Hello and welcome to my masterlist! Most important things will be located here, as well as my self-indulgent writings. I write for fun and because it brings me joy and comfort. I currently only write for Heath Ledger’s Joker, The Detective (MatPat’s character from ETN s3), Simon “Ghost” Riley (Sam Roukin’s portrayal), and possibly (?) Eddie Munson. I am a student (my studies and my mental health come first), so the expansion of this list as I write will be slow and gradual. I apologize for any typos and I hope you enjoy.
Apparently, SPN owns my eternal soul now.
Last updated: 03/02/2026
Oneshots
Drabbles
One Little Favor (J)
Nighttime Comfort (The Detective)
Much Needed Reminders (Simon “Ghost” Riley) <- Most recent drabble
Headcanons
Anything under the tag #J headcanons (tried to link it here, might have to scroll)
Height Difference Headcanons (J) (The Detective) (Eddie Munson) <- Most recent headcanon
Thoughts (WIPs) ~ Random Writings I Mused One Day (typically SPN-related)
Sam Winchester whiteboard piece (Sammy) <- Most recent thing I've been brave enough to post after two years of Self Criticism
getting scambot messages from random accounts that clearly used to be normal active blogs is sad enough. you know that there used to be a real person on that blog until they were tricked into handing their password to the digital fae.
but it's an entirely new level of tragic when somebody you've actually spoken to gets turned into a bot account. it's like peeking at a zombie apocalypse through the window and realizing one of the shambling corpses was your friend.
and then the zombie catches sight of you, lurches up to your window, and shouts through the glass that they accidentally reported your account to tumblr and you'll be deactivated unless you click this link.
RIP to the blog that used to DM me to tell me they liked my new chapters. Their last known words spoken before being turned, 17 hours ago: "Ggs!" They were praising someone's deadlift.
the message they tried to get me with is probably the same message that got them, so for anybody who hasn't already been warned about the signs of a zombie account:
if you get something like this ↑ they're gonna follow up by instructing you to contact tumblr support on discord and give you contact info; or they're gonna link a website that looks sort of like tumblr support and say you have to email them; or any variety of "you must now contact tumblr, here is how you contact tumblr."
whatever they send you, it Does Not lead to tumblr. it leads to the master zombie that bit them and inducted them into the ranks of the undead, and will bite you the second they have your email and password. i might be confusing zombies and vampires. anyway,
it's easier to fall for these messages because the blog doesn't LOOK like a bot blog, because it ISN'T a bot blog. it's a normal person's blog that got accessed by a bot, meaning the blog's content CLEARLY looks like a real active user when you click on it. and yes—it might even be a blog you already know. sometimes bots like this go down a blog's DMs or reblogs and message people they've previously interacted with.
they got one of my treasured followers, and they can get you too. don't fall for their tricks. know the signs.
wordcount: 767
summary: despite having the dream life, Dean can’t help but focus on the stubborn patch of skin on his stomach– maybe that’s what his wife is for, making ‘im forget all about it with gentle words of reassurance.
warnings: cursing, fem!reader, body image issues, kissing, angst if you squint, fluff, comfort.
Dean never once thought he’d actually get a chance to have a ‘normal’ life, yet here he was, picket fence and all. The house was everything his freckled, chubby faced kid self dreamt about while napping in the back of John’s car. It was big enough to completely contrast every motel room he’s ever slept in, photos of his chosen family littering the halls, a cozy room his wife decorated (thank God he let you choose the color– red walls was not the move), wooden floors that echoed his kid’s footsteps running over them every morning…
Life was finally good to him– too good– he thinks to himself while standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Jesus Christ when did all of that get there? His roughened hands grip at the soft fat that now covered what was once abs. He has a dad stomach, I mean he is a dad but still! Him?
Dean Winchester. World famous hunter. Michael 's vessel. Savior of the World. Him?
For God’s sake how come he never noticed? Had you noticed? Well of course you did– you lived with him, saw him everyday– there’s no way you didn’t. Why hadn’t you said anything? This version was nothing like the Ken doll Dean you met back in the day, he’s always been so used to relying on his looks, now he didn’t even have that?
Unbeknownst to you, your husband was having a full blown crisis while you’re calmly putting the baby to sleep– which was much easier now that your toddlers were nowhere in sight. It isn’t until you step into the bedroom that you catch a glimpse of a very frowny Dean in front of the bathroom mirror.
“Baby?” Your soft voice snaps him out of his self-deprecating train of thought.
“Sweetheart, why didn’t y’ tell me I was getting all–” he gestures vaguely to his stomach, clearly displeased “ –round.”
“All round?” You echo with a gentle (slightly disbelieving) chuckle, stepping closer to him in the small bathroom to place a featherlight kiss on his shoulder, careful hands trailing down his back muscles.
“Yeah,” Dean nods like it was the most obvious, wildest thing in the World “I look like a middle aged man.”
“Honey, you are a middle aged man…”
The look that meets you in the mirror is nothing short of unamused. “Y’know what I mean.”
“I know, I know…” you press another soft kiss between his shoulder blades, arms snaking around his waist to grab at the ‘oh so offending’ pouch of stomach. “Guess I never really stopped to think about it, why’re ya so focused on it?”
Seeing your husband’s shrug is what finally sends alerts ringing in your mind, could this man possibly think he wasn’t attractive anymore?
“Really?” You coax him, all the patience and love you could despite wanting to slap him for ever thinking some bullshit like that.
“It’s just weird, y’know?” Dean’s gravelly voice sounded doubtful for once. “Always been this jacked, badass hunter n’ now I’m just… this” once more he gestures to his body.
“Honestly?” You catch his attention by sliding around to stand between him and the mirror. “I prefer this version of Dean” God, you should’ve taken a picture of the face he makes. “Don’t get me wrong, baby-faced Dean was amazing… but dad bod Dean is the man I made a life with.”
Despite your husband’s stubbornness to maintain a grumpy, stubborn facade– you see the crinkles by his eyes that signaled his fond smile.
“This, as you call it–” you continue, gesturing to his soft belly, “ –was what held me when the nerves of leaving The Life got to my head, when we welcomed all of our beautiful kids to this messed up World, when I go to bed every night…” Each word is punctuated by a soft rub of your thumb over his stubbled cheek. “So yeah, I didn’t mention anything cause I never cared about it, Dean. I care about seeing my smoking hot husband smile everyday in this quiet life we built together.”
He chuckles softly, a deep rumble bubbling from his ribs as his hands cradle the sides of your head. “Y’know… baby-faced Dean would call this a chick flick moment.” There it is, that stupid humor and that boyish grin you missed– even if you roll your eyes at him right now.
“But smoking hot husband Dean ‘preciates it sweetheart.” He leans down to press a tender, all too familiar kiss to your lips, smiling against it.
“Anytime.” You chuckle softly, pressing another soft, fleeting peck to his lips.
might make a smut part 2 if y'all would like that...?
imagine drawing/painting your f/o! suddenly, they’re leaning over your shoulder to see what you’re working on! “let me see, love!” despite your protests, they playfully snatch the paper from you. even if you’re not the best artist, it’s clear to see how much you love them and the beauty you see in them.
Imagine your f/o hugging you from behind, their chest pressed to your back. They rest their head on top of yours, on your shoulder, next to your own, whichever you prefer / choose.
yall ever start writing a fic in a certain mood and the next day youre not in that certain mood anymore so now you gotta wait until youre in that mood again so you can continue writing the fic ??
Your f/o would never ever want to, or even stomach the thought of upsetting or hurting you, especially not on purpose. Rude insults, making you feel bad, shaming you, anything else? No. Never. Never ever. They want you to feel loved, safe, happy with them.
you can succeed without meeting all of your goals. not everything requires you to give 100%. do not push yourself too hard trying to get it done perfectly. perfection isn’t real.
