#it was there all along thank you x files and supernatural

[prettyflyshyguy]

I got so unhinged about supernatural i've been actually working on Virtual Ground because I have a perfectly good messed up pair of freaks from the early 2000s who don't get along and holy shit I want to tell that story

[amane-by-together]

this takes place in the original au

The school is hosting a prom, but the readers partner never shows up to practice, she excused herself to the rooftop and watch the other students dance and practice with their partners and hanako sees her and asks why she isnt down there with the others, and so he became your practice buddy ;3

last waltz || hanako-kun

genre: fluff

pairing: hanako-kun x fem! reader

summary: kamome gakuen is hosting a prom so students are required to practice dancing with their partners, in which [name]'s partner doesn't show up to school—so hanako was willing to be her temporary practice buddy.

kamome gakuen, where students with earrings and deadly weapons were never interrogated and supernaturals roaming around the areas like it's a free real estate because the principal never shows up at some point to patrol the school.

recently, the teacher announced that the school will be holding a prom. [name] thought it might be best not to join the event, it's not like it's going to be beneficial—"to those who will be joining, there will be unlimited food and an exemption to the upcoming exams."

that sounded like a good deal. "but then all students are required to practice for the dance." [name] didn't mind as long as she can get her hands on the unlimited food, plus she could really take a break from the dreading piece that grinds your brain in which she calls homework.

"the practice will start tomorrow in the auditorium. each class representatives will forward the list of your partners on your school groupchats, if you guys have one of those." the teacher added as he finished picking up his things to leave. "that would be all, good bye class."

[name] guessed that there's no way she's backing up now after hearing an exemption for taking the exams and unlimited food during the party—and [name] is willing to stick her foot out of her comfort zone for that.

it didn't take long till the class representative sent the list of the students along with their partners while on her way home. [name] opened the pdf file to try to search for her name in the list.

[name] [surname] (1-B) and eidri anoshima (1-C)

"ah, some guy i don't know." [name] simply said before continuing her way to her apartment. apparently it was a mix and match between first years. she wondered whether they used a random generator to pick partners, for shits and giggles.

[name] didn't bother since there's unlimited food waiting for her in the party. [name] would go alone since the dance is the only thing that required a partner and it has been assigned to her so it's okay.

the next day arrived, the first years are gathered by the gym to practice for the upcoming prom. everyone seemed to be acquainted with one another but [name] couldn't find eidri anoshima anywhere. "hi excuse me," she smiled at the random student. "i'm looking for eidri anoshima-san, by any chance have you seen them?"

"sorry, i don't know them..."

[name]'s smile slightly faltered. "i see, is there anyone i can ask?"

"try to ask their class representative." [name] quickly thanked the student and tried to find 1-C's class representative. there are a lot of students so it's hard to tell, [name] didn't even know what they looked like.

also, there's no one who came forth to guide her to her partner nor do they even approach her and say "anoshima-san is looking for you." it's almost as if that no one is searching her. "where is that guy anyways?" [name] muttered under her breath, almost everyone found their partner and she hasn't.

"[surname]-san!" [name] turned around to see the representative from her class along with another girl which she assumed that maybe she's the representative from class c.

"[surname]-san, right?" the girl asked, clasping her hands together and gave [name] an apologetic smile. "i'm so sorry, that idiot anoshima decided not to show up, i told him that there's going to be a practice but he never replies or read the messages."

there was a relief, for [name] at least, since she won't be participating in practice if she doesn't have a partner. "it's okay, i'll just watch you guys practice from upstairs." [name] went upstairs to oversee the practice, she watched them repeat the steps, go through the whole thing again and repeat.

it was getting boring to watch.

but it would be more tiring if she does dance.

"heya, [name]~!"

"whoa—!" [name] slightly jumped and looked at hanako who's now smiling while waving a hand. "hanako-kun, jeez you keep appearing out of nowhere." she deadpanned.

"hehe~ i'm a ghost so i can do whatever i want~" hanako landed next to [name], putting his hands above the railings as he looked down to the students practicing for the dance. "so what are you doing up here?"

"i'm just watching the first years practice their dance to the upcoming prom." [name] replied.

"why aren't you down with the others?"

"my supposed partner never showed up for today's practice so i can't learn the dance without one." [name] explained, she doesn't seemed bothered by it since it's not like she's looking forward to the dance—she's more motivated when it comes to food. "that's why i'm here."

"i see..." hanako nodded at her statement. an idea appeared inside his head, he waved his hand as his tsueshiros circled around him to transform him to his cape. "in that case, you need to practice too."

"h-hoi! wait—" hanako grabbed [name] by the hand to hold her as he used his haku-joudai to teleport them to another place. just like that, they disappeared out of thin air and no one seemed to notice.

the two ended up going inside the sealed auditorium. hanako placed [name] to the ground, earning a gentle smack from the female. "jeez—you should warn me where we're going next time." she playfully scolded.

          "at least you can practice here alone without getting embarrassed, you didn't want anyone to watch you dancing right?" hanako said with a wide grin. [name] narrowed her eyes with a small blush seeping through her cheeks. "so how are you going to practice?"

          "i'm going to listen to the song first." [name] pulled out her phone and plugged in her earphones to play the song that they are going to dance while sitting down on the wooden stage. the song has a slow beat, perfect for a slow dance—something you can dance with around the kitchen with the refrigerator light.

          hanako was quite curious about what [name] is listening so he gently pulled out an earbud. "can i listen to it too?" [name] flinched at hanako's presence nearby because it felt like he was whispering in her ear on how soft his voice is. she blushed, looking away as she nodded. "this sounds nice..." he said.

          "mhm..." [name] nodded shyly. she and hanako shared earphones a lot but in this scenario, it's like there was a hint of intimacy between the two—they're alone and both listening to a slow dance music.

          [name] subconsciously started to sway to the music, then tapping her fingers to the beat. hanako did the same by dancing using his fingers, [name] smiled and started to use her fingers to follow him. basically the two teens started finger dancing to the music they are listening to.

          "i don't know how to start the dance because first of all, i never slow danced before... i feel embarrassed trying the steps..." [name] said with a wince. hanako was silent and deep in thought on how to help with [name]'s situation, he doesn't know about dancing either so how is he going to make it work for the both of them.

          "i'm not that much of a dancer but,"

          hanako subtly hooked his finger around [name]'s, his eyes glinting like the stars whilst smiling at her. he stood up, taking [name]'s hand to help her stand up—like a prince of some sort. hanako placed his hand on his chest, bowing a bit and lifted his chin to look at [name].

          "may i have this dance?"

          [name]'s heart skipped a beat.

          "mm..." she nodded.

          "i think they did something like this..." hanako tried to recall as he placed his hand on her waist while gently grasping her hand to the other. [name] placed her hand on his shoulder. there was an awkward space between them. "but there's something missing..." [name] commented while looking around.

          "aren't we supposed to be close? like this?~" hanako tugged her closer by the waist, [name]'s blood rushed through her cheeks making her look down on her feet. "i don't think you're supposed to look down, my eyes are up here."

          "i might step on your feet." [name] winced but hanako lifted her chin with his finger, a cheeky smile forming on his boyish visuals.

          "i'll take the lead, just keep your eyes on me." hanako assured as he started to sway her side to side with the beat of the music. how is [name] supposed to be calm when he's looking at her like that as they danced. his amber eyes softening yet they shine like the moon, and his lips curling up into a calm smile.

          hanako twirled her around. [name] was staring at him with pure admiration as they danced. they have more chemistry and intimacy than [name]'s assigned partner that never appeared to practice.

          [name] hooked her arms around hanako's neck while hanako cupped her waist with his hands. "will you come watch us perform on the day of the prom?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

          "and watch you dance with someone else?" hanako pouted, his gaze averting so [name] won't get the hint that he's jealous—but he is because he wanted to be the only one she'll dance with. his grip tightened. "no thanks..."

          [name] giggled. "i'm only dancing with him for the exemption—i'll dance with you anytime."

          hanako's smile widened, he placed his forehead against hers with a chuckle. "alright then, i'd like to hold you for the rest of the day..."

[deadlymistletoe]

WIP Game

Thank you for the tag, @bookworm-with-coffee!

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Considering I have way too many WIP's, a lot of with are currently abandoned or forgotten, here's the main ones I'm working on/have hope for.

I'm open to sharing snippets or answering any questions you may have about them!

{Untitled 1}: Fluff. Your boyfriend asks you to go on some errands with his brother on a hunt in order to ‘bond’, but when have things ever been that simple? Especially when Castiel decides to tag along too. Mostly platonic with background Dean Winchester x Reader {Supernatural}

{Untitled 2}: Angst. On the anniversary of being separated from your beloved son by the devil known as Peter Pan, you and Killian despair under the moonlight with thoughts of your failure. Killian Jones x Reader {Once Upon A Time}

p.s. as soon as 'untitled 2' gets a title it'll be ready to post.

{Never Let You Fall}: Angst, Romance, H/C. When an enemy from Damon's past shows up, Damon proves that he will never let you fall. Literally. Damon Salvatore x Reader {The Vampire Diaries}

{Official Business}: Romance (getting together), fluff. When you go with a group from Iron Hills to assist with Erebor’s rebuilding, Kili immediately falls head-over-heels in love with you, but you mistake his attempts at flirting for friendly behaviour. Kili x Darrowdam!Reader {The Hobbit}

{Drive}: Slight angst, comfort. When Sam in injured on a hunt and suggests you drive home, you're forced to confess something you never wanted your longtime crush to know; you don't know how to drive. Sam Winchester x Reader {Supernatural}

Send the asks!

If you want to be tagged in any of these fics so you don't miss them and you're not already on a relevant taglist (or you can't remember if you are) you can either comment here, shoot me a message, or fill out my taglist form.

P.s. if your request is not on here, it does not mean I'm not doing it - I just haven't been able to write much this year, trust me, it's coming at some stage.

Five tags for Five WIP's:

@imagines--galore, @thewitchkingiscool-ace, @lady-of-imladris, @wordbunch, @coopsgirl

[spnscripthunt-inactive]

For every $10 you donate to RIP Medical Debt, you will 1) be erasing about $1,000 in medical debt and 2) be entered in a raffle to win one of the items listed below. The more total donations we receive, the more scripts will be made available as prizes.

If donations reach $4000 total, we'll add:

Set: 8.15 'Man's Best Friend with Benefits' - Production Draft (unsigned). We're including another script written and directed by folks from the early years of Supernatural: The X-Files 3.18 'Teso Dos Bichos' - Pink "frankendraft" (props department, unsigned) along with the 2nd Unit Call Sheet from 3.12 (aired as 3.11) 'Mystery Spot' signed by Richard Speight Jr. at Jus in Bello 13 (Rome). 

14.01 'Stranger in a Strange Land' - Blue Draft signed by Jensen and Danneel Ackles at Crossroads 6 (Brighton, UK). Includes includes pink pages.

14.06 'Optimism' - Studio & Network Draft signed by director Richard Speight Jr. at at Salute to Supernatural: Nashville 2022; Felicia Day at Creation Tour: Atlanta 2023.

14.11 'Damaged Goods' - Pink Draft signed by Briana Buckmaster and Samantha Smith at Salute to Supernatural: Washington, D.C. 2022.

Set: 14.20 'Moriah' - Cherry pages. Signed by Rob Benedict at Jus in Bello 13 (Rome). Script is a misprint full script on white paper and missing page 40A so we're including 5.09 'The Real Ghostbusters' technical package and 11.19 'The Chitters' - Story Arena (both are unsigned).

Set: 15.01 (aired as 15.04) 'Atomic Monsters' - Yellow pages signed by Rob Benedict at Jus in Bello 13 (Rome). Script is a misprint full script in a large font so we're including 8.18 'Freaks and Geeks' day 8 call sheet & sides and 8.19 'Taxi Driver' - Call Sheet & Sides: Day 1 of 8 signed by Misha Collins at Creation Tour: Charlotte 2023.

[thecharmedburrowspn-files]

20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag @illegalcerebral!

How many works do you have on AO3? Only 4. The rest is on FF.NET.

What is your total AO3 word count? 180,388

What fandoms do you write for? I've written for Harry Potter (but I don't see myself revisiting that fandom) and am currently writing for The Vampire Diaries. I have plot bunnies for Supernatural and Smallville.

What are your top five fics by kudos? Imperfectly Bound: Part 1, Second Chances, Time's Up (Sequel to Second Chances), and my OC Winter Challenge collection

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to respond to them because I like readers to know that I saw it and it meant something that they took the time. And if I haven't updated in a while, I like to let them know the story isn't abandoned. The only exception is if the comment just says to "update soon".

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess Time's Up: A Second Chances Sequel. I wrote it in respond to the TVD finale (and I was not happy about it).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most are positive but more along the lines of optimistic/hopeful than 'happy'.

Do you get hate on your fic? Not really. I've had a couple rude comments but nothing that really qualifies as hate.

Do you write smut? No. I don't have a problem with it; I just don't have the skill to write it.

Do you write crossovers? No

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, I was alerted to someone reposting a fic on wattpad a year or so ago. I suspect it's happened more than once but I got that instance removed.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No

Have you ever co-written a fic? No

What's your all-time favorite ship? Oh, that's tough. For fandom in general I think it's nearly a tie between Mulder/Scully and Bones/Booth. But I think Mulder/Scully will always be first because of how foundational The X-Files is for me. As far as top ship for what I'll read.... That really depends on whatever the current obsession is.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Listen, It might take me a decade but I will finish 'Imperfectly Bound'. I doubt I'll ever finish the SPN fic though.

What are your writing strengths? I really have no idea. Maybe establishing the relationships between the characters? If not a strength, it's definitely something I've improved.

What are your writing weaknesses? Oh so many but the top two: Not planning out a story and a lack discipline to write

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I'm not fluent in anything but English so I probably wouldn't do it.

First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter

Favorite fic you've ever written? Hmm, I'll with 'Imperfectly Bound' since I am pretty happy with what I've done with it.

No pressure tags: @wordspin-shares, @darknightfrombeyond, @cecexwrites @eddysocs, @anotherunreadblog, @karimac @residentdormouse @starsandstormyseas @the-moon-loves-the-sea, @witchofinterest

[yersina]

Title Tag Game

Thanks to @lunaryugamine for tagging me!!

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how nondescriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippit or tell them something about it.

This isn’t everything in my WIPs bc there’s some stuff I’ve been publishing on anon but it’s almost everything in my recents folder that I’ve either been working on or hope to come back to someday!

hq x kn8 crossover au

hoshi/mina/kafka

precanon hoshinaru

kn8 supernatural au

inuokko snapshots

mafia jangchu continuation?

flower shop tattoo shop

catboy

ace!jaeyoung

ace!sangwoo pt2

ace!sangwoo pt3

part switch sangwoo jaeyoung

joowon ocpd fic??

I’m gonna cap it here bc otherwise this’ll go on forever lol

I’ll pass the tag along to @butterfirefly @tploz @chanisangels @sctir and anyone else who might want to participate! :)

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

@electricrogue tagged me, thanks so much! :D

(About half way through doing this, I realized I was tagged before, but I'm not wasting the time this took. 😂)

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

106 :)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

533,416 :0

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Sanctuary and Stargate SG-1.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Those are all SG-1 fics, Sanctuary just doesn't have the numbers.

Commute (Sam/Jack, SG-1) - 85

In-Between (Sam/Jack, SG-1) - 70

One Snow Day (Sam/Jack, SG-1) - 65

Two Kinds of Sparks (Sam/Jack, SG-1) - 65

One Rainy Day (Sam/Jack, SG-1) - 58

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yep! Sometimes it might take me a day or two because I want to be able to respond to them properly!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oof. Um.... look, a lot of them have angsty-ish endings.

The Last of the Tau'ri (Stargate SG-1) probably has the angstiest ending because it is an apocalpyse and child-death story.

Five Times James Watson Was a Father and One Time He Wasn't may count as well. (It ended with the time he wasn't)

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh..... I have no clue.

Yeah, sorry, can't answer this one with any confidence. :(

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, other than being told how I didn't stick canon in the manner that I should and I deserve the criticism.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't. I'm not comfortable enough to do that (yet) and I can assure you that no one would want me to either.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Stargate SG-1/Sanctuary/The Aviary.

'Bird Cage' is a crossover using the characters from SG-1 and Sanctuary in a world taken from the book The Aviary. Earth is the pleasure planet of the Goa'uld and human women are the main commodity.

Sam ends up in a 'museum' of girls, run by John Druitt and Jack follows her to try and save her. Along the way, they pick of the help of various characters (including Nikola Tesla).

It's not done because of computer problems and will be a five-part series.

It's kind of wild and pretty dark.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, but I would like to! Technically writing a Supernatural/Hannibal crossover over with tina-mairin-goldstein, but....I'm not really into it? And I was only recruited to right the Supernatural bits.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Helen/John. 😅 (Helen/Nikola is close, I promise)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Foreshadowing and tension, along with dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Emotion, descriptions. Particularly emotional description.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I'm all for it, but I only speak English, so I'm a little hesitant on doing it for fear of it being messed up. I do put some words in Serbian for Nikola, but so far that's just sprinkles here and there.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior cats when I was maybe twelve, but that was never published and shall never curse the internet with its presence.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Enigmatic Confections (Helen/Nikola). I've fallen in love with it far more than I thought I would.

(Also The Abnormal X-File)

Since I was tagged before and I think never everyone else was... No pressure tagging @theleotorrio , @crazymcwritesalot , @misscrazyfangirl321, and @tina-mairin-goldstein

[mlobsters]

supernatural s10e6 ask jeeves (w. eric charmelo, nicole snyder)

i looked her up because she reminds me of tissea from the witcher (spoiler alert looking her up apparently, i've been [sadly] bored to tears with s3 so i haven't finished it) but she was in coyote ugly! so i did recognize her. ish

s10e6 / coyote ugly - izabella miko as cammie / the witcher - myanna buring as tissaia

we got an spn / xfiles / the magicians / the killing actor! 🎉

and he was in the tooms episode of the x-files! (along with two others). and he was the faith healer in spn s1e12 faith, didn't recognize him at all with the sunglasses

the x-files s1e3 squeeze - kevin mcnulty as agent fuller / the magicians s2e1 km as knight of crowns / the killing s1e13 km as gas station manager

saw a gifset of this recently and spent plenty of time staring and rolling my eyes then. also, toxic masculinity/machismo is very much an issue in the culture but hello cuban coffee colada which comes with the ittiest bittiest cups (think basically creamer cups) for sharing. *pining for miami*

making my 😒 face at dean/writers right now

DEAN Bobby had secrets, man. Like loving on Tori Spelling. If he only knew Dean cheated on her.

cue my brain trying to dig up an old memory of 90210 character names

but no, apparently, her actual spouse Dean McDermott (m. 2006). dean knows this? i can't predict what pop culture stuff dean might know or not. (like interweb?) and like last episode where he didn't know who calliope was, yet he's supposedly read the odyssey?

from s4e14 sex and violence (my recap)

DEAN Like Greek myth siren, The Odyssey? ...Hey, I read!

just say no to dumbing down dean winchester.

also i don't think it's necessarily just sam's haircut that's so odd in this season, but it looks like it's getting blown out too. weird. it's normalish for his look in the front but very ~done~ in the back at times

just say yes to shutting up and watching, nic

s10e6 as heddy / new girl - gillian vigman as kim (schmidt's boss)

but there's more people i recognize 🥲 this is going to take forever. feels very... Clue-like

she calls them adorable, dean engages flirt-mode, sam makes a face. however! for what it's worth! i appreciate that as he's gotten older the rando side character women he flirts with are also regularly around his age or older

BEVERLY Oh but you’re welcome to spend the night. All the rooms sleep two.

HEDDY [slaps Dean’s butt] Or three.

i... okay. mad at the insinuation that sam and dean are sleeping together (?? do they know they're brothers or assuming married?? this show.), but happy about the butt slap/threesome offer?

DEAN You stay here. Keep an eye on Mrs. Peacock and Colonel Mustard. I’ll sniff around.

okay then. Clue it is

DASH Well Sam, I’ll let you in on a little family secret. We don’t really like each other. Then again, what family does? SAM Mine does. Uh, for the most part. It’s just my brother and me, so…

this is how the show has a chokehold on me. just when my commitment to watching every episode wavers, they're like oh but would you like to hear about how much sam and dean looove each other 🥺🥹

maybe toss sam a text before you go into the secret room

cute

is this all just an elaborate ad? lol

look at sam, sending a text to dean about the dude being dead. good job guys

HEDDY Did you see how long his fingers his fingers were? SAM There…there’s just. HEDDY First of all, did you see this? Look how long…

and then at this point in the screenshot she's saying 9 inches?? whaaat is happening

did someone get a ruler out. and measured his..... hand

this episode is a lot

HEDDY I knew those boys were trailer trash the moment they rolled up in that American-made. BEVERLY Not to mention homosexuals. HEDDY Ugh. Homosexual murderers. Like Leopold and Loeb.

guess we're just gonna ignore they're brothers now.

‘Scream’ Screenwriter Kevin Williamson Confirms Billy and Stu’s Queer-Coded Relationship Was Based on Real Gay Killers - huh, well thanks for leading me to that, wikipedia article on leopold and loeb!

DASH Then where have you been hiding all these years? OLIVIA The attic. AMBER Like in the movie.

Reference to Flowers in the Attic, which is a story about children born of an incestuous relationship, who are hidden away in the attic of a wealthy relative

i was trying to think of what it could be referring to that wasn't flowers in the attic because hello incest reference, but okay

SAM I mean….all those extra shots after the shifter was already dead. What was that? DEAN I don’t know. Target practice? SAM Come on, man. I’m serious. You sure it wasn’t….I don’t know, demon residue or something to do with the Mark, or...

demon residue made me laugh

dean getting defensive and weird, i'm sure he's fine

LOL all right (wiki)

Shortly before the episode aired, in November 2014, a Supernatural version of Clue was released.

what an odd episode.

[mylittleredgirl]

♡ dear rare pair creator ♡

thank you for creating something for me! i hope you're excited about whatever we matched on.

i'm pretty easily delighted, so i'm sure i will enjoy whatever you create. i'm including likes/dislikes and a few prompt ideas below in case they are useful to your process, but i LOVE being surprised by things i did not consider, so if you have another idea, please run with it!

--

general likes/dislikes are the same as on the exchange request, broken out into bullet points for easier reading:

general things I love:

happy/hopeful ending

episode-related fic

canon divergence

fix-its

friends to lovers

new or deepening relationship

pre-ship friendship/ust

pining

hurt/comfort

healing and recovery

reuniting after time apart

working through complications (e.g. working together while having a relationship, emotional baggage, traumas inflicted by canon, etc)

including other canon characters in the fic

polyamory dynamics

5 times

all ratings are welcome.

kinks enjoyed

soft dom/sub

praise kink

edging

aliens made them do it (or local canon equivalent)

overindulgence

masturbation

body worship (especially related to body image/weight gain/aging)

i have never said no to a quality blow job or hand job fic

sweet i-love-you sex works for me too!!

DNWs:

permanent character death

hurt no comfort

crossovers (except within extended canon universe, e.g. across star trek shows)

historical AUs

supernatural AUs where the characters are werewolves, etc (supernatural elements like telepathy/psychic powers/soulmates are fine)

vampires and zombies (ghosts and other canon-typical cryptids are ok!)

non-canon nicknames

bashing of characters or canon past relationships (except sam carter’s collection of questionable exes on SG-1, i can live with that).

--

🛸 the x-files

i fell back in love with late-season x-files this year! doggett/reyes was my fic writing origin story, and i am fully back on my bullshit with those two. i also LOVE the dynamic of the three agents in season nine, as people and friends, and it would be so interesting to explore as lovers. random prompt ideas:

john gets knocked around a lot — so what if it's monica's turn to be hurt/in danger on a case, and john's turn to find her or care for her afterward?

doggett/scully/reyes would be so complicated and interesting!! scully learning to trust anyone except mulder; how would it feel for john to spend time around william; there's a good chance this isn't monica's first poly rodeo, but what about the other two... etc etc any little bit about their dynamic would be fun to play with.

the real prompt for the ot4 would be "okay, but for real, how do they not kill each other?" but in a fun way.

--

🛰 babylon 5

this show is an old, old fave, so anything you write will feel like seeing beloved old friends again. pre-series, during, or post-series are all great, and i'm a fan of canon divergence! most of these characters get pretty traumatized by the narrative, and their relationships could be understandably fucked up as a result, but i like it when characters are good and loving at their core -- even if it looks messy while they figure themselves out.

i would love any fix-it that saves talia, with any combination of people involved

did lyta and talia know each other as young telepaths/psi cops interns?

for sinclair/sakai: i LOVE a reunion-of-exes-but-now-it's-right ship soooo much. anything along their journey, including a potential future where she goes with him to minbar or they otherwise reunite again, would be fun to read!

(note: i have read "to dream in the city of sorrows," so if you know it and want to use it as a backdrop for a sinclair/sakai future fic that's fine, but i'm NOT attached and would also love to see your canon divergence of choice!)

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👽 stargate sg-1

clone sam/jack: i love it best when these two are still themselves, working through some angst and alienation from both their past and their new lives, but also with hope for a sweet future together. there's such a good opportunity for tension between what they were and what they are, both personally and for their relationship.

what's something that used to be normal, but feels so different now? (e.g. if one of them is in danger or injured... but could be anything!)

after they survive high school, what's next? when do their lives start to feel like their own?

janet fraiser/daniel jackson: these two often fall together very easily in the background of sam and jack fics, but they have lots of fun complications of their own (their professional lives; daniel's past; janet raising a traumatized child...), and they have so much potential to be good and loving and maybe a little snarky together.

heroes canon divergence where she survives but it’s a close thing — how does that impact them (either pre-relationship or established)?

something set off-world, since janet so rarely gets to travel through the gate...

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👾 jake 2.0

this is an extremely niche pairing and so you are definitely not here to write this, but i love jake and diane sooooo much. if, by some rare pair miracle, you have seen this show (!!) i would adore ANYTHING about them!!

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⚾️ deep space nine

i love this floating bicycle wheel in space and everyone inside it so much!!

julian/ezri: the canon execution of this pairing was not great, but somehow i still really ship it. it's complicated, there's war trauma, there's joining trauma, but i think they could recover together and be friends and lovers for real. i'll take anything from silly fluff to a messy deep dive, totally up to you.

what if the war has lasted longer, and it had taken longer for them to get together?

they could do with some shenanigans i think

miles/keiko/kira: there's so much potential here for fun and healing and cultural exchange, and at the end of the day, i just want kira to keep her new family.

during the series: what if they just keep delaying kira's move-out after the baby is born...

anything about getting the family (the whole ds9 family or just this family!) back together post-series

jadzia dax/lenara kahn: truly the closest we get to a canon soulmate au. i love them and want them to be happy 😭.

what if lenara was telling the truth, and just needed more time?

(note: i haven't read the ds9 post-series novels, but if you have and want to use them, i'm happy to memory beta anything i need to know to appreciate the fic!)

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✨ voyager

b'elanna/kes: i believe that b'elanna loves and wants gentleness, even if she doesn't know what to do with it at first. i also adore kes as a character. her kindness! her powers, and how she is both drawn toward them and a little scared of them! her brief and vibrant life!

kes has no preconceptions about klingons, so how does that impact how b'elanna sees herself?

anything at all to do with kes's developing powers (and maybe how b'elanna reacts to them...?)

--

🍻 cheers

diane chambers/sam malone: this couple is an absolute disaster, but i would like them to annoy each other til death do they part. ideas:

how do they support each other (well or very badly) in their ongoing mental health/addiction challenges?

what if they stayed in touch on her writing retreat and/or she came back as promised?

if they did get married, diane would co-own the bar and i'm sure she would have ideas about what to do with it...

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thank you again!! i hope this was useful and not overwhelming. you are totally welcome to toss it out and surprise me 💕 anonymous asks are turned on for this account if you have follow-up questions.

[impostoradult]

I finally figured out why it feels like Supernatural murdered a unicorn (AKA why you need to STOP telling me to watch Black Sails)

I’ll start by saying, everything everyone else has been saying CERTAINLY bothers me: 

- the queer-baiting - the bury your queers - the undermining of Dean’s character arc  - the wasted opportunity for a certain kind of overall narrative closure - the flat out disrespect to Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles

 All of that bothers me tremendously. 

But there has been something else rather ineffable about this that has left a horrible taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite pin down until last night. Bear with me, if you will, because this will require some set-up. 

*** This is not the first show to ever disappoint me in a spectacular fashion, nor will it be the last, I suspect. And one of the ways I’ve always coped with that disappointment was to remind myself that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right. (”It” being any number of things from just pure narrative emotional coherence to not burying your queers to not stringing along your queer audience and then yelling fuck you to them on the way out) 

But somehow that assurance -- that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right -- has rung particularly hollow in this instance, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why until yesterday. 

I kept asking myself, why do I still have this feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach, like something was lost here that can never be recovered? 

Because something was lost here that I am doubtful can ever be recovered, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else talking about this aspect of it at all. 

***

A few months ago, TV critic Maureen Ryan did a great interview piece with Mike Schur (of Parks & Rec/The Good Place) discussing the death of long-form TV in the streaming era. They explore how the longer seasons and longer runs of traditional broadcast/cable TV provided an opportunity to tell particular kinds of stories that you simply can’t when seasons are 8-10 episodes and series typically run 2-4 seasons (thanks Netflix).

One key thing we’ve all lost in this new era of highly condensed TV storytelling (and of prestige TV narrative styles)? The traditional (several season’s long) slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance. Not only is there simply no longer the time or space to write such romances, it has also come to be seen as hacky, manipulative, cheap, artistically impoverished, low-brow, a embarrassing vestige of the era before TV became art™. 

Everybody is trying to be Fleabag now. No one wants to be Frasier. (”It’s really more like a 10 hour movie” they all like to brag)

Obviously TV still has romances, even ‘drawn out’ romances. But ‘drawn out’ in 2020 is like 2-3 seasons, maybe. More commonly it’s like half a season. Take Schitt’s Creek. The number of episodes between when David and Patrick first meet and when they first kiss? Seven. Seven episodes. Half a season. If you watched it live, it took less than 2 months for them to move from introducing that dynamic to consummating it. And I’m not bagging on Schitt’s Creek; I think the David/Patrick’s story is very lovely and well-written. 

But Niles & Daphne (Fraiser) had to wait 7 years and over 150 episodes before they finally got there. Josh & Donna (The West Wing) had to wait 6+ years, and 145 episodes. Mulder & Scully (The X-Files) had to wait 7 seasons and 143 episodes. Booth & Bones had to wait...you see where I am going with this. 

And my point is (and I can’t believe I never realized this explicitly until now): there has NEVER been a queer slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance of that type on TV ever. EVER. 

I’m going to say that again, because I think it bares repeating:

There has never been a queer, slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance that fits the 100-150 episode paradigm of delayed gratification on TV. 

Not ever.  

I can’t think of ONE example  Not a single, solitary one. And I know queer TV pretty well. Arguably the closest we’ve ever come is Legend of Korra, and that ran 50 episodes, a THIRD of the length of old school will-they-won’t-theys like Booth & Bones or Josh & Donna. 

Queer people have had a fair number of canonical romances on TV by now, even fairly long running ones. But we never got a primary/front-and-center romance that you had to root for for 100+ episodes before you got any kind of canonical consummation.

That is a particular kind of TV experience that queer people and queer characters were just 100% shut out of until it was too late. And because of how the TV landscape has changed in the last 10 years, I don’t know that that opportunity will ever come back around in our lifetimes. 

***

Dean and Castiel are/were a legacy of an earlier era of TV, an era that still contained the possibility for a will-they-won’t-they of that particular mold. There were other shows that could have also filled this gap at one time - Rizzoli & Isles, OUAT, House MD, etc. But one by one all of them were killed off, their queer romances unrequited, until Supernatural was the only one of its’ generation left standing. 

And they should have acknowledged that they were a species about to become extinct. 

There are plenty of other valid and compelling reasons Supernatural should have gone full Destiel, don’t get me wrong.

A) It would have been the most emotionally satisfying ending to the series and to those characters (and that would have been reason enough). 

B) It would have stopped the manipulative queer-baiting of the (disproportionately queer) fanbase (and that would have been reason enough). 

C) It would have been queer representation of middle-aged men, of bi men, of queers who came to their queerness later in life (and any/all of those would have been reason enough). 

D) It could have been a glorious subversion of the bury your queers trope, considering how often they’ve died and been resurrected (and that would have been reason enough). 

But point E) on this list is the reason this one hurts in a singular way that no one even appears to be acknowledging. 

Almost all of the other wrongs and missed opportunities contained in this Supernatural debacle have the possibility of being rectified (at least to a degree) elsewhere. I can and I likely will get more bi male characters from TV as time goes on. I can and likely will get more middle-aged queer characters. I can and likely will get more queer characters coming to their queerness later in life, and starting queer romances later in life. I can and likely will get more queer characters who aren’t killed cheaply and prematurely. I can and likely will get more genre TV shows with sprawling myth arc plots that are resolved in a coherent, satisfying way. I can and likely will get Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles involved in other projects that value their work and their talents. 

All of those other things are at the very least POSSIBLE, and many are even likely. 

But a queer 100-150 episode slow-burn romance a la Mulder & Scully or Niles & Daphne or Booth & Bones? That is the one baton Supernatural dropped spectacularly that no one else even has the possibility of picking up again for the foreseeable future. (They don’t even write those types of romances for heterosexuals anymore!) 

Seriously. It was a TV unicorn. And rather than letting it run wild and free, they stabbed it with a rusty nail. 

***

Given the monumental shifts in the TV landscape that have occurred in the last decade, I don’t know that TV will ever go back to the slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance spanning 100-150 episodes. Today it is a miracle if you can get ANY show to last longer than 50 episodes in the first place. 

And that is the piece of this that makes it feel (to me) like they murdered a unicorn.  

Because queer people have gotten a lot of things from TV, and they will get a lot more as time goes on. But that one? That one could very well be a totally extinct species.

That is the larger missed opportunity here that has left this feeling especially hollow and destructive. That is the thing that makes me balk when people tell me to go watch Black Sails or Pose or whatever other prestige TV show is doing this representation ‘better.’ Because that’s not really the loss I am mourning here. I KNOW there is ‘better’ representation elsewhere.  

But the will-they-won’t-they/slow-burn romance is a qualitatively unique thing that queer people literally just never got. Ever. There is no substitute, no alternate, no other show I can turn to with that kind of build-up and pay-off for a queer couple, and there probably won’t be in my lifetime. Not unless the TV industry undergoes another monumental evolution similar to the streaming revolution that shifts the incentives back to telling those types of stories again. 

All those shows you want me to displace Supernatural with? None of them can give me the one thing I uniquely wanted (and could have gotten) from Supernatural. THAT ALTERNATE SHOW DOESN’T EXIST. It doesn’t exist. And I have no reason to hope it will ever exist in my lifetime. 

So stop telling me to look somewhere else; you don��t understand what made this one a unicorn. 

***

Addendum: The only other possible show that could perhaps fill this gap is It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (re: Mac/Dennis). But I’m hesitant to say it exactly meets that criteria, for a number of reasons:

1 - It’s far less serialized relative to Supernatural and (except for a handful of stand-alone episodes) very little of the story is grounded specifically in Dennis/Mac’s romantic dynamic (unlike SPN, where it is absolutely central to much of the narrative)

2 - IASIP is fundamentally satirically in nature/tone which makes it much harder to have genuine romantic pathos (not impossible, but harder) 

3 - All the characters on IASIP are fundamentally crummy people who you aren’t exactly supposed to root for. Which doesn’t mean a romance between two of them can’t have its value/charm/worth but it’s not the same as when it is between characters who unequivocally deserve nice things/happy endings

[praiseharkness]

Honeyblooded — Part 1

(Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: When a mysterious woman took place as the new professor for the History course at the University of Westview, you could not help but be intrigued by her alluring aura and the trace of blood and lavender Agatha Harkness always left behind.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.2k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: graphic depictions of violence, explicit cannibalism, soft gore, blood, vampire!Agatha, dark themes (as of this chapter).

𝗮/𝗻: ello there! this fic is inspired in a lot of media with vampires and interactions with my high school history teacher (kudos to her for helping me with research for this chapter).... also, this is going to be a medium-lenght fic, but for now, i only have part 1 done. i can't be certain about updates in the near future since i have college admission exams throughout the next months, but pinky promise i'll try to be as consistent as i can. finally, a huge, huge thanks to my partner-in-crime @scarlets-maximoff, who beta-read this entire work ♡. hope u all enjoy it and if u want to be added to a tag list for the next chapters, dm me or just comment under this post!

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated ♡.

In the liminal space of a deserted-street alley, saturated with neon from facades of nearby stores, you stared at Agatha as a voyeur into a universe you did not belong to, a mere intruder of what should be an ethereal experience— and the sensation that everything inside you was leaving your body arises, all to not be a witness of the self-destruction of Agatha Harkness. As if she knew how small you felt in your body, utterly human when Agatha tore each of the meticulous tableaus painted by your subconscious; when Agatha tarnished each canonized version of herself you carefully filed in a pile at the corner of your mind with dripping blood. 

Agatha seemed to be suspended in time, transported to a supernatural world that linked her to a greater evil whilst her physical body remained motionless, waiting for its mistress to return, and the shimmering glow of the full moon fell over Agatha, just like a spotlight of liquid moonbeam, streams of silver tinted her skin glittering white. Then— you realized in horror that Agatha was kneeling down before thick pools of an obscured fluid, and she looked like a saint in the middle of a prayer, bathed in beaming, divine red. A prayer for a single human life, for a single shade of murderous scarlet, as quick to disappear as the smell of lavender essence with metallic notes on top that would fade from your clothes come morning, when this event would be nothing but a mere dream.

Blood rivered down: red, hot and holy. Sharpened canines, parted lips and pink tongue. Flesh, muscle and nerve fibre.

You could barely recognize her silhouette at the end of the alley, outlined only by flickering neon lights and the sweaty sheen of exposed skin, as if Agatha had merged into a mass of familiar shadows, moving along with them. A corpse emerged from a pool of darkness— fairer than Agatha, assuming an almost green tone to its pale complexion, laid still and dead as she sank her teeth into the smooth curve of a neck, then lower, into the plane of a stomach. Nausea welled up, and recognition burned you. Agatha held a liver in her left hand

As if sensing your disturbed presence, Agatha tilted her head back just a bit— just enough for you to glimpse at her blood-curling lineaments: jawbone glinting silver, lips pursed, eyes glossy, all enlightened by the witchcraft of the moon glow. Harsh blue neon melded at the path of dried red and fresh blood, trickling down Agatha’s eyes and cheekbones and mouth and chin, in a single shade of abhorrent purple. Purple stained Agatha whole, burned her bloody image at the back of your retina, and she looked like the gods you did not believe in. Soft body adorned by silver and purple light, soaked in pools of blood, objects of adoration in hand— a liver, a half-eaten heart. An intricate stream of new tears, thick and red, smearing Agatha’s face.

If you were not part of that horror, you wondered, that would be a scenery you would enjoy to see in a painting, perhaps. In the imageries that laid dormant at the innermost part of your boundless subconscious, where a blood-bathed Agatha would hold you in her arms, press a kiss to your lips, lick the holes in your neck.

Yet at that moment, when Agatha locked eyes with you, dying could be a better option.

“Don’t you dare to run, dear.”

——

Snow piled up thick and marmoreal on campus, covering the dormant lawn like a solid, smouldering silver blanket, you realized, staring through the window. It was a strange, dreamlike day— so unusual for a start of a term such as the winter quarter, as an alien silence fell over the small classroom, the only sign of chattering being the soft, low whispers you could merely overhear from your seat. Uneasily, you shifted on your seat, fingers tapping lightly over the cool surface of the table. Your thoughts drifted to your surroundings, as it often does, noting that, in this specific module, there were more foreign faces than the few familiar ones that had accompanied you from freshman to half of your senior year of the History course.

Ancient Greece was not a theme you were unfamiliar with— quite the opposite, actually. You excelled in it, to the point you could consider your fatal flaw, that dark, deep crack running down one’s centre, as being an abnormal interest for the mysterious at all costs. Yet “The Rise of Greek City-State” was one of the few modules you still had to take to graduate and, although sounding rather appealing, that module had a reputation of being taught by the worst teacher at the University of Westview— or, at least, that was what most students from the History Department used to say about Professor Hayward, whenever the topic came up.

According to Darcy Lewis, one of the few people in your small circle of acquaintances who had taken the module before, Professor Hayward was the most boring and— Darcy’s words —stupid teacher ever, and he wasn’t particularly smart, which added even more to the crestfallenness of wasting such interesting module. Hell, Darcy was not even present, and she supposedly had to retake it since she failed the module twice.

Then, as you were deciding whether to leave or not to catch up with piles of other assignments, the door opened— revealing, to your utter surprise, the most alluring, bewitching woman you’ve ever seen in your life, and her lineaments have never been more foreign and have never felt more familiar. The woman strolled with such ease to the professor’s desk, and what would’ve otherwise been another ordinary gesture if done by anyone else, it was as if she had done that same motion millions of times until she perfected it, until she seemed to be stepping out of a supernatural world straight to that cramped, sunlit classroom.

Once your eyes settled on the woman, you were dazzled. She looked like a doomed deity— a cascade of brown, subtly-highlighted waved hair falling beneath her shoulders looking so soft if only you could run a hand through the dark of it. Darker lashes framed sea-stained eyes, and the beautiful lines of her body were all wrapped in black trousers and a blazer with a deep-purple shirt underneath.

“My name is Agatha Harkness, and I am here to cover Professor Hayward, as he has taken some time out due to personal matters. Therefore, I will be teaching you this academic semester” she said, and her voice was harsh and low and enticing. Agatha was imposing and different enough, as she bore a certain coolness, an inhuman, mannered charm which had a certain scent of the ancient world: she was a magnificent creature, glinting in the sun that poured through the windows and soaked in gold pools on the floor. And she would have been standardly pretty had her eyes been less lucent, or her skin less ivory, or her jaw less set. “I want to see very hard work and a high rate of participation from you all and expect nothing less. If you are not interested in investing a great sum of your efforts in this module, the door is right there. That being said, we shall begin.”

Agatha was a marvellous lecturer, a singular lecturer, and, despite possessing such superior intellect, she was able to render her speech without a loss in complexity and detail while still keeping it simple enough to be understood. After the astounded silence that followed the general introductions, you’d thought no one would say a word throughout the lecture, but Agatha actually managed to initiate a debate between the students— and herself. The discussion that day was about Mycenaean Greece, about the Greek Dark Ages, about the supposed newness in the rise of the Greek Poleis; she started by discussing what should be considered a dark age, and why one would name a period like such.

“Why do we insist on calling the centuries that preceded the Archaic age something as dramatic as the Dark Ages?” she said, looking round the classroom, clearly unbothered by the absence of any sound besides the rustle of papers and laptops opening. “One could mention the lack of development in most areas from politics to art after the disruptions of the Mycenaean palaces and cities, yet is it true? Sure, most of those settlements were destroyed in the Mediterranean warfare, but can someone tell me if all of the progress made by the Mycenaean civilization was lost?”

A solemn silence. Agatha stepped closer and scanned the small classroom at a halting pace, proceeding, at her leisure, to stare at the students who were confident enough to not avert their eyes. You quivered when Agatha’s electric, lucent-blue eyes met yours, an ominous glow shimmering in the cold of them as you experienced the very sensation of having your soul pierced through and ripped apart. Then, you followed her glare, noticing that it landed on some guy— Ralph, maybe? Darcy was right when she said you needed to get to know your classmates better —staring in a different direction, seemingly wanting nothing but to hide.

“Bohner, perhaps?” She asked, and the young man had an expression of resolute despair on his face as if Agatha would eat his livers off in the first mistake made. The corners of her lips twitched in a fading grin before they turned into a straight line, and the thought that Agatha expected him to fail lingered on your mind like a ghost— the resemblance between Agatha and a huntress wary of her prey was undeniable.

“Well… Uhm… No— No, the whole progress wasn’t lost because some parts of Greece, like the Eastern Mediterranean, had loads of money, connections and trade links with the east, but…” He ran a trembling hand through his dirty-blonde hair, his distress almost palpable to the entire class. “But I don’t really know if you could call the maintenance of a few long-distance trade links and urbanized areas progress”, Ralph concluded, releasing a sharp breath you wondered how long he had been holding it.

Agatha remained silent for a couple of tortuous seconds, and something shifted inside of you— gone was the vulturous grin in the plum-red of her lips, replaced by a much more bland expression. You could almost spot manifold speckles of what seemed to be disappointment tinting the ethereal blue of Agatha’s irises, yet if it was because of Ralph’s nearly-vague answer, you could not tell; shadows veiled her indecipherable.

“Mister Bohner is correct'', cold verged on the end of each disinterested word Agatha stated, a New England accent you failed to discern before thin and blooming underneath the coolness of her voice. You briefly mused about where Agatha was from, for the woman’s demeanour was not modern in the least but had a faint breath of Western Europe. “But even a middle-schooler could give me this exact vague answer if they’d paid attention to what I discussed”, Agatha said crossly, and you could barely pinpoint cruel edges in her voice. The lecture room fell under thorough silence, aghast at how the single insult melted from her lips smooth, honeybittered— good grief, you did not see that coming, even after you realized that the woman was choking back some scorns.

She paused, seemingly hellbent on pouring as much knowledge as it was possible for a class to absorb. “What happened in the so-called Dark Ages is simply that the Greeks never recovered from the void left by the fall of the Mycenaean hegemony and its palatial states and it led to decentralized forms of socioeconomic organizations.” From each of Agatha’s cool words trickled precious, wondrous information you were desperate to grasp. “Those self-sufficient villages formed during this period evolved to self-governing poleis— yes, the same polis that some historians claim to be a fundamentally new form of political organization created by the archaic Greeks with no previous inheritance from earlier periods.”

You were leaning forward, motionless, aware of the sweet, rapid staccato of pulses blossoming inside of your chest. It was an astounding, enthralling experience to be able to just witness Agatha fully in her element whilst she ministered the lecture of such an intricate theme, sharing the same sovereignty of a ruler, and wisdom dripped from her lips like nectar trickling down the trees— she resembled ever so much a philosopher-queen, bereaved only of a burnished golden wreath, and Agatha seemed raised to rule, raised to lead her own miniature Kallipolis to absolute Areté, to metamorphose into the embodiment of Plato’s pristine, virtuous Guardians.

Then, a raised hand on your line of sight disturbed your concentration— though Agatha remained adamant on scrutinizing the fine points of Poleis in their earliest stages, ignoring the insistent hand shaking in midair as if its owner was merely an impatient child eager to sate their selfish curiosity.

“Excuse me, Professor Harkness, but how are Poleis not entirely new if there isn’t any similar form of socio-political institutions in Mycenaean Greece?” A woman said, interrupting Agatha amid her explanation, brashness staining her sharp, high voice. You could not quite remember her name, but the distant memory of Darcy calling her Dottie or something similar lingered in your mind. “The archaic and classical Greeks created political institutions anew with nothing more to start from than themselves and the flux of migrating tribes.”

At that particular statement, Agatha raised one inquisitive brow as if she was challenging the woman to finish her reasoning. You found it almost impossible to discern if she had any genuine interest in the argument itself or not, harsh lines around her eyes obscuring speckles of intention scattered across the celestial blue of Agatha’s irises.

The small classroom seemed to reduce even more in size— the entire universe diminished to a pair of shadowed-blue eyes.

Agatha gave the woman a dirty, tempestuous glare, and you could not fathom why it felt like your heart had just been torn out at the sight of Agatha grimacing. Traces of irritation permeated the coolness of her voice, yet you could almost feel the heat of a steady, steady burn Agatha kept sheathed under the restraints of her manners. “Look, miss…”

“Proctor. Sarah Proctor”, the soft, manufactured peach-pink of her lips bloomed into a lopsided grin, her demeanour towards Agatha utterly alien if compared to the previous young man— and you made a mental note to inquire Darcy about the origin of that nickname.

“Miss Proctor, am I insulting your intelligence here, in this lecture?” Agatha sneered, ice curling at the rims of each of her honeybittered, crossly words. Cruel nectar melted off of her pursed lips, pressed firm into a grim line, albeit the subtle, inconspicuous glimpse of amusement flourishing underneath Agatha’s voice— like she had been cultivating the proper opportunity to put someone in its place with patient care, and was resolute on not abandoning it that easily.

Sunlight poured thick and gold like hot longing tears over the marmoreal of her skin, and Agatha scintillates an ephemeral, magnetic sheen as though she was built off of white glitter and mankind’s ruin. Yet placed atop that honeyed surface was an imminent, crescent sense of danger that compelled you to not approach Agatha, to not dare to even contradict her, for the charm she possessed could not be at all human— you thought about Aristotle and the Poetics, and how true beauty was alarming, painful, dangerous, but never soft. Still, still. Agatha wasn’t soft, even with the light reflecting off of the window and casting an angelic glow onto the angles of her jaw, her cheekbones, a halo of strong sun.

“Uhm— No, of course not, Professor—”, Sarah faltered at a loss of words as she attempted to argue. You could not help but feel sympathetic towards the woman, who probably never imagined that Agatha would have such a drastic reaction.

“Are you sure? Because you’re insulting mine, Miss Proctor. Did you pay attention to a single word I said during almost two hours of lecture?” Scorn adorned the rigid lines of Agatha’s face, and she let out a sharp sigh as if her interest in the previous argument had waned to the point she did not find it sufficing enough to prolongate the conversation any further. “And don’t even get me started on how you quoted Sealey’s imprecise thesis like you owned it. Now, would someone who listened to this class answer Miss Proctor here?” Then, the curves of Agatha’s lips curled, like she was a beast grinning at the sight of her prey, yet Agatha seemed as unfazed as always, in all likelihood unaware of how much of a predator she appeared to be. Her plum-red smirk widened as she peered in your direction. “You, perhaps?”

Well shit.

Under a moment of Agatha’s attention, you felt as if every inch of skin, every limb were moulded by brushstroke, and you no longer were human, but a work of art suspended in time, surrounded by the four walls of gilded frame, made of nothing but burnt gold, soft light and dreams. Agatha’s ethereal-blue eyes incinerated your skin, and with the merest of stares she laid you bare and torn open— something trickled down the cut, like honey, or liquid gold, and you treasure it, for Agatha’s attention was holy, with a touch of reverence.

You inhaled, then submerged into the cold of Agatha’s two lakes like a baptism.

“Well… Some Linear B records, especially from Pylos and Knossos, showed a system of regulated trade in which the palaces controlled a diverse economy and redistributed their wealth as well. Like… If a village was wholly devoted to producing textiles, but not honey and wine, the bureaucrats made sure they still got their wine and honey as long as they kept up textile production.” You were aware of every breath you took, desired to draw near the burn of Agatha’s stare until you were converted into ashes. A wave of warm red crept down the soft skin of your collarbone and tip of your ears, and you wanted nothing more than to please Agatha. “Once the palaces collapsed, villages that still produced what they historically produced and learned to engage in trade to develop wealth fostered more sophisticated political organizations”, ignoring the austere expression in Agatha’s lineaments, you carried your argument on as much as the lump in your throat let you. “So yes, the polis per se was a new political institution, but what they sought to protect and advance, as well as their origins, was hardly new.”

A piercing pause, as if the entire world had died down, and there is just the sun, the heart, and Agatha Harkness— before her lips broke into a silver-lining, small smile, and you’d have missed it if your attention wasn’t entirely devoted to the woman.

“Very well, Miss…” Agatha said and, regardless of words permeated by strictness and cold rims, which were de rigueur by that time, there were traces of something unnervingly ominous tinting her voice. Something hot, deep, barely human— yet, you could not pinpoint exactly what.

You hastily answered, averting your eyes from deep-blue lakes to prevent yourself from staring at Agatha a second longer and drow in them, instead, shifting your focus to ink-stained knuckles, spotting absent and incoherent shapes in your skin. “Y/L/N, Professor Harkness.”

“Y/L/N is absolutely correct. Poleis that were market towns for converging overland trade routes tended to rise in greatness before others…”

As Agatha proceeded with the lecture, a rush of warmth similar to the bland, delicate heat of a hearth, nested adjacent to your heart, spread across the entire span of your skin, that revelled in its tender glow— and pride blazed you whole, for Agatha’s satisfied grin was a vicious fuel for your desire to please her, to give Agatha whatever she wanted. You spent the rest of the lecture in a dream, your head spinning, but acutely attuned to everything that made Agatha Harkness such a divine, almost supernatural being.

— —

At the end of the lecture, the classroom, which seemed cramped at the start of the morning, emptied faster than your peripheral vision could track. In moments like those, you would normally gather your belongings at your own leisure, peering at the soft, timid light that bounced off the high windows, sunbeams trickling from the walls down the dark oak floor in honey rivulets— except that Agatha’s presence was never a factor to be considered before, and you looked at her not with the ease of seeing a woman, but with the same awe of looking at a landscape, for Agatha was a beautiful person, thought into any beautiful place. Yet in the face of her cold, mannered charms Agatha did not seem human at all, did not seem attainable at all— she looked like the finest work of an artisan, a sculpture that deserved to be admired strictly from afar, so she would not be defiled by the touch of a mere human.

You loved the opportunity of just watching Agatha, afraid that drawing too near would make her disappear— hence why, standing on your feet, you had to muster every bit of strength, your Areté, to just come closer to the woman and ask her a simple question. It wasn’t because of fear, no, but the thought of how you could offer anything interesting to a woman like Agatha.

Whilst you strode closer to her desk, Agatha did not even seem concerned enough to raise her gaze at you, sea-stained eyes solely focused on skimming whatever papers she had in hands at that moment. “Excuse me, Professor Harkness? Pardon the intromission—”

“Look, Y/L/N, right? Let’s get a few things straight: I hate suck-ups”, Agatha cut off any remnant words hanging on your lips, coldness thickening the rims of each spoken sentence, and just then she settled the papers atop the wooden surface of the desk. As if you were not worthy of her time before, and now you were— since Agatha needed to reprimand you, and she already had the same bestial grin from earlier on her pink lips. “So, if you are one of them, I’ll gladly ask my assistant to help you with whatever you need, she’ll love all the praise”, an impatient hand pointed to the entrance door, and Agatha resumed reading, hastily scribbling a few words inside brackets near the margins of the sheets.

Whatever words you had to say stop before your lips, broke in your throat and you just stared straight ahead into Agatha’s cold lakes— the softness, the gentleness, which the question would be embedded had vanished from your mouth, and you scoffed, lips blooming in a half-hearted smile.

“What— I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression, Professor Harkness, but I’m not a suck-up or whatever”, distress tinted your voice as you retorted swiftly, lips pressed into a tight line where the ghost of your grin rested on. You never thought that speaking to Agatha would be such a fractious experience. “Actually, don’t you think you were a tad bit mean with Sarah earlier? We did have a few of Sealey’s texts in our readings for this class and previous ones, y’know”, stressing the latter sentence, you arched one brow in challenge, though Agatha remained immersed in reading, gaze utterly lost in printed, black words.

Trails of sunbeams were streaming directly into Agatha’s face; in such strong light most people would appear softer, washed out, but even sun-drenched Agatha had the face of an eager devil, wicked curve of mouth pointing towards you. Under the pale sunlight, Agatha was all bitter temptation— a stark contrast with the delicateness of her glittering white lineaments. The sheets in her hands fell upon the desk with a soft thud, and Agatha stared up and down at you for what should be the first time throughout the entire dialogue, reading glasses nestled near the end of the bridge of her nose— you felt scrutinized by the woman, like you were one of the papers she was so invested in. Pink blush ghosted over your cheeks, but you decided to ignore it for your sanity’s sake.

After an interminable pause, and you had the sensation that if Agatha stared at you any longer she would bore lucent holes into your skin, a soft smirk bloomed on her lips.

“Oh dear, if it were you hearing the same argument for over twenty years, you’d see I was nice to Miss Proctor”, Agatha teased in a low voice, husky and curling at the edges, honey-toned as always, and you could not help but give in to the urge to chuckle at her snarky words, merely registering the remark of how much older Agatha was. At that, her grin widened in satisfaction— and you noticed a pair of glistening white canines almost protruding from Agatha’s mouth. “Then, what do you want? You must have something to say if you’re not a suck-up, darling”, she reclined against her seat ever so relaxed, fingers dancing atop the wooden desk, stance utterly alien if compared to moments ago. Though, you mused, Agatha was honeymouthed enough to mask even the most demonic of intentions— every word that came out of her lips tasted like honeysuckles, regardless of meaning.

“Yeah, about that…'' You shivered at the pet name, at how it rolled out of her tongue with such ease and then melted like sugar in the air. “Could you recommend any books opposing Sealey's? Thought it would be much needed”, the words barely vanish from your mouth, softspoken and strained at the rims, and you faltered when Agatha nibbled with her lower lip as if to stop herself from chiming in once again.

“Frankly, there is no such thing as a set of information opposing another in Ancient History, but you should take a look at Hammond’s Studies in Greek History, dear”, Agatha’s reply came in an airy, lower voice, looping sweetly at each syllable of the pet name she seemed so fond of, and her gaze fell over you, dark and inquisitive. “It should be read by most historians, especially prehistorians, for the first half the book holds a decent and perceptive analysis, though it turns out to be imprecise and missing explanation and supporting theories in the end”, much to your despair, she twirled a highlighted strand of hair round her index finger before turning to her purse, brows knitted as she intently searched for something you did not know. “This should be fine to read in a couple of days”, she held a copy of a thick hardcover, and the first thought that crossed your mind was that Agatha was kidding, given the fact you were a college student lacking free time.

Then, as if aware of the faint, shimmering blush tinting your skin, Agatha’s lips twisted in a humourless, lopsided grin. The arch of a brow, the curve of a mouth, the apparent softness of a span of exposed clavicle— it made your breath hitch.

You were eager to finish the conversation, to disappear from Agatha’s line of sight, for her charm was a sweet sorcery, which drove you insane, pulled you closer to her orbit like some sort of unknown gravity. “Thanks, Professor, I’ll see if the library’s got a copy available and—”

“Nonsense, hush and take mine instead”, an outstretched hand restlessly shook the hardcover midair; a snide grin cracked its way to your lips, for Agatha had made a habit of interrupting you whenever she pleased. Thus, you were anxious to vehemently retort her words— yet an index finger, raised in one swift motion, riveted your entire attention, as though Agatha had already expected that you would cut her off. “And no buts, those librarians take ages just to see if they have a book or not in their own library— god knows what happened to their brains. Plus, what were you expecting? That I, as your professor, would suggest a book and not even discuss it with my student?” Agatha leaned towards you, and there was no mildness in her sentence, low-pitched and candied as it had ever been. Sultriness wept down her strawberry-coloured lips, through cracks of deliberated speech, as she lifted an inquiring brow.

Heat rushed through the entire span of your skin, gliding down the tip of your ears, your cheekbones, your nape— and there was something so domineering underneath Agatha’s composed voice, that compelled you to not argue once again with the woman; almost compelled you to be pliant and quiet.

“Not that I wasn’t expecting that… Though I wasn’t expecting the contrary as well, Professor Harkness”, you answered briefly, afraid of stuttering at your own words if your mouth remained open any longer.

“Well, haven’t I said earlier that I’ll be working you hard? Not with these said words, but still, this is going to be fun, to say the least,” you reeled in the sultriness that dripped from Agatha’s red lips, your skin assuming a similar shade to theirs. The upward tilt broadened even more, and Agatha grinned unabashedly at the sight of your flushed cheeks when you reached out to grab the hardcover from her hands.

Thereon, at the barest of touches, shimmering pink spread across your collarbones; the pads of your fingers detected only soft skin, calloused near the joints and knuckles of Agatha’s large and square palm. You hovered your fingers where the ghost of your touch laid upon, and the sensation of holding a rosebud arose within you, for Agatha kept her grip on hardcover firm and tight— to prolong the brief brush of fingers, to be defiled by a mere human, you could not discern. Agatha’s lucent stare never left you for the entirety of the exchange, inciting a current of twisted, satisfying pleasure to run through your spine. Out of the necessity to not be under the woman’s scrutiny once again— to not have your soul pierced through or drowned in the cold of a lake —, you averted your eyes, instead, focusing on how black ink smeared the sides of Agatha’s left hand, inconsistent like bloodstains.

And as fast as the moment started, it ended— both because of Agatha, who now shoved all of her belongings inside her purse. She stood up, and you were quick to notice the few missing inches of your stature if compared to Agatha’s. An amiable smirk bloomed on her cherry-red lips as if nothing had happened at all; as if it all had been fabricated by your mind.

“Now hush and get out of my view, I need to get a coffee in this break before teaching a bunch of idiots about Greece again”, the familiar indifference curled at her husky words, and a cold hand caressed your shoulder by a fraction of second as Agatha passed you, mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear.

Before you were able to display any reaction, she disappeared from your line of sight. The only evidence left of Agatha’s presence in that room was a faint trail of lavender essence.

You could not believe in Agatha Harkness’ fucking audacity.

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[hildshall]

The Age of Loki

12/27/21

When you are older, you wake up several times in the night, for a lot of reasons. When this happens, if you dream and remember anything about those dreams, they tend to be different ones, all unrelated to one another. At least, so it has been for me.

Last night (or rather, this morning) I had three very distinct, connected dreams in between waking up several times, all on a single topic.

That topic was Loki.

I am writing this down right now, first thing in the morning, because I believe Loki absolutely reached out to me, directly, and without question.

Note: I have never paid any special attention to Loki. I honor Loki along with the other deities and powers, but no more than that. I've never felt any kind of connection with him whatsoever.

I know Loki is popular, but he never appealed to me. Well, except for Tom Hiddleston's portrayal of the character of Loki in the Marvel movies, but I'll watch Tom Hiddleston in anything at all. He's a gifted actor and very easy on the eyes, after all.

But back to my dreams.

I do not remember the details the dreams. The theme, though, was on Loki having different faces (and yep, one was Marvel Loki). I was looking for the real Loki, as I moved through a ton of different situations and places. I really needed to find him.

Eventually, I did. Of all the faces of Loki I saw (and I want to say I saw dozens), only one stuck with me, and that one I can literally see when I close my eyes.

He appeared as a very tall man, dressed in modern clothes (think of the stereotypical movie-style "professor" clothes - browns and golds and blue, with several layers - he even wore a tie!), with a light colored overcoat (not sure if it was a trench coat or a lab coat, either way it was very long), towering over me behind my right shoulder, looking down at me with the most genuine smile. His hair was shoulder length, straight, and artificially blond (like he'd bleached it). He's thin and muscular, and when I say tall, think basketball player height, over 7 feet tall. SUPER tall.

I can still feel him standing over my right shoulder, hours after I woke up. I can see him there, in my mind's eye.

It is powerful and clear and might be the single most "supernatural" thing that has ever happened to me.

Look, I am not magical. Not one little bit. When something happens in my life that seems magical or supernatural, I always look for the mundane explanation first. Look, in "The X-Files", I identify with Scully, ok? If the mundane explanation works well, good enough for me.

So with this dream thing, it is absolutely possible it's just various things coming together in my mind and working themselves out, just like dreams typically are, and it means nothing more than that.

I just... don't FEEL like that's the case. I have a strange feeling like he's literally still standing there, and I can't shake it.

I've had two other dreams of this kind. One where I woke up with Bragi's name ringing in my ears, and one where I woke up thinking of the Berkano rune.

Those two were not as strong as this. This was incredibly clear.

The other thing I woke up thinking of, is the term "Age of Loki".

Is it that Loki is getting more powerful as more and more people discover him, learn about him and his stories, and he gains devotees? Maybe. Or maybe it's something else.

I don't know.

But what I do know, is that Loki has shown me his true face, and I'm going to have to do something about that.

I'd love to hear from you Lokeans out there, to see what you think, get your point of view on it. Thanks.

[highlynerdy]

10 fandoms, 10 characters, 10 tags

I was tagged by @swanfloatieknight ! Thank you, friend. 💚 Rules: List ten of your fandoms and your favorite character from each! In no real order, here we go.

1. BBC Merlin - Arthur Pendragon 2. The Untamed - Wei Wuxian 3. Star Trek - James Tiberius Kirk (TOS and AOS, both) 4. Word of Honor - Wen Kexing 5. Guardian - Zhao Yunlan 6. Love Between Fairy and Devil - Dongfang Qingcang *my newest blorbo 7. Lord of the Rings - Samwise Gamgee 8. Supernatural - Dean Winchester 9. The Witcher - Jaskier 10. The Hobbit - Bilbo Baggins

And because this list is apparently all dudes, here’s some amazing female characters I love but never got into the fandoms for:

1. Stargate SG1 - Samantha Carter 2. Doctor Who - Donna Noble 3. Veronica Mars - Veronica Mars 4. The X Files - Dana Scully 5. The Good Place - Eleanor Shellstrop

Feel free to play along if you want to but no pressure. @queerofthedagger, @tehfanglyfish, @sasamelons, @shana-rosee, @lilyinthesnow, @feuxx, @miss-ingno @missfangirll, @jayswing101, @countthelions

[hopeamarsu]

Of potions and myths

This is for the lovely @clydesducktape​ and her CDT celebration challenge. Congratulations on your milestone my darling! ❤️  

I thought I was just going to write a small blurb, but it got out of hand a little, oops. I also decided to try my hand in something else entirely, namely a whole new character. I hope it’s not rubbish.  

My picks: Mythical creature - Love Potion - Blind Date

Will Miller x f!reader (eventually if I can manage a chapter two of this)

Word count 2,1k

Warnings: Predatory behaviour, dangers of date rape drugs and drugging (nothing happens, don’t worry!), alcohol, magic, mythical creatures are known, strong tension. Please let me know if I missed anything! 

Chapter 2

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” A deep voice rumbles behind you just as you straighten your body to get back to your drink and continue your date. Your eyes widen, flitting between your drink still on its coaster, your date who looks like he’s about to sweat through his button-up and the stranger standing to your left, one huge hand hooked around his belt buckle and the other twisted outward a little, displaying his intricate tattoos. 

He looks calm on the outside, posture all relaxed as he holds your gaze for a moment before turning his eyes to your date and you can practically see them turn into ice and stone. You follow his gaze and take in your date, how the collar of his shirt looks a tad too tight and the perspiration gathering at his hairline. He’s very nervous for some reason, you think but remain silent, waiting for more information.  

The blond stranger nods towards your drink, sitting all innocent at the bar top, water pooling around it. “Saw him drop something in your drink as you were turned away.” Despite his calmness, the voice is laced with venom, the ice in his eyes burning as he regards your date with disdain. With slow, deliberate movement, he picks up your drink and gives it a small whiff. 

“Love potion.” Two words that turn your world upside down. 

It had been a blind date, set up by your co-worker who had assured you that their friend was good and kind and cute, when you first hesitated accepting the invitation. And it had been an okay date so far, if a little lacklustre in conversation. He’d talked more about himself and his work than engaging you in conversation during your two-hour in the bar together. You’d already given up on the idea of a second date, but tried to humor yourself and him by not cutting the date short even if only to please your co-worker, trying to at least make it work. 

But to hear he’d tried to lace your drink with love potion? Oh hell no. 

“Give me the drink,” You order in a low voice, holding out your hand for it. The blond man agrees, passing the drink to you and you bring it to your own nose, picking up the notes under the alcohol. Once you are certain the stranger is indeed right and you know exactly what the potion was supposed to do to you, you turn your body to look at your date fully. 

In a flash of a movement you tip the drink upside down and pour it down his crotch, ice and all. When he yelps and jumps up cursing, trying to salvage the light chinos, you stand up as well and push the empty glass into his chest, growling in his ear.

“You absolute fucker! Next time when you try to use a potion to make someone fall into bed with you, do it with someone who doesn’t study potions for a living. Or better yet, don’t do it at all.”  

With another push at the date, you step around him, not sparing him a second glance. Your mind is screaming for you to run, hide and maybe get shitfaced at home to avoid the humiliating feeling already creeping up your spine and you rush away out the door. 

The cold air hits you full force and you need to lean back towards the brick wall, trying to gather your shields and thoughts as your mind wanders into unsavoury grounds. Had it not been for the stranger looking out for you... Like called upon, the blond man steps into your eyesight, arms loose and his posture unthreatening even when he fills the air around him with restrained power. 

“Are you alright?” 

His deep rumble feels like balm against your bleeding wounds and you lift off the wall to fully look at him again. He is taller than you, his blond hair cropped short and his full beard trimmed close to his skin but showing how full it is nevertheless. His eyes search for signs in yours and you feel your mental shield drop a bit as you drown in his blue orbs. Your hand shakes by your side when you let out a soft sigh. 

“I’ll be soon. Thank you, for what you did. I didn’t even notice.”

“He was sneaky, using the moment you checked for your phone. I’m glad I caught it, it was very fast.”

“The phone!” You exclaim and dig hastily through your pockets to find the object in question. You turn the screen to him, showing the blank email notification still up on the phone. “The bastard had this all planned. I can’t believe it.” You shake your head in disgust, another wave of cold fear running inside your veins. 

“Do you wish to report him?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“Unauthorized use of a Class B potion is a felony,” He points out casually and you have to nod at his words. It’s true and given that you could also smell the undertone of aphrodisiac potion in the drink as well tells you the man was either playing with fire combining these two potions together or had done it before and gotten away with it and he should be brought in for his offenses. 

“If only I hadn’t poured it down his pants. Now there’s only my word against his and who will believe a researcher over… whatever hell he is. I don’t even know if he is mundane or someone who practices the arts.” You feel dejected and upset at yourself. Even after all these years mingling with the supernatural you still don’t know all the clues you need to pick up upon to pinpoint someone.  

“Don’t worry, it’ll all turn alright. You have me as a witness, I have a pretty good idea on what he practices,” The stranger tells you, offering you a wry look. He holds out his hand and introduces himself as Captain William Miller, part of the Delta Force and you suck in a surprised breath. Delta is known all around as the elite of the elite, almost exclusively recruiting non-mundanes and mythicals into their ranks and if he’s made Captain within them, he must be at the top of the chain.

“You’d do that for me?” You manage to ask after introducing yourself. William, Will as he asks you to call him, give you a reassuring nod and you find yourself relaxing a little more. He steps closer and suddenly you feel tendrils of something wrap softly around you, offering you reassurance and protection. You find yourself leaning into the sensation, lowering your shields even further to enjoy them snake up your arms in soothing motions. 

Your eyes flip up to his and as they lock into place, you swear you see something red flicker in them for a second before the dark ocean-blue hue hides it. Almost like the opposite sides of a magnet, you are pulled closer to one another until your back is pressed against the wall again and he stands right in front of you. 

The tendrils are followed by his hand ghosting up near your bare arm as he cages you into the wall, one hand up over your head. “I don’t know what it is, but… Something draws me into you,” Will murmurs as his lips nearly graze your forehead. “I feel it too,” You answer him, your eyes falling shut as the sensation on your skin turns from soothing to electrifying. Something powerful hums between your bodies, just waiting to claim its prize.

He doesn’t touch you and you don’t touch him, both of you knowing unconsciously that the second you do, all bets are off. Your body calls to him and he is clearly having a tough time not answering the song. You can see how he struggles to keep his composure, his eyes flickering to your lips and your neck and back to your eyes. One of his hands curls into a fist as he breathes your scent in, his nostrils flaring at the combination of your natural musk and the bar you’ve left behind. 

You struggle against the pull too, trying to gather your shields again but it’s so hard when you want to drop them completely for him. You desperately want him to swoop down and just kiss you, erase everything and anything that is not him. It makes your head spin, the intensity of it all and you are glad of the wall offering you support and grounding you so you won’t fly away.    

“Allow me to take you home and come pick you up tomorrow? We’ll go and report the creep first thing but now I need to know you are safe. I need to keep you safe,” His voice grows husky, tender and possessive and you shiver under his whispered words. 

“Please,” you mumble, unable to deny his plea. With great effort Will pushes himself off you and steps away a little, your head clearing as the distance grows between both of you. It seems to have a similar effect on him as the hue in his eyes lightens. You can still feel his presence tingling in the base of your skull and you are already itching to explore your books to find more about this unexpected and intensive connection you seem to share with the handsome Captain.  

He gestures towards his car and you walk side by side to it. As the engine roars into action, you can feel the air get thicker as you are once more in close proximity. You want to open the seat belt and touch him, sink your fingers into his hair and feel the beard scratch along your chin and neck. One look at his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel tells you that you are not alone in your thoughts and it makes heat flare up inside you. 

By some miracle, or his ironclad will, he gets you home, following your quiet instructions to a tee. As you step to the curb, you feel the intensity simmer down again and file it away for later research. You turn to the open window after closing the door and offer your thanks for the ride and for catching the would-be predator. He has one hand still on the wheel anchoring himself in place, and just as you are about to turn around and walk to the front door, he speaks out your name.  

“After you’ve filed the report, can I, uh, can I take you out for a coffee?” Will sounds almost bashful as he speaks. Is he afraid you’ll deny him now that your mind is a bit clearer? You know he felt the magnitude of whatever it was surrounding your bodies earlier too. You can clearly see the remnants of it on his body pulled so tight, the muscles tense and poised to pounce under his Henley. You chuckle softly before offering an affirmative. 

“I would love that.” 

“Good! Great. Wonderful.” Will coughs to hide his eagerness. “I’ll pick you up in the morning then?” Now it’s your turn to nod, before bidding him good night. You feel his eyes tracking your every move as you walk away from the car, every cell in your body rebelling against the movement of your legs. It takes all of your concentration not to rush back but to finally open the door and step inside.

The lock clicks into place and you sigh as you rest your forehead against the wood, hoping you’d invited him in. But for now, this is for the best, you remind yourself. You have some research to do. You need to get to the bottom of this connection before anything rash can happen. No matter how much you wish for it to. 

Hours later you step into your bedroom and a soundless whisper calls to you from the window. You walk next to it and push the curtain to the side a little. Will’s car is still parked on the same spot where he left you and even if you can’t see his face, you see his figure in the front seat, reclining a little as he’s gotten comfortable.

He’s going to be there all night, you realize suddenly. It should feel creepy, but it only fills you with warmth. He’s going to keep you safe, just like he said.    

[mlobsters]

supernatural s9e18 meta fiction (w. robbie thompson)

i'm trying to not be negative and expecting something bad but my mood took a massive nosedive a few hours ago so we'll see

whatever thin excuse this was to get jackles in a not-impressive-water-pressure shower

looks like one of my kids drawings in crayon. i did like the sound effects on it when it was pulsating though (watch with headphones so i think i can appreciate the foley etc a lot more than i would otherwise). still could not give two shits about angel politics

i know the set decorators must be having fun (and i sincerely appreciate that they've moved away from the weird campy dividers that were always ridiculously over the top) but tiny vintage fridge and vintage stove :p

all right the hackery command line interface to open an image attachment made me laugh, thanks show

he looks good! i like the hair (which is mostly lighting). guess we're just handwaving that he was dead. ahh it was fake and he's a trickster, tada. not complaining per se, just again...

i don't have the brain cells to try to factor in what the whole metatron meta fiction bullshit implications are

GABRIEL Yeah, but I got hurt in the fall, too, used most of my juice to get back into porn. (pause) That came out wrong. So did that.

that was awkwardly delivered. to go with the awkward line

GABRIEL Hey, what's up, shorties? Remember me, the guy who died for your sins? No, not the cat with the beard and sandals… the hot one.

jesus-free christianity but we'll occasionally vaguely acknowledge he exists

GABRIEL Bitch, please. You've been God more often than Dad has. CASTIEL Yeah. Look how that worked out.

made me laugh

CASTIEL Well, we need a leader. And I'm happy it's gonna be you.

cas, remember what we talked about. make good decisions!

metatron meta fiction bullshit revealed and

not feeling it.

GADREEL He told you that he has always felt that way, that he thinks you are just a scared little boy who's afraid to be on his own because daddy never loved him enough? And he is right, isn't he? Right to think you are a coward, a sad, clingy, needy... DEAN Keep it up! GADREEL Pathetic bottom-feeder who cannot even take care of himself, who would rather drag everyone through the mud than be alone, who would let everyone around him die!

been a minute since someone pushed these buttons but with the extra bite of sam's rejection and whatever we're deciding the mark does

while i'm super tired of angel politics, i'm glad they have a good actor for metatron. he's making his part of it engaging, at least

dean is not a happy camper. sam and cas though are getting along swimmingly

i don't think i've ever heard this version of the sun ain't gonna shine anymore?? frankie valli apparently. i like it. more popular version is by the walker brothers. AND the cher version was very memorably used in the x-files episode post-modern prometheus

and unrelated to anything but every time that song gets to the line "when you're without love" i keep expecting "i did it my way"

anyway, good use of the song! i've really enjoyed a handful of licensed music choices the past couple? seasons

looking rather.... ~demonic~

every time i see it written as cass, i smile. because that's how people say it! cas would be caz. that's my fandom bugbear :P

i don't, again, have the processing power to think about the implications of this. god/metatron is writing the outline but how it's played out in the details can vary? i thought.... something... made free will an actual thing. no fate but what we make. ugh, that was too long ago for me to remember right now