Dean is dead.
A looong time ago the-hello-fandom-club asked for:
Sam Winchester +14
I am sorry for such a delay.
because “miss” is the honourific also used for children, and would only change when a woman gets married to a man, upon which legally and socially she becomes an extension of him instead of her father. “ms.” is a more modern honourific that doesn’t necessarily indicate marital status, though is often used for unmarried women, by which it acknowledges that a woman can indeed be a functioning adult in society without being attached to a man~ especially useful then in the case of writing jo/anna because men are useless lol
well i can only speak for myself, but whatever changes i made to the period were deliberate—‘ms.’ is far less patronising of an honourific and though also anachronistic i didn’t want to write a romcom set in a highly misogynistic environment lol (a real challenge when it comes to the victorian era LOL so every little bit helps). i’m glad you enjoy it though!!
i feel really bad that i sidelined finishing my victorian au in favour of my dcbb this summer but i promise there is more to come!!!!!
so in consolation here is a little tidbit from the near future~~:
/works/1114607 bim bam boom (tho it’s still a wip!)
ahh here’s one for the anon who was asking~
“I don’t often like people that much,” Castiel admits, a little guiltily. He often likes to tell himself that it is a good trait of his, that it is simply being appropriately discerning. But in his more genuine self-reflexive moments he must concede that it is a little prideful of him, even arrogant, to assume his first opinions of people are the golden standard of righteousness.
Dean, however, is simply amused at this admission. “I’ve noticed,” he says, smiling.
This gives Castiel the bravery to go further. “I didn’t know if I quite liked you at first, either.”
“Ah,” Dean says, stepping a bit closer, brow raised, “does that mean you changed your mind since?”
Castiel levels him with a glance of equal intent. “I may have been… persuaded.”
“I am a master of persuasion,” Dean boasts, leaning his body into Castiel’s space. It’s hardly proper, they’re out in the corridor for goodness sakes, out where anyone might see them, but somehow, for some wild and unknowable reason, Castiel hardly cares.
“Dean,” he breathes out, eyes flicking down to those full and luscious lips.
“Cas,” Dean echoes back.
“If you stand much closer I won’t have any choice but to kiss you,” Castiel warns half-heartedly. He hopes he has correctly evaluated Dean’s character by know in assuming he will ignore it.
“Well,” Dean says, cheeks tinged pink of a shade Castiel imagines is identical to his, “I’ll stand a little closer then.”
Nighthawks, a blurb for this deancas au idea uwu
Castiel likes the diner instantly. The lights are a crackling fluorescent, its employees range from sarcastic and surly to outright grouchy, and the coffee is just this side of bitter, but it’s open 24 hours a day and it’s two blocks away from his motel; so, it’s perfect. He establishes himself in a booth, surrounds himself with various books and papers, all research for his latest novel. The waitress – an unsmiling brunette woman whose nametag reads Ruby – raises an eyebrow at his veritable nest of papers on his first night, but otherwise makes no comment.
On his second night, she brings him the too-bitter coffee he asked for and a plate of fries he didn’t. He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts, “Eat something or the coffee’ll rot your stomach.” He doesn’t know if that’s true; he eats the fries anyway, appreciates the gesture.
In this way, Castiel establishes a nigh-nocturnal routine: he spends his days napping in his motel room, or on the phone with his sister-slash-literary-agent, Anna; he spends his nights reading and writing at the diner, drinking cup after cup of coffee (and eating something when Ruby glares at him enough; he finds the cook, a bearded man built like a bear and named Benny, makes a excellent cheeseburger). He soon learns about the diner’s other late-night regulars and employees, as well. Benny, it turns out, owns the diner, along with his wife, Andrea. Ruby is the night-shift waitress, and she tells Castiel about her daytime counterpart, a woman named Lenore, a distant cousin to either Benny or Andrea, Ruby isn’t sure. Among the patrons, there’s Joshua, an older man, tall and quiet like a tree; fittingly, he owns the gardening and hardware store across town. A girl named Meg with a devilish smirk sits at the counter and flirts with Ruby. And then there is Dean. He comes in every other night or so, dressed in his firefighter’s pants and station t-shirt, and orders enough food for an army and a half. He’s loud and friendly, and smiles brighter than sunshine.
"You again?" Dean says to Castiel the third time he sees him. He’s wandered over to Castiel’s booth while he waits for Benny to make his order.
Castiel looks up in surprise. “What?”
"What are you working on?" he asks with genuine curiosity, eyeing Castiel’s messy stacks of papers and notebooks, all covered in his own spindly handwriting.
"A book," Castiel answers. "A novel."
"Cool. I’m Dean, by the way." He holds out his hand.
Castiel reaches out his own hand in response and says his own name as they shake. Dean’s hand is warm and calloused.
They’re interrupted by Benny’s bark of, “Food’s ready, jackass.”
Dean laughs at the moniker and turns around to halfheartedly give Benny the finger. He goes to grab the bags of food Benny has piled onto the counter and then leave. “See ya ‘round, Cas,” he calls over his shoulder.
Dean doesn’t come into the diner again for another few nights. In the intervening days, Castiel’s finally caught sight of both Andrea and Lenore, and he learns Ruby is a practicing Wiccan, about which he attempts to all but interrogate her. He also catches himself scribbling an embarrassingly flowery description of someone with sharp, green eyes and warm hands in the margins of his notes; he scowls and draws a line through the words.
Castiel is lost in a book detailing the basics of astrophysics and halfway through his second cup of coffee of the night, when Dean comes in. Castiel glances up. Dean looks slightly worn out, but orders his food from Benny with the usual banter and gusto. Castiel returns to reading about the gravity of collapsing stars and black holes.
"Heya, Cas," he hears and looks back up. Dean is right in front of him now, smiling.
Castiel’s own lips curve up in response. “Hello, Dean.”
"How’s the novel going?" He grabs a fry off of Castiel’s plate and bites it in half. Castiel narrows his eyes, but Dean just grins, wide and smug, once he’s done chewing. "How’s the novel, man?" he repeats.
"Just fine," Castiel says, still eyeing the other half of his fry in Dean’s hand. Dean eats it. "It’s about a man who steals others’ food and his eventual comeuppance," Castiel continues wryly. Dean laughs, loud and bright and beautiful and Castiel doesn’t think he ever wants to hear another sound for the rest of his life.
"Well, I bet he’s handsome son-of-a-bitch, at least," Dean says before grabbing his food again and leaving. "Thanks for the fry."
Ruby stares at Castiel, eyebrows fully raised, as she pours him his third cup of coffee.
to be continued ???? maybe
"We’ve been through much together, you and I."
impressively as painful as getting the tattoo was, out of everything i’ve cried over today it wasn’t one of them!! i did end up sweating so hard from the stress of it though that i like drenched my t-shirt lol