Everything in its time

Who am I: Biochemist. Christian. Indian. Epileptic. Asexual. INTJ. RAVENCLAW AND PROUD!

Likes: Science. Supernatural. Doctor Who. Bruce Wayne. Teen Titans. Batfamily. Arrow. Harry Potter. Lord of the Rings. Power Rangers. Tony Stark. Justice League. Merlin. Superheroes. White Collar. Sailor Moon. Criminal Minds.

forlorn-kumquat replied to your post “No one cares about you or your stupid opinions. Just stay out of the tags and save us all the trouble by jumping off a cliff.”

You are much more tactful than I would have been. But then my first reaction was a moment of pure, inarticulate rage that anyone could say that to another person, and then I laughed because this person is a complete and utter coward.

My life motto is pretty much ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ so I figured maybe they were just having a really bad day.

Sometimes I wonder why it’s so hard for me to keep on weight, and then I remember that hitting 1500 calories a day is a significant accomplishment for me.

Being a functional adult is hard.

astreiks reblogged your post and added:

I—for one—enjoy reading what you write (even if I don’t agree with everything 100% of the time.)

Thank you, sweetheart!

waxwinged replied to your post “No one cares about you or your stupid opinions. Just stay out of the tags and save us all the trouble by jumping off a cliff.”

I care about your stupid opinions <3

I should hope so, we just had a fifteen-minute conversation on dementors and Horcruxes.

faithandlovewillkeepmestrong replied to your post “No one cares about you or your stupid opinions. Just stay out of the tags and save us all the trouble by jumping off a cliff.”

The gif is the best part. I can genuinely see you making that face while hesitantly typing this super polite response lol.

The day I found that gif was the best day, because that is legitimately how I respond to confusing situations <3

pinkrangerv replied to your post “No one cares about you or your stupid opinions. Just stay out of the tags and save us all the trouble by jumping off a cliff.”

Yeah! How dare you use the tagging system! Don’t you know tags are ONLY for people anon approves of? You even tag—*gasp*—PENS!!!111!

I HAVE CLEARLY SINNED AGAINST THE TUMBLR GODS

WOE IS ME

youreagoodliar replied to your post “No one cares about you or your stupid opinions. Just stay out of the tags and save us all the trouble by jumping off a cliff.”

Pfft it’s not even CLEVER anon hate. That’s just insulting.

I know, right?

Asker Anonymous Asks:
No one cares about you or your stupid opinions. Just stay out of the tags and save us all the trouble by jumping off a cliff.
queen-of-carven-stone queen-of-carven-stone Said:

Good morning, Anon.

I hope you’re doing well. Please take some time to take care of yourself - go for a walk, listen to your favourite music, enjoy a cup of your preferred hot beverage, read a good book.

I’m afraid I will not be staying out of the tags when I have something to say, as I would like to foster discussion and engage with the fandom. If my posts are so odious to you, I would recommend blocking them - there are ways within Tumblr, its extensions and within your browser to do so, and you won’t have to be troubled by them anymore. I want you to have a safe and pleasurable Tumblr experience.

Be well, Anon, and may you find peace and success in your future endeavours.

keiuolari:

queen-of-carven-stone:

Hannah’s grace washes over him, cold as ice and he’s back in the Cage, no, no, he can’t do this again, mercy mercy please mercy -

“Sam?!”

- Whatever you want please have mercy I beg of you -

“Sam!”

Sam crashes to his knees, the pain from hitting the hardwood floor jarring him back to the present. There’s blood dribbling down his chin and his throat burns like acid, and his everything else still hurts.

Fuck.

“What - what happened?” Hannah whispers, and now she actually is crying.

“I - I’m sorry,” Sam mutters, straining against the urge to bow, press his forehead against the floor and beg for mercy.

Too close. After everything, the Cage is far too close.

“Your grace,” Sam rasps, trying to swallow back the blood, “It’s - cold. Like Lucifer’s. I -“

Sam drops his gaze, focusing on the feel of the floor under his knees, the rough scratch of denim under his palms, the firm press of the bandages around his ribs.

Focus.

Control.

“Perhaps we should call someone else,” Castiel murmurs.

“It’s fine,” Sam replies slowly, “This will heal up in a few weeks.”

“We’re angels, Sam,” Hannah answers softly, “Our purpose is to aid and protect humans. Please, let us do this.”

Sam wants to protest, say that he doesn’t fall under that mission, that he doesn’t deserve it, why should he when he’s the Abomination, but Castiel and Hannah have already turned away, calling for another angel.

There’s the flutter of wings, and another woman appears in the room.

“I’m not healing him,” Flagstaff says flatly, and Sam lowers his head in acceptance, forcing himself to push past the memories of the Cage so he can try to stand.

“We’re not asking you to heal Dean,” Cas says mildly, “It’s Sam who needs help.”

Sam can see Flagstaff turn towards him at the edges of his vision, but he’s a little busy trying to get his body to move, to think past the gibbering fear of angels surrounding him, because they’re not Michael and Lucifer, they’re not going to hurt him, they’re not-

Fuck. Where the Hell did his self-control go?

Flagstaff touches two fingers to his forehead, and Sam tenses, waiting for the pain -

- And sags in relief when it never comes. Flagstaff’s grace isn’t hot or cold, it’s like a distant storm, power contained and safety. She’s probably an older angel, close to Raphael.

Sam breathes deeply as the pain across his body fades, bruises and cuts and cracked bones healing. He peels off the dressing on his eye, and blinks up at Flagstaff, taking her outstretched hand to help him stand.

“Thank you,” he says fervently.

Flagstaff looks at him consideringly and then glances at Dean. “No, Sam. Thank you.

“What did her grace feel like?” Hannah asks curiously.

Flagstaff’s brow furrows, and Sam blinks. “Ah, sheet lightning - faraway sheet lightning, before the storm hits, y’know? Were you close to Raphael?”

“Yes,” Flagstaff admits, surprised, “Sensing the nuances of an angel’s grace is a rare talent.”

Sam shrugs uncomfortably. “Yeah, well. Michael and Lucifer had to be good for something.”

*stares at you like a lovesick puppy* i can haz moar?

And does it make me a bad person that I adored this? It’s just.. the way Sam just slides into the flashback, the way the Cage is always there, hovering at the back of his mind, and how he’s still scared of all these angels around him, AND HOW HANNAH WANTED TO HELP HIM AND CRIED OVER HIM AND FLAGSTAFF DIDN’T WANT TO HEAL DEAN BUT SAM SAMMY POOR BB DIDN’T UNDERSTAND HER AT FIRST AND THOUGHT SHE WAS TALKING ABOUT HIM AND SHE THANKS HIM!!!!!!!!!!! *hyperventilates, flops over a few times squeeing incoherently*

Ahem. Just… SWSH is making me really happy, is all.

You definitely can, once I finish writing it!

I apparently really love PTSD!Sam, especially his Cage flashbacks, so at least you’re in good company =P

I actually edited that scene a little bit, to up the angst and prolong Sam’s flashback until Flagstaff heals him.

Sam wants to protest, say that he doesn’t fall under that mission, that he doesn’t deserve it, why should he when he’s the Abomination, a creature of filth and sin, but Castiel and Hannah have already turned away, calling for another angel.

There’s the flutter of wings, and another woman appears in the room.

“I’m not healing him,” Flagstaff says flatly, and Sam lowers his head in acceptance. Someone understands. If he just stays here, perfectly still, maybe they’ll get bored and leave. It’s worked before, sometimes.

“We’re not asking you to heal Dean,” Cas says mildly, “It’s Sam who needs help.”

Sam can see Flagstaff turn towards him at the edges of his vision, and he clenches his fists, keeping his head bowed. There’s a part of him crying that he’s not in the Cage anymore, he’s not, he’s not, and he needs to think past the gibbering fear of angels surrounding him, because they’re not Michael and Lucifer, they’re not going to hurt him, they’re not - but he deserves it, the sinner, the failure, the damned.

Flagstaff touches two fingers to his forehead, and Sam tenses, waiting for the pain -

- It never comes. Flagstaff’s grace isn’t hot or cold, it’s like a distant storm, power contained and safety. Her grace washes through him, pushing back the memories of the Cage enough for him to think clearly.

Wow. His self-control was total shit.

Sam breathes deeply as the pain across his body fades, bruises and cuts and cracked bones healing.

And Hannah is such a sweetheart, oh my gosh. She’s one of the most outwardly compassionate amongst the angels. Others like Flagstaff are just as compassionate on the inside, working as healers and protectors, but they’re more emotionally distant.

Flagstaff still dislikes Dean for assaulting her. And she is going to cheerfully keep disliking Dean until the end of time. Sam, on the other hand, she likes just fine.

“So that was Sam Winchester. To be honest, he’s not what I expected.”

Castiel looks Flagstaff sharply. “Sam is a good man. He is more than the abomination, more than Lucifer’s vessel.”

Flagstaff inclines her head. “I’m amazed he’s related to Dean.”

Castiel’s jaw clenches, but there’s not much he can say in the face of Dean having been a demon.

“He was afraid,” Flagstaff muses sadly, “So afraid. He… He mistook us for our brothers, didn’t he.”

Castiel nods. “It’s very likely. Memories of the Cage are a constant presence in Sam’s life, more so now that he’s using the knowledge he gained there.”

“I’m amazed he’ll let an angel near him after what he’s suffered,” Hannah admits, “It’s a miracle.”

Castiel smiles. “Sam is a miracle.”

caranfindel reblogged your post and added:

If this is an excerpt does that mean there’s more somewhere?

Yup!

It’s in progress right now, though I don’t know when it’ll be done, sorry =/

forlorn-kumquat replied to your post “forlorn-kumquat replied to your post “pinkrangerv replied to your post…”

SAM AND PUPPIES AND KITTENS AND FLOWERS AND SUNSHINE AND NO MORE PAIN

pinkrangerv replied to your post “pinkrangerv replied to your post “I have a really terrible idea for a…”

Well, if it *has* to be angst, demon!Dean can always capture all of them and hold them prisoner for years so that he can indulge his sadism.

What, Broken Faith wasn’t enough for you?

Don’t tempt me, I’ll have Sam trapped in Hell and Dean convert all his kids into demons to torture him.

He’s on the Rack, stays there for years and years and years, because nothing Dean can come up with will break him after millennia in the Cage, not Jacob’s claws or Ben’s mockery or Claire’s hate, or Jesse standing at Dean’s side like a loyal lapdog, pulling Sam apart molecule by molecule.

(It almost does, but Sam’s love defeated Heaven’s best and brightest, and he holds on.)

Except that Claire’s got just enough grace left in her from Castiel’s possession to shield a part of herself, and Jesse separated his consciousness from his body and hid in the back of Sam’s mind.

And they wait.

And they learn.

Sam passes on the things he learned from the archangels, embedding it in their minds and souls, where Dean can’t see.

(There’s no resistance, not against Dean Winchester. Demons roam the Earth and the last remnants of angels hide in Heaven. Ben tried, once, never letting go of his hate, and Dean wiped him out of existence.)

But when the time is right, Sam tells Jacob he loves him and severs his last tie to life under the blade of the closest thing he ever had to a son.

It’s the spark that sets Jesse free and awakens the grace inside Claire and suddenly Hell is flooded with the Words that spoke the Universe into being. Dean roars in fury and strikes Claire down - 

But then Jacob’s there instead.

(Where Claire goes, Jacob follows. Always.)

Claire and Jesse keep going, tearing and reworking the fabric of Hell’s very being, pulling all the demons back where they belong.

Dean’s screaming, Claire’s screaming, Jesse’s screaming, and the kids are burning, burning, burning up -

And the gates of Hell slam shut.

Forever.

Humanity is saved without ever knowing their saviours.

(Not that’s anything left of their saviours to know.)

forlorn-kumquat replied to your post “pinkrangerv replied to your post “I have a really terrible idea for a…”

SAM WILL BE HAPPY, DAMN IT!!!

nO

Well, okay, in 8 out of the remaining 23 plot bunnies I have for Sam, he at least gets a happy ending. Eventually.

sweetsamofmine replied to your post “pinkrangerv replied to your post “I have a really terrible idea for a…”

y r u so meen?

Because I sold my soul and most of my internal organs to the Devil when I was sixteen to get good grades, and what’s left is held together by angst and my readers’ tears.

pinkrangerv replied to your post “I have a really terrible idea for a Samulet fic and someone needs to…”

YESSSS AND JODY FINDS IT OR CAS AND THEY SEE THE BLOOD AND TRY TO SAVE HIM

Hahahahahahahahaha

Not a fucking chance, princess.

agelade:

queen-of-carven-stone:

I have a really terrible idea for a Samulet fic and someone needs to stop me.

Picture this: It’s the middle of Season 7, and Sam suddenly sees a glint of bronze on Dean’s chest. His heart stops, because it couldn’t be - Dean couldn’t have found it, could he? Because last he checked, the amulet was in a hidden pocket in his duffel, but there it is, hanging against Dean’s chest like it belongs there.

(It does.)

And then Dean stands, and moves over to the trash can to throw away the wrapper from his dinner - and the amulet with it.

Sam has to bite down on his fist to keep the sob from bursting from his throat, because he’s been trying, trying to be good, to be worthy, to prove to Dean he’s not a burden, not (still) a fuck-up, that Dean can count on him -

It’s a good thing he does, because the next thing he knows, Dean’s in front of him, shaking him, telling him whatever he’s seeing isn’t real. There’s no amulet on his chest.

(Dean looks so tired, dealing with his little brother’s crumbling sanity another burden on his shoulders.)

Sam starts keeping the amulet in his pocket after that. Lucifer likes to make Dean wear it, likes to make Sam watch him throw it out, saying Sam’s pushed Dean past his breaking point. Sam clenches his fist around the amulet, the horns digging into his scar, the pain clearing his vision.

(Dean looks at him askance sometimes, but Sam’s handling it, he just has to remember that Dean doesn’t wear the amulet anymore, hasn’t since Sam failed him so terribly three years ago.)

Sam clutches the amulet so often it starts to worry the skin of his palm until he bleeds. Sam swears internally, and rushes to clean his hand, grateful to see that there are just two small punctures from the amulet’s horns. He doesn’t even need to wrap his hand, just spread some neosporin and slap on a band-aid.

it’s just a temporary measure, though (isn’t everything?) and pretty soon, the leather cord is stained and worn from how many times Sam’s washed it along with his hand, and blood cakes the crevices of the amulet where he hasn’t been able to wash it clean.

It makes sense, Sam thinks, that the symbol of his and Dean’s brotherhood becomes as tarnished has his real brotherhood, and all because of him, his blood, his sin, his weakness marring it.

But he still clings to it like his saving grace - Dean is Stone Number One, and so is everything that anchors Sam to him.

Okay yes, but I need Dean to find it one day stained with blood. And Sam sees him with it, but he knows it’s really in his shirt pocket which is still on his bed where he left it, he can’t get to it to reassure himself without looking crazy, so he stays put, but he knows this is just a vision, he knows because he’s been telling himself over and over to keep himself sane and keep lucifer at bay, that Dean will never wear that thing again.  He remembers, he remembers, and Lucifer cannot win.

And Dean watches Sam there, Sam staring at his hand and then looking away, going back to whatever he was doing, hands shaking.  Sam won’t look at him or talk to him again until he puts the amulet away and doesn’t try to bring it up again.

Fine, L, you’re so demanding, jeez.

(Dean finds out one night when Sam’s been clutching it through his nightmares, drops of blood staining his bed sheet, and the amulet hanging loosely from his hand. He stares at it, taking in the blood caked in the amulet’s valleys and the worn leather cord. He tries not imagine Sam reaching into the trash can, Sam hiding it from Dean all these years, Sam using it to ground himself through his hallucinations because he still believes - Dean doesn’t sleep that night.)

(And the next morning, when Sam looks at his chest and flinches, barely stifling a whimper and digging in his pocket to make a fist, Dean clenches the steering wheel tighter, hating Lucifer, hating the world, hating himself.)

(The brothers drive on in silence.)

Are you happy now?

forlorn-kumquat replied to your post “I have a really terrible idea for a Samulet fic and someone needs to…”

evil evil evil evil evil

astreiks reblogged your post and added:

This hurt. A lot.

relevanttosomeone replied to your post “I have a really terrible idea for a Samulet fic and someone needs to…”

AVANI NO WHYYYY

*preens*

pinkrangerv replied to your post “pinkrangerv replied to your post “Progress Report”MY BABY LUCIFER YOU…”

*total happy dance*

agelade replied to your post “pinkrangerv replied to your post “Progress Report”MY BABY LUCIFER YOU…”

Oooh I just read it. Makes me wanna post excerpts of cage flashback!sam of my own!

CAGE FLASHBACK!SAM IS THE BEST

I have a really terrible idea for a Samulet fic and someone needs to stop me.

Picture this: It’s the middle of Season 7, and Sam suddenly sees a glint of bronze on Dean’s chest. His heart stops, because it couldn’t be - Dean couldn’t have found it, could he? Because last he checked, the amulet was in a hidden pocket in his duffel, but there it is, hanging against Dean’s chest like it belongs there.

(It does.)

And then Dean stands, and moves over to the trash can to throw away the wrapper from his dinner - and the amulet with it.

Sam has to bite down on his fist to keep the sob from bursting from his throat, because he’s been trying, trying to be good, to be worthy, to prove to Dean he’s not a burden, not (still) a fuck-up, that Dean can count on him -

It’s a good thing he does, because the next thing he knows, Dean’s in front of him, shaking him, telling him whatever he’s seeing isn’t real. There’s no amulet on his chest.

(Dean looks so tired, dealing with his little brother’s crumbling sanity another burden on his shoulders.)

Sam starts keeping the amulet in his pocket after that. Lucifer likes to make Dean wear it, likes to make Sam watch him throw it out, saying Sam’s pushed Dean past his breaking point. Sam clenches his fist around the amulet, the horns digging into his scar, the pain clearing his vision.

(Dean looks at him askance sometimes, but Sam’s handling it, he just has to remember that Dean doesn’t wear the amulet anymore, hasn’t since Sam failed him so terribly three years ago.)

Sam clutches the amulet so often it starts to worry the skin of his palm until he bleeds. Sam swears internally, and rushes to clean his hand, grateful to see that there are just two small punctures from the amulet’s horns. He doesn’t even need to wrap his hand, just spread some neosporin and slap on a band-aid.

it’s just a temporary measure, though (isn’t everything?) and pretty soon, the leather cord is stained and worn from how many times Sam’s washed it along with his hand, and blood cakes the crevices of the amulet where he hasn’t been able to wash it clean.

It makes sense, Sam thinks, that the symbol of his and Dean’s brotherhood becomes as tarnished has his real brotherhood, and all because of him, his blood, his sin, his weakness marring it.

But he still clings to it like his saving grace - Dean is Stone Number One, and so is everything that anchors Sam to him.