Not to sound like a decrepit, rambling corpse about it, but back in my day Word used to be a pre installed program that came with your computer, if you were running Windows.
No subscription. Just program.
On your computer. You got to use it forever and ever and never had to worry about it going away.
Because it was physically on your computer. As a program. That you actually owned. Not because you got it separately, but because it was a standard inclusion with your computer.
I'm sorry but I'll just never get over it. I remember when companies cared about their products being usable out of the box. I remember when our things belonged to us.
Old man shaking fist at cloud, wherein the cloud is the background of the Windows 98 logo.
has anyone noticed that after the porn ban of 2018 tumblr was essentially killed from the mainstream and everyone flocked to other social media sites like twitter and meta. then those sites got enshittified to where twitter became Nazi Central and meta sites had an entire meme around getting “zucced” aka mark zuckerberg himself would ban you for saying a no-no word like fuck. and then the mainstream shifted to tiktok where infamous toddlerspeak sentences like “he got unalived by a pew pew” were born because if you once again say a no-no word like kill or gun or any other word that isn’t corporate i mean kid friendly then the algorithm will bury your post into the ground. and somehow we’ve come full circle and tumblr is now the most bearable social media site because although we can’t have female presenting nipples we can at least talk to each other like adults. has anyone noticed that at all or is it just me and the flaming skull
The fact that kids nowadays want ao3 to be censored— guys. Guys. Where is your sense of adventure? When I was 12, and homeschooled, and had unlimited internet access on my second hand laptop, all I felt upon discovering ao3 was unmitigated joy. A whole platform where people can be fucking weird and post toe-curling novel-length diatribes about ANYTHING. How beautiful is that?
And then you, the reader, can just jump in and post your own weird shit? And people might comment just to say “nice job!” Or “where the fuck is the next chapter” on your 20k coffee shop FNAF AU? Bro. Them’s the little things that make the internet worth anything.
Ao3 is so beautiful. I love scrolling past indescribably disturbing descriptions. I love knowing they have a place to be posted. I love knowing that, should I feel the urge to indulge, I can do so with no repercussions.
Mi familia. Mis amigos. Por favor. Take a step back and be grateful that not every facet of creativity has been locked behind an algorithm.
Dean Winchester canonically calling Castiel “sunshine” “devastatingly handsome” and “huggy bear”
Dean Winchester canonically thinking Cas is adorable when he’s asleep in the back of the impala.
Dean Winchester canonically getting angry in the car until Cas innocently looks startled and asks if he’s angry, making him lower his voice and calm down to keep Cas feeling alright.
Dean Winchester canonically needing a “big win” and that win turning out to be Cas.
Dean Winchester canonically referring to people in the endverse as “friends. Cas too”
Dean Winchester canonically panicking when learning Cas had sex with a woman.
Dean Winchester canonically not minding Cas’ hand on him and proximity to him right up until he realises lucifer is possessing him.
Dean Winchester canonically having a VERY different reaction to Sam when they see Cas dressed as a doctor.
One of the most common complaints about Star Trek I saw growing up was “why don’t they use the holodeck more? If you were living in that time period and you could just make anything you wanted anytime you wanted and live out fantasies forever, why aren’t more people addicted to the holodeck?”
And then generative ai was created.
And now I get it. I get why nobody on Star Trek spends all their free time in the holodeck. I get why all the crew are putting on stage plays, and holding music recitals, and building models, and playing poker. I get why everyone was so skeptical and mean to the Doctor on Voyager. I get why the ONE TIME we see someone obsessed with the holodeck it infringes on people’s likeness rights and permissions.
Because fundamentally at the end of the day we are human beings and we ENJOY working with our hands and making REAL human connections. A person who learns to play an instrument is always going to be viewed as an artist over someone who asks the computer to generate music for them.
Even as recent as Lower Decks they were making fun of the fact that the crew were putting on amateurish plays and holding music recitals. But after living with Ai for so long and seeing how detrimental it’s been to the world… I’d much rather watch my friends put on a stage play than “participate” in a holodeck movie.
What’s most amazing about this is that it was completely unintentional. I do not for one second think that the writers of the time in the 90’s were really thinking about the larger issues that generative ai and chatGTP would cause. How could they? Text to speech back then was still robotic as heck. More likely they wrote that stuff in because it was cheaper to film on sets the owned than try to build, film, or rent out different locations each week.
That’s the down to earth logistical real reason Data is reciting poems about his cat or Riker is in a play put on in ten forward. It’s just cheaper to do that than to build a whole new set or move production to a new location.
Yet at the end of the day, I think that unintentionally speaks to a very human need that ai is making more and more prevalent to us day in and day out.
And that’s the fact nobody wants to deal with generative SLOP.
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
Mist hangs low over the grass, thin as breath, drifting in long silver ribbons that catch in the reeds along the creek. The water moves slow and patient through its shallow bed, curling around stones polished smooth by years of quiet persistence.
Everything feels hushed, held in that delicate space between night and day, when the world seems to be listening to itself.
Dean kills the engine and the sudden silence rings in his ears.
For a minute he doesn’t move. He rests his hands on the steering wheel and looks out over the field, at the way the first light gathers along the horizon. Pink and gold seep into the sky.
Cas sits beside him without speaking. The air between them is easy. No urgency. No ghosts chasing their heels.
The Impala's engine ticks as it cools.
“Nice,” Dean says finally, voice rough with sleep and something softer he won’t name.
Castiel tilts his head, studying the meadow.
“You said it reminded you of somewhere.”
Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. Just feels… quiet. In a good way.”
Cas nods once, like that answer is sufficient.
They step out into the morning.
The grass leaves damp blotches against Dean’s boots. He breathes in deep and tastes water and earth and something faintly sweet from the wildflowers tucked between taller blades. The creek gurgles nearby, a low, constant murmur.
Dean stretches, joints popping, and glances over at Cas.
Cas has already wandered a few steps ahead, coat hem brushing against the grass. He stands near the creek’s edge, looking down into the slow-moving water. The light touches his face and turns the edges of him soft, almost unreal.
Dean watches him longer than he means to.
Cas crouches and trails his fingers through the water. Ripples spread outward in gentle rings.
“It’s cold,” he says, almost to himself.
Dean snorts. “That’s what creeks usually are, buddy.”
Castiel glances back at him, eyes bright in the morning light. “You should feel it.”
Dean hesitates, then walks over. He steps carefully down the small slope to the bank and crouches beside him.
He dips his fingers in.
Cold bites his skin, sharp enough to make him hiss. “Jesus.”
Castiel smiles faintly.
They sit there a while, shoulders almost touching, watching the current slip past.
A bird calls from somewhere in the trees. Another answers. The mist lifts slowly, dissolving into air.
Dean feels something inside his chest loosen.
Right now, he has nowhere to be. No people to save, no graves to salt and burn. He can just. Be.
Dean decides not to think about how he doesn’t deserve a rest.
He blinks a few times and concentrates on the creek.
Just water moving over stone.
“You are calmer here,” Castiel says after a while.
Dean wipes his wet hand on his jeans. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
Cas considers that. “I like it when you are calm.”
Dean glances at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice. There’s no weight to it.
“Yeah,” Dean says after a beat. “Me too.”
They climb back up the bank and wander into the meadow.
The grass brushes Dean’s fingertips as he walks. It’s taller here, bending in slow waves under the light breeze. Small white flowers scatter through it like little stars dropped into green.
The sun edges higher, warming the air. The pink glow deepens, soft and luminous.
Cas moves ahead again, turning in a slow circle.
“It feels…” he begins, then stops.
“Go on,” Dean says.
Castiel searches for the word. “Safe.”
Dean exhales.
“Yeah,” he says. “Safe.”
He hasn’t felt that in a long time. Never allowed himself to.
They stop near a patch of wildflowers growing in a shallow dip in the field. The creek curves behind them, catching light in bright flashes. Trees line the far edge, dark silhouettes against the warming sky.
Castiel bends and studies the flowers with careful attention. His fingers hover above them, not touching.
Dean watches him, leaning his weight onto one leg. The breeze lifts Cas’s hair slightly. There is something achingly ordinary about the moment. Something so gentle it almost hurts.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks.
Castiel glances up. His hand frozen above the flower.
Dean crosses his arms and scoffs.
Castiel answers by reaching down and plucking a small white flower. He turns it slowly between his fingers, studying the petals.
“It is delicate,” he says.
“Yeah. Don’t crush it, Hulk.”
Castiel steps closer.
Dean doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Cas stops directly in front of him.
The morning light pools around them. The air smells warm now, sun-warmed grass and water and something green and alive.
Cas looks up at him in that steady, unguarded way that always makes Dean feel like he’s been seen too clearly and somehow accepted anyway.
Dean’s chest tightens.
“Hold still,” Castiel murmurs.
Dean blinks. “What?”
But he doesn’t move.
Cas reaches up, careful and deliberate. His fingers brush Dean’s temple as he tucks the small white flower behind Dean’s right ear.
The touch is light, barely there. Still, Dean feels it like a brand.
Cas’s hand lingers a fraction longer than necessary.
He steps back to look at his work.
Dean feels ridiculous. He knows he looks ridiculous. He lifts a hand halfway to pull it out, then stops when he sees the expression on Cas’s face.
“Don’t laugh,” Dean mutters.
“I am not laughing.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“I am thinking that you look…” Cas pauses, searching.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Cas meets his eyes. “Happy.”
Dean swallows.
The breeze moves through the grass around them in long sighing waves. The creek bubbles behind them. All around them, insects hum lazily in the warming air.
Happy.
Dean hasn’t worn that word in a long time.
“You’re weird,” he says, because that is safer.
Castiel nods, accepting this.
They stand there in the soft pink morning, looking at each other, because.
They have nowhere else to be.
Dean becomes aware of the way the light settles across Cas’s shoulders, the way the warmth of the sun seems to gather at the edges of him. He notices the faint lines at the corners of Cas’s eyes, the ones that appear when he’s quietly content. He notices everything.
Cas studies him as well, his eyes clear and unblinking.
The flower remains tucked behind Dean’s ear.
Neither of them moves to remove it.
“Why here?” Castiel asks after a while.
Dean looks out over the meadow. The mist is gone now. The sky has shifted from pink to pale gold.
“I used to drive through places like this with my dad,” he says. “Didn’t stop. Never stopped. Always chasing something.”
Dean nudges a clump of grass with his boot. “I figured maybe… stopping might feel different.”
“And does it?”
Dean looks at him.
The more he thinks about it, the more Cas could belong here. Should belong here. In this soft, warm and safe biome. He fits here. Far and safely tucked away from the total shitshow that is Dean’s life.
Something pulls at Dean and he closes his eyes for a moment. It’s too much.
Dean breathes in.
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.”
They wander farther into the field, walking without direction.
Dean lies back in the grass after a while, hands behind his head. The grass is warm beneath him now. Cas remains standing a moment, then lowers himself carefully beside Dean, mirroring his posture with faint awkwardness.
They lie shoulder to shoulder, staring up.
Clouds drift in thin streaks across the blue sky, the air laden with countless pleasant smells. Dean closes his eyes.
For a moment he imagines roots growing from his spine into the soil, anchoring him here.
He doesn’t remember the last time he let himself be still.
“Dean,” Castiel says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I am glad you brought me here.”
Dean opens one eye. “You’re welcome.”
Castiel turns his head slightly, studying him. Dean can feel the weight of his gaze even without looking.
“Is this what peace feels like?” Cas asks.
Dean considers the question. The breeze passes over them.
“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I think it is.”
After a while, Dean turns his head. Cas is still watching him.
“What?” Dean asks.
“You did not remove the flower.”
Dean reaches up, touches it lightly. The petals are soft against his fingers.
He drops his hand.
“Why should I?,” he says after a moment, his face creasing into a genuine grin.
Cas’s mouth curves in a small, quiet smile.
They lie there until the sun rises fully and the pink glow fades into bright morning gold.
Katie is thrilled to score tickets for the USA men’s hockey finals, but after a strange turn of events, she’s even more excited to find herself up close and personal with the team’s T-Rex star player, Flonto Breem.
The two set off on a first date, and things are going well, until questions about Flonto’s political affiliation start bubbling to the surface. It’s not long before Katie realizes that all the goodwill she’d felt for this dinosaur hockey player was misinformed, and that Flonto is a full on MAGA dork.
Looks like there won’t be any pounding tonight! Unless, of course, the USA women’s team and their star triceratops are somewhere nearby!
This tale is 4,100 words of sexless disappointment that the T-Rex you thought was cool is actually an authoritarian bootlicker.
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please enjoy brand new tingler NOT POUNDED BY THIS T-REX ON THE USA MEN’S HOCKEY TEAM BECAUSE IT TURNS OUT HE’S A MAGA DORK out now. get it here or on tingleverse patreon
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