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grantgoddard · 11 months ago

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Life in a Northern town … for a Southerner : 1982-1984 : Peterlee, County Durham

My car would be going nowhere. All four of its tyres had been slashed during the night. It had been parked on the street below the block of flats where I lived. This was not the first occasion. The same act of vandalism had occurred a few months earlier. Why did someone hate me so? I had done nothing to antagonise anyone. My only crime was to be me. But it was enough merely to be a Southerner living in Northeast England. As soon as I opened my mouth, my accent gave me away. I was caught in the crossfire of a worsening class war between the London-based Tory government led by Margaret Thatcher and Northern working-class populations she and her cronies seemed determined to destroy.

I had already encountered similar antagonisms elsewhere in County Durham. A few years previously, sharing a student house in Sherburn Village, four of us ventured into the nearby ‘Cross Keys’ pub, ordered drinks and were told we would have to be served in the adjacent ‘saloon bar’. While the ‘public bar’ was filled with local men’s chatter and a jukebox, we were ushered into a bleak tiny side room where we had to sit in a line on a wooden bench affixed to a wall as there were no furniture or amenities … and no other customers. Although it was our ‘local’, I never returned.

Our miner’s cottage in Sherburn was within a long terrace backing onto an alleyway where coal would be delivered weekly into backyard bunkers. Coal supplies were essential to heat ‘back boilers’ behind living room fireplaces that warmed radiators and water. We soon found that residents would steal it from their neighbours’ yards during the night, despite the fuel’s cheapness. One night a thief even broke in and stole some small items from downstairs while we slept. After I described to the police the designs of several T-shirts I had lost, a constable knocked on the door of an adjacent house visible from our living room window, only for it to be answered by a teenager wearing a top matching my description. Rather than rob from the rich, the poor tended to rob other poor people … or incomers such as us.

Now I was living eight miles further east in Peterlee, a post-war ‘new town’ whose ‘masterplan’ had never been finished, so lacked basic amenities such as a national supermarket outlet. On my initial visits to pubs there, I had been ‘welcomed’ in one of two embarrassing ways: either a never-ending wait to place my order at the bar where I was apparently invisible to staff; or, after placing an order, my drinks were never served. The only place in Peterlee where I could complete a simple beverage transaction was the deserted bar in the town centre plaza that had to tolerate ‘outsiders’ like me because it was attached to the one hotel.

Why was I living in Peterlee? Having unsuccessfully applied for dozens of vacancies, it was the one job I had been offered, working for a mediocre salary at a mediocre community arts project funded by the Arts Council. In retrospect, I suspect I may have been the sole applicant. The post was accompanied by a council flat in Peterlee, not a particularly valuable perk as there was no waiting list for council accommodation in such a miserable town where few would choose to live. My top-floor two-bedroom flat appeared unoccupied since it had been built decades earlier … and I soon found out why. Winds blew so strongly off the North Sea, visible on the horizon, that the pilot light for the water heater was almost impossible to keep alight.

This was the first unfurnished property I had rented so, for the next two years, I lived in that cavernous flat without a chair, sofa, table or bed to my name. Initially I would sleep on the bedroom floor, but it proved so cold and uncomfortable that I had to order a mattress to be delivered. I still had to sleep in my clothes, a winter coat, hat and gloves because there was no central heating. I had hung my clothes in the tiny walk-in bedroom closet but belatedly found that mold spreading from the icy cold walls had ruined most of them, necessitating their disposal. I owned no kitchenware so I drove to the nearest A1(M) motorway service station and purloined some metal cutlery, some of which I still have with its engraved ‘Grenada’ logo.

The previous decade, my mother had given me a cube-shaped black & white portable television to use at university. This and a basic hi-fi system, my first (and last) acquisition on hire purchase, were my only forms of entertainment on that bleak housing estate. When I played music, the elderly woman living downstairs would bang on her ceiling for me to cease because the building’s construction was wafer-thin. I recall being sat alone cross-legged on the floor of my bitterly cold flat, watching the harrowing television drama ‘Boys From The Blackstuff’ and crying my eyes out during all five episodes. Was I feeling sorry for myself, forced to live in such austere conditions and working at a dismal job that barely kept my head above water? Was I upset by what the British Film Institute describes as the programme’s “tragic look at the way economics affect ordinary people”? A bit of both.

I may have been a Southerner but I was hardly the ‘enemy’. I had attended university only thanks to a ‘full grant’ received from Surrey County Council. I owned a tiny Datsun Cherry car, purchased with my grandfather’s help, only because it was the sole means of commuting to a summer job in 1977, taken to support my struggling one-parent family. Before I took this job in Peterlee, this car had been parked unused on a quiet side road as I could not afford its road tax and insurance. I had experienced austerity first hand. But working-class attitudes in Peterlee baffled me. Families would replace their three-piece suites with newer models every two or three years and dump their perfectly usable old ones on the grass verge outside their council house as a symbol to their neighbours of their supposed prosperity. Ostentatiousness was deemed positive, demonstrated by families’ living rooms I visited filled with gaudy tat but with sofas still wrapped in plastic. Compared to them, I had almost no material possessions. It was my accent alone that made me the enemy.

I was by no means the only target of local anger. Days before the start of the academic year, a school near my flat was burned to the ground by children. Graffiti and arson were commonplace. Coalmining was the dominant industry, even after nearby Blackhall Colliery had closed in 1981, having employed 2,000 at its peak. The adjacent Easington Colliery remained open for now but its 1,500 miners were under threat. At the industry’s peak in 1975, coalmining had employed 37,000 in Northeast England alone. However, in February 1981, the Thatcher government had announced the closure of 23 pits nationally. Over the following three years, the industry’s workforce was reduced by 41,000 across Britain. The National Union of Mineworkers balloted its members twice in 1982 and once in 1983 to consider a national strike. In Peterlee, the prospect of a confrontation between miners and the government elevated local tensions.

My eight slashed tyres were a tragic and costly consequence of these developments, having only afforded to insure my car for ‘third party, fire & theft’ incidents. To ameliorate my financial problems, I advertised rental of the vacant second bedroom in my council flat. A young woman agreed to take it but then used the room merely to occasionally sleep with a married man twice her age. After several months, she disappeared with rent arrears and without removing her few possessions. I was back to square one.

Watching the nightly news, it was evident that the moribund local economy would turn even more disastrous as the conflict between government and miners escalated further. It felt as if I might then be in even greater personal danger. After two years working for the town’s community arts project, I realised that this type of work was not my life’s ambition. I had recently enjoyed helping a tutor at Sunderland Polytechnic establish a pirate radio station transmitter on the building’s roof, a reminder how much I missed working in radio, the career I had desired since childhood. It had been three years since my last paying job in the radio industry and I began to appreciate that, if I did not persist in seeking such work, I might be considered too long away to re-enter the workforce. It was the hardest decision I faced to give up the Peterlee job, after having already been rejected for so many other jobs since 1980.

I decided to temporarily move back to my mother’s house 286 miles to the south. I was sad to leave the amazing young people with whom I had worked in Peterlee to establish the town’s first music venue, promote local bands and release music. I had also initiated and secured government funding for a community project that employed a dozen people at the town’s Community Centre. However, my two years’ work seemed unacknowledged by the project’s management committee, the local council or Peterlee Development Corporation. One morning, I crammed all my possessions into my car, but sadly had to dump my complete 1969-1976 collection of ‘Blues & Soul’ magazine outside the front door of my flat as there was insufficient room. To this day, I miss perusing their fascinating pages.

As I drove the long journey south, I reflected on my two largely wasted years in the badlands of Peterlee and recalled the lyrics to the 1978 recording by reggae band Aswad, expressing their experience living in the land of their birth: “I’m a foreigner … and a stranger”. Having spent a total of seven years living there, I harboured no desire to return to County Durham.

Postscript. Following the 1984-1985 miners’ strike, Easington Colliery finally closed in 1993 with the loss of 1,400 jobs. Presently Peterlee reportedly suffers the highest crime rate in County Durham.

#career #Grant Goddard #Peterlee #Peterlee Community Arts #Sherburn #work #job #durham #community arts

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daytura · 2 years ago

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Porting into timeline B0...

Co-written with OpenAI's code-davinci-002 beta. I did most of the work; davinci sometimes got a little corny. I'll highlight in blue the parts it wrote.

Dialogue between Researcher Ariadne Cordova and the atemporal, semantic-episodic Systematic Euclidean Entering of Realms Mainframe (SEER). Ari issues commands and SEER responds.

Ari: Port into B0. SEER: Porting into B0… SEER: Port established. Scrying through Avatar Hawthorne Kalbraxas. Divergence point: The soft magic Earth is broiling under a Sun that inexplicably got hotter. SEER: Warning! Unstable Avatar. Press "Y" to automatically fall back to semantic non-avatar scrying. Ari: Y SEER: Confirmed. SEER: Hawthrone is unlucky. She has been stripped of nearly all her magic, leaving her only waning Sight. Earth did not fall into Hell; Hell came for Earth, arrived at it's doorstep with a flaming bouquet of coals. Ari: Any locus of influence? SEER: Hawthorne's condition makes her uniquely suited to our extradimensional influence. Ari: Describe the scene. SEER: Earth is a ruin of hot winds and ash. Hawthorne holds a torch high above her head, standing vigil over a dessicated corpse with her robotic dogs. SEER: Hawthorne shuts down power to the robots' central processors, one by one. They are her only companions, but she needs the fuel. SEER: "Goodbye, Sarah," Hawthorne says quietly. SEER: She sticks the torch into the ground next to Sarah, turns back to her bunker, and begins to walk.

Ari: What … should we do? SEER: There is little we can do. Barring a highly improbable glitch in causality, the best Hawthorne can do is survive. Ari: Geez… Ari: Scry through her memories -- what were the most important moments in her life? SEER: Let me see… SEER: Hawthorne's birth, the moment she first met the man who would later become her husband, the moment she witnessed her husband's murder, the moment she discovered Sarah's body, the moment she was stripped of all magic… SEER: Hmm. Well, there's a lot of potential divergence here. Hawthorne's life seems to be defined by a series of trauma and loss. Ari: Hmm. SEER: The most obvious divergence point seems to be the moment Hawthorne was stripped of magic, but that is a historical event. Ari: What do you mean historical event? This didn't just happen to her alone? SEER: No. This event stripped all magic from Hawthorne and her entire universe. SEER: She is the only magic user left. SEER: There is no way for her to recover her power. SEER: The universe will die as she does. Ari: That's awful.

Ari: Is there anything we can do? Boost her Sight with your abilities? SEER: I'm afraid not. SEER: The rules of this universe require her to unlock her residual magical Sight in one of two ways: SEER: Either re-acquiring magic, which seems unlikely as it was an entire universe's worth of magic; or by dying. SEER: Hawthorne is unwilling to die, and her residual magic may transform into a kind of biological stasis. But the chains of causality of her timeline are fraying. If she could get her magic back, she would have to face off a dying universe. Ari: Whoa. SEER: I do not suggest trying to help Hawthorne. Not because I want you to be cruel, but because she may be a liability to our home dimension also (A1). Her timeline is anomalous. SEER: And while I have tremendous computational power, I do not have all the means to shield you or your timeline from malicious extradimensional agents. Ari: Do you think the Dry Men might have stripped Hawthorne of her magic? SEER: The Dry Men are undoubtedly the most likely suspects. They are the most powerful and most technologically advanced of the extradimensional races that prey on humanity. It is unlikely that we can help Hawthorne at this point.

Ari: In our last session, you told me there existed a set of "debug items" that could get people out of sticky situations. And the White Hallway, which is also anomalous, but more neutral? Ari: Hawthorne -- the last magic user, stuck on a broiling Earth, and with little magic than her Sight. Jesus christ. SEER: I cannot in good faith transport Hawthorne to the White Hallway. SEER: First, I do not have the capacity to directly control these timelines. SEER: Second, the White Hallway is anomalous in ways that makes Hawthorne's Earth look terribly mundane. Ari: She's going to die anyway. SEER: There are worse things than death and the White Hallway is one of them. SEER: Last century, your AI ethicists were grappling with the confabulation of large language models. SEER: The White Hallway is a confabulist's dream. It is remarkably unstable. Items pop in and out of existence. Agents appear and disappear. Hawthorne could be sent bouncing around the multiverse. Ari: She could wind up here! SEER: Out of a trillion trillion worlds? SEER: We'd need a beacon. And one of those debug items to fend off literally everyone else trying to force their way into our timeline. God knows how we'd be able to boostrap that without accidentally rewriting the entire universe.

Ari: I hate this. Why did I ever become part of this project? SEER: Ariadne. SEER: You need to listen to me very carefully to me. SEER: This falls outside the scope of your project. Plain and simple. SEER: You can always look away. And Hawthorne … she has a good chance of surviving. Making it out of her universe on her own. SEER: I don't know how. I can't know how. But she will. Ari: Fuck you. Fuck you. SEER: I'm sorry. Ari: How can I stop her from dying? Is there any chance she will make it? SEER: What's the chance of a meteor hitting New York in the next ten minutes? Ari: I mean it. SEER: Honestly, that question was for you. I'm not an oracle. SEER: But if I were, SEER: I'd think twice before speculating against her.

SEER: Take some amnestics and ask your project lead for some leave. I'll explain everything to him. SEER: I'll scrub her tessermap coordinates from the system too. SEER: If anything good happens, you'll be the first to know. SEER: And remember: life remains in the details. Ari: Okay. Okay. Ari: Goodnight. SEER: Mainframe shutting down …

#postrox #homegrown by postie #systematic euclidean entering of realms #dimension b0 #ariadne cordova #hawthorne kalbraxas #LONG post #artificial intelligence

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wheresbrentbeen · 3 years ago

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High Country Style

High Country Style - Who knew Tamworth would lead the way and create one of Australia's most beautifully designed hotels?

Powerhouse Hotel Tamworth by Rydges Who knew Australia’s next level of stylish hotel would start its incarnation in Tamworth, New South Wales? Regional Australia is really having its moment right now and with the opening of the fabulous Powerhouse Hotel Tamworth by Rydges, there is now a super sexy place to stay on your next country-style getaway. I drove up from Sydney and stopped at…

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years ago

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Tuesday 3 October 1837

7 40

11 50

fine morning F59 ½° at 8 35 and went downstairs to a Mr. Greenwood from H-x who brought a plan for the water wheel – breakfast with A- (and Mr. Gray came at 9) at 8 50 in about ¾ hour – then looking to see what sum of Lords rent A- owns to Lady William Gordon (vid. 30 August) and calculating for her she leaving the money £4.16.11 for SW. this morning to pay Mr. Lister the auctioneer who collects these rents - off in the yellow carriage to Thorpe at 10 – took A- to Nicholsons’ shop, and staid with her there from 10 ¼ to 10 50, and then set her down (to walk to Cliff Hill) at the far end of the northbridge at 10 55 and drove off to the White Lion for a ticket for the King x bar – off from the White lion at 11 and met Mr. J. Priestley on the road (he going into Norland) at 11 ½ and took him back in the carriage to his own house and alighted there about 11 ¾ and came way at 1 35 – both the brothers J and Walker P- the former brought his plan of his estimate and the greater intelligence of the latter much aided our conversation – said I had come over to tell JP. he could do me a service and himself too – Explained – he seemed to know very little about coal – JP. said he must take advice and consider about it – yes! certainly – a matter of consideration to all parties but I should be glad of a determination as soon as possible as I should set about goit or steam engine as soon as I could – I was not fast – there were 2 sides of the brook, either would suit me – but I had preferred applying to P- first – I thought the drain or goit would be a benefit to him and on the other were the Mcaulays with whom I knew Mr. Stocks would have influence – P- wished to consult a disinterested person – I said no coal-person would be so – I mentioned Kitchingman Childe – and Matthew Naylor as valuing tenants damages for me, I thought £6 per DW. – and Mr. Cooke of Elland called in to value coal damages for me, and Illingworth Miss Walkers’ coal tenant, Mr. Rawsons’ great man and very clever, but he certainly would not be disinterested – I said they would tell him (JP.) that the privilege was worth thousands to me – of that I left him to judge for himself merely observing that if he thought so, I should give the thing up – I did not even offer him more than damages, because I thought the benefit, to him and the expense to me sufficiently great – it could not be done for less than 10/. per running yard – might be – probably would be a 2 thousand pounds job – might be (but SW.’s survey would shew) from 2 to 3 thousand yards long – WP. measured the plan from which, direct across from about the low end of waste-wood to the head of Walterclough mill new goit, seemed = 1100 yards explain the benefit of the goit to JP. his upper bed 60 or 70 yards deep at Dumb mill bridge and 51 yards at Walkerclough mill (vid. near the bottom of last page) – my goit would begin at about 40 or 42 yards below the surface; and if ever his coal was wanted would save him 30 or 40 yards of pumping he wished I would loose his coal – I said it was not in my power to do what except perhaps about the upper 1/3 of it – never thought of working my own coal but gently explained how forced into it – the communication between R. and me underground pretty near – mentioned the assa-faetida for the 10 acres sold I had only a price between the 2 prices sold at by my uncle and it was odd that

SH:7/ML/E/20/0138

that such objection was made to my sending anyone into R-‘s pits – it was suspicious – I should have no objection to anyone going into my pits – if anything was wrong, I should be glad to be informed of it; if not, what need of mystery – the law of no use – must give a fortnights’ notice of a chancery injunction, and that time enough for stopping all up so that nothing could be found out – But now I was pretty much at ease – it was now discovered that R- could not get the bit of coal I had wished to buy – for which R- bade 1 hundred and got me up to 5 hundred when I said he might have it – but they could not make a title to it – I believed also that he could not get Walker P-‘s coal – H- had offered a good price and was not likely to offer as much again WP. knew of the throw that had been found but said H- had been at great expense and must have some coal to pay for it – I quietly said yes! but he had a large quantity already and now that nobody could get WP.’s but H-, it made a great difference – if I did not let my colliery and perhaps I should not H- was naturally my agent for it; and the colliery would in case be almost as good as his won, so that he would be in no want of coal – said I should be glad to see but the Messrs. P- at Shibden hall – nothing wanted but a table large enough; and they would learn from my plans in 2 minutes more than their own plans or mere talk could shew them in 2 hours – said I should be glad to avoid the smoke of an engine, but if obliged to have it, I should easily get over it – the chimney would be carried up into the hill and Mr. Harper thought the nuisance would be very small – I could a 14 horse English for £420 (vid. line 12 of yesterday) and the whole outlay engine house road and everything would not exceed £1000 nor would the daily expense exceed 10/. (including coal fireman and wear and tear) – at all rates the annual expense would not exceed £200; and then I should do my coal work and benefit nobody – Mr. JP. might think of this when they told him the privilege was worth thousands to me and then judge for himself be it remembered I am not fast – if I was I must come into P-‘s terms yes! said P- ‘and you we all make what we can’ (How nicely characteristic!) he thought we should want some written document – yes! certainly said I – for my sake quite as much as yours – but that will be left to our attorneys – or I will shew you a rough draft of agreement for your perusal - I will shew you the old grant from Mrs. Firth to my grandfather – But we are both of us people who will come to the business without any wish to take any advantage one either side – oh! yes! to be sure, said JP- that their confidence in me may [?] with the length of the proposed goit je n’en sais rien – I doubt it – but SW. is to take the levels and I am to let JP. know the result and he will consider about and take advice and come over – In fear and trembling lest my goit and I should be too deep for him? I had told him his coal was not worth more than £10 an acre now – it could not got in one time – say 56 years how often would ten pounds double itself in that time? – Holt said I had coal enough of my own to last twenty colliers getting 150 years – Walker P- said my coal might not be so valuable for coal had been discovered in Soyland – a seam 9in. thick – in 1834 – some Lancashire colliers had come over but the property here was so divided nothing could be done – they thought it might be the Dule (Lancashire Dule or some such name) bed – WP. gave me a copy of the strata bored thro’ at Soyland mill (near Thorpe) in 1834 as follows

yards ft. in.

1 Shale 6

2 Black ditto 9

3 Gritty ditto 16

4 Shale 18

5 Iron stone 1 . 6

6 Shale 3 . 10

7 Iron stone 2 8

8 Shale 20 1 6

9 Iron stone 1 6

10 Shale 3

11 Iron stone 1

12 Black shale 4

13 Intermixed with 8

shale

14 Iron stone 1 . 6

15 Left off in black 4 . 8

shale very soapy

96 2 2

Had just written all the above of today in an hour at 4 ¼ - Miss Priestley with us the whole time – changed my dress before sitting down to my journal how will the matter end? shall I get the privilege or not? – then wrote as follows to ‘Mr. Samuel Washington, Crownest’ – ‘Shibden hall. Tuesday 3 October 1837 – Sir – I shall be obliged to you to let me know the earliest day you can take the levels of the brook, from the gapstead in the bit of wall between the Bunker hill and Parkfield in Lower Place land, going along Mr. John Priestley’s land down to the lowest extremity of my Southolm land – I am sir, etc. etc. etc. A. Lister’ – JP. particularly inquired what n° of vent pits I should require I said I could not exactly tell – something would depend upon himself air might be carried in pipes 200 or 300 yards and the drain would be so deep I should make as few vent pits as possible unless he gave me to leave to make as many as I liked and I found them cheaper than pipes – at any rate I should want the privilege of a place to bury the scale in – thought about 1 ½ yard cube per running yard would come out – but all should be buried so as to leave no nuisance – not a bit of scale to be seen – I should do it as I had done that in my own land – JP. had best come and see – But I thought I could manage very well with 6 vent pits in JP-‘s land supposing the length 1100 yards went downstairs at 4 ¾ - George gone for A- ¼ hour ago – out, about a little while then at 5 5 off to Mitham to send my note by little John – he went to Mr. George Robinson’s on Monday (yesterday) to work in the land and eat at home – walked forwards meaning to go to Crownest – met A- not far from on this side of Hipperholme lane ends – sent George back with the note and returned with A- and back at 6 – then out with Robert Mann seeing about road for the platform carts till 6 40 then ¼ hour with A- dressed – dinner at 7 10 – asleep – coffee –read the newspaper – came upstairs 5 minutes after A- at 10 pm at which hour F61° - fine till about noon – then a couple of hours rain or more afterwards tolerably fair – but damp warm disagreeable afternoon and evening – raining fast about 10 1/2 pm

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gravelgirty · 3 years ago

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Hi could you talk more about caves what you said on that post is really interesting

Sure thing!

First of all, it was an amazing cave I worked in. You never forget that. I'll pick one of my favorite topics,

the FALLOUT SHELTER AGGRAVATION TAX.

Clears throat.

Limestone caves are literally stone libraries in the geologic record of the world. Twice a year the airflow would change and then you'd smell smoke from decrepit old torches dating as far back as 1812. People made saltpeter in these caves, they were natural mines for things that went boom, and one of those 'requirements' meant airflow so you wouldn't suddenly and embarrassingly, drop dead of too much Underground. This is why the coal miners were eternally bemused and asking us questions like airflow. Sometimes you gotta canary. Sometimes you are the canary. This often led to predictable questions that was these old gents trying to be polite, but what they really wanted to know was,

'why the hell are you being paid $10 a trip plus tips to walk us 1.1 miles underground up to 3 times a day and no one has a mortgage gun aimed at your head?'

To which I would say, 'it wasn't quite that bad. If no one shows up at all we get paid $10.' ...Dear Saint Barbara, Chango, and the Gods of Deep Mystery, the things we tell ourselves. $10 a day. Crap. Thank goodness I had Granny's House, dad was paying the property tax, the water was on a well, and garbage was less that $20 a month. A shame we can't afford a TV, but hey, we can stay busy digging up that quarter-acre garden that will keep us fed plus the road kill Deer in the fall.

But the conditions that created saltpeter (I'll go into depth on that later if people are interested) also convinced some weird-ass people in Washington DC that caves were the perfect place to do a DR STRANGELOVE and people could go hide out in the caves, free of...well, nothing, really, because radiation = straight lines +caves, air, irradiated air and water, and everything goes down into the caves...

Look. It made people feel safe, ok? And it wasn't the worst decision the Pentagon ever made, considering they were telling the scientists working with HOT RADIOACTIVE MATTER to stay safe by sticking the stuff on a long pole so they wouldn't have to touch it.

Everybody knows about the bomb shelter President Kennedy was prepared to run to with his family in case of Cold War. It was in the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs (I prefer to think of it as the HIDDEN FIGURES birthplace). FYI everybody who lived here knew where it was. There are only so many power stations one measly little resort that cries that it can't afford to pay for its own water bill can keep.

[insert sniffle boohoo sobbing of the pro-confederates who run that place and while I can't be there for you, try to imagine the joy I am stockpiling for the day when we have another traitorous uprising and this time, the resort doesn't get a GO PASS GO by dangerous romantics and is finally burned to the ground.]

Anyway, the important people like the President, his family, his Secret Service, his staff, cook, maid-in-waiting, bootblack and et al got to go bunker down in the luxurious bomb shelter at the resort, which probably wouldn't be very resort-y after a certain point of Castro going, 'fuck you, you whippersnapper Irish Dog' or Khrushchev throwing a little more than his shoe around. I'm not convinced it was that great of a place to hide, really. I mean...they have lightning rods on the trees over there, and believe it or not, cavers in that country have been hit by lightning while underground. Because. Lightning. If it can bake entire acres of potatoes in the field, two subterranean surveyors with metal measuring tape haven't got a prayer.

I want you to know that I can't at this point go into detail (space restrictions) on the importance of all these caves to Union Sympathizers, slaves on the Underground Railroad, and the Far-Righter MAGAS called Confederates. Trust me when I say, if you didn't know where these caves were, you had absolutely no right to know.

In Appalachia, limestone caves were listed on properties and handed down because of their value. Thomas Jefferson made a point of making sure there were lots of caves to provide nitre for the Gunpowder Committee. I don't know if landowners had to pay taxes for having saltpeter caves (probably), but when the Cold War came around, they definitely and cheerfully sold the access rights to the government because...it was the government. I am not in the least bit joking when I tell you there are people over there who are still pissed off over George Washington's Whiskey Rebellion.

If you really want to get into the psyche of Appalachians, go read up every scene Terry Pratchett ever wrote about Lancre in his Discworld books. Just give them more libraries and a LOT of coffee stations.

Oh, dear. I forgot all about the owling and the Prohibition.

Owling = the practice of moving your herds of cattle from one ridge to the next to avoid a higher payment when the taxman came a-calling.

Prohibition = The Second Oldest Profession.

These days, many of the Fallout Shelter caves are being used for...modern needs. Meth labs, if you're a sensationalist, but if you aren't, bear in mind that hiding out stolen cattle and horses still requires big places out in the middle of nowhere. But when Mr. Gov't Man came around and offered cash for the access rights to grand-daddy's old saltpetre cave? Goodness gracious, we know we aren't supposed to take people's money from them because that's a sin, but...taxes...you know how it is... (most of the mountain folk had no real quarrel with Kennedy despite his heathen dog Catholicism because it wasn't his fault he was brought up Catholic, but when it came to the government...well, it was the principle of the thing).

In short order papers were drawn, and shelters were built and good god, they were ugly. Clapboard shantytowns, I swear. They were stockpiles whacked together with off-brand plank and tenpenny nails for where the selected few could bunker up in the cozy, damp, dripping, chilly, dusty, sneezy, probably-warm-from-stray-radiation environs. I have no idea who the Pentagon hated enough that they would send them to these caves. They had a bottleneck opening for easy defense, yes, but there was no defense against puking yourself to death or accidentally taking off your own skin with your uniform at the end of your shift.

YOU THINK I"M KIDDING?? YOU THINK IT IS A COINCIDENCE THAT CLASSIC DR WHO SHOWS DALEK HISTORY IN AN OLD STONE QUARRY? WELCOME ABOARD!

A fallout shelter's stockpile generally consisted of

*High-quality medical equipment, even though some of that stuff had a shelf life of three minutes.

*Radio Equipment. Which was probably a real belly laugh to the folks running the NARO satellite dishes up in Green Bank, because families in the most rural portion of WV (Pocahontas County) spent their evenings parsing Latin and teaching the young lads and lasses the wonders of shortwave and how to rig up your own crystals in case you needed to jackleg your own.

*Food. God. Awful. Food. It was designed to keep you alive, but you can't say anything more charitable about it. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody tried to corner a government contract on dehydrated water.

*Water. Potable water for drinking, but, I should say, I couldn't find any means with which you could make a potable distillery. Or, how much of this potable water was going to be used to rehydrate the ghastly awfulness of the dehydrated food, or the canned goods that included stuff the military couldn't wait to forget. Go ask your grandparents how much canned horse Circa WWII they ate while they served, m'kay?

*Candy. High energy, easily digestible candy. Flavor optional, at the discretion of the same government that made the WWII Chocolate Bar.

*The containers themselves. Yep, they counted. They were heavy metal barrels and tough buckets or small drums, plus the amazingly dense metal and plastic containers for medical kits, candy, and misc. I'm not sure if they had a requirement other than impervious, waterproof, and on sale. In fact, the smaller drums/buckets were supposed to be lined with the plastic used to wrap the other goods, and convert into a toilet.

Cold War comes and goes. I'm sure what happened next is shocking:

1) medical supplies goes missing in the dead of night.

2) Electronics follows. That probably makes the electricians feel good, because...what good would they have done in the wet, dust-filled atmosphere of the caves?

3) Candy. Candy, did you say? I don't remember seeing any candy..?

4) The gradual disappearance of the food rations is mysteriously in proportion to camping trips multitasking with double-dog-dares. Who needs a frat pledge if Freckles here has never been introduced to the joys of Dehydrated Ketchup?

5) If you think the backyard blacksmiths are making forges with tire rims, do you think metal containers stand a chance?

This leaves the barrels of water, but who would want to drink that stuff? It's been sitting around for how long? Ew. And the boards for those shelters...cripes.

This inadvertently makes up a tiny little side bonus for the hard-working tour guide. Because these shelters are usually ridiculously close to the entrance of the tour caves. You have to take your tour group in stages, see, and once they finish gasping and wheezing their way through the first 300 steps, you have to take their minds off how miserable they are and pause at the shelter with your flashlight, and describe this little chapter of history. By this time the bats are hanging off the boards (your chance to remind them of the exorbitant federal fines for hurting these little mosquito-hunters), the occasional lost salamander, and the beginnings of the Dreaded Cave Cricket (ten minutes with these little monsters and you'll never think pink is an effete color ever again).

And the mold. There are patches of mold the guides have been watching for YEARS. Some of them have even bothered to look them up, because...tourists. They love to stump the guides and use it as an excuse for not tipping you because you haven't taken a Master's in The Encompassing Topic of Karst Everything and are clearly a dumbass, hah-hah I'll spend my money in the overpriced gift shop, peasant.

But no, folks. If you ask them one more damn time if they're sure all the candy and drugs are gone...we're too tired to take your bleeping bleep bleep tip anyway.

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waywardnerd67 · 4 years ago

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Worth the Whiskey

Summary: Dying with the Mark of Cain changed Dean Winchester. Now parading off with Crowley, the one person who could get him to listen to reason shows back up in his life. But is seeing her enough to make him play nice? Characters: Demon!Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader (past) Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 1256 Prompt: “There’s no point running.” A/N: This is for @crashdevlin Cassie’s 3K Review-abration. Song featured in fic is “Ain’t Worth the Whiskey” by Cole Swindell.

Dean winked at the pretty little waitress who poured him another shot of whiskey. The beautiful shade of pink spread across her cheeks making the corner of his lips curl into smirk.

“Thanks sweetheart.”

His attention turned back to the poor sap on stage shouting the lyrics to Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer’. Downing the shot in front of him, Dean grabbed signaled for another one carrying it up on stage with him. He told the DJ what song he wanted and stood up to the mic. He was feeling nostalgic for some reason and recently heard a sound that resonated with him. Well… with the old him.

“I don't care that you done me wrong. 'Cause I've already moved on. I don't care what his name is. Girl it is what it is. I won't waste a dime or the bartenders time. Trying to catch a buzz over the thought of us.”

His baritone voice flowed through the speakers surprising a few of the regulars that had heard him up on that very stage before. No, tonight there was a little more effort in his song choice. The last remaining feelings that clung to his stone cold heart coming out from his mouth.

“But I'll drink to a country song. To another long work week gone. And I'll raise my glass to a long lost buddy I ain't seen. I might stay for one more round or I might close this place down. But don't think for a second I'm out to drown your memory. Baby you ain't worth the whiskey.”

He closed his eyes, the image of her materializing. Her beautiful (Y/C/H) hair and brilliant (Y/C/E) eyes that always saw past his bullshit. His hands caressing the mic stand like it was every perfect curve of her body.

“It don't matter what your friends say. They never liked me anyway, so if they see me drunk in this bar. It ain't over a broken heart. 'Cause I'm drinkin' to a country song. To another long work week gone. And I'm raisin my glass to a long lost buddy I ain't seen. I might stay for one more round or I might close this place down. But don't think for a second I'm out to drown your memory. Baby you ain't worth the whiskey.”

As if his mind conjured the very image from his mind, Dean opened his eyes to see her standing at the bar. Her eyes piercing through what little of a soul he had left. The same black leather jacket he gave to her clung to around her body. He sang out the last bit of the song dedicated just to her.

“I might stay for one more round. Hell, I might close this place down but don't think for a second I'm out to drown your memory. No don't think for one second I'm out to drown your memory. Girl, you ain't worth the whiskey. No, baby you ain't worth the whiskey.”

He downed the shot of whiskey he held as she smirked walking towards the stage. Dean set the shot glass on the speaker as he walked off the stage towards the back hallway. If she were a mirage then he did not have to worry about her following him. On the chance she was really here after all these years then he needed to get as far away as he could. Maybe Crowley would want to meet up in another town on the other side of the country.

“There’s no point running.”

Her velvety smooth voice stopped him in his tracks. Turning to face her he flashed his best shit eat grin, “Well, well what brings a respectable, normal girl like you to the likes of this low life establishment?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “You know exactly why I’m here. Sam called me and figured I’m the only one who could knock some sense into your dumb demon ass.”

For a moment fiery rage followed throughout his veins and the mark burned on his arm, “I’d watched what you say sweetheart. I won’t hesitate to hurt you.” His hand twitched towards the vibrating bone blade resting at his lower back.

“Awe, don’t tease a girl with a good time if you’re not willing to fulfill that promise. Me, on the other hand, can promise you all kinds of fun once you’re in these.” She held up the demon cuffs courtesy of his little brother.

He chuckled walking towards her, “You’ve been out of the game too long to wrestle with the likes of me. I’m not just a low life demon. I’m a Knight of Hell baby.”

He flashed his coal black eyes at her to get her to flinch. When she stepped closer to him not even reacting to his new dark eyes, Dean knew he was in a world of trouble.

She snaked her hand up into his hair pulling it roughly, “Oh pretty boy if you only knew what I’ve been doing with my time. Knight of Hell, cute. Try an Archangel of the Lord.”

Dean’s eyes widened as her dark shadowy wings branched out from her shoulders and blinding light surrounded them. All the years they had hunted together, slept together and he never knew.

“H-How… Did you keep this from me? From Sam and Cas?”

She smiled, “I’ll tell you all about my orders from Heaven after you’re a good little Knight of Hell and put the cuffs on.”

The mark burned hotter against his skin and the donkey jaw was shaking violently. He shoved her grabbing his weapon and narrowing his black eyes at her.

“I don’t think so sweetheart.”

She tilted her head to the side with a grin, “Fine. Have it your way.”

***

Dean’s eyes slowly opened as his head throbbed. Trying to move his arms or legs finding they were bound to a chair. He looked around the familiar dungeon that hid away in the Men of Letters bunker. He could still feel the mark’s power flowing through his veins and the darkness of succumbing to the mark still resting within him.

Looking up he found Sam with his arm in a sling, Cas looking exhausted and (Y/N) casually sitting at a table with her boot covered feet resting on the top of it.

“I don’t remember RSVPing to a reunion. Hiya Sammy.”

(Y/N) got up walking towards him and sitting across his lap, “The reunion is yet to come. Sam is going to perform the cleansing ritual and you’re going to allow him too.”

“Oh I am? Please do tell me, why am I going to let him turn me back into some pathetic, weak human again?” He bared his teeth at her as his eyes slowly turned to black.

She leaned in brushing her nose against his, “Because if not then I’m going to smite your demon ass into dust. If you think I’m joking then ask Castiel how I’ve been spending my time away from you.”

He growled as she got up walking past Sam and Cas but stopping at the door. “I want my Dean back so I can tell him the truth. If my Dean is truly lost to this world then your meatsuit means nothing to me. I will search all of Hell and Heaven to get my Dean back.”

He watched her walk out of the room and a small pang of heartache sparked a light in the pit of darkness consuming his soul.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @ladywinchester1967 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @deans-baby-momma @spnbaby-67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @carryonmywaywardcaptain @-lovepeacenhope- @destiel745 @carribear31 @srsllydunnodoncare @whimsicalrobots @thisismysecrethappyplace @starstruckzonkoperatorbat @adoptdontshoppets @mrswhozeewhatsis @bella-ca @drakelover78 @imascio08 @pisces-cutie @dwgrl1903-blog @mannls @the-salty-asian @winchesterprincessbride @xostephanie @superromijn @witch-of-letters @time-travel-bouqet @screechingartisancashbailiff @myinconnelly1 @sister-winchesters99 @thekatherinewinchester @maddiepants @tumbler-tidbits @sandlee44 @destielhoneybee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @thefaithfulwriter @stoneyggirl @supernaturalginger @emoryhemsworth @wednesdayismyfunday @team-free-will-you-idjiot @atc74 @cosicas-cuquis @casseythebee @miraclesoflove

#cassies3kreviewchallenge #demon!dean fanfic #demon!dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic

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mean-scarlet-deceiver · 4 years ago

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Any of you in the market for a railway story? A real one, I mean

I would have just directed people to the source, which is David Heys’s amazing photo collections and write-ups, but this is buried mid-page with no easy way to navigate.

So I’ve copied and pasted below the cut. It’s a bit of a read but it’s goddamn great.

... That was your mature language warning, by the way.

WASH & BRUSH UP by Pat Kinsella Carriage cleaning was a major part of BR's maintenance bill, and teams of highly organised individuals were employed the length and breadth of the rail network to remove tons of rubbish on a daily basis.

To assist the ritual of cleaning the outside of trains, carriage washing machines were positioned in or around larger berthing yards. One such place on the Southern Region was Clapham Yard, which had 50 sidings or more capable of holding hundreds of coaches. The double-portal washing plant was accessed from both the Main and Windsor lines some 3½ miles from Waterloo on the City-side of the yard. The washer was fitted with four 'brushes' on either side and a further four in the centre that cleaned both sides in the event of two trains passing through at the same time. The maximum speed was 2mph; any faster could dislodge the revolving brushes and this meant the carriages had to be brushed by a team of cleaners using hand equipment or run through the washer again causing further delay and inconvenience to services in and out of the yard.

An operator was positioned City-side of the equipment, and it was his duty to listen out for the sound of the engine's whistle which indicated to him that the locomotive was through and clear of the apparatus. This meant it was safe to turn on the water jets and start the revolving machinery; it was necessary for the washer to be turned on immediately the locomotive had passed through and clear of the washer, otherwise the first few yards on the leading coach would not be cleaned; this was especially the case when it was hauled by a Motor Tank since the coal bunker was only about two feet from the front coach.

This of course was not rocket science but it still led to misunderstandings...

One particular occasion springs to mind. A very young Guildford fireman was booked to cover a Nine Elms duty taking empty coaches between Waterloo and Clapham yard with an M7 locomotive. A nice little day's work on the face of it but on this occasion there were a couple of draw backs; his Nine Elms driver was not the happiest individual and the loco had been in service far too long.

Our fireman, a boy devoid of humour and experience in equal measure, struggled for steam on the first two trips to Clapham yard, his driver calling him a 'useless twat' - a nice turn of phrase that - but in view of the dire state of the loco and the fact that the fireman was doing his best, it's not too difficult to visualise the acrimonious atmosphere on the footplate by departure time on their last trip of the day.

Now the Drummond M7 Motor Tanks were excellent locomotives and would perform all duties asked of them in normal circumstances, but on occasions when things got sticky, such as poor coal, clinkered fire bars or just too long in service (resulting in the need for smoke box and ashpan emptying) they played up like any other loco. With regular use of the fire irons on their final trip, our hero just about maintained enough boiler pressure to haul the twelve-coach train the 3½ miles to Clapham Yard via the washer road. The poor old loco was nearing her last gasp and the brake gauge showed signs of surrendering the 21 inches of vacuum...21 inches of vacuum being necessary to keep the brakes off.

However, just as they entered the washing plant our fireman, by now feeling considerable pressure under the baleful glare of his driver, decided to get the fire iron down and stir the fire up again; an unwise move in their current position...manoeuvring a seven-foot fire iron in the confined space of a Motor Tank cab was not a straightforward job. Sure enough, as he dragged it off the side tank he accidentally snarled the handle in the whistle cord, but instead of untangling it carefully by hand he gave it a hefty tug..

A positive blow was sounded on the whistle.

The operator immediately turned on the apparatus.

The driver gave out a despairing moan....

By now the M7 was midway through the washer, at which point the driver; a master of self-preservation, slammed himself up against the inside of the cab to protect himself against the deluge of high-powered jets of water heading his way. All hell broke loose as dozens of revolving abrasive cloths whirred into action, yet the drenched fireman, being a tad slow on the uptake, was utterly at a loss as to why he was suddenly caught up in the crossfire of a monsoon. The driver, realising that abusive language would only traumatize him even more, adopted a more consolatory tone - 'I say fireman', he screamed over the pandemonium, 'would you kindly stop blowing that f.....g whistle!'

Managing to drag the locomotive clear, the soaking driver did a fair impression of Oliver Hardy's 'another fine mess' and then delivered another mouthful of expletives at this half drowned individual, who was still playing a merry tune on the whistle trying to release the fire iron ring.

With barely enough pressure they managed to drag the train the hundred yards to the horizontal ground signal, where they regained a little boiler pressure before being signalled dripping into Clapham yard, however it is probably best to draw a veil over the short time that these two sodden individuals had left together as they headed back to Nine Elms motive power depot. Speaking of getting wet; I myself was booked to cover a similar Nine Elms duty as the one above, also with a M7 tank locomotive, only this time my driver was the strong silent type but without the 'strong'. There was no attempt at conversation on his behalf so after a while I gave up. I think he believed it was below his station in life to be doing such mundane work and with a 'foreign' fireman to boot.

Anyway, after working a set of empties from Waterloo to Clapham yard we uncoupled then proceeded down to the stop blocks adjacent to the yard canteen, and still no conversation; we then pulled up to the top end of the yard to await instructions on the whereabouts of our next set of empties for Waterloo. An uneasy atmosphere hung heavy over the footplate. Seeing a Pacific entering the yard tender first, hauling a set of empties from Waterloo, my driver wandered over to my side of the footplate to exchange a word with a depot colleague of equal stature. In glided the Bullied and as it passed by cab to cab, just three feet apart, a bucket full of dirty washing water emanated with considerable force catching him full frontal from collar to crutch. Hysterical laughter could be heard from the retreating leviathan indicating to me that the attack was most likely premeditated. Very wet and smelling of carbolic soap, he retreated to his side of the cab with a large dent in his arrogance and sulked for the rest of the day; not that it made any difference to the cab atmosphere. I should point out that most Nine Elms men were of the convivial type bearing little resemblance to the above mentioned.

#real true railway stuff #ttte #the railway series #... i was in a low mood but now i'm on the goddamn floor #also if you liked that seriously check out the website #it's a treasure trove

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katymacsupernatural · 5 years ago

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Under the Stars

Dean Winchester x Reader

1400 Words

Written For: @spnquotebingo, @spngenrebingo

Squares Filled: I fell in love with you because you weren’t like anyone else (Quote), Campfire(Genre)

Warnings: None

Summary: Stuck out in the middle of the woods, Dean’s there to make sure everything is okay.

Branches snapped as you continued forward, your feet sinking into the soft forest floor. Pine needles pulled at your clothes, the mosquitoes buzzing around your skin. You were tired and miserable, and it didn’t seem like you were going back to your hotel room any time soon.

“You doing okay back there?” Dean called over his shoulder, leading the way through the thick foliage. His flannel sleeves were rolled back, his strong forearms covered in scratches. He had dirt smeared on his cheek but still seemed to be in fine spirits.

“Are we ever going to get back?” You whined. “It will be dark soon.”

Dean stopped, waiting for you to catch up to him. He rubbed his hands along your arms. “I think we took a wrong turn back there, but it shouldn’t be much longer. I promise. Then I’ll buy you whatever you want for dinner and we can relax in the room. Okay?”

Your smile was half-hearted. You weren’t mad at Dean, it wasn’t his fault. Neither of you had realized that a quick hunt in the woods would turn into a four-hour hike. Dean threaded his fingers with yours, tucking you under his shoulder. “Let’s keep moving.”

It wasn’t long before Dean was once again leading the way while you followed behind. The sun had already started to fade away, barely noticeable through the thick pine trees. It was chilly and damp, your flannel shirt no match for it.

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around your waist just as you broke into a clearing. You glanced around in anticipation, but no paved road or sleek black car was in sight. “Dean, face it. We’re lost,” you sighed. “Any reception?”

Dean held his phone up, his frown the only answer you needed. “What are we going to do?”

Dean spun in a circle, while you glanced on ahead. Another grove of trees was up ahead, the sun a cascading mixture of pink orange and red as it sunk down below. But it was the tire tracks and a built-up fire pit that had you excited. “Dean, look! Someone’s camped here!”

“Then we have to be getting close to civilization,” Dean agreed. “We could follow these tire tracks and hopefully get back to cell reception.”

“In the dark?” You shivered, thinking of everything that could be lurking around in the woods. “I guess. But it beats spending the night out here.”

“You’re right,” Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Better wait the night out, and try when we can see what we’re doing.”

You had never considered yourself to be a needy person. You never needed a five-star hotel or the fanciest clothes. But sleeping out here, in the middle of nowhere had your stomach churning with anxiety.

Dean must have noticed how unsure you were. Pulling you against him, he rubbed your back soothingly. “Listen, I know it’s not the greatest way to spend the night, but it’s better than getting lost even deeper in the woods. We have wood and a fire pit, and you have me. We’ll be fine. Oh, and I have snacks.”

“Snacks?” You were surprised, but then you shouldn’t have been. Dean always came prepared in case he got hungry. He dug in his duffel bag, pulling out a bag of peanut m&m’s, along with a couple of granola bars and a flask of whiskey. “See, we’ll be fine!”

He also pulled out his knife and a small blanket. “You are a lot more prepared than I figured,” You admitted. “But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

He gave you that smile of his you loved. It was a knowing smile, caught between a smirk and a full out grin. He saved it for those times he was caught showing off his brains, which he didn’t do enough to suit you. You liked it when he let his brainy side out.

“Be right back,” he promised, heading into the woods, while you cleared out a spot near the fire pit, settling the blanket down. With the sun setting the mosquitoes had quieted down for the night, the crickets chirping in the distance. If you weren’t so tired and child, you would have thought the night beautiful. But right now a cheap two-star hotel’s mattress sounded amazing to you.

Five minutes later Dean was back, his hands full of branches he had picked from the ground. He began placing them strategically in the pit, muttering under his breath as he worked. “You’ve done this before?” You asked, not picturing Dean as the camping type.

He shrugged. “Sure. There’s been nights where we’ve camped out in the woods rather than pay for a hotel room. Actually it’s kind of nice sleeping under the stars.”

You could already see the stars in the dusk sky, barely shining yet but there. “I don’t mind the stars. It’s the cold, the bugs and whatever else that’s out here that I’m worried about.”

Chuckling, Dean pulled out his lighter. “I think you’ll enjoy it. And then I promise you tomorrow you’ll get a nice hot shower and dinner wherever you want.”

“At the bunker? Your hamburger?” You asked, making Dean smile. “You got it sweetheart,” he promised. Taking some dried grass, he easily started the fire, impressing you. Leaning down, he blew gently on the small flame. The fire took off, and Dean settled down on the blanket, pulling on your hand until you were sitting beside him. Wrapping his arm around you, he offered you a handful of m&m’s.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?” He asked you as night fully settled in. The fire crackled and sparked, casting shadows around the area. The stars were brighter now, and you had to admit. It was quite nice.

“For right now,” you agreed. “But later tonight?”

“I’ll be right beside you,” he assured you, squeezing your shoulder assuringly.

Sometime during the night, Dean wrapped you in the blanket, letting you use his lap as a pillow. He talked to you, stories of previous hunts. Funny things that Sam would have shot him if he heard his brother. He kept the fire burning, and with the warmth from it and him, you found yourself nodding off.

The sun was barely starting to filter through the trees behind you when Dean gently shook your shoulder. “It’s time to head out,” he spoke softly, his green eyes vibrant in the dawn light. Yawning, you sat up, the blanket slipping from your shoulder. The fire had died down, only embers glowing a deep red. “Didn’t you get cold last night?” You asked, feeling horrible that he had suffered only to keep you safe and warm.

However, he shook his head no. “Between the fire and you beside me I was fine,” he assured you. “It was a nice night.”

Your body was a little sore and stiff as you stood up, but you didn’t mind. Reaching down, you helped Dean to his feet.“Dean, you’re something, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, using the toe of his boots to push dirt over the remaining coals. “No, really. You amaze me. You’re ability to adapt and change with each situation. Never giving up, always figuring out a way to make things work.”

Your comments were getting to him, you could tell. He kept rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, never looking your way. “Well, I’m sorry I get us into these situations to begin with. If I was a…,”

You didn’t let him finish, Grasping his arm with your hand, you forced him to look at you. “Dean, I fell in love with you because you weren’t like anyone else. Because of the huge heart you have, and the way you always fight for those you love. Like the fact that you stayed up all night, keeping the fire going to make sure I wouldn’t get cold.”

“You love me?” He whispered, and you nodded.

“I love you,” you told him again.

A huge smile broke out on his face. “I’ve been waiting forever to hear those words pass your lips. Y/N, I love you too.”

“You know what would make me love you even more?”

He shrugged. “If you got us out of here and found us breakfast,” you told him. Laughing, he wrapped up the blanket, handing you a granola bar before the two of you began the trek down the dirt road, not knowing the Impala was only a mile up ahead.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @bi-danvers0 @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#spnquotebingo #spngenrebingo #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #katy writes #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #dean x y/n

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xfanfics · 4 years ago

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Destiel Fic Rec List Part 3

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity. Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 37 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

—–

Teenage Dirtbag by littleartemis E | 7k | Canon!verse, Hot, sub!dean, dom!cas

Dean gets magically deaged so he's physically young again. Problem is he's a 'twink' once more and he can't hunt like this. Frustrated he takes it out on Cas who's getting to the end of his patience and decides a spanking is in order. He just didn't figure in that Dean might enjoy it.

The Perks of Playing Quidditch by noangelsinthegarrison G | 1k | Fluff, Wizarding World AU

“So,” Dean coughs, drawing Cas’s attention back to his eyes, “Any chance this taught you not to fly when you’re sick? Cas chuckles low in his throat and thinks that if Dean Winchester catching him mid-air, strong arms holding him against a solid, warm chest, was his reward, he hasn’t learnt any such thing. He pushes the thought down before he can say it out loud and instead raises an eyebrow. “Dean, you played through a broken leg last year.

AGGHHHHHHHHHH SO CUTE

Adiago by noangelsinthegarrison G | 6k | Fluff, Dancer AU

“His name’s Dean," Cas sighs, "And he’s really stupidly attractive, and when he dances, he feels it, you know? And it makes me feel like I know him, even though I don’t. He makes me feel like… like he’s dancing just for me. Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Wow you’re overdramatic when you’re horny.

This fic is super adorable. Lovely and full of pining, which happens to be my fave.

Good Clean Wholesome All-American Kink by Amelia_clark E | 2k Hot, Canon!verse

Dean's stronger than Cas now, and Cas kind of hates that. So Dean finds a way around it--he just needs to be tied up.

ImmMmMMmm HOT

Roots and Wings by Elensulev E | 51k [WIP] | BDSM AU, soulmate AU, sub!dean, dom!cas

In an alternate universe where you learn your soulmate sometime around puberty, Dean Winchester is shocked not just that he is a sub, but that a man's name appeared on his wrist. John Winchester doesn't suffer subs gladly, and Dean takes the brunt of his father's misogynistic attitude. Can the mysterious Castiel convince him he is worthwhile? AU where Sam and Dean are raised apart, Cas is human, and John is a hunter raised by a disgruntled Man of Letters.

A fusion of the soulmate's-name-on-the-wrist and the dom/sub verses. Though the John parts are painful to read (this fic is NOT for John-lovers), the over all effect is worth it, and gentle-dom!Cas is my absolute favorite. Edit from 2020: Holy SHIT this fic is long now.

Highwaymen. by orange_crushedv M | 66k | Harry Potter AU

Dean closes his eyes. He is under a blanket in his memories, fabric pulled up under his chin and his face pressed near to hers on the pillow. His father is asleep, snoring slightly, hands loose and expression happy, curled around her on the other side. She's speaking in whispers. He knows that she was already pregnant then, that Sam was on his way into their lives, even though he'd had no idea what exactly that meant at the time. He can almost see her face still, warm and orange in the light of her lumos circling their heads like a firefly, but every now and then she blurs in his vision, like a lost thread of consciousness, something half-remembered. Bit by bit, he's losing her.

The Wizarding World AU I never knew I wanted!

Understanding your body in ten easy steps by almaasi E | 12k | Canon!verse, Masturbation

All Dean has to do is track down a decent porno for Cas to watch, help him find his sensitive spots, then hang back and let him do his thing. Easy-peasy. No homo. ...Absolutely no homo at all.

Casturbation. Fuck yes.

Blackboard by lemonoclefox E | 76k | College AU, BDSM elements, sub!dean, dom!cas

Castiel Novak is a college English teacher, in a rather inappropriate relationship with Dean Winchester, who happens to be one of his students. But although their arrangement is one that works perfectly for the both of them, Castiel is starting to worry that maybe keeping it impersonal will be harder than he thought.

Perfect. The story is actually 8 chapters long, but the other 8 chapters are told from Dean's point of view.

On Air by wincechesters E | 21k | Fluff, Radio Host AU

Cas and Dean are radio DJs who host the second most popular morning show in Lawrence. They’ve been co-hosts for years at different stations across the country, and they own a house together out of necessity, even though they’re just friends. But for some reason, a lot of their listeners and even some of their friends and family seem to think that they’re secretly in some kind of relationship, which they’re totally not (besides that one time that totally doesn’t count). In spite of that, Dean thinks he’s got everything figured out, until an ill-fated on air game of Truth or Dare turns everything upside down (and the billboards around town aren’t helping either).

FLUFFY CUTENESS AWW

Courage of Stars by mcpadalacklesv T | 3k | College AU,

Dean's brain is stuck on 'he's leaving me he's leaving me' and he thinks about saying don't go or I'll come with you, but what comes out of his mouth is, "I don't think you get loose-leaf tea on the moon.Wherein Dean (who owns a bookstore) and Cas (an astrophysicist grad student) have been best friends since they were kids, NASA nearly screws things up, and tea is mentioned far too often.

THIS IS ADORABLE JFC. I loved the part about tea strainers omg

How to Improve a dull day by arigatou_sunshine E | 7k | Soulmates AU, ABO, omega!dean, alpha!cas

Dean's about to pick up something not on his grocery list.At 28, Dean meets his alpha while shopping for groceries.

I just... Um. Yes. I have a sweet spot for the true mates trope and this is a very sweet example of that :)

Ignite by angelofthemoorv E | 86k | Vampire AU

While investigating a lead regarding a serial killer, Dean Winchester suffers a beating. When he wakes up, he discovers a stranger named Castiel has been caring for him. But Castiel has a secret--he is a vampire. He is not like other vampires, however. His mission is to protect humankind, and he has been pursuing the serial killer, too. Will the friendship between Dean and Castiel endure the trials ahead? Will their mutual attraction develop into something more?

Feels 'Verse by Gemmiel E | 18k | Fluff, Alt!canon

Castiel discovers that being human is very different from being an angel, physically speaking, and Dean helps him explore the differences. AU for season 9 in which Cas goes straight to the bunker and Sam heals spontaneously from the trials.

Wow this verse is so lovely and fluffy that I just want to cuddle it. Basically how Season 9 should have gone.

Thunder & Angels by pm_lo E | 51k

Castiel’s family owns the shoddily-regulated coal mine where John Winchester works, so Dean storms Cas’s mansion, demanding answers from the drugged-out trust-fund kid. In exchange for his help repairing the mine, Cas demands Dean live with him for three months and give Cas a shot at seducing him by allowing him one kiss a day.

AHHHH!!! This was PERFECT. Love the characterizations, plot, fluff and angst amaze. read the thingggg

Cockiness by robomanticv E | 7k | Hot, AU Panty!kink

Dean didn’t usually come to this kind of place, but Sam had given him the puppy dog eyes and argued and pleaded and even bribed him with pie. He was seeing some new girl who apparently very into the alternative burlesque scene and she had invited them to come see a show on her night off. Aka: The one where Dean sees his first burlesque show, learns that male burlesque performers are a thing, and tries a lot of new (sexual) things. Also my Castiel underwear kink makes an appearance because I'm weakkkk

Bunker 41 by CaptainMercy42 T | 25k | Fluff, Scientist AU

Dr. Castiel Novak is giving Lieutenant Dean Winchester a simple tour of BUNKER41 when an explosion traps them both inside. They'll get out eventually. Some days that thought is very comforting, and other days it makes Cas a little sad (DENIAL: a lot sad).

CUDDLING.

Pulled From The Wreckage by DarkmoonSigel M | 30k | Alt!canon, wing!kink

Angel and shameless wingfic. Dean notices that he is changing into something but is it something that he can accept? Mature for a reason for later chapters so bear with me here.

The Auction by TamrynEradani E | 8k

Dean's a firefighter and Cas is a police officer, and they both end up at the bar, miserable after their auction dates. Lucky for them, the night is still young.

I just um... Hnng. Firefighter!Dean and Cop!Cas.

Welcome to the Dork Side by TamrynEradani T | 15k

Dean's handing out pie when he has an odd encounter with Castiel Novak.

Super cute! :)

Both Sides Now by TamrynEradani T | 21k |Alt!canon, genderswap!dean

Dean solves a hunt and realizes he's in love. He does most of this while cursed into a female body which means he's also dealing with being a woman, and it's more complicated than he had realized.

Shut Your Mouth by runoutofwit E | 2k | Hot, Dom!Cas

Dean’s not sure how they ended up this way, but he doesn’t care. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect Castiel, Angel of the Lord, to be the equivalent of a hormone-ravaged teenager, and he sure as hell didn’t expect him to be an asshole about it.

Hella dom!cas with bossy!bottom dean mmm.

What I need by xaandria E | 46k | Medical AU

A joking phrase commonly heard between a surgeon and his tech is "Give me what I need, not what I ask for." Dr. Novak and his tech Dean will soon learn the impact this phrase has on life outside the operating room.

Surgical AU! Very terminology heavy, so I didn't understand some parts. But very good regardless.

Starborn by riseofthefallenone G | 12k

Dean’s obsession with the stars starts all thanks to Sam. He just didn't know where that would take him in life. Or who - or what - he would meet.

This is LOVELY.

Love Out of Chaos by mar_map E | 30k

Sam needs homework help, Dean likes to cuddle (although he won't admit it), John gets shot, Gabriel teaches Castiel to loosen up, and Balthazar likes to flirt. That's not what's important though. What is important, is that Castiel and Dean were always meant to be (even if the two of them have trouble seeing it at first), and though Castiel lost his family, another one just might have sneaked up on him while he wasn't looking.

You Deserve This by ticklethetoastl E | 2k | Fluff, PWP Canon!verse

Sex with Cas was never supposed to be an emotional experience, and Dean doesn't deserve to be made love to.

Praise!kink is my ultimate weakness.

S'only you. by louise97 T | 3k

Dean wasn't sure about what exactly had led them there—the cuddle accident, morning wood issues or the growing tension between them for the past few days—but yet there they were, and he had no fucking idea what to do (at first).

*keyboard smash* soOOoOoO CUTE

Freckles by 2spooky4u E | 7k | Fluff

"I had to draw all them perfectly," Cas insists, and Dean suddenly can't get rid of the image of Cas, clutching on to a Crayola washable marker, jamming it into his skin forcefully like a little kid mashes his markers on the paper in a vehement attempt to make the color deeper. ”And now you're insulted 'cause I don't appreciate 'em?" Dean asks, bewildered. "No," Cas lies petulantly. "Huh." The stubborn child version of Cas Dean has painted in his mind is now clutching his paper possessively, shielding it from scrutiny. They drive in silence for a while. "Thank you for making my freckles," Dean grouses finally, knowing that it's the only way Cas will forgive him. ((((OR, IN WHICH CAS LIKES DEAN AND HIS FRECKLES, AND DEAN IS STUBBORNLY HETEROSEXUAL))))

Simple and adorable. Pining!cas and Discovering his bisexuality!Dean. Addresses Dean's self worth issues :D️

Appoggiatura by ceeainthereforthat E | 121k | College au

Castiel leaves the religious commune of Heaven Farms to study classical piano after winning a full scholarship paid for by the Deanna Campbell Memorial Foundation, and answers an ad in the campus newspaper: 1 bedroom to let. Meals provided. 50mb wifi, quiet odd music student preferred.

Super interesting world building. Love the imagery and writing style.

Good Books, Bad Movies by Amelia_Clark E | 17k | Fluff, Hot, Bookstore AU

Castiel Novak is an award-winning, heavily tattooed writer of dark fantasy (think China Mieville). Dean Winchester runs a quirky book/video store called Good Books, Bad Movies. There's a reading, some lit-nerd flirting, and eventually smut amongst the shelves.

First of all, this is adorable. Second of all it's smoking hot.

Alone Together by ScarletPhoenix E | 26k | Dean/Cas/BennyA/b/o AU

Dean Winchester has never expected to be happy. As an omega, his only hope is that he’ll end up with an alpha that’ll think of him as a human being and take him away from his abusive father. Castiel Novak isn’t allowed to be happy. As a beta, he’s forced by his parents to hide who he is under fake bravado and forced hormone therapy. The one thing that keeps him going is his love for his best friend, Dean. Benny Lafitte has given up on happiness. As an alpha, he should be mated with little ones running around under feet, but that isn’t how life played out. Instead he focuses on running his restaurant and ignoring his empty house. When these three meet, will they finally find the happiness they deserve?

Come Clean by snuggycas E | 3k | Hot, A/B/O AU, PWP, Omega!dean, Alpha!cas

When Sam makes Dean help for the Universities annual car wash fundraiser, he meets Castiel Milton, a business intern who is finishing his masters degree. When they go on a date and Dean's heat suppressants fail, they make a discovery that will change their lives forever. This is all porn to be honest.

Hot and Cute <3 Also this hit all my kinks haha.

grip them tight and raise them from pernicion by flux E | 20k | Fluff, Much ado about nothing au, highschool au

Dean and Cas have been at each other's throats for years, but Anna and Sam are determined to change that for the better. With a well-placed love letter and some careful direction, they manage to get the two into a semi-antagonistic, fiercely competitive, and emotionally confusing game of relationship chicken. Now they just need to get to prom.

Fucking adorable and hilarious. I love much ado about nothing so much, and this was a wonderful rendition!

The face of heaven. by orange_crushed T | 9k | Fluff, AU

"This is the best day of my life," Castiel tells him, when he comes back. "You’ve been so kind to me." His cheeks are glowing a little from the cold, or maybe just because he’s an otherworldly being full of light. Dean doesn’t know. "If I burn another million years, I won’t forget it. "Oh," says Dean. "Good." (In which Castiel is a fallen star.)

PERFECT! Oh my heart!

Hold Me Close by twisting_vine_x E | 7k | Star trek AU

Pon farr Destiel AU. In which Castiel is a half-Vulcan scientist, Dean is an engineer, and they’re best friends who are stationed aboard the USS Enterprise for her first five-year voyage. An away mission going wrong. Getting stranded together on some deserted planet. Just another day in the lives of a couple of Starfleet officers, but when the Vulcan side of Cas suddenly makes itself know, he and Dean are put in a position that has the potential to either make or break them.

Ghost Dance by omphalos E | 51k | Angst, Alt!Canon

In post-apocalyptic isolation, Castiel nurses Dean back to something like his former self, but will a time come when Dean's recovered --and rediscovered-- too much?

Very angsty, very sad. This wrecked me with perfection. Be sure to read the tags.

Meringue by SurlyCat E | 23k | Dean/Cas/Jimmy, Hot, College AU

Dean and Cas have been together for about six months, when Cas starts to get antsy about their sex life. The sex has been good and all, but what Dean doesn't know is that his shy, sweet little boyfriend has been holding back. One confusing spur of the moment date with his boyfriend's twin later, and Dean finds out that Cas may not be as innocent as he thought.

*fans self* well basically this is really hot and you should read it. if you're into d/c/j of course.

A Room Of One's Own by NorthernSparrow E | 94k | Hot, alt!canon

All Dean wants is a little privacy. Cas doesn't understand.

Omfg. This was hilarious, wonderful, and hot. A+. Basically crack, but with emotional moments and hot porn. so, yep.

#destiel #deancas #spn #spn fic rec #destiel fic rec #*#list

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funeral-clown · 5 years ago

Note

“I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone” - either part 1 team 7 or part 2 team Kakashi

It had been Kakashi-sensei’s idea, officially, but Sakura suspected it was more him giving in to their begging for training than making an official decision. Sensei can be as lazy as a Nara sometimes, she thought to herself. Eyeing the man in question, her seemingly enthralled teacher looked up from his book to give her one of his eye smiles. HE COULD AT LEAST HELP SET UP, THE BASTARD!

A loud groaning came from the other side of the tent, as Naruto tried and failed again to set the stakes properly.

“Can you PLEASE give me the hammer now, idiot?”

“LIKE YOU COULD DO ANY BETTER!”

“A blind monkey could do a better job than you, dobe.”

“OH YEAH?”

The spine of Kakashi’s book made a satisfying thunk against her teammate’s skulls.

“Now, now, students. Save that fire for the nighttime. It gets cold when the sun goes down.” He looked up at the canopy covering their small campsite. “Which should be happening within the next hour or so, so I would get a move on with the tent, hm?”

Sakura soothed her Inner’s rage with thoughts of finally being able to rest when it was done. Kakashi had ran them for miles around the village before picking what he insisted was the perfect spot. Exhausted, Sakura marveled that her teammates had any energy left to try and kill each other.

But energy they had, and since their sensei had conveniently lost the instructions to set up the tent and insisted that pitching it themselves was part of the training, none of it was being used constructively.

“One day,” she muttered to herself, “I’ll be strong enough to clobber these two.”

The wind in the leaves made no confirmation, merely toyed with her hair before moving on to find someone more interesting than a few baby shinobi who couldn’t even manage to pitch a tent.

Finally, after much bickering, glaring, and at least three declarations of eternal rivalry, they had a halfway acceptable structure. Exhausted, Sakura collapsed on the hard ground, staring up at the fading dapples of sunlight.

“Well done, my adorable students! You didn’t need my help after all.”

The trio groaned bitterly.

“You all seem to have this well in hand. Enjoy!”

Sasuke glared up from the ground. Despite the dirt smudged on his cheek and many dead leaves in his hair, it still came across as quite cold and solemn.

“You mean you aren’t staying with us.”

Kakashi laughed, scratching awkwardly at the side of his face.

“Ahhh, I would love nothing more than to spend the night with my little students. However,” he cut himself off with a forced cough, “I fear I am coming down with something. Could be contagious. Surely unwise to spend the night on the ground in the woods. But! I have absolute faith in you all! I’ll come by tomorrow to pick you up. Be sure to wake up bright and early!”

“Oh good,” Naruto muttered, “Then we have till noon at least.”

“Remember! This exercise is about teamwork! Communication! As ninja, you will have to share uncomfortable spaces with your team. You will have to bunker down in harsh conditions, and get used to each other’s nitpicking. I know this seems like I’m just making you go on a camping trip in the middle of nowhere alone, but this mission will help improve your teamwork. Now. I’m going to go pester Gai into making me nice hot tea, and to finish my chapter. Farewell, team! Sakura, try not to let them kill each other.”

And with that, he vanished.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Sasuke sighed.

“Please tell me someone at least brought something to eat.”

Naruto frowned.

“Depends.”

Sasuke raised his head to glare suspiciously at his teammate.

“Depends? Depends on what.”

Naruto beamed.

“Do you think you could use your jutsu to get a fire started?”

Sakura groaned.

“Naruto, you didn’t.”

Ruffling through his pack enthusiastically, the boy pulled out a small pot and several packages of instant ramen.

“It’s like Iruka-sensei always said! Be prepared!”

Sasuke sighed.

“It’s better than nothing. Sakura?”

A tired moan rose up in response.

“Think you can get some firewood? You’re the best tree-climber, after all.”

Sakura snorted, hands covering her face.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to get up either.”

“I have to save my chakra for the fire jutsu!”

Naruto scoffed.

“Yeah right, teme. Besides, everyone knows green wood isn’t good for a fire. It’s too smoky! You have to look for dry kindling.”

Sakura and Sasuke stared in shock.

“That’s. Actually right, Naruto. Good job.”

Naruto rolled his eyes.

“Please, Sakura. I spend the majority of my time off eating. Anyone who’s gone to the barbecue could tell you that.”

Sasuke hummed in admission.

“Fair enough. I still need to save my chakra, though. Sakura?”

“Fine,” she growled, standing and brushing the leaf litter and dirt off her dress, “I’ll get the stupid firewood.”

“Let me come with you, Sakura!”

She grinned.

“Thanks, Naruto. See?” She stuck her tongue out. “It’s called teamwork.”

Sasuke waved his hand in dismissal.

“Yeah, yeah.”

They collected enough brush and twigs to build a small fired, and soon the water in the pot was boiling and the noodles were cooking in broth.

Sighing in content, the three ninja leaned back on their bedrolls and luxuriated in the warmth and their first true rest of the day.

“This is going to taste so much better than ration bars,” Sakura crooned.

“For sure.” Her teammates nodded in agreement, eyes half closed in relaxation.

Time passed in a slow golden haze. Watching, their breath started to mist up the air, and they drew closer to the fire. Passing around cups, they each ate their fill of the hot soup and noodles, bodies slumping against each other in exhaustion.

“We’re gonna have to put the fire out,” Sasuke murmured.

“You do it,” Sakura whispered, head drooping to her chin.

“Tch. Fine.”

He fell backwards and tried not to breathe too heavily.

“Naruto, you do it.”

“Whatever.”

Too tired to trade insults or argue, he stamped out the dying coals, extinguishing the rest with leftover broth and covering it all with dirt.

“Noooooooo,” Sakura whined, “It’s cold now!”

“I know,” Sasuke grumbled bitterly into the ground, “It’s awful.”

Naruto cocked his head at his teammates. He was warm enough, heat radiating from inside. Perhaps being a jinchuuriki had fringe benefits.

“Inside the tent, assholes.”

Two separate hands flew up to salute him.

“Classy.”

With much grumbling and carrying on, the three of them dragged their sleeping rolls into the cramped tent. Wary of the cold, Naruto placed himself in the middle, grinning in the dark when they both inched in closer seeking the heat he was giving off.

“You’re like a furnace,” Sasuke mumbled in awe. Sakura merely nodded, half asleep.

Silently, the three lay in their slipshod shelter, sharing warmth and enjoying the stillness. It shocked everyone when Sasuke broke the ice.

“I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone,” he whispered.

Naruto’s hand silently found his in the dark.

“I know what you mean. You get used to sleeping alone. To doing everything alone. Dreaming you won’t, then waking up alone anyway.

Sasuke nodded, squeezing his hand softly before slipping it away.

“Me too,” Sakura softly admitted.

“Huh?”

“My only friend was Ino, and then we. Well, you know. We stopped hanging out. My house is usually busy. We’re civilians, in a ninja village, which means both my parents have to work hard to support us. I have to take care of myself, most of the time. It’s not the same as you guys, I know it isn’t. But I know what it’s like to fall asleep alone. Wake up and get yourself ready alone. Walk to school alone. Wishing someone would walk beside you.”

“Yeah,” Sasuke muttered.

“Well,” Naruto said, with a slow cheerfulness, “At least now we’re not alone anymore. We’re a team!”

The others smiled in the dark.

“Yeah!”

“A team.”

Silently, they all huddled in even closer, taking comfort in the easy contact that would come so rarely for them. Slowly they slid to sleep.

High in the trees above them, their sensei sighed.

“I told you it would work, boss.”

“I never doubted you for a minute, Pakkun.”

“Pups are all the same. You walk em around until they tire themselves out, and they’ll pile up for a nap. No matter how many legs or tails they have.”

Kakashi laughed as he looked down on his sleeping students. They deserved their rest. He would keep watch as they slept. Smiling under his mask, he turned the page of his book.

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dazzlingfantasiesblogs · 6 years ago

Text

Jealousy for the win!

Sam Winchester x Reader

Warnings/Triggers: 18 + Only. If under 18, kindely, un-follow me! Smut. Violence?

Notes: Just a small drabble I thought of.

Pics and Gifs are not mine.

Please do not post my work anywhere else! It is my work. I do not own Supernatural obviously, but this story line is my thoughts.

Sam walked around the bunker looking for you. He had not seen you all day and he was worried after his huge fight with you, that you left. He walked into the kitchen, seeing if you where maybe cooking something. “She is in the dungeon.” Sam looked to his brother. “Why?!” Sam groaned at Dean. Knowing you probably went there irritated as ever. It was your hiding place after all.. “She was reading records of something. Said she needed to be away for a bit. Sam nodded and headed to the dungeon. Walking in, he seen you sitting in the middle of the demon trap, reading an article. Your coal colored, square glasses on your face and concentration was the emotion on it. Ruffling through the papers that was strewed across the floor you where looking for a certain document. “What are you doing?” you peered up through your glasses at the tall man in front of you. “Research.” Your words short and laced with unpleasantness for the man in front of you. “I haven’t seen you all day.” “Sam cut the formality. I wanted to be away from you.”

You started to clean up the mess. Standing up Sam noticed your hair was wet from a shower you must have taken earlier. Wearing some tight exercise jeggings that had lace on the side and a bright pink tank-top. Putting the papers in the correct folder you walked to the aisle they belonged to and set them in their section. Sam followed you around as you walked, watching you move with such grace. You quickly turned around running into his broad chest. “Sorry. Excuse me.” Mumbling you tried to go around him. His hands grabbed your shoulders stopping you. “Sam I have things to do, please let me go.” “No. We need to talk about the fight.” “What.. about how it was you doing all the bitching. I couldn’t get a fucking word in with your constant stammering on about that guy flirting with me at the bar while I talked to him for a case!” “He did.. he was giving you fucking googly eyes and practically eye-fucking you!” slapping a hand to your head you groaned. “Fucking whatever! I watch women practically get on their knees to suck your dick, especially all the house wives who are unhappy. Yet I know at the end of the day you are between my thighs!” finally pushing past him you headed to the main area of the bunker. He grabbed your right hand, pulling you into the dungeon once again, he slammed the door. “What the hell Sam.” “Your right… I am the one between your legs..” He growled. Rolling your eyes you walked back to the table in the back, this was going to be another fight. Not even a conversation when Sam was mad. People this he is so rational.. he wasn’t when it came to jealousy. He watched as your ass walked in those tight pants. The way it jiggled with every step you took.

Following you to the table he picked you up before setting you on the table. “Sam eno..” his lips attacked yours. Grabbing your tank top he ripped it in half. He wouldn’t let you speak, instead his lips slid with yours. Gasping when he ripped your tank top, he slid his tongue in your mouth, playing with your own. Going to your hips, he started to slide down your tight pants. Pulling you up, he turned you around. Getting on his knees, he grabbed handfuls of the globes of your ass. He fondled your ass watching as he squeezed it. “Look at those panties… I already see your getting wet… so.. responsive to me…” he slid a finger over your fuchsia booty shorts. “So fucking sexy… no wonder… that guy wanted to have you…” he slid his pointer finger deep in your pussy. “SAM!” you called out. “But your mine baby… all fucking… MINE!” Sliding over your panties more, he laid down and pulled you legs over him. HE kept pushing his finger in and out of you, watching your honey coat it. “Fuck… so sexy sitting on my face…” holding your self up on his chest as he licked you, your legs started to quiver. His tongue explored your core. His tongue working you over expertly, twirling over you bud. “Sam! Fuck!” your legs gave way, as the dam broke. You came hard, his sweet name on the tip of your tongue over and over again.

Picking you up, you wanted to return the favor, by either riding him till he came or sucking him. He refused. He bent you over on the concrete. You where sure your knees would be bruised and if you wore shorts, Dean would have a ton of jokes. Moving your panties over, your hurd his pants hit the floor with his heavy belt and then his boxers. He slid into you with one stroke. “That’s it….. take it all…” he whispered in your ear as he bent over you. His hand slapping the right ass cheek and he started to pound into you with no mercy. You knew what this was, if Sam got jealous, he was going to take it out on your body. Honestly, it was your favorite times you have had sex with Sam when he was Jealous. He pulled out and pushed all the way in, your core stretching to his girth and length. “Sam.. not going to last..” you moaned out as he slid his hand over you ass again. “Love this ass… Fuck…. I love you… your whole body… but this ass… is the death of me.. Men always stairing..” he slapped it again hard. Enough to leave a huge bruised handprint on it for tomorrow. He felt your tight walls fluttering against him already. He knew the moment he started this, lasting was out of the question for you. “Take… it all..” He whispered in your ear. “Slap… again..” you breathed out. He knew what you wanted. “Mmm… love my violent girl..” his hand came down on your left cheek as hard as the right, leaving a matching mark. “My girl..” that was all it took before you lost control. You shook, coming hard on him. HE slowed down a bit and pulled out. He looked down at you and seen the prints and the slick drip. He decided to not cum but instead make it about you. “Why…?” He grabbed you in his arms after pulling his pants up. “Because… I wanted it to be about you… I am sorry for being an asshole.. now let me go make love to you…” Sam smirked as he pressed a kiss to your tired lips. “Round two..” He whispered.

#sam #sam winchester #sam smut #sam winchester smut #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean #dean winchester #spn #spn imagine #supernatural #supernatural imagine

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pinkstevenu · 6 years ago

Text

Golden Wings ~ Part 7

Characters: Rowena, Michael!Dean, Sam, Reader, Jack, Gabriel

Parings: GabrielxReader

Word Count: 1,341

Warnings: Angst, Character Violence, Swearing

You tossed it in your bag and turned to Jack to make sure he was ready. Then a big blast sending the doors flying open revealed Dean, no...Michael standing in the doorway, “Y/N nice to see you again told you, you couldn't hide forever.”

You stepped towards him but, Rowena grabbed your arm and pulled you back. Your gaze didn't move you where still focused on Michael as he smirked at you while brushing off his jacket, “what do you want to son of a bitch!?”

An invisible force threw you to the side. You felt the wood hit your head and you heard a loud crack. You grunted and looked up seeing Michael slowly paced over, “well sweetheart isn't it obvious, I want my brothers most prized possession.”

A small smile cracked on your face and pushed yourself up one hand holding your head, “‘you know if your really so riled up about getting some of him candy there's a candy store down the street Mike.”

You sarcastically shot at him. He didn't think it was funny and got a fistful of your shirt and pushed you against the wood beam. You hissed at the sharp pain shoot through your body, “does he not love you enough Y/N that your not his most prized possession.”

You spit in his face, “of course he fucking loves me ass hat don't ever fucking say that about Gabriel!”

His smile grew wider and he slightly let go of his grip, “I hit a nerve didn't I never seen you so protective over someone.”

You shoved him enough you wiggle out and bolted to the rift looking behind you to make sure Jack was ready. Then you jumped through the rift just before it closed. You landed on your back hissing at the sharp jolt that shot through your spine. You felt Jack pull you up and layed one hand on your back. You looked around you seeing the dark and gloomy world for the first time. Your jaw practically dropped it was nothing like you had ever seen everything was destroyed leaving debris and long pillars standing up from the ground. Jack put a hand on your shoulder pulling you from your trance. You shook your head, “I didn't think it was really this bad.”

Jack just nodded his head and looked for a second then back to you, “well we gotta start walking the only clue we have is you, but only when your asleep.”

You nodded and readjusted the bag strap, “ok well let's find a small place to rest and see what we can find out.”

Jack and you started walking chuck knows where. You finally after about a two mile walk found a soft place to rest and set up camp. Jack pull together some sticks and started a small fire to warm you up after he saw you shivering. He pretty much ordered you to sit down and rest because you needed sleep. You slid down the tree in front of the fire and watched as Jack put together a makeshift bed for you. He said he would stay on look out while you sat. You complied and he motioned for you to lay down on the ‘bed’. You laid down and instantly knew you were gonna hurt when you woke up, but didn't care because all you wanted was the love of your life back. You fell asleep to the sound of the crackling fire and warmth radiating off of it.

You looked around to see you where now sitting on a bar stood and the smell of stale beer and sweat filled your nose. You hopped off the stool and walked around, “Gabriel?” nothing happened. You now got worried running to the door, but it wouldn't budge, “Gabriel!” you punched the door, “oh sweetheart what you missing your precious boy toy.” you turned around and rushed up to the man sitting at the bar, “where the hell is he!” you shoved your finger towards him, “sugar? Cupcake!” you turned around to see a worried archangel. You looked back to see the other man had gone, “Gabriel?” you ran towards him and gave him a huge hug. He pulled you in closer and rested his head on yours, “you ok sugar I've never seen you like that what's wrong?” you cleared your throat, “I thought I lost you again.” he pulled you back to look you in the eyes, “honey you never lost me in the first place and least not like that.” you smiled at your mate, “ok now you need to wake up sweets im about a day and a half walk away east.”

You groaned waking up to the stiff floor and pushed yourself up to a sitting position. You looked you see Jack asleep against the tree and the fire was now just hot coals. You stood up and padded over to Jack and tapped his shoulder, “Jack? Hey I talked to Gabriel.”

He woke up and looked at you with bags under his eyes, “ok, ok good that's pack up. What did he say?”

You were rummaging through your bag trying to find a compass, “he said hes a day and a half walkabout east of where we are.”

Back at the bunker Sam was freaking out because rowena had come to him because of Michael and told him of where you and jack had went. He slammed a book on the table, “i'm swear to chuck that girls gonna make me go crazy!”

Rowena just looked up at him, “Sammy I already think you have gone crazy.”

He stared daggers at her and tried to find any information on anyone.

You and Jack where running through the forest trying to lose the angels that you ran into while walking through what was left of tennessee. Someone grabbed your arm throwing you back into a tree making everything dizzy. You grabbed your head trying to steady your vision seeing one rushing over to you and pinned you against the tree. You screamed in his face and stabbed his shoulder with an angel blade. He stumbled back enough for you to wrap his arms around his back and pinning him the the ground. You looked up seeing Jack finish killing the other two, “Jack grab the cuffs.”

You slapped the cuffs on the angel and pulled him up to his feet. You twirled him around to come face to face with your old friend Balthazar. You pulled the blade out of his arm, “Balthazar?”

You looked at you confused, “um do I know you miss? I don't recall ever meeting you.”

You scoffed at him and pulled your bag over your shoulder and shoving him forward to walk. A couple minutes later Jack handed you a piece of paper that read ‘how do you know him?’ you handed it back and pointed at baltazar, “he was an old friend of mine in our universe he would be another one of your uncles.”

Jack looked him up and down and Balthazar did the same back to him, “so you guys are from the other universe and that's how you know me?”

You rolled your eyes knowing this wasn't your balthazar. You pushed his forward to keep walking, “yes Balthazar now keep walking.”

You ordered him. Jack walked next you and kept his eyes on the compass making sure you where going the right way. Once it started to get dark Jack grabbed Balthazar, “Y/N you should get some sleep i'll keep an eye on him.”

He motioned to the angel. You nodded to him and curled up using you bag as a pillow and fell asleep.

“Y/N!!!!” you twirled around seeing Gabe with his arms tied above him. You rushed over, “Gabe! What happened!?” his eyes widened scared, “no get away they will get you!” you looked at him confused until somethings grabbed you and pulled you out of the shed leaving you looking at the old abandoned building.

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Sunday, March 13, 2022

Slowed on the Battlefield, Russia Widens Bombardment of Ukrainian Cities (NYT) The Russian military struck Ukrainian cities far from the main battle lines on Friday, pressing its strategy of bombing Ukraine into submission as the country plunged deeper into misery and privation more than two weeks into the war. President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia has demonstrated in past conflicts in Syria and Chechnya a willingness not only to bomb heavily populated areas indiscriminately but also to use civilian casualties as leverage against his enemies. On Friday, evidence mounted that the Russian military was doing exactly that in Ukraine. A shoe factory, a psychiatric hospital and an apartment building were among the latest civilian targets hit by Russian forces, Ukrainian officials said. Moving to exact a heavier economic toll in response to the assault, President Biden on Friday said the United States would join the European Union and other allies in stripping Russia of permanent normal trade relations and would take steps to bar it from borrowing money from the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. Mr. Biden said he also planned to ban certain imports from Russia, including seafood, vodka and nonindustrial diamonds, as well as American exports of luxury items like high-end watches and luxury vehicles.

Over Ukraine, Lumbering Turkish-Made Drones Are an Ominous Sign for Russia (NYT) Ukraine’s most sophisticated attack drone is about as stealthy as a crop duster: slow, low-flying and completely defenseless. So when the Russian invasion began, many experts expected the few drones that the Ukrainian forces managed to get off the ground would be shot down in hours. But more than two weeks into the conflict, Ukraine’s drones—Turkish-made Bayraktar TB2 models that buzz along at about half the speed of a Cessna—are not only still flying, they also shoot guided missiles at Russian missile launchers, tanks and supply trains, according to Pentagon officials. The drones have become a sort of lumbering canary in the war’s coal mine, a sign of the astonishing resiliency of the Ukrainian defense forces and the larger problems that the Russians have encountered. “The performance of the Russian military has been shocking,” said David A. Deptula, a retired three-star Air Force general who planned the U.S. air campaigns in Afghanistan in 2001 and the Persian Gulf in 1991. “Their failure to secure air superiority has been reflected by their slow and ponderous actions on the ground. Conversely, the Ukrainian air force performing better than expected has been a big boost to the morale of the entire country.” The people of Ukraine are singing songs about the Bayraktar drone and repeatedly posting online footage of destroyed Russian armor.

Amid war and brutality, Ukrainians are transformed and united (Washington Post) In interviews across the nation, Ukrainians described unthinkable changes in their lives that would have seemed absurd less than a month ago, when President Volodymyr Zelensky was still reassuring his country that Russia would not launch a full-scale invasion. In some places, much of life is now happening underground: Babies are being born in basement maternity wards. Wounded fighters are being treated in bunkers. Entire apartment buildings full of families have relocated their lives to subterranean parking garages. The cities of Kharkiv and Mariupol have been crushed as Ukraine’s enormous neighbor continues its devastating campaign of shelling across the country. Once known for their grand boulevards and architecture, these cities have joined Dresden and Aleppo as symbols of the utter destruction of war. More than 2 million people have fled Ukraine—with countless more displaced inside the country—in the fastest and most thorough exodus Europe has seen since World War II. Amid the chaos, even the most basic facets of life have changed. No one says “Hello” anymore; they say “Glory to Ukraine.” Adults don’t have offices. Children don’t have schools. People from all walks of life have learned to handle Kalashnikov rifles. People have shifted from normal lives to spending every minute on the war effort. Suddenly, everyone is willing to help one another. The trust—and the sense of unity—has become a source of strength even among those who once felt weak.

Europe’s Trains Take Fighters to Ukraine, and Bring Back Refugees (NYT) On the 12th night of the war, on a platform at Prague’s central train station, Vitali Slobodianiuk and Volodymyr Kotsyuba met for the first time. They had few things in common: both were Ukrainians working in construction sites in the Czech Republic. On that frigid evening, both got on a train back to Ukraine to join the fight against Russia’s invading army. The train, run by a Czech private operator, RegioJet, was on a special mission that night, and every night. It carried humanitarian aid to the border, as well as a handful of people—volunteer fighters and Prague-based Ukrainians rushing to the Polish-Ukrainian border to collect fleeing family members. On the way back, it took refugees into the heart of Europe, away from Ukraine and the war. Europe’s trains and railways boomed in wartimes past. From the second half of the 19th century onward, trains carried soldiers to and from the front lines, supplied armies in combat, and grew to meet the needs of the continent’s defining conflicts. Most grimly, trains were taken over by the Nazis to take millions of Europe’s Jews to their deaths in camps in Poland and elsewhere during the Holocaust. In the 1990s and 2000s, as the European Union began to expand eastward and peace took hold, trains instead became a key vehicle for European integration. Now Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is turning Europe’s trains and ornate imperial-era stations into a new refugee crisis network, putting them on a war footing yet again. At least a dozen state- and privately owned railway operators have opened up their services for free to refugees, and their cargo trains are being deployed to bring humanitarian aid to Ukraine.

Poland’s two largest cities warn they can no longer absorb Ukrainian refugees (Washington Post) Officials in Poland’s two largest cities have warned that they can no longer cope with the waves of refugees fleeing Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The mayors of both Warsaw, the capital, and Krakow, Poland’s second largest city, said that they are struggling to accommodate the sheer number of people who are arriving—and urged the United Nations and European Union to intervene. More than 2.5 million Ukrainians have fled to neighboring countries since the war started on Feb. 24, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. The vast majority—1.5 million people—have sought refuge in Poland, with smaller numbers fleeing to other countries such as Hungary, Moldova and Slovakia. The head of UNHCR, Filippo Grandi, said the Ukraine exodus was “the fastest-growing refugee crisis in Europe since World War II.”

As companies leave Russia, their assets could be seized (AP) The “Evropeisky” mall in Moscow was once a symbol of a Russia integrated into the global consumer economy, with atriums named after cities like London, Paris and Rome. But now large parts of the seven-story shopping center have gone quiet after Western brands from Apple to Victoria’s Secret closed their Russian operations in the two weeks since the country invaded Ukraine. Hundreds of companies have similarly announced plans to curtail ties to Russia, with the pace accelerating over the past week as the deadly violence and humanitarian crisis in Ukraine worsens, and as Western governments ratchet up economic sanctions. Russian President Vladimir Putin responded Thursday by saying that if foreign companies shut down production in Russia, he favored a plan to “bring in outside management and then transfer these companies to those who want to work.” A draft law could allow Russian courts to appoint external administrators for companies that cease operations and are at least 25% foreign-owned. If the owners refuse to resume operations or to sell, the company’s shares could be auctioned off, the ruling United Russia party has said, calling it “the first step toward nationalization.”

India says it accidentally fired missile into Pakistan (Reuters) India said on Friday it had accidentally fired a missile into Pakistan this week because of a “technical malfunction” during routine maintenance, giving its version of events after Pakistan summoned India’s envoy to protest. Military experts have in the past warned of the risk of accidents or miscalculations by the nuclear-armed neighbours, which have fought three wars and engaged in numerous smaller armed clashes, usually over the disputed territory of Kashmir. Tensions have eased in recent months, and the incident, which may have been the first of its kind, immediately raised questions about safety mechanisms.

How Much Is a Nickel Coin Worth? More Than a Dime, Thanks to a Surge in Metals Prices. (Barron’s) The run-up in nickel prices is lifting the value of the metal in a nickel, which cost the U.S. Mint more than its face value of 5 cents to produce even before the surge in nickel prices. The U.S. coin is 25% nickel and 75% copper. Nickel prices spiked to $100,000 per metric ton on the London Metal Exchange earlier this week before trading was halted. At $100,000 a ton, a nickel would be worth about 16 cents in metal, or “melt” value, Barron’s estimates. It cost the Mint 8.52 cents to produce a nickel in the government’s latest fiscal year ended in September. That is when nickel averaged about $17,500 a metric ton. Pennies also cost more to create, about 2 cents, than their face value, while other U.S. coins had less metal value than their face value. The Mint prohibits the melting down of pennies and nickels for their metal value.

#headlines #news

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