Ever since the confrontation with those demons to rescue Castiel, Sam had been on edge. Something about that wannabe Crowley had rubbed him the wrong way. And as strong as he may have seemed when he was declaring that there would be no new king of Hell, he knew that there was a good chance no one would listen.
If he wanted to ensure Hell wouldn't get out of hand, he had to take care of things himself.
He wasn't proud of what he'd done, not entirely. But someone needed to take care of Hell. Someone needed to keep the demons in line. Someone needed to remind them that the Winchesters were to be feared, not taunted.
If that meant becoming a little more demon than human, demon enough to get stuck in this Devil's Trap, then so be it.
"I'm sorry. Please, just let me out and I can explain."
Esmer stood with his hands on his hips. “No, no. I think you can explain just fine right there. What the fuck is going on, and more importantly, why didn’t you talk to me??”
That was the part that hurt most. Yes, it sucked that Sam had apparently gone absolutely bonkers. But they all had throughout the years. But to not let anyone in, after everything they’d been through? After everything he and Esmer had been through? That was a whole other story.
Sam set the smoothie down, stood up, and stepped out of the circle. He held his hand down to Esmer. “Then come with me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
That last conversation with Esmer got James thinking. He did need to find someone who understands his ways of love. Lo and behold, a few months later he would meet such a man, such a wonderful and powerful demon. He loves his darling Radio Demon, but occasionally he still remembers his fondness for Esmer.
James sighed softly, nipping at Alastor’s ear in kind. “I love you, darling. You’ve made me very happy. But, I miss my ex.. Sometimes.”
He’s not sure how to feel about just how Much he misses Esmer…
“Mmm, the one caught up in Lust’s Claws right now? He seems nice,” he conceded.
He wasn’t jealous. He knew where he stood here, and if James loved anyone else, that was okay too. As long as James remembered who he belonged to, who belonged to him, it was fine.
“He is nice,” he agreed. Maybe too nice for a place like this. Not that anything could change about that now.
“I need to know: would it bother you if I still had feelings for him? Nothing has changed regarding my feelings for you… I just would like to figure this out…”
Alastor shook his head, nipping James’s jaw affectionately. “As long as nothing has changed between us two, I don’t mind.”
James kisses him sweetly, nipping his lip before pulling away. “Nothing at all. I still belong to you.”
Alastor’s grin brightened. “And I to you, dear heart. But I don’t mind sharing, either. Hearts are funny that way, you know? They expand,” he purred.
He’d done the experiments, it was sound.
“So they do,” he agreed. Now that he was reassured with Alastor, he needed to figure out how to talk things out with Esmer. And more importantly, how to get him away from Abe, but that shouldn’t be too hard. He’d think on it later.
“We’re still going out tonight, right?”
Alastor nodded. “The speakeasy? Or elsewhere?”
“I love that you still call it that,” James chuckled softly. “But yes.”
“Well, what else would we call it? It isn’t so common as a ‘bar,’ I shouldn’t think,” he huffed playfully.
One important thing that you should do as a queer person is to find another queer person whose brain works just like yours (romantically or not) and then adopt a cat together and then finally steal that fucking Pikachu and make it big
Fun (long) story so I had to take this honors class my first year of university for my scholarship and I had the cutest little old man professor who ran the class as this giant discussion. Loved it and him to pieces and had a ton of fun discussing literature and philosophy and art from the dawn of recorded civilization (Gilgamesh) to about 50 or so years B.C. (Cicero) with part two of the class taken the next semester and going up through the renaissance.
I don’t even remember what got us to this topic but I was sort of leaning back chilling during one of our many “break into groups and discuss” sessions and the prof stopped by our table to see how the talk was going. He listened to one kid a bit and agreed with their position and then went “and as you know, Pius XII was a Nazi.”
I moved before I had a chance to think. I had been leaning back relaxed and I whipped forward, slammed my hand down on the table loudly, and made direct eye contact with my prof as I said in a voice that even kind of scared me, “That is a lie and I will bring you proof that it is.”
He was more than a little surprised (same with everyone else including myself) and I went home that weekend and read up and watched documentaries and was 100% ready to present my case but I got an email before the school week started with him saying that he had done some research and understood that he had been wrong about Pius XII in class and wanted to voice that he had a better understanding now of this figure.
So anyway, Pius XII was bomb and anyone who says otherwise (including the elderly of academia) can fight me.
Good on him for actually doing the research and apologizing (I hope he passed this info on to whoever he knew who touted that lie, especially the other students). If only all professors were that honest.
Ever since the confrontation with those demons to rescue Castiel, Sam had been on edge. Something about that wannabe Crowley had rubbed him the wrong way. And as strong as he may have seemed when he was declaring that there would be no new king of Hell, he knew that there was a good chance no one would listen.
If he wanted to ensure Hell wouldn't get out of hand, he had to take care of things himself.
He wasn't proud of what he'd done, not entirely. But someone needed to take care of Hell. Someone needed to keep the demons in line. Someone needed to remind them that the Winchesters were to be feared, not taunted.
If that meant becoming a little more demon than human, demon enough to get stuck in this Devil's Trap, then so be it.
"I'm sorry. Please, just let me out and I can explain."
Esmer stood with his hands on his hips. “No, no. I think you can explain just fine right there. What the fuck is going on, and more importantly, why didn’t you talk to me??”
That was the part that hurt most. Yes, it sucked that Sam had apparently gone absolutely bonkers. But they all had throughout the years. But to not let anyone in, after everything they’d been through? After everything he and Esmer had been through? That was a whole other story.
“Even if my life is ruling Hell? Drinking demon blood to keep them in line and sustain myself? Diving into a dark part of myself that I didn’t even know existed until recently? Can you stand by me in all that?”
Esmer shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’d like to try,” he said softly.
"Hello, love. It's me, your favorite king of Hell. Listen, I've been meaning to talk to Moose about something but he's not answering my calls. I think I pissed him off last time we talked. I have a proposition for him. If you could convince him to give me a call back, I'd be very grateful. Ciao."
[To: Butterfly]: Not that kind of proposition, though I wouldn’t be opposed
[To: Butterfly]: It’s about his brother-turned-demon. Been a bit of a thorn in my side with the bonus of me putting it there myself. I think Moose could help
Esmer sighed and shook his head. “Sam, Crowley has an idea about how to help Dean, sounds like…”
No means No, even if it’s a big name author with tons of lawyers behind them. When they say “please don’t show me fan fic,” that’s enough, and, if they give more detail about why, you don’t get to judge whether you think they’re telling the truth or not
To clarify: I saw a post where someone said they didn’t believe that Big Name Authors were genuinely afraid of being sued, but that instead they were just snobs who hated fanfic and thought saying “oh no I could get sued” was more polite than sharing their true feelings
Another author shared a detailed, eloquent explanation of what a bad take that was, and all of the points were 100% valid
but
No Means No
and I was just so baffled that the OP was more willing to spin a tale of authors all agreeing to the same lie about not wanting to get sued so they could hide their disdain for their fans, than just respecting the requests not to do it
Authors who hate fanfic are not afraid to say so.
Authors who love fanfic are not afraid to say so.
We are not collectively in the business of lying for free. We get paid for that. So no, we’re not running a mass conspiracy to lie to you about our feelings.
"Hey, Esmer. I... I know it's been a while since I called. After Dean.... Look, I just wanted you to know that I think I found a way to bring him back but I'm not sure it's something I'll come back from so.... You'll need to be there for him. Make sure he doesn't sell his soul again. Goodbye."
Esmer fought the panic rising in his body as he furiously dialed the number it came from, desperate for him to pick up before he did something stupid.
He couldn’t lose one of them again. Not without breaking apart even more.
"Hello, love. It's me, your favorite king of Hell. Listen, I've been meaning to talk to Moose about something but he's not answering my calls. I think I pissed him off last time we talked. I have a proposition for him. If you could convince him to give me a call back, I'd be very grateful. Ciao."
Esmer rolled his eyes, shooting a text over, mostly to see if he could get those.
[To: Crowley]: what kind of proposition? Should I be jealous? I’ll talk to him. XOXO
He went to find the taller Winchester, humming softly.
Ever since the confrontation with those demons to rescue Castiel, Sam had been on edge. Something about that wannabe Crowley had rubbed him the wrong way. And as strong as he may have seemed when he was declaring that there would be no new king of Hell, he knew that there was a good chance no one would listen.
If he wanted to ensure Hell wouldn't get out of hand, he had to take care of things himself.
He wasn't proud of what he'd done, not entirely. But someone needed to take care of Hell. Someone needed to keep the demons in line. Someone needed to remind them that the Winchesters were to be feared, not taunted.
If that meant becoming a little more demon than human, demon enough to get stuck in this Devil's Trap, then so be it.
"I'm sorry. Please, just let me out and I can explain."
Esmer stood with his hands on his hips. “No, no. I think you can explain just fine right there. What the fuck is going on, and more importantly, why didn’t you talk to me??”
That was the part that hurt most. Yes, it sucked that Sam had apparently gone absolutely bonkers. But they all had throughout the years. But to not let anyone in, after everything they’d been through? After everything he and Esmer had been through? That was a whole other story.
There was a pull somewhere deep inside him at those words. He knew the man he was before would’ve related heavily to those words.
“Do you really want to be with me? I think we both know I’m not the same ‘Sam’ you fell in love with. I don’t think I was even before all this.”
“I can’t say that I’m the same man fell for either. I doubt I’m even the same man I was a year ago, a month ago… I know Dean’s definitely not the same Dean he was when he picked me up on the side of the road,” he said, exhausted by the last days.
“It’s your life, Sam. Your choice. I just… want to be a part of it.”
Ever since the confrontation with those demons to rescue Castiel, Sam had been on edge. Something about that wannabe Crowley had rubbed him the wrong way. And as strong as he may have seemed when he was declaring that there would be no new king of Hell, he knew that there was a good chance no one would listen.
If he wanted to ensure Hell wouldn't get out of hand, he had to take care of things himself.
He wasn't proud of what he'd done, not entirely. But someone needed to take care of Hell. Someone needed to keep the demons in line. Someone needed to remind them that the Winchesters were to be feared, not taunted.
If that meant becoming a little more demon than human, demon enough to get stuck in this Devil's Trap, then so be it.
"I'm sorry. Please, just let me out and I can explain."
Esmer stood with his hands on his hips. “No, no. I think you can explain just fine right there. What the fuck is going on, and more importantly, why didn’t you talk to me??”
That was the part that hurt most. Yes, it sucked that Sam had apparently gone absolutely bonkers. But they all had throughout the years. But to not let anyone in, after everything they’d been through? After everything he and Esmer had been through? That was a whole other story.
Sam held out his hand and made the smoothie come to him. He sipped it slowly, inspecting Esmer all the while. Normal Sam would’ve just cataloged how pretty he was and made a few notes on his recent diet. This Sam was more calculating.
“Why do you still care about me? After everything? I mean, even Dean’s abandoned menow. And yet you insist on throwing yourself on my sword.”
Esmer shrugged, running a hand through his hair (something he’d been doing quite a lot if its semi-permanent slicked back state was anything to go by).
“Why wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s a faerie thing, or just a me thing but… my heart can’t just change on a dime, not like this. I’ve loved you from the moment you showed up at that shitty motel, and then drove across the country to save a creature you’d only just met. Why do you think I wouldn’t love you still, after everything we have weathered together?”
He shook his head, resting his chin in his hands.
“Sure, I might not like you sometimes, but I always love you. And… and I’m sorry if it’s suffocating. Or you feel like you have to walk on feathers around me. I’m tough, though. I can take the storms and what comes after the fire. I just want to be there with you.”
It's been a couple of days since The Incident with the Winchester Brothers (and the courthouse filing of the marriage papers), and Esmer was not expecting to see his little boy (now a nearly fully-grown young man) on his bunker doorstep.
He's extremely happy regardless.
"Jack! What are you doing here?" He asked happily, opening his arms for a hug.
