#monthly prompt

[setavvo]

For the “All About Kotallo” theme at the Kotaloy Elysium server @kotaloyelysiumevents!

[galacii-gallery]

Shattered September / A September prompt challenge!

This promptly challenge was inspired by Comyets Inktobertale! go check out their monthly prompt when it comes around the month after this one ^^!

Challenge starts on 9/01/2023! also known as September to most.

I wanted to join in on the monthly prompt fun and finally decided to make a 'Shattered September' monthly prompt challenge! This challenge mainly surrounds Shattered and his Nightmare, however you may draw anyone else using these prompts with Shattered or the Nightmare ^^! As for mediums? anything :D be it Art or Writing, the sky's the limit! Digital or in real life pieces anything can be shared.

Feel free to Skip and swap the challenges as you please, also there is no need to force yourself through the entire challenge. again this monthly prompt is for everyone's enjoyment.

The tags for this monthly prompt will be '#ShatteredSeptember2023'

I hope you all have fun with this monthly prompt- I will try to join but no promises because I may or may not be busy ^^.

I'm posting this earlier then expected to give people time to muster up the energy and plan ( I would've posted this days ago but I was busy gurreg ) feel free to send any questions relating to this as well and I'll try to answer as soon as I can OwO

[carrots-bear]

Forgotten Memory in a Letter

By Bear | Started/Finished - 2/3/25

Tales of Lost-Myth short (og world and story; collab in worldbuilding and lore; nothing posted)

⚠️VERY DARK THEMES AHEAD! BEWARE!⚠️

Lydia was going through the letters in her husbands box that he kept under their bed. The kids were playing outside with the dogs in the fields. There were letters from Axel’s mother, cousins, and from myself that I wrote when I went away to sell our crop and livestock. 

After quite a while, one letter came about to be from the years that we had left far behind us. 

“My Dear Axel,

How’s our inside man? It is nearly time for us to strike Drapple Cove’s Harbor. There’ll be a bloody mess of it, so I hope you’re well prepared. With this letter, as you can see, is a parcel. You have a d§$# good eye, I may observe, so I’m gifting you with one f$£# of a riffle and three magazines. Have a h¥&$ of a time my friend!

— Ombré ”

Lydia looked at the letter with disgust and horror. She remembered that night vividly, though she hated it deeply. It had been years since either she or Axel had willingly discussed their time as part of Cadell’s crew. 

As Cadell had predicted, that night was bloody. Women and men and children were running and fighting and bleeding. Dying. Not just dying, being killed. At their hands, Lydia’s hands. She wanted to erase it, but she couldn’t. 

She used to have nightmares for nights on end after the plunder. She had come to terms that this was a part of her at some point, and then didn’t think about for a while, until it was forgotten. But she supposed nothing was truly forgotten forever. She knew those nightmares of the woman who looked like her dearest friend who had been shot by their Captain, and the little boy who looked like one of her children today, would come back now. She hated it she hated it she hated it she hated it she hated it all. 

She joined in the life of piracy for riches and adventure. Sure, she was rich then, but Lydia wished nothing but meeting Axel had come of it. 

As Lydia put the letters back in the box how she found them, she wished there was a spell that could wipe all of her horrible memories from her mind.

————————————

@monthlywritingchallenges

Still getting a feel for the characters! This is super short for what I usually write, hahaaaa

This is a combo of Days 2 & 3: Day 2 - Forgotten Memory | Day 3 - Letter Discovered

[spnfanficpond]

Monthly Prompt

It's November!!!!!

Your prompt this month is PIE!

Wether your character is baking or eating a pie (among other things)! Wether they're celebrating Thanksgiving with a pumpkin pie! We want to know what you can do with it!!! It goes for both Sweet AND Savory pies!!!

As always feel free to tag us in your story! We'll be more than happy to reblog it

[fanficocean]

Monthly Prompt

It's November!!!!!

Your prompt this month is PIE!

Wether your character is baking or eating a pie (among other things)! Wether they're celebrating Thanksgiving with a pumpkin pie! We want to know what you can do with it!!! It goes for both Sweet AND Savory pies!!!

As always feel free to tag us in your story! We'll be more than happy to reblog it

[sc-intothedarknightofthesoul]

The Spirit of the Sword

<- With retro effects ~ Without retro effects ->

My power got knocked out twice while working on this (first was my breaker during the heatwave, then a storm came in and knocked out my power completely which luckily lasted a few minutes, but was super annoying that they set me back a bit).

But never mind that, here's my prompt entry from the Soul Calibur group, in which case asked to feature either Elysium or Inferno manipulating their hosts via illusions of their loved ones.

Since I was working with her already for another drawing I'm working on, I thought I do one with Xianghua, one of the canonical wielders of Soul Calibur alongside Siegfried and Patroklos.

Of course, we don't actually see her get possessed or get manipulated by Elysium, the obvious being that Soul Calibur was hiding out as Krita-Yuga, but also probably because she fought Nightmare and Inferno alongside Kilik who held the Dvapara-Yuga with him, and Elysium started playing a more active role in Soul Calibur 4 and 5.

But what if Xianghua did?

I figured the loved one Elysium would take the form of would be Xiangfei, Xianghua's mother, drawn as the ethereal crystal lady floating behind her as a stylistic choice.

Other than the power outages, I had a lot of fun drawing this.

[ani-coolgirl]

Red Delicious

Red Delicious

Pairing: Wincest

Prompt: For SPN FanFic Pond's September 2023 prompt: apple picking. Read here on AO3.

Word Count: 2,113

Warnings: incest

There’s a dream Dean has and it goes like this:

The car’s parked under a tree and a checkered picnic blanket, complete with blanket and beer, is spread on the grass beside her. It’s like those dreams he used to have about Lisa, back when he still remembered what a home smelled like and it hadn’t been scrubbed away by Hell and time and reality; except it’s not Lisa there, it’s Sam, and he’s got apple pie.

“Hey,” Sam says. He’s leaning against the car, boots and flannel and all. He stoops to take a plate and cutlery out of the picnic basket to carve out a piece. He licks the knife when he’s done cutting and offers the pie to Dean. “It’s pretty good.”

In the dream, Dean knows the pie’s just not good, it’s excellent. The best pie that’s ever been made. Flaky crust, sweet filling, still warm. The works. The idea of even smelling it makes him nauseous.

“Nah,” Dean says. He’s frozen in place, wanting to go to Sam and knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to take even a single step away. “I’m good.”

Sam frowns. “You sure? It’s from that place over by the orch—”

“I’m sure,” Dean interrupts, and his palms are sweating. “I’m... yeah. It’s fine.”

His brother shrugs. “If you’re sure.” And then Sam starts eating the pie himself with gusto even though in real life his opinions on the dessert are middling at best. Dean watches Sam’s throat bob with each swallow and his lips purse as he sucks on the fork between bites and agonizes. He wants some goddamn pie. Wants it so goddamn bad. But he can’t move.

Sam finishes off his piece with a sigh. He drags his finger around the plate to gather up the escaped filling and sticks it in his mouth. “There’s plenty left,” he advises, tipping the pie tin in Dean’s direction. True to his word, Sam had only cut a modest slice. He’s barely made a dent. “You sure?”

Dean wordlessly shakes his head. Sam sighs as if disappointed then takes the fork to the remaining pie, not bothering with knife or plate. He starts to eat and Dean reaches out—

And that’s when he wakes up. Usually.

*~*

But sometimes it’s like:

The car’s missing, which doesn’t alarm him as much as it should. Sam’s sitting on the picnic blanket, but there’s no basket this time—just the pie and a case of beer. It’s a warm day, so no overshirt, or shoes. Sam’s already eating.

“Want some?” he asks. His fork goes directly into the pie tin without worry. And why should he worry? They’re brothers. They share the same genes, the same germs. They’ve shared off plates before. It’s not forbidden. “It’s pretty good.”

Dean starts to sweat.

“Nah. I’m...” He swallows, watching the tip of Sam’s tongue flick around the tines. “I’m good.”

“You sure?” Sam tilts the pie tin. No clean cuts this time, just a jagged hole where Sam’s been eating his fill.

“I’m good,” Dean repeats firmly and Sam resumes eating. Slowly. Savoring. “But, uh...”

“Yeah?” Sam asks. His mouth shines with spit and apple filling and Dean can’t stop staring.

“Save me some?” Dean requests hesitantly.

“Don’t I always?” his brother replies solemnly. He gathers more pasty on his fork. “You know I don’t like eating alone.”

That’s not true. Sam doesn’t particularly care either way, Dean’s pretty sure. They usually eat together, for expediency’s sake, but it’s not a hard fast rule or anything. It’s not like Dean watches.

“Yeah,” Dean acknowledges vaguely. He can’t move. He should, but he’s not sure which direction. He’s stuck. “Sam—”

He’s met with a blinding smile. Sam doesn’t smile enough these days. “It really is good,” he says with a teasing lit at the end. “Why don’t you have some?”

So Dean reaches out—

And he wakes up. And Sam’s in the other bed snoring away, and there are takeout containers on the motel desk, and the lingering scent of Chinese food; Dean silently vows to stop at the next Mom-and-Pop diner they see and order every pie off the menu because this is getting ridiculous. It’s not like there’s a pie shortage. There’s not reason to be dreaming about it.

That’s what he usually ends up telling himself anyway.

*~*

Occasionally though, it starts like this:

No picnic blanket this time, just grass under a tree, Sam down to his shorts and an undershirt. Dean’s not sure either of them even owns shorts, at least not since they were little. Maybe they’re swim trunks? It’s impossible to tell. He’d have to get closer to look. Dean doesn’t move.

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s no blanket or beer but there is a basket, full of red apples like something out of a fairy tale. Sam’s already taken a bite out of one, cutting a slice off with a knife. Not a kitchen knife; one of their Bowie knives. Juice drips off the tip. “Want one? They’re pretty good.”

Sam takes another slice, sliding off the edge of the shining blade into his mouth. Dean watches, hypnotized. It takes a long time for an answer to come to him. “I don’t eat fruit,” he says with as much incredulity as he can muster. He doesn’t. He would never.

His brother laughs at him. “Now, that’s not true,” Sam says, half-teasing, half-scolding. “You did once.”

Dean sweats. It’s a nice day but he’s scorching, the sun too bright and accusing. “I haven’t.”

“Sure you did. I was sixteen, remember?”

Dean doesn’t remember. Won’t remember. Can’t remember, because there’s nothing to remember. Sam’s crazy. It didn’t go down like that. “No.”

His brother shrugs as if disappointed and devours another slice, slow. Savoring. Dean can’t move a muscle. “You sure? They’re from—”

“I said no!” Dean barks. His mouth snaps shut, shocked by his own vehemence but Sam’s unperturbed.

“Dean,” Sam says patiently. He’s almost down to the core but not finished yet. “Come eat with me.”

Dean shakes his head. He won’t. He wants to, wants to so bad, wants the pierce the shining skin with his teeth, let the juice spill over his tongue and down his throat, gnaw until there’s nothing but stem and seed, but keep going until he gets the last bit of flesh—

“I can’t finish them by myself, Dean,” Sam points out.

“I’m good,” Dean lies, wiping his hands on his jeans. No, not jeans. Shorts. Has he been in shorts this whole time? “No, I’m good.”

Sam chuckles warmly. “Now we both know that’s not true,” he says. “Are you sure?”

Dean’s not sure. He’s never been more unsure in his life. He can’t help but reach out—

And Sam’s eyes meet his from across the motel room. The clock radio is on the floor, shoved from its resting place. Sam blinks slowly at him but not blearily. He’s been awake for a little while, at least.

“You okay?” Sam whispers as Dean fumbles the clock back onto the nightstand.

“I’m good,” Dean whispers back even though there’s no one to disturb. His palms are sweating. “Go back to sleep.”

“You were making noises,” Sam says and even in the dark his eyes are too intense.

“Do you remember Virginia?” Dean asks the ceiling. He can’t look at Sam or else he might move. He won’t run but he won’t move either. “You were sixteen.”

“No,” Sam answers after a moment of thought.

Dean swallows hard. “There was an orchard there. You went after school every day for three weeks.”

He can hear the frown in Sam’s voice when he replies. “Why do you ask?” Sam presses.

Dean rolls over and doesn’t answer; there’s nothing to say. Eventually, the rustle of sheets from the other side of the room tells him Sam has given up, situating himself under the covers. No one brings it up the next morning. They usually don’t.

*~*

But sometimes—too often, more often than he’ll admit—it goes like this:

No cars, no blankets, no baskets. Just the tree. It’s an apple tree. Dean’s not sure how he missed that.

Sam’s nude and unashamed. Dean knows he is the same and refuses to think about it. It’s a nice day in the garden, so clothes would be superfluous.

His brother reaches up and plucks an apple from the nearest branch. He brings it to his face and inhales deeply. Dean sweats as he watches. “I haven’t had one of these since I was sixteen,” Sam sighs and Dean disputes this but doesn’t deny it. Neither of them really took a bite that time so it doesn’t really count. “You want one? They’re so good.”

Not just good. The best, the goddamn best. So mouth-wateringly delectable that he’s been dreaming about it for over a decade and he didn’t even get a taste.

Dean can’t even open his mouth to lie this time. He’s not good. He just shakes his head.

Sam takes a bite and the crunch-snap of it is like a firecracker in Dean’s ear but the appreciated moan that follows it is a gunshot to the brain. He can’t wipe the sweat from his palms but there’s nothing to wipe on—there’s only skin. Sam is miles and miles of skin. He tears into the red skin of the fruit like a carnivore and juice dribbles down his chin, down miles and miles of skin. Sam swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs from the intrusion. “So good,” Sam repeats with a groan. Dean tries so very hard to be ashamed of his nakedness.

They lock eyes. Sam holds the fruit out as he licks his lips. “I can’t finish this alone, Dean.”

Dean tries to speak but he only croaks. There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to hide. He wants to take a step but he can’t. He shouldn’t. He won’t. Back then at the orchard and now he promised himself he wouldn’t.

Sam’s eyes are dark and sad. “Don’t make me eat this alone,” he whispers.

“I—” Dean tries and falters. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t want any. I’m good, I swear I’m good.

“There are so many and I want them all, Dean,” Sam continues, voice low and desperate. “I want it all, but not without you.” As if to demonstrate, he takes another bite and Dean whimpers as he watches. Squirms in place. Innocent but not guiltless. Sam sucks his fingers clean and they’re barely out of his mouth when he says, “Please?”

And how can a man be expected to say no to that?

So Dean reaches out and does not wake. He takes a step. Two. Then Sam’s got an arm wrapped around his middle, guiding the apple to his lips.

“Just one bite,” he encourages. “Just one, just a taste—”

So Dean bites down and it’s sugar and sun and sin, and Sam urges him along, runs his thumb along the corner of Dean’s mouth as he devours his prize, chasing spilled juice and he pops the digit between his lips when he finds some and sighs; and Dean’s not sweating, he’s scorching, he baking alive, he wants more, he wants every fruit, every tree, he wants to shove every forbidden piece down his throat until he chokes, and as he chews and swallows, Sam trails his fingers over miles and miles of skin, up and down, down, down—

And he wakes. Sam stands over his bed in a t-shirt and boxers, hair mused, and looking darkly thoughtful. “Apple orchard. Virginia,” he says. Dean doesn’t speak which is fine because Sam is not done. “I worked there after school for some spare change. They paid me in produce but I didn’t mind. You didn’t like me going there. You followed me once to tell me off.”

Dean shakes his head. That’s not why he went here. He Sam was finally starting to fill out and hauling around buckets of heavy fruit all day helped gently tease muscles out of lithe limbs and Dean wanted to see him on one of those ladders, straining to reach—

“You pinned me to a tree,” Sam says. “For a long time.”

Too long. Not long enough. Dean’s palms sweat but he’s calm. They’d both been so hard, like he is now. He doesn’t check if Sam is.

“You ran off.”

There’s nowhere to run now. Sam licks his lips nervously and they shine with spit. Dean’s hungry and he knows what lies before him is so goddamn good. So goddamn sweet.

“Not running now,” Dean replies roughly.

Sam stares. He wipes his hands on his boxers. He reaches out—

[bug-memory]

I did a new format for my ko-fi members this month, where I did character sketches based on a prompt. July's prompt was "Beach Episode." Here are the resulting sketches 🏖️

Also, I'm doing a membership drive for the rest of July. Any new member of any tier will get a sketch! You can join here.

[hp-coffeehouse]

SEPTEMBER 2023 COFFEEHOUSE PROMPT  Welcome to the @hp-coffeehouse monthly prompt post! @hp-coffeehouse on LJ / DW (Post your works on our AO3 COLLECTION) Tag us, and we’ll reblog your work!

PROMPT 76

DESCRIPTION: Top view of white cup of masala chai or coffee with star anise / herbs spices inspired / cinnamon sticks.

Interpret that how you wish for coffee or tea. RULES ON LJ / DW are here.

[stargatefests]

SGA_Saturday - New Prompt

New prompts (starting March 2, 2024) are "unfinished" and/or "picture".

Any form of Stargate Atlantis, any/no pairing, any interpretation of the words is welcome.

Prompt open until April 6... lots of time to create fic, or art, or whatever your heart desires.

More info here: https://sga-saturday.dreamwidth.org/258190.html

You can post to the Dreamwidth community. If you post to AO3, select the SGA_Saturday collection.

[daintymayhem]

i really hate this months prompt. outfit swap is fine and cute but the forum game format fucking sucks. if i wanted to play a forum game id go do it on toyhouse

.

[axlestuck]

Hiya! This is the second prompt for my Homestuck Spriter's Discord! You don't need to be a member of the Discord to use it, but anyone is welcome to join (whether they sprite or not)!

Our monthly invite link is here and will last for 7 days from the making of this post:

Now for the prompt:

This prompt comes in two parts (and is split into smaller parts) where you 1: (simple) make a set of shipping edits using existing characters, or (complex) make an entire new set of characters to fill each quadrant. With the ships or edits you made with the previous part, you 2: create as many ecto kids out of that as you want! If you're not interested in shipping, you can also just make beta kid or beta troll descendants as you please.

This prompt is based on suggestions from the users of my Discord! If you'd like to make your own prompt suggestion you can drop one here. (linked)

[zepskies]

Lol @spnfanficpond apparently I did your December monthly prompt without even knowing! 😉

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso-verse Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.  

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach. 

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: 😂 A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

I actually have another idea to explore in the Midnight Espresso-verse. It would deal with Dean finally meeting the reader's infamous ex-boyfriend...

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictear @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[carrots-bear]

Escape in Plain Sight (February Prompts)

By Bear | Started/Finished - 2/5/25

A poem about escape rooms

I’m trapped with you.

I can’t find the exit.

I can’t escape;

Can’t get out.

We search and search.

We still see nothing; 

No key, just nothing.

I hope we see some sign of something.

We’re looking,

We’re looking,

Searching for escape.

One hour, one room, ten people to leave,

Yet no one knows what we’re looking for.

A shout,

A flash of light!

Oh! it must be what we’ve been searching for!

We dash to see what our companion has found,

Only for it to be something we’ve seen in the room before.

————————————————

@monthlywritingchallenges

So late in posting this but that’s alright! This is also the first poem I’ve written since I was, like, seven or something, lol

This is a combo of Days 4 & 5: Day 4 - The First Clue | Day 5 - Hidden in Plain Sight

[spnfanficpond]

Monthly Prompt: Cat vs Dog

This month for your prompt: What would the boys do with a cat or a dog? And what kind of breed would they own??

[fanficocean]

Monthly Prompt: Sky and Water

Your fic must include both! (Moodboard is not necessary but it can be used as inspiration!)

As always feel free to tag us in your post, we’ll be more than happy to reblog it!!