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Can I hear the story about the possessed elmo please?
Okayyyy so I had this Tickle Me Elmo as a kid that says “ha ha ha! That tickles!” when you squeeze him and the more you squeeze him the more he laughs until he just gets hysterical. And I fucking loved that creepy ass Elmo and hugged him all the time and laughed when he laughed and it was generally a great time. So naturally, eventually, the batteries died. And I begged and begged for new ones, but my parents always forgot to buy them, or maybe just pretended to because batteries are fucking expensive and really who wants to spend the money on a creepy Elmo toy that they’re sick of hearing through the house anyway.
SO. Elmo sits on my shelf gathering dust with my other toys for a couple of months and I mostly forget about him. Until one night, I’m sitting in bed and reading like the nerd I was and suddenly I hear “ha ha ha! That tickles!” coming from my shelves of soft toys. I look over at where Elmo is sitting, playing the innocent act, registering somewhere in my tiny brain that my dead Elmo just laughed without provocation and slowly turn back to my book to continue reading. Don’t ask me why nothing about this bothered me, because I have no fucking clue.
It happened a couple of weeks later when I was sleeping in my brother’s room and took my Elmo with me. There I was, sitting in my sleeping bag, still reading like a nerd, and off he goes; “ha ha ha! That tickles!” Again, I look at my clearly possessed Elmo in silence, then go back to reading because apparently talking soft toys just isn’t a big deal when I’m reading a good book.
It never occurred to me that something was kinda odd about this until a few years later when I casually bring it up at school and all the other kids start losing their goddamn minds. By the afternoon the whole school knows about it and kids I’ve never talked to before are coming up to me and asking about my possessed Elmo. Of course the legend spread and I’m pretty sure by the end of the day there were rumours about its glowing red eyes and deep, demonic voice floating around the school.
Anonymous asked: I’m stuck at home with bronchitis and in a lot of pain :( Could I request something cute and fluffy?
Author’s note: I got this one just now, and I hope you’ll feel better soon. <3
Also, you weren’t very specific so I wrote you something including the whole ‘angels can sense when a human is longing for them’ development, with a happy ending. :)
“Son of a bitch!” Dean cursed, his frustration causing him to forcefully slam his hand against the steering wheel.
Just his luck. His precious car hardly ever let him down, but of course the one time it did happen, it had to be in the middle of freaking nowhere. It was dark outside, and rain was violently pounding against the Impala’s windshield. In the distance, Dean could hear the thunder roll by. He shivered involuntarily; it was starting to get colder, and his damp clothes weren’t helping the situation. Good thing that he at least wasn’t easily spooked.
After the engine had spontaneously turned off, Dean had taken a brief look under the hood, but without the necessary tools and proper lighting, there was no way that he could fix this on the spot. His plan B had been calling Sammy to pick him up; surely at least one of the many vehicles in the bunker’s garage had to be working. But bad luck usually came in threes, so naturally, the battery of Dean’s phone had died ages ago.
He rested his forehead against the steering wheel as he tried to come up with a Plan C. It was still a two hour drive back to the bunker, at the very least, so walking was a big no. Of course there was always another solution…
No. Dean wasn’t going to do it, not this time. He refused to pray to Cas. He wasn’t going to bother his best friend with his insignificant human problems yet again. Dean already felt guilty for calling on Castiel whenever something was wrong, and he had promised himself that he would work on that.
Besides, he was tired of making the angel feel like he only had a right to come around whenever Dean needed him to fix a mess. The next time he prayed to Castiel, he wanted it to be for a fun reason, as lame as that sounded. A reason such as catching up over a couple of beers, or going out to eat burgers together. To talk, preferably about something not work related. Something simple. Like friends did.
In the darkness of his car, the rain hiding him from the rest of the world, Dean allowed himself to snort as he thought the word ‘friends’. Dean wanted Cas to be a bit more than just his friend, he’d figured that out a while ago.
He suddenly found himself wishing that Cas was with him. Not even to fix his car, but because he hadn’t seen the angel in three weeks and was missing him. He wouldn’t even mind sitting here all night and waiting for the sun to rise and the rain to stop, if Cas were here with him to keep him company.
But Dean kept his promise to himself, he was not going to pray. A loud crash of thunder startled him, and he shifted in his seat. He sighed as he stared out the window, into the nothing.