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layce2015 · 1 year

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Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Long-Distance Call

Masterlist

Sam and I were walking across a city square toward Dean who was sitting on a bench and talking on his phone. He hangs up then in one motion picks up and throws an unopened can of soda to Sam then to me before he stands up, shoving the last of the food he is eating into his mouth.

"So?" he asked us, still chewing on his food. "So, the professor doesn't know crap." Sam informed and Dean hums. "Shocking." He said. "Pack your panties, you two, we're hitting the road." Dean said.

"What?" asked Sam, confused.

"What's up?" I asked. "That was Bobby. Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio and he thinks there's a spirit involved." Dean replied. "So you two were talking a case?" Sam asked him. "No, we were actually talking about our feelings. And then our favourite boy bands." Dean said, sarcastically, which made me snort a bit.

"Yeah, we were talking a case!" Dean yells, annoyed. "So a spirit, what?" I asked him. "Yeah, the banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire, computer was flipping on and off." Dean replied.

"Huh..." Sam said, unimpressed. "This is not ringing your bell?" Dean asked him. "Well, sure, yeah. But, Dean, we're already on a case." Sam said. "Whose?" Dean asked. "Yours." Sam and I said. "Right. Yeah. Well, you coulda fooled me." Dean grumbles.

"What the hell else have we been doing lately other than trying to break your deal?" Sam asked him, angry and annoyed. "Chasing our tails, that's what. Sam, we've talked to every professor, witch, soothsayer and two bit carny act in the lower 48. Nobody knows squat! And we can't find Bela, we can't find the Colt. So until we actually find something, I'd like to do my job." Dean exclaims.

"Well there's one thing we haven't tried yet..." Sam said and Dean shakes his head once we realized what he was hinting at. "Sam, no." Dean said. "We should summon Ruby." said Sam. "I'm not gunna have this fight with you." Dean grumbles. "She said she knows how to save you." Sam said, hopeful. "Well, she can't." Dean said.

"Oh really, you know that for sure?" Sam asked. "I do. And so does (y/n)." Dean said. "How?" Sam asked, suspicious. "Because she told us!" I said and Sam looks at me.

"What?" he said, shocked. "She told us. Flat out. She can't save me, nobody can." Dean said. "And you guys just somehow neglected to mention this to me?" Sam said, hurt. "Well, I really don't care what that bitch thinks and neither should you, so..." Dean said to him.

"So what, now you guys are keeping secrets from me?" Sam asked and I turned to him. "You really wanna talk about who's keeping secrets from who?" I sneered at him. I was still hurt that he didn't tell me that this Lilith was not only after him but me as well. We stare at each other in silence for a long moment. Sam turns away and starts to walk off.

"Now where you going?" Dean asked him. "Guess I'm going to Ohio." Sam exclaimed and the three of us began to walk

"I found him there." Mrs Waters tells us as the boys and I, the three of us dressed in suits, follow her into the study area. "Why don't you tell us everything you saw, Mrs Waters." Dean says to her. "You mean beside my dead husband?" She asked, slightly offended. "Just everything else you saw. Please." Sam said and she sighs.

"Blood. Everywhere. The phone was ripped from the wall, his favourite scotch on the desk, what else could you possibly want to know?" she said, upset. "Why was the phone ripped from the wall?" I asked her. "I don't know." She said.

"You mind if I take a look?" I asked her. She waves her hand, vaguely, and I go over to the phone. "I already went over this with the other Detectives." said Mrs Waters. "We'll be out of your hair in no time, ma'am." Dean assures her as I push some of the buttons on the phone. Until I got to an odd number with the time of when it called.

"Ma'am, what time did your husband die?" I asked her. "Sometime after 11." She replied and I wait until Dean and Sam look at me, and I tap the phone display. "What about strange phone calls? Receive any of those lately, weird interference, static, anything like that?" Sam asked her.

"No." she said, defensively, and the boys raise their eyebrows at her. "No!" She shouts again. "Mrs Waters, withholding information from the police is a capital offence." Dean said, firmly, but then Sam noisily clears his throat. Dean glances at him and receives a glare from Sam. In some parts of the world I'm sure." He mutters and Mrs Waters sighs again.

"A couple of weeks ago, uh...there was this..." she stops and looks between us. "This what?" Dean asked her. "I woke up one morning, I heard Ben in his study. I thought he was talking to a woman." She replied.

"What made you think that?" I asked her. Because he kept calling her Linda. The thing is, I picked up the other line and nobody was there, Ben was talking to nobody." She said. "There was nothing?" Sam asked. "Just static." She said, plainly.

"Did you ever speak to Ben about this phone call?" Sam asked. "No. I should have but...no." she said. "Did he ever say who Linda was?" I asked but then she shouts, upset. "What difference does it make, there was nobody on the other end!"

"Linda's a babe. Or, was." Dean said as he looks through the laptop while Sam and I were sitting on the bed. "Hey!" I said. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I call 'em as I see them." He said, smirking. "Uh-huh, I'll keep that in mind." I said.

"Anyway, did you find her?" Sam asked, changing the subject, as we stand up and walk over to Dean. "Yeah, Linda Bateman. She and Ben Waters were high school sweethearts." He said.

"So what happened?" I asked. "Drunk driver hit them head on. Ben walked away." replied Dean. "So, what then? Dead flame calls to chat?" Sam asked. "You would think, but Linda was cremated. So why's she still floating around?" Dean asked. "You got me." I said as Sam shrugs.

"What about that, uh, caller I.D?" Dean asked. "Turns out, it's a phone number." Sam said and I look at him. "No phone number I've ever seen." I said. "Yeah, 'cause it's about a century old, back from when phones had cranks." Sam replied.

"So why use that number to reach out and touch someone?" Dean asked. "Got me there too, but we should put a trace on it." Sam said. "Well how the hell are we going to put a trace on something that's over 100 years old?" I asked him.

"We don't get many folks from HQ down here." The guy said as we follow him down the stairs and along the hallway. "Yes, well the main office mentioned that there would be a lunch." Dean said and I elbow him in his side.

"Well I'm sure we can arrange something. The man you wanna be speaking to is right this..." the man said as Sam swipes at a fly that has flown into his hair. "I know, sorry. We've got something of a hygiene issue down here if you ask me." The man said and we enter a basement office.

"Stewie? What did I tell you about keeping this place clean." the man said as Stewie sits at a large console with multiple screens and keyboards, various packets and junk food are strewn about. Stewie jumps at their entrance and desperately tries to close down the multiple screens in front of him showing advertisements for porn sites.

"Spam mail...spam mail..." Stewie said as he clicks quickly. "Stewie Myers. Mr Campbell. Mr Raimi. Ms. Maguire." The man introduced us as Stewie continues clicking. "I don't know how all this got here..." he said as the man reaches out and flicks the back of Stewie's head, making him jump again and grunt.

"From headquarters?" He said and Stewie spins around in his chair, then quickly crosses his legs and places his hands together on his lap. "Give these gentlemen whatever they need." He tells Stewie. "Yeah." Stewie said. "Thank you." The boys and I said and the Man leaves.

"So...can I help you?" Stewie asked and Dean checks to make sure the Man is gone, then gestures toward the screen. "Is that, ahhh, BustyAsianBeauties.com?" Dean asked, smirking, and I roll my eyes. "No." Stewie said, quickly, when a female voice from the computer said. "Oh, me so horny."

Then Stewie quickly clicks that ad away. "Maybe." Stewie said. "A word to the wise? Platinum membership? Worth every penny. Ha?" Dean said as he nods, knowingly. I sigh with exasperation and shake my head.

"Right, anyway. We're here to trace a number?" Sam said as he hands Stewie a piece of paper. "Where did you get this?" Stewie asked. "Off caller I.D." I replied. "Oh no, that's impossible." Stewie said. "It hasn't been used in a few years, we know." said Dean. "A few years? It's prehistoric. Trust me, nobody is using this number anymore." Stewie exclaims.

"Sure. Could you run it anyway?" Sam asked him, nicely. "Sure. Why don't I just rearrange my whole life first." Stewie said, snarkily. The boys and I glance at each other and Dean smiles before he leans in closer to Stewie. "Listen, uh, Stewie. You got like six kinds of employee code violations down here, not to mention the sickening porn that is clogging up your hard drive. Now when my partner says run the number, I suggest you run the number!" Dean threatens.

He looks between us then turns back to his console. Dean grins and Sam shrugs and I smile back. "Okay, whatever, jeez!" Stewie said and he clicks a few more buttons. One of his screens fills with a long list of numbers. "Holy crap." He said, shocked. "What?" I asked. "I can't tell you where the number comes from, but I can tell you where it's been going." Stewie said.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked as Stewie pushes print, goes to the printer and hands some paper to Sam. "Ten different number in the past few weeks, all got calls from the same number." Stewie said and he looks between us as we stare at each other, then Stewie sighs and walks between us and back to his console. He sits and stares at it for a moment, then looks back.

"So, are we done here? Cause I was...sort of...busy?" he said and I smirked. "Right..." I said and we began to leave.

Sam and I get out of a rental car then he makes his way to one house and I make my way up a footpath. I knock on the door and it is opened by a middle-aged man. His son comes to stand beside him, around 6-7 yrs old. "Yeah?" the man asked. "Hello sir, I am with the phone company?" I said. "We didn't call the phone company." The man said.

"Oh no sir, we're calling you. We've had a lot of complaints from the neighbourhood lately." I said. "Complaints?" the man asked. "Yes sir. Dropped calls, static, maybe even strange voices on the other end of the line?" I asked just as I noticed a teenage girl stepping into the hallway, looking startled.

"No, we haven't had any of that here." the man said. "Nothing?" I asked. "No." he said. "Okay. Great, just thought we'd check. Thanks." I said, smiling. "No problem." the man said then he turns to his son. "Come on, Simon." He said as they turn to close the door I see the girl staring at me, looking scared, but she turns away as the door closes.

I return to the car just as Sam comes back. "You got anything?" He asked me. "No. You?" I said. "Nothing." Sam said. "No way you guys work for the phone company." a voice said and I turn around to see it was that teenage girl.

"Sure we do." I said. "Since when do the phone people drive a rental or wear a cheap suit?" She asked me and I huff a laugh. "Yeah, well. Maybe we're both keeping secrets." I said as I fold my arms across my chest.

"Why did you ask my Dad if he's hearing strange voices on the phone?" she asked me. "Why, did you hear something?" Sam asked as he goes to stand next to me. "No." She said. "My mistake, I thought maybe you did." Sam said. "Well I didn't, okay?" She said, defensively. "Okay. Sorry to bother you." I said and we turn away and head to the car.

Sam looks down at his keys then said. "Because you know...if you did...then I would have told you that we've been right where you're standing right now. Hearing things, even seeing things that can't be explained. Maybe we would have been able to help out a little bit. Anyway..." Sam said and we start to load up in the car.

"Hey wait." The girl said, stopping us, and we turn to her. "Maybe...maybe I've been talking on the phone...with my Mom." She replied. "Well that's not so strange." I said. "She's dead. Like three years now." She replied and I furrow my brow at this.

"How often does she call you?" I asked her. "A few times. It started a week ago. I thought I was like, crazy or something." she said. "Well we can tell you one thing for sure, and you're going to have to go with us on this, okay? You're not crazy..." I assured her and she gives a look.

Later, Sam was driving the car when my phone rings. I answered it then pushed the speaker button. "Yeah." I said. "Guys, stiffs have been calling people all over town." Dean said. "Yeah, tell us about it." I said, exhausted. "I just talked to an 84 year old grandmother who's having phone sex with her husband, who died in Korea!" Dean said.

"Eww." Sam and I said, disgusted. "It redefined my understanding of the word Necrophilia." Dean said. "So what the hell's going on here, Dean?" Sam asked. "Beats me, but we'd better find out soon. This place is turning into spook central." Dean said. "Yeah. All right, I'll call you later." I tell him. "Yeah." Dean said before I hang up.

"Dad? You really think it was Dad?" Sam asked, confused. We were back at the motel and Sam and I were sitting at the table while Dean was pacing. He just told us that after our talk, he got a call...a call from John. "I don't know, maybe." Dean said.

"Well what did he sound like?" Sam asked. "Like Oprah!" Dean shouts, sarcastically. "Like Dad, he sounded like Dad, what do you think?" He growls. "Okay, Dean, calm down. What did he say?" I asked. "My name." Dean replied, sounding a bit calmer.

"That's it?" I asked him. "Call dropped out." Dean replied. "Why would he even call in the first place, Dean?" Sam asked. "I don't know, man. Why are ghosts calling anybody in this town? But I mean, other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can't we? It's at least a possibility, right?" Dean said. "Yeah, I guess?" Sam and I said, unsure.

"Okay, so what if...what if it really is Dad? What happens if he calls back?" Dean asked. "What do you mean?" Sam asked. "What do I say?" Dean asked. "Hello." Sam replied. "Hello?" Dean said, disbelief, and Sam shrugs. "That's what you come back with. Hello?" Dean asked, angrily.

"How's the afterlife?" I suggested and Dean gives me a disbelieving look. "Unbelievable." He growls as he grabs his jacket and headed for the door. Dean grumbles under his breath and walks out. Sam and I look after him, concerned, while Sam shakes his head.

Three hours later, Sam was sitting on the couch with the laptop in front of him and I was sitting at the table, looking through my laptop. Then Dean returns. "Find anything?" He asked us. "After three hours we have found no reason why anything supernatural would be going on here." Sam said and Dean huffs at this. "Well, you know, you think a Stanford education and a high school hook up rate of zero point zero would produce better results than that." Dean sneers.

"Hilarious." Sam spat. "Guys, you're just looking in the wrong places." Dean said. "And what are the right places, Dean?" I asked him and he reaches into his jacket pocket. "Motel pamphlet rack." Dean drops some literature on the coffee table.

"Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Thomas Edison." Dean said as I walk over to them and read over Sam's shoulder as he flicks through the papers. "Yeah, right. So what?" Sam asked. "Keep reading." Dean said and Sam scoffs slightly and keeps looking. He sighs, but after a few moments of reading,, my eyebrows go up and we look at Dean.

"You're kidding." I said and Dean raises his eyebrows back, smiling.

"And we're walking." the female tour guide said as she shepherds us into a room in the museum. "And, here we have one of the museum's most unique and treasured possessions. Thomas Edison's spirit phone. Did you know that Mr Edison, as well as being one of America's most beloved inventors, was also a devout occultist? Ooh!" she said, being a bit over dramatic.

"What's with the quote-y fingers?" Dean whispered to us. "He spent years working on this, his final invention, which he was convinced could be used to communicate with the dead. Pretty spooky, huh?" The guide said then she checks her watch, twirls her fingers in the air and begins leading the group into the next room.

"And we're walking. We are walking. We're walking. And we're not touching that. And we're walking. And stop." she said but Sam, Dean and I stay back with the spirit phone. Sam quickly gets out his EMF and holds it over the spirit phone.

"Anything?" Dean asked. "Nothing." Sam said. "What do you guys think?" Dean asked us. "Honestly? It kinda looks like an old pile of junk to me." Sam replied and I nod in agreement. "It's not even plugged in." Dean said as he looks it over. "Maybe it didn't work like that." I said.

"Okay. Maybe it's like a radio tower, broadcasting the dead all over town." Dean suggests. "Could be." Sam said, shrugging. "You know, this caller I.D. is 100 years old, right? Right around the time this thing was built." Dean said. "Yeah, but why would it all of a sudden start working now?" Sam asked, confused.

"I don't know. But as long as the mouldy are calling the freshers around here it's the best reason we've got." Dean said. "Yeah, maybe." I said, shrugging. "So maybe it really is Dad." Dean said and I give him a concerned look.

The next morning, Sam and I entered the motel room to see Dean typing furiously on the laptop. "What's up?" Dean asked us. "That girl Lanie, her Mom's ghost spooked her out pretty bad last night." I replied. "That sucks." Dean mumbles as he continues to type. "Yeah it does. What are you doing?" Sam asked. I think Dad's right. I think the demon is here. Check it out." Dean said and he hands us some papers and goes to his bag.

"What is this, weather reports?" Sam asked as I read over him. "Omens. Demonic omens. Electrical storms everywhere we've been for the past two weeks." Dean replied. "Ahh...I don't remember any lightning storms." Sam said. "Yeah, me either." I said. "Well, I don't remember you guys studying meteorology as a kid either. But I'm telling you, that bastard's been tailing me...wearing some poor dude's meat." Dean growls.

"And it's following you because..." I said, skeptical. "I guess I'm big game, you know. My ass is too sweet to let outta sight." he said, smiling a bit. "Okay. Sure." Sam said as I roll my eyes. Then Dean snatches the papers back. "Don't get too excited, guys. Might pull something." he snaps at us.

"Dean, look, Sam and I wanna believe this man, we really do..." I said but then Dean turns to us. "Then believe it! if we get this sucker, it's Miller Time." He yells. "Yeah, that's another thing. Dad rattles off an exorcism that can kill a demon? I mean not just send it back to hell, but kill it?" Sam asked, questioning. "I've checked it out. This is heavy duty Dark Ages. Fifteenth century." Dean said.

"Yeah, we've checked on it too, Dean. And so did Bobby." I said. "Okay, and?" Dean said, annoyed. "Look. It definitely is an exorcism, okay, there's just no evidence it can kill a demon." Sam tells him. "No evidence it can't." said Dean.

"Honey, come on..." I said, exasperated. "Hey, as far as I'm aware the only one of us who has actually been to hell is Dad. And maybe he picked up a couple of tricks down there, like which exorcisms work." Dean said. "Maybe it does. we hope it does too, but we gotta be sure." Sam said.

"Why aren't we sure?" Dean asked us. "'Cause (y/n) and I don't know what's going on around here, Dean! I mean, some guy blows his brains out, a little girl is scared out of her wits." Sam exclaims. "Wow, a couple of civvies are freaked out by some ghosts. News flash guys, people are supposed to be freaked out by ghosts!" Dean shouts and we stare at each other for a long moment.

Sam sighs and Dean drops his head in frustration. "John tell you where to find the demon?" I asked Dean. "I'm waiting on the call!" Dean shouts as he holds up his phone. "I told Lanie (y/n) and I would stop by." Sam said. "Oh, good yeah. No you go hang out with jail bait. Just, uh, watch out for Chris Hansen. Meanwhile I'll be here getting ready to, you know, save my life." Dean said, sarcastically, and Sam and I keep moving toward the door.

"You're unbelievable, you know that? I mean for months we've been trying to break this demon deal. Now Dad's about to give us the freaking address and you can't accept it? The man is dead and you're still butting heads with the guy, Sam!" Dean shouts and we turn to him. "That is not what this is about." Sam said, firmly.

"So what is it!?" Dean asked, angrily. "The fact is we've got no hard proof here, Dean. After everything, you're still just going on blind faith!" Sam shouts. "Yeah, well maybe! You know, maybe that's all I got, okay?" Dean shouts and we stare at each other again before Dean looks down.

I sigh then walk up to Dean then placed my hand on his cheek. He raises his head and I look into his green eyes. "Please. Just please, don't go anywhere until we get back. Okay, Dean? Please." I begged. Dean remains silent and I give him a sad look before I lean up and kiss his cheek. I give him one last look before I turn around and head out the door with Sam.

"Have you told your father about any of this?" I asked Lanie as we stand in her room. "And bother him at work? No. He wouldn't believe me anyway, he'd just chuck me into therapy." She replied.

"So what did your mother say?" Sam asked her. "She wanted to see me. So at first I thought I was supposed to go to the cemetery." said Lanie. "Did you?" I asked and she nods. "Nothing happened. But then she started asking me to do other things." she replied.

"What sort of things?" Sam asked her. "Bad things." She said and I could tell she was uncomfortable. "Lanie please. Tell us what happened, it's very important." I said to her, soothingly. "Mom told me to go to Dad's medicine cabinet." She said then she bites her lips. "And?" Sam and I asked, encouragingly. "She wanted me to take his sleeping pills, take all of his sleeping pills." She cried.

"She wanted you to kill yourself?" Sam asked her and she nods then cries. "Why would my Mom want me to do that?" She asked us, tearfully. "Don't know." Sam and I said. "I mean, just so I could come to her?" She cries and I freeze at this then look over at her.

"What'd you say?" I asked her. "She wanted me to come to her." Lanie said. "No, how'd she say it?" I asked her. "Come to me. Like a million times." She said then Sam and I share a look and I could tell he got to the same conclusion as I did. "Lanie." I said to her as I turn to look at her. "That's not your mother."

"Listen to us. Don't answer the phone. Don't use the computer. Don't do anything unless (y/n) and I say so, all right?" Sam said as we walk down the hall. Sam and I start down the stairs until we realise that Lanie's not following. "Lanie." We said as she stands at the doorway to a room. "Where's Simon?" She asked us, horrified.

Sam and I run out of the house and could see Simon walking off down the street. We chase after him and see him walking across the next road where a large truck barrels toward him. Sam books it as he gets in front of me and the truck horn blares and tires squeal.

Simon throws his hands up to protect himself just as Sam rushes the road, grabs Simon and dives for the verge. They lay panting as the truck roars past and I come up to them. "Holy crap." I sighed then kneel down to them. "You two okay?" I asked and Sam nods while Simon starts to cry.

After we bring Simon back to Lanie, Sam and I get back into the rental car and I call Dean. "Dean, it's not John." I said into my phone. "Then what is it?" Dean asked me. "A crocotta." I replied. "Is that a sandwich?" he asked. "Some kind of scavenger. Mimics loved ones, whispers 'Come to me', then lures you into the dark and swallows your soul." I replied.

"A crocotta, right, damn that makes sense." Dean grumbles, disappointed. "Dean, look, I'm sorry honey, I know..." I started to say but Dean talks over me. "Hey, don't these things live in filth?" he asked. "Yeah." I replied. "(Y/n), the flies at the phone company." Dean said then I look over at Sam with a knowing look.

That night, Sam and I creep along an alley and peaks in a window at Stewie, sitting at his console. That is until we were distracted by a banging noise, we ducked and look around but see nothing.

When we look back, Stewie is leaving the room. We run back up the alley and see Stewie leaving the building. Sam and I hide behind a van as he holds his phone to his ear. He sighs then whispers. "Voicemail."

I roll my eyes as Sam said. "Dean, we're in the parking lot. He's here. Hurry." Sam said and Stewie unlocks his car. Sam rushes him and pushes him into the car, holding a metal spike to the back of his neck while I stand next to Sam.

"What the hell!" Stewie grunts. "We know what you are." Sam growls. "Wait, mister." Stewie pleads. "And we know how to kill you." I growled. "Please. Okay, wait, wait. If we're overcharging you for the call waiting or something I...I can fix that. I am your friend! Please. Please just don't kill me!" Stewie pleads while Sam and I give confused look towards him.

But that was the last thing I remember before I felt something hit the back of my head and I black out.

"I'm sorry, Clark. I'm sorry for whatever I did to you. I'm sorry...please..." I hear a voice sniveling as I come to and open my eyes to see Stewie tied up in a chair across from me. I look to my right and see Sam was tied up as well.

I tried to move but realized my hands were tied up. I look back up at Stewie and see that man, Clark I believe Stewie called him, was standing behind him. "Wait! Don't do it." I shout and Clark looks over at me. "You two are awake." He said and I look over and see Sam waking up too.

Clark leans over Stewie and places the tip of a knife against his thigh. "You're not a killer Clark, no! There's a good man inside of you, I know it." Stewie snivelled and Clark looks over at us.

"What do you think, Sam and (y/n), am I a good man?" Clark asked us. "Just let him go." Sam begged. "I would. I really would. If only I'd had more than a salad for lunch. You see, I'm starving." Clark said and he lifts the knife high above his head and plunges it into Stewie's chest.

"No!" Sam and I shout as Clark moves in front of Stewie's body. His mouth opens, revealing a blood red interior and razor sharp spikes. He crouches slightly, holds Stewie by both shoulders and unhinges his jaw, his mouth becoming impossibly wide and his teeth were sharp.

Placing his mouth close to Stewie's face. he sucks in his energy. I shudder and look away until Clark stops and stands, wiping his mouth. "My last call with Dean. That was you. You led us here." I growled as I glare up at him. "Some calls I make, some calls I take, but you have to admit, I had you fooled for a while. All that Edison phone crap." Clark laughs and moves over to the telephone exchange cabinet.

He places his hands against the glass and leans back in ecstasy. "What are you doing?" Sam asked him. Clark smiles then looks over at us. "I'm killing your brother. Or maybe I'm killing another guy. We'll just have to see how it goes." He said.

After a few moments of him calling a guy, Clark walks over to Stewie and pulls the knife out of his chest while I was trying to get out of my restraints. "You know, mimicking Dean's one thing. But their dad. That's a hell of a trick." I sneered at him as I gesture towards Sam with my head. "Well once I made you three as hunters, it was easy. I found Dean's number, then your number, then Sam's number, then both of your father's numbers. Then emails, voicemails, everything. You see, people think that stuff just gets erased, but it doesn't. You'd be surprised how much of yourself is just floating out there, waiting to be plucked." Clark explained.

"Dean's not going to fall for this. He's not going to kill that guy." Sam said. "Then the guy kills him." Clark said then he stands over Sam. "Technology. Makes life so much easier. Used to be I'd hide in the woods for days, weeks, whispering to people, trying to draw them out into the night. But they had community, they all looked out for each other, I'd be lucky to eat one or two souls a year. Now when I'm hungry, I simply make a phone call. You're all so connected. But you've never been so alone." He sneers.

He opens his mouth and begins to unhinge his jaw while raising his knife. But I erupt out of my chair and Clark and I fall to the ground, making him lose the knife. "(y/n)!" Sam shouts as Clark and I struggle for the knife.

I was rising up first but Clark grabs my jacket and swings me around into a metal grate. Clark picks up the knife, running at me, until Sam gets free and grabs him.

They struggle for the knife then I jump in to the fight. We exchang blows as we move about the room. Sam finally manages to pull the knife away and hits Clark, forcing him backwards into the wall. A spike, one of many on the corkboard, jams into the back of Clark's neck, killing him.

"You okay?" Sam asked me after we catch our breath. "Yeah...you?" I said and he nods.

We make it back to the hotel and see Dean holding a facecloth to his cut eye, groaning. "I see they improved your face." Dean jokes and Sam and I snigger. "Right back at ya." Sam said and Dean moves past us into the main room then we sit on a bed each, but I sit next to Dean.

"So, crocotta, huh?" Dean said. "Yep." Sam and I said. "That would explain the flies." Dean mutters. "Yeah it would." I said before sighing.

"Hey, um...look I'm sorry it wasn't Dad." Sam said to Dean. "Nah, I gave you guys a hell of a time on this one." Dean huffs. "You guys were right."

"Forget about it." I said, waving my head vaguely. "I can't. I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way outta this. I mean I'm staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell. For real, forever, and I just..." Dean said then he begins to tear up. "I'm scared, guys. I'm really scared." He said which made me and Sam tear up. "I know." We said, in unison.

"I guess I was willing to believe anything. You know, the last act of a desperate man." said Dean. "There's nothing wrong with having hope, Dean." I said as I place a hand on his knee. "Hope doesn't get you jack squat. I can't expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can't expect anybody to, you know. I mean the only person that can get me out of this thing is me." Dean said. "And us." Sam and I said, earnestly, making Dean look between us.

"And us?" he said, questioning. "What?" Sam said, confused. "Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that's what you two come back with? And us?" Dean said, disappointed. "Uh...do you want a poem?" Sam asked, raising his brow. "The moment's gone." Dean said and I smile slightly while Dean flicks the TV on.

Then he reaches between the beds, grabs three bottles of beer and holds one out to Sam without looking at him. Sam takes one, then Dean hands one to me. We crack them open and drink in unison, while staring at the TV.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

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linearao3 · 1 year

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Not a direct ask but @rainstormdragon put in a comment for a BTS of Serves You Right. This is a little tricky because it’s hard to pick a favorite scene and also because most of the scenes are so damn long. But here is maybe some fun stuff about the opera scene? Mostly dumb trivia but maybe some interesting stuff at the end.

I have a really bad habit, when I need Ravkan extras, of just butchering the names of Chekhov characters, and I’m afraid that’s fully on display here with composer Trovimov and tenor Medvedyenko.

I’ve been to the opera twice, once in LA and once in NYC, and the opera that I saw in LA did have its costumes held up in customs for like a month. So. True opera adventures!

My idea is that Ravkan theater is basically divided into opera (in what I guess is the conventional sense of the word) and small traveling theater troupes, many of whom are probably Suli, doing stylized folk theater which probably combines improv humor and dance with traditional texts. Whereas in Kerch, we hear of several kinds of theater — the Kommedia, which seems to be related to Comedia Dell’arte, with stock characters; penny-plays, which seem to be a bit Grand-Guignol, and then the “respectable” Opera in the Lid, which seems to also do straight plays since Jesper describes people who work there as actors rather than singers. I imagined that in hyper-commercial, industrialized Kerch, opera is basically Gilbert and Sullivan (fun, clever lyrics that are easy to understand) and that the higher class straight plays are like American popular theater of the 19th century — tearjerkers, melodramas, and a focus on special effects or gimmicks (like, for example, a real! Live! Fjerdan! Wolf!).

I am constantly troubled by how little history the Grishaverse seems to have, and I noticed that Alys, not a person who seems very interested in foreign affairs, still knows what a prince is, and doesn’t use a loan-word like tsarovitch. So I made up “the Bankers’ Wars,” which deposed the Kerch monarchy a few centuries back. I made up a lot of other history too, but it doesn’t show up here.

The plot of the opera they watch is basically Turandot with the genders reversed.

The opera house is full of mirrors, both because it’s a popular trick of theater-builders for making it seem like everyone is at your show, and because this fic is very much about seeing, being seen, and how you see yourself. Introducing mirrors to a stage or film set is notoriously tricky because it’s very hard to keep track of what they’re going to reflect to whom. Even Kaz, who is trying to mastermind all this seeing, briefly forgets that Inej can see him, and lets his feelings show. And his misery at watching her easy affection with her “husband” is a reflection of the nobleman/merchant character watching the princess he loves marry another man. The more common spy trope is “fake married” rather than “fake servant” but Kaz has chosen to fake connections between Inej and two other men besides himself while he follows her around as her loyal servant, so really he’s put himself in that role voluntarily. But I think Kaz definitely went to that play every night to pick pockets and definitely wanted to cry every night for the merchant who loves his girl so much. (And I’d say the line “he wants her to have what she wants,” is pretty telling.)

#asks #serves you right

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princess-of-the-corner · 7 months

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Toontown: Corporate Clash Recap: Toontown Central Mainline Tasks (Good ol' Gil Giggles)

Okay so, let’s just pick up where we left off:

The Numbers Mason

Step 1 is to speak with Good ol’ Gil Giggles, the green pig standing next to Bumpy, for 40 experience points and 3 jellybeans.

“Hey there, [Toon Name]! Glad to finally speak to you!”

“I’ve been hearing reports from Toons all over about what a great job you’ve done.”

“Especially from Franz Neckvein. We’ve never seen him so pumped up lately! Even if we get a little confused on what he’s "vaying”.“

"So, let’s see if your hot streak continues, cause boy do I got a few tasks that’d be incredibly nice to have taken off my hooves.”

“So, we’ve been talking to Banker Bob about handling jellybeans and holding them for Toons, but it turns out he’s in a situation himself.”

“Head on over to Banker Bob here in the Bank in the playground and help him figure it out.”

“It’ll be key to helping our tasty economy stay afloat!”

Toontown Bank, and by extension Banker Bob, are located right there in Toontown Central Playground.

Banker Bob himself is a maroon horse in glasses, and he’s in quite a pickle. Hear him out for 40 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Hey there! Are you here to help me out?”

“I’ve been trying to stay in contact with the Toon Resistance as much as possible, as I’m experiencing quite an issue.”

“Ever since the big switch to jellybeans as our currency, it’s been a nightmare for me to keep track of things.”

“My job is incredibly important, mind you. I’m not here for storage, no no, I keep track of a lot of stuff.”

“I track inflation, influx, spending, and all kinds of numbers that’d make your eyes twirl around trying to keep track of.”

“The fact of the matter here is I need to get my adding machine back to add up things properly.”

“Only if one of those money-grubbing Penny Pinchers hadn’t taken my only one, that is…”

“If you can find the Penny Pincher that took my adding machine I’d be so entirely grateful to you.”

Yeah, while Cogs never enter the Playground in gameplay, that doesn’t mean that they can’t enter in the lore.

And the bank doesn’t really store Jellybeans because, well, all of the Toons already have Jellybean Banks in their estates. It would be redundant, gameplay wise, to have Toontown Bank do the same thing.

But back to the Task at hand, any Penny Pincher in Toontown Central could drop the Adding Machine.

Just bring it back to Bob for 40 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Yes! This sure looks like the right adding machine. Catsio model number 70-0N. Just the thing!”

“One minor problem, however.”

“It’s broken.”

“Whichever Penny Pincher you got this back from really did a LOT of pinching.”

“The buttons are all smashed in and there are a few loose springs, let alone what else that may be wrong with it…”

“But that’s alright, as I know just the Toon who will be able to fix it!”

“She’s quite possibly the most intellectual Toon in all of Toontown Central, and that’s saying a lot coming from the likes of me.”

“Go and see P.I. Multiply. She runs her shop Pies Are Squared down on Wacky Way.”

“Find her, present her with this, and I’m sure she’ll have it fixed in no time.”

Take the Adding Machine to P.I. Multiply, a periwinkle cat, to earn 40 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Why hello there. Are you in need of any assistance?”

“Oh no! Your adding machine!”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll get this machine fixed and working better than it did before it was broken!”

“I just need a few parts. If you can gather up springs, a gear, and a paperclip I can surely fix this thing in no time.”

“In fact, I think you can get those things really easily from the Cogs!”

“Just knock a few around with your pies and I bet you’ll find all the parts in no time.”

“I’m always here so there’s no need to rush! Good luck!”

You need to get 3 Machine Parts from any of the Cogs in Toontown Central. Bring them back to P.I Multiply for, you guessed it, 40 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Absolutely splendid. Now let me just do my thing!”

“I just gotta use the paperclip to pop it open here…”

“Replace a spring here, a sprocket there…”

“Pop in some new gears, aaaaand voila!”

“Good as new!”

“All the functions work perfectly, the paper lift lifts, the total button buttons, everything’s wonderfully functional!”

“Make sure to take better care of it in the future. It looked like you got a little frustrated with calculus homework!”

“See you around!”

Bring the Adding Machine back to Banker Bob for 40 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Why thank you! This is gonna be so handy!”

“It’s a big job to help in handling the switch but it’ll be much easier now.”

“And who knows, maybe all this will allow for me to create new extra goodies for Toons!”

“Thank you so much, [Toon Name].”

“You can head on back to the Toon Headquarters now. I’ve got a lot of numbers to track.”

“Good luck!”

To finish the task, go back to Good ol’ Giggles.

“Excellent! You’re really winning me over, I gotta tell you. There’s not many Toons that accomplish so much in that amount of time.”

“So, you solved the issue with the bank, but we still have another sector that’s facing issues.”

“One of the biggest issues we’re dealing with currently is our postal system.”

“With tons of Toons coming from all around and the Cogs invading, there have been tons of letters coming in and out of the mail.”

“Postmaster Pete has reported to us that he’s absolutely backed up with letters – almost to the point that he’s swimming in them!”

“I’m sending you over to show us you got what it takes.”

“Don’t let us down, [Toon Name]!”

Completing the task earns the player 320 experience, 3 jellybeans, and the task:

Letter Rip

The Toontown Post Office is located on Loopy Lane, and Postmaster Pete is a lime dog. Speaking with him rewards 48 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Oh no, please, no more letters…”

“Please don’t tell me you’re here with another one…”

“I can’t take it anymore! There are letters piled up to my muzzle!”

“I take absolute pride in being the finest postmaster in Toontown, but at this rate, I don’t know if I can keep it up.”

“And that’s concerning, I don’t want my 5-star rating on Howl to drop!”

“Please, first, I need better gloves before I begin to touch the massive pile of envelopes I have in the back.”

“I’m concerned that my door will burst open, spewing letters everywhere at this rate, and paper cuts are a real concern.”

“Could you please get me some papercut-proof gloves? Cold Callers have some that’d be great for this!”

“They’re constantly freezing, so they wear gloves to offset that.”

“They’re also papercut-proof to prevent the cuts that come from handling a bursting rolodex.”

“If you could get a few pairs, that’d be amazing. Once the first pair wears out, I’ll need to get more!”

“Thank you so much.”

Any Cold Caller in Toontown Central can drop a Papercut-Proof Glove, and you need 2. Bring both back to him for 48 more experience and 3 more jellybeans.

“Now I just have to sort through all this stuff and get it out to the Toons is belongs to.”

“It’s crazy, I’ll tell ya…”

“It’s like people think it’s acceptable to send more mail every week thinking their last one didn’t get through or something.”

“We seem to get TONS of the stuff every single day…”

“I mean granted, we indeed haven’t gotten around to sending them through to be read, but still…”

“WAIT… I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I HAVE MADE A VERY, VERY BAD MISTAKE. I NEED YOUR HELP.”

“When I sorted the mail, I was being a bit lazy and tossing a few things here and there. Sometimes chaos is the recipe for success, you know?”

“Anyways, while I had a bunch of letters and boxes spewed about the floor of my shop, a Pencil Pusher sneaked in and snatched up a box.”

“I can’t let this slip out, it’s crucial that my reputation stay as high as it can. I need to keep my dignity!”

“Please, [Toon Name]. Please go out and find the Pencil Pusher that took this box and bring it back before I have to explain away more missing mail.”

“I already do that too much as it is!”

Y’know, it’s a wonder Postmaster Pete hasn’t been fired. Maybe he should hire an assistant or two instead of doing it all on his own?

Ahem, regardless, you need to retrieve the Package from any Pencil Pusher in Toontown Central, and bring it back for 48 experienced and 3 jellybeans.

“PHEW!”

“I was really worried there, I could see my Postmaster title flashing before my eyes.”

“What am I without being a postmaster??”

“I’m just Pete!”

“I can’t be JUST Pete!”

“Thank you for your help. I even got the time to drop by Patty Papercut while you were out.”

“She helped me devise a new way of delivering letters. The "Paper Airplane.”

“They’re excellent by the way. They almost seemed to have a mind of their own as they soared off to their respective owners.”

“Patty Papercut is kinda an oddball though. She liked to call the airplanes, "her babies.”

“Don’t ask me why…”

“I just have a few items left now to deliver. Let me take a look.”

“Oh, huh. It actually turns out the rest is all for one Toon apparently.”

“They’re all for Loony Louis, down on Silly Street at his shop Used Clown Cars.”

“I wonder what they could be…”

“Here, just take the rest down to him. AND BE CAREFUL!”

“After that we’re all sorted!”

Loony Louis is a citrine duck in a racing-themed outfit and a clown afro. Speaking to him rewards, you guessed it, 48 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Finally! Those are my packages right?”

“…”

“Wanna know what’s inside?”

“Most people do.”

“I’ll let you in on the secret, if you fish me up a few more clown tires for this fixer upper I’m working on in the back.”

“It can fit up to 12 clowns, but I bet you could even fit 16 if you really packed them in hard enough!”

“Oh, boy do I love clown cars!”

“What’s that?”

“Toons in this town have weird fascinations?”

“How dare you!”

“I’ll have you know I have only the finest of taste in clown cars.”

“Now unless you want to lose your chance to find out what’s inside these boxes, you better get to fishing!”

You can fish up the Clown Car Tires from any pond in Toontown Central. Bring them back to Loony Louis for one more gift of 48 experience and 3 jellybeans.

“Alright, I’ll tell you!”

“It’s…”

“IT’S…”

“MORE CLOWN CAR PARTS!”

“Isn’t it fantastic!”

“Wait, where are you goi-”

All that’s left after this is to report back to Good ol’ Gil Giggles to wrap up the task.

“Splendid! Really a great job has been done all-around by you, [Toon Name].”

“I’ve gotta say, I really feel like you’re on my side. I got some serious trust in you now.”

“I’m gonna give you the thumbs up from me and I’m gonna move you up to the Toon himself, Lord Lowden Clear.”

“He’s always up to something so I’m sure he could use your help.”

This grants you 336 experience, 23 jellybeans, and caps off Good ol’ Gil Giggles’ arc.

Next time, we see what Lord Lowden Clear wants you to do.

that mail system is a hot mess but also a mood

#submission

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alfvaen · 8 months

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Novel Score

It's sometime around the beginning of a month, which apparently means these days that it's time for me to do a roundup post of the books I read in the preceding month--in this case, January 2024. Once again have been keeping on top of it during the month which helps me actually produce it in a timely manner. Because I started this back in November/December, doing monthly book posts isn't a New Year's resolution, unless the resolution was just "keep doing it". I'm keeping doing it.

Book list under the cut, book-related ramblings may include spoilers for Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan series, Martha Wells's Murderbot series, Kelly Meding's Dreg City series, and maybe others. You have been warned.

Ashok Banker: Siege of Mithila, completed January 6

As mentioned previously, I am rapidly running out of books by male "diversity" slot authors in my collection. I read the first Ashok Banker book, Prince of Ayodhya, a few years earlier, and was kind of meh on it, so I wasn't sure if I would continue. But I did pick up the other one as a library discard (ah, the days when I got books and CDs as library discards…back when they used to have a sale rack in the local branch all the time, instead of saving them up for periodic bulk sales…) so I hadn't entirely given up on it. So, in not quite desperation, I turned to Siege of Mithila as my next diversity read.

The series is apparently a retelling of the Ramayana, which is some kind of important epic in India, though I can't judge if it's like "the Bible" or "King Arthur" or "The Iliad" or what, but I assume it's somewhere on that level, at least among certain cultures. My brief skimming of the Wikipedia article on the Ramayana implies that Banker is following the story pretty closely, which means that sometimes it gets a little weird plotwise, but is perhaps more revealing culturally or something. And sometimes it's a wee bit problematic…like the way that the main adversary for the first two books is Ravana, lord of the Asuras (basically demons), who rules over the southern island kingdom of Lanka (like…"Sri Lanka"?), which is populated entirely by Asuras. Which is about like if there was a fantasy series set in England where they had to fight evil demons from the western island kingdom of Eire or something. (Wait…do they have those?) One wonders if this series (or the original Ramayana) are quite as popular in Sri Lanka, then…

Anyway, we mostly follow Rama, the titular Prince of Ayodhya from the first book, and his half-brother Lakshman, but a lot of this book is also set back in the palace in Ayodhya following Rama's father the Maharaja, his three wives, and the evil (and hunchbacked--oh look, it's equating deformity with wickedness, that's awesome) witch Manthara as she and Ravana try to sabotage the kingdom from within. Rama and Lakshman end up going to Mithila instead of back to Ayodhya, and foiling a big Asura attack on the city, which comes unbelievably close to the end of the book and is not quite solved by deus ex machina, but doesn't feel particularly satisfying.

One element of the series is that some of the characters are just like ridiculously powerful sages who were like "I've been meditating for 5000 years so I'm really wise and can do anything, though I guess I should let Rama solve a few things on his own to gain some of his own wisdom". Not that this is all that different from, say, Gandalf or Merlin, of course... There are also some odd storytelling choices, like switching to a different set of characters just at a dramatic point in a different storyline, or, in one major side-quest, just skipping the ending of it and coming back to it a couple of chapters later in flashbacks. Also, one character is given important advice by a ghost which he then completely ignores (luckily other people overrule him, but it bugged me).

The book kind of feels like the second book of a trilogy, but not quite, which makes sense because apparently there are eight other books in the series, so it's not just about fighting Ravana and the Asuras. I'm on the bubble about the series, as you may have gathered, so I don't know offhand if I'll be going on.

T. Kingfisher: Clockwork Boys, completed January 9

I paced myself going through Siege of Mithila, taking seven days for it (I started on December 31st to get a little head start), so it put me a bit behind on my Goodreads challenge (100 books for the year, again). This means, time to read some shorter things! I haven't read any T. Kingfisher yet (though I have read, like, the webcomic "Digger" under her real name, Ursula Vernon, if nothing else), so I let my wife, who has read a lot of them, suggest which one I should start with, and this was the one she chose (at the time; it may have been a couple of years ago). We have it as an ebook from Kobo, which sometimes makes it a little hard to tell how long the book actually is in pages, but Goodreads claimed it was under 300 pages, so it seemed a possible three-day read.

I was, I guess, vaguely expecting a steampunk story involving two boys who were made of clockwork or something, but apparently it's more straight fantasy (not too similar to the Ramayana was far as I can tell, though, which is good because I like consecutive reads to vary in genre if at all possible) where the Clockwork Boys are the bad guys. Also, apparently this is the first of a duology, a "long book split in two" duology as opposed to "book and a sequel featuring the same characters" duology.

The characters seem somewhat interesting, though I'm not sure I'm 100% won over. Sir Caliban for some reason reminds me of both Sanderson's Kaladin and Bujold's Cazaril, but maybe it's just the similarity of names enhancing certain similarities of character. And the demons also made me think of Bujold's Penric books. Maybe the tone is a little light for me on this one. We've got the second one as an ebook too, so I'll finish it off at some point and then maybe take a look at Nettle & Bone or something.

Kelly Meding: The Night Before Dead, completed January 12

As I may have also mentioned previously, I've tried a whole lot of urban fantasy series. Many of them, my wife has enjoyed more than I have, and is all caught up on them, but most of those I'm only a few books in. (I've given up on relatively few--Jennifer Estep and Jess Haines, among others.) For whatever reason, my wife didn't like the first book in Kelly Meding's "Dreg City" series, Three Days To Dead, and this time, to be actually clever about it, I decided to read the book myself and decide if I wanted to continue on in the series before it went out of print. As it turned out, I did like the first book, and I kept reading it on my own. When the series got dropped by the publisher after four books, I even went and bought the last two books (self-published, probably print on demand) to finish the series.

So this is the last one, which is supposed to wrap up the main conflict. Our main character, Evy Stone, started out the series waking up after death in a newly-vacated body; she was part of a group that worked to deal with paranormal threats. This world has beast-form shapeshifters named "Theria", vampires, and lots of types of fey--mostly pretty usual when it comes to urban fantasy--and their existence is unknown to world at large, etc.

Thie book does seem to wrap things up well enough, at least for the main characters, though it's hard to say if all the resolutions are satisfying. Still, it was enjoyable enough. She does have a couple of other, shorter series which I can try next, since we do actually own them. (And maybe some stuff under a different name?)

Lois McMaster Bujold: Brothers In Arms, completed January 15

Next (chronologically) in the reread order, this is the one where Miles goes to Earth and discovers the existence of his clone-brother Mark (spoilers). It starts up with a level of frustration--why does Miles have to stay at the embassy, and why aren't his mercenaries getting paid?--but things mostly work out in the end. Ivan shows up again (by authorial fiat--it's a bit too much of a coincidence, really), we meet recurring character Duv Galeni, and of course Mark, as mentioned already. It's not a particular favourite, but it's pretty good. And without it, how would we get Mirror Dance, and thus Memory?

I feel like I should be able to say more about it, but I've already talked about the Vorkosigan series a lot in previous posts, and, like I said, it's not a particular favourite. I guess I could mention how the first time through the series I read them in publication order, and so this was before The Vor Game and Cetaganda… Also, although we don't see much of Earth outside of London, we do get a good look at the gigantic dikes being used to hold back the ocean, because in the intervening mumble-mumble centuries the sea levels have risen. So presumably the icecaps have melted or something, though it doesn't seem like the Gulf Stream has shut down or anything, so maybe they have managed to mitigate things somewhat. An interesting view of future Earth, anyway, without going too overboard on covering the vast majority of the planet not relevant to our immediate plot.

Seth Dickinson: The Traitor Baru Cormorant, completed January 20

Taking another book from my list of authors to try (currently stored on my pool table); I picked this one because apparently the author has a new book coming out, and I do see people talking about the character from time to time, so clearly this is a book/series that has had some staying power and cultural impact, as opposed to something obscure that apparently sank without a trace. But this is a book that my wife tried, and either didn't finish or didn't want to continue the series.

And, having finished it, I can see why. I wouldn't say that it's a bad book…but I didn't, in the end, like it. I read it all the way to the end, and I've decided I'll leave it there and not try to continue the series. And probably I won't look for other books by Dickinson either. Like Ian McDonald's Desolation Road, which I read last year, I felt, as I was reading it, that this was a book I would have liked a lot better when I was younger, but these days it just doesn't do it for me.

It has the feeling of fantasy, in that it's set in a different world from our own, and there is none of the futuristic technology that would explain this as being a colony world…but there is also little or nothing in the way of magic. A little alchemy, maybe, but I don't know that it's out of line with what you could achieve with actual drugs. No wizards, and I don't think there were supernatural creatures either. But it's fantasy-coded, and maybe there's some minor thing I'm forgetting. It's not about magic, though. It's really about colonialism, and what happens when you're sucked into the colonizer's system so far that you think that the only way to help your people is by going along with that system. And Baru Cormorant is somewhat autistic-coded, perhaps--not only is she a savant, but she seems to have trouble figuring out the motives and feelings of others. Puts too much confidence in the ability to explain everything using economics (the character and possibly also the author, quite frankly), in a way which reminds me mostly of Dave Sim's deconstruction of faith and fantasy in Cerebus: Church And State. Not sure if it counts as grimdark, but it feels like the honorable are punished for their naivety like in "A Song of Ice And Fire". I lost sympathy for the main character partway through, and never got much for anyone else either. One character I liked and hoped to see more of was (gratuitously?) killed in the middle of the book. I was forewarned of the existence of a plot twist at the end of the book, and when it came, although I wasn't completely surprised, I was disappointed, and I didn't feel that it worked.

So, yeah. Your mileage may vary, but this book did not win me over.

Charles Stross: The Annihilation Score, completed January 25

I wanted something a bit more light-hearted after the previous book, but not, apparently, too much so. Charles Stross's "Laundry Files" series is set against a backdrop of cosmic horror and the looming end of the world, but also of British governmental bureaucracy, out of which he can usually pull of a fair amount of humour, as well as humanity. The main protagonist of the series is Bob Howard (named in honour of Robert E. Howard, inventor of Conan and friend of Lovecraft), computational demonologist, and the books in turn have paid tribute to a lot of different sources--James Bond, vampires, American evangelical megachurches, and--in this book--superheroes. But also, in this book, Bob is not our narrator; instead, we get his wife, Mo, in the fallout of a scene in the previous book (which we get from her POV here) with dire implications for their relationship…which has always been kind of a three-way between Bob, Mo, and Mo's soul-eating sentient violin, and this triangle has now come to a crisis. Plus there's superheroes.

Stross notes in the introduction that he never really read American superhero comics, so he had to pick a few brains about them, but the book really isn't about American superheroes either; he references the British superhero anthology series "Temps" (which I never did manage to read, since I only managed to find the second book, but now I feel like I should check out) as contrasted with the "Wild Cards" series.

All in all it's pretty decent, with lots of witty read-aloud bits, but the pacing is odd; there's a lot of plotlines, and some of them don't seem to progress for a long time. Some of them turn out to be red herrings, I guess, but overall it doesn't gel as well as it could. We don't see much of Bob (which makes sense since this isn't his book), though Mo is a perfectly fine protagonist. I'll be fine going back to Bob for the next book. If I can ever find it.

See, apparently this is the last book in the series I own right now, and probably the next one, The Nightmare Stacks, came and went while I was behind on reading it, and now it's out of print (and possibly never had a mass-market release at all, which is still my preferred format) and seems like it'll be hard to find in any physical format. I mean, I went on a site which allows you to search indie and second-hand bookstores, and the title didn't even come up on search. I have long been resisting switching wholeheartedly over to ebooks (a transition my wife has already made), but I can see that at some point I may have to get used to the fact that ebooks are just replacing mass-market paperbacks for the cheap release format. (I still can't manage to bring myself to spend as much as $8, let alone $12 or more, for an ebook, though. Like…what am I paying for? The publishing costs are minuscule compared to physical copies, and I expect that saving to be passed on to me. I guess I don't know if the extra is being passed on to the author in a non-self-published situation, but given our current corporate hellscape I'm gonna say probably not. Note: if you think this makes me a horrible person who hates writers to make money, please remember that I am married to a writer who I would love to make enough money that I don't have to work, but the publishing industry is horrible and they're the ones that actually have the capability to allow writers to make enough money to make a living, and they're not doing it, so I don't know what to tell you. I've bought thousands of books in my life, even if I don't go out of my way to buy the most expensive ones, because that's a good way to go broke. Get off my back, person I made up for this parenthetical aside.)

Martha Wells: System Collapse, completed January 28

I may be the last person in my house to have read Murderbot. My wife had already read some of Martha Wells earlier books (Raksura series, I want to say) before she read the Murderbot novells, and she loved them and read them to/got our kids to read them too. I eventually scheduled one in (novellas are good when I'm behind on my Goodreads challenge) and…it was okay, I guess? And I kept reading them because, well, more novellas. Last year I read the first novel-length story, Network Effect, and I liked it somewhat better than the novellas, for whatever reason.

I had been putting off the latest one for a little while, though, partly because of my Vorkosigan reread--I generally don't like books that are too close in genre too close together, and they're both kinda space opera-ish, though quite different kinds (Murderbot's future is more corporate-dominated), but next up I'm taking a break for a Dick Francis reread, so I thought I might as well put it in now. Though I've got to say that, since we have it as a physical hardcover as opposed to the digital novella ebooks, I'm really not a big fan of the texture of the dust jacket. Like, it is physically unpleasant to touch, being just a little bit rough. But not as bad as some I'd run across in the past few years, so I don't have to, like, take off the dust jacket to read it.

In the end I didn't like it as well as Network Effect, though I did like the middle bit where Murderbot becomes a Youtube influencer. The early part of the book, Murderbot is in a bit of a depressive state and not fun to read, like the first part of "Order of The Phoenix" or something. I guess if a character is too hypercompetent then nothing challenges them, but I wasn't a big fan of the emotional arc.

Dick Francis: Forfeit, completed January 31

I remember precisely where I was when I first heard of Dick Francis. See, I went to this convention in Edmonton in the summer of 1989, "ConText '89". It was an important convention--a reader-oriented rather than media-dominated SF/Fantasy convention, for one thing, and also it resulted in the formation of the first SF/Fantasy writer's organization in Canada, currently named SF Canada. Oh, and also, I met a cute girl there (Nicole, a YA author guest from northern Alberta), started dating, fell in love, got married, had three kids, and we're still married today.

I also saw this posting for a writing course out at a place called the Black Cat Guest Ranch, in the Rockies near Hinton, and decided to go. There I met Candas Jane Dorsey (who was the instructor for the course) and several other writers, and we later formed a writers' group called The Cult of Pain which is still going to this day. Anyway, I went out for a second course there, with Nicole coming along this time (though we may not have technically been dating and didn't share a room)--I think it was in mid-February sometime--and one evening we were all hanging out in the outdoor hot tub, watching snowflakes melt over our heads, and talking about books. And Candas and Nicole started rhapsodizing about this guy named Dick Francis. I said, "Who?" And they both told me I had to go read him, like, right away.

Dick Francis, apparently, was a former steeplechase jockey turned mystery/thriller writer. Now, mysteries and thrillers were not really my thing--I was into the SF & fantasy--but I supposed I was willing to try it. I was in university and trying to read other stuff outside my comfort zone, like Thomas Hardy and The Brothers Karamazov and William S. Burroughs, so why not. Plus, I wanted my girlfriend to like me. And the first one I picked up was one that one of my roommates had lying around, called Forfeit. It was pretty decent, and I went on to others--Nicole had a copy of Nerve, and I soon started to pick up more--and eventually read almost all of them (a few proved elusive, but I tracked down a copy of Smokescreen not long ago…).

Every book was concerned in some way with horse racing, but there was a wide variety--sometimes the main character was a jockey, but sometimes that was just their side hustle, and they had another profession, or sometimes they did something else like train horses or transport horses, or paint pictures of horses, or they didn't do anything about horses but the romantic interest did… He covered a lot of different professions over his books, they were usually quite interesting, and his characters were always very well-drawn. After his wife Mary (apparently an uncredited frequent collaborator and researcher) died, there was a gap of a few years before he started writing them with his son Felix. I think I read all of those ones, but after he died and Felix started writing solo novels, I haven't really kept up on those ones.

Instead, a few years ago I decided I was going to reread all the books, in publication order, interspersed with my series rereads as I was already doing with Discworld and Star Trek books. Forfeit is his seventh published book…and when I went to look for it on my shelf, I discovered that I actually didn't own a copy, and probably never had. I had just borrowed it from my roommate, and then given it back (a rookie mistake). Was it in print? Of course not, don't be silly. I had managed to find a used copy of Smokescreen online, as I mentioned, but for Forfeit there was only more expensive trade paperbacks, or $8 ebooks. They didn't even have it at the library! Except, well, they did…but I'd have to interlibrary loan it. I went back on forth on which to try to do, and eventually went ILL, and it came in for me at the library on the 20th. So there, overpriced ebooks. (And person I made up for the earlier parenthetical aside.)

Dick Francis novels have turned to be pretty rereadable, because they're not primarily mysteries of the sort where you don't remember which of the suspects is guilty; they're mysteries where the main character has to figure out who's behind the crimes and then avoid getting killed by them. Some of it is competency porn as they use their special skills to solve problems. And some of it just because of the engaging characters, which are maybe not quite all the way there in the earlier books (the ones I've reread so far are still books from the 60s, so the female characters could be more nuanced). In Forfeit what I recalled from that first read (some 34 years ago) was that the main character was a sportswriter, it started with one of his colleagues killing himself, and his wife was disabled and bedridden. (And one exciting scene in the middle of the book in which spoilers.) Though it turned out I was conflating two suicide openings (Nerve also starts with one, a gunshot suicide on the first page, whereas Forfeit's is more falling out of a window), and the exciting scene is missing an element I was sure was there.

So that's eight books in one month, which is basically enough to keep up on my Goodreads challenge, but I also managed to squeeze in a couple more on the side track. First of all, there was my brother's book, Paths of Pollen, which came out last year; my mom went to the book launch in Toronto and brought back a signed copy for me. As one might expect, it talks about honeybees (and the time he was working on our stepfather's apiary), but covers a lot of pollen details I didn't know, about all the other bees, beetles, butterflies, insects, and other animals that also do pollination. It's a sobering look at how plants reproduce and how we're screwing it up in a lot of cases. (I hadn't realized before how much insects use pollen as food…somehow I thought they were nectar-eaters and they just picked up pollen because the plants forced them too, but I guess it makes sense that they also eat it.)

Then there was another one of the Love & Rockets ebook bundle that I've been going through. This volume, Esperanza, is around the latest stuff I read in the Love & Rockets Vol. 2 comics (which I have only read once or twice), so it's fairly unfamiliar to me. Despite it being named after Esperanza "Hopey" Glass, most of the book seems to revolve around Vivian, a.k.a. Frogmouth, a hot, buxom woman with an unfortunate voice, who both Maggie and Ray are lusting after, despite her problematic relationships with some violent criminals. Ray and Maggie do meet up again briefly; Maggie's working as an apartment superintendent, Hopey's working in a bar but trying to get into a teaching assistant job, surreal things happen with Izzy, Doyle's around as well, and we see brief glimpses of Maggie's sister Esther. It was interesting but I didn't find it altogether compelling.

With ten books for January, that means I'm really read up to 36.5 days into the year, or February 5th, so I'm a little bit ahead. I'll be taking advantage of this to start off February with a longer book, for my female diversity slot--Fonda Lee's Jade Legacy, to wrap up that series. More about that next month, of course…

#books #Ashok Banker #Martha Wells #T. Kingfisher #Kelly Meding #Lois McMaster Bujold #Seth Dickinson #Charles Stross #Dick Francis #Vorkosigan #Murderbot

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bluecoolr · 2 years

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just thought of a question to get those gears in your pretty lil head (with big brain) turning

Todd siblings, boardgame night edition - aka how would they be when playing games? obviously, there's Monopoly (or, the devil in board game form, probably), stuff like Uno (once played it in a group of 6 or 7 and. it was. an experience), and idk what other games you can play with so many people. ummm... we used to have a version of "Mensch ärgere dich nicht" (In English it's called "Sorry!" I think) that was for five or six players (the layout therefore wasn't a square but same principle)

idk i just wanna know what a family game night at the Todd's looks like ;D

Cylas my darling you come up with the most fun questions 💙💙💙 I love board games! God I miss playing with a lot of people 😔😔 Hopefully this blurb offers some good vibes after the events told in Dead Man Walking and Where am I? 😬

Todd Siblings Game Night

"Family Fun Night" always spirals into chaos. I like to think Susannah's the one who arranges game nights, complete with snacks and drinks.

When playing Monopoly, Nathan and Judah are both aggresively competitive.

Their insults are creative - "You goddamn heretical Gentile!" "Where'd you learn to count? Sodom and Gomorrah?" "You pay me right now, Judas!" "Filthy fuckin' swamp rat..." "Greedy bloated goat."

They tend to kick each other under the table.

Nathan thinks he has the best strategy. In reality, Darrell's ths one that has them all by the balls. He buys out all the train stations and makes the best underhanded deals but nobody realizes.

Salome's not really that good of a player. She doesn't want to pay anyone becaus she likes looking at the colors of the money and won't let them go.

They just sit her aside and have her be the "banker", "realtor", and "card reader".

As much as Darrell and Susannah try to be calm and reasonable with him, they still end up yelling.

Judah... doesn't really understand the rules so well. He insists you can't increase rent without due notice and why is he going to jail - he did nothing wrong!

Salome once read out a card that told the players to grab the cash in the air. Nathan - overeager and most likely too thrilled to one-up his siblings - went ahead and raked the money that fell on the tabletop, much to his siblings' anger.

Nobody ever wins Monopoly. They all just collectively decide that they've had enough screaming and fighting for the night.

Uno's pretty much the same.

Nathan is ruthless. He will do everything he can to win.

Needless to say Salome has cried numerous times during game night.

Nathan has tried to strangle Judah.

Darrell was once so insulted that he tackled Nathan.

Susannah was left in tears because why can't they just be a normal family?

They do however enjoy something so simple as charades.

Nathan's too sure of himself and stubborn.

One time Darrell was acting out "building" and Nathan just kept yelling "BRICKS!" without compromise. Needless to say they lost.

Susannah's the best at acting out.

There's a lot of laughter and teasing nonetheless and they all have fun even though it gets so extreme.

Salome's great at guessing, being the more observant sibling.

Sometimes they play cards or chess or checkers or snakes and ladders.

Nathan hates Scrabble because he doesn't know a lot of "fancy words".

I do however would like to be in the room when they play Crocodile Dentist 🤣

When they wind down after a game, just drinking sweet tea or lemonade and munching on the last of the food, they recount all the funny things that happened.

And they say goodnight to each other without fail.

#todd siblings #alt timeline #darrell todd #nathan todd #susannah todd #salome todd #judah todd

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mymarblesaregone · 1 year

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Click.

This is a short story I wrote when I was still in high school. I'd love to hear some feedback on it. TW: violence, implied suicide, drug use, alcohol,

Tim,

I just heard about your new job. I really hope it works out, you deserve a win after all that bullshit with she-who-will-not-be-named. I still can’t believe what I heard but I agree, moving out to Cali is definitely the best choice. Well, I’m leaving for open water later this month so let me know if you’re not busy. Maybe we can set something up before I go. And Tim, try not to dwell on the past too much. I know what he did was terrible but you gotta move on.

Rooting for you bro,

Anders

I want to start off by saying that it wasn’t my fault. No matter what the cops say. I know you’ve seen the news. I want it to be clear that I have no idea what anyone is talking about. I’ve made mistakes but who hasn’t? I was tired. I’m always tired. But that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is what’s happening now. I’m in a new state, and I can finally get my fresh start. All my problems can finally just go away, while I-

“Hey, you okay?”

I snap back to reality as the checkout clerk taps me on the shoulder. He’s a small kid, not much of a presence, probably a few years out of high school. I was that young once, wasn’t I? It feels like a million years since then.

Yeah, I just spaced out. I reply, trying to keep an air of confidence. For whatever reason, this kid unnerves me. Maybe it’s something to do with his face. He has such a tired face for a kid, like he had already been through sixty years of heartache and exhaustion. It’s all wrong, he must have stolen that look, that face. I wouldn’t be surprised if I walked outside to find a seventy year old investment banker with a blank skull lying on the curb. I hate it. I can feel those tired eyes judging me, judging the variety of sleeping pills and chips I drop on the counter. It brings back some memories I’d rather not think about again. I pay for my crap and leave.

Walking through the streets of suburbia in the middle of the night used to calm me down, back when I came here as a kid. It was an escape from the busy streets and problems of the city. Well, I guess it still is. That’s probably why I’m here now. Maybe I should revisit some memories. I call a cab. It’s not ideal but it’s the only way to get around out here without my own car. If I remember right, I have about twenty minutes. Waiting around outside isn’t too bad on an autumn night I guess. Who am I kidding, yes it is. I claw open a bottle of pills. I don’t care which ones, I just need something to take the edge off.

Click.

Swallow.

Sigh.

That’s better. I think I need a drink. I have time, all the cab drivers are either drunk or asleep at this time of night. I stumble over to a nearby club, the pills kicking in. The bouncer is busy dealing with some junkie on the street so I sneak in. I hear blows land behind me as I walk through the door. Ugh. I have such a headache. I sit down and rest my head on the bar.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The bartender looms above me, a towering example of someone who peaked in junior year of high school. I’m guessing football team. Not a quarterback, his arms were too evenly toned. No, the broad shoulders, beady little eyes, and an unearned sense of pride give him away. Second string linebacker. Just close enough to glory to hang out with the popular guys on the team but not enough to get the cheerleaders. His cut-up tee stretched around his ostentatious biceps. I don’t need this.

“I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me. Not wanting a fight, I get up and walk away, ignoring his yells as I leave. Waiting outside, I hear the sounds of a fight inside. Smashed glass, banging on wood, a chair breaking over someone’s back, a skull busting through a jukebox. What kind of bar still has a jukebox? After about twenty minutes, a man taps my shoulder.

“Lookin’ for a ride?” His gruff voice seems familiar but I just can’t place it. Maybe it reminds me of my dad. Or at least someone’s dad.

“What’s your name?”

I tell him my name is Martin. It’s not, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, I’m Rever. Want to do something fun?”

When you’re in a bad place, you make bad decisions, and there are few worse places than some random guy’s apartment at three in the morning. Nothing good happens when you’re sleep-deprived. I wake up in his bedroom, inside a dilapidated old apartment. Vague memories of climbing a gate and breaking a lock come back to me. Flashes of the gas station and that kid. Why did Rever need to break into his own apartment? Is it his apartment? It’s been a day, no, three? Who knows? Time has felt fake since I left Pennsylvania. My head is still pounding.

“Let’s get some breakfast, eh?” That same gruff voice from last night pulls me back from inside my head. “I know a place.”

The place turned out to be a piece-of-crap diner on the west side of town. It seemed familiar, maybe I came here as a kid. We grab a booth in a corner, overlooking the river running through the city. I ask for eggs and a coffee, the waitress ignores Rever, as if she knows who he is already. Knows what he is.

“So what’s a loner like you doing in a place like this?”

I didn’t answer. How could I answer when I didn’t know?

“Alright, keep your secrets.” I chuckle a bit at the outdated reference, just so she drops the subject. We finish our food, chatting about how awful it is the whole time. I guess Rever is capable of small talk. Why do people do things they know will be terrible? We force ourselves to go to the same terrible diners, the same terrible jobs, the same terrible people, all to die one day. What’s the point? To consume media and products until we die? What kind of life is that?

The next week is a blur of people, drugs, and Rever. How many days have passed? I wake up. I eat. I go out. I black out. Rinse. Repeat. Only two things stay constant. Rever, and my splitting headache. I do anything I can to dull the pain but it’s all temporary. I’m falling deeper and deeper and there’s no one to catch me.

I’m alone.

I miss Tim.

But I’m not alone. Rever is there. Pulling me deeper. Pulling me off the edge. He doesn’t care. He stays cold. But he keeps the pain away, even if it’s only temporary, like a band-aid and a lollipop for a bullet wound.

A good distraction.

He invites me out. A party, kind of. A bar, drinks, blacking out again.

I wake up in Rever’s apartment. Something is wrong. He’s nowhere to be found. In his place is a strange man lying in the bed beside me. He looks familiar.

It’s the boy from the gas station.

Rever appears through the broken door. He motions for me to keep quiet and points at the man. I finally notice the slight red tinge spreading through the sheets. I would’ve screamed a month ago. Now, I barely blink. Rever is no stranger to inviting strangers home only for them to have an “accident.” This is definitely the most brutal though. And he looks so much like Tim, more than the rest. I stand up, mildly phased but really just thinking.

Great. I have to run again.

Next thing I know, Rever and I are flying down I-84 in a stolen pickup truck. The truck picks up more and more speed and Rever’s face cracks into a disturbing grin. His eyes close and his hands drop off the wheel. It’s not the first time someone has done something like this to me. I know what to do.

Tuck and roll.

Aim for grass.

Protect your neck.

Luckily, Rever drifts to the right when he’s high, just like I do. Peeling myself off the grass, I stumble off into the distance. I hear the truck slam into a lamppost or a tree. Something tall. I might as well just turn myself in now. Hell, Rever is the one who killed the guy, I’ll be fine. A state trooper department appears in front of me, like some boot-licker made a wish on a shooting star. Walking in, I get a few stares. I am covered in blood and bruises after all. I give my name to a receptionist. After typing my name into her computer, her face goes pale. She makes a call and about twenty officers burst into the room pointing weapons at my face.

I don’t even blink.

Why should I?

I’m dragged into an interrogation room. A million questions are asked. I don’t know the answers. I wouldn’t tell them if I did. They tell me if I cooperate they’ll reduce my sentence. Otherwise they can’t help me. They found my fingerprints. They had CCTV footage. It all blends together. They call me a junkie, a drunk. That’s fair. They call me reckless. Also fair. They called me a murderer. A serial killer. That caught me off guard. I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never even hurt a fly. Charges are hurled like stones at my face. There are pictures, security tapes.

An injured bouncer, lying on the ground.

I place my hand on the black eye I’ve had for a week.

A man is thrown into a jukebox while another swings a chair.

The deep cuts in my back flare to life.

Breaking and entering. Climbing in through the window. Alone.

Bruises on my legs and arms start throbbing.

Murder.

My head is screaming.

Murder.

No.

Murder.

I refuse, I can’t accept this.

It hurts.

The trial is quick. I don’t even ask for a lawyer. The jury looks disgusted while the charges are read. I don’t care. Why should I care what they think when I’m disgusted with myself. I’m guilty, we all know it. I don’t contest anything. Surprisingly, they stop short of giving me the chair. Just three quick life sentences and I’d be free to go. Prison isn’t so bad. Hell, they even gave me my own room with a desk and a bed all to myself. I meet a guy, Charlie, who says he can get anything into or out of the prison. I make friends with him quickly.

It’s not hard to give up. Really, it’s the easiest thing in the world. You give up when you quit a job, quit a game, quit a relationship. But it’s another thing to give up control. It’s something that can’t be explained easily. All at once, it’s the easiest and the hardest thing a person can do, to just relinquish everything. Prison was a godsend and hell all at once. I never have to make another decision. Well, after this next one.

Damn, I should’ve thanked Charlie when I had the chance. Are those my last thoughts? I guess it could be worse, even if the main question on my mind is how clean the cold steel in my mouth is. It tastes like sweat and fear. Something tells me I don’t want to know how he got it into the prison. I know what comes next. The acrid smell, the blinding light, and a deafening crack.

Shoot. I guess Rever wins.

Or… I guess I do.

I’m sorry Tim.

It was all my fault.

Click.

#writing #beginner writing #short story #violence #tw sui implied #dark #tw drinking #queer author

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aspenmissing · 1 year

Text

𝙻𝚘𝚗𝚐-𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

Sam and Dean walk across a city square towards Y/N, who is sitting on a bench.

"Yep. I got it. Okay, bye," Y/N says. She hangs up and picks up two cans of soda, throwing them to Sam and Dean. Y/N stands up as Dean looks at the can of soda and then at her.

"Do I look like a kid?" Dean asks. Y/N nods.

"You act like one," Y/N looks to Sam. "Anything?"

"So, the professor doesn't know crap."

"Shocking," Y/N says sarcastically. "Pack your panties, boys, we're hitting the road." Y/N walks past them and they turn to look at her.

"What? What's up?" Sam asks.

"That was Bobby," Y/N informs. "Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio and he thinks there's a spirit involved."

"So, you two were talking a case?" Dean asks.

"No, we were actually talking about our feelings. And then our favorite boy bands," Y/N says, and Dean nods, understanding. "Yeah, we were talking about a case!" Dean glares at her, shaking his head.

"So, a spirit, what?"

"Yeah, the banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire; computer was flipping on and off," Y/N explains.

"Huh...?" Sam trails off, nodding.

"This is not ringing a bell?" Y/N asks.

"Well, sure, yeah. But, Y/N, we're already on a case," Sam says.

"Whose?"

"Yours," Dean answers.

"Right. Yeah. Well, you could have fooled me," Y/N turns around.

"What the hell else have we been doing lately other than trying to break your deal?" Y/N turns back around.

"Chasing our tails, that's what," She steps closer to them. "We've talked to every professor, witch, soothsayer, and two-bit carny act in the lower 48. Nobody knows squat! And we can't find Bela, we can't find the Colt. So, until we actually find something, I'd like to do my job."

"Well, there's one thing we haven't tried yet..." Sam looks to Dean, who reluctantly nods.

"Guys, no," Y/N disagrees.

"We should summon Ruby."

"I'm not gonna have this fight with you."

"She said she knows how to save you," Dean says.

"Well, she can't."

"And you know that for sure?"

"I do," Y/N answers.

"How?" Dean asks.

"Because she told me, okay!?" Y/N snaps, and the brothers frown and stare at her in confusion and shock. She sighs, shaking her head.

"What?" Sam asks.

"She told me. Flat out. She can't save me, nobody can," She informs.

"And you just somehow neglected to mention this to us?" Dean asks.

"Well, I really don't care what that bitch thinks and neither should you, so..."

"So, what, now you're keeping secrets from us, Y/N?" Sam says.

"You really wanna talk about who's keeping secrets from who?" Y/N questions, and Sam looks away and doesn't answer, walking past the twins.

"Sam, where you going?" Dean asks, sighing. Sam turns to the two, throwing his arms to the sides.

"Guess I'm going to Ohio," Sam turns back around and walks away. Dean and Y/N share a quick look before he shakes his head and walks away. Y/N shortly follows.

Sam, Dean, and Y/N turn into the driveway of a house where the man had shot himself. They are dressed in their formal outfits. A woman, who was the man's wife, leads them into his study.

"I found him there," she says, pointing.

"Why don't you tell us everything you saw, Mrs. Waters?" Dean says. Mrs. Waters turns to face the three.

"You mean besides my dead husband?" She asks, sarcastically.

"Just everything else you saw," Sam says. "Please."

Mrs. Waters sighs, turning to look around. "Blood. Everywhere." She turns back to the three. "The phone was ripped from the wall, his favorite scotch on the desk, what else could you possibly want to know?"

"Why was the phone ripped from the wall?" Y/N asks.

"I don't know."

"You mind if I take a look?" Sam asks, and she gestures for him to go on. Sam walks past Mrs. Waters and towards the desk.

"I already went over this with the other detectives."

"We'll be out of your hair in no time, ma'am," Dean says as he and Y/N follow Sam. Sam presses a few buttons on the phone.

"Ma'am, what time did your husband die?" He asks. Mrs. Waters sighs.

"Sometime after 11." Sam waits until Dean and Y/N look at him, then taps the phone display.

"What about strange phone calls?" Y/N asks, turning to face Mrs. Waters. "Receive any of those lately, weird interference, static, anything like that?"

"No," Mrs. Waters replies, defensively. Dean and Y/N share a look before they look back at Mrs. Waters, eyebrows raised. "No!"

"Mrs. Waters, withholding information from the police is a capital offense," Dean warns. Sam noisily clears his throat. Dean glances at him and receives a bitchface before looking to Y/N, who shakes her head. "In some parts of the world I'm sure," Dean says under his breath.

"But not here," Y/N says under her breath. Mrs. Waters sighs again.

"A couple of weeks ago, uh...there was this..." She trails off.

"This what?" Y/N asks.

"I woke up one morning, I heard Ben in his study. I thought he was talking to a woman."

"What made you think that?" Sam asks, walking to stand beside Y/N.

"Because he kept calling her Linda. The thing is, I picked up the other line and nobody was there, Ben was talking to nobody."

"There was nothing?"

"Just static," Mrs. Waters answers. Sam shares a look with Y/N and Dean.

"Did you ever speak to Ben about this phone call?" Y/N asks.

"No. I should have but...no."

"Did he ever say who Linda was?" Sam asks. Mrs. Waters begins to get upset.

"What difference does it make, there was nobody on the other end!" The siblings exchange a look.

The Winchesters are in a motel room, now changed into their normal clothes. Dean is seated at the laptop, Y/N beside him, and Sam is sitting on the motel bed.

"Linda's a babe," Dean says.

"Or, was," Y/N adds. Sam sits up, clasping his hands together.

"Did you find her?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, Linda Baterman," Dean answers. "She and Ben Waters were high school sweethearts."

"So, what happened?"

"Drunk driver hit them head on. Ben walked away," Y/N says.

"So, what then?" Sam asks. "Dead flame calls to chat?"

"You would think, but Linda was cremated. So, why's she still floating around?" Dean says, standing up.

"You got me."

"What about that, uh, caller I.D.?" Y/N asks.

"Turns out, it's a phone number."

"No phone number I've ever seen," Dean says. Y/N shakes her head.

"Yeah, 'cause it's about a century old, back from when phones had cranks," Sam explains.

"So why use that number to reach out and touch someone?" Dean asks.

"Got me there too, but we should put a trace on it."

"Well, how the hell are we going to put a trace on something that's over 100 years old?" Dean asks.

Y/N, Dean, and Sam follow a suited man down the stairs and along a hallway, now back in their formal outfits.

"We don't get many folks from HQ down here," the man says.

"Yeah, well, the main office mentioned that there would be a lunch," Dean says. Sam gives Dean a bitchface behind the man's back. Dean shrugs.

"To be fair, I am a bit hungry too," Y/N whispers.

"Well, I'm sure we can arrange something. The man you wanna be speaking to is right this..." Sam swipes at a fly that has flown into his hair and the three stop and look.

"Must smell the coconut or strawberry," Y/N jokes.

"I'm sorry. We've got something of a hygiene issue down here if you ask me." They continue walking till they enter the basement office. "Stewie? What did I tell you about keeping this place clean?" Stewie sits at a large console with multiple screens and keyboards. Various packets and junk food are strewn about. Stewie jumps at their entrance and desperately tries to close down the multiple screens in front of him showing advertisements for porn sites. He begins clicking quickly.

"Spam mail...spam mail..." he says.

"Stewie Myers. Mr. Campbell. Mr. Raimi. Miss Frost," the man introduces them. Stewie is still clicking away the ads.

"I don't know how all this got here..." The man looks to Y/N apologetically. She raises her hand, shaking her head with a smile.

"I've seen worse," she says under her breath, side-glancing her brothers who look away, shaking their heads. The man reaches out and flicks the back of Stewie's head, making him jump again and grunt.

"From headquarters?" the man says. Stewie spins around in his chair, then quickly crosses his legs and places his hands together on his lap. "Give these gentlemen and lovely lady whatever they need."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"Thanks," Sam says as the man leaves.

"So, can I help you?" Stewie asks. Dean checks to make sure the man is gone, then gestures towards the screen. He smirks.

"Is that, ahhh, BustyAsianBeauties.com?"

"No," Stewie says, quickly.

"Oh, me so horny," the woman on the computer says. Stewie quickly closes it down.

"Maybe."

"A word to the wise? Platinum membership? Worth every penny, huh?" Dean says, nodding knowingly. Sam rolls his eyes while Y/N nudges his arm.

"Right, sorry to break this lovely conversation. But we're here to trace a number," Y/N gestures to the paper in Sam's hand. He hands Stewie the piece of paper.

"Where did you get this?" Stewie asks.

"Off caller I.D.," Sam answers.

"Oh no, that's impossible."

"It hasn't been used in a few years; we know."

"A few years? It's prehistoric. Trust me, nobody is using this number anymore."

"Sure. Could you run it anyway?" Sam asks.

"Sure," Stewie says snarkily. "Why don't I just rearrange my whole life first?" Dean, Y/N, and Sam glance at each other; Y/N smiles, leaning closer.

"Listen, uh, Stewie. You got like six kinds of employee code violations down here, not to mention the sickening porn that is clogging up your hard drive and those eyes of yours looking me up and down. Now when my partner says run the number, I suggest you run the number!" The three give Stewie a hard look. He looks between them then turns back to his console. Y/N grins; Sam shrugs as he and Dean smile back. Stewie clicks a few more buttons. One of his screens fills with a long list of numbers.

"Holy crap," Stewie says.

"What?" Sam asks.

"I can't tell you where the number comes from, but I can tell you where it's been going."

"What do you mean?" Y/N asks. Stewie pushes print, goes to the printer, and hands some paper to Sam.

"Ten different numbers in the past few weeks, all got calls from the same number." He looks between Sam, Dean, and Y/N as they stare at each other, then sighs and walks between them back to his console. He sits and stares at it for a moment, then looks back. "So, are we done here? 'Cause I was... sort of...busy?"

"Right," Dean says, smirking.

"Sorry for the intrusion," Y/N says as she and the brothers walk out.

Sam drives down a rental car down the street, Dean seated in the passenger seat after having been picked up following his talk with Lanie. Sam's phone rings, he answers it, and places it on speaker.

"Yeah."

"Dude, stiffs have been calling people all over town," Y/N says, walking down a busy road.

"Yeah, tell us about it," Dean says.

"I just talked to an 84-year-old grandmother who's having phone sex with her husband, who died in Korea!"

"Eww," Sam groans.

"That's disgusting."

"It redefined my understanding of the word 'necrophilia,'" Y/N adds. A young man walks past her and overhears; he gives her a dirty look as he passes. Y/N pauses, grimacing, then turns to check him out as he continues walking.

"So, what the hell's going on here, Y/N?" Dean asks.

"Beats me, but we'd better find out soon," Y/N says, reaching the Impala. "This place is turning into spook central."

"Yeah. All right, I'll call you later," Sam says.

"Yeah." Y/N opens the door to the Impala as they hang up, only for her phone to immediately ring again. "Yeah, what?" There is nothing but static. "Sam? Dean?"

"Y/N?" The woman freezes, looking shocked. "Y/N, is that you?"

"Dean, I swear if this is you playing a sick joke—"

"Princess?" Y/N sits in the Impala, facing outwards, holding the phone close to her ear.

"Dad?" Y/N asks.

Back in the motel room, Sam and Dean sit at the table while Y/N paces.

"Dad? You really think it was Dad?" Sam asks.

"I don't know, maybe," Y/N stops pacing.

"Well, what did he sound like?" Dean asks.

"Like Oprah?" Y/N says, sarcastically, as she turns to face the two. "Like Dad, he sounded like Dad, what do you think?"

"What did he say?" Sam asks.

"My name," Y/N answers.

"That's it?"

"Call dropped out."

"Why would he even call in the first place, Y/N?" Sam asks.

"Probably to welcome me to hell, I don't know, guys. Why are ghosts calling anybody in this town? But I mean, other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can't we? It's at least a possibility, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay, so what if...what if it really is Dad?" Y/N asks, sitting opposite the two. "What happens if he calls back?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asks.

"What do I say?" Y/N asks.

"Hello," Dean says.

"Hello?" Y/N asks, and Dean shrugs in response. "That's what you come back with? Hello?"

"Uh..." Y/N grabs her jacket and heads for the door.

"Hello!" Y/N walks out. Sam and Dean look after her, concerned. They shake their heads.

Later, Sam sits on the couch with the laptop in front of him; Dean is lying on one of the beds. Y/N then returns.

"Find anything?" she asks, walking over to him.

"After three hours I have found no reason why anything supernatural would be going on here," Dean sits up on the bed, staring at Sam.

"Well, you know, you'd think a Stanford education and a high school hookup rate of zero point zero would produce better results than that," Dean says.

"Hilarious," Sam says, smiling sarcastically.

"Sammy, you're just looking in the wrong places, pal," Y/N says.

"And what are the right places, Y/N?" Sam asks.

"Motel pamphlet rack," Y/N says, reaching into her jacket pocket. She drops some literature on the coffee table. "Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Thomas Edison." Sam flicks through the papers.

"Yeah, right. So what?"

"Keep reading." Sam scoffs slightly and keeps looking. Y/N looks to Dean, pulling a funny face as Sam's eyebrows go up and he looks to Y/N.

"You're kidding." Sam passes the paper to Dean, who looks up at Y/N.

"Seriously?" Y/N raises her eyebrows back, smiling.

The three arrive at the local museum, and a tour guide leads them, along with others, into a room.

"And we're walking," she says, gesturing towards an old-looking phone. "And here we have one of the museum's most unique and treasured possessions: Thomas Edison's spirit phone," she says, using air quotes. "Did you know that Mr. Edison, as well as being one of America's most beloved inventors, was also a devout occultist?" She uses air quotes again. "Ooh!"

"What's with the quote-y fingers?" Dean whispers to Y/N, who is between the two brothers. She shrugs.

"Make it more exciting," Y/N whispers back, using air quotes herself. Dean chuckles as Sam rolls his eyes at their childish antics.

"He spent years working on this, his final invention, which he was convinced could be used to communicate with the dead," she says, using the air quotes again. "Pretty spooky, huh?" The guide checks her watch, twirls her finger in the air. "And we're walking. We are walking," she continues, leading the group into the next room. "We're walking. And we're not touching that. And we're walking. And stop."

Sam, Dean, and Y/N stay behind and approach the spirit phone. Sam pulls out the EMF reader to scan it.

"Anything?" Dean asks.

"Nothing," Sam answers, placing the EMF back into his pocket.

"What do you think?" Y/N asks.

"Honestly? It kinda looks like an old pile of junk to me," Sam replies.

"It's not even plugged in," Dean says.

"Maybe it didn't work like that," Y/N suggests.

"Okay. Maybe it's like a radio tower, broadcasting the dead all over town," Sam shrugs.

"Could be."

"You know, this caller I.D. is 100 years old, right? Right around the time this thing was built," Y/N says.

"Yeah, but why would it all of a sudden start working now?" Sam asks.

"I don't know. But as long as the mouldy are calling the freshers around here, it's the best reason we've got," Dean says.

"Yeah, maybe."

"So maybe it really is Dad," Y/N says.

Inside the motel room, it's now night. Sam and Dean are asleep while Y/N sits at the table, a large takeaway hot chocolate cup in hand, her phone beside her. She stares into space. The phone rings, the display showing 'SHA33'. Y/N grabs it quickly and heads into the bathroom.

"Dad?" she whispers.

"Y/N."

"Is it really you?" she asks.

"It's me."

"How can I be sure?"

"You can't. Y/N, how could you do it?" John asks.

"What?"

"Sell your soul."

"I was looking after Sam, like you told me to," Y/N replies, concerned.

"I never wanted this. Never. You're my babygirl, I love you. I can't watch you go to hell, Y/N."

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to stop it."

"'Cause if you break the deal, Sam dies, right?" John asks.

"What?"

"Well, I know a way out. For the both of you."

"How?" Y/N asks.

"The demon who holds your contract. He's here. Now."

#supernatural #older sister winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #reader insert

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witchwitha-b · 2 years

Text

So another try to get this part of the collaboration with @paigenoelchas-blog and other writers to upload 😮‍💨 Maybe this time it will work, if it worked the parts are split! I know it's annoying and I wanted to do it completely but there seems to be no other way😑 I got inspired by movies like Pride and Prejudice, little women and musicals like Hamilton and Cyrano for this part! I hope this works 🙏

I hope you like it! Have a great day<3

PS: I listened to a playlist while writing to get me in the mood 😅 I will link it for you on the other part.

PPS : if this works thanks for the help @x3kristax3

Dusty Rooms and Poetry (somewhere in America 1840)

Hospital - Jake

I'm walking through the white room, restless as I watch her still sleeping figure in the bed. She looks so small in it, as if she could shatter into a million pieces any second. My skin itches just to think about her never waking up again, my head hurts I should stop thinking altogether. My phone rings constantly, it's mostly Lilly and Hannah worrying about me and her, sometimes the other try to contact me as well but I just can't stand to text them. Not yet. Not right now. I shut off my phone and throw it back onto the small night stand beside her bed. I'm restless but tired, I'm nauseous but hungry, I'm dehydrated but I'm still crying somehow. I sit down on the chair that became like a second bed to me, like support when my legs failed to do so. Her hand is warm but it's not enough, I brush away her hair, put a little streak behind her ear and caress her soft cheek. "Hey there, my love." I say and do something that I started since we arrived here but never did before. I pray and hope to whoever might hear that she can feel and hear what I do and say. "I remembered that one movie you forced me to watch with you. And I know that I looked bored but I actually really enjoyed it and I enjoyed how much you fell in love with it. Like I fell in love with you. And I couldn't stand to see you cry because of the ending but I guess I have to get used to it, right? You are a emotional person and I love this passion about you. I remembered the movie because I was thinking too much again then I started to have this poem in my head. Maybe I write it down, read it to you. I'm sure you would love it."

I would love to hear your poem... It makes me happy... I think before I slip into another unwanted but needed sleep

Somewhere in America 1840

"MC wake up! Wake up!" I open my eyes and at that exact moment my Amme opens the heavy curtains of my room. Light floods every corner and I close my eyes once more to not become too overwhelmed. "Come on get up my lovely child. You have a big day today." I open one eye and look at her. " Big day?" She takes my arms softly and drags me into a sitting position, her brown eyes wide with shock. "Have you forgotten already? You are going to meet the bankers son!" I roll my eyes and push away the duvet. "What if I don't love him? You know what the people say...he is bizarre." My Amme pushes me off the bed and drags me over to the bathroom, sits me down onto a chair and begins to clean my face and body with a wet cloth. Her rosé dress swings carefully with her movements and the white bonnet is secure around her head. "Since when do you care about the talk of the people? And apart from that even if he is as bizarre as the people say, he can provide for you. Give you a good life, my sweet child." I close my eyes against the cold, wet cloth in my face which does not keep me from speaking. "I'm frightened, Amme. Frightened that I will not love him." She stops for a second. "My dear....children need love. Adults need a secure future and women need a safe, provided life. There is no need to fear as long as you have one of those things. Now let's get you dressed, my dear." We stand up and walk back into the bedroom. She began to dress me for the day, starting with my undergarments and the corset, then the under petticoat, the crinoline and then the over petticoat. Next came the camisole and we finished everything with the dress and the shoes. It was pale yellow with black features, I did not pick it out but I loved it immediately and was very grateful to have my Amme. " Now let's eat and then he will arrive." Amme starts to rush towards the door but I stop her halfway through. "I don't think I can swallow a thing, my dearest Amme." Her brown eyes look back at me and I know exactly what they say. "You will still try, Catalina put a lot of effort into your food as she always does." I huff quietly before I nod and join her.

#duskwood #jake x mc #jake duskwood #mc duskwood #dan duskwood #duskwood richy #jessy duskwood #lilly duskwood #thomas duskwood #cleo duskwood #hannah duskwood #collaboration #paigenoelchas-blog #duskwood fanfiction #fanfic

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fipindustries · 2 years

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i just want to talk about books i love

a list of my favourite childhood books. that is to say: books i read in my childhood, not necesarily children’s books. these are the books i read obsessively over and over until they were absolutely worn down and cracked. for ovbious reasons im not including harry potter into the mix

*journey to the center of the earth - jules verne

i think every amab who was interested in books and sci fi read jules verne at some point in their lives. this was one of his most outlandish premises but the dry naturalist way in which he descrives the wonders the characters encounter and the dangers of survival they come across (beautifully rendered by Édouard Riou) made me go back to it again and again.

*codex - lev grossman

turns out the guy who wrote the magicians did other things in his past as well. this book was fascinating to me because, out of all the books in this list, i think this is the one where no genre or supernatural elements occur. is about a banker who spends his first vacation in years unpacking and organizing the books of a private collection which leads him into an in depth quest to find one incredibly obscure middle age text that was lost to history. and yet lev manages to descrive all of this in such a wacky, whimsical tone than even descriptions of a guy playing a weird avant garde videogame are enthralling

*deception point - dan brown

i claimed time and again that dan brown is a sci fi writer trying to pretend he is a historical writer, this is the proof. this was the book he wrote before angels and demons, before he cemented himself with robert langdon forever. electoral drama, goberment conspiracies, cientific discoveries in the artic, weird near future sci fi tech, aaron sorkin level writing, dan brown second and last female protagonist, alien fossils trapped in meteorites. this book has everything

*amazing space - ann jeanette campbell

another thing related to space, the joke about how every kid when they reach age has to choose what they are going to bo obsessed with, dinosaurs - bugs - space. guess which one i choose. thanks to this book i passed most of my science tests with flying colors.

this is the one of three non fiction books in this list. one of those books that you dont really read sequentially but rather that you just jump all over the place, back and forth, finding weird little wonders wherever you go. this was the book that introduced me to the concept of dark matter, neutron stars, the cosmic background radiation, quasars. it showed me that reality is way weirder than i expected and that there are truly strange things out there.

*the sorcerer’s companion - allan & elizabeth kronzenk

i said i wouldnt mention harry potter but i can’t not mention this. my first earnest introduction to the world of actual historical magic and myth as it was practisced in the real world. it showed me how magic actually looked in the past, how it worked, what were the actual beliefs, myths and superstitions of people and how they were far more eccentric and peculiar and off kilter than anything rowling could come up with.

it was the book that made me unironically practisce numerology and astrology and reading tea leaves when i was a kid. it was also the perfect gateway drug to the kind of weird shit alan moore would preach at me when i was a teenager/young adult. fantastic history lesson packaged in an endearing way

*between nothing and eternity - roberto pettinato

pettinato is a stand up comic from argentina, one i am fond of. this book collects random thoughts, long digressions, short stories, stand up sets and other tangential observations that the guy made across his carrer. an incredibly eclectic book that has way too much fun playing around with typography. it replicated in an eerie way (even though at the time i couldnt possibly have known) the feeling of scrolling on tumblr and coming across the effort posts and deranged shitposts made by your mutuals. another eerie thing is how pettinato’s writing style is so incredibly good at conveying his own speech patterns, you cannot help but read this book in his voice, never before or after speech, cadence, delivery, timing, emphasis and tone was so perfectly conveyed in writing.

*the warm-up battle - marcelo figueras

i said more than enough about this book already. my favourite book of all time.

*the girl who loved tom gordon - stephen king

one of kings lesser known books, also the first book by stephen king i ever read. and much like the tip of the iceberg, much like the smallest tendril from the great eldritch beast that reaches from beyond time into my mind, i was amazed and astounded by it without even suspecting that there was so much more where that came from.

this was probably the first book i ever read with a female protagonist. whats more, a female protagonist of my age. again, as someone who was socialized as a boy, i was surprised at how relatable, how close, how immediate the conection to her was. she did things in her mind that i thought only i did. now the title may make you think this is some cute teen romance book or whatever. its actually and incredibly raw and terrifying story of survival, about a girl who got lost in the woods for days and days with nothing but her portable radio (that i would picture as the little pink walkman i had as a kid) and the prescence of something wrong, following her in the woods

*lessons in fear - diana shaw

and while on the subject of female protagonists, this is a practically completly unkown little teen novel where you follow a teenage girl who decides to become a private investigator and find out who has been pulling (potentially lethal) pranks on the most hated teacher at school. yet another book that surprised me by how much i related to the female protagonist as a kid, specially considering it was probably the only book i ever read where menstruation is not only brought up as a thing that exists but on top of that is brought up in a completly non chalante way as in yeah, whatever, it happens, its really annoying, ugh, i forgot my tampons, what a drag. which blew my 11 year old mind

the paris enigma - pablo de santis

speaking of murder mystery, this is The murder mystery novel. the one muder mystery novel that is all murder mystery novels that have ever existed. the ultimate tribute to the genre. it’s set in the late 1800′s, the eiffel tower is about to be completed for the world’s fair and the great twelve detectives, a world spanning organization composed by the best detectives of the world, are getting together. with them there are their adlateres, their assistants, their watsons. among the adlateres we follow one kid, the most recent addition to the group, someone who grew up reading detective stories his entire life and now had to prove himself as a worthy addition to the team. much like worm is the ultimate superhero story and worth the candle is the ultimate rpg isekai, this one is the ultimate crime novel

_______________________________________________________________

extra material

honorary mentions, books that i only read once as a kid and yet they still had a profound impact on my mind:

*the words - jean paul sartre.

the guy talks about his childhood, i had this idea that the guy was a dense and complex philosopher but his writing ended up being very enjoyable and relatable

*the invention of morel - adolfo bioy casares

the proof that latin america could create some amazing science fiction

*the eight - katherine neville

im honestly surprised not more people are talking about this one. dan brown done right. or more precisely the davinci code is katherine neville done wrong

*the metamorphosis - franz kafka

i was surprised at how straight forward the concept was explored, it almost felt like speculative fiction

*trafalgar - angelica gorodischer

the other proof that argentina could create some amazing science fiction, and make it but gustingly funny

*blindness - jose saramago

yet another example in this list of a writer that i expected to be dense and incomprehensible and dull and yet surprised me at how straightforwardly it explored a genuenly fascinating idea

*locked room - paul auster

and this is the one book that breaks that trend. i have no idea what the hell this book is about. i remember it was faintly disturbing to read. it was the book that started my obsession with thoroughly filing and archiving everything i create

#tbh i had to cut off so much stuff #i could go on for hours and hours talking about it all #god i couldnt even include nero corleone #or the almostdog of hunger #or the pillars of the earth #or artemis fowl #or everything borges ever wrote #etcetera etcetera etcetera #books #books!#BOOOOOOOKS!#writing

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babygirl-diaz · 3 years

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You're Cute Enough to Fuck With Me Tonight (AU)

Going to a club when you’re in your late 30s is not the best way to spend your Saturday nights, but Steve and Natasha insisted, so Sam ended up giving in to the peer pressure. Natasha got them to bypass the queue outside because she apparently knew the owner. The nightclub turned out different from what Sam was expecting. It was an elite club with its own fancy VIP lounge. Natasha got them a VIP booth and the three of them did whiskey shots to celebrate the successful first season of their tv show.

They were talking and laughing and well into their third beer when Natasha said, “Sam, don’t look now, but cokehead over there is eating you up with his eyes.”

“Huh?” Sam asked, and turned around to see who she was talking about when he found a white dude with short dark hair and a face full of facial hair, looking at Sam like he was starving and Sam was a buffet. There was a line of cocaine in front of the guy and he leaned down to snort it before coming up to wave at Sam. Sam ignored him.

“I tell him not to look and what does he do… he looks,” Natasha said sarcastically. “The guy’s hot, though. I think you should go for it.” She leaned back against Steve, who absently stroked her arm.

“The guy looks like trouble to me,” Steve pointed out. “I think you should stay away.”

“Wow, thanks, Dad,” Sam huffed.

“I love this song!” Natasha announced when the strings of a familiar song played. Before Sam could say anything, he was being pulled onto the dance floor by his friends despite his protests. “Call Me By Your Name, really?” Sam asks

“What? It’s a nice song!” Steve said, almost offended.

“You’re so whipped!” Sam laughed and slapped him on the back.

He moved his hips and ass along with the music and let out a frustrated groan when Natasha and Steve started grinding up against each other and got lost in one another. Sam knew this would happen. He’d end up as the third wheel and that’s why he wasn’t keen on coming tonight.

Sam lets out a surprised sound when he felt hands on his waist. Whoever had their hands on him spun him around, and Sam immediately came face to face with a pair of bright blue eyes, rimmed red. It was that cokehead from earlier. Sam wanted to pull away but got hypnotized by the look the guy was giving him.

The guy leaned in close to Sam’s ear and sang completely out of tune. “Romantic talkin'? You don't even have to try. You're cute enough to fuck with me tonight.” His voice was rough and despite the bad singing, it ran a shiver down Sam’s spine.

“I’m Bucky,” the guy introduced himself and pulled Sam even closer to move their hips together. “And you’re hot.” His voice was slightly slurred.

“Well, lucky for me, my name is Sam and not Hot.” Sam wrapped his arms around the guy’s neck and pressed their chests together.

“Sam…” Bucky said as if testing out his name. “Beautiful name for a beautiful guy.”

“You’re just saying that to get into my pants,” Sam smirked.

“Is it working?” Bucky pouted

“Nah, you gotta try harder.”

“God, you’re so hot,” Bucky said into Sam’s ear and took his earlobe between his teeth and pulled on it, making Sam moan. “I want you so bad,” he continued to say and squeezed Sam’s ass. Maybe the alcohol made him do it, but Sam surged forward and kissed him. He darted out his tongue and licked Bucky’s upper lip before taking it between his own lips. He then tilted his head to the side and kissed the edge of Bucky’s lips. Bucky opened his mouth and Sam’s tongue slid inside and he let himself explore Bucky’s mouth. The kiss got intense and heated. Sam felt Bucky’s cock press against his and he moaned into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky swallowed up the sound. The song ended and they pull apart but stay close. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam said over the next song.

“Okay,” said Bucky and took Sam’s hand, leading him out of the club. But when they got outside, a small group gathered around them and asked Sam for autographs and photos. Sam felt himself strain in his jeans and he hoped no one noticed it as he took photos and signed autographs. Once the crowd dispersed, Sam found Bucky giving him a curious look. “You some kinda big shot?” He asked.

“I’m an actor,” Sam replied. “Ever heard of the show Captain America and the Winter Soldier? I’m the Captain America part of it. My friend Steve is the Winter Soldier.”

“I don’t watch tv. Don’t get the time,” Bucky shrugged. “But I get to fuck someone famous. That’s one thing off my bucket list.”

“So that’s why you wanna fuck me?” Sam asked faking offense. “And hey, who said you get to fuck me?”

Bucky got closer to Sam and kissed him again. “Oh, you’re so gonna let me fuck you, doll.” The way Bucky says doll makes Sam shiver and bite his lips.

“You wanna come back to my place?” Sam asked.

“Nah, I can’t wait that long but I know just the place.”

Bucky took Sam’s hand and led him towards the parking garage. Sam raised an eyebrow when they got to Bucky’s vehicle. “You some kinda soccer mom?” He asked looking at the Jeep SUV.

“It’s nondescript. Works well for my line of work,” Bucky shrugged. “Besides, you’re gonna thank me in a bit.”

“Your line of work? Fuck, you’re not a stay-at-home dad, are you? I don’t do married men.”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed as he got into the SUV. Sam followed him. “I am not a stay-at-home dad or married,” Bucky replied.

Bucky was on him, kissing him, the second they got in.

Sam pulled away briefly to ask, “What do you do then?”

Bucky looked him right in the eyes. The red rim around his eyes was gone and his eyes turned dark as he replied. “I’m an assassin. I was at the club to kill one of my targets.”

Sam blinked at him before he burst out laughing. “Wow, I’m the actor, but you’re the one with the vivid imagination.”

A smirked twitched along Bucky’s lips. “What can I say? I have a boring ass job. So I’m just trying to make myself sound interesting.”

“So what do you actually do?” Sam asked. “No. Wait. Lemme guess.”

“Be my guest.”

Sam’s eyes trailed down Bucky’s body. “You’re an investment banker.”

Bucky’s eyebrow shot up at that. “So damn close… I’m a stockbroker. How did you--”

“I’m just that good.” Sam winked at him. But then a smile broke across his face and he shook his head. “I saw you with those Wall Street folks earlier. Wasn’t that hard to figure out what you did for a living.”

Bucky leaned in close and kissed Sam once again. “So smart,” he said in between the kisses. “Just the way I like ‘em. Get in the backseat.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He made his way onto the backseat and took off his clothes. He tossed them onto the front seat and felt his cheeks heat when he noticed the way Bucky was looking at him. Bucky’s blue eyes dilated, and he licked his lips while once again staring at Sam like he was a buffet. Bucky pulled out a condom and single-use lube from his wallet and Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “You were waiting to get lucky tonight, weren’t you?”

“I just like being prepared,” Bucky replied as he got into the backseat as well. He took off his own clothes and threw them onto the driver’s seat and pulled Sam closer to ravish his lips.

Bucky was right. Sam was thankful for the fact that the vehicle was an SUV. They had enough space to fuck in the back.

When they finished, it left Sam breathless and sore, but in a good way. Bucky drove him home, and the two cuddled up naked on Sam’s bed.

“Didn’t think you’d be a cuddler…” Sam commented.

“Oh, I love to cuddle,” Bucky replied, and tightened his grip around Sam’s middle.

Sam made his head more comfortable on Bucky’s chest and kissed his pecs. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

“So I’ve been told,” Bucky chuckled.

Sam frowned at that. “How many guys do you pick up at the club?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?” Bucky teased and kissed the top of Sam’s head. “If it’s any consolation, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re just saying that cause I let you fuck me,” Sam huffed.

Bucky got on top of Sam and pressed their lips together again. “Nope, I’m only saying that so that you’d let me fuck you again.” His hand moved down on the sheets and groped Sam’s ass, making him gasp.

“You asshole,” Sam said, with no heat behind his words. “Lube and condoms are in the side drawer.”

“How many guys do you bring around here?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes.

Sam smirked at that. “If it’s any consolation, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

***

Sam woke up the next morning to a cold and lonely bed. Bucky had snuck out during the night without even saying goodbye. That made Sam hurt a little. Just a little. Huffing, Sam threw the sheets over himself and fell back asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept, but the ringing of his doorbell woke him up. Sam wanted to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the person on the other end of the door was relentless.

Groaning, Sam got out of the bed and put on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before making his way to the door. He threw it open and found Natasha and Steve standing there, looking equally worried.

“Oh thank god,” Steve pushed past Natasha and hugged Sam tightly.

The guy was built like a tank, and Sam struggled in his embrace. “Let me go! You’re crushing me!” Sam complained and pulled away from his friend to catch a breath. “What is wrong with you, man?”

“You disappeared last night! And then this morning there was news that someone at the club died and you wouldn’t answer your phone… we were scared!”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, your leering cokehead friend, one of his friends OD’d at the club last night.”

“Shit,” Sam hissed.

I’m an assassin. I was at the club to kill one of my targets. Bucky’s words rang in his ears and for a moment, Sam entertained the thought that maybe Bucky wasn’t joking after all. But he shook his head and got rid of the thought as soon as it entered his mind. There was no way Bucky was responsible for some guy overdosing. Sam was being ridiculous.

“Where did you go last night?” Natasha asked, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“The leering cokehead… I brought him home,” Sam replied.

“What?!” Steve screeched. “Why would you do that?”

Both Natasha and Sam gave him an exasperated look, and he threw his hands up.

“So how was he?” Natasha asked.

“The best I’ve ever had,” Sam replied.

#SamBucky #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Natasha Romanov #Steve Rogers #TFATWS #fanfiction #tw: drug use #aashnas drabble

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instasiswetrust · 3 years

Text

"Guys! Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" Dustin risks bowling over Mike, Lucas, and Will with the exuberance of his hug but there's no way he can keep quiet about this. Not after what he had done the night before. "I have a secret and I'm dying to tell somebody else."

They all seem confused for a moment before Lucas' eyes widen.

"You got Suzie pregnant?"

"What? No!" He makes a face, jokingly punching his friend on the shoulder. "Jesus, Lucas, why would you even think that?"

"If it's not that then what?" Mike sounded annoyed but then again, he kind of always sounded like that.

Dustin wasted no time in pulling out the leatherbound journal he had found the night before, leading his friends to an outcrop near the docks, shadowed by trees. He opened it to the first page, where Steve had scrawled his name in neat calligraphy.

"Is that Steve's diary? Dustin, what the hell?"

"It's from the summer of '85 guys! You know what that means?"

"Uh, that you shouldn't be reading your older brother's teenage thoughts?" Lucas fixed Dustin with a light glare, which he ignored.

"No, idiot. Summer of '85 was the last time Steve ever dated someone! You know, the same year he moved here? When mom took him in?"

"I'm not following. What does this have to do with your wedding?" Mike crossed his arms over his chest, Will peeking over Dustin's shoulder to scan the pages.

"Well, wouldn't it be nice if Steve got to be happy too? He's been taking care of me since my mom died. He's the only family I have and if Suzie and I leave the Villa, who will help him?"

Lucas and Mike don't seem convinced with Dustin's reasoning but at least they stop glaring accusingly at him. In the end, is Will who breaks the staring contest between the three of them.

"So what did you find?"

"Uh, okay so listen to this." Dustin flipped some pages from the journal stopping at a page and grinning.

I keep being surprised when Mama doesn't show up to the important events in my life but I guess I should be used to it now. Robin insists I forget her, Nancy asked if I was planning to go back, and that's when I told them about my plans. Both of them are sad to see me go, we're the Dynamos after all, but they were supportive and saw me off at the airport.

My flight did a stop in France. I met Tommy there when he confused me for one of the staff workers. He's kind of a dick but in a charming way, and he's got this adorable smattering of freckles covering his face. He told me about growing up in London and how his dad was a banker, how his mom had his whole life planned out for him as soon as he graduated from college.

We went out for a few drinks and friendly banter turned into drunk 21 questions. Tommy told me how he's always wanted to but he's never been with another guy before. And look, I'm never like this! But we were pretty drunk, and I was curious if those freckles went all the way down! So one thing led to another and we ...

"I'm not sure if I wanna keep listening to this," Lucas said, making a face.

Mike, on the other hand, took a seat next to Dustin trying to see what was written on the journal. "Well, I do."

"What's dot dot dot?" Will asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, that's just a euphemism for having sex," Dustin said waving a dismissive hand as he flipped through more pages. "Okay, okay, now listen to this."

After almost missing the ferry, I finally reached Scopello this afternoon. The turqouise waters and the approaching sunset must have been one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life. I think, that maybe I could stay here. Forever. Oh, but I'm not sure, it would mean rarely seeing Robin and Nancy, dropping all dreams of singing in the big stages, all those dreams...

I don't want to worry about this now. This place is too beautiful and I want to make the most of it.

There was a storm the other night. I've been staying on a rundown farm at the edges of town and during the storm heard a loud sound downstairs. There was a horse there, probably scared from the thunder but the ceiling collapsed and I couldn't get to it. I wasn't really thinking when I decided it would be a good idea to try and run back into town to get help. Luckily, this guy had been out driving (who rides out a Camaro in a thunderstorm??) and he helped me get to the horse and calm him down.

His name is William, Billy for short (the guy, not the horse), and I've never met a guy more infuriating than him. Or as hot, either. Good gods, he looks like he walked straight out of an art museum or something.

We’ve spent this whole month together, going out to swim at the beach (he tried teaching me to surf and I almost twisted my ankle on some rocks), then to a local bar (I actually got a new job singing there, who would've thought?), some picnics. It's been awfully romantic despite Billy’s brazenness and cocksure attitude.

And I think that I... I think that I might love him.

"But if they were so into each other, what happened?" Will pipes up again, a frown on his face as he tried to read over Dustin's shoulder with little results.

"I still think you shouldn't be doing this, dude. What if Steve finds out? He's going to be so mad at you!" Lucas interjects, picking another rock from the sand and making it skip over the surface of the water.

"He would kill me for sure," Dustin shrugs, offering a toothy grin. "But only if he finds out."

"Dustin, c'mon! What happened next?" At this point Will looks like he's about to rip the journal out of his friend's hands and read it himself.

"Jesus, you're pushy. Okay, so-"

Billy's engaged. Didn't even tell me, I had to find out for myself while I was making him breakfast and accidentally stumbled over some documents he had left laying around. My chest hurts, and I haven't stopped crying since he left this morning but I'm just so angry!

Fuck, I feel so dumb. This is all my fault. All because I was being a stupid reckless little slut.

Ugh. I sound like my mom. At least Robin and Nancy called to say they would arrive this week. I've truly missed them, can't wait to see them.

The girls came to see me during one of my shifts at the bar where I was singing. Robin couldn't stop laughing at Nancy's surprised face. She thinks I've changed a lot since I left but in a good way. I don't really believe her and I think she knows that. With them here, at least the ache from Billy's departure barely makes itself present.

Oh! Before I forget to write this again, today I saw Jonathan again. He was this nice photographer who slowed the ferry's departure so I wouldn't miss it. We talked a lot on our way and he's such a nice guy. He came to the bar today and we got talking again, he asked if I would be okay with modeling for him tomorrow. Nancy and Robin insisted that I tell him yes, as a chance to try and forget Billy by "getting some".

I told them it's an awful idea but I accepted Jonathan's offer either way. He's quiet but caring, and I really enjoy talking with him. We talked about his family back in America, his mom and his little brother. Honestly, if something were to happen tomorrow, I wouldn't be opposed to it...

"Wait." Will leans back, a confused expression on his face that slowly morphs into astonishment. "Dustin, does Steve ever say the last name of this Jonathan guy?"

"Uh," Dustin frowns, flipping through the pages. "Yeah, they are here somewhere. Let me look for them."

"Will, you don't think-" Mike starts, having caught onto his best friend's train of thought.

"Jonathan took a trip to Italy when I was fifteen." He says simply, biting on the pad of his thumb.

"Oh shit." All eyes turn to Dustin who's got his eyes fixated on the journal in his lap. "Byers. The guys last name is Byers."

"Holy shit Will, your brother hooked up with Dustin's brother." Lucas tries to tamper down his laughter but it's a futile endeavor, his lips curling up before he can control them. "I can't believe this."

"But wait," Mike turns to Dustin who's expression has turned troubled. His eyes narrow. "You still haven't explained what this has to do with your wedding. What did you do?"

Dustin stays quiet for a minute or two before he lifts his gaze to his friend's, a sheepish smile on his lips. "I uh, I invited all three of them to the wedding but made it look like Steve sent the invites. And they uh... they all said yes?"

This time Lucas doesn't even bother hiding his laugh, doubling over as he nearly cackles at the stupidness of this whole situation.

"Dude, you're so fucked when Steve finds out."

#WIPs #mamma mia au #stranger things #steve harrington #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #will byers #lucas sinclair #harringrove #stonathan #stommy #yes im back on my bullshit #no im definitely not done with this #i watched both movies just so i could make this work

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ladyartemesia · 3 years

Note

Yooo your love story straight out seems like an e2l slow burn tumblr fic. Do you have any plans using at as a plot?? I would def read it 👀

I don’t know if I would truly call it enemies-to-lovers because—although I got irritated with him and his behavior and did snap at him from time to time—we were not really enemies. In fact we were barely friends for most of the years we knew each other—

Well.

Ok. So that’s not totally true...

We fought online constantly. From the time we graduated college (where his crush first developed and I routinely forgot his name) the two of us were always fighting on social media—usually about politics—and occasionally about other things but both of us were too smart to ever truly get the better of each other so there was a grudging respect, (his mom said he used to yell at his computer screen about me). We had it OUT several times online even though we rarely—if ever—spoke in person.

My poor sweet boy DID get himself in trouble over me in more ways than one though—even if we’re weren’t close yet...

His college girlfriend set him up to fail asked him who he would date if the two of them weren’t together and he answered immediately—vehemently—

“Viola. I would definitely date Viola if I could.”

🤦🏻‍♀️ (oh...honey...no)

(That would become a huge THING in their relationship. Every time they got into a fight his ex would shout “why don’t you just go date VIOLA then?!”—When he married me he said he felt like a real winner in that particular collection of conflicts. Playing the long game I guess 🤣😂)

Back then I was all about the music/dramatic arts scene and I was dating a string of empty headed pretty boys who bored me nigh unto death because I was young and completely stupid.

In contrast my someday-boo was painfully quiet and shy (though not really with me because he was too busy trying to prove me wrong), but everyone who met him or spoke to him really liked him and respected him.

After college we were were still in the same extended social circle (and—as previously mentioned—fighting online), but I went to grad school and my not-yet-husband decided to chill for awhile and take a job as a landscaper while he figured his life out and... here’s where it gets complicated because...

—that’s where the girls came in. You see... he’s always been a really nice guy... maybe a little too nice 🤦🏻‍♀️

The term fuqboi tends to conjure up impressions of a cocky frat bro who slyly shags his way through a mountain of willing women with disconnected efficiency and a subtext of emotional constipation.

But that would not be the case here.

You see my husband is a listener. He’s an INFP. He, unlike many of his brethren, understands emotions and can really make a woman feel seen. Combine that with his good looks, brilliant mind, and broody nerditude and you have a recipe for women who were ‘just friends’ randomly dropping to their knees (and a lot more) for him.

Never one to stand in the way of a lady’s dreams, pre-me-hubby figured that if they were that determined to (*insert miscellaneous sexy stuff here*) with him then—well—he’d let them.

I mean why not, right? No harm done.

Wrong. 🤬

And here is where our paths truly began to merge (in the real world) for the first time.

As the FOURTH girl (just in my friend group) he graciously allowed (🤦🏻‍♀️) to have her wicked way with him sobbed in my arms, I became determined to put this ridiculous man-child IN his PLACE—this time in the tactile world as well as the virtual one.

...Poor Liz

She realized that he had absolutely no desire whatsoever to be in a relationship with anything other than his WoW account and she was insistent that he had broken her heart.

So I cornered him and we had it out. (Call me meddlesome, but to be fair he was four friends deep at this point.)

The problem was that... the more I talked to him...the more he was not really what I expected... I found myself...oddly...intrigued?

Later it would come out that I was the first girl—ever—that he actually pursued. And I was not even aware of it for like the first three months.

He was pretty slick after all when it came down to it.

That man convinced me to ‘help him’ with women—to make sure he didn’t get himself into another situation where some girl with heart eyes was tearing off his clothes and expecting commitment.

HE ASKED ME TO BE HIS ‘EXCUSE.’

🤦🏻‍♀️(...I know. I’m an idiot.)

“We can hang out. You’ll teach me how to spot if a girl is about to catch feelings and take off my pants. And I will have an excuse when they call as to why we can’t hang out” (—and ...they really were always calling. It was wild.)

....I mean he WAS shy! It SEEMED plausible!

So yeah my dim self agreed to it. (🤦🏻‍♀️)

I considered it a valiant attempt to save the rest of my social circle from the most clueless ‘accidental’ fuqboi on planet earth and maybe even an opportunity to teach him how to be a real human being and what not.

And before you think ‘fake dating’—we weren’t. We were just hanging out as friends. You see when I went to yell at him (and chased him down after he laughed at me and tried to escape) we ended up talking in his car for like four hours. And then that happened like three more times randomly so... I... actually... wanted... to be his friend... 🤷🏻‍♀️

I was still 110% not interested romantically.

Your girl (me) was after some bland banker dude (🤦🏻‍♀️) and so I blissfully fell into friendship with my actual soulmate without a single second thought. And I never worried about either of us catching feelings because I had a crush on someone else and he had heavily implied that I was not his type. (He told me later that I just assumed this and he simply never corrected me 🙄)

I don’t remember falling for him. I never decided to. I never thought about it...

But one day after the whole crew was hanging out at a restaurant (and the waiter kept giving me free drinks which may have pissed my once-and-future man off) the two of us went out to his car to have our customary three hour post-chill chat...

I was teasing him about something—some girl he was still attempting to untangle himself from—and I said—as had become my habit (seriously I said this so many times as a joke)—“It’s too bad I’m not your type—you could just tell her you have a girlfriend.”

(Now. I know what you’re thinking. But I was still firmly on team platonic ok! I was just a flirt. And maybe part of me was starting to feel weird things about him—but those feelings weren’t like anything I recognized so I thought I just needed to cut back on sugar or something.)

(Have I mentioned I’m an idiot?)

ANYWAYS he looked me right in the eye. So serious. And instead of saying “that’s too bad”—LIKE he ALWAYS did—he said—

“You...are my type, Viola... You’re exactly my type.”

To which I responded—“....What? No I’m not. You said I wasn’t.”

“Never said that. You assumed.”

“You LET me!”

—followed by a good ten minutes of me having an existential crisis/yelling at him for allowing me to believe he didn’t find me attractive and lulling me into a false sense of security. He was infuriatingly unapologetic.

At the end of it all he asked me to give him—give us—a chance.

And I agreed to go out on a few dates with him (mostly to prove to myself that there was nothing there).

(🤦🏻‍♀️)

The only thing I ended up proving was that I was wrong about what I wanted and even more wrong about what I needed.

You see...

Those weird feelings turned out to be love.

(🤦🏻‍♀️)

And it was a really special experience to sit in a room full of girls who had cried in my arms over him—girls I had lectured repeatedly on the dangers of his heartless ways— and admit that I was his girlfriend.

🤦🏻‍♀️

Love was—and continues to be—nothing like I expected and frankly I couldn’t be happier.

... to answer your questions

1. I have considered writing a fic based on our story called Broken Road. The title is taken from an old Rascal Flatts song that—as insanely cheesy as it is—really reminds me of us. Don’t know if I will actually write this. Thought about it a lot though.

2. Tags I would use for this story?

#enemies-to-lovers / #idiots-to-lovers / #college au / #outgoing!fem reader(me) x shy nerd!accidental fuqboi / #reader is also a huge nerd actually / #she’s just a loud one / #frenemies-to-lovers / #the love is requited / #they’re just idiots / #pining (his) / denial (mine) / #reader has terrible taste in men / #except for that last one / #she really redeemed herself there at the end

#wow #it was really cool to write all this out actually #my love story #well part of it anyways #it’s still ongoing #via💋viola

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iconuk01 · 3 years

Text

Letter to Mama

Armistead Maupin's "More Tales of the City" from 1980 (Based on his newspaper column in the "San Francisco Chronicle" during the 70's) included, at one point, the letter which principle character Michael "Mouse" Tolliver sent to his parents to come out of the closet.

It is based on an actual letter Maupin sent to his own parents for the same reason.

Over 40 years later it still packs an emotional bodyslam that I imagine many are familiar with, but even moreso contextualised to the time when Anita Bryant's anti-gay "Save Our Children" campaign was running in 1977.

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Dear Mama,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write. Every time I try to write you and Papa I realize I'm not saying the things that are in my heart. That would be OK, if I loved you any less than I do, but you are still my parents and I am still your child.

I have friends who think I'm foolish to write this letter. I hope they're wrong. I hope their doubts are based on parents who love and trust them less than mine do. I hope especially that you'll see this as an act of love on my part, a sign of my continuing need to share my life with you. I wouldn't have written, I guess, if you hadn't told me about your involvement in the Save Our Children campaign. That, more than anything, made it clear that my responsibility was to tell you the truth, that your own child is homosexual, and that I never needed saving from anything except the cruel and ignorant piety of people like Anita Bryant.

I'm sorry, Mama. Not for what I am, but for how you must feel at this moment. I know what that feeling is, for I felt it for most of my life. Revulsion, shame, disbelief -- rejection through fear of something I knew, even as a child, was as basic to my nature as the color of my eyes.

No, Mama, I wasn't "recruited." No seasoned homosexual ever served as my mentor. But you know what? I wish someone had. I wish someone older than me and wiser than the people in Orlando had taken me aside and said, "You're all right, kid. You can grow up to be a doctor or a teacher just like anyone else. You're not crazy or sick or evil. You can succeed and be happy and find peace with friends -- all kinds of friends -- who don't give a damn who you go to bed with. Most of all, though, you can love and be loved, without hating yourself for it."

But no one ever said that to me, Mama. I had to find it out on my own, with the help of the city that has become my home. I know this may be hard for you to believe, but San Francisco is full of men and women, both straight and gay, who don't consider sexuality in measuring the worth of another human being.

These aren't radicals or weirdos, Mama. They are shop clerks and bankers and little old ladies and people who nod and smile to you when you meet them on the bus. Their attitude is neither patronizing nor pitying. And their message is so simple: Yes, you are a person. Yes, I like you. Yes, it's all right for you to like me, too.

I know what you must be thinking now. You're asking yourself: What did we do wrong? How did we let this happen? Which one of us made him that way?

I can't answer that, Mama. In the long run, I guess I really don't care. All I know is this: If you and Papa are responsible for the way I am, then I thank you with all my heart, for it's the light and the joy of my life.

I know I can't tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it's not.

It's not hiding behind words, Mama. Like family and decency and Christianity. It's not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It's not judging your neighbor, except when he's crass or unkind.

Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength.

It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it.

There's not much else I can say, except that I'm the same Michael you've always known. You just know me better now. I have never consciously done anything to hurt you. I never will.

Please don't feel you have to answer this right away. It's enough for me to know that I no longer have to lie to the people who taught me to value truth.

Mary Ann sends her love.

Everything is fine at 28 Barbary Lane.

Your loving son,

Michael

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This is how it appeared in the 1998 television adaptation

youtube

Though Sir Ian McKellan, a good friend of Maupin's has also performed it on stage too, and it's as good as you'd hope

#armistead maupin #tales of the city #more tales of the city #Youtube

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heliads · 3 years

Text

A Pretty Thief

After Race stumbles upon what has to be the most charming pickpocket in the entire city of New York, he’s sure he has to get to know her. It’s a good thing he’ll soon get his chance.

masterlist

Race is almost sure he didn’t see it at all.

Had he moved a foot to the left, had he blinked, he probably wouldn’t have seen anything. It was quick, hands moving with the grace of a trained pianist. Not that Race would know- he’s not exactly known for hanging around establishments with a caliber high enough to warrant a pianist. No, the Sheepshead Races are his kind of entertainment, not the top level businessmen who choose to frequent the orchestra and concert halls.

It is precisely this kind of man that Race has just seen pick-pocketed. The theft was probably the smoothest he’s ever seen- a quick slide of the hand across a back pocket and it was like watching the man’s wallet leap into the awaiting palm of the thief. The thief, as it happens, not the usual scruffy boy but a girl. That’s probably why she caught Race’s attention even before she liberated the man’s wallet- she’s pretty. Far prettier than the usual thieves Race has seen on the streets.

She glanced up once at him, as if she could sense his thoughts on her. She looked startled for a second, as if not used to being caught in the middle of a theft, then quickly regained her momentum. She flashed Race a cocky grin, tossing a wink like a penny to an awaiting newsie. Then she disappeared back into the crowd, gone in an instant despite the fact that there actually aren’t that many people on the street. Race is fascinated.

This, however, proves to be a mistake. In the time it takes for Race to linger in place, watching the pretty thief go, the man has discovered that his wallet is missing. He looks around frantically, searching for a possible suspect, and his eyes land on Race. Race watches as the man points a finger at him, the words shouting from his lips: “Thief! Stop him!”

Race pauses a moment. Surely he doesn’t mean Race himself, who’s just been standing here selling papes? But it does make sense, as few things on the streets ever make sense to bankers and street rats alike- who would steal a wallet, the couple of well-dressed shoppers or the boy dressed in worn clothes and hand-me-downs, selling papes at a couple of cents each in the hopes of not starving to death?

It’s practically obvious that the man would turn to him. It’s also obvious what Race has to do now- it’s what he’s been doing for almost all of his life. He turns and runs, sprinting down the narrow cobblestoned streets in an attempt to get away from the banker and the crowds now turning to face him. A couple of cops attempt to chase him, but Race has always been able to outrun them. No competition.

His feet feel lighter than air, his legs a blur as he darts between couples walking on the streets and around corners. He pauses for a second, noticing the cops now in front and behind him, then makes a split-second decision and ducks into a nearby alleyway. He follows the brick walls through a few twists and turns, then curses softly. He’s hit a dead end, and there’s no way he can go back. The cops have already blocked the exit.

Just when Race is trying to figure out what his next move could be, a voice sounds from above him. Race cranes his head, trying to spot the speaker, and then he sees the arm pointing to a twisting metal ladder mostly hidden by crumbling brick. Race nods his gratitude, rushing up the ladder before the cops can spot him. He’s just managed to throw himself onto the roof of a low building before the men spill into the alleyway, but even from here Race can see their frustration. There’s no way they can find him, not now.

Race watches until they turn around and head back to the street, then lets out a quiet sigh of relief. He turns to thank his mysterious aide, but freezes slightly with surprise when he recognizes her. It’s the girl from before, the girl who stole the banker’s wallet and got him landed in this mess in the first place. Race scratches the back of his head, adjusting his newsie cap. “Thanks for the tip. I wouldn’t have found that ladder if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

The girl flashes him that same dazzling grin. “No problem. I felt kind of bad that they started chasing you. I wasn’t trying to pin the theft on you.” Race returns her smirk. “And they says there’s no honor among thieves.” The girl laughs, glancing over the edge of the roof to make sure nobody can see them. “You’re the first person to see me steal something in a while. Usually I’m too fast.”

Race raises an eyebrow. “You’se that confident in yourself?” The girl shrugs. “You tell me.” She pulls a cigar from her pocket, starting to lift it to her lips. Race’s eyes widen when he realizes it’s his. It had been in his shirt pocket, but now- His hand flies to his breast pocket. Sure enough, it’s empty. Race gapes at her. “That’s my cigar!”

The girl hands it back after a second. “Just proving a point.” Race pretends to glare at her. “Better be. Cigars are off limits.” The girl folds her arms across her chest, expectant. “Then how did you get them? I didn’t know newsies had such wide access to the best cigars.” Race leans against a nearby wall, a grin rising to his lips despite himself. “I guess we all have our secrets.”

Then he straightens up. “Where are my manners? Honestly, you meet a goil who steals your cigars and you forget everything. I’m Race.” He extends his hand, mocking formality like he’s one of the bankers this girl just stole from, and the pretty thief copies his stance. “Y/N. Nice to meet you, Race.” Race flashes her a wink. “Nice to meet you too, as long as you stop stealing my cigars.” “No promises.”

They part ways soon after that. Whoever this Y/N is, she’s not a newsie, and Race needs to finish selling the rest of the day’s papes if he wants to have enough to eat tonight. Still, he can’t pretend he wasn’t disappointed to leave her on that roof. There was something about her that he hadn’t seen in a while. She was like a breath of fresh air in the middle of this smoke-clogged city. Honestly, that should tell Race that this girl is special. She’s practically driving him to poetry.

He doesn’t expect to see her again. Something about Y/N tells Race that she’ll only be found if she wants to be found. Yet a couple of days later, Race is walking back to the newsie Lodging House when he sees a familiar silhouette. It’s late in the day, the sun already slipping back into dusk, but he could recognize her in the middle of a dark and stormy night if need be. She’s walking quietly, arms wrapped around herself as if hoping that the press of her forearms alone could keep her warm. Race has lived in Manhattan long enough to know that it never will.

Race jogs to catch up to her, shouting a greeting from down the block. Y/N turns around, a somber expression instantly glittering into a smile when she sees him. Race slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close like he’s known her his entire life. “You want to tell me why the best goil in ‘Hattan is walking around like she’s been living a funeral?”

Y/N glances at him over her shoulder. “You think I’se the best goil in ‘Hattan?” Race shrugs. “Maybe all of New York. Maybe the entire world. But that’s not the point. What’s got you feeling blue?” Y/N’s smile slips from her face. It’s strange how she looks without it- older, maybe. More used to the stresses of being a teenager who has to work day in and day out to survive the city.

“I usually have a job in one of the factories, stitching clothes and whatnot. I’se had it for a while. It’s not the easiest or the safest, but at least it’s indoors.” Race winces at that. He’s heard a lot about the factories, about dozens of girls crammed together in small rooms, eyes strained over tiny stitches for hours and hours until they practically couldn’t see or move their hands at all. For some reason, the thought of the flighty, high-spirited Y/N stuck inside that dim and darkened room makes his heart clench in his chest.

Y/N is continuing now, and Race puts aside his pride to listen to her. “Or at least, I had the job for a while. Today, the bosses came out and said that they was going to fire a bunch of us to make sure they had enough profits. I was one of the people they selected at random, because I’se one of the youngest and they don’t trust us kids to do the best work. They’ve done stuff like this before, but they always hire us back. It’s been a couple of days now, and I’ve showed up every day. They should have hired me back, but they haven’t. I think they’re serious about this.”

She flops her head into her hands. “I’m worried, Race. The factories are already stuffed to the gills with new workers as it is. I don’t know that I’ll be able to find a place to work so quickly. Besides, my landlord’s going to kick me out if I don’t have a way to pay my rent. It’s the smallest apartment on this side of Manhattan, but it’s all I’ve got.” Race feels his spirits sink as he listens to Y/N talk. It isn’t fair that she should have to go through this, that any of them should have to work this hard just to live. But New York has always run at double speed, and the city that never sleeps has rarely cared about the welfare of the kids it relies on to function.

Race pulls Y/N closer, pressing a kiss against the top of her head despite his head screaming at him that this is not something he should be doing with a girl he’s just met. “You can stay with me. Us newsies have our lodging house, you know. It’s not much, just a bunch of troublemakers stuck together in a mess of bunks, but it’s home. If you need a place to stay, it’s here for you.”

Y/N looks up at him through a mess of lashes, and Race feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “You mean it?” Race tries to force indifference, but he doesn’t think he could do it if he tried. “Of course I mean it. We look out for each other, right? Now I’m looking out for you.” Y/N beams at him, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re the best, Racer. Honestly.” Race feels like a giddy schoolboy. “Hey, it’s no problem. Want to go now?” “Absolutely.”

They make their way back to the lodging house, trading jokes and smiles as they go. Now that Y/N’s got a place to stay and at least start to stay on her feet, she’s decidedly happier. This in turn makes Race happier. He’s not sure why, but every time she looks over at him with that beaming smile Race feels like he could run a hundred miles and never stop, or jump right up to the moon and make her a place to stay. The other newsies would laugh at him and call him starstruck, but it doesn’t matter. Y/N’s curling her fingers around his, and he can’t think about anything else.

They pause in the doorway of the lodging house. Y/N looks back to Race as if double checking that he’s serious about this, and he gives her a reassuring smile. Race steps forward, opening the door and guiding Y/N into the main room of the house. From the second they enter, Race can feel all eyes shift to them. Great. It’s not often that the newsies bring a goil into the lodging house, and certainly not one as pretty as Y/N. Race can already hear the questions they’re dying to ask, and sense the stares from Albert, Elmer, and the others.

Luckily, Jack is the first one to step forward. Honestly, of all the newsies to first talk to Y/N, Race is glad it’s Jack. Jack happens to already have a girl to hang about with, and such a vibrant, fearless girl is Katherine that Race knows Jack would never think twice about another girl. It’s kind of like how Race feels about Y/N.

Jack looks between the two of them, a grin settling decidedly onto his face. “So, Racer, you want to tell us about your, uh, friend?” Race gives Jack a look. “This is Y/N, she’s a good friend of mine. She needed a place to stay so I offered up a bunk over here.” Jack grins. “I bet she’s a very good friend.” Race makes to hit him with his cap, and Jack dances away. “Alright, alright. Just teasing. Y/N, we’d love to have you. If you can stand Racer, you can stand any of us. Stay as long as you like.”

Y/N laughs, the sound echoing around the room like a bell. “That sounds great. Thank you.” Race repeats the thank-you before practically pulling Y/N away, desperate to get a chance to talk before the other newsies try their hand at stealing away his goil. Race wants to shake himself at the thought. Y/N isn’t his girl, remember? He would do well to keep it in mind, although the thought keeps slipping from his head the second she looks back at him.

At first, Race doesn’t know what he was thinking, bringing Y/N to the lodging house. Would she get annoyed by all the other newsboys? Would she like it at all? Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry. She seems so happy to have a place to stay, somewhere with a ton of new friends that she doesn’t complain at all. In fact, she seems to be enjoying herself.

When it’s time to go to sleep, Race isn’t sure what to do. They offer Y/N one of the spare bunks, and she takes it, but he can tell that Y/N is still awake even long after the other boys fall asleep. Quietly, so as to not wake anyone else, he whispers over to her. “You can come over here. If you want. You know, if you can’t sleep.” For a second, he thinks Y/N is going to laugh at him, but then she whispers a quick thank-you, hurrying across the room on footsteps almost too light to hear.

Y/N settles into the bunk next to him, wrapping the few threadbare blankets around her. Y/N lays her head down on his chest, and Race pulls her close to him. He can already feel himself starting to drift off to sleep, but he can still hear her whisper something in the quiet of the night. “Thank you, Race. For everything. You didn’t have to do all of this, you know.” Race smiles, the expression slow in the night air. “Of course I did. I care about you, you know. Couldn’t leave you there on the street.”

The words hang in the air for a second, and then Y/N’s voice comes again, sweetened with a smile. “I care about you too, Race. More than I should.” Race raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Y/N grins. “Yes. But now I’m going to sleep.” She pulls the blanket higher, closing her eyes despite the look on Race’s face. He considers this for a moment, what it means, what he can’t believe she just said. Then sleep threatens to drown him whole once more, so he presses one last kiss to her cheek before finally letting himself drift off to sleep at last. If the other newsies can see the two of them, holding each other close together in the quiet of the lodging house, they don’t say a word until morning.

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