Pastamonstret



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    “Ilya Rozanov,” Shane repeats slowly, letting himself taste the words. He grins. “Wow. You’re, like, a really good player. How come you’re in Canada for summer camp? Is that weird to ask? Sorry if that’s weird. I just meant-”

    Shane is cut off by a hand on his mouth. He flushes.

    “Too fast,” Ilya says. “My English… not good.”

    “Sorry,” Shane mumbles into Ilya’s hand. Ilya grins and shakes his head, curls dancing, as he pulls his hand away.

    “Is okay. Slow words. Okay?”

    This year marks thirteen year Shane Hollander's third summer at Coach Marakov's elite hockey training camp. In attendance for the first time: Ilya Rozanov, visiting from Russia. Shane isn't the most sociable, and Ilya's English isn't the greatest, yet the unlikely duo soon become the best of friends.

    It's just one summer, but it makes a world of difference.

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    16 Jan 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 49

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    Original prompt: Dean needs fucked by a cowboy Cas!

    Or,

    The one where Dean and Sam go out to Sunshine Ranch on a regular monster hunt but only one of them manages to remain professional around the cowboys.

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    14 Jan 2026

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    The constant moving around and general lack of real connections were never great. But being stranded in Lawrence, forced to stay in place until his dad comes for him, is worse. Especially once someone starts hunting him.

    Going to the police is in every conceivable way a terrible plan. Accepting personal help from a severely overinvolved cop is quite possibly an even worse one. Above all because Dean is up to his neck in illicit activities and police-related trauma. But maybe, just once, it would be nice to have someone look out for him.

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    13 Jan 2026

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    “One second,” Sam says, away from the microphone, talking to his perfect, smart, bloodless friend. “What’s up?” Sam asks, to Dean again.

    What’s up?

    Dean’s holding his guts in with a hoodie. He’s in a ditch on the side of the road, amidst miles and miles of farmland on the side of a highway Dean’s forgotten the number of. A werewolf had done it, so at least Dean gets to look up at a full moon as he dies. After Dad hadn’t picked up, Dean knew there was only one person he wanted to hear from. Only one person who mattered.

    “Nothing much,” Dean says, a little strained as a throb of agony rolls up his body. “Thinking about hitting up a bar in a few and thought I’d check in.”

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    05 Jan 2026

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    Dean’s been a regular Soother at the maternity ward in Brodstone Memorial Hospital for a few years now. He comes in late, after work; after dinner and dessert been served and put away. After everyone's asleep and no one can ask probing, annoying, little brother-esque questions about what he’s doing and why he’s given up on finding his own mate–his own pack. He likes it, volunteering at the hospital, where’s he’s needed, it soothes something inside of him. He sincerely hopes that he's helping these pups just as much as they're helping him. And right now, that’s all he’s willing to ask for.

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    15 Dec 2025