#Event || Dizzy Paranoia Girl
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hopeful-hugz · 9 months ago
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@musesofthemoon || Hope Pre-Birthday Starter Call || Cadence
Another set of coordinates that she was sure her brother would never find her at. On top of that, it was a call in to STM that brought her around here; something about a family needing someone to check over their kid and not being able to be around the public easily. Being the private doctor she was, she decided to take the call, even if it was just a standard check-up. With any luck, working would take her mind off her upcoming birthday.
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"Heya, kiddo!" After a small chat with the parents, she's finally able to see the patient. "Name's Doc Raymond, but if you just wanna call me 'Hope', that's fine too. Just stoppin' by to give ya a bit of a checkup. Think you can work with me for a bit so we can take care of that real quick and you can go back to what you were doin' before?"
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lantsovsupremacist · 3 years ago
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tiberias (cal) calore vii: illicit affairs
i’m only on the 3rd book so a) pls don’t spoil you’ll break my heart and b) my perception of the characters has only been developed to this point so if you come for me do it with the correct context lmao!!!
you knew what it was.
leaning your forehead against the cool metal post of your bed frame, a shaky exhale escaped from your lips. you wished just like that lost breath, you too could leave behind your body and with it, mind. a few minutes was all you needed, really; some semblance of relief.
even with your door shut tight with a deadbolt, the danger contaminating the palace lingered outside of it. you were not foolish enough to deny the cracks it could slip through. you would give any adversary a worthy fight, though. you could not afford not to, especially now.
for the first time in your life, you had truly encountered a problem that you could not use your abilities to maneuver out of. as much as your lungs screamed and your legs ached to run, you could not. being a swift, your first instinct was always to run. your speed always gave you the advantage in pursuit.
a familiar knock at the door broke you from your trance of pity. you stood up, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand across your nose and mouth. the action of clearing your throat sounded more like a whimper, but you managed as you gathered your skirts and headed for the door. you pushed down the nausea and wrung your hands to settle yourself.
your fingers shook on the deadlock before you pried the door open. the amount of weight on the wood, the length of the echo, and the momentary pause before the second, lighter knock gave away the identity of the person on the other side. you were in his arms before you could take another breath.
despite offering you the comfort you had craved all morning, his touch triggered the sobs caged in your chest. perhaps, it was because your heart was only safe in his hands. but, without the key to let them out, they messily tore through and paved their own path.
a year ago, your greatest worry would be the shame brought to your family on account of conceiving a child out of wedlock, let alone to the crowned prince. now, it seemed the impending war took precedence. you could have laughed; a red threatened your livelihood. a girl, really.
you were always careful, and it did not even happen very often. both you and the prince were very busy people, after all. send offs and reunions.
“we can fix this,” cal murmured into your hair.
“no, you don’t get it,” you broke out with a defiant shake of your head, “there’s nothing to fix.”
he pulled back, stroking your hair and pushing it behind your ears. your golden strategist was at a loss. your heart fell further into the pit of your stomach. you chewed on the inside of your lip, desperate to look anywhere but his eyes. yet, in the space of the same moment, you never wanted your gaze to leave his.
“i won’t leave you,” his warm hands ran up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, “and i won’t let my father have a say in any of it.”
“it’s not the king i am frightened of,” you admitted with a sour taste in your mouth.
cal nodded with a grimace, “then i’ll be sure she is controlled until the end of the month.”
but who could control the queen who could twist minds? you chewed on the thought to avoid choking on it, forcing it down in distaste. both cal and yourself needed time neither of you had the privilege to claim.
cal communicated the importance of waiting until the traditional queenstrial to propose publicly. while the larger part of you agreed with this position, a small piece of your heart reserved for crippling doubt and senseless paranoia wondered if he was stalling for a different reason. if you could at any time expect desertion, it would be now but true to his word, cal had done no such thing—a loyal soldier until the end.
“and if they don’t chose me?” the secret fear you had harbored far before you had even become aware of your current condition felt a traitor to expose to the boy who had given you everything, kept every promise he could.
he studied your face carefully to ensure he held your full attention (though he was foolish to ever think otherwise), “make them, my dear.”
despite the event’s purpose of selecting a bride for the princes themselves, all of the noble houses knew the eldest had little choice in the matter. while your relationship with cal was not overt due to the inherently illicit nature of the affair, servants were known to talk. even in your deepest frustrations, you could not necessarily blame them.
his confidence in you was endearing but what other choice did you truly have?
you pulled away from his arms and lingering stare, wrapping your arms around your middle. pacing the length of the room, you suppressed a bitter laugh, “and then what? when a baby is born after less than eight months? and that’s to say we can persuade your father to rush a royal marriage.”
“let them talk,” his fingers twitched at his sides and you caught the scent of smoke, “nobody will be able to do anything.”
he thought he could protect from anything. sure, there would be little opportunity for any political action after a marriage was solidified but rumors would swirl. born into the pressures of eyes always watching you, they did not cut deep, but a queen needed a reputation demanding of respect. you did not want to be cruel but you decided that if need be, you could.
you wanted so terribly not to cry but willing it away only drew your focus to it more. you did not think the act made you weak but you would rather avoid the complete exhaustion it often caused. you were already so tired. but, some things were inevitable.
cal caught on before you did, “baby,” his voice was croaky, maybe laced his emotion of his own, “please don’t cry.”
you giggled at the irony. it was watery and your voice was nearly gone but it was there. confusion spread across cal’s features. you studied his face as he began to understand. a slow, crooked smile spread across his freckles and indicated the transition.
“suppose i could have chosen better words.”
“mhm.”
you had not noticed he was slowly rocking you in his arms. calm rushed into your senses. cal radiated your favorite kind of warmth. he monitored his body temperature around you, never too hot but always comfortable. it reminded you of home. he was your home. he smelled of pine and dying embers.
now nearing nineteen, you met the prince at fourteen. your elder sister married sooner than your parents expected, hastening your introduction into political meetings as a representative of the swift house of nornus.
who could blame a young and inexperienced teenage girl for falling in with a powerful, older boy who dared throw her an extra glance. what began as a benefit to palace life at fifteen soon turned into a vice. it was easy to tell yourself that you could stop any time you desired but you were addicted to the way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he spoke your name.
for a while, you were foolish enough to believe he maybe even loved you. when you turned sixteen, you understood you were a pastime for the prince. so when at seventeen he told you he loved you, you did not believe him. he was gone for service quite a bit and your training schedule stole away any time for secret meetings when he was home. you began to purposefully avoid him but the withdrawal from the high that was cal left you dizzy.
when he did not make a move to find you, you tried even harder to move on. you had both made a mess of your hearts, left bleeding and shattered on the floors of the palace. you watched him escape the palace more often, always finding another place to be. one night, however, you followed him. you told yourself it was curiosity that caused you to slip out of your covers and into a warm coat, a coat you would not have needed if you left with him.
you caught up easily with your inhuman perception and speed and yet, he still saw you coming. he always did. that night, you wandered through a village and blended in. that night, you could be normal. he helped you clean up the mess between the two of you and things were different but the same again. they were better. you still took the long way to his room and pulled him into hidden corridors but the longing stares across meetings reignited.
you cleared your throat, “when you returned from delphie.” you tone held the pace of a simple comment, not the answer to the unspoken question pressing down on both of your minds.
cal turned his lips into his mouth and nodded, taking a deep breath, “i remember.”
it was a good memory, a good time. slow and gentle and loving. rane had worn you ragged sparring evangeline from sun up to sun down. you enjoyed the younger classes attending for the exposition but your muscles felt like weights lodged into your body and your breath had not yet fully returned after running circles around evangeline.
usually when one of you returned from an excursion outside of the palace, you wasted little time in attaching to every piece of each other. but, you were both exhausted—exhausted but greedy for the attention of the other. it had been a month ago, nearly to the day.
you and cal never discussed the prospect of children. even if one of you did not favor the idea, there was no choice in the matter. cal, as a future king, needed heirs, and if you wanted to be queen, you would have to bear them. but, you did want them and secretly, you knew cal did, too. it was more than a superficial requirement.
cal always looked at you, found you in a crowd, so it was hard to study him in secret. when he was with children, however, all attention transferred to those at his feet. it was then you saw him fully relax, the weight of his crown falling off his back. he loved them. you loved him more for it.
“and i don’t regret it,” he continued, dipping his head to place it gently on your shoulder. he kissed you neck once, twice, and then dropped his head back down.
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kokiseiko · 3 years ago
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Astral Binding | Part 1
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Shouta Aizawa x Reader: Supernatural AU
Word Count: 1.2k +
Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Pairing: (?)Villain!Aizawa x Reader
Rating: SFW | 13+
Warnings: Kissing, Strange Beings, Feeling of Being Watched, ¿Paranoia?
Summary: You’re concerned with how your colleague-now-boyfriend is acting much more strangely these days.
Note: This is my piece for @chaoticyuna’s Summerween Event. This will have a second part, and maybe a third? It really depends if my brain and the story’s pacing cooperate with me.
I’d like to thank @nire-chann for helping me form and polish my plot in this piece and for beta-reading it together with @saudade-mayari​ | @yourgoddessselene​ 😘💙
The pairing and title will make sense on the next part(s).
Reaching for the eye drops on his bedside table, he slowly opened the cap, dropping some on his bloodshot eyes. He shouldn’t have overused his quirk during the commotion on the area he was assigned to patrol last night.
Sighing, he went ahead and move towards the bathroom to shower quickly, ignoring the strange bugging feeling acclimating inside his gut.
The hot splashes of liquid that trickled down his body eased the knots and sore muscles from the hits he took with that villain.
Refusing to open the blinds due to the irritation that the sudden intrusion of sunlight causes to his already dry eyes, the dimly lit room is filled with dancing shadows as he continues to dress in his hero attire.
Now walking along the halls of the UA building wanting to get some files- and maybe spend his morning with you- before class starts, strands of hair begin to stand above his nape. His stomach once again wrenching with nerves. Strides are becoming much quicker than usual.
Security measurements are strict. It’s impossible to enter the building without the staff being notified.
The thought of being followed is becoming unbearable. Looking around the cobalt blue-coated walls of the halls, the erasure hero saw nothing out of the ordinary, but that feeling of being watched never faded.
***
Opening the door to the faculty room, he spots you on one of the corners of the premises, humming to a tune in your head while making coffee for two.
You perked up when you saw him, your smile urging his mouth to twitch upwards.
“Shou! Coffee?”
Taking the cup from your hand, he nods, thanking you with a kiss on the cheek. You both proceed to sit on your desks, having the usual morning chat on each other’s lesson plans for his homeroom class.
“I was thinking of giving them a no-quirk combat training on Wednesday til’ Friday. What do you think?”
“Sounds good.”
His small reassuring smile for you suddenly turned into a tight line. Shouta’s head is suddenly pounding, and a foreign feeling is similar to being dipped into the depths of the unmerciful tides of the oceans. It vanishes as quickly as it came. No one seemed to notice, not even you.
***
The week felt longer than it usually does now that he had time alone inside his dim room. His thoughts are the only ones entertaining him whilst his body is laid underneath his white sheets.
Maybe it was the tons of reports he needed to make due to the commonly occurring accidents with 1-A during training. Or was it the tons of files he needed to arrange?
Perhaps the week felt like a play in slow motion because of the reoccurring feeling in his gut.
Head spinning. Fading in and out of vignette. Thoughts weren’t helping him to anchor to consciousness. He hears a symphony of whispers whilst feeling uncomfortable with the contrast of the delicate touches of warm, calloused hands tracing all over the surface of the bubbling sweat on the surface of his moistening skin.
Like imprisoned in a non-existent bind of ropes, his mind battles an unexplainable intrusion, a feeling of throbbing then bursting pain filling the seams of his every nerve.
Shouta feels like he’s losing, a replay of memories filling his retinas as his eyes were forced shut.
***
Despite a good few weeks that passed, Shouta’s been fighting every night while feeling being watched. It had taken a toll on his mind. Cold sweat stains are what greets him every morning, along with his more than usual dry eyes.
His limbs felt like he had gone through an intense sparring session, joints aching and popping as he stretches them.
---
He had finally found a suitable vessel. Snickering while he sees the composure of his subject crumbling into rough sand. No worries though, it’ll be a few more months before his absence is sensed once more, and he’ll be ordered to go back. He’ll savor every moment of chaos from what this may become.
He licks his lips, entertained by the paranoia that the man he’s been observing from the shadows is experiencing. Soon. He’ll be ripe enough. After all, he has been using his body for mischief every night.
---
Now sitting in the soft covers of the sofa in the teacher’s lounge, you went over to what happened earlier. Sipping coffee while conversing early in the morning was almost like a routine for you two, so you were obviously shocked when Shouta suddenly lashed out at you after questioning how’s his patrol last night.
Maybe he just had a rough night? No. That won’t explain how strange he acts lately.
You decide that maybe you’ll offer to have a joint patrol later. More time to spend together with him, plus you might be able to talk about it and offer help on whatever’s bothering him- it’s a win-win!
As usual, the day continues. Your mock-battle training in the second-years of the hero course in the mornings was splendid since no one got any severe injuries and needed to go to Recovery Girl. All were cautious and up on their feet, as they were battling with the third years’ “Big Three.” Your second-years lost, but it was by a small margin.
Now cradling your third cup of coffee this day -it helps keep you alert during patrol- your eyes lands on the clock on the wall, taking note of the time your orbs begin to search for that familiar yellow that usually lays atop the couch or near the corner of the room.
You frown. It’s the fourth time this week. That’s unusual. He always follows his nap routine in the lounge at this hour.
Placing your coffee tumbler atop your desk, you checked every corner of the campus in the following hour, searching for your boyfriend.
---
Locked in the suffocating walls of a storage room near the dorms, his vision was spinning as he fights off the invisible force that was penetrating his mind and hitting his body every now and then.
He hacks a cough as he was punched in the gut by the shadow, his knees buckling from the force of the succeeding attacks.
Kneeling at the floor, unable to stand, hands palm down, doing his best to support his weight and not wanting to lose from whatever this being might be. Still, the moment of weakness displayed upon the gleaming eyes on the wall made the figure lick its lips, savoring the exhibit of ragged breaths full of frustration, tinged with fear, and wracking with dizzying anticipation.
---
You sigh in relief as your search finally ends near the dorms. You ran towards the black mass exiting the storage room.
“Shou! I was looking all over the campus for you!”
He smiles. Wait, what? Simply humming as if he’s amused with something, you ignored the devilishly handsome smirk that was now plastered upon his face.
“Yeah? And why does this pretty kitty went looking for her… Eraserhead?”
You blushed. His tone had a different ring that made your stomach feel funny. You’re feeling odd. Shouta wasn’t one for pet names, nor PDA for that matter, even when you’re both alone in a public place, especially on campus.
“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to spend patrol with me?”
“Sure princess, meet you at 10 near the gates?”
“Yeah, su- mmph!”
Kissing was a no no in public. You both agreed to that. Something’s definitely going on, right?
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ritsushinbro · 4 years ago
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My Critique of Rebuild of Evangelion's Characterization: I originally wrote this post on the Evageeks forum and decided to post it here. It discusses the relationship between Misato, WILLE and the pilots and whether it is realistic and in-character. Warning this post contains spoilers and is very long. Also has references to self-harm and suicide.
With each revelation that comes out regarding the measures WILLE take against Shinji and their own pilots, it becomes more and more unrealistic for me to the point where it's almost comical. Let's go through some of them here:
They wear the explosive DSS chokers 24/7 which will kill the pilots should they risk awakening an Eva.
They are kept in a single room rigged with explosives.
In Shinji's case, he is (intended to be) put in 24/7 solitary confinement with explosives fitted as well.
Shinji is escorted around the wunder whilst restrained on a stretcher. (NOTE: The only time he isn't, is when Sakura takes him to Ritsuko).
It is confirmed in another thread that Misato gave clear permission to the crew for them to shoot Shinji on sight if they suspect he is attempting to get into an Eva. 
Now let me attempt to deconstruct these measures one-by-one:
It is understandable that Asuka and Mari wear DSS chokers because after all they are pilots and there is a risk of awakening. However in Shinji's case, he is forbidden from piloting and so there is no risk of awakening (remember Ritsuko did not think NERV would come after him, so they had no reason to think he would escape). So why place the DSS choker on him? Well we have already established it is simply because they have a resentment against him; there is no special, pragmatic reason. Is this realistic? Well I would say no for reasons I will explain later but I can certainly understand why others may say it is.
I don't think I will understand why they would keep their two main "soldiers" if you will, in an explosively rigged room. I believe others have  stated that from a tactical point, it's an extremely dumb move on WILLE's part. After all, if Asuka and Mari didn't have plot armor, what's to stop Gendo from tricking WILLE into killing their own pilots with these explosives? How would WILLE stop Gendo then? Will they use Shinji? No, for reasons I will state later. And another thing, we know that their rooms were already fitted with explosives so why on Earth would they add extra after the events of Q (when they stopped 4th impact). What do they hope to achieve with more bombs? Make the pilots more "deader" than they already are? In my opinion, this doesn't even come across as paranoid but just plain childish. Is this measure realistic from a story standpoint? No not in my eyes.
We know they intended to put Shinji in a solitary cell as this is what they do in Shin. If it was solitary confinement on it's own, then I believe it would be a realistic measure that would happen in real life. However I believe the writers did not factor in the effects of solitary confinement (especially one that is rigged to explode) on fully grown men; never mind a 14 year old who's just come out of a 14 year coma. Many people think solitary confinement is a walk in the park so I made another post a while ago highlighting why that's not the case:
"I remember when before Shin came out people here theorized that if Shinji stayed on the Wunder, they would eventually softened to him and let him help in ways that wouldn't have involved piloting. However with these revelations it looks like they intended to keep him in an isolated room far from everyone else that is (presumably) rigged with explosives as well as keeping the choker on his neck. Not even allowed to freely leave his cell without WILLE's permission (it is unlikely they would let him out judging from these measures). 
Even though Asuka and Mari were treated like this as well, at least they had each other and were able to leave as they had responsibilities in piloting. But Shinji was forbidden from piloting and was to be kept by himself except maybe being checked up on by Sakura now and again. So judging from these leaks (we will have to wait to properly see the full context) WILLE intended to lock Shinji in solitary confinement.
I have copied and pasted some of the effects of Solitary Confinement from Wikipedia below:
“Psychiatric: Research indicates that the psychological effects of solitary confinement may encompass "anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, obsessive thoughts, paranoia, and psychosis." The lack of human contact, and the sensory deprivation that often go with solitary confinement, can have a severe negative impact on a prisoner's mental state that may lead to certain mental illnesses such as depression, permanent or semi-permanent changes to brain physiology, an existential crisis, and death.
Self-harm: According to a March 2014 article in American Journal of Public Health, "Inmates in jails and prisons attempt to harm themselves in many ways, resulting in outcomes ranging from trivial to fatal." Self harm was seven times higher among the inmates where seven percent of the jail population was confined in isolation. Fifty-three percent of all acts of self harm took place in jail. "Self-harm" included, but was not limited to, cutting, banging heads, self-amputations of fingers or testicles. These inmates were in bare cells, and were prone to jumping off their beds head first into the floor or even biting through their veins in their wrists. A main issue within the prison system and solitary confinement is the high number of inmates who turn to self-harm. Many of the inmates look to self-harm as a way to "avoid the rigors of solitary confinement."
Physical: Solitary confinement has been reported to cause hypertension, headaches and migraines, profuse sweating, dizziness, and heart palpitations. Many inmates also experience extreme weight loss due to digestion complications and abdominal pain. Many of these symptoms are due to the intense anxiety and sensory deprivation. Inmates can also experience neck and back pain and muscle stiffness due to long periods of little to no physical activity. These symptoms often worsen with repeated visits to solitary confinement.
Social: The effects of isolation unfortunately do not stop once the inmate has been released. After release from segregated housing, psychological effects have the ability to sabotage a prisoner's potential to successfully return to the community and adjust back to ���normal’ life. The inmates are often startled easily, and avoid crowds and public places. They seek out confined small spaces because the public areas overwhelm their sensory stimulation.”
And this is just for solitary confinement. There are so many other things going on with and happening (or could happen) to Shinji such as the things below:
Shinji being only 14 years old.
Shinji being abandoned and neglected by his father.
Shinji being coerced/emotionally blackmailed to pilot Unit 1.
Shinji seeing girls he cared for "die".
Shinji being in a coma for 14 years.
Shinji being told he has a bomb on his neck.
Being told it is because he is being punished.
Being told he cannot pilot the eva anymore (he is effectively "useless" now).
Have his former co-pilot and friend try and punch him after he thought she was dead.
[Potentially] being told he started NTI and devastated the world.
[Potentially] being told that the girl he tried to save is "gone" and that she was a clone of his mother.
Being imprisoned in a cell (presumably) surrounded by explosives and not being able to freely leave.
Be completely isolated from everyone except when being checked up by a girl who's father he got killed. (NOTE: Mari might want to see him so Shinji at least has her, maybe). 
Have his mother figure (the woman who made him pilot the eva the most) threaten to detonate the choker around his neck and blow his head off when he tries to leave.
With the above list, is it any wonder his head is so messed up? I understand the purpose of these films is all about growing up and taking responsibility but expecting Shinji to willingly allow himself to be subjected to the treatment WILLE had in store for him is pure, unadulterated masochism. Much of what was is written here can safely be considered cruel, inhumane and arguably, torture. 
There is a massive difference between taking responsibility for one's mistakes and just letting the whole world torture you because you did something bad. My main fear and problem with Q and Thrice is that their main theme, which is accepting responsibility, is equated with accepting unreasonably cruel treatment. And I just think that is an EXTREMELY unhealthy message to send to people especially if they are depressed or live in abusive relationships."
When you take all these into account, does it place into perspective how messed up Shinji would have been had he stayed on the wunder? This is assuming that they thought they would never have a need for him, but as we find out in Shin, they needed Shinji in the end to defeat Gendo. If Shinji never left with Mark 09 and Misato successfully kept him "protective" custody, then one of three things would have happened when WILLE actually needed him to save everyone:
A: He would not have been in the mental state to pilot Unit 1 and Gendo would have completely wrecked him due to shit synch ratios. 
B: He would have told Misato and co. to fuck off and die. We've seen this nihilism before from Shinji (after the 5th angel). His incarceration alongside the humiliation and guilt from wearing the choker will have ratcheted up by a million.
C: He wouldn't have piloted because he would have killed himself. There's only so much a 14 year old can take and when subjected to a fate that causes even hardened criminals to resort to self-harm, genital mutilation and suicide, then what chance does Shinji have? 
Now back to my original point, do I think this measure is realistic? I would like to say yes if it was the solitary on it's own, however when combined with the other things, then I think the chances of Shinji commiting suicide is extremely high to the point where it's not believable for him to continue as an anime protagonist. You have to make sure the protagonist goes through difficulty in order to experience growth and change, however if you make it too harsh (to the point of committing suicide) then it seems less believable that they live to continue the story. On a separate note, many people think that Shinji was immature for leaving with Mark 09 the first chance he got and that this is proof that he is, in Asuka's words, a "brat". But let's be realistic, if this story is about Shinji's growth and maturation, then how exactly would WILLE's treatment of him be conducive to that? The truth is WILLE's sheer hostility towards him would have completely stunted any emotional growth and maturation in Shinji and it would have destroyed the point of the film. Also no-one can argue that WILLE would have eventually "come round" or "softened-up" towards Shinji because even after 14 years they still don't trust their own pilots. So yeah, Shinji most likely would have been stuck in solitary with a bomb around his neck until he either killed himself or the war ended (but even this doesn't guarantee his freedom).
Regarding the stretcher business. I don't understand why you have to restrain Shinji on a stretcher when the kid has already surrendered himself and has come voluntarily. Maybe WILLE are just full of bondage fetishists; it would certainly explain the chokers as well. 
If the DSS chokers and the explosive rooms weren't enough, Misato actually gave orders to the crew to shoot Shinji if they thought he was trying to pilot again. At this point, I just think this is just overkill. I mean the kid has a bomb on his neck that prevents him from awakening an Eva, you intended to keep him locked up even though he can't really leave the wunder except with outside help and now you intend to shoot him if you think he'll get into an Eva. The problem with this, is that piloting an Eva requires all the bridge-bunnies to sortie the damn thing. Shinji cannot enter Unit 1 by himself, especially since the thing is being used as an engine so why do they assume that Shinji is capable of being Sam Fisher and sneaking into Unit 1? We see that Sakura and Midori are actually willing to shoot Shinji in 3.0+1.0 and do so when he merely suggests that he pilot Unit 1. But seriously what harm would Shinji have done in Unit 1 considering the fact that Gendo was already going to start another impact anyway? Why actively try and kill (or injure in Sakura's case) the only guy that can save your ass? One cannot argue that they were just being "desperate or panicking" because in Midori's case, she actually takes the time to confirm her orders from Misato. This shows that at least, she was still of lucid mind. This particular altercation just beggars belief in my mind and the fact that Misato actually gave those orders on top of all the other measures is absolutely extraordinary. So as you can imagine, I do not think this was realistically executed.
However, I can already hear some detractors say: "So what? Misato hesitated to detonate the DSS choker and also took a bullet for Shinji. She redeemed herself from putting the DSS choker on him and the kill-order for if they thought he would try and get into an Eva." 
And to those people I say….not really. There is an idiom attributed to Benjamin Franklin and it goes like this: "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." How does this apply to Misato and Shinji's relationship? Well Misato wouldn't have had to hesitate to pull the trigger if she didn't put it on him in the first place. Misato wouldn't have had to take a bullet for Shinji, if she didn't give permission for the crew to shoot him in the first place. Let's take this following dialogue for example:
916-929:
Kitakami: "It's a good thing we got Major Shikinami back. But why'd we have to take that disease along with her?"
Aoba: "Just leave it alone. Better than Nerv still being able to use him."
Tama: "If he tries to get into an Evangelion, all hands have permission to shoot on sight. There's nothing to worry about this time."
Kitakami: "Come on, that's all for show. The last time he broke out of here, the Captain couldn't put him down. I've got zero trust about this time either."
Nagara: "He was a kid. I can understand why she'd hesitate."
Kitakami: "That 'kid' caused Near Third Impact and murdered my entire family!"
Hyuga: "Near Third was a consequence of what he did, not his goal. The Captain's doing her best to atone for that too."
Takao: "That's right. She's who Kaji entrusted with Wille, and it's our job to trust the captain."
We learn a few things from this dialogue. Firstly, the older WILLE members are much more understanding to Shinji and Misato's situation: Aoba and Hyuga understand that it's better to keep an eye on Shinji and that he never meant to start NTI, Takao is one who always trusts Misato's judgement and Sumire understands that Misato would have found it difficult to kill a child, especially one that Misato was close with. 
Secondly, it appears that the younger WILLE members (Midori, Sakura and Tama) are the ones that are fearful/hateful towards Shinji (NOTE: Tama is a strange case, he strikes me as the sort of kid that just follows what everyone else is feeling. He might not feel anything towards Shinji beyond what you'd expect). 
Finally it appears that most of WILLE crew members are actually reasonable people and are not the extremely desperate and paranoid individuals some people on the forum believe. Remember this is AFTER Shinji started the 4th impact in Q. The fact that some of the WILLE crew members speak of Shinji in this way, show they are capable of understanding. Most actually trust Misato and respect her judgement except for Midori, who questions Misato's capabilities in following through on her threats. 
Which brings me to my next point. Misato has had no hesitation in pulling rank in the past. In 2.0, she even has an altercation with Ritsuko, her best friend, right before they fight the 8th angel. Misato is a woman that will tell even her best friend to STFU, when it comes to doing what she wants. Having said that, (timeskip shenanigans aside) there's no reason why she couldn't have done the same with the younger WILLE crew members. She could have nipped all of it in the bud by telling Sakura, Midori and the rest of them that Shinji was groomed to cause NTI and it was not his fault.
Instead, despite being the captain that everyone loves and fears, she kowtowed to the crew's paranoia and had the pilots fitted with explosive chokers, put in explosively rigged solitary confinement and gave the order to kill Shinji if they feared the worst. This is the sort of thing that drives fully grown men to suicide, never mind 14 year olds that have just come out of a coma. Imagine if Shinji did commit suicide in his cell. Who would Misato and WILLE have turned to in order to defeat Gendo in the end? What if Gendo tricked WILLE into killing their own pilots with the explosives? They would be properly screwed then. If Misato actually cared, as we are led to believe from her hesitation to kill Shinji, then she would have told the rest of the WILLE crew to fuck off, instead of alienating and putting Shinji and the pilots in that much risk. Are we really expected to believe that Misato placed such extreme countermeasures on Shinji just to appease Midori and Sakura? Not likely. This is why I believe that Misato would not have put the DSS choker on Shinji in the first place, and her doing so in Q was extremely unrealistic and out of character, even with anything that happened during the timeskip.
Some of you will say: "Who cares about realism? It's a show about aliens and growing up." While this is true, Anno has proven that he is able to pull the themes off much better when you look at the NGE series. Disregarding the self-contained narrative, it is obvious that the purpose of Q was to bring Shinji to the same point he was at after episode 24 of the series. If we look at how NGE/EOE handled Shinji's depression, we see that it is quite realistic:
The neglect and coercion by the adults in his life, almost dying to angels multiple times, the sexual tension with Asuka, almost killing Touji, finding out Rei is a clone of his mother, Misato putting the moves on him and having to kill Kaworu all culminate towards Shinji's mental state during EOE. Shinji is passively suicidal but it's due to the *situation* and his own introverted tendencies instead of people actively trying to hurt and isolate him. He finds the will to live again due to his mothers words despite knowing just how difficult living might be. If you remove all the Evas and the Angels from the story, the themes that are touched upon (isolation, neglect, misunderstanding) still apply and the audience can still resonate with them. 
The rebuilds however go about it completely differently. They bring Shinji to that same suicidal state by having all the characters/plot actively harm Shinji's mental health by:
Putting him in a coma for 14 years so he is completely clueless. Imagine how groggy you are when you wake up in the morning and then multiply that by a million. 
Have Misato psychologically castrate Shinji by telling him he won't do anything with a look of disdain on her face.
Have Ritsuko make Shinji feel dread by telling him he has a bomb on his neck and it's because he is being "punished".
Not tell him why he is being punished when he asks Misato.
Have Asuka try to punch Shinji after he thought she was dead.
Tell Shinji the girl he saved is "gone”.
Have his "mother figure" threaten to blow his head off for wanting to leave with the girl you just told him is gone.
Have Asuka and Mari attack Shinji in Lilith's chamber even though Shinji was seemingly willing to listen to them had Asuka not kept attacking. (Watch that scene again and you'll see when Asuka learns what Shinji is trying to do, she stops attacking but instead of explaining that he's being manipulated, she just calls him a brat instead).
Even Mari was willing to potentially kill or cripple Shinji with the Anti-AT rounds. (We don't know what the AA rounds are truly capable of because the only time they are used on screen, they don't work. The round cartridges state that they are armor and AT field piercing and have explicit restrictions on their use. The fact that Mari requires Asuka's explicit authorization to use them imply that they are most likely lethal and would have killed/crippled Shinji had he been in a normal Eva). 
Have Shinji's friend's head explode with the device Shinji's "mother figure" actually meant for him. Imagine seeing someone's head explode and then remember that your "mother figure" actually meant that to be for you. That would certainly mess anyone up.
Have Asuka then kick and manhandle him when he is catatonic.
Have Asuka force feed him to the point where he pukes whilst he is still grieving the death of his friend. 
Have Shinji only be escorted whilst tied to a stretcher despite him coming voluntarily.
Have Misato place Shinji in 24/7 solitary confinement in a cell rigged with explosives.
Have Misato tell the WILLE crew to shoot Shinji on sight if they think he's getting into an EVA.
Have people tell Shinji that he's being a brat the entire time for reacting badly to all this.
By having Misato, Asuka, WILLE reject and "punish" Shinji so harshly so it kicks off his isolation and desperation, it makes Shinji's "recovery" seem less believable. Anno himself didn't even know how to make Shinji recover psychologically in 3.0+1.0 and he actually had to ask the voice actors on how to make that happen. The story made the WILLE crew go full scorched-earth and in doing so made Shinji's "growth" and his reconciliation with Misato seem impossible. 
I have already stated that I believe Q represents "Condemnation" and Shin represents "Compassion" and I think both films pull that off brilliantly. But that doesn't mean I think the characters acted in a realistic manner. I do not believe that Misato would have placed such harsh sanctions on Shinji in the first place for the reasons I have stated above. And if she did, I do not believe that Shinji would have easily forgiven Misato (even IF she took a bullet for him) as we see he does in the film. I do not believe that WILLE were merely "scared and desperate" because as the dialogue above shows, they are surprisingly understanding (but still disapproving) of Shinji's situation despite him literally starting another impact. I do not believe that Misato would have bent over to Sakura and Midori's resentment and taken measures against Shinji, just to ease their minds. 
In summary, my main problem with the post-timeskip rebuilds is that I feel they gaslight the audience in thinking that Shinji was just being a "brat" the entire time by having Asuka and Mari say: "You have grown a little/You smell like an adult now." However, the truth is Shinji's been through so much mental suffering perpetrated by the people he cares about, that it's a miracle he's not killed himself. It would certainly break most of us on this forum. The movies seek to show Shinji "finally" taking responsibility when the truth is, the plot went so above and beyond putting him down in such an extreme manner in the first place.
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fingergunsbidean · 4 years ago
Text
A Journey in Bisexuality
Word Count: 4.3k Pairings: Dean/Castiel (main), Dean/OMC, Dean/Lee, Dean/Garth Warnings: Underage feelings for Harrison Ford, internalized homophobia, mentions of homophobia but no homophobic actions are done towards Dean, drunken kissing, NSFW elements but no smut, alcoholism implied, and mentions of John Winchester’s A+ parenting, but no actual interactions with him. Summary: A character study of Dean and his journey with discovering and accepting his bisexuality.
Note: I was NEVER actually planning on posting this. I’m NOT a fic writer lol. I actually wrote this as a self paragraph in a 1x1 ten months ago, but I thought we could all use some Dean going to therapy and healing after that finale, so here we are. 
Dean is fourteen when he starts looking at Harrison Ford differently. It’s not just him, it’s all his favorites, but right now it’s all about Harrison Ford. 
His dad is on a hunt in the next town over, leaving Sam and Dean in some cheap motel. For once, he’s not itching to join him, because the local cable is having an all day Harrison Ford marathon, starting with Star Wars and ending with Indiana Jones.
He’s always admired the guy. He’s good looking, knows how to handle a gun, wears an awesome hat, and always wins the hot girl in the end. 
The thing is that Dean always wanted to be him, and as he watches Indi somersault out of the way of an oncoming boulder, he still does, but there’s something more there tonight that he hasn’t noticed in the past.
His cheeks feel flushed and there’s heat tickling underneath his skin. At first, he thinks he’s getting a fever or something and moves over to the other bed, just in case he’s contagious. 
The space does nothing to help Dean though, and his pink cheeks grow bright red when Indiana kisses Willie in Temple of Doom. As the music swells, and he lowly says the words “primitive sexual practices,” Dean finds that he’s picturing himself in Willie’s place, with Harrison Ford looming over him and dipping down to kiss him deeply.
The realization of what he’s doing crashes into him, leaving him a little sick to his stomach as he snatches the remote and turns the TV off abruptly. He swallows roughly to chase away the sick feeling and gives Sam a feigned apologetic look. 
“I–uh–think I’m gettin’ sick or something. I’m going to bed,” He says. But hours after the lights are turned off and he’s buried under the covers, he’s still wide awake.
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is seventeen, and this is the longest they’ve stayed in one place since he watched their house in Lawrence disappear from the backseat in the Impala. 
When their dad took on a pretty big case in Florida, he left the Sam and Dean with Bobby, and then…just kind of left them there. It’s been three months. At first he was pissed. He’s old enough to go on hunts with his dad. He’s been on plenty, while Sam was safely hidden away in a motel.
“You gotta watch over Sammy,” John said, like he always does when Dean asks to go.
It felt like a shitty excuse at the time, but now he can’t imagine being away from his little brother this long, and while he’ll never admit it, he’s glad he left them with Bobby.
For the first time, Dean actually knows the names of the other kids in his class. He has decent grades, and he’s even considering trying out for the baseball team. 
Sammy seems happy too. Dean has seen the poor kid get ripped away from school after school, trying to keep his sobs quiet in the backseat as their dad drove away from yet another town. He hates himself for thinking of it, but when he sees how settled Sam is at Bobby’s, he hopes their dad doesn’t come back.
And maybe he’s happy too, and he tries not to feel guilty, but it’s not like his dad will ever know. Whenever he shows up for them, Dean will follow with a “yes, sir,” like he always does. 
Until then, he just lets himself be a normal seventeen year old for once. He even found a group of friends and everything, a few guys from his gym class. There’s Matt, Jordan, and Aaron with the too blue eyes, or at least that’s what he calls him in his head. As if he’d ever have the nerve to call him that aloud.
Thoughts about boys creep up on him like itch, dull at first but the more he ignores it the more insistent it becomes. When he first noticed these…feelings, he told himself, “It’s a celebrity crush, it’s fine. Everyone gets those.” But then it grew into, “It’s just some stranger in a diner, it’s fine. You’ll never see him again,” and now it’s, “It’s just your good looking friend, it’s fine.”
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.
It’s not fine, but Dean pushes it down and pretends it’s not there. Besides, he hasn’t stopped noticing girls. If anything, he’s notices them more. As long as that’s the case, there’s no reason to act on these feelings or even acknowledge them. 
His dad doesn’t want a whole lot from him. He wants him to protect Sam and be a good hunter, but Dean sure as hell knows what he doesn’t want for him, and that’s being with another guy like that, especially when he’s still attracted to girls. He’s seen the way his dad looks at gay guys, heard the comments he makes under his breath, and there’s no way that’s the kind of life he wants for his sons.
So, every time Aaron gives him the kind of smile that makes his chest warm or he finds himself staring too long, he reminds himself of all the reasons why this can’t be a thing. And just because Dean is thinking things he shouldn’t be, doesn’t mean Aaron is too.
He needs that reminder right now as the four of them are packed together in a crowded movie theater, seeing Scream. At some point, Aaron scooted closer to Dean’s side, pressing their shoulders together. 
The screams from the crowd sound like a dull roar in his ears when Aaron’s pinky brushes against his, and he holds his breath as he slowly tangles them together, until they’re practically holding pinkies. 
He should rip his hand away, he even stiffens as he prepares himself to, but then his shoulders sag as he leans further into the touch. He doesn’t want to pull away. His eyes burn as he stares fixedly at the screen with how badly he doesn’t want to pull away.
They stay like that for the rest of the movie, sneaking glances at each other, but keeping the touch to just their shoulders and pinkies. When the credits roll, Dean finally pulls away, stretching as he stands to try and come off as casual as possible. 
They toss their popcorn in the trash and talk about the movie as they head out of the theater. Matt and Jordan give them a quick pat on the shoulders before heading off, and before Dean can go searching for Bobby’s truck in the parking lot, Aaron grabs his elbow to keep him from leaving.
“Dean?” His blue eyes flicker from Dean’s face to the ground nervously, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. Like without Matt and Jordan.”
Dean feels his throat close as he struggles to get air in his lungs, worried that his popcorn might come back up. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out just the two of them, but from the way Aaron’s blushing he has a feeling it’s more than that.
“You mean like…” He trails off, unsure if he can even say it, but Aaron beats him to it.
“Like a date, yeah. I don’t know if you–if you’re–well, I thought I’d try, at least,” He gives a nervous look as he braves meeting Dean’s gaze.
His first instinct is to be furious, to fly off the handle at him for even daring to assume that Dean isn’t anything but straight, to tell him he doesn’t swing that way and storm off, maybe even get a punch in, but he’s frozen. 
Despite all his promises to himself that he wouldn’t ever acknowledge this thing that follows him around, he starts entertaining the idea of letting himself have this. His dad is on the other side of the country, he’ll never find out. Nobody has to know if they keep it to themselves. He can just try it this once to get it out of his system and then stick to girls.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean chokes out before he even fully gives himself permission to, and he knows he needs to leave now before he chickens out, “I gotta go. Uh–I’ll call you.” Aaron lets out a huge, relieved breath before giving Dean one of those grins that make his insides squirm with delight, and he smiles back, giving him a playful wink before walking away.
He spends the drive back to Bobby’s going between panic and excitement, planning out potential date ideas but also rehearsing ways to turn Aaron down. As he pulls into the Salvage yard and sees the Impala, he realizes it’s all for nothing and feels strangely numb. It’s time for the next hunt, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’ll never see Aaron again. It’s for the best, he tells himself. 
Who was he fucking kidding anyway?
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is twenty-one and drunk on the beach. His vision is a little fuzzy, and when he looks up at the sheer amount of stars in the pitch black sky, he feels dizzy, causing him to stumble into the body beside him.
“Watch it, brother. You don’t wanna eat sand,” A husky voice laughs as he grips Dean’s shoulders with strong hands to steady him.
Lee can’t fill the hole that Sam left when he went off to Stanford, but having him around helps him feel a little less like he’s suffocating. John swung by Texhoma in hopes to recruit his old buddy for a hunt, but got his son instead. Dean and John were glad for the turn of events for different reasons. His dad admired how strong of a fighter Lee was, his training precise enough for John’s Marine standards.
Dean just admired him, in general. He’s having a hell of a time ignoring it when his dad is always there. Maybe, it’s just his paranoia talking, but it feels like he’s watching Dean too closely, noting how he acts around Lee. Which is what inspires their first escape from John Winchester in a slew of rowdy drunken activities. 
After he caught them wasted in a middle of a hunt, they started being more discreet about it, so while John was dead asleep in his motel room, the two of them snuck off to a bar and then stumbled their way to the closest beach.
Lee’s hands on his shoulders make him feel both grounded but also like he’s teetering over the edge of a cliff. The moon illuminates his face from where it’s hovering near Dean’s, his blue eyes boring into his. 
In his drunken state, he forgets what they were talking about, or if they were even talking at all, and all those walls he’s been building around himself for the past decade feel flimsy, like the slightest nudge will knock them all down.
Dean’s gaze flickers wildly over his face before landing on a piece of hair that fell over his eyes. “You have sand in your hair,” He drunkenly giggles and lifts a hand to pull the sand out before tucking the errant hair behind Lee’s ear. Instead of dropping his hand like he planned to, he cups his friends cheek instead, his thumb absently brushing over his soft skin.
“Dean,” Lee breathes, low and rough, and it sends a tingle down his spine.
“Hey,” He answers, because it feels like the right the thing to say in the moment, or maybe he just doesn’t know what the hell to say when they’re standing this close and he wants nothing more than to just close the remaining distance, give into this want that’s been burning in his chest for years.
Something like recognition shows in Lee’s eyes before he clasps the back of Dean’s neck and draws him down to seal their lips together in a tentative kiss. It’s more gentle and hesitant than his actual first kiss, but it makes his entire body practically sing. 
He hears a desperate noise over the sound of the waves, and he thinks it might’ve come for him, but he doesn’t care. He can beat himself up for that later, but for now, he sighs against Lee’s lips and deepens the kiss, letting himself have this.
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Lee is the longest relationship he’s ever had, which is pretty sad, considering it lasts for about a month. But in that month, they find creative ways to sneak around his dad and even get caught up in some kind of wild orgy with triplets. 
It all crashes and burns when a case in Arizona goes horribly, horribly wrong, and Lee can’t just move past it. He quits hunting and leaves Dean to go back home, giving him one last lingering kiss before he drives away.
With hardly anything more than a dismissive grunt, John leaves shortly after, deciding Dean is finally old enough to hunt on his own, and that they’ll cover more ground to find whatever killed mom if they split up. The fact that his dad trusts him to do this on his own should be enough to fill him with pride, but it feels more like punishment, and for the first time in his life, he’s completely alone.
A week after Lee and his dad left, he’s sitting in the parked Impala, dialing Sam’s number.
“Heya, Sammy,” He greets his brother, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant and cheerful as possible. 
They talk about Sam’s homework and friends, and Dean tells him about some interesting hunts, leaving out the most recent one. He doesn’t tell him about dad leaving, but Lee is on the tip of his tongue. Part of him wants to tell Sam–to get this weight off his shoulders, for one more person to know, so it doesn’t feel like some big fever dream.
“Sam,” He starts, his tone suddenly serious. “I’m…” He stops. He’s what? He’s not gay, but he obviously ain’t straight either. But who says he has to label himself right this second though? He can just tell him about Lee. “I…” He tries again, but the words just don’t come.
That time he agreed to go on a date with Aaron, he told himself it’d be a one time thing to get it out of his system, and while this wasn’t Aaron, that’s what Lee can be. A one time thing. Something that Sam doesn’t need to know about.
“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, okay?”
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is thirty and fucking grateful for it. It’s 2009, and not 2014. He still has time to fix this. When he whips around and sees Cas standing there on the empty street, there’s a look on his face that Dean can only describe as tenderness, and that makes him believe he really can fix this.
“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas,” Dean breathes shakily, overwhelmed by the sheer relief that this Cas is his Cas, not the version he left in 2014.
“We had an appointment,” Cas replies, and there’s so much warmth in his gravely voice that Dean wants to chase it and hold it close to his chest. 
He feels his face do something that’s probably too open and too fond, but he doesn’t do anything to mask it. Instead, he firmly rests a hand on the angel’s shoulder and looks him straight in the eye before saying, “Don’t ever change.”
Dean wouldn’t say Cas has much variety in his facial expressions, so the hint of a smile he gets in return feels huge. It reaches his eyes more than his lips, and something about that makes it more genuine. 
This isn’t the first time Dean felt something after prolonged eye contact with the guy, far from it, but it’s usually a shock of heat or desire–this is something else entirely. He just wants to find more ways to earn looks like this, which seems impossible with the apocalypse around the corner, but he wants to try.
It’s been nearly a decade since he told himself he wouldn’t let himself act on feelings for another man, but shit has changed. His dad is dead, and that’s not enough to erase the shame that still washes over him any time he accidentally checks out another dude, but John Winchester is not an excuse anymore. 
The world is ending, isn’t this the best time to say fuck it and try?
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is thirty-two, and he’s very naked, and very sticky. He curses himself under his breath for not taking the time to clean up before passing out, but he must’ve worn himself out. 
For a second he forgets where he is or who he was with the night before, but when he cracks an eye open, he sees peeling yellow wallpaper from the ugly ass motel room he’s been staying in. He blindly reaches a hand out behind him and makes contact with an equally naked and sticky body.
“Hey, watch the hand,” A very familiar voice laughs from behind him, causing Dean to whip around in surprise, wincing at the soreness that follows.
“Garth?” He asks wearily.
“Yeah, who else? We didn’t even drink last night, don’t pull the forgotten one night stand act with me, Dean Winchester,” Garth chastises him gently, propping himself up on his elbow as he smiles down at him.
Dean blinks a few times to try and wake himself up, and when he’s feeling a little less disoriented, the night before comes back to him–and, oh yeah, he remembers it. Who would’ve thought a little guy like Garth could be such a firecracker in bed? Maybe, he somehow sensed that about him, and that’s why he was so eager to find out.
In the short time he’s known Garth, he wouldn’t say he’s had many dirty thoughts about him. He didn’t have many thoughts about anyone these days, not since Cas…Dean quickly ends that train of thought there. The nightmares are enough. 
The thing with Garth just kind of happened, between the goodbye hugs, and the comments about how good he smells, the little smiles he keeps sending Dean’s way, he figured why the hell not?
He wasn’t disappointed with his choice either. Garth was surprisingly strong and confident, which are all things Dean likes in his partners. He just wouldn’t usually go for someone he sees so often–makes things awkward.
“I remember,” He gives a quiet laugh before clearing his throat awkwardly, looking from Garth’s bare chest to the sheets. “Look, Garth, I–uh–I’m not really looking for a relationship or anything,” He begins, and it feels so overused and rehearsed. 
He hates having this talk, which is why he usually sticks to waitresses or women, and the occasional man that he won’t ever see again. He doesn’t want to shoot Garth down, but after Cas–he just thought things would be different by now. He thought they would be different now, but that hope died when he pulled Cas’s soaking trench coat out of the water.
He doesn’t know what he kind of response he expects, but it’s definitely not for him to throw his head back with a loud laugh. “Oh, Dean, I should’ve known you’d be this funny the morning after. Look at you, trying to give me the it’s not you, it’s me talk. We’re fine, buddy. Just two guys looking for a night of fun,” He shakes his head and gives Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Dean feels his entire body sag in relief, and now that, that awkwardness is out of the way, he feels his body react to Garth’s close proximity, the memory of the night before has him ready to go all over again. 
Resting a hand on the hunter’s naked hip, he leans in until their noses brush, “In that case, round two?” He asks, his voice practically a quiet purr.
“Round two,” Garth agrees before pulling him in for a heated kiss.
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
“I don’t know. I guess that was the first time I did something like that without feeling guilty after. I didn’t really even think about the fact that he was a dude that time,” Dean recounts, picking at a stray thread on his jeans.
He’s forty-one and the world is still turning. Chuck is gone, Jack and Eileen are back, Cas is human, Sam is okay, and everything should be fine. But it turns out that peace on earth doesn’t erase decades worth of repression and trauma.
It took storming out of a few therapist’s office before he found the right one. Dr. Williams, or Charlotte, is pretty nice, so far. She listens to all his stories that would sound absolutely insane to an outsider, and hardly bats an eye. 
Usually, they talk about Hell or Michael, but somehow the subject shifted to his history with men today, starting with him telling her about the ring he got Cas for Christmas. The one he almost didn’t give him–the ring that isn’t an engagement ring despite the looks Sam keeps giving him, but hopefully isn’t just a friendship ring either.
“And how do you feel now? With Castiel? Do you still feel ashamed of your feelings or sexuality?” She asks calmly as she looks up at him over her notebook.
Dean grimaces at that word–sexuality. He’s had so many years to accept the fact that he isn’t straight, that he likes men too, that he more than likes a particular man specifically. 
Still, he can’t get himself to say the actual word, not even in his own head. His old man has been dead for thirteen years, and it still feels like he’s looming over his shoulder whenever he even considers it. 
Sometimes, he wishes he told him when he accidentally wished him back into existence, but he’s glad he didn’t. Of all the people who deserve to hear it first, it’s not his dad. The fact that he even thinks that, tells him these sessions are doing something.
“Sometimes…yeah,” Dean mutters and nervously licks his lower lip, “I know my family won’t care. Hell, they probably already know, but I don’t know. I just can’t shake it, I guess.”
“You don’t have to come out,” Charlotte tells him, and her voice isn’t too gentle like some of the other Therapist’s were, but it’s not too matter-of-fact either, which is why he likes her so much. 
“Not with an official statement, at least. You should do what you’re comfortable with. Like, next time you watch Star Wars, instead of keeping all those thoughts about Harrison Ford to yourself, say them aloud.”
Dean merely raises a brow in response, he’s pretty sure nobody wants to hear what he has to say about Harrison Ford. He’s come up with way too many jerking off fantasies to that guy. Most of his thoughts are something along the lines of, “I’d sell my soul to fuck Harrison Ford.”
Charlotte seems to catch on quick and lets out an amused snort, “The safe for work version.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure there is a safe for work version,” Dean points out and waggles his brows suggestively before dropping the act and sagging a little in his seat, his face going blank in thought.
“I know that uh–that being bisexual is okay,” He stammers out and rubs the back of his neck as it prickles with nerves, “Which is what I am, I mean, bisexual. I’m just trying to believe that it is.” 
It’s the first time he actually said it, and it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be. He still feels sick with anxiety, and like he wants to drink an entire bottle of whiskey when he gets home, but the fact that he did it at all lifts a huge weight from his shoulders.
Charlotte gives him an impressed nod and jots down a few notes, “Well, that’s a good start.”
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
After his session, he comes home and gives some flimsy excuse about his whereabouts before pouring himself a drink. Cas isn’t in the kitchen or his room, but it doesn’t take Dean long to track him down. 
The new human spends a lot of time in the same spot these days. Shrugging on a coat, he brings his glass outside and walks to the little area Cas so carefully turned into his garden.
Dean doesn’t announce his presence, just watches from a safe distance as Cas mutters quietly to his plants. The sun occasionally glints off the silver ring on his middle finger, and it brings a fond smile to his lips. 
After everything they’ve been through, after losing him so many times, Dean can’t believe he’s really here. It’s not perfect, Cas is struggling with his new humanity, and the distance between them hasn’t been fixed, but it’s still good.
And Dean loves him.
“I’m in love with Cas,” He mentally tells himself, another thing that he’s known for ages but has been too damn scared to actually put into words. It’s just as nerve-wracking as his confession to Charlotte earlier, but it still brings him peace.
He doesn’t know when he’ll tell Cas, or if he ever will, but right now he’s okay just telling himself. He’s okay just standing here and watching him garden. It’s more than he thought he’d ever have.
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toovirgins · 3 years ago
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January, 1972
Summary: In Paul's first interview since the breakup of the Beatles, things go slightly awry when a nosy reporter gets more out of him than she bargained for.
Part 1/3 (2, 3)
Paul flashed a blinding grin at the camera, hoping none of the looming anxiety beneath the surface would read. He quickly seated himself in the plushy chair, running his fingers up and down the smooth red velvet of the arms a few times to soothe his nerves. A tad self-consciously, he scratched his jaw, fingers twitching with unfamiliarity against the now smooth skin. This was his first interview in nearly two years.
He had been in a bad way since the breakup. It did no good to mull over it now, but it was hard to stop the same intrusive thoughts from popping into frame—the fuck-all, nothing-matters-anyway attitudes; the gnawing sensation of his own incompetency at the bitterness of feeling utterly lost; the desire to waste his fucking life away drunk out of his mind so he didn’t have to wake up in the morning and remember. What now?
Paul sighed inadvertently, ignoring the curious way the interviewer’s eyes danced over his form. What now? Now, this interview. One day at a time. A nice, simple discussion about the past year—about the success of RAM topping the charts in the U.K. and the slow but steady promise of Wild Life. Family and new beginnings. Peace.
Getting better all the time, right? His stomach did a violent flip at the thought.
Paul jumped a bit as the interviewer leaned forward, brushing a tentative hand across his knee. “Paul? Are you all right?”
Paul blinked. “What?”
She lowered her voice a bit, eyes flicking in the direction of the cameraman. Paul felt dizzy as the red light blinked back at him. “Should we—should we cut?”
Shit. Already off to a poor start.
Slowly, Paul came to his senses, breathing returning to normal (though he hadn’t realized it had been erratic). His chest felt tight as he gave a curt, polite nod, forcing a smile that, to him, felt borderline grotesque.
“No, love. Everything’s fine. Just a bit distracted, is all.” He shot her a wink, hoping to assuage her. Maybe a bit of flirting would do the trick.
He sighed in relief as the reporter flushed, a pleased grin sneaking onto her otherwise hard features. “Right. Well, if you’re ready, we can begin.”
“In earnest,” he beckoned, waving an inviting hand in her direction.
Half an hour later, Paul’s face felt utterly plastic from faking so much interest and expression. The poor girl was trying, for Christ’s sake, but Paul had to actually hold back groans at some of the painfully bland questions. Every goddamn thing reminded him of the Beatles, anyway, even if it had nothing to do with them. He felt surrounded by ghosts: the echo of George’s laugh, a flash of fangs; the dissipating vision of the way Ringo bit his lip real hard and furrowed his brow when asked any remotely difficult question; the trace of John’s fingertips on his arms or lightly thumping the back of his head. Things hadn’t been the same for a while, now, as far as those things went; but it was almost like they’d never changed. Everything was rushing back to him as if he’d just woken up from a long nightmare. Only to find that the nightmare was more pleasant than reality, of course.
Paul swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick. He wasn’t ready for this.
He wished Linda was there. Paul nearly kicked himself for agreeing to do this alone—he wasn’t sure why they had requested that, anyway, if they were just going to make him repeat the conception of “Yesterday” all over again. He needed her there, needed to distract himself by caressing her and leaning on her and whispering subtle inside jokes in her ear at inappropriate times. He needed to have her, just like—just like he needed—
“On your newest record with Wings, you have a particularly interesting track I’d like to touch on,” the reporter was saying, bearing down on him with a sudden insatiable gaze that should have been frightening, if Paul had literally cared one bit.
“Hmm?” He replied, noncommittedly.
“’Dear Friend’. It’s about John, no?”
Paul tensed.
The interviewer stared back at him, daring him to speak, the lust for truth plainly evident in her eyes, and Paul swiftly understood. Everything had been mere formalities or trust-building exercises up to this point. Everything to get him here: trapped, with nowhere to go, no one to turn to. His mind worked quickly, frantically, pushing the blossoming anger aside to make room for the desperate bid to save himself. He could only think of one solution, and one he was king at.
Paul began to laugh. Not loudly, not absurdly; just casual enough to where the audience would soon be able to read the feigned perplexity in his tone. “John?” He practically scoffed, cocking an eyebrow at the woman with a look that bordered on condescending. “No, love, it’s not about John.”
“Who’s it about, then?” Came the follow-up.
Paul answered too quickly. “Linda.”
“Ah,” the interviewer affirmed, leaning back in her chair slightly. “I see. So the bit about throwing the wine—”
“Celebration!” Paul interjected, his voice much too shaky for it to ring true. “Throw back the wine. Congratulations, and all that.” He mimicked a drinking glass. “Young and newlywed.”
“Mm.”
Paul’s heart was hammering in his chest, so violently he was sure the cameras could see it. He never should have put out the song. He had knownit was too transparent, but had convinced himself it was his own paranoia. The public was desperately searching for anything to drive the wedge between him and John deeper—even if the song really wasn’t about him, they would have found a way to make it so.
So, that’s what the story was. He felt a sudden angered hopelessness, offended by the audacity of the reporter. To coax him out of practical hiding, persuade him to do this huge press event for the “good of his album”, to pull him from Linda and thrust him into the spotlight he tried so desperately to escape, all so they could catch a hope of getting Paul to contradict and expose himself? Like she was some kind of Pharisee?
He could see her eyes working coldly, calculatedly, and he felt the sudden urge to run. His mouth felt sour, tongue acidic against his teeth that were clenched far too hard to be healthy. He had to get out of here.
“You say friend,” the interviewer started, almost cautiously.
“She’s my best friend,” Paul argued.
“What about the fear? What is Linda afraid of?”
“It’s a general fear,” Paul retorted, almost pouting, feeling more than fed up with the increasingly dangerous questions.
“Is what ‘true’, then?”
“All the things he said, of course,” he snapped.
It wasn’t until she responded that he realized his mistake. “He?”
Shit! Paul’s eyes shot wide as he stumbled for an answer. “I-what?”
The reporter narrowed her eyes. “You said ‘he’. All the things he said.”
Paul’s heart was in his throat. He struggled to breathe, mimicking the feeling of having your head barely above water as the ocean closes around your neck. “I most certainly did not.”
“But you did. You said, ‘all the things “he” said’. I presume you’re referring to Lennon’s more public digs, especially in response to RAM. He's far less subtle than you, you know. ‘Too Many People,’ though, that one’s about him to anyone who has ears to hear it and a brain to really listen. So he comes back with ‘How Do You Sleep’, and though you’ve been sitting on this one for quite some time, it feels right to put it out, a spitball to his face, an olive branch in the face of his fire. It doesn’t matter that it sounds like it’s to a lover. Because, in a way, it is—"
“No!” Paul all but cried out, wanting to press his palms so far into his ears that it would crush his skull. The beginnings of desperate tears well up inside of him. “No, that’s not—I’m not—”
“What happened in India?”
Paul froze.
The reporter simply stared back at him, almost expressionless. Paul’s brain had short-circuited at the question, leaving behind nothing but a dull buzz, his thoughts as comprehensive as television static. The buzzing of the studio lights was the only sound for a long time, save the soft pants escaping Paul’s lips as his chest constricted with the effort of not hyperventilating. When he finally spoke, his voice was dripping with a malice that shocked even himself.
“What the fuck do you know?”
Even the interviewer looked momentarily taken aback. She licked her lips almost hungrily. “Is there something to know?”
“No. It’s—nothing happened, all right?”
“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”
“What? No!” Paul was astounded, flabbergasted, so far past the point of shock he no longer had control over his ramblings. “Or—no. I don’t know. Nothing happened, it couldn’t—”
“Did you want it to?”
“He wanted—”
“What did Lennon want, Paul?” There was an edge to the reporter’s voice, a twinge of excitement at what may be perhaps the biggest story since their breakup.
Paul said nothing. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. A cloud came over him, blurring all thoughts of past and future. All implications and consequences. He was blissfully, numbly empty.
“Paul McCartney, were you in a… a physical relationship with John Lennon?”
The question went unanswered. He simply stared at the woman opposite him, cool and stony. He could tell by the slight waver in her expression that his intent was evident. It was a dare—turn the fucking interview off, or sit here in silence for the remaining half-hour. Give the viewers quite a special.
Her choice.
Eventually, the woman cleared her throat and shuffled the stack of notecards in her lap that Paul hadn’t noticed until now. He let his gaze trail over her lazily as she made to signal the camera cut. As soon as the little red light went dead, she shot Paul an aggravated glare and shuffled off the set.
He only winked, feeling much more hollow inside than before.
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the-salty-asian · 4 years ago
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Small Inconveniences | J.J.
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A/n: I’m so sorry I haven’t been posting lately! I have so many projects going on at the moment that I’m trying my best to get out ASAP!
Summary: How many chances does it take for Jughead Jones to kiss his best friend?
Warnings: fluff, sexual inuendos
Word Count: 2.5k
Attempt #1
Movie night at Archie’s had been a staple in Jughead’s week ever since he could remember. They had watched everything, from comedy to classic to horror. Of course it wasn’t until a couple years later that they finally agreed to let the girls join, after they deemed cooties wasn’t a thing.
It was another Friday night and the four teenagers tried their best to block out the buzz of Jason Blossom’s death, just for one night. Y/n was curled into Jughead’s side poking him relentlessly.
“Come on just let me wear it for the movie? Pleaaasseee Jug!?”
Betty smiled at the two as she popped the DVD into the box, she knew the little secret that the two didn’t realize yet. From the kitchen, Archie called her, leaving the two alone together.
Y/n had sprawled herself over Jughead as she made another attempt for his beanie. He easily avoided her attack, holding the beanie just far enough with one hand, the other holding her back. She jumped back defensively at the brush of his palm on her side.
“I forgot that you’re ticklish.”
The girl crossed her arms over her chest, “I’m not ticklish, Jones.”
Jughead saw straight through his best friend’s quite terrible poker face. An impish grin spread across his face.
“Oh yea, y/l/n?”
His fingers raked over her sides causing squeals of laughter to erupt in her chest and writhe in his arms.
“Jug-Juggie-st-STOP!”
Jughead’s fingers left her sides to catch her from rolling off the couch. One hand cradled her head as the other gripped her side and his chest was pressed against hers. Y/n’s arms were clasped around his neck in an attempt to save herself. He could feel the rise and fall of y/n’s uneven breaths against him. Up until now he hadn’t noticed that Betty and Archie had left them alone.
All of a sudden, it was like the air had deserted his lungs. His fingertips were buzzing at the contact of her skin and a new sensation flipped his stomach.
“Jug?”y/n breathed.
Jughead���s eyes flicked down to her parted lips and wondered how it’d feel to kiss her, to feel how soft they were or even slip his tongue in to taste her. He shook the fantasy away and focused back on her own y/e/c orbs. Y/n was his best friend, there was no way in hell that he’d do that. Nevertheless, her eyes seemed to invite him, almost beg him, to plant his lips on hers. Jughead dipped his head closer to his best friend making the distance between their lips mere centimeters as their breaths mingled in the small space between them.
" I got the snacks!"
At the sound of Archie’s voice, Jughead removed his hands from y/n’s body. She fell unceremoniously onto the wood floor with a yelp. A string of cuss words fell out her mouth but Jughead barely paid attention, his mind racing at the event that just took place.
For the rest of the night, Jughead perched himself on the farthest end of the couch, sneaking glances at his girl best friend. Maybe she wasn’t meant to be just his best friend.
Attempt #2
After Archie’s last night, the last thing Jughead wanted to do was go to Cheryl’s “mourning” party. Nevertheless, he found himself being dragged through the door of Thistlehouse into a crowd of drunk teenagers by none other than y/n. He didn’t mind as long as she continued to grip onto his hand the entire night.
To his dismay, she unattached from him after an hour to find Archie, leaving him to twiddle his thumbs in the kitchen. Jughead watched the stove clock, impatiently waiting for y/n to emerge with the red head. When thirty minutes had passed,a feeling of dread coursed through his veins. His paranoia set in at the thought of what could’ve happened to her. He began to tear through the house searching everywhere for his best friends. Jughead had been so wrapped up in finding y/n that he barely noticed as he shouldered Cheryl Blossom in the hallway.
“Hey watch it there-oh it’s just you.”she looked him over distastefully.
“Hey Cheryl, have you seen-“
“She’s by the pool, you hobo. God I still can’t believe you haven’t asked her out.”
With that the Queen of the Vixens brushed past him into the swarm of their horny, intoxicated peers. He followed her into the crowd, pushing past more sweaty bodies than he intended to touch tonight, until he reached the door to the pool deck. Y/n sat on the pool’s edge, swinging her feet in it’s water and giggling every now and again. The light reflected off the water’s surface making her glow even brighter. Inside his chest, Jughead’s heart squeezed at the sight.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him,“Oh my god it’s my best friend! My best friend is here guys!”
He chuckled as he took a seat beside her, “Umm Y/n, there’s no one out here.”
"You know Juggie,"she leaned into his shoulder. "I don't like parties, and you don't like parties. Why are we even here?"
Y/n waved her cup over Thistlehouse sloshing the drink over her hand. A few obscenities and drunken giggles spilled her from her mouth as she wiped at the liquid courage on her pants.
“I think you’re enjoying the party a little too much.”
Gingerly he took the cup away from her so she couldn’t damage her outfit further.
“Juggie can I tell you something?”
Jughead hadn’t realized how close y/n was until he turned his head,their faces only inches apart. Y/n’s hand reached behind his head and pushed his forehead to meet hers, shortening the distance significantly. Her breath fanned over his face, a mixture of alcohol and something sweet. God, did he want to but it wasn’t right. Y/n was drunk out of her mind and for him to take advantage of her would make him as bad or even worse than Chuck Clayton. Instead he pressed his lips to her forehead letting them linger on her skin for a moment. "Come on, let's get you home."
Attempt #3
Regular Saturday nights for Jughead consisted of a quiet trailer and his laptop. His head was still jumbled with last Saturday’s mess, nothing a little writing couldn’t make him forget. It almost felt normal. Normalcy was good, since Archie’s movie night, everything had been far from normal.
The thoughts of Archie’s movie night and Cheryl’s party consumed him to the point where he didn’t hear the knock outside. Before he could get up to answer, the trailer’s door peeled back to reveal the person that made Jughead’s very heart run a marathon.
"Y/n?"
"Hey,"she offered a soft smile. "I was wondering if we could have a movie night?"
The dim light of the trailer illuminated her puffy eyes and red nose. Her parents were fighting again. However, Jughead didn't press the matter. He knew when she was ready that she’d come to him.
“V for Vendetta ok?”
Y/n nodded with a real smile cracking through her facade. Internally Jughead was soaring through the clouds. It made him so happy to even think that he caused a beautiful smile from y/n y/l/n.
She took a seat as Jughead popped the DVD into the player and grabbed blankets for her. When he returned to his place beside her, y/n buried herself into his side. The nearness of her made him dizzy and the scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a blanket. Her warmth coaxed him into a sleepy daze as V ran about London terrorizing Parliament.
As the end credits rolled she poked his side, "Do you mind if I crash here? My parents think I'm at Betty's."
"Yea of course! My pull out couch is your pull out couch."
“Thank you!”Y/n enveloped him in her arms and squeezed his middle.
"A-and jug,"he watched as her cheeks glow pink. "Can I borrow some clothes?"
It wasn't an abnormal thing for her to ask, y/n had borrowed his clothes before, but the thought of it now pushed an ache into his chest.
“Yea, you know where they are.”
Jughead busied himself with a palette of blankets for himself as she disappeared to change. He had to distinguish the feelings that were setting his body ablaze. Their twelve years of friendship wasn’t about to combust because of his school girl crush.
“How do I look?”
Jughead turned at the sound of her sweet voice and he couldn’t control the fireworks in his stomach. Y/n stood in the doorway of the kitchen wearing his grey “S” shirt and a pair of his boxers. She spun around once, allowing him to view her new outfit. How did she look? The only way he could put it, y/n was stunning.
However his mouth had other plans, “With your eyes, silly.”
A light laugh escaped her lips and she turned to him with a smile that put the stars to shame. It drastically fell when her eyes studied the pile of blankets on the floor.
“You're not sleeping on the floor are you?”
“Y/n I slept at Riverdale High for a week, I’m pretty sure I can take a night on the floor.”
"No Jug take the couch! I don't mind sleeping on the floor."
"Absolutely not, y/n."
"Fine then we'll sleep on it together I guess."
She laid down on her side, leaving space between her and the back cushions for Jughead to slide in. He mirrored her actions, pushing himself as close as he could to the back of the couch to give his best friend some room. However, her back still pressed into his chest and Jughead prayed that she couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his rib cage.
He felt her laugh vibrate against him, "Relax, Jug I'm not going to murder you in your sleep. Here,”
She blindly grabbed his hand, pulled it over her side and rested it on her stomach. Y/n’s fingers went to work tracing patterns on the back of his hand until they tired, settling on top of his. Jughead’s eyes grew heavy and the steady beat of y/n’s heart and warm vanilla pulled him into sleep.
An hour had passed when Jughead stirred and felt the absence of y/n’s warmth. A frown worked itself onto his face, he thought it had only been a dream. That was until he heard the fridge door open and an artificial glow leaked from the kitchen, it’s light spilling on patches of the living room carpet. He lazily rolled off the couch and padded to the opening in the kitchen where y/n had grabbed a water bottle. She turned to close the fridge but jumped when she laid eyes on his shadowy figure. One of her hands flew to her chest as she let out the breath she had inhaled sharply.
"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry."
Y/n nodded softly as a shiver wracked her body giving Jughead an idea.
He held out his arms to her, “Come here.”
Y/n shuffled into his arms that he wrapped around her waist. He kissed the top of her head before resting his chin in the same spot. She slowly snaked her arms under his, her hands splayed between his shoulder blades. Together they swayed to silent music as the refrigerator bathed them in artificial light.
"Y/n?"
She looked up at him, her eyes hooded with sleep. "Hm?"
Jughead took in every feature, her soft hair he wished so desperately to comb his fingers through, her kind eyes that he got lost in constantly,and the scar above her lip that she got when they were seven and playing on the swingset. His eyes traveled past the scar to her soft lips and he was so tempted to take them with his own.
"Jones open up!"
The voice outside banged on the trailer door making y/n jump away from his grasp.
He yanked the door open to reveal Sweet Pea and Fangs laughing like idiots. A sleeping Hot Dog was curled up in Sweet Pea's arms, all of them unharmed, for now.
"What?"Jughead couldn't help but let the annoyance seep into his voice.
"Hotdog won't stop being a little shit and we think-oh"Pea's eyes landed on y/n hovering in the kitchen over jughead's shoulder , a smirk played on his lips. "Are we interrupting something?"
"What's wrong with Hot Dog, Sweet Pea?"
"The little dude keeps humping things, more like Horn Dog am I right?"
Sweet Pea turned to his friend, his hand raised for a high five that Fangs met with a chuckle. Jughead pinched the bridge of his nose as his frustration set in.
"And this was so importantly that you had to come at 3 in the morning?"
The two boys exchanged a glance before turning to their leader with shrugs causing Jughead to let out a frustrated sigh.
“Come by tomorrow,”he grunted as he slammed the door in front of them.
Jughead let out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his temples. He had been so close to kissing her. His frustration was soon forgotten as y/n’s arms encircled around his middle.
“Everything ok?”
“Yea,”his breath hitched at her touch. “Let’s go back to sleep.”
She hummed in agreement against his back and held onto his middle as they waddled to the couch. Jughead plopped down against the back of the couch, dragging y/n with him. Soon enough they were both fighting the edge of sleep and enjoying the warmth of each other.
Y/n turned in Jughead’s arms and nuzzled her face into his chest, "Goodnight Jug."
Several minutes passed as his eyes roamed her sleepy face and felt her lungs inflate and deflate against his chest. When he was sure she was asleep, Jughead brushed away a strand of hair from her forehead and replaced it with a light kiss, an action he’d always done but this one seemed different. His lips brushed against her warm skin as he whispered.
“You look gorgeous, I should’ve told you earlier.”
With that y/n started to stir, she tilted her head up to look at him, “What Juggie?”
Jughead’s chest grew tight with panic, his mouth and brain failed to get out a sarcastic remark. His mind went blank as y/n closed the distance between them, her lips crashing onto his. His hand instinctively reached up and cupped her cheek. He smoothed the pad of his thumb over the soft skin and kissed her back with everything he had. When y/n broke away, Jughead couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Their foreheads pressed together and their breaths mingled in the small space between them.
“I heard you, Jones.”
His eyes finally opened to meet hers, “I’ve waited forever to do that.”
A giggle escaped her lips before she pecked his lips once more, “I could tell.”
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twistedcharismaaa · 5 years ago
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The Red Door Pt. 3
Summary: You and Erik have a lot of shared history together but because of recent events you’re scared that you’re going to lose your best friend. Maybe he’s still there … behind that red door?
Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I hope you guys are all doing well. I don’t have much to say except thank you for reading and supporting my work. I also want to say thank you to everyone who has personally reached out to me. I appreciate everything you guys have done for me. Please let me know if I forgot to add anyone to this tag list. Ok, I’m done rambling. Enjoy! ✨
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So, here you are sitting anxiously in Rico’s Lounge on a Tuesday evening, 7:30 p.m. to be exact. You kept fidgeting with your fingers and shifted positions every two minutes. You hated the fact that you felt uneasy in a familiar place. You began feeling irritated with everything around you and that irritation soon grew into hate. You hated the scenery, the strobe lights, and the music playing in the background. You hated how you were so absentminded. Lately, you were never able to notice your own breathing getting off of its normal rhythm which would cause your heart to fluctuate in its beating. But mostly, you hated how you had zero control of your life. Erik’s situation burdened your mind heavily to the point that nightly panic attacks and constant paranoia became the new norm. It had been about 6 months since Erik had lost his mother. You were with him the night that he received the news and to your misfortune, you remembered it all.
--
You sat down in the booth along with Erik and tossed your graduation hat to the side. “So, why did you bring me here?” you quizzed.
Erik studied you with a teasing smile. “Damn, where is your patience girl? We gonna hang out with the squad in a minute.” He knew that you despised surprises so he decided to draw out the teasing a little longer.
“Erik! Nigga come on! We just graduated from college and you want to sit in this lounge! I wanna go get lit, fucked up, white girl wasted and all of that.” you laugh loudly.
“Shit, you trying to do all of that college girl? All I know is you better save me a dance,” he responded.
He sat back in his chair and waited for your response playfully. He noticed your eyes quickly divert from his. You had a tendency to do that when you got nervous. 
“E. You know those charms don’t work on me. I’m sure the females will be lining up for you,” you said while toying with the tassel of your hat. 
Erik leaned in closer to you from across the table. “I didn’t ask what the females would be doing. I asked if you were going to save me that dance. But for real Marley, I got something for you.”
You suddenly stopped toying with your tassel. You smirked and met Erik’s eyes once again. “And it is?” you questioned.
“My love for you different. You the only one out of all of us that really get me. I know you gonna think it’s corny but my mom used to tell me these crazy stories when I was little,” he answered. Erik pulled his necklace from around his neck and showed it to you. “She said it will always keep me safe and that it was bound to me or some shit like that. So I got you one that looks exactly like mine.” he continued.
Your face lit up with such excitement and you felt your heart swell. “Erik, this is beautiful, thank you. I’m speechless truthfully,” you exclaimed. You scurried to the other side of the booth to hug him. You hugged him tightly and subconsciously gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Please put it on me?” you asked.
Erik chuckled at your excitement. “Yeah, I got you,” he responded. He watched you turn your back towards him so that he could gently place the necklace on you. You felt him latch the hook of the necklace and turned around instantly towards him. 
“S-so what does this mean?” you whispered.
Erik saw your eyes naturally divert away from his again. But this time, he made sure that he would avert their attention back to his. He gently grabbed your chin and said: “It means you’re bound to me and that I will always keep you safe Marley.” His aura was almost dizzying and it seemed as if you were slowly becoming hypnotized by him. Erik palmed your face and planted a sweet kiss on your forehead, your neck, your collar bone, and finally your lips. This was the most sensual thing that you’ve ever experienced. Your body ignited feeling his plush soft lips meet yours. You wanted to be here with him forever. You wanted this feeling to last forever. But unfortunately, it didn’t. Erik slowly pulled away from the kiss and stared passed you.
“Is there a problem?” Erik snarled. 
You turned away from him and instantly fell out of his trance. You noticed two officers standing in front of you and Erik’s table. You tried to analyze their faces but you couldn’t quite make out the emotions that they were harboring.
“Are you Erik Stevens?” the lady officer quizzed.
Erik looked at you and then back at the officers. “Yes,” he responded.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Martha Stevens has been murdered-” the male officer added.
“She what?” you quizzed.
--
You were so deep in your thoughts that you failed to realize that it was past eight and Erik was late. 
Part 2 Part 4
Tag List: @tip222u @ghostfacekill-monger @l-auteuse @lostennyc @blackreaders-assemble @rayraynddem @soulfood-fics @theogbadbitch @quietstorm-73 @melaninmarvelgirl62 @blackmissfrizzle @honeytoffee @essaysbyciara @shookmcgookqueen @fonville-designs
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prvncesswrath · 4 years ago
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[ Location: Mont Saint-Michel. ]
As a long-time podcaster, and social media influencer, coarse judgement was something she should have been able to imbibe with ease by now. Alas, the lavender-haired mousy girl was precisely that, mousy, the confines of valor had never been too stout save for when she was being a smidge too mindless -- scrunching her nose in an absolute concern whenever a harsh remark would emerge on her feed. Alongside her husband, she had learned to brush off some, instead putting her focus into the praises he would often hum to her which were enough to get her through the day simpering with so-called robust backbone. However, things had begun to take a turn for the utter worse recently, the talons gouging her eyesight had been more or less not only consistent but also exacerbating. The web was laminated with faceless silhouttes, but one had been daunting her for the past few weeks, event month, contempt and mockery jabbing her insides and causing tears to prickle in her eyes as she laid at night, ruminating her failures and reputation she wasn’t certain had remained pristine anymore. Rumors were tossed about as if a lacerating, ricocheting bullet, paranoia springing the way she dragged teeth altogether to ponder flagrantly if she was safe or not. The recent trick they had pulled was enough to make her forfeit her laptop, fingertips trembling in nerves upon what was being spread out there. Flickers of the past she didn’t wish she would ever have to face again, submerged deep within massive grins and cocksure flattery between her and her beloved and the throne that was so close to be cusped into her embrace, they were now in out in the open - glimpsing the yearning individual who would do whatever it took to mount the top of the chain.
Pouring the pot of coffee into her mug that bleary evening, the enslaving scent of Saint-Michel deliquesced senses, but not entirely thaw them. She had left her devices in their room all day, which was an oddity for the person who had always seemed to be glued to her gadgets with the exception of when her spouse was devouring the entirety of her attention, as always, with his smug ticks and dizzying words. Right now she didn’t feel like connecting with her responsibility, over-ridden by the fear of what else had been published. What else did she have padlocked and not for public-use? There was an abundance of lewd tapes she shared with the reticent artist, mingling bodies, trailed with naught but lingering smokes or the odor of sex - something that for now she would rather keep to themselves, for she was not as brazen as her older sister, let alone her oldest sister who had been scoring money out of that with the husband that she oh-so candidly salivated over. She hoped that was not out - not without her consent. Blanking for a moment as she prepared for her and Orion’s evening snack, the podcaster then stirred the rest of her duty before bringing the mugs to the coffee table before their couch, finding her loved one there. Her expression remained troubled, as if she could combust within any seconds had she been more of an aggressive individual. All tidied up, she slunk into the couch, slithering into his embrace that would forever feel like paradise. “It’s getting worse,” she confessed, burying her nose in his collarbone, and inhaling shakily. “The... person who’s been starting crap on my sites has taken a step further. They’ve been posting personal videos, I have no idea how they got them. But those pieces are from high school. A time when I was -” she gulped, thick and hot, “I was not necessarily the most honest student. It’s getting everywhere and people are cancelling me.” Peach-like eyes drifted upward to meet his forest ones, brimming with ripples. “I’m terrified, baby. Of what else they can do. Should we involve cops?”
@dvggerwclf​
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hopeful-hugz · 9 months ago
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@cookieofearthbread || Hope Pre-Birthday Starter Call
A fuzzy, distant voice. That's all to registers to Hope at first as she remains seated somewhere off to the side of the civilization's main roads. Not much around her registered at the moment, other than her own swirling thoughts, the faint sounds of other cookies headed off to where they needed to go... and of course that voice.
In her current form, looking around took that much more movement, something that currently couldn't be prompted until something got her attention proper. She didn't have the focus to do so while afflicted by the uncanny dissociation fogging up her mind at the moment. When it is inevitably gotten however, the response is a hazy trill.
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"S... sorry." Finally looking up at Pure Vanilla, the younger slowly cants her head to the side. Oh... he looked important... Did she end up somewhere she wasn't supposed to be again? "Were you saying something? I'm... uh... a little out of it right now."
At least it was her being slow and not panicking like she'd expected memories of her past birthday to bring. "If... If you need me to go elsewhere... I can."
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waywardteamfreewill · 5 years ago
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Character: Dean Winchester  Timestamp: Ages 14-41 trigger warnings: Underage feelings for Harrison Ford, lots of internalized homophobia, mentions of homophobia but no homophobic actions are done towards Dean, drunken kissing, NSFW elements in Garth’s section but no smut, alcoholism implied in the therapist section, and mentions of John Winchester’s A+ parenting, but no actual interaction with him. 
Dean is fourteen when he starts looking at Harrison Ford differently. It’s not just him, it’s all his favorites, but right now it’s all about Harrison Ford. His dad is on a hunt in the next town over, leaving Sam and Dean in some cheap motel. For once, he’s not itching to join him, because the local cable is having an all day Harrison Ford marathon, starting with Star Wars and ending with Indiana Jones. 
He’s always admired the guy. He’s good looking, knows how to handle a gun, wears an awesome hat, and always wins the hot girl in the end. The thing is that Dean always wanted to be him, and as he watches Indi somersault out of the way of an oncoming boulder, he still does, but there’s something more there tonight that he hasn’t noticed in the past. 
His cheeks feel flushed and there’s heat tickling underneath his skin. At first, he thinks he’s getting a fever or something and moves over to the other bed, just in case he’s contagious. The space does nothing to help Dean though, and his pink cheeks grow bright red when Indiana kisses Willie in Temple of Doom. As the music swells, and he lowly says the words “primitive sexual practices,” Dean finds that he’s picturing himself in Willie’s place, with Harrison Ford looming over him and dipping down to kiss him deeply. 
The realization of what he’s doing crashes into him, leaving him a little sick to his stomach as he snatches the remote and turns the TV off abruptly. He swallows roughly to chase away the sick feeling and gives Sam a feigned apologetic look. “I--uh--think I’m gettin’ sick or something. I’m going to bed,” He says. But hours after the lights are turned off and he’s buried under the covers, he’s still wide awake. 
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is seventeen, and this is the longest they’ve stayed in one place since he watched their house in Lawrence disappear from the backseat in the Impala. When their dad took on a pretty big case in Florida, he left the Sam and Dean with Bobby, and then...just kind of left them there. It’s been three months. At first he was pissed. He’s old enough to go on hunts with his dad. He’s been on plenty, while Sam was safely hidden away in a motel. 
“You gotta watch over Sammy,” John said, like he always does when Dean asks to go. It felt like a shitty excuse at the time, but now he can’t imagine being away from his little brother this long, and while he’ll never admit it, he’s glad he left them with Bobby. 
For the first time, Dean actually knows the names of the other kids in his class. He has decent grades, and he’s even considering trying out for the baseball team. Sammy seems happy too. Dean has seen the poor kid get ripped away from school after school, trying to keep his sobs quiet in the backseat as their dad drove away from yet another town. He hates himself for thinking of it, but when he sees how settled Sam is at Bobby’s, he hopes their dad doesn’t come back. 
And maybe he’s happy too, and he tries not to feel guilty, but it’s not like his dad will ever know. Whenever he shows up for them, Dean will follow with a “yes, sir,” like he always does. Until then, he just lets himself be a normal seventeen year old for once. He even found a group of friends and everything, a few guys from his gym class. There’s Matt, Jordan, and Aaron with the too blue eyes, or at least that’s what he calls him in his head. As if he’d ever have the nerve to call him that aloud. 
Thoughts about boys creep up on him like itch, dull at first but the more he ignores it the more insistent it becomes. When he first noticed these...feelings, he told himself, “It’s a celebrity crush, it’s fine. Everyone gets those.” But then it grew into, “It’s just some stranger in a diner, it’s fine. You’ll never see him again,” and now it’s, “It’s just your good looking friend, it’s fine.”
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. 
It’s not fine, but Dean pushes it down and pretends it’s not there. Besides, he hasn’t stopped noticing girls. If anything, he’s notices them more. As long as that’s the case, there’s no reason to act on these feelings or even acknowledge them. His dad doesn’t want a whole lot from him. He wants him to protect Sam and be a good hunter, but Dean sure as hell knows what he doesn’t want for him, and that’s being with another guy like that, especially when he’s still attracted to girls. He’s seen the way his dad looks at gay guys, heard the comments he makes under his breath, and there’s no way that’s the kind of life he wants for his sons. 
So, every time Aaron gives him the kind of smile that makes his chest warm or he finds himself staring too long, he reminds himself of all the reasons why this can’t be a thing. And just because Dean is thinking things he shouldn’t be, doesn’t mean Aaron is too. 
He needs that reminder right now as the four of them are packed together in a crowded movie theater, seeing Scream. At some point, Aaron scooted closer to Dean’s side, pressing their shoulders together. The screams from the crowd sound like a dull roar in his ears when Aaron’s pinky brushes against his, and he holds his breath as he slowly tangles them together, until they’re practically holding pinkies. He should rip his hand away, he even stiffens as he prepares himself to, but then his shoulders sag as he leans further into the touch. He doesn’t want to pull away. His eyes burn as he stares fixedly at the screen with how badly he doesn’t want to pull away. 
They stay like that for the rest of the movie, sneaking glances at each other, but keeping the touch to just their shoulders and pinkies. When the credits roll, Dean finally pulls away, stretching as he stands to try and come off as casual as possible. They toss their popcorn in the trash and talk about the movie as they head out of the theater. Matt and Jordan give them a quick pat on the shoulders before heading off, and before Dean can go searching for Bobby’s truck in the parking lot, Aaron grabs his elbow to keep him from leaving.
“Dean?” His blue eyes flicker from Dean’s face to the ground nervously, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. Like without Matt and Jordan.”
Dean feels his throat close as he struggles to get air in his lungs, worried that his popcorn might come back up. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out just the two of them, but from the way Aaron’s blushing he has a feeling it’s more than that.
“You mean like…” He trails off, unsure if he can even say it, but Aaron beats him to it.
“Like a date, yeah. I don’t know if you--if you’re--well, I thought I’d try, at least,” He gives a nervous look as he braves meeting Dean’s gaze.
His first instinct is to be furious, to fly off the handle at him for even daring to assume that Dean isn’t anything but straight, to tell him he doesn’t swing that way and storm off, maybe even get a punch in, but he’s frozen. Despite all his promises to himself that he wouldn’t ever acknowledge this thing that follows him around, he starts entertaining the idea of letting himself have this. His dad is on the other side of the country, he’ll never find out. Nobody has to know if they keep it to themselves. He can just try it this once to get it out of his system and then stick to girls. 
“Yeah, okay,” Dean chokes out before he even fully gives himself permission to, and he knows he needs to leave now before he chickens out, “I gotta go. Uh--I’ll call you.” Aaron lets out a huge, relieved breath before giving Dean one of those grins that make his insides squirm with delight, and he smiles back, giving him a playful wink before walking away.
He spends the drive back to Bobby’s going between panic and excitement, planning out potential date ideas but also rehearsing ways to turn Aaron down. As he pulls into the Salvage yard and sees the Impala, he realizes it’s all for nothing and feels strangely numb. It’s time for the next hunt, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’ll never see Aaron again. It’s for the best, he tells himself. Who was he fucking kidding anyway?
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is twenty-one and drunk on the beach. His vision is a little fuzzy, and when he looks up at the sheer amount of stars in the pitch black sky, he feels dizzy, causing him to stumble into the body beside him. 
“Watch it, brother. You don’t wanna eat sand,” A husky voice laughs as he grips Dean’s shoulders with strong hands to steady him. 
Lee can’t fill the hole that Sam left when he went off to Stanford, but having him around helps him feel a little less like he’s suffocating. John swung by Texhoma in hopes to recruit his old buddy for a hunt, but got his son instead. Dean and John were glad for the turn of events for different reasons. His dad admired how strong of a fighter Lee was, his training precise enough for John’s Marine standards. 
Dean just admired him, in general. He’s having a hell of a time ignoring it when his dad is always there. Maybe, it’s just his paranoia talking, but it feels like he’s watching Dean too closely, noting how he acts around Lee. Which is what inspires their first escape from John Winchester in a slew of rowdy drunken activities. After he caught them wasted in a middle of a hunt, they started being more discreet about it, so while John was dead asleep in his motel room, the two of them snuck off to a bar and then stumbled their way to the closest beach. 
Lee’s hands on his shoulders make him feel both grounded but also like he’s teetering over the edge of a cliff. The moon illuminates his face from where it’s hovering near Dean’s, his blue eyes boring into his. In his drunken state, he forgets what they were talking about, or if they were even talking at all, and all those walls he’s been building around himself for the past decade feel flimsy, like the slightest nudge will knock them all down. 
Dean’s gaze flickers wildly over his face before landing on a piece of hair that fell over his eyes. “You have sand in your hair,” He drunkenly giggles and lifts a hand to pull the sand out before tucking the errant hair behind Lee’s ear. Instead of dropping his hand like he planned to, he cups his friends cheek instead, his thumb absently brushing over his soft skin. 
“Dean,” Lee breathes, low and rough, and it sends a tingle down his spine.
“Hey,” He answers, because it feels like the right the thing to say in the moment, or maybe he just doesn’t know what the hell to say when they’re standing this close and he wants nothing more than to just close the remaining distance, give into this want that’s been burning in his chest for years.
Something like recognition shows in Lee’s eyes before he clasps the back of Dean’s neck and draws him down to seal their lips together in a tentative kiss. It’s more gentle and hesitant than his actual first kiss, but it makes his entire body practically sing. He hears a desperate noise over the sound of the waves, and he thinks it might’ve come for him, but he doesn’t care. He can beat himself up for that later, but for now, he sighs against Lee’s lips and deepens the kiss, letting himself have this.
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Lee is the longest relationship he’s ever had, which is pretty sad, considering it lasts for about a month. But in that month, they find creative ways to sneak around his dad and even get caught up in some kind of wild orgy with triplets. It all crashes and burns when a case in Arizona goes horribly, horribly wrong, and Lee can’t just move past it. He quits hunting and leaves Dean to go back home, giving him one last lingering kiss before he drives away. 
With hardly anything more than a dismissive grunt, John leaves shortly after, deciding Dean is finally old enough to hunt on his own, and that they’ll cover more ground to find whatever killed mom if they split up. The fact that his dad trusts him to do this on his own should be enough to fill him with pride, but it feels more like punishment, and for the first time in his life, he’s completely alone. 
A week after Lee and his dad left, he’s sitting in the parked Impala, dialing Sam’s number. 
“Heya, Sammy,” He greets his brother, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant and cheerful as possible. They talk about Sam’s homework and friends, and Dean tells him about some interesting hunts, leaving out the most recent one. He doesn’t tell him about dad leaving, but Lee is on the tip of his tongue. Part of him wants to tell Sam--to get this weight off his shoulders, for one more person to know so it doesn’t feel like some big fever dream. 
“Sam,” He starts, his tone suddenly serious. “I’m...” He stops. He’s what? He’s not gay, but he obviously ain’t straight either. But who says he has to label himself right this second though? He can just tell him about Lee. “I…” He tries again, but the words just don’t come. 
That time he agreed to go on a date with Aaron, he told himself it’d be a one time thing to get it out of his system, and while this wasn’t Aaron, that’s what Lee can be. A one time thing. Something that Sam doesn’t need to know about. 
“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, okay?” 
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is thirty and fucking grateful for it. It’s 2009, and not 2014. He still has time to fix this. When he whips around and sees Cas standing there on the empty street, there’s a look on his face that Dean can only describe as tenderness, and that makes him believe he really can fix this.
“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas,” Dean breathes shakily, overwhelmed by the sheer relief that this Cas is his Cas, not the version he left in 2014. 
“We had an appointment,” Cas replies, and there’s so much warmth in his gravely voice that Dean wants to chase it and hold it close to his chest. He feels his face do something that’s probably too open and too fond, but he doesn’t do anything to mask it. Instead, he firmly rests a hand on the angel’s shoulder and looks him straight in the eye before saying, “Don’t ever change.” 
Dean wouldn’t say Cas has much variety in his facial expressions, so the hint of a smile he gets in return feels huge. It reaches his eyes more than his lips, and something about that makes it more genuine. This isn’t the first time Dean felt something after prolonged eye contact with the guy, far from it, but it’s usually a shock of heat or desire--this is something else entirely. He just wants to find more ways to earn looks like this, which seems impossible with the apocalypse around the corner, but he wants to try. 
It’s been nearly a decade since he told himself he wouldn’t let himself act on feelings for another man, but shit has changed. His dad is dead, and that’s not enough to erase the shame that still washes over him any time he accidentally checks out another dude, but John Winchester is not an excuse anymore. The world is ending, isn’t this the best time to say fuck it and try?
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
Dean is thirty-two, and he’s very naked, and very sticky. He curses himself under his breath for not taking the time to clean up before passing out, but he must’ve worn himself out. For a second he forgets where he is or who he was with the night before, but when he cracks an eye open, he sees peeling yellow wallpaper from the ugly ass motel room he’s been staying in. He blindly reaches a hand out behind him and makes contact with an equally naked and sticky body. 
“Hey, watch the hand,” A very familiar voice laughs from behind him, causing Dean to whip around in surprise, wincing at the soreness that follows.
“Garth?” He asks wearily. 
“Yeah, who else? We didn’t even drink last night, don’t pull the forgotten one night stand act with me, Dean Winchester,” Garth chastises him gently, propping himself up on his elbow as he smiles down at him. 
Dean blinks a few times to try and wake himself up, and when he’s feeling a little less disoriented, the night before comes back to him--and, oh yeah, he remembers it. Who would’ve thought a little guy like Garth could be such a firecracker in bed? Maybe, he somehow sensed that about him, and that’s why he was so eager to find out. 
In the short time he’s known Garth, he wouldn’t say he’s had many dirty thoughts about him. He didn’t have many thoughts about anyone these days, not since Cas...Dean quickly ends that train of thought there. The nightmares are enough. The thing with Garth just kind of happened, between the goodbye hugs, and the comments about how good he smells, the little smiles he keeps sending Dean’s way, he figured why the hell not? 
He wasn’t disappointed with his choice either. Garth was surprisingly strong and confident, which are all things Dean likes in his partners. He just wouldn’t usually go for someone he sees so often--makes things awkward. 
“I remember,” He gives a quiet laugh before clearing his throat awkwardly, looking from Garth’s bare chest to the sheets. “Look, Garth, I--uh--I’m not really looking for a relationship or anything,” He begins, and it feels so overused and rehearsed. He hates having this talk, which is why he usually sticks to waitresses or women, and the occasional man, that he won’t ever see again. He doesn’t want to shoot Garth down, but after Cas--he just thought things would be different by now. He thought they would be different now, but that hope died when he pulled Cas’s soaking trench coat out of the water. 
He doesn’t know what he kind of response he expects, but it’s definitely not for him to throw his head back with a loud laugh. “Oh, Dean, I should’ve known you’d be this funny the morning after. Look at you, trying to give me the it’s not you, it’s me talk. We’re fine, buddy. Just two guys looking for a night of fun,” He shakes his head and gives Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 
Dean feels his entire body sag in relief, and now that, that awkwardness is out of the way, he feels his body react to Garth’s close proximity, the memory of the night before has him ready to go all over again. Resting a hand on the hunter’s naked hip, he leans in until their noses brush, “In that case, round two?” He asks, his voice practically a quiet purr. 
“Round two,” Garth agrees before pulling him in for a heated kiss.
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
“I don’t know. I guess that was the first time I did something like that without feeling guilty after. I didn’t really even think about the fact that he was a dude that time,” Dean recounts, picking at a stray thread on his jeans. He’s forty-one and the world is still turning. Chuck is gone, Jack and Eileen are back, Cas is human, Sam is okay, and everything should be fine. But it turns out that peace on earth doesn’t erase decades worth of repression and trauma. 
It took storming out of a few therapist’s office before he found the right one. Dr. Williams, or Charlotte, is pretty nice, so far. She listens to all his stories that would sound absolutely insane to an outsider, and hardly bats an eye. Usually, they talk about Hell or Michael, but somehow the subject shifted to his history with men today, starting with him telling her about the ring he got Cas for Christmas. The one he almost didn’t give him--the ring that isn’t an engagement ring despite the looks Sam keeps giving him, but hopefully isn’t just a friendship ring either. 
“And how do you feel now? With Castiel? Do you still feel ashamed of your feelings or sexuality?” She asks calmly as she looks up at him over her notebook. 
Dean grimaces at that word--sexuality. He’s had so many years to accept the fact that he isn’t straight, that he likes men too, that he more than likes a particular man specifically. Still, he can’t get himself to say the actual word, not even in his own head. His old man has been dead for thirteen years, and it still feels like he’s looming over his shoulder whenever he even considers it. Sometimes, he wishes he told him when he accidentally wished him back into existence, but he’s glad he didn’t. Of all the people who deserve to hear it first, it’s not his dad. The fact that he even thinks that tells him these sessions are doing something.
“Sometimes...yeah,” Dean mutters and nervously licks his lower lip, “I know my family won’t care. Hell, they probably already know, but I don’t know. I just can’t shake it, I guess.”
“You don’t have to come out,” Charlotte tells him, and her voice isn’t too gentle like some of the other Therapist’s were, but it’s not too matter-of-fact either, which is why he likes her so much. “Not with an official statement, at least. You should do what you’re comfortable with. Like, next time you watch Star Wars, instead of keeping all those thoughts about Harrison Ford to yourself, say them aloud.”
Dean merely raises a brow in response, he’s pretty sure nobody wants to hear what he has to say about Harrison Ford. He’s come up with way so many jerking off fantasies to that guy, that most of his thoughts are something along the lines of, “I’d sell my soul to fuck Harrison Ford.” 
Charlotte seems to catch on quick and lets out an amused snort, “The safe for work version.” 
“Yeah, I’m not sure there is a safe for work version,” Dean points out and waggles his brows suggestively before dropping the act and sagging a little in his seat, his face going blank in thought. 
“I know that uh--that being bisexual is okay,” He stammers out and rubs the back of his neck as it prickles with nerves, “Which is what I am, I mean, bisexual. I’m just trying to believe that it is.” It’s the first time he’s actually said it, and it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he thought it was. He still feels sick with anxiety, and like he wants to drink an entire bottle of whiskey when he gets home, but the fact that he did it at all lifts a huge weight from his shoulders. 
Charlotte gives him an impressed nod and jots down a few notes, “Well, that’s a good start.” 
⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤
After his session, he comes home and gives some flimsy excuse about his whereabouts before pouring himself a drink. Cas isn’t in the kitchen or his room, but it doesn’t take Dean long to track him down. The new human spends a lot of time in the same spot these days. Shrugging on a coat, he brings his glass outside and walks to the little area Cas so carefully turned into his garden. 
Dean doesn’t announce his presence, just watches from a safe distance as Cas mutters quietly to his plants. The sun occasionally glints off the silver ring on his middle finger, and it brings a fond smile to his lips. After everything they’ve been through, after losing him so many times, Dean can’t believe he’s really here. It’s not perfect, Cas is struggling with his new humanity, and the distance between them hasn’t been fixed, but it’s still good.
And Dean loves him. 
“I’m in love with Cas,” He mentally tells himself, another thing that he’s known for ages but has been too damn scared to actually put into words. It’s just as nerve-wracking as his confession to Charlotte earlier, but it still brings him peace. 
He doesn’t know when he’ll tell Cas, or if he ever will, but right now he’s okay just telling himself. He’s okay just standing here and watching him garden. It’s more than he thought he’d ever have. 
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lahoreescortblogs-blog · 5 years ago
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Social Escort Services
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fandom-blackhole · 6 years ago
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Of a Juliet and an Einstien (Tony Stark x Reader High School AU)
AN: Hello my beautiful subjects! This is the first request that I recieved and I hope it is everything that you wanted! I am happy with the way that the story turned out. Now, I did just finish writing it and just briefly looked over it so if there are any mistakes, please forgive me and tell me what you notice and I’ll try to get it fix asap. Any enjoy the story! XOXO Queen Hannah of the Fandom Hell Blog
Fandom: MCU
Request: Yes!  @carolyn-stark-91 : Hello, I was wondering if you could write a Tony Stark story for me. I’d like a high school AU where tony is the usual popular tech nerd and I’m a theatre geek who doesn’t really have any friends but homecoming or a dance is coming up soon. Please and thank you. If you need anymore info or have any questions just go ahead and ask me.
Words: 2716 (It got away from me a bit, but that’s okay!)
Warnings: Tony Stark..... I’d say thats it
Summary: Reader is a theater geek that has a big crush on the oh so popluar tech nerd Tony Stark, that causes a series of events to happen before the school play and Homecoming.
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It just had to be him didn’t it. It had to be the most popular, and possibly the smartest, guy in school that I fell for. Me, the nobody theatre geek who most of the classmates ignored, had an impossibly large crush on the popular tech savvy Tony Stark. My heart just loved to torture me didn’t it. It was so cliche the lowly nerd falling for the popular guy. I doubt he even realizes we have four of our core classes together. I doubt he could pick my face from a crowd of students. I doubt he even knew my name. Hell, why would he when he had a gaggle of girls around him giving him attention at any given moment? Why would he notice the one girl sitting in the back of the room daydreaming about a relationship that would never be? It really was a pointless crush, one that definitely wouldn’t lead to anything. So why should I get my hopes-
“Geez I really need to start paying more attention to my surroundings. Sorry about bumping into you, (y/n).”
I look up holding my head only to realize who it was and look back down quickly and start gathering my things. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Tony Stark. Of course it was Tony who bumped into me. Wait, had he said my name? No, I had to have imagined it, right? Hurriedly, I tried to gather all of my things so that  I could rush away as quickly as possible. As I was reaching to grab my playbook, it was grabbed by the same man that bumped into me. Mentally cursing, I stood up and watched the ground hoping he would hand me the book and we could part in silence.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” of course, I was never lucky, “Are you in the play?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but my throat clammed up and my mouth became dry, so I just nodded my head, while still looking down at the floor. I heard pages flipping and I looked up at his hands, and paled slightly. He was looking through the pages, and from what it looked like, he was reading my notes I had written in the margins. Taking a quick glance at his face, I saw he had a small smile resting there; a smile that made my heart flutter like a butterfly trying to take off in flight. When he looks up from the book and meets my gaze I can feel the blush starting to burn on my skin.
“You really take this stuff seriously, don’t you,” he gave a small smirk, “You must be pretty good too, from your notes I gather you got the main girl’s part. When is the play? I’d like to go. Just want to see if all your hard work,” he holds up the book in his hands, before finally handing it back to me, “pays off.”
The smirk he is giving me almost makes my brain decide to jump out the nearest window, but, thankfully, it doesn’t and I manage to squeak out a quiet, “Two...It’s in two weeks. The last night is the day before Homecoming.”
Heart thudding and feeling dizzy, I look into his eyes, big mistake on my part. His breathtaking smoky topaz eyes, that I could just spend all day staring into, stared back for what was a few seconds but seemed like eternity.
“Well then, my fair Juliet, I shall see you then. If not sooner,” he jokingly bows before taking a few steps backwards smiling once more, then turning around and heading in the opposite direction, to what I could only assume to be the school’s tech lab. I stood there for a few minutes before I notice a teacher walking in my direction, so I turn and start heading towards the theater department to practice my lines.
It’s not until a few days later, three days to be specific, that I start noticing that the girls who normally swarm around Tony are actually standing at a distance from the man himself. Which is odd. Even the head cheerleader, Virginia or Pepper Potts, is giving him space. Usually she especially was almost attached at the hip with him at any given moment. Curiously, I started paying more attention to my surroundings more, instead of just zoning out, and I started noticing that in certain classes I could feel eyes staring at me from certain places in different classrooms, but every time I looked behind me to see just who it was that was watching me, I could never catch anyone. It was actually starting to frustrate me, but I just brushed it off as paranoia. The play nights were fast approaching and I was just probably getting antsy, it happens every year. This year just wasn’t any different, right?
Shaking my head and clearing my thoughts, I gathered my things and headed towards my locker to grab my lunch and play book, planning on eating outside under the tree next to the office entrance. It was always quiet out there and perfect for practicing my lines. Nobody ever seemed to want to eat outside, I never understood why, bugs maybe? Whatever, it’s their loss; more silence for me. At least that’s what I thought.
Once I had gotten settled and had opened my book to the page I was working on memorizing, I grabbed and apple out of my lunch bag and took a bite while ‘acting’ out the part I was reading. After a couple of minutes and half of my apple being eaten, I was broken from my thought process by two voices. Two very distinctly male voices, that seemed to be coming in my direction. Panicking, I grabbed my things and tried to hide behind the tree before the two got any closer. Once they got close enough for me to make out their conversation, I paled even more.
“Tony, I told you the bot wasn’t ready. The stabilizers aren’t ready for this kind of wind! Now look at the poor thing, we have to start all over!”
“Calm down, Bruce, we were going to have to take the thing out for a test run eventually. Plus, she didn’t do as bad as I thought she was going to do, so that’s a plus.”
“Sometimes you’re insufferable, you know that? You’re lucky your my only friend.”
“Hmmm sounds like a persona-”
Straining your ears I listen as their footsteps come closer to my tree, and I pray to every god in every religion that neither of them notice me. Thankfully, today the gods seem to be in my favor as neither of them notice my presence. Okay, well the gods are somewhat in my favor as I notice my playbook isn’t with the things I grabbed.
“What is that Tony? Some kind of book,” I hear one voice, who I assume to be Bruce Banner, one of Tony’s close friends in the tech lab, ask. I hear the rustling of pages being turned and I hold my breath.
“Yeah,” I can hear the smirk, that I’m sure he is wearing, in his voice, “it’s a playbook, and I know exactly whose it is.”
Bruce sighs and probably rolls his eyes, “Let me guess it's one of those girls’. You know the ones that are usually surrounding you when you aren’t in the lab?”
“No, god no. This girl, she’s different Bruce. She doesn’t crowd around me like the others. She different, Juliet isn’t like those other boring girls. She’s interesting,” his voice softens at the end, and from what I could tell his smirk turned into more of a smile.
“Okay whatever you say Romeo,” Bruce chuckles out and turns and starts walking towards the school doors.
“Come on Tony, we need to get back inside before lunch ends.”
I finally let out the breath I had been holding and I slump to the ground holding my chest, my heart felt like it was actually going to take flight like if I let go. Tony actually noticed me. He said I was different from the other girls. He said I was interesting. Taking deep breaths I finally come out from behind the tree with all of my stuff and notice that Tony had actually taken my playbook with him. Now’s when I can panic. How am I supposed to get it back? I can’t just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey I was outside hiding behind the tree the whole time you and Bruce were talking. Can I get my playbook back?’ God no, I think I’d die of embarrassment before I even go close to him! I mean it’s not like I really need the book anymore with the play only a week away now, but that’s not really the point. The point is that Tony Stark has my playbook and I had no idea how I was going to get it back.
Scared, I walked back into the school and headed to my locker to exchange my my books and put lunch away. While walking to my next class all I could think about was how much my life had changed of the course of the last few days, and how it only started when I ran straight into my crush.
The rest of the day went relatively smooth if you don’t count my constant panicking, and almost having a heart attacks every time I caught even small glance of Tony. It wasn’t until then end of the day, after I left the theater room late after having an in depth talk about your character with Mr. Brennan, the theater director.
The hallways had already cleared, which i were thankful for, and I were the only student in sight. I walked at a leisure pace towards my locker, and took my time opening it. I was in no real rush to leave. The teachers had gone easy on homework for the day, meaning I had time to procrastinate. I wasn’t until I had my locker open that I noticed that something was different with my locker. There was a letter sticking, only slightly, out of the little slits at the top of the locker’s door. Grabbing the letter, I stuff it in my binder to read once I was home and in my room. It wasn’t until I noticed that my playbook was in my locker on top of all of my other books, that I noticed something was up. How had it gotten there? Tony had picked it up outside. Does this mean he knew where my locker was? Or did he just turn it in and the office had someone put it in my locker? No, they would have called me to the office and gave it to me after scolding me about losing the book in the first place. So had Ton,y somehow gotten into my locker?
Blushing, I quickly looked down the hallway only to see that there was no one around. Grabbing the letter from where I had stuck in my binder, getting home could wait. I needed to know how that book had gotten back into my locker, and the letter might hold some clues. As soon as I opened the letter and I glanced at the handwriting my heart went a flutter for what seemed to be the millionth time just that day. I really needed to get myself under control.Taking a breath I began to read the letter.
Dear Juliet,
Found your book outside today during lunch. Figured you’d want it back as soon as possible so here I am your knight in shining armour. I waited to give it to you in person for a bit, but you must have been running late so I just left it in your locker and am leaving this note.
You’re Welcome,
Your Einstein
P.S. I promise I just set the book in there and didn’t go snooping through your stuff. If you don’t believe or trust me Bruce was there and he wouldn’t let me. See you at the play, or sooner.
I read the letter over a couple of times before pressing it to my chest and smiling like the giddy idiot that I am. He had actually waited at your locker for you so that he could give you your book back. God, he was making your small, yeah right, crush on him grow, and now it seemed impossible for me to get over it. I guess only time could tell.
Nothing to big happened in the days leading up to the play dates. Things had changed now though. Tony’s usual gaggle of girls were left abandoned and  had to latch onto the next best target, which just so happened to be Steve Rogers the star of the football team go patriots. Tony himself had taken it upon himself to move himself next me in every class we shared, even in the classes we had assigned seats, which was kind of funny because hearing him argue with the teacher was just comical in itself. I found myself smiling more often now. Tony always seemed to go out of his way in the halls to say something, or just give me a cheesy smirk paired with a wink, everytime that he saw me. I honestly don’t know what changed, but I could seriously start to feel my feelings for him start to change from a simple crush to liking him wholeheartedly and wanting to actually be with him.
It wasn’t until the day of the last play performance that things starting picking up again. When I was leaving the school that afternoon I found two things taped to my locker, a yellow rose with red tips and a note that said, I’ll see you tonight, Your Einstein. My heart fluttered and I smiled the first big smile I’ve smiled in who knows how long and I took the rose and note after grabbing my thing and I went home to get ready for later that night.
I was a nervous wreck throughout the entire night, but I made it through, and with my best performance yet in my opinion, and also Mr. Brennan’s. After we had done our final bow and gave our speeches about how lovely the play had been this year, and how much we were going to miss the senior, we finally went back to the dressing rooms and on the vanity I had claimed as mine, there was another rose almost identical to the one I found on my locker earlier. I picked it up and smiled and smelled the beautiful flower. I was startled out of my little world I was in when someone cleared their throat behind me. Turning around quickly, I almost drop the rose in my hand out of shock.
“Hey there Juliet,” standing there, with a dozen more of the roses, was none other than Tony with a large smile on his face, “That was a really moving performance out there. You were beautiful and amazing. I’d say your hard work really did pay off.”
I smiled and walked towards him, completely oblivious to the fact that the rest of the cast, the stage hands, and Mr. Brennan had all gathered around to see what was going on. Once I was within arms reach Tony handed me the bouquet.
“Thank you,” I just smiled up at him, “Thank you for coming, and gosh thank you for the roses,” now I was definitely blushing, but to hell with it, how could I not be with Tony looking at me like that? He grinned and lowered his voice so that he knew only I could hear him, “Dad always said to know my flowers and their meanings, said they might come in handy. I’d say that they did. Want to know what these rose’s meanings are,” I just nod still smiling, “They stand for falling in love. Juliet, I really like you and I think I right to say that you like me too,” all I could do right now is nod as my heartbeat faster that I thought humanly possible, “(y/n) would you go to Homecoming with me?”
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uncloseted · 2 years ago
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what is an emotional/nervous breakdown aaand how can you tell if youve had one? In movies its always shown as a girl pretty crying and drinking and maybe doing something 'wild' like dancing around their bedroom and not talking to anyone but Im pretty certain thats not what it really is about lol. Is there a difference between normal depressed crying and having a breakdown?
To my knowledge, neither "emotional breakdown" nor "nervous breakdown" have official definitions. They're not medical diagnoses so much as they're just shorthand for any kind of mental health or emotional health crisis.
But generally, when people say that someone has had a "nervous breakdown", they mean that a person has had a mental health crisis that's triggered by intense stress as a result of an event or change in their life. A person who is in the middle of a "breakdown" is no longer able to function in their daily life. They may feel like they're losing control of their life, intense feelings of fear, anxiety, worry, nervousness, or depression, or like they're "stuck", overwhelmed, or incapacitated. The person might stop showing up to school or to work, miss appointments and social events, slip into poor lifestyle habits, lose interest in activities they used to enjoy, not want to leave their home. They may feel very sad, hopeless, helpless, or worried, be easily irritated or frustrated, have trouble concentrating, or have thoughts of self-harm or suicide. They may experience physical symptoms like nausea, heart palpitations, cold or sweaty hands, dizziness, upset stomach, trembling or shaking, and having trouble breathing. They may begin to experience other mental health symptoms like panic attacks, paranoia, or hallucinations.
In general, I would say that "depression" can be kind of an umbrella that includes nervous breakdowns within it. What distinguishes a "nervous breakdown" from a typical depressive episode is that a nervous breakdown is triggered by a life event or situation that causes stress. This could be an event like divorce, death of a loved one, foreclosure on home, losing a job, or getting a difficult medical diagnosis. But it could also be an ongoing situation like ongoing work stress, turmoil in interpersonal relationships, chronic medical conditions, and chronic sleep deprivation. If that event or situation hadn't happened, the person wouldn't be experiencing a mental health crisis. Whereas with Major Depressive Disorder, the person may just feel that way with no clear external cause.
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lindsaynsmith · 6 years ago
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10 Mind-Bending Cosmic Horror Films
10 Mind-Bending Cosmic Horror Films https://ift.tt/2NMS16d
A peek behind the curtain: this bracket gave us the most trouble out of all the 31 Days of Halloween lists. Definitions were tossed around, examples were given — but the more we tried to define what made a “Cosmic Horror” film, the more confused we got. Which is, of course, deeply, hilariously ironic.
Cosmic Horror is tied in the popular imagination to horror’s racist uncle H.P. Lovecraft, who defined it as “the fundamental premise that common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large.” But things start to get confusing when you realize that Lovecraftian Horror and Cosmic Horror aren’t the same thing. And likewise, that merely being set in the cosmos does not a cosmic horror make. All told, Lovecraft’s definition is best: that cosmic horror fundamentally involves a terror predicated on the dislocation and dwarfing of human sense and understanding. Simply put, it is the disorienting horror of bumping up against something you don’t understand. That you can’t understand.
If gazing slack-jawed into the unknowable sounds like a fun night in, have we got the list for you. Keep reading for a look at the top ten cosmic horror films as voted on by Chris Coffel, Kieran Fisher, Brad Gullickson, Rob Hunter, Jacob Trussell, and myself.
10. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
The dawn of man. We get by with a little help from our friends. Our ancestors took a little bit of knowledge from beyond the infinite and transformed it into a killing blow. From our ability to take the life of another we rose out of the primordial ooze. Our great intelligence transformed into a series of potential catastrophe. A bone club launches into space and orbits the earth with enough firepower to obliterate our third rock from existence. With one small step, we create artificial life and become victim to its judgment. 2001: A Space Odyssey is a staggering work of cinema in which Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke track humanity’s evolution through its great leaps in terrifying technology. Will we ever be worthy of the intelligence gifted upon us? Are our great brains doomed to descend rather than ascend? Is the Star Child a momentous triumph or just a next stride to doomsday? We are but apes forever reaching for the moon – Brad Gullickson
9. The Endless (2017)
What’s effective in The Endless is what is unknown, and for a large part of the movie, everything is unknown. What happened at this UFO death cult so many years ago that made two devotees leave? What is lurking out in the woods that have caused so many earthly anomalies around the community’s campgrounds? And why has no one aged? At the core of Justin Benson and Aaron Moorehead‘s sci-fi/horror tale are two brothers attempting to make up for the arrested development of their lives, but the scope of the story explodes as their work melds with their past filmography in a wholly unexpected way. Fatalistic and heady, The Endless is a curious look at thoughts and ideas just beyond the spectrum of our imaginations — Jacob Trussell
8. Event Horizon (1997)
A surface glance at Paul W.S. Anderson‘s Event Horizon might seem to argue against its inclusion on this list as rather than face an unknown the characters here are faced with hell. But in addition to the mystery of the black hole — is it a purely scientific anomaly, or is it a gateway to true evil?— it’s clear that these are hells of their own design. They can’t understand or comprehend their fates, and that fear of the unknown is exactly what terrifies the crew members. What is hell, after all, but the things that cause us our own greatest pain? It’s different for each of us, and as characters are subjected to a glimpse into this void their attempt at understanding comes in the form of unique suffering — Rob Hunter
7. Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)
Peter Weir’s gauzy Aussie period piece might not have any of the traditionally tentacled cosmic horror hallmarks. But upon closer inspection, it absolutely fits the bill. Hanging Rock concerns a group of boarding school girls who disappear during a school outing. Time gets funny, and as if drawn by some magnetic force, they climb the outcropping and never return. Whether the girls were raptured, lost, or suicidal remains a matter of mystery. It’s a lack of certainty that Weir never resolves; that, instead, exposes the fragility and impotence of the film’s authority figures in the face of the unknown — Meg Shields
6. Uzumaki (2000)
Based on the manga of the same name, Uzumaki is an overlooked gem that didn’t gain the international recognition it deserved during the J-horror boom of the late 90’s and early 00’s. While the rest of the world was transfixed on the nation’s cinematic ghosts, this weird movie about a small town population being turned into spiral-shaped monstrosities flew under the radar. This is a nightmare on film— but that’s the beauty of it. The horror that unfolds is otherworldly and unexplainable, but it merely enhances the notion that the universe works in mysterious and terrifying ways. The inhabitants of the town in Uzumaki are tormented by the unknown and the film never clearly states why or how it’s happening. One day we’re all going about our business. Then, before we know it, we’re snails. – Kieran Fisher
5. The Cabin in the Woods (2012)
Taking a meta approach to filmmaking is a risky proposition. There’s always the possibility the film veers off into the mocking parody territory and if you’re dealing with a genre film that can elicit a negative reaction from the hardcore fans. Drew Goddard and Joss Whedon tiptoed this tightrope perfectly with the wonderfully entertaining, and incredibly bloody, The Cabin in the Woods. This is a movie that takes all the horror tropes that have been established over the years and uses them just as we know them while also managing to flip them on their head. It’s geared specifically towards those that love horror movies and those that hate them. As the film playfully toys with every genre convention imaginable it tries to get to the bottom of why all those terrible things that happen in horror movies happen. Turns out there are some evil gods that need appeasing. I knew it — Chris Coffel
4. Annihilation (2018)
If the crux of cosmic horror is a dizzying sense of established order coming apart at the seams— Annihilation takes the cake. Some unknown thing has landed in the wetlands. What it wants, and why its presence has caused reality to fold in on itself, is a mystery. Its presence has turned madness into a matter of proximity. By the end of the film, we’re none the wiser about the entity’s intentions or the kaleidoscopic fractals at its epicenter. What we’re left with is disorientation; vertigo after bearing witness to the collapsing of all things — Meg Shields
3. The Mist (2007)
If you’ve spent any amount of time in a busy supermarket then it’s highly likely that you’ve felt like insignificant meat in the grand scheme of things. But when you’re trapped in one because there’s a spooky mist outside that’s harboring creatures from the unknown… well, that’s pretty brutal as well. This is also the basic set-up of this Stephen King adaptation from Frank Darabont. It’s a simple story about monstrous invaders in many ways. At the same time, it’s also shrouded in mystery and ambiguity and feels apocalyptic. And while the overarching terror may be cosmic, the film also told us that the real horror was George Bush’s America. The shocking ending also contains some of the funniest gallows humor you’re ever likely to see. It’s such a shame that the TV show isn’t very good. — Kieran Fisher
2. Pulse (2001)
No film, whether from the horror genre or not, has captured the concept of loneliness with as painful a precision as Kiyoshi Kurosawa‘s Pulse. The film gives new meaning and power to the word “haunting” as it shows us a world where even the undead have come to dread the feeling of being alone in the universe. Ghosts are forcing their way back into our world, the living are committing suicide, and the world is crumbling beneath the weight of misery and ambivalence towards this thing we call existence. The film is equal parts terrifying and fascinating, but both feelings are layered with the depressing fear of not feeling anything at all — Rob Hunter
1. In the Mouth of Madness (1994)
Words are dangerous. With the click of a keypad or the flicker of a pencil, lives can be made or unmade. But the creator at the desk is not you. Do you read Sutter Cane? Crack the spine and discover your place in the universe. Skip to the end – you’re both the pawn and the star of your own story. In the Mouth of Madness is the closest cinema has ever come to capturing the existential dread upon which H.P. Lovecraft built his church. While others have attempted to directly adapt the unimaginable/unshowable horror of “The Lurking Fear” or “The Call of Cthulhu,” John Carpenter wisely sidestepped direct reference by focusing on his engine of cosmic paranoia. From space, humans are but a speck of insignificance, and yearning beyond such lowly station can only result in catastrophic knowledge. You are less than a fly. You’re a meaningless accident of biology. At best you are the butt of a joke to a creature raising its foot above your head – Brad Gullickson
Read more entries in our 31 Days of Horror Lists!
The post 10 Mind-Bending Cosmic Horror Films appeared first on Film School Rejects.
via Film School Rejects https://ift.tt/23tjcnD October 19, 2018 at 10:05AM
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keily-elsalvador1-blog · 6 years ago
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Ten Interesting Salvadorian Novels
1.  The Dream of My Return by Horacio Castellanos Moya Katherine Silver (Translator)    
A high-octane paranoia deranges a writer and fuels a dangerous plan to return home to El Salvador. Drinking way too much and breaking up with his wife, an exiled journalist in Mexico City dreams of returning home to El Salvador. But is it really a dream or a nightmare? When he decides to treat his liver pain with hypnosis, his few impulse-control mechanisms rapidly dissolve. Hair-brained schemes, half-mad arguments, unraveling murder plots, hysterical rants: everything escalates at a maniacal pace, especially the crazy humor. (Good Reads)
2.The She-Devil in the Mirror by  Horacio Castellanos Moya,    Katherine Silver (Translator)
Laura Rivera can’t believe what has happened. Her best friend has been killed in cold blood in the living room of her home, in front of her two young daughters! Nobody knows who pulled the trigger, but Laura will not rest easy until she finds out. Her dizzying, delirious, hilarious, and blood-curdling one-sided dialogue carries the reader on a rough and tumble ride through the social, political, economic, and sexual chaos of post-civil war San Salvador. A detective story of pulse-quickening suspense, The She-Devil in the Mirror is also a sober reminder that justice and truth are more often than not illusive. Castellanos Moya’s relentless, obsessive narrator—female, rich, paranoid, wonderfully perceptive, and, in the end, fabulously unreliable—paints with frivolous profundity a society in a state of collapse. (Good Reads)
3. The Beast: Riding the Rails and Dodging Narcos on the Migrant Trail  by  Óscar Martínez
One day a few years ago, 300 migrants were kidnapped between the remote desert towns of Altar, Mexico, and Sasabe, Arizona. A local priest got 120 released, many with broken ankles and other marks of abuse, but the rest vanished. Óscar Martínez, a young writer from El Salvador, was in Altar soon after the abduction, and his account of the migrant disappearances is only one of the harrowing stories he garnered from two years spent traveling up and down the migrant trail from Central America and across the US border. More than a quarter of a million Central Americans make this increasingly dangerous journey each year, and each year as many as 20,000 of them are kidnapped.
4. My Shoes and I by  Rene Colato Lainez
A timely and inspiring story. Mario is leaving his home in El Salvador. With his father by his side, he is going north to join his mother, who lives in the United States. She has sent Mario a new pair of shoes. He will need good shoes because the journey north will be long and hard. He and his father will cross the borders of three countries. They will walk for miles, ride buses, climb mountains, and cross a river. Mario has faith in his shoes. He believes they will take him anywhere. On this day, they will take him to the United States, where his family will be reunited. (Good Reads)
5. A Place Called Milagro de la Paz by   Manlio Argueta
This remarkable novel continues the saga of life among the common people in El Salvador begun with One Day of Life. A Place Called Milagro de la Paz tells the story of the courage and strength of two women, a single mother and her daughter, who have to overcome the trauma of the murder of the mother's older daughter and survive in an atmosphere of bitter poverty and repression. The book is filled, however, with magical, lyric moments of love and hope, especially surrounding the figure of a strange young girl with butterflies in her hair who appears suddenly and adopts the family. The tiny family group bravely preserves traditional values in spite of fear and repression. This new novel is Argueta's most lyrical work to date
6. The Big Cave by Elvis Valle
The civil war in El Salvador, which lasted from 1980 to 1992 and resulted in more than 75,000 deaths, was not just a story of war, but of human suffering and the injustices endured by those who had to emigrate to save their lives and of the loved ones they left behind. Freddy was a young man full of life and curiosity. He regaled his friends with lively stories and led a life of happiness and contentment. But seeing a dead body at the age of eleven and watching a civil war take shape around him brought his childhood to a screeching halt, and what transpired from there was just one of countless stories of young men fleeing their country in hopes of escaping the atrocities of war.  Elvis Valle gives civil war a face as he takes the reader on a deeply personal story of hope, love, and loss and the plight of so many men in El Salvador during that time of civil unrest. (Good Reads)
7. Ashes of Izalco  by  Claribel Alegría,  Darwin J. Flakoll
Written in two voices, Ashes of Izalco is a collaborative novel by Claribel Alegria and Darwin Flakoll, a love story set against the events of 1932 when thirty thousand Indians and peasants were massacred in Izalco, El Salvador. Ashes of Izalco brings together a Salvadoran woman and an American man who together struggle over issues of love, loyalty and socio-political injustices. (Amazon)
8. The Tree of Life: Stories of Civil War by Mario Bencastro, Susan Giersbach Rascón
A grand, mystical tree festooned with brilliant red flowers becomes the heart of a village. When the tentacles of civil unrest tear the hamlet apart, the tree swallows the dead, and the fallen friends and enemies are born again to live in peace within the majestic and benevolent tree.  The passion and politics of the civil war in El Salvador and the blight of political strife and social injustice color this richly textured short story collection. With poetic vision, Mario Bencastro chronicles a chapter of hemispheric history that gripped El Salvador and polarized not only the United States but also every other country in South America. The turmoil, intrigue and suffering have been captured and universalized in these beautifully wrought tales told from the perspective of the common man caught up in a confusing maelstrom (Barnes and Nobles)
9. Little Red Riding Hood in the Red Light District by Manlio Argueta
Little Red Riding Hood in the Red Light District is Manlio Argueta's most popular novel in El Salvador. It has gone through eight editions and has been newly revised by the author for this English translation. The story revolves around the relationship of two young lovers in a time of political upheaval Manlio Argueta's novels have earned him an international reputation and have endeared him to the Salvadoran people. Caperucita en la zona roja received the Casa de las Americas Prize in 1977. (Amazon)
10. A Shot in the Cathedral by Mario Bencastro, Bencastro
When Rogelio Villaverde finds himself destitute and desperate for employment, he leaps at the chance for work with The Tribune, a small newspaper in San Salvador.  The jumbled pieces of his life begin to fall neatly into place with his new job and a new love interest, Lourdes. But the military coup d’etat in El Salvador brings curfews and the establishment of martial law upon the city. Rogelio’s work with the newspaper plunges him into the political melee, where he is forced to discard his political ambivalence and take a position.  He can no longer remain indifferent in the face of the chaos that has overtaken the lives of everyone around him.  His anti-government sentiments peak with the assassination of Archbishop Romero and the aftermath, when soldiers opened fire on the throngs of mourners.Rogelio’s first instinct is to escape the madness and accompany his boss and friend into exile.  But destiny takes another radical twist, and chilling events seal Rogelio’s fate.  He is compelled to remain and join the struggle for justice and freedom in his homeland. More than a political novel, A Shot in the Cathedral is a tribute to the endurance of the human spirit.  Its protagonists are ordinary people who strive to live ordinary lives in the midst of dangerous and oppressive circumstances.Not a propagandistic or partisan view of the strife, A Shot in the Cathedral is remarkable for its sensitivity, restraint and poetic vision of the tragic and inhuman events and actions that polarized not only the people of El Salvador but also those of the United States, Latin America and Europe. (Barnes and Nobles)
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