#found this in the depths of my google docs

[samwinchesterpregnant]

quintessential sambortion fic under the cut

“Do you have a ride home, honey? I can’t release you without a ride home.” 

Sam’s head is still swimming, lolling unpleasantly against the crinkling butcher paper covering the gurney. It made everything so loud, even the sound of her hair was amplified against her ears. She could hardly think. 

“Honey,” The woman knelt down to Sam’s eye level and Sam caught a whiff of coffee and altoids. The look in her eyes was kind, but mildly concerned, “Do you have a ride home from your appointment? If you don’t have one, I’ll have to get you an escort and that could take a few hours. You weren’t supposed to make an appointment without a ride home, it’s in the paperwork.” 

Sam cleared her throat, blearily wiping her eyes. The woman’s mascara was coming into focus, clumped onto each individual eyelash. Her scrubs were plain and sterile looking, but the lanyard holding her ID had Minnie Mouse stamped all over it. Her name was Carol. Coffee-breath-Carol, Sam christened her. Well that wasn’t fair, really. Carol was nice. Carol was fine. 

“I have a ride.” Sam said finally, voice slightly thick from the valium. 

“Do you need the phone?” Carol supplied, “It’s okay if he didn’t show, don’t be shy. It happens.” 

Sam furrowed her eyebrows, glowering from under her heavy bangs, “I have a ride.”

“Okay, okay.”

Sam’s good at taking it until she isn’t. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it? She keeps her head down at school, raises her hand when she has the right answer (she always does). She doesn’t make small talk with any of the girls in her class that ask her where she’s from. She eats lunch by herself in the stairwell and runs the mile in phys Ed, doesn’t even drag her feet. Dad’s ran them harder than that, it’s nothing. Her time is good, six minutes. She nods away her teacher’s encouragement. When she gets home and Dean says that dad wants them on a job she doesn’t fucking complain, not even when that means shes’s got no time to work on her book report due on Friday. She’ll stay late and do it in the library the next day. She doesn't complain when she spends the next four hours tromping around in the mud and cow shit at some abandoned farmhouse, looking for god knows what and coming up empty handed. She doesn’t fucking complain when they don’t get back until dark, and dad asks her to make dinner. She doesn’t complain when Dean uses all the hot water and her shower is tepid. She doesn’t complain when she crawls into bed and Dean sidles up behind her and grabs her tit with no preamble or sweet talk or what have you, just grabs her and breathes deep into her clean hair and shoves his fingers into her mouth. She doesn’t complain because she’s getting the fuck out of here.

It was the natural conclusion to ill-timed rutting in the backseat while dad was stuck in a creaky old farmhouse with an elderly woman who swore her dead husband was making the walls bleed. 

He’d been in there a good twenty minutes, barely visible from the window before they came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t coming out anytime soon. They’d seen the old lady, still in her night dress, hobble into the kitchen and return with a pitcher of sweet tea. Dad was pretending to work for some insurance company, surveying the house, and had told them to wait in the car and not come out till he got back. 

Dean was the one who cracked first, sliding his hand down the back of Sammy’s shorts which gaped at the back of her waist. They were Dean’s pants that she’d cut to her thighs to escape the Florida heat. Even now, parked in the shade with the back windows down to catch just the slightest breeze, it was sweltering, and her face was pink and damp under her heavy bangs, the rest of her thick hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail. 

“‘S too hot,” she murmured, weakly swatting away Dean’s hand, but he kept on lazily, pinching her side where she was still soft, puppy fat that nobly persisted despite her recent growth spurt that thinned out her arms and legs. 

“C��mon Sammy,” He tugged at her belt loop, drawing her closer. She didn’t pull away, allowing herself to be maneuvered, falling against her brother gracelessly, “Dad’s going to be forever.”

She peered out the car window. She could only see the top of his head from here, and his eyes, that seemed to be squinted slightly in concentration. He was listening to what seemed like a long, long story. Dean was probably right, for once. 

They congregated on the floor as best as they could, Sam’s long legs tucked up awkwardly so they could both fit, her sweaty back sticking to the back of the seat, her hair mussing up against the interior and sticking to her forehead. They kept most of their clothes on for brevity's sake, except for her shirt which Dean rucked up over her breasts, palming them hurriedly. Dean got her off with his thumb, rubbing her through her panties, which she’d shoved to the side, her overly large shorts dangling from her left ankle. She bit him hard on the shoulder when she came, and he let out a sharp gasp, burying his head in her neck so he wouldn’t cry out. 

Clean up was quick: shorts back on, Sammy’s hair righted, Dean’s shirt tugged over the teeth marks. 

“You didn’t pull out?” She hissed, knocking him hard with her elbow. He shoved her in response, “What else did you want me to do? Mess up the seats? Dad would kill me.” 

“He’d kill you anyway.” 

He laughed hoarsely, until John turned them both white as a sheet by throwing open the front door. 

“It’s a bust. She’s just senile. We’ll have to head up to Athens instead– sorry, kiddos.” His shoulders sagged until he turned and saw them, both flushed down to their necks and breathless. 

“Jesus, what is it out there, a-hundred-and-ten? I’ll leave her running next time.” He cranked on the AC, putting the car in reverse and starting down the driveway, making it all the way to the turn before stopping, eyes falling to his only son. Dean stared, meeting his gaze unblinking. 

“Shirts on inside-out, kid.” He laughed dryly, and then kicked it into drive. 

So, when Sam’s knocked up for sure six weeks later with a test to prove it in a Casey’s bathroom, it’s less of a surprise and more of a grim reminder of the way life takes its course no matter who you fucked raw in Chipley, Florida. It is just another punishment in a series of punishments that had been occurring to Sam Winchester since the moment she was born, the only girl-child to a band of hungry, hungry wolves: motherless and unfortunate. 

[crazywolf828]

To all my writers who have a tough time with smut terms and not knowing which ones to use, I have found the holy grail for us.

This reddit user, who I've recently found out is @kjscottwrites here on tumblr, took a poll of 3,500 people and went really in depth with asking their favorite terminology, along with actual pie charts on what the readers preferred to see in their smut.

Check out their post with the link to the Google doc here!

[tragedynoir]

— introducing 015: PRIVATE EYE + [ link ]

a warm, nostalgic google doc template inspired by private detectives, and crime investigation! this template follows the collection of information on your muse from the lens of a private detective, through things such as letters, newspapers and official medical documents. this template features space for long writing as well! this premium template and a full page-by-page preview can be found in the link above or in the source link.

features:

8 unique 14" x 8.5" pages, all with hand-crafted full-page background images

short and long sections, an extra long backstory section, and multiple spaces for pictures

a large array of thematic page types and elements — letters, post-it notes, newspaper clippings, and evidence sheet which can be used to include ooc information or give more atmospheric depth to the template

some elements (muse pictures, text on backing post-it notes, date on envelope, and items in evidence ziploc bag) that can be customized in google drawings

terms of use:

you may edit to your heart’s desire. Change the colours, replace, add or remove elements and images etc.

you may remix pages with pages from my other templates.

you may not remove the credit from the templates.

you may not copy, sell or redistribute my templates whether wholesale, in part (i.e. taking out certain pages) or remixed (i.e. modified).

you will also receive an additional guide with images on how to use and edit google doc templates! if you have any problems or issues, feel free to leave an ask or join our discord server.

this was so much fun to make, but took so much time to put together. I'm really proud of it so I I hope you like it! as always, I appreciate all your likes + reblogs. ♡

[everythingseasoning]

Smut reader for my Series: Stay with me, Satoru

Virgin reader x feral Satoru

MINORS GET OUT, MDNI, 18+

Trigger Warnings: feral satoru, little bit of manhandling, satoru kinda disregards reader’s nerves (this fic is not for everyone, especially if you have certain triggers, so please read at ur own discretion 🤍)

He couldn’t help it— you were too cute. Satoru let out a low chuckle, his ocean-eyes flashing like a glacier in the moonlight. You watched him as he stared right into your own eyes; Satoru’s irises gleamed, and he smiled maniacally. He was looking into the depths of your soul without really seeing your present self— your expression shifted to one of concern, but Satoru kept staring, not moving at all—

Oh. It was happening again. There were times Satoru went a little insane, showing an unhinged side to himself. Like right now, with those shining eyes. You felt a chill run through your body. “Satoru? You’re scaring me,” you said quietly.

You saw something flicker across Satoru’s face, and your boyfriend cocked his head.

“Sorry babe,” Satoru said, voice low, sensual and rich, warbling. Suddenly you were in the air— you let out a yelp as you felt an impact, your back on the mattress, the breath knocked out from your chest. Satoru stood looming over you, his blue eyes flashing in the dark, his snow-white hair glowing like the moon.

“T–toru—” you squeaked, eyes wide as saucers as you gazed up at him.

“Now, my love, if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll have to take you this instant. And that wouldn’t be good for you, would it now?” Satoru sing-songed.

“Wait— this is— this is too much,” you gasped as Satoru took a slow, calculated step towards you. Things were going too fast. You were anxious, you’d never had sex before, and you wanted to take things slowly. But all you could see was Satoru’s tall, lean frame domineering over you, and the rainy window behind him. Brilliant lightning flashed in the purple distance.

“What’s too much, darling?” Satoru asked, taking another step closer.

“I just feel like you’re going to wreck me. I’m really nervous.”

Satoru was never one to get turned on by weakness, but for some reason, your fragility and fawn-like nature worked oh so well in the bedroom.

My my, he just had so much to show you. You wouldn’t be an inexperienced virgin by the end of the night, not with his plan. He’s a teacher, after all. He wants you to figure out the way by diving right in, and figuring out your own rhythm.

Your breath hitched as Satoru pounced on you, his knees bent on the mattress, caging you in as he straddled you from above.

“I am going to wreck you darling,” Satoru breathed, as he pressed feather light kisses to your forehead. You shivered as your boyfriend kept whispering, his voice rumbling gently in the dark. “And you’ll find out what you like, what makes you feel so good. It’s time to learn fast, baby.”

i don’t know if i should finish this— i found this draft in my Google docs for my upcoming enemies to lovers, slow burn & detailed Gojo x reader fanfiction series here, // i must’ve written this when I was feeling a little something something. ♨️♨️

Comment to be on my tag list & if you want me to finish this smut!

[solarenchanting]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 ── .✦ ieiri shoko x fem!reader

because she was there too.

“you know, it’s okay to admit that you’re hurting, my love,” you murmured softly, fingers tracing small circles on her back.

shoko hummed in response. tired and relaxed, resting her head against your chest with her ear directly over where your heart was, listening to each steady beat.

it soothed the tension in her shoulders. she stayed silent, laying on top of you, nestled between your legs with her arms wrapped lazily around you.

if she were honest, you were the only person who ever saw her like this: completely at ease, putty in your hands as you ran your fingers through her long hair, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. moments like this, as rare as they were, meant everything to her.

she had only ever shown this kind of vulnerability to you twice in her life—at least, according to her.

“yaga told me that he caught you smoking,” you murmur, glancing down at her. your gaze softened at her exhausted figure. “i would have appreciated hearing it from you, you know?”

of course, shoko knew.

she’d promised herself—and to you—to leave her vices behind years ago. she knew you weren’t angry—at least, but not really. but the quiet disappointment lingered, a gentle ache that reminded her of all her past failures, harder to face than anything else.

her fingers tightened ever so slightly around your waist, a silent acknowledgement of the slip, as if she was bracing for your reaction. but you don’t say anything more, simply let your hand move through her hair with slow, comforting strokes.

“mmh,” shoko hummed softly, her voice barely a whisper as her head remained on your chest. “i know. ‘m sorry. was just… feeling nostalgic.”

a sad sigh escaped your lips, your chest rising and falling briefly. you couldn’t bring yourself to let the disappointment linger, not when you understood what she meant.

nostalgia.

that was her shorthand for the memories she rarely spoke of—memories that lingered like the smoke of her cigarettes, clinging onto her long after they were gone.

you remembered how casually she revealed everything that transpired between her and her best friends—gojō satoru and getō suguru—in the few months of your relationship.

despite knowing that you’d never fully fathom the weight of the pain she carried beneath her words, you still found yourself asking how she was processing those events.

her reaction to your question ingrained itself in your mind. it happened in a split second, yet it replays in your memory in slow motion: the widening of her eyes, the slight shift of the dark circles beneath them.

the way her fingers flexed as she held her cigarette, as though they recoiled from some unseen touch. even the gentle stream of smoke wavered, disturbed by the lapse.

the way her lips parted, as if she’d speak, before curving itself into that familiar smirk—a quick retreat back to her practised nonchalance.

it was all you needed to know.

you’d learned, almost by habit now, never to push her. instead, your hand moved in gentle, steady circles along her back, hoping she’d feel how deeply you understood without needing to say a word. she didn’t need to speak—the quiet rhythm of your touch was enough.

“it’s okay to admit that you’re hurting.”

you murmured again, breaking the silence with a quiet yet steady conviction. as though urging her to honour the depth of her pain—the years she’d carried it, hidden beneath her skin.

“because you were there too, shoko.”

a/n: my second fic?? and it's literally after a month and a day after my geto suguru one?? crazy !! but also, i'm happy i finally got to post something for once! now it's out of the google docs :) also, i apologise if the pacing feels rushed and out of place—i just wrote it on a whim !!

nonetheless, may whoever stumbles upon this piece enjoy it ! much love from me to you ! <33

[badolmen]

“I’m scared to pirate stuff - ” do it scared!*

*with Firefox and Adblock and a VPN and -

If you want a nonspecific, nonexhaustive “where do I even start” guide…

Sail the cyber seas at your own risk!

Streaming - “I want to watch xyz”

This is normally what most people want when they talk about pirating.

Use Firefox with uBlock Origin and additional privacy add-ons such as PrivacyBadger, TrackMeNot, etc.

Free VPNs are out there. Get one - but vet it’s efficacy. My go-tos are Proton VPN, or Windscribe if you plan to do a bit of torrenting.

What is torrenting? How does it work? Here’s a guide!

Back to streaming -

Make sure that a) you’ve got your Mozilla browser with all its adblocking private glory, and b) you’ve got a VPN turned on to hide what you’re doing in that browser from your ISP (internet service provider).

Now you need to actually find a site to stream from. This is the tricky part, because openly sharing these sites will get them taken down if they’re talked about widely enough. (Remember how tiktok idiots got zlibrary taken down?)

You’re going to have to talk to people on forums. You’re going to have to experiment with sites you find yourself. Search for ‘x online free’ and look at the links that come up - is the preview text mangled or clickbaitey? Are there Reddit threads about that website confirming or denying its content? A good rule of thumb is to ignore the top result or two - copycats of good streaming sites will often buy out the top result spot. Eventually, you’ll develop a good gut feeling and understanding of what a good site ‘looks like’ from the results page alone.

However, there are some places that compile good sites that haven’t been nuked by lawyers (yet) - check out r/FMHY! The masterposts are actively curated and updated when a site goes down or is found to have malicious downloads.

Remember - loose lips sink ships. No tweeting (xeeting?) or Facebook statuses about your new favorite piracy website and where you found it. Even posting to tumblr (kind of like this…) isn’t a great idea if you want those websites to stay under the radar and stay accessible. Nobody talks, everybody walks (away with their share of pirate booty)

If you aren’t downloading media, pick pretty much any site and watch away! Adblock and Firefox will keep away pop-ups and other annoying ads, and your VPN means your ISP can’t tell that you’re visiting an unofficial streaming service.

Note: In my experience, I’ve never heard of visiting a site and watching stuff on it infecting or otherwise compromising your computer. That tends to come from misclicks on invisible or overwhelming pop-up ads that redirect you to an automatic download or similarly malicious bullshit. If you’re using Firefox and uBlock, you shouldn’t be in any danger of an accidental redirect.

Downloads - “I want to keep xyz”

This is the realm of pirate archiving - you’re keeping files physically on your hard drive, an external hard drive, or burning a disk.

Adblock + Firefox browser? Check. VPN on? Check.

Go to your streaming site of choice - most if not all have download options. You can download those files or, manually, right click and save the video file from the webpage as an mp4. I honestly don’t know if there’s a difference in quality or more danger in clicking the download buttons, but regardless -

Run that puppy through VirusTotal.com! It’s a reliable browser based virus checker - if the file is too large, use a local virus checking program (your native Windows Defender on Windows computers or, I prefer, Malwarebytes)

Generally mp4 and mp3 files are clean - choose where to save them for the long term, and bam! Free forever media.

Optionally, I also upload mp4 files to a named Google document - this way I can easily share them or make them findable through a ‘xyz Google doc’ search for others :]

Torrents - “I want to keep and share xyz”

I’m not going to go into this subject in depth because, honestly, it’s not something I do regularly.

See the previously linked Torrenting guide for information on how the process works, and check out r/FMHY for recommendations and warnings about different torrenting clients (I’ve personally only used qBittorrent - I’ve heard to stay away from the Pirate Bay and Bittorrent.)

As with streaming, turn on that VPN baby! You’re going to need one that supports peer-to-peer (p2p) connections, so Proton’s free version is a no-go. Windscribe is what I’ve used for torrenting (and it’s a good free VPN on its own - I’m just partial to Proton). You get 10GB every month on Windscribe’s free version, which is more than enough for a few movies/a season or two of your favorite show.

(Bigger torrents like video games are easily 30+ GB, so be prepared to either pay for a no-limit premium account or spend a few months downloading your files in chunks.)

VPN on? Double check.

Boot up your torrenting client - I use a slightly out of date version of qBittorent, but there are other options. The Reddit thread and previously linked torrenting guide have a few dos and donts of selecting a client, so be thorough before you download your client of choice.

This is getting into the logistics of torrenting a bit, so forgive me if this is vague or incorrect, but now you need a torrent seed. These will be .tor files found through pirating websites or archives - these are rarely malicious, but it’s good to run any piracy related download through something like VirusTotal.com or scan it with a local program like Malwarebytes.

You open your seed file in your client and wait. A ‘healthy’ seed tends to have lots of seeders and few leeches, but sometimes you’re stuck with an obscure seed you just have to wait for.

Your torrented files have fully downloaded! Now what? a) keep your client open and seed those files for others as long as you want to - sharing is caring! and b) run those files through a security program like Malwarebytes (not sponsored it’s just the only program I’m familiar with).

Be wary of what gets flagged - sometimes the files seem important, but are just trojans, and likewise sometimes they seem malicious, but are just cracked software getting flagged by your system. It’s good to check and see if others have had a problem with this particular torrent before - Reddit threads from 2008 are your long dead friends.

And that’s about it. Feel free to correct me if anything I’ve recommended is malicious or outright wrong. I’ve been doing this for years and haven’t had an active problem to my knowledge, so if there is something fishy with how I do things, I am a statistical outlier and should not be counted.

I wish you smooth sailing and strong winds in your ventures me hearties!

Obligatory ‘don’t pirate small author’s or artist’s works what the fuck dude’ statement.

[voonroo]

Twisted Wonderland Mafia AU Introduction

⌐‣TWST MAFIA AU

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This could 100% be expanded on if I actually ever get back into TWST. I'm working on clearing out some old works deep in the depths of my Google Docs and Notes app because I feel kinda bad for disappearing suddenly😋 This is actually from late 2022... Thanks to @justcallmecj for encouraging me to post this again.

The Night Raven District is a district full of criminal groups who will do anything to keep their city to themselves.

There’s the RSA District, which has, for years, been trying to reclaim property from the Night Raven District. No one knows what RSA stands for. However, it is thought to stand for the phrase Recover, Seize, Adjust, as it is the group's job to salvage stolen districts and cities from the unruly.

The Mafia Groups

Heartslabyul

A group of gamblers whose intent is to teach others self-restraint. Most often you will find anyone apart of Heartslabyul at night, or in a casino. There is always a member of Heartslabyul in the city's most popular places for a quick gamble.

A considerably notable pattern to identify one of these members is if they have the symbol of a heart, spade, diamond, or clover painted under or on the eye. The explanation for why it’s so easy to find them is that they don't hide, they aren’t doing anything illegal so they see no need to. Or at least the majority of them. It is effortless to become a part of this clique if you can withstand the harsh rules that come with it.

Savanaclaw

This pack is full of fighters. Svanaclaw does the most around the city pertaining to almost anything physical. Is someone getting a little too close to the district? They’re the first to do something about it. Most will jump at any opportunity to turn something into a challenge.

Numerous people in the group have fought for something or someone. Most likely being unsuccessful, but don’t speak of it. Or else you might be on the news the next morning, for these people aren’t known for their steady temper. To be a part of this club, you have to be physically strong and have vigorous will.

Octavinelle

Largely Octavinelle members are by the coast dealing with outsiders who don’t know any better. Those that aren’t? They oversee a lot of legal issues. Such as digging up dirt on others and using it for their own advantage. They're good with their words, many of which can get just about anyone under their thumb.

The captain of Octavinelle owns a pub near the docks. Though, he is pretty well known to be your typical everyday businessman. These people aren’t always the strongest, nonetheless, don’t get too comfortable. You never know when they’ll make you walk the plank and feed you to the sharks.

Scarabia

This party is one of the lesser-known groups. They are often found in the city shops during the day. You wouldn’t be any the wiser. Because the group is the smallest compared to the others, it’s hard to identify hardly anybody that’s part of the Scarabian folk. They’re onlookers.

It’s said they “help” the other mobs with some inside information. No one knows where they get said information, it is said that there is a particular person that can with just a few words. The leader of the Scarabia team is very in-depth with the local trades, they're able to get anything for a good price.

Pomefiore

Another community that isn’t well known. It’s difficult to get into the prestigious group of Pomefiore. You must be hand-picked by the crown of this cluster. This group is the most out and about in public. You secretly see the members every day.

Evidently, they are remarkably nice to look at and often speak with higher-ups. The director of this group is never seen without other group members especially if they’re ones that he himself, needs to whip into shape. They’re also good at covering their tracks and hunting others down.

Ignihyde

Ignihyde is the least-known group out of the big seven. These people work behind the scenes, in the backgrounds. Either covering up news stories or scrolling the dark web for more stockpiles. It is said that the supervisor of Ignihyde was the cause of a nasty computer virus, putting thousands of electronics out of service.

There is still no known fix to this virus. Or maybe there is, you just have to pay a hefty price. Only those of the best technicians or engineers are even considered to be given a role in this organization.

Diasomania

The most powerful body of the Night Raven District. You’d have to really fuck up to catch even a glimpse of someone from this group.

The boss of this body is fairly notorious. This troop has the strongest defense against just roughly anyone. If there’s ever a fight with Diasomnia in it, they will come out on top. For years this group has kept RSA at bay. No recent members have entered Diasomnia for years, the only way to get in is to have caught the eyes of a certain individual.

Word Count: 803

[inthebeginning-rebellion]

Anyway my google docs are a mess right now but this I liked and this I will share.

Fade Birth

feat. she/her Rook and a romanced Emmrich.

-=-=-

He’d lived so much longer than he anticipated.

Fifty-two had seemed ancient, the decade and change gap between himself and Rook a yawning, gaping chasm of guilt and fear. By sixty-two, the fear had waned, and the grey speckling Rook’s hair and the way she complained about her knees bridged the gap most humorously. Seventy-two had come along compliantly enough, and had been spent consoling his beloved at her finally having to hang up the massive warhammer she simply could not swing the way she once could. Sword and shield, she groused, did not have the same ‘oomph’. The cane came around eighty-two, and he found he did not mind it so much as he may have once feared, especially when Rook gifted him an elegant bone and bronze one, carved with flowers and a skull atop the handle.

‘You look very distinguished. And you can hit people with it.’

He was still giving lectures and traveling back and forth from the Lighthouse and the Necropolis at ninety-two, his bibliography tripled from now almost forty years of partly residing in the Fade. Many conversations with spirits, the dead, and study of the Fade itself had left him with a variety of theories on longevity as a cause, and he began to wonder when, precisely, he would pass. He was still sharp of mind and wit, if more tired and inclined to sit than he had once been. He could not do nearly half the things he had once done while traveling with their companions on a quest to stop the gods, but his plants flourished and his career was storied. Manfred had begun attending his own adventures- never quite the linguist, he had become remarkably adept at magic in a way no wisp he had ever heard of had. He was a being of great depths, read voraciously, and had assisted in his own world-saving venture some decades ago that left Emmrich and Rook speechless and stunned. A wisp of curiosity, a man grown.

Each night, he had a cup of tea and Rook’s hand in his while they watched the mysterious depths of the Fade pass them by at the Lighthouse.

Glorious tranquility, eternity laid out before him.

At one-hundred and two, as per his request, Rook entombed him in the center of his study at the Lighthouse. A carved stone garden and gilded placard, his skull resting on a pedestal in the shape of an open book. He’d long wondered where he should put himself, if he should be put to rest with his parents, but as Rook had once said to him… Stories were about change. And so he was interred at home, where students could seek him out if they so wished.

She was struggling in her own advanced age, decades of hard combat and abuse to the body. Still, she often took his skull in her arms and climbed the staircase to sit on the balcony with him, to watch the Fade as he’d so loved to do. She talked to him, sat with him and conversed with Manfred.

He could not say, but he heard it all. Some spark of the man beating within the bones. Sometimes Manfred looked at him so intently that he thought for certain there must still be something there. Interesting, to have that thought. Obviously, there must be a remnant that Manfred could see, since that remnant could think enough that it might be there.

And so there was.

Rook died not too long after he did, a year or so later, sitting on the balcony with his bones and two cold cups of tea, one half sipped.

Quite suddenly, as the love fractured within that beating spark, he was standing there with his own skull. He felt old and young all at once, lines of life and death stretching out in eddies and waves out the window and all around him.

Not without her. Never without her.

Emmrich reached down and grasped her hand, and he pulled the way he had pulled decades ago to pull her from the Fade prison. Whatever energy he had grown here latched onto the dying embers of her own and empowered them, infused them, blew them into a roaring inferno as he dragged Rook out of her corpse and into his arms.

Glorious, to swing her around once again. Laughter bubbled into weeping into euphoria.

They stood before their own remains, luminous and starry-eyed.

“Emmrich…?”

“Darling.”

“Where… how are we-?”

“Oh my dearest, let’s not think too hard on it.”

She glittered with laughter, lines smoothed away by whatever soul tether the Fade had seen fit to gift them. He wondered if he looked younger than when they had met, or if, perhaps, they were seeing each other the way they held each other in their minds. In their souls? Perhaps the Fade, living here, had simply allowed them to imprint onto their remains in a method that went beyond what transpired at the Necropolis. This was not demonic and it was not a haunting, it was light and simplicity.

“Well… we can think on it later. I admit I have theories.”

“Oh my love, of course you do.”

From below there was a rattling scramble, boots on wood, and the guttural rasping cry of Manfred.

"Knew it!! Saw you!! Missed you!"

[justacasualidiot]

guess who found an old unfinished sidlink oneshot and went on a writing spree to finish it

so i found this one in the depths of my google docs and got inspired. and i wrote like 1k in around a week.

the writing style is definitely different because of how old it is

summary:

Link arrived at Zora’s domain and finds it covered in sludge. He talks to a green Zora and learns that his boyfriend is engaged now.

They talk.

[gingerpeachtea]

TRICK OR TREAT!!!! 🔫🔫

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEN have a snippet of a post-canon mikecharlie fic i found in the depths of discord two nights ago and decided to finally put on a google doc:

She opened his bathroom door. Froze when their eyes meet in the mirror. And laughed—shocked and open and loud. Mike covered her mouth with his hand and his head swerved around to look in panic over his shoulder, praying that there wasn’t anyone in the hallway to hear her and come asking questions. She was still laughing when she pushed his hand away and asked, “What did you do?” Mike pulled the door shut, and sheepishly said, “…I cut my hair.”

it gets sad before AND after this <3 i can't write fluff they HAVE to be miserable <3

[moonshynecybin]

Can't decide on a specific scene but i'll take anything you have to say about i'll meet judgement by the hounds bc at this point i have re-read it so many times ...

the thing about ill meet judgement by the hounds is that literally no concrete planning went into writing that thing. i was up against a deadline for a grad school assignment i was procrastinating like NOBODY'S BUSINESS had two panic attacks that week (unrelated to school!!) and then flew to bath with my roommate spur of the moment. posted that ch2 late at night zooted on my anxiety meds and and woke up to some LOVELY messages that i read on a bus when i was pulling away from the airport. insane experience. i didnt even want to give it a chapter two right away i was like IM BUSY. and then i wrote it immediately.

BUT to actually talk about the fic. like you asked <3. i actually had this idea that i wanted to follow marc's pov (at that point i had only written vale) and get inside his insane headspace leading up to his arm surgery and then be like. wouldnt it be crazy if vale was there and wanted to reconcile a bit but he was also kind of avoiding SAYING THAT. wouldnt that make marc feel EVEN CRAZIER. marc marquez saw trap simulator. inside you there are two wounds one is valentino rossi and the other is your fucked up arm. anddddd 2022 seemed like the ideal place for a rosquez reunion to me! like. dramaturgically. marc is on the brink. vale has just retired (easy to get a reason for him to have an epiphany regarding marc, made even easier bc marc pov means i never have to explain it in depth !)

and the thing about this fic is that it was supposed to be. A LOT longer. go race by race until his surgery and have them talk a lot more. change a little more gradually. but uh. ive already said my life was insane at that time and i got excited and fucking SENT that badboy. (again. i was lightly tranquilized.) which i think MOSTLY makes it better but the pacing is still little wacky. anyways i do think of the scene i cut where marc talks to alex all the time but i think i also fully deleted it! dont write fic under the influence! i also cut a BIG scene of them at the french GP where vale brings marc a sandwich and makes him eat it. it should also be noted that i was doing SO much journalism research about this period and i found a bunch of WILD quotes from marc that i compiled into a small insane vision board of them to ground my fic in his crazy way of conceptualizing his life. that i apparently also deleted while zen-ed out. so

more stupid behind the scenes under the cut

actual plot summary (my "outline") that i wrote out at the top of my google doc complete with typo:

Thinking about how absolutely distressing it would be for Marc pre surgery or right after if Vale tried to reconcile. Early 2022 before surgery decision and post Vale retirement

Scenes of Vale like. earnestl y talking to him. Marc represses a panic attack every time. race by race?

and here's what i had written for aragon, which is full of lines i just thought of with NO context or structure like this part would NOT take off the ground. you might notice some of them get repurposed later in the fic:

III. French GP, 2022. P6.

Marc’s still not out of the habit of reaching for him, apparently. He looks— God. Marc’s head hurts just looking at him. He could swear he has defenses from this, from how Marc can feel where he is in every room they’re in together. He guesses somewhere in the last few weeks he’s lost them, again. Just another thing he used to be good at.

despite everything, Marc can feel himself relax, with Vale here. The warm heat of him sharing space. He used to feel like this all the time. Vale to his left. His arm, casual and pain free, on his right. Now he's scarred all the way down both sides.

He remembers when he was a kid and he met Vale. How he had winked at Marc and said, I'll look out for you, cradling the toy car that Marc had brought specifically to give to him in his hands. How Marc had turned it over in his brain for years. I'll look out for you.

Marc bargains with himself

Marc does stupid, stupid things when Vale is in his life. He knows this. Going to the ranch is a bad idea. the press alone, if anyone finds out, would feed the paddock journos for years. It would be stupid— risky

Someone needs to tell him not to race. calm him down. Usually, it’s Álex. 

MORE OUTLINE: Vale brings him a sandwich and Marc wants to cry, terrible race. They watch a movie its very Valentino voice lemme take care of you !!! but no talking about their past lmao. maybe arm

Genuinely terrible race. That one stat about alwasy finishing top 5 or crashing. Vale like actually gets him to talk about his arm which gets no where fast (guest alex?) and riding misery begins to reach a tipping point

[lapsusophobia]

Lighting in a bottle

Status: scrapped/unfinished (possibly forever)

TW: Implied/Referenced Character Death/Suicide

Pair(s): Implied/Referenced Raoulstine (altho I wouldn’t really count it)

Note: what better way to celebrate my comeback than by posting an unfinished piece of POTO one shot which has been laying in my Google Docs for two months and a half now?

loosely inspired by this scene from Final Lair from the Romanian 2023 production (I will never shut up about how much I love the Romania production)

one day, hopefully, I’ll find the inspiration to write a more in depth piece surrounding this scene and maybe even a full fic based on this production. anyways, enjoy. xx

“I want you to be my one and only. . .” Eurydice sang as tears began to form in the corners of her stormy gray eyes, but pressed them shut as she stepped back to the gates of Inferno, almost as if she didn’t want him to see those salty crystals of sorrow dancing in her gaze. He felt his heart cracking when the metallic sound of the gates closing made it to his ears, biting his tongue so he wouldn't scream in agony. Or talk at all, because if he did he wasn’t sure he would have achieved anything good.

“Tell me where you wish to go, and I will follow you. . . ” already up a few good stairs, Orpheus offered his hand to his beloved one, ready to take his loved one home.

Then the gates shut closed, yet unlocked, and like a prisoner he found himself crawling to the bars, only to catch the most horrendous view his damned eyes had ever laid on.

Eurydice took her lover’s hand, her cheeks red and swollen with tears.

“Let us share a day, a year, a lifetime. . .” Eurydice ended their duet in a woeful manner, her voice trembling as she embraced Orpheus and they climbed back into the Living World together.

Orpheus triumphed. He saved his adored Eurydice from the Underworld. They were going to spend the rest of their lives in bliss and joy, bathed in each other’s love forevermore.

And he would rot in these damned cellars for the rest of his miserable existence.

‘Come back to me.’ he wanted to say. ‘Come back to me and I promise I will be good. I will cherish and adore you like my most valuable possession. I will swallow you in the most ethereal tunes possible by daylight, and at night I will sing you to sleep. I will love you, but I will try to do it good this time: I will try to love you like a man, I will try to love you as he does! I will love you better than him! I will do anything! I will get you everything your golden heart desires and lay them at your feet! I will wipe away those poisonous tears that had dared sheed across your beautiful cheeks! I will make you happy! I will. . .’

I will love. I will set your wings free. I will mold myself into a man for you. But not a single I should’ve done better. I should’ve been better. I should’ve listened. . .

He rose from the ground, knees shaking, his own eyes trembling and glassy as he held back his own tears. Then he gazed at the rope only feet away from him, hanging in the middle of the cellar. Tied in a perfect, round loop, tight enough to steal one’s breath and never give it back. It was a merciful way to take one’s life, he thought. It spared the man of the cold blade of a knife, the painful kiss of a bullet at the temple of the head. It was a human death, something which was not granted anymore, not even to the less guilty ones. Nowadays even being born was considered a crime if your eyes or hair color or lips weren’t of the liking of your own parents. Or if your face was the result of all human catastrophes put together, no matter how full of love your very heart was.

No pain. Only for a moment, and then it would pass, fade away into the abyss of the unknown and drag his soul along with it. His fists wouldn’t clench anymore, his brows wouldn’t frown anymore in anger and envy and hatred would finally stop pumping life into his miserable heart.

He would finally be pure.

‘. . . I will even cease to exist for your own peace .’

[hidingbehindmishacollins]

i know we’re all going through ao3 withdrawals so here is the slightly unedited version of my newest fic “all i need is on the other side of the door” from the depths of my google docs. it’s got all the fixings’ (and by that i mean fluffy destiel where freckles are angel kisses and bonus dean and charlie being besties content)

find me over on ao3 at sleep_deprived when the site returns from war <3

all i need is on the other side of the door

It was just a milk run.

That’s how it started, anyway.

A quick hunt a few hours out of Lebanon. Kill some vamps, save some kids. Dean could do it in his sleep. The nest had been easy enough to track down. Nestled in an abandoned neighborhood on the edge of town, the old house perfectly fit the bill. As a result of Sam’s insistence that Dean was the best out of all of them with kids, Dean is on his own searching for hostages while Sam is off somewhere else in the house looking for the vamps. Cas went with Sam for backup in case there were more vamps than anticipated. Not to say that Sam was incapable, because every creature alive AND dead knew he was. It was just nice to know your friend with the ability to smite anything in the blink of an eye had your back. Although Dean misses having the angel at his flank, he’s glad Cas has gone with Sam for that specific reason.

Dean cringes and curses under his breath as a floorboard creaks, exposing his presence. He quickly scans the room and locks eyes with a little girl peeking out from behind the door to the basement. The kid’s eyes go wide and before she can make a run for it, Dean throws his hands up and lets the machete he has been clutching in his right hand fall to the ground. So much for the element of surprise.

“I’m here to help, kid. Are you by yourself?” he asks, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. The girl continues to stare at him for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head and glancing back down the stairs behind her.

“Are the others down there?” he tries again, but instead of being met with an answer, the girl turns and hurries back down into the darkness. Dean sighs and pulls his phone out to text Sam as he follows her to the basement.

I think I found the kids. Meet you out front when you’re done

The stairwell is narrow and smells of old blood and death, which only makes Dean move faster. How long have these kids been trapped down here? How many have already died? He isn’t sure he wants the answer.

Once Dean finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, he tries to assess his surroundings in what little light is being provided by his flashlight. The room, however, appears to be empty, and suddenly Dean has a very bad feeling that he has just fallen into some kind of trap.

“Kid?” he calls out. His hand flies to his hip on instinct when he is met with more silence. Even though he had replaced his gun with a syringe of dead man’s blood last night, he still feels unsteady. The buzz of a phone call in his back pocket startles him and he immediately pulls it out with the hope of Sam delivering good news.

“Sammy?”

“Did you find the kids?”

“Why?”

“Dean, we were way off. The kids are not the hostages. Where are you?”

“What?” Dean chokes out, going completely still.

“It’s the adults. The kids were using them as a cover up. Where are you?”

“The basement. Sam,” Dean pauses, grip tightening on the syringe. “I don’t even have my machete.”

“What?!” Sam barks. His voice comes out in a huff of breath, suggesting that he’s running. Dean can faintly make out Cas saying something in the background. “Okay, you need to get out of there now! We’re on our way!”

Dean finally moves, spinning around with the intent to run back up the stairs, which would’ve been a great escape plan if said stairs weren’t currently being blocked by the little girl, because of course. Of course they were. He swings the flashlight around in an attempt to find any other way out only to find himself face to face with around fifteen adolescent vampires.

“Fuck!” Dean curses into the speaker before the phone falls to the ground. It dawns on him that this rescue mission is about to turn into an ambush, and he sucks in a breath as the vamps all rush him at once. Dean manages to stick one with the syringe, but his empty hands can only get him so far against the rest. The last thing he hears is Sam calling out his name on the speaker before he is violently thrown and his head connects with the concrete wall.

***

Dean eventually regains consciousness only to immediately groan in pain. The pain means he’s alive, at least. That’s a start.

“Dean?” comes a familiar voice, and all the fight leaves Dean’s body. Cas is here now, which means he must be safe. The burning smell that lingers in the air after he goes all smite-y meets Dean’s nose and comforts him further. It’s short lived, however, as another bout of pain wracks his body. Something is definitely broken. Or multiple things. Probably the latter, because that would just be Dean’s luck. Dean groans again and fights to open his eyes. They’re swollen shut, though, and he wonders just what had happened while he was unconscious to cause that.

“Dean,” Cas calls out again, much closer this time. “Both of your legs are broken. One of us has to carry you out of here.”

“You,” Dean barely chokes out, too out of it to care about what he is saying.

“What?” Cas sputters, seemingly taken aback by this response.

“Want you to do it,” he says, and Cas says nothing. Dean almost speaks again, but swallows whatever he was going to say when he feels arms hesitantly move underneath his back and knees. Cas is gonna carry me out bridal style, he finds himself thinking. Before he can even explore the meaning behind that thought, though, Cas begins to move him and the pressure on his legs is agony.

“I know, Dean. I am so sorry,” Cas says, his voice coming out strained. Dean must’ve made some sort of noise again. “I am so sorry I wasn’t here.” Dean wants to tell him to stop apologizing, but his mind becomes distracted again as the trip up the stairs jostles his whole body into more pain. “I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas sounds like a broken record, but his string of apologies is followed by the welcome feeling of grace seeping into Dean’s skin at every point of contact between them. The feeling is intoxicating as it slowly flows through each injury and mends every broken bone, patch of skin, and blood vessel it can reach. By the time Dean feels the breeze on his face, alerting him that they have made it outside, the bottom half of his body is nearly healed. His head, however, is still throbbing and he is faintly aware of the blood dripping down the back of his neck.

“My head,” he croaks, turning to tuck himself further into Cas.

“I know, Dean. My grace is working first in the places where I am touching you. I cannot help your head without dropping you.” He sounds defeated and almost like he has been crying, which is silly. Angels don’t cry, do they?

“Cas,” Dean says anyway, because he cannot seem to manage anything else. He isn’t even sure what exactly he is asking for. “Please.” At first, Dean gets no answer. As the seconds tick by, he loses faith in ever getting one.

That is, until he feels lips press gently against his forehead.

The relief is almost instant, and Dean cannot help but let out a contented sigh. The grace ebbs and flows underneath his skin, and he wonders if this is what salvation feels like. He is so overwhelmed by the feeling that he neglects to process how exactly he received the relief. Just as he hears Sam open the door to the Impala, Dean passes out again.

***

Dean woke up the next morning tucked into his bed at the bunker and immediately started to panic. Did that really happen? Had Cas really done that? Did it mean anything? Ultimately, his spiral was squashed by Sam coming in to check on him, delivering the news that Cas had left to take care of something, and Dean, in true Dean fashion, sufficed to reduce the moment down to one bore of desperation to help a friend and nothing more.

He had himself convinced that he was satisfied with this deduction right up until Charlie came to visit a week later. They had been in the middle of an episode of The Lord of the Rings (Charlie’s pick) when Dean noticed her looking at him funny. She was staring at the same spot on his forehead that he had caught Sam looking at a few times the past few days, though less subtly. Dean pickes up the remote and hits pause, which causes Charlie to suddenly look anywhere but his face.

“What is it?” he asks, hesitation lacing his voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says rather quickly, making Dean huff.

“Charlie.”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“It’s clearly something.”

“Okay, let me rephrase: I don’t think it is something you want to hear,” she answers slowly, moving to meet his eyes. Dean sees question and something else he can’t quite place there, and the soft spot he has for her subdues all hesitancy.

“Just tell me anyway. I know you want to,” he sighs, moving the popcorn bowl to the floor so he can turn to fully face her. She studies his face for a moment before a slow smile creeps up on her own and she moves to mirror him.

“Okay, well…you asked for it. Remember that.”

“Got it,” Dean says flatly, and Charlie has the audacity to laugh at him.

“Okay, I just noticed that you seem to have more freckles than you normally do? Which would usually be a pretty odd and obscure thing to notice, but there’s so many new freckles that I do. Right,” she starts, poking him in the middle of his forehead. “Here. There’s a new cluster.”

“Okay?” Dean replies, more confused than anything now. Why would he not want to hear this? It’s weird, but he isn’t upset by it. “Anything else?”

“Have you ever heard freckles be referred to as angel kisses?” she asks, her grin becoming impossibly larger. Dean just stares at her. “Because many people believe that freckles are where you have been kissed by an angel. So, naturally, I am just curious…”

“Charlie…,” Dean starts, but he isn’t even sure what he wants to say. She ignores him.

“Did you and Cas finally pull your heads out of your asses?” Dean cannot believe what he is hearing. Well, it’s coming from Charlie, so he can, but he still isn’t ready for it.

“I, uh,” he tries. Her eyes seem to light up even more, and he fears he has made it worse.

“No,” he says, and Charlie’s face falls ever so slightly. She manages an “oh”, and Dean rushes to tell her the full story.

“I mean, Cas did, uh, kiss me there. But it was to heal me. He was carrying me and couldn’t reach my head,” he explains. Charlie looks at him curiously and he feels his stomach flip as a mischievous look takes hold in her eyes again.

“Just to heal you?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes? Why else would he?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“God, you are such an idiot. Do you realize that?”

Dean throws his hands in the air out of frustration, but before he can question her about whatever she’s talking about further, he hears the door to the bunker open. Sam is back. Charlie notices too, causing her to squeeze his knee and stand up to go greet his little brother.

“Look, lover boy. Just think about it. And I am begging you,” she says, reaching out to touch his forehead again. “Go look in the mirror.” She giggles as she walks away, and Dean feels left in the dark. He understands what Charlie is insinuating. What he doesn’t understand is how she could possibly think that Cas feels the same way about him that Dean feels about Cas. Cas didn’t love him. Why would he?

Despite these thoughts, Dean still finds himself in front of a mirror fifteen minutes later. Now that he’s looking for it, he does notice the difference. Right where Cas had placed his lips a week prior, a new cluster of freckles had accumulated. He tries to trace a pattern with his eyes, but it just makes his head hurt after a while. This just has to be some crazy coincidence. Right? Cas has kissed other people before. Dean is well aware. He witnessed the whole Meg scene and feels guilty for how sick it had made him feel with jealously. The point is, of all the people Cas has kissed, Dean has never noticed any new freckles. Not on Meg and CERTAINLY not on April. So why him? Is it something Cas has control over? Or something Dean is overthinking that means nothing at all?

Dean eventually manages to tear himself away from the mirror, but the idea haunts him for days. The thought keeps him up at night, and thankfully Sam has the grace to not bring it up.

He caves after the fifth day.

“Dean?” he starts, and the cautious tone in his voice immediately puts Dean on edge. He freezes beside the fridge and suddenly feels cornered within the kitchen.

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine, Sammy.”

“Dean,” he says insistently. Dean doesn’t have the patience for this conversation.

“What, Sam? What?!”

“I know you haven’t been sleeping very well. Is something going on with you?” Dean huffs a dry laugh.

“Nothing you could help me with, believe me.” Sam looks hurts, and Dean regrets the way he phrased that sentence. “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t worry about me, dude.”

“Dean-”

“I’ll be in my room,” Dean says, cutting him off. He grabs a beer on his way out and ignores his brother’s protests. When he reaches his bedroom, he slams the door shut behind him and lands rather ungracefully on his memory foam mattress. As if his distress could be sensed, he pulls his phone out to be greeted by a text from Charlie.

Sam told me you aren’t sleeping. Does it have anything to do with what we talked about?

Dean laughs bitterly. Of course Sam told her.

Why would you put that into my head?

He almost immediately regrets saying that once he hits send. He can see that she read it already, though, so there is no taking it back.

Oh Dean

Why don’t you just talk to him?

How am I supposed to talk to him about that?

With your words?

Not funny

Come on

It was a little funny

Not laughing

Okay old man

Anyway

It’s Cas, dude. Nothing you say to him is gonna

make him go a-wall on you

He isn’t even at the bunker right now

He hasn’t been here since that hunt

Interesting

Very interesting

Why would that be interesting?

He disappears like this all the time

You’re very stupid

And dense

It’s almost endearing

You are not helping at all

Oh really?

You want my kind of help?

I can play that game

Wait Charlie

What do you mean by that

Charlie

Charlie never answers him, and Dean throws his phone down with a grumble. He feels like a stupid teenager again and it’s miserable. All over what? Some stupid theory? He wants to throw up. He nurses his beer and feels like a pathetic mess. The minutes pass slow, and he has no idea what to think. He loves Charlie, but he doesn’t trust her. Not when it comes to stuff like this. He knows better than that. Dean moves to take another swig, but the familiar sound of feathers rustling makes him choke on it.

Dammit, Charlie!

“Dean?” Cas questions from the other side of the door, and Dean’s resolve crumbles.

“Come in, Cas,” he sighs, but it sounds broken. What is wrong with him? The angel reluctantly opens the door and appears nervous as he shuts it behind him.

“Charlie said you, um,” he pauses, and Dean notices that he’s wringing his hands. Such a human habit. “She said you wanted to talk to me.”

“So, what? You just dropped everything to come and see me?” Dean bites out. It sounds like an accusation. He supposes it is. “I thought you were too busy with angel business to come home.” Dean hadn’t realized how hurt he has been by Cas being gone for this long until now. In comparison to how long he’d been gone before, it really shouldn’t have mattered. Something had changed, though, and Dean had missed him worse than usual.

“I was trying to give you space,” Cas blurts out. His eyes fall to the floor and Dean stares at him in confusion.

“Why?”

“I had a feeling you would feel uncomfortable when you woke up regarding the way I healed your head and couldn’t bare to deal with the fallout. So I gave you space. Apparently, according to Charlie, my suspicions were correct.” Dean is having trouble processing this all. Couldn’t bare to deal with the fallout? What does that mean?

“What exactly did Charlie tell you?” Cas still refuses to meet his eyes and he hesitates before answering.

“That you have been freaking out over the freckles my healing left behind and their implications. I am sorry you have lost sleep over this.” He sounds ashamed. Dean is still confused.

“So that was you? They’re from you?”

“Yes, Dean. I apologize. I usually am able to avoid leaving a claim like that, but sometimes when I am feeling overly affectionate I lose control. I can remove them for you now.”

“No!” Dean yells immediately. Cas finally looks up at him, and this time he is the one confused. He squints and gives Dean his signature head tilt, which almost causes the hunter to fold right there. “No, Cas. We’re gonna come back to that thing about leaving a claim later, but I, uh, I like them. Yeah.”

“You do?” Cas asks, and this time Dean swears he seems hopeful.

“I do. I, uh…” Oh god. What is he doing? “Can I have more?”

“What?” Disbelief this time. Not rejection, though. Dean can work with that.

“Can I have more?”

“Dean,” Cas pleads. This time his voice is strained. It does something to Dean’s insides. “Do you understand what you’re asking me? I need to know you understand, because…”

“Because what?” Cas looks like he’s about to cry. Dean moves forward and doesn’t stop until he’s close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Because I need to know this means the same thing to you as it does to me. I don’t think I can do this if it doesn’t.” Dean reaches out and grips Cas’ shoulder, staring at his hand sitting in the same place his own body had been gripped tight and raised him from perdition.

“What does it mean to you?”

“Dean…”

“Cas.”

“I fear you will not want me around anymore if I tell you.” Dean moves both hands to lapels of his coat and pulls him close enough for their lips to brush on his next words.

“Wanna bet, angel?” And then, finally, Dean crashes their lips together. Cas lets out a sound of surprise, and Dean, honest to god, laughs into his mouth. He stops, though, when Cas starts to kiss him back.

Kissing Cas is unlike anything Dean has ever done with anyone else. He’s never had a kiss mean this much, and suddenly he’s crying. Cas’ hands are on his face, cradling him and wiping away the tears, and Dean thinks that this is what Heaven is supposed to feel like. Screw the other angels and screw God. This was Heaven. After what seems like forever, Cas pulls away and stares at Dean in astonishment. His lips are swollen, and Dean blissfully thinks I did that.

“I love you,” Dean admits. It surprises him how easy it is to say it. He watches as Cas’ eyes crinkle at the edges, filling with their own tears. I guess angels do cry.

“I love you too, Dean. So very much. You taught me how to.” The angel is smiling the biggest Dean has ever seen him, and Dean has never felt happier. He dives back in to feel that smile on his own lips, which is only met with eager enthusiasm on Cas’ part.

They spend their night like that, making out lazily in bed and riding the high that comes with finally admitting your feelings for each other after years of pent-up regression. Cas is laying in bed, curled into Dean with his eyes closed, when Charlie attempts to call him. Dean sends her to voicemail and almost instantly receives a text.

What? Too busy to give me an update?

I don’t want to disturb him

He looks peaceful

HA

OH MY GOD

I’M FUCKING AWESOME

You are

You’re welcome

I love you

I know

I take it back Han Solo

Only I can do that

I love you too

Dork

I want details tomorrow <3

***

At around three in the morning, Dean reluctantly untangles himself from the sleeping angel to take a piss. He’d been under the impression that angels didn’t sleep, but Dean wasn’t about to question it. It was Cas, the angel “cursed” with humanity. Of course he could sleep if he wanted to.

With a smile, Dean quietly pads down the hallway to the bathroom. He flicks the light on but stops short once he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Reflected back at him are new freckles around his lips and down his neck, charting constellations on his skin that he doesn’t recognize. Cas probably does. Dean grins even larger and laughs. He isn’t used to getting nice things, let alone getting to keep them.

What a wonderful feeling it is to love and be loved in return.

[wwillywonka]

1, 6 + 7 !!!!!!

hiii thank you so much for the ask! link to the ask game here. also, for context if anyone doesn’t know, my special interest is willy wonka/charlie and the chocolate factory, though you can probably tell from my url lol.

going to answer these two together because i think it makes more sense!

What first got you into your special interest? & 6. How long have you had this special interest?

okay so this is always hard for me to answer exactly because i've always loved willy wonka and catcf. i literally can't remember a time when the story didn't matter to me. i read the books when i was little, and i used to watch the gene wilder movie over and over as a kid (j have it on laserdisc lol, my family is very into physical media). i really could not tell you how old i was the first time i saw it. also, i have a very distinct memory of being very young and walking into the living room to see my dad watching catcf 2005, specifically the scene right after the shoe-shining conversation where willy bumps into the glass elevator and goes, "i gotta be more careful where i park this thing teehee<3.” i was 4 years old in 2005 so i really can't say if it was actually that year, but i don't think it was too long after the film's release (though i don't think my dad would have gotten it from the library/blockbuster. he's a huge film buff but has always hated burton's work, and he was probably just watching it because he caught it on cable).

anyway, all that being said, i became interested in burton's work back in 2013/2014 when i was first entering fandom spaces as a preteen, and i remember seeing a lot gifsets, fanart, etc. of various burton films (as was very common for the twilight years of emo culture during the early 2010s). my family has had our nightmare before christmas vhs since the movie came out, and it was another i watched on repeat as a child, so me getting into burton in general wasn’t that far of a stretch. i watched and rewatched all of his main films during the halloween season of 2014, and for some reason, the two i latched onto were catcf 2005 and alice 2010. (also i saw alice in theatres when it first came out and i remember enjoying it because alice 1951 was another film in the regular rotation during my childhood). looking back now, i genuinely think it was because i was first discovering my queerness, and 2005 wonka is just the Epitome of gender fuckery and general offbeat-ness. he's queer in every sense of the term, and i found myself relating to him, especially, too, because of his relationship with his father. because, well… things.

fast forward to 2020 when things were obviously Bad. let's just say i was pretty lonely and discovered a little thing called self-shipping. though i didn’t really participate, it became something i entertained myself with in the privacy of my thoughts and various google docs. i found myself fascinated by the f/o community and, along with my budding interest in studying fandom from an academic angle, i delved into this world of self-inserts, y/n, and canon character x reader fics. i know, to some, that culture is considered “cringey” or what have you, but i think the art that comes from those communities can be very beautiful and heart-warming — not to mention that it’s a far better and healthier coping mechanism than some, ah, more socially acceptable ones. anyway, i then created my character ross able (who i reference often on here but haven’t really explained in depth. there’s not much to say other than he’s me if i was a 200 yr old british man with a world-famous chocolatier for a wife). i listened to and watched bootlegs of the musical, then, i bought my own copies of the dahl books and annotated them. and i started writing heaven on their minds. AND THEN THE PREQUEL WAS ANNOUNCED, and i became even more dedicated to creating my own version of the story. and now we’re here.

(this also lead to me being generally interested in dahl’s work, too, which led to my interest in wes anderson, which led to my interest in bong joon-ho and on and on and on. not to mention being into burton’s work led me to oingo boingo and danny elfman, whom i’ve seen in concert three times, and to my general interest in film music, music theory, and their intersection with psychology and emotional development. it’s all connected.)

it was also around this time, around summer 2021, that, after lots of research and discussion with therapists, etc., that i realised i’m autistic. and it wasn’t long before i understood that my interest in wonka is… different, special if you will, from the “normal” way people interact with their favourite media. i genuinely think i would be a different person if wonka wasn’t so important to me. you know this if you have a special interest, but everything i read or watch or listen to seems to come back to him and catcf. i don’t really know how to describe catcf’s presence in my life other than it’s here and i can’t rid of it, not that i’d ever want to try. 
 


Have you had any other special interests before? What were they?

correct me if i’m wrong, but don’t most people only have One Main Interest? like something that is part of their identity and way they live their life that they couldn’t rid of if they tried? at least, the way i’ve always experienced my own interests is that, while other things come and go, wonka never wavers. i could be, as i have been lately, deep deep deep into star trek: it being the only thing i can think about, the thing that makes want to get out of bed in the morning, the only thing i want to talk about with others - but wonka is always here. sometimes, my need to watch star trek or make art about it can make me genuinely forget about my responsibilities to the point of consequence. but other times, i simply don’t care about it at all in favour of another piece of media (though my love for it never truly goes away), like arcane for example. however, when it comes to wonka, i have that Need to engage with him always, but unless i’m deeply focused on him, as i was while writing heaven on their minds, i can go on with my day-to-day life without feeling like my skin is on fire with withdrawal. if that makes any sense.

genuinely curious because i see the term confused with hyperfixation A Lot, and i’m always curious if/how other people experience it differently.

anyway, i would consider alice in wonderland to be my second tier Main Interest, even if it isn’t necessarily special. the level to which i’ve researched the lore and history of catcf has also applied to alice over the years. when alice through the looking glass came out in 2016, i became more invested in the story because of my need to fix it, lmao. a lot of my motivation to engage in fandom, especially to write fanfic, comes from that need to amend. i get really protective (and possessive) of my favourite characters, and the hatter became one of them. as you might know, i’m currently publishing my attlg 2016 rewrite, so if you’re curious to know more of my thoughts, i’d recommend checking it out…

other than that, i was known from late middle school to early college as That Guy Who Likes Loki Too Much, and while i never published any fic about him, the majority of my fandom engagement during my teenage years was centred around him and marvel. i definitely didn’t actually start participating in the wonka fandom until 2020 despite enjoying catcf so much on my own. i even performed a poem i wrote about loki during my college freshman orientation. i am cringe but i am free.

tldr: my main interests, besides wonka, are alice in wonderland, loki, and star trek. also doctor who but that's a long story for another time <3.

this was super fun to write about, thank you!

[allthesmutl0vers]

The Fate Of Us- Chapter Four

MDNI, 18+

Pairing: Sam/Reader, Dean/Reader, Castiel/Reader, Dean/Castiel and Coming Soon: Dean/Sam, Castiel/Sam

@kr804573

Chapter Four

Y/n

The next morning, the house is still and quiet, and everyone is lost in the depths of sleep. Bobby’s snores echo from the upper floor while Sam and Dean, worn out from the previous day, have found solace on the living room couches. Stealthily, I set the coffee pot to brew and make my way to the mailbox. Upon my return, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, a comforting promise of the day ahead.

With a cup of steaming coffee in hand, I place the mail on the table, each envelope carefully arranged. None of it is mine, but I know Bobby dislikes venturing out in the rain. Balancing my cup and laptop, I step outside, the cool air of the porch a welcome contrast to the warmth inside.

I draw in a deep breath, the scent of rain and earth mingling in the air, a symphony of nature’s perfume. The gentle rhythm of raindrops on the wooden porch and roof serenades my ears. It’s a writer’s paradise, a day made for creativity.

I open my laptop to the Google Doc with my new novel typed on it and sip the warm coffee, appreciating the sweet caramel and vanilla creamer as it contrasts the acidity of the coffee. I take a deep, appreciative breath and begin to write.

“Good morning,” I hear Sam say as he appears in the doorway, his eyes gazing across me with a soft and tired smile.

I smile back. “Good morning,” I respond kindly, giving him my attention as he steps outside and closes the door behind him. “Did I wake you up?” I ask.

Sam shakes his head softly and yawns, holding his cup of coffee. “No, I just tend to wake up pretty early,” he says, walking closer and pointing to the chair beside mine. “Mind if I sit?”

I motion to the chair with my hand. “No, not at all, please,” I say politely, moving my laptop and cup over slightly to give him room to place his cup.

“What are you working on? If you don’t mind me asking,” he says, motioning his mug of coffee to my computer.

“I don’t mind. It’s just my new novel I’m working on,” I respond kindly, unsure if I should talk about the topic of what I write.

Sam nods his head once. “Cool, what do you write about?” He asks politely.

“Oh, um…” I chuckle softly, feeling a blush tint my cheeks. “Romance, honestly,” I say nervously.

“So, like Jane Austen?” He asks with a smile.

I shrug my shoulders. “More like H.D. Carlton and Clarissa Wild,” I chuckle.

Sam makes a curious facial expression. “Hm, I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

“Yeah, they’re not for everyone. They write dark romance,” I blush, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

Sam’s eyebrows perk up in interest. “Dark romance? Like horror romances?”

I nod and sip my coffee, holding the warm mug in my hands. “Yeah, kinda. It’s more like stalker and bully romances. Those are my favorites, at least,” I explain, brushing my hair behind my ear.

“Stalkers and bullies huh?” Sam chuckles, making me feel even more embarrassed.

Why did I tell him that? Oh my God. Hashtag mortified.

I try to laugh it off but pull my bottom lip between my teeth. Wishing I’d never told him.

His hand lands softly on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. I just hadn’t heard anything like that before,” He says softly. But I can’t focus on anything besides his large, warm hand encompassing my shoulder. “Do you mind if I read it?” He asks softly.

I slowly turn to face him again, looking for any signs of teasing but finding none. “Oh, um… Sure,” I say softly, turning my laptop to face him. “It’s not finished yet, but I have the first few chapters. You don’t have to read them all, though; it’s just the first draft.”

Sam smiles softly as he takes his hand off my shoulder and grapes my computer, scrolling to the top of the document. Right. To. The. Trigger. Warnings.

Oh my God, please let the Earth open up and swallow me whole.

I feel an intense desire to grab my laptop back and prevent him from reading the contents, which overwhelms me, but it’s too late. My body tenses as the rain intensifies and the wind gains strength. A chill runs through my body as the cold breeze cuts through the thin fabric of my shorts and t-shirt.

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Sam removes his thick flannel jacket and hands it to me. He seems interested in my writing, or at least pretending to be.

“I’m okay,” I say softly.

Sam’s eyes leave my laptop briefly to meet mine. “Put it on y/n,” he says sternly.

As he hands me the jacket, I accept it without uttering a word. Sliding my arms inside, I immediately feel the comforting warmth it provides. The intertwining scent of rich mahogany and musk envelops me, making me never want to part with the comfort I feel wrapped in his jacket.

I sip my coffee and wait patiently for him to finish reading. The rain falling only enhances our peaceful silence.

As I finish my cup, Sam sits back in his chair. “Wow,” he says softly, returning my laptop to me.

I take my laptop back, looking back at him. “Is that a good wow or a bad one?” I ask, trying not to sound as anxious as I feel.

“Good. It’s excellent. I definitely want to read it when it’s finished. I like how you write from different points of view, too. I’ve never read a book that does that,” he says with a genuine smile.

I can’t help but blush at his praise. “I’ll give you a signed copy,” I joke, chuckling softly.

Sam laughs and nods his head. “Definitely,” he says with a smile, taking the last drink of his coffee. “You want a refill?” He asks, nodding to my now empty cup on the table.

I look at the time on my watch. “Sounds good, thanks. I should head inside too and start breakfast,” I say softly. I stand up and start to take off his jacket. “Thanks for the jacket,” I say.

Sam shakes his head. “You can keep it; I have a ton back at the bunker. Here, I’ll grab your stuff,” he says, gently closing my laptop and both of our mugs.

“Oh, thank you. I could’ve grabbed those,” I say with a smile. It’s easy to smile with Sam.

Sam jets out his bottom lip and shakes his head. “It’s all good. Just remember when you make it to the big time who carried your laptop inside,” he jokes, opening the door and letting me walk through first.

I laugh and smile. “I won’t. Nobody forgets a hero,” I say a little more flirtily than I intended to. But Sam smiles and laughs.

It seems like today is going to be a lot better than yesterday. I feel more relaxed and at ease with the journey ahead of me, like I’m already home.

Chapter Five

[bees-fnaf-au]

I want to say "tell me everything about thé au", but I'm kind of scared of opening that dam.

I want to hear it, but I also want to tell mine too.

There's too much thing I want!

😓😭

I’ve had to rewrite this title a few times, because I realize how big and complicated this thing really is once I put all my ideas into writing, I’m so sorry- 😭 (big explanation under cut off)

You don’t have to read all of this to get the gist, I suggest just reading TLDR to save time and the end. But hey! There’s a few HUGE paragraphs in here if you want a (sort of) in depth explanation.

This is honestly the second time ever I’ve put my ideas into words. I have a whole Google doc filled with an older version of the timeline that doesn’t fit anymore.

Basically, the only way he changes things is he gives a buffer between Dave (C.C.) and Mike, meaning that in one timeline or another he could theoretically stop the bite. But, the only reason why he can’t is because during the bite in my main timeline is because Freddy (Oswald’s dad) + Chica bully (Haven’t quite found a place for them yet) practically hold him down so he can’t mess with Mike + Bonnie bully (Jeremy fnaf2 + HW2 guy in the AU). Mike and the others don’t quite know how dangerous Fredbear is, including Nathan. Though, Nathan doesn’t think it’s a very good idea to put a kid so close to it, let alone in the thing’s mouth.

TDLR;

Silly Nathy boi sticks up for his baby brother

Spoilers! I haven’t quite revealed this yet, I don’t think.

Nathan also later on (about 1984, same year Charlie dies and the same year the first Freddy’s opens) he gets springlocked by the purple Bonnie suit because I head cannon that the withereds are retrofitted springlock suits. So uh, ouch oof his bones. You’d think that would deter William from ever using them but he thinks he’s too good to die. Like, somehow he thinks he’s sO mUcH bEtTeR and CoUlDn’T pOsSiBlY die to it like his ““idiot son””. But, obviously he eventually does. I like to think that William insisted keeping Fredbear because 1: he’s crazy but somewhere he still kinda cares about Dave in his own twisted way hence the “I will put you back together”, kinda like he’s an object that’s broken. (he thinks he’s a good enough parent, despite definitely not being one) and 2: I like to think he sees Fredbear moving or it’s eyes following him when it’s powered off and that kinda sparks his whole “oh shit ghosts exist”. But I also think he’d keep the Bonnie suit Nate died in, but Nathan wouldn’t really give any sign he’s there. He’d just kinda passively be there (which he’d be kept in the same back room where the MCI dies, so it gives him and Dave a reason to know what happened and ALSO hate The Yellow Rabbit). Kinda like a stitchwrath situation, where the angry one can move the suit but the calm one can see. For example Dave can see but Cassidy can *slightly* move the suit (due to it missing the endoskeleton, I like to think that after Cassidy possesses Fredbear [retrofitted into “Yellow Bear” or Golden Freddy, hence the color swapped bow tie and top hat.] she kinda goes crazy for a bit, being extremely aggressive until the endoskeleton is just taken out.) Which, leads me into the next thing. I like to make Nate Shadow Bonnie, which is like him just chilling, no jump scares. Which, makes him also shadow Bonnie in the fnaf 3 mini games. I feel like he’d befriend the MCI, probably minus Cassidy cuz he doesn’t like her attitude, or at the very least Jeremy because they could share Bonnie or maybe just because they’re both some form of Bonnie. The only reason why Nathan can practically go from location to location is either that they melted down Withered Bonnie to make fnaf 1 Bonnie or the fact he’s a free soul. “A what?” I hear you ask. Well, I like to think that certain deaths like Nathan’s springlocking or things outside of Freddy’s like natural death, where no one else was the outright *cause* of the death, means the soul isn’t forced to stay and right some universal wrong like the MCI getting their Happiest Day. He just kinda sticks around to help Charlie, but he is kinda bound to Bonnie. I feel like Charlie could have been one too if William didn’t kill her (obviously) and if she didn’t have a strong will to give gifts give life. Once fnaf 3 rolls around Charlie is like “Yo help me set these poor kids free.” And he’s like “Bet.” And starts gathering pieces of lore and shoving them together to Happiest Day them. I also believe in C.C. Receiver, so little man gets his birthday cake and so does the rest of the gang and they happily float off, but their agony stays behind. I genuinely cannot figure out where sister location is meant to go right now, I’m pretty sure it has to take place before fnaf 2, but after fnaf 4. I think fnaf 1 & maybe 2 take place before SL, just to explain why Mike looks like his dad gets mistaken for him. So, sometime between then more kids probably die to the fun times or they just get agony which later on creates Molten Freddy, Mike gets to experience the wonders of being a freshly opened pint of ice cream, aka being scooped. Yay, trauma! Mike dies, to which he tries to call William and William’s already dead so he leaves a nice little voicemail being like “heyyyy! I’m gonna fucking find you.” And then he finds Henry and Henry’s like “Kid! We’ve gotta find your dad, and kill him!” And Mike’s like, “yeah.. sounds about right. And my sister too.” Fnaf 6 happens, yay happy afterlife and UCN where Cassidy likes to kill William and the others like to poke him to annoy him or something.

TLDR;

Nathan gets springlocked and helps MCI cuz he’s a girl boss.

I had a pretty neat idea for how the Afton’s could be brought back, weather it be by Sampson (Charlie’s twin), Mrs.Afton, or Vanessa and the GlitchTrapMimic dude. They could pull a Charliebot or a Gregbot if you believe that (which I definitely do, but I never wanna expand this au into security breach or Help wanted, because that’s waaaay too much to keep track of.) basically, humanoid androids with blood guts and all sorts of fun stuff. Oh! And illusion discs too.

Im so sorry it’s so long and complicated I’m sure, but that’s all the bits I’ve put together so far. I honestly just prefer to keep the AU to when the Afton’s are alive to keep it easy, but Nathan does have a place and does actually die at some point. Definitely feel free to share yours too! ^^