Pairing: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester (platonic)
Summary: āSam, listen to me. This is the demon blood. You have to fight it!ā āWhy would I do that?ā ā Dean happily welcomed death now that he knew his little brother, the one he had loved, was dead too.
Warnings: Major Character Death (canonical), Violence (not graphic)
A/N: Set in the alternate reality seen in 15x04 āAtomic Monstersā where Sam never stopped drinking demon blood.
A soldier. Daddyās blunt little instrument. The sword of Michael. Heavenās weapon. Heād rejected all of those titles. He hadnāt let any of them define him; he had defined himself. Heād chosen his own role instead of any of the preselected ones. His destiny was to fight his destiny. He had made his own.
A soldier was what theyād wanted him to be, what theyād expected. He had taken their ideas, wants, and expectations and thrown them back in their face, spitting free will. Fate was not going to have anything to do with his life. His life was his own and thatās how he was going to live it.
But now, as he navigated the halls of the bunker, bathed in the red of the emergency lights, his point feels a little moot. Deafening gunfire is surrounding him with the screams of his (doomed?) men.
Through the haze of the chaos only one thing is clear to him. Clear as day he hears his fatherās voice. āLook out for Sammy.ā It doesnāt matter the when or where of that specific memory, because theyāre all the same. āWatch out for your little brother.ā Protecting him never really had to be installed in his mind. It had always been there. Destiny or fate hadnāt put it there. He had put it there himself at the age of four when his mother had placed a little blanket wrapped bundle in his arms and declared him a big brother.
Dean remembers one night, years and years ago clearly: John wasnāt home. He had yelled and left. He did that sometimes. Dean would usually go hug mom and comfort her to the best of his toddler abilities. āItās okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you.ā
But that night was different.
The front door slamming shut had woken up baby Sammy. Dean didnāt know who was crying harder. He usually comforted his mother, but not tonight.
Sammy was awake. Sammy was upset too. Dean didnāt consciously make a choice, he had just barely glanced at his mother crying at the kitchen table before he went over to the playpen, standing on his tiptoes to reach in and pick up his baby brother.
Mommy and Daddy didnāt like Dean holding Sammy without them around since Dean was still small and Sammy even smaller, but Dean didnāt care about getting in trouble right now. Right now, Dean just cared about the bundle of baby brother in his arms.
Baby Sammyās face was red from crying with tears still rolling down his chubby cheeks, but his wails quieted to little hiccup breaths when he looked up and saw his big brotherās grin. From that moment on, Dean knew he would protect his little brother and never let anything happen to him. Sam knew Dean would always keep him safe. They both knew they had each other no matter what.
Life has a funny way of going to shit.
Deanās life was his own. His only jobs were to protect Sam and enjoy his free will.
Now, he walked through the halls of the bunker, familiar yet foreign.
The emergency lights were useless. The supernatural lockdown system was supposed to keep evil out, but the evil was in anyway.
The evil had been living with Dean before they even had their rooms in the bunker. The evil had lived with Dean in motel rooms. The evil had lived with Dean before his mother had burned. He had comforted the evil instead of his mother one night. He had been told more times than he could count to watch out for, look after, and protect the evil. Was the evil his brother anymore? Had it ever been? Did the evil become his brother or had his brother become the evil?
The emergency system was useless. A joke. The red lights mocked him. His life was a joke. His family was a joke. He was a joke, and fate and destiny were laughing their asses off.
His reluctance, his refusal to be what they wanted him to be meant nothing. He never wanted to be his fatherās or heavenās soldier, but now, going down the hallways of the bunker flooded with taunting red lights, he looked the part. Silently giving his men orders; he acted the part. He felt the part. Hearing his men yell as gunfire rained as background noise; he was the part.
A soldier he refused to be, yet a soldier he had become.
His brotherās eyesā¦oh god his brother . The same eyes that would well with tears every time the boy asked why their father wasnāt back yet. The same eyes that would look up at him with pride shining through back when he thought Dean was a hero and the world revolved around him. When his world was Dean. The same eyes with a kicked puppy look that pleaded for Dean to still have answers after Jess, when Dad was missing, after Dad died, after his nightmares and his visions. For an answer of who he might be and what he might become.
Those same eyes were now pure black. Not one hint of the multicolor mystery they had always been. Those were his brotherās eyes, but not his brotherās eyes. He didnāt know this person in front of him. Not anymore. Same but different.
āI knew youād come looking for me. After Sioux Fallsā¦I guess you had to.ā
The evil spoke in his little brotherās voice.
He tried not to flinch at the mention of the town with now tarnished memories. His pseudo father had called to alert him of Samās presence at the old house. The house that sometimes felt like a safe haven.
Part of him had foolishly thought of it as good news. The part of him that refused to see Sam as anything but his baby brother. Sam, his Sam, had to be in there somewhere.
Dean had dropped everything to race to the old manās home, but by the time heād gotten there, Sam was gone and the crumpled body of Bobby Singer was on the floor of the kitchen, a flask of holy water still in his hand.
This was wrong, this was all wrong. Something else must have happened. Something had been here that wasnāt his brother. It couldnāt have been Sammy.
He knew that thought was a pipe dream.
The house was clean. No sign of a break-in. No sulphur. Nothing out of the ordinary besides Bobby Singerās corpse lying in front of him.
His next contact was Jody. His call went to voicemail and his stomach dropped. He tried again. And again. No answer. Dean knew what that meant.
āThey tried to stop me,ā his brotherās voice carried on, ābut I will not be stopped.ā
Dean didnāt want to believe that it was too late. Sam, the Sam he knew had to still be there. Somewhere.
āSam, you need to listen to me,ā he hoped his voice didnāt give away the mess of emotions he felt running through him. āThis is the demon blood. You have to fight it!ā
āWhy would I do that?ā
His chest tightened as the thought that his version of Sam was really gone. Gone for good. He tried to not entertain those thoughts.
Movement caught his eye. One of his men, Tyler, had silently entered further back in the massive library and was now slowly stalking towards what was no longer his brother.
Deanās eyes only glanced for a second, but that was enough. Or maybe Sam just felt the presence behind him. Dean didnāt know the full extent of the powers his brother now possessed.
Without even turning around, Sam moved his head to the side, and Tylerās neck snapped immediately, his body falling onto the bunker floor.
He no longer felt any hope of his Sam still existing. He doubted he could ever get him back.
āSammy, pleaseā¦ā He had hoped there would be some reaction, even a small one, at the use of the old nickname.
Samās mouth lifted in a smirk as darkness gleamed in his eyes and Dean wished he hadnāt said it at all.
āPlease.ā He didnāt know what he was begging for. There wasnāt anything left.
The villainous look stayed put on his brotherās face as his eyes turned pitch black. Dean could only stare back.
Sam was gone for good.
The man he had once called his brother cocked his head to the left and Dean heard the snap of his own neck.
Laying on the ground, feeling himself dying, he watched what used to be Sam climb up the stairs and walk out the door of the bunker.
Dean happily welcomed death now that he knew his little brother, the one he had loved, was dead too.
Summary: You and Dean are friends-with-benefits. You accidently walk in on him with another girl and decide to prove youāre the best.
Warnings: oral sex (male receiving) , bad words, (i thinks thatās all)
A/N: I havenāt written anything in months. Itās been even longer since Iāve written smut. I know this is def not great (or even good honestly) but I forgot how much I enjoy writing (even if it gets kinda stressful)
[anyway a posted a list ofĀ āpromptā ideas i had and @hobby27 liked this one (i am so so sorry that itās so terrible lol but iām trying to get back into writing like i used to so i have to start somewhere i guess lol]
alternatives to saying "sign language should be taught in all schools" that actually help the Deaf community:
take it upon yourself to learn sign language instead of hiding behind a school system
campaign for more hearing people to take it upon themselves to learn sign language
learn ways to communicate with Deaf people that aren't sign language, because not all of us sign
purchase a lip reading mask so Deaf people who can lip read are more able to without putting them in danger by pulling down your mask
learn about audism and how you've contributed to it. understand that it's so much more than a lack of access.
lift up Deaf voices on Deaf topics instead of assuming something that seems beneficial to us actually will be
learn about how sign language can be appropriated and call out creators you follow who participate in it
give us money
buy from Deaf small businesses
caption your videos and encourage creators you follow to caption their videos as well (and properly caption, no craptions)
encourage hearing parents of a Deaf children to teach their child sign language alongside/instead of using a cochlear implant
because I am so tired of hearing "SL should be taught in all schools" from hearing people and seeing their posts get thousands of notes agreeing while the Deaf people stating this is problematic get almost zero. there are ways you can actually help us, encouraging all schools to teach sign language isn't one of them right now.
reblogs encouraged, I'll answer questions from hearies but won't argue with them
That is the exact spot my parents found a stray kitten. Nice little addition to the family, but would have been a terrible addition to the pavement had she not been very vocal OTL
No joke, the place where that cat is resting in this picture is called a ādead cat holeā itās an automotive term. Ā Donāt believe me, look it up.
This is also where I found a stray cat, she was up in there during a thunderstorm and I begged my dad to let me being her inside and thatās the story of how I got my first cat.
Please donāt skip over this without reading it and making a mental note. Even if you donāt have a car, tell your parents or whoever, and make sure to do this. You think thatāll never happen but thatās what everyone thought who had this happen and didnāt check, and that poor cold cat met with a terribly sad end.
My little sister accidentally killed our family cat this way. It was horrible. Save yourself and a cat some pain by just being a little more attentive.
so I have to take my hen to the vet today and Iām expecting a bill of $150 or more. Iāll post a copy of the bill when I get it. Help a self-employed Native out, please?
ā¢ Stay hydrated, my friends!
ā¢ If you are hungry, grab a snack.
ā¢ Refill your water glass or bottle if itās running low.
ā¢ Get up and use the facilities if you need to. Donāt hold it!
I worked in HR, handling applications and interviews, and if someone turned in that string of techno babble nonsense, I would have rejected them out of hand.
A resume doesnāt need to sound fancy or overly technical, it needs to tell us why we should hire you.
āIndependent novelist/writerā is more than sufficient here. If you want to express the skills that fan fiction taught you, something like, ācreative writing, editing, and publication,ā will get you a lot further thanā¦ Whatever that just was.
A resume should be tailored to the position, if you can afford the time and energy for that. But if not, then just think about what writing got fandom taught you. How to respond to criticism, how to present a professional pubic face, how to correct punished mistakes, creative thinking, project planning, persuasion via emotional leverage, html formatting, office suite fluency.
There are a lot of actual, marketable skills that go into fan fiction.
Warnings: 18+ only.Ā All this is very lightly described, but still, Iām adding it. Smut, Dirty Talk, Kissing, Hair Pulling, Biting, Language, Pet Names, Teasing, Oral (male receiving).
Prompt:Ā
Notes: Iām trying to getĀ back to writing and Iāām having major blocks, so please be nice. šš Enjoy.
prguitarman
titsay
areudirty
vaporwave
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
