into your surroundings. You could feel the drag pulling down your back into your birth canal, you were so close but the sheer exhaustion tempted you to faint at any moment. “I..I can’t..” you gasped out under your breath so quiet he almost thought he'd imagined the words.

"Just one more push, babe," Marko pleaded, brushing his hand over your damp forehead. In a sweet, yet ardent motion your hair was pushed back from your face. You clung to his hand, pressing your forehead against his frigid palm savoring the relieving rush of cold. The sight of his wide eyes connecting with yours forced a momentary breath of air, those perfect blue pools gave you something to focus on. The blackness was scattered, a last scream forcing it's way out of your throat as you gave one final push, the dragging motion within you halting. Light faded in and out of your vision, rapid black splotches flickering around the room, the pain becoming dull and pulsating. You hardly even noticed the muffled, shrill cries emitting from your newborn, or the fact that Marko had already had her wrapped in a towel once he'd cut the umbilical cord. Your chest shuddered when you breathed, the small pink infant squirming beneath white fabric making whimpering grunts. Small fingers stretched out, clutching at Marko’s shirt.

“Marko.. Wh-what are they,” you groaned our, flickering lashes barely keeping you conscious.

Marko hesitated to glance between misted eyes, choking out a stunned laugh. “A girl…”

The blood stained her red skin, and before he could wipe away the sticky red substance off her fingers she suckled at the red liquid, eyes bright white just as his were when his fangs were bared. She had yet to form her own, and when there was none left on her hand they had faded back into little grey, uncolored orbs. The lack of food had become noticable, and she let out a fussy whine, kicking her feet against the blanket in a fit. So that's what she needed to feed on. Marko gently bounced her in his arms, nuzzling his forehead against hers until her tantrum was subdued. “Shhh shhh, it’s okay baby girl.. Plenty of time for that later... Daddy will bring you a big ol bag of blood when mommy feels better, I promise.”

You blinked away tears as she was delicately passed into your arms, weighing no more than eight or nine pounds just as weary as you were. “Wilhelmina...,” you choked out, brushing your fingers across her plump cheek.

“Billie huh?” Marko asked, laying on his side beside you with his bent arm elevating his head, his fingers reached out to brush against the blonde dusting of hair on the head of his daughter, a grin plastered on his face, an exhausted twinkle dancing in his eyes. "I like that... Wilhelmina it is.."

He now felt like finally, in these eight months of your pregnancy, that he could catch some shut eye. Time had become distorted, he had no idea whether it was daytime or night time any more, the two may as well have been blurred together. In your safe haven of thick black flowing curtains, Marko placed Billie delicately into your heavy arms, slumber already having wrapped you tightly in its deep and vast embrace. He curled his fingers around the dark fabric, pulling it skeptically out of the way. The room was swallowed in darkness, however, his nocturnal eyes easily scoped out the shut door at the other end of the room. He thought for a minute, capturing his bottom lip in between his teeth. He chewed on it for a moment before pulling himself up and off the bed. Truthfully now that his territorial rage had fizzled out he knew he owed the guys for how much of an ass he'd been when confronted with your unexpected labor.

With tentative steps, so as not to disturb you, Marko flitted towards the shut door, no light seeping underneath the crack of the door. He twisted the knob carefully, a low squeak creeping into the air as he opened the door. He stepped out into the passageway leading to the main cave and began a somewhat hurried stroll. Honestly he was ecstatic to tell the boys. To show them his daughter was something he was practically bouncing on the spot for he couldn't wait!

Marko, briefly unaware with his contemplation cluttering his mind, did not fully register the danger as he stepped forward into a stream of sunlight just up ahead cutting clearly through the decrepit roof of the hotel. It wasn't until the searing sizzle of his flesh did he register that he was caught aflame from the sun's rays. With a shriek he recoiled, battering at exposed flesh to kill the flames. He smoldered for a moment, back pressed to the wall as he peered into the vacant lobby of the ancient hotel. He sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Dammit! Well... I guess they'll just have to meet Billie tonight then," he concluded with finality, not giving it much thought before he turned and made his way back to your room with heavy eyelids, finally content. As he padded softly into the room, shutting the door behind him, Marko couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. It was an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders now that he'd be able to go out to feed without fearing something could happen to you. That was more than enough to cure him of any and all anxiety that had previously immobilized him.

As he settled himself underneath the covers, he brought you closer, baby Billie placed tenderly between you both and he grinned half halfheartedly, a dopey, wide grin that pulled on his heavy eyelids. "I'm kinda glad you jinxed it, babe." he breathed into the air before he allowed the weight of sleep to shut his eyes and encapsulate him in its lulling motion.

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spine-buster · 5 years ago

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for all the love. Black Lives Matter. I stand with those who are actively dismantling racist attitudes, behaviours, and systems, and want to remind you that you are always welcome on my blog.

October 31st, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was dressing up.

Her hair, long and wavy and a bit frizzy on its own (thanks dad) was now teased, crimped, and made purposely frizzy. She outfitted herself in a blazer embroidered with poppies, leaves, and other floral insignia, a pair of 1970s style black pants, and a ridiculously ruffled shirt. She looked over at Kasha, whose own hair was curled and crimped then teased, a pair of skin tight light wash jeans, a plain tank top, and a Japanese cherry blossom-printed kimono-style cardigan left loose but tied around her waist.

They were Jimmy Page and Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin. And they were going to the Leafs’ Halloween party willingly dressed like this.

The purchase of the exact replica blazer embroidered with the poppies was probably one of the most ludicrous purchases Aberdeen had made in her life, but she now had a Halloween costume for life. It wasn’t exactly her parents’ proudest moment, but they made explicitly clear growing up that any money she made was her money and she was free to do with it whatever she wanted. Did that mean buy an exact replica Jimmy Page blazer? Probably not. But Aberdeen didn’t hear it that way. All she had to do for the rest of her life was find a friend or partner (or three friends or partners) to be the rest of the band. That proved harder than she thought.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing me to a party with the Toronto Maple Leafs,” Kasha said as she layered some mascara onto her lashes in front of the full-length mirror in her room.

“I can’t believe you agreed,” Aberdeen said, applying her own mascara as she sat on the floor in front of the same mirror.

“Hey, I only agreed for an hour,” Kasha reminded her. “Then Evan’s picking me up and we’re going to his friend’s house party.”

Aberdeen didn’t want to think about the fact that Kasha would have to leave her alone with the Leafs after only an hour. She should be thankful that Kasha was coming in the first place. “What does Evan think of your costume?”

Kasha chuckled slightly. “He dressed up as John Bonham. Fake moustache and everything.”

Aberdeen swooned. “That boy is in love with you,” she said. Kasha stayed silent. “But why doesn’t anybody ever want to be John Paul Jones?”

“Oh, one of his friends is being John Paul Jones.”

Aberdeen almost poked her eye out with her mascara wand. “Okay, can I come to your party instead? You guys obviously need a guitarist.”

“Um, no. It’s not every day that someone gets invited to a Leafs party,” Kasha said, a devilish look on her face. “Besides, I bet Will is looking forward to seeing you.”

Now Aberdeen rolled her eyes. “Stop.”

“No way. Do you know what he’s dressing up as?”

“No idea.”

“Maybe he’ll dress up as John Paul Jones. He’s definitely got the hair for it.”

Aberdeen laughed. “I don’t think he even knows who Led Zeppelin is.”

“I barely know who Led Zeppelin is,” Kasha quipped, making Aberdeen laugh. “The only reason I know is because of you and your dad.”

“And thank God for that.”

***

“Aberdeen! You made it!” Travis Dermott greeted her at the door dressed up in a unicorn onesie. He didn’t move to hug her but he gave her a very obvious up-down to take in her costume. “Are you supposed to be the seventies?” he asked.

“Jimmy Page,” she pointed at herself, then moved to point to Kasha, “and Robert Plant. From Led Zeppelin.”

“Well, rock on baby,” he smiled. “And this is…?”

“This is Kasha, my roommate. Kasha, this is Travis Dermott.”

He led them further inside the venue, The Burroughes, before introducing them to his girlfriend, Kat, dressed in a matching unicorn onesie. Zach Hyman came up to them as well, introducing his wife Alannah. They were dressed up as characters from Stranger Things, which Kasha got a kick out of. Morgan and Bee came to say hi too – Bee was dressed up like Bruce Springsteen, and Morgan as Courtney Cox from the ‘Dancing in the Dark’ music video. Aberdeen got a kick out of that.

“Where’s Jason?” she asked Morgan as he led them to the bar, looking around for him. He was the one who invited her to be here, after all. She thought he’d be running up to her to say hello.

“Jason’s trick-or-treating with his kids. Where else would he be?”

Her face dropped. That little bastard. He invited her to the Halloween party and then didn’t even bother to show up. She thought for sure he’d take delight in watching her squirm the whole night and interact awkwardly with the team. “Oh, that’s nice. He was the one who invited me.”

Morgan smiled. “He was the messenger,” he said, almost underneath his breath. She saw Bee try to discreetly elbow him.

“What does that mean?”

“What are you ladies having to drink?” Bee asked, changing the subject completely. “Everything’s on the house.”

Aberdeen ordered a gin and tonic while Kasha ordered a Tom Collins. A few more of the guys and their girlfriends came up to say hi, confused by their costumes until she explained them. Their costumes were much cuter, much more couple-y, like Alex Kerfoot and his girlfriend, who dressed up as Curious George and The Man in the Yellow Hat, or Mitch Marner and his girlfriend Steph, who dressed up as Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo. Even Nic Petan and Frederick Gauthier dressed up as Holmes and Watson. Bee soon started chatting up with Kasha, which left Aberdeen sipping on her drink and vulnerable to Auston Matthews seeing her approaching her.

“I must say, I think you’re the only person in the world who would get invited to the Leafs’ Halloween party and not dress up in something provocative,” Auston said, a drink already in his hand.

She knew Auston was Auston, but she still rolled her eyes. “I work with you people. We have to see each other tomorrow.”

“And you’re not trying to impress anybody?”

“No!” It was the most ridiculous notion in the world. Most of them were married or in long-term relationships. Plus, she was an employee. Did he not read the MLSE Employee Handbook? “In case you forgot I work for Brendan Shanahan. You know, the president?”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes playfully at her. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?”

“I’m Jimmy Page,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It should have been, since he was dressed up as Freddie Mercury. She assumed he would know his rock stars if he dressed up like Freddie Mercury.

“Who’s that?”

“Led Zep—you know what, never mind,” she shook her head, trying not to laugh. “Maybe I should have dressed up like Justin Bieber. Then you’d know.”

“Is there something going on between you and Willy?” he asked suddenly.

Aberdeen practically spit out her drink. Was he already drunk? “No,” she said firmly. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Auston shrugged his shoulders. “He’s always just kinda looking at you. And when Kappy hit you in the face with the soccer ball…he was so red afterwards from being so angry I thought he was gonna murder Kappy.”

Aberdeen got defensive. She couldn’t help it. “Well, there’s nothing going on. I don’t know why you would even think that.”

“I think he’s got the hots for you,” he tried to provoke her.

“Oh, shut it, Auston,” she said. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. I’m just trying to do my job here. What Willy does or does not feel is none of my business.”

As if on cue, William appeared behind Auston, dressed as Batman. So stereotypical. She wondered who was his Robin. For a brief second, she wondered if he brought a girl. “What’s none of your business?” he asked, throwing an arm around Auston but looking directly at her.

“What Kyle Dubas’s coffee order is,” Aberdeen thought on her feet, answering quickly. “He’s got Peter for that. Although I think he’s partial to a latte.”

She could see William giving her an up-down and briefly got self-conscious. “Are you a rock star or something?”

“Jimmy Page.”

“Who’s that?”

Aberdeen rolled her eyes as Auston laughed out loud, turning to walk away to find someone better to talk to. She felt a rush of blood flood her cheeks as William continued to look at her. Kasha was still talking with Bee, and she wished to God either one of them would pull her into their conversation. But they didn’t. So she was stuck with William. “Who’s your Robin?”

“Would have liked it to be you, but it’s Rasmus,” he said. It made her head spin. “Who’s your…I don’t know, partner?”

“Kasha, my roommate,” she pointed quickly to her. “She’s Robert Plant. The lead singer.”

“You got my texts that day, right?” he asked, changing the subject quickly like Auston had.

She gulped. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you text me back?”

“Did I have to?” she asked.

William shrugged his shoulders. “Would have been nice.”

“How’d you even get my number?” she asked.

He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked down at her drink. “Cucumber mule?”

“Gin and tonic.”

“Ah, that’s right,” he smiled. “You’re more of a gin girl, right minskatt?”

Her heart fluttered in her chest at those words. My treasure. My treasure. She’d told Kasha about it and Kasha almost teared up. “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call you that?”

“At least not here. Not in front of everybody.”

“So I can call you that when we’re alone?” he countered.

He was really dead set on making her heart fluttered out of her chest. “When are we ever alone?” she asked, looking around the room at the team that surrounded them.

“We can find time,” he said. “At least I will.”

“Aberdeeeeeeeeen!” she finally heard Kasha’s voice call out her name, tugging on the elbow of her blazer. “Aberdeen, you have to see how cute Bee’s cat Bruce is! Oh my God, he and Minerva can be best friends!” When Kasha noticed Aberdeen wasn’t moving, too busy staring at William still, she looked at him. He looked just as she remembered him from that night in June. Blonde hair, blue eyes. A total dreamboat. A total hottie. What she should have done is pat Aberdeen on the back for landing him. “Hi, I’m Kasha,” she extended her hand to shake his. “I’m Aberdeen’s roommate and best friend.”

“Nice to meet you Kasha,” he shook her hand, taking his eyes off Aberdeen momentarily. “So, roommates, huh?”

“Mhm,” Kasha looked at him knowingly.

“Here’s Bruce!” Bee intervened, bringing her phone up to Aberdeen’s face. “Kasha tells me you have a grey ragdoll? That is adorable.”

***

Kasha was too good a girl to break her promise to Evan, so over an hour into the party, she told Aberdeen he was here and she had to leave. They had spent the first half of their time talking to William, who wouldn’t leave Aberdeen’s side, and the second half talking to Bee, Aryne, and Alannah. But even when it was just the girls laughing and giggling, ordering drink after drink, whenever Aberdeen’s eyes left any of the women’s, she found William somewhere in the room staring at her.

As Kasha hugged Aberdeen goodbye, Kasha held her in place to whisper in her ear. “Okay, but listen. He’s so sweet. And he said he wants you, Aberdeen.” When she pulled away, her eyes flashed and she nodded slightly, signalling that William was probably coming back.

“Kasha, don’t leave.”

“Evan’s waiting.”

“Kasha, if he’s coming, please don’t leave.”

“Leaving so soon?” Aberdeen heard William’s voice asked as he saw the two girls hugging.

“My boyfriend is here to pick me up. I’m going to another party,” she informed him.

“Boyfriend? Auston’s gonna be heartbroken,” he smiled as he hugged her goodbye.

“Tell Auston there’s no way he’s getting near her,” Aberdeen said immediately, skeeving at the thought of Auston hooking up with Kasha. Kasha would never, but still. There was only one fuck up that was going to hook up with a Maple Leaf, and that was Aberdeen.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you sometime soon,” William said to Kasha as they let go of their hug. Kasha raised her eyebrows at Aberdeen when she heard William’s words before turning on her heels and walking through the door.

When Aberdeen turned around, she saw Kasperi and his girlfriend Saylor, dressed as what looked like the twins from The Shining, approaching her and William. For a guy who apparently wanted alone time with her, tonight or otherwise, it looked like William wasn’t going to get it. “You must be Aberdeen,” Saylor said, smiling at her. “I’m Saylor.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Aberdeen shook her hand politely, but smiled awkwardly.

Saylor grabbed her hand, leading her towards the bar. “We have so much to talk about.”

“We do?”

“Did you know my boyfriend and Will used to be roommates? Oh my God, it was a disaster.”

Saylor liked to talk. Aberdeen didn’t know whether to chalk it up to the fact that she was a bit drunk or that she just had a lot of information and gossip to tell, but she did about 95% of the talking throughout their “conversation”. Aberdeen would nod her head and laugh along at the stories Saylor would tell, but at the end of the day, they were just stories Kasperi told her of when he and Will lived together when they were like, nineteen. She wasn’t around then, and so these were just second-hand accounts.

It was 12:30 in the morning before Saylor stopped talking, and Aberdeen was finally able to realize she was tired and wanted to go home. Everybody was quick to take the group picture, and when they finished, she began saying goodbye to everybody. John and Aryne first, then Morgan and Bee, and then she saw that William was watching her give goodbye hugs and waves.

He made a beeline towards her, like if he didn’t get to her quick enough, she would disappear into thin air. “Are you leaving?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m exhausted. Listening to Saylor took a lot out of me.”

“Can I walk you home?” William asked, his tone hinting on the side of desperate.

“Unnecessary.”

“Why not?”

“It’s only a twenty minute walk away,” Aberdeen explained.

“Are you joking? All the more reason,” he defied her.

“Will.”

“It’s late at night, it’s dark, and there are drunk people everywhere from Halloween parties—”

“—William—”

“—Who knows if one of them will scare you or throw up on you or God knows what on the way home…I wouldn’t feel right knowing you’re out there walking alone and—”

“If I say yes will you shut up?”

William smiled. Aberdeen rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.”

They left the The Burroughes rather inconspicuously, beginning their walk along Queen Street. If it was any other night, of course, they would have looked ridiculous – Robert Plant and Batman walking along the street together – but tonight nobody even gave them a second look. William kept looking over at her, though. The only pair of eyes on her.

“So, you and Kasperi used to live together?” she asked, trying not to feel awkward with his eyes on her as they walked down the street.

“Yeah,” William nodded his head. “He’s actually one of my best friends because of it.”

“Does he know?”

“No,” he answered automatically, shaking his head. “The only person that knows is my brother. I told you I wouldn’t tell anybody on the team. I don’t break my promises.” He was so soft spoken that Aberdeen felt bad for insinuating she wanted him to shut up not even five minutes ago. “Do any of your friends know?”

“Well, Kasha knows. She is my roommate,” she said, suddenly nervous. “And I told my sister Siena.”

“Are you guys close?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded. “Kasha’s one of my best friends but Siena is my sister and my best friend. She’s the person I’m closest with in the whole world,” Aberdeen explained. “I know I can tell her anything. And I mean anything.”

“Sounds like me and my brother,” William smiled slightly. “He’s the person I trust most in the world.”

“Yeah. That’s Siena for me too.”

There was a moment of silence between them before William spoke up again. “I mean what I say, you know. I’m not going to tell a soul.”

“I believe you, Will,” she said, well, because she did. When she really thought about it, he gave her no reason to think otherwise. If he wanted to be vindictive, he would have told the entire team already, maybe even spoke to Brendan about it. But he didn’t.

“Why do you call me Will?” he asked.

“That’s how you introduced yourself to me,” she said.

“But you hear everyone else calls me Willy.”

“So? You introduced yourself to me as Will.”

He smiled at her again. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

She blushed again. She wished they had taken the streetcar because she didn’t want keep blushing in front of him because of his cute, stupid, adorable, dumb one-liners that made her swoon and his cute, stupid, adorable, dumb smile that made her swoon even harder. “So your brother. What does he do?” she asked.

“He plays hockey too.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he giggled. He thought she would have googled him by now. “He plays for Chicago.”

“That’s pretty cool. And then? I remember Kasperi mentioning in Newfoundland there’s three others or something?”

“There’s three girls after us,” he explained, loving that she remembered that from all the way back in September. “And my older half-sister before me. So it’s Michelle, me, Alex, Jacqueline, Stephanie, and Daniella.”

“Oh my God, there’s six of you?” she asked. William nodded. “God bless your parents,” she said, causing him to giggle again.

There was another moment of silence. Aberdeen didn’t know if it was her or William that had slowed down the walking pace, but she noticed. She wasn’t going as fast as she usually did. God, it was probably him. He clearly wanted to spend time with her. He left his entire team to walk her home (in a Batman costume) and now he wanted to elongate the experience as much as possible, regardless of how ridiculous they looked. He wanted to spend time with her. He found time and got her alone, like he said he would.

“Has Ethan done anything else I should yell at him for?” William suddenly asked, taking Aberdeen away from her thoughts.

“No no, don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking her head. He’d made some comments here and there, but again, she wasn’t going to let William know about it. The most annoying was that he kept referring to her as Girl Friday instead of her name.

“I told Mike about it, thinking that he’d say something to Brendan,” he explained. “He decided not to. But I can go to him if you want.”

“It’s fine Will, don’t worry,” she continued to shake her head. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was cause a ruckus with an established member of staff. “I know I’m like, the rookie around the office, and he’s just trying to test me. I get it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Will said strongly. “He still shouldn’t be doing that. Rookie or not.”

Aberdeen bit her lip. Clearly Will had a protective side that she hadn’t seen yet, and was only getting a small glimpse of now. “Did you get hazed when you joined the team?” she asked.

“If you count paying for an entire team’s meals and bar tab, then yeah. But that’s the extent of it nowadays. Harmless stuff,” he said. “Anything worse is just bullshit. Plus the media would pick up on it and it would become a shitshow.”

“Brendan tells me the media in Toronto is ridiculous,” she said.

“They are.”

He didn’t say anything else. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe something had happened to him in the past and that’s why he didn’t like them. She didn’t really read about what they said about the team – she left that to Brendan. When she got home from work, she didn’t really want to think about work. She never googled articles about the team or anything like that. She wanted to keep that portion of her life separate from the one she lived outside of work.

She changed the subject, bringing it back to hockey and playing with Alex as they continued their walk home. He was much more upbeat talking about his close relationships with his siblings, particularly Alex. The endearing smile on his face couldn’t be missed – he clearly loved his family. When she spoke about Siena and Camden, there was a similar endearing smile on her face, too – one that William wished would never fade. He heard about the shenanigans she and Siena would get into as young kids, and she even recounted the day she went to the hospital to see Camden for the first time. She and Siena had to end up sharing a room so the baby could get his own.

Sometimes, their hands would brush against each other’s, and William would feel a jolt of electricity surging through his body.

They stopped outside her condo building. His smile was still on his face, as was hers. Their walk was nice. Their talk was really nice. Aberdeen held her breath. She didn’t expect to enjoy it so much. She looked him in the eye, and suddenly, her word vomit got the best of her. “You don’t regret that night, do you?” she asked before she even thought about what she was saying, or its implications.

“God no,” William said in less than a millisecond. The notion was absurd to him. “No. Never. Why would you even ask that, minskatt?”

She couldn’t think for a moment because he said that name. Again. “I don’t know…I just…”

He purposely reached forward slightly to brush his fingers against hers, like he was going to hold her hand. He could hear the breath hitch in her throat. “Don’t ever think that again,” he told her.

Aberdeen didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. All she could do was look into his eyes. She was doing that a lot lately, apparently.

Then he moved closer.

And closer.

And looked down at her lips.

And licked his.

And then he leaned forward.

“Will…” she whispered, moving back slightly. He looked her in the eye. “We can’t, Will.”

He bit his lip, sighing. “I’m sorry. I know. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“You just…I can’t help myself sometimes when I’m around you,” he confessed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

Aberdeen could only handle so much of William making her heart flutter in one night. She felt like she was going to develop heart palpitations if she stayed any longer. “I’m gonna go upstairs.”

“Aberdeen…” he said longingly.

“Goodnight,” she said, turning away from him.

“Aberdeeeeeeen…”

“Goodnight Willy,” she said as she looked at him over her shoulder, walking into her condo building.

William stood outside, watching until she disappeared down the hallway towards the elevators. He brought his fingers up to his lips, rubbing them gently as he chuckled to himself, turning on his heels as he walked down the street.

#william nylander #william nylander imagine #william nylander fic #william nylander fan fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs fan fic #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #the president wears prada series

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jackandthesoulmates · 5 years ago

Text

Innocence Lost

Author: jackandthesoulmates / tintentrinkerin

Title: Innocence Lost

Created for @winklinebingo

Squares filled: Teen Rebellion, Dating Apps, Virginity

Pairing: Winkline [SamJack], [dysfunctional] Destiel mention

Warnings: Attempted Non-Con

Additional tags: Identity Crisis, Sexuality Crisis, Roofies Mention, Canon Divergency, Original Characters, pan/demi Sam Winchester, Swearing

Word count: 15,691

COMPLETED [READ ON AO3]

Inspired by “Gods and Monsters” (Lana Del Rey)

I Was An Angel

She’s a pretty girl. She really is.

Long curly, glossy hair and she always smells like flowers. Or cherries. Sometimes bubblegum. Jack is very sensitive to sweet smells and tastes and this girl is just a bouquet of the sugary and most flowery things. He likes smelling her and he likes her voice, it always sounds like she’s singing or telling a fairytale. She even has a princess name: Aurora.

Her eyes remind him of Castiel, intense blue with yellow speckles. Jack has read some love poems before, by Shakespeare and Wilde and Rilke and he thought of this girl when he read them. She is love poem perfect.

But, look. Thing is, yes she’s cute, she’s stunning, she’s like a spring breeze and a lot of boys would probably sacrifice a hand to be with her. And Jack is her boyfriend. For about two weeks now.

Jack has no idea how to do this whole relationship thing. He met her when he was about to go buy some bread and pie. He had gone out with his pajama shorts still on and he didn’t even notice. Aurora was behind him in line and when they both were done buying their groceries, she stopped him and whispered in his ear, “You’re still wearing your pajamas!”

The whole which-clothes-when issue was still new to him, that’s why he messed up. And he apologized to her, but she only laughed. And her laughter made him feel better. She made him feel better all around.

Jack didn’t know much of the world. Of course, he already knew a lot. He knew about hunting and friendships, about family and good and evil. He had experienced a lot already.

In theory, he knew about love. He asked Dean about love and sex. The answers haven’t been all too satisfying and there was no intrinsic feeling, no urge for Jack to go out there and find love. Or sex. He’s found Aurora now, that sweet girl, that perfect girl. She liked him a lot, he knew it. Two weeks are enough to fall in love, it seems.

Jack isn’t in love. He knows it. Love feels different. Dean and Castiel both have described for him what love feels like. Their wording has been totally different but it was clear they mean the same thing. And they love each other, despite their differing descriptions.

Why is he with her then?, he asks himself a lot. Because she is nice? She is pretty? She makes him smile? She laughs with him, not at him.

To her, Jack is just a quirky shy boy. He’s not the Spawn of Satan, or a Nephilim, or a Time Bomb. He’s not a tool. Not a weapon. Not an abomination.

He’s just that kid living with these three middle aged weirdos who live in a bunker outside of Lebanon. She never judges.

What is love then?

Jack has an answer to that. He feels butterflies in his stomach, but it took him a while to understand it was a figure of speech. There were no actual butterflies in his stomach. But it was a tingling, a pull, heart pounding in his chest. Sweating. Shaking. Becoming super dumb all of a sudden, because Jack would confuse words, form abstruse sentences and just completely messes it up. He feels all that. He has dreams about this person and his underwear is wet the next morning. He had googled it and it seems to be a normal thing to happen to boys. But he feels embarrassed every time and hates it when someone else does the laundry. He doesn’t want other people to touch his dirty laundry. He also daydreams about kisses, and hugs, and heavy breathing, of noises that sound like Jack’s in pain, but he clearly isn’t.

Sometimes he would stare at the wall for solid minutes before he snaps out of daydreaming or someone catches his attention. Either by door slamming, “Kid, you there?” or - what Dean likes to do - throwing chocolate bars at him. Jack has angel reflexes, nothing ever hits him. Dean knows it.

Jack also has been exposed to “adult magazines” already. Dean seems to hide his magazines all over the bunker and it was just a matter of time til Jack found one and took a close, very close look. He was confused about the nudity first, he was told nudity is for showers, bedrooms and birth apparently. He’s been born naked and Sam told him, babies were born naked. And people got naked when they ‘made love’ but that was something Sam didn’t talk about. Jack had asked, but Sam denied telling him how one ‘makes’ love.

The nudity wasn’t the only thing Jack was astounded about. What these people did looked very, very peculiar. And Jack put the magazine back, when his body from belly button down felt tingly, hot and somehow itchy. Even his ‘down there’ started growing. It got hard. It confused him for a while but when his crotch grew soft, he felt relieved and never looked at something like this again.

Later he found out there was a way to make it go soft ‘down there’ again. He just needs to touch himself and what happens then is bombastic. And messy.

This feeling, love. Was he ‘making’ it? But according to Sam two people were needed to make love together. Feeling it all by his own couldn’t be the same then. Jack was confused.

To add to his confusion, when he was at a case with Dean, Dean had talked about courting and ‘the sex’ and Dean has made fun of him when he came home two weeks ago and announced he had a girlfried.

“Which base? First? Second?”

Sam gave Dean a scowl and a slight punch against the chest.

“Don’t listen to him, Jack. We’re happy for you.”

When he was in his room at night, he barely slept. As a half angel he didn’t need as much sleep as a human. And he knew that Castiel never sleeps. Sometimes they met in the library to talk and play chess or Go. On some other nights when Castiel wasn’t in the bunker or with Dean, Jack would just read whatever came in handy. They had a large library, but Jack was a fast reader and soon he had to download books to his eReader that Sam gave him for his first birthday. But also, this tiny piece of electronics didn’t have enough capacity to download all the books Jack would read in a week, that’s why he asked Sam for a new microSD card for his smartphone. Sam didn’t say no to Jack very often. Jack read Victor Hugo and Jean-Paul Sartre, also Marcel Proust and he had a great time reading Finnegans Wake and Ulysses. He wished James Joyce was still alive, because Jack wanted to tell him what a great and funny piece of literature he had written.

He asked Sam to summon James Joyce.

Sam thought he was messing with him, then said ‘no’.

Jack doesn’t like it when people tell him ‘no’ and that makes it even harder now for him to say no to Aurora.

It’s their second week and she’s so in love with him. Well, that's what she tells Jack. And he likes her pink lips, they look like flower petals and he wonders how they feel.

Exactly what Aurora wants him to do, outside the waffle’s place. She wants to kiss him and she looks pretty, her closed eyes, a tiny raindrop caught in her long eyelashes and she smells of vanilla and there’s still powdered sugar on her chin.

Jack backs away. Her pouty lips look nice and he wants to feel them. With his finger.

When she realizes Jack isn’t leaning in to kiss her, she opens her eyes. She looks hurt.

“Did I do something wrong?”, she asks.

Jack feels incredibly bad about the situation and he doesn’t even know what to say. He can't explain why shies away from a kiss.

He hasn’t been kissed ever before. And he thinks of someone else when he closes his eyes at night, hand under the cover, rubbing himself through the fabric of his pajamas.

“I’m sorry, I…I have never kissed someone before, I’m…I’m nervous.”

That isn't a lie, he tells himself. It’s not a lie. Lying is bad.

“Oh”, she mouths. A perfect O shape with her lips.

“Are you mad at me, Aurora?”, he asks, feeling very bad and guilty.

Jack hates disappointing people and he avoids it at every cost. Usually. But he can’t kiss her, it wouldn’t feel good. He knows, deep down it won’t feel good at all. It won’t be catastrophic, but kissing someone he doesn't like that way is wrong. Sam told him he shouldn’t be physical with people he doesn’t know well. Sam told him he should be physical with someone he really really likes and that more than just as a friend.

Aurora feels like someone more than a friend, but there’s no nocturnal pining for her. That’s for someone else. That’s why he has to go home now, before he makes it even worse with Aurora.

“No, Jack, it’s okay, I didn’t know…I thought…I mean you said you’re 21, I kinda just thought you already have…you know, kissed someone. Or even more.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Even more?”

Aurora hides in her pastel pink scarf.

“Yes, sex, you know?”

With a sigh, Jack looks away and he can feel his face start burning. He has no idea how to have sex, he doesn’t even know exactly what it should be. It was a part of relationships, like Dean and Castiel’s but…all Jack can think about in regards of ‘making love’ and kissing and sex was…Sam.

“I’m not experienced”, he replies, slightly trembling. “I never did it.”

Later in the bunker, Jack is sleepless. He would like to sleep this time, because he feels exhausted and hurt. There’s something Aurora said. She said, if he kept people at distance he would never experience love and sex. Even a kiss was a problem already. This view on things was very weird to him. He doesn’t have a problem with kissing or finding out what love is. He just doesn’t want to kiss her. It feels wrong.

She didn’t text him since they departed on unknown terms.

And another thing creeps in his mind. Maybe the problem is that he doesn’t just not like Aurora, maybe he doesn’t like girls at all? And Sam is a man. Maybe he likes men, like Dean does? Dean often talked about women, he seems to like both. Men and women. And Castiel doesn’t even raise a brow when Dean talks about ‘casual sexual encounters’ how Castiel calls them. It’s still unknown territory for Jack.

There are people who like girls, there are people who like men and people who like both…and what if their body doesn’t matter at all?

Jack doesn’t know where the difference should be, except that a man looks different from a woman.

The whole sex thing is driving him up the walls.

He gets up, puts his slippers on and goes to the library. Dean is there, a bottle of whisky in front of him. He doesn’t look deadly drunk, but drunk enough. Sometimes Jack is afraid of Dean when he had too much of this stuff. He can be very mean, aggressive and violent.

Jack braces himself and joins him at the table. Dean looks up. His green eyes are glassy and his face is red.

“Can’t sleep, kiddo?”, he asks, wrapping his gown tighter.

Jack nods.

“No. I was naughty. And now I’m upset.”

Dean’s head jerks up, now Jack has his full attention. The smirk gives it away, Dean will make fun of him for sure.

“Naughty? As in, you finally did sweet lovin’ to her or?”

Jack shakes his eyes, frowning.

“Now, she wanted to kiss me but I didn’t want to.”

He sighs, sinks back in the chair, looking at the ceiling. There’s silence, Dean just chugs down the rest of the whisky, but he has another already on hand and opens it.

“Need a sip?”

His first instinct is to say ‘no’, but then he agrees and takes a drink directly from the bottle. Whiskey tastes like paste. He hates alcohol and it doesn’t make him drunk. He could drink ten of these bottles and still wouldn't feel a little thing. He knew that Cas also could drink immense amounts and he never feels even dizzy.

“How do I know if I’m gay?”, he asks and avoids eye contact.

Dean bursts out in laughter. It takes a while for him to calm down again. Jack feels very embarrassed.

“I shouldn’t have asked”, he murmurs and attempts to get up again but Dean stops him.

“Ey sorry. I’ll give you some advice okay? You will know when a man or a woman drives you crazy. Just, I don’t know. Try it. Get Grindr or whatever, chat with some guys, meet up. And try it.”

Dean’s eyes are really teary now. That was maybe a little too much.

“Are you okay, Dean?”

“Ya, ‘m fine. No worries.”

Dean is not okay, but Jack has learned his lesson. Dean will always say it’s okay, there’s no problem, I’m fine.

Sam is a lot different from him. He’s strong and calm, his hands are so big and his broad shoulders would be perfect to lean on.

Dean is different. Never at peace, restless. Always on the run from whatever is going on in his head.

“Is Sam…is Sam gay?”

Jack is shocked by his own words. Dean freezes. And then slowly, very slowly turns to Jack. There’s nothing friendly in his face, it’s a grimace.

“No, he’s not, Jack. Never was. Never will be.”

His heart feels like it’s sinking down to Jack’s groin. It hurts. He gets up.

“I should go to bed. Good night.”

“Sleep tight.”

Tonight Jack cries, hugging his moose plush toy.

“Grindr or whatever.”

“Chat with some guys, meet up. And try it.”

Dean’s statements from that night stick with the poor innocent boy. He rolls these thoughts in his head and they roll from one corner to the other, like marbles. He also dips his tongue in them, tastes them. Makes them slide from his teeth down to his throat. But he never swallows them.

Sam is not gay.

“Never was. Never will be.”

Sam doesn't like men. He doesn’t like boys. And Jack is a boy. Does that mean he has to give up on what he feels? But, what if Jack isn't gay himself? He has no experience. Not with girls, not with boys. He only knows it feels wrong to kiss Aurora. She is one girl of billions. And Sam is just one man of billions.

Maybe, even when Sam is not interested in men, Jack is an exception. He is half angel!

Grindr. Or whatever.

What is Grindr?

Jack didn’t eat this morning, because he heard Sam and Castiel fighting over something Jack didn’t want to be part of. It was enough to see Dean drink so much, but he wouldn’t participate in any of the tensions that his behaviour caused lately. Dean had told him, he would kill him. Well, maybe he won’t do that anymore now since Jack helped to save the world more than once. He said Jack isn’t family. Maybe he still thinks so. It hurts Jack, because he loves his three father figures and he looks up to Dean. He’s a strong hunter, a leader. He’s the muscle of this team. Sam is the brain. Castiel somehow is the heart. But what is Jack? Always willing to sacrifice himself to make Sam and Cas and Dean love him.

These thoughts are dark enough and going out there and witnessing another fight wasn’t Jack’s favourite start of the day.

He rather hid in his room after showering.

Dean has offered him some breadcrumbs like the ones Hansel and Gretel left to find their way back home from the forest. But he needs to go the other way. He doesn’t need to find his way out of the forest and away from the witch’s gingerbread house. Jack wants to find exactly that.

Wrapped in his towel he sits down on his bed, takes his smartphone and opens a search engine tab. Aurora has texted him but he doesn’t want to reply right now. He feels bad about how he let her down and didn’t kiss her.

He isn’t sure what he is supposed to search for, he just types grinder. Several online shops appear. Obviously it’s a name for a tool to crush herbs and marijuana. Did Dean mean that? He should grind some herbs and perform a ritual? Nah. Dean was drunk, he surely didn’t think that far.

Next step is to look it up in an online dictionary.

It says a lot of things about molars (pressing together with a rotating motion), grinding as a verb to pulverize material, and then something caught Jack’s eye.

to rotate the hips in an erotic manner

Now, that makes sense in a way, that makes Jack blush deeply. It’s a motion he sometimes imagines when he’s hot and aroused. When his body works up, his cheeks hot and his spine tingly. He imagines sitting on Sam’s lap, both kissing and sighing, and then Jack would...grind.

Jack has to put the phone away for a second. Thinking of this clouds his judgement.

After a minute of breathing in and out and trying to tone these thrilling images down Jack is ready to now search for: “Grinder gay men”

The search engine reports “No results for Grinder gay men found. Do you want to search for Grindr gay men instead?”

Jack is irritated about the missing “e”, that’s a typo, right? but he presses the tab ‘yes’.

What pops up now is an article from an online encyclopedia and describes Grindr as a mobile app for gay, bisexual and trans men to chat and meet other men of the same interests.

The second article is a link to his smartphone’s app store, which Jack opens.

Dean wanted him to find this app. To meet other men. Try it. Now it all makes sense! Jack is happy about this. Dean wouldn’t be so mean to him after all!

He downloads the app Grindr - Chats, Meeting and Dating for Gays. The app’s icon is black with an orange mask in the middle. Looks plain but also makes Jack curious.

To use the app Jack has to sign up. Since Castiel once has given him permission to sign up in a social network he just thinks it applies to this stuff too.

There’s a lot of text about privacy, which he just accepts to go further. He signs up with his e-mail address and password. He struggles with his birthday. He tells people he’s 21 years old, which makes his birthday for official purposes May 18th somewhere in the nineties. He has to do some funny verification procedures, the last one is verifying his phone number.

The app wants him to upload a picture of him, and because he doesn’t have any he just takes one. He doesn’t mind that he's naked except the tiny towel around his waist. The first step is easy. He’s Jack, 21 and looking for Chat, Dates, Meeting up and Friends. He wonders why there’s two options for meeting people. One sounds like it’s for impatient people and the other one is for people who are patient. Like Sam. Sam would be patient.

He’s now transferred to the next page. And he now sees a lot of other people using the app it seems. A lot of very muscly men are there. They all like to show their body, but Jack doesn’t really like this. Their nudity even makes him feel icky.

Some men have nicknames like “BigTrunkBear” or “LikeItRough” or “Creamlover”. Jack’s confusion is growing.

There’s also a lot of men having no photo at all, but how should Jack know how they look? Also the photos of legs irritate him.

The app notifies him he needs to complete his profile. There’s some multiple choice questions but also dropdown menus and input masks.

It’s easy for him to type a few sentences about himself.

Jack is as blunt as it could be.

“Hello, I’m Jack. I like nougat, my fathers and shadow show.”

Age and height are no problem, but he has to google what ethnicity is. His skin is pale, then he must be white.

Every question after that is confusing to him. He doesn’t know what “position” (Top, Bottom, Vers) he is, is he a “Bear” or a “Twink”? What is all that?

The confusion grows and Jack closes the app for a moment. He thinks about googling all of it. But then his phone chimes and there’s a text message in the app from a man with the nickname “OralPlesaurer”. Which is funny to Jack, because it’s a typo. And no one’s name in real life is OralPleasurer or Creamlover.

Cream is cool, yeah, whipped on pie. But Jack’s not a lover in the sense of the word. Weird people there.

Jack opens the message, it’s a simple “Hi”.

Jack sends a "Hi" back.

What happens then can only be described as…unexpected.

Shinin’ Like A Fiery Beacon

Sam has no suspicions what’s happening in Jack’s mind, but he notices he’s shy around him. Maybe even a little uneasy. The last months have been rough and Sam knows Jack has gone through a lot. Mostly he tried to gain Dean’s trust again, make him and Dean forgive him. But Sam was never mad at him. He couldn’t.

There is a lot in Jack that reminds Sam of himself and that makes it hard for him to look at the situation objectively.

Jack was destined to be a weapon for his father, Lucifer. And Lucifer was a special kind of topic for Sam and it has granted him a very twisted satisfaction that Jack helped to kill him off permanently. Three times. Jack’s struggle with his heritage was something Sam totally understands and yes, of course he also understands why Dean is angry and hurt.

But why does he treat Jack like that still?

Why is he so determined to stick to his anger and his grief? It doesn't even seem like he is trying to get over it, to forgive Jack.

There’s something else on Dean’s noggin’ and Sam knows it, even when Dean doesn’t talk about it. The empty whisky bottles, all the sex with nameless strangers and his risky behavior aren’t new to Sam or Cas.

But that Cas puts up with Dean’s bullshit is astounding. He wouldn’t let that happen. And Sam fights a lot. With Cas. About Dean. With Dean. About Dean. And Cas. And how he treats Jack.

Lately Sam noticed a feeling deep inside of him, flourished for Jack. A gentle, fragile feeling and he didn’t dare to touch this topic. Not even when he was in his room alone at night, rolling around in his bed. It’s a special kind of affection mixed with a frustrating amount of attraction. Sam hates himself for feeling like this. It’s just not right. Jack is nothing like his father, yes, but that's also not the problem. He’s barely 4 years old by now, he came into the world in the body of a young man but little knowledge and childlike naivety. How could Sam take advantage of that? Jack clearly wants to gain his friendship and maybe a platonic kind of love. It’s wrong of Sam to wish for more than that. And that’s why he keeps it hidden and rather tumbles into new fights about Dean’s alcoholism.

It’s his turn to do the cooking today while Cas and Dean are on an investigation and he’s alone with Jack. Sam notices once more that Jack hides in his room a lot, he won’t come out unless Sam calls him to lunch or dinner. Mostly he skips breakfast. So far there’s nothing weird about it, maybe Jack needs some privacy. Sam thinks of his youth with Dean and Dad on the road and how he hated to never be alone.

Taking ‘long showers’ was always suspicious and a lot of things he and Dean did were blurry to him now in his late thirties. When Sam fled to Stanford and finally had a room for himself, actual locks and actual keys for them, doors he could close...it was better than heaven. That’s when he finally could explore what it meant to be a teenager and deal with the rampaging hormones on his own. Also, he could finally be away from Dean’s hypersexual behavior. Maybe Dean thought it was cool to be like this in front of Sam, especially when they as brothers became a little too close and it was his way to dodge the bullet.

In the light of his own memories Sam knows what is happening.

And he’s sure Jack’s kind of blossoming at the moment.

With his super cute and lovely girlfriend, Aurora.

Sam hasn’t met her yet and he has no idea how to react. Of course, he’d be nice and polite and make her dinner and ask her all the nice and polite things for small talk and tell Jack how lucky he is but there’s something primal inside of Sam. Jealousy. He hates being jealous and he has no right to feel that way. One more reason to just let this blooming feeling die and not feed it with anything.

Not with his weird daydreams or the thoughts at night that keep him bothered and not the moments he’s alone in the shower, rubbing one out. Afterwards he’s just more frustrated, instead of feeling any relief.

Sam needs another cup of coffee, a strong one. Before Cas and Dean went out, there had been another argument. It was hurtful. Things were said and then taken back, Cas’ puppy eyes all over, Sam's yelling and Dean almost breaking shit. Like always. Maybe after this one they’d calm down, all of them. Dean and Cas were alone for a while, maybe doing some reconciliation. Sam would be happy for them if they could get over whatever was going on.

In the meantime Sam is just happy with cooking, doing laundry, generally cleaning the bunker and reading. It may sound boring for some people but for him it’s heaven. They’ve had too much going on for fifteen years, some peace is pretty nice and just what he needs right now.

Jack’s an active reader too and he reads the good stuff. Sam educates him about most things he’s comfortable with and he knows he should’ve given the kid ‘The Talk’ already, but Dean kinda started it and Sam is a bit of a chicken regarding this topic. Sex isn’t his favorite thing to talk about. And so far, there seems no reason to rush it, even though Aurora is there. Dean told him about a week ago that Jack has refused to kiss her and if there wasn't anything else going on Sam was unaware of, that was the sexiest thing Jack had achieved so far. A kiss from a girl.

Sam burns his tongue on his coffee because he chugged it too quickly. With a curse he bangs the mug on the table and that’s when Jack walks in. Lately he abandoned his adorable pajamas and wears some of Dean’s and Sam’s old shirts and flannels he grabbed out of the sacks for the clothing drive. That looks wrong in all the right ways, but Sam can’t really say anything about it without letting his guard down. And he won’t let his guard down. Never.

“Morning, Jack”, Sam utters, trying to cool his tongue with a sip of water. “I didn’t expect you to be up that early. Want some porridge?”

Jack looks up at him and there’s still a sleepy veil surrounding him. He seems to be just woken up. He is wearing one of Sam's old shirts, which is too big for him and the sight makes Sam gulp. A little.

“Yes, sounds good.” Jack sits down and yawns in his hand while Sam gets him some porridge and a cup of coffee with a lot of milk in it.

Now Sam notices that Jack carries his smartphone with him, which is unusual. Jack mostly uses it for chatting with Aurora or doing some research but he never carries it around like some other teenagers do who are maybe a little too attached to it. It vibrates a couple of times before Jack takes it and mutes all notifications. He looks…guilty?

“What is it? Is Aurora chatty today?”

Jack looks up and puts a spoonful of porridge in his mouth, shaking his head.

“No, it’s um…it’s nothing.”

Sam is suspicious. Does Jack talk to someone else? Would he need to give him a talk about keeping options open? He doesn’t want to approach the issue by himself, so he rather sits down and eats his breakfast too. Jack seems a bit nervous, always throwing stolen glances at his phone and the screen lights up every couple of minutes. Jack doesn’t reply to any of these messages, he just turns the phone screen down on the table and keeps eating.

The day goes by, Sam just gets cosy in the library. Dean messaged him it’s a vampire nest and he and Cas will hunt them down tonight. Which is a good sign. Sam also told him to take some time off after it, maybe go to Vegas. Dean hasn’t replied yet. It’s a bit selfish but Sam likes the quiet peace in the bunker. They have thought of moving out a couple times but none of them could really think of somewhere else to live. They were hunters after all and so far they didn’t think about retiring. The bunker was still the core of their family. A home. Dean’s and Sam’s home after years on the road or couchsurfing at Bobby’s, the only home Jack knows. Sam even started to make his room look like an actual bedroom. It had been bare and clinical for years when he still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea to settle down with Dean. He thought the bunker would maybe one day be taken away from them again.

His phone chimes and Dean promises to be back in a couple of days. Couple of days. That could mean they’re back tomorrow or in a week. But he’s happy that Dean takes the chance anyway.

Sam is totally sucked in by the book he’s reading and he jolts when Jack appears in the library, a hot chocolate in his small hand and a slight disturbed look on his face.

“Sorry, you scared me a little bit”, Sam says and feels bad about it.

Jack only smiles and takes a seat across the table.

“It’s okay. Sam, can I ask you some questions? I wanted to ask Dean, but he’s away and not replying to my texts…”

“Of course. What’s the matter?”

Jack looks up to him, big blue eyes piercings through Sam’s skin. He hates when that happens, Jack has an unsettling effect on Sam. He’s not used to feel like this.

He squirms in his chair now and then with a sigh, Jack takes the phone out of his pocket to place it in front of him. Okay, so there is something up with the phone. Sam was right about it.

“How do I know if I’m gay?”

Jack doesn’t look at Sam, he stares at his phone. Sam can see his ears getting red and Jack just blushes so easily… and also very intense. His face is burning red, Sam would bet his ass on it.

The question itself is nothing Sam would classify as weird. It’s obvious Jack’s going through a phase of finding himself. Contemplating his own sexuality is part of it. Thing is, it makes Sam slightly uncomfortable talking about it. It’s partly because Jack is so young, the other part is that he’s attracted to Jack. Sam didn’t feel attracted to anyone for years and he hates labels. He loves who he loves and he wants to sleep with people he has a strong connection to. And a life as a hunter doesn’t provide much space for a romance to unravel.

How is he supposed to talk about it when he has no idea where to start?

He isn’t a good measure after all.

“Oh, that is as simple as it is complicated”, Sam starts, folding his hands on the table. He takes deep breaths, before he starts to speak.

“First of all, I can only speak for myself and I don’t know if I'm for much use. In regards of sex you really better ask Dean, but since he doesn’t seem to look at his phone at the moment, I will try.”

He has already told Jack about making love instead of sex and Sam has thought about his choice of words and regretted some of it. It sounded way too much like purity culture and Jack shouldn’t think sex was bad. Sexual attraction isn’t bad at all.

It just doesn’t fit for Sam.

“Does your question have anything to do with how you feel about Aurora?”

Jack nods. Slowly, a little unsure.

“She wanted to kiss me but I didn’t want to. It didn’t feel right. And I wondered if it has something to do with- I mean- maybe I like boys and not girls?”

His face is so red by now, Sam could swear he feels the heat radiating from the boy.

“There could be several reasons for it, it doesn’t mean you’re gay. Most people kiss and make love because they’re attracted to each other. Attraction is a very tricky feeling. It feels like butterflies in your stomach, heart pounding, you maybe even feel dizzy. That’s when most people say they’re in love. Do you feel that when you are with Aurora?”

Jack shakes his head.

“No.”

“Then maybe, you’re just not in love with her, and that's okay. You will fall in love with another girl in the future. Or you fall in love with a boy, which is also totally fine. Also you can feel attraction to people who don’t fit in the girl/boy categories. It’s all just about how you feel around them and if you want to kiss them. Or go further.”

Sam rubs his hands. He really feels uncomfortable educating Jack about love and sex. Now would be a great moment for Dean to show up and take this conversation.

“You know, Dean likes both. Cas is an angel, I don’t think a concept of gender applies to him at all.”

This is when Jack looks up.

“And what do you like?”

Sam now leans back in his chair, his heart aches a little and he feels heat creeping up his neck. He hates that question.

“Well, Jack…” he sighs heavily, “I don’t care much about gender too. I’m not gay, but I’m not straight either. And I’m also not bisexual, like Dean. It’s hard to say. When I like someone, I like them and I don’t see gender. Boy, girl, queer, it doesn’t matter.”

Now Jack takes a long, careful sip of his hot chocolate. His smartphone chimes again and Sam just has to ask.

“Do you think you’re gay, because you didn’t want to kiss Aurora or is there something else on your mind?”

He knows it’s not his business but he also takes it very seriously to be a good role model, be a father figure to Jack. When Jack needs help, Sam will provide it. Same goes for Cas and sometimes even Dean has his bright moments of fatherhood.

It’s obvious Jack doesn’t want to answer right away, he looks like he is tasting words in his mouth, rolling them over his tongue, putting them in his cheeks for a moment, before he says something that surprises Sam.

“There is something else. A man asked me out, but he asked me things I don’t understand.”

Sam stiffens.

“A man? How old?”

Jack shrugs.

“Couple years older than Dean maybe?”

Now Sam leans forward, skeptical and on alert.

“What do you mean, he asked you out? Where? How?”

Jack now shows Sam his phone and Sam recognizes the push messages. The icon is black with an orange mask in the center.

Oh no, that’s not good. Like absolutely bad.

“On this app. He lives close and he asked me if I like bareback? But I don’t know what he means with that. Does he want to go horse riding with me on a date?”

Sam can’t help but laugh. It’s a diminished, unhappy sound.

“No, he doesn’t want to go horse riding with you, Jack. He wants to have unprotected sex with you.”

You Got That Medicine I Need

“What do you mean by… that he wants to have unprotected sex with me?”, Jack asks.

He was utterly confused about this statement and how Sam came to that conclusion. There’s so much he doesn’t know and so many things he got wrong. Sam also doesn’t help much with his shooting questions and… things like this. Jack furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head.

“You have to delete this app and stop talking to these creeps.”

Sam looks very upset and Jack doesn’t get why.

“Answer my question please, what is bareback then? Sam, why do you think he’s a creep? He seems actually nice, he says he likes my eyes and my lips, look!”

He shows his phone again to Sam and he just takes it. Then Sam gets up and starts fumbling on the screen, his eyes narrow. Jack knows this kind of facial expression, he usually sees it when Sam is upset with Dean. Should Jack maybe tell Sam it wasn’t his own idea to install the app? Would that help? Would he then be mad at Dean? But Jack doesn’t want that either, he wants Dean to like him.

“Jack, it’s gay slang. And this guy”, his voice rises in irritation and suppressed anger, “he looks fishy. Why the hell do you use these apps anyway? You’re with Aurora and… you have no idea about sex yet, casual dating shouldn’t be something you … you like. What is this all about? Jack?”

Jack feels like he’s shrinking to a tiny puddle of shame under Sam’s piercing eyes, his sharp voice and how his chest heaves. He’s also annoyed at the same time. It’s his fathers’ fault he knows so little about sex and how to court people, no one really feels responsible to help him with it, except Dean! Jack looks up to Sam, even when it hurts right now, he hates it so much when Sam is angry. And he feels like he was a dog that took a shit on the carpet and now has to feel utterly guilty for… having essential needs?

That it’s Sam who tells him to stop makes it even worse. He’s trying to figure out what he feels for Sam, it’s hard enough to see him all day and feel this tickly, hot and cold feeling all over his body and only be able to release it in the silent darkness of his room, quietly moaning and thinking of Sam kissing his tummy and thighs… and even more. Jack feels all the heat building up inside him, it makes his skin crawl and his eyes tear up.

“I want to know if I’m gay or not!”, he says, way louder than intended. “And Dean said it’s a good idea to meet up with men and find out what I like!”

Sam stiffens, chest heaving even harder when he drops his hands and bangs them on the table.

“Dean told you to install this app?”, he asks. Voice dangerously gentle.

“Yes.”

Jack crosses his arms, defensively.

And then Sam nudges the smartphone back to Jack. He looks so angry while appearing so calm, apart from his deep breathing. Jack can see the breath vibrate in Sam’s chest and he wishes so badly to lay his head there and hear Sam’s heartbeat, feel his pulse and how his chest moves while breathing.

Sam’s mouth is a firm little line before he speaks.

“I guess Dean didn’t think his advice through, Jack. This app and many others are made for casual sex and hook ups, and I wouldn’t let you meet any of these guys you’re talking too. You could get hurt”, he then combs through his long hair, fishing for words, “You know that there’s people out there who want harm. It’s too dangerous. Delete it.”

Jack doesn’t attempt to take the phone again, looking at Sam, angry himself.

“No. I need to find out who I am and you keep on handling me with kid gloves!”, he says, voice raised and aggressive.

This is when Sam slams the table with his fist. “It’s because you are a fucking kid and I don’t want you to be whoring around!”

Wow.

That feels like a punch in the guts. Jack knows what a whore is. He has googled it after Dean has told ‘whore stories’ at the dinner table when Sam was out with Cas once.

His eyes tear up heavily and there’s a choked sob before Jack grabs his phone and gets up.

“I’m not a whore, Sam. But good to know you think of me like this.”

Sam's frozen solid for a couple seconds, can’t act on anything but wants to. Jack fumbles on his phone with shaking hands and then shows Sam.

“See, app deleted. No ‘whoring around’ for me.”

And then Jack storms off. Sam calls out after him “Jack, I’m sorry, please come back!” But Jack doesn’t come back. He grabs his jacket and goes outside. He needs some time alone.

In the evening, alone in his room, Sam is extremely downhearted. He tried to talk to Jack later, when he came back into the bunker. He even came up to Sam himself to show him the app was still gone, but didn’t talk anymore. Of course Sam apologized every time they saw each other, but Jack didn’t react.

Damn, he has fucked up so hard this time. And he can’t even lie to himself saying it was just a stupid thing he said. That he didn’t think. Well, he really didn’t think at that moment. There was just … that moment, that hot red moment of possessiveness, of jealousy. And this fata morgana of pure, asexual Jack that Sam could protect and nuture, versus this dark fucked up desire to kiss him, ruin the literal angel. Be the one to show him love.

To show him how Sam could make him feel, make him come in thousands of ways. Sam’s so touch starved and drawn to Jack and he is so endlessly ashamed of it. It’s not right, he keeps telling himself. It’s wrong to feel attracted to a child. To the child of his rapist. Even Sam cries in bed sometimes, like today. He cries about his stupid words, about how he hurt Jack and how filthy he feels all the time in contrast to the pure and utter arousal picturing the nephil in his bed, sweat covered and hot and willing and moaning Sam’s name when he spills all over his firm stomach.

Fuck. Holy fuck. This is so bad.

Jack retreated in the forest for a while, listening to angry music on his phone, kicking sticks and stones around till he reached the pond where he just sat down, stared at the glistening surface for an hour or two. He cried a little, too. Sam’s words have hurt him incredibly. Sam is Jack’s role model and the person he wishes to be closest with. And that Sam, especially Sam implies Jack ‘whored’ was so excruciating, that his half human body even threw up the rest of dinner. With his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his eyes he cried and cried, before the childlike side in him started rebelling again. Sam has hurt him, but Jack still wants to know what’s wrong with him. Why he feels for Sam, and if it’s because he’s male… or because he’s Sam.

The feeling hurt even more now, it even hurts now when he’s in bed, staring at the ceiling, still listening to angry yelly music. His body is terribly worked up again, but now Jack reinstalls the app, his profile is still there. He doesn’t know what to do with the old guy who wanted to ‘bareback’ him but he had googled it while staring at the pond and Sam was indeed right. But this old sack wasn’t the only guy Jack was in touch with, there was also Hunter, 25, from Gilead, Kansas. Jack likes the name hunter, because him and his fathers are hunters and hunters are mostly good people. He also likes the name of the city where he’s from, Gilead. It refers to a mystical place in the Bible, which he read a couple times already, but also was the name of the USA in the novel The Handmaid’s Tale by Atwood, which he loved too. And Hunter is nice, very nice and when Sam demanded Jack to delete Grindr, Jack was afraid Hunter would be mad if he didn’t reply to his last message.

But of course Jack wants to reply to Hunter, and there’s two new messages from Hunter which he answers quickly. He gives Hunter his phone number and then decides to delete the app really, just in case Sam wants proof again. Which Jack would maybe deny next time, he is so sick of being treated like a child. Because he’s not. His body is fully developed, and he knows a lot about the world. He knows facts, but it’s hard to find out about all the social stuff. Jack feels alien most of the time, because he has intimidating powers and his angel self works different from his human self. He just has too little experience in human and social interaction and Sam even tries to take away the chances Jack could have to be better at being a human being, which is the side he picked long ago. He wants to be human. Normal. And he wants to be accepted, respected and loved. Not patronised and cared for like a baby. Of course, he knows. He’s defiant and petty but he’s tough and brave enough to learn more about the world and love.

Aurora isn’t forgotten, he feels bad when he thinks of her, but she also didn’t reply to his last message. Which makes it easier to attach to Hunter, who says in his profile he’s a “vers bottom” (and since no one seems to care about giving Jack a proper talk he googled it and now is indeed in the picture what that means), wants to find true love and relationships. His favourite movies are Star Wars and Lord of the Rings and he likes novels like Lord of the Flies and Fahrenheit 451. He sounds so intelligent and nice, Jack trusts him already after a few days of texting. He seemed able of critical thought and he liked books Jack also liked and they spent a day just talking about religious imagery in The Great Gatsby. But yeah, Jack was totally whoring around. Surely.

Tonight he’s too hurt to let his usual thoughts of Sam go too far, instead he opens his messenger app and he doesn’t have to wait very long after messaging Hunter to get a reply.

Jack smiles when Hunter asks if he is in bed already and what he’s thinking of. Jack texts back he thinks of a certain dark haired, brown eyed man he likes. Hunter looks a bit like Sam and Jack can lie to himself casually here. The texts turn hotter with every turn and Jack’s heart starts pacing, his hand sliding under the seam of his underwear while he reads Hunter’s latest message, describing how he would undress Jack, kiss him and let his hand wander where Jack wasn’t touched by anyone else than himself so far.

In the morning he feels way better. Hunter’s messages have given him some very nice moments of pleasure but he also feels a little guilty. He hasn’t replied to the hot messages because he’s a total newbie and doesn’t even know what he likes himself. When he told Hunter in the night he’s a virgin, Hunter was very nice and understanding and told Jack he doesn’t have to reply if he feels insecure.

This sort of validation is something Jack wants to have from Sam but after what Sam said and how deeply it impacted Jack’s trust in him, he tried to let go of this hope. Sam thinks he’s a child. Or a whore. Or both. Jack knows about Nabokov’s Lolita and wonders if Sam thinks he raised him to be seductive to old creeps like the bareback guy.

One way or the other, Jack is hurt and pissed off, but overall he feels better and steadier today, his ego is petted very thoroughly by Hunter. Maybe one day Jack won’t need Sam’s approval and affection anymore. Seems a nice thought today.

When Jack gets dressed he sneaks up to the kitchen and he can hear from across the floor already Sam is talking to someone. He’s loud, his voice full and usually Jack likes how deep, low and growly Sam can sound when he’s in some kind of situation he’s passionate about, no matter if positive or negative.

But this sounds like he’s yelling at Dean and that’s never good.

“Why the actual fuck did you tell Jack to install a gay hook up app, are you out of your rotten mind? He took your word for it and now I am the one who had to clean up this mess!... Yes, he used it and a guy he talked to wanted to meet up and bareback…. Jesus FUCKING Christ Dean that’s not funny-- stop fucking laughing! He could be hurt! You’re such an asshole. I wonder why you fucking hate the kid so much, after all he did for us!... No, I didn’t forget about mom, never will. But you know it wasn’t him. I don’t give a fuck about your feelings right now... Leave the child alone or I swear you’ll regret it!”

A long silence. Jack counts from 50 downwards and stops at 7, when Sam’s voice rises again.

“Yeah you better. Gimme Cas, I need a word with him.”

Jack has heard enough. “The kid”. “Clean up a mess”. “The child”.

Mary Winchester.

He’s suddenly not hungry anymore and retreats to his room, where his smartphone vibrates the moment he closes the door. It’s Hunter, of course.

Looking To Get Fucked Hard

It takes Jack a day and a half after the phone call to make the first move towards Sam and accepts his apology, which is very well-considered, diplomatic and remorseful. He still feels very hurt by Sam’s words and the fight over the phone with Dean also didn’t help him look over the fact that Sam has a certain edge in his voice when it comes down to explaining ‘adult stuff’ to Jack. Jack, who is naturally curious and eager, but also blunt and innocent, doesn’t quite understand what his problem is. When Jack hears Dean talk about sex with several people, sometimes at once, it doesn’t sound like something he feels ashamed of. He’s even proud of it.

But Sam is so much more secretive and retreats from any question Jack has from now on. Is sex something bad? And why does he think Jack is acting like a promiscuous person for talking with people online?

It takes another five days in which Jack secretly talks to Hunter over his messenger app and Jack avoids looking at his phone when Sam is around. He doesn’t want to get in another argument again but he also likes the way Hunter makes him feel. Even though Jack is a virgin and inexperienced, Hunter takes him seriously. He treats Jack like an actual adult, with adult needs and adult opinions and an adult body, that is longing for another human’s touch. Jack kind of came to the conclusion that being in love with Sam won’t go anywhere good, not after all the things Sam has said to him. And how he thinks of Jack. As a child, something he has to protect and nourish but for God’s sake don’t touch it.

Jack doesn’t want protection. He wants to be loved as a man, even though he’s barely a man now.

Sam’s apology doesn’t change his way of thinking about Jack.

Damn, why does he have to be in love with Sam, from all people? Maybe it would be even easier with being in love with Dean. Scruffy, grumpy, spiteful, asshole, loyal, troubled, vulnerable Dean?

Is that maybe any better?

But even Dean doesn’t take him seriously as someone who has needs. He gave Jack this damn idea about the app and he probably knew it would cause Jack trouble when Sam found out.

Over the next days Cas and Dean don’t show up and Sam is worried even when he tries to hide it behind research and angry texts and treating Jack even more than a kid. Makes him his favourite food and drinks, even lets him drink some beer.

It makes Jack feel even more like someone you need to treat like a timid fawn.

Does nobody see that Jack is no fawn anymore? That he’s ready to grow, that he has intimate, sexual urges. He is prospering for everyone to see, but Sam just squeezes his damn eyes shut and Dean makes fun of him.

And Castiel probably doesn’t even know what it all means because he’s a full grown celestial angel, or an ‘eldritch horror’ as Dean sometimes puts it.

Time to sow his wild oats.

After a week of absence it seems clear, Cas and Dean are either having a good time or they’re getting lost somewhere in a brothel or a casino or whatever humans do in Las Vegas. Sam doesn’t tell Jack where exactly they are, but Jack thinks they got somewhere to also let off some steam.

Jack decides to meet with Hunter, after they had some very thrilling conversations at night. It’s mostly that Jack still imagines Sam when he touches himself but Hunter is giving him a lot of things to think about. He doesn’t feel that naive and innocent anymore, now that someone tells him he’s hot, he’s cute, he’s desirable. He is equal.

No more thinking of ‘down there’s and that kissing is oh so sacred. It’s a change that would scare Jack if he wasn’t so eager to show off to Sam he was mature enough to be treated equally. Hunter presses the right buttons. And all of them at once.

Jack wants to know how it feels to kiss, to be touched in places, he even wants to touch someone else. And if he keeps telling himself it’s Sam, while he’s with Hunter, he might even enjoy it more. They look so much alike, or at least how Jack thinks Sam looked when he was way younger. Maybe Hunter’s smaller, and what Jack saw from his body wasn’t that defined and muscular, but he can dream. His imagination is going strong.

His hormones and his contact with another man who shows interest in him make Jack cocky.

They set the date already two days after the fight with Sam and today is the day. Sam and Jack still don’t spend much time together and in the morning Sam announced he will be doing some inventory in a room he was able to unlock with a smell Rowena left him. He told Jack about shelves full with old scripts and mason jars labelled with ‘icky stuff’ and he thinks that in no way the Man of Letters Cuthbert Sinclair would’ve left such a mess and vague labels. Icky could mean a lot.

Jack doesn’t mind and tells Sam he wants to read The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.

“That’s a piece of work, Jack”, Sam says, a little proud maybe. “I never made it through it.”

“Well I read some articles about it already and I’m very interested about the portrayal of eroticism, life and death.”

He can’t leave it. He has to tell Sam about the sex stuff he’s interested in. The protagonist of the novel is said to be bisexual and Jack would really like to read it.

But not today, he will drive to Gilead to meet Hunter, as soon as Sam will drown in his inventory.

“You also should focus on the motif of time and its correlation with life and death”, Sam says, ignoring the eroticism. He’s unapproachable with the issue at all. It drives Jack up the walls, since his hormones, hurt ego and the cockiness took over his thinking.

“Thrilling.”

Jack means it sarcastically and catches a glance from Sam that he can’t quite ignore. The tension between them grows weirder every day instead of resolving.

He gets up now, he needs to shower and get ready soon.

Jack doesn’t know why, but there pops up a thought in his head. About making love.

He wouldn’t do that today. In his nightly thoughts he still couldn’t wrap his head around the difference.

Of course he’d never admit it, but Jack still knows nothing about love but that he feels something for Sam that comes pretty close.

Sam knows something’s off. That something is still off. Jack is reserved, but sometimes also irritating. Passive aggressive. Mopey. Yes, of course, Sam has apologized as often and honestly as he could but nothing seemed to help Jack and him to find a common ground again. He understands Jack wants to be treated differently, like something he isn’t just yet in Sam’s eyes. It’s his need for being the guardian that doesn’t let him treat Jack like an adult. Let him drink whiskey, watch porn, have sex. The contradiction of his own sexual attraction to Jack and the need for control and guidance drives Sam up the walls too and he has no one he could talk to about it. Dean is distant in his own manner, he’s fled with Cas and after Sam had yelled at him over the phone about letting Jack use this sex app there’s radio silence. Just a quick heads up from Cas now and then. Sam feels like the trip for just the two of them isn’t helping the way he wished for.

This is why he needs to do the damn inventory. Keep himself busy. Think about something else than Jack being a little jerk all of a sudden, Dean’s whiskey consumption and Castiel’s helplessness. Is Castiel even helpless? Or does he just pretend he doesn’t see something is terribly off? Being alone with Jack makes it really rough. Either Jack’s too close, or he’s too reserved, there’s no balance at the moment, and in his mind, it’s also either Jack grinding on his lap or Jack, far away with Aurora or that nasty creep from the app.

Gladly he’s deleted it and they didn’t need to have a talk about it again. Sam would be furious if Jack lied to him. Furious, because he’s jealous, helpless and sexually gone rogue.

Why is it so wrong to feel this way?

In the storage room there’s utter chaos and Sam will probably spend two days in here. Today, he embraces chaos. Chaos is good, because he can break it down and bring it into an order. His order. His system. He even brought instrumental music to have something to drown his own dark, sorrowful and horny thoughts. It will get over soon. He won’t be crossed in love with Jack forever. He can push through this.

But does he really want to?

Sam is so busy with tidying up that weird room that he doesn’t notice anything else is going on. Jack can hear faint flute music across the halls when he sneaks around. He has put on his best shirt, ripped stone washed jeans and a leather jacket that Dean inherited to him. Involuntarily, because he actually wanted to throw it away and like some old shirts, Jack just picked it up and kept it.

He also did his hair the way Sam said once, it looks good on him. Then maybe Hunter would like it, too?

Jack takes one of the keys for the Volvo in which Sam had taught him to drive.

Ironic. Sam lets Jack drive, but God forbid he does other adult things!

With the key in his shaking, sweaty hands Jack sneaks off to the carpool garage. The Volvo is purple and has two scratches (long ones) from Jack’s driving lessons, but Jack owns the shame about it now. He unlocks it, gets inside and opens the navigation app on his phone. It says he will be on the road for around 90 minutes, which is okay. He has brought an audiobook, three bottles of water, some protein bars and a charger for his phone. Better to have a fully charged phone, Sam says. Not everything Sam says is bull, even when it feels to Jack like it. He’s gone through a lot of feelings for Sam lately, one of them was anger because he also felt like Sam would patronise him in the most hypocritical way. As if he didn’t try stuff out when he was younger! Dean has told a story or two. But Dean also said Sam’s not gay and that’s not completely true, he found out. Sam is about the person, not gender. So, yes, he’s not gay. But he’s also not straight. If he was just in love with Jack, too. It would be so easy and Jack wouldn’t be so worked up about it.

Jack tries to shoo the thoughts away when he texts Hunter that he’s on his way, but of course he can’t. Sam is always on his mind.

If Sam knew he caused a moderately severe teenage rebellion and a sexuality crisis, he probably would’ve never said such bad things to Jack, and he would’ve tried to reconcile even harder. But this way he’s wound up in his inventory distractions, trying to shut the whole issue out.

Sam jerks up when he hears a noise from the hall. It’s probably just Jack walking around. Maybe the damn Magic Mountain and its discourse about damn eroticism was too much for Jack and he looks for something else to read. Sam sees him with all the heavy stuff actually. He read the Iliad, the Odyssey, the complete works of W. B. Yeats and the baroque geste The Fairie Queene by Edward Spenser in the Middle English original and he wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. Sam has a hard time reading this epic poem, it’s complicated and he feels like he needs to have graduated in literature or linguistics to make sense of it. The problem is, Sam is maybe smart, but Jack is a fucking genius. Sam hates to admit it but the kid is so smart, he outwits Sam vertiginously.There’s not much Sam can actually teach him but what he can teach he doesn’t want to. Sex for example. But Dean is a shitty substitute and maybe, yeah, maybe Sam should do it. It will be embarrassing and awful but Dean would drag Jack to a fetish club or something and he can’t let that happen. It’s enough that his three father figures all are a bit weird, Jack could end up like a vanilla type of person and do something remotely decent for a change.

Maybe he should consider giving Jack some sappy romance novel, some light fare. Something that won’t stimulate Jack’s curiosity about the deep endless pits of the human mind, or human sexuel desires. Something that would scratch surfaces but not go too deep. Nora Roberts maybe, but when Sam thinks about it he remembers her novels as repetitive, and not without a problematic approach of gender dynamics, masculinity and love.

Damn. Now he’s thinking about Jack again.

It will never stop.

Sam considers a break. Just to get himself a sandwich, maybe sit together with Jack and give him another honest and more straight forward talk about how and why Sam is the way he is and why he is so different from Dean. He’s pretty sure he’s given very honest and clear answers to Jack’s questions before they had that stupid fight. Labels really aren’t Sam’s jam, but maybe Jack feels better to know labels and then decides they fit or they don’t. And Jack should know that Sam has been vulgar, unfair and downright wrong with his wording and with patronising him like that. It was not his place to send him to his room like a stubborn kid. He kind of realizes now, that Jack is so much more. He deserves a chance to understand the complex dynamics of human interaction in any kind and Sam should let him.

On his way to the kitchen he hears even more clanking of plates, a running coffee maker and sizzling. It smells like steak.

This is weird. Jack doesn’t like coffee. Jack also doesn’t know how to make a steak, that’s Dean’s thing.

Dean’s thing.

Oh no. Sam hurries to the kitchen, before Jack maybe sets something on fire and when he appears in the doorframe, calling out for Jack a very confused Castiel and Dean are in the kitchen, Dean almost drops the hot pan. Cas jerks in surprise and burns his hand with hot coffee.

“Jesus Fuck, Sam! You scared the living shit outta me!” Dean exclaims, looking confused.

Cas wipes his burnt hand clean of the spilled hot coffee.

“Why are you here?”, Cas asks and looks at Sam.

Sam is just as confused as they are at that point.

“Better question is, why are you two here? I thought it was Jack in the kitchen.”

He doesn’t even have time to be relieved about seeing Dean in good condition. He really looks good and relaxed. But at his brothers’ question he raises his eyebrows and turns off the stove.

“I, uh, actually sent you a message a couple hours ago we’re comin’ home Sammy. Enough Vegas. You didn’t reply and then when we parked Baby in the garage, the Volvo wasn’t there. That’s why we” - Dean gestures to Cas - “deduced you and Jack are maybe going somewhere and you didn’t check your messages.”

Sam’s confusion grows. “No, we didn’t go anywhere. I unlocked a secret storage room right on the way down to the pool areas and I’m doing inventory. Jack is in his room. He reads some old dusty Thomas Mann novel, because he’s into phalluses all of a sudden.”

Dean coos a laugh and Castiel clears his throat. Then all three get a glimpse on the fact that something may be wrong here.

“Well, if we’re all here, who took the Volvo?”, Cas asks, silently healing his burn.

Sam could swear Dean mumbles a “son of a bitch” under his breath before he says: “Well, not everyone is here. We should look for Jack.”

Jack isn’t in his room. His shoes and his shoulder bag are gone. The Volvo keys are missing. The situation is pretty clear. Jack has gone somewhere and didn’t tell Sam.

Son of a bitch.

Screwed Up, Scared, Doing Anything That I Needed

The date doesn’t quite go as Jack imagined it to go. Hunter is indeed the man he texted with, but he’s only ever seen the chest or his face and now Hunter looks distinctively older than he claimed on Grindr to be. Jack is too shy to ask him about it, he feels like it’s maybe rude. Hunter has used an old photo on Grindr, that’s for sure. They sat down in a bar anyway, it’s fall and it’s dawning already. Hunter offers to buy Jack drinks and given the fact Jack wouldn’t get drunk he accepts.

But Hunter seems weird. The conversation stops a couple of times and he asks a lot about Jack’s love life, but Hunter knows already, he’s inexperienced, right?

After an hour and two cocktails Jack retreats to the toilet to wash off the weird feeling he has. Hunter is nice to him, there’s no reason for him to be more suspicious. Maybe Hunter was just embarrassed because he’s lost some hair already, and the started balding on the back of his head. When Jack turns around, he gets stuck at the restroom’s stalls door and his phone nosedives in the sink where the water is still running.

“Oh shoot!”, Jack cries out. That can’t be real right now!

He tries to dry off the phone best as he can but he knows it will be best to turn it off and put it in rice. He has no idea about how to get home though and he kind of wants to go home soon. There’s no connection to Hunter as he wished there would be.

Back in the bar Hunter awaits him with what he calls a Gin Tonic. Jack chugs it down and he doesn’t like the taste at all.

“Oh you can take a lot!”, Hunter says and Jack gets the idea that he isn’t amused about how much Jack can drink.

“Yes, I umm, maybe it’s my very fresh liver”, Jack says, but he doesn’t go any further.

“Look, Hunter. You are a nice person, but I don’t feel a real connection. I’m very sorry”, Jack says, being very guilty of wasting the man’s time.

Hunter shrugs it off. “Don’t worry about it, Jack, we just wanted to meet and find out, right? But would you be so kind and ask the barista for his number for me? He seems to be flirting but I’m shy, as you may have … noticed.”

Jack is a bit irritated, but he wants to do the man a favor and agrees. “I wanted to order a coke anyway”, Jack says, getting up. “Do you want something more?”

The older man just gives him a crooked smile.

“Nah, I’m good, champ.”

Champ. Who says champ?

Jack goes over to the bar where the barista (tall, handsome, eyeliner and old school tattoos, maybe as old as Jack passes with). As innocent as he still is in his rebellion he asks him about his name and number.

“Who do you want that for?”, the barista asks him, pouring him a glass of coke.

Jack hates lying, that’s why he points over to Hunter with his thumb.

“My date over there.”

The barista huffs and shakes his head.

“No, but if you want my number I’ll give it to you.”

Jack declines.

“That is very nice of you, but I’m already in love with someone and I think I won’t be with anyone else very soon.”

“I’m Baz, if you change your mind”, that’s when the barista gives him a slip of paper with his instagram URL on it.

“Thank you, Baz”, Jack smiles at him and waves when he takes the coke in his hands and goes back to Hunter.

He’s on the phone, texting someone and Jack just remembers he maybe needs to get a phone call or some maps print to find his way home. His phone shouldn’t be turned on again and he should maybe call Sam to pick him up. That’s really a dumb situation he’s in. Hunter doesn’t look up at first but eventually does and Jack sits down.

“I’m sorry, he’s not interested”, Jack says and takes a sip of his coke.

Hunter sighs but he kind of doesn’t look all too disappointed. “Thanks for the effort though.”

“Hunter, I have a little problem, my phone got wet in the restroom and I need to print a map or call my dad to fetch me here.”

That’s something he seems to like hearing and Hunter relaxes.

“Not a problem, you can come home with me, it’s not far. You can use my printer if you like and I can give you a bag and some rice to put your phone in. It’s no big deal.”

Jack sighs in relief and relaxes a bit. It’s dark outside already, the kind of darkness, that’s not all consuming, but creepy enough. Jack doesn’t like being outside alone for too long and he’s glad Hunter is willing to help.

He wants to pay for himself, this is why Jack gets up and pays his drinks at the register. When he’s back he exes his coke, that tastes strangely bitter this time and maybe it’s just some residual from the cleaning agent. Hunter smiles and gets up too to pay. Jack buttons up his jacket and they leave the bar together.

The air is crisp and there’s a hint of rain. Jack can taste the drops already.

The walk is a little longer than expected and when they arrive at the house, Jack finally gets suspicious. Hunter claims to live on the second floor, and there’s light in two of the rooms. Did he leave his lights on? That is wasting resources and Sam doesn’t like it when Jack would leave the lights on.

Jack doesn’t give it any more thoughts. Somehow Jack feels a bit icky now, there’s a bitter taste in his mouth and his sight is getting a tiny bit blurry, frayed on the edges. Hunter lets him in.

“If you like, you can wait here for a second, I uh, I think I didn’t tidy up very well, I didn’t think we’d come home”, Hunter says, giving Jack a crooked smile. The apartment is tiny, the fitted kitchen just has a small fridge and two hot plates. There’s a microwave and an electric kettle, a toaster and a coffee maker. All in all it looks tidy, but worn, the wallpaper of the corridor looks yellow-ish and it smells of cigarettes. Jack doesn’t like it when people smoke and he’s glad none of his dads do so. Hunter hurries to a door that maybe leads to the living room and sleeping room. Jack has very good senses and he doesn’t feel like he’s alone. There’s footsteps and breathing and the smell of something clinical.

Jack needs to lean against the counter of the kitchen unit and close his eyes. He feels uneasy, something is wrong and he knows he should go. His body feels heavy and his thoughts delay.

And that’s when Jack can hear another man as clear as a bell saying something to Hunter.

“Dude, why did you bring him here? He’s still conscious!”

Then Hunter.

“I had no choice, I gave him the whole bottle. That shit could kill an elephant but he’s still walking straight. I had no idea what to do!”

“You fucking retard!”

This is so loud now, Jack would even hear it if the men didn’t whisper. Jack knows he should react much faster but he feels like he’s walking through water when he reaches for the door and opens it.

And what he sees is nothing he expected.

Jack’s phone is dead.

“What do we do now?”

Sam is clearly panicking and Dean is moderately concerned now, too. Cas kind of holds his shit together, but he also worries.

The angel also is the one to make first assumptions.

“Every of our cars has a GPS tracker, right? We can find him like this, we just have to consult the app.”

Sometimes it sounds like Cas thinks there’s a breathing person on the other end of the line looking the GPS signal up for him, but neither Sam or Dean really bother to make fun of him for a change.

“This is my fault.”

Sam of course blames himself. He has been unfair to Jack, he even insulted him. Something that Sam would never do. If he was still a bit sane, but he seems like his feelings for Jack just turn him inside out. But then he looks at Dean, who really makes a guilty face right now and Sam has an idea.

“No, actually it’s your fault, Dean. You told him about the damn app. We had a fight about it and a couple days later he sneaks out? He must’ve kept contact with someone.”

Dean frowns and crosses his arms, defensively.

“Well I didn’t expect him to pull it off, I mean the boy is clearly in love with you, Sam. I thought that would help him enough through his identity crisis.”

Sam just ignores Dean’s suggestion, Jack would be in love with Sam. Sam would know that, right? He would notice, if Jack was seeking his attention? And given the nature of their relationship that would be absolutely inappropriate.

As inappropriate as his own feelings for Jack.

“Stop making fun of him, I swear, I’ll strangle you myself if something happened to him.”

“Whatever.” Dean says and shrugs. “I know I’m right about that. You should’ve just, dunno, give him a hand or so.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

Before Sam could really reach out and knock his brother unconscious, Castiel interferes. Physically and vocally.

“Sam, Dean. This isn’t helping. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is that Jack is gone, we need to find him. The GPS app says the car is parked in Gilead, Kansas. That’s about an hour and a half away from here. I turned on angel radio, but Jack isn’t responding. Something has happened. We need to go. I’ll zap us to the car and from there, I can maybe sense him. We have no time for rituals. Let’s hope, he’s okay.”

Sam feels like he is about to collapse and cry his heart out. Jack is out there and maybe he’s in danger.

Life Imitates Art

What is irritating Jack the most isn’t the camera on a tripod in front of the bed. It’s also not the three strange guys surrounding the bed or Hunter’s surprised and frightened face. It is the tarp spread over the mattress. A black shiny huge tarp and Jack doesn’t have a single idea why it should be there. His vision shifts slightly and there’s a distant ringing in his ears.

“What is..?” Jack wants to ask but the sentence won’t leave his mouth completely.

Of course, even he gets now he’s been tricked into something. He’s been so incredibly stupid.

“Come on, boy, just relax”, one of the men says and Jack recognizes the voice.

It’s the one who called Hunter a retard and complained about Jack still being conscious. That’s why the coke tasted like soap. Hunter tried to drug him!

The man comes closer now, Jack smells his sharp and heavy aftershave and his head is spinning. Gladly, Jack is half angel and the drugs didn’t knock him out. That’s why Hunter gave him too much it seems. He isn’t going to faint or something but Jack is clearly handicapped and when a second guy also comes closing in Jack looks for a way out, but Hunter behind him locks the door. He looks around, panicking, but all he sees is an XXL bottle of massage oil and sex toys. Oh holy shit.

“Don’t come near me!”, Jack says, retreating, but nudging Hunter with his back and Hunter grips his arms. “Don’t touch me!”

Jack knows how it is to be afraid, but this is a whole new level of fear. He fears for what these men will do to him if he doesn’t manage to get out. The familiar sensation of his powers start tickling. First in his stomach, then his arms and then a piercing pain behind his eyes.

“I said, don’t touch me!”

The men won’t stop but one of them is looking at him like he’s a ghost.

“What is happening with his eyes?”, he yells. “Shit, something’s wrong with his eyes!”

This must be the moment Jack’s eyes start glowing golden, like they do when Jack is in a state of emotional distress and he does good so. Because the next thing Jack feels is like his chest is erupting.

“No one touches me!”

And then the world turns red.

Castiel drags Sam and Dean across the city, all three of them panicking. The Volvo is abandoned, parked in the city but no sign of Jack. They have no idea where to look first and Cas’ doesn’t receive any signal from Jack, and, well, you can see he’s trying very hard to get even a tiny bit of information.

Dean and Sam are still yelling at each other, like that’s helping anyone right now! But Cas is too focused, too worried to care about the mortals fighting like children.

When Jack’s powers surface, Cas can hear Jack’s enochian voice in his head and it’s shrill, it’s blinding but he knows exactly where they have to go now. He grabs each Winchester and says, following Jack’s call “Shut up, you two. I got him!”

Jack feels dizzy and sick, and he vomits all over the floor. It’s coke and alcohol, gastric acid and the drug Hunter gave him. Everything’s coming out in spurts and Jack is happy to get rid of the poison. The dust in the room settles, three bodies are scattered around him, all of them still breathing but bleeding but one of them, the fourth is crawling towards the door. Jack wants to stop him, because he thinks the man might hurt another boy just like this and he can’t let him get away with it, but his human body is cramping and throwing up bitter fluids.

The man wails when Sam shows up out of nowhere, sided by Cas and Dean. Jack sees them through a veil of tears, but he can’t get up, all he can do for now is whimper. There’s distant grunts and yelling, hectic moving. Cas helps him sit up and his warm healing light helps Jack regain some conscience.

“They’re all blacked out”, Jack hears Dean say. “God damn, look at this, Sam. Camera, bed, latex bed sheets, dildos, lube….”

“Gang rape”, Sam just says and Jack can hear his voice shake with anger.

Then - sounds of plates clashing on the floor and Sam yelling at Dean. And then yelling at Jack who’s still held by Cas to be healed.

“For fuck’s sake, Jack! What did you do?!”

“We need to leave”, Cas says, “we can’t stay, the eruption didn’t happen unheard. Police will be here soon.”

“Sam?”, Jack moans. “Sam?”

Sam crouches in front of Jack and places his hand on Jack’s cheek. There’s no smile in Sam’s face, which Jack would die for. There’s disappointment and anger. So much anger.

“I didn’t mean to…”

Jack regains his strength and gets up. “I’m okay, Cas. I can walk.”

It’s no difference if Jack wanted it or not, it happened. He has almost been assaulted and videotaped because he trusted the wrong person. Because he wanted to show Sam he’s an adult, he can make his own decisions. He’s mature enough to date.

The bitter truth is, that Jack was just a brat and it almost cost him something important. His innocence.

On the way home, Jack and Sam don’t talk much. Dean and Cas zapped back home, but they needed to get the car away from the parking lot and Jack doesn’t want to be zapped, he still feels sick. It’s not only because he threw up all of his meals and drinks today or that he used his powers to defend himself. It was the look on Sam’s face that was utterly sickening. Jack could live with Sam yelling at him again, even calling him a whore or whatever. Call him stupid, childish, bratty, cocky. But the silence is gnawing on Jack’s nerves like a hungry rat. But there’s not much he can say, because if he just told Sam what’s gotten into him he would maybe spill he’s in love with Sam. That he wanted to know what is going on with his body and mind and why he desires Sam of all people on this planet … that Jack wanted to know how it feels to be taken seriously by someone who desires Jack. And if there was a way to forget about Sam with someone else. It didn’t work with Aurora, hell it didn’t work with Hunter.

Jack wonders if he’ll just be in this state forever. Seeing Sam and immediately daydreaming of his big, strong hands all over Jack’s body.

Sam doesn’t talk to him for the whole ride except necessities, he doesn’t talk much when they’re home. There’s another very nasty fight between all three of his dads, when they think Jack is already asleep. Cas looked after him half of the night, helped him shower, brought him sandwiches, water and anti nausea pills. He even attempts to talk about what happened but Jack just can’t. Not yet. Not with Cas. How could a seraph, a celestial being, understand Jack’s human nature? And his failures? He tries and Jack is happy about it. He apologizes to Cas more than once but Cas just says, it’s okay, it happens, we all make mistakes.

But the yelling of Sam and Dean is deafening.

Sam accuses Dean of getting Jack willfully in danger. Dean yelling at Sam for being a fucking coward. A hypocrite, a prude. A liar.

Dean is a drinker, an asshole, a narcissist, relationally disturbed and overall a bad person.

If you believe what they say to each other, which Jack doesn’t.

He doesn’t know what or whom to believe these days.

It takes Dean two days to come up to Jack and apologize. There’s a lot of words being said, all saying the same. That Dean was a prick for saying that, he didn’t mean Jack to get in danger. And somehow Jack thinks, no, he didn’t want Jack to get hurt. He wanted to teach Jack a lesson, whatever that lesson was. Jack wasn’t getting behind it and Dean just manipulates sometimes. He maybe knows the answer and Jack would’ve done a lot to be able to read minds. He could also make all of them stop lying again, but the last time ended in so much chaos… Jack better doesn’t act up at all these days. He’s just happy his fathers found him on time.

Put Your Hands On My Waist, Do It Softly

It takes Jack three nights to finally go up to Sam’s room and knock. He knows Sam is awake, he may not be able to read minds, but he senses Sam’s distress.

“Yeah?”, Sam calls.

“Sam, uh, it’s me, Jack. Can I come in?”

A loud sigh, creaking of the bed.

“Sure. Come in.”

Jack feels like the damn newborn fawn he didn’t want to be mistaken for in this moment when he worms into Sam’s room and closes the door behind him. Sam is in his shorts only, Jack in his pajamas, but when Jack is honest, he didn’t sleep a single minute since they got back to the bunker. He is afraid of the dark and the loneliness and he misses Sam around him so damn much, he cries until his eyes burn and his face is swollen.

“Sam, I wanted to say, … I am sorry, I shouldn’t have lied to you about the app. I shouldn’t have snuck out to meet a shady guy so far away. I’m really sorry.”

Sam looks up.

“Jack, what you did was stupid, rash and irresponsible but I’m not the one you should apologize to. I should apologize to you, but all of this won’t make it undone, you know?”

He tears up again when he sees the hurt look on Sam’s face.

“Look, I know I was mean to you and I was overprotective, rude and I didn’t even tell you why I’m not telling you everything about love and sex you want and need to hear. I should have because I’m your caretaker and I should’ve known better. I don’t blame you even half as much as I blame myself.”

At first Jack wants to protest, but Sam is right. There’s been mistakes on both sides with a hint of Dean spicing things up.

“Can I sit down?”, Jack then asks, still standing in the corner at the door.

Sam gets up and puts his laundry away from the only available seat. Except his bed.

Jack sits down, rubbing his face and squeezing his legs together. Damn tears. He even has a headache.

“I wanted to understand”, Jack mumbles, looking down at his lap. “Why I feel certain things for certain people-”, he looks up, Sam’s face is still a stiff grimace, “... why is it all so confusing?”

“Love?”, Sam asks.

“Yes, love. Sex. All of it.”

There’s a minute of nerve wracking silence, before Jack has the guts to say it.

“I only ever wanted to know how it is with you.”

It’s so quiet now, Jack imagines he could hear a pin drop at the gas station out of Lebanon. He knows he dropped a bomb right here, but he overheard another fight with Dean calling Sam a hypocrite -again- and ‘having the hots for the kid’. Apart from being called a damn kid again, Jack checked what that means. Having the hots. And well, yeah, Jack himself has the hots for Sam and he doesn’t want to live with the uncertainty anymore. He won’t meet anyone else he wants to be with, not in a very long time and if Sam doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, he can still try to move on. But there’s no moving on in a vacuum. Like now.

“Dean is right?”, Jack asks carefully, his voice is thin.

“Dean is right”, Sam finally admits and buries his face in his hands. “But it doesn’t mean it’s right. You know?”

“I know.”

Another second passes.

“No, actually I don’t know, Sam. I don’t think it’s wrong. You said you’d never judge. But why did you do so when I needed your approval the most?”

Sam looks helpless, wringing his hands.

“Because I was jealous and I shouldn’t be.”

“I would’ve liked your jealousy more than being insulted by you.”

It’s visible how uncomfortable Sam is, he’s fighting emotions. Jack is, too. But he’s crying already. What happened to Jack was terrifying, but what he really, truly fears is Sam’s rejection.

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Stop being sorry and start being honest with me… Don’t you think I deserve it now? I know I’ve changed very radically. I used to go to town in my damn pajamas. That’s barely four weeks ago and it feels like years already.”

Sam smiles now. Even a little sad.

“Yes, it was actually very adorable. Seeing you like this.”

“I’m not adorable anymore. I’m not that naive anymore. Why can’t you just… see me like Dean sees Cas?”

“That’s a very bad example and you know it.”

Now Jack laughs and wipes away some cold tears from his face.

“And I already see you like this, Jack. But I feel guilty for it. I’m here to keep you safe. I want to be the person you turn to when you’re lost, I want to guide you, but also be the person that’s your safe haven. Can I do that when we… Jack, when we get together, our relationship will change. We will get to know each other in ways that might scare you. Or even scare me. I’m afraid of that. And if I’m afraid, you should be, too.”

When Jack gets up and sits beside Sam on the bed, without asking first -- it feels like a very bold move for Jack. He likes being close to Sam and feeling his body radiate warmth and safety but also desire and a pull that’s hard to resist, Jack knows it’s the right thing.

“I’m not afraid. I’ve been afraid in Gilead, but when I’m with you, I know nothing bad will ever happen to me.”

Sam’s face yells OBJECTIONS but Jack ignores it.

Jack leans on Sam’s shoulder, the touch feels electrifying and at first, Sam stiffens, but then relaxes and puts his hand around Jack’s shoulders.

“I’m not afraid”, Jack says again.

Sam nuzzles his nose against Jack’s hair and kisses him right behind his ear. Jack feels violent hot shudders all over and that is the most intense thing he’s ever felt for anyone.

“It feels good”, he mumbles, turning his face to Sam.

Sam is close, incredibly close and despite the hot shudders Jack gets goosebumps all over. It feels like that one time he had fevers, when he was dying, but in a good way. The best possible way.

Jack doesn’t receive a kiss on his lips, as he wished for, Sam kisses his cheek and his jaw. Just slightly. But to Jack it feels like he’s a dying sun out there in the universe and he’s being eaten up by heat and flares of light.

And then Sam’s hand reaches for Jack’s.

“I still need time…”, he whispers, “we both need some time. To be sure.”

“I’m very sure.”

“Give it a minute”, Sam says, hot breath lingering over Jack’s face. “Just a minute…”

Even Sam can’t wait the damn minute before he kisses Jack. Gentle and soft like a hummingbird.

"This is Heaven, what I truly want."

#winkline #winklinebingo #sin is sinning #fanfic #samjack

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kalypsichor · 5 years ago

Text

five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part seven

summary: You’re not jealous of the fact that girls on Tinder love George, you’re not. John may or may not be sexually attracted to metaphors. Paul may or may not have a professor kink. Ringo is just vibin’ like always. Gigi Hadid terrorizes your dreams. Oh, and y’all finally get the McLennon sandwhich you asked for.

warnings: 2k words of the usual bullshit, some english major bashing, actually it’s just john bashing ( sorry @spaceyantique ), i love english majors, and miscommunication babey!

i’m writing this draft at 3 am. it’s a new low for me. oh, and the poem mentioned in geo’s tinder is lyrics from ‘for you blue’

“Well, it is a flattering picture.”

You have to agree with Ringo. The two of you are perched on the couch, peeking over George’s shoulder at the Tinder profile. John and Paul are sharing the armchair, snickering at something. Probably another scheme. Bastards…

The photo is the one John had snapped a few days ago of George in the kitchen. He’s got this brilliant smile on his face, just having taken his first warm shower in weeks, and he’s gloriously naked from the belly button up. It’s a little blurry, but it captures George’s happiness—though you privately think that no picture could ever really do the boy justice. Take that, stupid Tinder girls.

“‘George.’” Ringo reads the bio out loud. “‘Twenty-one. Majoring in horticultural science, looking for a girl to put the ‘ho’ into it.’ This is terrible,” he says rather gleefully. George turns around and gives his friend a betrayed look.

“You missed the best bit. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You looked at me, that’s all you had to do.’ What’s that?”

George goes stock still. Slowly, his head turns to John and you swear you can hear it creak like a door hinge.

“You.” The word shakes from his throat with a quiet rage. “You looked through mY DIARY???”

“YOU HAVE A DIARY?” Ringo screeches. Paul has the common sense to look a little frightened, but his boyfriend, who borrows a brain cell from Paul from time to time, does not.

“You write beautiful poetry, George,” John croons, and you have to physically hold George down to keep him from tackling the dumbass. Paul, getting flashbacks to the Shower Debacle, shudders.

You, on the other hand, are trying to wrap your head around the bio. Poetry? About who? That didn’t sound like it was about just anybody. Lucky girl, your mind hisses. Or boy. You immediately try recalling every single time George has brought up a classmate. Your brain sputters a bit and spits out an answer to one of the questions you’d skipped on your first midterm yesterday. Except now it’s fucking useless, isn’t it????

Ringo speaks, bringing you out of your downward spiral into insanity. “Hey, the app says you’ve got a match.”

Frowning, George taps on the notification. “But I haven’t even looked at anyone’s profile.”

“I did you a favor and swiped right a couple o’ times,” John says. George groans—no, the sound does not turn you on a little—and hangs his head forward. By ‘a couple,’ John must’ve meant a couple hundred, because George’s phone is blowing up. The only thing keeping George from hurtling the phone right into John’s smarmy little meerkat grin so hard that he shits pieces of it out for weeks is your hand on him. The warmth of it is radiating out from his shoulder to his chest and sweeping down to his toes. When you take your hand away a few seconds later, thinking it had overstayed its welcome, George has to try very hard not to sigh.

“This one is cute,” Ringo comments. The notification had read ‘Maureen Super Likes You!’ and the phone screen is now showing a pretty brunette, around your age, smiling up at George.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested.”

He didn’t say she wasn’t cute.

“Wait, wait!” John scrambles out of his armchair, nearly pushing Paul off in the process. George’s thumb pauses where it’s hovering over the ‘delete’ button for the app. “Come on, Geo. You haven’t gone out in years. Like, since high school. Since… since…”

“Pattie,” Ringo says. You and Ringo hadn’t known the other three in high school, but, as always, he was good with names.

Pattie? George has never mentioned a Pattie...

“Yeah, Pattie!” John lights up. You wish people would stop saying her name. “Pattie Boyd. Man, she was a catch… I still remember her blonde hair. And those long legs. She looked like, uh… who’s that model?”

“Bridget Bardot.” Ringo, again.

Paul is mirroring the sour look on your face, though he obviously has a better reason for it.

“No, who the fuck is that? I meant Gigi Hadid. Isn’t that why you dated her?”

“She did not/” George protests. “And no, John, unlike some people, I care about more than just looks.”

At this point, Paul looks as though he’s about to cry. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m more than looks, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean you, obviously.” But George’s words are lost under John, who leaps back into the armchair and coos at his boyfriend.

“Macca, you know I love you for more than your looks. You’ve got that big old brain, and you’re the best artist in this whole school… it’s just a bonus you’re so pretty too.”

Paul seems satisfied by this. Stupid fucking English major. John could get anything his way with just a few words.

“John’s right, y’know.” You and Ringo mouth ‘y’know’ at each other and erupt into giggles. “You’ve got to put yourself out there more. You’re in your third year of uni and you haven’t even dated a single person. There’s only one more year before you’re out in the real world! And the sea will be much, much bigger then.”

George scowls, unimpressed by Paul’s little speech. “People aren’t fish, Paul. And I’m vegetarian, so I don’t condone catching them.”

“It’s a metaphor!” Paul cries, throwing his hands in the air. John nods and makes eyes at him as if metaphors were the sexiest thing in the world. He’s probably into that. English majors.

“You tell ‘em, babe.”

The doorbell rings, banishing any homicidal thoughts from your mind.

“That’ll be the takeout,” you say. George flies so quickly to the door, desperate to get out of the situation, that you feel a little gust of wind. You hear him say something to the delivery person and then he’s coming back into the living room, take out boxes in tow and a big smile on his face. Nothing makes the boy happier than food. And maybe leggy blondes that look like Gigi Hadid, your brain suggests, and you sigh.

For a good ten minutes, the conversation is put on hold. You’re all broke college students, after all, and getting Chinese is like a luxury.

“What’d you get?” you ask through a mouthful of food, looking over George’s shoulder. He’s sat back down on the floor in front of the couch again and he lifts the box up so you can see it.

“Veggies with fried noodles. You?”

“Same.”

“Twinsies,” George says solemnly, and you high five over it.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, John and Paul share an eyeroll.

“I got shrimp fried rice if anyone cares,” Ringo pipes up from next to you. You bump your shoulder into his.

“Of course I care, Ritchie. Wanna trade a shrimp for my broccoli?”

He nods and you both chopstick over the terms of the trade. George’s grin drops a little. John and Paul roll their eyes even harder.

After a while, having devoured their food like it’s the Last Supper, you’ e all pulled out your phones. You scroll through Instagram and send a funny post to the flat’s group chat, and everyone laughs simultaneously. Everyone except George, who… has opened Tinder again. Christ, how does he have so many matches?

Well, why wouldn’t he? He’s cute… and funny… and gives the best advice when you’re down…

And you’ll be sharing all that with some other girl if you don’t do something about it.

“Why do these girls keep asking about my teeth?”

You scoff, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. George’s sexy vampire teeth are yours and yours alone to appreciate, thankyouverymuch. “Probably have oral fixations, the lot of them.”

John does a whole body shudder and you all turn to stare at him. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Freud. That Psych course tore my GPA into shreds.”

“Right, like you care about your grades so much.” You lean back against the couch. “What was so bad about that class, anyway? I enjoyed it.”

“Professor Pang fucked me.”

“WHAT—”

“Fucked me over! Jesus, I dunno why my mouth just had a seizure there.” John cradles Paul’s face in his hands, trying to smooth away the frown on his face. “Paul, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s a Freudian slip, that is,” you comment, sticking your tongue out when John turns to glare at you. Ringo starts humming Hot For Teacher under his breath. John leans over and smacks him.

“The only teacher I’ve got the hots for is you,” John says, turning back to Paul, and you and George make gagging noises. “Professor McCartney…”

“Professor?” Paul’s Pout (yes, with a capital P) turns into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“I think I’ve been bad… shall I serve detention for you?”

“Okay, just go!” You point towards their bedroom. “Please leave the immediate vicinity right fucking now.”

“I’m gonna hurl,” George says. The two horny bastards giggle and scurry off in the direction of your finger, door slamming behind them.

You go to bed that night with a belly full of noodles and a brain full of thoughts that keep you turning and tossing in bed. And when you finally do fall asleep, you dream about Gigi Hadid, cackling as she chases you around with George’s stupid little towel.

***

Your second exam the next day goes miserably.

Okay, maybe you’re being dramatic. It wasn’t that bad—you’d done a fair bit of studying that weekend, invigorated to overcome the Coffee Incident. Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about George the whole time, and him swiping through Tinder, and whoever the hell that Pattie girl is.

Okay, stop it. You can’t hate her for dating the boy you like. Us women have to support each other, the rational part of your brain tells you.

You grumble all the way back to the flat, fighting with the reasonable part of you. Eventually, you give in. Rational You is right. Hating on a chick you don’t know is what makes up eighty percent of Hollywood’s bullshit romcoms. Yes, you are going to be a good person and take the high route.

That all goes away when you open the door.

John and Paul are standing in the kitchen, whispering furiously to each other. You only catch the tail end of what they’re saying—

“-didn’t think he was actually going to do it!”

—before John sees you in the doorway and smacks Paul on the shoulder.

“Heyyy there,” John says. You immediately know something is wrong. You walk shut the door behind you and eye Paul’s smile warily.

“What are you two doing?”

“Erm, we were making a sandwich for you.” Paul gestures exaggeratedly at the plate on the counter, which John holds up at shoves in your direction.

“Yeah, we knew you’d need a little pick me up after the test.”

You look around the flat carefully. It’s awfully quiet. Ringo’s at his twelve o’clock lecture, but you should be able to hear…

“Where’s George?”

This slaps the smile right off of their faces and neither of the boys can put it back on quickly enough for you to not notice.

“He’s doing yoga,” Paul says at the same time John blurts out,

“He went to visit his mum!”

Paul glares at John and you feel something twist in your gut. “Yes, you see...” Paul looks frantically to the ceiling. God won’t help you out of this one. “George went to pick up his mum… and they’re at yoga together!”

You walk into the kitchen, crossing your arms. “Louise lives in Liverpool,” you say slowly.

“Yup,” John says.

“And the yoga studio is ten minutes away from our flat.”

“Yuuup.”

You can’t believe he’s still keeping this up. “And the drive from here to Liverpool is four hours. And George doesn’t have a car.”

“Yuuuuuuuuu—”

“Oh, I can’t take it anymore,” Paul cries, ignoring John’s frantic shushing. “George went on a date with that Maureen girl from Tinder. He’s at the coffee shop now.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

You must’ve said this out loud, because Paul gives you a sympathetic look. After a long moment of silence, John once again offers you the plate.

“Sandwich?” he asks, trying for a smile that comes across more as a grimace.

You take the sandwich and throw it right into the trash, plate and all.

#the beatles x reader #george harrison x reader #mclennon #beatles fanfic #five's a crowd #kalwrites #FUCK I GOTTA GO TO BED

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shades4dogs · 5 years ago

Text

i had a SUPER tiring day i mite talk abut later but RIGHT NOW i wanna talk about the make it sweet! album for Um Jammer Lammy because i listtened to than a couple days ago, and just today i showed it 2 my little brother, and i wanted to write down what i thought about the tracks!!

youtube

i wrote down my personal thoughts on each track and gave it a rating out of 5 Dashies (-= It’s because i’m autistic plain and simple

if you read all of this you’re officially a legend

[1/2) Let’s Jam Together!/KEEP YOUR HEAD UP!!] - waow!!!

I LOVE THIS SONG <3 i really liked this song when i heard it in the credits and was wondering what its name was, it was nice to hear it in the album as the very first track!!

i love the additional dialogue at the start, the “Hey, do you play the guitar? Let’s jam together!” really represents the ragtaginess of the band just kind of throwing themselves together to make music so naturally... like little jigsaw pieces... it makes me want to know exactly how they interacted before the formation of MilkCan, how long they’d known each other/how they had known each other, or if they met right as they made the band.

the playful and funny lyrics of this song are really great, and i like the way it trails off in the middle. like the song was just Katy Kat truly venting off her frustrations and heartbreak about someone she used to like.

i wonder who exactly Katy Kat is talking about here in this song... well anyways she’s got lammy now so all’s well (-=

the second portion’s lyrics sound a little dopey and off-key, but i think it reflects katy’s mood regarding the lyrics of how easy her life used to be, and it all comes together beautifully for the chorus reprise with some pretty strings (i love strings in rock music!)

i bet this kind of music really resonated with some young girls listening. Can’t relate however as I hate men.

overall this is a 5/5 dashies! “Amazing!”

[3) FRIGHT FLIGHT!!] - LOOK UP IN THE SKY.

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE SONGS IN THE GAME! when it started obviously i was expecting fussenpepper, and it was shocking to hear katy kat singing it

i think this is one of the covers that katy kat’s voice matches the most! her voice really fits shouting like that, it’s really hyped up

my favourite line from her cover is the “Now it’s time to move on, it only gets much harder, so carry on!”

and obviously i love hearing her say “Now do you like munchies? I wonder where lunch is!”

i do think that captain fussenpepper’s voice suits the song better than her, because it was made with him, but her voice definitely shines on this track!

overall this is a 4/5 dashies! “Really Good!”

[4) BABY BABY!!] - Imagine kids singing this on a car trip with their parents looking dead inside in the front seats.

I USED TO NOT LIKE THIS SONG. but playing it myself really warmed me up on it, and this version on the album made me like it even more!! i love katy kat’s additional lines between the baby’s, she suits giving those secondary vocals and they add a whole additional layer to the song.

i also like that the baby’s lyrics kind of echo over lammy’s guitar parroting, like you can hear the “... ma ma ma ma” coming in at the end of her first part, it sounds really nice!

this is the song i can really imagine kids shouting the lyrics to at a birthday party or something and i think they knew that when they added it O_O

overall this is a 4.5/5 dashies! “Almost Perfect!” i think it would’ve been cooler if the lammy and katy kat parts were more integrated with eachother. don’t ask me how exactly, because i don’t know, and maybe they didn’t either... it still came out REALLY nice!

[5) FIRE FIRE!!] - Aweome where is chief puddle? )-=

i think that this is my favourite song in the entire game, altho that will change depending on what day you ask me it, and a big part of it is fire chief puddle’s vocals and the brass and sound effects of the song

it kind of sucks that a lot of that seems lacking in katy’s version, although i like that it kind of seems like theres more emphasis on the percussions of it!

i don’t like the distant whispery vocals on the “Put it on the fire, feel good, Put it out cold and feel good”, it sounds really weird. because those lyrics are one of my favourites in the original song with chief puddle. i’d definitely rather listen to his version

overall this is a 3/5 dashies! “It’s Good!” i like katy’s vocals, but they definitely come out better on other tracks, and i miss chief puddle.

[6) PJ Berri Jam] - Much Love To The Funny Bear That Make’s Me Smile.

title made me a lot more excited for this song than i ended up feeling about it... OBVIOUSLY NO INSULT TO PJ’S JAM BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN COOL TO HAVE A BEAT WITH ORIGINAL LYRICS instead of just lines from the one cutscene...

it’d have been cooler if it was longer too, but i understand why it wasn’t, because the instrumentals work best in this little snippet instead of long-term where they’d definitely require more lyrics

i like that it sounds like the Fire Fire! parappa version considering that’s his first stage! i don’t know if there’s any verification to this, but it makes me think that the beats for all of parappa’s songs in Um Jammer Lammy are made by PJ, which is just really nice to think about... he’s so skilled ;_; PJ and parappa’s iconic collabs...

i don’t know how to rate this at all, but for the headcanon it gave me, i’m giving it a 4/5 dashies! “Really Good!”

[7) BIRTH SONG] - i wouldn’t play for someone else

EXTREMELY FUNNY NAME

i think i like the choir vocals of the song in the cutscenes, but i definitely love katy’s voice in this one, it sounds really sweet

i can’t remove it from the weirdness of the scenario (the first time i saw that shit i was so goddamn baffled) but this does actually Make It Sweet!

i love how her voice sounds in the chorus, and the last line (“Our newest little baby!”) sounds really nice in her voice!!

IDK EXACTLY HOW TO DESCRIBE IT... her vocals just seem... sweetly genuine? like not that she’s really invested in what she’s saying, but just that she’s really enjoying singing it in a small and cute way? IDK... EITHER WAY i like it!

i like the additional lyrics as well! extensions to parappa/ujl songs should always be welcomed i think.

overall i rate this a 3.5/5 dashies! “Pretty Good!” weird song made fun and sweet by katy kat, thank you so much!

[8) THEME OF RAMMY] - music that makes you cause problems

yesssss YESSSSSSS YESSSSSSSSSS

WHEN I GOT TO THIS TRACK IT BECAME ONE OF MY NEW FAVOURITES OF THE WHOLE GAME!

i love the ditzy yet cool lull of the electric guitar, it sounds playful and silly, but with the aesthetic of the instruments used in the song it sounds awesome at the same time.

the strings throughout the song following the rhythm of that guitar add a slight classical feel to it as well that i really like, a level of elegance in contrast to the next part i describe

the muffled and staticy electric guitar parts sound so discordant, yet perfectly in control at the same time, and very In-Your-Face as they just come and go at random over the base sillysong. i really really like that, and it shows off Rammy’s fiery attitude!

i really love how the violent clash of the instruments seems to come together so well in this. it is a really well-made song that made me like Rammy more than i did previously. i think people who know me well will understand that i really like strings in otherwise intense songs, like violins and stuff, so i was really happy to hear some!

FULLY HONESTLY, MY ONLY WISH? is that it was longer. LOL

as an aside, the lull i described reminds me way too much of the theme for sam and max’s office in the TTG series. which obviously is a very personal reason to like the song more, but it is a reason for me NoneTheLess.

overall this gets a 5/5 dashies! “Amazing!”

[9) CASINO IN MY HAIR] - texan ear worm signs.

PAUL CHUCK COME GET YOUR SONG

ALSO THIS SONG BELONGS TO SANDY CHEEKS.

katy kat’s voice fits this song EXTREMELY SURPRISINGLY WELL! i like that she puts on the accent and everything, the rhythm of the lyrics and her enthusiasm go together so NICE!

i like the expansion of the lyrics and the repetition of it is one of its strengths, like any song of that kind (hopefully)

it’s a really big earworm for me, and every so often ill just sing out “Where’s that place that comes in pairs whenever I’m aware? Casino here, casino there, casino in my hair!” VERY SIMPLE YET VERY CATCHY

Yee Haw!

overall i rate this a 4.5/5 dashies! “Super Cool!” it couldn’t be better, but i wouldn’t say it’s one of the best, just for the sheer quality of the other songs i’ve given 5/5 to so far

SIDENOTE - [10) Radio Signal Jam] - F*ck you

OK. i like the presentation of this as if it’s playing live on a radio. it’s a nice little additional flavour to the whole thing that i enjoy immensely. HOWEVER.

nothing can match my disappointment at the next song not being Master Onion’s song. My heart will forever be broken by this traitorous deception. I was promised Tamanegi Sensei. Where is he! WHERE IS HE!!! WAS HE TO BUSY GAMBLING?? COME BACK I LOVE YOU

O-K let’s move on

[11) TASTE OF TERIYAKI] - songs that have mood swings

this song baffles me. i definitely get what they were trying to do with the intro portions with the dramatic quiet, the focus on the vocals and guitar with the creeping and echoing drums and reverberating electronic sounds

it could’ve been really cool, but for the most part it frankly sounds sh*t.

if they could’ve gotten some line re-dos from Teriyaki’s singer to match the lower tempo, it definitely would have sounded most excellent. But the use of the lyrics from the high-tempo song here is just jarring. when i showed this to my brother he genuinely just started laughing from how bad it sounded.

BUT HERE’S WHERE I CAN’T JUST RULE IT AS A BAD SONG.

THE SUDDEN SHIFT INTO THE HIGH TEMPO. IT IS BEAUTIFUL. IT ADDS SO MUCH EXTRA POWER TO THE CHORUS OF THE SONG. i like the song more with the brass and the backup singers, but this genuinely sounds so goddamn cool.

i LOVE the additional lines from teriyaki, it makes them sound even more like an idol! they sound amazing!

And then it stops. Back to the slow nonsense. I am left to dream of what could’ve been. i will say this one sounds better than the other one. Possibly because it’s shorter.

AND THEN THE AWESOME SONG COMES BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND I’M LIKE YEAH WOO!!!!! i love the additional discordant sounds in this version, and i like that they did sometimes include the cool SHHH-PSHHH slap-ish sound in the chorus for this portion. the da da da DA DA! being with guitars instead of brass used to disappoint me, but the more i hear it here, the more i like it.

and then my favourite part of the song: the backup vocals combined with a fast rattling-off of teriyaki’s vocal lines from parappa’s version. this sounds godlike. This is the best. I roll around in circles listening to and thinking about this part. the fact that it fades out right as it gets to that breaks my heart into little pieces.

and then it’s over...

i think it’s very fitting that the song that takes over the album out of nowhere and is literally from hell is the most baffling and loved/hated by me. i don’t think i’ve ever been able to truly say that i both love and hate a song.

if someone was good enough at editing to combine this with the actual version of the song, as well as the vocal lines from parappa’s version, into an essentially extended cut of the album version without the weird slow parts, i would be forever indebted to them.

overall i rate this a ???/5 dashies. ”Help!” it flipflops way too much for me to give a number. Thank you Teriyaki Yoko.

[12) POWER OFF! POWER ON!] - HYYYYYYPE

i need to say it. this song has the coolest sounds in the entire game. this is one of the songs that i might abruptly decide is my favourite for a day or so and then go back to Fire Fire! or Taste of Teriyaki (game version). the guitar is most exquisite in this song.

my little brother adores this song, and a big part of that is credited to the silly vocals of Paul Chuck. he’s like Goofy but extra lethal. i love him

ANYWAYS. after Fire Fire! i was concerned that this song’s vocals would be replaced entirely by Katy, but it seems like they understood Paul Chuck’s integral nature to the charm of the song, and so we get a back-and-forth of them both singing lines, with lammy playing in between. it sounds REALLY good!

i like the additional lines by Chuck at the beginning during the intro. they’re a nice little bonus for the three Paul Chuck fans that exist (two being me and my brother)

as always, gotta love katy kat’s vocals!! they definitely benefit from being combined with the vocals of the original song. the chorus parts where they both sing in unison sound AWESOME!!! i wonder if the Fire Fire! cover would have benefited from this alternation....

the filter over the “NEVER USE JOE CHIN’S CHAIN’S FOR THEM!” really adds to it as well! i like that addition.

by the way my favourite line from this song is the “All I wanna hear is you’ve come over here, there’s no fooling around with gears!” it just has such a good flow. not really explicitly related to this version specifically, maybe less so since i prefer it with Chuck’s voice over Katy’s, but yeah.

this song is really hard for me in-game. like, more than any other song i think, apart from Taste of Teriyaki. which i would like to thank this song for allowing me to escape from (-=

this gets a 5/5 Dashies and a “DA-HYUCK!” from me!

[13) WE ARE MILKCAN!!] - Woaah My Head Is Spinning!

another original that only plays during the cutscenes, understandably without the vocals. i liked it then, and i like it even more now!

katy’s lyrics add SO SO MUCH to the high-tempo intensity of the introduction to this song, and the chaos of the entire thing makes it really fun to listen to

i do still enjoy the slower parts of this song! i can imagine katy singing this as the events she describe happen in real time. i really like listening to her try to encourage lammy and ma-san to get it together and play with her.

the bouncing between the full music of her lines contrasting with the quiet and dinky replies of ma-san and lammy makes this track really fun to listen to!

after that part, it goes back to sounding like the intro portion again, but increases in tempo drastically overtime, before suddenly slowing down again and then launching into high speed at random. it’s a really fun and theatrical and dramatic piece to listen to!!!

personally though, it’s not so much my thing based on the sound alone. it’s definitely a great song but i like things a little more relaxed and orderly than this. the quality of it comes from the lyrics and the emotions they manage to carry through with the instrumentals. its a really good glimpse into the nature and personality of MilkCan!

i give this song a 4/5! “Really Good!” there’s nothing i’d suggest to improve this song. it’s just a little to hectic for me, and feels more like music for a theatrical play than any other track. i generally don’t like that kind of stuff (altho there’s definitely exceptions)

SIDENOTE - [14) Jam Chin] - F*ck you eggplant head saunaman.

You disrespected Parappa. You disrespected Sunny Funny and her sweet smile. You have disrespected MilkCan.

Thank you Ma-San for killing this man. I love U.

[15) GOT TO MOVE! (Millennium Girl)

the final song... i knew it would be Got To Move... it makes COSMIC sense

i like the additional little part before the song begins giving some time to breathe in before my head starts screaming in excitement at this song.

this is an AMAZING song and another one of my little brother’s favourites! he likes to sing it! it’s not one of my favourites but it’s definitely revered with me. it’s a sheer quality song and the one that best captures the soul of MilkCan!!

and i have to say. this album version made me like it EVEN MORE. at first i was enjoying the regular song, but then in the second part PARAPPA comes in with the alternate lines from his version in-between Katy Kat’s lines. it is SO SO SO cool. i often think about how songs in the game would sound with parappa’s versions incorporated in some fashion like this and it comes out so EPIC!!

it seriously made me pog SO hard when i heard him coming in. SOOOO exciting!

some thought notes about this song:

i really like the guitar during the portion leading up to the chorus, it sounds really cool.

katy’s singing in the chorus itself is the best of ALL her singing! her voice blends perfectly with the tone, the pitch shifts, the vibes... angellic truly

parappa‘s lyrics in-between add such an awesome additional energy, especially the lyrics that go on a little longer, like “But let me give you a word of advice, it seems like a waste of time, but it’s nice!” those lines shine the most to me.

my other favourite part is the rapid backforth in the later part of the chorus, especially the “GO! ON! MOVE! ON!” between katy’s lines. it goes together IMPECCABLY

it should be obvious, but this song gets a 5/5 Dashies from me! “Amazing!” it truly blew me away, just like the 5/5 Dashie portions of Taste of Teriyaki did. i love the fact that Parappa’s lines are slightly more muted and behind a bit of a filter to make sure the focus is on Katy’s iconic lines, but are clear enough to be enjoyed.

Truly Thank U so much if you read this far... i love u so mach.... thank you for listening to me ramble about my current hyperfix <3 (-=

#txt #ptr #um jammer lammy #autism moment

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