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sirrwritesalots · 4 years

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Dance With Me? ~ Spencer Reid (fluff)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader [Y/n] Warnings: none, just fluff, and possibly mention of PG-13 (if it's even considered that?) Summary: The team is invited to an FBI gala-type event with food, music, and casual conversation, and everyone ultimately has a good time, especially you and Spencer, who find the chance to have a dance with one another as the air shifts between the two of you. [The imagine is set with all characters -Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia- and post-Maeve] Word Count: 1871 A/N: I love to write, but for the last few years, I’ve had horrible writer’s block, and I miss writing so much. This is my first imagine/creative writing thing I’ve posted on Tumblr, so bare with me please! I recently started watching Criminal Minds again, and this just popped into my head, so I figured why not? Though, Criminal Minds is not usually my genre, I wanted to give it a try (it might be cringy in some parts, I apologize). I hope whoever reads this enjoys it :)

Seeing as everyone on the BAU team was given a three-day-weekend off to have somewhat of a break, you all agreed to attend the FBI Ball Saturday night, giving you the day to relax and get ready.

That morning after you woke up, you had some breakfast and read a book by the window, followed by lunch and a nice, relaxing bath with rose oil, bath salts, and a lit candle. Once the water had gone cold and you were done with the bath, you decided to start getting ready for the plans you had later that evening, which consisted of blow drying and styling your hair, then applying some light - yet natural - makeup. Slipping into the dark blue evening dress with the strappy, laced-up back you picked out two weeks ago, you looked yourself up and down in the full-length mirror in your room with a smile on your face. It had been a long time since you had the chance to get dressed up and have a night of fun with friends, which is exactly what you were planning on doing; having fun.

Work had been extremely stressful lately, for everyone - more so than usual, considering your line of work; being in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, where you work with serial killers day-in and day-out. One case in particular was rough on everyone; picked by the team’s communications liaison, JJ, you were flown out to Omaha, Nebraska to find an unsub who had a wide victimology and almost no similarities when it came down to location or anything else. You were there coming up on two whole weeks, when, after spending nearly forty-eight hours awake studying every detail, Spencer had found a similar signature connecting each murder. It wasn’t previously detected because it was so small it was easily overlooked, that is, until Derek and Rossi revisited every site and concluded that Spencer was right. At each location where a victim was found, a trinket of some sort was hidden, left behind as a sign of remorse. At first it made no sense, because each killing seemed too extreme to leave any room for remorse, not until the idea of a partner in crime was bounced around. Meaning that there were now two unsubs, one who was the alpha that controlled everything, and a second who most likely lured in the victims but only because they were told to rather than because they wanted to. Luckily, all the trinkets had traces of the unsub and their partner’s DNA left on it. That discovery soon led to tracking the unsub and chasing him down, where you and Emily went into the building first, to try and appeal to and reason with the submissive unsub, and would ultimately save the life of their latest victim. The plan went sideways when you two were met with the wrong one, and stepped into the middle of a trap... The unsub wanted a trade - the final victim for the two FBI agents - but the rest of the team, including the police force backing them up, were not about to have that. In the end, everyone was extracted and brought back to the precinct, except for the second unsub, who lost their life in the midst of the fight.

To say the least, the team needed a break, and to have some fun.

Adding the final touch to your look -- a pair of black heels -- you grabbed your purse and jacket before locking the front door behind you and making your way to the car.

Once you were at the venue, a valet took your keys and parked your car for you. You stood on the curb, looking up at the gorgeous entrance of a high-end hotel. Before you could think about how all-out the bureau went, a familiar, deep voice spoke up on your right, “Damn Mama, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Turning, you came face-to-face with the most iconic duo of your team, Derek Morgan with Penelope Garcia standing beside him. Your cheeks flushed as you smiled, “You don’t look too bad yourself, hot stuff. Penelope, sweetheart, you look as wonderful as ever.”

“Please, I don’t think anyone here looks as good as you.” She waved her hand, a dismissal to your comment as she noticeably gawked at you.

“Why don’t we find out. Shall we?” You raised an eyebrow at them, tilting your head in the direction of the hotel.

“We shall.” Penelope disconnected herself from her chocolate thunder, and looped her arm with yours with a giggle as the three of you entered the building and followed the signs to the ballroom.

Tables filled with assorted foods line one wall while tables are scattered throughout the front half of the room, a live band played against the back wall, and the floor of the other half of the room was left unoccupied by furniture to leave space for dancing and mingling. You mentally thanked the event coordinator, whoever they might be, for ensuring the lights were dimmer than usual, since it gave your eyes a rest from the usual harsh office lights.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for the rest of your team, when your gaze landed on a man wearing a slick, dark gray suit and a maroon tie with his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead yet just out of reach of his eyes. You hadn't realized you were staring until Penelope had to practically drag you to where Emily and JJ were standing while Derek split with you guys to meet up with Rossi, Hotch, and Spencer.

“So, is anyone looking particularly yummy tonight?” Penelope asked Emily and JJ, bubbly before her first drink of the night as her eyes eagerly swept across the room. Typical Garcia. Gotta love her, though.

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m going to get a drink, anyone else want a one?” The girls gave you their requests, and you were off to the bar stationed near the wonderful display of food that you were sure to raid in a matter of time - that is, if your stomach had any say about it. "One-"

A voice interrupted you and finished your order before you could get more than a single word out, "Gin martini with a lemon twist." A smirk formed on your lips as you see who was standing next to you. "Oh! And chilled, but not on the rocks," Spencer added with a wink in your direction, a goofy smile plastered on his face to match your own.

"Spence, you remembered!"

"Y/n, I have an idetic memory; of course I remembered."

You rolled your eyes in response and ordered for the girls before you forgot as the bartender handed you your drink. "So, how's your evening so far?"

"Good. Met a couple of Rossi's friends, one of which was an older woman who touched my arm a lot, though I don't know why..."

You chuckled and shook your head. "Oh, you poor innocent boy."

"Innocent?" He raised an eyebrow at you, faking offense, as he helped you carry the drinks to the table the girls were standing around. "Are you so sure about that?"

"Why shouldn't I be when you make comments like that?" you countered. "Alright," you announced, cutting the conversation short before it can lead to anywhere presumptuous in front of company, you name off the drinks as you and Spencer place them in front of their respective owners.

Spencer took his place by your side, his arm pressed against yours and his gaze fixated on you, waiting patiently for you to notice or make another comment from your earlier conversation. The girls hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, seeing as you and Spencer had become the absolute best of friends in a short amount of time when you first joined the group, which meant the two of you were in very close proximity to one another about ninety-percent of the time. They were also too busy to notice over their ogling of the other attendees.

"You're staring," you murmured over your glass to him as you took a sip of your martini before stealing a quick glance up at him, then returning your eyes back to the crowd forming in the room. Rossi, Hotch, and Derek were still nowhere to be seen from your spot.

"Sorry," you heard him whisper, his eyes still stationed on you for a moment before he looked around as well.

The live band began to play one of your favorite songs by Frank Sinatra, Fly Me To The Moon, and you couldn't help the smile that brightened your whole face after you took another sip of your drink.

The warmth that accompanied Spencer when he stood as close to you as he had been suddenly disappeared, making your heart unexpectedly quicken in a mix of worry and disappointment at the loss of contact. Then, when a throat cleared, and you saw him still standing next to you only a little farther away than he originally was with his hand extended and a lopsided smile on his face as hope flickered bright in his eyes. Your anxiety calmed, and was replaced with joy.

"Care to dance?"

Taking his hand, you stepped closer to him and replied, "I'd love to," as he led the two of you to the dance floor.

There, he pulled you closer to him, your bodies pressed against one another, as his hand slid behind you to rest easily on the small of your back while his other hand held one of yours, and your other hand took place on his shoulder. The two of you swayed as the music filled your ears.

You felt content in that moment. So happy with your friends, music, and food and drink. You couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening during your weekend off. Hopefully you wouldn't spoil it all by accidentally drinking too much and either a) managing to somehow embarrass yourself before the night is over or b) having to nurse a killer hangover the next morning - the last day of freedom before being called back into work the following day.

You felt Spencer's eyes on you once more. Though it wasn't creepy or unsettling; with him it never seemed to feel that way. Instead, it warmed your body, making your cheeks flush and your chest flutter.

"You're staring again." When he refused to take his eyes off you, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "You seem to do it a lot. Why is that?"

"Possibly because you always look amazing. Except tonight; tonight you look... radiant."

"Oh, please... you're only saying that because you've never seen me all dressed up like this before." You dip your head rest on the side of his own in an attempt to hide your face, not from embarrassment, but rather to hide how red your cheeks had become in a mere matter of seconds by the few simple words he uttered.

"No, I'm not. Y/n, look at me, please." His voice was gentle yet serious as his fingers gently guided your chin up so you could properly look at him. "I mean it."

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds imagine

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

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Charles Schulz vs Andrew Dobson: What a Blockhead!

There are certain things about Dobson’s behavior and particularly his approach at being a nerd and presenting himself as someone who enjoys the art of storytelling that I have issues with. Issues I want to tackle on in more detail within later entries quite a bit.

One such tendency is, that he mocks directly or indirectly the work and accomplishments of others.

See, if Dobson doesn’t like you as a content creator because he does not like something you work on, he will try to show it. He will make stupid assumptions of you (like how he accused Kojima of being a sexist creep because of Quiet and how he deals with “male gaze” in MGS compared to Death Stranding), half heartedly mock you (look at anything he makes about Ethan Van Sciver) or he will call a piece of work boring and dull based on a minor element instead of overarching problems (calling Batman the character a white supremacist based on the dumb work of only one author).

By doing that he also tries indirectly to insinuate that he is better in some manner, though most of the time it really just shows his own ego and that his pet peeves are rather petty compared to the overall quality of the work he criticizes as well as its flaws.

One such sight of ego boosting while mocking the work of his better is in my opinion to be found in this comic he uploaded sometimes around 2016/17 randomly online.

This comic in my opinion is both laughable and insulting. Why? I will explain soon.

First however I want to clarify that I get that this comic is supposed to be a joke mostly. The old “What others expect, what I expect” thing, where the punchline is supposed to be the discrepancy between the two fractions and what they expect, mostly by making one of the expectations come off as worse than the other. However, I find the punchline to be Charlie Brown (and as such what Dobson seems to see as something he does not want to be favorable compared too) quite insulting. Why, as I said, will be elaborated on sooner.

First, let me just get on the part I find laughable: The fact that Dobson in his own head seems to believe he can be even remotely compared to people like Paul Dinni, Bruce Timm, Greg Weismann, Justin Roiland, Miyazaki, Shigeru Miyamoto and all the other character creators and animators whose creations we see in the first panel.

Dobson, don’t make me laugh. Putting aside the fact that those people are animators more than cartoonists, what makes you even believe in your wildest dreams you are on the same level as them? The fact you too are an animator, seeing how you graduated from an art school with a degree in that field? I have seen your contributions to the field and honestly, I would expect a bit more. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0tdWNCrIxo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ps6PfiUCxHQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PyonOqClf8

I give you credit, you can animate. Which is more than I can say for myself when it comes to the arts. But when you look what other freelance animators can do online, some of them younger than you and NOT with a degree in animation…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=64&v=FmkAcGz1BJk&feature=emb_title

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=97IfPfjSaDg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eEUoxQ4qSfs

Viviepop’s demo reels alone are just gorgeous to look at and more fluid than what I have seen of you. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFlha-KOKCc

And it is not just the technical quality, Dobson. It is also just the overall “originality” of your work. Cause this is the thing with those animators hinted on in the first pic and even many, many freelancers/fanartists as well as webcomic creators online: They have a spark of originality in presentation and storytelling that you lack. I will one day go more into detail for that, but here is the most brutal thing I can say at the moment: I know shitty porn fanfictions, that have more plot development and character growth than all of Alex ze Pirate.

Your characters and stories tend to be derivative and you barely take any risks in telling a story. Neither in your fanbased work (like the Miraculous comics) nor your original content (mostly because you take comfort in four panel strips anyway) and when you have an idea for something on which the basis idea actually sounds good, you screw it up by a lackluster execution. One example I want to give for that, would be this fanart of yours in regard to Steven Universe.

(I apologize for not getting one in better quality) This pic was something Dobson created around 2015 for Steven Universe. The picture is supposed to show Lapis, trapped under the ocean following the events of the season 1 finale of the show. A very emotional situation if you are aware of why Lapis sacrificed herself and was “banned” to the ocean floor. Short explanation: Fused with Jasper and then took primarily control of the fused being they became (Malachite) by using her water powers to bond it with heavy water chains on the ocean floor, so that Jasper would not hurt Steven anymore.

How much of that was even an emotional strain on her and her psyche was in one episode of season 2 even a theme, as seen here.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SK3l8mGNhMg

I am not even a fan of the show and I get the emotional weight and impact of Lapis actions.

So… why is that not conveyed in the artwork? If you are so talented Dobson, why is none of the strain and despair on the character? The idea of a pic showing Lapis under water, longingly looking up, even in despair is a good basis for a fanart. But the execution lacks any emotional detail. You want to know how I would execute the thing if I had the artistic talent? Make the picture a huge horizontal pic, where we slowly decent from water surface down the ocean. The light getting dimmer. Blue turning into dark. The silhouette of a hand and an arm similar to Malachite’s in the background, trying to travel up, the fingertips barely touching the surface. Heavy chains around the flesh. Symbolic of the fusion trying to break free and cause havoc. And down on the dark bottom, beaten and exhausted Lapis with tears in her eyes and chains all over her body like she is Jacob Marley, desperately trying to keep Malachite at bay for the sake of the only being on earth who ever showed just a little bit of kindness towards her.

Why can’t we have something like this here, Dobson? If you were even remotely as original as the creators you want to be compared with, I think you could come up with something like that and perhaps even draw it.

But you know, his delusions of being as good as them is one thing. It is even funny.

Pissing over the Peanuts is another. Dobson, what are you trying to hint at?

That people comparing you to Charles Schulz and his creation is in your eyes automatically a sort of insult? That it is something that should at best only be a mockable punchline in a comparison?

Just to clarify a few things: I am NOT much of a fan of Charlie Brown and the Peanuts as a property. As a child, I was just not very entertained by them. Yes, I saw animated movies, episodes and specials of them here and there and my grandparents gave me volumes of them to read, but as a whole I never thought them quite as entertaining than other comics or cartoons I watched. Some parts of Peanuts animation felt to me often times like just dead air (especially parts of Snooby dancing with Woodstuck, as they had no function to move the plots forward) and I really could not stand how some characters treat Charles on a regular basis. I mean, we all agree that Lucy is one of the worst female characters in fiction and that even while we hate Family Guy, this clip likely gave some of us some sort of satisfaction, right?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZkJAx8FycI

But before the Peanuts fan out there go and want my head on a silver platter, let me make one thing clear: I may not like the Peanuts franchise… but I respect it and the man behind it.

Charles Schulz drew the comic strip from October 1950 till late 1999 (the final strip being finished months before it would be published on February 13 of 2000, one day after he died of colon cancer) , creating a total amount of 17,897 Peanuts’ strips. His work marks a major impact in the nature of newspaper comic strips and inspired many people out there, including Bill Watterson, to create comics or be in the field of animation. His achievements include among other things, that he created what many people consider the first animated Christmas special ever. The names of his creations became nicknames for the Apollo 10 command module and its’ lunar modul. Four of the five Peanuts movies in existence (animated made for tv specials not withstanding now) were written by him. And the fifth was only not by him, because that one came out in 2015, a decade and a half after he died.

And speaking of things Schulz wrote for the Peanuts, let me mention two things. Two things that though I am not a fan of the Peanuts, I have mad respect for existing in the realm of animation. Two animated specials that stuck with me ever since I was eight.

“What have we learnt, Charlie Brown?” from 1983 and “Why, Charlie Brown, Why?” from 1990.

In the first special, which functions as a semi sequel to the fourth Peanuts’ movie “Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown”, the characters actually travel across France and after ending up on Omaha Beach and Ypres the special turns into a tribute to the soldiers who fought in World War 1 and 2, elaborating on the sacrifices made during the war by showing actual footage of fights, recordings of Eisenhower and reciting the poem “In Flanders Fields” among other things. Do you know how impactful it is to learn about the world wars as a small kid, by being reminded of the actual sacrifices others made in order for your own grandparents to survive?

And speaking of grandparents, I lost my grandmother as a child by cancer. So when I saw the second special I mentioned, you can bet it stuck with me. After all, of all the things in the world, the Peanuts addressing the seriousness of cancer by having a story where a friend of Linus is diagnosed with leukemia and we follow the emotional impact it has on Linus and the girl? Again, I may not like the franchise, but I am not ashamed to admit I think the special treats the subject with a lot of respect and dignity while telling a good story. You bet your ass I get a bit teary eyed when the little girl survives her leukemia treatment and finally gets on that swing again. Those two specials alone are more mature than ¾ of the shit Dobson likes to gosh about, including his oh so precious gay space rocks. And just for those things existing I have respect for Schulz, his creation and the impact it had on so many people. As such, Dobson “belittling” the Peanuts, at least for me, is a freaking insult. The only way Dobson could have been even more insulting is if he called Schulz something derogative. Dobson should be glad if his life’s work in total could even amount to 10% of what Schulz has done and achieved.

Cause Dobson, you are NOT a Charles Schulz. Schulz served during the second world war on the front, fighting actual Nazis instead of calling idiots on the internet fascists for not liking Star Wars. He had integrity and work ethics that drove him to draw and write over 17.000 strips, while you can not even finish one FREAKING story. He knew how to tackle a mature subject, while you make shitty shipping jokes involving Ladybug and Cat Noir and claim Steven Universe knows how to be about psychological trauma, when it just romanticizes abuse. He may have drawn simplistically, but at least he could tell a joke instead of constantly berating others for not sharing his opinion. He did all of that and more without having graduated from college.

And what have you done, Andrew Dobson?

If Dobson reads this, there is one thing in my opinion he should take away from more than anything else: That if people compare him to Charles Schulz’s work, that it means a) he should not be ashamed of it and b) they overestimate him.

#adobsonartworks #andrew dobson #so you are a cartoonist #syac #sjw #peanuts #charles chulz #charlie brown #snoopy #fuck you #animation #steven universe #disney #cartoons #cartoonist #adobsonartwork

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years

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Dear Dean (Chapter 3)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 3.8k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, hope in midst of fear, i dunno man

SERIES MASTERLIST

July 23rd, 1944

The night had a crisp chill to it, and it started to drizzle after dinner, gently at first, but by the time Dean stepped out for sentry duty it was just pouring. Dean didn’t need that, to be honest. He’d rather be somewhere dry, somewhere warm.

Standing in the dark, soaked through his combats, he wondered why he changed the sentry rota and fucking put himself in it. He should’ve lead by Sam’s example, then at least he would’ve been kept out of the rain, but Dean’s mouth was much faster than his brain, and it frequently got him in trouble. He checked his watch with a flip of his wrist, as he stood at the meeting point, waiting on private Blum to arrive. It was Oh-two-forty-seven. Bambi still had three minutes before Dean’d rip him another hole.

Dean waited under cover from the rain, and watched the water fall from the roof in streams. His socks are already damp, and he was feeling increasingly cranky. The night was going to be a disaster. He heard Bambi before he saw him, heavy boots stepping in puddles of rain and mud made their way to the meeting point, sprinting even. There was the noise of shuffling and the rain pelting against the helmet of the small private.

“I’m here, Lieutenant!” Private Blum shouted loudly and a little out of breath, but nonetheless with a grin on his face, which in turn, made Dean suppress a smirk. Someone was really happy to be on sentry in the dead of the night.

Dean fought against his urge to echo the grin but instead, he opted for a frown and a roll of his eyes. “Fucking stop shouting, will ya?”

“Shit, sir, sorry!” Bambi apologized, his voice a mutter that almost got lost in the clattering of rainfall.

Dean studied the private’s face in the dim light of the fluorescent bulb beneath the roof of the meeting point. Bambi’s eyes were still big, although they look tired and weary. He studied the little of Bambi’s nose and the high of his cheekbones. Bambi reached up to adjust his almost-too-big helmet though at was slick with rain, as he straightened up, almost to attention. Something about the private was off and Dean was still trying to figure out and put a finger on what irked him about Bambi. What it was that made Dean want to take the private under his wings and protect him?

“Lieutenant Winchester, I’ve got a joke for you…”

“Come on.” He took the private to the most western point of their route, both of them walking in silence, only the sound of rain to accompany them. It was kind of weird and uncomfortable to say the least, and Dean could kick himself in the ass for taking Bambi with him. Not only was he green, but he was also quiet, and Dean was almost bored to tears. He should have opted for Sergeant Harvelle. At least Harvelle always had a joke ready, even though it was the same kind of joke, a little lewd and all kinds of stupid, but Dean wasn’t exactly picky. He gets what he gets, seemed to be a motto that stuck with him like an old piece of chewed gum he stepped on. It was stuck to his boots ever since the day he got off that landing in Omaha.

He was lucky he got off at all, to be honest.

The bullets rained down on them on that beach. Dean had to haul himself over the sides, and he wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared for the sheer weight of his equipment combined with the pressure of sea water. He hit the water feet first, and he sank and sank and sank. There was no way to get to the surface because his haversack and his rifle were pulling him down. He reached up, clawing through the water, his lungs burning, when he decided to ditch everything that was weighing him down. Dean found himself with only his bare hands to defend himself on the battlefield. He was scrappy, but not scrappy enough to last long without a weapon.

Captain Mills shouted, asking who had a weapon on them and then he asked Dean directly and Dean shouted out an answer “That bitch tried to drown me, sir!” - “Go find another one!” and that’s what Dean did, crawling over dead bodies to retrieve a functioning rifle, trying to avoid the open eyes of the fallen soldiers.

Dean and Bambi took a turn and walked in the direction of the most eastern point, the rain still coming down restlessly and sometimes, he thought the angels were weeping with them. Dean could feel the wetness seeping into his cotton undershirt. His socks were now completely wet. They were going to be soaked come Oh-five-hundred.

To Dean’s surprise, private Blum didn’t complain. Not even once and Dean wondered if he too, could feel the water slowly filling up the boots that were promised to be waterproof.

They talked a little. Dean knew now where Blum was from. “Trenton, North Carolina, sir.” How he grew up. “No mom. Dad ate a bullet. Just me and my brothers, sir.” How he was looking up to his brothers and how he missed them. “Tough motherfuckers, but yeah, I worry. Jameson always was a terrible shot.” Dean knew the feeling too well.

At almost Oh-four-hundred-hours, he got to know a lot about Bambi but he kept his life to himself, and Bambi didn’t dare to ask him questions. Even if he wanted to ask, he didn’t. Dean could see the twitch of his lip, and furrow of his eyebrow as he considered his words carefully before he let them go. Dean would have answered them if he would’ve been asked, but he knew that Bambi was scared of him. Dean wondered if he was really giving the impression that he was untouchable at times and he thought that he maybe should change. War was tough, no doubt; but private Milligan was right, they deserved to smile every now and then.

“Come on, Lieutenant! Just one joke. Just one smile, not everything has to be so goddamn serious all the time…”

He walked Bambi across the muddy field to reach their next checkpoint. It was almost impossible to cross the flooding field, and Dean felt himself sinking deeper with each step he took. He certainly didn’t sign up for this and right about now, Dean wished more than ever, that he didn’t take up that sentry duty. Mud was the worst. Hard to get off and there would be days until they would be able to wash themselves with warm water.

As Dean took the next step, squishing into the soft earth, he heard Bambi go down next to him with a heavy splat. The private landed face first in mud, sprawled out like a damn X. Dean looked down to him and Bambi looked back at Dean with his face covered in brown mess. He blinked a few times, trying to see through the mud.

“Shit, Bambi, you alright?” Dean tried to sound concerned. Bambi reached up to wipe the mud off his face, but was met with a handful of mud, somehow making it worse. Dean’s carefully placed facade slowly crumbled. The next thing he knew, he was throwing his head back in a full body laugh, one that Dean didn’t know if he’d ever recover from it. It felt good. He haven’t laughed like this in a while and there were tears in his eyes.

He could hear private Blum mutter something incoherent under his breath that sounded something like Fuck you, sir, but Dean didn’t pay attention, he was busy wiping away the tears of laughter that blurred his vision.

“Help me up, Sir?” Blum asked, holding out a muddy hand for Dean to take. He stared at the privates muddy hand, considering not taking it. “Come on, sir. I’m gonna fall again if I try to get up on my own.” He could see a young Sam in front of him then, complaining after falling down, just needing his brother. Dean grabbed at Bambi’s small hands in an attempt to pull him up.

Nobody could prepare him for what came after, though. Dean pulled, but it seemed by some grace of God, Bambi gathered his strength and before Dean could even blink, he was lying flat on top of the private, his helmet dipped in mud and it was only thanks to his reflexes that Dean could hold his head above the sinking puddle. He barely managed to avoid dipping his face into the mud like Bambi did.

Dean was taken by surprise, his mouth hanging open, and muttered out a “What the fucking fuck?” before Blum turned around beneath him. They were face to face and then Bambi smiled, his white teeth shining through the mud on his mouth and jaw, and Dean stared into doe eyes that almost sparkled through the dirt. They were so big and brown and full of laughter as Bambi’s body shook under him.

All of a sudden, Dean felt his blood rushing through his head, the pounding of his heartbeat echoed in his ears and he couldn’t hear the rain anymore. It was like the whole world stopped existing, as if there’s only the two of them in the mud and the only thing he could hear was the laughter of private Blum, light and free, but then that died down, too. Dean suddenly knew that they’d been in the position for too long, but he was unable to move.

His eyes were staring into Blum’s big ones before they travel down, resting on the private’s mouth. Bambi realized the stare and he wiped away at the mud with the back of his hand. Now Dean could see the lips. They were pink and plum and slick with rain. The flash of the edge of Bambi’s teeth were showing as his lips were still crooked into a grin. Dean noticed the heavy breath coming out of Blum’s open lips. It was warm against his own damp face. Normally when someone got this close to him he was yelling, or being yelled at. Hot, sweaty breath on his mouth. “Winchester can you tell me why you’re such an epic, fucking disappointment?” His eyes landed on a drop of rain falling down on the private’s top lip, and Dean’s mouth felt really dry, despite all the rain. Dean darted his tongue out, licking away the feeling of dryness on his lips. Bambi, unknowingly, mimicked him and licked his own bottom lip. And then a voice pulled Dean back to reality.

“Lieutenant? Sir!”

Dean jolted to his knees, scrambling up and held out a hand for Bambi to take and that time, he was fucking prepared. He wouldn’t let Bambi pull him down a second time.

“Sorry, Sir, if I was out of line.” Bambi gladly took Dean’s hand and let Dean pull him up to his feet.

Dean should have shouted. Dressed him down and probably put him on latrine duty from there to Germany, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t with those big brown eyes staring up at him like he knew he fucked up. Damn those eyes. Instead, he just chuckled, and adjusted his helmet. “We’ll be needing a fucking shower after sentry, Bambi.” His hand came up to wipe at the chunk of mud that was logged between Blum’s shoulder and neck helping the private get rid of the dirt.

They continue to walk in silence now, Dean still recovering from what was happening between them. There was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It was bugging the hell out of him.

When they arrived at the further most outpost, they heard someone calling. “Thunder!”

Bambi and Dean replied with a, “Flash.” Dean raised an eyebrow, he was a little impressed that Bambi knew the code, and used it correctly.

“So fucking glad, Sir!” A rough male voice said.

They could see three figures walking towards them as the guard from the 3rd Battalion let them pass.

Dean studied them as they limped towards him. There were two parachuters that supported a third one who probably broke his leg on landing. One of them stood before Dean and Bambi, as the other one still supported his friend. He straightened up to attention and greeted Dean with a nod in salutation. “101st Airborne Division, sir. We missed our target. Had to find a way around. We were hoping that you guys would be here already.” Dean could see from his suit that it was a sergeant. He was maybe as tall as Dean and as broad.

“Jim?” Bambi could be heard saying next to him.

The sergeant looked down to Bambi, his eyebrow furrowed into a knot in the middle, as if he was trying to categorize Bambi in his head. And then when realization hit, his face was blushing and Dean could see that the sergeant’s lips widened into a smile. “Jamie?”

Bambi nodded frantically before his voice broke into a laughter and then he climbed up Jim’s body in a hug and to Dean’s surprise, Jim didn’t say no. He just tightened his grip around Bambi, as to support the small private and when Bambi was up there, the sergeant spun him around, laughing.

Dean felt like he’s intruding and that he probably should step away, but he was the Lieutenant, and it was his fucking sentry duty. He cleared his throat loudly, which prompted Jim to let Bambi down and straighten himself up. Dean coughed lightly, to suppress another grin because Jim was now muddy, too.

“This is my brother, Lieutenant. Jim Blum.”

“Great to meet you, Sergeant.” Dean nodded in greeting.

Then Bambi turned to Jim, still smiling through the mud on his face. “Lieutenant Winchester’s my platoon leader.”

“Oh…” Jim Blum said and Dean could see that something clicked in Jim’s mind and then he blurted out a “Oooohh.. Well, shit. Thank you for taking care of my brother then, Lieutenant.”

Dean nodded in reply. His heart felt heavy. Taking care of someone was not really his specialty. “Get yourselves checked at the medical tent and report to Battalion Staff. Someone should be in the tent.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jim, squeezed Bambi’s shoulder before he took his men to the medical tent.

***

Reveille’s at Oh-five-hundred and when Dean and private Blum walked to their billets, the soldiers were already pouring out of the door, walking to the mess hall to fetch breakfast.

Even though Dean was staying with the other platoon leaders and NCO’s of Baker and Able company, they still stayed in the same building. They stepped in and navigated their way past the stream of soldiers coming out of it. Some of them looked at the pair and cringed their noses. Yeah, Dean could smell it himself, thank you very much.

As they got to the landing where they were staying, Dean took off his helmet and pointed his nose in the direction of the showers. The water was cold but he liked to pretend that it was warm. He get what he gets, isn’t it? “Private, shower and I’ll see you in 10 minutes.”

“Sir –” Blum paused, as if he wanted to say more but he didn’t. Dean lowered his head and walked to his room to change for showering.

Dean was in the showers quickly, he gotta live up to his own time frame and he was hungry. Hoping that there’s something left before he had to be ready at Oh-six-hundred. However, when he was inside, Blum wasn’t there and he wondered if Bambi was so freaking quick that he finished before Dean even got a change to come in. Dean didn’t pay much attention as he soaped himself with cheap soap and washed away the mud that was stuck behind his ears. Dean closes his eyes, relishing himself under the spray rain of the shower head. It lacked pressure and yes, it was cold, but he liked to pretend that he’s back in Kansas, with high water pressure and a warmth to the wetness that soothed his pain. He opened his eyes again to Blum walking in, still in his shirt and combats.

“I..uh.. sorry, Lieutenant.” Bambi’s voice was small, almost as if he was embarrassed and Dean wondered if he’d ever seen a dick before, because Bambi’s eyes lingered a fraction too long on his private part. Dean wasn’t a prude, but somehow it felt uncomfortable. He decided to just not think about it and finish showering. Bambi’s got 3 brothers, he sure as hell should be used to seeing dicks?

Dean noticed after a while that Bambi was still staring at Dean’s lower half and he might have been wrong, because he couldn’t see it as Bambi’s face was still a little muddy but Dean could swear that Bambi was blushing.

“Never seen a dick, Bambi?” He asked grumpily, trying to get Bambi’s attention and divert his gaze away from Dean’s dick.

“Yeah, sure have, sir. But uh.. “ Dean could feel that Bambi was trying to come up with a good clap back. “..never such a small one, Lieutenant, is all.” The grin that was on Bambi’s face was undeniably, a wicked one.

“Fuck off, it’s cold water, alright. Jeez, relax. Wanna know how you’re holding up, private.” Dean replied with a growl. It bothered him, very much so, and he could call the private out, tell Bambi to strip right here but he doesn’t. He’s a leader, not a fucking dick. So, instead, Dean finished his shower and dried himself with the little towel they provided and got out without a glance back.

When Dean was dressed and ready, he thought that he wanted to see if Bambi was finished, but when Dean stepped out into the landing on their floor, he could still hear the water running. He didn’t want to peek, he really didn’t, but the door was open a creek and on the passing, he caught a glimpse Bambi. A glimpse of his narrow waist and full ass cheek which in turn made Dean tense and there’s a flutter around his stomach. And Dean knew that he was not queer, nuh-uh.

Shaking Bambi out of his head, Dean pulled back and opted for calling in there. “See you at Oh-six-hundred, private!”

After the morning briefing, the soldiers had time to themselves for a couple of minutes and Jamie excused herself in a rush to search for Jim. She found him sitting on the steps, or what was left of it, of a fountain. “Hey,” She said, sitting down next to him.

He didn’t turn to look at her, his eyes focused on his clasped hands. “So, private Blum, huh?”

She could hear it in Jim’s tone that he wasn’t pleased to find her there. Jamie was a little sad, but she understood. She wouldn’t be pleased either. Jim wanted the best for her, and there she was, letting him down.

“Look, I’m sorry, Jim, I really am.” She bit back tears, fully intending not to cry when she was out in the open.

“Jamie, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? What the hell, I thought I made it clear that your only job is to stay behind and fucking stay alive?” Jim turned to her. He was angry and fumbled with his cigarette tin. Like a lot of men, Jim took on smoking. He never smoked at home, the money was too short for luxuries. “If they find out, you’re so fucked! Hell, maybe I’ll be fucked. We all will be!”

“They won’t.” Jamie sighed, and then she said with a calm voice, “Not if you keep it a secret.”

Jim looked at her, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jamie, you’re a fucking girl!” He hissed. “How many secrets can you keep from them? You’re fucking bleeding every month. Someone will notice! And, and… What if you die? Fuck, you’re with the 29th. You’re actually the one who goes face first into combat. You’re the first they’ll be aiming at!” Jim nearly spat in her face from the strain of keeping his voice down and being angry and wanting to shout it out.

“You’d have done the same, Jim.” She lowered her head, put it between her knees and stared at the ground. “I haven’t had my period since the day you left, by the way. Four fucking years, Jim. That’s how much stress I’m under. When Jameson left, I didn’t want to exist anymore. I just.. I..” Jamie’s voice broke, and she wiped at her wet eyes with the back of her dirt smeared hand before they could drop down her cheeks.

Jim took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled before he rubbed at his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He suddenly started to chuckle. “Shit… Fuck, Jamie. Why are we like this? Our family is so fucked up. I don’t even know where the others are.”

Jamie looks up again, grinning. “I don’t know either, but I know that you’re here.”

“Well, not long. I’m leaving again this afternoon.” Jim put out his cigarette on the sole of his boots before he flickered it across the street. “Jamie. Take off your helmet.”

She did what her brother asked of her and Jim rolled his eyes as he saw her hair. It was growing back unevenly and he ruffled his palms through it. “Grow it out, will ya? Not all men have such short hair. A bit longer and you’d look great.”

Jamie elbowed him in the ribs before they both laughed.

“Keep close to Winchester, alright?” Jim putting his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Why?”

“I heard he’s a good guy. He lost a kid out of sheer stupidity and he’s blaming himself still. It wasn’t his fault.” She looked up at him, wondering how Jim always managed to make friends everywhere he went. “And I saw how he looked at you, Jamie. If looks could kill, I’d be dead when you climbed up my body last night.”

“Shut up.”

“True! Maybe he sees something in you worth protecting. I hope he does. He’ll keep you save, alright. Keep him close. Don’t try to fuck it up.” It was more a warning because he knows that Jamie tend to fuck things up. Jim probably couldn’t even count on both his hands how many times he had to come and haul her ass out of whatever shit situation she was in. The fights, he had to break, the boys he had to chase away.

“I won’t.” Jamie said truthfully.

“Good. Also don’t get dead.”

“I try.”

“Fuck you.” Jim chuckled, looking around to see if someone was watching them. He could see Winchester standing off near the building, talking to some other Lieutenants, but his eyes were fixed on them. He probably didn’t even listen to what the others were saying. Jim pulled Jamie close anyway, kissing her forehead twice and ruffled his palm through her hair.

CHAPTER 4

#dear dean #dean x ofc #dean x oc #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction

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hannahindie · 6 years

Text

The Grass Is Always Greener

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, Dean Word Count: 7,358 Warnings: Alcohol, weed, language, cracky goodness, so much smut. Just...just filth. Like a pinch of plot towards the end, but it’s like...guys, it’s just...you shouldn’t read it if you’re under 18. Hell, you maybe shouldn’t read it if you’re over 18. I mean, for me, anyway. It could be worse. But it’s all over the place, and there’s just a lot of it. So....here you go. A/N: This was written for @squirrel-moose-winchester‘s Supernatural Crack Attack Challenge. I’m gonna apologize ahead of time that there is more smut than crack, but it just...it just happened. I think I blacked out for part of it. Anyway, hopefully the cracky-ness is cracky enough!

Also, I had this amazing anonymous request: Prompty things challenge for you!! Scenario: Sam and Dean. Drinking (heavily) in the bunker. Sam pulls out weed. What do they do next? Also please include somehow, tank tops, honey, bad tv movies, whiskey, potato salad, giggling, toast, fuzzy slippers, silk, chores, falling,sleeping, and pie. :) Have fun with that!! So, scattered throughout this fic, is every single one of these things. I’m sorry if you weren’t expecting a ton of porn to go with it, but I hope, if you read this, you laugh as much as I did when I was trying to figure out how to get them all in there.

This was beta’d by my beautiful twinny @pinknerdpanda and my sweet, sweet @amanda-teaches, who also helped me name this crazy thing. This was a doozy to write, and you guys helped so much. I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated it, especially while I was sick and had the fever brain.

“Shhh!”

“You shhhh! You're gonna wake her up!”

“I'm not the one theater whispering as if it's actually how real people whisper.”

I roll over, the urgent whispers outside my door waking me from the light sleep I'd managed to finally fall into.

“What do you call what you're doing? Listen, we jus’ gotta sneak in there, I'll grab it, and...and she’ll never even know.”

“W-w-what? Of course she's gonna notice!”

“Dean...listen...she's not gonna smoke it. She jus’ took it from that kid to scare him when we were interrogating him the other day, she’ll never even notice.”

“Dude, are you trying to make up for that time you smoked oregano? Ya don't have anythin’ to prove, man. Le’s just go drink some more.”

“Are you scared of Y/N? Is that it? ‘Cause I think you are.”

“S’bullshit! I ain't scared of shit.”

My door opens enough to let in a sliver of light, and I squint against the brightness. Two shadowy figures fill the doorway, jamming together as they both try to walk in at the same time.

“Can you get out of my way?”

“I was going first, you move!”

“Oh my God, you're actually the worst.”

A few mumbled curses later, Sam’s large form pops through the doorway, nearly colliding with the foot of my bed.

“Where are we even supposed to look, Sam? It could be anywhere in here.”

“I know exactly where to look.” He moves over to my dresser and pulls open the top drawer. His shoulders hunch when it squeals along the track, and I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling at the face I know he is making.

“How d’you know it's in there? You jus’ wanna go through her underwear drawer.”

“This is where she keeps secrets, Dean. And I know because I know things. I drink and I know things.”

“Okay, Tyrion, you don't even drink enough to say that. How d’you know where she keeps her secrets?”

“Tha’s my secret.”

I hear him rummaging around, the light on his phone on but not pointed at any specific place as he shifts things in the drawer, and I consider interrupting him, until I hear him gasp.

“Did you find it?” Dean’s whisper has become less of a whisper and more like a normal speaking voice.

“Umm, no, not yet. Just...gimme a minute.” I hear whatever is in his hand hit the wooden bottom of the drawer, and then the sudden violent vibrating of plastic as it reverberates through the room. “Oh, fuck.”

“What the hell, man? Turn it off!”

“I don’t know how I turned it on! Shit!”

I can’t hold it in anymore, and laugh.

“AH!” Sam screeches, and his phone flies out of his hand and nearly hits Dean in the face. “How long have you been awake?!”

I sit up and rub my eyes, blinking as Dean flips on the light, “Long enough to know you're both idiots.” I shift so my legs hang over the side of the bed, groping for my fuzzy slippers with my feet. I sigh contentedly when they slip into the soft, fuzzy material, then stand and shuffle sleepily to my dresser. Sam snorts and I give him a not so scathing glare. “What?”

“Those slippers are ridiculous.”

“You're ridiculous. And also a liar,” I accuse as I reach into my drawer and switch off the offending noise maker, “because I know you know how to turn this off.” Sam’s jaw drops and Dean looks at him with a mixture of curiosity and offense.

“What's she mean by that?”

“S’nothing, she's just...she's just playing around.” He gives a nervous laugh and I grin.

“Oh, playing around is one way you could put it.” I wink at Sam and Dean’s nose scrunches.

“I don't like what's happening.”

“You don’t have to. Now, both of you take your drunk asses back to the living room, and pour me a glass of whiskey so I can catch up to you two assholes. Go. Now.” The two of them shuffle out of the room, and I dig around in my dresser for a tank top and shorts. I grab the contraband Sam was looking for and walk down the hall and into the living room, where Sam and Dean are talking in hushed whispers.

“What are you guys whispering about?”

Dean looks up, a glint in his eyes, “We were just wondering how often you slept with no pants on.”

“At least one of you should know that answer.”

Dean gapes at Sam again, “Seriously, dude, what is she talking about?”

I grab the glass of whiskey they had obediently poured for me and throw it back, grimacing at the burn, “If you can’t figure it out by now, sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about it. Now, let’s get me caught up so we can get to what you were looking for.”

“Y/N...I don’t think that’s how you make potato salad…”

I turn around and point the wooden spoon at Sam, flinging bits of potato in his direction. He flinches and wipes a piece of rogue tuber from his cheek. “My grandmother taught me this recipe, and it has been passed down for generations.”

“One...I don’t think potato salad has existed for generations, and two, I’m pretty positive no recipe includes honey.” I look back at the bowl and frown, then back at Sam.

“I don’t have any mayonnaise. Honey’s the next best thing.”

“That sounds wrong.”

I shrug, then give another squirt of honey in the bowl, “Sweet potato salad.” I snort and Sam rolls his eyes.

“That's not how that works!”

“Not how what works?” I turn to see Dean sauntering into the kitchen, one of the joints I had taken from the kid balanced loosely between his thumb and pointer finger.

“She doesn't have mayonnaise so she used honey instead.”

“Ha! Sweet potato salad!” I giggle and he takes a drag, breathing out slowly, sending a cloud of smoke directly into Sam’s face, “If you were higher, you'd appreciate our jokes more.”

“I don't think there's enough weed in this world to make me think your jokes are funny.”

“That’s harsh, Sammy. Here, have some more. Clearly, you have not imbibed enough.” Sam snatches it from Dean and wanders off, smoke billowing behind him. “Don’t smoke all of it, Jesus!”

“It’s alright, we’ve got more.” I go back to stirring the potato salad, reaching for the paprika.

I feel him walk up behind me, barely grazing my back as he leans over to see what I’m doing. “What was that earlier?”

“What was what?”

“You know, with Sam. The whole ‘you should know how to turn off a vibrator’ thing?”

I snort again, popping a potato into my mouth, “I think you know perfectly well what that was.”

He grabs my elbow and spins me around, “Yea, but what was that?”

I lick honey from my thumb as I look up at him, “Nothing. Sometimes I like to blow off steam.”

He groans quietly, pushing me against the counter, “You can’t say things like that when you’re licking honey off your fingers.”

“I can say whatever I want whenever I'm licking honey off anything I want,” I say with a wink. I lean closer, standing on my tiptoes so that my lips are almost grazing his. “You know what I think?”

“What?” he whispers, his hand resting gently on my lower back.

“You're jealous.”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous?” he scoffs.

I turn back to the bowl of potato salad and grab some bowls and forks, “Omaha. Silk restraints. Magic fingers.” I look over my shoulder to find his normally tan face a bright shade of red. “One time deal, you said it yourself. ‘It'll be too weird, we were drunk.’ Do you remember saying that?”

“Well, yea-”

“Exactly. Sam and I have a casual, no strings attached arrangement. He doesn't think it's weird.”

“I'd bet he doesn't think it's casual and no strings attached.”

I roll my eyes and turn around, shoving the bowl at him, “Maybe not! But he doesn't think it's weird. And what we do is no stranger than you wearing my underwear and having me tie you up with silk ties.” He stares at me, his mouth open but silent. “I'm not high enough for this conversation. Can we please just go eat sweet potato salad and watch bad, made for TV movies?”

He nods, “Yea, sure.” He turns and walks out of the kitchen without another word.

I need more whiskey.

“What the hell did we just watch?”

“I think it was Sharknado 5.”

Dean tilts his head to look at Sam and I on the couch, “I hate both of you.”

“You didn't have to stay in here, you know.” I can feel Sam shift uncomfortably next to me and stifle a giggle. He frowns, knowing that I am taking great pleasure in teasing him.

“Yea, well, you seemed pretty sure we should all watch this movie.”

I shrug, “I thought you would enjoy it more. I mean, aren't you a fan of whatserface?”

“The blonde chick with the robot arm? Oh, hell no. Tara Reid lost her appeal after the first American Pie movie. Nope, gross. Although I will say, the Hoff being able to function after that cheeseburger video is pretty impressive.”

I let my hand creep up Sam’s leg and stop at his thigh. He clears his throat, “Well, I think it's time to, uh, go to bed.” He shifts, but stays seated, his obvious need to be somewhere else thwarted by his even more obvious reason as to why.

“Yea,” I agree, my hand slipping even further, gently palming him through his jeans, “it's time we go to bed I think.” I grab the whiskey bottle with my unoccupied hand and relinquish my hold on Sam as I stand up. “One for the road?”

Dean stands up and stretches, his shirt pulling up to show off a little span of tan skin and fine hair trailing from his belly button to just under the edge of his jeans. I can feel the heat crawling up my cheeks as I stare, and he chuckles.

“You done?”

I clear my throat, “Quite.” I hold out the bottle to him and he shakes his head.

“Nah, I think I'm gonna cut myself off this time. You okay to get to bed?”

I nod, “Yea, yea, I'm good. I am gooood.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “Alright. G’night, guys.” He stumbles away, turning the corner and disappearing into the dark hallway.

“You are the worst.” I look over to see Sam stand up, the reason for his discomfort obvious as I stare at his bulge. I take a giant swig of whiskey, and sway a little as I look up at him.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I dunno, fondling me and then immediately checking out my brother is on the list, I think.” He steps closer, towering over me as he tries not to smile.

“You aren't mad?”

“Nah, I guess not. You aren't my girl, anyway.”

“I’m...I’m not?”

“I heard you talking to Dean. Just a casual way to blow off steam?”

I duck my head, “I...you...I'm sorry…”

He tucks his knuckle under my chin and forces me to look up at him, “I didn't say anything to tell you otherwise. No need to be sorry.” He drops his hand and it lands on my hip, his thumb rubbing the exposed skin between my tank top and the elastic band of my shorts. “You can do whatever you want, I just hope I'm allowed to be in on it every once in awhile.”

“Can we do whatever I want right now?”

Instead of answering, he dips down, his lips crushing mine as he pulls me into him. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, and he practically crushes me in his arms. His tongue traces the crease of my lips, gently parting them so that we can explore each other. This isn't the first time this has happened, but something seems different. It's more desperate, like there's something more to lose if we go through with it this time.

“Sam…” his lips move down my neck, sucking and leaving marks as his hands move down to grasp my ass. His mouth moves back up, nipping at my earlobe, and I gasp as his voice, deep and rough from the alcohol, rumbles against my ear.

“Did you want to do something else?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

I press myself against his denim clad bulge, wiggling my hips and making him moan, “What do you think?”

Suddenly, my feet aren't on the floor anymore and I squeal, wrapping my arms around Sam’s neck and my legs around his waist as he strides quickly through the bunker. I take the opportunity and begin running my fingers through his hair, kissing along his neck and along his jaw. He stops suddenly, pushing me against the wall and holding me there, “If you don't stop, we aren't going to make it to my room.”

I grab the hem of my shirt, balancing against him as I pull it off and toss it to the floor. The look in his eyes changes; the playful glint is replaced with dark lust. His hand snakes between us, rubbing against my clothed mound as he kisses me again, all teeth and tongue and quiet moans.

“We should...we should go to your room now,” I manage to moan out, my hips thrusting to meet his hand.

“You mean, you don't want me to fuck you in the hallway? Afraid Dean might see?” I let out an involuntary whimper; the thought of Dean catching us is more appealing than worrisome. “Not afraid...you sound like you want him to catch me fucking you out in the open.” If my panties weren't wet before, they're absolutely soaked now.

He pulls back to look at me, his eyes narrowed as he contemplates what he wants to do. “I could eat you out right here, but if he caught us, maybe I'd have to share.” His hand slips up the leg of my shorts, and under the elastic of my underwear. I gasp as one of his thick digits pushes inside of me and he begins moving it slowly. “On the other hand, if the thought of that gets you so turned on-”

“Just take me to your room, Sam. Please…” my voice is barely above a whisper, but he smiles at how wrecked I sound. He isn't wrong; the last few times this happened, it was sweeter, gentler. I don't know if it's the alcohol or the weed, or a combination of the two, but this...I don't have words for this.

Then he starts walking, and it's then I realize that his hand is still in my shorts, and he's still pushing and pulling, in and out, every step he takes adding to the thrust of his hand. My arms wrap tightly around his neck and the thought occurs to me that not only is he strong enough to hold me up with one arm, he's also coordinated enough to keep fingering me while high and walking down the hallway. Add that to the list of things I didn't realize was such a turn on. A drawn out moan escapes me and he chuckles, a low, throaty laugh. “We aren't going to make it past Dean’s room if you do that.”

Then he stops, dead in the hallway. Fuck.

“What...what are you doing?” Dean’s door is closed, and Sam’s eyes are trained on it like a beacon. Without a word he turns so that my back is towards it. “Sam…”

He pulls his hand from my shorts, then rips them off in one fluid motion. I hear his belt clinking and can feel his knuckles brush against me as he undoes his pants, shimmying them down so he can kick them off. He pushes me against the door and the wood is rough against my bare back.

“I’m going to give you what you want.” I gasp as he nudges my entrance, “But you have to be quiet.”

“I don't think-”

“Oh, you will,” he practically growls as he pushes further into me, “because I don't think I'm ready to share just yet.”

I bite my lip to keep from crying out as he bottoms out, my eyes wide. He takes a deep breath, as if he's trying to control himself, then slowly begins to thrust again. He switches which arm is holding me up and puts his free hand on the door to steady himself. Just the sound of his heavy breathing is almost too much paired with his slow, dragging pace and I clutch at his shoulders, my head falling back against the door with a quiet thud. I flinch, but Sam doesn't seem to notice as he ducks his head down to kiss along my collarbone, nipping and sucking his way along my neck and up to my jaw.

His lips drag along the shell of my ear, his breath hot as he whispers, “Do you think Dean knows we’re out here?” He pulls out almost all the way, “Do you think he is picturing what you look like while I fuck you?” He punctuates his question by slamming back into me, pushing against the door so it doesn't rattle in the frame. I can't answer, afraid that if I do, I'll be too loud. “You aren't answering. Do you think he knows,” he pulls out again, “that I'm fucking you,” he slams back in, grunting quietly into my shoulder, “right against his door?”

I can feel the coil tightening, his motions and the picture he's painting pushing me closer and closer to the edge. “I...I don't...maybe…” I can't form a coherent sentence, not the way he’s dragging in and out of me, and my head drops forward, resting against the soft flannel shirt he's still wearing.

“If he does know, if he can hear us,” another deliciously slow thrust, “I'd bet he’s getting off to it. Imagining what you look like, how you bite your lip, how it feels to be surrounded by your warmth. I know I've thought about it more than once, spilling over my fist in the shower…”

That's all it took. The fire deep in my belly bursts into flame, consuming me as the coil snaps. My teeth sink into Sam’s shoulder, hoping that his shirt is thick enough to muffle the loud cry that is involuntarily leaving me. His thrusts quicken, but his hips start to stutter and I hold onto him, riding him through his own release as he groans out my name.

He pulls back and looks at me, sweat trickling down his temple and towards his neck, and smiles.

“You are the worst,” I giggle whisper, and he shrugs.

“You like it.” He starts walking towards his room and I start laughing.

“Sam, put me down! You're leaving my clothes!”

He keeps walking, his grip tighter so I can't wiggle free, “I'm not finished with you yet.” He kicks the door open to his room, then shuts it with his hip. “You can get your clothes later. You won't be needing them for awhile.”

I can't say I'm unhappy about this turn of events.

I wake up, my throat dry and my body aching for some sort of refreshment. I slide out from under Sam’s arm, and grab his shirt off the back of the chair where it had landed earlier. He groans and rolls over, and I stare at him for a moment, taking in his long form as it stretches the full length of the bed.

I sneak out and leave the door cracked behind me, then turn towards the kitchen. Before I can take a step, a hand covers my mouth and I end up pressed against the wall. I have somehow managed to forget everything I know about self defense in my half asleep state, and only manage to weakly slap at the arm holding me against the wall.

“Shh, it's me!” The hand disappears from my mouth, and I glare at my would be assailant.

“Dean, what the hell?!” I give him a playful shove and he grins, his moss green eyes glinting in the low light of the hall.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask the same of you! I’m thirsty, I'm getting a drink.”

He shrugs, “I’m hungry, thought I'd get a snack.”

“Oh, well, then we can go together.” Suddenly, he's standing far too close, and I realize how little clothing I'm wearing.

“Not exactly the kind of snack I was thinking about.”

“W-w-what do you mean?”

He takes another step, and his body presses against mine, “I think you know exactly what I mean.” He fingers the buttons on Sam’s shirt, his eyes roving from my face to where it's hanging open down to the third button. “You expect to just fuck right outside my door and not expect consequences? Seriously?”

“We thought you were asleep!” I rush out, panicked.

“I'm gonna stop you right there. Sammy knew damn well I wasn't asleep, and, even if I was, do you really think you were being that quiet?” His hand slips under the soft fabric and he squeezes my breast, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “I could hear every little moan and whimper that was coming out of you. Not like I haven't before, but knowing you were just on the other side of that door…” he trails off and brings his gaze back up to meet mine.

“Listen-”

“I get it, you and Sam. I'm not blind, I can tell. But I also know neither of you have done anything about it, and I owe Sammy some payback.” He leans down and wraps his lips around my nipple and I can't help but groan; his tongue is sinful, and he hasn't even done anything yet. His tongue swirls around the pebbled skin, and I can feel goosebumps run down my arms and legs. He lets go with a quiet pop, and puts his forehead against mine. “You've gotta be quiet, that's the rules.”

“Then how’s Sam gonna know?” I draw a sharp breath as Dean’s hand wanders under the hem of my shirt, his fingertips brushing along my wet entrance like a feather.

“Oh, he’ll know.” His fingers move up and down, the rough pads gentle against my sensitive skin. With each pass, they move a little deeper, but then he pulls back, his thumb barely grazing my clit as he plays, his forehead still pressed against mine.

“Dean…” We shouldn't do it...but he's right. And honestly, the way his fingers feel against me right now, common sense isn't playing a part. “Please…” He slips one finger inside, curling and twisting it while he pushes in and out, and suddenly his mouth is on mine, swallowing the moan I can't hold back.

He tastes like whiskey, and his five o’clock shadow is rough against my face. It's one of those delicious burns, and I open my mouth for him, our tongues meeting as he explores. It's different than kissing Sam, almost softer, but there's a hidden edge I can't quite put my finger on. I nip at his bottom lip, and it's his turn to groan into me. He pulls away and smirks, then drops to his knees in front of me.

“What are you doing?”

He raises a brow as he looks up at me, “Do I really need to answer that question?” Both hands are under my shirt now, and he pushes my legs further apart. He ducks under my shirt, and I cry out as his tongue drags along my folds, working in tandem with his fingers as he adds another one. “I said,” he mutters against me, sending vibrations to my core, “you've gotta be quiet.”

I drop my head back against the wall, my chest heaving. He laps at me, making happy little grunting sounds as he moves. I can already feel the warmth building in my belly, and I bury my fingers in Dean’s hair. “I'm not gonna last much longer, Dean,” I whimper. He lifts one of my legs and puts it over his shoulder, and the change of angle nearly pushes me over right then. He sucks my clit into his mouth, his fingers pistoning in and out, and then suddenly the world goes black. He doesn't stop, and I tighten my grip on his hair, riding his face as a second orgasm rips through me.

I finally relinquish my hold on him and he drops my leg, standing up so that he's still up against me. I'm pretty sure it's the only reason I'm able to still be upright.

“You alright?”

I nod weakly, “I would say I'm more than alright.”

“Good.” He backs up and I walk to Sam’s door.

“So you're okay with-” my thought is interrupted when I see Sam, sitting up in bed, the blankets pooled around his waist. “Sam? Did you hear…?”

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and his muscles ripple down his back as he shifts. He stands up, and it's very obvious that he heard us. “What do you think?” He walks closer to me, seemingly oblivious to Dean standing right behind me, “One Winchester not enough?”

“Listen, man, it's my fault. It wasn't her idea-”

Sam’s gaze shifts from me to Dean, and the older Winchester, in a surprising turn of events, stops talking. “It's alright, if that's what she wants…” He reaches out, his fingertips brushing the buttons like Dean’s had done only moments before, “Is that what you want? Both of us?”

What is happening? “I...I don't know…” My mind may not know the answer, but my dripping cunt does. I squeeze my legs together, trying to find some sort of friction, and Sam notices the movement.

“I think you do know.” He fingers the buttons some more, as if contemplating what he should do with this information, then slowly begins to pop them open. He slides the shirt apart enough so that just a small part of my breasts peek through, and my mind is racing. The look on his face, the slow, calculated movements...it's Sam, but it's not, and for some reason it's one of the hottest things I've ever seen.

He looks back to Dean, his expression softer than earlier, and, though I can't see his brother’s face, I know they're doing that silent conversation thing reserved only for those close enough to understand it. He nods, then looks back at me, the corner of his mouth turned up. His hand traces up the edge of the shirt, his fingers slipping under it at the shoulder. He carefully slides it off, pushing it down my arm, and his other hand repeats the motion on the other side. The shirt slips off and hits the floor, and he takes another step towards me. I can feel his arousal pressing against my stomach.

Suddenly, his lips are on mine, desperate and hot. There's no gentle exploration this time; his tongue pushes its way against mine hungrily, and his large hands grip my bare ass, pulling me roughly into him. He bites at my lip, pulling gently before letting go and traveling lower, planting sloppy kisses along my jaw and down my throat. He spins me around so that my back is against him, one of his hands roughly cupping a breast while the other travels between my legs, spreading me apart as Dean watches.

“You're already so wet, Y/N...wet, and warm, and tight.” Dean gives a strangled groan as we lock eyes and Sam plunges inside of me, two fingers moving in and out as his thumb rubs my clit. “What do you think? Should we let Dean in on this, too? Say the word, and we won't. It's up to you.”

I can't think, not with his rough fingers dragging in and out, and the obscene noises they’re making as he continues his ministrations. “Y-yes…” my wrecked voice is quiet, but they both hear me. Sam walks backwards with me as Dean follows, needlessly shutting the door behind him.

He turns so that I'm facing the bed and he pulls himself free. I look over my shoulder in time to see him lick his fingers clean, slowly and deliberately, and my mouth drops open; this is a Sam I've never seen, and I can't say I wouldn't like to see him again.

He steps out of my line of sight, and I feel a different set of hands running down my back, gripping my hips before traveling to the globes of my ass. He turns me to face him and Dean’s eyes are dark with lust. “How do you feel about me going first, sweetheart?”

I finally find my voice as I grab his belt buckle, “I think you're wearing too many clothes.” I make quick work of it, and, as he shimmies his jeans down his legs, pulling his boxers with them, it seems like everything is going in slow motion. This is going to change things, major things, and I'm left wondering if any of us are ready for it. Then Dean is pulling off his shirt, tossing it to the side, and suddenly the moment is over and I feel everything ten fold.

Dean gives me a gentle push backwards and the backs of my legs hit the bed. I plop gently onto it and shimmy backwards as he stalks towards me, like I'm some kind of prey. He grabs my ankles, smooths his hands up my calves and up to my knees, then pulls my legs apart. His fingers trail up my thighs, brush past my aching core, and move up to hips as he positions himself between my open legs.

“I think it's time we get to the main show, don't you?” he asks with a smile, and I can feel him, hot and heavy, against the inside of my thigh. He reaches down and strokes himself a couple of times, then slowly eases in.

I gasp, and, though he's not quite as big as Sam, it's still enough to burn as I adjust to his size. “Oh...Dean…”

Despite being filled by Dean, I still can't help but wonder where Sam is. I roll my head to the side and find him sitting in his desk chair, legs sprawled and dick in hand as he watches, his eyes narrowed as he focuses on me. Dean starts to move, slow but deep thrusts that pull my attention back to him. “How's that feel, huh? Feel good?”

“Mmhmm...so good.” He looks down at me, his bottom lip between his teeth as he moves, and I would give him anything in that moment. Absolutely anything. I grab the backs of my thighs and pull my knees closer to my chest, and he goes even deeper.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, you're gonna kill me…” he moves my hands out of the way, replacing them with his own, and pushes, spreading my legs further apart as he bears down.

I roll my head again to look at Sam and see that he's mesmerized by the way my tits are bouncing, stroking himself in time to every move. I reach up and start plucking at my nipple, grabbing a fistful of tit as I roll my stiff bud between my fingers. When he finally looks up and meets my eye, a look is all it takes.

He quickly moves from the chair to the bed, kneeling on the floor by my head. Despite his roughness earlier, he smooths the hair from my face, kissing me deeply and swallowing the moans coming out of me as Dean continues to thrust, then moves down and captures my nipple in his mouth.

“Sam...fuck…” He bites gently, flicking his tongue in time with Dean, while still stroking himself. “Dean...I need...can you…” I can't form a coherent sentence, not with both of them touching me, but he seems to understand.

“Flip over, sweetheart,” he pulls out and lets my legs drop, and I roll over onto my belly. He grabs my hips and yanks my ass up, teasing my entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Dean, please…”

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me, and quit teasing.”

He laughs, and I nearly come the moment he slams back into me. He's not as gentle this time around, picking up speed as he nears his own climax. I look at Sam and lick my lips, and he understands immediately what I want. He stands up, dick eye level, and I wrap my lips around him. Each thrust Dean gives causes my mouth to go further down his shaft, and he groans when he feels himself hit the back of my throat.

He grabs a handful of hair and begins practically fucking my face, and for a moment all you can hear is the pornographic sounds of skin slapping skin, muffled moans, and the wet sucking of my cunt swallowing Dean’s dick.

“I'm gonna come, Y/N,” Dean grinds out, his rhythm faltering as he gets closer. Sam pulls away from my mouth and steps back, and I look over my shoulder at him. “Come with me, I wanna feel it.” He reaches around and starts rubbing my clit, and I start pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with my own.

“I'm so close, Dean, please...don't stop…” He slams into me two more times and I'm done for. I come, hard, and Dean grabs my hair as he spills inside of me, growling and cursing under his breath. He pulls out slowly, and I collapse onto the bed, unable to hold myself up anymore.

I feel the bed shift as Dean stands up, and then again when Sam slides in next to me. I open my eyes to see him looking at me, his hazel eyes like sunflowers. I smile and he tilts his head.

“What?”

I shrug, “Just...you have really pretty eyes.”

Sam smiles back, a genuine smile that I rarely get to see, “I think we've sexed you into madness.”

I shake my head, “Not possible. I've still got at least one more in me.”

His hand slides across my thigh, and he dips a finger along my folds. “As wet as you are, I'm not sure there's enough friction for you to even enjoy it,” he says with a laugh, pressing his thumb to my clit.

I arch my back and close my eyes as his thumb makes lazy circles, “You'd be surprised.”

He props himself up on his elbow, looking down as his hand teases my entrance, a finger dipping in and back out, tickling my clit and moving down. I open my eyes to see Dean walking towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Uh, well, I thought my part here was done, so I was just gonna go back to my room.”

“I want you to watch.”

“What?”

I wiggle my hips against Sam’s hand and sigh, “You heard me.”

“Okay, then.” He moves to the seat Sam was just occupying and sits down. Sam settles in on the other side of me so I can see Dean and continues what he was doing. Dean watches with hooded eyes, and I roll my head so that I can see him better. Despite just getting off, he's already half hard again.

Sam slips a finger inside me, and I groan, never losing eye contact with Dean. His cock twitches and I can tell he wants to touch himself. I nod, and his hand wraps around his dick. Sam adds another finger and I can't concentrate on Dean, all I can feel are his two large digits pumping in and out of my wet cunt.

“Sam, that feels so good,” I mewl, breath catching at how full I feel. “Lay on your back.”

“You sure?”

I nod, and he rolls over so that he's laying on his back instead of his side. I reach down and stroke him, though he doesn't need much help at this point. I plant a knee on either side of him, then line him up and sink down. I take a minute to adjust to his size.

“Oh my God, Y/N. You feel so fucking good.”

I laugh as I begin to rock back and forth, “We just did it a little bit ago!”

“I don't think I'm ever going to get used to how amazing you feel. Fuck…” I add some bounce to my gyrations, and glance at Dean, who is watching my every move as he strokes himself. Sam's hands grip my hips and I know there will be bruises in the morning; in all honesty, I kind of hope there are.

“Shit...Sam, I need more, please.”

He plants his feet on the mattress and begins fucking into me as hard as he can. I lean back on my palms, aching for a final release. Dean is watching me hungrily, his eyes on my tits as the bounce with each thrust. Must be a Winchester thing.

“C’mere, Dean,” I pant out as Sam’s thumb finds my clit again. “You're almost there, aren't you?”

“Fuck...yea…” he walks over to stand next to me, and I suck him into my mouth, twirling my tongue around his head as Sam pounds into me. Dean buries his hand in my hair, grips it as I move, and it's like Sam can't stand the thought of sharing me. He moves faster, lifting me almost off his cock before slamming me back down on it. I add a hand to work with my mouth and Dean cries out, a strangled moan as he comes in my mouth, hot and thick. “Holy shit.” His voice is wrecked, but I don't have time to respond. The build up I've been feeling finally hits the edge of the cliff and I'm about to fall off of it.

“Sam, I'm so close…ohhh, I'm going to...I'm coming, Sam!” My legs tighten against him and I clench around him as he also comes, milking him of every last drop. After the high of it wears off, I roll off of Sam, sighing at the sudden emptiness of him pulling out. He puts his arms around me, and though he's like a furnace, I can't help but hold onto him.

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, “Well...that just happened.”

I smile sleepily, nuzzling into Sam’s side, “Yea, it sure did.”

“Are you okay?”

I nod, “I'm not sure my legs work anymore, but who needs legs?” Both of them laugh, and it gives me hope that tomorrow won't be weird.

“We can always carry you around.”

“Mmmhmm…”

And then I'm asleep, lulled into sweet dreams against Sam’s solid form and the sound of the two brothers quietly talking.

I wake up to Sam’s large body curled around mine, his hand cupping my breast gently as he sleeps. I smile, happy to wake up with him beside me, then look around to find the room is empty besides us; Dean is gone. I carefully slip out of Sam’s grasp, and take a shirt from his dresser. As I'm slipping it on, I trip over one of his boots and hit the floor. I curse under my breath and wait for him to ask if I'm okay, but he is still passed out. Surprising, for a hunter, but after last night, not unexpected. I gather myself and limp out of the room, making a mental note to make a place just for shoes.

The bunker is quiet, and the kitchen is empty when I get to it. I shuffle around, regretting not wearing my fuzzy slippers, and put the coffee on. I pull out the toaster and toss a couple of pieces of bread in, then lean against the counter and wait for both things to finish.

“I smell coffee.” I look up to see Dean in the doorway, hair sticking every which way and eyes half closed.

“You do. Do you want toast to go with it?”

“Pie. I want pie.”

I laugh and nod my head towards the fridge, “There's still some apple in there, have at it.” He makes a happy grunt and detours towards the fridge. I pour a cup of coffee for both of us, butter my toast, and move over to the table to eat. Dean sits down in front of me and proceeds to eat the pie straight from the pan.

“Dean, listen-”

“I know, I should have gotten a plate, but I'm hungry and it's my turn to do the dishes so I don't really want to-”

“No, that's fine, I don't…I don't care about that. I meant about last night.”

“Oh. Yea, right.”

“It was great.”

“Yea, it was.”

“But…” I stir my coffee again, staring at the way the creamer swirls in the darkness of the bitter liquid, “it can't…we can't do that again.”

“Mmm.”

“It's just, it’s Sam, Dean. It's always been Sam. And I love you, I do, and you are good, but it just...it can't happen, okay?”

He sits quietly for a moment, and the euphoria I felt last night is gone. It should have never happened; the major change is coming right now. Not later, now, and I'm not ready for it. Then he looks up and smiles.

“I know it's Sammy. You two have been dancing around it for ages. I get it. Can't say I regret last night, but I understand.” He picks my hand off the table and brings it to his lips, kissing the top of it gently, “You're an amazing woman, and you and Sam...shit, you guys are perfect. I also can't say I'm not a little jealous, but I'll get over it. You deserve each other, you know?”

We’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Sam is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching as Dean drops my hand like it's burnt him.

“I, uh...I gotta go.” He stands up to leave then grabs the plate of pie, “I'm just going to take this with me. And then it's my turn to do dishes and laundry so, uhhh, if you need me, I'll be doing chores. For the rest of my life.” He disappears around the corner and Sam walks over to the coffee pot.

“Sam…”

“What?” He pours a cup of coffee, then leans against the counter as he drinks it.

“About last night-”

“Yea, I get it. Can't happen again. It's fine.”

“Sure, but that's not exactly what I was going to say.”

He sits his mug down a little too forcefully, then crosses his arms across his chest, “Listen, it's fine. When I woke up and you were gone, I knew. I'm not surprised that Dean got the girl, I just figured after last night-”

“Are you jealous?” I ask with a nervous laugh, and he frowns.

“You aren't my girl, so there's not really any reason to be jealous, right?”

I stand up from the table and walk up to him, putting my hands on his crossed arms. “What if I want to be your girl, though?”

His expression softens, “Do you?”

“Of course! I told Dean that as much fun as last night was, you are the one I want to be with. I love Dean, but not like that. You're the one I want to be with.”

“Really?”

I nod, “Really.”

He pulls me into him, wrapping himself around me and I sigh happily. He kisses the top of my head, and I smile up at him.

Maybe this isn't going to be so complicated after all.

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#Smut Appreciate Day 2018 #Supernatural Crack Attack Challenge #SPNCrackAttackChallenge #SPNCAC #smut #so much smut #sam x reader #dean x reader #sam x reader x dean #reader insert

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beatyoutothepunchline · 5 years

Text

On Telephones

Carrie Fisher once said to, “Take your broken heart and make it into art.” I don’t know if she ever found a way to mend a mangled heart--one that can’t will itself to make any art right now--but if anybody has got something better than slamming a two buck chuck while laying on the floor of your dorm room, listening to Julia Jacklin’s cover of “Someday” by the Strokes for the ten millionth time, while going between six different tabs on Glassdoor of jobs you didn’t get while waiting for inspiration to ding like the semi-hourly email from Sur La Table, reminding your newly single ass that “love is in the air” and while it is you can take an extra forty percent off all clad cookware, I’d like to know. All of this is happening on my phone, which I’m trying not to look at right now and am failing miserably at because I’ve spent the last ten years slowly becoming more and more addicted to and reliant upon it. I’m not sure I could go twenty seconds without checking my Instagram feed, and I can assure you that unless the little blue dot on my map app moved with me, I wouldn’t ever get to where I was going. (Have you tried to ask somebody on the street recently where something is? Everybody’s got their headphones in). Remember when phones were just phones and all they did was call people? I do… vaguely. I remember using my stubby, bitten down middle school fingernails to pull up the antenna of my 90’s Nokia, plopping down on the floor in the living room of our house in Omaha and calling everyone in my mom’s address book and tell them I had a cellphone and if I needed to be reached personally, I now could. I remember my mom walking into the room and asking what I was doing, so I told her. I was on the phone with our next door neighbor, Doris Helfrich. My mom pulled the phone out of my hand and apologized laughing it off. I was too old to be doing stuff like that. Twelve or thirteen maybe, but I’m amazed there was a point in my life when talking on phone was a source of anxiety. This is due to the pressure of trying to make a good first impression, which I’m bad at to begin with. I’m one of those people you need to meet at least eleven times before they can form an honest opinion about me. There’s even more pressure over the phone, because there is nothing to go on other than my voice. This wasn’t something that I noticed until I got older and became slightly more perceptive and self conscious of it. I personally have no problem with it, however, in recent years it has come to my attention thanks to the groundbreaking observation of several of the men I’ve gone out with that I sound, “nervous” (In my defense, I’m usually burning the candle at both ends and my voice is shaking because I’m jacked up on an insane amount of coffee.) Or they say I sound scared or sad or angry. My absolute favorite though,came from this idiot I am crying over who told me,“You sound like a California girl.” Because apparently I talk slower (I’m assuming he meant I had a super cool laid back, So-Cal surfer drawl) and because I say “like” a lot (I do, but it’s usually because I’m trying to find the right way to say something. I’m not sure why taking my time to choose my words carefully needs to be pointed out to me as if it’s a bad thing.) But I’m cool and I quote from my favorite Valley girl, saying, “Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man,” or some other joke that fits the comment. The smart one’s laugh and move on. The dumb ones ask, such as said idiot ask, “Why do you use comedy to distract from insecurities?” Truth is I didn’t have any until idiot dudes started pointing them out to me. I hate to admit I let something that stupid get to me, but whenever my phone rings now there’s this sense of fear that the voice on the phone doesn’t match the person I am, and the takeaway will be what I sound like, not what I’m trying to say. The next phone I got was a burnt orange Sidekick, which meant I could finally text people instead of having to call them. Not that I knew anyone to text. Certainly, the sixty-year-old neighbors I called on my Nokia didn’t know how to text or didn’t. But I meet people at school, those people invited me to parties where I meet more people. Those people and I talked for a while and if general teenage awkwardness (because let’s be clear: teenagers were socially awkward long before phones started making them that way) or my inability to form a sentence without sounding like an idiot didn’t ruin the conversation we’d exchange numbers so we didn’t have to talk with our mouths anymore. I distinctly remember a two week period in high school where I met a dude at a party, told my friend to give him my number, lost my phone for two weeks (totally content with never seeing it again) only to find it with an eighty-nine percent battery life and three texts from the boy my friend gave my number to. And really there are two things that are amazing about this. The first is that there was a point in my life where I went two weeks (336 hours, 20,160 minutes) without looking at my phone and that there was a point in my life where I truly didn’t care if the dude from the party texted me. Right after the party, or at all. What happened to her? Fourteen years old in that cocktail dress my mom bought me last minute from Forever 21, standing along the back wall of a dark high school gym, the bass rattling my chest. There was a point in my life where the loudness of it all didn’t freak me out. There was something almost kind of meditative about it. Not the people or music. There is absolutely nothing meditative about being surrounded by teenagers in varying stages of puberty (and yet somehow simultaneously, at the peak of it), dancing to “Apple Bottom Jeans” by T-Pain and screaming “REMEMBER FIFTH GRADE?!” or singing out of key to “Fireflies” by Owl City and screaming “REMEMBER SEVENTH GRADE?!” or little circles of light from a disco ball spinning around your head like someone knocked out in a cartoon. I stood along the back wall of the gym, closed my eyes and focused on the bass until I forgot all the lyrics and all the people around me. If I were twenty-one then I’d have pulled my earbuds out of my clutch and put in my music, Jon Brion or Aimee Man or the Velvet Underground, and slow danced with myself. Unfortunately, I was fourteen. I didn’t know who Jon Brion or Aimee Man were and I didn’t go to the dance alone. For some reason, I decided to go with a bunch of girls who were appalled by the sight of grinding. I was appalled by them being appalled by people who made different choices than they did and decided to call my parents to pick me up an hour into the dance. “Already?” My mom asked though I’m not sure why she was surprised. I always left the party early. As I sat waiting on a concrete bench outside, a girl ran out of the building like Cinderella and the clock was inching toward midnight. She was wearing a powder blue ball gown that looked more prom in the ’50s than a homecoming in 2013 and she was bawling her eyes out, mascara and eyeliner streaking down her face. She sat down on the opposite end of the bench from me. There were about twelve identical benches around us, but she sat on mine for some reason. From what I gathered between sobs into her cell phone she and her boyfriend had just broken up because he had and cheated on her with another girl, who he had taken to homecoming instead of her. Back in my dorm room in 2019, in between Julia Jacklin songs, I started to binge-watching videos by Thoraya Maronesy where she challenges people to call their crushes and ask them out on a date, or asks what the kindest thing they’ve ever been told and there was one video titled, “Who's 1 stranger that you still remember?” And as I watched this video, I tried to think about a stranger I remembered meeting and only one that came to mind was this girl on the bench. And the only thing I remember feeling at that moment was disgust. Because I didn’t understand why she would cry over someone like that. I didn’t get it when I invited him to a lit series I was asked to read at. I’m scared of talking to one person, the thought of standing in front of fifty hipsters in Carhartt beanies who are all tastefully one drink into the evening, armed with big vocabularies and ready to critique me is terrifying. It’s not like Iowa where if you screw up people won’t remember it because they’re not paying attention, won’t remember it because they’re five beers in, or will remember it but love you enough to make it into a joke they’ll tell at your wedding, to your children when they are old enough to get it, and put in your obit. To my surprise, they were all incredibly nice and he was the asshole. I took his judgment of shaky voice and my word choice as honesty. I let him rip into the poets that read the whole walk back to the train, only meekly interjecting with, “At least they’re writing poetry.” I let him call me cute and mansplain the intricacies of his book on finance and politics. I didn’t get it until I made dinner for him (which took well over the estimated hour cook time, because I, in fact, do not know how to operate an oven) and he told me that he was seeing three other people while I was home over winter break. Over break. When he was calling me every other night to tell me he missed me, I was dipping out of dinner early, laying on the landing of the staircase of my parents place or pacing around the freezing garage floor talking to him for an over hour. Because who calls anymore unless they really like you? Only then did click and I finally got it. Heartbreak is a sixteen year old who--for the first time in her life--finally feels like Nora Ephron didn’t completely lie to her, only to have that feeling stripped away by some stupid thing some boy told her. Because a woman well versed in her past mistakes and a man well versed in his didn’t write the right words for that asshole. Heartbreak is a big blue dress that directly juxtaposes the era. That you write off as being delusional or dated, but secretly gives you hope that slow dance still happen, that late night telephone conversations between two people still exist, and still mean more than what is said during them. Heartbreak is mascara running all down your face and no one chasing after you when you leave the party. And let me tell you, that kind of heartbreak looks much better on a sixteen-year-old girl at homecoming than on a twenty-something sitting alone at her kitchen table, with a botched TJ’s lemon chicken sitting in front of her, still a little raw in the middle. I glance down at my phone, trying to convince myself it was to check the time instead of Snapchat, or Instagram. It’s the time of night I would have called him and I debate calling my mother, but I’ve already called her. She likes breaking news, not this repetitive, 24-hour loop of a relationship I prefaced with, “Don’t get used to hearing about him. It’s not gonna last.” I know she will be a hundred percent honest with me. She’ll tell me to wipe the snot out of my nose, splash some cold water in my face and get over it. So instead I call my grandma because I want to talk to somebody that will pretend to care and she is scarily upbeat and gets wildly off topic. She will save me. Or distract me. Maybe they’re the same thing. As soon as she picks up, she tells me about how my uncle Rob was in Chicago for a Navy conference. “But only for two days,” she says as if to avoid offending me. As if I would be furious to find out he didn’t want to spend the few free hours he had in his tight schedule to see me. She told me he left his Navy blues or whatever you call them back in DC where he sometimes works, or in Sicily where he is currently stationed. I forget where she said he left his Navy blues because I wasn’t listening to her tell me how he ran all over town on his lunch break, acquiring pieces of a uniform from thrift stores and getting them tailored to fit him before dinner that night. Where nobody was the wiser, save the two men he asked had a spare necktie. I didn’t stop to consider how beautiful that was--how it could be a short story. One I could’ve been writing if I wasn’t preoccupied with things not working out with the guy I was seeing. My grandma, now picking up on my not so subtle crying, tells me in an uncharacteristically flat, matter-of-fact tone, “It works or it doesn’t,” before telling me to link up with my mom’s second cousin who lives two streets down on Michigan Avenue. That I should consider writing him a letter. Maybe network a little. I write down his address, toy with the idea of writing a letter, but hang up when my grandma starts telling me to “network” with people. A few hours after my conversation with my her, no further into my homework or a story about my uncle, I go from break up songs to love songs when “Big Me” by the Foo Fighters pops up on my recommended list. I’d heard the song before, but I had never really listened to it. Some people say it’s about a fight this guy has with his girlfriend and the line, “If we can get around it/I know that it's true.” Meaning, if it’s the real deal, they’ll figure it out together. Some say that lead singer, Dave Grohl, simply meant it as a corny love song for his wife at the time, some insist it’s about dealing with the loss of Kurt Cobain. I don’t know. I wasn’t in the state of mind to analyze it, so I let the music video inform the brilliant and infuriatingly vague lyrics. The music video for “Big Me” parodies a Mentos commercial, aptly renaming the mint candy “Footos.” In it, Grohl, the band, and several actors (who, if not ripped off of the set from an actual Mentos commercial we’re perfectly cast as being the kind of people that could be in one), encounter a series of minor a setbacks. A woman gets parked in by a self-centered businessman, Dave Grohl gets cut off by an angry lady in a limo, and a kid is kept from getting into a Foo Fighters concert. After a moment of contemplation as each tries to figure out how to deal with the situation they are confronted with, they have this sort of “Ah-ha!” moment, before popping in a “Footo,” smiling at the camera and coming up the solution that has been there all along. The band picks the car out up of the parking spot so the lady can get out, Dave Grohl befriends the woman in the limo that cuts him off and give her a Footo, and the kid is able to sneak into the concert and play with the band. It’s equal parts funny, stupid and feel good and I can’t help but smile when I watch it. I text my brother a link to the video and tell him that I’m having one of those nights where I look at Dave Grohl and think, “Alec could do that.” I pause to explain that, “I don’t know exactly what I mean by that.” But I tell him have fun making that EP he and his band are making. I listen to the song fade out and check my phone, wishing I could pop in a Mento, choose happiness and figure out how to fix myself when I think of one last number I can call. I get up off the floor, walk over to my desk and slide the poem my mom gave me out from under the chip clip holding it to my picture frame. The poem was her dad’s. It’s titled “Don’t Quit,” and when I’m close to quitting I read the poem. When I want answers to questions I flip it over to the phone number written on the back under the name D. Imer. I have no idea who he might be is or what it might means. I open my phone, dial the number, and stop just short of calling. Not because I care about what the person on the other end will think of me or my voice, but because I don’t want to ruin the illusion I’ve created. Deep down I know it will not redirect me to a secret telephone line that will give me answers to all my questions.

#essays #theblondefiasco #writing

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punmasterkentparson · 6 years

Text

Sacred in the Moment

read on ao3

“I wanna kiss you everywhere,” Swoops murmurs, his lips tickling Kent’s jaw as he speaks.

“Everywhere?” Kent asks, only half-listening. They’ve been making out on his couch for twenty minutes and Swoops has both hands on Kent’s ass. Higher brain functions have been out the window for a while.

“Mm, everywhere.” Swoops punctuates this with a gentle bite.

And because Kent can’t pass up any opportunity to be a dick, he says, “Even Omaha, Nebraska?”

Swoops pulls his head up. “What.”

“Salt Lake City, Utah?” Kent continues, making his eyes wide as though scandalized. “Steak N Shake?”

“Stop.”

“Blockbuster?”

Swoops groans and pinches his ass through his jeans. It barely hurts but Kent yelps anyway. “I was being romantic, you dickweed.”

“Sorry. It was too easy.” Kent knows he’s grinning too much for a believable apology.

“You’re such a pain,” Swoops grumbles fondly, and kisses him.

Columbus, OH

Losing is never fun. Losing in Columbus isn’t as awful as, say, losing in Pittsburgh, but it still sucks. The Aces are subdued the next morning as they haul their luggage out of the hotel, onto the airport shuttle, and onto the plane. Most of them find their usual seats and settle in for a nap, a movie, or a game of cards. Swoops’ normal seat isn’t next to Kent, it’s a few up ahead, so Kent is surprised when Swoops slips into the spot beside him.

“I’m not gonna be good company,” Kent warns.

“That’s fine, I’m not staying. Just wanted to give you something.”

“Oh?” Kent’s eyes still feel sticky with sleep and his heart is heavy from the shutout. He doesn’t realize what Swoops is doing until he feels the light pressure of lips against his temple.

“Everywhere,” Swoops says, giving Kent a gentle smile, and then he gets up and heads down the aisle.

Kent doesn’t figure out what Swoops meant by that until their plane is touching down on Ottawa tarmac. When he does, he blushes so hard his cheeks hurt.

Oh. Everywhere.

BB&T Center, Miami, Florida

“Your tie’s crooked, c’mere.”

Kent looks down at himself, trying to see what Swoops is talking about.

“Just c’mere, will you?” Swoops is waving him away from the door to the locker room, which is already full of their teammates pulling off their game day suits and getting ready for warmups.

Kent rolls his eyes and goes over. “I’m taking it off in like, a minute.”

“Aren’t you the captain? Set an example.” Swoops messes with Kent’s collar and makes a few (minor) adjustments to the angle of Kent’s tie. “There.”

“You did literally nothing—” Kent begins to protest, but shuts up when Swoops reels him in by his tie and kisses him. The pressure is light, barely there, and gone in less than a second. After all, they’re alone in the hall but anyone could walk by.

Swoops drops Kent’s tie and winks. “Everywhere. Even outside the locker room.” Then he grins. “You’re blushing really hard.”

“You surprised me,” Kent sputters.

“Better stay on your toes, then.” Swoops pats his shoulder and heads into the locker room alone.

Kent stands outside and fans his face for a couple minutes before he feels like he can go in without being chirpped to death.

The Blind Badger, Anaheim, California

Kent quickly figures out that there’s no logic to the locations where Swoops will choose to kiss him. Sometimes it’s by city, sometimes by arena, sometimes it’s just random. Kent also finds out that he’s not allowed to play. He sneaks into Swoops’ hotel room one night in a desperate attempt to end the week-long dry spell they’ve been forced to have, and when he tries to say, “Everywhere, even your hotel room in Dallas,” Swoops just shakes his head and says, “Doesn’t work like that, Parse.”

So it’s Swoops’ thing, just his. Kent doesn’t mind. It’s embarrassing as hell, because he cannot stop himself from blushing like a fool every time it happens, but he doesn’t mind.

He’s starting to look forward to it.

The Aces go to Anaheim and win handily, 5-2, and then go out to celebrate. They’ve got their choice of bars, and end up in a place that one of the guys found on Yelp, called “The Blind Badger.”

“This place is classy as fuck,” Carl announces when they get in.

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Swoops drawls, although Kent is looking around and he can’t say that Carl’s wrong. The bartenders are wearing ties and serving flaming martinis. Most people here are wearing at least business casual attire.

Their group gets a table and orders their first and second rounds. The bar’s atmosphere keeps them from getting too rowdy, but it’s impossible to smother the full force of their volume. Fortunately, the bar is crowded enough that the worst of their noise is drowned out.

Three rounds and a burger later, Kent hauls himself out of his seat while calling, “I’m going to the bathroom, nobody drink my beer.”

He’s no sooner through the door labeled “Gentlemen” than Swoops is right there with him.

“Swoops, what—Oh no, dude, we’re basically in public—”

Swoops kisses him anyway. Hot, wet, and filthy. Kent almost chokes on the amount of tongue in his mouth. His back bumps the door and he yelps, which becomes a low, needy whine when Swoops pushes a thigh right there.

It’s over before Kent can even think to retaliate.

Swoops steps back, smirking, and licks his lips before wiping them with the back of his hand. Then he gestures to Kent’s crotch and says, “You’ve got...”

Kent doesn’t need to look, he can feel his own dick getting fat in his pants. “Who’s fault is that?!”

“Not mine. I was never here. I never kissed you in the men’s bathroom at a bar.”

“You absolutely did, and now I’m horny as fuck. You better make this up to me later. You owe me.”

“I will.” Swoops is still smiling, the dick. “You gonna let me out?”

Kent moves away from the door, but not without getting in a hard smack on Swoops’ ass as he goes by.

The Marriott, Montreal, Canada

They’re both stupid, is the problem.

They join a group of guys watching a movie in Kelly’s room. They don’t sit together—Kent shoves his way onto the bed and Swoops takes up a spot at the foot of an armchair. But they’re in the same room, still together, and even having five other teammates in the room with them heckling their way through Fifth Element, they can catch each others’ eyes and share a smile and that sense of, Oh, hello.

After Corbin Dallas has met LeeLoo (but before the Diva sings her solo) Swoops gets up and says, “I’m hitting the vending machine.”

There are scattered requests for Doritos and Snickers and Diet Pepsi, and half a dozen other things that aren’t on any of their meal plans. Kent grabs his wallet and says, “I’ll go with you.”

The halls are empty, just miles of off-white walls and eye-smarting geometric red carpet. A dimly-lit alcove hides the ice dispenser and two vending machines, one for drinks and one for snacks. It’s not exactly romantic. But as Kent is feeding dollars in and eyeing his chocolate options, Swoops takes his arm and says softly, “Hey.”

Kent looks up, and Swoops kisses him. It’s soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that makes Kent feel peeled open. Like Swoops is seeing Kent raw and he likes what he sees. It makes Kent feel wanted, cherished.

"With Hershey's as my witness," Swoops murmurs.

Kent chokes on a laugh, which makes Swoops giggle, and it's so goddamn cute that Kent has to pull him back in. They kiss through their smiles, each of their hands finding places to latch on: a hip, a shoulder, a back pocket. Kent loves that Swoops makes him feel like this, like Kent is something to be sought out and savored. He wants to say "fuck the movie" and drag Swoops back to his room.

Then someone says, way too close, “Are you guys—oh, my god.”

They break apart. It’s Scraps.

Kent can feel the blood draining out of his own face. He feels numb.

Scraps is still standing there, slack-jawed, his eyes wider than Kent ever thought they could go.

“S-scraps,” Swoops says. “Buddy—”

“You guys were kissing."

Kent grapples with words. “I, uh. No we weren't.”

“You were kissing in the hallway,” Scraps says, like he’s talking about an alien encounter in a cornfield. “Like, kissing. Are you guys, you know, together? Or is it just—what’s it, blowing off steam? ‘Cause I never did it but I heard a lot of guys in Juniors—”

“How ‘bout you fuck off ‘cause it’s none of your business?” Swoops cuts in, his glare cold.

Kent puts a hand on Swoops’ arm and gives him a look meant to convey Back the hell off, man. To Scraps, he says, “Can we talk about this later? Please? And... maybe don’t tell the guys? Or like, anyone?”

Still giving Swoops a befuddled frown, Scraps nods. “Sure.” He holds up a dollar bill. “Can I buy some pretzels?”

So they move aside to let Scraps buy his pretzels. Kent pats him on the shoulder and says, “Don’t tell the guys?”, to which Scraps repeats, “Sure,” and heads back to the room.

Kent heaves a sigh of relief. “Well, fuck.” Then he gives Swoops a gentle-but-not-that-gentle punch to the arm.

“Ow! The hell?”

Kent punches numbers into the vending machine and squats to pick his M&Ms out of the slot. “You didn’t have to be such a dick.”

“Oh yeah, sorry for being scared outta my mind. How long do you think this is gonna stay quiet? It’s Scraps, for crying out loud! This is the guy who spent a whole day pondering out loud whether a ton of bricks weighed more than a ton of feathers and still didn’t come up with an answer!”

“Wow, and you are still being a dick.”

Swoops waves both hands angrily, hard enough to nearly send his handful of snacks flying. “How are you so calm?!”

Kent sighs. “Because it’s Scraps. He’s a good guy, he won’t rat us out. Christ, Swoops, you know that. You wanna tell me why you’re freaking out so badly?”

Swoops grinds his teeth for a second, then says, “No.”

“No, you don’t know, or no, you don’t wanna tell me?”

“No, I don’t want to tell you. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“So?”

Kent gapes. “Fine, then.” He turns on his heel and heads back to the room, alone.

Later, when Swoops comes back and hands out goodies, Kent doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t acknowledge Swoops for the rest of the night, and when he wakes up the next morning still mad, he doesn’t talk to Swoops on the bus or the plane, either.

Saint Paul, Minnesota

Eventually the sting of the spat wears off. It has to; if they don’t let it dissipate, it could fuck with team dynamics, and nothing is worth that. Kent is a captain first and a lover second. When they’re on the road, facing down December and an agonizingly slow but steady drop down the Western Conference rankings, he has to be.

They don’t talk about what happened in front of the vending machine in the Marriott in Montreal, though. It chafes at Kent, the memory of dismissal in that single, “So?” But Scraps doesn’t tell anyone and that seems to satisfy Swoops, and if there’s no active disagreeing going on, Kent has to assume it’s all fine.

"Are you guys fighting?" Scraps asks Kent at a team dinner. "You and Jeff?" Everyone around them is stuffing their faces and drinking, because they’d just lost that afternoon on account of a truly embarrassing couple of empty-net goals.The bar has three blaring TVs and most of them are half drunk. None of them are listening.

"No.”

Scraps looks surprised. “Really? You guys are always together, and now you’re...not.” He glances down the table, where Swoops is laughing loudly at something Tads has just said and stuffing cheese sticks in his mouth. Then he leans in close and says something so quiet that Kent can’t make it out.

“Bud, I can’t hear you.”

The volume comes up a notch. “I said, did you guys break up?”

Kent’s immediate response is to shake his head and exclaim, “No!” but what’s horrifying is that his first thought is, Wait, did we?

Their game hasn’t suffered, at least. Kent wouldn’t place the blame of tonight’s loss on him and Swoops not clicking on the ice.

But he’s acutely aware that Swoops hasn’t kissed him since Montreal, and that... scares him, actually. He hadn’t let himself think about it but he is now and when he looks at Swoops sitting a few feet (it feels like miles) away, drinking and eating and not seeking Kent out with his eyes the way he usually would...

It’s a black hole in Kent’s chest.

Shit.

Providence River, Providence, Rhode Island

“Can we talk?” Kent asks—pleads, really, the morning of the game. Half the team is still asleep upstairs in their rooms, the other half eating breakfast and fully distracted by coffee and their phones. Kent is not a morning person, but Swoops is. Kent had set his alarm for this god-awful hour so he’d have a shot at getting Swoops alone.

Swoops has been wearing an expression like he was expecting this since he spotted Kent coming out of the elevator. But he just sighs, says, “Yeah, sure,” and puts his empty plate aside. “Where?”

“Let’s take a walk,” Kent suggests.

They grab cinnamon rolls and cups of coffee for the road and leave the hotel. Nobody expects the Aces to go anywhere this early, so the front lobby and entrance are clear. Kent steers them in the direction of the Providence River. Swoops might know where they’re going, he might not. Still, he follows without question or complaint.

With the sun barely in the sky and the area not residential, they have the sidewalks mostly to themselves. Kent asks, without preamble, “Did we break up?”

Swoops nearly spits out his coffee. “What? No!” His eyes are wide. “Wait, are you saying you want—”

“No! No.”

“Okay.” Swoops takes a careful breath. “Okay. Good. I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.”

Kent leads them left at an intersection, and it’s only a few more minutes before the river comes into view. There’s a bike path following it, lined with white railing and skeletal trees bereft of their leaves. It’s November but unseasonably warm—or at least what passes for “warm” in Rhode Island at this time of year. Kent’s sweatshirt and his coffee are keeping him from feeling the brunt of the morning chill. The sun is rising over the city, breaking it into blocky shadows and streaks of light.

They walk, finishing their cinnamon rolls and draining their coffees and then dumping the remains in a public trashcan. The silence drags on.

Swoops breaks it. “I know what I said, I know how it came off, and I’m sorry. I’m also sorry I wasn’t sorry earlier. I’m just... I don’t know. I was pissed off.”

Kent hates to ask, but he does. “At me?”

There’s a small, awful pause preceding Swoops’ response. “No.”

“Scraps, then? ‘Cause it’s not his fault he saw us—”

“I’m not pissed at Scraps. Or maybe ‘pissed’ isn’t the right word, I don’t know. I just—him showing up reminded me, is all. That it’s not safe to kiss you everywhere.” Swoops blows out a frustrated breath and rubs his eyes. “I would, you know? I’d kiss you in front of other people. I’d kiss you anywhere, in front of everyone, if I...could.” His eyes are going glassy and he quickly wipes the wetness away.

“Holy shit, are you—?” Kent says, but doesn’t wait for a response before pulling Swoops into a tight hug.

Swoops’ returning grip is like a bearhug. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Kent holds him close as long as he dares. Then he pulls back and meets Swoops’ gaze. “So, you like me, don’t you.”

“Of course I like you.”

“You really, really like me.”

“I’m fucking crazy about you,” Swoops huffs. “Okay?” He’d be more convincingly exasperated if his face wasn’t blotchy and his eyes weren’t still damp.

“I’m fucking crazy about you, too,” Kent admits, even though it feels like diving in front of a Zdeno Chara slapshot. Being around Swoops has the side-effect of making Kent brave to the point of stupidity. “So don’t stop kissing me all over North America, okay? You said everywhere. I want everywhere.”

Swoops might cry again, from the look of him. Kent can’t believe he’s been best friends with this guy for half a decade and never known what a soft heart Swoops has. “I’ll do my best,” Swoops says.

Kent wants so badly to take his hand. “Come on,” he says instead. “Let’s find a really thick bunch of trees and kiss behind them.”

“That’s basically in public,” Swoops protests, but Kent can’t help noticing that he follows along as soon as Kent starts walking again. “I’m not helping you do something that stupid.”

“Well, fine. Where do you wanna kiss me?”

Swoops puts an arm over Kent’s shoulders—casual enough to be ‘just friends’ but close enough for Kent to feel his warmth—and smiles. “I’ll see what comes to me.”

#parswoops #troyson #i am so tired rn #just trying to empty out my wip box #there are so many #fanfic #oneshot #can't remember the tumblr post that inspired this #if you find it please link it to me #omgcp

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wadupkev · 3 years

Text

Why I Changed Jobs 5 Times During COVID

Writing for me has become a unique way for me to process and reflect in my life. I find it soothing to sit at the keys of my computer and slowly watch, like a viewer of a movie on my own life, a story come to life, yet I have already lived it.

There is something real about reflection. Looking back at a situation and seeing it through a clear windshield that once was caked over with dirt. It’s freeing, it’s encouraging, it helps us grow and I am so grateful for that.

This last year for so many has been, dare I say, hard? Does anyone growing up ever think about what kind of destruction a global pandie could cause let alone what a pandie even is? I want to be careful how I write this reflection of my last year because I know the pain and suffering that others have been through because of the ‘rona. Real, life-altering pain. Although my life has been shaken up this year it certainly could have been a lot worse so please know I am writing this knowing the privilege that I have. I hope you see the things that I have learned as the main takeaways rather than the vehicles of transportation that took me to them. Also know that I love you and am so grateful you are reading this. Even if this is where you stop reading I hope you know how loved you are.

Lets rewind a bit.

March 2020

Wowsers. I was living man. The NCAA March Madness tournament was right around the corner. Being in the last semester of grad school with not a whole lot going on class wise, I was soaking up my time in the athletics department at Nebraska. I was scheduled to work the basketball tournaments first and second rounds in Omaha. I would get to be on the floor watching the games live, in the press conference room during interviews, distributing materials as a “runner” to the staff onsite. In the midst of all of this I had begun just a few months prior really starting to look through the job sites and start applying for gigs I thought I would do well in. Something I would love.

How exciting right? Finishing grad school (which funny enough during my freshmen year of undergrad in 2014 I switched majors to avoid going to grad school lol s/o God) with hopes to work in a profession that I had been dreaming about for a little over 5 years. I was working national events, attending sporting events left and right, being front and center as a “fan” or graduate assistant. I was starting to explore where I wanted to live post grad school. The cool thing about college athletics is that there are colleges ALL over. The idea of what a post school life would look like was becoming really clear. This vision that had taken shape over the last 5 years was coming to the point where I wasn’t quite sure what would be next. But things were getting clearer each day.

I remember driving to Omaha a couple days before March Madness was set to begin with my roommate. The night before we saw the first of what would be many NBA games cancelled. Not thinking too much about it at the time, Zach (my roommate) and I were in the car when the alerts that no fans would be in attendance at the games for March Madness came through. My family had tickets to come watch the games. I was on the phone with my dad chatting about them no longer coming to Nebraska to visit and enjoy some college basketball. We hung up and then the alerts just kept coming. Rumors that the whole tournament would be cancelled, then seemingly strong sources stating that it was cancelled. By this point I had dropped Zach off to go on his spring break trip and he was already in Florida. Uh oh. Could he even come home? Stuck 1,700 miles away from school (tbh at the time I did not think he was in the worst spot).

It was sports that did it for us. The moment we knew something awful was about to happen without the magnitude of what it could do in our minds. A quick pause, do you remember when you found out about this whole thing? For some reason I think this is my generations global event that we will look back and no exactly where we were and what we were doing.

Anyways, to continue, ten days after the basketball tournament was cancelled, I received an email from a job I had applied to a few weeks earlier and the head coach was asking to chat about a role. If I am honest, I had forgotten that I had applied for this particular role because of how many jobs I had been applying to during that time. I had figured since I hadn’t heard anything that they were not interested. Slightly stunned, but excited about the possibility to interview, we talked for a while on a Monday and then continued that conversation with a second round interview with his whole staff on that Wednesday. During our Wednesday chat, towards the end, he had told me that I would have a decision, good or bad, by friday. “That’s so soon but rock on.” I thought. I loved the idea of knowing soon. Oh how this would come to bite me. Friday came and went and I heard nothing. What would you think in this situation? At this point I really did not know what the scale of COVID-19 would be. It had shaken things up but I thought it would last a couple weeks. In my mind, I went to “Oh they probably offered the role to someone else, that person is taking the weekend to think about it and they didn’t want to tell me incase this person turns down the role in which case I’ll hear something either Monday or Tuesday.” Somewhat logical right? The timing made sense. I was convinced someone else got the job.

Monday rolls around. This is all happening during Lent (the 40~ days before Easter) in which I had decided to do my bible study in my room immediately after waking up instead of checking my phone first. I had been charging my phone in the living room, which I continue to do now, so that the temptation wouldn’t be there. Expecting to hear something that day or the next, I was distracted to say the least. While I was reading that mornings devotional, I just kept thinking “How crazy would it be if when I go out to the living room to finish my response to the devotional on my phone and I would see a missed call already?”. I had woken up at like 8ish I want to say that morning so I was really doubting to see something. I wrapped up the reading and walked out to the living room and no joke, the first thing I see, it says “Missed Call: Coach Taylor | 3 minutes ago”. WHAT?! Literally as I was thinking “oh man what if he’s already called?” while reading, he had indeed tried to call. I was shocked. I very speedily finished my response to that demo. My apologies to anyone who had received my text that morning because it was NOT my best. I rushed through it trying to not be distracted, but I couldn’t think of anything else. What was he going to say? I immediately called him back. “Good news and bad news Kevin.” Oh boy. Here we go. “I wanted nothing more than to call you on Friday and offer you the job.” Okay……and? “I got a call from HR about an hour before I was planning on calling you saying that the university is freezing all current hiring processes until further notice. You are our guy, we just don’t know when we can get you out here.” I mean, pretty awesome phone call to me, being extremely naive to the timeline that the ‘rona would follow. I thought that tops a couple weeks and boom, I get out to this job. A dream job for me out of grad school. I had connected really well with the head coach and the rest of his staff. It felt so right. I decided at that point that this would be worth waiting for. However long. In my head, I would go home for a couple weeks, spend some time with family, and get out to the job in the middle to end of May. I moved home hoping to not be there too long.

And then the weight of what the ‘rona would do to our world started to pile on. More and more cases. More direction about masks, staying home, virtual events becoming the norm. Every couple of weeks I would connect with Coach Taylor and see how they were handling things, what the update on the possible timeline could be. It keeps getting pushed back. Maybe June 1st. Well maybe July 1st (start of the new fiscal year for universities). These arbitrary dates kept coming and going like the wind. August 1st then August 17th which was the first date of classes. Now what I want to make clear is that this potential employer was not simply stringing me along. No one really knew what to expect with this virus. He was hopeful and encouraging to talk to about the future of this role. In the midst of all of this, I was at home with my parents not knowing when I was going to leave. 24, grad degree, living at home. The story I told myself was that I had failed. That I had made it through the right hoops at the right time to finally get to the hoop that was too high up to get through and to fall down on my face and not be good enough. Then, in the middle of August, I got a call from the Coach in which he informed me that it would at least be Spring of 21’ before they would be able to consider a hire.

Woof.

Not what I wanted to hear. It could likely mean a full year living at home before they could consider hiring? Oh man.

I had picked up a job working 6pm to midnight at Lowes unloading trucks. More on this in my last blog.

I felt lost. I felt alone. A handful of my grad school friends had already secured jobs before COVID. The few that hadn’t yet felt really far away. All the people I was spending time around still had their jobs and were still chugging forward when it felt like I had been cast one hundred miles back in life. It was hard.

I sat down into a conversation with one of my incredible mentors, Tyler. I explained the whole situation like I had done a million times already at that point. I explained how I likely would have a full winter to wait out before this dream role, or even hiring in college athletics in general, would resume to normal. He asked me a couple questions and then said something that challenged my current thinking. “Kevin, think about it. When else are you going to have an entire winter, to do whatever you want, ever in your life again? No responsibilities, no restrictions besides the ‘rona. Use this time to have a little fun. Don’t go into debt, but enjoy this time. Think about this as an opportunity to do something you otherwise would never get to do. You ski a lot right? Go be a ski bum.”

Now. This idea had not been completely foreign to me. On a backpacking trip in 2015, one of the group leaders had mentioned how he had been a ski bum at Vail in his 20’s. Immediately Ty(the groups leader on the backpacking trip)’s stories starting becoming vivid memories. I remember him telling me of the 100+ days he spent skiing, living on a couch eating ramen and PB&Js to make it by, just living.

I went home that day from lunch with Tyler and applied for a job at Copper Mountain. “Ski Instructor, hm that sounds like something I could do” having taught just a handful of friends in college how to ski. S/O Tyler Leasure crashing into a tree at full speed. The immediate excitement of possibly spending a winter in the mountains of Colorado was quickly brought back to the ground. I would only be doing this because I wasn’t where I actually wanted to be. I was only doing it because my dream job had seemingly fallen through the cracks. I ended up getting offered the job at Copper. Finding housing was a true pain in the but until a friend connected me with a mutual friend. I am so blessed to have even gotten a place to stay in Summit County. I was a day or so from telling Copper I couldn’t come because of not finding housing.

December 1st, 2020

I moved up to Dillon, CO. A place I kind of, but not really, wanted to be. I would hear from my friends that they were so jealous of me. They wanted to be a ski bum but couldn’t for a host of different reasons, all legitimate. But here I was, working a job that so many were “jealous” of, and I wasn’t happy.

I want to be careful here because I know how this can look. “Oh you had to go be a ski bum and thats the most trying time of your life? Okay, Kevin. Take a seat and let me tell you what real pain looks like.” I really hope to not come off like that here. This was a tough spot for me. The life I had envisioned for so long and was so close to coming to fruition had disappeared in an instant. I hope you can understand what that feels like.

I was frustrated. I was skiing and I was frustrated. HA. What an oxymoron. But then my mom handed me a book. A book on lament. An unfiltered prayer to God. Raw and emotional. In the book the author said something so simple yet so profound. “Hard is hard. Hard is not bad.” Pffffffff dude come on! This hit me like a BRICK! I had been looking back over the confusing time spectacle that is COVID as hard and that it sucked. But nope. Hard is going to happen in our life. That is what it means to be human. We can’t avoid it. Hard is hard. It is not bad. Hard reveals idols and mine could not have been more apparent. I had placed this job and my career on a pedestal so that when it didn’t come to reality, I was mad. It hadn’t worked out how I wanted it to.

But then I started thinking, and it may be a cliche to a lot of people, but if I place my happiness on the other side of this job working out, when will I ever be happy in my life? Because if this job does work out, I will have trained myself to put happiness on the other side of some thing and will always continue to do that. If I couldn’t be happy as a FREAKING SKI BUM when could I ever be happy? This rocked my world. I started meditating. I started trying to be more present. To live in the now. To enjoy the now for what it is. We spend so much time living in the past and future that the now rarely ever gets any focus. Do you see how unhealthy this is? I could see this trend going in a bad direction. If I started saying that I would only be happy when I was in a relationship, that would be such a toxic way to approach and treat any woman. If I could only be happy once I had moved away from home, would I ever really have somewhere that I could consider home? If I could only be happy when I started making adult money, how would that affect my view of finances and the pitfalls of only ever wanting to make more money? I had to change.

Living in the present. Enjoying skiing was the biggest priority I had. I had made a couple good friends in Summit County, Justin and James, and we had started planning some ski trips. We went and skied Telluride together and I started to fall in love with the sport again. I got to ski Powderhorn with some boys from my days in Grand Junction. I was spending a ton of time taking laps in the park at Copper. I started getting some bigger jumps down, started throwing some tricks. I was loving skiing again. I was getting better and seeing a ton of progression. I was enjoying being a ski bum. The future still seemed unclear but I was happy. I was happy where I was. It’s something that I think is so crucial to our lives. If you can’t be happy now, when will you ever be? I was done trying to become happy and was simply being happy. I started seeing the little blessings of everyday in a hard situation.

A situation that once was only frustrating was starting to bear its fruit.

I joined a bookclub with two really really solid guys and it has changed my life. In a book we just finished called Cry Like a Man the author Jason Wilson says “Only when the wheat is cut down, broken, ground up, and baked in the fire is it ready to feed one or many.” I had been broken down. Mad. Frustrated. Angry. Fearful. All the while God had been shaping my heart into something useful for myself and hopefully through conversation or even this blog, useful for others. I tried to keep a heart posture open to being shaped but it was not easy at times and I definitely was doubtful so often. But with the little that I did hand over to Jesus, he created something in me far greater that I could have imagined. Someone who appreciated this last year. Someone who can say now that I would go through this whole waiting game again knowing what it would bring out of me. Knowing what I would learn.

I recently received a job offer from that same dream role I had mentioned earlier. I could not be more thrilled and excited to start that. But until then I am soaking up time with family and friends.

I am so grateful to so many people for their roles in pouring into me this last year. I was in a rough spot and can’t say thank you enough to those who talked with me, sat with me, cried with me, and loved me so well. To those people, thank you.

I hope you have people like that in your life because holy smokes did I lean hard on those people. Their selflessness was a very needed light in my life. It’s what we are built for right? To live in community and relationship with others? Yes, I understand that we aren’t supposed to do that in large groups indoors without masks with the ‘rona still around, but it is so so so important to have a group of people you can lean on in hard times because they WILL come. Who are those people for you? The ones you can trust to be there for you when it sucks and just listen? Not to try to fix the problem or tell you a story that in many ways one-up’s your story, but to simply sit in the suck. To sit in the uncomfortable. It is a skill that I have now realized is a rare one. But those people are the best and so needed in everyones life. I hope you think about who those people are and say thank you to them.

I love you. Thank you for reading this far. Having read over this blog a few times, I get slightly emotional every time. Not because I am still sad, but because I know where I was and where I am now. Because I know that in the breaking down process is where life really has value. I am so grateful for you. If you could humor me with a favor, shoot me a text or message somewhere if you read this whole thing telling me one thing you learned during this last year. I would love to hear about it. I also would love to let you know in a more intimate way how thankful I am that you decided to read this. Hopefully you learned something through this as well. God is so good.

I LOVE THE HECK OUT OF YOU, DAWG. ALL THE LOVE.

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sophialesseos · 3 years

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Mobile and Social Journalism

Journalism has shifted extremely

News is current and now

Journalism has shifted from a Passive voice (talking at someone) to an Active voice with the public (having a conversation)

Journalism isn’t about telling the story as a whole anymore - it's about telling the story currently as it unfolds

Social media has changed the way journalism has worked and many people now are considered “citizen journalists”

The miracle on the hudson was the first instance of when journalists realized the power of social media (major news outlets were using one photo someone took from their phone when the journalists couldn’t get in)

The boston marathon was solved by people posting things on twitter and people were living in real time while news events were happening

Gate keepers: determine what is most relevant and what got through to the audience (this meant journalists relied on traditional big outlets and press releases) Now the audience on social media is the gatekeepers

It is the norm to find stories for broadcast on social media

Social media now tells news outlets what their top story is going to be

The power of the active audience

User generated content is helpful for journalists to get information from people before they even get to the scene

Sometimes the audience unknowingly shares news that helps spread a voice

Social media content still needs to be held to newsrooms standards

News is social

Top priorities for news outlets are now on social media and websites

18-29 year olds founds most to all the information about the election

Mobile devices and social media are impacting journalists everyday

Worrying only about what you are doing for your story is a thing of the past - social media and mobile devices is a must

For each story you cover you have to come up with a checklist of social media platforms you gather information, post information and communicate with the active public

Journalists now have stories and sources at their fingertips

Crowdsourcing is an open call to gather a range of content from the audience “a call to action”

Journalists can’t wait for a news broadcast, a morning newspaper, or even a web story to deliver the latest information about a story

Have Viral Videos Change How We View the World? Do both sides have a point in this topic? For this assignment, you will need to write a 500 word-blog on the Kentucky High School Students and the Native American Vietnam Veteran. How did the media (mainstream, left and right) choose to cover this story? Which side/view do you support and why? Site examples from the articles below (or others that you find) to support your conclusion. Have You should be prepared to discuss the topic in class.

Yes I think viral videos have completely changed the world and the way we view journalism. The internet as a whole has made news media and getting news easier than ever. Most stories on the news probably wouldn't have gotten covered if it wasn’t for viral videos on the internet. I definitely believe that most news stories deserve both sides and maybe even more than two sides told, especially in this particular case. To reiterate: The student who stared and smiled at an elderly Native American protester outside the Lincoln Memorial in a videotaped confrontation says he did nothing to provoke the man. I remember when this happened and the internet went crazy over this interaction caught on camera.

The media chose to cover the story by showing one side of the story, the boy in the MAGA hat was provoking the Native American man. This in fact was wrong. Not only did they just show one side of the story, not even the Native American’s side or the boy’s side - they showed a bystanders side that could have not known what was going on. According to the Associated Press, “The student who stared and smiled at an elderly Native American protester drumming in his face outside the Lincoln Memorial as his schoolmates chanted and laughed says he did nothing to provoke the man in the videotaped confrontation and was only trying to calm the situation.”

I don’t think I stand on a particular side, I just would like all the facts rather than a very zoomed in misinterpreted video that was cut short. Many videos from other people around came out after the situation blew up on social media and it was clear that there was more than just one side to that story. In the original video that blew up, we couldn’t really see that there was a third religious group present kind of trying to provoke anger and violence into people. Videos show members of the religious group yelling profane insults at the students, who taunt them in return. Video also shows the Native Americans being insulted by the small religious group. The students were apparently called “racists,” ″bigots,” ″white crackers” and “incest kids” by the third group.

At first the public was outraged and sent death threats to the school boys, especially the boy who smiled at the Native American. Many of the boys were revoked from the colleges they were originally accepted into. Once the other videos started to surface, many people issued an apology to the boys but some still did not believe that the children were not racist. Many people still had a problem with the statement the student issued after the event.

According to ABC7, “During the incident, Phillips (Nathan Phillips, a Native American elder in Omaha) said he heard people chanting "Build that wall" or yelling, "Go back to the reservation." At one point, he said, he sought to ascend to the Lincoln statue and "pray for our country." Some students backed off, but one student wouldn't let him move, he added.”

To me, I still don't know exactly what happened and what went down because every article I read has many different sides to the story.

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zmediaoutlet · 7 years

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rapprochement

(read on AO3)

When the car turns off and Dean startles awake, they’re just outside Omaha. It’s warm, in the cocoon of the cabin, but as soon as Dad pops the driver door a gust of icy air blows in and he’s shivering, just like that. The door slams again, though, and he’s left there in the dark, watching in the motel’s blinking neon while Dad crunches across the parking lot to the brightly lit office, the shape of him all big and shadowing in the darker night. He ducks his face down into the collar of the leather coat he’s got pulled around himself like a blanket, breathes in that familiar smell. He hasn’t forgotten that he’s annoyed--he probably got some damn hearing loss from that stupid argument--but right at this moment it doesn’t seem--well, maybe it’s not quite as important, for now.

His eyes are slitted and he’s breathing slow when Dad comes back with the room key. The car rumbles to life again, and pulls slow and easy around the back of the long low buildings, further away from the light. Dean watches the way Dad handles the wheel, the comfortable way his hands move, flashing in and out of view in the dim light coming in the window. It’s near pitch-dark when Dad kills the engine again, when the headlights go down, and Dean can’t see much more than a gleam of teeth when Dad jostles his shoulder and says, “Okay, up and at ‘em.”

It’s frickin’ freezing outside the car. Nebraska in January is no place to be. Dean gets out and stretches, just for a second, but the cold air seeps in under his jacket and he hunches down again, tugs the leather coat on over the top of what he’s wearing. Dad’s already at the trunk, and he hands over the duffles with their clothes to Dean and grabs the heavier gun bags himself, and then Dean waits shivering while Dad fumbles with the motel lock in the dark. Place needs to install some exterior lights. Finally Dad gets it, and leans back to let Dean go in first. Dean flicks the interior light and one of the lamps goes on in a burst of murky amber, and he sweeps the room in a glance--nothing, there never is, but it pays to be careful. Dad locks the door behind them and Dean puts the bags in their places, lined up neatly next to the bathroom door, while Dad pulls out the shotguns and leans them up next to the bed, and Dean’s not thinking about much, really, when he goes and stands at the dark window, only that he’s still sort of cold and that maybe he can get Dad to go for pancakes tomorrow, before they go meet the family, but apparently the silence between them went on too long, because Dad says, “You’re still mad,” with his voice all tired.

Dean shrugs. “Not my call,” he says, and tucks his hands into the coat’s big pockets.

“No, it’s not,” Dad says, but not sharp, not like he could. “Let me hear it.”

Dean blinks, and turns so he can see. Dad’s sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning with his elbows on his knees, hands folded loose between them. He does look kind of tired, but he’s not mad. He’s just watching Dean, his eyes steady, and Dean turns back out to the night outside. “Sammy doesn’t mean half of what he says, you know. He just--he hates moving schools, is all. Little dork worries about missing out on more homework.” Dad huffs, and Dean finds himself smiling, a little. Still, if Dad’s going to let him get it out-- “Think he’s more mad that I’m quitting, though.”

“You don’t have to,” Dad says, and Dean shrugs, again. They’ve been over this. Anyway, he’ll be nineteen, in a week, and he’s not going to be that kid who got behind and now is way too old to still be in high school. That’s just... sad. Not how Sammy sees it, though. He’d been so mad when they switched towns, and madder still when Dean said he wasn’t going to bother with enrolling, not this time. Dean had tried anything to distract him--movies, food. Even took him to the library. Thought it had worked, until Dad got home and Sam laid into him. Seriously--so much yelling, and Sam almost never yells, especially not at Dad. And, well, Dad had yelled right back. Dean shakes his head, and leans against the window sill. It’s snowing, now, so it’ll be even colder tomorrow. It’s quiet here, at least. Sam’s back in the apartment in Kearney, not too far down the highway, but Dean honestly wasn’t all too upset when Dad announced that he and Dean could take care of this poltergeist thing on their own. Least it means he can maybe get to shoot something, instead of trying to keep some crappy kind of peace.

He’s still a little pissed, though, and when Dad moves, when he comes in close, Dean doesn’t turn around. He’s kind of tired, too.

“Sam will cool off,” Dad says, quiet. It’s not an apology--not like Dad ever does apologize, even when he was fighting right back--and Dean rolls his eyes, since he knows Dad can’t see. A big hand settles in the center of his back. He can feel it, even through the layers of coat, jacket, two shirts. He closes his eyes, stands still, and Dad moves in closer--his other hand slides to Dean’s hip, under the hem of his flannel, settles into place with his thumb just brushing against bare skin. His thumb’s warm, the callus on the edge just a little rough on the sensitive skin there above his hip, and Dean sighs, leans back just a little and there’s Dad’s chest, solid. He takes Dean’s weight easy, holds his hips in both hands. “Cold?” Dad says, quiet against the top of his ear, and Dean shakes his head, and so Dad props him up just a little and helps peel off the leather coat, and the ratty jacket, and his old flannel, too, so he’s left just in his henley. He wasn’t cold, before, but all the layers coming off at once makes him shiver. Dad’s hands slide down his arms, grounding, before he’s pulled around and tugged in close, and Dad’s tilting his face up, and he’s being kissed. Not hard, and not rough like sometimes it can be when it’s been weeks or months between, when they finally get time alone--and it’s been a while this time, for sure, but this is just... soft.

Dean closes his eyes, lets his hands close into the heavy weight of Dad’s coat. He’s used to the beard, finally, but it still tickles at his lips, against his chin. Dad runs a hand up his back, cups his neck and kneads the muscle there, lightly, and Dean practically melts against him, can’t help it. He doesn’t get this, is all. Not anywhere but like this, here. He feels dumb, sometimes, how easy he goes down, like some chick in a romance movie, but like this--Dad doesn’t give orders, doesn’t get impatient. It’s just them, and this, and Dean loves this. Dad’s mouth moves to his jaw, to his temple, and Dean leans his forehead into Dad’s chest and groans, quiet, as the perfect pressure slips down his spine, kneads between his shoulderblades. “There you go,” Dad says, kinda sounds like he’s smiling, and okay, so Dad ends up winning every argument, every time. Figures.

Dean pulls back, just a little, and Dad’s looking down at him with, yeah, the smallest smile there, almost hidden. Dean’s already halfway there, just from the simple kiss and the backrub. “Okay, bud?” Dad says, raising his eyebrows like he’s being concerned, like he’s not making fun, and Dean rolls his eyes--but he also presses in close, can’t help it, and like this an eye roll only makes Dad laugh. A small laugh, sure, but it lights Dean’s belly up on the inside--and then Dad catches him up by the hips again and walks him back to the bed. In a moment he’s sitting on the edge of it, the king soft and forgiving at his back, and he wants--oh, man, he wants it bad, and the warm in his belly is spread through his whole body, all of his nerves tingling, his muscles shuddering already with anticipation. Dad’s dropping his jacket, putting his sidearm on the bedside table, and Dean kicks his boots off, peels off his henley, his amulet falling down against his bare chest with a glance of cool metal, and when he yanks his head free of the shirt and tosses it off the side of the bed Dad’s already there, in front of him, and he drops down so he’s crouched between Dean’s spread knees, so their faces are level.

“Okay?” Dad says again, serious this time. Dean’s straining through his jeans, flushed all over, and he still asks. A flood of--Dean doesn’t even know what, but something, it rolls through his chest and sets his cheeks flaming hot, and he reaches out a clumsy hand and gets his hand on Dad’s face, rubs his palm along the soft-scratchy line of his jaw. Dad’s eyes are steady on his, everything just humming for a second, waiting--and then Dean nods, jerky, and the feeling when Dad catches his face between two palms, when he closes his eyes and knows exactly what’s coming, is like something slotting into place. Dad’s thumbs push over his cheekbones, and the comfort of it settles like heavy velvet over his thumping heart. Sometimes, he thinks, all of it--the fighting, the fear, the blood--is all worth it, because after that’s all done he gets this: this promise, made in the dark, that despite everything his family is here, and alive, and his.

#dean/john #dean x john #silver9mm #wetsammywinchester #baronsamediswife #again--please tell me if you'd prefer i un-tag #like if it's too squick or whatev #but brat prodded me to write some of this #not quite what you were after brat #but this would be the bingo square #'dean as wife and mother'#having a little spousal dispute over the kid they're raising #etc #non-explicit tho still #we're not quite to virile jdm fic #(...soon)#anyway #the full house of wincest #my writing

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zwei-the-penguin-with-a-pen · 6 years

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‘Stars’

So, this one isn't going to be much of a narrative story, really, just an account of my experiences meeting the cast of RWBY at NebKon. I'll try and make an actual story out of it, but no promises. You guys know, ZweI is a bit of a spazz when it comes to stuff like this.

ANYWAY, two days before the Kon our saga begins!

"ZWEI!" I hear after roaming the bus station for more than a few minutes. I look across the street and lay my eyes on Regular-Sized Jimmy. I say 'regular-sized' because in some circles I'm known as Little Jimmy. This Jimmy doesn't actually know me by either of those names and calls me my real one, but that isn't really anyone's business but mine.

So I grab my bag and haul across the street once the crosswalk lights permit me, and before I can even get in the car Jimmy begins to complain. This, that or the other, just general Kon stuff and things. This wouldn't be a problem if we hadn't had to drive all around Omaha during high-ish traffic and do fifty thousand errands even though one of us just got off a damned day-long bus ride.

RSJ's errands include picking up the Bobb, one of the housemates, bringing her to Omaha Oriental THE COOLEST SHOP KNOWN TO MAN BY THE WAY IF YOU EVER FIND YOURSELF IN OMAHA YOU SHOULD MAKE THE SCENE so she can acquire Kon supplies, a phrase which here means 'all manner of Asian junk food', and stopping at Lowe's for something or other for RSJ to finish his cosplay.

Finally, we make it to their house. My bestie is still at work, most unfortunately, but the wonderful Mick is home. She'd stayed home sick from work, which is never a good thing to have to do, but she felt better by the Kon. Good times to be had by all. After a hug and a few words, I go straight to 'my room' which is in disarray because it's only a storage area.

Mick apologizes for not having the room cleaned and ready for me, and I tell her to do no such thing. Also, I have just realized, as in just now at the time of this writing, that I'm writing in present tense. It fits well, even though I don't like the style, so I guess I'll keep it just this time.

Around 11, my bestie texts me that his occupational imprisonment has ended. I'm so glad he'll be home soon. Once he makes the scene he knocks on my door and proceeds to crash into my bed. Hang time ensues, as it's easier to stay awake with him talking to me. The rest of the roomies are quieter than I'm used to, so I had been dozing off here and there.

DAY BEFORE CON! RSJ works frantically to finish his cosplay, enlisting much help from Mick and at one point trying to recruit me. I inform him that I'm terrible with a paintbrush and would do more harm than good. Ooh, did I mention the Bobb bought takoyaki and shared with us? Good stuff, as far as fried balls of cabbage and octopus go. That was the night before. Anywho...

I try and get a jump on my writing challenge, knowing full well the Kon will swallow all my time the next three days. Bestie has work again because EFF BUCKY AND HIS CONVENIENCE STORE I mean what? I said no such thing! How dare you incinerate that I can't use big words!!

Sorry... not sorry at all. WAHAHAHAHA

FRIDAY, FIRST DAY OF CON!!!

Get packed, stop for breakfast at two in the afternoon, and suddenly we're at the Kon.

And I see cosplay before we ever even park the car. A Garnet from Steven Universe walks by us and we cheer for them. A Doctor Mercy, like from Overwatch but not in her battle gear, parks next to us.

We finally make it into the hotel and I'm completely mystified. There's cosplay everywhere. Did I mention this was my first nerd convention? I go to the check-in area and show my three-day pass to acquire my t-shirt. Then, whatever my bestie and I try to do after that repeatedly becomes entirely derailed as I become enamored with every other cosplayer that walked by me.

RWBY cosplayers seem to be the order of the weekend. I see more Noras and Yangs and Rubys than anything, but there are Torchwicks and Neos and even the occasional Adam. As the Kon goes on I see more Blakes, which is never a bad thing as she's my fave, and Jaunes and Rens and PYRRHAS. I miss my waifu. It's a shame she was murdered, but it was destiny or something.

She was based on Achilles...

Bestie and I make a couple of panels, including 'Walking in Godzilla's Footsteps' which is basically constructing a city out of cardboard boxes and destroying it over an over again. We meet Avatar Aang and Toph Beifong as well as Lord Raiden and even the real Nora Valkyrie. She worked on the Kon staff and was ALWAYS in character. Someone even asked me if she was Samantha Ireland because she had the voice down so well

She wasn't. I tell you, SHE WAS THE REAL NORA! She escaped into our world and wreaked havoc upon us. Unfortunately, she didn't break my legs. Oh well, maybe next time.

Next panel we make is Voice Acting 101, featuring Erica Lindbeck and Arryn Zech. MY BAE IS IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME YOU GUYS! And she's talking to Barbie, apparently. Yep, Erica Lindbeck is the voice actor for Barbie. Every time you see those Target holiday commercials, THAT'S MY GIRL! Also, we find out that Arryn is a massive Digimon fan. Ah, can I count the reasons I love this woman?

The first RWBY signing is right after this panel. We make the scene to find that the line has wrapped around two hallways. After nearly two hours of waiting they close the door on us. We never even got close. Good thing they were signing all three days.

Bestie and I make a short trip to Runza. Good eats, by the way. 12/10 would recommend. When we get back, we finally go to the hotel room and release most of the stuff we've been carrying and decide what we're to do next. I decide to take a rest before whatever the next panel I'm interested in, and I ended up crashing until after midnight and missing it. I catch up with bestie around 1:30, and we make the IT'S 2 AM AND WE'RE STILL GOING panel.

We roam around a bit longer after that before retiring to the room for all of two to three hours of sleep.

SATURDAY! The RWBY signing for this day is stupid early, so we leave the room by 8 and make the scene, and there's already a bit of a line. We end up in line behind a Penny, a Nora and a Ruby that are all friends. This Nora becomes known as 'Nora with the Hammer' because she had a Magnhild prop that was twice her height. Also, I need a title to differentiate from Duct Tape Nora who I met the day before and had an incredible cosplay.

Behind us are a couple fellow muggle folks, and Bestie gets to talking with them about My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I pop in and out until they start talking about RWBY, at which point I spazz. Naturally. Oh yeah, the line finally starts moving, and before long we can see the doors of the room. Omaha D was the room in question.

Sometime during this wait, I see two professional cosplayers dressed as Ren and Pyrrha and beg for their picture. This happens a lot with different cosplays. Before much longer we're in the room and I can hardly contain myself.

Lindsay Jones notices my bestie's Rainbow Dash shirt and proclaims for the whole room to hear that RAINBOW DASH IS BEST PONY! Bestie warns her that she's in a gigantic den of nerds and that saying such things could start a rumble. She's Lindsay, though, so she should be fine.

I come next, and she thanks me for supporting the show. I tell her it's shaping up to be my favorite anime but that it will be tough to top Yu Yu Hakusho. "Excellent choice! I love Kuwabara!"

"HE'S ON YOUR SHOW NOW! OF COURSE, YOU LOVE HIM!!" I shriek as she signs my sketchbook and the poster for my niblings.

Kara comes next, and I mispronounce her name. She says nothing about it, instead lightly complaining about how the staff wants the signees to cut conversations with the guests short and that her favorite part of signings is the talking.

I'm swiftly approaching my bae, you guys. I'm shook that I'm this close to her. I'm clutching my drawing of her for dear life. Bestie mentions that we went to the VA 101 panel, and she apologizes. He goes on to mention the Digimon thing, saying that he's also a superfan.

"Ooh, Bob's Burgers!" Is the first thing Arryn says to me, noticing my favorite shirt. She asks where I got it after she signs my things, and even asks for a picture of it. THERE'S A PICTURE OF ME ON ARRYN ZECH'S PHONE YOU GUYS!! I'm still shook.

She mentions her boyfriend, as his name is Bob, and I say that I used to watch his show, The 100, but I lost track of it because I'm terrible at watching shows. "So, I made you something..." I say, passing her the picture.

SHE WIGS OUT THAT I DREW HER! "WHOA! SHUT UP! THAT'S SO SWEET OF YOU!"

"I'm sorry I made your eyelash game so strong, but I'm glad you like it!" And then I ask her for a picture. And my soul leaves my body as I snap the photograph.

On to Barbara, still buzzing hard from Arryn. Barb makes puns at my bestie, as he made a joke about the Yang cosplayer a few people in front of us. "DUDE, YANG'S ABOUT TO MEET YANG! tHE UNIVERSE WILL IMPLODE!"

"Yeah, especially if they start cracking jokes..." I mention. Barb signs us and makes puns at us. Lovely times.

And finally, we reach Elizabeth Maxwell. In addition to Winter Schnee, we find out that she voiced Lady Urbosa from Breath of the Wild. Bestie tells her that she's her favorite Gerudo. I get an Urbosa poster for her to sign, planning to give it to Bestie. She notices my shirt and we talk Bob's for a minute.

And our mission is complete, so we make our way to the nearest eats we can find. After filling our faces we find our way to the vendors' block and proceed to spend more money than is humanly necessary. Soon we catch up with RSJ and Mick at a panel on cosplay fabrics. Later we catch the RWBY Q&A, and times are great until that business with that one guy that is not our friend.

We also see Her Majesty the King leaving the bar as we're heading into the jam with Bard and friends. THE BARD LET ME PLAY HIS GUITAR! WE JAMMED SO HARD YOU GUYS! So did everyone in the place. It was a beautiful time, it really was.

On Sunday, Bestie got signed by Todd Haberkorn for a friend of ours, and as he waited he found a Weird Al cosplayer WITH AN ACCORDION! Dance party shenanigans ensue, naturally.

We catch up again later and make the 'How'd We Do' review panel and Closing Ceremonies. We're super bummed that the Kon has just ended. We eventually make it back home, and I crash on his floor before I realize what's going on. The next afternoon I catch a bus back to Louisiana, still spinning from everything.

So yeah, that's how Remnant was made... or something.

I CAN'T BELIEVE I MET MY BAE!!!

*makes heart eyes for forever and a week*

\/\/\/\/\/

Day 18: A VA dressed as their character

For once, I have more than a rant for this day. XD

But yeah, meeting them all was glorious.

Oh yeah, i’m finally caught up. Well, i will be when I finished the next fic. Formal wear. Hmm...

#NaNoWriMo #RWBYAC #RWBY Writing Challenge 2017 #Anime Nebraskon #Lindsay Jones #Kara Eberle #Arryn Zech #Barbara Dunkelman #Elizabeth Maxwell #convention shenanigans #not really a fanfic but I'm still tagging it as such #fanfic #mine #ZweI the penguin with a pen #zweiamnotacorgi #I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE I MET ARRYN #Arryn Zech is bae no exceptions

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firstade-universe · 7 years

Text

Going Nowhere

This is for @anonbemetoo and the wonderful Strangers on a Train prompt.

Trains. A blessing a curse. A blessing because they remind Clarke of her father, a curse for the same reason. She runs her hand along the side paneling as she makes her way toward the first car entrance. As she reaches the front she spots a familiar face, Nyko. He has worked this line as long as she can remember and she smiles a little when she sees him. She patiently waits her turn and hands over her ticket.

“Welcome aboard, Clarke.” She smiles one more time at him and nods as she gently touches his shoulder as she passes. It’s been ten years since Jake Griffin passed away and every year on his birthday she rides his line just to feel closer to him. It was an accident, one of those fiery, national headline kind. It happened at a crossing, a truck driver fell asleep at the wheel after driving all night. It might not have been so bad if the truck wasn’t a gasoline tanker. Forty seven people died that day, including Jake. He was on his way to work at the Union Pacific office in Omaha, taking an Amtrak from their home in Lincoln. He could have driven everyday but he said the ride inspired him. Ironically he was a safety consultant, and he said people plus trains plus observation equalled great insight.

Clarke obviously misses her father but she is strong. Stronger than anyone ever gives her credit for, stronger than even she knew she could be, stronger than any obstacle she has faced and there have been many. First was her father, then her first love. She thinks about her life since her father as passed, what she has experienced without him there to guide her through, as she reaches her normal spot. The bitter taste of a broken heart seeps in as she takes her assigned seat on the passenger train. He did a number on her, making her fall hard, believing he loved her too and then leaving her for someone else when she was swamped with school and didn’t have time bend to his every whim. The other girl was a model actually, if she hadn’t met her, she wouldn’t have believe it. Met is also a strong term, more like walked in on whilst mid romp one afternoon with Finn.

She focused on herself and graduating after the Finn debacle, she even pulled away from her friends for a while because of that, which she felt bad about. They said she went MIA for three months, but she got it back together after graduation. She apologized for being so absent with her friends, she sat down and talked things through with her mother. She put in every effort to be better, and it paid off. So yeah, Clarke Griffin is strong, but on this day every year, she is so very weak.

After graduation she interned at Grounder’s comics, the most profitable comic company in the world and quickly was spotted as a true talent. They offered her a permanent position before her internship was even over and she has worked her way up to lead graphic artist in the last six years. There is absolutely nowhere else she would want to work. Grounders is still run like a small, family business. Mostly she loves that they allow her to bring her dog, Beau, to work every day. She tells her mom at their weekly dinners how much she loves her job. She wishes she could tell her father about it, that they could discuss her future projects.

She sighs and leans her head on the glass as the train pulls from the station. Nyko walks towards her and stops he gestures to a young woman behind him then looks to Clarke with sorrowful eyes. “Sorry Clarke. It’s the last seat available. Full train today.”

She half smiles at him and nods politely. “It’s fine Nyko. Thanks for trying.” He tries to give her as much privacy as possible, usually directing travelers away from where she is seated in a small roomette knowing the importance of the day. Jake rode this train for nearly twenty years before the accident so Nyko knew him well, too. She could always see the hurt in his eyes that washes over after the initial surprise and joy of seeing her.

“Anytime.” He tips his head slightly and continues down the aisle as the woman who was following him slips into the seat across from her and the cabin door slides and clicks closed. She tips her head offering a tight lipped smile that Clarke returns before glancing back out the window. She stares out at the passing world, lost in the memories of growing up with Jake as her dad.

Minutes that seem like hours pass as the train continues on, but Clarke doesn’t move from her spot. Neither does the stranger, though, who is now reading a comic book. Clarke smiles because it’s hers, Wanheda and the Delinquents. It took her 5 months to complete the work on that single comic, a brain child between her, Bellamy and Octavia. The siblings are her work family and they poured blood, sweat and so many tears into that book, and boy did it pay off. It’s currently the best selling new work for the company and has been hailed as a champion for change and inclusivity. It has been drawing in the young female audience to comic books unlike any before it, and Clarke is proud of it. The stranger glances up just in time to catch her proud smirk.

Clarke watches as the brunette, admittedly gorgeous brunette, looks around then back at her. “What?”

The artist smiles softly before answering a question with a question. “You’re a fan of comic books?”

“I - uh, yeah. I am. You?” The brunette, who looks somewhat embarrassed, closes the work and places it in her lap.

Clarke nods with a half smirk. “I guess you could say I am. How do you like that one?” She points with her chin.

“I was expecting mediocrity, you know, because of all the hype. But I am pleasantly surprised with it. It’s amazing. Wanheda is truly a badass, and I am so rooting for her and the Commander to rule the world.” The stranger smiles and Clarke thinks there might be something special about those green eyes.

“So is everyone else. Have you finished it yet?” She smiles sheepishly before holding up three fingers. “Wow, you do like it.”

“Yeah. Have you read it?”

“I wrote it.” Clarke says cooly before glancing at Nyko in the aisle once again.

“Wait, what?” The stranger looks to her bewildered. Clarke extends her hand and confidently introduces herself.

“Clarke Griffin, graphic artist, sometimes writer. And you are?”

“Lexa Woods, avionics engineer.” The stranger, Lexa, grasps her hand shakes firmly.

“That sounds impressive, is that impressive?”

Lexa shrugs. “I fly and fix planes. It’s impressive if you’re impressed.”

“Where are you headed today, Lexa Woods, avionics engineer which is totally impressive.”

Lexa smirks and Clarke knows she’s said the right thing, which isn’t always her strong suit. “My sister lives in Omaha, my nephew turns five tomorrow and she wants to have this big party. Normally I’d drive but I was in an accident last week. Damn drunk totalled my Accord. I loved that car.”

“You’re okay though?”

“Perfectly fine, Clarke. I was stopped at a light behind a truck, saw him coming and hopped out. He slammed into the back of my car so hard he skimmed over the top and into the truck in front of me. I’ll get the pay out next week sometime.” The blonde hums and then swallows a lump in her throat. The accident was somewhat similar to what happened when the train Jake was on was hit by the tanker. The driver hit a car and a big rig pushing them into the passing train before it barreled through the crossing as well. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Oh.” Clarke swallows once again. “Nowhere.” A long pause. “Visiting my dad for his birthday.”

“Does he live in Omaha?” Lexa tilts her head and eyes the blonde curiously.

“No, um. He died.” Clarke looks at her hands, her own fingers becoming extremely interesting.

Lexa leans over and puts a soft hand on her knee. “Mine too. It’ll never feel the same, but it does get easier.” The artist sniffles a bit and hurriedly wipes the tear that’s fallen from her face. She has never been a public crier and refuses to start now.

“It was a long time ago, ten years, but I always do this for his birthday.”

“Was he…” Lexa stops and shakes her head dismissing her train of thought, instead opting to rub a circular pattern on the woman’s knee. It’s a few quiet seconds before she speaks again. “Do you want to talk about him? I’ve got plenty of time to listen.”

“I…” Clarke opens and closes her mouth, staring into sincere green eyes, willing herself to say something. Anything. No one ever asks her if she wants to talk about him. They just say ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ and awkwardly move on. But here is this stranger, this beautiful stranger who wanted to listen. She didn’t offer half-hearted apologies or a pat on the back with a ‘there, there.’ She willingly offered to listen to whatever Clarke wanted to say, which made the blonde tear up even more.

“It’s alright, we don’t have to talk about him. I know it hurts.”

“No, I want to.” Clarke mumbles and looks Lexa in the eye. “I love my friends, but they are really bad with the whole consolation thing, and my mom still can’t talk about him. No one ever wants to hear about him from me.”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clarke wipes her near falling tears from her eyes with both hands and Lexa chuckles. “What?” “You look like a raccoon. A badass raccoon, but a raccoon nonetheless. Here, let me help.” She reaches up and wipes at the blondes tear tracks with one of her thumbs. “There. Beautiful.”

Clarke’s throat bobs at the compliment, and her face feels slightly flush. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So, tell me about your dad…”

“Jake. His name was Jake. He was a safety consultant at Union Pacific for like 20 years. He and my mom, they met in college. They had one of those perfect whirlwind romances. He got the job with UP right out of school and she went to med school. She’s a badass surgeon and I wish I had just a fraction of her balls.” Clarke chuckles to herself and smiles at Lexa. She closes her eyes and licks her lips, before continuing. “He was the best dad, the kind that shows up to support everything you do. Tells you your dreams are valid even if they are astronomically silly. I once told him I was going to invent space suits for horses and be the first person on to ride horseback on the moon. He just looked at me and said ‘make sure you tether both you and the horse down, otherwise you’re going to be the first horseback rider to drift into space.’ God, I miss him.”

“He sounds like a riot.”

“He was.”

“So, you said it’s his birthday? Where are you going to visit him?”

Clarke looks around, sort of self-conscious about her ritual now. “I uh… here. Right here.”

Lexa furrows her brow in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”

“He used to take the train everyday from home in Lincoln to Omaha for work, then back. This train. On his birthday I ride the train like he did. He always talked so highly of trains, they were such a big part of his life. It makes me feel close to him.”

Lexa nods understandingly. “You said it was ten years ago that he passed? Was it… Was it here? In the accident?” Clarke tears up again as she nods affirmatively.

“My mom was on the train too, but she was way in the back. My dad was the guy in the big rig that the tanker pushed into the train.”

“Lexa.” A ghost of a whisper escapes Clarke’s lips as she looks at the woman in front of her. She reaches out at takes her hand, intertwining their fingers. Lexa shakes her head back and forth.

“You want to know what the investigator said to me and my sister when they finished? He said that my father’s death was heroic. If the rig hadn’t slowed the tanker down it would have impacted a more populated area of the train. How do you tell a kid that their father is a hero, then never allow it to be discussed?” There was a strict gag order placed on the investigation. The only thing people ever got to see was the final report that was issued by the NTSB.

Clarke swallows thickly, luckily she didn’t have an experience like that. “What was his name?”

“Gustus, everyone called him Gus though.”

“And your mom?”

Lexa smiles at her, big and bright. “Andrea. Alive and well. Living out her days in sunny California.”

“And your sister and nephew are here?”

“Yeah. Anya and her husband Roan and Aden, who’s five. Altogether we’ve had a fairly happy life. I mean, obviously we’ve had our downs. Like when I came out at school and people were shitty or when Anya got arrested for drunk in public at seventeen. Oh, when I caught my girlfriend of two years sucking off some guy in a bar bathroom. That was fun, physically and emotionally painful, but yeah no. It wasn’t fun at all.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have one of those too, huh?”

“Cheating ex? Yeah. You?” “Ex boyfriend. Year and a half. Walked into his apartment to a face to face with the girl he was taking from behind. He had the nerve to ask if I wanted to join in because I ‘like both and we’re all really hot.’ Can you believe that?”

“Why are people so gross towards bisexuals? As a lesbian, I would like to apologize on behalf of the gay community for the times you have been marginalized or told you’re only half gay or greedy.”

Clarke laughs, a real full bellied laugh. “Well, on behalf of the bisexual community, I thank you.”

They continue to talk about their fathers and families and lives in general up to the topic of work.

“I just love that I get to have a job that can evoke such emotions from people, you know? I have met people that I’ve pissed off but I have also met people that tell me I saved them.” Clarke beams pridefully. “One teenage girl told me that she came out to her parents because Wanheda made her feel safe in the world. Can you believe that? I know it might seem silly, but it inspires me.”

“That doesn’t seem silly at all.” Lexa smiles at the artist. “It’s incredible.”

Clarke bites her lip subconsciously. “Sometimes I ramble when I get excited about something. I’ve been told I can be a talker. Just tell me to stop if I’m boring you.”

“Whoever has told you that’s a bad thing is an idiot. I don’t think I could ever get bored of you. Besides, I think the rambling is cute.” The engineer looks out the window as they pull into the Omaha station. “So, what do you usually do now?”

“I usually walk around the city for a bit, then head home. I try to catch Nyko’s return trip.” She points to the burly man in the aisle. “He’s worked this train since before I was born.”

“I see. Well, do you think I could tempt you into some fun instead? If I learned anything about Jake Griffin in the past hour, it’s that he wouldn’t want you to be sad on his birthday and there happens to be a party happening not too far from here.” When Clarke doesn’t answer Lexa lets out a heavy sigh. “Ten years is a long time to suffer Clarke. I am not saying you shouldn’t mourn him, I’m just saying you don’t have to do it alone. I think having my mom and my sister helped me cope, let me help you.”

Clarke looks out the window and sighs. “I don’t let it dictate my life like I did when I was seventeen. I have mostly healed, it’s just this one day.” The train’s brakes screech as it reaches its stop in the station. “Enjoy the party Lexa. Thanks for the company for the last hour or so. I hope your nephew has a great birthday party.” She sees the brunette swallow thickly in the reflection of the glass and nod defeatedly.

“It was really great meeting you, Clarke.” With that, she picks up her belongings and slides open the roomette door and steps back out into the aisleway. She looks back over her shoulder briefly before sliding the door closed again and nods to Nyko as she makes her way from the train.

Clarke watches from the window of the train as the brunette slides into a car, an uber she guesses. She slowly makes her way out of the cabin, toward Nyko who waiting by the door. “See you in a while Clarke.”

“See ya.” She softly touches his shoulder again as she passes. She wanders around the city, taking in the people and the buildings. She walks past the headquarters where her father worked and took a good hard look. She looks around and sees how life doesn’t stop because if her mourning. She digs the cell phone out of her pocket to call the one person she knew would understand. “Shit.” She curses herself because she never asked Lexa for her number.

Two weeks later

“That’s what I’m saying Marcus. There is now way in hell that will fly with the fans. Number one, there is far too much that we can do with these two characters. Number two, they’re soulmates for god sake. Number three, do you know what people will call us? Queer-baters. I’m not ruining the story I have built, the trust of the fans that I have created. Not for you or anyone else. And definitely not for ‘shock value.’ No way.” Clarke’s hands are on her hips as she walks around her office yelling at her boss on speaker phone. Beau occasionally lifts his head and watches her pace before he sets it back down, uninterested in what she is doing.

“Okay Clarke. You win, I get it.”

“I don’t really think you do Marcus. I’d love to explain it to you in person next time we are here. Maybe we can visit an LGBT community center.”

“I don’t really think that’s necessary Clar-”

“I do. You don’t even realize what an overused trope you asked me to use a minute ago. Why don’t you read into how many gay and lesbian characters have been killed off in the same manner. Just… Let me write my story, okay? If people stop reading it, let it be on me.”

“Clarke, look. I trust you. You’re the boss on this one alright. I am sorry I offended you.”

“Thank you Marcus.”

She ends the call with her boss and calls Beau over for some cuddles. The huge Bernese Mountain dog trots over and sets his head on her thigh so she can comb her fingers through his long fur. His ears perk up and he jerks away from her as he trots over to the office door. She watches him curiously as two people round the corner to her office and her breath catches.

“Hey Clarke.” Harper pats Beau on the head after opening the door. “She says she knows you.”

“Yeah, thanks Harper.” Clarke rises from her desk as Harper smirks then turns and leaves back down the hallway. “Beau introduce yourself to Lexa.” The dog sits in front of the visitor and holds out his paw.

“Well hello Beau.” Lexa shakes his paw and then pats his head then stands up straight. “Hello Clarke.”

“Hi.” The artist rounds her desk and leans back on the front side of it. “It’s nice to see you again.”

The engineer smiles at her and steps closer. “I got home Sunday night from my sisters and I had this overwhelming urge to call you and tell you about it. It was then that I realized I made a terrible mistake and didn’t get your number. I wanted to come here and find you sooner, but work has been crazy this last week.”

“Lexa. I wanted to call you Saturday afternoon but I realized the same thing.” Clarke takes a step toward the nervously rambling brunette. “I would have found you the same way, except I never asked which company you worked for.”

“Really?” Lexa rubs the back of her neck nervously. “Because I felt a bit stalkerish.”

“I don’t think that.” Clarke takes another step and is just a breath away from the visiting woman. “In fact, I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah?” Lexa’s gaze flicks down to Clarke’s lips, ever so briefly.

“Yeah.” Clarke breaths out. “Can I kiss you?”

Lexa looks stunned for a moment, then nods nervously as she swallows hard. Then they are both leaning in, and innocently pressing their lips together. Clarke pulls back first and exhales sharply. “Can I take you on a date?”

“I’d really like that.” Clarke hums tracing her fingers down Lexa’s muscular arm. “Want a tour of this place?”

“What I want is your number.”

Clarke chuckles and pulls her toward the door. “You’ll get it, I promise.”

#strangers on a train #fanfic #clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke griffin #lexa #commander lexa #clarke x lexa #meet cute #alternate universe #modern au #soat clexa challenge

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such-a-common-girl · 7 years

Text

“My Weakness” Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1,798

Sam Winchester x Reader

Request: Can you do a one shot where Sam doesn't want the Reader to hunt because he wants to keep her safe, but she thinks it's because he doesn't trust her. But she ends up taking a bullet or getting hurt for him (she lives) and saves his life? Fluffy end please

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, blood (from gunshot wound), language, fluff

“Sam, wake up.” You stand by the side of Sam’s bed. The clock on his nightstand reads 3:04am, and you’re impossibly tired. It’s not that you want to be awake- no, trust me, you’d much rather be sleeping at this ungodly hour. But after what happened to you last year, you have a hard time sleeping. The only thing that helps your nightmares and leaves you with a sense of peace at night is your best friend, Sam.

Last year, you were on a hunt with Sam and Dean. It wasn’t even a hard hunt, it was only vampires. You guys had killed vampires a ton of times, and you thought you had it in the bag. Unfortunately, you were a little too confident in your skills, and you ended up being kidnapped and almost dying. Sam and Dean got you in time, but it definitely left you with some nightmares you wish you didn’t have.

“Hm?” Sam mumbled, half asleep. “What time is it?”

“Three.” You bite your lip, hoping he wouldn’t be mad. You normally would just slip into bed with him and not bother waking him up, but you just wanted to hear his voice. It’s comforting.

“Come ‘ere.” Sam moves over, making room in his bed for you. You slide into bed with him, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. “You’re okay.”

The next morning, you wake up alone in the bed. Confused, you look over on the nightstand, and there’s a note sitting there.

‘Last minute hunt. Be back tomorrow. –Sam’

You groan, and shove the blankets off of you, getting out of Sam’s bed. You’re frustrated, you admit. It’s not that they left to go on a hunt- you don’t mind that they go out on hunts, it is their jobs after all. But it’s your job, too.

Ever since last year, they’d been reluctant to even let you out of the bunker. At first, you’d figured it was just because they were making sure that you were alright after what happened to you. It was a traumatizing experience, and they probably just wanted to make sure you were in your right mind. But months went by, and you’re fine. You feel fine, except for at night when you wake up from your nightmares. You certainly don’t think that’s any reason to keep you from hunting- you know for a fact that Sam and Dean both have nightmares as well. You’re desperate to hunt again, you want so badly to get back out there and “gank some sons of bitches” as Dean would say.

You know that Sam cares about you, and that he wouldn’t do anything to purposely hurt you. You know he’s probably doing what he thinks is right. But you can’t help but feel like they don’t trust you anymore. You did fuck up their hunt, and it ended up with almost the entire nest of vampires getting away because they were so focused on helping you get out of there. You feel like they don’t trust you go to on hunts anymore because you’ll get hurt. You know you’re probably being ridiculous, but it’s how you feel, and you can’t help that.

You walk into the kitchen, annoyance still running through your body. You try and distract yourself by making breakfast, but anger is blinding you and you can’t think of anything else. You want nothing more than to just show them that you’re not this little girl who can’t take care of herself anymore, that you’re not going to get hurt. You’re a hunter and you want to hurt.

Letting it get the best of you, you go over to the computer. You learned some tracking/hacking skills over the years, and it was finally going to go to use. You quickly track Sam’s phone, which says he was in Omaha, Nebraska.

“Damn, boys, you couldn’t have chosen a hunt that was closer?” You groan. Thankfully, it was only four hours away, and not halfway across the country.

You go into the bunker’s garage and take a car, determined to find them and show them you can still hunt. The drive goes by rather quickly, and it doesn’t take you long to find them.

They were inside of a house- a pretty nice house, at that. It was like the one from The Notebook. You can see the impala parked about a half mile down the road, and seeing how it was empty, you figure it’s a safe bet that they’re already inside.

“What the hell are they hunting?” You mumble to yourself, parking the car next to the impala and putting your gun into your holster. You walk up to the side of the house, and press your body up against the siding near a window. You peer your head into the window, and you don’t see anything. No sign of anyone being home.

You take your gun out of the holster and break through the front door, holding the gun in front of you just in case. You walk upstairs, and see no one. You’re beginning to think maybe you were in the wrong house when you hear yelling coming from below you.

You sprint downstairs, and open the door to the cellar. Sam is standing beside Dean, and Dean is being held at gunpoint by a blonde woman.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?” Sam looks nervous. He goes to walk over to you, but the woman pulls back the hammer of the gun, indicating that she was ready to shoot.

“Who the hell are you guys? I swear to god I’ll shoot if I don’t start getting some answers!” The woman looks terrified. You glance over at Dean, who is trying to stay calm, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s getting worried.

“Look, we aren’t bad guys, we thought something was going on here. We’ll just leave, okay, and no one has to get hurt.” Sam puts his hands up in the air. Dean looks over at you, and mouths “bad intel”.

‘Oh, shit.’ You think to yourself, and you put your gun down. Whoever told them there was a hunt here was obviously wrong, because this woman is scared shitless, and there is nothing out of the ordinary going on.

“Hey, look, just put the gun down and everything will be fine.” Your voice comes out shaky. She doesn’t- she just points turns and points the gun at Sam now instead of Dean.

You don’t know what came over you. The second you saw her finger start to pull back on that trigger, you ran in front of Sam. A ringing went through your head, and you could barely hear Sam screaming. Your eyes were open, and you could see Sam and Dean both leaning down over you. They book look worried, and you look down, seeing where the bullet hit.

“Y/N, don’t you dare die on me.” Sam said, but you could barely hear him. The last thing you remember was him picking you up, and a tear running down his face.

You can hear a constant, annoying beeping sound coming from beside you. You stir your legs, and feel the familiar feeling of blankets.

“Y/N?” You can hear a voice coming from beside you, and you open your eyes.

“Where am I?” You look around frantically. The last thing you remember is being inside of a room with Sam and Dean and some woman. You don’t remember anything else.

“You got shot… I didn’t think you’d make it.” Sam looks relieved, and you finally notice you’re in a hospital. That beeping sound is coming from the monitor to your right, and you’re hooked up to numerous cords, including one to help your breathing. You try to move, but a sharp pain coming from your stomach stopped you.

“No, no, don’t move.” Sam stops you.

“Holy crap, Sam, it hurts.” You breathe out.

“Why did you come after us?” He asks, holding your hand is his. His facial expressions were turning angrier, and you frown.

“Because I wanted to be useful. I wanted to hunt. I was tired of you guys not trusting me to go with you guys anymore, although obviously I was wrong, because I got myself shot.”

“Y/N… It’s not that we didn’t trust you. I’d trust you with my life. I just… Do you know how scared I was last year when I saw you in that room, blood draining from your body? You were almost dead, Y/N. And that terrified me. I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen to you again. I just wanted to protect the girl that I love… But then you came after us, fuck Y/N, you shouldn’t have. If you had died… Fuck, I don’t know what I would have done.”

You know that you should have processed a whole lot more, but the only thing that stuck from his entire speech was “the girl that I love.”

“But I didn’t die, did I?” I weakly smile at him. “You protected the girl that you love. You saved me. If you wouldn’t have been there all those nights when I couldn’t sleep, or shit, even taken me to the hospital after I got shot… I would have died. You did protect me. Just like I protected the guy that I love. I did take a bullet for you, didn’t I?”

“Y/N…”

“And, by the way, I’m not going to apologize for following you guys here. If I wouldn’t have, you would have been the one to get shot.”

“I’d rather have gotten shot than you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You smile, and you pull him down to you. You kiss him lightly, and it feels like heaven. Kissing Sam felt like the most natural thing in the world. You pull away after a moment, your foreheads still touching, and you can tell he’s trying to hide the biggest smile.

“God, I love you so much.” He says.

“You, too, Winchester.” You kiss him again. You hear someone clearing their throat at the door, and you pull away. Dean is standing at the foot of your bed, a huge smirk plastered on his face.

“Really, Sam? It took Y/N getting shot for you to admit your feelings for her?”

#sam winchester #sam x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural imagine #spn #spn fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #imagines #fluff #request

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kazosa · 7 years

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For the Love of...

This is the first request I’ve ever written and it turned into a two-parter! Hope you like it @brebre149!!

Part One

Request: @brebre149 I was thinking something like a close friend of Sam and Dean's who's only a year older than dean gets kidnapped and tortured by demons and the boys call John to help find her. He's worried sick cause he loves her but never told her and he doesn't want to lose her like he did Mary maybe a part two where she has nightmares about it and doesn't sleep for days and John helps her?

Dean slammed the door to the hotel room. He was fuming. Sam braced himself. “How in the hell did we lose Bre?!” he yelled. “Dean, we’ll get her back,” Sam tried to calm his older brother. “How Sam? Please tell me, ‘cause we were lucky to get out of there alive,” he was being rhetorical, but was half-way hoping Sam would have an answer. “They’re gonna torture her just for being our friend. We can’t go back there without help.” Sam looked at his brother. He knew what needed to be done, he just waited for Dean to come to the same conclusion. Neither one of them wanted to make the call, but it needed to be done. He was the only other person that cared about Bre as much as they did, maybe more. “Rock, paper, scissors?” Dean asked, hopeful. “Nope,” Sam said. “Gaaaahhhhh, FINE!” he grumbled. He started pacing the room while digging in his leather jacket for his phone. Flicking the phone open, he scrolled through his contacts, coming to rest on “Dad.” He sighed and pressed the ‘call’ button. It rang three times before he picked up. “Dean? Hello?” Dean let out a deep breath, “Dad, it’s Bre. She’s been kidnapped.”

John had stopped at Bobby’s house for the night. He was on his way to his next case and Bobby always kept a room up for him. Bobby’s house was the only place where he felt a little bit normal. It didn’t hurt any that Bre also lived in Sioux Falls, too. He thought maybe he would call her in the morning and see if she wanted to get breakfast. He sat on the bed in the room Bobby kept for him. He loosened the laces on his boots and took them off, carefully placing them in just the right spot to easily slip them on if he needed to dash in the night. Still leaning down, he pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand and grabbed the small box he kept there. The box didn’t have much in it, pictures mostly, but they were precious to him. The pictures were his favorite ones of his family. Him and Mary when they were first dating. Sam and Dean talking. Mary holding baby Sam. Bobby in his study reading. Sam, Bre and Dean posing for him. Bre was in the middle and had the boys in a headlock. And one of Bre, just Bre. That picture was always the one he looked at last. It was his favorite memory to hold. He didn’t remember what he’d said to make her laugh, but the moment she looked up at him to laugh, he’d snapped the picture. He loved that picture. She looked so happy, so full of life, her hair lifted on the breeze and her eyes sparkling. It was one of the rare days they’d had to just hang out and shoot the breeze. She deserved more days like that.

He remembered the first time Dean and Sam brought her around. She’d been 28 at the time, just a year older than Dean. The three of them had become fast friends after his boys had vanquished a ghost for her. They’d taken her under their wing and were training her to hunt. She was a quick study and she’d impressed him with how well she did, she was a natural. Over the last two years, they’d gotten to spend a lot of time together. He would never admit it to anyone, but he liked Bre a little more than he should have. Seriously, he was over 20 years older than her. So, he kept his thought and feelings about Bre bottled up. He’d told himself he had no right to her, because he was so much older, but that didn’t stop the feelings from growing every time he saw her.

John was lost looking at the picture of Bre when he heard a strange buzzing noise. It took him a moment to realize that it was his phone ringing. Checking the display, he saw that it was Dean calling. “Dean? Hello?” he said. “Dad, it’s Bre. She’s been kidnapped.” Six simple words was all it took to send a chill to his bones and fill him with a feeling of dread. “Who took her?” “Demons.” “Where?” “Omaha.” “When?” “About a half hour ago.” “What happened?” “I dunno, Dad. We were looking for a wolf pack and we got jumped by demons. We split up and…” “YOU SPLIT UP?! YOU LET HER GO ON HER OWN?!” “Dad, Bre’s a good hunter, she can ha…” “Where are you? I’m coming.” Dean gave him the name of the motel he and Sam were in. John packed up the pictures and put them back in the drawer where he had stored them. It only took him moments to get ready and he was back on the road, heading toward Omaha.

“Well, that went about as good as it could have,” Dean said flopping down on the bed closest to the door. Sam didn’t need to ask what their dad had said. He heard it all plain as day. Their dad would be there in a little over three hours. Sam decided to bring up something that he’d always wondered about but had passed off. “Dean?” he said looking at his brother. “You ever notice how Dad goes easy on Bre?” “You mean like how she over sharpened her knife and all Dad did was call it a “learning experience”? Yeah, I noticed. If we’d ruined a blade, we would have had to work our asses off to replace it.” Dean said rubbing his face. “Do you think Dad and Bre ever…” Sam began, but cut himself off. He didn’t like to think of his Dad as a normal human being with needs. “Dude, I don’t know and I don’t want to know, but if the old man does have feelings, it would explain how Bre got away with so much and we got our asses handed to us,” he concluded. “Get some rest before Dad gets here. You know he’s gonna want to get going right away.” Sam laughed, “Yeah, but I might have nightmares now.” He switched off the light next to his bed and closed his eyes anyway.

On the drive to Omaha, he had been fraught with fear. Bre meant more to him than he would even admit to himself. His boys liked her and she was a good hunter. She was the only woman in his life for the last two years. He didn’t want anyone else. She had wiggled her way into his heart and the thought of losing her, especially to demons, made him want to drive even faster. He hadn’t wanted to fall in love with her. He’d tried to stay away, but he couldn’t help himself. Their age difference didn’t seem to bother Bre, either, she flirted with him more than a few times, but he’d always told himself she was just being playful and not read too much into it. He didn’t think he could take it if she died, too.

One time he’d gotten cracked hard on the head during a hunt and it split his scalp open. Bre was going to meet up with him and the boys after she made a run to the drug store for supplies. They’d all been banged up, except her. In fact, John had taken the hit to protect her. At the motel, John made sure that Sam and Dean were taken care of first. He watched as she patched them up. Dean couldn’t help but stare, he had a perfect view as she leaned over him. Dean had gotten sliced right above his knee and Bre was kneeling to sew him. Without looking up at Dean, she spoke, “Keep your eyes to yourself Dean Winchester. I feel your eyes on me.” “Just appreciating the view, Bre,” Dean was trying to be smooth. Bre was a little rough cutting the last suture and made Dean take a sharp breath in. “Well knock it off,” she said and patted the wound. “Geeze, Bre, sorry,” Dean apologized. John chuckled at that exchange. He’d been holding a towel to his head waiting for his turn. The light over the table had the best light and she’d told him to sit there. She put her hand over his to take control of the towel he was using to staunch the blood flow. “You do know that “Rub some dirt on it” is just a saying, right?” she said examining the wound. “This is gonna hurt.” She cleaned his scalp with what felt like a wire brush. “Tell me if I need to stop,” she said, and kept on working. He grunted loudly and could feel himself start to get dizzy. Bre must have noticed too because she gently pulled his head to her chest while she sewed the gash on the top of his head shut. If he weren’t having sutures drug through his skin, he might have fallen asleep, she was being as gentle as she possibly could be. When she was done, she stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head. She held his face in her hands making him look up at her. “Stop trying so hard to get yourself killed. I kinda like having you around, ya big dummy,” she said and quickly brushed her lips against his and then she was gone. The concussion, the loss of blood, or complete shock at what she had done kept him rooted to his chair. If he’d had his right mind, he might have followed her out the door.

John pulled into the rundown motel and spotted the Impala easily. There was a space open next to her and he parked his truck there. Grabbing his gear bag, he got out of the truck and banged on the door number Dean had given him. Dean opened the door almost immediately. “Where did they take her?” John demanded, pushing his way into the room.

Dean and Sam filled John in on everything they knew, which wasn’t much. “Drusilla?” John said. “You’re sure it was Drusilla?” “You know her?” Sam was surprised. “She has a justifiable vendetta against me. She was the only one that got away. I killed her whole group a few years back. Her boyfriend was among them. She promised that she would get payback,” John said in a rueful tone. “How the hell did she know?” Dean and Sam exchanged glances. “Know what, Dad?” Dean asked. That wasn’t a question he was willing to answer just yet. “Let’s go get Breanna,” he said.

#Bre's request #John Winchester #Fan Fic #requested

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survivingjapan · 7 years

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EPISODE 3 “Back On My Bullshit” Alex S.

Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that I am Back On My Bullshit and doing That https://youtu.be/VLVChQE7uY8

So last round, I almost died. Everyone had apparently decided that between me and Patrick, I was the one to go. I was the target and it wasn't like anyone was pushing for it, it was just that it was the idea settled upon. It took me 23 hours. 23 hours to basically get it through these thick skulls that I should NOT be going home. 23 hours to shove Patrick under a bus and save my own ass. And yet, with 1 hour left, another bitch got in the way. Kage, in all his pointless paranoia, decided to try to reflip the vote in the last hour. The FUCK? I had worked so hard on flipping it that it made NO sense for it to be flipped back, especially not in the last hour. I had convinced nearly everyone to save me, sans Tommy who had already voted and apparently Kage, and yet he tried to flip it. WHATTTT the fuck? So, I went into the one world chat like "lol Kage bye girl!" And he apparently went right back to everyone and said "jkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjk!" UGH. He's a sweet kid and I get the paranoia because I felt it all of yesterday, but c'mon... At the moment, I trust Jonathan a ton. He told me I was in danger and needed to push the idea despite me thinking everything was peachy. I also love Crow and Jaiden for working with Zack and seeing how that mess turned out LOL and now working with me. Crow was apparently really pushing for me to stay. A motherfucking KING. Sarah was also really nice about everything and helped me from the get-go. Linus is m'dad and Alex is pretty rad!! Ashley fell asleep oops. But I think her and I would be good together. And Richie was telling me the full truth the whole time which also woke me up to the idea that I was still in danger. Also Junior is really cool and adult-y. I think now that I had to work SO hard to save myself, I should be in a better position on my tribe because I've had so many conversations with so many people, and a lot of it was strategy. So I feel like people know where my head is at. Right now, though, my target is between Tommy and Kage. While I know Kage is a messy bitch, Tommy's won this game. That's insanely dangerous. And I know he voted early but girl.... he was the only one beside Kage and Patrick (who I was actively targeting)...

https://68.media.tumblr.com/9335ba85c23ae1f01a1348b1c31c3666/tumblr_n99wduhukv1sb2lomo1_500.png

Me and Brian

I apologize for not submitting a confessional round two. I definitely was in Omaha auditioning for American Idol and those bitches told me a deserved no after my voice cracked during auditions *starts to cry*. Literally my tribe is so supportive but I'm actually fine about it. It's kinda funny that they think I like wanna die because of it but I'm literally okay. I tried and failed and what matters is that I tried.

Sup Fuckerinos! First things first I'd like to apologize for not making a confessional episodes 1 or 2. I've been busy^tm. Also I'd like to thank the hosts for this opportunity! So recap I was placed on the heroes tribe with literally the entire Solomon hosting team, Johnny, and the Malaysians. So when we lost the first challenge an alliance was created consisting of me, Pippa, Andrew, Kendall, Drew, Alex, & Johnny. Mist was voted out 11-1 (and Mist voted for me :') kms) because literally everyone and their damn mother came to that conclusion with a little point in the right direction from our alliance. I'm not going to lie I'm kind of pissed that everyone wanted Mist when we had the opportunity to vote out someone who's more threatening like Drew, Steffen, or Andrew but if no one else is down to do it then I guess I can't do anything about that RIP Mist. Andrew wants to get out Kendall and/or Alex instead of Drew and I see where he's coming from but I think he's too trigger happy and I think he's failing to realize that there are and will be repercussions to the things he does. Including the backlash that he will feel from the other heroes even Pippa but I can't tell him anything because I obviously don't know anything. He's got such a fucking hard head but if he wants to be stubborn and reckless let him because I'm not going to let him ruin my redemption arc even if we are good friends. I'll write his name down and not think twice. I'll shed only one tear for what could've been but was ruined by his reckless ass. Also I have something with Steffen on the side so if worse ever comes to worse I have him and I really like Trace and Ruthie so maybe I could do something with that? Idk but besides Andrew I really like this tribe. Blood is going to start spilling soon so I hope these bitches brought their heels.

Okay so I'm seeing myself becoming a lot nastier in the last few days....maybe these villains are rubbing off on my obviously heroic personality?? Firstly, I can now see why people had issues with Tommy in Cutthroat now....he's so hard to talk to... I feel he means well as a person but I just have a gut feeling that he's lying to me a lot.... Like about how his vote was locked "too early"? Seems convenient that you mention this to people AFTER the votes are revealed and you're in the minority? And then threatening me with the possibility of drawing rocks if it were to go to 6-6-1? Seriously? It's insulting... As of now, I'm probably closest to Sarah, Brian, Jaiden, and Jonathan so if I can maintain those relationships and reach out to the Linus/Junior duo I feel confident I can hang with these villains!

Listen I know this is my first confessional and that's awful of me but like I haven't had anything to say until this moment. If This selfie scavenger hunt Comes down to the geopositional division of the tribes And whose sun sets first Imma lose it It will be a tantrum And you will all bear witness to what happens when moving stress has pushed a person to the very edge, and the last string snaps.

Well, we lost another immunity. I am thinking maybe we should go afterJonathan, who pretty much did NOTHING for this scavenger hunt. But honestly I aint going to speak my mind because it could get me killed. In a game with this many people my strategy for right now will be to lay low, just not too too low. Hopefully Sarah or Tommy will run the show. For now.

WELL we lost again and im pissed bc i dont feel comfortable with my position on this tribe i havent formed good relationships with anyone and that's how i play these games by making 1 on 1 relationships with people that keep me safe until i can make moves but ugh idk theres just no one here that i........connect with???

So I guess my name is going around... I mean I am literally sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor packing to move so I can't really help being a little inactive on the chatting side, but challenge wise I have done quite a bit for this tribe so far, and I am really people can see that. but I mean oh well.

HFDJKA;VHJDFKAL NOW I KNOW WHY THE FOUR OF THEM WANTED TO WORK TOGETHER FUCKING DREW ALEX KENDALL AND ISAAC WERE ALL IN MALAYSIA AND THEY DRAGGED ME AS THEIR FIFTH AND PIPPA AND ANDREW AS 6TH AND 7TH OML THEY GOTTA GO THIS IS LITERALLY THE PERFECT CASE TO TURN ON THEM. The only person I told I wanted Ruthie out was Andrew, but now I'm not even sure if I'd want to take Ruthie out this round because those four could be so threatening down the road, but I also have to keep in mind that those four all being from Malaysia is target enough when we all get together as heroes AND villains, so maybe I just take the safe route and go for Ruthie here, and then if we lose for the third time, that's when I pull everyone else into the fold and it can be everyone against the four of them to AT LEAST get Kendall and Alex out of here because they're too damn good. I'm trying to take out all the really good players early, but I also think there's a chance that'll make me oober vulnerable, so I'm not too sure what the plan is yet. I guess I'll just play it out for now and see what my closest people think. I'm definitely going to tell Dom, Trace and Steffen about the four of them all playing in Malaysia together. This is where my research gets me! FUCK YES!

Steffen is probably about to make a confessional about how I was moving 100000 miles a minute with everything I was throwing at him. Just be prepared LMAO

I hate this game. Every round, I think the game is going to simplify, but this villains tribe is a complete mess and I wouldn't be shocked if we lost the duel and had to go to yet another tribal council 24 hours from our current one. Apparently, the vote is between Ashley and Jonathan for being extra quiet this round. What scares me is that I have no reason to really vote either out. I'd much rather vote Tommy or Kage who I have no intention on working with in the future ever ever ever. I don't have a personal issue with either, I just don't see myself ever working with someone who tried to vote me out. It's not logical. But then again, nothing that's happened on this crusty ass tribe has been logical. Vote me out over Pat? Majority said so until I flipped it (with some help who really pushed the move over the edge). This round, I guess I want Ashley to go? But I don't want to draw lines. I'd rather Kage go in an easy vote and that's that. But it ain't happenin' and I really don't need my name circulating yet again. Here's to hoping I don't get idoled out or go via rocks... please...

BITCH the villains tribe is a fucking mess i cant stand it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this vote is fucking ridiculous again no one has a clear plan theres no way of getting anyone to tell you whats actually going down its all just second hand names being tossed out and its like.... driving me fucking crazy theres 24 people still in the game so im just trying to lay low which im sure thats what everyone else is trying to do and thats why no one is just outright saying who they're voting for and like i get it but i want to die!!??? it looks like either jonathan ashley or kage are going... jonathan is inactive i've only spoken 2 words to him and he hasnt done anything to help in the immunity challenges so its easiest to vote him out but i liked him when he called out kage for his bullshit in the tribe chat so that was fun ashley is pretty inactive too but she helped more in the scavenger hunt BUT shes also wicked connected to people in this game from past tumblr survivor games relationships she has played with a lot of people in this game and thats scary to let her stay around and utilize those relationships kage i dont think is a real option but just ashley being mad that he is one of the ones that has said her name but i'd be cool with that because we've talked a good amount but i can tell he's a messy player he caused a lot of last minute chaos at our first tribal and i feel like kage tommy and linus have something going on so id like to break that potential group up idk whats going to happen bc this tribe is a literal disaster if i had to guess i'd assume jonathan will be leaving tonight and idc who it is as long as im still here (although i do need alex to stay for sanity reasons) i just dont want a tie or to be in minority and with that i guess we'll see what actually happens ugh why the fuck did yall think i was a villain fuck you i want to be over there with the good bitches

God I keep half forgetting to make confessionals please don't hate me. I really do enjoy our tribe, winning challenges is great but I'm afraid that people are simply talking more than I am which is my fear. I'm around but not specifically talking with people. I hope the Early 30s know I'm working with them whole heartedly and don't try and back stab me. Other than that I'm living life and having fun.

I have a feeling that an idol is gonna come out and I love being messy, so voting for Kage was just so he can be #afraid that his name came up. And like lowkey a fucking Sapphire idol could show up so who knows what happens with that. I'm just trying to fuck some lives over though so IF THAT HAPPENS, then maybe I'll be the only vote to eliminate Kage? Lmao

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tGhgF8_Uxk third babes

#returnrevengeredemption #confessionals

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