I got so freaking stuck on this, so I just… I wunged it… Less than ten minutes to go until midnight, folks. I feel like a journalist or some shit.

This is for @idreamofhazel and @impala-dreamer’s Sammy Says joint Challenge, and my prompts were:
8. “Dude, maybe let’s not touch anything until we figure out if this stuff wants to kill us or not.”
14. “I’ve got genital herpes.”

I’m actually so fucking proud of this… so thanks to these lovely, lovely gals - of whose blogs I roam daily! - for making and accepting me into this challenge!! 😊

Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, some chicks

Summary: Witches be crazy.

Warnings: So many cusses. And also there may be some dildos, strictly non sexual tho. ;D

*Edit* I felt like I should add this: umbrella loss. if loosing umbrellas triggers you; please! read no further. 

It was almost business as usual - location: backwater hick town; weather condition: rainy, miserable, cold.

It was what brought us here that really had me interested, though.

The bodies were covered in herpes.

Like, no joke - covered in herpes.

Sam called it “cold sores”, but when we got to the morticians at the hospital and had to put on those hazmat suits to see the bodies?

That shit was straight up herpes.
Dean was on my side.

Sam still called ‘em cold sores, though.
Sore loser, I say.

Right off the bat, we suspected witches.

There was a “book club” of about twenty women who were openly ridiculed for their books of preference - witchcraft and old lady book-smut; unsurprisingly.

There was bound to be a little bit of resentment in that little town of Bentfork.

No, I’m not shitting you; that’s the name of the town.
But, I digress.

After learning each of the names of the women in the group - the folk’s in this town were more than happy to throw them under the bus - Sam, Dean and I all split up.

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rusame pottertalia fic

okay, so, this fic is based off of this amazing drawing
i adored it so much that i had to write for it
it was exhausting and nowhere near as easy as i thought it would be but it was fun!

          Alfred was very excited for the Triwizard Tournament. It was his seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he was determined to go out with a bang.

          He was going to woo a Beauxbaton witch.

          Alfred admired the girls of Beauxbaton’s Academy of Magic for their grace, poise, and beauty - and so did many of the boys at Hogwarts. He’d get down on his knees and beg one of them to give him the time of day (that is, if he didn’t have at least his own body weight in pride). They were all so lovely, so confident, so French.

          Yes, he was sure he could find at least one.

          Then he showed up, with his army of huge lumberjacks with their fur coats and their accents.

          He soon learned that, not only had Beauxbaton’s Academy been invited to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, but so had the notorious Durmstrang’s Institute.

          Alfred wasn’t positive of the location of the institute, but when the burly, fur-covered men came marching into the Great Hall, sparks at their feet and fire in their breath, he determined it was nowhere he could possibly want to be - nowhere like France.

          He was certainly not from France. 

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