#and justify the fact he puts so much extra seasoning on food despite the fact we cooked the recipe a certain way for a reason.

[spaceshipkat]

.

[starryrogue]

So some people said they wanted my extended Blathers/Tom Nook story. 

I haven't written anything like this in years. But it was a nice exercise.(its pretty rough)

So blow the cut an Idea Blather/Tom Nook, childhood friends to???

When they were boys they would stay up into the night dreaming of the opportunities of city life. The success and sophistication. The chance to grow where the same festivals happened season after season, where weeds popped up more than people. Tom Nook knew he could get out here no sweat. He’d been hacking as long as he could remember. Taking food from the unsuspecting and odd jobs where he could just to get by. Blathers never worried about that with his family but he never seemed to worry about what was in front of him. He was either focused on the tiniest of details on a hermit crab or the vastness of history behind, never on how to act on day to day. It was the most annoying quality to someone who used all his energy to survive and to plan, but it was also the most admiring. Tom could give him something as simple as an interesting rock and it was like giving his friend the universe. He would sit back and lose himself in the facts and figures that would gush out after and pretend he could be part of that universe forever. 

The one thing Blathers could never get right was astronomy, but when they lay in his back yard, Tom could weave stories in the spaces between. Quick thinking and connections. He’d always been envious of that cleverness. But what did it matter when it belonged to someone so close. He could sit back and learn about how Tom saw the world too. The knowledge way just as valuable 

Tom knew he couldn’t bear to stay in the town any longer and soon left. He was sure Blather’s who saw entire worlds in everyday life could be fine, even happy despite being. For someone as detailed oriented as Blather’s it wasn’t hard to spot when a large absence appears where your best friend used to be.

Life with Redd was exciting. It was everything Tom Nook thought he wanted. Making big money. Scamming fools for profit. Succeeding in the big city. Parties and Clubs and Fun. Art heists, back alley dealings, con after scam after ruse and bells…lots and lots of bells... And the charming devil may care fox he could spend the thrills of thievery and the late nights of drinking and partying with. A rush of a man who would help him with any of his desires in life, form the finical, to the late night personal. After a youth in poverty in a small backwater town, the money was what mattered.

Not for everyone. Blathers who prized intellect over success. Who valued passion, over profit. Who spent all night studying everything from history to entomology (the stuff of nightmares, but at least it kept him awake into the early hours). Knowledge and experience has value that bells couldn’t buy. Teaching a little sister the stars. Helping his friend start a small coffee shop. Applying over and over for universities, and grants and materials. And despite the rejection, and there were many, the study of life itself could outweigh any small inconveniences  

When Tom ever needed to get away from the hustle and bustle, or away from an unsatisfied “customer” he would always make a point to drop in on old friends. And he knew just who would want to hear his storied and who he could turn to for peace of mind. Hand him a gift and let the words wash over you and it will be like you never left. However when he went to visit Blather he could only see everything he’d run away from. The cramped apartment he shared with his sister, 2 cots separated by a wall of shared book. His closet of an office acted as a second wardrobe and workspace and sometimes a bedroom after late nights of research. The underfunded museum’s café was more often his kitchen than not, not that the barista minded the company or the small impromptu lectures on archelogy and anthropology. 

Tom thought Blathers deserved so much better. Who could live like this? Scraping by in a town whose population dwindled each year, where the donations had stopped coming in. Blathers was so smart and clever, he could be working anywhere he wanted. why stay here? He hoped his gift of a Wistful Painting would be a consolation and an invitation. A glimpse at the wealth he could have. He deserved the world. A proper library instead of a stack of second hand torn textbooks. Proper equipment and an assistant to take care of those nasty bugs, to have the bags disappear from under his deep intelligent eyes. To rest, to be rich, to be happy. 

The night before he was set to return to the city, Blather was waiting in his office by his request. It was hard to move between the clutter, the extra person and the painting.  This had been a hard one to acquire and the reason behind his latest trip from the city. The danger even leading him to flee from his safe house and split with Redd, taking his prize to safest place he knew, where no one would look and with the person he trusted most. 

Pressed up next to his friend, he watched closely for the excitement and happiness upon the opening of his gift. And while it started with the bright eyes excitement Tom had grown to admire, it swiftly shifted to confusion, to realization, to the kind of sweating fidgeting horror as if Blathers was face to face with a tarantula. 

What was supposed to be a sweet moment, a gift for a dear friend turned into an interrogation. “Where did you get this? It’s been all over the news?!” A pause and a conclusion drawn “Was it you?” More an accusation than a question.  Tom tried to justify himself, not even getting to invite Blathers into his world of wealth while on the defensive. It became clear he had not brought a prize to share, but crossed a line. He couldn’t lie to the face of his most honest friend admitting to what he had done to steal and take, how great it was to have wealth and room to grow and to be far away from this dying village in the middle of nowhere. 

Those large eyes studied him as if he were an ant, a mix of fear and curiosity instead of the enthusiastic awe tom had hoped for. Blather was unable to look away at this puzzle he needed to solvee. His eyes shifted back to the stolen goods where he found another curiosity more interesting than his dear friend turned thief.

“This isn’t even the real one.” 

“…What?”

“Does that look like a Pearl Earring to you?”

It wasn’t possible. He had removed it from the gallery wall himself. Had it stashed with him for the last week under his old bed in his childhood home (more like a shack) and no one here was bold enough to leave town, let alone steal. Only one other person knew where the painting was. Redd

He left that night, leaving Blathers with the fake painting and unanswered questions. Back at the safe house, it was clear he lost more than one painting. The place had been emptied out. Every fake watch and ID, the tools of the trade but also the things that had made this a home. The furniture gone, the silverware filched, each poster and cushion and every scrap of food disappeared. All that was left was his stripped bed, half of his clothes, a half empty bell bag and a single gingko leaf resting on the bare mattress. 

The Museum had long since closed. Paintings had been moved or sold to private bidders, the specimens had been relocated. The fossils had been the most painful. It had taken so long to finish the exhibit and it had only taken a week to take it all down. Brewster had helped him make ends meet when he wasn’t subbing a class. Blathers tried to make learning fun, but students weren’t like the patrons who had volunteered to learn. The kids would just sit and not even pretend to listen over their worksheets. Between looking for a more permanent job and the long hours at the café, there had been no time to further his studies. On the upside, this was the most sleep he had gotten in years, but it was never restful. Celeste had left for college and now grad school and so he had more space to spread out, but it just felt empty even with the piles of unread books filling the leftover space.  Behind the stacks propped on the wall, the girl with the …Star earing stared at him. He hadn’t been able to let it go but didn’t want such an insult to art looming over his home. 

Flipping through his mail of would-be bookmarks and bills, a hand written letter. His name scribbled on the top by childish hand. An invitation and brochure? The note offered him a spot as curator and surveyor of an island, a chance to run a museum of his own on a tropical get away! This was too good to be true but it made his heart flutter none the less. A place to put his specific degree and interest to the test. The whole letter smattered with personal details about his life only ignited his curiosity. Signed at the bottom T&t&t N. The enigmatic initials only another mystery to be solved then he turned to the more professional looking brochure, for a tropical getaway. A beautiful view stamped with a name that he thought he’d buried behind, but like the portrait squirreled away behind his book, he knew it was always there  

What a beautiful scam. A promise at a new start. A blank slate for those who could help build a new community. A low price in exchange for free labor? On the back, an older version of a thief, who looked as if he’d gotten away and grown fat and happy. No doubt at someone’s expense... He almost dismissed the whole thing out of hand but looking further down showed two mini versions of himself on either side. Family? Children? And further still surrounded by a smattering of smiling faces, all looking a little burnt, and a smidge filthy, with dirt under their nails and wrinkles in their clothes, but beaming ear to ear. The mark of honest fulfilling work. 

His buzzing phone pulled him out of his curiosity. 

“Hello, who may I ask is calling?”

A boy’s well practiced voice

“Hello Mr. Blather sir..sir. We are calling on behalf of Nook Inc…Inc”

A brochure. A promise of a new life. A call. A promise at a fresh start. There are no such thing but what did blathers have left to lose. At the very least it would be a nice vacation with a chance to study the local wildlife. And maybe fill that absence that always lingered in his collection of knowledge. “What happened to him?”

When he arrived, Tom saw, under years of stress, and the bags under his eyes heavier than the ones in his hands, an old friend and a chance to make amends. Blathers could see the work a former thief who was clearly trying in to right wrongs. That was clear as the pilot saluted as he left the vigor that those twins to his bag  A tent has been set up with all his equipment, right next to the amenities provided by resident services. 

As Blathers unpacked, the sun sunk low over the horizon. The cool night air breeze alerting him to someone entering. Tom, with two mason jars full of something tart with cherries and something strong to help with the vacation. A small toast, to fresh starts and new arrivals. Blathers no longer saw the thief he had given up on but a leader and a friend, who needed forgiveness. More from himself than from his friend. If he was being honest, Blather’s had stayed mad b/c it made the distance easier to bear if he could justify it. But as he was handed another drink and single. No a few. No a dozen! Specimens including a fossil.  He knew his friend has come home. 

They sat side by side on the brand new cot (only the best for the new arrival). Blather’s went on and on about each cage and tank, Tom nook felt the same wave wash over him in the pouring of word’s he hadn’t heard in years. And with each drop of knowledge that came, more of that anger leaked out of Blathers. Before he knew it he was ready to sleep, the earliest he’d felt in a while, it couldn’t be past midnight, but travel and drink and forgiveness can really where a person out. What was more pressing was the warm mass pressed into his shoulder. Tom had drifted off somewhere between the sea angel and the squid. He probably should wake him up, but resident services was all the way a few yards over, and besides, it had been years since they slept side by side under the stars. Before closing his tent for the night, he looked up at a new sky and couldn’t recognize the consolations. It was ok, they could make some up together tomorrow.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

season of giving

Please forgive the shitty title and the fact I’m posting Christmas fics in the middle of November. Also on ao3!

Yet another seemingly endless week of grueling Quirk training and intense practice rescue missions meant that when the long weekend before Christmas rolled around Kirishima felt totally justified in lounging on the common room couch all day with no intention of doing anything else.

Armed with a ten foot long charger cable courtesy of his bro Kaminari, his phone (with its new custom ordered Crimson Riot case), and a family size bag of barbecue potato chips, Kirishima was set for the day. He didn't plan on moving from his spot unless absolutely necessary.

Which translated into him only getting up to either use the bathroom or grab some more food from the kitchen, usually pizza rolls, cheese puffs, and cheddar popcorn. He totally had his priorities in order.

With Christmas only a few days away, Kirishima figured he was allowed to let himself relax for a day or two before launching headfirst back into training once winter break was over. Besides, with how their first year at UA had gone so far, they all deserved a tropical vacation.

For a month. At least. Complete with complimentary room service and free Wi-Fi.

But for now, lying on the couch while checking his social media and occasionally texting back and forth with Tetsutetsu would have to do. Even if Iida had scolded him for having his feet on the couch, vehemently claiming that it wasn't proper etiquette.

But it wasn't like it was bothering anyone. Kirishima was the only one in the common room, after all.

Most of the class had gone out for the day, taking the rare opportunity the long weekend provided to leave campus (with one of the teachers chaperoning, of course) for a day out.

It had mostly been Ashido's idea, encouraged by Uraraka and Hagakure. She had loudly bemoaned the lack of anything to do at breakfast, complaining about her boredom into her bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

Hagakure had enthusiastically agreed. Sighing into her morning cup of hibiscus tea, she had claimed they should all do something together as a class.

It was Uraraka who had taken the initiative to actually do something about it. Wheeling around to point at a startled Iida, still in his slippers and pajamas, Uraraka had cheerfully announced that if the class representative approved it, the teachers would have to let them.

A vigorous debate had erupted at that; people discussing where they should go and what they should do, how they would craft a convincing argument for the principal, how they could actually convince Iida to go along with it. It had taken most of the morning but eventually, everything had been sorted out.

Now, Kirishima was alone in the common room, almost the entire class opting to go on the little day trip to lunch and karaoke with Ectoplasm. According to rumor, their math teacher was amazing at singing both the main and backing vocals simultaneously.

Aside from Kirishima, only a small handful of students had turned down the invitation to go on the trip, remaining on campus.

Koda, shy as ever despite his many, valiant attempts to become more assertive and outspoken, had decided to hang back to avoid participating in any potentially embarrassing karaoke performances. Instead, he was studying in his room while spending some quality time with his pet bunny.

Kirishima could sympathize. He might be manly as hell but the thought of getting up on stage in front of a crowd, even one made up of his friends, and singing sent an all too familiar pulse of anxiety through him.

Shoji had opted to remain on campus to do his usual routine of jogging around campus for a few hours before meeting up with some guys from Class B and the General Studies class to work out in one of the private gyms. His work ethic was insane.

Kirishima couldn't help but respect it. It was totally manly.

Tokoyami, too, had decided to stay on campus rather than go out with the rest of class. Shrugging when invited, he had admitted that he was still rather tired and was going to spend the day catching up on his sleep.

Predictably, Bakugo had turned down the offer to go with the others. When they had asked him if he wanted to go with them, he had just sneered and told them all to piss off and leave him the hell alone.

Typical Bakugo. Leave it to him to still be his usual grumpy self even with Christmas looming on the horizon.

Kirishima was the only other one who had decided not to go with the others, shocking the entire class with his decision. But he had his reasons.

Because as fun as karaoke with his friends sounded, he just wanted to unwind and relax a little bit. As outgoing as he could be, sometimes he just needed some good old peace and quiet, some time to himself to recharge.

And that meant sprawling out on the couch on a nest of comfy throw pillows and cozy blankets that he had carefully arranged by hand while looking at memes and catching up on his Netflix 'to watch' list, his attention bouncing back and forth between the TV and his cell phone.

He was a master of multitasking. Even if that meant he missed a key plot point or two in favor of sending Kaminari any and all memes involving Pikachu.

He was on his second movie of the afternoon after rewatching an old All Might flick. It was some highly-acclaimed, five star rated teen comedy about the trials and tribulations of attending a typical high school and all the shenanigans involved in dating.

He was about halfway into the movie (the two leads had finally started dating) when he heard Bakugo come downstairs.

He didn't even have to look up to know who it was. He could tell just by the loud, heavy stomping down the staircase that it was the blond. Even his footsteps were angry.

It was beyond ridiculous (who the hell had angry footsteps?) but Kirishima couldn't help but smile. It was just so Bakugo.

"Hey, man!" Kirishima greeted automatically without bothering to sit up, too busy typing a message to Tetsutetsu on his phone, answering his friend's question about what he was doing.

Apparently, Class B had come up with the same idea as Class A and decided to go out for the day, too. According to Tetsutetsu, Vlad King was taking them out to an arcade and a movie.

Of course, that jerk Monoma had taken credit for coming up with the idea. Though Tetsutetsu was very adamant that Kendo was, in fact, the one who'd had the stroke of genius.

"The fuck are you still doing here?" Bakugo grunted in response as he made his way to the kitchen, socked feet loud against the tile floor. "Figured you'd be out with the rest of the extras."

"Hey!" Kirishima barked, sitting up sharply to look at Bakugo who had his head buried in the fridge. Kirishima pouted at the back of Bakugo's head, pointing out, "I'm not an extra! You know my name, even if you barely use it!"

When Bakugo just grumbled something unintelligible and vaguely insulting under his breath, Kirishima shrugged and laid back down in his little nest of pillows and blankets. Whatever.

It wasn't like he expected Bakugo to actually admit anything. That wasn't Bakugo's way.

Which put a bit of a downer on their burgeoning relationship since, as of a month ago, they were officially dating. Officially as in they occasionally had dinner alone together in Bakugo's dorm room and had kissed exactly four times.

That totally qualified as dating, right?

Admittedly, Kirishima wasn't totally sure but private dinners and kissing sure sounded like dating to him. Even if Bakugo refused to give a straight answer whenever he asked if they were in fact dating.

He would roll his eyes and snort, quickly changing the (usually to something else he knew Kirishima was passionate about) and talk in circles until Kirishima completely forgot what he had asked in the first place. Sometimes it really sucked to have such a smart maybe-boyfriend.

Kirishima was too lost in his thoughts about the potential existence of his romantic relationship with Bakugo that he didn't even notice said blond hurry back upstairs before returning a few minutes later, mouth set in a harsh line. Expression still stormy, he unceremoniously tossed something into Kirishima's lap.

Caught off guard, Kirishima immediately went on high alert, bracing himself for an attack. Sitting up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, his eyes quickly scanned the room, fruitlessly searching for any immediate threats to either himself or Bakugo.

Eventually, after making sure there was no villain about to attack, his eyes finally drifted to what Bakugo had thrown at him. To his immense shock, it was a present.

It was a relatively small box, only around five by six inches, wrapped in pristine white wrapping paper so pale it looked like a sheet of freshly fallen snow. A length of shiny red ribbon was curled around the middle of the box, ends tied together in an intricate bow.

It looked like something out of a sappy Christmas movie, bright and shiny and perfect. It was so flawless, attention paid to every detail of the wrapping, that it couldn't have possibly come from anyone other than Bakugo.

The same Bakugo who was standing by the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face. Still wary, Kirishima glanced between Bakugo and the present in his lap.

Embarrassingly slow, Kirishima carefully put it together in his head. Looking up at Bakugo, he smiled widely and hazarded, "You got me something?"

Bakugo just rolled his eyes and snapped, "Just open the damn present."

Kirishima didn't need to be told twice. Sitting up straighter, he eagerly untied the pretty bow Bakugo had made, feeling somewhat guilty about messing up what had clearly taken quite a bit of effort.

But his excitement outweighed his bit of guilt and he quickly discarded the red ribbon, setting it aside on his lap. The white wrapping paper was much easier to get through; all it took was a hardened fingertip dragged down one side of the wrapped box and the wrapping paper fell open like a book to a reader's favorite page.

Bakugo impatiently tapped his foot as he waited for Kirishima to continue opening the small cardboard box he had uncovered. Kirishima, never one to disappoint, immediately popped the lid off the box, reaching inside to sort through a sheet of tissue paper to find his gift.

Had anyone else been watching, the reveal would have been rather anticlimactic but not to Kirishima.

Eyes wide as saucers, Kirishima gaped down at the small, unassuming object in the box. It was a movie ticket.

Bright red with gold embossed lettering announcing the name of the movie theater, it was a movie ticket to the new Crimson Riot movie that had only just released its first trailer less than two weeks ago. The Crimson Riot movie that Kirishima had been waiting for his whole life.

"Dude!" Kirishima gasped, looking up at Bakugo with a mix of awe and disbelief. "You got tickets to the Crimson Riot movie?! How the hell did you manage that?! They don't even have a release date yet!"

Bakugo just shrugged. "My parents worked with the costume department for the movie."

"What?!" Kirishima yelped, eyes somehow widening even further. "That's so awesome! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't allowed to," Bakugo explained with a negligible shrug. "My parents had to sign some bullshit non-disclosure agreement thing. But the trailer's out now so it's whatever."

Kirishima just smiled, reaching back into the box again. He felt around the bottom for a moment, frowning to himself before looking back up at Bakugo. "Hey, where's your ticket?"

"What're you talking about?" Bakugo asked, looking and sounding genuinely confused.

Swinging his legs over the side of the couch to turn and face Bakugo fully, Kirishima smiled softly. "Yeah, dude, if I'm going, I wanna go with you!"

A faint pink blush blossomed over Bakugo's cheeks, dyeing the tips of his ears a light red. Ducking his head, he scratched the back of his neck and grumbled, "Alright. I'll see if they can get one for me."

Smiling, Kirishima placed the ticket back into the box and set it on the side table, shoving the ripped wrapping paper off his lap to stand up. Curling his arms around Bakugo's waist, he softly thanked him, "Thank you, man. It means a lot."

Bakugo just gave a short nod, face blushing a darker shade of pink. Kirishima's heart swelled in his chest, a fitting facsimile of the Grinch.

Maybe Bakugo really was his boyfriend, Kirishima thought as he leaned in to press his lips to Bakugo's. After all, they had kissed exactly four times.

Five times. Six times. Seven. Eight. Nine...

[eidetective]

a long list of Will Facts:

his favorite book is ravelstein by saul bellows. at any given time there’s a good chance he’s a chapter or two into trying and failing to find the time to properly reread it.

he reads poetry more often than novels in general. robert frost is his favorite, but he reads plenty others. as his verbal memory is as good as his visual memory, he also has a knack for memorizing poems, but no real talent for sounding engaging while reading them.

he also tried to write poetry as a young man, occasionally to impress romantic interests. they were bad. they were really bad.

when he does read prose for entertainment, it’s often either nonfiction books that interest him (with a slant toward true crime) or thrillers. he actually finds it easier to get away from what he does for a living by reading fictionalized—or so distant from him that it doesn’t feel real—stories about it than trying to read about normal people. usually. ravelstein’s still his favorite despite this.

he hunts when it’s the season for it, but only for food and never for sport, or even relaxation. he’s vaguely defensive about telling people this. especially after hobbs. after hobbs he particularly doesn’t like justifying it with the fact that he only kills deer to eat them.

he cooks all his dogs’ food from scratch, but doesn’t often cook anything complicated for himself. he’s not bad by any means, he’s just more likely to put in the effort for the dogs than for himself.

speaking of dogs, he has “does the dog die” bookmarked on his laptop and uses it whenever he decides to watch a movie. he’s more affected by fictional animal death than real animal death. after how many dogs he’s taken in, some old or sick or injured, he’s had no choice but to get desensitized in real life enough to shake it off. movies get to him more for some reason.

and, regarding movies, his favorite movie is the shining. his tastes there slant similarly to his books. action, crime, horror. though he’s perpetually that guy complaining about crime scene procedure and such in crime movies.

will, literally an exemplar of the borderline psychic savant profiler trope: (bitches about the borderline psychic savant profiler trope)

he owns like 10 DVDs at most and only gets really basic cable so if he is watching something it’s probably just whatever’s on pay-per-view.

he doesn’t own an ipod or keep music on his phone. old man at heart that he is, he either listens to vinyl on his record player or to the radio.

he mostly listens to rock from anywhere from the 60s to the 80s, though he’ll also listen to classical or jazz on the radio if he’s trying to focus. he finds music with lyrics distracting when he’s trying to read or write something. he likes classical but his taste is extremely basic.

he has a great memory for lyrics and a good ear, but a very mediocre singing voice. he can carry a tune, but no one really wants him to.

his piano came with the house. he paid the owners 50 bucks for it since they really didn’t want to bother moving it, and he’s taught himself how to play his extremely basic classical favorites decently. the piano’s perpetually out of tune, though.

insect activity as indicator of time of death is his only monograph that’s the standard one taught from in the FBI academy, but he’s published more than a dozen monographs and plenty of papers on forensics and criminal psychology.

...he’s seriously considered going back to school largely because having to correct people when they wrongfully assume he has a doctorate is embarrassing. chilton, however, absolutely knew he didn’t have a doctorate and called him “dr. graham” anyway just to force him to correct him.

after everything with hannibal he suddenly has a lot more journals clamoring to publish his work. freak value and all. when hannibal’s publishing from the BSHCI will gets a lot of offers for them to co-author articles together, which he never responds to.

when it does come to teaching, he’s an infamous hardass. he’s the harshest marker in the academy, he never gives extensions, and he rarely asks for class participation unless it’s meant to humble his trainees a la “does anyone see the clue.” with the exception of a few students who get good marks and insist he’s “strict but fair” standard opinion of him is usually somewhere between “fear and respect” and “FUCK that guy.”

a lot of trainees still have the hots for him though. fuck professor graham but fuck professor graham, ya know.

he doesn’t give “extra credit” any more than he gives extensions, though not for lack of trainees trying.

alana reads through all his lecture notes for him after he does his first pass at them, because they tend to come out a lot less coherent than he thinks they are when he writes them, especially if he’s lecturing on a specific case he really got in the headspace of.

alana: (circles will’s fifteenth complex metaphor in red pen and writes a note saying “no one knows what this means”)

he repays her by having a hot cup of coffee waiting for her the mornings she’s guest lecturing, whenever it’s humanly possible for him to do this, even if he technically doesn’t have to be at quantico until after her.

which is pretty easy for him comparatively because he’s a morning person and, before encephalitis and lots of overnight flights to crime scenes started screwing with his schedule, pretty much always got up by 7 AM at the latest.

however, he’s very good at acting like a disgruntled not-morning person who isn’t human until it’s after 11 and he’s had four cups of coffee, because that’s a socially acceptable reason to be pissed off and refuse to talk to anyone in the mornings and he’s not passing that up.

he has a lot of preserved insect specimens from his forensic entomology research still around his house, mostly on the walls in his home office (with more in boxes.)

he has a lot of everything around his house, really, he’s terrible at throwing things away after a childhood spent moving from place to place and not being able to keep much for himself. his life is pretty confined to the ground floor of his house, while much of the upstairs is basically used as storage. there’s boxes up there he hasn’t unpacked since he moved to virginia.

he sleeps in the living room so he can hear anyone driving up outside. he has things laid out that he can jump out of bed and grab his shotgun en route to the door at a moment’s notice.

[snake-house]

Sam Winchester X Male!Short!Reader - remember me.

title: remember me. 

Sam Winchester X Male! Short! Reader warnings: light language, sexual themes, [smut scene yo] he/him pronouns used for reader i have a gender neutral name, so i just put [name] and not [male name] fyi ***not really set during a specific season/episode :/ ***also kinda long ___

"Hey [Name] will you go get the door for me? I'm pretty sure it's Sam and Dean." Bobby said from behind his desk. He was on the phone with Rufus, blabbering about something. "Of course." You answered as you left the room to go do exactly as he asked. Without checking to see who it was you opened the door. Your eyes met two plaid shirts, and then as they moved up, they met a pair of hazel and green eyes. "I assume you must be Sam and Dean from what Bobby has told me about you two," You smile kindly at the two, stepping to the side to let them in, "He said you guys would be coming by, so come on in." The brothers exchanged a look before cautiously walking into the home, eyeing you, "And who are you?" It was the taller one that spoke up. Your smile never faltered, you closed the door before you answered their question and led them to where Bobby was, "I'm [Name], nice to meet you." "Ok, [Name], what are you doing here and why do you seem familiarized with the place?" Now it was Dean's turn to question you. Thankfully you walked into the library where Bobby sat now off the phone, and obviously heard the questioning because he took it upon himself to answer, "Be nice boys, that's my nephew." Both Dean and Sam's eyes shoot to where you stood in the door way of the kitchen. You stick your tongue out childishly at the two, knowing they thought you were suspicious. "Your nephew? But you don't have any siblings?" Dean bluntly denied your relationship despite Bobby's words. The older man just sighed, "I'm aware, but my wife had a brother." Oh, there it was. "That means he is in fact my nephew." "Yep! That's me." You beamed, promptly turning around to go back and attend the meal you were previously making for you and Bobby, and now Sam and Dean, thankfully you always prepared extra. "Are you guys cool with tacos?" Your question was completely ignored, which you just assumed meant 'yes [Name], we would love tacos' and rolled with it. "How come you've never mentioned him before?" Sam asked. "There hasn't been any time that justified me saying anything, plus he's not the hunting type and doesn't really like to tangle with the business." Bobby easily explained. "Oh, well that makes sense," Sam nodded, sitting down on the couch, Dean following. There was a heavy pause in the air. Bobby was flipping through some papers on his desk, but fully aware of what was going on. Sam was watching you flitter around the kitchen from where he sat on the couch. You had obviously peaked his interested for some reason. "How old is he?" Sam asked, his voice was lowered like he didn't want you to hear, which you couldn't, "He looks so young." Bobby's thoughts were proven right, Sam was in fact interested in you, "I think he's recently turned 27." "No way," Dean blurted, "He looks like he could still be in high school." Sam stared at your back in disbelief, there was no way you could be old enough to drink, let alone be 27. Just then, you turned around, and surprised to meet Sam's eyes catching him staring at you and darted your eyes away. Instantly your face heated up, but still walked back into the library with a plate of tacos. "Heeeeeeeey," You drew out the word from embarrassment, "Tacos are ready if you guys are hungry." you walked up to Bobby and placed the plate in front of him, "I made you a plate, because I know for a fact you didn't eat last night or this morning, so I'm going to make sure you eat." You said with a smile, hands on your hips like you meant business. The brothers stood up at your words, both not realizing how hungry they were before you said anything. Sam caught what you said to Bobby and smiled to himself, he was now gazing at the floor, a tad bit embarrassed as well, "Uh, thanks [Name]." You glanced at him and the older Winchester, "You are very welcome, help yourselves, I already made myself a plate so, have at it." Dean must have no longer saw you as a threat because he made a b-line towards the food without a seconds thought. Sam followed, only after slight hesitation. You were right behind the boys to grab your plate and go sit in the library to watch Bobby work. It was true, the hunting scene wasn't for you, even when Bobby first introduced you to it after you begged him what all his books were about, but it merely fascinated you. You never really wished to face any of that stuff, you just liked reading all of those books, and occasionally helping your uncle with his research. You grabbed your plate and headed out of the kitchen once more blissfully unaware of the younger Winchester watching you out of the corner of his eyes. "What did Rufus talk to you about?" You leaned against the desk as you stuffed your mouth full of taco after you asked. "I just helped the boys out with their last hunt," You knew he meant the boys who were filling their faces with your tacos, moaning about how good they were which made you snicker, "and now he wants us to go after something else, we can never catch a break." The man rubbed his temples before looking over at you. You gave him a pointed look and motioned towards his food. "I know I know, I'll eat. You're worse dotting on me than my mom when I was a kid." You smiled at his words. "Well, someone has to make sure you take care of yourself." The fondness in your words made Bobby smile. "I know," He glanced to the brother in the kitchen, they were engaged in some conversation he couldn't hear, "Why don't you go get to know them, I'd like you to do something for yourself and make some friends, even acquaintances," You rolled your eyes and groaned at his words, making a soft laugh escaped him, "What? You never get out of the house." "I have you and you're my favorite person to be around, and my parents, and my [type of pet] at home. I'm all set!" You chimed. "We don't count, plus I'm an old man." You sighed over dramatically before you made your way into the kitchen. The two immediately stopped talking when you walked in which made your stomach turn in the wrong way. But it was false alarm, "[Name], these tacos are so good, where did you learn to cook like this?" Dean begged as you approached. A smile lifted your lips, "Thank you, uh, I actually went to culinary school." You placed your half-eaten plate on the counter. "Culinary school?" Sam interjected, "What do you do now?" "Well, besides the days I come over to help Bobby gather information, I'm a personal chef." You knew he was going to ask how that worked so you went into explaining that, "So basically I have my own website and what-not and people can hire me for a weekend or a night and I cook for them. Simple as that. In simple terms, I'm a rent-a-chef." "That must take dedication." "And your schooling totally paid off." Dean added as he started making his fourth taco. You laughed and nodded to both of their comments, "Well, I love cooking, so I'm glad to be doing what I do." After that, the three of you fell easily into conversation, which was a nice change. Bobby was happy to see the sight. -- At some point you guys migrated from the kitchen to the library where you all could sit comfortably. You inquired about some of their hunts, curious about what exactly hunters did, Bobby gave little insight to the subject which you were fine with. They talked about the gist of the 'job'. Salt and burns, exorcisms, you were impressed to learn Sam was practically fluent in Latin. They also were curious about you, wanting to know what kind of life you grew up in and so on. And then they asked the question. "So [Name], I hope you don't mind me asking but," It was Dean speaking up, "how tall are you exactly?" You weren't completely sensitive about the subject, it was just that that somehow it was always brought up when you tried to socialize. You liked the brothers though, so you didn't let it upset you too much, "I'll have you know I am the healthy average height of 5 foot 5 inches, thank you very much." Sam tried to cover his laughing with a coughing fit, "Average for who? The average American female maybe, but not a guy." You scoffed, not completely offended and slightly shocked he would say that, and crossed your arms, "Last time I checked, I didn't have a vagina, but even if I did I am perfectly fine with this height." "You mean with your lack of height." Sam countered with a small smirk. Your mouth hung open with amused shock, "You're a jerk." Was all you replied with. Dean looked amused at the two of you, it was like his little brother was flirting with you, and it was a sight to see. "I'm a jerk that's a foot taller than you, even Castiel would even be taller than you and he's shorter than the two of us." Sam pointed out, your face was heating up with anger and embarrassment. You didn't know who this Castiel person was but this statement even made Dean short out a laugh and it embarrassed you. You huffed and turned away from Sam's taunting green-hazel eyes to stare at the bookshelves, "Ha. Ha. I don't who 'Castiel' is, but I don't like being compared to him." You stood up, "And now I need to start preparing for dinner, so if you'll excuse me boys." They watched you leave the room and start over with your routine of the kitchen. And Dean turned to his brother with a knowing look on his face. "What?" "Oh you know what Sammy." Dean's smirk was getting wider with ever word. A dust of pink lifted to the younger one's cheeks as his eyes darted away for a moment before returning to try to look less suspicious, "No I don't know what." "Yes you do," Dean lowered his voice, "You were so flirting Sammy, so what's up. Do you have a thing for guys too?" Sam gave him an offended look, "I was not flirting." "You totally were, and you didn't answer my question." Sam rolled his eyes with a huff. "I'm going to keep pestering you until you answer me Sammy." There was an underlying threat in Dean's words. After a long pause, Sam gave, "Well, I don't know if I'm into guys, but I guess I'm into him." His voice was quieter than normal, making Dean know he was being sincere, "He's connected to what we do, he knows that we've killed people and the crazy things we do that are a normal occurrence for us, yet he's so normal? I don't know what I feel." He trailed off, rubbing his neck. Dean nodded to his brother's words, "I get it, don't sweat it. You'll figure it out." The two looked up when you entered the room, holding out two beers for them with a ghost of a smile on your lips, "Here's a peace offering, in hopes that you'll stop teasing me about my height. I may look like a kid but I wish to not be treated as such." A laugh came from Sam and Dean as they took the beers. "It's a truce then." Sam said with a broad smile. Dean nodded in agreement, "Oh yeah by the way [Name], do you have a girlfriend?" Dean glanced at his brother who stiffened at his words, "Or boyfriend?" He added. You felt hot at his words, not expecting the question, "Uh, no and no, why do you want to know anyways?" "Just curious, you're a great guy so I wanted to know if you had someone special in your life." Dean took a sip from his beer indifferent to his own words. You nodded, "Oh, well I don't." You said softly before looking at Sam briefly before adding, "Plus being into guys isn't so popular in South Dakota, and even worse when people think it's a turn off when they find out your into casual sex. But I manage with the handful of dates I do go on." Dean and Sam stared at you as you walked back into the kitchen, definitely not expecting that to leave your mouth. Dean nudged his brother, "I think he was hinting he's into you, and that you have a chance of getting laid tonight." A surprised blush filled the younger's cheeks, slapping his brother's arm, "Shut up, he was not." "But he was." Dean got up and went into the kitchen to see what you were making, leaving Sam to really question what you meant by saying those things. -- "So you boys staying the night or what?" Bobby asked later that night and after dinner. "Yeah sure, if you don't mind." Sam answered. "But I assume [Name] is using your spare bedroom though," Dean commented, "So I call the couch." Dean made a break for the couch, but nobody argued nor raced him to the piece of furniture. You laughed at the older Winchester, "Well, since the couch seems taken," You started turning to Sam, "You can bunk with me." Sam waved his hands in front of him, "No you don't have to do that..." He trailed off, ignoring the knowing look from his brother across the room. "No no it's fine! You're not a burden, plus I wouldn't have asked if I was just going to back out." You tugged at his shirt, "Now come on, I don't bite," You said as you started walking towards the stairs before adding, "...sometimes." Dean whistled at your comment, making Sam shoot him a look as he heard you laughing again from the top of the stairs. Dean gave his brother a double thumbs up and watched him climb the stairs after you. When Sam entered the room, you were rifling through a bag of clothes on the floor. It didn't dawn on him that there was only one king sized bed in the room until he dropped his duffle bag on the said bed. You looked up at him as he walked in, flashing him a smile before going back to what you were doing. Finally you pulled out a pair of [color] plaid pajama pants and a large tee shirt and stood up triumphantly, Sam smiling to himself when you deflated at the mess you made, "Anyways, The bed it big enough for the two of us, plus you'll take up the most room." You threw your pajamas on the bed and started picking up your mess of clothes, stuffing them back in your bag, "So I'm gonna shower and change and begin my nightly routine, you do whatever you do I guess." Sam nodded as you grabbed your pajamas and a small bag Sam assumed was shampoo and other bathroom necessities. He tried to sort everything out in his mind. You were innocent about sharing a bed with him, that is what he would keep telling himself. Though as he had this internal battle, he didn't see you smile deviously and saunter out with a little trick up your sleeve. -- You walked back into the room twenty minutes later with your day clothes and soap bag in hands, quietly shutting the door behind you. Sam was sitting up on the bed in his own pajamas doing something on his laptop. He only looked up to acknowledge your presence before going back to whatever he was doing. You put your things away silently and hopped in bed. Sam still paid no mind to you, making it easier for you to scoot across the bed and lean your head against his arm to see what he was doing on his laptop. He jumped at the contact, you were right about him not paying any attention to you, and looked down at you. "Whatcha up to Sammy?" Sam internally groaned at the nickname. He gave you a skeptical look, which you promptly ignored, "Bobby gave me some information about whatever he was on the phone about earlier. He thinks it's another siren, but that is what I am here doing more research to confirm or not." "Oooo sounds interesting." You commented, "So you say another, that means you've encountered one before right?" Sam nodded, "So what do they look like to you?" "Huh?" "Well, you know how they shape-shift into their victims desired form, so what do they look like to you?" You glanced up at him, holding his eye contact for a few moments before looking back at the laptop screen. "Uh..." Sam felt a bit awkward at your question, unsure of what you meant by it, "They didn't look like anyone specifically if that's what you mean." You sighed dramatically using Sam's arm to sit up straight and cross your legs and place your hands on your hips, "Sam Winchester, this was supposed to be a discreet way to ask you what your type is." Oh that is what you meant. "Why do you want to know that?" Sam inquired, he wasn't look at you, you assumed he was embarrassed by your bluntness. You let your lips curl up into a smirk, looking up at him through your lashes, "Because you're my type, so I wanna know if I got a chance with you." You said it so easily, how could you say that so easily, Sam would never know. Sam wasn't going to have that. How could you be so confident and it felt as if his was dwindling? He was going to change that. The taller male closed his laptop slowly, you catching his eye on you, slowly trailing your form from head to toe. "If you had a chance with me? Would I have a chance with you if I told you that you were my type?" Sam countered, his eyes mirroring the mischievous glint your had. You laughed leaning back onto your hands, slowly spreading your legs to accommodate the tall Winchester who was inching towards you, "I'd say yes." That's all it took, this simple words and those simple actions, and Sam was done for. He pressed forward and your lips met him halfway. Sam's hands went to your waist to steady himself over you, yours went to his hair, that you would admit you were envious of. He pushed you back against the pillows, his hands slithering up under your night shirt. Your breath hitched, but the noise was completely swallowed by Sam's mouth. Sam broke the kiss to remove your shirt and throwing it carelessly to the side. When he gazed down at your nude torso, he rubbed his hands up and down your sides in ghost like touches, only then did he really see how much smaller you were compared to him. He could easily snap you in half if he wanted to. It was hot to Sam to say the least. He was thrust out of his thoughts when you arched into his touch, aching for more of it, "Take your shirt off already." You demanded. There was another smirk on Sam's face, "I wouldn't be making demands from where you are if I were you." He scrapped his blunt nails down your sides, leaning forward to exaggerate the size difference with him over you. "I wouldn't need to demand anything if you'd hurry up." You murmured, face hot as you ground you hips up into his trying to get the message through. Sam's shirt came off and he worked your pajama pants down your legs. You heard a groan come from the man above you, making your own smirk form at your lips, "Like what you see Sammy?" You cooed, spreading your legs further apart if at all possible. Sam sat back on his heels, unabashedly staring at you. You weren't wearing any underwear or boxers, nothing of the sort, leaving your half-hard dick against your stomach. But what you were wearing is what did it for Sam. Lace trimmed, [color], sheer, stay-up thigh-highs covered your legs in the best way possible. There was a long pause of silence from Sam, he couldn't take his eyes off of you, "What...are these?" Sam said eventually. 'Fucking hell, does he keep this type of stuff one him?' Sam thought, his face slowly heating up at the thought. You sat up, hands going out to rub lightly against Sam's God-like torso, smiling at the pleasured shiver in response, "Do you like them?" You asked innocently, "If this will be the only time we see each other, I want you to always remember me. It wasn't planned, obviously, I just always have some type of lingerie on me." 'He does, oh jesus fuck.' Sam was in for it now. You reclined back against the headboard of the bed when you felt Sam's hands skim along your legs, gently rubbing the fabric. He pressed his thumbs into your thighs, just under the lace trim, finally looking up at you. "This is going to guarantee this won't be the last and only time we see each other." His voice rang out, deeper than before. And he kissed you again. It was passionate, needy, full of fire and want, everything you both needed right now. You let your hands inch forward to tug at his pajama pants, needing the off five minutes ago. Sam took the hint, but didn't do what you wanted. The taller male gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head against the headboard, trailing wet kisses from your mouth down you neck to your shoulder. A breathy sigh escaped your lips, quickly followed by a whine when he didn't take off his pants, "That's not fair." Sam moved forward, your legs widening to accommodate him again, and bit into your shoulder. A half moan and cry of pain sounded, thankfully not loud enough to make either of you panic. Sam nibbled and sucked at the spot, the top of your left shoulder now sporting a red sore that would most definitely bruise beautifully. In retaliation, you hiked a leg around him to dig into the small of Sam's back, propelling him forward slightly. You wiggled your hands free from his grasp to push him back. "Take your pants off," You demanded, "please." You slid away to grab lube you had stashed in your bag. "Sure thing princess." Sam replied easily, his voice huskier, making your skin prickle in excitement. You hopped back on the bed with the bottle of lube and set it to the side, happy to see Sam in the same state of undress as you. His dick had to be the biggest you'd ever try to take up the ass. With your ass in the air, you crawled over his legs to get a closer inspection of his length. You looked up at him, silently asking permission, which was granted with a nod. You wasted no time to gently grasp the base and swipe your tongue across the underside of his cock. You felt him shudder, a soft groan following, both were good signs. You repeated the action a few more times before taking the head in your mouth and sucking. Sam's hand was now in your hair, pushing more of his length past your lips. You hummed in delight, you'd never admit to it, but giving blowjobs was number two after cooking on the list of things you love to do. You moved your hands to grip Sam's hips, to steady yourself and to prevent him from fully fucking your face. You stilled for a moment, adjusting your jaw before taking almost all of his dick in your mouth and moving your head. Sam's breath picked up from what you could hear, but your main focus was pleasuring him and giving him everything you had. You hollowed your cheeks and flicked and swirled your tongue around his head every time you came up before pushing back down on his dick. "[Name]." He rasped, the hold his hand had on your hair tightened, pulling slightly. He pulled your head again, now you understood he was trying to get your attention, so you looked up to meet his hazel eyes blown with lust. You pulled your head off of his length rather reluctantly and sat back, "I don't want to completely lose it yet." Sam explained. "Yet is the key word..." You mused, rubbing the droll from your chin, grinning at his flushed look. Sam made a movement like he was going towards you, but stopped himself. He looked awkward, and you instantly knew what he was going to ask, "I... don't exactly know what to do next." You gave him a peck on the lips before reaching for your bottle of lube, "That's fine, I'll teach you, ok?" With his nod of confirmation, you sat against the pillows on the bed, mentally making a check list of everything you'd need to wash in the morning. You kept your legs wide enough so he'd have a nice view.   You uncapped the lube and poured a generous amount onto your hand, rubbing it around your fingers to warm it up a bit. As you were about to slide a finger in your hole, Sam's hands skimming your legs distracted you for a moment. You shook your head with a smile and went to work easing your finger in. It wasn't that hard, you had gotten a feel for your body throughout your years, and plus the fact you were sexually active, it's be easy loosening you up. There was only a moment between the first and the second added finger, your eyes slid shut, your heart rate and breath picking up. Your fingers had always pulled through for you on a night were you were really horny and didn't want to go out and bring someone home, but to have Sam in front of you and the reality set in that he was going to be the one inside you pretty soon made your fingers feel like nothing. You scissored your fingers, just wanting to loosen you up quickly to get to the real thing, your legs widened to fit a third finger, you gasped at the feeling. 

"[Name]," You heard Sam say, his hands were rubbing your inner thighs, heightening your arousal, "Let me help you." 

Those words made you shudder and groan. You blinked your eyes open at him, locking onto his gaze as you slipped your fingers from you. "Ok, but only if you want to." You heard yourself say, not fully registering you gave him an outlet to back out in he wanted. 

"I do, trust me I do." He grinned at you and copied your process. He spread some lube on his fingers and pulled your lower half into his lap and spread your cheeks apart and went right to it. 

It surprised you that he pushed two fingers in at once, unlike you starting with one. There was a little resistance, but not enough to put you in pain. The moan that came from you was embarrassingly high pitched you had to cover your mouth. His fingers were bigger and longer than yours were, and just the fact that that they were his fingers made you want to melt at the sensation. Hearing you moan was a confidence booster for the Winchester. Sam thrusted his fingers in and out of your ass in slow strokes a few times before mimicking you and scissoring them. He started to stretch you open, the way your legs quivered was everything to Sam. He was the one making you feel good, making you want more, making you moan and wither beneath him. When he hit your prostate while adding a third finger, you had to bite your hand to prevent crying out. 

You wearing tugged at his hand, "I think I'm ok now," you stated, Sam pulled his fingers out from you, making you groan in response. Sam nodded, a smile tugged at his lips, it made you blush for some reason. No you didn't blush at the fact that he just had his fingers up your ass and was about to fuck you, you blushed because he was smiling at you in the sweetest of ways before you guys were going to have sex. Then the smile turned lustful as he grabbed your legs and placed your legs on his shoulders. The soft material of your thigh-highs dragged slightly against his damps skin, and he honestly loved it. His dick pressed up against your ass, you don't know where he got a condom, but you were glad because you remembered lube, but not a condom. Sam looked at you as he pressed up against your hole, "Ready?" "Please." It came out more needy than you wished, but it got the point across. You relaxed and breathed out as he pushed it. Sam grunted, mumbling something you couldn't make out because you were too focused on how good he felt inside you. When he pushed in all the way was when you finally let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Sam." The way you said his name was softer than anyway you've talked to him yet, and it set him on fire. You already knew it was going to be hard to keep your voice down with Bobby a room away. You shot out a hand to grab Sam's forearm that was holding your hip when he started pumping himself in and out of you. Low mewls and moans and everything in between was heard from you. "Holy hell [Name], you feel so good," Sam grunted out, his other hand was gripping your thigh like a lifeline. You'd like to see a bruise of a handprint there tomorrow, but that was asking too much. "Sam-Sam," You tried to for a sentence, but your mind was in a haze as he picked up his speed, "Fuck, Sam." The bed slightly creaked as Sam pounded into you, but you no longer cared. Let Bobby know, let Dean know that Sam was fucking you into oblivion, you didn't give a fuck any longer. It felt way too good to care. He hit your prostate dead on and you arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent moan, "Ju-Just like that Sam, please please please please please," You weren't afraid to succumb yourself to begging at all. Plus some of your past partners found it a turn on. Sam was feeling himself come to his end quicker than any other time he's had sex and it kind of scared him. He could get addicted to you. You were crumbling, your end coming closer and closer, you felt like you were going to explode. Every inch of your skin could feel the electricity running through your veins. You felt Sam's hips stutter and you felt him climax and fill up the condom. It inflated your pride that he came curing your name. And it wasn't long after him that you came all over yourself with a drawn out version of a moan, clinging to Sam. Sam didn't move, just positioned his hands on your hips as he tried to catch him breath, you doing the same thing. You dropped your legs from his shoulders, settling them around his waist as he pulled out, and sat up to survey the damage while Sam tore off the condom and threw it in the trashcan by the bed. There was in fact an angry red handprint on your thigh, which made you smile inside, and the hickey on your shoulder was something as well. But you didn't get to leave anything on him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your height, Sam thought you were going to a kiss, which you gave him, it was just a peck on his lips before yours met the side of his neck. When you gave hickeys, it wasn't as brutal as Sam's method. You kissed the spot a few times before lightly sucking and nibbling on it. Yes it took more time, but they always looked prettier you thought. You sat back when you were done with a content smile on your face, "You won't be able to hide that." You commented. Sam rubbed the spot where the bruise was forming sheepishly, "Thanks, now I'll never hear the end of it from Dean." "That's the point." You giggled, "I'll wear a tank top if that makes you feel better." "Actually yes it would." Sam agreed, a hand rubbing your waist, "I'll go get something to wipe you off." The brunette got up and pulled on his boxers and pajama pants and left the room to go to the bathroom. You looked down at your chest, grossed out by the feeling of your semen drying on you, it just felt dirty. You liked sex yeah, but sex dirty and dirty dirty are two different types of dirty, you were just glad none of it got on your thigh-highs. Sam returned in less than two minutes with a damp washcloth and started wiping you down. "I can do it myself," You paused, he was already finished and did a good job at it, "Never mind.." He grinned at you and tossed the washcloth to the side, "You can, but I didn't let you." "Ha," You mused and slid off the bed to retrieve your own pajamas, opting to wear a shirt unlike him. You sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched your leg out and rubbed your foot against his arm, "Care to help me?" "I would be happy to." Sam said, dropping to one knee, placing your foot on it and slowly sliding the thigh-high down your leg, "But I gotta ask, why do you carry this kind of stuff around?" He switched to your other leg. "Because I like it, it makes me feel sexy so I wear them as much as I can." You smiled at him, "I mainly wear them for myself, but I like riling up others too, like I did with you. I've got other sets too I can show you if you stay another night." You tempted, pleased by the way Sam paused at your words. "Maybe, I'll see what I can do." Sam said seriously, he wanted to see you in something else, so badly. "Sounds like a plan, maybe sown the line I'll get you to fuck me in thigh-highs too." You mused, Standing up and getting dressed when he was done taking them off for you. A laugh was heard, but you didn't take that as a definite no. Sam threw off the comforter that you got some of your cum on and got under the sheets with you. You sighed contently and you were both out like a light. -- You and Sam did get it from Dean the next morning. Thankfully you woke up earlier enough to wash the comforter without any confrontations on the action, but you did make a deal with Sam to wear a tank top, so your activities were known to him as soon as he walked in the kitchen for breakfast. "God I knew it!" Dean beamed looking at Sam's neck, "I knew it." He repeated, now turning to you. He didn't see your larger bruise at first because you were busy making pancakes, but you heard him, so it was gonna come any moment. And it did, when you turned off the stove and placed the large plate of pancakes on the table, "Jesus Christ Sam, were you trying to eat [Name]?" "No," Sam said defensively. Yeah you were hella embarrassed, but unlike Sam, you wanted to have fun with it, "I bet he wanted to, I just wouldn't let him." You mused, laughing at Sam's astonished look. "I'm kidding!" You shoved the taller brother gently. "Ew, now that's gross. Don't act all couple-y in my presence." Dean said with an exaggerated grimace, "Now let's eat!" Bobby eventually joined you all, but didn't mention the marks, but was present to hear all the innuendos Dean was throwing at the two of you. He did ask for it to stop since he was trying to eat, but that was it. You shared a smile with Sam, you knew he was going to be different than any of your other flings. It made you all warm and fluttery, it was nice for a change. -- Every time the brothers found themselves at Bobby's, Sam always called to see if you could come down, since you lived in town and could take the time out of your day. Only twice did you have to rain check since you were 'rented out' for the weekend by a charity event and a guy trying to propose to his girlfriend. You guys texted from time to time, well you did. Sam was a more verbal-conversation person with you, which you were fine with. You liked hearing his voice. And whenever you two met up, it wasn't just about sex or anything like that. You genuinely enjoyed his company, and he liked yours. It was also a bonus that Dean liked you too. The future was unsure for what you guys would become but, that didn't matter. Every present day was never taken advantage when you were with him. Maybe you could fall in love, and not just have him remember you. 

[theseaeaglelives]

Round 19

THE SEA EAGLE

MAKING RUGBY LEAGUE GREAT AGAIN!!!

Round 19

Manly Sea Eagles      11                   

 Defeated

 FWRC Melbourne Storm    10

There are few things in life more satisfying that knocking of the filthy rorters from Melbourne. One would be to beat them on their own patch at AAMI Park but to top that would be to beat them in the last 30 seconds of golden point, and that is precisely what Manly did in round 19.

Let’s face it, the Storm are to rugby league what Sun Yang is to swimming, that being previously found guilty, despised, filthy cheaters who should not be allowed to compete in their chosen sport. 

The Sea Eagle also notes with bewilderment a recent interview with former Storm fullback Billy Slater in which he recalled his so called “four” premierships. Obviously, Mr Slater also believes that Ben Johnson won gold in the 100m Seoul Olympics and that Lance Armstrong won seven Tour de France’s, and such a degree of delusion can only be explained by the fact that Mr Slater once played reserve grade for North Sydney and in the Sea Eagle’s opinion, is infected by the stench of the Bear.

Taking on the filthy rorters in Melbourne was always going to be a tight affair and with this in mind, despite advice to the contrary from all and sundry in the Fox Commentary box, Manly wisely opted to take the easy 2 points on offer (from a penalty) after 10 minutes and opened their account. Manly 2-0.

  Surprisingly for the remainder of the half Manly played with a degree of flair and employed an expansive brand of footy obviously aimed at taking advantage of their more mobile and skilful pack. Unfortunately, and not surprisingly the Storm defence held firm (let’s face it they are more than a step up from last week’s opponents – the Eels). Manly also had to do their share of defence and also proved up to the task, repelling the Storm attack with relative ease.

With only 3 minutes remaining in the half again despite advice to the contrary from all and sundry in the Fox Commentary box, Manly wisely opted to take the easy 2 points on offer (from a penalty). Manly 4-0. Seriously, some of these so-called Fox experts (including incumbent QLD Coach Kevin Walters, Brett Finch and Greg Alexander) need to take a good long look at themselves and should never ever go near a coaching box again. When playing against the Storm (as the second half was to prove) points are gold and no easy opportunity should ever be declined.

Not only did Manly get the two points from this penalty but after getting the ball back from the kick off (as is normally the case), they managed to fashion a try after some fine lead-up work from Brad Parker. The Sea Eagle has been singing the praises of young Parker for some time now as he continues to improve and justify the faith shown in him by Coach Hasler. Manly 10-0 at the break.

A 10-zip lead against most teams would provide some degree of comfort – but not the Storm who responded with two tries of their own. Thankfully only one was converted and with 15 minutes remaining scores were level.

It was also noted that the Storm turned down their own opportunity to take the easy two points from a penalty on more than one occasion, decisions they would ultimately come to regret.

Under the previous coaching regime, Manly would have hoisted the white flag, but not this year under Des Hasler. With their backs to the wall Manly held on to force the lottery that is golden point. Whilst there were plenty of defensive contributors, the Sea Eagle would like to single out Jake Trbojovec for special mention, after racking up an astonishing 67 tackles. Unfortunately, one of them was deemed to be lifting in nature, and young Jake could be consigned for a week-off.

The Sea Eagle has previously gone on record declaring what an abomination golden point is and this game did little to change that view. The only salvation in this instance was that Manly reigned supreme after what appeared to be an avalanche of field goal attempts. Finally, it was Cherry Baby who managed to ice one and with only seconds remaining in extra time Manly ran out 11-10 victors.

Full marks must also go to the free to air Broadcaster Channel 9 who continue to disregard Manly when allocating prime time games and, in this case, have starved viewers of what can only be described as one of the best games of the season.

  Final Comment – Mark Coyne

The Sea Eagle reported last week that whilst holidaying in Singapore, Mr Coyne unleashed the following expletive laden tirade at local police officials "you are a f---ing stupid idiot", a "f---ing dickhead" and a "cock", "f---ing cock" and "f---ing dog", he also threatened to "sue you through your f---ing arse" and adding "if some f---ing stupid c--- sues me, I don’t f---ing care. Especially you". And then finally "you are f---ing crazy", "you must be f---ing embarrassed" and "you must be so f---ing proud of yourself"

This week a similar tirade was directed by the NRL Commission towards Mr Coyne, who has now done the only honourable thing and officially resigned from the NRL Board.

  It was also reported in various media outlets that Mr Coyne was virtually irreplaceable on the NRL Commission. Notwithstanding, should he be required, The Sea Eagle stands ready to answer the call and fill this vacancy. In promoting his credentials for this role, the Sea Eagle would like to declare the following pertinent essential personal attributes;

The Sea Eagle knows who the Sharks are (and despises them nonetheless)

The Sea Eagle has never consumed his own urine or defecated in public, and now after Todd Carney’s efforts, fears the dreaded bubbler even if it is for a cool dink on a hot day.

The Sea Eagle knows the difference between the Newcastle Knights and the Barcelona Football Club.

The Sea Eagle understands it is wrong to have or simulate having sex with a dog or allowing said dog to lick food from the genital area.

The Sea Eagle understands it is wrong to have or simulate having shat in a shoe and then spread said shoe across a motel room in the presence of other players (or anyone else for that matter);

The Sea Eagle has a healthy disregard for all forms of rugby league officialdom, but in the main still loves the game;

The Sea Eagle will willingly criticise that which needs to be dealt with, and will state the bleeding obvious when it appears not to be obvious to those who should know better, but in the main still loves the game.

The Sea Eagle likes a drink, but knows when it is time to go home – and in that respect believes there is benefits in following the rule that nothing good happens after midnight;

And most importantly, the Sea Eagle has never played in the NRL and thus is immune to the inevitable brain explosions which plague former players.

  AFL is Celebrating the Soft

Look, in the current era of me too!, one has to be careful about going too hard when the females start interfering in men’s affairs, in particular men’s sport.

Nevertheless, this one is too much too bear, noting as we do that it is an opinion piece, and therefore not based on any form of objective evidence or investigation:

My son is excited for Auskick. So he's taking ballet first Jamila Rizvi Columnist SMH: July 24, 2019 — 12.00am

  My son turned four last month…

Whether via biology or brainwashing, AFL is in my son’s blood. He’s going to have a crack at the game, at least once, and I suspect he’ll enjoy it. However, I don’t want him to feel like some activities are more worthy of admiration than others. 

Nor do I want his parents’ expectations or society’s gender norms dictating what will make him happy and fulfilled…...d to shortlist….

Footy, like most traditionally male-dominated sports, is making big strides when it comes to gender inclusivity. …..

Yet, when a little boy wants to be a hairdresser, an early childhood teacher, an aged care worker, or a stay-at-home-dad, his dreams aren’t generally celebrated in the same way………

Despite my lofty intentions, I admit that I was nervous about ballet. …..

While I knew Rafi would relish the opportunity to dance, I wasn’t sure how he’d react to being the only boy in class. Foreseeing potential disaster, I assembled my buddies. Two of my girlfriends have sons the same age as Rafi and they promptly jumped on the ballet train as well. There is safety in numbers. It would be a masculine insurgence at under 6’s ballet.

Jamila Rizvi. Jamila Rizvi is a columnist and former Labor adviser.

Sea Eagle Comment: Thank god this is an article about AFL. When the Eagle was a kiddie, he felt it was cool when he was taught how to tackle low and effectively, how to sidestep, draw and pass, make a break etc. and when he was given the greatest gift you can give to any young boy- i.e. how to exploit the blind side.

He also felt it was cool when the u14’s coach would say, “boys, it does not matter how big they are, just hit em low and hard and they will drop like trees”. Or “boys, they can’ run without legs” – and to then see it actually was true when put into action.

Time have changed, and in the Sea Eagle’s view in this example on ballet being an adequate preparation for AFL Auskick, not for the better.

That said, if a young fella wants to do ballet, in the Sea Eagle’s view more power to him. A very difficult activity of which there can be no doubt.  Statistically the male to female ratio is also overwhelmingly in his favour, so that can’t be a bad thing if the young kid has aspirations on being a chick magnet. What is not clear is whether ballet and say rugby league, have any cross ferritization opportunities?

The Director of Controversy is looking at whether a 95kg 10-year-old Tongan could learn a thing or two by taking up ballet before embarking on a full-blown rugby league career. Also being investigated is how would say 4 or 5 said 95kg 10-year-old Tongans be received, if they chose to turn up to the local upper north shore ballet dance studio for a bit of fine tuning in the cultural stakes? 

THE SEA EAGLE

[allofbeercom]

Is Guinness really ‘good for you’?

(CNN)Guinness, like other Irish stouts, enjoys a seasonal popularity every St. Patrick’s Day. It has also been touted as being “good for you,” at least by its own advertising posters decades ago.

But can this creamy, rich and filling beer really be added to a list of healthy beverages? Or is its reputation just good marketing? We researched the beer’s history and talked to brewing experts and break out the good, the not-so-great and the ingenuity of Guinness.

The good

The original Guinness is a type of ale known as stout. It’s made from a grist (grain) that includes a large amount of roasted barley, which gives it its intense burnt flavor and very dark color. And though you wouldn’t rank it as healthful as a vegetable, the stouts in general, as well as other beers, may be justified in at least some of their nutritional bragging rights.

According to Charlie Bamforth, a professor of brewing sciences at the University of California, Davis, most beers contain significant amounts of antioxidants, B vitamins, the mineral silicon (which may help protect against osteoporosis), soluble fiber and prebiotics, which promote the growth of “good” bacteria in your gut.

And Guinness may have a slight edge compared with other brews, even over other stouts. “We showed that Guinness contained the most folate of the imported beers we analyzed,” Bamforth said. Folate is a B vitamin that our bodies need to make DNA and other genetic material; it’s also necessary for cells to divide. According to his research, stouts on average contain 12.8 micrograms of folate, or 3.2% of the recommended daily allowance.

Because Guinness contains a lot of unmalted barley, which contains more fiber than malted grain, it is also one of the beers with the highest levels of fiber, according to Bamforth. (Note: Though the USDA lists beer as containing zero grams of fiber, Bamforth said his research shows otherwise.)

Bamforth researched and co-authored studies recently published in the Journal of the Institute of Brewing and the Journal of the American Society of Brewing Chemists, The Science of Beer.

Here’s more potentially good news about Guinness: Despite its rich flavor and creamy consistency, it’s not the highest in calories compared with other beers. A 12-ounce serving of Guinness Draught has 125 calories. By comparison, the same size serving of Budweiser has 145 calories, a Heineken has 142 calories, and a Samuel Adams Cream Stout has 189 calories. In the United States, Guinness Extra Stout, by the way, has 149 calories.

This makes sense when you consider that alcohol is the main source of calories in beers. Guinness Draught has a lower alcohol content, at 4.2% alcohol by volume (ABV), compared with 5% for Budweiser and Heineken, and 4.9% for the Samuel Adams Cream Stout.

In general, moderate alcohol consumption — defined by the USDA’s dietary guidelines for Americans as no more than two drinks per day for men or one drink per day for women — may protect against heart disease. So you can check off another box.

The not-so-great

Guinness is still alcohol, and consuming too much can impair judgment and contribute to weight gain. Heavy drinking (considered more than 15 drinks a week for men or more than eight drinks a week for women) and binge drinking (five or more drinks for men, and four or more for women, in about a two-hour period) are also associated with many health problems, including liver disease, pancreatitis and high blood pressure.

According to the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence, “alcohol is the most commonly used addictive substance in the United States: 17.6 million people, or one in every 12 adults, suffer from alcohol abuse or dependence along with several million more who engage in risky, binge drinking patterns that could lead to alcohol problems.”

And while moderate consumption of alcohol may have heart benefits for some, consumption of alcohol can also increase a woman’s risk of breast cancer for each drink consumed daily.

Many decades ago, in Ireland, it would not have been uncommon for a doctor to advise pregnant and nursing women to drink Guinness. But today, experts (particularly in the United States) caution of the dangers associated with consuming any alcohol while pregnant.

“Alcohol is a teratogen, which is something that causes birth defects. It can cause damage to the fetal brain and other organ systems,” said Dr. Erin Tracy, an OB/GYN at Massachusetts General Hospital and Harvard Medical School assistant professor of obstetrics, gynecology and reproductive gynecology. “We don’t know of any safe dose of alcohol in pregnancy; hence we recommend abstaining entirely during this brief period of time in a woman’s life.”

What about beer for breastfeeding? “In Britain, they have it in the culture that drinking Guinness is good for nursing mothers,” said Karl Siebert, professor emeritus of the food science department and previous director of the brewing program at Cornell University.

Beer in general has been regarded as a galactagogue, or stimulant of lactation, for much of history. In fact, according to irishtimes.com, breastfeeding women in Ireland were once given a bottle of Guinness a day in maternity hospitals.

According to Domhnall Marnell, the Guinness ambassador, Guinness Original (also known as Guinness Extra Stout, depending on where it was sold) debuted in 1821, and for a time, it contained live yeast, which had a high iron content, so it was given to anemic individuals or nursing mothers then, before the effects of alcohol were fully understood.

Some studies have showed evidence that ingredients in beer can increase prolactin, a hormone necessary for milk production; others have showed the opposite. Regardless of the conclusions, the alcohol in beer also appears to counter the benefits associated with increased prolactin secretion.

“The problem is that alcohol temporarily inhibits the milk ejection reflex and overall milk supply, especially when ingested in large amounts, and chronic alcohol use lowers milk supply permanently,” said Diana West, co-author of “The Breastfeeding Mother’s Guide to Making More Milk.”

“Barley can be eaten directly, or even made from commercial barley drinks, which would be less problematic than drinking beer,” West said.

If you’re still not convinced that beer is detrimental to breastfeeding, consider this fact: A nursing mother drinking any type of alcohol puts her baby in potential danger. “The fetal brain is still developing after birth — and since alcohol passes into breast milk, the baby is still at risk,” Tracy said.

“This is something we would not advocate today,” Marnell agreed. “We would not recommend to anyone who is pregnant or breastfeeding to be enjoying our products during this time in their life.”

Regarding the old wives’ tale about beer’s effects on breastfeeding, Marnell added, “It’s not something that Guinness has perpetuated … and if (people are still saying it), I’d like to say once and for all, it’s not something we support or recommend.”

The ingenuity

Assuming you are healthy and have the green light to drink beer, you might wonder why Guinness feels like you’ve consumed a meal, despite its lower calorie and alcohol content.

It has to do with the sophistication that goes into producing and pouring Guinness. According to Bamforth, for more than half a century, Guinness has put nitrogen gas into its beer at the packaging stage, which gives smaller, more stable bubbles and delivers a more luscious mouthfeel. It also tempers the harsh burnt character coming from the roasted barley. Guinness cans, containing a widget to control the pour, also have some nitrogen.

Guinness is also dispensed through a special tap that uses a mixture of carbon dioxide and nitrogen. “In Ireland, Guinness had a long history of hiring the best and brightest university graduates regardless of what they were trained in,” Siebert said. “And they put them to work on things they needed. One was a special tap for dispensing Guinness, which has 11 different nozzles in it, that helps to form the fine-bubbled foam.”

The foam is remarkably long-lasting. “After you get a freshly poured Guinness, you can make a face in the foam, and by the time you finish drinking it, the face is still there,” Siebert said.

‘It’s a good day for a Guinness,’ unless you’re pregnant

The famous advertising Guinness slogans — including “It’s a good day for a Guinness” — started through word of mouth, said Marnell. “In 1929, when we were about to do our first ad, we asked (ourselves), ‘What stance should we take?’ So we sent around a group of marketers (in Ireland and the UK) to ask Guinness drinkers why they chose Guinness, and nine out of 10 said their belief was that the beer was healthy for them. We already had this reputation in the bars before we uttered a word about the beer.

“That led to the Gilroy ads that were posted,” Marnell explained, referring to the artist John Gilroy, responsible for the Guinness ads from 1928 to the 1960s. “You’ll see the characters representing the Guinness brand — the toucan, the pelican — and slogans like ‘Guinness is good for you’ or ‘Guinness for Strength.’ But those were from the 1920s, ’30s and ’40s.”

Today, he said, the company would not claim any health benefits for its beer. “If anyone is under the impression that there are health benefits to drinking Guinness, then unfortunately, I’m the bearer of bad news. Guinness is not going to build muscle or cure you of influenza.”

In fact, Guinness’ parent company, Diageo, spends a lot of effort supporting responsible drinking initiatives and educating consumers about alcohol’s effects. Its DrinkIQ page offers information such as calories in alcohol, how your body processes it and when alcohol can be dangerous, including during pregnancy.

“One of the main things we focus on … is that while we would love people to enjoy our beer, we want to make sure they do so as responsibly as possible,” Marnell said. “We would never recommend that anyone drink to excess, and (we want to make people) aware of how alcohol effects the body.”

See the latest news and share your comments with CNN Health on Facebook and Twitter.

And again: Most health providers in the US would advise forgoing all alcohol if you are pregnant, nursing or have other health or medical issues where alcohol consumption is not advised.

So responsibly celebrate St. Patrick this year a little wiser about the health benefits and risks with one of its signature potables.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/is-guinness-really-good-for-you/

[leonardchang]

Harvardwood Interview

By Nicole Torres

Born in New York City and raised in Long Island, Leonard Chang largely credits his love of literature to his mother. Growing up, Chang read a majority of her English and American novel collections which she had brought with her from Seoul to America.

While his amateur writing career began at the age of seven writing long letters to camp friends, his ‘aha’ moment, the moment he knew he wanted to be a writer, came in high school during a memorable interaction with his best friend Joe. Perhaps during a conversation about their futures, Joe remarked that he wanted to be a writer and a lightbulb went off in Leonard’s head. He thought, “You can do that?” and from that point on the seed of desire to become a writer was planted in his brain. During high school, the two of them embarked on a mission to co-write a novel together, and while Leonard remembers it as “youthful, ambitious, and terrible,” he also remembers it as “damn fun to write.”

After studying at Dartmouth and interning with the Peace Corps, the next stop on his professional journey was Harvard. Leonard notes that the best thing about Harvard for his writing career was the time and space it provided him to work on his writing. He lived off-campus, recalls spending more of his time in cafes and bookstores than in classes, and impressively completed his first novel while he was still an undergraduate. This freshman effort he also remembers as “youthful, ambitious, and terrible, but damn fun to write.”

After Harvard, Leonard received a scholarship to attend the MFA program at University of California Irvine. Although the program was incredibly competitive, Leonard remembers his time there fondly as a great growing and learning experience that provided him with access to and the ability to learn from world-renowned writers. Not quite ready to leave at the program’s end, Leonard elected to remain an extra year and worked as a teacher while completing what would become his novel The Fruit ‘N Food, which won the Black Heron Press Award for Social Fiction and is taught at universities around the globe. Not too shabby for a first novel.

The Fruit ‘N Food was just the beginning of an impressive array of award-winning novels that would follow, including Dispatches from the Cold, a popular and critically-acclaimed noir trilogy, Crossings, and Triplines. Many of his books have been translated into several languages and are taught in courses throughout the world.

In addition to his accomplishments in literature, Leonard has also made a name for himself in television. His initial foray into television was largely inspired by the television revolution brought about by shows like The Sopranos, The Wire, and The Shield— just a sampling of the many shows he watched while he was living and writing in Oakland. Inspired by the great content and writing on these shows, his decision to break into Hollywood was almost impulsive.

He recalls, “I made the decision very quickly, literally giving away everything in my apartment, loading my trusty Honda Civic with my computer and rock-climbing gear, and driving down to Los Angeles to housesit for a friend while I began writing TV pilots.”

Soon after arriving in Hollywood, Leonard searched for communities of like-minded individuals. He quickly came across Harvardwood and the Harvardwood Writers Program. At the time, the program had just begun and he jumped on board immediately, participating in its second workshop. It was certainly time well spent, as one of the pilots he wrote during the workshop ended up becoming his main writing sample and was eventually optioned by Fox. As Leonard puts it, that was the beginning of his career in television.

Since breaking into Hollywood, Leonard has worked on shows such as Awake and Justified, and has written several screenplays. The latest show for which he is both writing and producing is Snowfall, which centers around the birth of the crack cocaine epidemic in Los Angeles. The show takes the perspective of a varied assortment of Los Angeles characters and Leonard explains, “It’s our attempt to personalize and reveal stories about Los Angeles that haven’t been fully explored before, and despite the content, we tried very hard to focus on the characters and their real or constructed families—we looked for authentic people beyond some of the hackneyed stories about this world.”

But despite all his success in the television arena, Leonard has not left his novel writing days behind him. He also has a new novel coming out, The Lockpicker, which is a crime thriller that centers around two brothers. He spent a great deal of time researching the criminal elements of the novel, speaking to a number of professional criminals, and learning the ins and outs of burglaries and lockpicking. It was an effort that paid off, as early reviews of the novel are heralding its attention to detail and realistic criminal elements.

Asked about whether he has a preference for television or novels, Leonard maintains that he does not. To him, they are very different experiences and he explains, “Novels are very much a singular and personal experience, whereas TV is more collaborat[ive] and almost familial; some of the friends I’ve made in TV will be life-long. When you spend 8 to 10 hours a day with writers working on a show, a natural camaraderie develops, and I’m grateful for some of the friends I’ve made. This is what a lot of new writers don’t necessarily understand about TV—it’s not just the writing; there’s a communal aspect to making TV that requires more than just being a great writer: you need to be a part of a family.”

At least for the immediate future, Leonard seems to be focusing on television and film, and he is working on a multitude of different projects. When asked what is up next for him he replies, “I’m still a part of Snowfall(we’re done shooting the first season but are still editing), and I’m working on a few different TV projects in various stages. Some projects I’ll pitch; others I’ll write on spec; others I’ll work with directors or producers. At this very moment (literally today): I prepped a pitch based on a memoir about a stripper and sex worker; I met with comic book creators about adapting their comic book for TV; I read a draft of a feature screenplay which I was hired to do a revision for and which the first writer did another great draft; I worked on a spec pilot; and I’m prepping for a meeting with a director who wants to direct a TV version of a feature, which I hope to adapt. So I move from project to project, which is fun.”  Just a simple day in the office.

The number of projects on his plate might seem overwhelming to some, but hearing him describe his work ethic it comes as no surprise. Aspiring writers often hear the advice, ‘write every day’, and he certainly takes that adage to heart. Leonard writes every day, and he has been doing so since high school. These days, a typical day for him starts very early, around 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. If he’s on a show he heads straight to the office, and if he’s not on a show it’s gym first and then off to write. And he keeps at it all day, with the occasional meetings and calls interspersed between. As Leonard acknowledges, such discipline might seem “punishing” to some, but not if one enjoys the process of writing as much as he does.

That does not mean that everything he writes is publisher or screen-ready. Rather, Leonard emphasizes how often much of what he writes he ends up throwing away immediately afterward. He explains, “Then I look at what I’ve written and usually throw it out. But each draft gets honed and crafted, and the more I write and throw out, the closer I get to finding the jewel amidst the choss.”

He recommends the same process to aspiring writers, “If you want to write, you should be writing—and writing every day. No excuses. I know everyone has busy and full lives, but if you really want to write and have a creative life, then you must prioritize it. Forget about the Muse and being inspired to write—it’s a skill, a craft, a muscle, a way to see the world, and the more you do it the better you get. Here’s where you start: give yourself a daily goal. Write one page a day. It doesn’t have to be good. In fact it will probably suck, but that’s okay. Because if you write one page a day, then in 30 days you have a half-hour script; 60 days you have a hour pilot; four months you have a feature; nine months you have a novel. Then you throw it out and start over. And guess what, in another few months you have a better version. But more importantly you find your rhythm, your routine, and you begin to understand how important writing is to your life, and then the product becomes less vital than the process, and everything from there is gravy.”

This final statement gets at the core of Leonard’s motivation and writing philosophy. His own personal motivation for writing is that he enjoys the process so much, and he does not place as much emphasis on the finished product. Of course he wants his work to be genuine and authentic and resonate with the reader, but at the end of the day he writes for himself. His test? The following question: “Will I work on something even if no one but me will read it? If the answer is yes, then I do it. Writing is not just a job or a profession—it is very much a way of life for me; it helps me assimilate and process the world around me.”

This philosophy is something he shares with some of his favorite writers. In reading their biographies Leonard noticed a theme: “What struck me about many of my favorite writers is that even if they suspected they would never be successful or famous or rich, they couldn’t not write.”

He continues on to recall a particularly memorable anecdote. “When Faulkner was in his 30s he was getting rejected by everyone. He thought his career was over. He literally thought he would never be published again. His previous novels [had] failed, either commercially or creatively. But rather than demoralizing him, it liberated him. He wrote: ‘One day I seemed to shut a door between me and all publishers’ addresses and book lists. I said to myself, Now I can write. Now I can make myself a vase like that which the old Roman kept at his bedside and wore the rim slowly away with kissing it.’ And he then went on to write one of his greatest novels, The Sound and the Fury. That always struck me as the key. Now I can write. That’s the feeling you should always aspire to. F— everyone else. Now I can write.”

http://www.harvardwood.org/mp201705