#I drive a used Chevy Spark

[canichangemyblogname]

A woman I work community events with, but who works in a different industry and office than me, lives in a half-million $$ historic Victorian home and drives a Porsche.

[fineprintedsunsets]

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ɢɪʀʟ

Here's A Link To My MasterList <3

Synopsis: It’s Kasey’s 23rd birthday, and her boyfriend, Loki Laufeyson being who he is, must go all out. They catch a film at a real 1960s drive-in, but a movie isn’t the only thing Loki came here to watch. 

Word Count: 2.8k

!Trigger Warnings!

-car sex

-humping

-birthday sex

-loki (should be an automatic warning)

-dirty talk 

-specific oc (Same as “Club Kisses)

-slight fluff

-Stephen Strange Cameo (your welcome) <3

I asked for one thing for my 23rd birthday. To catch a movie at a real 1960s drive-in. Of course, when I went to Loki with this request he decided to go all out. Including stealing a little something from Dr. Stephen Strange, which he promised to give back later. If he would? Who knows.

He stole, or in Loki’s words “borrowed” the Eye Of Agamotto. Which held the time-stone. I came home, which was now our shared apartment in Chicago, and almost walked through the massive sparking hole ripped through the atmosphere.

“Your wish is my command.” Loki smiled, grabbing my hand with elegance. When I first met him I was in a terrible place, newly relapsed, heartbroken, and empty. I slept with Loki for a distraction, but over 3 years later here I am smiling with the devil himself.

“Do I even want to know?” I quirk an eyebrow, looking straight through the orange portal. I can see a small portion of old cars lined up, rain belting against the metal roofs. It's magical, and all I want to do is step in.

“The wizard will get his belongings back, but tonight my darling, it stays with me.” Loki smiles, as he takes my hand and leads me through the open portal. My shiver courses through my spine as I stand on the wet grass, my hair getting soaked.

He closes the portal behind us and projects an umbrella with his magic.

I laugh, taking the gold handle, “We don’t have a car.”

“Don’t underestimate me with such cruel words.” Loki places his hands against his leathers, right above his heart, acting as if he is hurt. He takes my own, leading me through the waves of people dressed in 1960s attire, it was such a simple time.

For fashion, for films, for food.

“This is the best birthday present ever.” I smile as we arrive at a beautiful red 1962 Chevy Bel Air Bubble Top. My breath catches in my throat as I look at the car, the raindrops rolling off of my umbrella, falling in front of me.

“Is it to your liking?” I hear Loki’s voice behind me, pulling me out of my admiration, I turn to him.

“To my liking? Loki, I would have been fine with some cheesy romance movies and a couch fuck”

His smile changes as his eyes light up, filling with a look I am all too familiar, with (and all too fond of).

Hunger.

He opens the passenger seat for me, and I climb in, watching as the umbrella disappears before my eyes, yeah, don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. Cars are lined up in front of us, some people chewing on sweets, others enjoying crunchy popcorn.

Loki gets into the driver seat as we settle in, my eyes finding the large, white screen, before the opening credits of Peter Pan start rolling.

“Peter Pan!” I’ve loved him ever since I was a child, there was something so magical about being a child forever, about not caring what others thought, about believing in imagination.

Loki’s eyes light up as he says my bright smile, he opens his palm, making a bucket of popcorn appear. I watch as it falls into his lap, the delicious smells wafting through the car.

His hand falls on my thigh, tapping his fingers against the exposed flesh. I’m wearing my favorite pink skirt, and although it looks quite pretty it is revealing.

“Your gorgeous, my darling,” Loki whispers against my temples, before turning his eyes onto the film not projecting over the rain, the cover overhead allowing the film to still run.

𖤍 I’m pulled out of the movie several times as Loki teases me, between my legs, in-between my breast. I want to give in to him, but this opportunity is one in a lifetime. Watching Peter Pan at a 1960’s drive-in? Are you fucking kidding me?

What would I do without this man?

Loki’s fingers tetter with the hem of my shirt, before they snake down lower, his digits splaying between my thighs. I scoot over in the leather seats, trying to focus on Peter Pan flying around with three other children. The people in front of us have no idea we even exist, to them, we are not here.

A familiar heat pools between my thighs, settling in my stomach as Loki runs a finger on the outside of my thigh to my hips. I smile, on the verge of giggling.

“Loki, Stop.” I manage to grit out, but his mind is no longer immersed in the movie, his eyes are glued to my hips, and my focus is starting to tear away too.

“Let me indulge you in ecstasy, Kasey.” My breath hitches as his eyes meet mine, pulling me to his mouth for a kiss. I can taste him, the way his tongue explores my mouth causing shivers to shoot through me. The movie is distant now, the soundtracks floating in the rainy night air.

His hands cup the side of my face, I can feel the smooth sides against my cheekbones. “Loki.” It comes out as more of a warning. It’s too much, his mouth kissing down my neck, straining against his chair.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, before climbing out of my own seat, bumping the steering wheel on the way. I practically fall into his lap but Loki grabs my hips and pulls me down onto his pants. His erection tenting the leather slacks. I feel every inch of him press into me as he groans.

“Move on my cock, lamb,” Loki whispers against my throat, both my knees are placed on either side of his seat, allowing my core to press onto his cock. My chin rests on the right side of the headrest.

I do as I’m asked, moving down his length once. I moan at the contact as Loki grips my hips harder, forcing me to grind against him. My breath fans out, the windows already beginning to fog as raindrops fall against the metal roof of the car.

“Loki.” I moan, my hips jutting against him, chasing my high. My grip is hard against the leather headrest, trying to hold myself up as I hump him.

“Your doing well, keep humping me like that-” Loki growls between kisses, placing his lips just below my shoulders. “You like it don’t you, my love, the irresistible act of getting yourself off on my cock without ever having it inside you.”

“God.” I cry out, picking up my pace as he pushes me down harder, my clit hitting his clothed tip.

“I decide when you are to come.” Loki groans, I cry as his fingers trace the waistline of my panties under my skirt, while they still dig into my hips, pushing my clit down to rub harder over him.

My orgasm begins to crest, and I know he feels it. My panties are soaked, and my moans are begging to turn into cries of pleasure as I chase my high. I buck once over his hardening cock, feeling it wash over me. Just one more pump…

It stops, the feeling ceases as Loki pulls me off of him. His green eyes meet mine and he smiles. The bastard fucking smiles. I whine despite my agitation, trying to lower myself against him once more but he holds me still.

“I decide when you are to come, remember?-” He lifts me up and motions me toward the back seats of the car. I follow, landing on the cool leather. The smell of rain is beginning to sink into the hot car as is the smell of sex.

Passionate sex.

“-and although the sight of you humping my cock is nothing short of delectable, I’d much rather have you cum around it.” Loki follows me in the back, but not before he reaches over and pulls both of my legs to him so they hang over the center console.

“Let’s remove those panties, I’m sure they're soaked aren’t they?” Loki’s accent is teasing, his voice deep as his fingers go to my pantie straps and pull them over my thighs and down my legs, losing them somewhere in the front seats. My gaze is on him solely, even as I catch a glimpse of Peter Pan and his friends.

I will never look at Peter Pan the same way again

The cool air hits my bare pussy, causing me to hiss. Loki only smiles, as a large smirk plays on his lips. He licks over them, causing my legs to open wider.

“Look at you, Kasey. Your legs are already spread, ready to accommodate my cock. Or is it my lips that you want?”

He runs a finger over my clit, seeing as I buck into him. Loki pulls the finger up to his line of sight, noticing the wetness gathered on the flesh.

“Stunning.”

“Well-” He motions to my legs, “What will it be, birthday girl? My lips or my cock?” How could one choose? Both of which have brought me to orgasm over one hundred times.

“Or maybe-” He starts, joining me in the back seat, Loki’s fingers roam my body, roaming under my shirt while he gropes my breasts.

“I should make your little cunt come 23 times?”

I whimper. “I love you, Loki. But that may be a little too much.” He smiles, settling between my legs.

Loki, God Of Mischief, on his knees for me?

Now that is a birthday gift.

Loki’s green eyes meet my blue ones again, waiting for his answer. I believe it to be the hardest decision I’ll ever make in my entire life.

“Why can’t I have my cake and eat it too?” I whine, his eyes flicker, something mischievous playing behind them.

“My greedy girl” Loki tsks, his fingers splaying against my inner thighs, teasing as he opens my legs wider, my knees now bent as he holds them open. My clothes feel hot on me, and I feel a sudden urge to disregard them.

“Choose or I will decide your outcome and trust me, little one. You do not want that option.”

Maybe I do. I want to say, but the way Loki looks up at me is a warning in itself.

Don't test me. They seem to warn.

“I want your tongue.” I decide, even though I crave his cock. I want to watch this prince squirm. I want to watch him come in his pants. A gift for me, torture for him.

“Then it is what you shall have.” Loki smiles as he grips my thighs and I gasp as he pulls me to his tongue, licking the first teasing stripe up my slit. My fingers grasp at the leather, trying to hold my upper body up as Loki’s nose hits my clit, making me squirm.

“Your delicious, baby.-” His tongue flutters at my entrance, sliding inside with one gentle push. My fingers tighten until I can’t hold on anymore, and they end up in Loki’s raven strands. “And oh, so wet.” He delves into me with his tongue, lapping at my folds like a man starved. I see the sweat gathering around us, clear evidence of it is on the windows and the calming sound of rain soothes my nerves.

It’s heaven in the 1960s and the best part about it?

He’s all mine.

I curl his hair around my fingers, pulling him closer. Loki only smiles as I tug at him, pushing his mouth on my pussy. It’s a sight to behold, quite a magical one.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

“You're doing so wonderful my love, taking my tongue.” Loki groans, shifting so his back is against the back of the front car seats, It must hurt him be he doesn’t seem to care. I feel him thrust his tongue in and out of me, speeding up his pace as one of his hands comes down from my thigh to rub at my clit.

“Loki!” I whine, bucking against his mouth.

“What? Is it too much for your pussy? Come on, be a good girl, and take everything I give you.” His voice is almost unrecognizable, his accent filled with lust and his eyes hungry with need. Loki’s mouth is hypnotizing as it moves against my folds, his fingers toying with my clit. The pleasure that courses through my body is otherworldly and the moans that exit my mouth are anything but holy.

“How I would love to feel this tight cunt around my cock, milking me.” Loki groans as he shifts, palming his erection. I clench around his tongue at the sight, a mess for me.

“Loki, I’m going to cum.” I cry out, gripping his scalp, afraid to let go

“Please.”

He thrust his tongue into me all while his eyes bore into my soul, my body, my cunt. “You beg for me-” Loki says it with mock approval, “- I will not deny you this time, birthday girl.” His rubbing of my clit returns and I clench around his tongue feeling it deep inside of me, hitting places I never knew existed.

My orgasm builds, and the raindrops seem to grow louder, Peter Pan and his child-like voice a mere memory. “I’m coming!” I shout as my whole world goes white around me, my body collapsing against the hot, sticky leather seats of the car.

“That’s it, lamb. Make a mess on my mouth” My eyes never leave Loki as he rises from my pussy, his mouth wet with my release. He rises to meet my mouth, my orgasm still coursing through my veins as he kisses me, pulling away once to murmur against my mouth,

“Can you taste yourself?”

I nod as our tongues intertwine again, I’m able to taste myself on him, his wet lips caressing my own. Our sweat and hot breaths coat each other, the air still smells of sex and Loki has yet to get off, unless..

“Did you-?” I begin, pulling away from his mouth, practically fighting myself for it.

“Did I what?” He smirks, knowing damn well of my next words, but somehow I’m not able to bring myself to say them.

“You think highly of yourself, little lamb. Did I come in my pants from eating you out?” I nod at Loki’s question, my question.

“Would it make you wet if I did? Knowing that I came with just your sweet arousal around my tongue?” I don’t know, will it?

Loki quirks an eyebrow, a wide smile playing on his lips. “Well?”

“Yes.” I quietly mutter, my voice sounding like a child's.

“Look down, Kasey.” I tilt my head in question but follow his eyes, and my own irises grow wide as I see what he’s referring to. The large damp spot growing on his slacks.

God. He did come.

From just eating me out?

“I lied”

“About?”

“The drive-in being the best birthday present, this was.”

Loki laughs, his fingers finding their way through my tangled hair.

“The sex?” He murmurs against my temple, placing kisses along my forehead.

“That and the simple fact you came because of little ol’ me.” Loki’s kisses cease as his eyes turn dark again,

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, making you come 23 times is still on the table.” I press my thighs together, my pussy clenching around air.

“Or-” His eyes watch as I clench, “Is that something you’ve suddenly come to terms with?”

I can come again, just not 23 times.

“How about a hot bath?” I counter, Loki’s eyebrows turning up in amusement.

“Lamb, are you bargaining with me?” I flip my bottom lip, my smile turning downwards as I give him my best puppy dog eyes and begin to beg.

Loki shakes his head, “Anything for the birthday girl, I suppose.”

𖤍

Loki brings us home with the Time Stone. We arrive dressed, although the sweat and my disheveled look are a tell-tale signs of what just occurred. Especially to Stephen Strange, who now happens to be standing in my apartment.

“Loki Laufeyson.” The man looks irritated, as we approach him. He eyes me and then returns his gaze to Loki, his eyes hard as rocks.

“You stole the Eye Of Agamotto-” Stephen grits out, his voice filled with irritation, “To go on a date with your girlfriend?” Loki’s eyes rake over me, a slight amusement filled them.

“Give it back.” Stephen raises his hand, opening his palm at Loki.

“It was a very delectable date, wizard.” He winks at me as Stephen rolls his eyes, slamming his palm through the air to get Loki’s attention. He reaches into his pocket with an unwanting hand and hands Stephen the relic.

Dr. Strange opens up his own sparking portal, turning to Loki, “I’m a sorcerer, douchebag.” he says before he disappears back to the New York Sanctum, closing the hole in the atmosphere.

Me and Loki look at each other, and just start laughing.

Best Birthday Ever.

[petruchio]

not to beat a dead horse but honestly the most annoying thing about lover is that there really is a great album in there if you look for it.

like first there’s the progression of light in the album. how we move from artificial with the “glow of the vending machine” and “the christmas lights (in) january” until all the light disappears while “i wake in the night/i pace like a ghost" and "i whisper in the dark." but somehow, light still manages to creep in even during the night: “the moon is high/like your friends were the night that we first met," until “the morning comes and you’re not my baby." still, the speaker holds out hope that the morning can bring the lover back, saying that “this ultraviolet morning light below tells me this love is worth the fight” so we end up in the daylight. in some ways, the whole album is an expansion of the single line "starry eyes sparking up my darkest night" from reputation. we see that line spiral out in real time as lover progresses.

and then there's everything that happens in cars (im drunk in the back of the car/we were in the backseat drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar/we can follow the sparks i’ll drive/cut the headlights, summers a knife/i want to drive away with you/show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride) which in itself is revisiting something that occupies of so much of taylor's early work. so much of debut and fearless take place in cars (just a boy in a chevy truck/i was riding shotgun with my hair undone/in the passenger seat you put your eyes on me) because cars are one of the few places where a teenager can be afforded privacy. in some ways, extreme and isolating fame is a form of ongoing childhood (i never grew up, it's getting so old) (there's this thing people say about celebrities, that they get frozen at the age they got famous) and it's against this background that cars again take on that same significance as they did in adolescence.

and then there's all the repeated imagery of city streets and traffic lights (i’d never walk cornelia street again/i ask the traffic lights if it’ll be alright/he got my heartbeat skipping down sixteenth avenue/i'm new york city/you're the west village/as if the streetlights pointed in an arrowhead leading us home) because lover is a story about a person becoming a city and a city becoming a lover. welcome to new york -- but we are no longer talking about the city itself, because new york has become one with the object of lover's affection. so it's no wonder that the dead center of the album is cornelia street and dbatc. side a ends with cornelia street and side b begins with dbatc, because they're two sides of the same coin: it's the story of a physical place becoming so wrapped up with another person that the speaker realizes that if that person were to leave them, they could never experience in that place the same way again. "windows flung right open" turn into "i look through the windows of this love, even though we boarded them up." "we were a fresh page on the desk" turns into "if the story's over, why am i still writing pages?" the streetlights that once "pointed us home" now cannot even tell us if it's going to be alright anymore. while the speaker can "get mystified by how this city screams your name," they could just as easily "see you everywhere" because if it ends, "the only thing we share is this small town." if the lover leaves, the entire city will be ruined.

and that's the fear on which the whole album is centered. lover is not an album on love, but on anxiety. what do you do after you've realized that one person has the power to truly break you? that if they ever left you, the very city that once welcomed you, waited for you, and taught you "a new soundtrack" would be ruined forever by the mere memory of them? that's where we begin to understand lover: that anxiety. we start with so many questions: "i love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?" "who could ever leave me darling? but who could stay?" in this context, "can i go where you go? can we always be this close?" is not just romantic, it's an indication of this same terror. the speaker isn't confident enough to know that they can be together -- they still feel the need to ask. lover being placed so early on the tracklist indicates that it's a song that still comes from a place of anxiety.

at some point, we find a false confidence: i think he knows and paper rings lay out a vision of love that sounds almost simplistic again. we don't need anyone but each other, "i ain't gotta tell him i think he knows" and "i like shiny things but i'd marry you with paper rings." the speaker tries to let go of the anxieties of cruel summer and the archer, but too soon, that cornelia street fear creeps in again. and so the speaker decides that the love must hold something false in it: "we might just get away with it" but "it's a false god." and eventually, inevitably, everything falls apart. and the speaker, so angry with themself for letting it happen again, returns to the questions we found earlier on the album: "why'd i have to break what i love so much?" there's an apology, and an acceptance that there has to be a stable friendship in order to make this work: "it's nice to have a friend" to have someone to "call my bluff," to admit that "you've been stressed out lately, yeah, me too." the lovers are able to be honest with each other here, to apologize, because they've built up a foundation of friendship underneath all the drama and anxiety and intensity of feeling we saw earlier in the album.

so after all this, when we finally reach the end, the realization is not that the love or the lover themselves is grand or beautiful or anything really. the realization is that the anxiety itself is what will ruin things: that's why the album ends with the lines "you gotta step into the daylight and let it go. just let it go." because after all this anxiety and stress and questioning, the only answer is to simply let it go. for the speaker to accept that the love is more important than the fear: "i want to be defined by the things that i love, not the things that i'm afraid of." and so the album ends, not with a statement of love for another person, but with a declaration about the self: i just think that you are what you love.

[newstfionline]

Monday, March 18, 2024

Trump Says Some Migrants Are ‘Not People’ and Predicts a ‘Blood Bath’ if He Loses (NYT) Former President Donald J. Trump, at an event on Saturday ostensibly meant to boost his preferred candidate in Ohio’s Republican Senate primary race, gave a freewheeling speech in which he used dehumanizing language to describe immigrants, maintained a steady stream of insults and vulgarities and predicted that the United States would never have another election if he did not win in November. While discussing the U.S. economy and its auto industry, Mr. Trump promised to place tariffs on cars manufactured abroad if he won in November. He added: “Now, if I don’t get elected, it’s going to be a blood bath for the whole—that’s going to be the least of it. It’s going to be a blood bath for the country.”

A Shooter’s Parents Were Convicted of Manslaughter. What Happens Next? (NYT) When the prosecutor Karen McDonald decided to press criminal charges against the parents of the teenager who carried out the deadliest school shooting in Michigan’s history, even some members of her own staff expressed doubts, fearing the case was too ambitious to win. “It seemed a huge reach to try to hold the parents responsible,” said Linda C. Fentiman, a professor emerita at Pace University who is an expert in health law and criminal law. “This was new legal territory.” But in the end, prosecutors were able to convince two separate juries that they had met their burden of proof. Now the question is whether the cases will affect the legal terrain around criminal law, parental responsibility and gun legislation.

Musk’s SpaceX is building spy satellite network for US intelligence agency, sources say (Reuters) SpaceX is building a network of hundreds of spy satellites under a classified contract with a U.S. intelligence agency, five sources familiar with the program said, demonstrating deepening ties between billionaire entrepreneur Elon Musk’s space company and national security agencies. The network is being built by SpaceX’s Starshield business unit under a $1.8 billion contract signed in 2021 with the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO), an intelligence agency that manages spy satellites, the sources said. The plans show the extent of SpaceX’s involvement in U.S. intelligence and military projects and illustrate a deeper Pentagon investment into vast, low-Earth orbiting satellite systems aimed at supporting ground forces. If successful, the sources said the program would significantly advance the ability of the U.S. government and military to quickly spot potential targets almost anywhere on the globe.

Driving With Mr. Gil: A Retiree Teaches Afghan Women the Rules of the Road (NYT) Bibifatima Akhundzada wove a white Chevy Spark through downtown Modesto, Calif., on a recent morning, practicing turns, braking and navigating intersections. “Go, go, go” said her driving instructor, as she slowed down through an open intersection. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Her teacher was Gil Howard, an 82-year-old retired professor who happened upon a second career as a driving instructor. And no ordinary instructor. In Modesto, Calif., he is the go-to teacher for women from Afghanistan, where driving is off limits for virtually all of them. In recent years, Mr. Howard has taught some 400 women in the 5,000-strong Afghan community in this part of California’s Central Valley. According to local lore, thanks to “Mr. Gil,” as he is known in Modesto, more Afghan women likely drive in and around the city of about 220,000 than in all Afghanistan. For many Americans, learning to drive is a rite of passage, a skill associated with freedom. For Afghan immigrants it can be a lifeline, especially in cities where distances are vast and public transportation limited. So when Mr. Howard realized the difference driving made to the Afghan women, teaching them became a calling, the instruction provided free of charge.

Looting is on the rise in Haiti (AP) As Haiti once again spirals into chaos with another wave of gang violence, a number of government and aid agencies reported Saturday that their facilities and aid supplies have been looted. Gangs have raged through Haiti in recent weeks, attacking key institutions and shutting down the main international airport. The chaos has pushed many Haitians to the brink of famine and left many more in increasingly desperate conditions. On Saturday, UNICEF said one of its containers containing “essential items for maternal, neonatal, and child survival, including resuscitators and related equipment” were looted in the capital of Port-au-Prince’s main port, which was breached by gangs last week. That same day, the Guatemala’s Foreign Ministry said that the offices of its honorary consul in Haiti was ransacked.

Russian exiles bring banyas and blinis to Buenos Aires (Reuters) When Ilia Gafarov and Nadia Gafarova host the grand opening of their “banya”, a traditional Russian sauna, in April, they hope it will help make a permanent home of their adopted city of Buenos Aires. The couple, a former banker and recruiter from Russia’s eastern port city of Vladivostok, moved to Argentina with their two daughters nine months ago, part of a wave of migration from Russia to Latin America since the 2022 invasion of Ukraine. As Russia’s war in Ukraine enters its third year, a growing number of Russian families are putting down roots around Latin America, according to previously unreported residency visa approval data from five countries and interviews with a dozen exiles and experts. Argentina, Mexico, Brazil, Uruguay and Paraguay, granted temporary or permanent residence last year to a total of almost 9,000 Russians, the data show, up from just over 1,000 in 2020.

A volcano in Iceland is erupting for the fourth time in 3 months, sending plumes of lava skywards (AP) A volcano in Iceland erupted Saturday evening for the fourth time in three months, sending orange jets of lava into the night sky. Iceland’s Meteorological Office said the eruption opened a fissure in the earth about 3 kilometers (almost 2 miles) long between Stóra-Skógfell and Hagafell mountains on the Reykjanes Peninsula. The Met Office had warned for weeks that magma—semi-molten rock—was accumulating under the ground, making an eruption likely. Hundreds of people were evacuated from the Blue Lagoon thermal spa, one of Iceland’s top tourist attractions, when the eruption began, national broadcaster RUV said.

Millions Battle Long Covid Aftermath (Spiegel) International Long Covid Awareness Day marks the focus on the plight of individuals with Long Covid and the lack of effective treatments. An estimated 2.5 million patients in Germany suffer from Long Covid, experiencing symptoms that last over four weeks post-infection, including breathing difficulties, fatigue, and neurological issues. The German government has earmarked up to 81 million euros for Long Covid research and patient care services between 2024 and 2028, but no treatments for Long Covid have been approved, highlighting an urgent need for more specialized care and support for those affected.

Putin is poised to rule Russia for 6 more years (AP/WSJ) Russian President Vladimir Putin is poised to extend nearly a quarter century of rule for six more years on Sunday. The three-day election that began Friday has taken place in a tightly controlled environment where no public criticism of Putin or his war in Ukraine is allowed. The 71-year-old Russian leader faces three token rivals from Kremlin-friendly parties who have refrained from any criticism of his 24-year rule or his full-scale invasion of Ukraine two years ago. Analysts who follow the country’s politics say Putin needs to win big if he wants a free hand in reviving what he says are Russia’s conservative Orthodox traditions and, ultimately, prevailing in Ukraine and in his broader confrontation with the West.

U.N. Documents More Than Two Dozen Attacks on Gazans Waiting for Aid Since January (NYT) The United Nations human rights office has documented more than two dozen attacks on Gazans waiting for desperately needed aid since January, with hunger spreading as a result of Israel’s near complete siege, preventing most food and water from entering the tiny enclave. In a number of U.N. reports and statements, the office has documented at least 26 such attacks since mid-January. They include Thursday night’s attack on hundreds of Palestinians who were waiting at the Kuwait traffic circle in Gaza City for an expected convoy of aid trucks. Gazan health officials accused Israeli forces of carrying out a “targeted” attack on the crowd that killed 20, and three witnesses described shelling at the scene. The Israeli military blamed Palestinian gunmen for the bloodshed and said that it was continuing to review the episode.

As Gaza war rages, U.S. military footprint expands across Middle East (Washington Post) Lt. Col. Jeremy Anderson tilted up the nose of his U.S. Air Force C-130 and tipped 16 pallets of emergency food aid out of the cargo bay and into the sky above northern Gaza. Thousands of miles away, off the coast of Yemen, U.S. fighter jets and attack helicopters roared off the flight deck of the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower, often just minutes apart, to combat Houthi fighters attacking ships in and around the Red Sea. In both places, U.S. service members said their missions were unexpected, changing as the White House has moved rapidly to contain wider fallout from the Israel-Gaza war. But now, along with a U.S. Army crew on its way to Gaza to build a floating pier, they are firmly part of the U.S. military’s expanding footprint in the Middle East. It’s a region President Biden had hoped to de-emphasize—and one where American involvement has often been devastating and costly. The war in Gaza and worsening humanitarian crisis there have taught Biden a lesson many presidents have learned before: It’s not so easy to quit the Middle East.

Niger junta announces end to military relationship with United States (Washington Post) The military junta ruling Niger—which until last year was seen as a major ally of the United States in West Africa—announced Saturday on state television that it was ending its military relationship with the United States. The announcement by a spokesman for the junta government, which overthrew Niger’s democratically elected president last year, came directly on the heels of a visit to the capital Niamey by U.S. Assistant Secretary of State Molly Phee, the State Department’s top official for African affairs, and Gen. Michael E. Langley, who heads U.S. military operations in Africa. That mission was among diplomatic efforts by the United States to find ways to work with military governments in the region. But in the statement read on television, Amadou Abdramane, the junta’s spokesman, said the Nigerien government “denounced with force the condescending attitude” of the head of the recent U.S. delegation, which he said had undermined the long relationship between the two countries.

South Sudan shutters all schools as it prepares for an extreme heat wave (AP) South Sudan’s government is closing down all schools starting Monday as the country prepares for a wave of extreme heat expected to last two weeks. The health and education ministries advised parents to keep all children indoors as temperatures are expected to soar to 45 degrees Celsius (113 Fahrenheit), in a statement late Saturday, They warned that any school found open during that time would have its registration withdrawn, but didn’t specify how long the schools would remain shuttered. Civil conflict has plagued the east African country which also suffered from drought and flooding, making living conditions difficult for residents.

[lazeecomet]

I really like driving my rinky dink electric car around to charging places with lots of other cars present, especially if the charger is CCS only

Because this means all the other cars charging are going to be on the higher end. You won't get any Nissan leafs because they use a CHAdeMo plug. Maybe you'll see a bolt or a volt. But its gonna be mostly Tesla's using an adapter and all the brand new evs from all the other manufacturers

Which means none of them expect the tiny baby blue Chevy Spark to pull up and start charging like it's a normal Tuesday and not the most out of place car in the lot

I say this because I went to TopGolf today for a work function and I parked right smack in the middle of a bunch of Tesla's. One of the Tesla owners gave me a very judgy look when I made him move from where he was standing so I could park. When I came back after it was all over a Lucid Aire had parked next to me with the worst park job I've seen

[munsonslove]

Making Deals (part 2)

(18+ only)

(part 1) • (part 3)

summary: It’s been a week since that evening in Eddie’s trailer, and things haven’t gone further like you expected them to. That all changes when a movie theater employee hits on you while you’re out with your friends.

wordcount: 3.5k

tags/warnings: fem!sub!reader, softdom!perv!eddie, friends to lovers, smut, degradation (use of whore), use of pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart), jealousy, public sexual acts, fingering (f receiving), hand jobs, no use of y/n

a/n: sorry they don’t go all the way in this one, i just had this idea and really wanted to write it. there will be a part 3!!!

Last weekend you and your best friend crossed a line that you never thought you both would actually be brave enough to cross. He pushed you so close to the edge that you had no choice but to give into your desires, and you’re so glad you did. At least, would be so glad, if Eddie had finally let go of his stupid pride and just asked you to officially be his already. He hasn’t tried to go past first base since that night, which was rather disappointing seeing as you really expected things to heat up even more after such events. You were still asking for little favors from him, and he was still requesting ‘trade offs’ in return, but nothing past making out and a little feeling up over the clothes. It was extremely sexually frustrating, not to mention demoralizing. Insecurity reared its ugly head, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Eddie regretted what you two did together.

It was Saturday night, and you were sitting with your knees tucked to your chest on the front porch steps to your house, waiting for Eddie’s van to enter your line of sight. It was a warm summer night, and your friend group had made plans to see some new sci-fi thriller that just came to theaters. Not to sound too conceited, but you admittedly felt rather pretty in the outfit you picked out specifically to grab Eddie's attention. You cashed in a favor yesterday to borrow one of his Dio shirts (‘Why do you want it so bad, princess?’ ‘It’ll look so cute with the boots I just bought!’ ‘Well, you know the deal, lay down on the bed…’) and you’ve got it tucked into a little black skirt- the exact one that you’ve noticed makes his eyes wander whenever you wear it. Also, you weren’t lying, it really does go well with your new shoes.

Headlights spark up the dark night in front you, and when you look down the street you see a two-toned Chevy van driving up. Eddie stops right in the middle of the road, not bothering to pull to the side when it’s devoid of any other cars, and hops out to jog around his hood before opening the passenger side door. You make sure to blow a kiss and shoot him a ‘Thanks, handsome,’ as you slide into your seat, giggling at his wink in response.

As you both pull away from your house, he immediately goes into a rant about what happened at band practice earlier, jokingly laying into you about your absence. According to him, it doesn’t run as smoothly when Corroded Coffin’s number one fan isn’t there to cheer them on after every song. Rolling your eyes and rummaging through the glove department, you pull out something you know you’ll both like and insert it into the cassette player before turning up the volume just loud enough that you’ll still be able to hear each other talk.

He continues berating you good-naturedly, “Since you had so much better things to do than sit and look pretty in Gareth’s garage-”

“I had work!” you cut him off.

“- I’ve decided it’s time for you to go through with a little promise you made to me,” he finishes, ignoring the fact that you said anything.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you rake your brain, trying to think of what promise he’s talking about. Eddie dips his hand inside his leather jacket, reaching into one of the inner pockets and taking out some bunched up fabric. A gasp leaves you as you recognize the panties you were wearing during that night, and a vague memory flashes through your head.

(“I’m gonna stuff them in my mouth while I jerk off,” he answers shamelessly. “Then, when I’m close, I’m gonna rub them on my dick til I cum right in the crotch. Then I’m gonna make you wear them when we’re around our friends, so you can feel the dry crust whenever you walk or shift, and you’ll know that you have a little bit of me right between your legs. Just like I know you so desperately crave.”)

He tosses them to the side, not sparing you a glance as he keeps his eyes glued to the road. They land in your lap, and your hands instinctively go to cover them, your modesty overruling the common sense that he’s had them for the last week. You turn your head wildly to stare at him in shock, jaw dropped and eyes wide. He doesn’t actually expect you to do this, does he? Sure, at the time it was a sexy fantasy and it brought you closer to orgasm, but there’s no way he’s going to make you actually go through with it…

Thinking through the moment a little more thoroughly, you can’t recall ever actually saying you would do it. “I don’t think I really promised-”

“You came, didn’t you?” he asked, interrupting your excuses.

Your face, along with the area between your legs, warms up. For as much as you’re resisting, the idea of only you and Eddie knowing that you’re wearing a pair of panties he made you cum in- and then masturbated with- is really turning you on. You accept his challenge, and throw the dirty pair on the dashboard before unbuckling your seatbelt. Eddie finally looks over and watches as your hands disappear under the hem of your skirt, and the forced nonchalant expression he’s attempting (and failing) urges you on with the confidence it brings you. Your fingertips hook under the lace of your current underwear, and your butt loses contact with the seat cushion as you glide the garment down your legs. When you sit back down to lift your feet and fully remove it, your skirt rides up. Velvet brushes your bare center, and embarrassment floods your system as you accept that there’s probably going to be a small wet patch when you leave the van. Once again opening the glove department, you stuff the delicate lace inside on top of some loose tapes and click it shut before picking back up the other panties.

Finally examining them, you can tell Eddie used them in exactly the way he said he would- maybe even multiple times. He smiles as he watches you put them on and rebuckle your seatbelt, then rests his right hand on your leg, his splayed fingers grazing your inner thigh and squeezing.

Upon leaving the car and walking into the theater side by side, you both meet up with your group of friends and start shooting the shit, ignoring the dirty glares given to you by the parents there with their children. The poster for the movie you’re about to see catches your eye and the tagline makes you laugh. ‘Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.’ Popcorn, soda, and candy is bought at the concession stand (your share paid for by Eddie, as he always insists) and you can’t help but feel the eyes of the boy behind the counter checking you out as he prepares your purchases. Eddie seems to notice this as well, as he instinctively moves to put his arm around your shoulder until he stops short, remembering that he’s holding two large plastic cups of cola. The employee holds out a bucket of popped kernels to you, and you take it from him.

“Nice shirt! I love Dio,” the boy says, grinning with lidded eyes, clearly attempting to flirt with no chagrin toward the butter stains on his uniform. He’s a little shorter than Eddie, with shoulder length curly blonde hair, clear skin, and a name tag reading ‘Brian’. Definitely the type most girls your age would go for, and you’d probably go for him too if a certain future rock star hadn’t already stolen your heart.

Said future rock star scoffs next to you. “It’s my shirt,” he says, and when you look over you see that he’s not even trying to mask his jealousy. An idea forms in your head.

“Oh, are you two…” Brian trails off, his pointer finger motioning between the both of you.

“We’re just friends,” you explain, and you can feel Eddie’s rage at that statement emitting off of him.

He shoves the drinks into Gareth’s empty hands and takes a hold on your lower back, manhandling you away and toward the theaters. Some popcorn falls out of the bag and you look over your shoulder to call out ‘thank you!’, but as you do you see Brian hurriedly scribbling something down on a napkin and hopping over the counter, jogging over to your little group. Eddie impatiently taps his foot as Jeff reads the ticket, searching for the room number, and he audibly groans when Brian catches up to you guys and clears his throat.

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name,” he says, clearly talking to you alone.

“She didn’t throw it,” Eddie deadpans with his arm still tight around your middle, glaring at the boy with a death stare rivaling Jack Torrance.

You elbow him off and introduce yourself before stepping away and motioning for Brian to follow you with a tilt of your head. He does, of course, and Eddie watches on while silently fuming. The employee seems like a sweet enough guy, and you feel slightly guilty allowing him to think that his advances are working, but you don’t let yourself feel too bad considering he’s handsome enough that he should be able to get over it fairly quickly. He tells you he doesn’t want to keep you from your friends for too long, but you were the prettiest girl he had seen all night and he just had to say something. The conversation is short, and ends with him handing you his phone number neatly scrawled in red ink on a brown napkin. Smiling at you one last time, he says goodbye then walks back behind the counter. You turn to see Eddie standing alone and glaring at him, jean vest still on but now holding his leather jacket in his hands. You pocket the number you have no intention of using and walk over, trying to keep any hint of smugness from your face. He shoves the jacket into your hold and takes your elbow in his grasp, ignoring your cries of confusion.

“Put that on, wait until fifteen minutes into the movie, then take it off and lay it on your lap,” he orders, his eyes never meeting yours.

Although his request doesn’t make any sense, you do as he says without protest. Wearing Eddie’s clothes always made you feel fuzzy inside, so you took any chance you could get. You especially love wearing his jacket, as cliche as that sounds, but rarely actually make an attempt to borrow it because you like the way it looks on him so much better.

He opens the door for you, not returning your smile as you pass by. The two of you find the guys sitting in a row toward the middle, two seats saved between Gareth and Jeff. Eddie goes first, moving past the already situated guests and making room for you. Credits role while the crowd talks, but the room quiets down as the sound of trumpets fill the air and the 20th Century Fox opening plays on the screen. The opening scenes aren’t the most thrilling for a horror flick, but you wouldn’t be able to fully engross yourself in the film anyway. You’re far too preoccupied wondering what the boy next to you’s plan is. After what is probably sooner than fifteen minutes, you slip the leather off of your shoulders and fold it in your lap. Eddie waits approximately thirty seconds, then places his hand on your thigh under the jacket.

You understand immediately what he’s plotting, and sneak a glance to Jeff on your other side. His attention is thankfully being held by the movie, but you’re not sure that you’ll be able to keep quiet and still enough to not be obvious. Fingers creep further up your leg, slipping under your skirt and teasing the delicate, sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs. A breath hitches in your throat when his pinky brushes your pussy through the fabric of your underwear, and you hear Eddie stifle a laugh next to you. He presses firmer against your slit, rubbing it up and down, already feeling it dampen with your arousal. The fact that these particular panties haven’t been washed since being soiled with his cum has you wetter than you’d like to be this early on in the process. The tug of the cotton catching on your engorged clit makes you moan, and you have to cover it with a cough.

Your panties are pushed to the side and Eddie runs the tip of his ring finger along your soaked lips, collecting your arousal. With the way you’re sitting, he can’t easily slip inside of you, so instead he starts rubbing your clit in quick circles, not giving you time to adjust. You gasp and cover your mouth, but luckily this coincided with a rather shocking and gory shot in the movie, so your reaction went unnoticed. He doesn’t let up, and keeps massaging your clit while secretly stealing glances toward you. When you return his gaze, his pupils are dilated and his lips are moist from him running his tongue over them continuously. Your toes curl and the muscles in your calf tense as the sensations threaten to peak.

You push Eddie’s jacket (and his hand) away from you as you stand to maneuver your way down the row, whispering to Jeff something about needing the restroom. There’s grumbling from behind you, and when you turn to look you see your fellow moviegoers frustratedly lifting their knees and popcorn buckets up to make room for Eddie to follow, his jacket forgotten on the sticky floor.

He jogs down the aisle to catch up to you, and his touch meets your lower back as he urges you forward toward the exit, almost pushing you in his haste. The brightness of the theater hallway has your eyes blinking to adjust, but Eddie spares no second and simply continues leading you with his hands bunching up the fabric of the shirt you borrowed from him. He walks you past the bathroom doors, and out through an emergency fire exit at the end of the hall. It leads to the back of the building, which faces the woods and has a small parking lot that is currently devoid of cars. Outside, the air is humid and heavy, not only due to the density but also anticipation. The only light source is a flickering bulb by the doorframe, along with the dim glow from the waning moon. From the evidence of all the cigarette butts littered on the dirt it would seem that this area is only used for employee’s smoke breaks, granting you the peace of mind that the two of you have at least some semblance of privacy.

Suddenly, you’re pushed up against the wall. The thin fabric on your back does nothing to protect you from the harshness of the bricks beneath, and the rough texture digs into your skin uncomfortably. It’s difficult to care about this, however, when Eddie has your head cradled in his hand, the other on the dip of your waist, and is kissing you deeply. His lips are not gentle on yours, he’s pressing them to you firmly and with passion, and you instantly melt against him. Your arms wrap around his neck, your hands tangled in his wild hair and you hold onto him as if you’re afraid of him floating away. His tongue forces your lips open and enters your mouth, and you feel it vibrating as he moans into you.

“You thought you could just make me jealous and I wouldn’t do anything about it, princess?” he asks as he pulls away, only to yank the t-shirt you’re wearing as far down as he can and start attacking your collarbone with his teeth. ��Thought I wouldn’t know what little game you were playing? I wouldn’t know that you were trying to rile me up?”

The wetness in your panties and the ache in your belly is growing more uncomfortable with every passing moment. “Eds, please, I need you,” you whine, trying your best to grind down on Eddie’s thigh.

“Oh, I know you do, sweetheart,” he replies, hiking up your skirt and forcing your panties to one side. 

His middle and index finger plunge into you easily thanks to the previous (and humiliatingly public) foreplay. Your hips start bucking against his movements, desperately searching for your release. Wanting to return the favor, your hand falls from his shoulder down his front, until it reaches his jean’s zipper. You unbutton them and pull his hardening cock out, quickly wrapping your fist around it and pumping with a rhythm matching his own. It’s warm and thick, and your mind races at the thought of it inside you, his girth stretching you out and feeling so right. His forehead buries into your neck as he groans out in relief.

“Eddie,” you moan wantonly, “that feels so good…” You can’t believe this is happening here, in the dark behind your local theater, while your friends are probably concerned and curious as to where you two ran off to.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he asked, his hold on you unrelenting, “To be treated like a whore? To be treated like my whore?”

“Oh my god,” you gasp out as he hits your g-spot. He must realize this as well, as he smirks and angles his hand to hit that same spot over and over again.

“Just tell me the truth,” he says, “Tell me you wanted this.”

“F- fuck, Eddie!” you whine. His fingers are now fucking in and out of you with no mercy, and your hand on his cock can barely keep up. “I- I wanted this, okay? I wanted this.”

He smiles sweetly at you. “That’s my girl,” he whispers, then kisses you softly.

Your climax crashes over you in waves, too quickly for you to even give warning. His lips continue moving against yours throughout it, even when your jaw drops and you can’t quite return the kiss fully. You feel a wet warmth hit the front of your thighs, different from the one in between them, and with Eddie grunting into your mouth you realize he’s cumming on you. While it wasn’t the first time you’ve witnessed him orgasm (he came in his pants a couple of times when your make out sessions escalated into dry humping), it was the first time his seed actually ever made contact with your skin. The feeling of him dripping down your leg and over your knee only prolongs your own orgasm, and with his fingers still massaging that spongy spot inside you it soon becomes too much to bear. Tears well up in your eyes as you try to quiet your screams of pleasure, worried about a worker inside hearing and coming to investigate.

There’s no protest from him when you let go of his softening cock and push him away from your center, too sensitive to go any longer. Instead, he eagerly assists in removing his hand and pulls away from the kiss to suck his middle and index finger into his mouth, making the most obscene slurping noise you’ve ever heard. You watch as his eyes roll back in his head and his hand on your back curls into a tight fist, his nails scratching you along the way. He moans loud and deep, and without thinking you swipe some of the semen left on your leg up with your thumb and pop that into your own mouth, desperately wanting to join him in this gratification. The salty sweet taste has your knees buckling, and you would have fallen if not for his hold on you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers around his fingers before taking them out and wrapping his arm around you, pulling you tighter against him. “You taste so fucking good. You already tasted amazing when I was sucking on your panties, but it’s so much better from the source.”

The ridiculousness of that sentence breaks you from your post-orgasmic trance and you laugh as you shove him off of you. He stumbles back, laughing with you.

“I don’t know if you’ll want to sit through the rest of the movie. Maybe we should leave and go to my place?” he suggests, eyeing you up and down with a smirk.

“Oh?” you say, grinning wide while you think about what he’s insinuating.

“Well, I just don’t think you’ll wanna be seen like… that,” he clarifies, pointing to your skirt.

When you look down, you realize Eddie dirtied your black skirt when he finished on you. He laughs and your face flushes as you try to cover the embarrassing stains with your hands.

“Head back to the van,” he says, tossing the keys your way. You catch them midair as he continues, “I’m gonna go grab my jacket and tell the guys you were feeling sick or something.”

“Sounds good,” you nod, giving him one last quick kiss before he opens the door and leaves you alone. Making your way around the side of the building to the front parking lot, you anxiously mentally prepare for what’s in store later tonight.

[endless-ineffabilities]

unalloyed (18+)

(Daemon Targaryen x modern f!reader / nurse!reader)

A bonus chapter for this world was never meant for a fire like yours

word count: 3.2k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

themes/warnings: language + nsfw/smut! (18+), mechanic!Daemon

❗️best to read parts one and two first to fully understand this chapter

April 2023

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” Your voice pipes up from the corner of the room.

“Of course we are, love. Bobby said so himself – ” Daemon stands in front of an open hood. He twists his wrist in a circular motion, driving the wrench in further. “– and he can’t say no to me.” The repetitive movement draws your eye to his strained bicep, his short black sleeve tightening each time.

The garage-like room is brightly lit, its uniform walls painted a dark steel gray, big enough for conducting work on just one car. You sit atop a high stool, your legs freely swinging beneath you, in front of the rolling tool tray. Like its custodian, or Daemon’s assistant, you hand him what he needs from time to time. An impact wrench. Hood light. Spark plug pliers. Words that would have flown over your head, if not for Daemon guiding you through them.

Oh, the irony. Daemon teaching you about things from your own world. And you can’t deny it, ever since he came into your world, it all the more started to feel like home. You were used to simply drifting through your days in relative mundaneness. Work, apartment, friends. Nothing was ever new. Until him.

With Daemon, every day feels unpredictable. Exciting. Yet, at the same time, you’ve never felt more comfortable in your own skin. You’ve never placed as much trust as you had in this confusing sequence of your life, slowly unfolding before you.

It’s true, out in the open, for you to see.

Daemon feels like home.

The auto shop that Daemon works in has been temporarily closed for several days, as Bobby, the owner, has gone on holiday with his family. Plus a few friends, who also work for him in the shop. He gladly extended the invitation to Daemon, who refused, saying, “I would much rather stay here, and be with my lady.”

You sit patiently, as Daemon continues to tinker on one’s of Bobby’s personal projects. Your eyes eagerly follow Daemon's movements, so adept that he comes off as seemingly trained from years of work. Truth is, you found him scrambling in the street, half out of his mind, just months before.

Daemon has been coming to the closed auto shop while everyone’s on holiday, because he wants to occupy himself while you’re on your shifts. Merely staying in the apartment alone makes him feel as if he is “wasting away” apparently, and a few other choice Daemon phrases, such as how his “skin burns with yearning for you.”

So, he’d much rather surround himself with chassis and fuel and metal, his time quickly passing with the advanced mechanics that he has grown to admire. Today, you only had a brief morning shift, after which you headed to Daemon straightaway.

This cherry-red 1968 Chevy Corvette is only one of the few vintage pieces that Bobby has been painstakingly restoring throughout the years. Nestled in one of the inner working stations in the auto shop, separate from the main room, it allows work to be done to it in relative privacy. This is one of Bobby’s precious babies after all.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” Daemon asks, his change of stance indicating that he has been watching you for a while.

My love. Damn him. You look down, warmth rushing to your cheeks, “Just,” you start to say, wondering if you should shy away, or do exactly what he’s good at. You shrug your shoulders innocently, “uhm, I’m just admiring the way your broad shoulders look in this light.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, lips pursing flirtatiously. Daemon’s gaze grows hungry, and he reaches for a towel, wiping the grease off his hands. He lowers the hood of the red Corvette, gently pushing it shut with a click.

Daemon’s smirk is mischievous as he struts over to where you sit. “Is that so?”

Nearly every shred of boldness leaves you, as you melt under his intense gaze. His eyes run over your body, practically undressing you. Your crossed legs tighten against themselves to alleviate the growing heat, but he reaches for your knees, prying them apart. He spreads your legs to either side of his waist, wrapping them around him. You nearly go off-balance from the high stool, making you grip Daemon’s shoulders.

“Daemon,” you opt for sense, although your body screams otherwise, “not here.”

“Why ever not?” He leans forward, and kisses your neck, sucking hard before pulling away.

“Be… cause, you work here. And there might be surveillance cameras in place.”

He merely switches to the other side of your neck, leaving soft bites in his wake. “Not in this room. It’s Bobby’s private working space.”

“All the more reason why we shouldn’t… here.” Your eyes flutter half-shut from his lips grazing your skin, and his teeth against your neck, “It wouldn’t be appropriate.” Damn it, just give in.

“He allowed me to work on this while he’s away, and to use this space however I please.” His hand migrates to the back of your neck, tilting your head back. You glance up at his deep violet eyes, heavily darkened by his dilated pupils. He purrs, “Gods, my love, I want you.”

"Mmm, to use this space yes, but not for..." you raise your eyebrows at him, knowing he gets the point.

"For fucking?" Daemon's smirk has returned in all its shameless glory. His wandering hands squeeze your thighs, slowly inching ever so close to your heat.

"Daemon, come on. There'll be plenty of time for that when we get home."

He leans in close, his breath heating up your face, "You do not want to fuck me now?" Tauntingly, he reaches up the white shirt you wear underneath your scrubs, and palms your breast under your bra, "Darling, I think you do."

"Fuck. I do, I just... " you bite your lip, resolve weakening.

"Tell me what you want." Daemon has always been sure of himself, taking all that he pleases, caring not whether he leaves a storm in his wake. It's something you admire about him, his ferocity, his brazenness. This prince is chaos in human-form. Your prince.

He has helped you get rid of any uncertainty you might have about yourself, about why he would settle for you. A whole new world ripe for the picking, and he only wants you. When you asked him if he only stayed with you because you've become too familiar, he irately responded, "My love, if you believe that to be the truth, then you underestimate how much you mean to me."

You wish to mirror his bravery. You wish to take what you want, like how he has taken you. And you have, in your own way, grown more into yourself. Becoming more confident, in large part due to Daemon's influence.

He repeats, edging you on, "What do you want?" His hand tilts your head up by the chin, "Tell me. If you truly wish to stop, then just say so."

"Daemon – "

"But – " His pupils are dilated, so much that his violet eyes are nearly blackened. "– if you want to fuck me here, now, as I want to fuck you... then demand it."

"Daemon, I – "

"Whatever you want, my love, you shall have."

"I just," you hesitate, biting your lip, while your eyes hurriedly scan the higher corners of the rooms. No cameras, like he said. He persists in peppering soft kisses across your jaw, and down your neck, practically begging you to answer.

Before you could change your mind, you whisper, your voice raspy and heated, "Fuck me."

"Hmm," Daemon hums from deep within his chest, acknowledging your request. Something carnal quickly switches on inside him, and he captures your lips in a desperate kiss. You startle a bit when his rough hands lift you up, carrying you. He takes a few steps back, and gingerly plops you down atop the hood of the Corvette.

The surface is cooler than you expected, and the metal feels smooth against your skin. Daemon is quick to lower himself down to you, feverishly reconnecting his lips to yours. Your hands reach out to touch him, but he grabs them and holds them firmly down on the hood. You squirm underneath him, and the movement causes friction on his dark-wash jeans.

"Qogralbar nyke," he breathes, "Jaelan naejot qogralbar ao sīr quba."

His High Valyrian is like music to your ears.

"What was that?" you coyly ask.

"I said," he leans back, so that he can gaze at you fully, "I want to fuck you so badly."

You swallow, your body practically screaming in anticipation. "Well, go on then."

Daemon smiles proudly, "I like this side of you, my love."

Smirking mischievously, you prop yourself up on one elbow, and start pulling his black shirt off with one hand. He assists you, shimmying it off much quicker.

You sit up fully, grasping on his torso, your palms tracing the firm planes of his chest.

He chuckles lowly, at the sight of his lady clinging onto him like some serpent. His eyes trace the curve of your jaw, the swell of your lips, the fire in your gaze, and he can't help but feel so damn fortunate despite his lot.

Sure, he is in a strange, perplexing world and all. He's far from everything he's ever known. He might be angry at times, for everything that has been taken from him. He might be lost.

But he has you.

As if you are privy to his thoughts, you ask, mirth in your tone, "What are you staring at?"

Daemon holds your gaze, unblinking, his brows furrowed in concentration.

The corner of his lips turns up in a contented half-smile.

"My life."

Your hands pause in their wandering, and your lips part in surprise. It is as if the rug has been pulled from underneath you, and you are grasping at air. His words never fail to catch you off guard.

"God, I might never get used to that," you breathe, mostly to yourself.

"Hmm?" he leans in closer.

"Nothing," you smile. "I just love you, Daemon."

He kisses you lightly, his hands moving downward, slithering underneath your shirt, "And I, you." He pulls your shirt up over your head, ruffling your hair in the process.

It's easy to see the unmistakable want in his eyes, as he takes off the rest of your clothing. He doesn't stop, until you are laid fully bare, your smooth skin contrasting against the gleaming red frame of the Corvette. You slide your buttocks upward, so as not to slip off, hooking your fingers in Daemon's belt loops, pulling him with you.

"Come," you implore. He need not be told twice. He unbuttons his jeans, and hurriedly kicks them off his legs, his boxers sliding down with it.

He clambers on top of the hood, the front of the car tilting under the weight.

"Is this okay?" you ask, as the car gives off the slightest squeak.

"Yes," his stomach presses onto yours, and you feel his hard length against you, "if it isn't, then I don't fucking care."

"Daemon," you scold playfully, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Forget about the bloody carriage, it's fine," he groans, and reaching off to the side, he takes a condom, fished from the pocket of his jeans moments before.

"Do the honours." He hands it to you, his face contorting with obvious impatience as you carefully peel the wrapper off. He pushes his silver hair back away from his eyes, straightening himself to give you a better angle.

"Calm down, my love," you tease, pinching the tip of the rubber with one hand, and sliding it all the way down his cock with the other. "There. All done."

"Gods, I cannot wait until I can fill you with my seed. When we can fuck freely, without these annoying contraptions." He positions himself in your entrance, which already glistens with precum.

"Mmm," you bite your lip, not entirely averse to the image he described, "perhaps one day, soon."

"I shall hold you to it," he swears, before swooping down again to kiss you. His tongue collides with yours, your teeth practically grinding against each other in your unabashed hunger. The passion goes straight to your head, and you suddenly bite his lower lip hard, causing him to growl. The almost animalistic sound is enough to make your pussy throb.

"Get inside me," you moan, "Now."

His thumb briefly reaches up to soothe his lower lip, and he collects the faintest hint of blood from the cut. His cock twitches at the sight. His sweet love, wantonly showing him how much she wants him. Needs him.

She has got some fucking Targaryen fire in her. Daemon recognizes a similar spark in you. His innate vanity further intensifies his desire for you, as if it weren't already breaking any and all possible boundaries. Daemon has never wanted anything, anyone, more than he wants you in this very moment.

Who in the seven hells could have foretold that his other half, his soulmate, would be this divine being from a whole other world? This inexplicable creature, sprawled atop this intricate steel carriage. Her legs spread wide, juices spilling from her cunt, ready to take all of him.

Daemon chuckles, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. "As my lady commands."

He enters you, inch by inch, a faint ache spreading through your cunt as it stretches to accommodate his girth.

"Look at me," he steadies your face, with one hand gripping your jaw. When your eyes meet, he pushes himself inside to the hilt, his balls grazing your skin.

A strained moan leaves your lips, your back arching slightly. Daemon's hungry eyes devour the way your body shudders in response, when he pulls out, only to slam back inside you.

"Fuck," you pant, desperate for more, "faster, Daemon. Harder."

Leaning forward, he bends your legs towards your torso, anchoring them on his shoulders. He drives himself even deeper, his thick cock disappearing completely in the depths of your cunt. Again, and again. Your back slides repeatedly on the hood, the sweat causing you to glide on its surface.

Your breasts rock back and forth with his every hard thrust, and Daemon momentarily slows down the pace, to lower his lips down onto them. His tongue swirls on your nipple, sucking greedily, pulling away to breathe a raspy, "Fuck."

When you reach up to touch his face, he catches your hands mid-air, and slams them back down on the hood. His grip on your wrists is firm and unyielding, and all you can do is lie there, as he mercilessly ruts into you.

"Daemon," you whisper, as your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, his name sounding like a prayer.

"Uhh, fuck," he pounds into you, his balls rhythmically slapping against your backside, "my love. Ñuha jorrāelagon."

My love. That one you know well. You repeat his words, "Ñuha jorrāelagon. "

"Ahh," he grins, "Avy jorrāelan."

He rocks back on his heels, pulling you close. He holds your legs up wide, your feet suspended in the cool air. He fucks you even faster than before, his pelvis blurring in the ceaseless motion.

The look on Daemon's face is something feral, his lips pulling back against his teeth. Strands of his silver hair have fallen in front of his face, partially shielding his vision. He groans, making every effort to bury his cock even deeper inside your dripping cunt.

"Gods," he curses, as you tense around him, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

"Daemon," you moan, heat pooling low in your belly, the throbbing in your pussy almost growing too much to bear, "I'm getting close."

He keeps going, the most unhinged noises escaping his lips, the filthy sound of his balls slapping against your backside echoing throughout the room. His knees scrape against the polished hood, but he does not dare stop thrusting. Not until his lady comes undone beneath him.

"Ah, fuck, fuck," you let out a strained cry, as your juices spill out of you, squirting onto Daemon's cock. Milky white droplets spill onto the red Corvette, sliding along its curve.

Daemon releases his orgasm, one which he has been struggling to hold back so that you might cum first. His cock twitches inside of you, and he collapses midway, his forearms framing your face.

With desire burning in your eyes, your lift your head up to kiss him. He welcomes it, his lips dancing against yours, with soft moans emitted from both of you.

His body grows still, and he slides his cock out of your cunt. He focuses on the kiss, on your hands blindly grasping his face, his hair, his neck.

You pull away to take a breath, looking flushed all over.

"Daemon," you pant, searching for the right words to say. Anything that might be adequate to encompass how you feel. How much he means to you.

"Daemon, I – " Nothing comes to mind. Even I love you does not seem enough. You could say it a million times, and it would never be enough.

He understands the turmoil in your expression. Pressing his forehead against yours, his silver locks falling to frame your face, he professes, "I know, my love. Whatever it is, I know."

The two of you stay there for a while longer, your naked bodies pressed against each other. Basking in the calm, in the glow of your lovemaking.

"I hope we didn't mess up Bobby's car," you say, as your head rests against Daemon's shoulder, his arm lazily wrapped around you.

He only laughs, evidently unbothered. Of course he doesn't care. His tone is wry when he responds, "The bloody carriage is fine. Even if it is not, I am sure Bobby will understand."

You smile at his use of the word carriage instead of car. His Westerosi vernacular can't help but slip through, and you've grown fond of it.

"Daemon," you lean on one side, slapping one hand lightly on his chest, "don't you fucking tell him anything." Of course he wouldn't, but you can't help but jest.

His expression is positively smug, with his head resting on one hand, every bit at ease with himself as he always is, "What? I am certain he will love how I fucked you senseless until your pussy was dripping on his precious carriage."

"Well, fuck," you relent with a heavy sigh, lying back down. "Whatever, then."

Daemon laughs, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. His fingers lovingly trace your lips, "He will never know. We can fuck on top of every other carriage in this bloody place if we wish to."

"Do you promise?"

His face inches closer to yours, until your lips are flush against his. A minute later, he answers, "I promise."

Daemon knows he promises something more, something far greater.

I promise to protect you. I promise to defend your honour. My heart is now intertwined with yours.

I promise to love you until my heart stops beating. And perhaps even beyond that, in wherever the next realm might be, I will fight to keep you.

Words will never suffice, but he tries, "My love, I – "

You notice the turmoil in his eyes, in the love burning in them. "Daemon," your hand reaches out to caress his face, "I know."

- end of unalloyed -

preview of part three

August 2023

A flash of bright red passes by, your peripheral vision noticing it as if on instinct. You don't look back as you turn a corner, not wanting to see if it is a similar vehicle.

If it is, then that's just fucking cruel. As if the universe is mocking you.

But no matter how much you deny it, every single thing reminds you of him.

Cars. Broken laptops. Your worn-out couch. Old movies. Pizza. Burnt food in your kitchen. Helicopters. Fantasy series and books.

Damn him. Damn him to his ridiculous seven hells.

It has been weeks since Daemon Targaryen disappeared from your life, as easily and as abruptly as he had entered it.

Without a trace, as if you plucked him from your imagination. Except he did leave a mark so indelible it cannot be denied. He left his mark alright, in the form of your broken heart.

You remember the torture reflected in his face, the rage, when his brother came to take him away. You knew how badly he wanted to go home, so you made his choice for him.

You told him to leave.

Stupid girl. You want to go back to that very moment, and scream at yourself to make him stay. You know you should have held him in your arms, keeping him rooted in place. In this world, with you.

But you opted for selflessness. You chose to have your heart broken, so that Daemon can go home. You know that he would have stayed if you only asked.

😭😭😭

Fuck, I should have asked.

I felt like writing this first, so we can see more of their relationship. And so it's even more painful when they will be apart. Enjoy the heartache! Hahahaha.

Taglist (series/Daemon/HotD): @omgsuperstarg @sebastian025 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @lucytheripper @kindalslightlyacidic @naelys-the-aster @zoleea-exultant @vainillasmil157 @llovinjoonie @outundertheocean @grimistangel @ladespedidas @nanabarnes @pineappleandro @luckythirtxn97 @knockemdeadgirl @stella-cadante @milber32 @canvashearts @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @kryzeira @selahstars @captainweirdo42 @nitimurinvetitumsposts @iilsenewman @aemondmyl0ve @eternallyvenus @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @caspianobsessed @wrendermeuseless @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @random-human02 @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @booknerd2004 @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @angel6776 @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @huntycola @blackravena @vyctorya @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @itscheybaby @my-dark-prince

Part three will be the final chapter (edit: it isn't 😂) and we'll see these two idiots almost unable to function without each other. Particularly Daemon! + A happy ending?? We'll see.

[pinksirensong]

B.F.F. 

Chapter Three

STEP ONE: STRIKE AT THE WEAKNESS

Orpheus remembered his father well enough to know that he was a jealous man, he couldn’t stand even knowing someone was looking at what was his. With his mother, Calliope, being a muse was a huge problem because often the people she inspired became infatuated with her and then the King of Nightmares would show his true colors. When Y/N saw who he truly was she would leave him and everything would go back to normal.

“Hey, milady, I need a huge favor!” Orpheus kissed Y/N’s cheek when he entered their apartment.

“Oh, no.” she crossed her arms and looked disapprovingly towards him. “The last time you said that I had to bail you out of jail.”

“That’s what friends are for, right? Anyway, that’s not it. You’re cheering tonight, right?” because her family left her to fend for herself, Y/N could only stay at college with a scholarship and the cheer squad provided her that. It was cheering for the basketball team but also some cheer competition, so far they were the second best team.

“Yeah, at the game. Why?”

“I need to go to New York tonight to get something, but you know I’m a terrible driver, especially at night so...”

“So?”

“After the game could you go with me? You drive me there, I get it and we come back. Easy and fast.” Easy? Yes, but faster? If his plan worked it would be slow as a worm. New York was less than two hours from New Haven, but he could make it more just enough so she wouldn’t sleep early and that would definitely get Morpheus' attention. It would be the spark.

“Well, I kind of had plans with Daniel after.” even better, but he had to use all his cards right.

“He won’t mind you helping me just this one time. Please, Y/N! I’ve a pal that found my father’s watch and it’s the only thing I have left of him and I’m afraid that if not tonight he won’t save it for me.”

“Oh, Owen...” when Y/N hugged him he felt guilty about it, but he had to remind himself that it was for her own good. “I’m sorry. Of course I’ll help you, I’ll just text Hob to warn Daniel about tonight. You can always count on me!” his father didn’t like her enough to even learn how to use technology, she had to text his friend to get in contact with him. Yes, Orpheus was doing what was best for her...for them. Once Morpheus was out of the picture they would go back to their lives.

“I don’t even know how to thank you, really. It means so much to me that you will be by my side. You’re my family, Y/N.”

“And you’re mine, Owen.” she was his best friend and because of that strong friendship she would sacrifice anything for him.

It was strange every time something came up she had to call Hob to warn Daniel and he did the same. Sometimes it felt like she was surrounded by secrets and it was completely exhausting. After she informed Hob and asked him to pass on her message and apologize for not being able to see Daniel, also apologizing for bothering him, she went on with her pre-game routine. A long shower to relax the muscles and forget about all the troubles of college. God, she loved painting more than anything in this world, but sometimes it was just hard to sit and do it. There was also the Owen-Daniel issue, because she was pretty sure they disliked each other even if they never even met. She was too young and too broke to have so many problems.

Orpheus, as usual, didn't just wait until she was ready but also went to the game even if he hated it, he was her moral support at this time. His friend was very attractive, if he still wasn't in love with Eurydice and if she wasn't almost like a sister to him things could be different, but things were the way they were, but he couldn't understand why his father? So many others had persuaded a relationship with her, men and women, yet none would get close enough to her, it was like for Y/N anything romantic was out of the table…or so he thought.

The game was an easy win and the squad cheered amazingly well, Y/N rushed to find Owen at the parking lot. He had a Chevy Impala that was probably almost as old as them, but everytime Y/N suggested he find one less old he would say it was a classic. Surprisingly it worked as well as a new car, never once it let them down and she appreciated that a lot. Hopefully it would hold itself together on this trip.

"I brought snacks for us." he threw his keys at her and sat in the passenger space. "And some energetic drinks, it's late and you worked a lot today. So sorry for bringing you into this, I just…really need you right now." Y/N could understand him, it was too hard to be alone right now and he was her best friend in the whole world. She would be there for him always, no matter what happened.

"Don't worry about it, I'm always here for you!" soon they were already on the road, the radio loud enough so they could not only hear it but sing-along too.

Orpheus couldn't remember a time where he was as happy as this, Y/N had changed everything for him. After losing Eurydice it was like the world lost all colors, but she brought it back and he was happy again. His friends cared so much about him and because of all they lived together he owned her and their friendship this. Orpheus wished it wasn't his father who she was with or that he wasn't such a monster, maybe then he wouldn't have to do all of this, but he knew that the man who condemned a woman to Hell for simply defying him would never be good for his friend. Y/N was a free spirit, everyone wanted to be around her and be her friend and Orpheus wasn't her only male friend — but he was her only best friend. Morpheus would never allow it, he was too possessive to let anyone close to what was his.

"Please, apologize to Daniel on my behalf. I know you guys barely saw each other this week."

"I'm sure he will understand."

"Are you sure? Sometimes our friendship can be a little too much for other guys, I don't wanna hold you back or disturb your relationship."

"If he doesn't get it then that's on him. As I said before, you're my family and that's above any relationship. Someone who doesn't get it…well I can't be with that person." Y/N's former boyfriends didn't like the way she was closer to Owen, even if they treated each other like siblings, and some even accused her of cheating. The thing is that she could never be with someone that didn't trust her, because trust is as important as love when you're with someone. She loved Daniel and she trusted him, even knowing that he probably was hiding something from her. Sometimes we gotta have secrets to protect ourselves and with time they might come out, but lies are different.

Orpheus couldn't believe how well his plan was doing. Once they got there, just as he had adjusted with an acquaintance of his, Orpheus called his "pal" but unfortunately the watch was sold a few hours earlier by his roommate. Thankfully he was the son of a muse and tonight he was inspired, so almost as if he was acting on Broadway he gave a show. There were tears and stuffy nose, he barely formed a sentence right. It worried Y/N to a point where she took him to a 24 hour coffee shop to calm him down.

Many hours went by and neither noticed that the sun was coming up just like they didn't notice her phone blowing up with messages from Hob – probably because Orpheus put it on silent mode.

Many coffees and energetic drinks laters Y/N was too much awake for her own good. The journey back passed way faster than before, but as soon as they got home Y/N was too energized to sleep and for the first time in weeks she was inspired. She was sad and heartbroken for her best friend, and she just had to put it all out on a painting. Everything else would have to wait.

On the other side, Orpheus was over the moon for he knew that one thing Dream of the Endless didn't have was patience.

.

.

.

tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolon @reallystressedhoneybee @waitingformysandman @mypsychoticlove @mrdarcyifhewere21stcentury

[spnfanficpond]

May 2021 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

WELCOME TO THIS MONTH’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE (you don’t have to be a member) CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. Everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that this fun, thoughtful award will do just that.

Be sure to read through this whole post as people who were nominated more than once only had one tag activated for tumblr tagging purposes!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE THIS MONTH’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

Dean's Last Summer Day by @cloverhighfive

I'm not sure I have the words for this one. Destiel, kinda fluffy, kinda angtsy, will DEFINITELY make you cry? Keep the tissues handy, because this is just too beautiful!

~*~*~

Nominated by @firefly-in-darkness

Life's Lessons (series) by @deangirl93

This series was AMAZING! I loved every second of their story and I was hooked from beginning to end!

~*~*~

Nominated by @emblue-sparks

Succubus by @samsexualdeancurious

Loved how their banter was so on point and Sam was so gentle with Dean.

Reassurance by @ samsexualdeancurious

Loved how chill and collected Dom Dean was, even when Sam wasn't.

Three Plus One Equals Four by @ samsexualdeancurious

Thoroughly impressed with how she balanced four guys so well, it can be daunting to write but she did well and it was hot!

Pineapple & Pizza by @ cloverhighfive

Because writing miscommunication & confusion over a pineapple sex meme is the Destiel trope we never knew we needed! Dean's promise to Cas he can see his "little pineapple" later was so damn CUTE.

White Chapel by @bees0are0awesome [Editor's Note - Bees appears to no longer be at this URL. If anyone knows them and where they've moved to, please let us know!]

This Destiel Jack-the-Ripper(esque) thriller was suitably chilling. The way she characterized TFW was so well done and the research put into the fic, even so the characters spoke in the period English vernacular, was incredible.

Wedding Gift by @lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean

As a Chevy enthusiast, I love authors giving Baby some love. Getting to drive Baby would be a dream come true, I loved it!

~*~*~

Nominated by @negans-lucille-tblr

Bringing the Heat by @becs-bunker

Hoooo boy. This one was so hot, I needed the pool from the fic to cool me down. Bonus points if Sam was in it 🤣

You Broke Us by @hoboal87

This one is a delicious mix of angsty and dark and smutty! Love it!

~*~*~

Nominated by @supernatural-jackles

I Fell For You by @luci-in-trenchcoats

This story is a true masterpiece! The relationship from the very start of the series, up until this point is something I love to read about. It's just so healthy and real feeling that I just can't get enough of it. This series brings me an immense sense of comfort, which is one of the things I look for in a series. Michelle does an exceptional job at it on a regular basis, and yet, can still knock me off my feet with it. This series is a must read!

A Little Trip - Amusement Park by @mariekoukie6661

So proud of Marie for finishing this fic!! It is everything I want for the Winchester brother's to experience!! It's fun, and sweet! Marie did an amazing job with it ♥

Perfect by @ mrswhozeewhatsis

Honestly, I just love this fic! It hurts me in the best ways and it reminds me of the reason why I fell in love with fanfiction. The way my heart tugs in my chest reading this is one of the best feelings I have. I search and long for fics like this and this one is perfect (no pun intended). Michelle does an amazing job at making me feel!

Do It For Me by @thoughtslikeaminefield

This one is so damn good and hot and everything you need from Dean Winchester! I don't have words for this one other than it is a MUST READ!

Always There to Get Me Goin' by @ luci-in-trenchcoats

Ackles arm porn!! Okay, but really! This fic is just as hot as it is sweet! I love the dynamic in their relationship and it feels so comfortable!! It's a must read for all Ackles readers!

~*~*~

Nominated by @princessmisery666

Toes In The Sand by @fangirlxwritesx67

This ripped my heart out of my chest but then wrapped it sugar coated candy and put it back.

F*** the SPN ending. THIS. THIS RIGHT F****** HERE is how it ended and no one can tell me otherwise. I’ve been looking for something for so long that would ease some of the hurt of the show being over and HATING the idea of Sam living a life without Dean. But this healed this fangirls heart.

[Editor's Note: Consider this nomination seconded!! This is so good!!

~*~*~

Nominated by @slytherkins

One Plus One Makes Five by @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters

The sweetest, fluffiest thing I've ever read. Happy!Domestic!Dean is just *chef's kiss* And the ending? Just precious. This fic is a tiny morsel of toothrot, and it's fantastic.

~*~*~

Nominated by @peridottea91

Sleep Tight by @thinkinghardhardlythinking

This was all manners of hot and was just a different concept than what I usually see from smut fics, especially Sam x Reader fics. I loved it!! 10 out of 10!!!

~*~*~

Nominated by @wildfirewinchester

A Stranger In Need by @percywinchester27

This is by far one of my favorite Sam fics lately. He's witty and kind, and he doesn't reveal everything about himself up front, even though he never lies or covers up the truth. Ana writes his character so well in all of her stories, and the reader is both relatable and believable. I swoon every time I read this fic because a) I love Sam Winchester, b) it's beautifully written and I can focus on what's happening instead of trying to decipher what the writer is trying to say, and c) it's such an interesting plot that it pulls you write in!

~*~*~

Nominated by @katelynw93

Trainwreck by @msmarvelouswinchester

This fic was so beautifully written and it made me feel so many different emotions. It was heartbreaking and full of so much angst and fluff and uuuugh, there aren't enough words to describe this fic. It's wonderful. <3

Hunted (series) by @that-one-gay-girl

This series and this author are both wonderful. There are so many emotions that have been put into this series and I'd be a mistake not to read it! <3

Always There by @sams-sass

This fic brought me to literal tears. It was so thoughtful and sweet and exactly what I needed to read when I read it! It's amazing and so wonderfully written.

Sweet Dreams by @winchest09

This fic made me feel so many, many good things. I looooved very bit of it! If you're a Sam girl than this is DEFINITELY the fic for you!! It's hot and steamy and just... delicious. It's a must read!

~*~*~

Nominated by @cloverhighfive

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Words Might Get Me Laid by @slytherkins

You know how it is. You've read a few things from an author and then BAM you find a thing you haven't read and OH

This one, it's got a great progression, a great pull and tug between wanting, needing, but being stuck. And then it's hot and soft in the best of ways, so much consent, and even if it's hot it's fluff. Cas and Dean are so in character. It's the best of everything.

And of course, keeping it as close to canon feels as possible, that little angsty twist.

But oh. They're together so that counts for everything.

~*~*~

Nominated by @fictionalabyss

Fairy Tale by @wingedcatninja

I haven't had a lot of time for reading lately, but I've been enjoying the little prompt drabbles that have started coming out for June. So far this one is my favourite that had me laughing. I can just picture Dean's crazy frantic screams rofl. I'm genuinely very excited to see what the rest of the month holds.

~*~*~

Nominated by @peridottea91

In Search Of A Happy Ending by @idreamofplaid

Omg this story!!!! It was domestic and short but sweet and fluffy!!!! Just *chef's kiss* perfection!!!

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE AWESOME WORK AND GREAT FEEDBACK!

These are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the Pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

[silver-summertime]

song analysis: sapphic undertones in “ivy”

Happy New Year, y’all! Let’s end the year right with an “ivy” analysis. If you follow me, you probably know that I am OBSESSED with this song. It’s an absolute masterpiece and it might actually rival Cruel Summer for the title of my favorite Taylor Swift song.

So let’s get into it. From the first listen, this song read to me as being about an affair between two women, one of whom is married to a man. Obviously, the love interest in “ivy” could be a man, but Taylor chooses to address the song to a genderless “you,” so I’m going to have fun analyzing this as if it is gay. This song reads similarly to me as “Begin Again” and “The Way I Loved You,” which both have three characters who play similar roles. In all cases, the narrator speaks to a genderless love interest “you,” who is directly contrasted with a “he” figure. In “ivy,” it is unclear if the narrator is already married or simply engaged to the “he” figure.

We’ll start with the first verse, which sets the tone for the rest of the song. The line “where the spirit meets the bones” seems to have been inspired by the poem “Compassion” by Miller Williams. The full line is “You do not know what wars are going on/down there where the spirit meets the bone.” Thematically, the poem deals with the contrast between appearances and a person’s real feelings or mental state, which relates to “ivy” and “illicit affairs.” In both, Taylor writes about an affair from a compassionate perspective—in the case of “ivy,” it seems as if the narrator’s hands are tied; there is some external factor that prevents her from breaking up her engagement or marriage, which makes the listener sympathetic to her situation. I’d also argue that a lot of this sympathy comes from the perception of “ivy” as a period piece—it is easy to be sympathetic to a woman who is trapped in a marriage she never really agreed to in the first place.

Why does “ivy” read like a period piece? It’s all about the language. At contrast to “illicit affairs,” which very explicitly mentions parking lots and therefore has a more modern setting, “ivy” almost exclusively uses natural imagery. This is reminiscent of Romantic-era writing, which is characterized by a reverence for nature and beauty.

Examples of Romantic-inspired natural imagery:

oh, I can’t/stop you putting roots in my dreamland/my house of stone, your ivy grows

your opal eyes are all I wish to see

clover blooms in the fields/spring breaks loose

crescent moon, coast is clear

so yeah, it’s a fire/it’s a goddamn blaze in the dark

Beyond the use of nature as a metaphor, Romantic writing also features an emphasis on emotion over reason and a focus on the individual. “Ivy” clearly outlines a conflict between emotion and reason as well as individualism versus societal expectations; the narrator’s affair with the love interest (which is a transgression of societal norms) is a result of letting emotion outweigh reason. The narrator in “ivy” feels like she has failed to uphold society’s expectations of her as a wife—she directly contrasts herself with the “old widow” who “goes to the stone every day,” suggesting that the widow properly mourns her deceased husband. The narrator, by contrast, is “grieving for the living,” an inherently selfish preoccupation. However, the narrator’s emotions are presented in a compassionate light consistent with Romanticism.  

Certain lines also sound a bit historical because Taylor could have used more modern linguistic structures or vocabulary but chose not to. The line “your opal eyes are all I wish to see” instead of “want to see,” for example. See also:

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

I wish to know/the fatal flaw that makes you long to be/magnificently cursed

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand/taking mine, but it’s been promised to another

The way the narrator’s “hand” has “been promised to another” is what sticks out most to me; it very much suggests that the engagement is not the narrator’s choice but may have been arranged (a la Mrs. Bennet’s drive to marry off her daughters in Pride and Prejudice). It’s also a contrast to the way engagement is described in “champagne problems,” which is much more modern (explicit references to dorms, Chevys, and Dom Pérignon). This kind of phrasing is a conscious choice by Taylor to make the song seem more “literary,” which makes it feel historical rather than current.

So what makes me think this song is gay? Honestly, it’s more of a feeling than anything concrete, but that’s the way queer-coding works: subtly enough that straight people don’t notice it, but specific enough to the queer experience that we pick up on it. This is yet another example of Taylor writing about a relationship that’s “just wrong enough to make it feel right” (thanks, “Sparks Fly”). The narrator seems caught off-guard by the affair (repeatedly asking “how’s one to know?”) and blames the love interest for being irresistible despite the inherent danger of pursuing anything (“it’s the goddamn fight of my life/and you started it”).

Of course, if the song takes place in a historical setting, any affair would be grounds for societal condemnation, but especially so if the love interest is a woman. I think the lyrics “I wish to know/the fatal flaw that makes you long to be/magnificently cursed” are especially telling.

Breaking it down: a) the narrator thinks the love interest is irrational for wanting to start this affair because b) being with the narrator will make the love interest cursed. This latter part is important because historically, there is usually a lot more fallout for women than men after affairs. Even when a married/partnered man is the one engaging in infidelity, the mistress often takes the brunt of the criticism (see: the media’s treatment of Monica Lewinsky, many a country song where the woman blames the mistress instead of her cheating partner). This article is an interesting look at the double standards surrounding chastity and fidelity for men and women.

This is all a long way to say that if the love interest in “ivy” is indeed a man, there is no reason this affair would leave him “magnificently cursed.” The narrator, as a woman and also as the married party in the affair (the love interest is not necessarily married), would most likely be the one to take the majority of the blame. I think there is an alternative interpretation: the love interest’s “fatal flaw” is her romantic interest in women, which would certainly leave her “magnificently cursed” were anyone to discover her affair with a married woman.

So that’s why “ivy” seems gay, I think! Let me know if you have any questions or other theories, I would love to hear them. And please let me know if you want me to analyze any other songs. If only I had this much fun writing essays for English classes…

All sources are hyperlinked within the analysis, if you’re interested in some further reading.

[livesincerely]

dude you should totally write a fic off run away w me if you like haven’t alr 👀👀

DARLING.

You know me. You know what I’m like. You know you can’t just drop amazing ideas like this in my inbox and expect me to leave them alone until I actually have time to do something with them... 😫😫😫

So.

So.

Background: Davey makes it through his SAT, then exits the building, throws up, and passes out in the parking lot, which isn’t the first indication that something’s wrong but it’s the beginning of the end for how much Jack’s willing to let him get away with it. He’s been a nervous wreck for months, not sleeping and not eating, anxious and irritable and so obviously neglecting his health that it makes Jack wanna scream. No one else seems to see it—Davey’s not a great liar but he’s excellent at deflecting, though that’s never stopped Jack from seeing right through him. Davey manages to hobble his way through the fall semester, keeping his grades up and finishing all his college applications through sheer force of will. His parents are so proud of him, he’s set to be valedictorian and he’s expecting to get several college acceptance letters, and he’s so worried about not doing anything to disappoint them. He and Jack get into several arguments about this that never come to anything except teary, biting stalemates.

Until finally, Davey gets his college acceptance letters. The envelopes come over the course of several weeks and he can’t hardly stand to look at them. Full rides to NYU, Colombia, UCLA, and several other amazing schools. Davey gets halfway through opening the first envelope, hands shaking so bad he can barely hold onto it, before he’s running to throw up. He realizes, suddenly, that unless something gives, he’s looking at another 4+ years of this: of working himself into the ground and being miserable, of never feeling like his wants are valid enough, of always competing and working and grinding, against others sure, but mostly against this imaginary, perfect, unattainable version of himself, of always living the life his parents want him to lead, and he can’t hardly stand it. He can’t imagine going to college. He can’t imagine not going to college.

We open on him calling Jack, crying and freaking out. Because he doesn’t know what to do and he just needs someone to be in his corner and advocate for him, because at this point Davey’s not even sure if Davey’s in his own corner. Jack opens all the envelopes and he doesn’t tell Davey what they say, doesn’t confirm if any/all of them are acceptance letters or anything, just reads through them expressionless. Then he closes them back up, tucks them into the inner pocket on his jacket, and says, “Davey... run away with me.”

“What?” Davey whispers.

“Run away with me, Dave,” Jack says. “Let me take you away from all’a this. We’ll hit the road, drive ‘til the pavement ends, ‘til we’re far away from all these expectations and standards and supposed to’s. Because it’s crushing you. It’s making you fucking miserable, and if distance is what you need to find steady ground and make a choice for your own sake, that’s actually about you and what you want? Then I’m your ticket outta town.”

“Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, stuttering with something like anticipation and fear and terrible, terrible longing. “Jackie, we can’t.”

“And why can’t we?”

“Because,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and leave. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we need to graduate, and fuck, can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and murder me if I left.”

“I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, and he keeps looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.

“I just told you—“ Davey starts.

“No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my stupidly long legs make roadtrips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone across the country,’ or even just ‘Jack, I don’t want to.’”

Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click, swallowing heavily around a sudden lump in his throat.

Jack keeps looking at him, and the intensity of his gaze is almost to much to handle, simmering with something quiet but fierce.

“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you kill yourself over a life that you don’t even want. Not anymore. Not when it makes you call me at one in the morning, sounding like the weight of the fucking world’s on your shoulders and you’re terrified to set it down. Not after seven months of watching you waste away right in front of me, moving around like a goddamn shadow, pale as a ghost and hollow inside. Not unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that college is gonna make you happy.”

Davey can’t speak. Something’s gone taut in his chest, like a piano wire about to snap. Davey could prevent it. He’s not sure if he wants to.

Jack steps closer and takes both of Davey’s hands in his own. His palms are warm, or maybe it’s just that Davey’s freezing, has been so painfully cold and lonely these past few months, withering away in the shadow of his parent’s expectations. But the tangle of their fingers threading together is like a balm on Davey’s soul—the spark that reignites the embers of a dying fire.

He’s so tired of being cold.

“I just want to know that you’ll be happy,” Jack says after a moment—softly, like he’s afraid he might shatter Davey if he speaks any louder, sending the broken shards of him scattering into nothingness. Davey’s not sure he’s wrong. “And I know you, David, and this isn’t making you happy.”

“This is crazy,” Davey breathes out, and it’s not what he means to say but it comes out regardless. “It’s... Jack, this is insanity.”

“Who cares about what’s sane?” Jack says. “Fuck sanity.”

“Jackie.”

“Tell me you’re happy,” Jack says, and the gentleness of the command doesn’t make it any less compelling. “Tell me you’re happy, that you think you’ll be happy with all this, and I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it right this second, I swear.”

Davey’s eyes slip shut. He breathes in and breathes out, feeling his ribs press against that band in his chest, the last threads of it holding fast.

“Please, Dave,” Jack murmurs. “Please.”

In and out. In and out.

And the wire snaps.

“Okay,” Davey says, fingers tightening around Jack’s, his lone anchor as the world tilts out from underneath him. “Okay.”

“You’ll—?”

“Let me pack a bag,” Davey agrees.

Cue road trip shenanigans. The only people that they tell before they leave are Medda, Crutchie, and Les. Both boys have some money saved up from their part-time jobs but Medda gives them a credit card to use on the trip and helps them get things set up to finish out their last couple months of school through online/remote methods. Even still, it’s a lot of frugal, simple, happy living on the road. They drive without any goals or expectations, taking in the sights and the beauty of the countryside, sleeping in Jack’s car and in various motels.

Davey starts to get better. Just, the freedom of getting to make choices for himself and dropping some of the stressors in his life. His parents are angry, then confused, then worried, then begrudgingly accepting, then actually accepting. Medda helps mediate back home, and they eventually realize that they’ve been suffocating their son. Davey makes no promises about coming home or continuing on with college.

At some point, Davey realizes that he’s in love with Jack and has been for a while. He’s not sure what to do about this, or even if he should do anything about it. Because Jack is wonderful, he’s the best friend he’s ever had, the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and the thought of anything jeopardizing that makes Davey’s heart hurt. Until, one night they’re out somewhere in the desert, staring up at the stars from the roof of Jack’s car. Davey’s been telling stories about all the different constellations, pointing out each one as he goes, and he turns to look at Jack only to find that Jack is already staring at him, and the look on Jack’s face is just....

“Oh,” Davey says, and he’d always imagined that a realization like this would hit like a bolt of lightning. Instead it’s like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day. “You’re in love with me.”

Jack blinks at him, then lets out a soft chuckle, easy as anything. “Just now realizing that, are we?”

Davey stares.

“You didn’t say anything,” he points out, perhaps needlessly.

“I wasn’t exactly hiding it,” Jack responds, tilting his head back towards the stars. “And ‘sides, you weren’t ready to hear it.”

A length of silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable but more charged than it had been.

Eventually Davey says, “What if I am?”

“What do ya mean?” Jack asks.

“What if I’m ready to hear it, now?”

Jack turns towards him, and for the first time some of the relaxation slips from his posture, his spine straightening from it’s casual slump into something more active, more engaged, ready to pursue.

“S’that so?” he rumbles.

“Yeah,” Davey says, wetting his lips. “That’s so.”

Something something, getting together, romantic moments on the hood of/in the backseat of Jack’s car, something something ending.

The whole thing would be very dramatic and romantic, but ultimately about how home and freedom can be in the safety of another person, just like the song. Tada, I guess? 😅😅

Working title, “we’ll be on the road like some country song”

00000

@bound-for-santa-fe

[litwitlady]

take this little spark

Alex sits alone in the dark. He’s in his bed which hasn’t been empty in weeks. But Forrest left for Texas just hours ago. And so now, here he sits. With only his ceiling fan for company.

He tries to be sad. Thinks back over all of his and Forrest’s best memories – their kiss at the Pony, their frequent laughter in bed, and the perfect pasta Forrest had cooked nearly every night. The way they could always be so open and honest with each other. At least about anything non-alien related.

So, he tries to be sad, but he’s not. In order to be sad, he has to conjure up the last time he’d seen Michael – really seen Michael. Not just some passing catch of the eye as they walk down the same street or sit in the same bar. But the moment he’d looked up to find Michael listening to him sing. And then the crushing moment he’d looked up to find him gone.

That sadness is overwhelming.

The clock ticks past midnight. Alex considers driving to the junkyard. Charging into the airstream and demanding answers. But there’s a paralyzing fear in his gut. One that has nagged at him ever since open mic night. And if Michael opens his mouth and gives voice to that fear, Alex will never recover.

‘I don’t love you anymore.’

Those five words have haunted so many of his sleepless nights. Even with Forrest tucked close at his side. Because what Alex had felt for Forrest was never enough to keep the Michael of it all at bay. And every time he'd shut his eyes to kiss Forrest, Michael’s face was the first thing that he saw. Those dreadful words tumbling from his lips.

‘I don’t love you anymore.’

Alex hugs his pillow to his chest and lets the hurt hollow him out. He thinks again about driving to the junkyard. Considers picking up his phone. Maybe heading to the Pony. But he settles further into his bed instead.

An old Chevy engine rattles down the street. Alex’s breath catches. Headlights shine across his bedroom window. And he hears the slam of a truck door.

--

Six Hours Ago

Michael drops a wrench in the engine bay of an old Subaru and curses. He uses his telekinesis to float the tool back into his hand.

‘Alien guy!’

He jumps, bumping his head against the car’s raised hood. Rubs at the sting and glances around to find Forrest Long walking towards him.

‘Forrest. What brings a Long all the way out here?’ He frowns. ‘Alex okay?’

‘Alex is fine.’ He smiles and leans against the Subaru. ‘I came to talk to you.’

That makes Michael nervous. He runs his mind over various terrifying scenarios. The worst one that he and Alex have eloped. That they are leaving Roswell. That Michael has lost his chance once and for all. With only himself to blame.

‘About what? Didn’t think we had much in common.’ He ducks back into the engine. His hands needing something to do.

‘Except that one incredibly attractive Air Force captain.’ And Forrest winks – fucking winks at him. Michael just stands staring back, mouth agape.

Forrest laughs. ‘There’s no sense pretending. I know you love him. And I do too. So, I’m here to do you a favor. Well,’ he sighs and cracks his neck, ‘I’m here to do Alex a favor. But one that will also benefit you.’

Michael snorts. ‘A favor? I didn’t ask for any favors.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Look, I’m moving to Texas. Literally on my way out of town as we speak.’ Michael stops working and looks up at him. Forrest smirks. ‘Thought that might get your attention.’

‘But why? If you love Alex, why would you leave him?’ It’s a good question. Michael hates the thought of another person abandoning Alex. Anger flares in his gut as his jaw clenches.

‘Guess I could ask you the same thing.’ He’s not smiling anymore, and Michael takes the blow hard. Because it’s true. So, he stays quiet. ‘I never planned on staying in Roswell. Alex knew that from the beginning. And I kind of wish I could tell you he was at home crying over the loss – but we both know that’s not the case.’

Forrest takes a moment to think over his next words. He knows he's overstepping his bounds, but in a few short hours Roswell will be nothing but a distant memory. So, there’s nothing left to lose. ‘You fucked up that night at the Pony. Wrecked him. And I’ve been trying to put the pieces back together ever since.’ He shrugs. ‘But it’s no use because only you can do that.’

‘You’re wrong.’ He throws the wrench into his toolbox with a clang. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’

Forrest shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You could start by saying I’m sorry. You could start by saying I love you. You could start by showing up, Guerin. But just fucking start.’ He pushes off the fender and starts walking back to his car. ‘And don’t wait too long. Clock’s ticking.’

Michael watches him drive away from the junkyard, dust kicking up behind his car. Then he collapses on the bench behind him and buries his head in his hands.

--

Alex opens his door before Michael can knock. And somehow Michael looks surprised to see him even though he’s the one knocking at Alex’s front door. ‘Guerin.’

‘Alex.’ He swallows and dances from foot to foot. ‘I, uh…I miss you and I’m sorry.’ It floods out of him like one word. ‘And I know that’s not enough. That night at the Pony I had my reasons, but I know that's not enough either.’

He reaches out to cup Alex’s cheek and Alex lets him. ‘But it’s the only place I know to start. So, that's what I'm going to do. If you’ll let me.’

Alex takes a deep breath and nods. Some of his sadness slips away as they wrap their arms around each other. Starting anew. Wordlessly extending a fresh slate to one another – the first since high school.

Michael begins with a whispered I love you and Alex begins with a relieved I know. And they begin with a shut door and a long night spent tangled together under the covers, warm and loved.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Rediscover (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Dean x Reader

Words: 2,627

Summary: Sam and Dean reunite with someone they never thought they would see again.

Warnings: heavily implied Wincest, threesome, oral sex (male and female receiving)

A/N: Written for Meghan's May 2020 prompt.

Betaed by @manawhaat

---

When the blindfold is removed and Sam opens his eyes, the last thing he expects to see is Y/N’s smiling face.

“Hiya, Sammy,” she says cheerfully as she saws through the ropes binding him to the chair. “Long time, no see.”

“Y/N?” He stares at her in disbelief, shakes his head, and squeezes his eyes shut because there’s no way she can really be standing here. “What? H-how?”

“I’ll do the tests for you,” she assures him as the last of the ropes fall away. “Let’s go find your brother first, though, so I only have to do them once.”

Sam can’t find the words to respond so he just follows behind her through the witch’s compound. They find Dean a few doors down in an almost identical position to the one Sam was just in, though Dean has made a little more progress in escaping his ropes.

“Dean,” Sam says, forgetting about Y/N for a moment as he crouches beside his brother and yanks the blindfold from his eyes.

“Thank god. Get me out of he- holy shit. Y/N?!?”

“Hey, big boy,” she says with a grin and a little wave. Like their long-gone lover being back from the dead is just another walk in the park. Though, if Sam’s going to be honest with himself, he shouldn’t be that surprised when loved ones come back from the dead anymore. It seems to be all the rage as of late.

“Sam, is that-”

“Haven’t done the tests yet,” Sam says softly, lifting his head to meet Dean’s hopeful gaze. He doesn’t want to get either of their hopes up but he can’t help the lump in his throat. It’s been so long…

“Let’s get out of here and you two boy toys can do whatever you want to me.” Y/N shoots them a wink and holds out a hand to tug Dean to his feet. “Where’d you park the car? Mine’s a few blocks east of here.”

“South,” Dean answers, eyes locked on her face. “Is the witch…?”

“I took care of her for you,” Y/N assures him. “We should probably get rid of the body. Your trunk is bigger. Which one of you wants to go get the Impala?”

Dean and Sam exchange a look and then Dean pats his pockets. “Witch took my keys,” he grumbles.

“They’re probably with your weapons. I think I saw those on my way in.”

Sure enough, the keys to the Impala are piled with their weapons, phones, and wallets in the same room where the witch lies dead on the floor. Sam checks that she’s actually dead - she is - and then Dean strides off on his own to get the car.

Sam’s alone with a Y/N, again, and as he eyes her a shiver runs up his spine. He’s still not sure Y/N even is Y/N. At least he’s armed now.

“It’s been a while,” she says, leaning against the wall to the side of the doorframe. “I half expected you guys to come looking for me years ago.”

She shoots him a smirk like she’s teasing him but Sam’s too busy puzzling through what she’s just said to catch onto her playful tone. Look for her? “Y/N,” Sam says slowly, struggling to find words through his confusion and the emotions knotted up in his chest. “John- dad told us you died.”

Her eyes go wide and she straightens up, fists curled tight. “That dick! I know faking my death was part of the whole plan but I didn’t think he’d lie to you guys, too.”

“Faking your death?”

She grimaces. “It’s a long story, and one I don’t really want to tell more than once. How have you guys been doing? I saw you died - again - a few years ago...”

“That’s also a long story.” Sam runs a hand through his hair. “We’ve died a few times, actually.”

“A few times?”

Sam chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It, uh, didn’t stick?”

She stares at him, incredulous, for a moment before laughing. “I guess if anyone was going to come back from the dead repeatedly, it would be you Winchesters.”

--

Dean returns with the Impala a few minutes later. As soon as he pops the trunk, he pulls out a silver knife and hands it to Y/N. She makes a small cut on her forearm before taking the flask Dean’s holding out. She takes a big swig and swallows, grimacing.

“What the hell is that?” she grumbles, handing the flask back.

“Salted holy water.”

Dean smirks at her reaction, screwing the cap back on, but he doesn’t look at her, though. He can’t. He’s focusing his attention on straightening things in the trunk that definitely don’t need to be straightened. Sam, though, Sam can’t keep his eyes off of her as she plucks a bandana from the trunk and wraps it around her arm.

“Y/N,” he manages, voice breaking with every emotion he’s been pushing down since she first took off his blindfold.

He reaches for her and she comes easily, fitting into his arms just as perfectly as she always has. It may be fifteen years since he last touched her, last held her, last cradled her head in one palm and pressed their lips together, but it still feels as right as it did way back then. Even more so when Y/N loops her arms around his neck and happily returns the kiss, fingers sliding into his hair.

“Little Sammy Winchester grew up,” she teases when they pause for air. One hand comes around to cradle his cheek, her thumb rubbing softly against his skin. “Look at you. So handsome. Still with that hair, though.”

“I missed you,” he mumbles, eyes stinging as his view of her blurs with tears.

She wipes under his eye, catching the single tear that escapes when he blinks. “I’m right here, baby. You don’t have to miss me anymore.”

Sam nods, grinning a little stupidly, and she kisses him again. When she pulls away, she turns to find Dean watching them.

“C’mere, big guy,” she says, stepping away from Sam but not out of his arms, holding one hand out to the older Winchester.

Dean breaks then, falling forward into her embrace with a little choked sound that lands in her hair. She holds him close, hands rubbing over his broad shoulders as his arms wrap around her waist and hold on like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go.

“Dad told us you were gone,” Dean manages, voice muffled against her shoulder. “You were gone and we weren’t even there, we didn’t even get to go to your funeral.”

“Hey.” She gives him a squeeze and turns her head to kiss him softly, one hand sliding around to cup his jaw. “I’m sorry, Dean. I thought he would have told you guys the truth. If I’d known he lied to you, too-”

“What happened?” Dean interrupts, turning his face away while he wipes his eyes.

“Some asshole hunter was after me. Only God knows why, but he was relentless so John helped me fake my death and found me a place to hide away until it was safe,” you explain, your hand still on his face. Like you can’t bear to stop touching him. “I didn’t learn until recently that Gordon was killed just a few years later.”

Gordon. Sam grits his teeth, old anger stirring in his chest. That fucking asshole. “I killed him,” he bites out without thinking. “About three years after you... ‘died’,” Sam air quotes. “He was turned into a vampire and I killed him.”

“Took his head off with barbed wire,” Dean adds. His eyes are red but he’s pulled himself together enough to don a slightly proud smirk.

Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, Sammy. That’s intense.”

Sam shrugs. “I was locked in a room with him. I had to improvise. It’s not my proudest moment, but it was me or him.”

“Hey.” She loops one arm around his waist, the other still around Dean’s. “Gordon was an ass. If he was after you, vampire or not, you had the right to defend yourself.”

Sam nods, leaning his cheek against her head at the same time Dean presses his nose and then his lips to her temple. “We’ve missed you,” Sam murmurs, his free arm settling around his brother. Dean imitates him, completing their little circle. “All those years, we thought you were gone…”

The brothers lock eyes and it’s there, clear as day - that spark she saw way back when the three of them first fell into bed together. She glances between them, one eyebrow quirked.

“And you guys?” she asks softly, not wanting to imply anything or offend if she’s wrong.

“Yeah,” Dean says with enough emotion in his voice that she knows how much they needed each other. His thumb rubs softly against the sliver of Sam’s skin where his shirt has ridden up. “We’re all each other has. I mean, things weren’t the same without you but we made it work. We leaned on each other.”

“Good.” She gives them both a squeeze. “I never wanted you guys to have to be alone.”

“Doesn’t mean we didn’t still spend every night wishing you were with us,” Sam murmurs, ducking his head down to nip at her earlobe. “Between us…”

Y/N shivers and squirms a little at the want in his voice. “Do you guys, uh - do you have a motel room?”

“One king at the Scope Motel on the west side of town,” Dean tells her, dipping his own head down to kiss at the side of her neck before pulling away. “But we’ve got a dead body to take care of first.”

Y/N groans.

--

Y/N decides to drive her own car - a yellow 1969 Chevy Nova SS two-door that Dean immediately starts cooing over. She bats him away from peeking under the hood, insisting that if he wants to pick up where they left off any time soon then they better get to work. Dean pouts but backs off and the trio pile into their respective vehicles to go find a safe, discrete place to burn and bury the body. Sam finds himself glancing in the rearview mirror over and over, just to make sure Y/N is still following. He can’t shake the fear that if he takes his eyes off her for too long, she’ll vanish.

When they find a good spot, she grabs her own shovel and lends a hand in digging. Dean grumbles the whole time and she gives him shit about his old man back and everything just feels so right that Sam can’t stop the second round of tears that well up in his eyes.

“Oh, Sammy,” she murmurs when she sees his face in the light of the burning body. She reaches up to brush his hair back. “I’m right here, baby. C’mon, let’s finish this up and head to your motel room.”

Sam nods, turning his face into her palm, and draws a deep breath. She smells like dirt and sweat and something sweet, familiar, that stirs heat in his belly.

Suddenly, they can’t get back to the motel fast enough.

--

The motel isn’t anything special but it is nicer than where the boys would usually stay. They’d decided to splurge a little this time around and Sam’s grateful for that fact. He doesn’t want to take Y/N back to a shitty motel with two queens.

As soon as the door has closed and been locked behind them, Y/N turns to face the brothers. She grins and spreads her arms, taking a few backward steps towards the bed.

“Well?” she asks. “You gonna stand there all night?”

Dean moves first this time, shedding his jacket and button-up as he crosses the room to sweep Y/N into his arms and drop her onto the bed. She shrieks, grabbing at his shoulders as they tumble back onto the mattress. Sam laughs at the sight, toeing off his boots and tossing his own top layers in the general direction of their duffel bags. When he reaches the bed, he tugs off Dean’s boots and then Y/N’s. She peeks over Dean’s shoulder at him and crooks one finger in an unmistakable “come hither” gesture.

Sam strips off his jeans and boxers in one move before climbing up onto the bed. He wriggles his hands between their bodies to find and undo Dean’s belt.

“Too many clothes,” he teases as he gets the belt open and moves on to the button and zipper.

“I agree,” Y/N says, squirming out from under Dean so she can sit up and start taking off her own shirts.

Both men freeze at that sight, eyes locked on her as she tosses her flannel aside and peels her t-shirt over her head.

“Wow,” Dean sighs, one hand reaching out to settle on the bare skin of her waist.

She shoots him a wink, teasing her fingertips along the top edge of her lacy bra cups. “Like what you see?”

Sam nods for both of them, reaching for her with lust-darkened eyes. She rises up onto her knees, allowing him to pull her into his lap. The bed rocks suddenly and they both turn to see Dean flopping like a fish out of water, trying to get rid of all his remaining layers at once.

“Some things never change,” Y/N says with a fond smile, twisting to grab Dean’s t-shirt and free him from it.

Dean pouts even as his hard cock finally bounces free of his boxers to smack against his belly. Sam unhooks Y/N’s bra and she throws it aside as she leans over to put her mouth on the head of Dean’s cock.

“Oh, my god,” he gasps, head slamming back against the mattress and hands flying to her hair. “Y/N.”

Sam’s own cock throbs at the sight and he shifts around so Y/N can kneel more comfortably on the bed with Sam behind her instead of beneath her. He blankets her back with his body, laying a line of kisses across her shoulders and down her spine.

“Sam,” she whines, grinding her ass back against his cock. “Don’t tease.”

He smirks against her skin and reaches around to find the button of her jeans. While she leaves kitten licks down the side of Dean’s cock, Sam helps her out of her jeans and panties. She arches her back and spreads her thighs with a playful little wiggle of her ass, giving Sam a perfect view of her glistening pussy. He groans and can’t resist. It’s been so long. He has to get a taste.

Y/N whines and presses back against his mouth, silently begging for more. Sam is happy to oblige, laying down on his back to get a better angle. He guides Y/N to straddle his face with hands on her hips.

“Someone’s been practicing,” Y/N says breathlessly. “Goddamn.”

Sam grins against her clit and then delves his tongue between her folds. She tastes even better than he remembered, that perfect blend of sweet and salt and musk he just can’t get enough of.

In the morning, they’ll get her stuff from her motel. She’ll take them with her to get her things from her storage unit in Idaho. Then she’ll follow them back to the bunker and the Winchesters will help her make a space of her own.

Tonight? Sam digs his fingers into her thighs, Dean sits up to pull her into a kiss, and they get to work rediscovering her body.

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward @emoryhemsworth

[nice-bright-colors]

Tuesday.

Change Orders signed & returned.

New agreement for PA project signed & returned.

Also payment received for that last peer review project in Pittsburgh. So whew!!! I can make my car payment…for a car that’s being repaired right now.

The Chevy Spark is a complete joke. Even Jack is looking at us like WTF guys. I’m almost in the back seat driving it, and I’ve got short legs. I rolled over a nickel on the road and felt the bump. It was questionable going up a hill on the way to Jack’s therapy. Oh well, the first 20 days will only cost me $10.17 total….well and my deposit because of dog hair.

Booked my hotel and car for next week in Harrisburg.

All in all this week is looking up, for now.

As an added bonus: my dashboard has been chock full of boobs and asses from all those “outdoorsy” blogs. I guess the middle-aged men that run those blogs of reblogs must be on the horny side right now. I suspect it’s the time change.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Set  Yourself On Fire

Word Count: ~1550

Warnings: Depression and suicidal thoughts. No, seriously, this is not a happy fic. It centers on Sam and his mental state between seasons three and four, so. Yeah. Demon blood, sad Sam, self-loathing, etc. Some mentions of Sam x Ruby, but the pairing is not the point. 

A/N: For @idreamofplaid​‘s “Thanks For The Memories” Challenge.  My episode was “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” 

I snagged bits from a drabble I wrote called “Might As Well,” which was about this same time in Sam’s life, and worked them into this. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for read-throughs, and to @stunudo​, @thoughtslikeaminefield​, and @lastactiontricia​, who helped me work through the fine points of the psychology that was going on here. 

Title from the Stars song Your Ex-Lover Is Dead: “When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.”  

The whiskey stings when Sam splashes it over the cut on his arm. It’s a good kind of pain, blindingly sharp and clean, and for a moment it takes his mind off the slimy ache in his chest and the filthy squirming guilt in his gut. 

Dean’s looking at him again, searching and suspicious.

“Why do you trust her so much?” he asks, and Sam doesn’t want to meet his eyes. 

“I told you.” 

“You got to do better than that. Hey, I’m not trying to pick a fight here. I mean, I really want to understand. But I need to know more. I mean, I deserve to know more.” 

He does. Dean deserves that and so much better. 

Sam tilts the bottle again, watching the booze wash away the blood as it burns him clean, and he takes a sip, as if that’ll do the same thing to the ugly wound in his chest. There isn’t enough whiskey in the world to sanitize his insides. 

He knows he can’t tell the whole truth, but Dean deserves to know more. The question is, where does he start? 

He could start with the moment the dirt closed over the grave. Sam, Bobby had said, so quietly. Sam, don’t. And it was funny, how much Sam had always wanted that; he always wanted a father figure who would ask him to stay. I can’t, he told Bobby, and he lurched away, staggered to the car, started driving.

He can’t tell Dean about the days that followed, because he doesn’t remember much of them. Two, three, maybe four days slipped away while he hid in a shitty motel, drinking, and the memories that remain are disjointed flashes in his mind: the ugly floral duvet under his cheek as he collapsed face-first into the bed, the cold white bathroom tiles and the bruises they left on his knees, a ceiling fan distorted through salt-swollen eyes as he watched it spinning lazily overhead, the taste of bile, the blood on his knuckles, the broken shard of mirror that he picked up and turned over in his hands for longer than he’ll ever admit. 

No. He can’t start there.

“She saved my life,” he says hoarsely, and Dean waits while Sam tries to find the words. 

He still hears John, sometimes: Why are you crying? Be strong. Be brave. Get over yourself. Other people got it a lot worse, y’know. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. 

He’s gotten better at ignoring John’s voice, over the years, but it’s harder to ignore his memories of Dean. Dean blinking back tears, forcing a smile. It’s going to be okay, Sammy. I’m fine, Sammy, don’t worry about me. He’s always wanted to be like his big brother, and his big brother wouldn’t let himself wallow the way Sam had. His big brother would’ve found a way to fight back. 

The crossroads demon had been his only real hope. 

Just take me. It’s a fair trade. 

The worst part was, that no didn’t really surprise him. Of course his life wasn’t worth the same as Dean’s. Of course it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough, to save his brother the way Dean had saved him. 

Sam wasn’t sure who he was without Dean, without a mission, without anything to hold onto. 

He’d gotten in the car and started driving. He thought about heading West, out to the cliffs and curves of Highway One; the guardrail was so flimsy, and the Pacific would be steely-grey and welcoming. He thought about heading East, all the way to Maine; the shoreline was rocky and rough, and the crabs would find his body. He could go to Florida, drive into a swamp, let the muck swallow him slowly. He could go to the Dakotas, drive out into the desert, park there and wait, and the vultures would descend eventually. He wondered if anyone would notice that he was gone. 

He can’t tell Dean that.  

So he doesn’t tell Dean about the directionless days. He starts with the day Ruby found him. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the relief he felt, when he thought Ruby was going to kill him. He doesn’t tell Dean about the cold crush of disappointment in his chest when she stabbed the demon instead. 

He tells Dean about her new body, “100% socially conscious.” He tells Dean about the plan to find Lilith: “I wanted to go right away.” 

Sam had asked, What do you want from me? 

A little patience. And sobriety. 

Sobriety made it harder to sleep, and insomnia made it even harder to remember what was real. He didn’t feel real. He felt like a faded, dull husk of a person, a sunbleached copy of a photograph instead of a breathing human with a heartbeat. Ruby told him to use his strength, but he didn’t have anything left. 

Sam didn’t much care if he died, and some days he wasn’t even sure he was still alive. 

He can’t tell Dean that. 

He sees the way Dean looks at him sometimes. He sees the exhaustion in Dean’s eyes, the worry flickering behind that, and Sam doesn’t want to add to the weight on his big brother’s shoulders. 

Ruby said, Just give it time, Sam. It'll get better. I'm not talking about pulling demons. I know losing Dean was…

I don't want to talk about it. 

The anger tasted ashy in his mouth. It burned, but in a purifying way, like a forest fire clearing the land for new growth. The anger helped him focus. He balled his hands into fists, imagined punching her, imagined that pretty face swollen and bleeding. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about that. 

You know what? Where do you get off slapping me with that greeting-card, time-heals crap? What the hell do you know? I used to be human. And I still remember what it feels like to lose someone. I'm sorry.

He almost did punch her, at that. 

When she kissed him, it was Dean’s voice in the back of his head saying, this is wrong. He shoved her away. 

“I knew it was wrong,” Sam confesses, and he can’t meet Dean’s eyes. “But…” 

He didn’t care, in the moment. It was his brother’s opinion that had always mattered; he always wanted to make Dean proud. But Dean was dead, and Sam had been drifting for so long, and Ruby’s skin was warm and soft and real under his hands.

It was more like a battle than a kiss. It was teeth and claws, ripping each other apart, but every bite and every scratch felt like a reminder that Sam was still alive. 

“Sam?” Dean snaps. “Too much information.” And there it is, there’s the disgust Sam knew was coming. Dean’s lip curls and Sam feels like a child again, clumsy and stupid next to his strong, steady anchor of a big brother. 

The half-truth sits uncomfortably in his throat, and Sam has to work to get it past his lips: “I’m coming clean.” 

There’s something monstrous inside him, something warped and wrong. There’s always been something wrong with him. 

He thinks of the vial in his pocket, the burst of copper on his tongue like a mushroom cloud, the silent dare in Ruby’s big dark eyes and the way she sighs when he slices her open. It burns a little hotter every time he drinks, and he must be charred and black inside by now. 

He hasn’t felt clean for a long time. 

That’s the thing about fire, though; it cleanses, purifies, and maybe he’ll burn up hot enough to take Lilith with him someday. Self-immolation seems inevitable, at this point. His life doesn’t mean much, but maybe his death will. 

“Pretty soon after that,” Sam says, “I put together some signs. Omens. Lilith was in town, and I wanted to strike her first.” Ruby had looked so goddamn concerned, when she realized, and Sam had hated her for it. You don’t want to survive this. This isn't what Dean would've wanted. This isn't what he died for.

“She came after me,” Sam says. “She saved me.” 

He hesitates. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the blood. 

Sam remembers the night after that failed attack. He remembers watching Ruby cut herself for the first time: his stomach roiling and his skin crawling, the blood welling up and beading into shiny pearls of red. He imagined it sliding down his throat and staining his guts that same dark crimson. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the way it sizzled on his lips, crackled and sparked inside him, lit him up in a whole new way. He doesn’t tell Dean about the next demon, the way the black oily smoke poured out all at once, faster than he’d ever seen it leave a human before, and the way his veins sang with the power. 

He doesn’t tell Dean about the too-hot shower afterward, when the fizz was long gone and he scrubbed himself raw trying to get rid of the itch that it left behind. 

He didn’t like the way he felt with Ruby, but at least he felt something again. 

“If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here,” he tells Dean quietly. 

He doesn’t ask, Do you regret dying for me? Was I worth it? 

He’s not sure he could live with the answer. 

.

.

.

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[shemakesmusic-uk]

TRACK BY TRACK BREAKDOWN: Daddy's Country Gold LP by Melissa Carper

Singer-songwriter and upright bassist Melissa Carper has released her new album Daddy's Country Gold today.

Carper’s refreshingly unique style calls to mind greats like Kitty Wells, Billie Holiday, and Loretta Lynn, beautifully conveyed in the grooves of the album’s 12 sparkling gems. Carper enlisted fellow bassist Dennis Crouch (The Time Jumpers) and producer/engineer Andrija Tokic (Alabama Shakes, Margo Price) to co-produce the album and bring her dream to life. Recorded live to tape at Tokic’s analog studio wonderland The Bomb Shelter in Nashville, the album features Crouch (bass), Chris Scruggs (guitar, steel guitar), Jeff Taylor (piano, organ, accordion), Matty Meyer (drums, percussion), Billy Contreras (fiddle), with guest appearances from Brennen Leigh, Sierra Ferrell, and legendary pedal steel maestro Lloyd Green.

Daddy’s Country Gold is a collection of glittering Carper originals of the country, western swing, and jazz variety. From the first notes of album opener 'Makin’Memories,' to the whimsical 'Would You Like To Get Some Goats,' and the heart-wrenching tenderness of album closer 'The Stars Are Aligned,' this lifetime of work, experience, and wanderlust culminates in a beautiful portrait of heartfelt music, written by a road-lovin’ gal who has lived these songs and spent her life playing music for folks that still love the real thing.

We asked Melissa to breakdown Daddy's Country Gold track-by-track to give us more insight into what the songs on the LP are about. Read it below.

Makin' Memories

Most of my songs' inspirations will come just from a beginning phrase or idea and then they will take off from that.  With 'Makin' Memories,' the inspiration came from a conversation I was having with a friend, they were joking about 'Makin' memories and keepin' your memories.'  I thought it was funny and a good song idea. The first line came to me, 'I'm makin' memories I'd like to remember.'  I always have a hard time remembering people's names, especially getting introduced to so many folks at shows and traveling all around, so thus 'Larry and Steve.'  Then, of course, there is the whole idea of not remembering what happened when you have had too much to drink, something I may have done a time or two. This is just a fun, lighthearted song that hopefully makes people chuckle.  I love Frank Sinatra and this song happened to take on a bit of that Sinatra flair.  

I Almost Forgot About You

The idea for 'I Almost Forgot About You' came from a weekend in which I had a very good time and had managed to forget about a love interest that I had been obsessing about. When I got back home that phrase came to me, 'I Almost Forgot About You,' and I realized I had a song there.  I just kind of tied in the various lost loves of my life to come up with the rest. The bridge for this song came later and sort of magically. I primarily write without an instrument in hand and develop the words and melody first and then I sit down and figure out the chords after.  This bridge I am particularly happy with the spaces and the way the phrasing waits. It came to me that way, and in fact, this entire song had a nice easy flow with the way it all came. I like it when that happens, feels like you are getting help from the universe.  

Back When

A lot of my songs are based on my real-life experiences, and with 'Back When,' every single word of that was lived and true. I started writing it a bit after a break up while longing for the relationship I once had with someone, that is--the beginning of the relationship when we were in love and everything was wonderful. It was written with a hopeful desire that things could be as they once were, and though that never happened, I feel like this song does have that hopeful air that maybe 'back when' could happen again, for any relationship that has lost that spark.  

Old Fashioned Gal

'Old Fashioned Gal' was inspired by spending some time in the beautiful country of West Virginia.  I did receive help from a West Virginian on the names of flowers and such.  Before writing it, I had been listening on Sirius radio to a station with old jazz tunes--if I remember correctly--while driving back from a long tour with the Carper Family.   Usually, if I listen to a certain style over and over, the next thing I write will have that influence.  Like I do with most of my songs, I developed the melody and lyrics first in my head and then sat down to find the chords on guitar.  It ended up having a surprising amount of chord changes in the chorus and changing in odd spots rhythmically, but that's what the melody dictated and I like the way it twists and turns and throws you a bit off-balance there in the chorus.  

You're Still My Love

'You're Still My Love' is just a sad love song and written from real-life experience. I had been listening to Jolie Holland before I wrote this one and I think it affected the embellishments in the melody.  Also, I think Patsy Cline came out, probably from listening so much to Patsy in my childhood.  This one wrote itself real quick and I remember camping and sleeping in the back of my van while writing it. 

Would You Like to Get Some Goats?

When I wrote 'Would You Like to Get Some Goats' I had a girlfriend at the time whose dream was to have a goat farm. I had fun with double-entendre and metaphors in this one.  And it kind of likens the commitment of getting goats with the commitment of marriage. I have heard goats are quite a commitment but they sure are cute when they are little babies.  

My Old Chevy Van

'My Old Chevy Van' is an emotional song for me.  I inherited my family's 1991 Chevy Van and had been driving it for six years or so when I moved from Arkansas to Austin, Texas in 2009.  I drove it around Texas for a year or two and then felt like it was time to sell it as maintenance was getting expensive and it got terrible gas mileage. I had lived in the van at various times, having a traveling lifestyle, and then there were all the memories it held from childhood. At the time of writing the song, both my mom and dad had already passed on. I had no idea when I sold this van how sad I would be because it had such a connection to them. I still wish I had not sold it and just kept it around as a guest house. The seats in back folded out to be a bed and it was quite comfortable to ride in with the luxury bucket seats. I named her 'Barbie' because the pink and purple paint job reminded me of my Barbie van I had growing up. I had been listening to Hazel Dickens a bunch when I wrote 'My Old Chevy Van' and I feel that was influential. This song needed a bridge and my old bandmate, Jan Bell (who knew Barbie), helped me find some lyrical ideas that fit just perfectly for the bridge.  

Arkansas Hills

I wrote 'Arkansas Hills' when I was driving back from a Christmas trip to Wisconsin. I started writing it around St. Louis and I did not have a smartphone to give me directions. I had probably scribbled some directions down or was looking at a map and I remember telling myself out loud a few times, so I would remember the highways, '44 West out of St. Louis to 65 South,' and then I thought to myself well that's a nice start to a traveling song. So I started writing it while I was driving down the road, and had it pretty much finished by the time I was pulling into 'my little log cabin' in Arkansas--except I didn't really live in a log cabin, but it sounds good in the song.  Donna Farar of Mountain View, Arkansas helped me write a fourth verse, which I felt the song needed.  Donna wrote all the lyrics to Willie's big hit 'The Last Thing I Needed the First Thing This Morning' and she actually lives in the middle of the woods in Arkansas in a cabin, so I felt that enlisting her help was a perfect choice.  

It's Better if You Never Know

'It's Better if You Never Know' is one of my more recent songs and it was inspired simply by a conversation with songwriters in Nashville at a table in a bar. Once I had moved to Nashville and began co-writing with some folks, I realized you can get a song idea at almost anytime if you are paying attention, just listening to a good phrase someone might say. In this instance, someone said 'It's Better if You Never Know' and someone else said that sounds like a good song. I started trying to write it the next day. I'm getting better at writing songs that don't necessarily have a link to me personally, however, I do believe when a song has that personal link it can have an extra emotional feeling that is conveyed to the listener.  

I'm Musing You

'I'm Musing You' came about while I was driving down the road on a road trip. I hadn't written a song in a while and was thinking about how I have often used the same muse or muses to create a song, by thinking back on old times. I thought to myself 'I need a new muse, I need to stop delving back into these old times.' And there was the song.  

Many Moons Ago

With 'Many Moons Ago,' a musician friend of mine used that phrase, many moons ago, and I thought wow I like that, people don't use that phrase much anymore, so I decided to write a song with the phrase. I had been listening to a Delmore Brothers tape over and over in my truck and, though I don't even remember the specific song, I know that something from that tape inspired the melody to 'Many Moons Ago.' Often times I will not know what I am copying or if I am copying something, but there is just something present in my consciousness that brings about a certain style or melody. This song doesn't have many lyrics, but I like the simple message it conveys that time does heal and growth occurs and you move on even when you feel you are dealing with something you can never get over.

The Stars Are Aligned

'The Stars Are Aligned' just came from the romantic feeling of a new relationship with a soulmate you have been waiting for. It flowed out just naturally from that first phrase, the 'Stars Are Aligned.' I love the way this one lends itself to a string section in the background, almost Disney princess-like, and I am so pleased with the lovely string parts on this recording. The string parts were written by my girlfriend and first-class fiddler, Rebecca Patek.

Photo credit: Aisha Golliher