#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

PSA from a fandom con photographer

As some of you know, I'm a con photographer. A while back, a bunch of us joined a group chat together, and we talk about all things cons and photography in there. Recently, the subject of photo theft has come up again, but this time a new comment was made and that's why I'm here.

In the past, I've heard photographers express frustration about people reposting our photos with watermarks cropped out or otherwise removed. Sometimes, these photos are edited further and someone else's watermark slapped on top of it. This is disrespectful, at best, and really offends the original photographer. Usually, this is done in an effort to gain clout online, and not for any artistic reasons. This is not what I'm here to talk about.

I know that a lot of folks on Tumblr use con photos for fic headers and aesthetics and such, especially for RPF fics. (Because we can totally tell whether a photo is Jensen or Dean, even with the background edited out, he's just that good.) It's come to my attention that some photographers would be REALLY uncomfortable with their art being used this way. They don't read fic, they don't understand it, or they just don't want their art used in a way that misinterprets the moment captured in the photo, even if it's fiction.

We need to respect this.

How do we feel when someone reblogs our fics and uses it to prop up an argument about our characters that we disagree with? We feel kinda shitty. That's how photographers feel when their photos are used in ways they weren't consulted about.

How do we fix this?

When you search Google and find an image from a con, do a reverse lookup on that image and AT LEAST TRY to find the original photographer. If the photo has been taken in the last year or so, you can come to me and see if I know who took it, too.

Ask that photographer if they are okay with you using their image in the way you intend. I know this is a pain, but remember how you'd feel if someone used your art without asking permission!

Many times, if you ask, the answer will be yes. Sometimes, it may be no. Please respect the answer you receive.

If you honestly try and can't find the photographer, then at least put a comment captioning this on the post where you use the photo. If you make a good faith effort and express this in your caption, that at least lets us know that you tried.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask me!

Personal note from me: If you like any of my photos, you are welcome to use them. I know I don't make the best photos in the fandom, so this isn't much, but it's there.

Also, "credit to Google" or "I found this on Google" is not credit. Google does not create images. Google only indexes them.

Just remember that there is a person behind every image and piece of art you find on Google.

Also, if you don't contact the artist/photographer, how does that person know that you liked their work? They don't. This is the same as if someone reads your fic but doesn't hit the heart or reblog it. Personally, I LOVE getting asked about my photos the same way I love hearing feedback on my fics. Let your photographer know you love their work!

I've been asked about screen grabs and gifs. I'm referencing just those photos taken by people at cons. Screengrabs and gifs also take talent to create, so if you can find out who made them and give them credit, that's awesome. Photos taken from the star's Twitter or IG....that's a good question. Credit would go to them, but they are impossible to ask if they mind. An argument could also be made that they know what might happen to any photo they put out there. (Maybe put a link to the original as credit?)

It was only recently that I saw someone comment about their photo being used to apply a narrative to Jensen based on his facial expression in the photo, and a brief mention of fic happened right after that, and I just got the feeling that certain photographers would not be pleased to know how we use their photos, sometimes.

As far as I know, no photographer has found their photo in a fic header and complained. But based on what was said, if they did, they might not be happy. And not just because most photos used in a fic header end up being further edited to make it work with the header, beyond cropping. For instance, an asexual photographer might feel icky about their photo being used as a header for a smut fic.

TL;DR - Credit your photographers in your headers, edits, and mood boards when at all possible. Make the effort to contact them and ask for permission. Some may give you blanket permission as I have. Some may not. Either way, this is their art that you're manipulating, so please respect it.

steps off soap box Thank you for listening!

#mrswhozeewhatsis writes #incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #please credit your photographers and artists and screengrabbers and gifmakers #blessed are the gifmakers

[spnfanficpond]

November 2020 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

WELCOME TO THIS MONTH’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. Everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that this fun, thoughtful award will do just that.

Be sure to read through this whole post as people who were nominated more than once only had one tag activated for tumblr tagging purposes!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE THIS MONTH’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nominated by @firefly-in-darkness

Stolen by @princessmisery666

It was funny and silly, and a little romantic too! 

Better by @negans-lucille-tblr 

So soft and cute and lovely

Home by @negans-lucille-tblr

I loved the romance and the thought of Dean as an American soldier in England made me swoon immediately!! Their wistful and heartfelt relationship had me all puddly and fluffy for sure 

Beautiful Ghosts by @herstarburststories

Oh my this is raw and magical at the same time. The words painted incredible imagery of love and grief.

.

Nominated by @supernatural-jackles

I Got You by @luci-in-trenchcoats

I love this story so much. This fic has such a wide range of emotions that had me on my toes the entire time I was reading. The panic and worry that came with the frantic phone call. The love that was so clearly between Jensen and the reader, but never spoken about. It was a friendship that most dream of having. Reading that in this story was what made it even better. Their friendship meant everything to both of them. Their friendship kept them close, even when significant others didn’t like it. It’s one of those stories that keep you wanting more after it’s done. It makes you think about all the possibilities. It was an amazing story to read!

.

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis​ 

A Lot Like Us (series) by @percywinchester27​ 

I am SO HOOKED on this series, guys! There’s so much angst, but it’s all the good kind that you know is all gonna work out in the end, so you can really sink into it and enjoy it. Professor Sam does things for me, and add to it that he’s a lawyer and [redacted for spoilers] and then [redacted for spoilers]!!! UGH. I’m dead. I love this whole world and everyone in it!!

.

Nominated by @katelynw93​ 

Ablaze (series) by @ellewritesfix05​ 

I've really enjoyed that series so far, even if it only as a few chapters, I think it has a lot of potential. It's well written and I can really relate to how the reader is feeling; they're very believable and realistic feelings. Plus, I'm a sucker for firefighter!Dean. :)

.

Nominated by @emilyshurley​ 

Life’s Lessons by @deangirl93​ 

I just love the relationship the reader has with Dean and other characters. Like she has a life of her own, friends, relationships. I don’t know, I just love her character.  

Love Me Or Leave Me by @princessmisery666​ 

The angst in this one!!! Ah!!!!

The Beard (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr​ 

I absolutely like the chemistry Y/N and Jensen have, it's one of those fics where even if the reader doesn’t end up with the boys, I’ll still be satisfied as long as she stays friends with them.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

These are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

#angel fish awards #angel fish awards masterlist #spnfanficpond #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fan fic #spn fanfic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #fic rec #spn fic rec #supernatural fic rec #incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[winchesterprincessbride]

Still I Rise-Part 2

Characters: Reader, Kara (OC) sister of the reader, Reader’s Mother, Susan.(OC)  Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

*Warning* This part has graphic depictions of drunk driving and its aftermath.  You have been warned! 

Master List

Introduction

They said I should be brain-dead. After the direct hit from the lightning, I was in full cardiac arrest and by the time the ambulance arrived and they restarted my heart, I had been down for close to 15 minutes.

But they managed to shock my heart in the ambulance, and when I regained consciousness the next day, I was fine.  The doctors couldn’t explain it.  I was discharged two days later.

I was the center of attention for a while because all the kids wanted to hear the story of how I was struck by lightening.  But then everyone moved on and things went back to normal.

Things got better for me as I got older. I finally grew out of my tomboy stage, grew some boobs and a butt, and the boys began to notice.  I made friends and by high school, I wasn’t the loner I was at twelve.  I finally started to feel normal.

On the night of my sixteenth birthday, something happened that made me begin to wonder if I truly was normal.  That was the night I died for the second time

A group of us had gone over to my friend Jenny’s house for a party. Jenny’s boyfriend Todd had swiped some beer from his Dad’s cooler and we all got drunk in honor of my birthday.

April had driven us there and she swore she was okay to drive home. So just after midnight April, Lindsey, Margaret and I piled into April’s car for the drive home.

“You’re such a lightweight Linds, I can’t believe you puked!“ April said with a laugh as she backed out of Jenny’s driveway.

We were singing along with the radio at the top of our lungs when I noticed that April kept swerving into the other lane.

“Watch where you’re going, Apes!” I scolded.

“Don’t be a backseat driver!” She shot back.  

“I’m in the front, idiot!” I replied with a grin.

None of us saw the other car.  I don’t even remember the crash. all I remember is the flash of headlights, the sound of someone screaming, then silence.

When I came to, it was eerily quiet.  April’s car was lying upside down in the middle of the road, the tires still spinning. I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and the impact had thrown me through the windshield. I was lying on the ground in front of the car.

I caught sight of April behind me. She was hanging halfway out of the car, covered in blood. I tried to get up to go to her, but I seemed to be having trouble breathing. I looked down and noticed a large jagged piece of metal protruding from my chest. I didn’t hesitate. I had to get to my friends. I grabbed the metal and slowly pulled it from my chest. Blood poured from the wound. I flung it aside and began to stagger towards the car.  

I took a step and feel to my knees.  My vision began to gray around the edges, and I felt like I was breathing underwater. I tried to speak, to call for help, but my voice was a wordless croak.  My last memory was choking on my own blood.

And then it was loud and bright and everything hurt.  I was disoriented for a moment, but then I saw my Mom’s face in front of me, and she was crying.

“It’s alright, Y/N.  You were in an accident, but you’re going to be fine.  Just calm down.”

I began to hyperventilate. “But there was metal in my chest, and I was choking…..” I babbled incoherently. “I couldn’t breathe, so I pulled it out.  Is everyone okay?”

“Oh Honey…..” My Mom began, and I knew, my friends were all dead.  My hand moved up to touch my chest.  There was no bandage.  No stitches. Nothing.  

I was the only survivor of the head-on collision that killed my three friends plus the driver of the other car.  And the doctors couldn’t explain how aside from some cuts and bruises, I had no serious injuries.  I stopped telling them about the piece of metal I’d pulled from by chest because that just made them whisper words like “survivor’s guilt”, and they would sedate me.  But I know what I saw.

The summer before I left for college I had an after-school job, a steady boyfriend, and a decent life.  I was all caught up in preparing to leave for college in August, and I was so excited! I couldn’t wait to blow this town for good!

My family always spent a week in the summer at our cabin in the mountains.  I tried everything I could to get out of going this year because I didn’t want to leave my boyfriend.  But this was the first summer since my Dad had died, so I knew I really needed to be there.

“Come on Y/N! This is our last year together as a family! Next year you’ll be a college girl, and you’ll be too busy to go!” My mother argued. Dad’s sudden death from a stroke last year had left us all reeling.  I wanted to be there for my Mom and sister.

The first nights at the cabin were surprisingly relaxing.  I had forgotten how secluded it was.  We slept, took long walks in the woods, and swam in the lake. At night I would sit on the porch and listen to the wolves howl.  They sounded very close.

On Thursday night, Mom didn’t come back from her evening walk.  Kara and I were starting to panic when we heard footsteps on the porch.

“See, I told you she was fine!” I said to Kara.

The front door burst open and this….this person entered the cabin. I use the term person loosely.  He had huge sharp fangs, and claws on his hands and glowing yellow eyes.  And he was so strong. I told Kara to run and I would distract it.

I tried to keep it focused on me, but when Kara tried to run he grabbed her.  I watched him rip my sister’s throat out right in front of me.  I tried to pull it off her but then it went after me.

Its claws were like razors, and it sliced open a jagged cut in my arm.  The monster had managed to get me on the ground and was going in for the kill when a man I didn’t know stepped through the door.  He shot the creature several times, and it let go of me and fell to the floor, dead.

“Are you okay?” He asked, holding out a hand to help me up.

“What the hell was that thing?”

“A werewolf.” He replied, walking over to my sister’s body and checking it.  “Who is this?”

“It’s my sister, Kara.  He killed her.  My Mom never came back from her walk.” I said numbly.

“Her body is outside.  He got her too.” He told me quietly.

“So werewolves are real?” I said numbly.

“And ghosts, and demons, and angels.  It’s all real. I know this is a lot to take in.  What’s your name?” He asked.  “I’m Jim.”

“Y/N.  How did you get here so quickly, Jim?” I asked.

“I’ve been tracking this wolf for a few days.  I’m a hunter.  I hunt monsters.  I know this is hard, but I need to burn the bodies.  Can you help me?”

I nodded without speaking.  As Jim and I stood in front of the fire watching my mother’s and sister’s bodies burn, he said to me, “Is there someone I can call for you?”

I thought of my boyfriend back home, of about how I was supposed to start college in a few weeks.  But none of that mattered now.  Jim had just opened a whole new world for me, and maybe this world held the key to explaining what I was.

“No.  I want to stay with you. I want to learn about monsters.  I want to know everything.”

“Are you sure? I can show you, but you won’t like what you see.” He replied with sad, haunted eyes. I nodded slowly.

That was the day I left my old life behind and became a hunter.

(Part 3)

@skybinx-blog @percywinchester27 @a-sea-of-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it@fangirl1802 @pinknerdpanda  @atc74@jayankles  @notnaturalanahi @midnightjazzmine @moonlitskinwalker @we-are-band-sexuals @winchestergirl-love @gecko9596 @ronnie248-blog@essie1876 @bohowitch@just-another-busy-fangirl @kittenofdoomage @oriona75 @jotink78 @captainradicalpassion @keelzythe2nd @disneymarina @mrswhozeewhatsis @growningupgeek

#supernatural #supernatural series #supernatural family #spn #spn fandom #spn fanfic #spn fan #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #supernatural hunters #spn hunters #spn family #spn fangirl #spn fanficpond #spnfanficpondjellyfish #jellyfish writes #spnfangirl #spn series #sam angst #supernatural angst #winchester brothers #winchester boys #castiel #the bunker #winchesterprincessbride #stillirise

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

You know what guys? Don't do this. Just don't.

Fan fiction is like a gift from your favorite aunt. Let's say that the gift is socks. In the beginning, Auntie Writer gives you the socks, and you're like, "Oh, cool! I needed more socks, and I was gonna go buy socks, but now you gave me socks, so I don't have to!" The socks are awesome.

Every couple of days, Auntie Writer gives you more socks. At first, this is great! You'll never have to buy socks again! And there's such a variety! Different colors, different patterns, different fabrics, some are aloe-infused spa socks while others are soft, fluffy socks.

After a while, though, you start wishing that Auntie Writer would give you something other than socks. You have enough socks. You have all the socks and she just keeps giving you socks. You really want to ask her to give you anything but socks.

Now, I don't know about your parents/grandparents/guardians, but when I was growing up, I was taught that you never complain about a gift. The best way to steer your dear Aunt away from giving you more socks is to hint around at it, while being VERY appreciative of the socks. "Hey, Auntie Writer! I very much appreciate all the socks you've given to me! Thank you so much! My feet will be warm forever! In other news, have you heard about this new thing I just learned about called sandwiches? I'm really into sandwiches, these days. Have you tried them? I'm a sucker for a good meatball sub." At no point do you actually ask for something other than socks. That's just rude.

Think about how you would feel if someone complained about the socks you gave to them? You searched high and low for those socks! You picked out their favorite color, worked hard to find a variety of styles and fabrics, and then you get critiqued on something you gave as a gift? That's just rude, right?

What I screenshotted up there? That's just rude.

Yes, fan fiction can be like socks from your favorite aunt, but remember, Auntie Writer IS STILL YOUR FAVORITE AUNT. Do you really want to hurt her? By hurting her, you ensure that you won't get any more socks, but you're not going to get sandwiches, either. You'll get nothing.

If you want to see something different than socks, ask them if they've heard about this new thing called sandwiches. Tell them you would love to try a sandwich that they made because you just know they'd knock it out of the park!

Fan fiction is a GIFT. No matter how common that gift may seem to you, the giver has put a lot of thought and consideration into that gift, and it means something to them. Don't be rude. Be grateful. Be thankful. Be appreciative.

If you can't be appreciative, then be quiet. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #this has been a PSA #writing is hard

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Perfect

A/N: I actually wrote something!! Hallelujah!! Special thanks to @negans-lucille-library for beta reading and putting up with all of my questions!!

Summary: Life with Dean is perfect.

Pairing: Dean x reader (I believe this reader is pretty gender neutral, so I hope some guys out there get to read this and enjoy it, too!)

Warnings: None, really. Mostly fluff. Bit of angst.

Word count: 3497 words

Prompt: For the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 19. I used one prompt. It will be bolded. Not listing it here because spoilers.

Two machetes swung in unison, lopping off two vampire heads and leaving you looking at the proud face of your husband as the bodies fell between you. A beam of sunlight burst through a broken board in the roof of the barn and lit up dust motes in the air around Dean’s head, making him look positively resplendent. You grinned at each other before each of you motioned over the other’s shoulder, and then both spun away, taking down two more vampires with almost synchronized movements. It was always like a dance, fighting with Dean. The two of you had fought together for so long now, you were one unit, just taking down monster after monster in fights that almost looked choreographed.

When the last vampire head hit the ground with a satisfying thump and the corresponding body slumped after it, you both heaved a satisfied sigh and smiled at each other. With a quiet nod, you separated, making sure the barn was completely clear of monsters, inside and out, then met again in the middle with a quick, chaste, kiss.

“I’d do better, but you have a little something right… about...” –you gestured at his cheek, then really all over his face– “well, everywhere, really,” you said with a grimace. “Don’t feel like turning into a vampire just because I wanted to kiss my husband.”

Dean pretended to try and kiss you messily, laughing when you pushed him away. “You mean, it’s not worth two days of puking your guts up with the vampire cure to give your hot-as-hell husband a proper kiss?” Letting you go, he wiped his machete off on the shirt of one of the headless bodies and then headed toward the water pump just outside the barn doors. “I must be losing my touch!” he joked as he began pumping to fill the trough below the faucet.

You joined him in cleaning both your weapons and yourselves, enjoying the clear spring air and bright sunshine warming your back, and soon you were able to safely risk showing your affection. As did every other part of you, your lips fit together perfectly. Dean kissed you so well, you wondered how you ever thought anyone else was any good at it. He took over all your senses, making little happy noises when your tongue slid against his, surrounding you with his arms, filling your nose with the scent of his aftershave and sweat, and leaving the taste of the pie he’d had with breakfast in your mouth. You finally came up for air, still trading little nibbly kisses until you both accepted that the hunt wasn’t done, yet, and you needed to finish it. You stayed in his arms an extra moment, foreheads touching, both reaffirming that you were still here - still alive - and uninjured after the fight.

“Love you,” you whispered, looking through your lashes at the bright green of Dean’s eyes. They always seemed greener in the spring, somehow.

“Ditto,” he whispered back, before landing one last peck on your lips and smacking your ass playfully.

“You’re lucky I love you, or I would have told Sam how you watched that movie, and enjoyed it, a long time ago!” you teased as the two of you split up to head to Baby’s trunk and get cleaning supplies.

Walking ahead of you with those long legs, Dean turned around, walking backward for a step, and gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t!” he cried with eyes wide and his mouth turned into a pout, clearly knowing that you really wouldn’t, but playing your game, anyway.

“That’s right, I wouldn’t because I love you. Now, aren’t you lucky?” you scolded while still grinning.

He stopped you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, yet again. “Luckiest man in the world,” he echoed, before turning away and unlocking the trunk.

While Dean was digging through the trunk to find a matchbook to go with the can of gas you were holding, you saw something move out of the corner of your eye. Years of hunter awareness sent the hair on the back of your neck standing up while you searched the nearby tree line for another sign of movement. The barn was in the back forty of a farm abandoned at least a decade earlier, so wildlife of all kinds had taken over. The tree line was nothing more than just that: a line of trees that marked the edge of the farm. Over the years, bushes and smaller trees had filled in the gaps between the larger trees, making it a more formidable barrier. Where you guessed you might have been able to see through it years ago, now, it was overgrown and impenetrable. Except for the driveway the vampires had tamed, the grass in the surrounding fields was all knee-high and waving in the breeze. Figuring it was either one of the taller weeds in the grass or an animal, you convinced yourself to let it go as Dean slammed Baby’s trunk lid shut.

The barn had plenty of hay for kindling, but much of it had gotten wet from the holes in the roof. Dean was hauling bales and generally kicking up dust when you inhaled a bit and started sneezing uncontrollably.

“Head outside, honey, and I’ll finish up here,” Dean urged while you continued sniffling and sneezing. “Go use up some of those tissues you keep stashing in my car when you think I’m not looking!”

Not able to speak, you just nodded and headed back out into the sunshine, which started another round of sneezes. You were blowing your nose when you saw another bit of movement by the tree line. Keeping your eyes trained on the grass and bushes that had moved, you finished with the tissues and grabbed your gun from the holster on the back of your belt.

Gun trained in front of you, safety off, you slinked towards the tree line, keeping your eyes moving left to right, looking for another anomaly in the swaying of the grass and weeds. When you reached where you’d seen the movement, there were signs that someone had been standing there all around. Trampled grass, broken branches in the trees and bushes, and then footprints in the mud drew you further into the miniature jungle. You were almost out and on the other side when you were grabbed from behind, a hand put over your mouth to dampen your screams.

Whoever it was pulled you backward, knocking you off your feet so you stumbled. The body behind you spun you and pushed you up against a tree, knocking the gun from your hand in the process. You tried to shove an elbow back into their ribs, but it was caught, and you were pinned. Your mind swirled, going through the intel you’d gathered with Dean before the hunt. Both of you had been sure of the headcount, but obviously, you were wrong. One of them must have been away for a few days, but now they were home and pissed.

“Calm down, kiddo, I’m not a monster,” said a very familiar voice as you were pulled away from the tree, but still held tightly. “Just take a breath and relax and we can talk.”

A deep breath, a subtle shift in your body, and the picture in your mind became something almost like your husband, but not. Your muscles relaxed, trusting Dean no matter what was happening, even though your mind still whirled. Through the leaves of the trees and bushes, you saw your husband walk out of the barn, looking for something. Maybe looking for you.

“Of all the things I thought I might see when I walked into your dream, I really didn’t expect to see me.” The arms around you loosened and you whipped around to see a carbon copy of your husband standing there.

Well, almost a carbon copy. Different flannel. Different jeans. Fewer laugh lines around the mouth. Less unadulterated love and affection in the eyes.

“Dream?” you asked stupidly, looking back at your husband as he began searching for you around the barn. You didn’t want to believe it, but as you watched your husband in the distance, you saw the differences, the unreality. That didn’t stop your heart and mind from clinging to him, wanting nothing more than to go back to him.

The Dean next to you sighed. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m sorry, but it’s a dream. You got nabbed by a djinn. Sam’s off getting ingredients for the antidote, but I couldn’t just sit by and watch you dying, so I took some dream root.”

Your husband looked absolutely panicked as he ran towards another part of the tree line, searching for you. The sight pulled at your heart. How he missed your trail through the tall grass was a mystery. You’d have to tease him on his lack of tracking skills later when you got home, after the panic was over.

“I need to go let him know that I’m okay,” you whimpered, taking a step towards where your husband was beating back bushes looking for evidence of you.

Dean gently grabbed your elbow and stopped you. “No, kiddo, you really don’t. He’s not real.” With some effort, he turned you around so you were looking at him, this man who was so close, but not quite your husband. “I’m real, you’re real, and the crappy motel we’re asleep in out there in the real world, that’s real. But this is all crap. You can walk away from it all and come back to what’s real.”

Silent tears dripped down your cheeks. Your mind fought against it, but once the magic trick was revealed, you couldn’t go back to believing. Memories of working beside Dean for years, loving him quietly while he fought and died and came back and fought and died again… they rushed back in and overwhelmed you. Memories of a quiet confession of love, a small wedding, and a shared bed quickly took on the sepia tones of a fading dream. A sob ripped from your throat, and you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle it.

“So,” you croaked, sniffling through the tears, “everything… with him,” you nodded at your husband, still literally beating the bushes to find you, “all the…,” a sob stopped you until you could swallow it down, “all the everything with him, it was all a dream?” Turning back to the Dean in front of you, your heart ripped in two. “Just a stupid fucking dream?” His face twisted as he looked down to avoid your eyes, but he still nodded. “And now you’re telling me that I have to leave?” He nodded again, his eyes still on the ground instead of on you.

Your husband was getting closer. He’d see you in a minute. He’d hold you, and comfort you, and love you the way this Dean never would. You could go home with him, go back to the Bunker, where Sam and Eileen were teaching hunter classes to Jody’s girls and a few other new recruits. Jack and Cas were fixing Heaven but always visited for Sunday dinner. Eileen was pregnant, and you were going to be a godparent, and Dean had already built the crib and bought the biggest stuffed unicorn you’d ever seen. You could go home with him and live an entire lifetime with him and your family until the djinn poison took you.

“No,” you declared. “I don’t have to leave. It’s my choice. I can stay if I want. Even if I know it’s a dream, I can stay here.” Looking at the real man your husband was based on, you shook your head and stepped away from him. “Maybe it’s just a dream, but it’s my dream, and I’m staying.”

Your husband crashed through the bushes and finally caught sight of you, with another Dean holding your elbow in one hand. His gun came up, the safety clicked off, and you stepped in front of the real Dean. The move stopped him from firing but didn’t quell his confusion.

“What’s going on, babe? You know that’s not me, right?”

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face. “I know, but don’t shoot. Please don’t hurt him,” you begged. “Just trust me, okay?”

Pushing Dean’s hand from your arm, you walked toward your husband, arms outstretched. He pulled you close and hugged you tightly, gun still pointed somewhat at the other Dean, murmuring about how worried he’d been when he couldn’t find you.

“Who is this guy, anyway? What’s going on?” he asked you, talking into your hair as he held your head against his shoulder with one hand and continued watching his prey suspiciously.

You’d never felt as safe and loved as you did in Dean’s arms. It didn’t matter where in the world you were, or what was happening around you, in Dean’s embrace was your happy place. You’d do anything to stay there. Even die.

“Nothing you need to worry about, honey,” you reassured him, pulling away so you could look him in the eye. “He’s leaving and I’m staying with you. Till death parts us, and then beyond, like I promised.” Cupping his head with your hands, you kissed him, promising to uphold your vows with every fiber of your being.

“Even if it’s only a dream?” your husband asked, his eyes closed as he touched his forehead to yours.

The surprise that he would acknowledge it rocked you, but your decision stayed the same. Nodding, you glanced back at the other Dean – the real Dean – meaning to say goodbye. What you saw there made you pause: pain reflected in glassy eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be a dream,” he said, almost too quietly for you to hear.

You and your husband froze. “What did you say?” you replied, feeling your thoughts move too slowly to fully understand everything that was happening.

“I said,” Dean answered, taking a deep breath, “It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

Your husband felt you pulling away and tightened his hold on you, tugging your chin so you were looking him in the eye. “I love you, honey, and I love our life and we’re gonna live whatever the badass version of ‘happily ever after’ is, remember?” Tears blurred your view of your husband, but you could see the future with him so clearly. “Sammy and Eileen are gonna have their baby, and we’re gonna have the cutest damn niece or nephew ever, and Claire and Kaia are gonna get married, and we’re gonna do the robot at the reception and embarrass the crap outta them, and we’re gonna keep killing monsters until my knees get creaky and your back gives out, and then we’re gonna retire and help Garth with his monster rehab and teach hunter classes in the bunker, right? Maybe get a little house nearby with a porch we can sit on in the evenings and watch the sunset from our rocking chairs. That’s the plan, right?”

Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, you both sniffled and nodded in agreement.

“Look, I can’t give you a niece or nephew, or a fancy wedding for the girls, or monster rehab and hunter classes,” Dean said from behind you, “but I can give you nights on Baby’s hood watching the stars, and bad jokes while I stitch you up, and the best bottom-shelf bourbon with a side of diner food after a bad hunt.”

Pulling away from your husband a little, you turned your head to hear Dean’s words.

“I can’t promise we’ll get a little house with a porch and a pair of rocking chairs, but I’ll chase the sunset with you in Baby any night you want. Or, if you want to stay in, we can cuddle on my memory foam and watch movies.”

The arms around you loosened, allowing you to turn around, and you could finally see the emotion in Dean’s eyes.

“I’ve wanted to be with you for so long, I can’t even tell you when it started. All I know is that I’ve always thought you deserved the best, and that’s not me.” He waved at your husband, who had let go of all of you except your hand. “He’s better than me, this world is better than me, and if he were real, if this were real, I’d let you go off and live this life without a single regret.” He shook his head, heaved a deep breath, and shrugged. “But it isn’t real – he isn’t real – and you’re not going to live happily ever after, you’re going to die, and I can’t do it. I can’t let you die if there’s anything I can do to stop it. So, this is me, asking for what I want: a future with you. A future where nothing is certain except that I’ll always do whatever I can to make you happy.”

The last link to the dream faded as you dropped your dream husband’s hand and stepped towards Dean. The world around you changed somehow, the colors turning once again to the sepia tones of the dream that it was.

“I always thought you didn’t think of me that way,” you said, your voice trembling with nerves.

“I’ve always thought of you that way,” Dean replied. “But you were so out of my league, I didn’t think you’d ever think of me like that!”

Staring into each other’s eyes, you both chuckled and then reached out towards each other, clasping your hands and moving closer together. Dean had the beginnings of a goofy smile, and you felt it matched on your own face.

“You really mean it? You really want to be with me?” you asked, needing to hear it just one more time.

“How about you shake off this dream and I show you for real?” Dean suggested, bending over, pulling your trusty knife from your boot, and handing it to you.

Holding the knife in your hand, you felt the rightness of it click into place. Dean had given you this knife shortly after you’d met. He’d picked it out with everything about you in mind. It had engravings on the blade and handle that you thought were beautiful, and the handle was a perfect size and shape for your hand. Looking at it, you marveled at how it was so perfectly you, perfectly Dean, and just all-around perfect. Dean had always loved you, and everything about the knife proved it.

“What do I need to do?”

Dean gestured towards his double standing opposite you.

The other Dean – your dream husband – began backing away. “Honey, no! It’s me! We can fix this! It will feel like a lifetime, but you’ll be safe here! No monsters can kill you here! Eileen’s gonna have a girl and that little warrior princess is gonna wrap me and Sammy around her little finger! There are gonna be tea parties! Don’t you want to see all of that?”

In his rambling, he slowed just enough that you were able to catch up to him and slam the knife into his gut. He doubled over, falling to the ground in a heap. As he bled out, still babbling about how life would have been perfect with him, the dream faded to black.

You woke with a gasp, Dean waking in a similar manner at the same time next to you. You both sat up, looking around the room and patting yourselves down. When your breathing settled, all the aches and pains from being strung up by the djinn slammed into you and you groaned.

“Oh, God, that hurts,” you complained, holding your neck where the thick gauze bandage was covering your wound. Looking down at yourself, you saw the dirty clothes and felt the skunky funk that came from being held captive in a dank basement for most of a day.

Gesturing to yourself in all your post-captivity glory, you commented to Dean, “Are you sure you still want to be with me? I mean, I’m not much of a prize.” Although you were supposedly joking, deep down you were giving Dean an out. Just in case he’d only said what he’d said to save your life, and not because he’d meant it.

Dean shifted on the bed until he was sitting right next to you and then carefully cupped your head with his hands so you could only see him.

“I will always want to be with you,” he said, solemnly looking into your eyes so you would see the truth of his words. “You are the best prize. Better than the prize in any cereal box.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t as flawlessly perfect as the kisses you had in your dream – your teeth clashed a little in the beginning, and Dean tasted a little like the chili lime beef jerky you didn’t like – but it was perfect for you.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #mrswhozeewhatsis writes #dean x reader #dean angst #dean fluff #pond s14 weekly challenge

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Soft

A/N: This is for both the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 20, and also this month's Alpha Reader Program with @deanwinchesterswitch! Kym is a great Alpha reader, putting up with so much babbling of ideas with me!!

Summary: Chuck is depowered, Jack de-poofed Eileen and Y/N, and they all rescued Cas from the Empty. (The finale never happened fight me.) Now, with no more Big Bads on the horizon, Dean needs to figure out what his happily ever after looks like. Once he does, then he needs to go get it.

Pairing: Destiel x reader

Warnings: Pining. Idjits in love. Canon-divergent after 15x19. Fluff.

Word count: 4311 words

Prompt: "I'll stop talking." "Probably a good idea."

Dean watches her throw her arms around Cas’s waist and really snuggle into his embrace. It’s done. Chuck is depowered, Jack is in charge, Y/N is back, and now Cas is back. Everything is as it should be. Dean pats Cas on the shoulder, meeting his gaze with a smile he can feel is strained, locks eyes for a second with Y/N, and heads towards his room via the drink trolley. A little time resting in the only soft thing he’s ever been allowed to keep is definitely in order.

Sitting on his bed, back propped against the headboard and whiskey bottle in hand, he forces himself to consider everything he’s been trying not to think about for far too long. Cas will want to talk at some point, and Dean knows he can’t get it wrong. Well, no, he actually could get it all very disastrously wrong, but this time, he doesn’t want to.

And he has so very much to think about if he wants any chance to get this right. First, he needs to decide what “right” looks like.

If you’d asked him a few years ago what a good life looked like, he would have denied Cas’s place in it. There were just so many reasons why Cas couldn’t be a part of any picture he’d have painted back then. That was before, though. Before Cas told him, unequivocally, that he loved Dean in a way he thought he couldn’t have.

Maybe a year ago, if Cas had said those same words, Dean would have jumped into his arms and kissed the hell out of him. At that point, he’d finally admitted to himself that Cas was more to him. That Cas meant more than Dean’s fear of someone thinking he liked dick. Cas meant more than his hang-ups about how sex worked with a dude. Cas was more than a guy, and not simply because he wasn’t human. Angel or not, Cas was Dean’s person.

That was before, though. Before Mary died. Before Chuck had his little hissy fit. Before Dean acted like an ass… again. Before Y/N.

Now, Dean sits on his bed, not drinking the whiskey in his hand because he knows it won’t help. He needs to think clearly. He needs to decide how he feels. He’s loved Cas for years. But he’s beginning to think that maybe he loves her, too.

She appeared with the army of hunters that had arrived when Chuck opened Hell. She was relatively new to hunting, so when her partner died early on, she needed an experienced partner. With Dean barely speaking to him, Cas needed something to focus on, and he took her under his wing, so to speak. Which meant Dean barely spoke to her, either, outside of barking orders.

He was just so angry at the time, and it spilled onto her. Dean didn’t want Cas around him, but then he didn’t want Cas focusing on her, either. Or giving her that squinty head tilt. Hugging her while she grieved her partner. Talking to her about lore and weapons and sigils.

With Jack and Rowena dead, Y/N filled the fourth seat in the Impala just a little too quickly for Dean’s liking. And it had nothing to do with how fondly Cas looked at her when she fell asleep on his shoulder. Yeah, he understood that she needed training and experience, but there were a million other hunters fighting ghosts and zombies with them that she could have joined.

Dean was so mad, Cas left. And she went with him. And no, Dean did not spend several sleepless nights wondering about the sexual orientation of angels.

She and Cas were hunting partners for a while, but then Cas went to Heaven, so she moved into the bunker and never left. Dean tried not to dump his shit on her, knowing that it was his shit and not hers and he was being a dick, but she was everywhere—cooking in the kitchen, beating up the heavy bag in the gym, shooting curse words into the paper targets in the range. Dean didn’t want to laugh when she slapped one on his chest that read “DICK” as she walked out the door. He also didn’t want to deck Fancypants Dean from the other world when he asked her to go with them to Rio and then kissed her, dipped her like a 50’s heroine and everything, right in front of him!

And he definitely didn’t want to miss her when she left again with Cas. They were gone, again. Alone. Soon, he realized that he missed the smell of her cooking. He stared at the taped-over hole she left in the heavy bag when she tried attacking it while wearing heels. He tried to forget how lethal she was in the gun range. He failed to stop wondering how many beds were in the motel room they were sharing each night.

He got better about not being a dick to her when they returned. He even shared his pie. The first time she gave him one of her hundred-watt smiles, he nearly melted. She offered to help wash Baby, and he accepted. Not being a dick got easier as they became friends.

Then Chuck killed her. Just poofed her into nothing. A finger snap and Dean felt like he was back on the rack, a knife slicing into his heart. Why? Watching Cas mourn her was almost as hard as admitting that he felt the same way. He shouldn’t feel this way. They were friends. But the pain and grief in Cas’s eyes were mirrored in his chest. Not that he could say that to anyone. She was Cas’s… something.

Yet, before the Shadow swallowed him and Billie whole, Cas still said that his moment of complete happiness was loving Dean.

After Cas was gone, Dean sat on the floor in the dungeon and wondered at the complete lack of black goo anywhere. It had seemed to be everywhere but had left no trace. His mind bounced against the image of Cas getting swallowed whole and ricocheted into the image of Y/N poofing into thin air. Sam’s face when he picked up Eileen’s car keys, phone, and wallet. Jack’s face burning brightly when Chuck killed him in the graveyard. Mom’s face when he wrapped a shroud around the body that wasn’t hers. Charlie’s face as she lay in that awful motel bathtub. Bobby’s face as he called them idjits one last time. Dad’s face when the doctors tried to revive him, but he was already long gone.

Dean went on autopilot. He got up from the floor, drove to Sam and Jack, and then, he … did what needed to be done. On the drive away from Chuck’s defeat, Dean tried to imagine the life ahead of him without Chuck’s influence. Just him and Sam and Jack. He pictured them in the bunker, all in black and white like the old photos of the Men of Letters in the archives. Nothing big to fight, only little hunts. Maybe there would be the occasional trip to Hell to visit Rowena. Maybe Rowena could use a hand down there? Hell sounded nice, this time of year. You know, when everyone else is dead….

Dean didn’t let himself complete that thought. He still had Sam.

Then Jack brought back Y/N and Eileen. Color returned to Dean’s world. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than Heaven or Hell. With Y/N in his arms, all he could think about was Cas. Dean needed Cas back, even if it meant watching them ride off into the sunset together. When Jack said he couldn’t get Cas as easily as he’d gotten Y/N and Eileen, she ended up crying in Dean’s arms, letting him comfort her. She comforted him. They comforted each other.

Before the big rescue, Dean decided that if Cas and Y/N chose to go off and live a happy life together, he’d wish them well, even if it meant drowning himself in whiskey.

But now they’re both here. When their departure was hypothetical, it was easy to convince himself that he could be supportive. Now that he was up against the reality of it, he could barely breathe. Yes, the two of them alive and happy together without him is better than the two of them dead, but….

Dean puts down the whiskey and grabs an open bottle of what is probably very stale water off his desk. He drinks it down and then stares at the whiskey bottle. He tries to breathe through the pain in his chest caused by the prospect of visiting Cas and Y/N in their little country cottage with the white picket fence and beehives in the backyard. Oh, how he wants to drink something stronger than water and make this pain stop.

No. He needs to say this to himself completely sober.

“I want them,” he announces to the room, quietly enough that no one outside could hear, but the words still echo in his ears. “No, I don’t just want them. I want a bacon double cheeseburger with extra onions and a slice of apple pie with a scoop of ice cream on top. I need them. I need Cas, and I need her, and I need to stop acting like I don’t.”

Picturing the little country cottage once more, he shakes his head. “I have to try. Cas said he loved me. Y/N at least doesn’t think I’m a dick. I can’t do nothing, anymore. I have to try. I have to tell them both and at least ask them to give me a chance.”

Dean pulls at his hair and sighs. “But that’s not how the world works. I can’t have them both. I need to decide who to talk to first. I need to choose.”

The angel that literally saved him from Hell but wears a vessel Dean doesn’t know how to handle, or the woman who would be the complete package if he weren’t already in love with Cas.

“How do I choose?”

And that’s all assuming that either of them even (still) wants him. Cas may have changed his mind after Dean stood there stupidly and said freaking nothing while the Empty swallowed him whole. And she’s never really indicated that she wanted anyone but Cas. And Cas has always seemed perfectly happy to indulge her attentions. Hell, maybe they will go off together to that cottage in the country and leave him alone. After the way he’s acted, it’s the least he deserves.

“If I even have a choice, I can’t choose.”

Pacing the room, he kneads the problem in his mind like a baker would knead dough. After only a couple of minutes, he tires of rolling around a thousand “what ifs” in his head and stops in front of his bedroom door, hand almost grabbing the knob to turn it.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks himself, trying to give himself the courage to move. “They both say they don’t want me, they only want each other, and I’m left alone, like I’ve always been. Nothing changes for me.”

Swallowing down the blast of grief that idea causes, he takes a deep breath and watches from outside of his body as he turns the doorknob and walks down the hallway.

He hears her voice coming from her room long before he reaches it, but he’s almost in the doorway before he can make out the words she’s saying. She’s chattering in that way she does when she’s excited or nervous about something, and his heart clenches as he wonders what’s got her so jittery.

“It’s just that there’s so much to consider and so many possibilities and I’ve been waiting until now to think about it and oh god now I’m rambling and we really need to come up with a better phrase for that now that Chuck’s not in power andfuckinghellIthinkI’llstoptalking.”

Dean watches her put a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words and can’t stop his smile. She’s adorable.

Cas sees Dean in the doorway, gives her a gentle smile, and says, “That’s probably a good idea.” He nods his head towards Dean, and she turns to look at him. They’re both sitting on the side of the bed, one of her hands is encased in both of his, and Dean feels his heart wrench at what that might mean.

He tries to read their expressions, get a feel for what’s happening in the room, but his own feelings are overwhelming him. They’re both right here, staring at him, while he’s staring at them, and no one is saying anything!

“Uh,” he starts —oh, you’re doing great there, Dean, so eloquent— before clearing his throat and taking a steadying breath, “I don’t want to interrupt you guys?”

Cas smiles, but Y/N gulps and shakes her head.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in that way that always makes Dean feel warm inside. “It’s okay. What do you need?”

Dean tries again to read their expressions, but all he can feel is tension. Is it coming from him? “I, uh, need you,” he says to both of them, bouncing his gaze back and forth between them.

Cas stands up, letting go of Y/N’s hands, and pats her on the shoulder. “I’ll let you guys have some time alone. We can finish this later, right?”

Y/N nods, but Dean stops Cas from leaving the room with a hand on his arm. “No, Cas, I mean both of you.” Wishing that he could simply snap his fingers and have both of them automatically understand, he stares into Cas’s eyes like he’s done so many times before, trying to will his jumble of thoughts into the angel’s head.

Cas must only get static, though, because he smiles his same old fond smile, puts his hand on Dean’s left shoulder like he always does, and replies, “Of course, Dean. I’m always here when you need me. How can I help?”

Dean groans, wiping down his face with his hand while his shoulders droop. “Fuck, this is hard,” he mutters, then leads Cas back to where he’d been sitting on the bed, drags over the desk chair, and sits facing them both. “Look, I don’t do chick flick stuff, and you guys both know that, so bear with me, okay?”

Cas and Y/N both nod, and Dean wishes he had the whiskey bottle with him. Maybe a little in vino veritas would help him get through this. Staring at the two of them, he doesn’t even know where to start. He looks back and forth at each of them again, noting that they’re holding hands once more, and focuses on that.

“Look, guys, I know you two are,” he waves a hand around trying to indicate what he means, “together? Involved? Whatever you want to call it since we’re not in high school and we’ve all worked to derail an apocalypse or two. And I don’t want to mess with that. Well, not exactly. Wait, that’s not what I meant.” He takes a steadying breath and mutters, “Fuck, this is hard,” yet again.

He looks up and finally notices that both Cas and Y/N are now considerably less relaxed than they were a minute ago. Both sit stiff-backed, trying to look at anything but each other, and their hands are no longer linked.

“Wait, you guys are together, right?” Dean asks, suddenly questioning every moment he’s ever seen between them.

Y/N clears her throat and replies, “Well, that’s kind of what I was trying to talk to Cas about when you came in.” Her eyes bounce between Cas and Dean nervously and she shifts her position on the bed a little so she’s facing towards Cas a little more. “Cas, part of what I was trying to say is that I have, you know, feelings for you, that are, well, more than friendship.” Her words rush faster and faster until she gets to the end. “I held it in for so long, and then I was dead, and you were dead, and it was all awful, but now we’re back, and we’re here, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel.” She ends with a small gasp of much-needed air and then stares fearfully at the angel while she carefully exhales.

Cas tilts his head and squints, and Y/N slowly deflates a little bit more with every moment Cas takes to reply. Dean had no idea what he was walking into but somehow feels a little better knowing he’s not the only one feeling the need to put things on the table. The only concern now is that he might be watching the two people he wants so very much get together right in front of him, without him. Well, I’ll always have Sammy and visits to Rowena in Hell, he thinks.

“Cas? Please say something,” Y/N pleads, the panic becoming clear to Dean as her breathing quickens and her hands fumble in her lap.

“I thought you were in love with Dean?” Cas blurts out, leaving all three of them exchanging looks between them.

Dean sits up straighter and glances between Cas and Y/N, but focuses more on Y/N. “Really?” He can’t stop the word from leaving his mouth. He’s too excited by the possibility. Doing the math in his head, his heart starts to race happily. Half a chance Cas really loves him like he said, half a chance Y/N loves him like Cas said, that equals a whole chance he might actually get at least half of what he wants.

Completely ignorant to the social graces surrounding admitting other people’s feelings for other people to those other people, Cas just keeps going, turning to Dean. “Yes. I’ve noticed her engaging in some of the social actions that usually indicate romantic affection towards you. I assumed that meant she had feelings for you.”

Dean looks at Cas, then throws his hands up in the air. “Well, I’ve been watching the two of you cuddle up together all the time like two peas in a damn pod, so I knew she had feelings for you! And you’ve been cuddling right back, so I figured that meant the two of you were a thing, no matter what you said!”

Face glowing a bright red, Y/N interrupted the staring contest between the two men. “Well, I’ve been watching all the eye-fucking between you two since day one, so I thought you two were a thing! I mean, seriously, you two need to kiss or fuck or something so the rest of us can breathe clear air, again!”

Both Dean and Cas turn to stare at Y/N.

“What? You two had no problem talking about my feelings! Turnabout’s fair play!”

Cas takes hold of Y/N’s hand to ground her and says, “So, you have romantic feelings for both of us, then?”

Fear washes over her face as she nods, nervously glancing between the two of them.

Cas smiles. “And I have romantic feelings for both of you,” he states. The two of them smile at each other for a moment and then turn to Dean in unison. Their hands are clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

With two pairs of striking eyes staring at him, Dean squirms.

“Dean, we would very much appreciate you telling us what you’re thinking and feeling, right now,” Cas said, using his calmest and most caring voice. “I believe the phrase is, ‘this is a safe space.’”

Dean takes a steadying breath, looks at each of them individually, and decides there’s no use running now. He’s here. He knows there will be a soft landing when he jumps. He’s jumped into worse with less and come out winning. He can do this.

Dean takes Y/N’s free hand in one of his and squeezes it while he decides what words to use. She relaxes, her shoulders dropping, but Dean notices Cas stiffen out of the corner of his eye. Dean stiffens right along with him, bringing his eyes up just in time to see the flash of disappointment in Cas’s eyes before it disappears.

Fuck, he’s screwing this all up, already.

Words are still foreign things he can’t seem to grasp, so he decides to act instead. Still holding Y/N’s hand, he reaches with his other hand to grasp Cas’s neck and pull him in.

The kiss is awkward as hell. Cas’s eyes are wide open when Dean closes his, and then teeth clash, and Cas stays frozen while Dean tries to gently kiss some life into him. Right before Dean is about to pull away and question all his life choices, Cas melts. Cas’s hand is suddenly in Dean’s hair, pulling Dean closer as the kiss turns into the warmest, loveliest kiss Dean’s ever experienced. Cas’s lips are as soft as Dean ever imagined, the little bit of rough stubble a new but not awful feeling, and Dean’s pretty sure he could do this for hours and never come up for air. Maybe it would kill him, but he’d be okay dying this way.

Eventually, the kiss turns to little nibbles, and then they simply sit there for a moment, foreheads together and eyes closed, feeling the warmth of each other.

“I didn’t think you could feel what I feel,” Dean whispered. “And then you said you could, and you did, and then you were gone, and it was too late.” He shifts only enough to press his lips to Cas’s again one more time. “You can have everything you want, angel,” he says, pulling back enough to look Cas in the eyes.

Cas’s smile is as wide and happy as Dean’s ever seen it. They stare at each other for another one of those long moments where Dean swears Cas must be able to freeze time. Cas’s eyes shift away from Dean, and he’s reminded that he’s staring at only half of his happiness.

The other half is still holding his hand, watching him and Cas with wide eyes and a shy smile. With nothing left to lose, Dean leans in and feels the rest of his world click into place as his lips settle perfectly on hers. The kiss with her is different, and yet also the same in how right it feels. She opens her mouth a little, and their tongues slide together like they’ve done this a hundred times before. When they finally break apart, he doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets his smile loose. She smiles back, and he knows she understands.

Everything in him wants to keep going back and forth, kissing them both, but there’s always that little voice inside his head —which sounds a bit like Chuck, these days— that tells him that this isn’t real. It makes him slow down a bit, lean back in his chair, and enjoy looking at the two people in front of him. He watches the two of them kiss and is surprised when his gut doesn’t churn with jealousy this time.

Each time he had imagined what they did behind closed doors, he was miserable. Yet, here he is, watching them kiss, feeling happy. The part of him that was jealous and hurt now knows that they both want him, too. He’s not on the outside looking in, anymore.

The little voice that sounds like Chuck gets a little louder. ‘What is this, a three-way roll in the hay like with the Doublemint twins back before Hell, or those triplets with Lee? Yeah, this isn’t how real life works, pal.’

Cas and Y/N finally pull away from each other but continue to stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Now, Dean knows how other people have felt while he’s stared at Cas in the past. Part of him wants to laugh at that, but that evil little voice has convinced him that this is temporary. They’re all holding hands, now, like some kind of hippie prayer circle or Zen meditation thing, grinning like idiots at each other, and it can’t last.

Dean’s smile falters, and he looks down at their hands, trying to memorize this moment before it all comes crashing down. Before he has to choose. Before they have to choose. Before he loses everything.

Cas lets go of his hand and uses it to lift Dean’s chin so he sees Cas’s face again. “You can have this, Dean. We can have this, exactly like this. We don’t have to choose. It won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is, right?” Cas’s hand drops down and grasps his hand, again. “Polyamory is not unheard of and is accepted in many cultures.”

Dean looks back and forth between Cas and Y/N, gauging their feelings about this from their expressions.

Y/N giggles and shrugs when Dean looks at her, questions in his eyes. “I’m game to try if you are. I’m guessing it’s going to involve a lot of honesty and talking, but I could never choose between you.”

Dean’s shoulders relax and he takes what feels like the first deep breath of his life. He’s fallen, hard and fast, expecting the pain of a crash landing, but found a safety net instead. It’s thrilling, it’s scary, and his heart wants to burst out of his chest, but it’s all good.

Squeezing both of their hands, he grins. “Let’s do this, then.”

Later, when he and Y/N are curled into Cas in bed, who’s reading a book because he doesn’t sleep, Dean squeezes her hand on the broad chest between them and smiles when she squeezes back. When he’s asleep and dreaming about hunts and fights and beating the Devil, for the first time, when he falls, he lands softly.

#pond s14 weekly challenge #alpha reader program #mrswhozeewhatsis writes #incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #destiel x reader #dean x reader #destiel fluff #dean fluff

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Yesterday, my mother was very upset because her alarm clock was no longer working. We tried pushing buttons, giving it a good whack, shaking it... you know, all the usual things that can make a piece of technology suddenly return to working status. Nothing. Checked the plug, checked the outlet, still no time displayed on the face. I gave her one of ours (I don’t know why we have so very many alarm clocks, I just keep finding more as I unpack), and left the non-working one on our kitchen counter, unplugged. I thought that I might try and whack it a few more times later, before I really throw it out.

Imagine my reaction when the alarm went off at 6am this morning.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #about me right now #apparently there were batteries in it for backup purposes #but since the display was dead we couldn't tell #the rest of the clock still works fine #it's just the important part that doesn't work anymore #it keeps time just doesn't tell time #sadistic bastard clock #hoards relevant information #but seriously my horror at the unplugged clock beeping would have been comical to see

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Not Alone

A/N: This is for @sorenmarie87, who I've heard is having a tough time. I hope this helps!

Summary: Covid sucks.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Just Covid talk.

Word count: 2272 words

Dean had once told you about the Croatoan virus and the first Apocalypse that wasn’t. It moved fast, efficiently, and wiped out whole cities in days. When this pandemic first hit, you all thought it was just a newer version. However, Crowley and Rowena both denied any supernatural involvement. “Sometimes really bad stuff like this happens naturally, too, you know,” Rowena snarked. You believed her when she told you how it was affecting witches differently. Spells were going wrong, especially healing spells. Whether natural or magical, this thing doubled down the more you tried to fight it.

Garth had reported some good news, though. Well, good if you were a werewolf. Werewolves, vampires, and other mostly-human supernatural monsters like shifters all seemed to have some kind of natural immunity. They would get sick, but rarely died, and got past it like a common cold. It was just bad enough to keep monsters cautious, many switching to animals, but not enough to stop all of them. Hunts were down, but not gone.

Cas left for Washington state once he realized how big and bad it was getting. He was trying to heal as many people as he could without attracting attention and was exhausting both himself and his grace to do it. Dean was hunting the few rogue monsters still eating people, bathing in Purell every chance he got. Sam was holed up in the Bunker library, researching the Men of Letters’ studies and experiments on supernatural efforts to cure non-supernatural medical issues. He was working hard, contacting all kinds of supernatural entities from demons to fairies to faith healers to shamans and getting them all to work together to find a way to stop it all.

You? You felt kind of useless. You offered to go hunting with Dean, but you were never great at the ass-kicking, and Dean said Sam needed you more. He wasn’t wrong. Sam kept forgetting to take care of himself. He’d go all day without eating or drinking more than coffee if you didn’t shove plates of food and bottles of water under his nose periodically. So, you were Sam’s backup. You were personal shopper, housekeeper, maid, chief cook and bottle washer, and also magical second, i.e., the magician’s assistant. Minus the sparkly leotard.

For weeks, you were wiping down everything, uttering cleansing spells when bleach became scarce. You threw together masks with bandanas, coffee filters, and rubber bands. It didn’t matter how careful you were, though, when people were fighting in the aisles for toilet paper. Yeah, you beat the guy who tried to steal the package out of your cart and returned home triumphant, but about a week later, you started to cough.

Cas began the long drive home to heal you, but wouldn’t be there for three days, what with fuel stops and resting his already strained grace. Dean texted you constantly, always checking in and offering tips he’d heard about on the radio. He’d stopped listening to his tapes and started listening to talk radio, of all things, just to learn all he could for you. He knew he couldn’t come home, now, even if he worried constantly about you and Sam. Garth offered to bite you and bring you into his pack. When you refused, he offered to have a vampire friend turn you, knowing there was a cure for that, if not for the virus racking your system.

With you quarantined to your room, Sam went into overdrive. He set alarms for himself to make sure he didn’t get too involved in his research and brought you meals and medicine every four hours. He tried spell after spell, potion after potion, but nothing worked. (You were a distinct shade of purple for a few hours, and your hair was more luxurious than it had ever been, but the cough remained.)

In the middle of the night, you woke to another coughing fit and Sam standing in your doorway. The mask hid his mouth and nose, but not his worried eyes. He disappeared just long enough to come back with a cold bottle of water, which he tossed onto your bed next to you to keep his distance. When even the water couldn’t stop your cough, he paced outside your door before bursting back in and declaring, “You’re going to the hospital.”

Too weak to argue, you packed a bag full of comfy clothes and climbed into Sam’s truck covered entirely by scarves to try and minimize his exposure. To his credit, he did the same, and you both rolled down the windows to maximize airflow around you.

His eyes as he watched you slide out of the truck and turn around to close the door were the saddest you’d ever seen. Normally, he’d hide his face, hide his whole self, just to keep from bothering anyone else with his pain. But now, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you wondered what he was thinking.

“Go home. Get back to research. Take care of yourself. I don’t want to see you in the bed next to me!” you croaked through the truck’s window.

“Tell them if they can’t make you better, I’ll…,” his voice petered out and he looked away a moment, blinking. A deep breath and a sigh followed before he looked into your eyes again. “I don’t want to leave you alone. I hate that I can’t come in with you.”

“It’s okay. They’ll take care of me, and I’ll be better in time for Cas to get home and heal me,” you replied, wishing he could come with you, too. You didn’t want to be in there all alone. But he didn’t need to see how scared you were. He needed to go and protect himself.

“Call me or text me and let me know everything they say or do, okay?”

You nodded and patted the truck before waving and forcing yourself through the hospital doors alone.

An hour later, you were in an ER bed, getting a breathing treatment and IV medications. A few hours after that, you were in an ICU bed, in a room with a roommate who was intubated with a ventilator helping her breathe. You were on oxygen, and feeling a bit better because of it, but still battling the chills of the fever and all the freaking lines and wires and tubes attached to your body.

The only positive you could see was that you had the bed nearer the window. The sun had risen, and beautiful golden light was coming in through the blinds. You were in the back of the hospital, with a view of nothing but farmland (past the parking lot and dumpsters, of course) as far as the eye could see. Everything was blooming, and the colorful lines of trees around the square fields dotted with cows kept you mesmerized. Morning show hosts babbled on your TV in the background, reciting doomsday predictions and death counts for the day, but you ignored them, preferring the view and messages from your friends.

You napped. You took your medicine. You shivered. You ate the horrible food. You sweated. You drank all the water. You sweated some more. You used the lung inhaler tester doohickey to prevent pneumonia, trying like mad to get the little yellow ball to the top of the thing. You dragged your IV pole to the bathroom and thanked whatever god was responsible for them putting the IV in your non-dominant hand. You texted with Dean. You texted with Sam. When they were busy, you actually watched old reruns of Dr. Sexy, M.D. because holy hell, being sick was boring.

When the aide came to take away your food tray, he brought a giant basket with him and left it on your tray table. “Someone begged really hard to get this in here to you,” he said with a disapproving frown. Fingering the ribbons tied to the handle, he said, “We had to cut off the balloons. Latex allergies and all. But be glad it’s here at all. They’re not letting anything in that can’t be disinfected six ways from Sunday.” With a flourish of one hand and your dinner tray in the other, he turned and flounced off with a huff.

In the basket was a huge stuffed llama wearing orange shoes, a purple jacket, and a shirt that said, “No drama, llama mama! Get well soon!”

Tears in your eyes, you pulled out the stuffed animal and hugged him to your chest. He was so soft and squishable! Still in the basket, underneath where the llama had been sitting, were an assortment of puzzle books, coloring books with pencils, and books you’d been thinking of reading, someday. Once you’d looked through everything, you found the note tied to the handle of the basket.

“Look out your window,” was written in Sam’s neat handwriting on one of the blank cards from the card catalog in the bunker library.

Grabbing your phone and your llama, you moved from the bed to the chair, which was sitting by the window. Down below, in the parking lot, was Sam in the bed of his truck, searching the windows to find you. A quick wave of your llama got his attention, and you watched as his eyes lit up and his shoulders relaxed. He looked down at his phone, typed something quickly, and then looked back up at you with a smile.

Sam: I see you got Shama! 😜

You: 😂 His name is Shama??

Sam: Yeah! Shama the drama llama! 😜😂 I figured you needed a friend in there.

You: Thank you! I do. It’s so boring. Thank you for the puzzle books, too!

Sam: I figured you had to be bored if you were watching Dr. Sexy.

You laughed, and looking down at Sam in his truck, you saw him laugh, too. Then, he was typing, again, and you waited for the message to appear.

Sam: You look better, even with all the wires and tubes. I’m so glad.

You: Yeah, feeling a bit better, too, with the oxygen. Still have the fever spikes, and I’m gonna get indigestion from the food, but the medicine and the nurses are helping.

Sam read your message, and then just sat there, looking up at you while you sat there at your window, looking down at him. The moment stretched on, the two of you staring into each other’s eyes through two stories of height and three rows of parking spaces. Without thinking, you put your hand on the window, wishing you could be closer to him. Sam lifted his hand, then dropped it with a sigh when he didn’t know what to do with it. He broke the moment to type another message into his phone, typing and typing and typing, and then looked up at you, waiting for you to get the message.

*ping*

Sam: I wanted to tell you a long time ago, but there was never a good time. Now’s not a good time, either, but I can’t wait another day. You need to get better and come home. I need you to get better and come home.

Another ping.

Sam: No, I don’t just need you. I love you. I love you and I need you with me, not locked away in a tower like you are.

Tears sprang to your eyes, and you covered your mouth in shock. You’d loved Sam from the beginning, but never thought he’d feel the same. You were friends...family, but more was always out of your reach, until now.

*ping*

Sam: If you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. I don’t want things to get weird between us. I just needed to tell you.

All Sam could see was your tears and you staring at your phone. He couldn’t see how happy he was making you! You dropped your hand from your mouth and shook your head vigorously, planting your hand back on the window before quickly typing a message back.

You: I do! I do! I didn’t think you saw me that way!

Sam’s face split into a huge grin as he read your message, and then the two of you just stared at each other for another while, both grinning stupidly. Eventually, the moment broke and the two of you returned to sending each other messages, telling each other how long you’ve been wasting time and how much you loved each other.

Soon after, the nurse would come in and make you go back to bed. When you would tell her that it was your boyfriend outside, she would chuckle and shoo him away. He would promise that Cas would be there the next day, even though he was supposed to take another day and a half. (Cas had healed someone, and to pay him back, they were helping him drive through the night to get to you.) The next day, Cas would sneak in and heal you, then give your roommate a helping hand, too. He would take you home, where Sam would be waiting, and you would launch yourself into Sam’s arms and stay there forever.

In the meantime, though, you had Shama, and you had Sam sending you love via text messages. Even after Sam was gone, having been shooed away, you had messages of love and good wishes from so many friends and loved ones constantly pouring in, it was nearly impossible to feel alone. Being sick sucked, but you would get well, again. You fell asleep that night, warm in the love of your entire family, knowing that better days were ahead.

Dawn – I hope this cheers you up and you get better soon! ♥♥♥

#sam x reader #sam fluff #covid 19 #fuck covid #pandemic #tw: covid 19 #tw: covid mention #queue has four redundant letters #mrswhozeewhatsis writes #incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

11 hours ago, I got a notification about a tag on a fic that was posted around Christmas 2016. The blog in question hasn’t even been active for three years. 

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

This is so cool!!!

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Ya know, shirts are expensive, and yet every time someone wants to take a look-see at Sam’s shoulder wound, they just, like, STRETCH the hell outta the neck of the shirt. How many shirts have been ruined, by now? How many more shirts will die a pointless death by being stretched like that? 

Proposal: Next time someone wants to look at Sam’s shoulder, he just, you know, takes off the shirt. The shirt is saved, they don’t have to get a new fake credit card so they can buy more shirts, and they can save their stolen money for ammo and stuff.

#SaveSamsShirts2k20

This has nothing at all to do with wanting to see Sam shirtless. Okay, maybe it does, but that is BESIDE THE POINT. The point is the shirts. And the money. And the ammo. And the other stuff. Totally.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #SaveSamsShirts2k20 #supernatural #s15 #Sam Winchester

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Google "Cha Cha Slide" then click the microphone icon. Keep clicking the little icons that pop up! 😁 

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #lol

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

For the record, I am not okay. I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth. No long posts from me about what the show has meant to me, right now. Maybe later. 

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

To stop the accusation that I’m dragging this out to please the drama llamas, I’ve studied everything I got (and spent a fair amount of time searching for things on blogs), and managed to whittle things down to their bare essentials. I’ve also tried to talk to everyone about everything, which took time. I won’t address everything that everyone has said on both sides, just a few points that are either concrete, or I can’t address them privately for whatever reason.

The timeline as I’ve been able to piece it together is like this:

Vanessa made a post about more popular writers complaining about lack of feedback. 

Beka messaged Vanessa wanting to know why Vanessa had a problem with her.

Vanessa responded in a way that upset Beka.

Beka blocked Vanessa.

Vanessa got around the block and sent anonymous asks to Beka.

Beka outed Vanessa by responding to the asks publicly.

Vanessa deactivated her blog.

Friends of both proceeded to attack each other.

Claims about Beka (this is not a complete list):

Only supports her friends on her blogs and in Pond Angel Fish Awards

Although it’s been a couple of months since Beka has reblogged fics from other writers at all, by going back through her #read with me tag, I see reblogs of fics from at least a dozen different writers just in May and June. I’ve only been tracking Angel Fish Awards since February, but since then, Beka has nominated 8 stories by 8 different writers.

Ignored asks for Big Fish advice sent to her blog

If there were a way for me to prove this, then I wouldn’t be listing it here. As it is, it’s impossible to prove. As a Pond admin, I’ve experienced the weirdest stuff with asks. I spent one evening chatting with a member while they repeatedly tried to send in asks, and we didn’t get a single one. I do know that asks sent via the app seem to be more likely to be eaten than asks sent via desktop, but asks sent both ways have disappeared. 

There are other claims, this is not a complete list, but I will be addressing them with Beka personally (I have already started doing this, actually). I’m only including these two because they can be proved or disproved with facts. Some of the other claims have been leveled against Big Fish in the Pond other than Beka, as well. The Pond will deal with those privately, but we hope you will see an improvement in these areas when the Pond returns from hiatus.

Claims about Vanessa:

I’ve talked to Vanessa about these, without anything constructive coming from it. I tried. I tried to explain to her that she could have gotten further by using less provocative language and offering constructive suggestions. We ended up having the same old arguments about unrelated issues and going around in circles. The only thing Vanessa ceded was that she should not have continued to reach out to Beka after Beka blocked her. She has apologized for this. I don’t need to list the rest here, just know the conversation happened and nothing came of it.

Claims about Beka’s opposition:

Made unsubstantiated claims about Beka sending herself anon hate

I’ll be the first to tell you that I don’t have a single clue how to figure out who has sent an anonymous ask on Tumblr. However, what I do know is that it requires access to the inbox the ask was sent to. In order for someone who is not Beka to say that Beka sent herself an anonymous ask, they would have had to have hacked into her account, somehow. I don’t know much about this, but it sounds illegal. Since there was proof of this offered, it’s a useless claim.

Picked apart posts on her personal blog and said they were intended for her writing audience when they were not

Beka’s personal blog was, she thought, relatively private. It was not meant for her readers to see. (There is an argument to be made about how it’s still a public blog that the world can see, but the charge is that she intended for her readers to see it and respond, and that is not the case.) Yet, someone took it upon themselves to stalk it, and then match posts between the two blogs, making it look like it all came from one blog. They then took their argument to the absurd and claimed she was using her mental health issues to drum up patrons on her Patreon. If that were the case, then it all would have been on her writing blog. But it wasn’t.

Belittled Beka’s cries for help, and then attacked her further

I don’t care if you didn’t believe her when she said she was on the edge, you just don’t do that, folks. That right there is the point where you either walk away or report her to Tumblr as a threat to herself. The last thing you do is double down on your attacks. Take a break, walk away, find a kinder, gentler way to make your point. I don’t care who they are or what they believe or have done, when someone puts the gun to their head, you do not tell them they are an awful human being.

Dissected every post, word by word, including auto tags, using intentionally provocative language

Not every post made was like this, but a lot were. This is high school stuff, guys. To rip apart words used by someone obviously in pain instead of reaching through and looking for the meaning behind it is petty and cruel. Not to mention it takes so much more energy to dig into things like that than to just respond to the meat of things. To take someone’s blog name and twist it into a degrading moniker is sickening. To attack words used in an effort to distract from the topic at hand, or to just add on to the already heaping pile of anger you’re throwing around is unconscionable and pointless. This is not what people who are coming from a place of love or kindness do. This is what you do when you hate someone, and that’s just not cool, guys.

Brought up old issues thought to have been settled a long time ago

My husband calls this “stamp collecting.” There’s a statute of limitations on things, and it depends on the thing, but my personal limit on Tumblr is about two weeks. If nothing has been said about something for two weeks, I assume it’s in the past and I try to move on. I say this because, if it weren’t settled, then we’d all still be working on it, right? If something is bothering me, and I work on it with someone, but I’m not happy, then I’m gonna keep working on it with that person. If they seem to forget (which happens because we’re all human), then I’m gonna send them a quick message. “Hey there! I’m still working on this thing. Can we talk about it again?” I do this with contractors who work on my house. I did this with clients when I worked in an office. To bring up something that happened a long time ago like it’s still an active issue is pointless, and goes against one of the main tenets of effective arguing.

Taking obvious glee in tearing down another person

Do I really have to talk about this? If you had any care for the other person, even enough to just care that they are a person, you would not gloat about how you’re going to tear them apart.

Really, all of this stuff comes down to if you are approaching the world and everything you do from a place of love or from a place of anger and pain. Even if you are angry and in pain, treat other people like you love and respect them, and you will find that everything is just better. 

If you feel like I’m coming down on one side or the other of this situation, just know that I’m not. Pretty much, I don’t like things that were done by both sides. These are just the things I feel more comfortable talking about in a public post like this.

Other stuff that’s come up in the course of all of this:

Complaining about notes/followers

So many writers, lately, are frustrated. Tumblr sucks balls on a good day when it comes to notifications and the whole algorithm mess, and that’s still being generous. In an effort to keep the porn blogs at bay, they’ve stifled all creators. Add to that how tags seem to never work when you’re searching for something, and disseminating your work is nearly impossible.

I could tell you all the different ways you can change your focus on the readers you do have, give you lists of things you can do to expand your audience, and offer advice about not comparing yourself to other writers. But you’ve already heard all of that. So, I’m just gonna say it.

If you complain publicly about a lack of notes or followers, you’re gonna look like a dick.

That doesn’t mean you are a dick. You’re just gonna look like one. You’re going to look like you’re ungrateful for the readers that you do have, which is going to turn off those readers, and you’ll end up with even fewer notes and followers. If you manage to disparage other writers while you’re complaining, you’re gonna look like an even bigger dick. So, just don’t do it, unless you don’t mind looking like a dick. 

Need to vent about it? Find a close friend and send it to them in a private message. Have a funny thought about it that you want to share? This is exactly what private messages are for. Create a group DM in discord. Heck, I think even Tumblr has a group chat option, now. Just, don’t put it on your blog, unless you want to lose followers. 

The number of admins at the Pond

Some folks seem to think that the Pond needs to add more admins in order to react more quickly when something goes down. Honestly, I have talked to Mana and Kale about stepping down as admin because I believe the opposite is true. We have a policy that we all must agree on the big things. However, we are separated by 8 time zones. There is a rare hour every few days (sometimes it’s weeks) when all three of us are awake and not occupied with caring for family members. We have a private group chat thing where we each toss ideas and questions and such into the pot when we’re doing things. When the others get to it, they add their two cents. Usually, there are two of us active at a time, and then we wait for the third to stop by for approval. Often, the third has a question or argument that then needs to be addressed, but the first or second one isn’t available. More admins would only be a good thing if we were all in the same time zone. But we’re not. We are an international group, which I believe is a good thing, but the downside is that it slows us down. Sometimes, being slow is a good thing, too. Generally, at least one of is calm and level-headed at any given time. It shifts on who that one is, but they keep us from doing anything rash.

The whole problem is that no one feels like they can tell you when there’s a problem

I’ve heard this so many times, now, but I haven’t responded to it publicly, so here goes. 

Most of you don’t know what I’m like in person, but I’m built like a linebacker. I’m tall, I’m heavy, and I have wide shoulders. I have literally scared small children. Take Jared Padalecki, add another Jared Padalecki on the side, and then take away all the pretty, and you come close to what I’m like when you see me walking down the street. 

I don’t want to be a scary person that anyone is afraid to approach. My goal in life is to be kind and fair. I will give you second and third chances, because I know how awful it feels to be written off. 

My ask box is always open. My chat windows are always open. My email address is [email protected]. I’m the same on discord and skype. I don’t care if you think your thing is stupid, if it’s something that’s bothering you, and I can help, then I want to help. I can’t always help, but I always want the opportunity to try.

If I have ever done anything that made you feel like I didn’t care, then I give you permission to tell me. I’ll hate hearing it, but I need to hear it. 

If I have forgotten to follow up on something for you, PLEASE REMIND ME. Holy, cow, I have a TERRIBLE memory. It’s really bad. I have tricks and stuff that I do to try to make sure I don’t lose track of things, but it still happens. Please, come back to me and remind me that I promised you something. I guarantee that I will not be mad or upset. I will be glad, because you’re helping me to be the person I want to be.

I think that’s about it. The Pond is still on hiatus, indefinitely. We have a lot of things we’re talking about for if/when we come back, and some of them are really exciting to me. I hope we come back. I hope we can make the Pond what we always meant it to be. We’ll need help, and constant feedback from our fishy family, but I still have hope.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #michelle rants #mrswhozeewhatsis rants

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

I haven’t been feeling great, so I’m way behind on my tags. Gonna just reblog some fics without reading just so I can get caught up. I’m so sorry, y’all. 

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #about me right now

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

You know what would be awesome? If I could not get distracted every five minutes, leading me to have so very many unfinished things all happening at once.

#incoherent babbling by mrswhozeewhatsis #i swear i don't have add or anything like that #but holy CRAP my brain is on the fritz