#cheerio!sam

[jauntilyplacedcaps]

[emmedoesntdomath]

“you don’t have to make everything gay”

oh, I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you over the sound of the intense eye contact that’s happening over the third grade level insults that if said by a straight couple would be seen as playground banter and the extreme posturing and the smug smirks and oh my god why the fuck are you looking at their lips my dude

but yeah, maybe you’re right, maybe it’s me, that’s my bad

[quetzal-animations]

The cover design for a comic I'm working on!

-bounces around happily-

LOOK AT IT

AGH IT'S SO COOL I LOVE IT-

AND GUESS WHAT.

I made it with this:

HAH- >:D

My friends all think I'm insane now, btw.

Eh, not surprised. "\_(•-•)_/"

Like, why wasn't that just assumed upon our initial meeting???

People. I don't get it.

[inkyucu]

Finally, a long needed redesign

It's a wip still but it's fine

(Seriously look at this goofy ass dude)

(What did I do to him)

Finished version of the redesign

[moonmoonthecrabking]

”loser like me” all of you except lauren (who left bc she’s too cool for glee club) has been or will be a cheerleader or a football player (or, in the cases of mercedes and tina, both)

[crucifysam]

changing channels sam and dean in glee being forced to sing with new directions. hello is this thing on

[timmurleyart]

A bowl of Froot Loops. 🥣🦜🟠🔴🟢🟣🥛

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Sleepwalking

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader, Jason Teague x Reader

AN: @jackles010378 This one's for you, hun! 😘

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Mainly fluff, implied sex, nakedness

HC: How Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Jason would react to you sleepwalking.

Dean Winchester

At first, Dean can't understand why you hesitate to sleep with him after, well, sleeping with him.

Did he read you wrong? Is just this something casual for you? The thought makes him swallow, jaw clenching, but if that's how you want it...he can try to be okay with that.

Seeing the hurt he's trying to bury behind his eyes, you settle down beside him in bed and stroke his cheek. You assure him that you're staying. Even though in the back of your mind, you're hoping and praying.

Please, God. Not tonight...

It happens around 3:00 in the morning.

Dean feels you stir on your side of his bed. He's a light sleeper at the best of times, so he turns to see you tossing the covers off your half-naked body and getting out of bed.

"Where're you going?" he says, playfully trying to grab your hand. But you slip right out of his hold without answering him, padding to the door and leaving the room.

Still half-asleep, but now thoroughly bewildered, Dean's brows furrow, and he gets up to follow you. You would never walk out of a room wearing just his shirt and nothing else, your bare feet slapping the floor with every step. He hopes Sam isn't up and about at this hour.

It takes him a while, but Dean finds you in the kitchen. There you seem to be trying to put together a bowl of Cheerios. The box is already on the counter. You're opening cupboards and leaving them open, your hands searching for a bowl.

"What'cha doin' sweetheart? Little midnight snack action? I can get behind that," Dean says.

You don't even seem to hear him. Dean watches you grab a mug instead of a bowl...and the orange juice instead of milk.

It all goes downhill from there.

"I did what?" you exclaim the next morning. "See! This is why I didn't wanna tell you."

You cover your face in your hands in mortification while Dean rubs your back, chuckling so hard he can't even breathe. You smack him in the stomach, but it doesn't stop his wheezing. He kisses you on the cheek to placate you.

"It's okay, baby. I didn't know coffee grounds and O.J. went so well together."

Beau Arlen

The first night you stay over at his air stream trailer, you warn him ahead of time while you sit beside him on the narrow bed.

"Just so you know, I um..." Getting out the words are difficult. You give him a wan smile in embarrassment, but he's listening intently, waiting for you to finish.

You sigh and decide to bite the bullet. "I tend to sleepwalk."

Just as you predicted, Beau's brows shoot up in surprise.

"Really?" he says, a smile starting to curve his lips.

Your lips twitch at a smile as well. "Yes, so I don't wanna hear any wisecracks. It runs in my family, unfortunately."

"Wow, a whole family of sleepwalkers, huh?" he muses, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. "Gotta say, I'd like to see that--"

You cut off his chuckling with a shove of his shoulder.

But that night, Beau is startled awake when you trip over his shoes left on the floor, beside a small pile of his clothes and yours that you two hadn't bothered to pick up.

You aren't hurt too badly -- just a bruised forehead and very confused the next morning.

But from then on, Beau takes your condition more seriously.

Every night, he makes sure his place is clean and organized so you don't trip on anything.

He puts a child lock on the door in case you try to open it while sleepwalking, and he keeps the sliding door to the bathroom open in case you need to get in there.

Most importantly, he locks his guns away in a safe inside his nightstand.

His objective is making sure you're safe and comfortable whenever you're with him.

Though he can't help teasing you a little bit (a lot) when you rearrange his entire sock and underwear drawer in your sleep, perfectly folded and color coded.

"Well, thanks very much, darlin'," he grins.

You shake your head, covering your warm, blushing face.

"Shut up."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

"What the fuck?" Ben wipes his bleary eyes, but he still can't believe what he's seeing.

He watches in bewilderment when he finds you in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Completely naked. Frying up some bacon to go with your toast, apparently.

Not that naked cooking doesn't appeal to him. In fact, the sight of you from behind -- your hair loose over your shoulders, the curve of your waist and the gentle swell of your hips, bare ass and legs, and the hint of side boob while your hands move deftly with the pan and silver utensil...

It's arousing, even erotic, making his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

And it actually fits pretty well with one of his fantasies that he's been wanting to try out with you.

But this is also more than a little fucking strange. You're usually dead to the world until at least 9:00 a.m.

"Sweetheart, what're you doing?" he asks. He approaches you from behind and rests a hand on your lower back as he peers over your shoulder, but you don't answer him.

When a large spark of grease pops in the pan, you barely even flinch when it hits your arm and burns you.

Instinctively, he knows something's wrong. He grabs the pan out of your hand and hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you away from the crackling grease. He turns off the stove and steps back with you in his arms.

"Hey, are you hearing me? What the fuck's going on here?" he asks.

Your eyes seem glazed over, until he (gently) slaps at your cheek.

"Hey."

Finally, you blink faster a few times, take a deeper breath, and glance up at him. "Hey..."

Your brows furrowing, you look around the room in confusion. Your eyes widen when you look down at your naked body. You gasp and cling to his arms. "What the hell?!"

"Were you fucking sleepwalking?" Ben asks, his lips twitching in amusement and incredulity all at once.

"Oh my God, you tell me!" you exclaim. This has never happened to you in your life! What the hell is going on?

He leads you back to the bedroom, and after putting your pajamas back on, you inspect the pill bottle on your nightstand. Ben gave it to you to help knock out the spell of insomnia you've been having.

After reading the list of side effects, you toss the bottle at your man's chest, even knowing he'll barely feel it.

"This is the last time I let you give me Ambien!"

Bonus! Jason Teague

What the hell did you take? Jason wonders, as he tries to keep you from unclipping your seatbelt.

The two of you are on a plane halfway to France on vacation.

You're a nervous flyer, but you just woke up from a dead sleep after taking that little pill an hour ago.

And you're apparently "feeling happy," in your words, your head rolling onto his shoulder with a giggle.

"Jase," you stage whisper (loudly). You raise a finger and swirl it around the air. "My face is hot. I'm hot. I'm hot for...you."

You tweak the tip of his nose.

He laughs a bit nervously, despite his genuine amusement. A mother looks their way with a raised brow. She puts a pair of headphones on her little boy and gives him an iPad to focus on. Jason shoots her an awkward smile and wave. Then he focuses back on you.

"Okay. Sweetheart, I like the enthusiasm, but I think you just need to sleep off the rest of whatever this is," he says. He grabs a blanket to cover you with.

"Hmm, okay."

Eventually you settle down and snuggle into him. He smiles in relief, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He soon falls asleep himself.

When he wakes, you're no longer sitting beside him. His eyes popping open wide, he sits up and leans out of the aisle. He doesn't see you at all in the first class cabin.

Jason shoots up out of his seat and hurries down the other way, through the curtain where business and economy sit.

Sure enough, a flight attendant is following you up and down the aisle trying to get your attention, but you don't even seem to be hearing him.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" the attendant tries. He seems to be getting frustrated. "There's turbulence, miss. It's not safe for you to be--"

Jason hurries to you and grabs your arm just as the plane begins to tremble and shake. He knows there's something wrong if you're not freaking out right now. You should be clinging to him like a koala, not wearing a blank expression on your face as you glance up at him.

"Aw shit, you're sleepwalking," he realizes breathlessly. What the hell did you take?

He knows you told him, but now he feels guilty for not really listening as he and the flight attendant help you back to your seat.

Once you're clipped back into a seatbelt along with him, Jason sighs in relief now that he knows you're safe and sleeping more peacefully. Looks like you two are going to have an adventure before you even get to Paris.

He fishes out the little bottle from your bag and reads the label.

Xanax. Jesus Christ. One thing's for sure, Jason is throwing it out when you guys land.

You'll thank him when you wake up.

AN: 😂 I had more fun than I thought with this one! Let me know what you think, and if there are other characters you'd like to see the next time I do one of these headcanons. 😘💜

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[supernatural-bias]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

↳ summary: in which gabriel can be a shithead, you're awkward, and a shifter really messes up your first interaction

↳ warnings: violence, blood (mentioned), and lots of weird stuff

↳ authors note: this was a wip turned valentines day event submission for @spnfanficpond. the prompt was "an archangel falls in love with a mortal." a bit early but what the hell. for the three other gabriel fans out there, enjoy my first work of the new year.

↳ song: awful—hole

masterlist | commissions | carrd

“You know, never in my billions of years on this planet have I met someone who can avoid me as well as you all do."

Dean jolts in his seat as he looks up from his bowl of cereal, bleary eyed and slow to the draw. A few cheerios find their way onto his lap at the movement, and stick there. Through a slow blink, he stares at them, watching as his pants sop up the milk from them. Eventually he finds his voice, annoyance creeping into the groan he lets out.

"Dude, how many times have I told you to warn me before you use your freaky magic to pop in here." Dean glares at Gabriel as he tries his best to mop up some milk he spilled with the ends of his sleep shirt, giving up after a moment.

The archangel Gabriel grins down at Dean from his spot on the kitchen counter. He had on a set of unassuming clothes, looking like he might have gone on a casual stroll before dropping by the bunker. His hair fell in little curtains, framing his face like he had woken up and done nothing more than run a few fingers through it.

Dean looks down at his old Led Zeppelin shirt and mismatched socks. He grumbles.

"My bad Dean-o. I thought you would have been used to it by now, what with my baby bro practically bunking here half the time. What's up with that anyway?" Hopping off the counter Gabriel stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, sticking his thumbs out as he begins to walk around the bunker's kitchen. He pauses every so often to mess with a stray utensil or two, fidgeting with them before placing them back at an angle that Dean knew would annoy Sam.

"Uh huh." Dean ignores the question to duck his head down and take another bite of cereal. He looks at Gabriel from the corner of his eye as he gives a crunch, swallowing for a second. He takes a brief moment to debate the consequences of drawing an banishing sigil before sighing. Dean might not like the archangel much— certainly not enough to tolerate him this early on in the morning —but he also knew that Gabriel had a habit of cursing people with some bizarre spell if they didn't give him the light of day.

"I'm assuming you didn't drop by to tidy up our kitchen and go." The hunter squints, blinking some crust out of his eyes in an attempt to be fully present for the conversation. "Can we help you, or—?"

Gabriel snaps his fingers to show Dean he had heard him, turning on his heel to look at the hunter with an expression Dean didn't see on him much. If he squinted hard enough, he thought it looked a bit like hesitancy.

"Right. I was wondering where your good pal—" Gabriel said your name, prompting Dean's eyebrows to draw closer together, "—was. You know, fellow hunter? Been holed up here for a couple months? Got a maaaajorly messed up sleep schedule? About yay high?" Gabriel holds out his arm to approximately your height with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Dean watches him do it with a frown, not entirely impressed.

"Why do you want to know where they are?" He slurps back some more cereal, eyeing Gabriel as he did so. "They've got stuff to do. Monsters to gank. How would I know where they were? And more importantly, why do you of all people want to know?"

Gabriel sucks at his teeth.

"Can't a guy just ask a friend of his a few questions?" He gives a dazzling grin; a stark contrast to Dean's bitchface. Gabriel had taken to calling it the Winchester Special long ago, and looks at Dean with a poorly concealed smirk.

"We're not friends, twinkle toes." Dean stabs at the air in Gabriel's direction with his spoon.

"Owch." He fakes a wince, sighing dramatically. "Point taken."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I just want to get to know them a little better." The angel seemingly concedes, now leaning his hip against one of the kitchen counters and looking at Dean with a bite to his lip. "Form new friendships with like-minded people and all that."

"Like-minded people?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "You met them a week ago."

"Hey, they like killing monsters, my whole family tree is full of em." Gabriel holds two hands out, tilting them up and down like scales. "I'm sure we can find common ground in there somewhere."

"I knew letting you come on that last mission was a mistake." Dean grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

"Whaaat, that last one? With the shapeshifter? No way you regret that, amigo! I totally helped you nail that sucker." Gabriel grins knowingly. Dean suppresses a shudder at his use of Spanish, images of Casa Erotica surfacing in his consciousness before being forced away.

"Let me rephrase that for you: I knew that if you ever met one of our friends, you'd do this." Dean ignores Gabriel's previous comment about helping, the likes of which wasn't entirely wrong. Although you'd be hard pressed to hear a Winchester ever admit when they were wrong.

"What? Be charming?"

"Be annoying." Dean glares. "It's already bad enough we have to deal with you ourselves."

"You know I'm just gonna pester you until you give me a hint, right?" Gabriel tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow. Dean looks away, struggling to come up with an excuse to get the cosmic being to leave him and his breakfast alone.

“If you want to talk to them so much, why don't you use that mojo of yours everyone is always trying to kill us over.”

“You know I can't do that, smartass.” Gabriel stares Dean down with a squint. “You three made sure of that when you went around branding all your friends with angel magic."

Dean returns the look, only breaking away when he thought about how soggy his cereal was getting. He turns back to his bowl just in time to see a cheerio sinking beneath the milk, letting out a pathetic bubble or two as it went.

"They're on a hunt right now." He finally relents with a sigh. He figures that he could apologize to you tomorrow about pointing the angel your way. "Don't ask me where, I don't know. They said they'd be back today."

He looks up suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at Gabriel. "Whatever you're about to do, just make sure to do it far away from here. Last time you fucked around in the bunker, it took us a week to clean up. Cas is still finding confetti in his damn coat pockets.”

"Who said I was doing anything?" Mirth dances behind golden eyes. Dean opens his mouth to respond, but finds the words dying upon arrival.

"Stupid angels and their stupid wings." He mutters to a now empty kitchen. The sound of fluttering papers was the only thing to answer him.

Whatever. Gabriel was someone else's problem now.

Picking up the cereal box in front of him, Dean frowns and goes to pour himself another bowl of cheerios.

"Ooh, honey nut."

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Sleep was the one thing you miss most from your old life, and everyone knows it.

Before vampires, and ghosts, and all those new monsters of the week that seem to pop up anytime you relax, it had just been you, your bed, and the occasional night shift. While you don’t miss those late nights spent dealing with fussy customers, you certainly did miss your old bed sheets— the kind that never seemed to be too hot in the summer, and kept you perfectly toasty in the winter. At least, they had been, until you used them to choke a werewolf out in your dorm room. They had been sort of ruined after that.

Since then, your back has been plagued with one too many nights on a shitty motel mattress for it to be concidered anything other than torture. The Men of Letters Bunker is certainly a nice change of pace from the looming threat of bed bugs and airborne illnesses, but even their mattresses are far from perfect.

You can’t entirely blame the old guys. You doubt you'd be concerned with the exact thread count of a few bed sheets if the hideout you were building was for that of doomsday. It couldn't have killed them to stash a bit more memory foam around, though. God, all you wanted these days was a bit more memory foam.

With a grunt, you open the door to the bunker, and stumble in with a somber expression.

You don't say hi to Sam or Dean as you trudge down the steps to the bunker, and if they know anything about you, they wont seek you out for a hello either. You feel way too sore to be indulging in civil small talk at the moment. All that's on your mind was is hot bath, and the inviting arms of your mediocre bed. A warm welcome back from a successful vamp kill.

It takes you approximately twenty minutes of blissful, soapy heaven before you reach sight of your bed, now accompanied by an unusual addition: leather jacket and all.

"For someone who supposedly lives here, you are really hard to find. I'm starting to hate that chicken scratch on your ribs."

Your hand is still on your bedroom door knob when you walk into Gabriel propped up on your bed. Little droplets of water are sliding off of your skin and onto the floor as you stand there, and they splatter against the hardwood unceremoniously.

"...Gabriel?"

"The one and only." Your visitor grins, shifting on his spot on the bed. He looks as casual as one can be, and it stirs something up from within you.

You pull your eyebrows together in the beginnings of a glare, but relax them at the last moment. You’re too tired to get angry right there. Instead, you decide focus on his clothes, desperate for any sort of distraction.

He looks like he’s ready to walk onto a movie set, with a smooth shirt and comfy pants, sitting there in a leather jacket and with that smile of his. Or at least something of that caliber.

Suddenly you are very aware of your disheveled appearance.

"Uhm—" To say you feel a little unprepared for this visit, both emotionally and physically, would be an understatement. You’re in sleep clothes that have far too many holes peppered in them, and your hair sticks to your forehead in the shape of damp curls. Hardly ready for any type of chatter. "Did Sam or Dean let you in?"

"You could say that." Gabriel sighs, shooting you an award winning smile as you scratch the back of your neck. You accidentally dig a little too hard, and pull away before you can draw blood. If Gabriel notices, he doesn't say anything.

Your phone buzzes from inside your pocket. You spare a glance at it, reading the notification with a set expression before slipping it back inside your pants.

"What are you doing here? Did you need something?" You ask as you step into your room, leaving the door ajar behind you. You try not to stare at him too hard as you crossed the room, heading straight for your desk chair. It has an unfamiliar jacket draped across it haphazardly, probably one of the Winchesters, and you slip it on, feeling a bit better once you zip up the front. You see Gabriel hop off your bed out of the corner of your eye as you do so. He brings his hands out his pockets, rocking on his heels while looking up at the ceiling.

"Man, you and your pals with all these questions. Is it a crime to make friendly conversation around here?”

You stare at him.

“The last, and only, time we talked was in a sewer, Gabriel.” You remind him, purposefully keeping your answer short. He smiles, seemingly not put out by the memory, even if you grimace at the mental image.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Blood and guts covered you head to toe. Shapeshifter skin was clumped in your hair, and you had been stomping around in the sewers for what felt like hours.

The hit you had taken to the face earlier had been embarrassing. Even more so when your nose had started to bleed all but immediately, gushing down your front like a faucet while you attempted to stab the creature on top of you to an unsuccessful degree.

Dean had volunteered to cover the front of the group when the shapeshifter had gotten away, signaling at you to watch everyone's backs. You had listened without much of a complaint, falling back with a nod and taunt muscles.

All of that had happened in the span of five minutes. That's just how it went as a hunter. Expect the unexpected, and when it eventually happened, try to keep your head on straight.

Speaking of the unexpected.

"So, what's a fella like you doing galavanting around with these two chuckleheads?"

You attempted to hush the angel next to you awkwardly, using the stealth of the hunt as an excuse for your lack of conversation. Gabriel shot you a look, gesturing forwards at Sam and Dean; who were both chattering away about something heatedly while the two of you trailed behind.

"I don't think I'm the one who's going to get us caught in this situation, sugar." He cocked a brow. A smile appeared when you pursed your lips, joy overriding his deadpan look.

"Why are you even here again?" You pivoted, taking extra care to avoid a clump of what looked like teeth by your foot.

"Oh, boredom, curiosity, a hankering for my monthly dose of flannel— take your pick, really."

Your lips twitched upwards at that. Gabriel watched with a twinkle in his eyes, only for it to fade when you forced down the smile.

When Sam and Dean had told you an angel would probably be dropping by, the last thing you expected was a sly, shit eating grin accompanied by honey brown ringlets of hair. You might not be as well versed on the topic of heaven as the brothers were, but you had certainly expected an archangel of all things to be, well, more serious.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“Well, forgive me for thinking you might have alternative motives for breaking into my room.” You bring yourself back to the present. Leaning against the wall, you settle on watching him meander about the room. “I’ve heard some stories from Dean and Sam that don't exactly paint you as a model citizen.”

”Oh, what, the time loop thing? That was years ago. Pretty long by human standards.” He smiles. Your mind lingers on the 'human standards' part of his statement for a second too long as Gabriel waves a dismissive hand at you, using the other to rotate a picture frame.

It’s the one with you, Cas, and the brothers in front of Bobby's house. The afternoon after a successful hunt, if you were remembering things right. Bobby himself had been missing from the picture, too busy making sure the camera had all of you in its sights to make his way over in time.

In the photo, your arm is slung as far over Cas’s shoulder as it can go, and you’re sporting a pair of bunny ears thanks to Dean. Sam is mid laugh in the photo, and Cas’s eyes are half closed. It’s a horrible picture.

But it’s still framed and sitting on the dresser you barely use.

”That really happened? A whole ass time loop?" You clear your throat, not wanting to think about the picture any longer. Gabriel seems to pick up on your change in mood, and spares a glance at you.

”Doubting my abilities, are you?” He sets down the picture frame gently and moves on to something else, saying nothing about your small appreciative sigh as he does so.

”More like doubting Sam’s ability to tell a story.” You snort despite yourself. “I sort of lost the plot when he started talking about the piano that fell on Dean.”

"Ah. That." Gabriel sighs like he’s recalling a fond memory, refusing to elaborate with anything more than a smile. At this point, you don’t even want to know.

"Anyways—" The angel had gotten closer to you sometime during the conversation, now on the same side of the room as you. "I gotta say, you did catch me. I am here for more than just a quick chat." He holds his hands up like a criminal caught in the act, pursing his lips while he does so. You let him play the situation up as you wait for him to go on, your old friend curiosity rearing its head inside of you as he waits.

"Remember the shifter case?" Gabriel tilted his head your way when you don’t respond, prompting you to nod.

"..the one we were just talking about?" Your eyes are narrowed at this point.

"The very same." He clicks his tongue.

"Yeah. Kind of hard to forget." You hum as casually as you can, trying not to give away any of your feelings. Gabriel notices how you’re now avoiding his gaze.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Moonlight from a sewer grate above your head illuminated your path. Ripples of water disrupted the puddles at your feet, and there was no one there to cringe at the smell of it but you.

When the shifter had jumped you all from around a corner, Sam and Dean had taken off after it, chasing the creature down too many twisting tunnels for you to count. Gabriel, who had stuck with you nearly the entire time, was much faster than he seemed. Even if you thought you had a few inches on him, he quickly outpaced you, eventually leaving you to wonder if the boys had taken a left or a right at that last impasse. And you were pretty sure you had taken the wrong path, if the empty stretch of sewer in front of you told you anything.

Either way, you were lost.

"Shit." You cringed uncomfortably as you stepped in something especially squishy. "Sewers. Why is it always fuckin' sewers. Can't I ever go on a hunt at a nice resort sometimes?" You spoke to no one in particular. Maybe if you prayed to Chuck tonight, he'd write a nicer adventure for you. One with hot towels and massages.

You frowned. Nah. Probably not.

A sudden noise pulled your attention away from the unfortunate scene by your feet. The sound was faint, barely even there, but the curved walls of the sewers amplified it.

It sounded, well, wet for a lack of better words.

Images of blood, loose skin, and barred flesh flashed through the backs of your eyelids. Imagination and memories blurred together, and it raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

You raised your gun steadily. Holding a flashlight in your other hand, you crossed the two items over each other as you stalked in the direction the noise was coming from.

The stone battered walls around you began to slant outwards. Against your better judgement, you followed the movement of them, taking one step after another until eventually it led you into a bigger part of the sewer.

"Sam?" Dean?" You called, venturing further into the opening. The sound was amplified, now louder than the water that had begun to flow by your feet. It spilled out into the giant room of pipes before you as you crept forward. "..Gabriel?"

Nobody answered you. Just more of that noise.

With a heavy gaze, you squared your shoulders, and prepared for a fight.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

"Well, I wanted to talk about what happened." Gabriel's gaze is piercing as he looks at you. If you were anyone else, you might have squirmed underneath it, but you hold steady. Er, try to at least.

Gabriel rocks on his feet once more as you stare at a wall. From the corner of your eye, you see him clearly looking at you, and it lights a dangerous spark to something you’ve been pushing aside. Emotional constipation sort of comes with the territory of being a hunter, if you’re being honest, and in times like these your issues were certainly no help.

"Hey, if you're mad that I managed to get the final kill and not you, there's probably some angel therapist out there you could find to work out the kinks in your ego." You go for the humorous route, shrugging nonchalantly as you attempt to swing the conversation in a direction other than the way it was currently barreling. It’s your attempt to give him a way out.

"That's not what I mean and you know it." He doesn’t take it, pushing forward.

Now you’re the one fiddling with your stuff. You feel like your suffocating in your own room— Gabriel's presence practically taking up a whole corner of it without him even realizing. You briefly wonder if that was an angel thing. A mental image of giant wings crowding around you and your belongings comes to mind the more you think about it. It makes you angry.

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Each step you took into the room felt more and more coated with danger. The air was practically thick with it. You were struggling to breathe through the stench.

You saw shoes. Two pairs. One looked too familiar for comfort. Had Sam been wearing those? Or were they Dean's? A giant, rust ladened pipe blocked everything else from your view, obscuring the answer.

The sounds were only getting louder. Something— someone —whimpered.

"Goddamnit— Fuck this."

You rounded the corner at the end of the pipe, finger twitching over the trigger. You nearly shot, ready to fly into a fight, only to see—

Yourself. Kissing Gabriel.

And doing a damn good job at it.

You watched as a pair of lips the exact shade and shape as your own devoured him. The two of them had both hands on the other, trying to find purchase in the fabric on their bodies. There was no doubt in your mind anymore what those noises were, and a part of you found yourself wishing it had been something bloody. You even weren’t sure if they knew you were standing across the room from them, gun hanging in your limp hand as your eye twitched uncontrollably.

"What the fuck?"

Your identical twin was the first one to react at the sound of your strangled voice. Their head snapped back from Gabriel's, mouths parting as they turned to look at you.

Nausea rolled over you in waves as you looked into your own eyes. Everything about them we're perfect. You reckoned if you went as far as to count the number of eyelashes you had, theirs would have been the same. Not a single detail was off: from the clothes, down to the few strands of hair you could never get tamed.

"Oops. You caught me." The shifter caught their breath enough to grin, birding holes into your eyes. They even managed to embody every bit of inflection you put into your voice when you talked. You felt a little bile claw its way up your throat.

They were still holding onto the front of Gabriel's jacket, standing there. Gabriel's chest heaved from under their grip as he looked between the two of you. His lips were parted slightly, and his hair was messy; no doubt from the shifter running a hand through it. The sight of him gave you a small pause in your movements, and for the life of you, you didn't know why.

Both you and the shifter stared at him, the latter of you waiting for him to catch up. You were still trying to process all this yourself. Eventually, he found his voice and your wide eyes.

"So.. that's not you I take it?" Gabriel pointed lamely at the carbon copy standing a mere few feet away from him.

"Pretty safe to say yeah." You gave him a look that was borderline crazed.

"Ah. Well."

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Later, you didn't tell Dean or Sam how exactly you'd managed to gank the shifter in that pipe room. It was believable enough that you had managed to tackle it, letting Gabriel take over with the smiting from there. A whole lot easier than admitting you had chopped it's head off in one short go, a burst of confusion and anger aiding your rush across the room at the time as you cut of whatever evil speech it had been preparing to give about killing you all— something to do with impersonating you and striking when everyone’s guards were down.

You didn't bother coming up with a lie for why Gabriel's shirt was buttoned back up wrong. He could do that himself.

The angel had played along with your lie at the time, only commenting with a smart ass quip or two when Dean sent a hard glare his way. It was a good lie overall. You knew the brothers, Dean particularly, would blow their tops if they knew exactly what had happened. And sometimes, what the Winchesters didn't know, wouldn't hurt them.

You remember emerging from the sewers after that, Sam and Dean already talking about the quickest route out of town so they could avoid local law enforcement. You remember sitting down on a roadside curb as they talked, staring at the soiled ends of your shoelaces. You remembered thinking about what had happened, and not being surprised when Sam came over to tell you that Gabriel had already taken off, saying something about angel's business he had to take care of.

You just hate that the one thing you couldn't stop remembering was the look in Gabriel's eyes when he had pulled away from the shifter.

What more, was that you hated that that very same look was the one currently staring you down from across the room, directing all of its owners undecided attention to you.

"Look, let's not play dumb here." Gabriel chooses to be the one to break the silence. You’re partly grateful, but his opening quickly dispels any thankfulness.

"Dumb." You echo back. You feel your upper lip curl a little. It wasn't a question, just his own word thrown back at him. Gabriel nods, but you see him hesitate.

"You're angry." He says slowly, as if testing how the words fell on his tongue.

"Sure, yeah. Because if I'm remembering correctly, one of us walked into the other kissing a monster down in that shithole and then took off. And it sure as hell wasn't me." You can’t decide if you should raise your voice for emphasis, or lower it to disguise the slight shake you knew he was hearing. You settle for neither.

Gabriel doesn't have a witty response prepared for that. He opens his mouth as if to say something, before closing it without a word. You knew from Castiel that angels didn't sweat or blush, much less from embarrassment, but staring at Gabriel, you’re damn sure that he was wrong.

"Did you come here to explain yourself, or just bring up something that happened weeks ago without elaboration?" You chew at the inside of your cheek furiously, trying desperately to focus on anything other than the heat rising along your neck.

Gabriel doesn’t seem to like your sudden accusation. He tilts his head down slightly with a frown, his flush now completely gone as he bites at his own cheek subconsciously. He mirrors you without even realizing it. "Uhm, sweetheart, from what I can recall, shifters tend to tap into your hidden desires."

"I don’t want to hear it from the guy who couldn't stick around long enough to clean up his messes." You ignore the spike of anxiety you felt all of a sudden, choosing to keep your voice devoid of any emotions as you pin him in place with one look. You refuse to confirm or deny his statement.

Neither of you seem to know what to say after that. For the first time since you had met him, Gabriel was anything but smiles, and you couldn't decide if that made you uncomfortable, or sad.

You watch as a handful of emotions shadow his face. Some you can pinpoint— anger, hesitation, guilt —and some you can’t. You aren’t sure if the same story is currently being played out on your face, but judging on the way his eyes soften after finally taking a proper look at you, you bet that was the case.

He takes a deep breath, letting it out as he carefully makes his way to sit on the edge of your bed.

"You want to know why I really dropped by?" He watches you as you nod at him quickly, pushing him to continue. "To apologize."

Gabriel almost calls you sugar, but stops himself before he could. Now is not the time. Not while he's thinking about how tight your grip is around your jacket sleeves right now, and most certainly not while he's remembering how it felt when the shifter walked up to him with your smile, offering him something he hadn't thought twice about refusing.

You don't say anything. You don't do much of anything but breathe, letting the rise and fall of your chest mark each passing second. He takes that as a sign to continue, despite how much he wants to snap himself away at the moment.

"I'm not exactly a model citizen. Or angel. You've probably gathered that much." He says in one quick breath, slurring his words a little more than normal. "I make stupid decisions, and I don't exactly have the best track record about cleaning them up."

You mumble something under your breath. Gabriel stops himself, allowing you a chance to speak up in case you wanted to. When you don't, he swallows, and continues

"I understand if you want to tell Dean and Sam to kick me out, hell I figured you would have done it yourself by now.” He seems frustrated— whether it’s with himself or something else, you don’t know —and it doesn't take a genius to see it. Gone is his usual bravado and pop culture references, replaced with a bouncing leg and an uncharacteristically nervous tone. “I just wanted to say sorry for kissing you. It. Them. Whatever.”

You blink.

"Wait." You tilt your head down and shake it, eyebrows furrowed with a look of confusion. "That's what you're apologizing for?"

He pauses, hands pushed in his pockets like he doesn't know what to do with them. Something akin to confusion flickers across his face.

"..yes?"

You push yourself off the wall, unfolding your arms and rubbing your face as if trying to ground yourself. He watches as your lips press into a fine line. He tells himself now is not the right time to be staring at your lips. He doesnt stop.

"Gabriel, I'm not mad at you for that."

The angel finally tears his gaze away to look opposite you, feeling more confused than he has in a hot minute. "You're not?"

"No, you giant, winged dumbass." You nearly roll your eyes. "I'm not mad at you because you kissed a shifter that looked like me. If anything, that's understandable. Weirder shit has happened to me, trust.” You pause to crack the smallest of smiles. “I’m assuming Sam and Dean didn't tell you about the time a demon kissed Sam while wearing me?” You direct your question at him, and nod firmly when he shakes his head no.

“See, I can handle shit like that. The difference between back then, and now, is that me and Sam actually talked after exercising that bitch. You just took your unbelievably big ego and flew away that night like a dickhead.”

Anger hadn’t come immediately with his departure, you knew that. Sitting on that street curb, the most you had felt faint disappointment blanketed with a weird sense of not knowing what to do. Really you hadn’t been able to focus on it for more than a minute before Sam and Dean were dragging you and your blood soaked outfit off to the motel to peel out of there. But in the week it had taken him to show up again, you had time to think. Time to go over every detail you could pull from that afternoon, and time to grow increasingly pissed off with the angel for how he left. No matter how many hot feelings the thought of your lips kissing him stirred up.

“I'm mad because you didn't stay to fucking talk, Gabriel, not because you did something I would have without a second thought. Owning up to your shit means a lot to me, and that is the one, glaring thing that you missed that night." You tell him point blank.

In the silence that follows, you debate sitting next to him on the bed for a moment before giving in, planting yourself a good few feet away from him as he tracks you with his eyes.

Gabriel looks like he has absolutely no idea what to say. He sits there, replaying your entire conversation with him in his head as if that would somehow make it make more sense. You give him time, and as you do, you inexplicably feel the last of your anger begin to evaporate.

”Wait— something you would have done without a second thought?” His eyes slowly make their way around the perimeter of the room before landing on you.

"Fucking angels and their social skills." You rub your temples with closed eyes, a bit or irritation seeping into your tone. "And I thought you were better at this communicating stuff than your little brother."

Gabriel ignores the obvious poke at his ego via Cas in favor of holding his hand out as if to signal a time out.

”Correct me if I’m wrong, but you just said you would have kissed me if given the chance.”

”That is not the point I was trying to make.”

“But one that you still made.” He points a finger at you. You don’t redden, but you feel your face become hot once more. More so out of awkwardness than anything.

“This is not how I wanted a talk between us to go.” You muttered. Gabriel tried not to show how excited he had become again over the past few seconds, stomping it down to give you a minute.

“Well, how would you have wanted it to go?” He settles on asking. You look at him like he’s making a joke, and not a very good one.

“Not in my pajamas after basically admitting to you I would have liked to be on the receiving end of that necking.”

“Humor me then.” He tilts his head. You take a moment to deduce if he’s being serious or not. When you can’t find any hint of a joke or lie, you start.

“I would have liked to talk, mostly. Figure out how you got in that position, and then ask why you stayed. And if things went well enough and the boys were still out of earshot, maybe ask if you’d like to go hunting with me again.”

”That would have been..” He hesitates. “..nicer than what actually happened.”

”That being said—“ You hold up a hand. “—that would not have been a light offer.” You tell him. “I’m not exactly the best guy to get with, Gabe. The last person who I tried to go out with ended up with black eyes, and not because they got beat up. Why do you think I talked about suggesting a hunt instead of Olive Garden?”

”You think being with an angel is any easier?” He uses his signature move, cocking a brow at you.

“That wasn't and invitation to start a dick measuring contest.” You remind both him and yourself. “All I meant by it was that this is a bigger decision than we both probably think. For one, Dean’s going to deep fry you in holy fire when he finds out any of what happened last week, and I don't even know if it's allowed for a human to go out with an angel.”

”Sweets, you basically just put a date with you on the table. Who cares if it’s allowed, I’ll make it allowed.” He offers that up like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just offer to change the rules to heaven at a chance to sit down and watch a movie with you. “As for our very own Dean? Don’t worry, I can handle him. Father knows I’ve done it before, no sweat.”

“That’s good.” You muse with a playful look. “Especially considering he sent me a text a few minutes ago about the angel trap he’s setting up outside my door for you.”

Gabriel let out a hearty laugh no sooner than when you finished your sentence. Something about the visual of Dean hunched over outside your door with a jug of holy oil in hand was more amusing than he’d like to admit.

You smile while he laughs, unable to help yourself. Any remnants of your sour mood from this past week is old news by now. ”Hey, apparently you ruined his breakfast. In the Winchester household, that's a criminal offense.”

“Good thing I’ve got a badass hunter on my side.” He peers at you from under his lashes, still laughing.

“Not just yet, casanova. Take me to dinner first, then we’ll talk.” You halt him, closing your eyes and scrunching your nose with a laugh in a way that made Gabriel want to replicate that night with the shapeshifter; only this time with the real deal.

“That’s the plan.” He says with a cocky grin, and snaps his fingers. You don't need to know anything about angels to know he’s gone, the flutter of wings echoing in your head.

You're not disappointed by his disappearing act this time.

No less than a minute later, when you’re standing up once more to stretch your sore muscles, you hear a faint yell from outside your door, followed by familiar laughter. The sound reminds you of sunshine, and everything sweet.

You smile.

[wilwheaton]

Who is the most punchable cereal mascot, in your opinion?

Well, after spending more time than I ever thought I would considering cereal mascots and their relative punchability, I have to honestly tell you I don't think I dislike any of them.

Like, all they wanted us kids to do was eat a regular (excuse me, "balanced") breakfast with an added bowl of cereal, and have fun while we were doing it. Some of them wanted to give us prizes, even!

And that poor Trix rabbit! He's obviously got a real addition problem, is constantly crying out for help, and every kid he encounters is like "Lol get the fuck outta here while I eat the thing you're addicted to as part of this balanced breakfast, you silly rabbit."

Now I wonder what the support group looks like for Cap'n Crunch, the Qwisp alien, Count Chocula, the bee from Honey Nut Cheerios, and Toucan Sam. Does anyone else really understand them and their lives? They're all alone, even when they are together. And it never ends.

How could you want to punch any of them? You monster!

[pculrstate]

snow angels.

The boys are on either side of him, their body heat like a furnace in the cold room. Dean on his left, Sammy on his right, and they’re holding hands across his stomach. Sam’s in a phase. Needs to be touching someone all the time. In the bathroom when John’s brushing his teeth Sam hangs on his elbow and climbs his feet up John’s leg. Dean, ten years old, pretends to be annoyed by it but John sees the way his eyes soften whenever Sam asks for a piggyback ride. Sometimes when he wakes up in the middle of the night to check on them Sam’ll be draped full-bore across Dean’s chest. When John was little, really little, barely old enough to remember, he had a kitten that slept on him the same way.

“Why’s there gotta be sooo much commercials,” Sam says. “I just wanna watch Rudolph.”

“Cuz they need people to buy stuff,” Dean says.

“Why?”

“Cuz they gotta make money.”

“Why?”

“Cuz.”

“Who does?”

“The people who make everything. Apple cinnamon Cheerios.”

Sam breaks into giggles. “‘The 7-day stain stick from Spray ’n Wash!’”

Mostly John stays out of these conversations. He likes listening to them, their rapid-fire back and forth. Likes listening to them figure things out. It gets so damn quiet, those long hours in the car after he’s left the boys with Bobby for a few days so he can pick up a longer job. He’ll turn on music and it’ll sound like noise and then he’ll call Bob to “check in” but really he just wants to hear their faraway voices battling for the phone.

“Is it gonna be snowing on Christmas?” Sam asks Dean. Two days out from the 25th and it’s been snowing the past three. “I’ve never even seen that.”

“Yeah you have,” Dean says. He turns his cheek up against John’s chest. “Right, Dad? In Detroit.”

“Two years ago,” John says. “Sammy might not remember.”

Sam pushes up and lets go of Dean’s hand. He sits back on his heels and looks at John, little face so serious. “How old was I in two years ago?”

“Hm,” John says. He holds up six fingers. “You’re six now.” He puts two fingers down. “Take away two.”

Sam studies his hand for a second. John watches as he mouths one, two, three, four. “Four! Oh yeah! I remember the snow when I was four in Detroit.”

“Do you?”

“Uh-huh.”

The likelihood of that is low, John knows. They were only in Detroit for a night, Sam asleep for most of it. When they’d woken up in the morning, Christmas Day, there was an inch or so on the ground and the sky looked heavy with more to come and Dean had said, Can we stay? But they couldn’t, because Detroit was a bad fucking taste in John’s mouth and he didn’t want to be there any longer than absolutely necessary. Only reason he’d stopped in the first place was because the motels were the cheapest of anywhere in the entire Great Lakes area and he’d been so goddamn tired. Sorry, dude, he’d said. Dean had nodded, guided Sam into the back seat, helped him put on his seatbelt, and tried to keep the disappointment off his face. John gave them their present—an Etch A Sketch found on the shelf of a Goodwill—before pulling out of the lot.

But he lets Sam have this. “Pretty sharp memory, kiddo.” He bops the tip of Sam’s nose.

Sam beams. “Yeah. I always remember lots of things.”

“Shh, it’s on,” Dean says.

They settle back in and Sam grabs Dean’s hand again. For a few minutes they watch the special, Sam laughing when Dean laughs, and then John notices that Dean is trembling very slightly. He leans down to his ear. “Hey. Alright?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah.”

“You cold?”

“I don’t know. A little.”

John nudges Sam’s side. “Sammy, go get the blanket from your bed for your brother.”

“Dad, it’s fine.”

“Shit heating in this place.” He shakes his head as if this surprises him. “Gotta be the coldest day of the year.”

“I’m okay,” Dean says. But when Sam comes over with the blanket and lays it across Dean’s whole body, including his head, Dean slips down further on the couch and buries his face in John’s armpit.

Sam waits for Dean to pull the blanket down and when he doesn’t, says, “Aren’t you gonna watch anymore?”

“I am,” Dean says, muffled.

“You can’t see anything under there.”

Sam’s wearing ankle socks and basketball shorts and a long sleeved shirt underneath a short sleeved shirt that says Whitesboro High School JV in block letters. His nose is red. Jesus. “Are you cold, Sammy?” John asks.

Sam looks at John, then looks at Dean under the blanket, under John’s arm, then seems to decide something. “Yes. I am so so so really cold.”

“Better get under here, then.” John lifts the corner of the blanket and catches Dean’s eye roll.

“There’s not enough room, Sam, stop.” Dean tries to push him away but Sam climbs on top of him and then shoves between them and he pulls the blanket over his head and over John’s.

He bought them socks. He’s sure he did, last winter, not the cheap kind that wore down to holes within a month, either. Nice ones. Thermal. He scours the memory of that day. Ice on the windshield of the car. A stop at Bass Pro. Being in that store made him nervous, huge as it was, but the boys had loved it. Even when he’d gotten on them hard about screwing around with a crossbow they’d pulled from a display on the wall. He bought the fucking socks. He had.

And then all the sudden he remembers the kid behind the register handing him his card with an embarrassed frown. Um, I’m sorry? It says it’s declined? I could try again, it’s probably the machine— But John had grabbed the card from him and shook his head and said, Can you hold onto these? I’ll be back. I just need to—I’ll be back. Later today. Hold them for me.

“Woah,” Sam whispers. “It’s really hot under here. It’s like a fort.”

“You’re missing Rudolph,” Dean says.

“Well I’ve seen it before anyway.”

Their words hum against his skin. He’d completely forgotten to go back. How the fuck had he forgotten? He screws his eyes shut. His boys. His little boys. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Dean shushes Sam, who's describing what happens at the end of Rudolph. “What d’you say?”

“Sorry…” he mumbles, “sorry it’s so cold in here. Shoulda got a better room, one with—”

Sam shakes his head. “Dad, I was just kidding. I’m not cold. I just wanted to come under the blanket fort and be cuddled with you like Dean.”

Dark under the blanket but John can feel Dean’s eyes heavy on him. Sometimes he hates how Dean watches him. Every second, feels like. And he doesn’t miss a thing, ever. Wears a man down, never being able to hide from his own son.

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean says. He’s got a hand around John’s wrist, vice-like. “We’re fine, right, Sammy?”

“Right! I’m burning up hot actually. Actually can we go make snow angels?”

“Not tonight,” Dean says, still watching John.

Sam’s voice is smug. “You’re not in charge when Dad’s here.”

John sits up and the blanket falls to the floor. The boys don’t let go. Outside the cocoon of their mingling breath the room feels even colder. “Tomorrow,” John says. “We’ll make a run. Thermal socks. New coats too, if we can find ‘em for cheap. Tomorrow. First thing.”

Long time before Dean nods. “Okay.” He looks near tears.

Sam tugs John’s arm with one hand and Dean’s arm with the other. “Hello? Snow angels? Can we?”

John manages a laugh around the aching pull in his throat. He nods. “Just one. Wear my coat and your sneakers and make it quick and then it’s right into the bath.”

Sam bounds toward John’s duffle. Dean cradles his elbows with his hands.

Tomorrow.

[jauntilyplacedcaps]

[spn-lesbian]

Sam: I’m going to the store do you want anything?

Gabriel: yeah, gay cheerios

Sam:

Sam: fruit loops?

Gabriel: that’s what I said

[according2thelore]

Does LS/ES Sam or Dean have conversations with their respective selfs about their partner like, "So, Sammy *still* does that thing in his sleep?" or "Please tell me LS!Dean grew out of that WildWest fixation".

GAHHHH ANON AHHHHH!!!!!!!!

LS!Dean sits at the library table, and ES!Sam & LS!Sam are sitting at the table in the corner, helping translate some more obscure lore. LS!Dean is tapping his pen on the table, and they can both tell it gets on their nerves as the incessant taptaptaptaptaptap of whatever metal song dean has stuck in his head echoes in the room.

"so discouraging to know he still does that," ES!Sam says, mouth twisted down in disgust, and LS!Sam hides his snort behind his palm. ES!Sam turns to LS!Sam, and sees the familiar judgemental, gleeful glint in his eye, and asks,

"does he still insist on keeping all his socks that are way past their expiry date?"

ES!Dean has a nasty habit of keeping his socks from the fruit of the loom six packs that are now grey or beige with age and have so many holes they could be used as leg warmers. they're perfectly good, sammy, dean insists, even as he wears blisters into his toes from his boots.

"turns out he doesn't just do it with his socks," LS!Sam says, somber, "it's his boxers, too."

ES!Sam recoils, but realizes unless dean put them in the laundry pile, he'd have no idea. LS!Sam gestures for him to get closer, and ES!Sam bends closer to hear him.

"i've had to start sneaking them out of his dresser. i found boxers last week that was just a square of fabric held to a triangle of fabric with one string. it was basically just a thong at that point."

ES!Sam bursts into laughter, shocking them both, and they talk for an hour about the dumb thing that their brother did, still does, and will in all likelihood continue to do.

yes, unfortunately, dean still has his wild west obsession. sam has found it is most productive if he can get dean to vent all his obsession for it into sam wearing a cowboy hat and/or assless chaps during sex once a month and let him spit-fuck him, and ES!Sam's jaw drops comically. no, actually, dean doesn't put that much sugar in his coffee anymore. he drinks it black. they both look a little uncomfortable about it before they confirm that indeed, dean still sneezes without covering his mouth--it's gross.

and yes--the tips of LS!Sam's ears flush when he says it--dean still flirts with people using that facial dumb expression of his but uh...he mostly uses it on sam, now. unfortunately, it usually works.

a week later, ES!Dean shuffles into the kitchen clearly exhausted, and when LS!Dean asks him what pissed in his cheerios, ES!Dean tells him ES!Sam was snuffling and muttering in his sleep again and the noise from the bed over kept waking him up.

"ugh!" LS!Dean says, "what's he stressed about?"

ES!Dean is kinda taken aback but yeah, it makes sense that he also picked up on the pattern, i mean, hell, it's him. ES!Dean shrugs.

"ionknow. but i'm two seconds away from taping his mouth shut. he keeps smacking his lips and it drives me nuts."

"two words," LS!Dean says, going to pour himself another cup of coffee, "oral fixation."

ES!Dean almost falls out of his stool. "fucking pardon??"

"yeah." LS!Dean shrugs. "he just wants stuff in his mouth. for a while he'd sleep with his face pressed against my shoulder, i think just to feel something on his mouth. he sleeps better when you start sharing a bed, though, so..."

ES!Dean looks like someone just hit him over the head, dazed.

"whenever he starts mutterin, i just roll over and throw an arm over him and he sleeps like a baby." LS!Dean takes a long, satisfying sip of his coffee, too pleased by the gobsmacked look on ES!Dean's face to care that it scorches his tongue.

"does..." ES!Dean clears his throat, shaking his head. he almost wants to say Stop Talking About Him Like That but stops himself in time. he forgets it's him he's talkin to. "does he still do that thing where he pushes his mouth up when he's concentrated."

LS!Dean softens. "oh yeah, he does. and he looks like a toddler every time." a pause. "i...uh, keep expecting look up and see him sitting there with bunky."

ES!Dean lights up. "oh shit!! bunky! i forgot about that raggedy thing."

bunky, of course, being a stuffed rabbit that pastor jim gave sam, and with which sam was obsessed for a few years. their talk is a bit more nostalgic, talking about things baby sam used to do that they notice adult sam doing now, including rub his eye with the back of his fingers when he gets tired.

"does sam ever get that stick outta his ass?" ES!Dean asks, and they're both grinning so big, high off being able to talk about sammy with someone who gets it, who knows him.

"nope." LS!Dean beams. "he stays our little pain in the ass forever."

they both kinda freeze, then turn to look at each other. our.

huh.

i had so much fun with this one omg your mind is so HUGE ANON AGHHHHHH!!!!!!!! thank you so much for sending it in mwah mwah mwah

-lizzy <3

(ES/LS verse masterlist)

[isabelawritesthings]

The Lost Potential of Quinn Fabray's Sexuality on Glee: An analysis

(I personally don't know if people still talk about Glee in 2024 considering the fact that this series ended more than eight years ago but watching it for the first time and reading some posts here on Tumblr I was intrigued by the lack of exploration of Quinn's sexuality in Glee, and I decided to do an analysis about this lost potential and what I would change in her story.)

When it comes to saying that Quinn could very well be a lesbian or even bisexual, many argue that Quinn is the most straight character in the entire glee club, the highly Christian "Miss Perfect" who ended up getting pregnant by her boyfriend's best friend and cheating on every guy she dated, but saying that she is romantically and sexually active with men doesn't mean that she is totally straight (I mean, Santana dated Puck, Sam and slept with Finn, yet came out as a lesbian in season three) Brittany was also a fan of sex with men but ended up marrying a woman, and it's not as if many lesbians and gays in real life hadn't dated someone of the opposite sex before discovering their sexual and romantic orientation.

Santana: I think I know how to make you feel better.

Quinn: I'm flattered Santana, but I'm really not into that.

Glee, 2x22 (New York)

Quinn says she's not "into that", however, doesn't mind sleeping with Santana two seasons later, even claiming she was just "experimenting".

We can't forget the relationship she had with Rachel, which was quite queer coded. It would be funny to see the girl who has dated several boys end up with a girl. "But the show already has too much representation with Brittana and Klaine" Hmm, and since when has too much representation been a problem? The LGBTQ community spent years being seen as invisible in series and films, a study in 2009, the same year Glee was released, revealed that only 3% of television series at that time had gay, lesbian or bisexual representation, and even though our situation is better than it was twenty years ago, for example, let's not forget that we are technically criminals in 73 countries. Take the She-Ra reboot for example, which has two sapphic couples with their own stories, too much representation will never be an issue.

What Quinn needed was a female writer, so that the whole story of wanting to be with Beth but not being able to or deciding to become a punk in season 3 could be explored more and not forgotten in the middle of romantic songs and Rachel Berry's exaggerated protagonism (even though Glee is limited to that lol). I don't think I'll ever forgive Ryan Murphy and Lea Michelle for being so arrogant and fighting with Dianna Agron to the point where Quinn was practically replaced by Kitty (I swear, I watched Glee at least two times but I can't remember any scene from season five where Quinn appeared) She appears in the sixth season because it is the last one and it would be fair for the original formation of the glee club to appear (if it weren't for that, Ryan would probably invent that Quinn went to live in another country or simply forget about her).

Quinn's story pretty much ends in season four, after which she barely appears.

What I would change

In the third season, instead of her becoming a punk, why not have her just come out of the closet? Quinn may be confused in the beginning because she's never felt this way about girls before and is paying "too much attention" to the other cheerios and may even ask Santana for advice on how to deal with these feelings, since Santana herself comes out as a lesbian in the same season. She could be lesbian, bisexual, pansexual or she doesn't even need labels, she could just like girls.

I would still keep that drama involving Beth because Quinn clearly didn't give her up for adoption because she wanted to, just because she had no choice, but maybe a girlfriend would make her see that Beth is better off with Shelby. The girlfriend could be a girl from the Cheerios, since Quinn has always considered them family, maybe a sweet and slightly naive girl like Marley to give more "light" to the cold and provocative Quinn Fabray.

In the fourth, fifth and sixth season I would explore more of the romance between the two and even perhaps some religious guilt on Quinn's part (let's not forget that she is supposed to be highly Christian) and at the end of the series she and this girlfriend can get married like Brittana and even adopt a child, I know that one child does not replace another, but here at least Quinn will maintain her desire to be a mother.

[cantfightmoonlight]

@lunarcovestarters

"Alright," A soft sigh broke from her lips as she slide down next to the stranger on the curve just a few feet over from the hedge maze. She had only been in town for a hot minute and, don't get her wrong, she was more than thankful that her daughter had finally seemed to perk up at the mention of a fall fair. The teenager disappearing off into the crowd the second they had reached the start of downtown. But, she couldn't quite put her finger on why the vibes had seemed to be off from the moment she had gotten here. "Now, I've gotta ask and I ain't tryin' to stir no pot, but what in the sam hill is goin' on here? Since I've waltzed into town, it's like... like someone's gone and pissed in ya'll cheerios, no offense or nuttin', but isn't a fair supposed to be, I dunno, fun?"