through purgatory

  • dean: *runs through purgatory looking for cas and praying to him every night*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • cas: *gives up an entire army of angels for dean*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • dean: *risks his life for cas*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • cas: *hugs dean with longing all over his face*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • dean: *calls cas sunshine*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • cas: *is told dean is his human weakness*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • dean: *gives cas a mixtape*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • cas: *tells dean he loves him*
  • spn writers: platonic
  • dean: *sucks off cas' dick*
  • spn writers: platonic

— Caught in the riptide
                      I was searching for the truth
                               There was a reason I collided into you


His Mind Created the Perfect Metaphor

Dear BBC Sherlock community,

Ever since Sherlock series 4 came out, collectively we were like “what the HELL is this?!?! This doesn’t make any sense!” BUT after many months of tossing ideas around the fandom, we have made theories that could explain the weirdness, but nothing we can all agree on. Now, this meta here may be absolute garbage to you, but I believe, in my heart of hearts, I’ve solved it. Please read it in its entirety with an open mind before you reblog it just to tell me I suck.

Thanks in advance, you da best


Here’s the short version: Sherlock actually jumped at the end of The Reichenbach Fall, just as Doyle intended him to die. Gatiss and Moffat said they are correcting something in this adaptation that no one else has gotten right before. Many of us assumed the homosexual romance was the one thing they were changing, but we were punched in the face right after The Final Problem came out.  Gatiss and Moffat are changing the sacrifice. Holmes was intended to die for his friends but Doyle needed more money and rewrote the series after “The Final Problem”. That turned Holmes’ sacrifice into a cruel joke against Watson. This is what BBC Sherlock is fixing, and we’re about to see it come to fruition.

I know many theorists despise the homosexual reading of Holmes and Watson, while many people in general despise theorists on this site. That’s fine, I don’t care how people feel about gay theories and/or TJLC and its followers.  But I’m here to tell you TJLC, at its core as a concept, was right. You may hate Moffat and Gatiss, you may think Sherlock is a piece of shit show, and that’s fine, you do you. But hear this one meta out, please. I think even the hardest skeptic can at least apprectiate the thought and logic behind this.

Keep reading

do y’all remember that time that cas followed dean all through purgatory knowing that he wasn’t going to return to earth with him. and when cas let go dean was so hurt and devastated by that he literally made up an entirely different scenario in which losing cas was his fault. like straight up hallucinated that shit because it was less painful than the idea that cas didn’t want to go back with him. do y’all remember tha t

A Word to Describe You -Preference-

Originally posted by netflixruinedmylifeimagines


Dean couldn’t stop grinning. Normally Dean was annoyed when Bobby chose him for gun cleaning duty but he had been more than happy to help when you had been assigned the task. You were both sitting out in the salvage yard. Dean watched as you sang along with the radio, cleaning the pistols and rifles expertly without a second thought. It was supposed to be raining today but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It seemed like no matter what the sun was always shining when you were around. In general, Dean found that everything was always better when you were around. It didn’t matter if it was a hunt, a road trip, or a food run. You just always made everything better. Dean thought you were far better than anything he could ever hope to deserve and he was still confused everyday as to why you had chosen him. He was grateful for whatever it was. It meant that he was able to enjoy moments like this. You looked up at him and gave Dean the smile that was reserved for him. A smile so genuine it physically hurt Dean to look at it. He smiled back, or really just looked back because he hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d returned home to you yesterday. You laughed and went back to work. Dean continued to stare, mesmerized. You were everything he never thought he’d ever get to have. You were happiness.


Sam shouldn’t be alive. The hunt had took a bad turn and he should be dead. But you were there. Somehow you were in the right place at the right time and Sam was alive. Ever since Sam had met you things always seemed to happen that way. The motel just happened to have one room left and it just happened to be half price. Dean managed to choose the right boxes on his scratch offs to win $500 everytime. The fleeing monster would accidently take a wrong turn that led to a dead end. Nothing bad could happen when you were around. It became statistically impossible. Sam was brought out of his thoughts when you came and sat across his lap. You wrapped your arms around him and tucked your head into his neck and closed your eyes. Before long you had drifted off to sleep. He kissed your forehead and smiled. Because of you he was the luckiest man on earth, in every way imaginable. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV to find them showing his favorite movie. He laughed to himself. You really were his lady luck.


Cas kept watch as you slept. You both had just finished a hunt that left you exhausted. After you showered you had kissed Cas goodnight and immediately thrown yourself on the lumpy motel bed. You were asleep within seconds. It always surprised Cas how quickly you could fall asleep. Everything about you surprised Cas, really. He couldn’t believe that someone who had been through what you had could manage to stay such a good person. The evidence of your hardships lay all across your sleeping form. You were covered in scars, some old and some fresh. You had bruises all along your knuckles and a few on your ribs. Your bones had been broken numerous times and Cas lost track of how many broken noses he had to heal for you. You’d been to Hell, fought in heaven and ran through purgatory, like the honorary Winchester that you were. You’d seen the worst of humanity, monsters, and heavenly beings (including Castiel himself). Yet somehow through all of that you somehow managed to remain optimistic and happy. You laughed at Dean’s dumb jokes and Sam’s stupid pranks. You tried to see the good in everyone even when there wasn’t a shred of decency in them. No matter what, each day you woke with a smile and told Cas you how much you loved him every night. You rolled over in your sleep and felt around on the bed. When you found his hand you gripped it tight and sighed. Your breathing evened back out and you were fast asleep again. Castiel smiled. You truly were fascinating.

Bonus: Bobby

There was only one thing Bobby could think of to describe you. Trouble. If you weren’t off in some corner making out with Dean you were distracting Sam from his research and work. If Cas was around you ignored all the work Bobby needed you to do to watch cartoons with him instead. You ate all his food, used all his ammo, and refused to help with the dishes. Sure, you helped stop a couple of apocalypses but what did that matter when he couldn’t walk 2 feet in his own house without tripping on one of your bloodied flannels? He could hear you and Dean giggling upstairs. They’re supposed to be translating rituals he thought. Seconds later something hit the ground and shattered. “That wasn’t me!” you called out. Bobby sighed but couldn’t keep from laughing. What was he gonna do with you?

You know what i find hilarious? That for years people (myself included) came to some very plausible conclusions over where the show could be going only to be wrong quite often. But get this: remember how many people presumed twin Moriarty brothers would be involved because ACD canon supports it and the writers are adamant about how “it’s never twins”? And after we saw the “fake” handshake scene being filmed for TEH we were like “OMG what if there are TWO Moriartys and one dies while the other lives??”

You see, this is what i find truly funny:

Our ideas, while kind of easy to guess and close to the Canon, may actually still be right. ACD meant for Sherlock Holmes to fall to his death. He only resurrected the character after 8 years of criticism and a pinched pocketbook. Having Holmes come back to life was a trick, and a cruel one at that, but it’s what ACD had to do to get the cash machine flowing again. Now remember how Mark Gatiss would say they’re doing something correctly with their Holmes adaptation that they think all other adaptations have been getting wrong? Before S4 many people assumed it would be the romance. After S4 many people spewed venom, yelling “Was the secret sister on Shutter Island what you wanted to DO CORRECTLY?? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.”

But it’s a lot deeper than either of those things.

You see, this adaptation of Sherlock Holmes did get something right that everybody’s been getting wrong, even Doyle himself: Holmes actually attempted suicide because he loved his friends.

Now I’m not looking for everyone to agree with me, simply to give this more thought. I’ve seen this theory come up many times already but most people shrug it off as impossible and a waste of time.

So here’s what happened: There are two brothers Moriarty with the same first name, like in Doyle’s canon. Identical twins, to be exact. In TRF Mycroft made a deal with James and sold out Sherlock – for the greater good, of course. Sherlock doesn’t know for sure, but he’s going to his death on that roof. He meets Jim, Richard Brook, who’s ready to die. Jim kills himself. Sherlock, in an actual panic, calls John before jumping to his death.

Everything from the moment Sherlock hits the pavement is a false reality.

He actually jumped.

Here’s why I’m thinking this should be given more thought —
– Mycroft’s office in TEH (one of the first scenes) turns into a checkerboard ceiling dungeon with a different painting on his prominent wall. The same ceiling and the same painting appear in an office in another BBC crime drama called “Ashes to Ashes” where the protagonist gets gravely wounded and sent to Purgatory, playing through her subconscious and attempting to understand herself. Focus on that painting and that ceiling comes up over and over again in limbo. Coincidence? Or the BBCs favorite way to decorate hell?
– In the beginning of TEH we get hit with a pretty obvious Christian metaphor: Sherlock, with long hair, is strung up by his wrists and beaten, visually similar to the crucifixion of Jesus. However, in this version, Mycroft intervenes and everything’s fine. Yeeeaahhh, maybe not. This could be another tell, seeing as Jesus purposely sacrificed himself because of love, just like I’m arguing Sherlock did in the episode prior. According to the Apostles Creed, Jesus was crucified and then descended into Hell before he rose again. Considering episodes 7 through 13 have been like Sherlock slipping through the circles of hell in his personal life, I’m not going to count this theory out. “They’re going to hell and back” is what Gatiss said. Yeah. I believe he could have meant that literally.
– If anyone has seen or heard of the 2005 movie “Stay”, it focuses on this exact concept. Go to @monikakrasnorada’s page and find out more. It compares the semi-lucid state one has after a tragic accident to changing how one interprets reality. For example, Mary Morstan is a nurse? Yeah, she very well could be Sherlock’s nurse. You thought it was weird that Mary, John, Mycroft, and Sherlock were all at the Holmes family’s country house for Christmas? Yeah, they could all have been visiting Sherlock in hospital at the same time over Christmas. Could be why there’s a framed photo of what looks like Sherlock falling off of Bart’s roof in mummy’s sitting room. Or why the contents of the book Mary reads doesn’t match the title.

Is this theory a stretch? Absolutely. But all theories are until time runs out.

Tl;dr There are twin Moriarty’s, time is fake, the truth was obviously there but because we didn’t get our immediate satisfaction, we forgot about it. It would be like Gatiss pulling the rug and saying “Aha! You were right to be suspicious FIVE YEARS ago, it really WAS twins but you FORGOT so it doesn’t count! LOSERS!”. And then we just look around at each other… mystified.

“Huh…. i guess it really was twins.”

Two Halves Of A Whole

Requested by Anonymous 

Word Count: 4,264

Warnings: More plot than usual, more fluff than usual (neither of which you should get used to), a beautiful oxymoron of emotional smut, if there is such a thing. 

Please message me and let me know what you think. I deviated from my norm per request but still need your delicious feedback anyway before I get unsightly worry lines in my forehead, I’m far too young for them. Happy sinning! 

Dinner had been the worst kind of awkward - something that should have been happy but wasn’t. The boys were shells of their former selves, and the air was weighted with the knowledge of it. John was humorless and looked ten years older than he had before he left. Tommy was stoically absent in words and tightly reserved in actions. Arthur was the only one with any kind of fire in him, artificially fueled by the whiskey he’d been drunk off of long before the boys had stepped foot off the train in Birmingham.

It should have felt better to glance to the opposite end of the table and see Tommy, his chair no longer achingly empty. But you were discovering that there wasn’t much difference, his presence painful in its own way. The two of you had barely spoken, and there had been chances to, plenty ever since you two had desperately shoved your way to each other in the crowded train station.

Tommy’s crushing hug as people milled around you had been a false impression of what else he had to offer, taciturn and distant since the moment he’d let you go. Not anger, but an indifference - his arctic gaze blank when he managed to look at you at all.

“Just go on up love, I’ll finish these,” Polly muttered to you after dinner, the two of you scrubbing dishes and speaking in hushed tones, the house mostly quiet except for Tommy’s occasional footsteps on the floor above your heads.

“What if he found someone else?” you whispered, ignoring her and continuing your scrubbing. Polly was the only person you’d told your worst fear to. “What if he doesn’t love me anymore? Do you think that’s it?”

“Right, now you’ve lost it. Go,” Polly ordered, snatching the dishtowel from you. “Not even war could tear you two apart and you know it. Go on!”

“Fine,” you griped, dragging your feet as you headed upstairs. You had pictured it all very differently - you had been excited. Now you felt nothing but childish and avoidant, wanting to run into Ada’s room instead of your own, even though the man you’d loved since you were fifteen was finally back in it.

The pain of Tommy leaving had been unreal, your other half missing from a bed that grew colder each night he was gone. The two of you never stopped writing  - your collection of Tommy’s letters filled two whole spaces underneath loose floorboards in the room you shared. But reading them had eventually made you feel more helpless than ever, each one laced with a resigned pain as his heart grew heavier with each passing day. And now that heart stood in front of you, Tommy slowly poking at the fire in your bedroom with a hand in his trouser pocket.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you felt loud and piercing, and when Tommy turned to look at you you thought he might be annoyed, your entrance breaking his peace. But if he was disturbed he didn’t show it, barely registering you before turning back around.

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you watched him. He looked taller somehow, manlier and domineering in a stance you barely recognized as something that belonged to him. The top-half of a scar peeked out from his undershirt, the red twisted skin warping on his shoulder each time he turned the fire.

Without thinking you walked to him and touched the skin lightly, tracing its shape, the edges looking like torn paper. The feeling of Tommy’s skin under your fingers was surreal, and your heartbeat felt loud.

“I remember when you - and Freddie - wrote me about this,” you murmured, “I thought it would be lower.”

Tommy continued to roll the fire, his voice blank. “Spend a lot of time picturing it, did you?”

“No,” you shrugged sadly, “couldn’t help it, I suppose.”

Automatically, like you used to, you arched up on your toes to kiss the back of his neck on the last knot of his spine your height could reach. Tommy’s shoulders briefly relaxed, his skin warm over the slacking muscles. But then they were tense again, stiff under your lips until he shifted his weight away from you, ending your kiss in such a way that made you feel like your chest had cracked.

“I have to go,” Tommy said, hanging the fire poker before walking towards his jacket. Dread crawled over your skin as you watched his back retreat, his eyes having yet to meet yours.

“O-Oh,” you stammered, feeling silly and unwanted; your face grew hot in the heavy pause between the two of you. “Have I done something?”

“No,” he answered you, breathy and dismissive. “I just have things to do.”

“Tommy,” you said quietly, watching him lace his shoes. “It’s late, and I thought you’d want to - I don’t know,” you shook your head in exasperation. “It’s been four years, Tommy.”

Intently focused on his coat, Tommy had nothing to say as he shrugged the black wool onto his newly-broadened shoulders.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice fractured and small.

Tommy winced, the only sign of life he had to give. Finally looking at you he sighed, scanning your face. Words unsaid rippled across his sculpted features and parted his lips until he thought better of it, the words catching in his throat and staying there. You caught the briefest flash of life in his eyes, a foggy window into heartache and torment. But then it was gone, his expression set as he pressed his lips against your hair quickly.

“I’ll be back later,” he turned and put his cap on, walking towards the door and unraveling you as he went.

“Is there someone else? In France?” you sputtered impulsively when Tommy had the door open halfway, tears beading in your lashes. “Tell me.”

Tommy sighed but didn’t turn, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There’s no one else.”

“Then what is it then?” Your voice was growing loud in desperation, tears spilling onto your cheeks. “Is it me?”

“No,” Tommy’s voice was heavy, strained. “I have to go.”

A sob fell apart in your chest as the door shut, Tommy taking the little warmth and hope you had as he left. The bed bounced as you dropped onto the mattress, the coldness of its deafening emptiness burning through your dress and into your skin. Heartsore and tired, you put your face in your hands and cried.


Warmth enveloped you, soft and homey as you lay in bed. Eyelids fluttering, you drifted through the beautiful purgatory of being in between sleep and wakefulness. The air was cold as you breathed it in, smelling like the crisp, dry sweetness of coming snow as it briefly dredged your thoughts from slumber to visit the night.

As you rolled over and back into dreamland, the spicy smell of skin and whiskey filled your nose and you sighed in longing.

The brief pang of pain - one you had grown accustomed to - reminded you of what dreams felt like. Curling into the memories of Tommy’s warmth under the sheets, you found him there and slid your arms around his neck, ignoring the giggling French dolls in your mind that tried to beckon you towards nightmares instead.

Listening to Tommy whisper your name like a siren’s song, over and over, distant and far away, you groaned with content as you leaned back into the pillows. Somewhere in your conscious mind you knew Tommy - or a version of Tommy - had come home. Whether he still loved your or not was an issue for reality in the morning. The Tommy who was here now, drinking in your skin and whispering to you with whiskey lips was the Tommy that both your memories and your dreams knew well, and it was the one you chose.

But the Tommy of your dreams began to feel oddly real, his kisses hot across your collarbones as he twirled strands of your hair around his fingers and pulled at them gently. The taste of whiskey drew you one step closer to the land of the living, Tommy’s tongue warm with it as he finally pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and groaning with a deepness that shook your bones awake.

Without thinking you kissed him back, grateful for any scraps of love he could painfully tear from himself to give you. No matter how much you wanted to question, to speak, you didn’t dare break the trance of Tommy moving over you, pushing your nightgown up to your ribs while you traced the planes of his bare chest. Although the taut bands of muscle over his frame were new, he still felt like home and you hoped you did too.

Kissing him was easy, a seamless dance that you had gone too long without - although neither of you had forgotten a step. Running your hands over him, you reacquainted yourself with the new feelings of his knotted scar and the short velvet hair on his head. The thin skin below his ear was still soft on your lips, the growl it produced was still hungry. You felt each knot of his spine, trailing a finger up and down their ridges.

Tommy returned his lips to your neck and you opened your eyes, feeling him nudge your knees apart with one of his to settle his hips between your legs. The candle had been blown out, the bedroom nothing but moonlight-colored shapes. As wakefulness began to clear your mind, Tommy’s kisses stopped feeling like love and began feeling like desperation, your body Tommy’s idea of a solution to a problem he hadn’t been able to solve with whiskey and fighting.

Failing to hide your emotion, you inhaled shakily and Tommy immediately halted, your chest rattling with the thickness of uninvited tears. Tommy inched back up to you and pressed his forehead to yours, swiping the moisture from your cheeks with his thumbs and shushing you gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling like it was your first time all over again, vulnerability laced into every bit of you as you shook your head until Tommy held it still. “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

“Don’t be,” Tommy whispered, rubbing circles into your temples before he laid in the crook of your neck. You felt his eyes scrunch shut against your skin.

“If there’s somebody else-”

“It’s not somebody fuckin’ else,” Tommy snapped. Cold air rushed into the space between you as Tommy pushed up and away from you, sitting back on his heels, hands on his thighs. He muttered to himself before wrenching his eyes shut again, bowing his head with a voice edged with exasperation. “It’s me, alright? It’s fucking me. Fuck.”

A hurt you hadn’t felt in a few weeks took hold of you and sunk in, your soul weighted with the same heaviness was planted when Tommy’s letters had begun to get bleaker. The hasty scrawls of ink on the scraps of foraged paper had seeped with an unsoothable pain, but now it was here before you, the grief dark as it bled from him.

The calm that only realization could bring came over you as you watched twelve steady rises and falls of Tommy’s shoulders, thinking he looked as lovely as you had ever found him. Sitting up, you brought the sheet with you and settled on your knees before him, your face even with the top of his drooping head. The faint moonlight shone on what remained of his longer locks, making their glossy darkness pallid and flat.

“You can tell me, Tommy.”

“There’s nobody fucking else-”

“Not that - I believe you,” you interrupted him as gently as you could, reaching up to touch his chiseled cheek. “You can tell me anything Tommy. That hasn’t changed. Has it?”

Tommy laid his hand over yours, pressing it harder into his pale skin. He looked at you with a set jaw. “I’ve changed. Things have changed.”

“I know,” you said softly, the two of you observing each other for a few moments as a carriage passed outside, hooves clopping heavily in the empty night.

Sweeping a lock of dark hair from his forehead, you smiled and felt the dried tear stains split dryly on your cheeks. “Do you think that scares me, Thomas?”

“I’ve done things,” he said simply, not answering your question. He didn’t look at you as he rubbed your cheekbone, following the path of his thumb with sad eyes. “And I’ve seen things. Alright? It won’t be the same.”

“Do you love me any less?”

“No,” he whispered, voice strained with emotion as he squeezed your hand for emphasis. “That will never change.”

“And I don’t love you any less, Thomas Shelby. You don’t scare me.” Craning your neck to silence his protests with a kiss, you murmured against the softness of his lips, “I don’t need you to be the same - we don’t need it to be the same. I love you, and all the demons you brought back with you, too.”

Tommy’s forehead pressed against yours as he shut his eyes and sighed heavily, your noses brushing. Pulling you close, he clutched you to him with a need that kept you silent, his hair tickled your shoulder as he settled into the crook of your neck. Stiffening slightly in surprise before sliding your arms over his shoulders, you let him lean on you and trailed your fingers over the freckled skin of his back, exhaling emptiness so you could fill your lungs with him.

Time passed, the paleness of the moon lightening your bedroom as it rose higher in the black sky. Tommy held you tightly, a silent statue even as his eyes wet the dip of your collarbone, the drops pooling there as you brushed the top of his head slowly. Knowing he didn’t want words, you said nothing as you played with different locks of hair and gazed out the window at the black spread of rooftops.

The rhythmic coexistence between the two of you began to lull you to sleep, your breathing matched. Tommy’s hand tracing your spine was mesmeric, grazing your skin slowly as you leaned on each other.

Tommy straightened when he felt you start to flirt with sleep, your wakefulness willingly returning when he pressed his lips to yours softly. Feeling him move your legs around his waist felt as natural as it ever had, the muscle memory eager to be remembered.

Whispering your name whenever he got the chance, Tommy held you tight and ran his hands wherever they could reach, as if he was finally realizing he was home, and you were real. You finally felt like you weren’t kissing someone who was lost, the movements of Tommy’s lips against yours were not empty of life, no longer a barren forest.

The rough callouses of his hands scraped you in a way that made your back arch and your breaths grow heavy, Tommy suddenly insatiable in his need for your skin, swearing as he gripped you everywhere he could.

By the time your hips had begun to roll into each other’s you were hot with wetness and hunger, gasping wispily as Tommy sucked at your neck and murmured to you, sliding a hand under your nightgown to trace one nipple and then the other. Fingers curled into his muscles, you held him tight as you felt his cock harden against you, the dry friction of his boxers on your lingerie the most pleasure either of you had had in years.

By the time Tommy tossed you backwards onto the pillows your clothing had made piles on the floor, Tommy’s boxers lying dangerously close to the dying but still capable fire. His skin was stark in the moonlight as he crawled over your body, eyes shut as he savored the taste of your skin, sheened with sweat.

But his lips were all you wanted to taste, and you clawed for him until his face was near yours again. Kissing him fervidly, you traced Tommy’s cheekbones and held his head to yours as your tongue danced gracefully with his. When he pulled away and held himself over you in silence a single strand of fear brushed you, taunting.

“What is it?” you breathed, your hands trailing down his hardened biceps.

Gazing at you half-lidded, Tommy eased down onto his forearms after a few moments and shook his head. “I’ve missed you, love.”

Tommy moved lower to run his tongue over your nipples, your chest hitching shallowly and then deeply when he slipped a finger into the hot wetness between your legs, running up and down with a tantalizing slowness.

“Have you missed me?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Tommy hummed in approval, moving down your body until he could watch himself work, leaving love bites on your inner thighs while he pushed his finger inside of you, his smirk devious and familiar as it crept across his face when you arched into him.

Your skin was peppered with marks by the time your impatience had grabbed hold, and it felt ethereal to finally beg, “Fuck me, Tommy.”

“Mm,” Tommy considered, kissing your hipbone softly and smelling your skin. “Not yet. I have some indulging to do.”

And indulge he did, taking his time on you as he graced all the spots that had fallen to neglect in his absence. He easily found the patch of skin below your hip that made every nerve swear, he hadn’t forgotten that dragging his lips along the ribs below your breasts made your toes curl; his hand softly rubbed circles onto your clit all the while. By the time his mouth was back on your inner thigh he had your hips pinned to the bed to stop their wriggling.

Obliging at long last, Tommy’s lips were silk on your pussy as he kissed you, the lightness of his brushes against you as eager with enthusiasm as they were gentle with reverence. Spreading your legs with his elbows, he held them open and steadily flicked your clit with his tongue, watching you with glinting eyes that were onyx with pupils.

Trying to contain yourself was a useless act, and you didn’t care if you woke up all of Small Heath, crying out as Tommy’s tongue inside of you made your hips arch from the bed. Sliding his hands beneath you to grip your ass, he refused to let you twist away and rose with your hips, holding you to his mouth.

Writhing with only your upper back against the mattress, your hips danced helplessly and Tommy easily followed, sucking at your clit and humming in appreciation until the vibration made you start to whine.

Shivers of pleasure lit your skin on fire and you bunched the sheets in your fists, his tongue ruthless against your increasingly sensitive clit. Easing you back down onto the mattress, he replaced his tongue with his fingers, rubbing skillful circles onto your clit softly.

“How long has it been, love?”

Heavy breathing was your only answer, no space for words between the increasing speed of your gasps, your muscles tightening around him.

“Too long, that’s right,” he smirked, hastening the pace of his fingers on your nerves. “Cum for me.”

If you had the breath you could have laughed at how good it felt, your body rippling as your world fuzzed around the edges. Tommy curved his fingers into your g-spot and stroked, the sight of you toppling over the edge making him voracious, his nails sinking into your thigh.

“Look at me,” he ordered, hoarse with desire.

Chin on your chest, you barely succeeded in keeping your eyes on his while you came onto him, your brows knitting deeply as your mouth fell open. Tommy watched you with a mix of unending adoration and unrefined lust, cooing to you as he coaxed out the last wisps of orgasm that had been waiting for him to do so for far too long.

Tommy finally dragged his eyes reluctantly from yours and exhaled sharply as he watched your pussy spasm around his soaked fingers. Leaning back against the pillows, you let the stars fade from your vision and waited for him, jerking slightly in sensitivity as he kissed up your wetness.

The taste of you on his tongue was something you’d missed, and you drank it in as he returned to you, your head rising from the pillow to meet him. Tommy caught you, cradling you close as he nipped at your lips, reaching down to slide his fingers in and out of you until you were whimpering again.

“My turn?” you asked, jutting your bottom lip out before biting it.

Tommy watched you darkly and growled, spinning your vision as he quickly took you up in his arms and lifted you off the bed to set you on your knees.

Smile spreading voraciously, you waited patiently for Tommy to straighten and step closer to you, your mouth falling open in unashamed wantonness at the sight of him.

Pulling at his legs hungrily you brought his cock to your mouth, teasing him as you ran your lips up and down the side of its length, staring up at him with doe eyes.

“I thought about this very often, you know,” you murmured into his skin, running over him.

“Is that so?” Tommy mocked mildly, watching you and twirling a piece of your hair around his finger. “Such a vivid imagination you have, dirty girl.”

Assenting with a hum, you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock until he groaned, gathering your hair in his hand. You savored him as he had savored you, relishing in every one of his shivers and low moans as you took the length of his cock into your throat over and over.

“Fuck,” Tommy swore, watching you work your mouth and your hands over him, his grip tightening in your hair as he began to push your head himself. “Just like that, love.”

With eyes to the ceiling, Tommy groaned deeply as he moved your mouth onto his cock roughly, the feeling of it making your pussy throb. You couldn’t help but touch your clit, whining around his length as you felt your own wetness. Tommy brought his attention back to you in a lustful haze, a devilish open-mouthed smirk on his face as he watched you.

Reflexive tears rolled onto your cheeks but you barely felt them, small prices to pay for the feeling of Tommy’s cock down your throat. You hummed in pleasure, your spine electric as you touched your clit, the taste of Tommy on your tongue. Just when your jaw began to stiffen did his breathing grow heavy, no traces of icy blue in his eyes as he grew closer to release.

But then he pulled you from him, allowing you a few gulps of air before bending down to kiss you deeply, his hands large on your face and words of love warm on his lips as he pulled you to stand.

Warmth spread through you as you threw your arms around his neck, jumping into his arms to wrap yourself around him, Tommy brought you both back to bed and held you in his lap, kissing you hard and breathing you in, insatiable.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you bit at Tommy’s neck as you sat on him and reached down to palm his cock, wet with your mouth’s work. A groan you realized was yours shook your chest as you felt the hard length of him in your hand, Tommy’s breath growing ragged again as you stroked him.

Tommy pulled you from his neck gently by your hair, grasping your head in his hands as he kissed you fervently, your moving lips inseparable by a pulling gravity. Pushing Tommy’s cock against your dripping entrance, you rubbed it against you until he moaned hotly into your mouth.

With a roll of his hips Tommy was suddenly inside you, hissing through his teeth as you moaned his name against his parting lips. Absence had tightened your pussy and you burned deliciously as Tommy took his time working his way in and out of you, each inch gained leaving you more breathless than the last. Tommy never stopped kissing you, his hands broad on your back as he eased you onto him completely, hushing your whimpers as you stretched for the size of him.

Stroking you strongly, Tommy rested his forehead on yours as he held you close, picking up his pace as he felt you relax around him, the long lost waves of pleasure rolling through your muscles. His words were hot in your ear and his cock was thick in your pussy as he fucked you until your eyes rolled and your nails left half-moons in his shoulders.

Soon the two of you were close, set to cum together with sweat-dewed skin and panting breath. Tommy’s gaze was searing and warm and home all at the same time, and you had no desire to look away.

While Tommy was gone every action had been an effort, every movement taking conscious thought to complete when your heart was miles away, in danger and alone. But thought was no longer privy to the world you two were now in, nothing but moans and aphorisms of love breaking the silence of night. Worries and horrors would never find you here, and Tommy was able to move without fear at long last, his hands never leaving your skin as he finally came home.

You Do?

Originally posted by slayypierce

Request: From @attorneyl  -Hello sweetie, I’ll understand if you don’t want to do that one (and I don’t know your perspective of Mary) but would be awesome if you do one where the reader are with Dean for some time and they had gone through everything (hell, purgatory, Amara, maybe she dying and him selling his soul for her) but when his mom comes back she get worried because she feel like it’s Sam, Dean and the reader against the world and let’s face that Dean have some mommy issues so… I would appreciate it a lot

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warning: Some fluff

Keep reading

An Actual Scene From Supernatural:

Dean: Cas! *laughs* Damn, it’s good to see you.
Dean: [brushes a finger across Cas’ cheek] Nice peach fuzz.

Castiel: How did you find me.
Dean: The bloody way. You feeling okay?

Benny: Why’d you bail on Dean?
Dean: [defensively] Dude.
Benny: The way I hear it you two hit monster land and hot wings here took off. I figure he owes you some back story.
Dean: Look, we were surrounded, okay? Some freak jumped Cas, obviously he kicked it’s ass, right?
Cas: [ashamed] No.
Dean: [dumbfounded] What?
Cas: I ran away.
Dean: [disbelieving] You ran away??
Cas: I had to.
Dean: That’s your excuse for leaving me with those gorilla wolves?
Cas: Dean.
Dean: You bailed out and what, went camping? - I prayed to you Cas, every night.
Cas: I know.
Dean: You know and you didn’t… [taken aback] what the hell’s wrong with you?
Cas: I am an angel in a land of abominations. There have been things hunting me from the moment we arrived.
Dean: Join the club!
Cas: These are not just monsters, Dean, they’re leviathan! I have a price on my head, and I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to… to keep them away from you. That’s why I ran.
Dean: [relaxes] [understands]

Dean: Hold on, hold on. Cas, we’re getting out of here. We’re going home. 
Cas: Dean, I can’t.
Dean: You can.

Dean: Hey, we’ll figure it out. Cas, buddy, I need you.
Cas: [brokenly] Dean…


Dean: Let me bottom-line it for you. I’m not leaving here without you. Understand?
Cas: I understand.

Novocaine- Chapter 16

Summary: Dean’s Pov after you are taken by Lucifer

Pairings: Dean x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Swearing

Word Count: 852

Deans POV:

“Shadow!” he cries as he finally manages to break through the plexiglass of the Gas n Sip door, the tinkling on the floor barely registering in his mind as he makes a beeline for the spot where you had lain not moments before.

“No! No no no!” he recites as he crouches inches away from your congealing blood. He screws his eyes shut tightly, his brain rejecting the evidence his eyes provide, swallowing down the rising scream of rage. He had her, his girl, his love. Lucifer had lain hands on his girl.

He was going to make the fucker scream, and beg for mercy when he finally got his hands on Lucifer, He was going to wish for death. Dean would make sure of it. If he harmed a hair on her head, if he so much as looked at her wrong Dean was going to make the cage look like a fucking holiday.

Sam’s soft footfalls pull him out of his rage. The gentle hand placed on his shoulder brings him to his feet. He knows Sam is speaking, his ears register the words but his brain refuses to translate them.

Her face keeps replaying in his head. Her soft smile and mouthed words playing on an endless loop. I love you… I love you.

He feels sick, nauseous, vile and hot, yet at the same time cold and desolate. He couldn’t lose her, not again. Not this time.

Not her, anybody but her, he prays silently, hoping that wherever Chuck was he would hear him, grant him this one wish, just this one. He would do whatever Chuck asked in return. Grovel at his feet, kill all the monsters, hang up his gun, anything if it meant having her back. Dean never asked for anything, never once had he asked for glory or wealth, he only ever wanted Shadow. She made him whole, his overwhelming love for her was the only thing that kept him going through hell, purgatory, seeing her face again kept him from murdering Sam when the Mark Of Cain took over.

He needed her, he wanted her, he loved her. More than life, more than himself, more than hunting.

The thought snaps him out of it. He turns on Sam so fast he takes a step back, alarmed at his brother’s change in demeanor. “Sam,” Dean says gruffly.

His jaw set in a hard line, the rage wafting off him has Sam swallowing hard. His brother was at the best of time a tightly controlled ball of anger, but this, this was different, Sam had never seen Dean this angry, this out of control, and it scared him.

“Call your witch. Get the Avengers here, now!” Dean snaps, his green eyes glinting dangerously.

Sam furrows his brows. “My witch? De, I don’t know-”

Dean snarls, “Cut the shit, Sam! I know you’re sleeping with her. Call her now!” he demands.

Sam blanches, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the words to deny it, to say anything to contradict it. “How?” he manages to blurt.

Dean rolls his eyes, his fist balled tightly at his side. “Shadow. She can read minds. We took bets on how long it would take you to tell her,” Dean replies, his words clipped as he stares his brother down, waiting impatiently for him to reach for his phone, to call Wanda and get the dream team here. Sam nods and looks away, and Dean grits his teeth “Spit it out, Sam!” Dean snaps, his patience flying out the window at Sam’s inaction.

“Are you sure?” Sam replies almost instantly, turning to face his brother. “I mean, you and Bucky don’t have the best track record,” Sam challenges, grim determination in his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Sam! Make the call!” Dean yells, he takes a step toward his brother. “I don’t care who comes to help, I don’t care who they are, I don’t care what they are to her, make the damn call so I can get her back, Sam!” a hint of pleading enters his tone, his left hand coming to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “Please, just do it,” he asks again, and Sam relents against his better judgment.

The tension between Bucky and Dean had been intense, Sam would not have put it past Dean to pull some sort of stunt should he ever come face to face with Bucky again. But this was Shadow, and Dean for all his faults and shortcomings would die a thousand deaths before he let any harm befall her. He would kill anyone who dared touch her.

She was his, and he was hers, and he would burn them all, heaven and hell to the ground if it meant getting her back. No arguments, no thoughts.

He was hers, all of him, his soul, his heart, his mind. He wouldn’t change it for the world, he wouldn’t give her up again. God help Lucifer because Dean Winchester was going to rip his lungs out and feed it to his hellhounds.

Dean Winchester was coming for him.

Tags: Under the cut

Keep reading

So I’ve been sitting on this idea because I thought I might use it for DCBB, but it’s definitely going to be WAY TOO LONG and there’s no way.  I’m not sure I’ll ever write it because it’s dark, and y’all know I’m incapable of anything truly dark.  So now I’m gonna share :D

Basically a reboot of the entire series, starting at season 1, but instead of looking for the Colt to kill Yellow Eyes, John is looking for the First Blade.  Stuff happens, they find it, turns out it doesn’t work, oops John dies.  Azazel is still on the loose, and wants to recruit Sammy as his Boy King of Hell to lead all the demons against humanity.

And Dean is like fuck that noise, you know, like he does, and he decides to find a way to make the First Blade work.  Along comes Crowley, because he’s a salesman Azazel’s plans are going to fuck up his job.  He introduces Dean to Cain.

Dean has to prove himself to Cain, queue hot fight scene with Dean and demons a la season 9, but Dean’s just that cool and didn’t have to go through Purgatory because I’m skipping the whole Leviathan thing.  Anyway Cain’s like good job, kiddo, you can have the mark, but in order to pass it to Dean they have to fuck.  Y’know like Sam was going to have to sleep with Lillith for their deal.

Hells yeah, hot and explicit scene of Cain fucking Dean, and popping his gay cherry because Dean’s thought about it, but never done it.  Oh and he has to come in order for the deal to seal.  

(ngl, I really want to write this scene just for funsies)

So Dean gets to experience the joy of gay sex, and also ends up with the Mark of Cain.  Off he goes to destroy Azazel and all his minions.  Only every time he kills with the First Blade it digs its tendrils into him deeper and deeper, and he’s starting to get scary (think post-demon!dean).  And he tries to assuage it with hunting, but he’s having a harder and harder time resisting the urge to just stab anyone that annoys him.

Even Sam, because his sad/worried puppydog eyes are starting to get on Dean’s nerves, and that’s a BAD sign.

And he decides he’s becoming to dangerous, so he tries to off himself.  But oops, he comes back as a demon.

And now Heaven’s like OH NO NEW MURDER DEMON, and even though they didn’t really care about Azazel and his army of black floofs, Demon!Dean with the MoC is apocalyptically dangerous.  So they start sending angels after him.

And Castiel is the first angel to meet Dean, and he’s supposed to stab him off to perdition, but somehow despite his demonic soul, Castiel is fascinated and hesitates too long.

And Dean doesn’t kill the angel because he’s like oh look, new playmate and starts a game of cat and mouse with Castiel.  He kills any other angels that he comes across, and he keeps threatening to kill Castiel (see ya later, Cas.  I’ll probably kill you the next time I see you) but he never does.  He’s not sure why, but Cas is just so much fun to fuck with.

Cas and Sam team up to try and catch Dean to cure him, and they eventually do.  And while they’re pumping him full of purified blood, Dean is talking to them.  Telling Sam about how he’s taking over Hell so that Sam won’t have to be the Boy King, and telling Castiel about how Dean only kills people who deserve it.

And Castiel asks him how he thinks he has the right to be judge/jury/executioner when only God should be allowed to judge.  And Dean’s like well God ain’t around, is He? and he’s right, and Castiel’s faith in Heaven starts to waver.  And that’s just the crack in the chassis that Dean was looking for.  Dean starts to really fuck with his head, and before the purification ritual is done, he talks Castiel into letting him go.  

Castiel talks him out of trying to kill Sam.  You did this to protect him, remember?  and Dean’s like ugh, fine, let’s go kill some vermin.  

And he drags Castiel all over the world, killing monsters and bad people, and demons that don’t toe his line.  Dean let’s Crowley be in charge of the crossroads stuff because he doesn’t give a fuck about it.  Then he and Castiel together start fighting the Big Bad demons together until there’s no one left to challenge Dean for the throne in Hell.

Dean takes the throne, with Castiel as his half-fallen angel consort.

And basically they live as immortal murder husbands, with Dean corrupting Castiel to the point where he allows Dean to kill those who deserve it.  But Castiel keeping Dean sane enough that he doesn’t try to murder the whole world.

The end.

I want it.

I don’t want to write it.

Well except the sex between Cain and Dean.  That’d be fun to write :D

Destiel Trope Collection
Day 18 | Medical AU

What’s up Doc | @cbfirestarter
Rating: Explicit
Word Count:  47,097 (WIP)
Tags:  ER Doc, Paramedic Sam and Dean, fluff and angst
SummaryDean has been a critical care paramedic for years now, working on the ambulance with his brother Sam, saving money for Sam’s tuition to Medical School. Dean is working an average night on the rig when he meets the new ER doctor on call. Little does he know that one night with Dr. Blue Eyes would change his life forever.

Dr. Novak | @galaxystiel
Rating: Teen & Up
Word Count: 2,030
Tags:  Hospital!AU, Injured Dean, Flirting, First Meetings
Summary When Sam insists they go ice skating, Dean knows it’s a bad idea, and he turns out to be right. Still, it’s lucky there’s a hot doctor on hand to take care of him.

Grace Anatomy | @envydean
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 5,372
Tags: Grey’s Anatomy AU, Trauma Surgeon!Dean, Neurosurgeon!Cas, bottom!Dean, Top!Cas, Anal Sex
SummaryThere’s a new doctor at Seattle Grace and Castiel wants to find out who he is. 

My Angel | @thetideseternaltune
Rating: Teen & Up
Word Count: 2,167
Tags: Fluff, Alternate Universe, Nurse!Dean, Slight NSFW
SummarySuddenly, Cas heard the sound of a door opening and footsteps moving closer. They seemed to be approaching his bed and he struggled to open his eyes, wanting to see who had come to visit him. After some difficulty, his brain finally cooperated and his eyes fluttered open, allowing him to see who had entered the room.It was an angel. Castiel was staring at an angel.
Castiel wakes up after surgery to discover he’s being cared for… by an angel.

Sexier Than Doctor Sexy | @almaasi
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 8,756
Tags:  Doctor Castiel, Bartender Dean, Erectile Dysfunction/Impotence, Prostate Exams, Anal Play, Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, Doctor Kink, Medical Kink, First Kiss, Fluff, Smut
Summary: Dean goes to see Dr. Castiel about the problem of his recent impotence. Discussion leads to a prostate exam, which Dean enjoys a little too much, rendering Castiel far less professional than he usually strives to be.

Preacher Comfort | @almaasi
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 42,799
: Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Nurse Dean, Touch-Starved,Priest Castiel, Beekeeper Castiel, Asexual Castiel, Homoromantic Dean, First Kiss, mentions of past child abuse, past self-harm and depression
Summary Dean Winchester works as a nurse at an after-hours medical clinic. He’s a champion at what he does, but for him, professionalism has its pitfalls: good-looking patients make him flustered. Luckily, his fly-by-night infatuation evaporates within minutes, since most patients only swing by once. Castiel (fondly known as Bee Sting Guy around the clinic) is one of those iniquitously handsome fellows – and he keeps coming back. He’s also a Catholic priest, 94% asexual, and in need of the tender love that happens to be Dean’s speciality

Manscaping | @almaasi
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 6,763
Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Smut, Awkward Boners, First Aid, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Summary: Cas accidentally cut himself while shaving. (Spoiler: He wasn’t shaving his face.) // The two of them had been through Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and all the worst parts of Earth together, both in the past and future, and somehow, the here-and-now between them involved Dean standing there denying to himself that he was half-hard because Castiel was bleeding in his naughty place.


social media profiles [ imprints 1/3 ] ↠ kim connweller (insp.)

I see people saying that after everything Flint has done, it would not make sense to give him a happy ending. That he does not deserve it. That the Treasure Island quotes about him dying as a drunk in Savannah means that he will end up miserable for the next thirty-five years, slowly drinking himself to death. 

I don’t see this. Try as I might, I don’t see this. 

By sheer logic alone, I don’t see this. 

For four seasons, Black Sails had James Flint at its center, in a long-stretching arc that focused on his journey - his tragic past, his lost love, his war against England and, lately, civilization as whole - it focused on the purity of his motives and the evilness of his deeds, the inherent selfishness of his actions and his utter self-denial, weighing one thing against the other. It showed us in great detail how deeply unhappy and depressed he is, and how ready is to let go of that war and yet incapable of it because he has literally nothing else. 

How would it makes sense to have this character end up in perpetual misery? Why would anyone come to the conclusion that the writers of something which

  • started as a tragedy, with Flint’s entire life taken from him
  • remained a tragedy throughout - because at the time that Flint had shown his willingness to redeem himself - at the time he had agreed to sacrifice himself for the sake of Nassau, and to answer for his crimes by standing trial in England - all of that was taken from him once more through betrayal, and left him even more bereft than before
  • showed a character being miserable for four seasons with no reprieve whatsoever except from a couple of moments with a flickering of hope, which was then swiftly snuffed out 

would be so cruel and cynical to have that suffering extend over a span of thirty-five years between the end of the show and Flint’s death in Treasure Island? When these same writers have shown us, time and again, their deep understanding and compassion for their messy, flawed, beautiful characters. 

Flint’s tragedy has been the fact that he hasn’t been able to let go of his war. It’s not even any longer about revenge. What Miranda said in season two holds true, now more so than ever. Flint keeps fighting for the sake of fighting, but it’s no longer out of shame but because there is nothing else left for him. 

Now, when the game changing that we know is coming - the game changer that we know will happen in the next two episodes - and makes Flint stop fighting, gives him the strength to walk away, then how would it make any kind of sense to deny him even a hint of something that is worth living for? 

In what world of storytelling would it make sense to cast a character who has just gone through purgatory back into hell?

Pluto features given first official names

The IAU has assigned names to fourteen geological features on the surface of Pluto. The names pay homage to the underworld mythology, pioneering space missions, historic pioneers who crossed new horizons in exploration, and scientists and engineers associated with Pluto and the Kuiper Belt. This is the first set of official names of surface features on Pluto to be approved by the IAU, the internationally recognised authority for naming celestial bodies and their surface features.

NASA’s New Horizons team proposed the names to the IAU following the first reconnaissance of Pluto and its moons by the New Horizons spacecraft. Some of the names were suggested by members of the public during the Our Pluto campaign, which was launched as a partnership between the IAU, the New Horizons project and the SETI Institute. Other names had been used informally by the New Horizons science team to describe the many regions, mountain ranges, plains, valleys and craters discovered during the first close-up look at the surfaces of Pluto and its largest moon, Charon.

Keep reading