Random Fandom Girl

(Currently on a massive SPN bender, but) Any and all fandoms welcome: particularly Sherlock, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, Merlin, Hamilton, and a spot of Marvel,DC. Personal: Emily, she/her, bisexual demi, and one massive nerd Personal & musical blog: ms-chandler I also write stuff on a very rare occasion, so giveth me thine requests maybe. (PS I randomly found my header photo online pls send Cred to artist) Masterlist

[fallncsatiel-moved-deactivated2]

Supernatural Hiatus Creations | Week Nine “You, me and Sam. We´re just better together.”

[katteens]

Who is in control?

[dadstielkline]

(insp)

[spnbitch116-blog]

Reblog if

You ship Destiel (I will try and follow as many people as I can that do)

[niknak79]

[odysseusyes]

even with those four numbers there are countless possible combinations good luck with figuring out which one is the right one you punk

[eatsleepcrap]

*straightens calculator*

It’s pretty likely that it’s a four digit number, and as there are four digits chosen there, that means that there cannot be any repetition. This mean that there are:

n!/(n-4)! possible orders. As ‘n’ is 4 (number of digits available). 4!/0! which becomes 4x3x2x1/1 which simplifies to 24. That means that there are 24 possible combinations of codes. This would take you about two or three minutes to input all possible codes.

[crashingsunlight]

Unless an alarm goes off if you don’t get it right in 3 tries

[eatsleepcrap]

*straightens calculator again*

Kick the fucking door in

[the-brave-little-blogger]

well ‘technically’ the code is most likley 1970. statistically, a majority of people, when told to choose a 4 digit code will choose their birth year. and this key pad is obviously a few years old to put it nicely, thats most likley it. 

[everyonesfavoriteging-blog]

some sherlock holmes shit just went down over here

[the-neon-pineapple]

No, no, no. Don’t base your deductions of psychology. Let’s talk chemistry. When you first press a button, there’s more of the natural oils on your skin, and therefore it wears down the numbers on the keys faster. Obviously 0 is the first one, then. Try 0791 first.

Sherlock out.

[perks-of-being-chinese]

woah.

[panicrobot]

it got better

[twistedthicket1-deactivated2022]

and this is why the sherlock fandom could either rule the world or end it….

[ofthefantastic]

Close, but not quite, I think. People will almost always choose a number they can remember. What’s memorable about 0791? Try 0719 - a birthday, 19th of July. That is more likely.

[venatrix26]

Those deductions are great and all, but unnecessary.

The light is green.

The door is already open.

[party-gilmore]

And that’s why we have a John Watson.

[lotrlocked]

This is “top 10 favorite posts” level.

[moriartyfortheevening]

Omg, it’s actually on my dash! This post is like a fossil!

[tvd-spn-imagines]

Don’t want the show (really should) but this is great 😂

[spacelesbians-archive-deactivat]

Wasn’t the world supposed to end in 2012??? That was a good plan who fucked that up

[graywaran]

[octomoosey]

SUPERNATURAL CREATIONS CHALLENGE  |  octomoosey ↳ Prompt: Colours Abound : Colour Palette Beaches

[lotad]

its funny how people in fandoms think theyre comedic geniuses for ruining text posts

[itsneumann]

[lotad]

i think youre ugly and so are your fandom references on my posts

[sadccharine-deactivated20260226]

[omgkatsudonplease]

you guys love poking bears with sticks don’t you

[iamaslumberbatch]

[sydney-rakestraw]

[knedlozrout]

[thats-captain-jackharkness-deac]

This entire post is perfect.

[aliisalive]

why

[captainlordauditor]

[k6034]

[spnfunny]

Forever rebloging😻😻😂😂

[sammygurl976-blog]

This entire thread, the beginning and even end gif…PERFECT!😂😂😂

[femmedplume]

Alrighty, gimme your #1 Winchester headcanon!

Oh god. The last time I had an opinion about Supernatural it didn’t go over well. :/ But if you insist. This isn’t my #1, but just something I’ve thought about:

————————————————-

Basically, what were Sam and Dean’s birthdays like when they were young? I’d imagine that Sam’s 1st Birthday wasn’t much of anything, as John would’ve been too out of his mind with grief. How could he celebrate without Mary? How could ANYTHING ever be happy again without Mary? It was all he could do to keep a 1 year-old fed, washed and in diapers; a party was out of the question. 

But Pastor Jim brought in a little cupcake with a candle on it, and said a prayer over little Sammy’s head. Please watch over this little one. Please let losing his mother be the worst thing he ever has to bear. Please let him grow up to know how loved he is. 

Dean showed Sammy how to blow out the candle. “Like this. Puff out your cheeks and poof!” 

“Boof!” Sammy screamed happily. Dean laughed and blew the candle out for him. 

John turned away so his boys wouldn’t see his heart breaking–but after that, he always made sure to make an effort. 

Dean’s 6th birthday was something–John had enrolled him in kindergarten seven months earlier, and the sunny-haired kid had made instant friends with everyone in the class. So when Dean mentioned his birthday was coming up, the teacher pulled John aside after class and asked what the party plans were. 

“Uh,” John stammered. “I was thinking, maybe–Plucky Pennywhistle’s? Kids love that place, right?”

And the teacher smiled kindly at this handsome young widower–who clearly had NO CLUE how to plan kid’s parties–and said yes, kids love Plucky’s. And speaking of, some of the other stay-at-home moms love planning parties and would John mind terribly if they pitched in a bit? Just to give them something to do, you know?

John knew the other moms had plenty to do, and the teacher knew John knew–but he accepted the lie gratefully. The next day, Dean came to school with an envelope addressed to the teacher. Inside was $1000 cash and a note that said, “He loves cars and cowboys. Will this be enough? I want him to smile again. -JW”

The teacher didn’t cry. Not in front of the kids. 

What she did was activate the phone tree, marshaling an army of no-nonsense moms. They passed out invitations with pictures of cowboys driving cherry red Ford Mustangs on them to everyone in the class, bought balloons and streamers, and made sure there were carrots and juice boxes to go along with all the pizza they ordered from Plucky’s. 

John promised to provide the cake. 

On the day of the party, little Dean walked into a cowboys and cars-themed wonderland, topped by a mountain of presents. When the moms crowded around Dean, he clung to John’s hand and hid–but they were so nice, and offered him pizza and juice, and all his friends were there–

–within minutes, he was off: playing tag, jumping in the ballpit, racking up tickets from the skeeball machine. Two year-old Sammy toddled after him, and Dean had a great time lifting his baby brother up high so he could dunk the balls at the “Hoops” machine. 

Meanwhile, John carefully unwrapped the aluminum foil from around a vaguely circular, rather lumpy cake. “I tried to recreate the recipe his mom always used. It tastes okay, but–”

The other moms looked at the sad little cake and grinned. One of them was sent out for icing; another produced a giant sparkler candle shaped like a ‘6′. It took them a few minutes, but by the time they were ready to sing “Happy Birthday,” the cake looked as fancy as if Mary herself had baked it. 

The party only lasted a few hours, but both boys were exhausted by the time John finished packing all the presents into the trunk of the Impala. 

As they drove back to their skeezy little motel–Sammy asleep in his carseat and Dean riding up front like a Big Boy–John asked, “Did you have a good time today, buddy?”

“Best day ever, Dad.” Dean passed the giant slinky he’d exchanged his tickets for from hand to hand. “It was awesome!” 

“Awesome, huh?”

“Yeah, this kid at school always says that. It means real good and nice.”

“Does it?” John smiled. “Good to know.”

There was a long pause. “Daddy?”

“Hm?”

“You’re awesome.”

John could barely get the words out around the sudden lump in his throat. “Thank you, Dean. You’re awesome, too.” 

And that’s why, years later, Dean always dropped Sam off at Plucky Pennywhistle’s whenever he needed some time away from babysitting–because kids love those places, right? 

[shopstands-blog]

Be the Clarence you want to see in the world.

[ilostmyshoe-79-deactivated20181]

In Control

Summary: Sam needs Jess to help him gain control over himself.

Word Count: 2200

Warning: dom!Jess, sub!Sam, though Sam is kind of topping from the bottom here, smut, use of restraints, Sam has some control issues

A/N: I wanted to write some Sam x Jess. This is what happened. Hope you enjoy! XOXO

The first time Sam thinks about it, he instantly feels ashamed of himself. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Jess is fucking perfect. She’s gorgeous and smart. She makes him laugh. She doesn’t get mad when he forgets to rinse the sink after he shaves.

And their sex life is fucking perfect, too. She’s warm and soft and fun. She knows when he wants her to take the lead. She doesn’t just go along with whatever position he pushes her into- she comes up with a lot of them. And her sexual appetite is every bit as big as his.

But this? This just…goes too far. It’ll scare her. She’ll see how fucked up he really is.

Keep reading

[bamf-castiel]

Paramedic Cas

[apermanentsituation]

#DESTIEL AU #BECAUSE LET’S BE HONEST #IT’S TOTALLY DESTIEL #TATTOOED!CAS #GABE WOULD ALWAYS TALK ABOUT HIS NERDY BABY BRO #AND DEAN WOULD TOTALLY IMAGINE SOME SKINNY NINETEEN YO #NOT THIS BEEFLORD WHO IS PROBABLY ///OLDER THAN HE IS #GABE WTH #THIS IS LIKE #FALSE ADVERTISING #GABRIEL WOULD JUST SNICKER AND SIP HIS SUPER SWEET COFFEE WHILE TRYING TO GET SOMETHING LOOKING LIKE GLITTER FROM HIS WHITE COAT (via @bamf-castiel)

[apermanentsituation]

@bamf-castiel​ I’m so sorry, I was screaming talking to @debatchery about how perfect this art is, and the tags, and, and, and my fingers slipped.

jesus

Dean would be such a mess

a hot, hot, hot, hopeless mess

he wouldn’t even know where to look

he probably sees Cas for the first time about a patient that Cas brought in

he storms into the parademics’ lounge (or whatever, don’t ask me, I’ve been to a hospital, like, once in my entire life)

“who’s the one that brought in Mrs. Baker”

Rufus just grunts from over his coffee and points him in the direction of the locker room

Dean catches a glimpse of a tattooed, muscular back as the guy finishes putting his shirt on. It’s some damn fine back, and Dean would probably classify it as Highly Problematic, but he doesn’t have the time, as the guy turns around to face him, and oh god, this is not good, not good at all.

Dean’s probably like “don’t look at his pecs, why are these shirts so tight, don’t look at his pecs, don’t look at them”, so he looks to the side, only to stare at the Equally Problematic Bicep, oh no, more tattoos peeking from under the shirt sleeve, so Dean drags his gaze up some Highly Controversial Neck covered in Scandalous Stubble, which also covers a Ridiculously Inappropriate Jawline, and oh god, this is hopeless, Dean thinks, as he catches a sight of Obscenely Pink Lips and an Absurdly Straight Nose to finally end this terrible journey on a pair of eyes so blue they just don’t make any sense, because why would anyone need eyes that blue, this is not how evolution works. This is a nightmare. There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to look. There’s not a single part of this guy’s body that Dean doesn’t find utterly delicious.

Dean suddenly feels exhausted, and he’s just three hours into a 14-hours shift.

In the next 10 miutes, he’s either gonna get fired for molesting a coworker or he’s gonna make a spectacular fool of himself, Dean just knows it, as he stares helplessly at the guy’s brilliant mop of dark hair.

He tries. By god, does he try.

“Are you the one who brought Mrs. Baker in?”

The guy just squints at Dean, grunts non-committally, and brushes past him to the lounge, where he proceeds to pour himself coffee into a huge bright pink mug. He takes a sip, while Dean just gapes at him.

The mug states: “I like my coffee how I like myself: strong, sweet and too hot for you”.

Dean honestly hates his life.

(The mug is a gift from Gabriel, obviously, but Dean doesn’t know it yet.)

The guy closes his eyes, tips his head back and sighs deeply, tiredly. Dean watches the way his Adam’s apple bob and hates his life a little bit more.

And then the man opens his eyes, and finally focuses all his attention on Dean, which is probably even worse, because seriously, dude has eyes like lasers, and Dean just wasn’t prepared for this.

“Now. Repeat”, the guy rumbles and leans back on the table. Dean honestly tries to focus through the haze of lust and indignation on being so easily ignored in favour of some coffee in a cheeky mug.

“Mrs. Baker. Mildred Baker. Did you bring her in last night. Her niece has some questions on what you gave her.”

The guy frowns, deep in thoughts, and absent-mindedly pulls the hem of his shirt up to scratch at his side. “I remember her”, he says, unknowingly giving Dean a sultry glimpse of a tragically attractive, sharp and tan hip bone.

Dean will have to quit his job. Screw this, he’ll have to skip the town and change his name altogether, if he wants to survive this.

On the nearest occasion, Dean confronts Gabe about his supposedly little brother.

“You said he was scrawny!”

Gabe frowns exaggeratedly. “Isn’t he? He might have grown up a bit in the last ten years or so. Why would I notice, it’s not like I want a piece of that. Unlike some others.”

“He has tattoos.”

“Oh yeah, and trust me when I say you don’t wanna know how far down they extend. Or maybe you do?”

“That’s the opposite of lame!”

“They’re really nerdy ones. All of them. So nerdy. Much lame. Things from books and whatnots. Maybe you should ask him about them, then you’ll see how lame he really is.”

“His biceps are the size of your skull”, Dean whines pitifully. It’s just not fair. He feels so betrayed. Gabriel claps him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, looks totally wrong, doesn’t it? I keep telling the kid to leave off the weights, but then he runs more, and his thighs get all huge, and he can’t wear normal underwear. What a weirdo.” Gabriel sighs theatrically. “Sometimes I’m so worried about the pipsqueak. He’ll never find himself a man with thighs like these.”

Fuck Dean’s life gently with a chainsaw.

[jhoomwrites]

Imagine Person A is an illustrator for children’s books. They always hide Person B in the background of every book they work on.

thank you for this adorable prompt!

Dean fell in love with a boy when he was in the eighth grade. It wasn’t like Dean’s shitty home life was a secret, and the other kids all made fun of him for it. So while the popular kids shared lunch with each other on the days they happened to forget theirs, Dean went hungry on the days his dad wasn’t sober enough to get them food or a couple dollars.

At least that’s how things were until Castiel Milton moved to town. He saw Dean sitting alone, drinking out of a lone milk carton because he’d given most of money he’d found that morning to Sam, and he came over to sit with him. Without a word, he’d opened his lunch box and started handing Dean half of his food.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean said, even as his stomach growled greedily.

“I want to,” Castiel said as he continued dividing his sandwich in two. “You’re hungry and I couldn’t possibly eat all of this myself. My mom keeps packing enough lunch for two people… May as well have two people eat it.”

Things continued like that. Dean gave all the money he found at home to Sam so the kid could buy lunch, and Dean came to count on Castiel’s friendship and generosity. They became close, and Dean didn’t know it then, but he was totally gone on the blue eyed boy with the messy hair.

And then very abruptly, Cas wasn’t in Dean’s life anymore.

His uncle Bobby came to visit, saw the state of things, and had forcibly taken Dean and Sam to live with him in Sioux Falls. Dean remembered the argument between the two men very well, Bobby insisting that either John let him take the boys or he’d call child protective services.

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“You ain’t got a clean dish in the place, no food in the fridge that isn’t expired, and not a lick of space that isn’t filthy. You bet your ass I’d do it for these boys. So either you shut up and let them come with me, or so help me I’ll do what I have to.”

John had shut up then.

“You clean this place up, get yourself a decent job, I’ll bring ‘em back, alright?”

John muttered that he’d try, but that never turned into anything. Once Sam and Dean got to Sioux Falls, they never left. At first Dean was angry to leave Lawrence—it was his home—but things were way better with Bobby than their dad. They had clean clothes that fit. Someone helped them with their homework and drove them to school. They had three meals every day. They had chores and an allowance and love, and Dean didn’t want to give that up.

The only thing he regretted about leaving was Cas. It’d been so sudden, he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye…

Keep reading

[holy-spn]

FUCKING ICONIC!!!

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

destiel prompt if you want: au. witch!cas. dean (human) is a security guard at a museum, and at night cas sneaks in to get an bone for a spell. dean confronts him, but cas is too cute to arrest.

Hey, thanks! This one was a lot of fun :)

AO3

Castiel pulled the hood of his jacket up as he walked down the damp sidewalk, still wet from the rain, and crouched down next to the back door.

This was such a bad idea.

He shook his head and pursed his lips. No use in turning back after two weeks of deliberating.

After quickly glancing in both directions to make sure no one was heading in his direction (not that he was expecting anyone to at three in the morning), he shook the door handle.

Locked, obviously.

Castiel murmured a few words under his breath and blew a quick puff of air into the keyhole, smiling when he heard a satisfying click. The gears shifted into place.

The door only creaked a little when he opened it and slipped through.

The more steps that he took inside the museum, the more sure he was that this was a bad idea. When had he decided to live a life of crime?

He paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself. This wasn’t a life of crime. This was one crime that wasn’t even going to hurt anyone, and then he was going to call it a day -  forever.

As he quietly made his way through the dim hallways, he mentally ran through the list of ingredients that were needed for the spell. Most of them were easy enough to find, some would take a little bit of creativity, and one - the most important ingredient - had to be a bone shaving. Sure, he could have settled for some kind of fish bone he picked out of his dinner or something, but when it came to spells that helped you see into the future, the older the bone, the clearer the vision. The clearer the vision, the more his client was willing to pay.

And, well -

Castiel stopped as he turned the corner and looked up at the massive skeletal remains of a triceratops.

You couldn’t get much older than this.

Keep reading

[bowlegschester]

[itendsbad]

— 12.19