#a b c d e

[actressposts]

[ehghtyseven]

Tanger just laying it out there for all the world to hear

[uwhe-arts]

calm down . . . | uwhe-arts

[stoat-party]

[png-magician]

[noxemma]

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

Parts 1&2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

———

Okay, not sure how much I actually like this part or not but I’m kind of over fighting it (bc I have ideas for the next part) so hopefully it’s good for y’all

———

Even with Dean insisting they stick as close to the messy truth as possible, it's almost too easy to fabricate their fictional relationship. They decide that Dean had been waiting at the corner for Sam when he'd seen Jack looking very confused and offered to give him directions. Cas had stumbled upon them as Jack was leaning into the open door to see the map Dean has pulled up, but mistook Dean for a would-be kidnapper. After yanking Jack away, Cas had given Dean a scathing tongue-lashing only to be corrected by Jack and Sam, who'd been asking Cas a question after class. At the defense of both his son and trusted student, Cas had realized his mistake and apologized to Dean. Then, feeling bad for assuming the worst of Dean, Cas had offered to buy him dinner and Dean has accepted. Given the chance to start over, Dean and Cas hit things off. They'd been dating for over a year before Dean had proposed to both Jack and Cas over his famous homemade burgers and pie just a few days before coming to the wedding.

It's a good story. So good that Dean half wants to believe it himself. And the craziest part is that it just might work. Cas doesn't have social media at all, and Dean only uses his to post pictures of the cars he's restored or currently working on. No one would question why Jack hadn't mentioned Dean because no one, aside from Cas' brother Gabriel, had ever met or interacted with Jack. And they'd agreed to tell Gabriel that they'd been keeping the relationship on the down low because Sam was Cas' student. Gabriel apparently lived for juicy gossip so that tidbit plus the knowledge that their engagement was a ruse to make Cas’ parents lay off the custody concerns would probably keep him off their backs, at least according to Cas.

"Okay, I think we've got the backstory down pat," Dean says, pasting on a mask of a smile as he faces the last elephant in the room. "Now, the only thing we have to go over is, um, believable details." "What do you mean?" Cas asks, head tilting adorably again.

"Well, uh. Like ..." Dean tries to think of something that won't be nearly as embarrassing or suggestive as what he's thinking, "Oh, okay. Well, I saw you have some tattoos. I do too. I have an anti-possession sigil here on my chest, I have Baby's grill on the back of my shoulder, a whole mess of less meaningful stuff on my arm, except for the baseball cap. That one is for Bobby. Oh, and the Superman and Batman one's in there are for me and Sam. Long story that involves pretending we were superheroes, broken arms, and taking Sam to the ER on the handlebars of my bike. And I want to get more." Cas' eyes trail across his clothed chest like he can see the ink underneath and heat suffuses Dean's cheeks.

Fuck! I really need my body to stop doing this every time he looks at me for more than five consecutive seconds. Although maybe people will actually believe we're in love if he keeps making me blush so easily, Dean thinks.

"Hmmm, I think I understand what you mean," Cas hums, not helping Dean's blush go away at all, "There are certain things that people who have been intimate with each other would know, such as the placement and meaning of tattoos."

"Yeah," Dean manages to choke out, because, Jesus, Cas was really staring at him, and he was about one minute from squirming in his seat like a horny teenager under the attention. "Something like that."

"I have some lines of Enochian across my ribs. It's an ancient, dead language that some scholars have hypothesized was the language of angels," Dean shoots Cas a grateful look for explaining right away so he doesn't feel stupid for having to ask. "The only other tattoos I have are a pair of wings that start at between my shoulder blades and spread down the back of each arm. I admit that I have been considering getting another one or two, but finding the time is challenging. I'd love to see yours at some point, if you don't mind of course."

"Fuck no, I don't mind!" Dean blurts a little too eagerly and he forces himself to take a breath before continuing, "And, if you're willing, I'd love to see yours too. Those wings sound amazing." "Of course. I'm very proud of them," Cas replies with a little nod, fingers fiddling with holes in the cuffs of his hoodie.

Silence settles between them for a few seconds as the sounds of Ramblin' Man fade, replaced briefly by a hum marking the end of the cassette. Dean hits the eject button but doesn't replace it. "I probably should have asked this sooner, and I know you agreed to this, but I would never want to assume-" "Just spit it out, Cas. Contrary to what my brother might think, I'm actually pretty damn hard to offend," Dean teases, trying to ease the obvious anxious cloud beginning to coalesce in the passenger seat. "You are interested in men, right? And single? I mean I was just thinking that, well, we'll have to act like we're in love, like we're engaged, which will probably require at the very least hand holding and- What exactly about that is so funny?" Dean can't help it. It's nearing one in the morning and he's too tired from driving almost six hours straight with only piss breaks to keep from cracking up at the hilarity that is Cas asking his relationship status and sexual orientation this far in. "You are, man," Dean wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes as he manages to regain control of himself. "We've already thought up a whole backstory and driven several hundred miles and now you're asking me if I even like dick? You have to admit it pretty damn funny." Cas’ face is serious and unmoving when Dean sneaks a peek at him, but then he hears the softest snort and he cracks up all over again, laughing so hard his stomach aches when Cas finally does join in. "So? Are you? 'Into dick'?" Cas asks after they're both mostly recovered, though his use of air quotes almost sets Dean off again.

"Yeah. Though I’m not strictly into sick. I'm bi. Although, I've never been in a serious relationship with a guy before so this will all still be kind of new to me."

"If it makes you feel better, neither have I," Cas admits. Instinct has Dean opening his mouth to make some joke about how someone as gorgeous as Cas had to have people lining up around the block to date him but the streetlights whizzing by illuminate a faraway look in Cas' eyes, a type of longing Dean could never put a name to but knows intimately. "We'll figure it out together," he offers instead, daring to reach his hand out to give Cas' a squeeze. "I'm sure we will," Cas murmurs and Dean can hear the slight smile as he flips his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing back. "Hmm. I suppose we should talk about PDA. I'm just along for the ride here, so whatever you want to do, I'm down for," Dean offers, probably a touch to enthusiastically but he bats the worry away, focusing instead on the heat of Cas' palm against his. Cas seems to ponder his statement, absently starting to rub his thumb across Dean's wrist and up the side of his thumb as he thinks. Dean damn near melts at the touch. It's so gentle and sweet and weirdly intimate and those are things he hasn't had in a long while.

He hadn't had much time to date on the road, plus John would probably have killed him if he'd found him fooling around with another guy, and then he'd been busy trying to raise Sam. He'd been content with one-night stands and a little fun every now and again, but now he wanted more. He just didn't know how to find it or worse, how to ask for it.

Maybe that's why I want to do this so bad, why I suggested being fiancés in the first place. Maybe this is as close as I'll get to the real thing.

"Hmm. I didn't really think about public displays of affection. My family has never been big on them; Gabriel of course is the exception as he is for many things. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, they are extremely religious and, no matter how much I disagree with them, I don't really want to antagonize them by throwing my queerness in their faces." "Noted. Do not make out sloppily in front of the parents no matter how funny it would be."

"Dean!" Cas lets out an exasperated sigh and Dean just knows he's rolling his eyes. "Sorry. Jokes aside, you want minimal PDA. Is like, hugging and holding hands, okay?" Dean asks because he has to know. He prays that Cas says yes, that he will have an excuse to touch and be touched like this again. "Yes, that's fine. And I'm sure that we'll have to kiss at some point to really sell the fake relationship to Gabriel ..." Cas trails off. His free hand comes up to his face and his fingertips ghost over his lips.

Is he thinking about kissing me? Dean wonders, his heart picking up pace as he definitely thinks about Cas and how his full lips might feel. "I'm sure I would survive having to kiss you," Dean whispers. He means for it to come out as a joke, something to jolt them both out of the weird tension that has begun building and winding between them, skittering back and forth across their connected hands.

But it doesn't come out sounding like a joke at all. At least not to Dean's ears. No, to Dean it sounds exactly like what it is: a lie.

Dean is saved from however Cas was going to respond to that by the thwak thwak thwak of Baby's wheels hitting the rumble strip and he jerks his gaze and the wheel away from Cas' profil back towards the center of the road. "Are you okay, Dean?" Cas blurts, concern clear and genuine. "Yeah, yeah. Uh, sorry about that. I gotta put in another tape so I don't fall asleep or start hallucinating sheep on the road or something,” Dean spews.

The rest of the drive is relatively silent, though, to Dean’s utter shock, it's not uncomfortable. Probably because Cas keeps his hand in Dean's but he's not going to question it, not when he's fighting to keep his eyes open.

It's near three in the morning when Cas finally gives the last direction and they pull up to the fanciest hotel Dean has ever seen.

He drops Cas off to get checked in while he hunts down a parking spot in the hotel garage.

It isn’t until opens the back to get their luggage that he realizes his mistake.

He’s so used to traveling light with Sam that he forgot just how much luggage there could be.

He pulls out Cas' rolling bag, determined that it should come in. He also grabs Cas' wedding gift, just because the large wrapped box would probably draw the wrong kind of attention and he didn't want to risk it no matter how much security the swanky hotel had.

Tucking the box under one arm and gripping Cas' bag with his hand left him with one free hand to choose between Cas' briefcase, his duffle, the suits, or the boxes of their fancy shoes that Cas had also purchased at Kendricks. Dean sighs, knowing there is really only one choice, and fumbles with his free hand to wrestle out the small bag that has his toiletries. He shoves it in his pants pocket before gently sliding out the suits, folding them gently over his arm so they wrinkle as little as possible and then reaching in to clutch Cas' briefcase in his fingers. He's pretty sure he looks like some kind of urban scarecrow as he makes his way out of the parking garage and into the hotel, but he tries not to let it bother him.

The hotel is so big and confusing that he gets lost a few times before being pointed in the right direction by a tattoo shop that's just closing down for the night.

"Gotta love Vegas. This is the real city that never sleeps," he mutters blearily before perking up when he finally spots Cas standing by a counter. Cas is fuming when Dean comes to a stop next to him, whisper-shouting into his phone before slamming it on the counter and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Wha's wrong, Cas?" "My idiot brother, is what's wrong," Cas groans. Dean must look super pathetic as he blinks stupidly at Cas because he takes pity on him and elaborates. "He didn't think I was actually bringing a plus one, so he only booked me for a single room."

"O-" Dean yawns so wide that he thinks he hears his jaw pop, "Kay. So, what's the problem?"

"There's only one bed, Dean," Cas splutters

“Cas, babe. That's not a bad thing." "It's not?" Cas asks and Dean doesn't see the pink that begins to emerge the other man’s face as he fails to stifle another yawn. "No, if anything it'll, it'll just solidify our story." "Oh, right. Our story."

Dean frowns at the way Cas' shoulders droop but he doesn't have enough brain cells to process the conundrum of Cas being upset at having to share a bed, then upset that they're only sharing the bed to further the plot of their fake relationship. Dean blinks again and when he opens his eyes Cas is standing in front of a door, wedding present now under one of his arms as the other swipes the plastic card to admit them into the suite.

The room is huge compared to the dinky motels he and Sam grew up in. Dean hangs the suits up in the closet before really taking the time to admire the space.

"Damn. This place is nice," Dean says to no one in particular.

"It should be for what Gabriel is paying for it," Cas mutters, hefting his bag onto a chair and digging through it for something.

Dean leaves him to it, turning to snag the remote off a desk and turn on the giant TV positioned perfectly in front of the bed. He flips through channels until he hits on Forensic Files. It was stupid that the grainy show gave him comfort in an area he felt so out of place in. Every dingy hotel or moral that has a TV got Forensic Files and too many sleepless nights with it being the only thing to keep him company as he watched over Sam and waited for their Dad to wander back from the bar had made it feel like home. Dean allows himself to flop stomach first onto the mattress, not even trying to hold back the moan that escapes at its plushness. Cas says something too him and he grunts in affirmation, but he has no clue what Cas said, too busy enjoying the deep cushion of the mattress and being lulled to sleep by the rerun on the screen.

He almost thinks it's a dream when a new noise causes him to turn his head and he sees Cas exit the bathroom, dark hair spilling droplets of water down his bare chest, flannel pants slung low on his hips giving Dean a perfect view. His eyes glide greedily over the lines of inked writing placed just across the lower left side of his ribs, which naturally draws Dean's attention to sharp hip bones and the hint of a happy trail.

All his blood rushes south and Dean drops his face into the mattress, thankful that it can hide his hard on

"Dean?" Cas whispers. "'m awake, just restin' m'eyes," Dean mumbles through the comforter. "Oh, well, I'm done in the bathroom if you need to use it." Dean makes an ambiguous noise, strategically waiting until he hears Cas move toward the head of the bed before he rolls off and makes as fast a beeline for the bathroom as he can without being suspicious.

Once he's safe inside with the door locked, Dean contemplates his options. Which is to say, he can walk back out with a boner, or he can take a cold shower because he sure as hell isn't jacking off with Cas on the bed just beyond the door.

He sighs and turns the shower on to cold. He shucks his clothes quickly and forces himself under the frigid spray before he can chicken out, cussing and shivering the whole time.

He turns the spray to warm once he's flaccid again and he is finally able to appreciate the luxury of the rain shower head.

Dean's so relaxed by the time he finally turns off the water that it isn't until he's stepping onto the tiled bathroom floor and wrapping a towel around his waist that he realizes his predicament.

"Son of a bitch!" "Dean? Is everything okay?" Cas calls with sleepy concern, the sound getting loud enough that Dean knows he must be waiting just on the other side of the door for Deans reply. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm- Well ... no. I uh. Well, we had so many bags and things and I figured your stuff and the suits were more important and-" Dean cuts his babbling off and forces himself to get to the point. "I left my bag in the car, and I don't have anything to change into."

There is silence for a moment and Dean's stomach clenches. Then Dean hears Cas going deeper into the room before returning again. The door opens and his hand appears holding a bundle of fabric.

"Cas, what-?"

"I'm a bit of an anxious packer so I always have a spare set of everything. These should do for tonight and we can get your bag in the morning. And before you argue, we're already sharing a bed so what's sharing clothes. Just think of it as getting into character for being fake fiancés."

Dean can't really argue against that so he accepts the clothing and gently shuts the door.

It turns out that Cas had handed him some grey sweats and a pair of neon orange boxer briefs. He tries not to think about Cas wearing them as he pulls them on but fails miserably and he's half hard by the time he yanks on the sweats. They're a little short and a little snug but way better than having to pull on his dirty clothes or sleep in the towel, no matter how plush it is. He fishes the toiletry bag out of his discarded jeans and brushes his teeth longer and more forcefully than normal as he tries to will his dick to stand down metaphorically and literally. Finally, he's as ready as he can be and he slips out of the bathroom into dimly lit room. Turns out Dean didn't need to worry at all because Cas is passed out on the left side of the bed. He must have nodded off waiting for Dean because he's sitting against the headboard with his head flopped onto his shoulder, a small trickle of drool crusting as it dried on his chin. He looks so adorable and it reminds Dean of when Sam would fall asleep studying. Only Dean's heart didn't do an entire acrobatics routine at the sight of a drooling Sam.

"Cas, sweetheart," Dean breathes, "Can we get you under the blankets?" Cas groans and mutters something unintelligible without opening his eyes or moving an inch. Dean chuckles and starts pulling the blanket out, managing to get him tucked under the sheets and comforter in a few minutes. Once he's under the blanket Cas shimmies himself down to snuggle into the pillows. Dean takes one more moment to admire him before he turns out the side light and slides in on his own side.

His eyes feel like they’re holding the world but he manages a brief, mostly coherent text to Sam.

Dean: Made it to hotel ok. How as Jack?

Sam likes his message and it's all Dean can do to keep his eyes open until the blinking dots turn into text.

Sam: Jack and I are great. He really is a good kid, super smart and kind. Dean: Course he is. Well call and chek in in the AM

Dean doesn't wait for Sam's reply, just slips the phone back onto the nightstand and waits for his usual struggle to fall asleep, bracing himself for it to be worse because he's in a new place on top of sleeping in the same bed as someone.

He wouldn't necessarily label himself as an insomniac, he just happens to usually only get between four and six hours of sleep. Probably shoulda warned Cas about that. Should ask him if he's a morning or night person. And if he's a heavy sleeper or if the TV will wake him up. Should ask him if he likes coffee or... Dean falls asleep making a list of all the things he wants to know about Cas.

---

Something wakes Dean, but he can't pinpoint exactly what it is and then he forgets to look for it because the pillow in his arms is warm, and soft and smells like heaven.

Dean keeps his eyes closed as he wiggles closer to the pillow, breathing in deeply in hopes of drowning in the clean yet somehow spicy smell.

Then the pillow moves, pressing back closer into his chest and Dean realizes that somehow in the night he'd ended up spooning Cas.

And now he was stuck. Frozen with one of his arms bent beneath his head while the other was draped across Cas' torso, fingers brushing just above his belly button, his nose ghosting the inked ridge of Cas' shoulder, and his hips and cock flush against the curve of Cas' ass. Dean slams his eyes shut again as if not seeing will somehow magically take his erection away or keep Cas from waking up to find that Dean had turned into a handsy creep during the night.

Fuck. Okay, don't panic, let’s start by just slowly scooch-

"Holy shit balls, he’s real!"

Dean cracks his eyes a sliver and searches for the source of the voice. He sees a man shorter than Cas with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, holding a phone above him and, presumably, snapping pictures of him doing his best impression of an octopus.

"Honest to god, I was eighty seven percent sure that Cas had made you up,” the voice appears to mutter to itself. “Okay, one for evidence, one for the baby book, and one for blackmail.” Dean is about to open his mouth and tell this weirdo to get lost or get wrecked when he feels Cas move, rearranging the tiniest bit so he can maneuver his head up to pin the man with what Dean assumes is a death glare by how the guy freezes in place. "Gabriel, I swear, if you wake him,” Cas growls. The sound is so deep and vicious and protective that Dean can feel the reverberations of it in his own chest.

“Castiel, is that any way to talk to your favorite brother?” Gabriel replies, though his voice is softer. “I was coming to pre game brunch but it looks like you actually slept for once. Should I be worried you’re dying?”

“No,” Cas hisses, irritated voice barely above a whisper. “I just sleep better with Dean. Now, get out before I make you!”

“And how do you plan on doing that my dear, baby brother? You going to sic your beefcake here on me?”

“Worse. I will revoke all fun uncle privileges and I will move into a shitty apartment where Jack will be miserable and you’ll have to sleep on the couch when you visit.”

Gabriel gasps like he’s really been scandalized, and Dean can hear his footsteps retreating.

“The photos Gabriel, I want them-”

Dean is sure that Cas meant to say he wanted them deleted or gone but Gabriel interrupts before Cas can finish the command.

“No problemo, boss. Done! Cute pics of a tatted hunk wrapped around you signed, sealed, and delivered to your phone. Don’t be late for brunch! If you leave me alone too long unsupervised I may just lose my senses and murder a few of our relatives and then you’ll have to bail me out of jail.”

“Get. Out,” Cas snarls and Dean hears something soft hit the wall in Gabriel’s general direction before the door clicks open then shut.

“Dude, your brother is weird,” Dean whispers before he does something selfish like pretend he’s still asleep and continue to subject Cas to his morning wood. He pulls away from Cas but stops when Cas’ hand clamps around the one Dean had slung around his waist.

“Wait, please don’t- You don’t have to-,” Cas starts before giving up and releasing Dean’s hand. “I’m sorry Gabriel woke you. I get the feeling that, like me, you don’t sleep much.”

“Borderline-insomniacs of a feather?” Dean quips to cover the way he immediately halts the retreat he never wanted to initiate.

Dean can’t breathe when he feels Cas laugh, still close enough that the sound echoes across his body as well, warm and tingly and so alive.

“Is- Are you- Do you mind this?” Cas asks, voice quiet and unsure and nothing like the confident growl it had been earlier.

“Do I mind? Cas, I should probably be asking you that since it wasn’t your dick jabbing into my backside this morning. I’m sorry for that by the way, but that should have been a pretty clear indication that I didn’t mind at all and maybe even enjoyed cuddling a little too much.”

“There’s really nothing to apologize for, Dean; it’s a natural response. But responding naturally to stimuli is not the same thing as wanting or enjoying it, so I just wanted to make sure.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that and the implication he could clearly read in between Cas’ words. Rage boiled in his veins at the idea that someone might have touched Cas, or worse, without his consent and he nearly drew blood with how tightly he was biting down on his lip.

“I didn’t mind, by the way, so please don’t think that you, that you somehow took advantage of me or something. I wasn’t lying when I told Gabriel I slept better with you here. This is probably the first time in over a month I’ve gotten over five consecutive hours of sleep,” Cas confesses.

“Five? What time is it?”

“It’s around …” Cas checks his phone on the nightstand, “Nine-thirty.”

“Damn. That’s almost unheard of for me. Sam would probably ask if I’m dying too,” Dean admits.

They go silent, content to let each other steal a few more selfish moments in bed. Finally though, Cas let’s out a groan and rolls away from Dean, huffing something about stupid brunches under his breath.

Dean doesn’t have time to be devastated by the loss because Cas immediately sits up and stretched his arms, unintentionally giving Dean a glorious and unobstructed view of the magnificent wings decorating his shoulders and arms.

He can’t help himself, reaching out and lightly stroking one of the photorealistic feathers, awe and wonder possessing him to caress and admire.

Cas back muscle ripples beneath the touch and he turns his head slowly to look over his shoulder. His eyes latch onto Dean’s fingers, still just brushing his skin as if Cas is some holy figure he shouldn’t be daring to touch, tracing the trail of his arm all the way up to his face.

Blue eyes ensnare Dean and he wouldn’t be able to look away even if he wanted to. Something taut and coiled begins to warm between them, getting so hot it scorches the air from Dean’s lungs and strips him of all rational thought.

He’s just about to lean forward and do something reckless like place a kiss on one of those magnificent feathers while maintaining direct eye contact when Cas’ phone starts ringing, startling them both away to their respective edges of the bed.

———

@colorlessjay @destielfangirl24

[starroola]

I love guest miis!!!! I need more lore on them!!!!!!

screenshot of buggy and shigi from @miimaker3d i love their videos they’re fun:))

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Tom and Susan?

i love it when i get an ask that i already have a sketch for.

[ri-afan]

Anyone got a story where Amity Park becomes independent without the rest of the USA noticing until some hero stumbles upon (or crash lands in) it?

[lalallalas-posts]

'byler is endgame' I say into the mic as I step onstage. the crowd boos and throws various vegetables at me. 'stranger things have happened' comes a chorus of voices from backstage. i turn around. it's noah schnapp and finn wolfhard.

[dollypopup]

Give it up for the 4 out of 8 Bridgerton siblings who are gay as fuck

[christiangeistdorfer]

PATRICK DEPAILLER, 1980

[aoitakumi8148]

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓤𝓹 𝓐𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝓢𝓸𝓷... 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓤𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓞𝓷𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷...

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃-𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝑒 ‹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅› 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃? 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 ‹𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃› 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝑔𝑜?

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to dull the edge of it is what I have been doing since v.1. As if something has indeed been fragmented & this is the pain of my conscious life. And every time I travel the melodious/glamorous path of frenzy, every time I complete it, I am going to experience the same precious pain intensity, purity of pain/ecstasy. I am going to eventually be bound to this inmost/overwhelming awe, this vehement impulse to feel/fondle/kiss what is loved, to kneel down before it, to cuddle up to its heart, to recompense bliss with bliss... More and more. Neither the good boy nor I are free. I do not want to be free... free from... These bare feelings are ‹clawing› at the reconstructed interpretation of the organ inside me. The great minds will not know what they have done, neither will Anthony... It speaks louder-truer than anything, but the sounds are not obvious... Words. All I possess, this rich but poor instrument for... And you always do end up in the point where...

The aesthetic masterwork, perfused with the golden brilliance of authentic ideality x pierced with the darkest blade of bitter-salty inaccessibility, inevitability, impossibility.

Excruciation, pleasure, euphoria, art. Blended together. Find yourself... or lose yourself on this journey. Emotionally. Totally. An unparalleled effect... and the lulling sparkle the vessel has never actually had. Something in this body x mind has died, and I do not know if there is a way to accept it, to recover it. I have described the lesson of unprecedentedness I have learned, not the expected story of ‹insult-betrayal-contempt›. No one will ever f-g hear it. Not from me, not in this lifetime. / Loving extraordinary is merciless a priori, დ/დ become telepathic... & the severest trial ~ the unhealable wound ~ is to be a 𝓟 son without the cause to be... *If I have to detest many donkeys for a chance to protect one venerated Father figure, I will go for it.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉... 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒, '𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹. 𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈...

While I am willing to imbibe all the anguish of the human I love, to ease his suffering, the loss of us is taking its toll on me irretrievably. I see him. I see what is inside him... & I am incapable of safeguarding it, saving it truly.

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to put up with this gift is what I have been doing since v.1. The chest is ‹cut open› too deep, the fragility of the organ is exposed... Would you allow me to grow more flowers? I wanna do it... Because it is you, It has always been you. The one who has given us everything, endued me to the brim with the intimate fatherly affection that this organ never remembered. My eternal wish & exuberant price for humanity, the misunderstood nature. *What an odious irony. / I do not know if there is a way to recover what is gone.

I would sacrifice the lot to be with the human that needs me, needs to be healed, heals me. I would rip my core out but I cannot, the limitation of freedom. *Tell me that the ‹strings of abuse/child neglect/lies› are finally cut. Tell me to ‹celebrate›. Tell me that both 𝓟inocchio/I are wrong x naive, ‹fix› me. You have no f-g clue about it. / When it is written that your starving heart must be left half-empty & helpless... No freedom is scarier than this.

Affording harmony to the sapphire star that is going to fall away... The sentiment it deserves. All I have ever hankered for. & I am terrified of that my grandest instinct x fear will not grant any lasting peace to me.

Death will do our Sun-hugged family apart ~ but I will still be yours, for ever. The core has never felt as good x feverish as it does when with you... as astray x anxious as it does when deprived of you. I am not lying to you, I hold no resentment... Let me ‹feed on› the emotions of your heart... Even if it means your pain x my love turn the vessel inside-out & your love x my pain do the same. Not blurred, always remember. Always. If a masterpiece could be made into a masterpiece, I would prefer to share this fate. My bona fide mission, however, is not to allow anything to be in vain... Even if it hurts. ~ The atrophied ability to express love verbally has been ‹roused› again, in a fervidly devoted but preciously righteous way... The ‹lash› of despair, compulsion, dream, reality.

𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃... 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈. 𝐿𝒪𝒫 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟙/𝓂𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇.

...Take the whole meaning of this, its flavorful, pathetic, shameless, lonesome taste. Take it all, for it is all that is absolute. Teach me how to ‹merge› with it, the mortal desire of a puppet child, a human Mastro x a faceless observer like myself ~ & when the desire full of unexploited majesty is cutting off the oxygen to the lungs... True geniuses of any kind are among the silent. These eyeballs will not dry up, never fully. I have tried so many times to resist it, but why live if you repel what puts your ‹dehydrated› pieces together? I would spare no effort to keep them hot and uncurb what is being restrained... Nothing affects self-perception and ‹unmasks› the unconscious like sensation, nothing genuinely matters without it. / Shivering with cold, this body is burning. My atrophied reality in exchange for a moment of irrepressible happiness, agony, guiltless x not bottled up impulses ~ just a moment. It keeps consuming me without reserve. I do not need God. ✒

[potatowithinternet]

"one must separate the source from the spinoff to truly enjoy their interpretation," I say, lifting my pinky finger into the air as I take a sip of my Earl Gray tea. The crowd hums in agreement.

"ONE MUST SEPARATE THE SOURCE FROM THE SPINOFF TO TRULY ENJOY THEIR INTERPRETATION," I said, gripping the shattered remains of a mirror and sobbing over what the FUCK dc has done with my boy.

[destialpal]

Just thinking about Andrew Minyard this evening and how his love language is gift giving

[evilneo]

thinking about them all