#my first time writing anything supernatural

[l1tw1ck]

back again for another supernatural request, I always see an edit of either sam or dean and immediately think of your writing 🙏 Anything with sam I beg

- 🛸

bottom Sam x top male reader

cw: riding, creampie

It's the end of the semester and what better way to celebrate than to have your boyfriend spend the night at yours? You and Sam have been too busy preparing for exams to spend much time with each other so now that you're finally together again...

Sam moans your name as he bounces on your cock, his own flailing adorably with each movement. He doesn't typically ride you, he prefers to lay back and let you have your way with him, but he was so pent up that he ended up making the first move. It's hard for him to keep going thanks to your sexy expression and thick your cock but his energy is high enough to keep him steady.

"You're doin' so well, Sam." You smirk, gently stroking his cock. He mewls.

"I'm gonna— gonna come!" He cries out. He moans your name again.

"Go on, come for me, sweetheart." You jerk him off more aggressively. Sam throws his head back and comes. He stops, shaking heavily. He slowly moves his head to look at you.

He leans onto your shoulder. "Bend me over." He says softly and seductively.

☆

Sam lets out a slutty moan as you pull on his hair. Your thrusts are uneven and aggressive, a clear indicator that you're about come. Sam usually prefers to get fucked raw and have you come on his body or in his mouth, since clean up has always sounded like too much of a hassle, but today? "Inside! Come inside, [Name]~!" Sam gasps.

"Shit– You want me to fill you up, baby? Turn you into my little cum dump?" You groan, swept up in the moment and letting one of your desires come to light.

Something clicks in Sam's mind. He shudders at your words. "Yes– fuck, fuck yes—" He moans.

You slow down and pump ropes of your cum into his ass. Sam comes in response to the feeling, surprised that it feels so good. You stop and gently rub his ass to help him calm down.

"More?" He asks softly. "I want you to dump all of it in me, [Name]~"

[mothdruid]

Within the past 72 hours the TGM fandom got a fire put under it's ass, for lack of a better term/phrase. Even though I'm not as active in the fandom anymore, it did make me want to talk about a few things. This isn't the first time that I've had to make a post similar to this, usually speaking about reblogs and keeping your fanfic writers feeling wanted within the fandom spaces, but today I'm going to talk more about fandom etiquette and my experiences in fandom spaces. So, if you want to hear my opinion on fandom etiquette, how I learned fandom etiquette, and my thoughts about the doxing situation that has happened, keep on reading.

My Fandom Experience.

The first fandom that I was ever a part of was The Hunger Games fandom in the 8th grade (if you don't include my anime fandoms). I was 12-13 at the time. This was when I was first introduced to Tumblr and being involved within a fandom online. At the time I was super young, barely even knew who I was as a person, let alone in a fandom space. All I did was reblog little gifsets and fawn over Josh Hutcherson. I remember getting my first hate anon, even though I didn't do anything that would generate that to even happen. Even when I was 12-13, I couldn't understand why anyone would send a hate anon. That was when I found out a friend of mine found my Tumblr and actually secretly hated me, so she sent me hate anons. Still, before I knew it was her I didn't understand.

Fandoms were a formative part of my childhood. I think that main one that helped form me though was the Supernatural (yeah, I know, eye roll), Naruto, and The Hobbit fandoms. I had made friends on Tumblr and Instagram through these fandoms. During these times was when I had first started consuming fanfiction. Specifically, destiel and thilbo fanfiction. This is how I started to find the things in fanfiction that I loved, and the things that I hated. Instead of sending hate to the writers for their thoughts and stories that I didn't agree with, I would back out of the story or just scroll past. Not only that, I also started to use the filters on AO3 constantly, ensuring that I was only reading the fics that I knew I'd enjoy. Also, I was careful to read warnings and tags prior to reading the fic. Never once did I blame the writer for something that I knew I didn't like and accidentally read or read for see what it was about.

After high school was when I started getting into fanfiction writing. I've written for a lot of fandoms during this time. The IT movies, Total Drama, Haikyuu, Attack on Titan, Marvel, Bridgerton, Top Gun: Maverick, and currently ASOIAF. As a writer I've never gotten hate, thankfully, but I have had a lot of friends that have. It's sad to see so many people who take the time to write, whether it's enjoyable or not, receive hate. As writers we are simply expressing our creativity for the things that we love. Since posting fanfiction on tumblr, I have experienced a lot of people pestering for new updates and when the next fic is, and so have a lot of other writers on here. Even though people only know us as a little icon and username, fanfiction writers are people. We have lives outside of writing fanfiction. Everyone also isn't the same type writer. One person may easily write multiple fics every week, some of us take longer, and some of us are even just passion writers (me lol).

The TGM fandom has been one of the most negative fandom experiences I've ever seen/had. It is full of some of the meanest people/anons I've ever seen. From writers being attacked for fic ideas, people being sent hate for something that the anon has full control over, and people constantly expecting new stories to read on the daily. Yes, I do know that other fandoms have these issues, but it seems to be almost a weekly, hell, even daily thing within this fandom. A lot of the issues that I see happen in this fandom are from people who don't understand fandom etiquette.

Fandom Etiquette.

If you had noticed there was a few things I put in bold above. These are key things that I learned during my time that attribute to fandom etiquette. So without further a do, I'll list out some fandom etiquette rules that I follow all the time.

Don't send hate anons to people

Block/unfollow people you don't like

If you don't like an idea or fic, don't read it

Read through all warnings and tags that the writer provided

Use AO3 filters

Don't blame the writer/creator for reading things they created that you actively know you don't like

Writers/Creators aren't "content farms"

There are people behind these blogs/usernames, treat them like someone you'd see on the street

Writers/Creators are expressing love/passion for something, don't hate them for doing that

If you see something fandom related that you don't like, scroll past it or ignore it

YOU CURATE YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE (ESPECIALLY ON TUMBLR)

The Doxing Situation.

For those who are unaware but decided to read this anyways, recently there was a writer (Mama Mayhem) on here who got doxed from another writer in the fandom. Mayhem has since lost her job due to the doxing. This was apparently from her breaking HIPAA by posting a picture into a private groupchat/discord. This picture was posted almost a half year ago. Meaning that the person who reported/doxed Mayhem had known about this picture for months and only recently decided to do something about it.

I'll start by saying that I also work in healthcare, and know many other people here who do. I understand that a HIPAA violation is 100% an offense that gets you fired. I'm not excusing the HIPAA violation if one did occur.

Some people have brought up the idea that maybe the person that reported the picture, and doxed Mayhem, was doing it out of the goodness of their heart. Due to the timeline of it all, that doesn't seem likely. I had a previous coworker get fired for HIPAA violations and it took a total of a week from the initial report for her to be gone.

The biggest thing I want to convey is that TWO WRONGS CAN HAPPEN AT THE SAME TIME. Yes, if Mayhem violated HIPAA, it is wrong. But at the same time, the person held onto this information for months only to use it out of spite, pettiness, and cruelty, is wrong.

My Thoughts.

Due to Mayhem being doxed, a lot of people have decided to leave this platform, take indefinite hiatuses, stop writing, or move to AO3 exclusively., and I don't blame them. I'll be honest, I'm thinking about moving to AO3 exclusively now. AO3 feels a lot more rewarding in my experience. I already only post my fics for ships to AO3, so why not just post everything on AO3 (which I usually do).

I think a lot of people have forgot what it feels like to feel shame in something they say or do. When I say this, it's directed towards people who send hate or do other malicious things in fandom spaces. Fandoms were never this clique-ish and mean. I think it has to do with the pandemic, meaning that a lot of people who would have never joined a fandom did because they weren't allowed to do anything outside of their house. So, those mean girls that made fun of fandom girlies (g/n) previously, joined the fandoms and decided started bullying the people within them.

This situation is super shitty and people are now scared. It makes complete sense, especially after seeing someone, that many of you were close to, be doxed. A lot of people are scared of it happening to them now. I don't think this fandom will be the same after this situation, but who knows, maybe everyone will just forget and move on. Either way, I think I'll be taking a step back from the TGM fandom. I'll still be here, but until further notice, I won't be posting any TGM fanfiction. Maybe a gifset/picture here and there, but I don't think this is a fandom I feel comfortable writing for anymore.

If you've read all of this, thank you.

[mrsjellymunson]

KNOCK AT THE CABIN | Prologue

Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing’s Stranger Prompts, Prompt 1. He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.

Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But is it really him?

Chapter Summary: On a stormy night, an unexpected visitor arrives.

WC: 1.14k

Series C/W: 🔞 18+, MDNI, NSFW. I mean it, if you’re under 18, git! Post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes. Eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut. Swearing. Not much to caution about in this part, unless you don’t like rain, or bad decor.

A/N: This series contains a lot of things I haven’t written for before, so I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it, or my general list, lemme know in a comment, ask or message 🙏💗

You’re holed up in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s not exactly remote, but the nearest building is little more than a speck on the horizon so you feel pretty isolated. Owens organised it, explaining it would be a good idea for the older members of the party to lay low for a little while. Nancy had put forward an excellent argument for remaining with her family, but you, Robin and Steve had reluctantly packed up some of your belongings and relocated here. For how long, you don’t know.

It’s no palace. The wood-built building is certainly past its best, the yellowing 50s kitchen barely functional and the faded decor not to anyone's taste. But it’s (mostly) warm, (usually) dry, and most importantly, it feels safe. Which is something you all need after the events of the past few months.

You’re all acutely aware of the obvious gap in your merry band. Owens had insisted that the three of you didn’t attend the funeral, but he’d involved you as much as he could, ferrying messages between you and the kids and Wayne, discussing what he would’ve wanted to wear (you all agreed on his spare Hellfire shirt and leather jacket, knowing he’d never want to be separated from either, plus a brand new, government-funded pair of black 501s), and sneaking mementoes to you with Wayne’s approval.

Mike and Will have taken charge of his D&D paraphernalia, Dustin got his wallet chain (and wears it with literally everything, even his Weird Al shirts and colourful shorts), and Lucas opted for a small pocket knife. You, Steve and Robin each have one of his rings. Steve and Robin keep theirs in their rooms, but you wear the silver skull every day. It’s too big for your fingers, and is even a little loose on your thumb, but that’s where you keep it, spinning it to ease your anxiety, and smoothing the pads of your fingers over its bumpy surface to remind you of the friend you’ve lost. Rueing the fact that you always wanted him to be more than that, but never had the chance to find out whether he felt the same.

The kids visit periodically, even staying over sometimes, nobody expecting anyone to be watching the comings and goings of a bunch of nerdy teens. Nancy drops them off, sometimes staying, sometimes not. On this occasion she’d dropped and run, explaining that she was going to visit Max in the hospital tomorrow, spending some quality girly time with her. Lucas, who usually spent every spare moment by her bedside, was going to spend the weekend here, after Max, still seriously ill but now well enough to communicate, insisted that he needed to spend at least a bit of time with his old friends.

Tonight, you’d had a movie marathon, Keith developing an uncharacteristically generous side since everything kicked off and periodically dropping off and collecting piles of VHS tapes. Not quite generous enough to bring you any brand new releases, but even things you’ve seen before are better than the ‘sweet FA’ you’d have available given the nonexistent TV reception around here.

Popcorn litters the floor and the saggy furniture, as do gangly boys and a long-haired girl. Jane has commandeered the sole armchair, sitting in it cross-legged, and you, Steve and Robin are squashed onto the sofa with an equally squashed Dustin, the latter insisting that there was definitely room for one more.

Mike and Will are on the floor between the sofa and the old, battered coffee table. Mike’s hunched over a bowl of chips that he’s shovelling in, and Will is leaning against your legs, you stroking his hair in a way you know he finds comforting. Lucas is lounging on the floor at the side of the table, his long body stretched out and his head supported on threadbare throw pillows.

The gentle patter of drizzly rain against the windows and roof, and the crackle of the open fire, one of your only sources of heating, gives the evening a cosy feel, though you hope the rain doesn’t get any heavier as you don’t entirely trust the roof over the rear extension to cope with much more meteorological abuse.

You’ve just finished Raiders Of the Lost Ark and Steve has got up to swap it out for The Stuff, when there’s a strong gust of wind and the rainfall picks up significantly. Great, you think, the weather gods definitely weren’t listening to your silent pleas.

None of you notice Jane stiffening in her seat and shifting uncomfortably.

Under the lashing of the wind and rain there’s a sudden noise at the front door. Not urgent, not loud, just two soft thuds. If the kids had been roughhousing or the film had been on you may even have missed them.

You all look at each other, instantly and equally on edge, and all hoping that somebody, anybody, will provide a simple explanation for this.

Steve’s the first to speak. Jaw slack and brow furrowed, he asks the room, “Uhh, did anyone order takeout?”

There’s a cacophony of ‘no’s’ and shaken heads, before another soft thud is heard, just one this time.

Steve steels himself, not for the first time realising that it’s his responsibility to investigate the possibly terrifying, and potentially life-threatening, situation. He stands from his position by the video player and moves towards the door, fingertips skimming the top of the bat that’s always to the side of it, before closing his hand softly around the handle.

He pulls back the sliding bolts before twisting the lock and pulling the door open just a crack, leaving the chain on. The noise of the weather increases in volume, but other than that there’s no indication of what’s on the other side.

Steve has his back to you so you don’t see his eyes go wide, but you do hear a soft, “Wh- What the fuck?”

Robin being Robin, and perpetually thinking about her stomach, she says,

“What is it, doofus? Pleeease tell me it’s Jonathon and Argyle dropping by from Cali with some delicious Surfer Boy pizza??”

“Uh, no, it’s, uh- You know what? Maybe you should just come and see for yourself. Wait, scratch that, just the adults.”

Knowing this will unwittingly pique the interest of the kids more than if he’d just allowed everyone to come look, you and Robin glance at each other before quickly rising and moving to the door.

Steve closes it and takes off the chain, opening it wide as the three of you arrive, the kids following close behind and trying to look between you.

There, hunched, shivering, soaking wet and covered in mud, is your friend. The one who’d died saving the town. The one they’d buried only a few days ago, after he’d been lying on a slab in a lab somewhere for weeks.

Eddie.

Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts.

Extra tags: @jamdoughnutmagician @joejoequinnquinn

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

Saint Juniper’s Folly

YA paranormal mystery

follows a foster kid returning to the small town he grew up in, who runs from the judgemental townspeople and ends up magically trapped in a mysterious house in the woods

a boy who lives a boring life in the town until he finds him, and wants to figure out how to save him

and the young witch from the town over who’s heard the woods calling since her mother died, and wants to help

m/m, friendship & investigating a mystery

[yourstormthlaylirahh]

.

[soultheories]

hey so i wrote a little samwena one-shot ! or rather finished what i started back in 2018 lol it's some kind of coda (?) for funeralia. please consider giving it a read if you have the time <3

[midnightsslut]

religion is one of the most prominent recurring themes on the album, and it has been present in some capacity for quite a few records now. taylor previously compared love to religion: her saving grace, her belief system, and a fated divine intervention (false god, cornelia street, and cruel summer are the best examples of this). ‘sacred new beginnings that became my religion’ and ‘we’d still worship this love even if it’s a false god’ are two of the defining statements about her philosophy on the lover album.

taylor doesn’t want to leave all of that behind on ttpd, at least not at the beginning. the first supernatural force she mentions is the spaceship on down bad, which she compares to a skylight of freedom in the epilogue. *something* has finally come to save her from her life of suffering. she doesn’t care if it’s a force of good at first; if anything, she’s just fine being taken away by aliens. she views this man as her destiny. it isn’t until guilty as sin? that taylor starts to ponder the moral implications of what she’s doing. is she guilty as sin for wanting to leave her previous religion and relationship behind? she comes to the conclusion that, even if she rolls the stone away and gets resurrected/redeemed, she cannot avoid the fallout. she is okay with the thought of having to wait, as long as both lovers vow to be together forever, just as she once did with someone else in false god. ‘I choose you and me religiously’ finishes the bridge of the song in a direct callback to cornelia street.

the next mention of religion has murkier imagery. she claims that she does not need the Lord’s help to save this man. she sees the halo that he has, and she can fix him herself. now that she feels free of her prior cage, she isn’t looking for divine intervention anymore. she wants control. she is their route to salvation.

when the relationship falls apart, she retreats back into the position of a believer rather than a divine figure. she compares him to a Holy Ghost who promised to save her and take her to heaven. instead, she is in hell in every sense of the word: she’s down bad and feels guilty for digging up the grave. he was a jehovah’s witness who promised that she could break free of the cage imposed by love without changing her religion altogether; she would’ve just had to switch denominations. she could still have a marriage and kids! she could still have a blue tortured poet! the man was different, but not the dreams they had together. the story of the first part of the album ends here. her faith has been broken, and she has only found any semblance of sanity by refusing to mention these belief systems altogether.

side b/the anthology blends the christian imagery of side a with goddesses, sorcerers, and prophecies. she bargains with these powers to let her have the future she wants (the prophecy). she doesn’t sound like someone believing in salvation. if anything, she feels cursed. she decides that the concept of divinely ordained timing will never work in certain relationships (‘the goddess of timing once found us beguiling / she said she was trying / peter, was she lying?’). this disdain extends onto her perception of other people’s faith (‘bet they never spared a prayer for my soul’). she does position herself as a prophet in cassandra, but even then, she admits that the role has hurt her. perhaps the pain in thank you aimee was meant to be, or perhaps she was just strong enough to build a legacy in spite of it, boulder by boulder. is she a martyr? does she want to be? or did she save herself?

the only real love song on this half of the album makes no mention of fate or any divine forces. it wasn’t meant to be. it’s not a supernatural invisible string or lightning in a bottle. she is just in love.

the album ends with the manuscript, which revisits an old story of a defining, formative heartbreak. as she sings ‘at last, she knew what the agony had been for’ while describing the legacy of her writing, she seems to revert to thinking about the purpose of trauma. the only exception is that, in this case, she is the one who found meaning in her pain by turning it into a manuscript. writing is her belief system now, and she proselytizes by telling her stories and thus giving up the manuscript.

ultimately, her belief in destiny has chewed her up and spat her out. she so desperately clung to her existing belief systems that she was fooled by a conman, which left her feeling cursed. religion is supposed to be with someone even in their darkest moments, but the album explains that taylor often felt abandoned. the only constant in her life was, well, herself. she’ll be okay, but her pen will be her saving grace.

[scoobydoodean]

what is your opinion on people calling dean a heavy misogynist? i don’t agree personally but i feel like you could put my thoughts into better words

First, I have to chuckle a little at "heavy misogynist". Apparently, some people have begun to realize their fave is also guilty of misogyny crimes therefore they focus on making sure all of us know Sam is a light misogynist and Dean is a heavy misogynist. I just find that amusing.

This is a broad topic in a long show, so I won't endeavor to address every conceivable incidence of misogyny in the show I can think of. Instead, I'm going to create a few headings, at least one of which I think most criticism falls under.

Misogyny through the writing team

How Sam's misogyny gets a pass

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

How Dean actually treats women

Misogyny Through The Writing Team

First, Supernatural in of itself has issues with misogyny—as in, the writers of the show (including female writers) have issues with misogyny which they are happy to put on display semi-frequently. The show started in 2005, during a period of time where casual sexism was absolutely rampant on TV and no one thought anything about it. Female celebrities were regularly mocked and dragged on cable television in a way men simply weren't. They were called bitches and skanks and whores, and even "progressive" voices were inundated with casual misogyny and a fixation on purity culture (that largely applied to women only). Quite simply, I think fandom tends to be far too generous toward the writers, assuming certain things were "flaws" the writers intentionally wrote for the characters.

Put another way, there are some criticisms I prefer to level at the writing team rather than the characters, because what is written plainly reflects their ignorance in the real world rather than any intent to give Sam or Dean or any other character meaningful flaws—much less outright terrible ones that greatly harm their image. I'll give a few examples:

2.17 "Heart" makes me very uncomfortable as I sit here in 2024 and observe how Sam and Madison's romance develops. Me feeling that way does not mean the authorial intent of 2007 Sera Gamble was that I think to myself, "Man Sam comes off as uncomfortably rapey here." Hopelessly bad with women, perhaps—but not creepy.

In season 2, the writers begin to develop a running “joke” that Sam is afraid of not just clowns but also little people. The latter “joke” is (wisely) dropped fairly quickly. I have never criticized Sam for being afraid of little people, and I never will. It is readily apparent to me that this running "joke" reflects the ignorance of the writing team rather than an intent to give Sam meaningful or interesting flaws. Their intent was to use little people as the butt of a joke. I personally find this "joke" distasteful, and the idea of trying to take that and somehow "dunk" on Sam for the bigotry of the writers is more distasteful to me.

This is also how I feel about the running "joke" of a porn magazine and website (BAB) that solely features Asian women, that is put on display on multiple occasions during the show—first in 2.15 "Tall Tales", where the context is Gabriel infecting Sam's laptop with a virus from the website and making him believe Dean is responsible. BAB continues to make "Easter Egg" appearances in the show afterward. While often associated with Dean by fandom, the writers clearly think of BAB as a general, "funny" (it isn't), running gag with no more depth than "haha men like porn funny". An issue is stolen by a sentient teddy bear in 4.08 "Wishful Thinking". An issue is owned by the teenager who swapped bodies with Sam in 5.12 "Swap Meat". The Men of Letters also collected a considerable number of issues (8.17). I simply do not believe the writers thought for a single moment about BAB being a grossly racist gag. They most certainly did not write it as an intentional criticism of Dean from that perspective. It reflects nothing but their ignorance and racism here in the real world, and absolutely SHOULD be criticized from that REAL WORLD impact.

How Sam's misogyny largely gets a pass

One of the things I have not been able to stop noticing on this rewatch is Sam's issues with misogyny, and how often Sam's misogyny comes out in conflicts with Dean... starting from the very first episode of the show. Pretty much any time you get anything that feels like it might be a misogynist Dean or horn dog Dean moment... Sam either just has or is about to follow that up with some misogyny of his own.

In 1.01, right after entering Sam's apartment and meeting Jess, Dean mentions the Smurfs on Jess's shirt. We think to ourselves "Okay. A little misogynist... a little horn-dog Dean." Sam is happy to 1-Up that in two ways. First, Jess voices her intentions to go get dressed. Dean dismisses this, but while doing so, makes it clear he intends to leave the room with Sam, as he'd like to have a private conversation with Sam anyway. Sam objects, walking over to Jess and putting an arm around her, demanding Dean say whatever he needs to say right then and there. Maybe this would feel supportive if Jess wasn't in her underwear and hadn't just made it clear that now that the panic over a possible break-in is over, she'd really like to not be in her underwear in front of a stranger. But nope. By god she needs to stand there so Sam can prove a point about misogynist Dean! Second, Sam immediately (and I think quite erroneously) jumps to imply Dean is trying to cut Jess out of the conversation because she's... a woman? Or... something? He makes a big show of moving over Jess and standing beside her, saying anything Dean has to say, he can say in front of Jess. However, the moment Sam actually understands that Dean is here because John is missing on a hunting trip, he dismisses Jess to speak to Dean alone... because he's lying to her. By painting Dean erroneously with this "The men are talking" bullshit that had nothing to do with anything, Sam sets himself up to be viewed as a misogynist by his own framing of the situation and what it means to leave Jess out of a discussion. He also reveals his own alleged principles as a performative illusion. Despite being his intended life partner, Sam never intends to tell the woman he loves about his past as a hunter (he makes this clear later on the bridge). However, I think because Sam's actions usually co-occur with what gets called out more directly or more immediately recognized as misogyny from Dean (should have gotten him for the Smurf's comment, Sam!) Sam's misogyny often flies under the radar... and he's really... pretty bad.

I spoke here at length about how Sam tends to look down on women who interact with Dean (often before meeting them). There is absolutely an intersection with purity culture here and there's discussion in that thread about that as well, and whether this is a "2000s writers" issue or intentionally written flaws.

In 1.06, Sam cuts Dean off before Dean can accept an offered beer from Rebecca, but then as soon as Sam needs Rebecca out of the room, Sam asks her to not just bring them those beers... but also fix them sandwiches. Rebecca says, "What do you think this is, Hooters?" and Dean mumbles, "I wish" and we somehow lose sight of the fact that Sam literally just asked a woman to make him sandwiches which is possibly the number one misogynist man trope. Sam vaguely suggests Dean is a misogynist in 1.19 for nudging Sam to go on a date with Sarah Blake and possibly get information on the case, because that would be "using" her, but Sam wants to "use" Meg Masters in 1.22 and he wants to "use" Ruby to get what he wants, and when he said getting information from women was "Dean's job", he was also showing he was perfectly willing to use Dean and Sarah—he just doesn't want to get his hands dirty. It also comes to light in 1.19 that this is more about Sam's belief that he has to protect women from him, and Sarah herself ends up calling Sam antiquated for it.

I mentioned before that Sam doesn't plan to ever tell Jess who he is, and he makes the same plans with Amelia. Dean, meanwhile, confides in Cassie (it's what leads to their breakup) as well as Lisa.

I also have to mention... one of the funniest things I see deancrit samgirls in particular dig at time after time after time is Dean calling women "bitches". Never mind that Sam also calls women like Ruby and Bela bitches and calls a woman a bitch in front of Madison. Apparently none of these occurrences count because... *looks at notes* reasons. "Bitch" only counts as misogyny when it's Dean saying it. Also, let's not mention that Sam exclusively uses the word "bitch" to refer to women, while Dean also calls men and creatures bitches at different points so it isn't a gender specific insult for him.

Dean is definitely the "heavy" misogynist here... right? (I guess Sam is a "tall" misogynist instead).

Purity culture wank and Dean performing for Sam

Dean is commonly treated in fandom as if he's some kind of sex pest, and quite blatantly... he isn't one. Women almost always proposition Dean first (thejabberwock has sets on this here and here), but him asking people out also isn't inherently creepy in any way? Co-occurring with Sam's purity culture inundated judgements, we often see fandom's own as well, where Dean is some kind of sex pest because he... likes women? Or... because he has sex with consenting women who also want to have sex with him? Sometimes it's giving purity culture wank, sometimes it's given big radfem energy... but regardless, I sometimes see people talk about Dean like him so much as making eye contact with a woman is a violent sexual threat, and that's just laughable—as is denying the agency and autonomy of consenting women in general.

Even though it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I'll also add that Dean... doesn't even actually have sex with the frequency that people talk about it? Dean has sex with Cassie—who was a long term partner of his in 1.13. He has sex with an actress in 2.18, and with Doublemint twins in 3.01. He has sex with a waitress 4.05. He plans to have sex with someone in 3.04, but turns her down when he realizes she's a prostitute who's working. This happens again in 10.07. I'm on season 4 of my rewatch and haven't been formally keeping up... but Dean is not actually having a lot of sex? We get implications he's been out partying a few times, and can maybe infer he scored, but we don't actually know.

I'm not a huge fan of performing Dean, in the sense that I think over the years I have seen it wildly overstated far too many times. But I do think Dean sometimes plays a character for Sam especially. Dean tells us this himself in 2.03 "Bloodlust" when confiding in Gordon. He never says so directly when it comes to the sexy sex guy doing sex persona, but his actions reveal him. One can think of plenty of examples of Dean saying horny stuff about women to Sam... but what about his actions?

How Dean actually treats women

Finally, there's how Dean actually treats women... and one would be very hard pressed to prove to me that Dean is sexist toward the women in his life. He's been close friends with multiple women and worked with women on hunts on multiple occasions and never once batted an eye. Jo in 2.06 is sometimes floated as an example, but it's actually discussed within the episode. Dean makes it very clear that he thinks women can do the job just fine. What he has a problem with is Jo's lack of experience and her romanticization of the job (especially during a period where Dean has fallen deeply out of love with the job himself). Everything we see as the series progresses supports Dean's assertion as truth. He's very good friends with Charlie, Jody, and Donna and doesn't go around excluding them on hunts while favoring men. That is not a thing that happens. While he initially tries to talk Claire out of the life (as he does everybody—this is not unique to women—see Adam for example) when she decides to hunt, he supports her regardless. There is nothing uniquely overprotective about how Dean treats women who hunt. End of. Dean has no illusions about traditional gender roles or any of that nonsense, jumping to clean dishes after dinner at Jody's and cooking breakfast for Lisa and Ben. (Our knowledge of Dean and the chores he does for his family already tell us this—but regardless). Even Demon Dean, an entity with no love for anyone and close to zero principles, targeted men who abuse and threaten women, and when Crowley ordered him to kill Lester's wife to fulfill the terms of Lester's demon deal, Demon Dean instead became so deeply annoyed with Lester's hypocrisy (he cheated on his wife first) and his assertion that it's different when men cheat, that he killed him and smiled while doing it.

So anyway, nope—I don't think Dean is a "heavy" misogynist.

[lilahisntsadanymore]

Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!

Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Keep you safe

One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.

Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.

Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.

"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.

He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.

But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.

"What are you reading?"

When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.

"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.

"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."

"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.

Y/n put her homework on the table.

"Read it and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, I just-"

"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."

"Right."

Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.

"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.

"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."

"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"

"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"

"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."

"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."

"You got yourself into this, could've said no."

"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.

"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."

"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"

Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.

Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.

Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.

Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."

"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."

And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.

"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."

"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"

"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."

He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."

"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."

"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."

"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."

"Care to share what happened?"

"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.

They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.

"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."

"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."

"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."

"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."

"And why's that?"

Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.

"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"

Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.

Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.

Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.

It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.

"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.

"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."

"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."

"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."

"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.

The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.

"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."

Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.

"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."

Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.

"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"

"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."

The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.

"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."

"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.

"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."

The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.

Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.

"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."

"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."

Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."

Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.

Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.

[vanteguccir]

Medium girl | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader | Nick and Chris Sturniolo x reader (platonic)

Summary: Where Y/N is a medium and Matt's girlfriend. She is invited to participate in the collab between Sam & Colby and the Sturniolo Triplets but ends up being targeted by ghosts all night.

Warning: Paranormal, supernatural, ghosts, mediumship.

Requested?: No.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

PS.: I spent long hours writing this, I was so excited because of the video and how this would come out! I hope you guys like it ♡

PS. 2: Another version of this same "universe" that I wrote.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Guys, today we have some very special guests. You literally spent months asking us to do a collaboration with them." Colby said as he walked through the Driskill Hotel Hall with Sam at his side holding the camera. "The Sturniolo Triplets and Y/N!" The brunette finished, pointing to the four mentioned while the camera lens focused on them.

The duo had just finished their initial presentation of the channel and the place where they were, happy to finally do something that their fans had asked for so much.

"Are you guys excited?" Colby asked, clasping his hands in front of his chest as he looked at them with excitement on his features.

"Super excited." The triplets responded at the same time, smiling broadly.

"Very!" Y/N responded from beside Matt, her left hand rested on the brunette's covered back while Matt's right arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Are you guys scared, nervous, or just excited?" Colby asked again, looking briefly at the camera.

"I'm scared." Chris responded quickly, his hands resting on his waist.

"I'm terrified." Nick admitted without reservation, receiving laughter from everyone there.

"I'm super excited, a little nervous, but super excited." Y/N spoke, nodding as a smile spread across her face.

"We wanted to ask this to you specifically. You're a medium, right?" Sam asked from behind the camera, adjusting it in his hands so that the lens caught the four of them and Colby, but with the focus on Y/N.

"Yes I am." The girl nodded.

"She's Lorraine Warren herself." Nick interrupted, pointing briefly at Y/N with his left hand.

"It's not that big of a deal, Nick." She rolled her eyes, not holding back her smile when she saw the boys laughing at the oldest of the triplets' joke.

"But you're good, right? We watched some videos and podcasts of the triplets, and they commented a few times in them about you being a medium." Colby took the lead, looking at her carefully, hoping she could help them with the investigation of that video.

"She is great." Matt spoke before Y/N could open her mouth, carrying a big smile on his face and a proud look in his eyes.

"I don't consider myself great." The girl rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's comment, feeling her cheeks heat up. "I've always had this 'power'." She made the quotation mark gesture with her hands. "I can see, hear, and feel. I remember that when I was a child, I didn't understand anything, and I was scared to death, especially because people said that only I could do those things, I felt crazy. Until my mother took me to my grandmother when I was 9 years old, and they explained it to me together. My grandmother was a great medium, and apparently, that passed on to me." She explained briefly.

"So you can do all three? And you have control over them?" Sam asked from behind the camera again.

"It depends on what the spirit or demon wants. I can feel anything, both energy and proximity. As for hearing or seeing, it depends on whether the spirit wants me to see or hear them. But when they want, I do all three perfectly, everything becomes very clear to me, as if they were really there in the flesh." Y/N explained, receiving nods from Nick and Chris, who were next to her paying attention to her words, even though they already knew that.

"And how do you react to that? You live together, right?" Colby turned to the brothers, bringing their attention to them.

"Yes, we always knew that Y/N was a medium since we all grew up together in Boston. When we moved in together after moving to LA, we not only knew, but we started living it." Nick began explaining, his eyes going from his brothers to Sam and Colby.

"Yes, she never went into much detail about what she saw or heard because we were always a little scared-"

"You're all pussy's." Y/N cut Chris off, releasing the sentence with a smirk on her face. Colby laughed loudly, shaking his head.

"Thank you, my love." Matt scoffed, getting a "your welcome" in return.

"It has become normal for us to be talking to her, and out of nowhere, she looks at a specific point that, for us, has nothing. Or she stops paying attention to what we are saying to listen to something that someone from beyond is saying." Chris continued after rolling his eyes at his sister-in-law, already used to her jokes.

"Yes, it's scary. Sometimes, she wakes up in the middle of the night and stares into space, sitting on top of our bed. I just pull the blanket over my head and pretend I'm not seeing it happening." Y/N slapped Matt's arm after his comment, muttering a "best boyfriend ever".

"Do you think you'll be able to capture the movements here well?" Colby turned to her, looking at her with a curious look.

"I hope so. I'm hopeful that they will be open to me and show me what I need to know." Y/N nodded, breaking into a smile.

Matt moved his right hand down to Y/N's left, intertwining their fingers and caressing his girlfriend's soft skin with his thumb, knowing how much she was looking forward to the video and wanting to feel helpful, even if she didn't need to be a super medium for this.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The six were now standing near the staircase where Samantha had apparently died after chasing a ball and tripping, rolling down the stairs.

Sam was standing on the second step while Matt and Chris were on the left side of the staircase, Matt leaning on the handrail, and Nick on the right side as they listened to the blonde's explanation.

Y/N was a little further away, Sam's voice was muffled to her while her ears picked up indecipherable whispers from all sides, as if many people were trying to ask for help, explain what happened at the hotel and sending hateful comments at the same time.

Matt's presence approaching her broke her from her trance, making her look up at him, seeing his worried expression.

"Is everything okay, baby?" He asked in a low voice, not wanting to attract the attention of the others.

"Yeah, I'm just trying to get a feel of the environment." Y/N responded in the same tone of voice, smiling softly, trying to calm her boyfriend and herself.

She was already used to seeing and hearing spirits since she had done it all her life, but this experience was different from any other she had ever had.

Nick looked at her momentarily, asking her if she was okay with just a move of his lips, receiving a nod in return.

Y/N decided to get closer to the others so she could focus on their main mission there, receiving answers from the spirits through the lanterns.

"Samantha, are you the only one up here on the stairs?" Matt asked after the boys asked several questions, his right hand holding Y/N's, trying to convey comfort.

"No." Y/N replied seconds before the red flashlight turned on, receiving looks from the five on her.

"Do you see any other ghosts up here?" Sam asked, watching Y/N's reactions carefully.

"Yes, I can't see them all clearly. Many are blurred, but I can see at least three up here, besides Samantha." The girl explained, briefly pointing to the spots where she saw the three aforementioned ghosts before turning her attention to the boys.

"Can you see Samantha?" Chris asked, raising his eyebrows, his blue eyes wide in curiosity.

"No, she doesn't want me to see her. But I feel her... Here." Y/N counted, closing her eyes briefly before pointing to a specific spot between Colby and Nick.

Nick looked at the indicated spot, moving away and going to Matt and Chris' side, feeling shivers run up his spine. Colby focused the camera on there, as if waiting for something to reveal itself to the lens.

Matt looked up at his girlfriend, watching her carefully, trying to make sure she was okay.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The six were now on the mezzanine, ready to stand in front of old mirrors, which were very expensive, while they tried to call for spirits through them, specifically for Carlota.

"Hey Carlota, we have five men here, but only four are single, and one of them is off limits." Matt began, looking around briefly as his right arm held Y/N close to him by her waist, not wanting to lose sight of her in the dark of the room.

Colby and Chris began to say pick-up lines into the air as they looked around blindly, causing Y/N to laugh. She couldn't believe they were actually doing that.

The scent of roses intensified around the group, making the girl divert her attention from the boys and also look around, looking for a source of the smell.

An intense tug on her hair made her take a step back, her hands flying to the spot as if she was trying to feel someone there, turning around abruptly.

"What was that?" Colby asked, stopping in the middle of one of his nonsensical pick-up lines.

"Someone pulled my hair." Y/N responded quickly, keeping her gaze firmly on the space where she felt a presence.

Matt turned to look at where his girlfriend was looking, keeping his hand in contact with her body, wanting to make sure she was still there.

"Are you sure that-" Chris began, stopping mid-sentence when he saw Y/N stumble forward, causing Matt's hand to lose contact with her body.

"Why don't you appear in front of me instead of pushing me around, Carlota?" Y/N spoke out loudly, her tone angry while her eyes rolled across the room, feeling several presences and trying to look for Carlota among them.

"Wow, calm down, baby." Matt asked, moving closer and touching her shoulder, only to have Y/N pushed to the side again.

It was obvious that that spirit, Carlota, if Y/N's intuition was right, didn't like the girl there for some reason. This was made clearer by the fact that she only pushed Y/N but didn't even touch the others.

"Are you sure it's Carlota?" Sam asked from behind the camera, zooming in on the lens and moving it so the camera captured the entire place.

"I can't see her, but I feel her presence. And it would make sense. She likes to be pampered and praised by men, having another woman in the same room as her might offend her." The girl explained.

"Or make her feel threatened." Nick added, receiving a nod from Y/N, who was still looking at specific points in the room.

"Get out." A whisper echoed directly against the girl's right ear, making her turn around abruptly, seeing only the female silhouette for a few seconds, before it disappeared like smoke.

Matt approached Y/N quickly as he saw her begin to show her nervousness, wrapping his arm around her waist firmly again, marking his territory and taking on a serious expression, looking around as if confronting whatever was there.

“You are not allowed to touch Y/N.” Matt stated, his voice echoing in a serious tone, tightening his grip on the curve of his girlfriend's waist.

The six stood in silence for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen again, but nothing happened.

"Matt took a firm stance, which probably proved to Carlota, or whoever was doing it, that they shouldn't touch Y/N." Colby explained to the camera. "If it worked so quickly, it probably means you have an aura similar to mine." He turned to Matt, who looked back at him with a confused look, not understanding what that meant.

"It is said that the spirits are afraid of Colby because he has a very "firm" aura, which scares them and makes them obey him." Sam explained, lowering the camera a little so he could get a better look at the couple.

"That explains why the manifestations at home lessen when Matt is around me." Y/N contemplated, bringing her right hand to Matt's left on her waist, stroking the area lightly in gratitude.

Colby resumed his explanation of what they would do in the room after noticing that nothing else would happen to Y/N, focusing his attention on the camera lens.

Matt brought his face closer to the top of his girlfriend's head, sealing his lips in the area for a few seconds, before moving away and exhaling the smell of shampoo and perfume that Y/N exuded, calming himself down.

"You guys are so cheesy." Nick interrupted their moment with a smile on his face, getting closer to feel some sense of comfort.

Y/N just laughed as she rolled her eyes, resting her head on her boyfriend's covered chest, feeling grateful to have him there to protect her.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Do you want to do it yourself?" Sam asked Matt.

Matt and Sam had just gotten out of the elevator after doing the ritual, which brought no results. The boys that stayed behind were surprised, saying that the ritual lasted just a few minutes, less than they expected.

Y/N was next to Nick, looking carefully inside the elevator as if expecting something to appear there, but there weren't even any traces of ghosts, which left her confused.

Matt looked at Sam for a few seconds after his question, shrugging as if to say, "I'm already here, why not?"

"Babe, can I come with you?" The girl's voice sounded among the group, making everyone look at her briefly.

Matt nodded quickly, feeling relief fill his heart, knowing that he wouldn't have to do it alone anymore. He raised his left hand in the air, waiting for his girlfriend to take it, intertwining their fingers tightly.

"What if you never come back?" Nick began, making Y/N roll her eyes.

"I promise I'll bring him back intact." The girl interrupted the drama. "I'm Lorraine Warren, remember? I'm going to protect my Ed Warren." She added, making everyone laugh.

"Send me the numbers." The brunette asked, looking at Sam as he fished his phone out of his jeans pocket.

The couple entered the elevator, Matt holding the camera in one hand and his phone in the other.

"Don't forget to say "take me to another world"." Sam remembered before the doors closed, the two of them repeating the words being the last thing he heard.

"Okay, let's do this." Matt unlocked his phone screen, opening the messaging app and clicking on Sam's chat, seeing the texts with the numbers.

Y/N read over her boyfriend's shoulder before leaning over and clicking the button for the first floor, taking a deep breath.

"Are you okay, baby?" Matt asked in a low voice, arranging the camera in his hands so that the lens framed the two of them before turning his head to look at her.

"Yeah, just nervous." Y/N began, turning to face her boyfriend while putting on a nervous smile, cracking her fingers in an act of anxiety. "It's just been too much, I've never felt so many presences at the same time."

"I know, baby. I'm here-"

Matt stopped mid-sentence when the elevator door opened, the two of them turning to the it quickly, their eyes traveling down the hallway, scanning the place.

A sigh escaped Matt's lips when nothing happened, his hands relaxing and the camera moving slightly as he leaned in to click the next button.

He reread the texts sent by Sam before putting away his phone, taking his free hand to Y/N's shoulders and pulling her close, the warmth of her body calming him.

"You're brave today. I like this new Matt." The girl commented a few seconds later, looking up, her eyes meeting the blue ones she loved so much. Matt smirked, lowering himself momentarily, sealing his lips over Y/N's forehead.

The two remained in that position, their heartbeats accelerating each time the elevator doors opened again, before they relaxed when nothing happened.

Until the fifth floor, where supposedly a "lady" should enter the elevator. Y/N stood still when the doors opened, the hair on her arms stood up and her heart seemed to freeze for a few seconds before speeding up, feeling like her entire body trembled with each beat.

"Matt." Her voice sounded broken and weak. "She... She's right there." Y/N muttered, raising her right arm and pointing out of the elevator. Her gaze seemed to be glazed over.

Matt swallowed hard, tightening his hand around his girlfriend, wanting to make sure she didn't leave his side. He arranged the camera so that the lens was focused outside, although neither he nor the camera were capturing anything.

"She's not coming in. Something seems to be stopping her. But she's so angry." The girl said, her voice full of emotions, looking like she was about to cry.

"Alright, that's enough. Let's go back." Matt interrupted, leaning in and clicking the button to go down, placing himself in front of his girl, with the intention of protecting her or taking her attention away from the figure.

The elevator began to slowly close, the doors appearing to be held by something.

When it finally did, Matt turned to Y/N, lowering the camera momentarily and focusing all of his attention on her.

"Baby, are you with me? Are you back?" The boy asked in a low, soft voice, afraid of scaring her even more. His blue eyes looked into his girlfriend's, hoping to see them come into focus again.

Y/N blinked repeatedly before finally looking at Matt.

"Yes, I-I'm sorry." She asked, her voice coming out weak. She closed her lips in a thin line, trying to hold back the post-adrenaline crying.

"Hey, don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. Are you okay, baby? I just need to know this." The brunette was worried, he felt his heart tighten at his girl's features, and if he could, he would pass on everything she saw and felt to himself, just to spare her from all that.

"Now I am. I promise." The girl responded, nodding her head and offering him a small smile.

The sound of the elevator doors opening interrupted them, making Matt turn his back to Y/N and face the boys waiting for them, Colby already with his camera in hand and the lens focusing on the inside of the place.

"Wow, don't tell me you guys were- Wait, is everything okay?" Nick started the joke, believing that they would be kissing due to their position, but stopping in the middle of it when he noticed the expressions on Y/N's face.

"Y/N saw the "lady" who was supposed to enter the elevator on the fifth floor." Matt said, taking his girl's hand and guiding her out of it carefully.

"What?"

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The group was now in room 525, ready to do the Estes Method.

Y/N was sitting on the edge of the bed, next to Matt, and facing the chair where the other two brothers would do the method. She had a soft smile on her face as she saw her boyfriend and brothers spouting barbs, creating a pleasant atmosphere, before Nick and Chris got under.

The girl kept her eyes glued to the duo, refusing to look around her despite hearing whispers. The words that Nick and Chris repeated, she could hear seconds before, sometimes even phrases, but she didn't want to pay attention to the ghosts there. Y/N wanted to know what they wanted them to know, and she would only get it if she heard what Chris and Nick heard.

The words came disconnected and fast. It seemed like the two were in an argument, often even complementing each other's phrases.

"Y/N." Nick spoke suddenly, his nose wrinkling under the red blindfold as if trying to understand where that came from, or hear better what it meant.

Matt quickly brought his right hand to Y/N's left thigh, maintaining direct contact with her as he kept his eyes fixed on Nick, a serious expression on his face.

"Unwelcome here." Chris spoke next.

Colby felt his fingers on the camera shake slightly. He knew well what was happening here, having already been through the same situation with Sam and their psychic friend, Amanda. He looked at Y/N with a worried expression, followed by Sam, who went over and sat on the bed next to the girl.

Matt pressed his fingers over his girlfriend's covered skin, taking a deep breath. He couldn't believe this was really happening.

"Yeah, it seems like the ghosts hate me." Y/N spoke with a nervous smile, letting out a low laugh, trying to calm the tense atmosphere that had settled.

She finally looked up and around the room, easily finding the ghost who had said that.

The "lady" from the elevator was next to Chris, staring at her with the same anger as before, showing her hatred for the girl's presence there. It was obvious that she didn't want Y/N in her hotel, but no one there understood why.

"Out."

"Her."

"Now."

"What the hell?" Y/N exclaimed milliseconds after Chris said the last word, turning around abruptly when she felt something grab her arm and let go seconds later, but curiously, her eyes didn't catch anything.

"Okay, I think that's good for now." Sam said after seeing her reaction, getting up from the bed and touching Nick and Chris, making them take off their headphones and blindfolds.

"Apparently, I'm unwelcome here." Y/N was the first to speak after getting the attention of the other two brothers. "Something just touched me, I swear."

"I just don't understand. Why would they try to attack Y/N? It doesn't make sense." Matt asked, turning to Colby in hopes of him having an answer, as he moved closer to Y/N on the mattress, trying to give her some reassurance.

"I don't know, sometimes spirits just choose one person to terrorize or attach to, and only they know why. Sam went through something similar once." Colby explained, pointing briefly at the blonde, who nodded.

The girl sighed, it's obvious that they would choose her, after all she could see and hear them. She looked around the room again, drowning out the sound of the boys' voices. Her attention was drawn to the bathroom, which had its door opened by Matt earlier.

She felt a presence there. It certainly wasn't evil, and it seemed to be calling for her, as if it needed her to come in there.

"Guys, why don't we try again, but in the bathroom?" Y/N interrupted Nick's sentence - without even knowing what he was saying -, turning to the boys with a firm look.

"Baby, are you sure? I think we're past your limit." Matt asked, uncertainty settling into his gaze as his blue eyes ran over his girlfriend's features, as if searching for any sign of fear there, but finding nothing but firmness.

"I'm sure, I feel like there's something there that needs to talk to us."

Minutes later the six had organized themselves in the small bathroom; Colby was standing in the bathtub while Matt sat on the edge of it, Nick was sitting on the closed toilet and Chris was leaning on the sink, both looking at his brother. Sam was standing in the doorway, still with the camera in hand, while Y/N was sitting on the floor, between Matt's legs and looking up, her eyes focused on her boyfriend's blindfold covered face.

Y/N had her right hand on Matt's thigh, caressing the skin carefully, trying to reduce the boy's anxiety and nervousness, knowing that despite him trying to be thought, he was afraid of what might happen, or if he would even be able to hear anything.

"A very deep breath." Matt spoke for the first time after going under, his voice coming out loud before mimicking the breath he heard.

Y/N frowned, looking around but seeing nothing. Seconds later, she felt goosebumps run down her arm and a wind on her right side, as if something had passed there and settled next to Matt.

"Love." Matt got the first word out.

"Is that why you're here? Because you love the hotel?" Sam asked from behind the camera.

"Couple."

"Are there any couples here with us?" Colby asked, pinching his lips with his fingers as he tried to think of possibilities, but there was no response from the boy.

“Are you referring to Y/N and Matt?” Chris asked suddenly, causing Y/N to look at him quickly, her eyes wide.

"Beautiful."

"Do you think they're both beautiful together?" Nick asked this time, resting his left foot lightly against Y/N's thigh, trying to keep her calm.

"Angry."

"Are you angry because they are a beautiful couple?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Room."

"Wait, that makes sense. There was a woman in the room while Nick and Chris were doing the Estes Method, it was the same lady from the elevator, and she was very angry about something, just like she was when I saw her in the actual elevator." Y/N explained, lifting her head and briefly looking at Colby, who carried a concentrated look. "She was staring at me with hatred, as if I had done the worst thing in the world."

"Angry."

"Wow, that's the fourth time tonight that the same word has been repeated." Colby murmured, his eyes wide.

"Is the woman in the room mad that Matt and I are a couple?" Y/N asked with uncertainty in her voice. She didn't understand why a many years old ghost would be angry at their relationship.

"Envy."

At that moment, Y/N felt a new presence in the bathroom, as if something had left the room and entered there, it being filled with hatred. The girl looked up and saw the same woman, this time closer, looking at her with the same look as before, but for some reason she didn't try to touch Y/N, or she couldn't.

"She's-" Y/N's sentence was cut off by Matt, who repeated words again.

"Touch. Hurt. Y/N." Matt spoke the words without pause, his hands flying to the headphones and quickly taking it off, followed by the blindfold. "No, you can't touch her. She's not yours." Matt growled angrily, standing up and pulling Y/N by her arms, making her stand beside him, before pulling her tightly to his side and wrapping his arm protectively around her shoulder. "You're not allowed to touch any of us, especially her." The boy finished, his blue eyes traveled around the bathroom, as if he was trying to find where the entity was.

"What the fuck dude?" Sam quickly lowered the camera, looking at everyone there in shock.

Chris and Nick took a rigid stance, as if they were ready to help their brother if necessary, despite there being nothing they could do against a ghost.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Nick turned, looking at her with careful eyes, trying to read the girl's expressions.

"Yeah, she didn't actually touch me, but it was intense... I'm just scared. At least she's not here anymore." Y/N sighed, leaning into Matt, who patted her shoulder affectionately.

"That was crazy man. I didn't think the night would turn into this." Colby muttered, stepping out of the tub.

"It's okay, it's over now." Matt whispered in Y/N's ear, embracing her into his arms. She took a deep breath, breathing Matt's scent in, calming her nerves down.

The ghosts really hated her.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

[spnexploration]

Comments

Happy birthday Dean Winchester! Here's a quick one-shot I whipped up to celebrate.

This also fulfils the 'Plus Size' square of my @spnaubingo 2023 bingo card, even though it's 2024... I'm late, I know, but I still want to do some more of it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus sized!reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Couple of crap comments from a random, some not-great self-esteem and a drunk character, but nothing particularly bad.

Synopsis: A man you're interviewing makes some crap comments about your body, and Dean doesn't help. Can he make it up to you?

Supernatural writing masterlist

“Which one’s the father?” The sleazy guy joked. My stomach dropped.

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, it’s alright love, I know the real father’s probably suffering somewhere alone while you’re off gallivanting with your workmates. I’m surprised he lets you out, really.”

The urge to punch the witness we were interviewing was overwhelming. Rather than ruin the case, I turned on my heel and marched out.

Fuck that guy. I’m not pregnant and I’m not screwing either of the Winchesters.

I heard Dean’s FBI agent tone of voice as he started speaking behind me. Great to see they were all just moving on with their lives, I thought sarcastically.

---

📱 Where are you? We’re going to the next witness’s house

A text came in from Dean. I read it but didn’t reply.

📱 You ok?

I sighed. Finally, he asks.

📱 Fine. I’ll catch up with you later

I replied. He sent me a thumbs up, I rolled my eyes.

I kicked at the ground and started the walk back into town. Sam and Dean would probably try and make me feel better, but I knew that wasn’t happening. I looked down at my soft, flabby belly that I’d tried multiple times to lose.

I walked.

---

I felt a bit absurd, getting tipsy this early. It wasn’t that I felt like I had to drink to get over the comment. It was just  that I’d gotten back to the motel room and was feeling a bit morose, and there was nothing to do. I’d tapped out of the case and I was bored. I went for another wander and this stupid town had nothing in it but a pub, and so somehow I’d ended up here, starting drinking a lot earlier than normal.

And now I looked like I was drinking my feelings, when I wasn’t.

 Not that there was anyone looking at me anyway.

Well, except in disgust. Who knew how many more people in here thought I was pregnant too. Probably thought I was harming an unborn baby, right now.

Fuck them.

---

“You know there’s still a monster on the loose?” Dean said gruffly, a frown on his face. I guess it’d been easy to find me given how few things there were in this town.

“You struggling without me?” I didn’t think I was slurring too much, but his expression did not improve when I started talking.

“How you going to fight one off like this?” he gestured to me.

“You think a few drinks are why I’m fat?” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not calling you fat, I’m calling you drunk.”

“Right,” I said with an eyeroll.

“Come on, get in the car,” he said, trying to tug my arm.

“Fuck off Dean! I can drink if I want to. There’s nothing else to do in this shithole, anyway.”

He dropped my arm and stomped off to the bar.

I turned back to my drink. Sam came and sat opposite me. You can’t escape the bloody Winchesters.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked with his puppy dog eyes.

“I’m fine. I had a free afternoon, I came to get a drink. Is that fucking crime now?”

“I meant about what happened with the guy. You seemed pretty upset.”

“Surprised you could see that, you were both so busy being silent.”

“Didn’t you hear Dean?”

“How could I hear Dean when he wasn’t saying anything?”

“No, he laid right into the guy.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I heard Dean get right back into his FBI voice as I walked off.”

“Yeah, he was still in character at first, told the guy that he needed to speak respectfully to Agents. And then when the guy was still a douche he got a bit more Dean and threatened to punch his lights out if he didn’t shut up about you.”

I laughed into my drink. I was sure Sam was embellishing, there was just no way Dean would care that much about someone being mean to me.

Speak of the devil, Dean appeared again, tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He put the water in front of me.

“Thanks, but I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not having you hung over tomorrow and being a liability to the case, drink the water.”

“I don’t remember electing you.”

“Jesus, you’re even more belligerent when drunk. Just drink the water and stop moping.”

“I’m not moping!”

“The guy was an asshole, no one thinks you look pregnant. But you can’t just drink yourself blotto and get yourself killed every time someone says something mean to you.”

I stood up, grabbed the glass of water and upended it all over Dean’s face. Then I marched out the door.

The effect was a little ruined by my drunken stagger, though.

---

Sam caught my arm as I got outside. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I walked myself here, I can walk myself home!”

“I’m pretty sure you were walking in a straight line when you got here though. Come on.”

I let him tug me to the Impala. He must’ve grabbed the keys off Dean before chasing after me.

“He’s just worried about you,” he said gently as we were exiting the carpark. “Doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

“That does not give him a free pass to behave like that.”

---

Dean stood over me, a glass of water and a couple of painkillers in his hands. “Morning, sunshine. Need some relief?”

I gratefully reached out. Man, I did not normally drink that much.

“What time is it?”

 “Time to work the case.”

I groaned, “Can’t you do it without me?”

“No, come on, back on the horse.”

“It’s not the horse that’s the problem, it’s the dog that bit me.”

“I did tell you to drink water,” he said smugly.

“Fuck off!” I threw my pillow at him. He easily deflected but wisely left me alone after that.

I groaned and got off the couch I’d been sleeping on, slumping to the bathroom. The boys were sitting around the tiny table, already dressed and looking at their laptops.

Sam was gone when I came out, freshly showered, dressed and feeling slightly more human. I looked at Dean with a clear question on my face.

“He’s gone for coffee, thought you could use some.”

“Thanks.”

“I, uh,” Dean continued, more hesitantly, “I owe you an apology.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. An apology from Dean was a rare thing, but I was wary it was going to end up being a backhanded insult instead. I often felt like I needed to protect my heart from being hurt by him.

“I was worried about you getting hurt when I saw you were drunk. But I just tried to solve the problem, I didn’t actually talk to you, and I,” he paused, biting his lip, “I shouldn’t do that.”

“Nice to see I’m just a problem,” I replied sarcastically. I wasn’t sure why he was riling me so much, but I still felt so hurt and angry.

He stood up and came over to me. “You’re not a problem,” he said quietly, trying to look into my eyes. I ducked my head away from the intensity of his look. “And I am sorry that asshat upset you.”

“I didn’t get drunk just because some guy called me pregnant, you know.” I could hear how defensive I sounded, despite my best efforts not to.

“It’s a shitty thing he did anyway. You’re beautiful.”

I laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t put yourself down all the time.”

“Dean, your idea of beautiful is tall, thin, busty and great hair.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, they’re all thin at least.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“The women you sleep with, the women you hit on.”

“I can think of many women I’ve hit on who aren’t ‘thin’, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Suuuure,” I said with an eye roll.

“But I haven’t hit on many women lately, been distracted by one in particular.”

“Let me guess, beautiful?”

“Absolutely.”

“My point exactly. It’s ok Dean, you don’t have to ma-” Dean’s fingers found my chin, nudging it up so I would like at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel it.”

I stared at him, mouth agape. Absolutely stunned into silence.

“And I’m sorry again that I was a bit of a dick yesterday.”

His face came even closer, watching my reactions.

“You’re my weak spot,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.” I put my hands on his chest, “Dean, this isn’t funny, don’t tease me.”

He dropped his hand from my chin, looking hesitant. “Sweetheart, I’m putting my heart on the line here, I’m not teasing.”

My hands slackened.

He edged a tiny bit forward.

His tongue darted out and back in. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

Was this even real?

How was this happening?

His hand came up to cup my cheek.

I leant forward.

The world suddenly sped up again. Dean moved in, closing the gap between us and bringing his lips to mine. I lost myself in the tenderness of his touch, the softness of his lips, the  exploration of his tongue and mine.

A sudden noise made us pull apart. Sam was standing in the doorway, cardboard holder with coffees in one hand and the other on his hip.

“I’m happy for you guys and all, but we still have a case to work. You can pick this up later.”

.

.

.

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[uzubebe]

purgatory

type: one shot

pairings: dean winchester x fem!reader (mutual pining, friends to lovers?), sam winchester x fem!reader (estranged besties)

disclaimer: i don’t write often, but i’ve been rewatching supernatural and i have so many idea. this may not be the best, but just some self indulgence. i love sammy with my whole heart but he needed to be told off ok.

summary: the dick was dead. dean and cas were gone. and you didn’t rest a wink while searching for them. unfortunately it turns out dean wasn’t the only one sam abandoned that year.

“cmon there has the be something” you sighed, aimlessly scrolling through 14 open tabs on your laptop and a pile of messy papers scattered across the motel table. you slammed your hands on the table in frustration, letting out a shaky breath and gripping your fists tight.

it had been a year. an entire year without dean winchester. the second he vanished you had delved into aimless research in a desperate attempt to find him. you had to busy yourself, because thinking about his absence for too long caused an indescribable pain to open up in your chest.

you had only broken down three times in your year long search, which you figured was a record for someone going through what you were. you’d spent countless nights crying yourself into restless sleep, sleep filled with dreams and nightmares about the eldest winchester.

you crammed your hands to your tired eyes in a hurry, shaking your head vigorously in an attempt to wake yourself. you had to focus because you sure as hell knew sam wasn’t doing anything about it.

after deans disappearance sam explained that he needed time and space, which you understood. you cared for him just as much as you cared for his eldest brother. he had been your best friend for as long as you could remeber. and this was his brother, someone he didn’t want to learn how to live without.

you didn’t realize that time and space meant him also disappearing for an entire year with zero contact. you tried to understand him in the beginning, tried to rationalize why he would leave with no warning or explanation, because there had to be one right ? after four months you decided he wasn’t coming back and it was your job to find his brother.

you felt tears well in the corners on your eyes, inhaling a sharp breath and stretching your arms to regain your composure, gearing up for more research instead of dwelling on the loneliness.

you were pulled from your thoughts as your phone began vibrating vigorously from your bag. you quickly pulled yourself from the chair, feeling your body creak, this year had aged you in more ways than one.

you pulled your phone from the bag and froze. you narrowed your eyes, studying the caller id in absolute astonishment.

dean winchester.

you scoffed in disbelief, settling on the first emotion that bumbled up your throat, anger. you quickly hit the answer button.

“listen, i don’t know who the fuck this is. but lose this fucking number, i don’t have time for prank-“ you started spitting vigorously into the phone, being cut off at the gruff laugh that echoed through the speaker.

“…dean?” you whispered. it couldn’t be. how was he calling you?

“yeah, y/n. it’s me” he said softly, this time the tears came pouring out without warning, you let out a sad sob mixed with some kind of laugh.

“where are you? please tell me where you are.” you begged, he quickly gave you his address and within second you were tumbling into your car and speeding to him.

-

once arriving you let out a sigh, mentally preparing yourself for something you had been longing for for the last year. after 2-3 seconds of this you decided you couldn’t wait a second longer. you barreled out of the car and began your search for their motel room, suddenly turning into an olympic runner as you looked at each room number. you breath hitched in your chest as you finally arrived in front of the door. you knocked briefly before swiftly barreling into the room. nothing could’ve stopped you from getting inside that room, and there was no time for pleasantries and manners.

“dean!?” you screeched, scanning the room. your eyes landed on him as he stood from the motel bed to greet you, a sense of overwhelming relief washed over you as you ran to him.

within second you were in his arm, tears flooding your eyes as you buried your head into his chest. you felt an arm tighten around you waist, as he cradled the back of your head with his free hand.

“shh, it’s okay y/n. i’m here. i’ve got you.” he whispered, trying to calm you from the heartbreaking sobs escaping your chest. you gripped the back of his shirt, pulling him as close as you could, fearing that if you let go he may disappear once again. after what felt like hours and finally realizing that this was real, you slowly pulled for him allowing him a minute to truly study your appearance.

you looked exhausted. your hair that had been previously above your shoulders now hanging loosely below your shoulder blades, tangled and messy. the bags under your eyes had grown, and you looked like you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in ages.

“y/n…what happened? are you okay?” he asked, concern flooding into his pretty green eyes. you let out a laugh and wiped your nose. you moved from him slightly, opting to grip one of his hands to keep yourself grounded.

“uh..you happened. i’ve been looking in every nook and cranny in this god forsaken country trying to find you.” you explained, sending him a melancholy smile. he studied you, pulling you to him and setting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“thank you. i’m sorry. i wish i could’ve been here.” he whispered, setting his forehead to yours. you closed your eyes, smiling softly.

“you’re here now.” you realized, letting out a breath that it felt like you had been holding for the past year. it felt like you had been suffocating all this time, and seeing him finally allowed you to breath properly again. you were basking in this feeling, inhaling the fresh oxygen that would only be provided by the presence of dean winchester.

you were trapped in your thoughts, that was until you heard a slight cough from behind dean, interrupting your moment.

“if you’re going to say something. don’t.” you demanded moving from dean, and seeing his younger brother sitting awkwardly on the bed behind him.

“listen-“ sam began, but you quickly cut him on, shaking your head as you moved further into his view.

“no sam. i don’t have to listen. you left. crowley told you that you were on your own and you just took his fucking word and ran with it. i was here. i was here the entire time and you just left ! so you don’t get to tell me to “listen.” not when i spent the last year destroying myself to find your brother, while you went off and got a fucking dog.” you spat, sam straightened up slightly, fidgeting with his hands. you were shaking uncontrollably, the prior moment of bliss was being overpowered by the rage and loneliness you had kept locked up throughout the last year.

“how do you…?” he asked, trailing off as he tried to gain the courage to meet your eyes again. you let out a cynical laugh, balling your hands into a tight fist.

“yeah. i looked for you. i was concerned. i needed to make sure you were okay. but you’ll never guess what i found. to my pleasant surprise i saw you playing house with a pretty brunette and friendly little dog. so you’ll have to give me a lot more than a sob story about how you couldn’t handle dean being gone for me to ever forgive you.” you said, moving closer to sam. he hadn’t ever seen you this way, so angry. he had to admit he was slightly unnerved and almost scared.

“because you know who else couldn’t handle it ? me. but i didn’t just lose dean, i lost you too. i called you daily for weeks, desperate for some kind of explanation. i was going out of my mind, alone in dingy motel rooms without the two people i needed most. and then, after a few months, i couldn’t even get your voicemail, just an automated voice telling me i was desperately trying to reach a disconnected number.” you were seething. you felt like every vessel pumping your blood was boiling, your raging heartbeat pounding in your ears, you thought you might pass out.

“so i don’t want to hear about how there was “a girl.” because there was a girl here the whole goddamn time. a girl who had been by your side for years. and you. still. left.” you continued, sam found himself staring at the floor, studying its pattern, because he couldn’t take the look of absolute betrayal that consumed your eyes.

“and guess what ? i didn’t get the fairytale year you had. because my person, the one i wanted to be with. the one i wanted to settle down and get a fucking dog with, was gone!” sam flinched at your tone. by the end of it, you found yourself screaming, throat feeling hoarse as you finally took a breath.

you calmed instantly as you felt deans hand reach for yours. you inhaled a deep breath and turned to him. not even realizing you had practically confessed to the years of pent of feelings you had for the man.

“y/n. i understand. really, i’m upset too. angry even. but let’s take a breather, yeah? you need a good meal, and an even better nap. why don’t we get out of here, give each other some space, regroup later?” dean suggested. you hadn’t noticed his watery eyes and unsteady voice. he was brought almost to tears at the state you were in, at what his absence had caused. you nodded slowly moving closer to him. sam slowly stood up.

“just call me when you guys are ready. y/n…i’m sorry. i really am.” he whispered, you didn’t turn around to look at him. you knew yourself well enough to know that those puppy dog eyes would make you feel insurmountable guilt, they always had. but you didn’t regret what you had said, it was the truth. and right now, you weren’t sure what could help you forgive your former best friend.

dean gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. he looked back to sam and sent him a sad smile as he led you out of the motel room.

he stopped and turned to you once the door clicked shut. he studied you, narrowing his eyes as you suddenly became incredibly fascinated with the small rock next to your left foot. you forgot what it felt like to have him watching you so intensely.

“where were you?” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze, relief washing over you instantly, he was here. he was real.

“uh…purgatory. guess standing to close to dick when he died gave me a one way ticket to his afterlife.” dean explained, you scoffed slightly, mentally punching yourself at the realization.

“fucking purgatory. of course. i should’ve figured that out. god.” you cursed yourself, how could you have been so stupid ? of course he was in fucking purgatory. dean picked up on the fact that you were internally blaming yourself for his disappearance and immediately took action.

“hey. hey.” he whispered, settings his hands on either side of your face, forcing you to look at him. he bent down to your level, a stern look on his face.

“do not, for one second, blame yourself. none of this was your fault, and you’ve done more than i could’ve ever anticipated. i know it was a hard, even excruciating year, but i’m here now. and i’m not going anywhere.” dean insisted, you studied the look in his eyes. it was one you hadn’t seen from him before, or maybe it had been so long that you just needed to re-educate yourself on his mannerisms.

“okay. thank you.” you whispered, setting one of your hands atop his. he scoffed slightly at you thanking him, when they should’ve all been thanking you.

“cmon, let’s get you something to eat sweetheart.” dean smiled, moving to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and walking you towards the car. you nuzzled into his side, wrapping your arms instinctively around his waist.

“think i made sam cry.” you scoffed slightly, replaying the intense speech you shoved down sam’s throat.

“yeah well i’m thinking maybe he needed to hear it.” dean stated, you let out a sigh and nodded.

“and for the record, i would’ve really liked it. settling down and getting a dog with you. i wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else.” dean declared, setting his lips to the top of your head, feeling him slightly smile into your hair. you’re smile grew, it felt like your heart was finally beating normally again. you dug your head further into his side in embarrassment.

“well i guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.” you whispered, giving deans waist a reassuring squeeze.

“great plan, so we thinking doberman? golden retriever? maybe something small like a chihuahua or something?” dean joked, pulled you tighter into his chest with a laugh.

“shut up” you giggled, punching his chest playfully, sending him a big grin as he continued to chuckle. and since being back, dean felt okay again, at least for that moment. cause the two of you were together once again, and he had the ability to make you smile like that. he wanted to do it for the rest of his life.

[nostalgebraist]

the light, and the glass

So there's this particular quality I have, as a fiction writer, and I have very little sense of how common or rare it is.

The quality is closely related to that famous Michaelangelo quip, about his sculptures being "already complete within the marble block":

The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.

This is how I feel, too, about my works of fiction. They feel like "real things" that "already exist," in some important sense, before I write them down -- or, indeed, before I even fully know what they contain.

So, for instance, if I haven't yet thought of an ending for a story I'm playing with in my mind, I nonetheless have a vivid sense that this particular story has an ending, and that this ending already is whatever it happens to be. It's only that I haven't managed to "see" it yet.

To clarify the point, consider the contrast between this thing, and two relatively familiar ways of thinking about how fiction gets made:

Conscious, goal-directed craft/artifice. Intending to write a Satisfying Plot in which each character has an Arc, the Story Beats follow logically from one another and are arranged with what is called Good Pacing, the proverbial Cat is Saved, etc., and "solving for" these desiderata in a conscious manner. Or, intending to create something much more outré and unsettling than all that -- but having some specific set of (outre, unsettling) intentions in mind, at the outset, and concocting/arranging the elements of your work in a conscious way guided by these intentions.

Free-wheeling, self-expressive "creativity." Just do whatever, man! Follow your bliss. The canvas is blank and anything is possible. Whatever you feel like putting into that empty space, go ahead and put it there. (The key thing being that, after "putting something there," you'll look and recognize something with origins in you, and your own whims and feelings at a particular moment.)

For me, though, the process of writing, and even of "ideating" (plotting, etc.), feels like a kind of transcription or channeling, as opposed to either of the above.

When I say "channeling," here, I don't mean that I have some actual, mystical belief in a supernatural object revealing itself through me. Not in the woo-woo sense anyway; whatever is really going on here, I am sure it "merely" involves the mechanics of the human mind, as implemented in the physical human brain and body.

But I do mean that it feels a lot like that. Like the story -- and not just the story part of the stories, but the whole thing, the "art object" -- has some real prior existence outside of me, first.

Like I am merely doing my best to "get it right," to be a perfect transmitter for the radio signal. To "do justice" to the "real thing," in the secondary act of writing words onto a page.

To be a courier who transports a valuable object from some originary otherworld into a place which happens to be called "existence" -- and to ensure, as much as possible, that it suffers no disfiguring scrapes during the journey.

----

I should say, though, that there's a lot of the "#1" above in my process too, the conscious-artifice thing.

Except... when I do that kind of thing, the intentions all come from the "real object," and my goal is to fill in whatever I can't see of that object so that everything I can see is preserved.

So: I will come to know, surely and indefeasibly, that the story must have some particular feature. (An event, a little moment, a character feeling a certain way at a certain time, even a specific turn of phrase.) Better to say: I know the story does have this feature. I see it in the marble.

But I can't see everything that's there, already, in the marble. And sometimes these glimpses-from-the-beyond are strange, inconvenient, difficult to "fit" into the current story (or perhaps into any story) in a natural-seeming manner.

And that's my task, when I'm doing the conscious-artifice thing: to take this collection of axiomatically-present glimpses, and build a structure around them into which they can "fit," naturally and even logically, just as if they were ordinary story-building-blocks like their neighbors, being placed here and there for ordinary story-reasons.

----

This has various implications. For one, it determines which kinds of writerly anxieties I suffer from, and which types leave me alone.

Like, I have virtually no self-doubt about my "ideas." About the overall, large-scale goodness-or-badness of the thing I'm creating. At least, not when considered "in principle," in an idealized sense that abstracts away from my actual capabilities as a guy who puts words on pages.

"Was this story, as a whole, a good idea?" is a question I find difficult to ask myself. Even when applied to smaller units, like specific plot points, this kind of question simply goes nowhere when I attempt to think about it. Insofar as my mind can cough up any answer, that answer looks like:

Yes

(after a moment, with mounting bewilderment) Yes, obviously -- how strange even to ask!

(after another moment, and as an afterthought) ...but if it weren't any good, is that really my business? It's not like I came up with it. I was asked to keep it safe and bring it into reality, and I take that duty seriously, but once it has reached its destination I wipe my hands of the matter. Don't shoot the messenger!

It's not, just, that I feel like the "real thing" "already exists." I also feel, always, that the real thing is... really good.

I deeply, thoroughly trust the Muse / Higher Power responsible for originally "making" this stuff. (To speak in relatively woo-woo terms, for ease and clarity.)

The Muse / Higher Power is a seriously skilled artist, much more so than little-old-me; if She makes any errors at all, they are not really mistakes, but "are volitional and are the portals of discovery."

And what's more, there is a sacred, unearthly gleam to the artifacts She makes, perhaps having something to do with that Fairyland, that place-other-than-"existence," in which they are originally made.

It feels like an honor to be designated as a courier for these enchanted things. Perhaps not a deserved honor -- on which more below -- but it's never the nature and value of the transported goods that I doubt.

(There is a definite sense of ritual to the thing that I do, here; a sense of connecting with some other place, definitively apart from our mundane here-and-now, and likewise more important/primary/etc. than the latter. Hence, perhaps, my tendency to not-write for long stretches, and then write in long sustained bursts for many hours at a time, which need a good deal of preliminary building-up-steam before they fully get going; it takes time to pierce, and then fully cross, the veil between worlds. And the various imprints of this stuff on the works themselves are not hard to see, once you're looking for them; they are of course especially transparent in TNC.)

All that being said, I do suffer persistently from a different anxiety.

When Michaelangelo said the thing about the sculpture "already complete within the marble block," he said it as... Michaelangelo.

As a famous, incontrovertibly masterful craftsman. Not a guy likely to suffer from doubts about his ability to put the chisel to the marble block, and reveal precisely that shape which was already there, inside.

But I'm not Michaelangelo. I'm not even sure I'm a good craftsman, much less a great one.

Certainly I've never conceived of myself in this way, even aspirationally. (Well, maybe I did in childhood and adolescence, but that was a very different thing from what I'm talking about now.)

I don't do what a person would do, if they wanted to be a Writer, and strove to be the best one they could. I don't, for the most part, practice my craft. I write because there's a Real Thing that only I can see, and it's not going to make into Existence any other way.

And since I don't write by habit or as practice -- since I only write at times when a Real Thing is in need of some incarnating-work, and I'm the only one around to do it -- I'm not exactly an ideal candidate for the job.

I am like a man who never especially wanted to be a sculptor, never practiced the trade, and was never more-than-ordinarily good with his hands, even... who is then, suddenly, struck with a very literal version of the experience Michaelangelo described.

Who, suddenly and inexplicably, begins to actually see a sculptural masterpiece lurking inside, whenever he looks at a faceless marble block.

What is our protagonist to do? Naturally, he will find a chisel, and begin chipping away. He will feel that these things need to be freed from their prisons, released and revealed to all the world, so that all the world can delight in them as he already does.

But he will be very aware of the unfamiliar way the chisel sits in his hand; of the way that hand trembles, and fails to meet the mark, and sometimes shaves off precious bits of what was really and originally a beautifully formed hand -- so that the hand, in the realized artwork, forever bears some oddity of shape which was not a part of what he saw inside the block, but only a consequence of his own shameful incompetence.

He will feel that his works, such as they are, are an odd mixture of amateurish craft and direct, divine inspiration. Insofar as he is Great, it will be because he has had Greatness thrust upon him, from without. He will feel, sometimes, that his successes have been obtained through a kind of cheating, not won fair-and-square.

And he will feel, always, a particular kind of (justified) impostor syndrome: an awareness that what he is doing, when he sits down before the marble block with the chisel in hand, is a very different sort of thing than what is usually called "sculpting," and what is being practiced by careful, hard-working aspirants just down the road, at the local workshop. The students there call themselves "sculptors," and our protagonist supposes he must call himself a "sculptor" too -- but he knows that behind this coincidence of language, a vast and strange chasm is hidden.

(I worry that this metaphor sounds flattering to me -- I am divinely inspired, they are merely toiling away and following the rules -- when I don't mean it that way at all.

In particular, note that there is nothing in our story to rule out some of the "real" sculptors down the road from also being visionaries who see the finished work in the block. Indeed, I got the metaphor from Michaelangelo, who was precisely this way.

I am only saying that all the conceivable configurations of craft/inspiration are in fact possible: just as it is possible to be skilled but uninspired, it's possible for inspiration to strike someone who lacks the capacity to fully realize its content. And that is how I feel, about my own attempts to create.)

----

When I was getting near the end of Almost Nowhere, and struggling with this kind of feeling, Esther would often reassure me by saying: "you are the light, and you are the glass it shines through."

In other words: you are a transmitter, and you are the source of the transmitted signal. Remember that in actual fact, the "real thing in the marble" came from your own little brain, just as much as the rest of it did. In actual fact, if there is a Muse and a Higher Power, it is really just an additional part of the same creature that holds the chisel, and worries over its trembling hand.

I did, indeed, find this very reassuring. And that's a funny thought, in a way! I imagine that for some people -- and indeed for me, in many other endeavours -- the same sentiment could easily have the opposite effect.

"It's all on you. It's all your responsibility. If any of it is bad, there's no one else to blame. If there is any 'Higher Power' at all, it is only the one inside you at all times, and not able to save you through unexpected intervention, from some true outside."

But I already believed, thoroughly, in the magical potency of the goods I was charged with transporting. If I was (somehow!) their maker, too, then (somehow!) the root of that glimpsed, alien magic was in me.

And so, perhaps, I could trust myself to ferry them into Existence without ruining, without even much dimming, the fairy-gleam from elsewhere that made them what they were.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Good Father

Dad!Dean Winchester X Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: Dean has a beautiful wife and the cutest little girl. The perfect family. Maybe it's time to have a real home, too.

Part 2 of A Good Man but can be read as a standalone. This is actually how supernatural ended thank you very much

Warnings: not much, candy cane fluff, foul language. Still minors dni cause I don't want minor on my blog

WC: 2.6k

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Why not post it right? I love Dean with all my heart. That's nothing new. Enjoy the teeth rooting fluff cause I don't have the mental capacity to write smut rn :,)

Sleep still covered your eyes as you rubbed them softly. It couldn't have been later than six a.m., or at least what you saw through half-closed eyes on your phone screen when you woke up. You weren't fully sure, you were still processing that you were awake. You hadn't entirely wanted to get out of bed, but the lack of your husband's warmth all but forced you out of the comfort of your covers. Your feet took you to the study first. That's normally where you would find the brothers anyway. But you only saw Sam.

"Morning." You mumbled softly, running a hand over your face as you walked over to the younger Winchester.

Sam lifted his eyes from the ancient looking book in front of him, and he gave you a warm smile.

"Oh, hey, good morning."

You stood beside him, leaning a hand on the table as you looked around for Dean with a small frown.

"Where's your brother?"

"In the kitchen with Rosie. She woke up like an hour ago, so he's making her breakfast." He answered with a smile.

Your own lips irked up in pleasant surprise. Normally, Rosalie— yours and Dean's little girl— would come running to wake you— or both you and Dean, depending who was home at the time. You never minded that she would be up before you since Sam was always up before sunrise, and he loved spending time with his niece. But it did surprise you a bit that Dean didn't wake you at all this morning. Though, you were more so in awe at the fact that he had decided to take care of her that morning by himself.

Truth was, he had been gone a while, almost a week. That had been the longest he had spent on a hunt ever since she was born— five years ago. And your little girl was definitely missing her dad. She loved you, no doubt about it, but the little one was a daddy's girl for sure, but you blamed Dean for spoiling her so much. So she was feeling his absence greatly. She cried almost every night, asking why daddy wasn't there to tuck her in. It broke your heart a hundred times over to see her so heartbroken. When Dean came home last night, she all but clung to him, refusing to leave his side. And you guessed that had carried over to this morning.

"Thanks, Sam." You patted his shoulder and padded through the long halls of the bunker to the kitchen. You held in your breath as you peaked your head through the door and you nearly teared up at the sight.

"You think mommy and Sammy will like these?" Dean pursed his lips, nudging at the tiny human resting on his hip as three different pans with pancake batter, sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs cooked on the stove.

"Uh-huh. It looks yummy." She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder as he held her.

"Yeah, sure does." Dean shrugged, lips pulled into a proud grin at his own work. He always was a great cook.

He stood for a second, keeping an eye on one thing as he moved around another with a spatula and still somehow held a five year-old on his hip. He had his attention somewhere else, so he almost missed the tiny voice in his ear.

"I missed you, daddy." Rosie mumbled, her soft voice almost inaudible against him. Dean looked down at her, his eyes slightly big and his lips parted. He stared at her for a long second before he said anything. He was wondering just what the fuck he ever did to deserve something like this.

"I… I missed you too, baby. Always." He sighed out, his chest aching with an indescriptible feeling as he brushed some loose strands behind her ear, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

You were silent for a long minute, lips slightly parted and eyes filled with awe as you leaned against the doorframe to watch the sight in front of you. Dean, still in his pajamas, with his little girl on his hip as he cooked. He was saying something to her, or so you figured since you heard her giggles, her tiny hands bunched around his t-shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder. He was smiling too.

"I'm deeply hurt. Making breakfast without me?" You spoke up, feigning hurt.

Dean turned around, he smiled at you at first but when Rosie started giggling at you, hiding deeper into his chest, he gritted his teeth.

"Ah, busted. Told you mommy would find out." He shook his head, holding back a smile as you approached them.

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. He gave you a shrug with a toothy smile that showed the edges of his canines, and he gave you that innocent puppy dog look. You groaned out.

"We'll talk later." You warned, but your tone was playful. You finally slipped a smile as you stood on the tip of your toes to give Dean a kiss on the lips. He happily leaned down to meet you halfway. And then you kissed your little girl, leaving kisses all over her tiny face.

She giggled, nearly jumping out of her dad's arms into yours. Dean happily passed her over to you, his hip starting to get numb. You held her happily, pressing a kiss to the mess of her bedhead. God, the more this one grew, the more she looked like Dean. The same green eyes, the same freckled cheeks. But she had your nose, and her hair was a shade darker than Dean's, closer to Sam's brown. But you knew that she would be the spitting image of her dad when she grew older.

"Did you help daddy make breakfast?" You asked Rosie, and she nodded excitedly.

"Yeah! I helps daddy make pancakes." You gasped, lips parted to share her excitement.

"Those are gonna be the yummiest of pancakes, right sweetheart?" Dean leaned down, nudging her cheek with his finger. She nodded.

"Alright, little one, go sit with Sammy, we'll bring you out some pancakes, okay?" You told the little girl, and she nodded again, mumbling an 'okay'. You smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before you set her down her tiny feet. She had spent her whole short life in this bunker. You were sure she could find her way around the general area.

"Tell Sammy he's a nerd for me." Dean called out to Rosie as she ran off, chanting that her uncle Sammy was a nerd. Dean was smiling proudly to himself. He was raising her right.

"You're an ass." You playfully scolded him, and he gave you a look of feign innocence. He shrugged at you.

"I ever tell you how beautiful you look in the morning?" He irked his lips at you, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled you close. God he had missed you so fucking much.

"Missed you, too, hun." You leaned up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He tried to hide it, muffle the sound, but he winced when your hand touched his cheek.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you immediately pulled back to look at his face. You hadn't noticed the red bruise on his cheek, on the purple bruising around his eye. You gasped quietly, gently brushing the tip of your fingers over the bruised skin. He scrunched up his face at you, about to pull back, but you shot him a sharp look.

"I'm fine, baby. Just some bruises. You shoulda seen the other guy." He grinned, trying to humor you, but the concern didn't leave your face.

"I don't want to, actually." You sighed softly, your eyes falling to his chest, avoiding his eyes.

You wouldn't say it to his face, not actually. How could you? He never lied to you, from the moment he wanted something real with you he told you the truth. You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into with him. Sammy and hunting come with the package— he told you. And you accepted it. All of it. You married him anyway. You gave him a daughter anyway. But God, it terrified you beyond words that he was still hunting. That he still left you and your little girl for days at a time. And that he would come home with new scars and bruises that would last days. But at times— like this one— you feared that neither of them would come home at all.

"Sweetheart…" There was a bit of warning in his voice. He could read you so easily. He grabbed your face, forcing your head up to look at him now. "What is it?"

"You worry me, Dean. Look at your face. I don't even want to know how it looks under your shirt." Your eyes fell to the side, and your chest filled with ache as you tried to say the right words. "I'm sorry, I know I have no right to guilt trip you. But your daughter missed you, I missed you, and we need you, Dean, that's all."

Dean said nothing at this, his face stayed unreadable as he listened to you. And he heard you, he heard you loud and clear. He felt pressure on his chest and a sick feeling to his stomach. Fuck, he had grown soft.

"C'mere." He pulled you to his chest. He rested his hand on your hair, and he sighed softly when you threw your arms around his torso. "You know I love you, and Rosie, so much, right?"

You nodded against his chest. "I know babe, I love you, too."

We need you, Dean.

"Daddy! I told uncle Sammy he's a— a nerd!" Rosie announced loudly when she saw you and Dean again. And you had to hide your smile at the pointed look Sam shot his older brother.

Dean played dumb, his lips falling open, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm telling ya, Sammy, I dunno where she learns it from."

"Yeah, great parenting dude." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, and he could only snort in response.

"Yeah, well, here's my apology." Dean shrugged, setting down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Sam with a shit eating smile. Sam pretended to be offended, but he ate the plate in front of him without protesting.

"Alright, Rosie, you wanna eat some pancakes before school?" You set the plate with the smaller portion of pancakes and bacon in front of her and she nodded happily.

"Yes, please!" She excitedly grabbed a fork and dug in, but stopped a second later and looked at Dean. "Daddy can I has syrup?"

"Sure, baby." He practically saturated her plate with syrup and then his own. You shook your head at how alike they were already. You shared a knowing look with Sam and sighed softly, eating from your own plate.

You didn't often have the chance to have breakfast as a family, so you always treasured little moments like this when you had them. And deep in your heart, you wished you had moments like this more.

~~~~~~

"Sweetheart, you in here?" Dean peeked his head into your shared bedroom, his eyes darting around for a few seconds, and then his lips curved up at the sight of you on your shared bed, face deep in your laptop.

"Hi love," You smiled at him, setting your laptop aside to greet him. He happily joined your side, his lips pressing a kiss to yours instantly. "You left Rosie at school, right?"

Your words were stern as was the look you gave him. He pulled back and pouted. You were definitely scolding him for the time he decided to take Rosalie on a drive with Baby just because she asked instead of dropping her off at school.

"'Course I did. No rides in Baby this time, I promise." He smiled at you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Hope so." He saw you reach for your laptop again so he decided to speak again.

Dean thought about it. He thought about it all morning. He drove around town for another hour just to get his thoughts straight.

"Listen, I was thinkin' 'bout what you said this morning.."

You shook your head at him, "I'm sorry, Dean, I know I shouldn't have. Let's just forget about it, yeah?"

"Hey, no, don't do that. Let's not forget about it." You frowned at him, but you didn't respond, so he kept talking. "You're right. I know you are. Hell, I got thrown around so hard, I don't know how I got outta bed this morning. I thought about you, thought about Rosie. Thought about my old man, too."

You frowned softly, resting your hand on the back of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair gently, "Dean.."

"I don't want to be like my old man. I don't want to leave you and Rosie alone anymore, I just can't."

You straightened up, a bit unsure where he was getting at.

"Dean, baby, what are you trying to say?"

"You and Rosie deserve a normal life, a house, all of that shit." Dean breathed out the words, and he held your face in his hands, a tiny smile on his lips. "I want to try it. A normal life. Don't you?"

"I… Dean.." You sighed out softly, attempting to process his words. You stared at him long and hard, and all you saw was love, his green eyes were sincere. "I wouldn't force you to give up hunting. I mean, that's all you've known? And what about Sam? I just—"

"That's exactly it. I'm… I'm so goddamn tired of the life. Don't get me wrong, we save people, hell, we've saved the world, but is that really all worth it if I can't come home to my wife and daughter?" He tilted his head, his free hand was on your thigh, and he squeezed softly. "And Sammy, I know he's tired of it too. He's always wanted a normal life. But he stayed because of me. If I get out, I know he'll do it, too. He's done it before. Who knows, maybe he can find his own pretty girl to marry and have a couple of kids with."

For the longest time, Dean had refused to even consider doing anything else with his life, doing anything better. This was all he had ever known, all he was ever actually good at, right? But lately, God, just lately, he was seeing that light at the end of the tunnel. You and Rosalie were right there. And if you were there with him, the rest of the world could go to hell for all he cared.

"Dean, I love you, I loved you then, hunter and all, and I will love you no matter what. But if you want to settle down.." You breathed out a soft laugh, the words sounding so nice when you said them out loud. You leaned closer to him, a smile on your lips as you pressed your forehead against his. "We'll settle down. A house, normal jobs, play dates, all of it."

"Christ, what did I ever do to deserve you in my life?" He smiled wide, and he pressed a hard kiss to your lips. It was warm, loving.

"Mhmm, so, what would a former hunter do for a living?"

"I'm pretty good with cars aren't I? What do you say? Think I should open my own car shop?"

Your husband as a mechanic? That wouldn't be half bad.

[multifixwritings]

If it Does Rain

Fandom: Twilight Pairing: Jasper Hale x GN!Reader Summary: Jasper is worried about what could happen to you if Edward and Bella's budding relationship goes wrong. Words: 809 (drabble) Note: This is an old piece from years ago. I believe it came from a request for one of my previous writing blogs. It's pretty bad—I like to believe I have improved since then—but I figure we can just laugh at it together.

The Cullen-Hale family were not the only ones watching with rapt interest—interest which ranged from anger to excitement to concern—as Edward crossed the parking lot with the new girl tucked under his arm. Everyone found the sight fascinating and could not seem to pry their stares away from the unlikely couple to maintain even just a shred of their own decency.

You didn't have to be within hearing distance to know what Bella had just whispered to him, so soft and quiet as to not draw any more attention (as though there was any left to give). The warm color rising to her face would have been a key giveaway if you hadn't known her well enough to just know.

She was your sister, after all.

Your focus drifted away from them in response to the increasing tension radiating from the body at your side. A frown tugged at your mouth as you looked to your boyfriend, who had gone completely rigid with something other than the fight for control that consumed him every minute he was forced to be around his "peers." It worried you what might have been going through his mind as he watched his youngest brother hold open his car door for your fragile, human sister.

You reached over the console and took his hand in yours, gently. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered much had you gripped it hard enough to bruise—the bruises would have adorned your hand. A side effect of such a supernatural existence and stat of being that the Olympic Coven (and others around the globe) lived.

"You're worried," you observed.

Jasper sat still as the marble he looked to be sculpted of. Behind the tinted windows, he was safe from prying eyes who might have thought to follow in your footsteps and dig deeper into the Cullen-Hale enigma than they should (and subsequently be faced with a far less desirable outcome than you). The only witnesses were you and his family.

After a moment, he squeezed your hand and looked to you, a half-hearted smirk tipping his perfect lips up at the corner. "I thought I was the empath."

His deeply instilled Southern drawl made your heart flutter. It had ever since the first time you'd heard it, and you didn't think it would ever not hold the same effect over you so long as your heart was still beating. But his attempt to lighten the air—a wave of calm reassurance flowed into your mind, chipping away at the tension which ate at the edges of your soul—did not erase the consternation sinking in his deep gaze.

"I don't need special abilities to know when you're upset—and yours aren't going to make me feel any better until you've talked to me."

Jasper dented his forehead in frustration. He never wanted to be the reason for anything but your happiness and safety. His habit of shutting you out of his problems he still thought aided that, as he didn't relish the idea of you having even more burden to bear, but he knew you hated when he did.

You arched a brow at his momentary silence and slowly rubbed your thumb over his sculpted knuckles.

He sighed and leaned back in the driver's seat, two actions performed more out of habit than of need. His fingers curled around the steering wheel until the leather started to strain under the pressure.

"If they end badly," he said, "it all ends badly."

Jasper gently removed his hand from under yours to start the car. The engine rumbled to life as the meaning behind his words vibrated between you. It took a lot of restraint not to roll your eyes at his incessant paranoia that he had always displayed when vulnerable and alone with you.

You managed to keep your soft expression because you knew why he worried so much. As the newest "vegetarian," as Dr. Cullen dubbed their lifestyle, he struggled tremendously with keeping his bloodlust in control. His biggest fear was losing it and killing someone, killing you, and putting his family at risk again.

Taking your respectful silence, he pulled from the parking lot and elaborated vaguely, "A lot could go wrong, and if anythin' does... Them bein' together just puts a lot at stake."

"So do we," you countered, "but we're making it work. We should give Bella and Edward the same chance."

You leaned in and kissed his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. He entwined your fingers and held your hand on your thigh. The silence cocooned the two of you, leaving nothing but the smooth engine to fill the void.

Jasper then lifted your locked hands and kissed the back of yours. "I just don't wanna lose you. I can't."

"You won't. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

[yournowheregirl]

read my mind

rating: G | wc: 1225 | cw: none

The first word that comes to mind when Eddie steps foot into the Harrington house is ‘chaos’.

Which is weird, because he had come to know Steve’s house as neat and very much put together. It was probably a combination of weekly cleaning and the fact of Mrs. Harrington’s obsession with interior design and keeping everything absolutely perfect, even though she wasn’t there most of the time. But this time there are loose pieces of paper all over the floor and a pile of books in the middle of the hallway, like someone had spent hours researching something.

Eddie also hears some kind of ruckus coming from the kitchen and he prepares himself for the worst. He might not be all that up-to-date with all of the crazy shit that’s been happening in Hawkins over the last few years, but he has been through enough to know that something weird can happen at anytime.

As he approaches the kitchen, Eddie jangles his keys, sliding them between his fingers as a makeshift weapon, just in case. He stomps his feet a little louder than usual and takes a deep breath, preparing for the worst, as he turns the corner.

If he thought the hallway was chaotic, it’s nothing in comparison to what Eddie finds in the kitchen. The clutter of books and loose papers had made its way onto the tiled floor, but it was joined with what looks like miles and miles of tin foil. Eddie’s eyes follow the silver trail to the other side of the kitchen, where he finds the two culprits.

Steve is sitting at the kitchen table with Robin sitting on the floor in between his legs, and while that isn’t something unusual, their accessories definitely are. Because Steve is wearing an absolutely ridiculous tin foil hat, with a pointy end and all, and for a second Eddie wonders if this is a new hair routine for him. Steve is focused on making a hat for Robin, it seems, as he’s wrapping even more tin foil around her head as well.

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

“Babe!” Steve says with a bright smile. “You came at the perfect time!”

“Uh, you invited me, and also, that doesn’t answer my question. What the fuck are you two doing?” Eddie asks again. “Is this the new and improved Steve Harrington hair ritual?”

“No,” Robin replies with a roll of her eyes. “We’re testing out our telepathy.”

Eddie blinks, completely dumbfounded at what Robin had just said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, there must have been something in that bunker, or in the Upside Down, something, because we totally have powers now. Like, I always know what Robin’s thinking, for some reason,” Steve says, and oh God, he’s being sincere isn’t he?

“Yes! So today, while I was shelving tapes at work, I was thinking about how the moon landing was totally faked, right? And then Steve just finished my thought, saying ‘oh yeah, they faked it for sure’ like it was nothing,” Robin says excitedly. ”I didn’t even say anything! He just read my mind!”

Now Eddie hasn’t been scared away from the freaky sides of things, it even earned him a nickname, but this is a little too weird. Even for him. There’s no way that Steve and Robin actually have supernatural powers, no matter how hard they try to believe it. But then Eddie notices how excited they both are, and the big smiles on their faces make him smile as well. Sure, they’re being ridiculous right now, but he figures they deserve to be after all they’ve been through.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What can I do to help?”

“Right, so…”

Apparently Robin has raided the Harrington’s personal library on all the science books they had (which Eddie had noticed in the hallway) and cooked up an experiment that will prove once and for all that she and Steve are telepathically connected. All Eddie has to do is a little word association, and if both Robin and Steve write down the same word without looking at each other’s answers, it proves their connection beyond any doubt.

Well, Eddie still has his doubts, but whatever.

Once Steve and Robin are all set, their backs against each other and a piece of paper and pen in hand, Eddie gives them their first word: chocolate. He gives them both five seconds to think of something, but while they look very confident, their answers don’t match up.

“Sorry. Steve said milk and Robin said cocoa,” Eddie tsks. “Not a match.”

“It’s basically the same thing,” Robin scoffs. “Another one.”

“Fine. Your next word is, uh, sun.”

After five seconds, Steve shows his paper, which says summer, while Robin’s says hot. Again, not a match.

“Well, summers are hot, so we’re getting close.” Steve shrugs. “We’ll get the next one, Robs, I can feel it.”

But with every word Eddie throws at them, they continue getting close to a similar answer (Steve answers ‘sky’ while Robin says ‘galaxy’ when Eddie gives them the word ‘star’) but it’s never an exact match. This doesn’t deter them in the slightest; they continue to be convinced of their powers while Eddie starts to believe less and less. Not that he believed it in the first place.

That is until…

“Okay, final one,” Eddie sighs, and because his stomach is rumbling, says, “Hungry.”

Steve and Robin scribble away on their papers and then show Eddie their words in unison. For the first time, they have the exact same word on paper: ‘pasta.’ Eddie must look either shocked or impressed at this turn of events, because Steve positively lights up at the sight of him.

“Did we get it?” He asks, looking over his shoulder at Robin’s paper and beaming when he sees the answer. “Robin! We got it!”

“I knew it! I knew we had a connection!” Robin exclaims. “Do you believe us now, Eddie?”

Eddie huffs in response. “That doesn’t prove anything. You’re just saying that because you were supposed to make pasta today, remember? You invited me over for lasagna?”

“Oh shit. You’re right,” Steve says with a sheepish grin on his face. He carefully removes the tinfoil hat and Eddie tries not to laugh at the ridiculous state of his hair. A very wise decision because he’s rewarded with a quick kiss from Steve. “I guess we got a little distracted. Sorry babe.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute,” Eddie flirts back. “Now, where’s the pasta?”

After the kitchen is cleaned up, Steve starts working on the lasagna. Eddie offers to help, but Steve tells him to just sit back and relax. Well, Eddie can definitely do just that. Robin does get to help though, saying something about the lasagna being her mom’s recipe, so she has the final say with the ingredients.

As Eddie watches them cook together, moving around the kitchen in perfect sync and handing each other spatulas and seasoning without asking for it, he can’t help but wonder if Steve and Robin do have some kind of psychic connection after all.

happy birthday!! @stobinesque 🎉🎁🎂 me and @legitcookie cooked up this little silly stobin brainworm for you to celebrate your birthday!! we hope you enjoyed!