chosethearena-blog

[chosethearena-blog]

>>>>>>>hiatus notice

yarrr i’m sorry guys, but i’m just not really feeling it over here. drafts are a struggle and they’re just stressing me out, so imma take a hiatus for a bit and see if i bounce back. 

you can find me at damon, rachel, or bucky in the meantime. :) 

[chosethearena-blog]

What’s been going on with Jess?

aka “why the hell haven’t you written anything in 353242234 years” explanation under the cut.

Soooo I think some of you may have seen me post about hating my job previously. Well, on May 29, I was fired. Essentially I was terminated with notice, because this Friday (July 10)  is my last day. My boss there is... extremely difficult for me to work with, and I’m making that as polite as possible because social media and blah. When he fired me, he said it was because of my disease (I have Crohn’s Disease), that effectively he couldn’t tolerate the accommodations I needed because of my illness, and that despite my stellar performance, he just wanted me out.

This... had a pretty profound effect on me. On the one hand, this job has been hell. Like, literally. I feel like I’ve spent 18 months in psychological Gitmo. But firing me because of my disease really triggered something in me. I was deeply angry, and it also sent my anxiety off the rails. I was, for a few weeks following that, having panic attacks almost daily. My primary care doctor was very skittish about giving me more Xanax or upping my Zoloft (which lololol I’d been prescribed both due to the extreme stress of this fucking job), so I had to spend several weeks trying to find a freaking psychologist and psychiatrist to help me manage this. If any of you guys have anxiety disorder, you know how bad it can get. It was really, really fucking bad for me. Heart palpitations, nausea, not sleeping, inability to breathe--like all the fucking time. On top of trying to find new doctors, I was also in conversations with lawyers, because lOLOLOL IT’S ACTUALLY ILLEGAL TO FIRE SOMEONE FOR A DISABILITY. But that was stressful too, and when I eventually found a psychologist and they upped my Zoloft dosage, it made me super sleepy and I was just passing out like 24/7.

Basically, I was in a super, super bad way, and tumblr sort of made it worse. I’d see things on my dash or feel certain things that just sent me on a spiral; stuff that I know wasn’t rational, but lol nothing about anxiety is rational. But basically I was having trouble writing anything and drafts just added to that and I kinda didn’t want to be here at all because it just made me feel inadequate and useless and worthless. (Again, not rational, I know, but my brain is an asshole.)

It’s better now--I’ve settled into the new dosage so I’m not so tired all the time and it’s helping modulate my anxiety. I’m almost out of Hell, so I don’t have to deal with that bullshit anymore. I’m working with the psychologist on better coping mechanisms since all of my old tricks were failing. It’s just been a pretty intense last couple months that haven’t left me with a lot of ability to write. BUT things are looking up, as I said. I’m hoping to catch up on everything over the next week or so.

I wanna give a shoutout to some friends in particular who really helped me through all this: bokorsandbeignets​, betterxvillain​, still-brothers​, cdrsrogers​, his-mighty-shield​, sweetheartsnark​. You guys are the absolute friggin’ best and you have no idea how much your friendship means to me. It’s been invaluable during this whole hot mess and you’ve all made my days better--especially the bad ones. Love all your faces I am stuck to you like an octopus you’re never getting rid of me.

And also thank you to all my RP partners who’ve been patiently waiting for freaking ever for me to stop being crazypants. I deeply appreciate that you guys hang with me and don’t just write me off while I’m struggling--you’ll never know how much that means to me, either. I have the best group of people in the world here on tumblr and i love you all a lot, which is why I wanted to kinda give you this explanation. Thank you so, so, so much for sticking around, and I promise I’ll stop being a horrible writing partner very soon. <333333333333

[chosethearena-blog]

The Helicarrier is falling. The battle with Hydra is over. But Sam is still hovering over his brother, metal arm raised for another blow.

“You’re my brother,” says Dean. He’s defeated. If Sam can’t remember him, then he’d rather die.

“You’re my mission!” shouts Sam, raising his metal arm higher. There’s no remorse on his face as he brings down his arm, punching Dean with every word. “You’re! My! Mission!”

“Then finish it.” Dean spits through a mouthful of blood. “’Cause I’m with you til the end of the line, Sammy.”

As Sam raises his arm to hit Dean again, his arm stills. Who is he? His name isn’t Sammy. It’s Winter Soldier. He doesn’t know a Sammy. Or a Dean. The man below him is his target. Captain America. Not Dean. Not Sammy. He’s no one’s brother. He’s an assassin. Not–

A large piece of debris crashes into the glass and the assassin’s first instinct is to grab on. He holds onto the ledge of the Helicarrier and watches as his target’s body falls with the feeling of loss in his heart.

The solider makes a decision then. He lets go of the Helicarrier and follows his target into the water.

Based off these pictures (which I found on Google and are not mine) and this one here, I have recently become obsessed with a Supernatural/Captain America AU. Please enjoy. I’ll probably end up writing more soon.

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ hey, look--we’re being civil ;;

This old dance is as familiar as the purr of his truck when he’s out on some backroad in the dead of the night; she hums then, she sings with rubber on asphalt and the road to herself and the world around them silent. Except when it’s just him and the truck and the road, no one’s pushing. The beauty of being alone is that you’re alone. He hears the irritation in Sammy’s voice and he almost snaps at it- he doesn’t countenance disrespect from subordinates.

But Sammy ain’t the little kid that needs to be pushed back when he steps out of line, not anymore. It’s hard, looking at this broad shouldered, shaggy haired man (get a hair cut, boy, your mother’d weep t’see your hair like that, when in Hell’s name’d you get to be a hippie), and trying to realize that this is his youngest son, his baby. How old’s the kid now, anyway? 25? Can’t be 30, can’t be anywhere near it. Hell, Dean’s still only 26 or 27 himself, ain’t he? 

Where does time go, dammit?

“Beer’d hit the spot,” John said, forcing his tone to not be a tone. To talk to Sam like he’s another hunter in a roadhouse. Like an equal. The hardest part of having kids is letting them grow up.

“M’sorry, Sammy. Next time. i’ll call ahead next time, maybe y’can whip me up a four course meal.”

He fished a couple beers out of the fridge and popped the caps before passing one to his dad. “Nah, don’t think you want me cooking. Dean’s the one that’s good at that. I burn toast.” 

It wasn’t quite the truth, but a little self-deprecating humor could go a long way. He hid behind his beer for a moment, long legs sprawled out and slouched back in his chair because maybe if he appeared at ease he actually would be. “So, uh, something going on, or did you just stop by to say hi?”  

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ why’s it always gotta be like this? ;;

The kid’s got a goddamn mouth, always did. you’d figure Dean with his leather jacket and fuck-you attitude would be the one who’d always be fighting him; but no. It’s Sam. The sweet kid, the youngest, that fights John every step of the way. Anger churns in the pit of his stomach before he gets a hold of it, shoves it down under everything else he tries to ignore.

“Is that any way to greet your old man?”

And suddenly, just like that, he’s twelve years old again. Getting in trouble for something entirely mundane--like wanting to stay at a school or go to a friend’s house. Only this time, there’s no Dean to mitigate. It’s just his father and him colliding like angry bulls.

And he’s not a kid anymore. At what point did he grow the hell up? Sam sighed and ran a hand back through his hair, then held both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry. It’s just--it’s kinda weird when you just appear like this. You could call or text first, you know.” He tried so hard to keep the irritation out of his voice, and he grimaced at his faltering efforts. “You want a beer?”

[chosethearena-blog]

Hey, Sammy. -cantbereached

Surprise. Disbelief. Anger. Heartache.

They all flew across his face in an instant. Figures his father would just show up, lurking in the dark like some kind of noir hero, rather than just calling like a normal person.

He smoothed his face into something blank and shrugged off his jacket, not quite looking at John. “What’re you doing here?”

[chosethearena-blog]

deens where are you let me love you i have a mighty need for brotherly things

[chosethearena-blog]

There was a holler outside the hotel room. The sound of heavy boots thudding outside of the pavement was made with an odd sound that clearly wasn't human. The sound left fairly quickly until it started to echo off in the distance. There were a few minutes of peace before a clacking merged with soft thunder. The man's voice drifted closer again and the inhuman bellow came closer to the window. Somebody was chasing a buffalo outside the hotel.

Somebody was chasing a buffalo outside the hotel.

And that was exactly what it sounded like. Sam was more confused than alarmed--who in the blue hell made noises like that in a parking lot?--and grabbed his gun almost by afterthought. He opened the door to peek out, and then stood there gaping at the sight before him.

“I--what?” 

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ dean ;; 

“That was then, Sammy. This is now. And there’s no cure for what I’ve got. So you can continue to play this game till your little black heart is content. But I’m never–let me repeat, NEVER going anywhere with you. We’re done. I quit a long time ago.” He smirked a little. “What are you gonna do? Fight me? Pfft. Good luck.”

“You really think that’s going to scare me off?” He’d heard speeches like this before. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Every time Dean told him he was tired, or that he was out, that he was done, it cut a little deeper. Never felt good for your brother to say he was finished with you, even if it was in anger. 

“We can fix this. I just need you to have a little faith.” 

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ never wanted him to end up like me ;;

“Really? Not even let him go?”

His brows raised. Mildly impressive, how Sam knew exactly what Aaron’s motivation was, and obviously hadn’t lost his uncanny ability to suck all the fun out of everything. He took a couple steps closer. 

“At least give me a ‘Why are you doing this’ or ‘Untie him or I’ll shoot you.’ C’mon, it’s almost not worth it.”

“I’m not gonna play your game, Aaron.” His voice was flat, empty. Disguising the agony swarming in his gut. He had to stay focused if Aaron and Dean were going to make it out of this alive. 

“I know why you’re doing this. I’ve been there, remember?” God, how had he let this happen to his son? “I just want to know what drove you to it.” 

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ awkward family reunion, part of two ;;

With the awkward pause came awkward silence, with many words Aaron longed to lash out with in anger. What name was he supposed to give, if he’d wanted to? Richie Sambora? Member of the false FBI? His family wasn’t fucking normal, God forbid he want to forget about it.

Naturally, his guilt was coming out in the form of anger and annoyance. Aaron made a conscious effort to shove the guilty thoughts out of his mind. Even so, his stomach clenched uncomfortably. The younger Winchester stared at the ground – small talk, not exactly their specialty. “Is Dean here too?”

Kill me, right here right now.

Sam shook his head. “I told him I wanted to see you alone.” His brother hadn’t put up much of a fight. Sam wasn’t going to read too much into that.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. It was so uncomfortable. The chair was uncomfortable too.

“The, uh, the doctors said you got hit pretty bad,” he said not unkindly. “You recovering okay?” 

Dumb question. They were in a psych ward. 

“...Physically, I mean.” 

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♕ faith ;;

Faith took a step back as he opened the door, a little furrow in her brow letting him know that she wasn’t exactly familiar with this kind of chivalry. Or any at all really. “Lucky for me. For a second there I was thinking I was gonna have to strain myself and open my own door.”  Her sass was paired with a pointed smirk as she ducked her head and climbed into the car, immediately making herself comfortable as she waited for him to get in.

He grinned at her--if she wasn’t sassing him, she wouldn’t be Faith. It was something he loved about her. The fire. 

Sam jogged around to the driver’s side and folding himself into the vehicle. He cast her a boyish glance, and then started the engine, and pulled out into traffic.

“What do you normally do with your downtime, anyway?” he asked, and he was genuinely curious. Hunters were something of an enigma to him. Not that he’d ever taken the time to really understand them. Well, not before now, that is. 

Wild Thing | CLOSED | chosethearena

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ varric ;;

He was earnest. He had puppy dog eyes. It was the same kind of puppy dog eyes Varric was used to seeing from Carver, or Cole.

“The Federal Bureau of Investigation has hunters now?” Varric dared to grin at the man across the table, “That’s news to me.”

If he was law enforcement of some kind, which Varric doubted, the dwarf wanted to know.

“Well... the badge might not be entirely authentic,” Sam said, hitching on a lopsided grin. “It’s the easiest way for us to get what we need. You know--victim statements, autopsy reports. People see a badge and they’ll give you whatever you want.” 

That didn’t mean it particularly sat well with him, but he’d made his peace with the illicit aspects of their work a long time ago. 

“How long have you been on the job?”

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♕ ruby ;;

She felt like she’d waited a lifetime for him to answer, but it was probably only a few seconds. Her nerves were so shot she wasn’t completely sure. When the door opened she looked up, and up further, nearly forgetting for a moment how much taller he was than her.

“Hey Sam,” she answered, making sure to check both on the floor and the ceiling for a devils trap before she entered the room. As much as she wanted to trust him, a demon could never be too careful.

She followed his lead, best to do in her position than to try to make any decisions that might jeopardize why she’d come here in the first place. Taking a seat that the table, curling one leg up on the chair, she leaned back and stared at him. “Twisted? I’m a demon, Sam. You should have expected twisted.” 

Cutting back on her sass probably wouldn’t be a bad idea right now. “I’m trying to change Sam. I really am. I want you to see that. To know it.”

“I do. I mean, I think I do.” The last part seemed directed almost at himself, and he looked down at his hands. “Ironically, I don’t know if trusting you is actually the hard part. It’s trusting myself.”

That was the rub. It wasn’t just that Ruby had deceived him. He’d made choices, pursued a path from which no one, not even Dean, could turn him away. It was a remarkable thing, to realize that you really were your own worst enemy. 

“There’s a little too much baggage to just start fresh. But maybe... maybe we can just try again. Not starting over. But, like, Part Two.” He gave her a small smile. “You still like french fries?” 

[chosethearena-blog]

ALL DRAFTS ARE DONE AND QUEUED. Queue has threads for siswinchester, fidelissimi, wellbiancaisexcited, beautypowerdeath, rellapsus, and xramblinman. That’s it as far as remaining drafts, so if I owe you and you haven’t received a reply or aren’t tagged above, please message me!   

Also, if you wanna start a thing, either like this or pop into my inbox or summat!

[chosethearena-blog]

♕ so confused right now ;;

There’s a pause from Dana, her head cocking in confusion as she pushes to stand up from the chair she had been posted in. Maybe something was wrong, Sam was acting too fucking weird. Weirder than usual at least. 

“Think? I am your sister, you fruit loop.” Eyes narrow at the question, arms crossing her chest as she peers up at him. “You jumped off the roof.” Albeit, it had been after her, but she wouldn’t remind him of that fact. “You wanna interrogate me more about how we grew up together? I could tell you about the first time you came to me about girl advice. Or the time I caught you with a skin mag. Or maybe the time I put Nair in your shampoo when you were twelve and you looked like you had some sort of disease because you were missing big patches of hair.”

Everything she said was true, but it also made no damned sense. He remembered all those times, but they’d happened with his brother--not a chick. His brows furrowed and he gave her a calculating look. Alternate universes, living through TV shows--he supposed this wasn’t the weirdest thing that had ever happened.

“Okay, let’s back up,” he said. “I think we’ve been the victim of some kind of magic here. See, for me, I have a brother. Dean. I’ve never seen you before in my life.” 

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♕ walk out that door ;;

God, he wanted a fight. Aaron knew how to handle that. Rage boiled in his chest and he had the urge to push at Sam again. But the look in his eye, the way his father just deflated like that, as though Aaron’s sentence had already been decided…

“I don’t need you to save me.” He was just like them, wasn’t he? Beyond the point of saving. Sam would be doing him a favor by putting a bullet in his chest. Aaron clenched his jaw and made sure to slam the front door nice and hard on the way out.

If you walk out that door, don’t ever come back. 

The words rose unbidden in his mind as Aaron walked out. Twice in his life, Sam had heard those words from the people closest to him. The pain was still there, a hollow puncture in his chest that would never heal, and that pain kept him from saying the same thing now. How many times would they go round and around like this? How many times would he end up being just like his father? 

God, he wanted it to stop. 

He slid down the wall until he sat on the ground, staring at his hands like they could somehow pick up the broken pieces of his family and glue them back together. Except that every time he tried, he made it worse. 

Let Aaron cool off. Let himself sober up. Having this fight under the influence of anger and alcohol wasn’t helping.

|Text: Aaron | I shouldn’t have said any of that. Please come home when you’re ready [sent]