#phyn writes

[phynoma]

an extant form of life- chapter eleven!

“Oh, well, great!” Martin snaps. His cheeks are getting brighter again. Tim can almost swear he feels the heat radiating from everywhere Martin is flushed. “That's just wonderful, Tim! I'm so glad you made the choice to go– to go shag someone while we're having a-an emergency here; that's just lovely for you, isn't it? What a horrible time you’ve had!” “Actually, it has been, a bit!” Tim snaps back, spurred on by more than a little guilt and his own frustration over the whole damnable situation. “It hasn't been a walk in the park!” “Oh, it hasn't been a walk in the park?”

Everything's great, guys. It's cool. Everyone is totally fine and acting like their best selves

[dyed-red]

I voted for priest Sam hair! Not only because it was the correct choice, but, hey, bribery! So for a mini Dickey, a choice between outsider POV of the boys being weird about each other or late seasons domestic!Winchesters? If neither of those work for you, write something you like 😁

I love that my bribery accomplished nothing, because everyone taking me up on the offer is someone who was already going to (or already had) vote for the correct choice anyway :D truly net zero impact on the poll, which is likely for the best.

and ahh, i do love both outsider PoV and domestic!chesters, so this is good. and in my typical fashion, my answer is:

Set after 12x11, "Regarding Dean".

They're very beautiful boys is the thing. Well, not the thing, but certainly part of it. Rowena thinks that anyone would be hard-pressed to judge her somewhat embarrassing lack of self-preservation in this regard, if they too got to experience the full effect of Sam Winchester imperious gaze or Dean's intermittently roguish and boyish smiles.

That or, like so many before her, she truly just did contract Winchester Derangement Syndrome. Oh well.

She'd wanted to skirt out of town quickly, after helping fix up Dean's memory. It would be the prudent thing to do. But it was also an opportunity, one that might not drop into her lap quite so easily again anytime soon, to get a read on the brothers without being observed herself. One had to wonder how they did it, held the world together with duck tape and a can-do attitude, considering how ordinary and brutish they'd seemed at first.

Well. Maybe not entirely brutish. Sam's command of Latin and spellwork had always intrigued her. But that was neither here nor there, and he wasn't accomplished enough a spellcrafter to see through the glamour that she wove around herself -- an angling and aging of the face, a darkening and straightening of the hair, a thinning of the lips and tinting to the eyes. Enough that, with an outfit passably dull, she could opposite to them in the pub where they made their way for dinner and rest before they'd set out in the morning. A quiet place on the outskirts of town, locals trudging work boots in and tired or sore from the day. Sam and Dean fit right in. They seemed to fit in most anywhere they went.

Better chameleons than even her glamour could afford her. A few hundred years and Rowena wasn't sure she'd perfected the art of invisibility as well as two men gorgeous enough to be on magazine covers. That was something.

She'd followed them in, waited across the parking lot, and wondered if Dean had injured himself somehow on the day's misadventures. She didn't recall anything, not much action except for at the end there, otherwise just Sam pasting sticky notes to objects and Dean becoming cuter and more bearable by the minute. She didn't recall anything, but Sam's hand never strayed from Dean's back as they made their way across the lot, and Dean never shrugged it off.

By the time she slipped inside, found herself a stool at a table with a view of their booth, they were seated across from one another. She'd never noticed, never bothered to, how far their legs stretched under a table, tangled up into each other's foot-space. At her height, not an issue she had frequently. But Sam was leaned back, fingers on the table, leg, ankle jostling against Dean's calf underneath it. He looked relaxed, and something in Rowena's chest eased at seeing it.

The curse was properly fixed then. Of course she wouldn't wait around in town just to be sure, she wasn't their minder and anyway she'd been certain it was fixed before they parted ways. Still though, confirmation never rankled.

Dean looked around and Rowena turned her gaze to the bland offerings on the menu and in her peripheral she heard his voice, not the words, and then Sam's laughter, loud and startled for a moment then quieter.

When she glanced over, Dean was grinning, leaned in, and Sam's face was so fond her own stomach felt a little gurgly, as if caterpillars (never butterflies) might take up residence.

There was a motion, quick dart, and Sam's hand was on Dean's. Overtop, maybe on his wrist. Rowena's caterpillars turned to lead -- waited with bated breath as their waitress came over and they separated, expressions shifting quick like guilty schoolboy -- and then burst forth into winged insects instead, fluttering around her insides. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes alight, and ignored the moths taking up residence inside of her.

Well, that was something then.

It wasn't all that scandalous, that kind of sin. Proscribed by the law of every place and time, but something you saw a time or twenty if you lived long enough. It wasn't as if she hadn't suspected. Her imaginings had been more brutal though, more teeth gnashing end-of-world anger with each other, clinging and messy and mad with it. Hand touches across the tables and -- the memory surfaced from earlier in the day -- delighted grins over the potential for a front row seat to some 'live skinemax', that hadn't been what she'd conjured up.

And oh, to be the live entertainer with Sam, to have pleasure made into a show for Dean's affections. Too bad Sam had to be so focused on fixing his brother, they could have had some real fun that afternoon. She certainly wouldn't have complained.

She ordered something herself, a salad and, because life was short, two types of dessert to follow. If there was some thing cold-blooded American capitalism had done right, it was egregiously portioned and delectably indulgent desserts.

The brothers ate, and laughed, and sighed across their bench from each other, seeming weary but well. Ordinary, but far from it. Their legs tangled deeper into each other's space. Dean's fingers drummed an absent pattern, no doubt from one of those rock bands he liked, and Sam nudged him with his leg and directed him to where some dart boards were setup. They brushed shoulders and elbowed each other, were close enough for her to catch snatches of their conversation. Teasing, mostly. Challenging, boyish one-upmanship. Flirting, quite obviously, when Sam's voice dropped to growl something in Dean's ear she couldn't catch, the tone of which had her stomach swooping anyway.

They left not long after, when her second dessert arrived. A little flavourless, in comparison. She left without bothering to finish, left town that night without dawdling any longer. The boys were good, and were comforting each other, and they owed her one. The rest was between them.

[phynsmutstravaganza]

Ongoing fic: Waelite

Well, that will make it easier to get down. Aloth gave the hidden stairs a rueful look. This is what I get for trying to think like the Watcher.

What was it ye said ‘bout him? Iselmyr piped up. How intelligent and clever he is…

I still hold to that. He also just has a penchant for doing things the most difficult way possible first. Aloth sighed. “Onward it is.”

Ayyyyyy it's a new fic!

Well. It's a fic I've had for literal years, finally making its way to the public eye.

There's a sorta actual plot in this one! Which is why it took me so long to finish it

[phynoma]

I feel like part of my automatic "cringe-away" reaction to OCs is the idea that all OCs are some sort of poorly written self-insert

And honestly? That's just something for me to get over. Because the most BRILLIANT fics I've ever read have had OCs that stole my heart far more than the canon characters. OCs are just the characters canon didn't have time to get around to. They're the world stepping up.

And even if they are self-inserts, even if it's a fic-writer's first attempt at fanfiction, those OCs are still going to resonate with someone. They're going to change the story for someone, even if that person is you. They're going to make that story alive in a way it's never been before, and when you put that story up for someone else to read you're inviting them on a journey you've taken as an author, and that is MAGICAL.

So yeah, fuck cringe culture. Fuck the haters. Write the story as it's been told to you in the deep recesses of your soul, even if it's a goddamn Goofy x self-insert slashfest. It's worth it, just to write it down.

pls write oc x canon character fiction I don't understand how that's cringe or why cringe is even a word we've affixed to fanfic in the first place

also sometimes the canon character needs a perfect partner written for them bc canon refuses to so yes write away

[phynali]

me: disappears for a month and doesn’t write and barely comes on tumblr

me, the second the new term starts: welp time to procrastinate by going on tumblr and blurting out 1300 words when i’m supposed to be working

[name-centrum]

Name of the day...

Finn ˎˊ˗

ִ ࣪𖤐. ִ ࣪𖤐. ִ ࣪𖤐

Origin: Irish, Scottish, Old Norse

Meaning: Fair, white, clear; From Finland; Warrior, brave; Intelligence or wisdom; Thunder.

Notes: An androgynous name that is primarily used as masculine.

"Coming from the Irish Fionn, Finn was the anglicized name of a mythical Irish warrior and folklore hero. As a child, this little boy was blessed by the salmon of knowledge, giving him the wisdom and bravery to later, along with his followers, protect the king." (Source)

"The name Finn has several interpretations depending on its origin and usage. Generally, the name is associated with traits such as strength, courage, intelligence, and purity." (Source)

Finn is often short for the names Finnegan, Finneas or Phinneas, Finnean, and Finley.

Alternative spellings of this name are Fin, Fynn or Fyn, Phinn or Phynn, Fen or Fenn.

Nick-names: Fi, Fy, or Finnie

Popularity:

[phynoma]

an extant form of life- Chapter 10

In which a familiar friend finally makes a reappearance!!

Tim loves people.  This isn't a surprise to most. He's well aware that he's considered charismatic, although he suspects that has something more to do with the people he's around nowadays– Ivory Tower types whose niche of ‘academically stringent paranormal filing clerks’ makes them unpopular with both academia and the usual monsterhunters– than any particular skill on his part.  What most people get wrong is why Tim loves people. It's nothing to do with some great, magnanimous love for humanity. God, no. He loves people because they are, objectively, fascinating. 

[phynoma]

Tim in my upcoming TMA fic

sorry i came back wrong do you still wanna hit it

[dyed-red]

His bruises are fading. Sam stares at them in the bathroom mirror, shirt still off while he shaves, skin damp from his shower.  

[phynsmutstravaganza]

Ongoing fic- Waelite

Chapter two up!!

The shock of such complete darkness sent a thrill of primal energy through Aloth's body, and he had to consciously resist casting a spell once again. He waited, feeling exposed and vulnerable, instinct telling him to flee back to the light while he still could. No matter how many mysterious tunnels and caverns he’d traveled through, nothing softened the first panic of being sightless in an unfamiliar and potentially dangerous place.

cw/for some violence, xaurip killing, and blood

[goshen-applecrumbledore]

tag and wip ask game

I was tagged by @phynali ! thanks phyn!

Rules: Post the names of all of the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

I don't like to leave anyone who tags me in a game hanging but I have the worst file titles because I write on my phone, so I keep them very non descriptive because someone is going to see them over my shoulder and. they're usually linked on the home screen of my phone too. and I'm too much of a prudish little freak to want people to see "INCEST FUCKFEST 2K23" on the reg

so, presented boringly without comment:

JFO

PS hospital

PS non canon ch8

cameron

I don't have anyone to tag but consider this permission if you want to talk about your wip titles! tag me so I can see

[phynoma]

wow ouch

Actually tho

I have a theory about this

I used to think that "old soul" was just a phrase that meant (whether adults knew it or not) "traumatized beyond their years"

But now I think it's something different. This is still a theory in development, but this comes from readings posts on here, observing children, etc. And I think it has to do with how most adults develop the ability to be interested in the mundane

For a lot of kids, what they gravitate towards is big, flashy, exciting colors and things. They look at the world through broad strokes. They're not going to be excited about a new dish sponge when there's something more blatantly for *them* out there

Whereas kids that get easily overstimulated might have gravitated towards the things they saw adults doing: quiet crafts, especially those that involve counting and precision. Reading. Becoming obsessively good at something.

And after being praised for this your whole childhood, maybe you grow into an adult that is suddenly fascinated by all those things you avoided as a child-- bright colors and supposedly simple stories and carefree fun, only you still bring that serious deliberation you've always had, you bring a bit of snark, and just like always people don't know quite what to do with you.

So you become "childlike" instead of an "old soul," because you have a sense of wonder the world hasn't beaten out of you

That's my current theory, anyway

dunno if it's a neurodivergent thing or just me but do you ever feel like you've maintained roughly the same level of maturity your whole life

like as a kid you were "gifted" and "wise beyond your years" but as an adult you're just a grown child who just can't seem to grasp how to act like an adult

[wordsandrobots]

Welp. Here's hoping the amount I've been listening to 'Great Night' by NEEDTOBREATHE doesn't convince Tidal to recommend bands tagged as Christian rock to me on the regular. I do not want a repeat of the 'accidentally adding a track about sinners going to hell to my playlist because it had a good beat' incident (I am often very shallow about music, as the above probably proves; I have gotten better at listening to lyrics on the first go).

But hey ho. I'm listening because it's perfect for the crack(?)ship Iron-Blooded Orphans slash pairing that Wishing on Space Hardware has totally not been building towards (it honestly hasn't but I need about ten years of character development for this nonsense to work so --).

A free writing request to anyone who can guess what that pairing is (Phyn, Walrus, you two are disqualified on account of knowing already). I'll add an IOU to the pile along with said nonsense, the other side of the Venus debacle, more Yamagi/Shino smut and that McGillis/Cyclase meet-cute I should probably jot down (cute = potentially murderous) . . .

[anddreadful]

Some self-indulgent barely-coherent OC A/B/O AU thoughts from 1:30am last night, yes sorry I am nominally into this horny garbage, if you don’t know what A/B/O is don’t google it on a work computer:

Storm kings: I got attached to the idea of Theseus as an alpha who for some reason was incapable of going into rut (and lacked “normal” instinctual alpha aggression) long before we found out what his canon deal was, and the way that tracks with him being not a true alpha but an imperfect clone of one fuckin hits. (Theseus is perpetually SUPER relieved he doesn't turn meathead when he's angry or horny like some alphas tend to.) I always loved the idea of Theseus helping Marin (and eventually an extremely peeved Rekhein) through their breakthrough heats not sexually, but just by being a soothing presence— in my A/B/O lore I really like the idea that the scent/ close attention/ nonsexual physical touch of an alpha helps with a heat as much as sex with one. Rekhien would find cuddling with Theseus while miserably horny almost more mortifying than just fucking him, but Marin insists it isn’t weird, and none of them have boundaries with each other anymore anyway, and it DOES help, so whatever. The stormchasers give off huge polycule energy despite none of them sleeping together (canon).

Speaking of Rekhien, he’s an omega who disguises his scent and passes for Beta for most of the campaign, because male omegas sometimes get dunked on/ disrespected for it. It’s Marin who ferrets him out and eventually convinces him not to hide it anymore— and she’s correct that they’re powerful enough by that point for it not to matter. Marin is an omega who magically becomes an alpha when she becomes Voc Rocsha— designations work a little differently for the people of the purple rocks, given that they’re not bound by the same biological rules as most species; I sort of imagine that the current Voc Rocsha is the only alpha of her tribe at any point. (I don’t ascribe to reproductive organs/ designation correlation, FWIW/ this is a non-mpreg-focused set of worldbuilding choices, sorry. But we do have mating/ claiming bites because those are hot.)

She’s worried Kitro (alpha) won’t be as interested in her now that she’s not an omega, but he doesn’t care what she is and doesn’t understand why she thinks he would. Drow, it turns out, tend to be very designation-pairing agnostic compared to some surface cultures that lionize alpha/omega couplings.

And Phyn is a beta. The most beta beta to ever normie alongside his hormone-riddled friends.

COS: if your strahd is an omega, you are so correct and valid, but in our game, strahd is an extremely typical alpha, and as I would write a full AU, Barovia has what could be considered some regressive collective beliefs about designations. (Tatyana as an omega and her choosing beta Sergei over alpha Strahd would have made him sooooooooo mad, it's too juicy not to do.) I have always loved the idea of Ismark (omega! which is obviously one of the reasons people don’t respect him) pulling teddy aside in the manor like, ‘hey, just so you know, I know what we are isn’t a big deal where you come from, but here you need to be careful. It’s good that you’re traveling with two alphas so people won't mess with you.’

Hot take! One of those alphas is Nim. Nim has a strong presence and a huge streak of stoic self-sufficiency that screams alpha to me. more importantly, it makes her abandoning her human family that much more fucked up, and is another layer to the maternal abandonment baggage that Borakov takes SUPER personally, as he buys in hard to the alpha-as-protector cultural messaging (which is probably a Barovian thing much more than an elf thing, to be fair to Nim)

Rahadin is a beta, but has some very weird and yikes ideas about designation and social hierarchy— as far as he’s concerned, part of Strahd’s absolute right to rule is simply that he’s The Strongest Alpha. Rahadin isn’t sexuaally interested in omegas because they “need” alphas, which he’s very matter of fact about not being, and Betas are fine, but what he really gets off on is putting “undeserving” alphas in their place. Hence his initial thing for being mean in a horny way to Nim, world’s least trad alpha. And if he's developing bigger feelings, well, maybe Rahadin can have a little unresolved cognitive dissonance about nim's alpha qualities (better than initially assessed, possibly leadership material) vs how much he likes domming her, as a treat.

Teddy and Borakov are, regrettably, the most obvious m/f alpha/omega trad-gender-shit-on-steroids heterosexual nonsense pairing ever committed to fiction. Just extremely classic territorial scenting protective horny bullshit. Sorry to everyone in Barovia.

Teddy goes into heat halfway through the campaign, in vallaki (she’s about four months out from her last dose of military-grade suppressants and hasn’t had a heat since she presented as a teenager, so it’s not pretty). Ismark kicks Borakov out of the entire building when it becomes obvious what’s happening. Strahd can’t get to her for some contrived reason but is sending her dreams telling her to leave the inn where she’s holed up to come find her alpha— unfortunately for Strahd, as far as her addled little brain is concerned, Borakov is her alpha. She sneaks out and finds Bork at the burgomaster’s manor and moves the Bork/ teddy sexual timeline up significantly. Everyone else is baffled that heat!teddy managed to secretly engineer her way out of the upper floor window of the inn while barely able to stand upright, but getting laid is a powerful motivator. For convoluted emotional reasons, Borakov refuses to claiming-bite her ~for her own good, which teddy takes very personally and becomes one of the reasons she later agrees to marry strahd, who is clear that he DEFINITELY wants to bite her for MULTIPLE reasons (and does).

Denethor is a beta. The consorts are a random assortment of designations. Doru is an omega and Miranda is a beta. Ez is a beta, Ireena an alpha, Kasimir an alpha but In An Elf Way. Van richten is drenched in suppressants and scent blockers, so good luck figuring that one out. The soulless inhabitants of Barovia don’t have designations— not even beta. They have no scents at all, which is unnerving.

Inspired by a Six of Crows ABO fic with really great worldbuilding, I was at one point brainstorming world-specific terms for "alpha" and "omega"-- I had loosely settled on "Volk" and "Ovechka" which translate to wolf and lamb in "old barovian". who doesn't love a hunting/ consumption motif for relationships in vampireland!

World torn: safiya is an alpha. Bo is a beta. Faraday is an omega and on some very strong magical suppressants. I go back and forth on tailor but I think I’d go with beta (but attracts so many omegas to his orbit you’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise). Chess is an omega and slutty about it but extremely proficient in designation-fuckery magic— ever wanted to try being an alpha? They have something for that behind the bar at Cerise.

Brin is an omega. Most of the jacks officers are alphas. Nera Thorn was a beta who wore the most ghastly fake alpha scent you can imagine. Designations can affect how you get treated in some planes— fae tend to favor omegas and are more prone to tricking alphas, for example.

Unearthed remnants: Sev is a robot, so he does not have a designation. Clay is a beta (though depending on how his deal shakes out, I might make him an alpha who's disguising himself as a beta to support his 'bland' persona. I am not entirely convinced 'clay' is even his real name in actual canon) Aster is an omega and thinks the whole thing is stupid. Eon is a beta and Trollack is an alpha.

the end, if you read all this, wow, I am really impressed and sorry

[nordleuchten]

24 Days of La Fayette: December 8th - William Constable

William Constable is one of the reasons why I liked this research so much. When I first sat down to write this post, the name sounded rather generic to me, I had never heard it before. Not in connection with La Fayette or anyone else. I expected a few bites in letters, maybe a grave marker and a few listings in genealogy books – as it turns out, Donald G. Tailby (later associated Professor at the University of Georgia) wrote his PhD about the early career of William Constable (the dissertation can be partly read here) and the papers of the Constable family are for the most part held by New York Public Library.

William Kerin Constable was born on January 1, 1752, in Dublin, Ireland. The family originally hailed from France, but they moved to England for unknown reasons. William’s paternal grandfather, also named William Constable, moved from England to Ireland “in the King’s service”. In Ireland he met and married Elizabeth Owen (probably of Welsh descent). Together they had three surviving daughters and one son. The son’s name was John Constable, and he was born in Dublin in 1728. He married Jane Kerin, born 1731, daughter of William Kerin and Jane Ewer on February 6, 1749 in Dublin. Their son William (our William) was born on January 1, 1752 in Dublin, their daughter Eweretta was born in 1754. Two other children, Elizabeth and George, died young. A fifth child, Henriette, was born in Montreal in 1761. The couples last child, John, was born in North America in 1764.

There is considerable uncertainty when and how the family left Dublin. Before they came to North America, they settled for some time in Montreal. Family records imply that they moved there around the year 1754, shortly after Eweretta’s birth. John Constable was a regimental surgeon in the British Army and the city of Montreal was under French control until 1760 when the French surrendered the city to the British during the French and Indian War. It is highly unlikely for a British, non-Catholic family with a husband and father that works for the army to move into a French city during a war between France and Britain. Far more likely is the scenario that either the whole family moved to Montreal in 1760/1761 or that in 1754 John Constable was in Montreal with the army and his family joined him there in 1760/1761.

Anyway, by 1762 the family had moved to Schenectady in New York. John Constable was still employed as a military surgeon but earned his money mainly as a private physician. It appears as if William Constable was send back to Dublin to receive a formal education before returning to Schenectady. His younger sister Eweretta had married James Phyn in 1768. Phyn was one of the partners of the fur-trading firm Phyn & Ellice. James Phyn offered his brother-in-law an apprenticeship in his firm in 1769 and William started working there as a clerk despite his fathers wishes for him to study law. William met many of his lifelong friends and business partners during his time by Phyn & Ellice. Between 1773/1774 and 1777 he was sent by the firm to England. Little is known about his time in England, but soon after his return to North America, he joined the Continental Army and took his Oath of Alliance in Philadelphia.

It appears that during the Revolutionary War, Constable was not only La Fayette’s aide-de-camp but prior to that also an aide-de-camp to General John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg. Founders Online currently has two letters written by Constable during this time and in both cases, the editors of Founders Online describe him as Muhlenberg’s aide-de-camp. The last of these letters was written on April 7, 1781 and the first connection that appears between Constable and La Fayette is a letter from April 28, 1781.

While with La Fayette, Constable appears to have been often tasked with coping letters or taking dictations. Between April 28, 1781 and July 25, 1781 there are fifteen letters in Constable’s hand that survived. But Constable was doing more than simply copying letters. La Fayette wrote to the Baron von Steuben on May 31, 1781:

I am to beg your pardon for opening your letter, but I was gone from the place when they arrived and Mr. Constable who had remained behind hearing that Tarletons Horse were on his route to join me unsealed every letter on public Service that in Case he should destroy them he might know their Contents.

Idzerda Stanley J. et al., editors, Lafayette in the Age of the American Revolution: Selected Letters and Papers, 1776–1790, Volume 4, April 1, 1781–December 23, 1781, Cornell University Press, 1981, p. 150-151.

It appears as if William Constable never held a specific rank in the army because he always referred to as “Mr. Constable” and I could not find anything about potential commissions or further promotions.

After the war, Constable returned to his business endeavours. He was a merchant and a fur dealer, as well as land and debt speculator – he and his partner owned a tenth of the state of New York during their business’ peak years. Constable’s business endeavours were numerous and too complex to unfurl here in total, so a short summary has to suffice.

He was involved with such illustrious names like Robert Morris, Gouverneur Morris, William Duer and James Seagrove. He was a partner to Porteous & Company of New York, later Constable, Porteous & Company of Philadelphia. He had early business connections to Benedict Arnold during his time as military governor of Philadelphia and engaged together with James Seagrove in trade in France and Havana. He also entered a contract about the trading of tobacco with France. He is probably best known for his connections with the Morris’ and their combined endeavour to establish trade between America and China. During the early years of trade relations, few men were so actively engaged in the venture as Constable. He also had contracts with the government, especially as a partner at Constable, Rucker and Co. Beside Tailby’s PhD dissertation I also recommend his paper titled Foreign Interest Remittances by the United States, 1785-1787: A Story of Malfeasance.

Constable settled in Philadelphia and married Anna White. Together they had at least one surviving son, William Kerin Constable jr., who later settled in Constableville. The village was settled in 1796 and the older Constable was the sole proprietor after his partners pulled out. He sold parcels of land to people in France, England, and the Netherlands.

He died on May 22, 1803 in Greenwich near New York City.

Constable also had business and personal relations with Alexander Hamilton, especially in the late 1780s and early 1790s. Founders Online currently has twelve letters between the two of them. The Library of Congress has five letters written in William Constables handwriting, mostly parts of his correspondence with Tobias Lear.

George Washington Papers, Series 4, General Correspondence: William Constable to Tobias Lear, November 16, 1790, Manuscript/Mixed Material, Retrieved from the Library of Congress. (09/09/2022)

[dyed-red]

#prev tags...phyn we need that fanfic!!#the little mystic and his handler#a prayer for which no words exist

Okay so “the little mystic and his handler” fully got to me because that’s a perfect weechesters tag and I love Children’s Work by Dessa. the vibe of that song is different than the silly flirty tags i wrote but uh, we’re putting that album  on and making this happen

Free Cherry Pie

“Birthday special,” Dean reads from the paper star-shaped cut-out taped to the front of the pie display. They’ve got apple and cherry. Anyone can do apple, all you need is a bit of cinnamon and you can’t go wrong. But when was the last time he had a decent slice of cherry?

“That’s right!” She’s cheery. Cheery-cherry, Dean bites his tongue around the laugh, turns it into a smile. Blonde, sensible ponytail, probably all of Sam’s age. Sixteen or so, jailbait, but pretty jailbait, with pink shiny lip gloss that catches his eye when she smiles wide. “Free slice on your birthday, best in town.”

It’s the local diner, one of the only two in town. Best isn’t a lot of competition. But pie is pie, and it looks good. So does she, standing behind the counter, hands spreading out along it and chest straining the fabric of her uniform just a little.

He ducks his chin a little, casts his gaze up from under his lashes, grins.

“Well wouldn’t you know it - it’s my birthday.”

Her eyebrows go up. Charmed, skeptical.

“Oh is it?”

“It is!” He huffs out a laugh, wide-eyed innocent that he knows looks devious. She hasn’t stopped smiling. “Who would lie about a thing like that?”

She puts on a pursed lip expression, a little exaggerated. “Who indeed?”

He rolls his eyes on a huff, leans his elbows forward on the counter, toward her, reads the name on her name tag, easy excuse to steal a glance at that rack again. “Ally - that’s a pretty name, Ally - do I look like the type of scoundrel who would lie over a slice of two dollar pie?”

She laughs, giggle that has her covering her mouth, high and bright. “Oh not at all.” Her eyes flash when she says it and he knows he’s got her hooked. Sure enough she bites her lip a moment later, “what flavor?”

“Cherry.” He didn’t mean to leer, his gaze just flicks automatically as he leans back to a fully standing pose, but she blushes all the same and - yeah. Alright then. She doesn’t seem to mind though, hiding her smile as she goes to the display, and he lets his eyes wander a little more while she bends to the bottom shelf to pull out the cherry pie, to get him a fresh slice.

“Anything else?” She’s a little breathless when she asks, and he’s so in. He gets her number, adores the way she looks relieved and satisfied when she hands it over. And then he orders himself a coffee to go with the pie, winks, and takes his plate and drink and books back to his table and sets himself to reading.

Work doesn’t stop for pretty waitresses after all.

It’s most of an hour later when the bell above the door jingles and Dean’s eyes swivel up automatically and land on his baby brother. ‘Baby’ is turning into an overstatement these days, beanpole that Sammy is, stretching taller and taller each day, scraping Dean’s height (and then some, but he’s not about to admit that out loud).

Dean’s mouth curls around the smile before he can help himself. Sammy’s shoulders are easy, untense, no sign of a fight with Dad, and he smiles back when he catches Dean’s eye, then almost rolls his eyes on a scoff. Thinks Dean’s grin is silly, then, and Dean smiles wider. It’s in the air today, something a little goofy and easy, getting away with shit.

“Sammy, what’s up?” Dean asks as Sammy gets closer and watches him drop in a loose array of limbs into the seat opposite and drop another book down on top of the stack in front of Dean.

“Two guesses.”

Dean’s face falls and Sammy cackles. Little shit.

“C’mon man, I’ve been reading for hours.”

“Hours.” Sammy deadpans, glances at the clock on the wall.

“Feels like it,” he mutters.

“I take it you haven’t found anything?”

“Would I still be here if I had?”

Sammy rolls his eyes, does that a lot these days. Moody most of the time, all elbows and rage when they train, but some days he forgets he’s supposed to be angry and the sun peaks out from behind the stormclouds. Those are Dean’s favorite days, recently.

“I’ve gotta head back soon.” Sammy hedges, thumbs the edge of the table, presses it. He’s not quite making eye contact and Dean reads between the lines.

“Wanna grab a snack first?”

Sammy looks to the counter, considers for a minute, shakes his head. Dean’s eyes follow his but Sammy’s just staring into space now, habit he’s picking up. Away in his head somewhere, Dean hates it.

“Come on.” He stands abruptly, eyebrows up at Sammy to signal he ought to do the same. “Lemme get you a coffee at least, something to keep your hands busy so you don’t drive Dad nuts with your fidgeting.”

“I don’t fidget,” Sammy protests, following Dean to the counter anyway. Dean scoffs. Sammy does so, all the damn time, he just pretends he doesn’t because it doesn’t happen if he’s reading or typing on a computer or something, as if that’s not the same thing. But Sammy scowls whenever Dean calls him a control freak so he doesn’t push it, just plasters on a smile for Ally when he gets to the counter with his freakishly tall baby brother.

“Well hello there, stranger.”

“Been too long,” Dean agrees solemnly, then grins. Ally ducks her head on the smile and Dean catches Sammy glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, half-scoff half-entertained. That peaking sunlight, hard won some days, good cheer. Dean doesn’t want to lose it, catches Sammy’s eye slyly to smile, to brag. Sammy shakes his head properly now, telling Dean his ego’s inflated without saying anything. But Sammy’s smiling.

“What’ll it be?”

“Another coffee for me, and one for my baby brother.”

Sammy sighs then, put upon. “Baby? I’m sixteen, Dean.”

Ally’s eyes light up, “you’re his brother?”

“Yep, this is Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.”

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. And oh, oh no. He’s sensed the danger way too late, too focused on getting a rise out of Sam(my), because Ally’s expression turns into a woman on a mission, intent and pleased about it.

 She goes for the kill, grin wide. “So then if I asked you when his birthday is...?”

Shit. Dean clears his throat but Sammy’s faster, lets out a half-laugh, almost confused sounding, and without missing a beat, “it’s today? Oh wait, he actually told you that?”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, still can’t completely cover his surprise, eyes roaming the side of Sammy’s face. A little smug, not that Dean thinks anyone but him could tell. Pleased with himself though, and all too innocent looking as he smiles at Ally, ignores Dean completely.

“It really is?” she gasps and Dean has to intervene to defend his own honor.

“Hey now, like I said - would I lie?”

Sammy laughs beside him, “oh you’d definitely lie.” He leans a little closer when he says it, almost into Dean’s space, tall enough it brings his head just a little too close. Not too close for an audience, just for Dean, for knowing what to do with Sammy’s bright grin, eyes catching Dean’s before flashing back to Ally. “But not today. He’s just turning 22.”

“Well then. I guess it’s a happy birthday to you, Dean.” She’s got dimples when she smiles. Dean’s surprised he didn’t notice, before. He glances at Sammy, sees matching ones there. Except Sammy’s spell mischief, the variety of which Dean isn’t certain of yet. His little brother doesn’t back up his attempts to get laid for free, after all.

Ally pours them their coffees, Sammy interjects that he’ll take his to go. Dean tries not to let his face fall but Sammy catches it anyway.

“Sorry to leave you here for the afternoon,” Sammy says without sounding sorry at all. “Looks like you have some company anyway.” A dig and Dean’s smile is a little wincing and he’s fishing out his wallet.

“Oh, you can’t even keep your brother company on his birthday?” Ally’s all sympathetic, pink lips drawing down into a little pout. Dean’s momentarily distracted by the shape of them.

“‘Fraid not...” the side of Sammy’s lips quirk up, eyes sidelong at Dean. “I don’t want to distract him. See Dean here, he’s in a pretty competitive program and he’s studying really hard for an exam. Even on his birthday. All work and no play...”

“Oh no! What program?

Sammy’s smile gets bratty, hides it behind a sip of his coffee. Dean’s gets brittle, thinks of the stack of witchcraft books on the table behind him. “Wh - uh. Bot- botany. Uh, biology, focusing on uh, plant biology.”

‘Plant biology’ he sees Sammy mouth behind his coffee cup. Dean steps on his foot.

“That sounds so interesting!”

It really doesn’t. Dean grins. “Yeah! Thanks! I’ll just -” he motions over his shoulder with his thumb, needs to get Sammy out of here before he finds a way to cockblock Dean entirely while playing the innocent. Would not put it past him, would not be the first time.

Sammy goes willingly, lets Dean drag him back to his table, and he makes sure Ally’s off to serve another customer, properly distracted, before he rounds on him with a quiet hiss.

“Dude.”

Sammy laughs, bright and easy, and Dean’s breath catches in his chest, a little. Sammy doesn’t laugh enough these days and it’s - nice. To see it. The way it turns his lips up, fills his cheeks, crinkles around his eyes instead of that worry line his forehead seems to have half the time Dean looks at him these days. His eyes drink it in, savor it.

“Oh bite me, I covered for you, birthday boy.”

Dean ducks his head, puts his coffee down on the table. “Yeah yeah.”

Sammy tilts his head, catches his eye, raises his brows. “For pie, Dean? Really?” He nods to the sign on the display and Dean realizes that’s where his thousand yard stare from earlier had landed. Put it all together the second Ally had asked. Maybe before, his genius brother. Maybe from the moment he saw the display, even if Dean’s plate had long since been cleared off his table.

He shrugs one shoulder, unrepentant. “They had cherry.” It comes out sheepish anyway, the kind of honest only Sammy can bring out in him. He hates it, some days, how he can’t even bluff around Sammy, not to Sammy.

“Oh well if they had cherry.”

“All right, Mr. High-Horse. You want a signed thank you letter?”

Sammy snorts. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m incredible.”

Sammy laughs again and there’s an actual ache in Dean’s chest, a clenching kind of good-hurt, and he just - he wants -

Sammy catches his expression and Dean tries to smother it, no idea how he looks but sure his face is doing something dumb. But Sammy doesn’t stop smiling, even if it fades some. He closes off, just a little. Dean thinks he might bite his cheek or the inside of his lip before softening into a sigh.

“I should get back...”

Back to Dad, to Sammy’s own pile of research and his job playing assistant on this hunt. Break time’s over. Dean nods, finds himself taking a step back.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

It’s dumb, of course. They share all their cash, it’s not like Dean bought Sammy anything in any real sense. But it’s - something. An olive branch, another rarity from Sammy these days. Sunlight and stormclouds.

“Anytime, Sammy.”

Dean takes his seat again, Sammy heads to the door with his take-away paper cup. He turns back just as he’s opening it, mischief sneaking back into his smile, teasing as he offers, “Happy birthday.”

Dean tilts his head down on the acknowledgement, the twist of a smile that tells Sammy ‘yeah yeah’. It turns to something else though, as Sammy turns away and Dean’s eyes follow him out. Gone a second and part of Dean almost misses him already. That’s stupid though, no matter how warm and tingly his limbs feel. It’s a good day, that irrepressible, infectious kind of day, and that’s all it is. Sharing a good day with his brother. What more could a guy want?

Well, what more than a good day and a slice of free cherry pie?

My GIFs happened to line up this way in my folder where it looks like this could be Teen Sam and Dean in some cafe together on Dean’s birthday and Sam is heading out the door while saying “happy birthday” over his shoulder while Dean smiles all flirtily about it. God I love when that happens.