#Misha reader insert

[nqmonarch]

HUGE QUESTION/IDEA about Self Aware HSR

Characters: Misha, Gallagher, Tingyun, a small bit on Blade at the end

Huge spoilers for 2.2 and before

So how does Self Aware HSR with the characters that are no longer with us work? Are they still self aware?

Guys, I need you to think about how horrifying this is.

As I realized in a previous post HSR has Aeons but they also believe in Gods in some cultures, which would presumably be more powerful than Aeon and having more control over individual's lives than an Aeon. The biggest difference I think would be possible is a God being tied to the idea of an afterlife.

So imagine Tingyun was already blacking out whenever Phantylia possessed her body and she was left in a dark void. That was until you turned on HSR, after that she began to spectate the game much like a player. And then when Phantylia left her body and she returned to it she went back with unsettling knowledge and confusion.

It's not until she completely dies that she understands it. Honkai Star Rail is a video game and she is just a character in it. When the game is off she's subjected to days and weeks of complete darkness and silence (because time passes faster in the HSR universe, they have like day and night faster) when in reality it's only hours.

When the game is on she's finally greeted by the warmth again, she can watch fellow companions fight and although she's confused by your motives she knows you're trying to help. You helped Trailblazer prepare a memorial for her, and she watches as the Astral Express ventures into Penacony and faces foe after foe.

More than that, she can see you as you tear up over a character's story. She can hear your voice making jokes at the funny little references in the Trailblazer's words, references which she doesn't understand. And when Misha and Gallagher seem to die, Tingyun isn't the only one who's crying.

But Misha and Gallagher join her. They wake up while you're still playing the game and watch as you fulfill their goals. They see tears fall down your cheeks, and hear you as you cheer on the Astral Express and empathize with Sunday although never fully support him.

Then rather than turning the game off and subjecting them to darkness you go and do your weekly simulated universe, an affair Tingyun is quite used to at this point. She takes the time to explain the situation to Gallagher and Misha.

It's a bit harder for Misha to take than Gallagher, after all "Gallagher" had never been real he was always a character. But now in a sense he was. Gallagher would always exist, after all he was part of the game. When you turn the game off and the world goes dark, Tingyun is pleasantly surprised by the fact she isn't alone.

Those times of loneliness had passed. It's still scary, she's unable to see Gallagher or Misha or even herself, at times the void is all consuming even in sound and she can't hear them. But they're there, and that makes the whole ordeal less frightening.

They aren't sure what to make of you, the player. Yes you play the game, but to keep them here are you something like a God? They learn that in your world you are just an ordinary person but in their world you would be a God. The power you held over them, you spent making them stronger and providing them a sanctuary for once they died. You will a merciful God, indeed.

They found as they explored the void it wasn't much of a void at all. The character's, light cones, consumables, and relics you weren't using were hidden away in corners of the voids. Gallagher took some of the drinks you'd been keeping and the three of them took a celebratory toast.

When they'd initially come across the characters you weren't using it'd been terrifying. They stood eerily still, standing there, akin to robots. Tingyun noticed there was one that looked like her, she was sure you'd used it in combat. There was one for all of them, even the Trailblazer.

Tingyun, before Phantylia had taken her over completely, did notice suddenly getting faster but to think it was because of relics and a light cone you'd given a robot of her? It seemed to an extent properties were shared between them.

They were able to make a home based off of the items in your inventory, home was a strong word considering it was just a place to stay when you were offline. It was much better when you were playing the game, but they understood it wasn't like it was the only thing you could do. It was just a game.

Misha was the first one who suggested it. The idea of going to your world. It was just a game, they couldn't confine you to it, and even if you managed to travel inside of the game they were all dead anyway. Misha was excited at the idea, despite having all of the memories of Mikhail back he had never really gone on a trailblazing adventure himself.

Gallagher was the most skeptical of the three, wondering if they'd ever be able to exist in your world. But the fact they had consciousness despite being in a game, meant that maybe there was more to this than they thought.

At times they would wish to be by your side not just for their own selfish desires but to comfort you. When they first saw you cry, not for their sake, but for your own life it became a bit hectic. Misha was trying to yell against the sky for you to hear his voice. Gallagher accepted trying to get to your world and was trying to communicate to you through the inventory. And Tingyun was synthesizing consumables with the ingredients you had as if she was someone making food for a crying loved one.

There was very little they could do.

In a brief moment of exasperation, for their inability to talk to you, Gallagher mentioned that he wished a genius would die next so that way they could figure out how to travel to you. But for now, they had to work with what they have.

Another thing, this AU, compared to a Self Aware AU where they can still live their lives I feel as a higher potential of generating Yanderes. I'm not going to write them as that but it's just something I'm realizing because, they're basically completely alone aside from you, you bring light, you bring happiness, it would likely cause an unhealthy relationship.

Counter idea, what if characters that died are the only self aware ones? Hmmmm

Also imagine if characters that died but didn't really die like Blade and Firefly weren't able to make it to this afterlife but they could still feel your presence. Even death in the dreamscape allows them to feel your presence although only for a moment.

I feel like Blade especially would cling onto your presence, since for a brief moment he feels no pain, he doesn't feel mara struck, and-- to an extent he hates it but he feels like Yingxing. He can hear your voice from time to time, a reminder of the relief of pain, and when he met Trailblazer something about them reminded him of you. He wasn't sure what.

Note: I haven't even finished 2.2 but I got to the part where Misha and Gallgher seem to go bye-bye maybe they actually don't and pull a surprise bitch but I'm guessing they do. So I wrote this because I was thinking (bad idea I know)

Also Tingyun's death isn't 100% confirmed it's implied but I'm just assuming she's dead in this.

I swear this is one of my most cracked ideas yet

[supercap2319]

Y/N came down the stairs of the bunker towards the library. He had a stupid grin on his face, and he was carrying various Valentine's Day items. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands the brothers, Cas, and Jack each a gift to commemorate this special occasion. He hands Castiel a heart-shaped box of chocolates. "Slut." He affectional calls the angel of the Lord. Cas opens the box and picks up a chocolate, and takes a bite before scarfing down the rest.

Y/N hands Jack at Teddy Bear. "Sweet face." Jack enthusiastically hugs the toy and introduces himself to the bear.

He looks at Dean. "Bitch." He hands him a store bought pie shaped like a heart as Dean's green eyes lighten up with joy.

Finally, he looks at Sam and hands him flowers. "For the sexiest guy that I know." Sam blushed and took the flowers and smelled them with a smile on his face.

[castiwls]

Omggg hii ok so I've always wanted a fic about what the readers and Castiel's conversation or just interaction in general would be. If the two were already in an established relationship and when Lucifer was possessing Castiel had gotten intimate or something with the reader, not knowing it was Lucifer and thinking it was Castiel of course. What would his reaction be and how would he feel. Especially since he probably had to watch the whole thing go down but could do absolutely nothing about it. How would the two make up and such. <3

this is me trying - c.n

Paring; Castiel x fem!reader

Synopsis; You and Castiel struggle with the aftermath of Lucifer

Warnings; Maybe occ

Notes; Hiii tysm for the request! I've truthfully not wrote for Castiel in soo long so I apologise if this is kinda occ.

Masterlist

“and maybe i don’t quite know what to say but I’m here in your doorway”

Taking a deep breath you leaned back against the headboard of your bed. The book in your lap no longer held your attention as you stared blankly down at it. You didn’t know how to feel about the events which have transpired over the last few days, at first you were angry and then that anger seemed to dissipate into an emptiness mixed with guilt. 

Guilt that you’d not paid enough attention to notice that for the past few weeks, Lucifer had been running around in your boyfriend's body. Playing it back in your head now you noticed the strange behaviour but at the moment you’d paid no mind. 

“Y/n. We need to talk.” Castiel’s voice brought you out of your head. He stood in the doorway a slight frown on his face. You knew exactly what he wanted to talk about but the whole situation still brought a bad taste to your mouth. He watched you for a moment before letting out a sigh and moving into the room. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed he turned to you. “I’m not sure what else to say other than sorry.” The angel looked down at his hands as he spoke. You’d never seen him look as regretful as he did now. 

“Why didn’t you say anything to me? We could’ve spoken about it Cas.” You placed your book to the side before crossing your legs. “I basically cheated on you, do you know how that feels.” You let out a sigh before reaching over to grab his hand. “I’m not angry at you, I just…I let him into our space, and I told him things thinking I was talking to you. I let him kiss me Cas, and it’s all I can think about.” 

In truth, the guilt had been pretty much eating you alive. The emptiness you felt now came from the fact that the guilt had seemingly taken everything else. He was quiet for a moment before squeezing your hand and looking back up.

His eyes met yours for a moment before he shifted slightly closer. “It’s not your fault what happened. It’s my fault I know that,” He frowned again going quiet. You knew from the look on his face that he was struggling to find the words to express how he felt. 

He had his own guilt over the whole situation. Having to sit back and watch someone else pretend to be him and interact with you in that way had left him feeling angry and helpless in a way he’d never experienced before. Seeing how it had affected you though was worse than any guilt he could ever feel. 

“I’m willing to work with you.” He finished after a moment. He smiled at you before squeezing your hand again. “Thank you.” You squeezed his hand back. You were both quiet for a moment before you patted the space next to you. The tension from his shoulders seemed to drop at your invite and he happily moved next to you.

This was the first time since Lucifer that you’d both been alone together. A sigh of contentment left you as you settled into his side. You knew things weren’t gonna go straight back to how they were. Castiel had still broken your trust by doing what he’d done but you also knew that he would do anything to regain your trust.

You smiled up at him before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. A smile graced his lips as your lips met his and for that moment you allowed yourself to forget about the past few weeks.

[slut-for-evans-stan]

Can anyone please tell me which episode this is from? Been losing my mind trying to find it.

Please please comment and let me know.. where's this from??

Also, we all know where Cas is in this one right? Lol 😏

[k2ntoss]

BOSS!HARVEY DENT

harvey is such a nice dude, you're working on the D.A.'s office fresh from law school so you probably make some mistakes but your boss is so supportive and it has nothing to do with the fact that he may have a crush on you, everyone around the office gets the same treatment because that's harvey: fair and faithful to his principles but then there's the long shifts on those days where harvey locks himself up on his private office, sometimes he calls you to whisper the filthiest things into your ear while he makes you read the papers you've been working on all day and that's the other him, you also like that harvey.

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

@jacklesversebingo Square filled: First Date

Rated: E

Word Count: 9,495

Chapters: 10

Relationships: Actor!Jensen Ackles/Guest Star! Female!Reader

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, implied Bob Singer, Supernatural (TV) Crew (implied), Reader, Reader’s Best Friend’s Spouse, Reader’s best friend, Richard Speight Jr. (implied)

Major Tags: Alternate Universe: Season/Series 15, Canon Divergent, Awkward Flirting, Jewish Reader, Jewish Misha Collins, Reader is a Fan of Supernatural, Author Knows Little About Canada, Author Regrets Nothing, Betaed, Reader is Kinky, Dom/Sub Undertones, Light Masochism, Light Bondage, P in V sex (wrap it up, kiddos),

A/N: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION! Jensen Ackles has NOT or EVER been married in this work of fiction. Jared Padalecki is married to Gen and has kids. Misha Collins is divorced with his two kids. With the show in production, all three live in Canada.

Summary: You are a guest start in season 15 on your favorite tv show, Supernatural, with production in Canada.

While in the show you’re playing a bad guy that is really a good guy but due to actions Castiel and Dean have taken, you’re having issues with your duties despite your romantic interest in Sam.

Outside of the show, Misha and you have just clicked as practically instant best friends and Jared has been teasing you think you have a crush on Misha when it’s really Jensen you’re crushing over and (awkwardly) flirting with.

[janedoeremi]

Tumblr Memes of 2023

January: Polls, Bug Race, Tumblr Sexyman Round 2, No Fly List Leak

February: Vanilla Extract, Tumblr Sexywoman Polls, Homestuck Fandom Commiting Voter Fraud, Miette decimating Todoroki in Blorbo Polls, Just so many polls

March: Dean Winchester and his Time Traveling Impala in The Winchesters, Celebrating Ides of March a week early, March 14th: The Day Krabs Fries, Ides of March, Autism Swag Poll, Ultimate Cat Girl (Gender Neutral) Poll, Putin having a warrent for his arrest, The Bots returned with a vengance

April: April Fools Day, Sonic the Hedgehog died, Trumps arrest, Barbie Arresting Trump, Everyone getting a Barbie description, Poll with Nina Tucker and Alexander needs them to tie to move on together, hyperspecific polls, Misha Collins assigned Bisexual by the WB, Elon Musk being the victim of Murphy's Law, It's gonna be May

May: Dracula Daily cast is stuck in a time loop, Trigun stan causes book: This Is How You Lose the Time War to become a bestseller, whatever the fuck happened with Eurovision, TOTK releases and gave us our feral Link back, Barbie and Ken arrested template.

June: Pride month, Across the Spiderverse... just all of it, trump getting arrested...again, The Great Reddit Migration & r/196, Horse Race, Meows Morales, The week long Titanic Oceangate Iron Lung Clusterfuck, Destial 'i love you' news meme trends at least 4 different times for different reasons, Papyrus says fuck day

July: Twitter post rationing causing Tumblr Migration 2: Electric Boogaloo, ao3 went down for 2 days, ao3 readers debating on going back to wattpad/ff.net, Barbieheimer double feature, Tree Law invoked, Elon renamed Twitter to X

August: Tiktok trying and failing to make their own Goncharov: Zepotha, Destiel confirmed canon again by not-so-rouge translator, Riverdale polycule finale, Trump mugshot, One Piece Live Action Pirate-Clown annoys Tumblr users

September: Mole Interest, Ice King became a Tumblr Sexyman again, 21st of September.

October: Spooky month, Merlin Twitter updates for first time in years to show streaming options confusing fans, The Amazing Digital Circus and Nerdy Prudes Must Die both trend for a week straight, trying to insert Markipler into the FNAF Movie

November: Nov. 5th 3rd year anniversary, Zach and Cody get their dinner reservation after 15 years. Goncharovs 1st 50th anniversary.

December: Gavle Goat being devoured by Jackdaws, Hbomberguy lives up to his name and nukes James Somerton's plagerism ridden channel, Its Dec 10th, We're gonna have to kill this guy template, almost Christmas, one more sleep til Christmas (screams internally), Halloween trends on Christmas Eve

[miserysinferno]

I write reader insert fics paired with Lucifer, Castiel, Casifer, Mark Pellegrino, or Misha Collins. I also write character POV poetry and prose. I haven't decided what I will share first.

I will not engage in any discussions about politics or tolerate negative comments. Hop on X if you want to insult someone. Don't bring your beef here. Have some self-respect. If you don't like my content, please keep scrollin', not trollin'!

[duckprintspress]

Fandom Lexicon: R

We’re in the home stretch on updates to our main fandom lexicon! Today, check out the entries starting with “R”!

View the entire Fandom Lexicon posted to date.

See something we missed? Notice a mistake? Let us know!

Lexicon Entries Starting with R: (read more)

RACK: Abbreviation for “risk-aware consensual kink.” A term used by members of the BDSM community who engage in more dangerous power-exchange activities to emphasize the importance of being educated about the risks associated with that activity before engaging in it. See also: PRICK. Read more about RACK.

Ravatar: On Ravelry chat boards, a person’s avatar is often called their “ravatar” as a joke on the name of the platform. See avatar.

RB: Abbreviation for “reverse bang” or “reblog.”

Re: [Thing]: Shortened way of saying “In reply to [Thing]/As regards [Thing].” On social media, Re: precedes discussion of [thing], usually as a means of circling back to [thing] after talking about something else or to make it clear that a point being made is directly related to a specific previous thing that has been mentioned.

Reader Insert: Stories written so the reader might imagine themselves as the protagonist. Often use Y/N or YN (both short for “your name”) to refer to the protagonist. Reader inserts are tagged as “Reader” on AO3, for example: Reader/(Character). May also be referred to as “x reader” fics. Read more about read inserts.

Reblog: Tumblr lingo that refers to sharing a post written by another blog using the “reblog” function, which ensures the content remains connected to the original blog. Not to be confused with a repost.

Rec List: Shortened form of “recommendation list.” Like a mixtape of the creator’s favorites in a given category. Could be fanfic, movies, books, TV shows, blogs to follow, etc. There is no upper or lower limit on how many things can be in a reclist. Can be very specific (e.g. only works featuring a precise trope of a specific ship in a specific fandom) or very broad (e.g. “my favorites”).

Redacted: A term that means the previous text has been removed for Reasons (specified or unspecified). Within fandom, this is typically used facetiously to refer to information that fans are not supposed to know (or not supposed to share), assumptions that may or may not be correct, unpopular or controversial opinions, or simply for the laughs. Read more about redaction.

Reddit: A forum-esque social media platform. Visit reddit.

Remix: Mixing up the elements of a source material. Fandom usage can refer to art, writing, video edits, music, or pretty much any other media imaginable.

Repost: Copying an original post (most often artwork – including photographs – or animated gifs) and posting it to one’s own blog, rather than using the reblog function. When done without permission, this is a form of content theft. When done with permission and credit, it’s fine. Don’t take other people’s hard work without asking! Not to be confused with a reblog, retweet, or other platform-based forms of post-sharing.

Reverse Bang: A collaborative creation event in which artists create an art piece and write a small amount about it to offer guidance, then writers sign up to write a story for that piece, usually with a minimum length of at least 5,000 words. See also: big bang, creation challenge.

RN: Abbreviation for “right now.”

RPF: Abbreviation for “real person fic.” Fanworks about people who actually currently are alive or have been alive in the past, rather than about fictional/made-up characters. A lot of RPF involves shipping real people together. Sports fandoms and bandoms are big, popular examples of RPF communities, and it’s also common for lead actors who play popular fictional ship characters to get shipped together (for example, the actors Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins from Supernatural who play Dean Winchester and Castiel, the very popular ship Destiel, are also often shipped together as the popular RPF ship Cockles). Read more about RPF.

RPG: Abbreviation for “roleplaying game.” A game in which individuals create characters or play a game-assigned character and play the role of that character throughout. RPGs can be played via any venue/channel/platform that allows individuals to interact with each other or with a gaming system. See also: JRPG, MMORPG, TTRPG (pending).

RPS: Abbreviation for “real person shipping.” See RPF.

RT: Abbreviation for “retweet” on Twitter or “retoot” on Mastodon.

Rubberduck Debugging: Explaining a problem to an unresponsive target in order to identify and fix the origin of that problem. Originates from The Pragmatic Programmer. Read more about rubberducking.

The Rules of the Internet: The Rules of the Internet is a loose, unofficial list originally spawned from 4chan. The list is memetic and subject to change, and a few specific rules have been widely adopted in fandom. Read more about the Rules of the Internet. Rules most often mentioned in fandom spaces:

Rule 34: If it (whatever “it” is) exists, there is porn of it. No exceptions.

Rule 35: If there is no porn of it, porn will be made of it.

Rule 36: No matter how fucked up “it” is, there is always worse than what you just saw.

Rule 63: For every male character, there is a female version of that character, and for every female character, there is a male version of that character, and there will always be porn about both versions of that character. This is by far the most widely spread Rule in most fandom spaces, and “rule 63” is a common tag used on content of this type. See also: genderbend, genderswap.

Rule 64: There is lore for everything that exists.

Rule 65: If there isn’t lore yet, there will be imminently.

Rule 66: The longer a piece of lore is, the weirder it will get.

[thelibrarylesstrektraveled]

Nightingale Chapter Seventeen - All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seventeen: All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Word Count: 5279

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing! Author's Additional Notes: This is it. The last chapter. The Conclusion to my story! (There will be an epilogue to follow) I started this over a year and a half ago, and here we are, finished!! There were plenty of times I wondered if I'd ever get there. But with the steadfast encouragement of all of you, I found the inspiration and the drive. Thank all of you who read this and showered me with love. I am forever grateful!

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

     Jensen checked his watch again while he tapped his fingers against his leg trying to rid himself of the anxious energy.  You’d been in the restroom for fifteen minutes and while women tended to take longer in the bathroom, it was unusual for you.  Other girls had come and gone in that time, and he was beginning to worry.  Deciding to hell with it, he knocked loudly to announce himself and entered.

     “Y/N?  Sweetheart?  The play is starting…”

     The room was empty and something about the eerie silence sent an ominous chill down his spine.  Not a trace of you anywhere, as if you’d evaporated into thin air!  Desperate, he pushed open the stall doors and last one revealed a woman crumpled against the wall.  He recognized the scuffed sneakers as your favorites and the denim jacket with the frayed sleeves.  And the fall of golden hair.

     Frantic, he dropped to his knees, “Y/N!  Baby?!” 

     He grabbed hold of your shoulder and pulled.  Your head rolled back and revealed a deeply slit throat and a stranger’s face.

     Dead.  He could tell it at a glance, but it wasn’t you!  The poor soul had been dressed in your clothes and a very convincing blonde wig. 

     “Shit!”  Jensen scrambled to his feet and burst out of the room.  He frantically searched the crowd of people while dialing his emergency number.

      “Solomon.”

      “She’s gone!  She’s gone, you son of a bitch!  You said she was safe!”

     “We show Y/N in the ladies’ room on the east end of the pavilion.” 

      “Her clothes are there along with a fucking dead body!  He’s got her!  Fuck!”

      “Stay where you are,” the agent barked through the phone while people shuffled in the background. 

      He took off at a jog, trying to scan the faces for yours, “Like hell I will!”

      “That’s an order, Ackles!  I need details, not another missing person.  I have agents converging on your location.”

      Jensen ended the call and tried your number.  It rang several times then went to voicemail.  “Sweetheart, if you get this, just hang on.  I’m coming.  I swear to God… I’m coming to get you.”

       Consciousness came to you in fragments.  Different parts of your body were numb.  There was a pins and needles feeling that came with having been in one position for too long.  Your eyes felt dry and raw, although you hadn’t opened them yet.  Your throat felt the same and there was a really unpleasant smell coming from somewhere.  An artificial and over-powering cherry scent mixed with sour sweat.  Suddenly, your whole frame was jolted, and the side of your head connected with something cold and hard.  It was enough to pull you out of the semi-conscious daze you’d been in, your eyes popped open as your head bounced off the passenger side window. 

     You sat more upright with a groan and rubbed your head, “What…?”

     This wasn’t Jensen’s car.  The dashboard was faded blue and cracked from the sun.  An ancient radio with silver knobs played an old song from the sixties.  The cardboard cherry air freshener swinging from the rearview was at least partly to blame for the oppressive stench.  The man in the driver’s seat was to blame for the rest.

     “Pharmaceuticals have come such a long way, haven’t they?  That little trip was courtesy of a new and very effective benzodiazepine.  Administered through absorption through the skin.  Remarkable.  It’s hung up in clinical trials, but those of us with connections can still have our fun.”

     Your gaze slid to the man behind the wheel and your stomach knotted.  Now that he had his glasses on and his hair was brushed back from his face, he looked much like he did back in New York.  Large, hawk-like nose.  Sharp cheekbones, eyebrows like dark slashes over nearly black eyes. 

     “Of course, the best part is that although you looked like a drunk sorority girl, you were still wide awake inside,” his lips pulled into a disturbing grin.  “Hate for you to miss out.”

��    He was right.  You’d been awake while he and that girl stripped you naked and dressed you in her clothes.  You’d been useless to fight them as they pulled a wig down on your head.  You were trapped in your own body, only able to witness the horror has he killed her right in front of you.  In your mind, you screamed while he seamlessly ushered you past Jensen and into the crowd.  Right under the noses of the undercover agents who were meant to protect you. 

     You forced your mind to focus.  Agent Solomon had gone over countless scenarios with you, and this was one of them.  You quickly took inventory and noted that every scrap of clothing had been removed or replaced.  Your tracking monitor, your cell phone, your pepper spray and pocketknife.  Anything that might have been useful was long gone. 

     Except the blue paisley tie Jensen wrapped around your wrist.  You could still feel the cool silk against your skin.  Your tether to him and a reminder that you still had access to one thing that might help you.  The fourth wall.  The stage was set, and this was just another part to play.  If you gave a convincing enough performance, you might just come out of this alive.

     “Where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled the frayed seatbelt over your shoulder and secured it.

     “Tsk, Tsk!  Telling would ruin the surprise, and you know how much I love a good surprise.”

     You scanned the scenery whizzing past and found it unfamiliar.  A two-lane road cut through thick woodland as the sun began to set.  No signs other than the occasional mile marker and warnings about rockslides.  Your ears popped, confirming you were headed to higher elevation and farther away from civilization.

      Show time.

     “Why haven’t you killed me?”  You ripped the auburn-colored wig from your head and tossed it to the floor. 

     “Do you want me to?” he returned, patting the handgun in his lap.

     Panic tried to rise like bile in your throat.  You pushed it down and snatched the half full pack of cigarettes from the dash. 

     “What I want is to wake up safe at home with a beer and left-over pizza in the fridge, but we don’t always get what we want.”

     “Beer and pizza,” Arthur repeated with a scoff.  “Sophistication never was your strong suit, Y/N.  One of Colin’s many grievances about you.”

     “What I lacked in sophistication, I made up for in eagerness.”  You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “I certainly never heard any complaints about that.”

     “Slut.  Useless whore.  No wonder you shacked up with a Hollywood scumbag like Ackles.  You probably fuck him for a weekly allowance.”  His fingers tightened around the wheel as he spoke, “Colin deserved so much better than you.”

     “Someone like you, I suppose.”  You barked out a laugh as Green turned red from the neck up, “Jesus, you’re not still carrying a torch for a dead man, are you?  That’s pathetic, Artie.  It really is.  You know he just kept you around out of pity.  Poor little Artie from the block…”

     He backhanded you right across the mouth.  Your lip split and you tasted blood.

     “Shut up!  Just shut your whore mouth!”  He grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the window, making you groan and slump in your seat.  Your vison went hazy, but you kept conscious.

     “You conniving bitch… you had to go to the feds!  If it wasn’t for that I’d have killed you quick and been done with it.  One last loose end… but not now.  Now, I get creative.  I’ll start with your little boy toy; carve his pretty face up so not even his own mother will recognize him.  Your bestie with those cute kids?  I’ll strangle her to death while they watch.”

     You didn’t say anything, waiting him out as he raged on, “Oh!  But what about your baby sister?  Frankie.  Well, let’s just say she’ll wish she’d died in that car wreck by the time I get through with her.”

     With Arthur’s rage distracting him, you saw your opening and you took it.  The cigarette was still clenched in your fist.  Your hand shot out and you crushed the glowing cherry into his face.  It sizzled and he screamed.

     He howled in pain, and you grabbed the wheel, yanking it with all your might!  The two of you fought for control and sent the truck into a spin.  The back end fishtailed, and the tires squealed.  The world went topsy turvy around you as the truck went careening off the road with a deafening crash.  Then, silence.

     “Black SUV, headed east on Market.  That’s the last we see of it until it popped up abandoned in the Whole Foods parking lot.”

     “We got the video from them?”

     “Nada.  Their surveillance system went down last week.”

     “Safe bet that was our perp.  Get the last recordings they have in the database, let’s see if Green shows his face.”

      “SUV registered to Mrs. Barbara Perkins, deceased.”

     “Naturally.  Get a trace on that name, address, bank accounts, the works.”

      Jensen had never felt more useless in his life.  While the FBI agents bustled around their make-shift headquarters, he was sitting in an office chair.  Waiting.  There was literally nothing else he could do.  They already knew what Green looked like, even disguised as a fangirl.  The pics of Jensen signing autographs went live on social media almost instantaneously.  There were all sorts of video surveillance of him walking around the park and walking a stumbling girl through the parking lot.  It was as if he was showing off.  Flaunting his deeds to the authorities who were oblivious to it all.

      Jensen felt sick at the thought of how close you were.  Green had walked you right by him and he didn’t even know it!  His mind kept going to the dead woman wearing your clothes.  Blood everywhere.  Running like a river from her slit throat.  It could have so easily been you.  It still could, and that thought chilled him to the bone.

     The video was good for one thing though, it confirmed that you had been very much alive when you left with him.  Jensen was holding on to that fact like a lifeline!  You were smart and you were a fighter.  You’d come back, you had to.  He had a whole life planned out and every day of it included you.  Marriage.  Children.  Big family Christmases.  Quiet date nights.  He even planned a proposal in Paris.  You told him you always wanted to go and making your dreams come true had become an obsession for him.  Nothing made him happy like making you happy.  His life wasn’t his own, it was forever intertwined with yours. 

      In the immortal words of his alter-ego, “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”

      When his phone rang, his heart nearly stopped.  He didn’t recognize the number, but knew it was you.  “Y/N?!”

     “Jensen!  Oh God…!”

      Agent Solomon was on him instantly to hand the phone over, he refused.  But he did put it on speaker.  “Sweetheart, where are you?  Are you okay?!”

     The connection was tenuous, making your voice fade in and out. 

     “I’m okay… not… don’t know…. Arthur crashed…”

     “Crashed?!  What happened?”

      Solomon grabbed the phone, “Doctor West, are you with Green right now?”

     “No.  We crashed…. Left…”

     “Was he alive when you saw him last?”

     “…. Unconscious… don’t…. “

      “What kind of vehicle was he driving?”

     “Blue pickup… Dairyland.”

      “Dairyland?”  Jensen repeated. 

     “AJ… 677.”

      “Wisconsin plates,” Solomon signaled to his agents to run a search.  Even fragmented information would pull up something.

     “Doctor West, do you know where you are?”

     “Highway.  I don’t… mountains.  Jay!  Its… otter… Kimmy…”

     The agent locked eyes with Jensen, “What is she talking about?”

     “I don’t know,” he shook his head.  “Kimmy who?”

     “Kim… makeup… otter tattoo.”

     It clicked for him then.  The makeup artist who designed her own tattoos, Kimmy.  She’d been quite taken with Y/N when she went to the set that day.

      “It’s Mount Harvey, the snow melt on the south face looks like an otter playing baseball.”

      “Good.  Doctor West, we’re coming to you.”

      If she heard, she didn’t reply.  The phone screen showed the call dropped.  Solomon handed the phone to one of his team to pull trace information while he barked orders.  The well-oiled team shifted into their roles.  Dispatch communicated with local authorities on every level.  One of the advantages of working with the FBI, they were practiced in the art of the manhunt.  It wasn’t a question of if they would get Green, but when.  And would it be in time?

     “Ackles, you’re with me.”

     Jensen looked up in time to catch a bulletproof vest with FBI printed across the chest. 

     “I don’t have civilians on my tactical team as a rule,” Solomon informed him, zipping up his own vest.  “But you know Y/N better than anyone, I need your insight.  Let’s move.”

     You weren’t sure how far you’d gotten or how long you’d been walking.  It seemed like forever.  That ancient truck Arthur had been driving actually turned out to be a blessing.  The frame was good, old fashioned American steel and took the brunt of the crash without much damage.  The seatbelt did its job and prevented you from being thrown through the windshield.  Although, it dug into you with enough force that you likely had a broken clavicle and possibly a dislocated shoulder.  It throbbed like a son of a bitch, but you still made out better than Green. 

     He was going over sixty miles per hour when he crashed, and he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  He was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from a deep gash on his scalp and covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield.  The doctor in you wanted to check for a pulse, but your visual assessment would have to do.  He was breathing, and that was enough.  You knew time wasn’t on your side, you needed to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

      You made a quick search of his pockets and found both a phone and a handgun.  The passenger side door was bashed in, making it impossible to escape through the door or the window.  With a quick glance to confirm your kidnapper was still unconscious, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and climbed over the dash and through the shattered windshield.  You ignored the pain of the broken glass tearing into your hands and legs. 

     You had to get out and make a run for it, it was your only chance!

     The charge on the cell was dwindling as it searched for a signal, but the fates were with you, and it connected.  The sound of Jensen’s voice nearly broke you.  You held yourself together enough to get as much information out as you could before the call dropped. 

     “No, no damn it!”  Your fingers shook as you tried to call again, only to be me with no service.  You looked around at the dense trees lining the two-lane highway and the rapidly setting sun.  Tears blurred your vision and the weight of your situation hit you in force.

     There was nowhere to go for help, you didn’t even know where you were!  The adrenaline in your system was fading and you could feel the effects of shock setting in.  Injured in a car wreck coupled with who knows what the side effects of that drug Arthur shot you up with.   You well and truly screwed.

     You bent at the waist; your hands braced on your knees as you fought the rising panic.  The blue patterned silk tied to your wrist peeked out from under your shirt cuff. 

     “Breathe, Y/N.”

     “I can’t.”

     “I’m right here, Sweetheart.  I’m with you.”

     “He’s going to kill me!”

     “You can do this, come on.  Deep breath.  In and out.”

     You closed your eyes and rubbed the silk between your finger and thumb.  Like magic, you saw the closet.  Warm and filled with color-coded clothes.  The scent of cedar and vanilla cologne and Jensen smiling. 

     “You’ve got this, Y/N.  Keep moving, keep fighting!  I’m coming for you.”

     The actor’s trick worked.  Your mind cleared and you focused.  Obviously, continuing on foot was only a decent option when you knew where you were going.  You didn’t.  Which meant it was a drain on your energy reserves.  Plus, it would make rescuing you that much more difficult for the people looking for you. 

     You eyed the woods.  It was risky, with nightfall fast approaching, you would have wildlife to contend with and falling temps, but then… so would Green.  If he came to, he’d be looking for you.  Best to make that as difficult as possible. 

     “Stronger together,” you muttered the motto that became a mantra.  Even though he wasn’t holding your hand, Jensen was still with you.  You could still count on him, to remind you what was worth fighting for. 

     With the gun heavy in your hand, you climbed down the embankment and disappeared into the forest.

     “R.C.M.P. clocked a vehicle matching Green’s heading north on 99.  Last spotted an hour ago just passing Lion’s Bay.”

     “Any confirmation on passengers?”

     “Two.  A male and a female.”

     “Given the timeframe of the crash, they couldn’t have gotten much farther than that.”

     “Any hits on the cell?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Keep trying.  If she’s on the move, we might get lucky.”

     Jensen kept quiet as he sat in the back of the SUV.  The flurry of clipped commands yielded no new information.  They were racing towards you, but there was no way to know if they would make it in time.  Jensen tugged at the tie on his wrist while his mind worked over-time.  Were you hurt?  Scared?  Running or hiding?  Were you alive? 

     God please, let her be alive!

     As if on cue, his cell phone rang.  Only once, before the call dropped, but it was your number.  And it was enough.

     “Got it!  Moving slow, heading north by northeast towards Tunnel Bluffs.”

     “We’ve got local law in the area about ten minutes out.”

     “All units converge on new coordinates, be advised our witness is currently on foot.”

     “The assailant is considered armed and dangerous, use of full and deadly force authorized for all personnel.”

     The trees on Mount Harvey were thick and grew to impressive proportions.  Massive, monolithic firs and pines that held the record for some of the biggest on Earth.  Tangles of undergrowth and roots covered every inch of the forest floor, you lost your footing more than once.  Every fall slowed you down and added to your injuries.  The sun dropped to just below the horizon and the temperature went with it.

     You leaned heavily against one of the pines to catch your breath.  Your physical reserves were nearly gone, and you knew it.  There was just enough daylight left to make out a tree a few feet away.  It had an unusual split in its trunk.  Limping and cradling your arm to ease the pressure on your shoulder, you poked around in the gap.  Mostly filled with decomposing leaves, but big enough to shelter you for the night. 

     You squeezed your body through the opening and bit back a grunt as the bark scraped your injuries.  It wasn’t comfortable, which was for the best.  Your exhausted body was already vying for sleep, anything to counter that was welcome.  The opening wasn’t wide enough to see much, but it was still a defensible position.

     Your frozen fingers flexed around the gun as your eyes worked to adjust to the darkness falling.  The weight of it in your hand was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  You were a doctor, you saved lives you didn’t take them.  Your thumb clicked off the safety as you committed to the only course of action that would leave you alive.  It would be a long night and you were damn well going to survive it. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel.”

     Your eyes popped open.  When had you shut them?  The phone in your pocket died long ago, so it was impossible to tell how long you’d been in hiding.  The woods were still.  There was no wind or sounds of scuttling wildlife.  But a child’s song, so faint you thought you’d imagined it. 

     “The monkey thought was all in fun.”

     “A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

      “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     There it was again.  Singing.  You were sure you hadn’t imagined it, it had to be Arthur.  God!  It seemed like you were making a racket!  Your breathing, your heartbeat, your eyelashes blinking rapidly as you desperately scanned the inky shadows.  Why did sound amplify in the cold and the dark?  It all seemed to be announcing your location to the man who was coming to murder you. 

     “Up and down the London road.”

     “In and out of the Eagle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     He was playing with you.  The monkey and the weasel.  Cat and mouse.  You should have kept running!  Should have kept to the road, someone would have seen you.  You would have stood a chance!  Now you were in a trap of your own making.

     “I’ve no time to plead and pine.”

     “I’ve no time to wheedle.”

     “Kiss me quick and then I’m gone.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     The echo of the woods distorted Arthur’s voice so that you had no clue where he was coming from.  Running now would do you no good.  It was too late.  The son of a bitch was closing in on you now.  Would they even be able to find your body?  Would Jensen ever know what became of you?  You should have ran the minute you remembered your name. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench.”

     “Arthur chased the doctor.”

     “The doctor thought was all in fun…”

     God, please keep him safe from the psychopath.  And Frankie!  Make sure they know I love them!  No matter what happens to me… I love you!

     “Pop!”

     Arthur.  Blood, dirt, and broken glass.  A twisted grin split his grotesque face. 

     Time stopped; a shot rang out.  Then, nothing.

     Jensen stood with the small, second group of agents investigating the crashed truck.  Two sets of footprints disappeared into the woods and the first round of FBI had already spread out into the wilderness to join the Mounties and broaden the search.

     The report of a gunshot echoed all the way back to the road.

     His blood ran cold.  “Y/N.”

     A hand went to Jensen’s Kevlar covered chest before he could move.  Bruce, the iron faced agent assigned to the actor, held him in place.

     "Let me go!"

     "Not a chance."

     "That was a fucking gunshot!"

     "Yeah, it was.  You take off now, the next one might have your name on it."

     “I don’t care!”

     "Right now, every resource we have is focused on Y/N.  You go out there and those resources get split, cutting her chance at survival in half.”

     Jensen turned away, running his hands through his hair.  “Fuck!”

     "We've all got a job to do.  Yours is communication,” Bruce put a steady hand on Jensen’s shoulder.  “You want to help your girl?   Stay put.  Be here and be ready to answer when she calls."

     Knowing Bruce was right didn't make the next hour of waiting any easier.  It was agony.  There was no word.  Not a sound from anyone.  Radio silence, Agent Bruce called it.  He seemed to think it was a positive sign, but it was driving Jensen insane.  Each minute that passed brought a horrible new thought.  A potential nightmare that could play out right in front of him.  And he was powerless to prevent it.

     He was past the end of his rope when an ambulance came into view and sped past them.  Traveling at breakneck speed up the mountain. Flashing lights bouncing off the trees and rock face. 

     Bruce held a finger to the tiny Speaker in his ear.  A grim look passed his features.

     "Let's move."

     He said nothing more.  No word on if you were alive or dead.  No hint at who that ambulance was for.  An hour ago, Jensen would have sworn he'd reached his capacity for worry and stress.  But that was nothing compared to the five minutes it took to reach the clearing.  There was a mass of people milling around.  F.B.I. he recognized and a few others outfitted in uniforms for the R.C.M.P.  That ambulance was parked off to the side, the back door was closed but the lights were still flashing.  Several other official looking vehicles showed up, including one for the coroner’s office. 

     Jensen was out of the car before Bruce even put it in park.  He caught the slender build of Frank Solomon, casually talking to a couple of other agents by the rail guard.  The son of a bitch was acting like he’d completed a milk run!  Jensen’s nostrils flared with rage as he made a direct path for him.

     The young man looked up, seemingly unphased by the Texan’s aggressive approach.

     "Ackles.”

     "Where is she?!"

     Solomon’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t his voice that was heard.  A shrill, terrified scream came from inside the ambulance, cutting through the night.

      "Jensen!"

     He'd spent fifteen years stepping into the boots of Dean Winchester.  Fighting monsters.  Some you could see, some you couldn't.  But no matter how close he was to the hero he portrayed; it was still an act.  Though there were plenty of times he’d wished it were real.  Wished he were more like the enigmatic man in the ’67 Chevy.  The man who always knew what to do.  The man who always saved the day.

     And yes, he would let his ‘Dean’ show from time to time.  That was a blurred line that proved useful more than once.  But in that moment when you screamed for him, there was no line.  There was no Dean, there was clarity. 

     Solomon got exactly one word out, “Wait…”  

     Jensen pulled back his fist and punched him square in the face, knocking him on his ass.

     He ran to that ambulance.  On a mission and with one purpose, he tore the door open.  

     You were sitting on a gurney, struggling against the medic who was trying to keep you from bolting.  Bruised and bloody.  But breathing!  The second you saw him, you went still, your bottom lip quivered.

     “Jensen.”

     The medic proved smarter than the F.B.I. agents and moved out of the way, allowing Jensen the room to take you in his arms.  That was when you broke completely.  Sobbing and desperately clinging to him like a child.  You weren’t sure how you got there.  One minute you were in that tree being stalked by a killer, the next you were being bundled into an ambulance.  It was so surreal!  It wasn’t until you heard Jensen on the other side of the door that you snapped.  Reality crashed over you, and you couldn’t breathe. 

     Jensen tried to will his own panic away.  You were alive.  He had you.  Bloody and trembling, but in his arms.  He could hear himself telling you soothing things.  Comforting words that he would never be able to recall later.  He was sure you couldn’t understand him anyway, you were crying so hard that your whole body shook. 

     But his voice was a balm, the timbre of it washed over you.  After a time, the raw shock wore through to numbness.  You drew a shuddering breath and tried to speak. 

     “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice coming from just over your head.  “I’m right here.”

     You released your death grip on Jensen’s jacket and snuck a look at your hands.  There were burn marks there from the gun powder.  Across the clearing, two men were maneuvering a stretcher over the gravel.  A black body bag was strapped to the top.

     “I killed him.”

     Jensen gently brushed the tangled hair away from your face.  His gaze followed yours to the body being taken away.  It could have so easily been you.  He rubbed his hand down your back and tucked your head under his chin.

     “Don’t look, baby.  Don’t think about it.  Never again.”

     The EMT reappeared, insisting that you go to the hospital.  He listed a number of injuries that needed attention.  Including another fucking concussion.

     You managed a weak laugh, “Look at us, right back where we started.”

     “At least you didn’t drown this time, your average is improving,” Jensen said, kissing your forehead.

     With practiced efficiency, the medic had you secured and ready for transport.  Just as the door was about to shut, Frank Solomon appeared.  His jaw was discolored and starting to swell where Jensen landed his punch. 

     Jensen smirked, “Back for round two?”

     “The ambulance is already at capacity, let’s not chance it.”  Solomon’s dark eyes shifted to you.  The arrogance drained away, and he seemed softer.  Almost repentant. 

      “Doctor West, I wanted to let you know that the death of Arthur Green officially closes this case.  You are no longer under any obligation to the F.B.I. for any purpose and you are free to resume your life.”

     “You won’t need me to make a statement?”

     “We have everything we need.  And I have to say, without your cooperation and your bravery, we never would have gotten Green let alone shut down the drug ring.  This victory is yours.”

     “I shot a man.  Deserved or not, that doesn’t feel particularly victorious.”

     Solomon blinked slowly, “You didn’t shoot Arthur Green.”

     “What?”

     “Barely clipped his shoulder, but I hardly call that a shot,” the agent shrugged, his casual manner back in place.  “One of the Mounted Police got him… Roberts, I think.  One clean shot to the head.  Green was dead before he hit the ground.”

     You could have lived with the death on your conscience, knowing it had been self-defense.  But the fact that you didn’t have to, freed you.  Well and truly.  Lightness settled in where guilt had been only a moment ago.  Words failed you.  An astonished gasp left your lips, and you let you head rest against Jensen’s shoulder.

     “Goodbye, Doctor West.  Mr. Ackles.”  Solomon shut the door and thumped it twice. 

     The ambulance slowly rolled away to begin its descent down the mountain.  Jensen’s hand found yours under the emergency blanket tucked over your lap.

     “It’s over.”

     “Yeah, it’s all over, Sweetheart” he murmured, kissing your temple.

     You and Jensen would talk about the incredible circumstances of how you got together often over the years.  You would muse on the workings of fate and God’s grand plan.  You would wonder at the impossibility of it all. 

     Surely, there must have been an easier way for two lost souls to meet.

     But then, meeting wouldn’t have been enough.  The two of you were drowning; separately but equally.  The miserable details of your own lives were pulling you under like a riptide.  It was so all-consuming that you couldn’t break free.  You weren’t strong enough, not alone. 

     It was like Jensen said that day in your old apartment, make a different choice.  The two of you chose to save each other.  But you also chose to let yourself to be saved.  It wasn’t passive and it wasn’t by chance.  It was a decision.  Perhaps not always an easy one, but it had power. 

     Love does conquer all, but only if you choose it.  TagList @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @deanwwinchester

[trektraveler]

Nightingale Chapter Seventeen - All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seventeen: All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Word Count: 5279

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing! Author's Additional Notes: This is it. The last chapter. The Conclusion to my story! (There will be an epilogue to follow) I started this over a year and a half ago, and here we are, finished!! There were plenty of times I wondered if I'd ever get there. But with the steadfast encouragement of all of you, I found the inspiration and the drive. Thank all of you who read this and showered me with love. I am forever grateful!

Series Masterlist

     Jensen checked his watch again while he tapped his fingers against his leg trying to rid himself of the anxious energy.  You’d been in the restroom for fifteen minutes and while women tended to take longer in the bathroom, it was unusual for you.  Other girls had come and gone in that time, and he was beginning to worry.  Deciding to hell with it, he knocked loudly to announce himself and entered.

     “Y/N?  Sweetheart?  The play is starting…”

     The room was empty and something about the eerie silence sent an ominous chill down his spine.  Not a trace of you anywhere, as if you’d evaporated into thin air!  Desperate, he pushed open the stall doors and last one revealed a woman crumpled against the wall.  He recognized the scuffed sneakers as your favorites and the denim jacket with the frayed sleeves.  And the fall of golden hair.

     Frantic, he dropped to his knees, “Y/N!  Baby?!” 

     He grabbed hold of your shoulder and pulled.  Your head rolled back and revealed a deeply slit throat and a stranger’s face.

     Dead.  He could tell it at a glance, but it wasn’t you!  The poor soul had been dressed in your clothes and a very convincing blonde wig. 

     “Shit!”  Jensen scrambled to his feet and burst out of the room.  He frantically searched the crowd of people while dialing his emergency number.

      “Solomon.”

      “She’s gone!  She’s gone, you son of a bitch!  You said she was safe!”

     “We show Y/N in the ladies’ room on the east end of the pavilion.” 

      “Her clothes are there along with a fucking dead body!  He’s got her!  Fuck!”

      “Stay where you are,” the agent barked through the phone while people shuffled in the background. 

      He took off at a jog, trying to scan the faces for yours, “Like hell I will!”

      “That’s an order, Ackles!  I need details, not another missing person.  I have agents converging on your location.”

      Jensen ended the call and tried your number.  It rang several times then went to voicemail.  “Sweetheart, if you get this, just hang on.  I’m coming.  I swear to God… I’m coming to get you.”

       Consciousness came to you in fragments.  Different parts of your body were numb.  There was a pins and needles feeling that came with having been in one position for too long.  Your eyes felt dry and raw, although you hadn’t opened them yet.  Your throat felt the same and there was a really unpleasant smell coming from somewhere.  An artificial and over-powering cherry scent mixed with sour sweat.  Suddenly, your whole frame was jolted, and the side of your head connected with something cold and hard.  It was enough to pull you out of the semi-conscious daze you’d been in, your eyes popped open as your head bounced off the passenger side window. 

     You sat more upright with a groan and rubbed your head, “What…?”

     This wasn’t Jensen’s car.  The dashboard was faded blue and cracked from the sun.  An ancient radio with silver knobs played an old song from the sixties.  The cardboard cherry air freshener swinging from the rearview was at least partly to blame for the oppressive stench.  The man in the driver’s seat was to blame for the rest.

     “Pharmaceuticals have come such a long way, haven’t they?  That little trip was courtesy of a new and very effective benzodiazepine.  Administered through absorption through the skin.  Remarkable.  It’s hung up in clinical trials, but those of us with connections can still have our fun.”

     Your gaze slid to the man behind the wheel and your stomach knotted.  Now that he had his glasses on and his hair was brushed back from his face, he looked much like he did back in New York.  Large, hawk-like nose.  Sharp cheekbones, eyebrows like dark slashes over nearly black eyes. 

     “Of course, the best part is that although you looked like a drunk sorority girl, you were still wide awake inside,” his lips pulled into a disturbing grin.  “Hate for you to miss out.”

     He was right.  You’d been awake while he and that girl stripped you naked and dressed you in her clothes.  You’d been useless to fight them as they pulled a wig down on your head.  You were trapped in your own body, only able to witness the horror has he killed her right in front of you.  In your mind, you screamed while he seamlessly ushered you past Jensen and into the crowd.  Right under the noses of the undercover agents who were meant to protect you. 

     You forced your mind to focus.  Agent Solomon had gone over countless scenarios with you, and this was one of them.  You quickly took inventory and noted that every scrap of clothing had been removed or replaced.  Your tracking monitor, your cell phone, your pepper spray and pocketknife.  Anything that might have been useful was long gone. 

     Except the blue paisley tie Jensen wrapped around your wrist.  You could still feel the cool silk against your skin.  Your tether to him and a reminder that you still had access to one thing that might help you.  The fourth wall.  The stage was set, and this was just another part to play.  If you gave a convincing enough performance, you might just come out of this alive.

     “Where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled the frayed seatbelt over your shoulder and secured it.

     “Tsk, Tsk!  Telling would ruin the surprise, and you know how much I love a good surprise.”

     You scanned the scenery whizzing past and found it unfamiliar.  A two-lane road cut through thick woodland as the sun began to set.  No signs other than the occasional mile marker and warnings about rockslides.  Your ears popped, confirming you were headed to higher elevation and farther away from civilization.

      Show time.

     “Why haven’t you killed me?”  You ripped the auburn-colored wig from your head and tossed it to the floor. 

     “Do you want me to?” he returned, patting the handgun in his lap.

     Panic tried to rise like bile in your throat.  You pushed it down and snatched the half full pack of cigarettes from the dash. 

     “What I want is to wake up safe at home with a beer and left-over pizza in the fridge, but we don’t always get what we want.”

     “Beer and pizza,” Arthur repeated with a scoff.  “Sophistication never was your strong suit, Y/N.  One of Colin’s many grievances about you.”

     “What I lacked in sophistication, I made up for in eagerness.”  You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “I certainly never heard any complaints about that.”

     “Slut.  Useless whore.  No wonder you shacked up with a Hollywood scumbag like Ackles.  You probably fuck him for a weekly allowance.”  His fingers tightened around the wheel as he spoke, “Colin deserved so much better than you.”

     “Someone like you, I suppose.”  You barked out a laugh as Green turned red from the neck up, “Jesus, you’re not still carrying a torch for a dead man, are you?  That’s pathetic, Artie.  It really is.  You know he just kept you around out of pity.  Poor little Artie from the block…”

     He backhanded you right across the mouth.  Your lip split and you tasted blood.

     “Shut up!  Just shut your whore mouth!”  He grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the window, making you groan and slump in your seat.  Your vison went hazy, but you kept conscious.

     “You conniving bitch… you had to go to the feds!  If it wasn’t for that I’d have killed you quick and been done with it.  One last loose end… but not now.  Now, I get creative.  I’ll start with your little boy toy; carve his pretty face up so not even his own mother will recognize him.  Your bestie with those cute kids?  I’ll strangle her to death while they watch.”

     You didn’t say anything, waiting him out as he raged on, “Oh!  But what about your baby sister?  Frankie.  Well, let’s just say she’ll wish she’d died in that car wreck by the time I get through with her.”

     With Arthur’s rage distracting him, you saw your opening and you took it.  The cigarette was still clenched in your fist.  Your hand shot out and you crushed the glowing cherry into his face.  It sizzled and he screamed.

     He howled in pain, and you grabbed the wheel, yanking it with all your might!  The two of you fought for control and sent the truck into a spin.  The back end fishtailed, and the tires squealed.  The world went topsy turvy around you as the truck went careening off the road with a deafening crash.  Then, silence.

     “Black SUV, headed east on Market.  That’s the last we see of it until it popped up abandoned in the Whole Foods parking lot.”

     “We got the video from them?”

     “Nada.  Their surveillance system went down last week.”

     “Safe bet that was our perp.  Get the last recordings they have in the database, let’s see if Green shows his face.”

      “SUV registered to Mrs. Barbara Perkins, deceased.”

     “Naturally.  Get a trace on that name, address, bank accounts, the works.”

      Jensen had never felt more useless in his life.  While the FBI agents bustled around their make-shift headquarters, he was sitting in an office chair.  Waiting.  There was literally nothing else he could do.  They already knew what Green looked like, even disguised as a fangirl.  The pics of Jensen signing autographs went live on social media almost instantaneously.  There were all sorts of video surveillance of him walking around the park and walking a stumbling girl through the parking lot.  It was as if he was showing off.  Flaunting his deeds to the authorities who were oblivious to it all.

      Jensen felt sick at the thought of how close you were.  Green had walked you right by him and he didn’t even know it!  His mind kept going to the dead woman wearing your clothes.  Blood everywhere.  Running like a river from her slit throat.  It could have so easily been you.  It still could, and that thought chilled him to the bone.

     The video was good for one thing though, it confirmed that you had been very much alive when you left with him.  Jensen was holding on to that fact like a lifeline!  You were smart and you were a fighter.  You’d come back, you had to.  He had a whole life planned out and every day of it included you.  Marriage.  Children.  Big family Christmases.  Quiet date nights.  He even planned a proposal in Paris.  You told him you always wanted to go and making your dreams come true had become an obsession for him.  Nothing made him happy like making you happy.  His life wasn’t his own, it was forever intertwined with yours. 

      In the immortal words of his alter-ego, “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”

      When his phone rang, his heart nearly stopped.  He didn’t recognize the number, but knew it was you.  “Y/N?!”

     “Jensen!  Oh God…!”

      Agent Solomon was on him instantly to hand the phone over, he refused.  But he did put it on speaker.  “Sweetheart, where are you?  Are you okay?!”

     The connection was tenuous, making your voice fade in and out. 

     “I’m okay… not… don’t know…. Arthur crashed…”

     “Crashed?!  What happened?”

      Solomon grabbed the phone, “Doctor West, are you with Green right now?”

     “No.  We crashed…. Left…”

     “Was he alive when you saw him last?”

     “…. Unconscious… don’t…. “

      “What kind of vehicle was he driving?”

     “Blue pickup… Dairyland.”

      “Dairyland?”  Jensen repeated. 

     “AJ… 677.”

      “Wisconsin plates,” Solomon signaled to his agents to run a search.  Even fragmented information would pull up something.

     “Doctor West, do you know where you are?”

     “Highway.  I don’t… mountains.  Jay!  Its… otter… Kimmy…”

     The agent locked eyes with Jensen, “What is she talking about?”

     “I don’t know,” he shook his head.  “Kimmy who?”

     “Kim… makeup… otter tattoo.”

     It clicked for him then.  The makeup artist who designed her own tattoos, Kimmy.  She’d been quite taken with Y/N when she went to the set that day.

      “It’s Mount Harvey, the snow melt on the south face looks like an otter playing baseball.”

      “Good.  Doctor West, we’re coming to you.”

      If she heard, she didn’t reply.  The phone screen showed the call dropped.  Solomon handed the phone to one of his team to pull trace information while he barked orders.  The well-oiled team shifted into their roles.  Dispatch communicated with local authorities on every level.  One of the advantages of working with the FBI, they were practiced in the art of the manhunt.  It wasn’t a question of if they would get Green, but when.  And would it be in time?

     “Ackles, you’re with me.”

     Jensen looked up in time to catch a bulletproof vest with FBI printed across the chest. 

     “I don’t have civilians on my tactical team as a rule,” Solomon informed him, zipping up his own vest.  “But you know Y/N better than anyone, I need your insight.  Let’s move.”

     You weren’t sure how far you’d gotten or how long you’d been walking.  It seemed like forever.  That ancient truck Arthur had been driving actually turned out to be a blessing.  The frame was good, old fashioned American steel and took the brunt of the crash without much damage.  The seatbelt did its job and prevented you from being thrown through the windshield.  Although, it dug into you with enough force that you likely had a broken clavicle and possibly a dislocated shoulder.  It throbbed like a son of a bitch, but you still made out better than Green. 

     He was going over sixty miles per hour when he crashed, and he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  He was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from a deep gash on his scalp and covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield.  The doctor in you wanted to check for a pulse, but your visual assessment would have to do.  He was breathing, and that was enough.  You knew time wasn’t on your side, you needed to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

      You made a quick search of his pockets and found both a phone and a handgun.  The passenger side door was bashed in, making it impossible to escape through the door or the window.  With a quick glance to confirm your kidnapper was still unconscious, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and climbed over the dash and through the shattered windshield.  You ignored the pain of the broken glass tearing into your hands and legs. 

     You had to get out and make a run for it, it was your only chance!

     The charge on the cell was dwindling as it searched for a signal, but the fates were with you, and it connected.  The sound of Jensen’s voice nearly broke you.  You held yourself together enough to get as much information out as you could before the call dropped. 

     “No, no damn it!”  Your fingers shook as you tried to call again, only to be me with no service.  You looked around at the dense trees lining the two-lane highway and the rapidly setting sun.  Tears blurred your vision and the weight of your situation hit you in force.

     There was nowhere to go for help, you didn’t even know where you were!  The adrenaline in your system was fading and you could feel the effects of shock setting in.  Injured in a car wreck coupled with who knows what the side effects of that drug Arthur shot you up with.   You well and truly screwed.

     You bent at the waist; your hands braced on your knees as you fought the rising panic.  The blue patterned silk tied to your wrist peeked out from under your shirt cuff. 

     “Breathe, Y/N.”

     “I can’t.”

     “I’m right here, Sweetheart.  I’m with you.”

     “He’s going to kill me!”

     “You can do this, come on.  Deep breath.  In and out.”

     You closed your eyes and rubbed the silk between your finger and thumb.  Like magic, you saw the closet.  Warm and filled with color-coded clothes.  The scent of cedar and vanilla cologne and Jensen smiling. 

     “You’ve got this, Y/N.  Keep moving, keep fighting!  I’m coming for you.”

     The actor’s trick worked.  Your mind cleared and you focused.  Obviously, continuing on foot was only a decent option when you knew where you were going.  You didn’t.  Which meant it was a drain on your energy reserves.  Plus, it would make rescuing you that much more difficult for the people looking for you. 

     You eyed the woods.  It was risky, with nightfall fast approaching, you would have wildlife to contend with and falling temps, but then… so would Green.  If he came to, he’d be looking for you.  Best to make that as difficult as possible. 

     “Stronger together,” you muttered the motto that became a mantra.  Even though he wasn’t holding your hand, Jensen was still with you.  You could still count on him, to remind you what was worth fighting for. 

     With the gun heavy in your hand, you climbed down the embankment and disappeared into the forest.

     “R.C.M.P. clocked a vehicle matching Green’s heading north on 99.  Last spotted an hour ago just passing Lion’s Bay.”

     “Any confirmation on passengers?”

     “Two.  A male and a female.”

     “Given the timeframe of the crash, they couldn’t have gotten much farther than that.”

     “Any hits on the cell?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Keep trying.  If she’s on the move, we might get lucky.”

     Jensen kept quiet as he sat in the back of the SUV.  The flurry of clipped commands yielded no new information.  They were racing towards you, but there was no way to know if they would make it in time.  Jensen tugged at the tie on his wrist while his mind worked over-time.  Were you hurt?  Scared?  Running or hiding?  Were you alive? 

     God please, let her be alive!

     As if on cue, his cell phone rang.  Only once, before the call dropped, but it was your number.  And it was enough.

     “Got it!  Moving slow, heading north by northeast towards Tunnel Bluffs.”

     “We’ve got local law in the area about ten minutes out.”

     “All units converge on new coordinates, be advised our witness is currently on foot.”

     “The assailant is considered armed and dangerous, use of full and deadly force authorized for all personnel.”

     The trees on Mount Harvey were thick and grew to impressive proportions.  Massive, monolithic firs and pines that held the record for some of the biggest on Earth.  Tangles of undergrowth and roots covered every inch of the forest floor, you lost your footing more than once.  Every fall slowed you down and added to your injuries.  The sun dropped to just below the horizon and the temperature went with it.

     You leaned heavily against one of the pines to catch your breath.  Your physical reserves were nearly gone, and you knew it.  There was just enough daylight left to make out a tree a few feet away.  It had an unusual split in its trunk.  Limping and cradling your arm to ease the pressure on your shoulder, you poked around in the gap.  Mostly filled with decomposing leaves, but big enough to shelter you for the night. 

     You squeezed your body through the opening and bit back a grunt as the bark scraped your injuries.  It wasn’t comfortable, which was for the best.  Your exhausted body was already vying for sleep, anything to counter that was welcome.  The opening wasn’t wide enough to see much, but it was still a defensible position.

     Your frozen fingers flexed around the gun as your eyes worked to adjust to the darkness falling.  The weight of it in your hand was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  You were a doctor, you saved lives you didn’t take them.  Your thumb clicked off the safety as you committed to the only course of action that would leave you alive.  It would be a long night and you were damn well going to survive it. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel.”

     Your eyes popped open.  When had you shut them?  The phone in your pocket died long ago, so it was impossible to tell how long you’d been in hiding.  The woods were still.  There was no wind or sounds of scuttling wildlife.  But a child’s song, so faint you thought you’d imagined it. 

     “The monkey thought was all in fun.”

     “A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

      “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     There it was again.  Singing.  You were sure you hadn’t imagined it, it had to be Arthur.  God!  It seemed like you were making a racket!  Your breathing, your heartbeat, your eyelashes blinking rapidly as you desperately scanned the inky shadows.  Why did sound amplify in the cold and the dark?  It all seemed to be announcing your location to the man who was coming to murder you. 

     “Up and down the London road.”

     “In and out of the Eagle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     He was playing with you.  The monkey and the weasel.  Cat and mouse.  You should have kept running!  Should have kept to the road, someone would have seen you.  You would have stood a chance!  Now you were in a trap of your own making.

     “I’ve no time to plead and pine.”

     “I’ve no time to wheedle.”

     “Kiss me quick and then I’m gone.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     The echo of the woods distorted Arthur’s voice so that you had no clue where he was coming from.  Running now would do you no good.  It was too late.  The son of a bitch was closing in on you now.  Would they even be able to find your body?  Would Jensen ever know what became of you?  You should have ran the minute you remembered your name. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench.”

     “Arthur chased the doctor.”

     “The doctor thought was all in fun…”

     God, please keep him safe from the psychopath.  And Frankie!  Make sure they know I love them!  No matter what happens to me… I love you!

     “Pop!”

     Arthur.  Blood, dirt, and broken glass.  A twisted grin split his grotesque face. 

     Time stopped; a shot rang out.  Then, nothing.

     Jensen stood with the small, second group of agents investigating the crashed truck.  Two sets of footprints disappeared into the woods and the first round of FBI had already spread out into the wilderness to join the Mounties and broaden the search.

     The report of a gunshot echoed all the way back to the road.

     His blood ran cold.  “Y/N.”

     A hand went to Jensen’s Kevlar covered chest before he could move.  Bruce, the iron faced agent assigned to the actor, held him in place.

     "Let me go!"

     "Not a chance."

     "That was a fucking gunshot!"

     "Yeah, it was.  You take off now, the next one might have your name on it."

     “I don’t care!”

     "Right now, every resource we have is focused on Y/N.  You go out there and those resources get split, cutting her chance at survival in half.”

     Jensen turned away, running his hands through his hair.  “Fuck!”

     "We've all got a job to do.  Yours is communication,” Bruce put a steady hand on Jensen’s shoulder.  “You want to help your girl?   Stay put.  Be here and be ready to answer when she calls."

     Knowing Bruce was right didn't make the next hour of waiting any easier.  It was agony.  There was no word.  Not a sound from anyone.  Radio silence, Agent Bruce called it.  He seemed to think it was a positive sign, but it was driving Jensen insane.  Each minute that passed brought a horrible new thought.  A potential nightmare that could play out right in front of him.  And he was powerless to prevent it.

     He was past the end of his rope when an ambulance came into view and sped past them.  Traveling at breakneck speed up the mountain. Flashing lights bouncing off the trees and rock face. 

     Bruce held a finger to the tiny Speaker in his ear.  A grim look passed his features.

     "Let's move."

     He said nothing more.  No word on if you were alive or dead.  No hint at who that ambulance was for.  An hour ago, Jensen would have sworn he'd reached his capacity for worry and stress.  But that was nothing compared to the five minutes it took to reach the clearing.  There was a mass of people milling around.  F.B.I. he recognized and a few others outfitted in uniforms for the R.C.M.P.  That ambulance was parked off to the side, the back door was closed but the lights were still flashing.  Several other official looking vehicles showed up, including one for the coroner’s office. 

     Jensen was out of the car before Bruce even put it in park.  He caught the slender build of Frank Solomon, casually talking to a couple of other agents by the rail guard.  The son of a bitch was acting like he’d completed a milk run!  Jensen’s nostrils flared with rage as he made a direct path for him.

     The young man looked up, seemingly unphased by the Texan’s aggressive approach.

     "Ackles.”

     "Where is she?!"

     Solomon’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t his voice that was heard.  A shrill, terrified scream came from inside the ambulance, cutting through the night.

      "Jensen!"

     He'd spent fifteen years stepping into the boots of Dean Winchester.  Fighting monsters.  Some you could see, some you couldn't.  But no matter how close he was to the hero he portrayed; it was still an act.  Though there were plenty of times he’d wished it were real.  Wished he were more like the enigmatic man in the ’67 Chevy.  The man who always knew what to do.  The man who always saved the day.

     And yes, he would let his ‘Dean’ show from time to time.  That was a blurred line that proved useful more than once.  But in that moment when you screamed for him, there was no line.  There was no Dean, there was clarity. 

     Solomon got exactly one word out, “Wait…”  

     Jensen pulled back his fist and punched him square in the face, knocking him on his ass.

     He ran to that ambulance.  On a mission and with one purpose, he tore the door open.  

     You were sitting on a gurney, struggling against the medic who was trying to keep you from bolting.  Bruised and bloody.  But breathing!  The second you saw him, you went still, your bottom lip quivered.

     “Jensen.”

     The medic proved smarter than the F.B.I. agents and moved out of the way, allowing Jensen the room to take you in his arms.  That was when you broke completely.  Sobbing and desperately clinging to him like a child.  You weren’t sure how you got there.  One minute you were in that tree being stalked by a killer, the next you were being bundled into an ambulance.  It was so surreal!  It wasn’t until you heard Jensen on the other side of the door that you snapped.  Reality crashed over you, and you couldn’t breathe. 

     Jensen tried to will his own panic away.  You were alive.  He had you.  Bloody and trembling, but in his arms.  He could hear himself telling you soothing things.  Comforting words that he would never be able to recall later.  He was sure you couldn’t understand him anyway, you were crying so hard that your whole body shook. 

     But his voice was a balm, the timbre of it washed over you.  After a time, the raw shock wore through to numbness.  You drew a shuddering breath and tried to speak. 

     “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice coming from just over your head.  “I’m right here.”

     You released your death grip on Jensen’s jacket and snuck a look at your hands.  There were burn marks there from the gun powder.  Across the clearing, two men were maneuvering a stretcher over the gravel.  A black body bag was strapped to the top.

     “I killed him.”

     Jensen gently brushed the tangled hair away from your face.  His gaze followed yours to the body being taken away.  It could have so easily been you.  He rubbed his hand down your back and tucked your head under his chin.

     “Don’t look, baby.  Don’t think about it.  Never again.”

     The EMT reappeared, insisting that you go to the hospital.  He listed a number of injuries that needed attention.  Including another fucking concussion.

     You managed a weak laugh, “Look at us, right back where we started.”

     “At least you didn’t drown this time, your average is improving,” Jensen said, kissing your forehead.

     With practiced efficiency, the medic had you secured and ready for transport.  Just as the door was about to shut, Frank Solomon appeared.  His jaw was discolored and starting to swell where Jensen landed his punch. 

     Jensen smirked, “Back for round two?”

     “The ambulance is already at capacity, let’s not chance it.”  Solomon’s dark eyes shifted to you.  The arrogance drained away, and he seemed softer.  Almost repentant. 

      “Doctor West, I wanted to let you know that the death of Arthur Green officially closes this case.  You are no longer under any obligation to the F.B.I. for any purpose and you are free to resume your life.”

     “You won’t need me to make a statement?”

     “We have everything we need.  And I have to say, without your cooperation and your bravery, we never would have gotten Green let alone shut down the drug ring.  This victory is yours.”

     “I shot a man.  Deserved or not, that doesn’t feel particularly victorious.”

     Solomon blinked slowly, “You didn’t shoot Arthur Green.”

     “What?”

     “Barely clipped his shoulder, but I hardly call that a shot,” the agent shrugged, his casual manner back in place.  “One of the Mounted Police got him… Roberts, I think.  One clean shot to the head.  Green was dead before he hit the ground.”

     You could have lived with the death on your conscience, knowing it had been self-defense.  But the fact that you didn’t have to, freed you.  Well and truly.  Lightness settled in where guilt had been only a moment ago.  Words failed you.  An astonished gasp left your lips, and you let you head rest against Jensen’s shoulder.

     “Goodbye, Doctor West.  Mr. Ackles.”  Solomon shut the door and thumped it twice. 

     The ambulance slowly rolled away to begin its descent down the mountain.  Jensen’s hand found yours under the emergency blanket tucked over your lap.

     “It’s over.”

     “Yeah, it’s all over, Sweetheart” he murmured, kissing your temple.

     You and Jensen would talk about the incredible circumstances of how you got together often over the years.  You would muse on the workings of fate and God’s grand plan.  You would wonder at the impossibility of it all. 

     Surely, there must have been an easier way for two lost souls to meet.

     But then, meeting wouldn’t have been enough.  The two of you were drowning; separately but equally.  The miserable details of your own lives were pulling you under like a riptide.  It was so all-consuming that you couldn’t break free.  You weren’t strong enough, not alone. 

     It was like Jensen said that day in your old apartment, make a different choice.  The two of you chose to save each other.  But you also chose to let yourself to be saved.  It wasn’t passive and it wasn’t by chance.  It was a decision.  Perhaps not always an easy one, but it had power. 

     Love does conquer all, but only if you choose it.  TagList @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @deanwwinchester

[inky-duchess]

Weirdly Specific Character asks: 4,6, 10, and 11!

4 What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Nikolai used to read a lot as a kid, like devour a book a day sort of reader but he doesn't have any time any more.

6 What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

Misha has a special brew of tea he makes that is purely for him, nobody else. Not even Nikolai has had it.

10 What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

Hadrien constantly reminds everyone that he's married to Art, especially when Nikolai is in the room.

11 If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

They would ask fake-Katya to tell them what she thinks of Marina.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Hello!! I’m new to ao3, and for the past couple days I’ve been reading your rtc fics excessively. And they inspired me to start writing fanfics of my own. But I’ve never written a fanfic before. And I was wondering if you had any tips for new fanfic writers? Thank you!! :)

hey!!

yeah, i’ve got some tips!

Stick to one tense! Past tense (said, looked, walked) or present tense (says, looks, walks)! I didn’t learn how to stick to one tense until, like, junior year, and I’ve been writing since fifth grade.

However, if you’re writing present tense, you can switch to past tense to show that you’re talking about stuff in the past.

Avoid first-person POV. If you’ve ever seen those TikTok videos that are people’s “fanfic turn offs” A LOT of them will mention first-person. First-person is more for books, and it’s also very limiting. Plus, it’s just not that fun to read all the time. Some people won’t read a fic At All if it’s first-person.

In similar vein, avoid second-person. Second-person is for reader-insert fics. Not for regular fics.

This is a pretty big thing if you don’t understand how AO3 works: / is romantic relationships. & is for platonic relationships.

Use quotation marks! Some fics will use everything EXCEPT quotation marks for dialogue, and it’s annoying to look at.

Don’t write like you’re writing a script. Don’t use “Ocean: (dialogue here).”

Use proper grammar, punctuation, capitalization, and spelling!

Space out your paragraphs!

If someone new is speaking, go to the next paragraph. PLEASE do not stick it into the pre-existing paragraph.

Don’t overuse epithets! It’s okay to use a character’s name several times!

Don’t put timeskips that are like “(ONE WEEK LATER).” Don’t do that. It looks silly. Find a way to insert it into the writing itself. Like, “A week later, she went to the store.” Something like that!

Try to stick to one character POV. You can absolutely switch to a different one, but end the scene first. Don’t randomly go to someone else in the middle of something.

Download Grammarly if you haven’t already! It’s a great tool!

If you’re gonna write RtC fics, PLEASE spell Mischa’s name right in the character tag. Someone spelled it as “Misha,” and now it’s just Like That. Please spell it right, I am BEGGING.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

You know, I may go absolutely crazy about fictional characters and get way too invested. I may lose my heart to them and cry my eyes out over them. I write fanfic about these fictional characters, and I love doing it.

But I draw a firm line when it comes to the actors portraying them. I may find them attractive and likable, judging by the way they choose to present themselves in public. I may enjoy watching convention videos or interviews. But shipping actors, reading or writing RPF or even just reader-insert fics make me uncomfortable.

I mean - you do you and everything. If it’s your thing, indulge (within reasonable, peaceful parameters).

But I’ll be over here gushing (and crying) over Sam, Dean and Castiel while y’all can have Jensen, Jared and Misha and do with them what you want (in your imagination only, please.)

So, please, don’t ask me to write RPF or reader-insert fics or to beta yours. Its just not my cup of tea.

Peace out.

[kithariel]

HAPPY WELCOME, an introductory post.

Oh lord, oh my. How do I even start? I feel so nervous about being here. I mean, being more than just a shadow on tumblr, being substantially present to the point of actually sharing my thoughts. My writings. Oof.

Well, whatever. Hello, hi. Uh, I hope you're doing good. For some reason or another, you've found your way to my little corner on here. So, welcome to "The Reverist's Lounge", my small safe space. And of course you're invited to stay for a while. Make yourself at home, put your feet up on my my blog's imaginary coffee table, lean back into the soft cushions of the sofa behind it. Tea, maybe? Feel free to close your eyes and dream a little bit.

Usually, I'm more of the silent story connoisseur. I'm always down for reading a good little something. Interesting blurbs, relatable head cannons or spicy reader inserts? Count me in! Just trying to still my fandom thirst on here, indulging my current hyperfixations and leaving anonymous kudos on the way. A shadow.

But lately, I am feeling the need to engage more, to create and also give something back to the community. To the people who made so many of my days worth it. To the people who let me dream all day for years.

So, yeah. Let's do this. What could possibly go wrong?

I do have some experiences in the field of fanfiction writing, but it's been years since then and I'm still trying to figure out the ropes of tumblr writings. Hm, also, English's not my first language, so please be nice to me or else you might find me crying in a corner of the lounge here. Cool? Cool.

To give you a hint of what's coming, here are some of my current and past character hyperfixations:

ADAR, rings of power. Joseph Mawle.

CASTIEL, supernatural. Misha Collins.

CLINT BARTON, avengers. Jeremy Renner.

ELROND PEREDHEL, lord of the rings. Hugo Weaving.

EREINION GIL-GALAD, rings of power. Benjamin Walker.

IVAN, shadow and bone. Simon Sears.

SILCO, arcane. Jason Spisak.

SOLDIER BOY, the boys. Jensen Ackles.

THADDEUS VALENTINE, mortal engines. Hugo Weaving.

THRANDUIL OROPHERION, the hobbit. Lee Pace.

Ten for the beginning, that should do the trick. And yes, I do have a whole list with quite a lot more of names, but I'm only mentioning those, I'm actually willing to write for at the moment.

So, be ready for some content in the near future. Can't wait to get some things off my mind and throw them into the mixing pot of fandoms.

Until then, with love and lasciviousness, Vanya.

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

I’m doing @ficfacers

Offering to write a minimum of 1,000 words with a lot of story options.

https://www.juliahouston.com/bid-on-spn-fanfic-reblog-writes/

Please share and/or bid.

Please signal boost.