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tibbinswrites · 4 months

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A House Full of Broken Things

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Relationships: Fearne Calloway/Ashton Greymoore, Fearne Calloway & Orym, Orym/Will | Orym's Spouse (Critical Role), Orym/Dorian Storm Characters: Fearne Calloway, Orym (Critical Role) Additional Tags: Post-Episode C3e80, Fearne and Orym talk, quiet conversations, Canon Compliant, Spoilers for Previous Episodes, Sweet, Grief/Mourning, Mild Language, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Ashton Greymoore Summary: Fearne is having a hard time falling asleep after the trials. Orym shows up for a quiet talk. Post-episode 80.

Read it on AO3 here.

Snippet below the cut.

Fearne lay awake in her bed in Ligament Manor, staring at the ceiling. It was wonderful being home again, seeing Nana and Peepers and Dr Nesbit and Door and Sweet Pea and Bompers and even Birdie and Ollie. She felt safe here, safer than she’d felt in a long time, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that coming back now would only make it harder to leave.

Turning onto her side, her mind kept whirling. Her and Ashton’s new forms, the trust exercises, the truth about her father, before eventually settling on the image of the cracks in Ashton’s skin roiling like lava as their arm fell to shatter against the floor, of his eyes on hers, bright as a flare and just as dangerous, daring her to keep him alive, to get them through this, to not scream for the others, to keep her promise.

“No!” she pulled herself away from the vision, pressed her palms to her eyes, hard, and rubbed at them until the image broke and she was back in her bedroom again, rage smouldering in her belly.

More than fury at Ashton’s recklessness though, Fearne felt a deep, clawing shame. It felt like the ichor that poured from Laudna’s form of dread, black and sticky, impossible to wipe away. She wasn’t familiar with the feeling and she didn’t like it at all. She had told Ashton that she didn’t want the shard. Of course they would take that to mean that they should use it instead otherwise why had he bothered pulling it from the lava in the first place? He had only done that, had to go through that, because she had been too afraid of what the power might make her into, not for a second thinking that it would be worse, far worse, to watch it unmake Ashton instead. And not only had she given them the tools, but she had just stood there, helpless and panicking, throwing out healing spells that did nothing but prolong the torture. Watching her aura of life pulse every few seconds, keeping them on their feet, still feeling the rough pressure of his lips on hers.

Fearne’s heart spiked with a brief pain and she sniffed. She was so stupid sometimes. So naive. She’d never really wanted to be otherwise. Everything since leaving the Feywild had felt like a grand adventure up to this point. Sure, there had been bumps in the road. Bertrund’s death had been sad, and Lord Eshteross. And she’d missed her nana terribly, and finding her parents had been… complicated. They’d lost Laudna and got separated and Fearne had been worried then. At the Malleus Key she’d been worried too, that they were going to fail, that they were going to die. But she’d never really thought that they would. It felt like the games she used to play as a child, when she’d sneak places she wasn’t supposed to go or steal something important to see how long it would take Nana to notice it was gone. Or when her and her animal friends would take turns being the monster that the other would bravely fight off. Those games were always fun, with just enough danger to provide a thrill, but there had never been anything so scary that Nana couldn’t make her feel better, no monster that wandered into the fens that Nana couldn’t chase away.

Having Nana be there when she finally accepted the shard had made her feel braver, but she’d recently learned that not even Nana had the power to protect her from reality, she’d had a huge, bitter dose of that. The danger of what they were doing felt very, very solid. It had been creeping upon her ever since the clock tower.

Fearne liked to flirt. It was fun to watch Chetney turn bright red and awkwardly flirt back, to see Imogen smirk out of the corner of her eye, to hear Orym’s quiet chuckle. But hearing Ashton say that they thought she was hot had knotted something in her stomach, and saying it back hadn’t been fun, or light or flirty. It had been scary and heavy and honest and she’d run away so that she would never know how he would have responded. But it wasn’t just that. Her excursion with the witches and learning they were together, seeing the shadows that lingered in between them; her talk with Orym, his love and his determination to get them through; pulling FCG from the snow to the right way up, laughing until her sides hurt at the sight of them and Ashton ploughing face-first into a snow bank; Chetney trying to make her feel better by taking her to smash windows. Her bonds with these people were irrevocable now. She felt them in her chest, tugging at her heart until it tore.

They hadn’t even made it to the moon yet and things were only going to get worse. They had time now and although that was what she’d wanted, what they all needed, it rankled at her. Now she had more hours to worry, to think, to seethe and cry and question the truth that she had called out in the chasm, that maybe they weren’t ready for this. Maybe they would die for good. Maybe she would have to watch Ashton shatter again, or watch Orym crumple to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Maybe Imogen would be pulled somewhere else by her connection to the moon, maybe Chetney would be overtaken by the beast inside him, maybe Laudna would give in to Delilah, maybe FCG would try to take too much damage for one of them. She felt more powerful now, and Ashton had certainly looked more powerful, but power didn’t fix everything. The trust exercise had been good in theory but she wasn’t sure they’d really succeeded. They’d all been suspicious of each other; Ashton leaving FCG in the deadly vines, Laudna bringing out her hound for insurance, Orym questioning them with random trivia that she at least hadn’t been in a place to remember.

The walls around her almost seemed to be closing in, twisting her thoughts into a tangled mess of anxiety. She hated this. She’d never felt like this before and she hated it. Was this why FCG kept second-guessing themself? Was this why Imogen fought so hard against other people’s thoughts? Was this what Orym felt whenever he stepped in front of a creature at least four times his size? Fear. Real fear. That they would lose. That she would lose. It was the kind of feeling she’d always pushed away, the kind that hadn’t seemed important when there were more fun things to do, but now she couldn’t stop the onslaught.

“Fearne?”

Fearne sniffled and looked up at the soft voice. Orym was peering around the doorframe. She hadn’t heard him knock.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

Orym’s mouth twitched a little. “This is your bedroom.”

“Oh, right.”

Orym came in and shut the door behind him before quietly padding over to where she lay. She shuffled backwards towards the wall and he hopped up, sitting criss-cross-applesauce in front of her.

Read the rest on AO3 here.

#tibbinswrites #writing #fanfiction #critical role #fearne calloway #orym of the air ashari #fearne and orym #fearne x ashton #bells hells #orym x will #orym x dorian #spoilers for episode 80 #campaign 3

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tearsofgrace · 3 years

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15x20 gives me hope because it's going to be a long episode. Not just because that means we're squeezing every drop of Supernatural we can into it but because it gives them time to truly wrap up the loose ends that we care about *ahem, Cas*. It wouldn't make sense from a narrative standpoint to ignore this character that has been vital to the series for so long. We love this part of the story and they know it, and because they're ending regardless they have nothing to lose by taking a risks that in the past they have shied away from for fear of losing some of the audience. The finale isn't for the GA, it's for the fans that have stuck with this weird, inconsistent, and occasionally downright bad show for years. It's for us and they know what we need from it for it to be a satisfying end ^_^

absolutely LOVING these vibes. 15.20 is hopeful. it’s not something we want but could never have...

“The finale isn't for the GA, it's for the fans that have stuck with this weird, inconsistent, and occasionally downright bad show for years.” yes pls and thank you

url: i confused | ooh cool | i love it | amazing !! | “i think it’s adorable”

icon: ooh cool | i love it | may i have ? | iconic (get it) | “i need you”

desktop theme: nice nice | ooh cool | i love it | perfection | “you just gave up an entire army for one man”

reblogs: nice nice | ooh cool | i love it | flawless/10 | “he’s in love… with humanity”

overall: nice nice | ooh cool | i love it | deserving the world | “you are the most selfless, loving human being… i will ever know”

following: no, sorry :) | now i am ! | yes ma’am | “YOU HAVE CHANGED ME. I LOVE YOU.”

rules | send me fave emoji+15.20 positive for blograte

I ALREADY TOLD YOU THIS BUT IM STILL DYING OVER YOU 300TH FIC IVE REREAD IT LIKE SIX TIMES (linking here cuz EVERYONE should read this)

#tibbinswrites #blogrates #tearsofgrace rates #ask box #answered #mutuals #hope vibes #ilyyyy and your writing #blog recs

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healingsteel · 5 years

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Number 4?

4) What is your favourite genre to write for?

hurt/comfort!!!!! i’m out here writing people (specifically Juno Steel lol) trying to deal with their problems and even if they aren’t coping great they have people around them who care and try to help

i’m in it for the Coping

#ask game #tibbinswrites #thank you for asking!

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werepires · 2 years

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He didn’t flinch when the hand landed on his shoulder, though he hadn’t been expecting it. It had been a long time since Cas’ touch felt like a threat. He closed his eyes and let the weight comfort him. Cas was solid, he was here. Always pulling him from Hell, even when the Hell in question was his own head.

A Quiet Moment fic by @tibbinswrites art by@crxstalcas created for the @tohellandbackanthology

whOOO we’re finally posting our anthology contributions! This piece is almost 2 years old by the time I’m posting it, a relic from pre-pandemic times. I had the pleasure of working with tibbins and creating an artpiece to accompany her fic “A Quiet Moment”, go read it and give her some love bc she’s amazing

#my art #tohellandbackanthology #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fanart #deancas #deancas fanart #supernatural #supernatural fanart #spn #spn fanart #digital art #digital illustration

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miss-melodypond · 3 years

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The Relationship Between Supernatural Slash Fans and Producers

My thesis is finally done!

I wrote about the relationship between slash fans and TV producers using the example of Supernatural and Destiel fans. The first part is about what encourages the fans to write fanfiction in the series and everything around it, the second part is about the relationship slash writers have with canon, and the third part is about the way Supernatural producers have perceived their slash fans over the years.

Several people have asked to read it so I'm sharing it here for anyone who would be interested. Small warning though it's more than a hundred pages long!

Link: https://dumas.ccsd.cnrs.fr/MEM-UNIV-UR2HB/dumas-03380207

Don't hesitate to come tell me what you think about it I'd love to hear the opinion of other people in the fandom 😊

Tagging people who were interested under the cut.

@cowboylikedean, @tibbinswrites, @gravelghosts, @mattzerella-sticks, @serricoj, @s11e17, @pray4jensen, @destiel-owns-my-ass, @i-am-hannahs-regrets, @domesticadventures, @nox-lee, @tobiologist, @malmuses, @whichstiel

#profoundnet #supernatural #spn #destiel #jensen ackles #dean winchester #misha collins #castiel #thesis

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contemplativepancakes · 2 years

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of mistakes and melancholy

written for the @tohellandbackanthology

thank you to @tibbinswrites and @kingdumbass for betaing, and be on the lookout for the amazing accompanying art by @saawek!

explicit, demon!dean, angst with a happy ending, cw: dubcon, 5k

Castiel feels a void somewhere inside of him, now that Dean is gone. He tries to fill it out—he attempts to help Sam with cases, but Sam doesn’t even have to say anything for Cas to know his bumbling is more of a hindrance than a help.

That leaves him with nothing to do but agonize over his failing grace and fruitlessly search for leads on Dean. He sets up camp at a motel somewhere in Ohio and tries his best to remember how Sam had taught him to search for signs of demonic activity. He does this for weeks, until the days passing seem to blur together, until, suddenly, it isn’t so fruitless. He finds Dean.

The worst part is it isn’t even on purpose.

Castiel has had enough of staring at his computer screen, so he leaves the stuffy motel room. He figures his grace was weak enough that he can actually get well and truly drunk, so he goes to a bar, intent on drinking until he can’t feel anything anymore. That plan flies out the window when he sees Dean.

Cas's first thought is he’s hallucinating. His grace is sputtering out, and it’s just showing him what he wants to see most in his final moments. Why would Dean be here, in this dank dive that doesn’t even have peanuts, after Castiel’s spent almost a month looking for him with nothing to show?

Castiel drinks in this picture of Dean—even if it isn’t real, he’ll take what he can get. It’s the thing he’s been yearning for for weeks, after all, but he freezes when he looks a little deeper. There are putrid green swirls floating around Dean’s soul, slowly puffing through the cracks on its blackened surface. The soul that used to be the picture of perfection, that used to be the thing that filled Cas' void. He feels vaguely ill. The closest to this he’s ever seen Dean’s soul is when he pulled him out of Hell, all those years ago.

Dean’s soul had been tattered then, too, but iridescent light still sputtered weakly from within: its feeble attempts at mending itself back together. Castiel remembers the way he had clutched Dean’s soul close, feeling the emanation of its soft energy and reconciling it with his grace before letting it slip back into Dean’s body.

Now, there’s only a dim light struggling to pass the darkened shell, never mind having enough energy for any patch work. He recalls the way Dean’s soul used to reach out to meet his grace, to bridge any distance between them, and he grimaces as he compares it to this new sight, the way it seems to shrink in on itself, trying to get as far away from the holy light as it can.

Cas's eyes drift back to the terrestrial plane, and he’s convinced this vision of Dean isn’t some mercy his grace is giving—it’s cruelty to show him Dean’s soul like this, even if it does mean he gets to see Dean for the first time in what seems like much longer than eternity. It gnaws at him that the brightest thing he’s ever laid eyes on has been corrupted, defiled, and twisted into what sits before him now.

His feet move forward against his will, propelling him towards Dean, who raises a hand to the bartender. By the time Cas drops into the seat next to Dean, there’s a drink waiting for him. He reaches out and downs it.

Dean turns and looks up at Cas through his eyelashes. “Rough day?”

“Rough day,” Castiel echoes tonelessly, “That’s all you have to say?”

“And what exactly do you want me to say, Cas? Long time, no see? You should lose the trench so I can get a better view of your ass?”

Castiel flushes. Now he knows this isn’t his Dean, and it isn’t a Dean his grace cooked up, either. He fiddles with his shot glass and shrugs.

Dean huffs a laugh. “You really tracked me down and didn’t even think of anything to say? Here I was, thinking you were a boy scout.”

“Who says I tracked you down?” Cas counters, even though that’s been his only goal for a while now. He swears he sees a flicker of hurt cross Dean’s face. Not Dean, Cas reminds himself sternly, even though it’s so easy to get caught up in the sight, the scent, and the nearness of this not-Dean.

“So if you’re not here for me, what then?”

In a quiet voice, Cas answers, “I just wanted to forget for a night.”

“Yeah? What do you have that you need to forget? Did Sam start nagging at you to take better care of yourself?”

“I’ve been alive for millennia, Dean. I have plenty to try to forget.” A wry grin tugs at his lips, but Castiel’s not sure if he should give himself the permission to smile.

“In that case, why turn to alcohol? I’m right here, baby,” Dean purrs, so close that Cas can feel the heat radiating off him.

He turns to Dean in surprise, his eyes dropping down to Dean’s lips before he remembers—not Dean. His Dean wouldn’t want this. Dean doesn’t miss the glance, though, and he smirks. “Interested?”

“N-no. It wouldn’t be right,” Cas stutters, and he can’t remember ever feeling so unnerved. Dean’s not supposed to act like this, has never shown this kind of interest in Cas before.

“Yeah? It feels plenty right to me. An angel and a demon walk into a bar… It’s up to you how that story ends.”

Even with Cas's suspicions of Dean being a demon confirmed, he still feels inexplicably drawn to him. Well, maybe inexplicably is a bit of a stretch; Castiel makes it a habit to not lie to himself, and he’s been drawn to Dean from the very start. Despite this, when Dean leans in, Cas puts a hand to Dean’s chest, keeping him at arm’s length. “I shouldn’t.”

“Good thing I’ve got all night to change your mind,” Dean says with a grin that sets Cas on edge. He swallows hard as Dean’s true face flickers into view, strengthening his resolve, but he can’t make himself get up from his seat and deprive himself of this opportunity to just exist in Dean’s orbit again.

As the night goes on, though, Castiel’s determination fractures. He’s not sure if it’s the shots Dean keeps plying him with or if he’s merely intoxicated on the nearness of Dean after being starved of him for so long. Cas doesn’t ask what Dean’s been doing, and Dean doesn’t bring it up. Castiel just wants to be able to imagine that nothing’s changed, that Metatron never killed Dean in the first place. Maybe that’s why Cas finds himself meeting Dean in a tentative press of lips that doesn’t stay that way for long. Dean surges forward, bringing a hand up to rake it through Cas's hair, and Cas stops trying to fight it. Dean’s lips are just as soft and pliant as Castiel has always imagined, but the taste of sulfur gives him pause. Dean doesn’t let up, though, doesn’t give him time for the hesitation to take hold, pressing his tongue against the seam of Cas's lips before he can think too hard. Cas opens his mouth, and Dean takes.

Castiel is lost in the almost overwhelming sensations until a shout drags his attention away. Dean pulls back from their kiss, and Cas looks dazedly at the string of saliva connecting their lips before following Dean’s line of sight to see a man advancing towards them, hurling slurs. Cas has never understood that, humanity’s need to trap each other in boxes and bury them under offensive words. Dean, however, seems to be even less understanding than Cas is. Dean practically flies out of his seat, and then he has the man in a chokehold against the dingy bar wall.

The other bar patrons titter among themselves, but the chattering quickly turns to alarm when Dean hits the man, and keeps hitting him, until his face is a bloody mess, and Cas is sure he hears the man’s nose break with a sickening crunch. It’s a staunch reminder that this isn’t his Dean, but the molten arousal pooling in Cas's gut doesn’t seem to care.

Castiel can hear the tone of alarm in the owner of the bar’s voice in the background, so he steps forward and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”

Dean jerks his shoulder to dislodge Cas's hand, but he straightens up, releasing his hold on the man and leaving him to sputter on the ground.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean laughs, taking Cas by the hand. Castiel spares a glance for the man gasping on the dirty bar floor, but he lets himself be led.

When they make it through the door of Dean’s motel room, Dean slams Cas against the wall, boxing him in as Dean captures his lips in a sloppy kiss. Castiel can’t help but note the mystery stains that seem to be everywhere in the room and does his best to ignore them. Cas wants to just focus on the pleasure he’s feeling, but the rotten egg taste gets to be too much for him to ignore.

He pushes against Dean, and Dean backs off, but not without his eyes flashing black. Cas recoils, backing even further against the wall. “I changed my mind. You’re not Dean—I can’t…”

Dean heaves a massive sigh. “Afraid I am. Still got all the daddy issues to prove it. Just with less fucks to give and all wrapped up in a pretty demonic package.” Dean shoots him a winning grin, and Cas gulps. “Speaking of wrapped up in pretty packages—” Dean slowly unzips his jeans to reveal a hint of red lace.

Dean arches an eyebrow at the look of shock Cas is sure is pasted on his face. “What? Crowley liked them.”

“Crowley?” Cas echoes distantly.

Dean steps out of his jeans, and Cas can’t tear his eyes away as Dean grinds his palm on his cock through the flimsy red material. “That make you jealous? Does it make you want to do something about it?” Dean asks, shedding his shirt as he steps closer to Cas.

He runs a hand down Cas's chest, his breath hot on Cas's neck as his lips land on the bolt of Cas's jaw. Cas doesn’t push him away, and Dean’s fingers start working on the buttons of Cas's shirt. He bites back a sigh as Dean’s fingers brush his nipple. Dean must be paying close attention to Castiel’s reactions, because he pauses his fingers’ downward drift and rolls the nipple between his fingers. Cas bites his lip, and Dean’s thumb catches on the bottom one. “Come on, I want to hear all the noises I can pull out of you. What do you think it takes to corrupt an angel?” Dean asks with a cheeky grin.

“I think it’s too late for that,” Cas replies, his sentence ending in a higher pitch as Dean plunges his hand into his jeans, squeezing his cock through his boxers.

Cas looks heavenward before swallowing hard and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, pushing it off his shoulders.

Dean tracks his eye movement and grins. “You think one of your brothers is perving on us?”

Castiel winces at the mention of the other angels. “Gabriel and Balthazar are dead, so I doubt it.”

“Their loss.” Dean shrugs before surging forward again to kiss Cas.

This time, he’s more prepared for the unpleasant taste as he opens up to Dean. He kisses him hungrily, choosing to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut and focus on the desire coiled right beneath it.

Dean shoves down Cas's slacks, leaving them both in just their underwear. Cas's fingers skim Dean’s panties, dragging against the rough lace. Dean grins at him, but it’s more a baring of teeth than a smile. “You like em? You know, if you wanted to get kinkier, I could probably rustle up some rope, maybe a cowboy hat…”

Cas shakes his head minutely. “Too bad,” Dean says breezily as he drops to his knees.

He mouths at the hard outline of Cas's cock, licking at the fabric until it’s damp. “Let’s give little Cas some breathing room, what do you think?” Dean asks as he tugs down Cas's boxers.

Cas swallows convulsively, but his mouth is dry as Dean bends down to kitten lick his cock. Dean takes him deeper, Cas holding back a wince at a slight scrape of Dean’s teeth. After a minute, Dean pops off, grinning at him as he straightens up to kiss Cas again. One of Dean’s fingers prod between Cas's cheeks, and Cas has no misunderstandings that this is going to be gentle.

He’s an angel, anyway, he thinks, trying to keep his mind off his dwindling grace. He won’t mind the reminder of Dean in the morning. Dean brings his fingers to Cas's mouth, getting them wet before dropping back down to open him up. Dean does it roughly, another finger joining shortly after the first, his fingers rotating and trying to spread, forcing his hole to loosen. Cas bites his lip, a moan threatening to escape him as Dean jabs at his prostate. “You like that?” Dean asks smugly.

“Yes, fuck,” Cas groans breathlessly through the pain as Dean finds it again and adds more spit and another finger.

“Now I can add making an angel swear to the list of reasons I’m going to Hell,” Dean pulls his cock out of his panties and stands up, jacking himself as he tugs Cas into a position where the head of his cock can prod at Cas's hole. “Oh, wait,” he laughs as his eyes flash black again, and Cas squeezes his eyes shut.

It’s harder to ignore that he shouldn’t be doing this when it’s so obvious that this isn’t the Dean Cas knows, but it’s too late to back out now. Cas sucks in a breath as the blunt head of Dean’s cock enters him, squeezing his eyes shut at the friction that his spit did little to help. Dean goes slowly at first, giving him a second to adjust to the foreign feeling before starting to slam into him. The slap of skin on skin fills the room, along with their combined breathless grunts.

Dean reaches around to take Cas in his hand, and the friction is just what Cas's neglected cock was craving. Dean nails his prostate again and again with his hard thrusts, and it’s enough to make Cas's vision flash white, enough to see the wretched state of Dean’s soul once again. Cas comes, splattering all over Dean’s hand. Dean chuckles breathlessly. “I probably wouldn’t have lasted long either if I’d only gotten laid once in a billion years.”

He pats Cas's thigh with his sticky hand as he continues to thrust, keeping Cas upright even as he bites the inside of his cheek at the over sensitivity of it all. A few minutes later, the hand turns into more of a claw as Castiel feels Dean coming inside of him. After he softens, he pulls out, grinning at Cas like the cat who ate the canary. Cas feels sick as he collapses on the bed, Dean’s come leaking sluggishly out of his hole.

Cas lays there, looking at Dean heaving breaths he doesn’t even need, and is struck by soul aching regret. Now that his arousal is gone, he doesn’t know why he agreed to this. Having sex with this shadow of Dean didn’t make him feel any better, didn’t lessen the gaping pit he feels pushing against his ribs. He lets himself wallow for a few minutes before he sits up, burning red with shame. Dean’s eyes track him lazily. “Problem, cowboy?” he asks, his tongue poking between his teeth.

“This was a mistake,” he says, pushing the covers off and standing up.

He gathers his clothes hastily, haphazardly buttoning his wrinkled shirt and stepping into his slacks. He steps out of the motel, his untucked shirt flapping in the wind, trying his best to ignore how Dean’s laughter follows him.

Castiel stews in his shame for weeks. His gut twists uncomfortably at the thought of telling Sam what happened, so he doesn’t. He hides in motels, never staying put for more than a few days. Over the phone, he hears the way Sam clutches at straws for hints of Dean’s whereabouts. He doesn’t even know his brother’s a demon, and Cas can’t work up the courage to tell him. Some angel he is. The cough wracking his body that won’t go away no matter how much he concentrates his grace doesn’t help, compounded and made even worse by the dreams he keeps having. Angels aren’t supposed to dream.

Visions of Dean’s black eyes and fractured soul haunt him, and he wonders if that’s the reason his grace is so corrupted now. It was bad before his night with Dean, but now it seems like it’s eating away at him from the inside, a gangrenous mass that he wishes he had the strength to sever. He’s tempted to curl up on his ratty mattress and wait for his grace to fizzle out, taking him with it, but a call from Sam disrupts him, and later, a visit from Hannah. Cas heaves himself out of the bed, cursing the enormous effort it takes.

While Castiel is helping Hannah hunt down rogue angels, Sam calls him to say he found Dean. Cas knew that with Sam’s determination this was going to happen eventually, but Cas still hasn’t managed to tell Sam anything about what happened between them, and he fervently hopes Dean won’t mention it. He’s on edge the whole drive to the bunker, half expecting an outraged call from Sam at any moment. Hannah scrutinizing his every move from the passenger seat doesn’t help matters much, either.

By the time he makes it to the bunker, he’s a nervous mess. He rushes down to the dungeons, braced for the worst, but Dean’s already cured. He doesn’t look Dean in the eye, but he revels in Dean’s soul, the way he can chance a glimpse of it now and not feel ill from the wrongness of it all. Dean’s soul might be a little more hunched in on itself than normal, but the casing that had made it so dim before is gone, and with it, a small part of the weight from Cas's shoulders.

Meanwhile, Dean feels anything but relief. Now that he doesn’t have black eyes to hide behind, he has to face everything he did while he was a demon. This was a mistake echoes in Dean’s mind, and he reaches a hand up to tug at his hair, still damp with holy water. “You wanna talk about it?” Sam offers.

Dean shoulders his way past both of them. “No,” he snaps, “I sure as hell don’t.”

He’s barely flopped down onto his bed, content to stay there for the immediate future, when there’s a soft knock on his bedroom door. Dean looks up to see Cas poking his head in.

“You look terrible,” Cas says, and Dean curses himself for the way his stomach flops at the sound of Cas's voice.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to lie every now and again. But you, on the other hand, you’re looking good.”

For all that Dean had vehemently not wanted to talk to Sam, he kind of does want to open up to Cas about all the shit he did. Cas has a way of making him feel not so awful about himself, and Dean could really use that right now. But then Cas is opening his mouth and saying, “There’s a female outside in the car,” and Dean fumbles any words that were gathering on his tongue.

This was a mistake.

Almost a year goes by, and their night becomes one of many things that gets shelved away, never to be brought up again. Dean thinks Sam might tear up a little with pride if he ever learned that Dean actually does want to talk about this. For all that he tries to shove everything down, this is something that refuses to stay down; it burns like acid everytime it crosses his mind. He swears Cas has been acting more distant ever since it happened, and he gives Cas his space for a while, but after Rowena curses Cas with the attack dog spell, Dean can’t stand idly by.

Cas looks pale and sweaty where he slumps in his chair, and it’s making Dean antsy. Sam went to his room to get some dusty old grimoire, and now all Dean has to do is sit here, wait, and look at Cas shift in the library chair like he can’t find a comfortable spot. Cas shivers like he’s being wracked with chills, and Dean gets up.

“Where are you going?” Cas mumbles.

“I’ll be right back.” Dean rushes down the hallway to his own room to find a blanket. His stomach hasn’t stopped turning since he saw Cas laying on the bunker floor, covered in his own blood, barely able to get the words help me out. Dean pulls a soft blanket from his closet, his hands clutching at the fabric as he tries to center himself.

By the time he heads back out to the library, Cas is slumped over the table, asleep. Dean bites his lip. He doesn’t reckon a sleeping angel is a good thing. He settles the blanket around Cas's shoulders, careful not to wake him. When he doesn’t stir, Dean runs a hand through Cas's sweat-slicked hair.

Dean leans down to brush his lips on Cas’s temple, and he freezes when Cas shifts in his sleep. He pats Cas’s shoulder and beats a hasty retreat.

A few weeks after Rowena lifts the curse from Castiel, Dean comes back from a werewolf hunt limping and being supported by Sam, but he refuses to let Cas even look at the wound. “Dean, just let me heal you, please,” he begs, but Dean shakes his head. Cas sends him a frustrated glare, and Dean doesn’t even have the common courtesy to look cowed.

Cas can see it’s causing Dean pain, can read it on his face, and he can’t help but get more and more exasperated the longer Dean insists on this needless suffering. From hushed conversations with Sam, Cas knows it’s weeping pus. He’s not going to be happy if Dean dies from an infection out of sheer stubbornness.

Cas' attention is dragged away from his silent fuming when Dean winces as he settles straighter in his chair, the movement tugging on his stitches. Cas looks towards him, but Dean won’t meet his eyes. Cas grimaces at the spark of pain erupting on Dean’s soul.

He scowls at Dean and gets up to go to the kitchen, determined to be useful in whatever way Dean will allow.

Right before Sam and Dean had left for their hunt, Cas had gone grocery shopping with Sam. He had poked and prodded at everything he could reach, inspecting labels and sniffing the foods. “Cas, stop,” Sam hissed before he got a good look at Cas's smirking face.

Sam cracked a smile and shoved at him in exasperation, shaking his head. “Dean is rubbing off on you way too much.”

Cas was feeling pleased with himself for making Sam laugh until a label caught his attention that made him stumble to a stop. Tomato rice, the soup can proclaimed, and Castiel could remember Dean saying that was what his mother had made him. Sam gave him an odd look, but he didn’t stop him when Cas put it in the cart.

Now, the can stares at him from the cupboard shelf. He pulls it down and sets it on the counter before tugging open drawers to look for a can opener. When he finds one in the second to last drawer, he scrabbles with it briefly before figuring out how it works. His finger drags over the rough edges of the can as he opens it and dumps the contents into a waiting pot on the stove. He flicks at the burner knob until he hears the gas catching alight, then sits back to wait until the soup heats up.

Footsteps echo in the hall outside the kitchen, and Dean calls out, “What’s all that banging? You better not be messing up my kitchen!”

Cas rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes, dear,” he mumbles to himself, and there’s a brief pause in Dean’s gait.

When he limps into the kitchen a few seconds later, his eyes seize on the pot on the stove. “I didn’t think you could cook,” he says gruffly, lifting up the lid to look at the contents.

Cas shrugs. “Your mother used to make this for you, right?”

“I mean, yeah. Thanks, man. This is—this is awesome.” Dean opens a drawer to get a spoon so he can taste it, and his eyes light up. “It even tastes like hers used to.”

Castiel decides not to mention it’s from a can. Instead, he asks, “Why won’t you let me heal you?”

Dean sighs. “I’ve had worse. It’s getting better—you don’t need to waste your grace.”

“It’s not a waste, Dean, I want to,” Cas insists.

“Just drop it, would you?”

Cas seethes, but he doesn’t say anything else about it.

Months pass, and things are largely the same. The mark of Cain might be gone from Dean’s arm, but he and Cas still don’t talk about anything important—not with ever-present looming crises to be averted. Castiel is idly flipping through a lore book, searching for anything the angels don’t already know about the darkness, when he feels it. There’s a vicious snap to his grace, and it makes him hiss in pain. He bolts up from his chair, on high alert for what might be wrong, when his phone begins to buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out and holds it to his ear to hear Sam’s shrill voice, “Cas! Cas, it’s Dean. We—we were hunting a wendigo, and it shoved him, and he hit his head, and there’s so much blood, and—”

“Sam,” Cas cuts him off, grabbing his keys and heading towards the bunker door. “Where are you?”

“Um. Olathe. Cas, it’s not looking good.”

Cas forces a tight smile, even though Sam can’t see it through the phone. He thinks he might just be trying to convince himself that everything’s going to be okay. “I’m on my way there now. Meet me halfway? You always say head wounds bleed a lot, right? It’s likely it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Right,” Sam says, and Cas can almost envision the pained look on his face. “I’ll see you, then.”

“An hour and a half,” Cas promises as he hangs up and rushes out to his car.

His head spins the whole way there, his grace constantly buzzing. It hasn’t been this insistent for his attention since purgatory, and it puts him on edge. His grace has been connected to Dean’s soul since he resurrected him, but the pull on their bond has only intensified over time. He had barely noticed when it had first formed, but it became harder and harder to miss with the way Dean would constantly tug on it. Cas doesn’t think Dean is aware of it, would probably be furious if he knew, actually, but it’s the thing that’s propelling Cas to him right now. The buzzing settles to a light vibration, and Cas pushes his foot down harder on the gas.

When the Impala comes into view, Cas flashes his brights and pulls over, Sam quickly following suit. Cas shoves at his door handle, stumbling out of the car and to Dean. His soul is sputtering, burning weakly like it’s a fire running out of oxygen, and it twists Cas's gut.

Cas yanks open the backseat, climbing in to pull Dean’s head onto his lap. Sam watches anxiously as Cas's hands start to glow. He puts his palm on Dean’s forehead, trying not to let Sam see the way his hands shake. Cas pours his grace into Dean and watches as his soul slowly gets brighter and brighter, like those slide lights he can’t help but mess with at motels.

By the time Dean’s soul is spitting emerald fire again, Cas is exhausted. Dean’s eyes flutter open, and Cas is so tired that it only seems to make sense when he leans down and kisses him. Dean’s eyes widen, and Cas pulls back instantly. “Shit, Dean, I’m sorry, I don’t know—” he splutters, but Dean interrupts him with a quiet voice.

“You said I was a mistake.”

“What?” Cas asks, face pinched in confusion.

“When we had sex. You said it was a mistake. You left.”

Sam makes a startled noise. “I’m just, uh, I’ll be over there,” he says, gesturing jerkily before rushing off.

Cas barely glances up from where he’s staring down at Dean. “Why’d you leave me?” Dean whispers, and that always seems to be the crux of the matter, when it comes to Dean.

“I—I didn’t know that bothered you. You were a demon.”

“Being a demon was kind of like looking in a mirror, you know? It wasn’t me, but it wasn’t not me. Maybe I was more of a dick than usual, and maybe I regret some of the things I did, but I could never regret you,” Dean says, panting to get all of his words out.

He reaches up to trail his fingers over Cas's jaw, and when Cas puts a hand over his, it feels like revelation.

“Can’t say that’s the way I wanted our first time to go, though, probably could have used some more mood lighting or something,” Dean laughs weakly.

Castiel shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I couldn’t even help Sam properly. All I was trying to do was get a drink, and then I saw you. I couldn’t make you not a demon, but I just wanted to be close to you.” Cas clutches at Dean’s shirt collar. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye when you died. Your body was just—gone. It was a second chance, but you wouldn’t let me forget that you were a demon. Metatron slaughtered you, on my watch, and knowing you turned into that because of me? Knowing that your soul was warped the way it was because of me? I couldn’t stay, then.”

“I was looking for you that night,” Dean blurts. “I tracked your phone.”

Cas raises his eyebrows in surprise as Dean continues, “I wanted to see you. Wanted you to reject me, I think. I was looking for a reason to do something dumb, to just go be a demon with a clear conscience, not have to worry about you or Sam.” Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “Demon with a conscience. I really do suck at everything.”

“Shut up,” Cas growls, and kisses him again.

Dean presses a hand to Cas's chest, and Castiel backs off. “Are you okay? What hurts? Do you want me to stop?”

“Whoa, whoa, who said anything about stopping? Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, here. Just—you’re going to stay, now, right?”

Cas leans back to look at the vulnerable set of Dean’s face. “I’m going to stay,” he agrees.

Dean’s soul sings.

#supernatural #destiel #angst with a happy ending #canon verse #dub con #dean winchester #castiel #contemplative writing #tohellandbackanthology

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yourfinalbow · 2 years

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[ Melted Wings of Wax and Feathers ]

- The beautiful art by @pepperoni-bread can be found here.

"And there he fell, without grace and without glory.

He cried out, reaching to the heavens. "Help me, father."

But of course Chuck did nothing to help the dying angel. Poisoned by his hamartia. Wings and wax melted from flying too close to the sun.

Delicate feathers floated around him, a sign of his irreversible mistakes.

His final thoughts lingered as he fell the last few feet. With one arm outstretched, he reached towards the sky, hope leaving his body the same way the last swirl of grace leaked from his eyes.

He shut them, hitting the ground with a thud. The stripped skeleton that was his wings burned their everlasting mark into the ground below, while torn feathers and shards of a stained glass mural littered the concrete floor.

His soul can be found in the only plain of darkness that can quench his fiery light. A place of solid black. One of nothing but emptiness. Nothing but quiet.

His final resting place, where the shadows greet him like an old friend."

---

As Dean is faced with the fiery consequences of simply saying “yes", Cas is warned to stop flying towards his sun.

The feathers of time begin to fall, and Michael stands there with a match, melting the wax they're attached to. -- [Read here on Ao3]

---

I never got around to posting about this on Tumblr, but it's a Christmas fic, so here goes!

I spent a stupid amount of time on it, and was possibly hoping for some peer review...?

(Tagging some mutuals under the cut):

Absolutely no pressure though! (I'm clinking my hot chocolate mug against yours for even getting this far down the post.) Happy holidays!

@bebecas, @marvolord, @destielcrack, @tootiredmotel, @suncaptor, @knifelesbianjo, @eldestsiblingsyndrome, @bee-in-a-trench-coat, @wingsandhunters, @endvdean, @starrynightdeancas, @adhd-castiel, @kickasscas, @bi-makes-pie, @deansbian, @bearcas, @buzzbuzzbitches, @zorelle, @deanwasalwaysbi, @supercorpheller, @limpwristedean, @proudcasgirl, @casismymrdarcy, @meltedwingscas, @casmick-consequences, @doctorprofessorsong, @159potterhead, @mothmans-favorite-lamp, @10x02, @nightandwine, @angzlicas, @final-girl-cas, @you-cant-spell-subtext-without, @spideyhighlighty, @huckleberry-dean, @annballofyarn, @fizzlesfolly, @sun-honey-bee, @castielisasunflower, @fellshish, @spnjohnlocked, @youre-only-gay-once, @lilcasx, @waywardmegathor, @redleavesinthewind, @the-nameless-human200, @angeltiddies, @tibbinswrites, @piltovers-gayest

#Supernatural #Destiel #Fic #DeanCas #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Icarus #Greek mythology #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Michael!Dean #DCBB #I literally spent so long working on this.#MWWF #Lamps did a thing.#Lovecraft levels amiright?

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shelobussy · 3 years

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Last Line Tag Game

I was tagged by @inklingofadream!! Thank you daring!! <3 Rules: Write the latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words in the line.

D’Vana: i have read sixty-three (63) spirk fanfics with this exact premise

Tagging @lastoneout, @notasiren21, @damcrows, @mind-gravy, @mumricks-in-hats, @its-your-mind, @voiceless-terror, @i-just-want-to-destroy, @jtownraindancer, @tibbinswrites, @macaronsforchat, @thatharpist, @swifthawke and anyone else who wants to do this! :D

#lmao this is from my lower decks groupchat au #not fandom #personal #ash posts

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zationao3 · 3 years

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Thanks for tagging me, @malicmalic!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Okay so here are my current WIPs 😁

Life is a highway

The Masterpiece 3: African Edition

Two for one

As for people to tag, I'm gonna go with @malmuses @tibbinswrites @anupalya 💙💚

#ask game #fanfiction #destiel

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tibbinswrites · 1 year

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Grief is the Thing with Raven Feathers

Spoilers for Critical Role, C3, episode 51.

If Keyleth could move she’d be screaming.

No. Not again. She couldn’t watch this again.

But as she lay there, frozen and stunned, helpless in a way she hadn’t been in a long, long time, Vax was ripped away from her once more.

It wasn’t fair. This couldn’t be his ending. She’d made her peace with his death, as best she could, aware that he was still the Champion of the Raven Queen. She knew they’d meet again when she became one with Exandria. It wasn’t so much a comfort as an inevitability, and whenever her raven came to visit her, she smiled at the thought of that far-off day.

Silent tears dripped across her face where she lay in a pool of her own blood and crumbled stone as Vax, her love, her heart, was blasted from all sides by some kind of unknowable power and made smaller, condensed, into an orb, an object, for his crime of returning to protect her while she tried to save the world.

The pain of her wounds didn’t register against the shattering bedrock of her mind, her soul.

She barely even noticed when everything went white.

#TibbinsWrites #short fic #Keyleth #critical role #fanfiction

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tohellandbackanthology · 4 years

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Hi!!! So everything about the anthology and all the merch is so beautiful and I'm so happy to be part of it! You guys have worked so hard to make this thing possible and I wanted to thank you all and send you massive amounts of love

Thank you so much!!! We’re so thrilled with the feedback so far. We’ve put our hearts and souls into this project, spent countless nights planning, so to see people so excited and involved is incredible! We’re so excited and we can’t thank everybody enough! We couldn’t have done it without you!

#admin: 60r3d0m #admin: pray4jensen #thank you all so much from the bottom of our hearts!!!!#tibbinswrites #ask

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tearsofgrace · 3 years

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Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

thanks for the tag k (ALL YOUR CREATIONS WERE AMAZING MY FAVE WAS THE CHESS SET) <3 @jeremyshadaaa

this was fucking hard i hate being proud of myself [i changed the rules cuz i wanted to do gifs and writing and also i want the ppl i tag to have to come up w more works]

this destiel purgatory gifset cuz it turned out okayish and purgatory is hard to color

this longer fic i wrote (40k, canon divergent s6, slow burn)

the eyeliner!dean ficlet cuz i’m fucking IN LOVE with eyeliner!dean (you guys have no idea how many eyeliner!dean hc’s there are in my drafts)

this longass meta that compares the good place ending to the spn ending which also didn’t happen. 15.20? we don’t know her

this zeppelin lyric set, cuz they fit really fucking well and then made me sad

this drabble and this drabble cuz they were sorta pretty i guess (and sad but what else is new)

this anna/dean and cas set cuz i thought the colors looked pretty?

my suptober fics (not cuz they were good but cuz i didn’t miss a day)

ima tag a bunch of people... and if you see this and i didn’t tag you, feel free to do it anyway!!!!!

@galaxycastiel @kingjackless @fandomstuff67 [rach you are NOT allowed to use this against me] @starrynightdeancas @starlightcastiel @good-things-do-happen-dean @heller-jensen @contemplativepancakes @jackttwist @chaoticdean @castee-yel @tibbinswrites @antifacas @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theangelwiththewormstache @jellydeans @cajunquandary @on-a-bender @rambleoncas @thisisapaige

#tag games #tagged in #hush i'm not proud of myself #about me #get to know me i guess

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naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

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Day 4 - Branded

A caress. A sigh. A smile against the sheets.

Dean stretched out languorously among the clean blankets, his cheek rubbing against the fabric as he felt fingers running over his naked body. His smile widened discreetly as a curious forefinger went down into the curve of his back. With his eyes closed, he let out a second sigh of satisfaction and leaned a bit deeper into the mattress.

Finally, the hand pushed back some of the blankets on the back of his thighs and stopped in the hollow of his lower back, revealing the lower part of his bare body. The fingers redrew a thin white scar, at least three centimeters.

"This one?"

Dean hummed joyfully to the deep sound of Castiel’s voice, the syllables rolling down his throat to slide over his tongue. Dean materialized the mark of his skin in his mind.

"Shapeshifter. He threw me through a window. Four stitches." He replied softly.

And so the fingers resumed their exploration, their soft and volatile contact on his hips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Dean was almost unable to move as he was relaxed, strokes more effective than any massage. No matter how much he had tasted human flesh against his body before, nothing was more fulfilling than a pure dose of intravenous love like the one he was high on right now. Dean let out a sound of contentment.

This hand — damn, delicious hand — as impertinent as ever, continued their path even lower. Dean felt Castiel straighten up slightly next to him to access his left calf. There, the fingers came to explore the strange hollow that was there, playing with the smooth and still reddish skin despite years of healing. Dean wasn’t used to people teasing that part of his body, the nerves sensitive under the skin.

"This one." And it was no longer a question, merely a thirst for curiosity that needed only to be quenched.

"Vampire." Dean whispered. He licked his lips nervously in memory of this fight. "He didn’t let go until I took his head off… I left a piece in it.”

Castiel let out a small "mmh" and Dean easily imagined his eyebrows knitting together imperceptibly, as he did when an insect flying around him began to irritate him, but he dared not chase him away.

After long minutes of silence and caresses, Castiel pressed the palm of his hand a little harder against Dean’s pelvis and he understood that he had to turn around. Slowly, his muscles awoke to allow him to rotate on his back, completely exposing his bare front. Without further preambles, the touching resumed, but this time Dean kept his eyes open and fixed on the angel’s profile. Everything was so quiet, out of time while Castiel recreated the world on his anatomy.

He came to cup his belly in the palm of his hand, following the trail of a wide gash. Dean saw Castiel pouting again.

"Tell me…" His lover asked, his voice a bit hoarse.

Dean took a breath, calm. Although he hated the reasons why these scars had ended up on his body in the first place, he had made peace with most of them. To say that he was totally comfortable with his body would nevertheless be a lie and admitting his modesty often triggered laughter. His previous conquests usually let out a sarcastic mockery if they noticed his shyness at the idea of making love all lights on, so Dean kept pretending.

Castiel, however, had never mocked. Quite the opposite, he had kissed and drawn each of his scars for hours until Dean was able to lie down as he was now, naked, exposed, and his heartbeats appeased in his chest.

"Angel…" Dean finally replied. He saw the dull anger in Castiel’s eyes again, like a mute storm, while the rest of his face remained as neutral. "I crossed paths with him when I was…" He licked his lips again." When the Mark had turned me into a demon? I won the fight…"

Both of them knew what these last words implied and Dean could not prevent a spike of anxiety from forming in his chest. He killed one of the angel’s brothers. However, Castiel nodded after a moment and leaned gently forward to trap the marked skin of his lips. Dean sighed and the caresses resumed.

The fingers stopped again on an irregularity, encircling his left pectoral, near his heart. Castiel frowned at the sight of the funny scar and Dean replied before he could ask the famous question, a laugh in the voice.

"Bike accident, I must have been 11 years old. I landed in a tree jumping off the motel roof." Castiel arched an eyebrow, halfway between admiration and disbelief, and Dean let out a laugh. "Sam was luckier, he landed in the pool as planned. But the following year, he broke his arm in exactly the same way and I had to take him to the hospital on what was left of his bike."

Castiel shook his head with amusement and Dean’s smile grew to the memory of his little brother contemplating the drawings he had drawn on his cast.

The time slowed down a little more as Castiel now moved to the wide hand-shaped burn on his shoulder. Although the years faded, the handprint was still visible on its body, shining slightly with variations of light. Dean turned his head to contemplate it before returning to Cas’s face, surprising the same tender look in his features.

"This one…" Castiel gently whispered, tracing the contours of the brand with adoration.

Dean breathed in, filling his lungs with love and pride. He carefully grabbed Castiel’s fingers before joining their two hands, covering his mark with the warm skin of his angel. Just as delicately, he attracted the rest of Castiel’s body to his own until they were pressed against each other, Dean kissing those lips tenderly that he knew by heart. After a moment, he broke contact to whisper:

"The beginning of the rest of my life."

Castiel smiled for the first time in several minutes and kissed him back, gripping his shoulder with more force. And while the sensations were awakening in his body, Dean swore to hearing his scars shouting that he belonged to only one being. Castiel could have marked him hundreds of times if he wished, but one thing was certain: his guardian angel was watching over him.

* * * @winchester-reload

Finally a bit of tenderness and some Destiel! Hope you will like it :)

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos@petrichoravellichor@iamcharliebradburylevelperfect@ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37@destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl@destielhoneybee@dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne@doofcas@castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites@vicmc624@thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday@staycejo1@certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

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