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emotionallyits2009 · 3 years

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deancas fic rec list!

hello everyone! happy christmas to those who celebrate it, my gift to you is my fic rec list that i said i would make like a month ago. the only thing it is organized by is canonverse vs alternate universe. tried to cover a variety of subjects but there are in particular many fics of the genre “postcanon where cas is human and he and dean live together and slowly finally get their shit together” because i know what i’m about, son. HOPE U ENJOY. and if you wanna talk about any of them or rec me other fics please do. :)

Canonverse:

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, explicit “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.” There are many fics set in a post-canon universe where Cas is human and he and Dean live together and slowly fall into a relationship. Imo this one is the best of the best of that genre. This was one of the first fics I read back in July when I was getting Back Into Supernatural where I was like oh fuck I’m like in this. Dean builds Cas planters and bookshelves and a chicken coop and they fight and work through it.

Cuckoo And Nest by komodobits, 10k, explicit For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental. It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless. Really Gets the dynamic of Cas doesn’t think Dean wants him to stay/Dean thinks Cas will leave the first chance he gets. Also a nice example of Cas thinking he’s not wanted if he’s not useful/powerful and being told otherwise. Another all-time fave!

lonely hearts by outphastthemoat, 4.5k, gen He thinks he might give up having his own anything just to be able to step foot inside the room next door and sit on the edge of Dean’s bed instead. This one is for the CAS GIRLS who know what LONELINESS feels like.

Helionneiros by aeli_kindara, 24.2k, mature In which Dean visits his mother, and Claire takes Cas on a hunt. I’m always on the lookout for more fic with Claire and Jack. Jack doesn’t show up until the end here but the relationship between Cas and Claire is really nice.

Crawl by aeriallon, 11k, explicit It’s been almost four years since Castiel left Kansas; he'd eventually settled in an island town where he has a job, a house, and a life without the Winchesters. Every winter, Dean drives down to the coast to see him. Another fic where Cas is human but in this one he took some time for himself and got some distance from the Winchesters! He gets to be competent and weird as a human and we love that for him. I must warn you all that this fic contains one use of the phrase “making love” which would normally put me right off but it’s still worth reading. The first of a three-part series.

home where you hold me by microcomets, 1.6k, gen Cas and Dean, in the moments between their battles, ache for quiet spaces. Technically this is a coda to 10x20 but you don’t need the episode for context. Short and very sweet.

Build a Home by domesticadventures, 20.1k, teen After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t. This one is so cute it’s like what if once they were done saving the world Sam and Dean actually invited other hunters to move into the bunker with them. Obviously Dean wants that to include Cas but doesn’t know how to use his words.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo, 22.4k, explicit This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore. Angst fic! They go on a road trip and Dean is severely fucked up post-Mark of Cain.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon, 8.6k, explicit No one ever tells Dean anything. Another nice getting-together fic.

Creature of Habit by trinityofone, 5.2k, teen The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well. This one is ancient by destiel standards (written during season 5) but it manages to nail the married couple vibes they give off in later seasons. Cas is a bitch and Dean likes him so much. <3

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by Tuesday, 11.2k, mature Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this. Another old one that is a lot of fun! They get Accidental Angel Married and if you don’t enjoy dumb fanfiction tropes like that I don’t know what to say to you.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi, 4k, teen In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything. The OTHER accidental angel marriage fic written in 2010.

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 24.8k, explicit A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there. At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history. Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe. Time travel is FUN. There’s an excellent part where (minor spoilers) future!Dean is like, “Guess what, asshole? You like me so much you marry me!!!!!!!!!!!” to 2008!Castiel that made me laugh out loud the first time I read it. Also just a good reminder of how most problems in life are temporary and if you could go back in time to talk to your younger self you’d be like, “Hey man. Chill out. You get through it.”

The Path of Fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, mature After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years. There’s a lot of amnesia fic and djinn fic out there were Dean wakes up ~suddenly together with Cas~ but I like this one in particular because he’s initially very confused and kind of a dick about it until he acknowledges that being with Cas makes him happy.

take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden, 95k, explicit Three months ago, when Dean decided to retire, he thought his life was going to end up differently. He'd thought that he might get to have it all, Sam, Cas, Jack, and nice little place to live. Instead he gets Sam and Jack off on their Summer of Love Tour, radio silence from Cas, and a never-ending road trip consisting of himself. Still reeling from the loss of his grace, Castiel travels the country in search of hunts. Driven by a need to prove his usefulness, he pushes himself beyond all limits of endurance. Together, with the help of a few friends, a crumbling Victorian house, and a stray cat, Dean and Castiel patch themselves back together and create a home together. Do you wanna read almost one hundred thousand words of Dean and Cas having extremely intense feelings but refusing to voice them aloud? Haha of course you do that’s why you’re here. There’s also a lot about Cas adjusting to being human and being depressed about it which might resonate if you’ve ever felt weird about having a body. To be honest the author could stand to use a few more commas but there were also half a dozen moments that made me put my phone down and drag my hand slowly over my face and whisper “oh my god” to myself which is like, the ultimate measure of a good fanfiction so it gets to be on the list.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers, 31.6k, explicit dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas. Have you seen the fanon (apparently pioneered by Mr. Jackles “Original Deankin” Ackles himself) that Dean used to prostitute himself to feed himself and Sam when they were younger? Are you interested in exploring that concept in fanfiction? Well, this is the only fic you need. Mind the tags on this one! It’s not what I’d call happy but it’s good.

Some Assembly Required by narrow_staircases, 47k, mature It’s September of 2005, and Dean Winchester, in an attempt to outrun old mistakes and painful memories, finds himself in southern Kentucky on a wild goose chase. He’s completely certain this weird religious movement he’s “investigating” is a hoax, despite the miraculous healings people report, and he’ll be back on the road in a day or two. Things are looking up when he meets Cas, an awkward (and gorgeous) graduate student who’s actually doing honest-to-god research into the local tent revival meetings. When that research takes a weird and personal turn, Dean’s left to face two very serious realities: one, this may be a real case after all, and two, he’s fallen way harder for Cas than he should ever have let himself. Stanford-era AU of Dean trying to avoid his father and getting in over his head on a case.

Alternate universe:

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets, 57k, mature Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. Mundane AUs in this fandom have to be really, really good to catch my attention and this one is! It’s exactly what it says in the summary and the characterization is spot-on.

Out to Drift by deathbanjo, 20.9k, mature Dean drives a black car with a loud engine. He lies too easily. He keeps a gun in the back of his jeans, and Castiel isn’t sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean has killed someone before. Two people in fucked-up unstable situations meeting and forming a connection. Honestly guys I really just love deathbanjo.

#fic #deancas #destiel

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 5 years

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Golden Parachute

Some good omega!jack up in this bitch :D Ya’ll know what I’m about haha Check for more inclusive tags on the ao3 post itself :D

Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

Rhys had had it up to here with Jack’s brush-offs.

Yes, they were both busy men, each busy CEOs with a full schedule and meetings to keep.

But the Hyperion omega hadn’t agreed to any of the invitations Rhys had made over the past several months, begrudgingly admitting that, yes, fucking Jack was just that enjoyable, and no, the Atlas alpha was not immune to his charms, and would he prefer a rendezvous in Rhys’ own penthouse suite in the Atlas tower, or one of the nicer hotels in Opportunity?

Jack simply brushed him off with unconvincing plans to reschedule, or that the month was too busy or workload too great just to let the stringbean alpha rail him, and wasn’t Rhys pathetic for needing Jack to get off, though at least he had good taste, etc. etc.?

Rhys had let his pride ignore the last time Jack had actually snidely suggested he come over wearing something with lace. Rhys had responded by making some joke back at Jack-- one of the older man’s usual lines about Rhys never getting enough of how awesome he was- and Jack had petulantly told him he wished, and that had been that.

Jack hadn’t initiated another meeting for sex since.

And while Rhys had assumed it was some new tactic, or even the impossible-- that Jack had actually turned into a decent human being with normal flirting techniques- the come-ons and dirty innuendo from the older man stayed relatively tame. It had taken Rhys awhile to realize the older man had gotten less handsy with him, and by then Jack was only answering echoCalls with lazy infrequency at best.

Rhys refused to be ignored any longer. Jack was stringing him along with just-barely responses to messages, refused every single invitation out, but made delicious little statements about what a good fuck Rhys was amid broken promises to reschedule yet again. If the omega CEO was trying to drive Rhys crazy, then he had just about succeeded.

Getting answers only as Jack saw fit, ignoring questions or messages he felt weren’t worth his time, Rhys had made his way to Jack’s glittering office in the center of Opportunity’s clean gleam with plans to tell the Hyperion omega off and get some answers... and maybe even fight if Jack was his usual charming self.

The security panel at the door scanned Rhys’ biological eye, and the locks undid, admitting the Atlas alpha into Jack’s office where the omega CEO sat at his desk gaping in clear shock.

“How the hell did you get in?” Jack asked as Rhys was marching angrily towards him, heels clacking on the polished marble floors. The indignation on Jack’s own face didn’t nearly match Rhys’ own. “You hack my doors, Atlas?”

“As if there’s anything Hyperion I can’t hack,” Rhys claimed spitefully, though he wasn’t going to admit that Jack had probably just forgotten to revoke his security-status since last time. God that seemed like forever ago. Months, he reminded himself. Jack had been brushing him off for months. “And this is the investor’s meeting that couldn’t wait, huh?” Rhys asked of the empty space where his footsteps echoed, slowing his pace to something more controlled and earnest as Jack was caught in the lie. “This is lame, even for you, Jack. The hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” Jack asked as if Rhys were crazy, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair in hopes the posturing would slow Rhys’ angry stride down at the clear threat. “I am a very busy man, princess. If you think the CEO of Hyperion is gonna bend over for you whenever you want, think again.”

Rhys didn’t bother pointing out that Jack had begun this whole affair in the first place, nor how many times they’d fucked at Jack’s own whims, when they were supposed to be collaborating on a project or licensing things to one another’s respective companies. Rhys suspected that most of the things Jack called him up wanting to discuss a license for from Atlas was all just a ruse to get Rhys in the same room with him.

Jack was an unbelievably good fuck once he finally submitted. The omega CEO definitely made Rhys work for it, but the way Jack moaned around a fat knot and sucked hard kisses into Rhys’ skin made it entirely worth it for the Atlas alpha.

After so many months of fun and-- oddly- a real sense of partnership between their companies in the name of science- Rhys felt he deserved an explanation to the sudden cold shoulder.

“I asked you to dinner for dinner the other night, Jack. Not anything else, I swear. I know you’ve been getting my other messages, even if you don’t answer them,” he informed with a look. Jack didn’t seem too concerned about the accusation, but he wasn’t exactly relaxed in his chair while Rhys stood there with his hands angrily on his hips. “Why are you still sitting down?”

“What, I have to stand for his majesty’s presence?” Jack said quickly, glaring at the younger man. “Hey, stand a little to the left, pumpkin, huh?”

“I’m not standing on your corpse-hatch, Jack,” Rhys said plainly, snorting indignantly. Jack was watching him keenly, as if trying to make some kind of decision to shoot his problems away or not. Rhys sniffed the air disdainfully, catching Jack’s own achingly familiar scent, and something else.

He looked at the Hyperion CEO with uncertain question, watching with disbelief as he watched Jack actually hunker down into his seat just a smidgeon as it was clear Rhys was scenting the air. That right there should have confirmed every suspicion suddenly popping into Rhys’ head.

“Are--” Rhys stopped, not sure what it was he intended to ask. They were watching one another silently, Jack’s expression wary, Rhys’ curious and coming to conclusions that didn’t make sense. He turned towards the older man, taking a step. “Do you--”

“Stay there!” Jack snapped as Rhys took no further steps. The Atlas alpha’s eyes widened just a bit in some realization that Jack didn’t want him knowing about. The older man considered his options; shoot Rhys where he stood, vent him, or worst of all, tell him.

Rhys was approaching the situation as calmly as possible, trying to keep his voice low, level, and easy. He’d seen people spooked plenty of times before, but he’d never seen such a look on Jack’s own face. He took very slow, small, fluid-steps towards the older man’s desk on the raised dais. “Jack… Are… I can… I can smell…”

Jack only watched with widening eyes as Rhys slowly broached the single step that would reveal the Hyperion omega’s condition, but he didn’t yell at him to stop again. Rhys’ expression was taken aback with surprise as his eyes fell to Jack’s belly below the desk. That wasn’t beer weight, and furthermore, something in the older man’s scent clicked inside him. His eyes met Jack’s own with curious want. “Are you pregnant?”

“None of your business.”

Rhys had a sneaking suspicion that it was his business. He could smell Jack, but something more appealing. Something himself but not on the omega CEO. He had to be careful here; Jack’s responses so far hadn’t been encouraging, and he was still clearly spooked.

“...Is this why you wouldn’t see me?” Jack only watched him, and Rhys risked another step closer. He could see the bump protruding from the yellow sweater the CEO wore. He could smell the older man better from here, too. He didn’t need to ask, not really, but then, Jack always required a little extra something when treading lightly. “...is it… mine?”

“They’re mine,” Jack growled out, an arm going protectively across his belly, body language stopping any further progress Rhys had in mind.

Rhys held up flesh and cybernetic hands automatically, the previously-angry thing inside him morphing into something that desired to touch/smell/taste the omega that was definitely carrying his pup. Pups? Was there only one or more? “...did I, uh, do that to you, though?” he asked stupidly, heart beating in some sort of enthusiasm as Jack’s actions the past few months started to make a whole lot more sense.

Jack snorted, rolling his head along with his eyes and leaning back in his chair melodramatically. It showed off the swell and the stretch of that yellow sweater much better. Rhys couldn’t help but stare with a sudden sense of longing, even as Jack’s voice was the epitome of sarcastic. “Who the hell do you think did this to me, genius? You think I bend over for just any alpha?” Of course they’re yours, the look on Jack’s face seemed to say even as it dripped sarcasm, and Rhys’ scent invading Jack’s nostrils after so long was something like a balm to an old wound for the older man. He wanted the skinny dumb-ass who’d marched in here despite knowing about the auto-turrets; that Rhys found the danger to get to Jack an acceptable risk only made the omega CEO miss him more, standing only feet from him.

“Are… How far along are you, Jack?”

“Four months about,” he stated uncharacteristically-plainly, eyes sharply watching for Rhys’ every reaction. “And I’m already enormous,” he added in complaint.

“No you’re not,” Rhys said with a plaintive gaze, his focus on Jack’s belly swelling out his yellow sweater. He wanted to touch it. To caress taut skin that held their pups in there. To touch the stretch of the omega CEO’s body as it was changed from how he last remembered it, with something more than the pair of them. “You’re going to get bigger,” Rhys reported, his nostrils flaring as it pulled in Jack’s anxious scent and desperately wanted to touch him; soothe him; soothe the one carrying his pups. “...why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack only snorted in response and removed his focus from the lithe Atlas alpha. There were a million reasons why; hard to settle on just one.

Rhys was hardly deterred by Jack’s brush-off. “Let me be there for it, Jack,” Rhys asked as he got few inches closer, voice taking a definite tone of pleading, but he didn’t care. “For you. For them.”

It was too sweet, and more dedicated than Jack expected from the stringbean alpha. Rhys was young and pretty, and Jack was fairly certain all their fucking had been working out corporate tensions between them more than anything. He’d planned to keep the pups a secret until they were born, his babies, and continue on with the sort of weirdly-cooperative adversarial relationship they had going until Rhys got sick of the novelty of fucking the older omega and moved on to something more his speed.

Jack wasn’t stupid, even with his legendary-ego and inflated sense of self-worth; he had more than just a couple of years on Rhys; the young alpha would surely eventually tire of him, especially as the omega grew older. It was a reality he couldn’t bear the more he thought of it; that Rhys might stay out of a duty to offspring, and not necessarily an attraction to Jack.

The way Rhys defiantly met his eyes and plead to be allowed in for the long-haul was more than a shock. It rendered the older man momentarily speechless, and Rhys ventured another few inches closer in his want to be with the older man; scent him up close and verify what he already knew to be true.

“...Why the crap would you want that?” Jack asked a bit softly, but with more earnest question than anything else in his voice. Rhys gave him a frown, and Jack didn’t begrudge him the several more inches of space he approached. “You’re still young for an alpha, Rhysie, and pretty as hell,” Jack reported, needing to understand exactly what Rhys was intending before accepting the excitement speeding his pulse. “You could make lots of pretty babies with lots of people, buttercup, but these two? They’re mine, understand? You can’t take them. No matter what happens.”

“I don’t want to take them, Jack,” Rhys spoke the word with minor disgust at the idea of separating any omega from their pups, let alone Jack, who he’d missed more than he realized. “Not from you, or away anywhere, I just want to be there. They’re half me and half you. Please let me be a part of this, Jack.”

“I don’t know how you think this is going down, Atlas,” Jack started self-protectively, his hand still on his belly but a hopeful lurch in his stomach he desperately wanted to allow to break free. “You can be a part of their life, but they’re my daughters, do you hear me?”

“So there’s… There are two?” Rhys asked, unable to keep all the excitement from his voice. “...both girls?”

“Yeah,” Jack muttered protectively, a hand over his belly. He already loved them both, and it would be months until he could meet them. The idea of Rhys or anyone trying to take them from him would be met with the full power of Hyperion at Jack’s fingertips. “They’re gonna be daughters of Hyperion, Rhys.”

“They’ll be daughters of Atlas, too,” Rhys offered gently, the statement not nearly sounding as threatening as Jack might’ve found it in the past; more like an offering. That the pups would be very well provided for between the two of them indeed; it was all about the pups, not any kind of leverage. Frankly, that kind of thing wasn’t Rhys’ style.

It was, however, more in line with Jack’s own mode of operation, and he just couldn’t believe things could be so simple.

Jack scoffed, deciding to be purposely obtuse. “What, you suggesting we merge the companies, princess?”

Rhys gave him a plaintive look, dissecting that question. “Do you wanna marry me, or are you only being literal?”

They looked at one another for a long moment, much passing between them in the gazes they gave each other. Risk of being made fun of, considering the circumstances, didn’t outweigh the reward if they were being real with one another for once in their lives, and Jack wanted to believe Rhys was being serious, not just anecdotal. Merging the two companies was something Jack had long joked about in all seriousness, but doing it properly, marrying, wasn’t something he’d ever proposed himself.

It wasn’t Rhys’ style to be needlessly cruel when they teased one another, let alone fought-- as lovers, rivals, whatever- but Jack chose to still play it safe should Rhys roll his eyes and make fun.

“...was that seriously your proposal? God that sucked,” Jack whined to himself as Rhys’ cheeks went pink, but he didn’t deny it. Rather, he nodded blankly.

Yes that’s what he meant- or what he wanted, anyways, when he thought to where he expected this idea to lead. He loved Jack on a few different levels. And maybe that wasn’t the way he would’ve wanted such a thing to come out of his mouth, but if it resulted in Jack finally accepting him? Then yeah, that was Rhys’ proposal. Merge it all, every last bit if it meant Jack would have him.

The older man rolled his eyes dramatically, and Rhys’ heart could be felt in his throat. After any and all attempts to see him, and suddenly being allowed into this life of Jack’s he’d irrevocably changed, the Hyperion omega would have him? Jack didn’t do anything he didn’t want to, not for anything. Keeping himself from Rhys for so long? Definitely something Jack didn’t like doing, if how well this re-acquaintance was going was any indication.

“...Guess I could marry you, merge your company with mine. Heh, get it?”

“You’ll… You’ll really marry me? For real, Jack?” Whether the older man was just doing it for their pups, or because he actually wanted Rhys actually mattered little to the Atlas alpha. He didn’t care if Jack thought he was getting away with using him; those pups were definitely the product of Rhys’ own loins, that was for damn sure. He wanted to be there. However Jack would accept him, he wanted it.

“Oh my god, is your ego as big as your knot, Atlas? You need me to say it twice?” Jack complained melodramatically, though the smirk that grew on his face as a pleased flush took Rhys’ own was answer enough right there for the both of them.

The Atlas alpha quickly scrambled the last few feet separating them and crowded Jack’s space immediately, scenting the Hyperion omega and tentatively touching him all over, including his belly while Jack merely chuckled and allowed it. Jack leaned into Rhys’ touch, smirking at the soft caresses to his belly and the way the younger man rubbed his cheek against Jack’s own. The Hyperion omega chuckled at Rhys’ handsiness, but he luxuriated in it, having missed it for so long and denied himself so much. It was the first time he’d been touched this way in ages.

Jack chuckled, angling his neck better for where Rhys was nipping kisses up the side of his throat.

“Jack… Jack, I want you. I want you. Please?”

“Heh, wanna bend me over that bad, huh?”

“I meant uh-- well god yes-” Rhys sighed out, kissing Jack’s neck and inhaling a scent that filled him with so much want and desire and possessiveness and protectiveness, “but Jack, be mine? Only mine, please? Bond with me, please Jack.”

The request wickedly thrilled something inside the older man, finally accepting Rhys’ sentiments as true, and thrilled to be so wanted. “You are so freakin’ needy,” Jack said through a barely-concealed grin, laughing softly as Rhys was practically purring in his throat with desperation. The younger man’s scent was calming and settled some long-anxious thing inside the older man that finally dissipated with him near. “Don’t think you can just turn me into some submissive thing for you to knot.” Jack’s voice was a purr quite to the contrary, but it was a warning and a threat just the same. “You have to merge companies with me, babe. Officially. On paper. Big public announcement. Those are my terms.”

“Fine,” Rhys muttered, pressing his lips against Jack’s adam’s apple as the older man gave a bark of surprise.

“...You are freakin’ kidding me… Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Rhys stated easily, unapologetic as his hand caressed Jack’s belly filled with their pups. He could smell a sense of ‘his’ on the other man… Something his. Him. Hard to describe but something he understood right to his bones on an extremely primal level that Jack belonged to him. Whatever it took for these pups to be part of his life, to wrap himself protectively around Jack even if the older man was a better fighter than he, Rhys would agree to anything. He loved them already, loved Jack, instinct driving him to prioritize family over everything else. He dove headlong into the feeling. “I want you.”

“That bad huh?” Jack teased, though there was nothing but pleasure radiating off him at Rhys’ request to bond him if the younger man’s easy surrender meant having Jack as his mate. After so many months without smelling him, and now knowing he was carrying their offspring, Rhys wanted more than anything to put his mark on the older man; to be a devoted dad to his and Jack’s babies. It was as sweet as it was intoxicating; to know he had so much power over one he didn’t necessarily want to use it on. Rhys wanted him. Wanted this. It threw the older man through a loop. “After all the times I’ve been trying to get you to merge Atlas with me--”

“Atlas was my project, Jack. I wanted to run it my way with my ideas, not yours,” Rhys stated honestly, his hand slightly cupping the swell of Jack’s belly. “But there’s only one thing I ever wanted more than Atlas, and you’re carrying double that. I’d do anything to have you,” he growled out.

“You are hands down the creepiest goddamn fanboy I’ve ever had, like holy crap!” Jack laughed as Rhys frowned and chose to press kisses to Jack’s jaw before moving to his lips to shut him up.

Rhys would get to bond with the man he looked up to and wanted to fuck for the rest of his life. He’d raise babies they’d dote over with the older man, and watch them inherit the joint forces of Hyperion-Atlas when the time was right. It was entirely worth Jack’s teasing, merging the companies, everything.

And as Rhys chuffed about Jack’s skin which the older man indulgently allowed, pressing words of devotion into his flesh while Jack called him a creep but stroked his hands through the younger man’s hair, they felt at peace. Together. After all these worrying months of avoidance and secrecy.

The peace wouldn’t last long, of course, once the twins got there, but for now, Jack allowed Rhys to rest his head on his protruding belly, snide comments forgotten as the stringbean alpha stroked at taut skin, and fondly asked if Jack had any names picked out yet.

kofi | ao3

#rhack #rhys the company man #handsome jack #borderlands fanfic #rhack fanfic #omegaverse #rhys #alpha!rhys #omega!jack #mpreg #atlas!rhys #aaaagh i NEVER write rival CEOs this is so hard to tag aaaagh just read the full tags on ao3 plz ahahhaa #im productive af right now jfc im on a roll. Gotta do something with all those cut hours at work D:< bastards. haha #leave me a comment if you enjoy! ^___^ it thrills the shit out of me to get them even if im slow or cant respond to comments all the time #<3 <3 <3 #its like i KNOW i just recently hit 1 million words on ao3 but fuck we're already over a million 11thousand AHAHAH WOO!#ill be uploading some Fallout work later this week too :)

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 7 years

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Okay so, the project I keep alluding to but haven’t actually explained: a few years ago I came across a post that suggested starting the new year with a commitment to write a quick note every time something good happened and stick it in a jar set aside for that purpose, and then at the end of the year you’d pull all the notes out and remember just how many good things you’d experienced that year even if a lot of it was bad. I did this in…2015, I think? I only did it halfway because I stupidly picked a decorative bottle whose wide mouth wasn’t actually wide enough to get any of the notes out at the end of the year (I mean, maybe I could’ve gotten some of them, but it would’ve been hard), so they’re still all just sitting in there, stuffed into this decorative bottle. Thing is, though, it was still a really useful exercise for a couple different reasons. The act of writing down good things, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant, and seeing the notes fill up the bottle made them feel more real, more valuable—and it was a positive, effective use of my brain’s tendency toward confirmation bias. I was writing down good things, which meant I had to consciously notice them in the first place, which meant I was more often in a frame of mind to look for them; and when something positive did happen, I appreciated it more because I was sitting with it for a second and recognizing its value. In general, it was a simple way to keep my mental state a little more balanced and remind myself that things aren’t completely hopeless and awful, even when my brain insists otherwise.

I started doing this at the beginning of 2016 but just kind of stopped, for various logistical reasons (and because I didn’t feel like I needed it as much anymore), and I kept thinking the best way to do this would be with a connected app and website so you could access it anywhere. That loses some of the physical aspect, but the rest is still there, and at least for me, I find just about any service I regularly use to be way more convenient if I can use it on both my desktop and my phone. But as far as I know, nothing like that exists for this specific purpose.

Then the election happened and a lot of things went to shit with every indication they’d only get worse for a good long time, and suddenly hopelessness was a huge problem again—not just for me but for basically everyone I know or follow. In the months since, I’ve seen a lot of people talking about the importance of self-care in hard times, of art and creation, of not letting the bastards steal your joy, of remembering that the world isn’t completely shit, of highlighting the positive so that fighting the negative doesn’t completely burn you out—in short, of remembering why you fight, why any of this matters. Remembering that there’s good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for. But it’s hard, when things are bad, when the shit just keeps coming and coming and coming, and it has to be a conscious effort.

I’ve seen a few people doing this on an individual basis—I know someone who started using the hashtag #onegoodthing every day, along with a few other people, and I sometimes see others making lists of, like, things that aren’t completely awful, and of course there are the handful of encouraging “hey, look at these genuinely good things that happened in 2016” posts. But as far as I know, there isn’t an existing way to do this on a broader level, to collect this stuff and help people remember that good things do happen. And the more I thought about that, and about the analogy that maybe my best role is to help buff people, the more I wanted to make this an actual thing and—I don’t want to say some bullshit like “harness the power of positive thinking” but at the same time that kind of is what I mean? I want to help people remember there are reasons to keep going and keep fighting when the world and their brains are conspiring to convince them otherwise. I want to help people stay alive.

Ideally, like I said, it would be a site and an app, maybe with a virtual jar you could fill with virtual notes, and you could see other users’ public notes as they come in and look back over what you’ve written during a particular time period. I don’t have the time, knowledge, or money to build and run something like that, but I think I could do a decent substitute with Twitter and Tumblr (Tumblr for longer stuff but also for a decent “about” page explaining the point of the project and like…why it’s not just empty meaningless positivity). I’d start out retweeting/reblogging relevant stuff and hopefully it would spread enough that people would start submitting things—kind of like Everyday Sexism in functionality, where people can submit their own stories and read what others have posted, but for a different purpose.

I can think of a few potential problems. I would put thorough content tags on each Tumblr post, for sure, because if the whole point is to help people, I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone with an unusual trigger, if I can avoid it. I’d probably also want to say upfront that, you know, this is happening in the context of AMERICA ELECTED A FUCKING FASCIST and therefore it isn’t a politically neutral project, so if—for instance—your idea of a “good thing” is something like “Obamacare finally got repealed” or “new prez is gonna #MAGA,” you’re definitely not getting retweeted/reblogged and you’re probably getting blocked. But if this grows the way I hope it does, it’s also probably not realistic to think I can vet everybody if they seem to be coming in good faith, so I guess I’d need a disclaimer about that too. Also, like I said, I don’t think anything quite like this already exists, but if it does, I guess that would be good to know.

That’s one of the reasons I wanted to post about this and try to get feedback—there are probably other potential issues I haven’t thought of and I’d prefer to anticipate as much as I can, and also, I definitely need help coming up with a name. Ideally it would be something unique so it could be used as a hashtag on Twitter and Tumblr without catching a lot of irrelevant stuff, but I’m…not sure what that should be? I like “one good thing” but people are already using that, and it’s a common enough phrase that tracking it might not be helpful. Something about “small good things” might also work but that’s not completely accurate because it doesn’t have to be only small things (also, copyright is probably not a huge issue but I know there’s a short story called “A Small Good Thing” that addresses a similar theme, so, maybe best to avoid that wording?). Then I was thinking “the Hope Jar” because that’s descriptive and more likely to be unique, but then again that maybe refers too much to the original concept, which otherwise isn’t that important.

Anyway…if I’d really had my act together I would’ve started this January 1, and then my vague goal was to have it all up by the inauguration because the election was the main reason I started wanting to do this, but haha even that’s not super likely considering how long it’s taken me just to do this post. But hey, at least I’ve done that now, and I would definitely appreciate thoughts on this idea.

#I don't really know what to tag this #hope #good things #politics

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minxcouture · 6 years

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WOMEN MAKE BEATS TOO!

I grew up watching my dad make beats. I was probably around 13 or 14 when I took a major interest in it. Something just felt so freeing to create a sound that played over and over in my head and finally put it on a drawing board with instruments and so many pretty colors. I guess thats the girl in me.

As a young artist at the time, I fucking HATED when producers gave me their beats. There was always some bullshit string attached and also the almighty “im taking my beat back” pettiness. I got so tired of being swindled on tracks. I would write to beats GIVEN to me just to be told before recording that initial song that

HEY, SOME DUMB R&B BITCH WHO CANT WRITE FOR SHIT HAS EXCELLENT VOCALS AND THE LYRICS YOU WROTE FOR MY BEAT, SHE SHOULD USE THEM BECAUSE SHE HAS A BETTER VOICE THAN YOU.

Okay, okay that’s basically how I heard it in my head. I would feel so disrespected and hurt that I would just tell the producer to go fuck them self and keep it moving. That was the day I said to myself, i’m going to start making my own beats.

Until this very day, I still have the first beat I ever made. I downloaded Fruity Loops and used all the stock sounds and created melodies from the stock plugins, didn’t know what the hell reverb was or panning was but I was gonna make my beat. (haha). That was 12 years ago.

Today, i’m sampling, i’m using boards, i’m using midi keyboards, I’m chopping and screwing, I have my own kits...it took a long time for me to get to this point and I am proud. I am proud to say that I make my own beats.

HOWEVER,

Now that we are in the day and age of social media and everybody and their fucking MOTHER is making beats...nothing fascinating or different because they all sound like the same shit in my opinion...(I mean fact) I always seem to have to pass fucking quizzes and pop up questions to PROVE I made a beat.

So a male producer will always ask me the following:

What program are you using to make beats?

What version?

What plugins do you have?

What kind of preamp do you use?

How long have you been making music?

And my answer is usually, why the FUCK does it matter? Look, I get the whole telling each other your lab specs because you wanna see who’s got the bigger fucking balls, but when you fellas do that to us FEMALE producers, it’s like you’re trying to see if we are just talking out of our ass.

The same way bitches go crazy over makeup tutorials, kits, and basically turning their entire paycheck over to Sephora, is kind of the same for us female producers when we discuss music and the electronics that surround building our dream lab. WE KNOW OUR SHIT TOO.

I argue with male producers more than I do the females. For instance, I don’t believe in making a beat similar to an existent beat and titling it a well known artist name and calling it a TYPE BEAT. I got backlash for saying that, then I was told that because i’m a woman I probably make trash beats.

Well fellas, the fact of the matter is I don’t make trash beats. I don’t even have to showcase my beats. See, the difference between ME and YOU is that I don’t have to put together an online store and beg for people to buy my shit. I’m way too smart. I don’t put my beats online just for artists to steal my shit and use my shit and I don’t get paid for it. Y’all do that shit. Stupidly.

I look for the artist. I don’t let the artist look for me.

When I find THAT artist that fulfills their duty to slay my fucking beat lyrically or vocally, I’ve created a CLIENT. That CLIENT then tells their friends and then I have more clients. But you keep putting up your beats online with your crappy tags thinking that a motherfucker wont rap or sing over those tags like they stepped of the dead body of your so called “career.”

And when in doubt, be sure to call me emotional and ugly because you cant hack the fact that you have to share the producer pool with sharks like me.

Last but not least, my favorite

Producer (knocking mad hard): “WHO MADE THIS BEAT?”

Me: I DID

Producer (stops banging his head) “ID TWEAK THE KICK A LITTLE, TAKE THE REVERB OFF THAT SECOND HIGH HAT, ID SLOW DOWN THE TEMPO A BIT, ETC

But you were totally just knocking hella hard to my shit....

I guess men seem to think women are supposed to be the writers and only the writers. That we can’t create a song where even the hardest rapper can spit to. That we can’t operate equipment. We are just supposed to ask “what’s that button do” and not actually press the shit.

And I hate the term FEMALE PRODUCER because it’s so fucking sexist and rude and creates an overall stigma that whatever beat we make is incorrect, soft, and garbage. Automatically.

It’s all good. None of these niggas could ever sit up in the lab with me and watch me create. They would think im a fucking GENIUS.

#female producer #sexism #hiphop #r&b #rant #reblog this

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