#which is also fine but the end result is an eyesore sorry

[seenashwrite]

A Fluff By Any Other Name

Word Count: 1.8K Category: One-shot, Domestic Family Fluff, Husband Dean, Reader Insert Mommy, Sam And Dogs, Practical Jokes, Meet Cute   Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, You, a Newborn, a Nurse Pairing(s): Dean + You Warnings: None Author’s Note: *This is a re-post minus tags and links in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; more post-story Overall Summary: Sam arrives at the hospital to meet his newborn niece.

Dean was waiting for Sam in the hallway.

“No flowers?”

“Uh, she hates flowers. Figured I’d ask what she wants for dinner, run get it.”

“Maybe I would’ve appreciated the flowers.”

“You know, I’m going to let this go, because you’ve had a long day, but not as long as hers, so—”

“Ask me.”

“Ask… what?”

“You know.”

“Dean, did you sneak some morphine, or whatever they’ve been—”

“Ask me what your niece’s name is. Actually, no - ask me what it’s not.”

His voice hadn’t ratcheted down to the deep-deep levels of pissed off - and, to be sure, there were several subtle variations Sam knew well, having been on the receiving end of all of them - but Dean was definitely serious, and had crossed his arms for good measure.

“I legit don’t know where you’re going with—-”

“The dogs. All your foster dogs. You took the good names.”

“Okay, now, that’s— I started volunteering way before she ever got pregnant, before you two even got serious, come to think of it. And I just chose a bunch of names that I thought of off the top of my—-”

“I picked up on that, yeah - around the time you used Jessie. And on that real jumpy, kinda twitchy one, which was extra weird. And was a boy.”

“Wait, wait - that was such a sweet dog, and besides - you really would’ve wanted to name your daughter after my dead fiancée?!”

“Oh, everybody’s dead, Sam!” Dean whisper-hissed. “And, no, not necessarily, but I do wonder what Jessica’d think about that…. about that…. what damn breed was that thing?”

“A mix.”

“Of?”

“A pooset and a corgat.”

“Sam. The hell.”

“A poodle-basset hound mix and a rat terrier-corgi mix shared a special hug—”

“So it’s a poocorgaset.”

Sam stared.

“Corsetpoogat.”

Sam brought a hand up, slowly rubbed his temples.

“Can I pull from the rest of the real names? I mean, ratbassgipoo is turning my crank.”

“But always the poo.”

“Of course always the poo, what the hell good does -dle do anybody?”

The nurse cleared her throat - she was leaning into the hallway, a leg and foot still in the room. “We’re done. Everything’s looking good. She said for you guys to come on in, but if you’re in the middle of…..”

“No! No, not at all. Hey, and this is my little brother, Sam. Sammy, this is our nurse, she’s been here the whole time, basically delivered Macka… Mmmuh… my kid.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but smiled, extending her hand and shaking the one offered, introducing herself as Dean slipped past them.

“Uncle Sam, huh?”

“Uh-huh…. oh god, I just now realized that!”

“Eh… could be worse.”

“Yeah?”

“You could have a name that your nurse had to re-write on the birth certificate five times - twice for misspells, then again because she ran out of room. Me. I’m that person. We’re talking about me, here.”

“What was the fourth? Since there was a fifth?”

“Oh, well, that one? Can’t take credit for - under ‘father’s name’, the proud papa got a case of the jitters and wrote your father’s name.”

“Jeez, I’m so… I’m so sorry…”

Sam would’ve sounded sincere if he hadn’t burst out laughing, but she immediately joined in. And though he didn’t know it at the time, he would be sincere with her many more times than not, and he’d be getting plenty of it in return. Starting that night, when he’d ask if she’d be interested in getting coffee sometime. She would be tips-to-toes sincere when saying she hoped to hear from him soon.

They’d still keep bursting into laughter, amongst and in between the sincere times, over a million different things through the years. There’d be the breath-stealing kind, prompted by the action of more amusing-than-scary hunts; the gasp-induced kind, stemming out of nervous relief over the hunts that weren’t; and her favorite, the bent-over, knotted-into-cramps kind, resulting from drunken Dean tales of hunts long past. And then his favorite, when the Winchester kids were raising hell, and there was nothing to do but laugh.

This time, this first time, after the birth of their niece, in the moment they’d met, would ultimately get ranked as the best, though it was followed closely by the tear-tinged round that erupted after another first, when they heard the justice of the peace say the words “husband and wife”.

But that’s another story.

For now, Sam closed the door quietly before tip-toeing to the bed, bending and giving you a kiss on the forehead. He glanced over to the bassinet and back, saying, “Nice work.”

“Work is right.”

Dean was seated in an armchair next to your bed, unlacing his boots, but paused and looked up at this, tacking on a clarification. “Work is damn right.”

You winked in acknowledgment before speaking again. “So listen, while I’ve got you both—-”

“We in trouble already?” Dean asked, changing his seat from the chair to the opposite side of the bed, perching near the end.

“—-I wanted to make sure you knew that I haven’t totally lost my marbles with the name, and I know that’s what you’re both thinking.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Dean just held up his hands in a sort-of surrender.

“Babe, I know I said I’d be fine with whatever you chose, but we ain’t lied to each other yet, and wow - it’s horrible.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t worry. It’s an old family name, and, I mean… we could squeak a nickname out of it… probably… you know how some of these Gaelic names are, it’s hard to tell how to pronounce them on sight.”

“So how’s it pronounced?” Sam asked.

“Get ready,” Dean muttered.

And Sam’s jaw dropped briefly as something largely incomprehensible - possibly worse than the name was on paper - came out of your mouth. “Sis?” he said.

“Bro?”

“That’s beyond horrible.”

“Yeah, it is. It is a vicious eyesore that she won’t be able to spell for who-knows-how-long, it makes ears bleed, and I’m a garbage parent for it, though I will point out her father was zero help.”

Now Dean’s jaw dropped, but clearly in faux offense. “I resent that - ‘cause every name I said I liked….”

“….every name we agreed on, that we loved for her….”

“….was already a dog’s name.”

You and Dean turned your heads in unison, leveling looks at Sam.

“I can’t have taken up all of them—-”

“Mary.”

“Jane.”

“Which also took out Mary Jane.”

“Erica.”

“Charlotte.”

“Bobby, which took away ‘Bobbie’.”

“Sandra.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, prompting you to roll your eyes.

“Right, right - not your fave. But we even would’ve been fine with Anne.”

“I haven’t named any of them Sandra or Anne,” Sam pointed out.

“No, but you did name that fire-engine-red cocker spaniel, the one that wouldn’t stop crawling into my lap, Anna - which was a real cute move, by the way,” Dean shot back.

“We’d already 86′d Anna, on your request, and I still haven’t heard that whole story,” you said, jabbing a finger into Dean’s chest before jabbing it in the air at Sam. “The one that really pissed me off? And I get to be pissed off because of the disaster that currently is my—”

“Whoa!” Dean interjected.

You gave him brief but pointed side-eye before getting back to fussing at Sam. “Millie. You took Millie. And she was an adorable dachshund, an absolute doll, but, I mean, come on.”

The tone of your voice had changed, leaving the realm of good-natured teasing and stepping into something akin to disappointment. It wasn’t lost on Sam, who looked to his shoes, swallowing. Then he let his gaze drift to the bassinet, keeping it there even as you went on, though now with gentle care.

“But I get it. We get it.”

“Get what?”

“That menagerie of furry fluff. Thinking they’re it. Only kids you’ll ever have.”

Sam was completely focused, spellbound by the rise-and-fall of the tiny, striped-blanket-bundle’s easy breaths.

Dean’s voice now, definitely deep, definitely serious, definitely one of the subtle variations Sam valued above all the rest, the slightly scolding one that hid a bottomless well of love.

“Can’t know the future, Sammy. I know sometimes we have, but…. nothing’s in stone. I sure as hell didn’t picture this for me. Ever.”  

Sam nodded - it was true, just didn’t feel like it.

“And even if it was? Written in stone? Find another big-ass hammer, grenade launcher, whatever - lay waste, kiddo,” you added.

The baby suddenly jolted herself with a sneeze, causing a reciprocal jolt across her audience. She shifted a little, smacked her lips a few times, didn’t show the first indication of waking up, that anything in her brand new world was even slightly out-of-sorts. Her uncle briefly thought on the realization of how hard he’d fight to keep her in such a place as he brought his eyes back to her parents.

And was surprised to find them grinning.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Check out her bracelet,” Dean said.

Sam looked to you, received a nod.

“Go ahead,” you said. “She won’t notice.”

She didn’t, but did get a hell of a grip on a finger of the hand that moved her arm, so he slid the bracelet around with a few fingers of his free hand. Sam fought his own grin as he tucked her arm back under the blanket. Well, mostly - he opted to leave her hand out, let the grip remain for as long as she was willing to hold on to him, then raised an eyebrow at his shoulder-shaking, snickering brother.

Dean kept it up as he edged to the head of the bed, scooting in next to you best he could in the cramped space, quieting only when he let his eyes close, no need to see as he tilted on his side, laced his fingers through yours like he’d done a million times before, the metal of matching angel-blessed bands briefly clinking.

“So your nurse… she was in on this?” Sam asked you.

You shrugged. “Except the father’s name snafu - that part was 100% true.”

Eyes still closed, Dean briefly gave a thumbs-up, took your hand again, went back to his dozing.

You shook your head at him a little, though a smile was on your face as you went on. “She’s the whole package, my man.”

Sam smiled, too. “Yeah. I noticed that.”

“Thought you might.”

“Speaking of thoughts, what made you think of it? Not the prank, I mean—”

“Turns out, my great-grandmother had a nice, simple, easily pronounceable, no-brainer spelling, peach of a maiden name.”

“And the story on this middle name?”

“She’ll prove herself worthy.”

“Hardy-har-har,” Sam replied flatly, but still with a smile.

“It was the first name on both our lists…”

Even in the dim light, you saw his eyes go shiny.

“….and, we hedged our bets - figured even if you ran out of ideas, you’d never name one of your fluffs after yourself. Thought we’d do it for you.”

.

Author’s Note #2: There’s some fun background behind this story (such as the bit about the crazy name prank & how the story came to be in the first place), and if you care to know it, look at the end of the original post of this story, which you can find via my Master Story Post (see below)!

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #Dean x Reader #Sam x O.C. #Nash Writes

[fanficimagery]

Imagine visiting Diagon Alley for the first time all because you wanted to see Weasley Wizard Wheezes in person. Some of their products ended up overseas and you were amazed by the creativity. But where you go, your newly acquired 'guard dragon' goes. How could you know that your pet would gain so much attention? Especially from the product makers themselves and their visiting brother who just so happens to be a Dragonologist. (Part 1 of 4)

Charlie X Reader (Gen Fic)

After a long meeting with the Minister of Magic and the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to ensure you have complete control over your pet, you and your trusty companion Drago are finally permitted to explore the magical side of England. Walking through the Ministry with Drago perched on your shoulder garners a little more attention than you're comfortable with, so before leaving the building you make sure to don your cloak and wait until the little beast crawls into the hood to hide.

Flooing from the Ministry to a place called the Leaky Cauldron is an average trip, but you have to take a moment to soothe Drago who's trilling from the safety of your hood.

"There, there," you coo as you reach over your shoulder. Drago's little head rubs up against your finger before playfully nipping you. "I forgot to warn you. I'm sorry."

He seems to chirp in response, accepting your apology and then you make your way to the bartender who, after you've shown him your wizardry passport and approval stamp from the Ministry, lets you in through an alley wall which opens up to Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley is vastly different from any American magical shopping center you've been to, but it's a good different. Where America has opted to adapt to modern times, England seems a bit stuck in the traditional ways.

Having already exchanged your money with the MACUSA before port-keying out, you're allowed to browse the alley before making your way to Weasley Wizard Wheezes. WWW is an eyesore of a building, but it's fun. It's meant to draw attention and the animatronics of one of their creators helps even more.

You smile at the variety of products on display through the window and chuckle as you push your way inside. It's a bit chaotic with the excitement of all the patrons, as well as all the flying objects and the miniature exploding fireworks. It's more than a little crowded, but that just adds to the thrill of browsing.

Walking up to a box where at least the top foot of it is made of plexiglass, you smile down at the pink and purple little creatures that the box says are called Pygmy Puffs. What seem like tiny gerbils with a fur problem hop around, all of them trilling and thriving under the attention of the witches and wizards cooing over them.

"Those make great pets, love." The voice is right over your shoulder and you tense momentarily until the owner of said voice walks forward to stand by your side. "Noisy little buggers, but definitely worth it. Or so my sister says."

The red haired individual is wearing magenta robes and a name tag that that reads Fred. You grin at him before looking back at the puffs. "They're really cute, but I have my hands full at the moment. Can't really take on another pet."

"That's quite the accent? American?"

"Bingo." Giving Fred your attention once more, you say, "Some of your products made it into my brother's home, courtesy of his children who have pen pals over here, and I needed to see this place for myself. Made a vacation of it and everything."

"Really?" His eyes light up and his hand flies up to his heart in appreciation. "An entire trip across seas just to see what my twin and I made up? I like you."

"Ooh, so you're Weasley? Good job, man," you tell him while gesturing around his place. He beams in response. "Can you help me out then? I'm actually looking for a few things in particular."

"Anything for you, my lovely American." As he offers you his elbow, you hook your arm through his with a laugh. You feel Drago shift and his little claws pinch the back of your neck, and you know he's finally gotten curious enough to take in his surroundings. "Uh, love? Don't scream, but I think you have a stowaway in your hood."

Sheepishly chuckling, you release Fred and take a step back. "Oh. About that... are pets allowed in here? If not, I can go find a room somewhere and drop him off."

Fred's eyebrows raise. "You keep your pet in your hood?"

"Drago usually rides on my shoulder, but people at the Ministry were staring. I felt self-conscious so I told him to hop on in."

"Drago?" His brow furrows. "That sounds like something you'd name a-" He trails off, eyes widening over your shoulder. "Dragon," he gulps. "Merlin's beard, woman. You have a pet dragon?!"

"Yes? I-If he's not welcome, it's no problem. I can-"

"Wait! No, it's fine," Fred's quick to assure you. "Is he- can I-"

"Pet him?" You chuckle, your shoulders slumping in relief. "Yeah." Clicking you tongue then, you pull your hair to one side as Drago climbs up onto your shoulder. With his wings tucked back and head held up proudly, Drago trills a little tune.

"Hey, Freddie, have you seen- is that a bloody dragon?!"

Startled at the voice, Drago goes on the defense and hisses before blowing out a stream of smoke at the apparent twin of Fred who's gaping at your pet. You gasp and immediately lift your arm, you letting Drago climb towards your elbow. Then quickly scooping him up, you tuck him into the crook of your other elbow as if cradling a newborn baby. "There, there, Drago. I'm fine. No need to get mean."

By now there's a small crowd gathered around you, everyone whispering excitedly and pointing.

"He's perfectly legal," you say just loud enough for the eavesdroppers to hear. "I, uh, I have the papers to prove it. Things in America are different and your Minister signed off on me keeping him during my brief stay here."

"No, no. You're fine. Isn't she, Georgie?" Fred says. "Oi!" He then shouts at everyone crowding around. "Back to browsing or take your leave. There's nothing to see here!"

"You heard the less handsome twin," George shouts too. "Move it!"

Chuckling at their antics, you still feel a bit overwhelmed with the attention. Drago is starting to pick up on your anxiety and is becoming rather restless in your arms, so you direct him back under cover. "In the hood, Drago," you murmur near his head and let him nuzzle your nose. "Be a good boy and lay low. We'll be gone in a bit."

Chirping twice, Drago's claws dig into your cloak as he crawls his way up your chest and over your shoulder into the hood. But instead of completely being hidden from view, he rests his head on our shoulder and blinks his yellow eyes at the twins.

"Blimey," they sigh in unison, causing you to huff in amusement.

"Is he really your pet?" George asks.

"Yeah. Ever heard of guard dogs that no-majs keep? I think you call them muggles here?" They quickly nod. "Well witches and wizards in America have guard dragons," you tell them. "With a bit of no-maj science and our magic, they were able to genetically modify dragon eggs so the dragon inside wouldn't be as aggressive or wouldn't grow as large. When they hatch, they bond with the one who's intending to purchase them."

"What breed is he? And how large will he grow?" Fred asks in awe.

Smiling as you reach over your shoulder to run a finger over his head, you say, "Black Scale Red Tip. And he'll grow to be as large as a fully grown boar."

"Wicked," Fred then beams. "So listen, Georgie and I will help you with whatever it is you're looking for and as repayment, what say you drop by our flat for dinner?" At your widening eyes, he smirks but holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Nothing like that, love. Dinner between friends. I promise."

"Oh. Um, yeah. Okay."

"Great!" George claps his hands, eager to get started. "So what is it you're looking for exactly?"

"Well," you slowly grin as you reach into your pocket. "I actually have a list.

After purchasing a couple containers of bruise paste, several boxes of Weasley Wildfire Whiz-bangs, Patented Daydream Charms and Canary Creams, you make your way back to the Leaky where the barman Tom apparently also rented out rooms.

Just before seven you head back to WWW where they're cashing out the last remaining customers and closing up shop. The flat they live in is above the shop and with Drago tucked safely in your hood once more, you wait patiently by the stairs for them to finish up.

Then hanging out with the Weasley twins, while Drago happily pounces on the coffee table between the three of you, is as if you're hanging out with friends you've known for years. George fetches take-out from someplace they swear has the best food, and you feed Drago dragonette treats and little pieces of raw meat you had prepared since before you had left home.

After all the human food is consumed, the attention is once again all on Drago.

"Ignis." Drago rears his little head back before blowing a small stream of fire at his piece of meat and the twins sigh in awe. "The older he gets, the stronger our bond gets. He will also protect those he becomes familiar with."

"Shame you don't live 'round here," George muses. "I wouldn't mind this little menace flying around the shop."

Smiling, you watch as Fred reaches out to rub a finger up and down the side of Drago's neck. He trills happily and you snort, knowing full well that you're upcoming week in England is going to result in the little dragon being spoiled rotten.

Their floo suddenly activates, the green flames flaring brighter as yet another redhead is spilled from it's false warmth. "Boys, please tell me you got leftovers. Mum's driving me mental."

As the redhead pats off any soot, Drago chirps his confusion. The redhead freezes and glances up, his eyes widening upon sighting the dragon sitting on the coffee table.

"Bloody hell. What's going on here?!"

"Now, now, Charlie," Fred grins. "Y/N and her guard dragon Drago are our guests here. Watch the language, prat."

The stocky redhead with a few burns and scars littering his arms blinks owlishly. "I'm sorry, but did you say guard dragon?"

"Yep." George smirks. "Apparently the Americans are more barmy than we thought."

"Excuse me," you chuckle, taking mock offense. "Did you just call us crazy? I'd have gone with brilliant, thank you very much."

"Barmy is correct," the newcomer says. "This is a bloody dragon, not a house pet!"

"Relax, Charlie," Fred then says, trying to calm the situation down. "There's a bunch of muggle science and magic involved to prevent the dragon from being like their larger counterparts. Drago, here, will only grow to be the size of a boar."

That seems to knock some of the anger and fear from Charlie's sails, he sighing and moving further into the room. "So he's harmless then?"

"Eh," you shrug. "Right now, yes. But when he reaches his full maturity, he'll be a dragon to be reckoned with. I pity the idiot who tries to mess with me or invade my home when Drago is there."

"And owning him is actually legal?"

"One hundred percent." Charlie takes a seat on the floor and it looks as if he's itching to reach out and touch. "But to be fair, I'm making it sound like it's so easy to go out and purchase a dragon. It's really not. You can petition to purchase a dragon, but then there's a background check the government puts you through. And, if after hatching, the two of you don't bond then you can't take the dragon home. It'll go to someone else who can form a bond with him or her."

"Enough talking, you git. There's a bloody dragon in the middle of our flat," Fred sighs. "Play now, ask questions later."

George tosses another piece of meat onto the table. Drago hops up to it, his tiny talons clicking against the table as he impatiently waits for the command. "Ignis." George grins as the meat goes up in flames before the little creature gobbles it down.

"Are you familiar with dragons?" You ask Charlie since he can't take his eyes off yours.

He numbly nods before answering. "I work on the Dragon Reserve in Romania."

"Oh! So you're used to this then."

"Not really. Mother dragons are very protective. We can't take the chance to manhandle the dragonettes and getting our scent on them. We don't want the mum to sniff us out when we eventually have to get close to her again."

"That blows," you frown. "Place your hand, palm up, on the table and click your tongue."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Charlie hesitantly does as he's told, he then clicking his tongue twice. Drago hops up to his hand, sniffing him curiously before tilting his head to the side as if sizing him up. Then sensing no ill will, he hops onto Charlie's hand and crawls up his arm until he's perched on the red head's shoulder with his tail wrapped behind his neck. "Uhhh.."

You laugh at his expression, torn between being wary and being in awe that he has a dragon on his shoulder. "It's his favorite place to be."

Charlie practically melts when Drago trills happily before rubbing his head against against the scruff on Charlie's cheek. "Marry me," he rumbles.

Fred and George erupt with laughter, and you roll your eyes. "I don't know about the women here, but my panties don't drop for a hot redhead snuggling my dragon, Mr. Weasley."

"Did you hear that, Georgie," Fred muses. "Our new friend thinks Charlie's hot."

"She's clearly mental," George huffs. "Everyone knows we're the most handsome Weasley's."

"And everyone knows you're also gits," Charlie says. "Bugger off."

"Oi! It's our flat and our friend," George grumbles. "You bugger off."

Rolling your eyes, you give a short shrill whistle. Drago perks up before taking flight, his miniature wings holding him up the short distance to your shoulders. "That's enough, boys. Fred, George, thank you for the company and dinner, but I really should be getting back to my room at the Leaky."

"Will we see you tomorrow?" Fred asks, he and his brothers immediately standing up as you do.

"I don't see why not," you answer honestly. "I've got a week's stay before I port-key out. I mainly came to see your shop, but if either of you are free and want to show me around.. I'll happily meet up with you."

"It's a date, love." Charlie smirks lazily and offers you his elbow. "Now come on. I'll walk you back to the Leaky. I reckon little Drago doesn't like apparition or the floo."

Fred and George watch as their brother and Y/N make their exit, the twins beaming all the while.

"What are the chances mum will give us all the credit for finally introducing Charlie to a decent bird?" Fred wonders.

"Chances are good.. unless Charlie runs off to America and confesses his undying love to the American and tries to buy his own dragon. Then she'll blame us and hex our bollocks off."

Fred looks to George and George looks to Fred. Slowly, but surely, their amusement vanishes.

"Merlin's balls, we're dead."

"So dead."

#fanficimagery #charlie weasley x reader #charlie x reader #hp gen fic x reader #charlie weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #fred weasley #george weasley #charlie weasley #dragons #imagine

[mashitandsmashit]

America’s Got Talent: Season 14 - Quarter-Finals 3

Okay, once again, I gotta get to bed soon, so I’ll try to make this brief...

12: Gonzo. Alright, I’ve had my laugh...This just didn’t have the fun or charisma that his previous performances had...Honestly, those kids stole the whole show! Somebody give THEM an act!

11: MacKenzie. Look, this guy has a nice voice, but this song just DIDN’T fit! My boredom with him has reached its apex, and it should be ILLEGAL to be boring when performing David Bowie! We already have better singers in the next round, and some better singers who DIDN’T make the next round...He’ll just take up space...

10: Benicio Bryant. This didn’t stick with me either, but at the very least he made a pretty danceable little jam, so I wouldn’t mind him staying a little longer...

9: Jackie Fabulous. I’m sorry, but this all felt kinda basic compared to her last set...Of course, her flat delivery does nothing for me either...But I guess one or two little chuckles made it, so it could go either way for me...

8: Matthew Richardson. Initially, I agreed with Simon that he did very little to step it up, save one or two little tricks I haven’t seen him do before...But then Matthew brought up a pretty nice point: It cannot be easy swinging around on that thing while getting soaked like that! So with that factored in, it actually is pretty impressive! That said, there’s still not enough variation to make this much of a show, unless it was a small part of a larger show...

7: Eric Chien. I’m with Simon, as close-up magic is getting pretty repetitive on this show, and there are very few surprises left that they can really blow my mind with...This guy really is living in Shin Lim’s shadow, sadly...And I know a lot of people insist that he has tricks he hasn’t done yet that can rival or even surpass Shin, but why haven’t we seen them yet? On the plus side, his sleight of hand was impressive, as usual...But each trick keeps getting weaker than the last! I may not want this guy to win, but I would like it if he made the Finals, so I REALLY want to like him more than I do...

6: Dom Chambers. Eric probably is still the better magician overall, but this guy is a better showman and has a lot more charisma...That being said...I had the trick figured out early on! He clearly used basic mathematics and set it so that everyone would end up on Tape Face no matter which male act they picked at the beginning (and I STARTED on Tape Face!) But hey, points for presentation, and mega-points for bringing the mime himself on for a little cameo! Plus he was able to factor in Simon being a clueless buffoon and not following the instructions properly...Now THAT is a fine touch! (Also, at the beginning, all I could think of was, “Hello, Dom!” “Hello, Dom!” “Hello, Dom!” “Mr. DNA! Where did you come from!?”)

5: Detroit Youth Choir. I was iffy on them before, but this really was a fun, well-choreographed, and fairly moving performance! I was pretty certain that I liked Ndlovu Youth Choir better, but now it’s a fair bit closer between them...That said, it’s hard to tell where they’ll place in the results tomorrow...

4: Lukas & Falco. They’re really growing on me! Solid tricks, fun (if weird) set, and the music brought me back to a more innocent time...

3: Berywam. I’ve got nothing to add that I haven’t said about them before, but I hope America sees the appeal in them like I do...

2: Marcin Patrzalek. Look at my Golden Buzzer...Isn’t he wonderful!? ...Buuuut, I will do the unthinkable and agree with Simon on his little criticisms on both the stage (it was an eyesore) and his lack of variation! We all know how good he is at this by now; Question is, how much can he mix it up and turn this act into a real show? I love him for his TALENT, but as I said before, I’m not sure if this is an act I’d pay to see in Vegas for an hour and a half, at least from what I’ve seen so far...I feel TERRIBLE saying that about my own Golden Buzzer...But I have faith that he will be voted through regardless and will be given the opportunity to take Simon’s criticisms to heart, and hopefully give us something REALLY special next time!

1: Emanne Beasha. I didn’t want to give her #1, mainly due to the complaints about her that I expressed before...But the night’s been such a mixed bag, and I would actually come off as a bit of a hypocrite considering that I’ve been holding up the previous entry so much when he kinda has a similar issue: A great talent, but not much means of mixing it up or surprising me...On the other hand, I’ve never seen a talent like him before, whereas Emanne is...Are we on #4 or 5 now with preteen girls singing opera now...? That being said, I suppose Emanne DID step it up more, and the song was new for this show (which at this point is ALL I ask for from all of these opera acts). So whatever...I guess tonight was carefully crafted to assure that she would look better than anyone else, which is annoying considering some of my favorite acts performing tonight...But mark my words: I do not want to see another child opera singer on this show again! And you gotta love the title of her video on Youtube saying she will “SURPRISE you with her voice!” Really? I mean, has nobody else been watching this show long enough!? Overall, great enough for #1 this week, but still TERRIBLY overrated!

Yup...Mixed opinions for everybody! That makes for one mixed bag of a night!

My Votes: I gave them all to Marcin, Berywam and Lukas & Falco, because those are the three I feel inclined to help!

Result Predictions: Emanne’s a lock, Marcin looks safe enough, and there is a chance that both magicians will go through (and I kinda changed my mind regarding what I said about that before). Gonzo is out, and Matthew probably won’t make it either, but he still has his supporters who are angry at Simon for buzzing him...Benicio’s somehow one of the most popular singers of the season, so he’ll likely go through, and Berywam will probably slip in there somewhere...The rest are a tough call...

See you tomorrow when...Well, apparently it will involve even more former contestants than the first QF week...

[blacknovelist]

The First Step (Pyre fic)

So I had this thought, for a whole bunch of fics for Pyre, and god I’m so in love with it, I want to do it. But the blackwagon is very, very important to this series and so, naturally, I needed a fic for the finding of the blackwagon. So it’s more or less better if I post this as-is and turn it into a series rather than a multi-chap as I first thought (which is a relief, because I’m still not ready after going through A Place to Be tbh)

Shoutout to @littlestmedic​, who wrote this super cute Pyre fic that gave me the idea to call Jodariel “Mama Jodi”. And who might’ve given me a little bit of inspiration to include some “i don’t want this to end” feelings, maybe (the rest of it is my own personal feelings anyway because i’m still in pain and want to keep enjoying my days with all of my friends happy and free don’t look at me) Also shoutout to the SGG discord, who helped me make the decision to add that one part with Tariq. You know what I’m talking about.

 Attempting to study Hedwyn’s vague-ass story about how he found the blackwagon for this fic was an experience and a half. My first draft of the first part is something that deserves to burn, but that’s what happens when you write on an airplane, I guess. *shrug*

[AO3]

Strange things can be heard among rumors in the Downside - the strangest are the ones that are true.

(before it learns how to be a home again, it must be found; and in the end, it is.)

It starts months before you are plunged down the river - not in the pearly streets of the Commonwealth, where the seeds of a plan are still being planted, but deep among the dung-boulder homes and pearly-white bone forests of Jomuer Valley. Beneath the light of the moon and stars, among the five exiles drinking and eating beside the sputtering fire, a trader swings their arms as they regale their audience with theatrical exaggeration.

“…and these folks, they’re rushing about fighting each other, wearing these bright eyesore dresses and freaky white masks for all the stars to see. Like the Commonwealth’ll see and take ‘em back somehow.” They gesture upwards as the group devolves into another round of laughter and snorting. “Tossing a glittering ball and lighting up the place with bonfires like they want the howlers ten leagues off to know what’s going on. Lunatics, they are!”

“There’ll always be idiots out there in the world,” a demon rumbles, tearing into their plate of roasted lizard.

“Aye, you said it, El,” One cur chortles, “and that’s somethin’ I’ll toast to!” She starts gulping down her drink by the mouthful, and the others cheer her on.

A brunet leans over to slug the arm of the man next to him, laughing. “Good thing we ain’t out there to catch whatever those guys’ve got. The things that happen in the Downside, eh?”

Hedwyn chuckles. “Indeed, my friend.” He glances at his temporary companions, but his eyes soon drift back to the smoldering logs. “The things that happen.”

.

.

The first rule to surviving the Downside is to never stop moving.

Even the bog-crones, who often stake their claims in the Flagging Hands as soon as they arrive, do what they can to keep busy and ensure they never have a chance to realize how desolate and cruel the Commonwealth’s merciful sentences really are. It’s important to keep moving forward and leave the world above behind (both physically and mentally) so the burdens of the Downside (also physical and mental in equal measure) don’t have the chance to catch up and kill you.

Unfortunately, that means making connections and finding people down here is a near miracle if you don’t know what you’re doing, and a difficult endeavor nonetheless even if you do. Hedwyn’s only saving grace, in the end, is the fact that there aren’t that many demons around. It isn’t hard to keep his ear to the ground and ask the right people the right questions until he’s pushing and stumbling his way past the crags splitting Jomuer Valley from the Prairie, coming across the campsite of Captain Jodariel herself.

Her low grunt as he steps (trips, really) into the light would’ve been intimidating, if the sound were any less familiar to his ears.

“Ah, hello, Jodi.” Hedwyn beams. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Hello, Hedwyn,” Jodariel says. “Should I be worried about the reason you’ve come trekking across the Downside without help to find me, or is this another one of your passing whims?”

“I’d like to think it’s neither-” His pack clangs to the ground as the pots and pans inside bang together- “but I have a feeling you would disagree with me. Besides, explanations can wait. We haven’t seen each other in some time. Have you eaten yet? I managed to pick up some things from the traders by the Spring that I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Did you now?” She pauses and sighs, before standing up. “Very well. I think I may have enough provisions left for both of us.”

.

.

Having lived in exile for so long, Jodariel knows exactly how things best work here in the Downside. The problem instead lies in the fact that she is a demon and doesn’t usually associate with any settlements in either of the most populous regions (Flagging Hands and its crones aside, as Jodi refused to discuss the place), and as a result cannot really help Hedwyn hunt down the info he’s looking for. She does, however, know someone who can.

Rukey Greentail is someone he’s only met briefly in the past, when the cur wrangled him good deals at the Slugmarket, shared a night and drinks, and extended his services to the nomad not long after his exile. “You ever need somethin’ done,” Rukey had said, “you just come right on over, chum! I’d be happy to help you out, and nobody’s got connections down here like I do.”

It doesn’t take long to find him either - the message runner down at Hollowroot costs them a dinner and some of Jodi’s scavenged herbs, but nothing they can’t easily replace, and within a week the trio is sitting together, lunch hanging from the sticks at the makeshift fire pit’s edge.

“So,” Rukey says, switching between looking at the duo and eyeing the spits, “what brings you two to good ol’ Greentail? Not that I ain’t happy to see you chums, but Jodariel isn’t usually one for making house calls so we can drink together.”

“That’s correct, Greentail,” Jodariel says. “We have our reasons for contacting you, but the nature of those reasons are less business-like in nature and somewhat more… personal.”

“Oh?” One ear shoots up.

“It’s a crazy plan. You’re the one who knows people, out of the three of us, and you have the best chances of finding what we need to make it work. It’s a shot in the dark, I’ll admit.” Hedwyn prods the fire, turns the logs. “But our reward, I think, is worth the trouble, at least. If it happens to be true.”

“And what, pray tell, is the reward to your so-called crazy plan?”

“Freedom.”

The crackle of wood fills the air for just a moment.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard him, Greentail,” Jodariel rumbles. “Outlandish as it sounds, I believe he’s onto something.”

“Well of course you do, isn’t there some rule about mums and their sons that has to do with always believing them?” Rukey falters for just a moment. “Did you guys forget that part where exile is a life sentence?! If there was some kind of secret path to leave this dump, don’t you think everyone’d be jumping all over it already?”

“Not unless the secret to freedom is so unbelievable that no one thinks it’s true,” Hedwyn says. “Look, Rukey. I know it’s a tall order, asking you to trust us and hunt something down without a guarantee to you, or to any of us. But if we don’t at least look into it, or try to figure it out, then there’s definitely no way out of here. We’d be giving up before we’ve even begun, and I don’t think I could forgive myself for something like that. If this whole thing turns out to be fake, I’ll repay you. Every piece of it by pocket, I promise. If it turns out to be true, though…. This just might be our ticket home.”

Rukey eyes him, expression unreadable.

“…alright, you got me, chum. I’ll bite.” He settles down, and reaches for his share of lunch. “Tell me more about what we’re doing, then.”

It’s small, but enough tension drains from his shoulders to fill a lake. Hedwyn smiles.

“We don’t have many leads, but it starts somewhere up north….”

.

.

“This better work,” Rukey grumbles for the umpteenth time as the messenger vanishes into the shrubbery. “You guys are lucky I already have a good idea of who to ask ‘bout this. It costs a lot to guarantee zipped lips, and even more to get a run to and from the middle of nowhere like this.”

“Discretion is necessary,” Jodariel says. “If word got out as to what we are searching for and for what reasons…”

“People calling us crazy would be the least of our problems,” Hedwyn says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Rukey sighs. “I guess we’re camping out here for a while longer.”

.

.

The sun rests well above the horizon without a cloud to obscure it, leaving the Downside bright and warm in the surprisingly picturesque afternoon. Jodariel stalks the length of the clearing with a deliberate slowness, scanning the trees and skies for any less-than-friendly company. Rukey sits by the ashes of the fire, taking stock of what few materials and possessions he has on hand, calculating which ones can be sold or used or traded should he need to. There’s a rustle in the underbrush and they both pause, alert, until it fades back into silence.

“Hey, Jodi, uh…” Rukey fidgets with a glass bauble. “How long’d that messenger say they’d be talking to Hedwyn, again?”

“They didn’t.”

“….right.” He turns back to his belongings, sighs, and starts counting again.

It isn’t until shadows start stretching long and they’ve started preparing for the evening that Hedwyn finally returns, alone. He smiles in greeting.

“I’m back.”

“Took you guys a while!” Rukey grins, bounding over. Jodariel doesn’t stop tending the flames, but she dips her head towards him and there’s a quirk in her lips.

“How did your meeting go?” She asks.

“Just fine, I think. The messenger left to go inform their employer.” Hedwyn turns to his supplies and effortlessly heaves his cooking pot up - Rukey turns to finish clearing space. “They asked a few questions, answered some of mine, and left me with quite a bit to think about in the meantime. Said word would be back before the next moon passes, at the latest.”

“So….. it’s true, then?” Rukey asks. “This whole fighting under the stars thing, it’s real?”

“They kind of twisted out of a straight answer, but… I think it is. The fact that someone came at all says quite a lot.” Hedwyn pauses. “They also left me the name of the one your contact reached out to. Said he’d probably get in touch with me directly, after this.”

Jodariel looks up. “Who is it?”

“Someone by the name of Sandalwood.”

.

.

After the second messenger arrives to deliver word from Sandalwood, the three relocate their semi-permanent camp to the edge of the pass leading to Jomuer Valley. Partly because, as Jodariel tells them, the local fauna is often too wary of the monstrous form of the Ridge of Gol to come within sight of it, but also because the messenger informs them that they will come from the north, and this makes communications easier for both sides anyway.

For weeks, Hedwyn’s days consist of their small clearing and sputtering fires, of Rukey slipping off for days at a time to chat it up with his associates and Jodariel wandering off to patrol or in search for useful flora, of familiar strangers appearing like they’ve been there the whole time to ask more questions and deliver more news and bits of conversation from Sandalwood. It isn’t even until halfway through the second month of their communications, while Jodi and Rukey are away from camp, that the dozenth messenger comes with something new, in the form of a sheet of paper.

“In the Sandfolds,” She says to him, holding the paper up for him to see, “to the west and south, where the River Sclorian delivered us into the Downside.” The messenger traces a crude map in the corner, then taps at the next image, a black and white ink sketch of a wagon with a massive horn through its top section to serve as what seemed to be a lantern holder. “Find the blackwagon of the Nightwings, and take it with you. Bring your friends, the two of them.” Then she points to the third image - a circle with an intricate pattern traced in black, all curved lines connected and overlapping each other. “This will be set in its floor, and will be how you know you’ve found what you seek. You’ll find almost everything you need inside the cabin.”

“For the Rites, you mean?”

“Yes.” The messenger doesn’t so much as blink. “Nothing within will be unnecessary to your journey.. Once you’ve found the wagon, there’s one more thing you need to do. I trust you know what this symbol is.” Her finger moves to the fourth picture; one that sends an unconscious thrill through his heart, even if it means nothing in exile. “Find a Reader, take them with you. How doesn’t matter, as long as they are willing to read for you until you no longer require their services - you could buy their loyalty, for all the Scribes may care. The Book of Rites is the key to unlocking the Rites themselves, and there’s more than enough copies for you all - you’ll need to wear the robes, as well. There will be a set for each of you, and then some. Sandalwood has requested you try and find someone for each mask and set you have.” The paper is flipped to reveal a series of diagrams - instructions of some kind, Hedwyn realizes. “These are directions he gave me, for you. Follow them as best you can.”

She meets his gaze, sheet held between them, and smiles. It’s the first time he’s seen any of Sandalwood’s people show emotion. “'I will eagerly await the day we may meet, face to face. May the Scribes watch over you and see you find the true freedom you seek, young man.’”

The messenger disappears back into the Downside from whence she appeared, leaving him there, the guide clutched in his hand the only sign she’d been here at all.

.

.

“You are certain this is the right place?”

“As much as I can be, Jodi.”

Hedwyn examines the map on the corner one last time, before folding the sheet and tucking it into the bag on his belt. In front of them the wreckage of exile cages twist out of the sands around the mouth of the River like the silver bones of some long-dead titan, ripped apart and in various states of rust and decay. A few are more intact than others and some are still trapped in the rocks and currents, but all of them are devoid of the lives they once held.

“And I thought I’d never have to see these things again,” Rukey sighs, knocking a bar of metal back into the river. “So you’re absolutely sure that wagon’s supposed to be somewhere near here, right?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then we’d best start looking,” Jodariel says. “Before night falls and the howlers come.”

Rukey looks heavenwards. “Yeah, yeah…”

It’s only thanks to a flash of green and red among the browns and grays of the Sandfolds - from a potted plant sitting on the back step and a torn scrap from the hanging flags, no less - that they find the wagon, in the end. The greater half of the day is spent scooping the mounds of dirt and sand off the transport until they realize it’s trapped in a rut, and the other half of the day is spent attempting to lever and push it free until Jodariel gets impatient and heaves it out in one huge burst.

“Thanks, Jodi.” Hedwyn leans on his knees for a moment, heaving, before holding the canteen in her direction, She nods, and takes it.

Figuring out how to ready the blackwagon for the night after that is a trial and a half. Silently, they all give thanks to the Scribes that Sandalwood had the foresight to send them a *manual*.

.

.

“Hedwyn. I believe we have a problem.”

“What is it, Jodi?”

“There’s a man in here. Sitting in the corner. He doesn’t appear to be moving.”

“Huh. Whaddya know, there is.”

“…I don’t think I recall the messenger or Sandalwood saying anything about someone being in the wagon.”

“Maybe he’s a minstrel? He’s got an instrument and everything.”

“Greentail……”

“Is he alright?”

“Well, uh. I just tried waking him up and, he didn’t so much as twitch. Did get some really weird vibes from the guy, though. I don’t think he’s dead, at least. That’s something, right?“

“To you, perhaps, but it still leaves the matter of what to do about him. He is not dead, but he has not stirred, and there is no telling how long he has been here or if he is a threat.”

“Why don’t we just leave him here? Not like he’s hurting anything, or in the way. He’s even sitting in the corner.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Rukey might be right. We can’t just leave him in the Sandfolds when he’s unconscious, and if we can’t wake him, there isn’t much else we can do until he comes to on his own.”

“…….”

“If you want to try, be my guest, Jodi. But we aren’t thinking about kicking him out until he’s awake.”

“…Very well.”

“Great! Now that that debate is over, maybe we should figure out how we’re gonna look after the horde of drive-imps in the rafters?”

“The what.”

.

.

As it turns out, finding a Reader is something far easier said than done. While the blackwagon makes it much easier to get around so Rukey can send word out to his various contacts and associates through Hollowroot, given how long literacy has been banned in the Commonwealth, well. There just aren’t many Readers in the Downside to be found.

Or rather, as they learn from what they occasionally stumble upon among the torn cages by the river, there aren’t often Readers (or other exiles, for that matter) to be found alive.

“I’ll keep my ears open,” Rukey promises, sending another messenger out to yet another vague associate he knows. “But, maybe, we’ll have better odds if we just camp it out by the river and try to find some folks that actually make it down? At least that way we can ask ‘em straight off the bat instead of chasing a bunch of Downside cryptids that may or may not exist at all, let alone know how to read.”

“Incredible, Greentail,” Jodariel says. “That’s actually a fairly reasonable plan, aside from the abysmal rate of survival the River Sclorian tends to provide.”

“Thank you, Jodi,” Rukey drawls. “My plans are always impeccable, after all.” He would be angrier if it weren’t for the faint smile on her face and the fact that this is probably the first joke he’s ever heard her crack - as it is… he lets it slide, this once. “Besides, I’m sure we’ll find someone alive someday!”

“Perhaps.”

(It wasn’t funny. Really, he swears.)

The three of them settle into a new routine as they familiarize themselves with both the Nightwings’ blackwagon and living together in their surprisingly roomy new home. Some days are spent venturing the Downside Prairie, picking up rumors and word from Rukey’s people, selling what plants and trinkets they salvage from the land when they have the chance; others are spent wearing the raiments and masks they’d gotten along with the wagon, sweeping the Sandfolds and checking the River Sclorian for traces of new cages, new exiles, potential survivors of the treacherous trip downriver.

It’s difficult, sometimes. Hedwyn, having grown used to living alone, tends to leave his belongings in unusual and obscure places that make avoiding or finding them difficult for anyone that isn’t Hedwyn; Jodi tends to pace when she’s worried or in deep thought, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that her footsteps shake the wagon when she’s not careful and Rukey can only stand the squeak of the floorboards for so long; Rukey’s personality in general tends to get on Jodariel’s nerves, and vice versa. Occasionally, the hopelessness of finding nothing but scraps and remains starts to get at all of them, and they need to step back from watching the rushing waters and shifting sands for a while.

But some days, they make it work. Rukey finds ways to seem busy or occupied and helps Jodariel forage for supplies, and she works at not nagging him; Hedwyn starts restricting “his space” for his heavier possessions, so Rukey can stop running into them; Jodariel tries to restrict her contemplation for when they’re stopped or she’s off the blackwagon, and to avoid the noisiest of floorboards when she can’t. Some days it’s easy to gather around the fire and melt together into the comfortable aura, to become something that looks just a little bit more like a family with every hour that passes.

'I wouldn’t have had this in the Commonwealth,’ Hedwyn marvels some nights, when the stars glimmering above them seem just a bit brighter than they usually do. 'It would be close, maybe, but I’d still be on the Bloodborder, fighting the Harps. Fighting Fikani’s people.’

Once, the thought of fighting the age-old war had filled him with excitement (with awe, with a hope that maybe, someday, he could be like Mama Jodi, who always lifted him in her strong battle-scarred arms). Now, the idea leaves his head spinning.

If finding a Reader doesn’t work out for them, he knows, they will likely return to their lives before this. They will go back to wandering the Downside, surviving in the only ways they know how.

But is that all you want to do? Survive?

Silently, privately, he prays to the Scribes that their plan works. That he doesn’t have to watch his friends leave until nothing has changed and he doesn’t know when (or if) they might see each other again. He prays, for only a moment, that he can hold onto this just a little bit longer.

.

.

“So, what I’m thinking is, given how long we’ve gone without seeing anyone come out of that river, we’re long overdue to finding at least one person alive, y'know?” Rukey grins. “I’ve got a feeling. Today’s gonna be the day, I just know it!”

“That would be far more believable if you hadn’t said that last week as well,” Jodariel says. “What’s so different about today, Greentail?”

“Just a hunch.”

“If acting on a hunch means we might find something more than sand, I think I’ll take it,” Hedwyn jokes. Their cursory scan of the riverbank hadn’t provided any new leads, but as always, Rukey stays optimistic.

He turns back to the controls, veering around another splintered steel cage (it’s fresh, if the lack of rust and wear are any indication). Directing the drive-imps is surprisingly easy once one understand the basics of it, and as long as you keep the critters well-fed they seem content to follow orders.

Even if those orders consist of slamming on the brakes so hard you nearly fling yourself and everyone in the blackwagon right out the window.

“Ugh, not that I’m insulting your driving skills, chum, but WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!?”

“For once, I’m with Greentail. What’s going on, Hedwyn?”

The tips of his ears turn pink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to slam on them like that. But outside, in front of the wagon - I think there’s someone there.”

The impostor members of the Nightwings pause. Then, Jodariel and Rukey are stepping towards the front window, towards the unfortunate and sad lump sitting in the distance.

“…So there is.”

Rukey beams. “Well, what are we waiting for? How’s about we go and say hello?”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

.

.

Out on the barren wastes, you sink low to the sands, your ragged cloak doing little to shield you from the blistering winds. The fear your arrival brought you has started to fade, replaced by the numbness exhaustion and starvation brings you. Your vision is starting to swim. You won’t last much longer, like this.

Off in the distance, you hear the rumble of a wagon.

#pyre #pyre fic #jodariel #hedwyn #rukey greentail #blacknovelist writes #the nightwings #a brief appearance from the reader at the v end #pre canon #hi 2am how are u today #skipped the ffnet crosspost bc there isn't even a pyre archive. what's the point #maybe i'll do it later but fuck im tired man #also.its spoiler free!

[avengxrp]

Writing Wednesday, Episode 2

Hey guys! Here is your very second edition of Writing Wednesday. This week was entirely by Nikeeta’s efforts. She’s got her degree in writing so this is some helpful stuff. She and I were working together and talking about all the common mistakes we’ve done and since forgotten about since high school. So without further ado, here is your next edition of Writing Wednesday! 

Writing Wednesday - Common Misspellings and Grammar: Writing Tips Edition

We’ve all done it. Used the wrong word, didn’t proofread our post before sending it off into the big bad world of tumblr with a glaring error that you only spot after either a nap or your third cup of coffee. Some of us even have fucking writing degrees and yet...!

PART ONE: Common Misspellings

Lose / Loose

Lose - the opposite of win Loose - loose morals - i.e. like Tony’s bed partners (sorry Kate)

Definitely / Defiantly

Definitely - 100% certain

Defiantly - 100% disobedience

Effect / Affect

Effect - (noun) use when talking about a result or if it follows one of these words: "into", "on", "take", "the", "any", "an" as well as "or."

Affect - (verb) use it when trying to describe influencing someone or something rather than causing it.

Weather / Whether

Weather - sun, rain, hail, sleet, snow

Whether - “I’m not sure whether I should have whiskey or vodka.”

A lot / alot

A lot - of space; of something

Alot - not actually a word

Then / Than

Then - sequence of time - i.e. first we drank a lot, and then we did something stupid and got arrested

Than - a comparison- i.e. I’d rather poke myself in the eyes than meet Tony Stark again

Allusion / Illusion

Allusion - an indirect reference - i.e. That blog post about Kate made an allusion to her father’s supposedly dodgy dealings.

Illusion - a false idea or conception; belief or opinion not in accord with the facts; an unreal, deceptive, or misleading appearance or image - i.e. People have the illusion that Clint is stupid.

Desert / Dessert

Desert - (verb) to forsake/abandon; a dry, baren, sandy region (noun).

Dessert - OM NOMS

Principal / Principle

Principal - (noun) head of a school; first in rank (adjective)

Principle - a fundamental truth or motivating force

Stationary / Stationery

Stationary - not moving

Stationery - writing materials

Soldier / Solider

Soldier - someone who serves in the army - i.e. The Winter Soldier

Solider - comparative adjective of solid; firm and stable in shape

Accept / Except

Accept - to receive - i.e. Pepper accepted an apology gift off Tony.

Except - anything brought about by a cause or agent; result - i.e. Nothing else mattered except that Kate was alive.

PART TWO: Grammar

Their / There / They’re

Their - (possessive adjective) belonging to, made by, or done by them - i.e. “That bow is their bow.” “Whose bow?” “Clint’s.”

There - a place or point - i.e. “Where should I put my bow?” “Just shove it over there.”

They’re - contraction of they + are - i.e. “Where’s Kate and Tommy?” “Oh, they’re going out on a date.”

Its / It’s

Its - (possessive pronoun) belonging to it - i.e. “Hold its head still, Clint - I’ve got the shot.”

It’s - contraction of it + is (e.g. “Is that yours?” “Yeah, it’s mine.”); informal for it + has (e.g. “It’s got six legs, kill it with fire!”)

Your / You’re

Your - (possessive adjective) sits before another word (usually a noun or a pronoun) to show that it belongs to "you" (e.g. your car, your arm), is of "you" (e.g. your picture, your photograph) or is related to "you" (e.g. your uncle).

You’re - contraction of you + are - i.e. “Where do you think you’re going, Tony?” “Workshop!”

Too / To / Two

Too - also; very (if you’re unsure, swap out the ‘too’ for also or very and if the sentence works, it’s ‘too’ you’re looking for; if it doesn’t, then it’s ‘to’) - i.e. Tony always had his music too loud.

To - toward (e.g. Kate was going to the gym this afternoon.) and to + verb = infinitive (e.g. It was going to rain today - to + rain = the infinitive ‘to rain’.)

Two - a number - i.e. “How many donuts do you want?” “Eight.” “No, Tony.” “Fine, two.”

Which / That

Which - a particular one or ones of those mentioned or implied. Use which before an independent clause (words you can change without changing the meaning of the sentence) - i.e. “Stark Tower, which was designed by Tony Stark, is an eyesore.” (Fuck off, Steve.)

That - something indicated. Use that before a dependent clause (words you can't change without changing the meaning of the sentence) - i.e. “The girl that you saw at the party was Kate Bishop.”

Our / Are

Our - (possessive adjective) of or belonging to us - i.e. “That’s our flat right there.”

Are - 2nd person singular and 1st, 2nd and 3rd person plural of the verb ‘be’ - i.e. “Where are you going?”

Who / Whom

Who - should be used to refer to the subject of a sentence - i.e. “Who is that?” “Fake Hawkeye.”

Whom - should be used to refer to the object of a verb or preposition - i.e. “To whom it may concern.”

Just remember: apostrophes are little gravestone markers that show that a word has died, been omitted, and is there as a little sign of respect. If you’re ever unsure what, for example, ‘your’ to use between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’ expand the ‘you’re’ to ‘you are’ and see if it still fits and makes sense.

PART THREE: Commas, Semicolons and Colons

A clause is a group of words that contains a subject and a verb.

An independent clause can stand alone as a complete sentence.

Kate(s) likes(v) dogs.

A dependent clause cannot.

i.e. Since* Pepper(s) had left(v) -- (yes? What happened?)

A restrictive dependent clause cannot. (Restrictive is bolded)

i.e. Kate held out the hand that was hurt.

An independent clause is a group of words that can stand on its own as a sentence: it has a subject, a verb and is a complete thought. Just because an independent clause can stand on its own, doesn’t mean that it has to. One or more independent clauses can be added together to form a compound sentence, and independent clauses can be added to dependent clauses to form complex sentences.

A dependent clause is a group of words that also contains a subject and a verb, but isn’t a complete thought. Because it’s not a complete thought, a dependent clause cannot stand on its own as a sentence; it is dependent on being attached to an independent clause to form a sentence. Dependent clauses can often be identified by words called ‘dependent markers’*, which are usually subordinating conjunctions. If a clause begins with one of these words, then it’s dependent and needs to be attached to an independent clause.

After

As

Although

Because

Before

Even though

If

Once

Rather than

Since

That

Though

Unless

Until

When

Whenever

Whereas

While

Etc

A restrictive dependent clause gives essential information about a noun that comes before it: without this clause the sentence wouldn’t make much sense. A restrictive relative clause can be introduced by that, which, whose, who, or whom. You should not place a comma in front of a restrictive relative clause. (You can also leave out that or which in some restrictive relative clauses.)

This all sounds much more confusing than it is - you do it already! It pretty much boils down to not leaving your sentences hanging and although an independent clause can sit on its own as a complete sentence, it doesn’t have to - make it more complex sometimes, give it a bit more oomph.

Commas

Okay, so a comma marks a slight break between different parts of a sentence. Used properly, commas make the meaning of sentences clear by grouping and separating words, phrases, and clauses.

You should use a commas for the following:

Lists - i.e. For breakfast Kate ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage and French toast. (You can use a comma after ‘sausage’ too - this is called an ‘Oxford Comma’ and is entirely dependent on the writer - it’s preference!)

direct speech - i.e. Kate replied, “Go to hell.” // “Fuck you too,” said Tony. (Pretty much, if the information about who’s speaking comes before the speech - option one - then it needs a comma before the quotations and if it’s coming after the speech - option two - then there needs to be a comma inside the quotes.) There’s only two exceptions to this rule - if the speech is ending with a question mark or an exclamation mark i.e. “Will you shut up!” “Why do you think shouting will make me stop?”

to separate clauses (to link a dependent and independent clause together) - i.e. Since Pepper had left, Tony didn’t know what to do with himself. Do not use commas in, or around, restrictive dependent clauses.)

to mark off certain parts of a sentence, to mark off information that isn’t essential to the overall meaning - i.e. It was a bit shit outside, all rain and wind, so Kate decided to stay indoors. The sentence should still make sense if you take out what’s inside the commas. If you aren’t sure whether you’ve used a pair of commas correctly, try replacing them with brackets or removing the information enclosed by the commas altogether and then see if the sentence is still understandable, or if it still conveys the meaning you intended.

with 'however' - you should use a comma after ‘however’ when however means ‘by contrast’ or ‘on the other hand’ i.e. However, if Tony used a new wiring system then he’d get an extra inch of room in the suit. Don’t use a comma after however when it means ‘in whatever way’ i.e. However you looked at it, Kate was screwed.

Semicolons

The main task of the semicolon is to mark a break that is stronger than a comma but not as final as a full stop. It’s used between two clauses that balance each other and are too closely linked to be made into separate sentences i.e. Stark Tower isn’t the tallest building in Manhattan; the One World Trade Center is.

You can also use a semicolon as a stronger division in a sentence that already contains commas i.e The study showed the following: 76% of surveyed firms monitor employee Web-surfing activities, with 65% blocking access to unauthorized Internet locations; over one-third of the firms monitor employee computer keystrokes; half reported storing and reviewing employee emails; 57% monitor employee telephone behaviour, including the inappropriate use of voicemail. (Taken from oxforddictionaries.com)

Colons

There’s three main uses for a colon:

between two main clauses in cases where the second clause explains or follows from the list i.e. It wasn’t easy: to begin with, he had to tear down half his house.

to introduce a list i.e. Today Kate had to: clean her bow, bother Clint, get her nails done and do some laundry.

before a quotation and sometimes before direct speech i.e. The headline read: ‘Tony Stark Is Iron Man’.

#writing wednesday #ax modpost

[asaspro-blog]

Survey Results & Recruitment Picks (Also Apology)

New Post: https://fortnite.asas.pro/survey-results-recruitment-picks-also-apology/

#fortnite #game #fun #esport #news

Survey Results & Recruitment Picks (Also Apology)

TL;DR: Sorry for the delay of results and recruitment, was a crazy week for me. The survey ended as expected, with many people having negative feelings towards SBMM. There will be future surveys.

If you don't care for a wall of text, please leave now! I felt this post was unavoidable to keep short. Sorry not sorry.

An Apology

Hello everyone! I would like to start off by saying sorry for the delay of results. The previous two weeks were extremely busy and consumed most of my time. I appreciate all of you that have been messaging me to remind me to get this stuff done.

Furthermore, I would like to apologize to all the people that applied to my previous recruitment post and have not heard back. Rest assured, I have made my picks. (Spoiler: You can see them further down)

Survey Results

You can view the original post here

Brief Summary

I am sure everyone had a general idea of what to expect from the survey, and this definitely did solidify what most people already believed. Most people really do not like the idea of any Skill Based Matchmaking (SBMM) implementation. Rest assured, Epic Games has heard your fears and I have been told they would never consider such a feature without first strongly considering the myriad of variables it takes to get it right.

Noteworthy Results

Even after reiterating it many times, many people still believe I work for Epic Games and that the survey was somehow Epic related. Regardless, I enjoyed reading how much you think Epic is ruining the game with their "bullshit updates and emotes".

One thing I noticed coming up in discussion a lot is the type of player the average Redditor represents. Most people were under the belief that the average Reddit user was not casual, but in fact there is an almost 50/50 split between players that consider themselves to be a casual and competitive player.

In terms of the actual implementation of SBMM, there was definitely a common theme. Of those that believed it could work, the most common (and basic) answer was for it to exist as a separate mode. I personally believe that if any sort of ranked mode were to be implemented, that is how it would be.

Surprisingly, 15% of you think that a SBMM implementation should not be a separate mode! This (rather high in my opinion) percentage may be due to misinterpreting what the question was asking, but otherwise would mean that the community is wrong in how much everyone hates the idea.

Overwatch, Counter Strike, and the token (ticket) system. Many respondents who felt like being more passionate tended towards a couple categories. Overwatch and CS:GO were common games cited as doing matchmaking well. A token/ticket system was also a common suggestion that seems to have a lot of favor among the subreddit.

Another thing to note, you guys play a lot of Fortnite. Of the 15,028 people that answered, I'd estimate you all play in the high tens of thousands of hours a week. (Many of you answered 15+ hours, if all of you just played one that would still be 15k hours a week!).

I'll leave the interpretation of everything else up to you guys. But as an added bonus, I've generated

Raw Data

As promised, everyone now has full access to the survey data. You can view the spreadsheet here. If you find anything interesting feel free to make note of it in the comments below (I tried to go through all 15,028 responses but it is quite a daunting task).

You can view some more fancy stats here.

Future Surveys

I think we'll definitely be doing future surveys on what we consider to be topics of the week, as well as monthly "check ups" on where people believe the game is at. As a result, if you think there are any pressing questions that deserve data, shoot me a message.

Future surveys will be more planned out and last a week (until the next survey is posted). Upon closing, all data and a summary will be released.

Recruitment Picks

Programmer(s)

Please welcome your new code slaves /u/DaJuukes and /u/bcb67. They will be assisting my takeover of the world. We will begin by making a bot that doesn't break, doesn't have ugly code, and does my taxes. Perhaps also a Discord bot for everyone as well (mainly going be for us mods though).

Here's a little something about each of them:

/u/DaJuukes Hi! I'm a Node.js specialist and work in Discord and Reddit bots, along with Ethereum stuff. You can find more info about me here: http://dajuukes.codes

/u/bcb67 Hey Reddit squad! Just wanted to introduce myself, I'm /u/bcb67 and I'm going to be joining the /r/fortnitebr team to hopefully write some cool moderation tools / bots. I'm 21 years old and am a Senior at NC State University in Raleigh NC. I actually work as a part time Information Security Analyst @ Epic.

CSS/Designer(s)

Please welcome your new fashion designers /u/scorpionmechanic , /u/Ullaakut, and /u/Mastergoat. Two of which I've seen some brief initiative taken to help out, but I look forward to new ideas and new eyesores for everyone to look at! Being serious, I hope to tackle some long wanted features such as night mode, a proper filter, and a fancy sidebar.

Here's a little something about each of them:

/u/Ullaakut I'm a French software engineer working in Luxembourg (just fresh fired one week ago, my whole project team along with a few others have been trashed). I'm 99% backend but I still have some old skills in design and frontend so it should be fine for the job here. I'm 23, I like making video games on the Unreal Engine, playing tennis, and working on open source projects!

/u/Mastergoat Hey I'm MasterGoat (damn I wish I made a new account before this!) I'm a 20 year old FortNiteBR Addict from Darwin, Australia. My days consist of working for the government for 8 hours then another 8 hours of trying to get those Victory Royales! I've been creating my own video games and websites for a few years now and am happy I can finally apply that experience properly to a community that has been a big part of my life the past 6 months. Look forward to help make this site snazzy and pretty for you all!

/u/ScorpionMechanic Ok, my name is u/ScorpionMechanic, I just joined the FortniteBR Mod Team as a CSS Designer. IDK if my age will be a problem, but, I recently turned eighteen. I've been doing Graphic Design for almost ten years, mostly doing personal works or commissions from friends of my parents. I'm the designer of the FortniteBR subreddit. Both the Valentines and the Normal version. Also, help me to git gud. I haven' won in weeks.

#Discussions

[seenashwrite]

3 words. Dean's daughter MacRyeleighaynnabeau

Nash Note: Well-played. I will see your Winchester-child-naming-nightmare, and raise you an SPN fanfic triple-cringe trifecta in return: Domestic. Baby. Fluff. 

Call my fluff-bluff, have ye? [clears throat] Reader. Insert. Mommy.

Ooh, and - Sam. Gets. Dogs. I’m just sayin’, if we’re gonna get down, let’s get dooown, Mariana Trench this mother.

In summation: Nash. Does. Fluff.  Y’all enjoy it. It ain’t likely to happen again.

Status: CompleteWord Count: 1.8KCategory: One-shot, Domestic Family Fluff, Husband Dean, Reader Insert Mommy, Sam Has DogsRating: Teen & UpCharacter(s): Dean, Sam, You, Newborn with a stupid name, Rando nursePairing(s): Dean + You, and there’s Sam Feels bonusWarnings: so sweet you’ll need a dentistAuthor’s Note: Post-storyOverall Summary: See above; See Nash Twitch

.A Fluff By Any Other Name.

Dean was waiting for Sam in the hallway.

“No flowers?”

“Uh, she hates flowers. Figured I’d ask what she wants for dinner, run get it.”

“Maybe I would’ve appreciated the flowers.”

“You know, I’m going to let this go, because you’ve had a long day, but not as long as hers, so—”

“Ask me.”

“Ask… what?”

“You know.”

“Dean, did you sneak some morphine, or whatever they’ve been—”

“Ask me what your niece’s name is. Actually, no - ask me what it’s not.”

His voice hadn’t ratcheted down to the deep-deep levels of pissed off - and, to be sure, there were several subtle variations Sam knew well, having been on the receiving end of all of them - but Dean was definitely serious, and had crossed his arms for good measure.

“I legit don’t know where you’re going with—-”

“The dogs. All your foster dogs. You took the good names.”

“Okay, now, that’s— I started volunteering way before she ever got pregnant, before you two even got serious, come to think of it. And I just chose a bunch of names that I thought of off the top of my—-”

“I picked up on that, yeah - around the time you used Jessie. And on that real jumpy, kinda twitchy one, which was extra weird. And was a boy.”

“Wait, wait - that was such a sweet dog, and besides - you really would’ve wanted to name your daughter after my dead fiancée?!”

“Oh, everybody’s dead, Sam!” Dean whisper-hissed. “And, no, not necessarily, but I do wonder what Jessica’d think about that…. about that…. what damn breed was that thing?”

“A mix.”

“Of?”

“A pooset and a corgat.”

“Sam. The hell.”

“A poodle-basset hound mix and a rat terrier-corgi mix shared a special hug—”

“So it’s a poocorgaset.”

Sam stared.

“Corsetpoogat.”

Sam brought a hand up, slowly rubbed his temples.

“Can I pull from the rest of the real names? I mean, ratbassgipoo is turning my crank.”

“But always the poo.”

“Of course always the poo, what the hell good does -dle do anybody?”

The nurse cleared her throat - she was leaning into the hallway, a leg and foot still in the room.

“We’re done. Everything’s looking good. She said for you guys to come on in, but if you’re in the middle of…..”

“No! No, not at all. Hey, and this is my little brother, Sam. Sammy, this is our nurse, she’s been here the whole time, basically delivered Macka… Mmmuh… my kid.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but smiled, extending her hand and shaking the one offered, introducing herself as Dean slipped past them.

“Uncle Sam, huh?”

“Uh-huh…. oh god, I just now realized that!”

“Eh… could be worse.”

“Yeah?”

“You could have a name that your nurse had to re-write on the birth certificate five times - twice for misspells, then again because she ran out of room. Me. I’m that person. We’re talking about me, here.”

“What was the fourth? Since there was a fifth?”

“Oh, well, that one? Can’t take credit for - under ‘father’s name’, the proud papa got a case of the jitters and wrote your father’s name.”

“Jeez, I’m so… I’m so sorry…” 

Sam would’ve sounded sincere if he hadn’t burst out laughing, but she immediately joined in. And though he didn’t know it at the time, he would be sincere with her many more times than not, and he’d be getting plenty of it in return. Starting that night, when he’d ask if she’d be interested in getting coffee sometime. She would be tips-to-toes sincere when saying she hoped to hear from him soon.

They’d still keep bursting into laughter, amongst and in between the sincere times, over a million different things through the years. There’d be the breath-stealing kind, prompted by the action of more amusing-than-scary hunts; the gasp-induced kind, stemming out of nervous relief over the hunts that weren’t; and her favorite, the bent-over, knotted-into-cramps kind, resulting from drunken Dean tales of hunts long past. And then his favorite, when the Winchester kids were raising hell, and there was nothing to do but laugh.

This time, this first time, after the birth of their niece, in the moment they’d met, would ultimately get ranked as the best, though it was followed closely by the tear-tinged round that erupted after another first, when they heard the justice of the peace say the words “husband and wife”.

But that’s another story.

For now, Sam closed the door quietly before tip-toeing to the bed, bending and giving you a kiss on the forehead. He glanced over to the bassinet and back.

“Nice work.”

“Work is right.”

Dean was seated in an armchair next to your bed, unlacing his boots, but paused and looked up at this, tacking on a clarification.

“Work is damn right.”

You winked in acknowledgment before speaking again.

“So listen, while I’ve got you both—-”

“We in trouble already?” Dean asked, changing his seat from the chair to the opposite side of the bed, perching near the end. 

“—-I wanted to make sure you knew that I haven’t totally lost my marbles with the name, and I know that’s what you’re both thinking.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Dean just held up his hands in a sort-of surrender.

“Babe, I know I said I’d be fine with whatever you chose, but we ain’t lied to each other yet, and wow - it’s horrible.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t worry. It’s an old family name, and, I mean… we could squeak a nickname out of it… probably… you know how some of these Gaelic names are, it’s hard to tell how to pronounce them on sight.”

“So how’s it pronounced?” Sam asked.

“Get ready,” Dean muttered.

And Sam’s jaw dropped briefly as something largely incomprehensible - possibly worse than the name was on paper - came out of your mouth.

“Sis?” 

“Bro?”

“That’s beyond horrible.”

“Yeah, it is. It is a vicious eyesore that she won’t be able to spell for who-knows-how-long, it makes ears bleed, and I’m a garbage parent for it, though I will point out her father was zero help.”

Now Dean’s jaw dropped, but clearly in faux offense.

“I resent that - ‘cause every name I said I liked….”

“….every name we agreed on, that we loved for her….”

“….was already a dog’s name.”

You and Dean turned your heads in unison, leveling looks at Sam.

“I can’t have taken up all of them—-”

“Mary.”

“Jane.”

“Which also took out Mary Jane.”

“Erica.”

“Charlotte.”

“Bobby, which took away ‘Bobbie’.”

“Sandra.”

Dean wrinkled his nose, prompting you to roll your eyes.

“Right, right - Sandy, and we even would’ve been fine with Anne.”

“I haven’t named any of them Sandra or Anne,” Sam pointed out.

“No, but you did name that fire-engine-red cocker spaniel, the one that wouldn’t stop crawling into my lap, Anna - which was a real cute move, by the way,” Dean shot back.

“We’d already 86′d Anna, on your request, and I still haven’t heard that whole story,” you said, jabbing a finger into Dean’s chest before jabbing it in the air at Sam.

“The one that really pissed me off? And I get to be pissed off because of the disaster that currently ismy—”

“Whoa!” Dean interjected.

You gave him brief but pointed side-eye before getting back to fussing at Sam.

“Millie. You took Millie. And she was an adorable dachshund, an absolute doll, but, I mean, come on.”

The tone of your voice had changed, leaving the realm of good-natured teasing and stepping into something akin to disappointment. It wasn’t lost on Sam, who looked to his shoes, swallowing. Then he let his gaze drift to the bassinet, keeping it there even as you went on, though now with gentle care.

“But I get it. We get it.”

“Get what?”

“That menagerie of furry fluff. Thinking they’re it. Only kids you’ll ever have.”

Sam was completely focused, spellbound by the rise-and-fall of the tiny, striped-blanket-bundle’s easy breaths.

Dean’s voice now, definitely deep, definitely serious, definitely one of the subtle variations Sam valued above all the rest, the slightly scolding one that hid a bottomless well of love.

“Can’t know the future, Sammy. I know sometimes we have, but…. nothing’s in stone. I sure as hell didn’t picture this for me. Ever.”  

He nodded - it was true, just didn’t feel like it.

“And even if it was? Written in stone? Find another big-ass hammer, grenade launcher, whatever - lay waste, kiddo,” you added. 

The baby suddenly jolted herself with a sneeze, causing a reciprocal jolt across her audience. She shifted a little, smacked her lips a few times, didn’t show the first indication of waking up, that anything in her brand new world was even slightly out-of-sorts. Her uncle briefly thought on the realization of how hard he’d fight to keep her in such a place as he brought his eyes back to her parents.

And was surprised to find them grinning.

“What?”

“Check out her bracelet,” Dean said.

Sam looked to you, received a nod.

“Go ahead. She won’t notice.”

She didn’t, but did get a hell of a grip on a finger of the hand that moved her arm, so he slid the bracelet around with a few fingers of his free hand. Sam fought his own grin as he tucked her arm back under the blanket. Well, mostly - he opted to leave her hand out, let the grip remain for as long as she was willing to hold on to him, then raised an eyebrow at his shoulder-shaking, snickering brother.

Dean kept it up as he edged to the head of the bed, scooting in next to you best he could in the cramped space, quieting only when he let his eyes close, no need to see as he tilted on his side, laced his fingers through yours like he’d done a million times before, the metal of matching angel-blessed bands briefly clinking.

“So your nurse… she was in on this?”

You shrugged.

“The father’s name - that part was 100% true.”

Eyes still closed, Dean briefly gave a thumbs-up, took your hand again, went back to his dozing.

You shook your head at him a little, though a smile was on your face as you went on.

“She’s the whole package, my man.” 

Sam smiled, too.

“Yeah. I noticed that.”

“Thought you might.”

“Speaking of thoughts, what made you think of it? Not the prank, I mean—”

“Turns out, my great-grandmother had a nice, simple, easily pronounceable, no-brainer spelling, peach of a maiden name.”

“And the story on this middle name?”

“She’ll prove herself worthy.”

“Hardy-har-har.”

“It was the first name on both our lists…”

Even in the dim light, you saw his eyes go shiny.

“…and, we hedged our bets - figured even if you ran out of ideas, you’d never name one of your fluffs after yourself. Thought we’d do it for you.”

Author’s Note: If you genuinely liked this & kinda wanna re-blog it, but you don’t care for my snark as related to my deep-seated loathing of domesticated Winchesters, I made this into a legit, polished, proper, puppy gif included post that lives right HERE. 

* ~ * The hell is this about? * ~ * See Nash REALLY Write * ~ * 

ASKS FOR THIS ARE CLOSED…. I mean, unless it’s super-killer.

(And IF SO, no more “sweetheart”, as pleased as I am at that apparent Pavlovian response at the sight of my name.)

#Supernatural Drabbles #SPN Drabbles #Nash300 #This Ain't Sparta #Just The Snark Ma'am #Nash Flurps #Followers Are Fuel #So Are Random Askers #Using 3 Words #How Much Can You #Make Me Cringe #Fandom Edition #Dear Nash #sidebysideinsilence #more than a drabble #I'm aware #imagine those little sunglasses #and deal with it #[wink] #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days