#parker writes

[mousefists]

here’s my newest zine. it's a trifold pamphlet so just one piece of paper. i've included the printables. go nuts. take care of each other.

check out the infographic for full alt text and square ratios

[the-ineffable-parker]

Watch Over Me

Summary:

"Dean." "Shut up. I'm trying to help you." "Dean, listen. I'll — I'll heal on my own," Castiel mumbles. "I just need a few days." "Yeah, well, I'm not letting you just bleed all over my floor, so why don't you let me fix you up first? I'm still a little fuzzy on all the angel rules, but I don't think that'll hurt." OR Cas gets injured while fighting in Heaven. With nowhere else to go, he ends up in Dean's motel room.

Word count: 4225

---

The war isn't going well.

Not that Castiel was expecting it to, but his army — if you could even call it that — had suffered heavy losses this week. Raphael had been forming a strike, and Castiel had been forced to leave his command post to fight with his siblings. It was bloody out on the front lines. Castiel had caused more destruction than he'd care to admit, and he knew that every lethal strike he made with his blade was another name that he would never forget.

But he was fighting well, remaining relatively unharmed, until there'd been a well-timed distraction from Raphael's angels, and… well, now Castiel is standing in Crowley's lab, trying to stem the flow of blood from several blade wounds.

"Crowley," Castiel calls. "Crowley!"

"What's wrong with you, sunshine?" Crowley appears and looks him up and down. "Got into a little trouble upstairs, did we?"

"I… I need help."

"No can do. I'm your more than reluctant business partner, not your doctor. Go hole up with the Winchesters, if you're still keen on seeing your little pets."

"I can't" — Castiel pauses, taking a shallow breath as he tries to stay upright — "I don't think I can make it there."

"Tough luck. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

"Crowley, please." Unable to stand any longer, Castiel falls to his hands and knees. "Please."

"An angel begging for my help? Funny old world, isn't it?" Crowley sighs. "In the interest of protecting our little deal — and nothing more, angel, don't go getting any ideas — I suppose I could send you to them. Where are they?"

"M-motel. In Tennessee."

"Lovely. Have a swell day." Crowley snaps his fingers and the lab fades away, replaced by the green-and-blue carpet of a cheap motel room. Castiel finds himself standing again, staring at Dean's reflection in the mirror.

"Cas, I thought we talked about appearing mysteriously behind me," Dean grumbles as he wipes his face. "Where've you been, anyway?" It takes him a moment to register the blood blooming across the folds of Castiel's trench coat, and in that moment, Cas wobbles and promptly collapses. "Cas!" He catches the angel roughly a second before he hits the ground. "Freakin' idiot. What'd you get into now?"

Read the rest on Ao3!

[parkakeet]

dear google: I promise I am not trying to fix my own dislocated shoulder. I simply need you to show me a detailed video on how to do it so that I can describe it accurately in my fictional story. thanks.

[lou-writes-things]

idk what this is but I've written it so.

***

Echo

Luke thinks before he died, he was happy. He had things he needed to do, promises to keep, but he was happy. He didn’t die happy though. He died angry. Angry that he could feel his life slipping away and there was still so much he had to do. 

He never cared much for what he was supposed to do. He wasn’t ever one for college, or a career. Sometimes people told him that he needed to slow down or he would burn out, come crashing back down to earth like a falling star. Luke always said they were wrong, he was going to make it, never mind that most people didn’t. 

When he died, laid out in an alley, killed by something as stupid as bad hotdogs, he thought they were right. He’d flown too high, like fucking Icarus or something, and now he had to pay his dues. He hoped the ferryman accepted guitar picks or crumpled up receipts. 

He didn’t cross over into any type of afterlife though. For some reason the universe decided he deserved a worse fate. The dark, where Alex cried for too long and Reggie was too quiet, and Luke thought he might suffocate. 

He started cutting the sleeves off of his shirts when he was thirteen. His mother never liked it, but that was fine, his mother never liked much of anything he did. At least she didn’t tell him he couldn’t. He liked his clothes better like that, liked the air on his arms. He liked it when it was just a little bit too cold and it made goosebumps rise up on his skin. It told him he was still alive, still free. 

Luke can’t feel the cold anymore. He can’t feel the heat either, or the wind, or taste. It’s like the world is taunting him, taking away what made him feel whole, piece by piece. 

At least there is the band. And Julie. Luke got everything he had wished for while he was alive. He gets to be famous. His band is amazing, and people love them. 

But Luke can’t feel. 

He doesn’t usually think about dying, about how it felt to feel the world fade away, laying in the grit of an alleyway, staring at the empty LA sky. He always wondered what it was like to see the night sky like it was in pictures, lit up with a thousand glowing stars. 

He’s seen it now. He, Alex, and Reggie poofed out to some empty highway in the middle of the sonoran a few months ago just to look. Luke could hear the breeze in his ears, but the air felt perfectly temperate. Empty. 

He doesn’t regret dying. Mostly because it’s useless to think about. It’s done now, there’s nothing he can do. 

He does regret his loose ends. He does regret taking for granted everything he had. Now he has everything he wanted in life, and it feels hollow. 

Alex is happier here. Reggie too, he thinks at least. They never seem to miss the things he does, and so he’s happy for them. 

And he’s happy for the people he knows now. Happy to love them. 

“Luke! You go on in five!” 

Flynn’s voice tears Luke from his thoughts, and he throws his guitar strap over his neck, hurrying to meet the others backstage. 

The stage lights are bright. Julie and the Phantoms are on their first tour after releasing an Album in spring. 

Alex and Reggie are laughing, muffling their voices into their sleeves even though no one can hear them. 

The show goes well, and Julie grins and hugs him when they get off stage. He can feel her arms around him, but they aren’t warm. 

Luke pretends that they are.

***

oh. also ao3

[loviess]

For: @boohowdy

Part of @hockeyficexchange 2024VDayHRPF

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Men's Hockey RPF

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Leon Draisaitl/Connor Mcdavid

Characters: Leon Draisaitl, Connor McDavid

Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers

Summary: Leon knows what it is like to want with every part of his being; what it’s like to be consumed within himself over something that’s so trivial that most others would classify his feelings as being utterly obsolete.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/53787721

[wanderingbards]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary: Chip didn't know if Lizzie said anything else. His eyes closed, and everything faded.

Or: This was gonna be me getting into fun alternatives to spell components, but then Chip and Lizzie hit me over the head with a bat.

If you like this, feel free to reblog! Let me know if you have a prompt you wanna see me write, and I will give it my best shot.

[on-the-outside]

SIX HOURS UNTIL 2023 AND CHAPTER FIVE IS FUCKING FINALLY UP

[bottlealleytotheharbor]

I am obsessed with Spot with Tourette’s (if you couldn't tell already) so I wrote a thing

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works