tagging in all possible tags that people wandering around in them might need to help them

The next Bobby

A/N: I’m making this into a two-part story because I’m tired and I think it might be a little better if it’s split.

Request:  Hello! I’ve recently discovered your writing and its absolutely on spot! I was wondering if you could do an imagine where the reader is a hunter that frequently works with Sam and Dean, but she’s more of a researcher-like a new Bobby (though no one could replace him). She requests permission to study Cas in between hunts to write a book on Angels and learn more about their lore through their point of view. She’s worried that the boys are hesitant with her because she might be replacing Bobby.

Warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption

Characters: Sam, Dean

Word count: 1005

Originally posted by frozen-delight

The infamous angel Castiel, the angel who’s name has been spread from country to country, hunter to hunter, demon to demon. The angel who has been corrupted by a pair of human brothers who fight monsters because nobody else is stupid enough to do it. The angel who rebelled against heaven for said brothers. The angel who managed to ruin and save heaven all at the same time. The angel who developed feelings over time from his love of humanity.

Castiel, the angel who cares.

You were lucky enough to even meet an angel, but Castiel? Meeting Castiel was everything you had imagined and everything you didn’t all at the same time. He was confusing at first, but over time you had grown to really like the angel.

You didn’t get to see him often, he was always with the Winchesters or somewhere doing his own thing, and you were always nose-deep in a book or a computer of sorts. Over the past two years you’ve only seen him three times, which was frustrating as much as  exhilarating. You couldn’t wait for the day you met him again, then you could possibly ask him a few more questions that had been on your mind.

When you heard of a hunt in your hometown, where you were currently located, you knew there might be a chance you’d see the trench coat clad angel with the Winchesters. That is, if the Winchesters got here before another hunter.

But of course, the Winchesters knew what went on everywhere, especially your town. They had once told you that they like to make sure that everything was free from danger from their friends, which you playfully mocked them for.

The brothers were smart enough to know that if you had found out they were here and didn’t visit you, you’d be sure to knock their teeth in when you saw them next. 

Keep reading

Hold me Closer

A/N: I decided to write this fic yesterday after realizing that some people (including myself) might need a bit of comforting after the events of this week, and who better to take care of us than Negan? So, if you’re interested for Negan giving the reader some positive vibes then this fic should fit the bill :)

Word Count: 1576

Warnings: Negan’s potty mouth

Song I listened to on repeat to write this: Elton John’s Tiny Dancer

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction

It had been a long day, a long week, and a long year. You’d lost your family and friends, more people than you could count on all your fingers and toes. Every time you turned around that number only seemed to become larger.

You always tried your best to keep your emotions under wraps because you believed that there were others who had it worse than you. How could you go to them with your problems when it seemed like they needed you more? People looked to you for stability and you needed to be that rock for them. Who could they turn to, if not you?

Far too often these anxieties swelled up in your chest from swallowing them back for so long. When you couldn’t bear it any longer, you disappeared from the cushy parlor that you and the rest of Negan’s wives shared and hid in the unused part of Sanctuary. There you could cry to your heart’s content without calling attention to yourself. It was foolproof, or so you thought.

Keep reading

I Just Wanted To Be Spending Time With You

Summary: Dan and Phil are at the Halloween Gathering in 2009 and they’ve realised that they just want to spend time with each other.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 1099 words (oh my goodness that number makes me so uncomfortable why isn’t it just 1100)

A/N: idk I really love the idea of Dan and Phil in the early stages of their relationship, realising just how much they want to be together etc ;) so this is just a short fic based around that! enjoy :D

read on ao3!


The crowds of YouTubers swarmed around Dan, who watched the world rush by as he worked on auto-pilot, making small talk and smiling eagerly. In reality, he was trying to ignore the gnawing pains of hunger in his stomach and his sadness at having parted ways with Phil.

Phil was Dan’s best friend. They’d only met for the first time in real life a week or so ago, when Dan had stayed at Phil’s house for a few days. However, they’d been talking over the internet for months.

Dan didn’t really know what they were at this point. When he’d stayed with Phil, they’d kissed a couple of times, and even ended up making out one night, but they hadn’t really talked about what that had meant for them.

Keep reading

radcliffebass  asked:

Demons by Imagine Dragons (because it's the one playing when I saw your post) Thank you!

Yay! *-* I finally did this. Holy crap, this took forever

Tagging: thatweirdparamedicstudent because she asked to be tagged in this I believe - wetbellamyblake because we talked about this literally ages ago - raven-wick because yeah she asked to be tagged in all of my shitty work <3 - alltheworldsinmyhead because her post gave me the idea to also listen to Take what I can get by Matthew Mayfield.

This is smutty by the way, but I added a cut to it if you don’t want to read that :)

For the first time in nearly a month, Bellamy Blake is wandering through the woods by himself, not leading a search party to find a head of golden hair and a striking face among the trees. Although he’s never been one to admit it, sometimes you just give up, no matter how much you might want to keep going, because in spite of everything you’re aware that it’s too late, that you’re never going to find her - Alive, at least, which has been what he was hoping for. Now, there isn’t much room left within him for that.

Gazing down at the ground beneath his feet, he finds the dried leaves sparkling from their light dusting of newly fallen snow. While it might be pretty, the temperature drop that it has brought along is currently the greatest threat back at camp, pressuring their pathetic tents and thin clothing. He’s thankful that a few of mothers that came down with The Ark were seamstresses as his own, and that they’d managed to make more than a few coats to protect people from the cold.

She’s wearing one, too, which is probably why he doesn’t recognize her at first - actually, he almost walks straight past the crouched figure at the edge of the lake, which isn’t quite frozen yet.

However, a flash of blonde just about catches the corner of his eye, and his feet guide him a couple steps back.

A thousand thoughts run through his mind during the time that it takes him to walk over there, even though he attempts to shut them out by focusing on the sounds around him instead of those inside him, but it doesn’t work: it can’t be her. What if it is her? Will I be able to speak? No, Clarke’s dead. She’s dead.

She isn’t.

When he finally gets there after what feels like an eternity, he hesitates to look at her, maybe because he’s not in need of any confirmation, or perhaps his already tortured brain isn’t ready for the realization that she isn’t gone forever - that his gut told him something right despite the way he tried to ignore it.

Then, he sits down, feeling the freezing cold ground that she’s probably been sitting on for a long time, which is a fact that manages to make him worried for a second, until he remembers that he doesn’t care.

“Clarke-“ immediately as the name has tumbles from his lips, the corners of them sink into a frown. It’s honestly been way too long since he has said it, and he doesn’t know why, but somehow he’s afraid that that’s evident. So far though, she hasn’t acknowledged his presence, still covering her face in her hands. At first, he thinks it’s because she’s crying, however upon having thought that through he understands the she quite possibly wouldn’t need to hide tears, given that she’s cried in front of him before; not often, but it’s happened.

Suddenly, the bitterness within him grows to form a painful knot within his chest, and Bellamy has to clench his teeth to hold it back. The least she owes me after such a long time is to look at me - everything that I’ve done to find her. He knows that it isn’t completely fair, considering that she never wanted him to do that, yet how could she not expect him to?

Impulsively, Bellamy reaches out, hands moving slowly to lock around her wrists and thereby force her palms from her face. To his surprise, she doesn’t tear her gaze away, likely because she’s aware that it would do any good. It certainly won’t help their relationship or mend what’s left of it.

He instantly sees what she was concealing from him, and it’s most definitely not tears; around her eyes are shadows made of black face paint, bringing out the blue in them. Like the snow-covered leaves however, its beauty is easily overruled by the disturbing fact that she resembles a grounder, almost perfectly, the only flaw being the tears stains down her cheeks, and new ones clouding her eyes: emotion.

Why would she do this?

“I didn’t– recognize you– in that coat,” she stammers, and for a while he’s too shocked by the fact that she has broken her silence to process the words, to even pay the slightest attention to them. The only thing that his mind can focus on is her lips moving.

Within a minute, it has all gone through his mind, and he isn’t ignorant enough to think that the cold is what causes her voice to be unsteady. She’s terrified.

Bellamy swallows a lump of unwanted guilt. Then, his hand travels down his pocket to grab a worn rag that he can’t remember why he put there. He takes another look at her face, and makes the decision while frowning. While pretending to be unaffected by the way that she looks at him in puzzlement, he dips the rag in the lake water, feeling how its icy temperature causes his fingers to cramp briefly in pain.

Still frowning, he wrings it. Ignoring the obvious lines he’s crossing, he presses a hand to her cold cheek, and although her eyes widen as she attempts to pull back from him, she can’t pretend that the unexpected heat from his palm isn’t soothing - soon, she leans into his touch, barely even winces when Bellamy dabs the cloth around her eye area, drying off the paint. His heart twitches in more ache with every removed inch, not because it hurts to see it go, but because the sight of the face that he is familiar with is crushing.

“Done,” Bellamy whispers as if finishing a piece of art, his words however, don’t match the look of his face: jaw clenched and lightening drawn within his eyes, the same shade of darkness as the sky above them tonight.

“You resent me,” is all that Clarke can manage, her low voice somehow still strong. Although it doesn’t surprise him, a minute passes where he wants to burst out laughing, and see if the coldness that he feels inside will be reflected in it. But he doesn’t, deciding that the question: “How can I not?” is more important.

They are sitting close enough for him to see her lower lip wobble a little. He refuses to feel bad, pushing it aside, which doesn’t mean that he isn’t relieved when her face turns as hard as brick, mirroring his own. After all, she doesn’t have much of a choice, given that she ought to be strong for what is about to be shot at her.

“What was I supposed to do, Bellamy?” That question has him groaning in frustration, but she continues anyway, ignoring it, “stay and break down? That would’ve have been good for any of us-!”

“Yeah, except that you weren’t going to break, Clarke! I would’ve helped you with that - God, I would’ve fucking carried you if I had to!”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?! Look, I’m not asking for another Finn!” Merely a second after she’s said that, the true impact rolls over them both: Clarke’s eyes widen, her hand moves upwards, but is left hovering before it can close off the ‘O’ shape that her mouth has taken on.

Bellamy groans loudly before rising to his feet, wanting to leave, yet he can’t ignore that. And he can’t ignore the fact that his heart hasn’t become any lighter, so he turns back to see that she’s standing up straight as well now, arms crossed, that brick-face on again.

“Another Finn?!” He spits the words out like poison in his mouth, “you have got to be kidding me!”  Terror runs through him because of the thoughts busying his mind - some which underline how he does have one thing in common with the man that murdered fourteen innocent people for Clarke. They both loved her.

When she finally speaks, her voice is shaking: “I’m sorry, I just- I can’t handle people wanting to die or kill for me. I never asked for that!”

“It’s not always about you, Clarke! All that I’ve done in the past months were for our friends! I went inside Mount Weather for our friends! You aren’t responsible for other people’s actions, since everything isn’t about you!” He better stop shouting, but he’s afraid that she wouldn’t have understood the importance and honesty of those words completely if he hadn’t.

His chest is still heaving by the time that he notices them: the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks, and she doesn’t make an effort to stop them nor dry them away. Instead, she nods stiffly, choking on a sob and turns her back to him. But before she can take the second step, he has made his way to her, his thoughts nothing except a jumbled mess as his fingers wrap around her wrist. He can only make out one thing: “You don’t get to walk away from me. Not this time,” his voice is surprisingly soft, though desperate, matching the one he’d used four months ago by the gate, which makes his stomach turn.


“No! No way in hell am I going to let you leave. I just- I just found you, for heaven’s sake!” He’s so occupied making up his next, vulnerable plead that he hardly feels her hands pressing against the sides of his face, cradling it. Actually, it isn’t until she begins to talk that he comprehends it all: “Relax, okay? I’m not going anywhere, you idiot. I’m right here-“ his breath slows, and so does her voice: “Right. Here,” despite her comfort, Bellamy senses the demons of the PTSD he has been ignoring for the past months flicker behind his eyes.  

After what seems like an hour, he starts to calm down from the abrupt attack, his head clearing just enough for him to notice how hard he’s been gripping her, holding on as if a tornado was about to suck her into death. As he takes his hands away, her lips part slightly, and at first he really thinks it’s because he’s hurt her. Yet then he realizes how close they are standing, her back pressed up against the tree trunk that he didn’t even know was there, the tip of their noses grazing and breaths mingling. The effect is instant - he wakes up, placing a hand gently on the side of her neck.

“I would never kill and die for you,” he assures, watching her eyelids flutter closed, hoping that that means what he thinks it does.

“Why?” Clarke croaks, sudden tears trying to conquer her throat. Still, they don’t get to, as she looks up at him once more, where he recognizes a familiar fierceness within the gaze. It probably takes him way too long to form a response:

“Because I know how much that would hurt you,” yeah, he might resent her, he might never not resent her for the matter, thinking back at how everything could’ve been easier with her there - if they had just done it together - “that might have been my wish as I approached you, but I can’t do it. Not even accidently…” He casts a lingering look at her arm, and meets her eyes again just in time to see her swallow a lump of sorts.

Damn, does he feel guilty - hates himself for not being able to let it go, now that it’s clear how remorseful she is. It hurts to look at her, the tears as superfluous drops in the ocean that is caught within her eyes - it stabs at his heart until he can’t sustain the blows anymore, until he kisses her.

At first, it’s purely experimental, to see if it will work, which it does - the miles melt away a little, one by one, and he deepens the kiss without hesitating, desperate to have her close again. Clarke doesn’t try to push him away - something that he mistakes for a good sign. He’s not sure how long it takes him to realize how rough the mix of emotions has made his lips. When he does, at last, he breaks away, and although he dreads it, looks into her eyes.

“Clarke, I’m sorry. You don’t want this,” he murmurs, making no effort to back off, mostly because his heart screams at him.

She cracks a tiny smile before getting impossibly closer, her lips brushing against his as she whispers: “Then you mustn’t know me very well after all,”

Those words leave him breathless, so he’s grateful when she kisses him - that way they can give each other the oxygen that they’re both lacking. It’s soft, even innocent. Unlike anything he’s experienced before, which doesn’t surprise him, because really, how could it? This is Clarke… And she’s wonderfully different.

Keep reading

gay-lawyer-heaven  asked:

Um Your fics are cute :3 Can I... Can I have one? Destiel and Sabriel. Cas & Gabe work at an animal shelter and one day these /really/ hot brothers come in, looking for a dog/something Okay If you can! Thanks! *flies away*

Cas was not having a good day. Gabe hadn’t talked to him yet but there was only one reason that he ever gathered all the puppies in the “meet and greet” room and laid down and let them crawl all over him.

He called it “puppy therapy”. 

Four years after he had started puppy therapy, Gabe had yet to think of an argument against it. 

Instead, he leaned against the door frame, the top half opened. 

“I talked to mom last night.” Cas said in a monotone. 

Gabe pursed his lips and nodded.

“Next time it’s your turn." 

Gabe looked down at his shoes. “Fine, but you have to buy me chocolate after.”

"You owe me the largest cheeseburger in town.” Cas replied, slightly muffled underneath the chest of a rottweiler and golden retriever mix. One of the puppies snoozed on his chest and five more wandered around, using his legs and arms as either chew toys or a warm place to sleep.

Gabe nodded and then opened the door. He scooped four puppies up, leaving the one on Castiel’s face.

“Let’s get started.” He said and took the puppies back to their cages.


“One, Sam.” Dean said, glancing in the back of his car.

“I know what the lease says, Dean.” Sam said, trying to infuse his words with the irritation he should feel but he was too excited. He might be twenty seven years old and a junior partner at his law firm, but still.


Dean eased his car into one of the spaces and Sam practically threw himself out of the car.

“This is one of those ones that doesn’t kill the dogs, right?” Dean asked.

“‘Novak Shelter is a no kill shelter.’” Sam read out loud from a sign that greeted them. “‘They accept donations of all kinds. Volunteers welcome.’”

“Neat.” Dean muttered and opened the door.

The dark haired girl at the front raised her eyes from the computer and smiled at them. Her name tag read Krissy.

 ”Hey there. Welcome to Novak Shelter. How can I help you?” She asked

Dean looked at Sam who was practically bouncing on his toes. 

“We’re here to adopt a dog.” Sam said. 

Krissy’s smile widened. “Great!” She said. “Let me just call one of our directors and he’ll be up to show you around.” 

She picked up a phone. “Hey, Gabe? I’ve got someone up here that is looking to adopt a dog.” 


Gabe pulled on his hoodie that had the Novak Shelter emblem above his heart. “Pull yourself together, Cas. We got people here looking to give these puppies a home.” 

Cas sighed and nodded. He reached for his own hoodie and pulled it on. The guys worked both in and outside, making sure to keep their animals as socialized as possible, especially with humans.

Gabe left the room first so Cas was able to reach back and swipe a snoozing puppy out of his pin and tuck him in between the snug collar of his hoodie and his chest, lending just a little more warmth to the hoodie. He looked back and stuck one more puppy in his front pocket, letting the little guy’s snout stick out of the pocket.

Satisfied with his puppy borrowing, Cas left the back room and headed towards the front.  


Sam waited anxiously near the counter while Dean took a seat. The door opened with a flourish and a man shorter than both Sam and Dean came through. 

“You would be the one looking to adopt?” The man asked with no preamble.

“Yes.” Sam said. 

“Dr. Gabe.” The man shook Sam’s hand and then nodded to the doors that he had just come out of. “Let’s go see what you would like." 

Sam followed Dr. Gabe into the back room where there were pins. 

"Are you a dog or cat person, Sam?” Gabe asked, looking down at the paperwork Sam had filled out. 

“Dog. I run, so I’m looking for a running partner." 

Gabe smirked and let his gaze linger on Sam’s legs. “You might need a horse with legs like that, Sam.” 

Sam let out a laugh. “Do you have any?” 

"Not at the moment, but it could happen.” Gabe said. He nodded to a couple of pins more in the middle of the large room. “I think you’ll find what you’re looking for in there." 


Dean stretched his legs out on the chairs and let out a sigh. Krissy had just received a delivery of dog food and had left her post to go open the doors. Dean looked up as the doors opened once more, expecting the young girl. 

Instead, there was a man who’s hair had never seen the appropriate side of a brush, a five o’clock shadow at nine in the morning and eyes that Dean wanted to drown in. A small smile and Dean forgot all about his reluctance to get a dog.

"Hi. Have you been helped?” He asked. A voice like silk over gravel and Dean almost sighed like the girls at Sam’s office did whenever the two of them walked by. 

“Uh-” Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. My brother, he’s looking for a dog." 

For no apparent reason, Dean stood. And then he saw the man’s hoodie shift. He cocked an eyebrow. 

"Oh!” The man said. Dean spied his name tag. Dr. Cas. He watched as the man tugged a small brown and white puppy out of his hoodie and laughed. Then his hoodie moved again and he looked at Dean. “Could you-?” He asked, holding the puppy out. Dean scooped the little guy out of Dr. Cas’s hands and tucked him against his ribs, balanced on his forearm. The puppy burrowed into Dean’s warmth and promptly fell asleep. 

Dean watched as Cas pulled one more puppy out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Got anymore in there?” Dean asked, laughing softly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Cas asked, gently teasing. 

Dean was at a loss for words.


Sam sat in the cage as the long legged dog bounced all over him, yipping and pulling gently on his sleeves. He laughed and opened his arms. 

“Come here.” He said to the dog. The dog, seemingly already trained, went to Sam and put his front paws on Sam’s shoulders and bit at his hair. 

“Oh my gosh. Sit.” Sam said. The dog sat, eager for more commands. 

“Can you lay down?” Sam asked with a formal politeness. The dog immediately laid down on Sam’s leg. 

“Baby, heel.” Dr. Gabe said softly. The dog immediately went to Dr. Gabe’s side and sat down. 

“I need him.” Sam said. 

“I can see that.” Dr. Gabe said seriously. “But it’s going to cost you." 

"How much?” Sam asked, getting to his feet. 

“Your number.” Dr. Gabe said with a smirk.

Sam shook his head and Gabe’s stomach fell. “Nope. It’s going to cost you dinner.” 

Gabe’s smile was slow but sure. “I think I can do that.”


In the Impala, Dean tucked Sweetie in gently against his leg while Sam buckled Baby in. 

“I can’t believe you got a dog.” Sam said, shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe you got a date.” Dean countered. 

“I could say the same for you.” Sam laughed.

Dean’s grin was dazzling when he waved to Cas. Out the window he shouted, “I’ll pick you up at eight!”

Sam waved at Gabe as they drove away.