#i have a *lot* of ideas (gotta whip out my notes app every once in a while to write down stuff abt it) just hard to put into a coherent pos

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[jeawrites]

Kryoz/Smii7y. They are in Boston for paz east, and are waiting to meet up with the others. While waiting, they spot someone surprisingly ice skating, it's tyler, and he's looking super cute. The pair mention it to him later, and he makes them promise to not tell anyone, and they agree at the price of a kiss?? (Could lead to more??)

(They are in love your honor).

Warnings: cussing, some dark humor.

"Its fucking cold, John," Jaren mumbled, pulling his hat over his ears with a small grumble.

"Thank you for your observation, Jare. I was honestly still on the fence about if it was warm or not," he rolled his eyes and smiled a tad as he was elbowed gently.

Jaren sent him a small glare before deflating with a sigh in defeat. "Whatever- how much longer until we're s'pose to meet everyone?" he asked, though he was already pulling his phone out of his pocket to check himself.

John peered over his shoulder and noted the time with a small nod. "Another hour."

A groan left him and Jaren was pronounced dead. Not really, of course, but a man can dream. He went to shove his phone into his pocket but froze as an idea popped into his mind. "Oh! Maybe we can find something to do- there's a lot around here, right?"

"I guess," John shrugged, looking up at the sky and narrowing his eyes at the grey clouds. "There's lots of stores," he contributed, looking over.

Jaren opened up his map app, searching for the closest thing to them. "Oh! There's a cafe this way!" he pointed to the right of them. "It's by a skating rink," he said, "so it should be easy to find!"

John nodded and followed after Jaren, though he really didn't have a choice as his hand was grabbed and tugged along with him.

"Their reviews say they have really good hot chocolate," he mumbled. Though, the picture had him already feeling warmed up. It was just classic stuff but the steam was visible. "I'm gonna get extra marshmallows," he decided.

John snickered. "Do they serve it with whipped cream?" he asked, peering at the phone again, though he took glances to make sure they wouldn't bump into anyone. Though, he soon froze to his spot on one particular glance up, a choking noise leaving his throat.

Jaren paused, mostly out of concern because; "What the fuck was that noise?" But, he looked over to where John had been and spotted it. A familiar person skating along the rink, a smile on his face that was clear as day- or much clearer than the day currently was.

"Tyler," they both breathed at the same time. Too enthralled to make a joke about being in sync, they approached the wall of the rink, watching as their friend skillfully navigated around and even pulled off a few tricks.

"Phone," John nudged Jaren.

"Phone..." Jaren mumbled. "Oh! Phone!" he got off the map and opened his camera, pointing it at Tyler and taking a quick video. "Oh god- he's gonna kill us," he fought back a smile and then put his phone away, taking a glance across the street. "C'mon, lets go get our drinks before we're caught," he pulled him away.

John laughed softly and followed along, taking one more glance back before they were crossing the street to the cafe.

--

They both sat at a table inside the cafe, embracing the warmth of the room happily.

"I'm going to die here," Jaren decided, sipping off his hot chocolate happily.

"That makes two of us," John agreed, his eyes closing as he sipped his own drink before putting the cup down. "We gotta come back tomorrow," he said with a grin. "Maybe we can bring the guys along," he added.

Jaren nodded and put his cup down with a small exhale. "That's a good idea. I'm sure Brock will enjoy it," he pointed out.

The door dinged and both glanced, their hearts stammering as Tyler came walking in, his hands in his coat pockets and face a bit red from the cold.

Oh god.

"Tyler!" John called, a reflex if anything to seeing the guy up close.

Tyler jumped, his shoulders flinching as his head snapped towards them. Then, he relaxed and grabbed his chest through his coat, sighing. "Jesus John, you scared me," he grumbled, before glancing towards the counter where the line was open. He held up a ginger to signal a moment and ordered something to drink.

"He's... Unaware it seems," Jaren noticed and felt a tinge of relief fill him. "Maybe. He's weird," he trailed off and narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Tyler exchanged money for his coffee. It came in a noticeably different cup so it was easy to tell what he got.

Then the giant sauntered over to their table, a smile loose on his face. "I haven't gotten to see you both yet," he said as he sat down, once John had nodded his head to the seat. "You both look terrible but otherwise you don't seem to have changed," he noted.

"Your one to talk, shithead," John playfully fired back, reaching iver to tug on a strand of hair sticking out of Tyler's hat.

Tyler swatted the hand away and took a drink off his coffee before leaning back into his seat. "In all seriousness, you both look good! I missed you guys," he smiled a tinge on a fond way but it was gone the moment Jaren "awed".

"John he missed us!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands together in excitement. "Someone's getting soft on us," he cooed, batting his eyes at the American.

"When's the wedding, Ty? I'm ready now," John teased, touching his arm.

"Fuck off," Tyler grumbled, rolling his eyes. "You both are weirdos," he added, but his smile didn't drop.

They all began to chat from there, keeping in the playful remarks every now and then until their drinks were gone and they were heading out the door. The cold air made Jaren groan and he pulled his hat down again.

"Dude, aren't you Canadian? Shouldn't you be used to this?" Tyler asked.

"I'm a desert man at heart," he said, cringing as a gust of wind blew against his cheeks. "I thought it would be nicer- this isn't my nice coat," he added, glancing down at the one he was wearing. Then, he glanced up at Tyler. "Aren't you from the south? Why aren't you bothered?"

"I'm a heat radiator," Tyler said with a shrug. "Evan says I'm basically a walking heatwave."

The group snickered and the conversation died down a bit as they walked to the meeting place.

"So when'd you get into ice skating?" John asked, mainly to break the peace.

Tyler froze and so they did too, looking at him in confusion.

"Ty?" John asked, raising a brow.

"You- you both saw?" he asked, looking between the two with wide eyes. Now it was hard to tell why his cheeks were red, but they could definitely feel the heat. "Oh god," he covered his face with his hands.

He was embarrassed.

Tyler was embarrassed.

Jaren glanced to John, both sharing the same bit of worry but also confusion. "Tyler, hey," he said, touching his arm. "Is it a big deal we saw?"

"No," Tyler shook his head and sighed shakily. "Just... Don't tell anyone, please? Evan and Brian would kill for a chance to make fun of me and I'd rather not deal with them," he brought his hands off his face.

"But we're definitely going to bully you. That okay?" John asked.

"You two are different," Tyler said with a small nod, "I... Don't care if you two do it." He glanced away.

The two felt warm all of a sudden, with such simple words. And, sharing the brainwave they do both nodded and mumbled out quickly; "Okay!"

Jaren glanced at John then and swallowed before slowly grinning, which the other mirrored. "Of course... We still want a little something for not telling," he said.

"I'm not buying you guys lunch," Tyler said immediately, knowing he'd be broke if he threw that on the table.

"Not that," John said, his voice trailing off as he met Tyler's eyes.

"We want a kiss," they said happily.

Tyler's eyes widened and he stammered for a moment, his heart skipping a few beats. "I- I- you both are freaky," he breathed. His hands were grabbed by the two and they shared a smile, which made Tyler melt.

"Just on the cheek is fine," Jaren clarified, tilting his head to the side. "Just one."

Tyler looked between them two and then closed his eyes, bending down and quickly pressing a kiss to both of their cheeks.

...

"Oh," John's breath hitched and he felt Tyler grip his hand. "You-you really..."

Jaren was rendered speechless by surprise and he touched his cheek with his free hand.

"There," Tyler mumbled, squeezing both their hands before breathing out shakily. "Lets... Go and meet the others now, yeah? We can," he paused and contemplated for a minute, "maybe we can get lunch after all."

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Buried Alive

Summary: Reader wakes up buried in a coffin, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Jack make it to her just in time.  

TW/CW: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Reader is buried alive, Reader has a dislocated shoulder and broken leg, Dean has a break down, ghost makes an appearance, also Reader writes a goodbye note which is in italics, gets kind of angsty/sad at times.

Requested?: Yes! A lovely Anon said, “Hello love, may I pleaaase request a dean x reader one shot where she gets Burried alive (and she's already injured) because they got separated on a hunt and she only have a few minutes left before dean saves her and after she wakes up he gets a panic attack because he was so scared of losing her and she's the only one who can calm him down?? Pretty pleaaase can you include details I looove when I can picture every scene especially while she's trapped...”

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: This got pretty long pretty quick lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! It was really fun to write and I tried to put in lots of detail. As always, requests are open and love to all!

[This gif highkey lowkey hurts my heart...]

Your POV

   Waking up in a dark, musty, wooden box is never a good thing, especially when your leg is bent the wrong way and your right shoulder is throbbing from being out of socket. Unfortunately, that’s exactly where I’ve found myself upon waking up. I try to remember what happened and recall separating from Sam and Dean, after some debate, to draw out the ghost we were hunting. I was looking around the old church and got knocked out.  

   Out of instinct, I press the palm of my left hand against the worn, splintery wood and try to force it upwards. Upon doing so, soft, damp dirt flows into the cracks. I drop the lid back down as my heart begins racing. I force myself to stay calm as I search to see what might be left in my pockets. Unfortunately, whatever put me down here thought to take all my weapons. It’s not like they’d do me any good at the moment anyway, I suppose. I do, however, find my phone in my jacket pocket. With a shaking hand, I pull it out and press the home button, I hope and pray, to whatever deity might actually be listening, that I have bars. No such luck.  

   I just so happen to glance at the lid above me and in the dim light of my phone, I see them. Long scratch marks litter the underside of the lid. Suddenly, the burger and fries that I had for lunch starts preparing for launch sequence in my stomach. I look back at the screen of my phone as if I might have miraculously gotten bars in the span of the past few minutes and of course find none. What I do find just might be my savior. I train my attention on my phone’s lock screen picture of me, Dean, Sammy, Cas, and Jack leaning against the hood of Baby. “Alright Cas, you there?” I pause, wondering what to tell him, “I don’t know where I am but I know that I’m buried underground. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here but I can feel the oxygen is getting low.” I might not have enough time left. I decide to type out a goodbye message on the notes app on my phone:

Hey boys,

   I might not make it out of this musty ass box so I thought I’d write this out here. I want you guys to know that I love you. Take care of each other and please for the love of all that’s good don’t try to bring me back, no matter how manageable you think the cost is. I never thought that I’d go out this way, always wanted it to be a blaze of glory, but here I am. Remember the good times we’ve had and remember me as the badass hunter that I once was and not the dumbass hunter who managed to get herself caught by a spook and shoved in a pine box. Anyway, tell Baby I love her. Dean, I love you too. Keep moving forward for me. There’s a letter in my journal for you.

                   I’ll be waiting for you boys on the other side,

                  In the words of Jimi Hendrix, “Excuse me while I kiss the sky.”

    I consider trying to add a Metallica or Zeppelin reference as I finish typing the last sentence but can’t think of one that would fit and hit save instead. Darkness creeps in on the edges of my vision before overtaking me.

Dean’s POV

   “Where the hell is she, man?” I ask Sammy as I pace back and forth across the room, “She should’ve been back a while ago and all my calls are going to voicemail. I’ve even left voicemails and got nothing.”

   “I don’t know, Dean,” Sammy answers as he peeks out the blinds on the window into the night, “We could-” he’s interrupted as a flap of wings is heard. I turn around and find Cas and Jack both standing there.

   Before I can ask, Cas launches into an explanation, “(Y/N) prayed to me. She said she’s buried underground and that the oxygen is getting low.”

   My heart leaps into my throat. Damn it, why did I let her go off alone? I go to punch the closest wall but Sammy catches my hand, “Can you figure out where she is?”

   “Yes,” Jack answers, “We would’ve gone straight there but we... don’t have shovels.” I grab my keys and jacket and race out the door with Sammy, Cas, and Jack right behind me, Cas spouting off coordinates. We get in the car and Sammy gives me directions and I pull out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. I have to get to her as quickly as possible. I can’t lose her. Not now and not to something like this. She deserves to go down fighting not buried and helpless. In the rearview mirror, I can see Cas’s expression of concern and Jack’s knee bouncing as he fidgets with his shirt. I’m reminded that I’m not the only one worried about (Y/N) and take a rain check on my own impending melt down. Sammy shakily points at a turn up ahead and I take it on two wheels.

   After a couple more turns, I pull off on the side of the road behind an old beat-up clunker, beside a wooded area. Sammy leads us straight to the coordinates and we get to digging. I’m almost certain that the guys can hear my heart pounding as I hope with all I’ve got that she isn’t buried very deep. Finally, as our shovels hit wood, I carefully jump into the hole to pull the lid off of the coffin. I toss the lid to the side and my heart takes up residence in my throat once again as I discover that she’s out cold. I quickly and carefully wrap my arms under her and lift her up to Sammy who lays her gently on the ground as I climb out of the hole.

   When I drop to my knees on the leaf strewn ground beside her and pull her into my lap, Cas has his palm on her forehead, “She’s still alive. I've healed the break in her leg but her shoulder needs to be popped back into place before I can heal it.”

   Sammy lays a hand on Cas’s shoulder, “We can worry about the shoulder later.”

   I pull her close to me, careful of her shoulder, and beg, “Baby, you gotta wake up.” I kiss her forehead, “Please wake up. I can’t lose you.” It’s silent as I let my tears fall. Jack drops his knees on the ground beside us and Sammy and Cas squat down as well. They’re careful to give us space but I know they’re silently hoping just as hard as I am that she’ll wake up quickly.  

   “Guys, I think we should-” Sammy stops as she takes a deep breath.

   “Hey sweetheart, you awake?” I ask as my heart starts racing. I brush her hair out of her eyes. It takes a few seconds but her eyes finally open.  

   She curls into my chest as I hold her tighter, “I was so scared that I’d lose you.” I can’t stop the flood of tears that break through the dam.  

   She slowly sits up and throws her legs to either side of me before scooting closer and wrapping her arms around my waist, loosely due to her shoulder, “Shhh, it’s okay baby. I’m here.”  

   I say nothing and bury my face in her neck and try my best to stop crying, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go off alone. I should’ve been there with you. I should’ve-”

   She stops me, “Don’t do that, Dean. Remember how we talked about this?”

   “But I-”

   “No, it was my decision. It’s not your fault,” she says calmly. She rubs my back and begins humming Metallica and soon I’ve managed to stop crying but unfortunately, I continue hiccupping. I pull away and look over her shoulder at the guys. As much as I don’t want to let her go yet, we need to get her shoulder fixed and I’m sure they want hugs too. She kisses my cheek before getting up.  

   She hugs all three of them before returning to Sammy, “Can you pop this back in place for me?”

   “Y-you sure?” he asks, confused as to why she doesn’t want pain killers first.

   “Yeah, it’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last,” she chuckles. He pops her shoulder back into place before Cas heals it for her.  

   Finally, she returns to me and wraps her arms tightly around me, “Let’s get out of here.” We turn to walk out of the woods and pass a church that I didn’t even notice on the way in, that must’ve been the one she wanted to check.

   “Uh, guys, we have a problem,” Jack states. I tear my eyes away from the church and look ahead of us. Standing, or rather floating, just a few yards away is the ghost we had been hunting.  

   I sigh, “Shit, we don’t have any salt or iron with us.”

   “No but I know where some is,” (Y/N) says excitedly. How on earth is she so ready to spring back into it right after almost dying?

Your POV    I drag Dean with me and the other guys follow as I run into the church. I bolt down the stairs to my right as we enter and find exactly what I’m looking for. A fireplace in one of the offices down here still has iron pokers hanging on its mantle. I remembered seeing them when I came through here the first time. I also happen to remember that there’s a kitchen down here too. I take an iron poker for myself and hand Sam and Dean one, “Cas, Jack, you guys might want to fly the coop. We can handle this.” They look unsure but leave anyway in a whoosh of wings. I take off toward the kitchen but unfortunately find no salt. That’s when Sammy is thrown against a wall. Dean and I whip around to find the ghost holding Sammy by the neck. Dean slashes through it without hesitation and it disappears and Sam regains his breath.

   “Please tell me you have some idea of how to get rid of this guy,” I ask Sammy.

   “Not quite,” he responds.

   Dean looks dumbfounded at both of us, “There’s literally a cemetery right outside.”

   “No, he’s pissed off because he wasn’t buried in the church cemetery like he felt he was supposed to be because he was the pastor,” Sammy informs, “The legends say they buried him in an unmarked grave after burning him at the stake for witchcraft.”

   “Shit, so we’re not looking for bones then,” Dean mumbles, looking around the office.

   “Right now, it looks like all we can do is get the hell out of here and try to dig around for what might be keeping him here,” I explain. With this, we all three high tail it to the car. We have to stop a few times along the way to slash through the ghost but finally, we make it and head off on our way back to the motel.

   Once we’re finally back in our motel room, I shrug my jacket off and head for the shower, “I’m gonna clean up really quick and then we can get something to eat and some rest and revisit this case in the morning.” The boys agree so I grab some clean clothes out of my bag and head for a warm, relaxing shower.  

   I pull of the dirty, sweaty clothes and step under the warm spray. I let the grim and gross wash away some before washing off with the soap. I wash my hair as well and only pull myself out of the shower when my stomach growls. I step out and dry off before pulling on my clothes. I’m working on drying my hair when I step out of the bathroom to find Dean and Sammy both sitting on the end of the bed with tears in their eyes. I tilt my head, “What’s wrong guys?”

   I drop the towel on top of my bag and step over in front of Dean as he hands me his phone. Looking down at the screen, I read what I thought I had saved to my notes on my own phone. Apparently, I was so out of it when I typed it up that I accidentally typed it up in a message to Dean and hit send when I thought I hit save. My heart sprints in my chest as I look back up at Dean and try to explain, “Dean, I-”

   He says nothing and instead stands and wraps his arms around me to once again pull me in close to his chest. I can feel him shake as he tries to hold back his tears. He pulls away and looks me in the eye, “Did you really think you wouldn’t make it out of that?” I nod solemnly. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, “Well, I’m glad you did. Next time, you can tell me that in person when we go down together, yeah?” I mentally thank him for not mentioning the letter tucked away in my journal.

   I nod again as Sammy chuckles, “I should’ve known that even when you think you’re saying your last words, they’re going to be attempts at humor and classic rock references.”  

   I smile and laugh, “I thought the Hendrix reference was rather poetic.”

   Dean looks at me laughs weakly, “I figured you’d have thrown in a Zeppelin or Metallica reference.”

   I shake my head as I head for the door because my stomach growls, “I thought about that but I couldn’t think of one that would fit. Besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin some of your favorite bands for you.” Together the three of us head for dinner but I know in the back of my mind that we’ll be recovering from today’s events for a while to come.

Masterlist

Taglist: @emiijemii​

Dean Winchester Taglist: @akshi8278

[pomegranate-belle]

happy new year! for the prompt game thing: mattfoggy, soulmates!au, fake dating, prompt 19? 😂

Fake Dating + Soulmates AU = Fake Soulmates AU, right?? Right?? Anyway this took too long because it spiraled out of control and now it’s 2k+ words and there’s like four or five more snippets of future scenes in this AU hiding in my notes app now, lmao

(Also, apologies to anyone reading this who’s named Stephanie, lol)

—

It all starts because Matt is a flirty bastard who gravitates towards women that are capital-T Trouble like a child in galoshes gravitates towards puddles. That is — eagerly, enthusiastically, and with precisely zero regard for the people in the splash zone.

Foggy, who has become a permanent resident of the splash zone, is best friends with him anyway, for some unfathomable reason.

Which is a mean thing to think. It’s not unfathomable. Matt is funny and whip-smart and a big nerd and he just gets Foggy, and his smile...

Anyway, life in the splash zone is worth it. Just, you know, it’s hard to remember that after your bestie’s date steals your wallet or gets you sexiled or stuck in the middle of a bar fight that is definitely not your fault. Or, apparently, tries to swap out the non-accessible petition form your (blind, by the way) best friend means to sign with a marriage certificate.

Yeah. Really. That’s the level of what-the-fuckery they’ve reached now.

“I think I need your help with this one,” Matt says with a grimace.

“You didn’t actually end up signing it, did you?” asks Foggy, because, well, with their luck who knows.

But Matt shakes his head.

“No, it’s just. Uh... I, um, don’t think she’s going to stop.”

Maybe Foggy should just smother himself with his pillow. Or smother Matt with his pillow. The second one seems like it would solve a lot more problems, since this mess is entirely Matt’s fault.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about that, Matthew!” he demands. “You’re the one who decided to sleep with Stephanie Jenkins even after I warned you about her crazy eyes!”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, ok? You told me so, is that what you want to hear?” Matt all but whines, burying his face in his arms just enough to leave his eyes peeking out.

He’s on his bed, head towards the footboard and rolled onto his stomach for maximum cuteness. His eyes aren’t quite pointed the right direction, but that hardly matters. Matt’s pleading expressions are more effective even when they’re aimed a little right of their target than anybody else’s could be from straight on.

“Ugh.”

“Foggy, come on.”

“Ughhhhh.”

“Foggy.”

Matt’s big, wide sad-puppy-dog eyes get impossibly bigger and wider.

“Ok, ok! Fine, I’ll help! Stop pouting, jeez,” Foggy concedes in the face of Matt’s pleading expression and general air of hopelessness. “But don’t expect me to come up with a plan or anything, she’s yourcreepy hookup.”

Matt’s posture changes immediately now that he’s gotten what he wants. He goes up on his elbows, grinning the grin that always means chaos is coming.

“Gotta pull out the big guns for this one,” he claims. “Even she’d have to back off over a soulmate match.”

Foggy, who has maybe spent the past year and a half idly checking his skin for a mark that could potentially tie him to Matt, feels his stomach flip uncomfortably.

“You’re not suggesting...” His throat goes dry. “You and I fake being...”

“Well, I need someone in on it with me who won’t get the wrong idea,” explains Matt, cheerful as can be while he crushes Foggy’s stupid heart into tiny little pieces.

Foggy swallows hard.

“Yeah, um. Makes sense,” he croaks out.

“Good,” says Matt, all business, sitting up fully and holding out a box. “I already borrowed some temporary tattoo pens off Marci, and she promised to keep our secret if we buy her drinks next weekend.”

“Why does Marci have temporary tattoo pens?” asks Foggy as he gets up off his own bed and accepts them, since it seems like the most innocuous of all the questions rattling around in his head.

“To take notes on her arms, apparently,” Matt replies.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

Marci’s the kind of person who could get away with slightly-eccentric behavior like that, mostly because she was dead terrifying. And also hot. She was the kind of person people wanted to step on them. Not that Foggy did. Or anything.

“Anyway,” Foggy said, maybe a little too loud, clearing his throat. “Where is it you want your soulmark, then?”

“Umm.” Matt tilts his head. “My... Arm, I guess? Isn’t that the best place to make it visible for Stephanie? I mean. Where did you think I wanted it, my butt?”

As Matt asks the question, his ears go a little pink, which offsets his sarcasm and is also hilariously adorable. Matt’s a cool guy, but he also spent like ten years surrounded by nuns, and every so often that becomes very, very clear. It’s definitely one of Foggy’s favorite things about Matt. Well, along with literally everything else about Matt. He grins.

“No offense, buddy, but you definitely are the kind of person who’d have one on your butt.”

“I am not!” laughs Matt. “What does that, what does that even mean?”

“Listen, Murdock, some people are just butt-soulmark people, that’s all. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Shut up,” Matt says, his voice still bright with humor. “It’s going on my arm.”

He shoves up the sleeve of his slightly-baggy sweater and holds out his right arm, palm up. So, Foggy digs around in the box of temporary tattoo pens until he finds one with black ink, and then settles next to Matt on the bed. Once he’s got himself in a good position, he accepts Matt’s arm, grabs it gently by the wrist to draw it down onto his lap.

And it’s like it finally sinks in, what he’s about to do. He’s going to literally mark Matt Murdock as his — never mind that it’s a farce to get rid of some creepy chick, or what Matt said about not getting the wrong idea. In a very real and physical sense, he’s about to draw something that will bind them together, at least in everyone else’s eyes. This goes way beyond bar napkin doodles, beyond wistful musings about Nelson and Murdock. People are going to see this mark and know—

They’re going to know what Foggy’s been trying not to know for a long time now. That he’s hopelessly, irrevocably, pathetically in love with Matt.

“What should it be?” Foggy asks, heart thundering in his chest as he holds the pen in one hand and the soft, pale expanse of Matt’s upturned arm in the other.

The smile on Matt’s face looks sweet and coy. A knock-out punch disguised as a cool, sweet drink. And as much as he pretends he’s a beer and cheap whiskey man, Foggy’s always been a sucker for the kind of fruity cocktails that knock him on his ass.

“Something fitting.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” mutters Foggy. “Speak now or I’m giving you an avocado.”

Matt tries halfheartedly to tug his arm away, laughing.

“No way, not an avocado. Something serious! Like... Scales of justice.”

“I see your hard-on for Lady Justice hasn’t diminished at all,” Foggy jokes, but begins drawing the scales anyway.

It takes enough focus that he’s able to override any feelings of embarrassment. And then he’s scrawling the same design onto his own skin, his left arm and Matt’s right pressed side-by-side as they lie across Foggy’s knee. Finally, it’s done and he caps the pen.

“Perfect,” he says, pleased, as he compares the two marks. “They’re identical. Suck on that, Mr. Trenkamp, I can too draw straight lines.”

Is it the height of maturity to invoke your hated fourth grade art teacher like ten years after he first insulted your mediocre art skills? No. But being the height of maturity is lame anyway, Foggy decides.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” jokes Matt, and his expression is so soft that Foggy has to look away before he, like, spontaneously combusts or something.

“Well, trust me, pal, those are some primo fake soulmarks.”

“Thanks, Fog.”

Matt nudges Foggy’s shoulder with his own, then holds out a loose fist. Knocking their knuckles lightly together, Foggy can’t help the giddy smile on his face.

“Anytime, Matt.”

—

They don’t get a chance to show off their marks until two days later, when they’re strolling across campus towards the dining hall and Matt pauses apropos of nothing and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, juggling his white cane a little in the process. He then proceeds to fumble for Foggy’s wrists and roll his sleeves up too.

“Matt, what—”

“Shh, act natural!” Matt mutters, knocking his cane lightly against Foggy’s shoe, and then pressing a warm hand to his back to get him walking again.

And, honest to god, not a minute later up walks Stephanie Jenkins. Foggy takes a good moment to consider that maybe Matt’s lady-radar is actually real. In the next, Matt is stretching his arms (and his cane, the goof) above his head, right wrist crossed in front of the left so his fake soulmark will be in sight. Stephanie jerks to a stop, eyes trained on it. After the stretch, for which Foggy very carefully avoids looking at Matt to see if his shirt rides up, Matt folds up his cane and holds out his hand, fingers curled slightly, the way he usually does when he’s asking for Foggy’s arm for guiding purposes.

“Fogs?”

Well, it’s a cue if Foggy’s ever seen one, so he presses his arm into Matt’s grip, making sure the underside of his forearm is turned up for Stephanie’s sake. Her eyes go huge. Foggy gets the feeling that, no matter what he’s trying to save Matt from, he’s going to feel like an asshole if she cries. Thankfully, her face turns puce and angry instead. She’s probably thinking something unflattering about Foggy’s suitability for a guy like Matt but, well. Fuck her anyway.

Just to nail in his point, apparently, Matt traces his free hand up Foggy’s shoulder and into his hair, brushing a long lock of it behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

In all honesty, Foggy pretty much forgets all about Stephanie Jenkins after that. Just continues on towards the dining hall, narrating on autopilot in between long bouts of staring at Matt with a racing heart and pathetic cow eyes.

—

The two of them get a frankly embarrassing number of ‘I knew it’s from their classmates, go nearly broke keeping Marci Stahl in vodka, and kiss four more times (three on the cheek, and one chaste, close-mouthed peck on the lips that nearly stops Foggy’s heart).

Also, Foggy gets Stephanie Jenkins’ crazy-eyes glare for three straight weeks. He loves every second of it. Suck it, Stephanie Jenkins, he thinks every time. Which is, yeah, probably a little mean, but hey, this is the lady who tried to take advantage of Matt’s blindness to trick him into (admittedly, a definitely not legally enforceable) marriage. Foggy doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy for her.

Though he risks jinxing himself, Foggy does eventually ask how long Matt thinks the ruse should go on. When Matt decides they should keep up the act until at least the end of the semester, Foggy tries not to agree too eagerly. After all, he’s not supposed to get the wrong idea. Eventually Matt’s heartbreaker ways will win out and he’ll want to find a hot girl to kiss. He’s trusting Foggy with an awful lot, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to... To, you know, fall in love with him or anything. But they’ll still always be best friends. That’s what really matters.

—

After three months, Foggy is used to seeing the fake soulmark on the inside of his left arm when he showers. It doesn’t make his heart squeeze anymore. He no longer has to remind himself that it’s still fake even when soap doesn’t wash it away — all it would take is a little makeup remover, after all. He knows that. It’s fake even though it’s there in a form of semi-permanence. Just another fact of life.

But this particular morning he stops cold, because there’s something on the inside of his right arm too. A perfect, identical mirror image of the scales of justice on his left.

Maybe he was so tired he drew another one on the wrong arm when refreshing the fake soulmark. Maybe. But probably not. Foggy takes slow, deep breaths until the end of his shower. Then he dries off, dresses — pulling on his shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way down — and hurries back to the dorm room for the box of makeup remover wipes they keep next to their sink now.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’ll wash off. It’s ok. His hands are trembling so hard that he has to squeeze the wipe to keep hold of it and some of the remover solution drips onto his left arm. The fake soulmark there begins to smudge.

The one on the right stays stark and perfect.

“That’s not funny,” Foggy tells it, voice shaking, but though he scrubs at it until the skin’s raw — with the wipe, with hand sanitizer, with isopropyl — it doesn’t come off.

Eventually he’s got to face the facts. His dumb heart has somehow conned his body into producing a genuine, grade-A soulmark for his fake soulmate.

He is so monumentally fucked.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

A Good Night’s Sleep, Pt.1

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky has been plagued with nightmares since he left HYDRA and the Avengers all have been trying to help him overcome them. Bucky meets you by chance on a coffee run and finds that the solution he was avoiding might be exactly what he needs.

Warnings/ Content: brief mention of PTSD

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this little 3 part series came from an idea that @marinaaniseed had a few weeks ago. I absolutely couldn’t get the idea out of my head and so, while I should have been working on my many WIPs, this little fic was born. Parts two and three are going up immediately after this, it’s all done and I don’t feel like dragging it out. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I have. Especially you @marinaaniseed, thank you so much for the idea!!! XOXO- Ash

A Good Night’s Sleep, Part One

“Come on, Buck.” Steve calls out while banging on Bucky’s door, “You gotta wake up, pal.”

Bucky wakes with a jolt, his body rigid and his throat sore from screaming. He’s panting hard, trying to adjust to the world around him. He pulls himself out of bed on shaky legs, wobbling down the hall to open the door right as Steve goes to knock again. “Sorry. Again.” he rasps. 

“Want to come get a cup of tea with me?” Steve offers with sympathetic eyes.

“Nah, I’m gonna grab a shower. Go back to sleep, Stevie.” 

“You know you can talk to me about it if you want to.” 

“I know. I’ll be okay.” Bucky insists, closing the door to end the discussion. 

Under the burning hot spray of the shower Bucky lets himself breakdown. 

After Wakanda Steve had convinced Tony to let him live at the tower with the rest of the team and everyone had been leery of the former assassin joining their ranks. As they slowly came to know him though, he became a welcome addition to their little family of Avengers. The only issue was the nightmares that woke not only Bucky, but everyone else on their floor. Bucky hadn’t slept through the night since he escaped HYDRA, plagued with visions of the destruction he’d wrought as the Winter Soldier. It was an endless stream of death and terror every night when he closed his eyes. When he was on his own in Romania he’d accepted it as his penance for what he’d done. After Shuri and her team pulled him out of Cryo in Wakanda he hadn’t been hopeful the nightmares were gone along with the trigger words. And he had been right - they persisted. 

Bucky warned Steve when he invited him to live at the tower with the team. He told him he had nightmares and was prone to have low days where he just needed solitude to work through his own mind. Steve had promised he’d have his own living quarters and the team would understand. They all had their demons, afterall. The team was very understanding the first days but after that the concerned glances turned to long, worried looks and the team started speaking up.

Bruce had been the first to speak up, suggesting therapy to help him work through what was causing his nightmares. Bucky went and as much as he liked his therapist, nothing they tried stopped the nightmares. Even the meds blew through his system too fast to be of any use. She did give him some good tips for managing his PTSD and depression during the day though, so Bucky considered it a win and still went to see her once a week. 

Nat gave him a spicy Russian tea she swore would knock him out enough that no dreams would come. Nat was wrong, all Bucky got out of the tea was heartburn. She grumbled something under her breath in Russian that sounded a lot like “cursed’ the next morning over breakfast. 

Steve took him for a long run before bed one night, thinking the endorphin high and exhaustion would help Bucky sleep soundly. It helped Steve sometimes with his own dreams of war. It didn’t help with the nightmares, it only made him more exhausted the next day after getting little sleep. 

Tony offered to get him drunk but it would take entirely too much alcohol to overcome the serum in his veins so he declined the offer. 

Wanda suggested she try popping in his mind while he was having a nightmare to see if she could reshape it and try to correct whatever in his mind was causing him to have the dreams. Bucky threw up at the idea of someone meddling in his mind again.

The care and suggestions from the team were sweet, and Bucky knows they have the best intentions at heart, but it’s all still a little overwhelming. Bucky wants to stop having nightmares, he would do anything to sleep for more than three or four hours a night. A small part of him still thinks it’s punishment from some higher power for everything he’s done, but rationally he understands it’s just his PTSD. 

After his shower, Bucky trudges out to the team kitchen for coffee. If he isn’t going to sleep he might as well start on his caffeine routine. Sam is already in the kitchen whipping up a smoothie for himself while Natasha stares at him over a cup of tea, the human embodiment of heart eyes on her face. 

“Mornin’.” he rumbles as he crosses the kitchen, rummaging for his favorite cup in the dishwasher. 

“Another bad one, huh.” Nat asks, but it really isn’t a question.

“Yeah, sorry.” 

“You’ve got to figure these out, James.” 

“I know it.” 

“I know what you need.” Sam interjects causing both Bucky and Nat to whip around to stare at him. Sam just shrugs, “You need to get laid, man.” 

Bucky chokes on his coffee. “What?” 

“You. Need. To. Get. Laid.” Sam repeats slowly. “Seriously, man. Find yourself a nice girl, or a guy, and get some. You’ll be all happy and cosy and you’ll nod right off. No nightmares if you’re wrapped up in the arms of a good woman, or man.” 

Bucky shakes his head, the last thing he needs is to terrorize some poor person trying to spend the night.

“It’s not a bad idea.” Nat agrees.

“Not happening.” Bucky says with a warning tone. He fills his cup and retreats to his bedroom, unwilling to continue the conversation. Adding another person to his mess of a life is not the solution. 

Sam’s suggestion spreads through the team like wildfire. Everyone seems to have a friend they could set him up with. Tony even hacks into his smartphone and adds apps for Tinder, Grindr, and Match.com. Bucky deletes them quickly before chewing Tony out about privacy rights. It becomes a bit of a running joke within the group and Bucky is less than thrilled about it. Bucky hasn’t had a date since 1941 and he isn’t sure how to navigate dating in the 21st century. He knows the times have changed, people are more free with their sexualities and casual relationships are normal instead of taboo. Eventually, he thinks, eventually he’ll get back out there. But certainly not just for the sake of random sex. 

Bucky has another particularly rough night. One where he doesn’t dare sleep because the second his eyes close the images start up like a motion picture. He’d spends the night alternating between pacing and reading, trying to not be disruptive while everyone else sleeps. Sam and Steve get up for their run just before dawn and find him pacing in the common room. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asks him.

“I will later. Probably.” Bucky grumbles. 

Sam shakes his head, “Let’s go get coffee. You look like hell.”

Bucky can’t argue with that and instead goes to grab his shoes with a nod.

The city is bustling despite the early hour and the line at their favorite coffee shop is almost to the door. It’s worth the wait though and Bucky likes the thrumming energy of the shop, the blur of muted sounds around him oddly comforting. The woman in front of them is fidgeting with her leather bag, it must have something heavy in it the way she keeps adjusting the strap on her shoulder. Bucky tries not to let his gaze linger too long but the way her long hair falls in soft waves all the way down to the small of her back is distracting. The even softer looking rounded curves of her body are even more distracting, he admits to himself. She reminds him of the women in Renaissance paintings, when lush curves were still revered, before these modern stick thin bodies became the ideal. Bucky wishes the Winter Soldier could go back and pay a visit to whoever started the “thigh gap” craze. 

The woman adjusts the leather strap again and a small white card flutters out onto the floor behind her. Bucky reaches down to pick it up, noticing the card has business information on it. Sam and Steve are chatting and distracted when Bucky taps the woman on the shoulder, “I think you dropped your business card.” he says hesitantly. 

You’re cursing yourself for lugging everything along with you in your enormous bag when you feel a tap on your shoulder followed by a warm masculine voice. You absolutely do not have business cards, you’re a freelance writer and market yourself entirely online. It has to be another pick up line, probably from some smarmy Wall Street asshole who wants to slum it with an artsy girl for a change. You’ve been burned by that type enough times and won’t let yourself do it again, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve had a date. “Does that line work a lot for you?” you reply, turning around with an unamused expression. 

Bucky’s face falls, upset he’s offended you when all he was trying to do was return what you’d dropped. “I wasn’t. I don’t. You. Um, you dropped this. It fell out of your bag.” Bucky fumbles for words, blushing brightly and drawing the attention of Sam and Steve who wear twin smirks of amusement watching him flounder. 

Your irritation dissipates when you see the gorgeous, stuttering man in front of you. He’s tall, though not quite as tall as his companions, his dark hair falls around his shoulders in a way that is either true bedhead or carefully crafted styling to mimic it. His grey blue eyes are wide and honest, clearly not some smarmy pick up artist like you’d assumed. He’s wearing a black hoodie and dark grey sweatpants so it’s unlikely he was the business card type either. You force yourself to stop ogling the poor man and look at the tiny card in his outstretched hand. Recognizing it immediately, you realize you’re the asshole in this scenario. “Shit, that is mine.” you curse, “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually have business cards but my friend gave me this one yesterday for a new bakery that went in over on 2nd Avenue.” 

Bucky looks at the card for a second before you take it from him. “So you’re not Beth Yardley?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if that’s now a ploy to get your name. You really need to be less suspicious but after living in the city for five years you’ve become jaded. He’s cute though. “Nope, Y/N. Nice to meet you…?”

“Bucky.” he offers quickly.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, but he looks familiar for some reason. “Nice you meet you, Bucky. Thanks for saving that card for me. I’m dying to try these cinnamon buns my friend keeps raving about.”

Bucky is smiling again, hoping his face doesn’t betray how eager he is to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t trying to hit on you a few minutes ago but now that he’s seen your face and heard your voice, he sure as hell is. “I love cinnamon buns.” 

You stifle your laugh at the way his cheeks burn bright pink after his admission. He has to be flirting at this point. And he really is cute. Damnit. “We should go try them, then.” you decide, giving him a chance to make a move. 

Bucky feels like he’s swallowed his tongue, “As in, together?” 

“Yeah, sorry if I wasn’t clear. This is me hitting on you now.” you smirk at him as his blush spreads.

Sam is leaning on Steve as they fight for composure, trying not to erupt in laughter and ruin their friends moment. Bucky glares at their backs for a moment before realizing he still hasn’t answered, “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.” 

Getting a better look at his companions you realize why he looks so familiar. Of all the people to meet in a coffee shop, you muse. You’re still interested though. “Are you free after this? I was going to get my coffee to go and then head straight there for breakfast.” 

“I’m free. These idiots can find their own way home.” 

“Great. Now, the deciding factor is: icing or no icing? Think hard Bucky, there are two camps of people and if you fall into the wrong one I’ll be forced to shame you for all eternity.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, worried he’s going to mess up two seconds into what could potentially be a date. “Icing?” he tries.

“Right answer!” you announce him happily. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, you whisper, “It wasn’t really a deal breaker but it’s good to know you’re not some sugar hating monster.” 

Bucky’s grin widens, “No, I have a serious sweet tooth.”

“We’re gonna get along just fine.” you assure him. 

After you order your coffee, quad shot latte with whole milk don’t judge me, and Bucky orders his, the biggest white mocha frapp you have please, you swipe your card before he has a chance to get his wallet out. Bucky balks at you paying but you tell him he can get it next time with a flirty smile that has his brain shutting off, unable to continue complaining. 

Steve and Sam give Bucky small waves and thumbs up, not interfering when Bucky leaves with you. “Your friends seem nice.” you say kindly as you step out onto the busy city sidewalk.

“They’re the best.” Bucky agrees with a nod. 

You make idle chit chat on your way to the bakery, keeping the topics light and superficial. Bucky tells you he grew up in Brooklyn, moved away for a bit, and recently moved to Manhattan with his friends. He seems hesitant as he explains it and you realize he’s trying to not be obvious about who he is. Like you couldn’t have already guessed.

You snort a laugh into your latte. “So what was Brooklyn like in the 30s?” you ask bluntly.

Bucky’s eyes practically bug out of his head, “How did you...?” 

You give him a half smile and shrug, “The hand is a good clue, plus your face was everywhere for a while. It doesn’t help that your best friends are Captain America and the Falcon.” 

Cringing, Bucky figures this will be the end of his almost date. “We don’t have to go get breakfast. I’ll understand if you don’t want to be seen with me.” 

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shocked by his response. “Whoa, hold on. I knew who you were before I asked you to join me. I don’t care what other people think about you or your past. You seem like a nice guy and I want to get to know you. The real you.” 

Bucky takes a moment to process your words, finding it hard to believe someone is willing to look beyond his past. He can't find a shred of deceit in your expression though, so he answers your question. “Well, there were less cars and it smelled worse if you can believe it.” 

You huff out a laugh, resuming your walk to the bakery. “I can’t. Tell me more.” 

Bucky tells you stories of the Brooklyn of his youth as you make your way across town. You aren’t in a hurry and Bucky is happy to spend extra time out in the warm sun with a beautiful woman. 

The bakery is a little glass fronted shop sandwiched between two larger brick buildings. You would have walked right past it if you hadn’t been looking for it. Bucky opens the door for you and you smirk, amused by the old fashioned gesture. The scent of vanilla and caramelized sugar hit you the second you’re inside. “Oh my god.” you groan the amazing smell. 

Bucky’s steps falter at the sound you made, trying desperately not to let his mind go where it was headed. “This place smells amazing.” he says, inhaling deeply.

“It had better taste as good as it smells or I’ll riot.” you joke. 

The line is short and before you know it, Bucky is ordering two iced cinnamon buns plus an assortment of other pastries he picks at random out of the display case. 

“Are we feeding an army?” you question as the tray piles higher and higher with plates of baked goods.

“Sorry,” he blushes, handing over his card to the waiting cashier, “Um, my metabolism is pretty high and I have to keep up with it or I get cranky.” 

“Ah, okay. No hangry super soldiers on my watch.” 

Bucky chuckles and nods. 

There’s a sunny spot in the window of the bakery with an unoccupied cafe table, Bucky motions towards it and it’s your turn to nod, following him over to it. The tray takes up most of the table and you perch your coffees on your respective sides, eager to dig into the spread in front of you. You go for the cinnamon bun first, knowing one of them is yours and not wanting to presume you’ll be trying any of the other treats. 

The taste of caramelized sugar and cinnamon explode on your tongue, eliciting yet another moan that makes Bucky fidget in his seat. “Okay, that’s it. I can die happy now.” you announce dramatically. 

Bucky takes a swipe of the icing off the top of his cinnamon bun and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh wow.” he lifts the entire bun up to take a large bite and closes his eyes happily as he chews. “This is incredible.” he says once he’s swallowed, quickly taking another large bite. His cheeks puff out adorably and you grin around your own bite of cinnamon bun. 

“I can’t believe you just bite it like that.” you tease. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with it?” 

You demonstrate the way you’ve been peeling yours apart from the outside in, “You uncoil it, like a normal human being.” 

“Takes too long.” Bucky scoffs, “My way is faster.” 

“But then it’s gone. My way you can enjoy it more.” 

“Pfft. I enjoy it plenty, and I would have time for two of them while you eat just one.” 

“Not all of us have super soldier metabolisms, one bun is enough.” 

Bucky looks at the four other plates on the tray and shakes his head, “Then I guess it’s good to be me.” 

You laugh at his antics as he takes another big bite, smiling while his cheeks chipmunk out again. The look you’re giving him almost makes him swallow wrong. He knows this look, he remembers it from the dance hall girls in the 30s. Attraction. Desire. You’re flirting with him in your own, unique, modern way. And Bucky is shocked to realize he’s been flirting back. He didn’t intend to get back out there so soon but here he is, enjoying breakfast with a beautiful woman. He wonders if you’re the type who would appreciate being asked out on a date, or if you’d rather exchange numbers and call him up when the mood strikes. A booty call, Sam had called it. Bucky still doesn’t get how there’s such a big difference between a booty call and a butt dial but thankfully Sam had corrected him when he got the reference wrong. 

Bucky finishes his cinnamon bun and starts in on a vanilla bean scone, enjoying the way the light glaze crackles as it gives way to the soft, buttery dough. You’re still enjoying your bun, about half way through, so Bucky tears the other pointed corner of the scone off and deposits it on your plate. “It’s really good.” he insists, not wanting you to miss out.

You glance from the bite of scone up to Bucky who’s looking at you hesitantly like he’s waiting to see if he’s done something right or wrong. You pop the bite of scone into your mouth, chewing slowly before nodding, “Yeah it is. Thanks.” 

Bucky practically beams. Maybe he can figure out 21st century flirting. He’s not sure if flirting via baked goods is a thing or not, but it absolutely should be. Bucky methodically works through all of the plates on the tray, offering you bits of each different item. You snag two bites of the cream puff but decline when he offers to buy you your own. The conversation shifts to the best meals you’ve had in the city. Food is an easy common ground for you both. You explain to Bucky that the small town you grew up in was pretty limited restaurant-wise and you’ve tried a lot of different places since moving to the city. You’re great in the kitchen but some days, after spending hours alone working at home, you like to get out and around other people for a while. 

“There’s an Italian place, Sapori, near the tower you would love.” Bucky tells you, “I don’t know what the big deal about the place is but Stark always gets reservations when we’re celebrating something. They make everything from scratch and it’s damn good. There’s these little pillowy pasta things. Starts with a g but you don’t pronounce it. I don’t know, but they’re amazing.”

“Gnocchi,” you say, stifling a laugh. 

“Yeah! Those. Best meal I’ve had in the city by far.” 

“That’s only because you haven’t had the food at Xián Tián.” 

“Well, you should let me take you to Sapori and then you’ll understand.” 

“Did you just ask me out?” you raise your eyebrows at him in surprise.

Bucky blushes and nods, suddenly feeling more shy. “Yeah. I did. This is me hitting on you now.” he says, paroting your words from earlier. 

“Well done, Barnes. When are we going?” 

Read part two HERE!

[internaljiujitsu]

5 Realizations That (Finally) Got Me Off The ADHD Treadmill

I used to hate reading books. I did it anyway but couldn’t last more than five or ten minutes before dozing off or having my mind dart away to distant lands. Like the skinny kid with no appetite that had to force feed himself to pack on muscle, I shoved books into my brain because I hated the idea of not being well read more than I hated reading.

As a kid, I often left things undone. — or worn out to the nub. After beginning enthusiastically, I’d soon lose steam and beat myself from pillar to post for quitting. I’d always hang around through the torture just to avoid the sting of giving up again. Once the interest was gone, whatever I was doing became pure misery. This would inevitably lead to mental and physical breakdown, as every cell in my body rejected the reality my mind was accepting.

I got good grades and excelled athletically but always thought I could do better. There seemed to be a gear missing — the one that I just knew could take me to a place that felt right. If I were just better, more disciplined and able to focus more — but I didn’t think I had it in me.

Back then, I didn’t know I was working with a slight disadvantage. While medication has played a crucial role in managing my ADHD, and no doubt would have made a massive difference in my childhood, it’s been just as important to build coping and productivity skills. While ADHD makes it difficult to work for other people, it also challenges your ability to self-regulate. Your perception of time is thrown off, so keeping track of your own schedule can be tough without a system.

Before I ever tried medication, in my forties, I spent my life learning skills to make up for what I saw as inadequacies. I’m thankful that I built a technical foundation before supplementing with chemicals, but eternally grateful for what meds have done for me. Once I was properly diagnosed, I realized that the progress I was able to make on my own was astonishing. Giving myself credit for putting in the work motivated me further. The medication made it all click. It was the missing piece I’d been searching for after years of hard inner and outer training.

Here are my five keys for finally jumping off the ADHD treadmill. Once I inserted these into my belief system, I no longer felt hopeless. The limiting, negative self-talk stopped. It took a long time to finally put everything together, but the results have been life changing.

Meds Are Not Evil

Like a lot of other people, I didn’t believe ADHD was real. My perception was that it was a made up disorder designed by drug companies to pump kids full of personality stifling drugs — an excuse for parents to medicate energetic kids and abdicate responsibility.

Meanwhile, I lived every day in lonely terror, until my symptoms became so overwhelming that I became suicidal. At that point, medicine was my last hope. I read books, meditated, prayed, had countless therapy sessions, including EMDR, and took massive action to change my life — but I hit a healing wall. I needed a boost.

The wiring in my brain makes it so ADHD medication that would make the average person speedy simply makes me feel normal. I am no longer listless and suicidal, disappointed in myself because my aspirations outweigh my self-belief. Before meds, it felt as if I was receiving random radio signals from everywhere. The one that always caught my ear never had anything good to say. Still, my disciplined nature dragged me through my days.

The stigma against medication and the dangerous abuse of these drugs by the general public has left many people unnecessarily living in misery. Prisons and homeless shelters are purgatories for the mislabeled, ignored and discarded members of society unlucky enough to suffer from mental illness. How many of those fortunes could have been altered with the right diagnosis, treatment and protocol?

2. Medication + Discipline = Badass

As a person that uses discipline as therapy, I once thought I could muscle my way through pain. Becoming older in the martial arts world means you have to fight smarter. That’s the trade off — you are wiser and have a much better understanding of your art, but your body does not react the same. Nature seeks balance.

But fuck that. If you take care of yourself, you can whip on the youngins long after your head is covered in gray. Combining experience with conditioning makes you unstoppable. That’s how I see my mental health approach.

If you have no clarity, you won’t make the best choices. You simply can’t see what’s in front of you without a trained eye. The frantic nature of the ADHD mind is like a white belt thrown into what we call the “shark tank.” It’s a relentless onslaught of tough competitors coming in fresh at intervals to continuously beat your ass. No place for white belts. That’s what life feels like off my meds.

The passions that occupy my time have kept my brain buzzing enough to distract me from my buzzing brain. Now that the unwanted chatter is gone, I can feel the good kind of buzz — the warm, fuzzy feeling of loving what I do without feeling like I have to do it.

Would I have preferred avoiding all the pain I felt over the years and just been medicated all along? No. If life didn’t necessitate that I acquire the skills that I have, I wouldn’t have been driven to pursue them. I may have relied too much on the drug. I would not have changed. But I have a feeling the relief of the meds wouldn’t have been enough — It’s just not who I am. I know that now. Eventually, I would have gone searching. At times I almost feel like I have an unfair advantage now. Technical ability and practical experience. Strength and skill. Balance. I’m glad it happened the way it did.

3. You Feel How You Eat

While nutrition has always been important to me for physical fitness, I was more concerned with appearance. As I got older, my focus became increasing my energy levels and feeling better. It wasn’t until after being diagnosed and forming habits around optimizing my abilities that I realized the importance of nutrition for good mental health. Inflammation caused by certain foods is detrimental to brain function and a frequent culprit in ADHD.

Once you’ve gone down a suicidal rabbit whole, giving up gluten is a tiny price to pay for sanity. Not that you know what sanity is — you just know you don’t have it.

Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t give a second thought to the type of food they put in their mouths. Lifestyle is a gigantic factor in mental fitness. Eating foods that promote brain health (fatty fish, blueberries, avocados) and avoiding processed products and sugar will ensure you have the energy and mental clarity to face the day.

4. Your Phone Is A Tool

People love to complain about how their phones have taken over their lives, but we’ve got the most amazing tools ever invented in our pockets. You can read books, listen to podcasts, watch Ted Talks — non stop learning at your fingertips — all the time.

But, with great power comes great responsibility (Stan Lee will never steer you wrong). Just like television can range from “The Sopranos” to “Jersey Shore,” your cell phone can educate or anesthetize you. If you’re not disciplined, your time will be eaten up swiping left to right and “liking” shit you couldn’t care less about.

Take advantage of your calendar and alarm features to schedule everything. Don’t assume you’re gonna remember, because let’s be honest, you’re gonna forget. Use voice memos and notes to keep track of ideas and journal your feelings and thoughts. You know you have to keep yourself occupied, so download the Kindle app and have a book at the ready for down time. Listen to a guided meditation. Take an online course on the go. Learn a new language. It really is endless. Use it wisely, and your phone is the ultimate weapon. No utility belt required.

5. Less Sleep Isn’t Helping

Feeling lazy had me convinced I needed to force myself to do more. That meant getting up earlier so I could get shit done. With a schedule that had me winding down at ten o’clock at night after teaching martial arts classes, it was tough to go right to bed. If I wasn’t careful, I’d lose a half hour of sleep here and there because I wanted to stay up watching television (which miraculously has a way of leading to chips or ice cream). Arnold Schwarzzenegger famously said that you should learn to sleep faster if you can’t get by on six hours of sleep. After years of insisting on shutting down for a minimum of 7–8 hours to promote physical recovery from training, I tried getting by on just 5–6 hours. No dice.

My brain and body just don’t work the same. The sleep I was getting wasn’t all that restful either. I’d frequently wake up during the night feeling restless. It wasn’t until I developed sleep rituals that I began falling asleep quickly and getting a deeper rest. With repetition, my body and mind got used to the same sequence of events every night leading up to bed time. Once I trained my brain, my body knew what to do as soon as my head hit the pillow.

By now, I’ve learned that seven hours is my sweet spot. Eight clean hours can make me feel like superman (mental note: start sleeping eight hours a night).

Recent research suggests ADHD symptoms are often a result of insufficient restful sleep. Sleep deprivation also exacerbates symptoms in kids and adults with ADHD. Your physical and emotional state is undoubtedly better when you get sufficient rest. Staying up late into the night with unproductive bullshit is a mistake, but so is getting by on five hours because you want to prove you’re a tough grinder. You simply won’t be functioning as well. It’s self-sabotage.

There is no magic pill to fix you. If you think of meds that way, you’ll be putting scotch tape on a gunshot wound. You’ve gotta stop the bleeding. Dig the bullet out. Repair the internal damage — then stitch it up. You’ve gotta let it heal and start actively rehabilitating if you want to get stronger. It’s not going to happen by accident or by divine intervention — even though it may feel like that in the end.

Although I’ve developed a good arsenal of skills to maximize my mental wellbeing, I still want to continue growing. My next step will be scanning my brain to understand what areas are being over or under stimulated and adjusting my lifestyle accordingly. As Dr. Daniel Amen, one of the nation’s foremost psychiatrists and a leading expert on brain health says, “Did you know that psychiatrists are the only medical specialists that virtually never look at the organ they treat? Think about it. Cardiologists look, neurologists look, orthopedic doctors look, virtually every other medical specialist looks — psychiatrists guess.”

It seems so obvious now that I want to run out and get my brain scanned as I write this. I’m excited to discover what changes I can make to improve my performance and sense of well being. Brain imaging will provide a road map.

No matter the cards you’ve been dealt, planning and hard work can help you become who you want to be. No circumstance is a limitation to an open mind. There are always ways to improve if you’re willing to search long enough. Luckily for me, I tend to get a little obsessed.

[kasienda]

Fanfiction Year in Review 2019

@floraone​ tagged me, but I was going to do it anyway! 

1. List of fics completed this year:

A Fight and Make Up (An Untitled UsaMamo Drabble) Superhero Survey (Miraculous Reveal) Last Wishes (Ladybug) Word Vomit (Sailor Moon Reveal) Kiss (Sailor Moon Reveal) The Sol of the System (Sailor Moon)

2. Number of words written:

In the year of 2019, I published 55,755 words in various stories. Not as many as last year, but under my circumstances I’m pretty proud of that number. (My 750words app says I’ve written 108k since May, but that’s not all fic writing. Though like 90% of it is. It’s also mostly not published though). 

3. Your most popular fic this year:

Last Wishes – I have no idea where this story came from. I was in a weird mood and it was haunting me and I had to get it out! And like Nightmares (and no other fic I’ve ever written), it came so easily. Wrote the whole thing in about three sittings. And apparently, it resonated with a lot of people (made a lot of people cry). And I gotta say, this Ladybug fandom is wild in that you can get like 100 kudos in a day! I’m way too addicted to that feeling. But in the Sailor Moon Fandom, my most popular fic this year was A Craving for Chocolate Milkshakes, which makes sense because really that’s the only story I’ve been somewhat consistently updating this year. Besides Last Wishes, everything I’ve published this year have been one-offs. 4. Your personal favorite this year:

I don’t know!! Why do you make me pick from my children?!

I’m insanely proud of the most recent update of Craving for Chocolate Milkshakes and the Fight/Make Up Drabble (maybe I should give it a name). 

Like, I’m so pleased with how these came out. But I also just reread Last Wishes searching for the review that touched me this year, and I’m kinda in awe. It’s just so amazing and powerful. And I’m crying! I’m not sure I believe that I wrote it. 

5. Your favorite scene:

This is an excerpt from Chapter Two of An Open Secret (which isn’t published, BUT I wrote it earlier this week so that’s 2019 right?!), which was supposed to be a one off for the ML Secret Santa Fic Exchange, and it grew into a multi-chapter fic! I just love it when that happens! “I have to tell her how I feel,” Adrien thought out loud. “Do you think she likes me?” 

“Aren’t you tired of letting Ladybug break your heart?” Plagg asked, floating lazily through the air.

“Not ladybug. Marinette!”

Plagg whipped around to hover behind Adrien’s shoulders. Sure enough, Adrien was pouring through Marinette’s Instagram feed, and not his Ladybug album. 

“Marinette? Since when? I thought Marinette was ‘just a friend.’”

“I did too, Plagg! But she’s been so different this week! She’s not nervous, and I think I love her so much.”

“What about Ladybug?”

“I’ll always love Ladybug, but she’s made it clear that she’s interested in someone else.”

Plagg was proud of himself for not laughing. 

“Do you think she likes me?” Adrien asked. 

Plagg rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

“She doesn’t, does she? I mean, why would she? Why was she always so nervous around me before? Did she hate me?”

“You don’t give me enough cheese for this,” the kwami grumbled. 

6. A fic or scene that challenged you:

The Sol of the System was so hard! I was writing for someone else who seemed to really like Silver Millennium, and I love the Silver Millennium as past life baggage that informs current fears and behaviors, but as its own thing? I never really felt connected to it! And then, I tried to give it a sci-fi twist, which is also not my genre! And even once I had a concept that I thought I could do something with, I had no time to work on it!! Somehow, it magically came together. @tinacentury​ has a lot to do with that. (She’ll say that she didn’t do much, but she’s so wrong!!) So, does my husband for kinda taking the kids for the last day and a half before the deadline so I could just write! 

7. A line of writing you’re proud of:

In general, my use of parentheticals in the Fight Make Up UsaMamo Drabble makes me SO HAPPY! And I’m so sad that hardly anyone read this short!! One line doesn’t really capture the technique though, so here’s six and half paragraphs… (My husband is rolling his eyes so hard right now…) 

...

Mamoru watched her from his usual booth like he had everyday for the last week. He had no right, he knew it, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Usagi was light and he was a moth. She was morphine and he was a drug addict. It physically hurt to be in her presence when he couldn’t even speak to her, but it was somehow better than not seeing her at all.

He stared at the back of her golden head seated in a booth across the Fruit Parlor's dining room. They had progressed far enough into their break up that it was possible for them to inhabit the same room (well, a large restaurant in any case) without either of them bursting into tears or retreating completely.

But today, Usagi was stretching his tolerance. She had come in with a friend (a male friend). Though maybe friend was too strong a word as it was quickly apparent that the boy sitting across from his girlfriend (his ex-girlfriend) was an assigned partner for some school project.

But even if it had been a date with romantic intentions, Mamoru liked to think he could have handled it. He wasn't completely confident he could make that claim, but he wanted to be able to say it was true. Because, more than anything, he just wanted to see Usagi happy.

And if he had to stay away to keep her breathing, he couldn't be the one to do that. It would have been hard, but he would have forced himself to bare it, just as he had forced himself to break up with her (the best thing that had ever happened in his miserable life) so that she would be safe.

But that wasn't the situation. They were supposed to be working on the project, but the boy was too familiar with her. His head kept invading her work space, he slid closer to her so that their sides were touching, and he accidentally touched her too often to be coincidence. 

And again, it would have been fine (who was he kidding; he would have been a jealous mess) if Usagi welcomed the boy's advances. 8.  A comment that touched you:

I received this comment on my Last Wishes Fic. And spent two days and asked for lots of advice in how to respond. Then when I finally did, this person told me that this story helped them talk about how they were feeling about their loss with their family. Like guys, this isn’t why I started writing fic, but OMG it definitely keeps me going.

On a lighter note, I also kinda love it whenever one of my Sailor Moon followers comments on a Ladybug fic that I’ve written. Like to me, it’s the biggest compliment that they like my writing enough, that they’re willing to cross over to a different fandom for a bit. @beej88​ even crossed fandoms and genres for me. And whenever I’m sad about not getting reviews from my giftee, @floraone​ pops in with an essay and I feel like it doesn’t matter if my giftee never responds at all. (She may have done this twice without knowing how good her timing was… and for the record ONE of my giftees totally responded with gushing praise, so… I just gotta be more patient!)

And I especially appreciate @tinacentury​ for all the behind the scenes comments and encouragement and then also taking the time to comment on stories after the fact as well!!

9. Something that inspired your writing this year:

So, first off, my friends here have been so encouraging.

The Miraculous Ladybug Community – I’ve delved into a new fandom (blame my sister!). And man, I really like the dynamic of being in an insanely active fandom where the source material isn’t finished yet. It’s like working in a living breathing thing, and that’s so cool. Also, I get so many comments/kudos even being a pretty unknown author there and I’m very addicted to this validation. (Though I made a rec list!! I was so excited!! Thank you @alexseanchai​!!). It also makes me feel like a traitor to my Sailor Moon roots though…

750words.com – this is a little app that just made writing feel easy. It made writing a habit, and took off the pressure of getting it perfect! I feel like it’s taught me to write a lot faster and worry about perfecting it later.  This little app is what gave me the structure to keep writing when my life has been insane!

10. Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc)

I participated in two fic exchanges this year! I’ve never done this before. And I kinda love the experience of writing for what you think someone else would like. It forced me to write in a different headspace and write to a deadline, which apparently, I’m very capable of doing. And it definitely pushed me into writing things that are different than I normally write.

Also, that I wrote and published anything at all inbetween taking care of a medically fragile four-year-old and an infant who was born in March and going back to work this past September. (Writing has only become more important to me. It’s how I recharge and deal with stress, so I’m clearly not going to stop).

11. Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

So many!! Probably too many! (Like always!) - I really want to finish Chocolate Milkshakes and An Open Secret in like the next 30 days! (I promise nothing!) - I really want to dive back into Coming of Age and Invisible Wounds. Like I’m SO excited about where these stories are going! - I want to polish up like four Miraculous Reveals that are each like 80% finished, so I can get some momentum going on this series. - I want to go to the library every week for two hours for writing to maybe have a chance of reaching some of these goals.

And I will tag @tinacentury​, @overworkedunderwhelmed​, @beej88​, @mikauzoran​, @cassraven​, @laadychat​, @bubbleblower​ as an invitation to participate if you want to! Not a requirement! :) You can totally do it if you’re not tagged too! 

[shy-violet-soul]

Bite Me, Bit Fit!

Title:  Bite Me, Bit Fit! Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Summary:  Dean is introduced to wearable fitness technology.  It doesn’t go well. Rating: E for everyone Warnings: fitness-related fluff; canon-compliant violence Word Count: 1,500

A/N:  I just recently got a FitBit™.  Quite the handy little contraption - because my job is sedentary, the little buzzing reminders on my wrist are good for me to go take a walk.  In the midst of a crazy moment, when that thing buzzed, I had to roll my eyes.  Then it made me wonder what Dean would think of it.  I took some creatively liberties with the actual functionalities of the app/device for the plot.  Enjoy!

A/N: somehow this got completed deleted from Tumblr. ???

*************************************************************

Suspicion lasered out of Dean’s narrowed green eyes as he stood there, arms crossed over his chest, while Sam wiggled the slim box in his direction.  

“C’mon, Dean.  It’ll be good for both of us.  It monitors exercise, your sleeping patterns…”

“None of which I do.”

“...Steps taken, water intake, calories burned...”

“None of which I care about.”

“And look - we can compete with each other on stats.”  Not to be outdone, Sam whipped out his phone, swiping quickly to an app.  “See?  We can set up a ‘Step Showdown’ or a ‘Workweek Water’ challenge.”

Plucking the phone from Sam’s grasp, Dean scrolled through the app dubiously.  “Does the ‘Weekend Warrior’ measure machete swings?”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Look, you were just saying how you needed to take better care of yourself.”

“No, you said that.”  Dean extended the phone back to him dismissively.  “All that fancy fitness crap is your wheelhouse, so go wheel yourself along.”

Pocketing his phone, Sam propped his hands on his hips and sighed as he looked down at the floor.  “Well, that’s fine.  I figured you wouldn’t be up for it.  I mean, with you getting older, I’m sure competitions like this are more of a toll on you.”

“Whoa, hey, what?”

“It’s fine, Dean.  I kept the receipt.  I’ll get you a new heating pad for your shoulder or something.”

Dean scowled as Sam turned to walk away.

“You saying I’m too old?”

“Now, I didn’t say ‘old’.  You just need to be...careful.”

“You’re the one that needs to be careful.  I could still whip you five ways from Sunday, Sammy!”

“Dean, hey, it’s fine!  We don’t need to have any stupid competitions on which of us is in better shape…”

Stomping forward, Dean snatched the box out of Sam’s hand.  “Gimme that!”  He glowered at the box for a moment before tossing it on the library table and digging out his phone.  “What the hell is the app called?”

“FitBit™.”

“BitFit, fine.  I’ll show you who’s in better shape,” he intoned, shooting his brother a glare.  Sam merely raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, then turned and hurried off before Dean could see his smirk.

*************************

Day 1

“Did you hit your step goal today?” Sam wanted to know.  Dean scoffed where he sat at the kitchen table with his laptop.

“Uh, yeah.  Like, hours ago.”

Sam frowned in surprise.  “Really?  ‘Cuz I literally just hit 10,000 after walking around the storage room all day.”

Dean blinked at his brother.  “My goal is 3,000.”

“Dean!”

His brother cavalierly waved off his protest.  “Hey, you said ‘step goal’.  You didn’t say whose step goal.”

Bitch Face Level 1 volleyed at Dean as Sam tossed his hands up in disgust.  “You can’t just change the goal after the challenge begins!  That’s like cheating!”

“It’s not cheating!  It’s...creative interpretation of the ground rules.”

“Dean!”

“Fine!  I’ll change it to 10,000.  Bitch,” he grumbled.

So validated, Sam sniffed in offense.  “Jerk.”

Day 3

Jaws popping around a yawn, Sam headed for the kitchen and the coffee pot.  The unknown case in Wichita Falls, with only blue-eyed victims missing their left eyes and their hair mysteriously purple, meant a lot of caffeine to fuel the lore research.  He’d no sooner stepped down into the kitchen when a phone suddenly arrowed into his face.

“HA!  Look at that!”  

Sam sucked in a breath as he tried to slow his heart rate.  “For cryin’ out loud, Dean!”

“Hydrate challenge...completed!” Dean crowed with a swaggering gesture.  “Eight glasses, Sammy.  Read it and weep.”

“You - Dean Winchester - drank eight servings of water, eight ounces each?” his brother side eyed him as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Pocketing his phone, Dean brandished a plastic bottle aloft, shaking the dregs of water in it vigorously.  “That’s right.  And, no, some of it wasn’t beer,” he griped when Sam quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Good for you, Dean.  You win this one,” he praised around a yawn as he trudged back to the library, Dean in tow.  Dean pulled a laptop towards him as he sat across from Sam, sending him a confident smile.

“What can I say, Sammy?  You shouldn’t mess with the master.  Oh, and check this out!”  Chugging the last couple of swallows, Dean reopened the app and added his latest bottle to his daily total.  The app exploded in confetti and triumphant notes rang out happily.  “Ta-dah! Gotta say, this BitFit is pretty cool.”

“It’s FitBit™, Dean.”

“That’s what I said.” 

Too tired to formulate a comment, Sammy just smiled.

Day 8

“Uh-oh.”

Dean cracked an eye at the tinny sounding voice.

“We’re worried about you.”

Frowning his eyes open, Dean groaned as he turned his head and the muscles cricked up painfully.  As much as he loved his Baby, sleeping here was hell on his body.  He and Sammy had rolled into McCook, Nebraska yesterday after reports of three deaths proved weird enough to be their kind of thing.  Three dead guys, working for the same company, burned to a crisp in at the same golf course and one eyewitness groundskeeper swearing he saw a lion at the scene.  Awesome.  Lore hadn’t turned up any ideas on the monster yet, and the hours on the road had caught up with him.

The device on his wrist buzzed, catching his attention as another “uh-oh!” chirped from his phone.  Fumbling it up, Dean squinted as the app showed him a very sleep sad face emoji.  

“You only got two hours of sleep last night.  Remember - you’re at your best with eight!” the app notified dutifully.  Dragging himself fully upright, Dean tossed the phone into the passenger seat as he headed to meet up with Sam.  

“Shut up, fitness warden,” he grumbled, pulling back onto the road.

Day 10

The friendly blue band lit up and buzzed merrily.

“Congratulations!  You’ve hit 250 steps this hour!”

Dean didn’t even flinch as he sprinted through the woods at full tilt, flames licking at his heels in advance of the unearthly roar behind him.

“Sammy!”

“This way, Dean!”

The creature dug its claws in, clots of dirt tossing up as it spun to track Dean when he turned a tight corner towards his brother.  Snapping its jaws, it growled before giving chase once more.

“Uh-oh!  Your heart rate appears to be elevated past the peak rate.”  No shit.  He could feel his heart pounding with every footstep, but when a blast of dragon-lion-monster breath hit the back of his neck, Dean poured on the speed.  The ground beneath him rumbled, roiling and quaking in threatening earthquake omens as the chimera behind him roared again.  Who knew Greek monsters could pop up in freakin’ Nebraska?  “Doing cardio activity past peak level for extended periods hasn’t proved to be beneficial.  Stay at the cardio level for maximum impact.”  

“I’m about to maximum impact all over the place, godammit!  SAM!  I’m about to be cat-lizard food!” he blared out.

“Now!” Sam shouted, and his tall frame was suddenly there, crossbow at the ready with a hastily prepared iron spear locked and loaded.  “Tuck and roll, Dean!”

His bad shoulder cracked ominously as Dean hit the ground, his trajectory scraping a Dean-sized swipe in the foliage as Sam aimed, fired, and ducked.  The iron met the chimera’s spewing flames dead center, arrowing into the heart of the beast.  A heartbeat later, it exploded into sparkling, burning bits that dissipated into purple-y, ashy clouds almost instantly.  The earthquake stopped in its tracks, leaving the brothers’ spines twitching and ears itching.  

The trees held nothing but silence as Dean wheezed for oxygen.  He could feel his heartbeat all the way in his boots as he rolled over to check on Sam.  Twigs poked up out of his ridiculous hair as he gingerly pressed against the knee he’d twisted a few minutes before, sucking at air like it was going out of style.  Huffing out a sound that could have been a laugh, Dean nodded when Sam gave him a thumbs up.  They did it.  They killed the bastard.  And they didn’t die this time.  Although his lungs felt like they might make a liar out of him in a moment.

Then, into the quiet came two merry voices in stereo.

“Congratulations!  You’ve hit 10,000 steps!  Fastest record yet!” their phones chorused.  Sam groaned as Dean sneezed a leaf out of his nose.

“Bite me, BitFit, you son-of-a-bitch!”

[reptilerach]

“Rejection”; Chapter Thirty

NOTES: IT’S THE NEXT MILESTONE GUYS

Guess that means I’ll have to add all the previous chapters with links to this one. Sigh...

Here are all the links to all Chapters 21-29!

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Thank you everyone for all the notes, follows and comments given on “Rejection” so far. This story has changed my life, improved my writing skills immensely, and made me countless new friends. So once again. with all my heart, I thank you all for your kind words/constructive criticism.

 Love y’all, and without further ado: let’s get on with the chapter.

________________________________________________________________

It took about ten minutes just to get to through the horrible snow storm, and you cringed. Half of your time was sucked away, and it went by fast. Clutching the jacket closer to your body, you dipped your nose into the pink scarf around your neck and stepped into the mouth of the cave that made up Waterfall.

The humid air hit you like a slap across the face, and you were grateful for the drastic change in temperature. It wasn’t unbearably hot, but it wasn’t freezing either. There was a cool breeze pulsing from behind the huge walls of rushing water; you were glad that you didn’t have to take your coat off.

The ground below your feet changed from this black moss to slippery stone every now and then, which reminded you of a swamp. Birds chirped from all angles, and the calm beat of the rivers besides you felt very relaxing. The crystals above glowed like stars, and many of the plants turned out to be bio-luminescent. You already knew that, but actually being in the cave was so much more beautiful than seeing it on a screen.

Not that it wasn’t pretty on your laptop. It’s just like when you look at a picture of a tropical place and how you wished you were there; and when you finally get to said destination, it’s a lot to take in.

You glanced down at your phone, and scowled. Six more minutes. Gotta hurry. A text popped up onto your home panel, and you typed in your passcode to read it. Sans. Or, a.k.a, the “Pun-Master”.

“you need help yet, sweetheart?” He’d asked, and you rolled your eyes. “Nope. I’m almost there.” Hopefully that unnerved him, you thought, and smiled sinisterly. Another beep, and you looked down. “is that so? well, you’re down to 5 minutes. it sure would suck to run into some unfriendly monsters right about now.”

Feeling that he was implying something, you glanced up. Just as he predicted, a seahorse with huge muscles swam up to you along the shore. He had slicked-back black hair similar to Elvis, and a sick smirk coiled on his face. He flexed, and caught you staring. “Hey, babe. You like my sweet, hot bod? ;)” He cooed, and you stepped away carefully.

“Yeah, uh...it’s nice. Can I walk past you? I have somewhere to be in...a very short amount of time.” You asked politely, but the horse whinnied and continued to flirt. “Don't leave so soon, sugar plum. I just wanted compliment you on your fine outfit. My muscles would look so good next to them.” He bragged, and you groaned quietly. “Thank you, but I really don't-” Suddenly, the monster climbed atop the ground and hopped over to you.

He laid an arm around your shoulder, and took out his phone. It was covered in mist and was dripping wet. “Baby, mind if I take a selfie with you? It's not everyday I meet someone that makes me sweat. More than usual, anyways.” Grossed out, you blanched and hurriedly snapped the picture. Then you took off down the straightaway, looking for any signs of a sentry station.

But alas, another couple of monsters stopped you in your tracks. One was a duck with a bowl of water on his back called Woshua, and another was a tall stack of jello named Moldbygg. They got into their battle positions, but you knew you didn't have the time. Glaring down at your phone, the timer read “two minutes remaining”. Hurtling over the duck with a great deal of effort and dodging sharp bites from the taller, gelatin creature, you fled.

For a second, you had no idea where you were going. “one minute left.” Taunted Sans via text, and you panicked. Suddenly, in the distance, you saw a table with lots of baby blue echo flowers surrounding it. There sat the skeleton, staring down at his phone. Panting for a breath, your feet tore down the alley. You slipped on parts of the bridges which crossed over roaring streams, and had to duck from the occasional rock falling overhead.

Panicking like no tomorrow, you launched yourself at the wooden post. Sans whipped his skull to face you, and watched as you landed face first into the black moss beneath you. “-and without a second to spare.” He snickered, but your body just lay limp on the cool ground, heaving breaths. You raised a finger, telling him to give you a minute. When you’d finally regained your composure, you stood up and brushed off some of the dirt that had gotten on Papyrus’s leather jacket.

Flipping your tangled hair, you noticed how it had dried out completely throughout your little race. As nice as that was, you couldn't really enjoy it because your lungs were currently shriveled up prunes. “so… how was it?” He asked slyly, smirking at your exhaustion. “How was what?” You snapped, bent over, holding your gut. “the run.” You glared at him, but all he seemed was amused. “There were monsters who had to bother me and make me even more stressed out than the actual challenge should have been.”

Sans laughed, and you raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?” He shrugged, and closed his eyes. “i may or may not have told a few pals about a new human coming to visit waterfall today.” You groaned, and propped your elbows up on the table by his slippers. “You asshole. That's cheating.” He chuckled, and wagged a finger playfully. “there were no rules about not sending fans as distractions.”

You flashed him a scowl, and then looked away. “Fans? Half of the monsters I ran into tried to attack me!” Sans said nothing, only yawned. Then, out of nowhere, he laughed loudly. You spun around to face him, and he was looking at his phone. A picture of two familiar people were on his screen, and you leaned over the counter to take a peek. It was none other than the seahorse and yourself in a selfie together.

“you look ridiculous.” “I was in a hurry, and the guy wouldn't leave me alone!” Sans hit the “like” button, making it . . the 73rd like?! You thought, surprised. “Jeez, he has quite the fanbase?” You asked, and Sans nodded. “with guns like those, how could he not?” Sans scrolled past a photo of the monster in the mirror holding up his camera to his muscular biceps, but did not tap the thumbs-up icon for it.

“What app is that?” You asked, and he turned the top of the page towards you. It read “Monstergram”, and you chuckled. It was basically the Underground’s version of Instagram. “You got an account?” He chortled, and went to his profile. “yeah, but i don't post stuff too often. that’s all alphys.” You took the device gently from his hands, and looked through some of the things he did reblog. They were mostly puns, with a selfie here and there and a snapshot of him and Papyrus.

“We should change that!” You cheered, and got the camera to work. “wait, what-?” He started, but you jumped around the side of station and wrapped an arm around his neck. Your fingers ran through the fur of his hoodie, and you silently admired the softness. “Say punny!” You smiled, speaking the magic words. Then you snapped the photo, and stood up straight. You looked over it, analyzing how it came out.

Your smile was nice and big, and your hair was on point. For once. The jacket on you looked great too; you switched your attention to Sans, and giggled when you saw the stupid expression he wore on his teeth. He appeared very confused, as his non existent eyebrow was lifted with a mix between amusement and bewilderment. A faint blue light shone on his cheeks, but you figured it was just the crystals above.

Handing him back his phone, he inspected the newly posted selfie. Likes and comments were already rolling in, and you pranced about giddily. “Ooo, what are people saying about it?” You asked, leaning up against one of the wooden poles attached to the station. He read a few aloud, and lazily tipped backwards in his chair. “‘who’s the girl?’ ‘you guys look nice!’ ‘saaaaans, i love you!’” You snort at the last one, knowing he made it up.

“That last one was fake.” You laughed, but Sans was totally serious. “nope. guess some chicks are just obsessed with me.” You rolled your eyes, and checked for yourself. It was really there, and you frowned. “Are you popular down here or somethin’?” He shrugged, and smiled. “i guess. got about… a thousand followers.” Your eyes widened, and you gasped. “What?! Dude, you're famous!” He looked at you incredulously, and shook his head.

“no i’m not. mettaton is.” You didn't believe him, for the most followers you ever got on your social media was merely mediocre. “How many followers does he have?” Sans said nothing for a moment, going to the celebrity’s page. “um… 10,768.” Your jaw dropped, but you had to remind yourself that the Underground was a small place considering the billions of humans in the real world. “Wow…” Sans chuckled, and continued to play around on his phone.

“what’s your username?” He asked, and you gave him a perplexed expression. “What?” He waved his device, and you got what he meant. “Oh! I don't have a Monstergram.” He actually seemed shocked; “why not? literally everyone has one.” You rolled your eyes, and crossed your arms. “You seem to forget that I just fell down here not more than a few days ago.” He relaxed, and grinned sheepishly. “huh, you're right. we should make yours right now. better late than never, right?”

You nodded, and he scoot over in his large chair. We shared the seat, half and half. You took out your phone, and downloaded the application. Then, you tapped on it and the sign-up screen appeared. “Alright, now what do I do?” Sans pointed to the top columns, and the whole thing was pretty self-explanatory. You wanted to use a generic username; deciding to just keep it simple, you went with your name and favorite number.

You came up with a password, and logged in. A couple of words congratulating you on your new membership popped up, and your blank profile stood behind it. “Okay, I'm in.” Sans grunted a sound of approval. “you can decorate it if you want. but if you really wanna know the basics, you have to make a profile picture.” You thought about taking a picture right then and there, but a better idea came to your mind.

“Mind if you tag me in that photo we just took?” He stared at you with a weird look on his face, and he tilt his head to the side. “why?” You blushed softly, and pushed up your glasses. “I dunno, I just thought that would be a good photo for my profile.” He understood, and grinned happily. “sure. gimme a sec.” And then, like that, a notification about the picture rang. You saved the photo to your library, and used it for your profile.

“There we go!” Sans chuckled, and grabbed your phone. “here, i’ll give you my name and send you a friend request. that way we can be pun buddies online too.” You laughed, and accepted the request. You even marked him down as your “Best Friend”. He saw that, but said nothing. “What’s Papyrus’s?” Sans input that into your device as well, and you sent out a request. He responded immediately, and took it. “Thanks, Sans. I guess I can look up Undyne and Alphys’ pages later.”

Sans wove a hand in the air, and stuffed his phone away into his pocket. You just realized what he was wearing; his normal blue jacket, but a different T-shirt and shorts. His shorts were in fact black cargo pants, and he wore a black shirt with the words “Bad to the Bone” written in bold. His slippers were the same, but you didn't care. “no problem.” He closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath.

You rest your head on your palm, and watched the waterfalls in front of you crash down with grace. A little yellow duck waddled by, and looked up at you. It was different from the monster before, as this one appeared completely normal. It continued its little stroll, and flew over the brightly colored water. “If you don't have to watch for humans anymore, what do you do here?” Sans opened an eye lazily, and sighed.

“nothin’ much. that's why i'm always going to grillby's to hang out, since it's usually pretty lonely here and i got nothin’ better to do. it's a job, and it pays the bills; but that doesn't mean it's very interesting.” You looked back out to the water, and fold your hands in your lap. “Is that why you wanted me to come with you today? Because you were bone-ly?” You thought he was going to give you a sweet, heartfelt answer, but he did not. “nah. it's just boring here.”

You rolled your eyes, and crossed your arms. “Oh.” Silence came over the both of you, but it wasn't exactly awkward. It was just… there. Sans stretched his upper body after a while, and yawned again. “okay, that's it. i can’t stand just sitting around while you're here.” You raised a brow, and eyed him cautiously. “Why not?” He left his spot on the chair, and walked out to face you in the front of the counter. “i invited you here so we could do something fun.” “I thought your definition of ‘fun’ was lying around doing nothing all day?”

He winked, and clicked his teeth. “only on tuesdays.” You didn't understand the joke, but got up from your seat anyways and followed him out from behind the station. “Well, what do you want to do?” He looked out into the distance, and rubbed a hand behind his smooth, ivory skull. “maybe take a walk down to temmie village. see what you think of it there.” You’d already seen all of Temmie Village before, but chose not to argue against Sans. “I'm down with that.” He smiled lazily, and started walking. “then we’re off.”

FIRST 

NEXT

PREVIOUS

Chapter Ten (Where all the chapters before that are.)

Chapter Twenty (Links for chapters 11 --> 19)

Chapter Thirty (You’re here!! :D)

Also, because I found the picture taken here in this chapter between the reader and Sans important, I will be drawing a picture of it hopefully sometime this weekend (who knows, I’m terrible with scheduling) to give YOU GUYS a perfect image of a perfect selfie taken between two perfect lovers.    >////<

[agressivelyunfancynerd]

My best friend is a Spider(man) {Peter Parker Fic}

A/N: I really love Tom Holland as Peter Parker and I think he would be an adorable friend and I wanted to write a fic for a while about him, so hopefully you enjoy! If you don’t wish to be tagged, please let me know and I will remove you!!! Pairings: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, More Fluff

Word Count: 2,200+

Blurb: Peter Parker and you have been friends and neighbours for years; you develop feelings for him and confide in the wrong person. Now things between you and Peter are changing.

 You had grown up next door to Peter Parker; you remembered the night he came to live with May, it was only supposed be for a few nights, but those few turned into a few more, and then a few weeks, that turned into months, and so it went on.

You remembered the night he found out his parents had died, how he’d sobbed in his room, stuffing his face into a pillow to keep Aunt May from hearing, it broke your little heart, so you climbed out your window and onto the fire escape outside his room.

You tapped lightly on his window, his head whipped around and his face was covered in red blotches, he had tear streaks down his cheeks, which he quickly tried to wipe away. He scrambled over to the window and let you in, asking what you were doing outside his window in the middle of the night, you simply hugged him, and he buried his face in your shoulder and sobbed.

That was the night you promise yourself you would forever protect, and forever love Peter Parker.

***

“Y/N? Y/N? Are you even listening to me” Peter asked, before throwing a screwed up ball of paper at your head.

“Hey!” you whipped around to look at him and scowled. He just grinned his stupid grin at you. A small smile spread across your face.

“Well, you weren’t listening to me” he whined.

“Sorry, I was just, thinking”

“Yeah, I can tell, you get this weird angry wrinkle, right here” he said, pointing to between his eyes, you frowned and he immediately dropped his hand, “I mean, ah, it’s not a wrinkle, and it’s not angry, it’s uh, um, ah –” he was babbling.

“Save it Parker” you said, just as the bell rang out to signal fourth and final period. You pushed away from the table, grabbed your books and started to walk away, within seconds Peter was in step beside you. You side eyed him, he just grinned.

“So I was thinking, you could help me study for this History test coming up, and then you, me and Aunt May, could maybe order in Thai food or something and binge watch Stranger Things 2 on Netflix? Ah to-tonight”  

“You haven’t studied yet? Peter the test is on Thursday!” you swatted at his shoulder, he easily dodged you. Before holding up his hands in surrender, “fine, one condition Parker,”

“Anything, name it” he said, hopeful.

“I get your Crab Rolls,” he pouted, you smirked.

“Fine, deal” he groaned. The two of you walked off towards your class.  

***

“Hey Peter! Hey Y/N!” Ned said waving to the two of you.

“Hey Ned” you and Peter said in unison. Ned raised his eyebrow at you two, before smiling and falling into step beside you.

The three of you walked into the Chemistry lab and grabbed a seat at one of the workbenches. The teacher ran through today’s class, what the objective was, what chemicals you were to use, and then at the end said that you had to find a partner. Ned immediately grabbed Peter’s arm, which meant you were the odd one out. That was okay, your friend Kate was in class, so you sat next to her.

“Hey Y/N” she said.

“Hey Kate”

You and Kate didn’t talk much, you shared a lot of your classes, and when you were in class without Peter or Ned, she was your go to, you liked to talk about the work and study together, and you considered her a friend though.

“So what’s the deal with you and Peter?” Kate asked, grabbing the beaker from beside you, “are you like, dating or what?”

“Um, we’re just friends?” you shrugged.

“Yeah right, there’s something going on there” Kate scoffed, not taking her eyes off her work.

“There’s not, I can assure you”

“Except, I’ve seen how you look at him Y/N”

“Like what?”

“You have feelings for him” Kate said.

“I, no, I, no I don’t, I –”

“Relax, I’m not judging, Peter is pretty cute,” she looked at you over the top of her glasses.

After class you and Peter walked to the station and caught the train home together. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Kate wasn’t the only one who could see your crush on Peter. Were you that transparent?

“So, Y/N we’re still on for studying?” Peter asked, shaking you from your thoughts.

“Ah, sure, I will drop all my stuff off in my room, grab my notes and head straight over” you smiled.

***

You and Peter had been studying for almost two hours when Aunt May finally got home, she said hello to you two, before disappearing for a shower. Then the three of you ordered dinner and binged the first half of Stranger Things season two. Then Peter got a ping on his crime fighting app and you had to help him come up with an excuse to sneak out.

“Well, I think that’s me done, school tomorrow and all. Umm, Peter could you just give me your thoughts on my science project though?” you asked, hinting at him to grab his suit bag.

“Oh, yeah sure, is this the one you were telling me about today?”

“Okay, well I might head to be too, you kids have fun,” May gave you both a hug and then headed off to her room.

Peter followed you to your room, and ducked out your window and down the fire escape.

You sat and waited until you saw him web slinging back down the block, he climbed up next to you and said goodnight, before disappearing into his room.

***

Two weeks went by, you had become more aware of how close you and Peter sometimes got, like at lunch when he’d sit so close your shoulders would brush against each other. Or when you’d get sleepy at his place binging TV with him and rest your head on his shoulder, only for him to hug you.

Being this close to him and not telling him ate you up inside.

But the idea of telling him how you felt, and that he might not feel the same scared the crap out of you.

***

“Yo, sup my nerds?” Flash Thompson said sidling up to your table in the cafeteria.

“Huh? Us?” Peter stuttered.

“Yes you Parker!”

“What do you want Flash?” you grumbled.

“Party, my house, tonight, eight o’clock, be there or forever suffer the wrath of my teasing” and with that, he threw some flyers down on the table and sauntered off.

“Pfft as if we’d go to that” you said, when you didn’t get a response you looked up and Ned and Peter were looking at you like puppies.

“But, it could be fun?” Peter said.

“Yeah, and you know, Flash might not tease us as much if we go?” Ned continued.

“Besides, it’s a Friday night, so no school tomorrow” Peter added.

“Please? It will be fun!” they both said in unison.

“Fine, we’ll go” you grumbled.

All the boys talked about the rest of the day was Flash’s epic house party.

***

Aunt May dropped the three of you off at Flash’s house; she promised she would be just a text away when you were ready to be picked up. The boys assured her it would be late, due to all the fun you’d be having.

The music was blaring from halfway down the drive. You could feel it in your chest.

“This is so awesome!” Ned said in awe as you all got to the door.

Once opened you could see heaps of people, all bustling and dancing, laughing and drinking.

Ned split off to find Flash and thank him for the invitations to the party, Peter split off to find something to drink. Just as you were going to explore, Kate fell into you.

“Y/N! You made it!” she slurred.

“Kate are you drunk?” you asked.

“Well of course!” she said, burping. And with that, she took off in the opposite direction.

“Weird” you muttered to yourself.

***

The hours passed by in a haze. It was loud, you were hungry and you had a headache. All you wanted to do was go home, but Peter and Ned were having too much fun. You noticed Kate talking in hushed manor to Flash, he looked up at you and half smiled, half sneered.

Next thing you knew, the music stopped and Flash got up in his DJ booth. He started talking to the crowd.

“I have a special announcement to make, so shut the hell up!” he yelled, everyone quietened, “so it’s come to my attention that someone in the audience has a huge crush on someone else in the audience, and they’re too shy to tell him, so I am going to do it for them” Flash continued. You swallowed hard.

Surely that’s not what Kate was talking to him about. When suddenly a spotlight illuminated you.

“Our very own Y/N has a super big, embarrassing crush on our very own Peter Parker!” Flash yelled and people started oohing and ahhing, and laughing and pointing. “Where is Peter?” when suddenly a light found Peter and he wasn’t alone.

Kate and Peter were in a corner sucking face. And he wasn’t trying to push her away. Your heart shattered into thousands of tiny needles that pierced into you every time you breathed. He must’ve sensed everyone looking, because he pulled away, a horrified look on his face.

His eyes immediately found you. You stepped backwards and turned and ran out of the house. Ned tried to stop you as you ran past but you side stepped him. You heard Peter calling your name, but you didn’t stop.

“Y/N wait! Y/N please stop!”

He was chasing you; you could hear his feet on the concrete as he ran, when suddenly his crime app beeped.

“Y/N, I, I gotta go, but please! We need to talk about this; I’ll come by your place after. Please” he was practically begging, tears welled up in your eyes. And then you heard the tell-tale woosh as he webbed away.

***

You walked the streets alone, and sad. You cried and cried until you were sure you’d never cry again. You kept replaying it over and over in your mind. You should’ve told him ages ago, at least then it couldn’t have been used against you like it was tonight. Why had Kate done that to you? Kissed Peter when she knew how you felt, and told Flash, the biggest gossip on the plane.

***

You walked a little longer, before heading towards home. You hoped whatever Peter had gone to do, that it would take him a while to fix, so you could sneak into your apartment undetected and close and lock your window and then go to bed.

You peered around the corner, and you couldn’t see Peter on the fire escape, so you hurried out of the alley and into the lobby. You took the stairs two at a time, and made it to your front door in record time.

The front door slammed behind you as you rushed inside. You went straight for your room. But he was there, waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, hands in his lap, he was still in his suit, he had come straight to find you.

“Y/N!” he said, standing up abruptly from your bed, he stepped towards you and you stepped back. He held up his hands, to show you he wasn’t going to hurt you, “Y/N, please, can we talk”

“I don’t want to talk Peter”

“We need to, about tonight, about what happened”

“Please don’t make me relieve that Peter”

“I’m sorry” he mumbled, hanging his head.

“Why are you sorry, you did nothing wrong, you just kissed a girl at a party” you said, tears threatening to spill over your eyes.

“I didn’t kiss her” he said, shaking his head, “she told me she had a surprise for me, and when I turned to ask her what it was, she grabbed me and kissed me, and then three seconds later I heard Flash making fun of you and then there was a bright light shining on Kate and I, and I pulled away, but not quick enough, and then I saw your face and it registered what had happened” somewhere in his explaining he had stepped towards you and was right in front of you.

“Peter…” you started, not daring to look up at his face.

“I like you too” he said, putting a hand under your chin and lifting it to look at him.

“What?”

“I like you too, I have for a while, Aunt May said I should just man up and tell you, but I just didn’t know how to. And then I saw how hurt you were and I knew I should’ve done it a long time ago. Y/N I am sorry Flash put you through that, I’m sorry Kate did what she did” Peter was shaking, almost lie he was afraid if he touched you, you’d break.

“Peter, I…” but before you could finish, his lips crashed into yours. He was kissing you, and you kissed him back. The ache in your chest from pain to happiness in an instant.

Peter pulled away first and you nearly whimpered.

“Y/N, I love you, you’re my favourite person in the world” he said, his hands holding yours. You moved against him, and he pulled you into a hug.

“I love you too Peter”

“Aunt May is going to lose her mind in the morning” Peter said, kissing your forehead. You smiled against his chest.

End…

 @vivianbabz, @bunnymother93, @mannatgalhotra, @jonsnowisnotdeadthough, @coffeekeyboardsss, @labyrinth-of-thoughts, @polarbearnamedpanda, @i-see-a-tiny-light, @irepeldirt, @phoenix21love @magellan-88 @swtwtrgin @commissioner23 @debzybrazy @nadtandy @photography-to-all @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @spidergirl2017

[shy-violet-soul]

Bite Me, BitFit

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Summary:  Dean is introduced to wearable fitness technology.  It doesn’t go well. Rating: E for everyone Warnings: fitness-related fluff; canon-compliant violence; a few bad words Word Count: 1,400 ish A/N:  I just recently got a FitBit™.  Quite the handy little contraption - because my job is sedentary, the little buzzing reminders on my wrist are good for me to go take a walk.  In the midst of a crazy moment, when that thing buzzed, I had to roll my eyes.  Then it made me wonder what Dean would think of it.  I took some creatively liberties with the actual functionalities of the app/device for the plot. This is un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

This is a work of fiction based on characters owned by the CW and the creators of Supernatural.  My work is not to be posted elsewhere without my written permission.

Suspicion lasered out of Dean’s narrowed green eyes as he stood there, arms crossed over his chest, while Sam wiggled the slim box in his direction.  

“C’mon, Dean.  It’ll be good for both of us.  It monitors exercise, your sleeping patterns…”

“None of which I do.”

“...Steps taken, water intake, calories burned...”

“None of which I care about.”

“And look - we can compete with each other on stats.”  Not to be outdone, Sam whipped out his phone, swiping quickly to an app.  “See?  We can set up a ‘Step Showdown’ or a ‘Workweek Water’ challenge.”

Plucking the phone from Sam’s grasp, Dean scrolled through the app dubiously.  “Does the ‘Weekend Warrior’ measure machete swings?”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Look, you were just saying how you needed to take better care of yourself.”

“No, you said that.”  Dean extended the phone back to him dismissively.  “All that fancy fitness crap is your wheelhouse, so go wheel yourself along.”

Pocketing his phone, Sam propped his hands on his hips and sighed as he looked down at the floor.  “Well, that’s fine.  I figured you wouldn’t be up for it.  I mean, with you getting older, I’m sure competitions like this are more of a toll on you.”

“Whoa, hey, what?”

“It’s fine, Dean.  I kept the receipt.  I’ll get you a new heating pad for your shoulder or something.”

Dean scowled as Sam turned to walk away.

“You saying I’m too old?”

“Now, I didn’t say ‘old’.  You just need to be...careful.”

“You’re the one that needs to be careful.  I could still whip you five ways from Sunday, Sammy!”

“Dean, hey, it’s fine!  We don’t need to have any stupid competitions on which of us is in better shape…”

Stomping forward, Dean snatched the box out of Sam’s hand.  “Gimme that!”  He glowered at the box for a moment before tossing it on the library table and digging out his phone.  “What the hell is the app called?”

“FitBit™.”

“BitFit, fine.  I’ll show you who’s in better shape,” he intoned, shooting his brother a glare.  Sam merely raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, then turned and hurried off before Dean could see his smirk.

*************************

Day 1

“Did you hit your step goal today?” Sam wanted to know.  Dean scoffed where he sat at the kitchen table with his laptop.

“Uh, yeah.  Like, hours ago.”

Sam frowned in surprise.  “Really?  ‘Cuz I literally just hit 10,000 after walking around the storage room all day.”

Dean blinked at his brother.  “My goal is 3,000.”

“Dean!”

His brother cavalierly waved off his protest.  “Hey, you said ‘step goal’.  You didn’t say whose step goal.”

Bitch Face Level 1 volleyed at Dean as Sam tossed his hands up in disgust.  “You can’t just change the goal after the challenge begins!  That’s like cheating!”

“It’s not cheating!  It’s...creative interpretation of the ground rules.”

“Dean!”

“Fine!  I’ll change it to 10,000.  Bitch,” he grumbled.

So validated, Sam sniffed in offense.  “Jerk.”

Day 3

Jaws popping around a yawn, Sam headed for the kitchen and the coffee pot.  The unknown case in Wichita Falls, with only blue-eyed victims missing their left eyes and their hair mysteriously purple, meant a lot of caffeine to fuel the lore research.  He’d no sooner stepped down into the kitchen when a phone suddenly arrowed into his face.

“HA!  Look at that!”  

Sam sucked in a breath as he tried to slow his heart rate.  “For cryin’ out loud, Dean!”

“Hydrate challenge...completed!” Dean crowed with a swaggering gesture.  “Eight glasses, Sammy.  Read it and weep.”

“You - Dean Winchester - drank eight servings of water, eight ounces each?” his brother side eyed him as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Pocketing his phone, Dean brandished a plastic bottle aloft, shaking the dregs of water in it vigorously.  “That’s right.  And, no, some of it wasn’t beer,” he griped when Sam quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Good for you, Dean.  You win this one,” he praised around a yawn as he trudged back to the library, Dean in tow.  Dean pulled a laptop towards him as he sat across from Sam, sending him a confident smile.

“What can I say, Sammy?  You shouldn’t mess with the master.  Oh, and check this out!”  Chugging the last couple of swallows, Dean reopened the app and added his latest bottle to his daily total.  The app exploded in confetti and triumphant notes rang out happily.  “Ta-dah! Gotta say, this BitFit is pretty cool.”

“It’s FitBit™, Dean.”

“That’s what I said.”

Too tired to formulate a comment, Sammy just smiled.

***********************************

Day 8

“Uh-oh.”

Dean cracked an eye at the tinny sounding voice.

“We’re worried about you.”

Frowning his eyes open, Dean groaned as he turned his head and the muscles cricked up painfully.  As much as he loved his Baby, sleeping here was hell on his body.  He and Sammy had rolled into McCook, Nebraska yesterday after reports of three deaths proved weird enough to be their kind of thing.  Three dead guys, working for the same company, burned to a crisp in at the same golf course and one eyewitness groundskeeper swearing he saw a lion at the scene.  Awesome.  Lore hadn’t turned up any ideas on the monster yet, and the hours on the road had caught up with him.

The device on his wrist buzzed, catching his attention as another “uh-oh!” chirped from his phone.  Fumbling it up, Dean squinted as the app showed him a very sleep sad face emoji.  

“You only got two hours of sleep last night.  Remember - you’re at your best with eight!” the app notified dutifully.  Dragging himself fully upright, Dean tossed the phone into the passenger seat as he headed to meet up with Sam.  

“Shut up, fitness warden,” he grumbled, pulling back onto the road.

******************************

Day 10

The friendly blue band lit up and buzzed merrily.

“Congratulations!  You’ve hit 250 steps this hour!”

Dean didn’t even flinch as he sprinted through the woods at full tilt, flames licking at his heels in advance of the unearthly roar behind him.

“Sammy!”

“This way, Dean!”

The creature dug its claws in, clots of dirt tossing up as it spun to track Dean when he turned a tight corner towards his brother.  Snapping its jaws, it growled before giving chase once more.

“Uh-oh!  Your heart rate appears to be elevated past the peak rate.”  No shit.  He could feel his heart pounding with every footstep, but when a blast of dragon-lion-monster breath hit the back of his neck, Dean poured on the speed.  The ground beneath him rumbled, roiling and quaking in threatening earthquake omens as the chimera behind him roared again.  Who knew Greek monsters could pop up in freakin’ Nebraska?  “Doing cardio activity past peak level for extended periods hasn’t proved to be beneficial.  Stay at the cardio level for maximum impact.”  

“I’m about to maximum impact all over the place, godammit!  SAM!  I’m about to be cat-lizard food!” he blared out.

“Now!” Sam shouted, and his tall frame was suddenly there, crossbow at the ready with a hastily prepared iron spear locked and loaded.  “Tuck and roll, Dean!”

His bad shoulder cracked ominously as Dean hit the ground, his trajectory scraping a Dean-sized swipe in the foliage as Sam aimed, fired, and ducked.  The iron met the chimera’s spewing flames dead center, arrowing into the heart of the beast.  A heartbeat later, it exploded into sparkling, burning bits that dissipated into purple-y, ashy clouds almost instantly.  The earthquake stopped in its tracks, leaving the brothers’ spines twitching and ears itching.  

The trees held nothing but silence as Dean wheezed for oxygen.  He could feel his heartbeat all the way in his boots as he rolled over to check on Sam.  Twigs poked up out of his ridiculous hair as he gingerly pressed against the knee he’d twisted a few minutes before, sucking at air like it was going out of style.  Huffing out a sound that could have been a laugh, Dean nodded when Sam gave him a thumbs up.  They did it.  They killed the bastard.  And they didn’t die this time.  Although his lungs felt like they might make a liar out of him in a moment.

Then, into the quiet came two merry voices in stereo.

“Congratulations!  You’ve hit 10,000 steps!  Fastest record yet!” their phones chorused.  Sam groaned as Dean sneezed a leaf out of his nose.

“Bite me, BitFit, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Just tagging a few peeps who might enjoy the chuckle:

@thesassywallflower @pinknerdpanda @amanda-teaches @littlegreenplasticsoldier @percywinchester27 @mrswhozeewhatsis