Strength Enough to Build a Home it’s a wonderful story, and it was so fun working with this author. Go check out the story and the other fics for this bang!
So, this is me, asking for some help. I live in Montana, and Medicaid isn’t required to cover trans surgeries here. I tried twice, I was denied both times. I can’t get a loan because my credit score isn’t high enough. I work at a non-profit animal shelter and I only make 9.37 an hour. There’s a breakdown of my expenses and debt on the GoFundMe page. My surgery is going to cost a little over $12,000 (that includes follow up visits and pain meds, but not the compression vest or the money I’ll need to save to pay bills while I can’t work).
I am doing what I can to save money, even just dollar bills and spare change. I have a jar with about $12 in it, and I’ve managed to put $80 in a savings account. When my tax return comes in, I’ll be able to put aside $350 (the rest of my return is going to pay off my credit card). I’m also accepting commissions, so if you’d rather buy an original story than make a donation, that would be just as awesome!
Even if you can’t get a commission or leave a donation, just a reblog to signal boost this fund would be amazing <3.
Why does everything constantly have to be on fire?!?!?
There ain’t language for the things I’ve seen And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams The truth is stranger than all my dreams Holy darkness got a hold on me – Lord Huron – Meet Me in the Woods
There’s a cabin in the middle of nowhere Tennessee. It used to belong to Rufus Turner, then Bobby, and now it’s Dean’s. Not officially, of course, but Dean seriously doubts anyone is going to challenge him on the property rights, not when the guy who owned it before Rufus turned into the chew toy for a pack of werewolves. For all intents and purposes, it’s Dean’s, and it’s served as his little safe haven for when things get too messy and he just needs some time to his damn self.
The first thing Dean does when he walks in is kick off his boots and drop his duffel. In years past, he’d have to sweep the house first, checking the demon traps and scaring off the raccoons that decided to make it a home when he wouldn’t. Now, however, he gets to pretend that it’s something that it really isn’t – that it’s a home.
“Wish I knew you were headed in, chief,” Benny’s voice rumbles out from the kitchen, “I’d’a made you a pie.”
Dean snorts. “We both know you would’ve just bought one,” he calls back as he hooks his jacket behind the door.
“Can you blame me? You never tried that fancy lattice work. Pain in the ass pastry is what it is,” Benny says.
Dean sneaks into the kitchen on socked feet. He tries to be quiet, and Benny tries to pretend he doesn’t know exactly where Dean is as he keeps his eyes on the stove, stirring away at the pot. It’s almost like a game, a watered-down version of who they really are. At the end of the day, Dean’s still a hunter and Benny’s still a vampire, no matter how they’ve skewed that relationship from what most of their respective kinds would consider acceptable.
Benny lets him wind this time, with Dean coming up behind and wrapping his arms around Benny’s middle, burrowing his nose in the crook of his neck. Benny chuckles. “Rough couple of months I take it?”
Dean grunts, nuzzling closer. He smells like the forest and paprika and whatever other warm, earthy spices perfume the air around them. He smells like the closest thing to home Dean’s known in his whole adult life.
“I missed you,” Dean says, planting a kiss to Benny’s shoulder.
He catches the soft look in Benny’s eyes. It’s one he’s seen so many times before. You don’t actually have to leave, it says. You could stay forever, it says. I’d spend the rest of your life waiting on your sorry ass and I’d only mildly complain about it, it says. It kills Dean every time.
He buries his face in the thick flannel of Benny’s shirt. One of these days he’s going to give in. If he lives that long. One of these days he’ll give up on hunting down evil and spend the rest of his life complaining about the arthritis in his knees and the price of laundry soap with his un-dead pseudo-husband.
The friends he has left will understand. Everyone else will think he’s gone crazy. Hell, maybe he has. But after years of seeing the shit he’s seen, doing the shit he’s done; after years of that crap dancing behind his eyelids when he falls asleep, he deserves a little silver lining. It’s nuts, but who the hell ever said Dean Winchester was the paragon of normal, rational choices?
Yeah, he’d break down and say to hell with it. One of these days.
I’m a scholar and a gentleman And I usually don’t fall when I try to stand I lost a bet to a guy in a Chiffon skirt But I make these high heels work – Panic! At the Disco – Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time
He found Jimmy in the pool, asleep on a raft with one arm dangling in the water and the skirt of a salmon dress hiked up to mid-thigh.
“What the fuck, Jimmy?” Dean shouted.
Of course that got his attention and the idiot sat up too quickly, tumbling right into the water below. He popped back up a second later, sputtering and coughing, hair in his face.
“Dean! You’re home early,” he said with a smile.
It might be funny if it weren’t so damn stupid. Dean had come home a little early from his business trip and hoped to surprise the twins, maybe with breakfast in bed. That was, until he walked in to the disaster that had replaced his living room. In addition to the thousands of empty cups and pizza boxes he’d expected to find there were several dozen empty liquor bottles, at least two people he didn’t recognize passed out on the floor, and glitter damn near ground into the carpet. There was also something stuck to the walls but he really didn’t want to think about what that could possibly be.
So he’d gone away for a week like a responsible adult and his boyfriends had acted like teenagers. Great.
“What the fuck?” Dean said again.
Jimmy sighed, pushing his dripping bangs out of his face. “Do you want an explanation or do you just want to be mad?”
“Ideally, both,” Dean said, shaking his head.
Jimmy huffed, swimming to the lip of the pool before hauling himself out of the water. He looked terrible, with his dress sopping wet and make-up smudged and running down his cheeks. It would be rude to laugh, but since when was Dean all that polite?
“I made semi-finals,” Jimmy said, wringing out the hem of his skirt. “So,” he flapped his hands at the mess of discarded cans and over-turned lawn furniture in the backyard, “we might’ve gotten a little excited.”
“Wait, really? So you’re going to Vegas next right?” Dean asked.
Jimmy smirked, shrugging his shoulders.Dean pulled him into his arms, not caring that getting and arm-full of sopping wet drag queen was definitely probably bad for the suit he wore.
“You’re not mad?” Jimmy asked when Dean finally put him down.
“About the house? Kinda, yeah. But I’m really proud of you. I just wish I could’ve been there to see it.”
“Cas recorded it, apparently,” Jimmy said.
“Where is he anyway?” Dean asked, peering past Jimmy as if he expected the other twin to pop up behind him.
A grunt sounded from the rose bush near the door, and Dean turned to find Cas pulling himself out from behind it.
I know I don’t have that large of a platform on here, but please spread if you can.
My friends and I are starting the twitter hashtag #studentsforregulation starting friday. What it will be is basically if you’re a student in the united states, post a video of you talking about your fears and views on the lack of gun control. We’re posting them all friday so there can be a huge wave of scared voices yelling for change. We’re gonna make them hear us.
Just a short, personal video of your fears, views, and concerns under the hashtag #studentsforregulation on friday. We can have a voice if we’re all shouting. No more selling our lives for votes. It ends with us
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