#OVER AND OVER WHAMMY AND WHAMMY HOLY FUCKING SHIT

[mothpile]

OH MY GOD GOT TO THE PART WHERE THAT FUCKING! 'kickstarter' thing he did for getting Money to making an Indepentent Film Studio that i actually Was Around For to Hear About when i still mildly watched james's stuff And this whole time i was like Oh thats gonna come up isnt it. what fucking happened to it. ooooooooooo OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO This is just All or Nothing but NO NO FUCKING WAY NO FUCKING WAY NOT AGAIN A PLAGARISM OH HOLY SHITTTTTTTTTTTTTT

#OVER AND OVER WHAMMY AND WHAMMY HOLY FUCKING SHIT #moth talk

[somebluemelodies]

SPIDERBIT WEEK hosted by @smallchaoscryptid !! day six: coffee | nautical IM FINALLY BACK !! i know mer au won my poll from a while back so this is kinda a double whammy? spiderbit week AND poll fic :D

For a while, Roier wonders if he’s ever gonna see the deepsea mer ever again. When he doesn’t see him the night after their initial meeting, he’s worried that the Feds may have gotten to the mer after all, and it pains him more than he cares to admit aloud.

But it’s not the last time. In fact, it happens multiple times, to the point where they have a weird schedule of sorts to meet every third day or so.

Communicating isn’t the easiest, with only Roier able to actually talk, but they make do, and he’s getting a real good hold of asking ‘yes or no’ questions or anything else that permits him to learn more about the deepsea mer.

Except for one thing. The mer’s name.

The mer can understand nearly everything Roier says, but he can’t write it. He can only write in his own strange mer-tongue, which is a series of characters that sends the pirate into a deeper confusion the more he tries to make sense of it.

For a little while, Roier contemplates giving the merman a name himself, but that feels a little unfair to the mer. He has a name, after all.

However, his mouth running faster than his mind produces a nickname, gatinho, as a result of staring at the mer for a little too long and getting lost in his eyes. Thankfully, though, the mer doesn’t seem to mind it, and Roier even swears it makes the creature blush. But that sounds like crazy talk, so he tries not to dwell on it.

Nevertheless, the nickname stays. If only because it’s… well… the truth.

(Mostly. He’s a mer, not a cat. Scales and no legs, not fur and four legs.)

(But God, if he isn’t the prettiest being Roier has ever seen.)

A couple weeks or so after their first initial meeting, Roier is sitting on the flattest rock closest to the water, the mer half out of the water in front of him with his arms resting on the rock. A routine, of sorts. Either here, or the cave.

“So, gatinho,” the pirate starts. “I need to figure out your name. We have to find some way. Because I can’t keep calling you gatinho forever.”

(But he’d certainly like to.)

The deepsea mer tilts his head slightly and shrugs, as if to say, “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“What? You like the name, huh?”

A pause, followed by a slow nod. Roier grins. “No mames, wey, this guy likes being called pretty. Like a cat. Are you sure you’re not a cat? I think you’re a cat in disguise.”

The mer looks borderline offended, trying to reach over and slap him. But the pirate pushes back, out of reach, smile growing with a laugh. “You’re swatting like a cat! Holy shit, man, I was right. I’m friends with a fucking cat. A catfish. No mames.”

There’s a growl of sorts from the merman, who definitely looks like he’s blushing now - focus, focus, focus, stop looking at him like that - and shoots up out of the water before Roier has a chance to properly react.

Next thing he knows, he’s flat on his back against the rock, and there’s a solid weight on top of him, two almost-glowing blue eyes staring him down.

(A small part of Roier wonders if he should be afraid right now. He’s seen the sharp teeth and fingers. This mer could theoretically kill him in a heartbeat. Right here, right now.)

(But he’s not afraid, God only knows why. No, he’s… no, no. Enough.)

Roier tries to mask the way his cheeks are rapidly warming up with an accomplished, shit-eating laugh. “Calma, gatinho, calma.”

The deepsea mer huffs, shaking his head before a small smile crosses his face despite himself. He leans down to really shove Roier’s shoulder, but makes no effort yet to get off.

(Not that Roier minds.)

More laughter, and then a lull, and their eyes meet again. Roier becomes acutely aware of just how close they actually are. The mer is staring at him in a way he can’t quite decipher, and it makes him increasingly nervous.

(A look of wonder. Awe.)

(The mer sees the same exact look in those dark eyes.)

The pirate tries to play it off, like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest and like his thoughts aren’t circling around the fact that if he sits up enough, their lips could brush. Connect. “See something you like, gatinho?”

The mer also seems to finally realize their current position, and with wide eyes, pushes himself off and all but dives back into the water. Roier kicks himself in the ass for mourning the loss of contact.

For a few moments, as the merman doesn’t surface, he wonders if he’s fled for the night, and starts to feel a little guilty for his teasing.

But then there’s movement, and he watches the deepsea mer breach the surface again, blowing out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything.”

The mer shakes his head. It’s okay.

(He did see something he liked.)

"Roier!"

The pirate's head whips around, seeing a silhouette in the far distance.

"Oh, shit-- that's Jaiden. I gotta go." He turns back to the mer. "Three days? And I will learn your name, gatinho."

The deepsea mer nods, and three things happen in succession.

One. The mer leaves him a piece of sea glass, a red one.

Two. He hesitates, then hoists himself onto the rock to press a kiss to Roier's cheek.

Three. He dives back into the water without looking back, disappearing in a fleeting glint of deep emerald and leaving Roier to touch his cheek in surprise.

"Roier!" Jaiden calls again, running over to him. "There you are! What're you doing out here?"

Roier clears his throat, willing his cheeks to cool down despite the darkness surrounding them. His best friend was eerily observant sometimes. "I was just... collecting sea glass. See? Look at this piece I found!" He picks up the piece, standing up to show her.

Jaiden looks at it before back to him, her brow quirking ever-so-slightly. "O...kay? Since when do you do that?"

"It's given me something to do recently."

She studies him another moment, trying to decipher the truth. If she doesn't believe him, she doesn't say it. Instead, she says, "fair. But I came to bring you back to the ship, c'mon."

They walk in a comfortable silence for a bit, until she speaks up again. "Y'know, I haven't seen much sea glass around here. You must have some awfully good luck; I see the little pile on the box beside your hammock."

Roier opens his hand, looking at the translucent red treasure as icy eyes infiltrate his mind, the ghost of lips warming his cheek. "Sí. Something like that."

#this is my au and yet it does something to my brain chemistry #HOW I LOVE THEM #i missed writing them this was a lot of fun :'D #hopefully i can do tomorrow's prompt too! #qsmp roier #qsmp cellbit #spiderbit #qsmp #blue writes qsmp #spiderbit mer au

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 53 - Goblintown

Goblins, spiders, and the necronomicon. Peachy.

On AO3.

The brainworms can mind-whammy some of the goblins so hard you pull a jedi “we absolutely do go here” shenanigan on them. The worm slams your brain into one of the archer goblins up top of one a them houses, and before you can even think about it, you feel her mind quiver, and then accept your power.

But then the brainworm does something. It twitches in your skull. The human brain ain’t got no nerve endings. It’s impossible to tell exactly what happens, but it’s like something in you winks out. A star in the galaxy of your brain just goes dark. Something alters. Something is gone.

And you can’t remember what.

“I knew these tadpoles could be advantageous,” Astarion says, all but rubbing his hands together in glee.

You rub the side of your head. Meet Lae’zel’s stare. She holds your gaze, and then deliberately narrows her eyes.

She knows. The brainworms can influence people. But there’s a cost. And you don’t even remember enough to know if it was worth it. It did get y’all past the gate without having to shoot somebody (oh look, more bodies lying around, even if they are mostly bones), but you don’t like it.

The goblins mention a camp further up the road. But y’all do a bit of poking around before y’all head that way (y’all are looting). In an herb shop, y’all find a basement. And a secret door inside that basement.

Which leads to a bunch of reanimated skeletons, some kind of magic mirror Karlach puts a rock through, and the apparent resting place of the motherfucking necronomicon.

You stare at the ugly damn thing as flames whoosh behind you. Damn thing went up like a gasoline barrel after you picked the thing up. Y’all’ve shut and re-locked the door behind y’all, and don’t appear to be anything around that’s flammable, so it should be able to blaze away. Besides, if an abandoned village serving as camp for a scouting party of war goblins goes up in flames, would anything of value actually be lost?

The book looks something nasty. You ain’t sure if somebody cut off the desiccated face of some boor bastard and glued it to the cover, or if that cover is some kinda, like, physical manifestation of a soul trapped between the pages (that thing is skin; it has fucking pores).

You nudge the lump in your cleavage where your soul jar sits.

“Oh, creepy book,” Karlach says, looming over your shoulder. “Please don’t open the creepy book. That thing must be loaded with curses.”

Magical Faerun. Of course there’s haunted books.

“I think it’s locked anyway,” you say. There ain’t no visible lock, neither.

“I could take it off your hands?” Gale says. “I am just about due for another artifact—”

“Don’t you dare.” Astarion swoops in from across the room. Catches your eye and looks away. “We have no idea how valuable something like that might be. It’d be a shame to let the wizard eat it.”

“As opposed to what?” Shadowheart says. “Letting you have it?”

“I don’t see why not. Unless any of you—the wizard excluded—would rather take it?”

“Destroying it seems the best option,” Wyll says.

To which Astarion literally gasps. Only thing the man is missing is a set of pearls to clutch.

And then they look at you, and you look at that book, and you can actually trace faint, dried out capillaries below the ridges of the upper mouth. Withered gums pulled back over yellowed teeth enamel. Holy fuck, that is somebody’s face.

You shudder. “Goblins, druid, brainworms. Divvy all this shit after that, huh?”

Literally none of them like the compromise, but nobody gets an advantage, so they watch you shove the haunted fucking book into your magic bag.

***

So Gale falls through the floor of the place across the street. Lands in another hidden workshop with another hidden passageway—this one just a crumbled wall. Which leads to a cave full of monster fucking spiders.

Y’all—mostly Karlach and Lae’zel—kill the shit outta the things (as big as a goddamn great dane sweet baby jesus). And y’all find more shit to loot. Turns out, other people fell down here or got dragged down here and didn’t have a Karlach or a Lae’zel. And then Astarion’s voice drifts back, all soft and high in a way you know in your bones means he’s up to some shit.

And then Wyll, who tagged after him to keep an eye out, mutters a curse and everybody turns.

Astarion has, in fact, found something interesting. And has, in fact, gotten to it. It’s the whole “chased by a fucking truck-sized motherfucker of a spider” part that’s the problem. So tired, acid-burned, poisoned, and in general overall maimed, y’all fight twenty-goddamned-more spiders and their goddamned Shelob mother.

What y’all get out of it is a purple, glowing rock.

You stare at Astarion, the grinning bastard, as green slime slides down the side of your neck and a glob plops off your nose. Around you are several squashed baby spiders, their guts oozing slowly down the shaft of your whacking stick.

“That’s…what this was all about,” you say.

Karlach is missing a patch of hair. Wyll lost his rapier down a crevasse. Somehow, one of them fuckers exploded and Lae’zel is literally covered in guts (y’all say nothing as she scowls, pops a slimy finger into her mouth, and seems to consider the taste).

Astarion is one hundred percent unscathed. Not a spot of muck, not a single singe of acid. Not even a stray gibblet in his stupid, poofy hair.

“It matches the gems on the book,” he says. “The eyes. I know my way around a lock or two, and this is the exact sort of thing a wizard—”

Said with a tone that makes Gale’s eyes narrow even further.

“—would go mad for. None of the others want it. So why not let me take it off your hands?”

That book craves the soul of the innocent. It really would be best to chuck it down that huge-ass chasm across the floor and be done with it. But…

You don’t owe the man nothing.

But the amputated connection of friendship still tingles with the phantom memory of late-night talks, his cool hands pressing your wrist.

I’d have bedded you twice by now if you were normal.

He’s a grown ass man two hundred years old, and a fucking vampire to boot. If he wants to play patty-cake with the exorcist, let him.

“Sure,” you say.

Astarion opens his mouth to argue. Then it clocks, and so do his teeth when his jaw snaps shut.

You dig the damned thing out, hold it pinched between your fingers.

“Are you sure about this?” Shadowheart says.

The vampire looks from the book, to you. The shadow of a frown mars his brow. Then he straightens. Says, “Really? Just like that?”

You’re sure you look as tired as you feel. “I don’t want it, nobody wants it, and we’re all covered in dead spider. At least make it worthwhile and take the damned thing. Just…don’t open it while anybody else is around?”

He eyes you. Reaches out and takes it all slow, like you’re gonna jerk it back. Or like it’s gonna bite him. You let it go.

“Right,” he says. And stands there. While you also stand there.

Man don’t know how to say thank you. Noted.

“Hey, Eleanor,” Wyll says. He’s over poking around the dead shelob, and he emerges holding some kinda dress. “I think this might suite you.”

***

It’s a robe, not a dress, and it magically adjusts itself over you, stays and all. It’s got embroidery to look like webbing, all of it a soft, silver mint green. And, it turns out, it makes you motherfucking poisonous.

“Be very careful with that staff,” Gale says.

Unlike a lot of the magic here, this one don’t make your staff glow a sickly green or nothing. So whoever you hit with the whacking end is gonna get real sick, real fast, and have no idea why.

You like it. Finally might not be so goddamn useless in combat. Plus, it looks kinda cool in an “evil sorcerer” way.

Karlach grins and makes you spin around. “Nice threads, soldier. Finally look like a proper adventurer.”

“Adventurer” meaning ren-faire attendee, but they’re all crushing it, and standing out ain’t probably a good idea. Just because you’re an uneducated (in Faerun), inexperienced hillbilly, it don’t mean you wanna advertise that.

The others mill about, chatting with each other, cleaning gear as best they can. Astarion has fucked off by himself again to peer at that book—still unopened thank fuck. He looks up, spots you watching, and shoves the book back into his pack. He ain’t mingling with the others no more.

Cause that ain’t awkward at all.

You rub your face.

And have a thought.

“This thing only makers that staff poisonous, right?” you say. Your hands kinda tingle.

“Oh yes,” Gale says. “Even mad wizards have enough sense not to poison themselves. Mostly.”

You stare. “Mostly?”

He smiles. And you really hope that tingle is just psychosomatic.

Spiders dead and looting done, y’all surface up through some well bucket (that bitch must be enchanted or something, cause there ain’t no way a dinky ass rope on a dinkier ass bucket could haul you up, let alone Karlach without bursting into flame).

There’s only one more home that ain’t a collapsed pile of rubble left. The spider fight wiped y’all out. It’d be nice to find somewhere to set up camp, maybe even sheltered from the elements. The goblins seem to be avoiding this one, which—in retrospect—should have been a big, red flag.

But y’all are beat, and survival instincts are freshly squeezed out, so y’all trudge on in to get smacked in the face by the reek of death, blood, and some kinda rancid piss.

And then the ogre takes a swing at you.

#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #slow burn #the sadness arc #we're over the worst of it lads #can only go up from here #putting the slow in 120k words of slow burn

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Oh, hey, that’s cool.”

Lance whips over to face her immediately. “What’s cool?”

Pidge bites back a smirk.

Hook…

“The translators must have just updated, because they’re buggy. If you say gullible out loud, a beeping noise sounds in your ears.”

Lance looks intrigued, leaning towards her with wide eyes. “Really? Is it a bad noise?”

Shiro gives her a Look. Pidge ignores him easily.

Line…

“No, it’s kind of nice, actually. Scratches the brain itch.”

Is this a mean prank? Maybe a little.

Is it a funny prank, though? Yes, obviously. Hunk has to bite his fist to keep his giggles to himself. Allura is just as gullible as Lance, though, so she looks intrigued too. Maybe this one will be a double whammy.

“So all I have to do is say the word out loud? That’s a weird bug.”

Sinker.

“Mhm. I’ll check it out later.”

Lance doesn’t waste another second.

“Gullible!”

He says the word with his whole chest, excited and expectant.

Even Shiro has started to laugh, although to his credit he does try to muffle it. Not that Lance notices.

“Hey,” Lance says, frowning. “It didn’t work.”

Pidge sees the exact moment it clicks for him, because he goes bright red and scowls.

“That was mean! Why did you do that to me? You’re such a butthead!”

Everyone else has given in and started laughing, and Pidge cracks a smile.

But she’s not done with him yet.

“No, no,” she insists. “You said it too enthusiastically. When I say it like this —” she makes her voice as monosyllabic and flat as possible — “gullible —” she goes back to sounding as smooth as she can — “it makes the beep noise. It just didn’t work because you were so preppy about it.”

Lance narrows his eyes. He’s suspicious of her, this time.

Oh, this is so much fun. There is no one on this ship that’s more fun to annoy.

“I’m trusting you,” he says. Pidge tries to make her expression as innocent as possible.

“Why would I lie about this?”

Lance is still looking at her with narrowed eyes, but his curiosity must outweigh his suspicious — Pidge is counting on it — because he nods, once, determined, and opens his mouth to try again.

“Gullible,” he says, as flatly as he can, and he just sounds so confident —

Pidge loses it. She collapses into giggles. From behind her she hears Hunk’s screeching laughter followed by a heavy thump of him falling off the couch. Shiro pats Lance’s back, but it does nothing, because he’s chuckling too.

Lance throws off Shiro’s hand and stands, stomping his foot.

“You are the worst! You’re so horrible! I am giving you up for adoption! You suck!”

“I can’t believe you fell for it twice,” Pidge wheezes. “Holy shit.”

“Fuck off! You’re the worst.”

Pidge makes a kissy face at him.

She regrets nothing.

God, she loves having older brothers.

#pidge is a shit and i love her #i saw this one post where this girl got clowned twice and i’m like. yeah that’s lance #tbh it would be me too 💀 #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #pidge #pidge holt #gullible lance #pranks #team as family #fluff #lance & pidge #my writing #fic fragment

[she-ismysun-archive]

🚨 THE ROOKIE 6x02 SPOILERS 🚨

do not read if you don’t want spoilers. Holy shit 100th episode started off with a BANGER. This is my live blog thread.

DADDY COP? FOR REAL? WHAT A FUCKING INTRO. NO WONDER ZANDER RANDOMLY BROUGHT IT BACK UP ON HIS INSTAGRAM.

100 SPARKLE INTRO ✨✨✨

Henry missed his flight???? NAAAUUU

HELLO CHASTITY AND SKIP TRACER RANDY. HE SKIP TRACER BOUNTY HUNTED PETE LOL. I literally can’t stop screaming. I can’t stop SCREAMING. I feel so feral

Chastity is teaching him how to kiss! 😆😆

please 🫣 PLEASE TELL ME THEY DONT LOSE THE RING?

Oh brother. Aaron is not as ok as I thought he was or would be. Bro is NOT ok!!! He’s still benched for a reason. Wade will not make the same mistakes he did before. He will not lose another one.

Wow healthy communication? No. Angst continues. Please help me save me save ME. He’s so mad. She’s so hurt. Pleeeease our lovers will resolve this episode I said so!

OSCAR?

Henry missed the bullet train.

What is happening with Nyla and Celina rn. NARCOTIC POT?

MONICA?! Double fucking whammy

Friendship hugs. I said so. They’re friends. Please don’t force this romantic relationship :((

THEY PAWNED THE BAILEN WEDDING RINGS? DEADASS????

the hammer episode name drop 🫠

“No please don’t do me any favors” Angela please save us WAHH THEYRE BICKERING

Hello wedding DJ - womp womp drug dealer

BILLY BOB BENNET (the hammer)

Oh they’re scheming. Oh they’re scheming so hard

So I definitely misread this shot in the promo (they have not made up yet)

Eric Winter’s hardest fight scene of his entire career

Lucy negotiating is so fun

TIM OFFERING LUCY UP TO BE THE FIGHTER?? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.

Tim get his shit rocked but he WINS - wait I just noticed Lucy holding his belt??

TIM? HOLDINF THE RING ON ONE KNEE Bdjdksnsksk

Goodnight Tim

HAHA “THE ROOKIE” NAME DROP

Nyla just calling Celina “the rookie” and she gets to do her first interrogation

No flower. Almost no ring. Almost no Henry?? ENJOY GIRLS NIGHT? SHES TRYING TO GET HENRY INTO THE COUNTRY.

CAKE TOO EARLY 🫣🫣 AND IT HAS COCONUT CREAM

Randy is the florist expert now (Ty ClipTok)

Ou they’re both. Gossiping about each other at the bachelors party

Lucy: he’s the problem

Tim: how do I prove to her that I’m not the problem?

DAMN IT. THEYRE GETTING DINNER TOGETHER NOW (Celina and Aaron) AND TIM WANTS TO MEET LUCY AT THE STATION

lie. detector. test.

LIE. DETECTOR. TEST. 🥹🥹🥹

YES. I LOVE YOU. HES A LYING LIAR WHO LIES?

he’s a. Lying liar. Who LIES 😭😭😭 it took a LIE DETECTOR TEST for him to ACCEPT that he doesn’t want Lucy to do UC work.

Luna’s getting her social work degree!

And of course their officiant doesn’t show up. Thank you Wade for saving the day

This wedding is so goddamn beautiful. Their vows are so fucking beautiful.

God they tricked me with all the happy promo shots of Chenford but their angst is far from over

Randy and Chastity is DJ-ing?? James saves the day with a playlist of his own.

Will Tim and Lucy make it out?? God I hope so! (I know they will but this is hurtinggg)

AARON. GOOD GOD. They were laying that on THICK. And now Celina is leaving the wedding. God Celina please be ok

I just spent last night spiraling about “dog bring a live part”

They’re dancing but they’re going to talk. Yea you DO need to deal with it Tim. YOU ARE GONNA GET THROUGH THIS

SHE SAID IT BACK

The chenford wedding kiss 🥹

ITS JOEVER. IT IS JOEVER

Celina is in fact NOT OK. And Aaron is drunk off his ass. Of course why would Nolan have a peaceful wedding night when everything else went wrong.

Alright then. That was wrapped up quickly. Everyone quick thinking weeehh Everyone’s ok.

This is the third shot of them laying on their back? It’ll be fun to clip that together.

Well ok then.

I feel so betrayed and tricked but it was delulu of me to think they would make up that quickly!!! IT TAKES A LIE DETECTOR TEST FOR HIM TO ACCEPT THAT HE DOESNT LIKE THE IDEA OF HER DOING UC WORK? This is actually just so in character for them! This is actually just chenford being chenford because it took them going undercover as a couple to even CONSIDER the fact they have feelings for each other.

#the rookie #the rookie spoilers #the rookie 6x02 #liveblogging #initial thoughts #good god chenford #everything that coudlve went wrong did #lucy chen #tim bradford #the bailen wedding is so beautiful

[weirdlet]

you know what, I have nothing better to do while waiting for background check and flailing nervously over 'can I do 9-5 and not crash', so I'm going to write up last week's session (this week's called on account of Halloween)

So! When last we left our bold heroes, we'd just spent two years of downtime growing into our home-base of Leilon. Our wizard studied, our former wizard ran the town council, our revenant ranger/rogue skulked about learning about his foes, our paladin ran her village, our barbarian formed the village police. Glory and Carver got married, and you can read that write-up here- Right around a year in, there was a visit from a boatload of giants, claiming Leilon as 'Little Mintarn' due to the massive influx of Mintarn peoples, and therefore a client state of 'Hogarth'(? my hearing sucks, I know that's not his name) the ancient red wyrm that demands tribute every few years. We tell them to fuck off, and spend the next year preparing. A few days after scheduled, the boat of giants arrives.

Carver, the now immensely powerful cleric, is on the other beach with civilians, handling that story-wise and making up the backup in case anything makes it to proper shore. Meanwhile, there's a series of little islands out in the bay that most ships have to pass to get into the harbor- and the bay is further blockaded by floats of barrels and flotsam lashed together to push our enemies where we want them to go. Trinidad swims out (swim speed, and breathes under water!) and rips holes out of the bottoms of their boats, then swims back.

On the shore, we stand with ballistas and gathered archers and mercenaries (see last episode about the dissolution and dispersal of the White Sails). By the time the two remaining ships of giants arrive on shore, we have been sighting and picking a very few of them off from a distance- fire and frost giants, and hill giants and ogres with howdahs on their backs full of goblins. But when they hit the shore, that's when things really get interesting.

Did you know a 15th level wizard can just fuckin... reverse gravity? Because I didn't.

So while on one side Alain the revenant brought back to create justice is laying waste about him with his ballista installation, on the other we have a ship full of floating, angry giants, just- drifting on up into the sky. Their ship is on fire, they're being shot at by a tiefling with 8d6 sneak attack and a generous DM, chased by an angry paladin, and shit is generally not going their way. The fire giants at least are throwing flaming debris at us, but we're ducking and weaving and hiding behind the peaked roofs of the administrative buildings that have been evacuated to ready us for this assault.

There was a cloud giant who initially said he was just an observer- and then tried the whammy on Alain to get him to turn the ballista on us.

Tried.

It did not go well for him.

One frost giant actually made it up onto the shore and started laying waste to the mercenaries on the ground, whomst were healed several times by Maeve the paladin using made-up mass combat rules, but took heavy losses as he started stomping around. Just as she was taking him out at the knee, Sorianna our wizard releases the reverse gravity spell-

-and the boat turns to flinders as most of its already softened-up residents are turned into jelly by the unforgiving ocean floor. Because control water is a cleric spell, and there just happened to be an interested party on a further shore.

The fight ran long, so we wrapped it up pretty quickly after that, but there was a solid implication of 'home for tea and medals' and there's definitely going to be some relieved kissing by the (un)holy-husbands.

Next week's homework- what's the worst trick your character ever played on someone, or- what's your character's favorite, 'try and take this from me and you will draw back a stump' kind of treat? It's also mentioned that- due to other world events of the previous campaign- basically, our group? At fifteenth level and having achieved a certain amount of notoriety for slaying dragons and basically pacifying the region- we are the cavalry for handling shit like this. So the Lords' Alliance wants to talk to us about that red dragon and his flunkies that have been burning and pillaging...

#Glory's Travails #D&D shenanigans

[goldenraeofsun]

There is Only Try, Part I

“Love spell,” Rowena proclaims as she glides down the stairs to the Bunker floor like it’s her personal ballroom. Her midnight blue floor-length gown and elaborately curled hair look especially out of place - Dean’s pretty sure his shirt has pizza stains from at least three different pizzas. The shirt is red, so at least two of them don’t count.

Behind her on the stairs, Sam chokes.

Rowena turns around to face him. “And I thought this was going to be a challenge,” she chides. “Really, Samuel?”

“What do you mean, ‘love spell’?” Dean demands with a fleeting glance at Cas, who’s gone red in the face. Dean doesn’t blame him - between the hooker with the daddy problems and the stabby reaper, he’d be leery of anything vaguely love-shaped too.

“We called you because we need to translate the runes on a cursed box,” Sam says slowly. “We think it’s in some sort of cipher, since even Cas can’t get a read on it.”

“Well, did Tweety Pie touch the box?”

“No,” Cas says, offended.

Dean nudges him with his elbow, saying in an undertone, “C’mon, like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Dean.”

Dean takes in Cas’s unamused face and scowls at Rowena's tinkling laugh. “Okay, Sabrina, what the fuck do you mean by ‘love spell’?”

“I mean the angel’s been cursed with a love spell,” Rowena says with deliberate slowness, like she’s giving a command to a particularly stupid lap dog. “Was it not obvious?”

Dean glances at Cas, horror trickling down his spine. “No.”

“Hmph,” Rowena sniffs. “Men really are oblivious to matters of the heart.” She waves her hand again, eyes glimmering violet. “Like I thought,” she continues, placing both hands on her hips, “A jardin d’amour.”

“A garden of,” Sam pauses, clearly trying not to laugh, “love?”

“A very basic love spell,” Rowena says disdainfully. “The lass didn’t seem to have any imagination.”

“The witch we ganked two weeks ago was a dude,” Dean says. A beat. “A man witch.”

Sam snorts.

“There you go,” Rowena says, lifting her nose into the air. “Most men don’t have that innate knack for the magical arts.” She turns to Sam, giving him the most obvious come-hither look Dean has ever seen. “There are some obvious exceptions, of course.”

Okay, Dean needs Rowena and her heebs with a large dosing of the jeebs out of the Bunker, stat.

“It starts as a tiny seed, a wee obsession,” Rowena explains, “and grows and grows until it consumes you.” She squints, wiggling her fingers, and Dean just barely stops himself from jumping in front of Cas on instinct. “I’d say the spell’s gone about halfway through its course.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. He throws another calculating glance at Cas. “He’s not writing love songs or grabbing a boombox, so he’s obviously not cursed.”

Cas, still suspiciously silent, shoves both his hands in his pockets and stares hard at a spot of the floor between his feet.

“Oh, but he is, darlin’,” Rowena exclaims delightedly. “I can see it clear as day. Look!”

Cas sneezes as the magic washes over him for a third time, and now they all can see the purple sparkles - really, Rowena? - hovering in the air around him.

“Okay,” Dean makes a face, “Now I’m confused.”

“Not for the first time, isn’t that right?” Rowena says with faux-sympathy.

Dean glowers. He turns to Cas. “Come on, she’s making this all up. You’d know if you got dosed with Love Potion No. 9.”

“I-” Cas says, his gaze skittering from Dean to Rowena and back again. He looks… caught.

“Wait,” Dean thunders, taking a step forward, “You knew?”

“I,” Cas starts haltingly, “had suspected.”

“And you didn’t think you’d tell us you’d been whammied?”

Cas shrugs. “It doesn’t seem to be affecting me at all. My vessel is functioning normally.”

“Sure, because you’re such an expert on normal-”

Cas’s eyes flash. “It didn’t seem relevant considering everything else-”

“What d’you mean every-?”

“Kelly Kline - Lucifer, again - the British Men of Letters - take your pick,” Castiel retorts heatedly.

“We’ve got that under control-”

“Killing a child is not ‘under control’-”

“It is if the kid’s the literal spawn of Satan-”

“I never thought I’d hear Dean Winchester defending the murder of an inno-”

Dean throws up his hands. “Did you miss my ‘spawn of Satan’ comment?”

“No,” Cas says, his expression as stony as the Bunker’s foundations, “my hearing is excellent.”

Off to the side, Rowena mutters in a carrying stage-whisper, “I can see how a wee curse like this is the least of your problems.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam says, running a weary hand down his face.

Dean rounds on them. “What?”

“Do you want me to remove the love spell or not?” Rowena asks, eyebrows raised. “My time is precious, you know. I don’t live to be at the Winchesters’ beck and call.”

“For the last fucking time, it’s not a goddamn spell!” Dean explodes. “Whatever it is, he is not in love. He hasn’t been acting any different.”

Rowena beams. “Well now, if he were already in love, it would have no outward effects. He’d…” Her expression becomes stomach-turningly sly, “...function normally, so to speak.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a firm line. As Dean goggles at him, Cas demands, “Remove the spell, now.”

Dean swallows. Cas can’t be - she can’t be implying - that’s impossible. He’s an angel. They don’t feel things like that.

Do they?

“I’m going to need some ingredients,” Rowena says, looking up to Sam. “Where might they be?”

Sam gestures her forward. “Back in the store room, I’ll show you.”

Rowena pats him lightly on the arm. “What a gentleman,” she simpers as Dean pretends to hurl behind her back.

Dean can’t bring himself to speak until they’re both out of earshot, their footsteps fading off into the distance. He turns to Cas, trying to keep his voice detached and failing miserably. “So, you think it got you after all?”

Cas looks away. “I know it has.”

“Oh.” Dean picks up his empty whiskey glass. He runs a hand down his face, trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. It doesn't work. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Fucking witches.”

“I - I could use one as well,” Cas says to Dean’s surprise.

* * *

“So, uh, who’s the lucky chick?” Dean asks as he makes a beeline for the liquor cart in the library off the war room. He grabs an additional glass for Cas and the bottle of Jack, tips the bottle down his own throat to get them started, and pours them out a few fingers.

Cas takes his drink, jaw clenching. He doesn’t look like a dude head over heels. He looks like his normal sleep-deprived, tax accountant self. He stays silent.

Dean thumps heavily down into a chair. “Have we met her?” he prompts because he’s nothing if not a masochist at heart.

“You could say so, in a sense.” Cas raises his eyes to meet Dean’s, face softening, and Dean’s going to hurl for real this time. Cas continues, “There’s not much in my life I keep from you.”

Dean swallows against the ball of self-loathing and disgust clogging his throat. “Some lady angel, then? Been dreaming about plucking her harp strings?”

Cas scowls into his drink. “No.”

“Not an angel?”

“Not a lady,” Cas says, his voice almost unbearably stiff. “And not an angel, either. A human - a beautifully flawed human.”

Dean has no words to say to that, so he drinks. Cas has probably met thousands of people - nice, normal people who aren’t fucked up in the head from ganking monsters their whole lives - since he’s been on Earth. God knows, he hasn’t been plastered to Dean’s side the entire time. Lately, Dean can’t even come up with a good excuse to get him to stay for more than a day or two at most.

“A guy, then,” Dean says to make sure they’re on the same page - because last time he checked, waves of celestial intent cared less about acing a Gender and Sexuality 101 class and more about whether a meatsuit could withstand a holy oil molotov cocktail.

Cas nods, his eyes narrowing. “Your opinion on homosexual relationships is part of the reason I’ve never brought it up before.”

“Hey, I don’t judge,” Dean says, not entirely truthfully. He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Homo it up, man. Love is love.”

Cas’s nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t comment on Dean’s hamfisted attempt at proving his acceptance of ‘alternative lifestyles’ as Dad might’ve put it charitably one time. “It’s complicated,” Cas adds, like any part of this fucked-up situation could fit under a goddamn Facebook status.

Dean hitches a grin on his face that probably wouldn’t fool a blind person. “So, apart from that, how come you’ve never come to me for help? I don’t wanna brag, but I’m kind of an expert in hookups. Sam’s kind of hopeless. He can’t get a chick into bed without her dying on him.”

Cas knocks back his glass. “I didn’t want to bother you with my feelings.”

Dean automatically grimaces at the mention of feelings. But, hell, he’s not a teenage girl. He can man up and be there for his best friend.

He has to - Cas hardly asks him for anything anymore.

Sure, Cas didn’t exactly ask Dean for anything this time around, but Dean can read between the lines. Now that he’s copped to what’s going on beneath Cas’s still waters, he can see how deep those feelings run. Especially if what Rowena’s saying is true and a love spell is barely a drop in the bucket.

“And, regardless, your ‘hookup’ skills wouldn’t be relevant, anyway,” Cas says quietly, lowering his hands. “I’m not interested in… coupling.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “That reaper really screwed you over, didn’t she? Look, just because you got shanked, doesn’t mean all sex winds up with an angel blade-”

“I misspoke,” Cas says over him. “What I mean is, I would rather have no sexual relations at all if I cannot have all of him: mind, body, and soul.”

Trust Cas to spout the most profound cheese Dean has ever heard.

And also, what the fuck? Dean can’t get behind that idea at all. Dean’s always been a take what you can get kind of dude. He had to be, with what he has to work with - a pretty face, a killer's instinct, and an inability to have a normal relationship if his goddamn life depended on it.

Like, if Dean had gotten the slightest whiff that Cas was down with gettin’ down and dirty with Dean as his last hurrah (which of course he didn’t), Dean would never have bothered with that stupid den of inequity. As hilarious as the outcome was, he would have gone for a little something-something for himself before the end of the world.

Of course, Dean wasn’t in love with Cas yet then. Whenever it came to mind, it was just a fun thought experiment, an idle what if for him to think about during a dry spell. Like his fantasies about fucking Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Or hatesex with Bela Talbot.

But none of that mattered because every step of the way from Castiel, mighty Angel of the Lord, to Cas, their friendly neighborhood angel-man, he never hinted he’d be down for a quick roll in the hay... or something more serious.

Dean remembers very clearly: Anna fell to experience emotions, even the bad ones.

And Dean’s not an idiot - Cas obviously experiences emotions now. Dude’s been through too much not to feel something. But Dean’s never deluded himself that they could ever include all the romantic lovey-dovey, chick-flick moments crap.

Family love, sure. Cas might love all his haloed siblings. Cas has been around for all the Top 10 worst decisions that are the Winchesters’ version of brotherly devotion. Cas even said the big L-word out loud himself, when he was bleeding out in that barn a month ago.

But romantic love? The big kahuna L-O-V-E?

Dean always thought scaling Mount Everest with a plastic beach shovel would be easier than convincing an angel to feel that way about anyone. Cas is a wave of celestial intent; waves of celestial intent don’t do anything as human, as stupid, as fall in love.

But apparently they do.

So maybe that’s why Cas has always been so hard to pin down, so eager to leave Dean all the time. He’s been off pining after this mystery guy.

Awesome.

Cas heaves a weighty sigh and finishes off his own glass of whiskey. Without another word, he half raises from his chair, reaching around the table lamp, to pour them both a second round. “I suppose there is a bit of a relief in finally saying it,” he says in a low voice. “I can’t be with him, but there is a certain amount of happiness in it being known, just being seen.”

Dean wastes no time in downing half his new drink. Throat burning in warning, he forces out, “Why - why can’t you? You’re a freaking angel - thought you could have anyone.” Dean frowns. “He’s not a civilian, is he?”

Talk about a recipe for disaster: Cas plus normal person equals uncomfortable questions and fucked up babysitting gigs.

Cas’s eyes widen. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. “Ah, no, not really.”

“So he knows about angels.”

Cas gives a slow nod. “He doesn’t have a very high opinion of them, though,” he says ruefully, staring down into his glass. “They’ve made his life very difficult over the past few years.”

Dean scoffs, “He can join the club.”

Cas flinches.

“Hey, no,” Deans says quickly, “Not you.”

Cas raises head, his eyes unbearably bleak. “Why not me? I was the one who set the Leviathans and angels loose on humanity to wage their wars, among a dozen other transgressions.” He adds morosely, “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if a different angel rescued you from Hell after all.”

Dean blinks at Cas, his stomach turning over with dread at the very idea. He tries to picture some nameless angel yanking him out of the Pit or marching into that barn with all the righteousness of Heaven on his heels. Dean can’t do it.

Or worse, not a nameless angel. Uriel, who was ready to kill thousands without a second thought. Zachariah, that dickwad with the mind games. Even Hannah, who Dean reluctantly liked - he still can’t see her sticking by their side, falling, sacrificing everything for them.

Cas is their third wheel, the stabilizer that keeps Team Free Will upright and moving forward. Without him, they’re a tandem bicycle, and nobody wants a repeat of that opening scene from Gabriel’s sitcom from Hell.

“Yeah, but at least you always tried to do the right thing.”

“There is no try, only what I did or did not do,” Cas answers with a strange, defeated expression.

“Okay, but,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes at Cas’s butchered Star Wars reference, “Yoda’s a lot of things, but applicable to the real world without space lasers, he is not. Sometimes the only thing you can do is try, dude.”

God knows, Dean could never have forgiven Cas for any of the shit he pulled if he hadn’t been 100% positive Cas had the best of intentions. Cas did all those things to save the world, and, sometimes, to save Dean personally. Which gives him the girliest, fuzzy feelings and also makes him want to punch a wall.

Cas throws him a pitying look. “Every time I ‘try’ to make things better, I fail.” He shakes his head. “When you were taken, I searched for months to find you. Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. I’m a… dumbass.”

“I thought you preferred ‘trusting,’” Dean jokes, and it only sounds a little forced.

Cas throws him an exasperated look. “Perhaps a few years ago. But now? I’ve made too many mistakes, and people have suffered - you and Sam have suffered - as a result. You don’t need to spare my feelings, Dean. It’s hardly what I deserve.”

Dean frowns, tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes in Cas's defeated air. “Hey, what’s with the pity party?”

“It’s not a ‘pity party’,” Cas counters. “These are basic facts.”

Dean leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “You aren’t serious.”

Cas stares back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean rakes his gaze up and down Cas’s face, looking for a break, for a tell - even though he knows he won’t find any. “You saved the world. A couple of times by now.”

“I also personally put it in jeopardy more than once,” Cas mutters. “I trusted Crowley to steal Purgatory. I trusted Metatron to bring peace to Heaven. I trusted Lucifer to take out the Darkness.”

Dean’s heart sinks with every reminder of Cas’s greatest hits. “Come on…”

Cas’s mouth thins, lips pressing together as he raises his glass to his mouth. “You don’t need to stay to keep me company, either,” he says in a low voice. “I’m the one under the spell. If you have anything more pressing, I can wait here for Rowena.”

“Shut up,” Dean says automatically. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas exhales a weighty sigh, his shoulders losing some of their tension.

“Hey, what you need - hell, what we both need - is a win,” Dean says reassuringly. “Everything’s been such shit, you need a reminder to keep going.” He gets up from his seat, his legs itching to move. “Why don’t you tell me more about that man of yours?” he asks quickly, his words nearly tripping over themselves to get out before the regret sets in. “Maybe that’s the key to getting your head back in the game.”

Cas doesn’t say anything as Dean moves to peruse a row of books he has no intention of ever reading. Eventually, Cas protests without much conviction, “My head is in the game. I am still useful.”

Dean’s head jerks around so fast it nearly gives him whiplash. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It isn’t?” Cas asks, head tilting in confusion.

Dean makes a face. “I mean, if you’re feeling down, you… shouldn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

Dean paces to the other end of the bookshelf, unbelievably annoyed at Cas for making him spell it out for him. “Forget it,” Dean says instead. “I still owe you for ganking Billie-”

“But the cosmic consequences-”

“Will suck, but in the meantime you saved our lives. I owe you.” Dean turns so he’s back to fully facing Cas. “So, tell me what this mystery guy is into.”

Cas’s eyes narrow at him. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Seriously?”

Cas straightens and nods.

“But,” Dean says, words failing as he wars with himself. He could push Cas for more info or keep on living in blissful ignorance. But if he has to choose between his own personal peace of mind or Cas experiencing the one pinnacle of human happiness (or so Dean’s been told in countless chick flicks he’ll take to the grave), it’s no choice at all. He starts again, “If you tell me about him, it’ll make this a lot easier.”

“I don’t want it to be easier,” Cas says, baffled. “I don’t want this to be anything.”

Dean gapes. “Why the hell not?”

Cas taps his empty glass on the table, irritated. “Please, leave it alone.”

“No,” Dean says mulishly. “I wanna help you, man.”

“I don’t want any help.”

“Well, tough shit because you’re getting it anyway. You’re family-”

Cas’s face does a weird spasm.

“-And that’s what you do for family,” Dean continues, a little confused and insulted. They are family; Cas said so, back when he thought he was dying in Ramiel’s barn.

“Drop it.”

“No,” Dean argues, shoving down everything else as his temper rises. “You’re hurtin’, and I can help. Why don’t you trust me? You trusted Crowley, Metatron, fucking Lucifer-”

Too far. Shit.

Cas whirls around, his face a mask of frustration and an emotion Dean has never seen before. “I did, and you know what? They screwed me. And, please forgive me, Dean, but I am tired of being used and used up, over and over.”

Dean blinks, his anger falling away to a raw hurt only Cas can dredge up. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Cas runs a weary hand down his face. He just shakes his head.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s me,” Dean says - pleads, really. “You know me better than anyone else, ’cept Sammy. I won’t do something like that.”

Cas glares. “I do know you, so I know that is exactly what will happen.”

Dean reels back, and he can’t save himself in time before an undoubtedly pained look spreads across his face.

Cas’s hostility cracks, but Dean’s already gotten the message.

So Cas’s one big happy loving family message was only a deathbed thing. That’s… fine. Dean’s done it himself, a time or two. Told Sam to live his life and not go looking for revenge or a way to fix it - all a crock of horse shit, of course. He should’ve figured Cas was more human than angelic with that poison pumping through his veins, making him all weak and sweaty. ’Course he wasn’t above feeling human sentimentality in his death throes.

Face hardening, Dean turns on his heel. “You were right about one thing. I guess I do have more important things to do than staying here with you.”

“Dean,” he hears behind him, but Dean doesn’t look back.

* * *

Dean always hides a spare bottle of booze in the bottom drawer of the desk in his bedroom. It's mostly empty, but, hopefully, by the time Dean's polished it off, Cas’ll be cured, Rowena will be gone, and they all can pretend this never happened - Dean can pretend that Cas stopped keeping secrets because he’s learned they always blow up in his face in the past six years.

Anyway.

First, the booze.

Dean’s barely wrestled the top off with shaking fingers of leftover anger when a knock sounds against his door.

“’S the witch gone yet?” Dean asks without lifting his head.

The door opens. “Dean, it’s me.”

Dean takes a long pull of whiskey.

Cas sighs, audible in the stuffy, tension-filled space between them. He doesn’t approach, instead hovering in the doorway, and isn’t that how it always goes? Always poised for flight, that’s Cas. “Dean,” he repeats, which only makes Dean's blood boil that much hotter.

“What?” he demands. “What do you want now? ’Cause I can’t think of a single thing you need from me, Cas.”

Cas presses his lips together. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“Me?” Dean barks incredulously. “You’re the one hiding things and not letting me help you.”

“You won’t accept this is one area in which you can’t help?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

Cas shakes his head, his gaze focusing on Dean’s face with his patented laser intensity. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“Yeah, I’m just a jackass who can’t get a lady to stick around for more than a few hours. I get it.” He glances up to see Cas’s stricken expression. Frowning, Dean looks away.

Cas steps tentatively into Dean’s room, his face weirdly apprehensive. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Sure,” Dean says, tipping the bottle back like it’s water because he needs to be so much drunker to deal with Cas and his love spell bombshells right now.

Cas hovers awkwardly by Dean’s desk, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “You’re so capable of love.”

“Cas-” Dean starts, but he has no idea where he’s going with this.

Cas keeps talking, thank God. “You don’t acknowledge that side of you very often, but I feel it every time we see each other, every time you’re with your brother. You care, you love, so wholly and completely.” Cas chuckles ruefully. “I didn’t realize it for a few years. I didn’t see how unique it was, how special you are, but you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”

Dean’s tongue finally unsticks from the roof of his mouth. Face flaming hotter than the inferno where he first met Cas eight years ago, he rasps out, “Cas - what the hell are you saying?”

Cas swallows, dragging his gaze back up to meet Dean’s wide eyes. “The reason I didn’t tell you about the love spell was because it couldn’t make me love you any more than I already do.”

Dean blinks, dumbfounded, at Cas, the words love you bouncing around his skull like a blocked radio signal. Cas said them; Dean heard them with his own two ears; but the meaning behind the words is getting lost in transmission.

As Dean’s brain struggles to make sense of just about everything, Cas nods once. “Well, now you know. I’ll go wait for Rowena’s cure in the kitchen.”

And then he leaves.

Dean slams the whiskey bottle down on his desk, cursing as it nearly topples over in his haste. He sets it right, swearing more as precious seconds pass by. He hurtles down the hall, half-convinced Cas lied to him to get a head start and is really halfway to Timbuktu.

But Dean finds Cas in the library, sitting more or less where he left him before Dean had his little wallowing session in his bedroom.

“Cas!” Dean blurts, skidding to a halt and grabbing onto the edge of the table for support.

Cas looks up, frowning. “I - “ he gives himself a little shake and starts again, “Is Rowena having trouble with the spell?”

“What?” Dean strides forward on shaky legs. “No - I mean, I don’t know. They could be fucking in a supply closet for all I care.”

Cas’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. For the first time today, he looks almost afraid. “Then why are you here?” he asks, his gaze darting towards the stairs to the exit. “I’m only going to stay in the Bunker until Rowena can finish. Then I will go.”

“Go?” Dean repeats, a spike of panic shooting up his spine. “You can’t.”

Cas inhales a sharp breath. “You want me to stay?”

“You want to bail?” Dean demands, his voice rising.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “You’re upset. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m not fucking upset!”

Cas throws him an unimpressed look. “You clearly are. Your pulse is rising. Your pupils are dilated. I can smell your elevated levels of adrenaline.”

Dean makes a face. “Dude - lines - crossed.”

“Fine,” Cas says, his face set. He gets up. “I can coordinate with Rowena at a later date. She should focus on the cursed box, anyway. It’s clearly a more pressing concern and the reason we called her in the first place.”

“Hey.” Dean takes a step forward. “Wait.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a thin line. “What do you want, Dean? I did as you asked. I told you the spell could only latch onto my feelings for you.”

Dean falters, his words failing him.

Cas’s shoulders slump. “I did warn you, you know,” he murmurs, trying to pass Dean on his way towards the door.

Dean grabs onto Cas’s bicep before he can disappear. “Gimme a moment. What you said - it’s a lot.”

Miracle of miracles, Cas stops.

Dean can practically feel the power thrumming underneath the trench coat sleeve in his grip, but Cas wordlessly lets Dean guide him back to the library table.

“Okay,” Dean starts, his head still mercilessly void of the right thing to say, “So that guy, the one you’re - well, it’s - he’s me?” he asks, stumbling over his words like he hasn’t since that one time Rhonda Hurley opened her underwear drawer.

Cas nods once, his face impossibly solemn.

“Right,” Dean grunts. He rubs at his chin, Cas watching the whole while. “That’s - wow.”

“Quite,” Cas says wryly.

“Hey, don’t be a dick,” Dean shoots back. “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Cas sighs. “But now you do.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot. If only he could be more like Cas with the grand declarations.

Cas opens his mouth, pausing for a beat before saying, “I was never intending to leave permanently. I will still help you figure out how to deal with Kelly Kline. I will still assist with research, translations, anything you need.” His blue eyes bore into Dean’s face. “I can still be useful.”

Dean’s chest aches. “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t about that?” he asks gruffly.

Cas’s earnest expression falters. “Of course,” he says, subdued. “Regardless, know that I am always willing to help the Winchesters.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, “This isn’t - it’s never been - about you being goddamn useful.” He huffs an exasperated breath, frowning harder as Cas doesn’t immediately get it and launch himself at Dean.

God, that would make this so much easier.

“What you want?” Dean says, glaring daggers at the tabletop between them, “That whole, mind, body, soul crap? You got it.”

Cas blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You already have it,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

Cas cocks his head like a perplexed chicken, still as clueless as ever.

It’s clearly time to bring out the big guns. If Cas is going to spout pretty speeches that steal Dean’s breath away and leave him weak-kneed but not actually, you know, make a move, Dean will just have to do everything himself.

Fine. That’s how he’s always operated, anyway.

Face determined, he leans over and grasps the lapels of Cas’s trench coat.

Cas leans back a fraction, his eyes widening in alarm or shock. But before he can utter another word, Dean brings their mouths together.

Cas takes a moment to get with the program. There’s a split-second (that lasts several years) when Cas almost seems to push Dean off him, but he kisses back before Dean can yank himself away first. Cas’s mouth is tentative against Dean’s, like he’s waiting for Dean to end it all and yell, “Got ya!”, but he unseals his lips with a light sigh as Dean gently parts them with his tongue.

Dean unclenches one hand from Cas’s lapel. He reaches up to cup Cas’s jaw, the raspy stubble a physical reminder of the goddamn win he’s finally getting. His knees twinge from awkwardly leaning over, but rampaging Leviathans could burst into the kitchen and Dean wouldn’t give any less of a fuck.

He has Cas right where he wants him, and he’s going to fucking savor it for as long as he can.

When Cas pulls away, his face shows nothing but pure confusion. “Why?” he breathes, raising a finger to touch his lips.

Dean, still half-standing, half-leaning over him, frowns. He falls back to his seat with a thump. “Because you weren’t going to do it first?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t think you wanted anything like that,” he pauses, “with me.”

Like there’s anyone else around who wants to get real up close and personal with the most dumbass angel in the garrison.

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, the faintest inklings of embarrassment creeping in now they’re not kissing anymore and Cas’s first reaction isn’t to look like he got free tickets to Disneyland. “I did. Do.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat.

Cas looks away from Dean for the first time, and Dean dies a little inside. Stiffy, Cas says, “If this is some misguided attempt to show your sympathy for my situation. I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

“Gesture?” Dean echoes, “What the hell are you on, man? I don’t kiss random dudes because I feel bad for them, Christ.”

“Then why?”

Dean grimaces. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s face. “I have misunderstood your actions in the past, and I have no desire to do it again.”

Dean groans. “Look, I didn’t think angels could have feelings like that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Or I would’ve… done something about it sooner,” he says, and that’s mostly true. Probably would’ve tried to seduce Cas, failed, and then jumped off a cliff, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, normal angels can’t,” Cas says, “but there’s something broken in me.”

“You’re not broken,” Dean swears loudly, his anger flaring. “You’re… better. A new and improved God Squad, far as I can tell.” He narrows his eyes, daring Cas to talk shit about himself one more time.

Cas bites his lip. “You truly mean it.”

Dean tries for a mocking leer, but it comes out more like a dopey, hopeful smile. “You wanna get it engraved? Put up in neon in the Dean cave?” he asks, eyebrows raised as excitement courses through his veins. Cas loves him. Dean can make good on all those what ifs that have been plaguing him for years. “Tattooed on my ass?”

Cas chuckles lightly. “That would be a start.”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter. He can already feel the insecurities looming on the horizon. There’s always a catch: Cas never stays; Cas might want Dean now, but he’ll fly away the moment Dean fucks up because he has no idea what he’s doing.

But none of that matters right now.

He kissed Cas.

And Cas didn’t smite him. Didn't tell him to fuck off. Didn't flutter off to the moon for shits and giggles.

Cas knows him, knows him better than anyone except Sam. And despite all the fucked up shit in Dean's head, Cas is staying anyway, with his eyes wide open like nobody else Dean has ever been with.

Cas smiles in return. “If I had known a love spell would result in this outcome, I would have sought out that witch ages ago.”

And just like that, all Dean’s happy-ending fantasies come to a screeching halt.

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #profoundnet #fanfic #destiel #rae writes fic #canon divergence #season 12 #love spell au #minor samwitch #there is only try

[paintedwarpony]

C2E123 HIGHLIGHTS OF THE NIGHT

Nathaniel Nat20: Dodeca Heal Yourself

Marisha saying right away that she hates Nathaniel Nat20

"Just the appearance... for now."

Veth immediately resolving to use acid to solve the problem

Yasha JUMPING to stop Beau from letting herself be burned with acid

Travis: THAT WAS THE BIG FIX THAT WE HAD AND IT DIDN'T WORK

Aliooping acid

Matt: YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BE CARRYING AROUND A BASE IF YOU'RE CARRYING AROUND ACIDS

Midnight waffles

So much Travis

Exhaustion Point Gimme on Beau

"Its not a Wish..."

Yasha suggesting everyone of the Nein read the book 'a little bit'

*Om nom nom nom

Rolling an 8 on a d8

*D R A G O N

THE DRAGON BEING FUCKING GELIDON

The cataclysm bolt being a "ice arrow" on a white dragon

Travis vibing, just living his best life

Re-emergence of the Fastball Special

Dry Fart Battlecry

Re-emergence of Pathfinder rules

*NO MIND WHAMMIES FOR YASHA

Lucien legendary actions

SMITE

The awesome strategy work of the Nein as a team supporting each other

Lone mini camera angle shot

Meta Pigeon conversion

"I only have a ring of FIRE RESISTANCE!!!"

*New Spell: HARM

"From my angle your dice are very sparkly."

Mustach Shaming

"ARE YOU WATCHING YASHA?!"

"I'm a one wolf wolf pack"

The cast making their own music when it crashed

Otis and Veth fighting over hiding behind Fjord and ending up stacking on top of each other

*Jester casting HEAL on Fjord

Gelidon fleeing but the Nein STILL fight chasing her

Yasha’s lance

Comedic timing on Beau getting smacked with the tail

Snow angel landing

Fjord's little public kiss plus Jester’s and Veth chat: "That was the first time..."

Curtain of fire so Jester can 'pee', then Sending while actually peeing.

Roll for bags

*Tiger Blood gift from Veth resulting in a Matt Mercer gigglefit

Dagen headed off to meet Essek

Mind Palace Forest

Essek = Distant twinkling star of safety and familiarity WILDMOM APPROVED

Double Commune

ARTIE!!! All that sass and beautifully, perfectly useless

Laura's dinosaur sweater and Marisha assuming the chair perched pose

FRUMPKIN'S MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

THEY MIGHTY NEINED US

Stealth Team Owls GO

Clutch Caduceus perception with Beau’s goggles

Cool Monk Shit

Zorgon

Taliesin arguing about Lucien's bloodhunter abilities

*Owl!Yasha diving and saving Beau right out of Lucien's literal grip

'Arms of the Angels' sung for the second time

Lucien vs Caduceus

Matt freaking out over how much damage Lucien did or could have done to Caduceus: Shit got real after that

Stress Level Midnight on the party and cast during the standoff

Referencing Campaign One in a time of severe stress: Raishan Fight after Thordak Fight when most of Vox Machina was Level 16 and two characters were killed

Referencing the Home Game in a time of severe stress

F U B A R (for those who are unfamiliar FUBAR is an anagram that stands for 'Fucked Up Beyond All Reason')

Being able to tell how stressful the situation is by how hard the cast gets on hammering the rules and strategy

"Thats Matt being worried for us as friends..."

YASHA’S CLUTCH WING BAMF

Veth's Phantasmal Force spell and Caduceus' Shield of Retribution

"We're together now. No matter what happens at least we're together."

Matt's "Oh God" whenever he knocks over a mini

COUNTERSPELL COUNTERSPELL COUNTERSPELL

Mammoth Owl Halfling Padlock mad dash retreat

The anti-magic cone barely hitting the mammoth's butt

Major Image Gelidon

The whole party's new hatred for Otis

"Twig boy in a barbarian's arms..."

THEY LIVED

*Empire Kids managed to keep their aquired Eyes secret from Lucien

NUMBER CHECKED OFF ON MANIFEST LIST: 6.5

I'm only gonna count the breakfast 'Om nom noms' as a half cause it wasn't described what was for breakfast beyond the waffles

Jester casting HEAL on Fjord and Owl!Yasha saving Beau both count towards ship partners protecting each other in battle

I called that fucking dragon. But I pretty much have had dragon on the manifest list for awhile...

HARM is technically a 6th level spell but it can be cast as a 7th so I'm counting it.

Holy heck what an episode. . .

. . .

Hey. . . hey you guys. . . Guess where we're going?

Vurmas Outpost

Dare I hope. . . Dare I dream. . .

#critical role #d&d shenanigans #the mighty nein #campaign 2 #d&d #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #cr liveblogging #c2e123 #cr highlights #highlights #highlights of the night #my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth #i've aged forty years in the last few hours #god i love these adorable maniacs #kudos to matt mercer for being a true dm

[guudak]

andante, andante

pairing: jungkook / oc genre + tags: college au, f2l, alcohol, pining word count: 7,522 The aftermath of your best friend singing that ABBA song, clumsily flirting with you and then drunkenly professing his love to you multiple times in the same night.

“Is he ok? Namjoon, what’s he doing?” 

“He’s severely hungover,” he explains to you, propping an arm on the windowsill. His hand gestures. “This is his remedy.” 

You look out the window again, overseeing the frat’s backyard, and down below at the deck - is the person you sought. The gales shake the trees, you can hear it howl, and not to mention the downpour of rain that had you soaked to the skin through your jeans between your sprint from the bus stop to here. You look back at Namjoon, disbelieved. “What, sitting in a hot tub outside in the middle of a hale storm?”

“Erm, well, not the storm bit. That was just unfortunate. Sitting meditatively in a hot tub though, yeah. He does that a lot, moreso when he has something on his mind.” He peeps a discreet eye at you while you claim a seat on the ledge. Your arms cross, huddling your oversized cardigan over yourself as you glance back at the mop of matted black hair on the deck. Jungkook is sitting very still, laying back, eyes closed and his neck craning upwards towards the gloomy sky. A breath of air expels from your nose when you imagine how cold the rain must be. 

“I really wanted to talk to him in person … I don’t know, do you think I should have waited a few days?” You turn to Namjoon who shakes his head. 

“It’s good you came here. I think it would have left him to assume the worst and overthink otherwise, and you know what he’s like - better to confront him sooner than later. He’s been in a kind of sad, mopey daze since this morning.”

Your lips purse together as you mull this over. “I don’t necessarily want to confront him about it now, not if he doesn’t want to yet. I just want to see him and … make sure he’s ok. Because you know, that … overthinking thing he does.”

The upward lift of Namjoon’s lips is soft, the same kind of softness that’s perceptible in his eyes. The look reminds you of Jungkook’s own gentle demeanour. “I think seeing you here will disorient him a litte, but I think deep down he’ll be relieved. ” 

He invites you to sit in the warmth of the lounge downstairs while you wait. The house of Beta Tau Sigma is cosy, and your favourite visits are always during the winter period when they’d decorate the interior, reminding you very much of the setting of a classic Christmas movie. Alas, however, it isn’t winter, and there are still strewn cups around and a broken lamp on the table in front of you; consequence of the party they hosted the previous night.

You’re surprised Jungkook remembers. He’d been so far-gone yesterday, yet you woke up this morning to four successive texts from him -

i’m sorry

im so so sorry.

can we talk

please

You’d thought over a tactful reply; taking into mind Jungkook: despite the calm, rational front he has - is emotional, an individual with a soul as sensitive as they come. You had to be careful with what you said, but soon after aborted all efforts when you’d found yourself backspacing each time. You prefer face-to-face conversation, and for something like this - you couldn’t possibly venture any other approach that would be befitting. For anyone else, perhaps. But Jungkook isn’t just someone else. He’s your best friend.

You check the text in reply that you’d left for him from two hours ago, which is still left unread.

 hi jungkook i’d love to talk

are u ok

Sleeping it over had dulled the shock from the night before, as hearing it from him had been a double whammy for both your head and heart. You hadn’t known what to think, hadn’t known what to say.

In his tastefully tipsy state he’d been very happy. The chirpy go-lucky sort of happy that made you coo. Tipsy Jungkook is sweet and endearing, more affectionate and made it his mission to pull you with him to the karaoke machine. You’d been friends with him long enough to know that he could sing. He’s a soft singer; has a voice that could be lullaby to late sleepy evenings, it’s one you’d heard snippets of because he did it without conscious thought; he hummed in the car, while waiting in line - one of his many mannerisms that makes clear when he’s in his head.

“ABBA? Good choice,” you’d commented, after he jabbed the numbers on the remote. He budged over so you could sit beside him on the armchair. So cramped and close that you moved to drape your leg over one of his, and he welcomed it. “Not their most popular song, but definitely one of their most soulful. That’s a good one, it’s one of my favourites,” and then he stilled. 

At the cease of his movements, you’d found your spine straightening just slightly, as if on guard, but for what you hadn’t been sure. You were about to ask him if he was ok, only to be taking the brunt of his bright puppy eyes that smile at you.

“Me too,” he’d said, with that characteristic gentleness shining in his orbs. 

A few hours later, he’d morphed from sweet boy-next-door with the angel voice to himbo football jock slash and quote “pussy-whisperer,” courtesy and words verbatim of Park Jimin, who vibed with Jock Jungkook like a long lost brother. 

The amount of girls that suddenly flocked to him and sat on his lap had you reeling in hysterics to the extent that you had to bury your face in Hoseok’s shoulder. Even when Jungkook’s on the football team, you’d never thought of him once as a jock. Didn’t they say all jocks are athletes, but not all athletes are jocks? He’d never lived up to the greasy college stereotype. Turned out maybe some alcohol was missing in the mix. Was this what you were missing? Who knew he had it in him?

“How many have you had, man?” Hoseok had asked, and Jungkook grinned, mouth lop-sided, before then thwacking him solidly on the back. 

“I’m good, thanks for asking, man.” 

“That wasn’t what I - ok,” Hoseok winced, clutching at his shoulder blade, and exchanging a bemused look at you. 

You were alert to the sliding gaze of Jungkook on you. He slid into the chair close beside you, and you propped your elbow onto the counter. Head resting in your palm, you’d anticipated it.

“Hey, cutie.”

And there it was.

Your mouth twitched during your attempt to stifle your laugh, but you were eager to play along. You straightened, not shy to look him direct in the eyes, even when his own wandered to your midriff. “Hey.”

A moment’s pause, before he let out a wistful sigh. 

“Holy shit, I love your boobs.”

Hoseok spat into his cup, a succession of coughs after.

“No, I’m just saying, from a non-biased, impersonal point of view …” He made a vague, rounded motion in the air with his hands, “- they’re really nice. I’m saying this objectively.”

“Objectively,” Hoseok wheezed. You aimed a calculated kick at his ankle.

“Thanks! They’re not much but they’re cute, I grew them all by myself.”

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgement, a critical eye on you and his head bobbing solemnly. “You did a good job.”

“Oh my God,” Hoseok was crying; head ducked, full-blown tears of laughter, ears pink and slapping the countertop. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yours are pretty neat, too,” you told him. 

He looked down at the outline of his chest. “You think so? I’ve been working out but they could do with a bit more volume.” 

Hoseok was doubling over, desperate to leave but at the same time rooted to the spot, thumping his chest to stop himself from choking. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m gonna die if I stay any longer. See you, guys.”

He left, leaving you alone with Jungkook and a few others in the kitchen. “You alright?” you asked, and he nodded again, smiling tiredly and head lolling a little to the side.

“Did you like the song I sang for you earlier?” 

“You sang it for me? How sweet of you,” you cooed, cuddling up to his side. “You know, if you wanted to touch my boobs, if you asked I think I’d be ok with that.”

He seemed hesitant. “You’re bullshitting.” 

“Ok, maybe I am a little,” you chuckled, feeling the rumble resonating from his chest. 

“Seriously,” he murmured, and for a millisecond, you swore you detected the tone of the Jungkook - not this Jungkook who was a confident force, but the one you were most familiar with, “I think I’d -”

Jimin’s voice boomed above the stereo, “Jungkook! It’s your turn! Get your ass back here!”

A heavy sigh was drawn out from him as he slid his chair back. Though, he waited for you to lift your head from his chest before doing so. 

“See you.” He winked at you before following Jimin’s ongoing calls. Though, more of a wink and a half. He never could wink properly with just one eye, both had to be involved.

Then came the finale.

The most recent drunken Jungkook phase - one you’d never witnessed beforehand. If there was anything you could have concluded, it was that beyond his sober level-headed exterior, he must have a lot of pent up anger. Jungkook in drunken phase three transitioned between a three colour spectrum of moods and you’d barely caught up. 

Exhibit one -

“The ocean is so important!” he cried, literally cried as he began bumbling about blue whales and the sheer plastic in the ocean, morosed how the first piece of plastic ever produced still hadn’t decomposed. 

It was no help that Namjoon enthusiastically joined in - the fucking nerds, until Jungkook started bawling and knocked back the salt shaker on the countertop mistaking it for a shot of tequila. 

You’d panicked and dragged him to the nearest bathroom to wash it out of his eyes. The seconds that followed afterwards, was you rubbing his back while he sobbed and puked the hearty contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Exhibit two - 

“If any dude is giving you a hard time, chances are - you’re hotter than them. And on top of that, they made you cry, making you a better person than them!” he proclaimed. Once you’d helped him clean up, he’d bumped into Ola - a girl you recalled was in his media class, and was crying outside of the door of the bathroom you and Jungkook had been in. 

She’d sniffled her way through a story about a boy she’d been talking to for six months, and Jungkook was as revved up as his ocean speech while he pep-talked her about how heartless the guy was; that he gave good guys a bad rep; and that she simply deserved better. Of course, you’d agreed with him. It sounded all too familiar to something you’d said in the past, though who could blame him for adopting your mannerism of speech when he’d spent so much time with you?

Exhibit three -

“Hey, Chad! Why the fuck do you hate poor people?!”

You were mortified. “Jungkook! Literally, where did you get that conclusion from?!” 

“He plays lacrosse and owns a golf cart!”

You groaned, yanking at his arm away from Chad - captain of the boys’ lacrosse team, and who’d also fortunately passed out on the couch, otherwise Jungkook for sure would have had his face beat in. Though, you’d like to think that Jungkook would win, for sure, but you promised sober Jungkook that you’d take care of drunk Jungkook. 

So that was that. 

By now you’d contracted a stress-induced migraine, by which your own best friend was accountable for. And you thought - by God, did he have to deal with this every time you went to a party together while you’d run rampant? This had been an eye-opener, and you should definitely be considerate next time because drunk people were babies, and not in the cute way either.

And finally: exhibit four.

“Hey.” 

You endured all the pet names, had endured being called the Apple of his Eye, Angel Face, and his Compass Star, because flirty Jungkook had been throwing pet names around all night. You’d seen and heard it yourself. But nothing would have prepared you for what he’d say next. 

You glanced at him, just a second to look away from your phone screen. “Yeah?” 

His eyes drooped, form slouched, and head atop his folded arms on the countertop. It was just after midnight, and the kitchen was a quiet lull, besides you and Jungkook who were sitting together; and then there was Jimin and Taehyung, and Seokjin by the sink in their own private conversation … and whatever it was that Taehyung was doing. Admittedly you hadn’t been paying much heed nor did you endeavour to find out.

Body curling into himself; Jungkook looked so much smaller than when he stood to his full stature. 

“I’ve got it bad,” he mumbled, wistfully, “real bad. So bad - I’m doomed bad. End of the fucking world baaad.”

Your hands rubbed at his nape, tender fingers toying with the longer hairs there. He’d been growing it out, and he looked good. You tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear. “What makes you think that?” 

Again - the glossy puppy eyes that gazed up, contemplating you like you’d fallen from heaven. 

His smile was meek, as shy as the drawling voice that spoke, “I … I really think you’re my soulmate. I don’t like saying it too much but I … like, love love you, but we’re only best friends. Someday you’ll date for real - instead of flings, I’d have to accept it. I don’t think I’ll be ok, but I will be, jus’ will take time to get over you. Have done it a few times before. I’ll be ok.” 

Your hand stilled, fingers still tangled in his locks. 

Rendered motionless, like air had been punched out of you from the stomach, unable to bring yourself to salvage the words. Breathless, all you could bring yourself to do was to weakly call his name. 

He hadn’t heard you, and he yawned, leaning into your touch. His body trembled with his giggles. “One time, you were sooo drunk. You were so drunk, don’t think you remembered - blacked out. You flirted with me that whole evening. After that … after that I became obsessed with you forever.”

It was with a sinking stomach when you’d realised that you couldn’t recall that night at all. 

Gulping, you peered down at the mop of tangled hair on the countertop, wishing for nothing else but to properly see his face, but it was half-hidden where he’d snuggled into his arms. 

“Jungkook?” you whispered, gently moving away the hair that flopped over his eyes. “Jungkook?’

No reply. Just steady, heavy breathing.

No reply, because he’d fallen asleep.

It’s a splitting headache that rouses Jungkook from heavy sleep. One of those slumbers where he wakes up groggy, as if he hasn’t rested at all despite it being hours since. He tries to get up, but to no avail. His limbs are leaden heavy, and he collapses back onto his bed within seconds of mustering the strength to hoist himself up.

There are a series of knocks on the door but what’s the point of knocking when Jimin barges in anyway. He snickers seeing Jungkook: a sad, spectacular heap on the bed with a bitching hangover to boot.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” 

“Shut up,” Jungkook drawls, barely recognising the cadence of his own voice. He throws an arm over his face, brow tightening as he shuts his eyes to recall anything that happened hours prior, but even that’s too much of a Herculean effort that his brain isn’t willing to commit to at nine in the morning. Hangovers are not worth the night before for this - this is a different kind of hell. 

Jimin places a glass and a jug of water on his bedside table. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He at least has enough strength to reach for the glass. When he sits up a hand goes instantly to knock against his temple, as if it would stop whatever invisible vice it is that’s squeezing and hammering at his brain from all directions. He notices Jimin’s narrowing scrutiny on him. 

“You remember anything from yesterday?”

“Honestly, not really. Just some bits here and there.” 

“Blacked out, huh.” If Jimin hesitated it’s only for a split second, he stuffs a hand into his hoodie pocket for his phone. “There’s something I wanna show you. Not sure if you’re gonna like it much.”

“Can’t be that bad,” he says, but Jimin proffers a look, and Jungkook frowns. “... Right?”

Jimin licks his teeth in a way that makes Jungkook’s stomach drop just slightly.

“Famous last words, bud,” is all he replies.

 /

The slide of the back doors from the kitchen is what jerks your head up, followed by the sound of feet pattering on tiles. Suddenly, there’s a rise of anxiousness. Until you drum into your head that, no , this is nothing for you to be anxious about. There are the natural nerves budding that stem from confrontation, and you think this may be it.

Towel around his shoulders and dampened hair swept back, Jungkook doesn’t notice you at first when he appears by the doorway. He walks, gazes ahead like his legs are functioning on autopilot - but when he does notice you, he could have skidded. The way he halts and how his body almost springs backwards into the kitchen as soon as he sees your form huddled on one end of the couch, and how Basil - the frat’s cat, is curled by your lap, peacefully asleep and indulging in the soft stroke of your knuckles on his head. 

His expression mirrors a man who wants so desperately to sink into the floorboards. Or to dash back into the hale storm and fully immerse himself head to toe into the hot tub’s waters and never surface again.

The first few seconds of silence is heavy. As if you’re both still trying to process the presence of the other. It’s an uncomfortable silence you’re not accustomed to when with Jungkook. He’s always leaned more to the quiet side of the spectrum; introverted, introspective. But silences had always been comfortable, even when you two clashed. 

You endeavour for eye contact but he’s suddenly so transfixed on a shadow upon the wood flooring. 

“Hey,” you begin, quietly, like the walls are listening in on you. It’s enough gentle encouragement for him to peer up. He hides his hangover well but the mirth, the glint; the starry eyedness that reflected in his orbs from the night before is absent, and no amount of hot tub therapy could conceal the physical and mental exhaustion. 

“Hey.” He sounds almost breathless, smothers the tremor in his voice with a cough. “You’re … you’re soaked.”

“So are you.” Your tone is apologetic, “Sorry I came on short notice, I messaged you but I don’t think you saw it.”

He winces. “Right - sorry. My phone died. Haven’t checked it since.”

You muster a small smile. “I thought as much.” 

Another breath. Another nervous lilt in his voice. “I’m sorry. Not just the phone thing but everything I said to you last night.” 

You sigh. “Don’t be. It’s just … I’m surprised you remember what you said.”

He takes a breath, bicep flexing when he rubs anxiously at his nape. “I don’t,” he admits. “Jimin told me. It’s in this video he took last night of Taehyung eating cake off the floor, you could hear my voice in the background.” 

“Ah. That explains it.” Your lips pursed. “Did you mean what you said?”

His eyes round and flash to yours. He chews his lip, throws a glance at his feet. “... Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Not just the alcohol talking?”

“No.”

You’re quiet, continuing to stroke Basil who’s still fast asleep beside you.

“Sor—“

“Stop apologising,” you snap. You didn’t mean to, but his shoulders tense, and it makes you wallow in guilt that only he out of everyone has been able to make you feel. You haven’t thought this through and now you’re here you’re saying all the wrong things and asking all the wrong questions. But you remember it’s him, and recollect yourself. “Jungkook - it’s just … it’s just a lot to unpack.” 

You peer up, his nod is slow, but he gets it.

He’s tired, you see it clear as day. See it in the trudge of his walk, the dim in his eyes, and neither of you talk on the way up. Not until you reach his room. 

Despite your protests, he insists you help yourself to his draws for a spare change of dry clothes. It’s with that thought when you realise you still have yet to return several shirts to him with the promise of them all being washed and folded; washed and folded they are, but you never have been great at remembering to give them back. Putting it into perspective - maybe it is a little weird. Weird for two people who fall under the label of best friends. But then again you borrowed clothes from your own roommates all the time to the point you sometimes forgot whose is whose. It isn’t weird. Right? 

While Jungkook goes for a brisk shower, you peel off your soaked clothes, hang them over a spot on his clothes rack. His room is mostly devoid of personal touch, though there are a few photos of his high school football days and some of him and his friends pinned to a board. Otherwise, he’s never had much interest for interior decoration, but he likes his room clean and uncluttered. 

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later. “Are you …?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m done.”

The door cracks open, and Jungkook appears, adorned in another change of clothes. His hair is still damp, fluffed at the patches that have managed to dry and his cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, but he’s less rugged than earlier. Still tired, though. So tired that you don’t question it when he makes a beeline for his unmade bed and collapses face-first into his pillow. You perch on the edge, pulling his duvet over him. 

He wriggles closer to the wall, like he’s making more room for you to sit. You appreciate the gesture and shuffle closer. Outside, the wind still howls.

“You should dry your hair properly,” you murmur, fingers at the damp ends of his nape. 

“Yeah … prob’ly should,” he sighs, muffled where his mouth is buried in his pillow.

You came here to talk about yesterday night, but maybe it’s a conversation for another time. You out of everyone should know how strenuous it is to have a heart-to-heart while being victim to a hangover that gives you the same capacity as someone half-dead. 

You’re staring blankly at the wall, so occupied with the whistle of the winds, so lost in the strands between your fingertips - that when you peer down you’re met with half-open shining eyes, and a lazy blinking gaze directed upwards at your face.

“Yes?” 

“Nothing,” he murmurs, like clockwork, and buries half his face again into the plush of his pillow. It’s enough time for you to catch the shy tilt of his lips before they hid again. It’s almost ironic, how you’re the one next to him while he nurses a hangover when it’s always been the other way round. Here, he’s so vulnerable. Your mind wanders to the possibility - what if it was the other way around? An alternate universe where it was you who serenaded Jungkook with karaoke and confessed. 

In whatever reality, you imagine him to confront you in the way you did now. Perhaps approached it a little differently, would perhaps be a little gentler, but he would never give you the cold shoulder.

For now, you both pretend there’s been no drunken confession. Best friends, like how it’s always been, and you’ll discuss it all when the time comes.

At some point you’re lowering yourself next to him; your head on the same pillow, and your bodies beneath the same blanket. He’s warm. 

And it’s peaceful, as comfortable as it always has been. 

/ 

“Oh my God, where the hell’s your shirt? I haven’t seen you swim once so far,” you scoff, and Hoseok pulls a sour face.

“You’re talking big for being the one in the string bikini.”

You look at him in disbelief. “Yeah, but I actually used the pool?”

“Scooch over, babe.”

Your eyes roll skyward as he plops beside you on the loveseat. It’s another weekend, another frat, another party, another excuse for Hoseok to walk around without a shirt because there’s a pool. Correction: a further excuse for hoards of frat boys to walk around without a shirt, but at this point you’re desensitised to it.

The music booms, a dull vibration you feel through the ground. 

Kappa Omega is infamous for their extravagant parties (at least, as extravagant as college parties can go). Compared to others it’s vastly over-the-top, with most of the guys getting in through connections just like how their college applications got past admissions, but it is what it is. They’re not all bad people, they hold parties for fundraisers but sometimes it can’t be helped not to feel sour when you see what they blow their money on. The Kappa Omega mansion is so big that you’d spent a good portion of the beginning of the night lost.

“Lucky bastards,” Hoseok mutters. He’s said that several times this evening. He’s only here for the booze and the cheese tray. He pops open another beer, chucks the bottle opener onto the low table in front of him, besides the cheese tray he stole from the kitchen. “Which frat party was it again when you blacked out and dived into the pool fully clothed? I can’t remember anymore.” 

“We don’t talk about that, thanks,” you utter, wrapping your long cardigan tighter around your torso. “Have you by chance seen Jungkook around? I thought he’d be here by now.”

He looks up, mid-way from tipping back his beer. “Yeah, I saw him some time ago.”

“What, where?”

“Sat with some food by himself somewhere.” His arm gestures vaguely. “He looked a little sad. You know, in signature Jungkook fashion, you know how he gets sometimes.” 

Your form slumps. “Right,” you murmur. It’s been over two weeks since the last time you saw him. Not that it’s unprecedented. He has football among other commitments that strung him away for days and sometimes weeks at a time, and you had your own as well.

Be that as it may, somehow it feels like the both of you are drawing the whole thing out. Not purposely, but definitely unnecessarily. Neither of you brought it up in your messages to each other either, and it hit you recently that, well - you miss him. You’ve seen him around campus, but never for too long. Nothing more than fleeting sightings of him and his disheveled hair in a half-pony while he rushes to class after football practice; a hand usually holding onto a snack while the other held onto the strap of his half-open duffel bag, but you only had time to exchange a wave and a look that held promise of your next meeting. The fact remains that you miss your best friend, and it would kill you for your friendship to be awkward because of what happened. You had every intention to talk to him tonight in person, and no dallying or delays this time.

Hoseok’s eyes squint your way. “What’s going on between you guys, anyway. You guys a thing or what?”

You sigh, “That’s the thing, I have no idea yet.” 

“Yet.” His lips purse, contemplating you. “He really likes you, you know. So, like, go easy on him.”

Your eyes narrow. “How long have you known, then?”

“As if it was hard,” he scoffs, sitting back. “Guy wears his heart on his sleeve. You have to be thick as a brick not to notice.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you deadpan.

He stabs his fork into the blue cheese. “You know why him and Yerim broke up?” 

“Oh no,” you morose, frowning, “don’t tell me it was because of me. I talked to her after they broke it off and she said it wasn’t.”

“Not entirely. But I think she was bending the truth a little so that you wouldn’t berate Jungkook about it. She’s a cool girl, really nice and a good sport. Knew you two were close and accepted that like a champ. But -” and he pauses for emphasis. A pause which is seconds too long, and then finally he puts his fork down, clutches one of your hands in both of his, and waits for you until you’re hanging on to his every breath while he chews and swallows the remaining in his mouth. He resumes, brightly, “it’s not my story to tell. So you better go and find him.”

You shove him. Harder this time - enough that he topples over, and he cackles obnoxiously. 

“Prick,” you laugh, but rise to your feet. Your gaze spans the backyard, the pool. You spot a hot tub, but it’s filled with other students who are laughing and raucous. 

“Ok, I’m going,” you announce, glancing at Hoseok who’s still very much captivated by the cheese tray before him. It does look really good. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye.”

 /

The problem with knowing so many people, and having the same friends as those people - is that in situations where you try to pull yourself away from yet another drinking game you’re taken by the elbow by someone else. Having all of your mutual friends congregated in one domain that is the Kappa Omega House has made your search for the ever-elusive Jeon Jungkook a grand Pain in the Ass. He’s like gold dust. You’ve texted him but you’ve yet to receive a reply.

“Hey, have you seen Jungkook?”

“I saw him at the front porch a few minutes ago?”

“... Seriously? I’ve literally just been there.”

You even scrambled over a balcony and leaped over a hedge when you tried to get away from Chad’s third invitation to join the game of chicken fight in the pool (a parkour stunt that you like to think would put Peter Parker to shame). You give yourself a quiet moment to catch your breath. 

It’s then you realise you’re in a part of the backyard you swear you haven’t been in before. You can presuppose why. It’s dimly lit, less people, and the boom of the stereo is still loud, but is more of a distant noise in comparison to the other parts of the house you’ve been in. Like what the hell, how big is this place? 

“Sooo, you’ve found him yet or what?”

You hear the voice before you see the face. 

Unbelievable. So you cross paths with shirtless Hoseok for the third time and yet haven’t so much as had a hair’s glimpse of Jungkook. 

“Nope,” you reply, quite miserably, hands stuffing into your cardigan’s large pockets. You feel for your phone. He still hasn’t seen your message. At this point you’re one teetering step away from letting go of the remaining wisps of your dignity and yell his name through a megaphone with a hope he'll come to you instead … you’ve probably done that while drunk before but you’re nowhere near tipsy now, and that’s besides the point. 

Behind you, Hoseok hums, quite serene. When you look back you see he’s lowered his back onto the grass, his eyelids shut.

Eyes scanning this part of the backyard, it’s a different ambience to the atmosphere by the pool. More relaxed. There are students either sat or lying on the grass in small groups, their conversations a low murmur with the occasional twinkling sound of someone’s laughter rising above it. There’s a slabbed stone pathway that leads further up the grass, which then disappears behind a tall row of hedges, and with that you find yourself on your feet again. 

“As much as it pains me to leave, there’s only so much of you I can take in one evening before I go crazy,” you tell Hoseok, who’s unbothered reply is no more than a lazy thumbs up from his spot on the grass.

It gets darker the further away you are from the house, but you’re led by the quiet warm-white glow of the lawn lights that highlight the path. It calms your mind to a lull that puts you at peace, something you desperately sought after your hopeless goose-chase just minutes prior. 

The waters of a hot tub glow blue up ahead. You skid to a stop when you come closer and see someone’s in there; shoulders immersed and their head just above the water’s surface. What’s the phrase? When you stop looking for something, it finds you? That’s probably not how it goes, but it doesn’t matter. After futile searching, hedge jumping and greasy frat boy dodging, you finally found him. Of course he’d be in a place like this.

His eyes are dazed, mesmerised by the ripples in the water that his smallest movements create. He hasn’t yet noticed you coming.

You pad closer. “... Jungkook?” and like a switch, his spine straightens, goes rigid as a ramrod at your voice. He’s blinking, head shaking side to side as if to snap himself out of the trance that clouds his head. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you exasperate.

He blinks. “You … you have?”

You scoff, amused at the way his brows knit. “Yeah,” you sigh, stopping so your forearms can lean on the sides of the tub. “May I join you?”

After a beat of hesitation - “Of course you can.” 

You shrug your long oversized cardigan off of your shoulders, and double check that your phone is still in the pocket before you chuck it in a heap on the bench. You secure your footing on the step, eyes intercepting his own. His Adam's apple bobs when the rest of your body comes into view, and you shiver at the breeze but warmth engulfs you the second you’re in contact with the bubbling water.  

“Feels good?” he asks, and you sigh contentedly, leaning back.

“Yeah.” If you really wanted to, you could fall asleep right here, right now. “What is it with you and hot tubs? Always knew you had a thing for them but never asked specifically why. Or does it just feel good?”

“Mainly that. The guys on my team use the excuse that it breaks up the lactic acid in your muscles after training, but it just feels good when you’re sore.” 

“Huh.” When you crack an eye open, he’s already looking at you. 

His lips purse. “Did you want to talk?” and when you nod he sighs, wearily. “I wanted to, honestly. But I … I guess I never felt ready to hear what you’re going to say.”

You frown. “What do you think I’m going to say?” 

“I don’t know. That you don’t feel that way about me, which I’m fine with. I was never meant to let it slip, but I ended up saying all the things I didn’t want you to hear yet. And while I was drunk, of all things.” 

You consider this, broach your tone carefully. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

His eyes avert to the water. “... Eventually. It would have been after graduation. No step three beyond telling you, no secret ploy to get you to fall in love with me, I only would have wanted you to know how I felt. I’d leave you alone and we’d finally move on with our lives. And what better timing than after graduation? But that’s not how it turned out, did it?” He laughs, but it’s with rueful discomfort.

“How long?”

He exhales. “A while.”

“I see.” You think hard for a second. “Even when you were with Yerim?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, but you can tell he’s honest when he replies with, “Yeah. But I never pretended she was you.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re not that type of person.”

At last, he does smile at that, and seeing the tilt of his mouth settles a warmth in your heart.

Part of you wants to ask what happened between him and Yerim, but you think perhaps it’s for the best you don’t know, at least now. It’s not your business nor his obligation to tell you.

Before you could dwell too much on your oncoming words, you continue barging forward or you’ll chicken out from what you’re going to say next.

“Jungkook,” you begin. “What if I said yes?”

A pause. 

“What do you mean?”

“If you asked me out, and I said yes.”

He’s so bewildered he looks as if he’s just been slapped. Suddenly, something more serious shadows his features. “You know I’d never want you to date me just because. I’m fine with rejection, seriously, I’ll get over it. But I don’t want you to settle for less than what you want. You deserve someone you want, and if I’m not that person, that’s fine. You deserve -”

“Last time I checked, you don’t get a say on what it is that I do and don’t deserve. Who I deserve is for me to decide, so stop cutting yourself so short because you’re more decent than most of the guys I know.”

He shifts, looks away. “So what are you saying?”

“Should we try it?”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then it doesn’t work out,” you say, simply.

“But then it’ll be awkward.”

“You telling me that you became obsessed with me after I flirted with you for one evening while I was drunk already made it awkward. Not like we have anything else to lose.”

A breath of air expels from his nose in a chuckle. “Oh, ouch.”

“Jungkook,” you sigh. “It’s so easy to be around you. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but how are we supposed to know how it’s going to turn out if we don’t even give it a chance? It’s going to be awkward either way but we’ll figure it out. Like with all the other crap we’ve gone through. I’ve been with enough guys to know that guys like you come far and few between, I trust you enough to want to do this. You’re one of those few guys I know I can trust, alongside Hoseok. Even though he can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Jungkook doesn’t rebuke you, but he laughs. It’s a sound you’ve never been more relieved to hear. 

“So what do you think? I don’t want to force you into it. If you don’t want this, I’m fine with it. If you do, I’m fine with that too. Everything on my end is fine, so what about yours?”

If him confessing happened a year, or maybe two years earlier, you don’t think you would have confronted it in the way that you’d done now. You understand why Jungkook wanted to bide his time. You’re stubborn, fiery, and don’t think things through in the way that Jungkook does. If this happened two years ago, you can imagine you’d have yelled at him on impulse, asking him why, why he let it happen.

But there’s a very particular fondness you’ve honed for your best friend that has unfurled in the years of your friendship, to the point you couldn’t possibly imagine yourself putting blame on him for his feelings. It seems being friends with him has really mellowed you. While Hoseok is the friend you’re most similar to, your other pea-in-the-pod, Jungkook is the friend who balances you out. Someone so different to you, yet someone who still knows what makes you tick.

He’s a friend who doesn’t judge, but yet is always first to call you out whenever you’re out of line. A friend who waits until you’re inside of your dorm building before driving away. The type of guy who pays for dinner and doesn’t expect you to pay him back. A friend who makes sure you’re back home safely when you’re drunk, puts a glass of water next to you and watches over you to make sure you don’t choke on your vomit in your sleep.

Finally, after careful consideration, he nods. He nods, finally.

“So we’re doing this then.” You crack a smile, and he finds it difficult to suppress his own.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

With an unchanging temper, as still and as serene as waters below the turbulent surface - Jungkook is your anchor, he always has been. The anchor that tethers your feet to the earth when the elements threaten to topple you over.

In the blue glow, you shuffle closer forward on your knees. 

“Can I kiss you?” you murmur, and he chokes on his saliva, spluttering. You smile sheepishly. “Sorry it’s weird, you don’t have to let me if that’s going too fast. I just … I want to see what it feels like.” 

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

He mulls it over, but it doesn’t take much thinking. He stares at you, hard. But then you disrupt the stillness with a disarming smile, and unable to resist, he beckons you over. “Come here.”

It’s odd to straddle his lap at first. In the same way it is when you’re getting on a bike for the first time or any kind of first. He doesn’t make any first move, it’s you who he waits to initiate. 

The path of your fingers trail slowly upwards, until they’re splayed against his chest. They remain there, and you detect the quick pattering of his heart, the rise of his chest. His breaths are deep but they’re controlled, and he feels sturdy beneath you. 

Jungkook is stupid handsome, with the body to match. But that’s not what swells your heart. It’s not what pushes you to move further forward in his lap and finally press your mouth to the seam of his lips before you could think twice.

It’s how tenderly he gazes up at you. With the same sincerity and adoration he’d shown the night he’d confessed drunk. His eyes, an opening to his soul which is a whole other wonder. 

When was the last time someone looked at you like that? 

The kiss is soft. No sparks, no butterflies on your end - not yet, but somehow it still feels right. Like missing pieces that have finally fallen into place. Warmth and love spills from him. It saturates your body to the very tips of your ears, all the way down to your toes, like a slow, spreading glow. It feels good.

When shy pecks don’t become enough anymore, you get needy, touching and grasping for more of him. His palms press against your lower back, massaging the skin there, and eventually your mouth parts pliant for him. 

“Oh,” he croaks, his head leaning forward so his cheek brushes yours. You can’t see his eyes, and you attempt to move but he curtains the planes of his face with his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, having to strain to catch his whisper. 

“I’m embarrassed.”

You chuckle, warmth spreading from the spot on your ear that his lips hover over. “How come?”

“Like, there are probably bricks softer than my dick right now. And … I really, really don’t wanna jizz my pants in a Kappa Omega hot tub. I would have hit my lowest point in life if I do.” 

“Oh my God.” You’re almost crying, shoulders shaking with how hard you’re laughing. 

“Please, I’m so serious right now. I’d never be able to redeem myself.”

“Would jizzing in an obscenely expensive hot tub be so bad?”

“Yes,” he emphasises. “Really bad, actually. Have you heard of that guy who ejaculated in a swimming pool and accidentally got twenty girls pregnant?”

“That sounds like fake news. There’s no way. Sperm aren’t homing torpedoes, Jungkook. They’d be unviable as soon as they’d be in the water. But if you want me to move back, I’ll move back.”

His face is taut, like he’s trying so hard. “Yes, please.” His eyes go stern, but there’s a nervous jitter you feel with the skin beneath your fingertips. “And just because I think it’s worth mentioning, I don’t think we should have sex straight away.” 

“Oh. Right. I see,” you deadpan.

It’s his turn to cackle at the dead-set, disappointed look on your face. “What’s with that?”

Your eyes roll. “You know I’m kidding.” You brush the hair out from his eyes. “Jungkook, will you wait for me?”

His expression softens, and he hoists you until you’re pressed impossibly closer.

“Of course I will. However long it needs to be.”

a/n: when jk says you flirted with me the whole night and i became obsessed w you forever, yea that was from b99

originally posted on ao3! thx for reading!!! <33 

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader

[ravenloon]

Smitten: First Impressions (Chapter 1)

Tommy gripped the steering wheel hard, chewing his lip. His heart was pounding out of his chest as he replayed his and Vince's phone call in his mind.

His friend since high school had called him up in the middle of the night, completely ecstatic.

"Tommy! Tommy, you up man?!"

"Wh...I..I am now. Why are you calling at...one in the morning?"

"I couldn't wait any longer! I got myself a band! A real band that actually wants to get big and not just do cover shit!"

Tommy groaned, head falling back on the pillow,"Can we talk about this tomorrow? I need sleep."

"No, no, no! You don't understand....we need a drummer."

That perked Tommy's interest,"I...are you saying you suggested me? What if I'm not good enough?"

Vince sighed,"Shut up, Lee. You know you're a killer drummer." His voice took on a sing song tone," Pluuus...the bassist is pretty cuuute~"

Tommy flips on to his stomach, head in his hand and feet swinging behind him. He chuckles softly,"How cute?"

"Well he's got wild black hair, vibrant green eyes, smooth, ruby lips, a killer jawline. He's pretty tall, maybe an inch shorter than you, sharp nose and flawless skin. His name is Nikki. Nikki Sixx."

Tommy does a double take,"From London?!"

"Yeah. Got in a fight with the singer. Says it's over with them. He met me at a Denny's and then we already had an instant guitarist."

Tommy was still trying not to freak out at the idea of talking to Nikki fucking Sixx. But he forced a laugh and asked,"Let me guess..."

They both finished in unison,"Mick."

Vince giggled,"What? He's my boyfriend and he's god at guitar!"

"I suppose I'll have to look into this. When do want me to be there?"

"Gimme a second...NIKKI!" There was shuffling then a pompfing sound. Tommy guessed Vince had dropped the phone.

He could faintly hear the conversation, but not what they said.

More shuffling.

"Still there, Tommy?"

"Yup."

"Nikki wants you at like noon tomorrow. You know Mick. Never before eleven."

"I'm a little nervous but...I'll be there," Tommy said.

So that's why Tommy was here, driving down the street with white knuckles and a palpatating heart. He was having second thoughts as he pulled into the street address Vince had given him, and even more so when he pulled up to the apartments.

He got out of his car and walked through the lobby and into the building,"Don't screw up, don't screw up, don't screw up, don't-"

Tommy was in front of the door, but he couldn't move. Once he opened this door, it was a huge first impression. He had to do it right or...yeah time to start digging a hole to crawl into.

He took a deep breath through his nose and knocked on the door.

"It's open!" came Mick's yell. Heart basically stalled, Tommy opened the door and stepped into the arguably shitty apartment.

Vince was sitting at the small dining room table, scribbling something. He looked up and when he saw Tommy, he squealed,"TOMMY'S HERE!"

He ran over and picked Tommy up, spinning him around, only to accidently drop him. Tommy gave a yell as he fell flat on his ass.

Mick started laughing from his spot tuning his guitar, though his face was fearfully turned away from it,"Way to make a good first impression, Lee!"

Vince raised an eyebrow,"Babe, the fuck are you doing?"

Mick just turned further from the headstock of his guitar,"The high E string is an enemy not to be trifled with."

Tommy blushed, embarassed,"Viinnce!" He rubbed his ass, groaning in pain,"Damnit, you made me look dumb and it's not a first impression. I know you two."

The drummer jolted when a small notepad fell into his lap, seemingly from nowhere. He picked it up, noticing the scratchy frantic writing on it.

'You don't know me.'

Tommy's eyes widened,"Holy fuck..." He slowly looked up and came face to face with Nikki.

Lee's blush darkened,"Um...h-hi...I...I'm Tommy...N-Nikki right?"

Nikki held out his hand, which Tommy stared at, hesitating. Sixx rolled his eyes, which were mostly obscured by his big, fluffy bangs,  and thrust his hand forward, almost aggressively.

Tommy took his hand and let the bassist pull him up,'Great he's already irritated by me.'

Mick stood up, setting his guitar down,"Come on, Sixx. Don't be rude!"

Nikki, rolled his eyes and stuck his nose in the air haughtily, but the blush on his face gave away his remorse. He frowned, looking away as he bit his lip. Vince giggled,"He's actually real shy. Aren't you, Nikki?"

Nikki made a 'ehh' face and waggled a horizantal hand. Tommy assumed, surprised, that the bassist was deaf," Vince, you told me he was cute, not drop dead gorgeous."

Vince looked up at him, smirking,"You do know....he can hear you? He's mute, not deaf." Tommy's face couldn't decide whether to blush or pale. He looked like he was gonna pass out,"Fuck! I'm so sorry! I didn't-I mean I did but-"

Nikki placed a finger over his lips then said something in sign language. Tommy was mesmerized by the fluid, meticulous motions of his hands, the way the light in his eyes changed. Only when Nikki put his hands on his hips, did Tommy notice something else.

Nikki was super fucking thicc. Hips wide and curvy, sloping into thick, strong thighs. The snapping of fingers yanked Tommy out of his trance.

The bassist was exasperatingly pointing at his widened eyes, glaring childishly at Lee. The younger man couldn't help giggle nervously,"L-let me guess....my eyes are up here?"

Nikki smiled smugly and nodded. God, he had a wonderful smile.

A loud snap and a "FUCK!" from Mick interrupted them. They turned to see Mick holding a hand over his eye, a thin trail of blood dripping from underneath.

Vince jumped up,"HOLY FUCKING SHIT ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!"

"I TOLD YOU! NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH!" Mick holds up the broken end of the high E string.

Vince ran over to Mick, taking his boyfriends face in his hands. While Vince assessed his boyfriend's injury, Tommy turned back to Nikki. Hot embarrasment flooded through him at the amused glint in Sixx's eyes.

Nikki starts signing.

"I-I don't understand sign language," Tommy mumbles,"S-sorry." Nikki smiles and shakes his head, turning around to venture back into the kitchen.

Lee feels his mouth go dry as he locks his eyes on Nikki's full sexy ass. Nikki knocks on the refrigerator, slightly looking over his shoulder.

Tommy gives Mick and Vince a look. "He wants you to follow him,"Vince says before turning back to holding a bandage over Mick's eye,"You think you'll be okay, my sugar?"

Mick nodded, twirling a strand of his hair.

Tommy follows Nikki into the kitchen to see the bassist rummaging around in the cupboards, swaying his hips with an absent minded air.  He tapped on the notebook on the counter.

Tommy picked it up, whilst twirling his drumstick in one hand,"I heard you did marching band. We need to teach you sign language." The drummer huffed,"Why didn't he tell you that I rock too?"

Nikki turned around smiling and shrugging.

"You figured?"

Nikki nods, fluffy hair flicking his face. Tommy suddenly saw a side of Nikki that, like Vince said, was indeed 'cute'.

He smiled softly,"Oh! Uh...d-do you want me to show you my playing? I...I did bring my drumset..."

Nikki nods eagerly and pulls his arm, walking out the door. Tommy blushes at Nikki's sudden enthusiasm,"Are you actually excited to hear me play?"

Nikki nods frantically, slamming his finger into the elevator button over and over until the worn doors screech open, making both of them wince.

They get down to Tommy's car only for the drummer to realize that the entire time.

Nikki had never let go of his hand.

"Um, N-Nikki your still holding my...hand..."

They look down at their hands and Nikki bitterly pulls away and marches to the trunk of the car, leaving Tommy to wonder what he did wrong,'I guess I embarassed him.'

When they brought the last of the kit in, Mick and Vince were passionately making out, moaning loudly. Nikki stamped his foot hard, scaring the both of them.

Mick placed a hand on his chest,"Don't do that!"

Nikki jerked his thumb toward Tommy, then pointed at them as he picked up a black bass. Mick nodded,"Get your mic, sugar. How bout Live Wire?"

Vince nodded and did some quick vocal warm ups while Mick hooks up his guitar. He gives his whammy bar a tug only for the neck of his guitar to swing up and slam into Tommy's dick.

"MotherFUCKER!" Tommy doubled over, moaning in agony.

"Mick, you killed our drummer!" Vince whined.

"No I didn't I just smashed his cock!"

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE SMASHING MY COCK!"

"THAT'S WHAT WE WERE TRYING TO DO BEFORE SIXX SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!"

Nikki tapped Tommy's shoulder and held out his notepad,'Are you gonna puke? Are you good to play?'

Tommy nodded, gasping,"I...ngh...I'm g-good..." He made his way over to his drumset and plopped down letting out a final pained sigh. He picked up his sticks. Nikki snapped his fingers to give a starting beat and they took off with Live Wire.

Tommy absolutely loved it. They sounded great together and he literally couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He was so excited actually that he jumped and threw his drumsticks, which smacked Mick in the forehead,"PAYBACK, MOTHERFUCKER!"

"OW!" Mick fell backwards into Vince's arms. Tommy covered his mouth,"Holy fuck, I am so sorry. I fucked it up didn't I?" He looked up at Nikki only to find the bassist's eyes lit up with absolute glee, mouth stretched into a wide grin. He turned to Mick and Vince and began signing rapidly.

"Uh..um...wh-what's he saying?" Tommy's gaze flicked rapidly, trying to process what was going on before he got dizzy. Nikki ran up to him and picked him up, spinning him around before miraculously tossing him in the air.

Tommy squealed,"Whoa! N-NIKKI!!" Sixx spun him around again and spun around, excitedly signing to Mick then pointing at Tommy.

Mick smiles,"He says.....you're perfect." Nikki nodded and clapped his hands gleefully, hugging Tommy tightly before pulling away, a slight blush on his face.

Tommy scratches the back of his head,"Thanks..." He struggled to keep the squeal out of his voice. But that was probably due to the adorable, silent bassist bouncing on his feet.

Even watching him play with London, Tommy didn't think he could remember ever seeing Nikki so happy.

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #terrorcest #tommy/nikki #established mick/vince #mick/vince #selective mutism #gay #slow burn #AU #thikki nikki #thicc boy #flustered tommy #moody nikki #sensitive nikki #glossophobia #first meetings #vince and tommy are bffs

[castiel-kline]

KitKat’s Random Rewatch (part 2)

The Man Who Would Be King (6x20)

For, um. Obvious reasons.

Ahhhhh this monologue is so fucking good

“But come on, dried dung can only be stacked so high.” Cas should do a stand up routine ngl. This line is some kind of comedic genius

He looked RIGHT at the camera. I remember the first time I saw that I was like hello, this ep is going to destroy me. Spoiler alert: it did. And does.

Cas called Sam being in the cage “a great cost” and immediately went to get him. 🥺 And did he seriously imply his overconfidence gave him the strength to fight his way into the cage? Damn. Confusing, but go off I guess

“Sometimes we’re lucky enough to be given a warning. This should have been mine.” AHHHHH

Cas, come on. You’re smart enough to pick up on when Dean’s being sketchy

Dean said Satan Jr and I forgot this was season 6 for a sec and was about to get mad because that’s not a nice thing to call Jack, Dean. Um, yeah. Turns out they’re talking about Crowley lmao

I have MISSED Crowley’s shouting. He’s so dramatic.

Cas is so done with Crowley’s shit ahaha

The colors of his preferred Heaven are so beautiful

Cas being happy to see other angels will never not make me sad. He’s literally smiling so big considering it’s his s6 self ahhhh. AND THEY’RE HAPPY TO SEE HIM AND HAPPY HE’S ALIVE MY EMOTIONS HURT AHHH

“Freedom is a length of rope, and God wants you to hang yourself with it.” One of my favorite Cas quotes right there

“You never look like you’re joking.” I love Cas’s sense of humor so much. Also, Raphael, kindly stop being an asshole. We do not need to restart the Apocalypse, thanks.

When did Cas stop doing the invisibility thing? Bc that could have come in handy later. Can Jack do that?

Bobby said he doesn’t want to be right about Cas being sketchy. Aww. I wonder if Bobby would have considered Cas one of his boys like Mary did if Bobby had... you know. Lived to see Cas soften out a little bit.

‘I’d die for him, I would.” Aww, Sam.

“That makes you Lois Lane.” Did... did Dean just say Sastiel rights?

I’d be more touched about Dean defending Cas but like... after this he doesn’t ever really give him the benefit of the doubt again, so. I’m a little upsetti spaghetti.

What was up with this demon Bobby guy. He’s funny but like. This is the only time we ever saw him lol

Cassss smite them demons bby. Get em.

All of their smiles at him are so cute. And Cas is just standing there like oop

“I’m still just Castiel.” YES YOU ARE HONEY. AND WE LOVE IT.

Cas is such a bad liar but like he’s also so good at it. Buddy, you’re so complicated. Wouldn’t have it any other way <3

Protective Cas! We love to see it.

OH SHIT he slammed Crowley into the wall so hard it broke the tile. King shit, Cas.

“I’m an angel, you ass.” Another iconic line. This ep has so many.

So it IS official canon that angels don’t have souls. Well, that sure sheds a lot of painful new light on the soulless Jack situation later.

I know Dean says later that Cas could have asked him for help while he was with Lisa, but tbh I’m pretty sure if Cas had actually asked Dean would have said no. I’m in a psychology course right now, and that makes me marginally qualified to say that Dean was definitely experiencing some major hindsight bias.

What happened to Hell being an endless line? When did you stop that, Crowley? Because that would have saved Bobby and Kevin and Eileen so much unnecessary pain.

“Big bald patriarch” is now the only acceptable way to describe Samuel Campbell. That was hilarious. Thanks, Crowley.

I should also mention it’s weird to see Crowley without the beard. Does anyone else get that upon rewatch?

Did Cas actually take 50000 souls from Crowley just to throw Raphael out of his chair and make a statement? Honey, no. But also, king <3

The trap they set for him... Sam looks so sad about it. Ahh.

Okay but one of Bobby’s reasons not to trust Cas being that Bobby didn’t buy that Cas could be effectively tricked by Crowley is pretty cool. At least someone appreciates how smart Cas really is.

The Sam and Cas angst in this scene is immaculate. When Sam asks, “did you bring me back soulless on purpose?” Cas looks HORRIFIED. I don’t think we see him look that level of horrified again until... the end of 15x15 maybe? With that whole whammy Jack unloaded. Which is... wow. Much to unpack.

“I was there. Where were you?” I think we all know Dean is a little bit of a hypocrite. Because this entire season he most definitely didn’t care about Cas’s problems, and I’m pretty sure he did ask for help one time and they said no. So, you were there, but you weren’t a helping hand. You gotta practice what you preach, Dean-o

I know it was a complicated situation but leaving him in the holy fire is still pretty shitty. Come on, guys

“Get out of my sight.” I’m grinning during an intense scene because GO OFF CAS YOU TELL HIM

“The difference between you and me is I know what I am.” Crowley, kindly stop exacerbating Castiel’s self worth crisis. Please and thanks.

Does Bobby have a guest room? Where’s Sam? Why is Dean sleeping on the couch? Did he just want to? I’m sure Bobby has more comfortable places to sleep. Or maybe Bobby’s couch is just really comfy, idk

God, Dean, don’t be so rude. Don’t call Cas a child. I do not approve of this interaction.

Again, Dean. Practice what you preach.

“You’re like a brother to me.” In light of, uh, recent events, I’ll just leave this here.

Also in light of recent events, this is the second time in this episode Cas said the boys taught him free will. They taught him choice, not feelings. And it was CAS who chose to feel.

“I’m an angel. You’re just a man.” You tell him, Cas

Lmao Cas dipped out before the convo was over. Iconic.

The ending on the bench.... Cas. Sweetie. HE SAID FATHER AHHH. And he looks so SAD. Also, the way it was shot was really cool. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.

The way it ended with him just hanging his head. Oh, my heart.

Anyway, this episode is a 10/10 for Cas, obviously, but we’re bumping it down to 8/10 because there was such an imbalance in Dean and Cas vs. Sam and Cas interactions. Didn’t remember the show was doing that crap this early. Also, the plot of season 6 low key still doesn’t make sense to me. Oops 🤷‍♀️

HOWEVER, it did me feel slightly better during my current crisis because Cas slays in this one. So, we’re gonna count it as a win.

If you read this thing all this way through, thanks for being here lol. I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. :)

#kitkat rambles #kitkat's random spn rewatch #spn 6x20

[prairiedust]

Gimme Shelter livewatch under the cut.... I was on my phone when I wrote it so apologies for the typos

“Patchwork Community Center: Care Given to All” with a huge, lurid heart. Hmmm.... patchwork having two meanings here.....

Pastor (?) has 2 Timothy 2:22 tattooed on his arm! “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” (NIV) Are we looking at growth and found family in this episode?!?

Oh that’s the alleyway!

Hitting mythology themes— Connor is an Anglicized version of an Irish name— Conchobar mac Nessa is maybe the most famous bearer of the name, from Irish mythology— he’s the king who lusted after Deirdre and had her locked up until she came of age, which is probably neither here nor there as far as this poor Connor is concerned...

That thing has a big lurid heart on his overalls better run lol— Oh shit it’s an evil Teddy Ruxpin!!!! Thanks Davy Perez!!!!

That’s the thing animal control uses to manage aggressive animals??? Is this saying something about the Patchwork people?

And that’s it for the cold open.

——

The uh, the mcfuckin what, the Camelot Palace Casino? Is this a tour of the legends of Ireland and Britain all of a sudden? What’s with hitting this theme so hard so fast?

Uh-oh the whole Highway to Heaven reference has me side-eyeing Dean’s suggestion for Cas snd Jack to leave the bunker... Dabb even “spoiled” that line in a tweet lol... in that show the cop and the angel got their (vague) assignments from the big guy.......

Oh SHIT “we’re standing in what I call ‘the trap zone’” Perez is coming for my whole life with this episode!!!! And they’re doing highkey “season one totally-normal Winchester investigation questions script” I love it!!!!

“Slasher flick” Oh we’re revisiting Mint Condition. This is fine.

AND TOMBSTONE THIS IS NOT FINE DAVY! We’re running the good times backwards what did I say about this being the flipside of Last Holiday!

H2H again but this time it’s sus... plus I’m with Zack, I totally want the cozy murder spinoff I imagined Adam and Michael doing plz

Oh the Cas and Jack dynamic here is so sweet.

Pastor just leaving his door open like there’s no such thing as a thief bless his heart. They must be torn up about Connor but Pastor was the last one to talk to him so he’s sus I don’t make the rules.

Oh no Red’s a THIEF!!! Who ever would have guessed. Okay I did NOT expect that jumpscare because of the way Connor’s murder primed me, that was masterfully done.

That’s vaguely an Ohio Star quilt square on the sign behind her except um I forget what that tilted square in the center turns it into? It’s chiming with something... I’ll have to look that up later.

“Divide and conquer” no never split up in a slasher movie that’s how you get murders use the buddy system!

Gonna stop a sec because I just realized that Zack is two-faced. The British dandy was an act. The killer is wearing a Cinderella mask. Ok I’m gonna make a prediction that Zack is actually the killer, a la the demon in Repo Man...

Okay there was definitely a beat after Dean said “Glad soneone’s taking charge” [ofHell] and the focus shifted to Sam. Hm.

“We’ve got to set her up for her own death” so meta, these writers are gonna shred us.

I love being shown how much Castiel has changed throughe Jack not understanding the Kool-Aid reference. And the cats line lol. That’s both amazing and poignant.

That’s a log cabin pattern in the cafeteria. Home. Makes me think back on other quilts we’ve seen this season and if “weaving” is the right metaphor for writing lol. I mean, the action of “patching” is synonymous with “mending” or even healing, but patchwork is also a craft with a long, long history in America (idk if quiltmaking is called patchwork everywhere) of taking a few often mismatched fabrics and cutting and sewing into something beautiful. There are generally two kinds of quilt tops— patterns, like we’ve seen so far in this season, which are carefully planned and involve precise measurements, and “crazy quilts” which also require skill but are often more freeform and piecemeal. But both aspire to be beautiful. That’s an interesting way to conceptualize a serial text... as both creating and mending....

That prayer was sweet and not at all what I was expecting.

I get the finger-cutting for Valerie (stealing=sticky fingers) but not for Connor? Tenuous connection still betw lying and writing? It’s evocative of Se7en but the killer seems to have the same MO for all the killings (I attended CSI for a while.)

Snow White is making me uneasy. Oh she’s the preacher’s daughter... we’ve seen that in early days, too.... oh.... oh....

It’s not the AV guy despite having seen all the AV equipment around Valerie. That’s too easy.

“A saint is a sinner who keeps trying-“ no scroll back, the important part was “we all have to take care of each other.” That’s a theme in the series.

She’s all in pink....

dean and amara on the same wavelength about food lol

Ha ha inversion of “oh you’re a fan of religion? name all seven gods then.”

Castiel’s testimony just wrecked me.

“Members serve the gift of food” hmmm the signs in this episode are tip-top

Gonna just watch for a while.

Oh crap “each is a finger” oh it’s about the sins of the father— No Cas no, you’ve fallen for the misdirection!

Oh okay good, Chuck’s not done snuffing worlds. That had me REALLY WORKED UP ha ha because Amara has no reason to lie right?

That was a really good conversation.... and implying that Former Death bent the truth...

Oh fuck I’m gonna cry “I wanted younto see that your mother was just a person” YES! DISMANTLE THIS MYTHOLOGY AMARA!!! Name it!

THE MYTH THAT YOU’D HELD ON TO FOR SO LONG did they just— THEY DID

rigging the game— ftfoh with the casino metaphors already we know the house always wins except when it doesn’t

Lying, lying, lying,

Do we even know Snow White’s name yet? And why was Connor a liar? Because I think we can make a guess at this point.... ah ha ha her name is sylvia— “forest spirit” she’s Mrs Butters— and she’s after hypocrites— but the killing isn’t supernatural, just churchy?

Oh shit SHE IS A DEAN MIRROR IF SHE STABS JACK I’LL FLIP A DAMN TABLE

....

....

prairiedust.exe has encountered an error and must be restarted

....

....

Okay so “Dad” steps in and stops Sylvia’s attack on Jack...

Why is that Zack? What????

“I’ve been lying to you” oh here we go

Oh it would be death #3, remember what Dabb said about threes a long time ago, two attempts that are unsuccessful and one that satisfies the parameters— but no he’s a jack :((((

I have to stop watching for a while.

Okay I finished it. Holy cats do I have some Thoughts about this episode.

What I loved: Revisiting Dean’s anger, BUT the parental mirror here (in retrospect, at least for me) was a John mirror-- all the mothers (exc for Rowena) in this episode are dead. And Pastor Joe didn’t apparently embrace his wife’s faith until she had died, and then his vision was radically different than his wife’s was-- much like John’s reasons for becoming a hunter were vastly different from Mary’s... but much like “patching” this subtext was possibly even more “healing” than having John back in the 300th ep... This was... looking at a child’s anger when they’re in the middle of their own family mythology. Am I implying that Dean’s anger is immaturity? Eh, it’s... unripeness. I have an old meta in my drafts about the heroine’s journey and why Mary’s story conformed to it while feeling totally unfulfilling in her actual character arc and I’m so glad I sat down and examined that rather than finish it. I have a lot I want to say about Cas’ testimony too, but that has to sit a while. ALSO also, Cas has already thrown away his shot by making the Empty deal, right?....

LANGUAGE! Cas saying “I found myself lost” is a bonkers sentence, right? It’s like when people say someone “turned up missing”-- AND it does not have the same meaning as “I realized I was lost”-- you get a double whammy of the connotation “to search for.” I loved loved loved how language was such a big deal in Last Holiday and then again here, I need to rewatch while paying closer attention to Sylvia and things she says... but these two were sister episodes in so many ways, that when I said there was a “lack of narrative mirrors” in Last Holiday, that’s only because the lens for that kind of reading is Gimme Shelter. That is not the first time spn has played with a “coin” or paired structure-- I think the first time I noticed it was Fan Fiction/Ask Jeeves but I was a transfer student from another fandom at the time lol. But of course, we get a huge truth bomb at the end of the episode, and again that splashy cymbal all over lying...

What I got wrong-- Zack wasn’t the killer but he’s fishy as hell-- he stole Sylvia! Is this part of Rowena’s “people generally end up where they deserve to be” except she’s built in an express lane? “Do you need a driver” is that his actual job now? Taking unripe souls to Hell Orientation? What’s up with him being there... the other shoe did not drop. So there is a third episode out there somewhere where this might get wrapped up? The conversation between Dean and Cas can easily be something that happens offscreen, and I don’t think that it would be the first time we miss an “important” conversation, especially since we know roughly what will be said and how it will wrap up-- it’s an “open text” of a sort. Maybe a fanfiction gap lol, I can’t wait for the codas.

Also, the fingers thing being Sylvia’s father’s favorite analogy is where she got her MO, something that I definitely didn’t see, although it fits right in with her father’s slightly pithy character. I think it’s interesting again how we’re playing with threes and fours. Three fingers got cut off but it was apparent that Valerie (valorious one) wouldn’t die until finger #4.... Jack really seems to be our last hope.

#the folklore of supernatural #the mythology of supernatural #mary winchester #davy perez #the second timothy of supernatural #gimme shelter #season 15 #my mom gave me the family baby name book when i was about eleven and so i had an obsession with names #all of my characters in all of my stories had Important Symbolic Names LOL #it amused my father who told me I needed to read herman melville #and there's a little bit of my own family mythos. #now i harangue my own kid to write and stuff ha ha ha except instead of a baby name book i gave him watership down #same effect #more rabbit fighting

[ayankun]

things that make me ABSOLUTELY INSANE about episode 5

REMEMBER WHAT I SAID ABOUT THE LAUGH TRACK PROBABLY BEING OF NARRATIVE IMPORT, and then it COMPLETELY WAS A PLOT POINT this week, in the first scene with Agnes flubbing her part, AND THEN the CCs actually did notate the audience reactions --

-- but only at the end of the fucking episode when “Pietro” shows up???????

whyyyyyy

The fact that Elizabeth Olsen plays a character who not only is a twin but also has twins on a show that sends up the show on which her IRL twin sisters played one single character. 

The part where Wanda tried to use her powers on her babies physically turned my stomach and I was SO GLAD it didn’t work.

UGHH that dancing-with-the-babies-date like FUCK domesticity is my KINK.

There was an OVERLOAD of primary colors on the set this week, and I desire to know what it means.  Is it because babies/kids are associated with primary colors?  Was the Full House house littered with red-yellow-blue?  TELL ME WHAT IS THE REASON.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAT is the connection between Agnes and Dennis.  They had that whole interlude in ep 2, and now they both demonstrate an actionable fear of displeasing Wanda, when everyone else is/has been more or less outwardly oblivious to the situation.  (Dennis has a copy of his IRL person’s driver’s license on the mystery board, but Agnes DOES NOT)

I legit called the aging-up of the kids.  I said it out loud two weeks ago.  You know who you are, you can back me up on this.  They can play within the cut-corners of the sitcom-fiction format.  In fact, Jimmy said what we were ALL thinking, “they’ll be empty-nesters by the end of the episode” and I’m IMPRESSED AND DISGUSTED that they know what we’re thinking because they wanted us to think it.

when the Wanda-magic red brush went in and lovingly, unnervingly brought Vision to life in the new 80s opening credits, I screamed “FUCK YOOOOU” at my computer screen I do not lie

Birds.  Birds and flowers.  Birds and flowers are very everywhere.  On the walls, on the clothes.  This whole times.  oh what can it mean.  I need to know what it means.

I LEGIT thought the joke was going to be that Vision doesn’t have any baby photos and just existed as a full grown adult, but then the joke was that he does have baby photos

THIS

He has a chip in his hand and then he throws it over his shoulder because he doesn’t eat food.

I’m honestly conflicted as to whether I’m reading Jimmy as gay or in a very cute and nerdy OT3 with Darcy and Monica.

STOP

HAMMER TIME

Is Wanda being mind-controlled to resurrect Vision so that SWORD can co-opt him as their new weapon and the investigation/rescue/assassination scenario is itself a staged production cast with unwitting players??????

I PROMISE this is not what it looks like:

IT’S THE LOBSTER JELLO MOLD OR WHATEVER FROM THE TOASTER AD IN EP 1

ok I won’t joke around, I rewatched this on my folks’ monster tv and when I paused to see what ad was on the paper this time, my brain CRUMPLED:

THAT IS A PICTURE OF AN ASTRONAUT INSIDE A TV.  MOONMEN CONFIRMED

Also, the frontpage headline is “Local Homemakers Innovating Recipes,” emphasis on home-making.  Making a home.  From scratch.  With your mind.  Wanda.

Also-also, the tiny scroll over the top is like “MORE DRAMATIC DETAILS ABOUT THE LIGHTS IN THE SKY ABOVE WESTVIEW”

Are these SWORD-infiltrating-the-magic-barrier lights, or are these UFOSSSSSS

The realization that when Agnes appeared like a fairy godmother to help Wanda out of the dinner jam in ep 1, it was Wanda manifesting a solution to her problem using her God-will :|||||||||

HWAT is the emblem on Agnes’ brooch:

“Wanda, we are usually so much of the same mind.”  OOF

Jimmy just GLEEFULLY marching in with coffee for his girlfriends and ONLY for his girlfriends

fukkin  HEXAGON >> HEX >> MAGIC >> SCARLET WITCH INCOMING YOOOOOOOOOOOO

NORM SNAPPING BACK INTO CHARACTER MID-EXISTENTIAL-CRISIS GOOD LOOORRRRDDDDD GIVE THIS MAN AN EMMY RIGHT MEOW

NOT WANDA INSTRUCTING HER CHILDREN ON THE IMPORTANCE OF RESPONSIBLE OWNERSHIP OF LIVING THINGS, AND THEN WATCHING HER SON MAKE THE DOG DO TRICKS AT HIS BIDDING -- LIKE MOTHER LIKE SON AMIRITE

So I don’t have a Unified Theory of Color for the WandaVision canon yet, but even a chump like me can pick out RBG:

somebodypleasejustellmewhatthegoddamnbirdsmean

I KNOW I’m insane, I’m totally not debating that, but “no joy” sounds a lot like it could have something to do with NJ, WestView, NJ.  W V, N J i mean I’m crazy, but it’s not not there

like okay, so IRL Wanda is still fully Sokovian, accent and all ... she had a tough life from a young age and I firmly cannot believe she spent any of that time watching mid-century American sitcoms so I STILL BELIEVE, AT THIS POINT, that we are being told that there is some other entity at least partially responsible for what’s going on here. 

like Monica said, I don’t think any of this was by Wanda’s design.  I think there’s a Wanda what done the grave robbery, and a Wanda what got whammied same as Monica did when she got stuck inside, the difference between Wanda-Wanda allowed to be in control somewhat and Monica getting overwritten as Geraldine being that Wanda has Mind Stone powers and that’s the root cause of all this reality-bending stuff (and the CMBR)

CASE IN POINT OF WANDA STARTING OUT AN INNOCENT AND INADVERTENTLY, OVER TIME, SLOWLY, WILLFULLY TAKING CONTROL ---

1) Vision suspects as much, and he’s perfect, so he’s probably right.

2) The nature of the female-empowerment agenda depicted in the mid-roll ads, where early on the Woman Character was subservient to the Man Character, and as of this week’s ad, the Man is comically infantilized while the Woman more or less has her shit together

3) FOR WHEN YOU MAKE A MESS YOU DIDN’T MEAN TO

Jezus you guys, the whole concept of the show using the gradual sophistication of the American television audience, as represented by the amalgam of the content it consumed in particular eras, to underscore Wanda’s own gradual journey from the vapid fiction of the post-war Dream Life to the slightly more heavy, but no less contrived fiction of the Perfect Family,,,,,,,,

AND THEN you have the ads, which also mirror the real-world marketing attitudes of the time

which also mirror Wanda and Vision’s personal histories to date

which also mirror the evolution of Wanda’s personal rise to power as depicted in this specific show

“Bring who back?” GOD there is an ELEPHANT in the ROOM and his name is VISION

Vision just BLUNTLY BRINGING UP THE FACT THAT WANDA IS RUINING EVERYONE’S LIVES LIEK WHAT ARE YOU DOING BRO

and then she ROLLS CREDITS ON HIM LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL GIRLBOSSSSSS

holy crap, 4th wall much???

WHY DID THEY AHVE TO BE IN THE AIR FOR THAT ARUGMENET I MEAN I’M NOT COMPLAINING BUT IT IS HILARIOUS AS ALL HELL

JEEEEEEZ so the reveal that all this is real people real stuff real place, and that this is Vision’s stone-cold corpse with a fresh new mind shoved inside of it -- he legit has no memory of the Before, because that wasn’t even him.  He’s just as trapped as anybody else, and Wanda is his domestic abuser !!!!!!

I HATE IT HERE

#WandaVision #a FERAL review #you have been warned #spoilers AHOY #aggressive use of CAPS AHOY #i have no mouth and i must scream

[football15-7fics]

Little Princess - Chapter 1

July 21, 2017 London

It was one of those usual evenings, where friends had their plans organized, some would watch movies, some would play video games, some would have some drinks together or others would have intellectual chats.   On that Saturday evening, Adrianna, Jane, Claire and Kylie had decided to stay over at Adrianna's luxurious apartment in London.  The girls chose for a pyjama party as it was Adrianna's last day in town. She decided to settle back for good in her hometown Dortmund. Of course she's keep her London's apartment as it belonged to her.  But being away from Germany got her melancholic, she felt she had to return back to where she was born. All was perfectly set up for the night, drinks, food, weeds, Instagram live, champagne, who would get bored then. As time flew, Adrianna felt herself bored, she was the type of girl that had the urge to get entertained.  And no, her friends were not to be blamed for that, the matter was her. As it was her last night in Town, she decided it had to be celebrated in the most thrilling way with one last round of heavy drinking and illicit pleasure at favorite club "PURE". Her friends couldn't agree less, it had to be a memorable night for each of them.

^_^

July 22, 2017

It was a perfect sunny weather outside, which was very appreciated by the Londoners as ordinarily, rain and dark clouds were what they got served even in summer time.

Adrianna gently opened her heavy eyes to adjust them to the light beam that were filtered through the white curtains of the window.  As her eyes were fully opened, a sharp pain emerged from them, running to her head. It was like a hundredth of knives had been inserted inside her brain and someone was shaking her skull.  That pain was not a joke.   She leveled her back and put herself sitting on the bed with just a white bed sheet covering her naked body.  She stared at her nake body with stupor as she couldn't get why she was naked in that bed. She slapped herself on the cheek trying to convince herself that she was dreaming, but the reality was there, she was naked.

"OMG!!!" She spoke to herself in a panicked voice.  Firstly she examined the hotel room and could notice that clothes of hers and of somebody else were scattered on the floor.

"Oh fuck jesus!" She cursed as she looked next to her.  Her mouth covering her mouth, as if she felt guilt invading her.

"Fuck..." she shook her head with disgust. She barely had memory of what happened last night, beside that she had loads of shots, probably way too much.   She stared at the man who was laying next to her, sleeping safe and sound. "Gosh!" She exclaimed.  Her brain still drenched last night, heavy drinks couldn't sort out who that guy was.   What she was certain about was that they had sex, hardcore sex from judging the soreness of her pussy and her body aching.   Adrianna breathed heavily, as she gently got out of the bed with no materials to cover her body.  She tip-toed collecting her clothes and made her way to the bathroom closing the door without making a noise. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, and saw red marks on her neck, her boobs and her thighs.   "Who the fuck is that guy, what did he do to me!!!" She spoke to herself as she dressed on her black leather panty, bra and the outfit she wore last night.

Adrianna smelled sex on her body  and her skin tasted sweaty. Of course this scenario had happened quite frequently, having sex with unknowingly strangers, she loved to fuck guys and she enjoyed being fucked savagely.  But on this time her senses alarmed her that it was a different, that this guy she fucked with was eerie, a feeling of guilt submerged her She desperately needed a hot shower to clean her body off him, but it was out of question to have it there in that luxurious bathroom.  .

She remembered if her friends, Adrianna wondered desperately of their whereabouts.  "They probably know a bit more on what happened last night, who the guy I fucked with name and ... damn!" She mumbled. "I got to get out of here and grab a taxy to bring me back home!" She said as she opened the bathroon door as quietly as she could as to not wake up her one stand sex partner.  She successfully made it out of the room hotel and breathed out relieved. All she wanted was to get to her home as quickly she could but her body aching made it difficult for her to walk at her usual fast pace.  

As she made her way to the elevator, she hastily typed on her iPhone screen a quick text message to Claire.

"Come over NOW!! It's urgent!! I'm on my way!!!"

3 Hours Later

After a cold shower, Adrianna felt refreshed and could compose herself again.  She put on a white mini short and a fluorescent yellow tank top. As she handed on her charging phone, she looked at herself in the huge mirror fixed on the white wall of her bedroom. Red marks on her neck she unnoticed earlier were now visible to her surprise.

"What the fuck…" She cursed but her ringing phone got her distracted.  Claire's name appeared on the screen soothing Adrianna.

"Where the hell are you Claire?" Adrianna shouted over the phone.

"Open the door girl, it's locked." This one answered softly.

Adrianna ended the call and walked straight to her main door entrance and typed the passcode that allowed Claire to get inside the apartment

"Holy shit!!" A whammy Claire reacted at the view of Adrianna's neck.

"Yes, holy shit.. " Adrianna shot back as she closed the door and moved to the living room where she sat on the white sofa.

"What the hell happened with you girl?" Claire still open mouthed.

"I fucked or I was fucked…"

"Yeah, I see that, must have been the hell of a ride girl!" Claire smiled.

"Absolutely, I have red marks all over my body and I can't walk properly… what the fuck happened?' Adrianna asked desperately.

"Okay, I see that you are in a blackout!"

"Yes, and I want you to tell me what happened!!! I can't collect any memories of last night!"

"Of course you won't you were heavily drunk baby…"

"Yes I know that but what I want to know is what happened after…"

"Oh you mean the Jadon part?" Claire had a naughty smile on her lips.

"Jadon?" Adrianna shook her head.

"Wait let me explain to you hun, you know this club is highly renowned and many footballers love that place!!!"

"I know that okay, just come to the point straight please!"

"There were a bunch of players of Manchester City on last night, and we kinda of befriended, and there was this young and super cute guy, Jadon Sancho… You two talked very much, had drinks over drinks, but you were lot more drunk than him, and you disappeared!!"

"Huh… yeah… footballer…!"

"Come on don't blush or feel uncomfortable, it's not like you had sex with a footballer for the very first time, Mats!!!"

"Shut up.. but why do you say young, is he younger than me?" A dazzled Adrianna asked.

"Yes he's a lot younger…"

"Wait… don't tell me more of it, he's a footballer I can find his age on google.!"

Adrianna hastily typed Jadon Sancho in the google search bar.  His basic informations shown up on the phone screen with his birthdate, March 25, 2000. She stopped breathing for quite some seconds and read again the birthdate.  Shock rumbled every inch of her body.  

"OMG… I had sex with a child, what the fuck!!" She exclaimed. "He's 17 only…"

"Oh damn…" Claire laughed sarcastically. "Baby, it was just one night stand… you have nothing to worry about!! I'm sure he forgot already… At least you had fun together!"

"Oh please say no more of it… I need coffe!"

#jadon sancho #jadon sancho-little princess #jadon sancho fanfiction #football fanfiction

[mentalmimosa]

must have been magic

Prompt: Love spell

Everything’s fine until Steve starts taking off his clothes.

Ok, everything’s not fine, technically: Tony’s hoarse from yelling and Steve is the color of beets and anyone in the vicinity who didn’t know they were pissed at each other, have been since the Quinjet swept in and plucked them out of the Albanian wilderness, well--let’s just say there’s not anyone like that left.

They’re in the briefing room near the hanger because Tony was trying to act like a professional and not ream Steve the second they stepped off the plane. They’ve got new kids on the block now, Ant Man and Spidey and that take-no-shit Wasp, so it would be nice to, you know, pretend like they have their shit together as a team. As far as Tony’s concerned, screaming at Steve (and vice versa) is what keeps said shit in one piece; they’ve tried the not talking and not communicating thing and boy howdy, did that fuck them up. So they talk about their disagreements now, albeit in raised voices (Steve) and flailing arms (Tony), but they try not to do it in mixed company. Key word: try.

But sometimes Steve is just too puritanical for Tony to stomach all the way back to base, so today’s contretemps had started in furious whispers at the back of the plane and smouldered until they were wheels down and then and only then had Tony poked Captain Self-Righteous in the chest and hissed: “You, me, briefing room. Right the fuck now!”

Which had only made Steve madder, of course.

“I don’t appreciate being ordered around, Tony,” he barks the second the door to the briefing room closes.

“Yeah. Sucks, don’t it? Maybe you should have thought of that before you pulled an audible in the middle of an op, Cap!”

“What we were doing wasn’t working! A new strategy was called for!”

“I’m sorry, who was on point today?”

Steve flips off his helmet and chucks it on the table. “You were.”

“Yep. So instead of calling for the ball yourself, Namath, maybe you should have, oh, I don’t know, given me a heads up and made a recommendation?”

“Recommendation? Get real, Tony. When’s the last time you listened to one of those?” Steve snorts and unbuckles his harness, shrugged out of his shield. “Correction, when’s the last time you didn’t take great delight in ignoring one, huh?”

“I see, so you’re a mindreader now, is that it?”

“No, you’re just goddamn predictable, that’s all.”

“I’m predictable? You’re the one who’s always preaching teamwork and collaboration, and yet the second a thing doesn’t go the way you want it, you reach right over and grab the stick!”

Steve reaches for the catch in his armor. “Teamwork goes both ways, you know. Sometimes teamwork means recognizing that I know better.”

“That you--!”

There were more words coming, more that Tony had lined up to follow, but it’s hard to talk suddenly, what with the armor falling and Steve peeling and then him standing there not three feet from Tony no longer wearing a, uh. A shirt.

It’s not like Tony’s never seen the All-American six pack before, even once or twice in close quarters, but usually there were knives involved or evildoers of some sort, so he’d never had a chance to study Le Rogers without the fear of rapidly approaching death and holy god, he thought, goggled, that was probably good. Because for all his pig-headedness, for all of his incredible ability to rub Tony the wrong way, Steve’s gorgeous in the way that the sun is bright, you know? Fundamentally, thoroughly, blindingly. Throw in the helmet-mussed hair and the red cheeks of indignation and the whole package gets Tony thinking in the color of swoon.

And then the man starts futzing with his pants.

“Um,” Tony says weakly. “Cap? What the hell are you doing?”

Steve looks up at him, wide-eyed, and now that his pissiness had taken a backseat, Tony could see what he hadn’t before: there was a weird fire in Steve’s eyes, some shit that made the blue blue, and what had looked like pink cheeks was actually general aura of flush from Steve’s hairline over the hills and valleys of his chest down to the line of his--

“I’m hot,” Steve says petulantly as he--yep, oh god, yep--peels the suit from his legs and unfastens his boots. “Always get hot when we argue, Tony.”

Ok, that’s a sentence to unpack another day. A day when Tony’s not standing across from Steve Rogers wearing nothing but a very (very) tight pair of shorts. Shit.

“Sure,” he says, aiming for something blase, “but you don’t usually lose your kit because of it.”

“Oh, but I do. After it’s over, though. I go back to my quarters and strip off and get a hand on myself.” A long-lashed flutter. "Think about you.”

If Tony was a good man, a noble one like the blond stalwart in front of him, he’d leave right then. Splutter something, wave his arms a bit, and run off for the hills.

But he’s not noble and he’s not good, so far as Steve Rogers is concerned. He’s always wanted. Always, from day, nay hour one. He’s never let himself follow that particular thought any farther than his right hand and a very long, hot shower. They’re teammates, he and Cap. On a good day, they’re friends.

All the more reason he should be calling for a doc, a detox, something, but clearly Steve is straight up out of his mind: hoodoo’d or whammied or drunk or shellshocked or catastrophically high--but also hard, jesus fuck, is he. Hard and moving towards him, reaching for him, purring in this beautiful, uber un-Rogers way.

“I’m so hot,” he says again. This time the words fall over Tony’s face. “Feel like I’m burning up, Tone. Need your hands on me. See?”

And then he’s tugging at Tony’s wrists and planting Tony’s palms on his hip and his chest and Tony is weak, Tony is greedy, Tony suddenly wants him so bad .

If he was a good man, the kind they make star-spangled movies about, he wouldn’t turn his face to meet Steve’s. He wouldn’t open his mouth. He wouldn’t stroke every inch of skin he could reach and lap up Steve’s orchestra of needy sounds. He wouldn’t moan when Steve’s hands catch his ass and squeeze just this side of too hard.

“Yeah?” Steve whispers against his lips. “You’re hot too, aren’t you?”

The air feels like it’s imploding, each drop of oxygen its own pool of heat, and Tony’s drowning in each and every one. “Oh, fuck.”

“Mmmm. Please.”

Later, what happens next will be a flurry, a cross-cut set of Polaroids that if he thinks about, Tony can’t actually fathom:

His knees on the floor, the smell of Steve’s body, the sound he makes as Tony peels down those impossible briefs;

Steve’s back against the table, his breathing wet and ragged, his hands buried in Tony’s hair;

His palms slipping on slick wood, his forehead pressed to it, the feel of Steve’s tongue in his ass.

And the strongest of them all, the fiercest: Steve’s mouth on his shoulder, his chest ablaze at Tony’s back, the gorgeous, hungry hitch of his hips. His hand is on Tony’s cock and Tony’s clinging to the edge of the table and it feels so good to have Steve inside him he wants to fucking scream.

And then he does, because to hell with reason, and he’s coming all over Steve’s fingers, the table, pulse after pulse and he still feels incomplete and then Steve is grunting in his ear, fucking in hard and hard and deep and only when Steve whimpers and lets it all go does the sweet tension in Tony’s body finally release.

It feels like he comes again, another burst of white out on the table, but that can’t be, right? He can’t. It must be the hoodoo, whatever’s infecting Steve--he must have caught some of it, too. But hell, god bless the magic, because it feels so fucking good.

“Oh, god,” Steve moans in his ear, because the bastard’s still coming, apparently. “Oh, fuck, Tony, yes, yes.”

And maybe that does it for him a little, again, too.

The next thing he knows, they’re in a wet heap on the floor, half on top of Tony’s hastily-removed clothes. They’re clinging to each other. It’s a different kind of hot.

“So,” he says when he can speak again, when he wants to, “um, Cap. What the hell was that?”

Steve laughs in his ear, a noise like good whiskey. “If I have to tell you, I must have done something wrong.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a smart ass. You went all weird stripper Barbie on me!”

“Stripper Barbie--?”

“Were you whammied or something? Did you pick a funny-looking flower while we were out there? That’s some serious Fairy Tale country out that way, you know. Lots of the big myths and stuff got started out there.”

Steve’s arms go tighter. “You’re babbling.”

“I’m not babbling, Rogers, I’m deducting. Er, I’m trying to figure this out.”

“What is the this, again?”

“Steve, you threw yourself at me. I touch myself when I think about you? I mean, that was some pure Skinemax shit.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

God, he’s infuriating. But it’s a lot harder to be mad when he’s naked. “Um, I always get hot when we argue, Tony? That isn’t you.”

“Hmmm. So you thought I was under the influence of something?”

Yeah, like a love spell, you know. I thought maybe you ate an enchanted mushroom. Forgot to each lunch before the smashy smashy and so picked a vegan snack on the go, you know.”

Steve bites at his throat, very gently. Laps at it a little. Says: “You thought I was high on magic and/or a mushroom and you had sex with me anyway?”

Shit shit shit. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I did.” Tony’s head does a double take. “Wait. Does that mean you weren’t ?”

“Mmmmm.” Tony can practically feel the smug. “No. Believe it or not, that was all me.”

“Well, all you is very cheesy, Rogers. Also not fucking subtle at all.”

Steve’s hips rock against his ass. “I wasn’t feeling subtle,” he growls. “Sometimes I hate subtle. Sometimes I think the only thing you understand is a shield upside the head--and believe me, I’ve been tempted.”

“So you thought you’d whip your dick out in the middle of an argument and I’d just, what, fall to my knees?”

“Isn’t that what happened?” Steve chuckles. “Except, as I recall, you’re the one who actually whipped it out.”

“But--” Tony’s brain is still not in full gear; not helping that blood’s rushing back merrily towards his dick. “But I--I don’t know if you noticed, Ron Jeremy, but there were some things happening with me that haven’t happened since I was 15.”

Steve sighs, a full on-luxury sound that Tony would like to sink into, thanks. “Oh, hell. Did I make you come more than once, Tone? It felt like it, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Apparently.”

“Uh huh. So let me get this straight: you came so hard on my cock that it must have been magic, is that it?”

“I hate you.”

“You want me.” Long fingers tumble over his hip, tease. “You’d take me again right now, if I wanted.”

Not even a question. “Hell yes.”

“Here, on the floor. Desperate, like a couple of kids whose parents aren't home."

“You like the idea of sneaking around, Cap? And here I took you for the candlelight and silk sheets type.”

“I like that too. But you have no idea how many times I’ve been stuck in one of your damn briefings and spent the whole time daydreaming about what it would be like to shut you up with my tongue.”

“Or your cock.”

A growl, a fist around Tony’s dick. “Yeah. That, too.”

Tony’s head falls back. “So next time you’re in here, tired of listening to me talk, you can think about this instead. About dirting me up and then tossing me on the carpet and having your way with me again.”

“My way with you? Now who’s cheesy?”

“Steve.”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Shut up and fuck me again."

#stony #love spell #mildest dub con #sort of

[0joodles0]

It's the last episode of Amnesty, now or never: Live reactions of Episode 36

Hi Griffin!

The audio did a goof and I can't tell if it was intentional or not

IT WAS INTENTIONAL

Oh God the music is eerie as heck

Oh oh oh dear this is making me shiver

(laughing nervously) what the fuck?

"how OLd are you??"

"I'm not and Arsonist I'm a camper"

Beacon!!

It's not how it happened??

The sound effects are really 👌👌👌

C o f f i n s ? ?

You can hear beacon grinning when he says Waynnnneee and I didn't realize how much I needed that until now

Duck is proud

"i don't know this gRIFfin"

Hello Thacker Aubrey Mama Vincent and Minerva!

Achievement unlocked! Blow up the gate!

WAAAYYNEEE

What the fuck duck?

Aubrey is once again a mood

Aubrey deserves a lunch time

Ayye what's up Minerva!

Griffin upload!! the music!!!

WOAH HELLO VOICE

Oh shit my dude 15!!

These rolls are all over the place

"ᶠᵘᶜᵏᶦⁿᵍ ˢᶜᵘᵐᵇᵃᵍ"

"You fucking nasty boi"

Ned being mentioned always punches me in the gut

Merry Christmas!

Wait what-

J A N E!

Jane?

Jane.

Duck:"me and my man beacon-" Beacon:

Whammy!

Charades!! I like charades!

Robot voice! Hi!!

Other robot voice!! Hi!!

Pizza?

Sorry? Pizza?

Billy?

BILLY?

Poor locust prime

Nevermind

It aliens, babey

"Yes, fuck them, Aubrey little" oh my god I love you so much Minerva

Dude I hope they make a graphic novel series for amnesty Because dude. This is all just really beautiful.

Oops shoot

I feel asleep for a few moments

Oh an ape is coming after them? Okie dokie

WOOT WOOT 14!

I love duck

I love freakin everyone in this series I'm gonna miss them

I have about 70 minutes left and I'm super tired I think I'll have to finish this tomorrow morning, which I don't wanna do, but I can't focus on it soooo see ya tomorrow morning!

It's morning!

Use those luck points!

Ryan Gosling!!!!!!!!!!

"naw pizza for sure!"

Holy shit

:0000

Music music music!

"sorry dipshits!! Now he's your problem!!"

:000 "what's up test test test" wfgkgekfh!

I love billyyyyyyyyyy

Duck needs a new belt

Stay cool!

Welcome to new Kepler-vile!

Ill always love Thacker and Mama's chats

:00000000000 OHHHH

THATS NOT ANY OL RANDOM TRAVELER!

Hwkfgjfgxjgd

Awwwwe

Dr Harris bonkers is big boi

"hi honey-" "OH MY GOD--"

Hell yeah the hair dye is all good!!

Oops I love Aubrey too

"Yes yes! What the disembodied voice of duck said!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THE CITY OF CHICANE

Pudding cup tree!!

My Danbrey heart is thriving

Cheese bush!!

I'm gonna cryyyyyyyy

"The peanut butter is mine!!"

Honey!! :D

Oh my god duck talking about Minerva just HAD to be what makes me cry alzjfjflgfqlhd

aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IM JUST REALLY HAPPY RIGHT NOW

She did a real joke!!!!

I'm crying still aaaaaaaagkdvrje

Amnesty lodge!!

Muffy and Winthrop!

AAAAAAAA FRICK ITS JUST ALL GOOD AND NICE NOW

Cryptonomica!?

FFFFRJEGKSGDJG

FUCK THIS IS SO HAPPY

INDRID!!!

aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I've never cried his hard from an episode holy shit

THE LAST EPISODE OF SATURDAY NIGHT DEAD!!!!

NEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

shit I'm gonna miss everyone

A STATUE??? AHSH FEE JDGJF

I'm ok

NO IM NOT AAAAAAAA

Ok. I've finished the Episode. I'm definitely okay. I'm definitely not bawling my eyes out as we speak. Thank you mcelroy's, you've created some good shit. Good job 👍

#long post #taz amnesty aubrey #taz amnesty spoilers #taz amnesty #the adventure zone amnesty #taz #amnesty spoilers #amnesty aubrey #amnesty #amnesty arc #duck newton #duck taz #wayne newton #thacker taz #live reaction #joodles speaks #tw swearing #swearing