#mads writes

[iheartmonaco]

imma just send ideas at the randomest of (uk) times everr lmfaoo

texts with the grid (+ollie, if possible. im predictable i knowwww) where the drivers send a spicy pic to (male or gn) reader to distract them whilst at work? heheh

-bear anon

Bb boy I love your prompts

When You're At Work

🔸 including: Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Ollie Bearman

🔸warnings: mature, mentions of sex

🔸Gender neutral reader

🔸 masterlist

[madsluvsdilfs]

✧.*Drunken moments✧.*

Clay Beresford x Assistant! Reader

Warnings? Smut, my first smut (scary)

Clay Beresford hadn't a clue how he ended up here, sat in a chair of one of the very many private studies in the Beresford penthouse, with you, his secret lover, in-between his legs…with your mouth full of him.

The night started out well, Clay practically glued to his mothers side, greeting potential business partners if the night went well, with you, his mothers dear assistant not far behind. You and Clay had been sleeping together behind his mothers back for a few months, and somewhere between Clay's third and fourth drink, he dragged you away from the crowd.

And that's how he found himself here, moaning and writhing in a chair, his slacks and boxers pushed halfway down his thighs, just enough to free his impressive length. By the time just the weeping tip of his cock was free, your plump lips were already wrapped around it, tongue spreading the pearls of precum all along his length.

Clay swore that in that very moment, he had died and gone to heaven because that's what your mouth felt like. In no time, he was watching with hazy eyes as your head was already bobbing up and down with clay's fingers tangled between the strands of your hair, gently guiding you down before pulling you back up once you gag due around him.

As the minutes passed, your movements sped up, tongue teasing the underside of his cock, mapping out every ridge and vein. And before either of you knew what was happening, Clay roughly pushed your head down chasing his release, cutting off your oxygen before his body tensed above you and strings of his warm, sticky cum was coating your throat.

When his pleasure finally subsided, he releases his grip on your hair, letting his now softening cock slip from between your lips as you cough and wipe the tears and spit that was dripping down your chin.

He looked down at you with the most love-filled, fucked-out expression you had ever seen, and in that very moment you knew, you had Clay Beresford wrapped around your pretty fingers. And there was no way you were never letting him go.

Hi, lovelies! I'm back! I'm so sorry for not feeding you, but I've had absolutely no motivation, and I've thought that every word I've written is utterly shit, but I'm back and with smut?? what has the world come to? I thought I'd just give it a try, and there's no dialogue because a. due to no personal experience, I wouldn't have a clue what anyone says during something like this and b. I didn't really know where it fit without being weird so...but I hope that this isn't utter shit and at least someone enjoys it. As always, criticism is appreciated. Love you all, stay safe xx

[megamindsupremacy]

Padmé holds a supernova in the palm of her hands.

Across from her, lying in their shared bed, Anakin sleeps. His face is peaceful as she brushes her fingers through his hair, rubbing together golden-brown locks and letting them glide between her fingers. 

Anakin scares her, sometimes. Like when she sees him in propaganda clips, tearing through armies like paper. When she reviews his military plans that are far, far too risky, and it is already understood that he can pull them off flawlessly. When he snarls, blood splattered on his robes, and fights like a cornered, feral creature. When he looks at her, in their stolen moments, and she knows like she knows her mother’s face that he would - could - tear apart stars in her name. 

There are times that Anakin scares her. Even more terrifying are the times when he does not scare her.

Sometimes, Anakin looks at her, with an intensity that should terrify her, and instead it gives her a thrill like no other. Loving Anakin makes her feel loved. If Anakin asked, she would set fire to her life and run away with him into Wild Space. She would bomb the Senate Building and burn herself in its flames. She would follow him to Hell with no thought of returning. 

If Padmé asked, Anakin would level the galaxy. She knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would destroy planets for her, and it makes her want to drag him in and kiss him until the stars explode.

Loving Anakin is like a rush. It’s like a high, it’s defiance, its rebellion, it’s romantic and freeing and the sensation of being caught in a riptide, swept out into the endless waves. Padmé loves Anakin like a sailor loves the sea, like the wind loves the sails. She loves Anakin. She loves their romance. She loves the thought of Anakin. Marrying him is screaming in the face of fifteen years of etiquette training and good manners and perfect-politician-Padmè. The possibility of being caught is a thrill. Nights like this, Padmé lays awake and imagines, vividly, their dramatic escape when their torrid romance comes to light. Perhaps they can journey out, beyond wild space, into the unknown. Maybe they can hide on Naboo, pretend to be commoners and live a normal life, whatever “normal” may be. She wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t either. They could build a normal, all for themselves. 

Anakin’s breath wisps across her face. She strokes his head again and reminds herself, I have a duty. They both do. She to the galaxy, he to his people. The Jedi saved Naboo and Padmé, and for that she owes them her life and loyalty. She knows Anakin feels the same. Her fantasies are just that - fantasies. There is no use planning for an unknown future, especially during a galaxy-defining war. They will survive, or they won’t. They will stay loyal to themselves and each other, but through it all, they will have each other.

In the palm of her hands, a supernova snores lightly. Padmè kisses his temple, closes her eyes, and drifts.

Read on Ao3

[blueberry-ovaries]

I’ll Crawl Home to Her (Work Song)

In which Eugene Roe would crawl to her if he had to.

Boy’s working on empty,

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

Eugene Roe had been working to the bone. His fingers smeared with a mixture of blood and dirt. He wasn’t sure where his own blood had mingled with the other men’s.

He hadn’t slept in 16 hours. Or perhaps it was closer to 20. He wasn’t sure. The sun had started to peak over the treetops. The snow a gray sludge littered with shrapnel and splintered wood. He couldn’t stop, darting between foxholes, checking on the men. He couldn’t rest, not yet.

I just think about my baby

When the bombs started dropping at around 3am, and Gene scrambled to his foxhole all he could do was pray. He pleaded with God and Saint Francis. Lord, grant that I shall never seek as much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, or to be loved as to love with all my heart. With all my heart.

Her picture lay in his breast pocket, Tucked between a carton of cigarettes and his scissors. The edges torn and frail. As the bombs splinter the trees and chunks of mud splatter over his body, her eyes burn into his mind like precious jewels. As he curled into the foxhole, he could so vividly see her hair glistening in the Louisiana sun. He’d take her there, after the war. She would meet his maman, and he’d take her out on the bayou.

I’m so full of love I could barley eat

It was her birthday today, Eugene thought as he sat with his cooling cup of beans. He wasn’t hungry. Just thinking about her, was enough to keep him going. The thought of her soft hands, unstained, her clothes not covered in blood. That was enough for him.

His heart quickened when he thought of her. When the world is free from war, i’ll follow you wherever you go, cherie he had promised her the last time he saw her. He meant it. Every word. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth, the thought alone was enough to keep him moving.

I’d never want once from the Cherry tree

When they moved from the Bois Jacques and into Germany all Gene could think about was how he wanted to whisk her away to a chateau in the mountains. He couldn’t imagine how a man like Hitler could live in such a place when his cherie wasn’t.

He didn’t indulge himself like the rest of the men. The wine was too sweet. Something she would have loved. no. He didn’t need any of it, the war would soon be over and that was enough for him.

‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be,

She gives me toothaches just from kissing me

Before he left, Gene would routinely walk to the house she was staying in. Knocking on the front door and greeting the kind elderly couple she stayed with, and every time her sweet summer dresses would knock the wind out of his chest. The smile she gave him was kind, it was good. She was always the sweetest, a hand holding his as they walked through the streets, tucked under his arm as she softly rattled on about her garden.

When my time comes around, Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

The bombing of the Bois Jacques forest kept Eugene busy. He was always running between breaks of shellfire, making sure the men weren’t hit, and fixing them up when they were. He couldn’t stop, not when they needed him. His fingers were numb, pink and stiff from where they held the back of his head. He had no time to think about anything but surviving and making sure the men survived.

When the shelling would stop, and the men were accounted for, he looked through the splintered branches of the tress, dirt for a bed. Exhausted wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt. He ached in his bones, so tired he thought he may not even get out of the foxhole come first light. If he didn’t, the last thing he’d think about was her

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

When the war ended and Eugene dressed in his best formal greens. He was a shell of the man he was before the war. The English winter did little to aid the persistent ache in his bones. He stood out the front of her house, the door still painted blue. He made a promise, and dammit he was going to fulfil it.

When the door swung open and her arms hugged him tighter than he felt he deserved, all he could do was sigh at the smell of her shampoo, and cling to her tighter.

Battered and bruised both mentally and physically, nothing would have stopped him from coming back to her, to his home.

——

A/N: wanted to try something a little different, never written a single fic before!

TAGS:

@malarkgirlypop @mads-weasley @footprintsinthesxnd @bucky32557038ww2 @grumpy-liebgott @executethyself35 @fxxiva @sandaltoesocks

[breachinthesky]

Burnt Waffles

Arlo Shepard was a lot of things. A fierce leader, overall team player, insane combat analysis and terrible dancer though she would never be on to admit it. 

The one thing she was not- however- was a good cook. 

And spirits bless her soul, boy did she try to impress him with her cooking but there’s only so much half cooked or half charred dextro sludge a turian can take before intervening in a bid for survival. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Shepard gawked at him as if he had just stated the most obvious thing in the entire universe. 

“What’s wrong with waffles!?” She asked, baffled that he hadn’t even taken as much as a bite out of his breakfast. 

He tried to be subtle about not eating them, mainly conversing with her or picking at everything else but the ‘waffles’ on his plate. Hell he didn’t even know what an alleged ‘waffle’ was and judging by the charred square on his tray, he wasn’t keen to be acquainted with this alien cuisine. 

“Honey, they’re burnt.” He deadpanned. “Even burnt is being generous, they’re incinerated.” 

She stood up at that, hands firm on the table as she leaned over to investigate the abomination on his tray. “No they aren’t! They’re meant to be slightly crispy, dextro food just cooks weird.”

Garrus didn’t say anything as a look of challenge flashed in his eyes and held up a talon for her to wait, before grabbing one of the waffles and tapped it against the mess hall dining table. 

He didn’t break eye contact. 

It made a clinking sound with the surface. Shepard opened her mouth to protest but quickly shut it, her shoulders dropping in slight resignation. 

“Okay maybe they are a bit burnt.” 

He stifled a laugh as he stood up with his tray and sauntered over to her, casually wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her in close. “Score 1 for Vakarian.” He whispered and darted away before she even had a chance to get him back.

[princessmadelines]

idk if i’ll ever actually write this but in the back of my mind i have this idea for a stanford era dean os from the pov of a girl he has a one night stand with. and basically in the morning she’s reapplying her make up and she noticed that dean is really fascinated by it and she playfully offers to put some make up on him and it’s really bittersweet? i kinda love the idea of young dean experimenting with gender with girls he sleeps with (eg rhonda) because like. he sees sleeping around as a way to prove his own masculinity and yet in that intimate space he feels safe enough to let the mask slip (we know that despite what he says dean is often more emotionally vulnerable with the girls he sleeps with than one would imagine based on his ‘persona’ - cassie!!!). or maybe i just love the idea of dean with bright red lipstick. sue me

[madiletio]

Freefall

Prologue:

Life is messy and at times, unbearable. 

Seasons change, years go by and moments pass before you even realize they will be memories from a time long-

“Hey stranger.” 

Katie glanced up from her book, brown eyes meeting blue as Lance took the seat across from her. 

He held out a coffee cup to her, which she gladly accepted while shutting her book. 

“I’m surprised to see you out this early.” She said “Usually you don’t leave home until noon.” 

Lance shrugged, “We were out of coffee.” 

Oh shit. 

“I’m sorry I completely forgot to grab some yesterday.” she groaned. 

Lance smiled “It gave me an excuse to go to the store.” 

She nodded. “How was it?” 

“Quiet.” 

She gave a small hum of approval. “I’m glad.” 

Lance opened up to say something but hesitated when the old speakers of the coffee shop left some background static as an employee was changing out the record. 

He froze, panic starting to become visible in his expression and Katie knew she had to act fast. 

“Lance.” 

Nothing. 

Shit.

She stood up, and moved closer to him, placing her own hands over his ears as she tried to talk to him, to drown out the static. 

“You’re here. I’m here. We’re okay." She pressed harder against him, trying to apply some form of pressure to ground him. "You aren't there anymore." 

It was like a silent prayer she was repeating over and over, somewhat hoping it would work. 

Eventually the static stopped once the record had been changed and after a few minutes, Lance let out a shaky breath as he took hold of her hands from behind him. 

“I need to go.” 

She nodded. “I’ll come with you.” 

He didn’t protest that. 

- 

Nobody talked about the accident. It was like an unspoken rule had been established the moment the news came out. 

Lance could only remember snippets from the aftermath of it all. 

The various sounds of the hospital as he briefly regained some form of consciousness before fading back to darkness. 

Moments of Katie coming in and talking to him, some things he remembered, other times it sounded like gibberish. 

He remembered the feeling of nothingness as clear as day however. To exist, but not exist. To feel like you are walking on an invisible tightrope between life and death and the moment you lose balance, the choice has been made. 

It’d be over. Lights out. 

That’s it, the end of you. 

He wasn’t sure how he got out of that limbo, one minute he was there and then the next thing he knew he was blinded by foggy hospital lights. 

Pain had hit his body all over again, it was like jumping in a frozen pond during winter, cold as ice and excruciatingly electrifying. 

The pain of being alive.

[heartbreakincident]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[chodzacaparodia]

It's frustrating that you can come up with the plot of an entire fic in just a few seconds, but writing it all down can take anywhere from never to forever.

[iheartmonaco]

Calling them "good boy"

🔸inc.: Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel

🔸Gender Neutral reader

🔸masterlist

[madsluvsdilfs]

Date Night

Nerd!Stephen Glass x Fem!Reader

Words: 593

Warnings: Nope, all fluff!

Stephen didn't know how long the both of you had been there. Earlier in the night, the two of you had gone on a date to celebrate your one year anniversary. Of course, you both also got the other some presents, just a few things to show you love to each other. Stephen had gotten you a jewellery set that he knew you had been wanting for a while and some flowers, while you had gotten him the latest comic book that had come out and the lego set that he had been dying for. So of course as soon as the dinner part of the night was over, he had rushed the two of you to his house, more than excited to build the set you got him.

He instantly got into his comfiest pajamas, sat at his desk, and opened the box, already reading the instructions. You too, get changed into your own pajamas that you keep at his house before climbing into his lap and occasionally helping him but mainly just enjoying his company. After an hour or so of him building the lego and rambling about whatever topic he's currently fixated on, he realises that you've been quiet for quite some time and looks down to find you, eyes closed and the occasional light snore leaving you. He lets out a soft laugh, his eyes lighting up with love and adoration as he watches you. He could watch you for hours and never bore of it, he could never get bored of you. To him you were nothing short of perfect, even after a year of dating he still wonders how he was able to get your attention. He thought that he was nothing, just this nerdy guy who spent more time reading comic books than talking to real people and then there was you, a goddess on earth, his own personal angel, his whole reason to live and breathe. 

His hands cradled you, one on the back of your head and the other hooked under your thighs (he was unbelievably strong, especially considering how weak he looked) and stood up, carrying you over to the bed all while being extremely careful not to wake you. He lays you down onto his cloud of a bed, pulling the covers up and tucking them under your chin so you stay warm for the night before climbing into the bed next to you. His hands immediately find their places on your body, one wrapped around your waist, pulling you close and the other holding your head, keeping it nuzzled in the crook of his neck. He turns his head to press his nose into your hair, the sweet smell of your shampoo, your perfume and something uniquely you. He loved it. He presses a million kisses to the crown of your head, whispering the sweetest words he can think of before he feels his eyes getting heavy and shutting before he forces them back open. When he can't fight any further he whispers ‘I love you sweetheart, so damn much. Thank you for being all mine’, confessing his love to you even though you clearly can't hear him. He presses one final kiss to your forehead before adjusting your position and settling comfortably, letting out a sigh. This time, when his eyes start to close, he lets them. Let's the sleep consume him, happy to be bundled up with his lover after a perfect night of wining and dining with his girl. His perfect girl. And he's never letting go of you.

Hi lovelies! Sorry I've been inactive, school has been kicking my ass but I couldn't get sleepy Stephen out of my mind. Like usual I have not proof read because I cannot be bothered to be honest (and yes that is the same picture as my pfp don't come for me😞). Also, thank you so much for all of the follows and attention you've been giving my fics, it means the world to me. Anyways, I hope this keeps you all fed while I disappear again and I hope you're all doing great! Stay safe, I love you all! xx

[megamindsupremacy]

More random WIP snippets, feat: weird kid!Bruce (he's been deaged to 14 and this is now everyone's problem)

[blueberry-ovaries]

hate when i’m writing a chapter for a fic and i can’t decide if i’m progressing the story to fast or to slow… like it can’t be both at once, so why am i worried it’s both

[breachinthesky]

The Art To Getting Over It - Ch. 1

Summary:

“I think,” She started, “I think Joker will never forgive me for it.”

Garrus took the hand he was holding and brought it closer to him. He saw right through her meaning and gave a small nod. “He will.”

He had sounded so sure of it. And just for a brief moment, she wanted to believe that he was correct. ☆ A fight that ended in a grudge between the Normandy's pilot and it's commander left things bitter on both sides. And a mutual desire to sight see with the Normandy in space for one last hurrah.

AO3 link

The nightmares never got better. 

The voices of the past calling out to her, whispers of ‘Shepard.’ The reapers. Crawling her way to the conduit. Losing Anderson. Preparing to sacrifice herself. 

“Had to be me, someone else might have gotten it wrong.” 

Maybe it was happenstance or maybe it was the universe's way of offering its punishment to her for all the wrong calls she had to make or all the lives she sacrificed. As Garrus had once put it, an eye for an eye was due and the universe planned to collect what it was owed. 

That’s what she told herself at least. 

2 years. It was over. They did it. The reapers were destroyed and the war had ended.  

“You did good, child.” 

Shepard blinked up at the small patch of glow in the dark stars on her ceiling, her eyes quickly adjusting to the small light they gave off. 

Garrus had put them up in her apartment shortly after she had been discharged from the hospital. 

“A little taste of home.” He had told her with a confident smile. “Until we get back out there.”

And for a time she truly believed she would have been home by now. Back on the Normandy. Reunited with her crew. 

Not in an apartment squirreled away on earth with minimal communication from space. 

Things didn’t turn out the way she expected them to.

Shepard let out a small sigh as she glanced over to the alarm clock on the bedside table, the red neon lights reading ‘3:00am’ . 

“Awesome.” she muttered under her breath, sleep already disregarded as she reached for omni-tool. At the very least if she wasn’t sleeping she could at least catch up on work. 

Old habits were hard to break, especially for an alliance soldier. 

She bit down on her lip - a nervous habit she never used to have-  as she read through her emails. Which mainly consisted of alliance affairs and a few various mission reports. 

Nothing about the war. Nothing about their impending demise. 

A new email appeared at the top of her inbox, and her heart dropped reading the subject line. 

"FWD: Jeff Monroe - Formal Resignation Letter.’  

She hadn’t meant to avoid Joker. Not at first. 

In fact, she had planned on being up front with him after she recovered from her injuries about what happened back on the citadel. Planned for him to directly hear it from her first, before the mission reports came out to the alliance public. 

  At the end of the day, the Normandy was still her ship and its corresponding crew was her responsibility.  She had to take accountability for her decision to destroy the reapers, sacrificing EDI in the process. 

Joker would never know just how sorry she was for making that call. 

“Hm Shepard?” Garrus murmured next to her, shuffling slightly closer. “What time is it?” He asked, sleep still evident in his tone. 

“Threeish.” she said quietly, snapping out of her thoughts and placed the omni-tool down on the bedside table.

“Did you want to try to sleep some more?” Garrus asked, eyes now half open. 

Shepard shook her head at him. “No point, but you should still continue sleeping. I’ll just catch up with some emails and see you in the morning.” 

It was a common bluff he never called her out on. She appreciated that. 

Guilt was a strange thing. 

Shepard wondered if she’ll ever make amends with it or if her new normalcy was waking up at 3am to stare at the faded glow in the dark stars on her ceiling, stuck with her thoughts about the past. About all of the ‘what if’ scenarios. 

“I can tell you’re frowning.” 

She gave a small sigh before turning on the bedside lamp, looking back over to Garrus. The turian’s blue eyes now wide open, watching her.

It seemed like sleep was in short supply these days. 

“I received an email from Hackett.” She started. “It was about Joker.” 

Garrus tilted his head, concerned. “What was the message?” he asked. 

Garrus knew that the Normandy and its pilot were a sore spot for Shepard. He knew that when both her and Joker had spoken it ended on bad terms and Shepard struggled to bounce back afterwards. 

Naturally, he wanted to deck Joker in the jaw for it, but restrained himself- for Shepard’s sake. 

  “He’s quit.” she mumbled.

Garrus sat up at that. “Wait really?” surprise clear in his voice. “He actually quit?” 

She nodded at him. “Yeah.” 

“Hm.” 

“It’s my fault.” She whispered. 

Garrus wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. “It’s not.” 

“He’s probably still mad at me.” She stated.

“It was a pretty big fight you two had.” Garrus said, interlocking one of his hands with hers. “You two just need some time to adjust.” 

Adjusting. That was one way to put it. 

EDI was a friend, and a good one at that. And Joker was one of her closest friends and still she went and made the choice which gave him a devastating loss while she still managed to live.

  Most days she could barely stomach looking at her reflection in the mirror. 

Maybe it was the fact she was still recovering from her injuries from the war. Or maybe it was the guilt that gnawed away in the back of her mind that she could never quite shake. 

She preferred the latter. 

“I think,” She started, “I think Joker will never forgive me for it.” 

Garrus took the hand he was holding and brought it closer to him. He saw right through her meaning and gave a small nod. “He will.” 

He had sounded so sure of it. And just for a brief moment, she wanted to believe that he was correct. 

☆

Running helped. 

In fact it was one of the few things that kept her from absolutely losing it these days.  

The longer she ran the less she had to think about Joker or his stupid resignation letter. Didn’t have to think about the last time they spoke and the words that were exchanged in the heat of the argument. 

Shepard increased the pace on the treadmill and turned the volume up louder on her phone, drowning out the background noise. 

“Hey commander while you’ve only just woken up from a coma, can you give us a quick run down on what happened on the citadel?”

“Don’t push yourself too far, you’ve only just made it back to earth.” 

“Do this physical therapy program for 10 weeks.”

She was angry. 

At the reapers, at the amount of carnage left behind, at all of her friends who gave up their lives for the cause of it all. The alliance for grounding her. At herself . 

The Normandy was her ship and she could have sworn that they wouldn’t keep her grounded. For a time she truly believed that. But a ship needs a commander and she wasn’t fit or cleared for duty, no matter how much she tried to expedite the healing process.  

She could feel her heart racing. She knew she could do better than her last run time, and if she wanted to stop sulking on earth, she had to improve her physical fitness. 

The alliance reassigned the crew as they saw fit, but as a favor to her, kept Joker as the pilot for the Normandy. 

“Oh don’t worry Shepard! you’ll be reassigned back to the Normandy once you’ve been cleared by your med team!” 

2 years. 

“Sorry commander, there has been a delay, your implants need further analysis.” 

She had put on a fake front for everyone, save for Garrus who was good at seeing right through her. She had brushed him off when he had asked about her well being, assured him she was positively fine and was just getting her strength back after months of rehab. 

It was a load of bullshit.

“Shepard.” 

Shepard snapped out of her thoughts to be greeted by Garrus standing in front of her. He motioned for her to take out her headphones. 

“Garrus?” she asked “Something up?”

He gave a small nod. “Joker’s here.” 

Garrus already had an arm out ready to steady her and It took every bit of willpower in her to not faceplant off of the treadmill. 

“You gotta be shitting me.”

[princessmadelines]

thinking about my s13 baby jack au and more specifically about dean, still completely shocked kneeling beside cas’ corpse, being brought back to reality by a baby’s cry and when he turns he sees sam coming out of the lake house (that was supposed to be a safe haven and is now a mother’s tomb) with a bundle in his arms. and how wrong that feels because he was the one carrying sam out of their burning home turned tomb all those years ago. + dean realising how easier it is to hold a baby and taking care of him now that he has an adult body

[maeamian]

If you saw me agreeing with being annoyed about wasted helium in a fictional context and were like "I bet she has some more helium based anger in her life" good news LAPD fucked up a raid on a medical facility they thought was a pot farm and flat out ruined thousands of gallons of the stuff.