#I HAVE SOLVED THE DESTIEL

[chiisana-sukima]

nine people i want to get to know better

Thank you for the tag, @slutsons-blog! Starting a new post because I'm autistic and therefore mostly only care about the "Current Obsession" question, and want to ramble excessively as usual in that one.

Last song: Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Red Rescue Team: Pokemon Square because I'm currently playing Pokemon Mystery Dungeon with my daughter. Otherwise I honestly couldn't tell you. Whatever was on in my car.

Fave color: Purple

Currently watching: Star Trek Discovery

Last movie: Knives Out

Sweet/spicy/savory: Sweet, tart, salty

Relationship: married x 27 years

Last thing I googled: the word "dependent", for spelling assistance. which is a good thing because I spelled it "dependant".

Current Obsession: it's been spn since 2016. Truly we are the Hotel California of media franchises. I did recently play Disco Elysium twice in a row in quick succession, and I follow the DE tag. I can't recommend the game highly enough.... but I can feel my Special Interest-level obsession with it fading already. Spn has never faded even a tiny bit and I wonder if it ever will.

@slutsons-blog I feel after reading that you're watching spn for the first time, that I did you a bit of a disservice with my Sam takes to you before in that I mostly talked about Sam's evolution as a character as the show goes on and very little about him from the first five seasons.

Gotta be honest and tell you that although I liked both brothers all along, I was a Dean girl until the end of s6/beginning of s7, when the balance of who gets whumped the most started shifting and my subconscious suddenly decided to switch allegiances. It's not that I liked Dean any less; my id just loves a sopping wet pathetic kitten of a man who has been sexually abused, and Sam got suddenly way more kitteny and pathetic after the Cage. So I don't actually have a ton of takes on "what to love about Sam in the early seasons". I do love early seasons Sam too--she is my beautiful baby princess--but my early seasons takes are a lot more inchoate.

I count myself lucky about my id's sudden defection though, because I think we have limited control of who our blorbos are, and having Dean as a blorbo is a tough row to hoe as the later seasons go along. You know how you noticed that in s6, Dean suddenly gets a lot more assholey without apparent reason? Unfortunately he never gets better again, and in fact keeps getting worse and worse as the years go by, until by the last seasons he is openly far more abusive to their joint child(-in-an-adult body) than John was to him and Sam. It's a realistic picture of what can happen when trauma keeps piling up on people, but it's also honestly pretty distressing, especially if he's your blorbo.

If one is in it for the ship, there's some good destiel content in the later seasons, but if you're in it for Dean, you're left either 1) dealing with the fact he's got extremely significant interpersonal problems that he never gets much of anywhere on solving and that negatively impact his chosen family in profound ways, or 2) pretending he's the same character he was in s1 and Sam is the same Sam from s1, only more boring, and Dean is just trying to put up with him because he was brainwashed by John (or ig 3- something in the middle between those two. But that seldom seems to happen in practice for whatever reason). These two versions of the show are poorly compatible, and that's how the Sam girls and the Dean girls end up in isolated silos. A few people manage to live in both, but not many.

Anyway, I feel like without the context of how Sam and Dean change in the mid to late seasons, the two fics I recc'd as Sam character studies are going to seem insanely Dean-critical, so if you haven't read them yet, you might want to wait until s10. In the meantime, the general recs are fun reads and hopefully do a good job of showcasing both characters earlier on.

Tagging (but I would be a huge hypocrite if I didn't specify there's no pressure to respond, since I almost always fail at responding to tag games myself): @adihildilid @aliusfrater @quietwingsinthesky @sammygender @ardentpoop

@peanutbutterandbananasandwichs @schizosamwincester @normalbrothershow @jellybracelet.

[ahurston]

Is Crowley and Aziraphale's central issue truly miscommunication? Because it really sounded like Aziraphale genuinely thought Crowley would jump at the chance to be an angel again, and that indicates such a fundamental misjudgment of who Crowley is as a person that I don't know how they get past it?

In so many ships, the characters just need to get trapped in an elevator for long enough to actually have an honest conversation, and it would solve all their problems (looking at you, Destiel). But for Aziraphale and Crowley, this breakdown means something more than a simple conversation could correct. It means something about how Aziraphale makes sense of their shared history, how he perceives Crowley's worth as a demon in comparison to his own as an angel, and what he understands to be the roadblock standing in the way of them being truly together.

Crowley named that roadblock as he sees it - the structures of heaven and hell themselves ("We don't need heaven, we don't need hell, they're toxic!"). But for Aziraphale, that roadblock appears to be Crowley's demon-ness, which he sees as extricable from Crowley himself (which it isn't). His roadblock is Crowley himself. And if that's the case, that's not a miscommunication, that's a tragedy.

[autisticandroids]

free space: medium-sized destiel

so in my reclists for @spnficrecfest i haven't been including many fics that are very "big destiel."

this is partly because i've been trying to keep the kudos count lower (though obviously this hasn't been absolute), and also because i actively did not include any "post empty destiel fix it" type fics in the dabb era reclist because they're kind of a genre unto themselves. nor have i intentionally made space in other reclists for fics that have a particular destiel romance novel vibe. obviously there's some, but those tend to dominate reclists, and i wanted to highlight smaller fics.

so this is my "big destiel" reclist, except i still did not include anything that had >2k kudos, because those are generally speaking pretty well known already.

some of these fics are small and just have the big destiel vibes, but a lot of them are more in the 1k kudos range than the hundred kudos range, on account of being big, or medium-sized, destiel.

in order of word count:

ain't that the worst thing you ever heard? by everytuesday, 1k

a couple of takes on the confession scene. very special to me.

rot and grace by extemporaneous, 3k, violence warning

cas watches dean murder the world. corruption kink.

some dying star looks dull in the light by sp8ce, 4k

heaven angst with a happy ending, post-empty.

one step closer by rhinestoneangels, 4k

an empty rescue. i love the empty geography in this one.

i didn't feel it on the first day, and now i got it in the worst way by wintertree, 6k

meg pov on a post-widower arc destiel.

the doorway to a thousand churches by sonatine, 6k

cas and the deans from goodbye stranger.

if you try sometimes, well you just might find by jenthesweetie, 9k

cas pov on dean's wants.

godot ain't got nothing on me and my baby by ilovehowyouletmefall, 10k

post empty, cas became death. the only way dean could see him is by dying.

before and after breakfast by spocklee, 10k

a silly little case where cas and dean realize how they see each other.

solitudes by ilovehowyouletmefall, 21k

cas sees dean see cas die. a wonderful little melodrama. i actually really liked how it handled dean's alcoholism (not really as something to be solved but just as a... reality to be dealt with) and i'm OBSESSED with the director's commentary. if this had been published in 2021 instead of 2023, every heller would have read it three times over.

powerless in dreams by calicoyak, 24k

a post-empty fic. i really liked some of the cas stuff in this one.

between a rock and a hard place by amidsizefrog, 24k

dean's dick doesn't work. also cas is dead. maybe the two are related.

every single thing by thestoryinsideme, 37k

a charming and goofy season nine fic. dean is a shitty little man in a very canonical way that is also deeply sweet and adorable.

a light above descending by hedderstheowl, 38k

a mark of cain fic with chefkiss angel stuff. a recent favorite of mine. really put this author on the map for me.

with understanding by apokteino, 427k, chose not to warn and noncon warning

yeah it's with understanding. you've heard of it. go read it now chop chop.

and if your wondering which fics (that you've probably read) got the axe for having too many kudos: it was on labor, the bee movie fic, time has come today, and r/supernatural. that's my taste. if you were curious.

[podado-t-memes]

If someone told me yesterday I’d be prepping for my coding final with a Destiel Omegaverse practice question…

I would have thought they were insane…

…But here we are…

(Anyone wanna try to solve it? I already know the output lol)

[mrslectermoriarty]

THERE IS A GERMAN VERSION OF DESTIEL

hear me out:

So there is this very popular TV show called "Tatort" ("Crime Scene") in Germany. It's been on air since 1970 and all adults in Germany settle down on Sunday evening, 8:15 pm sharp to watch it. The episodes are usually about 90 minutes long. Each week we see a differnet team somewhere in Germany solve crimes and deal with personal problems and such.

Of course there can't be the same Teams over decades, so they change the characters over certain time periods. In 2020, Team Saarbrücken retired the main characters Detective Stellbrink and Detective Marx and introduced Detective Leo Hölzer and Detective Adam Schürk.

(Leo's on the left, Adam on the right)

And THOSE TWO GUYS are the German Version of Destiel. According to me, at least. I encourage you to Google them ("Tatort Saarbrücken" oder "Hölzer und Schürk") and watch their scenes. You don't necessarily have to understand what they're saying (there's usually just banter) just OBSERVE their interactions.

Nvm, YouTube only shows fanedits and crack videos.

DO YOU GET WHERE I'M COMING FROM!?

I'll give you one example here - those are literally their interactions, it's just with emotional music.

"I would go with you to the end of the world."

If you're interested in a little backstory: (trigger warning, child abuse)

Adam had a really fucked-up dad who would beat him more often than not. Adam met Leo in middle school when a couple jerks were beating up poor Leo. Adam knocked one of them down and since then, Adam and Leo have been best friends. One day, when Adam's Dad was particularly angry, he almost killed Adam with his punishments, when Leo showed up and struck the man down with a shovel. Adam's dad fell into a 15-year coma and Adam dissappeard.

Fast forward, first episode: Adam comes back and joins Leo's team in Saarbrücken. Leo is obviously pissed that Adam disappeared all those years ago and they have quite a rookie start. Nevertheless they fall back into their friendship dynamic, which is based on DEEP trust and an INSANE amount of loyalty. In an old-married-couple way. They both have their issues but they just kinda need each other (at some point Adam was accused of murder and Leo broke some laws to prove his innocence)

There's a lot of drama when it comes to these two and their dynamic is just so queer-coded it's driving many people insane. Like, the y don’t talk an out their problems AT ALL but they’re such an amazing duo when it comes to work.

Now, there are some problems:

We get about 1 or maximum 2 episodes per year. (Dont ask, it's complicated) Meaning, a new episode dropped recently and we have to wait another year for their story to continue.

And the recent episode (which ended in a massive cliffhanger) suggests that Adam might start a relationship with one of his female colleagues at some point in the future. Talk about homophobic writers.

This whole "Oh no, I suddenly don't seem to be in love with my best friend and spend a suspicious amount of time with a woman" is really weird because if you look at their history and their dynamic it just doesn't fit into the narrative! And that's even more annoying.

So yeah, I feel like I've seen this whole drama before. And I'm really fucking scared of its ending.

Also, am I the only one who this it's kinda cursed that in 2020, Destiel went down and in the same year, these guys arrived? I know thay don't have anything to do with each other, but the timing just makes me suspicious

[ratz13456]

So I'm rewatching Supernatural (because I hate myself) and I'm... so angry.

Castiel is my favorite and the way the writers treated him is so infuriating. His character was AMAZING and they just couldn't handle it. I understand that they had to make him weaker, because otherwise 99.9999% of the problems in the show would've been easily solved with his powers. FINE I GET IT, but they didn't had to make him a fucking joke, a punchile, a mere reflection of what he was... they could've at least treated him with dignity and respect (HE DESERVED IT).

Which is so funny because they knew how to do exactly that, In season 4-5 for example, when he was still at his peak, there were moments when he had no powers whatsoever (when they faced one of the horsemen of the apocalypse for example) and despite that, Castiel was still fucking amazing!!!! he cut off the horseman's finger cleeeean, while being mortal and half death an all, because with or without grace he is still a warrior, he is still strong, he is still Castiel, that's how it should've go.

So It's honestly so frustrating to see how he is constantly mistreated in the later seasons, used as Dean's punchbag and no longer having that spark that made him Cas (I'm not talking about grace)

They could've done so much with him... They gave him a shitty ending too (He deserved loveeeeee for fucks sake)

Fuck supernatural

Destiel forever

[pietadean]

having a live-in destiel bestie means there is an endless potential of spn rewatch nights. which means it's the second time in two weeks that we're rewatching tmwwbk and. what do you mean when crowley aproaches cas to pitch the purgatory deal cas is longingly stalking dean. he watches dean and tells himself he won't ask for his help because he wants to protect him, because dean deserves his happiness and cas means hunting and death and doom and (maybe he could ask him but what if he says no. what if he picks lisa). what do you mean crowley takes one look at cas and is like I can get you your happy ending, I quote "with all possible entendres intended". all of this while cas is longingly looking at his happy ending. what if crowley said that and cas saw a future where the raphael problem was solved and he could come back to dean without the hunting and death and doom and. have a go at happiness. im. hm

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of the Devil

> Too Much Dust // Part 6

pairings: (established) sam winchester x gn!reader, destiel is there :D

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together. after a deeper look, conducted by a certain beautiful redhead, the gang now has a better idea of what they’re dealing with and how to fix it

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, hallucinations, graphic depictions of said torture

word count: 4,296

A/N: okay so maybe i’m a little in love with rowena….

read other parts here

———————

It’s been at least 15 rounds and if you were betting real money, you’d be down a kneecap and stamped with a deadline for just how bad you were doing. Your head really was just elsewhere because blackjack is how you’ve gotten your proper source of income while on the road. Sam knew this too, he knew you could gamble and had a better streak of luck than you really should- it was enough to convince Dean you were in with a witch at one point.

As Sam lays down round 16 though, his hand freezes- completely still.

“Sam?” You ask as you pull your attention up at him but his entire body is stiff. You wave your hand in front of him, calling his name a few more times but nothing works. You look back down at the cards in his hand and see that the watch on his wrist has even stopped.

“This is really starting to piss me off, doll.” You knew it was Lucifer the second his icy lips parted and sent that shiver down your spine. Your back straightens and you look for him, but as you start to scan the room, the lightbulbs burst, leaving the room pitch black.

“You know how many times I’ve scraped your brain? I’m starting to think that you just don’t have it,” the anger in Lucifer's voice makes you stiff and you wonder if this is what Sam is feeling right now. The lights flick back on but the room is still black and there's nothing except the chair you’re now strapped to. You tug at your restraints but your wrists are locked in place.

Irrational panic. ‘Have what?’

“The coordinates,” Lucifer sighs out, like he’s trying to solve a case with a cooperative partner. The panic settles deeper when he answers your silent question but he then reminds you, “I’m in your head, Einstein, I hear and see everything.”

‘Not possibly everything…’

“Oh, everything,” he appears from behind you, swimming around you with swift strides. Like a shark circling before it attacks. “Maybe it’s just not there,” he says, this time to himself. He stops right in front of you, brows pinched and patience thin. “I should’ve taken advantage of your physical body when I had the chance. I need to get you back to me.” He leans in, bracing himself on the armrests of your chair. His face just inches away as they trace your face with a look that makes you sick.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You manage to demand, your voice harvesting the weight of your rage but quivering out into a pathetic query.

“I left it with you, it has to be in there somewhere!” He shouts, a deep throttle and he funnels his frustration through his palms, pushing your chair back until it hits an invisible wall. The room is still just black- empty.

Your body is shivering from fear alone, eyes wide and any attitude shocked out of you.

“I’ll find it, I’ll have to,” his eyes narrowed. He’s stood tall, fists clenched and jaw so stiff that you think his teeth will shatter. He’s gone again, leaving you in the black room but not even long enough to filter a full breath before you’re back in the cage. Fuck.

“This is my favorite place, doll, I have all of my fun here,” his words pour out like an adult saddened by seeing their childhood home one last time. “I miss my prize though, maybe I’ll get him back when I make my rounds for you again. How lucky am I that you ended up with my perfect vessel?” He turns to you, eyes flashing with a ripple of red. You’re trying to piece together the words and phrases he’s picking out, desperately hoping to make sense of what the fuck he’s alluding at.

You’re truly trying, but everything is happening so fast and you’re already strung up like you were in the process of being so last time, just like you saw Sam. The Devil is wielding a needle filled with bubbling crimson. Your stomach drops. As he approaches you try to back away but there’s absolutely no where you can go.

“I’ll admit, as much fun as it was to toy with you, it was to wear you down enough to access that subconscious of yours, but I really made sure to put it under lock.” Lucifer almost looks sad, a feigned emotion only brought on by pure insanity.

His grip is razor sharp and lightening quick as he grabs your chin, holding you in place and bringing up the syringe. “This though? This is pure pleasure. Consider it compensation for wasting my fucking time,” he growls, stabbing the needle into your neck and injecting the tainted boiling blood into your veins. The burn runs quickly, scaling through your arms and up your neck. You feel the trail go down over your torso, sinking into your legs to settle in your toes. It’s everywhere. White hot liquid that curdles your own brewed blood, rubbing like sandpaper. You can’t even scream because the concoction stiffens your veins, holding you in place like you’re some claymation doll stood up by chicken wire.

Lucifer smashes the needle in the far end of the cage and you see Sam again. A figment of him at least. He’s curled in a corner, hugging his knees close but his face is blank as he stares out to nothing. He’s so still, almost like the Sam who dealt you bad hand after bad hand, except at least this Sam was breathing- though shuddering.

“There has to be a way to get those coordinates and I will find it,” Lucifer says, ignoring the racing questions plaguing your mind, begging for more explanation. “I left them with you for a reason. I should’ve known you’d be just as useless as a lockbox.” Lucifer grabs a knife, a simple one but you already know what’s coming next. What you still didn’t know though, is how Lucifer left coordinates with you.

He slices at your skin, watching the rotted trails of your once pumping veins dust out of your skin with admiration- crumbling out as they fall to the iron floor. He repeats this process over and over, collecting pile after pile onto the floor until you’re more slice than stitch. Still unable to scream, all you can do is endure. That is until he fixes you back up just to start again.

With a fresh body, you’re still strung up like a pig to bleed. Lucifer paces back to an instrument cart that he just manifested. He twirls his fingers over the items, piecing together his thoughts as he tries to find the brush to paint his art. You as his canvas.

“Maybe if I get you back to me, I could pluck it outta you,” he picks up a cork opener, “then you’ll remember,” he ponders, setting up the tip on one of your ribs, starting to turn. This time you can scream and you take advantage. The spiral digs through your skin and into the rib, anchoring into it just as he flips the wings of the device and snaps the bone, ripping a fresh scream from your throat. You pant as he fully removes the tool and inspects the blood dripping from it, bone marrow decorating it like sprinkles on a cake.

Sam is unfazed by the screams.

Lucifer sniffs the air, his nose scrunching as he looks right into your eyes with an annoyed glare, tilting his head. “They’re doing something new,” he offers no clarification, “I will get those numbers, even if it’s the last words you utter.”

———

You wake up with a start, jolting out from your position in bed with a racing heart and the look of a wild animal. You hear voices around you but your ears are ringing and your body is being stubborn with allowing you to catch up with your change of scenery.

Once you get a few gulped breaths, you can look around at the people gathered at your bedside- Sam, Dean, Cas… and Rowena. You look at each of them individually, taking in enough of their image to solidify their presence in your space.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asks and you pull your attention back to him, letting your breaths come slower and slower.

“How long was I out?” You look down at the lack of blankets, you’re still in the same clothes.

“About an hour, Rowena cooked you up a spell to keep Lucifer away for now,” Sam explains, shifting his gaze over to the redhead who you’d admit made you consider a thing or two, once or twice. Sometimes she looked at you like she read those thoughts too.

“For now?” You ask.

“It’ll burn like sage, as long as it’s goin’, pesky devil ‘ll be at bay,” Rowena explained and you notice the distinct smell- overpowering. “Ginger and lavender, dear.” She points to the platter holding the bundle of herbs that smoke like incense.

“No sigil?” You ask, looking up at the angel who steps out in front of Dean whose hand resting on the angel's hip falls as they part.

“No sigil,” Cas attests, sitting next to you on the edge of the bed. Your shoulders slump with a relieved breath, your wrists wrapped with your cold fingers to ground you as much as they can.

“We were playing cards and you just passed out. Are you okay?” Sam asks, his hand reaching to rest on your thigh. The pain in his eyes shows the worry that almost drains the color from them. It makes you feel worse.

You scoot back so that you’re resting against the headboard, staring down at your hands. Images of Sam in the cage flash through your mind and you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You could convince yourself that Lucifer was just setting up a scene for you to observe but why would he have to? He has 120 years to pull memories from. You honestly preferred the physical torture he inflicted than that.

“He’s trying to find something,” your teeth chat against each other, jaw stuttering into the solid row. A nervous tick that you just picked up, another courtesy of The Devil.

Your words make Sam tense and Rowena’s head tilt in interest beyond a masked worry for your well being.

“Find something?” Sam asks, voice soft as he uses his other hand to push back some of your hair, just another reminder that he’s there for you.

“He says he-,” you want to make sure you get this right, “that he left something with me and he’s trying to find it. Like a lockbox, he said,” your voice gets softer as you lose your confidence in what you’re saying. It’s not that you’re saying it wrong per se, it's just that the harsh reality that hangs over you with your statement makes you want to shrink up like your veins and puff away into massless dust. Into nothing.

“He’s taking his sweet time, why’s he need so much from you?” Dean says, voice gruff and assertive as always, but he makes a point to tone it down for now. For you.

“I don’t know, but he’s getting desperate,” you breathe out mirthlessly. “I mean why is he just now telling me? Why wait? Why- I don’t know, let me live?” Your eyes widen, glossing over, “Why torture me in my mind? Why not the real deal?” Your face twists with a cracked smile that spits out dry giggles as you hold up your arms in a dramatic shrug. Your laughter fades into body-wracking sobs until your stomach is tight with nausea. You drop your head into your hands and Sam moves to sit next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to lean into him, resting his chin on your head.

“This is fucking crazy,” Dean scoffs, pacing away from the group to recoup his thoughts. He knows they’ve dealt with all levels of crazy, but it still doesn’t make it easier when presented with a fresh off the press edition.

Cas whips his head to scold Dean visually, but you know Dean is angry with Lucifer and not directing his words at you. Cas is still worried for you though, not wanting the words to land the wrong way in your ears.

“How would he have planted it in the first place?” Dean asks, ignoring the scolding eyes of his partner and looking right at you, referring to whatever information Lucifer claims to have left.

“Summer, a few years back,” Sam’s voice rumbles through your back since you’re pressed to his chest, “when you were possessed, it had to be then, right?” Sam asks, not pushing away to look at you, knowing you’re listening. Dean remembers that summer, the demon that possessed you picked a fight with Sam under your skin that earned a few days of space so that the demon could do god knows what. Well, this, you suppose.

You’re tired, so tired, and just so done with Lucifer. Sam knows it and Dean can start to feel it too, along with Cas.

“Dear,” Rowena chimes, “perhaps we get started?”

“How long will that burn?” Sam asks, picking up the line of conversation he knows that you can’t right now.

“A couple hours, give or take some minutes,” Rowena nods.

“We’ll meet you in the library at 11,” Sam suggests, you hadn’t realized how late it was getting. Your eyes close and you turn into him, hiding from the stares of your allies and the scent of Rowena’s magic. You hear shuffling and feel Cas’ weight lift away, followed by a closed door.

“I’m so tired, Sam,” you mumble into his neck, exhaling wet breath onto his skin that gives him chills and warms him up. His arms snake around your body, constricting you closer.

“I know, love, we’ll fix this. Just figured you needed a minute,” Sam cards through your hair, adjusting you both to lay down and get comfy.

“What time is it?” You ask, knowing that whatever the answer is it won’t be enough.

“10:34.”

Nope, not enough.

The pit of dread only drills itself deeper and deeper, almost hollowing you out completely. But right now, in Sam’s arms? This is what’s enough.

———

The 26 minutes went by too fast, though you tried to count it down by the second just to make it feel longer.

After grabbing the burning wrap that Rowena left, Sam had led you down the hallway, wrapping a flannel of his over your shoulders. He knew his baggy clothes drowning you almost acted like a shield for you sometimes. Providing a sense of security and maybe even privacy.

Rowena was found flipping through a book she found in the library and Dean was nursing a glistening beer that he didn’t bother to set on a coaster. You were too tired to bug him about it. Upon your arrival, Dean’s posture straightened and he checked you over before flicking his eyes to Sam who gave him a curt nod, working his jaw.

Dean stood from his seat, walked to duck his head down the back hallway. “Come on, sunshine, get this show on the road,” he called for Cas.

Rowena smiled warmly, clasping her hands together after putting the book back in its unassigned spot on the shelf.

“Come here, deary,” she approaches, reaching out to wrap her arms around your shoulders to guide you to a chair that’s already pulled out. Sam reluctantly lets go, trusting the witch but just not wanting to accept the cold air that replaces your spot with him. “Now, take a seat and we will see what we can do, hmm?” She hums, smiling over at you and gesturing to the chair for you to take a seat.

She goes to her duffle and pulls out a box, unlocking it with a key hidden as a charm on her wrist. The box expands into various layers of drawers and shelves homing dozens of witchy necessities that you don’t recognize.

Cas enters the room behind Dean and Dean takes a seat closer to you this time, Cas standing behind him with his hands idly by his side. Sam takes the closest seat to you.

“Now, I hear we’re working with Valerian?” She asks, standing behind you.

“Yes, their levels haven’t fluctuated since they’ve returned,” Cas answers, face not as stoic as it usually would be- more worried. It just hammered in how bad this situation really was.

Rowena hums again, not a defining sound, just one of acknowledgment.

“Alright,” she fingers through her assortment, picking out an item here or there, and lays them in her obsidian mortar and pestle.

“What’s that for?” Sam asks, eyeing her every move.

“No need to worry, Samuel,” Rowena chimes, grinding the items in dust, “just a simple relaxant. Lucifer says he left something and I’m going to locate it,” she lifts the stone and brings it to you, bending down enough to level with you as she explains her process.

“Lucifer said he lost whatever it is, how will you be able to find it?” You ask, doubting the process.

“I know what to look for. I assume The Devil’s been just pokin’ around at nothin’. I have confidence, dear. Now, this will make you quite drowsy. You won’t sleep but you may become dizzy, and it is necessary that no one touch her,” she side-eyes Sam, “no matter how much you sway, I won’t let you fall.” You force a nod to rock your head despite the gnawing fear. The thought of being out of control of your body in the midst of Lucifer demanding you autonomy was not something you were really up for, but it is dire to the situation that you cooperate.

Sam ticks his jaw and picks at his nails to prevent his leg from bouncing. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand seeing you so beat, so taken over, so not you. It kills him that he can’t do anything to fix it and that the thing that needs fixing in the first place is what has kept him up most nights since the wall broke in his walnut.

Rowena lifts the stone and scoops out some dust into her palm. “Kow-trah ma,” she whispers into the dust and it floats over along the lazy current of her words. The dust settles over you, instantly making your head droop. You let out a soft hum, the same hum that Sam listens for every night that signals you’re falling asleep. His lip quirks up at the warmth that reminds him of the home of domestic moments just like that.

Dizzy is an understatement. Your body feels like it’s been split into two, like the red and blue of 3D movies but no one gave you glasses. It’s like both sides are slipping away like a banana peel and your equilibrium has no clue which side to fall with. The motions make a wave of nausea wash over you and you groan.

The groan has an opposite effect on Sam of the prior sound.

“Okay, dear, this might hurt a bit,” Rowena braced, moving behind you and placing a hand on either side of your temples. Sam wants to protest at her wording but keeps his jaw shut, swallowing the words and just watching you.

Her fingertips pressed into your skin and lifted your head back up into place which threw all 3 parts of you back with more reverb than necessary. It earns another soft groan but you can’t dwell on the feeling for long before the pad of her fingers funnel in some sort of electricity that silences you as your body spasms.

“You’re alright, dear, just relax,” Rowena says, almost sounding bothered but covering the annoyance with sickening sweet melodies.

“Rowena,” Sam warns, the word slipping past the iron grip he thought he had on his jaw.

“Back down, Samuel, I need to focus,” she responds, her eyes going milky as she enters your subconscious to explore.

“You need a minute, Sammy?” Dean raises a brow, his stern look burning into the side of Sam’s face. He refuses to turn and face the fiery sun that he’s sure Dean managed to ignite by just looking at him.

The thought of Rowena swimming around your skull, or soul, or whatever the fuck she needs to file through to find what was left there, is the last nail in the coffin of your bodily autonomy. Don’t bother even giving it a hunter's pyre, apparently it never deserved the respect anyways.

After a few increasingly unbearable minutes, Rowena exclaims and rips her hands away. Your head drops back down and shoulders slump.

“Oh my,” she’s breathless, holding a hand to her chest. Sam jumps to his feet but Rowena holds out a hand- a silent warning. “Let the magic burn away, Samuel,” she walks back around to face you, lifting your chin to make sure you’re alright. The contact of her fingers to your skin erupts a sharp crackle and emits a warm glow that vanishes as soon as it arrives.

“Did you find it?” Sam asks, his voice tight and feet planted to the hardwood.

“I…did,” she still looks at you, tilting her head. “It’s complex,” she sighs, rising to her full position and now facing the group.

You can still hear the conversation but, fucking hell, you can’t muster up any energy to show your involvement.

“Complex how?” Sam asks with a shake of his head, annoyed with her vagueness. You mentally thank Sam for asking the question you wish you could.

“It’s like this wee ball of energy,” she thinks back to when she located it, “quite hard to comprehend. But there’s a problem.” Shit. “It’s bonded with the Valerian, you could say.”

“Meaning?” Dean follows, joining Sam with his impatience.

“Meaning, they both have to be removed if you want the other gone,” Rowena let’s up, resting her hands on the back of your chair as she rounds it again.

“Can you do it?” Sam’s desperation claws out of his throat and pierces something in you. You would bet money that this hurts him more than it hurts you. And we’ve already covered your history with gambling.

“Not yet with confidence.” At least she’s honest. “Lucifer still has guards up, ground covered, it’ll take more than just me to access the bugger, let alone destroy it.”

The three-of-you’s are starting to slow and the aftershock of a buzzing current is starting to burn out- the spell wearing off. You manage to lift your head enough just to shift its weight to your shoulder. Sam’s legs go to progress forward but he stops himself, looking at Rowena with a pleading look and flared nostrils, his jaw so close to shattering a tooth or two.

Rowena touches your cheek and this time, no zap. She nods at Sam who took the disruption of shock in the touch as a go-ahead and already started towards you again.

“C’mere,” he crouches next to you, lifting your head with his gentle hands, cradling your jaw to lessen the strain on your neck.

“What will it take?” Cas asks, his hand on the back of Dean's chair as Dean sits on the edge, keeping a close eye on his brother but his auditory attention to the witch.

“Time, I need to prepare a spell to weaken his defenses but…” she trails off. Sam looks up at her as she still stands behind your chair. Your eyes are just starting to register the man in front of you as you gain control over your senses again- other than just hearing.

“But?” Sam eggs her on.

“Lucifer will have to be present,” Rowena picks out carefully. The switch in the room is conspicuous.

“What!?” Sam barks, louder than he means but he’s so wound tight, and honestly the anxiety he got to spew in the one word is enough to realize it was a bit much. Especially when he feels you flinch.

“It’s locked tight… deactivated-,” Rowena shrugs when she finds a better descriptor, “-when he’s not present. He has to be there if we want a chance at cracking it apart.”

Sam’s chest huffs, working his jaw that might really be locked at this point. He doesn’t like this, not one fucking bit, but of course this is how it has to be. Why would he ever dream of shit being easy?

“And I’ll need man-power,” she continues, looking over the three men. You’re now present enough to look over and take in the grim details of Sam’s features, the worry that is changing the very make-up of his cells. He feels your gaze and looks back down at you and just like that, his face melts back to just how you remember him to be prior to the assaulting images of the Cage- just how you’ve tucked his image away for safekeeping.

“Man-power?” Dean echos, picking up Sam’s silence to give you two a moment. He averts his eyes when he notices his brother's thumb brushing lightly along your jaw, wanting his brother to appreciate the domestic moments that make things feel a little better.

Rowena takes in a deep breath, letting go of the chair and walking back over to her items sprawled along the desk, shuffling through her duffle to pull out a small book. She eyes the spine, running her fingernail along the wrinkled skin, smirking a fiendish smile- one that houses maddening excitement.

“Ever fight The Devil in someone’s else’s dreamwalk?”

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @internallysalad @checkedoutghost

[szlez]

Stay - destiel fanfic by ani_ona and me with my fanart Feverish

Written for https://sicktember.tumblr.com prompt. Dean & Cas

Stay

It was Sam, who noticed first. Knowing every muscle of his brother's face and years of studying every one of his tiniest expressions helped, but at the end of the day it was due to that unexplainable connection between the two of them. The strange force that made his time at Stanford less enjoyable and more sleepless. So now he just knows that something is wrong with his brother. And when Dean orders his beloved chili fries and doesn't suck in every last bit in a matter of minutes, Sam and Cas exchange worried looks.

Their case is solved, dinner finished, and they are in for a 9-hour drive home. Another cue that something is not just as it should be is when Dean decides to let Sam drive after an hour and doesn't take a shotgun seat but joins Castiel in the back instead. When Sam glances in the rear mirror, he sees his brother's head resting on the angel's shoulder and the intense stare of the blue eyes.

Dean doesn't wake up the whole ride home. Cas somehow manages to arrange him into a more lying position, with his head on the angel's lap. Sam would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't focused on keeping his eyes open and on the road.

They reach the bunker at dawn, and Dean lets Castiel maneuver him out of the car and down the stairs.

“Get him to his room,” Sam says, his voice hoarse from not using and tiredness. “And I’ll bring some supplies.” Cas just nods and adjusts his grip around Dean's waist. He is taking off the hunter's shoes, when Sam comes in with water and some pills.

“Looks like he is going down with something…” Cas murmurs, letting the back of his palm touch Dean's cheek. He frowns and crouches beside the bed to lightly press his lips to Dean's forehead. “Definitely. His fever is high.” He whispers, now real concern lacing his voice.

The gesture looks a lot like a kiss. Dean would undoubtedly freak out if he was awake. But now Sam is too tired to analyze it further.

“Make sure he drinks a lot. And takes these once he is conscious enough.” he points to the meds. “Want me to stay with you?”

“No, Sam, I got this, you drove the whole night, go get some sleep.”

Sam nods and leaves, though he feels strange. He's never left his brother's side during an illness. Even as a child, he used to cling to his brother when any of them was unwell. Perhaps it had something to do with losing the only source of safety and care. Now Dean has his angel, Sam tells himself, lowering his pounding head onto the pillow. He is out in a few minutes.

In the meantime, Castiel frees Dean of most of his clothing, careful with every movement, expecting the hunter to shove him away and yell. But he doesn't react more than with a quiet sigh, and feeling his skin radiating unnatural heat makes Castiel worry even more. He tries to wake Dean up, but only succeeds in making him swallow some pills without choking. When the fever is still high, regardless of the meds, Castiel's anxiety reaches a dangerous level bordering panic. What if he is doing something wrong? Or not doing enough? He stares at the pale face of his friend, thinking. Dean would know what to do. He always does. Dean dealt with countless of Sam's childhood illnesses, even more wounds requiring various types of stitches, his father's drunken fits and hangovers. But now it's Dean who needs help, and Cas feels uncertain and incompetent. Afraid that he could make things worse. What is he supposed to do? Should he go get Sam?

Dean stirs in his sleep, and Castiel's train of thoughts is interrupted. He focuses on his friend, whose brow frowns, and his whole body tenses under the covers. Hands grip the sheets tightly and suddenly he opens his eyes wide, staring terrified and unseeing through the ceiling, breathing shallow, quick breaths. What is he seeing, Cas can only guess, but he is afraid he can guess correctly.

“Hey… Easy…” Cas reaches for Dean's hand and feels fingers clutching his wrist like a lifeline. “Whatever you see, it's not real. You are safe here, with me. It's just a dream. It's not real.” Cas whispers over and over again until Dean rests his head on the pillow and falls asleep, not letting go of his angel’s hand.

So until he loosens his grip, Castiel has no other option but to sit down on the floor by the bed and try to make himself comfortable. He feels Dean’s quick pulse under his fingertips and watches an unhealthy blush coloring hunter's cheeks. After what feels like hours the idea pops into Cas’ mind, and he makes a quick run to the sink with a handful of handkerchiefs. As soon as the wet cloth touches hot skin, Dean shudders violently and makes a little sound close to whimper. Cas's heart tightens. He puts his hand on Dean's cheek to calm him down, and the hunter leans into the touch as if trying to find some relief. The angel sits on the bed and cradles Dean's head, wanting to absorb the heat, illness, and pain.

“You are going to be ok, I'll take care of you.” He whispers to the unconscious man and feels Dean's chaotic fear and suffering flooding him, leaving him breathless. He has to do something, anything, to help, and fast. The echo of Dean's headache pounding in his own skull.

Dean is drifting in and out of consciousness, never lucid enough to hold a real conversation, just searching the space with glassy eyes that close with relief once he makes sure Castiel is with him.

“You are not alone,” Castiel tells him, knowing very well that Dean won't remember anything. “You won't be anymore.”

Hours go by and Castiel fills his time with wiping Dean's face, trying to get some water into him, changing cold compresses, and constantly checking the temperature. With zero improvement so far. Why is nothing working?

Finally, Cas knows he can't delay it anymore and a decision has to be made now. It's been hours and they haven't made any progress. Dean is exhausted and completely out of it from pain and fever, and Cas can't look at his dry lips and glistering, unseeing eyes any longer. It's time to take serious steps.

Dean is heavy. The dead weight of his nearly unconscious body is hard to carry. But not for the angel, who lifts him with ease, just like all these years before when they were leaving Hell. Castiel carefully lowers his trembling burden into the tube, and Dean immediately curls into a tight ball, shivering uncontrollably. Cas starts the lukewarm water and strokes Dean’s chest and back,

“Easy… try to relax” he murmurs, enfolding the hunter's arms. “This is going to help, you will feel better soon, just relax.” And finally, Dean does. Once the tube is filled, he straightens his legs and seems to be drifting off again. He slides a little and would go under if it weren't for Castiel’s grip.

“I’ve got you,” the angel sighs softly. “Don't worry, just relax and rest” he whispers, gently rubbing his chest and stomach in a slow circular motion.

This could be so much fun in different circumstances, Castiel thinks to himself, taking in his lover’s slim, muscular figure under the clear surface… What is he thinking about?!, he scolds himself immediately. It's definitely not a good time for such things. He has to admit to himself that he appreciates the sight before his eyes, though. 

Returning to the bedroom is surprisingly difficult because Dean, now somewhat conscious and wrapped tightly in the biggest towel the bunker can offer, insists on going on his own. This proves to be not the best idea when after a few steps his legs fail to support him, and he is forced to accept Castiel's outstretched arm reluctantly. 

The angel doesn't speak much now when Dean is able to comprehend what is being said to him. Helping Dean change into fresh clothes, and passing him pills and a glass of water, Cas carefully observes his patient, not daring to think that the worst is over now. Once Dean dozes off again, his fever rises a few degrees but only to break after a few hours, leaving the hunter drenched in sweat, weak and tired but finally fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Seeing Dean putting on his T-shirt without help convinces Cas that his job is finished. He stands up slowly, mutters some “I’d be going” and turns to leave. That's when his hand is gripped one more time this night.

Cas catches Dean’s gaze lucid at last and though the man doesn’t utter a sound, the angel can hear one word, clear as a bell: Stay.

[flyingcatstiel]

I’m currently reading superbat fics (sorry, destiel, stony and dinluke, I’ll get back to you some day) and I’m having great time with commenting and authors replying to me. It’s a whole new fandom experience when I can read fics just for personal enjoyment, without planning fic rec lists. So much easier to comment, wtf. Anyways, I’m following 4 superbat identity p*rn fics right now, and it’s glorious. What a feast. My favorite trope, so many interesting ways to explore it. Happy holidays to all superbat writers but especially those 4 WIP writers🎄

ETA - here be some recs

ETA, March 2024 - HERE BE SOME UPDATES!

@pinkb00bsocks asked about those 4 WIPs. Here they are! The usual disclaimer - there are plenty of excellent superbat WIPs going on right now, but I've limited spoons and these are the ones I currently enjoy.

The World and All Its Hedgehogs by Ginevra_Benci [M. 8,007 word count, WIP, 4/?] To investigate illegal arms sale taking place at a tropical resort hotel, Batman goes under cover as a vacuous billionaire Brucie Wayne and Superman takes a part time job as a porter. They didn't coordinate this, they don't know each others civilian identities. Every time they talk there are at least 3 different conversations going on and it is glorious. Also, so much lust. ;)

(Also, check out Interviewing & Counceling series by the same author. Clark is having a superhero identity crisis and Bruce is there to catch Clark gently as he spirals down. It has one of the softest identity reveals in superbat fics. ETA - the series is now complete, it has 5 parts and 18k word count. Awesome ending to the softest identity reveal story)

Watching Our Stars Align by ClarkeStetler [M, 28,840 word count, WIP, 7/14] There's a dating/chatting app only for superheroes and all identities are secret. What could go wrong? Bruce and Clark get matched under their new pseuds, and same happens to Tim Drake and Conner Kent. Now fathers and sons gotta navigate complicated relationships that come with secret identities and judging your coworkers hastily while talking heart to heart to anonymous superhero. The identity porn part happens through DM, which just happens to be another favorite trope of mine. [The story is going strong, it has 10/14 chapters now and a wonderful tangle of 3 secret identities!]

(Love) Triangles Have Multiple Centers by frozenpotions [T, 27,281 word count, WIP, 4/10] This fic wastes no time getting playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne and pining-after-his-coworker journalist Clark Kent together. After that, first time uneasy partners Batman and Superman gotta solve a case and their civilian selves gotta deal with the realities of their one night stand. Complicated doesn't even cover it! [The fic is being updated and Clark and Bruce are being put through new trials, 6/10 chapters]

A Favor for a Friend by RedFive [Explicit, 18,286 word count, WIP, 4/7] Omega verse fic with alpha playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne and omega journalist Clark Kent. I'm fascinated by dominant, flirtatious, sexually ravenous alpha Brucie Wayne who moonlights as a stoic, covered in scent blockers thus unclear second gender, Batman. Meanwhile omega Clark, due to being Kryptonian, is much less ruled by his second gender. That is, until he meets Mr. Wayne. This fic has so much lust and tension between the two. Does accidental heat triggering counts as a soulmate mark? I'm gonna count it like that. [The fic has entered the finish line, only a chapter or two are left to finish this wild, explosive, life changing story of two people who were meant for each other. 8/? chapters, 44k word count] The fic is now complete!!! 9 chapters, 56,153 word count. (Also, there's this new TV show about two gay dudes, and istg, they look like Bruce and Clark from this fic. I'm not naming it here because I don't want to highjack the show tag with superbat post, but go and check the tag on tumblr)

*****

And a special shout out to two identity shenanigan WIPs that are not actively updating but are absolute must reads.

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat [M, 62,737 word count, WIP, 12/13] OK, so, for me personally, this is the ultimate identity p*rn fic across all fandoms I've read so far. This fic has one of the highest amount of secret identity pairs in superbat fics. There's the usual pining silently Batman/Superman, then there's Clark dating Bruce, Superman saving Bruce Wayne from peril, Clark Kent chatting with Batman. And the cherry on top is Clark writing Bruceman fanfic which is basically a RPF of his two friends, Batman and Bruce Wayne. Which leads to an internet friendship with a fellow fan, who is, you guessed, Bruce. This fic has great reflections on fandom and shipping culture. But the very beating heart of this fic is about how easy it is to lose something you wished to have but were afraid to ask for. The fic, at 12/13, is technically a WIP, but the main reveal is already done, and it is glorious. ETA - THIS IS NOT A DRILL, the fic is finished and the last chapter is a super meta cherry on a top of delicious, layered superhero identity and fandom shenanigans parfait. 13 chapters, 76,7k word count.

10 Things Every Brucie Fan Needs in Their Life by pomeloquat [T, 8,956 word count, WIP, 5/10] The main premise of this fic is hilarious and yet so, so right. Bruce Wayne is promoting himself as a nation's boyfriend instead of a playboy, and is making bank out of his wholesome, PG rated merchandise. The chapters of this fic tell continuous story but they also can be read as separate vignettes, so there's really no cliffhanger. This fic is so soft and fluffy, it will heal your soul. Also, Superman has celebrity crush on Bruce Wayne. Batman is amused.

[cornyonmains]

Dead Boy Detectives is honestly trauma therapy for queer Destiel survivors, and this show is about to become a good 75% of my personality because of it. Destiel was the ship I jumped to after Xena went off the air, and I blame the continuous lack of overtly gay resolution in my life for a decent chunk of my neuroses.

I mean seriously, the show is about two male leads, who solve Supernatural crimes together, and have an inexplicable and profound bond that transcends the immediate and physical nature of love into something that defies the natural order of the universe. Oh, and one of them is an Edwardian twink in knickerbockers who doesn't understand pop culture references.

As if that wasn't enough, the show even has an anti-Becky. Her name is Niko, and she's a delight who offers to help ghosts embrace their sexuality with explicit yaoi manga.

Also, there's dancing skeletons.

It's like I woke up and it's 2012 again. The strangest craving for another hour in the ball pit is overcoming me. I'm going to the bank later, I might even change into one of my Welcome to Night Vale shirts. I'm embracing this regression. I miss the enthusiasm I had during my Superwholock era.

[alphacentaurinebula]

Fanfic recs - AU edition!

In honour of You're the Bad Guys (E), my Cold War spies AU where Crowley is KGB and Aziraphale is MI6 and they're stationed in 1980s Berlin, I thought I would recommend a few of my favourite AUs.

Half Agony, Half Hope(E) by @gorgeousundertow - a regency romance AU with lots of the real life political unrest, class and privilege all providing a great replacement for the Heaven/Hell Celestial System. The regency period is often portrayed just balls and poshos in empire waistlines, but actually it was a hugely tumultuous period. The disenfranchised classes were demanding better pay, better conditions and the vote, whilst those in power feared any concession would reduce their own power and privilege. The result was some horrific state violence, and some of the most oppressive laws in British history (though there's a lot of competition there...!). It's always nice to see a historical AU that engages with the period so well, and uses it to make Crowley and Aziraphale's romance all the sweeter. One of the only fics I've ever read as a WIP (yes, I still want you to read my WIP, I am a complete hypocrite).

A Love Story with Detective Interruptions (T) by @fremulon - a 1930s AU series (2 works), where Aziraphale is an amateur sleuth in the vein of Miss Marple, exonerating the wrongfully accused (ie, Crowley), and solving house party murders willy nilly. The plots are based on Golden Age of Detective Fiction books (Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Chistie, specifically) and are delightful. The romance is definitely slow burn, but absolutely lovely.

South Downs (E) by @summerofspock - Crowley and Aziraphale star in a historical Bridgerton-esque miniseries, except it's gay. (I would watch the fuck out of that, just saying). Sometimes art mirrors life - sometimes life mirrors art! I love this one and I would legitimately like to watch the TV show they're supposed to be in.

Sit Tight, Take Hold (E) by @nieded - OK this one is not even remotely historical and, like, I hate cars and formula one holds zero interest to me...and yet I INHALED this formula one AU with Crowley and Aziraphale as drivers on opposing teams. Like...I really cared who won...a car race???? Features Gabriel and Sandalphone being true twats, which I must admit I enjoy.

Slow Show (E) by @mia-ugly - And finally, of course, Slow Show. Sure this one is not exactly an undiscovered gem but I still love it and if, in some wild, unreasonable twist of fate you haven't read it, you definitely should!

...plus one last rec - The Leap, by - @friendofcarlottathis is a Destiel fic, not Good Omens. But it is a historical romance AU about Cold War Berlin (in the 1960s, rather than 1980s, and there are no spies, but it is SO excellent for historical detail, especially life in East Germany). And in my opinion you only need to watch a few Castiel and Dean clips on youtube and you're ready to read Destiel AUs. I have only watched a season or so of Supernatural myself 🤷‍♀️

What do you think, have you read any of these? Any favourites? If anyone has other AU's to recommend, especially historical ones, please do!

[gffa]

Dearest gffa, you are the only person I know whose been reading Batfamily comics. (Though I do read some of the fanfic haha). The destiel meme informed me that Bad Things just happened in the latest comics. Is there a primer to the latest drama? (Everyone seems upset). Are you ok?

Best wishes, your fandom neighbor on Star Wars Street

I assume this is about the Batman #148 leaks? I haven't seen a ton of drama (other than a couple of posts, including the Destiel meme notification that got me to go see what was happening) but if that's it, it's kind of funny, because okay. As far as I've seen (the issue isn't even out yet, so I can't read it until tomorrow, I'm only going on the leaked panels I've seen) what happens in the issue is that Failsafe-- okay, let me back up. In the current Batman run (written by Chip Zdarsky), awhile back Bruce created a super powerful robot that was meant to be activated in the case of him going rogue so that it could take him down, and it's very coldly logical, based on his patterns, so it knows him extremely well and is hard to beat. It's powerful enough that it apparently took out the Justice League awhile back (I haven't read that arc yet, so take that with a grain of salt), which means now that Failsafe has gone rogue in the current Batman series that Zdarsky's writing, Bruce is having a hell of a time fighting it, especially with his "backup personality" Zur-En-Arrh (Bruce is a paranoid shit and I love him the most) is also running amok in his head and he's fighting back against that. Back up further--in late 2023, there was an event called "Gotham War" that was basically, "Bruce has been through a lot of shit lately, so he was out of commission for several months, in that time Selina stepped up in Gotham and started training crooks to be cat burglars instead of rogues' goons, Bruce woke up, thought this was bullshit, despite that crime was down, and they basically had a turf war while Bruce was losing his goddamned mind because of what he'd been through and because Zur-En-Arrh was literally ratting the bars of the cage of his mind, and part of the fallout being that Bruce dosed Jason with a gas that basically made his adrenaline go wild any time he would do anything dangerous, so that he could no longer be in this life of crime or vigilantism, because Jason had killed a lot of people, but Bruce couldn't bear to send him to jail, so this was the only way he could live with taking Jason out of the life they lived". Gotham War was extremely controversial--I had fun with it, because it was BONKERS and I fuckin' love bonkers stuff in the "punching people in the face solves crime" genre, but a lot of people were really angry about how Jason was treated in the arc. Zdarsky co-wrote Gotham War, so this is a continuation of a lot of people's frustration and anger towards how Jason has been treated by DC especially by this author.

There's also a lot of lingering frustration and resentment in fandom because Jason is not always written well or frequently. He doesn't have his own solo book these days, half of what's written about him is written by authors with VASTLY different takes from the other half of the writers out there, and there's a lot of fanon that goes around with Jason's sub-section of fandom where I think it furthers the divide because the fic that's written about Jason delves deep into his character in specific ways that the canon doesn't match and I think it can set expectations for some fans that are just not matched by DC themselves, either because they see Jason differently or because Jason just doesn't have a lot of fans at the company itself, I couldn't say for sure. So, now comes Batman #148 leaks (it's not actually out until tomorrow), where Failsafe kills Jason and Bruce has a dramatic reaction to it, and a lot of people are furious that DC would kill Jason at all, much less with such little fanfare, after how little focus he's gotten over the last several years. The thing is, though, that Jason doesn't stay dead, he's alive again by the end of the issue (I've seen panels from later in the issue) and I'm not sure how many people are reacting just to seeing the posts flying around fandom versus how many people have actually seen the whole context. Because context is slowly rolling out, but people generally aren't soothed by that, given the lead-up to this moment. Basically, years of Jason not getting much focus in the comics + the events of Gotham War have led to a powderkeg of a situation and the contextless leaks (ie, without the panel where Jason's alive again) took a match to the whole thing. And that's what's going on, as far as I know! I personally am having a great time because I was extremely skeptical that they would actually kill Jason without any fanfare and also I like Jason as a hot mess with crunchy relationships with people and that he's done bad things and had bad things done to him/been a victim as well, so all this messy drama in the story has me living for it. (This would have been a very different situation if I'd thought Jason was really dead, but I didn't, so I'm doing fine right now. Also, my Blorbo is Dick Grayson, so I've already been through this wringer and I'm still mad at DiDio for it, so it's Jason-Blorbo's time now.)

[beautysurvives]

heeeeere’s an excerpt from the AU fic I’m working on

approx 2k words, destiel, tw homophobia, tw child abuse and implied SA

Men who worked the front desk in motels were not prison guards, though there was some overlap between the two. This one, at least, was amenable to Dean’s charms.

A different guy from the one who’d checked him in, this man, Dean noticed, had no name tag anywhere on him, and didn’t say much in the way of introductions. But when Dean admitted, sheepishly, that he had no money for food, he said, “Come with me,” and beckoned him to a back room.

Dean’s instincts told him not to trust it, but the gnawing pit in his stomach said otherwise. There were mysteries to solve and plans to make urgently — first and foremost, the plan to get himself to South Dakota — but Dean couldn’t think of much on an empty stomach. The sun was going down, and he hadn’t had so much as a drop of water all day. His head was killing him.

It was a break room, with a tiny kitchen area and a mini fridge. The guy pulled out a bottled water and tossed it to Dean, who mumbled his thanks before gulping it down.

As he finished it off, he watched the blue eyed man grab a paper bag off the counter. He pulled out a foil wrapped something that looked suspiciously like a burger and held it out without a word.

“Oh, wow. Really?” Dean had to ask.

“I picked it up earlier,” he explained, in a low, full voice that Dean was beginning to notice didn’t suit him at all. Too heavy. All his words, deliberate, slow and straining. Like they were trying him on, and he was two sizes too small. “But I’m not so hungry anymore. You go ahead.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he began once he was down to his last bite, too starved for too long to care what he looked like, or that the man was staring, “but are you gonna get in trouble for, y’know, deserting your post? I don’t wanna—”

“It’s fine.”

Not very talkative. Not very socially graceful either.

But… cute. Harmless looking enough.

Dean was getting soft — he blamed it on the hunger and the newness and the elation of being free.

He laughed nervously, crumpling the wrapper into a ball. “Uh… I guess — not super busy in here today, huh?” He tossed the ball from one hand to another.

There had been cute guys in Greyrock.

Before Greyrock too.

But prison was prison, and life before that was…

Well.

Nothing gold can stay.

At least, that’s how it used to be. Maybe the world had changed in four months. Maybe only Dean.

But this guy was still staring, not answering, and it made Dean feel… queasy. With his hunger quieted, he could hear both his instinct and his rational mind telling him to get away while he still could.

Still, this gesture, sharing food, inviting him into a private room, seemed more than calculated. It was almost naive. Maybe even kind — and not in the way of most people Dean had encountered on the road.

Where was the ulterior motive? Where was the line between useful and exploited?

“You wouldn’t happen to have a phone I could borrow, would you?”

He didn’t. The home phone in the lobby was broken — hence the lack of business — and apparently he didn’t have a cell.

But he did know of a pay phone, no more than a five minute drive from the motel.

“I can take you there,” he said. “In the morning.” It wasn’t an offer. He wasn’t giving Dean a choice.

That night, Dean had vivid dreams. Even while in lockdown, there had been stimulation enough in his waking hours that he could sleep like the dead. When he did sleep, that is.

But here in this motel in Illinois, his subconscious mind was a shifting mass of apocalyptic nightmares: monsters and demons, civilization collapsing in a thousand different ways over and over, all of it converging on a pair of blue eyes and a faded yellow sedan. Hands holding out a meal.

Was that all it took?

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

“This is you?” Dean asked incredulously.

The man — Dean still hadn’t asked for his name — couldn’t bring himself to — glanced up as he opened the car door. There was something sarcastic in the look that made Dean laugh with triumph. It was the first glimmer of a personality he’d seen — dude might as well have started doing cartwheels in the parking lot. Dean would’ve been just as amazed.

“Uhh… No,” he answered distractedly. “I’m me. This is just my car.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes, but stopped himself, and instead gave in to his second most impulsive thought. “You got a kid?”

“No.”

But the blanket with the stars on it was still in the trunk, poking its head out at them. Dean even went to the trouble of looking back, to show that he’d seen it. But the man with the blue eyes wasn’t even paying attention. He was fumbling with the key —

“You sure this thing is yours?”

It rumbled to life. As the man pulled his right hand back from the ignition, Dean noticed, again, the hand resting on the steering wheel. The untanned skin on his left ring finger. He’d first seen it over breakfast — Dean had come straight down after showering, and found an omelet and a bowl of cereal waiting for him — but didn’t want to say anything. Mentioning it was too much like learning the guy’s name. It would have made things personal, which would have made it harder to run.

“I am.”

This time, Dean did roll his eyes. Clearly, the guy didn’t want to talk to him.

So what, Dean wondered again, staring out the window at the other cars (which he was beginning to suspect had no drivers), could he possibly want from me? If it was just about sex — if the guy was even interested in men — then he didn’t have to do all of this to get it. Dean thought about offering, just to make it less awkward, but that would have been too painful.

In prison, there was a script for that sort of thing. In the real world too. Things that couldn’t be said out loud didn’t have to be.

Anyway, most people had always just assumed that Dean wanted it.

A lot of the time, they were right.

Dean almost said something. But then the man added, uncomfortably, as though the extra effort it took was causing him physical pain, “I don’t do a lot of driving myself. I usually am the one getting, uh, driven.”

“Oh,” Dean was taken aback. Not that it was weird — it reminded him of Sam — but it made the whole situation make even less sense. He had so confidently offered before, like it was the most natural, easy thing in the world, and nowhere near an inconvenience.

But now here he was, endearingly frightened at the prospect of movement.

“Well… uh… I like to drive?”

It took only a few moments of silence for the guy to agree. When he did, it was with a single nod. Then he was out the door, walking around to open Dean’s for him. It was almost gentlemanly, and Dean almost said so as they passed each other by.

He seemed comfortable in the passenger seat, giving directions, which automatically made Dean more at ease. Now the silence was companionable, the radio tuned to the classic rock station, playing in the background but not intruding.

“A lot of trust you’re putting in me, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Letting me drive your car. Being so nice to me. Again not complaining… Well, I guess I am. I just don’t get it, man. I mean, I could be anybody.”

“Well, I already know who you are.”

What?

“Oh really?” He tried to keep the strain out of his voice. “And who’s that?”

“Dean Winchester.”

He hoped the guy didn’t notice his gasp. Tried to convince himself that he hadn’t noticed it either. “That supposed to impress me? I gave my name when I–”

“John Winchester’s son.”

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

There were only two people to call. Richie from

Brooklyn was dead. Lee was probably dead. Deacon, nice as he was, couldn’t be trusted. Lisa didn’t deserve it. And Cassie was better off believing Dean was still in jail.

Sam’s number had been disconnected. So Dean gave the machine another one of blue eyes’ coins.

“Yeah?” Bobby picked up on the second ring.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

God. It was good to hear his voice. “It’s me.”

“Who’s ‘me’?”

Did Dean really sound so different after just four months?

“Dean.”

The old man answered with a single click.

Alright, fair.

Dean glanced over guiltily at the blue eyed man, who apparently didn’t mind wasting his money along with his time. He was resting on the hood of the car, looking like it was yet another thing he was just trying out. Hunched, and as eerily still as he always was.

This time, Bobby was even quicker. Dean could picture him, picking up the landline like he was drawing a pistol. “Who is this?” Like it was a duel.

“Bobby, listen to me–”

“This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya.”

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

“So our names are in the papers?” Dean more assumed than asked, as he sauntered back to the car, to the man he was suddenly determined to fuck.

He shook his head, looking at the clouds. “Internet. You know what that is don’t you?”

Dean scoffed. “I was locked up for four months, not forty years.” Still don’t know why I’m here, but that’s a story for another time, in another state, with someone who isn’t you.

“You and your family aren’t famous, if that’s what you’re wondering. Only to people who take an interest.”

“Oh. Is that your way of saying you’re interested in me?”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. Maybe he was finally catching up. Maybe the thought of being hit on made him angry. Maybe he’d hit Dean. Then Dean would hit him back. Then he wouldn’t have to ask for the car.

“I suppose. I can’t think of many people who wouldn’t find you interesting.”

Oh. “What is it that you’re looking for, hm?” Dean was leaning on one arm, intentionally invading his space. “You’re not some kind of killer who kills killers, are you?” Dean was. “Like Dexter?”

“No.” He took too long to answer. “And I don’t know who that is.”

“So what? You got a name?”

He didn’t answer. Dean wanted his next question to be, Are you married?

“Do you even really work at that motel?”

He looked at the clouds.

“So what are you really? A badge? CIA, NSA, FBI? Or just some whacked out journalist looking for your big break?” Dean’s last girlfriend had been a journalist. Always digging for the truth. Never happy once she got it. Especially not when it was given freely.

But this guy had barely any curiosity in him. Acted like he already knew everything he needed to know.

“…Are you the reason I’m out?”

“If I was, do you think I’d be allowed to tell you?”

So he was. That changed everything.

“Did they arrest my brother?” Dean asked.

Now, those eyes were locked on him. “Your brother is fine.”

Fine. Not free. “Well people like me don’t just get pulled out at random. I know there’s a catch. What’s the plan, huh? Let me stew, let the not knowing drive me crazy so you can swoop in and—”

“Don’t ask so many questions, Dean. You should enjoy your freedom.”

“While it lasts?”

He went back to his quiet, eerie self.

Dean missed the guy who was scared of driving.

“So you’re married.”

“No,” he answered too quickly.

Dean smirked. “So what’s with this?” He took his hand — the guy let him take his hand — and ran his finger along the mark.

“What are you doing?” Now, he looked terrified. Eyes wide. Apparently in awe at the way Dean played with his fingers, laced them through his own.

“Dean,” he warned. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you right now.”

“Fine. Don’t talk to me. Just… I need to get to my family. I need to let them know I’m okay.”

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

Seducing monsters was easy. Dean knew the game by heart.

The first time John ever took him out on a hunt came shortly after that woman broke in and tried to take Sam. Dean would never forget the way he froze, his finger turned to stone over the trigger. The shotgun in his arms felt just like holding Sam when he cried; it made him think of his mother.

John arrived home just in time to see him like that, about to let his youngest son be taken.

He ripped the gun from Dean’s arms and shot the old lady dead.

Which meant no paycheck for John, and that they’d have to run again.

The truck stop hunt was just a month later. Pastor Jim promised to watch Sam for the week.

John made Dean wait outside a bar while he interviewed some locals, and when he came out he found Dean with a tall, beautiful blonde woman, who was handing him a Snickers, telling him her name, saying she’d keep him company until his dad returned.

In the car on the way to the truck stop, John asked him if he knew what it was he’d just spoken to. Asked him if he knew what a faggot was (all Dean knew was it was about the worst thing you could call someone). Told him things like that were the reason his mother couldn’t be with them.

Dean said, “You said monsters took her.”

“They did.”

John asked him if he was a faggot. Told him if he was, it meant he’d become one of the things they hunted. Told him that meant he’d either end up in prison or face down in a ditch. Told him a fag can turn you into one if you ain’t one already, and the only way to inoculate yourself is by being strong.

Most people weren’t, which was why most people needed sheltering. It was why there were gated communities and cul de sacs and houses like the one they used to have, where you waited thirty minutes for the firemen to arrive and save your mother, who by then was already long gone.

John said it was understandable that Dean had slipped and trusted someone he shouldn't have. He was, after all, just a kid. But he couldn’t afford to be. Sammy couldn’t afford it — because without Dean around, who would take care of him when John was gone?

John said, “The thing we’re hunting today likes little boys who look a lot like you.”

John thought seeing firsthand how bad they were would make Dean pick a side.

John hoped Dean would choose humanity.

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

Castiel couldn’t look at him. Anyone with eyes could see where Dean was trying to lead them.

So Castiel didn’t look.

“I’m not about to… trade this car for your body, Dean.”

“Why not?”

[vendettasfanfictioning]

AND ANOTHER THING Destiel's first rodeo down at Purgatory did not need to happen when they exploded Dick Roman. Cas did not fucking need to be that close to Dean and Dean could've survived on his own with Benny—in fact that would've taken some of the heat off of Destiel now that Dean's just making friends with non-humans, even blowing off Sam at some point because Benny called—but nooooooo they got trapped in their own narrative.

They made the Destiel girlies even more delusional by taking creative choices like "I prayed to you, Cas! Every night!" and "I ain't leaving here without you, Cas," but also "they were after me, I had to get away from you," and that whole memory reset Dean had to do, post-Purgatory. NOT TO MENTION building himself an actual reputation in Purgatory that the monsters just started referring to Castiel as his [Dean's] angel. Because that's literally what he was.

Like seriously, they could've cured Crazy!Cas with one hastily written cure or sent him to therapy idk but they could have solved that topside. Cas would've been fine eventually but no what did they decide on doing? Yeah sped up the process but also kickstarting even more Destiel shenanigans—because that's exactly what happens when Sam is out of the picture and Dean and Cas can be framed together in a non-platonic way.

I hate this show.

[alchemistc]

hi catie how are you! i'm here to ask for 1 2 and 3!

HI HELLO I AM BAD BUT LIFE'S LIKE THAT SOMETIMES AND I APPRECIATE YOU ASKING!

outsider pov alt meeting bucktommy (eddie's version)

Tommy's cool. Again, not someone he would have clocked on his own, and Tommy seems to prefer it that way, but he's cool, all the same. Charms Chris just as much as Buck does, has an easy way about him that Eddie can make a few guesses at the origin of. He screams daddy issues, and Eddie gels with that. The breakup (one of many, as Eddie's come to find out) lasts a week and a half and then Tommy shows up at the station for lunch to greet them all like nothing's been amiss for eight days

2. destiel post-canon fix-it

(yarrow jsyk the only reason i posted that ask is bc i wanted to share something about this fic and since i never once interacted in any fandom spaces while the show was airing i needed the excuse, so thank you)

Jack is doing renovations, he says, and he needs a place to relocate (store, he says originally, and Dean grumbles and corrects him and gives God a noogie) a few souls while he works out the kinks. Sam blinks. Dean nods. "Okay, bud," Dean says, while Sam is trying to wrap his mind around the pocket dimension Jack had explained to them, that apparently didn't do a great job of containing souls In The Know. ("They keep tearing holes in the fabric of reality," Jack said like e was talking about a nervous Malinois that kept freeing itself from it's crate. "It's not their fault. I should have known it wouldn't work anyway, that's the reason I have to renovate.") There's something going on with Dean.

3. tommy moves into the loft after losing his house (pt 2)

"Tommy, I'm not --." He pauses. Shifts his weight, and stares at Tommy like he's trying to solve a puzzle. It's times like these he wishes he had the ability to suck himself into a black hole, disappear. "I'm not dating," he finishes, and frowns. Tommy munches. Swallows. Wishes he had the energy to get up and pour himself a glass of water. "Why not?" If he sounds a little annoyed, he hopes Evan doesn't notice it. Relieved would be worse, but annoyed is bad enough as it is. Evan should be dating. He'd walked out the door behind him months ago hoping at least one of them would make it out of this relationship with a hope of moving on. Tommy'd fucked a Grindr hookup two weeks after and then deleted the app. Painted his living room and took a sledgehammer to the wall that he'd been thinking about removing for at least six months. Retiled his kitchen backsplash and spent a week reorganizing his toolboxes. Fuck, the toolboxes. He'd had at least ten grand dropped into those. He can't remember the last time he inventoried it -- another fight with his insurance he's not looking forward to.