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an-android-in-a-tutu · 1 year

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an important aspect of the fuck van thesis to be clear is that cas often functions as a parody of Sam and Dean and their whole deal. Sometimes I think this is even on purpose. But mostly it's a side effect of setting Cas up to be a failed version of them and inadvertently having him reveal how ridiculous they are. Having someone naively mimic them with all the pretense stripped away inevitably reveals that Sam and Dean are kind of hilarious losers. The pop Girlies aliases are a good example of this. Gas n Sip steve is kind of a subtler one.

When Sam and Dean try to leave the hunting life they invariably find an appropriately manly occupation and stumble ass backwards into a relationship with a willing woman who usually just already has a nice big suburban house waiting for them to step up and be the man of. Cas doesn't get that, (okay he also gets a wife at some point just by stumbling naked out of the woods but that's a topic for a different day) he gets a humiliating retail job and a failed date that wasn't even a real date.

Except Dean at least is explicitly painted as emasculated in his blue collar man's man construction job, and Cas finds honour and purpose in his degrading work. And then as soon as you think about it for five seconds, you realize that Cas is a complete outsider to human society with no knowledge of how to even get a job, let alone the paperwork he needs to apply, and suddenly the fact that he managed to land a shitty minimum wage job at all is cooler than anything Sam and Dean have ever done.

Anyway because I'm sexier than the spn writers I want Cas to be a parody of the Winchesters on purpose. He does what they do but shed of its pretentions, and then is more successful for his honesty. The fuck van is ridiculous but it is only superficially more ridiculous than hooking up with someone in the back of your muscle car. And actually it's a lot more comfortable because Cas has more room and a real mattress. Similarly while much has been said about Dean using hookups as a standin for intimacy, Cas is fully aware that he's seeking human contact as much as sex, and is therefor free to be open and vulnerable and forge genuine if fleeting connections with people.

Similarly this Cas would be a hunter but instead of faking being law enforcement and protecting suburban america, he would stumble into the knowledge that unhoused people are incredibly vulnerable to being preyed on by monsters that hunters never even hear about because no one gives a shit. He can be successful at it because he doesn't have to navigate lying, it's easy to find people who are in the know and are happy to talk openly without being labeled as crazy, and failing that it's easy to find people who will tell you which parts of the city just aren't safe to be in even if they don't know or don't want to admit why. There are episodes of supernatural that reveal whole fuckin monster underground that Sam and Dean are unequipped to deal with and never learn to because they don't actually encroach on the type of people the show is actually about protecting. Cas is in his fuck van doing a deconstruction of the show supernatural and I for one love that for him.

#spn #castiel #fuck van truthing #similarly the substance use would fall outside the realm of acceptable man pain protagonist drinking #He is drinking a whole bottle of wine and getting high because it makes him feel good #listening to best of all possible worlds and saying it's just like my real life because he's a melancholy country music drifter #rather than the classic rock kind #similar genre shared history #but when you wake up hung over you get sad and wish you still went to church

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suspicious-whumping-egg · 1 year

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Rock Bottom Part 4: A Moneymakers AU

This series is based on the moneymakers series by @coldresolve! You can find part 1 of the AU series here. The last part of this chapter was inspired by this drawing by him and this post.

Renee couldn’t help but feel that he was getting a taste of his own medicine.

He hung from the low basement ceiling by his wrists, feet barely touching the floor, and watched as Corbin tied a bandana around his face, flicked on a bright spotlight that burned in Renee’s eyes, and positioned the camera.

“Welcome back, my friends,” he said brightly, as if he was introducing a travel vlog rather than a snuff film.

“As you can see today, we have a new… guest joining us today. It’s time to find out his niche.”

He strode to the laptop, and in minutes, offers started rolling in. The desk was close enough that Renee could just barely make out the chat— and its placement was too precise to be unintentional.

Four thousand bucks if Corbin will drug him up. Two thousand to whip him. One thousand for a good, old fashioned, brass-knuckled beating. Ten thousand to cut off a finger.

His head spun, and he gasped for breath, barely realizing his breathing had become so shallow. He’d been hyperventilating, much to the amusement of whichever creeps were watching the stream. Probably the same ones who watched Conrad’s.

It’d been different. It’d been for the money, the rush, the power, the outlet. Corbin just enjoyed watching people suffer.

As if Renee never had.

Corbin grinned at him, turned to the camera to give it a wink, then addressed Renee once more.

“You know what? I’m just gonna give it a few minutes before we get started. Let the audience get their offers in, and I’ll pick a few favorites.”

The chat was rolling.

WYV3RN: if that’s the case, fuck him right here for 20. take it or leave it.

no_pain_no_gain: We haven’t gotten a vivisection in a while ;))) how much to see his guts?

[redacted]: It’s his first time, let’s ease him into it with a whipping. I’ll up the offer to 2.5k.

user_029473: Boring… but maybe if it’s wrapped in barbed wire? Five thousand.

W3VYRN: at least strip him. five hundred.

user_638745: Nothing wrong with the classics. Waterboard him for 10.

If Corbin did everything they asked at once, Renee wouldn’t last for more than a day. Maybe that’s why so many of the bloodstained cells were empty.

Corbin sidled up to Renee and leaned into his laptop, an arm wrapping around his waist as he scrolled through the suggestions.

“A barbed wire whipping? Can’t say that’s completely original, but it sounds like fun. And I’ve been in need of a new whipping boy. As for you, Wyvern, get your head out of the gutter.”

Renee couldn’t help but sag in relief at Corbin’s denial of the most perverted request, although he knew he wasn’t in the clear yet. If Corbin was anything like him, he’d do anything if it had the right price tag.

He turned to Renee without hesitation, pulling a black butterfly knife out of his pocket and flipping it open.

“Do you want to hear what happened to my last one?” He said it as plainly as if the two were discussing the weather at a tea party.

The basement grew silent, and Renee realized he actually wanted a response.

“Not really,” he muttered, praying no one would recognize his voice from his own streams. He took in a shaky breath and forced his lips into an utterly fake half-grin that looked a lot more like a grimace.

“Surprise me.”

If there was anything he’d learned from Conrad, Renee knew a terrified, sobbing victim was much more fun than anything else. And he refused to give Corbin anything— reactions, views, money. Not if he could help it.

Corbin whistled, sliding the tip of the blade under Renee’s shirt and splitting the fabric with one smooth, practiced motion.

“Looks like someone’s excited to get started, hm?”

Shit. If there was anything he knew about his own audience, the kinds of people who watched red rooms were creeps in ways more than one. He had to make himself human. Undaunted. But not masochistic.

“Not remotely,” he snapped, trying not to shiver as cold air hit his bare skin. His hands shook for a cigarette, hard enough to rattle the chains around his wrists. Now it looked like he was trembling in hopeless panic. God, why hadn’t he tried to get one from Corbin before fucking it up and trying to attack him?

“I just want to get it over with.”

Corbin laughed. “Now that, I’m afraid, we can’t arrange. See, a private benefactor reached out to me shortly after you posted your… advertisement. And he’s offering me a generous sum if I run this session until you pass out. Although… I’ve thought of some ways to make it a bit more interesting. You could call them rewards, I suppose. If you behave, make yourself likable. That’s up to you.”

He grabbed the handle of a whip and tugged it so the leather slithered ominously down from the rack to the floor, then dug around a drawer until he produced a length of barbed wire.

“Feel free to queue up some more suggestions while I get this ready, I’m hoping to need plenty of them.”

Renee squinted to read the chat, but Corbin spun the laptop to the side so he was now oblivious to the devious suggestions of the bloodthirsty audience.

He talked aimlessly to the camera as he wrapped the whip, clearly one to love the sound of his own voice.

“So, considering it’s a bit of a special episode today, I was thinking after we get a good variety of methods tested out, I’ll hold a group vote on what his… niche should be. Although considering his infamy on certain sides of the dark web, I’m not going to do anything too permanent. No cutting stuff off, doing what we did to poor Finn, anything like that. Wouldn’t wanna risk a mob of angry fans showing up to rip me apart, y’know? Sorry to disappoint, yeah, yeah. But that’s why we have the others. If we severely maimed them all, it wouldn’t be as fun when we did, would it?”

He finished off the wire with a couple solid twists, then cracked the whip once in the air, testing its suppleness with the newly added restriction.

“What do we think? Looks good? Should we make him count?”

He turned to scroll in the chat, and what he found must have been good enough, because he stepped a few feet behind Renee and flashed a grin at the camera.

“In that case, let’s get started. Crowd wants you to count, and I’ll tell you what— make it to thirty without messing up, and I’ll give you something from my stash. You’re addicted to cocaine, if I’m not mistaken? Just make it to twenty, and I’ll give you enough to take the edge off the withdrawal, how’s that sound? If you’re good enough, maybe I’ll make it ten.”

Renee’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly at the mention of the drug, the mere hope that his lethargy might be relieved, and he nodded solemnly. He had to make it. There was no other option.

“Perfect,” Corbin responded giddily.

The crack of leather whistling through the air was the only warning he received for the first lash. The razors of the wire tattered a hot, furious stripe across his back, and Renee choked on the cry that forced itself from his lips.

“One—” he gasped desperately.

“Hmm…” Corbin murmured. “I’ll cut you some slack on the first one, but you’d better be louder than that from now on.”

Crack.

The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him, and he doubled over, tears springing from his eyes at the intensity of the pain ripping through him.

“Aah— uh— two!” He barely managed to force the word out as he struggled to draw breath, rivulets of blood already beginning to run over his skin.

Crack.

The whip crossed the two previous lashes, blades tearing the other wounds deeper and cutting whatever untouched skin was left by his shoulder blades.

“THREE!” He practically screeched it through the blinding agony that consumed him.

By eight, his throat was raw from screaming, his face stained with tears as his blood began to run all the way to the cold cement floor. His back throbbed beyond belief, and he hung limp in the chains, unable to even stand through the agony. .

His vision went white at twelve, as the strike wrapped the whip around his side, carving over his stomach. His scream turned into a broken sob, all thoughts of numbers retreating from his mind. There was only room for more pain.

The space filled with Corbin’s gleeful laughter, and to Renee’s relief, the sound of the whip’s handle clattering to the floor.

“Looks like he made it just past ten. Poor thing… I’ll have you know that my last whipping boy could take fifty of those without flinching by the time I was through with him.”

Renee’s chest shook with sobs, both of relief and agony. He glanced at the floor and nausea clenched his gut to see so much of the concrete slick with his own blood.

“P-probably ‘cause you destroyed the nerves by the third time you tried it,” he bit out, fury winning out over sense.

Yet Corbin only grinned. “Looks like the pain put a little fight in ya. And it seems you’re quite the crowd pleaser. A 20k contribution without a request, just for how pretty you are when you cry— so you know what? I’ll meet you halfway.”

Renee’s sobs nearly returned with renewed vigor just from the relief that he might get what he do desperately needed.

Corbin turned back to his supplies until he found a bag of the white powder Renee had been hoping for.

“How about this? We hit two birds with one stone. A viewer asked to see you all cut up, and you’ve earned your fix. I’ve heard this works from the Internet, and you’re giving me the excuse to test it out.” Corbin gave a devious wink to the camera and pulled out his balisong once again. He flipped it between his fingers for a moment before circling Renee, looking for the best place to cut.

He settled on his collarbone, and pressed the cold steel against the skin so dangerously close to Renee’s neck.

“For science, tell me how it goes.”

And with that, he drew a sharp line of pain right above Renee’s collarbone. Renee barely gasped, he was used to knives, and the pain was far less vicious than that of the whip.

Corbin observed his reaction intently as he opened the bag of cocaine, shaking the tiniest bit over the cut. It stung as it met the wound, but the effects were nearly instant. Energy flooded Renee in mere seconds, and the world was as it should have been. It was enough to make him forget the bloody, twisted mass of flesh that used to be the skin of his back.

But the feeling faded just as quickly, sending him crashing back to reality. Back to pain.

He shuddered, tugging against the chains.

“Please…” he whispered.

He hated himself for it. He truly did. But this was a time when need surcompassed pride.

“Just a little more…”

But of course, Corbin only flashed that wicked grin at him in return.

“If you want more, you’ll have to earn it.”

#no editing no anything #Nearly 2k all written on plane #9 hour flight just landed and I feel like SHIT #chronic pain is an ass esp when I either sit or stand for a long time (or have too much activity. or breathe. or do anything)#and this is a good distraction #anyway have fun yall #hope you feel extra special getting two chapters in 1 day #rock bottom: a moneymakers au

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