#also is this quote really from supernatural???

[malcanine-art]

When is a monster not a monster?

(Oh, when you love it.)

#wenclair #wenclair fanart #wednesday #wednesday addams #enid x wednesday #can you believe i used references from grey's anatomy #also is this quote really from supernatural??? #lord have mercy #enid sinclair #wednesday netflix #enid #my art #art #digital art #artists on tumblr #wlw #wlw art #fanart

[the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis]

i was thinking about werewolves, and legends about calling someone you love by their name to transform them back, how much love that must take (and how that maybe wouldn’t be a good thing), and...

dream of the place where nothing is red

an au where jacob black is a full-blown, full-moon, body-horror werewolf. this story is nothing but vibes, please don’t overthink it. also, mild body horror ahead, enter at your own risk

(as always text below the read-more for those of you who prefer to read on tumblr; about 3,000 words!)

Bella stands on the cliffs and clenches her fists.

She’s put it together, all the pieces of clues, all the truths she didn’t want to admit.

The phone rattling to life in the midnight-dead-quiet of the house, startling her out of sleep to listen to Charlie stumbling and swearing through the dark. Grim reports and bodies in a morgue, in a too-regular rhythm, spaced almost far enough not to notice.

Pawprints torn bloody into black dirt, the dragging trails of heavy claws—too large to be anything but a bear, too unmistakably canine to pretend they are. Whispered stories between hikers in the store shelves.

Unanswered calls, ringing out and out to a full voicemail box to, eventually, the click of a disconnected line.

I’m not good anymore, a cracked voice, and cracked nails on shaking fingers. Rain pouring down and down and down, choking, drowning—

The moonlight silver on the waves.

Ssh, the ocean roars, crashes and churns and spits bitter salt against the rocks, so far below her it sounds like a whisper. You hear it. He’s coming.

She does. Not howls, for all that some part of her is braced for a high and piercing voice to split the lonely night. Just the thunder of footfalls, the huge heaving breaths of something too big to exist, branches snapping on its back as it churns toward her through the trees.

She inhales, and clings to the cold in her lungs. The cut on her forearm, so long and deep her brain has whited out the pain, pulses—she can feel cool liquid sliding down her wrist, taste the rusty, sour smell on the air. Her heart beats, furious as the waves. Blood drips off her fingertips, splashes onto lichen-streaked stone.

Above the forest, the full moon gleams.

And the werewolf bursts through the trees.

A scream flails in Bella’s throat. She bites her lip, refuses to let the sound free.

It’s huge.

Except even that isn’t enough to describe it, nowhere near.

The creature across the clearing—slinking to a wary halt at the sight of her, pawing at the place where forest melts to clifftop with a horrible screech of claws against stone—is so big that part of Bella’s brain has stuttered to a stop just trying to make sense of it.

Its head looms higher than hers, even on all four paws. Jaws snap open, closed, open. A red tongue lashes out over black lips, both oozing a darkness she won’t try to name. Teeth burn white in the moonlight, fangs so long Bella thinks she could wrap a hand around one and her fingers wouldn’t meet on the other side of it.

Muscle ripples under russet-red fur as it paces, tossing that huge shaggy head, and the force would be enough to tear her limb from limb without any effort at all.

Some shivering part of her wails run, RUN, but she knows it’s far too late for that.

She’s left herself only one way out.

Over the edge of the cliff. Down into the hungry roar of the waves. Maybe luring the monster after her if she’s lucky. If she’s quick and clever enough to make one last difference, even though her life has meant less than nothing since Edward left her—

The wolf shudders, tosses its head high one last time…and steps onto the stone.

Muscles coil in its back legs, readying for a spring. Its eyes burn in the heavy shadows under that bristling fur—she can’t tell quite where they end or begin, but she can tell they’re locked on her.

For one last moment, she pictures turning. Jumping. Both of them plummeting down into a rush of silver bubbles—drowning together, sinking somewhere neither of them can hurt anyone ever again. Dying this time not in the place of someone she loves, but with them, gripped in their jaws and thrashing down, down, down together.

 But her heart pounds and the waves crash and adrenaline is as sharp and as bright in her veins as the gleaming moon overhead.

There’s a different story clenched in her fists tonight.

The wolf, (the huge slavering bloody-mouthed monster, the killer with screeching claws and bristling fur and a lashing tail), leaps.

Bella stands straight, summons every ounce of air in her aching lungs.

“Jacob Ephraim Black.”

Her voice cracks, but it doesn’t shake, and the wolf—the werewolf (the terrified, trembling monster out of place in these woods and knowing it, with too-bright eyes and jagged, wheezing breaths desperate to fill too-large lungs)—

Stops. Gracelessly, furiously, crashing to a halt at the last instant, digging claws into stone and sending shards of it flying—one grazes Bella’s cheek, slices it open.

It's so close that Bella can smell the sour-rot scent of someone else’s blood dripping from the jaws bare inches above her, so close that hot breath gusts across her face and sends shudders down her spine.

So close that she can recognize his eyes.

 They’re not black, the way they looked across the clearing with subtlety scored away by moonlight and the shadows of trees and the buzz of terror under her skin. No, the wolf’s eyes are brown—deep, mesmerizing, rich and cool as the soil humming with life between pine tree roots—

She knows those eyes. Human eyes, stretched too big to fit in this massive skull, with pupils blown wide in terror and burst blood vessels staining their whites. Emotion hums from them into the pit of her stomach, even though there’s no cue to explain it. Terror. Rage. The desperate need to hurt, to heal, to run—

His pain hers, just like always.

Jacob.

Bella swallows. She strains onto her tiptoes and raises her left hand, (ignoring the pain that lashes lightning-quick from the cut up to her shoulder, ignoring the stained fur that makes it clear the half-baked plan of her blood luring him to her first failed). She can’t reach anything but the bottom of his muzzle, wants desperately not to get that close to the fangs bulging behind his pressed-close lips—

But then he bends his head. His eyes are still wary and wild, but the nose that he presses into her palm is cool. She slides her hand farther up his snout, into shockingly-soft russet fur, and watches him tremble at the touch.

"Jacob,” she says again, and clings tight. “Jacob Ephraim Black.”

He growls, low and fierce and so loud it rumbles into the pit of Bella’s stomach.

RUN! the back of her mind insists again, but she’s floated so far from that shaking, rational voice that it barely even registers. The wolf’s skin burns, and she's warm, flooded by it from the palm of her hand and sheer proximity.

The shape of the werewolf will be removed if he be reproached by name, the book had said, or if again he be thrice addressed by his Christian name.

 It had taken her so long to find a copy of it, scouring library shelves off the desperate hint of one careless mention of a myth, if someone who loves a werewolf calls them by their name, they transform back! on a barely-maintained blog.

She’d stumbled across that searching werewolf and trying desperately not to collapse into memories at the just-barely-warped reflection of her first weeks here. (Was every legend true, every horror story and myth alive in the gloomy shadows of these trees? Was she going to keep falling in love with them for her whole miserable life—)

It was less than half a clue, less than half a chance. Hadn’t she already known first-hand how unreliable all the stories were? (A vampire standing in the sun, blazing gold tracing the map of where veins should’ve been, light caught blinding under his skin like it was about to sear away and she’d gasped on the verge of a scream, but he just smiled.)

But she’d been heartsick for weeks by then, gnawing on her lip so constantly, so deep, that the sores stung when she brushed her teeth. Notes about missing persons taped to their fridge in Charlie’s shaky scrawl. Stumbling across smudged pawprints on a hike with Jake and he whistled but the scar of a monster’s fangs on her wrist burned suddenly ice-cold.

Jake, leaving a movie early because he hadn’t wanted to cancel on her but Embry and Quil were already at a campsite waiting for him and he’d honked and waved furiously out the window as he peeled out of the parking lot, and she’d buried her head in her hands to hide the fact that she was grinning—

And then there was nothing, nothing, a phone ringing out to Billy’s pre-recorded voice.

One last argument in the driving rain, and the terror on his face. You have no idea what I’ve done, he whispered, and she grabbed his hand, begged, I don’t care, Jake, I don’t, please, but he tore free, spat you should.

And when she went back the next day even Billy had no idea where he was.

She’d been sobbing herself to sleep, sliding slowly back towards the blank-page apathy that she knew could swallow her whole. Dragging the screen out of her bedroom window to perch on the sill and let her feet dangle down over a drop that probably wouldn’t kill her, when the nightmares jerked her awake and refused to let go. Watching the woods behind the house, pulling a too-big hoodie tight around herself and trying to convince herself it still smelled like Jake.

He’d lent it to her, one miserable day when it started snowing out nowhere while they were in the garage and she hadn’t been able to stop shivering even curled up around the tiny, coughing space heater. And then, of course, he insisted she keep it at least long enough to get to her truck through the snow—and of course she’d kept meaning to give it back, but—

But she stood in the library months later with a reprinting of some priest’s book heavy in her hands, the only other stories of solutions she’d been able to find, (solutions, never cures), churning bitter in her stomach, and thought this.

(She’d been choking awake from nightmares for weeks. Silver knives buried in the middle of Jacob’s forehead, right next to the near-permanent smudges of engine grease because he always forgot and brushed hair off his face in the middle of working on the Rabbit. Her hands pouring poison down his throat and he looked at her heartbroken for one long moment before he choked, gagged, and instead of vomit his face crawled back out of his throat, bloody and swelling and snapping fangs—)

This I can do, she thought.

(The worst part was never the nightmares themselves. The worst part was remembering them as she stared at grainy obituary photos, at the flickering of plastic battery candles tucked in the memorial nook by the cafeteria and the glossy smile in a cheap picture frame between them—and love still sat heavy as a stone in her stomach. The worst part was waking up sweaty and screaming and knowing that the dreams were a best-case she’d never be strong enough to reach—)

And now she stands a bare step from the edge of a cliff, Jacob snarling and shivering beneath her hand, and he doesn't bite. The exhilaration is too strong to even remember her terror.

She winds her fingers tighter into his damp fur, soaked through now by the blood on her palm.

The wolf’s head is too huge to really meet both his eyes at once, but she tries anyways. Stares into that frantic, frenzied brown—thinks about the handful of fears Jacob’s confessed to her, slow and shaking every time like he expected her to hate him for it. Thinks about how she sometimes wanted to tear the world apart just listening (I don’t think I can remember my mom’s voice), but she could never find that anger in him—

“I love you,” she says, ignoring that this of everything she’s done tonight makes panic claw between her ribs, “Jacob Ephraim Black.”

She wants to slam her eyes shut as she says it. To have nothing but the feel of his name on her lips, to not have to know if the story was just a story, if she’s run out of whatever luck or coincidence stopped the wolf the first time she spoke—

She keeps watching. Grits her teeth and swallows her fear, and stares into brown eyes as for a moment, under the harsh light of the moon, everything goes still. Even Jacob. The tremors vanish. His growl and his gasps for breath fall suddenly silent.

The waves roar.

The wolf—

Blinks.

 Hope has its own heartbeat in Bella’s throat. It pounds her temples, aches in the sockets of her eyes.

Jacob’s eyes snap open, pupils narrowed to pinpricks, a million miles away from meeting Bella’s gaze—and then he jerks his head away. Fur rips free in Bella’s fist with the force of it. She stumbles, dragged a useless step in his wake as—

He whips his head up and (finally, furiously) howls.

It rips the night apart. Ricochets out across the ocean, not plaintive or lonely at all, shrill and hoarse and agonized. Bella blinks back tears, ears ringing.

But the wolf is shrinking.

For a second Bella thinks maybe it’s just that aching hope, strangling her now—but he topples over sideways, and it’s unmistakable.

He curls in on himself, and with every spasm limbs shrink, huge heaving sides cling closer and closer to the ribcage twisting under his skin like something alive. The claws gouging into stone leave smaller and smaller trails—and then don’t break into it at all.

He keeps thrashing.

Red fur ripples, crawling onto its ends and then melting back into clumps and knots and messy, impossible lines—leaving smooth brown skin underneath it, shining sweat-slick.

A crack echoes out, like gunfire—another, and another—bones, Bella realizes dizzily, those are his bones breaking.

He whimpers, caught halfway between the wolf and the voice she knows some days better than her own.

She doesn’t have a plan. His head is still the wolf’s, with bristling fangs and jaws cracking at impossible angles as it strains to fit all of them—she doesn’t have a plan. Has a screaming primal terror in her stomach telling her to stay back.

But she steps closer.

“Jake,” she says.

He rasps another horrible half-human howl, and she sinks onto her knees beside him. He’s almost all human-shaped now, twisted down in the time it took her to get to him, into two long legs that bend in all the places they’re supposed to, a human torso scraping against the jagged stone, long black hair spilled out in a puddle around his head.

But his skin still seethes. Ragged patches of rust-red fur crawl across his thighs, wrap his stomach around to his back, line his shoulders. It clings stubbornly thick to his wrists and the backs of his hands, clustering around elbows that bulge not quite right, and—

His face. A long stripe of fur slashes across it, forehead to chin, around the edge of lips that still bulge a little out of his face, not quite done being a muzzle. One long fang curves over his jaw, digs viciously into the soft flesh of his neck. Bella chokes on a gasp.

He wrenches around. His eyes, still red with burst blood vessels, lock onto her, and this time she can see him recognizing her. Sees the shame, the guilt, burning straight down to his heart.

“Jake,” she repeats. He squeezes his eyes shut.

She reaches, catches one of his twitching hands—the inside of his palm is still coated in soft fur. She laces her fingers through his. Two of them are still half claws, knuckles melting into hard bone and razor-sharp edges—

“Jake, please.” Her voice cracks. She clutches tighter, not caring that she can feel her knuckles bruising against the claws. “Jake, I’m here.”

His hand is so, so cold, and she's never felt so useless—

Realization hits, electric.

She drops his hand, fumbling for the hem of her sweater. She wore it for—some stupid reason. Something in between a desperate attempt at scents that would catch his attention from wherever he was hiding, and just needing the comfort, as she stumbled out of the house with her heart in pieces, a note on her desk that she was hoping desperately she’d be back in time to burn before Charlie had to read it—

Give the werewolf his human clothes, and he will remember his human shape—

She’s wearing Jake’s hoodie. She drags it over her head, wincing as it drags against the cut on her arm, but then it’s loose in her hands, fabric still warm from her own body. Goosebumps prickle down the back of her neck.

She leans in, grabs Jacob under the arms, and heaves. (He’s heavy, but worse than that she can feel bones still moving under his skin, grinding below coarse red fur, and for a second she thinks she might vomit—)

But he groans as she drags him upright, and the sound is almost human.

“Come on,” she whispers, heart hammering, as he slumps forward onto her shoulder. (There are too many teeth in his mouth still, shining as his lips part to gulp down air, and she’s hyper-aware of their inches from her skin—) “Come on, Jacob.”

It’s hard, and horrible, and she’s going to be so sore tomorrow, but she pushes him up again just long enough to wrestle the hoodie over his head. He shudders, violently—

And this time when he collapses onto her shoulder, his arms fly up to hug her. To grip the back of her t-shirt, with fingers that aren’t claws at all. (She can feel blood soaking off them in tiny pinpricks, knows his nails must be cracking and tearing from their beds again, just like that last shouted conversation where she finally let herself suspect.)

“Bella,” he sobs, hoarse and desperate and familiar as the backs of her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Jake,” she says, one last time. Below them, the ocean murmurs, and finally, she uncurls her fists and reaches out to hug him back. 

#is this original content? #jacob black #i have no explanation i was thinking about werewolves #i really cannot stress enough how much this is Just Vibes #which forks high school student do YOU think jacob murdered?! #it's up to you i didn't care enough to decide #opposite energy though #the quotes about werewolf lore are from an actual book by an actual English priest btw #also i've been thinking a Lot about symmetrical language in stories recently #so yes. that is on purpose #it might also be annoying idk i wrote this and desperately wanted to post it #also yes i stole this title from that really good poem #'when is a monster not a monster oh when you love it' #that is. you know. supernatural fanwork #it's a good poem

[casualavocados]

the true eclipse

Buckle up, folks, this is going to get long.

What seems to be the most popular theory people have derived from the symbolism in this series casts Akk as the sun and Ayan as the moon in an eclipse. @grapejuicegay (kk) and I, through a number of posts and a bunch of dms, have been breaking that idea down to its barest functions, starting with:

“I don’t actually think that Akk is the sun. I think that credit belongs entirely to Suppalo, and Akk, [...] is just a representation of that sun.

I think the eclipse is Ayan’s influence on Akk blocking out the influence of the sun.” (ref: kk)

Suppalo's emblem is literally an image of the sun. And it’s not just Akk being affected here by the moon! It’s everyone! It’s Kan, Thua, Wat, and the entire student body.

“During an eclipse, when the moon covers the sun the sun’s influence is reduced. So if control over the students is through the sun, the moon covering it would mean the loss on control.” 

- (ref: kk’s post about lighting and cinematography)

That made me think though about Ayan saying "even if i wasnt here this would still be happening" - so yes Aye is the moon to Akk, and a figure many of the characters go to for advice - but as a whole The World Remembers group is actually the moon to Suppalo.

And while Ayan supports The World Remembers, he’s not actually behind what they’re doing. The protests started before he joined the school. He’s given them encouragement, but lately they’ve been growing their own support from others in Suppalo, and they’ve done that all themselves.

And kk had something absolutely galaxy brained to say about that too in our dms:

The World Remembers WOULD still be doing everything they're doing now without ayan around and they WOULD reach the same conclusions and the only reason we don't think that more is because this show has been diverting our attention this entire time. i've been rewatching old episodes a little bit and the only reason there's any connection between world remembers organising stuff and ayan is because AKK KEPT SAYING IT and he was always wrong but he said it so much that it just became this thing that was like, yeah ofc.

WHICH ALSO. SUCH a good way to show brainwashing??? they're not even showing it, they're just doing it to us [the audience] so that at some point we might realise it's happening and it's like you're not special, it can happen to anybody. everybody is susceptible to propaganda.”

And here’s the real kicker: BOTH of these parties - The World Remembers group and Ayan - have differing motivations that are leading towards the same goal. Both are devoted to searches for the truth, and are uncovering oppressive regulations in the process. Aye is searching for the truth about Dika, and The World Remembers is searching for the truth about the curse - asking for a proper investigation into who could be trying to hurt the students and tearing down Suppalo’s credibility as they go.

(there's already been a lot of analysis into the other ideas they represent: the fight for no uniforms which has led to a criticism of homophobic society and the way oppressive systems benefit from heteronormativity specifically - so i won't say more of that here)

The point is...the real eclipse is truth and knowledge outshining fear and oppression.  

...But surely Akk has a bigger role in this, right?

To us, Akk can't be the sun because he isn't being covered up, or smothered, like the moon does to the sun - he's being brought out of his shell instead.

And so here is a special shoutout to @singharit​’s theory that made kk and i lose our minds:

“something something the way how akk is associated with water and the sea and how so many moments i can think of that involve him opening up to ayan also involve water in some way. [...]  

the way how ayan is the moon, steady and sure [...] being not just a light in the dark for the other students wrt truth and justice and the concept of shame, but also the very thing that controls the tides with its gravitation pull.

We both adore this idea, not just because water is the exact opposite of fire, but also because it's a symbol of change and erosion. The longer Akk spends around Aye and his influence, the more he opens up, the more he changes, the more he questions, the more his original brainwashing by Suppalo/Chadok/the sun to focus on rules wears away into embracing the freedom of expression and being himself. 

“the way how during an eclipse, the tides are the highest that they’ll ever be.”- ( @singharit​ cont.)

As Akk’s relationship with Ayan grows, the eclipse draws closer, which leaves only one question left to ask: What will happen when the eclipse arrives and the tides reach their peak?

TLDR; The real eclipse is truth and knowledge (the moon) outshining fear and oppression (the sun). Akk is affected by the moon, changing like the tides the longer he is in it’s influence.

#the eclipse #grapejuicegay #90% of this is direct quotes from our dms i just tried to organize them into something a little more coherent and tied together for everyon #singharit i hope u dont mind me quoting your post here i just got soooo excited about it #and it really truly needed to be included here #I THINK I SAID IT ALL? #KK FEEL FREE TO ADD ON ANYTHING YOU WANT OR THAT I MISSED #also gonna tag a couple people I HOPE U DONT MIND ily all 💛💛 #pdribs #tosnimeat #usernuria #hipranparakul #none of you have to rb this if you dont want to ofc #i just thought maybe you might like to see it im enjoying watchung this show with u guys <3 #and this post is kk's fault (affectionate) #long post #akkayan #anyway wat's impression of the vague exploration of reality and supernatural is right. so jot that down. #the eclipse the series #🍇 kk

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Thinking of how Merlin would interact with different forms of a personification of Death from other shows.

Especially if death showed up every time Arthur almost died before getting saved by Merlin.

I just like the idea of the whole destiny, Old Religion stuff in the show clashing with other powers in other shows.

So, destiny might know that Arthur isn't supposed to die yet, but not everyone else does.

Plus, Merlin is a being of magic created to protect Arthur, and I like to think maybe he just doesn't show up on Deaths' radars.

And, well, maybe we'd get something like this:

. . . . .

Good Omens' Death

Death: It is time for Arthur Pendragon to meet his doom.

Merlin: ...

Death: *tilts head that implies an eyebrow was raised even though they don't really have eyebrows*

Merlin: ... *magic blast*

Cue magic fight until someone looses.

. . . . .

Supernatural's Death (either the first one or Billy really. Billy would just be less tired and more fed up)

Death: Alright, time to take another one-

Merlin: Who the hell are you?

Death: That depends. Who the hell are you?

Merlin, noting the large sythe and the fact that no one's tried to kill Arthur in almost a whole week: some say that I am the most powerful sorceror to walk the Earth. That I am magic itself. And I am destined to protect Arthur Pendragon at any costs.

Death: Seriously?

Merlin: *eyes glow gold*

Death: *sigh* yeah, no, I'm not dealing with this today. Bye bye. *wooshes away*

Merlin: Huh. That was easy.

. . . . .

Sandman's Death

Death: Hello! Oh.

Merlin: ...Hello?

Death: oh, this is interesting. You're not supposed to be here.

Merlin: really?

*long talk about who they each are and figuring out what's going on."

Death: Well, I think that means I'm not meant to be here for him yet, then.

Merlin: yet?

Death: Oh, Merlin. With life, there must also be death. But there is still time left for you both to enjoy it.

Merlin: As long as it's not for a long time off.

Death: ...Enjoy it, Merlin.

Merlin: ...alright.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #death #death supernatural #death sandman #death good omens #i am not neil gaiman or terry pratchett #i am also not any of the writers from merlin or supernatural #so the way i wrote this dialog is probably really wonky #but as long as it's kind of funny and/or generally gets my point across #i think it's fine #maybe #hopefully #incorrect quotes #fanfic #thoughts #headcanons #i don't really know what this is #supernatural #the sandman #good omens season one #good omens

[titansarmy]

nico is a loser and nico is a nerd and while i can subscribe to the idea that in the 21st century, nico di angelo likes superhero movies and the sorts. i am a firm believer that his fave director and movies are actually from guillermo del toro.

#he watched the shape of water and WEPT i know this i know this in my heart #like. guillermo del toro's entire thesis is about monsters. and the supernatural. and everyone that is basically outside the norm. #and he treats these characters with so much humanity and respect. monsters are deserving too. #his quote about that goes something along the lines of 'the beast doesn't need to transform to be loved' lives rent free in my head and i #think nico would really really really find a lot of comfort in shit like that #outside from that. guillermo del toro is also a little wacky and tbh nico likes the weird.he would enjoy it.

[hollybell51]

Don't bet on it

Navigation

Castiel x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm shocked too dw)

Summary: I have no idea how to describe this I'm so sorry it's just smut. There's also some morning-after shenanigans. Believe me if I could I would but thinking of a title was hard enough.

Content: Just... pretty much 9.6K words of shameless Cas smut because I love him. Only one bed, porn with a plot, friends to lovers (sort of), little bit of hurt/comfort and first aid (?), Cas is a bit of warning honestly. Smut: Cas is a virgin, first kiss, making out, hickeys, blowjob, handjob, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (yikes), fingering, very very light dirty talk, very loving very gentle sex, sharing a bed. Dean is a bit of an oblivious idiot, Sam is less oblivious.

Notes: I wrote this while trying to fall asleep at my friend's house and didn't proof read. I've also only known Cas for six episodes (almost seven), so most of the characterisation for him is based of gifsets, incorrect quotes, and other fanfics (so is the lore/plot because I'm not that far into the series yet but I was impatient so just ignore any mistakes or plot inconsistencies if you find them, although I did try). Hence it's probably bad. But oh well, this wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it and like I said I'm impatient and also I'm a little bit proud of the smut alone and he's fucking hot I mean come on. Dean Winchester is a better man than me because god damn I would've jumped his bones the second he looked at me and I have no idea how he didn't. Be nice.

Cas was watching you. Again. It wasn’t like you minded, but something about his cool eyes following your movements from across the booth made butterflies swirl in your stomach. You were acutely aware of every single bubble in your glass of lemonade, every clink of the ice cubes, every slurpy noise it made through the straw you were sucking on. You probably looked a bit stupid, hunched over your drink and the plate that had contained your burger, the huge shirt you’d borrowed from Sam while the one you’d packed for yourself dried rolled up to your elbows, hanging off your shoulders way too much to ever be considered cute. Not that you wanted to look cute, and not that it mattered, but…

“There’s a pharmacy down the street,” Sam was saying. “They’d probably have more of that antiseptic, right?” 

There was a pause in which you snuck a glance at Cas. His gaze was fixed on the bubbles clustering on your straw, mildly interested as they formed and floated away, formed and floated, again and again in an endless cycle. You’d never found bubbles so fascinating, but now that you looked – and you knew he was looking too – there’d never been anything so beautiful. 

“(Y/N)?” 

Right, yeah, antiseptic. The cut on your shoulder seemed to itch at the thought, prickling under the carefully applied dressing. You’d done it on a barbed wire fence that had barred the entry to a nest of vampires, and a day later Sam was still worried it would get infected. It wasn’t exactly a clean cut – the fence had been filthy, and your assurance that yes, you were up to date with tetanus shots had stopped him driving you to a hospital. You appreciated the concern, but really, you were sure it would be fine. 

“Mhm,” you answered, leaning back in your seat. “D’you think it’ll still be open?” 

Beside you, Dean frowned, looking around for a clock. “It’s not that late, right?” 

“There’s an open sign in the window.” All eyes swung to Cas, who shrugged, pointing. “It’s lit up,” he added. 

“Oh, right,” you said faintly. “Thanks Cas.” 

He smiled, a tiny twitch of his lips that had no right to make your heart speed up as much as it did. “That’s ok.” 

You smiled back. Your face seemed determined to ignore your brain and grin like an idiot, and it was a damn struggle to keep it to a normal expression. 

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and bursting the little bubble you could have sworn you’d been stuck in. You would have liked to stay there, where it was just Cas smiling at you. But no, you were being silly. 

“Right,” you echoed. There was a slightly awkward silence, in which you swirled your straw around idly, watching Cas watch the movement of ice cubes and bubbles. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t really believed he was an angel. He seemed so… ordinary. Shabby, even. But the longer you were around him, the surer you’d become that he was the real deal. Strange, not what you’d expected at all, but a real honest-to-goodness angel nonetheless. Even now that he was human, there was still definitely something otherworldly in Cas. Something that, despite the grime and rust of the lives all four of you lead, was almost pure, precious to you, and a little unnerving all at once. 

“Do you want some?” you asked, gesturing to your drink. 

Cas’s eyes snapped up, almost guiltily. 

You smiled. “Lemonade.” 

He nodded slowly.

“Here.” You pushed the glass across the table, leaning your chin on your hands and watching as he moved the straw around, then sipped it. You’d been having way too much fun plying him with new things to taste, since food now actually tasted like… food. As opposed to molecules. Apparently. 

He wrinkled his nose, drawing back and staring at the glass. Then he leaned forward again and took another sip. There was something in his near-childlike wonder that made your heart ache, the appearance of innocence and naivety so profound that it was hard to remember he was – had been – a soldier. A divine soldier of God. Watching him made you want to reach across the table and just… Well, you didn’t know what it made you want to do. Grab him, maybe? It didn’t matter. 

“Any good?” Dean asked, watching Cas mildly. 

“It’s very sweet,” he reported. “And sticky.” 

Despite yourself, you laughed. 

Cas surveyed you, then gave another of those little smiles you’d come to treasure. He took another sip, his eyes never leaving your face. 

You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper aware of exactly where you were and what you were supposed to be doing. Not staring at – “mooning over” Dean had teasingly called it not even three days ago, a thought that still plagued you – Cas, that was for sure. You slid out of the booth, since you were the one who needed the antiseptic and you were on the edge. “I’ll go across, meet you back at the hotel.” 

“You sure?” Sam asked, watching as you dropped some money on the table. Enough to cover your burger and a small portion of the tip. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” You turned towards Cas, shooting him a small smile. He looked a little confused, and you couldn’t deny the pang of guilt that tugged at your insides. “You can finish that off,” you told him, “if you want.” 

“Thankyou,” he said after a moment. 

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded to Sam and Dean, the former of whom was staring between you and Cas with a look of what could only be described as incredulity plastered across his face. You were going to ignore it, you decided. “Seeya later,” you said, and left. 

You stood before the motel room, shopping bag in hand, staring at Sam’s text. Had he and Dean done this deliberately? Was this some kind of conspiracy between the two of them? 

“Room 09,” the message read, “you’re sharing with Cas.” And then, shortly after; “Don’t worry, it’s a double.” 

Well, you thought, at least you wouldn’t have to share a bed, and at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of Cas taking the couch – even though he insisted he didn’t mind, and refused to let you do it. 

Just as you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open and there stood the former angel, still in his beige trench coat, tie and all. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off. 

“Hi,” you said, slightly breathless. There was something stupidly endearing about the way he just stood there, looking at you. 

“Hi,” he repeated. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly, you squeezed past him into the dully lit room, switching on the light with your elbow. Had he just been sitting in here by himself, in the dark? You hoped not, but at the same time, it was exactly the sort of thing you could imagine him doing. 

You deposited your groceries – the antiseptic, a new packet of dressings, painkillers, and a twix you’d grabbed at the counter. You’d figured you could share it with whoever your roomie was, and now you were glad you’d had that foresight. You turned, surveyed the room, then did a double take. Surely not. There had to be something you were missing. 

But no, on closer inspection, your eyes were not deceiving you. There was only one bed. A double bed, sure, but still only one bed. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you muttered, already reaching for your phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows. 

“Sam said this was a double,” you told him. 

“It is.” 

“Yeah, but there’s only one bed. I always feel bad kicking you to the couch.” 

“I don’t mind. And besides,” he added, “you’ve never kicked me.” 

“No it’s–” you broke off, catching his smile. “Yeah, alright” 

The smile widened. He was a little too proud of himself for your liking. 

You looked away, hoping to hide your own grin as you dialled Sam’s number. “You said it was a double,” you accused before he could even greet you. 

“Yeah, hi to you too,” he snorted. “It is.” 

“There’s only one bed, Sam. Does your room have only one bed?” 

“No, we’ve got two singles.” 

“Lucky you,” you practically spat. “Now I’m gonna have to live with the guilt of knowing Cas is on the couch.” 

“So?” You could almost hear the frown in Sam’s voice. “He doesn’t mind.” 

“I know, but–” 

“Share the bed with him if it bothers you that much,” he cut you off. In the background, Dean was saying something. Sam shushed him. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.” 

“What’s that supposed to–” 

He interrupted you again, all too cheerful. “You’ll sort it out.” 

You stared at the phone, “call ended” flashing up at you. “Fuck you, Sam,” you sighed. 

By the door, Cas frowned. “Is something the matter?” 

“No,” you sighed again, grabbing the dressings and antiseptic and taking a seat on the end of the singular bed. Through the gap in the curtains, the sky was darkening from the pale purple it had been at the diner to a deep indigo. “Just… Sam.” 

Cas nodded solemnly, as if he knew exactly what you meant. 

You tried not to pay too much attention to him as you unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, sliding it down off your shoulder to bare the current dressing. You’d had it on all that day and the night before, so you figured it was time to change it. Gently, you peeled back the adhesive, hissing as the air brushed over the cut. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, mostly scabbed over and less raw-looking than when you’d first applied the dressing, but it was still tender. It was awkward to reach too, running from your shoulder along your collarbone, stopping just shy of the centre of the sternum. Stupid, you’d cursed yourself when you’d done it, and you cursed yourself again now. 

“Would you like some help?” 

You looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes. Soundlessly, he’d crossed the room and was now standing directly in front of you. 

He gestured to the cut. “It looks hard to reach.” 

“Uh, yeah, it is.” You shifted over, making room for him beside you. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” He sank down beside you, his weight tilting you towards him. Your stomach lurched. 

Determinedly dismissing it, you turned slightly to face him, one leg dangling off the side of the bed, the other folded under you. Almost immediately you wished you hadn’t done it, because now all you could see was him, bent over you, his face impassive and focused to a fault. 

He took the antiseptic from you, gently dabbing it along the edges of the scab. 

“Is that alright?” he asked when you gasped softly. 

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Just… stings a little.” 

Guilt flashed across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s not you. You’re fine,” you assured him. “It’s the antiseptic, it’s normal.” 

“Should I keep going?” 

You nodded, your heart racing. His skin was cool where it brushed yours, the shitty lighting somehow playing tricks with the colours in his eyes, making them appear even more startlingly blue than usual. Those eyes were fixed on your cut, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“I wish you’d taken me with you,” he said as he reached for a dressing pad. 

“Hm?” You frowned, unsure what he meant. You’d gone alone, which wasn’t why you’d fumbled crossing the fence, but it certainly hadn’t helped. Sam and Dean had been after a demon in the next town over – it took precedence over vampires, you all knew that – and Cas had been with them. You’d been convinced you’d be alright to tackle such a small nest, it was only three, barely a nest at all, and had insisted on it. But still, you’d been a bit more wired than usual, and that was probably to blame for your bungled entrance. It didn’t matter now, you were fine. They were dead. 

He shrugged, smoothing the dressing over your skin more gently than you’d ever thought possible. “On the hunt. I wish you’d taken me with you.” 

“Nah,” you shook your head, trying to dispel the ache his action caused inside you. “You had other stuff on. You don’t need to be wasting time running after a nest of vampires, demons take priority.” You smiled. “You’ve got more to worry about than a silly little hunter who can’t jump fences.”

Cas looked up, that little wrinkle reappearing on his forehead. “That’s not true,” he said, “I’ll always have time for you. I’ll always worry about you.” 

You froze, taken aback by the… intimacy of the words. You’d mentioned before that you liked when people just said what they meant (“Even if it hurts you?” he’d asked, frowning. You’d said that you’d rather that than be left searching for double meanings and hidden clues, and he’d seemed to find that acceptable.), and since then he’d indulged you in that regard. But this felt different, it felt more real than anything he’d ever said to you before. He’d always have time for you, he worried about you. 

“Really?” you asked. “You mean that?” 

He nodded, his eyes sincere where he held your gaze. There was something here, you knew, something tingling in the air between you. You’d half thought you were imagining things when you noticed him looking at you. You’d chalked it up to him being, well, Cas, and hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell too long on the glimmer of hope that it was more than that. And he’d been an angel for Pete’s sake; divine, untouchable, totally out of your reach. But here, now, with his hand resting where it had settled on your thigh and his face inches from yours, the dimness of the motel somehow illuminating every dancing fleck of colour in his eyes, every beautiful shadow and line on his – human – face, you weren’t ignoring it any longer. 

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You’re important to me, (Y/N).” 

Oh. Oh. There it was.

He was still looking at you, but there was a hint of what you would have said was nervousness, maybe apprehension, mixed with the sincerity and lingering concern in his eyes. It was so… raw. You felt strangely vulnerable, while at the same time like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. 

Involuntarily, your eyes flicked down to his lips, your breath hitching in your chest. Fuck it, you thought, then closed the few inches of space between you and pressed your lips to his. 

He was completely motionless, and for a wild moment you were convinced you’d grossly misread something and had just made a massive mistake. Then it was like he was coming to life beneath you, pushing back against you, his lips parting under yours, his free hand finding its place cupping your cheek. His mouth was soft, impossibly soft. His tongue, when you brushed against it with your own, tasted like your lemonade. 

It was near dead silent in the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant thrumming of traffic outside the only noises. Then, as you slid your hand up over his leg, fingers squeezing gently at his thigh, Cas made a sound. 

It was halfway between a sigh and moan, tiny and restrained, and you could feel him hesitate in the kiss. This is new, it said. This is nice. You let your lips curve into the smile they’d been trying to, squeezing again. It’s alright, you told him with your hand, you’re alright. 

You drew back momentarily, sucking a quick breath as Cas chased you, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer and closer and closer and closer and impossibly closer until your chest met his. Then you were shifting into his lap, swinging your leg over his and straddling his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. It sure felt like it. 

“Cas,” you breathed, breaking away properly this time and raising your hands to cup his face. “Castiel.” 

“Hm?”

You moved your thumb in a soft arc over his cheekbone, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His lips found your hand, peppering your palm and wrist with featherlight kisses. 

“Can I?” you asked, reluctantly freeing a hand to push at the trench coat he was still wearing. 

He looked up, frowning. “What?” 

“Take it off,” you whispered, then heat rose in your cheeks. “If you want to, of course. If you want this. You don’t have to.” 

He shook his head, pulling back to shrug off the heavy piece of clothing. The blazer followed. He loosened his tie, then seemed to think for a moment before undoing it altogether. It was the first time you’d seen him without it, and he looked… different. Unguarded, almost. Then he was reaching up and unfastening the buttons of his shirt, torturously slowly. He paused, meeting your eyes. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You smiled, nodding. You’d been staring, you realised, watching his deft fingers work at the material so intently that you hadn’t been thinking about what would show on your face. You took over, finishing off the last few fastenings and pushing the shirt back off his shoulders. You didn’t know what you’d expected his body to look like. You’d had the vague notion that it would be nice, that it would somehow match the rest of him, and you hadn’t been wrong, but now that he was in front of you that same disconcerting feeling of unearthliness haunted the back of your mind. This was Cas, Castiel, and that made it somehow hallowed – irony aside. 

“Are you alright?” He was peering up at you, apprehensive. 

You nodded. “Are you?”  

He echoed your gesture, his fingers running along the collar of your own shirt. A question, a request, testing the waters. 

Careful of your still-tender shoulder, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it smoothly over your head, then undid your bra and cast it to the side. Cas’s eyes snapped to your chest, interest and a sort of hunger mixing on his face. Hesitantly, slowly, his hand inched up your waist to your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He paused. 

“It’s ok,” you breathed. When he still seemed wary, you reached down and took his hand in your own, guiding it to your breast and giving a gentle squeeze. His breath hitched, his tongue darting out between his lips. 

“I’m…” he broke off, swallowing hard. He shifted, a hard bulge pressing against your thigh. You smiled.

“Hm?” 

“I’m… I’m kind of…” He stopped again, floundering. 

“It’s alright, Cas. You’re alright.” 

He looked up, something close to nervousness dancing across his face. “I haven’t done this before,” he whispered. “I don’t know…” 

Oh. Right. Why hadn’t you thought of that? It made sense, you supposed. Despite Dean’s best efforts, Cas hadn’t picked up the other guy’s… habits, at least not yet. You’d wondered about it briefly before coming to the conclusion that it had to be an angel thing, a choice on his behalf. You knew some people didn’t want that with just anyone, which you could understand. What you couldn’t understand was a world where nobody was interested in Cas, but then again, you might have been biassed. 

You bit your lip. “Do you want to? It’s ok if you don’t.” 

“I do,” he said, his hand still resting on your chest. “I really do, (Y/N). But I don’t know… what to do.” 

“I’ll help you,” you assured him, affection blooming in your gut. And alongside it, an odd sort of pride. Cas was trusting you here, enough to admit he didn’t know what to do. It was more than any guy you’d ever been with had been willing to give away. 

“We’ll go slow,” you continued. “You tell me what you like, what feels good. If you wanna stop, you say so, ok?” 

He nodded. 

You took his face in your hands again, running your fingers over the rough stubbled coating his jaw. “Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he murmured. 

You trailed your hand down his neck, along his collar bone, over his chest. His skin was soft, smooth. It wasn’t scarred like Dean or Sam’s or your own, and suddenly you wondered if that was somehow a turn off for him. He’d been an angel, immortal, eternal, unblemished even now. If he hadn’t done this before, or even if he had with a normal human, he probably wouldn’t have encountered the kind of skin a hunter such as yourself possessed. Would it bother him? 

Then his chest heaved under your hand, the flesh twitching as your touch crept lower, sideways, up again, mapping the expanse of his torso. He moaned softly as you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, fingers splayed over his heart. Again, you swept down the centre of his body, all thoughts of your own imperfections dashed from your mind as you revelled in the little hums of pleasure you were coaxing from him. 

Carefully, slowly, you inched lower. You passed his belly button, the light trail of hair that led down from it, finally encountering his belt buckle. You paused, tracing aimless patterns over the skin just above the waistline of his pants, pushing your fingers below the material after a moment. 

“Is this alright?” you asked, watching his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. 

“Mhm,” he sighed. “Yes.” 

You smiled. God, he was beautiful. “You wanna take ‘em off?” 

At that, his eyes snapped open, the pupils so wide they almost obscured the blue of his irises. “My pants?” he asked. 

You nodded. “You don’t have to, but…” You ran your hand lightly over the increasingly noticeable bulge you could feel. “I can touch you? Here.” 

He stared. “Do you want to?” 

You gave a little huff of laughter, nodding. “Only if you do. I can keep touching you other places if you want, I can kiss you…” You stopped as he deftly reached down and undid his belt, button and fly in one fluid motion, lifting his hips momentarily and kicking off his pants. It was very fast, impressively smooth. And underneath… 

Your mouth watered at the sight. The outline of his cock straining against his underwear, a small wet patch already forming. You usually didn’t indulge the mantra of “bigger is better”, especially not when it came to penises, but there was no denying that your pussy was already aching at the thought of the stretch Cas’s would cause. Not that it was a behemoth, far from it, but he was certainly well endowed.

His voice snapped you from your reverie, jerking your gaze away from his dick and back to his face. “Is that…” he paused, searching your gaze anxiously. “Is it alright?” 

Your heart melted. “Oh, Cas,” you sighed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Just perfect.” 

A sound that could only be described as whine slipped from his still kiss-bruised lips, sending a bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. Before the request had formed on your tongue, he shed his underwear too, leaving himself bare to you. 

“Have you touched yourself?” you asked, jerking your gaze from his cock. Fuck, you’d never wanted to lay hands on a dick more in your life. 

Cas looked away for a moment. “No,” he said. “Should I have?” 

You shook your head. “It’s up to you. I’d like to, if you’re ok with it.”

“Touch me?” 

“Mhm.”  

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then nodded.

“Ok.” Dammit, you thought. If this was his first time, you wanted him to feel good. Would he tell you if he didn’t? You thought he would, he was always honest when you asked him to be, and he clearly wanted this. But it was that same want that made you wonder if he’d just keep going no matter what, and you didn’t want that. 

You quickly spat into your hand, stretching up, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then, on second thoughts, you licked softly at his bottom lip. His breath rushed against your skin, the kiss hot and messy and barely even a kiss at all. It was more you licking into Cas’s mouth, Cas experimenting with his tongue in yours. After a few tries he found a rhythm, soft and supple, gentle and careful. Wonderful. 

It was then that you reached down with your spit-lubed hand, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length, coating the whole thing with moisture. There was already a little precum beading on the tip, and you used that too, your hand sliding easily. The skin here was smooth too, apart from the thick veins and swell of the head, the slit that you ran your thumb over, causing Cas to moan – really moan – into your mouth.

“Like this?” you murmured, moving your kisses away from his lips, over his stubble-roughed jaw, down to his neck. You sucked gently at the hollow under his jaw bone, hot and wet, leaving a red mark behind. You moved further down, over his jugular, more and more hickeys blossoming in your wake. 

“Ah, (Y/N), yes–” Cas gasped. “Oh, just like that, please.” 

You hummed softly, his breathlessness coupled with the words themselves like fog clouding your mind. All you wanted was more. More of his ragged voice, more of the desperate pleading, more of his hips jerking up into your hand and as your fingers slid smoothly over his cock. Your mouth paused at the base of his throat, made more apparent by the strain in his neck – the Plender gap, you thought it might have been called. You could vaguely picture that word with an arrow pointing to the spot on a medical diagram, although you weren’t sure why – and sucked a particularly dark hickey into the skin there. His collar would cover it in the morning. 

His hand, which had been flitting about your waist, suddenly found its way to your hair. His fingers tangled in it, pulling your head back up so he could kiss you again. You smiled, your own free hand squeezing at his thigh just as you had before. 

He moaned again, deep in the back of his throat, the sound reverberating through your whole body. How had you waited this long? If you’d known it’d be like this, you’d have jumped his bones the second you laid eyes on him. Hell, you’d wanted to. 

“Can I use my mouth?” you asked between kisses – they still weren’t really kisses by any stringent definition, too messy for that. 

“You are, hm, using your mouth,” Cas pointed out. 

You laughed. It was so… matter of fact. “I mean down here,” you explained, giving his dick a gentle squeeze. “I can keep doing this if you want, but…” 

“But?”

“I wanna taste you, Cas,” you smiled. 

His mouth fell open, his cheeks colouring. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was new to this, you supposed. “Taste me?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded, ducking forward to nip at his lip. “Wanna feel you in my mouth, wanna choke on your cock. I’ll make you feel so good, Cas, I promise.” 

“(Y/N).” His voice was even more gravelly than usual, roughened by the raw desire glinting in his eyes. 

“Mhm?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“That’s sweet,” you laughed again. “I’m sure, Cas. Remember you can stop me whenever you want, though, yeah?” 

“Yeah, alright.” 

“Alright?” 

He kissed you again, more gently and with more precision than before, then nodded. “Go ahead.” 

You felt a grin break across your face, your mouth already watering. You didn’t waste time, giving Cas a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off the edge of the bed and kneeling between his legs, your arms resting comfortably on his thighs. You ignored the slight pull of your cut, taking his cock once more in your hand and pumping it gently, once, twice, three times before you lowered your head and kissed the tip. 

Cas’s stomach twitched, his hand going once more to your hair as his breath caught in his throat. 

“Alright?” you asked, your own breath ghosting over the sensitive area, raising goosebumps. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “Keep going?” 

You smiled. “Magic word?” 

“Please,” he practically growled. 

Alright then. You slid your lips over him, relaxing your mouth as you sank as far down his length as you could. What wouldn't fit in your mouth was taken care of by one hand, the other busy holding his hips down. He nearly whined when you moved, bobbing your head back and forth slowly at first, but faster by the minute. 

“Oh,” he panted, “oh, (Y/N), yes–” 

“Good?” you mumbled, but it didn’t come out sounding like the original word at all. Still, Cas seemed to get the point.  

“So good, feels so good. You feel so good, (Y/N), you have no idea.” 

The praise went straight to your panties, pooling with the rest of the hot wetness that had been gathering steadily. You’d wanted to take your time, be as careful and gentle as he’d been with you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure. 

“Oh,” he whispered again as you sped up, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, the saltiness of his precum mixing with the lingering sweetness of your lemonade. 

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Cas’s hips despite his best efforts to stay still, as well as your hand attempting to hold him down. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, relaxing completely. 

“(Y/N),” he panted. “(Y/N).” 

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos as his fingers tightened in your hair. 

“You look… ah, so…” He paused, the words choked by another moan as your tongue swirled around his cock. “So beautiful.” 

For the second time, your heart felt like it was melting in your chest. You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You were gonna make him cum in your mouth, you were determined. And after that – if he wanted, of course – you’d spread your legs for him and let him fuck you senseless. 

He was close, he was so damn close, cock twitching and fingers clutching desperately at you despite his best attempts to be gentle. “I’m–” He broke off, gasping. “So much, (Y/N), it’s so much.” 

You wondered if you should stop, if you should pull back and ask if he was ok. If he’d never done this before and hadn’t touched himself either, it was unlikely that he’d ever experienced an orgasm. Maybe you should reassure him. You ran your free hand down his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s alright, you tried to say with the gesture, hoping he’d understand. I’ve got you, you’re alright. 

Then he was groaning deeply, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, thighs shaking under you and hot saltiness shooting down your throat. His skin shone with sweat, his chest heaving, his hand gripping your hair so tight it almost – almost – hurt. But it couldn’t have, not when your throat was working to swallow every drop of what he was giving you, not when he looked so beautiful laid out bare above you, not when you could see the pure, raw pleasure painted on his face. 

As gently as you could, you drew back and licked him clean. You rested your head on his thigh, placing a soft kiss there, then drew back and sat, waiting. 

Finally, Cas opened his eyes and looked at you. He took in your swollen lips, the flush you could feel dusting your cheeks, the tears that had leaked from your eyes, the bird’s nest that was your hair. And he smiled, reaching out a hand to help you up. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, settling back on the bed beside him. You took his hands, holding them close to you. “It wasn’t… too much?” 

“It was wonderful,” he said solemnly. Then he looked away. “Can I…”

“Yeah?” you prompted. “Can you…?” 

He turned back, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel like that, too.” 

Your stomach did a flip. “Oh.” 

“Will you show me?” Cas’s eyes searched yours, curious and sincere. And how the hell could you say no to him?

You nodded, unbuttoning your pants and casting them off – admittedly with much less grace and efficiency than Cas. After a moment’s hesitation you did the same to your underwear, dropping them carelessly over the edge of the bed. You could hunt for them in the morning. 

He was watching you the whole time, eyes following every movement you made in that way that was so him. You’d been unnerved by it before you’d gotten to know him, but now it just turned you on. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and ran his hand over your stomach, up, up, up until he reached your breast. He didn’t stop as he had before, his thumb skimming your hard nipple, making you suck in a harsh breath. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Mhm.” 

“What about this?” He slid lower, past your belly button to where your leg joined your hip. It sent tingles running through your whole body. 

“Mhm.” 

“This?” Lower still, over your thigh, along the inside of it, so close to where you wanted him most. 

“Yeah, Cas, you don’t have to ask.” 

“I want you to feel–” 

You stopped him with a kiss, brief and gentle. “Whatever you do is gonna feel great, ok?” 

“But I’m–” 

“Cas.” 

He fell silent when you placed your hand on his face, leaning into your touch. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I’m gonna help you, remember?”

He nodded, leaning forwards to press his lips against yours. He was getting pretty good at kissing, you noted. Not that he’d been bad when you’d started, but he’d figured out what worked with you. 

“Show me,” he urged, the hand that had been tracing over your leg finding yours. “Show me where to touch you.” 

This is it, you thought as he drew back, watching where his fingers twined with your own. He had officially smashed apart your standards for all men – and former angels – with just six words. You did as he asked, drawing his hand down between your legs to your now practically drenched pussy. 

“Here,” you murmured, a little shock going through you as your fingers brushed your clit. 

Cas’s eyes were wide, the pleasure-haze from his orgasm all but gone now. “Here?” he confirmed, pressing gently at the stiff little bundle of nerves. 

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice much less steady than you’d have liked. 

“Like this?” He slid his finger in a careful circle around it, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Yes, Cas, just like that.” 

He did it again, then again and again. You sucked a harsh breath through your teeth, your hips twitching involuntarily. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, Cas.” 

“Is this alright?” he asked mildly. 

“More than alright,” you half laughed, half panted. You broke off in another moan as he moved his hand, sliding the tips of his fingers around your hole, his palm pressing against your clit. You briefly wondered if he was doing it deliberately or just experimenting, and if he’d heard something about how to finger girls somewhere. If so, you wanted to know where. But, you thought a moment later, who really cared when it felt so damn good? 

“Can I?” he murmured, watching your face carefully. 

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “Yeah, go ahead— please.” The word was torn from you in a way that made colour bloom over Cas’s face as he pushed his finger into you. The heel of his hand was still pressing on your clit, and you ground down on it in a desperate search for friction as he added another finger, your own fingers digging into his shoulders and your breath coming in short gasps. 

“Am I…” he started, then swallowed. “Is this good?” 

“So fucking good,” you replied. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” It was ridiculous, unfair. Most dudes who’d tried had lamely poked at you until you’d given up trying to show them and just moaned loudly, leaving them to grin smugly, convinced they’d made you cum. Cas, however, was well on his way to conjuring the real thing. 

He looked away for a moment, a small satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Good, you thought. He should be satisfied, he was fucking phenomenal. “I’m not sure,” he said. 

It was your turn to smile. “Well you are,” you said simply. Then he moved his hand again and all you could think was fuck, because he really was incredible. He was kissing your neck, sucking at the spot where it met your shoulder, his other hand resting on your hip as you rocked against him, his own soft moans mixing with yours.

And God, you wanted him to fuck you. 

“Hold on,” you panted. Much as his fingers were doing it for you, you couldn’t fight the shiver the thought of his cock buried inside you sent down your spine. 

Cas froze immediately. 

“No, no, it’s ok,” you assured him quickly. “I wanna try something else.” 

“Is this not–” 

“You’re doing great,” you interrupted. “I promise. But…” As before, you slid your hand gently down to palm at the already half-formed erection sitting between his legs. 

Cas frowned.

“Would you like to fuck me?” you asked tentatively. You hated how unsure you sounded, how small. 

His eyebrows shot halfway up his face. 

“Only if you want to,” you added quickly. But from the way his dick had visibly hardened at your words, you guessed he probably did. So, you continued, “I’d like it if you did.” 

Again, his tongue darted out over his lips. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I’d like it too.” 

“Ok, what are we waiting for?” You smiled, shuffling backwards and easing yourself back on the bed. When you saw that Cas wasn’t following, you reached over and took his hand, dragging him down on top of you. “Come on,” you encouraged. 

He gave a little “oof” as he crashed against you, quickly propping himself up above you. It looked uncomfortable. 

“Relax,” you said, wriggling into the mattress and running your hands over his arms and shoulders. “It’s alright.” 

“I don’t want to squash you.” 

You smiled, pulling at him to come closer. “You won’t, don’t worry.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do. Besides, I wouldn’t mind.” 

He snorted indignantly. “I would. Then whose lemonade would I steal?” 

You laughed at that. Castiel, former divine soldier of God, joking about stealing your lemonade while he was about to fuck you. If you’d gone back and told yourself from a year ago, she’d have slapped you in the loony bin. “You could just order your own,” you pointed out. 

“I could,” he conceded. “But I will not.” 

“Ok, I don’t mind.” You stretched up, capturing his lips with your own and drawing him down towards you. What you’d said was true, he really didn’t need to worry about squashing you. You liked the warm weight of him, the firmness and certainty that his body pressed against yours brought, his arms caging you to the bed. 

You smiled as his tongue slid along your bottom lip, opening your mouth almost immediately. Yeah, he knew what he was doing now. You hooked your leg over his, pulling his hips hard against your own. You were still tingling, still electrified with want and need from having deprived yourself of his fingers just minutes before, and almost without your conscious awareness you ground against him.

You swallowed the little moan that slipped from his mouth, rubbing your wetness over his hard cock. 

“(Y/N),” he gasped, breaking the kiss, his hips moving in time with yours. 

“Cas,” you echoed, equally as breathless. “Please?” 

He swallowed, his eyes dark. 

“I want you inside me,” you continued. “Please, Cas, I need you inside me. Now.” 

He cursed softly, so softly the only thing you caught was the tone. You wondered what angels cursed by. Not God, surely. But it didn’t matter, because he was taking himself in hand and lining up at your entrance, looking at you for permission. “Here?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Gently, so gently, he pushed inside you. You gave a little whimper that might have been embarrassing in any other situation at the stretch, the delicious feeling of being filled up completely by him. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t even breathing, just staring at the place where your body swallowed his, his eyes wide. 

“Hey,” you said softly, smiling at him when his eyes met yours. “You alright down there?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, running a hand reverently over your stomach. His fingers brushed over your scars, some silver, some a newer pale pink. Your earlier doubts fluttered to the front of your mind, but you determinedly pushed them away. Now was not the time. 

“You can move,” you told him, rocking your hips gently against his by way of demonstration. Then, “Please?” 

He nodded, one hand resting on your hip as he pulled out a little, sliding smoothly back in. He hummed quietly, did it again, then again and again and again, finding his rhythm. It was good, it was as gentle as everything else, firm enough to pull at that special place deep in your belly, steady and decisive. Most of all, it was Cas. Cas fucking you, Cas’s cock sending spasms of heat through your body, Cas’s hand steadying himself and you, Cas’s lovely gravelly voice mumuring your name. 

He leant further over you, bending his head to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the cut-free side of your collar bone, following it with another, more forceful one, then more until you were sure you looked like someone had spilt wine over your chest. You supposed it was only fair, given how many love bites you’d showered him with.  

“Shit, Cas,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair. You’d always wanted to fix it, stroke it down, maybe make it worse. When you’d first met him you’d gone so far as to tell him to his face that it was “un-angelic”. He’d been amused by that. 

Now, he groaned against your skin. You smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“I’m so close,” you whispered, and you were. The tightness was building in your stomach, coiling and swirling into a dense knot of pleasure. Every movement Cas made had his pelvis hitting your clit, the bedhead hitting the wall behind it – you briefly felt bad for the next room’s residents – and Cas’s cock hitting deep inside you. The only sounds were the squeaking of the mattress – again, you felt bad – and the wet slap of skin on skin, peppered with your combined moans and sighs. 

“Fuck, Cas,” you gasped, your voice rising in pitch as you spiralled closer, closer… “Oh, shit, fuck, oh my God, Cas, Cas, I’m gonna cum, holy shit I’m gonna– Castiel!” 

You let go, your eyes screwed tightly shut, spine arching off the bed as the bomb inside you exploded. Sparks fizzed through your veins, every muscle in your body clenching as stars speckled your vision and you cried Cas’s name over and over like some kind of mantra. 

He hadn’t stopped, in fact he’d sped up, and when your mind finally crashed back into your body his hips were stuttering, his face buried in your neck. He spilled inside you, hot and thick as it had been in your mouth, a deep groan thrumming through you from where his lips still rested on your chest. He stilled after a moment, still holding most of his weight off you despite your arms wrapped around his back, whispering your name like it was a prayer. 

You wriggled sideways, smiling as he went limp and flopped down beside you. Well, sort of beside you. His head and the better part of his shoulders still rested over your chest, his lips ghosting over you in feather light kisses, his hand running up and down your arm. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you whispered after a moment. 

“Hm?” 

“Clean up,” you repeated. “We’re all sticky.” 

“Oh,” was all he said. Then, “alright then.” 

You extricated yourself, squeezing his shoulder gently as you rose and headed for the bathroom. You debated pulling him into the shower with you, but as your eyes settled on the folded washcloth by the sink you scrapped that idea. This would be quicker and easier, and you were tired, dammit. There’d be other opportunities — at least you hoped there would be. 

You wiped yourself down, turning to find Cas standing in the doorway. The flickering yellow neon strip of illumination above the mirror cast weird shadows over his body, still shining with exertion. Beautiful, even with the medley of hickeys on his neck and the mess of his and your cum around his crotch. 

You beckoned him closer, spongeing away the sweat and other spunk coating his skin. Occasionally you’d look up, without fail meeting his eyes. The usual interest had been replaced with something more; something whole and warm and just for you. The thought made your heart skip a beat. 

When you were finished, you stretched up and kissed him again, just once. Then you took his hand, heading back towards the bed. 

He hesitated, and you turned. He was looking at the couch, indecision marring his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I assumed you’d want the bed to yourself,” he shrugged. “You usually don’t share”

Oh, ok. “Usually, yeah,” you replied, as casually as you could. “But I wanna share with you.” You looked down at your still joined hands, pulling gently. “Stay?” 

After a moment, he nodded. 

It took longer than it should have to sort out the stupidly layered sheets and blankets, but finally you were both finished wriggling and shifting around, comfortably facing each other. You smiled at him, taking his hand again. 

“I wondered what it would feel like to lie beside you, while you slept. You looked so… at peace.” He leaned forward the few inches between you, his lips cool against your forehead. “Beautiful.” 

Your voice was quieter than you’d meant it to be, and breathier. “You watch me sleep?” 

“It’s hard not to.” It may have been your imagination, but he sounded a little guilty. 

You laughed, leaning forward to whisper, “That’s a little creepy, Cas.” 

“Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind,” you said after a pause, “but maybe try not to mention things like that. Most people would find it weird.” 

“You don’t?”

You shook your head. “Not when it’s you.” The hand that had been holding his was free now, sliding up to cup his face almost of its own volition. You pressed your lips to his, softly and slowly, sweet as syrup. You shifted closer still, draping your arm over him. 

“Because I’m important to you, too?” he asked when you drew back. His eyes searched yours in the dimness, sincere and open. God, he was just… so much. 

You smiled. “Yeah, Cas, you sure are.”

You woke to a hand running over your shoulder, the rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek and the steady beating of a heart. Cas’s heart, Cas’s chest, Cas’s hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, sitting up. His hand ceased its movements, his lips curling into a gentle smile. 

“Hello.” 

You dipped down, kissing him softly, your finger tracing the outline of his lips when you drew away. “Sleep well?”

He sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze found yours again. “Better than I ever have before. Thank you, (Y/N).” 

“That’s alright.” You looked away, heat rushing to your face. “It was my pleasure.”

“I can see why you – humans – like it so much.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Hm?” 

“Sex,” he explained. “I think I get it now.” 

“Oh,” you laughed. “Well, that was pretty good sex. For someone who’s never done it before, you were amazing.” 

“Really?” He leaned back, surveying your face carefully. 

You nodded. “And anyway,” you went on, “it usually feels better when it’s someone who’s…” 

He waited, watching you stumble over your words. 

“You know…” You paused, swallowing, half wishing you’d just left it at telling him he was good. “Someone who’s special to you,” you finished lamely. 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “then I’m glad it was you.” 

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just smiled and kissed him again. It was slow and lazy, his bare chest silken under your own, nothing but the soft rush of breath and tiny hum he gave, the rustle of the sheets, the ticking of the motel room clock. Then your phone rang. 

“Fucking hell,” you muttered as you broke away, giving Cas a final apologetic peck before making your way to the table where you’d dumped it. Sam’s name flashed on the screen. 

“What do you want?” you growled. 

“Breakfast,” he answered. “What’s up your ass?” 

“I was sleeping” you answered smoothly, then, “I don’t like being woken up.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, alright. Meet us outside in, say, twenty minutes?” 

You glanced at Cas, who was now sitting up and, you guessed it, watching you. You squished the phone to your chest. “Breakfast in twenty?” you asked. 

He nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You couldn’t help staring just a little as he went about getting dressed, drinking in every rapidly disappearing inch of skin like some kind of sexually repressed Victorian maiden. 

“Sure,” you said to Sam, then hung up. The problem that you hadn’t thought through last night was the hickeys. You had a scarf, you could button your shirt over your chest, and thankfully Cas had shown more restraint than you had. The most problematic mark sat right in the hollow under his jaw, two love bites blending together. It wasn’t even hickey-shaped, really, but you didn’t think that’d fool Dean and Sam. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, fastening the final button on his shirt. 

“Nothing,” you sighed. “But Dean’s gonna give us endless – and I mean endless – shit.” 

“You’ve killed demons, (Y/N),” he smiled. “And you still can’t deal with Dean’s endless shit?”  

“Oi! I can, I just don’t want to.” You crossed the room, poking him square in the chest. “And you’re gonna be dealing with it too, so don’t get cocky.” 

“We’ll deal with it together.” It was tentative, almost a question. 

You smiled, taking his hands. “Castiel and (Y/N) vs Dean Winchester’s endless shit. I can work with that.”

Things were a little strange over breakfast. Sam and Dean kept glancing at each other, having their annoying silent conversations that consisted of raised eyebrows and side-eyes, the occasional jerk of the head or twist of the mouth. Self consciously, you re-adjusted your scarf, pointedly not meeting anyeone’s eyes. You’d almost made the call not to sit next to Cas, but then he’d looked up at you from his spot by the window and you didn’t stand a chance. You were grateful for your decision when the food came, it made sharing with him a lot easier. 

“Dude,” Sam said suddenly, twisting to face his brother and nearly taking out his glass of water. The eyebrow raising and eye-widening had gotten more intense in the last minute, and clearly they’d hit a boiling point. 

“It’s not a hickey!” Dean protested. “It’s not even hickey-shaped!” 

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“What?” Cas voiced your thoughts, frowning over the cup of coffee he was nursing. 

Sam sighed. “Cas, look out the window for a second.” 

“Hey–” you started, but you were too late. Both Sam and Dean’s eyebrows shot halfway up their foreheads, and Cas was dutifully peering through the glass. Why did he choose now of all times to listen to Sam? 

“That’s a hickey,” the younger man was claiming triumphantly, nodding to the stain on Cas’s neck. 

Dean whistled softly. “That’s two hickeys. It’s like… a Siamese hickey.” 

“Gross, Dean,” you muttered, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. 

He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful, natural act, (Y/N), lighten up. Congratulations, Cas. Who’s the lucky girl?” 

Sam made a noise like he was choking. You studied your hands on the table in front of you. Dean grinned. Cas didn’t say anything. 

“Was it that waitress?” Dean asked, leaning forwards. “She was cute, man, I’d have tapped that.” 

“No, it wasn’t the waitress.” 

Dean frowned, then his eyes widened. “The hotel receptionist?” he whispered. “Dude, she was a milf. Nice one.” 

“Dean…” Sam started, looking between you and Cas. You glared. 

“What? He deserves a pat on the back. I gotta say, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” 

Sam sighed. “I don’t think it was the hotel receptionist.” 

“No? Who else?” 

Again, he glanced at you. You hadn’t moved, stiff as a statue and bracing for impact. You were so close to just spitting it out right there, biting the bullet and getting it over with. But you hadn’t discussed that with Cas, and you couldn’t exactly do so now. 

Dean was looking expectantly at Sam, who was shaking his head in disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. Then, as if in slow motion, Dean’s face fell and realisation dawned in his eyes.  

“No,” he said softly. “No, you didn’t.” 

It was your turn to shrug. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little bit of a kick out of Dean’s absolutely horrified expression. Endless shit that was about to rain down on you and all. 

“You slept together? You,” he looked at you, “and you?” He looked at Cas. 

“Yes,” the former angel said stiffly. “It was nicer than the couch.” 

“No, I mean–” 

You raised a hand, stopping him. “Yes, Dean,” you sighed. “Just… get it out now.” 

“Aw, man.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “That was you guys?” 

“I told you,” Sam shrugged, looking all too smug. 

Cas frowned. “Told him what?” 

“We could hear you,” Dean muttered, his cheeks going a deep red. “I didn’t think we were sharing a wall, Sam did. Drew me a diagram of the motel layout and everything. I didn’t wanna believe it, I didn’t wanna know that… Aw, man!” 

Sam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand across the table. “Pay up.” 

“Pay up?” You glared at him, incredulous. “What the fuck do you mean, pay up?” 

“I mean he owes me fifty. Thanks for that, by the way.” With this, he nodded to Cas. 

You gaped. “Please don’t tell me you bet on me and Cas sleeping together. And please don’t tell me you bet for it.” 

“What can I say? I knew it’d happen eventually, the way you drool over each other. Not my fault Dean actually took me up on it.” 

You groaned, twisting to bury your face in Cas’s trench coat. Absently, he patted your hair. “Why can’t you guys just be normal about one single thing?” you lamented. “Who the hell bets on their friends sleeping together?” 

“Actually,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon, “it’s a very normal thing to do.” 

“Mhm, back at Stanford–” 

“Back at Stanford,” you mimicked, cutting him off. “I can’t believe you two.” 

Dean held his hands up as if surrendering. “Hey, sorry, but I didn’t think either of you would have the balls to ever make a move. And it was fifty dollars, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t take that.” 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit in the car all day with you.” 

“Me too,” Cas added solemnly. 

You sighed, taking his hand under the table and laying it between you, squeezing in full view of Sam and Dean. Cas squeezed back. 

“You’re not allowed to… do anything in the back of my car.” Dean said after a moment. “Especially not with me or Sam there too.” 

Defiantly, you shifted closer to Cas, fingers still entwined with his, firmly meeting Dean’s eyes. “Don’t bet on it.”

#cas x reader #fem!reader #smut #supernatural #castiel #cas #castiel spn #castiel x reader #castiel x you #cas x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #spn #shameless smut #castiel smut #pwp fic #friends to lovers #only one bed #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #female reader

[chuuyadelune]

(BSD 113 SPOILERS) the fyodor jesus imagery is driving me insane, so here are a couple of things i noticed from this chapter (all translations from @/nineofscans).

1. fyodor’s position

so the first thing that was most obvious was fyodor’s positioning here. he may not be on a cross, but this is very intentional i would say! he is still in the position of christ on the cross.

2. fyodor’s outfit

i could be reaching, and this is less to do with jesus, but his outfit to me resembles a monk’s habit somewhat—perhaps signifying his position as a man of god.

3. stabbing with spears as the rooster crows

two things are standing out to me here:

first of all, stabbing fyodor with spears as a means of execution is interesting to me considering how jesus also was stabbed by a spears before being taken down from the cross after he gives up his life (following the “my god, my god, why have you forsaken me?” line—which was quoted in the last chapter!)

i cannot remember if jesus is also stabbed before then, but that is the one i remember the most.

the second thing that jumped out to me about this line was the part about the rooster crowing.

in the new testament, when jesus is betrayed by judas, he warns peter that before the cock crows, he (peter) will have betrayed him (jesus) three times.

what are the implications of that? i can’t really say, maybe it has something to do with why bram later gets stabbed with the holy cross sword and why he later works under fukuchi/fyodor. but it felt like an intentional nod to this part of the passion of christ.

4. bram as the devil

this is perhaps another reach, but i’m including it anyways.

before jesus re-enters jerusalem and the events of the passion of christ, he fasts for 40 days in the desert, where he is tempted from the devil (each of the gospels talks about this differently).

but anyway, this does say something. if bram is the devil, and considering all of fyodor’s positioning and religious imagery surrounding him—i feel the jesus references are very intentional. fyodor is deliberately positioned as— if not jesus, then definitely at least a disciple, or a messenger of god, almost supernatural in energy and appearance.

and with all the buddhist references to angels scattered throughout this arc—i think there’s a lot to be unveiled about fyodor yet. we definitely haven’t seen the last of him. but i’m excited to find this all out later!

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd 113 #bsd manga spoilers #bsd spoilers #bsd fyodor #fyodor bsd #this barely makes sense help #putting my religious trauma to good use #jem rambles #bsd analysis #i guess?? #lol tagging it anyways #all of this assuming that this is fyodor n not a twin ancestor or smth #you never know! #but at long last… we have some more fyodor information

[f-t-e]

I started watching SUPERNATURAL in November 2020. I know, I know. My partner and I had been isolating alone since March. The timing felt right. I went though a wild amount of upheaval and trauma over the next year and SPN was there for me through it all. It was THE show at THE time and it kept me afloat when I needed it the most. Since November 2021 I've written just about 110,000 words of SPN fanfic, a number that seems unbelievable to me, and that too has been a real blessing to my creative life, no matter what haters say. (why didn't I write my own novels in that time? Because I have a hobby, Karen, and I love it.) And I've read about 500000x that much fanfic, which has been the biggest blessing of all. (ETA: oh right, if you want to read my fic, you can find my stuff here, I wrote a fic where Dean reads books. Lots of books.)

I know I'm a nobody in this fandom but I thought on this, our #DestielDay, I would submit my own humble rec list. I've curated this very deliberately: every fic here has just about 4000 hits or less (most under 3000) and all were published in 2020 or after. So, sort of a rec list for some lesser known and newer fics, something you maybe haven't stumbled on yet. Especially thank you to @jewishcharliebradbury, her rec lists gave me a place to start back in the day and I have tried to model the depth and quality they brought to their lists. I tried to link to everyone's tumblr, but if I missed one, let me know.

Most of all, thank you to everyone who has EVER created something for this fandom, from 2005 to 2023. I am so thankful and, honestly, honored to be among your number. You're not supposed to be cringe and say a show saved your life...but SUPERNATURAL saved me, it really did. See y'all when the movie/reboot drops, to quote Ryan Gosling in The Notebook: IT WASN'T OVER, IT STILL ISN'T OVER. And I'm glad.

-----

Finale Fix-It & S15 and Beyond

What The Moon Was Saying by Amiril (@runawaymarbles)

This is hands-down one of the coolest “Dean Rescues Cas from the Empty” fics I have ever read and the concept is brilliantly structured to mirror the literal and metaphorical things Dean needs to give up and let go to get free. Every scenario is very satisfying and they make sense, is there any better feeling? Dean is very open in this, but in a believable way that still has edges. And, oh, the reunion is so good. Plus all the family stuff. Just excellent, exactly what you want in a fic like this: lovely, well-written, smart, fulfilling, all the pieces clicking, the show but better.

Awake and Annoying by skycruise

I love the use and passage of time in this one, it has some real impact, and I love the way Dean gets into the Empty (so smart, fits just right) and what I REALLY love in this one is the way it lets Dean be really clear-eyed and honest about his relationship with Sam, both the strengths and the weaknesses. And the last line, very clever and moving inverse of one of fandom’s favorite things. 

Living the life you chose by allthismusic

THEEEEE post finale Sam Winchester-Outsider-POV this fandom needs. Sam is absolutely awesome in this, the most believable, loving, realistic mix of “I knew all along” and “I had no idea” versions of Sam, landing somewhere I think that’s really true and in character. It fills in and develops so many gaps and silences in what the show let Sam know in the absolute best way. Best Brother Sam is a weakness of mine and he really shines here, there for Dean in the best ways but also coming into his own, I love it so very much. (this author also has a very great 2022 Big Bang fic, hugely recommend that one too.)

your ear to the wound that whispers by EmandFandems (@lazarusemma)

Who doesn’t love a HANDPRINT FIC?!? And boy this is such a good one. It follows Dean and his thoughts on the handprint from the first touch all the way to fixing the finale and it simply buzzes with longing and desire, tenderness and rawness. It’s great insight in lot of ways into Dean’s journey. It’s short but fulfilling and oh that very perfect last line. (this author also has a lot of great Jupernatural content.)  

Somewhere Off in the Dark by magickastiel 

Another awesome fic that traces Dean’s shifting/growing feelings for Cas from when he shows up in his hotel rooms to a HEA fix it after canon. Dean, again, is handled so deftly in this one, his confusion and sorrow at all the times Cas is slipping away from him all the way through the things he won’t let himself know. He feels really true in this one, sharp and tender in the best Dean ways. Also it has an agonizingly romantic end, you love to end up there.

Pins and Feathers by theskywasblue (@buttherewasnogod)

This author has so many freaking good SPN fics, omg it was almost impossible to pick just one to include on this list. Go treat yourself with their entire list because there’s so much good stuff there! But this one, oh I am a sucker for a finale fix-it that lets Dean be this tender. While I LOVE fics where he just jumps right into Cas’s arms (and write them lol) I also feel like this is so true to Dean too: that “maybe I misunderstood, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, maybe he doesn’t still –” And on top of all that, it’s a “they go the beach” fic and it gets the details of it so right, sand in your toes and all. Tender, amazing slow-burn, real, hot, full of heart and longing and everything unspoken and just waiting. Very satisfying!

i loved you first by kalmialatifolia

A set of four short fics that create an entire world of feeling and emotion. These feel like little whispered stories told under the covers, very atmospheric. There’s one very sexy one, a haircutting one (so good) and they’re just intimate. All together a great set and did I mention they’re in the “Cas saves himself” genre which is mmmm an underrated treasure.

no other faith is light enough for this place by anonymous 

A fix-it fic that has a particularly unique and beautiful visual of both how and why Cas comes back. The mechanics behind it are fairly standard but the way this author creates the visual of it, the sheer emotion and force behind it and how it happens, it really stood out to me and stuck with me. It’s Dean being brave enough to really feel and the way that just blossoms – lovely, aching, full-tilt wonderful.

 no proof, one touch by TakeThisWaltz (@watchinghimrakeleaves)

One thing I absolutely cannot get enough of is fic where Cas is hiding out from Dean in heaven. It just hits. And the only thing better is Dean chasing him down and the WAY he does it in this fic, methodically and – well the method (sobs) it is so endearing and OBVIOUS and gives Dean a chance to shout in all the best ways. This one is just real sweet and kind of goofy and if they have to be in heaven, I want them to still be these same two dorks.

Stay by redbrickrose

This is a post S15x18 from Cas’s POV and I think it’s very true to where he would be in the moment of getting yanked out of the Empty: resigned, hesitant about what he has in front of him, still a little in shock. And then. And then. Sweet and simple and Dean gets a chance to say, say, say it. This author has a good post series AU and a lovely little spate of S15 codas, all good. And then wrote this in real-time in the week after 15x18 Despair and right before 15x19 Inherit the Earth aired (could you just sob over the possibilities?!) and then hasn’t wrote anything since and that’s a shame but, like, yeah I get it.

like a one-two punch by Muir_Wolf (@muirmarie)

Don’t you love a short fic that feels like it’s a whole novel? This goes AU after 14x20 Moriah but it is a truly delightful twist on how Chuck could’ve reacted there and it makes Dean sharp as a knife, which is one really resonant image woven through this fic. Great imagery here and so many clever solutions for the lazy plotting of S15, including simply one of my all-time favorites in any fic ever solutions to Cas’s deal (genius) and getting rid of Chuck. Brilliant like a puzzle box yet still full of so much fucking joy.

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople (@kvothes)

The fact that this was written in October 2023 and is so agonizingly good fills my heart with joy and tells me Destiel will never die lol. Cas, in particular, is great in this – he’s having a hard time adjusting to being in a body and with all the fuzz of the world. I love fics where Cas struggles with coming back from the Empty and this uses a really unique approach to it: Cas facing sensory overload and not knowing how to feel but wanting it all. Lovely, hot, Dean is just right in this too.

Earlier Canon (pre S15)

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame)

Many might say I am biased because Renu has beta’ed everything I have written in the SPN fandom and they can read my brain and make everything I write better. But it’s not just that. Renu has done something beautiful and delicate in this fic, which is about Dean and Cas getting trapped in a net together (forced proximity trope, yes please) and weaves a web of its own; pulling you in just as they are pulled together. This is set mostly in early S14 (before fixing the finale in the most heart-healing way) and captures that feeling so well. There’s so much that’s unsaid between them yet still conveyed and Renu absolutely nails that, along with the tender longing that was always there. This is a fic to relish.

you may tire of me (as our december sun is setting) by deludedfantasy

You know how the show just sometimes is like “uh so anyway uh then Cas…uh…left.” and it just doesn’t make one lick of sense? FINALLY FINALLY a fic where Dean says “I’ll go with you,” and then goes because he actually would do that. This is a post Tombstone fic so it is exactly where/when he WOULD go and it is tender and hesitant and aching in just all the ways it would be between the two of them at this time. It’s about needing to keep someone in sight, it’s about having another chance to say something so important, it’s slow and soft and just right for the characters in this place. I could read this one about 100 times.

the anatomy of flightless birds by cowlovely (@dollhousemary)

This fic is basically the way you feel when you get all cozy and snug underneath your favorite blanket. This is a domestic-life-in-the Bunker S9 fic where everyone behaves like they are in character and not just like they have to get Cas off screen because the writers panicked. You’ll just want to curl up in this fic and savor it the way you wrap your fingers around a hot beverage on a very cold day, there’s no better way to describe it.

virtue by JenTheSweetie

I think I’ve read this about 100 times and it still gets me everytime? It’s a five things fic about Dean and Cas hooking up and it’s all you’ve ever wished for. This is set in an amorphous S8 and it is not just agonizingly hot but also romantic and very funny. It feels really in character! Sam is hilarious, Dean is clueless but bowled over and letting himself be swept up, Cas is delighting in every second and smarter than he lets on and it ALL feels fated and lovely and sexy and just splendid. (this author only has 3 SPN fics but they are all so good and if you try sometimes, well you just might find is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of Dean learning the differences between “needing” and “wanting.”)

Romance at the Motel 6 by shelia_amour 

This fic makes me feel like Stefon from SNL. This fic has everything: Cas and Sam pretending to be married, just the right amount of jealous Dean, Dean randomly pretending to be married to Cas, Dean realizing maybe this isn’t so fake after all, motel vibes, Cas in Dean’s clothes, Cas getting bee slippers. If you are not sold on this already, we are very different people. So good, aches just right. (set in a kind of “whenever” of canon, but I like to put it somewhere in S8.)

que sera sera by Purple_Starflower (@hauntedpearl)

The epitome of how fanfic unfolds for us all the things that COULD happen. You can’t PROVE to me Dean and Cas never snuck off to snuggle and feed Dean’s touch-starvation early in S13. I had to check when I finished because I just couldn’t believe this fic was under 4000 words because it feels so full of touch, longing, the things unspoken, and all the ways Dean was reaching, reaching, reaching. The best kind of ache, and everything by this author is lovely. 

the hard edge that you’re settling for by lesspopped (@trekkiedean)

This is some S10 Demon!Dean that made my stomach hurt and my heart ache and I absolutely loved it and I absolutely hated it and it all felt so REAL with who Demon!Dean was and could have been. There’s a TW for mildly dubious consent in this, but to me, Cas was so agonizingly true to who he was/where he was at this point in canon too. This fic is gloriously, claustrophobically intimate. I say unbearable because as a reader you know that this closeness, this intimacy, is what Dean wants/craves/deserves but can only give himself as a demon and the author does an exquisite job at getting all that across. Hurts so good! 

four of swords by sundryvillians (eurythmix) (@perenial)

Can the world ever have enough post 12x12 fic? The answer is, of course, no. Dean and Cas bake bread and in the soft space of creating something with their own hands, get so close to the words Cas said. It’s about healing and anger and making something just because you are so tired of everything breaking. If that alone isn’t enough to convince you, let me also throw in this is another one of those “possible off-screen moments in canon” that gives them something honest and tender and raw and it feels so very possible. 

Fifteen Prayers From the Faithless by koyas_cat

Short, achy, that sweet sting. A set of prayers for Cas from the beginning to the end, full of all the things Dean doesn’t let himself say outloud and just reflecting the changes in their connection over alllll the years. So good.

#spn #spn fanfic #destiel fic #fic recs #destiel day #deancas fic recs #supernatural #destiel #happy anniversary #don't forget you're here forever

[vickyvicarious]

Hello! I was wondering what you make of Seward's phrase "is it possible that love is all subjective or all objective?" I've seen people allude to different meanings on the phrase but I can't quite figure out what it means

I wanted to wait until after 11 October to answer this ask, just so I didn't have to spoiler for the context of my reply. Which is that... my instinct is to oppose Jonathan and Seward's loves for this one. Specifically, in their reactions to the women they love becoming vampires. (I'm choosing Jack specifically to talk about because we get in his head more than we do for the other suitors, though by actions one could argue they fall more on the same side as he does.)

Firstly, let's take a brief moment to talk about the specific words used. Subjective generally means dictated by personal taste, and objective would be based on fact or truth. So, a love that is all one or the other could be very different depending on what the person you love is like. For example, an objective love would appreciate someone's virtues, while a subjective one might find things to love even in their flaws. Or on a larger scale, and much more relevant to how the phrase is used in the book... what would happen when the person you love is becoming a vampire, a creature that is factually and objectively evil and wrong? How would you react, how would you feel?

It depends on your type of love.

Jonathan's love is all subjective. Even though he absolutely hates and despises vampires, once he knows Mina is at risk of becoming one he resolves to join her if need be. He sees her rejected by God when the communion wafer burns her forehead, and he says 'actually no, I think the holiest kind of love is the one that would lead me to join her in her unholy state'. Even when Mina outright appeals to him to kill her if she is too far gone - an appeal to his objective understanding, for him to express his love in a way that confronts the truth of what she would become - Jonathan remains silent and in doing so refuses to make that promise. It's implied that he would be willing to fight the other men in order to protect her, even though they are his allies and friends. His beliefs warp around the shape of his love. He will destroy himself and others for the sake of his love, even if he knows through painful experience how objectively evil vampires are.

Jack's love meanwhile is all objective. Even though he didn't fully understand what a vampire was, he began to lose his love for Lucy as soon as he saw her acting in that way. In fact every time she was acting out of character to be more vampiric before her death, he seemed to notice and be a little put off by it, even though he didn't really seem to realize so much at the time. He outright says this quote when he is watching vampire!Lucy and realizing that he doesn't feel as horrible about mutilating the body of the woman he loved as he would have expected. When he learns Lucy has become a monster, he begins to feel repulsed by her - a process completed when he sees her up close and outright says his love for her is gone: "At that moment the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight." His determination to destroy the Thing she now is completely separates her in his mind from her living self. His love gives way to the objective facts. He will help to kill her, and gladly, because what she has become disgusts him... because what she has become is objectively evil.

Obviously, their experiences are different, and perhaps it's not quite such a true binary. Mina's gradual transformation, combined with Jonathan's pre-existing knowledge, is quite different from Jack's abrupt introduction to Lucy's vastly changed self and to the idea of the supernatural at all. But for the purposes of examining this quote, I think it works quite well to set them up at opposite ends of that scale.

.

It's also kind of curious because it calls back to another great line of Seward's: "(Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?)" The context of that line is Seward struggling to resist his dark impulses with regards to his treatment of Renfield. And he says this after having noticed himself actively doing something he says he'd normally avoid like the pit of hell, so that means he was approaching it until he caught himself. This is a struggle he repeatedly faces with Renfield, finding himself longing for a cause that he would consider it worthwhile abandoning his morals for, so that he could just give in to these urges.

But while Jack Seward is the person most drawn to the darkness, as we get introduced to the vampires are representatives of the ultimate darkness he backs firmly away. It's only in isolation that he feels so attracted to amoral experimentation; when together with his friends he pulls himself back to be more firmly opposed. His treatment of Renfield is a mess the entire time, don't get me wrong. He never really does right by him. But he doesn't seem to feel that same urge to push him in such a cruel way merely for his own interest/satisfaction. It becomes in the service of a greater goal, the objectively good idea of fighting Dracula. (Again, not saying his methods are good, but his motivation shifts.) He's always been conscious of an idea of what is right to do and he actively tries to follow that, with much greater success when not left to his own devices.

Meanwhile Jonathan has never felt such an intense draw to the darkness. He survived months alone surrounded by evil influences, and it only increased his determination to remain himself/human. He hates the vampires and he feels no true allure to the idea of being like them (outside the allure everyone feels when being hypnotized by them, etc.). He wanted nothing more than a normal happy life, he never longed for a cause that would be worth throwing his morals away. And yet, when Mina begins to turn we see Jonathan decide that this is the circumstance under which he will not avoid the pit of hell. This is the cause he can dedicate himself to as fully as any madman. Jonathan never felt the need to philosophize about trying to avoid such things before he was exposed to them by others, because he has no inherent urge to seek them out. But he also lacks that restrictive hold when a reason does come along.

(To visualize: if there's a pit, then Jack is the person who keeps wandering closer, desperately wanting to lean over the edge and see what's inside. Knowing this about himself, he's tied a rope around his waist to ensure he doesn't slip too far. Jonathan never even went near until he abruptly decides to sprint up and swan-dive straight into it when he thinks Mina's fallen in.)

#dracula daily #jack seward #jonathan harker #anonymous #replies #my meta #dracula meta

[inkdemonapologist]

!!!!!!!!!!! New Cthulhu Season has started!! this time featuring:

The band at our fancy party started playing a song that Sammy INSTANTLY recognised as his own improv, played a year and some change ago from the balcony of a New Orleans hotel to calm his nerves, which really should not be turning up perfectly replicated here and unsettled him so much that he ended up trying to communicate this to Jack in the LEAST CLEAR WAY IMAGINABLE

we got a supernatural partycrasher at the fancy party which means wE GOT PROPHET IN A SUIT!!! FANCY PROPHET FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES!! his previously prophesied warning of what was to come included the phrase "a report that silences the tongue of ythill," which is apparently what this was, and he got SO EXCITED about the appearance of this weird man making people bleed from the eyes that he booted Sammy from the front to take it all in. THE TIME IS FINALLY AT HAND!!!

i also have a lil smattering of out-of-context quotes from session 1 if ur into that sort of thing: here under the cut!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[Jack] Aw, there's no snow in the year before, so probably no snowball fights for Christmas, [GM] Well, we can invent our own, that's fine. [Sammy] It's the ONE difference! IDENTICAL TO OUR WORLD, except for on December 25th there was snow, don't worry about it. [GM] And tape recorders! [Sammy] There's tape recorders, and there was snow on December 25th, 1934. [Sammy] AND ALSO CTHULHU IS REAL. But other than that it's exactly the same. [GM] That's it, just those little things. [Henry] A minor detail.

[GM] Another question: Christmas is on a Tuesday, does the Studio get days off? [Joey] In the Cthulhu universe, yes… And It's All Henry's Fault.

[Jack] Anyone who failed their Sanity gain checks in '35 -- it's the anticipation. [Sammy] Yeah, it's just driving you absolutely bonkers that this prophecy still hasn't happened, can it go ahead and get it over with? I hate having this hanging over my head! [Sammy] And if you PASS your sanity check, and gained sanity, it could be that you're just INCREASINGLY IN DENIAL. Like, you know what? Maybe he forgot!

[Jack] Jack's the most likely to keep up with these poor people we keep roping into our nonsense! [Joey] Hey, HEY! [Jack] "Welcome to the group! You're only here for a little bit, but have some trauma! Trauma for you! And trauma for you! BYE"

[Sammy] We're like Absol. We're not CAUSING the trouble, but it IS in our wake, constantly. [Jack] Absol is 100% a modern teenage Joey Drew's fursona. [Joey] ….Yeah…

[Henry] Is it an easier apartment to get to, for Joey, than the one he has? [Joey] That is a really good question. [GM] It has ONE flight of stairs, but it doesn't have ten zillion flights, so I mean, it's better, probably! It DID have an evil ritual in it,

[Jack] *reading the inflation calculator* $1,000 in 1935 is… 22 thousand.. and a half… dollars????? [Joey] GREAT! *claps* STUDIO'S FUNDED! :D [Jack] Joey, no, [Sammy] You can do that with YOUR money, [Joey] I mean, that IS what's going to happen to Joey's money, Joey's just going to immediately dump it into the studio. Grant gets a LOVELY holiday present where suddenly, the numbers are not in the red anymore! [GM] This is how Grant doesn't become the final boss. [Sammy] Is that a present? IS THAT A PRESENT??? Grant looks at the numbers and they're suddenly bigger? WHAT'S HAPPENING [Jack] Sounds like a tax nightmare… he assumes his mind is broken, he's gone delusional, [Sammy] Joey's not thinking about how this affects TAXES he's just like, OH BOY! More money! Grant'll work that out. :) [Joey] Yeah! :D

[Sammy] Oh wow, mistletoe's been around for a while. [Sammy] …I say, as if mistletoe, the plant, is newly invented,

[Jack] We need to even the playing field; Henry's the highest, we need to drag him down to our level!

[GM] Let's say it's just you guys, and Peter and Susie, and Norman took off. [Sammy] Aw, don't wanna stay late? Old man, gotta get to bed? [GM] Maybe not if people are saying THAT at him,

*after finding a major ice rink was not built until 1936* [GM] Well, maybe everyone can do that when they DEFINITELY survive and come out victorious next year! :) [Sammy] ….survive?! Nothing's happened! It's a CHRISTMAS PARTY. [Jack] I HOPE we're surviving the Christmas Party, the food's not THAT bad, is it? [Henry] We solved your Christmas puzzle! [Jack] The Christmas Puzzle is how much food can we trick Joey into eating by handing it to him,

[Jack] Oh no, Spark's gone to… CATCOSA…. !

[Sammy] That's fine, Disney still hasn't caught up with us, so. [Jack] Well they're havin' this whole weird issue with like, ink and cultists, it's a bit weird… bunch of the staff started going missing…? [Sammy] *laughing* The entirety of Bendy and the Ink Machine happens, just OVER THERE. We averted it so now Disney has to do it.

[Henry] I will say, Henry's been a little uneasy all day. This doesn't affect anything, it's just for flavour. [GM] But he is in a really nice suit! [Sammy] Well THAT's why he's uneasy. They had to smooth his hair, and he's in a whole suit, [GM] In a vest that actually fits, [Henry] Unrecognisable. [Jack] Who is this stranger?

[GM] Make spot (hidden) checks! [Jack] *whispering* I hope it's Norman. [GM] Both of you spot a familiar face, before he's able to come accost you -- it's not Norman, it's Denis! [Sammy] oh gosh. [Joey] Well… I don't know if that's better or worse than my initial guess of Avedon,

[GM] He greets you all cheerful-like, "fancy meeting you here!" sort of thing-- [Sammy] Sammy still doesn't shake his hand. [GM] --he knows you as Joseph, doesn't he? [Joey] Oh no…. Joey was trying to hide his name in New Orleans… [Jack] That's fine, it's all about reinvention!

[Sammy] You know how in the Illusion of Living, Wally comes up and Joey randomly starts talking about how he's a great guy and a hard worker, and you're like, we were talking about something else ten seconds ago Joey PLEASE stay focused, [Sammy] Anyway, I'm imagining that but with Peter?

[Sammy] The Studio just had a big release last year, and I just got this really nice car! and *mumbling* those events aren't actually connected, BUT!! Through the power of leaving out the middle bit, you can assume they are!

[GM] Sammy, make a listen check! [Sammy] EXTREME SUCCESS, I rolled a THREE. [GM] Oh cool! Make a sanity check! [Sammy] oh no,,, [Joey] *Mario voice* HERE WE GO!

[Sammy] Sammy is gonna look at Joey, see that Joey is like…. in the midst of a conversational manoeuvre, and go, run try to find Jack. I don't know if he'll GET there, but, [GM] He can at least locate Jack, I would think, unless Jack is in a back room kissing boys or whatnot!

[GM] This guy is wearing a really severe, matte black suit, and has unnaturally white skin, his hair is black and very oiled in a severe widow's peak-- [Jack] It's him! Bendy Inkmachine!! [GM] I'm reading this description RIGHT from the book, I need you to know that.

[GM] The music's also definitely come to a stop, while all this was going on. And then there's a gunshot! And now there's just a big, yknow, panic, like you get! [Jack] Avedon's here! [Sammy] There'd be more French-accented yelling if Avedon were here. [Joey] I like how we're just going to end up willing Avedon into this scenario by making repeated "Avedon's here" jokes, [Jack] I mean, I've been trying to do the same with Norman, but it's either not working, or we haven't rolled Spot high enough to find him yet!

[GM] You guys get interviewed and asked what you saw, and what happened! [Sammy] …hang on, I gotta roll a check. [Sammy] *rolls* … OKAY COOL Sammy's back. [Joey] *laughing* Sammy interview, or Prophet interview? [Sammy] They were going to get a REALLY interesting interview if I rolled better on willpower!

[GM] Do you suppose Joey would've helped Susie shop for a dress that she could conceal a firearm in? [Joey] [Joey] sURE! [Joey] I mean I feel like, "would Joey help Susie shop for a dress," stop the sentence there: absolutely yes. There's other things to consider with dress? Well that just makes it a fun challenge now!

[GM] The police ask you what you saw. What do you tell them, about your experiences this evening? [Sammy] Sammy didn't see a lot. There was some commotion and a gunshot. [Joey] Yeah, I think Joey's just going to report that he just heard commotion happening up front, and quickly decided that he wasn't interested in commotion!

[Henry] Who was it who saw people with bloody eyes? [Sammy] Uh, that was Sammy, he's not mentioning that part.

[Jack] *rolls* Normal success for Jack. [Henry] *rolls* Hard success! [Sammy] *rolls* EXTREME success, I rolled a ten! [Joey] *rolls* …what's the fumble point, again?

[GM, as Denis] "There was a yellow sign at the Mardi Gras party last year! I thought it was a lucky charm, but I guess… it wasn't? I had a friend who said it wasn't, actually. You should watch out for those signs. Yes." [Joey] *so tired* Okay, that's… that's fine… [Henry] "Very helpful, thank you." [Jack] (This guy's great, can we keep him?) [Joey] (NO.)

[Henry] Henry is going to have so much anxiety. Like, just in general, but over this, too. [Sammy] "going to"??? [Henry] *laughing* No, you're right. What I'm learning is that Henry CAN slide into being mostly even-headed about crises, but he has to have a moment of "Oh God, oh fuck, oh geez" first. [GM] I think Peter does that in reverse. [Sammy] Yeah, that makes sense -- Sammy just shoots straight for "OH COOL, WE'RE GOING TO DIE!!!"

[GM] How much do you suppose these boys are up on vernacular and slang? [Henry] Henry might've picked up something from his kids, that's all I've got [Sammy] That's cute… Henry knows what yeet means... [Joey] I WAS ALSO GONNA SAY HENRY KNOWS WHAT YEET MEANS,

[Sammy] I do appreciate Jack being the one to notice that the prophecy might be a pun.

[Sammy] What do we even DO with this? What do we do next… [Joey] *muttering* That's what I've been trying to think of for the last like… half hour, Sammy…! [Joey] This isn't Joey-voice, this is just me-voice. [Jack] Yeah, Joey would never admit weakness in front of Peter Sunstram. [Joey] Yeah. Correct.

[Jack] Well if anyone else wants coffee, Jack might end up makin' some! [Jack] You know, that 11:30 coffee.

[Sammy] "Well, if he plays clarinet, let us know." [GM] Peter tips his head as if he's thinking of looking that up -- not looking it up, looking into it! [Jack] Yeah, just google it, Pete! What are you waiting for! [GM] On his cell phone, [Jack] You gotta pull out your Bendyphone! [Sammy] JDS is responsible for all anachronistic devices.

[Jack] Is It An Insanity Or Is It Just The ADHD

[Joey] Is Joey gonna make stupid decisions…? [Sammy] JOEY,,, [Sammy] Augh, I should've gone with him, [Joey] *rolls* *starts cackling maniacally* [Jack] *deadpan* Oh gee I wonder what the result is, [Joey] *audibly grinning* Joey might try to dream spell… Y? [Sammy] WHAT?! [Henry] Joey what are you doing…. [Sammy] JOEY DREW!!!

[Henry] I roll to see if Henry's "Joey's Doing Something Stupid" senses are tingling [Joey] Yeah, I think it's fair for Henry to have a "Is Joey Doing Something Stupid" sense that goes off fifty percent of the time, [Sammy] It's NOT USEFUL because it's ALWAYS HAPPENING,

#quote post #call of cthulhu: haunted hijinx #sammy lawrence #jack fain #prophet sammy #when in doubt just keep drawing #already vibrating about these boys once again

[crazyk-imagine]

I Have to Follow my Heart

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Addams Witch!reader

Characters: Addams Witch!reader, Xavier Thorpe, Wednesday Addams, Joseph Crackstone

Briefly mentioned: Morticia Addams, Gomez Addams, Uncle Fester, Thing, Enid Sinclar, Bianca Barclay, Eugene Otinger, Tyler Galpin aka the hyde, Marilyn Thornhill (Laurel Gates)

Warnings: Supernatural fight, reader has visions, powers, mentions of Uncle Fester’s electricity powers, sacrificing oneself (more or less), bits and pieces of the last episode, the battle between Joseph Crackston and Wednesday, Xavier gets reader a phone, friends going through a tough time, Xavier and reader going through the motions of Wednesday’s theory

Word Count: 2,032

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At times I wished I had the same emotionless expression as my “cousin.” One might ask why I put air quotes around the word, it’ simple. 

Her uncle Fester happened to stumble upon myself and mother’s violin when I was merely three months old during one of his “adventures”. 

As I previously said, I wish I could copy her expression, especially now. You slam your journal shut, turning to look at your clock. 

You grab your jacket and exit the room, making your way towards Xavier’s art shed. Your mind is blank but thoughts float around your mind, you wonder what it is he wanted to talk to you about. 

With Wednesday firmly believing that he is the hyde, it makes you more weary of being alone with him… in the woods but if you can talk to him in his safe space so he doesn’t “totally freak out” as Enid would say, you believe it would do you good. 

“Do you believe me?” Xavier spins around to look at you. 

You gulp, this is not where you saw this going right after entering the shed. “I don’t- I don’t know,” you say, giving him your honest answer. 

“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s either you believe that I’m not the monster or you agree with your cousin,” he hisses out the word you’ve grown accustomed to calling the pigtailed girl. 

You ignore his gaze and opt to look at the floor. “I- I,” the thought you had written down in your journal crosses your mind. 

“I don’t think you’d do all these things, but you have to admit the evidence she has does make it highly possible for you to be the hyde.” 

He furrows his brows, face slowly becoming more void of emotion. “If you really believe that I’m the monster then why are you here?” 

You raise your head. “I- I needed to see it for myself.” 

“See what?” He asks with a tired tone. 

“I- what’s that?” You point over to the sketchbook with a flower bookmark sticking out of it. 

“That- that’s nothing. Why is that important now?” He’d never admit it out loud, but he was always impressed with how your attention could be drawn elsewhere within a second, even if it isn’t the most appropriate time for this to happen. 

You ignore him and walk over towards it, opening the page to find a drawing of yourself playing your deceased mothers’ violin. You reach for the flower and find yourself thrown into a vision. 

How odd, Wednesday’s the one who usually experiences these, at least from what you can remember. It is also weird how whenever she would have one, you would pass out. 

Eugene’s screams flood your mind. 

The cave where the monster hides is on fire. 

The hyde’s wide and red rimmed eyes. 

Red boots… red boots? 

-

You wake up, blinking as your eyes adjust to the moonlit room. “How did I get here?” 

The numerous footsteps echoing throughout the hallway draw you out of bed. 

You open the door and listen to the scared and panicked shrieks of the other students, rushing over towards the railing you find the red aura of the siren song on the lower floors. 

Crackstone. 

Your head snaps over towards the side. You furrow your brows at the sight of a pale dressed Wednesday, not your cousin but- “Goody?” 

She nods. “You must help her.” 

“Help who?” 

“The key.” 

You remember the pigtailed girl mentioning this to you, you know exactly who she’s referring to. “Where is she?” 

“I am going to her now, but you must guide her.” 

“Guide her? Guide her how?” 

“His black heart will end it… I must go to her now.” She starts to disappear. 

“No, Goody. Wait!” You sigh and look down. 

Bianca’s head snaps up. 

You block her song and search for a window. At times like this, you’re happy you’ve climbed the walls of the school.  

 -

You stand on the edge of the roof just before the upper hallway where you can see Bianca and a few others. You don’t feel good, something’s going on with the black-haired girl, the urge to scream is on the tip of your tongue but you fight it as you protect the students. 

You place a temporary shield around the area, preventing the fire from reaching any of the students and jump down. “Crackstone!” 

He turns to you, the evil look in his eye should send shivers down your spine but you don’t let it, not wanting him to harm anyone. 

“Another one. How nice.” The revived Joseph Crackstone taunts you. 

“Don’t you think this is a bit much?” 

He aims his magical staff at you, luckily you are able to block it. “I am ridding the earth of you abominations!” 

“You’re an abomination too!” 

“Lies!” 

“Your descendant raised you, brought you back from the dead!” 

You spin around, avoiding his magic. “You have magic! You are now the very thing you despise yourself! How can you get rid of what keeps your heart beating at this very moment!” 

“I am doing what should have been done years ago.” 

“You’re going to die, and your magic will not be able to save you.” You raise your hand, trying to telepathically pull the staff away from him. 

“Stay away from her.” 

Why does this voice sound so familiar? 

The arrow flies past your head, in front of the resurrected man, only for him to use his magic and flip it. 

You cannot let it hit him or anyone else and put yourself before him to stop it. You spin around, landing on your back unable to catch your breath. 

Xavier runs towards you, lifting your upper body off the ground. 

“Get the others out of here,” you tell him once you can breathe again. 

“What?” He furrows his brows, mouth curling in disbelief. 

“You need to get the other students out of here. We cannot lose anyone else.” 

“I don’t-” 

“I have to help her,” you whisper. 

He helps you up, “I don’t like this idea.” 

“Good thing,” you snap the arrow and chuck it onto the ground. “You aren’t going to be here to see the rest of it… be careful.” 

“You, too.” You push him away when you sense Joseph aiming the damn staff at you. 

You stand beside Wednesday. “We have to aim for his-” 

“Heart, yes,” she cuts you off. “I didn’t realize you were aware.” 

“Let’s say, seeing the dead does have its perks at times. I expect no tears from you at my funeral.” 

“Don’t-” 

Xavier turns at her shout, his heart drops. 

You run at him as Bianca stabs the man in the back. You rub your hands together, thankful for Fester teaching you how to use his trick now more than ever. You hold him in place and call out for her. “Now, Wednesday!” 

She lifts the sword and stabs him in his black heart. 

You can’t remove your hands from him, not until he fully disappears even then you fall, eyes closing. 

The hands on your shoulders and whoever’s attempting to do CPR bring you out of your quick reenergize nap. 

You open your eyes and give three a tired smile. 

The artist helps you sit up and continues to hold you even as Wednesday wraps her arms around you. 

You smile and kiss the top of her head, letting her know it’s over (you hope, unless Nevermore isn’t done with you all). 

She forces herself off you, letting Bianca and Xavier help you up. 

You nod to the siren. “Let’s go find the others.” 

-

The four of you walk out of the school, searching for the waiting party. 

You lean against the boy throughout the entire walk. 

He hasn’t said a word to you, and you don’t know what you could say to him other than, “I’m sorry.” 

Enid rushes over to hug your cousin, giving you a moment to talk to him. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I believed you were the very thing that would terrorize the school when I shouldn’t have. I should have followed my heart.” 

“I think I can forgive you. I mean, you did take an arrow to the shoulder for me.” 

“And I would do it again if it meant I had your trust.” 

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt over my trust.” 

“I should have listened to you.” 

The corner of his lip’s tugs upward, “yeah, maybe. But now that you’ve saved the school, I think I can understand where you were coming from.” 

“No, don’t do that.” 

“What?” 

“Don’t just brush it off, I know what I did wasn’t the nicest or most respectful thing to do when I’ve known you and have been your friend for three years. I know you; I have for years, and I shouldn’t have let someone else’s theories get into my head to ruin that trust.” 

He nods, tucking the hair blocking his view behind his ear. “I’ll take that into consideration.” 

Your lips twitch, “that’s all I ask.” 

Enid rushes over to you, hugging you not nearly as tightly as your cousin but enough to let you know how much she cares about you.

 -

You leave Wednesday to finish her novel while Thing finishes packing for her. You wonder around, waiting until it’s time to leave. 

“The feeling of eyes on me brings a chill up my spine and not in the fun way,” you think. “That would be a good thought to right down when I return to my room.” 

You turn, facing the stairs to find him watching you which may be creepy to some, but you find it to be rather sweet. 

He waves and leans against the railing. 

You walk up the stairs, wanting to talk to him before your dragged out of here. “Are your parents coming to pick you up?” 

He shrugs, “probably not… I got you something.” 

“Really?” You raise a brow. 

“It’s not much but it’ll be faster than the letters." He lifts the lid off the box, showing you your new phone. 

“Don’t expect a call,” you inform him, not wanting to hurt his feeling. You must really care about him if you’re taking his feelings into consideration. 

“I’m not.” 

You squint your eyes at him, “seems you know me well.” 

“That and,” he tucks his hair behind his ears. “I know you don’t like new things… at least, until you get the hang of them.” 

“I guess we’ll have to see about this then.” 

“I believe in you.” 

“I trust that you’ll have a normal summer?” 

“It might be fun if I get a phone call.” 

“Don’t push it.” 

He smiles, having a feeling that you’ll learn to use the phone faster to call him. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine. I’ve decided to let it heal on its own.” 

“No magic?” 

“I believe it would be wise to save my energy. I have a feeling we’re just getting started with Nevermore and all it has to offer.” You take the phone out of the box and hold it. “How do you use this dark box you call a phone?” 

He chuckles, taking it from you, “why are you calling it a dark box exactly?” 

“It’s painfully obvious.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that. I already programmed my phone number in here. What exactly you were looking for?” 

“I want to send you my aunt Morticia and Uncle Gomez’ address. I will be staying with Wednesday and her family this summer; we believe it would be wise if we stay together.” 

“Okay,” he shows you how to use the phone. 

“I cannot guarantee I’ll be able to remember all of this.” 

“As long as you can turn it on and remember to charge it, you’ll be alright,” he assures you. 

“Do you know if you’re ability can work over the phone?” 

He shrugs. “I’ve never tried before.” 

“Perhaps it could be our summer activity?” 

He nods, not at all hiding his smile when you said, “our activity”. It seems as though there’s a chance for him to ask you out in the near future. “Maybe.”

#wednesday #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe imagines #wednesday series imagine #wednesday series imagines #wednesday imagine #wednesday imagines #xavier thorpe x #addams reader #xavier thorpe x addams witch!reader #xavier thorpe x wtich reader #xavier thorpe x witch!reader #xavier thorpe x witch reader #xavier thorpe x addams reader #crazyk-imagine

[the-grey-hunt]

last year i talked somewhat about jonathan harker in the role of the gothic heroine, which seemed to go over well! this year i've decided to challenge myself to delve a little deeper and keep my literary analysis skills sharp (trying to keep away from anything revealed later than today's entry, for the new readers)

for context in the literary background i'm examining here, the female gothic (a term coined I believe in the 70s) is a lens of analysis for gothic literature which examines the role of women as expression of contemporary anxieties around women and their roles in society, particularly as mothers and wives. like many kinds of horror, political and social anxieties are deployed as supernatural forces with which to terrify the "ordinary" citizens.

jonathan, our ordinary man, is certainly faced with horrors—but in what way? sent by an older man, Peter Hawkins, jonathan enters a foreign landscape where he enters into the power of another older man, at a particularly vulnerable time where a loved one (Mina) is waiting at home but jonathan does not appear to be married. the horrors that jonathan faces are the same trials set up against gothic heroines: threatening older men with power over you, poised at a huge point of transition in your life, etc, etc.

the main argument against jonathan as a heroine is, I think, his job. His transition point right now isn't an impending marriage or that he needs one, but that he's just established himself as a solicitor and is meeting with Dracula for business purposes. however, I think how these are deployed as tools in the story, such as Hawkins almost transferring guardianship of his young employee/ward to Dracula (temporarily), still very much mirror the ways in which high-class social norms are deployed against gothic women. even the work jonathan does in the castle (talking to dracula about real estate) isn't in service of bolstering his manly prowess, but serves as a tool for dracula to distract him, and keep him from realizing that he is trapped and serving dracula's own will.

rather than being tried in a manly fashion by his strength or his wits being challenged, jonathan's gothic experience is of his environment and even his body being manipulated by the man meant to be a helping hand in a foreign land. when I say body people might think it's a little early for that, but it's happening—dracula keeps jonathan up late so he sleeps in, forcing him to acclimate to dracula's own nocturnal existence. when he gets a glimpse of blood, he attempts to take it from jonathan. even today, a few hundred years after dracula's social anxieties about women's bodies being trespassed upon by men other than the ones entitled to them, women may see echoes of their own anxieties about bodily autonomy.

Dracula also isolates jonathan socially. He makes jonathan mistrust his own ability to percieve reality (gaslighting, anyone, a story about a woman being manipulated by her husband?) by pretending that servants are in charge of the cooking and so on, when really it's just dracula keeping up a masquerade.

this comes to a head in the mirror scene, where jonathan's shaving mirror—an item he uses to attend to his appearance—ends up being a helpful tool which exposes the supernatural reality of what jonathan's up against. however, because dracula is still the one in power, he immediately gets rid of it, calling it "vanity". I recall the quote by John Berger:

You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting Vanity, thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.

the ways in which jonathan is treated by dracula, and the ways in which he attempts to bolster himself against the threat (spying to see what dracula's really doing, seeing the lack of reflection by chance) mirror the highly gendered dynamics of the Victorian era which this book was written in the tail end of. perhaps purposefully subverting jonathan's gender as a further expression of the horror of dracula, stoker's work takes jonathan as a man secure in his position at home in england to being a manipulated, isolated, and precariously positioned figure subject to the whims of an abusive man while friendless in a foreign country

(and the essay on how race, ethnicity, and foreign versus home plays into this is a whole other post! racism effects gender too! it's not a mistake that jonathan is securely male at home but his gender is subverted abroad!)

#dracula daily #dracula #female gothic #jonathan harker #ok i have to stop myself here and do my actual homework

[anim-ttrpgs]

The Actual Patreon Post: You can get a PDF copy of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy right now for only $5.

As many of you who already follow this tumblr page have no-doubt already seen, after some difficulty, we have finally been able to set up a functioning Patreon page. Those of you who already follow this tumblr page have also no-doubt already seen that we have been working for several years on an original TTRPG called Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. This is a robust, rules-medium TTRPG that is designed to run mystery, horror, and even action adventures in any time period between about 1850 and the present day.

More info about what makes Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy so unique as a TTRPG can be found

Here (Introduction/Summary)

Here (The Eureka! System)

Here (What is Eureka for?)

Here (The Woo Roll)

Here (Lore)

Here (2D6 System)

Here (Gameplay and Design Philosophy)

But for a quick summary, Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a 2D6 system(NOT PbtA) that puts the players in charge of relatively mundane investigators as they attempt to solve puzzling mysteries, both ordinary and supernatural in nature. Investigators are flawed, vulnerable people who must rely on their wits more than heroic skills to overcome adversity and dig for the truth, even when it may not be enough. Combat is deep and tactical, but very realistic and deadly, with overconfidence easily able to land a character on the ground.

Eureka takes a rare approach to party dynamics and TTRPG narrative, where the PCs are on a mostly even playing field with NPCs, and playing their cards wrong could easily have a new group of PCs showing up to not only solve the original mystery, but the unsolved murders of previous party as well.

Additionally, it is not discouraged for PCs not to 100% trust the other members of the party, with betrayal being a real possibility. Even in the absence of an intended betrayal, in some cases a PC may actually be some kind of supernatural creature passing for a regular person, who can reveal this to neither the rest of the party nor the actual players sitting around the table. If your character is a vampire, that’s between you, the character, and the GM. No one else can know, or else. What supernatural characters gain in overall power and often durability, they make up for with the added challenge of utilizing their powers and avoiding their supernatural weaknesses while attempting to solve the mystery without tipping off anyone else to their true nature.

Now for a few quotes from those who have had the opportunity to playtest and preview this game:

“The most stress-free character creation I’ve ever seen.”

“The Eureka! system is something that really sets this apart from other mystery games.”

“This approach to investigation is the right way to do it.”

“I love the Woo Roll.”

“[The monster dynamic] is one of the most interesting things I’ve ever played with.”

So, why am I telling you all this again? Because Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is, basically, being soft-launched right now. The official Kickstarter is still several months away, but the actual game is 99% done. You can pick up a PDF of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, along with three pre-written adventure modules to go with it, for $5 right now on our Patreon page.

For official and top-secret reasons, I can’t actually speak about how much we intend to Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy for when it actually goes up for official sale, but I can say that this is a very, very good deal for what amounts to almost 500 pages of material.

#eureka: investigative urban fantasy #eureka #dnd #tabletop #roleplaying #coc #rpg #ttrpg #indie rpg #patreon #monster of the week #ttrpg character #ttrpg art #sale

[inklore]

after a year and a handful of months of debating on if i should, or wanted to, do commissions (and with some convincing and hyping from friends) i've decided why the heck not!

so to everyone whose ever complimented me and hyped me up for my themes and graphics thank you and you're definitely another driving force in this decision.

making graphics is therapeutic to me and i take a lot of pride and joy in doing it, from seeing everyone loving the things i create. and i want to share that pride and joy even more, sooo if you've ever struggled with making a good theme, feel too lazy to make one, need a banner for a fic or masterlist, a header, or just need someone to help your graphic vision come together; i'm here to provide!

before you commission something, or just want some examples, please check out my past work and portfolio!

PORTFOLIO | PINTEREST | ART TAG | GIFS

PLEASE THOROUGHLY READ THROUGH THE RULES!!!!

✶ all payments will be made through kofi or fiverr depending on what you're commissioning. if you'd rather go through paypal that is also a valid option just message me.

when it comes to commissioning anything details matter!!! i need complete details of what you want to be created. i will not accept something like 'floral vibe' or 'something with browns'. that gives me nothing. i need a vision, i need as much information as possible, examples (but do not take them from other creators please i will decline your commission), you can take inspo or examples from my own themes, or go through my pin board. the more details the better. the greater i can make your vision come into view. this is important!!!

i will not use other peoples art. do not ask for it to be included in whatever project i am creating. everything i make is for personal use only.

you will get two redos for me to change something you don't like about the theme. a preview of the finished product will be sent your way and you can ask for something to be completely re-done, but after that no changes will be made.

please include your user or where you want me to send your graphics within your request.

there's not a time span in which you have to use the theme or graphic for, but a week would be complimentary.

you can commission as many times as you wish after i've finished the first one.

for my own personal reasons minors are not allowed to commission things.

we do not have to be mutuals, nor do you have to be following me to commission something.

you don't have to outwardly give me credit but please do not claim my creations as your own.

if you have any questions before commissioning something my messages are always open and there is never a dumb question. please feel free to ask!

✶ fandoms i will not accept commissions for: anime, supernatural, our flags mean death, good omens (because i am not in them nor have enough knowledge on how to make the vision really suit said fandoms).

a full theme includes: a navigation banner and a header.

when commissioning a theme there are a few things that need to be mentioned and answered, so please include them in your request!

what kind of navi banner do you want? (refer to my portfolio for this, or if you just want something simplistic, big, small, medium, extra, messy, chaotic, etc)

what vibe are you going for? (dark academia, greek myth, ocean, dainty, horror, etc)

colors? (a must ok i need to know, if you give me none then i'm going to do whatever and choose what i think looks best and that's also fine if you want me to have complete creative liberties)

whats your overall vision? (can be included in the vibes section but giving me more detail is better)

text. (what do you want included on it, words, titles, information, quotes, etc)

examples. (like i mentioned in the rules examples are encouraged but do not take them from other creators on here and i will not copy, or make them look like someone else's work)

what kind of header do you want? (a simple png that goes along with the navi colors and vibe, a whole other banner-esk graphic, none, etc)

✶ see the add ons section below if you want more things included in your theme.

now these add ons are only for themes. if you commission a header only, or gif, they will have their own add on options.

$1 - for dividers that match your theme in color and vibe (if you want symbol, graphic, or anything that's not color then the price goes up a dollar)

$1 - three+ icon options (want the perfect icon to fit your theme and don't want to do the searching yourself? i got you)

$2 - content warning + minor dni banners (i'll make theme specifically to match your theme, with your user, and whatever you want them to say or look like etc)

$3 - layout + navi formatting (aka i'll come up with a completely new layout format for your navigation post + your bio)

$4 - a gif header or a gif included within the navi graphic (this is the highest price because finding clips, extracting scenes into caps, making the gif, coloring it to match the theme, blending, etc, is a lot lol)

a header commission includes: only a header. it is not a theme, just a mobile header, or a header for a masterlist, or fic.

the information needed for this commission are as listed below.

what kind of header do you want? (aka what is it for. this is important because the look is dependent on this information)

colors, vibes, vision. (more detail the better)

text. (if you want text on it, what do you want it to say, so title, etc)

examples. (not needed but a plus)

gif commissions include: gifs for your fics or masterlists. not for themes or headers.

depending on how you want these little moving pictures to look you gotta give some details.

fandom, character, scenes. (don't just say 'any scene' unless you truly want me to choose whatever scene lmao)

how many? (the current cut off is six, if you want more then there's an add on)

coloring. (you can completely leave this up to me but if you want them to be a certain color then please let me know, i'll also check with you before making all of them to make sure you like the coloring)

text. (want them to say anything? a title? subtitles? dialogue from your fic? your username on them? etc)

add on: blends. (want two characters or actors from different angles, scenes, or fandoms in the same gif? i got you)

add on: textures. (if you want added details such as a texture on the gifs then this will be extra, but i need to know what kind of texture / details you want added)

fic commissions: are only done through fiverr or paypal. if you are interested in commissioning a fic or any kind of writing then please refer to my fiverr and inquire over there or message me on here. thank you!!

✶REMEMBER TO MESSAGE ME WITH ANY QUESTIONS YOU HAVE BEFORE COMMISSIONING, NO MATTER THE TIME OR SUBJECT, I ENCOURAGE IT!

contact info: on tumblr, or discord: toldbylaur.

where to commission: kofi or pm me!

#commissions #theme commissions #graphic commissions #gif commissions #fic commissions

[sarahreesbrennan]

sorry if you have already answered this, but are we getting any queer rep in Long Live Evil? 💕 i am super excited to see what you've cooked up for us either way!

I came back after I'd gone off on one, seeing the post had struck a chord and being thankful but fearful of my inbox. Let me say with delighted surprise that all the asks are very kind.

Thank you for this one, sweet anon. I am so excited and so nervous about my best beloved, Long Live Evil, and about coming back with a new book of my own after so long, when I believed for a long time it was hopeless.

I'm really grateful to find readers waiting for me. But I know readers are naturally more invested in characters they know: I extremely appreciate you taking an interest in the future.

So, short answer: YEAH you are!

Long answer: Long Live Evil wouldn't exist without its queer narratives.

C.S. Pacat and I were talking in our virtual Brookline Booksmith event recently about our favourite Disney villains. C.S. Pacat picked Maleficent, a fine choice. I picked Snow White's Evil Queen. We agreed we loved most of them.

Here's the relevant excerpt I was quoting in my last post from Carmen Maria Machado's In The Dream House, saying 'I think a lot about queer villains, the problem and pleasure and audacity of them.' Well... me too.

I think many of us have experienced feeling made wrong in some way - for not wanting what society said we should or being what we were expected to be - and that one step along that journey of discovery is going 'Okay, if it's wicked, I'll just BE wicked.' And that's part of why those characters appeal - because they seem free, and free of pain.

But modern storytelling isn't confined to coding, and audiences can now feel free to expect, not the certainty, but the possibility characters who aren't introduced as such still might actually turn out to be LGBT+. The essays I've read about Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Sherlock, Ted Lasso, Fox 9-1-1... I think the latest argued Jaime Lannister was bisexual. (Pretty persuasive.)

I remember reading the Raven Cycle going 'oh? OH.' I remember being at a writing retreat in 2013 and running through the halls screaming about Nico diAngelo. Ten years later we got a Nico diAngelo book co-written by Rick Riordan and the amazing Mark Oshiro. I watched Red, White and Royal Blue with a friend and she said 'honestly I hope the guys get together, but...' and I (having read the book) silenced myself with a herculean effort and watched her hopes come true. I didn't know about The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and almost dropped the book in a swimming pool. But I've also read and watched many things thinking, just maybe... oh, no. Still that hope existing is meaningful, the thought that if the story had gone differently, if this revelation had happened, if this realisation had happened, if, if, if...

Long Live Evil is a story about the story going differently and asking yourself questions about your own nature, and the escape to fiction of those who really need escape. The book is based on that 'if,' and the 'if' itself is joyous, and brings me back to the idea of gleefully transgressing the narrative that much villain love is based on.

It's also an ensemble story with a rogue's gallery of characters and multiple PoVs. (I was much inspired by the Six of Crows ensemble.) So it isn't about any one character's romance, and by the book's nature there exist many possibilities. A critique partner read and said 'I didn't know you were going THERE' and I responded 'Should I?'

I've never been one to confirm where stories are going, and I won't do so now. I'm not talking about any one character or telling you a direction.

I'm just saying yes to rep. It's baked in.

#long live evil #supernatural #teen wolf #fox 911 #lgbt reads #six of crows #evil queen #maleficent #red white and royal blue #the raven cycle #in the dream house #cs pacat #percy jackson

[charcubed]

I'm curious, what are the main reasons why Dean is your favorite canon bisexual in media? Love your meta and that video btw

Ooooo, anon, thank you for the kind words and for giving me an excuse to talk about my love for bisexual icon Dean Winchester <3

I'm going to be really annoying (sorry) and quote part of my meta first. It summarizes and articulates many of my thoughts on this. And then to further answer your question I'll add a bit under it!

From the very beginning, Dean Winchester has been a character tied to classic elements of American masculinity. He was introduced with a superficial veneer involving those elements, but almost immediately the early episodes provide a look at the complexity of his character underneath it. Over the years, that complexity was further explored, and he came to embody a study in things society would often have us think should be incompatible contrasts: the gruffness and grit of hunting life and its associated masculine iconography, paired with his open and deep emotional care for the world; unabashed love for classic rock, superheroes, and horror movies, as well as unabashed joy connected to TV dramas, chick flicks, and childhood favorites like Scooby-Doo; life on the road with a muscle car, but the desire for a home base with creature comforts he can make his own; motivation to always help people, but the clear longing for balance with personal domesticity and relaxation so he could save not only others but also himself.

As a whole, his character functions as an effective deconstruction of toxic masculinity and stereotypical American heroism. And while much of Dean’s most masculine traits and interests are said to come from his father’s influence, part of his journey is loving those parts of himself on their own merit not because he ever had to but because he wants to. He is not his father, and he redefines those valued parts of his identity so they are his and his alone. He also crucially learns to recognize and joyfully embody that those masculine traits were never all that he had to be, working through and overcoming shame and hesitancy along the way. The result? He’s “good with who he is.”

He and the audience are encouraged to see that there are no rules his identity and interests must subscribe to, on a micro or a macro level. The message is to disregard predetermined destiny or duty. Free will means his life is his to determine, his family can be what he makes of it and how he defines it, and what he needs and wants do not ever have to be mutually exclusive. Dean’s journey is about freedom from outwardly-imposed limitations–whether those limitations come from his father’s example and the God altering his story, or from the pervasive societal ideals and network/executive interference outside of it. Dean can and should contain multitudes, all at once.

In this way, Dean’s story is a powerfully queer narrative that acts as metacommentary. In the fullness of its execution, it is also specifically a deeply bisexual narrative.

The not-so-hidden truth is that Dean is canonically a bisexual man. His story was afforded something that’s rare for most characters and almost nonexistent for queer ones: fifteen years of lengthy, nuanced development.

[...]

Again: Dean’s identity journey is about how he can and does contain the capacity for multitudes, and it’s part of what makes him such a compelling character. He can like “this” and “that.” He can be attracted to women and men. Or, as writer Ben Edlund and director Phil Sgriccia said in a DVD commentary, Dean has “the potential for love in all places.”

I wanted to include the above verbatim because it spells out something specific: Dean's narrative is bisexual in its bones. Supernatural evolved to become a queer text, but the specific ways the show and Dean as a character evolved are very intertwined with and informed by the fact that Dean is a masculine bisexual man. SPN is a story that was not meant to be about being queer, but as it became about freedom through free will, those themes were then leveraged and emphasized in connection to queerness because of Destiel. And by the end, the free will narrative and Dean's journey as a bi man are utterly inseparable, because Dean's fight for true freedom is tied to his love for a man and their untraditional family in a way that higher forces are trying to hinder.

You cannot cut out or edit or remove Dean's bisexuality from the story, or several narratives and plot lines (not just Destiel) would at minimum be misunderstood or at maximum fall apart. And yet, simultaneously? Dean's bisexuality is also far from being the sole important thing about his character because he is written with such nuanced complexities and across so many years of material.

Of course, add onto this the overall unique situation that surrounds Supernatural as a piece of media. People talk at length about how there will never be anything like it again, including me; that's obviously true from multiple different angles and for multiple different reasons, with Destiel being prime amongst them. But a related yet distinctly significant branch of that topic is there will never be another bisexual character who is written and evolves quite like Dean.

Was Dean supposed to be bisexual from the very start, out of the mind of Kripke? Who can know for sure, but probably not. Were certain writers and members of production deliberately putting more queercoding and subtext into Dean's character/story from the very start? Who can know for sure, but potentially yes, and certainly the answer becomes unarguably definitely yes the farther you get into the show. That's part of my love and passion for him too, because all of that is deeply unique and incredibly cool.

Dean's bisexuality evolved in a way that (against all odds) actually feels organic, seamless, and like it's simply a part of his character that's been there all along. The effect when you look at Supernatural as a whole body of work is that Dean's always been bi, and his expressions of and acknowledgements of that part of him ebb and flow depending on situation–which is a very relatable notion for many queer people. And as those writing the show became more committed and certain about that piece of who Dean is, so did he, in nuanced and subtle ways skillfully embedded into his story by design. It's bafflingly, impressively cohesive; gives him an incredibly realistic feel; matches his overall character growth; and rings true to his demographic, age, personality, and experiences.

Dean and his story and the situation(s) surrounding both are simply incomparable, and that will be true forever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

...also. Well. I simply love him, y'know? For even more reasons unconnected to this. How can you not, right? :')

Thank you for asking, and thanks for reading this bi Dean manifesto!

Putting my video that you mentioned here for anyone who's not watched it:

My new magnum opus, please stream, etc.

(or watch on Tumblr here)

#bisexual dean winchester #dean is bi #bi dean meta #bi dean winchester #dean winchester is bi #supernatural #spn meta #char writes things #God I LOOOOOVE HIIIIMMMM #dean #anonymous #yes I used like 5 dean is bi tags. I'm valid. leave me alone