#drown me Misha

[superbattrash]

“So, how’re you doing this morning, mish?”

I am this close 🤏🏼 to shitting myself, thanks for asking, bestie

I love meetings. I love meetings that will decide my future. I love being confused as to whether or not I actually want to get qualified for flex job because life is stressful and I’m not ready :)

Love it :)

So much :)

#this has been a post brought to you by sarcasm #misha rants #I DONT WANNA GOOOOO #SOMEONE DO THE MEETING FOR ME #and just tell me if I got through or not #whyyyyyy do I have to meet with five strangersssss #I’m gonna stutter and be a mess great great great #now if you’ll excuse me #I gotta walk the two miles in pouring rain #at least I’ll look like a feel when I get there #drowned rat vibes #honoring my inner Bruce Wayne

[icaruspendragon]

Please stop making spn posts just let it die please

here’s the thing- i will not be doing that.

you see, there’s so much shit in this world. the horrors. the terrors. all of it. they’re out there. and something that makes the horrors and the terrors and all the other shit a little easier for me to deal with is talking about a silly little fifteen year long collective fever dream. it’s one of the last vestiges of adolescence i have.

when i was being tossed about in the sea of my grief, it was spn that kept me from drowning. it was misha collins dubbing himself my nemesis and participating in the mishapocalypse 2.0 that gave me a distraction i needed so terribly in the early days of me trying to learn how to be an only child. he didn’t have to. he could have ignored the whole thing. but he didn’t. and that’s something so special to me i don’t think i’ll ever have the words to articulate the depths of my gratitude. because the first time i felt joy after my brother dying was at a supernatural convention. it was when i asked misha about the silly comment and he had a screenshot of it on his phone ready to show me to prove he had done it, that was the first time i realized that one day i wouldn’t feel so full of nothing i didn’t have room for anything else. it was the community i made there that showed up for me time and time and time again that made me realize i may be lonely, but i wasn’t alone. and that wasn’t the first time the community around that show had made me feel that. and I’m certain it won’t be the last.

the first time i ever encountered fandom in full force was in 2013. that’s a decade of my life. and it’s because i decided to watch supernatural. and it was in this fandom space that for the first time ever, i felt seen and heard and valued. for the first time in my life, i felt like i mattered. and my thoughts mattered. it wasn’t until i found fandom by way of spn that i realized i had value and worth. it was that show that gave me some of the best friends i could have ever asked for. it is because of the spn fandom that i have been given so many opportunities. that i have a way to make an actual difference.

and it has continued to do that for me. even ten years later. there are people who i didn’t know existed less than a year ago who i couldn’t imagine my life without now. people who have been to my home. people who have become my home. people i have flown across the country to see and people who have flown across the country to see me. people who are my family. and i met them because we share the same level of brain rot for a cw show that caused a great deal of damage to our psyches.

we get to curate our internet experience. we get to look at and talk about and post about what we want. and if someone posts something we don’t care for, we don’t have to look at it or engage with it or interact with it. we can scroll. we can block. we can ignore. we each get to carve out our own little space online. we get to build a little home. and my home is full of my love for a lot of things. for avatar: the last airbender and the hunger games and percy jackson and fandom and fanfic in general. my love for poetry and art and words. and yes, my love for a show that ended over two years ago that has haunted corners of the internet since 2005. i have a lot of love for a lot of things. so i talk about and post about the things that i love because i don’t ever want to look back and say, “my god, i should have loved more.” and i’m allowed to do that. because this is my space. i built it just for me.

this silly little show with it’s silly little characters is the one thing i have from Before that has remained unchanged. and even if that weren’t the case. even if i didn’t have all this sentimentality attached to it. even if it was never a lighthouse, a buoy for me. even if it was just something i casually enjoyed. i would still post about it. because it makes me happy. because i’m not hurting anyone by enjoying it. because it’s given me a little blip of light in a dark world. and you don’t have to consume it if you don’t want to. that’s the beauty of all of us living in different houses. we can visit who we want, when we want. and we don’t have to visit the houses we don’t to. how wonderful it is, that we are the gods of this small thing. we get to create and dismantle and create again. as many times as we want. because this is our space to do with what we want.

and i want to post about my love for all things, including hit cw show supernatural. and i can. so i will. because i’m the one living in this house. and no one is making you come visit.

#asks #spn #supernatural #long post

[fandomtherapy44]

castiel x reader chapter 14

Summary: This story is from the perspective of Y/n Winchester. The sister Of Sam and Dean. We will be starting from season four since sadly we did not get Misha Collins as Castiel throughout the whole series. It will start off as a friendship, but it will grow more as the series goes on. I will be skipping some episodes even though they are great episodes they do not push the story forward. I am so excited to get to write this since there are not many Castiel X reader stories out there. Okay without further due Love War & Grace enjoy the Story.

Paring: Castiel X Reader

word count: 2,833

Warnings: Some language, Typical Supernatural violence, Spoilers for season four of Supernatural

I got the divider from

Firefly Graphics

Cas’s POV

Orders, obedience, and being a faithful soldier never mattered to me to go against until I met the Winchesters until I met her in particular. My orders to save Dean Winchester I did without thinking twice I did everything asked of me. My whole existence had never been that important until my garrison got the order to save the Winchester from Hell. But before I saved him I saved his sister.

About two months before we got the order I heard one of the biggest cries of help I've ever felt from a human. Angels aren't supposed to answer prayers. That was God’s job but no Angel had seen him in so long all we had was orders from some higher power that I had never seen. So I did something I never thought I would, I answered her prayer. I flew down and I didn’t have a vessel but I did have a presence.

“I don’t know what I’m doing out here I- I'm just so tired so whatever is out there I'm begging you.” She was sobbing on her knees now. “Bring him back! Bring him Back!” I didn’t know what to do. I had never seen human emotions like this before. So I did the only thing I could do.

I lifted my wing and put it on her shoulder as I did something happened, I felt her pain, happiness, and joy. I have never felt really before. It was an overwhelming experience but wonderful at the same time. She began to stop and looked around for what had helped her but couldn't see me so she got up and whispered “Thank you.” That was the first time Y/n Winchester made me feel something but it wouldn't be the last.

Y/N’s POV

After we arrived back at Bobby’s I went straight to sleep pretty sure I had a concussion but I didn't have time to worry about that. We had to find Sam. I woke up to the sounds of Bobby and Dean talking well more like arguing. “Yeah, I heard you. I'm not calling him.” That’s when I walked into the conversation. “What do you mean Dean of course we are calling him.” Dean ignored my sentence. “How’s the head kid.” “I'll live now why won’t you call Sam!?” “We are damn near kickoff for Armageddon, don't you think we got bigger fish at the moment?” “Really! Our brother is not important right now. Dean this is when he needs us now more than ever!” “I know you're pissed. And I'm not making apologies for what he's done, but he's your–” Bobby added in. “Blood? He's my blood, is that what you were gonna say?” Dean snapped back.

“He's your brother. And he's drowning.” “Thank you, Bobby!” “Bobby, we tried to help him, we did. Look what happened.” “So we try again Damnit!” “It's too late.” I scoffed at him. “There's no such thing.” Bobby is trying so hard to convince him because my words aren't doing much. “No, damnit! No. I gotta face the facts. Sam never wanted part of this family. He hated this life growing up. Ran away to Stanford first chance he got. Now it's like déjà vu all over again. Well, I am sick and tired of chasing him. Screw him, he can do what he wants.” “How could you say that Dean! Just because he wanted his own life he’s what, no longer our brother!?” “You don't mean that.” “Yes I do, Bobby. Sam's gone. He's gone. I'm not even sure if he's still my brother anymore. If he ever was.” I gasped and started to tear up.

Bobby looked pissed off to all seven layers of Hell. Knocking things over. Getting in Dean’s face. “You stupid, stupid son of a bitch! Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Bake you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!” “I told him, "You walk out that door, don't come back" and he walked out anyway! That was his choice!” “You sound like a whiny brat. No, you sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward.”

I had never heard Bobby talk about Dad like that. It felt good. “My dad was a lot of things, Bobby, but a coward?” “He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him. And blame N/n for your Mom’s passing. Well, that don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him.” “Dean he’s right you have always been better than Dad.” Dean was facing the window he turned back to respond and I blinked and when I opened my eyes again I was in a room that I'd never been in before.

“What… the… fuck maybe I should have gotten my head checked out.” The room was traced out in gold and famous art hung on the walls. It looked like a room that would cost a thousand dollars just to get in. “This is real Y/n and you do have a small concussion. “Of fucking course.” It was Zachariah.

“So what is all this and where the Hell is Dean.” I gestured around the room, and then I noticed in the middle of the table were all my favorite snacks and drinks. “This Y/n is a waiting room and to answer your second question that you asked so nicely he’s in the other one.” “What am I waiting for?” “Well, it’s really to hold you from stopping your brothers.” He saw my confused face. “You know that face is almost cute, if we let you go you would try to stop Sam and we can’t have that.” “Why!?” “Because it is Dean’s destiny, not your’s. Your’s is to support from the sidelines because sweetheart you were born for the sidelines.” I never wanted a knife in my hands more. He picks up a drink and sips it in satisfaction. “Oh, I heard about your little spat with Castiel so Sad.” I didn't even have a comeback. “I'll come get you when everything is said and done… maybe.” He disappeared with his stupid smirk. I sat down thinking how the Hell I would get out of this one.

I pick up my phone and give Sam a call and of course no answer. At least I can leave a message “Sam I know you feel guilty about hurting us. But the thing is I already forgive you because I know you. You my big brother who has always been there for me, you taught me that it was okay to want something more than this life that we got sucked into because of Dad. I don’t think I ever told you but uh I was so proud of you for Stanford I am still. So please whatever happens know I lo-”

The message got cut off. I threw the phone and as I did it passed Cas. “I heard you got hurt.” “Oh so suddenly the distraction can get medical help.” “Y/n please.” “No, you know what Cas I have never seen you as a way to get things. I have always chosen this friendship over that! I don’t know what got in you but right now that doesn't matter I need you to bring me to Sam.”

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you met?” “No. That's the whole point. He needs us.” “No.” “What do you mean, no? Are you saying that I'm trapped here?” “You can go wherever you want.” “Great, then I want to see Sam.” “Except there.” “Of course. Whatever screw you, I'm out of here.” I walk towards the door. “Through what door?” I look again and the doors and Cas are gone.

I pick up a mini-statue and start to hit the wall one way or another I was going to get out of here. I hit the wall so hard that dust flew in my eyes I went to rub them and when I went back the wall looked brand new. “Really! Fuck!” I threw the statue down and it smashed in pieces. “You and your brother could be twins with how you're like monkeys.”It was Zachariah. “Let me go.” “Like I said we can't have you stop Sam that is Dean’s job.” “I think that’s bullshit because why does it matter who stops him as long we stop… you don’t want it to stop do you?” “You're smarter than I thought and nope. Never did. The end is nigh. The apocalypse is coming, kiddo, to a theater near you.” He’s so smug in his words.

“And the seals?” “Our grunts on the ground -- we couldn't just tell them the whole truth. We'd have a full-scale rebellion on our hands. I mean, think about it. Would we really let 65 seals get broken unless senior management wanted it that way?” “And Cas is one of those grunts.” He laughs at my words. “You know this little friendship between the two of you was cute in the beginning but now it’s just annoying. Of course, he is, sweetheart I mean that’s all he was ever and all he is going to be.” “Why the apocalypse?” “Why not? The apocalypse? Poor name, bad marketing -- puts people off. When all it is is Ali/Foreman. On a... slightly larger scale. And we like our chances. When our side wins -- and we will -- it's paradise on earth. Now, what's not to like about that?” “What about all people in your pissing match.”

“Well... you can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. In this case... truckloads of eggs, but you get the picture. Look... it happens. This isn't the first planetary enema we've delivered.” He sits down on the couch like it was a throne. “ “What about Sam? He won't go quietly. He'll stop Lilith.” “Sam... has a part to play. A very important part. He may need a little nudging in the right direction, but I'll make sure he plays it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Don’t worry as I said that it is for Dean.” “Tell me something. Where's God in all this?” “God? God has left the building.” That left chills down my spine.

I tried to call Sam and Dean but of course, all I got was busy signals. It was like being a kid again being kept on the sidelines while my brothers and Dad hunted. I hated it then and now I despise it. I hear those damn wings flutter. “You won't be able to reach them Y/n.” “What are you going to do to Sam?” I asked him not daring to look up, already knowing the answer. “Nothing. He's gonna do it to himself.” “And what does that even mean Cas?” I finally looked at him. “Right I mean I’m just a distraction so why tell me anything.” I chuckled dryly. “I don't even know why you're here?”

“You are a not distraction!” “Really! What changed your Damn mind!?” “I thought about everything we’ve been together and you never used me for my powers I just didn't want it to end like this.” “What? Me mad at you because you hurt me. When you call someone a distraction you don’t just say sorry and everything is dandy Cas.” “I mean what does our friendship mean to you cause I'll tell you what you mean to me!” At this point, my emotions were in charge of everything.

“Cas you saved me, without you, I probably would have made a deal with the devil himself to get Dean back! You have been the one light that has not burned out on me. You're my best friend. I would take all the pain in the world for another second of banter from my brothers. Another Idjit from Bobby. Another minute of you being happy is what our friendship means to me, what about you?” I ended with tears rolling down my face. He didn't answer. “You know what my brother is about to die because of a destiny put together way before we were ever even a thought of our brothers I would like to spend my last hour thinking about my family instead with a spineless coward so go.” “Y/n-” “GO!” He flies and I fall to my knees crying out soul.

I didn't even know what to think or to feel. I am a whole mess of emotions. I was never going to see my brothers or Bobby again and … Cas. Damnit before I would say goodbye to any jackass who would be like this to me but Cas has somehow avoided my complete wrath and that only means one thing. But I didn't get much time to dwell on it until he showed up again. “Cas I told you-” Then he completely shocks me and shoves me up against the wall covering my mouth.

He takes out a knife and wow that is the last time I tell someone how their friendship means to me. Then he cuts himself. Zachariah flashes in “Castiel! Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?” Cas makes a sigil and Zach flashes out. “Cas what is going On!?” “He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now.” “Where is he?” “I don't know. But I know who does. We have to stop him, Y/n, from killing Lilith.” ‘But Lilith's gonna break the final seal.” “Lilith is the final seal. She dies, the end begins.” 

We grabbed Dean and we popped into Chuck’s house. Unfortunately, we popped in when he was ordering some type of service that included women's company. He sees us and is flabbergasted and disappointed. “Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen.” The poor woman on the other end spoke. “No, lady, this is definitely supposed to happen, but I just got to call you back.” “St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?” Dean asked. “Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story. Especially you Y/n.” “As I keep being told.” I sarcastically say with an annoyed smile on my face.

“Yeah, well… We're making it up as we go.” Cas said looking at me and I gave him a small smile in return. At that moment the walls started to shake and bright light was invading the windows. “Aw, man! Not again! No!” Chuck yelled out. Cas turned to me. “I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!” “WHAT NO I'M NOT LEAVING YOU CAS!” I screamed at him. “You were right from before, you are my best friend and because of you I can freely feel. Thank you, Y/n Winchester” He grabs my shoulder and Dean’s. “Cas No NO-” We drop into the convent.

“Don’t worry Y/n I'm sure he's okay he's an angel he's Cas.” Cas you stupid son of a bitch for making me… “Ok let's go get our dumbass brother.” We run down the hall and what we see is not good. Ruby Sees us and slams the door with her mind. I knew that bitch wasn't really turned good. We ran over. “SAM! SAM!” We pounded on the door. “Dean wait wait ok 1…2…3!” We kicked the door open. “You're too late.” She said so smugly. “I dont care.” Sam held her. I grabbed the demon's knife and stabbed her.

“I.told.you” She dropped to the floor dead. In the middle of the ground next to dead Lillith a bright white light shot up and everything started to shake. Sam looks at both of us with a shamed look. “Guys I’m sorry.” Dean grabs our shoulders. “Guy’s let's go!” We run to the door and it closes in front of us. “Guys... he's coming.” This was it. The end times the devil and of course, we were right smack in the middle of but we are Winchesters we could do anything.

Well guys that was it I just got to spill my soul real quick lol. I just want to thank everyone that has read this story that has liked it and read it and looked at it. I am planning to do all seasons which might take awhile but it is my goal to make a great story to the best of my abilities. So excited for the next book. I love season 5 so much I don't know when the next chapter will be I want to focus on my other stories for a little while. But overall thank you for reading the first book of love, war and grace. See you y'all next time hopefully on my other stories but for now xoxo Gossip Girl ;) ;)

#castiel x reader #castiel #castiel x y/n #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #team free will #spnfandom #supernatural #Supernatural Season 4 #castiel x you #Castiel x reader series masterlist #bobby singer #bobby spn #cas spn #cas x reader #cas x y/n #cas masterlist

[angelsdean]

can't be on my dash rn bc everyone is still talking abt misha collins meanwhile i'm like. can we pls talk abt how angels collapsed by grief are black holes ??? in fact, perhaps angels who experience any intense human emotion (anger, love, desire) have the ability to be collapsed by the sheer force of those emotions. and they become beings of chaos and consumption with the power to eat the world. to eat all of existence. every angel is terrifying etc etc. and god created the order and structure and Rules or heaven to keep them in line once he realize, oh no, they could overpower me if they ever learn to Feel. and cas. oh cas. he learned to FEEL alright. and he became the one being in all of creation god could not control. and just imagine ! imagine cas widower's arc. imagine his grief. imagine how he'd become supermassive in his grief. a single tear would drown the world. a scream would tear it in two. he swallows up whole galaxies to fill the void dean left and it's not enough, it'll never be enough. he just wants him back. his star, his shining light, they were meant to be twin stars orbiting each other and then he was left alone and he went supernova over it. it collapsed him into a black hole and he's swallowing up all the light but it's never enough, it's not right, nothing will ever be brighter than dean winchester's soul. anyways. we should be talking abt that

#going insane over my little theories again #gonna hyperfixate on black holes again and watch youtube videos to try and understand quantum physics lol #vic.txt #black hole angel theory #cas is a black hole

[kirishimasensei]

what spring does with the cherry trees (part I)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Bakugou Katsuki, his champion gladiator.

part I | part II

author :: KirishimaSensei (Misha) pairing :: Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader word count :: 2.3k tags :: Spartacus AU | adult characters | adult language | descriptions of violence | ancient Roman slavery

i. "How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running..."

Sword meets spear, steel against unyielding steel, sending a symphony of sparks flying from both men’s weapons and onto the sands. You can feel the roar of the crowd around the pulvinus where you sit, the vibrations finding haven in your otherwise motionless body, creeping its way through your heart like desire. But even still, the sound of steel rings in your ears, drowning out all other noises of the arena until all you can hear is sword against spear against shield.

The day is growing late, coloring the sky with a deep magenta glow that signals the approaching dusk. Though the sun is slowly descending, the heat still lays on you like a blanket, surrounding you, warming your already overheated skin as you absentmindedly call for wine.

You startle when you feel a hand at your shoulder. Your thoughts have been intent on the games, but now free from your reverie, you smile up at your godfather and accept the glass offered to you.

“I had not known you were so captivated by the games!” Todroki Enji says, pleased at the revelation, the changes he has seen in you since you were a child.

You have been away from Capua for five years now, and have returned a woman now grown. Your best friend and godbrother, Shouto, had left for school at the same time, as children of a certain age and state do when the time comes. Since then, your father has sadly passed on, your mother long since gone, and instead of staying in Rome with your step-brother and his wife, you decided to return to Capua, welcomed without question into the Todoroki household. 

Shouto had decided not to return, staying instead with his own mother to care for her once she was dismissed from his father’s home. You would miss your childhood friend, and although Shouto vowed never to return to Capua, he promised that the two of you would never be too long away from one another. 

Being Shouto’s friend, and spending so much time at Villa Todoroki, you have been well acquainted with gladiators and what the sport entails. As a child, you could barely stomach the gladiatorial games, disgusted at the senseless killing, the bloodshed. The skill that the warriors possessed, that you were intrigued by, studying them as they trained in the practice field below the Todoroki Villa balcony. But the idea of forcing someone to kill for sport, that your younger self could not bear.

“I have only now realized their appeal,” you admit before taking a sip of your wine. 

You have to hold back a grimace. Not Cestian, you note, but an inferior vino. Next time, you will be sure to request water. You hand the glass off to your body slave and turn your attention back to the display before you.

It is not the games themselves that you have learned to favor, but the gladiators who fought in them. More precisely, one gladiator in particular who is putting on quite an impressive show at the moment, leaving you fixed on the edge of your chair.

The gladiator’s hard body shines radiant beneath the Roman sun, so much that you believe that he must have been sculpted from bronze, carved with thoughtful, meticulous strokes, lovingly crafted by the gods themselves. He is made of strong lines and chiseled plains, wide shoulders tapered down to a slender waist. Powerful arms, stronger legs, a graceful jaw paired with eyes like jewels and lips like sin.

Bakugou Katsuki is the most glorious being that you have ever seen.

“A spectacle isn’t it?” Enji asks you. “Katsuki is well versed in pleasing the crowd.”

“Well versed, indeed,” you reply, though you are not so joyous. 

The thought of this match has plagued you since news of it. Katsuki and the undefeated Champion of Capua fighting sine missione – to the death. It was enough to reduce you to tremors. But now, seeing the two before you, your nerves quickly fade, leaving only longing in their wake.

Katsuki owns the arena – the sand beneath his feet, the swords in his hands, the crowds clamoring around him. His opponent will soon be his too. The day will be won and he will be the new champion.

You watch as Katsuki side steps his opponent’s attack, leaving the man sprawled upon the ground. He quickly recovers, though, and lunges for Katsuki who evades the sword meant to pierce his stomach and bends beneath the weapon. He then lands a blow to his attacker’s back, once more sending him to the sand.

Katsuki’s laugh finds its way up to the pulvinus, wrapping around you like a tangible thing. You have heard him speak in the ludus, instructing his fellow gladiators with the right combination of firm demands and helpful guidance. You have heard his voice during practice spars, taunting his opponent with playful banter. You have dreamed of his voice, of Katsuki whispering in your ear as he thrusts inside of you, passionate words made rough and thick. If you were deaf to everything but the gladiator’s voice, still you would be a contented woman.

“Does your gladiator fear nothing?” you ask of your godfather, never taking your eyes off the man in question.

“Katsuki is fear!” Enji says. “See how the Champion of Capua quivers before him!”

And how you quiver, too, now that you can share in your godfather’s mirth, for he spoke the truth. Not but minutes after his declaration, the once champion’s head rolls upon the sands, his body dropping to the ground. You cannot suppress the smile that blooms upon your face as Katsuki’s name echoes through the air, a steady throb trembling throughout the amphitheater, not so different from the one forming between your thighs.

Once back at the villa, Enji takes both you and his wife under each arm. “A celebration is in order!” he announces, pulling you two tightly towards him. “The House of Todoroki will be on every tongue in Capua!”

You smile at your godfather’s rejoicing. A celebration was in order, indeed. Katsuki’s victory in the arena has turned the incessant fire within you into an inferno, one that will not be easily quenched nor sated. The flames lick at your flesh, heating your body with a sultry sheen, so much that you fear your godfather would feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Truly this has been a most joyous day,” you reply, moving from Enji’s side, “but I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening. The hour grows late, and I am weary from such blessed excitement.”

“May you have peace in this night of celebration!” Enji’s wife, Kaina says. “Surely the men in the ludus are commemorating their house’s victory tonight as well. I pray the noise does not resonate too loudly in your chambers.”

You give the woman a courteous smile. “A discomfort born free from grievance. The Champion of Capua must be honored, on this, a most splendid day.”

“And what of our champion?” Enji contemplates, to your pleasure. A plan has already been set into motion, one now being carried out so easily without much prodding on your part. “Surely he should be properly rewarded for his showing in the arena,” he continues.

“All the wine he could ask for,” Kaina replies. “I’m sure the others will see that his glass stays overflowing.”

“And women!” Enji says, then turns to his body slave. “See that his bed is overflowing as well!”

You pause to feign thought for a moment before speaking once more. “I could send my slave, Hiroko, to pleasure your champion. Surely a tribute such as she would be most welcome, yet untouched as she is.”

“A generous offer,” Enji declares, clearly approving of your idea, eager to start partaking in his own celebration. “I will send someone to prepare your slave immediately.”

“Oh! There will be no need,” you say, glancing at Hiroko. The girl’s expression is veiled, but you know that you will be chided once in the privacy of your own quarters. You are in no mood for a lecture, but you know that the outcome will be well worth it. You turn back to your godfather, attempting to conceal your excitement. “I will see to Hiroko’s preparations.”

“Do you think this wise?”

You turn and consider your companion. “And of what do you speak?” you ask with mock curiosity. 

Hiroko scowls at you, and in turn, you can’t keep the smile from your face. You begin to remove your jewels as you wait for her to answer.

“You think me so dense I cannot see through your schemes?” Hiroko asks you. “I am quite aware you won’t be sending me to the gladiator this night. You plan to go in my stead.”

You laugh, quirking a brow. “You do know me so well.”

And, truly, she does. She knows you better than anyone else, and though you are younger than her, you have known no one longer. And though she is, strictly speaking, your slave, you have a deeper connection with no one else. You two share a similar visage, as well. Lips akin to one another, eyes both of identical shape but of a slightly different color, both beautiful in your own right and similar to those who regard you two only in passing. Some people remark on how she favors you, while most stay silent, all obviously aware of your father’s indiscretion.

But to you, Hiroko is your closest companion. Your slave only by birth and custom. You know your only difference is your mothers’ stations, and for a purpose unknown, the gods have seen it fit to bless you with a proper Roman birth. Hiroko was your sister regardless, and were it that your roles were switched, you know that she would treat you similarly.

“You worry for nothing,” you reassure her, but Hiroko merely shakes her head and begins to assist in undressing you. You give her nose a soft kiss. “Do not be so sullen.”

Hiroko throws her hands up with a sigh and moves away from you. “We could be caught,” she tries to explain, but her concern falls on deaf ears.

You groan in irritation as you remove your clothes and launch the bundled fabric at her. “If someone comes, merely feign sleep. ‘Tis a simple task, carried out time and time over.”

“And what of you?” she asks, walking the clothes to the closet. “You could be hurt! He is a gladiator! He put a man to grass today!”

“And how I trembled as he did!” you reply, smiling at Hiroko through your vanity mirror’s reflection as you take your hair down from your plaits. You cock a brow at her agitated expression. “Would you deny me my one desire?” you continue, pouting.

“Your one desire?” she asks, incredulous. “Never have you desired only one thing. You are a greedy girl and the gladiator will quench your thirst for now, but then eyes will be set upon new conquest. When you have your fill you will leave him as you do all things.”

“No,” you respond, appalled. “No, never. If he were mine, I would never see him from my arms.” Your eyes twinkle with mischief as you smirk. “Or my cunt.”

“The mouth on you!” Hiroko gasps. “Just because you seek to lay with a savage doesn’t mean that you have to behave as such.”

You gasp in displeasure. “Katsuki is no savage!”

“And you know this how?” she asks and you feel your cheeks heating at the words yet unspoken, knowing how they will sound in the ears of your companion. Your thoughts will seem naïve, childlike, but they are so heavy on your tongue that you must speak them anyway.

“His eyes,” you say. “The depths in which are more burning, more crimson, than any flame I’ve ever seen. How I long to gaze into them as he touches me, his war-hardened hands gripping my flesh. His voice, deep and low in my ear.”

“You talk as if in love!” Hiroko says, clucking.

“Nearly so,” you reply.

“You have yet to even share words with the man,” she says, “and now you make declarations of love.”

You don’t respond, not quite knowing what to say, so Hiroko leaves you to disappear into her adjoining room and the returns with a handful of folded clothes. 

“Will this suffice?” she asks, unfolding the stola and holding it up for you to see.

It is something Hiroko has not worn in ages, too small and too short, but perfect for you and your purpose. You drape the fabric over one shoulder and wrap it around your waist, letting it fall high on your thighs. You cinch it with a belt of woven gold thread and tassels, then slide your feet into Hiroko’s sandals.

“Come,” she beckons and then she dabs scented oil onto your skin where Katsuki might linger – behind your ears, in the hollow of your throat, the valley between your breasts. She removes the gold collar from her own neck and places it around yours.

“Should I mark your skin as well?” she asks sarcastically, eyeing your ankle. Hiroko’s bares your family’s mark, permanently tattooed to signal her as a slave.

“That seems a bit unnecessary,” you reply, smirking at your companion. “The marks he will leave on my body will be well worn.”

Hiroko rolls her eyes as you smooth down the fabric around your thighs. You admire yourself in the mirror as you speak. 

“In any case,” you say, “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You of all people should know.”

Before she can respond, you turn around so that your companion may gaze upon your completed appearance. “Do I look a slave?” you ask.

“No,” she says. “You look a Roman in slave’s clothing. As always.”

You smile. “For tonight, it will do.”

i. Pablo Neruda, "Every Day You Play..."

a/n :: I’ve been trying to write this for literal years and I think I’ve found the motivation. But, if you’ve read something similar to this chapter before, no you haven’t :)

Also, I have big plans for this fic, so if you’d like to see more, please let me know!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #mdni

[laf-outloud]

https://screenrant.com/supernatural-season-16-cant-work-dead-supporting-character/

I read this and thought it isn't that I don't like Castiel, I did, but to a point and then the rest if the time I thought, meh. For some fans it would bring sure of he came back; I was good when Bobby said Jack had brought him back to change up Heaven and we never saw him, knowing he was back was enough for me.

Jensen didn't even want him for his failure of a show TW, he flat out said no to Misha which means he is okay without Castiel coming back. Why? As both he and Jared have said the show has always been about the brothers.

I have friends who are hellers who are like, you realize just because we saw something that others didn't, because everyone is allowed to watch the show and have their opinion, and take different things from it, so same show but different perspectives, we aren't going to get Destiel because that isn't what the show is about, so even of they bring Castiel back, Destiel still isn't happening. We have our fanfiction and AU rps for that and it brings as much closure as the show did. Plus how will they make it work when both brothers are dead and in Heaven.

So like most of us they say it is just talk. They don't want it because they wonder how nit can be done, we all wonder how it could be done.

Yep! SPN is about Sam and Dean. Any insertion of the angel would have to stick with canon, which J2 know would preclude any mention of his confession being anything other than saying goodbye to a brother-in-arms. Also, Castiel would likely one show up in one episode if they did a 6-episode series, probably just to throw Misha a bone, and there's a good chance he wouldn't even interact with Sam or Dean, though I would laugh if Cas' only scenes were with Sam and Jack, (which would make sense as they didn't get to say goodbye to him).

Of course, I also read a tweet today from a heller who would watch the reboot only to pick it apart and find anything they can to proclaim Destiel is real. The hellers don't care about reality, only what they can make up to fit their narrative.

I'm glad there are some normal Destiel shippers out there who recognize what SPN was and is. It's too bad their voices get drowned out by the crazies.

#ask box #spn reboot speculation #anti hellers #anti destiel

[azoosepted]

The Fistfighter finds herself in a place all too familiar to her.

The smell of smoke and the crisp, frigid air permeates her entire being, filling her with a dread that she can’t quite remember the source of. But she will remember. She always does. Even if she doesn’t want to, the Fistfighter will surely find out. And always in the hard way.

The Fistfighter hears hurried footsteps and gasping breaths. It’s only when she stops running that she remembers that they’re hers. But that doesn’t make any difference, because to her, there’s a more important matter at hand—

—the Phantom who stands in front of her.

The Fistfighter says the same thing every time she finds herself in this situation. Her lips part to utter two simple words; a statement of disbelief that turns into a realization:

“It’s you.”

The Phantom smiles sadly, standing on the street, hands in the pockets of her dark green coat. Her emerald eyes are just as radiant as the Fistfighter remembers.

Not that she can help remembering.

And then, the Phantom responds, dismissing the Fistfighter’s short, hushed murmur.

“…Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, huh, Marsha?”

That was an understatement and they both knew it. The Fistfighter made a horrible mistake, and the Phantom was quite aware of the gravity of the affair. Everyone was, in fact. Everyone was aware of the consequences of poking a slumbering beast with a stick.

And it just so happened that the Fistfighter had done just that. She had prodded a beast awake. A beast known to everyone as the Middle.

And everyone knows what happens when you mess with the Middle.

The Fistfighter found herself unsure of how to reply. Even if she had tried to speak, the thundering of her own heartbeat would’ve drowned out the sound, her words being crushed by the endless ocean of her fear. Even so, she attempted to respond.

“I’m sorry, Misha.”

This was nothing but a memory of the day that the Fistfighter could never forget, no matter how much she wanted to. She vividly recalled the Phantom’s response, how she looked at her with such sorrow, while her lips were curved into a regretful, knowing smile. 

They both knew how this would end.

“It’s okay, Marsha. Save yourself. I’ll take care of things.”

Screams began to ring out into the air, and the sound of crunching snow underneath several sets of feet. Cries of pain, begs for mercy. The sounds are deafening to the Fistfighter, for in the end, blood will be spilled because of her actions.

And so, the Fistfighter, a coward, does what a coward always does— She ran away. 

Ran away, to find herself awake in her bed in a cold sweat. Underneath sheets that aren’t quite warm enough for her liking.

The Fistfighter sat up, and turned to face her bedside table. The alarm clock read 3:26 AM. The Fistfighter just stared at it blankly. She didn’t want to go back to sleep.

Because she knew that if she did, she’d just find herself reliving the events of that day again.

And she wants to forget.

———————————————————

felt like sharing some oc lore through a little fic. me when the ghosts of my past keep haunting me for my past mistakes am i right you guys

i’m letting you figure out who this story is about by yourself. first to guess correctly via Asks gets bragging rights /hj

#project moon oc #project moon #pm oc #my ocs #writing #minific

[trektraveler]

Nightingale Chapter Sixteen: The Fourth Wall

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Sixteen: The Fourth Wall

Word Count: 4176

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing!

Additional Notes: The response to this story has been beyond my expectations! You guys have been the best! Thank you for continuing to read my work and encourage me, its kept my eye on the prize :) Additional Additional Notes: THANK YOU! Seriously... thank you all for sticking around for this. Some of you know the struggles I've been dealing with , some of you don't, but it doesn't matter. I am grateful for the support of each and every one of you who keeps coming back to read this story. This chapter really gave me trouble, I hope it was worth the wait.

Series Masterlist

     Both your phone and Jensen’s buzzed at the same time.  You knew who it was before you even looked.

     “Solomon,” he said, scrolling through the details of the text.  “Jesus.  This itinerary reads like a weekend convention circuit.  Seriously, who goes out this much?”

     “Breakfast and strolling at the Ester Short Park farmer’s market.  Tour of the Van Dusen Botanical Gardens.  Coffee at Shaughnessy’s.  Window shopping downtown.  Couples’ yoga.  Oohh!  Tickets to Hamilton on Friday night!”

     Jensen’s brow crinkled and those little disapproving brackets appeared at the corners of his mouth.  “Yoga?  Seriously?  I don’t have that…”

     You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, “Couples Tantric Yoga at Good Vibrations Studios.  Wow… the room is heated to 105 degrees to sweat in tandem with your partner.  Open your chakras and your bodies to this intimate practice first discovered in the unpublished Kama Sutra.  Wow, I didn’t know they bent that way…”

     That had him grabbing your phone.  “Seriously?!  Fucking Solomon signed us up for sweaty sex yoga?!” 

     The indignant bluster blew out of his sails a moment later and you broke into laughter. 

     “You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned.

     Your mischievous grin only grew, “You seem disappointed!  Why don’t we call and see if they can squeeze us in to the class on Sunday?”

     You made a grab for the phone, and he held it over his head, out of reach.  Dodging your hands and tickling you at the same time.  Your attempts to tickle him back had no effect and only made him double his efforts.  Torturing you until you were practically crying with giggles.  Suddenly, he hoisted you over his shoulder, bouncing you a bit as he walked through the apartment. 

     “Jensen!  That’s cheating!”  You laughed as you squirmed in his grasp.

     He tossed you down on the bed in a giggling mess then threw himself down beside you.  “There’s no cheating when there’s no rules, Sweetheart.”

     You tried to catch your breath as he moved strands of blonde hair away from your face.  “You aren’t even ticklish.”

     “Used to be, my older brother would sit on me and torture tickle me until I peed my pants.”

     “How’d you get over it?”

     “I found ways to distract myself,” he murmured, his eyes flickering over your face. 

     “Mind over matter?”

     “Something like that.”

     The two of you had shared countless kisses, but you never grew tired of them.  Your heartrate kicked up the moment his lips touched yours, excitement heating your blood the same today as it did the first time.  His strong hands roamed your body, seeking out the secret places that responded so readily.  You yielded to his touch and surrendered on a sigh. 

     He ended the kiss before he could get too carried away.  The FBI had the whole place bugged and the two of you agreed early on that there would be no sex until this mess was behind you.   He pulled you up against him and placed a kiss to your hairline.

     “Better?”

     You nodded, relaxing into his embrace.  Your eyes closed as he threaded his fingers through your hair and gently massaged the nape of your neck.  He always did that when your migraines were bad.  Once your concussion healed, they were practically gone but with all the stress of the investigation, they were back with a vengeance. 

     “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his chest.  “About earlier.”

     “It was an understandable reaction, that guy came up out of nowhere.  I didn’t even see him come up behind us.”

     “I nearly had a panic attack in the middle of the street.  I probably traumatized your poor fans.”

     “Yeah, well I traumatize them every Thursday night so, they’re used to it by now,” Jensen joked, moving his hand to stroke your back.  “How can I help, baby?  Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

     “I don’t know if it can get much better.  I mean, Solomon sends us pictures of the under-cover agents every day.  Both of us are wearing tracking devices.  This place is completely wired and under surveillance.  Everything we do is planned out to the last detail.  I know we are as safe as we can be I just… I can’t stop thinking about him.”  Your chest immediately grew tight, and you fought to keep your breathing under control.

     “Every time we leave this apartment, I’m looking for him.  I’m searching the faces of everyone we pass, wondering if the next one I see will be his.  I feel like a little kid, scared of the boogey man is hiding in the closet!”

     “Is that why you’ve been leaving the bathroom light on at night?”

     “Maybe,” you muttered.  “I know it’s stupid.”

     “It’s justified.”

     “Maybe,” you said again.  “I wish I could be as calm as you are in crowds.  It never seems to rattle you.”

     “Oh, I’m rattled, believe me.  But I’ve got a job to do, and I just focus on it.  Nothing is more important than that, everything else falls away.”

     “You mean acting?”

     “I mean taking care of you,” he curled a finger under your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his.  “We’re in it together.  Every day, it’s you and me, Sweetheart.”

     “Stronger together.”  You said it at the same time he did.  It had become your mantra over the past two weeks. 

     It was your prayer to each other.  You said every time you set foot outside of the safety bubble of your apartment.  Every time the two of you stopped for pictures with fans.  Every time the paparazzi followed the two of you through a public park or into a restaurant.  Every time you needed reassurance, Jensen would squeeze your hand and whisper it in your ear. 

     It worked well to calm your nerves.  At first.  But as time dragged on with no sign of Arthur Green, the pressure and anxiety built.  You were jumpy, bordering on paranoid.  When that aggressive fan popped up as you were crossing the boulevard, it triggered a reaction so severe that Jensen’s magic phrase didn’t work.  You were so shaken up that the two of you went directly home, despite not completing the daily agenda.

     “I just wish I could do a better job in all this.  I know I’m supposed to look happy and carefree… Green’s never going to show himself if he thinks this is a trap.”  You sighed and fiddled with the buttons on Jensen’s shirt.  “I’ve never had much of a poker face.”

     “Everyone has a poker face; you just have to find your focus.  That’s all acting is, really.  Keeping your focus.”

     “I guess that’s why you’re the actor and I’m the doctor.”

     A thoughtful look crossed his face, as if he’d just realized the answer to a difficult crossword.  His clear, green eyes lit with enthusiasm, and he sat up, tugging you with him.

     “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

     “What are we doing in your closet?” You asked from your cross-legged position on the carpeted floor.

     Jensen closed the door and stuffed a rolled-up towel against the threshold so that not even a sliver of light could peek through.  “We’re creating the fourth wall.”

     “What?”

     He walked to the bank of drawers along the back wall and searched through the contents.  “It’s an old actor’s trick, you’ll see.”

     He returned with one of his silk ties in his hand.  It was a subtle blue on blue paisley pattern that he wore on one of your dates ages ago.

     He handed it to you and sat on the floor across from you, folding his bowed legs up with a grunt. 

     “I love this tie.”

     “I know you do,” he smiled softly at you.  “Do you remember that night?  That little Italian place around the corner from your hospital?”

     “Of course, I do.”

     It had been a week since you and Jensen reconciled.  You held strong to your decision not to move back in with him.  You were determined to take things slow and not fall back into old patterns.  You wanted this to last, you both did and that meant rebuilding trust.  The man didn’t make it easy though! 

     For his part, Jensen was the perfect gentleman.  Sweet, attentive, respectful, funny, charming.  Good morning texts and calls during his down time on set.  He invited you over for dinner midweek, made your favorite spaghetti and even sent you home with leftovers for lunch.  There were bone melting kisses and hand holding, but he never initiated anything more.  He wanted you to set the pace. 

     On Friday, you arrived at work and found a shallow planter the size of a hubcap overflowing with an array of tiny, blue flowers waiting for you.  Along with a card.

     Have a great day, gorgeous! – Love, J

     Val came up beside you, her eyes wide, “Wow!  Who sent you those?”

     You grinned and ran your fingers over the bright, bell-shaped blossoms.  “They’re from Jensen.”

     “Really?  Anniversary or apology?”

     You slipped the small card into the pocket of your lab coat, “Neither.”

     “Come on, he must have done something.  No guy sends…. What kind of flowers are they?”

     “Bluebonnets.  Texas Bluebonnets.”

     “Right.  Anyway, there’s a reason for them.  You just don’t know what it is yet.”

     You floated through your whole shift.  Not even Val’s cynicism could dampen your mood.  You didn’t have time to send Jensen anything more than a thank you text, but you were determined to show your appreciation.  Maybe you’d invite him over for dinner at your place.  Best to order in, given your abysmal cooking skills.  Or maybe just dessert…

     You were just about to clock out when you were paged over the intercom.  You picked up line four holding for you.

     “This is Doctor Baines.”

     “Gabs?”

     “Tony, what’s up?”

     “I need you for a consult, do you have a few minutes?”

     “Sure.”

     “Great.  Cardiology, Room 202.”

     A few short minutes later you opened the door to 202, instead of a cardiac patient, you found Jensen.  Looking like he just stepped out of the pages of GQ.  His dark blue suit was tailored, pressed and perfect.  Crisp shirt, matching blue tie and a trio of bluebonnets in his lapel.

     He smiled in that way that made his eyes crinkle and made you melt.  “Hiya Sweetheart.”

     You leaned against the door so that it clicked behind you.  “Mr. Ackles.  You are looking remarkably well for a man in the cardiac ward.”

     “Oh, I’m in rough shape, doc.”  He placed a dramatic hand over his heart.  “My ticker’s going crazy!”

     You bit your bottom lip; he really was too cute!  “Is that so?”

     “Yeah!  Every time I see this girl, it’s like my heart’s going to beat right out of my chest.”

     “Sound serious.”

     “You think so?”

     “Heart palpitations are nothing to dismiss out of hand.”  You pulled your stethoscope from around your neck, “I think I better check you over.”

     “I was thinking the same thing,” he drawled.

     You placed a hand in the center of his chest and firmly walked him backwards, your gaze holding his until the back of his legs bumped the exam table.  Wordlessly, you patted the table.  He lifted himself up with ease, the sterile paper crinkled under his weight. 

     “I hope you won’t mind if I get a little… close,” you said, gently urging his knees apart so you could stand in the vacant space between his legs. 

     His voice dipped deep.  “I’m in your hands.”

     You started with his tie, reaching up to loosen the perfectly executed knot.  A tug and the fine fabric came free easily.  It sounded like a hushed whisper as it moved against the starched shirt to pool in your hand.  His Adam’s apple bobbed as you moved on to the tiny button holding the collar closed.  You knew if you looked at him, your resolve would evaporate, so you concentrated on your task.  Button by button.  Inch by inch.  You stopped halfway to put the earpieces in place and warm the bell of the stethoscope with your breath. 

     You slid the bell against the taut, tanned skin of his pectoral and let it rest over his heart.  A smile curved your lips as you heard his heart thumping, strong and steady.  No better sound in the world.  Although, the longer you kept your hand there, the faster that rhythm got.

     “Your heartrate is elevated.”

     “What do I do, doc?”

     “A little test, see how you respond to stimuli.”

     “Sounds intense.”

     This time you risked looking up, those green eyes of his had turned a shade darker and you felt your own heart leap in response. 

     “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

     Keeping the bell anchored over his heart, you leaned up and captured his lips with your own.  Kissing Jensen was as much a revelation today as it was the first time.  He expressed so many things in those moments of intense connection.  Passion and joy.  Exuberant love, romance… sharp desire.  Solace and devotion.  It was the language spoken by souls that met and matched. 

     The kiss deepened, his arms went around you and the staccato beat faster through the earpieces as his heart picked up pace.  Urgency grew.

     You nipped his bottom lip slightly as you pulled away, earning a groan from him.  “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

     “Not today.  I can confirm, your heart is in perfect working order.”

     “Good thing, I kinda need it.”  He snagged the stethoscope from you with a smirk, “My turn.”

     Not one to shrink from a challenge, you hopped up beside him, “Do your worst, Doctor Ackles.”

     Somehow, he made the mundane tools of your profession look incredibly sexy.  You didn’t exactly have a doctor kink, but you’d develop one in a hurry if he kept it up.  A serious look swept over his features, and you knew you were in trouble.  In measured movements, he slipped his hand holding the bell under the scoop neckline of your shirt. 

     You knew the moment he found his mark because his face transformed to reflect wonder.  It was an incredibly intimate act to hear the life thrumming in another human being.  He simply listened, as if he was trying to memorize it, hear the music of it.  You were so mesmerized by his experience that you failed to notice his other hand until it found your breast.

     You gasped. 

     His eyebrows rose a fraction, but did not move his hand, “Everything okay?”

     At your nod, he smiled and continued.  Monitoring your heartrate as he explored the curves and concaves he knew so well.  Noting how the rhythm increased when he ran his thumb over the nipple straining under the layers of cotton.  How the beat skipped when his tongue found that secret place just below your earlobe.  Hot kisses down the column of your neck to the hollow where your clavicles met brought your hands up to rake through his hair.  He sucked the skin slightly while his hand traced the inner line of your leg.  Your heart galloped along wildly and when he palmed you through your scrubs, you breathed his name.

     Your head fell back, “Jensen…”

      An annoying beep from his jacket pocket that broke the spell.  He stopped ravishing you long enough to check his phone, “Ooh!  We gotta go!”

     You sat up dazed and trying to catch your breath, “Go?  Now?”

     He hopped off the table and straightened his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles caused by your make-out session.

     “Reservations at Marco’s.”

     You eyed him suspiciously, “You… did you deliberately get me all excited just to tease me?”

     His shrug was innocent, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.  He held a hand to you, “I just wanted to make sure you had a good appetite worked up.”

     You took his hand and narrowed your blue eyes at him, “Okay.  But we’re getting dessert to go!”

     “Only if you bring your stethoscope, doc,” he replied while brushing a kiss across your knuckles with a wink.

     “When I was twenty-eight, I was in a live production of A Few Good Men.  I hadn’t performed on stage like that since high school.  And I was really nervous, like shaking in my boots, throwing up backstage terrified!  My parents were there, Danneel was there…  a ton of Supernatural fans showed up too.”

     “You had stage fright?  But you’d been an actor for… what, a decade at that point?”

     “Television is different.  If I screw up, we can just do another take.  A live performance takes a different level of concentration.  People in the audience whisper or forget to turn off their phones.  Someone drops something backstage, or your co-star forgets their lines.  Anything can happen.  That’s where the fourth wall comes in, imagine there is an invisible wall between you and the audience.  That the stage is a completely enclosed.  It’s your world, nothing else exists.  Its just you and whoever you are sharing that stage with.”

     You looked down at the blue tie in your hands, “That sounds like something that comes with practice.  It took you years to perfect your craft, I can’t get to that level in an afternoon.”

     “It’s simpler than you think.  Acting is really just reacting,” he said with a smile, “Besides, you had plenty of cram sessions in med school.”

     “I suppose so.”

     “Good.  Now, I want you to look around this space.  Commit the details of it to memory.  Wall color, carpet color, shelves, racks, shoes… all of it.  Everything you can see.”

     You tried to give him back the tie, thinking it wasn’t part of the exercise and he shook his head, “Nuh uh.  You keep that, you’ll need it.”

     Your brow furrowed slightly, wrapping the tie around your left hand nervously.  You felt like you were failing, and you hadn’t even started.

     Jensen reached out and stilled your hands with his own, “Hey, deep breath.  There’s nothing to worry about.  It’s just you and me here, this is our own little world.  Everything outside that door, that’s them.  No one else can come in here, ever.  We’re safe here.  Just you and me.”

     “Stronger together,” you murmured.

     “Stronger together,” he repeated back.  “Close your eyes.”

     You did as instructed.  He released your hands and sat back, “Deep breath, in and out.  Again.  Good girl, relax.  Let the tension melt from your muscles and drain away.  Deep breath… good.  Very good.”

     You loved his voice; it was warm and had a deep resonance that put you at ease.  The cadence of his instructions had an almost hypnotic quality and you felt yourself sinking into it. 

     “How do you feel?”

     “Good,” you said with a sigh, “Kind of floaty.”

     “The tie in your hands.  How does it feel?”

     You rubbed the material between your fingers, “Smooth.  Cool, like a mountain lake.”

     “Good,” he praised again.  “Now, I want you to picture the closet in your mind.  Put it together with the details you saw only moments ago.”

     You frowned slightly, rubbing the silk in your hands like a worry stone.

     “It’s just you and me here, Y/N.  It’s our world, our safe place.  Tell me what you see.”

     “Clothes.”

     He waited a beat, “Anything else?”

     “Um… the door?”

     “Dig a little deeper, Harvard.”

     “My annoying boyfriend.”

     Jensen held back a sigh, determined not to break the spell.  “Try scent, how does it smell?”

     “Good,” you huffed out in frustration.  The tension was building back up in your shoulders and your ass was starting to fall asleep from sitting on the floor.  You found yourself wondering if it was too late to run away to Bermuda.  You took another deep breath and caught something you hadn’t noticed before.

     “Cedar.  You keep those little cedar balls in the sock drawer.”

     “Yeah, I do.”

     “Tom Ford… um… that vanilla one I like.”

     He grinned, you told him it was your favorite and he bought three bottles just to make sure he always had some on hand.  “Vanilla Tobacco.”

     “Fabric softener, there are dryer sheets in the vents… and there is an air vent somewhere behind me, its blowing on my shirt.  The woodwork in here is light, the rest of the apartment is dark, in here it’s not.  Your clothes are arranged by type and then by color.  Same for the shoes, which you have an insane amount of.  Everything is on those expensive hangers you love so much.  Oh!  And you have two whole drawers devoted to watches.”

     “Good job, open your eyes, Sweetheart.”

     As you did, he took the tie from your hands and cut it neatly in half with his pocketknife.

     “Jay!”

     He took your left arm and tied the narrow end around your wrist, “This tie is your tether to this space.  Every time you feel anxious or scared, I want you to feel that silk against your skin and remember how it felt to be here.  Come back to this safe place where it’s just you and me.”

     He held the other half of the tie out to you along with his left arm.  You followed his example and fastened it around his wrist to match yours.  When you were done, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tight, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

     “Thank you,” you whispered.

     Jensen pulled you down to sit on his lap and held you close.

     “I’ve got you,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “Always.”

     Three days later, you and Jensen were at yet another public outing.  This time it was Shakespeare in the park.  At this point you were so sick of concerts, romantic dinners, and date nights that you were ready to tear your hair out.  At least it was your favorite play, Much Ado About Nothing.  Comedy always beats tragedy. 

     The place was packed, no surprise given the beautiful weather.  There were vendors selling everything from Italian Ice to Chicken and Waffles on a stick.  Street musicians busked, kids played in the fountain, couples necked under shade trees, dogs trotted along happily with their owners.  It was idyllic.

     Maybe it was the sunshine or the actor’s trick Jensen taught you, either way, you felt good.  Relaxed.  Even when a group of fans gathered around for pictures and autographs, you felt centered and calm. 

     “Oh my gosh!  You two are so cute together!”  A younger girl gushed.

     “Can we get your picture too?” another asked you, “Are you really a doctor?”

     Jensen pulled you to his side and slung an arm around your shoulders, while you smiled up at him. It was your typical couple in love pose.  He kissed your temple and every girl in eyesight sighed. 

     “I am a doctor.  As a matter of fact, you should get your friend there some water and shade,” you replied motioning to a swaying, giggling girl heading for the margarita truck.  “Maybe no more alcohol for today?”

     “Check out my girl,” Jensen said as the group wandered happily away, “Signing autographs, saving lives.”

     “Saving her from a hangover maybe,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his as you strolled.  “People tend to underestimate the effects of drinking on days like this.”

     “We’ve got about ten more minutes before the intermission is over, want to head back?”

     “Yeah, um maybe hit the bathroom first?”

     You entered the surprisingly empty ladies’ room while Jensen waited for you just outside the door.  You couldn’t wait for this FBI business to be over so you could go to the bathroom alone, like a normal person. 

     You were just washing your hands when the door swung open and a couple of the girls from the earlier group stumbled in, including the drunk one.  You gave a polite nod and stepped out of their way, but it wasn’t quick enough to avoid a collision.  The three of you ended up in a tangle on the floor, two of them giggling and you, definitely not.   

     “Are you two alright,” you asked, trying to keep your composure.

     The tipsy girl threw her head back and laughed, rolling back on the floor.  The other one shook her head in disgust.

     “Ugh, Jesus Suzie!  Bitch never could hold her booze.”

     You felt dizzy.  And unbearably hot!  You tried to get up, but your muscles didn’t respond.  Something wasn’t right. 

     You called for Jensen, but your tongue was heavy in your mouth.  All that came out was a garbled mess.  You felt your heart begin to race as you panicked and your vision blurred.

     “Gee, you seem a little green around the gills, Doctor West.”

     The sober girl was standing at one of the sinks, studying her face in the mirror as she spoke.  Her clothes hung loose on her long, wiry frame.  Choppy black hair framed a thin face with severe features.  Dark eyes, nearly black.  Eyes that were normally behind glasses. 

     Arthur.  “Oh… God.”

     Green dropped to the balls of his feet, a lethal grin twisted his face as he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back. 

      “Hello again, Y/N.” TAGLIST: @deans-baby-momma @stixnstripesworld @jc-winchester @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis  @smoothdogsgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester @impalaspixie @chucksfavouriteprophet @imherefordeanandbones

#jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural #dean x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #nightingale #dean x you #jensen x you #jensen ackles

[sunglassesmish]

okay genuine question from someone with autism who does not understand the intricacies of human speech:

when a couple weekends ago jensen did the “daneel calls misha her boyfriend which is funny because so do i” im confused how everyone knew what he meant

like i see two options of what he said ??

1) he calls misha his boyfriend

2) he calls misha daneel’s boyfriend

like the way it was phrased was weird and i havent seen anyone consider the possibility that jensen did not mean to imply that he calls misha his boyfriend? it is possible but ive been drowning in confusion about this so like. as someone who has seen more cockles content than me. what was the thought process here and how did we reach the conclusion we reached?

yes those two are essentially what he could have meant. it’s just his body language, like rubbing his thigh when he’s nervous which he did a lot before and during this answer, pausing between the two sentences to rub his thigh and look at misha who was shrugging as if ‘i don’t know’ or ‘yeah she does’ and then his body language and facial expressions when he was interrupted by the music and daniela bringing out the cake. he laughed nervously and then looked down after he said that and he was IMMEDIATELY interrupted and he looked very mad. so now we don’t know what/if he was going to say something else after that.

i don’t see why he’d say either thing tbh, like why would he want to be calling misha his wife’s boyfriend, why would he be calling himself misha’s boyfriend? both don’t make sense to me.

but i haven’t really taken it as he did admit he calls misha his boyfriend, it’s just all fun. the more likely option is that he called misha danneel’s boyfriend, that too would likely still be a joke. but i don’t think either option is more true than the other. i think most of us are just having fun with the idea.

#anon #ask

[thelibrarylesstrektraveled]

Nightingale Chapter Seventeen - All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seventeen: All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Word Count: 5279

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing! Author's Additional Notes: This is it. The last chapter. The Conclusion to my story! (There will be an epilogue to follow) I started this over a year and a half ago, and here we are, finished!! There were plenty of times I wondered if I'd ever get there. But with the steadfast encouragement of all of you, I found the inspiration and the drive. Thank all of you who read this and showered me with love. I am forever grateful!

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

     Jensen checked his watch again while he tapped his fingers against his leg trying to rid himself of the anxious energy.  You’d been in the restroom for fifteen minutes and while women tended to take longer in the bathroom, it was unusual for you.  Other girls had come and gone in that time, and he was beginning to worry.  Deciding to hell with it, he knocked loudly to announce himself and entered.

     “Y/N?  Sweetheart?  The play is starting…”

     The room was empty and something about the eerie silence sent an ominous chill down his spine.  Not a trace of you anywhere, as if you’d evaporated into thin air!  Desperate, he pushed open the stall doors and last one revealed a woman crumpled against the wall.  He recognized the scuffed sneakers as your favorites and the denim jacket with the frayed sleeves.  And the fall of golden hair.

     Frantic, he dropped to his knees, “Y/N!  Baby?!” 

     He grabbed hold of your shoulder and pulled.  Your head rolled back and revealed a deeply slit throat and a stranger’s face.

     Dead.  He could tell it at a glance, but it wasn’t you!  The poor soul had been dressed in your clothes and a very convincing blonde wig. 

     “Shit!”  Jensen scrambled to his feet and burst out of the room.  He frantically searched the crowd of people while dialing his emergency number.

      “Solomon.”

      “She’s gone!  She’s gone, you son of a bitch!  You said she was safe!”

     “We show Y/N in the ladies’ room on the east end of the pavilion.” 

      “Her clothes are there along with a fucking dead body!  He’s got her!  Fuck!”

      “Stay where you are,” the agent barked through the phone while people shuffled in the background. 

      He took off at a jog, trying to scan the faces for yours, “Like hell I will!”

      “That’s an order, Ackles!  I need details, not another missing person.  I have agents converging on your location.”

      Jensen ended the call and tried your number.  It rang several times then went to voicemail.  “Sweetheart, if you get this, just hang on.  I’m coming.  I swear to God… I’m coming to get you.”

       Consciousness came to you in fragments.  Different parts of your body were numb.  There was a pins and needles feeling that came with having been in one position for too long.  Your eyes felt dry and raw, although you hadn’t opened them yet.  Your throat felt the same and there was a really unpleasant smell coming from somewhere.  An artificial and over-powering cherry scent mixed with sour sweat.  Suddenly, your whole frame was jolted, and the side of your head connected with something cold and hard.  It was enough to pull you out of the semi-conscious daze you’d been in, your eyes popped open as your head bounced off the passenger side window. 

     You sat more upright with a groan and rubbed your head, “What…?”

     This wasn’t Jensen’s car.  The dashboard was faded blue and cracked from the sun.  An ancient radio with silver knobs played an old song from the sixties.  The cardboard cherry air freshener swinging from the rearview was at least partly to blame for the oppressive stench.  The man in the driver’s seat was to blame for the rest.

     “Pharmaceuticals have come such a long way, haven’t they?  That little trip was courtesy of a new and very effective benzodiazepine.  Administered through absorption through the skin.  Remarkable.  It’s hung up in clinical trials, but those of us with connections can still have our fun.”

     Your gaze slid to the man behind the wheel and your stomach knotted.  Now that he had his glasses on and his hair was brushed back from his face, he looked much like he did back in New York.  Large, hawk-like nose.  Sharp cheekbones, eyebrows like dark slashes over nearly black eyes. 

     “Of course, the best part is that although you looked like a drunk sorority girl, you were still wide awake inside,” his lips pulled into a disturbing grin.  “Hate for you to miss out.”

     He was right.  You’d been awake while he and that girl stripped you naked and dressed you in her clothes.  You’d been useless to fight them as they pulled a wig down on your head.  You were trapped in your own body, only able to witness the horror has he killed her right in front of you.  In your mind, you screamed while he seamlessly ushered you past Jensen and into the crowd.  Right under the noses of the undercover agents who were meant to protect you. 

     You forced your mind to focus.  Agent Solomon had gone over countless scenarios with you, and this was one of them.  You quickly took inventory and noted that every scrap of clothing had been removed or replaced.  Your tracking monitor, your cell phone, your pepper spray and pocketknife.  Anything that might have been useful was long gone. 

     Except the blue paisley tie Jensen wrapped around your wrist.  You could still feel the cool silk against your skin.  Your tether to him and a reminder that you still had access to one thing that might help you.  The fourth wall.  The stage was set, and this was just another part to play.  If you gave a convincing enough performance, you might just come out of this alive.

     “Where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled the frayed seatbelt over your shoulder and secured it.

     “Tsk, Tsk!  Telling would ruin the surprise, and you know how much I love a good surprise.”

     You scanned the scenery whizzing past and found it unfamiliar.  A two-lane road cut through thick woodland as the sun began to set.  No signs other than the occasional mile marker and warnings about rockslides.  Your ears popped, confirming you were headed to higher elevation and farther away from civilization.

      Show time.

     “Why haven’t you killed me?”  You ripped the auburn-colored wig from your head and tossed it to the floor. 

     “Do you want me to?” he returned, patting the handgun in his lap.

     Panic tried to rise like bile in your throat.  You pushed it down and snatched the half full pack of cigarettes from the dash. 

     “What I want is to wake up safe at home with a beer and left-over pizza in the fridge, but we don’t always get what we want.”

     “Beer and pizza,” Arthur repeated with a scoff.  “Sophistication never was your strong suit, Y/N.  One of Colin’s many grievances about you.”

     “What I lacked in sophistication, I made up for in eagerness.”  You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “I certainly never heard any complaints about that.”

     “Slut.  Useless whore.  No wonder you shacked up with a Hollywood scumbag like Ackles.  You probably fuck him for a weekly allowance.”  His fingers tightened around the wheel as he spoke, “Colin deserved so much better than you.”

     “Someone like you, I suppose.”  You barked out a laugh as Green turned red from the neck up, “Jesus, you’re not still carrying a torch for a dead man, are you?  That’s pathetic, Artie.  It really is.  You know he just kept you around out of pity.  Poor little Artie from the block…”

     He backhanded you right across the mouth.  Your lip split and you tasted blood.

     “Shut up!  Just shut your whore mouth!”  He grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the window, making you groan and slump in your seat.  Your vison went hazy, but you kept conscious.

     “You conniving bitch… you had to go to the feds!  If it wasn’t for that I’d have killed you quick and been done with it.  One last loose end… but not now.  Now, I get creative.  I’ll start with your little boy toy; carve his pretty face up so not even his own mother will recognize him.  Your bestie with those cute kids?  I’ll strangle her to death while they watch.”

     You didn’t say anything, waiting him out as he raged on, “Oh!  But what about your baby sister?  Frankie.  Well, let’s just say she’ll wish she’d died in that car wreck by the time I get through with her.”

     With Arthur’s rage distracting him, you saw your opening and you took it.  The cigarette was still clenched in your fist.  Your hand shot out and you crushed the glowing cherry into his face.  It sizzled and he screamed.

     He howled in pain, and you grabbed the wheel, yanking it with all your might!  The two of you fought for control and sent the truck into a spin.  The back end fishtailed, and the tires squealed.  The world went topsy turvy around you as the truck went careening off the road with a deafening crash.  Then, silence.

     “Black SUV, headed east on Market.  That’s the last we see of it until it popped up abandoned in the Whole Foods parking lot.”

     “We got the video from them?”

     “Nada.  Their surveillance system went down last week.”

     “Safe bet that was our perp.  Get the last recordings they have in the database, let’s see if Green shows his face.”

      “SUV registered to Mrs. Barbara Perkins, deceased.”

     “Naturally.  Get a trace on that name, address, bank accounts, the works.”

      Jensen had never felt more useless in his life.  While the FBI agents bustled around their make-shift headquarters, he was sitting in an office chair.  Waiting.  There was literally nothing else he could do.  They already knew what Green looked like, even disguised as a fangirl.  The pics of Jensen signing autographs went live on social media almost instantaneously.  There were all sorts of video surveillance of him walking around the park and walking a stumbling girl through the parking lot.  It was as if he was showing off.  Flaunting his deeds to the authorities who were oblivious to it all.

      Jensen felt sick at the thought of how close you were.  Green had walked you right by him and he didn’t even know it!  His mind kept going to the dead woman wearing your clothes.  Blood everywhere.  Running like a river from her slit throat.  It could have so easily been you.  It still could, and that thought chilled him to the bone.

     The video was good for one thing though, it confirmed that you had been very much alive when you left with him.  Jensen was holding on to that fact like a lifeline!  You were smart and you were a fighter.  You’d come back, you had to.  He had a whole life planned out and every day of it included you.  Marriage.  Children.  Big family Christmases.  Quiet date nights.  He even planned a proposal in Paris.  You told him you always wanted to go and making your dreams come true had become an obsession for him.  Nothing made him happy like making you happy.  His life wasn’t his own, it was forever intertwined with yours. 

      In the immortal words of his alter-ego, “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”

      When his phone rang, his heart nearly stopped.  He didn’t recognize the number, but knew it was you.  “Y/N?!”

     “Jensen!  Oh God…!”

      Agent Solomon was on him instantly to hand the phone over, he refused.  But he did put it on speaker.  “Sweetheart, where are you?  Are you okay?!”

     The connection was tenuous, making your voice fade in and out. 

     “I’m okay… not… don’t know…. Arthur crashed…”

     “Crashed?!  What happened?”

      Solomon grabbed the phone, “Doctor West, are you with Green right now?”

     “No.  We crashed…. Left…”

     “Was he alive when you saw him last?”

     “…. Unconscious… don’t…. “

      “What kind of vehicle was he driving?”

     “Blue pickup… Dairyland.”

      “Dairyland?”  Jensen repeated. 

     “AJ… 677.”

      “Wisconsin plates,” Solomon signaled to his agents to run a search.  Even fragmented information would pull up something.

     “Doctor West, do you know where you are?”

     “Highway.  I don’t… mountains.  Jay!  Its… otter… Kimmy…”

     The agent locked eyes with Jensen, “What is she talking about?”

     “I don’t know,” he shook his head.  “Kimmy who?”

     “Kim… makeup… otter tattoo.”

     It clicked for him then.  The makeup artist who designed her own tattoos, Kimmy.  She’d been quite taken with Y/N when she went to the set that day.

      “It’s Mount Harvey, the snow melt on the south face looks like an otter playing baseball.”

      “Good.  Doctor West, we’re coming to you.”

      If she heard, she didn’t reply.  The phone screen showed the call dropped.  Solomon handed the phone to one of his team to pull trace information while he barked orders.  The well-oiled team shifted into their roles.  Dispatch communicated with local authorities on every level.  One of the advantages of working with the FBI, they were practiced in the art of the manhunt.  It wasn’t a question of if they would get Green, but when.  And would it be in time?

     “Ackles, you’re with me.”

     Jensen looked up in time to catch a bulletproof vest with FBI printed across the chest. 

     “I don’t have civilians on my tactical team as a rule,” Solomon informed him, zipping up his own vest.  “But you know Y/N better than anyone, I need your insight.  Let’s move.”

     You weren’t sure how far you’d gotten or how long you’d been walking.  It seemed like forever.  That ancient truck Arthur had been driving actually turned out to be a blessing.  The frame was good, old fashioned American steel and took the brunt of the crash without much damage.  The seatbelt did its job and prevented you from being thrown through the windshield.  Although, it dug into you with enough force that you likely had a broken clavicle and possibly a dislocated shoulder.  It throbbed like a son of a bitch, but you still made out better than Green. 

     He was going over sixty miles per hour when he crashed, and he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  He was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from a deep gash on his scalp and covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield.  The doctor in you wanted to check for a pulse, but your visual assessment would have to do.  He was breathing, and that was enough.  You knew time wasn’t on your side, you needed to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

      You made a quick search of his pockets and found both a phone and a handgun.  The passenger side door was bashed in, making it impossible to escape through the door or the window.  With a quick glance to confirm your kidnapper was still unconscious, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and climbed over the dash and through the shattered windshield.  You ignored the pain of the broken glass tearing into your hands and legs. 

     You had to get out and make a run for it, it was your only chance!

     The charge on the cell was dwindling as it searched for a signal, but the fates were with you, and it connected.  The sound of Jensen’s voice nearly broke you.  You held yourself together enough to get as much information out as you could before the call dropped. 

     “No, no damn it!”  Your fingers shook as you tried to call again, only to be me with no service.  You looked around at the dense trees lining the two-lane highway and the rapidly setting sun.  Tears blurred your vision and the weight of your situation hit you in force.

     There was nowhere to go for help, you didn’t even know where you were!  The adrenaline in your system was fading and you could feel the effects of shock setting in.  Injured in a car wreck coupled with who knows what the side effects of that drug Arthur shot you up with.   You well and truly screwed.

     You bent at the waist; your hands braced on your knees as you fought the rising panic.  The blue patterned silk tied to your wrist peeked out from under your shirt cuff. 

     “Breathe, Y/N.”

     “I can’t.”

     “I’m right here, Sweetheart.  I’m with you.”

     “He’s going to kill me!”

     “You can do this, come on.  Deep breath.  In and out.”

     You closed your eyes and rubbed the silk between your finger and thumb.  Like magic, you saw the closet.  Warm and filled with color-coded clothes.  The scent of cedar and vanilla cologne and Jensen smiling. 

     “You’ve got this, Y/N.  Keep moving, keep fighting!  I’m coming for you.”

     The actor’s trick worked.  Your mind cleared and you focused.  Obviously, continuing on foot was only a decent option when you knew where you were going.  You didn’t.  Which meant it was a drain on your energy reserves.  Plus, it would make rescuing you that much more difficult for the people looking for you. 

     You eyed the woods.  It was risky, with nightfall fast approaching, you would have wildlife to contend with and falling temps, but then… so would Green.  If he came to, he’d be looking for you.  Best to make that as difficult as possible. 

     “Stronger together,” you muttered the motto that became a mantra.  Even though he wasn’t holding your hand, Jensen was still with you.  You could still count on him, to remind you what was worth fighting for. 

     With the gun heavy in your hand, you climbed down the embankment and disappeared into the forest.

     “R.C.M.P. clocked a vehicle matching Green’s heading north on 99.  Last spotted an hour ago just passing Lion’s Bay.”

     “Any confirmation on passengers?”

     “Two.  A male and a female.”

     “Given the timeframe of the crash, they couldn’t have gotten much farther than that.”

     “Any hits on the cell?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Keep trying.  If she’s on the move, we might get lucky.”

     Jensen kept quiet as he sat in the back of the SUV.  The flurry of clipped commands yielded no new information.  They were racing towards you, but there was no way to know if they would make it in time.  Jensen tugged at the tie on his wrist while his mind worked over-time.  Were you hurt?  Scared?  Running or hiding?  Were you alive? 

     God please, let her be alive!

     As if on cue, his cell phone rang.  Only once, before the call dropped, but it was your number.  And it was enough.

     “Got it!  Moving slow, heading north by northeast towards Tunnel Bluffs.”

     “We’ve got local law in the area about ten minutes out.”

     “All units converge on new coordinates, be advised our witness is currently on foot.”

     “The assailant is considered armed and dangerous, use of full and deadly force authorized for all personnel.”

     The trees on Mount Harvey were thick and grew to impressive proportions.  Massive, monolithic firs and pines that held the record for some of the biggest on Earth.  Tangles of undergrowth and roots covered every inch of the forest floor, you lost your footing more than once.  Every fall slowed you down and added to your injuries.  The sun dropped to just below the horizon and the temperature went with it.

     You leaned heavily against one of the pines to catch your breath.  Your physical reserves were nearly gone, and you knew it.  There was just enough daylight left to make out a tree a few feet away.  It had an unusual split in its trunk.  Limping and cradling your arm to ease the pressure on your shoulder, you poked around in the gap.  Mostly filled with decomposing leaves, but big enough to shelter you for the night. 

     You squeezed your body through the opening and bit back a grunt as the bark scraped your injuries.  It wasn’t comfortable, which was for the best.  Your exhausted body was already vying for sleep, anything to counter that was welcome.  The opening wasn’t wide enough to see much, but it was still a defensible position.

     Your frozen fingers flexed around the gun as your eyes worked to adjust to the darkness falling.  The weight of it in your hand was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  You were a doctor, you saved lives you didn’t take them.  Your thumb clicked off the safety as you committed to the only course of action that would leave you alive.  It would be a long night and you were damn well going to survive it. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel.”

     Your eyes popped open.  When had you shut them?  The phone in your pocket died long ago, so it was impossible to tell how long you’d been in hiding.  The woods were still.  There was no wind or sounds of scuttling wildlife.  But a child’s song, so faint you thought you’d imagined it. 

     “The monkey thought was all in fun.”

     “A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

      “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     There it was again.  Singing.  You were sure you hadn’t imagined it, it had to be Arthur.  God!  It seemed like you were making a racket!  Your breathing, your heartbeat, your eyelashes blinking rapidly as you desperately scanned the inky shadows.  Why did sound amplify in the cold and the dark?  It all seemed to be announcing your location to the man who was coming to murder you. 

     “Up and down the London road.”

     “In and out of the Eagle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     He was playing with you.  The monkey and the weasel.  Cat and mouse.  You should have kept running!  Should have kept to the road, someone would have seen you.  You would have stood a chance!  Now you were in a trap of your own making.

     “I’ve no time to plead and pine.”

     “I’ve no time to wheedle.”

     “Kiss me quick and then I’m gone.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     The echo of the woods distorted Arthur’s voice so that you had no clue where he was coming from.  Running now would do you no good.  It was too late.  The son of a bitch was closing in on you now.  Would they even be able to find your body?  Would Jensen ever know what became of you?  You should have ran the minute you remembered your name. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench.”

     “Arthur chased the doctor.”

     “The doctor thought was all in fun…”

     God, please keep him safe from the psychopath.  And Frankie!  Make sure they know I love them!  No matter what happens to me… I love you!

     “Pop!”

     Arthur.  Blood, dirt, and broken glass.  A twisted grin split his grotesque face. 

     Time stopped; a shot rang out.  Then, nothing.

     Jensen stood with the small, second group of agents investigating the crashed truck.  Two sets of footprints disappeared into the woods and the first round of FBI had already spread out into the wilderness to join the Mounties and broaden the search.

     The report of a gunshot echoed all the way back to the road.

     His blood ran cold.  “Y/N.”

     A hand went to Jensen’s Kevlar covered chest before he could move.  Bruce, the iron faced agent assigned to the actor, held him in place.

     "Let me go!"

     "Not a chance."

     "That was a fucking gunshot!"

     "Yeah, it was.  You take off now, the next one might have your name on it."

     “I don’t care!”

     "Right now, every resource we have is focused on Y/N.  You go out there and those resources get split, cutting her chance at survival in half.”

     Jensen turned away, running his hands through his hair.  “Fuck!”

     "We've all got a job to do.  Yours is communication,” Bruce put a steady hand on Jensen’s shoulder.  “You want to help your girl?   Stay put.  Be here and be ready to answer when she calls."

     Knowing Bruce was right didn't make the next hour of waiting any easier.  It was agony.  There was no word.  Not a sound from anyone.  Radio silence, Agent Bruce called it.  He seemed to think it was a positive sign, but it was driving Jensen insane.  Each minute that passed brought a horrible new thought.  A potential nightmare that could play out right in front of him.  And he was powerless to prevent it.

     He was past the end of his rope when an ambulance came into view and sped past them.  Traveling at breakneck speed up the mountain. Flashing lights bouncing off the trees and rock face. 

     Bruce held a finger to the tiny Speaker in his ear.  A grim look passed his features.

     "Let's move."

     He said nothing more.  No word on if you were alive or dead.  No hint at who that ambulance was for.  An hour ago, Jensen would have sworn he'd reached his capacity for worry and stress.  But that was nothing compared to the five minutes it took to reach the clearing.  There was a mass of people milling around.  F.B.I. he recognized and a few others outfitted in uniforms for the R.C.M.P.  That ambulance was parked off to the side, the back door was closed but the lights were still flashing.  Several other official looking vehicles showed up, including one for the coroner’s office. 

     Jensen was out of the car before Bruce even put it in park.  He caught the slender build of Frank Solomon, casually talking to a couple of other agents by the rail guard.  The son of a bitch was acting like he’d completed a milk run!  Jensen’s nostrils flared with rage as he made a direct path for him.

     The young man looked up, seemingly unphased by the Texan’s aggressive approach.

     "Ackles.”

     "Where is she?!"

     Solomon’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t his voice that was heard.  A shrill, terrified scream came from inside the ambulance, cutting through the night.

      "Jensen!"

     He'd spent fifteen years stepping into the boots of Dean Winchester.  Fighting monsters.  Some you could see, some you couldn't.  But no matter how close he was to the hero he portrayed; it was still an act.  Though there were plenty of times he’d wished it were real.  Wished he were more like the enigmatic man in the ’67 Chevy.  The man who always knew what to do.  The man who always saved the day.

     And yes, he would let his ‘Dean’ show from time to time.  That was a blurred line that proved useful more than once.  But in that moment when you screamed for him, there was no line.  There was no Dean, there was clarity. 

     Solomon got exactly one word out, “Wait…”  

     Jensen pulled back his fist and punched him square in the face, knocking him on his ass.

     He ran to that ambulance.  On a mission and with one purpose, he tore the door open.  

     You were sitting on a gurney, struggling against the medic who was trying to keep you from bolting.  Bruised and bloody.  But breathing!  The second you saw him, you went still, your bottom lip quivered.

     “Jensen.”

     The medic proved smarter than the F.B.I. agents and moved out of the way, allowing Jensen the room to take you in his arms.  That was when you broke completely.  Sobbing and desperately clinging to him like a child.  You weren’t sure how you got there.  One minute you were in that tree being stalked by a killer, the next you were being bundled into an ambulance.  It was so surreal!  It wasn’t until you heard Jensen on the other side of the door that you snapped.  Reality crashed over you, and you couldn’t breathe. 

     Jensen tried to will his own panic away.  You were alive.  He had you.  Bloody and trembling, but in his arms.  He could hear himself telling you soothing things.  Comforting words that he would never be able to recall later.  He was sure you couldn’t understand him anyway, you were crying so hard that your whole body shook. 

     But his voice was a balm, the timbre of it washed over you.  After a time, the raw shock wore through to numbness.  You drew a shuddering breath and tried to speak. 

     “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice coming from just over your head.  “I’m right here.”

     You released your death grip on Jensen’s jacket and snuck a look at your hands.  There were burn marks there from the gun powder.  Across the clearing, two men were maneuvering a stretcher over the gravel.  A black body bag was strapped to the top.

     “I killed him.”

     Jensen gently brushed the tangled hair away from your face.  His gaze followed yours to the body being taken away.  It could have so easily been you.  He rubbed his hand down your back and tucked your head under his chin.

     “Don’t look, baby.  Don’t think about it.  Never again.”

     The EMT reappeared, insisting that you go to the hospital.  He listed a number of injuries that needed attention.  Including another fucking concussion.

     You managed a weak laugh, “Look at us, right back where we started.”

     “At least you didn’t drown this time, your average is improving,” Jensen said, kissing your forehead.

     With practiced efficiency, the medic had you secured and ready for transport.  Just as the door was about to shut, Frank Solomon appeared.  His jaw was discolored and starting to swell where Jensen landed his punch. 

     Jensen smirked, “Back for round two?”

     “The ambulance is already at capacity, let’s not chance it.”  Solomon’s dark eyes shifted to you.  The arrogance drained away, and he seemed softer.  Almost repentant. 

      “Doctor West, I wanted to let you know that the death of Arthur Green officially closes this case.  You are no longer under any obligation to the F.B.I. for any purpose and you are free to resume your life.”

     “You won’t need me to make a statement?”

     “We have everything we need.  And I have to say, without your cooperation and your bravery, we never would have gotten Green let alone shut down the drug ring.  This victory is yours.”

     “I shot a man.  Deserved or not, that doesn’t feel particularly victorious.”

     Solomon blinked slowly, “You didn’t shoot Arthur Green.”

     “What?”

     “Barely clipped his shoulder, but I hardly call that a shot,” the agent shrugged, his casual manner back in place.  “One of the Mounted Police got him… Roberts, I think.  One clean shot to the head.  Green was dead before he hit the ground.”

     You could have lived with the death on your conscience, knowing it had been self-defense.  But the fact that you didn’t have to, freed you.  Well and truly.  Lightness settled in where guilt had been only a moment ago.  Words failed you.  An astonished gasp left your lips, and you let you head rest against Jensen’s shoulder.

     “Goodbye, Doctor West.  Mr. Ackles.”  Solomon shut the door and thumped it twice. 

     The ambulance slowly rolled away to begin its descent down the mountain.  Jensen’s hand found yours under the emergency blanket tucked over your lap.

     “It’s over.”

     “Yeah, it’s all over, Sweetheart” he murmured, kissing your temple.

     You and Jensen would talk about the incredible circumstances of how you got together often over the years.  You would muse on the workings of fate and God’s grand plan.  You would wonder at the impossibility of it all. 

     Surely, there must have been an easier way for two lost souls to meet.

     But then, meeting wouldn’t have been enough.  The two of you were drowning; separately but equally.  The miserable details of your own lives were pulling you under like a riptide.  It was so all-consuming that you couldn’t break free.  You weren’t strong enough, not alone. 

     It was like Jensen said that day in your old apartment, make a different choice.  The two of you chose to save each other.  But you also chose to let yourself to be saved.  It wasn’t passive and it wasn’t by chance.  It was a decision.  Perhaps not always an easy one, but it had power. 

     Love does conquer all, but only if you choose it.  TagList @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @deanwwinchester

#jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #spn fic #supernatural #Nightingale

[unmeisenshi]

EPISODE BECK/MISHA

The pair ran towards the outskirts of town, a menacing outline of a Dynamax Centiskorch filling the horizon. The ashes falling grew larger as they got closer, and Misha began growing worried about the destruction that inevitably awaited them.

The pair arrived at a small town. The buildings were engulfed in flames, deceased Pokemon littered the ground - some in multiple pieces - and one Pokemon screamed as his body was drowned in fire. The sight made Misha sick to his stomach, eventually leading to him needing to stop and throw up.

"Gods..." Beck looked in horror, only to stop walking up on seeing his mate keeled over and dry heaving after emptying the contents of his stomach on the ground. "Misha, you okay?"

"Y-Yeah..." Misha responded. "This smell... It's nauseating..."

"Agreed... Let's-" The Feraligatr started talking, but heard the sound of their target approaching them. "Misha..."

"One second... I need to-" Misha looked up, seeing the huge size of the Centiskorch in front of them. "Holy... We have to fight that?"

The Centiskorch wasted no time, and charged at the pair. Beck threw Misha off to the side, and fired a Water Gun at it. The massive Pokemon recoiled and retreated, giving Beck and Misha a chance to breathe.

The Feraligatr rushed to the Ninetales' side, the latter now covered in dirt and soot. Misha would attempt to use some of his ice abilities, but they would fizzle out. Beck looked at Misha with worry. "Hun, what's wrong?"

"It's far too hot here. I can't use my ice; It's just melting the moment I conjure it." Misha looked up to see the Centiskorch back again. "I've got an idea! With me!"

Misha led Beck behind a building, the latter once again firing a Water Gun to deter the Centiskorch. Once hidden, Misha continued. "Okay... Can you send a ball of water up and burst it to make it rain?"

Beck thought for a moment, breathing heavily. "Make it rain, put the fire out. Okay. But... What about you?"

Misha looked outside, and sighed. "I'll distract it. Run around town to keep it away from you."

Beck shook his head. "Are you serious!? No way! But what if you-"

"I'll be fine, Beck! We don't have time to decide on this!" The Ninetales took a moment to grab Beck's head, and nodded to him. "Trust me, hun."

The Feraligatr would remain quiet for a beat, before nodding. "O-Okay... You're right. I just... I don't want to lose you, or see you get hurt again." Beck paused and pointed to the flask on Misha's hip. "Let me see your jug."

Misha would oblige, and Beck would quickly fill it up with a Water Gun from his hand. "If the Centiskorch gets close, throw some of that water on it. It'll buy you some time."

The Ninetales nodded. "Thanks, Beck. You ready?"

"Ready." Beck said, beginning to form a ball of water in his hands. Misha then sprinted outside, and stared down the Centiskorch. "Hey!"

The large Pokemon turned to face Misha, and began chasing him down. He then began sprinting away from it. Through the small pathways of the town, Misha ran. Ran as fast as his legs allowed him to. The Centiskorch would smash through some empty buildings, and nearly got close to Misha, but he would stop the large Pokemon with a drench of water before continuing to run.

After some time, Misha's legs began to burn and his chest began to ache from the amount of running he was doing. He was slowing down considerably, sweat and dirt matted his fur, and he nearly stumbled over from exhaustion. But Beck would finally be ready, throwing a very large orb of water into the air, which then burst and began raining down over the town.

Misha stopped and turned, noting the distance between him and the Centiskorch and letting the rain put the fire out around him. He spread his arms, and used Blizzard directly at the Centiskorch. The large insect would charge at Misha, intending to consume the Ninetales. But due to the distance it began to slow down, and icicles formed on its body. Misha continued staring down the large Pokemon, with it freezing solid right in front of him.

"Take this!" Misha seemed to skate backwards, and skated forward with great speed. He headbutted the now frozen Centiskorch, and it shattered into hundreds of shards of ice. Misha would then fall backwards from exhaustion, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

Beck came running out, kneeling next to Misha and grabbing his hand. "Misha! Hun, are you alright?"

After some time, one of the Ninetales' eyes opened, and his free hand gave a thumbs up. "Never better..." Misha's hand flopped down on the ground. "Good work... With that water ball... Cooooooould've had it a bit sooner, but I'll let it slide... This time." Misha playfully teased.

Beck chuckled. "I'll work on it for the next time we end up in this situation. It was one hell of a plan you put together, I have to say."

The Ninetales chuckled back. "It wasn't my best. But it worked." After a brief pause, Misha slowly sat up, his arms shaking as he did so. He grunted in pain, and he looked at Beck. "In the future... Don't let me do that, yeah?"

Beck nodded, and lightly patted Misha's chest. A drop of sweat slowly fell down the back of his head. "Well, we'll have to wait and see once Isaak returns from Jirachi's place. Let's get out of here so we can lay you down on something comfortable, yeah?"

Misha nodded, and motioned to Beck to teleport the two out of the small city, which he did soon after. The town then fell into silence once again."

#out of the box: beck #too much is never enough: misha #act vii: wish the worst

[superbattrash]

2 seconds away from a damn anxiety attack in my own home

#I can’t fucking breathe I #I don’t know what to do?? #I don’t know who to call and my caseworker is useless #why is it so hard to get a new social security number? #why can’t anybody fucking help me #I’ve spoken to every fucking person in the system #and nobody can help #I can’t breathe and I feel like I’m drowning #Jesus fucking Christ W H Y #won’t this shit work #I can’t DO ANYTHING #I don’t exist #I am so frustrated I just wanna cry #misha rants

[nerves-nebula]

which ones? Maureno & groe & Etik or Loose Stitches? (Or one of the secret obscure ones like Marcus or Toasty)

Literally all of them. They are all so *scream’s unintelligibly*

(Less so Marcus and Toasty, because I stopped being able to read a bit into looking at them, but still!!!)

The tone of them and their stories, the subject matter, their relationships, their designs-

*inhale*

I am most drawn to Maureno, Quinn, Misha, and Atchkie tho

OUGH sorry for NOT ANSWERING it got drowned by a buncha other asks BUT I SUPER APPRECIATE YOU liking my OC's makes me all WARM and FUZZY

#ask #nnstuff #asks are sweethearts #nnoc

[about-faces]

oh man the stuff with his dad is... Something. TW for abuse and being apologetic towards abusers.

Misha!Harv's dad is given a completely made up thing called 'identity dysmorphia' and they try to equate love-bombing that abusers do as "actual" love. Like that his dad was a 'really good person who really loved Harvey' he just was... mentally ill. Idk as someone who's been through abuse and had love-bombing done to me, I dont think any mental illness would be excuse enough for me to forgive them? I remember the psychologist telling him to forgive his dad, i'm not sure if that was said verbatim could be misremembering, but as someone who is working towards being a therapist that is something you do NOT tell a survivor to do.

Ohhhhhh boy then I’m definitely gonna have shit to unpack with this when I see it. Time to overshare a bit!

My Dad was an alcoholic, and while he was never physically abusive beyond threats, he would vacillate between syrupy sweetness and adoration of me one moment and bitter, resentful abuse the next and back again, with no warning or acknowledgement. I’m sure my dad had some undiagnosed disorder on top of the alcoholism, which just twisted and magnified his issues that were already present.

My own therapist can’t really understand how living with this fucked me up, or at least I feel like I can never explain what it was really like. It’s why I kept going back to Eye of the Beholder and Crime & Punishment all these decades, because they capture the experience better than anything I’ve seen outside of Immortal Hulk. And even there, the father was just a monster. Whereas Harvey’s dad in those stories always struck me as more like my own: a man who did, in his own way, have genuine love… but it was twisted by something inside even before it was drowned in booze.

(What’s really fucked up is that I think I actually DO forgive him… but that only happened with a decade of him being dead and the gradual acceptance that my mother was worse and more damaging to me than he was.)

Which is to say, I may well have some huge problems with this take on Harvey’s dad when I see it. But it sounds like there’s at least more to chew on here than in most of the other (very few) takes on the abuse which acknowledge it happened but minimize it to just a violent monster, without the Jekyll/Hyde factor of alcoholism meeting unexamined mental illness.

And while I don’t expect the show to do this, I think it WOULD be valid to have a story with some well-meaning, dangerously-misguided therapist pushing for forgiveness, which is where EotB’s Gilda can come in and say “fuck that, he’s a monster, he’ll never change.”

#abuse #child abuse #alcoholism #child abuse cw #abuse cw #abuse tw #child abuse tw

[figureskatingfanblog]

Yet More 22-23 Program Music Choices

Men

Kazuki Tomono (JPN) - SP: “Real Gone” by Sam Taylor/”Happy” by C2C;  FS: “Die Fledermaus (Overture)” by Johann Stauss; both choreographed by Misha Ge

Yuma Kagiyama (JPN) - SP: “Believer” by Imagine Dragons; choreography by Shae-Lynn Bourne; FP: “Rain In Your Black Eyes” by Ezio Bosso; choreography by Lori Nichol

Tatsuya Tsuboi (JPN) - FP: “Torn (Redux)” by Nathan Lanier; choreography by Massimo Scali

Kao Miura (JPN) - FP: “Phantom of the Opera”; choreography by Kohei Yoshio

Shun Sato (JPN) - SP: “Carol of the Bells” by Lindsay Sterling, choreography by Yuka Sato

Nozumo Yoshioka (JPN) - FP: “Pirates of the Caribbean”

Sena Miyake (JPN) - SP: “Liebesträume”

Koshiro Shimada (JPN) will be reusing his 21-22 FP.

Women

Marin Honda (JPN) - SP: “Rich Man’s Frug” from Sweet Charity; FP: Moulin Rouge Soundtrack

Mana Kawabe (JPN) - SP: “When the Party’s Over/Bad Guy/Buy a Friend” by Billie Eilish; FP: “Drowning” by Anne Sila; both choreographed by Mihoko Higuchi

Rinka Watanabe (JPN) - FP: OST from “Jin”

Amber Glenn (USA) - FP: “Without You” by Ursine Vulpine & Annaca; choreography by Misha Ge

Kaori Sakamoto (JPN) - SP: “Rock With U”/”Feedback” by Janet Jackson; choreography by Rohene Ward; FP: “Elastic Heart” by Sia; choreography by Marie-France Dubreil

Mai Mihara (JPN) - SP: “Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence” by Ryuichi Sakamoto, choreography by David Wilson

Wakaba Higuchi (JPN) - SP: “Never Tear Us Apart” by Bishop Briggs, choreography by Shae-Lynn Bourne

Rino Matsuike (JPN) - SP: “Papa Can You Hear Me” by Barbara Streisand; choreography by Noriko Sato; She will be reusing her 21-22 FP.

Yuhana Yokoi (JPN) - SP: “Kalandero”

Rion Sumiyoshi (JPN) - SP: “White Flowers Take Their Bath” by Meredi

Pairs Skating

Sofia Holichenko / Artem Darenskiy (UKR) will be reusing their SP from 2022 Worlds.

Miyu Yunoki / Shoya Ichihashi (JPN) - SP: “Black Car”

Ice Dance

Emilea Zingas / Vadym Kolesnik (USA) - RD: Conga/Tan Sola

Misato Komatsubara / Tim Koleto (JPN) - RD: Loca

#figure skating #program music choices #pairs skating #ice dancing

[sapphyreopal5]

Sapphyreopal5 Blog Index 1

Welcome to my page! Please before you ask any questions about this, stop here first as I may have already answered your question in another post. On this index I linked to the posts I primarily write about on my blog. This includes spiritual related topics such as about how incarnations work, my own experiences, divine blueprints, dream-walking, some pagan mythology (particularly Norse), etc. I also write a lot about some celebrities, particularly from the show Supernatural. This page will get updated over time.

Sapphyreopal5 Index Page 2

Sapphyreopal5 Index Page 3 (Supernatural Part 1)

Sapphyreopal5 Index Page 4 (Supernatural Part 2)

Spiritual Experiences

Yes, I'm the Queen of Faye

Meeting Faye King

Gone from Earth for a Year (Stasis Walk-In) 

Seeing through Jensen Ackles' eyes (2008) "Heaven & Hell"

Vanalfheim = Vanaheim and Alfheim

Spirituality

Note to Skeptics

How Incarnations Work 

10 Unpopular Spiritual Truths

Types of Seers

Reptilians Ask (An Honorable YT Mention YAY)

Reality Shifting

Soulmates and Soul Crossings- "Be Careful What You Wish For"

Who are They an Incarnation of?

Jensen Ackles

Jared Padalecki

Jennifer "Genevieve" Padalecki

Nicky Minaj

Tom Hiddleston

Nikola Tesla

Dreamwalking vs Dreaming

Jotunheim = SPN's "The Bad Place"

Reportage (Dreamwalking)

Me, A Worlds Traveler Dreamwalker

Night-time Tree Fractal

Faye Realm (Arcturus)

Faye Realm 2

Fairy on the Moon

Manifestations

Reddit Blackout (posted 5/23, manifested 6/21)

Ganesh Peacock Drawing (Drawn 3/26, Manifested 8/29)

Rust Divine Blueprints (May 5), Jensen Pulls out of Rust 5/17)

Ankylosaurus Zuul (Pendulum Reading Jun 29, Tarot Reading Jul 19, FanX 9/22)

A Walk on the Dark Side (11/18/2023), Gen's Lost Apothecary (11/21/2023)

Friday the 13th SPN Magazine (posted 11/18/2023), 13s Galore at the Gala (Rewatched Anson's IG story from 11/12/2023 on 11/21/2023)

Walker Tarot Reading Post 11/27/2023, FBBC Riptide Society Event Ad 11/28/2023

Tornado Dream SPNHi Con 11/19/2023, Tornado Nashcon 2023

Gen Padalecki Black Magic Post written at work (guides INSISTED) Apr 2022 car accident mentioned (3/27/2024), car accident near job morning 3/28/2024

Orangey sky paintings watching 2 Jared Padalecki movies while painting each (1/21/2024 and 1/22/2024), Gen post with "If the Sky Were Orange"

Foods that make you bloat inc. Broccoli search 1:39pm EST, 1 hourish later Gen broccoli bouquet post 2:46pm EST (1/31/2024)

Divine Blueprints

What are Divine Blueprints

Black Magic

Cloud Nine

Rust Tragedy

Didn't meet Jensen

Divination

Tarot

Tips on Reading Tarot Easier

Picking a deck

Tarot Requests (Will Only Accept Certain Requests at My Discretion Thanks!)

Declined Hellers & Destiel Tarot Request

Accepted Tarot Request 1

Accepted Tarot Request 2

Matthew Perry & Jensen Ackles: Connected through Drownings, Addiction, and Batman?

GTFO My Page

Can't be factual

Just no, Jensensgroupie

Be a blind skeptic

You're an AA

Psycho Misha stan

Misha & J2 Besties LOL

Can't see Misha is a liar

Abi the creeper

Woke shit (use a dictionary, "can't use words literally")

#index #sapphyreopal5 #anti jenneel #anti danneel #spn family #divination #incarnations #psychic #god's plan #The Khala #anti spn prequel #anti aas #anti jensen stans #deities #pendulum divination #tarot readings #akashic records #supernatural #anti woke