#lazy sam board

[iiluvvme]

༚ֹ ₊ ❊ ˖ ֗ ࣭ ⋆ babe , ain’t no denyin’

that i’ve got you in my head ݂ 𓈒 ۫ ✩⃯ 𓂂   ˚

( sam kiszka being boyfriend )

[welcometoqueer]

so y’all remember in season 14 when Dean planned to trap himself inside a Ma’lak box and sink to the bottom of the ocean forever—to be sunk alive with Michael because being buried alive wasn’t safe enough-and had a vivid nightmare about his horrific fate if he went that route???

anyways, haha OceanGate, am I right?

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° postcards under the bed

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: how dean became a part of reader's little family. tags/warnings: fluff, fwb, reader has custody of her 5yo niece wc: 1k a/n; your girl was craving fluff!!!

dean winchester masterlist ♡

when you and dean first started going out, you knew that he was always traveling and never really stayed in one spot for too long, which was more than fine with you; you were too busy working and taking care of your niece for a proper relationship, anyway.

so, whenever the man came back to kansas and you managed to get a babysitter, the two of you would get tangled up in your bedsheets for a night. until things started changing.

what started as dean calling you up when he was back in town slowly turned into him texting you when he was gone, asking you how you were doing and telling you he couldn't wait to see you, coming over as soon as he was back in kansas.

what started as dean coming straight to your place and almost immediately taking you to bed slowly turned into pots and pans clanging in the kitchen as he cooked you dinner while you simply watched him with a glass of wine on your hand, the man telling you all about whatever monster him and his brother had been hunting while he made you his so-called specialty.

what started as dean leaving before you had even woken up slowly turned into waking up to his snores, spending lazy mornings tangled in each other's arms while the two of you talked about everything and nothing in hushed voices, exchanging small, nearly feather-light kisses.

he started bringing you postcards from all the places they'd travel to, the back of them filled with chicken scratches about what they were hunting, and although he always gave them to you in person, he made sure to write your name on the lines meant for your address with what was dean's attempt at cursive, the shoe box under your bed soon filled with postcards from different places.

neither of you called it what it was; when sam queried dean about where he'd disappear off to the moment they got back from their cases he'd mumble something about 'going to see someone', and when your friends wondered who was the guy picking you up from your girls' night in the black impala you'd just shrug and grin before making your way outside, straight into the arms of the man leaning against the car.

"i'm gonna have to cancel tonight." you said into your phone, using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you used your hands to decorate a bunch of cupcakes.

"what? aw, come on." dean's voice rang out, "i got popcorn and sour patch kids, and you finally agreed to watch terminator with me. are you bailing on me because of that? because if you really want to, we can watch one of your chick-flicks. again."

you let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, a small smile now lingering on your lips, "it's not that. my sitter has a fever and had to cancel. so instead of our planned explicit date night i'm gonna be playing board games with aurora."

"ah, damn." dean sighed on the other line, "i really wanted to see you, sammy and i are probably gonna be back on the road tomorrow, we found some vamps up in duluth."

"i'm sorry." you say with your lips turned down in a slight frown, "let's take a raincheck, 'kay? i should go get rory, i finished decorating our cupcakes."

"oh? what cupcakes did you make?"

"red velvet. they're her favorite."

dean let out a small chuckle before humming, "hey, i was thinking... if it's not a girls-only night... maybe i could join you."

"really?" you raised your brows, "you wanna spend the evening playing monopoly with me and my niece rather than, i don't know, go to some bar and spend the evening with some hot chick?"

"i mean, you do have cupcakes. and board games are no fun with just two people."

you hummed, your lips pursed as you thought about his suggestion for a moment, before swallowing, "yeah. you can join."

after that evening, it seemed like things changed all over again.

dean no longer texted to ask you how you were, or to tell you how much he wanted to see you. he no longer cooked for you while you got to relax. you no longer woke up next to him. you didn't receive postcards addressed to you.

instead, he'd call you, checking in on you and aurora, saying how much he couldn't wait to see both of you again. he cooked for you while you were busy coloring with your niece. by the time you woke up, led zeppelin was blasting in the kitchen and the entire house smelled of pancakes, and when you got up, you'd see aurora dancing clumsily while dean was making pancakes. and the postcards were no longer addressed to you, but to you and aurora, and instead of ending up hidden under your bed, they were displayed on the fridge, until you no longer had enough magnets.

you were laid on dean's chest, your fingers drawing slight patterns on his skin, until his own hand came to stop you, bringing your hand to his warm lips, pressing a kiss on it.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked against your skin, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should tell dean what you were really thinking about or just brush him off. but the look in his eyes was reassuring, almost pleading you to tell him what was on your mind.

you took a deep breath before locking eyes with him, chewing on your lower lip, slightly anxious about what he was going to think.

"i don't think i can live without you."

dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he let out a soft chuckle, the feeling of his breath on your hand causing shivers to run down your spine. he let go of your hand and moved his hand to your cheek, and you almost automatically brought your face closer to his.

"that's good, sweetheart, because i don't think i can live without you, either."

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

23: YOUR LOVE IS A LIE

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Summary: The morning after the wedding, you wake up to the crushing weight of betrayal, exhaustion, and heartbreak. Struggling to move on, you bury yourself in work, only to be confronted by Sam Wilson, who comes bearing truths you aren’t ready to hear. Meanwhile, Bucky drowns in guilt and regret, unable to reach out to the woman he’s fallen for— until Sam forces him to face the reality of what he’s lost.

Warnings: Angst, emotional distress, self-inflicted injury (scrubbing skin raw), heartbreak, betrayal, mentions of alcohol and unresolved tension.

Word Count: 3325

The next morning, you woke up to the harsh morning sun glaring down on your face. Your body physically ached almost as though you had been beaten by the events of the previous night. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, pressing you deeper into the mattress and you could no longer claim sleep for refuge from the pain.

Last night you had fallen into bed, your mind racing through the events of the wedding— which now felt like a cruel joke. You sat up to find your lehenga lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and your jewelry scattered across your dressing table— all abandoned in your haste to disappear under the duvet covers and shut out the world that had hurt you. 

You had been too miserable to remove your makeup and it was now streaked across your pillow. Your reflection in the vanity’s mirror was nothing short of tragic. Mascara was smudged under your swollen eyes, which were red and puffy from crying.

With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself out of bed and into the shower in the hopes that the hot water would wash away the sting of deceit. Steam from the shower curled around you as you stepped into the hot spray. You tilted your head back in the hopes that the heat would soothe the ache in your heart, but even the scalding temperature couldn’t penetrate the hollow, searing grief that had taken root inside you.

You raised your hands to scrub your face, wash away the makeup remains with as much soap as you could tolerate. As the last few suds flowed away, you opened your eyes, the clear water running down your hands over the delicate swirls of mehndi still painted on your skin. You admired the beauty of the red lines on your skin, until you saw it.

BB

His initials nestled within the intricate design, hidden yet clear. The artist had tried to conceal them, but once you had seen the letters, you couldn’t tear your gaze away. The evidence of him was there, staining your skin, almost as though he was branded onto you. But Bucky wasn’t yours. He had never been yours.

Your breath hitched as fresh tears welled in your eyes, quickly washed away by the shower as they fell to your cheeks. You reached for the pair of exfoliating gloves you mostly ignored out of sheer laziness and slipped one onto your trembling hand. Then you started scrubbing.

Your intention had just been to erase him, to rid yourself of the cruel reminder of what he had meant to you… what you’d let him mean to you. But with each attempt to remove him, a memory of last night crashed over you and the pain heightened.

The betrayal in Aditi’s eyes.

The disappointment in Hanna’s voice.

Then Bucky’s voice. Doll, no, I didn’t—

You scrubbed harder.

Your skin burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

I thought you cared about me.

Harder.

I let you—

Harder.

I trusted you.

Suddenly the sting in your hand became unbearable and you’d only realized what you had done when you saw blood. Scarlet stains swirled around with the water on the drainage board in a delicate spiral pattern. You let out a choked sob as you looked down at your raw skin, your body trembled and your hand throbbed as you saw what you had done. The hot water falling on the wound made it burn and the pain only made you cry harder.

You grabbed the handrail and pressed your forehead against the cool porcelain tiles, taking in deep, shuddering breaths, trying to pull yourself together. Why should you fall apart? Over a man? You wouldn’t. Not over someone who had used you.

Eventually, with shaking hands, you turned off the shower and stepped out. You wrapped a towel around yourself and pulled off half a roll of toilet paper to wrap around your hand. Determinedly avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you dried yourself off and carefully bandaged your hand before getting dressed. The sting of the wound grounding you, reminding you that you needed to be strong.

You didn’t have time to wallow in your loss. No time to grieve your friendships. No time to lament the trust you had misplaced.

You had a job to do.

So you forced yourself to apply some makeup, don your jewelry and fancy shoes and bury your pain beneath a mask of professionalism before stepping out the door.

The morning passed in a blur of emotions. You went through the motions of your life— unlocking the door of the boutique, turning on the soft overhead lights in the backroom, pulling out the latest piece you were working on and placing it on the bench. Your body worked on autopilot, your hands working on your latest piece while your mind was somewhere else. Everything felt distant, hollow, like your heart didn’t have the energy to care.

Your head ached because your sinuses were stuffy from crying and you could barely mumble a greeting to the overly cheerful store manager, Anita. She placed a mug of coffee in front of you and didn’t ask any invasive questions about your puffy eyes or the bandage around your hand. Every time you moved, the skin where you had tried to scrub away Bucky’s initials stung and you cursed softly.

You wondered why you had even bothered to come into the boutique today. It wasn’t as though your presence was mandatory. But somehow the familiarity, the boring routine of work was the only thing you had left to hold on to. Because the thought of being alone in your apartment, wallowing in your thoughts, was unbearable.

After an hour of listening to uninterrupted emo songs from the 2000s you picked up your phone. Your fingers hovered hesitantly over the screen before giving in and tapping on the iMessage app. You opened the  “Power of 3” group chat with Hanna and Aditi.

They hadn’t texted since the morning of the wedding.

You hesitated, then typed:

10:37 AM - You: Hey guys. How’s Mr. Sharma?

You stared at your words, but the message sat, unread. You watched the screen for a while, waiting for those little “typing…” bubbles to appear. They didn’t.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and tried again.

10:41 AM - You: I’m so sorry about everything that happened. I swear I didn’t know. I love you guys so much. I would never…

You let the sentence trail off, staring at it for a long moment before hitting send.

You waited. Still, no reply.

The knot that had been sitting in your chest since you woke up tightened, and you leaned forward, resting your head in your hands and rubbing your temples.

Of course they wouldn’t answer. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

Why would they? You’d been part of the reason their family had been torn apart. Even though you hadn’t known, even though you’d merely been a pawn in someone else’s game, ignorance didn’t stop you being at fault, you’d played a role and you needed to accept your responsibility in that. You bit your lip in an effort to stop from crying.

The door between the workshop and the boutique showroom was open and everything outside was quiet. Anita liked to have you on display. Customers trickled in and out, but you barely noticed them since no one had come in asking for custom items. All you could think about was your friends— the pain in Aditi’s eyes, the anger in Hanna’s and the lost look on Bucky’s face— almost like he had lost something dear to him.

A moment of pity flashed through you before you remembered the way you had let yourself believe in something that had never been real, the way he had let you believe in it.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, and your heart leapt for a millisecond. But when you looked down at your phone, it wasn’t Aditi or Hanna.

It was an Instagram notification from @CapsGotWings. You groaned.

Then, out of the blue, Anita was at your side, practically bouncing up and down.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Captain America is here to see you!”

You looked down at your phone.

12:17PM @CapsGotWings: Need to talk.

Your stomach dropped. Of course he was here. Of course he wanted to talk. Why wasn’t the universe done punishing you yet?

“You okay, sweetheart?” Anita asked, empathetically. “You look like you could use some rest. Too much fun at the wedding?” she smiled, her eyebrows insinuating that you’d gone a little overboard on your revelry last night.

“Something like that,” you gave her an empty smile before standing up.

“Well, can’t keep Cap waiting too long, huh?” She gazed out at Sam with star-struck eyes.

Forcing yourself to keep a neutral expression, you went out to meet Sam. He was standing near the entrance with his hands in his pockets, looking far too relaxed for someone who had played such a huge part in turning your life upside down.

You marched outside, not bothering to hold the door open for him. You stood outside the boutique, your arms crossed over your chest, waiting for him to floor you. The store bell rang one last time as the door closed behind Sam. You could see Anita watching the two of you from behind the counter, but you didn’t care.

“How can I help you, Captain?” you asked, your voice like ice.

Sam’s brows shot up. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?”

Your expression remained impassive. “What do you want from me?”

He sighed, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “I wanted to apologize— for how things went down at the wedding.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Not my wedding. Not me you need to apologize to.”

Sam tilted his head, studying you carefully and your lack of eye contact with him. “Bucky’s not the one at fault here,” he said slowly. “But I'll admit, we should have told you, but it wasn't his idea.”

Your jaw clenched. “What does it matter? It’s not like he owes me anything. Our deal is done.”

Sam frowned. “What deal?”

You let out a sharp breath, your patience was already hanging by a thread and Sam’s innocent act wasn’t helping you in the least. “The one where you got him to pretend to be my date so you guys could get access to my friend’s father.”

A flicker of confusion flashed across Sam’s face, his lips parted a little as if he was trying to catch up to the meaning of your words. “We didn’t—” he started, but you cut him off.

“I know it was all fake,” you snapped. “He didn’t feel anything. It was all for show. You guys took it to the extreme, even getting your sister involved.” You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You definitely fooled me.”

“Wait, hold on—” Sam tried again, but you were far from done.

“I can’t believe how far you took this,” you continued, shaking your head. “I needed a date, and you really pulled out all the stops, even using Sarah. Ingenious. Well, you got what you wanted from me. I have nothing left to give you.”

The confusion on Sam’s face transformed into realization, like the missing pieces of a puzzle just fell from the box and completed the whole picture. But you had no interest in his revelations.

You had spent enough time being humiliated.

You stepped around him and back into the boutique.

“Wait!” Sam called after you, reaching out but not touching you. “You really think Bucky was… pretending?”

You didn't answer. You couldn't. If you did, your heart might splinter completely.

Instead, you walked away, leaving Sam standing outside, his mind indubitably racing with things you no longer cared to hear.

Bucky hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his suit from the night before. His shirt was wrinkled, sleeves rolled back, his hair was disheveled from the number of times he had run his hands through it. He was holed up in his apartment, thoughts spiraling into the darkest recesses of his mind.

His curtains were still drawn but the afternoon sun was filtering around the cracks giving the apartment a vibe of dereliction. A half empty bottle of bourbon sat on the small dining table. Drinking didn’t help— not that he could even get drunk— but old habits died hard. And sometimes just the act of holding a glass and letting the amber liquid burn his throat was enough to take the edge off.

His phone lay on the table, the battery running dangerously low. But it was on and your contact glowed brightly on the screen. He stared at the selfie you’d uploaded in your contact info, brushing your face on the screen. He had typed out message after message, only to delete them before he could hit send.

Instead he relived the way you looked at him, over and over, he saw the look of betrayal in your eyes, heard your voice crack as you accused him of using you. The memory made his guts twist around in a knot that just kept getting tighter and tighter.

A knock at the door pierced the silence.

Bucky’s head swiveled around to the door, body tensing as he debated if he should ignore it. What if it was you?

He jumped out of his seat and rushed toward the door, only for Sam’s voice to float through before he reached the handle.

“I know you’re in there, Barnes. Open up.”

Bucky closed his eyes and let out an almost angry exhale through his nose. Sam was not the person he wanted to see, but he also knew that Sam would not make himself scarce any time soon. So he unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back wordlessly to let Sam inside.

“Damn,” Sam muttered, looking around and taking in the mess that was Bucky Barnes. “You look like hell.”

Bucky huffed out a humorless laugh as he shut the door, taking one last lingering glance at your apartment door. He wondered if you were behind it.

“She’s not home,” Sam volunteered, like he was reading Bucky’s mind.

Bucky slammed the door and stalked back to the back of the apartment to get as far away from Sam’s wrath as possible.

“You really are a goddamn idiot, Barnes.” Sam paced the length of the room, running a hand over his face before turning to Bucky.

Bucky glared at his friend, taking another sip of bourbon. “Yeah, I got that.”

Sam rounded on him angrily. “No, I don’t think you do.” He gestured around the apartment at the booze, untouched food on the counter and the closed curtains. “You’re just in here, closed off from the world, like some brooding tragic romance novel character— you think this is gonna fix anything?”

Bucky didn’t respond, clenching his jaw and looking away.

“So?” Sam asked.

“So what?” Bucky snapped back.

“You wanna tell me why the hell I just had to find out from her that this whole relationship thing was a big ole fake?”

Bucky looked away, his jaw twitching dangerously. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh? Because from where I was standing, she sure as hell thought it was.” Sam waved his hands at him. “And clearly, you let her think that.”

Bucky pressed his lips together, dragging his hand over his face. He shook his head as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was about to say. “It started out as an arrangement. To get Aditi and Hanna… and you, off our backs,” he admitted. His voice was flat, now resigned to the story he was telling. “She needed a date. I needed… people to stop treating me like Quasimodo.” He chuckled softly. “It felt like a win-win deal.”

Sam raised his eyebrow, ignoring the clear dig at his efforts to set Bucky up. “And then what, Barnes? You just forgot to tell her when you caught feelings?”

“I told her!” Bucky blurted out, the words rough and frustrated in his desire to make Sam understand. “I told her it wasn’t fake.”

Sam blinked. “You told her?”

Bucky sank down into the chair, his face in his hands. His voice was quieter now. “I thought she understood.”

“You thought she understood?” Sam repeated incredulously.

“That it wasn’t fake anymore.” Bucky lifted his head and his fingers twitched. “I told her, Sam. I swear, I said it.”

“Was that before or after you started sleeping with her?”

Bucky clenched his fists, the weight of Sam’s words made his heart twist, as though someone had put it in a vice. He stared down at the floor for a few moments before answering.

“After,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and rough with guilt.

Sam let out a sharp hiss. “Jesus man,” he shook his head and rubbed his temples, pacing once again. “You didn’t think that maybe… just maybe… that wasn’t enough? That maybe you had to actually say it instead of hoping she’d figure it out?”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “I did say it!”

“Telling her it wasn’t fake is not the same as telling someone how you actually feel. You think someone like her— someone who’s smart, compassionate… that girl has a stubborn streak, no doubt— you think she’s gonna hear that and just assume it means you love her?”

Love.

The word felt like an elephant in the room, unmentioned until now.

Sam turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest. “You never told her, did you?”

Bucky sighed, running his hand through his hair. But he didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Sam muttered. He dropped onto the couch suddenly looking exhausted. “Man, I hate to break this to you, but you can’t just expect people to know what’s going on in your head. Especially when you do that staring thing. You have to tell them. Especially when it matters.”

Bucky picked up the bottle of bourbon, peeling the label from one corner. “She won’t listen to me… not now,” he said, still picking at the paper. 

Sam leaned in Bucky’s direction, his forearms resting on his knees. “So? Make her listen. Have you even tried?”

“She made it pretty clear last night.”

“Last night was a shock, give her a minute to get over it!” Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve already dug yourself into a hole. You can either sit in and feel sorry for yourself, or you can climb the hell out and do something about it.”

Bucky looked at him skeptically.

“You love her?” Sam asked.

Bucky nodded slowly. Then, finally— finally— he said it. “Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence between the two friends before Sam spoke again. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Look man… for that it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Bucky frowned. “For what?”

“For putting you in this position in the first place. For making you keep all this to yourself.” Sam sighed. “I didn’t realize how deep this went for you. I should have known…”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “It’s not like it would have changed anything. She would have found out the truth eventually.” He sighed. “Now she thinks I never cared at all.”

“Then fix it,” Sam urged. “It’s already screwed up, but that doesn’t mean you have to let it end like this. Lay it all out for her, then let her decide.”

“And if she doesn’t believe me?” Bucky asked.

“Then at least you tried,” Sam shot back. “But if you sit here and do nothing? That’s on you, man.”

Bucky slumped back in the chair, his head dropping back against the wall with a small thud.

Sam rose from the couch and walked to the door. “Your choice, Bucky. But for the love of God, take a damn shower first.”

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Posting schedule will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays around 2.30pm EST / 11.30am PST / 7.30pm BST

[bohemianblasphemy]

HIIIII I’VE COME BACK TO TUMBLR FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE OVER A YEAR, IM PIIIINIIIIINNNGGG BAD FOR DEAN WINCHESTER 😭

I’m an apprentice and was wondering if you could just blurb or write (or literally whatever you want/think of!!!!!) about being a fellow hunter in a long term relationship with Dean, traveling motel to motel and eventually living in the bunker with them, setting up an area and tattooing the boys (but mostly Dean) on slow days when we’re bored just sitting around in the bunker. (My vision is super based on knowing his character was supposed to be YATTED but it got cut due to budgeting-ugh).

Maybe also being a witch or something idk just thinking of plot lol hehe I’d be happy with LITERALLY anything! And if you’re uncomfortable doing this or just don’t feel like it that’s totally cool too!

Anon, I love you - this request is just *chefs kiss* Dean Winchester with tattoos would be the death of me.

I wasn’t sure how to implement the witch element into these headcanons but I hope this is okay!✨

Dean Winchester x tattoo apprentice! Reader

It was hard to get a lot of practice in especially out on the road, moving between motels and all the hunting you and the winchesters do- but once you all move into the bunker and settle in, you made it your mission to create your own little corner.

Dean had always been supportive of your tattooing. He is absolutely fascinated with the process of watching you tattoo- whether it’s creating your designs or practicing them on fake skin, he’s always watching.

He would also help you set up your space and help you buy supplies.

Dean always wanted tattoos, but was never sure of what he wanted to get. (Definitely has a secret Pinterest board of tattoo inspiration)

He loves to go through your designs and is in absolute awe of how talented you are. Sam would often find him just going through them in his down time, zooming in on every little detail.

As soon as you are ready to tattoo real skin, Dean is ready to be your Guinea pig.

“I’m ready sweetheart.” He’d say with a cocky grin, but he wouldn’t tell you he’s absolutely shitting bricks. But as soon as that needle hits his skin he’s like “oh… that’s not what I thought it was gonna feel like.” And he’s totally fine.

Sam would eventually get a couple small tattoos from you, his pain tolerance isn’t as good as deans but he still sticks it out like a champ.

You start off with smaller tattoos on Dean, gradually going to biggest more intricate pieces. Some having deep meaning, some because he thought the design was cool ( which would be like 90% of his tatts)

Since you both had been together for a longgg time, you know he’d get something that symbolises you.

He’d also get something for sam 😭 (you just know he cried when he showed it to him.)

Dean just admires your focus and how beautifully you do your work, he’s just such a proud boyfriend of his talented amazing partner.

You’d have to constantly remind him of tattoo aftercare because he can get a bit lazy with it.

“No Dean you can’t scratch your tattoo it’ll ruin it.” “But it’s so damn itchy!”

When the tatts are healed he can’t help but feel so much more confident in himself. Every reflective surface he sees he just flexes his arms and smirks.

If anyone asks about where he got his work done he perks up right away. “Oh yeah my partner did them, they’re amazing right?” And just rambles about you and your talents.

Lovesss when you trace over the work you’ve done on him with your fingers when you’re laying down with each other.

[impval]

slowest heart

omega!Cate Dunlap x fem!alpha reader Warnings: a/b/o, mentions of rape.

Yeah, Godolkin is chaos incarnate. A bunch of young supers with so much freedom at Godolkin - it's like a recipe straight out of a reality TV show. It's like they wanted the place to turn into a teen drama. The idea of a deadly virus that could wipe out all the supers? In a world where superpowered beings are treated like celebrities and tools and threats, it was only a matter of time before shit like this happened.

Indira wanted to kill all the supes?

Oh goddamnit, no way, the villain is British? Fuck, what a damn stereotype.

When Jordan and their girlfriend came to you seeking your help, it was hard to focus on anything but Cate. Why would she get involved in something like this? Was she coerced? Blackmailed?

You like Cate.

You had always been drawn to people like her - sharp, powerful. Despite being an omega, Cate's powers and status meant that she was rarely, if ever, belittled or diminished due to her biology. People respected (feared) her.

Back when Luke was alive, you respected Cate's decision to be with him, even if you thought their relationship was a bit strange. They seemed more like a pretty picture than a real, happy couple. But after he died, you didn’t want to impose on her grief. Who hits on an omega right after her boyfriend died? It just felt wrong. So you kept your distance.

Experiments, Vought, the Woods.

You knew why Jordan and Marie approached you. You were possibly the only person on the planet who couldn't be mind-controled. The perks of your power. Jordan and Marie deal with Sam, and you..

In a timeline where all of this never happened, where this shitshow never started, you would never have met Cate. And everything would be so different. Carnage. Blood. Death. A missing arm. In another universe, you never would've been born.

But you were in this universe. The one where you did exist.

When you saw Cate, you knew instantly what Jordan was rambling about. The blood, the madness, raw and untempered, in her eyes. Now you could believe that she had killed Dean Shetty. You better understood now just why Jordan was so reluctant to deal with her and her power. The omega was terrifying, with a determination in her eyes that could only be halted by violence.

Or a alpha.

Heats. Just one word. And all it brought with it. The sweat, the pain, the lust. The loss of control that came with it. Cate had experienced all her heats on her own - because she was locked away in a room. Then it was her choice. Every single damn time. Even when Luke gave a gentle offer. Even when the alphas stared at her with hungry lust.

This time, Cate had ignored the symptoms - the aches, the need - because let's be real. With Luke dead, with Indira and her orders, she had bigger things to worry about than a simple heat. Cate wasn't going to let her own biology or desires distract her - because she sure as hell didn't deserve anything good. Not after all the crap she had done. The death, the pain. Cate didn't want this, but who gave a fuck?

Cate had come so goddamn close. If she held on just a little bit longer, a little bit longer, a goddamn bit longer...the Woods would be empty, just as she wanted. A pathetic, cheap version of redemption. That was all Cate could really do.

Her scent was not that of a sweet, submissive omega. Nothing fragile, nothing warm, nothing easy. Her scent was sharp, demanding, heavy, dominant. Screaming and loud.

She picked up on your scent long before you were even in front of her, eyes widening in quiet surprise as your scent washes over her. Alpha. Alpha, dammit. Honestly, you're way too soft for an alpha. Or lazy, but that depends on perspective. You've never seen the point in fighting for power, dominance, status. And you have never been on-board with the Stone Age alpha-omega bullshit.

As an alpha, you could pay no attention to the whole mess.

But Cate is an omega, and she could not. She had lived her whole life fighting for her own freedom, her safety, and her own body. Maybe it was that, that made her start spitting out threats the moment she saw you, baring her fangs. Like a wild animal.

Or was it your scent. It was soft - nothing like the dominating, heady scents of other alphas. Despite the fact you are, a goddamn alpha. And if Cate had paid better attention to her own body, the all signs - she would never have gotten into a situation that was basically every omega’s nightmare.

Looks like the epic battle is going to have to wait for a different time.

It's ironic that Cate was such a walking, talking disaster that a mere minute with you - a minute of conversation - was the only thing she needed to have her heat suddenly flare up, nearly bringing her to her knees.

No.

"No," Cate gasps, even as her hands curl around your shoulders. Her skin's clammy beneath your touch. "No," she repeats more firmly, even as her body arches against your chest.

Cate is afraid. She is well aware of, knows exactly what most alphas do to omegas. How the hell they use them as playthings. She had not wanted an alpha. Not even Luke, and despite how terrified it made her, a part of her was actually relieved when he died.

Her back strains as if trying to arch away from you and even her skin looks inflamed, the flushed skin of her face spreading all the way down her exposed neck.

She's so fragile in your arms, so impossibly light. Too thin, too bony, too weak. And fuck - you had never been a fan of Luke, but you had thought, believed that he mattered to her. That he cared. Apparently you were incorrect, he had clearly not given a fuck, because...

Her scent is bitter - the sharp tang of fear, of horror, and all the madness, the raging fire that had been flaming in her only a blink of an eye ago, has vanished suddenly. Your own alpha instincts are going wild.

Protect, claim, guard, mine, mine, mine.

This entire situation is so wrong.

Cate hates feeling weak and helpless like this. She can barely move, let alone control the pathetic whimper that drags itself out her throat as she's laid down. She doesn't want to be here. Cate knows you, understands that for some damn reason, her powers do not work on you. You are the singular person who is safe and who is immune to her powers and, what's worse - you're an alpha.

The room smelled entirely of you, it was your damn room, after all.

When you return with a pills and water, a flash of fear appears in Cate's eyes, and she starts to sit up - only to sink back against the sheets with a bitten-off cry.

There was so much of Cate in the room, her heat, the scent of omega that it took all of your will-power to not react. You moved away the moment you placed the pills and the bottle of water on the bed, ensuring there was distance between you and her - letting her at least keep the illusion of security.

Cate stares up at you, lips parted, breathing heavy and ragged as she tries not to let the pain show across her expression. She hates being so exposed, so vulnerable. You could do anything to her, and all she can do - all she's capable of - is lie here and take it.

And yet you don't do anything. You retreat, you give her space.

Fuck it all to hell. You could always just, leave - lock her in your room and go somewhere far away. Somewhere where you can’t smell the heat in her scent, or hear the whimpers, but for whatever damn reason - you don’t. Must be a sadist, because you are both suffering.

No demands, no commands. Despite your physical power, you're not using it over her. Maybe you're just biding your time, but you don't act like it, smell like it. Your scent is soothing, a warm blanket, a promise of comfort and safety.

Cate's breath trembles as she tears her gaze away. She takes a deep breath before pushing herself up on her hands. Despite her obvious pain, she tries to sit up straight. Cate has a fucking genocide to start, an entire revolution (a carnage) - but she is stuck in the cage of her own biology. What a shame.

The pack of pills in her hands do look like painkillers. The name is familiar, the look is familiar. She takes a couple and washes them down with water, praying it's not a trap.

It's not a trap.

Ten minutes later, Cate's trembling somewhat eases. The pain's still there, but it's numbed enough to be more of a dull ache. It's also enough for her to realise that you're still sitting there, and her tongue feels thick and heavy in her mouth.

All this time you work through every single damn breathing exercise you know, counting sheep, and trying not to think about Cate on your bed. You want to touch her. You long to take away her pain, caress away her suffering and mark that lovely neck of hers. You would be so goddamn good to her. Better than Luke, better than anyone.

But you continue to stay seated on the cold, uncomfortable floor.

"You're...not gonna touch me?" Cate asks quietly, and she'd be embarrassed by how weak and broken she sounds if she wasn't already overwhelmed by everything else.

You have helped other omegas in heat before - lend a helping hand. However, it was always at the consent, the request of the omega. You have never understood - cannot comprehend the alphas who have taken, without caring about others, disregarding the pain, the tears of their omegas.

Despite how loudly your instincts are roaring, demanding that you take her, you don't even move or try to touch Cate when she's made it so clear that she's terrified of it. You briefly wonder over why Cate is so terrified of you, of alphas (?). You truly don't want to think on the sickening possibility that it's from personal experience.

Your hands have clenched in your lap as you take a shaky breath, trying to stay in control. “You said no."

No.

One word. A simple, but powerful.

It's been a long time since Cate's had any sort of positive experience with an alpha. Luke, of course, was an alpha, but he was...well, Luke. He was with her only for status. In a way, he was using her. This is the order of things.

Cate has always known this.

Her own mother, a cruel, indifferent alpha who did nothing to soothe her daughter’s suffering. The media that has forever painted omegas as helpless and empty. The arrogant alphas on campus who would leer, smirk. Only Cate’s power, her status, and Luke’s status had provided her any form of protection.

Twelve (?) minutes ago Cate had been screaming threats and insults at you. It is obvious that Cate is crazy. It would be logical for you to do what every other damn alpha would do, subdue and take the bitchy omega, force her into compliance. Claim her and make damn sure that she doesn’t cause further problems.

She doesn't know what to say, much less how. Her brain's still half-melted, but there's one thought that just keeps repeating in her head.

safe safe safe

Safe? There’s no such thing as safe, never will be again. Not after what she did. Broken, broken, broken. Twisted and ugly. Pathetic.

But being here, in your bed, in your presence, is safe enough to allow her body to relax, just slightly to ease some of the cramping and tension. The pain still lurks, just waiting to rise at the first sign of any stress, and Cate isn't about to test her luck.

You can notice it even now, in the midlle of her heat. Cate is not okay, not okay at all. A heavy feeling settles deeply in your stomach. You should had asked Jordan more questions.

But you can begin now, and you’ve always wanted to get to know her.

Cate was with Luke, but he had never marked her. And then he'd died and it had turned out she was sleeping with Andre, but not once was your eyes drawn to the sweet, unmarked skin of her neck.

You swallow and can't hold in your damn curiosity any longer. “Why didn’t Luke mark you? You guys looked perfect together."

Luke and Cate seemed like the perfect couple. The most popular couple at God-U. The golden couple. Everyone looked up to them, and Cate would lie and pretend that her relationship with Luke meant anything at all. It was only Indira who had demanded, ordered her to be with him. Maybe Luke had instinctively known that she was manipulating him. Perhaps that’s why he had never marked her.

Now that she thinks about it, it's funny how much of her life was filled with lying.

"Appearances are deceptive," Cate mutters quietly, forcing herself to keep her breathing even.

Her mother locked her away, afraid of her power, of her touch. Indira had been kinder. She had touched her with such kindness, with a gentle smile. But she had also pushed Cate over the edge time after time - erasing memories, hurting and breaking people again and again. Cate had always been a needy, desperate, touch-hungry omega, yet it was Indira who had molded her into a pathetic, truly broken creature.

Cate can't help but scoff. If Luke had known how much of a manipulative psycho she really was, he'd never have touched her. No one wants that kind of crazy.

Cate's hands clench in the blankets, nails digging into her palms as she tries to calm her breathing. It's hard to remain calm when she still has a raging heat, and even just the thought of a mate triggers her instincts.

“Why…Why did you get in my way?” the question hangs in the air.

Why hadn’t you just stayed away, why had you even searched for her, why hadn’t you let her fall into madness?

Why are you looking at her so softly?

“Well, I would’ve missed this entire party, but Jordan literally stormed into the classroom, dragged me right out of there." you answer honestly. "They were so nervous, like the apocalypse was about to start."

Cate wants to scream and laugh. Indira truly did love her, it was true. She loved her, used her, and abused her trust. Yet Cate had chosen not to trust Indira, but instead her own friends, and where are they all now?

For those she called friends, Cate was nothing but a freak, a monster, a feral animal. They couldn’t even fucking face her. Of course they threw you at her. You, who couldn't be controlled by Cate.

Truly, Jordan was her favorite, the only one who was even close to a friend. Andre only desired her, Luke saw her as a damn trophy, and Jordan… the beta was the only one of them who tried to understand Cate.

You see something dark pass over Cate’s face, as if something in her heart, her chest is breaking right in front of your eyes. It only lasts a second before she buries it behind a anger, and pure stubbornness.

“Did Jordan tell you? About the Woods? About the things humans do to us. And all that bullshit is right underneath us, right now,” Cate spits, her voice bitter.

Cut, electrocuted, injected with gods know what. Students were nothing more than lab rats, nothing but specimens to be studied.

You never realized that you could have been one of them. You could not be more grateful that your power was not more interesting, that you were just yourself. You were fine with stupid jokes and a somewhat stable psyche. Brink had never shown the slightest interest in you, and Indira hadn’t even looked your way.

But Cate was not so lucky.

You refuse to take your eyes off of her. “Yeah, they told me. They also said that they had a plan to deal with it,” you said, hoping that they really did know how to handle it. Anything was preferable to letting the traumatized students out of the fucking torture chamber.

Cate gives a strangled sound before pulling the blanket tightly around herself, hiding her face from your gaze. She was sweating, shaking in your bed, surrounded by pillows and a blanket that served as a makeshift nest.

Right.

"So..a killer virus?" you can't help but ask.

"I helped Indira. I did what she wanted. That’s why Luke is dead. He couldn’t handle all of the bullshit." Cate touches her head and you know what she means.

Jordan has given you the details. Mind control, erased memories. You can’t help but pity all of them, losing memories, literal pieces of their own selves is awful. It was even worse when it had been done to them by a friend, someone they’d thought they could trust.

"I didn't want this."

You say nothing. There’s nothing that you can say. After all, you can’t bring back the broken memories without the pain. Luke won’t return from the grave. It would be a still huge fucking mess.

So you just stay quiet.

An hour, maybe two had gone by and still no one had sent even a single text. At this point, it was getting dark and you had absolutely zero idea of what was going on outside of your safe bubble.

Cate was as quiet as possible, but she was unable to stop herself from a pained sound, or an occasional tear. Even with painkillers, this heat is horrible.

Maybe it's the heat, or the pain, or just the intense vulnerability of the moment.

"Why would you even here? If not to use me? I'm crazy." she's almost scowling, but she can't keep the tears from welling in her eyes. "I have issues. I'm damaged."

Your head snaps up quickly, surprised by the sudden question.

Oh god, Cate… is beautiful.

Even with her hair slick with sweat, eyes bloodshot and face pale, she’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. She doesn’t need force to make you do anything, you do it all willingly, on your own accord, of your own free will.

Your entire body, aching from the hard, cold floor, and desire. So desperate, so close to her. You lick your dry lips.

You hadn’t given her a second thought, back then. It was the incident, that’s what had made you notice Cate.

"We used to have a class together, you know? We sat next to each other, but we never spoke. I'm not even sure if you remember that I was there."

Two alphas flirted with you. Lots of muscles but not a single thought in damn head. One of them started grabbing you, right in class, like this was the norm. And you didn’t even blink, you dealt with them so quickly, that I didn’t have a chance to open my mouth. All it had taken was a single touch to you to get them to beat themselves between the legs down at the sports ground. And you just continued to read your book. I can remember thinking at the time: wow, what a damn shame she is with Luke, I totally would have asked her out.

Cate is looking at you, really looking at you.

You…

You remember that?

For Cate, it was just one of many occasions where she used her powers as a tool. It was a way to gain more popularity. To make herself look tough and powerful.

But you remember it as the first day you saw her, as the first time you became interested in her as an omega.

"You like me?"

Goddamn it, you didn’t want to say it, but you wanted to be honest with her. Your cheeks are burning red and you nod. “Yeah…I tried not to press you. You’re so… independent. Even when you were with Luke, you looked like you hated the idea of anyone having any power or control over you.”

It wasn’t just that she hated anyone having power over her. It’s more like she was so used to people trying to get control of her that even Luke’s very existence felt oppressive.

"I don’t like people telling me what to do." Cate mutters.

Even with her powers, she felt like she couldn’t be her own person. Even when she had all the power, she still felt helpless.

"I’m a difficult omega."

You can't help but laugh a little. "I’m a a weird alpha."

Part of her finds it amusing. Part of her finds it very attractive.

"You are a weird alpha." she agrees, giving you a slight smirk.

It is this realization that finally helps her to relax.

You want her, yearning for her. Cate knows what to do with you, how to use your want, your need, your desperation. Even immune to her power, you are still alpha.

Luke is dead, Indira is gone too, Andre doesn’t want to even look at her. Let Jordan and Marie deal with the Woods and all the consequences.

Cate, on the other hand...Cate can just let go.

"Come here."

Oh god. You weren’t expecting this-

But how could you possibly resist, when Cate looks at you with those eyes and asks (orders)?

You rise, your legs a little sore from the hard floor, moving in towards the bed, step by step. Until you are stood at the bedside, and waiting for her response before you move any closer.

She’s expecting you to push her back onto the bed. She’s expecting you to force her to submit, to tell her what to do.

But of course, you don’t do that. Instead, you hesitate, almost awkwardly, waiting for her to tell you what to do.

Even when you’re standing above her, standing beside the bed, you’re so sweet and submissive.

She loves it more than she thought she would.

She pats the spot next to her.

"Sit."

Maybe, maybe Cate has found the one she's been looking for her whole life. A person, an alpha with whom she'll be safe.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pretty sure Cate can hear it. Your scent is mixing with hers and it just feels so… right.

You sit yourself down on the bed, still watching her, like a puppy waiting for a command.

Normally, Cate hates the way alphas smell. It’s a sharp, musky stench, like rotting meat. Like death.

But yours is different. It’s like cinnamon and firewood and honey all together. You smell like a home. A home that she just wants to get closer and closer to.

She scoots closer.

"Lie down."

Part of you just cannot believe that this is happening. That Cate, the girl you’ve wanted for such a long time, is looking at you like this now. The other, alpha, is singing - so ecstatic that she has finally noticed you.

Now you’re lying down, on your back. And Cate, despite being the omega of the two of you, is straddling you, sitting on top of you and looking down at you.

She’s not touching you yet. Her thighs are touching the sides of your hips. Cate is in complete control. And she isn’t even using her powers to do it.

She can see the way you are laying under her, unmoving. She leans down, her blonde hair falling forward and tickling across your face.

"Kiss me."

A simple order, and you follow it happily. Her lips brush against yours, tasting you.

You kiss her slowly, gently and lightly, your hands cupping her face. It feels so amazing to have her weight upon your body, to have her above you.

You don’t try to overpower her, to force into her mouth. You let her take control, like a good girl, and she can feel the way your body goes soft and relaxed under her. The sound of your lips against hers is the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

Finally, she pulls back, panting, feeling the first waves of exhaustion. it’s not the right time, Cate thinks, annoyed at the timing.

Your lips are swollen, your pupils dilated wide. You are willing to give in, to be soft, pliable, obedient and give her everything she wants, everything she needs.

"Cate?"

“I’m…I’m fine. Just tired.” She admits, suddenly feeling a little bit weak and vulnerable in spite of her position on top of you.

Oh. Her heat must have taken a lot out of her, her body exhausted. She is sweaty, pale, and slightly shaking. You smile gently, stroking her cheek softly and reassuringly. “We can just lay together. Just sleep.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what she needs to hear. Cate is suddenly overcome with exhaustion when you say those words. Like just the reassurance of those few words was enough to release her from the stress.

Cate is in no rush. Now, with Indira gone, there will no longer be experiments. No more orders and violence. It will be just Cate and her life. If others want to deal with the mess, she let them.

And Cate...Cate will take what she wants.

She lets out a breath and suddenly lets herself soften, sinking down onto you so that her head is on your chest.

“Just sleep.” She agrees, nuzzling into you.

Her eyelids are so heavy. Suddenly, the exhaustion is all she can focus on. She’s not even aware of her own soft purring.

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, covering you both with the blanket. She’s unnaturally hot, and you know that her heat will very likely not go away until the early hours of the morning.

She’s been fighting her heat for this whole week. It’s been a struggle everyday to keep her body from acting up, to keep her mind in control. But now, she’s lying here, in your arms.

And finally, finally, she can sleep.

[porcelainbluedove]

what are ur thoughts on sleeper build Chris whos also like hairy . Wholeheartedly i think he’s hairy all over NEED THAT!!

Oh you just opened a huge can of dicks with this... im giving you PORN WITH PLOT BCUS I CAN!

He's insecure but too lazy to shave it.. he doesnt have a girlfriend or anyone he really shows it.. soo? its fine..

until.. he's invited to go paddle boarding with josh, you, and sam.. oh god.. hes gonna be in a swimsuit.. INFRONT OF YOU.. OH NO-

little does he know hes about to get himself a one way ticket to POUND TOWN.

Him and Josh get there early- Josh is completely scheming this whole thing into getting you and Chris to fuck or something, you're blatant flirting back and forth making him sick to his stomach at the fact you two ARENT together.

You and Sam arrive and DEAR GOD chris cannot stop blatantly staring at your legs and ass its like...obsessive

Josh assigns you and sam to sit and relax on the boards while him and chris do all the paddling- Chris almost protests until he sees the stare you've got at his fuzzy chest.. you look like you're about to eat him alive and now he's nervous about what you're thinking.

about 30 minutes out you and chris get ahead of josh and sam a bit and decide to chat- you feeling quite blunt and bold ask him why he'd never taken his shirt off infromt of you prior

"So- have you just never.. taken your shirt off infront of me because.. you're a furry animal?"

"W-well- hey!- jesus that's a bit harsh..."

"... i didn't say that was a bad thing did i?"

".. no.. no you didn't actually- does this not weird you out?"

" jokes on you i'm into that"

"Oh-... Oh?"

"... i said that out loud didnt i?"

"you did..."

"... anyway.. how.. has your week at college been?"

"Mm.. fine, usual stress factors of professors and studies"

You two choose to ignore it.. for now.

You two get back to shore and before you know it you two are making plans for him to come over for lunch- inviting sam and josh only for them to reject politely that they both have plans as well.

No you're throwing on a show you and Chris have binged with the group before and sharing some takeout you picked up on the way back to his place.

You're curious.. and itching.. to run your hands over his fuzzy chest and see where that thick happy trail leads to. you're finding it hard to act normal and sit still..

"H-hey are you- are you okay? you seem really fidgety..."

"Hm? oh.. yeah.. just uh.. thinking about something.."

"...you care to enlighten me on your thoughts?"

"Mm- no- that would be.. a bit weird to you probably"

and he nods his head already knowing what you're thinking of

"Is it the fact you finally saw me shirtless? it's weird- you said you were into it- but if you're just trying to make me feel b-"

"- can i feel it?"

"can- can you-- what?"

"... nevermind."

"Nono- i just.. you want to touch my obnoxiously hairy chest? i've never been asked that by a girl-"

"- you dont need too it- it's fine i was just.. joking..."

"... no you weren't."

" No i wasnt."

Now you're in his lap on his couch running your hands up his shirt while he breathes hard and his hands slowly find comfort on your thighs

"Whoa.. it's really soft.."

".. oh jesus you're treating me like im some mythical beast-"

".. yeah i absolutely am.. i dunno.. maybe you are some type of secretly massive furry beast.."

"In bed sur-"

"- OH?"

"I DIDNT MEAN TO SAY THAT"

"... show me?"

"what?"

"You claimed to be a beast in bed.. prove it"

"I-is this- real?"

"Yeah.. can i take off your shirt, Chris?"

"J-jesus.. yeah.."

Now you're riding him. and his happy trail is brushing up on your cunt just right while you dig your nails into his broad, bulky shoulders. both of you gasping and moaning while the loud wet noises of your bodies fills his small campus apartment.

"Ch-Chris!-"

"-Yeah- ohh shit.. yeah?"

"T-this prove how much i-mm!- like your h-hairy self?"

"Mmh! Mmhm! yes! yes it d-does!"

Running your smaller hands through his huge chest- the soft golden hair paring perfectly with your skin tone as you grab at his chest to fuck yourself harder onto his lap- leaning forward to kiss him until youre both sloppily moaning into eachothers mouths- babbling about how close you are to cumming together

you're welcome.. ho...

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi Q, How are you today? I have an idea for an Tom Holland x fem reader idea. So Tom's family is going on a holiday somewhere and when your on the plane Tom insists he's not tired as the plane takes off, but the moment you both settle in, you catch him yawning. You tease him a little, asking, “Are you sure you’re not going to fall asleep?” His response is a soft chuckle as his eyes flutter shut, and before you know it, he's already dozing, his head slowly tilting towards your shoulder. You smile at his sleepy expression, brushing his curls away from his face and resting your head on top of his as you drift off together.

Hello! Hope you enjoy this.

------------------®©®©®©-----------------

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → Fluff, teasing, soft romance.

Summary → On a flight with Tom’s family, he insists he isn’t tired—only to doze off on your shoulder, leading to sweet moments.

The airport buzzes with life around you, filled with the sounds of luggage wheels rolling across the tiled floor, hushed announcements over the intercom, and the excited chatter of fellow travelers. You shift your bag onto your shoulder, adjusting your grip as you and Tom follow his family toward your gate.

“You excited?” Tom nudges your side gently with his elbow, grinning as he looks over at you. His curls are slightly messy from running his fingers through them one too many times, and his eyes gleam with warmth under the bright airport lights.

You smile. “Yeah, I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve been on a proper holiday.”

“Oh, darling, you’re gonna love it,” Nikki, Tom’s mom, chimes in from ahead, flashing you a smile. “The resort is absolutely stunning.”

“I still think we should’ve flown private,” Harry mutters beside Sam, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Sam snorts. “You’re literally the most dramatic person I know.”

You giggle at their usual sibling banter, glancing up at Tom, who shakes his head with an amused smile. “You lot are ridiculous,” he mumbles before turning back to you. “But hey, I promise you, this trip will be amazing.”

You squeeze his hand. “I know.”

Boarding the plane is a smooth process, and soon, you and Tom are settled in your seats, right by the window. His family is scattered throughout the cabin, but you and Tom lucked out with seats together, away from his brothers’ inevitable antics.

As you fasten your seatbelt, you glance at Tom, who’s stretching his arms above his head, letting out a small groan. His sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of his toned stomach, and you quickly avert your eyes before you get too distracted.

He smirks, catching the way your gaze flickers away. “See something you like, love?”

You scoff. “Please, don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles, dropping his arms and leaning back into his seat. “Anyway, this flight isn’t even that long. I won’t need to sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tom, you were literally yawning at the gate.”

He scoffs. “I was not.”

“Liar.”

“Swear on my life, I am wide awake,” he insists, dramatically widening his eyes.

You narrow yours playfully. “Mhm, we’ll see.”

As the plane taxies down the runway, Tom shifts in his seat, getting comfortable. He’s leaning slightly against the armrest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his jeans. You notice the way his blinks are getting slower, the way his body sinks just a little more into the seat.

Then, as the plane takes off, he lets out a soft yawn.

You smirk. “Are you sure you’re not going to fall asleep?”

He peeks one eye open, looking at you with a lazy, drowsy smile. “I’m sure.”

Not even two minutes later, his head starts tilting toward your shoulder, his breath evening out.

You bite your lip, suppressing a laugh as you glance down at him. His long lashes rest against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, and he looks so peaceful—so soft and warm.

Gently, you brush his curls away from his face, your fingers lingering for a moment before you shift slightly to rest your head against his. His warmth seeps into you, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into relaxation.

Just before sleep claims you, you hear a sleepy murmur from Tom, barely above a whisper.

“Love you.”

Your lips curve into a smile as you let your eyes close. “Love you too, sleepyhead.”

And with that, you both drift off, wrapped in the quiet hum of the plane and the comfort of each other.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[titaniasfairy]

omg please feed me stepbro!sam with a knife kink PLEASE

ABSOLUTELY!

sorry this is so short i just had to get this idea out.

18+ MDNI

cw: knife kink, blood!!!, fem!reader

another lazy day in your house, home alone with your wildly annoying stepbrother sam. he’s splayed out on the couch, watching some tv show while you work on making lunch in the kitchen.

you stand over the counter, chopping vegetables and placing them in a pot next to you. you’ve always found comfort in making vegetable soup, it reminds you of rainy days from your childhood.

sam saunters into the kitchen, opening the fridge and staring at whatever lies inside.

“sam, are you kidding? i’m making lunch.”

his eyes roll and he lets out a sigh of annoyance, reluctantly shutting the fridge door and leaning up against it as you continue to chop the tomato in front of you.

“i don’t want your fucking soup.”

the knife’s speed increases with your growing frustration. your grip on the handle tightens and anger festers up inside you.

“you know what, if you don’t want it make something your-”

the knife slices against the skin of your finger and leaves a deep gash through the flesh. blood begins to gush out of your finger and seep onto the cutting board below you.

you suddenly scream out an expletive and bring your hand to your mouth to suck on your wounded finger, but a hand grabs your wrist instead.

sam quickly brings your finger (still gushing blood) to his mouth and sucks on it hard, allowing your blood to be tasted on his tongue. he moans around your finger and looks down on your surprised expression.

you wish you could deny the way your cunt clenched and your stomach flipped from the way he sucked the blood from your finger.

“holy fuck sam…”

he takes your finger out of his mouth and looks down at you with those pouty lips of his, your blood staining them. his cock is throbbing in his jeans and you can’t help but stare down at it.

“can i have you for lunch instead?”

tags: @mortalheartache @zapernz @geekforhorror

[hearts4court]

Court's thoughts!

a/n: here are some random thoughts(blurbs) i have of characters from other fandoms that i’m to lazy to make a masterlist for !!

this will be uploaded 1-3 times a week!

Main Masterlist

protective bf!sam (Sfw) > blurb > fluff, Sam Golbach X afab!reader

husband!soap. (Nsfw) > blurb > smut, Johnny “Soap” Mactavish X fem!wife!reader…… pt 2, pt 3, pt 4

Dating Alejandro Vargas aesthetic (sfw)(nsfw) > mood board> fluff, slight smut, Alejandro Vargas X fem!reader

taking care of denki (sfw) > blurb > fluff, Denki Kaminari X afab!reader

Dating Colby Brock aesthetic (sfw) > mood board > fluff, Colby Brock X fem!reader

In secret (Nsfw) > blurb > smut, Phillip Graves X fem!141!reader

Investigating with Sam and Colby (Sfw) > mood board > fluff, bsf!Colby Brock X bsf!Sam Golbach X afab!reader

desperate!sapnap (nsfw) > blurb > smut, Sapnap X afab!reader

husband!toji (nsfw) > blurb hcs > smut, Toji Fushiguro X fem!reader

bf!peter parker (sfw) > blurb hcs > fluff, Peter Parker x afab!reader

Don’t copy, translate or repost any of my work w/o my permission.

[redroses07]

My Masterlist.

Fics!

Outer Banks:

JJ Maybank Dating Headcanons

Forgotten Breakfast // JJ Maybank

American Horror Story:

AHS Boys Cuddling Headcanons

Tate Langdon // Enemies to lovers Headcanons

F**k It I Love You // Michael Langdon

How The Evan’s Would Be With A Reader Who Has Panic Attacks

Kit Walker Headcanons

Date Night // Kit Walker

James Patrick March Headcanons

Young Sheldon:

Meeting His Family // Georgie Cooper

The Black Phone:

Real First Date // Vance Hopper

Stranger Things:

Detention // Mike Wheeler

Lazy Summer Days // Mike Wheeler

Nightmares // Mike Wheeler

Finn Wolfhard

The Rock Show

Real People Fiction:

Heartfirst // Johnnie Guilbert

Heartfirst // Johnnie Guilbert pt. 2

Guitar Lessons // Johnnie Guilbert Blurb

Unexpected Proposal // Tommyinnit

Luigi Mangione x Fiance!Reader

Unexpected Consequence // Sam Golbach

Agents of Shield:

Day Off // Deke Shaw

Supernatural

Promise // Sam Winchester

General Supernatural Headcanons

Teen Wolf

Just Friends // Stiles Stilinski

The Umbrella Academy

Five Hargreeves x Reader S4 Ending Rewrite

Star Wars:

Coming soon!!

Mood Boards <3

Outer Banks:

Rafe Cameron Dating Aesthetic

Jake and Johnnie:

Johnnie Guilbert Dating Aesthetic

Taylor Swift:

The Last Great American Dynasty

The Archer

Agents of Shield:

Daisy Johnson/Quake Aesthetic

Deke Shaw Dating Aesthetic

American Horror Story

Kit Walker Dating Aesthetic

[ofthecaravel]

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)

Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka (kinda?)

Summary: Ghost hunter extraordinaire Danny Wagner takes on Kiszka Manor with a Ouija board and a dream. Luckily, the ghosts like him. One of them likes him a lot.

Tags: Ghosts, mentions of murder/death/disease/suicide, arguments, majority silly goofy I promise!!!!

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: My submission for the GVF Writers Halloween Event organized by the wonderful @hearts-hunger! Such a fun idea and I'm excited to participate.

Prompt #2: Real Haunted House

--

“Hey guys! Welcome back to my channel! Today, I’m at the famous haunted Kiszka Manor to investigate its history and see if we can get in touch with the spirits that haunt these grounds!”

Danny took a confident step back as he grinned wildly at the camera, his hand moving from a wave to a theatrical gesture to accompany his continuing speech. 

“This building has been abandoned ever since the mysterious string of deaths that plagued its halls finally came to an end in 1899 with the death of its last living inhabitant, Samuel Kiszka, the youngest member of the family that had lived in the house since it was built. The house was sold to new owners a few years later, but they lasted no more than two months before fleeing, claiming that the rampant paranormal activity was making it impossible to live there. Since then, countless paranormal investigators have braved a night within these walls, but nobody has ever made it to sunrise without experiencing something that they couldn’t explain.”

Danny reached off camera to grab the sleeping bag that he’d leaned up against the kitchen wall prior to shooting, giving it a little shake as he smirked.

“Tonight, I will be joining that brave league,” Danny explained. “And I’m going to catch it all on camera for your viewing entertainment. Stay tuned to see if I survive a night at Kiszka Manor.”

He ended the recording and let out a relieved breath, flipping the viewfinder in and setting the camera down on the table he’d laid his other equipment on. He startled when his movement jostled the sleeping bag and sent it unfurling down his torso. It swung down onto the dusty wooden floors, quickly gathering a cobwebbed dust bunny as he tried to shake it off. Danny grimaced and lifted it up, giving it another genuine shake.

“Aw, gross,” he said to himself, now much more quiet and meek that the camera was off. “Ew.”

-

In the parlor facing the kitchen doorway, the three spirits that did in fact haunt the house were watching Danny with an amused calculation. When they spoke, they spoke in synchrony.

“Dibs.”

-

After rolling his sleeping bag up with an annoyed huff, Danny ignored the chill running down his spine and the uncomfortable jerk of a nerve in his ear. A surely false sense of being watched started to overtake him the longer he stood in the empty mansion. And a mansion it certainly was, with three expansive stories just waiting for Danny and his camera to go exploring in…alone…at night…

Sometimes Danny wondered what his nights would be like if those silly ghost hunting videos he’d made in his college dorm hadn’t gone so viral and asserted him as a cornerstone of the Youtube ghost community. Maybe he’d be unwinding from a 9-5, lazy on the couch and warm from a home cooked dinner. Maybe there’d be someone there with him, laying their head on his chest and making light conversation.

But here he was. Standing with his hands on his hips in a pathetic attempt to gather any semblance of authority and trying not to shake in his shabby Nike sneakers as he noticed the retreating creep of daylight out of the corner of his eye. In a very old, probably asbestos filled house that was also probably full of ghosts that already hated his nosy guts. 

Great.

-

Luckily for Danny, there was something untrue about his assumption. The ghosts did not already hate him. Actually, they were quite taken with him.

“Is it just me, or do these guys keep getting cuter and cuter?” Josh cooed, coasting through the kitchen to assess Danny from every angle. “They must be putting something in the water these days.”

“Cradle robber,” Jake laughed, following his twin through the doorway.

“Back off, I called dibs first,” Sam complained, trailing behind them in his unsteady float. “He’s already talked about me. I have claim!”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s this?” Josh teased, shimmying up next to the light switch and pressing his translucent fingers into the wall. He gave them a wiggle with a challenging smile as the overhead light started to flicker, causing Danny’s head to jerk in surprise and his eyes to widen as Josh made the bulb flit a few more times before slowly burning it out. Danny strode to the light switch and gave it a few desperate flicks, never taking his eyes off of the light.

“That’s a cheap trick,” Sam accused, his lip curling as Josh removed himself from the wall and straightened his lapels. “He deserves some distinguished communication.”

“He’s not going to be any fun at all,” Jake sighed, already seemingly bored by Danny’s anxious stature. “It’s only fun when they’re skeptics. Let’s just toss some crystals from the chandelier and slam a door and get him out as soon as we can.”

“Oh, come on, it’s been ages since our last little ghost hunter,” Josh lamented, flopping over sideways into the air and landing as if he’d fallen onto a bed. “It’s nice to have some company.”

“We might actually be able to talk to him, too,” Sam noted excitedly, directing his older brother’s attention to the all too familiar board sticking out of one of Danny’s tote bags. “Now that I call dibs on.”

“What, so you can ask him if he like-likes anyone?” Jake teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam and letting out a laugh when Sam made an incredulous sound and floated into the next room. If Sam had still been in his body, they all knew his cheeks would have been flushed.

-

“Okay, guys, it’s been about an hour since I arrived, and I’m getting ready here to hopefully talk to some spirits.”

Danny had set himself up in one of the bedrooms on the second level, the one at the very end of the hall with a grand window that let in enough light for Danny to be able to see the Ouija board he’d placed on the carpet in front of him. 

“I still don’t understand how there’s people in the cameras,” Josh observed, pointing a finger at the viewfinder that Danny was reflected in. “I only see him. Is it like a telephone?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Jake shrugged. He and Josh had settled on the four poster bed on the opposite wall, chatting amongst themselves while Danny lit a few candles and their younger brother giddily took post on the opposite side of the Ouija board. Sam was generally a pretty mopey ghost considering his circumstances, but there was something about this particular person that really piqued his interest. It was odd, especially to his brothers, but it was also too exciting to ignore.

For his brothers, it was odd for a different reason. It was concerning. 

“Alright,” Danny started, clearing his throat and trying to avoid stalling any more. “Let’s do this.”

He set the camera down on the end of the bed right in front of where the ghostly twins sat cross legged, and they mimed holding it steady and pressing the buttons with a collective giggle. Sam scowled at them and gestured for them to get away from it, knowing that their interaction with the technology could provide Danny with some interesting warped footage that would take away from his prospective Ouija interview. 

“I’ve set up camp here in the south wing of the house in the room that used to belong to Samuel, who I very briefly touched on earlier,” Danny explained to the camera, settling into the animated lecturing tone he adopted for his videos. “On the opposite end of the hallway are the rooms that belonged to his older brothers, Joshua and Jacob, who died a year before him.”

On the bed, Josh and Jake raised their hands like roll call, and Sam rolled his eyes at them.

“From what I’ve been able to find, it seems that Joshua contracted cholera in the spring of 1897 and suffered with it for a year before finally passing away in 1898, with his twin brother Jacob passing away just a few days later from an unrelated cardiac event that left their youngest brother alone in the estate.”

“Thank you again for that one, you guys,” Sam commented dryly. “That wasn’t super lonely or anything.”

“I still think it was very dramatic of you to die from heartbreak,” Josh snorted, nudging Jake.

“Who says it was heartbreak?” Jake teased right back. “I was simply so overcome with the joy of finally being free of you that I croaked.”

“I would like to try and run the spirit box in their rooms later on in the night, but I wanted to start in here,” Danny went on, setting the planchette on the board. “I couldn’t really find much about how Samuel died, except for that his autopsy reported some broken bones and internal injury. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll tell me.”

“He jumped out a window!” Jake yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

“Shut up!” Sam snapped. They both exchanged faces before Sam turned to give his full attention back to Danny, who was very hesitantly placing his first and middle fingers on the planchette. He waited for Danny to trace three circles before adding his own fingers to the wood, wishing for a moment that he was still able to feel anything at all so he could feel the warmth of Danny’s skin. Now that was something Sam missed: warmth.

“Is there anyone here who would like to talk to me?” Danny asked gingerly. Whenever he asked, he always hoped deep down that nobody would answer.

Unfortunately for him, Sam was eager to talk, and he concentrated all of his energy on very laboriously sliding the planchette over to his answer.

YES

Danny stared at the board for a second, trying to zero in on the twitch of muscles in his fingers and finally deducing that his subconscious must have moved the planchette. Danny had had plenty of paranormal experiences with shadow figures and moving doors, but he’d never been lucky with the Ouija board before.

“O-kay, that’s great,” Danny squeaked out. “Wow. Okay. Yeah. Can you tell me your name?”

S A M

It took a lot of effort to move the planchette and Sam figured his nickname would be enough. He wanted to preserve his energy so they could talk for as long as he wanted to.

“Ooh, keeping it casual, I see,” Josh sang. “You’re best friends already.”

“Sam,” Danny repeated, his heart racing so fast he worried it would freeze up. “Are you the same Sam who lived here? Samuel?”

YES

“Wow,” Danny blurted, flustered from this revelation. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam. I’m Danny. You, uh, your house is very nice.”

“Danny?” Jake echoed in a thin, nasally mockery. “Good grief, what’s with names these days? What’s so bad about Daniel?”

Sam glowered at him before steeling himself to reply again.

T H A N K Y O U

“You’re welcome,” Danny answered, still dumbfounded. 

He was talking to a real ghost. This was proof, if not for the camera but for himself. He knew his comments section would be filled with accusations, but Danny knew somewhere deep in his gut that it was not him rigging the game.

This was real.

“How old are you?” Danny asked, realizing with a panic that he wasn’t nearly as prepared as he’d hoped. He was really grasping for straws with his questions.

2 4

“Hey, so am I!” Danny laughed. Sam grinned and shivered at the sound. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a laugh that wasn’t his own or his brothers, or one that wasn’t at the expense of their house from so-called ghost hunters far less courteous than Danny. Usually when Sam was around, people were screaming. But here was a laugh. It was a nice change of pace.

“Is it just you in the house?” Danny asked.

NO 

“Can I ask who else is here with you?” 

J J

“JJ?” Danny repeated with a confused frown. “Who’s JJ? OH, do you mean your brothers? Joshua and Jacob?”

“Come on, Sam, give him a little more to work with,” Jake scolded.

“My arms hurt,” Sam whined. “It’s not my fault your names have so many letters. He figured it out, anyways!”

YES

“Oh, well, hello to them, too,” Danny greeted nervously, looking around the room for where they may be lurking. “They don’t want to talk?”

NO 

“Any reason why?” 

E F F O R T

“It’s a lot of effort? To move it?”

YES

“Oh, so you can spell that but not Jacob? That’s too much work?”

“I’m sorry,” Danny apologized. “We can stop.”

When the planchette moved again, it was fast and aggressive.

NO NO NO

“Don’t scare him too bad,” Josh murmured, taking note of Danny’s tense body language and Sam’s frantic eyes. “Easy.”

“Okay, we’ll keep going,” Danny said, cringing at the slight shake in his voice. “Uh…sorry, I really wasn’t expecting a reply. I’m kind of blanking. You must get the Ouija board treatment all the time.”

NO 

“No? Really? I feel like that’s what everybody brings to haunted houses.”

Danny cringed again, breaking out in a cold sweat when he thought about what he’d said. Did Sam know he was dead? Was it a touchy subject? 2 years of ghost investigation and Danny was only now considering the ghost’s perspective. 

Sam watched Danny stick his tongue in his cheek and visibly ponder potential questions. He felt very grateful that Danny couldn’t see how intensely he was staring. Sam made detailed notes of the spray of freckles across his nose and the Botticelli furrow of his brows, the way his hair grew long and gathered at his shoulders in a way that Sam envied and never would’ve been allowed to do in his time. If he listened closely, he could hear his heart beating, panicked and bloody and alive. 

“What is death like?” Danny found himself asking, the words rushing out in a whisper. He couldn’t help himself. It was all he could think about in this place, with its silent halls and chatty spirits.

Sam smiled.

L I G H T 

“Light?”

C A L M

“Sam,” Josh warned. “Watch yourself.”

H A P P Y 

Danny felt a wave of relief pass over him at the affirmation. He’d long since forgotten that the camera was on and felt no sense of self consciousness at his little shiver of excitement.

“That sounds nice,” Danny smiled. “I think people worry that it’s all hellfire and empty spaces and whatnot, so that’s good to hear. I’m sorry you died so young. At least you avoided The Great Depression and stuff.”

“The who?” Sam said out loud to himself, earning a laugh from his brothers.

“Well,” Danny sighed. “I’m probably going to end this now. Is there anything else you want to tell me before I put the board away?”

Sam’s heart sank. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. According to Danny, he’d be moving to the twins’ rooms next, and knowing them, they’d keep his spirit box chattering all night with their incessant scares. It wasn’t fair. Everybody always came to the house for Josh and Jake and their heart wrenching, freaky-deaky twin deaths and their boyish paranormal antics. 

When was the last time somebody had come here looking for him?

“Tell him he needs a haircut,” Jake suggested. “Tell him you’re Satan.”

“They always go running with that one,” Josh agreed. “What’s the other one? ZOZO? No clue where that comes from but it sure freaked out those guys from Seattle.” 

Sam ignored them. The only thing he could hear was Danny.

S T A Y

Danny chuckled nervously.

“Stay? Am I really such a great interviewer?”

S T A Y

Jake and Josh exchanged glances. 

“Okay, Sam, time to hang up,” Jake demanded, leaning forward off the side of the bed and pulling on Sam’s shoulder. “We are not doing this again.”

“He’s different,” Sam insisted, shrugging Jake off and moving his fingers on the planchette so that they spliced with Danny’s. The temperature change was subtle, but it was enough that Danny felt his fingers go cold. He eased up on the pressure he’d been applying out of fear that he’d begun to cut off his circulation.

“You said that about the last two,” Josh reminded harshly, joining Jake’s effort to try and pull Sam away from the board. “Back off. We’ll spook him on the spirit box and he’ll be out by the sunrise.”

W A N T 

Every alarm bell inside Danny’s gut was blaring full volume and he knew he needed to end the session and get going. He couldn’t help but keep glancing up at the empty space in front of him, trying to remember anything about Sam’s appearance from the online archives he’d used for research the night prior. It was only when he looked back down at the board did he catch a glimpse of something in his peripheral; a smudge of brown hair, pale skin…or was it the candlelight playing tricks on him?

“It’s been nice talking to you, Sam,” Danny blurted hurriedly, struggling to speak with such strong paranoia twisting in his stomach. “Goodbye, now!”

With an unheard frustrated shriek on Sam’s behalf, Danny circled the planchette three times again and pulled his hand back like it’d been resting on a hot stovetop. He let out a rattling breath of relief and turned back towards the camera, acknowledging it with a jolt and flashing the screen a relieved smile before scooping it off the bed. 

“You heard it here first, folks,” Danny announced with a breathless chuckle, pushing his curly bangs off his forehead. “Your man Dan is in hot demand on the grounds of Kiszka Manor.”

-

“You’ve got to control yourself, Sam, for heaven’s sake,” Josh reprimanded. 

Danny had left the room a few minutes ago, abandoning them with haste in favor of setting up motion detectors and a spirit box in Jake’s room at the other end of the hall. But the twins were in no hurry to go play with any of Danny’s toys yet. 

“Now you know why we don’t like you to interact,” Jake added, his words landing like a slap on Sam’s stormy face. “You get too involved.”

“Why are you two the only ones who ever get to have fun?” Sam yelled, getting to his feet and facing the wall away from them with his arms crossed haughtily. “Why am I in trouble? I’m an adult! I’m 149 years old! Leave me the hell alone!”

“If we could get away from you, we would,” Josh spat. “Trust me. But we can’t. And you’re not allowed to ‘have fun’ because your idea of fun is KILLI-”

“I’VE NEVER KILLED ANYBODY!” Sam howled, his hands coming up like claws next to his face. He still refused to look at either of his brothers.

“Then would you care to find another explanation for our forlorn ghostly companions in our attic? I’m sure they’d love to hear it from you!”

“JUST GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

“That boy should count himself pretty lucky he remembered to close the portal,” Jake sneered at Sam’s back. “We’re going to go give him a scare or two and then we’re going to leave him alone. And I recommend you do too. Do you hear me?”

Sam fell deathly silent, the weight of his fury draining any last remnants of warmth that the candle had left behind and plunging the thermostat as low as he felt.

“Christ,” was the last thing Sam heard muttered before he felt them leave the room, making sure to let the door slam behind them and conjure up a muffled scream of fright from Danny down the hall. 

Once Sam was certain they were gone, he relaxed his incorporeal body out of his act of tense rage and turned to look over his shoulder at the door. He was wearing the lazy smile that he’d been unable to wipe off his face and had to hide from his family. That was a curse of his that he carried into his afterlife; he just couldn’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve. 

Except that Sam didn’t have a heart anymore. It had died with him, of course, but he was pretty sure it had given its last beat on the day that he was left the only surviving member of his family. With a house too big, a backyard overpopulated with graves, and a town that offered only thoughts and prayers in his time of need, Sam lost his ability to feel. It had been so blank inside his chest that Sam figured the only explanation was that his heart had simply shriveled up and withered away. He’d gone looking for it in death but found himself somehow twice as lonely even with a reunion as sweet as the one he’d had with his siblings. 

But now he’d found it again, that rhythmic pulse that he heard from the ribcage of a polite ghost hunter that had been delivered to his door by what seemed like the hand of God. He was sure of it, actually. Danny was here because he was meant to be Sam’s, meant to drive away all that endless, bleak loneliness and bring back his capacity to love.

Why else would have Danny done the closing circles on the Ouija board in the same direction as he had the first time? Every paranormal professional knew you ended things by moving the planchette in a counterclockwise direction. And Danny really seemed like he knew his stuff. 

Sam smiled wider. Danny must’ve left the portal open on purpose. Just for him. 

Down the hall, Sam could hear another dampened scream from Danny, no doubt from the twins tossing a ghostly buzzword in between radio waves. On the bed, Sam noticed for the first time that Danny had thrown his sleeping bag across its expanse, already unzipped and ready to receive him. 

Them. 

It may have been unbeknownst to everyone except for Sam, but the night had just begun.

--

[abarbaricyalp]

Everybody Wants To Be A Cat 😽

Bucky walked into the house and was met with the angry glare of the boat cat. He blinked, but the cat didn't disappear in that time. He didn't figure it would disappear while he set the groceries down either. He tossed his keys on the table by the door and dropped the extra market bag where it belonged and then went into the kitchen to deposit the groceries and get a better look at the living room.

The cat was sitting on the couch and had shifted itself so it was glaring at Bucky over the arm of the chair instead of over the back of it.

The cat was a scrappy little thing that lived down at the marina. It scavenged fish and picnics and kept the vermin out of the boats. It was too small and lazy to bother the seagulls, or really anything that didn't swim and had been left out in an ice box. It was fairly beloved, even if it kind of felt like he might pick up a disease each time he petted it. It was allegedly black and white, but it mostly looked grey for the salt and filth on it.

"How are you so high up?" Bucky asked it. "You are not big enough to sit above the arm."

One step past the open way between the kitchen and the living room answered his question. The cat was sitting on a lump of blankets, which had an arm sticking out the top. For temperature regulation, he'd been told.

"That cat can't stay in here," Bucky warned. "It's an outside cat."

The mound of blankets opened like a great maw in a horror story and swallowed up the cat from sight. The cat chirped a surprised little sound but allowed itself to be swallowed up. "He came inside all on his own," the mound argued back.

Bucky rolled his eyes and got to sorting out the groceries and putting them where they were supposed to go. Well, at least the cold stuff. The rest could probably wait. "He's a boat cat. He belongs on the boats."

"He's got a wound on his chest. He had to take it easy for a while."

"The sea salt will be good for it." The cat was always scraped up here and there. It would scrap with anything, including loose boards on the docks or the evil raccoons that roamed around. "He's getting fleas all over our stuff. You're gonna end up with that leather couch you don't want."

"A leather couch is a terrible thing to have with a cat in the house."

A leather couch was a terrible thing to have in this God-forsaken heat too. It was an empty threat. "He's not staying in the house."

The cat let out another meow as the mound of blankets hugged it closer. Bucky didn't need x-ray vision to know that that's what had happened. He knew Sam too well. Knew him too well to really expect an outcome to this where they didn't end up with a cat in the house too. Still, he could try.

"I'm allergic to cats," he said.

"You were allergic to cats. You're not allergic to anything now," Sam corrected. "Did you really think that was going to work?"

"I'm about to become allergic to kisses," Bucky threatened emptily.

Sam snorted and didn't even bother justifying that with a response. It really didn't deserve one.

Bucky had not adjusted to being a pet person since breaking free of Hydra. He'd bought a fish once, on a whim in New York, because it looked terrible in the store, but he hadn't adopted a great fondness for it. He eventually gave it to the kids next door who were always complaining at him that the bowl wasn't big enough every time they snooped in through his open front door.

The idea of a cat was daunting.

"You don't even leave extra bait out for him when we go fishing," Bucky pointed out. "Why is he in the house? Why is he your problem now?"

Finally, Sam yanked the blanket off of his head and sat up. The rest of the blanket fell to his lap and Bucky saw he was still dressed for his morning run. Which did not detour to the marina. Just how distracted had Sam gotten this morning? Sam held up the cat by it's armpits (did cats have armpits?) and jostled it gently.

The cat meowed just as gently and let himself dangle there without objection. "Look at him, Barnes. Look at this face. Look at his tummy."

"There are lots of cute tummies that don't live in our house," Bucky pointed out. He gave up on dealing with the groceries and crossed the distance between them so he could sit beside Sam. Even without any attempt to reach out to the thing, the cat bared its teeth at Bucky and squirmed away. He curled up by Sam's hip when Sam put him down.

"I'm naming him Figaro," Sam decided.

"Like...the opera?" Bucky asked. "You watched an opera?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "First of all, if I wanted to watch an opera, I could totally watch an opera. But, no. Figaro like the cat from Pinocchio."

"You know the cat's name from Pinocchio off the top of your head?"

"Yeah. Unlike some people, I pay attention to the movies I watch."

"Sorry, I was worried about the impending world war last time I thought about Pinocchio," Bucky said drily.

Sam rolled his eyes again and threw in an exasperated groan. "Oh my God, gonna play the 40s card again, huh?"

"Are you a cat person, Wilson?" Bucky teased. Sam would continue to ridicule him about the '40s card'. "You pay attention to the cats in the movies. Know their names and everything."

"I like all animals. Cats are quieter than boyfriends," he added.

"Bullshit," Bucky snorted. "Cats are noisy as hell when they want your attention."

"So are super assassin boyfriends," Sam assured. He leaned into Bucky's space, dropping half of his weight against Bucky's chest. "When those things need attention?" He blew a raspberry. "They're so needy. They've got this little whine and they make this weird grumbling noise if you're in front of them but not looking at them."

Bucky laughed and dropped his arms around Sam's waist. "Yeah? You should hear the noises boyfriends with wings make when you're not paying attention to them. Lots of humming. Lots of pointed humming. Why do you do that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam hummed. He got his arm over Bucky's shoulder and carded his fingers in his hair to pull him down into a kiss. "I'm glad we're agreed that the cat is staying."

"You're bathing it on your own," Bucky said against his mouth.

"A metal hand would be really handy for that, Barnes."

"That's too bad. Wear gloves."

And then, just as Bucky was dipping Sam back and really getting into the kissing, there was an intentional weight on his thigh, heavy and bruising, little pricks of pain stinging through his jeans, and a fuzzy head shoving its way between his mouth and Sam's.

"Oh, he's absolutely not staying inside," Bucky grumbled.

Sam just laughed and cuddled the cat up against his chest as he sat back up. Figaro stared at Bucky, even as he tucked himself closer to Sam.

It was so on.

[watching-sam-and-dean-again]

Supernatural, Season 8 Sam Musings (Ranting):

There are many things I love about Season 8, like The church scene in Sacrifice, or the four (four!) brother-hugs we get throughout the season, or the moments of Dean trying to take care of Sam (even though Sam fights it), or having side characters that I actually like (for the most part … not Amelia), or the good moments of bad-brother-communication (there are some), but what I absolutely hate is the sacrificing of character for "story" that we see in this season.

So, shocking as this will be to the few who follow me or have read my thoughts (rants) before, but I’m a Sam-leaning brothers fan. And as someone who is Sam-girl adjacent, the beginning of Season 8 makes me ragey. Ironically, it was partially the "abuse" of Sam's character by the writers (among other things) that actually confirmed my tilt towards Sam because it forced me to think more deeply about Sam and his motivations. The writers also pulled some shady crap with Dean's character.

So, you can find my ramblings under the cut, if interested …

So, let’s tackle Sam's oft considered worst offense first: Sam not "looking for" Dean. What the actual fuck was this? I mean, I get it in theory; they brought Sam low in the start of the season, making him "betray" and "fail" Dean again, in order to high ten his rise to Savior Sam 2.0, but it was lazy writing, and almost unforgivable in two ways, out of character actions and failure to meaningfully explain said actions.

First, I’m sorry, but it’s just out of character to have Sam—Psychotic Without Dean—Winchester not look for his brother. We have so much canon proof of this that him not looking for Dean in season 8 is almost offensive. In "Faith" when Dean is going to die, Sam finds him to a "faith healer," and when it turns out another life was exchanged for Dean's, Sam obviously isn’t happy about it … but, I don’t exactly see him wishing to undo it either. In "In My Time of Dying," Sam is totally distraught throughout the entire episode because Dean is dying, even willing to embarrass himself in front of Dean by pulling out a "talking board" (or whatever it was called) just to try and communicate with him, and he wanted to save him so badly but didn’t know how. These two episode alone show us that Sam would not be okay with just "loosing" Dean, and that if Sam thinks there is even a hope of saving Dean, he isn’t just going to shrug and walk away. So, at the end of Season 7, if he thought Dean was still alive, the Sam we know should have been exhaustive,y hunting for Dean.

Second, if Sam thought Dean was dead, which I think was what the show was suggesting but could have made it more explicit, Sam should have been going insane, as he’s done in the past. In Mystery Spot, Sam basically becomes a revenge-driven automaton, even stabbing Fake Bobby in hope of getting Dean back. And when Dean is killed by the hellhound in "No Rest for the Wicked," Sam is destroyed. Season 4 shows us that Sam tried to trade his soul for Dean's, just an instant trade, but the demon wouldn’t deal. We see that Sam was full-on suicidal after losing Dean, basically attempting suicide by demon, drinking and taking pills. If Ruby hadn’t intervened (for her own evil purposes, but still…), he would have gotten himself killed, not might have. When none of the immediately self-distractive options worked, Sam once again went into full-on revenge mode. Sam without Dean, or at least Sam without a Dean alive somewhere in the world, is not okay. He is desperate and frightening.

Arguably, he’s not actually okay in Season 8 either, but his distress after losing Dean was too subtle, to the point that it almost makes him look a bit cold. So, to me at least, not seeing Sam very obviously fucked up, in some way beyond dating Amelia, over Dean's disappearance/death is a disservice to the character.

On the other hand, if the writers just needed Sam to not look for Dean because the drama was just too delicious for them … more important than, you know, staying true to character … then they should have bloody well shown us why. And showing us Sam shacking up with a bitchy pain in the ass Veterinarian was not giving him anything like fair treatment or good characterization, or understandable motivation.

Now, the subtext is that there was more going on in Sam's head than, "Oops, I hit a dog and met a rude vet. I guess I’ll just give up wondering if my brother is alive and move in with this woman who isn’t even particularly nice to me." He even said that hunting had gotten everyone he loved killed, and he that just "ran," in the first episode of the season. So, to me, this means Sam definitely thought Dean was dead, but the show doesn’t actually make it explicitly clear, at least I don’t think so. And this matters because there is a big difference between thinking Dean was lost and not looking for him VS thinking Dean is dead and not trying to sell his soul (or something else mystical and dangerous) to bring him back to life. It’s actually breaking the cycle and healthier for Sam to believe Dean is in heaven, and try to move on, but the show frames his actions, through Dean and Bobby as this huge failure of character. Also, Sam choosing running away from hunting (which has gotten everyone he loves killed) VS giving into revenge and basic insanity again, while not healthy in its escapism, is actually better than becoming an obsessive psycho. So, not just the fact that Sam didn’t look for Dean that is the problem, it’s the execution of how and why he didn’t look for Dean, or lack of exploration around these issues, that I’m especially annoyed by.

So, because we got what we got in the start of Season 8, my explanation to make it work, or headcanon, is that when Sam thought Dean was killed (not just missing) in the explosion of dick 😏, he utterly fell apart. As in, he collapsed in a heap and lost himself in his own head for a while. Maybe he even went a little insane again, sure that he was having a terrible hell-ucination again, even though Cas had supposedly taken his insanity onto himself at this point. Maybe he even feared he was still in the cage after all, and living through yet another nightmare scenario. So, Sam shattered. When he finally pulls himself together, he realizes he has two options, lose himself again in revenge and obsession over trying to bring Dean back to life, or give up the life that has brought him nothing but pain (and Dean, but Dean's gone now). So, he goes with the latter, thinking surly Dean would prefer that he try to live a normal, non-hunting life rather than utterly losing himself in suicidal behavior and revenge again … right?

What the show doesn’t bother to address either, and what many fans seem not to consider or care about, is that pre-Season 8 Sam has only had the devil out of his head for a matter of weeks/months at this point, and he’s still chalk full of fairly newly recalled hell trauma from being stuck in the cage with said devil for over a hundred years. Dean still wasn’t okay in Season 5, a season after getting out of his 40 year stint in hell, and the show addressed this pretty clearly, which is good. With Sam, the show doesn’t bother to remind the audience of his trauma or link it in any meaningful way to Sam's decision to give up hunting and not try to get Dean beck.

I think that’s the most unforgivable part of the first half of the season for me, not showing us in a way that, while some fans might still not consider it a good enough reason, the audience can at least understand why Sam made the choice he did. If the writers wanted Sam to make a decision that was not consistent with what we have seen of him this far, then they needed to show us why he acted differently this time. The show gave us a buttload of flashbacks (often not smoothly), so they could have very easily given us a few flashbacks of Sam falling apart, choosing to try to live without going insane over Dean, grieving his brother. We could have seen these things and still had time for him to meet and stay with a woman (not Amelia) for even, say, six months before Dean gets out of purgatory. Dean could even not be satisfied with Sam's explanation, or Sam could get defensive and not tell Dean how bad he was doing at first, so the brother drama could still be in tact, but at least the audience would understand Sam's motivations more. In a show where Dean usually gets the benefit of the doubt due to being our more regular POV protagonist, the narrative, and his protectiveness, it was a poor choice not to flesh out Sam's decisions more.

Season 8 was one of the rare times we actually see things from Sam's POV fairly often, and they wasted it on an unlikable love interest and half-explained motivations. The way the season is structured, it looks like it’s actually trying to argue that Amelia was the reason Sam gave up hunting (and Dean), but then it depicts her as incredibly harsh, annoying, and, frankly, not worth giving up Dean for. Giving Sam this particular love interest, one he has no chemistry with, makes it even harder to empathize with him because we (or most of the audience) don’t like her.

The real reason Sam gives up is essentially that hunting cost him too much, and he was too broken to carry on after losing Dean. But, the emphasis on the relationship, even though it’s explained that Sam and Amelia were basically just two broken people pulled together by their pain, doesn’t do enough to actually make it appealing, or to make me buy that Sam even loves her. I get that the show isn’t on the side of Sam living a normal life, and that’s actually fine, but making the relationship so … lame just helps stack the deck against Sam.

Meanwhile, Dean's friend-who-isn’t-Sam is incredibly likable, so we sympathize with Dean giving up Benny for Sam mid season, but most of us have been waiting for the moment when we no longer have to see Amelia being grating all over our screens since pretty much the first time we saw her. Thus, Dean's jealousy, dismissive remarks regarding Amelia, and his casual cruelty in letting Sam think she’s in danger just to get him out of the way, have less weight with the audience because so many of us don’t like her anyway. Whereas, Sam's sudden hate for vampires when he’s always been the more sympathetic brother when it comes to monsters, feels like it comes out of nowhere. And he ends up looking like a dick because the audience knows that Benny is a good guy (vampire), even though Sam doesn’t. Dean is no less jealous of Amelia than Sam is of Benny, but it comes across as more unreasonable in Sam's case. And he seems to be the only one who is often considered to be acting petty.

Here too, I feel the show does a bad job showing Sam's motivations. Sam has an instant hate-on for Benny, and his stated reasons are pretty much … he’s a vampire. And when arguing with Dean, the show has Sam bring up Amy. I mean, sure, Amy was a more recent monster and issue in their lives, but she isn’t a fitting Benny parallel, in my opinion. To me, Benny was to Sam, what Ruby was to Dean. They are both monsters: vampire VS demon. They both saved a brother’s life: Ruby saved a suicidal Sam VS Benny saving Dean in a land of Monsters. Both fought alongside a brother for a shared goal: Sam killing Lilith vs Dean getting out of Purgatory. Both monsters caused jealousy for sort of replacing the other brother: Sam chose to trust Ruby over Dean regarding Lilith VS Dean literally telling Sam that Benny (unlike Sam) has never let him down, and he lies to Sam to protect Benny. Sam should have brought up the mistake of trusting Ruby in their argument, if he thinks Dean is wrong to trust Benny. Of course, if Sam so much as said "Ruby," Dean would probably just fixate on Sam not listening to him back then. The thing is, looking at the Benny issue in relation to Ruby, it’s actually fair that Sam distrusts Benny. Of course, i do I think he’s also jealous and feels guilty.

Anyway, the season then sort of tries to make up for Sam being hard to sympathize with, by making Dean be straight up cruel to him a few times, which I don’t love either.

[hms-tardimpala]

Ficbinding: A Complete Kingdom by Komodobits

The fic: SPN, Castiel/Dean Winchester, 85k

This fic had me staying up until 2am to read, it swept me up and flattened me. It's so well-written, so faithful to the characters, so well constructed that all you can do is strap in and enjoy the ride and hope you're not sobbing by the end (a vain hope). It's such a good story, period, that I think it can be enjoyed by non-SPN people. Mind the tags. Summary:

The sea; it swallows me. It comes up to my knees and it swallows me. The boys owe Jody a few dozen favours, and so when her niece goes missing near an old fishing village on the coast of Maine, Dean, Sam, and a newly human Castiel agree to take the case on. They settle into an old abandoned lighthouse-keepers' cottage, and slowly the tide comes in. (post-s8)

The bind: I'm so proud of this one, guys. I tried new things, pretty much everything worked, and I learned new skills!

Let's start with the colors. The story is sea-themed and stormy, so I chose black, dark blue and silver for the cover and light grey and light blue for the headbands and bookmark. I meant to use white for the headbands, but discovered I don't have white ones. It's the first time I do an overlap of fabrics and it turned out awesome. The silver stripe is a simple gift wrapper ribbon.

Typesetting:

The title font is so cool, with a droplet effect. For the part titles I chose a kind of blurry, hazy font because this story is about perception of reality and the loss of it. The chapter titles of the first part are solid, then they're altered in the following parts, to symbolize a slipping grasp on reality as time goes on.

I put headers and bottom-of-page numbers this time, which forced me to figure new things out in LibreOffice and do some maths 💪

The image of a lighthouse also changes in the three parts of the story. If you've read this fic, you know why.

Little wave as a divider.

Making the book:

I hadn't made a big book (printed at the A5 format) in a while and it felt amazing going back to that. It stretched my maths muscles. It's relaxing to do a book and not have to fight for every millimeter, like with small books. It's a more forgiving format.

Trimming went amazingly this time, I'm finding my footing slowly.

I had to sandpaper the edges to color them silver. I don't mind working with sandpaper, but it's quite brutal on the book, and wouldn't do it every time.

The edge painting was made with a silver marker, so I knew it wouldn't be perfect, but it looks good enough and doesn't peel away.

My corners are improving! They look almost perfectly square.

In reaction to the last bind I made, I augmented the overhang (still don't know if that's the word) between the edge of the covers and the edge of the textblock. From 3mm to 5mm. I'm very happy with this, it looks much better!

It's rare that I'm disappointed in a fabric, so I'll highlight here that I don't like this endpaper. It's pretty, but it's a sort of glossy magazine paper that didn't react to glue so well.

Overall, I love this book and this story deeply. I think it may be my best work technically so far.

Fonts: Rained (title), Moonrising (author name), Louis George Cafe (text), Brightness, Brightness Book and Brightness inverted (chapter titles), Snorter (part titles). Materials: 2mm grey board, 80g/m² ivory Clairfontaine A4 paper, synthetic ribbon and headbands (found on amazon), black and blue cloth and endpaper from Schmedt, silver non-textile ribbon (bought in craft store).

Feel free to ask me more about materialsand fonts (or whatever), it won’t bother me at all to tell you what I used, but I’m too lazy rn to write it in this post that’s long enough already.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Sam Heughan’s Sassenach whisky brand loses the final legal fight in a trademark dispute in the European Union 🇪🇺

Sam Heughan launched his whisky brand "The Sassenach" in 2020, nickname his character uses for his on-screen love interest in the time travel drama "Outlander". Since 2021, Heughan has been embroiled in a legal battle with "Sasse" a German distillery over the name of his whisky brand, arguing that the Sassenach whisky would confuse customers who might think he is linked to them.

The European Union Intellectual Property Office (EUIPO), which resolves trademark disputes, ruled in favour of the German company and issued a decision upholding the opposition saying The Sassenach could not use the name as a whisky brand. After losing the initial decision at the Fifth Board of Appeals in 2021, Heughan's legal team appealed in 2022 to overturn the decision.

His legal team said there was no risk of confusion as Outlander was popular in Germany. Lawyers for the Sasse distillery, however, said: "The television series may be as popular as the other side claims, which we deny, nonetheless it is not sufficient to assume that the average consumer knows the meaning of that term. Both parties in litigation were given time to present evidence and arguments in their defence and after the Examination period, the Opposition Division’s decision was taken this year 2023.

Great Glen Company or its representative never commented on the EU decisions until last October, in New York when Sam Heughan was asked about Sassenach whisky situation in the European Union in a chat with Mark Gillespie at the Whisky Cast podcast and Heughan's response was very limited, deflecting the question talking about the name in dispute but not the EUIPO's decision, regarding Sassenach whisky that was supposedly aware of the official communication from the European Union Intellectual Property Office - Opposition Division- sent to Great Glen Company in July 2023, which considered that the disputed trademark 'The Sassenach' must be rejected for all the contested goods.

It's a bit curious that after the EUIPO decision, Sam Heughan appeared on a surprise visit to New Orleans, which included podcasts, and events with @sgwinespirits on Tales of the cocktail with an unscheduled tasting of his drinks at the Ritz-Carlton in Nola. Later on, he began his Sassenach sales tour around the United States last summer. If these people had known what had happened with his Sassenach brand in the EU would be different?

In addition, Great Glen Company (GGC) applied to register a new trademark with the World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) and the EU, following the EUIPO decision, following its earlier idea to build on all the Outlander ideas, the new trademark is called "LALLYBROCH SPIRITS" (Lallybroch means "lazy tower" in Gaelic). It will not use Midhope/Lallybroch as a distillery. This new trademark has nothing to do with or relate to the grounds of Midhope Castle, the site of a new whisky distillery with a different brand and ownership. Its new application is already registered in the United States.

It's pending resolution in the EU, Canada and the United Kingdom where Heughan requested its registration.

WIPO

EUIPO

THE SASSENACH UNIQUE SPIRITS

The Great Glen Company, Sam Heughan’s firm, applied to register the brand name Scotch whisky THE SASSENACH UNIQUE SPIRITS as a future trademark to sell the whisky across Europe, but Theo Sasse e.K brand distillery in Schöppingen-Germany, objected claiming the name was too close to its trademarked name, which it uses to sell whiskies and brandies spirits.

On 20th July 2023 the Opposition Division takes the following:

DECISION

1. Opposition is upheld for all the contested goods.

2. International registration is entirely refused protection in respect of the European Union.

REASONS

On 24th November 2021 the opponent Theo Sasse e.K filed an opposition against all the goods (Class 33) of international registration designating the European Union. The opposition is based on, inter alia, German trademark registration ‘Sasse’ (word mark). Also, the opponent invoked Article 8(1)(b) EUTMR and Article 8(4) EUTMR.

LIKELIHOOD OF CONFUSION — ARTICLE 8(1)(b) EUTMR

A likelihood of confusion exists if there is a risk that the public might believe that the goods or services in question, under the assumption that they bear the marks in question, come from the same undertaking or, as the case may be, from economically linked undertakings.

The opposition is based on more than one earlier trade mark. The Opposition Division finds it appropriate to first examine the opposition in relation to the opponent’s German trade mark registration.

a) The goods

The goods on which the opposition is based are, inter alia, the following:

Class 33: Alcoholic beverages, excluding beers. Alcoholic beverages, except beer are identically contained in both lists of goods (including synonyms).

b) Relevant public — degree of attention

The average consumer of the category of products concerned is deemed to be reasonably well informed and reasonably observant and circumspect. It should also be borne in mind that the average consumer’s degree of attention is likely to vary according to the category of goods or services in question. In the present case, the goods found to be identical are directed at the public at large.

c) The signs

The relevant territory is Germany.

Contested sign The global appreciation of the visual, aural or conceptual similarity of the marks in question must be based on the overall impression given by the marks, bearing in mind, in particular, their distinctive and dominant components. The earlier mark is the word mark ‘Sasse’. The protection of a word mark concerns the word as such and not the specific graphic or stylistic elements accompanying that mark.

The verbal element ‘SASSENACH’ of the contested mark has, contrary to the allegations of the holder, no meaning for the relevant public and is, therefore, distinctive. Likewise, the unicorn device of the contested sign has no particular meaning in relation to the goods and is distinctive.

THE SASSENACH’ in the contested sign are the dominant elements as they are the most eye-catching.

Visually, the signs coincide in ‘SASSE’, which represents the entire earlier mark. The signs differ in the representation of a unicorn and the additional letters ‘-NACH’ (after SASSE) and the non-distinctive elements ‘The’ as well as ‘UNIQUE SPIRITS’ in the contested mark. Thus, the single word element of the earlier mark is fully contained in the most distinctive verbal element of the contested mark. That fact alone is a clear indication of a visual similarity. Therefore, the signs are similar to a below-average degree.

Aurally, the signs coincide in the syllables ‘Sas-se’, which is the sole and distinctive element of the earlier mark and the beginning of the most important verbal element of the contested sign, ‘Sas-se-nach’. The signs differ in the last letters of this word (one syllable), ‘nach’, and in the first verbal element of the contested sign, ‘The’. The fact remains that the earlier mark is entirely included at the beginning of the most important verbal element of the contested sign.

Conceptually, the signs will always be dissimilar as the contested mark will be understood with at least one meaning, namely the unicorn in the contested mark. As the signs have been found similar in at least one aspect of the comparison, the examination of likelihood of confusion will proceed.

d) Distinctiveness of the earlier mark The distinctiveness of the earlier mark is one of the factors to be taken into account in the global assessment of likelihood of confusion. In the present case, the earlier trade mark as a whole has no meaning for any of the goods in question from the perspective of the public in the relevant territory. Therefore, the distinctiveness of the earlier mark must be seen as normal.

e) Global assessment, other arguments and conclusion The goods at issue are identical. They target the general public, who possesses an average degree of attention. The earlier mark has a normal degree of distinctiveness. The signs are visually similar to a below average degree and aurally similar to an average degree since the sole and distinctive element of the earlier mark, ‘Sasse’, is entirely reproduced at the beginning of the contested sign’s only fully distinctive verbal element, ‘Sassenach’. Evaluating the likelihood of confusion implies some interdependence between the relevant factors and, in particular, a similarity between the marks and between the goods or services.

Considering all the above, especially taking into account that the earlier mark is entirely reproduced in the contested sign and used for goods that are identical, the Opposition Division finds that there is a likelihood of confusion on the part of the public. Therefore, the opposition is well founded on the basis of the opponent’s German trade mark registration It follows that the contested trade mark must be rejected for all the contested goods. As the earlier right German trade mark registration leads to the success of the opposition and to the rejection of the contested trade mark The Sassenach for all the goods against which the opposition was directed.

The trademark status was "totally refused", meaning that THE SASSENACH UNIQUE SPIRITS trademark cannot be registered in the EU. If SH's trade mark application is refused, he can file an appeal. He must file his notice of appeal within 2 months from the date of the refusal decision (August-September) and the grounds of appeal must be filed within 4 months from the same date of notification (October-November). But, He did not appeal and last November the EUIPO confirmed by letter the provisional refusal of his trademark and refused its protection in the European Union. The final decision was published on 14 December 2023.

Conclusion

The EUIPO’s decision of the Board of Appeals, regarding its whisky has a “displacement” because Sassenach whisky cannot be registered as a trademark in the EU, the Sassenach trademark was refused. SH must be aware the significance of the total refusal decision regarding its whisky brand. If he was planning to recover from a legal dispute by putting his gin on an impromptu Sassenach tour around US last summer, proving that his recent EU legal battle was a mere bump in the road, he should have thought twice. He lost a legal battle to register his Sassenach whisky brand as a European Community trademark ® in 27 states. It is a big difference. It seems that if Heughan wants to continue selling its whisky, it will have to change the name.

LALLYBROCH SPIRITS registration:

United Kingdom

Canada

USA