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[tamelee]

~🤍

[bluesunss]

Bad movies never end well Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

Bad movies part 2

part 1 part 3

summary: a week after an intense make-out session, you try to impress a Su-bong that seems to have forgotten all about it. what you forgot about bad movies… is that they never end well.

warnings: slut-shaming, foul language, au with no games

word count: 1.3k

a/n: part 2!! Enjoy guys ;) maybe a part 3 if you’d like! also Su-bong saying mama reminds me of my hubby Rio from Good girls ..

"She snapped at me. I mean, I know I’ve been busy lately, but damn. I don’t know what to think."

Se-mi shook her head. “I try to make more time, but it’s nearly impossible with uni.” Her head rested on your lap as she ranted, eyes fixed on the ceiling while you played with her hair. Her thumb brushed her lower lip, toying with the piercing. “She hated the piercing. Not a big loss, right?”

You were about to answer when a voice cut through.

“Women are so whiny. ‘Let’s see each other more, what are we, you’re too busy!’ Like, just let it be, man. No need to make things so complicated.”

Su-bong grabbed a can of beer and tossed it to Se-mi, who sat up and caught it mid-air. “Get over her. Plenty of other hot chicks to bang.”

Whenever he spoke, you avoided his gaze. He didn’t seem to care at all about what had happened last Saturday, but you were still haunted by the softness of his lips on yours, the strength in his hands as they gripped your thighs. And you couldn’t just pretend that nothing had happened, because it definitely had. At least, for you. And what he’d just said - maybe it was directed at you, too. Women make everything so complicated.

The can hissed as Se-mi cracked it open. She set it down on the small table and slid to the floor. In the corner, Min-su sat alone on a small sofa, reading, while Nam-gyu pestered Se-mi’s cat, curled up and trying to sleep. Gyeong-su had said he’d be here in an hour or so. And you - well, you were sprawled out on Se-mi’s couch, trying to gather the remnants of your self-respect as Su-bong acted like Saturday had never happened.

But you weren’t about to let it go. That was why your skirt was way shorter than the one you’d worn to the movie theater. That was why it hugged your thighs, why, beneath your jacket, you’d chosen the shortest crop top you could find.

But confidence failed you when it came to actually taking the jacket off. Maybe that was also why you’d curled your lashes, swiped on lipstick, dabbed highlighter on your cheekbones. What were you looking for? Trying to please always meant the person wasn’t the right one. Trying too hard meant they wouldn’t notice you otherwise, and that was a glaring red flag.

But you wanted a reaction. Needed one.

Su-bong was lying across the table on the floor, propping an elbow on a cushion he’d stolen from the sofa. When Se-mi and you looked away, he’d take a drag from his blueberry vape and tuck it back into his pocket as if no one noticed.

The effect you’d hoped to have on him wasn’t working, and it was pissing you off.

What did you want? Another make-out session? A confession? Hah. As if that man had feelings.

He sat across from you, occasionally grabbing a handful of spicy crisps and shoving them into his mouth, wiping his fingers on his fluorescent yellow shirt, leaving behind red stains.

“So, what’re you gonna do?” he asked Se-mi, chewing loudly. “I mean, she was cute, but you can definitely pull hotter. Saw this chick at the club last week - dyed hair, probably into girls. Don’t they all have dyed hair? I’ll introduce you.”

“Shut up, Su-bong. And eat with your mouth closed,” Se-mi didn’t even look at him. Then she glanced up at you. “Your outfit’s fire, girl. Been seeing someone?”

A sharp yelp interrupted.

“Ouch!”

Nam-gyu stumbled back, cursing as the cat scratched his hand. “Fucking pussy,” he muttered.

Su-bong laughed and shoved another handful of crisps into his mouth.

“Leave her alone,” Se-mi scolded. “She only scratches annoying people.”

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the sofa across from Min-su, now turning his irritation on him, leaning over his shoulder, trying to snatch his book. He began reading random words aloud, twisting them into something dirty.

Se-mi looked back at you. “So? We seeing someone?”

Your face flushed.

Su-bong took another drag from his vape, but you caught the slight arch of his brow. Shaking your head, you fidgeted with your jacket before finally deciding to take it off.

The air thickened.

Your bra lifted your chest just right, and strands of hair tumbled over your shoulders. You felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t you. Se-mi, or Mi-na - another friend - could pull off these outfits effortlessly. They were confident, outgoing, sexy. Sometimes, you tried too, and it looked good. But you wished someone would see you. Not the version you were attempting to be.

Su-bong’s gaze flickered to your chest, then to your face. He gave you a questioning look but said nothing. Instead, he simply observed, trying to decipher something unreadable. Then, he looked away, took another puff, and started rapping quietly under his breath.

Se-mi was still waiting for an answer.

You shook your head. “Nope. Not yet.”

Su-bong raised his head. He was about to say something when the door swung open.

“Hayyy guyssss!”

Gyeong-su appeared, grinning. “Yo, guess what. There’s a discount on beers downstairs. Somebody wanna go and help me carry like two huge bags?”

Nam-gyu accepted, abandoning his torment of Min-su, deciding he needed a smoke. Min-su wanted fresh air and maybe a juice. Se-mi groaned about cramps and decided she’d grab something to eat.

Su-bong was in another dimension and muttered that he’d stay. You weren’t in the mood to go out either. The others rose, chatting, and soon, the apartment fell silent.

Just you and Su-bong.

The air grew heavy again. You avoided looking at him, and only the crunching of his crisps broke the silence.

“Why are you wearing that?” he finally asked. His eyes traced your form - not with lust, but quiet scrutiny. Different from the movie theater.

“This what?”

You finally forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“This fit.”

He was still lounging, elbow propped, vape between his fingers.

“What’s wrong with my fit?” you asked.

He exhaled a cloud of fruity vapor in your direction, the scent hitting your face. “S’not you.”

You straightened, heat rising to your cheeks. “What do you mean? Elaborate.”

He sat up, wiped his fingers, and looked at you. His vibrant purple hair caught the dim light. A cold breeze slipped through the slightly open window, brushing against your neck.

“You’re trying too hard. Looks cheap.”

Your cheeks burned. Embarrassment. Anger.

“Cheap?” you snapped. “Doesn’t seem to bother you when you fuck girls who dress like this.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Eh, don’t get mad, mama. You asked, I answered. Sorry if it pisses you off. T’just not you.”

You shot to your feet, grabbing your jacket.

“Not me?” Your voice shook. “Like you minded when you shoved your tongue down my throat at the cinema because my skirt turned you on!"

He stood, catching himself when he stumbled slightly. “Yo, I asked if you wanted a kiss, and you said yes. Why do you girls overthink everything? Why d’you always expect roses and a ring after one fucking kiss?” His brows furrowed. “And your other skirt - that was you. This,” he gestured to your crop top, your legs, “this isn’t you. This is some cheap whore’s fit. I don’t know who you’re trying to impress,” he paused, “but that shit will only attract the wrong guys.”

Fuck.

You hated this. This feeling.

That no matter what you did, he wouldn’t see you. Wouldn’t want you.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

“Asshole,” you muttered. But really, you had only yourself to blame for getting carried away over one stupid kiss.

He shook his head apologetically. "Oh señorita. Caught feelings already?" He was joking, but it was too much. Pulling your jacket on your shoulders, you wiped your eyes with the hem and avoided his gaze. He was too high anyway. You were just another girl. "What’s wrong?" He sat again. "Nothing."

But you went to the door, and it opened suddenly on Se-mi and the others. They were all happy, laughing loudly, and the room suddenly got way louder. You avoided looking at them, eyes welling up with tears, and you quickly ran down the stairs to avoid facing any of them. Se-mi called out your name, but this was way too painful.

Of course. Of course it’d always end like this.

LMK WHAT YOU THINK I love y’all <3

help guys how do I link a part

[shantechni]

Art Theft Scam Alert — classymedallion (now going by delizaviinne)

Just a heads up because I was contacted by this user minutes ago: Do not respond to any dms from @/classymedallion. They request for you to commission art from them for $75 in an expressed need for rent money (that's already an odd start to the conversation), but they do not provide any up front links or avenues to send funds in their commission post or in the dms.

To add to this, prior to the back to back posts of their artwork, you're greeted with a recent reblog after reblog of popular posts and only that. But the biggest red flag was the stolen artwork they claim to be theirs, and they've specifically targeted one artist by the name of @cherrysphinx (who also has art on other platforms). You can do a reverse image search for almost every single piece and find where they're originally from.

If any of this feels familiar, then it's because another account used this exact same tactic in the past, and even stole a great number of Cherrysphinx's art.

Even their so-called commission template where they're begging for money to avoid losing their house is stolen and cropped to hide the watermark (the image in their commission post was ran through the search engine and it led to a post on Weasly by Rococospade).

I linked the sources of each post below, just for reference since it seems that the same pieces of artwork are getting targeted.

Classymedallion's pfp was stolen from a user named selamander

Their banner was stolen from a post on Furaffinity by Kornepheross (the image is only viewable on Furaffinity if you're a member, but the search engine was able to find the art on Reddit)

Original artwork stolen from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr (the search engine didn't bring up the original post, but this artwork is actually what led me to the post about the other scam account)

Karlach art the search engine found on Bluesky by Cherrysphinx (also on their Tumblr acct)

Witch artwork the search engine found on ArtStation by Cherrysphinx (I funnily enough found the same catalogue of stolen artwork on DeviantArt), is also on their Tumblr acct

Wyll fanart the search engine found on Bluesky by Cherrysphinx (also on their Tumblr acct)

Dame Aylin fanart from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

Astarion fanart the search engine found on Cherrysphinx's DeviantArt and ArtStation (also on their Tumblr acct)

Original artwork that was also uploaded to the aforementioned DeviantArt acct full of stolen artwork, was stolen from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr acct

Persona 3 fanart from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

Karlach fanart from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

BG3 fanart from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

Tav fanart from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

Original artwork from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

Original artwork the search engine found on DeviantArt by Cherrysphinx (also on their Tumblr acct)

Original artwork from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr

Original artwork the search engine found on DeviantArt by Cherrysphinx (also on their Tumblr acct)

Original artwork the search engine found on Cherrysphinx's DeviantArt acct (is on their Tumblr acct as well)

Original artwork from Cherrysphinx's Tumblr acct

[mutualcombat]

tip for nsfw artists

if you are posting the cropped version of a picture and want to avoid linking the full version through websites that require an account (twitter/blusky) or other complicated hosting websites, you can link directly to the full picture (for everyone to see) by uploading it to your drafts and then copying the image address. this works because your image can't get flagged as your drafts aren't moderated like public posts are.

here's how i get the image address link on my PC:

and how I get it on my android phone:

you can do this with apple devices as well, but i don't have screenshots sorry! ive been doing this for the better part of a decade because i was sick of using photobucket/tinypic/etc just to send my friends sketches (before discord and the like), so i like to think tumblr wont suddenly grow wise and start digging through our drafts, but in the meantime i hope this helps 🥰

[taylor-titmouse]

Hey! As an artist who posts NSFW here, I wanted to ask how you decide what posts to censor and redirect to your other socials like Bluesky/Patreon/etc, and which you leave unedited and maybe throw a mature label on? How do you choose to tag your posts? (particularly in fandoms, like your Harvest Moon series).

I feel as though I'm still trying to get a sense of what's both appropriate here and gives people the ability to hide stuff they don't want, while not just avoiding the tags that would let people find my work actually find it.

For example, I'm doing figure studies now with fandom characters to keep me motivated. I don't feel bad just posting artistic nudes, but what if the whole hog is out? How the hell do I decide?

Doesn't help certain tags on Tumblr that would accurately inform people like NSFW just keeps my work from showing up in tags at all. And I've had completely cropped smut with a sexual mature label get flagged and denied in appeal. I never know if I'm doing this right. Would love your thoughts on it!

so regarding what i do/don't censor, it's mostly vibe and my interpretation of the rules. nudity is allowed on tumblr nowadays, but graphic sex is not. so it's fine to post a naked woman with her tits out, but it's not fine to post her being penetrated. same goes for hog--if it's erect, i censor. if it's flaccid, it's fine. i also assume sexual fluids could get you in trouble, so i tend to remove cum or excessive wetness even if there's no sex happening in the image.

basically if you could make a "tasteful" argument, i think it's fine to post uncensored. i actually tend to use the mature content label only when i'm posting in a fandom tag, because that's not an audience that deliberately signed up to see my work. or i put it on when i think it's an edge case of whether something is allowed--it looks better to have made a good faith effort of properly labeling if you have to appeal it later. or, i'll label it when i intend to blaze an advertisement for my books. i mark those as mature to a) make that good faith effort for the person deciding to allow the blaze campaign and b) to make sure it's only shown to people who have that filter turned off. not out of fear it'd be shown to Innocent Eyes, but because the people who have that filter turned off are more likely to actually buy an adult book. it's a way to narrow the marketing down to more potentially interested customers.

i think i've only ever been flagged like, twice on this account? it's actually kind of wild how much i get away with. but i think making a good faith effort to crop and censor when appropriate has gone a long way.

also regarding the automatic filter, it's primed to select flesh colors and things that look like nipples and genitalia. but it expects those things to be shades of pink and brown. it's not so good at picking it up when, say, the image is bright blues and greens. and i do a lot of fucky palette stuff.

hope that's helpful. long story short it's just vibe.

[guinea-pig16]

House Call

Harvey x Farmer!Reader

Fic is below the cut! Please enjoy!

Summary: Harvey gets calls from people in Pelican Town who are concerned for the new farmer's health. Harvey goes and pays the new farmer a visit.

______________________________________________________________

Word Count: 2100+

Warnings: Wounds, bruises, burns

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Harvey walked past the bus stop, medical bag in hand, enjoying the warm breeze. It was late spring, the days getting warmer and longer as summer attempted to take over. He was on his way to the old farm that had been taken over by a newcomer a couple months ago. The new farmer, named Y/N, had already gained the reputation of being incredibly friendly. They would come into town frequently to get tasks from the help board, buy supplies, donate items to the museum, or just to chat with the townsfolk. Harvey personally didn’t talk to them much, not that he avoided them of course, he just tended to stay inside his clinic, oftentimes missing their visits into town. 

He was on his way to the farm because he had gotten a series of calls from his fellow townspeople concerned for Y/N’s health. Apparently, they had gone to the saloon late last night appearing battered and bruised after an adventure to the mines. Harvey was fairly certain that they were fine as he’d heard they frequented the mines quite often, but being a doctor, he couldn’t say they’d be fine if he didn’t at least check on them. 

Harvey entered the farm and looked around in slight awe. The last time he saw the old farm it was overgrown with gnarled trees, weeds, and stones. Now it was nothing but a clear field (with the occasional large stones and logs) with plots of crops growing happily in the soil. Something was off though as he stepped closer. He was no farmer by any means, but the plots didn’t appear to be watered yet. He looked to his left. The mailbox still had its flag up, meaning the mail hadn’t been checked. He furrowed his brow and checked his watch. It was about 15 minutes past 9.

Odd… I thought they were usually up and about by this time. He thought as he climbed the steps to the porch. Their house was quite small, looking more like a cabin than a house. It seemed as though they had attempted to repair some of the cracks and holes on the outside themself. He knocked on the door. 

From inside he heard shuffling and a quiet groan, then a muffled coming. As he heard footsteps approaching the door, he quickly gave himself a once over, smoothing his coat and readjusting his collar. The door swung open and a tired (slightly annoyed) Y/N clad in pajamas greeted him. They stared at him blearily before recognition flashed in their eyes. They quickly straightened and cleared their throat.

“Uh, Dr. Harvey. What a surprise, I didn’t expect to see you.” They said, fixing him with a slightly strained polite smile. Harvey quickly glanced them over, trying to see any injuries. They were wearing a loose long-sleeve shirt and baggy pajama pants with slippers. He didn’t notice any physical ailments.

“Please, just call me Harvey. I came today because I’ve received several phone calls from people in town concerned about your well being.” He said. He watched as their face flushed slightly. They brought a hand to the back of their neck and glanced at the floor, shuffling slightly.

“...Ah, I see… Well, I’m doing fine, just a lil’ worn out from last night. Nothing some rest can’t fix, y’know?” They said sheepishly. Harvey raised a brow at them, causing them to shrink slightly.

“I was told you looked like you had gotten into a fight with a bear last night.” 

“...Oh… well… yeah…” They stared at their feet.

“Have you treated your wounds at least?” He asked.

“Um… yeah…?” They said, sounding unsure.

“May I check?” Harvey asked. He saw them hesitate to answer. “It won’t take long, I just want to make sure your wounds don’t get infected.” He clarified, giving them a small smile. He watched them consider his offer. After a moment, they sighed and stepped to the side.

“Alright, you make a good point. Come in, I’ll make some coffee.” With that, they walked inside letting Harvey follow. He closed the door behind him and looked around. It was fairly small, but cozy. Their bed was pressed into a corner, the sheets a mess. There was a fireplace against the far wall and a box tv sitting next to it with a pillow in front of it to act as a chair. Against the right wall was a small kitchenette, a table with two chairs, and a door which he assumed led to the bathroom. 

Y/N gestured towards the table. “Go ahead and have a seat, make yourself at home.” Harvey walked to the table and set his bag down. He sat and observed them as they rummaged around to find coffee grounds. A slight frown settled on his face as he noticed their movements. If they moved too fast, they’d wince and slow down. There was the slightest limp to their steps as they went to the sink to fill the coffee machine. They sat down in the other chair, moving slowly as if going faster would hurt too much.

They watched Harvey as he shrugged off his coat and opened his bag, pulling out a thermometer. He turned to them. 

“Alright, to start I’m going to take your temperature.” He leans close and places the thermometer against their forehead. “Have you been experiencing any headaches, tiredness, or nausea?” He asks. He doesn’t notice how Y/N begins to flush. 

“Um… no, not that I know of…? I’m just kinda… sore.” They say, letting out a breath as Harvey leans back and checks the thermometer. Their temperatures normal. That’s good, it doesn't seem as though they have an infection. He glances at them. I’d better still check where they’ve been injured though. He places the thermometer back in his bag and rolls up his sleeves.

“Your temperature is normal. Where have you been feeling sore?” He asks. They rest their head in their hand, drumming their fingers, appearing uncomfortable. 

“Um, mostly my back and legs. My arms are pretty sore too.” Harvey nods.

“So, what exactly happened last night?” He asks.

They look at the table, appearing embarrassed. “Well… I went mining and uh, might’ve gotten a bit in over my head… There were a lot more monsters than last time and… I think you can guess the rest…” They traced patterns in the wood of the table. Harvey grimaced. He knew the mines were full of dangerous creatures. Slimes, bats, rock crabs, huge flies, shadow people and more.

“May I see?” They stare at him for a moment.

“...See what?”

“...Your injuries…?” He says, raising a brow. Y/N flushed, eyes widening.

“Um, they’re not that bad! Don’t worry about them, I’m fine! Probably just need some pain pills to be honest…” They say quickly, tugging on their sleeve. Harvey had a feeling that they didn’t want him to see their wounds. Either because they were embarrassed, or they were that bad.

“I just want to make sure you’ve properly dressed them.” They looked down at the table. “I’ll leave as soon as I see you’re okay. That’s the only reason I’m here.” Harvey said. They nervously tapped their fingers on the table and then let out a sigh.

“...Alright…” With that, they began to lift their shirt off. He sees them wince slightly as they raise the shirt off their torso. He grimaces as he sees black and yellow bruises adorning their sides and stomach. They had shoddily wrapped a bandage around their middle and upper right arm, dried blood having bloomed to the surface. 

“May I remove the bandage?” He asked. Y/N nodded slightly, looking to the side, embarrassed. Harvey stood and gently began to remove the bandage from their arm. He stopped when they winced, and then proceeded even slower. 

Harvey winced himself when he fully removed the bandage. There was a large burn on their upper arm, it appeared to be an acid burn. Y/N glanced at him and cleared their throat, looking sheepish.

“Yeah… A slime got me when I wasn’t paying attention. Could’ve been worse, my shirt took most of the hit… Bastard ruined a good shirt…” They trailed off. 

“...I see. And you know how to treat burns like this?” He asked, opening his bag. He pulled out a fresh bandage and some petroleum jelly and a sterile cloth. They tapped their fingers nervously on the table.

“...Wrap it…?” Harvey smiled slightly and went to the sink and ran water over the cloth. 

“Yes, but you’re supposed to rinse off the burn first with water to clear any harmful residue. Then you wrap it loosely. You wrapped yours too tight. Wrapping it too tightly could cause it to swell.” He sat back down and began to gently wipe the burn. He frowned, the burn had already begun to swell slightly. 

“...Oh…” Y/N’s face was flushed as they stared at the floor. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes as Harvey treated the burn, wiping it down and then spreading petroleum jelly on it.

“...You didn’t think to call me?” He asked quietly, wrapping the burn loosely with the fresh bandage. He waited for a response, not fully expecting one.

“...I didn’t want to bother you…” They said softly. Harvey halted at that. He looked at them incredulously.

“You didn’t want to bother me, a doctor, who’s whole job is to treat people?” Their face blazed red.

“I don’t know! It was late, the clinic was already closed! And I… I thought I could deal with it myself…” They trailed off, brows furrowed.

Harvey sighed and finished wrapping the bandage. He began to unwrap the bandage around their middle, taking care to go slow. 

“Y/N, I am your doctor. Even when the clinic is closed, you can always call me and I’ll take care of you. It’s my job, and I’m happy to do it.” He finished unwrapping the bandage and assessed the wound. It was a decently sized gash. He retrieved some rubbing alcohol from his bag and began cleaning it. Y/N was silent.

“...I know I don’t know you very well, but you can come to me for anything. Doesn’t matter if it’s because you’re sick, or if you’re just in need of some company, I’m here for you, alright? My door’s always open.” He paused. “Well, at least til’ 3, then you’ll need to call me so I can let you in.” Y/N chuckled at that, making him smile. He finished cleaning the gash and put some petroleum jelly on it as well, then wrapped it in new bandages. 

“There, good as new!” He said, leaning back. “Your cut on your side was shallow enough to not need stitches. Your burn should heal in a couple weeks, as well as the cut.” He pulled out some pain medicine from his bag and handed the bottle to Y/N. “Take this once every 4 hours for your soreness. It should help.” 

“...Thanks, Harvey. For checking on me and everything.” They said, a soft smile on their face. Harvey returned the smile.

“Of course. What kind of doctor would I be if I let a member of the town go without treatment?” At that, the coffee machine beeped, making the two of them turn their heads.

“Oh, coffee’s done.” Y/N stood and put their shirt back on. They grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. “Are you able to stay for a cup? I know you still have to run the clinic and everything, but it wouldn’t be long if you’d like to stay.” They asked. Harvey mulled it over in his head. He probably should be getting back by now… But Maru was working today, and he left a note behind explaining where he was. Besides, one cup wouldn’t hurt, right?

He smiled. “That sounds lovely.” Y/N returned his smile and poured him and them a cup as he packed away his supplies and set his bag on the ground. They set his mug in front of him and sat down. He picked it up and took a sip, savoring the warmth and roast.

“So…” He said, catching Y/N’s attention. “What’s it like in the mines?” A grin spread across their face, their eyes lighting up.

“Well, it’s pretty awesome! The caves are beautiful! And there’s tons of ores and minerals, oh! And if you like fighting, that’s the place to go!” They kept talking, Harvey listening, taking occasional sips of his coffee.

One mug, turned into two, then three. And eventually the pot was empty, but they both kept sitting there, talking about any and everything. Eventually, Harvey had to bid them goodbye and head back to the clinic. 

As he walked past the bus stop, enjoying the breeze, he thought back to their smile and laughter as they told him about their adventures to the mines. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see them again.

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Hello hello hellooooo !!! it's been awhile since I last wrote a fic huh?? This is my first time writing a Stardew fic too !! Hope yall liked it !! Ciao !!!

xoxoxoxo

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tagged people:

@dokoni-mo @minnieplier-blog @takashi747 @justsomedirt @kieropal @marvelluvv @0bs1d1ankn1ght @punkghost141

[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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@mrswhozeewhatsis @alexwinchester23 @shaelyn102 @lyarr24 @supermoonpanda @ultimatecin73 @musiclovinchic93 @shamelesslydean @mlovesstories @ellie-andthemachine @fandomoniumflurry

[elliespectacular]

Hi, I recall some time ago you made a video of different techniques that can be used to avoid being flagged by YouTube's copyright detection system, do you still have that video? If not, can you offer other general tips? Thanks.

That was a thread on Twitter dot com (which I don't use anymore) but here's the quick version:

Copyright detection algorithms for video/audio basically hold up the original next to yours and judge how similar they are. So making your fair-use transformative work more and more different is the name of the game.

To this end there are a lot of techniques you can use:

- Leaving no more than 3 seconds of footage unedited (the most important technique)

- Edge cropping

- Letterboxing/adding a frame

- Decreasing contrast/saturation

- Adding noise

- Layering other semi-transparent sources

- Adjusting the color

- Mirroring the footage

- Changing the speed/pitch

- Warping the video

- Using filters

- Adding audio layers

- Intermittently inverting the audio waveform

- Separating voice and music

- Making the video move around

But the real trick is to combine combine combine! No single one of these is enough on its own. I make no guarantees about the effectiveness of this approach but it has served me fairly reliably for the last few years. Algorithms are getting more sophisticated with time but you can always get around them. Remember that a human person can still manually issue a takedown, so make sure what you post is something you can say is adequately transformative with confidence.

[bigdicric3]

something something child of apollo daniel and child of ares max that get put on the same capture the flag team after max was claimed but max thought daniel was oddly aggressive for a child of apollo so he avoided him like the plague. little bit of a time skip to when the big campfire happens and the children of apollo sing around the campfire but max notices that every time daniel tried to join in with the musical celebrations every single instrument was taken from his hands. Max very confused confronts daniel asking him why he wasn't allowed to participate with his siblings if he is a child of the God of music and dance and daniel laughs and says that the gift given to him by his dad was the crops and herds side of everything but he loves music and dance and poetry. and max just kind of looks at him like he's stupid and daniel pulls him away from the campfire towards the fields where apollos cattle herd lived. daniel introduced max to everyone and even explained how one of the cows, Daphne, just had a calf he named shaggy. while daniel is yapping about his dad's herd max interrupts him just to say that he's really good at strategy and if he needed a partner for battle prep to find him and then just walks away. but that's all that's all I could come up with

[puddleorganism]

Pondering a new rancher au (yes the giant fucking bird is Jimmy) - rambling/explanation under the cut

[Image IDs:

ID 1: a digital drawing of Jimmy/SolidarityGaming and TangoTek, in which Jimmy is a massive approximately 20 foot/6 meter tall bird-like creature. He’s standing idly (to show off his design) with a nervous smile on his face. He has a long neck and long legs that make him look like a dinosaur, but he is covered in light golden-brown feathers and has wings. His wings are huge, the primaries/tips sticking out behind his back. They’re modeled after a turkey vulture’s wings. He’s got a grey hooked beak that is mostly covered in feathers. He’s also got long tail feathers that look just short of skimming the ground. His legs are dark grey with huge talons. All over his legs, wing tips, and tail feathers is a dark grey ash. Tango’s sitting cross-legged on his back/shoulders, hunched over and looking at one of those map books you usually have in your car. (Note: the next image is of Tango, so to avoid redundancy I’m going to describe his appearance better there.) /End ID 1

ID 2: a digital drawing of TangoTek, a humanoid with fire for hair and a long, thin tail tipped in fire; like how a lion’s is tipped with fur. He’s standing idly (again, to show off his design) with his hands in his pockets. He’s got light tan skin with freckles on his nose and wrist. He’s got what look to be black scales on his ears - which are long and pointed - cheeks and nose that have glowing orange cracks in them like burning wood. He’s wearing a red handkerchief over his nose and mouth and has red-tinted goggled pushed up on his forehead. He’s wearing an off-white sweater, a worn leather jacket with red accents, grey cargo pants and black boots. He also has a pale gold and brown messenger bag slung over his left (the viewer’s right) shoulder and back behind his arm. He’s also got two scuffed, worn pins on his jacket; a small, round yellow one and a tiny polyamory flag. He’s also covered in ash - even more so than Jimmy - to the point where his boots, sweater, and handkerchief are stained with it, and are almost more grey than their original colors.

ID 3: simple digital sketches of the above characters. From left to right they are: Jimmy laying down with his head bowed, and Tango standing on his tiptoes to lean against Jimmy’s head. Both their eyes are closed and their foreheads are pressed together. The next is of Tango with his goggles on and looking confused at the map book, which is folded in half in his hands. Jimmy is leaning over his shoulder to look at the map as well. Two question marks float by Tango’s head. The last is of Jimmy standing upright, one of his talons held up near his chest. In his talons he’s holding Tango who seems surprised and is kind of doing that thing that cats do when you pick them up under the arms. This sketch is captioned with the word “hold”. There’s also a small bit of wing from a drawing that’s been cropped out in the corner. /End ID 3

/End IDs]

Ok rambling time!

So it’s set in a that was similar to the modern day, but after in a post-apocalyptic world (recent enough that they both would’ve known the world before). Not a zombie apocalypse or anything, though. There may be Foes but probably not.

I’m not exactly sure what the apocalypse that happened actually is yet, but it’s left the world an ash-covered wasteland with few ruins and even fewer survivors (survivors being organisms in general, not just humans). I want the landscape to be kind of surreal and bizarre, but I haven’t decided if that’s because of the apocalypse or not. Maybe it was just Like That lol.

Anyway, one thing you may want to know more about, is why the hell is Jimmy a giant bird? And the answer is: I like giant birds. In all seriousness though, he’s cursed! Don’t know why. He was a normal ass dude. Now he’s a bird.

Tango might also be cursed? Depends on how edgy I end up wanting this to be lol. He might be an undead wraith or something who knows.

[blixabargelds]

can u summarize superstars main characters please ? new to this au and i am tuning in

hiii yes ofc it’s being written alternating between gale and johns pov, im writing gale’s which is why you see sm of that. my bestie elo is writing john’s and they’re internet shy which is why you don’t see that jgkgkj

gale is a lil shy, pretty quiet, joins the band after seeing one of their shows bc they need a new bassist and him n john are in love almost immediately lol. he cannot play bass. rosie teaches him :3 he’s got pretty intense anxieties around keeping the people he loves safe after his mom died when he was younger. he’s a bit of a demon in bed. he’s a really hard worker n gets good at bass pretty quick. he can’t write lyrics but he’s incredibly good at picking out patterns that sound good, working with song arrangements, approaches music like a lot of things as a formula to be worked out meticulously. he lives w john in johns apartment. he’s pretty dependent on him, bc he’s practically a runaway and has no money, which isn’t usually an issue but definitely becomes one at a few points. he finds it hard to open up but once he places his trust in someone he’ll come out his shell. rosie is kind of his best friend.

john’s the frontman/ singer/ shouter in there band. he’s very good at writing lyrics. can’t really play any instruments. he’s a kid from a broken care system, never knew his parents. has a shady criminal past with curt but he is a very sweet guy. he’s got the biggest heart out of all of them. walking disaster. uses humour to cover up a lot of hurt, and to keep a Lot of secrets. he’s absolutely head over heels for gale. can be incredibly bossy in band practise, and in bed (gale likes that). has a lot of self destructive habits, a lot of self worth issues. will do literally anything for the people he loves and i mean Anything, but will do almost nothing for himself. him and rosie dated when rosie was in college, which is mostly fine and sometimes pretty messy. we kind of accidentally reinvented richard hell with him.

curt is the drummer. he’s johns best friend from way back when, they’ve done some shady business together in the past. his dad was a criminal, a violent man, but someone curt weirdly looked up to in a lot of ways as a kid. he was strong n didn’t take any shit. curt def separated himself from his family when he got a little older though, realised his dad was running business thru some boots and braces types and curt didn’t want any part in that world. he’s fiercely loyal to his friends, honestly the best person you want on your side. frequently the voice of reason in the band. very cool headed. saves gales life at one point, has definitely saved john’s before. musically he’s an absolutely rabid drummer, like whiplash sticks bloody etc. he’s also a lil basic. or maybe just very straightforward. like his favourite band is black flag. nothing wrong with that but he does roll his eyes at rosie when rosie asks him if he’s heard the latest release from someone no one ever in the world has heard of.

rosie is the guitarist. rosie is. ahhh. insane. lol. he’s patrick bateman. he’s jesus christ. he is a musical genius, he’s got classical training, can play like 10 different instruments, he went to julliard. his parents are seriously upstanding citizens who wanted him to be a classical prodigy but their overbearing attitudes drove him toward punk and distancing himself from them. his mother is Nuts. rosie is endlessly kind and also cold inside, he’s the best friend you want and also the grim reaper. he’s sooo sexy. he does not call women back ever. he had a big breakdown in college. he’s like a lil cracked. but also outwardly so steady and so put together. i have to study him under a microscope. he will play the harp for 6 hours straight until his fingers bleed to avoid having one thought.

fun minor characters include; sandy (rosie’s ex who keeps cropping back up. rosie’s mom Loved her. she’s probably rich enough to not care about voting but she thinks trump is just hilarious), ulrich ([redacted]), Big Tom ([redacted]), and marge. sweet marge gale’s childhood sweetheart who’s always there for him even when they never really see each other anymore.

[dicespider]

Tips on avoiding getting scammed as an artist

1. If contacted on a social media site, scan the profile of the commissioner. Is it empty? Are there only 2 or 3 posts with the same sort of aesthetic image? Is the account only a few days old? All of these are incredibly suspect and point to a potential bot.

2. Don't trust people who tell you to DM them for commission on your posts. If someone really wants to contact you for a commission, they'll go to you directly. This strategy is to get you to interact with the bot first.

3. Mix up your speech patterns a bit. Bots that aren't run from AI typically have more of an "if this than that" sort of output. A good way to throw them off is to send a sticker or gif greeting as your first message or asking them how they found you. Any non-standard questions may pull the bot off it's script.

4. Don't accept AI references. Regardless of anyone's personal feelings on AI, Any sort of image generation should be considered a red flag.

5. If they have a reference, ask who the artist was. If they say it's from them, be friendly and ask to see their other art. Scammers are pretty unlikely to have art from the same artists.

6. If contacted on a messaging service like discord or telegram, check to see if they've posted any messages in your mutual servers. Having none is a red flag.

7. Take payment after confirming intent. Scammers are usually unwilling to put their money where their mouth is, and personally I take at least half payment once sketches have been approved. This prevents people from backing out after you've worked hours on a project.

8. Don't accept sob stories. Scammers will often use sympathy to get commissions. Stories about dead pets, family members, or friends are common tactics.

9. Watermark the *shit* out of wips. We're talking stock image level of watermarking. That or a giant "wip" written across the page. Don't send usable art until the product is finished.

10. Have a limit on the amount of changes you accept (usually something like 5 max) and don't accept major changes halfway through the piece.

11. If contacted by someone on a messaging service, ask for proof of social media. Either as a link or a screenshot showing that they own the artist's socials.

12. If a commissioner sends money and it gets "locked up" this is a scam. Don't click on links or strange emails.

13. Be wary if someone sends you an obsenely large payment and asks for you to "send it back". Contact your payment method's support, as asking someone to send payment back before refunding refunding the original payment is a common scam.

Tips on avoiding being scammed as a commissioner.

1. Don't trust solicitors. Anyone who comes to you asking to buy their art is highly suspect.

2. If contacted on a messaging service like discord or telegram, check to see if they've posted any messages in your mutual servers. Having none is a red flag.

3. When someone gives you examples of their work, look for signs of AI or wildly different art styles. Artists even when proficient with different styles still usually have the same feel to their work.

4. Look for watermarks on sent art. Scammers will often crop out or edit out watermarks of artists who actually did the piece. If you don't see one, it raises a red flag.

5. Look for strange speech patterns. Unless the artist is from a different country and doesn't have english as their first language, or is very young, most artists will at least try to be professional and gramatically correct when accepting commissions. Clipped responses, bad spelling, or strange product descriptions for things like fiber art can all be a red flag.

6. Stay firm on pricing. Don't trust an artist who pushes you to send more money without reasonable cause, (ie. Giving them a major change late in the piece or asking for a rushed job)

7. Stick to verified payment portals. Some payment methods have better protections than others and online payment methods are hard to refund.

8. Double check the artist is who they say they are. Scammers will often impersonate artists to get money. Verify by either asking for proof of layers, or by checking out the artist's other socials. Worst case scenario, DM the artist directly to ask if they're on XYZ platform.

9. Be suspicious of upfront payments with no proof of work. This doesn't apply for everything, (ie, you may pay for a fursuit head in advance) but unless an artist is highly trustworthy and has proven quality, be wary of someone asking you to send all the money upfront if you don't have at least a sketch.

10. You should be giving the artist direction, not the other way around. An artist shouldn't be trying to convince you of the scene you want, you should have a clear image of what exactly it is you're commissioning them for.

Overall, stay safe!!

[thevikingwoman]

written for @idrellegames Wayfarer’s 3rd anniversary!

Fandom: Wayfarer IF | Words: 740 | Read on Ao3

Illia Strand | before episode 1 | gen Rating: Teen. Illia receives bad news, contemplating your place in the world, spoilers for ep1, rough times, complicated family

Legacy

It’s beautiful weather when the news reach Illia Strand. The sun is out, but it’s not too hot and a pleasant breeze brings fresh air through the streets. The large port city is an oft used stopping spot for Wayfarers heading home – home to the Spire – so it’s not strange that Varyn’s letter finds her here. It takes her two times to understand the content of it.

The Spire is gone.

Her home is gone.

She’s numb. She stands there, in the street outside the apothecary that sometimes serves as a delivery hub for wayfarers. She has no idea how long time passes, or how many times she reads the letter. Illia doesn’t move until someone bumps into her, swearing and swearing again when they discover she’s magiani. She mumbles an excuse and puts the letter away, shoving it into her pack.

What if she’d received Sero’s summons in time? What if she’d been at the Spire?

She wanders aimlessly, cobblestone and dirt under her feet. The busy calls of the market, jumping aside for a noble in a carriage. She doesn’t really notice any of it.

It was too complicated getting out of Vestra. The civil war has ripped the country apart, people seeing enemies everywhere. The countryside torn up, dead cattle and fields burned or crops left to rot. It was a wonder she even got Sero’s letter at all. Varyn’s network is strong, though – but not strong enough to prevent an assault on their home. Is it burnt? Rubble? She wonders if her fellow wayfarers are dead, bloated corpses in the snow like those in war. Aeran… She balks at the thought, willing it away. It’s no use. Don’t dream up information you don’t have, Varyn always said. Illia sucks in air, attempting the calming breaths of her mentor. It doesn’t help much.

She finds herself at the harbor. The gulls scream and the port is bustling, busy sailors loading and unloading. Off-duty crew looking for entertainment, or just a nice meal and a change of view. It’s tedious to be at sea, she knows.

Of course, there’s a familiar flag on a large ship at the end of the dock. She knows her family has been busy. Her father keen on expanding his power, though for all she knows it’s Aristos who runs the business now. She has avoided the ships when she saw them, likely as she is to run into one of her siblings. Her parents’ legacy, a family trade empire, every child captain of their own ship if they should wish. All except one, of course.

Illia can’t help but walk closer, some sort of bitter curiosity perhaps. The ship is big, and must have been here long enough to trade, sailors bringing goods aboard. Familiar Coveran is barked out as orders and idle chit chat both. The captain is by the gangplank, arguing with an official. She freezes. The same brown hair and grey eyes as herself. Same freckles, just fewer of them, scattered across the bridge of their nose. Lorsan, their sibling.

To see them here, now –

Illia wonders what they would do if she went to them. Would she be welcomed or turned away? Would Lorsan even recognize her? She’s a far cry from the forgotten little sister who got shoved out of their life many years past. But, she’s alone now. The letter in her pack tells her so, tells her to run. And Tol Covere and the Strand fleet is one place to run. She imagines Lorsan, greeting her like the long lost sibling she is. Mother, tearfully hugging her. Her father, saying she did well for their name after all. Maybe that one is a stretch.

Lorsan opens their pack and draws out brass scale. The magic unfolds itself, the scale balancing in the air. Some last-minute haggling, spices probably. A simple instrument, easy to use, and every merchant’s stable if they can afford it. The Strand family can, but it’s not something she can use. She’d break the delicate magic with a simple careless touch.

No.

She does not belong in the Strand fleet. Their legacy is not hers.

She belongs with the Wayfarer Order, even if it no longer exists. Some were scatted, Varyn said. Perhaps she can find them. That is to be her legacy now, bitter as it is.

Illia turns from away the dock, her feet leading her back to the city.

[idcpxseur]

MORE random hcs that will potentially appear in my rewrite

not all of them are headcanons, some of them are lore drops that i decided to throw in for funsies

ive had this sitting in my drafts for so long

[ link to my last hcs post in case ya missed it ]

aphmau is obsessed with dating sims (this was inspired by me discovering blooming panic)

aphmau is a compulsive doodler. to the point where she keeps a little notepad in her bag so she doesnt draw on her hands

laurence is visually impaired/going blind

travis, garroth, and katelyn have all gotten their tongues stuck to frozen lightpoles in their lifetime

dante & travis are childhood friends and travis had a crush on dante in highschool

katelyn and lucinda met in middle school and have had a weird love/hate relationship since

cadenza, kiki, and zoey live in a neighborhood close to the main cast

nana goes by [kandi/honey/sugar] not kawaii chan (there was no way i was keeping that stupid nickname. havent picked which nickname shed go by)

aphmau loves dating sims and got katelyn and nana hooked on them too

nana is actually a magicks user just like in mcd

she uses her little maids to do her chores around the house (katelyn and aphmau hate her for it)

aphmau had a fnaf hyperfixation and infected the entire group with it

aside from nana, who hates anything even remotely spooky

during halloween on mystreet, aaron has dressed up as ghostface

everyone lost their minds

aside from aphmau and katelyn, who laughed at everyone losing their minds

nana actually has an intense fear of relationships which is why she obsesses over other people's relationships because she romanticizes them in her head

garroth, despite also being of the fruity variety, is the friend who buys anything rainbow and gives it to his gay friends

laurence has been and will continuously be the main victim of this

garroth also has no idea what a lot of the flags mean despite everyone reminding him

katelyn has bpd

and he frequently wears crop tops to show it off too

travis is a lil sleepy guy. if hes not doing something important, you can and often will find him curled up snzzing

and we love him for it

aaron is the friend that carries around shit for his friends

specific stim toys for specific people (chewables and clicky keyboards for aphmau, a puzzle ball for zane, soft weighted plushies for nana)

hes got a man purse /hj

aphmau has two long, jagged, faded lines on her back that she was born with. they look like were once deep scars

but theyve never went away and only seemed to have gotten bigger??

while not a big practicer of the craft, travis seems to be really good with witchcraft and magicks

no one knows what his magicks is though because both lucinda and nana have said it feels off

aphmau used to scare zane in a weird way. which is why (aside from just hating everyone and everything) he avoided her for so long before they got close

that fear is gone though

...mostly

travis has dressed up as spiderman for several halloweens in a row

aphmau and zane have gotten hyperfixated on beetlejuice together and dressed up as bj and lydia for halloween and cons

not at all inspired by myself and my best friend wdym

okay this hc list is even longer. i was supposed to be writing but i ended up... not doing that.

anyway thats enough for today!! sorry for my absence im focused on actually pushing out the fucking rewrite instead of just yapping about it

[shinknocks]

*Cropped* Deep Lust Page 23

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((original post got flagged and the appeal was denied, so I cropped the page to hopefully avoid that happening again))

[adharaphoenix]

hey, I have gotten a few new followers lately so hi, I am Adh/Adhara (she/her).

I tend to post mostly digital fanart at the moment, and am currently still experiencing some Baldur's Gate 3 brainrot. Since January 2024 I am trying to practice a bit every day so I post sketches or unfinished stuff often.

my Tav is called Awbonee, you can find some basic background here. I have a bluesky feed with additional lore but you may need an account to see part of it.

every Astarion is spawn!Astarion unless otherwise specified.

🔞 art will be cropped and noted as such, full versions are hosted elsewhere, please do not click if you are a minor. if you would like to avoid these type of posts altogether, you can mute the tag "#link goes places". occasionally I will post the entire thing here if it is easier to censor it than crop it, but will flag it accordingly.

(otoh if you want to get those type of posts straight from the source including additional yapping they are here (bluesky) or here (twitter) )

(I have now stopped using twitter on account of the nazism, will provide an alternative link in this type of posts since bsky only shows nsfw if you have an account. old art will remain on twitter)

thanks so much for your likes/reblogs/follows, they really make my day