"I hate that song."

"No you don’t."

"Turn it off."

"But Dean, once I rose above the noise and confusion…"


"I hear the voices when I’m dreaming."

"I don’t have to listen to this."

"You do. I’m driving. Should I quote you here?"

"No. You are and will always be the cakehole."

"I set a course for winds of fortune…"

"God dammit, Sam. You missed the turn."

"Nope. I’m not taking your route."

"90 is faster than whatever ass backwards way you’re trying to take. Jesus, two hands on the damn wheel! I’m shutting off this shit."


"Fuck yes!"

"Just two seconds!"


"I’m driving!"

"That means squat. I’m older."

"It’s coming up though!"

"Of all the fucking overplayed shit…"

"You better not swear when we get there."

"If we get there. You’re driving. Who knows what might happen."

"It’s a communion for a ten year old girl. Try to be more polite than you actually are. I tell people I’m married to a civilized and kind person."

"Your lies are not my responsibility. You should fucking know better."

"Do I turn left onto Halsted?"

"I told you, take 90."

"Oh! Here it is!"

"Slow down! Sam! Sam?!?"


"You sped through a yellow light!"


"You fucking cakehole."


Jackson Station [The Chicago Verse Drabble]

On Labor Day, seven years in, Sam learns something new about Dean.

He can play the harmonica.

It shouldn’t surprise Sam, but it does, and he spends the entire afternoon fixated on Dean’s mouth. That isn’t new, but it is, and Sam is all kinds of turned around.

A request is made mid afternoon, once lunch is done and the rest of their plans are a slow, lazy sprawl over a blanket on the back lawn. Elsewhere in their neighborhood, folks are having barbecues and cook offs and juntas and reuniones. They were invited to their share, but the politest of no thank yous were given.

On his back, Dean refuses to do anything until Sam gives into his demands.

He wants to go to the Field Museum next weekend and stay at a fancy hotel afterwards. The hotel isn’t the problem. It’s the museum. Dean is the most obnoxious person in a museum to ever exist. Even the mummies know it. He will walk from exhibit to exhibit and comment on how if the dinosaurs were so smart, how come they’re extinct. If the ancient Egyptians were so advanced, how come there’s not a pyramid made out of solid gold?

Why go there, pay money, spend hours surrounded by screeching children, and listen to Dean complain about the angle of the T Rex in the grand lobby?

To the side, the harmonica taunts Sam.

With a few hours of sunlight left, a decision should be made soon. Sam sighs and weighs his options. He lays beside Dean, resting his head on Dean’s chest, and decides that if all goes to shit, he can hide in the gift shop.

They spent years all over the country. Louisiana was always a favorite haunt of Dean’s. When he starts to sing, there’s a twang and an accent that isn’t forced. These are things they’ve picked up that aren’t scars or battle plans.

"Mama got a voice like sugar, it’s so sweet and fine. Sister’s singin ‘mazing grace, she right in time. She been up all night, she got crows walkin round her eyes. He left her on a Tuesday still. Now she’s waitin at the Jackson Station lookin over the hill."

Dean doesn’t make Sam move. He does just fine like this. The outside quiets to them on the blanket and the harmonica that is brought to life again.

Rich, clear, and bright, the sound of the harmonica is brilliant. Dean plays it like he’s doing nothing more than breathing.

A nudge is given to Sam.

Sam smiles and closes his eyes. He sings along at the next break. Together, they’re alongside a river in Louisiana.

"Take me away. Here that whistle playin sad sad songs. Lay me down, where the river runs wide and strong."

Smirking and shaking his head, Dean plays again. He draws out the notes, gets fancy, and Sam is lost in it all. As he plays, Dean’s hand moves expertly to get the right sounds, to draw out the correct pitch.

When Dean stops, Sam’s world is what he sees in front of him.

"Just waitin at the Jackson Station," Dean breathes, "never comin back."

It’s not the most romantic song. But it’s one Dean knows and that makes it important. Their life isn’t completely apple pie, either. But it’s one they know and that makes it important.

Gratitude is passed from Sam to Dean.

And all around back again.


More inspiration for TCV. XD So excited to introduce Chente into fic! Mariachi and Wincest just fit so well together.


Would y’all…

Kill me if I did some kind of WTNV cross over with TCV and femme!Sam? :3


Update: House of Gold

hi all!

an update for you right here. also, i’ve finished threading together Punzel and its timestamps into an official verse. :D 

thank you all!



More texting from the boys in TCV.


The next TCV inspiration track. :)



With the next chapter of House. :/

But I made good progress on a wing!fic, so that’s awesome. :)


Anonymous said: Hi, I have fallen in love with your Chicago Verse series, and I was wondering if I could suggest a prompt? This is my VERY first time asking for a prompt, so forgive me if it's disjointed or diva-ish. But I would love to see a story where Sam gets called away on a business trip for a few days. Dean is bitchy and fretful before Sam leaves, they miss each other, then of course have a hot, pent up reunion when Sam gets back. :p


Thank you for reading and reaching out! I’ve gotten a similar request for TCV and I’m wondering if I could combine them together. I’ll think of something! But yes, I can definitely work this in!

Do you—or anyone else—have a sexual kink you’d like to see be done in TCV? My only stipulation is that we keep it top!Dean. But other than that, I’d love to see some suggestions about positions or new kinks to introduce. :)

You didn’t sound diva ish at all! I enjoy hearing from y’all. It might take me a while to write this, as my muse is unpredictable, but I’ll roll around some ideas. :D

Thanks again!


Tumblr Eating Asks

Hi all!

Sometimes tumblr likes to eat the asks I receive or the ones I send out in reply. If you haven’t received a reply in a week, resend or head on over to AO3, where commenting is much more reliable. Sometimes I am busy and can’t get to answering things, but I think most of it is tumblr being hungry.