#how to write hooky serials

[not-poignant]

Hi there! I absolutely love your works and, having followed you for a while now, I also really admire you as a person and an author in general. Every update on AO3 and Tumblr is always such a delight. I'm sorry if this ask is coming out of the blue or if it's something you've been asked before, but how did you take the plunge from writing predominantly fanfic to posting original fiction in serial form and also self-publishing novels? I'm currently in the process of drafting two original works after writing/posting fanfic regularly for years, and I'm just lost as to how to set everything up. I have a general idea (post chapter-by-chapter on AO3 and offer early access and some exclusive content on patreon or some other subscription service), but it all feels so daunting right now. Any bit of info or advice on how you got started would be immensely appreciated <3

Hi anon,

Tbh, I went from writing fanfic to original fiction because I had original characters in my fanfiction and readers asked me about them.

I had no kind of...dreams of being an original author in this way, I was published via other pathways already, and fanfiction was really an escape for me, a chance to break with all the conventions of standard writing and just do what I wanted.

But I needed a broader cast than what the movie gave me re: my first fanfics, and I added my own OCs, and left them in the background as much as possible, but even back while writing that fanfic, even the OCs were getting fanart. Sometimes readers would send me anons about them, or ask me more details about them.

Finally, I decided to write some hatesex between them, just something to kind of...idk get it out of my system? Answer what the readers were looking for?

The flow through therefore felt natural. Game Theory flows very naturally on from From the Darkness We Rise & Into Shadows We Fall. And from there, moving into other original works has been easy, in part, because I've often being doing alternate universes from a core of original characters.

If I want to introduce new original characters, I introduce them in stories where pre-existing original characters have already been established.

I didn't even start writing original works with a view to making money off that. In fact I thought it was a very foolish thing to do. A lot of people on AO3 don't want to read original works on AO3 and refuse to do it or only do it if it's PWP / pornography.

I started my Patreon account because readers asked me to. I got asks from very very generous people who wanted to know my Paypal, or asked if I'd start a Ko-Fi, and finally a few people just asked if I'd start a Patreon. I said I didn't think it was a good idea, and they said it was up to them if they wanted to pay me or not, but I should at least consider giving them the choice.

From there, I found it all very overwhelming. I made lots of mistakes. I had to go on hiatus for a year because I promised too much and couldn't deliver on many of those rewards. And for many years I only offered one early access chapter per week for one story, and my main stories were never early access (and still aren't, Underline the Black goes up for everyone at the same time - and while that may change in the future, it's definitely unconventional).

I've always been transparent with my readers that with very few exceptions, if they just wait, they eventually get everything for free. But if they want to support this kind of writing and/or enjoy it, and can comfortably afford to send some dollars my way, they can ensure that I can keep writing this way.

I have for a long time offered no exclusive content at all, I believe that can do well, but it's not my preferred way of doing things.

This career has been incredibly reader driven, anon. I would not personally attempt it cold, without a really fantastic readerbase who encouraged me every step of the way in the first place, because I am a cautious, insecure writer who doesn't like to take risks. So I can't give you advice on how to build this career without the support of the readers there in the first place, and I believe the only reason why I had their support was, in part, because of the actual strength of the writing itself. Which isn't to say it's the best, it's not, it's what I needed at the time and it's what a few other people needed, and that's basically how this works.

If you turn up with the writing, and the audience comes, and they want the story, you have the career.

In terms of practical advice - you can introduce original characters in fanfiction, just be aware that readers tend to be hostile by default if they pull any significant 'screen time' away from the fandom characters (and readers are extremely savvy to authors trying to build a financial business through AO3)

It IS daunting, but the good news is you can do a soft launch. You can open a Patreon or Ream account tomorrow and tell no one. You can mess with your graphics and your tier rewards to your heart's content when you don't have any subscribers. Build a buffer of early access/chapters, and make sure you don't overpromise on anything. Whatever you think you can realistically deliver to readers, cut it in half, because the stress of chapter update deadlines every month can really add up and it's a very different landscape to novel releases.

You can take your time, you can build interest slowly.

Remember you can never ever mention any kind of site where you're getting paid inadvertently, sneakily, or directly on AO3. You can't mention Ream, you can't mention Patreon, you can't mention Ko-Fi, you can't go 'learn more about my writing here' and link to those places. You can't mention buy links. You can only mention sites like Tumblr, Linktree, Twitter etc. Places where the point of sale isn't happening. Not doing so risks AO3's Not For Profit status and risks your entire account, and it's not worth it.

I did an interview with Subscriptions for Authors where I actually talk about many of these things so you can watch (or listen to) the podcast here if you're inclined! It also talks about the importance of community-building, gratitude to the readers, and generosity.

I am here because my readers wanted me to be. So I'm very concerned with making sure I can give them the best writing possible within my abilities. This makes me not very suited to offering 'how to start in this career' advice because it was a happy accident. It's hard to teach something I have never done your way myself, anon, because I worry I'd give bad advice. My writing had people turning up, but I'm not sure anything else I did, added much! I think responding to Tumblr asks and replying to every comment helped too! But...I don't know for sure.

But this career path does make me pretty well suited to offering 'how to keep this going' advice, because I've been doing this for ten years. <3333

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window. 

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'. 

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate. 

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain. 

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts. 

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by. 

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered. 

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove. 

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?” 

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.” 

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said. 

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room. 

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless. 

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment. 

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…” 

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice. 

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

[bi--goodness]

“Well, you’re not going to learn much by pinning twenty feet away from him”

Alex huffed in frustration.

“Maria, it’s not that simple.”

Fiddling with her necklace, she rolled her eyes. As student librarians, Alex and Maria often chatted about books, tv shows, really anything that held their fancy. Today though, they whispered conspiratorially behind the oak reference desk about the actual cowboy in the room, belt-buckle, black hat and all. For weeks, Alex had observed the one guy everyone at UNM could not stop gushing about. Michael Guerin, the curly-haired, hazel-eyed casanova who never went to class but aced every exam. Alex glared furiously at the unaware man. Chewing on a pen, Michael simply lost himself in one of the many books piled high on his table. 

“Pheww, Alex, you better cool it. You can’t tear someone’s clothes off by staring, you know that, right?”

“Maria, I hate him. I hate his gorgeous fucking face. How the hell is he better than me? I study every day and I still come in second. All he does is browse some physics books, play hooky, and hook up with any girl mildly interested in him.” groaned Alex.

“You’ve been “observing” him for days now. Maybe you should, I don’t know, talk to him? Get him to spill how he manages to beat you in every subject? I keep telling you you’re not gonna glean anything by sitting here and gawking.” Maria gave Alex a playful wink and checked the time on her watch. 

“Okay, I’m leaving you to fend for yourself. Isobel just got out of her events management class, and I wanna grab a milkshake with her.” Alex mock gasps. “You’re leaving me? For the Queen Bee of UNM? You’ve got it real bad if you’ve already memorized her class schedule. Are you sure you don’t want her milksha––” and for that, Alex got a slap on the arm. “Shut up, Manes.” Maria gracefully stood up from her library stool, blew Alex a wet kiss, and then promptly sprinted out the library doors.

Alex couldn’t help but chuckle. She really did have it bad for Isobel Evans. Meanwhile, he was stuck loathing some cowboy troublemaker with great hair. Suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of admitting Guerin had great anything, Alex readjusted his prosthetic.

Despite his better judgement, Alex turned his attention back to Guerin, furiously scribbling in a worn-out notebook. He couldn’t figure the guy out. Why did Guerin even go to the library? The guy didn’t care for school, yet every week, Alex noticed Michael combing through the Space and Physics section, constantly writing in his black leather notebook. Manes often fixated on problems until he solved them. The current issue at hand: Michael Guerin ruining his (academic) life.

How exactly would he scope out his competition? Maria was right. He was going to have to go behind enemy lines and actually talk to the man. Could he casually bring up how he’s been looking for a cowboy hat and Michael seemed like the right guy to know? Maybe ask where he got his belt buckle. Or where the hell did he get those jeans. No matter how good his ass looked in them, it did not excuse his attitude. Yeah, Alex had noticed his ass. Whatever. 

Lost in thought, Alex heard a gentle clearing of the throat, and looked up from his chair to see the Greek god himself staring down at Alex, a slight smirk on his lips.

“So, I need a favor. When do you get off desk duty?” Michael ruffled his curls and fixed his lucent, hazel eyes on Alex.

Wait, what. This was not the plan.

“It’s almost noon anyway. Lunch. On me. Let’s go, Alex.”

And that’s how Alex found himself at the Crashdown, a local diner around UNM, across the booth from Michael freakin’ Guerin.

“So, let me get this right. You’re asking me to pretend we’re in a relationship in order to appease your siblings?”

“Yup, you got it.”

Alex rose an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a horde of girls wrapped around your finger? Why choose me to be your”–Alex paused, furrowing his brows to find the correct choice of words–”your scapegoat?”

Michael chuckled and broke into an easy smile. “I think the word you’re looking for is fake boyfriend.”

Slouching further down into his seat, Michael stretched his arm alongside the booth and spread his legs wide underneath the table, giving off a confident, nonchalant attitude. Alex wanted to punch him in his perfect face. 

 “I can’t rope in just anyone, or any girl for that matter, because my siblings wouldn’t believe me. Apparently I have some kind of reputation on campus–just because I don’t do relationships.” Michael rolled his eyes. “I need to get Max and Isobel off my back because they think I’m not ‘opening myself up enough’ or ‘giving people a chance to get to know me’. It’s gotten to the point where they are full on ambushing me up to go out on proper dates. I need someone who will really give the whole, I’m responsible and not a one night stand vibe.” Michael gestured to the dark-haired boy. “You seemed like the logical choice.”

Alex scoffed, his forehead wrinkling. “What in the world gave you that impression? You don’t even know me.”

Michael laughed, the unrestrained sound filling up space between them as Alex continued to scowl. Guerin’s smile dimmed.

“Oh shit. You’re serious...well, Alex, you’re not exactly the get wasted, let-loose type. Everyone knows you’re the most prepared guy in the room. And hold up, what do you mean I don’t know you? You’re in like three of my classes. We’re in the same double-major for christ’s sake.”

Manes huffed in exasperation. “Fine. But that doesn’t mean anything. I still don’t know you. What if you’re some alien serial killer after gay men and I’m your closest target?”

Michael’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? Do you hear yourself right now? Alex, I just want to fake date you. That’s it. And, better yet, you can ask me for something in return. Sweeten the pot. Hmm?” Michael gave an exaggerated wink and winsome grin.

Maybe Alex really would break Guerin’s nose. The guy was infuriating. With his mess of curly brown hair, Michael probably had folks hanging on his every word. Life must’ve just been a breeze, always getting his way. Meanwhile, Alex got shipped off to war for a year by an abusive father. Too different and weak and gay to be considered a real Manes man. After an honorable discharge, he was finally able to pursue his college degree in computer science and music. What he had always wanted, but on his own dime. He neither expected nor wanted any support from Jesse Manes. College was supposed to be a clean slate from men who thought they could use him.

Alex grimaced and shook his head.

“I’m not agreeing to this.” the Cherokee boy stood up to leave, exiting out of their booth. Before he could take another step further, Michael grabbed his arm and pulled him back gently.

“Hold on. Alex, please. You’d be doing me a huge favor.” Michael’s imploring hazel eyes shined as he pleaded with the boy. “You’d only have to be my boyfriend for a month or two, tops. Then, we can break up, get messy and pyrotechnic. Break some shit. And, uh in the meantime, I’ll...I’ll...I don’t know. What can I do for you?”

Alex sat back down.

“I want you to tell me how you get first place on every exam.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Um okay. So, I happen to be very smart.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

“No, Alex, what I mean is that I’m considered a genius.”

The brown-eyed boy rolled his eyes. Hard.

“I’m not kidding. I don’t go to class because they can’t teach me anything I don’t already know.”

“Are you serious?”

Michael nodded earnestly.

Groaning, Alex cursed under his breath. No matter how hard he worked, this sweaty, belt-buckled cowboy would always beat him. Life was so unfair. 

“Is there anything else you want to know? Or for me to do?”

“No.”

Michael sighed. “Manes, you’re really riding me, man.” 

Guerin paused to recollect his thoughts. “How about this, you can use me as your practice boyfriend. You know, work your skills on me.”

“What skills? I’m second in my class. There’s no one else for me to beat except you, which you’ve made quite obvious is a lost cause. I can’t beat genius.” annoyed, Manes pursed his lips.

“No, you don’t get it.” Michael shook his head in amusement. “Sex, Alex. Sex. I’m talking about making this fake relationship worth your time.” He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips. The cowboy inched closer across the table and began to stroke the inside of Alex’s forearm with his thumb.

Alex turned a shade of crimson and shivered.

“Pretty presumptuous of you to assume I need your expertise on that, Guerin,”

[tippitv]

Supernatural TippiTV Recap: 14-13 “Lebanon”

Okay before we get started. This is a long one and while I think it's pretty funny if I do say so myself, there's also a lot of me just... frickin ranting about John Winchester and rushed plots. If you loved this episode and don't want to see someone snarking about it, this might not be the recap for you.

On the other hand if you're like me and come from the TWoP tradition of snarking about the things we love most, then come on in!

THEN!

Two children talk about how their dad is on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a while.

Oh wait... holy crap it's Sam and Dean. It took a sec to recognize them without the gravelly voices and almost 14 years of soul-crushing despair.

We also get a reminder of very recent episodes, including the one where Mary learns about the time John threw young Dean's food away because it reminded him of her. It's important to remember what an abusive, hardened asshole John Winchester was... so that we can forget it! Forget it all!

[insert video of recapper letting out a Klingon scream]

NOW!

Sam and Dean mosey on into a pawn shop that I'm positive is in the US because they never leave the US but there's a sign that says the shop buys "jewellery" which is how they spell it in places that also spell "flavor" with a u. Dean flashes a big wad of cash to get the broker to show them "the good stuff."

By this, he means the magical goods, although the secret room looks like a high school drama department prop closet.

Dean says they're looking for the skull of a woman who was executed during the Salem witch trials. While the broker goes looking for it, Sam picks up a teddy bear from, you know, a shelf full of cursed and magical items because it's not as if stuffed animals have ever been dangerous. <cue ironic flashback>

Luckily he's warned away from it before he can unleash some kind of... Pooh demon... probably.

Anyway, it turns out having the skull proves that the broker killed a friend of theirs or something... Honestly, very little of this is going to have any bearing on anything. Long story short, fisticuffs ensue and Dean shoots the broker while he's expositing to Sam. "They always talk too much," Dean says.

Sam and Dean decide to take a bunch of magical items home with them. Although... what if they rightfully belong to other peop---ah screw it.

Okay now... here comes a long, boring subplot about teenagers back in Lebanon, Kansas. The main thing that's pertinent to the show is that Sam and Dean have a certain reputation around town. And no wonder! They park right in front these teenagers and start talking about shit they would never want anyone to hear.

They head into the world's skimpiest liquor store and the owner addresses them as "the Campbell brothers." Say whaaaat? Have they been using their mom's maiden name for a while and I just missed it? I mean, I guess it makes sense because... Actually, I don't remember how much stuff is still in their world about the infamous Winchesters. Like I legit can't remember if Charlie or someone erased their FBI/police records or if it was just some fanon someone told me about.

Also, nothing says "real liquor store" like shelves of bottles turned so that their name brands don't show.

Anyway, Sam stage-whispers to Dean about an ancient Chinese pearl that grants "what your heart desires."

The plan is to get Michael out of his head, but they notice someone is driving off with the Impala. They run out to confront one of the teenagers about it. He confesses that a girl named Max is the culprit, so that we can spend several minutes on this subplot instead of the much more emotional and important main plot.

I mean, we go from the post office to a pizza joint to an old house on the edge of town to catch up to the Impala. Max has apparently brought all that lethal “secret” stuff inside for a party. The camera lingers on that teddy bear again as if it's going to be important to the plot later.

Max, the car thief, has a crush on a girl and ISTG I was prepared to be mad if she died. Like I don't even want this whole subplot at all but I'd be puh-hissed if they had queer characters on just to kill one. Luckily I was wrong and neither of them die. However, the dialog is killing me. "I'm sooo excited for pizza." Tell me you can't imagine Lumpy Space Princess saying that.

Apparently the ghost of John Wayne Gacy (sigh) was waiting for the kids to go in search of pizza before oozing out of a cigar box the Winchesters brought from the pawn shop.

Why is his ghost dressed as a clown? I mean yes I know Gacy was a children's party clown, but it's not like he died in that outfit. Aren't ghosts supposed to be wearing what they died in? OH GOD WHY DO I CARE.

The Winchesters show up and scoot everyone out of the house, but not before at least one kid sees the ghost. Sam zeroes in on the cigar box and Dean points out how Sam's love of serial killers and hatred of clowns are in conflict.

Of course, some of the kids come back in just as the ghost goes up in flames. Sam and Dean decide to just... tell them the whole truth instead of just lying. Like..."Yo, one of the things you stole was secret holographic tech and you could face prison time if you talk about it." See? Easy peasy. Instead, they just trust the kids to never talk about ghosts being real and meeting actual ghost hunters.

I briefly wondered if this was some kind of back door pilot for teen hunters, but I haven't heard anything about that. Granted I didn't actually look that hard.

Once back at the bunker, Sam finds the magic pearl but it's kinda... chalky and medicinal looking. It looks like something Goop would sell to stick up your hoohaw.

Dean decides there's no time to wait because we've already spent too long on teenagers playing hooky. Like, even Sam doesn't really know how to use it. "I guess you just concentrate on what your heart desires," he says, scrunching his face uncertainly. I mean what if this had happened

The music swells dramatically. The lights flicker off dramatically. A shadowy figure approaches... dramatically. Fisticuffs ensue! It's a nice callback to Dean and Sam fighting in the dark in the pilot episode because ta da! It's actually John Winchester! Which we all knew because this was foretold in promotions.

The lights come up, showing... just a whole lot of things for me to process.

Now, at first, things don't seem that weird. We've seen people come back from the dead so many times, it's basically as surprising as buying socks at this point. Except! John isn't back from the dead at all! He's traveled through time! He eventually tells us he's from the year TWO THOUSAND AND THREE. TWO ZERO ZERO THREE.

He's both three years younger than the last time the bros saw him AND 13 years older, because for Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and all the rest of us mortals, time has marched on. Consequently, John Winchester looks like he got stuck in a wormhole for a good while.

Now, kudos to John for recognizing his sons, especially Sam, who looked a little something like this the last time they saw each other.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Palo Alto?" he asks Sam. "And also not a middle-aged man?" he doesn't ask, but I bet he was thinkin' it.

It's just... sigh. I might as well get it all out now. I get what they were going for here. It's the 300th episode and they wanted to have John show up. But because everything is so rushed, they just gloss over anything remotely realistic to the characters. John is all softness and awe the instant the lights go up, instead of bristling and suspicious. Why wouldn't he think it was a djinn or some other creature's doing? "Well we don't have time for him to be as flinty and wary as John would have been in 2003, because we need to get to the part where he spends quality time with his family!" YES EXACTLY. The show is three hundred episodes old now and it deserves more than this speedy treatment put together seemingly for the concomitant promotional opportunity.

Anyway they have a Sit-n-Chat to catch John up on what they've been doing, including the living situation there at the bunker which includes an angel and the son of Lucifer. Goodness only knows what John is picturing.

Now that I think about it, the brothers should be hella wary too. I mean, what if the pearl is cursed? What if John is actually some shambling interdimensional beast masquerading as John? What if the whole thing is just a hallucination brought on by nefarious moon herbs in Paltrow's pookie pearl? They just uncharacteristically seem to rely on the pawn broker's ledger.

Fine! Fine! I’ll drop it.

They talk about how they met John's dad via time travel, too, but don't mention that's why John never saw him again after childhood. They talk about the Men of Letters, finally killing old Yellow Eyes, saving the world... Then just when they're about to tell him that Mary's back from the dead, she actually shows up and starts calling to her sons. What a coincidence! John is pained.

It seems like they didn't tell her, either? Did they just tell her to come over for a surprise or did she just happen to be on her way there anyway? Anyway John and Mary start in on a smoochy reunion so Sam and Dean quietly leave the room.

Sam's like, "How'd this happen?" And Dean's like, "We spent too much time on the teenager subplot instead of looking into this potentially dangerous thing, is how!"

For some reason, John is perusing the library alone instead of... um... making up for lost time with his hot wife. Sam goes to talk to him and finds out Mary's off writing a shopping list for Dean so she can make that emotionally important casserole again. This leads John to admit he fucked up with his kids. Sam is reluctant to blame John because he's had almost 13 years to get over it.

I hate that everyone's acting their little hearts out and all I can think is how painfully contrived the episode is. Whatever problems I have with the writing and the premise, I don't have a problem with the job the actors are doing. Okay, okay, I'm really letting go of it this time.

John rubs Sam's shoulder and tearfully says, "Son, I am so sorry." The cellos of sadness play sadly. "I'm sorry, too," says Sam. "You did your best, Dad. You fought for us, you loved us... that's enough."

It's one thing to decide you're going to move past the shitty, shitty things someone did because you're in the midst of the enormity of what's going on RIGHT NOW. But it's another thing for the show to minimize the past. John did NOT do his best. For fuck's sake, he left a little boy in charge of an even littler boy! Dean knew his Dad was possessed because his REAL dad would never be proud of him! When Dean stole food to feed Sam, John abandoned him to face the consequences!

God damn it I guess I'm not going to let it go, after all!

Anyway, Sam and Dean head into town for groceries and time paradoxes. The liquor store owner no longer recognizes Dean, which is the surest sign that something is Very Wrong. Dean is flabbergasted. "It's me! Dean Campbell! I come in here like... always!"

As Sam heads back to the car, he sees a wanted poster for his bro. It's the old Blue Steel one except I think Sam used to be on it too? He's not anymore. He heads back to the car to tell Dean, but Dean's already been a-googlin' on his phone.

He plays back a video of Sam as a turtleneck-wearing lawyer espousing a raw food diet with plenty of kale. Good lord how much raw food does someone the size of Sam have to eat to fulfill his daily caloric needs?

They kind of hand-wave how these new versions of themselves exist at the same time as the OG versions. "Our timeline is changing to this new one!" Sam says. He says they need to put things back the way they were or they'll be stuck. It's nice of the timeline to work slowly enough that they can figure this out.

Somewhere nearby, the angel Zachariah appears. Castiel moseys up beside him and he's brought some old friends.

They decide to head into the nearest pizza place. The teenagers are there because not even a paradox will get rid of this subplot. "Can I help you?" asks the waitress. I think the usual question would be, "Can I get you a table for two?" but whatever. Zachariah asks her who's been messing with time. "We sensed a disturbance in the, well, let's call it the Force," he says. Naturally, she's very confused, and even more confused when he says they're from Heaven.

He says he'll have Castiel murder everyone if they don't tell him what's going on. To emphasize this, Castiel whips out his angel mojo.

Sam and Dean see the bright light from across the street and come running in. Sam's like, "Zachariah?!" and Dean's like, "Cas?!" and Cas is like, "Is that with one S or two, and also who are you?"

Zachariah exposits that Heaven had big plans for the Winchesters but then their dad suddenly disappeared in 2003. Why wouldn't the angels assume the disappearance and the time event are connected? Why'd they have to just start asking questions in a random pizzeria? Fisticuffs ensue!

Zachariah force-chokes Sam while asking him for an explanation. Why do villains always try to make people talk while they're choking? Pick one or the other! But this gives Sam a chance to surprise Zachariah with an angel blade in the heart. Oh, Zachariah. Destined to die by Winchester in every version.

Meanwhile, Dean and Castiel are still tussling even though I'm pretty sure Castiel could kill them both pretty quick. Sam joins in for a bit, but gets flung into a table. If there's a table around, someone's getting flung into it. Then he goes back to strangling Dean instead of finishing off Sam, giving Sam a chance to make one of those angel-vanquishing sigils with his own blood.

They go back home. Dean explains the whole paradox thing to John. If he doesn't return to 2003, Dean will live the same life but alone, Mary will never have come back to life, and Sam will devastate kale crops like a moose-sized locust.

John agrees to go back. "Me versus your mom, that's not even a choice." That's... a weird way to phrase that dilemma. At the same time, Sam is delivering the news to Mary. He says "the lore is pretty clear" that if they destroy the pearl, everything goes back the way it was. What lore? They knew jack squat about it before they used it. Mary has some questions.

John tells Dean he's proud of him and I slightly expect Dean to whip a gun out on him. "I never meant for this.... I guess I hoped that eventually you get yourself a normal life..a family..."

WHAT.

WHAAAAAT.

He did nothing to prepare them for a normal life! Leaving your kids in motel rooms, never letting them settle down in one school, issuing ultimatums when Sam wanted to go to college? Man, Dean should've been like, "Nah, that was your other son, Adam, who got to live a normal life... at least until a ghoul ate him and his body was used by an archangel." But Dean is nicer than me, I guess. "I have a family," he says.

They decide to eat dinner even though who knows when the timeline is going to snap into place permanently. Oh my God they even take the time to wash the dishes after. They have a nice chat and again, everyone's acting their little hearts out and I'm trying not to be distracted. Dean tells Sam he doesn't want to change the past. "I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are." Please let that stick with no reversions to self-loathing and I'll retroactively like this episode more.

They cut to this shot and for a second I thought it was Sam and Dean holding hands at the sink.

Of course it's John and Mary. Sad piano plays sadly. John's not going to remember anything, but the rest of them will. Oh man what if John got Mary pregnant during his visit. Sam and Dean were out shopping for a while. I wish I hadn't thought that, but now that I have, you all have to be witness to my horrible brain's meanderings.

John reiterates that he's proud of them. So this time Sam pulls a gun on him! No, he doesn't. They all hug and cry genuine tears before John goes back to holding hands with Mary. Sam reluctantly smashes the pearl to bits. Seems like Dean would have to be the one to smash it since he's the one who made the wish, but it works and John slowly fades out of the present.

Everything goes back to normal, including the teenagers remembering and loudly discussing the existence of monsters in public.

Castiel returns to the bunker in his newer, homelier coat and less erotically tousled hair. "What happened?" he asks. The response in my brain:

Back in 2003, John wakes up in the Impala to the sound of his flip phone ringing. Smart phones are great and all but man I miss the battery life of my flip. It's the Dean of the day calling to check on him. John, although he's not supposed to remember anything from the future, seems to have experienced it as some kind of dream. He seems nicer, too. This will probably have no bearing on the timeline, though... right?

I mean, is that 2019 casserole still in his stomach? Did the wine turn back into grapes? Probably not but these are the kinds of things I think about.

Sigh.

I feel the episode does a disservice to its main characters. I've already ranted more than enough so I'll just pick one example:

If Sam had gone on to live a normal life, he would've become a cold-hearted douchebag who tells people that hobbies and families are a waste of time. Like, ha ha yes it's amusing that Sam is the leaf-munching Steve Jobs of law, but what's the meaning here? Are we saying that wanting to get an education for himself means he's a selfish asshole? Like this is the alternative to the codependent relationship with Dean that formed because of their father? Argh.

The John apologia is just so clunky and unnecessary. John could've said, "I should've done more than teach you to hunt monsters... prepared you for a normal life so you could have a family." Then Dean ccould say, "Being able to kill monsters kept us alive long enough so that we figured out things for ourselves. And we do have a family." Bam! It lets John be rueful without rewriting the past or having Dean swallow all the years of hurt and it even acknowledges that knowing how to hunt isn't a bad thing.

Thank you for sticking with the recap to the end! I do still intend to recap past episodes but things have been kind of stressful. Just staying afloat has been a chore some days.

For updates and info you can check here: https://www.gofundme.com/winter-rent-and-dog-care

I also have a virtual tip jar of sorts here: https://www.paypal.me/tippiblevins

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux (1/13)

Author’s Note:  Let me start by stating this work was a grand experiment for me. I have never written a mystery or case file before, this the longest thing I have written and completed (besides a 22-page graduate research paper on William Shakespeare), and for the most part, I have this almost completed before I started posting it. This started its life as a drabble written for @txf-prompt-box back in early September. It kept growing and I created a Frankenstein fic. I hold this little creation very close to my heart and I hope you all enjoy it as I have enjoyed writing it.

Lastly, a massive, million thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for the constant hand-holding, criticism, feedback, and overall being the awesome of the most awesome people and helping me get through this. Seriously, these two deserve a medal.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Timeline: Season 6. Making me pick episodes? Before ‘How the Ghost Stole Christmas.’ Before they got the X-Files back and before ‘Tithonaeous’. Use your headcanon imagination.

1/13

It was taken from me. Plain and simple. This is a story of revenge. Plain and simple. 

You see, I remember everything. Sure, they don’t but I do. They don’t matter. I remember how my heart was ripped out. He stole it and she ripped it out. Stamped it on the ground. Burned it. Neither party is innocent. Both are guilty. I am the judge, jury, and executor. And the kicker? I remember everything. And I am willing to kill to get it back.

The betrayal. The heartbreak. I want revenge. I have been wanting revenge for 135 years. I had it once. I will have it again.

I did not realize how much I wanted it until I saw her again.

I did not realize why I was doing it to begin with. I just felt this need…this anger. I was always angry. I always wanted to lash out. That’s how it started. One girl here. It felt good. Another random guy there. Even better. I had no agenda. Another random person there. I just needed to do it. I did not discriminate or plan. I just did it to do it. Like a smoker smokes a cigarette to smoke. I killed just to kill. I got no physical satisfaction than knowing I did it.

But then they caught me. I saw her.

And then, I remembered everything.

… .

Federal Building Norfolk, Virginia December 12, 1998

It was cold. Not bitterly cold but enough to send a chill to your bone. The sky was overcast; so grey it looked heavy and ready to release some sort of precipitation, and the cold was always snapping, freezing, ready to make any rain turn to snow. The weird thing is that it would never snow. Norfolk, Virginia, was a conundrum. A city steeped in history but unsure where to go between the historic district and the hodge-podge of Victorian, Art Deco, and modern architecture. The weather seemed to fit right in.

On the corner of Charlotte Street and Brambleton Avenue, a four-story building dominated. It was built with a nod to the art deco style, with its boxy shape, antiqued lamps, and boxy fanned out styles. The Walter E. Hoffman courthouse appeared just as much out of place as the rest of the buildings in the city.

Outside art deco courthouse, two FBI agents huddled near each other to try and escape the biting cold. Agent Dana Scully looked pointedly at the sign marked ‘U.S. Marshal Parking Only’ in bright right and white letters and then towards their rental 1997 Chevy Impala. “Mulder,” she mused, “are you sure we can park there?”

Special Agent Fox Mulder blew into his gloved hands and gazed at the parking sign ominously. “We’re FBI. They’re U.S. Marshals,” he shrugged. “We’re both federal agents in law enforcement. What’s the difference?”

Scully licked her chapped lips, choosing not to argue the point. “Can we at least get out of the cold? I want to get this over with.”

“What?” her partner teased. “Looking forward to more background checks?”

“No. And no. I hate the cold. And Kersh’s background cheeks. I just want to get home,” she shivered. “Something about the cold makes me want to become a hermit.”

Mulder rubbed her arms slightly trying to generate heat. “I don’t blame you,” he shrugged. “The Vineyard is way worse. At least it decides if it wants to snow or not.”

“Shut up about the snow. I hate the snow. You know that.”

“You could always move to Miami.” She gave him a withering glance and he smiled lightly. “Then let’s get out of this cold. If you behave, I’ll buy you a lollipop after all this.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

Even through the thick layers of her suit and heavy wool coat, the pressure of his touched seared itself into her lower back right above her ouroboros tattoo. She straightened her back unconsciously, her back cracking, and stretched her neck. “I wish we could have stayed at the hotel across the street,” she mumbled, nodding to the large 12 story v-shaped hotel across the street. “Looks a lot nicer than where we’re staying at. And closer.”

“Hey, Kersh’s dollars at least gets us a step up from a motel. We’re staying by the airport.”

“There’s nothing by the airport.”

Mulder frowned and teased her. “Well, there’s the beach. The hotel is supposed to be really nice.”

“Virginia Beach,” she specified, “which we aren’t exactly on the oceanfront, are we?”

He gestured eastwards. “The river?”

“Mulder, the ocean and the river are not the same things.” She shook her head slightly in an effort be rid of the chill the creeping into her bone. “Regardless, can we get out of this cold? I really don’t understand why even drove down here, Mulder. We just have to testify at a sentencing hearing.” She held up a finger for dramatic pause. “Sentencing hearing.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want us sitting behind the desk doing background checks?”

She arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “How is that a step up? Okay, okay,” she sighed. “But can we at least get out of this cold? I’m freezing.”

Mulder ushered her into the courthouse through the main entrance on Monticello Avenue. They shed their coats, showed their badges, went through the security checkpoint, took the required elevator, and walked the required amount of steps to courtroom B. They slid in among the shuffling of journalists, cops, lawyers, and other courtroom witnesses. Scully saw the judge enter unceremoniously from the left as the bailiff rose and called for order.

She watched from afar as the male judge looked briefly over the day’s docket and then towards the defendant, the serial killer her and Mulder had caught the year previously

“Well,” the judge sighed, opening. “This should be fairly straightforward. Francis Buckley, rise please.”

The defense lawyer jumped up. “Aren’t you going to hear testimony in defense of my client?”

“Sir,” the judge answered, “I see no one jumping to defend your client for brutally murdering three people. The only people here to testify are the two FBI agents that caught him and I sincerely doubt that will cast any light on your client’s…good grace and he has already been convicted by a court of three murders. How much longer do you want me to drag this through the mud?” The lawyer’s mouth flapped uselessly and the judge looked pointedly at him. “Rise, Mr. Buckley.”

Scully watched as a large man in his mid-thirties rose, dressed in the classic orange jail jumpsuit and chained. She felt something in the air shift and glanced towards Mulder to see if he noticed. The defendant, Francis Buckley, turned to look over his shoulder slightly. He grinned when his brown eyes zeroed in on her. She felt cold, like icicles dropping down her back in sharp pain. She physically jumped and felt Mulder’s hand instantly squeeze her knee in reassurance. She glanced at her partner as his hazel eyes gazed at her quizzically. She nodded quickly before regaining her composure. Buckley smiled, even more, when he noticed Mulder before turning back to the judge.

It was a whirlwind. Before she even knew it, Mulder was gently ushering her out the door with his familiar hand on the small of her back. She could hear him talking. Something about lunch.

“Scully,” he called gently, “are you even listening to me?”

She sucked in a quick breath and blinked as if coming out of a revere. “Yeah.” She blinked a few more times to clear her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry about that, Mulder. Must have of dazed off there for a second.”

He studied her for a moment and nodded. “Well, we don’t have to be back in Washington until tomorrow. You want to play hooky this afternoon in the wonderful city of Norfolk, Virginia? The Chrysler Museum is nearby.”

She nodded again, more quickly than her body would let her. She was eager for the distraction to take her focus away from the building uneasiness that was in the back of her mind.

… .

I saw her today. I was hoping to see her today. And he was there too. This will be so easy.

… .

Norfolk, Virginia February 1, 1862

The young lieutenant pulled his gray kepi down over his ears and buried his face into his own greatcoat bemoaning the cold. Even in the beginning of February, it was bitingly cold. The snow crunched under the wagon’s wheels as it drove slowly among Freemason street. He shifted uncomfortably as he surveyed on what would be his new home for an undetermined amount of time.

Polished and affluent homes combed the streets on either side of him. He felt uneasy being out and about here. He much preferred to be with the other marines at the barracks at the naval yard where they awaited the completion of the navy’s newest ironclad, CSS Virginia, previously known as the USS Merrimac.

Honestly, he never knew why God had intended him to be the butt of some cruel, universal joke. He was an army man, a graduate of Virginia Military Institute. Hell, he was supposed to be a part of blossoming community of military intelligence. But no. He was stuck on a boat and surrounded by navy men. He got seasick easily too.

God, how he had wished his mother had not intervened with his career.

As the carriage trotted down the cobbled road, he spied an old man, wearing the insignia of a navy captain, and a woman, who was much too young to be his wife, wearing a pale green dress and a black overcoat, holding the captain’s arm weakly as they stood at the doorway of one of the polished homes. She looked bored. She glanced at her husband as he talked fondly to a man standing inside and let her eyes wander from place to place on the street.

Somehow, they caught each other’s gazes.

The first thing that he noticed was her blue eyes. Then the small smattering of freckles across her face. And her red hair peeking out beneath the bonnet. He felt warm to his soul like he finally belonged somewhere after searching a lifetime. She seemed just as taken with him and their gazes lingered as his carriage continued on its way and until she faded from sight.

… .

Holiday Inn by the Airport Norfolk,Virginia December 13, 1998

3:08 AM.

Scully rubbed her face in a weak effort to erase the fatigue that she had. Her eyes were tired. Her body felt heavy. Everything just felt off. It had ever since that morning in the courtroom. She lay beneath the white, artificial sheets and quilt (only a few steps up from creepy, crappy by the hour motel sheets) and absently clicked the television remote, the changing the flickering screen repeatedly. She heard a quick knock on the door joining her and Mulder’s rooms. He opened it slightly and gave a weak smile. “I thought I heard the TV,” he said softly.

She sighed and cast the remote aside. Sitting up in bed taller, she turned on the nightstand lamp. “No,” she admitted with a shrug. “I tossed and turned a bit. There’s nothing on TV.”

“There never is. Want some company?”

“Do you ever sleep, Mulder?” she teased, patting the bed beside her.

“Once in awhile.”

Her partner shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to examine Scully. “You look…distracted. You okay, Scully?” She shrugged, rolling her neck as she did, hearing a distinct pop. “Oh, I heard that one. Turn around.”

“Mulder,” she admonished. “I’m fine.”

“Just…turn around, Scully,” he instructed with a small smile.

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

She loved his rare shoulder massages. Although she would tell him repeatedly she was okay, he would always ignore her. It was all professionally platonic, of course. Scully turned slightly and rolled her shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. He squeezed her shoulders tentatively. God, she was tense. He felt the knotted muscles beneath her silken green pajama set. “I’ve been worried since this morning.”

“How so?” she grunted, instantly straightening her spine, feeling the pressure of Mulder’s thumbs.

“I could say you’re distracted but that is just stating the obvious. Even at the museum today this afternoon, you were distant. Every since Buckley noticed you this morning,” he said thoughtfully. “You weren’t like that during the case.”

“I don’t know,” she confessed absently, sitting up straighter as his hands centered in on her spine. Her back cracked more. “Did you see the way he looked at us? At me?”

“Hm. What about it?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she whispered. “He smiled at me. Like, just me. Mulder, it creeped me out.”

He paused. “How so, Scully?”

She shook her hand, unconsciously rubbing her left arm. “Not that bad. I’m fine,” she answered quickly. She felt vulnerable. He already knew where his mind was going towards. “Not Pfaster or the abduction bad. It was probably nothing.”

“Then what?”

She paused, wishing he could hug her in this moment of vulnerability, but of course, she would never admit that out loud. “I didn’t feel like myself,” she replied after a long moment. “Like I was me, and someone else, but at the same time. I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

“Out of place, out of time?”

“Something like that.”

Scully shook her head and her entire body followed, shrugging out of Mulder’s grasp. He hesitated before gently grasping her hand that had been repeatedly trying to console herself. “Easy, Scully. I gotcha.”

She closed her eyes and tried to center herself. “What was it like?” she asked after a long moment. “In Tennessee?”

He was silent, his hand instinctively seeking out the small of her back, his place. He drew in a deep breath. “How else would you explain it?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.”

Scully hugged herself tightly and faced him. Mulder wished that he could just take her in his arms and make all right with the world but simply settled for squeezing her hand again.  “I had a strange dream tonight,” she started reluctantly. She pointed towards the floor loosely. “Here. In Norfolk.” She closed her eyes again. “Snow. Cold. Like this morning It needed to snow but hadn’t recently.”

“How do you know it was here?”

Her right hand flung wildly in a circle. “I just…know.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “It wasn’t this time–older. Mulder, I don’t know.” She buried her face in her hands. “This is stupid. Just ignore it.”

He grasped her other hand tightly. “Scully, come on. Stop thinking.”

Her head was spinning. She remembered the gaze from the dream. His gaze. She could not remember his face but she could feel his staring. “Mulder,” she murmured, squeezing his hands. “I think I need a vacation.”

He let out a hoarse laugh. “We both do.”

She brought her knees close, crossing them under her. “Mulder, I’ve never felt like this before. I have never felt so out of time and out of space. This isn’t like the abduction. This isn’t missing time. I feel like I’m experiencing something I forgot long ago. It scares me.”

He pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I know,” he whispered. Was she experiencing a past life? Who knew. But he was curious. “If you want to talk…”

She shrugged noncommittally as his cell phone rang. She raised an eyebrow as he mouthed ‘Sorry.’ “Mulder,” he answered crisply.

While he had freed one hand to answer his cell, his other hand still clasped hers. He was quiet as he finished the call and put it away. There was trouble in his eyes. “That was the sheriff. Buckley mentioned he wanted to talk to Starbuck.” He felt her stiffen. “Then he mentioned your name.”

“Do you think,” she paused. “This could be like Boggs?”

He never let go of her hand. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He looked down at the bed, surprised that she was even entertaining such ideas. “Good thing we have nowhere to be, right?”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Hunting Ground (Part 9): Epilogue

Request: Yes, continuing Hunting Ground from the alt ending! I think it would be amazing!

Hunting Ground Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language

A/N: This part takes place after Part 8: The Alternate Ending...

Dean was gone not five minutes before Sam was sighing heavily from the couch. You lifted your head from your computer, choosing to work from home on the stormy day. He was staring at his laptop but said nothing so you turned your attention back to your screen.

He sighed again and you let out one of your own. It’d been four months of Sam living with you and Dean, four months of barely keeping it together, four months of Sam wearing Dean and everyone down into believing maybe Sam had just made a poorly timed joke, been really weird when you met. You’d spent the better part of your morning in bed with Dean whisper arguing with him over it. Sam had his claws in Dean and he was becoming more and more convinced that Sam wasn’t the killer you’d thought. 

But you remembered that car ride, the way Sam looked at you. There was protective baby brother and then there was downright threatening.

“Y/N, want to play hooky today?” asked Sam, shoving his computer away. “I just emailed my boss and told him I’m sick.”

“Sam, I have work,” you said. “It’s pouring out, it’s not good hiking weather anyways.”

“Well I already emailed your boss too. Come on, we’re hanging out today,” he said, standing up and closing your computer. You sighed and gave him a glare. “We have a problem and I think it’s time we got it out in the open.”

“What problem would that be?” you asked, crossing your arms. Sam simply walked over to the hall closet and pulled on his rain jacket and boots. 

“Not here,” he said, tossing you your jacket. It wasn’t often that you went somewhere alone with Sam, mostly because you never knew if you were coming back but if he was ready to confess, you were taking the risk. You just wanted a normal life with Dean again.

“Where are we going?” you asked, sliding your arms through, moving to write Dean a note. Sam’s hand caught your arm and pulled you back to your shoes.

“We’ll be back before he’s home. Let’s go,” said Sam, waiting as you put on your boots. He locked up behind you before putting a hand on the small of your back and guiding you over to his truck. When he turned left on the road, out of town, you knew today wasn’t going to end well.

Sam parked on a pull off meant for people renting cabins and grabbed a bag from his trunk, waving you to follow after. The path was almost all mud and the heavy rain didn’t help. Eventually you got to a rockier part of the trail and Sam got the two of you headed towards one of the cabins. There was a light on inside and Sam was quick to open the door and usher you in. 

There was a pile of wood near the fireplace and the kitchen looked stocked. There was even a pile of books, books you liked to read, on the table.

“Don’t freak out,” said Sam. You instantly walked to the other side of the room, Sam scowling as you tracked mud all over the place. “I just cleaned that.”

“Deal with it,” you said, eyeing the firepoker. 

“How have you not figured it out by now?” he asked, taking off his coat and boots, walking over and tossing a few logs in the fireplace. “I thought I was being pretty obvious.”

“Touch me and Dean’ll-”

“For fucks sake, Y/N, I’m not a killer. I’m a cop,” he said. “FBI. I was at the academy doing my advanced training the same time you were you idiot. You remember that day you nearly wiped out on the stairs, cracked your head open?”

“No you...” you said, tilting your head at him, remembering why he’d always looked familiar. “Moose?”

“Yeah pipsqueak, it’s me, Moose. FBI agent. Ya know, not a serial killer,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“Just because you’re FBI doesn’t mean...why the fuck are you so weird?” you asked, moving to stand by the door.

“Because I had to know that Dean really was good. Because I had to prove it to a lot of people. Those murders, they weren’t the only one’s he was suspected of. All of it, everything came into question when shit went down. I’ve been clearing his name for-”

“No, his name got cleared when we caught the dickhead that came here. We got it cleared when-”

“Some people thought you may have become a willing participant of Dean’s, that you’d been corrupted,” said Sam. “They weren’t ever watching me, they were watching you two.”

“How can I believe you?” you asked, throwing your arms up. “This is-”

“Y/L/N,” said a voice you hadn’t heard in a long time. You saw the black haired man in a trench coat step out from the back room, giving you a smile.

“Cas? Cas what...” you trailed off. “You’re working the undercover units, not...”

“Y/N,” said Sam, giving you a smile. “I’ve only ever been your friend. I know you and Dean, you’re the good guys. So am I.”

“I apologize for the run around and all but there were some concerns with letting Dean go free. His old department still felt as though he may have been responsible for crimes down there, that he might be capable of-”

“Cas would you drop the formal bullshit for once and talk to me like my friend?” you asked, rubbing your hands over your face. “Just tell me the bottom line here.”

“Sam is an undercover agent and not a killer. Dean isn’t a killer and neither are you. The investigation has concluded and Sam will be starting a new assignment soon,” said Cas, giving you a smile.

“I thought Sam was going to murder me in my sleep for how many months because you assholes never got it through your heads that Dean is a good man?” you said, letting your rage boil over now. For the first time Sam looked scared of you and you were a little bit happy for it. “Why the hell did you have to say those things to me? Why did you-”

“Sam, maybe now would be a good time to tell Y/N about your new assignment,” said Cas, walking past you before you could throw a punch. “Like before she goes ballistic and actually kills someone.”

“Too late,” you said, Sam looking more like a scared puppy than anything.

“I’m kind of on protection detail for you,” said Sam, looking around. “Hence why I tried to get some stuff you-”

“Protection from what exactly? And where is Dean?” you asked.

“Cas is Dean’s detail. He’s going to swing by his work and bring him to his cabin,” said Sam.

“Dean’s not coming here?” you asked, turning around, seeing only the foods you and Sam liked on the shelves. “Why-”

“You know the drill, Y/N. You and Dean are both civillians. We’re in charge, not you,” said Cas. 

“Protection from what?” you asked again. Sam and Cas both nodded at each other, waiting for the other to speak. “Guys! Talk or I’m going home.”

“The reason Dean was still under investigation was...” said Cas, glancing at Sam who sighed.

“You know how Hank wanted Dean to, ya know, be his prodigy? Well there was a suspicion he had one before. Murders in another place, not too far from the training academy Dean was at. They kind of saw a pattern of where Dean went, murders went so it was either Dean or someone who really liked him and followed him,” said Sam.

“Hank’s dead. You’re saying Hank had another prodigy?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“We’re saying Hank was a prodigy. Hank, he flunked out of the academy his fifth week, Y/N. Somebody recruited him and Hank tried to recruit Dean. Now there’s a fear that the guy who taught Hank isn’t too happy with Dean or you,” said Sam. 

“This is all conjecture though, like there isn’t-”

“There was a murder about 200 miles from here. Same MO as those original murders, the ones from Dean’s training days. Sam was with you both when it happened so you’re in the clear but this guy probably knows you’re in Hunting Ground,” said Cas.

“Oh come on! Another one!” you shouted, stamping your foot on the ground. “Why do weirdo’s like Dean so much?”

“You’re a weirdo and you like him,” said Sam, a tiny smile on his lips.

“I’m still pissed off at you for...ya know, everything,” you said, trying not to look like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

“I know. I hope protecting you earn’s me back some of your and Dean’s trust,” he said, glancing down.

“Y/N, you know you’ve got to listen to Sam, do what he tells you. We’ll try to set something up where you can talk to Dean at some point but for now it’s best to keep you two separated,” said Cas. 

“You’re separating us because you know this guy is going to try and use me as bait to get to Dean, aren’t you,” you said, Cas digging into his coat pocket and pulling out a phone.

“I’ll take care of him, rookie,” said Cas, handing it over. “Emergencies only.”

“I’m not a rookie,” you said, rolling your eyes as you remember your first day when Cas called you out for being the last one to class.

“Be safe. This guy finds you guys, kick his ass for me,” said Cas, giving you a quick hug. “Rookie, Sam. I’ll check in tomorrow.”

When he walked out, you could only hear the rain on the roof, Sam rocking awkwardly on his feet.

“So...are you hungry?” he asked.

“You thought Dean-”

“Dean thought I was capable of some shit too. Neither one of us is perfect. I was always trying to help him and I knew deep down he never did that crap. You want to hate me for the things I said, the way I creeped you out, I deserve it but leave the rest out,” said Sam, turning his attention to the fire.

You scowled but took off your coat and boots, looking around and finding something to clean up the mess you made as Sam got the fire going and some heat in the place. When you’d finished he was still sitting in front of it, his head down. 

“Dean always said he couldn’t believe you were bad,” you said, watching his back tense up.

“I was trained how to act like a bad guy, not how to deal with acting like that towards my brother’s girlfriend, someone who is like a little sister to me but can’t stand to look at me,” said Sam, poking the fire for no real reason other than to avoid turning around and facing you. “It’s really hard to care about someone and know that you repulse them.”

“Sam,” you said, walking over and sitting beside him. He moved away a few inches, and then another few when you moved closer. “Sam.”

“What,” he said, putting the poker down, staring at the floor in front of him. 

“Look me in the eye,” you said. Sam didn’t budge, even when you bumped his shoulder. “Sammy, look at me.”

“I’m not Sammy. You and Dean...you don’t like me...Dean doesn’t look at me the same since that day in the truck. I know you told him and he’s always watching me, and he hates me and I will take it all but I don’t get Sammy anymore. I hurt my family, even if I was trying to help, I hurt them and I don’t get to be called Sammy,” he said, a barely there waiver to his voice.

You got up and let him be, making a few cups of hot chocolate before sitting back down next to him, handing him one. He squinted at it and you sat it down in front of him.

“You’ve seen me do this with Dean,” you said, grabbing his hand and putting it around the mug. “Go ahead, I didn’t poison it.”

“Why are you making me drink hot chocolate?” he asked. “I don’t want-”

“I told you I’m pissed off at you. I never said I hated you. I get pissed off at Dean sometimes but I love that man more than life itself. So drink your hot chocolate and let me tell you, Sammy, that Dean never gave up hope that you were playing at something else. I always hoped I was wrong too. Today’s a good day, alright?” you said, watching his head lift for the first time since Cas left.

“But-”

“Sam, you want to make it up to me and Dean? Find this guy and help keep me safe. Dean’ll be a whole world of happy if you make sure nothing happens to me,” you said, giving Sam a smile. 

“Why are you being so nice?” asked Sam, slowly raising his mug up to take a sip.

“Because I don’t like being mean,” you said, bumping his arm. “Everything Dean has ever told me about you, you’re going to let this tear you up inside if someone isn’t there for you. Let me be that person. From what I’ve heard, I’m pretty good at helping out the Winchesters.”

“I honestly thought you were going to rip my head off five minutes ago,” said Sam.

“Well I guess I can see how a couple of the things you did were the real you, like the time you made me a birthday cake,” you said. “Or how you did all the chores all the time.”

“I’m going to keep doing all the chores too. I know I’m not out of this hole yet,” said Sam, turning his head to look at you.

“Well you can look me in the eye at least,” you said, seeing his own want to flicker down again. “You’re a bit too nice for undercover, Sam.”

“I know. I only did this because it was Dean,” he said, forcing his head to stay up. “He’s probably going to kill me when he finds out.”

“I think relieved is the word you’re looking for,” you said standing up. “So how long are we stuck here?”

“The task force is doing a slow sweep so-”

“We’re going to be here for weeks,” you said, looking around at the cabin meant for weekend getaways, not long term living.

“I kind of snuck into your amazon account and bought a bunch of books and movies you were looking at. We’ve got a generator but we should try to limit using it at night, not attract attention,” said Sam.

“This is going to be loads of fun.”

Three Weeks Later

“Sam, I’m out of shaving cream. Can I use yours?” you asked, walking out of the small bathroom to where Sam was rearranging the furniture for the third time this week.

“Yeah. I don’t really need it,” he said, running a hand over his cheek that was now covered in a beard. “I figured I didn’t get you enough.”

“You got plenty, I’m just really shitty at rationing,” you said, walking to the kitchen cupboard where he kept his stuff. “You can put your toothbrush in the bathroom ya know, I don’t need the whole thing to myself, Sam.”

“No, I’m okay, it’s yours,” said Sam, nudging the chair with his hip.

“Sam, stop punishing yourself. I’m tired of you being all twitchy around me,” you said. “We share a bedroom and you don’t even relax in bed.”

“I keep telling you I can move the cot to the living room-”

“I keep telling you it’s warmer in the bedroom at night, Sam,” you said with a sigh. “What do I got to do to convince you I’m not mad anymore?”

“But you should be mad-

“You get to tell me if I can go for a walk outside or when to turn off the lights at night and all that crap but you don’t get to tell me how I feel, got it?” you said.

“Yes mam’,” said Sam, moving the chair back to where it orginially was. 

“When I’m done with my shower can we maybe go outside today?” you asked. Sam sighed and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, it’s been two days. Can we open a window at least?”

“Finish getting dressed and I’ll see what we can get for you,” said Sam, moving the chair again.

“We’ve got to find you a hobby, Sam,” you said, watching him eye the couch again. 

About thirty minutes later you were dressed and sitting at the small kitchen table, watching a caterpillar outside the window crawl up the pane of glass. Sam had stopped making noise and he was nowhere to be found when you glanced over. That was normal, sometimes he had to go and do his checks.

Thirty minutes later when he wasn’t back you finally got up and went to one of the other windows, looking around. There was no note on the table or counter. You checked all the other windows before standing back at the front door.

“I’m going to get in so much trouble,” you said, opening the door, spotting Sam walking back up the trail with his best bitch face on. “I thought something was wrong!”

“I was only getting your surprise,” he said, waving behind him as your gaze travelled to the man now hiking up the trail.

“Long time no see,” said Dean, sporting a bread of his own. “We can go home again.”

“Really?” you asked, Sam giving you a nod.

“We caught him while you were in the bathroom. Dean volunteered to be bait seeing as we weren’t getting anywhere,” said Sam. “And he was driving Cas up the wall apparently.”

“Sammy we can really go home?” you asked again, Dean reaching the front door and pulling you into a big hug.

“Yeah, we’re finally done with it.”

A few hours later you were walking back through your front door, noticing the layer of dust over everything, Sam proclaiming he’d clean up everything as soon as he could.

“Sam,” said Dean, stopping his younger brother in his tracks. Sam stood by the front door, looking at Dean and then you before you nodded and urged him not to let his head fall down. 

“Let me have it,” said Sam, shutting his eyes, probably expecting a fist to the face. Instead he got a hug from Dean, his eyes flying open. “I don’t understand.”

“Never do anything like that ever again or I’ll have Y/N kick your ass for me,” said Dean, holding onto Sam tight. “I am so furious with you for messing with me like that but you kept her safe so thank you.”

“Dean, don’t be too hard on Sam. I think I was finally getting him to not feel so bad about this whole thing,” you said. Dean nodded and took a step back, lifting you up and spinning you around. You’d expected a happy homecoming but even this was a little more than you were anticipating. “Sam, what did he mean kept me safe?”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart,” said Dean, not good at hiding the lie on his face.

“Sam?” you asked. He shrugged and kept his mouth shut. “He got close, didn’t he?”

“Sammy, had to hide you one night. He could have ran outside and got him but he wasn’t leaving you alone, didn’t want to scare you so he stayed and kept quiet. He did good,” said Dean, putting you down. 

“I got to fill out some reports at the station and then go clean up the cabin and pack up my stuff here but I’ll be out of here tonight,” said Sam, backing up. “I’ll see you guys later.”

He ducked out of there into the rain and over to his truck before Dean or you could say a word.

“Y/N,” asked Dean, throwing an arm over your shoulder as you both watched Sam go down the drive. “Is he okay?”

“No. I don’t think he’s okay at all,” you said, leaning into him, feeling the tension out of his body for the first time since those few short weeks of alone time you had. “He’s terrified of us. I’ve been trying to wear him down but he really doesn’t want forgiveness.”

“I’ve got a really stupid idea if you want to help me make Sammy okay again,” said Dean, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Missed you.”

“Me too. Let’s hear this stupid idea of yours.”

Dean’s stupid idea turned out to be pretty ridiculous, the plan to make Sam feel like a good guy again somehow resulting in you and Dean locked outside your own house, covered head to toe in water shivering like wet dogs. When Sam finally came up the drive you could practically see his eye roll from his truck, Dean and you huddled together on the front step.

“What are you two doing?” asked Sam, dashing outside and over to the front door, unlocking it and shoving you both inside. “Geez, I just spent the past five months saving you guys, don’t die of hypothermia on me.”

You were too cold to comment as Sam kicked his shoes off and helped you and Dean with your own, a hand on each of you as he walked you to the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower.

“Undress, get in there and I’ll find you warm clothes,” said Sam, pulling the door shut. Dean gave you a shaky smile as he got out of his layers, helping you when you were stuck with your sock. Both of you pressed up against each other under the warm water, letting out sighs of relief.

“T-this is the s-stupidest p-plan on earth,” you said, wrapping your arms around him to try to get even more warmth in you.

“I k-know. It’s w-working though,” he said, rubbing up and down your back. “Just keep letting him take care of us and it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, just turn the water up hotter, I really am freezing to death,” you said. Dean stayed under the shower water with you for a long while, Sam knocking on the door and putting fresh clothes on the counter, taking your wet ones away. When you finally felt your fingers again and were walking into the living room with Dean, Sam was staring at the couch.

“Sit,” said Sam, tossing a blanket at each of you when you did so. “Really, Dean? You did this same exact thing we when were kids when I broke your arm cause I felt bad.”

“I...have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Dean, Sam flicking him in the side of the head. “Hey!”

“I’m not a little kid you can trick anymore,” he said, crossing his arms. “Are you two good or can I pack up my stuff and leave now?”

“I think Dean and I should get whatever we want from you for what you did,” you said, Dean nodding his head.

“Whatever we say, you got to do, no questions asked,” said Dean. “No matter what, understand?”

“Go ahead, I can take it,” said Sam, unfolding his arms and taking a long swallow. Dean gave you a smile and looked at Sam.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with us,” said Dean.

“I am not-”

“Hey, we get whatever we want, remember?” you said. You gave Sam a smile and saw Dean nod, waiting for you to do the next part. “The Hunting Ground police force was impressed with your investigation Sam. That and with the recommendation Cas gave you and your boss, well, the recently vacated position of Chief of Police is yours for the taking.”

“See? We even found you a job so you don’t feel like a bum. A nice quiet police job where you get to help people and still be a nice guy,” said Dean. “You don’t even have to give up your pension.”

“I mean, I don’t think Dean and I are asking all that much, right babe?” you said, turning to Dean with a big grin.

“No! Just want you to have a job you’ll be happier with, a home you’ll be happy with, a family you’ll be happy with...I mean you screwed with us so we should get to do whatever we want to you,” said Dean.

“This is what we want Sam,” you said, his face still blank. “No matter how much we want it though, we won’t force you to stay. We both just want you to be okay again.”

“We both forgive you. You forgive us too so let’s just be a normal family for once, alright? I miss my annoying, nerdy little brother,” said Dean. “Don’t let this ruin us. We can get something good out of it. I mean I got Y/N. You got her too if you just let us back in.”

Sam didn’t say anything but sat down on the couch, right between you and Dean, slumping down and stealing part of your blankets.

“Sammy,” said Dean, putting a hand on top his brother’s head. “You staying?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, Dean mouthing thank you for calling in every last favor you were still owed to work the new job for Sam. “I want to stay.”

“Thanks Sam.”

Two Months Later

“Uh, Miss is this gentleman bothering you this evening?” asked Sam, walking into Trapper’s and taking a seat beside you at the bar where Dean was scoffing at him.

“Oh, yes, he’s such a trouble maker. I may need to borrow your handcuffs to keep him in line,” you said, Dean raising an eyebrow.

“Oh? You want to play that game tonight? I think it’s your turn to be the criminal,” said Dean, sliding a drink over for Sam. “How was work, Chief?”

“Mrs. Robinson’s dog got loose this afternoon. I spent three hours looking in the woods for him only to find out he was laying in the sun in the next yard over,” said Sam, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Want big bro to teach you some detective skills, dumbass?” asked Dean with a smirk.

“Says the guy who didn’t know I was FBI, jerk,” said Sam, ordering his normal turkey burger for dinner.

“Bitch,” said Dean, taking another sip. “Seriously, you like it? You’re happier lately.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I stayed around,” said Sam. “Even if I’m stuck with you two losers.”

“Us two losers?” you said to Dean. “Sammy...”

“No, nope, you’re definitely a loser too, Y/N,” said Sam, ruffling the top of your head. 

“Dean, you going to defend my honor or something?” you asked, your hair all over the place at this point.

“Of course sweetheart,” said Dean, clearing his throat. “Sam...noogies are much more effective. I thought I taught you better.”

“You are both going to get it and not in the fun way,” you said, pointing at Dean as you felt Sam’s palm mess up your hair for good. “You are the police chief Sam!”

“Teasing wasn’t in the guidebook if I remember,” he said, finally letting you go and helping pat your hair back in place. He threw his baseball cap on your head when it wouldn’t go down and you saw Dean smiling at the bar out of the corner of your eye. “How’d your guys day go?”

“Good,” you said, Dean still glancing down. “Dean got a promotion.”

“Gary finally retired huh? That’s awesome Dean,” said Sam with a proud smile on his face. 

“It’s no big deal. He’s moving to Florida, said it’s time to let someone else take care of town,” said Dean, looking at Sam. “You’re doing a good job, Sam.”

“Would you just take the glory for once?” asked Sam, nodding his head. “I’m proud of you. Be happy.”

“I am. Are you?” asked Dean, cocking his in response.

“Yes. What’s with the third degree?” asked Sam.

“Just checking is all,” said Dean. Sam turned to you, knowing you cracked easier than Dean. 

“We have a thing we do, Dean and I, to make sure you don’t ever get down like that again. No way am I telling you what it is but just...we check on you sometimes,” you said, Dean seeming to be okay with you sharing that.

“Thanks,” said Sam quietly, fiddling with his drink until his burger came out. “So we going hiking still tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, relaxing into his seat. “First annual Winchester family hiking trip. Been looking forward to it all week.”

@anokhi07 @xxwinchester-22xx @charliebradbury1104 @everyday-supernatural-af @squirels-angels-and-moose @youwerelikeadream @drugpug @darkx143 @kristaparadowski @tom-is-in-my-tardis @tanithlowisabamf @smoothdogsgirl @dancingalone21 @ktrivia @demonic-meatball @feelmyroarrrr  @cojootromuelle @gallifreyansass @fangirl1802 @casgetoutofmydiddlydarnass @mogaruke @secretlyfurrydragon @perpetualabsurdity @ria132love @heycassbutt-67 @aingealcethlenn @docharleythegeekqueen @missmotherhen @smacklesandstretch67 @ceeceewinchester

@tumblinwith-me @xfanqirlinq @heaven-is-aplaceonearthwithyou @hey-um-misha @bennyh @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @lovelife-tothefullest @under-general-asthetics @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @missdestiel67 @evyiione @jensenackesl @xxxdevine-demonsxxx @ayeeitsemry @mac5323 @atc74 @captainemwinchester @lemonadegazeelle @nanie5 @idalinette @quiddy-writes @sassyspn67 @pureawesomeness001 @poukothenerd @af112992 @mickey-m399 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @upon-a-girl @amazinntay @akshi8278 @baconlover001 @flufy07 @jayankles@alilianamendez @batmanprincesskitten @uniquewerewolfsuit @whit85-blog @spn-ficfanatic

@zeusmyster @maddieburcham1 @moonstar86 @kathaswings @my-blogging-skills-are-rusty @arryn-nyxx @amionthetumbler @kickasscas67 @fandom--shipper @mrsbatesmotel53 @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @i-ship-crazy-crap

@acreativelydifferentlove  @bellastellaluna  @maximoffangel-girl @boxywrites @milo-winchester-4ever

[murderincrp]

SENTENCE STARTER MEME

Hey, lovelies! This is a sentence starter meme for everyone! You’ll be able to reblog this meme for fourteen days starting today but feel free to continue answering memes after that if need be. Go wild with them and have fun! (Feel free to use this for sentence starters or drabbles; the most important thing is to get everyone writing. Hopefully, it’ll spark some new plot ideas and interactions too!)

Remember to reblog this if you’re interested receiving a meme, and to send some to everyone that reblogs it too! Feel free to skip over this if you’d like to; it’s by no means mandatory to participate. Most importantly, though, have fun!!

❝ i told you, it’s not as magical as it sounds. ❞ 

❝ oh boy, did he not like his box and he spent years in his box not liking his box. ❞ 

❝ you have a habit for citing movies as evidence. ❞ 

❝ kids kind of all look the same. ❞ 

❝ when babies are born, everyone goes, ‘oh, what a cute baby’. eh, it’s a baby; either your baby’s ugly or normal. ❞ 

❝ i was a very ugly baby. ❞ 

❝ i have the mind of a detective. ❞ 

❝ you don’t have the mind of a detective, you just stumbled upon a good question for once that, you know, actually pertained to the story. ❞ 

❝ what do you have against pennsylvania? ❞ 

❝ it’s quiet up there in pennsylvania, people have too much free time. you know what happens next. ❞ 

❝ how’d that turn out? do we have any pictures of that? ❞ 

❝ that’s not something you really tell someone in passing. ❞ 

❝ who sold his son? he sold his son! ❞ 

❝ anytime you have to say ‘it’s not incest, technically’ – that’s not great. ❞ 

❝ did you just realize something? what just happened? ❞ 

❝ did you not realize that until now? ❞ 

❝ did i just solve something? i may have just solved something! ❞ 

❝ i’m not a sick-o, i’m just interested in– okay, maybe i’m a little weird. ❞ 

❝ i love this right off the bat. ❞ 

❝ i love it when serial killers have a fun little thing. i don’t approve of serial killers, but i think – if you’re gonna kill a bunch of people – you might as well have some fun with it. ❞ 

❝ they don’t make serial killer baseball cards though, do they? ❞ 

❝ everybody had an axe back in the day, huh? ❞ 

❝ sometimes, even the most beautiful places, hold the darkest secrets. ❞ 

❝ i’m gonna look up a slouch hat because that sounds like something i need. ❞ 

❝ this guy sounds like a villain from rocky and bullwinkle. ❞ 

❝ jazz it! honey, you gotta jazz it. i’m not gonna throw out this axe, so we better jazz it.  ’

❝ let’s see how many of these fuckers i can make dance. ❞ 

❝ i think, just, how about don’t kill people? ❞ 

❝ i thought we were here to get into the mind of a serial killer. ❞ 

❝ no, no, no, no. just a theory? it’s dumb. ❞ 

❝ he seems like a cool dude. ❞ 

❝ i think he just did it because he’s a badass. ❞ 

❝ what’s so funny about that? he has a bomb. ❞ 

❝ –you think james bond ever wore a clip-on bowtie? ❞ 

❝ it seems like a bad idea to make your get-rich-quick scheme to be to impersonate a criminal. ❞ 

❝ which makes this, most likely, complete horseshit. ❞ 

❝ they just said ‘unidentified object’ or some stupid shit like that. ❞ 

❝ that’s interesting… if that’s true, that is interesting. ❞ 

❝ cool guy. coolest guy in history. nice sunglasses. wow! bourbon’s great. ❞ 

❝ and then he died? ❞ 

❝ and then he died. talk about a guy who appreciates a cliffhanger. ❞ 

❝ you don’t wanna make enemies of the deep state. ❞ 

❝ he’s kinda starting to sound like an idiot. ❞ 

❝ he’s a big dumb-dumb. ��� 

❝ that’s a good point. i never thought about that! ❞ 

❝ in a lot of ways this dog is the real hero of this story, it seems like. ❞ 

❝ i’d like to have something happy about this story and the dog is a regular lassie. ❞ 

❝ oh. well, that’s a weird childhood. ❞ 

❝ i can’t say i feel exhilarated right now. ❞ 

❝ just try to picture one of the most famous people in the world trying to sneak into the tsa with a glued-on mustache and thinking that it’s gonna work out. i can’t believe he was even considering it. ❞ 

❝ that’s avalanche of ‘he-done-it’ right there. ❞ 

❝ oh boy… that’s uh… holy shit! is all i have to say. ❞ 

❝ from my knucklehead perspective, this looks very bad. ❞ 

❝ he dr. seuss’d his way out of a murder. ❞ 

❝ this episode is bumming me out. ❞ 

❝ you’re really hitting at their heart right now. keep going, keep going. maybe you’ll make a difference. ❞ 

❝ i don’t like this guy. ❞ 

❝ people were murdered… and this guy’s playing dress up? ❞ 

❝ i feel dirty. i feel like i need to take a shower and then a bath and then another shower. ❞ 

❝ i need a drink. ❞ 

❝ don’t cite the internet. ❞ 

❝ i mean, could you even detect ‘fruity garlic’ if it came down to it? ❞ 

❝ i’m… li– if i were to– what is– what? ❞ 

❝ shut up, you idiot. we’ve already decided! ❞ 

❝ so you think this was all an elaborate hooky scheme. ❞ 

❝ yeah, i don’t know, man. it’s just fucking weird. ❞ 

❝ well, i think this theory is bullshit, but… anyways. ❞ 

❝ it’s a real thing, pal. ❞ 

❝ the whole idea of hysteria is that you don’t realize it. you’re not like ‘yeah, we all participated in a mass hysteria, it was a real riot. man, she got fucked up. she was having a great time. what a fun hysteria that was.’ ❞ 

❝ …and you don’t believe this, because? ❞ 

❝ oo, this goes all the way to the top! i don’t know if we should be looking into this. some stones are best left unturned. ❞ 

❝ meanwhile, they’re playing hot potato with a poison syringe. ❞ 

❝ okay! you just shut your mouth. i’m done. ❞ 

❝ i mean… shut up, you’re– i can’t even– this is… i thought you were like, on the level on this one. ❞ 

❝ can you say, definitively, that she was not abducted? ❞ 

❝ that’s it? fuck you! that definitively did not happen. ❞

( credit to littlelovelymemes for these! )

[onestowatch]

“What A Girl Wants” Songwriter Shelly Peiken Talks “Song Sex” and A Changing Industry [ANATOMY OF A SONG]

There are some songs we all just know. There’s no telling exactly when or where we picked them up, but the melody is inexplicably ingrained in us. A shining example is “What A Girl Wants,” the female empowerment anthem that marked a career milestone for Christina Aguilera as the first #1 hit of the millennium. 

Co-written by Grammy-nominated songwriter Shelly Peiken,“What A Girl Wants” helped to define the sound of early 2000s pop. Peiken has an impressive resume, from working with Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, Brandy, Meredith Brooks, and more to being a mother, a founding member of SONA (Songwriters Of North America) and most recently penning her first book, Confessions of A Serial Songwriter.

We sat down with Peiken to deconstruct “What A Girl Wants,” a changing music industry and the term “Song Sex.”

BRAIN: The Thought Process

OTW: Take us through the writing session for “What A Girl Wants.”

Shelly Peiken: I had just had a baby and wasn’t going to a lot of sessions. Todd Chapman invited me to come over and work with this ex-mouseketeer. He told me she could really sing. I was skeptical, because everyone says they can really sing, but I went. She was really sweet, petite and polite. And when she opened her mouth, she could really sing! Ron Fair wanted to make a record with her and was putting her with different people to see who she’d be compatible with. And then, on another day, I went to work with Guy Roche. We were fooling around with this idea and we thought it was pretty hooky. But we had to see if we felt the same in the morning. A good test is, if you wake up and it’s the first thing you think about, it’s probably worth revisiting. I feel the same way about shopping. If I like a jacket, I’ll leave it behind in the store, and if I’m still thinking about it the next day, I’ll go back and get it.

As it turns out, we still liked it in the morning. I felt kind of bad about sending the song to Ron because it was Todd who brought me into the project. But I sent it anyway. Ron asked if we could switch the order of the "What a Girl Needs” and the "What a Girl Wants.” Maybe he thought the “wants” was sexier, plus it alliterated with the “what.” I didn’t want to change it at first; I'd have to change the whole rhyme scheme, but she could really sing. So I did. And no regrets. The song became the first #1 song of the millennium.

OTW: You mention that verses come easily to you in your book. How do you usually start a song?

Shelly Peiken: Well, when I write with myself it is. I start having a conversation about whatever is on my mind. The title, which is usually in the hook, reveals itself when it’s ready.

OTW: In your book you mention “Song Sex.” Can you elaborate on that term?

Shelly Peiken: “Song Sex” is a term I coined for the act of writing a song. “Song Sex” with yourself is very satisfying in that you know exactly what you like. And you don’t have to compromise. “Song Sex” with two or three other people is a whole other game…you have to compromise and be flexible. But if you’re writing with suitable collaborators, they might take your idea and go in a totally new but exciting direction. And that’s how you learn!

HEART: The Core Emotion

OTW: How did you come up with the lyrics for “What A Girl Wants?”

I had these words about my boyfriend giving me space when I was trying to get the courage to move to LA. All my most successful songs come from real life experience.

OTW: How did it feel watching the song you wrote send Aguilera further into fame?

Shelly Peiken: Effing Amazing!

LEGS: The Means To Take Off

OTW: Tell us about your journey to becoming a songwriter!

Shelly Peiken: I was writing songs since I was a kid. But it wasn’t like I knew I wanted to be a songwriter when I grew up. Plus, I thought all the songs I heard on the radio were written by whoever sang them. I never met a songwriter before college! Didn’t study music at school. But after I graduated and came to NYC, I heard about this group of songwriters that met every week and of course I went because I was curious. What I found was a room full of song junkies just like me and I was in heaven. They took me down to the village where all these singer-songwriters had their 20 minutes of fame every night at the Bitter End and Kenny’s. I just knew I wanted to do that too. So I became a witness.

OTW: Your first U.S. hit was “Bitch.” How was writing different after that?

Shelly Peiken: It was funny cuz after “Bitch,” everyone wanted me to write another “Bitch.” And it doesn’t work that way. Very frustrating.

HANDS: Advice For Songwriters Who Need A Lift

OTW: What advice would you give songwriters who aren’t sure how to get a break? 

Shelly Peiken: If there is something else you love to do, consider doing it. Because this business is not for the faint of heart. On the other hand, if your fire is pretty consistent and you’re just having a bad day, distract yourself. Go to the gym…it definitely gets the endorphins going. And for God’s sake, get out of the house. Be available for opportunities to find you.

OTW: What advice would you give to songwriters who are balancing other commitments like motherhood?

Shelly Peiken: Make sure your partner, if you have one, is someone who wants to share parenting responsibilities. Duh! And if your partner has some bucks and you don’t have to wait tables, you’re going to write a lot more songs. If you don’t have a partner, make a songwriter friend who you can trade off with. Good luck! It’s do-able. Just a lot less downtime. And you learn to edit a lot more efficiently.

OTW: How did you come to the decision to write a book?

Shelly Peiken: I was reeling from all the changes in the business and I was a lot older than I was when I started out. There were stories to tell. Funny ones. Heartbreaking ones. I started writing them down, and it kind of took on a life of its own. I made a decision to finish and put it out myself if I couldn’t find a publisher. But I did find a publisher in the 11th hour. That shows you how the universe works. It wanted me to do that work. And I did it. I followed my truth. And that’s what it’s all about.

OTW: Who are your Ones to Watch?

Shelly Peiken: Hamish Anderson, Phoebe Bridgers, Lemon Twigs, Leon Bridges.

[brittanyyoungblog]

7 Tinder Profile Tips and Writing Hacks

Sometimes coming up with your Tinder profile bio can feel like torture. It’s like when you’re at an interview and someone says, “So tell us a little bit about yourself.” It’s such a huge, broad question that it’s hard to know how to answer it or where to start. But it doesn’t have to be quite so hard…

I’ve worked in dating apps for over five years (full disclosure, I work for Zoosk a subscription dating app) and during that time I’ve written and given tons of advice to people looking to write thoughtful, genuine profiles that really show who they are. But today I’m not going to do that.

Today I’m going to give you a bunch of Tinder profile tips that will help you write a decent dating profile as quickly as possible. Because, hey, I get it… Sometimes you just want to get it over with. And sometimes, in order to be effective, your profile doesn’t have to be a work of art, it just needs to get the job done.

Here are some Tinder profile tips and writing hacks to create a good bio, fast:

1. Greater than/less than profile Want to create a good profile quickly? The greater than/less than trick might be for you. Simply list out sets of things you could debate with someone, and say which you think is better. This shows your personality but also gives a bunch of ready-to-go conversation topics that makes it easier for people to break the ice and send you a message after you match.

Examples: Marcus, 24 tacos < burritos Friday nights out > Thursday nights out National league > American league Radiolab > Serial I’m just sayin’ Emily, 27 breakfast for dinner < pizza for breakfast the movie > the book (so sue me) sunrise < sunset coffee > life Your thoughts?

2. First and last profile Here’s another no fuss profile hack—first and lasts. Let people know the last movie you saw, book you read, person you talked to, place you drove, or time you embarrassed yourself. It gives a fast but realistic view of who you are now. You can flip it too. Instead of saying lasts, get nostalgic instead and say your firsts—first date, first word, first job, or first car. The more specific and oddball the better.

Examples: Daniel, 21 First… Job: U12 soccer referee Word: momma (ya ya, I’m a mama’s boy) Album I Bought: Michael Jackson’s BAD (and it was on tape)

Kiss: Amanda Butler. Front seat of my ‘95 Grand Am after the Sophomore’s only dance. Dave Matthews was playing. (But not Crash… I would never.)   

Tiffany, 25 Last… Place I visited: Zion (it was amazing) Book I read: Decoded by Jay Z (also amazing) Time I yelled at someone: In the bleachers at Fenway

Time I cried: Watching that YouTube of the lion who gets reunited with its trainer (oh man, gets me every time)

3. About Me/About You profile Quick, easy, and to the point—the About Me/About You profile is where you list details about yourself, coupled with details about the type of person you’re into.

Eric, 30 About Me: Likes fishing, gives great speeches at weddings, and plays a mean harmonica. About You: Eats adventurously, likes road trips, can talk about books for hours.

Tatiana, 27 About Me: Likes poop jokes, can stay out late on a school night, and isn’t afraid to talk politics on a first date.

About You: Tolerates my poop jokes, doesn’t take himself too seriously, and likes a healthy debate.

4. Three simple things profile Another list format to play around with is the three simple things profile. Just share three completely random things about yourself. And hey, you can even get a little braggy. You’re allowed to talk yourself up a bit in your dating profile.

Dan, 23 I love roller coasters but the pirate ship ride completely terrifies me. I once backpacked around Lake Tahoe in 13 days. When I was 14 I got a concussion swing dancing.

What about you?

Maria, 24 I hate flowers. You’ll never have to buy me flowers. Potatoes chips however… Not gonna lie, pretty good at pub trivia. I’ve even won the big money a couple times. Guilty pleasures: neighborhood drama, fancy cupcakes, and binge watching Law & Order. Dun duun!

5. One smartass comment profile There’s something intriguing about a profile with a single comment that catches attention. But writer beware, the single smartass comment profile can definitely backfire. It has to be good or you’ll just come off as a, well, jackass instead of a smartass.

Mallory, 30 All you need to lure me into your car is wine and pizza.

Eric, 27 Funny, handsome, and stupid.

Amy, 23 Dogs love me.

Malcolm, 32 Looking at my phone searching for a reason to stop looking at my phone.

Gina, 27 You can’t play hard and work hard. If you say that, you’re not doing either hard enough. (I don’t work very hard.)

Meng, 25 Whisper sweet NPRs to me.

Talia, 34 I like my artsy with a little bit of fartsy. 

Obscure references profile Have a quote from a movie or TV show you love? A lyric from a song or an inside joke only someone who’s into the same random stuff as you would know? Use it. It’s fast, shows off your personality, and is an instant conversation starter.

Lily, 22 Last vacation was to see the basement of the Alamo. Wasn’t what I thought it was going to be but I had a big adventure.

Ted, 26 I’m just a boy, standing in front of a bunch of people on an app, and asking them to love me.

Natalie, 29 The last guy who swiped left on me aged so quickly he shriveled up into an old man skeleton thing before he turned into dust and died a swift yet horrifying death. He chose poorly.

Jeet, 27 I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.

7. Fake reviews profile Another Tinder profile trick you may have seen is the fake reviews profile. Similar to book or movie blurbs (“Two thumbs up!”)  the fake review profile let’s you share a bit about yourself and might just make someone crack a smile.

Amy, 24 I’m pretty great but don’t listen to me, read my reviews: “Amy is a hard working, conscientious student.” – my 10th grade English teacher “I’d highly recommend her for any position.” – my first boss “I laughed until I cried.” – my ex boyfriend

Jordan, 28 “This one’s got real potential.” – My 90+ next door neighbor “Excellent incisors. And he flosses.” – Dr. Dan, my dentist “Better than a hallelujah” – Amy Grant

“He can make an Amy Grant reference, and still come off as masculine and authoritative. I don’t know how he does it.” – My good friend Abe   

8. List of likes profile This is probably the most common profile type, but if you add the right details and stay away from obvious things like hiking, traveling, and your friends, listing our your likes can be an effective way to get a quick but effective profile.

Jad, 31 The Discworld series, girls with glasses, playing hookie to go to a baseball game, and dinners with friends that end in late nights talking and laughing over a table strewn with the dirty dishes none of us are getting up to wash.  

Emily, 26 Making fun of people who do crossfit, net-back hats, first runs, the first sip of beer after a long day, and coming home to my dog every night.

By day/by night profile Nobody is any one thing. You aren’t just a school teacher or an accountant, and you aren’t just someone who likes to BBQ or play softball with your friends. The by day/by night profile is a way to show two sides of yourself, what you do for work and what you do for fun. It’s kind of like the mullet of dating profiles. Business in the front, party in the back.

Tim, 22 9th grade history teacher by day. Semi-pretentious craft beer aficionado by night.

Kaylee, 27 Product designer by day, cyberpunk and avant garde enthusiast by night.

Brett, 23 Management/marketing consultant by day, amature mixologist and professional cat cuddler by night.

Heather, 25 Software engineer by day, even bigger nerd by night. Love anime, board games (I kill at The Settlers of Catan), and obscure music nobody else seems to listen to.

As you work on your Tinder profile, remember that it’s important but it also goes along with your photos. If you’ve got a stellar set of photos who explain who you are, your bio doesn’t have to work so hard. If you’re having problems getting matches, you might want to take the time to make sure your description and your photos are on point. After all, when it comes to online dating, your profile is your first impression. So have fun with it and make a good one.

The post 7 Tinder Profile Tips and Writing Hacks appeared first on The Date Mix.

from Meet Positives SMFeed 8 https://ift.tt/2Lr3s2S via IFTTT

[not-poignant]

I would LOVE to read the story about Anton and Flitmouse! I loved getting the glimpses into who Flitmouse is as a character in TGATNW and the promises of hurt/comfort. But you already write so much at such a consistently high quality (seriously, how do you sustain it??) that I completely understood no new updates. I remember being extremely pleasantly surprised when you went back to publishing SOTS (and how did that turn out! <3). It’s great to hear you’re still thinking about the story but

But I think most of your readers understand why not all stories can be continued! If it’s ever a novel - great! If it remains as an idea - too bad. Just wanted to say I’ve also never forgotten Flitmouse’s and Antony’s story but I know asking you about updates when you write like a million words every year is putting too much pressure! All your stories are gold, Pia <3

*

Thanks anon!

I'm glad you enjoy Anton and Flitmouse so much, they're lucky to have folks like you who enjoy them :D

There's definitely no harm in asking about updates, either. While it's true that I often have a lot of my writing 'budget' for the year planned out (i.e. where I'm going to spend my words, and how much I'm going to write for that thing) which doesn't leave me much spare room for other projects, the fact is sometimes I do kind of play hooky on all my main projects by writing something else. That's how Smoke in Autumn came about.

Even The Golden Age that Never Was went on a fairly big 8 month hiatus only a handful of chapters into the story. That was because I knew the story would be epic, and I knew I didn't have time to write something that epic. After enough time passed, I was able to come back to it.

Anton and Flitmouse are more complicated because I believe Flitmouse's story would make a good stand-alone novel. Business sense Pia is like 'this could actually contribute to your income, and help you live, and buy things that you need to live' and the rest of me is like 'it'd be nice to keep it in the Golden Age universe, and have cameos from some of the other characters.' And then I get stuck, lol.

(And then also yeah, metrics is a big part of it, as in - how many people engaged at the time? How many people expressed interest since? I wrote in another post that feedback and engagement drives why I write serials in the first place, All the Loose Threads just sadly didn't quite hit that level even at the height of folks reading it. It happens!)