for all my trans and nb followers, especially the kids and those who may still be in the closet, please don’t let what trump said today make you ashamed or afraid to be who you are. you are NOT a burden, you are IMPORTANT and you MATTER. i’m so sorry that there are people who can’t see that. i’m not going to lie to you and say this isn’t what trans people face on the daily, i’m not gonna tell you that our lives are all rainbows and flowers bc they aren’t AT ALL. but we are capable of having rich and happy lives, despite pieces of shit like that orange circus peanut.
you matter. you always have, please let my voice drown out all the bad ones. please. you matter.
and for all my cis followers, fight for us. we are fighting for ourselves trust me we are, but be an ally to us and fight too. don’t speak over us, don’t overshadow us, but stand with us please. know the struggles we face, and stand with us to help change that. be our ally.
Like a friggin’ ghost,
Castiel appears out of nowhere at the end of the table.
“What’s a ‘DILF’?”
Dean raises his head
from his book at the same time as Sam. They meet each other’s eyes across the
table and promptly enter into a silent battle of wills.
Sam raises his eyebrows.
Dean shakes his head subtly. Sam frowns and narrows his eyes. Dean frowns back and flicks his eyes pointedly
to Castiel. Sam purses his lips. Dean flicks his eyes to Castiel again. And then Sam wins the argument by
cheating, deliberately looking back down at his book on extinct South
American languages and doing his best impression of someone who hadn’t even
heard the question. He makes an exaggerated show of
turning his page and peering closely at the text, even making stupid little noises of interest like the book is the most fascinating thing he’s ever read, and Dean’s frown deepens into a scowl.
“Did you hear my
question?” Castiel asks.
Dean sighs, makes a
mental note to throw in a red shirt with Sam’s next laundry load of whites, and
shuts his own book.
“Where did you hear it,
“At the mall,” Castiel
answers immediately. “There was a group of adolescents and I heard one of them say the word to her friend.”
“Okay, Cas. Number one? Stop
spying on teenagers at the mall, it’s fucking creepy.”
“But I learn so much
from them,” Castiel protests.
“And B, ’DILF’ isn’t a word, it’s an acronym. It means…
well, it means ‘Dad I’d Like to Fuck,” he says bluntly, deciding to
just spit it out, because god knows that using subtlety on Cas doesn’t always have the
best track record. “They were saying they thought some older guy there was hot.
Usually you don’t hear ‘DILF’ that often though. ‘MILF’ – or Mom I’d Like to
Fuck – is a lot more common. It’s pretty popular in some circles, there’s
an entire porn niche dedicated to ‘MILF’s. Hell, I’ve even heard of ‘GILF’s before.”
“He doesn’t need an entire lesson on your disturbing porn-watching habits,” Sam mutters from the side of his mouth, without looking up
from his book.
“Hey, he asked,” Dean
snaps back. “I’m just being thorough – since someone here is zero help.”
“I see,” Castiel says,
ignoring their bickering. He looks thoughtful, like he’s pondering something. “…so I’m considered a ‘DILF’?”
“Christ, they were
talking about you? Of course they
were,” Dean mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. He sighs and straightens up
a little. “Not really, Cas, you gotta be a dad to be a ‘Dad I’d Like to Fuck’,
and your…whatever it is…with Claire doesn’t really count, you’re not
technically her dad.” He mulls it over for a second, then shrugs. “I guess you’re just an ‘Angel I’d Like to Fuck’.”
Castiel looks surprised and pleased. “Thank
you, Dean. I find you extremely attractive as well.”
It takes Dean about 1.6 seconds to process what just happened.
second – that’s not what I –“
But Castiel, the flighty bastard,
is already striding out of the library just as quickly and efficiently as
he’d appeared, apparently satisfied now that his question was answered. The bottom of his trenchcoat disappears around the corner.
“ – meant,” Dean
finishes lamely. He grits his teeth in annoyance and tears his eyes away from the empty
doorway - straight into Sam’s smug face and knowing smile.
“Smooth, Dean. Real
“….you know that’s not what
I meant!” he tries again.
“Uh huh. Whatever you
say.” Sam looks back at his book and turns the page again, still wearing a stupid smirk on his face.
Dean glares down at the table. “Wasn’t
what I fucking meant,” he mutters under his breath. Although he’s not sure if he’s still trying to convince Sam, or himself.
…and how the hell is he
supposed to pronounce ‘AILF’ anyways?
My humble submission to the Humans Are Weird conversation. I know we’ve talked about food allergies, but as someone with a LONG list of them, I have a feeling explaining the different ways multiple foods can fuck you up would be fun….
X’kora was learning fast. It was their first mission with humans aboard the ship, but they had felt adequately prepared. Until the peanut incident with Human Monica, that is. The human had been understanding, and had offered to prepare her own food, but X’kora insisted that they didn’t want Human Monica excluded, and that they would be happy to accommodate her needs.
“You turned purple. That is not a standard human skin tone. It must never happen again. Please provide me with your list of death foods.”
Of course, they hadn’t been prepared for the list of twenty-two foods Human Monica was not allowed to eat.
“I tried to color code them for you,” Human Monica explained. “Red are the ones that make my throat close up - like peanuts. The ones in yellow give me hives - a skin rash. And green just give me a headache or stomach ache.”
“All of these foods cause you various forms of distress?” X’kora asked in shock.
“I must avoid peanuts, bananas, and soy at all costs?”
“Please do. My grandma didn’t believe in food allergies, and baked some peanut butter banana cookies with soy milk - to prove to my parents that they were over protective. Didn’t see much of grandma after the death cookie incident.”
X’kora taped the list to the cabinet. “I will endeavor to meet your needs.”
The one where Andrew and Neil have their first official date( On Valentine’s Day no less. Blame Allison.)
“So, what did you get your monster for Valentine’s Day?” Allison asks, as she idly types away at her phone.
Anger bubbles up in Neil, “Allison, he’s not—“ he begins, but gets cut off by her.
“Sorry, I meant to say Andrew, your boyfriend.
What did you get him for Valentine’s Day?” she gives a quick glance up
at Neil, whose face appears slightly flushed at the remark. A smirk
forms on her lips, “Don’t try and deny that. I won’t let you.”
sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Nothing. Why would I?” At
those words, Allison stops typing away on her phone and sets it down
next to her. She arches a brow at Neil, “What do you mean ‘nothing,’
it’s Valentine’s Day, Neil. That one day of the year specifically
designated by capitalism to celebrate your love with your partner. Which
is Andrew, in your case.”
Love. He lets the word wash
over him. He doesn’t know if that’s the word he’d use. It’s a word too
overused all around him but too underused in his own life for it to mean
anything to him. He doesn’t think any word is fit to describe what he
and Andrew have and yet—