Taylor, Tay, T | 31 | she/her âEvery point in your life, even if itâs tough, is something to cherish and to be happy about.â || FAQ || Masterlist || Buy Me A Coffee || ||Early Access On Patreon||
I'm doing some updates around here. Despite the fact that I have tried to go in and fix them, I've been made aware a few times that the links on my masterlist just don't work for some/most of my stuff, I haven't updated links for quite some time, etc., etc. So I'm going to do my best to fix it and hope tumblr doesn't keep breaking things.
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weight is a sensitive topic for many so read on with consideration but itâs not appropriate to call GLP-1s medically induced anorexia. while there are people (countless celebrities) using them to further eating disorders or body dysmorphia they likely had prior, they are a legitimate medication for type 2 diabetics and itâs kind of crazy to call a medication that helps them a medically induced eating disorder. itâs also fucking fine if fat people want to lose weight just like itâs fine if fat people donât want to lose weightâitâs all fine. weight loss can be a complex medical challenge for people and these medications can help work past metabolic issues, psychological behaviours like a lot of compulsive behaviours, and allow for lifestyle change. you can discuss celebrities misusing GLP-1s without creating shame and stigma around the medication as a whole
GLP-1s are not largely being used by skinny people to get skinnierâthey are being used by type 2 diabetics and people who have a medical barrier to weight loss. it is really irresponsible and unfair to stigmatize a drug that is effective and often administered responsibly just because some wealthy elites have access to the option of abusing it.
Youâre beat. Tired. Exhausted. Completely unable to hold your eyes open as you sit on the couch and binge Love On The Spectrum. An empty beer bottle dances on the tips of your fingers, flirting with the idea of shattering to the floor. Your snores fall softly on his ears as you snuggle deeper into the curve of his left side. Sam shifts carefully and drapes his arm around your shoulders.Â
âMm, Sammy.â You mutter and twist your fingers into the fabric of his flannel shirt.
âHmm?â Sam hums, his eyes closed as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your hair. You donât respond with words, just mumble unintelligibly and cling to him.
He reaches over with his right hand, takes the bottle from your barely-there grasp, sets it on the end table beside him. His arm retracts, and he tilts your head up with his index finger under your chin. Your eyes flutter, but donât open. Sam dips his head down and hovers his lips right above yours, close enough that you can feel his breath drift over your lips.
âBed.â He exhales, and heâs just so close to you, when he says the single syllable, his lips brush against your mouth.
Your body reacts on its own, lips parting for his kiss. Samâs lips fit into yours, his hand dips down from your shoulder, his palm splays across your lower back. You arch into him, melting against his body. Suddenly, your breaths are labored, coming out hard in pants into Samâs bitey kisses. Your body electrifies as Sam scoops his strong arms under your body. He lifts you, lips locked together, and carries you to his room. Your back hits his mattress, and youâre not sure when he did it, but his shirt is gone. When he hovers over you, youâre completely lost in him, in everything that is Sam.
On the couch, you were so, so tired, but now, you couldnât even dream of falling asleep.
Youâre beat. Tired. Exhausted. Completely unable to hold your eyes open as you sit on the couch and binge Love On The Spectrum. An empty beer bottle dances on the tips of your fingers, flirting with the idea of shattering to the floor. Your snores fall softly on his ears as you snuggle deeper into the curve of his left side. Sam shifts carefully and drapes his arm around your shoulders.Â
âMm, Sammy.â You mutter and twist your fingers into the fabric of his flannel shirt.
âHmm?â Sam hums, his eyes closed as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your hair. You donât respond with words, just mumble unintelligibly and cling to him.
He reaches over with his right hand, takes the bottle from your barely-there grasp, sets it on the end table beside him. His arm retracts, and he tilts your head up with his index finger under your chin. Your eyes flutter, but donât open. Sam dips his head down and hovers his lips right above yours, close enough that you can feel his breath drift over your lips.
âBed.â He exhales, and heâs just so close to you, when he says the single syllable, his lips brush against your mouth.
Your body reacts on its own, lips parting for his kiss. Samâs lips fit into yours, his hand dips down from your shoulder, his palm splays across your lower back. You arch into him, melting against his body. Suddenly, your breaths are labored, coming out hard in pants into Samâs bitey kisses. Your body electrifies as Sam scoops his strong arms under your body. He lifts you, lips locked together, and carries you to his room. Your back hits his mattress, and youâre not sure when he did it, but his shirt is gone. When he hovers over you, youâre completely lost in him, in everything that is Sam.
On the couch, you were so, so tired, but now, you couldnât even dream of falling asleep.
Youâre beat. Tired. Exhausted. Completely unable to hold your eyes open as you sit on the couch and binge Love On The Spectrum. An empty beer bottle dances on the tips of your fingers, flirting with the idea of shattering to the floor. Your snores fall softly on his ears as you snuggle deeper into the curve of his left side. Sam shifts carefully and drapes his arm around your shoulders.Â
âMm, Sammy.â You mutter and twist your fingers into the fabric of his flannel shirt.
âHmm?â Sam hums, his eyes closed as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your hair. You donât respond with words, just mumble unintelligibly and cling to him.
He reaches over with his right hand, takes the bottle from your barely-there grasp, sets it on the end table beside him. His arm retracts, and he tilts your head up with his index finger under your chin. Your eyes flutter, but donât open. Sam dips his head down and hovers his lips right above yours, close enough that you can feel his breath drift over your lips.
âBed.â He exhales, and heâs just so close to you, when he says the single syllable, his lips brush against your mouth.
Your body reacts on its own, lips parting for his kiss. Samâs lips fit into yours, his hand dips down from your shoulder, his palm splays across your lower back. You arch into him, melting against his body. Suddenly, your breaths are labored, coming out hard in pants into Samâs bitey kisses. Your body electrifies as Sam scoops his strong arms under your body. He lifts you, lips locked together, and carries you to his room. Your back hits his mattress, and youâre not sure when he did it, but his shirt is gone. When he hovers over you, youâre completely lost in him, in everything that is Sam.
On the couch, you were so, so tired, but now, you couldnât even dream of falling asleep.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Shoutout to @snackles87 for going on a gif hunt for me
Youâre beat. Tired. Exhausted. Completely unable to hold your eyes open as you sit on the couch and binge Love On The Spectrum. An empty beer bottle dances on the tips of your fingers, flirting with the idea of shattering to the floor. Your snores fall softly on his ears as you snuggle deeper into the curve of his left side. Sam shifts carefully and drapes his arm around your shoulders.Â
âMm, Sammy.â You mutter and twist your fingers into the fabric of his flannel shirt.
âHmm?â Sam hums, his eyes closed as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your hair. You donât respond with words, just mumble unintelligibly and cling to him.
He reaches over with his right hand, takes the bottle from your barely-there grasp, sets it on the end table beside him. His arm retracts, and he tilts your head up with his index finger under your chin. Your eyes flutter, but donât open. Sam dips his head down and hovers his lips right above yours, close enough that you can feel his breath drift over your lips.
âBed.â He exhales, and heâs just so close to you, when he says the single syllable, his lips brush against your mouth.
Your body reacts on its own, lips parting for his kiss. Samâs lips fit into yours, his hand dips down from your shoulder, his palm splays across your lower back. You arch into him, melting against his body. Suddenly, your breaths are labored, coming out hard in pants into Samâs bitey kisses. Your body electrifies as Sam scoops his strong arms under your body. He lifts you, lips locked together, and carries you to his room. Your back hits his mattress, and youâre not sure when he did it, but his shirt is gone. When he hovers over you, youâre completely lost in him, in everything that is Sam.
On the couch, you were so, so tired, but now, you couldnât even dream of falling asleep.
the remarkable thing about fandom friends is that even as you get older and you acquire more demanding jobs or you find a partner or expand your family or, for a thousand different reasons, you feel yourself pulled away and you no longer have the luxury of endless, uninterrupted hours to spend writing or creating or chatting online, even still we keep these points of contact and we make time for our happenstance friends brought into our lives by the universe for often really innocuous reasons and we reach out to say âhey, Iâm thinking of youâ in a hundred, unique iterations whenever we can find a spare minute because the thing that brought us together as friends is never the whole picture and over time we often discover that we actually have loads more in common than this one, singular interest that spanned across cultures and countries and timezones, and Iâm just feeling really grateful for these people who have chosen to share parts of their lives and thus enriched my own life with their creativity and experiences and perspectives and itâs all thanks to this odd, little community called fandom for bringing good people together in its countless, unpredictable ways.
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Hi. Haven't been on the site for a long time. How are you? I am hoping you might be able to help me. I remember reading a story (not sure if it was on Tumblr or AO3), anyway, the only thing I can remember about the story was that it involved Sam & Dean and a dungeon/torture. I'm not sure, but I think Dean was the one being sexually tortured and Sam doing the torturing. My memory is not all that great (getting older sucks at times!) Please let me know if you recall reading anything similar to that.
Thanks for your help. đ
Sincerely,
Ann62
Hi! This ask is super old, but I'm finally going through my inbox. I'm so sorry.
I haven't read anything like this, so unfortunately I can't help you find it. But!!! Let me direct you to @spnfanficpond where someone may better be able to help you find what you're looking for :)
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Notes: flashbacks are in italics; written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing based on the picture below.
Beta: @plaid-lover-bay25
Hunting. It always came back to hunting. âThe Life.âÂ
He wanted to get out. Heâd wanted to leave all those years ago, when he took off for Stanford, but something always called him back.Â
This time, though, he wasnât the only one doing the hunting. Something was hunting her, and he was hunting that something. Heâd go straight back to Hell before he let anything happen to her. She was it for him - not his first since Jess, but she would be his last.
Her door opened, the creaking that wouldâve scared anyone else off instead pulled a sigh of relief from her lips. She kicked her shoes off and left them by the door, then bee-lined for her kitchen. Removing her kettle from where it sat clean in the basin of her sink, she filled it from the tap and set the stove to high.Â
The whistle filled her ears. Again, a sound that most people find annoying after a few seconds, but she let the screech echo through her home for far longer than necessary, simply for the comfort it brought her. She poured the steaming water into her mug and dunked in her lavender hibiscus tea bag, then covered the bottom of the mug in a layer of honey.Â
With her fingers curled around the handle of the mug, she found her way to her bedroom. From her nightstand, she grabbed her book, Embracing Beauty: Serene Spaces For Living. She dreamed one day of having the time, the energy, the knowhow to renovate her house to look like the pages of this book. If she could go back in time, maybe sheâd have chosen a career in interior design instead of nursing. Then again, if she never became a nurse, she never wouldâve been in the ER that night when they came bursting through the doors.
âHelp, please!â His voice boomed through the almost-empty emergency department waiting room.
A tall man, hair cropped short and slightly spiked, carried another, even taller man through the automatic doors. Really and truly carried him, as if the other man was hanging on by a thread and couldnât support an ounce of his own weight. The nurse at the front desk jumped to attention, throwing open the door to a triage room and ushering them inside.
After getting his name, the nurse called in a team to help get his vitals and check for external traumas. He was riddled with external traumas. A gunshot wound in his right shoulder, a couple of broken ribs covered in harsh purple bruises, a concussion, a broken leg.
âWhat happened to him?â She - the new nurse, the cute blonde with long, sculpted legs - asked the man in the corner of the room. He was looking not-great himself, but at least he could keep himself upright. Theyâd handle him later. âHey!â She clapped her hands in front of his dazed face, his green eyes locked on his brotherâs bloodied body. âWhat happened to him?âÂ
âC- car accident.â He said, trying to glance around her.Â
âHe got shot by a car?â She moved her neck and met his eyes with an incredulous stare. âWhat happened?â She deadpanned before raising her brows. âThe truth?â
âHe - we got mixed up with the wrong guys. Wrong place, wrong time.â He rushed out, holding her upper arms and scooting her aside so he could keep his eyes on Sam.
âHey, alright.â She stepped into his line of vision again. âListen, weâve got him. Heâs in the best place he can be right now, alright? Weâll take care of him. You need to get yourself checked out, and then you can wait in the waiting room, grab yourself something to eat, a bottle of water, and weâll let you know if and when we get him a room upstairs.â She mirrored his actions, gripping his upper arms and holding him steady. âIâve got him.â She promised, a vow she didnât know would seal her fate from that moment forward.
She stayed with him that night in the hospital, voluntarily working a double, just to keep her own eyes on Sam, swearing to his brother that she would keep him updated on a regular schedule, any chance she got. After Sam was transferred to a room in the main wing of the hospital, instead of his bed in the emergency room, she requested to move with him. She followed him through the long halls, sat by his bedside with any downtime she had. Sam stayed in the hospital for six days, and she was with him for nearly all of those days.
She formed a quick, easy friendship with Dean, their conversations happening over paper coffee cups and styrofoam takeout containers packed with diner food. From his place in bed, Sam groaned at the smells lingering in his room, his diet a strict one of bland hospital food and the mud-coffee they brought him with his poor excuse for breakfast every morning.
When she brought Sam the discharge paperwork to sign, a pang of sadness hit her heart.
âThank you.â Sam stared into her eyes as he handed her the clipboard. âFor⌠everything.â His eyes flicked to Dean and she knew instantly that, despite being part of the team who saved Samâs life, Sam was more thankful for her being there for his brother, for keeping Dean sane, for giving him a friend.
âJust doing my job.â She gave him a warm smile, tucking the clipboard under her arm and laying her palm on his forearm. âThanks for being a good patient.â She chuckled. âWe donât get too many of those in the E.D.â
âHard not to be a good patient when heâs got the best and hottest nurse in the whole damn place.â Dean smirked.Â
âShut up.â She laughed, shaking her head fondly as Sam let out a long groan. âLetâs get you ready to get out of here.â She handed him a bag of clothes - not his own, those were long gone, cut off of him upon his arrival. âHopefully these fit those long legs of yours.â She laughed, then helped him dress and transferred him to a wheelchair.
âSee you around.â Sam smiled up at her from his seat, the smile soft and crinkling small lines into the skin around his eyes.
âHope so.â She responded softly, her cheeks heating as their eyes remained locked on one anotherâs.
She smiled at the memory of meeting Sam, of falling for him over the short course of a week, of their first date to the diner Dean had gotten the food from, Sam apparently having a primal need to taste the food heâd been subjected to smelling the entire duration of his hospital stay.
The hot water ran from the faucet into her oversized claw-foot tub. As she sank into the steam, her muscles relaxed and she closed her eyes. Adjusting her position, she grabbed her book and opened it to a page titled âRenovated Serenity.â Before her eyes skimmed even halfway down the page, she heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. She smiled, knowing Sam was coming home.
Home.
He didnât formally live with her, but he slept there most nights, had a key, knew her neighbors, mowed the lawn in the warm months. To anyone on the outside, they certainly appeared to be a couple who lived together.Â
She waited for the sound of his socked feet walking up the stairs to meet her in the bathroom, both of them sinking into the tub together, her book and tea long forgotten once her lips found his and her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders.
The footfalls never came, Sam treading more lightly than usual, she thought with a frown. The bathroom door gave a slight creak, but her eyes were trained on the page in front of her.Â
âHey, Sammy.â She said softly, not taking her eyes off the book. Silence followed her greeting. Her brows furrowed and she turned slowly, her mouth opening as a shriek ripped through her lips. She scrambled for her towel, knocking her mug from on top of it. The ceramic piece shattered, the reddish-pink tea within streaming across the floor.Â
âSammy canât help you now.â His voice cut through her like a knife.Â
âGet away from me!â She struggled to keep herself covered with her towel while simultaneously looking for something to use to defend herself.
âToo late for that.â He stalked across the room, eyes flicking to pools of black. A scream came from her again, echoing throughout the room and into the hallway.
âWho - what are you?â Her voice trembled. âWhat are you doing here?â
His laugh was something sinister like sheâd never heard before. âIâm here for you. Turns out that best friend you had in nursing school wasnât as good a friend as you thought she was. What was her name again? Karie?â
âKarissaâŚâ The name fell from her lips in disbelief. âWhat does she have to do with this? I havenât seen her, havenât talked to her in nearly a decade.â
âNearly a decade.â He chuckled, a smug smile crossing his features. âJust enough time for her to bargain your soul to get what she wanted.â
âMy soul?â
âYour soul.â He hissed with a nod. âAnd Iâm the lucky one they sent to collect it right out from under Sam Winchesterâs nose.â He crept closer to her, a knife flipping between his fingers. âI canât wait to see the look on his face when he walks in and his precious little nurse is laying on the floor bleeding out.â
Her body trembled, but she didnât dare take her eyes off of him. Sam taught her better than that. She took a single step closer to the shards of her mug, anything she could use as a weapon. But he caught her, no matter how slight the shift in her movement.
âI wouldnât do that if I were you.â He teased, wagging a finger at her like a scolding school teacher. âIt wonât end well.â
âI donât really think this is going to end well either way.â She retorted, and he laughed.
âI like you. Youâve got spunk. Tenacity. I see why Sam likes you, why Dean is so fond of you.â His grin twisted again into something darker. âSuch a shame I have to take you away from them both.â He continued stepping toward her, and just as he came within armâs reach, a crash sounded from her bedroom.Â
âThe cat.â She blurted quickly. âThat was the cat. I forgot to feed her when I got home.â
âIâll deal with her later. Unfortunately cats are one of the more soulless creatures on this planet, so sheâs of essentially no use to me.â He rambled on, and the crash and his random musings were enough of a distraction for her to grab the largest shard of ceramic from her mug. She tucked it into the towel, folding her arm over herr chest to look like she was keeping the towel tight around herr body.
He took what shouldâve been his final step toward her, the knife swinging at her chest, but he missed, hitting her arm instead. Wincing, but somehow suppressing her scream of pain, she darted her other hand out at the same time, catching the sharpest edge of the broken mug on his wrist. With a hiss, he grabbed his bleeding arm and laughed lowly.
âThatâll be high on your regrets list when youâre lying on this floor wishing you wouldâve done things differently. Befriending Karissa, saving Sam Winchester, falling in love with him, slicing my vessel with that shoddy mug.â He shook his head. âAll things youâll wish you never wouldâve done.â
She opened her mouth to respond, but she couldnât. She didnât have time before red and yellow light flashed through the demonâs body, like a flame coming from within him. His body went rigid and then crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Behind him, Sam stood, bloodied knife in hand and chest heaving.
âSam!â She threw herself into his chest. His knife clattered to the tile floor as he cradled her against him. âOh, God. SamâŚâ
âI know.â He breathed, one hand splayed on her back while the fingers of his other hand tangled into her hair. âIâm here.â
âSam?â Deanâs voice came from the hallway, coming closer.
âIn here, Dean. Sheâs alright.â Samâs relief was palpable, audible in his voice. âWe got here in time.â
âJust in time.â Her voice trembled.Â
âHey.â Dean stepped into the room, his eyes immediately finding the wound on her arm. Sam followed Deanâs gaze and panic filled him.
âWhat happened?â Sam drew back and looked down at her. âTell me everything.â
She recounted the events to them both, Dean grunting and Samâs jaw clenching. When she told them about her soul, they both tensed.Â
âSomeone else sold your soul?â Sam spoke through gritted teeth.
âThatâs what he said. Someone from nursing school.â She nodded, body still shaking, now from both her adrenaline crash as well as the chill in the air.
âSam.â Dean grunted again.
âI know.â Sam closed his eyes and drew his lips into a thin line.
âYou know⌠what?â She looked between them with fearful eyes.
âThey wonât stop coming until they have your soul. Itâs⌠theirs now; it belongs to Hell.â Dean explained, and she whimpered, curling into Sam again.
âI didnât even know that was possible.â Sam whispered harshly. âWe have to do something.â
âWe will.â Dean nodded, his eyes falling to her, rage boiling in his veins as he swore himself to her, the same way she swore herself to him, to Sam, all those years ago in that hospital room. âWe will.â