#and then this lovely trans guy was given a load of ‘woman’ body stuff from their family like ????

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Chapter 14

Title: Falling for the Holidays

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 4719

Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children.  However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Arguing, Terribly written Donna (I can’t write her to save my life so I don’t know why I used her as a character), Consumption of Alcohol, Drunkenness, and I think that’s it. 

A/N: Sorry everyone for taking so long with this chapter. I’ve been struggling a little with my personal issues so writing had proven a little difficult. But now I’m feeling a little better and banged out this baby in two days. And to make up for the long wait, this chapter is pretty lengthy. This is a loaded chapter and it moves fast paced, so I hope it’s okay and that it doesn’t seem a little too rushed. I just needed to move the series along so that we can get to the good stuff! Please let me know what you thought! I adore and appreciate the feedback! Thank you everyone for being so patient with me! xx

Series Masterlist

Dean knew all along, but despite that, it didn’t prepare him for the confirmation out of Lisa’s mouth. Ben was his. He had a four-year old kid. One that he didn’t even know about since recently.

Lunch was eaten in silence, Dean trying to wrack his brain around everything, while Lisa was just too afraid to say anything, not wanting to chance it and make him angry. It wasn’t until Dean was nearly done with his food did he finally speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked. It was a simple question but it was a loaded one as well.

“I was too afraid to tell you. I know that’s no excuse, but we were broken up and you were leaving for college. I’m sorry. I was just… I was too scared.” Dean sighed. He couldn’t blame Lisa for being afraid, but Dean deserved to know. But he knew now, and that’s all that mattered, right? Dean was an understanding guy, wasn’t he? Yes, he was. His mom raised him to be a gentleman, and that was how he was going to handle this. Like a real man.

“You should have told me. We could have figured things out.”

“I know… I’m sorry,” Lisa choked, trying to keep her tears at bay, not wanting to worry her son… their son.

“Hey, hey. Come here,” Dean called, opening his arms for Lisa.

She wiggled out of her seat and slowly made her way towards Dean, letting him hold her as she sat next to him. She quickly felt at ease, meeting Ben’s eyes before smiling. Ben smiled in return, taking another bite of his burger, smearing ketchup and mustard over his cheeks.

As calm as Dean pretended to be on the outside, he was a floundering mess on the inside. He had no idea how to be a father, and he had no idea how he was going to build a relationship with his son and not fuck things up.

Speaking – or thinking about – fucking things up… there was the ordeal with you. You kissed him, and despite needing to be with Lisa and their son, he wanted nothing more than to rush into your apartment and kiss you again. Show you just how much you mean to him and how much he wished he was with you, but things were just too complicated. Life wouldn’t be life it was easy, right?

While Dean was with Lisa and Ben, you were alone in your tiny apartment laying face down on your comfortably worn couch, with your head buried in your favorite plaid throw pillow, the one Cass made for your birthday. It was lumpy and was a far cry from a square shape, but the fact that he made it didn’t only make it hilarious, it was genuine. You loved it so much.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door. The tapping timidly soft. Your heart clenched wondering who it could be, until you heard a familiar face.

“Y/N?” It was Cass! Coincident? You think not. You had thought about him and the universe delivered him to your doorstep!

Without hesitation, you sprung off the couch, retching the door open before colliding your small body into his much larger and muscular one. You could feel his body tense under your grasp, but quickly relaxed as his arms cradled around your back.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out mumbled against his chest, but still coherent for him to understand.

“Jo called me. She said she saw Dean at Lafitte with…” he cleared his throat, “... with someone from his past, so I thought I’d come check on you.” You wanted to laugh at his use of words however, you were glad that he didn’t say her name. You couldn’t bare it at the moment.

“Did I ever tell you you’re an angel?” You muttered. Cass didn’t say a word, but he smiled, tightening his hold around you.

Meanwhile, Ketch was sitting outside your apartment in the parking lot, thinking about what he was going to say to you. He had witnessed you kiss the man you were in love with and he was beginning to get frustrated. He wasn’t making any progress with you. He needed to think of a way to get you on his side and start believing that you didn’t need Dean, didn’t want Dean. He needed you to believe you wanted him.

“C’mon Ketch, get it together. You can do this. You have women eating out of the palm of your hands. You can get one girl to fall in love with you...” he gave himself a pep talk.

With one final breath, he hopped out of his car, taking his time to get to your apartment, still processing what exactly he was going to say to you. He was sure that you already had some sort of feelings for him, how strong were they? He wasn’t sure, but he just needed to get himself out of the friend zone and into the potential zone. You were the first woman he really had to work for and it was infuriating, but at the same time, there was something inside him that was being a tad irrational. He was getting confused.

You and Cass had just sat down on your couch, the angelic man eyeing the throw pillow next to you. “When are you going to throw that horrid thing away? It’s been two years,” he spoke, referring to the gift he had given years ago.

“What are you talking about? I’m never throwing this away! You made it for me, and it happens to be my favorite pillow!” Cass has heard you say those words a million times, but he still can’t believe you actually like, let alone love, the pillow he made you. But regardless, it warmed his heart. You were like the little sister, or cousin, he wished he had. His family were a bunch of dicks, with a few who were tolerable.

Just as you and Cass got comfortable, another knock came from your door. You started at crystal blue eyes as they stared back at you with confusion. “Who could that be?” You pondered out loud, a little disappointed. You wanted to tell Cass everything that happened, but was rudely interrupted.

“Would you like me to answer it for you?” Cass offered. You nodded in response, your heart hammering in anticipation.

What if it was Dean?! What would you do or say then?

Cass lifted himself off the couch and made his way towards the door, twisting the knob slowly before peeling the wooden surface ajar. He was met with a strange man he’s never seen before, his brows furrowing together, lips parting, in his signature lost puppy look.

“Oh. I wasn’t aware that Y/N had a visitor. I’m sorry, is she home?”

“If you mean Y/N has friends, then yes she does. A lot actually,” Cass sassed, not liking the aura he got from the man before him. Cass was pretty intuitive.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Is she here?” Ketch asked.

“And whom should I announce is here to see her?”

“I’m her friend, Ketch. She left her things in my car so I thought I’d drop them off.”

“Cass, who is it?” You asked, now standing beside him. When he didn’t respond, busy starting down whoever was at the door, you shifted to his side so you could peek around him. Your eyes widened, completely forgetting about Ketch. “Ketch!”

“Y/N,” he greeted, giving you a sweet smile.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! Please come in,” you slipped from under Castiel’s arms so that you were standing in front of him. You used your body to press up against your long time friend, shoving him backwards as he adamantly resisted you. Cass kept his eye on the British man, squinting, unsure if he could trust him.

When you were finally able to get Cass to step back enough to give Ketch enough space, he walked in, setting your bag on the faded love couch. “You forgot your bag, so I thought I’d come drop it off, as well as see how you were doing, but it seems you’ve got someone else already doing that,” he forced a smile on his face as he glanced over at Cass again, who was still glaring.

“Uh, yeah. Cass is a really good friend of mine. Cass, this is Ketch. He’s a friend I met on the plane ride back here,” you introduced.

“I see. It’s ni—,” Cass cut himself off, “it was unexpected to meet you.”

“Yes. Quite unexpected,” Ketch replied, clearly not happy with Castiel’s presence, as he eyed him down. He wondered if Cass was another hurdle he’d have to jump over to have you. “Let me guess… the Lincoln outside is yours?” Ketch asked.

“Yes. Is there a problem?” Castiel replied.

“Not at all. It’s just… it matches your trench coat,” Ketch scoffed, as if it was supposed to be a compliment.

“What’s wrong with my trench coat. It was given to me by my dearest friend,” he defended. That trench coat was indeed given by a dear friend of his – Dean.

“Umm, anyways…” your eyes shifted between both men standing in your house. Ketch I am so sorry for ditching you like that. I hope you didn’t worry too much about me. That’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to cause you trouble. I just had a lot on my mind, and I guess I was a little overwhelmed.”

Ketch’s attention fell on you while Cass was transfixed on the other man, untrustingly. “It was no trouble, and I completely understand. I just want to let you know before I go, that I’m here for you. If you ever need to talk, you have my number. I’ll pick you up, meet you here, and we can go anywhere you’d like.”

“Thanks Ketch. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ketch leaned in, giving you a hug, and behind his back, you could see Castiel tensing.

When Ketch pulled away, he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, a sentiment he’s never done before. To be honest, it was a little weird. Kind of like he was overstepping the boundary. Yes, you liked him, a flicker of a crush in your heart for the man, and stray thoughts of maybes and what ifs swarming around the idea of being with him, but on the scale… your feelings for him had no match for the feelings you held Dean. If Ketch had a chance, he’d be waiting a long time for that to happen, unless you sold out on yourself and tried to use him as a means to an end, but also to the beginning of something that could work?

Once Ketch was gone, Cass glared at you like a father waiting for his guilty child to explain. You let out a deep sigh, falling onto your couch, Cass along with you, and you told him everything. Every. Single. Thing.

After that, Jo came around and you had to explain it a second time. A day latter, you found yourself explaining to Castiel’s girlfriend, Meg! Why? You weren’t sure. You didn’t even know her that well. But after a week had past, everyone was caught up and has accepted everything that’s happened. A fake relationship gone terrible wrong.

One week turned to two weeks, and soon Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, and no one had barely talked to Dean. Jo had a handful of short conversations, and Castiel was able to get one heart to heart talk with his best friend, but that was it. You had gotten no contact from him, and when you’d try to call him once, it rang twice before going straight to voicemail. Obviously, he had ignored your call, and that was enough to crush you.

According to Cass, Dean had found out that Ben was his kid. That was news you ever not expecting. It had taken a few days for you to settle with that information, but it made sense why Dean was always MIA. He has been busy trying to jump into fatherhood. Balancing school in hopes to graduate and learning to be a father was apparently time consuming.

BUT – and maybe you were just bitter – you were damn sure that if his friends mattered, he’d make the time. He’d make the time to have lunch with you and the others, he’d try to talk to you, even if it was through texting. He’d try something. But alas, Dean was drifting further and further away from you. From all of you. Just because of some girl. Just because of some kid.

Wanting to beat yourself up, you scolded yourself for having those thoughts. You didn’t give a rat’s ass about Lisa, but Ben wasn’t just some kid. He was Dean’s kid. And you couldn’t blame the four-year old for who his parents were. And you couldn’t blame yourself for feeling disappointed either.

Not only was Dean back with his ex, his first love, he had a baby with her! A living breathing person!

But what could you do about it? Zilch. Nada. Nothing what so ever.

With everthing that was happening, you had hung out with Ketch a few times since the encounter with him and Castiel, and eventually, your relationship had diminished into mostly texting everyday with a possible phone call. Once in a while you’d catch him around town and you’d stop to say hello, or sometimes he’d walk into your workplace ordering a coffee and scone, all the while flirting with you shamelessly. Even your co-workers couldn’t keep to themselves, butting into your conversations and business.

Things were starting to get better – which surprised you.

One night, you decided that you were determined to get the old you back with a night out with the girls! You and Jo rallied up all your lady friends, and headed out to the local bar, on a Friday night, and the place was packed as always!

“I’ll find us a table!” Charlie shouted over the blaring music, “you know what I like!”

“I’m gonna go with her!” Bess announced. Bess was a good girl. She never drank and was always happy to be the DD. All that mattered to her was having a good time and making sure everyone got home safe. You loved Bess. Every group of friends needed a Bess.

After grabbing the first round, and a few shots later, everyone was on the dance floor, grinding against one another, laughing, drinking, just letting loose, and for the first time in a long time, it was like you and Dean never happened. You were having fun.

Lost in the music, you found a strong grip around your waist, pulling you closer to their tall and muscular body, and you flipped your hair to one side of your neck, peeking over your bare shoulder to meet deep brown eyes staring back at you and a cocky smiled playing on his lips. It was Michael. Castiel’s big brother, Michael. The same Michael that Dean despised.

Oh… if only Dean could see you now. You’d rub it in his face just to spite him.

Jo and the other girls shared a look at each other, smiling in approval of the surprise guest. With a chorus of giggles, the girls wiggled elsewhere on the dance floor to give you and Michael some privacy. They knew if Cass or Dean was here to see this, they’d flip their lid! But they weren’t. And an attractive man is an attractive man. Why not have a little fun?

You were grinding up against him, your confidence back at it’s peak. You didn’t need Dean, you didn’t need to settle for Ketch, no – you could be single and have fun with no restraints.

Swaying your hips against Michael’s crotch, you slithered down before bending over and sliding your ass over his hardening length. That’s the moment you knew you were in control. You had the power. Then suddenly his hands were quick to pull you upright, one hand locked in your hair while the other pressed on your stomach, keeping you flush against him, allowing him to squirm his hips against your ass, letting you feel just how hard he was for you.

Fuck.

You shivered in his grasp, and Michael smirked. “I’m always in control,” he growled in your ear. His voice more intoxicating that the alcohol you consumed.

“Fuck,” you gasped. You had never met someone like him before. You’ve only seen him from afar, heard stories about his reputation, but this was the first time you’ve ever come face to face. This was your first time ever interacting with him, and shit. The rumors did no justice.

“Mmm,” he hummed, “If that’s what you really want.”

Before anything could escalate, someone interrupted. “Mind if I cut in?” a familiar accent filtered through your ears.

“Can’t you see we’re busy?” Michael hissed.

“K-ketch?” you questioned, pulling yourself out of Michael’s grasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopped by for a drink when I saw you dancing with him,” Ketch squared up against Michael. This was the first time you’ve ever seen this side of Ketch before. Was he drunk? What the hell was up with him? Was he seriously acting jealous right now?

“Sorry, is she your girlfriend? Maybe next time you should keep her on a tighter leash,” Michael chuckled.

Your jaw dropped at his words. You were offended. “Excuse you,” you stormed back in front of the cocky bastard. “I am nobody’s girlfriend, and you are a sexist asshole!”

“Feisty. I like my woman feisty. Bet you’ve got a filthy mouth in bed –” His words were cut short when threw him a right hook.

“Jump off a cliff, asshat” you spat before storming off, Ketch giving Michael a smug look before following you out of the club.

“Wow, that was impressive,” Ketch chuckled, swaying a bit on his feet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You barked. Ketch stared at you wide-eyed, not expecting you to lash out like that.

“What do you mean?” He asked flatly.

“Coming over like some jealous boyfriend! News flash, you’re not my boyfriend!”

“Sorry. I’m not sure what came over me. One minute I see you dancing with so random guy, and the next I’m walking over and the words just come out.”

“Look, Ketch. We’re friends. That’s it,” you sighed. After the few weeks, you’ve realized you didn’t like Ketch in any romantic form. You didn’t have a crush on him. You only liked the comfort he gave you. But now you had your other friends to help, and they were also getting you back on your feet. You had an actual support system and you were beginning to think for rationally rather than emotionally.

“I thought we had something?”

“Ketch… maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. We’ll always be friends but I don’t like you like that. I’m sorry.” Your words seemed a little harsh, but that’s what happens when you’re a slightly drunk. The filter comes off. “I think what I liked about you was the attention and comfort you were giving me during a vulnerable time, but I’m starting to feel like myself again. I mean, we’re still friends. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow or something?”

Ketch just stood there, eyes boring down on you. “Are you kidding me? Are you seriously turning me down right now?” He asked offended. “I spent weeks trying to help you and this is how your turning me down?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m a little drunk. And you gave me no other choice. I like you. I really do, but only as a friend. But don’t worry. Look at you. You’re a handsome fellow with a dreamy accent. You’ll find yourself a woman easy!” you tried to build up his ego.

Ketch let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. “You are exhausting. Ever think that Dean doesn’t like you because you’re just too much to handle? That maybe he likes simpler woman, like Lisa?”

Your stomach sank. His words hurt and they were meant to.

“Wow…” you laughed defeated, “Just… wow. How would you even know if Lisa is a simple person or not?!” You retorted.

“Y/N, look… I’m sorry. I didn’t –”

“No. No, you did. You meant it. Thanks. I was having a great night and you come crashing in like a big stupid British wrecking ball! Thanks a lot. I’ll see ya around,” you dismissed him, turning on your heels. “I need a drink…” you muttered to yourself, before entering the bar.

By the end of the night, you were plastered and Bess was having a hard time getting everyone in the car. Everyone was pretty shitfaced and she didn’t know how to handle it, so she called for back up.

She called Benny to grab Jo, Castiel to get Meg, and Dean to get you. She was surprised that she was able to catch a hold of him. Bess was well aware that Dean had been distant from all of his friends. The only person who saw him the most was Benny, because Dean would bring over his little “family” over to eat all the time.

When Dean arrived, everyone was shocked. “I told you he was coming,” Bess chided at those you didn’t believe her. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, and Dean didn’t fail her.

Dean approached the group, awkwardly greeting everyone. He quickly searched around for you, knowing that he was there to bring you home. He didn’t spot you and was about to ask Bess where you were when the loud voice of a certain, tiny redhead, boomed through the parking lot.

“The idiot knight in shinin’ armor arrives!” Charlie shouted obnoxiously, her words slurred. Castiel glared at her exasperatedly, grabbing her arm and shoving her into the back seat of his car. Dean sighed, instantly knowing that they’ve definitely heard your side of the story.

“I’ll bring her home too,” Castiel nodded, before giving his best friend and apologetic stare.

“Yo, Donny! Jump in! Us blondes need ta stick together, ya feel me?!” Jo yelled at Donna, who giggled before taking large awkward steps, as if she was trying to avoid falling into lava.

“How much, exactly, did they have to drink?” Castiel questioned, all sober sets of eyes on Bess.

“Well… Y/N kind of got into a fight?” She noticed all three men twitch at her words and quickly spoke again. “Not a fight! It was more of… uhh… she punched a guy, and this other guy followed her outside, and when she came back, she ordered a round of shots, and then another, and then random guys started buying everyone shots and well, by the time Abby was dancing on the bar, that’s when I called you. You have no idea how hard it was to get them all out of there.”

“She promised us doughnuts!” Donna shouted from the back of Benny’s pick up.

“Donna, what ya doin’ back there? C’mon and get in the truck. You’re sittin’ next to Jo!” Benny left to help Donna out of the bed of the truck and into the cab. Jo giggled while Donna attempted to climb in.

“I betcha thinkin’ I need to get some climbing lessons, dontcha? Well, that’s because I do,” she joked, making Jo laugh harder.

“Hey! What ya laughing ‘bout over there!” You slurred walking out of the bar, a beer bottle in hand.

“Y/N!” Bess shrieked.

“Oh yeah! The night’s still young, bitches!” Abby walked out right after. “Hey boys, care for a drink?” She wiggled her eyebrows before slinging her arm over your shoulder.

“What’s he doin’ here!” You grumbled, wobbling as you pointing at Dean with your beer, some of it’s contents flying out of the bottle. “We didn’t invite boys! No boys allowed! They’re goss!” You yelled, throwing your bottle at Dean. Luckily, he caught it, bringing the brown bottle to his lips and chugging what was left of it. “Hey! Dude, what the fuck? That was my beer!” you chided.

“We’re going!” Dean snapped, taking three long strides and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Who do ya think ya are? I’m gonna rip your head off!” You were punching his back and butt, his arms easily pinning your legs.

“I’d like to see you try, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. Only Dean can call me that!” You voice croaked.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Dean nodded in goodbye before hauling you to his truck.

Reaching his Ford, he wrenched the door open and swiftly set you in. But as he tried to buckle your belt, you resisted.

“I don’t like you, get away!” You whined, pushing at his chest, head, shoulders, anywhere you could. “Stop! I don’t need ya. I don’t need anything from ya,” you bonked his head with your fist like a hammer.

“Would you just stop! Just for like two seconds!” Dean hissed, grabbing each of your wrists and glaring at you. His eyes quickly softened when he noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I hate you…” you muttered before snatching your hands away and buckling yourself in, although it took a few tries.

By the time Dean had climbed into the driver’s seat, you were already out cold. He let out a deep sigh, sitting in his truck, watching you. If things were different, if Lisa hadn’t come back into his life, if Ben didn’t exist (or at least wasn’t his), he was sure he’d make sure that you were his and he was yours. You wouldn’t be out at the bar with the girls. Instead, he would have taken you out on a date, and you’d be wearing that little black dress to dinner. You would both have dessert, and then he’d end the night by taking you home and showing you how much he cared about you, prove to you how much he was in love with you. Make you believe that there was only you.

That it is only you.

As he parked in his usual parking space outside your apartment, he hopped out of the truck, and carefully opened the passenger door that you were leaning on. He held you steady as he widened the door, hooking his arms under your back and knees. As if you were light as a feather, he easily picked you up, using his hip to shut the door, before quickly locking it with his beat up key fob and shoving it into his back pocket.

It was late so no one was walking around the building halls, which Dean was a little thankful for. It saved him the trouble of explaining to anyone, and all he wanted to was to get you in bed safe and sound.

When he arrived at your front door, he raised his foot against the wall, using it as leverage so he could rest some of your weight on his leg while he dug for his spare key. He was able to easily get the key in the slot and twisted the door open, kicking the door closed with his foot until he heard the click of the lock fall into place.

He brought you over to your room, laying you in the middle of your unmade bed before removing your strappy heals. He cursed quietly to himself about how girls shouldn’t wear straps. That were so difficult to undo. When he eventually got it off, you were sitting up on the bed without him noticing.

“Oh, shit!” Dean whisper-yelled when he realized you were awake, intensely watching him. He was about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Stay—” your voice sounded small.

“What?” He asked, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Please stay. Don’t leave. Don’t leave again.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Please! Please Dean, stay. Just for one night. All I want to do is sleep… so please.”

“Y/N—”

“Stay…” you whispered. And that was all it took.

“Okay.”

Say Something Nice Here!

Falling for the Holidays Tags: @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @winchesterprincessbride @amanda-teaches @dancingalone21 @a-winchester-fairytale @dolphincliffs @oneshoeshort @brewsthespirit-blog @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @atc74 @natasha-baggins @heavymetalhauswife @linki-locks11 @spnwoman @veevm @chameleah86 @kdcollinsauthor @claitynroberts @roonyxx @rainflowermoon @ladylaylo @closetspngirl @mirandaaustin93 @salt-n-burn-em-all @flamencodiva @fangirlanotherjust @winchest09 @shamelesslydean @couldabeenamermaid @alexwinchester23 @algud @gracefultrenchcoat494 @prettyinplaid94 @shhhs3cret @cookiechipdough @justkending @adoptdontshoppets @screechingartisancashbailiff

#falling for the holidays #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester series #dean winchester #reader insert #au #au series #dean winchester au series #squirrel-moose-winchester

[edelwoodsouls]

Over the Rainbow

I saw Spider-Man: Homecoming on Thursday and this fic idea hasn’t let me go since. It’ll probably become a series/multi-chapter later on. Please comment, I’d love to know what you think!

Tags: Trans Peter Parker, Bisexual Peter Parker, Panromantic Michelle Jones, Gay Ned Leeds, Bisexual May Parker, Pride, Everyone is LGBTQ+ okay, Pre-relationship,

Word Count: 2139

Also on Ao3

"I'm really sorry, dude."

Peter can feel his heart sinking already; he knows exactly what Ned is about to say.

"My mom forgot to tell me we're going to see my gran today," Ned continues, "and I can't get out of it."

Peter swallows before he can say what's on his mind. They both know that the last minute nature of this trip is entirely planned on Ned's mom's part, but neither of them can bring themselves to voice it.

"I'm so sorry, Peter. I really wanted to be there."

"It's fine, Ned," Peter manages, pressing the phone hard to his ear as he swings down from his bed. "I'll take loads of pictures for you."

"Be careful out there."

"I will."

The call ends, and Peter only just resists the urge to throw his phone at something.

He's been looking forward to New York Pride for months, ever since he came out to Aunt May last year. Until then he'd been too afraid of being caught there, of being outed before he was ready.

Last year seems like decades ago; so much has changed since then.

His outfit sits inocuously on his desk chair - a pink, white and blue striped t-shirt and black shorts; cans of pink, blue and purple hairspray - with Ned's rainbow shirt hanging behind it. Suddenly the clothes seem less appealing than before.

He could just not go. That might be easier than going alone. Besides, he wouldn't have to deal with the crowds and overwhelming loud noises, which make his ears ache and the world seem to close in on him, ever since the spider bite. Really, going to pride doesn't make much sense in his situation.

Except the parade passes right by his apartment. He remembers how painful it was to watch the rainbow flags and cheering people, so close yet so inaccessible to him, year after year. He wants to be out there, with people who understand him, not set back right where he was before. And he did say he was going to get pictures for Ned - his best friend will be able to tell if he took them from his own window rather than ground level.

"Peter?" Aunt May's voice startles him, and he realises he's been staring morosely out of the window for a good five minutes. "I thought you and Ned were planning to leave early. Won't you miss the beginning of the parade?"

He turns to look at his aunt, so open and smiling, brow furrowed with worry for him which only increases when she sees what he imagines is his crestfallen expression. She's been nothing but supportive since he came out - saving up for hormones, researching and buying the safest binders - and he can't believe he was ever scared to hide himself from her.

Before he realises it, he's crying.

Aunt May is across the room in seconds, wrapping him in a hug as he sinks onto his bed. "Hey," she soothes, "it's okay, Peter. What's wrong?"

"Ned- he, uh," Peter feels anger well up inside himself, whether at Ned's mom for all the homophobic shit she puts Neds through, or himself for crying, he can't tell. "He can't come to pride. We were- we were to do this together."

Aunt May's arms tighten around him. "Is it his mom?" She takes his silence has confirmation. "You know, I've always thought that woman needed a good slap back to reality. I've got half a mind to go over there right now and-"

"No," Peter interrupts immediately, then winces at the force in his voice. He extricates himself from the hug, wiping away his tears in frustration. "Sorry. It's just, uh, getting involved isn't the best idea. The only reason they haven't fought about it is because they've never acknowledge it, like, verbally. Confronting her about it would only make it worse for Ned."

"Well," she sounds unsure, placing a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, "he's always welcome here. I don't think it's healthy for him to live in that sort of environment."

Peter nods shakily. Before he came out to his aunt, he and Ned would fantasise about running away together, somewhere where no one knew them. Somewhere where Ned could kiss a guy and people would walk on by because it was nothing out of the ordinary. Somewhere where no one remembered Peyton Parker. Peter always liked the idea of moving to the Gay Kingdom of the Coral Sea, but the idea of spiders the size of his face freaked him out too much.

Oh, the irony.

"So why aren't you ready?"

"Huh?" Peter blinks, looking at his aunt like she's grown a second head.

She stands up and grabs one of the cans of hairspray, shaking it vigorously. "How much of this stuff do you need?"

An hour later his hair is an impressive mix of colour, and there's glitter everywhere. Literally everywhere. In his hair, stuck in stripes to his cheeks, all over his hands and arms. Aunt May has sprayed her hair too, painted her nails, and dug out a tie-dye sun dress from years ago.

He's just about ready to go when she shoves a large rainbow flag into his hands. "I bought you this yesterday, and forgot to give it to you."

Peter's eyes widen, and he throws his arms around her. "Thank you so much aunt May. I love you."

She grins widely, taking him in as they stand by the doorway. "Your parents would be so proud of you, y'know." She says it quietly, smile flickering, and Peter can feel his cheeks heat in a mix of pride and overwhelming sadness.

Aunt May shakes her head as if to clear it, smile back full force. "Let's go, or we'll miss it."

It's three in the afternoon before Peter gets another chance to breathe. He and Aunt May end up catching the parade half-way through its route, cheering on floats of rainbows and glitter explosions, flowers and flags, and a few appearances of the Babadook, which takes him a good ten minutes to explain to his aunt. After that they're quickly caught up in an impromptu dance party in the park, then taking photos with and for groups of strangers who smile and wave and joke like they've known them their whole lives.

Peter has never felt more comfortable in his own skin. Every time he sees a trans flag his heart feels a hundred times lighter, and he goes out of his way to high five the people carrying them. It's probably a hundred degrees outside, too hot for anyone to reasonably be doing anything, yet he feels as if he could run a marathon or fight off an army. He sees a guy dressed in nothing but his binder and shorts and wishes he had the confidence to do that too; maybe one day soon, he thinks.

They stop to get sandwiches, and lay out the rainbow flag to sit on. His chest is aching and he knows he should probably take the binder off soon, but he doesn't ever want to leave the park. If only every day could be this open, this happy - he's pretty sure he hasn't stopped grinning since the morning started.

"Hey, Aunt May, I'm gonna go get a badge. There's a stall just over there."

She sits up, blinking the sun out of her eyes. "Okay - get me a bi one?"

Peter blinks at her as she laughs at his vaguely stunned expression. After a moment he echoes her wide grin with one of his own, jumping up from the grass. "Sure thing, aunt May!"

He can still hear her laughter as he runs.

There are a few people crowded around the stall, picking out badges of all sorts. There are ones for every flag he can think of, ones for preferred pronouns, and various pop culture ones. He slows down to a walk, trying to decide which badges he should go for, when he hears one of the people behind the table talking.

"Sign our petition for permanent gay and trans pride crosswalks in New York? It's a show of solidarity from the city which will not only support the LGBTQ+ community, but also really piss off the homophobes."

The crowd of people part slightly, and Peter does a double take, because there's Michelle, hair as wild as usual but dyed in rainbow colours, wearing an oversized t-shirt with a pink, yellow and blue heart on the front - it's weird to see her wearing actual colour for once - her face open and earnest as she shakes a petition clipboard at someone.

The person in front of her takes her proffered pen, and Michelle looks up smugly, her eyes catching his and widening in surprise. "Peter?"

He feels almost - vulnerable as he watches her eyes take in the colours of his t-shirt and hair, but walks closer despite his heart thundering at a hundred miles per hour. In the last few months he's come to consider her a friend, and since she only came to their school in sophomore year she never knew him when he was still in the closet.

His fear is quickly assuaged as she smiles at him - a genuine, unironic smile which he doesn't think he's ever seen on her; it softens the hard, confrontational edge she usually exudes.

"What can I get you?" she shakes a jar of badges.

"Could I get a male pronoun one? And two bi?"

She rattles the jar around, fingers digging through them to find the badges he's requested, and he takes the time to look through the ones already displayed on the table.

His eyes are drawn to a set of rainbow flag badges, each with a different Avenger on them, and he can't help but smile.

Michelle clears her throat and presses four badges into his hand with a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow. He looks down: she's given him an extra one, rainbow with Spider-Man's mask on it.

His eyes widen, and he stares at her, blood rushing to his cheeks. "Wha-"

"Hey, Andy, can you cover for me?" Michelle hands the jar of badges to the guy next to her as Peter drags her behind the stall.

"How long have you known?"

"Seriously, Peter?" she rolls her eyes, entire body exuding sarcasm once again. "You're hardly subtle. You're constantly disappearing. You 'know' Spider-Man. Spider-Man vanished when you lost the Stark internship - I mean, the entire world knows that Tony Stark is Iron Man, the head of the Avengers. You finally get the date you wanted, only to bail, and your girlfriend's dad gets arrested courtesy of Spider-Man that same night?"

"Okay, but-"

"Plus you and Ned talk really loudly. Like, seriously, anyone at that party could've heard you."

"You've known since the party?" he splutters.

"I was right behind you buttering toast, dude. Just be glad it was me, not Flash, or everyone would've known."

He feels like he should be more freaked out about this turn of events, but instead he finds himself only vaguely resigned about it, and more relieved that he doesn't have to lie to her, especially since they've been hanging out more recently. He should've guessed that she knew, really, considering how observant she is.

"So are you gonna take the badge?"

"Huh?" He looks down at the badge, feeling a strange warmth at the sight of it. "I didn't know Spider-Man is an LGBT icon."

"Anyone can be an LGBT icon unless explicitly stated otherwise. Who better to look up to than the superheroes who keep us safe?"

"That's... a really inspiring way of looking at things."

"Why thank you."

They stand for a moment in silence and, for once, Peter doesn't feel the need to fill it with noise. It's comfortable; safe.

"So where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Ned? He, uh- he's still kinda in the closet with his mom."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yeah."

For a moment Michelle looks uneasy, like she's trying to decide whether or not to say something.

"My shift ends in half an hour," she says eventually.

"I'll be there. We can get ice-cream - or something?" Now Peter feels unsure; he's never been sure when it comes to girls in any respect.

"Awesome." She sounds as relieved as he feels. "I'll see you then."

As she's slipping back into the tent, Peter calls out to her. "Hey, MJ - uh, me and Ned are doing a Sense 8 marathon this evening, if you want to come?"

Her face splits into a smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Peter spends the next half an hour grinning, butterflies in his stomach that he can't quite understand, and though he can feel Aunt May's amused, suspicious gaze on him, he feels higher than the clouds.

#peter parker #trans peter parker #spider-man: homecoming #michelle jones #fanfiction #bisexual peter parker #panromantic michelle jones #ned leeds #gay ned leeds #aunt may #may parker #bisexual aunt may #bisexual may parker #pride #everyone is lgbtq+ okay #own work

[pomegranate-salad]

Seeds of Thought : Wicdiv #27

I slightly rushed this this month because uni stuff is a bit all over the place lately. Feel free NOT to point out typos as I’m about to dive in 4 hours worth of administrative law notes and I really need to believe in myself right now. Thoughts and opinions on the new issue under the cut, not spoiler-free.

 KEEP POLITICS OUT OF US !

 “Roll credits !” would say one particular YouTube channel. After four issues, Wicdiv actually provided us for an in-universe explanation for the title of this arc : Imperial Phase (part I) isn’t just our intuitive understanding of it, it’s “a well-supported model” for any Pantheon that enters its second year. And while this information only shows up toward the end, this issue seems constructed like a pop-up book of that point, developing the variations of what this could mean for each character. The issue opens with Baal’s mission, ends with Cassandra’s obsession, and in the middle ? Anarchy in the UK.

 Now I’m not going to go and unpack everything this issue does and says about its characters, not only because I don’t have the time, but also because hovering over every loaded panel is something even more interesting : the nagging feeling that none of them, taken individually, really matters. I’m sure there will be much talk about the odd structuring at the core of the issue, but personally I found the actual disposition less meaningful than the effect it had on the reader. Because of the changing divisions between the different snippets, you cannot get into a page by focusing directly on one storyline : first, you have to seize it in its entirety, spot the junction lines and decide which block to read first. Before jumping into one, you have to catch a glimpse of the others, have your eyes drawn to every panel standing out because of a contrast in colour or close faces. When you read a block, you can’t help but deviate to an adjacent panel, read a word or two, get back on track. You get in and out of blocks, move on to the next one, try to draw meaning from their juxtaposition, to find alternative reading orders ; you wonder if the links between them are deliberate or just your own interpretation.

You are like an analyst starring at a data spreadsheet, trying to wrap their head around all the info, to find order in the apparent chaos, highlight common trends, spot outliers. Seize and interpret. A single panel means nothing, and there are no solitary ones in these pages. Out of sample size comes accuracy, on the sum of individualities you build meaning. And because we’re the analyst leaning over the page, and not one of the insignificant data lost on it, we can stamp our general understanding onto every individual story. We never come into one data fresh. Each exists and makes sense relatively to the others.

 This ties in to the permanent double layer of Wicdiv, which I’ve discussed here : there’s always a filter to our connexion with the gods. No matter how close we get as an audience, we’ll always be infinitely closer to the in-world audience, the adoring public, the reporters, the historians and the psychologists. Before we are the gods, we are the ones watching them. And while Fandemonium was about what it’s like to be a fan, Imperial Phase (part I) takes us to the world of scholars. In the kaleidoscope of what it means to be a public figure, we’ve left the stadiums and twitter accounts for the museums and the monographies. Another facet, another layer forced on your reading. The gods are not simply obsessed, they’re not simply losing it, they’re reproducing a well-supported model. Their teen angst bullshit doesn’t just have a body count, it has an archive section, a conference cycle and a study department.

I said in my previous SOT that despite the time we’ve spent around them we really do not know the gods that well. And this arc provides us with another shade of not getting to know them : through the glasses of historians, sociologists, scientists and theologians. The gods are never really just themselves. Never free of scope.

 And it seems like Wicdiv has mined this topic before, doesn’t it ? Yes, despite having Baphomet on the cover, if this issue has one figurehead, it’s none other than Tara. Tara was crushed by the impossibility to reconcile her self with the layers upon layers of significance that were thrown on her. She made clear in her letter that this crucible doesn’t start at godhood. Existing as a young woman of colour is a political act. You can never be free of the meaning that will be forced on who you are : it is impossible to dissociate yourself from the political signification of yourself, even when you try to create a public persona that will carry these layers for you.

This theme comes back in full force in this issue, as Cass helpfully spells out its subtext : the personal IS the political. Everything the gods do bathes in our political and sociological understanding of it.

When Baal, a young black man from suburban London, says he belongs in the House of Lords, it’s political. When Cass, a trans woman, is having fun in public, it’s political. When Woden uses a sex worker to symbolically assert his power over a woman he fears, it’s political as fuck.

The gods have no control over this double layer : this is something that is imposed on them, no matter how much they’re willing to accept it. Minerva cannot fall apart because if so she’ll just be “another teenage cautionary tale”, and indeed, before she even said it there were speculations on whether or not she’d follow the classic implosion road of the child star. Even when the gods refuse to see anything political in what they are, the audience will be there to imbue that meaning in them. Sakhmet’s quest for emotional impenetrability is something we immediately link to her being a probable abuse victim, despite her never even mentioning that fact. They are never just a teenager off the rails or a woman who has survived abuse, they have to be the flagship of their demographic.

 As public figures, the gods are especially vulnerable to this dispossession of their individuality. Exposition allows you to confound your own psychological needs and issues with actual politics. The gods are lost in the blurred lines between a personal research and a political statement. Baal takes a national security issue and makes it about whether he can maintain control, linking it to his personal insecurities. Reciprocally, Amaterasu takes her mysticism and egomania and turns it into a religion.

 But at its core, Wicdiv is more about youth than it is about celebrity. As stars, the gods can put a political meaning forward, but as youngsters they cannot push it out of their lives. This is after all the one constant characteristic of the reincarnations : they are young. I’m 23, which would make me one of the older gods in wicdiv ; but even so, this issue aligns perfectly with how I see my demographic treated in society at large. Young people are the single most objectified and objectifiable age segment : from denigrating articles about millennials, to politicians “catering” to us in the most improbable way, we are simultaneously a curious beast that needs to be seized up and a formless plague on society’s values. In a world that doesn’t belong to us yet, everymen and scholars alike are trying to appraise us using a language that wasn’t conceived to fit all of us. The language of oppressors. So we’re being chopped up in representative samples, aligned in databanks, made into statistics. It’s normal to talk of the young as a unified group because the world doesn’t know who we are outside of the political meaning it has stamped on us. We are young, and we are never just ourselves. And this can be draining. I’ve never seen anyone over 30 as hyperaware of how they make “their generation” look as any young person. Never seen any of them as self-conscious when it comes to talking about ourselves, how we can shape the future of language. I believe that there hasn’t been a single time in History in which young people weren’t the most political group of a given society. Being political is not, at first, a choice ; it’s something that has been done to us.

 Regarding this, just how special really are the gods ? Them too, them especially, carry at all times the burden of being simultaneously more and less than themselves. More because they cannot exist out of the political understanding of themselves ; less precisely because of that. They are part of a cycle : emerge, burn out, leave the world. A new generation emerges, at the same time completely cut out from the previous one and yet repeating without knowing it the same pattern. The gods are youth personified. In the last pages, David Blake’s speech is mirrored panel by panel to the gods going awry. What can they do, with all their might, to prove this mere human wrong ? Even if they turn out different, outliers, nothing more. Chosen ones, in a long line of chosen ones, a centre page and a footnote, exceptional and yet so, so banal. The gods have never looked more like icons than in these last pages : Batman and Robin in the storm, two lurking shadows, a sacrificial victim, a human sun over her temple – or is it just an illuminated statue ?

Case studies, all of them. David Blake holds the theory. He holds the meaning, he holds the power. And we, as an audience, can only go as far as he can see. Just like him, we are not trapped on the stage ; when the show is over, we’ll pack up and go home. We’ll blog about it and post pictures, until we get tired of it. Those of us who haven’t already will say goodbye to their youth, and will look with various degrees of understanding at the new generation, wondering just how much and how little has changed.

The gods of Wicdiv will never get to grow up. This power will never be theirs. Loved, hated, brilliant. For others to see.

  WHAT I THOUGHT OF THE ISSUE :

 Holy shit, you guys.

 Well if anything, after this people should stop complaining that I’m being too negative for a while.

 Because holy shit, you guys.

 I feel like those of you who’ve been reading me for a while know me enough to guess I loved this issue. And you’d be about as right as the word love can describe how much I adored this. My feeling might of course change, but as of right now there is no question for me that this is the best thing Wicdiv has ever done. It’s notoriously hard for me to connect with something on a pure emotional level, and while it does come handy to lay out themes and ideas, I always feel like I’m missing something by never being able to just be taken aback by a work of art and not know what to say. The last time it happened to me was when I went to see Mad Max : Fury Road and there was just so much beauty on the screen it sent my brain in overdrive and I wasn’t able to think again until we got out of the theatre. And this is what happened here. The thoughts I laid out above didn’t occur to me until this morning ; from Wednesday to Saturday, all I was able to do was pick up the issue and read it again with my mind completely blank.  Congratulations, Wicdiv team : you made something so good it finally got me to shut up about it.

 If I am to analyse, I think a good part of my appreciation comes from how little I expected this issue to turn out as it did. From the previous ones, there was no indication that Imperial Phase (part I) was going to be anything more than enjoyable and slightly more conceptual than the arcs before, which after the way-too-conventional-for-my-taste Rising Action felt a bit underwhelming. And if this issue has one flaw, it’s that it’s so good it makes me a bit harsher on the previous issues : #25 and #26 were perfect for what they were, but still a means to an end, and #24 almost feels like a throwaway prologue than could have been dealt with in a couple of pages. I’ve heard somewhere that a good song can make an album, but a great one can kill it. And yes, I’m a bit afraid for the structural integrity of Imperial Phase, but I’ll pass my judgment after the arc is good and done.

But despite my surprise, I think deep down this is the issue I’d been waiting for Wicdiv to make : something as offbeat, subtly sinister and anxiety-provoking as it had the potential of being despite always presenting as too “normal” for its own premise. More than the weird, I’m a lover of the uncanny, in the Freudian sense of the word ; the “disturbing strangeness”, as we say in French. Nothing in this issue is outwardly, consciously weird, yet everything feels slightly wrong, slightly worrisome, like the dark space between the neon lines linking the panels, a record that isn’t really broken but always seems to drag a little, in a way you can’t quite place. This issue caters to my tastes so much I imagine others are going to have a hard time getting behind it. The only thing that could make me love this more than I do is if they’d found a way to cram a Dodo bird in there somehow. I love Dodo birds.

 But yes, this is Wicdiv as I wish it always was : slick and messy, grim and bright, cynical and sincere, direct and twisted. Cracks on the marble columns. A dissonant symphony. Madness is looming, but it’s not quite there yet, just something in the air. Who knows what will happen in next issue. Who knows what happens on the first of May. Wicdiv has always thrived in this chiaroscuro, between the lights of the Shard and the shadows of Valhalla. But even if Wicdiv never goes down this rabbit hole again, I’ll always be grateful for this issue, as I am for everything that knocks me off my feet and reminds me just what you can do with Art. Sex and drugs and rock n’roll. Very good indeed.

#wicdiv #seeds of thought #thinkpiece time #i do like administrative law but the legal decisions are long and full of boredom #here in france we have an administration the entire world envies #they could come and take it but they don't