only wearing plaid from now on


Thank you for your lovely comments, darlings!!! I hope you like what I did with your prompts!! Enjoy!!! <3

Warning: Hot make-outs, smutty mentions, cute Bughead galore and just me fawning over the bae that is Cole Sprouse. 

“We have to go.” Kiss

“Hmm, in a second.” Kiss

“One day – kiss – we’ll get caught – kiss – and they’ll definitely expel us.” Hard Kiss.

“Oh, I’d love to see you, Betty Cooper – kiss – getting expelled over a steamy make out.” Bite.

Betty just let a breathless laugh, alternating the angle of her head and dropped her arms to his shoulders, crossing them by the wrists behind his head. Jughead’s smile grew more in delight against her lips and he dove in again, pecking her lips hard. They were in one of the dusty storage rooms of their high school, the smallest one and the one with no windows, exploring this new-found feeling of being in love and being a couple, mist old broken chairs and random school supplies. Betty was perched up on an unused desk that lay against the wall, dressed for her cheerleading practice in her usual white and yellow t-shirt and dark blue shorts, while her boyfriend was standing deliciously between her gorgeous legs, school bag, denim jacket and beanie abandoned somewhere on the floor, kissing her like there was no tomorrow for God knows how long now.

That was basically they daily routine. Ever since the two of them overcame their irrational fears of rejection and possible heartbreak and talked with each other about that kiss that held all of Jughead’s suppressed emotions all those years, they couldn’t overlook their mutual feeling of desiring to be together. Three weeks had passed since that day and, despite of the new challenges they were faced with every day, regarding their unconventional families and the amorality that seemed to emerge every once in a while of the core of their small town, the two teens were basking in the afterglow of their romance with affectionate gestures and heated make outs. The only cloud shading their Romeo and Juliet fairytale was that everything was being done in shadows, like a good, concealed secret.

They wanted to tell people; and they would do it. They weren’t afraid or ashamed, both emotions equally unfair to the wonderful union that it was them. They just wanted to do it in their own terms, without excited friends or controlling parents getting in their way, without having to explain themselves or put labels and boundaries in something that came and kept growing natural to them. So, janitor’s closets and storage rooms it was.

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Yes, Professor Winchester (Part 2)

Originally posted by cheerfulsammy

Summary: Reader shows up a few minutes late to class again and Dean decides its time to have a chat…

Part 1

Pairing: Professor!Dean x student!reader

Word Count: 2400ish

Warnings: language, smut, inappropriate relationship

A/N: Professor Winchester is back…

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Recap/Review 12.20: "Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes"

THEN: Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.

Shit, you guys, they’re taking us back to the pilot. It’s a risky move, showing this particular scene, because it reminds us of how awesome the show was back in the day. This scene has always been one of my favorites, with Sam blowing off Dean’s concern and then Dean repeating what he said but adding the oh-so-telling information (though we didn’t know it at the time) that Dad was on a hunting trip and Sam not breaking eye contact with Dean as he quietly asks/tells Jessica to excuse them for a minute and damn. I love this scene.

Anyway. The rest of the “Then:” hot witch twins, Ketch wants to know the secret behind Sam’s shiny hair, Cas, the Colt.

NOW: A lovely woman who looks way too young to be Max and Alicia’s mother drives up to an inn in a large old house, where she encounters a nasty older woman with a big ring and a big attitude (although I did think “what a delicate constitution you must have” was clever). She offers to cleanse her aura, saying it looks “a little muddy,” and I suspect this is a witch’s version of a southern woman saying “well bless your heart” - they both translate to “why don’t you fuck off and die?” The younger woman is Tasha Banes, here on both business and pleasure (but probably ending up with neither). She does some witchcraft using the order “reveal,” and ends up in an apparently very malodorous cellar, where she’s quickly stabbed through the abdomen. Like I said, neither business nor pleasure is getting accomplished here.

Title card!

Sam and Dean are in the bunker, freaking out about Cas. (Also, they’re both proving my point about Dean being the better dresser, since he’s wearing a nice solid grayish-greenish shirt that probably does things with his eyes when he’s not in a dark bunker, while Sam’s in an unflattering blue and red plaid.) Dean’s venting and chewing on his nails, which almost never happens. Sam’s quietly trying to figure out how to fix it. Dean says he’s always been able to forgive Cas’s missteps in the past, which, well, okay, maybe not but let’s move on. “But last night, I did not recognize the guy staring back at me.” Like that’s a first. Like Godstiel and Leviathan!Cas never happened.

Winchesters in distress. I like it.

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There and Back Again (Part 10)

Originally posted by findmeplease

Summary: you begin to adjust to life in hell, while things aren’t going quite so well topside. 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,100

Warnings: reader death, brief mentions of murder and rape, grieving angry Dean, dealing with a corpse? Is hell a warning?

See the series masterlist for previous parts!

A/N: Not much action in this one, mostly setting up for future parts. My priorities are all out of whack right now, and this was supposed to be finished after I finished things that actually have deadlines, but… it was speaking to me. John lets his marine side show through and I have to say that part made me bawl the most. Good luck, friends. Don’t hate me.

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Locked out (Demon!Dean x Reader)[smut]

Genre: Supernatural

Characters: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: Smutty as hell/forceful

Request: Super smutty Demon!Dean imagine? Please, please!?

It had been just over a week since Dean had walked out that room - it didn’t feel the same, and something told you it never would. His inky black eyes used to scare the hell out of you whenever you saw them, he used to try and hide them from you and Sam but it must have slipped his mind at times - it was only when the incident happened that things had changed…

A couple of days before 

You hated hunts where you had to dress up, how come it was you always as the bait and not one of the boys? You understood that it was an all male Vampire nest that were targeting young women to turn them then keep them as their slaves for the rest of their eternal life, but why you? You came out of your room wearing a tight burgundy vest top tucked into a leather black mini skirt with the high heel boots you never thought you would wear. You had never felt so uncomfortable in your life. Clicking your way into the kitchen you washed the remaining eyeliner and red lipstick off your hands in the sink ’why did I use waterproof?!‘ All of a sudden you felt someone press up against you, slightly bending you over the sink whilst rubbing their hands up and down your hips and back “Well sweetie, if I were a Vamp, Id defiantly have you as my slave” a familiar voice whispered into your ear sending a flutter of pleasure through your stomach, only to then playfully nip your neck before slapping your backside and walking off out the door. Dean Winchester. Why Dean Winchester? You composed yourself and carried on out the door after him, preparing yourself from the hunt you had lied ahead of you.


Sitting at the dinner table staring into the darkness you thought about that night and why it was on your mind so much; ever since Dean had come back he seemed to be more interested in you than ever, slapping your arse at every chance and commenting on how your chest bounced as you walked. You liked it. 

Sitting opposite you was Sam, wearing a plaid shirt as always; and next to you was the man himself - you only snapped out of your daydream from the feel of Dean’s warm hand touch the top of your thigh, you exhaled a little too deeply and he noticed, squeezing you even harder causing you to knock your dinner plate off the table “Oh god, I’m so stupid!” you complained, standing up out of your chair, forcing Dean’s hand to slide off your leg “Are you okay Y/N?” Sam asked starting to stand as well, Dean shot up in an instand and held your back and gesturing his hand as though he was pushing Sam away using the force “She’s fine” he said sharply “She’s just exhausted” he continued looking at you. It may have just been the light but you could have sworn he flashed his black eyes at you. He took you by the hand before you could protest “Ill make sure she gets some rest while you clean this mess up” he said ordering his brother like he always had - Dean led you to your bedroom as the sound of clinking china became distant.

Dean tucked you into bed ever so gently until he heard the bunker door open then shut again, a sly smile came across his face “Be a good girl and stay here, ill be right back” he said propelling himself from the bed, slithering out of the door way and down the hall, you instantly threw the covers off you and peered your head round the corner of the door frame - you heard three distinctive locks of the bunker door and spotted Dean walking back down the hall starting to undo his belt, he haddent seen you yet so you bolted back to your bed and placed the covers back over your body, trying to remember exactly how you looked before you left. Re-entering the room he slipped a chair under the doorknob and continued to you, holding one hand behind his back “What was it?” you asked innocently “Just locking the door so Sammy cant get back in” he replied laughing “What? Why?!” you shouted sitting yourself upright “Because we don’t want to be disturbed” he said through a smile as he grabbed you round the throat, pushing you up against the wall behind you; he nipped the exposed part of your neck “Remember what I said on the night of the big Vamp hunt Y/N?” he reminded you in between sweet kisses, oh god did you remember; you moaned as a reply - his response was biting down on the vein in your neck, it felt as though it was going to burst but it was counteracted by the wetness that started to fill you down bellow “Well, now I’ve turned you” he said bringing his arm out exposing the arrangement of belts and ropes he had collected in the short period that he was gone “Now its time to make you my slave for all eternity”.

The rope burned against your wrists as he tied your right hand your left and hoisting you off of the wall, arms outstretched above your head and arse just about off the bed; Dean stood proudly above you, standing on the bed holding the other end of the rope “You don’t want this Dean, its that thing thats inside of you” you yelled out to him, you didnt want him to stop but you wanted to make sure the real Dean was there “Oh but dont you see?” he said bending down slightly to meet your face, his hand wandered downward; caressing your breasts and grabbing the bottom of your shirt, pulling it upwards briskly he exposed your jet black bra whilst tying the knot tighter by wrapping your shirt around it as well - he pushed your chin up towards his face with his index finger and showed you his emerald green eyes “I do want this” he replied flashing his eyes back to black “I want this so bad!” he said more aggressively throwing you down onto the bed again and straddling your chest; he still held the rope firm in his grasp while he forced your mouth open, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down as well as his underwear, exposing what your body was yearning for. Gripping you by the hair he pulled his face close to yours “Now youre going to take me in your mouth, and youre going to obey. Ive done the walk to the bins many times and im telling you that he is already on his way back. So, are you going to be my good girl” he asked sliding his head into your wet mouth, you bit down hard causing him to yelp out in pain. “No” you shouted with a smile of delight, you knew what was coming; with a face of pleasure Dean flipped you over onto your knees, the rope now making your hands stick to your back, he wrapped it around your stomach and added to the tangle of shirt and rope “Guess we have to do this my way” he laughed pulling down your trousers and undies and thrust his finger into you hard, constantly pounding his finger into your g-spot making you moan with delight he asked once again “Now, are you going to be my good girl?” “No” you screamed halfway through a moan. He slipped another finger in causing you to scream even louder into the mattress “I said, are you going to be my good girl?” he repeated pounding you as hard as he could “YES!” you squealed, slowing his pace he removed his fingers from you, wiping your wetness onto the covers; lowering his face onto your entrance slowly l lapping up your juices to clean you up 'accidentally’ pushing his tongue in too fair every now and then - deciding you were wet enough he flipped you back over again so he could face you, lining himself up with your slit he rubbed himself against you and you hummed a slight moan at the relaxing feeling “P-Please” you called out “Say my name” he ordered “Dean, P-” you were cut off by him sliding himself slowly inside you penetrating you ever so slowly “Oh god, Dean!” you shouted as he picked up pace, he slammed himself into you over and over while you screamed repetitively - he dug his nails in harder with every squeal you made. Hitting your g-spot every time you felt your orgasm pooling up inside you, it wasn’t until you tried to silence yourself that you heard the pounding “Dean, I know you’re in there let me in!” you heard the muffled shout of Sams voice from outside “Nearly here” he winked at you “Better hurry up and finish you shouldn’t i?” he teased as he pounded into you harder. The unmistakable flutter of wings drew your attention to the other side of the room - there stood Castiel gawking with a tilted head and Sam unconscious on the floor; Dean offloaded himself into you, triggering your own orgasm causing you to scream louder than you ever had before. 

“I dont understand, Dean whats going on” Castiel asked innocently “Just showing Y/N who’s boss Cas nothing to worry about” Dean panted.

“I don’t understand

tagged by @aeon-wolf :)

rules: tag ppl you wanna get to know better

  • nickname: misty, but was only by my grandpa rip
  • zodiac: Libra
  • height: 5′5
  • last thing i googled: grateful
  • favourite music artist: Imagine Dragons, Mumfords and Sons, EOE
  • song stuck in my head: some of the score from sense8
  • last movie i saw: I don’t really watch movies. I watched most of A Street Cat Named Bob a little while ago
  • what am i wearing right now: Blue plaid button-up, jeans, Wanheda snapback, and Nikes
  • why did i choose my url: a reference to the Seahawks’ 12th Man and a common character of mine in art school
  • what did your last relationship teach you: N/A
  • religious or spiritual: spiritual I guess. I guess I was more religious when I lived in the Bay Area (churches I found there were more diverse and accepting than Reno is)
  • favourite colour: Blue 
  • average hours of sleep: 6-7 on workdays. 9-10 on weekends
  • lucky number: 23.
  • favourite characters: Sameen Shaw - POI, Root - POI, Alex Danvers - Supergirl, Maggie Sawyer - Supergirl, Tamsin - Lost Girl, Sybil Crawley Branson - Downton Abbey, Alec Hardison - Leverage, Parker - Leverage
  • how many blankets do i sleep with: 1-2
  • dream job: right now- something in film/tv production, like production assistant

tagging: @tommyoh @ettadunham @jonathanbyrs @cloned-commander @ariyah-v @downriversandroads

I Got Tagged In a Thing!

I was tagged by @thebronyphilospher
Go give her a follow!

Rules: Tag 9 followers you’d like to get to know better

Name: Most people call me Ning

Star sign: Libra

Average hours of sleep: It’s always different. I guess the average would be six

Lucky numbers: Just 8

Last thing I googled: I’ve started getting my friend to watch Steven Universe, so I looked up what Episode 11 is for tomorrow

Favourite fictional character: Discord! Of course Cx

What are you wearing right now? Jeans and a red, plaid shirt. I only wore this because I have to wear long sleeves to work. It’s not really my style

When did you start this blog? July 2013

Amount of followers? A couple away from 3500

What do I post? Well, this is an ask blog. I just post the story related stuff, answering questions, fan art for me…and occasionally this stuff.

Do I run any more blogs? ask-dizzyshy’s sister blog, ask-discorded-dizzyshy is a darker version of this one. guideconstellation is an ask blog revolving around an OC who becomes Luna’s apprentince before she’s banished as Nightmare Moon
My mod blog is feathergem. I don’t use it much

Why did I join tumblr? Originally, I did it to follow ask blogs like ask-king-sombra and discorderlyconduct. Then I made this blog to become one of them!

Do I get a lot of asks? Right after I post a story related post, I get a bunch of asks over the course of about three or four days

Why did I choose this url? I didn’t like how Fluttercord sounded, but I liked how people nicknamed Discord ‘Dizzy’. So, I made my own ship name

And now I tag: @toxictraitor, @countparadox
My sister and a buddy of mine Cx
(I don’t feel like tagging nine, heh. Sorry)


There was a reason you didn’t like hunts that involved witches. One of the reasons was that witches were unpredictable son’s of a bitches who unfortunately could have a lot of power, power which worked not always in your favor. But not even you, nor Team Free Will, had known that the witch you were currenly hunting was capable of this kind of magic. So when you opened up your eyes after the witch had muttered some strange, Latin spell and had hit you with a blast of light, you were surprised to find yourself lying on a very fancy looking bed, in a very fancy looking room, wearing a fancy looking dress. What might be even weirder, was the fact that minutes later the door of the room had opened and a young woman wearing a simple outfit had walked in, carrying a silver plate on which food was settled. On seeing your shocked expression, a frown appeared on her face, as she asked you in a ploite yet curious voice:

‘‘Is everything alright, princess?’‘

Your mouth fell open at her words, while your eyes grew wide. Princess..?

With a grown, you let yourself fall back on the bed, your hands covering your face as you muttered in a tired voice:

‘‘…Man, I really hate witches…’‘

Meanwhile, in a place far far waway from your kingdom…

Sam grunted as he woke up, his head pounding from the fall he had taken after the witch had hit him. He felt like he had just been in a car crash, his limbs hurting and his stomach being very close to betraying him. Feeling confused, he blinked a few times to clear his eyeshight, only to find his brother kneeling in front of him wearing some very…odd clothes.

‘‘Morning, sunshine,’‘ Dean grunted in a rough voice, as he saw his brother looking around in a confused way, slowly taking in everything around him.

‘‘Dean, are we…in a forest?’‘ Sam asked, slowly shaking his head. He was still dizzy, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get up, which caused him to nearly fall over again.

‘‘Hey…Hey! Take it slow, Sammy,’‘ Dean called out as he grabbed his younger brother’s shoulder to prvent him from falling over. ‘‘You’ve been hit with some freaky ass spell, no need to go all Captain Falcon right now, alright?’’

Sam merely scoffed at his brother’s reference, before brushing off the few leaves on his clothes. It was only then that he noticed that he wasn’t wearing his trusted plaid shirt or jeans anymore. Instead, it seemed he was wearing some strange, very medieval looking outfit. Talking of which, Dean seemed to have lost his leather jacket and weathered jeans too. Instead, he was dressed in something that looked awfully much like a knight’s outfit. And was that… a sword hanging on his belt?

‘‘Well, what do you think?’‘ Dean commented as soon as he saw his younger brother staring at him, spreading out his arms while looking down with a frown. ‘‘I look like freakin’ Prince Charming, ain’t that just great…’‘

‘Dean…’‘ Sam suddenly said, ignoring the oldest Winchester’s comment. ‘‘…Where is (Y/n)?’‘

The sight Dean let out next couldn’t mean anything good, and indeed: His brother’s answer did not comfort him in the slightest.

‘‘No frickin’ clue,’‘ He started, while looking around once more. ‘‘But I guess that where ever that witch send us, (Y/n) must be somewhere here too.’‘

‘‘Hold on a minute,’‘ Sam muttered, forwning as he tried to put all of the recent events in the right order. The spell the witch had muttered, their strange clothes… It didn’t take long for Sam to fifure out what might have happened, causing him to call out his brother’s name, who almost jumped at the sudden outburst.

‘‘Dean, I think I know where we are…’‘ Sam spoke, slowly looking his brother in the eye. ‘‘The spell that witch said, I already thought I recognised it. Remember the fairytales, like Snow White and…and Cinderella and such? I think that is what might have happened, like an alternate universe.’‘

It took Dean a few seconds to take in his brother’s explanation.

‘‘You’re saying we are stuck in some weird ass fairytale?’‘

‘‘…I guess,’‘ Sam shrugged, sighting. ‘‘So I guess to get out we might have to live the story. You know, save the princess?’‘

Dean slowly ran a hand over his face, as he muttered in an annoyed voice:

‘‘Man, we could really use Cas’ right now. Alright Sammy, let’s go and slay the dragon.’‘

(Gifs not mine)

Can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen

summary: things get hot and heavy in the kitchen

Pots and pans lined the kitchen worktop, some singular others piled up in wobbly towers threatening to topple over with one slight movement. A frantic Caroline rushed back and forth from the oven to the stove, which inconveniently were placed on opposite sides of the room. If it were her kitchen they would be next to each other, the sink moved to the middle, the grey metallic fridge swapped to white and the dark wood cabinets would be replaced with brightly covered plastic doors. However, today she didn’t mind the dark décor, it made the smoke rising from the oven a lot less noticeable.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

Only for a second, she raised her head lifting her eyes away from the now burning water to gaze over at Stefan who had appeared in the door way. As always he leant so perfectly against the door frame, hands in pockets, wearing that smile that would make any vampire, or human, go weak at the knees. The plaid shirt he wore was opened revealing a white vest top clinging to every muscle showing his body as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. Now was not the time for a distraction.

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Hidden Secrets

SPN Writing Challenge | @sunriserose1023 vs. @lovesdestielandklaine
PROMPT: Mind Control/ Compulsion
PAIRINGS: Sam Winchester x Female Reader
TAGS: Fluff, very light smut, illness

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

“Damn it!”

Sam rushed forward, catching you as you stumbled backwards, coughing and trembling. He looked up to glare at the witch, but she was gone. He cursed under his breath again, then gathered you in his arms, carrying you out to the car. He slid you into the backseat, then pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Dean? We’ve got a problem.”

“So … what you’re telling me is she got hit with … pixie dust?”

You and Sam shared a long-suffering sigh. Sam looked at you, then back at his brother.

“I said it looked a lot like pixie dust, not that it was. The witch blew it at her and it was glowing and glittered and sparkled before it hit her.”
“In the face?”
“Directly in the face, yes. She didn’t have a chance to miss it.”

Dean ran a hand down his face.

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Just another Supernatural Fan


Pairings: None

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: So this is based of off this post.

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Sugar Daddy Ashton

Boom! Surprise, bitchachos! I actually finished the Sugar Daddy!Ash thing today. So, yeah, here it is and I hope you enjoy! - Wren 

The door to the music room had been left slightly ajar, leaving you able to peek in and watch Ashton drumming. You always loved watching him drum on stage, it was something he was truly passionate about and you loved to see him doing something he loved. You saw the sweat dripping down his body and instantly felt a familiar tingling between your legs.
Initially, you’d went into the music room to ask him for money to go shopping, but now, it wasn’t the only thing you wanted from Daddy.

He turned his head towards the door and called you in. He set his sticks down on his drums and stared at you as you walked in. You were wearing one of his plaid shirts and black lace underwear, which was something you knew he loved to see. It was like having marked territory, you were his and only his.

“Are you alright, princess?” He asked, sweeping his damp hair out of his eyes.

You made your way over to straddle his thigh while he sat on his drum stool. “I’m fine, Daddy.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His hands found your hips and his eyes burned into yours. “You sure about that, Kitten?” Ashton’s voice showed genuine concern, he didn’t like seeing you unhappy. “You don’t want anything?”

He could read you like a book. But, rather than telling him what you wanted, you decided to show him. You pushed your lips against his and began to ride his thigh, he clenched his muscles agaisnt your clit, making the pleasure more intense. Ashton’s hands dropped to grip your ass hard, most likely leaving finger sized bruises, another sign that you were his. His tongue swiped against your bottom lip, demanding access, which you granted. Your tongues fought for dominance for a while, but you eventually let Ashton take complete control of you, as always. It turned him on more when you tried to take control, but you both knew he was always going to be the one calling the shots.

Ashton told you to wrap your legs around him as he stood up, still holding your ass. You started to nibble at the skin on his neck, leaving gorgeous purple bite marks that you knew would spark some hilarity when he went to the studio with the boys the next day. You had gotten so caught up in focusing on hitting Ashton’s sweet spot on his neck, you hadn’t even noticed that he had walked you both to your bedroom until he tossed you onto the bed. You pushed your hair out of your face and smirked at him, using your eyes to beg him to come and get you.

“You want to play, Kitten?” Ashton asked, chewing on his lip.

You shifted position and got up onto your knees, playfully running a finger along the waist of his basketball shorts. “You know I do, Daddy.” You giggled, peering up at him through your lashes.

He nodded at you, giving you his approval to do what you had in mind. You used the finger you had tucked under Ashton’s waistband to pull his shorts down, allowing him to spring free. You kissed him on the cheek before slithering down his body and taking him into your mouth. You were tempted to immediately deepthroat him, but you decided to tease him a little. It would lead to a much rougher fuck, which is exactly what you wanted from him.

You slowly licked up the length of his cock, then began kitten-licking the tip. When you heard frustrated swears coming under Ashton’s breath, you knew it was getting to him. You were going to get exactly what you wanted from Daddy.

You sucked him into your mouth and starting moving your head up and down his length, only painfully slowly. You heard him mumble something along the lines of “Fuck this!” before he grabbed your head and pushed it down, forcing you to take him deep down your throat. You couldn’t help but moan around his cock, forcing a low, ferocious-sounding growl from Ashton’s throat. He began thrusting into your mouth, just like you were hoping he would do to your throbbing pussy.

By the time Ashton was finished with your mouth, your panties were definitely ruined. He pushed you onto your back and tore the shirt open, clearly not caring that a good number of the buttons had popped off. He yanked your panties down and lightly slapped your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your whole body. He started to rub his tip up the length of your soaked kitty, obviously wanting to get revenge for you teasing him.

“Daddy…” You moaned breathlessly, “Please, do it!”

He looked you deep in the eyes before he crashed his lips against yours and thrusted into you, bringing a loud, sharp yelp out of you. Ashton’s thrusts were slow at first, but he gradually picked up speed and before you knew it, Daddy was slamming into you, showing no mercy whatsoever.

“Ohh, fuck, Daddy, can I cum please?!” You squealed, digging your nails into Ashton’s perfect biceps, you could feel your orgasm approaching furiously.

Then, you heard the one word that you didn’t want to hear. “No.”

Daddy never said no to you. Why was he doing it now of all times? He didn’t stop or at least slow down, he kept going at the same pace as he was before. You were going to cum, you knew you were. You didn’t want to because you knew it would result in a punishment, and Ashton could be relentless when it came to punishment. The last time you came without permission, you couldn’t sit down for a good few days without your ass stinging.

“Please, Daddy!” You whined. You needed to cum, badly, and the only way to get what you wanted was to beg Daddy.

Ashton’s thrusts grew sloppy, you could tell he was close too. You leaned up, sweeping his curls out of his face, and kissing him passionately, and gently biting his lip as you pulled away.

An incoherent mumble that sounded vaguely similar to “Cum for Daddy, princess.” stumbled out of Ashton’s lips, and soon after, you found yourself shaking underneath him and biting into his shoulder as your orgasm washed over you. Not long after you had sunk flat onto the bed did Ashton slump over you, releasing inside of you. Ashton rolled off of you and you turned into his arms, both of you panting and grinning from ear to ear.

“So,” Ashton said once he had caught his breath. “Why were you sneaking around outside the music room in the first place?”

Anonymous asked: omg, a drabble based on that AU gifset you reblogged with human Castiel needing new clothes but not liking plaid shirts like Dean does

I think this is the gifset the anon meant, so it’s loosely based on that [x]

“No, Dean! This is… I look ridiculous.” Cas said as he roughly pushed the curtain of the cubicle aside, glaring down at Dean who had made himself comfortable in one of the fancy chairs in the waiting area of the dressing room.

Alright, so Dean would never pretend that he was a fashion expert, or anything close to it, but he could tell that Castiel did not look ridiculous in the slightest.

“You don’t look ridiculous, Cas. You look really… You look…” Dean muttered incoherently.

And yes, right now was a perfect moment for Dean to shut the hell up, because which word could be used here that didn’t sound tremendously… gay. Cas looked… Hot? Adorable? Handsome? All of those words seemed accurate, but none of them qualified as ‘not-gay’.

Because there Cas was, standing in front of Dean, wearing jeans that actually hugged his ass nicely, and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. The shirt was a deep shade of blue that complimented Cas’ pretty blue eyes. No no, not pretty… Nice. Nice blue eyes. ‘Pretty’ was not at all the right term to describe Castiel’s eyes.

Dean realized that Cas was still staring at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to finish his sentence.

“You look… great.” Dean said lamely.

‘Great’ was a really good choice, very platonic, which was precisely what Dean had been looking for.

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas objected, narrowing his eyes as he glanced at one of the mirrors behind Dean.

If it were anyone but Cas, Dean would’ve felt insulted, considering that the outfit that Cas was currently wearing was the kind of outfit that Dean usually wore.

“Look, Cas… I know that this is all a huge adjustment, but you’re human now. You can’t keep walking around in that old trench coat for the rest of your days, alright?” Dean patiently explained for the millionth time.

“So that automatically means that I’m required to wear plaid like you and Sam?” Castiel shot back at him.

Ah, feisty. Another thing Dean liked about Cas. In a friendly kind of way, of course.

“Is there anything wrong with plaid?” Dean asked, daringly raising an eyebrow at the fallen angel.

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Good morning

Pairing: Sam x reader.

Type: Drabble.

Word count: 546

„Well, this is the kind of morning I could get used to.“, I said upon entering the kitchen and seeing Sam making breakfast only in his black boxer briefs.

His brown, ruffled hair reached his broad shoulders. Watching his back was always a guilty pleasure of mine, simply because it looked so toned. My legs shuddered at the thought of trailing my nails along his muscles, which always somehow made him groan in pleasure.

Sam turned around and chuckled when he saw me staring. His gaze lingered on my morning ‘outfit’ as well, since I was only in my panties and one of his plaid shirts, which was more of a dress when I was the one wearing it.

„I could say the same.“, he smirked after observing me from head to toe.

„If Dean saw you half-naked in the kitchen, he would kick your ass.“, I grinned.

„Who says he can kick my ass?“ Sam questioned confidently. „Besides, he’s not here now. We can walk around naked if we want to.“

The seductive and playful look on his face made me laugh. I smiled and walked over to him, wrapping my arms from behind and around his strong torso.

„That sounds really tempting.“, I responded in the same alluring manner.

He was making pancakes and he already had a stack of them ready on a plate. He also had fresh fruit cut out into little pieces, maple syrup ready and steaming hot coffee poured into two cups.

„You’re amazing.“, I whispered into his ear and kissed his cheek.

Flipping the last pancake and settling it on the plate, he turned around.

„I’m amazing, but I only get a single kiss on the cheek?“ he quirked his eyebrow and smirked again.

That was my cue to wrap my arms around the back of his neck and pull him in for a gentle kiss. His hands roamed my back and then down to my thighs, lifting me up like I’m light as a feather and pressing me against his bare chest. I loved feeling his large hands all over my body. The kiss quickly got a bit more rough and passionate, my lower lip between his teeth and my hands in his soft hair.

„Okay, new rule.“, a low, gruff voice spoke behind my back, at the kitchen entrance.

I almost jumped, but Sam held me tightly in his arms.

„No sex in the kitchen!“ Dean ordered strictly and I turned my head around to see his mad face.

I chuckled as my feet touched the floor again. „We were just about to eat breakfast. Care to join, sunshine?“

Sam grinned and settled the plates on the table.

„Only if you didn’t defile the table.“, Dean sat down and frowned.

I rolled my eyes at him as he kept glaring.

„Aren’t you supposed to be out?“ Sam scrunched his eyebrows.

„Aren’t you supposed to keep the kitchen clean?“ Dean shot back and I stifled a laugh, sitting down at the table.

„It is clean.“, Sam responded simply and sat across from me, sending me a wink.

Dean just kept glaring. „If it wasn’t for this pancakes, I would kick your ass.“

I sent a knowing look to Sam and only a second passed before we both chuckled.

anonymous asked:

What do you think about the fact that so many people wear plaid now? Like its literally appropriating a very important part of Gaelic culture. At first, tartan belted plaids were worn as everyday clothing and its becoming that again but now it originated and was important in Scotland but now anyone can wear it willy nilly. An important piece of a culture is something everyday now. I find that disgusting. What about you? Or are only poc cultures important?

I’m not Scottish btw, but I am familiar with the UK- here’s my take on it- humans have appropriated from one another through out history. But whether this multicultural spread of an article of one culture is harmful varies.

1. Well, just one thing first- I wouldn’t use the term “POC” outside the US. It’s problematic for a lot of reasons in that it dichotomises us in opposition to “white”, as though “white” is the default.

  • “Person of colour” is a very Anglo-American term. When we’re talking about cultural appropriation (and imperialism, oppression) on a global level, that erases the fact that racism and oppression isn’t always “white people oppressing POC”. Many, many non-European cultures are engaging in oppression and cultural appropriation in places where they do have institutional power- even if they don’t in the US. I am now personally quite against using the term outside the US context so loosely because “POC” itself is supposed to kind of be a term of solidarity. But it doesn’t mean much outside the US where a lot of times it’s other “POC” oppressing us. I have Chinese ancestry…and a lot of the most recent trauma is from Japanese imperialism during WW2. And the Chinese government has been in turn oppressing the Uighur Muslim minority in the XInjiang province. The term “POC” suggests some kind of solidarity in marginalisation by white people. That makes very little sense outside the US context. 

2. I do think it’s possible European cultures can be appropriated from, but I disagree in this case because the aspect of culture being shared doesn’t exist in a wholly sacred form or one that requires you to be Scottish to wear it. There is a misconception on tumblr that “White people” cannot be appropriated from and it’s…just only plausible in the context of the US where white people have institutional power vis a vis Americans of colour. Europe is NOT homogenous, and a lot of cultures there vary in how powerful they are. A lot are marginalised by more powerful European cultures. The term “white culture” is really quite nonsensical- very obvious when you look at Europe. What continent-wide commonality is there? Their languages can even be divided up as Germanic, Romance, Slavic etc. There isn’t even continent-wide solidarity despite the EU, I can tell you. 

I understand tartans are specific to clans and other community associations like a military unit- and that for a while the English tried to ban many aspects of Scottish Gaelic culture in the 1700s. 

  • But I think a distinction has to be drawn between people who wear the kilt or the actual tartan cloth wrapped around the waist and thrown over the shoulder in Gaelic tradition vs. the pattern of the tartan being used in a scarf or something. Like if one is not Scottish, wearing the entire national dress like that has the danger of doing it wrongly, and doesn’t make much sense as those tartans are meant to say something about your clan or lineage. A scarf or bag with the pattern alone doesn’t imo treat the culture as a costume because the pattern alone is just one component of the whole attire.
  • While I agree that probably you should not wear a clan tartan if you are not Scottish, nowadays there are “universal tartans” which are like patterns that are what anyone can wear even if they are not Scottish. Wearing these imo, is fine because they were designed specifically in mind so that others can wear them and tartan patterns are a beautiful contribution of Gaelic culture to human diversity.

From the Scottish Tartan Authority’s FAQ: 

3. This is a standard I do apply to non-European cultures too- there are some examples where things from non-European cultures were spread and I don’t think it’s harmful cultural appropriation.

  • The high heel. Where did it come from? IranIt was the attire of the Persian cavalry in the 1500s onwards- because Shah Abbas had the largest cavalry in the world. The heels helped soldiers remain steady while standing up in their saddle to fire their arrows: 

  • Because of how powerful Safavid Iran was, the high heel was seen as a symbol of prestige and masculine virility. European kings and nobles started wearing them. How it ended up becoming just women wearing it is another story, but its origins were indeed appropriated in that sense from Iran- from being soldier’s attire to a fashion statement. If it were Native American wear I was talking about, I think many would find it problematic.
  • Do I think it’s problematic? No. Because Iran possessed institutional power on the global scale back then where the high heel spread. Safavid Iran was an extremely powerful country with enormous cultural influence. Whatever those European royals did posing in their heels didn’t really harm then in any way because well, they were an empire themselves with international prestige, and not being marginalised like say the Native Americans were. It couldn’t make Shah Abbas’ fearsome cavalry become a joke. Also, the heel was taken as a symbol of something positive (even though there was a bit of exaggeration going on). It is like how everyone wears blue jeans today- they’re seen as fashionable and something from a country whose lifestyle is to be envied. And the thing is, very few people today know the high heel women wear is of Iranian origin compared to how anecdotally, quite a lot of people know the tartan patterns are from Scotland. So, the origin of tartan is still quite rightfully credited to the original people who came up with it.

4. The fact that the people from whom tartans originated today do have a major role in sharing and controlling this export of their culture makes it less problematic. Scottish people do have quite a bit of a say in controlling the manufacture of tartans, are actually involved in doing that and therefore being compensated from it. That imo, is quite different from how Native Americans are often not consulted and lots of companies make cheap crafts that they passed of as genuine to compete with genuine Native American crafts made by actual Native Americans. To the extent that they needed the Indian Arts and Crafts Act (1990) to stop this.

5. Sometimes cultures change and spread as time passes, but often this means they will endure far beyond their original boundaries. It may exist in a slightly different form, but this way it doesn’t die. The spread of tartan patterns means that one part of Gaelic culture will exist far beyond the boundaries of Scotland. Think of how many ancient civilisations we have lost because they were geographically confined culturally. Till today, we cannot read the writing of the advanced, 5000 year old Indus Valley civilisation in ancient India. 

  • A good example is Iranian carpet weaving. It is an ancient tradition that apparently dates back to over 2500 years ago, during the era of Achaemenid Iran (The first Persian Empire). After the Arab conquest, Iran was influenced by Islamic art which had a very mathematical and geometric aesthetic due to their views the portrayal of human figures as to be avoided (iirc it’s because it’s something to with the concept of how the depiction of the human form on a piece of work and hanging it can kind of be idolatry- and therefore taboo in a monotheistic religion. I should note that views amongst Islamic theologists aren’t uniform regarding this). Iranian art absorbed that, while infusing Arab art styles with floral and animal motifs that have spread and endured to this day- far beyond the Muslim world. Those floral, repeating patterns on wallpapers? On china dishes? Very much inspired by Iranian art. 

  • Because it’s spread so far, it will definitely endure no matter what happens to the country, even if the textile industry there somehow falls apart (right now actually, Iran exports the bulk of Iranian-style carpets. It earns hundreds of millions of dollars in revenues- the bulk of it from foreign markets- because these carpet-weaving techniques are prized). And it’s great such a beautiful art form has spread around the world. Similarly, the tartan patterns are beautiful and a unique testament to the creativity of Scottish people. That’s a wonderful contribution to human diversity- this time, in terms of clothing and another idea of how familial ties and identity can be represented in one’s attire.

6. Every culture has something to contribute to human diversity, and if the people whom it originated from are very actively involved and able to control it, I think it’s great. We would be so much poorer if cultures had to exist within rigid boundaries.

  • I don’t feel people wearing the tartan is problematic as Scottish people today imo are in a much socio-political stronger position then they were in the past. Westminster has devolved a lot more power to them- there is a Scottish Parliament in addition to the UK Parliament. In fact, Scottish MPs can even vote on issues that affect only England whereas the English can’t do that vice versa.
  • That they have much greater agency and power to control aspects of their culture today, and actually play a big role in the tartan industry itself is also a big difference. Selling tartan is indeed one way they themselves are able to spread the beauty of their culture. Scottish textiles are world-renowned for their quality, and a lot of top fashion houses go specifically to Scotland precisely because that long tradition of textile making has resulted in a level of finesse that cannot be easily replicated elsewhere. The original people have the agency to decide how their culture is spread and actively benefit from it. Yeah, indeed don’t wear the Scottish traditional dress flippantly without being invited into a culture or checking with people from that culture. But the tartan pattern- as long as it’s not a special clan tartan pattern or say one meant for a specific community (a military unit etc)- why not? 

anonymous asked:

Okay, that blurb you wrote about future Sympathy for the Devil stuff? I know I can't MAKE you write anything... But I would like to highly encourage you to please write that bit even if it's just one scene that's like 500 words. Please. Just PLEASE.

Ask and ye shall receive! Uh, time and inspiration permitting.

Peter’s first glimpse of Stiles is from half a block away. He likes what he sees. The teenager is walking witha group of friends, walking tall and straight, with only an odd hop to his stride every third or fourth step. He doesn’t have a crutch or even a cane, so it seems like his leg has healed as well as could be hoped.

He’s grown his hair out, so it stands in loose spikes, kept there by what Peter thinks is probably far too much hair gel. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and one of those plaid shirts that he loves so much. Peter drives past him, glancing out the window but not slowing down. He looks up into the rearview mirror and sees Stiles looking up after the car.

Keep reading

037. 5SOS Preferences: Easy Fix

Just an idea kicking around my head. Hope you guys like it.


Turning the corner from the welcome mat that always greeted you at the front door of your loft, you stood stunned at the sight of stark white bubbles sliding out of the quaint bathroom like an avalanche. Luke was immersed in the center of it all, trapped between the sink and the bathtub (the root of the bubble overflow) and covered up to his knees in the soapy concoction. His jeans were soaked as were his socks as he was frantically trying to sweep them all back into the tub.

“What happened?” A breath of laughter combined with pure confusion, you asked, stepping closer, but standing up on your tip toes to avoid being touched by any water or bubbles.

“You sounded so stressed on the phone, so I wanted to make you one of those fancy baths you make me at the end of a long day…” The kind that smelled distinctively of lavender and that he had made you solemnly swear to never tell anyone he really enjoyed. Luke had gone as far as to chase you, soaking wet out of the tub, around the loft until you deleted your cell phone video of him relaxing in the claw foot tub, making a bubble beard over his chin, and listening to Sarah McLachlan.

“How much gel did you put in?” You bent down by your knees and began to roll up the legs of your jeans, ready to start helping him since clearly he needed an extra body.

“I don’t know. Like a chorus full.” Luke didn’t measure things like he should have. He had taken a whiff of the shower gel you used for bubble bath, thinking of how it smelled just like your bare skin, the aroma he knew from falling asleep with his face against your shoulder and woken up to by breathing it as the sun wafted over him, your body still loosely tucked beneath his generous arm. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay attention to his free pour, so he hummed along to the slow song playing in his head and gave himself the length of the chorus to dump in the gel. “And I put in one of your purple bath bombs things, but they should come with a warning!” He grumbled loudly, feeling very frustrated as you joined him in the bubbly mess, nearly slipping and instantly grabbing his arms to keep balanced as you giggled. “I was trying to do something nice.” Luke rolled his blue eyes at himself. “I was going to light candles and everything. He put down the broom, letting it fall to the tub’s side that you could no longer see and held you steady by the elbows. “I’m sorry.” Playfully, he pouted right at you, but you slid closer, letting the soap on the tiles guide your bare feet to his chest, and propped up your chin to kiss him.

“I appreciate it.” Laughing, you chalked this moment up to the simple phrase, ‘it’s the thought that counts’. “This is like a scene out of I Love Lucy.” Looking around at how both of you were knee deep in bubbles, you chuckled, picking some up and putting it right on his chin.

“I guess that makes me Lucy and you, Ethel.” Luke griped, swiping the soap from his chin and plopping it on top of your head.

Gasping, you moved away from him to pick up a large handful, but started to slip in the process. With your arms waving above your head like someone stranded on a remote island who heard a helicopter coming, you reached for Luke’s shirt, grabbing the pouch in the middle, and brought him crashing down into the mess of lavender scented clouds with you, both of you laughing hysterically.

“Least I made you laugh.” Luke shrugged, laying over you and fiddling around to remove soap from your collar. You were far more covered than he was, most of his chest safe from anything that was supposed to be in the bath tub.

“Well, you know what might perk me up…?” With your hands behind you, all your weight resting on them, you pushed up your chest and wiggled your eyes right into his stare as he was hovering above you like a blanket to shield you from being overthrown by bubbles.

“What?” Eager to know, Luke asked quickly.

Slowly, you looked around at your surroundings, assuming you two had a little while until all the bubbles popped and morphed into a thin layer of glistening dry soap, “Ever had sex in a room full of bubbles?” Just as you knew Luke liked, you bit down on your bottom lip and shrugged, offering him up a way to distress you and make use of his mistake.

“You’re the best.” Luke laughed, pushing his chest into yours and smiling as he kissed your peach stained lips.


“Did Mrs. Parker fall asleep smoking again?” Backing up into your apartment, hands full of files from your internship, you asked, assuming Calum was close enough as the place you two shared wasn’t disgusting in size. The smell of smoke and burning rubber greeted you as soon as the elevator doors opened to drop you off on the nineteenth floor of your high rise. The lady at the end of the hall had nearly burned the entire building down due to her forgetful nature and fondness of smoking inside even though it was against the building’s policy.

 Turning around, a gasp involuntarily jumped out of your throat as you spotted Calum standing in the narrow kitchen area, one arm high above his head and waving a cloth in front of the smoke detector as gray vapor surrounded him. It was lingering over to you in the foyer, making itself present in the living area as well.

Quickly, you rested your folders down on the dresser in the hall where you two stored things you didn’t have much use for, but couldn’t toss away in and rushed over to the living room window to open it up, the click-clack of your heels perky as you did.

“Is everything okay? What happened?” Calum was an impressive cook, always whipping up snacks for himself and calling his mom for her homemade recipes, but as you turned the corner, you spotted a black circular monstrosity sitting right in the middle of the stove top. “What was that supposed to be?”

Calum’s large eyes, the ones that found you in a crowded room without even trying, refused to look away from the cloth he was waving like a white flag. He was way too embarrassed to make eye contact with you. Stepping forward, you picked up the fork closest to the burned food, prongs covered in butter, and poked at it, watching as shiny black liquid oozed out if like a moldy wound or something that might leak out of Voldemort’s anus after eating the flesh of a muggle.

As the smoke detector began to sing, for Calum it was the second time, he grunted and reached around your waist for the plastic spatula that was near the stove, slapping at the flashing device on the ceiling like it was a kid who stole his lunch money way back in the day. Even after the annoying chirping ceased, Calum was still hitting at it.

In one single motion, you reached up and held his wrist in your hand, stopping him and bringing his arm down to his side, “Can you explain to me what is going on? There’s burned goop and you’re angry… what did I miss?” Genuinely interested you asked and then let go of Calum’s hand to cross your arms over your chest, your breasts instantly pushed up and giving him a perfect view of the cleavage he was so very fond of.

“You’ve been homesick lately so I was making that pie your Mom makes you.”

“Blueberry pie?” One eyebrow down, you checked. He made it sound more special than it actually was.

“Yeah, and I guess, I mixed up how hot the oven needed to be or how long it needed to be in because when I checked back, it was on fire….”The last few words of his explanation barely slipped out of his mouth, sounding sheepish in his confession. “And now the place smells like something died tragically and I think I ruined the oven and…I’m just fucking mad, okay?!” He pouted and tossed the spatula across the stove, decapitating the already dead pie and spraying the back of the stove with black blueberry liquid.

In order to cover up your amusement, you slapped a hand over your mouth and giggled into it, feeling Calum’s glare shift over you. He couldn’t act unimpressed for long, while it was annoying, he had to laugh.

“Thank you for trying, babe.” Taking your hand down, you said, reaching over and sympathetically patting your palm against his stomach over and over. “I’m going to go change into something comfy, take off these shoes, and let’s go out for dinner, let the place clear out…”

You took advantage of being closer to his height in your work shoes, kissing him slowly and pulling in his plush lips while his hands naturally went for your waist, rocking you back and forth gently for a moment. Mentally, Calum cursed the smoke in the apartment as now seemed like the perfect time to have kitchen sex. He let you go with a pout and started to clean up his mess as you sauntered off to the bedroom to change clothes.


It was a brand new position for both of you, but Michael was grinning from ear to ear, looking almost cartoony, as he was straddling your backside at the hips, the only thing covering your body was your bright blue jersey underwear. He, too, was only in his underwear, wearing plaid boxers that he generally walked around your place in the morning after a night over. He rubbed his oiled up hands together again and slid them from your waist to your shoulders. It felt nice to have his warm hands spread across you smoothly, but as his fingers curled over your shoulders, you had to bury your face into the pillow, the scent of the oils he chose from the drugstore below you building wafting right up your nose. While you couldn’t come up with the actual name of the aroma, it was musky and you tried your best to shallow the rough cough it threatened to bring out of your mouth.

“Feel good?” Michael checked. Usually it was you on top of him, either side, and giving him a late night massage to relax him into sleep. He wasn’t sure he was doing it right, but he was enjoying himself immensely.

“Yep.” You squeaked, lifting up your head from the pillow to report back, the bun you had tied your hair up in for the occasion bouncing on top of you.

“Good.” Michael moaned from the bottom of his throat and put his hands back at your waist, squeezing both sides harshly and bringing your stomach inward at his abrasive touch. You stayed quiet though, allowing him to find rhythm. It wasn’t as if he was professional masseuse after all. Besides, he had been so cute the way he talked about ‘a little surprise’ just for you over dinner, excitedly preparing your bedroom just for this massage. He had fumbled over himself to explain that he wanted you to chill and take a break from studying to unwind. The whole thing was really so sweet.

His touch didn’t seem to improve though even though you were trying to make you discomfort clear by squirming from side to side beneath him. His hands weren’t fluid as they slid up your side, braking and staring again a few times. Breathing in through your mouth to avoid the scent, you clenched your eyes shut while coaching yourself to get through the touch.

In general, nothing felt like Michael’s hands did on your body. You had lost your train of thought in almost every one of your classes because your mind wandered to the way his fingers twirled mindlessly through your hair when you were watching a movie on the couch, how his hand curled into a shell over yours whenever he was leading you by a mob of cameras, and especially when you remembered the way his hands held you down by the thighs as he kissed your body coarsely through foreplay. However, massage therapy was very clearly not Mikey’s forte. He had not missed his calling at all, his fingers were much better suited for guitar.

“Babe, that doesn’t feel very good. …” Gently, you peeped.

“Oh? Maybe, I just haven’t found a knot yet?” Unsure, Michael guessed.

“Maybe…” Biting down on your bottom lip, you knew that tha had nothing to do with it and, if anything, Michael was tying more knots in your body than he was working them out.

“Should I use more oil?” He released one of your sides, still pressing into the other like he was kneading cookie dough that had been kept in the freezer, and reached for the bottle he discarded on the sheets beside you.

“No!” You almost shouted, shaking your head as fast as you could. “I think you’ll get it. The oil amount right now is fine.” For both your sake’s, you really wanted to make this massage work. It was a nice gesture and the kind you had longed for for a bit since things had been hitting a plateau. If Michael could figure it out, you would have been appreciative, however, you weren’t exactly full of hope.

He picked up his hands from your sides after sneaking them between the king-sized mattress and your chest, taking a cheeky linger over your naked breasts. You heard him rubbing them together again before sliding them up your spine.

“Can you just go a touch lighter? Please?” Using the cute voice he really liked, you suggested and, right away, Michael improved. He went from being a gargoyle to just a gentle giant. With ease, you sunk back down and lied your head down on the pillow, pushing your cheek in with a tiny smile.

Michael’s hands curled over your shoulders, thumbs positioned at a pressure point he was pretty sure you usually pushed on him, and he squeezed like a vulture finding it’s prey on the ground.

Just like a Jack in the Box, you shot up with a loud ‘Ow!’, starling Michael so he threw his hands off of you and left them at his side.

“That was way too hard. Oh my gosh.” You stretched out your mouth in reaction, reaching up with your arms crossed, and comforting your shoulders with gentle rubs from opposite hands.

“I’m sorry.” His lips stretched out, teeth tight together, as he fisted his blond hair. “I’m really trying.” He could tell you weren’t enjoying it as he had been anticipating the kind of groans he made when you massaged him to rise from your mouth, but you were being stiff and silent.

“I know, I know…” As Michael lifted up on his knees, you laid down and slid around to face him, giving him an eyeful. “And it’s so sweet, I love it, but it doesn’t feel good.” To soften the blow you were delivering, you pouted and shook your head up at him.

“I’m sorry.” Again, he told you and wiped his greasy palms against his bare legs, trying to clean himself of all embarrassment.

“Maybe you could just go down on me…or we could top and tail…?” The position of 69 one you two were very accustom to and only ever had had success with. In fact, you were certain it was just what you needed to unwind. “I know that would feel good.” You gave Michael a smile and slid both your hands up his chest just as you would if he was receiving a massage, watching the self-pity on his face vanish as he perked up like a dog who had just overheard the word ‘walk’.


“This is nice.” Almost singing, you mentioned while your eyes watched nothing, but trees lead the way outside of the window.

The radio was playing James Morrison as Ashton’s had plugged in his iPod into the car and was letting a mellow mix sing you two through a long drive through nowhere. Both of you had a strange mutual affection for long aimless drives down the freeway, but it had been a long time since you two had been able to go on one together. He was so busy since the album came out and almost never around, leaving you to cruise dolo through the night. Ashton never let it slip his mind though, the sweet midnight video you texted him, the view of the open road through your windshield as a song you two deemed as yours played softly in the background. Quickly after it, you sent the sweet message of, ‘wish you were here riding shotgun’.

He might have been in the driver seat, but Ashton was happy to be able to give you this. It didn’t cost anything and it actually was putting his constantly jumbled mind at ease. He had only one hand on the center of the wheel, controlling the car, as his other was on your knee and running his thumb over its slight curve.

Ashton was just about to agree with you, look over with the smile he wore when he was most comfortable, and tell you that he had missed you so much when the ‘check oil’ light began to flash yellow rapidly, chirping above the sexy voice of James Morrison.

“What the fuck?” Ashton squinted, taking his hand off of you to put both on the wheel. He toyed with the shift, but it didn’t stop the noise or the flashing. You could feel the car buzzing, hearing it rattle, and slowly it came to a stop before he could even drive off to the side. “No, no, no…” Ashton began to mutter, his voice growing in volume as the music was dying all together. “This is not happening.” Luke had told him that going for a long drive after the car hadn’t been used in over five months was a bad idea, especially if he hadn’t changed the oil, but Ashton was too gleeful to remember. He just drove straight to pick you up and took off for the stretch of freeway that he knew you were both dreaming about.

“What is happening?” Carefully, you asked as Ashton kept trying to push the engine button on his car, poking at it angrily like he had a stick in his grip or something to that affect. Finally, he let out a primal groan that belonged to a brown bear and threw his arms up to slam the wheel out of frustration. “Fucking Hell.”

“I didn’t change the oil and it’s probably like thick and syrupy and….FUCK!”

“Okay, okay, okay….” You reached to squeeze his arm, a soft attempt to calm him down. You could feel his bicep growing with rage, so you reached between your feet to rummage through your purse for your cell phone, searching for a tow truck on the Google app. “We’ll call a tow. It’s fine. We can listen to music on my phone.” Pressing your side into the window, you told him as he got out of the car to check under the hood while you called for a tow truck.

After talking to the man on the other end of the phone, receiving grim news that it would take close to two hours for anyone to be able to come retrieve you two, you slid your phone into the pocket of your denim shorts and hopped out of the car.

The tip of your tongue was sliding back and forth behind your closed lips, debating how to tell Ashton that you two were going to be stuck a while, but his arms were exposed from his sleeveless shirt and covered in grease as he peered into the hood of his truck. For just a second, you lost the direction of your thought and let your eyes bulge out at him as if you were Roger Rabbit.

“What?” Throwing back his head, Ashton itched under his bandana and waited for your report. His mind was reeling over how he had ruined such a nice moment. Ashton had it set in his mind that as a man, he should not have let this happen and now he was a major disappointment as a boyfriend.

“It’s going to be a while…” The words came out a lot faster than you meant them to, delivering the news casually as you strolled over to him, leaning your butt against the front of his car. “Want to get cozy in the backseat?” With your hands over your hips you asked, tilting your chin up at him and watching as he went from frustrated to amused to interested. Ashton pulled you close to him by the waist, his greasy hands staining your sides, and held you to his chest with one curled arm before slamming down the hood.

“What do you have in mind, huh?” Growling, he laughed and smacked your ass before nodding for you to take the lead. 

Why we need Wayward Daughters

The episode last night was fantastic, for so many reasons. I’ve been thinking about exactly why Wayward Daughters is the spinoff we need, and it’s not just because Jody, Alex, and Claire are amazing. It’s not just because we could see more of other beloved characters (like Donna!). It’s not just because these women represent what so many of US have found through fandom: a family of choice who are here to take care of each other and look out for each other no matter what comes our way.

We have a LOT of history with Jody Mills. Despite being pulled into hunting years ago through a horrifying personal tragedy, she’s managed to stay pretty grounded. She’s still a level-headed mom struggling to fit her knowledge of the things that go bump in the night into her domestic life and her job as the badass Sheriff of Sioux Falls. Not the other way around.

She’s become a rock to two lost girls who have also had their lives all but destroyed by the supernatural. It’s a job she struggles with, but ultimately finds reward and satisfaction from, even when she has to face harder situations than most parents ever will. Yes, the sex talk at the dinner table was funny, but shortly after that her entire family was kidnapped by vampires… and she didn’t blame or punish the girls for it. She supported them through it. She apologized for not having believed Claire’s assertion that there were monsters in town. She’s trying to build as normal a life for her little family as she can. She’s basically the anti-John Winchester.

The previous attempt at a backdoor pilot failed in large part because it tried to create a direct parallel between the hunter origin story we’ve become most familiar with– the tragedy of Sam and Dean’s lives since they were children, and the revenge mission they set out on– but we’ve already been watching that show for 11 years. We don’t need a Supernatural reboot. We wanted something new, something better, something more grounded, but something still familiar. And with Wayward Daughters, we got that.

All three of these main characters have a long history of character development on the show we already know and love. Jody’s been around since season five, and we’ve had a long time to watch her grow. She’s been in 10 episodes now since 5.15, Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, and has been mentioned in others. She’s never been far from our minds (or our hearts, let’s be honest).

Claire was introduced even earlier, way back in 4.20, The Rapture, as a young girl. We may not have seen her again until season ten, but she’s now been in five episodes. She also has a hunter origin story unlike any other we’ve ever seen. Not only did she spend ten minutes as the vessel for Castiel, but she has an ongoing complicated personal connection to Cas (being that he’s still wearing her dead father’s skin).

Alex was only introduced back in late season 9, but the way she immediately bonded with Jody gave her a chance at a normal life after spending most of her childhood being brainwashed and abused by monsters. All she wants is a chance at living free of the burdens of her past, but she’s still grounded in the real world AND in the world of the Supernatural. She knows it’s out there, and she knows how to protect herself, even if she doesn’t want it to become her entire life. Sort of like Jody, in a way.

So these three women with very different backgrounds have come together, unified in one thing: they’re going to stick together no matter what. no matter if their problems involve school and dating or vampire kidnapping.

The best thing about their dynamic is that none of them are a perfect parallel to any one Supernatural male lead character. They have issues, they face a lot of the same problems Sam, Dean, and Cas have gone up against, and suffer with a lot of the same emotional trauma they have suffered. But you can’t say Alex is ONLY a parallel for Sam’s desire to live in the real world and stay out of hunting, because she’s ALSO a parallel for Dean’s struggle against the Mark and the Darkness because of her unwanted connection to the monsters from her past. She also fills the Cas parallel in his current arc with Lucifer, volunteering to sacrifice herself to the monsters if they just agree to let her family go.

Same with Claire. She’s usually paired with Dean as far as character development goes, but she’s strongly paired with Cas for obvious reasons. She feels caught between two worlds, hunting and normal life, and she’s just beginning to realize she can find a balance between them and doesn’t have to choose one over the other. She desperately wants to fit in with the family she chose, despite still feeling outcast. She wants to hunt, but has generally failed at it until now, and Jody has offered her a chance to really learn the ropes of good investigative work (potentially setting Claire up for a “real world” career in law enforcement who could sideline in hunting, like Jody Junior).

Jody herself has had to fill so many roles over the years that we know she’s never going to be boring or predictable. We love her, and we always know she’s going to do what’s in the best interest of her family no matter what. She’s the parental figure most hunters can only dream of.

And THIS is why this show, the spinoff we’ve dreamed of and begged for, has a chance to become something we can all love. It’s not a cardboard cutout of our original beloved show dropped down in a different setting with paper-doll cutouts of the Winchesters. It’s something familiar enough, with characters we’re all invested in already. Instead of living a rewrite of the Winchesters’ story with girls instead of boys, they’ve turned the script inside out and backward.

There’s a real chance to explore an entirely different kind of family that doesn’t end in blood, who don’t see hunting as the family business but as something they need to do once in a while when it interferes with their real lives. Instead of letting it become their revenge or their obsession, instead of taking the weight of the world on their shoulders and struggling to keep it from crushing everyone around them, they’re there to lift each other up.

And isn’t that what most of us are trying to do for each other? This show, in more ways even that Supernatural has been, has the opportunity to lift us all up. This is why Wayward Daughters is so important to me.

10 x 18 CODA

What is your mission, Castiel? 

Metatron’s words were still ringing in his ears as he sat beside Dean Winchester at the bunker’s kitchen table. Charlie was making some kind of game out of paper, but his eyes could not leave Dean. Especially when Dean’s face split into a smile and he laughed so hard, he almost choked on his pizza. 

The answer to that question was sitting right next to him, wearing plaid and looking (beautifully) unattractive with a mouth full of food. 

Dean was his mission. 

Dean had always been his mission. Once upon a time he had shrouded himself under the flag of Heaven, but everyone knew his true intention; his intention had always been to save Dean from Hell. Literal and metaphorical. The only person who didn’t seem to understand this was the man in question. 

Castiel stared at Dean with love in his eyes. He knew, now, that it was love that poured out of his body in waves. Metatron had asked him if he missed feeling and Castiel knew the truth; he did miss being human. The desire to be human was so strong it made his heart ache. He wanted to be with Dean, to love Dean as only two humans could love one another; he wanted to be human

“Cas, pick a color,” Charlie said, breaking him from his thoughts. 


“Pick a color!” She held up the paper game for him; each triangle had a color listed. “Please?”

“Um… Green,” he said automatically, feeling his face turn red. Green was his favorite color after all. 

“Okay.” A smile spread across Charlie’s face as she pulled open the triangle to read the other side. “You will flirt with the person to your left.” 

Castiel blinked at the bluntness of his ‘fortune’. “I beg your pardon-.” 

Dean burst into laughter and nudged his ribs. “You gotta flirt with Charlie.” 

He opened his mouth to speak and then he turned his gaze on Dean, very serious. “You’re on my left.” 

Dean’s smile faded away as he came to realize what that meant. “I’m gonna kill you,” he said to Charlie, which only made her laugh harder. 

“Can’t help it, Dean, the Cootie Gods have spoken,” she giggled with a conniving grin. “Here, you pick a color.”

“Hell no.” 

Castiel turned his gaze back and forth between them, until once again, a small smile returned to his lips as he stared at Dean, looking happy. He hadn’t seen Dean so comfortable in ages, it felt good. It wasn’t until his eyes rested on Sam that he remembered. 

They were all standing on a precipice about to plunge into darkness. One breath and they would all go tumbling down. Holding back a sigh, Castiel lifted up a corner of his mouth and turned his eyes back on Dean.