#Wow being poor in a shit part of town? sounds like a tuesday for The Hound

[uldren-sov]

Eridia now has one more shadow that lurks in the night. Who said that it's only the love interests who are a bit monstrous?

The Hound OC! Naressa by the FANTASTIC @artofzofia thank you!!!

Sporting her Kuras' Lost and Found attire now that the Soulless shredded her gear in the Wastes.

Someone get her some lockpicks to go along with a certain brass key and let's see how long it really takes to learn the Senobium's secrets.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH25

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: NSFW, fluff, angst, violence, minor character death

WC: 4366

A/N: I had this chapter ready before I thought I would. Happy Tuesday, I guess!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Cas walks beside Y/N, she has her hand hooked through his arm, her grip’s tight around his biceps. She’s shaking. Not particularly because of Cain’s words. Well, maybe a little because he makes it sound like he could bring everyone down and he’s not afraid to do it if she gives him a reason to. She feels like she’s caught between a rock and a hard place. That’s not really true either, she feels like she’s caught between a rock and a soft place, one that is 6ft tall and freckled and she knows which one she would choose if she has to.

“I need a drink.” She mutters under her breath and Cas hears her, guides her through the mass of people and makes a beeline for the bar wordlessly, he doesn't even complain at how hard her grip is on him.

She orders something that for sure will go to her head fast, takes two shots within seconds, inhales and exhales loudly. She closes her eyes, counts to ten before opening them again to see Cas’ staring at her, a crease between his eyebrows. “You okay? Did he do anything to you?”

“I’m okay, don’t worry about it.” Y/N says, because it’s true. She’s feeling so much better already, her head gets woozy.

“I kinda have to be.” Cas purses his lips, gives her a last nod when he sees that she won’t be answering him and turns around to face the dance floor. He leans back, his elbows resting on the bar top. 

There were lots of people dancing, some of them mingling around the edge of the dance floor. 

They watch the dancers in silence for a while when Cas suddenly turns to her and asks, “You wanna dance?” He’s already holding out a hand for her to take, which means that he’s not taking no for an answer.

“I must warn you,” She’s laughing as she places her hand in his, clearly feeling light headed from the booze, “I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Can I tell you something?” Cas asks as he leads her towards the middle of the dance floor, dodging some other dancers as they go.

“Of course.”

He has one hand around her waist now and she places her hand on his shoulder. Cas winks, “I’m terrible too.”

They dance and laugh for a while and she’s sure that Cas’ toes are numb by now from her standing on them all the time. 

“May I have the next dance?” Dean’s standing next to them, a stupid grin on his face. She wonders how long he’s been watching them. Wonders if he’s seen that they were terrible dancers. He must have. She’s blushing a little at the thought of him watching her making a fool out of herself.

“Oh my god, I’m a terrible dancer.” She says, her cheeks are flushed and she’s a little out of breath from laughing too much. 

Cas’ mouths something to Dean that looks like ‘terrible’ while rolling his eyes.

“I take the chance.” Dean grins and sneaks his hand around her waist, and she places one hand on his shoulder and the other one in his hand. 

Dean starts to lead and surprisingly, she’s not as clumsy as she was with Cas. 

“You’re not bad.” He pulls her a little closer, his big hand is on the small of her back, his fingers span over the whole of her back. She feels safe in Dean’s hands.

“The terrible dancer must be Cas then.”

Dean laughs, “Yeah. Wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because Cas can’t lead.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean swings her around, and it’s surprisingly smooth. She also manages not to trip over her own feet. “Because Cas’ never played the male role when we were practicing.”

She raises an eyebrow and looks up to him. “You mean ‘we’ as in you and Cas?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles at the memory. “Dad wanted me to take dancing lessons but then I got Cas’ to play the woman. We practiced so much that I’m quite good but he’s the worst.”

“Oh no, poor guy.”

“It’s okay, I think Anna’s teaching him now.”

She raises her eyebrows in question, “Anna?”

“His girlfriend.” Dean smirks.

“Cas has a girlfriend?” She didn’t know, never thought of one of them having anyone, to be honest. Feels a little guilty because of course they have their own lives too, next to the one they’re living. They must have.

Dean swings her around, avoids bumping into others on the dance floor, “Yeah, she was a GP. A few towns out. Fixed Cas up real good when things went wrong. They’ve been together since and she even moved here to be near him.”

“Awe, I Iove that for Cas.” She’s smiling, and is genuinely happy about it.

Dean chuckles, stops mid dance and leans down to kiss her. He parts after, this thumb comes up to brush at her bottom lip, lingers there too long and she bites on it, which makes Dean grin. “I taste tequila.”

“Yeah, rough night.” She breathes out. 

“There I was about to ask you how you’d feel about me and you drinking a bottle of champagne on the rooftop, but now I’d rather not take the bottle with me.”

“Unless,” Y/N squints her eyes and looks up at him. He’s so cute when he has his lips pursed and there’s a hint of a smile, his dimples showing a little. “You wanna hold my hair back when I puke all over the bathroom.”

“Yeah, hard pass.” Dean says in a playful voice while he leads her away from the dance floor, his hands staying on the small of her back. 

They ride up in the elevator, and Dean has a hard time not picking her up and making her ride his hard dick. Has to remind himself that they’re not home and he has to fucking behave.

Now he’s having a key to the rooftop, doesn’t even have to pick the lock. Money buys you access to all kinds of places, apparently.

He opens the door, lets her take it in first. He’s been here a moment ago, helping the employee set up the fairy lights and lounger chair. 

“Wow.” Y/N walks a couple of steps towards the railing. The city light sparkles in the dark. “Did you do all that just to get into my pants?”

“Can’t lie that it’s also part of the plan, yeah,” He walks up behind her, hugs her from behind, kisses the crown of her head. “Come on.”

Dean leads her to the lounger chair, lies on it and looks up to the sky, waits for her to join him. He hates being in the city. Hates it sometimes, that the air is so polluted and the lights are so bright that he can never spot any stars. 

It makes him want to move out even more. Move somewhere where they can always see stars on a clear night sky.

She joins him and he takes her in his arms, letting her rest her head on his chest. 

He kisses the top of her hair, his fingers lazily stroking along her back, “Can I ask you something? From friend to friend?”

She tilts her head up, “Hit me.”

“Right,” He clears his throat, “There’s a girl I kind of have a crush on. And I kinda just bid on her at an auction. Do you think that’s creepy?”

“How much did you spend?”

“Two hundred?”

“That’s not a lot.”

“Thousand?”

“Ugh. You should tone it down a little. But I don’t know, does she like you back or is it one sided?”

“I have a strong feeling that she has a crush on me too. But now I’m afraid that she’s a little mad at me.”

“Ah,” She laughs and braces her forearm on his chest, leans down to kiss him. His heart is making somersaults. “‘M not mad. I just don’t want you to spend money on me.”

“I know, can’t promise that I won’t do it again though,” He sighs and adds, “Sorry I had to talk to Crowley in private.”

“It’s okay, Cas found me.”

His forehead creases, “Found you where?”

“Shit,” She mutters, hides her face in the crook of his neck. 

“Y/N.” He rarely calls her by name he realizes, only does it when he’s a little annoyed with her.

She looks up and mumbles, her mouth still on his shirt, “Cain was waiting for me in front of the bathroom.”

“He what?” It might have come out louder than he intended.

“Yeah, basically asked me why I left him. And then he said that he’s the key to your next whatever it is and that he holds the upper hand.” 

God dammit.

“Did he?” Dean controls his voice now.

“I asked him if he would rat you out and he said no because he wants the money you’ve promised him, but I don’t trust him. He also said that maybe he can win me back once he’s rich.”

“Huh,” He breathes out, “And what did you say?”

“Okay, don’t be mad at me alright?”

“Baby,” Dean cradles her face, trails his thumb across her cheeks and pulls her down, kisses her, “I could never be mad at you.”

“Well, you’ve been all shades of annoyed.”

That’s true. Can’t lie about that, but he’s never been mad.

“I told him maybe.”

“You what?” Dean shouts out.

“You’re being loud!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He says and hisses instead, “You what?”

“I don’t know, I just did it because I want him to keep hoping! So like, that he would keep working for your whatever it is! I know that it’s the worst thing to say to a stalker but,” She buries her face in the crook of his neck again, mumbles into his skin, “You’re mad.”

Dean lets her words sink in before he laughs, making her look up at him as if he’s gone crazy.

“‘M not mad,” He soothes her, smiling a little, too, “You know why I talked to Crowley?”

“No?”

“Because I want Cain out. That dude’s fucking creepy and he doesn’t fucking know his place!”

“And?”

“He’s out. He just doesn’t know it yet. Crowley said he’ll tell him tonight.”

“Wow, that easy?”

“Yeah, Ash’s been working a lot and we have another contact from the company Cain works for.”

“Oh thank god.” She straddles him now, attacks his lips and he smiles into the kiss. 

“So,” Dean says when they part and she grins above him. “What do you say,” He draws figures on her dress with his fingers, “Now that we got this out of the way, can I get in your pants?” 

There’s a glint in her eyes when she moves down his lap to kneel in between his thighs, her lips crooked up at the edges. “Not if I get in yours first.”

Her fingers hastily work on his belt, unbuttons his pants and pulls down the zipper, and there’s that little tongue sticking out at the corner of her lips when she’s concentrating. Dean thinks it’s super cute. 

She cups his cock through his underwear, and laughs when he jerks his hips at the sudden friction. 

Hooking her fingers through his waistband, she pulls it down, and he helps her, lifts his ass so she can push the underwear and pants past his ass. He strokes himself twice, feels his cock hardening at the thought of what’s to come. Not that it wasn’t already half hard before. He doesn’t think soft is a frequent occurrence around her.

Taking his dick in her hands, she licks up along the shaft, and Dean bites back a moan that’s about to escape. Fears that if he starts, he’s gonna lose it too soon.

Y/N’s grinning when she spits on his dick, strokes him one handed and lowers her head down to suck at his balls. She sucks them in, one by one and lets it out with a lewd popping sound, her fist twisting at the head of his cock.

“Baby, if you keep on doing that it’ll be over before you know it.” He’s barely able to hold himself together.

She snorts out a laugh at that and comes back up, sucks in the tip of his cock and works her mouth deeper.

That’s the thing, he usually has very good stamina but with her, that went out the window pretty fast. He makes it up to her though and sometimes, can go twice or even three times in a row when he’s really horny. Mostly his horniness depends on her neediness, and sometimes, she can be insatiable. Not that he minds, he just has a hard time keeping up.

Dean watches her take his cock, it’s not perfect, she can’t take that much in and she’s also not very experienced — mainly also his fault because he doesn’t let her do it that often. It’s a fight of dominance between them, really, because he just loves it a little bit more when he can go down on her and not the other way around.

Even though she's not perfect, she still is. Because it’s her.

She fists the part she can’t swallow, and bobs her head to the rhythm. He can clearly see that she enjoys it as much as he does, maybe even a little bit more because she likes that, likes it when she can make him lose his mind.

“That’s it. Just like that, breathe baby, don’t forget to breathe.” She looks up at him, her eyes a little teary but full of determination. “Good girl. You’re taking my cock so well. Your mouth feels amazing.”

Her lips curve into a smile around his cock and there’s a sparkle in her eyes. She’s always so happy when she gets praises and he’s not going to stop giving them. The sight almost makes him burst.

“Okay, okay, easy there tiger,” He whispers as she strokes him hard and fast while giving little pecks on the tip of his leaking head. “Come here,” His hand grips around her arm, pulling her up, kissing her hard.

“You wanna ride my cock?” He breathes into the kiss.

“Uh-huh,”

“Uh-huh? Are you even ready?” His fingers go down to her clit, rubs at it before breaching her pussy to check if she’s ready. Two fingers slip in without any problem, she’s soaked.

“Dean, please,” Y/N whines, moves her hips back and fucks down onto his fingers. “I’m ready, promise.”

He chuckles.

So needy.

“Then hop on, hold your skirt up, I wanna see,” 

She grabs at the hem of her skirt, pulls it up and bunches them around her, jams it into her armpit as she slowly sits herself down onto his awaiting dick.

Dean has to bite down on his bottom lip when he feels her warmth and wetness surrounding him. “Jesus,” He pants. “Oh my god, you feel so fucking good.”

Y/N stays still for a long time, her eyes cross before her eyelids begin to flutter, a soft moan escapes her lips.

He feels her pussy clench around him, squeezing him real tight and after a couple of seconds, she starts to smile and laugh.

“Fuck, baby. Did you just come?” He looks at her with admiration as she begins to bounce up and down his length.

She’s still laughing, “Yeah.”

“Christ, I didn’t do anything!”

“Your cock just hit the right spot, don’t get ahead of yourself,” She’s breathing hard again and he spits into his fingers, brings them down to rub at her clit. 

There it is, the eye crossing before the flutter of her lids. Her pussy flutters too, clamps down and grips at his cock like a vice.

He helps her ride it out, strokes her softly. 

“Do you have, like, a button inside you or what is it?” He asks in disbelief. She can come easily and often but it was never that easy.

She bites her lips, grins when she hears it. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” He says, “It’s my turn. Why don’t you lean forward?” 

Leaning forward, they’re chest to chest and Dean keeps one arm around her waist while he pulls her even closer by the back of her neck. He kisses her hot and wantonly as he starts to move his hips, fucks up into her, his movements growing harder and faster. The sound of his wet balls slapping against her ass is loud and obscene. He has to keep on kissing her so as not to let her make too much noise. She moans into his mouth and he drinks it up, like it’s something he needs to survive, and maybe it is.

He pulls her head back a little by her hair and she’s grinning, because she’s come to love that too. Hair pulling. Another kink they found out that she likes. Likes to mix pleasure with pain and who is he to deny her something that is such a fucking turn on for him as well.

“Look at me,” He whispers, low and dark, “I want to see your eyes when I come.”

His hips still work in a wild pace, fucking up into her hard and fast, their breathing mixing as they look at each other. Dean comes so hard he sees fucking stars.

He kisses her after, holds her close as he rocks his hips lazily against her, only stops when his cock softens inside of her.

Dean couldn’t help it, laid Y/N down and ate her out right inside the limousine. That’s what she was shy about at first too, Dean licking at her sloppy and fucked out cunt, but he makes it seem so natural and doesn’t mind his own cum still dripping out of her pussy.

He made her squirt too and she doesn’t even know if the devider’s been up between them and the driver, and even if it wasn’t, she didn’t really care. He licked her clean after, though, hums his approval while doing it and Y/N still doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t know how someone can enjoy it so much. Like, he really, truly enjoys going down on her and smiles like a kid on a Christmas morning when she would let him. Dean gave the driver a generous tip, because that poor guy needs to do some serious cleaning.

They get into the elevator and Dean leans against the wall, plays with her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, not too tired.”

He raises an eyebrow in question, “You aren’t?”

“Nah, I’m in the right mindset to have more mind blowing sex.” She grins, it’s cocky, she knows, and it’s not entirely true. She’s tired but she just loves winding him up.

Dean snorts, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s really great, but I hope the sex is not with me because I’m beat.” He pulls her close by her dress, leans down a little so their noses touch, “You’re wearing me out.” Dean kisses her before they get out as the elevator signals the arrival on their floor.

They are joking around some more while Dean pulls out the key to his apartment when there’s footsteps echoing on granite flooring.

“Ah, look at the happy couple.” Cain mocks, waving around with one hand that is holding a freaking gun.

Dean’s instinct was to stand before Y/N, shielding her with his own body. His second instinct was to push at the panic button on his key chain, alerting his men. A great little device courtesy of Ash.

She doesn’t want to stay behind him though, pushes herself back to the front. “Cain, what are you doing?”

This fucking girl, seriously.

“Get out of the way Y/N. I just want to talk to your boyfriend for a minute.” Cain’s voice cracks.

Cain’s been crying, Dean can see it, the red of his eyes, his cheek, his nose. 

Dean holds up his hands to let Cain see that he’s not armed and then he speaks, his voice calm and low. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously between you and me, Cain. So why don’t we let her inside. You still love her, don’t you? Do you really want to hurt her? Let her go in and we discuss the issue, whatever it is that upsets you.”

The tall man’s facade is crumbling, he’s weeping openly while he scratches his head with the barrel of a freaking gun. Somehow, Dean thinks that this won’t end well.

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Winchester. When I let her go she’ll call the police.”

“No, no.” Dean tries to calm him down, holding his hands up, fingers spread, “No police. I’m not really friends with them and she knows. You should know that, too. No police.”

Dean tries to push Y/N to the side but she stays in front of him. “Jesus Christ, baby, would you just for once do what I want you to?” He hisses through half gritted teeth.

She doesn’t even listen to Dean and takes a step closer to Cain. Dean’s so fucking close to lose his damn mind with her, “Whatever it is Cain, you can tell me too. Dean doesn’t hide anything from me. What happened?”

“What happened?” Cain laughs a laugh Dean only hears on people that are completely mad in their head. “I just got fired! Fired! Can you imagine, Y/N? It’s all because of him!” He waves his gun in Dean's face.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Dean tries to calm him down, and she tilts her head to look up at Dean to which Dean shrugs. 

“What are you doing, Cain. This won’t get you your job back?” She asks Cain and takes a step closer and Dean’s not really okay with that, and walks closer to her too. If he can get his will, he’d like for her to be behind him and not wandering closer to a fucking lunatic.

Cain grins, “I figured, if I kill him, I don’t need money to change your mind of coming back to me. Am I right? You’d come back to me, don’t you, Y/N?”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Cain.” Her voice is incredibly calm and Dean’s really impressed.

“Well, I’m gonna kill him anyway.” Cain shrugs and then he aims.

It’s like Dean’s stuck in slow motion. There’s so many things happening at once. Not even in Afghanistan where he fought a war did he see things like he does now. 

Dean sees the gun, sees Cain firing. It’s loud and the next thing he knows Y/N gets in front of him. The impact makes her hit his body before she slumps down to the floor. Her body hitting the granite with a dull thud.

“No!” Dean shouts, “No, no, no!” He crouches on the floor right next to her, his shaking hands touching her face before he inspects her wound. 

She’s hit right below her right clavicle and Dean’s pressing his hands on the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Oh no,” Cain’s on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, the gun lies abandoned on the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to. I love her!”

Dean has tears in his eyes himself. “If you fucking love her, then you would fucking pull yourself together and fucking help me here! Call a fucking ambulance! Now!”

He can see how Cain lets the word sink in but instead of helping, Cain sits on the floor and lies down, rolls himself up into a fetus position.

Dean cradles Y/N’s face with one hand while his other one still presses into her wound, his hand bloody and she opens up her eyes just a little. She’s in pain, and it hurts him even more. He presses on the wound harder and there’s a painful groan coming from her throat. “Baby, I’m sorry, I know it hurts. But stay with me alright? I got you, I’m here, I got you.”

Dean tries to pull himself together, manages to jump start his brain again to fish out his phone from his pocket and call an ambulance. 

When he hangs up he hears it.

“Dean!” 

A familiar voice is coming up the stairs. 

“Cas! Get Sergei, pull him out of his fucking bed, I don’t care!”

Sergei is Dean’s in-house doctor and thankfully lives only a floor below him. He can hear Cas turn around on his heels and fly down the staircase.

The doctor rushes up, still in only his underwear and kneels beside Dean. “I’m here, it’s okay.” He says and takes over in putting pressure on the wound. Dean stays there as he watches Sergei work on Y/N. 

Cas picks up the gun from the floor and stands back, keeping Cain in check.

Dean sits back on his heels, brushes away the tears from his face with bloody hands that are shaking uncontrollably. 

He can’t lose her. Not now. Not when things finally start to look up for him! He kneels there, staring at his hands. He hears sirens in the distance.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean to hurt her.” Cain’s sobbing voice brings Dean back to reality.

Brushing the tears and snot away from his face, Dean stands up and walks over to Cas, takes the gun from the man’s hand.

“Dean,” Cas says. It sounds like a warning at first but then Cas stands back, and nods at him.

And then everything goes so fast. Dean feels the familiar heaviness of a gun in his hand and launches forward, comes to stand before Cain, gun drawn to the guy’s head. 

Dean’s still crying, his vision is blurred. His hand shakes. 

“No, please.” Cain cries, “I’m sorry.”

Dean bristles with madness and anger. Knows that Cain is the fucking source of it.

“I love her,” Cain shouts. “I love her as much as you do!”

Brushing the tears away with the heel of his left hand, Dean speaks, “No, you don’t.” He breathes in and out. “Nobody loves her like I do.” 

Dean pulls the trigger.

CH26

[oftripps]

“ –– wow. ”  it’s not so much a critique as it is a g-rated expletive. tripp forces a smile mid-chew and blinks. “ my tastebuds are screaming. gah–– uh, singing. singing. ”  he avoids swallowing and as ring-decorated fingers snag a napkin, wide eyes drifting to the tabletop as a small jingle breezes past tensed lips. “ ~ allergic to mushrooms ~ ”

or, alternatively: this is somethin’ new! the caspar slide pt. 2 !! & this time, it’s ‘bout to get funky !!  so i’m linc and this is tripp and he’s........ a trip, honestly, so let’s just... yeet on into this ––

( joe keery + 22 + muse 12 ) isn’t that phillip joel “tripp” goodman over there? i heard he joined faction: one after they got back to west ham. it’s funny, ‘cause they were only on the service trip because HIS BANDMATES DUPED HIM INTO THINKING THE SIGN-UP WAS FOR A WOODS-THEMED OPEN MIC GIG. hopefully they fit in there – they’re JAUNTY but also OUTRÉ. oh, i’m sure they’ll be fine.

out the door !  ( tripp goodman: a roadmap )

look up townie family in the dictionary and you’ll find a portrait of the goodmans directly beside. these folks have a looooong flippin’ legacy here in lil’ ole west ham, kansas. it all started with montgomery goodman, a good man, who helped west ham’s founders break ground on this midwestern charmer several centuries ago. and now, the goodmans still live on the same property –– a refurbished farmhouse ( now closer to mcmansion ) surrounded by five acres of roooooollin’ hills. once upon a time, they were farming folk. now, theresa and joel goodman run the town’s one and only veterinary clinic. 

honestly, growing up? tripp was a problematic kid. he’d take in frogs from the woods and start his own frog hotels. he’d sneak pets from the clinic to school who “ needed help learning their numbers ”. in class, he’d flick sunflower seeds at the backs of his peers’ heads and, when threatened with discipline, claim he simply “ wanted to see if they’d grow  ” .  so no, to answer your question–– tripp never really saw the real wrath warranted by his rulebreaking.

in fourth grade, he chose the saxophone as his required instrument. he caused such a commotion in his house, that his parents asked his teachers to suggest something quieter. the viola. the flute. the clarinet. the piano. instruments came and went,;instruments were quickly mastered and abandoned. because dear lord, how many times could they listen to the spongebob theme song played on woodwind ?!  on strings ?!  once middle school rolled around, little phillip joel knew his way around a whopping total of six instruments, a tally that would only grow in the coming years. eventually, his parents caved and allowed him to keep playing, so long as he respected instrument curfews. they gave song requests to avoid hearing the same pieces on repeat: the goodman household was probably the only one blessed with an oboe-and-beatbox rendition of under the sea. young phillip joel’s take on the issue was simple: not all heroes wore capes.

( tw: domestic unrest, mentions of violence ) theresa and joel split when tripp was 9. just seven months later, tripp’s mother moved in with her girlfriend: tripp’s guitar teacher, ms. lillith. tripp didn’t mind ms. lillith. she was chill. he came to find out she could knock back a chocolate milk almost as fast as he could, and she liked her grilled cheeses with swiss only. his best friend became a thirty-six year old woman who happened to be his mother’s girlfriend. and that was fine. he could dig it. but joel goodman? oh no. his family name was tarnished. the scandal was too much to bear. joel sued for full custody and nearly made it, thanks to hometown politics and loyalties. but then he made one fatal mistake: he crossed his own son.

at 10 years old, fifth grade phillip joel returned home to his father’s after school with three fingernails painted effervescent blue. sidney frasier made me so cool, he gushed as he put his colored nails on proud display. dad, aren’t i so cool?  the next day, his dad enrolled him in the town’s peewee football program. he returned home from his first practice with a black eye and a split lip. from a ball, the coach insisted. hit the poor fella square in the face, real strong. phillip joel put up a fight against football; it wasn’t for him. it conflicted with music practice. couldn’t he just play music with ms. lillith instead?

the custody battle persisted. they settled on a parenting schedule. joel contested, consistently, months later. and so the cycle persisted up until phillip joel’s 12th year, when he was knocked out cold on the football field. the broken ribs came from hefty tackles. bruises from the fall. concussion from the impact. but theresa spun it to her advantage: joel had since started coaching the middle school team. this was an instance of parental neglect. and, when the courts didn’t comply, she instructed her son to jump down the stairs. one broken ankle later, and joel goodman was accused of child abuse. his word against his injured son’s. the maneuver won theresa full custody. phillip joel has yet to forgive himself.

after the custody battle’s conclusion, joel stayed in town: but phillip joel didn’t want a thing to do with sharing his name. his mother still scolds him as phillip joel, but to everyone else, he became tripp –– inspired by his knack for, you guessed it!, tumbling over his own two feet.

in high school, tripp was the class clown. always smirking, always grinning, always ready to catch someone off guard. he became a pivotal part of west ham high’s jazz band, and even formed a small group with a few buds: face. they played some school events: homecoming, pep rallies, prom. garage-baked young rock, their songs often preached meetings under bleachers and high school never ending. 

in senior year, the band saw a reboot: and after assuming a more indie, spacey sound and a nifty new name –– 1757. –– they saw a rise in local celebrity. coffee shops commissioned them for jam nights. they played on the local radio. so they collectively decided to stick around and see how far they could ride this west ham fame train. with tripp as their frontman, they always leave a memorable impression: he’s not exactly the most run-of-the-mill performer.

1757.’s sound is reminiscent of LANY: i’ve reblogged a few tunes onto tripp’s blog for reference. he’s v much a paul klein / matty healy vibe. big into music. big into losing himself in it.

so what was he up to before the service trip? playin’ tunes. working part-time as a waiter. and brainstorming ways to get out of going on this trip, as soon as he realized his stupid bandmates lied about the form he signed. an open mic in the woods ! pah !  he should have known. but the concept sounded pretty flippin’ cool.

wear our shades on our nose, 'cause we're cool like that ( tripp goodman: the man, the myth, the ledge )

oh god, he’s  w e i r d .  he believes in goblins and ghosts and aliens ( oh my )!

still VERY VERY close with his mother. v broken up about not being able to get through to her, because it was about to be his parents’ wedding anniversary and they were going to anti-celebrate it with big slices of oreo cheesecake and setting things on fire.

how he feels about coming home to west ham: post apocalyptic version.

uhhhh... can he please get a waffle? specifically a cinnamon raisin waffle with extra cinnamon and a shit ton of syrup? actually. syrup with a side of waffles?

why he was banned from his personal twitter.

“ do you even lift, bruv? ”  * proceeds to pick up a teacup & lift his pinkie like a true knock-off british monarch, shitty accent included *

listens to wham! and glam rock. unironically.bluetooth speaker mounted on his bike. no helmet! like an absolute boss. he knows!! wild!! shades on. it’s 2am. it’s dark. but true swag obeys no clock.

catch him biking everywhere stranger things style, actually. his bike’s name is milo because he can roll on for miles. mess with milo and he’ll fuck u up. aka find out if you’re lactose intolerant and slip heavy cream into your meal.

has a strong vendetta against blue doritos. which might take root in some horrific experiences involving cheez wiz, cool ranch, weed, and the new york subway system at 4am on a tuesday. spring break freshman year of college. oof.

he has a lil drawwwwl. tease him about it. he’ll probably blush.

stress-hums chili’s babyback ribs without realizing. catch him singin’ that about to be murdered.

weapon of choice: kindness.

actual weapon of choice: baseball bat.

he will write little jingles to keep morale up. “ so we’re trapped / cash us inside / how bou’ dat ? ”

has a passion for introspective literary quotes. but... has somehow managed to learn each and every one wrong.

friggin’ loves superheroes even though he can’t be bothered to watch the films? he just… always used to get made fun of for liking comic books even though he never read them? “ arachnid man is uh...  heh. he’s pretty dope, huh? ” he embraces the falsehood. someone call him on it.

9/10 times if he’s in the gym, it’s just to eat his donut and watch pay-per-view movies on the bike for free.

apple pie can absolutely be breakfast if you try hard enough. jeez. get with the times, man!

he had a legitimate pet rock before going on this service trip. but has no idea where that bugger’s gone. probably got fed up with tripp serenading him with “ we will rock you ” at all hours of the night.

lawful good. will wave other drivers on forever.

got into an accident on his bike once. bitch broke his arm and he just kept on smiling.  “ no you have a nice day! and uh.... hey. mind if we like... call an ambulance? ”

low key feels like he’s the reason his parents’ marriage crumbled. low key guilty about it. low key wonders if maybe he lived up to his father’s expectations, he might have saved them a lot of grief.

give benny goodman by saint motel a listen and tell me that’s not his soul in audio form.

known for slightly hyperbolic storytelling.

pansexual as heck. falls in love. hard. it’s a mess. he can’t hide it. hence the shades.

he has brilliant hair. and it’s immortalized in his high school yearbook.

is hellbent on being a source of positivity in this terrible situation. can he interest you in a meme in these trying times? how ‘bout a granola bar? maybe a good ole game of mash?

he’s convinced this is an elaborate prank. or a social experiment. maybe aliens. but let’s not question it too much, let’s just.... have a good time? hakuna matata? no worries? lol where the twizzlers at?!

leaves a voicemail for his mother every morning and every night. maybe he cries. maybe.

he has one ear pierced because like.......... senior year of high school, he wanted to feel more cool.

allergic to mushrooms, shellfish, eggs, and harbingers of doom.

he truly boggles minds. just.... v out there? v spacey. he closes his eyes and drifts about on stage, fingers dancing on the keys, body moving in eclectic ways. he says “groovy” and fuckin’ means it. he dresses in prints inspired by grandma’s carpet. lots of half-buttoned flowy shirts, boots, tailored statement pants, dangly necklaces. he’s got his hands full of rings –– they symbolize milestones. and some are just, like... pretty. and one’s his mother’s old wedding band.

where the hell are my friends !  ( wanted connectz. )

i was gonna do a whole section on this and got lazy but like.... anything. all the things. good, bad, ugly, beautiful. hurt him. make him suffer. but also support him a bit.

i imagine he’s got a solid squad goin’. he’s in faction one too, so... hmu for those.

i feel like he’d be pretty chill with the greeks? yeah bro, he parties. he’ll chill. he’ll crack open a cold one and pretend to understand what those letters on your jacket mean! pie-apple-fate-uh? cool stuff !

ride or dies. pls.

he needs someone to like....... melt his heart. maybe someone unexpected.

thisssss got long & disorganized but yes! let’s plot! let’s do this thang! #hype!!