#the people need to know – @seenashwrite on Tumblr

Speaking of costumes and time travel, have the guys been pirates yet?

Nash, along with writing partner Moscato, in no doubt part one of what will be a Thing, at some point in the past, to The Commissioner, pondering upon stuff the Supernatural powers-that-be should bust out before the show retires and we get a movie.

Note: I edited and took out the read more because it wasn’t working anyway [shrugs] sowwy.

I don’t mean the cutesy kind based on theme park rides, I mean the legit, take-no-fucks kind, you know? With molty parrots, and questionable piercings, and keelhauling, and rotting barrels of rum, and scurvy, and not that punk-out puke parade of parley, then we unite to take down a common enemy type-shit, no. NO. I mean *canon-driving sigil-carved ball bearings so far down a ghost’s gullet, they’re leaving a trail of fright-induced iron-tinted piss as they’re jettisoned into the afterlife.

Dean’s already got a hepatic foot over the line into alcoholic town, he mutters under his breath a fair amount, just flip it into some guttural AAARRGGGHH!-ing. Let’s see him sneaking onto an enemy ship during a fight and having to deal with a one-tap pistol that’s all about powder and flint and proximity, barely getting it loaded in time to fire on the dude who’s about eight feet away from him going through the same routine. MAKE ME GASP, PEOPLE

Let’s see Sam wrenching a wheel with strained biceps, which we ideally glimpse through a shirt torn from a close call with a cutlass, as he saves the ship from plowing into rocks, and he’s really tan, because he’s been at the wheel like, all the time, it’s his turn to drive for once, that’s fair. Put Cas in the crow’s nest with a spyglass that he doesn’t need, but still, him’s got pretty eyes, a close-up won’t hurt anything, and him gliding down with a touch of wing shimmer, ‘cause it’s sunset so can’t do the shadows, but primarily because I want to see an angel be kinda casual, not have some big grace ejaculate affair, blowing their celestial load all over the place.

Just float in, man. Ride the waves. Or find a nice, private corner and hoist your sail. What happens on the pirate ship stays on the pirate ship, yo. Ho-Ho.

I was there for the “vampirate” play-on-words, cute shit, gold star, but they were cock teases, we got nothing but talk, I wanted a flashback with Lestat walking a plank, but we got noth—– [gasps] Oh. OHHHHHH

The potential for Dean lines alone with the word “booty”. Let’s ram those bastards right in their friggin’ hull and get that booty! Holy fucknoodles. Just give me my money, I’m working like a sweaty bitch over here.

Back to the plank thing, make somebody - I don’t care who, it’s irrelevant - have to walk the plank and they’re all roped up, and oh wait, what’s that? A mermaid’s gonna save ‘em? Yeah, tropey as fuck, and I don’t care because it’s gonna have a creature from the black lagoon situation on the top half, a mandible-ear gill jam happening, but nice stems on the bottom, but webbed toes and fingers, because I’m a sensible writer, as all of this indicates.

You want some sex appeal? Gimme some built-like-brick-shithouses Mary Read and Anne Bonny. Have chick pirate whoop one of the guys sword fight-style, no ripping off the hat to reveal they’re a broad after, I mean walks up and just wails on him. Then the other turns to find dual pistols in their face, courtesy of badass chick pirate, the sequel.

No stupid “X” marking a spot for the thing that they need for the stuff, no maps (especially not “We’ve had it all wrong! ___ [person] is the map!”), no caves with jump scares that can be seen a mile away AND NO GLOW STICKS EVEN IF, I want an island just lousy with droopy trees and ferns and vines, like we could feel the humidity through the TV screen, and they find their way through to some abandoned township that is *pristine* once they get inside the main perimeter, except for all the skeletons scattered around - though those are also pristine, and articulated and clothing still on - except hey, what’s that?

There’s a warding-esque symbol carved into the forehead of every single skull, be they man, woman, or child. And everyone’s freaked out. The bros, Cas, their pirate and mer-buds, whoever the demon buddy du jour might be - better if it’s Ketch, naturally - all of them are all the feels. And they can’t get back home right away because whatever-something-reason - this is gonna take 3 episodes, with occasional five minute cuts to what’s happening back home, but not a lot, because the guys aren’t being pirates there.

And DAMMIT let’s not have that reason be because of a grocery list of rando objects from THE LORE, order that from Amazon, move on - I want a literal, tangible key to open a literal, tangible door, and there is a literal, tangible obstacle standing in their way. I want good guys and bad guys on an even playing field, comparable assets, no underdogs, no big bad, I want actual brains used for actual critical thinking and strategy, with reasoning you could find yourself nodding to and plans you can see yourself objecting to on both sides.

Mandatory Costuming:

Dean MUST have moderate-to-heavy scruff, preferably a minor beard; a banged-up, frayed-edge black leather hat (NO BANDANNA FFS no matter how much an advocate of such might insist #you heard me); a touch - I mean a touch - of eyeliner, top lids only; the most exquisitely-tailored, slim-fit, deep-brown-almost-black pants that money can buy; shell bracelet a sweet little girl made for him after he decked some dick being mean to her older brother when they stopped at a rando port and went into town.

Sam MUST have mild-to-moderate scruff; hair in low ponytail, every bit in the leather tie, no bottom scragglies because it is that long, though floppy on top to fall over forehead when wind kicks up; shirt is of that criss-cross laced-up v-neck persuasion; boots knee-high preferable, high calf acceptable; small gold earring from getting too lit on the rum and passing out and someone, possibly Dean, told a random guest star character to do it.

The random guest stars should be of an eat-the-scenery-with-snark persuasion. The gut-punch kind. The quirky-but-not-distracting-obnoxious kind. Your Goldblums. Your Mullalys. Your Keys and your Peeles.

And Jack is back at the ship taking care of the parrot, because this is a grown-up mission, no time for diaper-changes or stopping every five minutes for rolling out the mats and passing around the graham crackers and ushering in nap time with another reading of that ol’ classic Little Miss Muffet who sat on her tuffet, then didn’t get it into her head that the spider who sat down beside her needed her assistance in some way, and so she tore off to the basement, wherein she not only eviscerated the cat that had been dicking around with the spider’s web, but also managed to napalm the spider’s whole family, as well as drop the foundation and collapse the entire house, then pout and cry, the end.

T.C.: There is something wrong in your head.

N: [hiccup] Hmmm?

#PSA #be responsible #have your parrots spayed and neutered

I am tagging you only for laugh purposes, no obligation to do whatever, this does not deserve compliments, is trash. It’s funny trash, though.

...and @kayteonline in case she still needs a laugh

* PS - YAASSSS somebody picked up on it, canon-driving, see what I did there?!?!?!! Mwah-ah-ahahahahahaha Imma do a post anyhow.

#Conversations with The Commissioner #Nash Shares #oldie goldies #yes I actually transcribed texts #and pieces of convo before it moved to text #because you had to know #THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW #Nash Plots #yo ho ho #this post was sponsored by wine #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days