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cosmicbash · 3 years

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I'm hesitant to post this, because??? Honestly?? I'm not 100% sure I haven't already posted it. I was perusing my Google docs trying to relabel stuff as posted and such to better organize and found this, which @lemon-coke and me both can't figure out if I ever posted. So.

Better to repost it and give you all something to reread then not post it all I assume.

Sorry!

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it.

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room.

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees.

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays.

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly."

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though.

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol.

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst.

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy.

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop.

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk.

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is.

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet.

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-"

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair.

#and yeah #i kinda stole the formatting metalheadkells uses for their tumblr posts #i seriously forgot i had more options than just bold or italics #🥴🥴🥴#forgive meee #emgk #i hope if you have read it you at least all enjoyed it #and if not #the same #😭😭#prompts

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

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“One cappuccino and chocolate brownie, please” - Chapter 8

Summary: Darcie Angel is thirty years old and owner of the famous cafe “The Coffee Cup” in New York City. She is known for her sweet smile and her amazing customer service. For six months now, John Wick has visited her cafe every day, earning himself a table that is always reserved for him. Darcie can’t stop thinking about him and when he asks her out one day, her dreams are finally coming true. But will it last?

A/N: Since I have the story finished on my laptop anyways and I’m dying to read what @toomanystoriessolittletime will say, I’m posting this chapter right now. I have about six chapters left, but I really don’t want it to end. Darcie and John really own my heart right now.

John Wick x OFC Darcie

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter //

The next day, John arrives and when he steps inside, he has a big smile on his face, causing my heart to flutter. I think I’m falling in love with him even more. He walks over to the register, places his hands on the counter and leans over. ‘I really missed you, Darcie,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday.’

I bite my bottom lip, to prevent myself from squealing. ‘I missed you too. It really wasn’t the same without you here.’

‘That’s disgustingly romantic,’ Jennie says, sipping her tea.

I look over my shoulder and say: ‘Your break is over. Get your ass back to the kitchen.’

Jennie holds back a laugh, but raises her hand in surrender. She walks back to the kitchen, winking at me when she stands in the doorway.

‘So, what would you like to order?’ I ask John, tilting my head.

‘I would like a chocolate smoothie and a red velvet cupcake.’

‘Really adventurous today, mister Wick.’

‘Making up for yesterday,’ he says with a smirk.

‘You don’t need to make up for yesterday,’ I say. ‘I bet you had something to do for work and work is important.’

‘I did. I just want you to know that… It wasn’t because we went on a date and I was too awkward or anything. I had such a great time, but it sucked that the work thing took me a bit longer.’

I place my hand on top of his. ‘I understand, John, no need to explain.’

‘But,’ he says, ‘I’m going to stay longer today. Really want to cuddle up with my girl Tiki.’

He pays for his order and I tell him that it’ll be there in a second. The cafe is pretty quiet today, since it’s around ten a.m. Weirdly enough, on Saturday mornings, it’s always pretty quiet around here. Only the older couple with their Bible verses, another woman who likes to read here and John are occupying the cafe.

Raye walks out of the kitchen, with Tiki in her arms and says: ‘Oh Tiki, look at that. Daddy’s here.’

Is this how it feels to die? My soul practically leaves my body. ‘Raye,’ I hiss, but she’s enjoying this way too much. To make things even worse, I can hear Jennie laughing all the way from the kitchen.

John’s cheeks flush, but when Tiki makes her way over to him, he picks her up and peppers her face with kisses.

‘I hate you,’ I hiss between clenched jaws to Raye.

‘I’m fucking hilarious,’ Raye retorts. ‘Can’t believe I made mister Mustang blush.’

‘I really hate you,’ I say. I make John a chocolate smoothie, put lots of whipped cream on top and some sprinkles. I place the red velvet cupcake on a plate and write ‘Glad you’re back again, John’ on the note. ‘I’m going to cut your paycheck after what you did to me,’ I tell Raye, before I walk off to bring John his order.

He looks up and smiles when I arrive at his table. ‘There you go,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry about Raye. That was pretty embarrassing.’

He holds my hand. ‘It was funny, come to think of it.’

‘Maybe,’ I chuckle.

John presses a kiss on my knuckles. ‘God, I really missed you.’

‘I missed you too, John.’ I see he has a book laying on the table. ‘What is that?’

‘Just something to read. I really want to make up for the time I wasn’t here yesterday. Besides, I have nothing else to do today and I was hoping that you and I could spend some time after work. I can even walk Tiki today if you don’t mind.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ I hear something clatter in the kitchen. ‘Shoot, I have to go. I’ll be back shortly.’

‘You’re at work, I understand.’ He flashes me such a loving and caring smile, that I can’t believe I was doubting myself, him and us in general. ‘I’ll see you later. I’ve got company, who I will only feed one snack.’

⟢⟡⟣

I told John about the double date. Since his table is right next to theirs, he can overhear them and when I looked over at him, he mouthed that it’s going well. Julie and Roger are clearly making fun of the shy couple. It’s really obvious that Greg really, really likes her and it warms my heart that Tina’s and Greg’s love story might begin here, at my cafe.

This is what I wanted, I think to myself. This is how I envisioned my cafe to be. Where people would meet new people, maybe friends for life or their significant others. Where friends could meet up and talk about whatever they wanted. Where couples would sit, thinking about their future together. A place where parents bring their kids, to talk about life, no matter how old they are.

‘Can’t believe the high school kids are going to end up with someone, before I do.’ Raye leans against the counter, looking over the cafe, while I’m cleaning up some crumbs off the floor. ‘Being single and ridiculously hot is so exhausting.’

‘Who knows,’ I start, ‘maybe a hottie will walk through the door.’

‘Oh my God,’ Raye says and I hear the bell that rings when the door opens.

‘A hot guy is coming in?’ I chuckle.

‘No, it’s your ex-boyfriend.’

My head rushes with the speed I’m standing up. Oh my God, Eric… I haven’t seen him since I moved out of our apartment. Okay, no, wait, I checked his FaceBook account like four months ago, but that doesn’t compare to seeing him in real life.

His dirty blond hair is shorter than when we were dating, but he looks ripped. I never really liked the ultra ripped look on guys. Sure, guys who are toned are great—I mean, look at John—but they need their softness—again: look at John.

He is walking in with one of his best friends, Thomas, who was actually my former employee. They both have smug grins on their faces and I really wish I could throw them out. ‘There she is,’ Eric says, when he gets to the counter.

‘What do you want?’ I ask him, crossing my arms.

‘Is that how you treat all your customers?’

‘No, just idiots who cheat for five years and hide a kid from me. Turns out there’s just one of those morons walking around in New York City.’

Eric scoffs, before he laughs. ‘Still not over me, I hear.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Eric,’ Raye butts in, standing next to me, crossing her arms as well. ‘Order something, pay up or else, leave.’

Thomas chuckles. ‘I’d like a cappuccino, preferably without spit and that pink cupcake.’

Eric leans over the counter. If my dad only knew what was happening here, he’d kill Eric for coming near me. ‘One espresso and a chocolate brownie.’

‘We’re out of chocolate brownies,’ I say, though I know there is some in the back, but this man cannot eat those. Every single time someone orders a chocolate brownie, I think back to all those times where John would order a chocolate brownie and Eric cannot contaminate that memory.

‘Well, a vanilla cupcake should do it then.’

Raye gets behind the register, so they can pay and I start to prepare to make the cappuccino. I feel tears burning in my eyes, but I have to be strong. I can’t show any weakness, though those years I spend with him were terrible and it brings me back to those times where I had to walk on eggshells.

‘Are you really okay?’ Raye asks me. ‘I can take this order.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘I can handle it.’

I get their order ready—and don’t even bother writing them a note—and I bring it to their table. ‘Hope you enjoy,’ I say, placing it down on the surface. I don’t even wait for their response, because I feel like I’m going to kill them if I’m near them for too long. ‘So kids,’ I say to my favorite high schoolers and their dates. ‘Is everything okay here?’

‘It is,’ Greg says, ‘thank you, miss Angel.’

‘Your cafe is wonderful,’ Tina says with a big smile. She looks so adorable, with her long red hair in thick waves and the white bow in her hair. No wonder Greg likes her. ‘I really want to visit your place again. Maybe with my mom.’

‘Tina, you are always welcome,’ I say. ‘If you need anything else, just say so, okay?’

‘Thank you, miss Angel,’ the boys say and I smile at them.

When I get to John’s table, I see he is not reading anymore. ‘Who is that guy?’ he asks, scratching Tiki behind her fluffy ears.

‘The blond guy is my ex-boyfriend Eric and the other guy is his best friend Thomas, who fired me two days after I broke up with my ex.’

‘They’re fucking assholes.’

‘You can say that again,’ I chuckle.

‘They’re fucking assholes.’

‘You’re an idiot.’ Though I want to laugh, I do swallow hard, feeling tears already coming up, but I ignore it and blink them away. ‘You want something else?’ I ask.

John shakes his head. ‘No, thank you, Darcie. Are you really okay though?’

‘Just some old wounds,’ I whisper, ‘nothing I can’t handle.’ I place my hand on his strong shoulder. ‘I’m just happy that you’re here, that’s all.’

He places his hand on mine. ‘Good, I’m happy I’m here too. And,’ he whispers, ‘the date behind me is going well. Really well.’

‘Good,’ I smile.

I hear something fall on the floor and when I turn around, I see Eric looks at me with those innocent eyes. I clench my hands to tight fists and walk towards the scene. ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he says, in such a condescending voice, that I really don’t miss. ‘You should clean that up.’

‘You did that on purpose,’ I mumble.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘this is on purpose.’ He shoves his plate off the table and I watch it fall on the floor, shards flying around. Thank God, I gave him an ugly plate.

‘What is your problem?’ I ask him. ‘Why are you here in the first place?’

‘I wanted to see how you are.’

‘Then Google me,’ I snap.

‘Sweetheart, you should clean the floor,’ Eric says. ‘Then I have you just the way I like it. Bend over, doing chores, cleaning up my mess. Just like old times.’

It feels like a slap in my face. I can’t believe he said something like that, in the fucking cafe in such a loud voice. I can feel people staring at me. Raye is ready to throw some fists, but then I hear a: ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ behind me.

‘Excuse me?’ Eric asks.

John stands right next to me. ‘You heard me.’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. He steps over the shards and the mess that is left behind, grabbing Eric by his collar, pulling him up.

Though I thought Eric looked ripped, compared to John he looks like a tiny kid. From the looks of it, Eric is fucking terrified and I don’t think I have ever seen him like that.

‘You clean this up,’ John says in a low, intimidating voice, ‘apologize to Darcie and never show your face back here, because if I catch you wihtin a five mile radius from this cafe, I’ll make sure you can’t even look at this place anymore. Understood?’

‘Who the hell are you, man?’ Eric asks, his voice a little high pitched, showing how scared he really is.

I hardly recognize John. His eyes are dark, but he looks oddly calm. I yelp when John pushes Eric to the ground, where he falls flat in his espresso. ‘You clean this up and never come here again,’ John says.

Raye walks up with a mop, a bucket and a trash can and says: ‘This, Eric, is a mop and one uses that to clean up.’

‘I know what a damn mop is,’ he mumbles.

John crosses his arms and looks down to Eric. ‘I’m waiting, Eric,’ he says.

I look over my shoulder, to see Tiki sitting with Roger and Greg, who look like they are about to dislocate their jaw and the girls’ eyes have turned into heart eyes.

Eric cleans up, while Thomas just stares at how his friend is cleaning up, Eric’s back covered in espresso. Eric places the mop in the bucket and nods to his friend, hoping he gets up, so they can get out of this place. ‘You,’ he starts, when standing in front of me, but John pushes him towards the door, saying: ‘The door is that way, Eric.’

When the two of them have walked out, I can finally breath again.

‘Damn,’ Roger says, ‘sir, you’ve got some balls.’

‘Mister Mustang,’ Raye says, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You are fucking awesome.’

John smiles briefly, but walks up to me. ‘Are you okay, Darcie?’

I don’t know what to say. My heart is so full right now. He really did that for me—I don’t know if anyone ever done something like that. I stand on my toes, hold his face between my hands and give him a long and heavy kiss on his lips. He is a little surprised, but his hands squeeze my waist and he pulls me closer. ‘Thank you so much, John,’ I whisper against his lips. ‘This means a lot to me.’

‘Of course, anything for you.’

I press one last kiss on his lips and say: ‘You’re getting a cappuccino with a chocolate brownie. On the house.’

He nods, a smile on his face, before he pushes some strands of hair behind my ear, a little rough, a little clumsy, but I don’t mind. It’s the thought that counts and after what he just did, I certainly don’t mind.

‘Miss Angel,’ Roger says, ‘if I had done what he did, would you have kissed me like that?’

I let go of John and flick Roger’s forehead. ‘Dream on, lover boy.’

‘So, you’re officially taken?’

I look at John and say: ‘Yeah, officially taken indeed.’

Taglist: @toomanystoriessolittletime

#keanu reeves x oc #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x original character #keanu reeves x ofc #john wick x oc #john wick fanfic #john wick #john wick x original character #john wick x ofc #one cappuccino and a chocolate brownie please

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 4 years

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Russia Visit Balance

I flew on Lufhtansa four times. Very nice company as usual, no problems. Nice catering and support. Very nice pilot and copilot and crew that invited me to check out cockpit. I study this stuff so of course this was quite a treat and gave me an extra boost to finally finish this doctorate once and for all.

EXCEPT Frankfurt. All fine with the check and stuff (annoying and slow, but understandable). But the dumb arsehole on boarding gate ewww. I was told I couldn't take my cabin trolley and it had to be taken with heavy luggage. I had already flown with it in that company that week thrice, it had the right weight. I asked why, he wouldn't explain. "It sometimes happens." Why? He didn't answer. I insisted as that is my right, I wanted to know why only me and he told me he already explained 10x times. 10m on this. Until his boss came and said the reason. It's because of the weight distribution on the airplane and cabin was already full. I study this shit for a living, hell there is a course where we learn to calculate it BY HAND. I looked like a standard tourist so boarding dumb employee fancied himself not needing to explain. This pisses me off. For me, because I had the right to know and I was refused to, as well as all the "ignorant" who also ad the right to know but this dumbarse thinks himself unnacountable to these people either. At leat he got chewed off. Arsehole.

Saint Petersburg

I want to live a couple of months of the year there forever. 😭😭😭

A beautiful city, the "centre" feels like stopped in time, the old architecture and decorations, yet modern enough for you to feel its modern times. Wi-Fi everywhere. It sucks because you need to provide mobile phone and I'd have to pay roaming. At least that's what I got.

Near summer solstice (~21/06) the days are the biggest and nights the shortest, the sun went down at 22:30 and got up at 3:00. Its the contrary in he winter solstice (~21/12). This is why May to September is tourist season so it's packed full. The temperature was warm enough 12C - 20C, supposedly it rain here a lot but it never did. I wonder if visiting it in March / April would be too cold and rainy... I like cold and rain though.

Saint Petersburg looks like Venice, rivers and bridges. The Neva river and all the others smell "nice". I cannot say the same for other cities with rivers running through them (* looks at my own country *). Whole place was spotless clean, not a single piece of garbage floor. YOU CANNOT DRINK TAP WATER. There are "free" washrooms which are very clean. You ask for toilette like the French.

I visited half of the big places too quickly to really appreciate it but enough to entice me to return on my own. My favourites were the historic centre (buildings, rivers, bridges), Hermitage (not the 8116627228283762 Chinese groups though) and Summer Palace (also not the Chinese they were everywhere, I've travelled plenty and I've never seen so many or so much disrespectful). The other half was closed for repairs. What a tease.

Can get scammed in both street sellers (sometimes they trick you, they sold me matrioska with 3 instead of 5 like promised) as well as legitimate souvenir shops (double the price from the streets). I got the best deals in the streets though, so keep an eye on them as they have the same stuff but at half price. I highly recommend "summary" books in your language (they sell them "everywhere") for about 10€ or 500p (I got them outside for 5€). Here I was not scammed and I made really good deals. This will change of course, but carry a calculator as exchange is easy. Rubles divided by "70" to get € (I believe "60" to get $). On the other hand, multiply € /$ for "70" or "60". Check exchange and not that some will be more anal retentive about the exchange rate than others. About half of the places accept € / $ but charge slightly more. If you have VISA you can withdraw from ATM (most have English version) and the tax isn't high. Exchange rate is more favourable in Russian soil.

There are markets open "24/7" or close to it. I know this because I had to go search for super glue at six in the morning and there was one open. Another thing worth knowing is pharmacy > ANTEKA and the traditional green cross, there are many of them. "NOBODY" anywhere except museumz speaks english but they will usually try to help (no matter the age). Take mobile with Google translate, photos, or something to draw. Improvise too. I got them to understand caviar by bringing fish and eggs together.

I want to hate Holiday Inn because of an incident with my football team. I've spent several times in different ones and yet I could not hate it, yet again. Damn them. Recommend. I found their "interpretation" of my national dishes hilarious, this is something recurrent because there were French and Italians laughing about the same.

Lots of salads, which I'm a fan of. Also soup made of salad apparently. Small doses (blasphemy for my country). Very soft meat but not much fish (understandable). Huge mugs for weak coffee they drink anytime and everywhere, as well as black tea. I like my strong espresso like any shameless Mediterranean dweller. There was a machine at the hotels but nowhere else.

Good Vodka every meal, except for one which not only was awful made me cry because it was the last meal I had there. I was offered a Vodka bottle for my sadness which I'm already chugging. There was one with Gin and Lemon(?). Please someone give the recipe if you know what it is. I almost died from how good it was.

Moscow

Moscow is opposite. Very cosmopolite, its like three cities in one. The old one (like Petersburg), the random urban jungle one, and the futuristic one. The guide said, Petersburg was more artsy and Moscow more economical.

Moscow very beautiful at night. The lights really make the place "shine" (urgh). Saw much less there because if was raining like the end of the world. I saw an old religious peregrine place (if you're not Protestant you will find their churches breathtaking), Kremlim and Red Square (its not red), as well as everything else there (Basil, Lenin).

There was some fancy mall (GUM which had limited edition dior makeup where I spent all my pocket money). I also bought a cute Moscow umbrella with monuments and a Gargarin t-shirt (first human in space) which I'd chose over all the makeup no matter if if cost 10x less. Sometimes it's the little things. I also wanted to buy shirtless Putin mounted on a bear flag but I was afraid I'd be arrested. I was very tempted in buying a shirt with Putin with Trump behind him with the word "friends' over it. Again,what if I was arrested.

There were also oil canvas 30x20 sold in souvenir shops in both cities (150€ each) and an interesting "matrioska" with all the Russian presidents since Lenin (on of them had a defect). My heart broke and a bit stayed with them as I couldn't bring them with me.

Hotel this time was Marriott. Veryyy good and veryyy bad. Rooms were better, food was worse, the reception girls were super nice but some employee stole stuff from several rooms as well (money, "lame" souvenirs - da fuq, fur hat / stoles / coats, sunglasses, even some fancy face creams). I always shove everything inside the safe and bags with secret code so I was good but I still spent one hour waiting for an engineer to come SUBSTITUTE the whole safe door because they were that determined in opening it.

Taxis have unfortunate reputations on every country. Apparently Russian taxis are cool because they are government issued. I cannot confirm. I paid 200€ for a drive and the ones that came after us paid 70€. This is of course impossible. I'd rather go on subway (I recommend checking the ones on Moscow, some are beautiful) bit I was with old people who were afraid of getting lost (how hard could it be srly). Well then. Something got lost alright.

Highly recommend!

#russia

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breadforhowl · 5 years

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writing papers in college

hey everyone! here’s another college advice post. this one is for writing papers. not everything listed may work for you, but hopefully something helps. my degree involves a lot of research and writing. i haven’t had a final exam or tests in any of my required classes, but i have had to write several ten page papers in place of a final exam. here are the things i have found that help me when writing an essay.

-start early. i’m not kidding. you can write an essay the night before it’s due, but it really is a lot of unnecessary stress. i like to plan out a timeline of all the things i need to do, and i like to hand essays in at least two days early so i don’t feel rushed, especially if the essay is due during finals week when i generally have four other final papers to write.

-thoroughly read the assignment given to you. take note of the requirements like the questions you need to address, formatting, and required length of the paper.

-start brainstorming. if you have a choice in topic, choose something that interests you. writing papers can suck, but it’s a lot worse when you aren’t interested in the topic. (example: in my legal and ethical issues class, our final paper and presentation needed to be about a court case relating to the issues we covered in class. i chose to focus on the united states v. the mask of ka-nefer-nefer for my paper because i am interested in repatriation, stolen art, and ancient egypt)

-bounce your ideas off of your friends in your major. i have two close friends in my year and i am really close with the peer advisor for museum studies. every time i have an idea, i talk to them about it. they come up with some really good suggestions and make sure i address everything i need to.

-do research into the topic. it is completely okay to skim wikipedia to get a general understanding of what you are researching. talk to your librarian bc they are here to help. if your school has an online database, use that as well. take note of all the sources you look at in case your teacher requires a bibliography instead of a works cited. create some form of notes and quotes that you can use for your paper. check with your professor to see if there is a minimum amount of sources you need. some professors even require certain types of sources like at least two print and at least three online.

-draft a thesis. your thesis doesn’t have to be a three-pronged one like you were probably taught in high school. all it needs to do is provide the main idea of your essay. (example: Public memory of the Salem Witch Trials has been affected by historical inaccuracies that influence the tourism industry that further increases the amount of historical inaccuracies; this has led to a negative response from the citizens of Salem in regards to their history and representation.)

-create an outline. some professors require one, and it is really helpful to make one (especially if you use full sentences). it lets you organize your thoughts and easily see if there are areas that you have too much information on or too little. i use the rule “if there is an a, there must be a b. if there is a 1, there must be a 2.” when making your outline, i highly recommend adding your sources in with your paraphrases and quotes. it helps a lot with the actual writing.

-if your professor allows it, check with them at this stage. if you have an outline and sources, they are able to give you a lot of useful feedback. they can tell you if you need to address something more or if you need to refocus. they can also suggest sources to you that can help bring even more information in.

-start your draft! i like to double space my drafts, but that is a complete personal preference. with your draft, it does not matter if your sentence is worded so beautifully that it would make F. Scott Fitzgerald cry. get your thoughts on the paper. write as informal as you need to. i have literally put “the British Museum is a bitch because they will not repatriate any of the artifacts that they fucking stole like the parthenon marbles and the rosetta stone.” just get something down on the paper. if you don’t know how to word a sentence but need it in your essay, put the general idea you have in brackets or colored text [like this]. then keep writing.

-edit, edit, edit. i do several rounds of editing. the first round i do is by myself. i fix the grammar and change any wording. i make sure to check parallelism and to look for contractions and overusage of words. second round i generally get my mom to check grammar and word usage because she has a masters in english. third round i show to two friends, one in my major and one outside of my major to see if it makes sense and if i am explaining things well enough. the last thing i do is use the speak feature in the review section of Microsoft Word to listen to the essay. it becomes super obvious if i have made a type or a grammar mistake. if you don’t have word, copy and paste parts of your essay into google translate and read it.

-hand it in! some of my professors like physical copies and some prefer it to be submitted through email or the website my school uses. enjoy the sweet sweet relief and all your extra free time.

#studyblr #studyspo #college #college tips #how to #essays

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lexosaurus · 5 years

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Another Tag Game

I’ve been tagged in this one a few times. I figured I should do this so you all can get to know the true me 💁‍♀️

Nickname: Lexx, lexosaurus, oh-my-god-shut-up-you’re-ruining-this-family, WhyDoYouDoTheThingsYouDo, You Make Me Regret Ever Being Born

Zodiac: Definitely Ted Cruz

Height: somewhere between 4 and 7 feet i would guesstimate.

Hogwarts house: Slither Inn

Last thing I googled:

tbh i wanted to make sure i knew how to spell Ted Cruz correctly

Favorite musicians: What the fuck is music I’ve never heard of it all musicians are probably fucking nerds anyways

Song stuck in my head: My asshole friend just send me a video that was disguised as the Father Daughter Beatbox video because it went viral a few years back but it’s actually really shitty beatboxing (they were on Ellen??? idk???) but we like to send it to each other as a joke (because again i cannot stress enough how beginner-level the beatboxing is) and idk why i watched the whole thing and now i kind of hate myself and wanna cut my own ears off

it’s literally the beatbox version of like some guy “knowing how to play the guitar” when really he just knows the 4 chords in Wonderwall.

Or like some untrained average joe going on like America’s Got Talent with a classical instrument and claiming to be really good and the judges don’t know anything about the classical instrument so they assume they’re some fucking prodigy when it’s really just Some Regular Average Dude Who Can Play Flight Of The Bumblebee With 55% Accuracy.

Following: i cant be bothered to check. probably more than 8 people tho

Followers: at least 2

Do I get asks: i just get a lot of weird messages that i feel like i shouldn’t post yet i do for some reason and then i’ll respond like “choke me daddy” and make them worse why??? do i feel the need to do this??? is it validation??? a sense of belonging??? is it because i watch too much cody ko and h3h3 productions content??? or because i think pewdiepie’s meme reviews are funny??? who knows.

Amount of sleep: what

Lucky number: I ONLY SELL GHEGGS IN PACKAGES OF 666

Wearing: arguably clothes

Dream Job: Fidget Spinner spinner. I get paid a dollar every time my fidget spinner makes a rotation. If I have one fidget spinner in each hand, aka TWO fidget spinners going at once, I get paid double.

Instruments: never heard of them

Languages: hey kids come inside my van i have syntax trees and the phonology of Pirahã

Favorite songs: again with this music shit who even listens to music anyways like what i’ve never heard of such an outlandish thing in my life

Random fact: Pirahã, a language spoken by about 300 people on the Amazon River, is considered (with debate) the phonologically simplest language known to man with only 10 phonemes, one fewer phonemes than the previous King of Low Phonemes language Rotokas in New Guinea.

Aesthetic: Trident Cinnamon Flavored gum. It’s the best gum out there you can suck my dick if you disagree because ur wrong i have no bias only facts.

im tagging @dannyphandump @reallydumbdannyphantomaus @kinglazrus @ghostgothgeek and @d-o-t-s i challenge you to look deep within yourself and answer these incredibly philosophically intriguing questions

#get to know lexx #this is all exactly accurate factual content #not a single embellishing was done #because im an innocent angel

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 6 years

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The Rumors That Made Her

Title: The Rumors That Made Her

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 4041

Summary: High School Senior, Dean Winchester, tries to get the girl, but according to rumors, she’s “broken.” When he tries to form a relationship with her, he finds things about her that no one else does.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Under Aged Drinking, Mention of Death, High School Bullshit, Slight Language (nothing major), Mention of PTSD, Some Fluff.

A/N: This is my entry for Manda’s (@pinknerdpanda) 1k Challenge! Congratulations of the milestone, love! You are a crazy talented writer, not to mention, incredibly adorable! My prompt for this challenge was the 90’s Alternative Rock song, Push by Matchbox 20. I love this song so much. This fic is based on MY interpretation of the song FOR this specific fic. Lyrics used in the story will be italicized. This fic is all in Dean’s POV. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Gif not mine. Found on Google.

There she is, sitting alone as usual. I could never understand how she was always alone. She’s beautiful, funny, and she has this smile she rarely shows that literally takes my breath away. She was perfect. I should totally talk to her. This is going to the day that I finally approach her and, if I’m lucky, possibly be friends with her, and see that smile again.

Standing up from my chair, I was about to make my way over when Gordon stopped me. “No man, she’s not one of us. That’s not how things work.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Dean, you’re popular, the quarterback on the football team, and she’s an outsider, a loser. You hang out with her and you’ll lose everything. I mean you already got that freak over there hanging out with us,” he pointed towards Garth who casted his eyes down in guilt.

“That’s ridiculous, why would it matter who I want to hang out with? Garth is good guy,” I told him.

“Yeah, whatever. Remember Benny Laffite a few years ago? He was a senior when we were freshmen? He was the big star quarterback and then he went and dated that freaky goth chick who believed that vampires were real and he lost everything.”

“Yeah, I remember Benny and I don’t remember that happening. What I do remember is that he got his girl and had never been happier.”

“Yeah, well he could have been a star! Playing for the NFL and winning Super Bowls, but no. He’s stuck in this god forsaken town raising two kids alone.”

That was it. Gordon was a grade-A douche bag and I couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking, I swung my arm back and came charging forward, my fist making contact with his face. All eyes were now on us as some of our friends shot out of their seats trying to calm us down.

“Dean, calm down,” Cass stepped in front of me, two others from the football team helping Gordon off the floor.

“What’s your problem, Winchester?!” Gordon shouted, his face twisted with anger and confusion.

“His wife died from Cancer you dick!” I spat. Gordon had no right to judge Benny like that. Hell, I didn’t really know the guy, but I knew enough, and he was a good man. Respectful, humble, and a hardworking single father. I see him working at Harvelle’s almost everyday, pulling double shifts, even the graveyard shifts to support his daughters, hell, he even gave Sam some lunch money after a group of bullies stole his.

My eyes shifted around the room, glancing at the audience we’ve accumulated, when I caught a glimpse of her. Y/N was staring at us, watching me humiliate myself. Our eyes met and I noticed her flinch before scurrying off. Why did she always do that? She used to be so carefree, friendly, and was always surrounded by people.

“She’s broken,” I heard Gordon say, returning my attention back to my so called friend.

“What are you talking about, broken?” I questioned, genuinely thrown to what he meant.

“She’s a whore, Dean-o. She’s gone out with a lot of college dudes, man, and dumped every time. College dudes,” he reiterated, adding emphasis on the last two words he spoke. “She’s not interested in guys like us, she –”

Before he could say another word, I interrupted. “No, not us. She’s not interested in guys like you.”

Completely done associating with Gordon for the day, I made my way around Cass, grabbed my backpack and walked out, having lost my appetite. I ignored Cass and the other’s calling my name, sending Sammy, who was now a freshman, a small smile before leaving the lunch room. Just as I walked through the cafeteria entrance, I jumped a little not expecting anyone to be standing outside, leaning against the wall, but there she was.

“Y/N.” She looked up at me with tears welling in her eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” I walked up to her and asked.

“Who was he talking about?” She questioned.

“Gordon? He was just talking about Benny Laffit-”

“No. Not about him… the girl.” My heart began to race. She heard us talking. “He was looking at me. Was he talking about me? Calling me a whore and saying that I’m broken?” Her voice cracked.

“Hey, hey. Don’t listen to him. I know that you’re not like that,” I tried to assure her.

“That’s not what you think but that’s what everyone else does. It’s rumors like that that keeps people away from me,” she confessed. “I used to have friends until my ex-boyfriend, who was a freshman in college, just a few years older than us, dumped me. He spread a rumor that I was a slut who banged all his friends. When everything hit the roof, the rumors became bent and twisted and suddenly, I’m known as the school whore and all my friends ditched me. And you know what’s worse? None of it is true! You want to know the real truth?” She shouted. My eyes widened at her outburst. She sighed when she realized she was getting a little riled up. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Its people like Gordon that keeps spreading and reminding people of those lies!”

I was at a lost for words. I had never known her story before and now here she was, confessing things, speaking more than I have ever heard her say to me or anyone in a long time. I had no idea that any of that happened to her. Sure, I’ve heard the rumors, but that’s all they were to me. Rumors.

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” I apologized, not really knowing what for. Was I saying sorry for Gordon and his douche-ness, or was I apologizing for what that jerk did to her, or maybe both?

“Save it. I don’t know why I felt like I needed to justify myself to you. See you around, Dean.”

As she turned to leave, walking down the hall, I was about to run after her when Cass appeared, along with Chuck, Gabe, and Garth.

“You okay Dean?” Chuck questioned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

It was finally the last period of the day, which happened to be my favorite class even if it was my worst subject… art class. I sucked at art, but the reason why it was my favorite was because Y/N was in my class. She sat right beside me, always doodling and scribbling things down in her notebook.

When I walked in, I noticed that she wasn’t in class. I was pretty sure she was always the first one in, but today she wasn’t there. I just stood in the middle of the classroom lost in my thoughts wondering where she could be.

“Mr. Winchester, care to join us?” Mr. Colt questioned.

“Um, actually, I’m not feeling well, I’m going to check in with the school nurse.” I could tell that Mr. Colt was going to say something but I was gone before he could.

I searched through the halls thinking of places she could be, until I saw her with the corner of my eyes, walking through the school doors.

“Hey! Y/N, wait up!” I called out once I made it outside. She quickly whipped around, eyes widening when she saw me.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“Same as you,” I replied.

“I’m not feeling well, so I’m heading home.”

“Yeah, me either, it must have been the school lunch. Want me to give you a lift?”

“What do you want Dean?” Her question caught me off guard.

“N-Nothing,” I stammered.

“Yeah, then why are you here right now, offering me a ride home?” She crossed her arms, eyes boring into mine as if she was looking into my soul.

“Uh…”

“Goodbye Dean.”

“It’s because I like you alright!” I blurted. The words just slipped out.

Her body tensed as she slowly turned in my directions for the second time. Her expression was a mix of shock and disbelief.

“D-Dean, you heard Gordon, I’m broken. I’m a whore! So why don’t you just leave me alone and maybe I can get back to being invisible.”

“That’s not true.”

“The world will think what it wants to think, Dean.”

“Well, that’s not what I think. I think that you need someone to believe in you. You need someone who knows the truth about you and I want to be that person. So let me bring you home and if it’s alright with you, I’d really like to know what really happened.”

I could see it in her eyes, she was surprised at my forwardness, hell, I was surprised at myself. I was never one to be good with words, hence the D minus I was getting in English class, but here I was, shamelessly telling the girl I’ve got a crush on that I wanted to get to know her, the real her.

The silence was starting to become a little awkward, but thankfully she broke it. “What do you mean that you’d like to know what really happened?”’

“During lunch, you asked if I wanted to know the real truth, and well, yeah, I do. I really do,” I admitted, my stare holding hers. I wasn’t going to back down.

“Fine,” she sighed, but I could tell she was hesitant about all of this.

Hopping into my impala, I texted Cass telling him I was leaving early, before bringing Baby to life and heading over to her place. The whole drive to her house was spent in silence. She didn’t say a word and I was shitting bricks trying to come up with a conversation starter but I was so nervous. Usually, I was pretty smooth with the ladies, but with her, I felt like no matter what I did, she could see right through me.

I parked in front of her house, turning off the ignition. She didn’t leave, instead she sat in the car staring straight ahead. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? C’mon Dean, think you lug head!

“Could we just drive around some more?” Her voice was soft, hesitant, scared.

“Uh, yeah. Whatever you want,” I told her, starting up the car.

We drove for a while until a thought popped into my head. I cursed inwardly at myself for not thinking of it sooner.

Driving for a couple of hours we finally made it into Lebanon. My grandfather, Henry Winchester, a former Navy Seal, suffered from PTSD and, out of paranoia, built a bunker in an old abandoned power plant. He specifically called it the Men of Letters, apparently that was the name of his brigade.

“Where are we?” Y/N inquired, scanning the area through the window.

“I come here once in a while to think. It’s a safe house that my grandfather built before he passed away.”

“Why did he build it?” She twisted her head so that our eyes met.

I explained the story of my grandfather and she seemed to be genuinely fascinated and later eager to see inside. I couldn’t help but smile, it was rare to see her so lively and enthusiastic. I had only seen it a handful of times when we’d be paired up for an art project. She loved to draw, paint, ceramics, do anything creative with her hands.

Hey hype had faded quickly, now uncertain about entering due to it’s darkness, however I guaranteed her that we would be okay and that this was a safe place. When she stepped in, I along with her, I flipped the light switch and the bunker came into view. I chuckled when she gasped.

“This is amazing,” she breathed, descending the staircase.

After a quick tour and a brief history of the place, we settled in the library to, hopefully, finally talk, however she remained silent again.

“You can trust me,” I assured. She nodded before taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

“I know.” Pause. “It all happened last year, when Arthur went to the University of Kansas, on a full ride football scholarship.”

“Wait, Arthur as in Arthur Ketch?” I questioned. The guy was a total tool. He gave me hell for 2 years for being the only freshman to join the Varsity football team.

“Unfortunately. Anyways, he had brought me to one of his frat house parties and halfway through the night, I got drunk, not wanting to seem like a loser in front of his friends, then found him sucking face with another girl. When I approached him, he dumped me, and…” she fell silent, unsure if she could trust me, or unsure if she was ready to let the truth out.

“You can trust me.” Her deep colored eyes met mine, fear, sadness, pain, and all sorts of emotions stirring inside of them. “What is it?”

“And his friends, they…”

Rage started to bubble in me. I wasn’t certain what was about to come out of her mouth next but I could only assume based on what she had said so far. Young, vulnerable, intoxicated, surrounded by drunk college guys… “Did they touch you?” My question came out as a growl, her body wincing at the sound, but when she didn’t give an answer, that was enough for me to understand that those bastards deserved to rot in hell.

After that day, regardless of all the noise going around the school, I continued to stick around Y/N, and eventually she started to grow somewhat comfortable around my real friends, but it was easy to tell that she was holding back, like she knew she could trust them but at the same time, she wouldn’t let herself.

One night I was at home, hanging out with my brother and my friends up in my bedroom. We were goofing around playing video games and other guy stuff. I had originally wanted to go to the bunker with Y/N again, but she had told me that she was busy with family stuff.

The guys and I were having a good time, when my phone beeped, announcing that I had gotten a text message. I flipped my phone open to see who it was and immediately groaned when I saw the name. Gordon. What could he possibly want from me?

Gordon: Hey, I see your girl here at Bela Talbot’s party. I think she’s about to live up to her reputation!

I snapped my phone shut, unwilling to believe him. Y/N was with her family, she told me herself, and what the hell would she be doing at Bela Talbot’s house? She was 4 years older than us! Not only that, what the hell was Gordon doing at a college party?

My phone beeped again, Gordon’s name on the screen once again. Curious to what he had to say, I clicked on the text only to see a picture of Y/N dancing with some random guy who had his filthy hands on her.

Without a word, I stormed out of my room, the guys calling after me confused. They all followed, hopping into the car. Sam jumped in the middle of the front seat while Cass took up the passenger seat and the other guys filling the back.

Pulling up to Bela’s house, the party was in full swing. “I need someone to stay in the car and watch Sammy.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” Garth offered with no hesitation. He hated parties like this so it wasn’t a surprise when he opted to stay behind.

I walked into the party with purpose, Cass, Chuck, and Gabe behind me.

“Dean, guys, glad you could make it! There’s your girl,” Gordon snickered, pointing a finger with the hand that held a red cup, clearly filled with alcohol.

My eyes instantly landed on her. She was grinding up against some random douche with a drink in her hand. What the hell was she doing coming to a place like this? I was not expecting this, nor were the guys, who shared uneasy looks.

“Y/N!” I shouted over the blaring music, gaining her attention. She sent me a lazy grin, obviously affected by the alcohol she must had consumed.

“What are you doing here?” She slurred, stumbling away from the guy she was dancing with and over to me. Her hands played with the opening of my flannel a little before she started swaying her hips to the song playing.

“I could be asking you the same question,” I retorted, holding her forearms to keep her still.

“I’m taking my mind off things,” she giggled, taking a sip of her alcoholic beverage, but I yanked the cup away before she could. “Hey, what’s the big idea!” She snapped, glaring at me.

“You said you had family stuff to take care of.”

“And I took care of it! Things just got way out of control and I needed to clear my head. What’s it to you anyways? You’re not my boyfriend!” She snapped, hitting the cup from my hand, it’s contents splashing on me and other’s around. “Go home, Dean.”

“No.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away but I wasn’t about to give up so easily, so I followed her. It was obvious that she was trying to lose me but it wasn’t happening.

“Dean, seriously. Back off. Don’t you remember? I’m a slut,” she giggled, although her smile portrayed hopelessness, as if she had given up.

“No, you’re not.”

“But I am, watch me.” A random guy passed by when she pulled him by the arm, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling him to her level, pressing her lips against his. The guy was shocked, but it didn’t take him long until he had his hands all over her, kissing her back with just as much heat.

She knew how to press my buttons. She knew how to mess with my head and in a moment of rage, I let the words fall passed my lips. “You know what, if this is who you want to be, then suit yourself. I’m leaving,” I stumbled back, unable to believe she would do something like that. In school she was intelligent, quiet, and to herself, here and now, she was like every other party girl in school.

As I turned my back towards her, she shouted over the music. “I’m not good enough, Dean. They always leave!”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, bringing me back to right mind. She told me her story, she told me the truth, and the more I got to know her, I began to realize that she wasn’t broken, she was just hurt. So hurt that she didn’t know if she could trust anyone again. Ketch was her first love, her first serious relationship, her first everything… could I blame her for thinking she was broken? To blame her for feeling betrayed, hurt?, and for acting out? No, I couldn’t.

“That’s it, I’m taking you home,” I said to her, before rushing over and throwing her over my shoulder. She screamed and kicked, her fists making contact with my back as she wiggled in protest, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to leave her here to get drunk and who knows what else might happen.

“Put me down, I don’t want to leave!” She yelled, causing a scene.

“No, I’m taking you home.” People were laughing, cheering, while others gave me sympathetic grins, nodding with assurance that I was doing the right thing, and I was. I was taking care of her ass.

Leaving the house, I saw Cass and the others already waiting outside by the impala. When we reached them, I set her down, steadying her on her feet when she stumbled a bit. “Hey guys, are we having our own party?” She smiled, giving everyone a high-five, even Sammy, who happily returned it. I sent him a glare making him retreat further back into the car.

Most of the car ride back home was quite after Y/N quickly fell asleep, her head resting on my shoulder. I dropped the guys off one by one until we got back to our place, after she stubbornly refused to go to hers. Sammy rushed to the door, opening it as I carried Y/N bridal style into the house and into my bedroom. Our parents were still out at my mother’s company party, so an explanation would have to wait till morning.

Gently setting her on my bed, she stirred awake. “Where am I?” She asked, her eyes heavy as she glanced up at me before scanning her surroundings.

“My place.”

“Mmm, you really like classic rock and cowboys,” she hummed with an ephemeral smile, curling herself on my bed, her face buried deep in one of my pillows. I sighed, not knowing what to do. Dealing with her was exhausting, but I know she has her reasons. I just don’t understand why she has to constantly push me away. I like the girl so much that I feel like I’m going crazy, but I know that I can’t rush this. It was going to take time to get her to trust people, let people in, let me in.

I was about to leave the room when she called out for me, the sound of my name on her tongue tickling the butterflies in my stomach. Her voice was soft, weak, and the tiredness prevalent. Turning around, I walked back over to my bed, taking a seat at the edge next to her. She was embarrassed, that was easy to tell. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her eyes watching her hands as she fiddled with the edge of my blanket. “It’s just…” she stopped herself, unsure about what she was going to say.

“Hey, you can trust me. You can tell me anything.” I shifted so that I was facing more towards her.

She sighed, cautiously shuffling herself into an upright position, her back leaning against the headboard. “It’s just… I do like you. It’s just, I’m a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been really loved by a hand that’s touched me, and I feel like something’s gonna give, and I’m a little but angry,” She confessed. “So I’m sorry for pushing you and taking you for granted.”

“Hey, I get it.”

“And I’m sorry for lying to you. I just kinda fell apart, things get so crazy. I understand if you could never trust me again, and if you don’t want to stay with me, I mean I’ve got this reputation and now I guess you can say that my face, it’s a little bit dirty.”

“You’re not broken or dirty, you’ve just been hurt. We can take this slow, there’s no need to rush, and I’m not the type to stand around either, I’m gonna tell you every day how perfect you are. No matter how much you push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, you just have to give me a chance.”

Once again, like every other time, when silence took over, everything became louder. The beating of my heart, my breathing, I could hear all of it pounding in my ears, trying to think of something to say or waiting for her to break the air.

“Okay, I will.”

After everything was laid out on the table, we just stared at each other. She was so close that I could see my reflection in her eyes. My vision fell to her lips as she licked them, my breath hitching in my throat. How I wanted to relieve my imagination and find out for myself just how soft her lips were. My eyes fluttered back to hers only to see that they were casted downwards to my own mouth, and suddenly, our lips connected.

She could push me all she wanted but I wasn’t going anywhere if it meant this kiss, her touch, her everything would be mine. I was going to be there for her every step of the way while her scars healed, with me as her glue.

Tell Me What You Thought! :)

Forever Tags: @amanda-teaches @waywardbaby @dont-you-dare-say-misha @babypieandwhiskey @my-thoughts-on-display3 @atc74 @alwayskeepfightingkaz-2y5 @herbologystudent252 @mogaruke @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @whimsicalrobots @grace-for-sale @dragonchica @carryonmywaywardcaptain @waywardlodging @esoltis280 @winchesterslibrary @winchestergirl607 @waywardnerd67 @emoryhemsworth @caitthejourno

Dean/Jensen Tags: @akshi8278 @so-get--this @natasha-baggins

#manda's 1k challenge #dean winchester #dean x reader #reader insert #spn AU #high school #dean fic #spn writing challenge #supernatural #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean angst #The Rumors That Made Her #squirrel-moose-winchester

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pasteltofus · 6 years

Text

Learning Korean

Warning: Walls of text. This is more or less a self-reflection of my Korean learning process.

One of the reasons I applied to Fulbright Korea (instead of Taiwan) was because I wanted the opportunity to learn Korean and be immersed in a Korean speaking environment long term. The Fulbright Korea program includes a 6-week intensive language program, and I’m currently starting week 4.

Prior to coming to Korea, I had self-studied Korean on and off for about half a year, but not very seriously. I learned hangul but was super slow at reading. I listened to Talk to Me in Korean podcasts while walking to work but didn’t remember anything afterward. I bought a Korean workbook but only got to Chapter 3. I had Korean study sessions with friends but half of the time we ended up speaking in Japanese.

Now that I’ve been studying more seriously for a few weeks, here’s my progress, along with some unique problems I’ve been having…

Reading

I’ve definitely gotten faster at reading. Before I would get a headache as soon as I saw a string of hangul longer than 3 characters, but now I can get through our 선생님’s Kakao texts with slightly less struggle. The good thing is that after I read it, I can usually understand it. I still have to sound out each hangul character though, and I want to be able to read it as a whole.

Writing

Writing/spelling is definitely my weakest area. Spelling just doesn’t make sense to me in Korean. Everyone else is like, Hangul is so easy to learn and write, only takes 15 minutes, blah blah blah. IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. CONSONANTS SHOULD ALWAYS STICK TOGETHER WITH THE VOWEL, NOT COME FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE CHARACTER BEFORE IT. ALSO WHY DO THE CONSONANTS CHANGE SOUNDS WHEN THEY’RE ON THE BOTTOM?? WHY?? It’s really frustrating because I can’t type what I want without first checking with google translate.

One of the reasons I have a hard time spelling is because I have terrible hearing and can’t distinguish between sounds. For example, I thought “맞아요” majayo, (that’s right) was pronounced bajayo, so I would try to spell it with a ㅂ. And then I would try to spell it as 마 자 요 because that’s how someone with common sense would think to spell it. Another example is 누구, (who?) which I thought was pronounced 두구. Oh and I can’t forget my favorite: “ㅔ” vs “ㅐ”. They literally sound exactly the same so I just flip a coin to decide. The good thing is that as I read more and more, I’ve been slowly developing a gut instinct for which one to use, so instead of 50/50 I’m at more of a ..65/35?

On a more positive note, my touch typing has gotten a lot faster! I’ve started keyboard mashing less and it’s pretty exciting. PRO TIP: Press Shift for double consonants.

Listening

Years of consuming Korean content (music, dramas, movies, variety shows, interviews, v lives, etc) have exposed me to a lot of vocabulary, common retorts, natural intonation, and sentence patterns so I can understand most things the teachers say in class. I think this was also the reason I got placed into the high intermediate class after the first oral placement exam—I understood what was asked and parrotted a few phrases I had heard in Korean dramas back at the teachers. Basically, I faked my way into the higher level but I managed to convince the teacher to let me switch to lower intermediate. Like I mentioned before, I still have trouble distinguishing some sounds, ESPECIALLY the vowels ㅓand ㅗ and ㅡ, which makes dictation a very sad time.

I make a lot of k-pop connections in class and I’m sad that I don’t have anyone with me to share those moments of sudden clarity. Like when we learned 노잼 (No Jam) or when we learned directional/location words like left, right, up, down. At the same time, I’m conscious of not nerding out/exposing my koreaboo self because I know a lot of people think it’s annoying.

Speaking

My Korean pronunciation is not the greatest but it’s also not the worst. It’s weird because I’ll know how something is supposed to sound like in my head but when I try to make the sound I physically can’t make it. It’s been getting better, though. I still know pretty much 0 grammar—I have a vague idea of how things are conjugated and I just guess/go with instinct and hope it’s right. I often look to my roommate who’s super good at grammar to check and she’s just like…no, Louise, no. 😭 We don’t drill grammar enough in class and I haven’t been focusing on it outside of class to really get it down…my strategy is VOCAB FIRST, GRAMMAR LATER. At least I’ll often have an idea of what sounds right vs what doesn’t sound right.

Influences from Chinese and Japanese

For better or for worse, I knew Chinese and some Japanese coming into Korean class. I’m a heritage Chinese speaker and I’ve studied Japanese for 3 semesters in college (but also add 10 years of anime).

Knowing Chinese definitely helps a little because a good some Korean words are from hanja, or Chinese characters, and they sound similar. For example, south is 南 (nan) in Chinese, and 남 (nam) in Korean and impulse is 冲动 (chongdong) vs. 충동 (chungdong). The Sino-Korean numbers sounds similar to Chinese too, and the counting system is the same.

Other times, words sound similar to the Japanese equivalent. For example, bag is kabang in both languages. 가방 vs. 鞄(かばん) and grammar is 문법 vs. 文法(ぶんぽ).

Knowing Japanese definitely helps with grammar structures. Both are SOV languages, and a lot of the grammar patterns are similar. For example, 여기 거기 저기 is pretty much the same concept as このそのあの (near the speaker, near the listener, far from both). Sometimes a grammar point will make more sense to me in Japanese than it does in English, so I’ll translate it to Japanese first. I haven’t brushed up on my Japanese in over three years, but I guess the Korean grammar I’m learning is basic enough that I can relate it to the rudimentary Japanese I know.

A downside to knowing Japanese is that often I will pronounce English cognates the Japanese way. This affects my spelling as well. (Do you see why my spelling sucks so much???) I spelled club as 클 르 부 when it should be 클럽 and the teacher was like lol you sound Japanese.

Learning Korean vs. Learning Japanese

Hands down Japanese is easier. Kanji is the most difficult part of learning Japanese for a lot of people, but it actually helps me the most. Even if I don’t know how to pronounce a kanji character, I’ll pretty much know the general meaning from the Chinese equivalent. Because of this, I’m able to skim large amounts of Japanese text and get a general idea by picking out the kanji. Typing Japanese was pretty much like typing English, because the romanization actually makes sense, and kanji would automatically pop up. I had no problems with pronunciation either since there are only five vowels.

Moving Forward

So far I’m a little disappointed with my Korean progress and it’s still kind of unstructured, but I think I’m making a lot of small steps that will accumulate...eventually? I’m still doing a weird mix of Lingodeer, quizlet, Korean workbooks, TTMIK podcasts, howtostudykorean.com and lecture notes from class. I’ve also been keeping track of vocabulary words I’ve run into “in the wild” while trying to figure out the aircon, decipher snack flavors, etc. Doesn’t seem like I’ll be fluent by the end of orientation, but there’s still a year more to go! 화이팅!

#fulbright korea #studying korean #oh boy that was a long post #congrats if you read this far #you get a cookie #learning korean

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drabbles-and-shit · 6 years

Text

The Mailman is Really Attractive and Dean is Smitten

When Dean first saw the new mailman that Saturday afternoon, his body had such an immediate and visceral reaction, he had to excuse himself to his bedroom for a little quality time with his right hand.

Seriously, it was insane; nothing like that had ever happened to Dean. He only figured out that he was attracted to both guys and guys about a year ago, but he’d never even had that sort of response to a girl. And what’s worse? It was one of the best experiences he’s ever had jacking off.

Like, no shit, that mailman was the hottest human Dean ever laid eyes on, and he wasn’t even Dean’s type! Dean had always gone for the petite guys, because you know, he was a dom. Well, with guys he was. He had actually started experimenting letting girls top him, and much to his own embarrassment, he actually really liked it. There was something about someone else being in control that was hot as fuck. But, just girls. He wanted nothing in his asshole, ever, thank you very much. But anyway, even though he only ever had pursued twink-types, the mailman was buff as fuck. He had looked like he was about Dean’s height, and the summer heat-induced sweat made for a uniform that clung to his body just so Dean could see rippling muscle underneath. And the shorts, no matter how silly looking for being as short as they were, let Dean see the legs of either a runner who swims in his spare time or just the legs of an actual Adonis. And his forearms! God, so strong and tanned and--Dean noticed he was developing another situation down south and forced himself to concentrate on gross things like old people making out or his brother Sam’s face. Good, good; the situation went back down.

~***~

An uneventful week later, and Dean was back looking out his front window, shamelessly watching and waiting for the new mailman. He had no idea if he was actually going to come around again; hell, he might have just been filling in that one day for the old guy that Dean normally saw bringing the mail.

But Dean’s curiosity was rewarded, because after about ten minutes of casual spying, he noticed the mailman walking up the sidewalk with his messenger bag over one shoulder, radiating sexual appeal. God, he was just as hot as last week.

Oh my god, wait, he walked by the mailbox and towards the door. He was coming to the door. He probably had a package or something. But not the porno kind. Shit, what if he saw Dean last week? Dean jumped behind his couch as fast as humanly possible and tried to not breathe, because nobody was home. No one. Was. Home.

The doorbell rang, and Dean sucked his breath in and froze. Shit, the TV was on. He had completely forgotten it, and now the sexy mailman was going to know he was hiding like a kid afraid of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and he was going to judge him ughhhh. Suffice to say, Dean was fucking embarrassed.

He waited a solid five minutes before sneaking back to the window and checking the mailman was gone before opening his front door and grabbing the package off the step. His embarrassment was forgotten quickly, because it was his Star Trek phaser from ThinkGeek! Charlie was going to be sooooo jealous, and he couldn’t fucking wait to gloat. He snapped a picture of it and shot it off to her.

Dean: Looks like I win the gayness contest, because I can set phasers to STUN #2fab4u

Charlie: Oh my god, it came!!

Charlie: You had better bring that to work Monday so I can play with it

Dean: Only if you promise to not break it

Charlie: Btw did you see the hottie today??

Dean: Duh where did you think the package came from?

Charlie: DID YOU TALK TO HIM?!?!

Dean: You kidding? No way, Jose

Charlie: Ugh you’re no fun

Charlie: Wait. I have an idea! You should write him a letter and put it in your mailbox so he can read it when he brings your mail!!

Dean: Do you even know me? Charmando, I wouldn’t do something like that if my life depended on it

Charlie: You’re such a scaredy cat, Winchester

Dean: And proud

~***~

Drunk Dean sometimes did things that Sober Dean had to pay for, especially when his best friend/arch nemesis Charlie was involved. They always went for drinks together after work on Fridays, and somehow Dean always ended up being the only one of the two of them that did stupid, drunk person stuff. He was beginning to suspect that maybe she didn’t actually even drink, just pretended to so that she could talk his more malleable alter ego into doing what she wanted him to. Like, just a random example, writing a note to the sexy mailman.

He was going to kill her. Saturday morning met him with a skull splitting headache, and more importantly, oodles of regret. Because yes, he could vaguely remember sitting down with a pen and a piece of paper last night and writing… something. God, he couldn’t remember what the hell he had written. Maybe he had enough time to run out to the mailbox and take it out before it was too late!

Dean pulled on his sweatpants and charged out into the painfully bright midday sun. Despite his body’s many protests, he made it to the mailbox in record time, but it was for nothing, because when he opened it up, the note was gone and had been replaced by what looked like a bill and some coupons for pizza. He couldn’t really be sure, because his eyes felt like he was stabbing them full of needles. He defeatedly walked back into his house and pulled out his phone.

Dean: Dude. What happened last night. Tell me or I’m going to send your girlfriend your prom photos

He waited for a response while chewed discontentedly on a piece of cold bacon from the fridge and sipping a glass of water. He didn’t have to wait for long though, and he soon heard the telltale R2-D2 beep that was Charlie’s text alert noise.

Charlie: You were so plastered, my man. It was wild.

Charlie: I take it you only just woke up and didn’t have time to get the letter out of the box?

Dean: Shit, so that really happened? Dear god, tell me I didn’t write anything too embarrassing?

Charlie: You politely told him you wanted to suck his dick

Dean: I’ve got the picture ready to send!

Charlie: Ugh, fine. No, all you said was that you thought he looked nice and were wondering what happened to the old guy who used to bring your mail. Tbh it was pretty cute. I love drunk you

Dean sighed in relief. It was still as embarrassing as balls, but maybe the guy will think Dean has a kid or something and they wrote it. He can only hope at this point.

~***~

When Dean got home from work Monday evening and opened up the mailbox, his hopes that the mailman would just ignore the letter were proven useless.

Sitting there in the box, on top of a classic car magazine he subscribed to, was a small blue envelope with no stamp and just his first name in rather lovely script in the middle. He ripped it open before he even got inside, because holy fuck, there’s no one who would drive by his house just to put a letter in my mail other than Mr. Sexypants. It read:

Dear Dean,

I’m guessing by your handwriting and subject matter that you’re either a child or a drunk man. If it’s the former, please tell your parents that I am not a pedophile. Please. If you’re an adult and just have terrible handwriting, I’m sorry for touching on a sore subject.

Anyway, Cain, your previous mail carrier, was only working your route temporarily. He actually is one of the higher-ups for the USPS and was delivering mail as a sort of extended vacation from management. Odd, I know.

I appreciate that you think I look nice, and if you’re the adult male who lives at this address, I think you do too. If you’re a child, I’m sure you look nice, but in a non-pedophilic way.

Yours,

Castiel

Oh my god, Dean was in love. Haha, just kidding. He’s not in love; what are you talking about? Totally not in love. Nope, not at all. He lunged inside, pulled off his jacket and tie, and began furiously debating whether or not to tell Charlie about this. On the one hand, she’s his only real friend besides his younger brother, who is constantly busy with lawyer-things. But on the other hand, she would totally gloat about this for the rest of her life. But fuck it, he needs to talk to someone about this, because he never has romance in his life!

Dean: Omg you’ll never believe what happened\\

Charlie: Ooh! What??!

Dean: Mr. Double Stuffed Hotness is named Castiel, and I might want to marry him

Charlie: HE WROTE BACK?!?! It’s fate, my young grasshopper

Dean: I’m gonna send you a pic of the letter he wrote back so you can help me figure out what to write back

Charlie: You had better let me be your best man!! AND let me officiate!!! I’m already planning my speech

Dean: Don’t get ahead of yourself… but I’m actually kind of psyched rn

And so the planning began. Eventually, they decided on a note that read the following:

Dear Castiel,

As you deduced, I was drunk. Don’t worry, I’ll tell my parents you aren’t a pedophile anyway, just in case. Of course, they’re both in their 60s and will probably also assume I’m drunk, but better safe than sorry.

Thank you for saying I look nice, though I can’t imagine when you’ve seen me. I’m normally at work when you bring the mail (around 1:30pm, right?), so have you seen me on a Saturday? Okay, you don’t need to answer, just in case you’re actually a stalker or something. It’s never good to confront the bad guy in horror movies, and I’ve learned my lesson.

Hey, is your name really Castiel, or is that a pseudonym? I googled it, and it’s the name of the Angel of Thursday? What’s so special about Thursdays?

Live long and prosper,

Dean

~***~

Dear Dean,

I’m very glad I won’t be going to jail for calling a child attractive. You can probably hear my sigh of relief from there.

I can neither confirm nor deny when/where I have seen you. Also, are you calling me the antagonist of a horror film? If so, please enlighten me on which one, because I’m rather a fan of being scared shitless, and I’m sure seeing myself as the murderer will make an horror viewing experience even more terrifying.

And yes, my name is really Castiel. Let’s just say my parents were hippies. Many people call me Cas, though, and my siblings call me Cassie. I don’t like my siblings very much.

What about you? Why are you named Dean? Did your parents hope you would create a list of exceptional people? Or perhaps they wanted you to grown up to resemble Dean Martin?

I’m sorry, I don’t know where all that rude sass came from; it’s been a long day.

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan,

Cas

~***~

Mr. Spock,

I had a girlfriend named Cassie once! Sort that information away for a future test, I suppose. How many siblings do you have? I one brother, and he can be such a bitch sometimes, so I definitely get where you’re coming from.

As it happens, I’m named after my grandmother, Deanna. And I swear to god, if you make fun of me for that, I will, um, do something… I don’t know exactly what yet, but I’ll figure it out, and it’ll be awful, I promise!

So, is it really that hard being a mailman? (You said it had been a rough day.) I’m a mechanic, by the way. If you ever need to know anything about cars, just hit me up, and I’ll be happy to help. For a price… Ha, just kidding. Maybe…

Dammit Cas, I’m a mechanic, not a doctor!

Dean

~***~

Bones,

I find it slightly perturbing that my nickname is also the name of your ex. But I always ace tests, so I guess I’m glad to know it anyway.

I have 5 siblings. I know. Hippies don’t believe in birth control, I guess. But yes, family of 8, from Michael the oldest, down to Sam the youngest. Since I’m on the subject, I suppose I might as well list off all my siblings. There’s Mike, Gabe, Luce, me, Anna, and Sam, ranging in ages from 37 to 21. Oh, I’m the ripe old age of 29, by the way. Not that that matters. Jesus, this entire letter is me talking about my family, sorry.

And no, it’s not hard being a mailman, but it is hard having to take your beloved cat to the veterinarian because they’re refusing to eat, not having bowel movements, and rolling around on the floor, meowing in pain. The poor guy had a blockage and almost died. It was a tough day.

I might just take you up on your offer to help explain things about cars, because I am completely clueless about them. I drive an old clunker that eats gas money like nobody’s business, and I really need to get a new car as soon as possible.

Have you been at the Romulan ale again??

Cas

~***~

Castiel,

I know I signed my last note with a Bones reference, but make no mistake, I am 100% Kirk, and I would appreciate it if you referred to me as such. Thank you for not forcing me to pursue legal action.

Dude, my younger brother is named Sam! Well, technically he’s named Samuel, after our grandfather, but still. Weird. And I’m 32, so that’s cool I guess.

I’m sorry to hear about your cat; that sounds pretty awful. I’ve never really had pets, and I’m actually allergic to cats, but I remember when Sammy’s dog was hit by a car and how distraught he was. I’m guessing your cat is all right now, though? If so, I’m glad. If not, sorry for rubbing salt in the wound.

Dude, do not drive that car. Like, stop it now. Please, for the sake of car lovers everywhere. Take it down to Singer’s Auto Salvage Yard; Bobby is a friend of mine, and if you tell him I sent you, he’ll give you a good price for it, and then you can use that money to buy something that’s not a piece of shit.

*funny Star Trek reference here*

Captain James Tiberius Kirk

~***~

Jim,

Can you sense me rolling my eyes? Because there’s some serious ocular oscillation going on right now in reference to your threats.

And I shortened my Sam’s name, too. His full name is Samandriel. Hippies, am I right?

Yes, my cat is fine, thank Talos. He is my best friend, and I don’t think I would be able to function properly if something happened to him. He’s a black shorthair named Toothless, by the way. Yes, I’m a basic bitch. Bite me.

I’ll try and take your advice about the car. I think my car is actually the automobile form of Sauron’s ring of power, because every time I’ve tried to get rid of it, it talks me into keeping it. I know in my heart that it needs to be torn apart for scraps, that it is taking advantage of me and should be destroyed before it does something terrible, but it’s mine. My own. My...precious…

Oh, my biggest problem is that if I sell her, I don’t know anything about buying cars, so I’m afraid someone will take advantage of my naivete and sell me an equally shitty car for a ridiculous price. Any suggestions?

*I can do this too*

Spock Spock Spock-ity Spock

~***~

Spockity,

God, I wish my parents had been hippies. Instead they were hippos. Yep, I was adopted by a pair of hippopotami at the age of four. Don’t believe me? Ask the Topeka Zoo, and they’ll corroborate my story. (Please don’t actually do that; they might remember me from when I was a teenager and broke in there to try and pet the giraffes.)

And I will never judge anyone for loving How To Train Your Dragon, because that movie was legendary. Toothless is the cutest dragon probably ever, and Hiccup is such a dreamboat.

Um, we definitely need to get rid of that car. Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks! I’m trying to help you. And speaking of helping you, if you find a car and want to know just how swindled you’re going to be, just send me the information, and I can let you know if you should buy it or not!

So… what kind of music do you like? I’m a big classic rock fan, and if you aren’t I will become determined to change that about you.

Can we up switch references? Maybe Princess Bride or something?

Princess Buttercup

~***~

Buttercup,

I find your story inconceivable. But did you truly grow up in Kansas? Personally, I grew up in the wilds of Washington; Seattle, actually.

And good; I would be very upset with you if you didn’t love Toothless and Hiccup, though I must say Hiccup is not exactly my type. I like my men a little older than he (recall that I’m not a pedophile), and I think any man I may date should definitely be my size or larger, or else I might kill them accidentally in bed. Huh, I guess we haven’t really talked about sexuality ever, so sorry if that made you uncomfortable.

I would greatly appreciate it if you would actually send me your phone number or email or something, so I could send you the information on a car I’m seriously considering buying. If you’d rather not hand out such personal information, I completely understand though.

I confess I haven’t listened to much classic rock. I mostly listen to classical music, though I’ve been delving into the genre of lofi hiphop, and I actually really enjoy it.

As you wish,

Vizzini

~***~

Vizzini,

You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means…

Yes, I grew up in Kansas, a little town called Lawrence to be precise. And the bit about breaking into the zoo was real too, so please don’t report me.

And honestly, I’m kind of in a weird experimental stage with my sexuality right now. I know, that’s supposed to happen during college, but maybe I’m just not a normal guy, all right? Anyway, I think I’ve officially decided I’m bisexual, but who knows? Romance is tiring, but sex is fun, and I don’t really mind who the hole belongs to. Jesus, that sounded awful and disgusting; sorry. I’m not even really like that any more. I haven’t had a hookup for like three months, which has got to be some kind of record. Sorry, this I should stop writing while I have the chance.

Totally send me the deets about the car, man. My number is 1-866-907-3235

Dude, I’m going to indoctrinate you. You fucking need to listen to classic rock; it’s the stuff of gods. Maybe I’ll make you a mixtape or something so you can listen to all the best songs. Weird question: do you have a tape player? I’m kind of old fashioned, so yeah, I’m going to make you a cassette tape with my favorite Zepp tracks on it.

Mahwage, dah bwessed awangment,

The Dread Pirate Roberts

~***~

For some reason, it was taking Cas a long time to get back to Dean. They had kind of worked out an unspoken schedule by this point; one of them put a letter in the box Monday, the other responded by Wednesday, and then the first sent back a response the Friday of the same week. Basically three letter a week for the past month or so. No, that’s not weird or creepy for two adult men to do at all.

Dean had dropped off that last letter on a Monday, but no reply came on Wednesday. He tried to not let it bother him, thinking Cas was probably busy or something. But then there wasn’t a reply Thursday or Friday either, and he started to get a little miffed. The least Cas could have done was to text him now that he had his number, but noooo. Unfortunately, Dean had to be out of town that Saturday, so no confrontation could happen over the 1:30 mail delivery.

The next Saturday rolled around with no word from Cas again, and Dean was starting to get legitimately worried. He would have understood if the guy took some time off maybe for being sick or something, but two weeks? Nobody takes two weeks off, especially without telling their… friend? Suddenly, Dean’s ridiculous number of insecurities started blaring at him. What if he and Cas weren’t friends? What if he didn’t actually mean anything to Cas at all? He probably was just another drain on Cas’ time, and Cas had finally decided he’d had enough and didn’t want to talk to Dean anymore. Hell, he might have requested a different route because Dean was harassing him. Shit, of course all this was too good to be true. Dean never made friends; Charlie was the only acception to that painful trend, and he had no idea why she still hung out with him.

Dean knew those thoughts too well; he knew his own self-loathing always came around and wouldn’t leave until he started thinking about other things. So, he thought about Cas. It was almost 1:30, two weeks since he’d heard from him last, and he decided to camp out at the mailbox and wait for whoever came. He had to know if Cas was all right, at least. The guy was his friend, even if maybe Cas didn’t see him as one.

He didn’t have long to wait before seeing his old mailman (Cain, was it?) peddling a sleek bicycle down the sidewalk with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Um, hey, sorry to bother you. Cain, is it?” Dean fidgeted, feeling awkward as fuck.

“Yes, that’s me. Can I help you with something?” Huh, okay, Cain seemed like a pretty chill guy. Maybe Dean could actually avoid a panic attack from doing something this wild.

“Uh, yeah. Do you know Castiel? He brought mail on this route for a while? I just haven’t seen him in a while, and I was worried that something happened.” Dean was talking too fast, but he couldn’t help it, okay?

“I know Castiel, and I know he took off a few weeks. Don’t know why though; maybe a vacation or something. I wouldn’t worry about it though, if I were you.”

Oh Dean was gonna worry about it, no doubt about that. Because wow, he was glad Cas was all right and not dead somewhere, but Jesus, what kind of douchebag friend goes on an extended vacation without so much as a goodbye?? So yeah, Dean was going to worry about what he did wrong and why he never could keep friends, and why he was such a fucked up excuse for a human being. Awesome.

~***~

Dean was depressed. Charlie tried cheering him up but to no avail. He was just depressed. He actually took the day off on Monday, because he was such a fucking sissy who couldn’t deal with anything. God, no wonder Cas didn’t care about him. No one should care about him; he was so pathetic.

The doorbell rang. Dean lifted his head from the pillow it had been buried in for the entire first half of the day and decided he probably ought to answer the door, seeing as there was a 98% chance it was Charlie with pie and beer and a chick flick to make him feel better. God, she was too good for him; he didn’t deserve such a good friend.

He pulled the door open and was greeted by the invisible man; wait no, there was a package and a pile of mail on the front step. He sighed and picked it all up, then promptly dropped it all on the floor, shut the door, and collapsed on the couch. He didn’t feel like looking at the mail. He didn’t feel like doing anything except for sleeping. Ugh.

But maybe that package would cheer him up. He rolled his eyes at the tiny optimistic voice in his head and then rolled right off the couch and crawled to the pile of mail. He grabbed package without so much as glancing over the letters, probably all bills, and violently tore it open. Ooh, it was those custom leather-bound journals he ordered off Etsy. One was embroidered with his Hogwarts House logo (Hufflepuff and proud!) and the other matched it but had Charlie’s House (Ravenclaw, more like Raven...dumb! Good one). One of the few things he was ashamed of about being a sissy was doing things like buying matching things for himself and his best friend, or having sleepovers with his best friend, or planning his future wedding with his best friend. ANYway.

Okay, cool, the opening the package plan had worked! Dean was feeling better already. But then he saw it. Underneath the topmost bill was a little blue envelope. Dean’s hand had never moved so fast (yes, never).

Sure enough, it was from Cas. But unlike all the other letters Dean had gotten from him, this one was stamped and had both mailing and return addresses on it. Without stopping to think about what the fuck that could possibly mean, Dean ripped open the letter and read:

Dear Dean,

I am so sorry I haven’t written you in so long. To put it succinctly, my father had a heart attack, and I had to go to to Washington to be with him. The past two weeks have been about family and rekindling our relationships with each other. My father passed away two nights ago, and the funeral was yesterday. I know we never really talk about serious things, but I hope you won’t mind if I tell you this.

Honestly, as heartbroken as I am to see my father pass, I’m grateful that it has brought my family back together. All of us were there with him at the end, all of us were gathered around his bedside as he breathed his last. And he went peacefully, so I’m also grateful for that. I’ll be staying up here for another few days before flying back, and then I’ll be back to work as normal. I put my address that I’m staying at while I’m in Seattle as the return address, but I’ll add my home address too at the bottom of the page; it only feels fair that since I know where you live, you should know where I do too.

Again, I’m sorry if I made you worry at all. I know you might not see me the same way, but you’ve actually become one of my closest friends over the past month. What that says about my personal life? That I’m very awkward and antisocial, that’s what it says.

I hope to talk to you soon,

Castiel

Thank the fucking lord. Dean let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and grabbed his phone.

Dean: Cas is okay!! His dad died but he’ll be back soon

Charlie: Wait, his dad died, but he’ll be back soon? Who is he, god? I mean, Jesus. Whatever, I’m not required to make good religious jokes

Dean: Haha, very funny

Charlie: But yay!! I’m so glad for you!! Maybe now you’ll stop sulking like a little lost puppy

Dean: I make no promises

~***~

As promised, Cas was back by the end of the week, and Dean couldn’t stop grinning when he looked out his window Saturday to see Cas walking up to his mailbox.

He pulled the door open and ran out, unprecedented behavior from the man afraid to make eye contact with girl scouts selling cookies outside the front of the grocery store.

“Cas! It’s good to see you, man!” He went in for a hug, but then it got a little too real, so it ended up being one of those awkward side-hugs that no one really likes but everyone has to deal with.

Cas smiled back widely, and Dean got a little lost in his eyes. Wow, he’d never actually seen Cas up close, and now that he did, he could tell that Cas was actually the most attractive man alive. His ocean blue eyes drew Dean in, and he found himself completely phasing out to the point that Cas had to repeat a question three times before he could respond.

“Sorry, um, what was that?” Was the response. Classic.

“I asked if you were all right; you look a little phased.” No shit, Sherlock.

“Uh yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“I was a little worried I’d scared you off with my last letter, seeing as how you didn’t write back.” Shit, Dean had forgotten to.

“Fuck, I totally forgot that I had your address. I guess I’m not used to actually properly sending letters, not just putting them in the mailbox.” They shared a quiet laugh before Dean went on, somberly. “I’m really sorry about your dad. My mom passed a few years back, and I know how painful it is.”

Cas smiles sadly. “Yeah, it was rough, but like I said in the letter, it really brought my family together, and I’m sure dad would have been happy to see the impact he had on us.” He paused, and Dean could there was something more rolling around in his mind, so he decided to stay silent and let Cas finish his thought. “It’s funny, he was such an absent father when we were growing up. I know he was different when he and my mom were first married; I think he was a carpenter or something, and he was always at home with Mike and Luce when they were little. But then his business took off, and by the time I was in diapers, he was hardly ever around. Business trips, late nights working, early morning meetings, it never ended. It kind of tore our family apart, bit by bit. First, Gabe ran away when he was 16. He didn’t get in touch with any of us for almost a whole year. Later, he told me he just couldn’t stand to see all the arguing and pain in our family. Then it was Luce, angrily storming off to college and refusing to answer our calls or emails. He loved all of us, his siblings so much, and I think watching dad’s absence affect us younger kids really took a toll on him.”

Suddenly, Cas’ eyes flashed up, and his cheeks grew pink. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’ve just been standing here, telling you my life’s story. And fuck, I’m on the clock; I really need to run.”

Before Cas could move, Dean grabbed his wrist. “Wait, can you give me your phone number? I put mine in my last letter to you, but I’m guessing you didn’t get that.”

They exchanged numbers as quickly as possible, and Cas ran off towards the next house on his route. Dean grinned as he watched his run away and immediately send him a trial-run text.

Dean: If you gave me a fake number, I’m going to go to your house and shave your cat

Off in the distance (only about 200 feet, to be perfectly honest), Cas stopped and looked down at his phone, and Dean could not hold back a huge laugh.

Castiel: Toothless would kill your sorry ass

~***~

Regina George,

Oh my god, you’re so fetch.

Sorry Cas, I don’t know why, but I really felt like I had to change our theme to Mean Girls. Sue me. (Also, you better have fucking watched Mean Girls, or there will be hell to pay.)

So, my friend Charlie talked me into this, but I guess I kind of agreed with her that I ought to do it. And you can totally say no thanks, not interested, and it’ll be completely fine! But, I was wondering if maybe you’d be interesting in going on a date with me sometime…?

Wow, I am a child. Well, a teenage girl, to be precise. Oh shit, and you keep telling me you’re not a pedophile, so you’re definitely not going to want to go out with me now that you know my true identity. Well this is a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Have you sold that car yet? You should really get on that.

Yours forever,

Amy Poehler

~***~

Mother,

Of course I’ve seen Mean Girls, I’m not that out of the proverbial loop.

And would you please thank your friend Charlie for me? I’ll admit, I’ve wanted to go on a date with you for a quite a while now, but ye ole’ social ineptitude wouldn’t let me ask. Maybe text me when you get this, and we can work out a time/place? Saturday nights are usually best for me, considering I’m always off Sundays.

Please Dean, if you’re a teenage girl, then I am too, and then it’s not pedophilia.

And no, I haven’t sold it yet, because I haven’t decided on a new one to buy yet, because in case you hadn’t noticed, my life has been a little hectic lately. I’ll try and text you the details on the car I’m looking at soon, though.

Fours yorever,

Reginers

~***~

Saturday night is there before Dean can get his shit together. He had frantically texted Charlie minutes after making the date with Cas asking her what he should wear and how he should act and whether he should just run away and never come back. You know, normal stuff.

In the end, he and Cas had decided on meeting an a small burger place near Cas’ place, so Dean knew he shouldn’t wear something too fancy. But he didn’t want to wear just his every minute of every day bluejeans, t-shirt, and flannel combo. So, with some sagely advice from Charlie, he’s decided on his most flattering pair of grey jeans and a button down maroon shirt, freshly ironed. Honestly, not half bad, even by his self-degrading standards. He toyed with the idea of a grey tie with the top two buttons of his collar undone, and decided it was too snazzy for him to refuse.

A 15-minute drive later, he was walking into the restaurant and looking around for Cas. And boy, did he find him. Cas was wearing a tight pair of black jeans, an Egyptian blue button down, and a black waistcoat, and holy fuck, Dean was having another southward situation just at the sight. He repeated the words ‘puss, flesh, old-people skin,’ in his head for half a minute until everything was hunky dory again, then made his way to the bar where Cas was standing.

“You look great, Cas.” Dean grinned when he saw Cas blatantly checking his ass. The good old grey jeans never fail.

“As do you, Dean,” Cas responded, his pupils mildly larger than probably normal.

They made their way over to a small corner booth and waived down a waitress. Adorably enough, they both ordered the same bacon cheeseburger, and in the time it took for their food to arrive, they discussed possible future heart health and how they were both going to die eventually, so it might as well be from eating delicious food.

“Dude, if bacon’s what gets me, I win,” Dean remarked right before taking a huge bite into his burger.

Cas harrumphed in agreement, then moaned around the first bite of his own burger.

Uh oh. Turned out, visual Cas is nothing compared to audible Cas in terms of making Dean’s nether regions all kinds of interested. To put it simply, Dean was sitting at a booth, on a first date, a burger in his mouth, almost completely hard. Awesome.

“Dean, are you okay?” Shit, Cas apparently noticed the panicked look on Dean’s face, and Dean’s face burned red.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. I, um, just kinda have a little… situation. Downstairs. God this is so embarrassing; I’m soooooo, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

Cas was quiet for a second, then burst out with infectious laughter, and Dean couldn’t help but join in. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. Was it become of the groan I just made or…?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair before responding, “Um, yeah. Fuck. Look, I haven’t gotten

laid in close to three months, so cut me a little slack. And honestly, I’m really sorry. I wanted this

to be a really special first date, but I feel like I kind of ruined it.” Like Dean ruined everything.

“Oh, no no no! Really, I understand much better than you’d think,” Cas assuaged his fear and sorrow with a comforting pat on the back on the hand. “It’s honestly fine. Now, do you need to go to take a trip to the bathroom, or are you all right now?”

Dean informed Cas that apparently humiliation was not one of his kinks, and the situation had resolved itself, and they were able to go on with their dinner like it had never happened.

But you know, it did happen, and Dean hadn’t had sex in months, and Cas was the hottest date Dean had ever had. SO yeah. Things happen.

~***~

After an amazing evening of burgers, pie, beer, and literal hours of conversation, they decided it was definitely time for them to part ways. Cas had walked to the restaurant, so Dean offered to drop him off on his way home, and Cas gratefully accepted.

The car ride was normal, if slightly tense. They were both slightly buzzed and totally attracted to each other, after all. But it was chill.

Dean pulled up to Cas’ home, a cozy-looking apartment complex, and parked his car in one of the visitor spots. They both climbed out and walked together up to Cas’ door.

“So, I had an awesome time tonight,” Dean half-mumbled, really trying his best to appear like he wasn’t desperate to go out with Cas again as soon as possible. “You think you might want to do this again sometime? I mean, really, I totally get it if like I’m not your type or you’re just not into me or you think I’m too--”

Cas slammed their faces (particularly their lips) together, effectively cutting off Dean’s self-abusive train of thought and filling his mind with only the pure bliss of Cas’ warm mouth on his, their tongues fighting for dominance. Cas’ mouth tasted amazing, like apple pie and happiness. Dean hungrily chased the flavour, and he couldn’t get enough. They broke for air for just a minute before Cas wheeled Dean around and up against his apartment door, weaving one hand into his hair and grabbing Dean’s own hand with the other, pinning it up against the door above his head.

Dean had never felt less in control, and it was amazing. He could feel the strength in Cas’ body shoved up against his own. He felt vulnerable, but for once in his life, he was okay with that vulnerability.

Cas moved his mouth down from Dean’s mouth to his neck, peppering the skin with hot, wet kisses. He settled on one spot, the meaty place between Dean’s neck and right shoulder and assaulted it with licks, kisses, nibbles, and sucks. He was driving Dean crazy, and Dean honestly couldn’t stop himself from moaning out, “Uhhhh, Cas…”

Maybe it was something about how he broke the silence, but Cas suddenly stilled and looked up at Dean, alarm filling his eyes. “Oh my god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before; I don’t know what came over me.” He stepped back from Dean and rubbed his hands over his face.

“What? Why’d you stop?” Dean replied, feeling suddenly abandoned.

Cas locked eyes with Dean and said very seriously, “I have no idea what I’m doing, Dean. I’ve never had sex; hell, I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a week. And you’re this amazing, attractive man who has had so much sex and knows all about it, and I’m just going to embarrass myself and it’ll be terrible and--”

This time, Dean satisfies the cliche, cutting off Cas’ river of doubts with a kiss into which he poured all the words he wanted to say but didn’t know how: that Cas made him feel safe and comfortable and like he could be himself and still feel appreciated and cared for and special and important.

Cas seemed to get the message, and he quickly took control once again, holding Dean tight in his arms and kissing him with more passion than is in an entire episode of Casa Erotica.

Dean had been hard for a while now, and as Cas clung to him, he could feel that Cas was in about the same spot as he was. But shit, if Cas was a virgin, that would put a lot of weight on Dean’s shoulders, right? He wanted to make it perfect for Cas, because that’s what Cas deserved.

But apparently, Cas had a completely different idea. He pulled away from Dean, and with his pupils completely blown wide and dark, moved his mouth to Dean’s ear and whispered, “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Huh, well, Dean realized at that moment he was completely, 100%, no doubt about it, a bottom. And apparently, Cas’ self-confidence boosted itself threefold when he was horny, so yeah. That was pretty sweet.

Cas fumbled with his apartment keys and opened the front door before pushing Dean inside and slamming the door behind them. He kiss-walked (that thing where people are joined at the mouth but still manage to move around, that’s honestly kind of impressive if you think about it) Dean to what Dean assumed could only be his bedroom and shoved him onto the bed before climbing on top of waist and resuming kissing him like a man dying of dehydration and Dean’s mouth was a fucking water fountain.

Without breaking their lip lock, Cas scrambled to get Dean’s tie off, and Dean did his best to help with the clothing removal process, but his efforts were mostly futile.

Finally, after a pathetically long and unromantic struggle, they were both naked, and Dean was basically drooling at the sight of Cas’ dick. Like, holy hell, it’s not like Dean himself was small, but Jesus, he was embarrassed of his own length in the presence of Cas’ massiveness.

Cas grinned with a hungry look in his eye as he took Dean in, and Dean felt suddenly self conscious as Cas scanned him so carefully.

Cas noticed the change in Dean’s demeanor and guessed the source quickly. “Dean, you are so beautiful,” his husky voice reassured before leaning in and capturing Dean’s lips once again, this time with a contrastingly gentle and loving kiss, and for once in his life, Dean let himself actually believe that about himself.

The kiss soon got more heated, and Cas’ hands began exploring Dean’s body, starting in his hair, traveling down his chest, over his hips, and down his thighs. Dean moaned and realized that, much to his embarrassment, he was actually close.

Fortunately, Cas seemed to sense he should advance things, and he trailed his hands back up to Dean’s throbbing cock. Dean let out a punched groan at the first touch to his hot member, squeezed his eyes shut tight, and clenched his fists behind Cas’ back. “So good, Cas…”

Cas’ hand left his cock for a minute, and Dean heard the telltale sounds of someone spitting before the hand returned, slick and tight. Just a couple tugs and Dean was coming with a shout. “Oh, Cas, oh fuck, Cas!”

He had never come so quickly in his entire life, but Dean couldn’t even find it in himself to be ashamed, especially as he heard Cas grunting as he followed directly behind him.

“Cas, that was…”

A sudden worried look fell over Cas’ face. “Was it bad? I’m sorry, I know we both came really fast.”

Dean laughed and tried his best kiss the pouting look off of Cas. “No, it was amazing, Cas. Jesus, that was the most vanilla shit I’ve ever done, but it was perfect.” Dean sighed and steeled himself before continuing. “And actually, I think the reason it was perfect was because, well, it was with you, Cas.”

~***~

“Honeybee, I’m home!” Dean stripped off his big winter coat and hung it on the hook by the front door.

“I’m in the kitchen, Dean!” Dean stalked through the house and up behind his husband, snaking his arms around the other man’s broad chest and leaning over his shoulder to give him a peck on the cheek.

“How was work today?” Dean asked, glancing around the kitchen and noticing with a grin what looked suspiciously like the mess left after someone has baked an apple pie.

“Work was lovely, thank you. Of course, that was mostly because of the letter I got from my favorite stop on my favorite route.” Cas grinned and spun around to give Dean a proper kiss.

“I’m your favorite?!” Dean grinned and pulled back before Cas could kiss him

Cas rolled his eyes, “No, I’m talking about our neighbor, Mrs. Tran.”

“I love you too, babe.” Dean finally let himself be pulled into his husband’s eager arms and smiled into the kiss. Fate was kind of awesome.

#destiel #fanfiction #destiel fandom #destiel fluff #supernatural #ao3 #one shot #supernatural fic #destiel fic #fanfic

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josserstories · 6 years

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Crash and Burn

I'm balanced on my back on the trapeze bar, my legs pointing straight up and pressed against the ropes for stabilization. I hate this part of the act. Elbow circles are still new enough to me to be a little scary, even though I've been doing them correctly for a while now. They still hurt in practice, but the magic of the show means that I won't feel anything right now.

I hook my arms around the trapeze, tucking the bar into the crooks of my elbows and folding my hands over my chest. The little armbands attached to my costume are directly against the bar, which made me nervous at first, but I've done this several times by now, and it's always been fine. The armbands even give my skin a little protection, and conveniently cover the almost inevitable bruises from the audience.

Take a breath, hear the music, and then I go, letting my legs drop away from the ropes, then whipping them up and back, flipping my whole body around the bar that is pressed between my back and my arms.

This trick hurts, but it's also so cool!

...at least until it goes very, very wrong.

I feel the fabric around my arms catch as I’m coming up out of the second rotation, and by then it’s too late, I have too much momentum and I can’t stop. I go around a third time, and my costume bites into my skin. I can’t move my arms to get my hands back on the ropes, so I fall forwards another half rotation until I’m dangling under the bar, my arms pinned behind me. I try to swing myself back up, but I can’t, and I'm too high for my feet to reach the ground. I try wrenching my arms free, but all that does is create a shock of pain strong enough to cut through the haze of adrenaline. In some part of my brain I know that that is a bad sign, for something to hurt even in the middle of a performance, but I can’t think about that now. I can see Sarah standing off to one side, her hands reaching out to me as she tries to figure out a way to help. I shake my head at her. There’s nothing she can do, short of literally cutting me out of my costume, and I hope it doesn’t come to that.

By now, all of my squirming has shifted my body lower. My shoulders are at an even more uncomfortable angle, but I’m able to contort myself enough to get my hands onto the ropes of the trapeze. Finally, I pull my body up and over the bar, relieving the pressure on my shoulders, but pulling the fabric around my arms even tighter, cutting into my biceps.

The audience cheers as I get back onto the bar, thinking that I’m free, but I’m not. I’m folded over the bar, hanging from my hips, but my arms are still tied to the trapeze by my costume. I struggle for a moment, then gather my strength and literally tear my way out of first one sleeve, and then the other, leaving them twisted around the bar. I half expect to see blood dripping down my arms, it’s hard to tell how bad it is through the fresh wave of adrenaline my body is pumping into my veins, but there’s nothing.

I turn over so I’m sitting, and the music filters back into my conciousness. Almost on autopilot, my brain orients itself as to where I am in the act, and miraculously, sitting on the bar is somehow exactly where I’m supposed to be at this particular moment in the choreography. I take a breath, and then I’m moving again, the fear and frustration and pain all pushed aside (deal with it later, there’s time for it later, you’ve got work to do now, keep moving keep going).

The whole ordeal took 40 second, but it felt like at least an hour. 40 seconds is a very long time to be dangling like a dying fish in front of an audience.

I make it through the rest of my act, and then through the finale, redeeming myself slightly with a well-executed double star drop on the silks. I make it through the curtain call, though I can see the strain in Sarah’s face, the way she keeps looking at me out of the corners of her eyes; I know she’s worried about me, but there’s not much I can do to reassure her right now. There are little sparks of pain running up and down my arms, and I know it’s only going to get worse.

As soon as the show is over, Sarah is there, her hands on my shoulders, asking if I’m alright. I nod, say I’m ok (she knows I’m not), that I just need to take a minute. She nods, she gets it, can see the mask starting to crack, knows I have to get where the audience can't see me before I shatter.

“Take your time,” she says, and lets me go.

I don’t even stop to change, I just throw my black warmup clothes on over my costume, stuff my feet into my shoes, and I’m out the door, walking as quickly as I can out along the shore of the lake that stretches behind the building we’ve been performing in.

My hands start to shake before I’ve gone more than a few yards. By the time I make it around a bend in the path, I have to stop, I have to sit down with my back against a tree because suddenly my legs don’t work so well.

I’ve had adrenaline crashes before, but nothing as strong as this. I feel like a puppet who’s strings have been cut. I’m shaking all over, tears running down my cheeks. It’s not from the fear or the pain, though my arms are really starting to hurt now, the stinging almost like electrical shocks; this is simply the physical reaction your body has to the chemical aftermath of fight-or-flight, and it sucks.

Eventually my breathing slows back to normal, the shaking settles to the occasional tremble, and I can stand up again. I wipe my face, using my phone to make sure the streaks of makeup are gone, putting back the professional mask I wear during shows. I can’t let the audience see my distress, and they’ll be milling around as we take down the rig and pack up.

My arms are a mess. My warmup shirt has long sleeves, thankfully, so I can hide the damage while we're around other people, but Sarah insists on checking me over the moment we're out of sight. Bruises are already darkening in a band around my biceps, and there is a dark line on each arm, either burns or abrasions, it's hard to tell. It takes me several days to realize that there are also patches on the inside of my arms that have suddenly gone numb; turns out those electric shock sensations were probably the result of nerve damage.

Now, just over a year later, most of the feeling has come back, though not all of it, and I've got a long thin mark on each arm where the burns were, reminders of what can happen when things go wrong.

Live and learn, as they say!

-Chickadee

A few hours after (before the rest of the bruises appeared and turned all kinds of pretty colors) vs. a year after. This one will be with me for a while, I think.

P.S. If you want a visual reference for what the heck I've been talking about in this post, Google "elbow circles on trapeze."

#circus #life in the circus #scars #writing #I've seriously been meaning to write about this since it happened #after the show Sarah gave me painkillers and took me out for ice cream #because she is the best Circus Sister ever

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biopsychs · 7 years

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physics doesn’t have to suck: how to enjoy and do well in your required physics classes

As someone who doesn’t intend to take a physics class ever again, I was relieved when I walked out of my second semester physics final. That said, physics doesn’t have to suck or drag your average down.

(1) How to enjoy physics: Adjust your attitude. Physics is so cool if you actually think about it. Your attitude will dictate your experience. (2) But physics is so hard: Change the way you study and don’t give up. I did better in university physics than in high school. The content was way more difficult but it was my studying methods that made the difference.

This post is split into 3 parts: Introductory physics (very basic physics, that unit of physics you had to do in a lower level science class), high school physics (physics from an algebra-based perspective), and university physics (calculus-based physics and labs). (Obviously these overlap a lot but I needed to organize this somehow)

INFO IS UNDER THE CUT B/C THIS POST IS RIDICULOUSLY LONG

1. INTRODUCTORY PHYSICS

Skills you should master that will greatly help you now and in the future

Converting between units

What all those symbols actually mean

Interpreting what graphs mean

Scientific notation

Know how to do algebra fairly well (esp. rearranging equations)

Khan Academy is a great resource for introductory and high school physics.

Start every question by stating all of your known and unknown variables. Write down which variables you have and which ones you need. Then, you can easily figure out which formula you need.

Make sure you’re actually understanding the concepts behind everything; plugging numbers into equations will only get you so far.

Rearrange formulas to equal the variable you need before you substitute your known values into the equation.

Use your knowledge of physics from your own experiences. Don’t overthink. Just try to picture what would happen if, say, a ball and a feather were dropped from the same height.

2. HIGH SCHOOL PHYSICS (ALGEBRA-BASED)

(Everything from part 1 applies, esp Khan Academy)

Pay attention to in class demos.

Draw free body diagrams whenever you can -- they can be annoying but quickly being able to visualize all of the forces acting is an important skill

Ask your teacher for help or clarification if you need it! You won’t always have the opportunity for one-on-one help, plus your teacher may mark you a bit easier if they see you’re really trying.

Know trigonometry well! In fact, if any of your algebra skills are weak, be sure to review. Don’t let basic math hold you back -- you can do this!

Your first step for any problem should be to write down any known variables or numbers and then the variables you need to find.

Work with a study group (just make sure everyone else is as committed as you are, otherwise studying with others won’t help). People think in different ways and you’re bound to find a solution eventually -- and less likely to give up if you can’t do it.

Get all the part marks. Write down your variables, a formula that could be applicable -- anything that might earn even half a mark (teachers are a lot more forgiving than you think)

Double check your final answer. Ensure you have the right units and ask yourself if your final answer makes sense.

Don’t give up! A big mistake I made in high school was giving up the first time I couldn’t figure out a question because physics was hard and I would never understand it. No excuses! Ignoring a question won’t help you answer it when it comes up on a test. Figure it out on your own or get help.

3. UNIVERSITY PHYSICS (CALCULUS-BASED + LABS)

(Note: Some university physics classes are algebra-based. My university is dumb and forced me to take difficult, calculus-based classes.)

(Again, most things from part 1 and part 2 apply here as well.)

A) Lectures, studying, finals, etc.

Pay attention in class and write good notes

My physics lectures were boring but trying to catch up by reading my textbook later was so much worse

Your lecture notes may not make much sense at first but later on you’ll be able to tell which concepts were stressed by your prof

Draw any diagrams your prof shows you (or take a picture with your phone if you’re lazy). Be sure that the diagram is complete and don’t forget about labels. Don’t worry too much about neatness as long as you know what the diagram is supposed to show you.

Keep all your notes in one notebook: Use one colour for writing regular notes, another colour for circling formulas or starring things you don’t understand, and be sure to write the date down for each lecture and leave space if you fall behind during the lecture (you can always copy someone else’s notes later)

Get a good textbook!

Talk to older students and see if the textbook was helpful for the class. If it’s useful then actually use it! If it’s not, find a good textbook to use!

Do lots of practice questions

My profs tended to go over more conceptual ideas in class and didn’t do many examples.

Try to do a variety of questions! This will tell you if you actually understand the content or if you’ve just memorized how to do certain questions.

Work with other people on assignments (and join/start a group chat for your class)

I had online assignments due every Friday at midnight. My friend and I would meet up on Wednesday or Thursday to work through most of the assignment together. If there was a question we didn’t get, there would always be someone in our class group chat wondering the same thing and there was always some smart physics student that would be a bro and explain how to approach the problem (on another note: don’t leave assignments till the last minute)

Group chats are also great if you miss class or can’t remember when the cutoff for the midterm is

If you don’t understand something get help before it’s too late.

Be prepared with specific questions. It’s hard for someone to help you if all you can say is that you don’t know anything. Go to your prof, TA, tutor, etc.

I found my profs to be super nice about everything. They just want people to be excited about the subject they teach!

If you’re just stuck on one thing there are tons of resources online! Just be specific in what you’re googling and check out resources that other profs have posted online.

Understand the math before you start doing questions

Know the basics of derivatives and integrals

It’s super important to be able to draw a rough graph of the first, second, etc. derivative when all you are given is a graph of the original function (i.e. drawing the graphs for velocity and acceleration when given a graph of displacement)

But don’t ignore the conceptual stuff

This is why a good textbook is important!

Plus you can get part marks for some questions by stating whether one value should be higher/lower than another value, even if you can’t figure out the calculations -- and you can check your answers this way.

For example, it’s pretty important to know what magnetic flux density is before you can calculate it’s value

When studying for tests, don’t just assume you know how to do a question.

Looking over the solution for a problem and actually completing the problem are two very different things. This is the biggest mistake I’ve made when studying physics.

Understanding the solution is only one step in actually being able to answer the question. Looking over solutions is lazy studying if you’re not even trying to do the work. Start the question. Glance at the first part of the solution if you’re stuck. Keep going from there.

For first year physics classes, you really shouldn’t skip over any parts of problem. Yeah, rearranging that formula might look easy but can you actually do it? Practice makes perfect.

If you have a midterm coming up that tests material from a few weeks ago, be sure to do questions from the older units. The content might look familiar but just because you could do a question 2 weeks ago doesn’t mean you can do it now.

Don’t leave your studying till the last minute.

Get a planner and carve out enough time to do practice questions every few days. Trying to catch up on four chapter’s worth of problems is not fun and won’t work very well. Plus, you don’t just have to know how to answer questions. You have to be able to answer questions efficiently.

B) Labs

My labs were very different each semester.

First semester content included kinematics, relativity, forces, momentum, work, etc. The labs were super boring but super easy. For most labs we used motion detectors and a program called logger pro to collect and graph data. Lots of carts.

Second semester content included light, energy, radiation, magnetism, circuits, etc. The labs mostly involved bread boards and wires.

Regardless of content, some general comments on labs are...

Labs won’t always follow lecture content. Apparently that’s too difficult to organize.

That said, get your prelabs done. Properly, if you can. If you don’t fully understand a prelab question, ask your TA once you’ve handed it in. This will save you so much time.

Find a good lab partner. Not sure if there’s a trick to this but just try your best. And be a good lab partner too!

Make note of how strict your TA is with sig figs and error calculations. There’s no sense in losing a few marks when you could stay an extra 15 minutes and do the work properly.

Eat some food and hydrate before your lab -- you never know when your lab will take you 3+ hours to finish.

If you’re not sure if your experiment is working ask your TA. Trying to complete the lab with incorrect data is difficult and your TA will probably make you repeat the experiment anyways.

I hope this post was helpful! I struggled with physics in high school (my worst class) but it ended up being one of my best classes in university (A’s both semesters). The content was way more difficult but my studying habits and test-taking methods were what made the difference!!

Feel free to add additional advice to this post!

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