#so i slid it to sam's dm's and was like dude

[sweetnestor]

12 Days | Chapter 8.2

Two guys that lowkey hate each other are forced to walk in each other’s shoes in order to learn a lesson.

***in collaboration with @themarkiplierexperience

lmao soz its not actually x reader we’re just desperate for attention haaaa

previous

“I want to ask what the origin story behind this is, but I think I’m better off not knowing,” Tom typed. He attached a “selfie” wearing a bright blue shirt with the word “Wowie” printed on it in a strange fashion. Then, he sent the whole thing to Ethan.

He did see the other texts from the boy that he received the evening before, but Tom was dying to show this to him now. He finally had a look at what Ethan’s “merch” was like. To say he was not expecting “wowie” on a t-shirt was an understatement. Why “wowie”?

Halfway through editing this video, Tom kind of despised Ethan… and he definitely hated the word “Wowie” with a burning passion. It wasn’t all bad, though. Tom had spent the day with a funny pair of people: Parker and Andrew. He didn’t have to consciously act like Ethan to get along with the pair. They were so graciously weird that seeing their friend act out of character was considered normal for them… if that made any sense. The three of them, along with Amy, made a video together that was about this awful blue t-shirt. A promotional video, and instead of having a whole filming crew complete with camera men and editors, it was all self made. It was impressive, don’t get him wrong, but Tom only thrived when he was on camera, not behind the scenes.

It was a minute and a half long video, yet it was taking ages for him to put it all together. Not to mention, Tom was awaiting an update from Ethan about Zendaya. Earlier, he had said that she wanted to talk, and god knows what that was supposed to mean. On top of that, Bella was getting a little harder to handle.

Tom had invited her to come along to shoot the video, but she had gotten immensely sheepish and timid when she heard about the people who would be joining them. She made an excuse about having emails to answer and business Skype meetings to have. She only returned to his apartment after hearing that Parker, Andrew, and Amy had left for the day, and even then she just stayed in the living room while Tom finished the video. Weird, but whatever.

A few hours later, Tom could say he was proud of what he had created. The video was very sarcastic, and kind of funny, but it got the message across: “Buy this ugly ass shirt.” Really, he didn’t see the appeal, but Ethan’s fans sure did. The shirt had been on sale on Ethan’s merch store all month, and as of today, there were only ten days left to buy it. Tom learned all of this through Parker, who had a hand in running the store. Thank god he wasn’t left in completely in the dark.

Thing is, Tom easily learned about different aspects of this kid’s life. He knew the girlfriend, a good amount of the friends, and just enough about his personality to get by. The hard part was the YouTube stuff, because everyone around him assumed that he knew what he was doing. They all assumed he was Ethan. How bizarre would it be if Ethan just suddenly asked for help on the basics of editing a simple video? How long would it be for someone to figure that this wasn’t Ethan, that it was somebody else? What would they do, besides throw him in an asylum?

A knock on the bedroom door snapped Tom out of his thoughts. He pulled off his headphones and granted access.

Bella came in, an unreadable expression on her face. “Hey…”

“Hi, love,” Tom greeted, turning in his chair to face her.

She stepped in, looking around the room as she tangled her fingers together. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, I’m just…” She sighed. “This is really stupid, like really stupid…”

“Oh, how bad could it be?” he asked, putting on a kind smile, despite how nervous the sudden tension made him.

Bella picked at her nails to fill the silence. But she finally asked in a soft voice, “why didn’t you ask me to be in your video?”

Honestly, Tom had been hoping she had that conversation with her real boyfriend. Even he found it weird that the “talking to women” bit from the video starred Amy. Why not Bella? It probably wasn’t something to fuss about, but the girl’s nerves radiated for miles, it made Tom himself feel like he had done something wrong. He didn’t even know how to respond.

“I mean, you and Parker came up with the video idea like what? Two weeks ago,” she rambled, “and you guys came up with the ‘talking to girls’ thing and your first thought was Amy? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I-I mean she did come up with the shirt design…”

Ah, so that was the culprit.

“I-It’s not that I wanted to slap you - uh, fake slap you for a video,” Bella went on, her voice getting shaky, “i-it’s just you didn’t think to ask me, I don’t know. Am I freaking out over nothing?”

“You freak out over everything,” Tom said without thinking. There was a small pause before he turned back to the computer.

“I know, it’s what I do,” Bella said, not seeming offended by that statement. “It probably wasn’t a big deal. I shouldn’t have bothered you, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Any other thoughts, concerns?” It was half sarcastic, but she took the bait.

“I’ve been… having dreams…”

Ethan was supposed to know that tone, what that particular phrase meant. Tom, on the other hand, was clueless.

“Naughty dreams?”

“No.” Bella’s tone was serious now. She paced around the small recording space, still picking at her nails. “Bad dreams. I’ve had dreams like this before… Ethan, please don’t make me say it.”

It had been five days since the switch, five days of being this girl’s boyfriend, and Tom was getting more and more impatient.

“Don’t talk about it then,” he said with a shrug. “If it’s really that scary, or disturbing, or whatever it is... then you don’t need to speak of it.”

Again, it was silent. Tom definitely said the wrong thing, but he didn’t know how to handle a girl with anxiety. He could barely handle Zendaya, even though he hoped to fix things with her.

“You’re probably right,” Bella spoke at last. She turned on her heel towards the door. “No one wants to remember that time, especially me.” She stopped at the doorway and looked back at him. “Oh, and I just figured out why I was freaking out over Amy. It’s been almost a year since Mark left me for her.”

Whoa. What would Ethan say to that? What would Ethan think about his girlfriend mentioning her ex?

Speaking of the ex, Tom’s phone dinged on his desk. Mark had texted him. Admittedly, Tom wasn’t really texting anyone consistently apart from Ethan. He had also ignored Mark’s texts from the other day, so there was a chance he wasn’t on good terms with the boss.

“Hey look man, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I need an answer. Are you going to be returning to work anytime soon? Or do we need to make a public statement that you don’t work for me anymore? I’m not trying to put pressure on you, or anything with malice. I just need to know what’s going on business wise.”

Public statement? So the fans knew Mark had editors? And there had to be something said publicly when something changed behind the scenes? Is that how YouTube works?

“I think my girlfriend is hung up on you, you’re the last person I need to see right now,” Tom typed for literally no other reason except to see if it sounded like something his other half would say. He chuckled to himself after deeming that it was too ridiculous and out of line and went to delete it…

You know when you mean to do one thing but instead do another? Yeah, Tom somehow mixed up the ‘send’ key and the ‘backspace’ key, and well…

“Fuck!” he snapped, sitting up in his chair, watching as the angry text sent. “No, no, no, no! Shit!”

Oh god, Ethan was so fired.

~

Tom didn’t have the heart to tell Ethan about the wonderful conversation he had with Mark following that text. He read through the messages he received while he was editing over and over again just to avoid telling him what went down. Ethan seemed excited to be in Montreal.

“So guess I have a workout tomorrow morning? Wish me luck bc I’ll actually die.” That’ll be fun to hear about, but it didn’t settle the knot in Tom’s stomach.

“I’m almost ok with the switch if it means getting to stay in this house dude it’s so nice?? I’m never leaving.” Tom was not okay with the switch. He wanted to be in that house right now, leave Ethan with the mess that he made.

“I finished the wowie video. I hate the word wowie. Please never say it again,” he typed and sent before reading the rest of the texts. He noticed that Ethan will either be completely silent, or send multiple texts at once. No in between.

“Also,,,,, fuck kinda friendship you got with Harrison? You give each other lap dances???” Ethan asked. Oh no. Oh god. “Not judging, just wish I’d known you were rejecting zendaya for ur best m8 lolol.”

Tom literally groaned out loud and palmed his forehead. Then, he frantically sent, “IT WASNOTHING WE DONT SPEAK OF IT SHUT UP.” No way he was getting into that with this guy. He wouldn’t understand.

The next message didn’t help very much. “Speaking of Daya, we talked today. She asked abot how you feel and what you thought you 2 had going on. Made it clear it was her choice what happened, but that you’re just friends? Idk man how DO you feel?”

“Anyway, the videos were good. Much better than Tyler’s first edits for sure. Good job, I’m impressed.”

“Shooting starts tomorrow so I’m off to learn everything there is to know about acting…….. By watching some movie wiht the guys, gn.”

Tom sat there for a few minutes, trying to word any of the thoughts in his head. Why couldn’t have Ethan made the Zendaya decision for him? He seems like a nice guy, he’s had a girlfriend for six months, and she didn’t seem tired of him!

“I’ll deal with her when we switch back… by the way when are we gonna switch back??? Anyway, have a good night mate, have a pint for me!”

_____

tag list: @beardedsteveslut @marie-is-in-the-dark @ohsnapitzmoony

_____

next

#crankgameplays x oc #ethan nestor x reader #tom holland x oc #tom holland x reader #sweetheart writes #sweetheart collabs #twelve days #drama? drama #it aint a fanfic without some petty ass drama #bella was patient with tom but will mark be?? #tbh idek yet idek what imma do for the next chapter #these are all made at the last minute guys pls give us attention #also the tom/harrison/we dont speak of it thing #was from a text post i saw on here one time #so i slid it to sam's dm's and was like dude #we gotta #tbh idk what they did that night #we may never know #hehehehehehehe

[whatiwillsay]

Dude Louis is not het... he will steal your man in an instant. I think he's just pretty deep in the closet (and no, I don't think he's been secretly dating Harry for ten years). He's slid into Sergio Agüero's and Sam Claflin's DMs and I feel like he dated Oli Wright at one point. He went everywhere with him and lived with him and his "girlfriend" for a while. He might've dated Harry at one point, so there's that too. And his music is gayer than Taylor's.

PLEASE WHAT 😭

#Anonymous

[alleiradayne]

Have a Drink On Me

Summary: Dean and Sam close up Rocky’s Bar after an amazing opening night. Square Filled: Business AU Warnings/Tags: BROTHERLY PLATONIC FLUFF. NO WINCEST. Little bits of angst. Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, rando named Frank. Word Count: 1,367 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​​, this fills the square Business AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​​ for beta’ing. Song: Have a Drink On Me by AC/DC

“You have to go, Frank, we’re closing.” 

Frank ambled to the door, drunker than a sailor on shore leave. “But it’s only twelve o’clock!” 

Sam pointed to the large digital clock behind the bar. “It’s two o’clock, Frank. That’s a zero, not a one. Gimme your keys, you can come back in the morning.” 

“Fine! See ya, Sammy,” Frank blurted as he slapped his keys into Sam’s palm. “Thanks again, Dean!” He waved over his shoulder towards the bar. 

When the door shut, Sam sighed, relieved that the last of the stragglers had finally gone into the night. 

“That was great!” Glasses clinked as Dean dried them and placed them on the racks behind the bar. “Good crowd, good music, good beer. Couldn’t ask for a better opener.”

Sam shuffled to a nearby stool and slumped onto it. “Yeah, it was.” A long sigh eased the weight on his shoulders. “I’m just glad it's over.” 

He stared into the middle distance, unseeing. If he were to be honest with Dean, the lead up to the opening night of Rocky's Bar had been complete chaos. Their much-needed kegs from the local brewery had arrived late that morning, and the shipment of hard liquor had arrived a mere two hours before the doors were scheduled to open. And true to their nature, Sam had done all the worrying while Dean had waved off his concerns while simultaneously piling shit on their plates. Between booking a last-minute band and decorations, Sam damn near lost his damn mind. 

But Dean had been right. Once the doors had opened, everything had come together and gone off without a hitch. It seemed all of Lawrence had come out to celebrate with the Winchesters; the bar had filled far quicker than either of them had anticipated, and spilled into the street. When the cops showed up, Sam thought the night doomed only to be met with offers to help control the crowd and direct traffic. 

A heavy glass clunked onto the freshly polished oak bar. Warm amber liquored bubbled into the crystal as Dean upended a hidden bottle of Pappy. He grabbed a second glass and poured an equally generous amount into it, then pushed the glass to Sam. 

Dean hefted his drink as he said, “Thanks, Sammy. You made it all happen.” 

His focus narrowed on the glass as he wrapped his fingers around the cold crystal. “It was your idea, man.” 

He could hear the crestfallen look on Dean's face. “Yeah, but without you, I wouldn't have even known where to start. You were the brains of this whole thing.” 

Sure. He had kept Dean organized the last eight months. “Still, it was your idea. You named the place, designed it, picked out everything from floor to ceiling. It's your bar.” 

“It's our bar,” Dean insisted. “Look at me. Please.” 

Sam peeled his eyes from his glass to find Dean holding not only his drink but a small bag. “It's only called Rocky’s Bar because of copyright issues.” He set the bag on the bar and gave it a push towards him. 

“What is this?” Sam asked. 

“Opening night gift for my business partner.” 

Sam didn't trust Dean's shit-eating grin as far as he could throw him. “I'm… scared.” 

“Oh, c’mon, of what?” Dean scoffed. 

Sam stopped and glared at him over the top of the bag. “Last present you got me was a practical joke. An exploding snake can.” 

Dean looked off to the right as though reliving the moment. “Hah. Yeah. I did. You screamed like—” 

“It was my fortieth birthday, dude!” he interrupted. 

Chastised, Dean looked nothing short of a scolded puppy. “I know. I… didn't have any money to get you anything. I’d put everything I had into the bar.” 

Great. Just great. “Look, Dean, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just… stressed out. Been a rough couple of months, and a rougher week.” 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Dean waved him on to open the bag when Sam stared at him, unconvinced. “Seriously, though, I’m beat and need to get to bed. Open it.” 

With a resigned sigh, Sam dug into the bag and grasped a massively awkward and heavy object. Wrapped in at least a pound of tissue paper, he spent the better part of a minute unburying it to reveal a carved wooden statue of a moose standing nearly a foot tall. Golden lamplight gleamed on its polished surface, highlighting the deep red grain to a rich brown finish. 

“Like I said,” Dean started, “it’s only Rocky's Bar because of copyright issues.” 

There was no use hiding the unbidden tears that rushed down his cheeks. “God dammit, Dean. You didn't have to buy me anything, this must have cost—” 

“Forty bucks.” 

Sam gaped as he looked between Dean and the statue. “How?” 

“The block cost twenty dollars,” Dean said. “I fucked up on the first one. Burned it. Smelled nice.” 

“You? You… carved this?” he stuttered. 

Dean nodded. “Took me all year. Consider it your birthday present. Christmas present, too, since I didn't get you anything for either last year.” 

Beside himself, Sam could hardly think of anything to say. And maybe there were no words, none that could sufficiently encapsulate the way he felt. So instead of babbling an inadequate sentiment of gratitude, he reached to the floor beside his stool and grabbed the bag that sat there. 

“Not that I’m surprised,” he started as he set the bag on the bar. “We had the same idea. Except I don't whittle wood.” 

“That's what she said,” Dean said with a wink. 

“Just open the bag, dude.” 

Dean might as well have stuck his tongue out for the flippant look he shot back at him as he dug into the bag and withdrew a similarly wrapped, oddly shaped item. As Dean tore away the tissue paper and revealed the giant stuffed squirrel, complete with bomber jacket and aviator cap, Sam elated in the rapturous joy that widened Dean's smile. 

“Dammit, Sammy, you did enough for me over the last year,” Dean said as he cleared his throat. 

“You always complained about the copyright issue,” he said as he slid from his stool and rounded the end of the bar. He grabbed his moose statue and placed it on an empty shelf in the middle of the back wall below the large sign emblazoned with the bar's name. “Now everyone will understand.” 

Dean hefted the squirrel and placed it beside the moose. “Perfection.” 

Sam cocked his head as he regarded the display. If you had asked him fifteen years ago where he’d be today, owning a bar with Dean wouldn’t have even been on his list. But there he stood behind the bar that he and Dean had built from nothing. What a miraculous change of fate. And how lucky, too. If Sam didn't know any better, he’d argue that they had a guardian angel looking down on them. 

A loud yawn drew his attention to Dean who stretched as his mouth gaped. “Okay, I’m done.” He shuffled around the end of the bar and grabbed his coat. When he turned back, he asked, “You coming?” 

Sam followed, grabbing his jacket and the keys from the rack behind the bar. “Yeah. Let’s go get some sleep.” 

Shrugged into his coat, Dean headed for the door and pulled it aside. Sam took the first step into the night as he looked back over his shoulder and Dean hit the lights. The electric blue, yellow, and red glow of the FB Beer Company sign filled the bar, and before the door slammed shut, he regarded the shelf behind the rail one more time. 

Bathed in that eerie neon glow, moose and squirrel stood watch like gargoyles over the bar, sentinels on their vigil. The slam of the door punctuated Sam and Dean's departure, plunging the bar into silence but for the electric buzz of the neon sign. The roar of a monstrous motor burst to life only to fade away as it sped into the distance, it's decrescendo receding to nothing. 

Alone they sat, two friends, brothers, a moose and a squirrel on their shelf.

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74​​  @hannahindie​​ @bevans87​​  @meganwinchester1999​​  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus​​  @oneshoeshort​​ @jonogueira​​ @andkatiethings​​ @elfinmox​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @princessofthefandomrealm​  @just-another-busyfangirl​ @jmekitchens​ @81mysteriouslyme​​ @dolphincliffs​  @seenashwrite​  @canadianspnhunter​  @meowmeow-motherfucker​ @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1​ @hobby27​  @pretty-fortune​ @mypopculturediva​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @sandlee44​ @4llmywr1tings​ @claitynroberts​ @maddiepants​ @scarletluvscas @donnaintx​​ @blackeyedangel9805​​ @rainflowermoon​​ @winchesterprincessbride​  @lazinessisalliknow​​ @the-is13​​ @waywardafgrandma​ @keymology​ @sister-winchesters99​

Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

@supernatural-jackles @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @akshi8278​

Sam’s Sasstresses (Jared):

@morganas-pendragons​ @karouwinchester​

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #dean winchester #sam winchester

[growningupgeek]

Lonely Roads-March, 2009

Lonely Roads Masterlist

Word Count-1575

Characters-Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak, Charlie Bradbury, Bobby Singer.

Summary-The race to get to the author of the Supernatural books begins.

A/N-Better late than never.  This one was a bitch to write and, believe it or not, this was planned all along.  Tags under the cut, please send an ask or DM me if you’d like on or off.

-JediCat

Sam ran both hands through his hair in frustration.  After both he and Charlie had run into dead ends trying to track Carver Edlund down they had finally tracked down his former editor.  It had taken almost three weeks to find her and set up an appointment for a meeting, Charlie had made it for as late in the day as possible since Sam was still a bit uncomfortable around humans but luck had run against him.  A meeting earlier in the day had run long and now he was sitting in the reception area waiting for her to finish the appointment before his.  Finally, the author she had been talking to came out and the receptionist gestured him towards the door.   He just hoped he could keep this interview short so he wouldn’t have to mess with her memories too much.

        By pretending that he was interested in investing in publishing another round of the Supernatural books he managed to get Sera thinking about Carver Edlund, pulling his real name, Chuck Shurley, and his location from her mind in a short time.  Promising her that he’d continue to consider it he shook her hand before he left, erasing any memory that he’d even been there.  

        He leaned against the wall of the elevator as he texted the information to Charlie waiting for the door to close.  He heard the other elevator door open and looked up just in time to meet Dean’s shocked green eyes as the doors slid shut.  He jammed the button for the next floor down and got off, following the halls until he found a stairwell then using his inhuman speed to get down them and out of the building before Dean could catch up with him.

        “God, I wish Ash was out of the hospital,” Dean said to Cas as they got out of the elevator.  As they walked toward the office of the editor of the Supernatural books that they’d managed to track down, he glanced into the door they walked by out of habit.  There was a tall guy in there, just looking up from his phone.  Dean felt his face go slack in shock as he saw a face that was as familiar to him as his own; Sam in the other elevator.  He threw himself at the doors just as they shut.  

        “Son of a bitch,” he swore punching the door.  Without another thought he ran to the nearest stairwell, shoved the door open and practically flew down the stairs. He burst into the lobby, breathing hard just as the doors opened to reveal an empty car.  His shoulder slumped at the sight and he rode the elevator back up to the publisher’s office, where Cas was just exiting.

        “I have part of the information we need,” Cas told him with a frown. “Would you care to explain what that behavior was all about?”

        Dean shook his head. “Not here, wait until we get back to the car.”

        They were both quiet on the way down to the lobby and on the walk back to the Impala.  Once they were settled, Dean told Cas what he’d seen.  Cas looked at him for several long minutes and then said, “Dean, it’s been more than a year.  I think if Sam were alive he would have found a way to contact you by now.”

        “So, what? I was imagining things,” Dean asked clutching the steering wheel as he guided his baby through the late afternoon traffic.

        “No, I’m saying that you saw what you wanted to see,” Cas tried to keep his tone soothing so Dean wouldn’t know he was on the verge of panicking. “You saw a tall man with long hair and, to your mind, it was Sam.”

        Dean didn’t say a word to Cas the rest of the way to the motel as he thought about what the other man had said.  He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his duffle and proceeded to drink what he thought he’d seen that day out of his mind.  He was about half way through the bottle and everything was getting a pleasantly blurred around the edges when he closed his eyes for just a second.  When he opened them again, bright sunlight was coming through the thin motel curtains and Cas was standing in the door with breakfast.  

        They pulled up in front of Bobby’s late in the evening.  Dean was hoping that he would know someone who could get them an address to go with the name they had or would at least let them use his computer to see what they could find out.  As they got out of the car they could hear Bobby yelling at someone.  “If I trip over one more wire I’m gonna kick ya out no matter what Ellen says, ya idjit.”

        A grin split Dean’s face as he raced up the stairs; there was only one person who would be stringing wires all over the house.  He shoved open the door and yelled, “Hey Doctor Badass, when did they let you out?”

        “A couple of days ago, amigo,” Ash called back.   He came into the kitchen, slapping Dean on the shoulder on his way to the fridge.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, showing the scars from his almost healed skin grafts.  The fire at the roadhouse had spared his face and hands, but a burning beam had fallen across his back leaving third degree burns.  His hair wasn’t as long as it had been but it was growing back slowly, his mullet another victim of the fire.  His face went serious for a minute when he turned back to Dean and tossed him a beer.  “Sorry to hear about Sam, dude.”

        “Thanks, man,” Dean replied popping it open and raising it in a toast to his brother.  Ash tapped his beer against Dean’s and they both drank them down. Dean got two more out of the fridge and settled himself against the counter after handing one too Ash.  “So, you back in business, man?”

Ash shrugged with a slight flinch. “Sorta, I gotta get Bobby’s internet upgraded before I can go all out.”

“I need to find someone and all I have is a name and city,” Dean said.

“”That I can do, let’s get going,” Ash replied with a grin.

It took less than ten minutes to find an address for Chuck Shurley.  Dean and Cas decided to leave in the morning after dinner and a good night’s sleep.  Cas volunteered to take the couch leaving Dean the bed in the spare room.  The four hunters talked late into the night about the Supernatural books and how this Chuck might know about the Winchesters in attempt to be prepared for anything.  He didn’t say what he was almost sure of; he needed to see the man first.  Finally, he stretched out on the couch, pretending to sleep so that the others would go to bed.  When he was sure everyone else was asleep, Cas got up and went out into the junk yard.  Finding a large open area deep in the piles of rusting cars he stretched out his wings.  

This was his big problem spending so much time with humans, finding space to spread his wings.  He allowed his wings to drift in the night winds, enjoying the feeling of it through the feathers, as he thought about what he had become.  He was now considered a fallen angel by his former comrades in the garrison, if they found him he would be killed on sight, but he wouldn’t trade this new family he’d found to be back in Heaven’s good graces.  Dean had become more of a brother to him than anyone had ever been other than Gabriel, Bobby and Ellen treated him just as they did Dean, Jo reminded him of the fledglings that used to come to him for advice and Sam treated him as a friend and equal.  This little family may have been broken in some ways, but it was his by choice and he found he liked it that way.

His phone rang, surprising him out of his thoughts.  He furled his wings as he pulled it out, recognizing Sam’s number.  “Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” he replied.  “I’ve tracked down Chuck Shurley and I’m going to see him tomorrow.  How’s it going on your end?”

“Ash has been released from the hospital and is staying at Bobby’s for now,” Cas sighed.  “He got an address and we are leaving in the morning.  We should be there by late afternoon.”

Sam swore softly. “Can you slow him down?  I need to talk to Chuck before Dean does.”

“I’ll do my best, but there’s something you need to know, Sam,” Cas replied.  “I can’t be sure until I see him, but Chuck Shurley is a name on the list of prophets of the Lord.”

“And what does it mean if he is,�� Sam asked.

“It means that his Guardian is an archangel,” Cas replied. “Don’t threaten him in any way or you will bring down Heaven’s wrath down on yourself.”

Cas could hear the wry smile in Sam’s voice when he replied, “Won’t be the first time, but I’ll keep that in mind.  I’ll talk to you again soon.”

Cas put his phone away and looked at the night sky one last time before returning to the house.  He lay back down on the couch to pretend to sleep until morning.

A/N 2-So who’s looking forward to playing dueling computer hackers?

Forevers-  @darkcastersruletheworld @iwantthedean @little-red-83  @ashleymalfoy @isometimeswritesomethings @sammy-moo @mrswhozeewhatsis @kittenofdoomage @fast-times-in-the-impala @wonderless-screwup  @deascheck  @mrssamfuckingwinchester @winchesterprincessbride @tjforston   @writingthingsisdifficult  @mysaintsasinner @mogaruke @wheresthekillswitch @skybinx-blog  @bohowitch  @jensen-jarpad @ellen-reincarnated1967 @masksandtruths @getyourrocksalt @born-to-be-his-baby88 @oneshoeshort  @grace-for-sale   @winchestergirl-13 @bethbabybaby   @apeshit7x

SPN only-  @sandlee44

#supernatural fan fiction #spn au #supernatural au #Lonely Roads #Vampire!Sam #Hunter!Dean #Castiel #Bobby Singer #Doctor Badass #Ash #Charlie Bradbury #Chuck Shurley #spn fan fic #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester

[sobriquetcollective]

Road(house) to Salvation | Charlie & Jo

@joannahunts Charlie Bradbury was not the kind of girl to stay still for very long. She hadn’t even stayed “Charlie Bradbury” for very long, either, she’d changed names and lives after The Incident. Well, the first Incident. And then she’d changed right back to being Charlie again, and “Charlie” became the name of an adventurer, a hero, a hunter, a hacker, a savior, a killer, a sister, and now… a dead girl. It had taken a bit to figure it out. Why her life was so stable and happy, why everything she wanted was always at her fingertips, why she didn’t miss the people she didn’t see but she did get to see the people she’d missed the most. Why her parents were always a call or a visit away. Why her favorite custom-etched D12 wasn’t lost down the air vent at Sandie’s apartment, or her toothbrush was always back in the toothbrush holder no matter where she set it down, or her boxed set of the Song of Ice and Fire books wasn’t water-damaged anymore… And why her latest model Microsoft Surface tablet was always within reach, and not shattered on the bathroom floor of a hotel in the middle of Kansas… Dean had told her, after much prying and blackmailing, about the time that she’d died before. When the Wicked Witch cast some fatal spell, and Charlie collapsed, and Dean yelled, and Sam came running, and the angel Ezekiel-who-was-actually-Gadreel had healed her body and drawn her back. Her memory of waking up was still fuzzy, but Dean said that she’d made a comment about Christmas with her family, and he said that happy memories were basically all that Heaven was made of. (Which was weird because according to all reports, Heaven was locked at the time and she shouldn’t have been able to get there no matter how dead she was, so whatever she’d seen might not have been actual heaven, but her description was close enough that it still scared the pants off of Dean.) In any case, it hadn’t taken long after that realization for the whole “personal heaven” concept to lose it’s luster. Charlie grew far too bored far too quickly, watching her own life’s highlights reel unfold. All it took was one idle longing, and the entire setting and cast would shift around her to cater to every whim. It was exhausting and it was driving her insane. She knew she needed to find a back door out of here. But no matter how many times she opened a door, they only led to the same familiar places (her childhood home, her school, her Moondoor campgrounds, her favorite internet cafes and bookstores, a few of her better apartments, a blur of bedrooms belonging to girlfriends and one-night-stands). So Charlie resorted to what she did best–she could always find a back door in a program. And she did; deep in the system files of the manifestation of the Men of Letters bunker computers, she found rendering code for all the rooms she recognized as her own. And she found the Door. After that, everything else was easy. The first thing any hacker notices, is the pathways left by another hacker, the breadcrumbs and secret passageways that they always leave behind so they can get in again. And this person’s signature was everywhere, processing uploads and downloads from pocket-heaven-servers all over the map. The center of it all was like a crazy software party, though it probably made more sense to the hacker who made it. She had to find out who it was. Meet them, talk shop with them. Make plans with them. Charlie located the backdoor access to the place that seemed like the home heaven of the unknown hacker. She pushed open the door to her own room, to the bright white light that said she’d done it correctly. She crossed the threshold, and when she blinked her eyes open on the other side… Wow. It wasn’t just a software party, it was almost a literal party. At least, it was a moderately crowded bar, with happy people socializing. That was probably what looked like uploads and downloads on the net–souls traveling between this heaven and their own. Her entrance garnered a few curious stares, and she gathered that unfamiliar faces were not the usual here. Random strangers barging in from out of nowhere in what should be an isolated pocket dimension probably wasn’t normal. Charlie grinned shyly and offered a small wave to a trio of leather-vest biker dudes close to her, and tucked her tablet in close to her chest as she edged further into the room. Deep breath. First things first. These were probably the first real people she’d seen since she died (and even though some of them might be part of the artificial render just to flesh out the bar atmosphere, at least some of them had to be actual human souls in order to explain the signs that had led her here). A terrible time to catch a case of social anxiety, so she tamped it down with an internal mantra: I am the Queen of Moons, the DM of several successful DnD campaigns, an online guild leader, and a legendary lady-charmer. People LOVE me. I’m an adult; I know how to act in a bar! She shook her head to shake the last of it. Of course, the first thing to do at any bar was to get a drink. Social lubricant. And then it would be easier to find the actual programmer of this heaven-hub. The redhead slid onto a barstool, twisting on the swivel top with nervous energy and leaning over the counter to locate the bartender…who was leaning over a cooler in a very nice pair of jeans. A very nice pair of legs in well-worn low-cut jeans, at least. The woman flicked her blonde hair out of her face to open a bottle for another customer, and, yep, she was young and cute all the way up. Charlie automatically straightened in her seat, shoulders back, chin tilted in that alluring way she’d developed, and her face broke into a grin that was a little too giddy to be straight-up flirtatious. After so long being accompanied by only the memories and phantasms of past conquests–how long? it was pretty impossible to keep track of time around here–Charlie was excited to meet anyone new, but the pretty blonde bartender was certainly the one she wanted to meet the most. Cheerful as always, the hacker nodded and waved to catch the bartender’s attention. “Hi! So, what are the specials here?” The sultry-sideways-eyelash-flutter came out as an automatic response, even after so long unused, though her smile held a hint of her nerves at the corners. She still had no idea what to expect, coming to visit someone else’s private heaven. She didn’t even know if it belonged to this girl, or someone she knew, or if this veritable dream in denim and leather wasn’t just cooked up as a fantasy by the actual owner of the dimension.

#m: charlie #v: hacked out of heaven #p: roadhouse to salvation #joannahunts: Jo #starter: yep it's long #spamming charlie content to move her to the multi #please reblog from here when you respond! <3 =) #Charlie: thread

[princessalethea]

I loved writing in #KristenPainter's #NocturneFalls world so much that I did it AGAIN!  Our third #TryBeforeYouBuy excerpt is from WHEN TINKER MET BELL, and brings back a couple of fan favorite characters from THE TRUTH ABOUT CATS AND WOLVES whose #story I felt needed to be told.

http://amzn.to/2wqmIuj

********Excerpt********

Goblins and fairies can’t be friends,” said Tinker. “Never mind girlfriends or boyfriends.” “Star-crossed lovers,” Hubble murmured over his dice. Tinker scowled at his roommate and so-called best friend. Kobolds were similar to goblins in many ways; both races had reputations for being scavengers and hoarders. But if Hubble wanted to kiss a fae woman’s hand, he could do so without breaking into swollen lips and hives. Natalie wasn’t buying any of it. “But you managed to be friends with her anyway, despite that stupid rule.” Tinker could feel his cheeks burning. Thankfully, green-skinned goblins didn’t blush. Much. “Yes. We’re just friends. Really good friends. Even though we shouldn’t be.” “More precisely,” said Hubble, “the ‘girlfriend’ thing is the one question he’s too chicken to ask her.” Natalie reached out and smacked Tinker on the back of the head. He saw it coming, but he knew he deserved it. “Look, I’m just no good with this stuff.” “No good with girls?” Hubble huffed. “Yeah. It’s obvious.” “No good with feelings,” muttered Tinker. “It’s not like I grew up with a family or anything. I was an orphan, abandoned as a baby on the streets, picked up and adopted by goblins. I have no clue how to express emotions like this.” “Oh, sweetie, I’ve got news for you,” said Natalie. “People all over the world have no idea how to express themselves. Even ones who did grow up in regular families. Isn’t that right, Sam?” Sam had returned to the table with not only a frosty beverage for himself but also ones for Natalie and Hubble as well. “Whatever she said, she’s absolutely correct.” Tinker had to hand it to Sam. He was a good brother. Natalie took a sip of the frozen chocolate and closed her eyes for a moment in bliss. “I was telling Tink that he’s not the only kid without the ability to properly communicate his feelings.” “You mean about Bellamy?” Sam shrugged as he slid languidly down into his chair. “I told him to just kiss her. Natalie raised her glass to Sam. “Brother, that may be the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.” “Granted, that might kill him. Or send him into anaphylactic shock.” Hubble rolled the dice again. “The school nurse has a file on him thicker than the D&D Player’s Handbook.” Tinker had fantasized about kissing Bellamy a million times, not that he’d ever admit it to his friends. Every time, he had died a happy man. She would leave flowers on his grave regularly, and pine over the loss of him for the rest of her days. But he would never take that risk in real life. Never. He could never do that to Bellamy. Sam shrugged. “Take a Benadryl.” After another sip of her drink, Natalie reconsidered. “It’s possible that she doesn’t want your relationship to go beyond friendship. In which case, you should respect that… Tinker pointed at Natalie. “Exactly! Well said.” “…after you ask her the girlfriend question,” Natalie finished. “Or just kiss her,” Sam said around his straw. Tinker smirked. “I am not going to assault one of my best friends and ruin the rare and beautiful relationship we have.” This time, Sam, Natalie, and Hubble all threw up their hands in unison. Hubble’s DM screen flopped back down to the table. “I’m seriously considering assaulting one of my best friends,” Hubble said to Tinker as he repositioned the screen. “Right after I crush his tiny little band of misfit adventurers with this horde of zombie orcs.” “Can my half-elf roll to fire an arrow at them through the secret door because they’re taking so long to get ready?” asked Tinker. “Dude.” Sam snorted. “They’re teenage girl zombie orcs.” Natalie kicked her brother’s chair. “Check yourself, fuzzbutt. I know where you sleep.” “Got it!” Hubble clapped his hands together and rubbed them sinisterly. “Gird your loins, gamers. You are so not ready for this.” Adopting his most dramatic Dungeon Master voice, Hubble spoke. “Seemingly out of nowhere, a legion of orcs begins to pour through the secret doorway…” The electronic werewolf howled as the front door opened. Tinker and his tiny band of misfit adventurers all burst out laughing. “Ranulf Tinkerton!” a raspy voice called out. Tinker froze mid-laugh. He recognized that voice, though he hadn’t expected to see its owner again until winter break. Slowly, he turned in his chair. “Retcher?” Yes, his goblin mentor was really there inside the coffee shop. Three more of the Lost Boys stood with him: Snot and the twins, Fork and Willie. How had they found him here, in the Bean? And what on earth were they doing in Nocturne Falls in the first place? Goblins weren’t allowed to leave Goblin City, unless they had special dispensation from the Goblin King. Like the one Tinker had for his schooling, or the one Retcher possessed for gathering other Lost Boys and adding them to the tribe. Retcher had rescued baby Tinker from the streets of Nowhere Special and welcomed him into the goblin fold. He had been the one to urge Tinker to go away to Harmswood. What on earth was he doing here? After a few heartbeats, Tinker focused on what tiny, wide-eyed Snot carried in his oversized green hands. No. No, no, no, no, no. No way. This was not happening. Not today. Not ever. Not here. Not in front of… “What is that thing?” he heard Natalie whisper. “That thing” was an enormous, gaudy, borderline-lethal construction of tin garbage, an eyesore reserved for only one honor. “It’s a ceremonial headdress, given to the heir to the throne of the Goblin King,” Tinker said softly. But that’s not me, he screamed inside his brain. This is not supposed to happen to me. “Holy—” Hubble clamped his own hand over his mouth before a curse escaped his lips. Sam let out a low whistle. Natalie pulled her phone out of her pocket and hit record. Tinker scanned the coffee shop. Everyone was staring at him now. Including Bellamy.

#booklovers bookdragons bookworms booknerds booknerdigans bookaddictsbookaholic bookish readers authorsoftumblr read books