#and a good chance to go through my archive and find my obsessions

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I love to see my biases get the BB 1s, but when one starts making that their goal, hmm that kind of disconnects me from them as an artist.

I won't say more. I just wish artists I stan placed more focus on the art. Let charts happen naturally.

You're blog isn't like the blind fandom, so I am saying this here.

It's not hard to see through things. Chapter 2 has been interesting so far. I am not making any opinions based of things that are happening, but if it becomes a pattern with the artist, well... that's a problem.

Anon, we both know who were're talking about, lol. I'm gonna use the names, for the sake of making it easier for me to write a response.

A few weeks ago, I was watching this documentary about Wham. Some light entertainment for me initially, but it did offer me the chance for a fresh perspective. I don't exactly remember the details, but they've reached a point in which George Michael wanted to have 4 songs to reach number 1 on some chart, the fourth being Last Christmas. He was a bit obsessed with this and he also wanted to be a bigger artist. In later archival interviews, Michael actually mentions it was his ego as an artist because he knew he could. And he did, he outgrew the boyish band and the situation was almost ideal because Andrew, his bandmate, also knew that. It also meant getting away from their carefully constructed image, the object of desire for teenagers and women everywhere. For George, it was also about stepping away from performing a specific type of heteronormativity that can be found in boy bands. It never crossed my mind while watching it that his ego is too big, or why is he so obsessed with the charts. Maybe because it was all in the past and I've seen what the future would hold for him. Or that when I heard him talk about what he wants to achieve and his inner struggle, there was sincerity there and also that drive that only someone really young can have when they believe they can do anything.

I've read Jungkook's Weverse interview and listened to what he had to say during the Seven promotions. And while there may be some comparisons to be made to how George Michael came across when talking about his musical career, there were also some differences.

I'm glad to see Jungkook being more confident. I remember some of the things he used to say in the past, about his self worth, a lack of confidence and meaning outside the group. That wasn't healthy. And to hear him now, especially on Suchwita, it's a 180° change. But in his case, there's a very fine line between being confident and becoming cocky. And that's not a good look. It's almost like he's trying to project an image of a new Jungkook but one that is still in the works and not all parts fit perfectly together. He's going through a transformation ever since the hiatus, which I expected. It was about having to adapt to a different pace, life after 10 years of being part of a group. Jungkook was always trying to find his identity and this single is only one step in that journey.

But that doesn't mean that I as a fan and as a person, have to like it. If it doesn't match with what I'm looking for in the artists that I'm interested in, then so be it. I will talk about it, but I'll also not follow that person's musical career anymore. If I don't like the artistic direction and I don't like this overconfident, slighly exaggerated bravado, then that's it.

It's also impossible to not make a comparison to Jimin. Not for some dick measuring contest (it's what pjms and jjks are doing), but because there is room and justification for it. Both are from the same kpop group, both have embarked on a solo career and both chose a more mainstream pop music, as opposed to their older bandmates. And both got that BB 1. And what we can compare is song quality, artist reaction and how the company's response came across into fan spaces.

In terms of the songs, I could write entire essays because at the end of the day, it wouldn't matter. It's all subjective. There is no rule that says a number one song should be about some personal experience, or the singer should have writing credits on it. And I also can't take away my subjectivity. I will chose Like Crazy over a song that not only sounds like a Bieber tune from years ago, but also has lyrics as if they were written by the boys from Larry Clark's Kids.

As to the reaction, Jimin did exactly what I expected him to do. He was humble, grateful and emotional and we saw that when he turned on the livestream. It's what makes him who he is and how he always behaves. As opposed to that, Jungkook wanted to be appear cool. And for what? Especially when later he said how excited he actually was but he refrained from expressing that. Where's the authenticity that he seeks so much through his livestreams? Because he released a song about sex for which he never officially performed live the explicit version, that means that the attitude should match that? I know the next day he was live and he was really nice. But that entire event is tainted in my mind with this almost expectation and confidence that he'll get that no. 1 and after he got the western validation, they decided to remember there's fans at home too and went to Inkigayo.

Which leads me to the last point that shows the obvious bias and preference that cannot simply be denied when it comes to BH. It's even more obvious because the entire BTS brand was that there are no favorites, which is not the same strategy as with other companies and groups. And now, all of a sudden, there is. It's great that BH celebrates an artist's success and they can immediately put on a show. But it doesn't justify how the first one to have the achievement was ignored. I have to admit, I was happy when Jimin got his no. 1 because I thought it only meant more promotions, more Jimin, more of everything. Just to be left utterly confused.

I've put that all in the past and I really try not to get too emotionally involved because as an individual, it has no bearing on my personal life and it doesn't have that many negative effects on my fan engagement.

I side eye Jungkook for how he presents himself in official promotions, but then he goes live and all of a sudden, it's the Jungkook that I'm used to. The guy who is a dork and funny and grateful to his fans. The one who cries hearing fan songs and who still beats himself up for hours because he messed up a song. I do criticize some of his actions and statements, but I'm not slandering him. The guy seems like a genuinely nice person and I still like him. He's still one of my biases for many reasons. But me having this reaction to content catered specifically for fans to create a more intimate connection is something BH was always good at. We only have to look at all the BTS footage out there. They've perfected the way in which personality comes first a lot of the times. It's what draws fans in (aside from music) and what keeps them interested. I'm part of that.

I'm convinced that it's most likely that a Jungkook fan or army or whoever disagrees with me, will read all this and believe I hate Jungkook. Which would be a shame because all I'm trying to do is explain how complex this situation is. It's never as black and white as solo stans would like everyone to believe and it's not a debate that can be generalized and tossed aside as solo talk by the ot7 chorus. I'm sure there are a lot of reasonable people in this fandom still who are able to have more than one thought in their head and see that only through a naunced discussion we can look at facts, see what's an exaggeration and what's false. To be able to distinguish between facts and personal opinion and also to admit that. That's not possible if we're not looking at these people as complex beings, instead of victims and villains.

#m thoughts #jimin #jungkook #bts solo careers

[fascinatedscrawls]

Phic Phight Prompt: The Box Ghost, aka the most un-frightening pathetic nuisance ever, is actually incredibly powerful compared to the average ghost.

Word Count: 1425

For @phantomphangphucker

Summary: There are a lot of different kinds of power. Some are easy to see and others - others take a little more perspective to understand. Of course, realizing that the Box Ghost was both feared and respected within the Ghost Zone is still a bit baffling even after Danny gets to see it first hand.

"Wait, wait, wait." Danny held up a hand to stop Ember before reconsidering and putting it to his own forehead in an attempt to drive off the headache he could feel building there. "Can you repeat that?"

"What am I, a wind up doll?" Her look of disgust made way for an eye roll when Danny dragged his hand further down his face to glare at her over his fingertips. "The Box Ghost will have what we need."

Hand now over his mouth, Danny wondered if he needed to get his ears checked. When she clicked her tongue at him and went to keep moving, Danny quickly followed her gesturing wildly.

"The Box Ghost? Really? As in, the guy who comes to Amity just to grab cardboard boxes and crates? The one who won't stop introducing himself and screaming 'Beware!' - that guy?" Actually, a thought occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes trying to fly ahead of Ember to try and read the truth of it off her face. "Hang on, does he introduce himself because he's trying to use some other ghost's reputation? Is there another Box Ghost out there?"

Ember sped up shaking her head as she sped through the Zone.

"Of course not, anyone would be able to tell that the imposter was lying. Or, well," she winced a little, "no one would believe that guy when he lied. I mean, he's not the best actor. Not everyone's meant for the stage, obviously."

"Obviously." Danny repeated, voice and expression flat before he remembered that he was here to ask Ember for help. Pasting on a friendly smile when she sent him a warning look, he tried for a little more clarification hoping that she wouldn't change her mind. "But how did he become the ghost to see?"

"I'm the ghost everyone wants to see." She reminded him instantly, striking a pose like she was getting photographed before waving off his fumbled response to that. "I know what you meant. For this type of thing it's more that it just falls into his domain."

"Like, a kingdom?" The Box Ghost had a whole realm like Dorothea and Frostbite? Danny almost breathed a sigh of relief when Ember shook her head.

"No, more like a website."

Danny wasn't aware that he could stumble while flying, but he managed it anyway. "Excuse me?"

"No."

Ugh. Ember was sometimes all the parts of Jazz Danny couldn't stand - a big sister without any of the care that made Jazz one of Danny's favorite people. At his groan Ember came to an abrupt stop and reached for her guitar. Danny almost brought ecto to his hands before he realized she was holding it out instead of readying an attack.

"Look, everyone has what they're good at, right? Like I'm amazing at singing and playing my guitar so when I play I can do things through my performance."

"Right." Danny drew out the vowel a bit, following but not really sure where this was going.

"It also means that things pertaining to my domain of Rock Star Sensation are more likely to find their way to me even inside the Infinite Realms." Flicking her fingers, she rolled a guitar pick down her knuckles in a practiced move. "That's why my guitar is always in tune and I usually have all the things I need to play it. Strings, picks, if they fall into the realms there's a good chance I'll find them."

So ghosts frequently found things that related to their obsession. Danny wasn't sure how true that was - that things find their way to the ghosts that wanted them rather than most ghosts only paying attention to things they were personally obsessed with, but the Ghost Zone didn't exactly run on any logic he truly understood so he was going to roll with it for now.

"And the box ghost-"

"Finds boxes." Ember finished his sentence, swinging her guitar back over her shoulder and starting forward once more, more noticeably following the path of a few other ghosts Danny could see in the distance. "And other packages, though he doesn't like those quite so much."

"He finds boxes and keeps them no matter what's inside, got it." Which explained why she was leading him to the Box Ghost for those supplies Frostbite was looking for. "How often does he find more boxes?"

Just how likely was it that Danny would find the laundry list of things Frostbite was looking for?

"Oh," Ember didn't even knock before pushing a double wide set of swinging doors open so they could step inside what Danny now saw was their destination. "Almost constantly, I think."

Goggling at the ghostly equivalent of a big box warehouse complete with rows and rows of aisles that practically scrapped the almost cavernous ceiling, Danny didn't even care that Ember was absolutely snickering at his reaction. "Where do they even come from?"

"They're every package that gets lost in the mail, I think." Ember answered, grabbing his arm and pulling him further into the store. "And there are a lot of lost packages these days."

They passed huge piles of boxes, each stacked higher than the Fenton Works Ops Center, many of which baring familiar logos from various online retailers. Danny snorted before his eye caught on a ghost reaching through the cardboard to triumphantly pull something (hedge trimmers?) from a box only to very quickly place whatever was in his other hand into the box in its place. Looking around at other ghosts who were sifting through the madness or bargaining between themselves Danny noticed something.

"Does everyone bring their own stuff?"

"Money doesn't really mean much here, so like everywhere else in the Realms this place runs on trades." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few CDs some of which Danny vaguely recognized as being popular a few years ago, all of which wouldn't have fit in her pocket if she weren't a ghost. "The Box Ghost doesn't care about what's in the boxes so long as something is inside the box."

Danny's next question was forgotten as the Box Ghost himself burst intangibly through the boxes on the next aisle over, hands raised with a loud, "I am the Box Ghost!"

After months of being warned by the same ghost with nothing resulting from it other than maybe a few hours of annoyance as he chased the Box Ghost around town before capturing him, Danny watched incredulous as the smaller ghost the owner of this 'store' was threatening cowered, literally tripping over themselves as they searched their pockets for something to put into the box they'd left empty a few minutes before.

Around them the other ghosts scattered as the Box Ghost yanked the offender up by their collar, eyes burning bright and an surprisingly impressive wave of energy rolling off him that even Danny could fee,l before a figurine (in mint condition) was held up in shaky hands as an offering.

There was a pause as the Box Ghost blinked away his rage to inspect it. Then he snatched it from their hands and put it ever so gently back into the temporarily empty box. Giving it a satisfied pat, he then threw out a practiced "Beware!" before vanishing back to wherever he came from.

Danny watched the ghost he dropped snatch up their prize and shoot out the double doors before giving a knowing Ember a wide eyed look.

"Never mess with a ghost over their obsession on their own turf, especially not a guy who gets all his power from the ecto people give off his his warehouse." She warned him.

"But - he's so-" Danny struggled to put it in words. "He never does anything like that in Amity?"

"Not his turf is it?" The pointed look met its mark even before she followed it with, "Besides, you've got his kryptonite."

Baffled, Danny pointed at himself. Ember helpfully pointed at him too. Following her finger, Danny unhooked the thermos from his belt.

"For a guy who is all about boxes and other things cubic, the only thing worse for him would be a sphere."

Aaand there was the Infinite Realm's 'logic' catching Danny off guard again.

"I guess it doesn't matter how powerful he is if I'm always fighting him with the perfect weapon."

"Yep, now get searching. I don't have all day and this place doesn't have any sort of organization."

With a groan, Danny snatched the CDs from her hand and got to work.

#phic phight 2024 #danny phantom #the box ghost #one shot #phantomphangphucker #I cannot be stopped there's another version of this prompt coming directly after lol #hope you like one or both of them!

[musings-from-an-elder-goth]

Every October from 1966 until 2020, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" etched itself into across the collective consciousness of young darklings with it's once a year broadcast on network television. (To watch it, click on the above link & jump to 5:45 on the timeline.) The importance of "The Great Pumpkin" to me and my fellows, regardless darkling or normie, cannot be overstated. Elementary school children simply did not miss "The Great Pumpkin." However, it lost much of it's 'weight,' for lack of a better term, once VCR's became available. Prior to those wondrous devices, you literally only had one chance per year to watch "The Great Pumpkin" - that's it. To be a kid & miss "The Great Pumpkin" airing was akin to Linus fainting and missing the arrival of The Great Pumpkin, himself. I recall hearing the tragic tale of one kid on the school bus who had missed the airing the previous night as his house had lost power & we all sat in silent horror at this revelation - a fate worse than death or dentist visit.

Of course, me being me, I had already somewhat prepared for such an unthinkable eventuality by having acquired a copy of the 1967 book adaptation of "The Great Pumpkin." In the 70's, my folks choose to live in the boonies, so losing power for no reason was something that could happen. Fortunately, I never did have to cower in a dark corner, clutching my well worn book copy, silently cursing the Fates for inflicting such an indignity upon me. After all, this was one of those vanishingly rare instances where the book version was objectively not as good as the TV version.

(Just as an aside, my fav Charlie Brown character was always Schroeder. I never gave it much thought, but Schroeder is actually kinda goth with his dark colors, quiet demeanor, & music obsession, so...makes sense. I imagine when he hit his teen years, he joined a goth band, died his hair black, & played wicked dark keyboards at countless gigs.)

Fast forward a few years & I can still vividly recall my profound shock at learning a friend of mine, who owned an early VCR, had recorded "The Great Pumpkin" upon it's previous airing. It was a singular wonder to be able to watch something you could previously only have seen once a year, watch it whenever you want, & not even need to find the most sincere pumpkin patch as prerequisite to do so. It was as if you could reach up into the heavens &, with a simple twist of hand, rewind the celestial sphere back in time to the previous eclipse or passing of Haley's Comet, so staggeringly cosmic in power it seemed. There we sat, watching "The Great Pumpkin" in early December of 1981 & it was a big enough deal to me that I still remember it as if it happened merely a month ago. And I wasn't even really that much into it anymore as I was 11 going on 12 at that point & was eager to put 'childish things' behind me. But I still watched it right the way through. I'm sure it found it's way to most folks VCR's during the 80's, & was officially released on VHS in 1988 & DVD in 2000, so I'm sure nowadays it's a rare household with children which lacks their own copy of "The Great Pumpkin."

Of course, there were other Halloween children's specials eager to rake in the chips like "The Great Pumpkin" did, but none of them ever reached the same level of quality as "The Great Pumpkin." Unlike most other Halloween children's specials, "The Great Pumpkin" has several sequences that, to a child, are legitimately spooky, such as the intro sequence, Snoopy making his way behind enemy lines, & the rising of 'The Great Pumpkin' in the pumpkin patch. I can still recall cynically thumbing through the TV Guide at any given year's new entries & weighing each against "The Great Pumpkin." Be it "Halloween is Grinch Night," "Fat Albert's Halloween Special," or "Bugs Bunny's Howl-oween," all were decidedly lacking. There were some older ones that I'd see on local independent stations that were reasonably good, such as the stop motion "Mad Monster Party" but even that was still a distant second. To this day, no Halloween children's special can hold a Jack-o-lantern to "The Great Pumpkin."

So this Halfway to Halloween, take a 25 minute break to revisit everyone's favorite Halloween special, & may the pumpkin patch in your particular neck of the woods always be the most sincere.

creaturesfromelsewhere 4-29-2024

#halfway to halloween #it's the great pumpkin charlie brown #early vcr's #early 80's #late 70's #gothlings #darklings #the great pumpkin #charlie brown #linus #creaturesfromelsewhere #musings from an elder goth #darkly inclined #goth #Schroeder #peanuts #charles schulz

[viisbubble]

TBOSAS has made me so obsessed with The Hinger Games and I’ve literally only read the 1st book and that was years ago. But I just need to rant about how amazing this series is (and about Snow) because I’ve read so much about this now. Disclaimer: this is a very disorganized ramble about my thoughts of TBOSAS and the Hunger Games in general as I have collected through various internet analyses. If I’m misinterpreting anything, please please tell me. I just wanted to get this out there because TBOSAS has me in a chokehold.

Honestly I loved Snow as a character. I loved how Collins portrayed him because he was a total psychopath from the beginning, but there were also so many chances for him to change. Like sure he has trauma, but Tigris is living proof that they could’ve been kind.

I think the book portrays how cruel or a person Snow is better than the movie, which paints him in a more sympathetic light, but I think both interpretations are equally valid.

I remember one post I read talking about how Snow is an unreliable narrator due to his inability to understand his own emotions. Snow is portrayed as smart and analytical in the book because that’s how he views himself. It’s also shown in how he, and the reader through snow’s eyes, believes Sejanus to be stupid when he really isn’t. I’d like to think that Coriolanus truly cared, but that he refused to believe that he’d care for people below him like Sejanus and Lucy Gray, due to his upbringing.

Coryo was too obsessed with himself to see the bigger picture, and that is ultimately his downfall. His rush of power when he killed Bobbins (the tribute, idk I might be misremembering the name) makes him believe that all humans are savages that find joy in violence. He’s too self absorbed to realize, despite being proven wrong multiple times throughout his presidency, that he might be the exception and not the rule.

TBOSAS made me cry because Coryo, Sejanus, and Lucy Gray could’ve had a good future, but it was also an impossible dream. They all had dreams they wanted to achieve, it’s just that Coryo’s obsessions won out. But also, I don’t think his and Lucy Gray’s relationship would’ve ever worked. Coryo needed power and to return to the capitol, and Lucy Gray wouldn’t have given up her freedom, her dream, to go to the capitol with him. But it’s so tragic because their all so young. Coryo and Sejanus are barely adults, and Lucy Gray is 16-17. And I can’t help but be sad because I believe that in a world without the hunger games, they all could’ve lived on happily.

Even though Snow made choices that demonstrated his lust for power, I still think he’s ultimately a product of his environment. The pressure of his father, their family’s legacy, and DR.Gaul we’re large parts in him becoming the antagonist he is.

I read in a fanfic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/51604627 please please read it’s so good I cried so much) that the capitol eats their young, making cruel children crueler and killing the kind ones, and I think that summarizes the tragedy of the story beautifully.

Honestly I just want them to be happy.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #the hunger games: the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #lucy gray baird #president snow #they’re just children

[bun-haired-nutjob]

Bocchi is Trans and Gay (canon as far as i'm concerned)

Welcome to my blog, which is now obviously becoming much more clearly Bocchi-themed than I had originally intended it to be, as Bocchi the Rock continues to influence my personality and my interests to an insane degree

(I never got a chance to be obsessed over a fandom when I was going through my first puberty so now that I've got a second chance you're ALL gonna hear about it!!!)

I write Bocchi the Rock! fanfics for AO3, and you can check them out here!

I am also madly in love with my girlfriend @lambdaupsilon who got me into writing these fics in the first place :3

I post and reblog a LOT of stuff from Bocchi the Rock, but also a lot of horny stuff!!! For that reason, this blog is 18+ and minors are forbidden from following or interacting!!!

I'm using this blog less for horny stuff but I won't be stopping entirely! For more info on what I'm into, check under the "read more" link :3

I hope you enjoy your stay at my blog!!! Reblogs are always appreciated, especially if you leave notes in the tags - I love reading them!!! <3

I tag everything I post and reblog with the following set of tags!

#vivi's asks - Responses to any asks I receive! (They may also appear under #vivi's social skills if they're particularly old posts)

#vivi's barking - Petplay dog girl stuff O_O

#vivi the bocchi the rock - bocchi brainrot, very much the primary content on this blog now :3

#vivi's elise - Posts about my girlfriend @lambdaupsilon!!! In particular how hot she is and the things she's able to make me feel, but also cute dumb stuff she does that makes my heart flutter 💖💖💖

#vivi's foreheadpathy - Hoshikuzu Telepath brainrot. Umika is autistic and Yu has autism and ADHD and they are so fucking gay for each other

#vivi's goals - Things that I want to look like - this used to be typically not horny but that line is a little less ambiguous nowadays O_O

#vivi's humour - Funny things, not always consistent with the theme of the blog - just things I find funny! (As if this blog has a 'theme' anyway ;3)

#vivi's inflation - Inflation-related stuff O_O (Specifically, I'm into breast, ass, and stomach inflation but not really full inflation - stuff like arms puffing up or being one giant ball etc.)

#vivi's mutual bait - Anything that I just know some of my mutuals will eat up! ;3

#vivi's neediness - The go-to tag for horny content on this blog, always horny in nature and often things I want to do or have done to me!

#vivi's ordinary life - Nichijou brainrot. Yuuko has ADHD and Nano is a trans allegory :3

#vivi's piloting skills - Things to do with my desire to be a cute and cool WWII fighter pilot :3

#vivi's robotics - Anything related to robotgirls because I seem to be posting a lot of robotgirl stuff O_O

#vivi's seedtank - Cumflation specifically.

#vivi's social skills - Mostly anything that doesn't fit any of the above categories, often includes reblogging and interacting with mutuals <3

#vivi's writing - Occasionally I do writing!!! You can find my AO3 account in the link above :3

#vivi's vents - My ramblings whenever something upsets me and I just need to get it out. Not common, but if that bothers you don't be afraid to block this tag!

#vivi's yuri - Lesbians and sapphic relationships without necessarily being horny! Also used for yearning 🥺

Things I Want to Be:

Bunnygirl

Catgirl (mrrp nya :3)

Doggirl (SOOOOOOO NORMAL AND SUCH A GOOD GIRL)

Cowgirl (the Wild West kind)

Cowgirl (the milky big-breasted kind)

Robotgirl

Slimegirl

...the property of a hot woman O_O

Kinks/Things I'm Into:

Bondage

Breeding

Bullying (in a sexy way)

Consensual non-consent (CNC)

Cumflation

Deflation (only in the context of 'undoing' inflation)

Degradation

Expansion

Free use

Humiliation

Inflation (SO SO SO NORMAL ABOUT INFLATION I PROMISE)

Lactation

Objectification (ALSO SO SO SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS)

Oviposition

Petplay

Praise

Size difference (either being larger or smaller)

Stuffing

Teasing (both receiving and giving ;3)

Tentacles

...and I'm open to trying most things at least once!

Not Into:

Feederism (but it's not a DNI - just not my thing, although there is some overlap with stuffing)

Weight gain/slob (I prefer stuffing that focuses on a taut round belly)

DNI:

Cishet men (this is a queer space!!!)

Detrans as a kink or 'anti-trans' movement (if you're detrans but respectful of those who are trans then you're still welcome!!)

Raceplay

Sissification (I enjoy being a woman, and my humiliation kink doesn't relate to whether or not I'm a woman thank you very much)

...and more I've yet to think of

#vivi's pinned post :3 #vivi's asks #vivi's barking #vivi the bocchi the rock #vivi's goals #vivi's humour #vivi's inflation #vivi's mutual bait #vivi's neediness #vivi's piloting skills #vivi's robotics #vivi's seedtank #vivi's social skills #vivi's writing #vivi's vents #vivi's yuri #vivi's elise #vivi's foreheadpathy #vivi's ordinary life

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hi.

I just wanted to thank you as I have spend the last couple of evenings going through your posts. I love how level headed you are and you offer a lot of insights for me as a baby (toddler? preschooler?) ARMY.

I really love Jimin, I consider him to be one of the most beautiful humans on earth, and that is inside and out. With a voice of an angel to match.

Watching Jikook interact is my happy place (as is the whole BTS), when I watch them I get a sense that this world is not entirely shit, if something so beautiful and tender as their bond (love) can exist.

I was very happy to read about how much you love the rapline b/c I share this with you.(Hobi is the best live performer this side of Milky Way, I am in awe of Namjoon, and I am in love with Yoongi) Just an fyi, BTS rapline has a very interesting ability to atract people like me who did not like hip hop. I am a metal fan (symphonic metal like Nighwish, melodic and poetic lyrics), and my whole life I was trying to understand how can someone voluntarily listen to rap music. I didn´t get the appeal, the usual lyrics of US rappers disgust me and as whole, I avoided the genre.

Do you know what changed my mind? Ugh, Tear and Daechwitta. These three songs are surely my most streamed songs on spotify.

whew, after this essay here is my ask:

Can you please talk about Yoongi. like anything at all you want? maybe you have some archived posts from your previous blog? Or what do you expect him to do for D3? Or talk about his relationships with the members? I love how much he loves Jimin and Hobi and I truly believe that he would be the first one to take a bullet for any of the members.

So pretty please ? give me something to read and feed my obsession :-)

Thanks and have a great weekend, I will be looking forward to your future posts, whether you decide to answer mine or not LOL Cheers.

**

Hi Anon, 💜

A quick comment on rap music and hip hop - this is easily the most diverse music genre in the world. Rap literally stands for Rhythm and Poetry, and this is music that has fueled political/class revolutions, rejuvenated Obama's 1st term campaign, and helped heal generational trauma. Much of it goes beyond bad bitches, pumping a rival full of lead, or big gold chains. RM, Yoongi, and Hobi are all legit hip hop heads who listen to and gain inspiration from the music you might find objectionable, to create the somewhat sanitized tracks you love in Ugh, Tear, and Daechwita. But please understand BTS are pulling from a long, old, tradition of Black rap music and there are many examples of Black artists employing that genre in the exact way BTS have: including J. Cole, Kendrick Lamar, 2Pac, Lupe Fiasco, Lecrae, Noname, and Logic. I understand how some of hiphop is crude, misogynistic, and needlessly violent, and this probably shapes how you view the genre as a whole, but as a Black and Asian woman who listens to a lot of hiphop I'm sharing this perspective to show it's not all black and white, and that there's too much good in the genre to write it off as a whole. At its core, rap is about authenticity, freedom of expression, and flow. BTS has been one way for you to tolerate the genre, but you might be surprised to learn rap has a lot more in common with metal rock music than you might think. Just food for thought..

*

I loved reading your essay, but the truth is I hate writing about Yoongi, Namjoon, or Hoseok. Probably because I'm not a natural writer, I sometimes struggle to express myself in English, and I'm a little in love with (and almost perpetually tongue-tied by) my biases in the rapline. No matter how hard I try I can't seem to come off as anything but a bumbling simp with no self respect who will gladly throw her panties in their faces if given the chance.

Ahem.

But you're not here to read my excuses, so I'll try to briefly talk about one thing I love about Yoongi: his voice.

Yoongi has the deepest voice in BTS, after which is Namjoon, then Taehyung. Yoongi is also very versatile in how he uses his voice. Out of all the members, I think he speaks the most softly in his everyday speech, after Jimin, but he also cusses the most in his natural speech. In their earlier years you could hear his dialect almost every time he spoke (less so now), whenever his temper rose you'd hear it in how his voice went sort of sideways. I don't know how to explain it, but he wouldn't raise his voice, he wouldn't lower it, but it would sound a bit more... harsh and maniacal?

And because this is Yoongi we're talking about, he knows exactly what his strengths are and utilizes them to the fullest. He knows people go gaga over his voice, and so since 2013, he has highlighted his voice in his radio shows including DJ Suga Honey FM.

The 'honey' there is not by accident.

One of my favourite pass-times in 2020, was listening to the radio Vlive Yoongi did with Jimin on May 30th.

(Cuties)

I'd play it when I was cleaning my home, buying groceries, or doing laundry. Yoongi and Jimin's voice in that Vlive is so calming to listen to, it feels like this:

(like settling into a warm velvet bean bag on cold winter day)

I'm a bit of an audiophile so these are the sorts of things that get to me. In that radio episode, these grown men make cringe sound effects, Jimin puts Yoongi on the spot so many times you hear it in how Yoongi chuckles nervously, they can't take each other seriously enough to not burst into laughter every 5 minutes. They just sound at ease, at home in their friendship, it doesn't feel like millionaires making a company-sponsored production for fans, it sounds like two guys goofing off and being so sweet and clever at the same time.

*

Jimin is my favourite vocalist in BTS, and Yoongi's vocal inflections when rapping and singing is my favourite in BTS. He has a keen music sense that comes through in his harmonizing and layering. An example:

My Universe (timestamp - 2:02 - 2:20)

(Yoongi's harmonizing verse is the most replayed segment in almost all the versions of this song)

*

That thing I said about his voice going sideways when he's pissed off, you hear it in his music. I'm struggling here but bear with me as I try to explain what I mean.

Yoongi sometimes sounds like a child when he's pissed off. Where RM leads fully with a deep voice when he's cutting into a bastard, Yoongi goes full joker on you. The tone in his voice sounds juvenile, like a child taunting you in the most annoying way possible, sticking their tongue out and waving their toosh in your face knowing there's nothing you can do to them. It's the kind of taunting that gets under your skin so quick and nobody in BTS has perfected it better than Yoongi.

An example:

What Do You Think (timestamp - 2:09 - 2:58)

*

I love how Yoongi has rounded out his manner of speaking as he's matured. He still cusses at the drop of a hat but he's become more delicate with his speech, at least to fans on camera, and I've noticed this towards Namjoon, Hobi, and Jungkook too sometimes in recent years. He seems to be most loose in his speaking with Jimin, Jin, and Hoseok (again).

Last year, people (rightfully) lost it over his voice in this Vlive:

...but the way he spoke also was straight-forward and very kind.

*

Yoongi has been fielding marriage proposals since January 21, 2013 when he was first introduced to ARMY as a member of BTS, and there's very good reason for it. In my opinion. I think Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hoseok are men and artists worth thirsting over in every fucking way.

Nobody asked, but I think this is important info for determining compatibility for anybody curious: I'd rate their sex drive thus: Namjoon > Hoseok = Yoongi. Backed by empirical evidence.

I'm excited for Indigo, and have almost lost my mind with glee at how it's very likely we're getting D-3 right after it. Yoongi could do something more acoustic as he's been saying for some time now. He's gotten more comfortable singing as the main vocal on his tracks, and we know it's likely his next album will have Adora on it too complementing him. I want him to have a track that's Spoken Word, something like this:

*

This is the most I can bear to say about Yoongi now Anon.

#yoongi #min yoongi #bts suga #suga #bts #jimin #namjoon #hoseok #rapline bias #bts rapline #rap music #kpop

[cute-little-ali-cat]

Top 10 Characters Tag Game

Rules: name ten favorite characters from ten different things (tv, movies, books, etc.), then tag ten people

I was tagged by @mindibindi​

Anyway, in no particular order I present to you...

-Alex Drake (Ashes to Ashes). She is beauty, she is grace, she punched Gene Hunt in the face. What more could we ask for? (Okay, so let’s be real, a lot in terms of Galex, but in terms of Alex being Alex, A+ every ep)

-Dr Michaela Quinn (Dr Quinn Medicine Woman). I probably should say I love her calm demeanour and the way she gains the trust of the townfolk, but honestly... I just love her UST with Sully and her hair.

-Lindsay Denton (Line of Duty). Tough as nails and hard done by. She deserved better and we all know it.

Mary Poppins (Mary Poppins). Practically perfect in every way and my hero as a child, I actually dressed up as her for book week last year. I won out of the teachers. There was no actual competition, I just decided. 

- Sarah ‘Mac’ MacKenzie (JAG). Always there to poke and prod at Harm to keep him on track. 

-Liz Lemon (30 Rock). Finally a realistic TV idol. (Not to mention I love watching her and Jack)

-Daria (Daria). Isn’t she really what we all want to be? Angry, sarcastic but smart and confident enough in herself to get where she wants to go.

-Claire Beachump Randell Fraser (Outlander). Putting the sass in Sassenach, another no nonsense female sent back in time. Sometimes I wish she would shut up but over all love her. Also, her Scottish outfits may have inspired some purchases...

-Emily Prentiss (Criminal Minds). If I didn’t love her before, I sure did after the Lauren/Doyle arc.

I can’t find the “I have a gun levelled at your crotch” gif, and honestly, I have no idea why, it’s classic Prentiss. so I’ll leave you with this

-Veronica Mars. Because I too like to think I’m petite and smell of marshmellows and promises.

Edit, just remembered I was supposed to tag people, I’m tagging @dazzlingstarlight​ and @alice-blogs-things​

#Challenge #Haha #Finally remembered to finish this #It was actually kinda fun #and a good chance to go through my archive and find my obsessions #Also not sure if they had to be female but I was following mindibindi's lead #Top Ten Characters

[the-lonelybarricade]

will you share with us some of your favorite elucien fanfics? i’ve been trying to find some good ones:D

I would very happily share my favourite Elucien fics 🥰

Let me introduce you to two of my favourite people @highladydawn and @separatist-apologist who are the ones officially responsible for converting me into an Elucien in the first place with their joint fic Turn Your Ghosts Into Mine, which then sent me on a spiral to consume everything they've ever written. They are both SO talented and I am highly obsessed with every word that comes out of their brilliant, brilliant brains.

I’m going to be honest, I’m still relatively new to the Elucien side of the fandom and am still in the process of making my way through MB’s archive (because she’s a writing MACHINE and I’m a year late to her fanclub) so I haven’t read that much Elucien fic outside of these two 😂 BUT both of these two glorious authors are an awesome place to start if you haven’t read their work yet, and they could also probably give you a more comprehensive list of other authors!

I know for good 🔥🍆🔞 content (aside from MB’s glorious collection ofc), Valemrys has some good stuff 😌

Also my besties @arrowmusings and @darling-archeron have dipped their toes into some Elucien oneshots that I adore 🥰 And @thataintnolady writes mostly Neris I believe, but has also written a very lovely Elucien fic for the acotar gift exchange that I just love!

Finally the only other multichapter Elucien fic I can recall reading that wasn’t MB or Tessa’s was Foreplay, which was a modern AU I really enjoyed! 🥰

Please feel free to add your own recs or send some to me as well! (Hell if you’re reading this and write Elucien fic, you have permission to add me to your tag list!) I’ll be graduating uni soon and will hopefully have more time to invest in fic, so maybe I'll get a chance to update it with more fics soon! 🥰

#I feel a little exposed for how little Elucien fic I’ve read 😂 #my newfound Elucien obsession lined up very poorly with me being buried by uni work #and here’s a secret about my Elucien origin story 🤫 #I also read a multichap E/riel fic when I was still impartial to who Elain would end up with #but the relationship between Lucien and Elain in the fic really sold them to me as a couple #which I find a little bit funny because that wasn't the author's intended endgame #so while I do credit Tessa and MB for converting me it was also an E/riel fic that did some of the legwork #Elucien #Elucien fic #fic recs

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Fixated

A/N: I can’t explain how I am feeling, so I am going to let fic do it instead. This is entirely written without edits, without a read through.  Overworked!Scott

Edit: Okay I did a read through. Remaining mistakes are mine

-----

Virgil is the first to notice. Maybe because he’s Virgil, and possibly because he’s the only one who can call Scott his immediate older brother, so there’s something in their closeness in age, having navigated childhood together almost as equals, that sets his Scott-sense apart from that of his younger siblings.

When Scott was thirteen and Virgil was eleven, Scott was in the eighth grade and had to write a research report on the Wright Brothers, the pioneers of modern aviation. And that was all well and good, because Scott was going to start training for his pilot’s license right when he turned sixteen. The report became not just a chronicle of the historical figures’ lives, but also of flight, of the first airplane itself and the prototypes before it, of physics, and aerodynamics. He researched in a way he never had before because it was a subject he was passionate about.

He obsessed.

Like John but different.

John absorbed the search for knowledge into the fiber of his being, his fingertips always itching to take a deeper dive through archives when he heard a word he didn’t know or a concept he couldn’t explain fully. Research was as much a part of John as music was for Virgil, or swimming was for Gordon. It was a companion he could always revisit later, and so like all of them with hobbies that mattered, John knew how to catalog  and save for a better time, and turn the itch aside when he needed to. He knew when to stop.

Scott didn’t. Scott defined the turn of phrase “down the rabbit hole.” Alice caught and enraptured by the not yet known or understood.

When he cared, he obsessed.  

That project got finished with an A+, but resulted in anxious shaking that didn’t alleviate until a few days after the grades came back. Scott had lost weight, skipped his extra curriculars, and Virgil hadn’t seen him for two whole weeks while he worked. The younger ones likely didn’t remember.

But Virgil did. And he knew the signs. Forgetting to eat, falling asleep at his computer or on his books, waking up earlier than normal to get a head start to whatever imaginary goals he created for himself that day.

So, the day Virgil notices, it’s because Scott missed lunch. Grandma had made hot wings, which was one of his favorites, so the smell of char in the air would’ve been enough to set his stomach rumbling. With Scott absent when he definitely shouldn’t be, Virgil decides to make him a plate, six hot wings with ranch on the side, and some celery.

He finds Scott at their father’s his work desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard, intently scanning the files behind the screen.

“Hey, I brought you lunch.”

No answer.

Virgil steps closer to the desk, sure that once Scott catches him in his periphery, he’d acknowledge his presence. But Scott doesn’t appear to have a periphery when he’s focused like that.

“Scott?” There’s a little room on the desk, so he nudges a few papers to the side and slides the plate down. “Scooter?” He looks tense. He can see knots forming, so he drops a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and –

“FU—”

Scott nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands fly up, catching the side of the plate which clatters, sending ranch and hot sauce all over the floor. Even MAX scurries away with a low beep at the sudden sound, and Virgil flinched in a sudden panic when the dish slipped through his fingers.

“Sorry, sorry! I just meant to help.” Virgil is already kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up what he can with his hands, knowing he needs a wet rag. Maybe a mop.

The little cup that held the ranch slid a ways. Gross.

“Ah. Thanks, Virg,” Scott says. And he means it, Virgil knows that. But he can also see the gears in Scott’s head still working, still thinking about whatever he had been focused on, not quite fully present. “Umm. Do you have this? I’m under a deadline.” He looks at his watch. “Ugh. A rough one. I’d help if I could.”

“No, I got this! Sorry, Scott.” He picks up the dirty hot wings, placing them on a plate for their compost pile. “Is there anything else I can get you instead? These were the last of them.”

But Scott doesn’t answer. He’s already back to his computer.

~*~

Gordon is next.

He may not have the same Scott-sense as Virgil, may not have picked up on it as quickly, but he and Scott both share early morning routines, meeting in the kitchen at 5:00, Scott dressed in a tank and his running shorts, Gordon in his swimsuit, a towel around his shoulders. Coffee is too heavy to start the day, but Scott usually would begin the brew for when they returned (and in case Virgil woke up) while Gordon filled their respective water bottles. Whoever finished first chose the energy boost of choice – sometimes just a snack bar, sometimes a shake. On weekends, it might be oatmeal or toast.

Out by the pool by 5:15. Stretching was important.

Scott began his run. Gordon began his laps. They went about their day. Rinse, repeat.

Occasionally a rescue might come in and affect their sleep cycle just a bit, but Scott and Gordon were both military. If they weren’t rising before the sun, it was too late and they lost half their day already.

So Gordon is next, because Scott doesn’t meet him in the kitchen. He’s not sure he knows how to make smoothies for one – hasn’t in a long time – so he proportions his ingredients for two, fills a second cup for Scott when he wakes, and sticks it in the refrigerator so it will stay cold.

He pushes himself during his exercise. He was long past chasing times, but he still raced himself. Seconds could save a life, and so he exercised for speed, for longevity sometimes. For survival.

It’s a longevity day, so he’s abandons speed for energy conservation, which makes it a long morning.

His muscles are tired and sore when he returns to the kitchen and opens the fridge for a drink to boost his electrolytes. He is not in the mood for coffee today, but sees the pot is half full, so someone is up. But it’s not Scott.

Because the smoothie is still in the fridge, untouched.

He tells himself he needs to check in on Scott once he finishes his research down at the dock today. He’s been tracking a pod of dolphins near Mateo and has been needing to collect the latest data captured by his little research vessel.

He’ll catch him later. Figure out what’s going on.

~*~

Then it’s Alan.

Alan admires Scott, has been practically raised by him since Dad disappeared. Scott is everything Alan wants to be… just the John version of him. Take Scott’s courage and bravery, John’s love of space, you get Alan. Eyes on the horizon, but looking beyond it into stratosphere, exosphere, the space between stars itself.

He’s a hell of a pilot. He knows that. He wouldn’t be the pilot of Thunderbird Three otherwise. But a part of him will always seek the approval of his older siblings. He wants to make Scott proud.

Scott hasn’t had the time for him lately. He’s been working on… oh he doesn’t know. They don’t tell him. Something for Tracy Industries.

His final quarter grades have come out, and he aced all his classes.  It had been a hard semester and juggling his courses between rescues had been tough. He’d needed to call on his brothers’ expertise a few times.

He knows Scott has his file somewhere in his email, but he likely hasn’t gotten to it yet because he hasn’t said anything to him. It’s been a few days. So Alan pulls up his grades on his datapad and strolls past the center of the lounge over to Scott.

The first time he says Scott’s name, he doesn’t answer.

Nor the second.

The thirdfourthfifth time, because that’s how he called for him, the name running together like that, Scott irritably gives him a low grumble of “What do you want, Alan?” He doesn’t glance up, and the smile falters from Alan’s face.

“Oh, I, uh—” This was silly. It’s not important, really. Scott will get to it eventually.  “My grades came through. When you get a chance.”

He grumbles in response. “I’ll look later,” he says. “I need to…”

But he trails off, back to his computer, and Alan still doesn’t know what project stole his brother away.

~*~

John’s the last.

He’s called to check in. He’s definitely connected, but....

Scott is slumped at his desk, and John’s calls are not working.

“Scott!”

No answer. The figure at the desk doesn’t budge. So John opens a channel to the rest of his brothers, his feet already sending him toward the space elevator as he calls out. “I can’t wake Scott!”

#overworked!Scott #Gavii Scribit #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #John Tracy #Tracy Family #thunderangst mabe #sorry if this is crap

[bigphatpussylips]

AO3 Fic Finding Strategies: Notes from a fanfic enjoyer

I've been actively reading fanfiction for a long time now and I noticed some of the different ways I choose to browse my preferred fanfiction platform, Ao3, and have given them silly names.

The Author Stalker- Take that author whose work you liked and go though every available work/bookmark/collection/tumblr ect. You can find. 

I find most of my "diamond in the ruff" fics this way. I don't know how many amazing fics I would have never found if I didn't click on someone else's bookmark simply because I thought they had good taste based on their writing. 

My preferred method of fic finding on most days.

Fresh Fish- Sort by "date updated". Refresh obsessively.

I use this when I'm searching for the serotonin that comes with an update notification in my email. Really good for those looking for active authors/fics. Makes me feel vaguely passive in a way, like a bear trying to catch a salmon by standing still with their mouth open. 

The Indecisive Girlfriend-  Load any and all tags/filters ect. you know you don't want into that handy exclude box. I often add more as I encounter them while I browse. 

Ever ask someone where they want to eat and they say "anything", but every restaurant you suggest gets turned down? Yeah. Sometimes you have to use (and abuse) the process of elimination. Can be exceedingly laborious depending on the amount of tags you wish to avoid that day. Often well worth it though.

The Tall Order - An opposite to The Indecisive Girlfriend method. For when you know exactly what kind of fic you want to read. Add every possible tag/filter/archive warning ect you can think of for your hypothetical fic. If you don't get any results the first time remove tags until you do! 

While not always successful, I usually find something similar enough for the effort to be worth it. Akin to going to Starbucks and ordering the most cracked sounding drink you can think of just to see if they'd actually make it. 

Rainy Day Fund- Going through your Marked for Later folder.

I often send fics to the "marked for later" folder for a variety of reasons. Either the fiction wasn't what I was looking for but sounded interesting or it sounded promising but I wasn't sure. Regardless, I often let this collection of fics accumulate until I'm having a dry spell and re-reading my bookmarks isn't doing it for me. This has saved my poor, dopamine starved, ADHD-riddled brain from content starvation on many occasions. 

Tag jumping- Exploring the fandom specific tags. 

I don't ever start out browsing this way but I end up doing it often enough. Clicking through fun looking tags leads to some weird rabbit holes but I find the BEST au's this way. 

Testing Murky Waters- Giving previously passed over fics a second chance.

For when I'm feeling brave. Or I've just passed over this particular fic a hundred times already and I'm curious. 

The Catalog- I sort by kudos but you can use any sorting option. Exclude any triggering tags. Start on "page one" and scroll through every fic till you reach the end. I call this strategy the catalog because I'll write down what "page" I'm on so I can pick up where I left off.

I only do this if I intend to sort through every fic I can get my hands on for a specific fandom tag. Hyperfixations baby. 

Does anybody else do shit like this? How do you find you fav fanfic?

#Ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #rambles #tell me how u use and abuse this website #im curious #textpost #long post

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

SAME OLD LOKI ; PART 6 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k (oops) SUMMARY: You find yourself venturing deeper into finding the Loki variant on the loose with the help of Mobius and Loki while maintaining your temper around the God of mischief and fighting with your own demons. A/N: Downtime apparently lasted for more than a week. I had absolutely no motivation to write but I eventually came around. There’s alot going on in this. Please tell me what you think, what you love, hate and look forward to. Thank you so much for showing so much love to d&m. gif from this gifset by @sersi WARNINGS: Swearing. Imagery relating to death (i think?). You and Loki’s relationship fluctuating like the goddamn economy. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Blue. Your flight suit is blue.

Your eyes sting with worry, ticking to a pair of hands buckling the straps that lay across your chest. A man secures it tightly, forcing your back against the cockpit chair. Your gaze drifts to the concentric steel rings of yellow, red, and white that stretch overhead and around you—being suspended within a 3-axis gimbal sends another churning sensation within your abdomen.

You hear a voice. It courses through the room and vibrates within your ears like fluttering echoes in a tunnel. It’s a man. He calls out your name from below.

“You ready?”

In your periphery, you see him, tall with slicked-back hair, standing with other men that adorn similar flight suits of blue. You nod, inhaling deeply as your hands reach for the controls. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoes through the room and the machine whirrs to life. The rings begin spinning in tandem, tossing your body in all directions. Your grip tightens around the controls, clicking with every push and pull as you struggle to analyze the spin. But, the machine spins faster.

Faster and faster and faster.

The machine continues to whirr. Your hands are still shifting the controls.

Faster and faster and faster.

Your eyes begin to droop, nausea taking hold of your body.

Faster and faster and faster.

You only hear your breaths; every inhale and exhale—they're loud.

Faster and faster and faster.

Too fast.

Stop.

...

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps. Not the clicks of the controls. You hear them clicking against tile floors from afar. From darkness, your eyes meet the color brown, shiny and polished—it’s wooden. The sound of the vast building’s acoustics hum in tune with the occasional chatter and echoing thump. You recognize the ambiance and it comforts your hasty thoughts as your brain tries to wreck itself in comprehending your current surroundings.

It’s one of those dreams again. The ones that kept you awake at night since the Sakaar incident, as if reliving the memories of another life. It isn’t yours but the realism to it makes it so complex that your brain cannot even comprehend the experiences during these dreams that occur.

To see, touch, hear, smell, and taste. Do dreams exceed the limit of disconnection and logic? Are dreams to be so immersive that it feels more like a memory, an echo of the past?

Through the turmoil of parsing between what’s real and what’s not, a tap on your shoulder hauls you back to reality. You turn to see Mobius, looking ridiculously exhilarated. Behind him lingers an amused Loki, hands tugging into the pockets of his jacket. The analyst says your name with a tone of equal exuberance to his manner.

“I thought I’d find you here. Do you always sleep at the archives?”

You snort, seizing yourself up as you wipe your face with your palm in hopes of feeling slightly more awake and alive than you were before. “No. Sometimes, I sleep at my desk too.”

Exhausted and sarcastic. Typical you.

Mobius rounds the table to sit beside you, gesturing Loki to his previous spot before he got up and ran away from you without any explanation. He shoots you a smile, lips pressed together, almost hesitant to sit across from you. You watch him through narrowed eyes as you address him with folded arms. “And here you are, back here again.”

Loki cannot fight the growing grin upon his lips, knowing all too well that you're referring to how he led you into an unnecessary chase down the corridors of the TVA for the sake of his entertainment. Well, it was not unnecessary. Things were turning out to be a bore and with the sudden thought of a proposition to help with his case, it doesn’t mean he has to drag out the fun of irritating the hell out of everyone else.

And you are not a bore.

-

“Loki! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

You’re outright screaming at him but his long legs only stride faster than yours could handle, slumber still clinging to your face like a thick, waxen mask. He’s so quick, weaving through tangerine hallways, skidding across the tiled floors.

He saunters down the hall with quick feet but doesn’t sprint, clever enough not to draw any attention.

He ought to answer you. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he flashes you a cheeky smile. He swears he saw flames burning in your eyes for a moment.

As you wind another corner, you already see him making one last quick dart through the elevator doors that slide open as it dings unceremoniously. Through your wide-eyed gaze, you signal him with eyes that carry a warning.

“Don’t you dare close that fucking door.” you snarl, voice booming from down the hallway and so does the clicking of the heels of your Oxford shoes as you march towards him like you’re on the hunt for prey.

Loki jams his finger onto the button to close the doors, unable to wipe off his grin. “Don’t you trust me?” is all he says to you, sending you a wink through the closing gap of the elevator doors as he raises his palm to wave you farewell.

-

You decided Loki wasn’t worth the time he has already taken from your assigned paperwork. So, you returned to your desk with a trace of bitterness in your tongue while attempting to suppress the regret for actually feeling sorry for Loki. Only because you know how it is like to be alone.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. He makes you think he is capable of change, capable of compassion. He makes you think he cares from the way he looks at you with those eyes that flicker the spark of hope in you. This Loki is the same old Loki.

Well, maybe the one in Sakaar had a good chance of earning your trust. But that’s gone now.

You shift in your seat, elbows now leaning against the edge of the table. “And to answer your question, no. I do not trust you. And I never will.”

Famous last words of the variant turned analyst.

Nobody trusts you either.

Except for the grey-haired analyst with the obsession for jet skis and you never understood why. Maybe, it’s because you’re the only one who is willing to put up with his ramblings.

Mobius eyes you and Loki’s interaction as the two of you seem to fall into the rhythm of making things even more complex than it appears. It's all part of his grand plan. Mobius knows you well enough to know you are possibly enjoying Loki's company no matter how much he irritates you. And Loki, it's clear how he admires you and how you constantly surprise him every time he crosses paths with you.

“What would I ever do without your trust?” the God sneers, each articulation of every word wrapped in mockery paired with dramatically placing his hand to his heart. Your eye twitches, the spitfire of your personality ready to fire back with a probable nasty insult. Yet, Mobius places his hand on your shoulder, while the other outstretched towards Loki as if trying to keep the two of you apart.

“Okay, okay. No need to get all riled up now. We only just had a breakthrough in the case, and I’m not letting you kill each other just yet.”

Your anger seems to immediately wash away, replaced by curiosity. You blink at your colleague. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes, and it was surprisingly Loki’s theory. Now—”

“Why do I smell...sulfur?”

You cut his sentence short as a strong whiff of a reeked scent began to descend upon you, billowing in the air. You inhale deeply, brows furrowing in concentration and confusion. An overpowering scent of a decaying body, faint but strong enough to seem out of the ordinary. The archives never smell rotten, always floor polish. Mobius and Loki share a look. Mobius is the one to speak up, attempting to distract you from your sudden strong sense of smell. “Sulfur? What, like when there’s a demonic manifestation? I mean, we are in the presence of Loki—”

“You went to Pompeii, didn’t you?”

In all of the time he has spent with Mobius who had a constant laid-back and confident nature to him, he has never seen him so red in the face. As the situation unfolds, he wonders why Mobius has made it a point to hide that information with so much eagerness which now has proved to be useless. You’re not only intelligent but also quick—only in terms of the mind rather than your physical capabilities.

You can hardly run, but your brain outshines everyone else he has met in the TVA.

Mobius is now waiting for the imminent chaos and mayhem you’re about to bring. You’re going to call him insane like every other time he has suggested an out-of-the-ordinary idea. Causing a scene is one of your talents. He has his hand on your shoulder again.

“You hate Pompeii, Mobius. Why the hell would bring him—Wait.” Your eyes are wide and blinking. “You went to Pompeii. Alone. I know that from the look on your faces. Which means no reset charge...No Nexus event.” You pause, pursing your lips. Then, you avert your gaze to Loki who watches you curiously. “Are you suggesting the variant is hiding in apocalypses?”

Mobius’ laugh comes off like a puff of air. He pats you on the back like a proud uncle. “Back on the game, Agent!”

Loki is slightly impressed. Only slightly.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll go get the files. Great work, you two.” Mobius gestures to the both of you with an outstretched index finger, grin so wide as he scurries off. Mobius loves a good case, especially when there’s a breakthrough. And with you finally familiarizing yourself with working together with Loki, everything is finally starting to look up.

The two of you end up finding each other’s gaze and for the first time, you smile at him. It’s small but genuine.

“You know you could have told me.”

“I would have, but you don’t trust me, remember?”

You hum, raising a brow. “And running away was supposed to gain my trust?”

Loki chuckles, eyes flicking to the table. “I never said anything about gaining your trust.”

Your smile grows wider, and Loki decides how he prefers you like this—relaxed and amused.

He oddly sees his mother in you. It’s the way you look at him. Like you know him.

Right, you have met him. Once.

“What was I like? The one you met at Sakaar.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his sudden question that hasn’t got to do with insinuating you.

“The same as you—barely tolerable,” you say tightly, heaving a sharp exhale. ”Just…a lot sadder.”

You hadn’t mentioned how he willingly helped escape your execution because a part of you still believes it all to be a lie. The TVA has your complete fidelity but ever since the Sakaar incident, your trust in the way the system works has been swayed. After years of being trapped in your mind, the question of whether your capabilities in logic have been damaged due to loneliness still begs. Judge Renslayer believes in your incompetence but you believe she hides a secret about the Time Keepers.

The three beings, creator of the TVA, personally convicted you as innocent, allowing you to maintain your job. Nothing of this makes sense.

Maybe Judge Renslayer lost all her faith in you, her second-best analyst because your Nexus event relates to Loki. The one variant that has been causing havoc to the Sacred Timeline. And this Loki, the one that seems to be very curious about your place in the TVA and the Time Keepers, is no different than the others.

You find yourself feeling an uncalled sense of sadness that dwells in your chest at the thought of leaving the only friendship you secretly wished to have maintained back at Sakaar. Before you let yourself fall into the abyss of melancholic wishful thinking, you swiftly direct the conversation elsewhere.

"I’m sorry Mobius referred to you as the devil,” you say coyly. “You really aren’t.”

Loki, who seems to catch on with the sarcastic tone of your voice, leans farther into his seat. “Really?”

A smirk returns to your face. “You're worse than the devil." He snorts, noticing the vague hint of crimson growing upon your cheeks and how your eyes seem to crinkle a little more than usual.

He finds himself swallowing under your stare, fiddling his fingers in an attempt to calm his sudden erratic heartbeat. A stutter under your now kind gaze—no one ever stares at him with a smile. "You are not the first to say that."

There’s another pause; Loki’s face is set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest in remembrance of how you’re not the first to have treated him the way you did. He’s dangerous but, there’s no reason for animosity. Yet, it all boils down to the lives he has willingly taken. It doesn’t differentiate him from the rest of the TVA.

Mysterious variant.

The devil is always in the details.

Strangely, the work of the devil may prove to be useful in times of cul-de-sacs as an idea comes to mind. “I think...I think I know where you’re at right now.” Your voice is light, distracted by your now running thoughts. You’re on your feet, chair squeaking as you push it back. Your pen is in your grasp and you wave it in the air, reflecting the gears that turn at high speed within your brain.

Frankly, you’re not making any sense. Loki furrows his brows, slowly standing. “What do you mean? I’m right here—"

“No. The other one. The variant. And it has to do with gum.”

You’re still not making sense and it’s clear that in your eyes, he is invisible. You’re the only one in that frenzied mind of yours.

“What?”

You don’t answer him, feet quickly bringing you down the passageway along the vast rows of shelves that stretch along with the floor’s pristine balcony of white and the two of you are back to playing chase and run. Only this time, the roles are reversed.

-

Mission Haven Hills: not successful.

Really not successful. Far from successful.

You witnessed the doom of bombing the Sacred Timeline, firsthand. Employees scramble at the controls as you watch the screen that looms over the control room. What was once a single line, running along with time has now grown like a tree with fruits of chaos, caused by Nexus events scattered across time and places.

You wished the dust would settle and this was all simply a dream but you realize this was his plan all along.

Bomb the timeline. Distract the TVA.

There is one thing you know about Loki. He is moved by revenge and resentment.

As if you possess some sort of telepsychic powers, a part of you feels that danger itself is within the vicinity of the TVA. The variant is here, you just know it.

You hope Mobius is okay.

Scurrying down the winding hallways, past the hurried time hunters, and past the time theaters, you find yourself heading towards the golden doors of the Time Keepers’ chambers. In a time of uncertainty, your gut is your only source of guidance.

At the end of the hallway, you see bodies on the ground, nearly lifeless—time hunters, either unarmed or batons missing. You plucked one of the sizzling batons from the ground as you cautiously stepped around the laying bodies. You clutch it tightly to calm the blood rushing to your head, pounding along with your heartbeat as you take on the venture into the foyer of the grand chambers with secrets not wanting to be unveiled.

You round the corner, following the wooden panels for walls laid along the entrance. The glowing end of the baton within your grasp reflects off the black porcelain tiles beneath your careful feet. You hear voices, grunts, and shouting as if in combat.

Then, you see them. Loki in his variant jacket and a woman with locks of blonde and streaks of black. She adorns a headpiece of golden horns—one broken off.

Isn't Loki supposed to be at Haven Hills?

Recognizing the presence of another, the two turn to you, daggers still held to each other's throats. Loki eyes you with wide eyes, a silent plea whether to help or stand down, you’re unsure. Your gaze shifts to the woman once more who watches you with an equal resemblance to the other.

Then, it hits you. You recognize the dark emerald cloak she wears. You know exactly who she is. You just never thought it would be a she.

“You!” Your exclamation is bitter, and it’s directed towards the woman who seems to be strangely expectant of your remark as if she already knows who you are. She is L1190, a Loki variant. The one who slashed you with the TVA’s baton, scaring your left cheek. The one who hauled you through the time door and left you stranded in Sakaar for thousands of years.

You know exactly what she has done. She knows what she has done.

“You did this to me!” you gesture to the scar on your left cheek, eyes fixated solely on her, nearing the two with caution. You’re angry. Very angry. All pent-up rage begging to be set free.

Before Loki could even perceive the current situation he landed in between two women who very much want him dead, you’re already swinging the baton to her face with full force but she blocks it with her sword but slightly staggers in her step. You glare at her. She seems a little surprised. In an instant, you take a step back and go for another strike to her rib, but she blocks you again, sliding away and dodging your hit by a mere second. You growl out of frustration, seething through your teeth, and without hesitation, you strike again. The fight goes on—strike, block, strike, dodge. And with every blow, your intensity escalates, each a little harder than the one before. Loki stands there, watching, speechless and frozen.

You strike again, the baton crackling less than an inch away from her face but she dodges just in time, swinging her sword across your face. It grazes your cheek, now a gash of crimson on top of your scar, and with the sudden blow of searing pain, you lose your balance.

The variant spins into a kick that sweeps your legs out from under, knocking you hard onto the ground. The baton rolls out from your grip. Your hand flies to the gash, trickling with blood.

“Hey!”

The brawl comes to a halt. You seize yourself up from the ground, back and head aching, turning to see Judge Renslayer accompanied by two hunters, batons held up in defense position. You were about to reach for your own that was a stretch away when suddenly, you felt a hand grip you by the collar, hauling you to your knees. Her sword held to your neck.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Go for it.”

Your eyes are wide in shock, all anger towards the variant now turning into this churning feeling of betrayal that resides within your abdomen. Judge Renslayer doesn’t look at you, focus fixated on the two variants—it’s like you’re not even there.

The three start to charge towards you and you involuntarily shut your eyes. Then, as quick as a rattlesnake, Loki grabs the tempad hung at her waist and sends the three of you falling through the ground.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. Now, with your back landing hard on top of him, all you could think about is wanting to strangle him to death.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki series #loki spoilers #sylvie #mobius #ravonna renslayer

[liquidheartbeat]

Rainy Dinner For Two

Iris grabs dinner from her and Barry's favorite diner on a dreary, rainy day.

Iris steps out of her car, underneath a dark gray covering of clouds.

They hang low in the sky, rippling past her quickly to the north. She hopes they’re signs of a passing shower, because she has a nice outdoor dinner with Barry planned tonight — and nothing will get in her way.

For the past six months, this has been their routine every Friday. She gets off work, then heads over to their favorite cafe and picks up their dinner. Usually, the weekend crowd has the place packed elbow to elbow, but the impending storm has run everyone indoors.

Everyone but her.

She takes in a deep breath as she walks, reveling in the earthy smell of incoming rain. The diner is nearly empty, except for the older gentleman in the booth, near the back. For as long as she’s eaten at this diner, there’s never been a day he didn’t occupy that spot.

He’s always orders the same thing. Two pancakes, three strips of bacon, an egg and Black coffee. And each time she walks into the diner, he greets her, tipping his hat forward.

Today is no different.

Iris smiles and waves, in return, then heads to the counter.

It’s a rare sight to see it completely empty, and she would take the chance to actually sit at one of the stools, but she’s already running a little late.

And Barry’s waiting for her.

At the counter, Karla, the evening waitress looks up from her phone, surprised to see a patron in this weather. Still, she smiles warmly. “Hi, Iris. What can I get for you today?”

“The usual, please.”

Karla’s nods as she writes it down by memory.

Steak, salad, potatoes au gratin. Fresh rolls. An entire pan of lasagna. And to top it all off, brownie sundaes, ice cream on the side — all of her and Barry’s favorite foods.

“Coming right up.” The woman smiles and heads to the kitchen to alert the cook that his quiet evening at work won’t be so quiet after all.

Iris is sure she hears him groan, but she doesn’t care.

She always leaves a generous tip, so he’ll live.

As she waits for her food, Iris pulls out her phone to pass the time. Her go-to app of choice is Instagram. It hasn’t always been this way;  as a journalist, she used to prefer Twitter to stay up on the news and gossip within her industry. But lately, Instagram has taken up special stock in her heart, serving as a living, breathing archive of her and Barry’s relationship.

So many beautiful milestones captured on film forever.

She finds herself scrolling through their years of pictures, at all hours of the day. Late at night when she should be sleeping at work.

Of course, her iCloud holds thousands more pictures than Instagram does, but what Instagram has that her phone doesn’t are Barry’s comments. His weird inside jokes, gentle mocking of her burnt food pictures, his excessive use of heart emojis on the rare selfies she posts, self deprecating jabs on their couple’s photos.

Invaluable expressions of their relationship through his eyes.

She smiles as she scrolls, grateful that her obsessive picture takING has served her well.

When Karla returns, Iris is deeply entrenched in her phone. “Iris?” She grunts as she lifts her huge order, tucked neatly into takeout containers. “I have your food.”

Iris looks up. “Oh.” She laughs and shakes her head, digging into her purse for cash.

The order always comes out to just under $50 bucks, another reason to love this diner. Not only is the food delicious, it’s dirt cheap. Iris always pays with a $100 bill. “Keep the change.” Her usual mantra.

Karla trades the food for the money and smiles. “Appreciate the business.”

“Of course.” Iris slides off the stool gathers the food.

As she turns to walk away, Karls says: “Give my best to Barry — he hasn’t been by in awhile.”

Iris pauses, stops dead in her tracks. “I will.” She smiles brighter glancing back at Karla, then heads for the door.

She steps outside and makes note of her surroundings.

The sky is darker, more menacing. The wind has picked up too. Iris walks in haste towards her car and packs up the food in the backseat, then rounds ducks into the driver’s side just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Revving up her engine, she leaves the parking lot,and heads towards the sight of her and Barry’s weekly’s dinners. Her fingers tap along the steering wheel as she drives, her building anticipation fighting with her nerves.

It’s dumb to feel nervous. This is her husband, afterall. Her best friend. But the venue unnerves her. A large open plot of land, no dinner tables, no guarantee of privacy. Plus, the weather feels especially foreboding today. As she creeps down the road, the sky continues to darken. “God, this is going to be some storm, huh?” She says as she stops at a red light. Rolling her window down, she pokes her head out.

The temperature has dropped considerably and in only a few minutes at that. She glances at her backseat, checking to see if her jacket is still there.

She smiles as she realizes it is. If only she’d remembered to bring her umbrella.

For a moment, she considers texting Barry and asking him to run by the loft and pick it up. But she knows he’s occupied, so she refrains.

By the time she arrives, it’s drizzling slightly. But nothing too terrible. Her hair will be good as ruined, but she doesn't care. Her husband is waiting for her.

She gathers the food and her jacket, which she throws on her shoulder, and heads over to Barry. Thankfully, there’s no one else out, so they can have a private dinner. As she walks, she remembers that she forgot the picnic blanket to lie on the ground.

But it’s too late to turn around.

Guess she’ll have to toss these clothes once she gets home. Grass stains and mud do not mix. Still, she pushes forward, walking over the large plot of land.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she says as she sits the bag of takeout on the ground. “I got a little tied up at work.” Hands free, she slips on the jacket that’s cast across her shoulders, just as lightning illuminates the darkening sky.

She flinches slightly, but kneels to the ground in front of a large tombstone.

It reads: “Here lies Barry Allen. Born March 14, 1989. Died April 7, 2021.”  

She shakes her head to herself. Such a piss poor summary of a rich, varied life, full of service. Absolutely no mention of the sacrifices he made as The Flash, the same sacrifices that promised him an early demise.

But she knows that he gave his life for the city. So that the people he loved could live another day. She presses a hand to her heart, eyes welling up with tears.

His death had hit her like a ton of bricks.

But in the months since, she’d forced herself to hold things together and try to get as much out of life as she possibly could, so his sacrifice wasn't in vain. To keep living, to keep running. But once she’s in front of him, it’s hard to keep the promise she made to him.

These dinners are hard on her stomach, and not just because she’s eating enough food for a small family. But because there’s no goofy laughter at the end of her rant about her boss, no consoling breath when she expresses her insecurities about her position at work, no seductive crooning that foreshadows the next part of the evening, once they return home. It’s just her and the fresh air, and wilting flowers and Barry’s gravestone.

Thunder cracks overhead like a whip, pulling her from her thoughts. Lightning blazes across the sky. It’s a terrible day for an outdoor dinner. But then again, every day without Barry is terrible, when she really thinks about it. At least here, she’s closer to him.

The rain picks up, huge droplets pelting the ground. Iris pulls her hood on her head, and lays lengthwise in front of his gravesite. On a clear day, she’d trace his pitiful engraving with her fingers, but the weather has her seeking shelter inside her jacket.

She draws her arms inside her sleeves and holds the fabric together from the inside.

The food she bought is getting absolutely ruined, but truth be told, she doesn't have much of an appetite. Today, a conversation with her husband is the only thing she needs on her plate. “So, Barr,” she says, “I have so much to catch you up on…”

#the flash #westallen #iris west #barry allen

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part-Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Oviposition, Egg Laying, Birth, Surgery, Male Infertility Words: 4029

Dr. Halvorg learns what could be causing his infertility and makes arrangements to try and correct it. He and the reader become closer, and the reader attempts to do something to help him feel less lonely and unfulfilled. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Halvorg went in for the tests that same week, returning afterwards subdued and blushing slightly. You assumed he’d never given a… sample… before.

“How’d it go?” You asked him.

He rubbed his neck bashfully. “It was… thorough.”

You snickered. “At least it wasn’t a biopsy after an abnormal pap smear. Those are traumatic.”

He looked aghast. “I can only imagine.”

“Did they say when the results would be in?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re supposed to call me when they come back. Could be a week or so.”

You patted his arm softly. “How are you feeling?”

He sighed heavily. “Worried. This could change my life or confirm my worst fear. Either way, I’m… well, to be honest, I’m a little scared.”

“I understand,” You replied. “Well, no, I don’t. My family is disgustingly fertile. If I ever tried to get pregnant, I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long.” You looked up at him with sympathy. “But I do feel for you.”

“I appreciate that,” He said solemnly. He looked at you curiously. “If I might ask, how old are you?”

“I’ll be one hundred and seventy four years in August,” You said.

“And you’ve never considered having children in that time?” He asked.

“Not really. I figured I had enough nieces and nephews that I didn’t think it was necessary. I mean, I’m not against the idea of having children, I’ve just been career oriented for most of my life and never really settled down in any place for very long. I’ve never been married, never had any serious relationships, never dating with the intent on finding ‘the one.’ I figured if I wanted that, it would come in time and I would let it happen naturally and there was no need to rush it. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” He said. “That’s how I used to be for a good three centuries. It wasn’t until I did marry and tried to make a family and failed, again and again, that I sort of became… obsessed.”

“How many times have you been married?”

“Thirty times, I believe.”

“Were they all human?”

“Most of them were,” He said. “There were a couple of tieflings, a half-orc woman, a faun, a selkie, and a dryad. I stayed with them all until the end of their lives, except the last one who left me. I’m nothing if not devoted.” He cocked his head. “Well, I divorced the dryad. She wasn’t happy that I couldn’t conceive children and berated me for it.”

“Oh, jeez, what a bitch,” You said, frowning.

He snorted. “I may have used similar language at the time.”

“I can’t imagine you calling someone a bitch,” You said, side-eyeing him.

“I was a different man in my youth,” He said, smiling. “I’ve got some papers to file. I’ll see you later.”

You waved him off, watching him walk briskly and frowned. He’d lost so much, been disappointed so often, given up on the things he wanted for himself to help others. He was using what he had to give others what he wanted, and as noble a pursuit as that was, it was also rather sad. And what if he got the news he was dreading the most. He’d be devastated.

Was there anything you could do to make him feel better? Was there something you could give him that would make him feel less… incomplete? The only time he seemed genuinely happy was when he was with the children. What else could give him the same joy?

The boy. It came to you suddenly. What about the boy he thought was his son? The one he raised until his mother left with him? Could you find him? Was he alive?

At lunchtime, you sat down with Amai in the cafeteria.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” You asked.

“Sure, what is it?” She responded, sipping her coffee. She always craved coffee when she was incubating and downed gallons of it after laying.

“The boy Halvorg raised, what was his name?”

“Robert, I think?” She said. “I can ask Yenuno, he knows.”

“What year was he born?”

“Uhhh… 1901 or around there.”

“What was his mother’s name?”

“Martha--why are you asking about this?”

You sighed. “I want to find Halvorg’s son. He may be dead now, but I have to try. Halvorg is so unhappy, he’s just gotten really good at hiding it. I want to give him some kind of closure.”

Amai winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Spending all these years around him, I can see how much he’s hurting, even if he tries to mask it.” She sighed. “I have some contacts at the census archives and I can make some inquiries. I’ll check the lineages websites and find as many records as I can.” Amai snorted. “Maybe he’ll be less uptight.”

“Amai!” You retorted.

“Sorry, sorry!” Amai held her hands up. “I’m sorry, it’s a reflex by now, sorry. This is serious. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” You said with a warning tone. “This is serious.”

“I know,” Amai said, her face more solemn. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,�� You repeated. “I’m sorry to put more work on you, though.”

She tsked at you. “Please, I always take maternity leave during Yenuno’s time incubating. I generally have nothing to do but keep the big guy company while he’s stuck in one place. It’ll give me something to do.”

Halvorg got the call a few days later and informed you of the appointment time. You offered to drive him, and he gratefully accepted.

“Are you alright?” You asked him.

He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I don’t know. This is either a new beginning or the end of the road. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I’ll be with you, no matter what,” You told him.

He grimaced in a failed attempt to smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat in the waiting room for a moment before being called back into an exam room. He sat there in his chair and fidgeted nervously. You put your hand on his and held it. He looked up at you with fear in his eyes and didn’t shake you off.

The doctor knocked on the door and let himself in. Halvorg straightened up, releasing your hand.

“Alright, Dr. Halvorg,” He said, sitting at the table. “We Have your results back. Blood and urine came back normal, and there’s nothing abnormal on your x-rays.” He flipped on the computer screen on the desk in front of him and pulled up Halvorg’s file. “However, there was abnormalities in your sperm sample and the MRI.”

“What type of abnormalities?”

“Well, first of all, your semen sample didn’t have any sperm in it.”

Halvorg looked confused. “What?”

“It’s a condition known as Azoospermia. It’s basically when there’s a blockage somewhere that’s trapping the sperm, which is why there weren’t any little swimmers in your sample.” The doctor clicked on one of the tabs and opened an MRI of Halvorg’s pelvic area and pointed out the anomalies. “The MRI confirms it. There doesn’t appear to be a connection between your epididymus and your vas diferens, and without that connection, the sperm is completely blocked. There’s also a blockage from your testes to the urethra. You appear to have been born with all of these blockages.”

“How does that happen?”

“As to that,” The doctor said, looking at the paperwork he came in with. “Your genetics test came back, and it appears that you have a mutation of Cystic Fibrosis. Thankfully, with this mutation, there are no other typical symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis besides the infertility.”

“Can it be corrected?” Halvorg asked anxiously.

“Yes, microsurgery can correct it. Before we do that, we’ll need to take a sample directly from the testicle with a needle to see if you’re producing sperm at all and look at the count. If we determine that the general sperm production is not the problem, then we’ll proceed with surgery.”

Halvorg sat in a stunned silence, gripping his knees tightly.

“So… it’s possible that I could have children?” He asked.

“There is a possibility,” The doctor said. “We would have to wait until after the surgery and take another sample. I don’t want to get your hopes up too soon, the sperm count could be low, they could be abnormal. There are a bunch of things that could go wrong.”

“But there’s a chance?” Halvorg asked, his eyes as wide and vulnerable as a puppy.

“There’s a chance,” The doctor replied.

As the two of you left the clinic and headed to your car, before you could get to your door, Halvorg gently took your arm, swung you around, took your face in his hands, and kissed you full on the mouth. You made a sound of surprise, but you didn’t push him away.

He lingered for a moment or two before breaking away and saying, “I’m sorry, I know that was extremely unprofessional and probably unwanted, but I don’t know how to thank you. I owe you so much, I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.” He gulped and looked at you earnestly, breathing out a shaky breath. “Do you remember when you asked me to dinner?”

“Yeah?” You asked, confused but intrigued by the sudden softening of his prickly exterior.

“Does the offer still stand?”

You smiled at him slowly and took his hands. They were trembling. This was the first time in a century he’d asked a woman out, after all.

“Yeah,” You replied, stepping closer so that your body lightly brushed his. “Yeah, it does.”

He smiled wide and kissed you again.

Maël went in the next day to have a sample taken, and was thrilled to learn that he did have a decent amount of sperm production. He scheduled the surgery immediately. The recovery time would be at least six weeks, and it was advised that he didn’t try to have sexual relations for another two weeks after that. Plenty of time to feel out your new blooming relationship and get more comfortable with each other.

Thankfully, you had a week to actually go on a few dates before he went under the knife. He took you to Dunmountain on a weekend trip to the museum and the opera. It was the first time you’d done anything like this recreationally in a really long time, and you loved every second of it.

Even though you were sharing a hotel room and a bed, he didn’t attempt to be intimate with you, and you didn’t push him. It had been a century since he last took a woman to bed, and you imagined he felt a little nervous about it.

You didn’t go out of your way to tell people that you were together, but it wasn’t a big secret either. Yenuno and Amai were overjoyed for the two of you. Maël had told Yenuno and Amai about the surgery, but he claimed it was a hernia. You weren’t sure if he would tell them the whole truth. Not unless he got the results he wanted.

By the time he healed completely, it would be about time for the eggs to hatch. Yenuno was already restless and it had only been a month.

You drove Maël to the surgical clinic on the day of his surgery, sat with him in pre-op while he waited nervously and just talked him through his anxiety, holding his hand when they put the IV in. They gave him some medicine to help calm his nerves, and he began to grow sleepy. You stroked his head and watched his eyes fluttered closed. They wheeled him into surgery while he was still snoozing.

The procedure didn’t take very long, only about an hour, and you waited to be called back. A nurse came to retrieve you and took you to his room.

He lay there in bed, drifting in and out.

“Hey, sweetie,” You said, rubbing his arm. “How are we feeling?”

“Sore and thirsty,” He croaked.

You picked up the cup with water in it the nurse had provided and helped him take a sip.

“I’m not surprised you’re sore,” You remarked, setting the cup back down. “A whole bunch of people fondled your balls for an hour.”

He wheezed a laugh. You loved it when he laughed. It changed his whole face. “Did they say when they’d release me?”

“As soon as you can pee on your own, they’ll let you out of here. They said there would be swelling so it might be a while before you’re able to do it, though. I’ll wait.”

He held his hand out for yours and you took it.

“I feel like all I do these days is thank you,” He said. “I wish I could do as much for you as you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” You said. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. But I’ll keep you around. You’re cute.”

He breathed another laugh through his nose. “I’m glad. I’ve become rather fond of you.”

You kissed his knuckles. “Likewise.”

He managed to relieve himself right after dinnertime, and was declared clear to go home. You drove him back to the facility and helped him to bed. He was asleep before you left his apartment.

Heading back into your own apartment for the night and sat heavily on your couch. God, you needed to do laundry. It had been a chaotic few weeks.

You started picking up clothes that were strewn haphazardly over furniture, and while picking up a pair of jeans, a small book fell out.

Oh. Right. Maël’s research notes. You’d meant to give it back. Well, Maël was going to be recovering in bed for a few days and likely sleeping most of that time. You could give it back when he was back on his feet. You placed it in the drawer of your nightstand, stared at it for a minute, and went on to start laundry.

And promptly forgot about it for a second time.

Maël slowly healed, though he walked a little stiffly for a few weeks and was careful when sitting. He was a little more irritable than normal, but you imagined he was trying to adjust and was also still worried about whether or not the surgery had worked. He wouldn’t know for another several weeks.

The children kept bringing him flowers they found in the forest to cheer him up, which always seemed to lift his spirits. You spent the evenings with him, talking and cuddling and kissing. You felt like a teenager again, and you hadn’t been a teenager in over one hundred and fifty years.

You were starting to regret the timing of the surgery, though. Sometimes the making out would get pretty hot and heavy, and you had to force yourselves to stop for fear of injuring him.

One night after you’d been dating for just under two months, he was kissing your neck and began to unbutton your shirt. You stopped him.

“You haven’t been cleared for intercourse, have you?” You asked him.

“No, not yet,” He said, breathing heavily and biting his lip. His white-blonde hair was out of it’s normal clean braid and falling around his face. “But I can do something for you.” His hand drifted down your abdomen and between your thighs.

“Oh,” You said, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”

He slipped his hand into your panties and stroked you, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I haven’t done it in a while,” He said, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. “But I think I still know how to do this.”

He got up from the couch and pulled you by your legs gently so that you were laying flat, pushing up your skirt and pulling off your panties. He knelt back down on the couch, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He slowly spread your legs and pushed your knees upward. He started kissing and sucking the inside of your thigh while circling your bud with his thumb. You moaned and lay back into the cushions, giving over to the sensations.

As he kissed his way toward the apex, he slipped his middle finger inside you and thrust it gently in and out. You whimpered and gripped the couch, your hips grinding against his hand.

“Maël, please,” You breathed.

He growled low in his throat, sending a shockwave through your spine.

“Since you said please,” He whispered teasingly, and pressed his tongue to your clit. Your toes curled at the contact and you grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Oh god,” You whispered. “Maël.”

He placed his whole mouth over you, licking and sucking, adding another finger inside you. He certainly did remember how to do this.

“Fuck!” You said through gritted teeth, followed up by a shuddering moan, raising your head to watch him. He looked up at you through his long lashes and doubled his efforts, sucking your labia into his mouth and pulling, adding a third finger. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Still sucking, he grinned up at you and quirked an eyebrow. He withdrew his fingers and used his hands to push your knees into your chest to open you up wider. You grabbed his head with both hands and rocked your clit against his tongue.

You came as though hit by a bus, loud and violent. Your butt lifted off of the couch as you pulsed in ecstasy, screaming. You hoped the walls of his apartment were soundproof. You couldn’t believe that he’d made you come in under a minute.

“How? How did you do that?” You wheezed.

He chuckled darkly. “I was married thirty times, darling. If I don’t know what I’m doing by now, I shouldn’t be dating at all.”

You just sort of laid there like a starfish while you got your breath back and cooled down. Maël went to fetch you some water and a snack. Eventually, you found your underwear and put it back on. Once your heart rate had slowed, he pulled you into his lap and kissed you slowly until you fell asleep. The next morning, you woke up next to him in his bed. You were tucked up under his arm and he was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, both of your cellphones buzzed at once. Maël snorted awake and untangled himself from you, picking up his phone, looking at it, and jumping out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“The eggs are hatching!” He exclaimed hastily, pulling clothes out of drawers and putting them on hurriedly. You threw your clothes on and joined Maël’s mad dash for the door.

When you got to the receiving area, the kids were milling around inside, instructed to stay away from the cottage until the babies were born, but they were craning their necks to see what was happening.

Amai was in the shelter with Yenuno and several members of the hatching team, looking into the circle of his tail. She looked up and saw the two of you running up and shouted: “Hurry! They’re almost out!”

You and Maël darted up the ramp and looked down into the coil. All three of the eggs were cracked open and little arms and tails were poking out.

“Vitals?” Maël asked, donning a surgeon’s paper outfit and instructing you to do the same.

“Vitals are elevated but within acceptable range,” One of the nurses said.

“Good,” Maël said. “Alright, we just have to stand back. They’ll do most of the work.

Amai and Yenuno were watching the eggs hatch with awe on their faces. You supposed watching this never got old for them. You wondered if they would miss this now that they decided to stop laying.

Slowly, the little wiggling figures freed themselves from their shells and were crawling around on their hands, looking up at their parents. Maël used that distraction to examine them.

“No way…” He said in a hushed tone. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Amai asked a little shrilly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Maël said, grinning up at her. “They’re all girls.”

“What?!” Yenuno and Amai said in unison, looking at their new little ones.

From what Maël had told you, the ratio of male to female births of Blue Gill Nagas was disproportionately skewed in favor of males. One in twenty eggs contained a female. Having an entire clutch of females was extremely rare.

Yenuno and Amai cried with joy and excitement. They’d been hoping to have at least one more little girl. To get three in one go was overwhelming.

Maël supervised the clean up process, and when they were ready, Yenuno and Amai brought the three baby girls out and introduced them to their siblings. You watched on the ramp with Maël, smiling, and took his hand. He squeezed yours in return. Looking up at his face, you could see he was crying, too.

This is what Maël wanted. He wanted to be the first to say hello to his own child, to be the first to hold them, to be the first to tell them he loved them. He wanted to kiss their brow and dance with them when they were crying and sing them to sleep at night. To get on the floor and play with them and put bandaids on their knees when they scraped them. He was desperate to experience that again, like he had with his son.

After the hatching, Maël went to file the new birth paperwork and Amai and Yenuno and their children were spending the next few days together. That left you with nothing to do.

Back in your apartment, you lay in your bed, thinking about that morning over and over. The babies busting out of their shells, the look of joy on their parents’ faces, the mix of happiness and pain on Maël’s.

You sat up to get your lip balm from your night table, and again found the book. You really ought to give it back. You’d been absent-minded about this for too long.

You opened it, flipping through pages until you landed on the date you first arrived at the facility. Intrigued, you read it.

“Amai’s friend finally made it today. It was exciting to meet her; I’ve been following her career for so long. She’s done so much for the non-human community. Amai didn’t tell me how breathtakingly beautiful she was. My heart stopped when I saw her out of the window. I haven’t felt attraction like this in centuries.”

Oh. Oh god. This was his personal diary. You knew you should stop reading it, but couldn’t. You had no idea he’d felt this way.

“I think I’m flirting with her, but I’m not trying to. I can’t help it. She’s funny and intelligent and everything I love in a woman. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying so hard to stay professional, but I can seem to stop smiling around her.”

The next entry was the day you asked him to dinner.

“She asked me out on a date tonight. It was so hard to say no, but there’s no point, is there? She won’t want me if she knows I can’t have children. She’ll either leave me or mock me. There’s no point. I’ll avoid her. That’s all I can do. It’s best if I don’t get closer to her. Even friendship is dangerous. I’m already half in love with her, and I don’t think I could take it if we started a relationship and she ended up pitying me or disgusted. I can’t do it again.”

There were no more mentions of you in the book after that. You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears hit the page.

It was then that you made a decision.

You took out your phone and dialed your gynecologist’s office. “Hi, Grace, I’d like to schedule a consultation with the doctor about canceling my next birth control injection.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Fae

[foreverlogical]

Donald Trump’s descent into madness continues.

The latest manifestation of this is a report in The New York Times that the president is weighing appointing the conspiracy theorist Sidney Powell, who for a time worked on his legal team, to be special counsel to investigate imaginary claims of voter fraud.

As if that were not enough, we also learned that former National Security Adviser Michael Flynn, who was pardoned by the president after pleading guilty to lying to the FBI, attended the Friday meeting. Earlier in the week, Flynn, a retired lieutenant general, floated the idea (which he had promoted before) that the president impose martial law and deploy the military to “rerun” the election in several closely contested states that voted against Trump. It appears that Flynn wants to turn them into literal battleground states.\

None of this should come as a surprise. Some of us said, even before he became president, that Donald Trump’s Rosetta Stone, the key to deciphering him, was his psychology—his disordered personality, his emotional and mental instability, and his sociopathic tendencies. It was the main reason, though hardly the only reason, I refused to vote for him in 2016 or in 2020, despite having worked in the three previous Republican administrations. Nothing that Trump has done over the past four years has caused me to rethink my assessment, and a great deal has happened to confirm it.

Given Trump’s psychological profile, it was inevitable that when he felt the walls of reality close in on him—in 2020, it was the pandemic, the cratering economy, and his election defeat—he would detach himself even further from reality. It was predictable that the president would assert even more bizarre conspiracy theories. That he would become more enraged and embittered, more desperate and despondent, more consumed by his grievances. That he would go against past supplicants, like Attorney General Bill Barr and Georgia Governor Brian Kemp, and become more aggressive toward his perceived enemies. That his wits would begin to turn, in the words of King Lear. That he would begin to lose his mind.

So he has. And, as a result, President Trump has become even more destabilizing and dangerous.

“I’ve been covering Donald Trump for a while,” Jonathan Swan of Axios tweeted. “I can’t recall hearing more intense concern from senior officials who are actually Trump people. The Sidney Powell/Michael Flynn ideas are finding an enthusiastic audience at the top.”

Even amid the chaos, it’s worth taking a step back to think about where we are: An American president, unwilling to concede his defeat by 7 million popular votes and 74 Electoral College votes, is still trying to steal the election. It has become his obsession.

In the process, Trump has in too many cases turned his party into an instrument of illiberalism and nihilism. Here are just a couple of data points to underscore that claim: 18 attorneys generals and more than half the Republicans in the House supported a seditious abuse of the judicial process.

And it’s not only, or even mainly, elected officials. The Republican Party’s base has often followed Trump into the twilight zone, with a sizable majority of them affirming that Joe Biden won the election based on fraud and many of them turning against medical science in the face of a surging pandemic.

COVID-19 is now killing Americans at the rate of about one per minute, but the president is “just done with COVID,” a source identified as one of Trump’s closest advisers told The Washington Post. “I think he put it on a timetable and he’s done with COVID ... It just exceeded the amount of time he gave it.”

This is where Trump’s crippling psychological condition—his complete inability to face unpleasant facts, his toxic narcissism, and his utter lack of empathy—became lethal. Trump’s negligence turned what would have been a difficult winter into a dark one. If any of his predecessors—Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George H. W. Bush, and Ronald Reagan, to go back just 40 years—had been president during this pandemic, tens of thousands of American lives would almost surely have been saved.

“My concern was, in the worst part of the battle, the general was missing in action,” said Maryland Governor Larry Hogan, one of the very few Republicans to speak truth in the Trump era.

In 30 days, Donald Trump will leave the presidency, with his efforts to mount a coup having failed. The encouraging news is that it never really had a chance of succeeding. Our institutions, especially the courts, will have passed a stress test, not the most difficult ever but difficult enough, and unlike any in our history. Some local officials exhibited profiles in courage, doing the right thing in the face of threats and pressure from their party. And a preponderance of the American public, having lived through the past four years, deserve credit for canceling this presidential freak show rather than renewing it. The “exhausted majority” wasn’t too exhausted to get out and vote, even in a pandemic.

But the Trump presidency will leave gaping wounds nearly everywhere, and ruination in some places. Truth as a concept has been battered from the highest office in the land on an almost hourly basis. The Republican Party has been radicalized, with countless Republican lawmakers and other prominent figures within the party having revealed themselves to be moral cowards, even, and in some ways especially, after Trump was defeated. During the Trump presidency, they were so afraid of getting crosswise with him and his supporters that they failed the Solzhenitsyn test: “The simple act of an ordinary brave man is not to participate in lies, not to support false actions! His rule: Let that come into the world, let it even reign supreme—only not through me.

”During the past four years, the right-wing ecosystem became more and more rabid. Many prominent evangelical supporters of the president are either obsequious, like Franklin Graham, or delusional, like Eric Metaxas, and they now peddle their delusions as being written by God. QAnon and the Proud Boys, Newsmax and One America News, Alex Jones and Tucker Carlson—all have been emboldened.

These worrisome trends began before Trump ran for office, and they won’t disappear after he leaves the presidency. Those who hope for a quick snapback will be disappointed. Still, having Trump out of office has to help. He’s going to find out that there’s no comparable bully pulpit. And the media, if they are wise, will cut off his oxygen, which is attention. They had no choice but to cover Trump’s provocations when he was president; when he’s an ex-president, that will change.

For the foreseeable future, journalists will rightly focus on the pandemic. But once that is contained and defeated, it will be time to go back to focusing more attention on things like the Paris Accords and the carbon tax; the earned-income tax credit and infrastructure; entitlement reform and monetary policy; charter schools and campus speech codes; legal immigration, asylum, assimilation, and social mobility. There is also an opportunity, with Trump a former president, for the Republican Party to once again become the home of sane conservatism. Whether that happens or not is an open question. But it’s something many of us are willing to work for, and that even progressives should hope for.Beyond that, and more fundamental than that, we have to remind ourselves that we are not powerless to shape the future; that much of what has been broken can be repaired; that though we are many, we can be one; and that fatalism and cynicism are unwarranted and corrosive.

There’s a lovely line in William Wordsworth’s poem “The Prelude”: “What we have loved, Others will love, and we will teach them how.

”There are still things worthy of our love. Honor, decency, courage, beauty, and truth. Tenderness, human empathy, and a sense of duty. A good society. And a commitment to human dignity. We need to teach others—in our individual relationships, in our classrooms and communities, in our book clubs and Bible studies, and in innumerable other settings—why those things are worthy of their attention, their loyalty, their love. One person doing it won’t make much of a difference; a lot of people doing it will create a culture.

Maybe we understand better than we did five years ago why these things are essential to our lives, and why when we neglect them or elect leaders who ridicule and subvert them, life becomes nasty, brutish, and generally unpleasant.

Just after noon on January 20, a new and necessary chapter will begin in the American story. Joe Biden will certainly play a role in shaping how that story turns out—but so will you and I. Ours is a good and estimable republic, if we can keep it.

PETER WEHNER is a contributing writer at The Atlantic and a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center. He writes widely on political, cultural, religious, and national-security issues, and he is the author of The Death of Politics: How to Heal Our Frayed Republic After Trump.

#ideas

[karama9]

Snake Eyes

I haven't seen the movie, this is just reacting to a synopsis. Still, SPOILERS AHEAD.

If I go by that, Snake Eyes was basically given Storm Shadow's descent and redemption arc. With Storm Shadow only starting a descent at the end not for revenge over the murder of a family member but because he's angry he lost what he saw as a birth right by breaking a rule in a moment of anger.

*deep breath*

Ok, so context. Here's how I see Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow as they were in the original run of the comics... I mean, there are tons of remakes and alternate takes, but I'm talking about my preferred versions.

Snake Eyes is a tragic hero, dialed up to ten basically. He's had all these tragedies, continues to have them, and either because of them or in spite of them (you choose, he won't say or show any feelings either way, by design) he's just a hero often risking himself to prevent tragedies from happening to others and fighting bad guys. "All this, and it just made him kind" type thing. Except he's the variety of "kind" that has semi-automatic rifles and an assortment of sharp toys, and uses them on a lot of public menaces. He's not just driven to violence by trauma and anger, it's very, very directed at the bad guys and often within specific or implied orders. Part of it might be rage, but he is a force for good and generally (key word, he has moments, I know) under control.

Storm Shadow's arc is a redemption story. When we first meet him, he's with the bad guys. We find out he desperately wants the identity of his uncle's murderer both to get revenge and clear his own name and serving the bad guys is how he hopes to get that. He eventually decides it's not worth it, prompted by the necessity to save a victim he finds particularly worthy of being saved, but doesn't give up on revenge just yet. He eventually does forego it despite a chance to take it. Once they are no longer trying to kill him, he's loyal and close to his clan again, and the whole thing would be moot if he didn't care about rejoining his family: he could have just disappeared more completely and not make himself visible through working for an international terrorist organization under a name that literally translates to his family name.

I'm quite attached to that story arc. It was the first redemption arc I really got into (I was young) and it got me obsessed with the character for quite a while.

So, to see the arc literally transferred almost blow for blow to Snake Eyes, who could have been a perfectly good hero by just... being his normal hero self, and to see Storm Shadow get his obligatory excuse to join Cobra changed from that arc, with the whole love of family and desperation aspects of it, to being pissed about having his future title taken away and choosing to walk away forever and just become a villain while he's at it, why not...

Yeah. What is it with adaptations and being SO desperate to mess Storm Shadow up?? This one OBVIOUSLY liked the original character so much they had to use his story almost exactly, but they made it happen to the OTHER GUY. Because Snake Eyes is more marketable I guess?

Urgh.

Anyway, if you want to see how far my obsession went, just go read my stuff, especially Arashikage (by karama9) on fanfiction dot net or archive of our own. And leave a review or comment please, it'd be nice to see others enjoying Tommy getting hyped up (I LIKE him OK?) rather than thrown down the drain for ONCE. That's why I wrote the thing in the first place...

#GI Joe #Snake Eyes movie salt #based on synopsis only #Storm Shadow

[tearsofgrace]

the final rose: chapter 2

i wrote the next chapter only took me a million years

word count: 5.5k, tags: bachelorette, au, deancas fluff, cowboys

read on archive

Cas didn’t want to be here.

Well, that was a lie. 

He wanted to be here… but he wasn’t an obsessed bastard like the rest of the guys here. He wasn’t gonna cheat and fake it to get ahead. He hadn’t even submitted a damn audition tape. 

But he was here now, so he was gonna try. And Lisa seemed like a nice enough girl… maybe there was something there. And the guys, regardless of their questionable motives and outlooks on life, were miles beyond easy on the eyes. They were fucking hot. 

The first rose ceremony had been a mixture of nerves and hope. He wasn’t exactly sure if he was hopeful of getting sent home or getting to stay, but either way, he was here now. And there was no going back (he could leave… but honestly the free food and nice house made it worth sticking around for just a little longer). 

After they toasted, Lisa was whisked away and the producers briefed them on how the different rooms were assigned. Apparently, they weren’t even adult enough to decide their own sleeping arrangements, but he guessed they were probably doing it for the drama anyway. 

There were five or six guys in every room. Which was just fine by him. Until it wasn’t. 

A producer he didn’t know the name of led them up the stairs into the narrow hallway that led into several other bedrooms. He stood in front of one and called out five names. 

“Benny, Harry, Cas, Nick, and, uh,” he glanced down at a clipboard before pointing behind Cas, “Dean. You guys are in this one.” 

Cas felt his stomach drop but he kept his face set, there were still cameras on them, after all. Even at night. Even while they slept. Besides, he could deal with Nick, Benny, and even Dean for the short while it would take for them to get sent home. At least Harry wasn’t so bad. 

The producer moved on and the rest of the guys followed him while Dean and Benny shuffled into the room, followed by the other three. 

Cas walked to the center of the room where their suitcases lay waiting for them and grabbed his, barely sparing a glance at the rest of the guys before climbing onto the top bunk and falling back to stare at the ceiling. 

When he forced himself to sit back up, Benny and Harry had claimed the other bunk bed and Nick had sprawled dramatically on the twin in the corner. Dean was just standing in the middle of the room glancing around dumbly. 

He glared up at Benny who just shrugged and gestured at his claimed top bunk before jumping off it and rummaging through his suitcase. 

“Looks like you’re with me, Winchester,” Cas said, keeping his voice neutral but seething underneath. When Dean looked up at him with barely concealed horror he hid a smile. Time to make the straight boys uncomfortable. “As long as I’m on top,” he added as an afterthought. 

Dean just scoffed and grabbed his suitcases before shoving one under the bed and pulling a pair of gray sweats and a loose black t-shirt out. 

The other guys moved sluggishly after him, sitting up and rubbing their eyes before getting a change of clothes out. He half expected them to sleep in their tuxes… at least they weren’t that sloppy.  

There was only one bathroom on the whole second floor, which was maybe the stupidest part of the whole thing, so Benny, Nick, and Harry all got away to brush their teeth before all the other guys got there. 

Cas climbed down from his bed and grabbed his suitcase, resisting the urge to look up at Dean. It was just them in the room now. 

He was the exact kind of guy Cas had expected to find here. Arrogant, unfeeling, fuckboy vibes practically rolling off him. He was a dick. But Cas had plenty of experience with dicks. 

He changed quickly, and he could almost feel Dean’s eyes burning into him until he looked up and Dean jerked his head away. Cas smirked and climbed back onto the bed, exhaustion seeping in. 

Cas took deep breaths as the quiet sound of Dean’s clothes rustling filled the room. Then the bed shifted slightly as Dean settled in below him. With a sigh, he rolled over and pulled the blankets up closer around his neck. It was going to be a long couple of weeks. 

He woke up late, looking around blurrily as the sun filtered in through the small window in the corner. He could see Nick, Benny, and Harry all fast asleep in the beds across from him, but when he pulled himself down the ladder (why had he chosen a top bunk again?) Dean’s bed was neatly made and empty. 

Cas shrugged and grabbed some clothes from his suitcase before heading to the bathroom. Then he checked his watch, 8:07 am. Okay, so he hadn’t woken up that late. 

By the time he was heading down the stairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting up from the kitchen. His mouth watered and he rubbed his eyes as he wandered inside, ignoring the camera crew standing to the side and going over a clipboard.  

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said without looking up. “Chris is bringing by the first date card- God, that sounds stupid aloud,” Cas snorted in agreement, “Anyway, he’s bringing it by in an hour or so. I made some food. You hungry?” 

Cas squinted, looking at the man in front of him. This isn’t what he’d expected from Dean. Maybe from Mick or even Benny… They seemed like they had their lives together. But Dean? 

“What are you doing?” he finally asked. 

Dean frowned, looking back to the stove where he was stirring some scrambled eggs. “Making breakfast.” 

“Why are you up?” Cas asked, his head tilting further in confusion. 

He thought he saw a shadow flit briefly across Dean’s face but before he could be sure, it was gone. “Always get up early. It’s how my dad raised me. Now, c’mon. Get some food.” 

“Coffee first,” Cas said dryly, glancing back at the camera focused on them and pushing past Dean to the coffee pot. 

The other guys trickled down slowly, clapping Dean on the back and helping themselves to eggs, bacon, and fresh coffee. 

Dean took it all well, an easy smile on his face, and Cas felt a stab of jealousy. Pretty, a good cook, charismatic, must be a fun way to go through life. 

Some of the guys went out to the pool area, walking around the grounds, but most of them stayed inside, trading meaningless conversation. Before long, one of the producers who had been directing the cameras all morning got the guys from outside and gathered everyone in the living room. 

It’s all so fake, Cas thought bitterly, as the producers explained how there would be a knock on the door, Chris was coming to do the date card, blah blah blah. No one actually fell in love on this show. And if they did… then it was pure chance. 

He tried to school his face, mindful of the cameras, and looked up expectantly when Chris knocked. 

Gordon got up to get it and they watched him go, the forced conversation dying down. 

“Gentleman,” Chris said, rubbing his hands together as he walked into the room. “How’s it going? Liking the house?” 

Cas smiled and nodded with the rest of the guys, his eyes wandering around, staring pointlessly at the other contestants. 

“And what do we think of Lisa?” 

That got a bigger reaction, a murmur of conversation running through the room while a few guys got to say their piece. 

Good for them, they’ll make it into the episode, even if they don’t get chosen for the date. 

“Alright,” Chris said, after congratulating them all again, “Let’s talk about how this works. This week, there’ll be three dates. One group date, two one-on-one dates. If you get a rose on any of the dates, you’re safe. However, if you do not receive a rose on a one-on-one date, you will have to go home. Make the best of those. I have your first date card right here for the one-on-one.” 

Most of the guys had been zoning out through Chris’ whole explanation. They knew how it worked. They didn’t need to watch him say the same words he’d said over and over every year. But at the last sentence, they all leaned forward expectantly as he pulled out a white envelope.

“So,” Chris went on, twirling the envelope in his hands, “Have an awesome week. Enjoy your time with Lisa…” he glanced off at the producers for a thumbs up to keep going, “And I hope to see you all at the next rose ceremony.” 

He set the envelope on the table and they all stared, transfixed, as he left the room. 

Garth, who was sitting closest to it, glanced up at the producers, seeking direction, but got none. 

“Open it!” someone called. 

After a second, Nick shoved past Garth and grabbed the envelope with a sneer. “I’ll do it.” 

He pulled the card from the envelope slowly and Cas felt his hatred for this guy grow. He was looking around at everyone with a slight smirk touching the corners of his mouth, then he cleared his throat. 

“Benny,” he started, and everyone turned to look at the lucky winner. “Why don’t you and me have a reel good time?”

Nick snorted and handed the card to Benny, barely bothering to look at him. 

“Well, brother, you better go get ready,” Dean said, slapping him on the back. 

Benny stood up, looking dazed, and wandered up to his room. 

“Benny?” Michael said, voice dripping with scorn as soon as he left the room. “Like, seriously?”

“I know,” Nick agreed. 

Everyone else sat in silence, looking uncomfortably at the cameras. Eventually, one of the guys whose name had completely slipped Cas’ mind stood up and followed Benny upstairs. After that, everyone dispersed, looking for something to do in this beautiful mansion with no Wi-Fi, no TV, and no connections to their friends. 

Fun. 

Dean went to the producers and started making a list of different foods he wanted ordered. Garth went and sat by the pool, dipping his feet in without even rolling up his jeans. And Cas? He went upstairs to find his book, the one form of entertainment allowed in. 

He read all morning, already feeling like this was going to be the worst part. The waiting. The boredom. The constant cameras waiting for any sign of drama but mostly capturing the most mundane interactions that had ever happened on the planet. 

Benny came downstairs and everyone briefly looked up and wished him luck before he was on his way. 

And then they just waited, ate lunch--someone had ordered pizza. Ate dinner--still no sign of Benny. Of course not. These things took all day. 

Some of the guys decided to stay up and wait to see if Benny got a rose or not. If they had one more person to worry about or not. But Cas was beat. 

He moved towards the stairs and was stopped by a hand on his chest. 

“So?” 

He turned to see Anna staring at him, a clipboard in one hand and a headset dangling around her neck. 

“What?” he asked. 

“How’s it going?” a smile grew on her face. 

“Good,” he said simply.

“Come on, Castiel,” she said, looking around. “You’re doing me a big favor, at least tell me you like it.” 

“It’s going well. I’m glad I’m here,” he forced out, which seemed to satisfy her. 

“Good,” she said, moving out of the way. He started up the stairs but stopped when she called after him, “And Castiel?”

“What?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. 

Her red hair glowed in the light of the mansion as her face softened. “Thanks for being here.” 

“Of course,” he said quietly, before turning and heading up the stairs. “Of course,” he muttered again once she was out of earshot. 

The next day came and Benny was still there, rose in hand, dazzling everyone with amazing stories of his night with Lisa. They’d gone to a real film studio and helped on set, then had a magical dinner in downtown LA. 

Cas tried to find the part of himself that was jealous, that wanted that time with Lisa, but it wasn’t there yet. It would be… he was sure. Just not yet. 

When the producers pulled him aside for an interview and asked him what getting on this groupdate would mean, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know.” 

When they pressed for more information he fought the urge to roll his eyes before saying, “Time with Lisa matters to everyone right now. But a group date isn’t a one-on-one.” 

Just then, the doorbell rang and they let him go meet the other guys in the living room, a few of them also trickling in from interviews. Garth went to get the card and stood at the front of the room, pulling everyone in with his magnetic yet ridiculous energy. Cas liked Garth. He was one of the only non-crazies in the house. 

“Alright, who’s ready?” he asked playfully, greeted by a loud cheer. Once things had quieted down, he pulled the card out and started reading. “Castiel,” Cas smiled, high-fiving the guys around him with enthusiasm he didn’t really feel. “Gabe,” this should be fun, “Asa, Cole, Garth,” he pointed to himself with a broad grin, “Aaron, Michael, Dean,” Cas zoned out after that, staring fixedly into the faces of the guys around him. 

All told, 14 guys were going on the date. 14 guys sharing time with Lisa. A recipe for the perfect night. 

Cas refocused his attention on Garth, who had finished the list of names and was now flipping the card over to read the date aloud. 

“Gentleman,” he started, and Cas wondered briefly if that was on the card or was Garth’s personal flair, “Let’s bare our souls. Love, Lisa.” 

Confusion settled over the room and everyone around him chattered excitedly about what it could mean. What secrets they would have to tell. Cas glanced up at Anna who had a smile touching the corners of her mouth. 

He’d seen enough seasons of this show to guess what it was. And he was not excited. 

They all got ready upstairs, crowding into each other’s space, barely enough room for the cameras to invade their privacy. He hadn’t seen guys like this care this much about their appearance since he was in college. And even then… well, it wasn’t exactly guys like this

It took three limos to get them all there. Which seemed like an extravagant waste of money but hey, it looked good on camera and that was what counted. 

No one really said anything on the ride. Made small talk, mostly. Not that there was much small talk left when they had no connection to the outside world. But there was something about the tiny interior of the limo, the cameras so close, that even at the producer’s leading questions the guys stayed quiet. 

When they finally stepped out into the bright sunshine, Cas let out a sigh of relief. 

Chuck was there waiting for them, and he gestured to a big building at the corner of the busy street they’d gotten off of and waved them forward, the whole time talking rapidly into the mic by his mouth. 

All the guys started making their way over and Cas followed, glancing up briefly at the sign on the building. Squinting against the sun, he could make out the word “Nightclub” in big block letters. 

Perfect. So it was what he thought. 

He looked back toward the building and saw Lisa standing in front of the big double doors, a broad grin fixed to her face. Her smile was infectious, and he couldn’t help a small smile back as all the guys gathered around. 

She exchanged a few words with a couple of them and then held her hands out to the building behind them. 

“You guys excited?”

“Yeah!” Garth shouted from the back, throwing in a wolf whistle for good measure. 

“Alright, alright,” Lisa laughed. “Anyone have a guess as to what we’re doing?” 

Yep. 

A hush fell over the group and Lisa laughed again. “Well, it’s gonna be super fun. And the best part is, it’s for charity.” 

The group cheered and Cas cast a side-eye at the rest of the group, seeing only Michael not clapping. Dick. 

“Anyway,” she said dramatically, her voice lowering as she turned toward the doors, “let’s find out what you got yourselves into.” 

The room they followed her into was dark and smokey and blue and pink strobe lights lit up the whole space. Loud music was playing through the speakers and Cas had to lean forward to hear Lisa as she led them into the room and directed them into a line. 

Then she turned toward a stage near the front and they all followed suit as the music stopped and the lights dimmed. 

A new song started and the lights started up again, this time in sync with the song. As they all watched, a line of men in cowboy hats (and heeled boots too, figures) walked out to the front of the stage, matching the steps to the beat. 

Yep, Cas thought bitterly. We’re gonna be baring it all. 

The strippers on stage started their dance as the contestants started coming to life, realizing what was happening. Cas watched the stage for a minute--cowboys weren’t really his thing--then turned curiously to see the rest of the group’s reactions. 

Most of them were looking incredulously at the stage, laughing nervously and cheering while their eyes opened to the fact that they were gonna be the ones up there soon enough. 

But something in the back caught Cas’ eye and he peered closer, letting his eyes adjust to the lights and the smoke. 

Dean was staring at the floor, color high in his cheeks, one hand raking through his hair as he shifted side-to-side. Cas glanced slowly from him up to the stage and a smirk slipped onto his face. Then Dean glanced up across the room, and for a split second, their eyes met. 

Cas cleared his throat and looked away, trying to make it seem like his eyes had been slipping over the crowd of guys. Really saved that one. 

Still. It was interesting. In an observationally interesting kind of way. 

Cas filed the interaction away for future reference and turned his attention back to the stage, where the stri- dancers had finished their show to a huge cheer from the guys and Lisa. 

Lisa walked out to the front of the group and gestured to a guy who’d come from some back room and was now standing next to her. His leather jacket was only done halfway up, showing his bare chest beneath. Cas nodded appreciatively as his eyes involuntarily moved up the guy’s body. This was more his style. 

“Boys,” Lisa started, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Scott. He’s gonna be helping us out today.” 

Scott nodded at her and turned to more fully face the guys. “Today, we’re going to be exposing you gentleman,” he paused briefly, glancing at the stage and smirking, “To the fine art of male exotic dancing.” Some of the braver guys in the group cheered again, but silence fell quickly. “Each of you will be performing on that stage later this afternoon. You’ll each have your own coach to help you, teach you the art.” 

Lisa stepped forward and smiled warmly at them. “If you guys are a little nervous, that’s okay. This is about trust. It’s about showing me why you’re here, and showing me you can have a great time. I don’t expect you guys to be great at it,” the guys all chuckled here and she joined in, “But I expect you to have fun with it.” 

“So,” Lisa’s smile widened and her eyes glinted, “Let’s get to some auditions!” 

The guys cheered as Chuck stepped forward, clipboard in hand. “Alright,” he shouted over the crowd. “Everyone up on the stage. Get loose, we wanna see some good dancing up there. You have three minutes to show Lisa what you got, and then we’ll decide which routine you’ll be doing.” 

The lights on the stage were bright, and Cas squinted up at them, resisting the urge to raise a hand. He could do this. He could do some stupid dance moves. He glanced over at Lisa, her head bent over a clipboard with Scott, a smile fixed to her face so natural she probably didn’t even know it was there. She was enjoying this. He could- he had to. 

The audition song went by excruciatingly slowly, everyone busting out their cringey dance moves and making as much eye contact as possible with Lisa. Cas felt the awkwardness seeping through him and his heart rate kicked up. This was just the goddamn beginning part. He could fucking do this. 

And then it stopped. Finally. 

Lisa and Scott made a few more notes on the clipboard they were holding, glancing up once or twice at the guys and whispering without pointing. 

Then Lisa walked forward with the clipboard in her hand. “Ready to find out how you’re stripping tonight?” she said playfully, winking at Michael who was standing in the front of the group. 

The guys all clapped, clearly feeling an energy that Cas didn’t. His world was still spinning, the lights and smoke crowding into his brain and leaving little room for thought. 

“There’ll be four different acts today,” Lisa went on. “Two groups of four--firemen and some policemen. One group of three, those guys will be robots. One duet for the cowboys. And,” she paused for effect, “One lucky gentleman will get to do a solo act all by himself as a bachelor!” 

Another round of cheering and Lisa shushed them all by holding the clipboard high. 

“Should I read the solo up to the groups of four, or the other way?” she asked seriously, looking over their heads at Chuck. 

Before he could reply, though, Michael shouted, “Tell us who the solo guy is!” 

This got a roar of approval from the guys so Lisa shrugged, glancing down at her clipboard as if to double check. 

“The solo act… drumroll, please,” the guys all started hitting their hands on their knees and Cas focused on his breathing, looking down at the floor, away from the lights, the noise… “Garth!” Lisa announced triumphantly. 

Everyone turned to look at him, slapping him on the back and grinning as he was ushered away but a coach. 

“The duet…” everyone started the drumroll again without prompting, “goes to Dean and Castiel!” 

Cas heard his name and looked up, trying to ignore the way everything was moving in slow motion around him. He nodded to the other guys mechanically and fixed a smile on his face, following the coach that took his arm and glancing back to see Dean walking behind him, his face flushed again. 

Once they were out of the room, Cas’ mind started to clear a little more, and he looked around, blinking. He could do this. He’d be fine. Just a duet… at least he hadn’t gotten the solo act. 

“Alright, my name’s Jay,” the coach said, slapping his hands together. He wasn’t bad looking, Cas mused softly, grounding himself more. “We have about an hour before you guys are supposed to get some sort of lunch, and then another two hours after that before call time. Which is plenty of time to learn about a two minute dance.” 

Cas gulped and glanced at Dean, who had lost his flustered look and was standing with a cocky grin on his face. 

“Let’s do this.” 

The guy took them through the steps, and Cas’ mind settled, falling into the routine. The first half wasn’t that bad. Simple stuff, more about owning the move than skill, according to Jay. 

But it was still fucking hard. Cas just wasn’t made to move like this. Not in front of a goddamn live audience. Even for charity. 

Dean, on the other hand, was a natural. He made all of it look easy, like he’d been doing it his whole life. And he did the whole thing with a swagger in his step that Cas knew for a fact had to be fake… but it sure didn’t look it. 

He kept turning to Cas and winking, giving him little pats on the back, hyping him up. And Cas didn’t want to admit it, but it did help… just a little bit. 

After an hour, both Dean and Cas were whisked away by crewmembers for a few interview questions. 

The questions were boring. How was he feeling? Some retroactive stuff like, what did he think when he walked in? How did Lisa look today? 

Cas answered mechanically, trying to seem excited and not terrified out of his mind. 

“And just one more,” Naomi said, tapping at her clipboard. “How’s working with Dean going?” 

“Good,” Cas said immediately, the word ripped from his mouth. “Dean’s good at this stuff.” 

Naomi just nodded distractedly and waved him away. “Right, right. Thanks, Castiel.” 

Cas stood and went into the main stage area where a buffet had been set up. He made a beeline for some honey and toast and then left the room, not bothering to chat it up and see how the other guys were doing. 

When he walked back into the rehearsal space, Dean was standing alone in the room, lifting up and examining the cowboy costumes layed out in the center. 

Cas cleared his throat and Dean started, whipping around to face him. “Hello, Dean.” The costume dropped to the floor. 

“Uh, hey, man.” 

Cas took a bite of his toast and regarded him thoughtfully. “Cowboys?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Dean shrugged and looked down at the outfit. “Wild West was fu-” he glanced at the cameraman behind Cas, “Friggin’ awesome, dude. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a Western?” he added with a lopsided grin. 

“Just Brokeback Mountain,” Cas shot back. 

Dean gulped and dropped his gaze. “I’ve never- I don’t know what that is.” 

Before Cas could answer Ajay walked back in and pointed to the outfits laid out on the floor. 

“Get changed. Bathroom’s down the hall to the right,” he sipped from the iced coffee in his hand and cocked his hip. “Then the real fun starts.” 

In the bathroom, Cas slipped the thin material over his head, his chest starting to feel tight again. He made sure all the velcro was tight (he didn’t want it to slip before it was supposed to come off) and then walked out to the mirror where Dean stood waiting. 

“Looking good, Cas,” Dean said, one eyebrow quirked up as his eyes tracked over Cas- no, over Cas’ clothes. 

“What the hell are we doing?” Cas muttered, hoping it was quiet enough that the mic pack wouldn’t pick it up. There were no cameras in here, at least, thank God. 

Dean frowned. “What?” 

“I can’t- They’re making us strip, Dean,” he said pointedly, still keeping his voice a whisper. “In front of a bunch of strangers. In goddamn cowboy outfits. What the hell are we doing?” 

Dean chuckled a little then stepped forward and reached up, straightening the bolo tie around Cas’ neck. 

“We’re just having some fun. Remember why you’re here, man,” he added, before dropping a hand on Cas’ shoulder. He stayed there for a minute, their eyes meeting, and then he turned. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” he tossed over his shoulder, pushing open the door. 

“Let’s go,” Cas repeated, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He couldn’t tell anymore if it was from nerves or-

He shook off the thought and followed Dean through the door. He was fine. They got this. 

The rest of the dance was even easier than the first half. Cas was starting to think he wasn’t going to make a total fool of himself when Jay turned off the music and spread his hands wide. 

“Right. So now, we just got to learn the stripping part of it.” 

Cas gulped, his eyes going wide. Jay pointed out the various releases on their clothing, tips for getting it off easily, and then left them to practice, his trained eyes watching them carefully. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Dean got the hang of it in like two seconds. The shirt came off and he whipped it in the air like a lasso before looking at Cas and blushing. Cas just stared back, eyes wide. 

Dean let the shirt fall to his side, his eyes still fixed on Cas, a curious expression on his face. And Cas, he couldn’t help but stare back.

Then, from behind them, Jay cleared his throat. 

Cas let his gaze slip slowly away from Dean and looked to Jay. His eyes were drifting back and forth between Dean and Cas, but after a second, his eyes landed permanently on Cas. “We need you to learn this too, Castiel. We only have about an hour until you guys need to be in hair and makeup.” 

“Makeup?” They both turned to look at Dean.

“Yeah,” Jay continued, “Just simple stuff, makes you look better on stage. Now, c’mon. Let’s finish up here.” 

Eventually, Cas got it. It wasn’t that difficult, the rip-away pants and shirt came right off. Dean’s eyes burned into him the whole time, and he pretended he didn’t notice. Pretended he didn’t see his eyes jerking away as soon as Cas looked up at him. 

He could do this. He was never going to make hundreds in tips but maybe it was enough for an audience of Bachelor superfans.

Hair and makeup didn’t take long, the producers pulled them away for another round of interviews, and then they were standing with the other guys backstage waiting for the audience to trickle in. 

A few of them were fidgeting nervously, but most of them were peaking past the wall, looking at where Lisa sat in the front row. 

They were going second. Right after Garth, who had pulled Naomi to the side and asked to go first. Still, Cas was glad they were getting it over with. Better to go now when his heart was still beating then in about twenty minutes when it had stopped completely. 

By the time Garth was waltzing out onto the stage, a grin that could be described nicely as goofy and more accurately as idiotic plastered to his face, Cas could barely think straight. 

A song Cas didn’t know started playing and Garth opened the buttons on his bachelor costume ever so slightly as he got into his routine. Next to him, Dean chuckled appreciatively and whispered, “Werewolves in London. Good choice.” 

Cas’ could only nod, the song became foggy and distant and the lights danced around him again. He felt his breathing pick up again and he looked down, blurry eyes making out his shaking hands. 

Shit. 

He didn’t know how much time passed. Didn’t notice himself swaying. Didn’t notice the camera guy getting closer to make sure he had a good shot. 

And then he was falling. 

The jerk of arms stopping his fall brought him back to the world, everything coming back into focus. Dean gripped his shoulders tightly and stood him up, pulling him away from the cameras, hiding at the back of the group. 

“Hey, man,” Dean said urgently, his hands tightening briefly before dropping entirely. “It’s okay.”

Cas gulped and silently cursed. Great. Panic attack on national TV and in front of De- Lisa--check. His Bachelorette Bucket List was going great. 

“I’m fine, Dean.” 

“No you’re not,” Dean shot back immediately. 

“It’s-” 

One of the P.A.'s Cas didn’t know tapped the back of his shoulder and he whirled around. 

“You guys are on in about thirty you need to-” 

“Give us a damn second,” Dean cut in. “Look at me.” 

Cas turned back to face him and took a deep breath. 

“You sure you’re good? We don’t have to do this.” 

Cas inhaled deeply again before letting it out. “Yes. I’m- I’ll be okay.” 

Dean met his eyes for what felt like another ten minutes before finally nodding, the concern slipping from his face. “Then let’s fucking do it.” 

He ignored the disapproving stare on the P.A.‘s face at his word-choice and led the way through the crowd and up the stairs. 

Cas followed him, eyes on Dean’s back, too shaken to look anywhere else. 

The music started up and they took the stage, the crowd going wild, Lisa in the front with a soft smile, her hands crossed over her legs as she leaned forward. 

He glanced at Dean just one more time, and then turned to face the crowd. 

Let’s fucking do this. 

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