Drabble request by @thevioletthourr: Hey! My request would be song 423 with the sentence
“Storms don’t last forever.”
Word Count: 875
A/N: This song gets stuck in my head so easily. I don’t know what it is about Boys Like Girls, but this girl definitely likes those boys (see what I did there? Huh? Huh? Wow. Tough crowd). Anyway, they have tons of good songs. I definitely recommend them!
“Dude,” Sam slid onto the stool next to Dean. “That was the
third girl you turned down in the last hour. What the hell is going on with
“Just not in the mood, Sam. Leave it alone.” Dean nursed his
beer and tried to think about the hunt. Some sort of monster with an appetite
for children. That had to be the
number one priority right now. Monsters eating innocent kids? No way Dean was
going to let that bastard live.
“Seriously. Are you sick? You’ve had that same beer for the
last two hours. You haven’t been speeding lately. You barely touch your food.
And you haven’t even looked at a chick in—“ Sam cut off in sudden understanding
once he did the mental math, but Dean wasn’t about to let that string of
“You keeping tabs on me, Sammy? I’m flattered, really. Maybe
you should turn your powers of observation toward the case.”
Sam sighed. “Dean, you
left her, remember?”
“I know,” Dean spat out, remembering every single detail of
that rainy Wednesday night when he walked away from you. “You don’t have to
remind me, Sammy.”
Dean’s animosity was palpable, so Sam shifted the
conversation toward the case and away from you.
For the next few days, Dean pushed you as far from his mind
as he could. The monster. That was the only thing that mattered. But as soon as
the son of a bitch was dead, Sam was right on the warpath again.
“What are you doing, dude?” Sam asked as they drove away
from town. “You’re miserable. She’s probably miserable too.”
“I’m not talking about this.”
“You guys had something great and you’re just going to let
“What am I supposed to do, Sam? Take her on the road with
us? She’s the dinner and movie kind of girl and I don’t do that shit. She has money and I wear holey clothes that have
blood stains on them. She’s lives in the rich, new Mercedes world and we deal
with demons on a daily basis. You of all people should know that the hunter
life isn’t meant for relationship crap.”
For the next few weeks, Dean deflected the conversation each
time Sam tried to bring it up. Then Sam left his laptop open one day and Dean
happened to catch a glimpse of your Facebook profile on the screen. At first,
he managed to tear himself away without giving into his curiosity. But after
walking past a few times, he found himself sitting down and scrolling through
There were a few pictures that you were tagged in with your
friends, but your smile was off. It wasn’t the bright, excited smile that Dean
had fallen in love with. Then he reached a status that you’d posted a few weeks
after he broke up with you and he couldn’t breathe correctly.
Y/N posted: Storms
don’t last forever? Then why can’t I see the end in sight?
As if moving on their own volition, Dean found his fingers
scrolling through the comments. So many of your friends expressed concern and
support, but it didn’t seem like any of them knew what you were talking about.
Then he got to one comment from your brother.
Anthony commented: Do
I need to kick some douchebag’s ass?
Y/N replied: He’s not
a douchebag. Just a misguided, overprotective idiot.
There were more replies, but Dean’s eyes focused on the last
word of that comment and his mind traveled back to the first time he kissed
“I don’t fit in here.”
Dean motioned to the entirety of your New York penthouse. “I grew up in shitty
hotel rooms and ate vending machine snacks more often than not.”
You shook your head
with a soft smile painting your lips and scooted closer to him on your couch.
“If you think how you grew up matters to me, then you’re an idiot, Dean
Winchester. But you’re my idiot. So
you fit in wherever I am.”
Dean looked away from
the expensive décor and focused entirely on your beautiful eyes. You reached
out and rested your hand on the back of his neck, urging him closer to you. It
didn’t take much pressure at all.
Just before you kissed
him, you laughed lightly. “Besides, I grew up in a one bedroom apartment with
my single mother, my brother, and my two sisters. We’re not that different.”
“Are you calling
yourself an idiot too, then?”
Another magical laugh
escaped your lips just before they touched his.
That kiss was the moment that you infected Dean with
whatever love bug he’d been feeling.
Suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was out of his
seat in one second, and sprinting up the stairs towards the door in the next
second. The revving of the Impala’s engine in his ears cemented his purpose and
it wasn’t long before he was going ninety-five on the highway, pointed towards
New York. He really was an idiot, letting you go like that and leaving his
heart behind. Now he was going after you and nothing would get in his way.
Storms may not last forever, but what he felt for you
DON’T EVER EAT AN ONION LIKE AN APPLE. OKAY. THIS IS THE MOST EMBARRASSING TALE I HAVE EVER TOLD. NOTHING ELSE IS ANY BIT MORE EMBARRASSING THAN THIS. PROMISE.
I WAS AT A RALLY. A RALLY!!! WHERE THE KIDS LOOK UP TO ME AND WEAR SUNGLASSES ON THEIR BICEPS TO IMITATE ME!
(OKAY THEY DON’T BUT IT’LL HAPPEN ONE DAY)
THIS ONE HUMAN WAS... RATHER CRANKY TODAY. THE WORDS THEY WERE SAYING... YEESH! I’D RATHER NOT REPEAT IT! SO SPECIESIST! (IS THAT EVEN THE WORD)
SLUR TRAIN CAME TO TOWN, BUT I CAME READY. I WAS PREPARED. I LOOKED THEM STRAIGHT IN THE EYES AND BIT INTO AN ONION I BROUGHT WITH ME.
I ANGRILY STARED AT THEM. MY EYES, WATERY. THEIR PANTS, PROBABLY WATERY BECAUSE THEY LIKELY WET THEMSELVES AT MY HARDCORE REPLY. BUT THEN, THEY GUFFAW. GUFFAW! A HEARTY CHORTLE AT MY EXPENSE! AND THE LAUGHTER! GOD!!!
THE ONLY REDEEMING FACTOR IS THAT PEOPLE THOUGHT IT WAS A COMEDY ACT TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD, THAT IT WAS STAGED. EVEN THEN...
IT STILL ISN’T A REDEEMING FACTOR!!!! KIDS ARE BITING INTO ONIONS NOW! NO SHADES! JUST!!!! ONIONS!!!!!
“How dare you ship the Babadook with Pennywise! Pennywise is a child murderer!”
So are we just gonna ignore the fact that the Babadook literally tried to murder a child throughout the film? That’s just kinda what you get when you decide to reclaim horror movie monsters. They’re monsters. They eat kids or otherwise actively put children in danger. It’s the circle of life.
Literal Monster: [shows up, eats a kid] “Collect 500 treats or you and your whole friend group dies.” [leaves] Dipper: there’s no way we can do that!
Me, secure in my Adult[tm] knowledge: ok but do M&M’s count individually? I mean most people hand out handfuls out of sheer laziness and you can fuckin’ go buy a bag of a hundred some candies for like 10 bucks. Pool your resources, kids. Stan straight up steals shit, have a candy heist, pay the man his candy and live.
I'm new :/ but do you think your could describe how good the Lord's pillow forts would be? Like would half the fort be caving in or would it be a total master piece? Thanks :) I'm a total hideyoshi nerd... But any would be great!
Hideyoshi collects the pillows, letting the kids plan how to build. He asks where to put every new pillow he brings them and follows their directions to the point. The final result leaves room for improvement, but everyone is happy because it was a shared effort. The funniest part is when everyone crawls in and Hideyoshi reads for the kids until the whole thing collapses on them and everything ends in giggles. A new fort will be built every time the kids want and they are convinced their father builds the best forts ever.
Nobunaga collects everything that could possibly be used in a pillow fort. Those kitchen curtains you loved, they’re the flag now. That spare mattress you kept neatly tucked in a closet: part of the outer wall. Your decorative pillows are the watch towers and the pretty blanket you had just gotten is the roof. Nobu is more excited than the kids, claiming the fort will be the best and biggest ever. You give up.
Mitsuhide tries to build the best and most durable fort possible. Unfortunately, by the time he has finished building, the kids have gotten bored long ago and are now nowhere to be found. You comfort him, telling it’s the best pillow fort you have ever seen (and it is). The fort is built so well, it stays up for weeks, despite the kids playing in it every single day. You finally have to tell him to take it down when you have important guests coming over.
Saizo sleeps on the floor, while the kids pile pillows on top of him. He wakes up when the first kid jumps in the pile giggling, but pretends to be asleep anyway. When you come to see what’s going on, it takes you a while to find Saizo, because he’s completely buried at that point. When he hears you call for him, he tosses all the pillows away claiming to be The Pillow Monster Who Eats Naughty Kids. The kids run away screaming and Saizo disappears after them. You’re left with the mess. Again.
Kenshin gets super excited when the kids want to build a pillow fort. It will be the prettiest pillow fort of all, all the decorative pillows he has hoarded finally finding their purpose. The whole thing is a mess, walls caving in and roofs collapsing until Kanetsugu comes to visit. He sighs. He’s tired, finding something like this Every Damn Time he comes to visit. But he’ll help. No, don’t put that there, we need a better foundation for the wall. Kenshin keeps smiling despite Kanetsugu’s irritation. In the end, it looks more like a maze than a fort, but it doesn’t matter. Every possible surface is filled with pillows and the kids have now the best place ever to play hide and seek. At least until Kanetsugu orders Kenshin and the kids to clean the whole mess up.
Saizo conveniently disappears, but Yukimura wasn’t so lucky. He has no idea how instead of working, he ended up building a pillow fort with Shingen and his kids. The lounge is no more, instead, it has been turned into a pillow fort, the comfy sofas and chairs robbed of their pillows, their backs acting as walls. It’s not the grandest or the finest fort, but it’s the best that can be made with what’s easily available. A few office chairs find their way to the fort as well and so do Shingen’s business partners who end up having a tea party inside the fort. It’s one of the weirdest business meetings they’ve had, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t enjoy themselves. Shingen and Yukimura clean everything up afterwards so the secretaries and cleaners won’t have to.
he spilled out onto the street with a crowd of faces like name-brand coffee, poured from the same pot.
the right wheel of the taxi went rumbling up onto the pavement, narrowly avoiding the sign advertising that evening’s show.
he stumbled to it, elbowing past a man wearing his same t-shirt & a woman wearing his same smirk.
the cab smelled familiar - a scent he used to wear when he was younger. the smell of his high school prom.
“where are we going?” the driver asked, a smile in his voice.
“home,” he said.
he sat in the back, curled in a corner, his phone dead & his brain turned off for the evening. there was nothing outside the window he hadn’t seen a thousand times already, no questions inside his head he hadn’t already asked himself.
there’s an interesting social theory that says that we learn the most about the world between our birth and the age of 23. during this period, we allow ourselves to take in information & adjust rapidly to it. we’re willing to listen & we’re willing to try & we’re desperate for experience.
past that, the human ability to grow slows down. in effect, it’s the end of adolescence. we still take in information, but we begin to trust it less than the information that we already know. we want to build great, big things, but prefer the things we’ve already built, the things we know how to build. our values settle & form our lifelong worldview. in essence, we forget how to change.
it explained why young people always wanted things to be different, & old people always wanted things to be the same. it explained why children could get so excited & adults could treat it as though it was unreasonable.
he stood on the cusp of his great slowing down, wondering what kind of a home he’d built for himself, what kind of a life he was about to sink into.
he felt as though he’d sat alone forever, waiting for the right time, & now he had only a few moments left to make his final decisions.
he checked the clock. 11:54.
“what were you up to tonight?” the driver asked.
“some band,” he said.
“where did they play?” the driver asked.
“some bar,” he said.
he shrugged again.
“what were you doing there?” the driver asked.
“some girl,” he said.
he buried his head further into his hands.
after 3 drinks, looking out the back of a taxi cab can feel like you’re in a high speed chase.
after 6 drinks, it feels like looking out the window of an airplane, soaring over a city of skyscrapers too quickly to count.
after 9 drinks, it feels like a spaceship, buildings flipping & kaleidoscoping in & out of focus, passing like stars in deep space.
looking out the window of the cab, he felt as though he was on the millennium falcon, shooting through the world at hyper speed.
“how old are you?” the driver asked.
“i’ll be 23,” he said.
“when?” the driver asked
“in 3 minutes,” he said, checking his watch. 11:57.
they continued hurdling through infinite time & space.
“i love this song,” the driver said, turning up the song on the radio as it reached a guitar solo.
“hey! i know this song,” he shouted from the back seat, excited by the immediate way that it made him feel.
“what?” the driver shouted.
“this song is old! from when i was a kid!” his voice in direct competition with the electric guitar, but he didn’t care. it needed to be heard.
“i’ve only just heard it,” the driver said, swaying to the drums.
“i used to love this song,” he called back, leaning forward to share in the moment.
“what happened?” the driver shouted.
“what do you mean?”
“you said you used to love it?” the driver turned back to look at him. their eyes met & he fell backwards.
the driver was young. he couldn’t have been any older than 16, his features familiar, his hair a bit too thick & too long, a problem that he himself had warred with his entire life.
he wondered for a moment if the partition might be a mirror, but then remembered he didn’t look like that any more. his features had developed. his hair was no longer long & unkept.
“you’re just a kid!” he shouted.
the driver said nothing, just turned back around to face the road. he gripped the wheel lightly, & turned up the dial as the song glided into its final chorus.
“i saw this band live, when i was 16,” he told the driver, finally.
“which band?” the driver asked.
“where did they play?” the driver asked.
“some bar,” he said.
“first avenue,” he said, remembering.
“what were you doing there?” the driver asked.
“some girl,” the man said.
“hannah,” he said.
“we’re here,” the driver pulled up in front of his apartment.
“i know, i’m ready,” he said.
he looked up at the life he’d come home to. his apartment sat comfortably in a predictable place, decorated by neighbors he’d never met & flowers he’d never noticed.
“is this it?” the driver asked.
“yes. i guess this is it,” he said.
they lulled into silence. there’s an interesting social theory that says that our period of most rapid evolution ends at 23. we sink in, the decisions we’ve made for ourselves cement around our lives & we forget how to change.
he looked up at the decisions he’d made for himself.
“what were you hoping for?” the driver asked.
he nodded and opened the door as the final guitars faded out. the digital clock on the driver’s dash read 12:00 am.