#spn on the other hand takes itself way too seriously and because of that they have no fun and the last several seasons basically

[seaglassdinosaur]

I’m gonna make a controversial statement

Ninjago is the Supernatural of cartoons

[incarnateirony]

This isn’t even really my personal take or what I personally plan to do, but seeing fandom unironically play itself on engagement time and time and time again, maybe this will break through to some people.

So you’re big mad about SPN! I might be relatively at peace with it, but you’re not! That’s fine. Allow me to actually help you guys learn how to send a message that doesn’t end up with the business team sitting smugly!

There was a nonnie a few weeks back that told me I was ~arrogant~ for telling them to stop engaging the content. Something about privilege. What Nonnie lacks perspective on-- on most social media platforms, any engagement is good engagement.

I’m using tumblr as the platform to even send this out because it’s the least important among social media platforms. It doesn’t clock on, say, Nielsen, and it’s ad space is relatively laughable despite trying to clean up its image. 

But just like I told everyone for the last two years, and just like the suit ridiculously preached to me as if I hadn’t already been preaching it: to them, all engagement is good engagement.

There’s nothing you can do this late to change anything. What you CAN do is send a message to the wigs by letting them know they seriously fucked up their demographics and understanding of a product.

That means stop using the hashtags on prime media. Don’t #SPN or #Supernatural. Don’t even talk about SPN or Supernatural hashtag or not. Don’t engage them. Don’t argue with them. Don’t even complain about them. I know it’s really, really tempting, but on a marketing level /that shit still benefits them./

I know people think they’re making some kind of Statement(TM) by ranting on and on and on and fucking ON about Supernatural for years at a time, but it’s still engagement. All you really accomplish is getting relative keywords and ideas blacklisted alongside the shit you’re constantly bitching about. If they’re getting engagement and discussion (good) but it’s constantly attached to one group of people or idea that is starting to become too aggressive, that group is now a blacklist group.

I have been trying to teach people this for years but nobody has wanted to listen and kept digging fuckin’ holes. But maybe, just MAYBE, now that the show is over, you can stop.

Don’t tune into channels re-airing it.

Don’t stream any services. Cancel any related subscriptions.

Don’t look it up on youtube (yes, I’m aware that means even my channel will suffer), don’t watch reaction videos, don’t go to articles that talk about it.

Don’t even breathe about it. It doesn’t exist. 

If you absolutely MUST buy yourself a copy of it, go to places like second hand book stores that sell DVDs, because the resale doesn’t go to them but it’s still a legally purchased product.

Get everybody you know to do the same. Spread this by word of mouth on other platforms that DON’T benefit them in any way: tell your friends in discord to adopt the habit, tell your friends in DM.

As it is even tumblr isn’t *totally* useless to them for PR, it’s still engagement, it’s just not as... important? And this sentiment needs to be posted somewhere to get it out there, so it’s the best go.

I’ll tell you what *doesn’t* hurt them at all: people engaging the content, positive or negative, for all eternity. Congrats, you’re part of the PR machine.

All y’all really do, doing that, is hurt each other. And they don’t care.

Welcome to marketing. It’s machiavellian, but it’s how things work.

So if you actually plan to like. Make an impact instead of make noise. Actually just. Stop making noise. Entirely.

[laufire]

RNM 3x04

Although I’m enjoying the season so far, I gotta say, the episodes feel super disconnected, this one most of all. I blame the fact that Liz (THE LEAD) and Rosa still aren’t participating in the main fucking plot :)))

I’m still extremely wary of Rosa’s storyline. I think it makes sense for the character, and that *for now* they’re keeping it in line with it being more about Rosa proyecting/exorcising her issues than about Wyatt Long’s manpain, but. I’m eyeing it. And I really want her to be more involved in the main plot/do more stuff. Now that Kyle is in peril and Long is leaving town (which made me wonder whether he’ll become a suspect, actually), I hope that’s where she’s headed. I loved her art (it always has so much personality in it, I love how they do it) and her quote about people changing and becoming who they want to be.

I feel that with this storyline I’m doing a reverse of my usual “things I roll with in fiction but wouldn’t stand for irl” LOL. Because if I was in Rosa’s shoes I WOULD try to deradicalize someone like Long -and there’s no shortage of people like Long in my hometown, so I’m not just talking out of my ass here-, less for him and more as harm reduction and for my own morals. But this could derail Rosa’s storyline in really annoying ways. And I REALLY don’t trust this show’s track record with race. On top of that, a lot of the discourse around redemption arcs~ conveniently omits the fact that only white male characters are pressumed to get them after they commit horrible acts. Why can’t Flint, a MoC, be the one to get a redemption arc instead, for example? It could’ve been painfully easy to switch their storylines, and it could’ve been interesting since Rosa actually disliked him in high school. But the show suddenly decided to care for Long’s inner life. Because white characters (and people) are afforded more complexity by others, more good faith.

I’m not TOO worried about Kyle because it feels too early in the season to fully close that plot. But if they killed him I don’t know that I could continue with the show. I adore Rosa, but her storyline isn’t grabbing me; and I dig Michael’s family drama with Nora and the dictator, but they’re not as ~dear to me. Kyle this season was the one reuniting it all. And they can’t kill him before we figure out everything with the communicator and his father!! C’mon. Anyway. I did love him this episode, helping out; and his scenes with Michael (my rareship is sailing! xDD) were great, from their bitchiness with the radio to their perspectives during their argument. The moment Michael pushes him to take cover and then removes Kyle’s hand from his shoulder asldkfjaf. This fandom is weak for not writing me multiple pages of this rareship, js.

Speaking of rareships sailing LOL, I can’t believe after my joke post about Bert x Kyle I got a mini scene asdlfjasdf, where Bert talks to Kyle and pays a compliment to his mother. I’ve also said since then that I wanted more Bert in the show, but frankly, I wish it was for more alien/conspiracy/fun stuff (like his artisanal beer or his werewolf obsession! or get into the main alien plot!), and not an Issue Storyline that I don’t even trust the show to handle properly.

Maria and Isobel’s vision quest was fun, although I resent the fact that the Liz we saw for half the episode was a fake (seriously, BRING HER TO THE DAMN MAIN PLOT ALREADY). I don’t care much for the two of them bonding, tbh, but if it’s what Maria wants, so be it. And her moments with Kyle this season have made me more lenient towards Isobel, at least. I’m also curious about some of the elements in the quest: the first things Maria sees are Michael sitting in her bar and Rosa painting her table <33. Bert is around being attacked by racists. I also dig that either/both of them pictured Kyle in his doctor getup (with the radio).

Wrt the vision itself, I’m still on denial about the dead being Kyle lol. I’ve heard all the theories: fake death to hide the aliens (I hope that can get solved because if Kyle couldn’t for some reason continue his career in medice it would CRUSH him), and his mother (please don’t) seem the most likely options after this episode. Others are Sanders (for the hints in last week’s) or even Arturo (for Rosa and Liz’s reactions, although obviously the “Valenti” crest wouldn’t make sense there). I also don’t see how it makes sense to cover Kyle’s death if Logan killed him? Unless Max tries to heal him and leaves a handprint. Anyway, I hope none of the above die and it can be resolved. And BTW: the SPN war flashbacks I’ve witnessed in the tags with the “killing” method are. Something. I think RNM still kept the scene dramatic and the audience concerned, but man. The risk of that reference... I don’t know that it was worth it lol.

BRING LIZ TO THE MAIN STORYLINE FFS. I like what we see of her on LA in abstract, but in practice... she’s the lead ffs. One episode where she’s out and having a nice time dancing (those scenes were lovely, admittedly) like this one can be great, but after three episodes where she’s been so removed of it all? Nuh huh. Given recent events (Kyle’s attack, the handprint on her chest reacting, her resignation) I hope it changes soon. And I hope Heath can be taken at face value, because I don’t trust this show’s track record with MoC that could inconvenience its storylines (see Noah and Diego, or even Flint). Also, I LOLED at her dream in the beginning, with her imagining Max apologizing to her and expressing her own concerns about getting lost in their relationship lmfao (as if that would ever cross his mind xD).

His scenes with Kyle seem designed to get Michael out of his funk wrt his heritage, and I appreciate it (especially if it’s THIS, and not the useless or even counterproductive pep talks of anyone else Michael cares more about that does the trick lol). I’m still eagerly awaiting for development on this front. Related to that, I’ve seen the theories about Jones being his father, but. Eh. It’s not that I don’t see how it could be possible (he’s incredibly powerful and can make fire), but. To put it bluntly? I don’t think the actor can pull off what I want from the Dictator. I want someone charismatic, and preferably visibly older than Michael that actually looks like his father. Jones would be a terrible miscast on both accounts. If they bring someone else JUST for Michael it could also be a sign of him really taking over the storyline (which I’m still iffy about because of my other faves, but it’s an interesting way to see where the show is headed).

I feel they could have taken Jones to more interesting places but there’s still time. The good news is that he shaved his godawful beard AND saved a dog’s life lol. Also, am I the only one that thought he might’ve known Noah, when he grabbed his and Isobel’s picture? I’m curious about that.

[cathrrrine]

Otherworldly | SPN x The Witcher

Originally from my AO3

CHAPTER 2 - If It Isn't The Butcher

----

“She sent us here?”

The three of them were now seated in a tavern, not unlike the bars they were used to, but a little less cleaner than what they preferred.

”Atë sent us here.” Red confirmed. She recalled the conversation she had with her sister.

—

”She’s not here for games. She’s here to destroy the world.”

Red turned to her sister, Natalia, who looked as disheveled as an unattended child; hair messy, bags under her eyes, food staining her shirt and crumbs from the sandwich she ate before stuck at the edges of her mouth. She hadn’t showered or eaten properly for days, engrossed with her research on Atë.

Red, the ever caring sister, handed her a cup of coffee. ”Drink.”

”You’re not listening-“

”Drink. Then I will listen.” Red repeated. It wasn’t a request. Natalia sighed, knowing full well that her sister wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her hand reached for the cup, much to the satisfaction of her sister, and she took a sip of the warm beverage.

”Good. Now, what did you say?”

”Atë. She’s here on a mission to take what isn’t hers.” Although her words made Red’s spine shiver, she did not display her fear. Instead, she took the hair brush on the table and ran it through her sister’s hair.

Both of them had red hair, Natalia’s a few shades lighter than Red’s. But although they had the same hair colour, they didn’t share the same texture. Natalia inherited their mother’s straight and silky hair, while Red took to their father’s soft and curly hair. The two of them inherited the red from their father, who was a kind yet stern man.

Both their parents were dead now. They were all they had left. Well...except for the Winchesters, who came into their lives a few years back.

“She’s done this before. In 1834, look.” Natalia showed the proof from her laptop screen. Indeed, it was true. It was a report about a woman with a description that matched Atë’s. “She burned houses, people, crops...she took babies just to murder them. Atë kills and conquers.”

“There’s no doubt she came back to do this again. She wants to cause chaos. That’s all she knows.”

“There’s also something else.” It took Natalia a few clicks on her laptop. “It’s been said that she can send people to another universe.”

“What, like with aliens and shit? ”

“Maybe. It’s not impossible. If we’re not careful, she’ll send us off to wherever she wants to. And then we won’t be able to save the world from her antics.”

They shared a look. Fear was evident im their eyes.

“She’s extremely powerful.” Natalia sighed. “But we need to fight her.”

—

“This wasn’t an accident. She does this to people. Goddess of Mischief, remember?” Red scoffed, taking another swig of water. She would’ve gone for ale, like the white-haired man who lead them here, but she didn’t have any money. At least, none that were worth in the world she was in. So, instead she asked for water, which was fortunately costless.

“How do we get back?” Sam was worried, Red noticed. He never really put his emotions on display, but she’s known him long enough to point out his tells. If he was worried, his eyebrows would knit together subconsciously and he would constantly run his hands through his hair.

Red put her hand over his, and he looked up at her with a smile in his eyes. He intertwined their fingers together, and she stroked his hand with her thumb. It wasn’t an uncommon thing between them. Every time they noticed the other was nervous or scared, they would reach for the other’s hand.

“We have to find a witch.” said Red. “If we were back in our world, Rowena would be able to help us. We need to find someone as powerful as her.”

“Do they even have witches?”

“We could always...” she trailed off as her eyes landed on the person she was looking for. “...ask.”

“Him? Are you kidding me?” Dean shook his head disapprovingly. “He didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“I could ask.”

“No.” Sam gave her hand a squeeze. “He could kill you. We don’t know him.” It was a joke, but there was a hint of truth in there.

Red returned the squeeze, as if to say ‘Don’t worry’. Then she stood up to walk over to the Witcher’s table before they could protest further.

“Not much for company, I see.”

The man ignored her, but she knew he was listening. “We need your help.”

“I’ve helped you enough. You want any more of my services, you pay.”

She started to feel hopeless, but at the back of her head she heard her sister scolding her for giving up too early. “You know we don’t have the money. We’re not from your world.”

He acted as if he was unbothered.

“Listen.” She seethed, frustrated with the way he was treating her. “All we need to do is find a witch. Then you can leave us from there. You said you’re a Witcher, do you know anything about magic?”

The corner of his lips twitched, a laugh threatening to start. “Witchers hunt and kill monsters. What you’re looking for is a mage.”

“A mage?” Red took the seat across him and sat down, forcing him to look in her eyes. “We’re looking for a powerful one. Can you lead us to them?”

His amber eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the tavern. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of helping the three strangers, but he did not like the idea of stringing along dead weight. He had jobs to do.

“No.” He hummed, downing the glass of ale right after to avoid looking at the woman in front of him.

“No? Seriously?” She didn’t yell, but it seemed like she was close to it. “Okay, what do you want? Besides money.”

“I want you to go away.”

“We don’t know anyone else in this world.”

“You don’t know me either.” That was true. They didn’t even know each other’s names. He stood from his seat and grabbed his things, making a beeline for the exit. She followed suit, hot on his heels.

Red was pissed off. “At least tell me where I can find a mage!”

“Pay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She groaned. “Haven’t you heard anything I said? We’re lost! We don’t know anything about your world.”

They were already out the door, him at the front, trying to block out her voice.

“Look, please, just listen to me. Our world is in danger. We need to go back to save it.”

He knew a few things about saving. At this, he stopped in his tracks, contemplating. Red almost cried in relief when he did.

“If we don’t get back soon, the world- our world, will suffer. There’s someone who wants to destroy it and we’re the only ones who know how to stop her.” The last part wasn’t completely true. They were the only ones who knew what she was going to do to their world, but they didn’t know how to stop her yet. “Please.”

He turned, hearing the desperation in her voice. He gazed into her eyes, filled with a fire that he recognised all too well.

“Oi, that’s the Butcher!” A voice cried from their right. It was a man, obviously drunk, and he was dragging along a sword. The Witcher sighed, a scowl starting to creep on his face. He knew he would face something like this.

“If it isn’t the Butcher.” Another voice yelled. Red went silent, recognising the venom in the tone of the random man’s voice.

“Butcher?” She whispered.

At least half of the townspeople stopped in their tracks when they noticed the ‘butcher’, and a few men crowded around them.

“Get inside.” The Witcher growled to Red, but she couldn’t hear him among all the noise that the crowd was causing. The tension was thick, and Red reached slowly for her blade, ready to defend herself.”

“You’re no welcome here. You know that.” The drunk man slurred.

“I was here for a job. I seek no trouble.”

“No trouble? You’re presence is trouble itself.”

“Back off. I was just leaving.” But the drunk man wasn’t listening. He took his sword and swung. The Witcher dodged it, taking out his own sword from it’s sheath. They fought, the Witcher obviously winning, but he wasn’t planning on killing anyone today. He waited for the right moment before throwing a forceful punch his way, knocking the drunk man out immediately.

Red watched as the scene unfolded, not realising when a couple of men crept up behind her.

“You a friend of his?” One of them breathed, close to her neck. She whipped her head around, her face inches away from his. She took two steps back, trying to assess the situation.

“So what if I am?” She questioned.

“Then you just found yourself some trouble, missy.” In the blink of an eye, he swung a blade her way, missing her by inches when she managed to dodge it in time.

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t I get a break?”

Red attacked him, plunging her knife into his thigh. It wasn’t enough apparently, because he stood up fine, pouncing at her once again. She was quick to twirl her body around and kick him in the face, so hard that she could feel his teeth through her boot.

He fell, spitting out blood. It was a move that she used frequently while hunting, and it never failed to knock her victims out—whatever the species.

Another man moved to attack her from the back, this time she was caught off-guard. He had wrapped his arm around her neck, choking her. Just as she was struggling to stab him, his suddenly grip weakened. Red turned around to see Sam, holding a piece of hard wood that he used to hit the man on the head.

They shared a wordless grin for a second before resuming the fight. Dean had also joined, kicking and throwing punches. There were at least a dozen of men who were attacking them all. Why? The three humans didn’t have a clue. But they fought anyway.

Red turned to look for the Witcher, and was surprised when she found him struggling in a chokehold. He seemed strong enough to hold his own, but she ran his way and punched the side of his choker’s head, feeling the crack of her knuckles as it connected with his skull. It was enough to disorientate him.

“I had that.” The Witcher grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, sure you did.” She taunted, turning back to the man and kicking him in the stomach, then again in the face.

The Witcher stared at her, millions of thoughts popping into his head. Maybe she wasn’t dead weight after all.

Maybe he would consider helping her.

[kyber-kisses]

Where Nothing Stays Buried

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: violence, cursing, blood, spn level gore.

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: Blood from mouth

Summary: When the reader is hit by an unknown curse, things suddenly turn for the worse in the bunker.

A/N: So this is hella long and I have no idea how to feel about it, but I hope you guys enjoy this hot mess!

“I fucking hate witches, have I ever told you that?”

“About half a million times, Dean. But thank you for reminding me.” You sighed, letting out a yawn near the end of your sentence as you adjusted the straps of your duffel.

The two of you descended the stairs of the bunker, the metal steps creaking slightly beneath you with each step. The hunt had practically been a milk run. A witch a few towns over had been using communing with a spirit of some sort to pit people against each other. The witch was now six feet under and lives were saved. The whole thing had been wrapped up in less than a week and now you and Dean were back home, Sam having chosen to stay behind this time around.

“But seriously, they’re gross and creepy and I hate them immensely.”

“I know, Dean.” Sliding off the straps of your pack, you dropped it onto the map table.

“We still on for movie night, tonight?” Dean questioned, siding up besides you as he began unloading the weapons from his bag onto the table.

“Dude it’s -“ you reached over and grabbed his wrist, flipping it over to look at his watch. “9:30 at night.”

“But. . . Butch and Sundance.”

“Can wait one more day.” You smiled, giving him a pat on the shoulder as you turned. “I’m gonna go shower. I smell like roadkill.”

And just like that you were gone, disappearing down one of the many hallways of the bunker. Dean watched you go, eyes fixed one the corner you had just rounded.

“Well that’s adorable.”

Deans head spun to look towards the library, watching as his brother leaning against one of the pillars.

“You shut up.”

“All I said was that's adorable.”

“Yeah, and I told you to shut up.” Dean hissed, jabbing a finger at his brother before snatching up his own bag and leaving the room.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Around an hour later you found yourself standing at the kitchen counter, the bunker mostly silent as you made yourself a sandwich. Sam was seated at the kitchen table, typing away at something on his laptop, and the last you saw of Dean he was in the library rifling through one of the lore books.

“I didn’t have time to ask earlier, but how was the hunt?”

“It was fine.” You shrugged, licking a crumb off your finger as you continued to assemble your meal. “Thing was practically a milk run. It was almost too easy.”

“Dean told me the two of you got thrown around a lot.”

“Well witches are bitches.” You nodded, picking up the kitchen knife besides you. “But we’re both fine. . . I mean I think Deans a little disheartened that I didn’t want to do a movie night tonight, but he’ll get over that.”

“End it.”

Eyebrows suddenly drawing together in confusion, you looked back over your shoulder at Sam, the hunters eyes still glued to his screen. “What did you say?”

“ I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you sure? I could have sworn-“

“They’re playing you.” The voice came out of nowhere, like a soft breeze, barely audible to even your own ears. You shook your head. You were tired, that was all. You were just hearing things.

But not a second later a wave of warmth rippled through every nerve in your body . For a moment you tried to fight it, unsure exactly what was happening, but you quickly gave up. It wasn’t painful or scary, it was almost as if a heated blanket had been wrapped around you. Your body instantly calmed, shoulders relaxing.

okay, weird. Maybe it was just your body relaxing after a long day. Nothing to worry about

After a second your eyes were suddenly found interest in drifting towards the kitchen knife in your hand. The reflection from the overhead light refracting off the clean metal as you turned it in your hand. You pressed a finger to the top of the blade, not enough to break skin, but just enough to leave an indent.

“Move.”

At the sound of the voice, you did. Your body remaining relaxed as you turned on your heel and headed out of the kitchen, knife still in hand and Sam still too busy to notice.

As you stalked down the hallway, your strides full of purpose, you felt your fingers flex against the handle, almost as if trying to fight the movement all together. At the far end of the hallway, Dean walked into view, a book balanced in his forearm as he read. He glanced up from the page for a half a second, acknowledging your existence, and then looked back down.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Throw it.”

It was only when Dean glanced back down at his book that he had to do a double take, looking up just in time with wide eyes to see you pull your arm back, and with a light hop in your step, throw the kitchen knife down the hallway. Your steps not even faltering even after the utensil left your palm.

The hunter quickly ducked as the knife flipped end over end before burying itself in the wall behind him with a solid thwunk, the handle quivering from the impact. With wide eyes Dean looked up at the blade and then back to you.

“Y/N, what the hell?!”

There was no answer from you as you closed the distance between you and him. Still stunned by what had just happened, Dean didn’t have time to brace himself before you were sweeping your leg underneath him and knocking him to the floor, pinning him beneath you instantly.

“Y/N!”

He could see that you were winding up, your hand pulling back. In whatever way he could to stop you, his own fingers wrapped around your wrists, struggling to keep you from plowing foreword. Unfortunately that didn’t help, and even though your wrist was locked in his grasp, you brought your elbow upward, slamming it into his chin. Losing his hold on you his hand slipped.

Possession. It had to be possession. . . Or maybe a hex bag? One of those two.

As you delivered the first solid punch, the voice continued to coax you foreword, whispering softly into your ear. You listened. Giving yourself fully over to the force rippling through you.

“Y/N- listen to me-“ Dean gasped, eyes wide as he watched you bring your hand back. “Somethings- somethings wrong.”

Another solid punch had his head knocking back against the linoleum floor, a groan leaving his lips. He didn’t notice the commotion down the hall until your weight of your body was gone and you were suddenly being pulled off him by two strong sets of hands.

Gasping in a lungful of air, he slid back, his back hitting the wall as he tried to gather himself. Both Sam and Cas were holding you tightly back as you tried to lunge at Dean, a fire blazing in your eyes.

“Let me go!”

“Y/N-“

Clearly they were trying to keep their hold on you somewhat loose as if to not hurt you, but that was a terrible idea because you managed to fight them off and throw yourself forward as Dean again. His hunter reflexes kicked in before he could stop and all of a sudden he was driving his fist into your jaw, making you stumble back.

This time Sam and Cas grabbed you with more force, looping their arms underneath your armpits as they pulled you back.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?!”

“Does it look like I fuckin know?!” Using the back of his hand to wipe the blood away from his mouth, he watched the two struggle to keep you back.

He had punched you. He could see the welt already forming on your jaw. What the hell was happening?

“We need to tie her down-“ Sam struggled with the words, your strength still being difficult to keep under control.

“The dungeon.” Cas spoke, looking to Sam for approval before the two were pulling you down the hallway. Your heels kicked against the floor as you were dragged backwards screaming.

And then the words to leave your mouth had Dean heart stop in his chest momentarily.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” You screamed, face pulled up in pain as you struggled. Your eyes both glassy and full of rage as you fought. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

A second later you were dragged around the corner, you yells continuing to echo through the bunker. Trying to process what was happening, Dean slumped back against the wall, eyes full of confusion and pain.

Something happened on that case that he didn’t see. . . Because that wasn’t you. Not at all.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Twenty minutes later, Dean found himself seated at one of the library tables, an ice pack pressed firmly to his eye. He had tried to go see you after you had been dragged into the dungeon, but one thing was very clear : Whatever was infecting you was making you target him. Sam and Cas had told him it wasn’t a good idea to be within your line of sight.

“She still angry as a little viper?” Dean mumbled, his eyes cast downward when he heard the two enter the room. He knew that answer though already. You had practically been screaming nonstop for the last twenty minutes. The sounds muffled by the walls of the bunker.

“Yeah. She’s locked down. She’s not getting free of the bindings we put on her.” Sam sighed, sinking into one of the vacant seats across from him. It was only when Dean finally looked up, did a hiss escape his teeth. Clearly you had gotten a few good licks in with both Sam and Cas. The two sporting several welts and scratches.

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. Let’s just say she’s not holding back or pulling her punches.” Sam winced.

“It’s gotta be possession. It’s gotta be.”

“We already checked. It’s not.” Cas butted in. “Plus, she has an anti-possession tattoo, remember?”

“So then it’s a hexbag.”

“Guess again. We didn’t find anything on her.”

“Well then what the hell is happening to her?” Dean picked up his head fully. It felt like his thoughts were moving at a million miles an hour. “She was fine when we got back.”

“I don’t know. Could be a curse maybe?” Sam shrugged. “Something that latched onto her during the case?”

There was a pause as Dean sucked in his lips, silently contemplating what to do. “I want to see her.”

“Dean, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She seems to be the most angry at you. I mean, she did attack me and Cas as well but. . . Even just the mention of your name while we were in there made her go ballistic.”

Dean ignored his brother, instead moving to push himself out of his seat, dropping the ice pack on the table. “Well we cant help her if we’re all just sitting her twiddling our thumbs.” He paused again, looking back down at his hand. “. . . I hit her Sam.”

“It was instinct. You were protecting yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter, Cas! I punched her and I-“ Dean knew he shouldn’t feel guilty but he couldn’t help it. He had hurt you. You. One of the people he cared about the most. He needed to make this right. He needed to help you.

*. *. *. *. *.

Struggling against the stiff bindings keeping your arms securely bound to your chest, you leaned forward in your seat, taking in the shackles on your ankles. The room was empty aside from yourself. Sam and Cas having locked you in here a good five minutes ago.

“They’re talking about you, you know.”

“Let them.”

A sudden shadow off to your side suddenly caught your attention, making you look up. You thought you were alone. Clearly that was not correct.

“You’re the voice I’ve been hearing.”

“That I am.”

The shadow slowly slid into the light, revealing a thin figure wrapped in black. She moved like smoke, her hair long and a shade of purple so dark that you originally thought it was black when you first looked. Hers eyes shining like molten golden. A soft smile played on her dark lips as she moved foreword.

“Who are you?”

You see, for most people in this situation they would be scared out of their minds. But that didn’t happen. Not to you at least. All you felt was calm, the same way one might feel when held in their mothers arms.

“A god. But that doesn’t matter.” Her smile widened as she dragged a nail across your cheek. “What matters is that I’m helping you.”

“Oh.”

At that same time, the doors to the dungeon were pulled back open by one Dean Winchester, his brother and Cas standing behind him. You expected them to say something, to direct their attention towards the unknown woman besides you, but then you realized it was because they couldn’t see her.

Only you could.

“Look at them. So oblivious to the pain they’ve brought you.” She tutted, head tilting slightly in amusement.

You looked past Dean as if he wasn’t there, instead directing your attention towards Sam. “Sam, let me out.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Let. Me. Out.” Taking time to sound out each word, you began your struggle against your bindings once more. It was like there was in itch underneath your skin, and the only way to get rid of it was to attack.

“Y/N, we wanna help you.” Dean tried, attempting to take a step closer, only for you to lash out even more. He stepped back.

“He’s lying. They don’t help people. All they do is send them to their deaths.” The woman whispered, leaning down close to your ear. “Think about it.”

“You even listening to us?”

Your eyes blazed again as you looked up through the strands of hair hanging over your eyes. “I want you dead. . . I want you all dead.”

That caught them slightly off guard. The three men sharing a look between them like they didn’t know what to do.

“Look at you.” The figure cooed, hand coming to cup you cheek. The contact making you relax slightly. “They cause you nothing but suffering. Don’t you want to be free of it all?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it. How you’ve lost so many friends because they roped them into to helping them fight their battles.”

It was like throwing fuel onto a fire, and like a million times before you attempted to lunge foreword. The rage running through you like a wild animal.

“You’re terrible people! You keep getting the people I care about killed!” You snapped, almost on the verge of tears. “It’s like we’re all pawns in your game! Charlie, Bobby, Kevin-“

You ignored the heartbreak on Deans features. The hunter clearly losing his battle at hiding his emotions.

“Unravel him.”

“Am I next? The next person in your line of sacrifices? The next person to give up their life to keep you going?”

“It has never been like that. Ever!” Dean swallowed thickly, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“Liar.” You paused, suddenly a new idea was slipping into your brain. “You know what, let’s make this all easier. Instead of waiting for my eventual death to come, no doubt somehow because of you. . . Just kill me now.”

“Y/N-“ Dean choked out your name like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “Don’t say that.” One second you wanted them dead, and now you wanted them to kill you. He didn't know which was worse.

“Why not? It’s true isn’t it? I’d finally be free of you, and all the death that follows you. If I can’t kill you-“ you gestured to your restrains keeping you from going anywhere. “this is the next best option.”

“Y/N, we care about you. We’re not going to do that.” Cas spoke up, reminding you that he was there.

“They’re trying to pull you in. Don’t let them. They think your weak.”

“If you care about me, you’ll kill me.”

Dean opened his mouth as if to speak, but only snapped it shut once more. Shaking his head he pressed passed his brother and Cas. He couldn’t be around this. This was a whole other type of pain.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Three days.

Three days of combing through the lore for anything that might point them in the right direction, and nothing. Resting his chin in his palm, Dean flipped the page of the book he was currently reading through. Sam sat across from him in a similar position. They had barely gotten any sleep in days, too busy trying to find a way to help you. A moment later, Cas was walking back into the room, even the angel had a tired expression.

“Well?”

“Well, she is still refusing to eat and I can’t remember the last time she actually drank the water we brought her.”

Dean cursed under his breath. Along with the violence and hurtful words, you now refused to cooperate. It was like you were trying to get them to snap.

“I’ll go check on her.”

“Dean-“

Dean was already down the steps before either of them could stop him. “don’t try and stop me.”

You were exactly where they last left you, your head hanging low up until the point in which Dean stepped into the room. At the sound of his foot pattern you looked up. The fire in your eyes still hadn’t gone out, and he could practically see the fury radiating off of you in waves.

“Well look who decided to visit.”

“I didn’t come here to talk.” Letting out a deep sigh, he knelt down to inspect your restraints, making sure they hadn’t loosened at all.

“You finally come here to finish me off like I asked?” Flexing your fingers you leaned foreword, the hunter looking up to find his face inches from your own.

“I ain’t killing you. Ever.”

“You’re just a pawn in their game. They will still be ready to sacrifice you at a moments notice for the greater good. That’s all you are. An pawn.”

Rising back to his feet, Dean made his way around you to check the chains keeping you to the chair. The heavy metal had been looped several times around you, a lock fastening it to a ring at the base of the chair.

“Do you know how many people would still be alive if you hadn’t let them wander into your lives? So many. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, the hunter tried to ignore your words. You were trying to make him snap.

“Stop talking-“ he began, only for his words to fall short as he glimpsed something beneath the collar of your shirt. Taking a step back he tilted his head before suddenly rushing to pull down the back of your shirt. “What the hell?”

With a newfound urgency the older Winchester dove his hand into the pocket of his jeans to fish out his phone. Snapping a quick picture he was gone before you could use anymore words against him.

The hallway towards the library had never felt longer as he rushed through it, eyes fixated on the photo.

“Sam, I think I got something!”

Both heads turned quickly as he entered the library, his feet momentarily sliding on the wooden floor.

“Good, because I think I got something too.” Turning the book around on the tabletop he pushed it towards Dean and Cas before taking Deans phone from his extended hand and looking down at the picture. “That’s what I thought.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the five fingered hand of Eris.”

“. . . Okay I’m gonna need a bit more than that, Sam.”

The hunter sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Eris is the Greek goddess of strife and discord. it says here that she’s marks her victims with the symbol, basically feeds them lies and tries to pit them against others.”

“Goes it say why she keeps lashing out more towards me, and not you? I mean she aint giving any of us friendly looks, me especially.”

“It says the stronger the emotional attachment, the stronger the hold. but that's about it.” Sam shrugged.

“Alright, then how do we stop it? Get rid of the symbol?”

“Um- give me a sec.” swinging the book back around, Sam flipped through a few pages before stopping. “Yeah, you can stop it but— oh.”

“Oh? What’s that mean oh? Was that a good oh or a bad oh?

“There’s not exactly a spell to get rid of it.”

“Not exactly?” Dean repeated, looking back over his shoulder at Cas who merely shrugged.

Sam pressed his lips together. Dean wasn’t gonna like this. He wasn’t gonna like this one bit. Hell, he didn’t like this- but it was the only option in the book.

“Sam?”

“All we need is a silver knife.”He could see Dean buffering, the hunter trying to put two and two together. He gave him another minute before adding “we have to cut it out of her.”

“what?” Suddenly Deans voice was much quieter, the man taking a step back from the table. “no, there has to be another way.”

“This is literally the only way to stop it. There is no other way.”

Dean already felt terrible for hitting you that one time, and now they were telling him they had to literally carve out a symbol that was basically branded to your back? No. That was too much.

“You can’t ask me to do that.”

“You don’t have to. I can do it, but someone needs to hold her down. We can’t do it if she’s chained to that chair.” Already rising from his own seat, Sam looked past Dean towards Cas. “Do you still have that blade we found in that crypt a few months back?”

“Yes.”

“Then that should work.” Sam nodded, it was only when he and Cas were at the door did they realize Dean had yet to move.

“Dean.”

Snapping out of the zone, the hunter nodded before quietly following them. Just the thought of bringing harm to you was too much. The image making his stomach flip.

The three made quick work of releasing you from the confining chains, the metal clanging against the cement floor of the dungeons as they slid from your body.

“Finally come to kill me like I asked?” You spoke, eyes glancing towards the blade in Sam’s palm. The younger Winchester remained silent, watching as Dean suddenly replaced the thick chains you had grown accustom to with a pair of handcuffs.

What happened next was so fast that you barely registered it. Dean suddenly tugged you firmly against his chest, locking his arms around you. The action made you struggle in his grasp as he sunk to his knees, bringing you down with him. It would be easier keeping you still this way.

“What the hell are y-“

It was Cas who stepped in next, pressing two fingers to your temple. Dean wasn’t exactly sure what the angel was doing but he felt you slightly loosen in his arms, your struggling slowly stilling as you panted.

“Sam, do it.”

The hunter didn’t need to be told twice before he was pulling up the back of your shirt. The marking was nestled between your shoulder blades and was almost the size of Deans palm. It looked like a brand, two opposing arrows converging at a common point.

“Hold her still.”

“I fucking am-“ Dean hissed through his teeth, turning his head away as Sam brought the tip of the blade to your flesh. Dean didn’t need to be told what was happening because a second later that’s when you started to scream, lurching in his arms. The heat from your breath seeped into the fabric of his shirt as you cried out, struggling in his grip.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry-

That was the only thing running through his head as he buried his face in your shoulder, clutching you tighter to keep you from moving. Soon enough your screams mixed with sobs and Dean couldn’t tell if he was feeling your tears or his own. For the longest time Dean thought he could never truly feel someone else’s pain, but those screams of yours came close. They ripped through him like shards of glass and brought a whole new type of agony. The worst part was it felt like it went on for an eternity, but once it stopped, Dean was still afraid to loosen his hold. Your screams faded into sobs and your weight fully fell into him, face buried in his shoulder.

“Please tell me it’s over.”

At the sight of Sam pulling away with bloody hands, Deans stomach lurched again. That was your blood.Yours.

“It’s over.” Sam looked towards Cas, the angel lifting his hand from your temple before touching it to your back. A warm light spilled over you skin momentarily and then he was pulling back.

“I’ve healed most of it, but she still needs bandages.”

Seeing that Dean wasn’t going to be moving, Sam nodded already moving towards the door. “I’ll go get em. I need to wash my hands anyways.”

“Okay-“ Dean sucked in a lungful of air, suddenly feeling as if he had just run a marathon. “Okay.”

The worst part was over.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

The bunker was quiet. At least much more than it had been before. As Dean made his way down the dimly lit hallway he saw that your room was still empty. It had been for the past week, ever since they cut that marking out of you. Moving past your door way, he stepped into the dungeon, knocking on the door frame to alert you of his presence.

“You gonna come out and join us for dinner?”

“No.”

“Y/N, you’ve barely eaten.” Dean sighed, stepping into the room. “Plus, you need to sleep in an actual bed. Not on the floor.”

Your back was facing him, knees tucked into your chest as you let your hand run over the devils trap beneath you. “I’m not leaving.”

Another sigh. He knew you would say that. Even though the symbol was off of you, you were terrified you might hurt someone again. . . So you had chosen to stay in the dungeon. Sam and Cas had taken off your restraints days ago but you had clamped a shackle back over your ankle for good measure.

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone. Sam got that thing off of you.”

You couldn’t allow yourself to face him. Your eyes instead going to your hands. “We don’t know that. . . “ you paused, eyes stinging with inside tears. “I hurt you. I said terrible, awful things to you- I tried to kill you.”

“It was a curse. That happens.”

“If it was the other way around, could you let it go?”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought.”

Suddenly Dean was kneeling down in front of you, big jade eyes staring at you with tenderness. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just- I don’t want you believing anything of what I said. I don't want you thinking for even a second that I hate you.”

“I don’t.”

“I told you guys that you use your friends like pawns. That it’s your fault that we’ve lost people. . . That’s not- that’s not true.” You stumbled on the words, finding it difficult to speak.

“Hey, hey it okay. I get it.” He squeezed your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. “I went through something similar when I had the mark of Cain. I was spitting out stuff that wasn’t true as well.”

“How can you forgive me?”

“The same way you forgave me when I had the mark.” Dean mumbled against your hairline. “Now how bout we get you out of here and get back to normal?”

“How do we do that?”

“One step at a time.”

“. . .I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

SPN Taglist: (Still Open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl  @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester  @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs @mila-dans @mrsmaybankhere @malindacath  @littleagxs @deanwanddamons @idksupernatural​

[plant-akki]

Just found the translations to teo & oh fuck.. huge HWS piri energy,,

(Bonus: the title was translated as "theo" & brrrr mostly catholic country brrrr but idk how accurate that is)

I wonder how long will I be able to keep up the act

Saw that a huge chunk of the fandom see him as the type to hide his sadness beneath a cheery attitude so that's fitting..

Will I be able to say goodbye when you want to go home?

What if piri's reluctant to part ways with AS3AN whenever the meeting ends because he's scared, scared that there's no next time for him & the next piri is someone entirely different again

The signs I'd missed that day fade bit by bit

But I'm sure things will be fine. We'll meet again, just as we have

He's all too aware that there's a lot of gaps in his memory & hoped that he won't lose any more, that he'd still be him the next time he meets AS3AN

I close my eyes

Is it too late to leave a few small wishes?

Will I be able to say "welcome back" when the light returns?

Modern piri suddenly remembering the times when spn mostly wiped out his precolonial past &.. this art came to mind

Precol piri having regrets & was seriously doubting he'd live on to be able to meet the precol nations he befriended again

I must go

Call that the most beautiful thing in the world

(Not too sure here, maybe mex leaving to win their own independence?)

Just wait until we take back

All that's been stolen from us!

Idk the exact scenario but aaaaaaa imagined piri being determined here, maybe to free himself from spain like how mex did

More

Round and round, make me dizzy

Back and forth, sway me like never before

Ensue the times piri's people tried fighting back against their oppressors maybe

Brighter and brighter, let it shine

The sun shining down brightly on these people who were giving a war cry

Softly

I summon the wounded night

And cast a single little magic spell

And just like that we can fly!

What if piri mixed in with these people & they're tending to each other during the night

Don't avert your gaze! Keep it straight

Nothing will stop us at this point

Until the magic wears off - until then

Hold on tight! To my hand

My hand

Piri's people maybe hyping themselves up, telling themselves not to waver, to keep on fighting & to fight together

Not a single one left behind

We'll reclaim every last piece, that's all

Until the magic wears off - until then

Hold on tight! To my hand, my hand

My hand!

Maybe this is piri's ideal.. to unite all his people & not leave anyone behind & by then, he can work on reclaiming the past they lost

It was impossible from the start for us to avoid committing crime

And so we decided accordingly that if we at least were to continue to hide the fact . . .

That in itself would be an honest fact

Maybe piri's self-induced dark times.. that I won't get into detail because I still want to live

Just wait until we take back

All that's been stolen from us!

Random but I remembered that post claiming that Independence Day is not simply a date but rather, an ongoing fight to both protect the people's freedom & to reinforce their national identity

Which.. ngl I feel these lyrics resonate nicely with that

Softly

I summon forth the wounded night

And cast a single little magic spell

And just like that, we can fly!

Now my mind went to this art like

Piri feeling despondent on his independence day but was revitalized when one of his own people validated him & the country as a whole, including all the fights they went through to somewhat secure a time of peace

More!

Round and round, make me dizzy

Back and forth, sway me like never before

And then Piri having a party with his fellow SEA nations

Brighter and brighter, let it shine

Maybe zoom in to Piri's bright smile here

Don't avert your gaze! Keep it straight

Nothing will stop us at this point

Until the magic wears off - until then

Hold on tight! To my hand

My hand

Not a single one left behind

We'll reclaim every last piece, that's all

Until the magic wears off - until then

Hold on tight! To my hand, my hand

My hand!

So yeah until he's disillusioned again, he & his people will just have to continue fighting, reclaim their past & support each other as much as possible

And maybe the ideals they have for the country, maybe they can turn them into reality someday.

[queenofgoats]

Thank You For Being A Friend | Imagine a night out with Dean

Summary: On her first hunt, OC fails all along the line and falls into an emotional down. Now Dean tries to cheer her up and takes her out.

Characters: POV fem!OC x Dean

Word Count: 2.746

Warning: insecurities, alcohol, flirtations and words = just spn

A/N: Hello dears!

I wrote this little FF for the challenge from supernatural-love14. My prompt was: "we probably shouldn't be doing this"

The hardest part was definitely the bar. I miss the old social life so, so much! 

Still, I hope you have as much fun reading here as I do writing.

Have fun! :)

"We probably shouldn't be doing this..." I said slowly. Emphasizing each word.

My eyes rested on the two brothers in front of me.

“That's exactly what I told you. I mean, I'm terribly sorry for what happened, but you know...”

Actually, I wanted to apologize last night, but it turned a bit differently somehow.

None of this would have happened if the Winchesters had listened to me. And if I wouldn't have let them convince me.

“I know.” Sam sighed into his coffee.

His brother, on the other hand, didn't seem quite as guilty: “But it wasn't our idea that you would get drunk this hard and jump right at the next dude’s lips.”

Dean had a point.

It should only be a small drink. After months of isolation in the bunker, I was allowed to join a case for the first time. Do some research in the library, get a taste of civilisation and just come out again in general. Easy thing.

Because back in the bunker I had created a whole new definition of cabin fever. Not something to be proud of to be honest.

The case itself seemed pretty clear and totally easy at first.

Nobody would have expected that the wraith with a faible for “Schoolgirl Report” would work with an incubus. Nobody!

The last-named picked me up later in the bar, where we three had toasted, to get revenge on his dead friend.

It was horribly. Bloody. And I had a new topic for my future therapist.

“I’m really sorry.” I finally mumbled.

I felt terrible. Just because of me, Sam was forced to wear a cast on his arm again.

Now it was me who buried her eyes in the coffee.

"I should have known. That will never happen again. Promise!"

Dean looked up: "How would you have known?"

I winced, caught and hesitantly tried to explain myself.

“Well. Actually it was obvious that I normally wouldn't have a chance with a guy like him...

“Oh come on!” Dean interrupted me despising “Don’t do this the girly way.”

“...but it’s true! Please look at you and then at me. I…”

First I started to give more examples of my low self-confidence, but decided against it.

Nothing honest ever comes around in these talks. You're just trying to make the other feel better.

“Okay, wait. Just forget it. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Let’s say it was my fault and won’t happen again. Ever!”

I stopped the subject and did not tolerate any contradictions.

Sam seemed to want to say something, but luckily I put him off with my eyes.

Our breakfast ended in awkward silence.

Less than an hour later, I found myself in my motel room packing up my things. Even if unconsciously, I gave myself more time here than necessary.

The mood between us was strange. Of course, once in a while in the bunker we were bitching at each other, but this situation will set the course for possible further cases. Or living together in general.

Exhausted, I sat down on the edge of the bed and fell back with my arms outstretched.

Thoughtfully, I pale my cheeks and let the air slowly escape.

I sure didn't have too much pride to apologize. Mostly too often rather than too little.

But this was different.

The Winchesters had seen a side of me, that no one else had seen before. The little, vulnerable girl who just wants to be good enough. I hated her.

Not even I confronted her myself. I knew from experience that other people got ther completely wrong. Attention whore and fishing for compliments were nicer reactions.

Oh dear Chuck, I prayed that Sam and Dean would just forget about this and never bring it up again.

At this moment I heard car doors slamming shut outside in the parking lot. That gave me a little nudge and I finally got up.

I put my travel bag under my arm. On the heel I turned around again briefly to make sure that I had really not forgotten anything and finally closed the door.

Sam and Dean stood at the Impala and seemed to be talking about something quite emotional.

They even played Rock-Paper-Scissors.

“Hey boys, are we ready?” I interrupted them from afar. Not that I got anything in my ears that wasn't meant for me. They startled and turned to me.

I almost felt a little transported back to school. Despite the queasy feeling in my stomach, I just ignored it. Stowed my things in the trunk and went to my place in the back seat.

Unfortunately the ride didn't get any better. It wasn't that anyone was mad, but there was definitely something between us. How am I supposed to fix it?

A few hours later we arrived at the bunker late at night.

I literally jumped out of the car and ran down to my room. Did I ever feel so out of place?

Probably not. I couldn’t stand them at the moment and needed to be alone for a few minutes.

Just as I threw my jacket on the bed, there was a knock on the door.

“Yes please?” I sounded more annoyed than actually wanted.

Unusually careful, Dean entered the room and looked at me quite defensive.

“I overreacted, sorry for this.” I sighed. “This was not necessary.”

“Yeah, normally you’re not a drama queen. So it’s okay.”

Dean stepped across the room and sat on the edge of my bed: “That’s why I… or we think you didn’t exaggerate this morning. You really meant it ”

We?! Did they talk about me?

I cleared my throat.

“Oh boy... Embarrassing.” It rang out of me.

Dean continued: “Uhm, I’m sorry too! I really am! That didn’t go well for all of us.”

He stopped and fixed indefinite points in the room. Apparently he was looking for the right words.

“You know. You are here… with us all along. And hey, you are a girl and have needs...”

I didn't know where this was going, but I did not like it.

“Dean. No. Seriously. We won’t have The Talk. I told you, something like this will never happen again and it’s fine. Can we leave it at that, please?”

We couldn’t. He raised his finger and looked deep into my eyes: “No.”

I huffed.

“You deserve to have fun and go out from time to time.”

“Yeah and you remember how it ended?”

“That’s why you are going out with me. I’m not a monster and in case of emergency I’ll protect you.”

I looked at Dean Winchester for quite a while.

In the middle of the room I stood there, arms crossed. Trying to hold back my anger.

“Wow. Really. How heroic.”

He hadn't expected this reaction: “What?”

“First: You do this out of pity. Second: Your pity is not big enough. So you and your brother fought to see who had to take me out.”

Caught!

“Why would you think that?” He asked, playing outraged.

“You can’t fool me, Dean. And I saw you at the parking spot back at the motel. You and Sam played about it. Since you always lose and are here now...”

There was silence.

“Wow.” Dean huffed. “You must think I'm quite a dick now.”

“Not only quite.” I said and immediately smirked slightly. Of course I can’t stay mad.

Slowly I walked to the bed and sat next to him.

“I mean… I know you had the best intentions, but... It’s just… Can you imagine how I feel? Going out, just because someone feels sorry?”

In fact, it made me feel worse than before.

“I didn’t mean to.” Dean apologized. “But I want you to feel better. Nevertheless.”

Right the next evening I stood in front of my mirror and applied some eyeliner. Or rather corrected it.

I haven’t opened my makeup bag in ages. Let alone putting on a simple cover stick.

Jepp, I was quite nervous. Even if Dean and I agreed to go out, but as friends, it scared me a bit.

Just couldn’t tell why.

I was so insecure! Every view of myself made it worse. Was the lipstick too much? Maybe I should change the dress. It was way too short! Phew, and my thighs have seen better days.

These months in the bunker didn't exactly flatter my figure.

Maybe I should cancel this evening.

“Hey, swing down sweet Chariot!” Dean poked his head through the door and tapped his watch. “Hurry up!”

Oh dear Chuck, what have I done? It’s not that I think anything would change in the relationship between Dean and me, but still...

“One minute!” I replied and walked quickly to the door.

His eyes went wide and he formed his lips for a whistle.

“Don’t do it!” I interrupted him. “Let’s go. I need a drink. Urgent.”

Dean just laughed and followed me to the Impala. Noticing he also dressed up.

Not a flannel shirt in sight, just a simple but fine black one.

Apparently Dean tried to take my nervousness away and covered everything with slightly gentleman behavior. First held the car door open for me and then, while I reached for the not existing seatbelt,

he held a small bottle of sparkling wine under my nose.

“It’s going to be a four hour drive. Save it.”

Now he had me. I laughed: “Thank you. You’re the sweetest.”

After we left the streets of Lebanon and I took a few relieving sipps, I asked him where we were actually going.

“Vegas, Baby!” was the answer.

I raised an eyebrow: “Okay I’m in, but Elvis takes me to the altar.”

Dean chuckles. “Alrighty then.”

Of course it was not Vegas, but we ended up in Kansas City. And that meant big city. Like really big. Skyscraper. Waste Gas. Too many people. I missed it so much! All of it.

“Oh Dean, you're making me the happiest girl in the world.”

He laughed: “Oh dear, I hear this pretty often.”

What was the last time I saw a billboard with LED lights?

It took us a while to find a parking space and finally to stand in front of a bar. At first it didn't look like anything. I even tried to remember when I had my last tetanus vaccination.

But when we got inside we stood in a very cozy place. Dark red curtains hung on the walls, while the light provided a pleasant atmosphere.

Dean and I chose one of the dark leather sofas that I'm sure has seen quite a few butts in it’s life.

It was so soft!

Excited, I grabbed the drinks menu from the small table in front of us. I spent so many weeks in the bunker, this trip was just liberating.

“Dean, this is so awesome!” I thanked him again. “Do you already know, what do you want to drink?”

He laughed quietly. “Dunno. Couldn’t look in the menu yet.”

It didn't take long for the two of us to place our orders. Just as the waitress left, I turned to Dean.

“Hey erm…” I cleared my throat. “I know, I've been saying it the whole time, but now again, calmly and seriously: Thank you very much Dean.”

I let my gaze wander around the bar and put the next words in my head. A mildly sigh escaped my lips.

“And I know you are doing this, just because you feel sorry for me.”

I paused and raised my hands defensively: “Which is fine! Really! Oh dear... What I actually want to say is… You are a good friend, Dean.”

Something in Deans face changed and he began to look at me like only his brother normally does.

“Do you really think so? For the last time: I’m here with you, because I want to. No lost bet or anything else.”

He rubbed his face, puffing.

“You just think too much.” He stopped while the waitress brought us our drinks.

He grabbed his glas and raised it: “Promise me one thing. Don’t worry about anything tonight and just… have fun.”

A warm smile laid on his lips.

“Promise.” I agreed and toasted my glass.

Some drinks later I was much more relaxed. I completely forgot that I could laugh heartily.

Not a thought has been wasted on the end of the world. There was only this moment. Like a little safespace.

In front of me was no longer Dean Winchester the hunter, but a good friend.

Someone you like to be around. I felt good.

“Hey you two, can I do something good for you?” The waitress asked very friendly.

Dean waved with his empty glass and ordered another round for us.

Toughfully I looked at him: “We already had a lot of drinks. Don’t you have to drive? Cause I can’t anymore.”  

He looked at me thoughtfully.

“Yeah… you’re right. But I don’t want to go yet.”

Dean paused.

“I like it here.” He said with a smirking face.

I leaned back quite drunk: “However, a normal cola couldn't hurt. Otherwise you have to hold my hair later.”

We decided to take a motel afterwards near the bar.

“...you had to see Sammy's face! He was so pissed!”

Dean told about his poor brother. Siblings were the best and the worst at the same time.

“That’s mean.” I commented. “Hilarious, but mean.”

A lot more drinks later we just fooled around. At first I didn't notice that we were sitting very close together, only when Dean put his hand on my knee.

I looked down confused, but let him do it.

When was the last time something like this happened to me? Way too long! Then I thought about WHO was actually sitting next to me. And winced.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked unexpectedly softly while not moving his hand.

I huffed. Not that I was uncomfortable, it was just... new.

My cheeks literally glowed. Slightly nervous I smiled at him.

“No. Erm wait. Yes. I’m okay. Yeah.”

Accidentally my eyes stuck on his lips. His so perfectly formed lips.

Have they always looked so soft?

I forced myself off Dean's forbidden beautiful lips, only to sink into his eyes.

Now I knew how a moth felt in the face of the moon.

“I am really glad that you are here with me.” His voice was more like a breath.

We both leaned forward a little at the same time. Barely noticeable.

My heart jumps right into my throat. I knew what was about to happen, but my insecurity cut it off.

Why did I fool myself into this situation? Dean Winchester would never. Especially not with me. That’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous!

Suddenly Dean brushed a lost strand of hair from my face and gently ran his finger down behind the ear until it reached the chin. There he paused.

The skin he touched felt electrified. My goosebumps had goosebumps!

“Don’t think too much. Remember?”, he taught me.

His voice forced me out of my head and back into the bar. Back to his eyes.

I wasn’t able to say anything. So I just nodded.

The hand went back up from the chin. Very slowly. Stroking my cheek and sliding in my hair.

His touches calmed me.

He got to the back of my head, slowly pulled me towards him.

When our lips touched a switch inside me flipped. I was no longer able to think anything up, just let myself go. While his scent settled in my nose and seemed to rise into my head.

The lips were much softer than I could have dreamed of. They tasted a little like whiskey.

My eyes closed all by themselves and my body leaned itself towards. Even my tongue had developed a life of its own and began to ask for entrance very carefully. Just to be met by Deans.

I put my hand on the back of his neck and moved down. Resting at his chest.

All of a sudden I became aware of what I was doing. And with whom.

Against my own will, I broke the kiss and only brought as much distance as necessary between us.

“We probably shouldn't be doing this.” I lied to myself, but not moving my hand from his chest.

Dean sighed heavy: “Would you just stop saying this?”

Barely pronounced the last words, he pulled me into an intense kiss again.

[alleiradayne]

LONG JACKET A DESTIEL-ISH SERIES

Over the last few years, I’ve seen some of the craziest shit hunting with the Winchesters and their angel, Castiel. But this story right here? This isn’t about monsters. This isn’t about the battle between good and evil, heaven and hell. I understand all that.

It’s people I don’t get. People are crazy. And we do crazy things when we’re in love.

PART IV - UNDERSHIRTS

Summary: A lot of investigation, a little bit of a lead, and some personal time between Sam and Y/N. Warnings/Tags: Seriously, more awkward flirting, mentions of missing persons, investigations Characters/Pairings: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Female!Reader Word Count: 1,656

“This doesn’t make any sense.”

In a rare display of emotion, Sam tossed the dossier onto the dash of the Impala. “Why in the hell did five random dudes just… disappear?”

The Impala rolled around a corner as Dean turned down a residential street outside of Salem proper. “Maybe they were rushes? Initiation gone wrong…”

“They’re twenty-seven. If you’re going back to college at that age, the likelihood of joining a fraternity is very slim,” Sam replied. “I doubt a group would even rush them.” His chin dropped into his right hand, elbow propped on the sill of the passenger door. “None of this makes sense. I don’t even think it’s a case.”

There’s a reason I don’t play poker. Dean saw my reaction clear as day in the rearview mirror. “What’s up, Y/N?”

“I’m not sure anything up our alley is going on here,” I managed. “So I dunno. Vampires? Draining young, healthy guys and discarding the bodies?”

Beside me, Castiel shrugged. “It’s unlikely. There’s no other vampire behavior. These people went missing in the middle of the day.”

Sam whipped around to face him. “What?”

“The last time they were seen was the middle of the day,” Castiel stated. “You read the reports, right? That’s the only common thread I found.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Dean’s exaggerated gasp rent the air as he gawked at Sam, then laughed when he saw Sam���s flat stare. “I can’t believe it, the great Sam Winchester, investigator extraordinaire, missed something.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you noticed either,” Sam retorted.

As hard as I tried to hold back, unbidden laughter shook my shoulders. Between Sam’s irritation—I never wanted to annoy him, but as of late, it seemed relatively easy to get under his skin—Castiel’s impatience, and Dean’s one-track mind, my ribs burned with the effort to keep quiet.

“Hey,” Dean admonished as he slowed the Impala in front of a pale blue house. “I don’t hear you offering up anything besides lame-ass vampires, Ms. Y/N.”

“That’s because,” I started as I opened the door, “I bet you won’t like my best theory much.”

A metallic crunch echoed through the neighborhood as Dean exited the Impala and rounded the front-end. “Oh, I’ll take it,” he continued. “Twenty bucks says you can’t piss me off.”

Halfway up the walk to the house, I rounded on him and said, “I don’t think there’s a case here, and I think Detective Williams’ called you to get laid.”

If anything, Dean was, at most, mildly offended. He knew we weren’t dumb. Maybe he had hoped we wouldn’t figure it out. When the subtle pink blossomed on his cheeks again, he attempted to side-step me for the house, but Sam grasped him by the shoulder and pointed at me.

“Pay the lady.”

That indeed seemed to piss him off. Dean shoved a hand in his pocket, tore out his wallet, and shuffled through it. Then he smacked an old twenty-dollar bill into my hand and grumbled to himself as he stalked past.

“I think there’s actually a case here,” Castiel said over my shoulder.

“How so?”

He gestured to the house directly ahead. “I think we’re about to find out.”

Too many hours in and out of the car had stiffened my legs and knotted my neck. Not to mention all the sinking sofas, worn-out chairs, and leaned on countertops at five different interviewed homes. But it had all been worth it.

“Groceries.”

Dean kept repeating himself the entire way back to the motel.

“Groceries.”

“Dean, we get it, the last thing they told anyone they were going to do was grocery shopping,” Sam barked. “Why is that so weird?”

When the Impala lumbered over the driveway and into the motel’s parking lot, I decided it was time to play the game. “They all went to the same store. Could have been one of the employees.”

“That’s… a possibility, sure,” Sam started as he exited the car. When I followed, he continued. “But it’s just as likely that they were randomly targeted on the way to the store. Or out of the store.”

“Which store?” Castiel asked at the door.

Dean unlocked it and strode through. “L&M Foods.”

I had made it across the motel room and withdrawn my pajamas from my bag when Sam said, “We should take a look around tonight. When there aren’t so many people around.”

My chin slumped to my chest. “I guess I’ll sleep later.”

Castiel rushed to my side and touched my forehead with no warning. Warmth spread through my entire body, but when he withdrew his hand, I still ached. “You need to rest. We can check in the morning.”

Sam regarded Dean, who shrugged, then turned back to me with a worrying twist to his lips. He closed the space between us, then asked, “You gonna be okay, Y/N?”

The aching muscles in my neck screamed out for relief in the nearness of Sam. But I kept that to myself, despite my staring at his massive hands. “I need to get some sleep.”

Either he could read minds or body language. I’d bet on both. Sam’s soothing touch rubbed my shoulder. Perfectly innocuous, and every bit the caring friend he seemed determined to remain.

Except Dean knew otherwise. At least, I assumed he knew how I felt. When I spotted his crooked smile, I dug as deep as humanly possible for every ounce of resolve to not blush.

“Cas and I can—,” Dean started, but he froze when he turned to Castiel. Again.

Castiel had removed his suit jacket, tie, and button-up before anyone had noticed. “I… thought we weren’t going anywhere until tomorrow morning.”

To that day, I had never seen Dean’s face turn so red so quickly. And then it finally dawned on me. Where I had saved face—albeit a fraction—when caught pining for someone, Dean openly blushed, stared without reservation at the object of his affection.

Look, I am the first to admit that I know next to nothing about flirting. Hell, half the time, all I did was irritate the piss out of Sam. But Dean and Castiel knew fuckall. And at that exact moment, as Dean stared at Castiel in suit pants and an undershirt, everything made sense.

“You know, now that I think about it,” I started far louder than I had intended. Dean startled as he averted his gaze, and Sam snatched his hand from my shoulder. “We should get a look tonight.” Though I tried to fight it, a wide yawn interrupted my statement, and Sam’s touch returned.

“No, Y/N, you need rest,” he insisted. “You two can go tonight yet, right?”

Castiel shrugged back into his shirt. “I don’t need to sleep, but are you—”

“I’m fine!” Dean barked as he grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the motel room.

The dejected sigh from Castiel as he tossed on his suit jacket—he had forgone the tie, left in a pile on the table—followed him to the door.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Give him some time,” I said. “He’ll figure it out.”

He smiled at that. “Thank you.” Before heading through the door, he regarded Sam with an equally fond smile, then left.

When the door closed, I turned to Sam, but he spoke first. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

The perfect opportunity had presented itself, and I wasn’t about to waste it.

“You know, riding in the backseat of that car all the time really does a number on my back.”

“Oh,” he quipped as he sat on the bed. “Here, sit in front of me. The only spot in the Impala that is remotely comfortable is the driver’s seat.”

Well, shit. Can’t say I didn’t try. I did as he said and sat on the edge of the bed. Deft hands and precise thumbs started in on the knots of my shoulders with expert accuracy. “I guess you would know.”

“My neck is constantly killing me,” he agreed. “I usually take a couple tennis balls in a sock to my shoulders. Hurts like hell, but the relief is worth it.”

A momentary silence filled the space as my mind slowed to nothing and sleep threatened. Before long, I slumped over, and only Sam’s gentle shake woke me. “Sorry. Castiel wasn’t joking. This exhaustion is fucking terrible.”

Sam squeezed my shoulders one more time before motioning towards the bed. “You should change and get some rest. When we get back to the Bunker, I can really take care of these.” He prodded the lingering knot at the base of my neck.

“I could return the favor, too,” I suggested as I stood.

It wasn’t until I turned to him and found a blush on his cheeks, similar to Dean’s, that I understood. “I mean, only if you want, just thought I’d offer, you know, it’s fine if you don’t, I get it, it’s kind of weird—”

“I would enjoy that very much.”

If I hadn’t been so damn tired, I might have made another move. But sleep beckoned—no, demanded—my attention. I offered my best beyond-exhausted smile as I turned for the bathroom and, once there, shut the door.

I didn’t bother locking it. I knew Sam wouldn’t come in unless I explicitly asked. And even then, knowing how I’d burned the wick at both ends for far too long, he would merely drag my dead weight into bed to sleep. And sleep I would. Dear Lord, I never knew the human body could experience such draining exhaustion.

After a quick change of clothes and a brushing of teeth, I left the bathroom and found Sam at the table pouring over dossiers. His brief smile faded the second he returned to the profiles, eager to get to the bottom of the case.

As I curled into bed, I convinced myself that he wanted to get back to the Bunker sooner than I did.

Reblogs and feedback are awesome. If you want in on the tags, send me an ask or a DM!

LONG JACKET MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[orionsangel86]

Hi. I've seen you reposting art by thefriendlypigeon. Just wanted to tell you that she draws explicit in*est and refuses to put a trigger warning on it. She's also besties with Magdalena, Latizze other Misha haters. She also ships Sam/Jack and said that she wants to draw smut of Jack offering himself to Dean and Cas on Father's Day. Now Kelios uses this as an excuse to claim that Destiel shippers are into ped* stuff. When Friendlypigeon is a win*est shipper and has been for a long time.

Hi. I need to state that I hate getting asks like this because I have been involved in the fandom policing thing and its utter bullshit. No one involved is righteous or “doing the right thing” regardless of what they think. Fandom policing is wrong and I have absolutely no desire to involve myself in it. Therefore I would prefer to not be dragged into any fandom wank or wars between fan factions.

I reblogged (not reposted as I don’t condone reposting others creations) a piece of art work of Dean and Cas because I considered the artwork beautiful and well done. I do not know the artist, but the art itself was wonderful. Should we really be condemning all art based on the shortcomings of its creators? This is a bigger conversation than anything within SPN fandom and frankly I’m not interested in diving into those murky waters right now.

I will just say this. I absolutely do not in any way endorse the likes of Magda, Latizze, Kamidox, Vinnie or Kelios. They are nasty, cruel, hate filled people worthy of nothing but our pity. They are best left ignored to wallow in their own hatred. I have far better things to do than concern myself with those sad individuals. If the artist in question interacts with them, then I only hope that they don’t get dragged into the hatred those vile individuals radiate. Anyone who involves themselves with such pure forms of hatred is in for a bad time. As someone who has experienced first hand the more hateful side of Destiel fandom, I know what happens when you get too close to people filled with hate. Don’t concern yourself with whatever bullshit Kelios and her cronies are currently focusing on. No one takes those idiots seriously. Block them, and move on with your life.

As far as wincest art goes, I quite obviously can’t stomach it. I have the very word “wincest” blacklisted and blocked across all social media. But I know plenty of people who are multishippers who are into it. Each to their own. So long as they aren’t pushing for incest to be mainstream, canon, or normalised in society, then I honestly don’t care what other people get up to in the privacy of their own bedrooms. I haven’t ever heard of anyone shipping Sam and Jack, or Jack with Dean and Cas *shudder*. That to me is just as disturbing as incest. I don’t understand it and don’t intend to even try to understand it either. By me reblogging the destiel art of one artist, that does not mean that I support everything else that artist might say or create.

I’m not gonna start some all out attack on people who are into fucked up shit. Because nothing I personally say or do is going to change that, and frankly, I came back to tumblr for a peaceful time away from the fandom wars of Twitter. I’m not interesting in attacking anybody. I block and move on. This particular artist has never done anything to offend me, and I have never seen offensive art by them. I’m not gonna stop reblogging beautiful works of theirs I find just because of one anonymous message either.

There are lots of messed up things in this world, but if we dwell too much on what others are doing we will only end up corrupting ourselves. My suggestion nonny is that you block this artist and blacklist their name. By blacklisting a persons url you are effectively removing them completely from your tumblr experience even if others you follow reblog their work. I have to do this with a well known destiel artist that is always being reblogged by people I follow for my own particular reasons - nothing against the artist themselves, just their artwork makes me uncomfortable and I don’t want to see it.

I’m not sure what you expected by sending me this message, whether you wanted me to publicly condemn this artist, delete my reblog of their work and tell all my followers to immediately unfollow them or whatever, but I’m not going to do that. Sorry to disappoint you if that is the case, I’m just not interested in the constant wars and drama of SPN fandom anymore. I just wanna reblog cute pics of Dean and Cas kissing whenever I can, and enjoy my remaining time in fandom whilst it lasts. Follow whoever you want to follow, reblog whoever you wanna reblog from, ideally tag accordingly as courtesy for peoples blacklists, and utilise the block button as often as you can. Above all things, be kind to others, and practice self care on yourself. If you don’t like something, remove it from your online life, and please consider why you might be going to other bloggers to “tell” on people you don’t like. All it does is cause more unnecessary negativity.

[wkemeup]

The Witness (Epilogue)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, borderline endearing cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: you’ve been through enough haven’t you? ITS FLUFF CITY BABY 🌸💕💖✨

author’s note: ok folks here’s the end! thank you so much for all the love on this fic, it’s seriously meant so much to me. Especially as my first marvel series getting back into the writing game after a 2 year hiatus aftermy spn blog. i love yall. pls let me know what you thought!!

series masterlist // previous chapter

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Babe, wrap it up! We’re gonna be late,” Bucky reminded you for the third time in as many minutes. You shot him a playful glare from the other end of the bar as you continued to wipe down the counter. Bucky was standing behind the bar, helping himself to a half refill of the shitty bottom shelf bourbon he still claimed to despise. The bottle now had the letters ‘JBB’ marked in sharpie across the label in his messy handwriting.

“Why don’t you stop drinking and help me then!” you laughed, shaking your head as Bucky looked over at you from the top of the glass raised to his curved lips. He shot back the amber liquid and set the glass into the sink with a gratified ahhh.

Bucky, grinning wildly, happily skipped his way down the length of the bar towards you and took a few of the empty glassed from the tray. He dunked them into the soapy water and began to wash. 

You stole a quick glance over at him, not enough to give him the satisfaction, but enough to remind yourself just how handsome he was when he smiled like that, when he teased you and helped you behind the bar, when he had that carefree look in his eyes he had been missing during your darkest days.

Across the room, only Brenda and Big Al remained. You had told the crew that you were closing up shop early for a prior engagement and it didn’t cause as much of a fuss as you anticipated. Most of them grumbled at you as they walked out, but no one flat out rejected it. Perhaps they had gotten used to this sort of thing after you closed down the bar suddenly for nearly two months.

It had taken another two months just to get the bar back in working order after Bucky was discharged from the hospital. You insisted on staying with him while he recovered; mostly to help him cook and care for himself since he could barely raise his left arm to a ninety-degree angle due to the heavy scarring and torn muscles.

If you were being honest, part of your reasoning was because you were afraid to go back home. Hydra had been disbanded; or at least enough so that they no longer posed a threat to your life individually. There was no reason to believe you wouldn’t be safe in your own home and yet, the very idea of being anywhere Bucky wasn’t sounded like the darkest corners of your worst nightmares. He didn’t seem to mind you staying around.

After weeks of physical therapy and countless arguments over whether he was pushing himself too hard, he started to regain strength in his arm and was able to move about freely without tearing up the stitches on his stomach. Dr. Palmer had nearly woken the entire hospital when she found out Bucky ruined her good work by running down eleven flights of stairs to an armed standoff. Since he began to heal, he was right at your side as you started to put your bar together.

Sam helped replace the windows that had been shattered in the gun fire. Steve was rather good with his hands and had started to sand out the nicks in the wooden counter top and reupholstered the chairs and tables that had the worst damage; though you asked him to leave the smaller scratches and bullet markings for the aesthetic purpose. It was a bar for criminals, wasn’t it? He shot you a funny look at that request.

Nat even came by once she was off crutches. Despite her limp, she had helped restock the broken glasses and bottles of alcohol. Surprisingly enough, Tony Stark made his appearance a few days before reopening, tool kit in hand, and completely rewired the jukebox with a new sound system and replaced the shattered frame. 

That evening, once everyone had gone, Bucky grabbed your hand as you headed towards the door, pulling you in close and danced with you as ‘Unchained Melody’ played softly through the speakers, illuminated only by the glow of the brand new neon sign in the window.

The first night you reopened, half of the one-four was in attendance, much to the confusion of your usual crowd of patrons. It was almost comical how evenly the bar had split itself down the middle; one side filled with cops and the other with the rougher looking sort who typically frequented the bar. By the end of the night and the second group rendition of ‘Piano Man,’ the crowds had blurred into one.

To your right, Bucky was currently humming quietly along to whatever Big Al had thrown on the jukebox and you couldn’t help but watch him for a moment. His hair brushed back away from his eyes, fluffed up and coifed perfectly. The sleeves of his Henley pushed up to his elbows. That sweet kind of smile on his lips as he worked, completely content just being here with you. Bucky raised an eyebrow at you and your cheeks burned, not realizing you had been staring at him.

“Like what you see, doll?” Bucky teased, flashing you that cocky smile you fell in love with. He leaned in closer to you, hands still plunged in the soapy water and waiting for you to meet him half way. You giggled, kissing him chastely on the lips before you returned to your closing chore.

“You know,” Brenda said, voice rough from decades of smoking, as she staggered up to the bar. She set several bills on the counter, eyeing you up. “You’ve become intolerable since you started letting this cop hang around our bar.”

“Our bar, is it?” you laughed, exchanging an amused glance with Bucky.

“Oh, you know what I mean. This bar wasn’t meant for folks like him and now they’re all over the damn place. Can’t get no rest from these cops.”

“You’re only upset because you’re not the one who gets to kiss me, Brenda,” Bucky smirked.

Brenda narrowed her eyes, staring him down with that hardened look in her features before her eyes sharply flickered to you. She puckered her lips into a frown.

“Kid’s got a point,” Big Al said from behind her.

Brenda didn’t let up on her stare until Al started walking towards the door. “This ain’t over, pretty boy,” she called over her shoulder as she followed Al out into the street.

“I’m counting on it!” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he finished washing up the last glass. He set it on clean rag laid on the counter to dry. He reached for another towel to begin to dry when you grabbed his hand. He raised an eyebrow.

“You already said we’re going to be late,” you reminded him, tugging on his hand and pulling him away from the sink. “Let’s just go and let them air dry. I’ll put them away before I open tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say, doll.”

Bucky jogged back to the office to grab your bag and keys. He handed you your purse, interloping your hands as he swung the keys around in his fingers before he locked up the bar behind you and shoved them into his pocket.

You shivered as the cool breeze brushed by you. Bucky’s hand squeezed yours, giving you that smile of his. He started to lead you in the right direction, as you genuinely had no idea where you were going, and you found yourself leaning into his right shoulder, using every excuse and every pedestrian who pushed by you a little too forcefully, to move closer to him. He didn’t seem to mind. He never did.

As you walked in the comfortable silence, you found yourself playing with his hand. Your thumb traced over the light pink, rough scar at the center of his palm before flipping his hand over to do the same with the one on the back. 

He watched you carefully as you did so. It wasn’t anything new to him. You had told him once you found it comforting to run your fingers over his scars; they reminded you that he survived. They didn’t represent failings or weakness like they did to him, but he was working on that.

You brought his hand to your lips and briefly kissed the scar on the back of his hand. You smiled up at him softly and he tugged you close enough to sneak a kiss to your forehead as you continued walking.

It took twenty more minutes of walking and a quick trip on the subway just beyond the busy hustle of downtown and into Queens before Bucky pulled you to a stop in front of a home you didn’t recognize. Brick walls, brown shutters, and potted flowers hanging from the window ledges.

Then, the front door opened and Steve Rogers was ushering you inside, waving his hand to hurry you along. You almost paused out of pure confusion because Steve and Peggy lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn, certainly not in Queens, when Bucky started dragging you up the steps with the same kind of hurry.

“What are you two-“

You walked inside to find the entirety of the one-four gathered in the open living room and kitchen area of the small home. Sam was standing over by a long folding table filled with chips, dips, and cheeses, talking with Clint in hushed tones about something you were sure was way less serious than their body language suggested. Peggy and Natasha were sitting on the couch, laughing with one another as Peggy pointed over at Steve. Carol was sitting over on the floor by herself, petting a cat rather contently as she ate from a plate of chips. Tony was busy carrying trays around in the kitchen, helping out a woman you recognized from the hospital; Peter’s Aunt May. It was then you noticed the ‘WELCOME BACK’ sign draped across the archway into the kitchen in big golden letters.

“You’re just in time!” Peggy squealed as she jumped off the couch, having noticed you and Bucky stroll in. She raced over to you and crushed you in a hug. “I’m so glad you made it!”

“Maybe I would have hustled a bit more if Bucky had bothered to tell me what we were doing tonight,” you laughed, narrowing your eyes on Bucky who only shrugged.

“You’ve been so worried about the kid, I thought you deserved a little pick-me-up surprise, too,” Bucky said sincerely and you grinned at him.

“I have never seen this man as corny as he is with you,” Sam chuckled shaking his head as he hugged you.

“Nice to see you, too, Wilson,” Bucky grumbled, though it was in jest. He went in for a hug after Sam pulled away from you.

“He’s coming!” May shouted as she peered through the front window. She waved everyone back into the kitchen.

Bucky grabbed your hand, dragging you along as you giggled behind him. There was no time to hide, so the majority of the one-four were just huddled in one giant mass in the arch below the banner. The soft rustling of the key in the deadbolt clicked against the metal, the only sound in the room save for the hushed whispering and laughter.

The door squeaked open and Peter emerged in the doorframe, leaning on his cane as he slowly pushed the door closed behind him. It took him a moment before he noticed the crowd gathered in his Aunt’s living room. Eyes widening in the most genuine, almost child-like, surprise as the crowd shouted an unplanned mixture of “SURPRISE!” and “Welcome back!” and “Wait why are we doing this again?” (that last one came from Sam).

Peter’s jaw dropped, the widest smile you’d ever seen filling his cheeks, as he stumbled back from the pure shock of it until he hit the door. May rushed towards him to help steady him on his feet, but he was so giddy with excitement he was already halfway across the room, limping towards the crowd.

“Wow, guys, I don’t- I’m not sure what to even-” he stammered until his eyes fell on Steve standing just behind your shoulder. His back straightened immediately. “Captain Rogers, Sir! You, uh, you came?”

Steve chuckled, nodding his head. “It’s just Steve here, Pete. I’m glad you’re well enough to return to work, even if it’s only desk duty for a while. We’ve been missing your kind of energy around the one-four.”

Peter may have managed to smile even bigger in that moment. His cheeks were a light shade of pink, standing out amongst the series of faded burn marks on his neck that slipped under his shirt and ran down in jagged array across the right side of his body. He didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, at least not in this moment.

“I suppose it’s been rather gloomy without you,” Bucky teased, nudging Peter ever so slightly in the shoulder, though not enough to cause him to lose balance. Sam shrugged next to him, but he eventually nodded in agreement.

“Oh, wow, thanks Detective Barnes!”

“How many times is it gonna take before I can get you to call us by our first names?” Bucky raised an eyebrow and you giggled under your breath next to him. Tony whisked in just as Peter’s ears started to redden awkwardly and ushered him towards the table filled with snacks.

Hours later as the crowd began to disburse and the sun had started to fall behind the tree line, the only ones who remained behind huddled on the couches in the living room were you, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Nat, and Peter; the core group who got your through the worst months of your life.

Peggy had left before the sun went down, giving Steve a kiss on the side of his cheek and quickly brushed away the residue of her red lipstick before any of the boys could notice. She winked at you when you caught her lick her thumb as she rubbed it over Steve’s cheek. She rushed over to give you a hug goodbye before she left.

Peter’s Aunt May had retired up to her room after Tony insisted he would take care of the dishes and cleanup. He left not long after that, saying his wife, Pepper, was beckoning for him.

Sam and Bucky were arguing about some old case he’d mentioned to you briefly when Bucky first started coming to your bar, before the chaos of Hydra infiltrated your life. Steve sat back in the couch, arms folded over his chest as he shook his head amusingly while they continued back and forth over who was truly the lead Detective. Steve only ignored them when they attempted to rope him in.

Peter was sitting up in his chair, intently listening to the two of them. It was almost like he was taking mental notes, nodding along, pursing his lips whenever one of them made a decent point. It was so easy to see how much he admired them.

Nat, in her usual state, was quietly observing from the kitchen chair she had pulled up to the couch next to you. Legs crossed and hands resting in her lap, she’d mumbled a quick-witted remark only you could hear, forcing you to laugh loudly and drawing the boys’ attention for a brief moment before they went back to their argument.

“I’m only saying that I was the one who tracked Zola down,” Sam reiterated for about the tenth time. “Without my informant, we never would have found his layer!”

“You say ‘layer’ like he’s a bad guy from a comic book!” Bucky shot back. “It was an abandoned warehouse, at best, and we would have found it sooner if you had listened to me when I told you it was better to follow the money trail!”

“Warehouse?” Sam scoffed, “The guy practically had an entire lab set up inside!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as they went back and forth. You knew their relationship well. There wasn’t an ounce of bad blood between the two, but they bickered and fought like brothers. If it came down to it, and it has, they’d take bullets for one another without so much as a second thought. 

Sam wouldn’t stop reminding Bucky he had the scar to prove it.

You sat perched on the arm rest of the couch next to Bucky, leaning against his right shoulder as his arm sat draped over your legs. Your fingers had been playing with the short, soft strands of hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, helping to ease him through his tension he carried. 

Eventually, Bucky grunted, conceding the argument for the sake of everyone’s sanity before the conversation had moved onto when Sam was finally going to work up the guts to ask out the pretty analyst on the second floor.

Laughter filled the room and soon, your cheeks hurt from smiling. Outside the window, dark overcast skies and rain began to drizzle against the glass. Bucky groaned slightly, only loud enough for you to hear as he tried to readjust his positioning. He rolled his left shoulder, trying to find some relief.

The rain usually made his shoulder hurt. Dr. Banner had explained to you it was due to the change in the barometric pressure which resulted in the expansion of soft tissue and fluid in the joints, leading to Bucky’s discomfort in his shoulder. Bucky didn’t much care about the science of it. All he knew was that it hurt and it served as a constant reminder of the day he failed to keep you safe, again. You were just pleased you had a warning for when Bucky would be in pain so you could do whatever you could to ease him.

As Steve was telling Sam about what the analyst on the second floor said about him at last year’s holiday party, your hand slipped beneath the fabric of Bucky’s shirt at his collar. Your cool hands brushing gently over the skin until they rested on the series of raised scars along his shoulder line. Bucky exhaled, the tension leaving his body for a moment and you massaged the tender area. They were rough to the touch, bumps and jagged lines covering his skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, as your fingers rubbed carefully into the swollen muscle.

It had taken him nearly a month after his hospital discharge before he let you see him without his shirt on again. He was so ashamed of the scars, so disgusted by the pink cuts and abrasions littering his skin, that he could barely look you in the eye when you’d finally convinced him to show you. 

You had touched him so gently, so carefully, kissed every single raised edge on his shoulder, until he started to melt against you. That night as you made love, whispering sweet praises to him, breaths warm on his shoulder, lips brushing over the scars, Bucky promised to you he’d try to see the scars the way you did; as a symbol of his survival and of yours.

Bucky’s right hand reached up and set atop of yours under his shirt. He looked up at you, thoughtful, caring eyes, as he smiled ever so slightly, just for you to see. You pulled your hand from his shirt and he brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

Nat was in the middle of developing a play-by-play operation to get Sam in the right position to ask out the pretty analyst, though you were quite sure she was being completely sarcastic even though that was lost on Sam. Peter was laughing hysterically. Steve shaking his head, always so amused by his friends’ antics.

Bucky looked up at you. ‘I love you’ mouthed on his lips before he pulled you down into his lap, hand snaking through your hair to the nape of your neck where he lightly ushered you closer. 

You kissed at his lips, smile brimming up into your cheeks as he brought your lower lip into his mouth. You could barely register Sam stopping mid-sentence to make some sort of gagging sound at you as Bucky’s fingers were tracing along your scalp.

When Bucky finally pulled back for air, he shot Sam a teasing glare before he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek and snuggling you against him on the couch. The conversation quickly diverted back to interfering with Sam’s love life and even Steve threw in a few ideas on how to ask out the analyst.

All the while, cheeks burning with laughter, Bucky’s hands playing with yours, his lips pressing into your shoulder blade every so often, you couldn’t help but try to preserve this moment in your head; this small, misfit, make-shift family who had protected you, comforted you, stood by you through the worst parts of your life without question. They adopted you as their own. 

Finding this group of people, finding Bucky, made even the darkest days seem worth it.

Just to get a taste of family.

And of love.

--

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

Another day of quarantine, another attempt to decipher the secret to one show’s mind-boggling longevity - Are they casting spells on every airdate? Do they have some kind of talisman? Did they make an actual deal with a literal devil to stay on the air this long?? The fact that Jensen Ackles has barely aged a day sure suggests they might have. It’s Supernatural! 

I think one of my favorite things so far has been the trailer that plays at the end of “Crossroad Blues” to really make sure you tune into the next episode which...did not play for two weeks. Looking at air dates, “Crossroad Blues” plays on Nov 16, 2006, so that’s right around the Thanksgiving break. Then they come back for ONE episode on Dec 7 and that is their midseason finale. TV programming is wild. 

I was like, really into this Bobby Johnson, like...I was into that.

It’s very possible that at this point in the season, SPN is trying real hard to keep their audience. Looking at the numbers for all the episodes leading up to “Croatoan”, they’re only averaging between 3 and 4 million viewers, roughly 1 - 2 million less than where they were at this time in season 1, so it’s easy to see why SPN was on the hook for renewal in season 2. Looking over its ratings for the rest of the season, the audience numbers just keep going down. The show is the number 8 highest rated show on the CW in 2006/07, so technically in the top 10, but it’s tied with Reba and One Tree Hill and the CW only had (16) original programs that year, so it’s not boasting much. These numbers supposedly include Live + 7 day DVR watches, so those numbers really are not good, BUT: starting in January of 2007, the CW started releasing episodes online the day after they aired, so I’m willing to bet that large portions of their audience were still tuning in, just not tuning in in a way that could be tabulated by Neilsen at the time. 

It’s also interesting to note that for both season 1 and season 2, the real mythos/lore/arc episodes don’t really start until the midseason. In season 1, it’s not until episode 10, “Scarecrow,” where we’re introduced to Meg and the bigger stakes at hand for the Winchesters. Their search for their father starts ramping up and the show starts subtly shifting away from Finding Dad to Fighting The Boss Fight. 

Season 2 is pretty similar. Up until “Croatoan” (episode 9), the show has been about the fallout from John’s death. Finding the yellow-eyed-demon is certainly a driving factor, but it’s very much on the backburner. The show even makes a point to say, hey! Our guys don’t really have any leads, so it’s gonna take a while before we get back to this. 

I actually really appreciate that the show takes this much time to let the Winchester process their grief. Kripke and Co. have said numerous times that they realized the episodes that work best are the ones that really dig into the emotional journeys of the characters, so they just went ahead and made that the primary focus of the first half of the season. It gives weight to their loss at the beginning of the season - John’s death is not some throwaway plot point, it’s a real gut punch that our characters aren’t going to get over in a hurry. It also lends weight to the danger the brothers face in the future - John died immediately, who’s to say that won’t happen to Sam or Dean? 

I mean, sure buddy, but also...no one here is okay.

Not to mention, John’s deal with the yellow-eyed-demon (+ the events in “Crossroad Blues”) give us a subtle/not-so-subtle hint as to what’s waiting for us at the end of season 2. But we’re not there yet. 

Then we’re in “Croatoan” and reminded in full force what our guys are supposed to be fighting this season - not their crippling grief but rather a very present threat to their physical and spiritual well-being. That’s not to say we haven’t had a taste of the Sam-centric plotline that appears in “Croatoan”. BUT I’d argue that even though “Simon Said” deals with the Psychic Children, it’s still only a tease for what those children are capable of. “Croatoan” really drives home the threat from the yellow-eyed-demon, not just from his Psychic Children but also whatever nefarious plans that he’s been cooking for however-long. And it puts this threat front and center as a main quest for the back 13 of the season. 

Because of COURSE demon viruses come with their own dusting of sulfur.

Doing the math on this, it looks like SPN had a Front 9/Back 13 split? As in, they got picked up for the first 9 episodes of season 2 but weren’t sure they were going to get those final 13 episodes and that is...crazy? I have not seen any proof this is the case, but it is something to consider for a show that was on the edge of cancellation for this season and last season. It’s possible that the CW was treating all of its programming like they were pilot seasons since this was, essentially, CW’s pilot season, but again - I have no evidence other than this 9/13 split to prove it. 

Back to the show. Let me just say: I LOVE “Croatoan.” Any time anyone wants to make up a supernatural reason for an obscure historical mystery, I am ON. BOARD. And the Lost Colony of Roanoke is definitely one of my favorites. I STILL love this episode even though I can hear my friend whispering through the decades, ”The colonists just intermarried with the local native tribe, the Croatoans…” which is apparently actually the answer in real life. But demon viruses are fine, and particularly relevant in The Year of Our Troubles 2020. 

CROATOAAAAAAAAA!!!

What also works in “Croatoan” is the dynamics between the brothers that will play out for the rest of the season/series. The groundwork for their big fight at the end of this episode has already been laid in the beginning of the season. On the one hand, you have Dean, who’s lost so much at the hands of the yellow-eyed-demon he can’t stand to lose anymore, especially not his brother. On the other hand, Sam is becoming more like his father - ready and willing to sacrifice whatever needs to be sacrificed to defeat this thing, even if that means giving up his own life. Sam has the same motivation that Dean has but coming from a completely different direction. If his death will save his brother, then he’ll do it, no questions asked, just like John died to save Dean. Neither of the brothers are willing to lose the other and they will go on to make increasingly stupid, selfish decisions to make sure they won’t have to. Yes, I love this show, and I love Sam and Dean, but man they are DUMB BABIES. 

OOF.

So we get “Croatoan,” where we see the stakes at hand - the yellow-eyed-demon is out for World Destruction, not just Winchester Destruction. He may have plans for the Psychic Children, but his plans reach far beyond a bunch of 20YO with wacky powers. And when Sam gets infected with the demon virus (LOL, sulfur in the blood?????), he knows he’s a danger to others and is immediately ready to sacrifice his life to keep those around him safe. Dean goes on to prove that this is a line too far - he’ll keep others safe but if the choice is between killing his brother and anything else, he will literally choose anything else. Sam turns out to be fine in a mysterious kind of way, although the town clearly is not, and the boys ride off into the sunset. Then we get the cliffhanger - John told Dean something important that we will not find out until January. 

These dolly shots crack me right up.

If you’re watching this in real time, you wait a month for that cliff hanger to resolve itself in “Hunted”. If you are living in the era of streaming, you just skip the closing credits to find out what John said - “He said that I [Dean] had to save you...and that if I couldn't, I'd . . .That I'd have to kill you.” 

Are you ever just like, What the actual F*CK, John Winchester?

This is literally Dean’s worst nightmare - having to choose between duty and family. Sam understandably doesn’t take this well to start with, but like in “Croatoan”, he ultimately settles into the idea, which is...deeply upsetting??? 

“Hunted” does a lot of fun things - 

Number 1: We get more of the Psychic Children (because I REFUSE to call them the Special Children, sorrynotsorry). We see that there’s a range of Types, from Scott who definitely looks like a serial killer to Ava, who ultimately goes on to be the headmistress at a secret magic university (OMG, DO watch The Order cuz that shiz is GOLD.)

Seriously, if you liked Supernatural, you will like this show. 

Number 2: We get the return of Gordon, this time as a head-on antagonist. Do I like Gordon? No, I find him frustrating at best. But do I LOVE Gordon as an antagonist? Absolutely! He is smart, capable, and (at this point) wholly non-supernatural, Natural, if you will. He’s such a good foil to Sam and Dean and he’s the perfect villain for this moment. He sees the world in only black and white. To him, there’s no moral dilemma as to whether or not the Psychic Children are good or bad - they’re definitely bad and he’s here to stop/kill them. I think he’s an important catalyst for Dean too, since in both of Gordon’s episodes, Dean sees what he could be if it wasn’t for Sam’s influence. He doesn’t want to be like Gordon, so he needs to keep Sam around.

Number 3: Alright, this one isn’t so fun just cuz the final scene is a little sloppy, but Ava turns out to be a good catalyst for Sam. When Ava shows up on screen, she is clearly on Team Cool Kid. She’s totally normal, very Apple Pie, but she shows up to try and save Sam’s life simply because it’s a life that she can (hypothetically) save. She knows nothing about demons or curses or Chosen Ones, she just had a weird dream that gave her a weird feeling and then she acted on out of the goodness of her heart. It’s exactly what Sam does when his dreams kick it into high gear in season 1 (with mixed results). Sam hangs out with Ava, gets to know her, gives her the whole Truth is Out There speech and when she leaves, I actually really appreciate this character. She’s had a wild ride of a day and she is just taking this whole thing totally in stride. Good on you, Ava! 

Except, when we get to the end of the episode and Sam tries to check in on her, we find her fiancé with his throat cut, sulfur on the window sill, and Ava nowhere to be seen. Now I don’t remember what I thought the first time I saw this episode, but I don’t believe that Ava killedher fiancé. The show really seems to want me to believe that she killed her fiancé, though, indicating that no matter how cool she was at the beginning of the episode, it’s only a matter of time before all the Psychic Children “go darkside”, as Sam so strangely puts it. 

Anyone else this this was a weird line? I thought this was a weird line. 

And this is what pushes Sam’s arc through the rest of the season. Our next episode is “Playthings,” which feels like a monster-of-the-week episode where they squeeze in some unrelated emotional drama. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fun episode, but SPN is usually better about tying their MotW eps into the emotional character arcs and this one is not as finessed. There’s a little more disconnect here. The important takeaway from “Playthings” is this: seeing Ava “kill” her fiancé convinces Sam that his father was right. Sam may need to be put down, and if that happens, he wants Dean to be the one to do it. Dean agrees, but we all know that he’s doing that just to appease Sam and that he’s still gonna do whatever it takes to save Sam, no matter the cost. Nothing gets resolved and this will definitely come back later. 

I mean, yeah that’s probably true.

Some things - 

First off: Sam seems to be perfectly OK with this and that...is not OK. 

Secondly, SAM?!? WHY would you put that on your brother?? 

Thirdly, DEAN! Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep. 

FINALLY, and maybe most importantly, this is the best example I can think of to showcase a character’s greatest strength also being their greatest weakness. The Winchesters are about two things - fighting evil and taking care of family. Done in equal measure, these strengths make them heroic tropes. Taken to extreme situations? Well, now you have two humans wide open to failing at one of these things so bad that the apocalypse literally starts.

What these three episodes remind us, honestly what this whole season so far reminds us, is that Supernatural works because of relationships. The monsters and the mythology and the classic rock are there as a fun framework to get us interested in the show, but it’s the characters that keep us. That’s what viewers connect to. I really appreciate the arguments that Sam and Dean have with each other, starting at the end of season one and up until now in season 2. They feel very deeply rooted in character, not contrived for the sake of Drama. Neither of them is wrong, per se, but then neither of them is right, either. Their emotional backgrounds feel complex and grounded, foundations for real characters, not just the caricatures that you’d expect from a show about ghosts on a network aimed at the 18 - 24 demographic. 

See, THIS is the sort of fight you’d expect, not a fight where one brother is begging the other to literally kill him. 

And this is gonna be the hill that I’ll die on - characters and relationships are always the heart of any successful franchise. I mean, why else are there so many shipping wars out there? Why write fic if it isn’t to explore relationships and aspects of a character that the show doesn’t present? Sure it’s not the only reason to write fic, but I’d argue it’s a BIG reason. 

Because it’s not just the characters building relationships with each other, it's the audience building relationships with those characters (and to a lesser extent, with the world of the story). This is the core of any show that hopes to make it past season one and beyond, no matter the decade, the network, or the platform it airs on. We like stories about people with problems we can relate to. Dysfunctional family trouble? Check. Drama at work? Been there. Feeling like the world’s about to end any second? Oh yes. You can feel those problems deep down in your gut, even if the specifics are different. It doesn’t matter if those people are working in an office or a hospital or hunting down demons in the dead of night. If you can show us people, real people with something we can relate to on a gut level, that’s how you stay on the air for 15 seasons.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

I Hate Love Songs

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1,157

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: You hate love songs, Valentine’s Day, all that mushy gushy shit, but you know one thing for certain: you love Jensen Ackles.

Squared Filled: I Hate Love Songs- Kelsea Ballerini // First Date

Author’s Note: This is for @spnsongchallengebingo and @spndeanbingo  respectively and this is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

All those cheesy romantic movies, the cliché gestures, the mushy materialistic things, and everything else that encompasses modern romance made you want to gag in disgust. Your hatred for the topic isn’t new, and everyone you come into contact with knew this part about you since you’re so open with it. Love itself isn’t gross, but the things that couples do to show it is.

Valentine’s cards, chocolate, and flowers, hearts that are attached to teddy bears, romantic movies, serenading someone, boombox outside the bedroom window, and love songs.

God, you really fucking hate love songs.

I hate Shakespeare and Gosling and cakes with white frosting Two names in a heart-shaped tattoo I think cupid is stupid and violets are purple not blue I hate catching bouquets, the honeymoon phase And letterman jackets don't fit Your eyes can't hold stars and you'd die if your heart really skipped

“I’m glad we have the time to do this,” Jensen said with a smile on his face. He had asked you out a few weeks ago when your older sister Brianna Buckmaster decided to bring you onto set to meet everyone. They had all been so welcoming, and as much as you loved meeting them, Jensen is the one who captured your heart and attention. He was the one to show you around set when Brianna was filming, and he even let you ride in the famous black Impala. After you left that day, you begged Brianna to bring you back some more. You begged her so often, she let you have a piece of her trailer so you could stay in overnights.

“Me too. Are you excited to direct the first episode of season 15?” you asked with a smile as you ate some of your appetizers.

“I am. I’ve directed before, but this is the last season so I really want to try hard and make it count.”

“I’ve seen the episodes you’ve directed, and I have to say if you're that good on those ones, you’re going to be amazing with this one,” you complimented him. Before he had a chance to answer, waitresses and waiters came out of the kitchen holding a cake with white frosting along with a huge red heart on top with two initials on either side of it. They walked right past you and to the couple across from you before saying “Happy Anniversary” to them. You must have shown your disgust because Jensen picked up on this immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate cakes with white frosting and those red hearts with initials,” you sighed with a shake of your heart.

“Not a fan of romance?”

“I am, just not this cheesy shit. Cakes with white frosting remind me of weddings and that reminds me of catching bouquets, and the honeymoon phase, and it all makes me shiver. I’m all for loving someone, but there isn’t a need in expressing it that much.”

“Good to know,” he chuckled. It should have scared him off, but he was only attractive to you more.

I hate pink hearts with glitter and Valentine's dinner And roses just die in a week We were drunk when we met so we don't know our anniversary, whoops Oh and I'm far too vain to kiss in the rain The clouds, they aren't numbered to nine And you make me feel something but it sure as hell ain't butterflies

“Isn’t it every girl’s dream to be kissed in the rain?” Jensen asked after you two left the theater. Your relationship has been growing and flourishing so much, you were thinking about asking him to move in with you, or you with him. Your sister must be sick and tired of you stealing most of her trailer, and you knew Jenson has complained about his being a little too lonely for his taste.

“Hell no. It’s not mine. Do you know how long it took me to do my hair? Or put on makeup? I’m sorry, but I don’t think any kind of kiss is worth ruining the work I put into making myself look this good,” you said seriously. Jensen laughed at your vanity as the two of you stayed underneath the canopy while you both waited for an Uber to take you back to set.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he chuckled. He loved how much you didn't like this stuff because all the other girls he’s dated wanted flowers, chocolates, hearts, and all the other mushy stuff. You were different, and he liked it.

“I’m being serious,” you laughed.

“I know you are which is why it’s better than if you’re not,” he chuckled as he took off his jacket so you could use it to shield all of your hard work when the Uber finally pulled up.

And I'll always love you but I don't have to sing it "For worse or for better" don't rhyme They say I got the right one so now I should write one But I'd rather just show you tonight

“Thank God we’re writing our own vows,” you muttered as Brianna helped zip up your beautiful wedding dress. Jensen was waiting at the altar for you, and you couldn’t have been more happy to marry the love of your life. There were many ways that you could show him you love him, but you sure as hell won’t put it in a song and sing it. You’d rather show him than tell him.

“What’s wrong with the traditional vows?” she asked after she was done.

“Come on, ‘for worse or for better’ don’t rhyme. They are such a cliché, and I’d rather use real-life examples to tell him how I feel rather than the traditional ones that everyone uses.”

“Fair enough. You know, Jensen is going to flip when he sees you in that dress.”

“I know,” you grinned. You looked beautiful, and you couldn't wait to see the look on his face as you walked down the aisle.

I hate love songs (I hate love songs) Yeah, I really do (I really do) I hate love songs (I hate love songs) But I love you

“Oh, tonight could not have come any faster,” you huffed as you fell onto the couch next to your husband. Supernatural was over and done with, but he was working on some new projects while you are working on some others. Two different schedules, but you both made sure you had tonight off so you could spend it together.

“I agree,” he smiled as he placed a hand on your thigh lazily with his phone in his other hand. Looking at him, you studied his profile with such admiration and love. This man has been there for you through everything, and your heart couldn't help but swell at the thought of him.

“I love you,” you smiled. He turned his head to you to match the smile you gave him.

“I know.”

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[rainbow-of-the-lord]

Merry and Bright

And with this I am completely caught up on @notfunnydean‘s SPN Advent Calendar! Thank you for reading! This prompt was “Advent Wreath”.

Previous: “Blizzard”

Next: “Eggnog”

Read on Ao3

Making your own Advent Wreath was a tradition Castiel knew spanned back quite a few generations, though no one in his family knew exactly how it started. But it was honored and revered, and Castiel knew that his first Christmas in his new apartment with Dean deserved to be honored in the same way.

Convincing his stubborn mule of a boyfriend who barely did anything outside of his comfort zone that this was important, though, was an entirely different story.

“I’m not just going out and buying one, Dean, Advent Wreaths are meant to be homemade.”

“Even the candles?” Dean stood in the middle of the doorway to the kitchen of their apartment, where Castiel had set up shop. He was dressed in a loose track shirt from college and gray, soft pajama pants, the outfit one Castiel used when he was cleaning or doing anything creative so he didn’t get too messy.

“Yes, Dean. No, don’t give me that look. I wasn’t about to order four wax candles from halfway across the world when the craft shop was a block away and half the price.”

“Cas, I love you, okay? So much. Ride or die. But you have to clear with me the next time you bring pine and wax into our place. I don’t even do this stuff.”

“This ‘stuff’ is our tradition, and it’s important. I respect that you don’t exactly ‘subscribe’ but please be respectful of me as well.”

Dean seemed to give up, simply opting to step over the crafting supplies and working open the fridge to get the meatloaf leftovers from the other night. He only ever went for leftovers when work was hard, and it made Castiel’s heart almost hurt to see it.

“You’re welcome to help me, Dean.” Castiel hesitantly offered, sort of judging Dean out of the corner of his eye. “All I’m really doing is shaping the wreath and making the candles. I’ll likely be done by tonight, or early tomorrow.”

“I dunno, Cas.” Dean swirled the mashed potatoes on the side of his dish with a one shouldered shrug. “You know I don’t… do, that kind of stuff. We already bought the tree your sister used.” The tree in question was a five and a half foot plastic tree that they had yet to take out of the box; it was more than a little hard in the area to chop down a tree and bring it up to an apartment for a month at most before tossing it aside. Luckily Anna had given them the deal when her and her new husband have moved away. “Where does it even go?”

“It can go anywhere. Though the table might be nice.” Castiel noted, taking stock of their small, square table. “You’ll like it when it’s done, I’m sure. It looks so pretty when it’s done.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Dean gave a small smile and things fell silent after that. Castiel hoped he could deliver on what he said; and more than that, he hoped he could get a bit of cheer on Dean’s face instead of seeing the holiday as an obligation and the season as an unending cycle of cars breaking down in the snow and frost. And when Dean walked away, tired but still with enough energy to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair slightly, he doubled down on his efforts.

The candles, for what they were, were relatively well put together; they weren’t lopsided, for one, which Castiel was exceedingly grateful for if nothing else. Yes, he had some pricks on his hands that were still slightly itchy to the touch from nettles, and was sure there was still some around on the floor, but it looked rather nice and his chest swelled with pride gazing at it.

“That’s it?” Dean came up next to Castiel once he was called in.

“Yes, that’s ‘it’.” Castiel gave a small smile. “And just in time to light the first candle. Dim the lights, please?” Castiel was slightly surprised to see Dean actually go along with what he said, but he gladly accepted it as he struck up a match and lit the first purple candle. The little flame danced in the dark and Castiel admired it for a long time.

“So… What’s it all about, anyway?” Dean asked as he came up and wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist, though his voice sounded almost disinterested. Castiel looked over and found dean staring at him through his eyelashes. The dim candlelight in his face make him look younger than he was, in some strange way.

“You light one each week until the week of Christmas. This one… this one signifies Hope. For good things, for better things.” Castiel pointed to the lit candle. “Then the next week is Faith. The pink one is Joy… and the final purple one is Peace.”

“You get philosophical sometimes, you know that?” Dean joked slightly, earning an elbow to the ribs.

“You’re an assbutt, these are important.”

“Why can’t you light candles just because?” Dean asked. “For what you want?”

“That’s not how it works, Dean. We have the weeks for that.”

“You’re adorable with how heated you get sometimes, you know that?”

Cas was only glad the low candlelight hid how his face heated up.

“I’m gonna be honest… You don’t normally do this stuff. I know you don’t, not since you moved out.” Dean murmured after a long time, eyeing Castiel again. “I can’t remember the last time you went to a church activity that wasn’t a fundraiser.”

Castiel leaned into Dean more and considered his next words for a long time, looking into the tiny, flickering flame. “It’s not so much the worship itself. It’s the matter of family. We had our traditions at home. We would all work together and make a family wreath, or- Or Gabe would give us ungodly amounts of sugar and tinsel and let Anna and I decorate our house. And I understand you don’t have those traditions, really. I’m not trying to sound like I’m whining. I… I just want us to have a happy first Christmas as a couple. Make things all “holly jolly”, you know.”

Dean spoke after a long time, with fondness and loved laced in his tone underneath the words. “You dummy. I don’t need all that. You’re here, aren’t you? I don’t need strings of lights and garland and all that, really. Don’t go bending over backwards. But if it really meant that much to you, I would’ve helped you. ‘M sorry if you didn’t think I would…” Dean rubbed the back of his head. “I guess I’ve just been busy and grumpy with everything happy. But really, Cas. It’s important to you, so I’ll make it important to me. I’ll even light the next few candles, if that’s what you want.”

Castiel watched Dean and could tell he wasn’t lying, even in the candlelight. He meant every word he said. And it was enough to bring a small smile to his face. “I love you, Winchester.” He intoned very seriously.

“And I love you, Novak.” Dean smiled and kissed him gently before pulling away.

Through persuasion and a good deal of love, the wreath made it onto the front of the Christmas cards. And on the back were Castiel and Dean -- per great insistence from the latter -- in matching ugly sweaters.

[quickreaver]

Kripke speaks!

So last weekend I dragged my long-suffering husband to Toledo, Ohio to visit their absolutely amazing art museum (seriously, if you get a chance, visit it; it's stunningly good), but also, because hometown boy Eric Kripke was giving a talk there. A free talk. Two hours from me. I was excite! 

Okay, so … Toledo. First time I've actually been in the city, vs. just driving past. It's a ramshackle area, but to explore it is to reveal, in some small way, where Kripke and SPN came from. Smallish and hanging on by its fingernails, Toledo squats like an old cemetery in the shadows of the huge BP Oil refinery. If you head north, you hit Lake Eerie, which—this time of year—isn't awful. If you head south, you're in the middle of nowhere. Every other building seems to be derelict. Toledo's 'historic homes' district is chock full of Victorian painted ladies that have seen far better days, the colors peeling and the yards weedy, but they're still some of the most gingerbreaded, neo-Gothic delights I've seen in a long time.

( (The stupid watermark-like blur is the back of my phone. Should've rolled down the window, duh.)

The industry in town is the aforementioned oil refinery, glass factories, the University of Toledo and a whiff of tourism. So you end up with this strange amalgam of artiness, decay, and working class valor. I dig it. It's very early-season's SPN. I totally get where Kripke was coming from.

(A supposedly haunted building in downtown Toledo, the Pythian Castle.)

Kripke himself is an unassuming, warm, funny guy. The first few rows in the museum's auditorium were reserved for his family and friends, including past grade-school teachers. The majority of the audience was SPN fans, quite obviously, and not young ones either. It was a mix of ages, but far and away the crowd skewed older. If anyone yaks on about fandom only being for the young, or that the future of the SPN fandom is the 16-24 year olds, don't believe them. I did a bit of a live-tweet of his SPN-topical points, which I won't repeat here but you can hit my twitter and follow the #KripkeSpeaks tag for the highlights: https://twitter.com/hashtag/kripkespeaks?f=tweets&vertical=default&src=hash Lemme see if I can distill the talk down to a few points here, though. He worked very, very hard to get where he's at, and that hard work—regardless of failure—is what opened a lot of doors. That tenacious Midwest work ethic. No matter how small the job, he did it 200%. He slept on floors, he made huge mistakes, he kept his eyes open for serendipitous forks in the road. You've got to have a freight train mentality, but never … never … think you've got it mastered. Lean into the fear. There were two sticking points in his tenure with SPN that he was ready to quit over: when the WB (the CW's predecessor) wanted to ax the classic rock soundtrack, and in one of the episodes (he didn't specify which one), there was a flashback to young Sam and Dean, and the network didn't want to do it. Kripke simply said, “Then I quit.” And he meant it. “You've gotta mean it, or you have no bargaining chip.” Needless to say, the network caved. But he would've walked over either of those situations if the network hadn't conceded. Kripke always loved comedy, and wrote comedy script after comedy script, to no real avail. But he was getting recognized as someone who did solid work. He was a writer's assistant or some such lower level employee when they needed someone to write a script in a pinch. It was horror, but Kripke shrugged and said “What the hell, I'll do it!” It succeeded far better than any of his comedies. He'd been dreaming and fine-tuning his SPN idea for years, and that horror script got him in front of some big names, finally. They didn't like the idea of the heroes being reporters—it felt like a rehashed “Kolchak, the Night Stalker” to them—but then on the fly, he made the leads brothers. In a muscle car. He plucked inspiration from his Toledo childhood. And the big names perked right up. (The stuff he offered “on the fly” had been notes he'd scribbled in the margins of his script. Never let those gems go; you never know when they'll come in handy!) For me, the biggest take-away was “Show me a confident writer, and I'll show you a bad one.” Now, this doesn't mean that you shouldn't know your worth, that you shouldn't love what you do. Plow forward like a freight train, do your very best work, but never stop learning. If think you're the hottest thing since the Pet Rock, well … whatever happened to those Pet Rocks, anyways? When someone crows too loudly about their own expertise, their own authority, they've likely stopped learning. You miss so many opportunities if you think there's only one way to do things. His next TV adventure, Revolution,, was very stressful and fraught with challenges, but he still did his damnedest to make it succeed. When it got canceled, though, he wasn't disappointed. Timeless was far more of a joy to create. That one, he was sad to see go. Then he showed the trailer for his newest show (to be available on Amazon Prime) and it looks sooooo good. The Boys. He's working with the gang that developed Preacher, and sounds like it has that same iconoclastic, dark-humored vibe. YUM. So Kripke gets to exercise his comedy chops after all! (Though, really, SPN had some fantastic comedy moments too. Who says the horror genre has to take itself so seriously?) He took a handful of questions afterwards, during which he revealed he'd love to participate in the last season/episode if his contract will allow. TULPA THIS SHIT, Y'ALL. I had to split at that point because my husband had been patient enough and I was getting hangry and itching to see the museum, but Kripke hung around for autographs. Like the good egg he is. The industry needs more writers like Kripke. I enjoyed the heck out of Toledo, and him.

[percywinchester27]

Ardent

Word count: 1.2K

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Pride and Prejudice references ;)

Summary: Dean comes up with a way to help the reader sleep better and she uses that to tell him how she really feels. Will it work?

A/N: This was written for my dear friend Kari that is @thing-you-do-with-that-thing. I really like this fic, I hope y’all like it, too <3

SPN Masterlist

It started out very innocently, and only because it slipped past your lips as a drunken confession one night, when you had been celebrating a successful hunt in a rundown bar. Dean had asked you why you stay up at night, to which you had innocently blurted out the truth- that you had always had trouble falling asleep.

And when he had asked if there was a solution to it, you had blabbered that too. That sleep came easily when someone read out to you. It had started as a kid, when you mom read out stories to you- not fairy tales, but the badass ones that she had written herself. One where the dragon wasn't keeping the princess prisoner, instead he was her friend and he was helping her stay away from the proud prince who didn't deserve her. They were stories about warrior maidens who were fierce on the battle field, but also just and kind to her subjects. You had loved them.

Later in college, even though your roommate found it funny, she would read out course books to you and you would be out within a few minutes.

But times changed, and your life wasn’t as pretty or naive anymore. You had seen the reality behind the happy tinted veil- that monsters and creatures beyond your imagination existed, and it wouldn't take them more than a minute to tear down your entire world- just like they had.

With this truth came nightmares, and the sleep that was already scarce, sometimes evaded you completely. Only, there was no one left to read out loud to you. No, they were part of your nightmares now, as they were brutally snatched away from you.

The one good thing that had come out of this was meeting the Winchester. It was getting to fall in love with Dean. It was getting to live your best with him by your side. The only problem was that each moment next to him was marred by a the quiet sense of regret that your love was unrequited.

You didn't blame Dean in the least, because if he didn't know that you loved him, he couldn't very well return it, right? You didn't even try to let him know, so, no point holding it against him, but God, you wanted him to just read it out of your head how utterly in love with him you were.

The fact that he was the most caring man in the world didn't help your case either. When he found out about your sleeplessness, he offered to read to you. Which was how you found yourself in your bed, tucked in properly within fluffy blankets, with your head resting in his lap. Dean fussed over which book to read, which was a first world problem really, because how were you to tell him that by being so close to him, you weren't going to get any sleep anyway. Never mind that your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

But sleep did come. As he read out loud from a Kurt Vonnegut book, his deep voice alluring and lulling, you did find yourself nodding off and soon your heart adjusted to the rhythm of his diction and you found yourself sleeping dreamlessly for the first time in years.

It became a tradition after that. Each night he would come over, read to you and by morning you'd be rested enough to take on the world. Until one night, he was so tired that he fell asleep right besides you. That was the first morning you woke up next to Dean Winchester, your eyes opening to the light dusting of freckles on his nose and the perfect shadows that his long lashes cast on his cheek. He was perfection. That was also the day you decided you were going to tell him how you felt. You had to, because the alternative of living your whole life with that secret buried in your heart was too painful to even consider.

The idea came to you just as quickly and the following evening you handed him your favorite love book - Pride and Prejudice.

Dean was skeptic. "You really want me to read this?"

"You should try it. It's pretty awesome, you know."

Dean laughed, looking way too reluctant. "You're seriously gonna put me through this, kid?"

"Yep!" You crossed your fingers behind your back, hoping that the book would say it all for you.

He gave in, as always, despite his own disinterest, and as always you fell asleep before he was even done with the first chapter. Dean continued next day with little to no whining. You didn't know if he had suddenly grown interested in the story, or if was just putting up with your tantrum, but you fervently did hope that he got your intent behind making him endure a romance novel.

So the days passed and so did the novel, and each morning you woke up in the circle of his arms. Just a little closer than yesterday, drawing his warmth and breathing the air that touched him.

That night he read, in a voice that spoke directly to your soul:

“...In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you...”

A tear slipped down your cheek, soaking into his pajamas.

"Are you crying?" Dean gasped, shocked.

"No," you sniffed, trying to wipe your eyes inconspicuously. How stupid could you possibly be? Expecting Dean to see a deeper meaning into a book like ‘Pride and prejudice?’ What were you thinking?

"Hey, look at me," Dean said, gently shaking you, but you pushed your face deeper against his body.

His fingers found your hair and lightly carded through it. "I love you, Y/N," he breathed, unsure. "I'm no Darcy… I mean, you know I'm crap with words, but surely you can see that I can't imagine my life without you."

You sat up so quickly, that you hit his chin the process.

"What did you say?"

He was still massaging his chin. "I said, I love you, you crazy girl."

That's all you needed to hear as you crushed his lips with yours, pouring your hopeless, wordless love into it, and after a surprised second, he did the same, loving you with all he had.

Dean was right, he was no William Darcy. But he didn't have to be, because he was Dean Winchester and he was perfectly imperfect. One of a kind. The very best. And right then, he was yours. How many people were that lucky? 

The answer presented itself quickly. No one, except you.

***********************

A/N 2: Please do consider reblogging my work and leaving feedback. Reblogging helps spread it, and also helps against the “best posts first” option tumblr has. The more the notes, the less chance of it getting buried beneath others posts. And the comments are what keep me going. I love you guys and I’ll be in forever grateful <3

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[minnie-marvel]

Just a Quick Stop (Pietro x Reader)

When comparing the Maximoff twin’s powers in the compound living room at night ends with Pietro having a bruised ego, he feels determined to make sure you know why he’s the superior twin.

Pietro x Reader

Words: 1187

A/N: I LIIIIIIVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEE Y’ALL!!! Seriously its been such a long time since I’ve written so I wasn’t really super confident on this piece. Hopefully I can still get my creative juices flowing after this lil drabble!! I know what youre all thinking “WHERES CROWNFELL?!?!?” trust me trust me, I’m definitely working on part nine but remember that it has been quite a while since I’ve written and I’m still in school till December. But!!!! I promise that I’ll keep working on it and make sure that I get it out eventually!! I’m trying to spend more time on it since its such a favorite among my followers. Anywhooooo!!! Enjoy this fic!! Pietro is so fun I love to write for flirty characters like him.

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You sat on the compound couch with Wanda watching Paranormal Activity. You absolutely hated scary movies with a passion but Wanda had just gotten back from a week-long mission. You wouldn’t miss an opportunity to hang out with her after not seeing her for so long. 

You saw the door slam shut in the movie and instantly jolted. You felt your skin crawl, you knew something was up. You looked over to see Wanda sleeping and sighed. You couldn’t blame her, she had a rough week with the mission taking up all her time, but you wished she would’ve had tried to stay up with you for just a little longer! You were only half an hour in when you heard her soft snores. 

Regardless of whether your friend joined you or not, your eyes returned to the screen along with your crawling skin when you felt someone grab at your shoulder suddenly making you scream and in turn waking Wanda up who defensively conjured magic throwing you and the person who had grabbed you against the wall. 

“Shit!!!”  Pietro hissed holding his head as he threw himself into a fetal position. You groaned hitting the floor holding your side.

Wanda covered her mouth in a gasp. “I-I’m so sorry!!” she said quickly rushing over to you lifting you to your feet. Pietro rolled his eyes. “What? No sympathy for your poor big brother?” he asked.

“Not when he decides to scare the innocent!” You snapped slapping his shoulder.  He laughed at your attempt to wound him only leaning over your shoulder. “Well, how can I possibly resist frightening when I have the perfect scardey cat to trick!”  You rolled your eyes at his snide smile. What a handsome asshole. 

“It’s too late for this much excitement,” groaned Wanda. “I’m going to bed,” she said rubbing her eyes before giving you a sleepy hug. “I’m sorry about this Y/N, I promise tomorrow  I’ll actually be lucid enough to spend some time together,” she gave a soft yawn.

“Oh don’t worry Wanda, I know you’re probably exhausted,” you waved her off dismissively. “Just promise me you’ll get some rest okay?” You smiled. She yawned stretching the both of her arms before nodding at you.“Goodnight you two,” she whispered tiredly before walking to her room.

You held your breath after she disappeared into her door standing across from Pietro in the living room the both of you standing silently waiting for the other to speak. There was something unspoken between you two, you knew it, but neither of you dared to act on the obvious chemistry between you both. After all, you were Wanda’s best friend and he was Wanda’s twin brother. Anything that became of this would surely be awkward for all three of you. 

“So,” you both drawled at the same time. Damnit, things just had to get weird didn’t they?    

“How was your mission?” you asked after a prolonged time. “aren’t you as tired as Wanda after a week of only work?”

He smirked. “Maybe I’m just the stronger twin,” You punched his shoulder. 

“Yeah right! I’ve seen Wanda lift trucks over you!” You snickered folding your arms across your chest. 

“Maybe so,” He nodded respectfully. “But can she do this?” He asked suddenly picking you up bridal style. “Hold on tight Y/N, it’s time to take a little trip.” He suddenly sped off with you in his arms yelping quickly as you latched onto him.

“Wait Pietro what are you-”

“Its just a quick stop I promise!”

“Quick stop what do you- SHIT!!!” You screamed trying not to let go. “Where do you think- URGH” You choked coughing furiously. “Oh god, I think I just swallowed a bug,” You panicked before feeling your hair whip into your face crazily as Pietro pulled to a stop. 

“Okay Pietro, you’d better have a damn well good reason to have up and kidnapped me because I swear to god once Wanda finds out-” You finally looked up from his chest and gasped your breath quickly being stolen away. Pietro held you close to his body as he overlooked the town.

It was stunning, the lights of the now far away city twinkled here and there. The stars weren’t out due to the light pollution of the Big Apple but you didn’t mind. After all, the city had become a constellation I itself with its magnificent lights. 

“What a view,” you breathed letting yourself down walking closer to the edge of the cliff.

Pietro’s eyebrow quipped slightly above his eye as he took in a different view. “You’re telling me,” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. You rolled your eyes turning yourself around resting your hands on your hips. “Boy Pietro, could you be any more charming?”  The sarcasm in your voice could have poisoned him if it weren’t for the fact that it was well, Pietro.

He walked forward to you mimicking your movements putting his hands on his hip. “What, would you like to see mine too?”

“Oh god, Pietro stop it!!” You laughed shoving him slightly. You sat on the ground taking a moment to whistle. You still weren’t over how gorgeous it was, everything just seemed so bright. You felt Pietro sit next to you as you surveyed the city and felt your lips subconsciously curl into a smile.

“I have to admit, you may not have lifted a truck over my head but I’m still floored,”  You leaned on the backs of your palms and saw Pietro grin at you pleased that you finally praised him.

“I could have taken you across the sea to Paris if I wanted to,” He shrugged simply as if it weren’t as much of a feat as it was. 

“Yeah right,” You rolled your eyes, now you remembered why you didn’t compliment Pietro often. You felt his gaze on you as he laid on his side, elbow propped on the cold grass supporting his chin as he looked into your eyes. 

“Would you like to see me try?” He asked. You stopped in the middle of your sassy remark. Was he actually being serious? Going to Paris did sound like a nice way to spend your Friday night, but you shook your head instead.

“No I’m fine here,” You said simply taking a hand and pulling it through his silver dyed locks and down to the side of his face. He practically melted into your touch.

You smiled, face flushing at his soft expression. “After all, I’ve got everything that I need right where I am,” 

---

After your little date under the stars, you walked into the compound doors rubbing your temples as Pietro followed close behind bragging about how he was the perfect first date.

“I think I really outdid myself this time Y/N,” he laughed. “The only thing that could have made things better was as if you pulled me close and-”

“Oh for the love of god!” You turned swiftly on your heels grabbing Pietro by his cheeks pulling him into a kiss. 

“There, happy?” You asked turning back around in a huff as you left the poor speedster behind practically frozen in his tracks.

Finally, he stopped talking.

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