#driving through Ohio is the actual worst

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Another last minute kpop adventure in beloathed Chicago. Wish me patience for this endless Ohio stretch and Midwest drivers!

(there has been so much roadkill, I am so upset)

[tuxebo]

hey i’m sorry if this comes across as rude at all! but i just got back on tumblr recently and noticed your now pro-trump and an israel supporter yet i remember you being the opposite as in quite liberal is there any reason for the switch? i love your bots btw

Hello, not rude at all! I'm very open about being a liberal, it is not something I try to hide. I'll give you my story, no problem, and thank you if you stay for the whole thing. I was always pro-Israel, but I wasn't always conservative, I'm actually an Independent now. I'm glad you like what I make, thank you for staying <3

The thing is, the Democratic party is full of lies. I was at my lowest when I began to believe the garbage the blue spit and I was beyond suicidal. Praise God that isn't the case anymore, and I got off a lot of meds. But you'll hear that being blue messed with a lot of people's minds because of the amount of fear mongering and "you're perfect as you are" nonsense.

I couldn't go out in public because I believed men were out to get me, I couldn't walk through a parking lot, go to the bathroom, go to school. I hated men and believed the feminist lies, and those were the worst years of my life. The idea that because I am a girl I must be a feminist ruined my teenage years. And I was not perfect as I was and I am not now, none of us are, then none of us would need a Savior. But I strive for perfection, as much as I am able. This "me, me, me" mentality is so damaging, I could not make friends and I was terrified I was going to get kidnapped, raped, and sold by guys that didn't even look once in my direction.

I hated people around me for the language they used. I policed the people around me because a joke they made was too "racist" for my tastes. Jokes that are actually pretty funny now that I'm not being uptight fighting a ghost-man for an entire race.

Self-love is not the glory they sell it to be. I don't need to look in the mirror and be in love with what I see. I don't hate my appearance, it is just one of those things that do not matter. Be hygienic, be clean, take care of yourself. However, also pray, be humble, work hard, take care of those around you, love those around you, respect those around you; these things matter more than how much makeup you put on or how expensive the car you drive is.

Then, take a look at the economy. Do you think Democrats care about you? They abandoned the people in Aurora, Colorado, the people in Springfield, Ohio. They abandoned New York. They abandoned us in California. The blue is full of lies, and I'm sick of buying into it. I'm not a victim, I'm not oppressed, I am a survivor of Domestic Violence and multiple forms of abuse. Stupid identity politics will not work on me, I am not a victim.

Prices are at an all time high, crime is up, the border is open, only 43% of people in California speak english, drugs are everywhere, you can't buy a home, protesters are in the streets chanting "Death to America," out veterans are struggling. Men suicide rates are too high, single parenthood is becoming too common, white people are being shamed for being white, babies are being murdered, children are getting procedures they can't fully comprehend before they even finish puberty. Our streets are disgusting and homelessness is everywhere. This is the definition of insanity, this is not normal.

The government is trying to make it hard to practice our 2nd amendment right, given to us to fight against tyranny. Look at Europe, they lost their right to bear arms long ago and now they need it more than ever. Women are being raped in the streets, people are being murdered, muslims are breaking in at record numbers.

One of the reasons it is important now is because of the gang invasions and illegals coming here to commit crimes. It's not just Mexicans. Russians, Chinese, and tons of other countries are coming in through the Southern Border. Sex trafficking is going on down there like crazy, mind you, a lot of it involves CHILDREN.

There were no wars under Trump, the prices were low under Trump, small businesses were supported by Trump, the border was secure under Trump. He supports and takes care of veterans, he supports the police. He supports black citizens, asian citizens, mexican citizens. All we ask is for you to come legally and be prepared to work, just like everyone else.

Kamala Harris is a damn joke. A mockery of the black community, let me remind you, she isn't even a full black. A real black person isn't black to win votes, isn't black when it is convenient. Her polices... wait, what are her policies? Price gouging? The literal definition of communism? That is a joke.

Illegals are stealing lives, homes, jobs, education, you name it. They need to go, now. Don't defund the police, we need them now more than ever. By the way, let me say, Kamala hasn't changed at all. She is a lying liar. That's what they do: they lie. She does talk to the press. She hasn't changed from how she was, I implore people to vote with your heads and not emotions. What happened when you voted black just because they were black? Well, we had Obama. What a joke of a man.

The evidence is irrefutable, and the debate tonight will solidify it. Watch it and see for yourselves, learn for yourselves. I made the political switch before I fully began believing and trusting in the Lord again, so that isn't my full reason. I would also suggest looking into Christ, though. Not the church, not the religion, the God that became fully man to be tortured and killed so that we may live in eternity with Him. Because that's how much He loves us.

The West is deteriorating, fast, but I find assuredness in my Lord and Savior. I grew up Catholic before my family joined Christianity. It was a bumpy ride, but I'm glad to say I've found the Lord for myself. It is a personal relationship, not a religion or a group of people. People lie, people fall short, but the Lord never has and never will.

“For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares Yahweh, ‘plans for peace and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart." ‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29‬:‭11‬-‭13‬ ‭LSB‬‬

[japanesepenguin]

Last Day in LA

+ Woke up almost to alarm at 7:00 am and was actually still tired, so that's a good sign; made a decent final breakfast

+ Left Big Bear in the morning (with Eric, his girlfriend, and Sahba); stopped at a small coffee shop in the snowy mountains, then got dropped off at UCLA after a drive through LA

+ Got to see a live demo of my quadcopter system which is now flying; toured the new IRISS lab; so strange to see so much of my old hardware and equipment around and still in use (and still working); got to see Aziz one last time before he becomes a professor in Kuwait, as well as Ben and Miguel (the technician guys of the MAE department)

+ Took the rapid bus to LAX, showcasing the worst of humanity in 40 short minutes; a marijuana-smelling dude sat on my suitcase for twenty minutes of the ride, which was representational and fulfilling in a "appreciate Japan more" sense

+ Now at airport with a few hours left... They've played All I Want for Christmas at least seven times, and are also playing Chinese-language versions of traditional carols (??)

+ Next post: Ohio, Day 1 and hopefully my first full night of sleep in two weeks...

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 || werewolf!Lee Bodecker x reader

summary: being the sherriff’s department’s crime scene photographer means seeing terrible things.  following lee bodecker into the woods means experiencing terrible things.

word count: almost exactly 4k

warnings: smut (noncon but she comes around eventually, if you will), werewolf sex (so...pseudo-bestiality??? but like... not really??), breeding kink, knotting, some a/b/o tropes?, kinda some degradation?,  violence, vague-ish description of gore

Something undeniably wicked was lurking in the woods behind Knockemstiff, Ohio.  That much was obvious.

It wasn’t your first gig as a crime scene photographer, so you knew what to expect; or, you thought you did.  This town was nothing like Toledo, though, in all the worst ways.  You’d left the big city in hopes that you wouldn’t have to see another drive-by shooting, another stockbroker who jumped out of his office, another mafia job left out in the street to serve as an example for would-be testifiers.  You’d left to escape some of the brutality that the urban environment brought.  And to be fair, it wasn’t anything like that, but it wasn’t at all better.  

You’d never seen a cut this deep before.  You’d never seen a body nearly turned inside out.

“It’s that damn bear,” the officer nearby announced, his words failing to distract you from your task of photographing the bloodied remains.  “This happened a couple months ago, body just like this turned up.  Thought we shot the damn thing but I guess we got the wrong one.”

“That can’t be right,” you frowned, stepping back and lowering the camera from your face; it looked worse when it wasn’t seen through the viewfinder, it looked more real.  “Bears might maul people, but they don’t… eat them.”

“They do if they get hungry enough,” he sighed.  

“Do you really believe that?” you pressed.

“I need to.”

The conversation was still echoing in your head as you drove back to the station, which was still bustling despite the day being just about to end.  

You stopped by your desk to grab a folder from your top drawer, "FOR SHERIFF" written in big letters on the front.  Tucking it under your arm, you navigated through the officers and secretaries mulling about to the back hallway of the station, finding the last door on the left and knocking even though it was already halfway open.

“Good evenin’ little lady,” Sheriff Bodecker greeted with a smile when he looked up at you, “got somethin’ for me?”

“Photos from yesterday,” you explained, stepping inside and setting the folder down on his desk.  He opened it and flipped through your shots, nodding slightly.  

"Looks good," he praised— gruff and monotone, but praise nonetheless.  "I think it's enough to prove who was driving recklessly and who was just driving."

"Think they'll be all right?" you asked, remembering how one of the car crash survivors looked as they were being wheeled into an ambulance.

He sighed a little, setting the folder down.  "Seems so, last I heard."

"That's good…" you trailed off, toying with the strap of your camera nervously, studying his face as he looked down at some paperwork in front of him.

You were a career woman, working in a male-dominated profession, and you had so much to prove… but god, if you didn't sometimes fantasize about the Sheriff in ways you knew you shouldn't.  In spite of the fact that you were sure he wanted an obedient housewife, and that that was something you could never be, you'd been known to daydream about another life where he wasn't your boss and you weren't so worried about what other people thought and the two of you could be together.

Or, on other occasions, you just wished Knockemstiff was as liberal as Toledo, so you could have a fling with him and not worry about everybody calling you a harlot.

Either way, it could never happen.  You worked with him and he worked with you; he was looking to settle down and you were looking to start your life.  It was a basic incompatibility.  That didn't stop you from letting your gaze linger on his hands, admiring how strong and thick they were.  God, you wish he'd just grab you—

"Anything else I can do for ya?" he asked slowly, that deep voice making the question sound just a bit more dirty than he likely meant it.

"No, that'll be all," you decided, giving him a polite nod before you slipped out of his office.  

Sometimes, it felt like the only chance you got to really think during the day was when you were alone in your darkroom.  The photo development equipment here was significantly more primitive than what the Toledo Police Department had been able to provide, but you didn’t mind; if anything, it brought you back to your roots, when you were just a newbie photographer who wanted to make compelling art, take photos that would end up on magazine covers or beside hard-hitting journalism.  

That dream had been dashed quite some time ago, but you really did enjoy your job more often than not.  Sure, it came with a lot of gruesome imagery, but at least it was important, and interesting.  

You couldn't be sure what time it was— with no windows and no clocks, and with hours always flying by when you were developing film— but the lack of any noise from outside your darkroom made it clear that it was quite late and everyone had left.

It was odd, then, that you did hear a noise from outside the room, like floorboards creaking.  You were ready to blame the old building settling until you heard it again.

“...hello?” you asked hesitantly, the sterile echo of your voice only making you just that much more paranoid.  “Is someone there?  I’m just here developing my film…”

The red lights cast everything in an eerie glow— bright enough to see, but not enough to assuage your fear.

You opened the door to your darkroom slowly, careful not to let too much light in, and peered down the dark, empty halls.  An uneasy feeling awakened in your gut and you swallowed nothing before hesitantly stepping out into the dark.

Another creak from around the corner made you turn, walking towards the noise and considering calling out again but suddenly afraid to speak at all.

A man's form appeared in front of you out of nowhere.

“Oh!” you gasped, but you sighed a bit when you recognized the badge glistening on his chest.  “Sheriff, shit, you scared me…”

“Sorry, little lady,” he breathed, “didn’t know you were still here…”

“Come in, if I leave this door open too long it’ll let light in,” you explained, pointing to where the street lamp outside shined into the window and ushering him past you into the darkroom.

“What’re you still wearin’ that damn camera for?” he asked, pointing to your hip where it was slung at your side from over your shoulder, making you giggle a little as you shut the door behind the both of you.

“Force of habit.  Never know when something worth photographing might take place,” you explained, returning to the tub of ammonium thiosulfate where you were dipping another glossy print.  

“If somethin’ worth takin’ a picture of happens while you’re stuck in here, I think you’ll’ve got bigger problems than not having your camera,” he smirked.

“Fair enough,” you scoffed.  “Let’s hope I never need to take pictures like these—” you tilted your head towards the pictures you’d hung to try— “unexpectedly.”  Lee sauntered over to where you’d motioned, pulling one the more developed photos from the clothespins.  “That’s the body we found in the woods,” you informed him, “I’m surprised you weren’t called in— it’s pretty gnarly.”

“Sweet girl like you shouldn’t have to see stuff like this,” he shook his head, sighing somberly.  

“I can handle it,” you shrugged, “Believe it or not, I saw worse working mob cases.”

“I’m going with ‘not,’” he answered quickly.  

He was right not to believe you, and you weren’t sure what to say now that he’d called your bluff.

“What… what perfume are you wearing?”

The question threw you off but you figured no harm could come from answering honestly.  “I’m, uh, I’m not…”

He stepped closer, his footsteps soft but audible on the carpeted floor as his form settled behind yours.  Your breath caught when his fingers trailed over your arm and he leaned in, pressing his face to the side of your head as he breathed in.  “You smell good,” he stated plainly, deep voice vibrating in your ears and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Um… thank you…” you answered, hearing your voice waver.  

Just when you thought he might make a move (was this already a move?), and just when you thought you might actually reciprocate if he did, he pulled away.  “I should… I’m sorry, I oughta— I have work to get done.”

Before you could even begin to wonder what he was talking about, he had already slipped out of the darkroom and back into the hall.  Oddly enough, you were sure you heard him start running the second the door was shut.  You considered shrugging it off and getting back to work, but the more you thought about it, the more you were worried.  Most of all, you wondered if he had seen something in your photographs that gave him a lead on what killed the poor old man.  

That possibility needed to be investigated further.

So, you powered down your equipment and left the darkroom, leaving just in time to see the Sheriff stumble out of the back door of the station, seeming to be limping slightly.

Too curious now to stay away, you followed his path and pushed the door open with your weight, seeing him making a mad dash for the nearby treeline.

“No, Lee, the woods—!” you warned, horrified to imagine that he could meet the same fate as the man in your photographs.  You weren’t dressed well enough for the weather— already the evening breeze blew against your bare legs and made you shiver— but you forged ahead regardless.

The moon light was just enough to illuminate your path at first, but as the clouds moved and the tree cover grew thicker, squinting just didn’t do enough to help you see.  Generally, you weren’t afraid of the dark, but this was different… it was cold, and you were alone; but you didn’t feel quite as alone as you would’ve liked to.  You called out for Lee, only hearing the gentle rustle of the leaves and the occasional snapping of twigs on the ground.

At about the same time you considered turning back and using one of the station phones to call some officers for a search, you heard something.  A whine, maybe, or a whimper.  You weren’t sure what it was; it only just barely sounded human.

“Lee, are you out there?” you called, whipping your head around wildly.  

In desperate need of light to navigate your way, you had a moment of insight and reached for the camera slung by your hip.  You relieved yourself of the shoulder strap, pointed the camera ahead, and opened up the flash.

CLICK.  A brief moment of light gave you at least an idea of where you were standing.  It was impossible not to notice how similar it looked to the background of the photos you had just been developing.  You realized, then, that you’d worried so much for Lee’s safety in these woods, but hadn’t considered your own.

Lee, at least, had a gun.  You just had a camera.  Both could shoot, but only one could protect you.

CLICK.  You moved in the direction that you remembered as clear.  It was even harder to see in the dark after the bright light had burned your eyes slightly, and you longed to reach out ahead to feel out your path yet found yourself too terrified of what you might touch.  You could hear the flash charging between shots, you knew well enough by now what it sounded like when the camera was ready to shoot again.

CLICK.  Something white reflected back in the distance, so you moved that way, nearly tripping on a root for your trouble.  

The cloud over the moon finally blew away, and just barely— finally— your eyes could make out the shape of Lee, leaned against a tree and breathing deep and fast.  His back was turned to you, but even then you could see he didn’t look well, his back bending and swelling with each panting breath that grew louder as you stepped closer.

“Oh my god, Sheriff?!” you squawked, sprinting closer.  “Are you alright?” you asked loudly, but when you reached out to touch him he spun to look at you, eyes wild and teeth bared.

“Leave,” he growled between panting breaths.

“You… you’re…” you tried to begin, but you were speechless as you tried to imagine what trick of the light could make him look like he was getting taller, like his eyes and face were shifting.

“GO!” he bellowed.

You stumbled back, dropping your camera but too terrified to even hear the bulb shatter as it hit the ground.  Your legs couldn’t move right, your eyes couldn’t look away from what you were seeing, and what you were seeing… you couldn’t describe it, couldn’t understand it.  

It didn’t look like what scary stories and picture books told you a werewolf was.  It didn’t look like an animal; it sure as hell didn’t look like a person.  Disturbingly, it still looked a bit like Lee, even though his Sheriff’s uniform was tearing at the seams from his morphing, swelling body.  His cries were broken and twisted as his face seemed to be overtaken by teeth— so many teeth— and dark fur.  

Ultimately, one last command to "go" was lost to a howl.

You finally managed to get your brain and body on the same page, turning and scrambling to run away, hearing him chase behind you.  

He walked on two legs but ran on four, his snarls coming closer and closer as you made a mad dash for the distant light of the police station.  Cold wind blew past you as you sprinted, coming to a sudden halt as you tripped and landed on the ground.  Leaves crunched under your hands and feet as you tried to stand back up, but he was already above you, tossing you to the ground again and pinning you at your shoulders.

You tried to kick him away once he'd turned you into your back, but it was laughable— pitiful, even.  When he curled his lips back to brandish his glistening fangs, growling deeply, you were too stunned to fight.  But you could beg.

“Lee, please, please don’t eat me,” you sobbed.

“I didn’t turn to feed,” he informed you, and it almost sounded like Lee, aside from the depth and roughness that shook you to your core.  “I turned to mate.”

“No…” you whispered, denial more than rejection— and as you looked down between your body and his where he hovered over you, you choked on your breath at the sight of his cock, erect and reddened and.... for lack of a better word, enormous.

You weren’t excessively familiar with human cocks (not all the rumors about the new girl who moved here from the city were true), but this one seemed different than what you’d seen, most notably in the size but additionally in how you could see it pulsing and throbbing.  His teeth were bared as his claw-laden hands grabbed your legs, lifting and spreading them.  Your stupid dress just fell away and exposed you easily, like it didn’t even care that he was a monster.

Your panties were already damp, like you didn’t even care that he was a monster.

A deep breath in through his snout-like nose made it clear he was picking up your scent.  He grinned and you shuddered.

You’d seen how deep those claw marks could go, so you were surprised when he was delicate enough to tear your clothes off without ripping your skin.  The fear that he could or would, though, kept your heart pumping plenty fast— or maybe that was because of his dark blue eyes scanning your nude form hungrily.

He adjusted your hips as he held you with his… paws, one might call them, pulling you closer and bumping his thick, swollen head against your entrance.

"No, you can't—" you stammered, not sure if you meant morally or physically.  There was no way that would fit in you, right?  There was no way Lee would force himself on you… right?

The noise you made when he pushed into your channel was, ironically, animalistic.  His intrusion stretched you wide and filled you deep, and he wasted no time in setting a brutal pace that slammed his rough, strong thighs against the back of your soft ones.

Fear paralyzed you, made you unwilling and unable to fight back.  He was all claws and teeth— where could you reach to try to push him away, without the extremely high risk of him just biting your weak little hand off?  No, it was better that you just laid there, whimpering and sobbing and trying with all your might not to moan at the feeling of being fucked, hard, in the woods, by a beast.

His tongue on your neck was an odd sensation, another way he forced you to acknowledge that this wasn’t normal— because no human tongue was this long, this thick and hot, nor surrounded by sharp teeth that grazed your jaw and cheek.

“Gonna breed you,” he informed you coldly.  It made you squirm beneath him with renewed vigor, desperate not to be filled with the seed of— well, of anyone, but especially not this thing.  Could it get you pregnant, were you even biologically compatible?  You didn’t want to find out.  

“Please, no,” you whimpered.

“If you hate it so much then why is your cunt sucking me in so tight?” he whispered gruffly against your ear before licking it, too, with that cursed tongue.

His question was probably rhetorical, but either way you couldn’t answer it— you had no idea why your body was submitting so easily, why your walls welcomed him so eagerly, why your legs wrapped around his hips to pull him closer.  Further, you had no idea why you were about to come.

Numbness and sensitivity warred across your body, everything feeling tighter and hotter and heavier until you finally snapped and your body shook and convulsed.  His arms reached beneath where your back was arching, and you clutched at his shoulders as your fingers weaved into the fur you found there.

Of course he didn’t stop when you reached your peak, he wouldn’t stop for anything now, so you were forced to take him just as deep and hard as always even as your body went limp and became overwhelmingly sensitive.  It was clear, then, that your pleasure was only collateral damage to him; he was using your body for whatever he wanted, to sate his biological drive to impregnate something.  Like everything else about this, it was disgusting yet annoyingly arousing.

It's hard to say how long you laid there, limply jolting with each of his thrusts, dripping your arousal onto the cold earth beneath you, moaning weakly as you alternated between pleading for mercy and pleading for more.  You watched the clouds blow through the night sky, afraid to look up at his monstrous face, at his pointed ears and shining teeth.  Occasionally you glanced down and noted the way your stomach bulged from the size of him; you couldn't look at that anymore because it would either make you sick or make you come again.

You gurgled and choked as you felt his cock swelling inside you— bigger, wider, until your body was stretched beyond its limits.

"Take my knot," he instructed darkly, "my little bitch."

Disturbingly, you realized he probably wasn't calling you that to insult you: it was literal.  You were his breeding bitch, a womb to carry his litter, and you whined at the way it made your gut sink in shame.

His noises were more animal-like than ever while he came inside you, thick come all but pouring into you as he panted and growled.  Funny thing was, it just didn't stop: he kept coming for so long, giving you so much while the knot kept every drop inside.

You'd never felt so full in your life, of anything, let alone hot come that made you feel warm and sticky and dripping wet.

The knot kept you plugged and showed no signs of going down as he caged your body in, nuzzling into your neck.  He could bite you now and end it all, but you weren't afraid of that since he seemed to have found a better purpose for you.  His heavy breathing made his back rise and curve above you, his clawed hands pinning your wrists beside your head while he started to lick and nibble at your ear, neck, and collarbone.

You didn't even notice that you'd fallen asleep until you awoke in the wee hours of the morning— that time just before sunrise where there's light but no real color in the sky yet— with Lee asleep on top of you.  Regular Lee, that is, naked with no fur whatsoever and a normal cock that had softened inside you.

Okay, maybe "normal" was a strong word considering it was still pretty big and deliciously thick despite not even being hard anymore, but at the very least totally human.

"Lee," you whispered harshly, shaking him to try to wake him up.  "Sheriff."

He stirred, and his cock moved inside you; the subtle stimulation on your sore insides made you moan lowly and involuntarily squeeze your walls around him.  That got his attention, and you heard his breathing change beside your ear before he groaned a little.

"Mornin'," he greeted, his grin audible in his tone as he sat up slightly and looked down at you.  You reached up and brushed your hand over his chest, happy to find a much thinner layer of hair there than last night.  "Of all the times I woke up in this forest with no fuckin' idea what happened the night before… this has got to be my favorite."

"What's the last thing you remember?" you asked.

"I told you to run… I must've caught you, huh…"

You nodded and bit your lip.  

"You know I can't stop, when I'm like that… I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," you sighed, "you didn't— it wasn't you."

"But it's my seed in you," he remembered, his words sending a little tingle up your spine.  

He must have felt it, must have seen your eyes widen or heard you gasp a little, because he grinned proudly as he looked down at you.

"Oh, you really love it, huh?  Love bein' mine…"

His hands held your arms tight as he pinned them down, making you whimper a little while he leaned in to suck on your neck.

"Love bein' bred like a bitch, ain't that right?"

You heard the deep, desperate moan before you even realized it had come from your mouth, his chuckle beside your ear making your heart twist.

"Yeah, I can tell… who knew you were so dirty, little lady?  Sweet girl like you shouldn't be gettin' off on being ravaged in the woods by a monster."

"Y-you're not a monster," you protested weakly.

"I eat people," he reminded you, letting go of your hands which you instantly weaved into his hair.

"Well, that's… everybody's got flaws, that's all."

"Yeah?  And what's yours?" he teased.

"I've got a crush on my boss," you answered with a grin, "and I came harder than I ever have in my life being fucked by… what are you?"

"The clinical term is lycanthrope."

"Right," you nodded, "that."

"And what would a pretty girl like you have a crush on me for, hm?"

"I dunno," you smiled coyly, running a finger down his chest, "guess I just thought you were cute…"

"Cute?!" he scoffed incredulously.

"Yeah… and sweet… you know, you go around actin' all tough and stuff, but I think you're really just harmless."

He cut you off with a growl as he lightly bit at your neck, holding your arms down again and tightening his grip on your wrists until you yelped and giggled happily.  "Oh, honey, you have no idea yet just how monstrous I can really be…"

[special-bc-ur-part-of-it]

The Name of the Game

So basically, I was listening to ABBA while driving one day and The Name of the Game came on and I got ~inspired~ and started writing this Klaine fic (with badboy!Blaine) in which they're friends with benefits and have both caught feelings for each other but they're also idiots and haven't admitted it yet

Anyways, yeah, here's that, hope it's not literally the worst thing you've ever read or whatever:

also on ao3!

The only reason Blaine's at this stupid glee club party at Rachel Berry's house is because Puck told him there would be alcohol. Which thankfully there is because Blaine's not so sure he can sit through this all sober. He'd rather not be spending his night listening to Rachel Berry hog a karaoke machine and ruin some perfectly good songs for him and have to watch all the glee couples make out and dry hump seven thousand times during the night. But here he was with nothing else better to do. At least there was alcohol. And Kurt.

The only reason he even joined this stupid glee club in the first place is because the school had forced him into joining a club so he wouldn't get kicked out of yet another school and glee club had seemed slightly less terrible than others. That , and glee club had Kurt Hummel. Fashionable, snarky, sometimes aloof Kurt Hummel. The boy who held his head high through any obstacle and who couldn't help but pull focus when he walked into a room. Kurt Hummel, who was destined for things much bigger and much more fabulous than Middle-of-Shitsville Lima, Ohio. The boy who caught Blaine's eye the moment he saw him the first day he was at this damn school and who hadn't left his mind since. 

Honestly, at first he just thought Kurt was hot. A bit of a bitch, but hot. And Blaine had wanted in his incredibly tight pants. So he'd pursued him. He'd flirted with him constantly. Occasionally it was a little too risque for school property. Eventually Kurt started flirting back. Then Blaine ended up getting stuck in glee club. More flirting. But also just talking sometimes. Eventually he and Kurt had formed a rather unlikely friendship. A rather unlikely friendship that eventually developed into one with benefits. And that was how they'd existed with each other for the past couple months. They'd talk, they'd flirt, they'd hang out sometimes, they'd fuck. They didn't date or do any couple-y shit cuz they weren't a couple, just friends with benefits. That was all they were and all Blaine needed them to be. 

Except that it really wasn't. Kurt was different from any other guys he'd been with. Kurt actually seemed to care about him. Actually wanted to talk with him after most nights. Seemed to want him for at least a little more than just a quick fuck. Seemed to not mind being his friend too much at least. Sometimes seemed like he wanted them to be more than what they were. But maybe that was just Blaine making shit up. 

Blaine knows that Kurt wants romance. And that Kurt deserves some epic romantic love story. And he can't give him that-- he doesn't do romance. He doesn't do the whole falling in love thing. He's a bad boy who fucks around, no feelings involved, and doesn't let his heart want more. Except when he's with Kurt. 

Fuck, he shouldn't be getting almost sentimental like this at a party full of the sappiest people on the planet. What he should be doing is getting so wasted that he doesn't remember any of this emotional bullshit he's thinking in the morning. So that's what he sets out to do until his plan is quickly dashed by Kurt Hummel himself. 

"Hey, sunshine," Kurt teases, plopping down on the couch next to him. 

"Hey" is all Blaine utters in response, short and admittedly ruder than it should have sounded. 

"Having fun brooding over here all by yourself?" 

"Yup." 

"Something got you down?" 

"Are you seeing all of them?" Blaine starts, referring to the glee club couples. "It's sickening." 

"While I'll admit that this is a little...intense, I still don't get what it is you have against love." 

"I've told you, it's not for me. I'm a badass, I don't do romance." 

"I think you could if you wanted to…" 

"Nope. Not my thing." 

"Boo. But suit yourself I guess." 

"I will." 

"Well, someone's exceptionally moody tonight. Seriously, what's going on with you?" 

"None of your business." 

"Actually, I think that as your b-- um, as your friend, it is my business. So what's up?" 

"Look, I'm just not in the mood to be here right now, okay?" 

"Oh. Okay… sorry. Anything I can do to make your night here a little better?" 

"Nope." 

"I can't convince you to come sing or anything?" 

"Not tonight." 

"Bummer. It would be a lot more fun if my favorite duet partner would come sing just one song with me…" 

"Sounds like you should go ask your favorite duet partner then." 

Kurt lets out a sigh, clearly getting frustrated with him. "Fine. Be stubborn then." 

"Okay, I will." 

Kurt huffs and walks away from him, shaking his head. Blaine almost wants to tell him to come back. To agree to one song. He almost does it. Almost. 

He starts thinking he's a complete idiot for not doing that when Kurt takes the stage around 10 minutes later. Thank God someone finally managed to take the microphone away from Rachel. And he's glad that it's Kurt, too. One more ballad or cliche karaoke song might have just made him go crazy. He leans forward in his seat a little, ready for a trademark spectacular Kurt performance. Only...when the music starts, it's not Kurt's typical style. Blaine doesn't even recognize the song until Kurt starts singing.

I've seen you twice in a short time

Only a week since we started

It seems to me for every time

I'm getting more open-hearted

"The Name of the Game?" Really, he would have thought that if Kurt was going to choose ABBA, he'd have chosen something a little more...showy. It's not till the last couple lines of the next part that Blaine realizes that apparently it's not gonna be one of Kurt's usual pull-out-all-the-stops performances tonight. 

I was an impossible case

No one ever could reach me

But I think I can see in your face

There's a lot you can teach me

So I wanna know

It's right before Kurt starts the chorus that Blaine realizes Kurt's staring directly at him. Hell, making direct eye contact with him. 

What's the name of the game?

Does it mean anything to you?

What's the name of the game?

Can you feel it the way I do?

Tell me please, cause I have to know

I'm a curious child beginning to grow

Never would Blaine have thought you could feel so isolated in a room full of people. But right now he did because Kurt's eyes seemed to be piercing into his soul and Kurt was definitely singing all of this directly to him right now. 

And you make me talk

And you make me feel

And you make me show

What I'm trying to conceal

If I trust in you, would you let me down?

Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you?

Could you feel the same way too

I wanna know

The name of the game

Shit. Is he seriously contemplating the words of an ABBA song right now? Maybe it's kinda hard not too when the guy you've been sleeping with pretty exclusively for a little while now seems to be confessing something in song to you and staring into your soul while doing it and making you question everything. His mind starts racing but he's glued to his seat and he's trying not to listen to the words anymore cuz he can feel that heat under his skin with each phrase Kurt sings but he can't let the whole room know what he's feeling (since they're definitely all staring at him) cuz that would crack his rough exterior and he can't have that right now. 

And soon enough Kurt's on the last chorus and Blaine realizes that he's stepping off the little stage and making his way across the room to him and suddenly he feels like he's forgotten how to even breathe, how to function at all, a deer in headlights frozen to the spot. And on the last "name of the game," the last words of the song, Kurt's stopped just a couple feet away from him, looking at him somewhat expectantly.

All Blaine can think to respond is a barely above audible "Can we talk?" which is an odd answer because he's usually not the one who wants to talk. Kurt nods his reply and sits next to him on the couch once again. 

"Not here," Blaine begins, throwing a look towards the dozen other pairs of eyes pretending not to watch them right now. "Outside?" 

"Okay," Kurt agrees as he follows Blaine out onto Rachel's porch. 

"So…" Kurt prompts once they're outside. Blaine holds up a finger to stop him as he lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag before he even starts to talk. He can almost hear Kurt's definitely present exaggerated eye roll at his behavior. 

Blaine exhales the long drag of smoke before continuing, "So?" 

"You asked to talk...," Kurt states.

"Yup, sure did." 

"So…." 

"So what the hell was that about? 'Name of the Game?' You trying to get at something?" 

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about, you start acting like this whenever we're around other people, but when we're just together, alone, you're different, and I just can't tell where I stand with you sometimes. I honestly don't know sometimes if you like me or hate me or just tolerate me or if you're just using me or--" 

"Why does that matter so much to you?" 

"Because I… I really like you, Blaine, and I just wanna know what we are, if this means anything to you, if...if I mean anything to you."  

"Don't be ridiculous--" 

"So you mean I don't--" 

"Of course you mean something to me!" 

"Something as in…?"

"I like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?" 

"Only if it's true." 

"And if it is? Believe me, you wouldn't want to be with me anyway." 

"Why not?" 

"I've told you before, I'm not the type of guy you want." 

"And why's that?" 

"Because you deserve better than some teenage delinquent." He turns away from Kurt, not feeling like talking much anymore.

"You do realize that I like you for you and not the bad boy persona, right?" Blaine pauses. He glances over his shoulder. "I mean, I'll admit that the whole bad boy thing is kinda hot," Kurt continues, "but I like the boy underneath that persona a lot more." 

"You don't even know me." 

"Yes, I do. You can pretend that you're just a bad boy all you want, but I see a different side of you whenever we're together, and I just know that that boy I see is much more you than the bad boy 'you' is." Damn. Of course Kurt's the one person to see right through him like he's glass. Kurt's not wrong either-- he is different around him. When they're together, he's a little more open and a little less angry at the world and, in general, a little happier. He starts thinking that maybe being just with Kurt, being more than whatever they are now, wouldn't be so bad. 

But no. He can't do that to Kurt. He knows that if he tried to do the whole relationship thing, he'd just end up hurting him. He doesn't show it, but he cares too much about Kurt to hurt him. 

"No," Blaine starts, deflecting again, shaking his head, "no, you don't want me and all my issues." 

"You are such an idiot sometimes," Kurt comments. "Blaine, I care about you, and I like you for who you are, and I want to be with you, even with whatever issues you have to deal with." 

"Yeah, well, I still don't do romance or--" 

"Or relationships. I know. You know what, just….forget this. I guess I just got my hopes up that maybe this actually meant something to you, but it looks like I was wrong." Kurt turns away from him and takes a couple steps toward the door. This time Blaine's not a complete idiot. 

"Kurt, wait," he utters, catching Kurt by his wrist before he can go back inside. Kurt pauses briefly before jerking out of Blaine's grip. 

"You weren't wrong!" Blaine blurts, sounding more desperate than intended. Kurt stops, taking a few steps back towards him. 

"Please, don't play with me," Kurt nearly begs, sounding...sad? defeated? heartbroken? 

"I'm not," Blaine assures before just acting on impulse, grabbing Kurt by the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. But he's much more gentle than usual-- there is no rush, no want for something more, no purely lust-fueled taking of control, just a lot of feelings he doesn't know how else to express. He lets Kurt be the one in control, lets Kurt set the pace, lets him decide when they break to breathe, lets him wrap his arms behind his neck and pull him impossibly closer. 

And when they eventually pull apart, they're both speechless for a moment, a pregnant silence falling around them, only hearing their breathing and their heartbeats. 

"Wow," Kurt eventually breathes out, breaking the silence, "You really did mean it." Blaine merely nods in response, trying to remember what words are in the moment. 

"Why couldn't you just tell me?" Kurt continues after a pause. "Why did you have to keep up the facade with me?" 

"I was scared," Blaine finally admits after a little more silence. 

"Scared of what? It's just...me, us." 

"...Look, I have no idea how to do relationships or romance or anything like that, and I didn't want to hurt you 'cuz if we were anything more than just...what we've been doing, I would have screwed something up and I would have hurt you, and then you probably would have hated me, and then I'd lose you, and I don't think I could handle that because you really do mean a lot to me, and I know I don't really show it, but I like you and I care about you and-- and I...think I understand why you like romance so much now." 

"And I thought you didn't do romance…" 

"Well...maybe you were right. Maybe I could if I tried...but you'd probably have to teach me a lot about romance..." 

"So does this mean…" 

"Yeah. I guess it means we're like…boyfriends now or whatever." He's caught by surprise when a very smiley Kurt launches himself into his arms. But he relaxes into the embrace, holding his now boyfriend, chin resting on the other boy's shoulder. And he lets himself genuinely smile for the first time in a while, without caring if anyone else sees it, even though all the other glee club kids are definitely watching from a window at this point. He confirms his guess when he catches a glimpse of the other teens huddled around the window out of the corner of his eye.  

"You know they're all watching us, right?" he hums into Kurt's ear. Kurt pulls back from their embrace to look at him again. Then he sneaks a glance at the window. 

"Let them watch," Kurt flirts, tugging him into another deep kiss. He hears the muffled whoops from inside and deepens the kiss further, drawing out a soft moan from the back of Kurt's throat, slightly smiling into it. 

"Wanna get outta here?" Blaine suggests with a smirk once they pull apart. 

Kurt seems to contemplate it for a moment before responding, "No, not yet. You owe me a song first." 

"Ooh, I owe you a song?" 

"Mm hm. I'll let you pick…" 

"Okay. But only because I like you." 

Kurt merely smiles in response and takes his hand, leading him back inside. And for the second time that night, Blaine lets himself genuinely smile without caring who else sees it. 

[cinnabuntastic]

tag 10 some people you want to know better  

Tagged by @nicolasadrabbles

Relationship status: It’s Complicated. Not in a bad way but sometimes a family is a married couple, one kid, two cats, and a live-in asexual tire fire.

Favourite colour: Purple. All the way. I will die on that hill.

Favourite food: Tough one but generally some form of chili. Cincinnati chili most of all. Second place goes to homemade biscuits and gravy.

Song stuck in your head: The fuckin Wild K.ratts theme song because the Bean has been watching it every morning before camp with his cousin and I cannot escape it.

Last thing you googled: fitbit bands (look mine just broke I need a new one)

Time: 2:05 pm

Dream trip: Scotland, or the Hokkaido region of Japan

Last book you read: An Abolitionist's Handbook: 12 Steps to Changing Yourself and the World, by Patrisse Cullors

Last book you enjoyed reading: An Abolitionist’s Handbook. It was genuinely an eye-opening read.

Last book you hated reading: She/He/They/Me: For the Sisters, Misters, and Binary Resisters, by Robyn Ryle. It wanted so desperately to be a look into alternate gender presentation but just falls flat on its face in execution. Could NOT finish it.

Bonus:

Favourite thing to cook/bake: Gingerbread! I use sorghum instead of molasses; it makes a better end product. I’ve made it as my Go To Christmas Recipe for years, though I’ve struggled with adapting it gluten free since my diagnosis.

Favourite craft to do in your spare time: Drawing mostly, and at least making an attempt at writing. Depends on my energy levels.

Most niche dislike: Using olive oil to cook grilled cheese sandwiches. That’s what the butter is for! I’m looking at you and your gross couldn’t-even-melt-the-damn-cheese burnt fuckin disasterpiece, Gordon Ramsey.

Opinion on circus(es) now and in history: Complicated. I went to a lot of circuses as a kid and remember enjoying it, but those memories are tinged with a lot of bittersweetness now that I know how horrifically the animals were mistreated. I’m a bit more okay with circuses now, but at this point I’m mostly out of the target demographic.

Do you have a sense of direction and if not what is the worst way you ever got lost: Oh GOD I absolutely do not. I once wound up driving through Vermont between Ohio and New Hampshire and let me tell you that is actually REALLY hard to fuck up and do.

Tagging in: @inktheblot, @wordshakerofgallifrey, @the-proofreader (look I know I know you well already but humor me for the masses), @spoonieshepard

[myenterpriseisparked]

can.... can we get a cast for your zoologist Trek show?

I don't have names for them but here we go! This is kind of long, so I'm putting the characters under a cut.

The ship is called the USS Frontiersman. It works mostly in deep space, studying new forms of life on newly discovered planets. Crew compliment of 160. 50 exozoologists, 50 exobotanists, 20 environmentalists (including geologists and atmospheric experts). The remaining 40 crew members are engineers, security officers, helmsman, and the captain and first officer. I'm not positive on the time period this is set during, but it's at least at a point where there's not much conflict between Cardassia and the Federation.

Captain: She's a 40-year-old Engineer who never expected to make captain. Finding out she was being offered a command was the best day of her life. The worst day of her life was the next day, when she stepped on board and realized it was an exobiology ship filled with eccentrics. She slept through her required exobiology course so she has no idea what any of her crew members are talking about. She's basically that babysitter who's charges are all extremely passionate about things she doesn't understand and the parents have asked her to drive them around to local museums and science learning centers while the kids yell in the backseat about who's topic of interest is better.

First Officer: She's a 30-year-old who went through the academy on the command route and was known for being an excellent pilot. Has less knowledge of exobiology than the captain. The two of them keep trying to push interpersonal conflicts to be solved off on one another because neither of them understand what anyone's talking about enough to truly help solve the issue and, frankly, they're both a little frightened of the ferocity of their crew.

Head Engineer: Bajoran who actually did pay attention in biology and, while she's a little confused, she's eager to learn about what the others are prattling on about and is an excellent listener. She tries her best to translate for the non-exobiologist crew members, especially the captain and first officer. She was married (spouse died. tragically) and has a daughter that follows her around engineering. Everyone loves the kid and tries to convince her to study whatever their area of expertise is. Later in the show, when she's a little older, she decides to go the command route at Starfleet and become a pilot, much to the crew's dismay. The First Officer is absolutely tickled.

Chief Medical Officer(s): The Frontiersman actually has 2 chief medical officers; a doctor and a veterinarian. Yes, this is terribly inefficient and yes, they constantly butt heads. The vet is a young human woman from Ohio with a dry sense of humor and a penchant for snark. The doctor is a young human male from Michigan with a dry sense of humor and a penchant for snark. They absolutely hate each other until the day they realize that they are actually in love with each other and all of their arguments have been attempts to deny their attraction. Both of them are absolutely disgusted that they could fall in love with someone so... so... infuriating gosh dang it. They try to continue denying their feelings for each other because they are from rival states and they constantly fight over jurisdiction in the medbay for new species. One day, however, one of their most heated arguments ends in a passionate kiss and they stop fighting their feelings (but not each other).

From there, the rest of the crew is divided up under chiefs of specific taxonomical divisions. Sometimes a division will only have 1 scientist, other times it has a whole crew of people. Depends on the frequency of that type of living thing appearing. Most divisions only have 3 people; a chief and two junior officers. Not every chief is featured in the show because that would be too many characters, so just the ones that are considered part of the senior staff, which were selected by Starfleet at the time of commission based on training.

Chief of Feliformia: She's a hotheaded Betazoid in her mid 30's who spends her free time boxing on the holodeck. She argues a lot with the Chief of Canidae, but they still have breakfast together every morning to trade ship gossip. She wrestles with PTSD and anxiety, which she hides under a layer of bravado. Surprisingly enough, the only person she really feels comfortable opening up to about her past is the Chief of Canidae, because, despite all of their banter about cats vs dogs, they're her closest friend and she appreciates their blunt honesty.

Chief of Canidae: They're a Trill in their mid 30's who's passionate to the point of poetry about dog-like creatures. They're host to a younger symbiont, and they're one of the shortest people on the ship. They also only really open up to the Chief of Feliformia for similar reasons; the blunt honesty. Their relationship is strictly platonic (and I mean actually platonic, not whatever the VOY writers were trying to sell to us about Janeway and Chakotay).

Chief of Rodentia: He's a 70-year-old Bajoran/Cardassian. His mother defected from the Cardassian army to be with his father and the two of them raised him on earth where he raised pet rats. He always has about 7 various rodents tucked into his lab coat. He is a neat freak about his lab space and refuses to let anyone into his area unless they have completely scrubbed up and promise not to touch his PADD stack. Part of his particularity about his lab comes from the fact that he faced a lot of public ridicule due to his mixed heritage when he was young and so he's naturally very defensive of everything he does and owns.

Chief of Chiroptera: She's a twenty-something Half Vulcan-Half Betazoid who was raised on Betazed. Her Vulcan mother was the Vulcan ambassador on Betazed, and her work made her somewhat absent so, while she has enough of a restraint on her emotions not to be violent or aggressive, she's also more Betazoid in terms of personality. The combination of telepathic and empathic abilities from her parents has made her sensitive to large crowds, which is why she LOVES working in caves with bats away from other people. The combination of the two species' abilities constantly bombarding her and the need to restrain her Vulcan emotions have also resulted in her having ADD (her attention is being pulled in every direction so focusing on other tasks that don't immediately grasp her interest is SUPER difficult for her). However, she's also incredibly kind, difficult to shock or surprise, and very passionate about her work.

Chief of Reptilia: They're a human in their early 50's, a bit reclusive, and VERY unwilling to let people in their lab. They never show up to a meeting without a snake around their neck. The snake might be venomous. No one knows for sure. Whatever the case; everyone on board is pretty sure the reptile division is actually a cult because they never see anyone from that crew outside of the lab decks.

Chief of Aves: She's human, no one knows her age, and she refuses to wear a standard-issue lab coat, opting instead to wear a tie-die coat that reaches the floor. She speaks in riddles and everyone thinks she's crazy, but she's actually incredibly wise and an excellent listener. She specializes in raptors.

Chief of Livestock: Even though it's not technically a taxonomical order, they have a guy who specializes in studying livestock of alien cultures. No one is sure how old he is, or what his species is, for that matter. He has the calm, level-headedness of a Vulcan, but he always wears a hat so no one sees his ears or eyebrows to know for sure. He might just be a Midwestern farmer, because they can be Like That too. Despite working with livestock, he also never gets injured, so not even the doctor knows. Some people speculate that he's not human OR Vulcan, but some other immortal species, like a Q. This mystery is never solved on the show, but everyone really likes this guy.

Chief Exobotanist: Despite the fact that the plants are divided up into other taxonomical species, they all report to one Chief Botanist because the plant department is a lot more efficient and interconnected than the animal departments. Despite this, she's completely overworked and undercaffeinated. However, her workload doesn't stop her from being one of the sweetest and most creative people on board. As to the rest of her character, I defer to @emilie786 , as she is the inspiration for this character!

There are other chiefs who are occasional recurring characters, like the Chief of Aquaculture and the Chief of Amphibians. There are also several junior officers who we get to know a bit that are kind of fun. I'm thinking there's some kind of star-crossed lovers arc going on between someone who works in exobotany and someone who works in exozoology. There's also an overworked head of security who is getting really sick and tired of all the escapee animals he has to track down. I think he might fall in love with the Chief Exobotanist partially because plants don't run away and get into the Jeffries tubes (until they do, of course).

Anyway, if anyone wants to add to this, go for it! I'm open to ideas!

[grace-lost-in-space]

The Update

Everything has been really hard and today was my breaking point. As most of you know, I have three social workers. One with my home nursing agency, one with DCFS (the state), and one with the state of Ohio because that is where the original report was made when my mom dropped me off in Cleveland at a hotel by myself and I had to get myself to the clinic the next day. I still have no idea how I made it there. My doctor later told me he did not expect me to make it out of that admission alive. And the worst part was that when my mom dropped me off at the hotel, she told me "I hope you die." Well, I am really glad that I did not die. Maybe. I think.

So fast forward to today. My state social worker and my Ohio social worker both messaged me. My state social worker was called in because of the abuse allegations against my mom (when I had the black eye, etc). I have not seen her since her first visit 3 weeks ago. She asked how I am doing and then, in all of her glory, asked if my mom can help me find a new therapist. Because, you guessed it, I still have Legs as a therapist because of the psychiatry issue. This social worker promised me she would help me find a new therapist but told me she wanted me to keep seeing Legs until she found someone. Now she decided to put that responsibility on my mom OF ALL PEOPLE. My Ohio social worker messaged me to tell me that she has tried to contact the home nursing social worker for two weeks now and the HNSW has not returned her calls. I told her that I only ever met her once and she never did visit again. The HNSW is the one who is supposed to be helping me get the medicaid waiver and also get into a group home. Obviously that is not happening and the Ohio social worker is a little more than angry.

And to make things extra worse today, I had a session with Legs. She was 30 minutes late. She is never late, so it would not have been a big deal if she had just told me that she would be late. Her computer was messed up (not her iPad, so the video session would have worked either way) and that she would be running late. She did not do this. So what did I do? My brain combed through every scenario until it convinced me that she died or that something bad happened to her, since she never warned me that she would be late. And then as I was crying when she started the video chat, she said (and I have the whole session recorded) "Grace, I need you to stop. I need you to stop being upset, okay? You say you want people to think you are smart...well...then stop being upset and stop crying."

There was more. A lot more. But if I type all of it right now, it will send me back into my 7 hour meltdown and I am just now coming out of it so I want to keep it that way, at least for tonight. It was awful. She was telling me "I told you I didn't forget your session. My computer was messed up (she sees me on her iPad) but you don't believe me. You don't trust me." Which actually is not true. I kept trying to explain to her that I was crying/worried because she is never late and I thought something bad had happened since she never messaged me to warn me that she would be late. But she still found a way to turn it around on me.

All of this is a mess. All of it.

And then, as if everything else was not already falling apart, I got my labs back. My hemoglobin is back at transfusion level. I have to go to Cleveland next week to see the hematologist and have another transfusion and then hopefully set up regular iron injections to prevent this from happening again.

I am nervous for the appointment. I am always so scared of going to Cleveland alone. It is a really, really, really long drive there and back and I have to do it by myself. It is really hard but even harder when you are non-speaking. I still do not have words. I just want my words back more than anything. I think the first thing I would do is scream to anyone who would listen about how Legs treats me and about how so many others treat me because they assume that non-speaking correlates with intelligence. It does not. I am smart. And I do not need to "stop crying" if I want to be recognized as smart.

Another thing that several people have messaged me about over the past months/year/weeks is an AAC. This would be an app on my iPad like Proloquo2Go. It is for non-speaking people and it gives them an actual voice. Actual opportunities to speak. My speech therapist (Dr. Cough) suggested this app about a year and a half ago but I was hesitant because 1. it costs A LOT and 2. I really wanted to try for a while longer to get my words back. Unfortunately, it has been two years and I have not been able to speak. It has made everything harder, especially during hospital stays and at appointments because I have to write everything down on paper and people get very impatient and on a few occasions, I have even had providers/nurses take away my notebook so I could not keep writing. That would be like someone putting their hand over a speaking person's mouth. It has been awful. So I think I am going to kind of put the idea out there of fundraising for the app so that maybe, just maybe I can have an easier and more reliable way to communicate and one that will help people actually listen to me and take me seriously. Plus I want to be able to interrupt Legs. Right now she just puts her hand over my pen when we are in her office on Mondays and tells me to let her speak.

So I feel really self-conscious about this and also scared but I am going to give it a try anyway. If the only thing you are able to do is share this post, I would be so, so very grateful. If you are able to donate, I will be equally as grateful and please know that whether you share the post or donate, you are helping me get my voice back, even if it is through an app.

The app is called Proloquo2GO and it is for my iPad. It costs $250. I would be using it to communicate with everyone around me and most importantly with my doctors and my therapist. Right now, I am having to use a pen and paper and that has been tough in more ways that one.

Do you guys think it would be okay to try and fundraise for it? I have a PayPal account. I just feel so sad and so embarrassed that I have to ask for help. I feel like my life has been nothing but asking for help from doctors and my mom and therapists and now you all. I feel so sad. And I am really, truly sorry if this post comes across as pushy or anything of the sort. I just really want a way to have my voice back and after doing a lot of research and a lot of messaging with others, this seems like my very best option right now. And please know that I would be forever grateful and that you would be making an honest difference in my life, whether you share or donate, or send well wishes my way. I am so thankful for the community here. I will put my PayPal link at the bottom of this post. I hope that is okay. I am really nervous for this part. But here goes nothing. Or maybe here goes the start of learning to advocate for myself and actually being able to advocate for myself for once. There are other apps with a similar concept but this is the one that my speech therapist and others on my team have recommended over and over 💙.

paypal.me/savinggrayce

[douxspider]

— 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. (3)

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) — Waking up at Reader's place, we finally get a glimpse at Arvin's POV. Though, while their relationship seems to be moving forward, it seems like the whole 'running away into the sunset' deal only happens in fiction.

+ this is the third part to peachy keen! (ao3 link)

warnings: angst, almost smutty but nothing explicit is written, mentions of murder, preston teagardin lmao, rated mature word count: 4,244 published: 9/24/20 ao3 link — part 1, 2

— — • — — 

When Arvin woke up leaned against you, he felt his face turn into a beet shade of red. Slowly parting from your leaning form on the couch, he rubbed his eye, unaware that he had an actual decent rest in such a cramped position. He hardly ever felt comfortable enough to sleep in his own bed. Usually, attempts at sleep were mostly met with staring at the ceiling blankly, recalling haunting memories on repeat in his head.

His thoughts were blank when he fell asleep. Arvin was met with nothing but the television’s staticy audio and the sound of your quiet breathing.

He looked over to take in your features— what amazing features, he thought— and found his hand carefully creeping to the side of your face to brush the knuckle of a finger near your ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it lovingly.

Arvin loved you.

He knew he shouldn’t— he knew he had no idea what love was— but within the few months spent together, Arvin knew he liked you too much to be calling it ‘liking’ and ‘platonic’.

That one stormy evening alongside memories of beating the hell out of Lenora’s bullies, blood and bruising splattering his knuckles like paint, he needed a place to clear his head. He needed a place that was quiet in every way shape and form. Arvin had been driving with a foggy haze before his eyes had locked onto McCann Boys. Arvin wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t anything, he just needed to sit somewhere other than a damn car where he could swerve into a building and die.

When he stepped in, the immediate smell of sweetness overloaded his senses, and he found himself hesitantly sitting down in a booth, wringing the cloth against his knuckles in a patterned fashion.

Then you approached.

And by God, had you been the prettiest sight to see. If it were on any other day, Arvin would’ve been sure to come up with better words than asking if he had to buy anything.

That’s not how you talk to a pretty face, his father would scold in his head, y’wanna smile at ‘er, and make her feel all sorts of butterflies. Y’gotta make her feel like the only girl in the world, son.

Arvin often had his father’s coaching in his head when it came to things like this. Though, it didn’t really make sense most of the time. His father didn’t live long enough to meet Arvin in his ‘girl phase’. This was more than a phase, he promised himself, looking at your resting form. And my, had the universe been so forgiving of him, making sunlight drawing from blinds rest on your features, highlighting your skin and making you look like a pure, unadulterated angel.

He wanted you.

Arvin bit his bottom lip. He wanted you so bad. He wanted to keep you forever. He wanted to take you away from this lowly place in Ohio and bring you somewhere nice, somewhere with beaches and sunshine, away from disgusting preachers, dried blood and judgmental eyes.

Realizing the first time you went to that church, Arvin could see the way that no-good priest looked at you. He knew what that man did to Lenora. He knew everything. Arvin got up from the couch, his fists turning stark white as he paced towards the apartment door, red building at the sides of his eyes. Arvin had to protect all the girls in town. He had to. For Lenora, for Y/N. He had to go and—

“Arvin?”

Hearing a voice that reminded him of bells, Arvin turned around, seeing you slowly rise up from the couch and looking over to make contact with him. “Where are you going?”

Your sleepy tone was so amiable. Your eyes were so dazed, blinking as you gave a small sniffle, scratching at your shoulder.

“I was…” Arvin trailed off before coming back towards you, kneeling in front of the couch and giving a smile as he took your hand. “I was gonna get you breakfast. As a thank you.” A lie, but it was fine. He was planning on watching the priest. Though, breakfast didn’t sound too bad. Time with you was worth more than anything else. You were all he had, next to his grandmother and uncle.

You smiled. He melted a little inside.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” you murmured as you clutched onto his hand. Your eyes were studious, flitting around his body, and he suddenly felt small. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about the sleeping stuff… if your neck was stiff, I mean, I’d feel bad—”

“Y/N,” Arvin spoke sternly, “that was the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your eyes turned round, diluting slightly once they met the sunlight.

Arvin could hear his father’s berating tone in the back of his head. Say it. Be a man. He looked at the ground, holding onto your hand for dear life, uneasily balancing his weight on his knee. Though, Arvin couldn’t say anything. Nothing was coming out. There you were, waiting so patiently, being so patient with him, and he was at a lack for words.

Words wouldn’t fix this. Only action. Action would fix everything, Arvin knew this. He was taught this. He was always better physically expressing his thoughts and feelings than vocally or emotionally.

Releasing one of his hands from yours, he curved one underneath your palm and pulled your soft, untouched knuckles against his lips, giving a kiss. These knuckles have never hurt a soul. This being had never hurt anyone. Arvin would make sure it would stay that way.

He glanced upwards, his cap altering his view slightly, and he could make out the way your cheeks turned a different shade, inviting lips gaping slightly.

Smiling against your skin, Arvin moved his free hand to the top of yours and gazed at you. To his surprise, he watched as your thumb rolled circles against his own. You were smiling, and it was a smile to take in. Oh, it was.

“You’re sweet, Arvin,” you giggled so beautifully and he wanted to listen to his name coming out of your mouth on repeat, “...I kinda want donuts.”

Arvin couldn’t help but give a laugh under his breath at the change of moods. He stood up, continuously holding your hand as he refused to let it go, and said, “Let’s get donuts, then.”

—

He was angry. He was a pot boiling. Staring at Preston from afar, he watched from his car as the man interacted with a female shopowner who was fresh out of highschool. Arvin’s leg bounced within his vehicle, the sun setting, and he continued to survey.

Preston would interact with girls other than his wife. He would bring girls into his car and do unspeakable, unlawful things with them, then proceed to go back to the place he calls home and force himself onto his wife.

Arvin clutched onto the wheel.

While Preston was a horrible man who deserved the worst punishment from all graces of any lord, he found himself growing frustrated. Not even just about Lenora or all the sweet innocence the man took, Arvin found himself growing frustrated at his own damn self.

He would think about Y/N.

No, not doing such acts as those forcefully, imagining the same power dynamic, he would never. He meant it when he said he didn’t hurt girls. Arvin despised the man. He despised him and he wanted him gone. He wanted that man to suffer for what he did to his sister. Though, at points, he would drive up to your apartment and stare at the window that belonged to you. He would lick his chapped lips and his hand would shake as it reached the door handle. Then, Arvin would grow a clear sense of mind, he would receive clarity, and he would drive to the opposite side of town just to avoid even thinking about touching you in such a passionate way.

After a few days, Arvin decided.

He’d have to leave you behind.

He loved you, but he also loved Lenora, and Lenora deserved justice. Arvin could hear her voice already, pleading for him to let it go. To just let the man be. To leave. Do anything else. Settle down with you somewhere far, far away, start a life, start a family. Be free.

“I ain’t ever let anything go, ‘Nora.”

The priest was dead.

Arvin’s blood rushed through his veins as the sun set on the horizon, him zooming through the city streets, eagerly approaching your apartment.

God, it was a thrill. The adrenaline coursing through his veins after watching the damned predator fall onto the church floor bleeding from his wounds was cathartic. It made Arvin’s head whirl and turn dizzy. He had no moral thoughts, he was no longer moral, no longer a man that could be forgiven. Arvin felt the rage that built up within him for years be released with three gunshots, the guilt and agony of being alone and misjudged by any person left behind within the church.

Sitting in the car and hearing the blinker click at him, he turned it off once pulling into the lot. He took off his cap, carding his fingers through his hair, debating if he was really going to let you go.

Y/N offered a future he couldn’t take. It hurt more than anything.

Arvin glanced up at your patio, seeing you move from behind the window. You were only a silhouette. You were yet to be discovered by him in this manner, this new Arvin Russell. You wouldn’t recognize him, he thought, he wouldn’t recognize you.

It would be a completely different take on his life. He was no longer himself. Was he better, or worse? Was he a criminal, or a vigilante? Arvin didn’t know what to do. It hadn’t set in yet that he was no longer only capable of beating bullies shitless. He was so much more than that. He was more.

Arvin could do anything.

It was dark out. He finally found the courage to yank open the door handle and step out of his car. He didn’t bother to lock it, he had nothing to lose.

Entering the apartment’s doors, smelling various spices of cooking or hearing children laughing from very muffled walls, Arvin found himself stomping up the steps, his heart beating against his ribs uneasily.

Staring at the room, noticing that the others around were vacant, Arvin could just about do anything. No one would know.

He clenched his fists a few times before finally knocking on the door with his knuckles. It was like the first time you two had met, his very knuckles expressing his pain and anguish, and you read onto the signs of a lonely man seeking solace. Arvin was still bruised and broken; just not in any place where you could see it.

You opened the door, and your mouth opened before closing abruptly. Arvin knew he must’ve looked like he just killed someone. Well, he did, but you didn’t know about that.

Arvin wanted you. Though, he’d be careful, you were the one delicate thing in his life. He had to treat you with care. He had to treat you so gently this night, for it would be your last with him.

Taking a step inside, he moved his hand up and cupped your cheek, moving his thumb— once holding a gun used to kill— so that it wiped gingerly beneath your bottom lip. Your jaw fidgeted slightly as you were attempting to find words. Though, your hand didn’t disagree with his actions. Instead, it met the back of his palm, planted gently on top of his own hand that held your cheek.

Confident, Arvin moved in closer and pulled you towards him, meeting your lips with his. You made a soft noise in your throat and it set Arvin’s mind on fire. Flames danced between your faces, and he felt you eagerly kiss back, your arms snaking across his shoulders as he found himself kicking the door with the back of his heel to close it shut.

Your hands found themselves on the surface of his head and pushing off his cap to knot fingers in his hair. Arvin didn’t even care. His body was burning underneath your touch as he found himself pressing you against the nearest flat surface, which was your dining room table that held a vase with hand picked flowers resting inside and a sweet floral mat keeping it level. You were so adorable, he swooned in his head, you were so precious to him and oh so good. You’re so good.

Wife material, Arvin’s head was screaming, he wanted to steal you away and marry you. You were lifted onto the mahogany table, Arvin’s tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You were so good, submitting your mouth to him, letting him roam the inside and clutch onto your hips so tightly it could bruise. Feeling your soft, untouched, blessed hands clutch onto his belt line had him push his pelvis closer to yours.

“Arvin—” you attempted, but he wouldn’t let you. No, he wouldn’t let you worry. You didn’t need to worry about anything, not with him around. He was your protector, he would keep you safe, he wouldn’t let you die or leave. He wouldn’t let you be hurt by anyone. Thinking about keeping you close to him in his arms, just this close, making you sigh from pleasure as Arvin plastered kisses down your jaw and to your neck to test the waters of what made you quiver; it was enough to drive him insane.

He found his teeth scraping at your flesh and you gasped, arching your body upwards and he felt your hips grind against his middle. It made him give out a guttural growl of need.

“Arvin, wait— wait, honey, stop—”

Arvin didn’t want to. Though, he would, just for your sake. He lifted his head up to meet yours, and once you made eye contact with him, your expression changed from flustered to concerned. Nurturing. Your hand met his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing itself underneath his eye, and he moved a hand to hold your wrist and gently kiss your palm.

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, as if you raised it any further it would blow Arvin away. “What’s going on?”

He wanted to tell you everything. You were so kind, you were everything, you were the sun and stars and sky. Nuzzling into your hand, he murmured, “Nothin’...”

“It’s clearly something if you come into my apartment and start kissing me like this, Russell,” you spoke, his last name strong in your city accent. Your voice was so stern, so dead set on uncovering him, and Arvin gazed at you, still high from revenge and loving you.

He hesitated. Arvin pinched his lips together, licking them faintly, still tasting your lip scrub on them.

Your warm hands met his burning face, handling them so sweetly. “You don’t need to give me specifics,” you started, “...just give me something, Arvin, so I know you’re in your right mind.”

Your name made his eyes flutter shut, nudging his nose against yours. “Say m’name like that again, sweet girl…”

“Arvin.” Your tone was more of a warning. It pulled him back from the sea of desire.

Arvin sighed, mumbling, “I had a revelation, darlin’…” his thumb rolled circles into your wrist, “I had a good day… ‘m a free man, Y/N. I wanna share this with you.” He opened his eyes to see you gazing at him so sweetly. “Let me have this night with you, pretty girl. I wanna make you feel as good as me. I’m sober, I promise, ‘m just intoxicated by the thought of you.”

“Such a flirt,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt himself smirking.

“Only for you.”

Your beautiful, reflective eyes stared into his. Then, they shut, and you moved your head forward to slowly encapture his lips. Arvin was more than eager to requite this. Fervor filled his loins as he clutched your thigh once it was squeezing against his side.

“Sweet baby girl,” he whispered into your ear, “Can we move this to your bed?”

—

When Arvin woke up, he had never felt more exhausted. He was hit with a newfound clarity. There was a soft gray shade leaking from the windows, and he squinted at the clock from across the room— wiping the fogginess from his eyes— and took notice that it was in the early hours of five a.m. Arvin went to move, but was barricaded by something clinging to his side.

His eyes were round as saucers as he took a hold of your nude bodies entangled.

Flushed, he quickly whipped his head back ahead, staring at the ceiling.

The confidence he had last night was almost embarrassing. Though, he licked his teeth and looked back to you, his fingers carding through your hair. Your hair was so soft to the touch, so perfect for someone like you, never missing the latest trends.

Arvin gave a hum of contentment, taking in your features in the early morning. Last night was full of unbridled desire, a fervor that the both of you had been bottling up for who knows how long. Perhaps, since that rainy day in the bakery, there had been that weird spark that compelled you both to do this.

He buried his nose in your sweet scented hair, pressing his lips against your warm forehead, hearing you shuffle and murmur under your breath. You were still very much asleep.

Taking in your sleeping face for the last time, Arvin gave a pained smile. He didn’t want to leave you at all. He wanted to keep you forever— he wanted to wake up to this every day— but he couldn’t let you become an accomplice. Arvin had to protect you.

With that, he managed to sneak his way out of your koala arms and legs and get dressed in his old clothing. Reading over the letter he wrote yesterday, Arvin felt his heart break with each word. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved better than him— someone who could keep themselves together, who wasn’t so haunted by the past. You came to this city to escape yours, and he couldn’t drag you into his. He had to escape too. Some part of him knew you would understand that with time.

Arvin had stopped by a bakery quickly, ordering a lemon and poppyseed muffin with the most bittersweet feeling, coming back to your room to see you were still dead asleep.

He placed the muffin box down on the nightstand and folded the letter so that it stood up with your name on a proud display. Arvin’s hand wringed its way through his hair before he stared at his ragged blue cap for a moment, placing it alongside the muffin and letter.

Arvin leaned down to kiss you on the lips briefly, you giving a sleepy hum, pursuing your lips lazily before drifting unconscious again. He noticed that the sun was just rising.

The sunset brought a bit of hope. He watched you sleep for a bit, the purple turning into a golden on your features, before he made his exit.

—

Your body felt like jello. Giving a groan, your hands scavenged the sheets for the warm body that accompanied you that night, but you were left with a cold absence. Cracking your eyes open and grunting at the shine of the sun, the clock spoke nine a.m, and you were surprised Arvin was not with you.

You licked your lips and sat up. Stretching your spine, you noticed you were nude and blushed, pulling the sheets up your chest. “Arvin?” You called, noticing the lack of your friend— lover? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits?— and gave a long exhale. Luckily you had the day off, as convenient as that was.

Looking over, you noticed the hat, muffin box, and letter. Your name was in bold pencil, and you tilted your head curiously before leaning over and peering through the plastic cover. You smiled and saw the dark spots of poppyseeds on the treat. It was sentimental, and your heart nearly burst.

Gazing at the hat, you were inquiring if he just managed to leave it behind.

You decided to take the letter, opening it up and not preparing for what you’d read.

Y/N,

You’re probably wondering where I am right now. I am too. If you asked me right now, I wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

I did something that can’t be forgiven. Maybe not by the Lord, definitely not by law, uncertain by you. I don’t want you to worry. I’m safe. I can’t come back. I can’t give you a number or address. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know who I will be.

The world ain’t been kind. I know it ain’t been kind to you either. I don’t want to make things even worse for you, sweet girl. You’re everything I didn’t deserve. You said to me a long time ago that I deserve good, but I don’t. You are such a good girl, so much so I can’t have you. A part of me wants to be selfish and keep you. I know I can’t. I can’t do that to you.

You’re gonna hear about that preacher man. You’re gonna hear things about me, probably. I just want you to know I did it because I had to. You need to know that. I couldn’t be alive knowing Lenora wasn’t and he was. I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sorry for leaving you. I don’t want to. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be with me right now, pretty girl. I’d give everything just to see you every morning, every afternoon, every night. Ever since that day where you forgave me for the first time for my sins, smoking and drinking black coffee, I know what else I could fight for. I know what I could have just for myself. The sad part is, God is a sadist, and he won’t let me have you.

You asked me if I like Puppy Love, and I do. I’m listening to music for once as I write this, and I understand all the stuff they cry about on the radio. I know what it means to love. My heart ain’t ever been this broke before, sweetheart. 

I love you, Y/N.

As I said, we’ll be seeing each other again. Look out for postcards from my initials.

A.R.

When you finished, wet spots had been dotting the paper, and the last two initials were the final nail in the coffin. You let out a choked sob, leaning over to clutch onto the paper close to your chest. You collapsed onto the sheets, weeping, unable to comprehend. You kept asking why, why, why, even though it was right in front of you.

You flipped the page, noting the sweet lyrics on the back.

I cry each night, my tears are for you, my tears are all in vain, I hope, I hope and I pray, that maybe someday, you’ll be back in my arms once again.

Sniffling and wiping at your nose, you gave a few sobs, pressing your palm against your damp cheeks until they turned red.

You folded the paper and placed it back on your nightstand, curling in on yourself, clutching your sheets that still had Arvin’s presence lingering on them. Pressing them against your wet, hot face, you gave a few soft wheezes.

How could you tell Arvin you loved him, too? How could you write back to him? How could you sleep at night, not knowing he was okay? That there was no way you could tell him you’d wait forever for him?

You must’ve managed to doze off, as the sun was no longer as golden as before. The skies were a clear blue, and you managed to tug on tolerable clothes. Standing on your patio, you clutched the metal railings, staring down at the town with dismay. He was no longer here. This town no longer held that charming spark that you’d learn to love.

Walking back inside, you gazed at the letter, muffin, and hat. Leaning over, you grabbed the blue cap and rubbed your thumbs against the torn fabric, pressing the lid against your lips and kissing it. At least you had this— something you rarely saw him without. He gave you this, and your heart soared at the thought. Placing it on the top of your head, you took the lemon and poppyseed muffin and headed towards McCann Boys.

Marilyn perked at your presence, speaking, “Sweetpea, it’s not your workday.”

“I’m here as a guest,” you murmured, gazing at her, and Marilyn’s eyebrows rose at your expression. She gave a sorry nod at you, continuing to swipe down the counters.

You sat in the booth you and Arvin met at, and you took your seat, gazing at the ashtray emptily. Picking at the muffin, you fixed your cap to hide your face.

The radio near the coffee player began to sing. Your heart dropped, and you recalled the oh-so familiar lyrics.

...This is not a puppy love.

[shirtlesssammy]

3x04: Sin City

Then:

Dean killed Azazel

Now:

A nun wanders an empty church, replacing hymnals. The priest finds her and offers to walk her to her car. They both find a parishioner in the balcony who gets their attention by announcing that “God’s not with us.” He then shoots himself in the head. Ooof. 

While Dean and Bobby work on the Colt, Sam informs them that he’s found sightings of demonic omens. Bobby stays behind to figure out how the Colt works while Dean and Sam take off for Ohio and the new case.

Interviewing the priest, the brothers learn that things changed in the town about two months prior --the same time they opened the devil’s gate. 

The brothers then head to their motel room, where Dean runs into an old hunter friend, Richie. They banter and then they all talk shop. Whatever’s happening, doesn’t make sense. (Sidenote: Dean’s pumped that the room has Magic Fingers. Yay, bby) Dean asks about anyone in town whose whole personality has changed. Richie answers, “There’s Trotter.” He’ll be at his bar in a couple hours. 

The town is anything but a boarded up factory town. It’s got coeds as far as the eye can see, and Dean’s ready to do some research. Trotter’s Bar is the epicenter of debauchery. They find the priest there. 

Sam wonders what the padre is doing there. He goes where the flock is. 

Dean then gets to flirt mildly with the bartender and fun fact: He likes Hurricanes. I feel like this is one part of Dean’s personality not explored in later seasons. Let the boy drink his fruity drinks, 202K! 

Before anyone can react, a man walks in and shoots another man dead. 

Dean tackles the assailant before he can off himself. Sam throws holy water on him, but he’s not possessed. The man admits that the victim slept with his wife. (Sam sees Dana Scully’s dad from across the bar. Man, things are REALLY WEIRD here.) (Natasha: Nooo he’s the general from Stargate!)

The cops later take the man away and tell Sam and Dean that the paper will be there shortly to take their pictures.

That’s the brothers’ cue to leave. Dean wonders where Richie is before they take off. 

Richie is with the bartender. She’s taken him to her parent’s country estate. It’s secluded and has toys. Just when things are getting interesting for poor Richie, the bartender reveals she’s really a demon, and she knows he’s a hunter. WHERPS. He tries attacking, but she snaps his neck in two seconds flat. Richie!

Later at the bar, Dean forgoes eating his burger to track down the missing Richie. Sam decides to follow Trotter. 

Bobby, meanwhile, is getting the Colt back into fighting shape. Ruby shows up and taunts him to test out the Colt. He does. The aim is true but the bullets aren’t right. She offers to help him with the gun. 

The brothers practice seriously dangerous cell phone usage (Seriously Sammy? You didn’t put it on silent? Seriously Dean? You’re driving while not hands free? UGH.) 

Dean’s back at the bar and a prostitute approaches him for a discounted good time. Dean doesn’t pay. (Or is that Sam? IDK, neither of them have to pay. Have you seen them!?) The bartender is back at work and saw the whole thing. It doesn’t deter her that Dean struck out with a prostitute and they head out for fun times elsewhere. 

Sam watches Dana Scully’s dad leave his office and heads in himself to investigate. Dana Scully’s Dad Trotter appears again and there’s a slight tussle before Sam realizes that he’s also not a demon. Sam awkwardly realizes his mistake and makes his exit. Sweet dumb boy. 

Dean, meanwhile, is heading down the same path as his dead buddy Richie. Dean’s no dummy though and sets up a devil’s trap. He pulls out his Latin book to exorcise her back to Hell. He doesn’t have it memorized yet and she starts up a demon wind machine. He loses the pages AND the basement door caves in. Worst Date Ever.

Later, Dean explores his new prison to the amusement of the demon trapped with him. She mocks him openly for not having an exorcism memorized. 

The demon taunts Dean expertly. Dean Bean’s offended at being labeled the dumb one and I am OFFENDED on his behalf! They wait to see whose rescue is going to arrive first - Dean’s or hers. 

Sam frets at the bar over his missing brother, and bribes the bartender for his whereabouts.

Meanwhile, Dean and the demon’s snarkfest marathon continues. She tells him that she didn’t even have to engage in mystical hijinks to send people in town into an evil tailspin. All she had to do was drop a few suggestions about the profit of vice to Trotter and humans took care of the rest. She describes humans as weak and corrupt. 

For Constantly Weak for Dean Winchester and SYMBOLISM Science:

Sam heads inside her (other) house and finds sulfur. The game is afoot!

Meanwhile, Dean and the demon enjoy a little philosophical exchange. “Do you believe in God, Dean?” she asks him while I chew my own arm off. She sets up the apocalyptic battle from the demon perspective. Humans have wrought carnage on their world, so it’s the demons’ turn to “do it right this time.” 

Sam’s back at the bar again, calling Bobby to report that he can’t find Dean. I guess the game is...not so afoot after all. The bartender offers him booze before downing a shot himself and, frustrated with the townsfolk, Sam zeroes in on the priest who’s still hanging out in the bar. 

Demon Casey tells Dean that she’s faithful to Lucifer, light-bringer and the one who will raise demons up. She’s a believer. Dean oh-so-casually asks what Hell is like and the BRAVADO masking the FEAR! Jensen Ackles, your face hurts me sometimes.

For HURTSSSSS MEEE Science:

She sees right through him. “It’s a pit of despair,” she tells him frankly. “Why do you think we want to come here?”

Sam, meanwhile, is involved in a terribly awkward discussion with the priest at the bar. He’s worried about his brother and thinks he might be…..in trouble. The priest offers to bring Sam to Casey. His eyes turn black as he turns away from Sam. 

The demon and Dean have settled into a friendly heart to heart at this point. She tells him that she actually likes him and thinks he did something good when he sold his soul to save Sam. 

Dean tries to laugh off her real talk. He thinks it’s freeing to be damned - he can live his life any way he wants now. He’s totally not scared at all. Not at all!!!

The demon riding the priest interrogates Sam, asking him about his aspirations for the future. Yeah! Why aren’t ya in college, Sam!

Dean and Demon Casey continue to bond, and the scene takes the tone of a couple kids just chilling in the basement talking about life. Which is...actually sort of accurate. 

Casey tells Dean that Yellow Eyes, a.k.a. Azazel, had a plan to bring the minions of Hell to Earth, but Dean killing him put a significant wrench in those plans. She tells him that Sam was supposed to lead the demon army. Uh. Wherps. Instead of Sam, there’s a power vacuum in Hell. Demons everywhere are fighting for the crown. “For the record,” she tells him, “I was ready to follow Sam.” And damn, if I don’t get the feeling that Dean likes her a little better because of that. 

Sam and his demon priest arrive. Dean issues a warning to Sam, but Sammy doesn’t have to worry because Bobby shows up with the Colt! Bobby hands off the gun to Sam, Ruby smirking in the background. The priest breaks into the basement and smashes through the devil’s trap holding Demon Casey in. They kiss while Dean looks on in surprise.

Surprise, Dean! They’ve been lovers for centuries! Casey begs the demon priest for Dean’s life and it gives just enough delay for Sam to shoot the priest with the Colt. The priest flashes out. Dean tries to stop Sam from killing Demon Casey but Sam shoots. She flashes out as well. Remember, kids, there’s no room for love on Supernatural unless it’s DOOMED LOVE. 

The next morning, Dean tries to figure out what they actually won from this hunt. There are two demons dead and one alive - and very bad - human. “Maybe these people wanna destroy themselves. Maybe it is a losing battle,” Dean opines to Bobby. He notes that Sam’s dispatch of both demons was “cold” and brings up Azazel’s words to him: When Sam came back, he might have come back different. They both agree (halfheartedly) that Sam is doing FINE and is definitely not at all concerning.

Sam and Ruby meet up in a hotel room. Sam’s suffering regrets and calls Ruby a “cold bitch.” She takes issue with this assessment, particularly since she’s saved his life a few times. I mean, knowing about Ruby aside, I fully agree here. Fun fact! The word “bitch” was used four times in this episode! Ruby continues to dangle the hope that she might be able to help save Dean from his deal. Sam levels the Colt at her.

Sam threatens to kill her, but it’s just empty words. Ruby warns him that the fight ahead won’t be easy, but she’ll be there by his side. A little “fallen angel” on his shoulder. (Shakes my head at this goddamn show.)

Where Everybody Knows Your Quotes:

Toys trump oils

A demon with a heart. Wow

You don't get it. All you got to do is nudge humans in the right direction

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[lilhawkeye3]

This Ohio discourse has got me dying to create discourse about every other state now hehe so I officially present:

Hawk’s review of 36/50 US states!

In alphabetical order because that fuckin song “50 nifty United States” has been stuck in my head since fourth grade.

Arizona: Phoenix is hot. Can’t believe y’all choose to live in a place that gets haboobs. Saw Sen. John McCain in the airport. I feel that sums up the state well. 4/10

California: as a resident of the state of Oregon, I’m legally required to say fuck California😌 unless anyone else talking shit about Cali and then we got your back😤 SoCal vs San Fran vs Northern Cal are totally different worlds though. 7/10

Colorado: damn idk how y’all breathe there, them air is thin. But really pretty out there! 7/10

Connecticut: oh my god fuck New Haven. And Stamford, and Hartford, and— Yknow what? Let’s just toss the whole state into the Sound. For real, traffic is the WORST here and I’m so sorry that y’all gotta live like that. 3/10

Delaware: I cannot believe this is considered a state. There’s no difference between Delaware and Maryland/Pennsylvania. 1/10 should not be a state

Florida: “the only hills in Florida are the highway ramps and the Matterhorn!” —the shuttle driver at Disney World. He was right. Shit is flat as fuck here. And hot. And humid. The Gulf Coast is nice? But tbh it’s just all very touristy which is kind of a bummer. 5/10

Georgia: ...I can’t with the humidity or thinly veiled racism. But y’all got nice peaches! Also Black Panther filmed there so thank you for blessing us with that. 6/10 for fruits

Hawaii: okay pineapple farms are cool. Tbh I just feel really bad for how much mainlander/tourist bs all the islanders put up with. Ik price of living is v high and keeps going up. That said I did love Hawaii... although I was stung by a jellyfish. Hate those little bastards. 8/10 for wonderful people and nature

Idaho: as an Oregonian I’m required to also say fuck Idaho 😝 you da hoes. Okay for real tho southern Idaho has become v white white and kinda scary tbh. The northern part of the state is pretty chill tho. Also Oreida kettle chips are partly made in Idaho so I gotta give you half credit for that. 4/10

Illinois: at least you’re not Indiana. 4/10.

Indiana: I never want to step foot in Gary, Indiana again in my life. (Passed a Mack truck hauling a race car to Indy 500 though so that was cool.) 2/10

Iowa: I almost moved here. I’m so glad I didn’t. Why are the Quad Cities actually a group of five towns? I hate that. Also the roads were all cement, felt like driving on a sidewalk. Was also interesting because the second we got out of the city proper, it was just... corn fields everywhere. 2/10 y’all raising children of the corn.

Kentucky: I really don’t have anything to say about Kentucky. I thought the trees were pretty? 5/10 yeah idk

Maine: my relative has totaled two cars by hitting moose in Maine. Maine scares me. Or rather, the moose do. Also the lobster roll hype is real. And the coast truly is beautiful. 8/10 but an extra point for the moose bc I hate that relative so 9/10

Maryland: oh god Baltimore. Also I’m blaming you for the DC traffic because it’s on the land you gifted them. 3/10

Massachusetts: Patriots fans are the worst NFL fans (the racism is real, especially after fans burned the jerseys of Black players who knelt for the anthem). Liking Dunkin’ Donuts is not a personality trait. The North End in Boston is truly the best place to get pizza in the entire country. Western Mass is not the same state. And the Cape Cod bridges give me nightmares. 5/10 but cause I had to pay taxes two years and it really is Taxachusetts, knocking it down to 4/10

Michigan: it’s a lot bigger than I initially thought. 5/10

Minnesota: it’s Canada but in the US. Pretty driving through the southern part. Cops suck tho. 5/10

Montana: okay Montana is downright gorgeous. (Except Billings. Sorry, Billings.) I must include a photo. I wanna get a cabin here and just exist. 8/10

New Hampshire: can’t decide if it hates Massachusetts or wants to be Massachusetts. All it knows is that it’s better than Vermont. Which... y’know, valid. (If you wanna see NH culture watch North Woods Law tbh). 4/10

New Jersey: why are there so many goddamn highways in this state? Also there are more places to weekend trip than the Shore or the Poconos. Although you do have people pump gas for you just like Oregon, so... that’s valid. Things my friends have added: Newark airport is cursed (valid), the jughandles are nightmares (true), pork roll/Taylor Ham is good and so are bagels and New Jersey pizza (allergic so idk), and everyone is split on whether the shore is actually decent or not 😂 I give it a 3.5/10 out of spite

New York: NYC is fun, Upstate is MASSIVE but really beautiful. Long Island is... yeah I don’t have anything nice to say about Long Island. 8/10 For NYC, 6/10 for Upstate, -2/10 for Long Island, gives us an average of 6/10

North Carolina: very good peaches. Isn’t South Carolina. Keep it up👍🏽 6/10

Ohio: I already told y’all how I feel about this flat ass boring state. I feel no need to slander it any more lmao. 3/10

Oregon: she flies with her own wings, mi amor🥰 to list all the reasons I like Oregon (and the issues too bc it ain’t perfect), I would need a whole other post. I’ll just leave you with this picture I took of Mt. Hood, the queen of our Cascades. 11/10

Pennsylvania: so apparently PN is three states hiding in a trench coat like NY. There’s upstate, philly and Pittsburg. Personally I think they’re just trying too hard and wanna get the same recognition as NY. Meh. 5/10

Rhode Island: THIS FUCKIN SHAM OF A STATE Just merge it with Connecticut and be done with it!! It’s tiny. Providence sucks. There’s nothing unique about this state that you can’t find in Southern Mass (except MA has cheaper taxes so y’all come to work and shop in MA anyways smh). Also the fingers are really annoying to drive down to get to some beach areas haha. 2/10 you’re barely better than Delaware.

South Carolina: my Black father was invited to a party celebrating General Robert E Lee’s birthday. So... 0/10

South Dakota: very gorgeous, didn’t realize the Missouri River went this far west, but VERY LARGE. I mean it looks big on a map but then you get there and... yeah. No speed limit on highways is a great time though. And the Badlands have mountain goats! 6/10 bc while pretty, living there seems really hard. (Picture is me in the Badlands).

Texas: gave us Juneteenth and Beyoncé and JJ Watts. Thank you Texas. But is very big, got independence from Mexico to keep slavery (yikes), is like 97% private land (yikes) and is like the second or third largest state. Very big. That said, everyone I’ve ever met from Texas is lovely. 6/10.

Utah: Other than Idaho, this is the whitest state I’ve been to. Or it feels that way. Like a, the people crossed to the other side of the street and held their bags because I’m brown, state. And I don’t ski so I can’t even say that’s a good thing (I fell off the ski lift the one time I went, long story). Yeah 0/10.

Vermont: wants to be New Hampshire or Canada and can’t decide which. So it’s just kinda there. Pretty hills though. 3/10

Virginia: let’s be real we all forget that Virginia exists west of Richmond. Nova is a beauracratic and traffic nightmare and half our neighbors had to pass security clearance checks. Hampton Roads and beach area is a tourist and mosquito nightmare. But there were dolphins and I made snowmen on the beach. Good times. 6.7/10

Washington: again, legally required as an Oregon resident to say fuck Washington because it’s all your fault we now are getting a toll on the I-5 border. But you’re better than California. And the Sound is really cool for fishing, love Wicked Tuna. And the fish market. Best salmon I’ve had. Eastern Washington... y’all got Spokane but the rest is kinda sparse. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 8/10

Wisconsin: cheese is actually good. Again, pretty state, much larger than I initially thought. 7/10

Wyoming: this was the ONLY STATE I lost cell service in when diriving cross country. Kinda surprised it wasn’t Montana, but no, it was Wyoming. Views are gorgeous though so I was distracted either way. 4/10

Thank you for joining me on this cross-country edition of Tea Time with Hawk. Please respond with any reactions, corrections, addendums about any and all of the states mentioned. And thank you for taking part in this wholesome Clone Wars fandom discourse with me 🥰💕

DISCLAIMER: THESE RATINGS ARE ALL A JOKE PLEASE DO NOT ACTUALLY GET MAD ABOUT IT

[angstysebfan]

My Roommate’s Boyfriend 3/?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your roommate’s boyfriend and you do not get along. You don’t even know why anymore. When your roommate has to move unexpectedly across the country, you both begrudgingly drive her car to her new home. Adventure, angst, and secrets come alive.

Warnings: swearing, Bucky being a big asshole, panic attack, uber angsty

You pull up to an old looking motel. It kind of reminds you of the Bates Motel in the movie Psycho. Bucky could feel your uneasiness and sighed, “We could sleep in the car if you are uncomfortable.” You look at him and see a smirk on his lips. He was making fun of you, which pissed you off. “Nope, I just hope the psycho killer chooses you as their victim tonight. I’ll give Nat your regards.” You say before getting out of the car.

Bucky laughs out loud, a sound that was pleasant to you. “You have watched too many horror movies.” He says as he walks into the office, with you following him. You both walk up to the counter and ask for two separate rooms. “Sorry, but we only have one room available. It has a king size bed though.” The older gentleman said. 

You look at Bucky and see the tick in his jaw. He looks at you and rolls his eyes. “How far is the nearest motel or hotel from here?” He asked, the annoyance evident in his voice. “Not for another 20 miles or so.” the older man said, ignoring Bucky’s attitude.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair thinking of what to do. “I don’t know why a good looking man like you wouldn’t want to share a room with a pretty gal like her.” The older man said, smirking at you and making you uncomfortable. You can’t help the blush that runs through your cheeks. Bucky scoffs, “Beauty isn’t everything. We will take the damn room.” He says giving his credit card over.

Once you are both settled in the room you sit on the bed, back leaning against the headrest. Bucky was taking a shower, which gave you time to think about everything that happened in the car today. Bucky kept saying he heard about what you said. What could I have possibly said? You think back to the entire year of Bucky being in your life, and you can’t for the life of you think about saying anything about him. Except that he is an asshole, but he started it.

Bucky comes out of the bathroom wearing a pair of black sweatpants and no shirt. You can’t help but admire his physique as he towels his long brown hair. His body was a sight to behold. Muscles upon muscles, which made butterflies appear in your stomach. You always thought he was attractive, even when you first saw him. You desperately wanted to talk to him, but Nat showed interest and you backed down immediately. Then you met him and saw his true personality, which surprised you. Though he seemed to treat Nat well.

Bucky looks up and sees you staring at him. “Take a fucking picture it will last longer.” he snaps, causing you to blush at being caught. You grab your stuff and quickly run into the bathroom. After a quick shower, you change into a tank top and shorts. You walk out into the room and notice Bucky was putting on shoes and a t-shirt.

“I’m going to sleep in the car.” he said. You can’t help but get offended that he would rather sleep in the small car than share a room with you. You knew you had to find out his deal, but would wait until morning. “I mean I can sleep on the floor if you want. You don’t have to sleep in the car.” you say, trying to not sound whiney. 

Bucky looks up at you and shrugs. “It’s fine. Us poor city boys are used to roughing it. Be at the car by 5:30 am, or I am leaving without you.” he says as he walks out of the motel. You can’t help but stare at the door after he leaves. You quickly pick up the phone and call Nat.

“Hey Y/N! Where are you guys?” Nat says excitedly. “Hey Nat, we are in Ohio, but close to the border of Indiana I think. Nat, what the fuck is going on? Bucky hates my guts and is making me miserable. I have almost cried three times already!” you say, frustrated.

“I’m sorry hun. Like I said I will explain everything when you get here. Just try to get along, please? It’s only temporary.” Nat pleads. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Before you can agree to her she says, “I gotta go, Bucky is calling me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” and the phone disconnects.

--

You exit the motel, dropping off the key, and enter the car at 5:15. Bucky is sitting there waiting for you. He doesn’t say anything after you buckle your seatbelt, just starts the car and heads off. You continue to think about how to broach the subject of his hatred for you. Maybe after you eat something.

“Did you want to get food, or just continue the trip?” you ask softly, hoping to keep his mood calm. You hear him sigh, “Whatever.” he says dryly. You are surprised by his response, but want to keep him in this mood so you think just driving is safer. “Let’s just drive for awhile, we can stop further along.” you say.

Over the next 3 hours, you listened to your playlist, while driving through Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. You wanted to stop into Chicago, but Bucky just wanted to keep going. He was acting very weird today. Didn’t snap at you, in fact he barely spoke to you. How were you going to ask him anything if you couldn’t gauge his mood. 

You were half way through Wisconsin when you stopped for fuel and food. you grabbed sandwiches and chips for you both, as well as some waters. it wasn’t long before you were on your way again. It was 3:30 in the afternoon and Bucky has barely said 3 words to you all day. You decided enough was enough. You paused your playlist and turned toward him.

“Hey Bucky, can I ask you a question?” you ask hesitantly. He doesn’t even glance at you. “You just did.” he said monotoned. You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” you say. He rolls his eyes. “Fine, what.” he snaps, obviously not in the mood.

You take a deep breath, “You mentioned yesterday that ‘you knew what I said’, and I was just wondering what you were talking about.” you say nervously. He scoffs, “I’m not talking about this, especially with you.” he says. You look at him annoyed, “I was accused of saying something bad about you, and I deserve to know what it is, so I can defend myself!” you say. 

Bucky sighs, “I really don’t care what you have to say to defend yourself. You are nothing but a spoiled prissy princess who judges everyone, even before you meet them. I don’t know how Nat was even friends with you. You are not in the same category in anything; looks, personality, sense of humor. I just don’t get it.” he says, like he is talking about the weather.

You feel like he just punched you in the gut, and it’s hard to breath. You have never had anyone say anything so horrible to you in your entire life. You feel a panic attack coming and you don’t know what to do. “B-bucky, you need to pull over.” you say breathlessly. Bucky looks at you, “I’m not going to pull over so you can throw a hissy fit.” He says. “Bucky pull over!!” You scream. He looks at you again and sees that you are pale and breathing heavy. He quickly pulls over to the side of the road.

You jump out and run a few paces before falling to your knees, sobbing. You have never been so insulted in your whole entire life, and the worst part is, you don’t know why. You try to control your breathing, but it’s getting harder to do so. You feel hands on your shoulders and hear a voice but it sounds far away, “Y/N.... Y/N look at me.” Bucky says softly.

You keep your eyes on the ground, trying to reign everything in. “Y/N, please... look at me, I can help you.” he says earnestly. You look at him with wide eyes and meet his blue eyes, which are currently full of fear. Bucky grabs your hand and puts it on his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat. He starts taking deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth. You feel his breath on your face, as you continue to look into his eyes.

Before you know it, you’re matching his breaths. It takes about 15 minutes or so before you feel better, but Bucky keeps his hold on your hand. You let you eyes drop to your lap, continuing to breath deeply. “I...I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers. You shake your head, not wanting to hear it. “I didn’t mean anything I said. I just...” he stops himself and takes a deep breath.

“The night that I met Nat in the bar, I was actually interested in someone else.” he says softly. You look up at him curiously. “I, uh... I was actually interested in... you.” He says looking away. Your eyebrows shoot to the top of your head, this makes zero sense to you.

“My friend Sam, I think you met him once, went down to the bar to get drinks and overheard a conversation you were having with Nat. You were talking about me and my friends. Sizing us up and commenting on who you would go for. Nat made mention of me and you made a comment.” Bucky scoffs at this and looks at you. You think back to that night when you and Nat first saw Bucky.

Flashback

You and Nat are sitting in the bar people watching. You hear laughter coming from a hightop table near by and take a look. You see a man with long brown hair, the bluest of eyes, and a sharp jawline. You were immediately attracted to him.

“Dibs on the long haired hottie,” Nat whispered to you. You couldn’t help but be disappointed that you and Nat were attracted to the same guy. Nat had just gotten out of a bad relationship, and was looking for someone to help heal her heart. You had been single for too long, and was ready for love. 

You decided that Nat’s need for love was greater than your own and conceded. You didn’t want her to know that you were checking him out, so you played it off like you weren’t interested. You scoff, “If you are into that biker gang, poor city boy type. He is all yours.” You laugh outwardly, but inside you screamed at yourself. You always put others needs before your own. 

After 10 minutes you look back over to the table and notice the long haired hottie was making eyes at Nat. He eventually came over to talk to her, and then she left with him that night. All the while you kept thinking that could have been you.

End of Flashback

You look into Bucky’s eyes with regret and sorrow. How were you going to explain yourself. No wonder he hated you, what you said was out of line and so judgemental. Bucky just looks at you. “Bucky... I.. I am so sorry that you found out what I said. But, you have to know that I really didn’t mean it.” You said, your voice waving from the tears that were starting to pour down your face.

Bucky scoffed at this, “Of course you didn’t. Isn’t that typical.” He says, finally letting go of your hand and walking a few more paces away from you. You stand on your shaky legs and look at him. “Bucky, you have to let me explain what really happened, please.” you say pleading. 

He turns around and looks at you, anger and hurt evident in his blue eyes. “Why would I believe anything that you say? Huh? Why would I?” He shouts. You flinch from his tone, but stand your ground. “Because you just made the same mistake I did. You just said things about me that you didn’t mean. I am accepting your apology, you should at least hear me out!” you shout back.

Bucky looks at you for a moment before nodding. “Okay. That night, I heard you and your friends laughing. I turned around and you were the first person I saw. I never saw a man as handsome as you. I was attracted to you from first glance. I wanted to know you, to hear your voice, and see your beautiful smile up close.” You take a deep steadying breath.

“Nat called dibs, which I know sounds childish, but I conceded. She had just gotten out of a bad relationship, and she is such a good person. I didn’t want to stand in her way of happiness, so I had to play it off that I wasn’t interested in you. If she knew, she would have backed off. I said those things to make her think I wasn’t interested, but my god I was. It’s killed me to see you guys together. Even though you have said cruel and terrible things to me, I can’t help but like you. All I have heard from Nat is how amazing you are, and I can’t help thinking if I didn’t give up so easily... th-that you and I could have been together.” you say this last part in a whisper.

You look up at Bucky, who is just staring at you. “H-how do I know that any of that is remotely true?” He asks. You sniff and shrug your shoulders. “I told Nat the truth 6 months into your relationship, when we were drunk. She felt bad, but by then you both had fallen for one another, so it was too late. You can ask her though.” you say.

Bucky looks at you for what feels like forever. You see the anger in his eyes, that slowly changes. His eyes continue to get softer as the minutes pass by. Before you knew it, Bucky was quickly walking towards you in long strides. He grabs you by the back of the neck and smashes his lips into yours.

--

Previous Chapter  /  Next Chapter

Feedback is appreciated. I’m thinking this will be a smaller series, but we will see what my crazy brain comes up with.

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan​, @jessyballet​, @finleyjayne​, @cap-just-said-language​, @sarcastic-and-cool​, @humbledarkness​

[undefined5posts]

Credit: Jordan J. Lloyd

I've been trying to dive deeper into politics, discover the genuine roots of our society, the origins of our beliefs, and the consequences of our economic system. It's a big, long, wide journey and through multiple sources such as articles, images, videos and multiple social media platforms, I've been trying to educate myself more on important subjects.

Communism, capitalism, libertarian, conservative, the left, the right, the history, the impact. It is scary to commit to everything because once you start, you simply cannot stop, once you start waking up your conscience about the horrible reality, the lies, the truths, you cannot put it back to sleep. You can't just ignore prejudice, especially when you're extremely conscious of it's omnipresence. I have continually tried to build my own opinions all while actively creating bullet point arguments in my mind because I just know that at some point I will have to defend my thinking, and I want to do it right.

Now, I am so far from being enlightened, I am a beginner and an amateur in all of those themes, but I am trying, which is the only way to start and grow.

So to tell you about my beliefs, I am a militant human rights activist, I believe in equal opportunities regardless of gender identity, sex, religion, sexual orientation, ethnicity, race and disability. This is a fact, not a belief, but the system was obviously not built to protect all people, its wasn't created to serve everyone equally but to grant a privilege to some and harm others. The current state of the world is not a slip, an accident or a misfunction of our brilliant system but a testament of it operating remarkably well. I believe that equity leads to equality, and I believe that we cannot "fix" methodologies that were immorally created with absolutely no honor whatsoever. I believe in reproductive rights, in legal, safe abortions for anybody who needs one. I believe in the decriminalization of marijuana. I believe that the death penalty is a despicable punition that should be banned as soon as possible. I believe in defunding the police and the military. I believe that it is a shame that I even have to talk about police brutality, I don't want to have to say that it is one of the most horrible things our world has originated, I feel extremely dense when I do because it seems like the most obvious certitude and I refuse to believe that this is a controversial statement. I believe that everything I have just stated, along with many more, isn't anything grand but the bare minimum, the bar is low, and yet, we still have the fight for basic human decency.

Humanity has become an option. We have normalized supporting people that represent everything wrong in this world under the name of tolerance. The left has never claimed to be tolerant towards hateful beings, We have never accepted homophobia, transphobia, racism, ableism and sexism. We cannot, for exemple, accept nazis, as too much tolerance inevitably leads to intolerance. This picture explains it perfectly:

I consider myself a communist/ socialist. The two terms still confuse me a little, some say they are the same, some say they differ quite a bit. What I know is that socialism is the transitional period between capitalism and communism. At the end of the day, the final result and goal is a stateless, moneyless and clasless society that will provide to each his need.

Our capitalistic society has brainwashed us way more than you may think. It is the root of so many of our issues, the underground demon of our problems. Every idea, thought, belief, and misconception of ours were all affected by our current economic system. It has sold us the billionnaire dream which is one of the most toxic things capitalism has offered. We have looked up to billionaires for way too long, why are they so idolized? Most of them come from high upper class families that can easily afford to invest in their inventions and creations. After starting up their companies and occasionnaly stealing other's people ideas to ultimately get undeserved merit, they then can start to properly exploit their hardworking employees's labour. And for unlimited hours and a minimum wage which probably won't even suffice you to survive, you will have to either pick up more shifts or a second or even third job, especially if you have a family to support. All while the CEO barely does any of the work and gets all the praise and money. So no, they don't all come from really poor families and have built everything for nothing.

The worst thing is that we've been so gaslit and brainwashed that we're proud of our own exploitation, we are wired to think that to be successful we have to suffer, work 10 jobs we all hate, constantly pick up extra hours, have 2 hours of sleep, have no free time to do anything we love, waste our entire youth, be depressed our entire adulthood, to finally have a few pennies to spend when we're eighty. We so strongly believe that this is the only right way to be successful that I don't think many of us have dared to question it's authority, and even if we do, we quickly accept that this a truth, a fact we cannot change and this is just the way things are.

We have capitalized water, food, land, forests, oceans, space, and everything in betweeen. Money is social construct and we have deliberately let it take over our lives. To think about the wasted opportunities and the misery that we have to endure so others can enjoy life truly angers me.

Also, communism is not an ideology that has every actually taken place. Despite what they say, there was never actually a communist country. However, every nation that has attempted a socialist system, for exemple Burkina Faso, has thrived. But of course, once capitalist countries noticed that, they decided to murder it's leader. So in conclusion, the only reason socialism failed is because of capitalism and it's interventions.

"As President (1983-1987), Sankara initiated economic reforms that shifted his country away from dependence on foreign aid and reduced the privileges of government officials; he cut salaries, including his own, decreed that there would be no more flying in first class or driving Mercedes as standard issue vehicles for Ministers and other government workers. He led a modest lifestyle and did not personally amass material wealth. President Sankara encouraged self-sufficiency, including the use of local resources to build clinics, schools and other needed infrastructure. [...] President Sankara promoted land reform, childhood vaccination, tree planting, communal school building, and nation-wide literacy campaigns. He was committed to gender equity and women’s rights and was the first African leader to publicly recognize the AIDS pandemic as a threat to African countries. Although Sankara became somewhat more authoritarian during his Presidency, his ideas, and the possibility that they could spread, were viewed by many as posing the greatest threat. President Sankara was assassinated during a coup led by a French-backed politician, Blaise Compaoré, in October 1987. Compaoré served as the President of Burkina Faso from October 1987 through October 2014, when he himself was overthrown."

Via:https://africandevelopmentsuccesses.wordpress.com/2015/02/28/success-story-from-burkina-faso-thomas-sankaras-legacy/

I have been reading and watching some amazing human rights activists, notably Angela Davis, Malcolm X and James Baldwin. The people that were villainized, labeled as violent and radical, when every single word that came out of their mouhs were pure facts. They are probably some of the most eloquent people I have had the pleasure of hearing. Every sentence, every argument, every single detail made so much sense and opened my mind to so many new realizations. This is the perfect exemple of how the media tarnishes the reputation of wise black women and men. I would strongly advise you to research more about them.

"Socialism & communism are demonized in the west to the point of erasing influential individuals' socialist advocacy. Heres a short list of people you may not have known were socialists/ communists:

MLK

Albert Einstein

Nelson Mandela

Frida Kahlo

Tupac Shakur

Mark Twain

Malcom X

Oscar Wilde

Bertrand Russell

Hellen Keller

Pablo Picasso

George Orwell

Shia LaBeouf

John Lennon

Woody Guthrie

Socialism & communism are not dirty words. Some of the most brilliant minds of our history were socialists and communists. Embrace it." Via @sleepisocialist on twitter

So what else can I say, capitalism has ruined our society and the way we act and think. I know a lot of people refuse to support communism because they think it's too much of a perfect ideal utopian world for it to ever actually exist. And to that I say, first of all, so you agree, it is a wonderful theory, and second of all, a world without racism, sexism, homophobia or any kind or discrimination could also be perceived as "too ideal to actually exist", but does that mean I'm giving up on talking, educating myself and others, protesting and trying to build a better future? Absolutely not. This is the objective, it would be so dumb to think that we just couldn't achieve that so let's not even try.

I want to talk more in detail about communism, theory, human rights, etc... but I don't want to make this post any longer. I will however be posting more about it soon enough.

I know this is a little different than what I usually post, but I want to speak, tell you all my own opinions, I don't want to just repost activism related stuff. I'll continue to do that, but not exclusively. I know it won't get as many interactions as my other posts, but this is what I needed at some point in my life, and if I could make understanding some basic informations easier to some people, it'll already be a great accomplishment.

Thank you for reading.

[ledenews]

Learning Curves Conquered During I-70 Project

Publisher’s Note: LEDE News has covered the three-year, $214 million project on Interstate 70 through Ohio County from many angles, and one of them concerned how it was easy for local residents to recognize how unfamiliar with the area the crews from Swank Construction were during the first 12 months. This article, originally published in February 2020, informed local readers of a mistake made by someone who designated Exit 1B as a primary detour around the construction on the westbound and eastbound Fulton bridges. While the majority of the 26 bridges and ramps needed repairs, those Fulton spans were demolished and rebuilt and, one direction at a time, the roadways were closed. Exit B, however, was an island with no access. Overall, we believe the men and women with Swank Construction have performed beyond expectations, but during a stay-at-home pandemic such a sign gaffe was not only newsworthy but a bit funny, too. Lost and Confused in 2020 Exit 1B is a westbound off-ramp that leads to W.Va. Route 250, W.Va. Route 2, and is the exit to travel to 16th Street in East Wheeling. The signs along Interstate 70 advise motorists to look for Exit 1B to access the primary detour route designated by the state Division of Highways. But Exit 1B, as it stands today, is an island with no access. It stands in the middle of the three westbound bridges being demolished as part of the massive I-70 project. “We have told them about that mistake,” said Ohio County Sheriff Tom Howard said. “Of course, we noticed it immediately when the signs were placed, and I can’t imagine being someone who is trying to travel through. It has to confuse them if they read the signs. Most people, it seems, travel according to their GPS instead of relying on the signs, and that’s what we hear when our deputies are pulling people over for speeding. That limit is set at 45 mph to slow everyone down for safety, but we’ve had a lot of people ignore it completely because their GPS isn’t telling them the new speed limits in Ohio County.” “So far, so good, though,” he said. “Those motorists really don’t have a choice but to get off the interstate when they come up to Exit 2A because of the cones and barrels and blockades.” These signs inform motorists that they can travel the detour to downtown Wheeling using Exit 1B, but the actual off-ramp is Exit 2A. Detour at Exit 2A Swank Construction of Bridgeville, Pa., was awarded the $215 million project, and the projected timeframe is three years. Howard said during many of the “stakeholder” meetings held by officials of the WVDOH prior to the beginning, he and Chief Deputy John Schultz needed to correct some of the presented facts. “At one time, they were telling us about a project on an Elm Grove bridge and that it would involve three lanes in both directions, and that just wasn’t right, and there have been a lot of others,” the sheriff said. “I’m not sure where they were getting their information then, and it’s obvious with the detour sign for Exit 1B, they are still making some mistakes. “It’s Exit 2A where the westbound detour to National Road begins,” Howard said. “Confusion in situations like this one is the worst thing we can have, but then there’s this. I know people driving in that area have no choice to exit the interstate, but there’s still some confusion.” This exit to downtown Wheeling will be the detour path in 2021 while the eastbound bridges in the Fulton area are replaced. Sign of the Times Issues thus far have been minimal, according to Lou Vargo, director of the Ohio County Emergency Management Agency. “Of course, there are concerns, but the flow has gone well because most people are taking the I-470 detour,” he said. “We’ve seen a lot of congestion along National Road during the rush hour times we have here, but I hope people know those delays are going to happen right now and that they plan for it. “Even though Exit 2A is the detour exit, we have seen a lot of drivers avoid I-70 completely,” Vargo explained. “So, National Road from Elm Grove through Woodsdale has been very busy between 4:30 and 5:30 p.m.” Vargo reported that the county EMA recently has gained a grant for a new electronic sign to be placed along the construction route that will increase the amount of information motorists will have while navigating the area. “The people who live in this area are getting used to the new patterns and crossovers, but this new sign will really help the folks driving through for the first time,” he explained. “With a project this size, it’s important for the motorists to have as much information as possible and that is why we felt it was important to get this grant money. “The new signage will be in place soon, and it will allow us to get information on all the new closures and new traffic patterns to the drivers on Interstate 70,” Vargo added. “As the project moves forward, there will be a lot of changes made by (Swank), so we’ll be able to get those updates out there.” Read the full article

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

US Presidential Elections

1900: 14.0 million votes cast out of 19.1 million eligible voters, from a total population of 76.2 million Americans

1904: 13.5 million (-0.5 million) out of 20.7 million (+1.6 million), from 82.2 million (+6.0 million)

1908: 14.9m (+1.4m) out of 22.7m (+2.0m), from 88.7m (+6.5m)

1912: 15.0m (+0.1m) out of 25.6m (+2.9m), from 95.3m (+6.6)

1916: 18.5m (+3.5m) out of 30.1m (+4.5m), from 102.0m (+6.7m)

1920: 26.7m (+8.2m) out of 54.3m (+24.2m), from 106.5m (+4.5m)

1924: 29.1m (+2.4m) out of 59.5m (+5.2m), from 114.1m (+7.6m)

1928: 36.8m (+7.7m) out of 64.7m (+5.2m), from 120.5m (+6.4m)

1932: 39.7m (+2.9m) out of 75.5m (+10.8m), from 124.8m (+4.3m)

1936: 45.6m (+5.9m) out of 74.9m (-0.6m), from 128.1m (+3.3m)

1940: 49.9m (+4.3m) out of 79.9m (+5.0m), from 132.1m (+4.0m)

1944: 48.0m (-1.9m) out of 85.8m (+5.9m), from 138.4m (+6.3m)

1948: 48.8m (+0.8m) out of 92.0m (+6.2m), from 146.6m (+8.2m)

1952: 61.8m (+13.0m) out of 97.6m (+5.6m), from 157.6m (+11.0m)

1956: 62.0m (+0.2m) out of 102.3m (+4.7m), from 168.9m (+11.3m)

1960: 68.8m (+6.8m) out of 109.6m (+7.6m), from 180.7m (+11.8m)

1964: 70.6m (+1.8m) out of 114.0m (+4.4m), from 191.9m (+11.2m)

1968: 73.2m (+2.6m) out of 120.3m (+6.3m), from 200.7m (+8.8m)

1972: 77.8m (+4.6m) out of 140.8m (+20.5m), from 209.9m (+9.2m)

1976: 81.5m (+3.7m) out of 152.4m (+11.6m), from 218.0m (+8.1m)

1980: 86.6m (+5.1m) out of 164.6m (+12.2m), from 226.5m (+8.5m)

1984: 92.6m (+6.0m) out of 173.7m (+9.1m), from 235.8m (+9.3m)

1988: 91.6m (-1.0m) out of 182.5m (+8.8m), from 244.5m (+8.7m)

1992: 104.4m (+12.8m) out of 189.1m (+6.6m), from 256.9m (+12.4m)

1996: 96.3m (-8.1m) out of 196.5m (+7.4m), from 269.7m (+12.8m)

2000: 105.4m (+9.1m) out of 205.8m (+9.3m), from 282.2m (+12.5m)

2004: 122.3m (+16.9m) out of 215.7m (+9.9m), from 292.8m (+10.6m)

2008: 131.3m (+9.0m) out of 225.6m (+9.9m), from 304.1m (+11.3m)

2012: 129.0m (-2.3m) out of 235.1m (+9.5m), from 313.9m (+9.8m)

2016: 136.6m (+7.6m) out of 245.3m (+10.2m), from 323.1m (+9.2m)

2020: 158.3m (+21.7m) out of 237.4m (-7.9m), from 331.0m (+7.9m)

The 2020 eligibility figure is distorted because prior to this, eligibility was calculated as the percentage of Americans over the age of 18, regardless of eligibility due to citizenship or imprisonment. The 2020 figure only accounts for legally eligible voters, making it more accurate, but throwing off the count for all previous years, which is a pain in the ass for data analysis.

2024 will see far fewer votes cast than in 2020 because the stakes were high, driving up turnout, and a bunch of Republican states are changing their laws to disenfranchise minorities and make it harder for people to vote. Turnout will be very low in 2024, probably closer to 50%; if we assume eligibility is roughly around 75% of Americans are eligible to vote, so if we assume a population around 340 million, that gives us an eligibility of ~255 million. The lowest voter turnout in recent history was 1996, where only 49% of eligible voters actually voted; if we use this as a lower bound, we can assume that a minimum of ~125 million people will vote n 2024.

125 million is the absolute worst case scenario; that's lower than any election since 2004, so let's assume turnout will be closer to 55%. That gives us ~140 million votes, which is a more reasonable floor.

Democrats will absolutely lose the House in 2022, as Republican states have gained 6 seats through the census, and even the states that didn't gain seats will just redraw their maps to get rid of as many Democratic districts as possible; if we don't pass the For The People Act, Democrats will be in the minority until 2032 at the earliest, during the NEXT redistricting cycle, regardless of who wins the national popular vote. The Senate is more lenient; it depends on how effective he is in the next year. Democrats could gain 2 seats (Pennsylvania is their best bet, with Wisconsin possible but unlikely), or they could lose 3 (Georgia is as good as gone, Arizona depends on who the Republicans run, and New Hampshire is teetering on a knife's edge), it's a crapshoot.

In a fantasy world, Democrats could also pick up Ohio, North Carolina, and maybe Iowa and Florida; wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which fills up first.

Republicans are more likely to take Colorado and Nevada than the Democrats are to take Iowa and Florida.

As for president, in 2024 I can't see Biden maintaining anything close to the support he had in 2020. The stakes are much lower, so there's no way he'll get 81 million votes again; he'll be lucky to get 70m. Democrats have won the popular vote 7 of the last 8 elections, including the last four in a row, and incumbents tend to have an advantage (Trump was historically unpopular), so I don't doubt he'll get more votes than his opponent, DeSantis or Scott or Cruz or whoever, but I would bet you all the money I have in my wallet that he loses the electoral college because of Republican fuckery in Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania.

They will shorten early voting, close poll places, have fewer drop boxes and shorter hours, less transparency, stricter signature laws that will allow partisan observers to throw out as many votes as they want because people aren't machines and their signatures vary. Black people will be disenfranchised, and the Republicans will pack the courts to ensure that they get favorable rulings after losing case after case after case in 2020. Pennsylvania is changing the law so that judges are elected in partisan districts instead of statewide, giving the rural minority more power. It's not fair, but that's the point.

We are on the edge of civil war; if Republicans keep changing the rules so they can govern from the minority, something is gonna give in the next decade or two.

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 3

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Meta baby. Pure meta. Word count: 2,100. Chapter Summary: Your google search turns up something unexpected. A/N: No author in this one for... reasons. Also this one is kind of short and lame. A means to an end if you will, but trust me, Ch 4 is a doozy. P.S it’s nearly 3am so Chapter 4 will be up when I wake up, ya dig.

Ao3 if you prefer

It’s almost funny how dramatic the voice in your head wants to be about those suited criminals and yet it doesn’t care to elaborate on anything important. Like, say, your imminent death. The mention of it was so casual, calm, but a couple of weirdos want to pretend to be insurance adjusters and suddenly it’s all pretty prose and run-on sentences. Flowery language about broad-shouldered men in roaring muscle cars that are going to change your life. She’d kept going while you’d interviewed Maggie Hall. She’d harped on and on about how you couldn’t stop thinking about them.

Of course, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, she wouldn’t shut up about them.

After an entire monologue about the way the paper felt in your hands and could never be replaced by computers—purists are the worst—you finally get to leave. That's when you get some respite. You’re walking out into the late afternoon sun and thanking Maggie for her time and it's bliss. Maggie's story sounds a little off, after years doing this you have this gut instinct for when you should investigate further. Funnily enough, you have drama in your life that you’ll submit a valid claim anyway. Just so you can get this cursed case out of your hair. You might even hurry it through the system before the thing has the chance to kill you.

You’re still not sure how a case could kill you. You’re a pencil pusher at best and the interview with Maggie is an excellent example of the majority of your fieldwork, obviously excluding the criminals at the start. Unless your demise is death by papercut.

For now, you’ve given up trying to fathom out the voice you’re hearing, especially since she's chosen to once again go radio silent. If she won’t say anything useful, like say how not to die, then you were going to have to figure out how to skip ahead on your own. Since she kept talking about the imposters you’d met that day, they seemed to be an excellent place to start.

CNK 80Q3. Ohio plates. That's as much as you know without google.

That evening you set yourself up in the same way you would to work from home. There's a desk in the corner of your dining room with a chair that offers enough lumbar support for the longest of research sessions. Although it’s your personal laptop and there’s not normally a large glass of wine sitting next to you when work.

After it powers on you’re assaulted by the usual pop-ups; windows you forgot to close last time and your emails. Procrastinating is not a new routine, and you’re on a mission, so they all get minimized instead of closed completely. Then you open a new browser window and a stark google homepage stares back at you. A hopeful new beginning.

CNK 80Q3. You’re genuinely surprised that she hasn’t started talking again to describe the change in the air as you type in the plate number. Or some drivel about the way your fingers emphasize each letter and number. It’s all there happening anyway, making the moment foreboding, but your narrator doesn’t seem care.

The first row of results are images. Weirdly its images of the license plate itself. That doesn't strike you as odd at first glance and then you think about it a little more. Why are there so many pictures of this particular license plate? Who is running around taking these pictures? You're pretty sure if you typed in your own plate number there would be no pictures of it. And then you see some shopping results where you can actually buy the plate. While the online shops might explain the images, it only really poses more questions. Why are so many people buying that license plate? What’s so special about it?

You take a sip of your wine before you scroll further, savoring the taste as well as the way it relaxes your shoulders. You don't own any 'fun' novelty coasters that say it but you're inclined to agree with the statement you've heard before. Wine really does make everything better.

You’re not yet into the murky depths of page 2 but you’re far enough down the page now to make it past the sponsored results. These links come thick and fast from websites that all seem to have one word in common. Supernatural.

Then you see your salvation. A page called Supernaturalwiki—the link is simply titled: Impala—and you stop scrolling, a grateful sound slipping past your lips as you do. Wiki, you know that word. Like Wikipedia. Wikipedia has references and moderators', clear and concise explanations. This was the easy way out you were looking for.

That’s what you hope as you click on the link anyway. Your naivety lasts all of twenty seconds before the page loads. With its stock image of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and a quote about it being the most important object in the universe.

Or it's the most important object in some books at least.

Further clicking and longer sips of wine reveal it’s a series of books called Supernatural—with the title of the wiki you should have seen that coming. These were story after story of ghosts and demons and angels? There are pages that describe monsters, urban legends, and two men. Sam and Dean Winchester. They each have dedicated pages with their whole lives mapped out.

Sam and Dean are fictional brothers and apparently the heroes. Each of their respective profiles begins with an illustrated image from book covers, and then a series of quotes that contradict those pictures. Then their lives are intricately detailed, or should you say they are chronologically recorded according to each book. You would read their histories in full if it wasn't for how tiny the scroll bar is, indicating that these profile pages are ridiculously long.

You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath in the hopes of it being soothing. Or answering all your questions. It does neither. You have no answers and more stress.

This went beyond two men pretending to do your job now. Those guys were driving around in a car with fictional license plates. What was this? Some weirdly immersive cosplay? Was that something Sam and Dean did in the books?

Even so, those two guys weren’t roleplaying at comic con, they were actually in that woman's home. If you hadn't arrived they could have done anything. They could be doing anything now.

There's a ding from the kitchen which means the frozen meal you’d thrown in the oven is ready. Not that you stop thinking about this while you go and grab it because the more you think the less sense everything makes. Like why is a narrator who, until now, was obsessed with those guys, so very silent all of a sudden?

Back at your desk with hot food, you head back to google to see if you can buy these books anywhere because knowledge is power. Unfortunately, not even Amazon has copies. It’s only when you add the term “ebook” to your search do you find a Tumblr blog with links to download all the files, split into two categories. Published and unpublished. There are a lot of Supernatural books and from the looks of it there’s an equal amount of drama over how the unpublished ones got out.

You start downloading them without consciously making a decision to read them. Downloading kind of happens because your macaroni cheese is too hot for your mouth to handle yet, and your hands still need something to do. Besides you didn’t necessarily need to read all of them, if they were truly terrible you’d delete the files. No harm, no foul. But if this was the only way to get answers then you and your kindle were going to be pretty busy this weekend.

“Morning Laura.” Nobody likes Mondays, yet you have a little bounce in your step having made your usual green tea, got dressed, and driven to work in complete and utter silence. In fact, you’d heard nothing all weekend. The caveat was that, yes, you’d spent all weekend reading those books.

You liked reading and without discrimination. Trashy romance novels at the airport? You betcha. Fantasy books thicker than your mattress? Sure thing, order a pizza. But a mystery? Well, those were your favorite. Of course, the detective needed some sort of sketchy backstory and there had to be a fishy amount of red herrings. Most importantly there had to be something to solve. It was an elevation of your day to day life and you always get sucked in. In your job, you try to solve the most benign mysteries; people faking insurance claims. More often than not there isn’t even a mystery to solve, someone really did slip and break something. So, a mystery that grabs you out of nowhere is like a promotion for you, a challenge.

That had been how those Supernatural books had dragged you in. Ghosts and ghouls you could take or leave, you might have stopped reading if that’s all there was. Then this Carver Edlund went and put in that damn side plot about their missing father. It was too enticing, addicting. From the cryptic disappearance to the indecipherable journal of clues. John Winchester would be the death of you.

Or case 24-01 would be. The jury was still out on that.

And now it’s Monday. You’ve heard nothing more from the voice in your head—it may have been a low-level case of carbon monoxide poisoning—and the boys are so close to figuring everything out you can taste it. Technically they know John is alive by now, you finished Shadow some point yesterday afternoon and felt yourself choke up at the emotional goodbye with a father they just got back. But they still have no clue what he's up to, which is a hideous funhouse mirror reflection of your own life. Hopefully, by the time they figure out John’s game plan, you'll have your life figured out too. And fingers crossed figuring everything out will involve staying alive as well.

“You look like you’re feeling better this morning.” Laura is her perky self, always a little too happy for this side of 9am.

Oh right, you went home sick on Friday. You should remember things like that. “I think it was a bug or something I ate maybe.”

“Sure, sure. One of those convenient Friday bugs.” She winks at you.

If she accused you of that say, last week, you’d have laughed it off given that's a thing everyone has in common; trying to skip out on work. So, that's what you try to do this side of the weekend. You push out something that hopefully resembles a regular person's laugh like you’re in on the joke. You have to fake it because you’re still thinking about Providence. The book you’d finished that morning instead of watching the news. You’re still wondering if Sam is starting to move on after Jessica. 

Needless to say, you understand now. The many fan blogs and the artwork you’d glanced at before you started reading. All those things that you’d disregarded as an unhealthy fascination for a bunch of books. Now you’re one of them, obsessed. Walking into the office with your kindle tucked in your bag and Salvation just begging to be read.

This goes beyond finding John. That plot got its hooks in you but you’ve known John was alive since Home and you’re still reading. You could also blame this on your general love of reading except it goes beyond that too. Honestly, it’s hard to pick one thing. They’re really great books. Sam and Dean have such turbulent lives but they still have each other. They’re snarky, lost, angry, and caring. They’re both so different but the sibling relationship is so real. And the stories go beyond a new monster every book, there are these huge interesting story arcs that you couldn't stop reading if you tried. John Winchester had been the first example of these addictive plot points, but not the only one.

“Y/N?”

You snap your head up, “sorry, sorry.”

“I was only saying you’re going to be here all day then, lunch?”

Even though Laura must see the decision on your face she still pretends to hope until you start speaking. “Actually I have a lot to catch up on so I’ll probably be working through. Tomorrow?”

She smiles brightly and nods, “sure thing.”

As bad as you feel about lying to Laura she has presented you an opportunity. Everyone thinks you were sick on Friday. They even think you're behind on your work and they don’t know you’ve already conducted the initial interview. Which makes your decision to sit at your desk and prop your kindle up next to your screen even easier. Nobody would notice the difference between you concentrating or reading. If you skip lunch you might be able to get to Bloodlust out of the way too.

Continue to Chapter 4.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23  Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278​ @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson