Neblynn Angel

Genre: Canon-verse Drabble?

Words: 310

Warnings: None

Summary: Before Dean goes to get Sam at Stanford

The vending machine rattled in response to Dean’s fist, which he pounded against the side in frustration. “Come on” he said, his eyes fixed on the little yellow bag of peanut butter M&Ms. The metal coils that cradled the candy remained defiantly still. Turning to lean his shoulder against the defective vending machine, Dean fished his cellphone out of his front jean pocket and flipped it open. No messages, no voicemails, no missed calls.

California is about a three-day drive from New Orleans if you didn’t dick around too much or rush like your ass was on fire. It had already been two weeks since dad left to check out that case of missing dudes on that west coast highway, ten days since Dean left him a voicemail that the job they had come here to work on together —that ended up a solo gig for him— was done. He should have heard something by now, received an order on where to head next so they could meet up. Maybe he was in trouble. Maybe he was hurt and needed help. Thumb slipping away from the speed dial number he had set to “Dad”, he flipped the phone closed and shoved it back into his pocket. That wasn’t true though, of course. Dad could handle himself; Dean knew that. He’s the best damn hunter in the world, no question that the man didn’t need his son worrying and calling him every hour like some hysterical chick.

Genre: Canon-verse Drabble?

Words: 310

Warnings: None

Summary: Before Dean goes to get Sam at Stanford

The vending machine rattled in response to Dean’s fist, which he pounded against the side in frustration. “Come on” he said, his eyes fixed on the little yellow bag of peanut butter M&Ms. The metal coils that cradled the candy remained defiantly still. Turning to lean his shoulder against the defective vending machine, Dean fished his cellphone out of his front jean pocket and flipped it open. No messages, no voicemails, no missed calls.

California is about a three-day drive from New Orleans if you didn’t dick around too much or rush like your ass was on fire. It had already been two weeks since dad left to check out that case of missing dudes on that west coast highway, ten days since Dean left him a voicemail that the job they had come here to work on together —that ended up a solo gig for him— was done. He should have heard something by now, received an order on where to head next so they could meet up. Maybe he was in trouble. Maybe he was hurt and needed help. Thumb slipping away from the speed dial number he had set to “Dad”, he flipped the phone closed and shoved it back into his pocket. That wasn’t true though, of course. Dad could handle himself; Dean knew that. He’s the best damn hunter in the world, no question that the man didn’t need his son worrying and calling him every hour like some hysterical chick.

asexuals’ relationship with sex and sexual attraction tends to be….complicated. there’s a bit of an idea of like, oh of course, you’re either sex-favorable, sex-neutral, or sex-repulsed, but honestly i see a LOT of discussion about how wildly different those can each look for each individual. some people are comfortable with some acts in very specific contexts, and deeply upset by them in all others. some people find certain forms of nonsexual intimacy (like kissing) to still be off-limits, while something most people might consider more charged (like nudity) is totally fine. a lot of us just kind of have a long laundry list like “this is fine, this isn’t, that one’s okay, that one’s always off-limits….” because the big secret is that “sex” isn’t really any cohesive act as much as a lot of little things that people just threw together and called one thing.

as for attraction: some aces are actually attracted to other people once in a blue moon, and simply don’t want to clarify that every time. some aren’t entirely sure, but don’t want to spend their whole lives guessing. some ARE completely sure they never have and never will feel an attraction.