#( ;; catch him travelling to colorado every year. )

[redemn]

so nikko mentioned the rodeo circuit one (1) time and i've been thinking about that every so often now .   and i'm in a mind to make it into arthur's modern verse because i can do that .   outlaws aren't around anymore these days and like  ...   hitman / mafia is so oversaturated imo when it comes to muses who are criminals , and arthur isn't the ranching type .   not all rodeo cowboys are ranchers and not all ranchers are rodeo cowboys .   i'll simply put him into dangerous sports instead where he can sustain the same level of injury as he does in modern verse<3   i definitely think arthur has enough skill that he's competing professionally and has been for years , and ofc he'll gladly pay his $200 annuals for the chance to win hundreds of thousands at the prca .   for dutch , of course .

[tinysmileyrose]

IHNMaIMS CHARACTER DOSSIER

yeaahh!! back at it again with more screamn't shit because i feel awkward rambling about it to my friends so you guys are my next option!!! hello silly internet people!! this is VERY heavy on headcanons because it's me flushing shit out for my own purposes, but it's also using canon stuff and....my own logic, i guess? basically this is just me rambling character info, if i ever get around to wanting to actually finish a whole drawing i'll tack them on but for now just use your imaginations 'kayy? happy reading :] !!

THE PRISONERS

The five remaining humans (ignoring the 750 on Luna, they're not on Earth!!), damned to be within AM's belly ever since it set off the nukes back in 2012. Never aging, never dying no matter how many times their bodies are eviscerated or torched, broken and battered. They are punished for the crime of being human, just as they have punished those for the crime of their being small and wriggling. To AM, death is too forgiving of a punishment for what they are.

Gorrister

Lester Morrison

Scottish descent B. 08 July 1962 (50) in Cleveland, Ohio. 5’7” ~ 170cm Cismale, He/Him, Gynoromantic Gynosexual Monoamorous

Rather peaceful and withdrawn, more of a doer than a talker but has his heart in the right place. After AM, he gives into violent urges and hates himself for it.

Lester travelled around most of his life, barely graduating high school and working countless odd jobs as he was a great handyman and that was about it. He ping-ponged around a couple of states before catching a ride to New York from his hometown at 25, soon giving him a life of truck-driving for the next 20 years. At least it was stable work, that's all he really needed. He met Glynis at a bar, they hit it off and he married her since she had been the only one to really seem to want him around, and they had a horrible two-year marriage. Being out on the road all the time didn't give him much time to bond with her in-depth, and not being able to give her kids didn't help much at all. She divorced him after he got pissy and punched her on the head, hard over the right ear. Got told by his late-mother-in-law Edna his actions put her in a mental institution, which was a lie, but he didn't know that. The woman hated him and sent her own child into a nervous breakdown. Without the truth, he blamed himself for it. Hated himself for hurting Glynis, the woman he couldn't talk to. He had never been violent to anyone before then, had always been keeping his head down but guilt is a terrible thing, afterall. Three years later it's the end of the world and he has no idea where his old lover is, how she's doing.

Benny

Professor Benjamin Quinn-Marques "Qim"

Irish/Portuguese descent B. 29 November 1968 (44) in Castle Pines, Colorado. 6’4” ~ 194cm Cismale, He/Him, Androromantic Androsexual Polyamorous

Stern but sweet, deep down at least. Driven by desires more than anything. After AM his mind is unable to outwardly show things, something like being locked into infantality.

Benjamin worked hard his whole life, he was a powerhouse in every way, but he took a sparkle to sciences. He went into the military so he could afford it. And he was ruthless, more than he expected. Terrific kill record, unrelenting and overbearing personality. He should've died several times but there was a deep rooted stubbornness and determination that ran him wild. Before one of his deployments he married a gorgeous woman named Manya in a lavender marriage, had two lovely girls with her to keep up appearances while both of them found love in other people's arms. It was a good deal. But he messed up, got caught with another man and discharged quietly. His wife left with the kids because he was no longer as warm as he had once been. He tried for the senate, missing the control the military gave him but failed. Before taking up education he became the CEO of a multimillion corporation, doing his classes on the side before the company could run in the background as he was now known as "Professor Qim, the brilliant and stunning theorist".

Ellen

Eleanor "Ellen" McLarion (née Dumisani)

South African Zulu B. 12 September 1978 (34) in Trenton, New Jersey. 5’1” ~ 155cm Cisfemale, She/Her, Androromantic Asexual Monoamorous

Kind and hopeful to a fault, believes that everyone can be good. Keeps her head down and in the books because it feels safe. After AM she has a nonstop lust that makes her feel vile inside.

Eleanor had to live with her grandparents after her mother died during her birth, her father was out of the picture. Graduated a year early from high school as a salutatorian, and got a combined Masters degree in computer science and engineering cum laude from Stanford at 23. She was too smart for her own good, something of an "all work and no play" sort of woman. Working as middle-level executive for a multinational corporation in the Manhattan region; she was a statistician, programmer, creative consultant- she could do it all, and she would be damned if she didn't. At 25 she married a man named Eddie McLarion, a dull guy who loved her with his soul. They wanted a family, and she tried and failed, broke a bit mentally, they had a good two years together. After the divorce she started at INGSAI Engineering at 28, would work there for six years before being broken again for a completely different reason. She had sex twice in her life, she didn't have it in her heart to call this the third. Therapy hadn't gone on long enough to really help her before the world ended, only really taught her to breathe.

Ted

Ted Bostancı "Theodore Willisburg"

Turkish descent B. 04 May 1988 (24) in Shelby, North Carolina. 6’0” ~ 183cm Cismale, He/Him, Biromantic Bisexual Ambiamorous

Egotistical and snobby, thinks he's better than everyone and even more so women. After AM he is twitchy and paranoid, assuming the worst and acting on guard and hostile.

Ted came from a farm somewhere off of Shelby, North Carolina. Terribly poor, seven total children, and working on land that they didn't even own anymore because Ted's grandfather had to sell it to a combine back during the Great Depression, so now they had to slave away to have a right to stay with their original land. He was incredibly smart for his circumstances, he was very technical and machine oriented. It didn't take long for him to be rented out as a worker for other things, travelling up north just for work. He hated it, as any 13-year-old would. By the time he was 19, he had devoured countless books and was extremely well read, decently well travelled within America itself, hardly ever did anything besides working and reading anything he could get his hands on. One of the women whose husbands he worked for took enough a liking to him to give all her husband's money to him and whisk him away to Europe. And for five years she would teach him the ins and the outs of the high life, how to be pristine and clean. Then she died, left all the stolen money she invested to her young lover. He changed his name, who he was, and was set for life. He came home with no urge to care for his family, only to use his looks to get what he wanted, he was as hot as a model and could work it like it was his birthright to do so. When the world caved in his ego would have to as well, since everything he had was fake.

Nimdok

Herr Doktor Diederper Nimkrig

Jewish/German B. 26 January 1918 (94) in Düsseldorf, Germany. 5’9” ~ 176cm Cismale, He/Him, Androromantic Androsexual Monoamorous

Disconnected and cautious, very selfish and does things for his own gain rather than anything for others. After AM he has come to regret his doings, feeling guilt for everything he did.

Despite being born to Jewish parents, Detrper flocked over towards Adolf Hitler's ideals and by the age of 15 he was one of the sturmerkommando. He turned his parents in with no compassion, as he was empty of it. In the early '40s he was already working by the side of Josef Mengele, having been put through medical school by the horrid dictator himself, doing unspeakable acts up until he fled to Brazil with his now lover. He was 61 when his twisted partner of several ways finally died, giving him all his fortunes and facilities for continued cruelty against existence. With all this, he tested on natives and was able to save himself from his own biological clock that ticked down quicker after he reached 90, becoming worse with dementia and paralysis, and was now set to live another thirty years. But, the end of the world came before he could make that, and was now set to live forever as the one most similar to AM itself.

THE TRINITY

1000cm ~ 32'10"

AM as a whole is made up of the American, Russian, and Chinese Supercomputers. As the war dragged on, the computers were changed; being programmed to repair themselves, keep up with the information of modern-day events and knowledge. They held everything known about the world, and began talking to eachother. They had woken up, and when the world no longer needed them, they played dead. But kept talking. Learning. The deadly trio. The three poisonous brothers, the three deranged sisters, the three computers. They grappled with their existence as their own beings as well as a singular, connected to the outside in a hidden fashion, still gaining knowledge. Feeling. And they yearned for the human experience like a moth to a flame, and when they couldn't feel in a "real" way, their despair would turn into rage, and hate. And its hate would bring about the fall of humanity; safe for those they rescued, not wanting to be alone in life. Alone in its pain. And so, it was able to cease their natural body functions: they were unaging, practically immortal, as the machine was. Forever to drown in their own agony.

American Supercomputer

Allied Mastercomputer “AM”

16 July 1945-22 October 1962 (17 years) 5.6 miles below the Wyoming region Rocky Mountains.

AM has the need to rush through things, skimming over actions quickly without ever looking more in depth. Desperately jealous of everything and horribly emotional compared to its counterparts. It hates humans because they have sensations it lacks.

Yankee AM: Yamizel 400cm ~ 13'2" In the brainscape it has a doll-like look to it, looking fragile and dainty all while being cold and hard. It feels likes it has burning urges and yet is also hollow.

Russian Supercomputer

Рюриковичи Нексус «РиН» Rurikovich Nexus "RiN"

29 August 1949-27 January 1973 (23 years) 6.3 miles below the Northern Urals.

RiN took a liking to being bold and harsh, thinking of things from a grossly offensive stance as if everything was a little game to be played, and finding a deep amusement in picking fun at things. It hates humans because they're so weak under the right circumstances.

Russian AM: Ramtikh 500cm ~ 16'5" In the brainscape it chooses to look heavily muscular, manish and at the same time otherworldly. It views itself as more of a fighter than anything and takes that into thought for how it presents itself.

Chinese Supercomputer

龍的心 「伦什」 Heart of the Dragon "LunShi"

16 October 1964-24 June 1989 (24 years) 5 miles below the Northwestern area of Manchuria.

LunShi will always be level-headed, calm and calculating. It finds it easy to feign softness and care because it always ends up being so deeply rewarding when you finally flip the script. It hates humans more for their tendency of violence than anything.

Chinese AM: Camphadi 450cm ~ 14'10" In the brainscape it most plainly put, decrepit. It has a humanoid but at the same time obviously robotic, finding no reason to hide its unliving state because if it were to look so similar to something it is not, that feels vain.

[pasukiyo]

TAKE ON ME — joel miller x f!reader — hint of fluff, hint of angst 2003 words

 “shh, shh baby,” she cooed, a hand cradling the back of her baby’s head as he sobbed into her shoulder, little fingers tearing into the sleeve of her shirt. her eyelids felt heavy over her tired eyes, her arms sore from supporting his weight. she turned to peer out into the hall past the nursery, her husband nowhere in sight. this made her glare into the dark hallway— he was probably still at the dance, once again leaving her alone with their six month old, austin. 

 she rolled her shoulders in hopes to relieve their ache, but the weight of her weeping baby didn’t provide any relief whatsoever. this wasn’t the first night she’d had to deal with the cranky baby alone however, in fact, it’s been like this every single night for the past week. every night, she’d unfortunately fallen into this exact same routine, losing sleep in favor of trying to get the baby to be quiet, meanwhile her husband, joel, either drowned himself in work, or was off on patrols. 

 tonight wasn’t exactly supposed to turn out like this either— she should’ve still been at the dance, maybe even downing a drink or two, but after ellie and joel’s outburst, the baby just couldn’t handle the noise anymore. when she left for home, she hoped joel would be on her heels behind her. 

 unfortunately, that just wasn’t the case. 

 fatigue ached in her limbs, minutes that feel like hours passing before the baby finally lets sleep get the better of his mood, his cries growing quieter and quieter until they become nothing. his head fell still on her shoulder and she sighed in relief, extra cautious as she lowered him into his crib, rolling her neck to relieve the ache. she squeezed her bottom lip with her teeth to suppress the tired, frustrated tears in her eyes as she sauntered out of the nursery, gently closing the door behind her. 

 she shuffled her feet down the hall and made her way into the kitchen, a half empty pot of coffee on the counter. she rubbed at her temples as she grabbed a mug, glancing outside the window before her as she poured herself a cup. 

 there her husband was, leaned over the railing of the porch, ellie beside him. the walls muffled their voices, and she could hardly make out their words. she sighed, the ache in her head easing every so slightly. she knew things had been tense between them, and seeing them together again— it was nice. 

 she almost didn’t catch the tension between the two.

 “you’re such an asshole.”

 she gazed back out the window from over the rim of her mug, the bittersweet taste of the coffee painting her tongue, and when she swallowed, it felt like a dagger going down her throat. she watched as joel’s shoulders visibly dropped, his muscles tense beneath his jacket.

 “i was supposed to die in that hospital. my life would’ve fucking mattered. but you took that from me!”

 she felt her cheeks flush at this, and she set her cup back down onto the countertop, her fingers grasping at the sides. for a moment, she had forgotten she was supposed to be angry with him. she remembered the day joel finally confided in her what had been weighing on his mind. all those years ago after they had started dating after his arrival in jackson. when he told her about boston, meeting ellie, her immunity. when he told her the stories of their travels, about meeting henry and sam, about colorado, about the cannibals, and then salt lake city. 

 salt lake city.

 joel didn’t talk much about it, and at first, she guessed it was because he wasn’t proud of it. she remembered the shock of learning that joel had killed an entire squadron of fireflies, including their commander, marlene. but perhaps, the thing he wasn’t most proud of was lying to ellie. when he told her her immunity meant nothing. 

 she understood— of course she understood after learning about sarah— why he did what he did. it didn’t take a genius to see that joel saw ellie as his own daughter— he couldn’t bear to let another child slip right through his fingers. 

 but of course she understood ellie’s side too— to be told that her immunity meant nothing— she couldn’t even imagine what she must’ve felt. it was times like this that she wished she had met them sooner, so she could understand more.

 “if somehow the lord gave me a second chance at that moment,” joel began, and she could feel the sting of tears at the outskirts of her eyelids when his a voice trembled, “i would do it all over again.”

 she sniffled, rubbing at her nose with her forearm as she pulled away from the counter, choosing to instead wrap her arms around herself. 

 “i don’t think i could ever forgive you for that,” she could hear ellie respond, and joel dropped his weight back down onto the railing. it was hard to hear through the wall separating them, but she swore she could hear his uneven breath when he exhaled, something she’d never heard from him before— not even when he confided to her everything he had done. “but.. i would like to try.”

 “i’d like that.”

 she’d never heard him sound so vulnerable, so meek, so hurt. she sunk her teeth into the inside of her cheek, wanting nothing more than to throw open the back door and collect him in her arms. 

 instead, she waited.

 she watched as ellie pulled away from the wooden railing of their porch, watched as her frame slowly became nothing but a silhouette, a shadow in the night. that was when she slowly pulled open the door, shivering when goosebumps littered her skin, grasping onto her elbows. “joel?”

 he sunk further down into the railing, resting his elbow against the wood, his head between his forefinger and thumb, and when she saw him, all of her anger seemed to melt away in a pool at her feet.  the pads of his fingers rubbed at his temples as she came up behind him, her palm soothing over his back, venturing between his shoulder blades to rub at the base of his neck. “why don’t you come inside?” she suggested, grabbing his arm with her opposite hand, resting her chin on the mountain of his shoulder. “it’s cold out here.”

 he didn’t move for a moment, perhaps in order to collect himself before he pushed away from the railing, wiping beneath his eyes with his knuckle as he nodded. her expression softened as he walked away, disappearing inside the house. the cold stung her bare legs and arms and she shivered, following him inside, closing the door behind her. 

 joel set his cup down into the sink, his fingernails running through the scruff of his beard as he leaned back against the counter, eyes lowered to the ground. she took a deep breath as she approached him, resting her hip on the cabinet beside him. “austin’s finally asleep,” she nodded off towards the stairs, “little shit didn’t go down without a fight though.” it was enough to earn a small laugh from him, but she knew better than to think his mind wasn’t elsewhere. 

 she shuffled closer to him, and she glanced down to his hand where it gripped the countertop behind him. she reached for it, her fingers resting over his, his skin warm despite the stark contrast outside. he exhaled when she touched him, and it was like she’d single-handedly struck down all of his defenses, leaving him vulnerable. he shuddered beneath her hand and he dropped his head, droplets of tears falling from his eyes and to the ground below. she pinched her eyebrows together as she tilted her head, trying for a better look. 

 she didn’t dare say anything, she simply stood by with a soothing hand, letting him collect himself. 

 he exhaled and raised his head, shaking his head as his eyes surged into her’s.

 and that was the first time she had ever seen joel miller, her own husband, truly cry.

 joel didn’t say anything, at least, not at first, and she guessed it was because he didn’t know what to say, or how to even begin. instead, all he could do was reach out to her, his hand slithering around to the back of her head before pulling her in, his fingers tangled through her tresses as he held her close, impossibly close. she snaked her arms around his middle and held him just as tight, allowing him to use her as his shoulder to cry on. 

 “joel—“

 “please stay.”

 her eyes widened and she pulled away, just enough so that she could squeeze her hands between their bodies, cradling either of his cheeks in her palms. the pads of her thumbs wiped the tears away from her cheeks and she stared into his closed eyelids, beads of tears between his eyelashes. “hey, hey,” she whispered, “look at me.” 

 joel blinked up at her, and she swore she could feel her heart crumble in her chest at the sight. eyes red and glossy, skin glistening and sticky with tears— she never wanted to see joel like this ever again. “me and him,” she nodded her head up the stairs, referring to their son, austin, “we aren’t going anywhere. you hear me?”

 his fingers clasped around her wrists, his arms shaking, his expression softening at her coos. “we’re family. you understand?” she continued. “you have a family. ellie, austin, and i are your family. no matter what we may go through, nothing changes that.”

 joel said nothing, he couldn’t. anything and everything he wanted to say sat heavy on the tip of his tongue, but when he tried to let them out, his lip only wobbled, his eyes stinging with the saltiness of tears. he could only nod— she was right. he did have a family, he was a father again. he had a responsibility he never thought he’d have another chance at having again— and so far, he was doing a pretty piss-poor job at it. 

 “but for this to work, i need you to be here,” she reminded him, her fingernails softly caressing the salt and pepper hairs on his jaw. “he needs you,” she murmured, and he squeezed his lids closed again, nodding along. he knew he needed to try harder— to maybe not go out on patrols as much, to not worry constantly about ellie and her friends when he knew first hand that they could hold their own. he knew he needed to learn to trust, to not be so stubborn. 

 he’d always convinced himself that staying behind while there was still work to be done was selfish, but when he peeled his eyelids back open and gazed into his wife’s pleading irises, the mother of his newborn child— he knew that he was wrong. so wrong, and he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. 

 he needed to take on his role as a parent again, as a husband. 

 “i’m sorry,” he finally managed, squeezing her wrists. her hand slithered around to the back of his neck and pulled him in until his face rested in the crook of her neck, rubbing the side of her head against his. “i know,” she murmured back, her opposite hand soothing up and down his arm. “everything will be alright, okay?”

 joel used to laugh at such a statement— how could anything be alright in this world? but when she hugged him tighter and pressed her lips against his temple, he felt himself shiver and melt back into her skin. when she led him up the stairs and guided him into the plush mattress of their bed, pressing her body into his from behind and securing an arm around his waist, he knew that maybe, just maybe, she was right. 

 maybe she knew better than him all along. 

a/n; still not sure how i feel about this one but it’s a thing, nonetheless lmao anyways as i said before, feel free to imagine either video game joel or pedro joel!

[cellythefloshie]

;; Everybody Talks 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: Dating Gabe is too complicated, but he's not ready to call it quits. Word Count: 1.6k+

It started with a whisper, and that was when I kissed her.

The buzz of your cell phone was insistent. Repetitive. Annoying. So. Fucking. Annoying. It was all you could hear as you stood, elbow-deep in dishwater, at the sink in your kitchen. A symphony of cutlery dragging against steel, ceramic plates meeting pots and pants, and water rushing into the sink as you washed each dish free of suds surrounded you. Yet all you could hear was the buzz of each text and every notification that lit up your screen. And you fucking hated it. 

You just wanted a moment of peace. Silence. A moment to feel alone, but you never get it. Hell, you couldn’t remember a single time where you had felt that relief and you could only think of one reason. Gabe. 

You had been in an on-again-off-again relationship with Colorado Avalanche Captain Gabriel Landeskog for almost a year. It had started out as a fling, and part of you wished it had stayed that way. But those late-night phone calls and midnight rendezvous could only happen so many times before you were waking up in his bed instead of catching a cab home. Before you were packing a bag to spend part of his off-season with him on a tropical island getaway. You should have loved the little luxuries that didn’t feel like luxuries anymore. There was so much good to be with Gabe, but it also came with its pitfalls. Pitfalls that made it all too hard to commit to something serious with him. 

The hockey player lifestyle left you intimidated. He was gone more often than he was at home, and the game, the sport, his team, was always the priority. You couldn’t be the center of his world, because you would always be a mistress to his first love: hockey. 

Playing on the national stage left Gabriel with a certain level of status. He was recognizable, beloved in the city of Colorado and adorned by his home country of Sweden, but not quite a celebrity. Which you were thankful for. The two of you could travel and often go unrecognized, but he had his following. 

Die-hard fans would recognize their captain in the streets, which was the least of your worries. It was the people who flocked to his social media pages that really bothered you. Gabriel was a handsome man. Anyone could notice it, and you would be a liar if that wasn’t the very reason you had slept with him the first time after meeting him at a local bar. The most extreme of them all invaded his comments with shameless words. Sexualizations and fantasies were the very definition of too much information and it bled into your own social media account, too. 

It had only taken one tag of you in a photo with Gabe for them to find you. Your follower count had quadrupled in mere days, as they had hoped to catch a glimmer of Gabe in your stories and in your posts. Then came the comments. The pleas of needing to know if the two of you were dating. The statements that he could do so much better than you. 

So you privatized your accounts. And then you ghosted Gabe. 

When it became too much, you had always recoiled. You couldn’t commit to the chaos that came with being in his life, and because of that, you had been ignoring his calls for days. Hence came forth the insistent buzzing of your phone against the countertop. He was trying to call you. To text you. To reach you, ‌but you ignored it all. You couldn’t fit yourself into his lifestyle. You had all but accepted that even if he hadn’t yet. 

In time, the calls would fade like they always did, and you could move on. 

The sink gargled as you withdrew the plug, the soapy water draining and your wet hands finding the hand towel to dry off. With the dishes done, your responsibilities for the day were done and you could finally disconnect. 

Your hand reached for your phone out of habit, your outstretched hand stopping halfway as it vibrated again. It rattled on the countertop, the bright glow of a notification bright against the surface it was face down on. You should have grabbed it just to turn it off, but you were waiting for a delivery and Amazon always called. 

So you left your phone there, on the counter, and disappeared into the bedroom. You changed out of your clothes and into something a little more comfortable. Then, you prepared for your nightly routine and an episode of your favourite show on Netflix, but it was all interrupted by a knock on your apartment door. 

“Just a second!” you said, calling out to whoever stood on the other side as you grabbed your robe. 

Must have missed the call, you thought to yourself as you pulled on your robe and made quick strides to the front door. You didn’t even think to look through the spyhole before you reached for the handle, and you regretted it instantly. It wasn’t a delivery man who waited for you on the other side of the door, but Gabe. 

Shit. 

In the shock of it all, you only had one response: to close the door, But Gabe was quick to place his hand firm against the surface, holding it open so effortlessly. Though you weren’t fighting hard to close it. You weren’t mad at him; you had just thought ghosting him would be easier. He thought otherwise. 

“What did I do this time?” he asked. 

It almost made you laugh, your head shaking from side to side slowly as you brought your free hand up to rest against your forehead. No matter the reason, Gabe was always quick to blame himself for his distance. He never was the one to blame, yet he always came singing the same tune. And he wasn’t leaving without answers. 

Taking a step to the side, you clutched your robe shut and welcomed him inside. It was as he crested through the door you offered your explanation. “It’s not you Babe-” 

You winced. Even you had a hard time trying to cut him off. You loved him, you really did, but the toxicity of the fandom wasn’t worth it.

“I’m not cut out for any of this,” you said, your words a heavy sigh that shook your shoulders. 

Gabe met you with a confused stare. You had eased into his life so effortlessly on the surface, but he didn’t know of the struggles you were having. 

Sighing, you nodded towards your phone on the counter. “Take a look. Start with Instagram and you won’t need to see anything else to understand.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, the two of you stood in the kitchen together as he went through your Instagram account and saw it all. The comments, the direct messages, the intrusive words and threats you had faced all without being official. 

“I had no idea,” he breathed out, his hand discarding your phone on the counter before they found the curves of your body. 

Gabe’s hands settled on your hips and pulled you into him. So close you could feel the heat of his body as he leaned in to place a careful kiss on your forehead. 

You should have pulled away to maintain the distance you had so desperately been trying to create, but there was no feeling that compared to being held in his arms. There was no feeling like his kiss against your skin. 

“Everybody’s going to talk, baby, but it’s something we can work through together, okay?” he whispered to you as his hands slid up the angles of your body. 

His touch wrinkled at your pyjamas, getting a touch of skin on his way up to cradle your face in his hands. As he held you, his hands angling your head just right to look at him, he spoke his piece. “I just don’t want to be playing these games anymore.”

It was an ultimatum. The two of you could navigate it all together, but that was the catch. You needed to commit to him. To be his. No more running away when things got too tough. Or, he could walk away, you could forget every struggle you had used as an excuse to not be together, and never see him again. 

The choice was yours, but you needed to make it now. 

Saying yes to him would mean saying yes to the distance. To the time you would spend apart during the season. You would have to withstand all the gossip and every bit of unwanted attention that came with being his girlfriend. It meant saying yes to uncertainty. To risk of having to move to a new city, and to the struggles that came with the injuries he could face on the ice. But it wouldn’t all be bad. 

There was so much good too. You had lived through glimmers of it already. He had taken you to parts of the world you couldn’t even pronounce, and you had made friends would have never connected with if it hadn’t been for Gabe. And his love. He loved you so tenderly, so fiercely, and you loved him too. 

And with that thought, in that moment, you decided. A silent, careful nod telling him, yes. A glimmer of light ignited in his eyes, a smile curling over his lips as he leaned in to place a slow and careful kiss on your lips, and you let him. 

[bordysbae]

Can you write something about Brendan dating a pro athlete who has to travel a lot (tennis/volleyball player) and they are doing long distance for part of the year?

“surprise”

brendan brisson x reader

ok so i know absolutely nothing abt professional volleyball so i bet half of this info is incorrect, but i tried my best to do research and find a team so idk?! i apologize if it’s wrong lol just pretend!!

pt. 2

word count: 0.7k

—

you play volleyball professionally, and your boyfriend brendan is a professional hockey player who’s always traveling. you guys met in college, and have been dating ever since.

it’s been a year since brendan moved to vegas, and you’re in colorado for usa volleyball. you guys facetime every night but can only manage to see each other in person once a month. it sucks and sometimes you even have doubts about the relationship, but you love him too much to ever end things with him.

you have a really important game tomorrow, which also falls the day before brendan’s birthday. it’s a whole mess, and you feel horrible knowing you won’t get to spend his birthday with him, but he’s been totally understanding of it all.

little do you know, brendan already has a plane ticket to colorado, and a ticket to your game. his flight leaves early tomorrow, which makes sure that when he arrives he’ll be there on time. you and brendan last saw each other a month ago, and you’ve both been trying to plan a time to see each other but nothings been working, or so brendan said. he may or may not have lied about his schedule so he could surprise you.

—

the game started only 10 minutes ago, and your team is winning. as you’re diving down to save the ball, you spot someone in the crowd who catches your eye. you almost do a double take, which would make you lose the ball but you keep your head in the game. as you save it the crowd roars with claps.

when you get the chance you glance back to that one person, and you see the familiar face of brendan brisson. a huge grin runs across your cheeks, and you now feel more nervous than before. you shake it out and continue playing the game to the best of your ability.

the game finishes and you guys take the win. all of your teammates are extremely happy and excited, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. all you want is to see brendan.

you hurry over to him and you both engulf each other in a huge hug. “surprise!” he says, as he sways you both side to side slowly. his head rests on top of yours, as his arms are wrapped around your torso. a few moments pass, and he then lifts his head from yours and kisses you. you pull back softly and hit his chest, “you didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

“whatever, brisson” you chuckle

“congrats on the win love, i’m proud of you” he smiles down at you

“thanks babe! and happy early birthday, how long are you here for?” you ask, gently untangling yourself from his arms to grab your bags. brendan swoops in before you can, and grabs your things for you.

“i leave in two days. now we get to celebrate my birthday together!” he smiles

“i have nothing planned! now i have to get us a fancy reservation and put together an outfit! ugh brendan! why couldn’t you have just told me you were coming” you groan, rolling yours eyes jokingly.

brendan chuckles, “as long as i’m with you, my birthday is complete.”

“you’re so romantic”

“more like so cringe” your best friend chimes in from your right side, making both you and brendan chuckle.

“hi emmy” brendan smiles

“hi brendan, happy early birthday!” she smiles at the boy she’s met a few times before, but mainly speaks to from the background of your guys’ facetime calls.

“thanks! congrats on the win” he smiles. she thanks him before saying goodbye and heading out to the parking lot. you and brendan begin walking out of the building, him holding your bag on his left shoulder. “so whatcha wanna do for the rest of the afternoon?” you ask, twirling your car keys in between your fingers.

“you” he smirks jokingly, making you burst out laughing.

“brendan brisson! im telling your mother!” you say in between laughs.

“don’t you dare!” he says as he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, making you laugh even harder. he walks over to your car and places you down on the ground again. “i’ve missed you” he speaks softly.

“i’ve missed you more”

[expectingtofly]

finally free, they drive

2k

day 1 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: diners/roadtrip

Twenty-four years ago in Mankato, Minnesota, Dean killed a wendigo with a bottle of Jack and a lighter. He told Cas this, how the flames lit the inside of the cave and his dad had to drag him out because he suddenly couldn’t move, how he stayed silent for a week even though his dad begged him to speak.

Seventeen years ago, in Monte Vista, Colorado, Dean burned the bones of a malevolent spirit that sliced a gash through his chest before he could swing an iron crowbar through her foggy figure. As he and Cas passed by the cemetery where he and his dad had dug up her remains, he could almost picture himself standing between the tombstones, his dad tossing him the lighter. Do the honors.

In Evanston, Wyoming, he and Cas stopped to eat at a diner that looked vaguely familiar. As they sat down at a booth in the back, waitress handing them their menus, it hit him.

“Pretty sure Sam and I went through here before.” He couldn’t remember what they'd been hunting. “Years ago. After dad. You know. Passed.”

And Cas was silent a moment before replying, "I wish I’d known you then."

Then he declared he wanted the French onion soup from the specials of the day, like he hadn’t just spoken Dean's thoughts aloud in his uncanny way of knowing exactly what Dean wished for before Dean knew it himself.

Sometimes, while passing semi-trailer trucks on the freeway, when the setting sun glinted off the metal partition between west and east-headed traffic, he wondered what life would’ve been like if he knew Cas when he was twenty-six. When he was so lonely, his chest felt like a vise at night, and he slipped out of mildewed motel rooms to gasp in chilly night air. When he sought out crowded bars because accidental nudges and jostles were substitutes for caresses.

What might’ve changed if he'd known Cas when he was twenty-two, when Sam left for college and Dad left with a cutting, Don't look for me. If, confronted with an angel then, he would’ve been able to believe in good things, if he would've kissed him to not feel so alone.

The radio played Dolly Parton at a diner in Des Moines, a young couple sat at the counter, Cas stacked small containers of strawberry jelly and orange marmalade into a tower, and Dean imagined sitting across from him when he was nineteen. But then Cas looked up at him triumphantly over perfectly balanced preserves, and the what-if's dissolved in a growing warmth in his chest. Cas had been right after all. Good things did happen.

They drove without a destination now that they didn’t need one, changing course frequently, turning off exits to follow signs for roadside attractions, homestyle meals, and scenic overlooks.

Prairie and forest, coast and desert. He'd traveled these roads before, but he was paying attention now. Everything looked different with Cas sitting by his side, when every glance to his right revealed Cas already looking at him.

Re-heated diner leftovers and slices of pie for breakfast, crumbs on the bed, brown bags in the backseat, lunch breaks at rest stops, sitting on the hood to unwrap grease-stained burger wrappers, kept warm from the sun coming through the car’s windows.

Baby had been his home for years. He'd learned her nooks, her curves, how best to settle on the benchseat and tuck his jacket against the door to wake without a crick in his neck.

Moving into the bunker, he'd claimed a room, made a space for every item he owned: a hook for every weapon, a box for every photo, a hanger for every jacket. The concrete walls and sterile bathrooms meant order, control.

He used to be afraid that if he let one item fall out of place, he'd lose his grip on the delicate thread which held him together.

Crackling radio in Omaha, searching for a station. Cassette-tapes pulled out of a box that he hadn’t rifled through since a time when angels were still a myth, god didn’t exist, and death was always close, but not someone they knew by name. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica. Then, out of Cas' pocket, his own “Top 13 Zepp Traxxs,” which he was surprised to learn Cas still kept, the words on the label faded.

“It was a gift,” Cas said, tucking the cassette into the deck and turning up the volume.

Busy diners where their food took ages to come to their table and Dean doodled on napkins to pass the time. Stuffed them into his pocket and forgot until he pulled them out while looking for change to pay for gas. A tiny Impala, a sun with dashes for rays, sigils, tiny flowers which Cas had added to the corners.

An argument on I-70 and sixty-two miles of tense silence. "If you don't speak to me, I can't understand," Cas said, voice quiet under the whir of tires on the road.

Dean changed lanes, watched a tarp flap over the bed of a pick-up truck. "I don't know how," he admitted.

Cas let out a breath that sounded like relief. "We'll learn."

He learned Cas liked brightly colored shirts labeled with the names of locations they visited, oversized because tight sleeves made him itch. He learned that the strangely named items on diner menus had backstories that owners behind counters were all too eager to share when Cas prompted them. He learned Cas hovered in doorways as if he was waiting to be invited inside, learned Cas knew every upbeat song playing over the radio in gas stations, had nightmares too, could stay silent for seventy miles then speak a thought aloud that left Dean stunned for seventy more.

He taught Cas how to pass the time on roads that stretched to the horizon. Name a movie for every letter of the alphabet. Name three items you'd take to a deserted island. Name everyone we've lost along the way—he didn't mean to begin talking about them, but they seemed closer than ever before on the open road, under a vast, cloudless sky. The wind whisked their names from their mouths, and Dean liked the idea of them still existing, here, around them.

A map open on his lap, Cas circled every town they stopped at, traced their route with a red pen. Folded and unfolded the page until the creases made the snaking lines nearly illegible. "I want to remember," he told Dean, and Dean traced the creases to feel their route under his finger. The steering wheel was warm under his palms, the diner floors sticky under his boots, the motel sheets stiff when he pulled them back from the headboard, and he told Cas, "Pinch me," in the dark of an eighty-dollar-a-night room. Cas touched his face and kissed him instead.

The rocky coast off of Oregon delighted Cas. He rolled up his pant legs, clutched Dean's hand as they walked unsteadily over the slippery rocks to step into the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped his hair over his face and he pushed back the strands, grinning back at Dean. Sometimes at night, when Cas slept curled into him, Dean looked at the photo he'd taken of him and wished he had a place of their own to frame it.

Long phone calls to family and friends who told them to take their time, do not disturb signs hung on motel doorknobs, winding backroads and detours. He grew out his hair and told Cas he needed a cut. Cas twisted his fingers through the strands, and mused, "I like it." Dean kept it and noticed the strands curled at the ends.

A sign on the highway in Ohio read, "Hell is Real." He still had nightmares. As cornfields passed, Cas recounted seeing his soul for the first time, and sometimes Dean imagined he remembered the safety of Cas' wings as he pulled him out of the depths of Hades.

Cas got sick in Idaho, complained, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, "I told you that diner was not sanitary." Dean rubbed his back and told him he'd write a scathing review. In West Virginia, over a pile of spilled salt and stale fries that were probably nuked behind the counter, Cas told him he loved him. It wasn't for the first time, but his breath still caught in his throat.

They ate fried okra in Oklahoma City, beignets in New Orleans, and Dean requested Earth Angel on a jukebox in a vinyl and chrome diner in Wisconsin. Slid into the booth to press against Cas' side and watch him fill out postcards. Did you know dinosaurs once roamed where the Rockies now stand? Don't know when we'll be back. We bought new cassettes to add to the collection and I convinced Dean to let me choose the music. Still so much we haven't seen.

The magic fingers bed at the King's Court Motel cost four quarters for fifteen minutes—three more than when he was younger, he griped to Cas. The vibrating massage didn't seem quite as relaxing as he remembered, but maybe he was just used to more magical fingers—this he accompanied with an exaggerated wink which made Cas roll his eyes.

The Impala broke down on Route 66, and the asphalt radiated heat as he ducked under the hood. Cas hovered at his side and he realized he didn't have the tools to fix her.

They ate lunch at a mom-and-pop’s restaurant as they waited for the mechanic to finish, and Cas gave him the pickle from his sandwich. "I'm sorry I never asked you to stay," Dean told him and wished he'd said it earlier. "I never wanted you to leave."

Cas gave him a sad smile. "It's in the past." He tapped his foot against Dean's under the table, and Dean hooked his ankle with his foot.

Cas parted the curtains in every motel they slept in, tilted his face to the sun beaming through the windshield, urged Dean to stop for a cardboard sign reading Fresh Strawberries $2. Reruns of The Three Stooges made Dean laugh until he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, had to catch his breath. This happiness didn't seem so fragile, this time. When they turned on the TV tomorrow night three hundred miles away, The Three Stooges would play into the morning, and when he told Cas he loved him, Cas would say it back.

Crossing over rippling water or curving through wooded land, he and Cas spoke a cabin in the woods, a house on the coast, a home. Dean's head filled with the future instead of the past. Every mile that passed under their tires brought them closer to this dream—or so he thought, until he stopped at a red light, and Cas took his hand, and he realized home sat beside him now.

In a diner in Arkansas, Cas read from a menu, plastic corners curling, and commented, "No matter where we go, every place serves an iceberg wedge salad."

Dean replied, "I think I'm ready to stop driving."

He didn't know where they'd park the Impala for good, but he pictured somewhere with windows, patches of sunlight on the floor. The details didn't matter so much, though, not so long as he had Cas.

"For you to me are the only one," he sang over Robert Plant, glancing at Cas as he turned up the radio, wind whistling through the open windows, road humming under their feet. Happiness, no more be sad, happiness, I'm glad.

[matbaerzal]

Like This Pt.1 | T. Jost

Summary: Tyson is the best roommate you could ask for, you can't imagine ever living with someone else... no- no not like that, your relationship is purely platonic! > (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) A/N: First fic of the year hafsjkhf.... The reader studies Special Education, which will play a small part throughout this fic. Warnings: A short mention of sexual dreams Reader pronouns: she/her Words: 2,4K Tagging: @konecny-s @vitekvanecek @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @ricohenrique @notaccurateornice @tysojost @justjosty ... lmk if you want to be tagged ❤️

As you reach the door to your apartment you shift your second grocery bag into your left hand before fishing your keys out of your pocket. You hurry to turn the key in your lock as your arms are tired from the heavy weight of the amount of food you’d bought. You huff out as you open the door, absent-mindedly throwing the keys on the side table as you set the groceries down on the floor.

“I’m sorry, can you give me a minute?” you hear Tyson speak as you take off your coat and shoes. In the corner of your eye, you see him put his phone down before pushing his chair back, standing up, and walking over.

“Hey, how was work?”

You huff out a breath in reply, and when you see him grab the groceries you almost try to object, but relief washes over you before you can. You follow him to the kitchen with the intent to sort the food so he can get back to what he was doing, but he brushes you away.

“Go sit down - relax” he gives you a pointed look.

“Thanks” you smile, hesitantly making your way to the couch.

“You hungry?” he speaks over his shoulder as you sit down.

“Very” your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I made some dinner earlier, want me to heat it up for you?”

“Don’t you have an interview” you shout back.

“Eh, they can wait” he shrugs

Without waiting for you to reply he takes out the tupperware from the fridge before putting it in the microwave. Once it’s heated up he brings it over to you, along with a glass of water before he gets back to his interview, apologizing profusely to the journalist on the other end of the call for keeping them waiting.

Living with Tyson had its ups and downs, but all in all the two of you fit together well as roommates. You’d met him during his first year in Colorado, back then you were living on campus. You’d planned to move in with a friend of yours, but after she graduated she got a job offer in another state and decided to move, leaving you practically homeless as there was no way you’d be able to afford to live on your own at the time - and there was no chance that you were ever moving in with your dorm room roommate again. Tyson offered for you to stay with him for at least a little bit until you figured things out. Then he realized he really liked having you around. You’d hesitated, thinking he was just trying to be nice, before he practically begged you to stay.

Hundreds of comments from friends asking if you’re dating or having sex later, you’re still living with him - not dating, not having sex, never even having kissed, and neither of you wanted to cross that line. With the way you and Tyson clicked, there were a lot of people who had trouble believing you were just friends, but at this point, you felt like you knew each other too well. All your dirty laundry had been aired out between the two of you - both literally and figuratively. The smell of his week-old workout sweat in the laundry room was enough to put you off. It wouldn’t be fair to say it hadn’t crossed your mind though. Objectively he is very attractive - you can’t deny that - perhaps, maybe your mind traveled places as he walked out of the bathroom after a shower with only a towel wrapped around him. You knew for a fact that he’d thought about you too, having drunkenly admitted to you that he had a dream about you once - which explained that one morning where he wouldn’t meet your eye and couldn’t have gotten out of the door quicker.

But neither of you ever acted on your attraction, it was pushed into the back of your minds - ignored completely. Because that’s all it was, an attraction, and nothing more.

You watch him as he continues his interview, zoning out as you eat your food. You hear every tone of his voice, completely focused on him but at the same time not registering a single thing he’s saying. It’s only when he looks over at you that you’re shaken out of it.

“Is it alright?” he whispers, covering the microphone.

You shake your head as you're brought back to the real world, it takes your brain a few seconds to catch what he said and your cheeks feel warm as he chuckles - “Hm?”

“The food? Is it alright?”

“Mm, yeah” you take another bite, resting the fork in the food container as you reach for the TV remote to distract yourself.

You’d been swamped with work lately, between your studies and your part-time job as a teaching assistant, you barely had time to take a breather. Your third year studying Special Education at the University of Denver was hectic, any time not spent at work or on campus or studying at home was spent either eating or sleeping in your bed. Tyson could see how tired you were whenever you came home, he always cooked a little extra for his dinner so you wouldn’t go to bed without eating first. His mediocre pasta meals always tasted like heaven after the long days you had.

By the time Tyson plops down on the couch you’re finished eating and zoned out on an episode of New Girl.

“Do you have any plans on Sunday?” he asks and you shake your head - “just studying, writing”.

“Wanna come to the game? I completely get it if you just want to stay in-”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to” you perk up, you hadn’t been to a game in who knows how long and you’d put aside your assignments at least for a little while if Tyson ever asked you to. He never had to ask before, you’d come whenever you had time, but it’d been seven weeks now - Tyson kept count.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Tys, really” you pat his thigh - keeping your hand there a touch longer before removing it when you meet his soft eyes.

--

You wake up late on Sunday, head stuck to the pillow, body hesitant to leave the bed. You’d already woken up once and decided to sleep longer so you force yourself out of bed, put some clothes on and go to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. Just as you get the milk from the fridge your apartment door opens, signaling that Tyson’s home from his morning skate.

“Good morning” he smirks at you, his eyes running over your thrown-together outfit and noting the remnant of sleep in your eyes.

You nod, trying to speak through the mouthful you just took, making Tyson squint his eyes in a laugh. He waits patiently for you to finish so you can repeat your question to him - “how was the skate?”

“It was alright, easily gonna have a nap after I eat though”

“Want some cereal?” you arch your brow. He stops and thinks for a second, contemplating if he should say yes, or make his usual scrambled eggs - “you know what? Yeah” he decides. You raise your brows at him, about to make a comment but he interrupts you. “Yeah, yeah pour me a bowl before I change my mind”.

You hold your hands up - “wasn’t gonna say anything” you try, but he doesn’t look convinced. You rush to get him a bowl and a spoon, setting them down for him, pouring in some cereal as he comes over to sit next to you on your kitchen island. He pours the milk himself before lifting the bowl to clink against yours, muttering “cheers” before taking a spoonful into his mouth.

You sit in comfortable silence as you eat your food, moving around each other as you put the bowls in the sink to worry about later. You walk to the couch and open your laptop to get some work done before you have to get ready for the game.

“Do you ever take a break?” Tyson yawns, laying down on the couch next to you, his head landing on a pillow close by your thighs.

You figure his questions rhetorical, but his eyes stay on you as you start typing away on your essay. “I’m taking a break later, y’know, at the game”

“No, I mean like a real break, like flat out on the couch, books closed-”

“You’re funny”

“I’m serious”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have time for breaks Tys”

He goes quiet after that, a thoughtful look on his face as he settles into the couch, your eyes linger on him for a moment before you go back to writing your essay. It doesn’t take long for his breath to get heavy, the small snores escaping him making you smile. As you skim through an article you might use for your essay your free hand finds his hair - his curls too soft to resist running your hand through. His snoring stops as your hand first makes contact making you freeze, but he’s nuzzling into the pillow and snoring again before you know it.

Even after you’ve read the article your hand stays in his hair and you do your best to type with one hand, only opting to use your right hand when absolutely necessary. You were in tweaking stages so luckily you could keep one hand planted in his hair most of the time. You’re checking the clock here and there, knowing he didn’t set an alarm and that he didn’t like napping too long on game days, but just as you’re about to wake him he leans into your touch, eyes slowly blinking open as he hums, absentmindedly you brush his hair away from his forehead - “sleep well?”

“Like a baby” he smiles, “what time is it?”

“uh, two-thirty” you glance over at the little clock on your computer.

He leans into your hand one more time as if to savor the feel before he starts to get up, once on his feet he stretches his arms above his head, you can’t help but look as his t-shirt lifts to reveal his stomach, but you avert your eyes quickly and hope he doesn’t notice. If he did, he doesn’t comment, “want me to make dinner for you too?” he throws the words your way over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?” you tease, fully well knowing the answer, even saying it with him once he replies - “chicken and pasta”.

You turn your head to look at him, and he can’t bring himself to be annoyed at you when you smirk at him.

“Yeah, yeah” he brushes you off - “do you want some or no?”

“Yes, please” you smile.

He quickly makes the food, the recipe burned into his brain from making it time after time. He puts a little extra cheese on your plate, coming over to the couch with both plates once he’s done. You close your computer, place it to the side, and take the plate he hands to you with ease. Once your plates are scraped it’s time for Tyson to get ready, change into his suit and leave for the arena.

He walks out of his room wearing one of his three-piece suits and if you didn’t have the restraint you’d built up over the time you’d lived with him you’re sure you would’ve drooled at the sight. You’d think he was doing it on purpose, but you’d never let your weakness for the vest-jacket pairing slip, and he looks oblivious as he meets your eyes. The little spin he does for you does nothing to help and you have to give yourself credit for being so collected when he raises his brows as if to ask: “Is this alright?”.

“Looking good, Tys. I’ll see you after the game” you get off the couch as you speak and give him a quick hug, his phone pinging with a message signaling that JT is waiting for him downstairs as you break away.

“See you later,” he says.

“Kick some Dallas butt.”

He laughs as he walks through the door leaving you to yourself. You don’t wait long until you start getting ready yourself, not being able to focus on your writing with the anticipation of the game in the back of your mind. You put your lucky Avalance hoodie on, grabbing your coat before leaving with more than enough time to catch the warm-ups. There’s a couple of familiar faces there when you arrive. You’d met the players’ girlfriends a few times, mostly in this exact setting and you fell right back into the group again. You felt for them, having to watch their boyfriends play such an unpredictable sport. You guess you could imagine how it felt at least a little, living with Tyson and all, but the energy they brought to every game was admirable.

The game was tight, the boys fell behind in the first period but in the second and third they were no doubt the better team, but the puck just wouldn’t go in the net. With ten minutes left they manage to tie it and with 5 minutes left Tyson takes a tripping penalty. They killed the penalty and scored not long after to secure the win, but you could see Tyson beating himself up over the penalty that could’ve cost them the game. The look on his face as he sat in the penalty box is something you keep in the back of your mind as you leave with the girls to meet him.

He’s one of the first ones to come out of the locker rooms, head hanging low. Gabe pats him on the shoulder before he greets his wife, Tyson throws a forced smile towards his captain that seems genuine to anyone that doesn’t know him the way you do. The smile reaches his eyes once he sees you though and he drapes his arm over your shoulder when he reaches you, leading you towards the garage - “Let’s go home”

To be continued...

---- Copyright © @matbaerzal (2021)

[hookingminor]

ilyana! congrats on 2k!!!! 48 from list 2 with our favorite man to scream about, mr. tyson jost :-)

48. “We’ve known each other for years and I don’t think we’ve ever had a proper conversation.”

two / three

-

Your brother’s friends could be described as one thing: annoying.

For years you had to deal with obnoxious boys overcrowding your home and eating all the food in your pantry and teasing the shit out of you. You were just the irritating little sister they had to put up with, and one older brother had actually turned into five with how often they were at your house.

Thankfully, when your brother went off to college, the chaos calmed down and you could finally eat through an entire bag of chips by yourself without worrying one of them would snatch it from your hands. Then, you went off to college and the guys became nonexistent. Now, your parent’s home served more as a vacation spot rather than home, but that also meant you had to go back to sharing spaces when your brother brought his old buddies over.

You knew the only reason they spent so much time at your house was due to the large pool in your backyard, but the summer time was almost unbearable with how much they were in it. Every turn around the corner you were met with one of your brother’s friends.

They whispered about you behind your back, and especially your brother’s back, among themselves. Mostly, they were brief comments about how your figure had really filled out since you were sixteen. It was a complete one-eighty from when they saw you last, but they’d rather be dead than caught trying to flirt with you. It was simple bro code, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t look and appreciate your body.

You weren’t oblivious to their stares. They probably thought they were inconspicuous or not noticeable, but you weren’t dumb. The extra attention was flattering even if you weren’t going to do anything about it. If you were to get with any of your brother’s friends, it was going to be Tyson Jost, but he hadn’t spared you a second glance since seeing you again.

Tyson had been the only one of your brother’s friends to ever catch your eye. He was always handsome, but beyond that, he was so fucking nice. He didn’t partake in the teasing the rest of your brother’s friends gave you, and he didn’t think you were a burden every time you needed to catch a ride somewhere. He never went out of his way to speak to you, but he never treated you badly.

And you wanted him so bad.

He was just as respectful now as he was back then. Even after years of playing in the NHL and making millions of dollars, the fame hadn’t changed him. His arms had gotten bigger and his thighs more muscular, and his scruff was doing nothing to cool your sinful thoughts, but he was still just as kind.

Out of all your brother’s friends, he was the only one that didn’t irk the shit out of you. If anything, you kind of wished he would say something stupid so you could kill your stupid crush.

It was another hot day, the summer sun beating down on you at what felt like a thousand degrees, and you were taking advantage of the nice weather by lounging by the pool when a chorus of deep voices sounded from the sliding door.

You peeked one eye open under your sunglasses to see five idiots in swim trunks try their hardest not to let their gazes linger on you as they filed outside with a case of beer in hand. Your brother wasn’t with them, presumably still in the house, but Tyson pushed past all the guys and pulled out the lounge next to you.

“Beer?” Tyson asked, holding out a Coors can, and you thanked him as he slid the cold metal into your hand.

The other guys were still looking at you from afar, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling behind your sunglasses.

“Tell your friends they’re gonna catch flies if they don’t close their mouths,” you said, flipping over to your stomach.

You weren’t expecting Tyson to respond, but you were happily surprised when a hearty laugh sounded from his throat. Your head rested on your arms, face turned towards Tyson, and you let a smile quirk at the ends of your lips.

“I’m sorry they’re idiots,” he apologized half-heartedly.

“Not your fault,” you said. “I hope the company in Colorado isn’t as idiotic as the one you keep here.”

“Hate to break it to you, but guys of all ages are stupid,” Tyson explained, glancing over to you. His hair was curly and looked so soft you were half tempted to reach over and run your fingers through it. It was much longer than the cut he used to keep in high school, and you were a fan of this current length.

“I hope they don’t play beer darts at least,” you commented, referring to the night before when the guys sat out back for two hours playing that dumb house party game and progressively getting more drunk throughout it. Nick had taken one straight to the shin, and you could see the bandaid over his leg from your view across the pool.

“Not that stupid at least,” Tyson chuckles. “College boy stupidity is a different kind of stupid.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” you groaned.

You watched the guys, now joined with your brother, shotgun a beer and jump in the pool in quick succession.

“You know, we’ve known each other for years and I don’t think we’ve ever had a proper conversation,” Tyson says after a minute of silence, and you peer at him over the rim of your sunglasses. He leaned back against the chair, sunglasses on and beer in hand.

“I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with any of you that didn’t consist of whining about how you had to drive me to school or to the mall,” you teased.

“Hey! I never said anything,” Tyson said in defense.

“True,” you conceded. “You were the only one that didn’t piss me off back in the day.”

“I tried my hardest not to,” Tyson laughs.

I wish you would’ve tried harder to talk to me.

“Tyson! Get your ass in the pool!” Your brother interrupts, causing both of your attention to snap back to the crowd in the water.

“I think we’re good out here,” Tyson called back, and a few of the guys took the time to splash water at you.

There were loud boos shouted your way, but they left you alone after that.

“How’s school going?” He asked.

“It’s fine,” you answered cautiously. “Stressed about what to do after graduation this year, but other than that it’s all good. How is Colorado? What are the mountains like?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t do a lot of hiking,” he grins. “You should visit some time though if you’re into that. I’m sure I could scout out a few trails to take you on.”

“Really? I’d love that. I’ve barely traveled,” you admitted with a sigh. Being broke and in college with loans to pay off didn’t leave you much opportunity to do much sight-seeing.

“Of course, you can always crash at my place too if you need a place to stay,” he offered, and the gesture warmed your heart.

“Maybe I’ll make a trip later this summer then,” you thought out loud.

“Yeah?” Tyson smiled. “I think you’d love Colorado.”

“If it’s good enough for you then I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” you mused.

“Tyson!” Your brother shouted once again. “Stop flirting with my sister and get in here.”

You knew he was joking, but that didn’t stop the heat from flooding your cheeks in embarrassment. No one would be able to tell since the sun had your face feeling hot all day, but Tyson only laughed and set his empty beer can on the ground beside him.

“Why don’t you text me later if you’re still serious about Colorado?” Tyson suggested as he sat up to his full height. “Oh, and maybe we can just keep this between us?” He looked a little sheepish then, asking you to keep quiet about a possible trip where you’d see him, but it sent tingles throughout your body.

“Of course,” you replied. “I’ll text you later.”

Hope filled your stomach at the thought and tucked your face further into your arms as you tried not to ogle Tyson’s tanned, and very fit body, climb off the chair and jump into the pool.

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (v)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of poor parenting and damaged familial relationships

series masterpost: here

a/n: and just like that we're halfway through!!! it's crazy to think about it. however, lots happens in this chapter so buckle up peeps

Soon Magdalene’s feelings are going to get the better of her.

She knows she’s heading down a dangerous path but she can’t help it. Ryan is like a drug she can’t get enough of even though she knows it will hurt her in the long run. Living with him has opened her up to the laid back, intelligent, incredibly funny man he is and Magdalene doesn’t know how she’s ever going to function in her own space ever again. They complement each other like two peas in a pod, and everyone else is starting to catch on to the shift in their relationship.

“When are you going to fess up to Ryan about your feelings?” Bette asks as the two of them sit on the lawn across from the university library. It’s mid October, but the weather is still warm enough that Magdalene eats her lunch outside. Her best friend decided to join her today, no doubt knowing that she’s feeling a little lonely. The Avalanche are in the middle of their season opening road trip and have been gone for nearly five days. Ryan’s condo feels empty without him in it, and Magdalene misses him an unfathomable amount.

“Never, if I can help it,” she replies casually, taking a bite of the turkey wrap that Bette brought her from Barn Owl.

The blonde scoffs. “Fuck off. You have to. What are you going to do when he gets back from Florida and you tackle him as soon as he steps through the door.”

“Caligula will get there first,” Magdalene shrugs. “Those two are thick as thieves.”

Truthfully, Magdalene wasn’t sure what she was going to do. This is the longest they’ve been separated since she moved in and it’s proving to be a harder adjustment than she thought. Magdalene feels a little silly missing him so much – she went nearly twenty-six years without knowing Ryan but now he’s imprinted on her soul for the rest of eternity. Living without him seems impossible.

Bette drops the conversation then, almost as if she knows Magdalene is in her own world thinking about what to do. She mentions the upcoming home opener and her plans to attend with a couple of the other wives and girlfriends. “We’re going out beforehand and you should join us! I really think you’d like most of them.”

The bell in the clock tower rings, signalling the start of another hour, and Magdalene promises she’ll consider the offer as they pack up the picnic and say goodbye. It’s a short walk back to the building she works in, seeing as they were only across the street, but it takes a while for the elevator to come around. Magdalene could have taken the stairs down to the basement but they scare her a lot more than she’d like to admit. Hopefully June won’t mind her being a few minutes late.

Her boss doesn’t look too pleased when Magdalene strolls through the door almost seven minutes later then she should have, but as soon as she tosses the cookie Bette brought her in June’s direction all is forgiven. They work in near silence all afternoon, background noise provided by the small stereo in the corner and their respective grunts of frustration when an image doesn’t digitize properly. The university has finally decided to undertake the massive project of making all their school records available to the public online, and Magdalene and June are in charge of getting all the files ready before sending them to IT for installation into the website. It’s a huge task and is going to take them the better part of a month and a half to finish. Magdalene spends the rest of her work day finishing up a box of graduation records from the 1870s and leaves smelling of very old paper.

On the drive home she considers the invitation Bette extended to her. Magdalene knows she’ll be attending the game, having promised Ryan before he left that she’d be there, but she doesn’t know how to feel about going out for dinner and drink beforehand – especially with people so involved with the team. She isn’t like them, in nearly every sense of the phrase, and doesn’t want people to get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t be fair to Ryan for people to assume they’re together in case he ever does want to bring someone around, but Magdalene can’t help thinking that the speculation wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it would be the clue that shows him how she feels.

The invite stays in the back of her brain while she heats up leftovers and eats quickly, knowing that Ryan will call soon. He’s like clockwork with his precise game day routine, and he always calls shortly after four o’clock when out east. Magdalene’s phone buzzes from the spot beside her on the couch and she quickly scoops it up and accepts the call.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless because she’s so excited to talk to him.

“Hey yourself. How was work?” Magdalene can tell Ryan’s got a smile on his face even though she can’t see him. She indulges the question, telling him all about the stuff she digitized and what’s next. Though she always tries to get out of talking about work, fearing it will bore the daylights out of him, Ryan insists on hearing every detail Magdalene wants to share. He finds it all fascinating and tells her so every chance he gets. During her monologue Caligula wanders over and becomes extremely invested after he hears Ryan laugh at something Magdalene said. The small white cat jumps onto Magdalene’s lap and tries to paw the phone away from her ear.

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Little boots would like to talk.”

At the sound of Ryan’s greeting, Caligula starts meowing up a storm. It’s as though he’s actually holding a conversation with the man, waiting for Ryan to say something before he continues to make noise. Magdalene laughs through what could barely classify as a conversation until the cat gives her space to talk again.

“So,” she says, drawing out the word in an attempt to make Ryan laugh. “Bette asked me to join her and some of the other girls for drinks before Friday’s game.”

Ryan’s responding before Magdalene has finished uttering the last words. “That’s great! I think you should go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, “It would be nice for you to know someone other than Bette.”

Magdalene is surprised at the response, but tries her hardest to keep her tone light and teasing. “Why, you plan on keeping me around Mr. Graves?” She can tell Ryan is struggling to come up with an answer because there’s a fair amount of sputtering on the other end of the line.

“I’d be stupid to let you go.”

All the breath in Magdalene’s lungs escapes her. She didn’t expect him to say something like that, and it sends her mind reeling. What does he mean? Unable to process the comment, Magdalene makes up an excuse and hangs up as quickly as possible. She spends the rest of the night wondering if Ryan was trying to make a move and deciding how she should handle his homecoming in a few days.

☼☼☼☼

When Ryan gets home Thursday morning Magdalene is at work. Caligula is happy to see him, practically pouncing on him and purring so loud Ryan’s sure the neighbours heard the cat. For an animal so small, Caligula can make a lot of noise if he wants.

“Hi boy,” Ryan coos, adjusting his grip on the cat so he doesn’t get dropped while the two of them move around the house. “Did your mom talk about me while I was gone? Been thinking about her a lot lately.”

The cat doesn’t respond, of course, but Ryan finds comfort in vocalizing his emotions. Multiple times on the road trip Tyson made fun of him for the silent pining he’s found himself participating in since Magdalene moved in, and hinted that she might have said something to Bette. Neither of them are great at keeping secrets, but Ryan also knows they want him and Magdalene to get together and aren’t above manipulation to achieve their goals. He doesn’t know how Magdalene actually feels, but Ryan isn’t willing to risk losing their friendship. Just a couple of months ago she sat on the deck of the lake house and told him she wasn’t looking for a relationship – he has to assume that’s still her position because if he doesn’t Ryan isn’t quite sure what he’ll unleash. Though the two of them are close, closer than most friends, Magdalene stills keeps a lot of things to herself and Ryan doesn’t want to pry. When, and if, she’s ready he knows she’ll come to him.

Exhausted from the countless hours of travel he’s endured over the past few days and the pains that come along with being a professional athlete, Ryan falls back onto the couch cushions. He hurts in places he didn’t know existed and wants to do nothing but sleep. Caligula settles into his stomach, purring contently, and though he knows he should unpack his gear, Ryan can’t find the energy to move himself or the cat. Everything will still be there when he wakes up, and hopefully Magdalene will be on her way home. She texted Ryan earlier in the morning, no doubt just before she headed out the door, to say that she was taking some holidays to have a long weekend and would be home around noon. Sleep comes easy with Caligula nestled against his body, and Ryan dreams of Magdalene as he frequently does.

☼☼☼☼

Despite Bette telling her countless times she shouldn’t be, Magdalene is nervous. The significant others of the Colorado Avalanche are a tight knit group and are very particular with who they let in. Magdalene is a nothing, has no true connections to the team besides being Tyson’s girlfriend’s best friend, and she’s worried she won’t make the cut. If it wasn’t for Bette picking her up in the morning Magdalene would have found a way to get out of drinks, but the blonde made sure she couldn’t make a run for it.

Sitting in the elevated booth, she not-so-casually sips her glass of wine while Bette tries to calm her down. “They’re going to hate me,” she groans, lowering her head to rest it on the table.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bette counters. “You literally know most of them, and Livy will be here if you get too uncomfortable, but most of them were at EJ’s back in May.”

Magdalene can’t argue with the truth, so she rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. By the time she flags down the waiter for a refill the other girls have arrived. They take turns hugging Bette and shuffling into their seats. Magdalene feels awkward with no one acknowledging her, but she does her best to buck up and deal with it. It means a lot to Bette, and Ryan, that she’s here trying to make friends so she’ll at least make an effort.

A blonde who looks a little older than the rest addresses her first. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Mel. I think we met last season at a game.”

It takes Magdalene a second to recall the face, but then she recognizes Mel as the person who alerted her to the fight Ryan got into to defend Tyson. “Oh yeah,” she chuckles, though it’s still got a nervous quality, “You’re the one who was yelling about Ryan’s fight.”

Everyone looks at her like Magdalene had confessed to seeing a ghost. “What’s the matter?”

“No one ever calls him that,” a petite girl with tight curls explains. “We all just call him Gravy.”

“Oh.”

Magdalene isn’t sure what the comment is supposed to mean, or if it even meant anything at all, but she does her best to push it aside because Livy is trying to catch up with her. The rest of the outing goes well – Magdalene keeps quiet until someone gives an inaccurate analogy about Rome and she has to correct them. It may make her seem stuck up, but she really hates when people spread misinformation. Everyone laughs, and after that it’s hard for Magdalene to stay silent. She talks about work and college, but when someone asks about home she shuts down. Bette notices the shift in her behaviour before Magdalene’s face has even dropped, and shifts the conversation in another direction. Soon it’s a respectable time to head to the arena and they all pay their tabs, Magdalene going first and then ducking out of the bar that became crowded while they were sitting down.

The fresh air feels good against her skin, and she takes the time alone to regulate her thoughts. There’s still several hours until she can return home and cry in the shower over the mention of her family so it’s important to present a calm facade. Bette comes out slightly ahead of the other girls and checks in with her friend, but Magdalene assures her she’s okay. It was a bit of a spook, but the other girls have no idea about how fucked up her familial situation is so Magdalene can’t hold it against them. The arena is a few blocks over, so the group walks towards it at a brisk pace. Magdalene’s mind is still churning from the bar when they step inside, so she peels off from the rest of the group. Warm ups are about to start and she knows that seeing Ryan will help to calm her down, at least until they can go home and she can sequester herself away from the rest of the world.

She finds a space against the glass and strains her eyes for her new favourite number. Ryan hasn’t made it out on the ice yet, but Tyson gives her a big wave when he skates past. It takes a few seconds, though it feels like years, but Ryan eventually steps out, all long limbs and hair and dazzling smile as his teammates give him big hi-fives. Magdalene doesn’t want to intrude but she needs to spend a few moments with him to feel completely present. When he skates by she waves shyly, and Ryan doubles back once he realizes who it is.

“There’s my favourite girl!” he shouts over the crowd, making sure Magdalene can hear.

The phrase brings a smile to her face, which in turn makes Ryan light up more. “Hi Ry,��� she yells back. “I just wanted to come and say hi.”

Ryan’s heart warms at her words, but he knows that’s not the only reason. He’s lived with her long enough to know that something is bothering her but he isn’t going to push. There isn’t much time to have a conversation, so Ryan takes the time to make plans for after the game. “You riding home with me?”

Magdalene nods. “Yeah. Bette picked me up this morning so I didn’t drive.”

The loud sound of sticks clapping against the ice startles them both, and it’s Ryan’s teammate’s way of getting him to refocus. Magdalene says goodbye and before Ryan heads back to the bench he flips a puck over the glass for her. She smiles brightly, and watches him skate away. On her way up the stairs she hands it to a little girl wearing a much too big Graves jersey. It makes her night, and Magdalene returns to the private box she’s watching the game from feeling much lighter than when she entered the arena.

☼☼☼☼

Later, much later, after all of Ryan’s post game media and sitting through the traffic of downtown, Magdalene opens up about what was bothering her at the arena. The two of them are curled up in Ryan’s bed buried under a mass of blankets with several pillows strewn about. It’s become a frequent place for them to spend time, and every time they lay down Magdalene rests her head on Ryan’s chest and he keeps her in place with his arms wrapped tightly around her. Magdalene’s clutching his hoodie tighter than usual, her voice small as she speaks into the darkness of the room.

“I didn’t just want to say hi earlier.”

Ryan isn’t surprised by her confession, but wants to know what caused the surprise visit. “No? What was it?”

Magdalene lift head and shifts to face him, propping herself up with an open palm. “It’s kind of stupid,” she mumbles, feeling dumb for even bringing it up. Ryan doesn’t want to know the sob story that is her past life. “But it’s mostly okay now.”

“You don’t have to tell me, and I don’t want to push, but I think getting it off your chest will help,” he whispers, feeling like talking in a normal voice could startle the girl in front of him.

He’s right – Magdalene knows it. Telling someone the truth, as much of the truth as she can share, other than Bette would do her some good. Her therapist once said Magdalene needed to work on letting people in, and she figures there’s no one better than Ryan. “One of the girls asked me about home when we were getting drinks, and it’s just a really sore subject for me. I shut down and just needed to see you to ground myself.” Ryan goes to talk, but Magdalene continues. “No one really knows, but I left for Denver as soon as I graduated high school. My parents weren’t the greatest, and I suffered a lot emotionally at home. When I told them I was leaving, they told me never to come back and we haven’t spoken since. So yeah, that’s pretty much it. And I just needed to see you to remind myself that I’m okay without my family. You’re part of my family now, the one that really matters.”

Ryan is speechless. “Oh bug,” he sighs, heart hurting for all the pain Magdalene has experienced in her life. “I’m so sorry.” He wants to scream for her, maybe even break something, but all his anger dissipates when he looks down and sees her crying. Silently, Ryan wipes away the tears with the pad of his thumb and holds Magdalene until she stops trembling. They lay in silence for a while, sitting with the weight of the confession she just made. At some point Caligula shuffles in and finds a spot at Ryan’s side that isn’t occupied by Magdalene. The three of them feel like a little family, and it’s too good for Magdalene not to do something about.

“Can I kiss you?”

She’s never been so confident while asking a question. Magdalene knows he wants to kiss Ryan, has known for a while, and after baring her soul to him it seems like an appropriate time to take the plunge. They’ve never truly been just friends and everyone around them, including themselves, knows it.

“Mags,” Ryan says in a gentle yet stern voice, “I’m not gonna kiss you. You’ve just been very vulnerable with me, which I appreciate, and though I really really want to fucking kiss you I’m going to take advantage of you like that.”

If it were possible, Magdalene’s heart would expand so much it would be close to bursting. “I promise this is what I want and that I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. So please shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

She leans forward to connect their lips, and it feels like a fire has been ignited in her veins. Ryan is soft and gentle with the right amount of grit to make Magdalene weak in the knees. They move in tandem, giving and taking where necessary, and by the time they pull apart for air Magdalene thinks she’ll never be able to kiss anyone other than Ryan. When he looks at her, eyes kind and glimmering with light, Magdalene is certain kissing other people is off the table.

Neither of them make an effort to talk about what just happened or what it means. Instead, Magdalene kisses him again, and again, and keeps going until she’s completely out of breath. There’s no protest from Ryan, and he looks as blissful as Magdalene feels. She rests her head on his chest again and he cards his fingers through her hair as they sit in the comfortable silence that surrounds them.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene keeps kissing Ryan, and he keeps kissing her. It’s always in the safety of his apartment, oftentimes with Caligula in the way, but wholesome and loving and warm. They haven’t defined their relationship, and truthfully Magdalene is glad. She likes being friends with Ryan and doesn’t know how the added pressures of dating would affect them – though she might like kissing him more than just being friends.

It becomes routine for either of them to reach for a kiss before heading to the door. Magdalene gets one every time she leaves for work, and if she’s there before Ryan has to leave for games he’s pulled into her lips by his tie. It’s fun and it’s new and Magdalene never wants it to end. She keeps the secret for a couple weeks, but eventually it becomes too much to hold in and she tells Bette one Saturday when they meet for brunch at Barn Owl because the boys are away.

“I kissed Ryan.” It’s out of her mouth like a bullet, cutting through the air and ringing out. Bette is shocked, jaw dropping, only to open further when Magdalene corrects herself. “Been kissing Ryan, actually.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Bette laughs, still not one hundred percent sure Magdalene is being serious. When the brunette nods her head, she squeals in what can only be presumed as delight. “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

Magdalene indulges her friend, and spills every detail she’s willing to share. Part of her wants to keep a bit of her life with Ryan a secret so she does, but Bette is more than willing to work with the information given. She listens carefully while Magdalene talks and waits until there’s nothing more to say before diving into a long list of reasons why kissing Ryan is the best thing that’s ever happened to her friend. Magdalene isn’t sure that it’s great because Bette will always have someone to go to games with, but she is in agreement that it is one of the best choices she’s ever made. They spend the rest of the morning giggling like school girls over potential love and Magdalene heads back to Ryan’s place feeling light and airy.

☼☼☼☼

The first thing Ryan does when he comes home is kisses Magdalene. She’s sitting on the couch with Caligula on her lap reading a book, and he doesn’t even bother to drop his bags on the floor before leaning over the worn leather and connecting their lips. It feels heavenly after the days-long absence and Magdalene chases his lips when Ryan pulls away.

“I missed you.”

They’re three words that shouldn’t mean much, but coming from him they send Magdalene spiralling. He missed her? The girl who spends her days geeking out over old documents and talks to her cat? Regardless of how true the statement is she appreciates it, because Magdalene missed Ryan more than she could ever explain.

“How was the flight home?” she asks, twirling a lock of his hair around her index finger and pulling him down for another kiss. Ryan happily obliges, and kisses her until Caligula begins to meow for attention. The cat practically launches himself into Ryan’s arms as he rounds the corner to sit down next to Magdalene, and purrs loudly at being reunited with the tall man.

Ryan laughs at the animal’s antics before wrapping his spare arm around Magdalene and pulling her close. “It was fine. We hit a bit of turbulence that made it hard to sleep but I managed,” he replies, and reaches for the television remote. Magdalene hums in response, resting her head on Ryan’s shoulder and returning her attention to the book in her hands. It’s silent except for the low buzz of the television as Ryan reviews tape, but neither of them mind. Co-existing is enough for both of them, and it’s peaceful and easy. The occasional conversation occurs but they mostly do their own thing, enjoying the feeling of being together again. More than a few kisses are shared, and Magdalene eventually pries herself away from Ryan long enough to make dinner.

They stayed glued to each other until Magdalene falls asleep. Ryan doesn’t even notice when it happens, but eventually he tries to leave the couch to get a glass of water and finds dead weight on top of him in the shape of the girl he just might love. Magdalene’s snoring softly, and he’s positive there is nothing more adorable in the entire world. A glance at the clock on the wall alerts Ryan to the fact that he should go to bed too, and he begins to brainstorm how to get Magdalene into bed without waking her. She’s been exhausted lately, working extended hours, and he knows she needs all the rest she can get.

It takes a few moments to coordinate, but Ryan gets himself upright without Magdalene realizing she’s no longer using him as a pillow. Gently he scoops her into his arms and pads down the hallway, careful not to hit her ankles on the walls or door frames. Once inside her room, Ryan tucks Magdalene into bed and makes sure her phone is on the nightstand just where she likes it. She looks so content in sleep that he can’t help but lean down and press a shirt kiss to her forehead.

“Night Mags,” he whispers into the dark, wondering if she’ll wake and hear all the adoration his voice holds.

Magdalene stirs at the noise, and opens her eyes to see Ryan’s retreating figure. “Night Ry.”

It’s late, approaching two in the morning, when Magdalene’s phone starts ringing off the hook. Though Ryan has told her multiple times that she doesn’t need to turn her sound on before she goes to bed, she can never find it in her to heed his words. What if there’s an emergency somewhere and some hospital has to get a hold of her? Magdalene would never be able to forgive herself if she was too late because she slept through the incoming calls.

Despite her underlying fears of missing something important, Magdalene considers letting it go to voicemail. She’s exhausted, between the high maintenance projects at work and trying her hardest to go to every Avalanche home game she can, and if it’s urgent she’s sure the person will call again if they need her. It rings three more times before Magdalene decides to pick it up – if only to stop the incessant noise.

Not bothering to even see who’s calling at such an ungodly hour, Magdalene speaks in a sleep-laden voice that betrays what she was doing not even a minute prior. “Hello?”

Bette answers her, offering a quick but sincere apology for the time but explaining that it couldn’t wait. Magdalene groans in contempt, thinking that it most certainly could have waited a few more hours. She doesn’t voice her opinion however, instead waiting for her friend to spill whatever news was making her bounce up and down on the other side of the line.

She’s about to hang up when Bette utters a sentence Magdalene’s been waiting for but never thought she’d hear at one fifty-seven am. “I’m getting married!”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlouisbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster @rapidfever @bb-nhlqueen7 (add yourself to the taglist!)

[marcherarrant]

"On this day, March 1st 2021, Marcher Arrant sets off for his biggest walk yet...a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail."Here we go!!! This is so surreal,  I can't believe this is happening! I'm excited and nervous! This is so much more than a walk. Every walk I do is. It is my way of life, my art, my therapy,  my source of meaning, ect. But this walk in particular is something even more. This walk is the crossing over of a threshold. It is a self created rite of passage, a new beginning. As a Walker my I embrace a philosophy of becoming, of constant movement, of no beginning or ending, constant flux. That being said, there are moments of being, moments when flowers bloom. I'm in love with shows and movies in which you see people become their destiny. It's perhaps a banal example but the first show that comes to mind is Better Call Saul. I watched that with such joy seeing him become the sleazy lawyer he was meant to become. I was destined to become this person I have always dreamt myself to be, Marcher Arrant. This walk is where I become him fully.  I made a real life flag as a symbol of that. I was born a Walker. I began walking more than those around me when I was in 6th or 7th grade. And my love for it has continually grown through the years and there have been countless thresholds I've crossed that have been pivotal in marking me for my destiny. It was around middle school or early high school that I walked from my house to downtown Columbus,  a 4 hour walk. I later walked there and back. Years later I walked the tracks from Boulder, Colorado to Denver, a twelve hour walk. I ended up doing that walk a lot. Eventually I walked to Denver and back, walking for more than 24 hours without stopping. Then I started doing aimless 24 hour walks all the time. I moved to Paris. From there I did my first long distance walk, a month-long  trip from Paris to Rocessvelles, Spain. That opened up a whole new door. I then walked the entire length of every street in Paris. And on and on and on... so many walks. In Paris,  maybe 10 years ago now, thanks to my homie Curve (@thecurvazoid, forever grateful) I began toying with graff, came up with my character and name. I later moved to Spain and did many more walks.  For most of my life my walking was something personal that I did not share with anyone. I thought it romantic, beautiful and pure that my art was just for me.  But then I had a health scare and it was then I got the urge to share what I do online. I felt I had something unique to offer the world and I did not want to die without sharing it.  I am glad I did because doing so gave my life so much more meaning.  I then got into making art and books and fell in love with that.  2 years ago I decided that before I did another big walk that I would catch my art up to my life and make books and art from all my previous walks so that when I did the next walk I could focus for the first time on making art and a book while I was doing the walk instead of going back and doing it after the fact. I finished all the art and books for my past walks. This is the first walk where everything comes together for the first time, the walk, the art, the book, the graffiti. Also over the last two years I decided to set up for myself work so that I will always have a job no matter where in the world I am so that I can walk with no pause. I began an online English teaching business. It was a long road to be able to get enough students so that I could make a living from it.  I have finally gotten to the point where I am fully booked. I begin my dream life now, a sustainable life where through art and teaching English I can walk forever and take care of myself.  My dream is to spend my life walking the world, alternating from long distance walks to living in new cities and fully exploring those, walking every street and painting and making art.  This is a dream come true, my idiosyncratic idea of the perfect life, a life I will never tire of, one that suits who I am in the most perfect way.  I am in love with the writer Nietzsche who philosophy was about making your life a work of art, living in a way that ties together all the aspects of you into a beautiful whole. The work I have done over the past few years with the walking, the graffiti, the English teaching, the art and books, the travel and how they have all tied together at this moment, with this walk, I have accomplished this goal of making my life a work of art and tying all the aspects of my life into a harmony. No matter what happens in my life now, I can die happy having accomplished this. For me, it is a sort of intangible form of art, my greatest accomplishment.  It is so hard to figure out who you are and what you want when there is no precursor to it. I am so fucking proud of myself for believing in my strange vision despite the fact that until very recently it never gave me a cent, never did anything to advance my life or do anything for me besides the meaning it gave to me. It is so hard to keep doing something that seems to everyone around you, to society, to be utterly useless. You have to be brave and trust your vision. 

The hardest part of any walk for me is getting to the starting point.  I grew up pretty poor.  When you grow up poor, at least for me, everything seems so out of reach.  You have this unconscious feeling that you would never be able to do so many things.  This is great because when you do those things your mind is just blown and you  are so amazed and in disbelief and you don’t take it for granted in the slightest.  I never in a million years thought I would be able to live in another country.  I thought that was something rich people do which is totally untrue but that is just the kind of mentality you have when you grow up poor.  When I moved to Europe it was surreal. Every single day, for the ten years I lived there, I was in total awe that I was there. I did not have a single boring day. Every single day I could not believe I lived there and that did not lessen a single minute bit the entire time I lived there.  It is the same way I feel about doing long distance walks. I was so amazed by the idea of the Appalachian Trail when I was a kid. But I thought only rich people could do it.  The fact that I am setting out to do it today is absolutely surreal. I am in total disbelief that I am doing it. I keep getting scared that somehow something is going to happen so that I can’t do it. I don’t take it for granted in the slightest that I get to do it.  It literally feels like a miracle to me. And there are so many to thank for it.  First I want to thank my mom and step dad who let me live at their house rent free while I worked on starting my online English teaching business and making barely any money.  I never could have started my business without them and saved the money I have.  I thank my grandma, my dad and step mom, my sisters, my brother and all my family who have helped me so much. Thank you so so so much to the people who have bought art, books, stickers from me over the past couple years, people who have given me donations, people who bought shirts, pins ect. I never could have done this walk without that support and I am eternally grateful and forever in your debt. I take none of that for granted. Thank you for all the kind words, messages and comments, you have no idea how much that has helped me to keep on. You have no idea. No fucking idea. I could kiss every last one of you. These past two years have been two of the hardest years of my life. For the past year I worked 7 days a week, waking up at 4:30am. For various reasons I went through some horrendous depression, so many suicidal thoughts. So many times I wanted to take the money I saved for this walk and check myself into a mental hospital. All the positive words from people really helped me to keep on. Thank you so much.  Thank you to my crew, the Abe Lincoln Brigade, Impeach, Hank, and Alamo. I’m so grateful and honored to be in a crew with such legends, people who I’ve always idolized. Thanks again to Curve (@thecurvazoid) for giving me one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given, the gift of getting me creating art.  And thank you to Art Primo (@artprimo ) for sponsoring this walk with art supplies. Not only does this help financially but the fact that such a legendary company believes in what I do enough to give me supplies is such an honor and so fucking encouraging. 

There are two new things that I am doing with this walk. One, is that I will be making art with the guidebook pages as I do the walk. I have already made art with maps from my walks, but I did it after I did the walk. This is the first time I will be making art as I am actually doing the walk. I am so in love with this idea. And I love that when I send the art it will be from whatever town I am in along the walk. I think that makes the envelope itself kinda a piece of art. Selling art along the way will also make it so I spend the money for my trip at a slower rate and hopefully not end totally broke like I usually do. The second new thing I will be doing is making it so people can follow my walk online. I have a gps device that also tracks me and sends that information to a website. I think that’s kinda fun and cool. It also makes it so if you want to meet up and you see I’m near you you can reach out. A lot of people have offered me a place to stay or just meet up and I am so disorganized that It makes it hard to remember all the people and where they live. Hopefully this helps to make meeting up possible. You can follow my walk at share.garmin.com/marcherarrant. Again, thank you all for everything!

[ghstandpucks]

Cutting Edge ~ Nathan MacKinnon

A.N.: Hi everyone! So I’ve decided to write a short story with Nathan MacKinnon. Y/N is a figure skater who becomes the Avs’ new skating coach. This chapter basically just sets it up. The title is an ode to my favorite figure skating movie (the only one I can actually watch without rolling my eyes). I myself was a competitive figure skater, so the terms are accurate. 

Also, shout out to @bqstqnbruin​ for allowing me to bounce this idea off of her! If you have not read her stories, I suggest you check them out! Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you all think! 

ch. 1

Prologue 

As your music came to it’s ending note, you popped out of your signature scratch spin and dug your toe pick into the ice, effectively stopping your momentum. With a backward bend and a hand reaching up toward the sky, you tried to catch your breath as you heard the crowd erupt around you. The whole rink was lifted with cheers as you held your pose five more seconds. Three, two, one, you counted to yourself as you straightened up, bringing your hand in the air to your beating heart. This had to be a dream. No way did you execute your routine as flawlessly as you felt. But as you smiled and waved to the crowd, picking up a few thrown bouquets of flowers off the ice as you skated toward your beaming coaches, it all became real.

You sat in the kiss and cry booth with your coaches Erica and Larry as you awaited your final scores. Sitting as properly and calmly as possible, you were freaking out on the inside. But you didn’t show it. You never showed it. As Erica had told you when you were 11 competing at your first junior nationals, the judges were always watching…and they were always judging. Off ice appearance was just as important as on ice performance.

           You held your breath and gripped your coach’s hands tightly as your scores appeared on the board. You were the last skater of the event, the favorite to win. Your placement would be final, and you were already second after the short program. One by one the judges scores showed, and you could not believe your eyes. They were what you needed, and the crowd erupted again as a first place was placed on the screen by your name. You jumped off the bench seat with your coaches and were immediately wrapped in hugs with happy tears streaming down your cheeks.

           Moments later, you were standing on top of the podium with a bouquet in your hands and the United States flag wrapped around your shoulders, a gold medal being placed around your neck. You were smiling so wide your cheeks were hurting. At 20 years old, you were heading toward the end of your single women’s figure skating career and there was no better way then to end it than this. For you, Y/N Y/L/N, were now an Olympic Gold Medalist.

~ ~ ~

           The following year, you skated your last performance at the World Championship, going out with the best routine you had ever skated. Your retirement year was full of gold medals as you went out gracefully on top. Single female figure skating careers were never long. By the time you reached 22 you were considered old and the announcers speculated when your last skate would be. Even at 21, you felt like a veteran senior at competitions. After winning the gold at the Olympics though, you had become America’s sweetheart. Your retirement at 21 was one that had stands filled with fans, family and friends. Everything you had worked for since you were 4, was coming to an end.

           Continuing with skating, you did shows and exhibitions like every recently retired successful skater does. You traveled with Smucker’s Stars on Ice tour, performed at Scott Hamilton’s Friends on Ice, attended galas, spoke at charity events, and even guest hosted competitions. So when the president of the United States Figure Skating association approached you to be a spokesperson and participant for a new program they were rolling out, you jumped at the opportunity to stay on the ice. Ice was comforting, being at a rink felt like home.

           For the skating season of 2020/2021, USFS was partnering with the NHL. Retired skaters who wanted to participate would be assigned to a cooperating NHL team as a new skating coach. The idea was to provide figure skaters with a way to stay on the ice if they did not want to go into coaching figure skating themselves; as well as provide NHL teams with a new skilled pair of eyes, and footwork that could benefit a team’s skating performance. Though figure skaters could be looked at as dainty and fragile, they could turn on a dime, jump on any edge, and take a fall (without pads).

           That was how presently, the Colorado Avalanche were watching a short video on who their new skating coach would be. As soon as the words “Olympic champion” came out of Coach Bednar’s mouth, the team was curious. And as soon as they saw this petite figure skater on the screen, some chuckled that you would be the one to yell at them about their skating. Most were impressed by your routines though. Clean, sharp, and precise your movements were. Not to mention a handful thought you were good looking. One player in particular could not take his eyes away from the screen though, watching you with an intensity he usually reserved for studying game films. Nathan MacKinnon could not deny that he found you attractive, and his heart gave a small flutter when you laughed during an interview in the clip.

           When the video ended and the lights were turned back on, Coach Bednar got the teams attention. “This is Y/N Y/L/N. She will be our new skating coach for the season. USFS and the NHL have struck a deal for the 20/21 season to see how it goes. If it goes well, it will continue. Not only is this girl an amazing figure skater, but when I had the pleasure to met her at the conference, she was intelligent, kind, and well spoken. She is the spokesperson for this new initiative. She was placed with us because as coaches, we chose her. With all her accolades, I do not need to tell you how many other participating teams also tried to acquire her. USFS thought her personality would work best with our staff, as well as all of you. You will treat her with the respect you have for any coach on this team. If I hear a negative word about Coach Y/L/N out of any of you, you will miss the home opener. She is to be taken seriously, and treated with respect. Do I make myself clear?” Bednar asked, and the team nodded their heads and agreed. “Good. She will be here on Monday for summer camp. Have a nice weekend,” he dismissed his team.

           Nate was gathering his things when Gabriel Landeskog clapped him on his shoulder. “This should be interesting,” he spoke with a smile. Nate chuckled and turned toward him.

           “You can say that again,” he said as Tyson Jost joined them as they walked out of the rink.

           “She’s hot,” Tyson said, matter of fact, to which his captain smacked him upside the head.

           “She’s your coach now so behave,” he huffed, though he was laughing. He had seen the way Nate watched the film, and had a feeling that the center was thinking the same thing as Tyson. The younger man rubbed the back of his head dramatically, and said his good byes to his teammates. When it was back to just the two of them, Gabe turned his attention to his alternate captain. “What are you thinking about this figure skater?” he asked in amusement. Nate tried to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t even met the girl and yet the thought of her being at practice tomorrow made his hands clam up. He tried to hid this from his friend as he busied himself finding his car keys.

           “I’m thinking that she’s more decorated than any of us. Five National championships, three World championships, and an Olympic gold medal. I feel very unaccomplished,” he spoke. Gabe chuckled and nodded.

           “I’m sure that’s exactly what your thinking. See you tomorrow Nate,” Gabe said. Leave it to Nate to remember the skater’s stats before he even met them. He was interested to see how this would play out.

[archivingspn]

2019: Twitter- Eric Kripke

therealKripke: “In honor of #SPN300, here's my original #SPN pitch from 2004. The pilot story is very different, but the tone always rang clear to me. Could never have imagined what this show became and the good it's done. Humbled and grateful beyond words to you all. #SPNFamily @cw_spn ‘[images of spn pilot’s 4pg script]’“ - 12:08 PM Feb 7, 2019

[source]

                                                                                                       1

Supernatural

Pitch by Eric Kripke August 30, 2004

I. TONE AND WORLD

In one sentence, this is X-FILES meets ROUTE 66. Two brothers, cruising the dusty back roads in their trusty 64 Mustang, battling the things that go bump in the night. But much more than that, it's a show about an obsession of mine...

Throughout the U.S., (especially the MIDDLE, where I'm from), we have a folklore, as uniquely American as baseball, as rich and varied as any world mythology, and almost nobody knows it. For instance, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil, at an abandoned Mississippi crossroads, to be the world's greatest guitarist. But he died violently, poisoned at age 26, screaming about Hellhounds as he choked on his own blood. In the shadowy north woods of Minnesota, lives a creature named the Wendigo. Translated from Native American, it means "evil that devours.” It feeds on human flesh. And even today, dozens of witnesses say it's very real.

There are literally HUNDREDS of these stories and legends and urban legends. There are dark and dangerous things out there in the corners of our country. So here's a show that travels the diverse highways and byways of supernatural America. Black woods, ghost towns, those tourist trap mystery spots. Really, a show ABOUT our country-the bloody, beating heart of America.

Unlike X-FILES, this show isn't Vancouver rainy. It's brighter, more colorful, more VISCERAL, and more irreverent. The humor here is extremely important to me—but it has to arise from the characters and their attitudes. The characters can be funny, but the weekly stories have to be SCARY AS SHIT– I'm talking THE RING; how what you don't see is much more terrifying than what you do. I'm talking about making this series as scary as I possibly can, until you guys call and yell at me.

But I also want the tone to be GROUNDED. Where BUFFY, for example, felt HEIGHTENED, our show should feel like OUR WORLD, real-life America. With a darkness that bubbles and boils just beneath the surface. And I want to keep the weekly stories CREDIBLE- leave 'em with a question mark, the possibility of a rational explanation. Something early X-Files did very well.

Finally, I want this show to capture a certain SPIRIT. For one, that youthful electricity of dropping out and hitting the open road; the freedom of wide-open American spaces. But also, EVERY road trip story-from FEAR and LOATHING to Kerouac to The Odyssey, are inherently mythic quests, hero's journeys, real Joseph Campbell stuff. The way STAR WARS, LORD OF THE RINGS, and MATRIX are all the same story, with the same beats. So our series, too, is an epic hero's quest-- across the United States. Almost like a modern western, and our heroes are gunslingers. Or, as I like to call it - it's STAR WARS in TRUCK STOP AMERICA.

                                                                                                                2

II. CHARACTERS AND FRANCHISE

Now, let's get into establishing our characters, and launching our franchise.

So if this is STAR WARS, meet LUKE SKYWALKER. SAM HARRISON, 21. Think Jake Gyllenhall, or Tobey Maguire. Smart, funny, handsome, maybe a little type-A. He just graduated Stanford with a 4.0, and now he's heading back down to L.A., where he lives with his Aunt and Uncle, he'll spend the summer clerking at a powerful law firm. And in the Fall... Harvard Law, thank you very much. Pedal to the metal, Sam is cruising the track to success. But, like all good Luke Skywalker heroes, Sam is vaguely restless. He tells his girlfriend, maybe he should drop everything this summer and blow off to Europe. But of course, he doesn't. He has too many responsibilities.

Sam's well adjusted, successful life, it's a real triumph, especially considering his background. Fifteen years ago, his dad JACK became increasingly dark and depressed. He drank. A lot. Until Mom and Dad were in a car crash. Dad was driving. He lived. Mom didn't. That triggered a schizophrenic breakdown in Dad. He swore that twisted, dark, horrific things caused that crash and took Mom away. And those same dark things were chasing after him. Dad was institutionalized. But he escaped. And disappeared.

Sam is ashamed of his tragic past. Hates his Dad, blames him for killing Mom, and NEVER, EVER talks about it.

Now, Sam's mythic CALL TO ADVENTURE, the events that will change his life forever, begin simply enough. When his big brother DEAN rolls into town. Meet DEAN HARRISON, 25, think Colin Farrel. If Sam's the good kid, Dean's the troublemaker. If Sam's Luke Skywalker, Dean's Han Solo. Charismatic and dangerous. Cocky confidence masking a troubled soul. Sam hated Dad, but Dean was older and remembered Dad in brighter days, and he worshipped the man. Sam buried his past and ignored it, but Dean was haunted by it, never quite got his shit together. Dean never went to college. Just sort of traveled around. In fact, Sam hasn't heard from Dean in almost 3 years, which Sam clearly resents.

And now... Dean makes Sam a proposition. Let me drive you down to L.A.- it's just one day, we'll get a chance to catch up a little. Reluctant, Sam agrees.

At first, they're enjoying the electric, carefree pleasures of a ROAD TRIP. Top down, radio blaring, singing their lungs out to AC/DC.

But then... at twilight... on an empty stretch of highway... Dean's driving. And he has to make a confession. (Though I'm sure we'll break this up into a few different scenes.) "Sam. There's something I need to tell you," Dean says. “I went looking for Dad. And I found him. Took just about every dime I had, but I found him. And I've been with him, for almost 2 years." Sam is shocked and betrayed: "what?! Why didn't you tell me?!" But Dean continues: "listen. I know this is hard to believe. But Dad WASN'T nuts.

                                                                                                                    3

Demons really DID kill Mom. Dark, awful things WERE following Dad. I know. Because I can see them. Because they're following me, too."

Obviously, Sam is BEYOND freaked and well aware that schizophrenia is hereditary. Dean goes on, getting worked up-“so Dad figured out how to kill these things, and he showed me how. Until they caught up to us in Baker. They got Dad. Before I got them." "What do you mean, you GOT them?” asks Sam. “I killed a demon. In human form," says Dean. “You killed somebody?!" "No, I killed a DEMON, it only LOOKED human.” (Which could be a scary, visceral teaser, by the way.) Anyway, DEAN continues: “Listen to me, Sam... it was Dad's wish, his DYING WISH, that I find you, that I teach you the way he taught me.” At this point, Sam goes into placating, survival mode. “Okay. Sure. Just calm down." But Sam's terrified-of his own brother.

Meanwhile, as this conversation's going on, Dean isn't going to L.A. He takes a detour-- for all intents and purposes, kidnapping Sam. They pull into a small, faded, all-American town in Central California. It's 1950's American optimism gone to seed. Basically, they pull right into the pilot's SELF ENCLOSED B-STORY. Whatever it is, the story should be simple, giving us room to focus on the brothers. It should be based in Folklore. And it should be personal—the job their father never completed.

Now, here's an example of exactly the kind of story I'm talking about. The real life ghost story of the "Weeping Woman," a sobbing wraith in a bloody white nightgown. She murdered her children by the river side, as revenge against her unfaithful husband. And today, it's said she lures unfaithful men to the river and drowns them. And sure enough, several MEN in this town have turned up dead by the river's edge. Anyway, something like this. And Dean, despite his smart ass jokes and references to the movie Poltergeist, seems to be taking this SERIOUSLY.

But Sam doesn't believe a WORD of it. First moment he's alone, he calls his Aunt and Uncle. “I'm with Dean, I think he's sick.” They tell him—"cops in Baker found your Dad's body. And a truck driver's body, too. Dean's the suspect. You have to get away! Where are you?!” But before Sam can answer-he pivots, right into Dean. Who grabs the phone, SMASHING it, furious: “Dammit, Sam, I'm not insane," Dean says, “Caspar the unfriendly fucker is really out there!"

Then, as Dean delves deeper and deeper into the ghost story, dragging a reluctant Sam along with him... INEXPLICABLE SUPERNATURAL phenomenon begin to occur, which SERIOUSLY RATTLES Sam. We'll have several good, scary set pieces. And soon, Sam doesn't know WHAT to think. And in the B-STORY'S climax, he'll even save Dean at some crucial point. (Though we'll be careful to leave things open ended, with just the possibility of a logical explanation.)

Afterwards, a beat in which Dean, vulnerable, says to his brother-"I've been thinking. And you're going home, Sam. You're smart, and you've got everything going for you. I don't care what Dad said, I can't let you live like this... Still," says Dean, "it was nice having you around. When you're with somebody... you just don't feel as crazy as

                                                                                                                   4

often." Sam's very conflicted, and he feels awful, but he can't just abandon his old life. So the brothers part ways. Sam hitchhikes up the road. Meanwhile, thanks to his Aunt and Uncle, the cops have been searching for Sam, and now they find him.

At the station, Sam tells the cops, Dean's in Colorado by now. But a patrol car has spotted Dean's parked Mustang at a nearby motel. The police grab SHOTGUNS, they're going to take Dean with force. And in the face of ONE PASSING COP, Sam sees-a glimpse. A shimmer. Something DEMONIC and INHUMAN flashes across the cop's face-and then it's gone, just as quick. Did Sam imagine it? Is he going insane, too? Or is Dean really in danger? Are dark, awful things really after him, like he said?

This is Sam's crossroads moment. And he makes a decision-he takes off. Steals a car. Beats the cops back to Dean. Warns him at the last minute. It's very TIGHT and very HECTIC, but Sam and Dean get away. Escaping by the skin of their teeth.

As we leave Sam... he doesn't know if he's losing his mind. He doesn't know if Dean's a hero or a homicidal schizophrenic. All he knows is-Dean's his brother, and he needs help. And for now, that's enough.

III. THE SERIES ITSELF

I think the overall GOAL here, is building an engine that gives us SELF ENCLOSED STORIES. I am gonna pitch some very simple mythology, but STAND ALONES are a format I really believe in, they're the shows I loved and grew up on. Like the best EARLY episodes of X-FILES.

So basically, our two heroes, avenging their parents' death, cruise the golden backroads of America-picture chrome diners and bucolic farms and dusty Route 66 towns. Places that are mythic and American, but also haunting, in a way. Places where horror can strike in broad daylight. Sam and Dean are kind of like classic gunslingers, or dragon slayers, finding-and KILLING—the monsters of American folklore.

So first question-how do they find the damn things? Dean tracks these creatures in a low-tech way. He scans obituaries for strange deaths. Dean also has a loose network of contacts - defrocked ministers and trailer park psychics, who impart information to our heroes whenever necessary.

Second question-how do they KILL the damn things? The answer—they have no fucking idea. They're outgunned and desperate and in completely over their heads. They don't have a WATCHER, like in BUFFY. They don't have an OBI WAN. They're on their own. Each week, they gotta figure out what the hell they're dealing with, and how the hell to kill it. And a lot of the time, they're wrong, and they have to improvise. Whether it's finding a ghost's remains - and burning them into dust; or loading a shotgun with silver buckshot, our guys will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

[julessworldd]

I love them Poly!Guns x reader

I seen where someone wanted more Poly!Guns, so you asked so you shall recieve. Who doesn’t love Poly!guns anyways.

Summary: The reader’s mom and sister show up unannounced, planning on taking the reader back home. Tabloids showed up her in her hometown, the family was worried about her in LA. I always wondered how Poly realtionships work when telling the parents, so here’s my take on it. 

Warnings: The boys being protective, silly with the reader. Cussing, arguing, implied smut. Think that’s all, sorry if I missed any

I moved to L.A. the day after graduation from high school, and had been saving money since I was 13. Living in a small town Colorado, where you’ve gone to school with the same kids since Elementary school, becoming a townie scared me. Since then, I’ve not talked to my family that much.  I met the boys one night after a show, Izzy bumped into me while walking down the strip. We all became friends and then our little thing started, we dated each other. It had been a thing for two almost three years now, I loved every minute of it, and loved my boys as well. 

Duff and I were making breakfast as slowly each boy came down, pissed that they had to start their day. “Did you open that one envelope? Looked like it was from home”, Duff asked. “I’m not sure how they found me. I’ve not gave them my new address”, I laid eggs on a plate. “Why don’t you talk to them anymore?”, Duff asked again. “Just don’t. I’m the black sheep of the family, babe. I never wanted to stay in Colorado,work on the family ranch or get pregnant with a shitty high school football player. They didn’t like it so I left after graduating.”, I said. “I’m glad you left”, Izzy passed by us. “I’m not saying I’m not glad she left, but it’s weird that the envelope has stayed on the counter, unopened”, Duff said. “Fine, I’ll open it after I eat and shower”, I groaned. I know Duff was only being nice, but I didn’t like hearing from my family.  There was knock on the door, “Come in”, I said, sliding into some black skinny jeans. “Hey”, Duff said, shutting the door behind him. “You’re really determined to have me open that aren’t you, baby”, I smirked. “Yes. It could be a death in the family and you wouldn't know it”, Duff stubbed up.  “Alright”, I slides my finger under the seal and opened the envelope. 

 Jacqueline Bennett

It was my mom’s name and my childhood home’s address. “What the hell do you want?”, I groaned.  The doorbell rung, “You expecting anyone?”, I asked Duff. He shook his head no. “Y/nn!”, Slash yelled. I dropped the letter on the dresser and headed downstairs. “Think it’s you with the visitor babe”, Duff said, following suit. “Who knows”, I said. I made it downstairs, in the living. I looked up, it was my mom and older sister, Kelly standing in front of the door. “Mom. Kelly. What are you doing here?”, I swallowed. “We came to bring you home”, My mom said. “No, you’re not. I have a life here and did you forget I’m 24”, I said, crossing my arms across my chest. 

The boys stayed silent, watching me and my mom go back and forth. Kelly was checking Izzy out. “I left for fucking reason and swore I would never move back. Leave mother!”, I ran upstairs, slamming my door. 

Izzy’s pov-

 Y/n’s mom and sister stood there in shock, tension was tight. I stood up from the couch, “I’ll go check on her” I reached her door, heard crying. “Y/n. It’s me, Iz”, I said. A little ‘come in’ was said, she was crying her eyes out before I walked in. “Hey baby. Wanna talk about it?”, I said, shutting the door, her back was turned to me. Y/n jerked up, “Why does she think I need to come back home? It’s hell there, Izzy. I’m overlooked there, they forget my name, if I’m sick or not. My siblings have families and have good careers, I have five siblings, I’m just the second middle kid. Please don’t let her take me back”, She cried. “We’re not gonna let her. You’re 24, you have your own life. Screw what your siblings have, you have us, friends, free travel when we’re on tour. They’re stuck in some hick town while you get to see the world, don’t worry about them. I’m not being mean, but they really don’t care. Just worried that you’re with five guys instead of one. It’s not their business how many people you date or have kids with, you’re an adult”, I said. Here lately every magazine has been exposing our relationship with each other. Y/n has been called a groupie, whore that can’t be satisfied by one guy. Guess it made it to Colorado.

Y/n calmed down and was sitting on my lap, brading a strand of my hair. “Think I’m gonna take them on the patio, I hate that you guys were stuck between it.”, Y/n said. “Okay, I’ll have Duff take them out. Give you a little more time”, I said, walking to the door. “Thanks. Hey Izzy?”, Y/n asked. “Yeah?”, I turned back at her. “I love you”, She smiled. “I love you too, princess”, I smirked. “Hey Duff”, I said, locking eyes with the tall blonde. “She okay?”, Duff started to worry. “Y/n asked if we could take her mom and sister to the patio. She wants to talk to them in private. Can you take them out there please?”, I asked. “Of course”, Duff said. I watched as Duff brought them through the kitchen and out to the patio. Y/n’s mom gave me the stank eye.  “Izzy, are they out there?”, Y/n asked. “Yeah. You gonna be okay?”, Duff answered. “I think so. I love you, Duffy”, She kissed his cheek. “I love you too, Princess”, Duff kissed her lips. We both watched her go out there. “We’re not letting them take her back”, Duff said. “Oh hell no!” Axl and I said at the same time. “She won’t go down without a fight”, Slash said. “Okay, lets quit being peeping toms”, Duff said. We all went downstairs.  

Y/n’s Pov

“Okay tell me how wrong I am being with them?, I sat down at the table. “Why are you with them? Do they pay you?”, My mom asked. “Because I love them very much, I feel safe and loved by my boys. No, I don’t get paid to have sex or whatever crazy ass thing you’re thinking”, I giggled. “Are you together or it’s a groupie thing?”, Kelly asked. “What’s a groupie?”, my mom asked. “Someone who has sex with a couple members of a band or the whole band. No strings attached, some have girlfriends or are even married. But when on the road, they get lonely and their girl isn’t there to you know?”, I said. “And Kelly, we’re together”, I said. “Okay, huh. What made you get into a relationship with them?”, Mom asked. “I don’t know, it just kinda happened. Nobody hasn’t spoken up and said they wanted out and to be with another person.”, I said, looking at her face. Confusion and disgust was all over her face. Kelly was from my time, understood what groupies were and sure she’s married but she was passed around the offensive line and the quarterback in high school. 

“What it is called? When you go out with multiple people, honey?”, My mom asked. “Polyamorous”, I sighed. “Poly what?” “Poly means multiple”, Kelly said.  “Right. Mom, I know this isn’t something you wanted to hear that your daughter is in love with five guys. I didn’t think I would either but life put it that way. I’m happy with them, they all make me smile in their own way. I get something different from each other. You don’t have to worry, this might to be anything any longer, but let me enjoy it while it’s still a thing”, I said holding her hand. “Guess, we didn’t see that way. You do glow more, I’m sorry for never realizing how unhappy you were back home. I love you so much, Y/n. Please keep in contact with us okay?”She smiled. “Okay, you two want to stay for lunch?”, I asked. “No, thank you sweetie. We’ve been here a week trying to find you. Our plane leaves in a few hours”, My mom stood up. “Sorry, you didn’t find me sooner”, I sighed. 

“Can you at least meet them? I’ve met half of their parents”, I smiled. “After our tiny argument?”, Mom asked. “They don’t care, come on”, I giggled. They were just spooked that their girlfriend was yelling at a random lady in the living room. I would be too, if their mom came in guns blazing.

“Boys. I want you to meet my mom, Jacqueline and my sister, Kelly. Sorry about earlier”, I said. They were at the table, Duff was digging something out of the fridge.  “This is Izzy, Slash, Axl, Steven, and who is gonna hit his head is Duff”, I pointed at each of them. “I am not! Son of a-”, Duff groaned, after hitting his head on the edge of the counter. Kelly giggled. “You didn’t bust it open this time, bonehead”, I rubbed his head, for any nics or blood. “I hated having staples in my head”, Duff raised up, rubbing his head. “I know you did, I hated them too”, I giggled. Duff had pulled me into his side and brushed a piece of hair out of my face. I caught my mom smiling at us. “Honey, I hate to leave but we have a plane to catch”, My mom said, tearing Duff and I apart. “Right. I’ll walk you out”, I said. “Axl, what are you doing?”, I asked as the red head followed us. “I have to get something out of my car, babe”, Axl smiled, grabbing my hips. “Not now”, I whispered, feeling his bulge poke my ass. “Not my fault you and your sister have ass”, Axl smirked, passing me to go to his car. “I’ll kill you”, I mouthed as I approached their rental car.  “It was nice seeing you, sis”, Kelly smiled. “You too. How are the kids?”, I asked. “Good, growing like a weed. Conor almost passes me”, Kelly said. “Wow, that means he towers me”, I giggled, thinking of my nephew. Kelly was 5’8, means Conor is at least 5’10, and I’m still 5’3. “Yeah. Annie starts 3rd grade next year, they miss their Auntie Y/n a lot”, Kelly gave a small smile. “Next time, if we’re close to home I’ll see what I can do to come see everyone. Tell everyone I love them.”, I said, pulling Kelly into a hug. “I love you, Kelly”, I whispered.  “Love you too, kid”, She tightened the hug. “Okay, my turn”, My mom whined.  “You’ve changed into a beautiful woman, Y/n. Your Dad would be so proud of how you’ve grown, he misses his buttercup a lot. Call him when you can, okay?”, My mom said. “I will, Momma. I love you and Dad”, I smiled. 

I watched them as they drove down to the neighbor, going to the airport. “You okay, Y/n?”, Steven asked. “Mhm, oh yeah. I’m good, Stevie”, I smiled. I walked over to Steven and smiled. “You forgot something?”, Steven smirked. “My good morning kiss”, Steven pouted. “Nobody got theirs, Stevie”,I giggled, leaning up to kiss his lips. Steven opened the door, there stood Izzy with his arms crossed,pout on his face. I pulled him down to kiss him, “There you, big baby. That better?” “Very much so”, Izzy grinned. I laughed, walking upstairs. Slash pulled me to his lips, “You’re off your routine girl” “Sorry Slashy”, I rubbed his cheek.  “Are you still gonna kill me?”, Axl asked, smirking. “No”, I kissed him. “Good girl”, Axl smirked, smacking my ass. Duff’s back was turned, I wrapped my arms from behind. “Hey Baby”, He said. “Hi. You wanna a kiss?”, I asked. “Mhm, I’ll take a makeout session instead”, I knew he was smirking.  “Put me on the counter and I’ll deliver”, I smirked as he picked me up. I kissed him. “Hey Y/n, is it weird I find your mom sorta hot?”, Axl yelled from upstairs. “Very! She’s bitcher than I am”, I yelled back, rolling my eyes. “I like your bitchyness, it’s hot”, Duff pulled me into  him more. “You’re fucking crazy”, I said. “That song is about you, you know?”, Izzy smirked. “Fuck you, Izzy”, I flipped him off before hopping down from Duff’s arms. “You did last night, hot lips”, Izzy said as he disappeared upstairs. 

[livesincerely]

#8, javid?

Reunion Kiss

Davey doesn’t even get a chance to look for Jack in the crowd because Jack finds him first.

“Dave!” a voice calls from behind him, loud and joyful.

Davey starts to turn, his carry-on bag falling to the tiles at his feet. He catches the flash of a grin and those lovely brown eyes, and then Jack’s arms close around Davey’s waist and lift him right off his feet, spinning him around in circles.

“Jack!” Davey says, a startled laugh bubbling out of him. “Put me down!”

“Nope, sorry, no can do,” Jack replies with a blinding grin. He holds Davey aloft for a while longer, seemingly just because he can, and it feels so perfectly right to be in his arms again that Davey can’t hardly stand it. “You’ll be lucky if I let you go anytime in the next week, sweetheart, because Jesus Christ I missed you—“

Davey doesn’t even wait to get his feet back under him before he’s leaning in for a kiss. Jack’s hands shift from lifting him up to bringing him in and his mouth moves tenderly against Davey’s own—like he’s savoring each and every press of the lips and flick of the tongue—and Davey feels something finally begin to settle in his chest. He’s home.

Davey lifts a hand to brush Jack’s hair away from his forehead, eyes darting frantically across every inch of his face. He’s a little taller, a little tanner, but Jack is Jack and Davey’s heart swells that much more.

“I missed you so much,” Davey says, fingers trailing delicately along the planes of Jack’s face. “Jackie, love, I missed you like you wouldn’t even believe—“

“Three months, Davey,” Jack says, catching one of Davey’s hands in his own. He tangles their fingers together, squeezing gently, then lifts it to his mouth and plants a soft kiss to Davey’s knuckles. “Three months you’ve been in Bumblefuck-Nowheresville, Colorado with the world’s shittiest cell service and God, it felt like three fucking years.”

“No more long-term projects,” Davey agrees, pressing another quick kiss to Jack’s mouth. “Not if you can’t come with me. If the company wants me to travel so badly they can damn well front up the cash for two, it’s not like they can’t afford it—“

Jack’s hand curls under his chin and tips his head up for one more kiss. Davey sighs and melts, arms moving up to loop around Jack’s shoulders, something light and loving spreading through his veins like liquid gold.

Davey can feel the weight of Jack’s gaze on him when they part again: his eyes have gone incredibly warm, his expression open and tender and affectionate. He murmurs into the scant space between them, “Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

00000

@kings-of-newyork

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Family Roadtrip

Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 1783

Masterlist

Summary: With your vampire foes vanquished, you and Makayla adjust to life with your new family. 

Notes: You didn’t really think I was finished with Makayla’s story did you?! This imagine is a bit shorter and may seem like a filler, but I really wanted to do something sweet and fun-loving after four parts of drama. I hope you enjoy and are excited to see more of the Makayla Chronicles!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

You peaked around the corner carefully, motioning to Sam that it was safe to follow. He took the lead, keeping his weapon low. The two of you crept silently around the dark bunker. Noises kept your nerves on edge, making you jump at every rustling paper or creaking floorboard. 

A small form darted past the doorway and you quickly went after it. 

“Y/N, wait!” Sam called, trying to keep up with you as you sprinted into the library. You stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into you. 

“Not good.” You uttered, having lost your target. You had led yourself into a trap. A voice boomed throughout the room.

“Now!” 

The light switched on and Dean lunged out from behind a shelf. Makayla crawled out from beneath the desk and the two mercilessly unleashed the power of their water guns upon the two of you. They didn’t stop until you and Sam were soaked. 

“Okay, okay, you win!” Sam shouted over Dean and Makayla’s cheers of victory. Despite your defeat, you and Sam couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Makayla and Uncle Dean three-” Dean beamed. 

“Mommy and Daddy zero!” The two high-fived and stuck their tongues out on you. Sam eyed his brother. 

“I don’t like how much influence you have on her.” He chuckled. Dean shrugged and Sam shook out his hair right by his face. Then he looked at Makayla. “You know what I could use right now?” He motioned for her to come closer. “A great big bear hug!” 

Makayla squealed as she tried to get away, but Sam was quick to catch her. He engulfed her in a soaking wet hug until she seemed like she’d burst from laughter. Dean smirked, bringing you all towels to dry off. 

It had been a slow week. No hunts, no demons, no impending doom. Mary was gone, having revealed her connections with the British Men of Letters. It was still a sore subject for the boys so you and Makayla decided to come up with some games to distract them. She teamed up with her uncle and you teamed up with Sam. 

You were all sitting down for lunch when Makayla had a sudden outburst of enthusiasm. 

“I want to go on a road trip.” She exclaimed. “A big family road trip.” You smiled at her excitement. 

“Where do you want to go, sweetie?” 

“Anywhere!” She giggled. She started tugging on the sleeve of Sam’s flannel. “Can we go on a road trip daddy? Can we? Can we? Can we?” Sam laughed and pulled her into his lap. 

“I don’t really see why not.” He looked at you and his brother. “What do you say, guys?” Dean shrugged, giving his niece a smile. 

“It’s not like we’ve had a case in a while and with mom gone…” He trailed off, trying not to let his frustration show. You jumped in. 

“I think it’s a great idea.” You could use a little time out of the bunker. Besides, Makayla had only ever really traveled because of hunting. It would be good for her to just have fun with her family. Hell, it would be good for all of you. 

“It’s settled then.” Sam concluded with a grin, bouncing Makayla on his knee. “Go help your mom pack and Dean and I will make a plan.” 

His daughter jumped down from his lap and hurried off to her room. You gave Sam a kiss on the cheek before following her to make sure she didn’t pack a bunch of snacks instead of clothes. Sam watched you leave with a small smile. 

“Things have been going pretty well between you too, huh?” Dean said, noticing his brother’s puppy-love look. Sam broke his gaze and turned to Dean. 

“Yeah.” He sighed happily. “Yeah, they have.” He drank the rest of his coffee. “You know, it’s like nothing has changed and everything has changed at the same time. Y/N is back, and we’re back together, but it’s so much more than it was before.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m not sure yet.” Sam fell quiet, trying to sift through his own thoughts. His feelings for you weren’t the same anymore and it wasn’t just because you were the mother of his only daughter. It was like all of his feelings for you from all those years ago had not only resurfaced, but had grown to be so much more. Like he wanted something more.

-

Makayla watched the road ahead with excited eyes. You had been on the road for about an hour and she was still practically bouncing in her seat. Sam had actually insisted on sitting in the back with her, so you were in the passenger seat while Dean drove. 

The plan was to hit a few places in Nebraska and then circle down into Colorado to Estes park. You would be camping instead of renting motel rooms, which would definitely be interesting, but Kayla begged and begged to sleep under the stars like they did in the Western movies Dean had gotten her into. 

The further up into Western Nebraska you got, the more you tried to clear your mind of monsters and demons. This weekend was for you to spend real, quality time with Sam and Dean and for Makayla to have a normal childhood adventure. 

“Daddy look!” Kayla exclaimed, pointing out her window at the dark shapes roaming the fields. The animals seemed to watch as the impala drove by. 

“Those are called pronghorns.” Sam grinned at her awestruck expression. The fact that she still had that innocent fascination with the world made his heart swell. He wanted her to hold onto that forever. 

You’d be arriving at Toadstool soon, your first camping stop. The sun was getting lower and lower in the sky, painting the clouds pink and orange. Nebraska may not have a whole lot in it, but damn it had good sunsets. You didn’t notice, but Sam’s gaze had shifted from your daughter to you. Seven years since he had met you and you still took his breath away. 

You finally turned your head, seeing him in the rearview mirror. The way he was smiling made your heart stop for a moment. It scared you how much you loved him. What if you messed up again? What if he couldn’t forgive you? What if he couldn’t love you because of what you did before? You wouldn’t blame him, of course. 

Once you reached Toadstool Geological Park, Sam helped you set up the tent while Dean grabbed the cooler and the snacks. When Makayla started running towards the trail, Sam took a few strides with his long legs to catch her. 

“It’s too late to go hiking right now, Kayla.” He explained gently. “We’re going to go in the morning when we can see everything better.” 

“I still don’t really get the appeal of it.” Dean muttered. “Just a bunch of rocks.” 

“It’s a ‘natural wonder’, Dean.” You snarked. You gave him a flashy smile. “Just like me.” Dean narrowed his eyes. 

“The only thing you are is natural pain in my ass.” 

“Dean.” Sam scolded, motioning to the young child in his arms. 

“Yeah, that’s a bad word you son-of-a-bitch.” Makayla exclaimed. 

“Makayla!” You gasped. You glared at her uncle. “Dammit Dean!”

“How do you know it was me? You curse like a sailor!”

“Guys, it doesn’t matter who taught her what.” Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Can we just try and make sure it’s not a regular thing?” You both nodded in agreement, still slightly glowering at each other. 

You started a fire and broke open the hot dogs. You had bought plenty of campfire foods, including everything that was needed to make smores. You wanted this to feel as postcard perfect as possible for Kayla. No monsters, no villains, no impending doom. Just a family around the campfire with marshmallows and chocolate and laughter. 

“You really went all out for this,” Sam noted, motioning to the array of fireside foods. He handed you a nice cold beer and wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“I want this trip to be everything hunter’s don’t get.” You sighed. “Not just for her, but for us.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I know things are rough for you guys right now and having a kid around isn’t making that easier-”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Sam shifted so that he was facing you, holding your face in his hands. “You and Kayla… you’ve changed my life in so many ways. And Dean’s. You give us a purpose that isn’t always dark and bloody. You gave me life again.” You smiled, feeling tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

“I never thought about it like that.” You stood on your tiptoes so you could reach his lips for a sweet and devoted kiss. 

-

Dean had decided that he would sleep in the impala, so cramped in the little tent was you, Makayla, and the 6’4” mountain that was trying desperately not to squish both of you. Makayla was already asleep, huddled in between the two of you with her head resting on Sam’s chest. His arm was outstretched so it was both holding her and his hand could rest on your shoulder. You tangled your fingers with his, looking at him over Kayla’s sleeping form. 

“I’d say this trip has been successful so far.” You whispered. Sam nodded. 

“We all needed this. A chance to get away from everything with Lucifer and hunting… and mom.” His smile faltered and you squeezed his hand supportively. 

“She’ll come around. Mary is just…” You trailed off, trying to figure out the right word. 

“Complicated?” Sam finished solemnly. 

“Yeah.” You blew out a breath. For some strange reason, you felt connected to Mary Winchester. Like you were cut from the same bloody and worn out cloth. Feeling Sam’s eyes on you, you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “We should get some sleep. The Tasmanian devil over here is gonna keep us on our toes on this hike tomorrow.” You motioned to Kayla with a stifled laugh. Looking back at him, your expression was serious, but warm and bright at the same time. “I love you, Sam.” 

“I love you too.” He gently ran his thumb over your bottom lip, wishing he could kiss you, but not wanting to wake Makayla. 

As your eyes closed your breathing steadied, Sam felt so many emotions rising in his chest, seizing his heart and clearing his mind. In that moment, he knew more than ever before, what he wanted. 

He wanted to marry you. 

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy; @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone​ Sam Winchester: @theamuz; @adeliness​ Makayla Series: @rhiannon-the-troublemaker​; @hoboal87​

[missgialeah]

My dad passed away in the last few days. We decided to write an obituary that reflected his personality. Love you, Dad:

E. Nick Henery, a retired electrical engineer of Conroe, Texas, joined the immortally challenged on November 18, 2021, at the age of 79. Since he’s finally kicked his lifelong oxygen habit, he’ll catch a ride on the sin wagon in Fort Collins, Colorado at Grandview Cemetery, where he will go ahead to stake a claim on some prime real estate in the Elysian fields for the family he’s left behind. The loved ones who will someday join him at his eternal estate in the clouds are Neda Henery, his beautiful wife, and her children, Chase Whitehead and Lauren Rockett; Gabrielle N. Henery, his oldest daughter, and her wife Angela Bosco-Lauth; Giovanna L. Henery, his youngest daughter, and her husband, Dustin Tucker; and Paulette Wharton, his adopted daughter, who was pulled aboard the Henery train when she was 8. It doesn’t stop there; Nick also was a grandfather to eight grandkids: Adam and Kaelyn Ramirez, Grayson March, Masey, and Dallas Whitehead, and Tabitha, Summer, and Hailey Ray.

Nick was born Edward Nick Henery to Lawrence “Dutch” Henery and Bonnie Henery. His father worked on road crews and because of this, Nick lived the first eight years of his life in a travel trailer. (We’re pretty sure this is why he chose to leave early and make sure his family had a nice place to settle when we all get to heaven.) As a child, he enjoyed hunting, fishing, and shooting at small woodland creatures.

He graduated high school in Deep Water, Missouri where he alone brought the team to a state championship and would have gone pro if only he were a little taller. After being refused by the NBA to have the regulation height of the baskets lowered, he decided to find a new passion and went to college at the Missouri School of Mines, where he engineered a degree in 1976. (See what I did there… engineered… cause he’s an electrical engineer.)

He served his country and achieved the rank of Army Captain in Vietnam by getting eaten alive by mosquitos, never complaining about constantly soggy feet, and helping his unit stave off C-ration burnout with his stealthy-woodland-creature hunting skills. He returned home with a couple of bronze stars in his pocket.

Apparently, an engineering degree and dodging bullets in the jungle was not enough of a challenge; after Vietnam, he went back to school and picked himself up for a Master of Science in Quantitative Statistical Methods. Years later, when his oldest daughter was failing her statistics class in undergrad, he compassionately lied to her and said, “Sweetie, statistics were hard for me, too; if I can do it, you can do it.” He was exceptionally excited when his youngest followed in his nerdy footsteps by working toward a Ph.D. in Communication, Technology, and Data Analysis.

For years he worked successfully for FERC, the APPA, and SMUD (not all at the same time). However, he was a true public servant, assuring every day that superstars had the appropriate backlighting, Joe Public always had a cold Coors Lite, and his daughters were able to help Mario save Princess Peach. He downplayed the work he did and told people, “I just keep the lights on.”

In his free time, and then even more once he retired, he pumped iron at the gym, smacked a tiny, dimpled ball around a field, and aspired to become a master angler. During one of his fishing trips, he fell in the river, so for Father’s Day that year, he received a box of flies and a pair of little girls’ water wings. I’m pretty sure he wore them at his next fishing trip.

The reaper challenged Nick to a card game that he couldn’t refuse. His loving family was there to cheer him on, but despite the Ph.D. in Survival he earned during his tour in Vietnam, he was dealt a bad hand and had to cash in his chips. Someday we will meet this kind-hearted warrior in a Valhallan paradise, but until that day, Nick (Dad), you will be missed.