#cas is a disaster man who doesn’t use either

[shallowseeker]

Sure, Sam’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline once Dean starts losing patience and rifling through Cas’s pockets whenever Cas can’t find something.

But they practically jump off his head and shoot up to the clouds when Dean starts storing his own shit in Cas’s pockets. Receipts, spare change, gloves, pens, knives, other random weapons, pamphlets, folded-up restaurant menus, maps, knickknacks, his own fucking wallet.

#dean/cas + coat pockets #dean/cas #tfw idiosyncrasies #tfw sillies #tfw funnies #sam suffers secondhand embarrassment #like do they even know how that looks to other ppl jesus christ #it’s not weird sam...you’re the one making it weird #sam buys cas a canvas bag as a hint #then a backpack #cas is a disaster man who doesn’t use either #why use it when he has perfectly practical POCKETS sam #cas you are a human glove compartment #i’m an -angel- sam #shut up sam this is fine

[katsidhe]

Security Announcement! We interrupt our regularly scheduled Sam’n’Lucifer hours to bring you, gasp!! Lucifer’n’Dean hours!

The main source of weird fascination here is that Dean and Lucifer do not know each other, pretty much at all. They are the two most significant relationships in Sam’s life, by FAR—and yet they’ve barely met. The most, and honestly only, significant conversation that Lucifer’s ever had with Dean is wayyyy back in 5.04, and even this exchange is heavily blunted by the unreliability of whatever dream/pocket universe technology Zachariah’s using. (In fact, I’d say it’s up for interpretation as to whether 5.04!Lucifer is meaningfully Lucifer or not, but that’s another tangent.) So the default dynamic of Dean and Lucifer is unthinking, unexamined hostility. But let’s dig deeper!!

Even in s5, which is notably Lucifer’s diplomatic era, Lucifer’s feelings towards Dean are best characterized as flat murderous resentment, and at best, annoyance. Obviously Lucifer knows Dean is Michael’s vessel. But that’s not really ever where his resentment is coming from: Lucifer tries to beat Dean to death in 5.22 because he’s furious about Dean’s loyalty to Sam, a loyalty Michael hasn’t shown him.

Lucifer obtains an all-access pass to Sam’s memories and feelings about Dean, and I’m sure it becomes a heavily trod topic of discussion. Significantly, Dean is forced to become a point of contrast: on the one hand Sam has Lucifer (who has Michael, who is not Dean), and on the other he has Dean. On the one hand Lucifer has Michael (who is not Dean), and on the other he has Sam (who has Dean). Obviously, Dean becomes rather mythologized in this particular paradigm; this is something neither Sam nor Lucifer is unaware of, but it’s not something as easy to discard as it is to spot. For Sam, because it’s a sanity thing, and for Lucifer, because, look, it’s a true fact that the power of Sam’s brutal mythologizing is precisely what brought Lucifer to ruin. So Dean is a figure larger than life to both of them—the brother for whom Sam willingly threw both himself and Lucifer into Hell, an act Lucifer admires and envies and loathes. There’s an interesting scene in 14.17 where Nick points this out: the odd, odd connection between them. Lucifer knows nearly everything there is to know about Dean, but it’s all exclusively through Sam’s lens; it’s through Sam’s lens that Lucifer hates Dean with murderous intensity.

Now let’s talk Dean’s hatred. The interesting thing about Dean’s hatred of Lucifer is that it’s not nearly as murderous or all-consuming as you’d think it might be, given Lucifer’s role in Sam’s life. For his own part, Dean hates Lucifer in s5 mainly because he’s The Evil Devil Apocalypse Man etc etc. He doesn’t have a particular brand of vitriol reserved for Lucifer that he wouldn’t spit at any sufficiently leveled-up Bad Guy (tm). And he doesn’t act as if his hatred of Lucifer is specifically about Sam yet, which is kinda interesting! Rather, Dean’s own resentment of Sam in early s5, and his perspective on Sam’s complicity with the same forces of evil that Lucifer represents, is a complicating factor. In order to truly hate on Sam’s behalf, Dean has to drum up a fervor of protectiveness, and that’s what he can’t manage to channel until 5.22.

But even this hatred is limited. In 5.22 and 13.23, I wouldn’t say Dean is driven by the kind of hatred for his brother’s possessor/torturer that Sam shows in 4.16. Contrast Sam’s vicious, passionate vengeance against Alastair in 4.16 with Dean’s blank, stubborn need to simply be there for Sam in 11.10 and 5.22 and 13.23. Hell, in 13.20, Dean’s the one advising Sam to back off a nascent plan for revenge against Lucifer—even though Sam hasn’t made a plan, or really even implied one. In 13.22, I wonder how much Dean’s clear anger is being blunted by the miracle of Sam’s resurrection, which Lucifer so thoughtfully provided.

If the first kind of hatred Dean can muster is about protectiveness, then the second—and strongest—is about betrayal. Dean has got a metric ton of issues and anger centered around Sam’s sojourn in the Cage, but almost none of this anger winds up directed at Lucifer—in fact, it pretty much all ends up aimed at either Sam, for being soulless, or at Cas, for breaking the Wall. Part of this is simply a question of immediacy and who’s around for Dean to yell at, of course, but it goes deeper than that. Lucifer never betrayed Dean. Dean never expected Lucifer to be a friend or ally or to treat Sam kindly. Lucifer is a storm of Evil Incarnate to be weathered, killed, or escaped, with all the moral agency of any other kind of natural disaster. In 7.17, on the topic of Sam’s rapidly degenerating mental health, Dean furiously informs an amnesiac Cas that “someone did this to him”—referring not to Lucifer, the guy who actually did the damage, but instead to Cas. Sam’s Hell, to Dean, is “Sam’s Hell”: a process and a grindstone and a huge inevitable machine, rather than two (four) guys locked in a room and the choices made therein.

Concluding sentiment: Dean and Lucifer should be locked in a room together because I think they could find some fun things to say to one another. Especially on the topic of their mutual obsession, their very good friend Sam.

#dean and lucifer #5.04 #5.22 #7.17 #13.20 #13.22 #13.23 #14.17 #sam and the cage #dean and anger

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 6

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Sibling bonding at its finest, fighting and breaking rules

First< Previous> Next

----

“Maman, Papa, we’re fine,” Marinette holds the phone between them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” Tom asks through speaker phone.

“No Papa, Nette worked hard for this trip,” Marion insists, they are sitting in the back of Bruce's car with him and Selina in the front.

“We both work-”

“Both want to stay, that's right,” Marion cuts her off, grinning at her glare, “Besides we have things to do here remember ?”

“Ok, but if you change your minds,” Sabine frets, they do have a concert coming up.

“We’ll be on the first flight back,” Marinette agrees, Aunt Selina leans back and she holds up the phone for her.

“Don’t worry Tom, I’ll keep them out of trouble,” She tells her brother.

“You’re the last person I trust to do that,” Tom laughs from the other end of the line.

“Rude,” She glares down at the phone.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Sabine speaks over her husbands laughter.

“Thank you Sabine, you're my favourite person in Paris,” She winks at the twins, whispering "Right now,"

"Hey!" Tom shouts from the phone.

“Of course,” Sabine chuckles over her husband,“We have to go back to the bakery now,”

“We’ll talk later,” Tom promises, "Have fun,"

“See ya,” Selina sits back upright.

“Bye Papa, Maman,” Marinette moves to hang up

“Also we met Aunt Selina's fiance! Bye!" Marion blurts, everyone in the car freezes.

“WHA-” Marion hangs up.

“Marion! That was…..” Their Aunt shouts before giggling, turning into full blown laughter,“... That was so…”

The twins start laughing as well, making her give up on whatever lecture she was going to launch into.

“Selina, your phones ringing,” Bruce says, as she calms down.

“Yeah, it’s probably going to do that for awhile,” Selina turns it to silent and ignores the call, then turns to Marion,“Don’t ever do that again,”

“Are you planning on getting remarried?” Marion asks cheekily.

“Quite the thing to admit in front of your fiance,” Marinette adds, glancing at Bruce to see he is also smiling slightly. Years with Kagami had trained her to notice those hints of emotion.

“Brats,” She huffs turning back around.

“We love you,” They chorus.

“Brats,” Selina shakes her head fondly just as they approach the gates.

Marinette stares in awe at the large estate. The architecture and gardens immediately had her pulling out her sketch book to jot down ideas. She gets pushed out of the car by Marion and keeps drawing as they walk towards the Manor doors.

"You're home is beautiful," Marinette compliments Bruce.

"Thank you, I think so too," Bruce says as the doors open.

“Welcome home, Master Bruce, Miss Selina,” Alfred stands in the doorway, “And you, Miss Dupain-Cheng and Mr Cheng-Dupain, welcome to Wayne Manor.”

“It’s good to see you again, please, just Marinette's fine,” Marinette puts away her sketchbook.

“Yeah, I'd rather you just call me Marion,” Marion beams at him, before whispering, “Did we even tell you our last names?… witchcraft,”

“Very well, please come this way,” Alfred guides them into the Manor, stopping outside a door, "Master Damian is waiting, I must be off to prepare dinner,"

"Thank you Alfred," Bruce tells the butler as he leaves.

They enter the living room type area. A boy who couldn't even be thirteen yet stands. 'He's so small' Marinette thinks to herself.

"Father," He glares at her and Marion.

“This is my son Damian,” Bruce introduces, “Damian met Marinette and Marion,”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Marinette smiles, holding her hand out.

“Tt” Damian looks away, getting a glare from Bruce before taking her hand, “... Likewise,”

Selinas phone buzzes again. Drawing attention away from the insincere tone.

“I should probably answer them, or they’ll never leave us alone,” Their Aunt sighs taking out her phone, “Bruce come with me, I’m sure they’ll want to meet you,”

“Is this going to be a pleasant conversation?” He asks.

“No its going to be very painful,” Marinette smiles, knowing they were about to have a very long conversation with her over excited Papa. He would probably have planned their wedding by the time they manage to hang up.

“Right,” Bruce says hesitantly, he turns to Damian with a pointed look, “Behave,”

"Tt," is Damian's response as he is left alone with them.

Marion sits down. Marinette follows sitting next to him on one of couches, surprised at how soft it is. Damian sits down on an armchair, picking up a book.

“So, Damian how old are you?" Marinette asks, after a full minute of silence

“12,” He doesn't look up from his book

“... We’re 18, twins if you couldn't tell,” Marion steps in gesturing between them.

“I could,” Damian answers shortly.

“Right... so what are your hobbies?” Marinette tries again.

“... painting,” Damian concedes under her expectant gaze.

“Oh, can we see?” She asks excitedly.

“No,” Damian snaps. She doesn't let that discourage her, she doesn't like showing strangers her designs. Apart from the millions of strangers who see her designs anyway.

“Alright, I get that," Marion shares the sentiment, "What about-Oh my god,”

“What?” Damian finally looks up from his book, scanning the room for the cause of his outburst.

“Kitty!” Marion practically leaps from the couch to get a better look at the cat sauntering across the room.

“Oh no,” Marinette sighs watching her brother melt over the cat.

“That’s Alfred,” Damian tells them eyeing the cat and Marion with mild amusement.

“After Alfred, Alfred your butler?” Marinette tries not to snicker at the name.

“Yes, pennyworth is his namesake,” Damian nods, glare daring Marinette to laugh.

“Can I pet him?!” Marion pleads, with baby-doll eyes  that could put Manon to shame.

“You can try, Alfred is very selective about who pets him,” Damian grants, and Marion sits on the ground, inching closer.

“I wouldn’t worry, Mari has a way with cats,” Marinette smirks, thinking back to the time she had to fight an Akuma alone because he was being smothered by cats.

“Come here Alfred,” Marion rubs his hand on the ground, Alfred watching closely.

“Do you have any other pets?” Marinette asks, Damian puts down his book.

“I have Titus, a great dane,” Damian watches as Alfred gives in and pounces on Marion’s hand, “Batcow, self explanatory,”

“Bat-cow mutant?” Marion guesses letting Alfred sniff his hand.

“No,” Damian's irritation shows, “She has patch shaped like the Bat symbol,”

“Oh, that was my second guess,” Alfred lets Marion scratch behind his ear.

“Can we see them?” Marinette excited over meeting Batcow.

“They’ll be around here somewhere, roaming the manor grounds,” Damian responds, non committaly.

“Alfred the Cat, feels weird to call them both Alfred,” Marion muses, Damian looks surprised as the cat climbs into this lap.

“Have you any pets?” Damian asks his first question about them.

“No, we live in a bakery so it would be a health code violation,” Marinette answers sadly. She doubts a box of animal type Kwamis are regulation either but no one has to know about that.

“Al-at? no,” Marion talks to himself, or more likely the cat.

“That’s a shame,” Damian acknowledges monotonously, watching as Alfred the cat starts to purr as Marion scratches his chin.

“We did try to sneak strays in when we were little,” Marinette is unwilling to let the conversation drop.

“Ca-Fred, Cat-Fred!” Marion exclaims, apologising seconds later to the newly dubbed Cat-fred for startling him.

“Try?” Damian sneers.

“The first few times were a disaster, we didn’t get past the front door,” Marinette explains, “Maman and Papa would send them to the shelter straight away,”

“At least they didn’t put them back out on the street,” Damian muses.

“They would never,” Marion responds, in baby talk directed at Cat-fred.

"You don't have to use that ridiculous voice," Damian scolds.

"I know," Marion answers, in the same voice, Damian glowers.

“As we got older we started being able to actually get them inside before being found out,” Marinette distracts him from Marion's taunting.

“One of us would be the distraction and the other snuck in, with a sleeping cat or dog, that one we learnt the hard way,” Marion uses a normal voice, still showering Cat-fred with attention.

“I think that is how I got my reputation for being clumsy,” Marinette sighs, it was always left up to her to distract their parents by knocking something over while Marion snuck in.

“What can I say? Cats love me,” Marion proves his point as Alfred turns over, letting him see his belly.

“I can see that,” Damian seems amused as much as he is surprised.

“At first, they’d find them in a few hours, so we learnt by trial and error,” Marinette continues, relaxing into the couch. "We must have taken in at least a hundred strays,"

“I think the last one we had managed a few months before we go found out,” Marion guesses, they hadn't tried again since the received their miraculous.

For one because they couldn't afford their parents searching their room regularly and coming across the Kwamis. However being the heroes of Paris had also proven effective in getting people to adopt. Usually the first person they asked would immediately agree, if they were suited up.

“So how many more pets have you managed to smuggle in?” Marion stage whispers to Damian, the gap between them being too big to actually whisper, “In a place this big should be easy,”

“I’ve tried… Pennyworth has caught me each time,” Damian admits, looking down at the almost asleep Cat-fred.

“That man is a witch,” Marion declares with certainty.

“What?” Damian seems taken aback.

“He appears out of nowhere and knows too much,” Marion provides what Marinette is sure he considers evidence.

“Hn, that is true,” Damain starts to share his multiple accounts of such behaviour.

The three fall into easy conversation after that listening to and sharing stories.

“I must be going insane,” All their eyes snap to a man standing in the doorway “Demon spawns actually getting along with someone,”

“Todd,” Damian acknowledges coldly.

“Hi,” Marion waves with far more friendliness, “I’m Marion, this is Marinette, your names Todd was it?”

“Jason actually, I lived here and drop by every now and then, mainly when Alfred asks," He explains, sitting on another couch near Marion, "Heard about you had a run in with a villain today,”

“Did you?” Damian asks, the two having avoided it in their conversation so far.

“Yeah, got an earful from Aunt Selina,” Marion laughs nervously.

“Did you get hurt?” Jason looks over Marion, concern written all over his face.

“What? No I’m fine thanks,” Marion smiles, Marinette rolled her eyes she stretches her leg to press to his bruised side, "Ow! Nette!"

"No lying," She shrugs as Marion turns to her. Cat-fred runs at the sudden movement, making Marion pout.

"Rich coming from you," He mutters, turing back to see the look on Jason's face, "My side just a little bruised, doesn't hurt unless someone, oh i don't know, kicks me!"

"I didn't kick you, you drama queen," Marinette sticks her tongue out at him and he copies.

“Did Selina train you?” Damian reverts the conversation.

“A little when we were younger, we still to spar together,” Marinette pretends to go for a kick to his side again, expecting the easy block.

"One of the few instances we're allows to punch each other," Marion jokes, "Although I think I'll hold off for now, you're not above using my injury to your advantage,"

"I'm resourceful," Marinette corrects, "Also, now you're hurt when you're afraid to get you're ass beat?"

"Such crass language, young lady," Jason teases, Marinette pokes her tongue out again.

"I can spar you if Marion is unwilling," Damian offers, Marion grumbles something along the lines of 'I never said that'.

"Right now?" Marinette sizes him up, she could tell he had some training.

"If you want," Damian also starts to size her up.

"Hold up now, you can't do this," Jason steps in, Marinette starts to deflate, "In here, Alfred would stop you, lets go outside,"

She perks up, following Jason, Marion and Damian outside to a clear area of grass. She toes off her shoes and socks, knowing they were steel capped and would cause some serious damage. She also pulls off her scarf, not willing to give him any advantage. Damian keeps his shoes on, clicking his tongue. They start to circle each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Marinette feels the grass beneath her feet, she feels more like Ladybug in a way.

Damian breaks the standoff, lunging at her. Marinette side steps at the last second, reminding herself to tone it down. She tries to make use of the opening by getting behind him, but Damian instantly pivots to keep her in front of him. Marinette takes note he's a lot faster than anticipated and decides to test it. She makes the next move forward throwing a few punches to see how he reacts. Damian easily dodges each one, Marinette realises that she is unprepared to fight someone smaller than her. They did occasionally have to fight Akumatised children but that was with superpowers. She had never actually gone hand to hand with someone smaller.

Taking this into consideration she adjusts to a style she uses more when sparring Marion. They're both about the same size and he's fast so she can rarely use his weight against him like she usually would. Marinette stops trying to get behind Damian, instead planning to send him to the ground, knowing she had the size advantage. Damian seemingly notices this change and adjusts his defences.

'how well is he trained?' Marinette asks herself. Damian tries to goad her into attacking, throwing out punches. Marinette doesn't rise to the bait, dodging and blocking. Marinette dances around their sparring area, testing Damian's stamina while waiting for an opening. She sees her chance and is about to move into counter attack.

"Damian!" They both pause looking toward the manor to see Bruce and Selina.

"Marinette! what do you think you're doing?" Aunt Selina storms towards them.

"Uh... bonding?" She laughs nervously.

#pop star au #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #badass marinette #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #biodad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #mlb #salt #but like lightly salted #maybe #class trip #class trip au #class salt #Lila salt #lila lies

[rusty-tetanus-nail]

Ghosting

Dean’s dead, but that won’t stop Eileen from asking him a very important question.

or

The story of how Sam and Sam’s Blurry Wife never met.

------

“Look, Eileen, I know I haven’t been the same ever since Dean- ever since he-” Sam tries to explain, frustrated with himself for not being able to say the word as Eileen drags him towards the pre-prepared table.

“This is a bad idea. I promised Dean not to bring him back and to move on with my life. This won’t do me or him any good.”

The glare Eileen shoots him in response makes Sam squirm.

“We’re not bringing him back, Sam. I have a question and I need an answer. That’s all. Now, sit.”

Sam sits down and Eileen follows after lightning the necessary candles for the séance. This will end in disaster. Sam is sure of it, but there’s no talking to Eileen. She’ll do it with or without him. All Sam can do is hope staying with her is the right decision even though everything in him tells him to run away. Eileen’s eyes soften and she takes Sam’s hands in hers squeezing them gently, telling him it’ll be alright. Sam takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Together they start the séance, invoking Dean’s spirit to join them at the table and answer their questions. Each participant gets to ask one and then the ghost should disappear back to heaven. If done right the ritual should be completely harmless, but Sam is still on edge.

On top of that Eileen refused to tell him what it is she needs to ask Dean so desperately. Whatever it is, it won’t change anything. Dean will still be dead and Sam will just have to mourn him again. Some part of Sam resents Eileen for forcing him into this.

They finish the incantation. The flames flicker and the air grows cold. “Dean?” Sam shakingly asks into the empty room.

“Heya Sammy!”, comes the cheerful voice from his left side. Sam lets out a high pitched sound in surprise and swirls around coming face to face with the grinning ghostly visage of his very dead older brother.

“Cute squeak.” Dean teases and Sam is left gaping, unable to form a word. Before the silence between them becomes too awkward Dean turns around and winks at the other person on the table. 

"Hey Eileen."

"Hi." She replies with a smile.

"Thanks for taking care of the sasquatch. I know he can be a handful.”

“I’ve got it handled.” Eileen chuckles as if they didn’t just summon the ghost of his dead brother. Sam watches the exchange stunned, his mind reeling. Small talk, really?

“Is our little mermaid over here still on his rabbit food?” Dean continues ignorant of Sam’s inner turmoil, signing the last two words as best he remembers.

Eileen nods gravely.

“And there’s so much gas because of it.” 

Dean pulls a disgusted face. “Right?! Let me offer my deepest condolences for the sacrifice of keeping him company despite all of that. It must’ve been torture.”

“Shut up, Jerk!” Sam blurts out and without missing a beat Dean replies with a “Bitch.” And just like that Sam’s heart feels lighter. “It’s good to see you again, Dean.” Sam says, willing his eyes to stay dry. He refuses to give Dean more material to make fun of him in front of his girlfriend. “You too, Sammy.” For a moment it looks like Dean is fighting with his emotions as well, but then he composes himself and continues. “Okay, now that Ariel found her voice again, let’s do this. Séance rules say both of you get to ask a question to the all knowing ghost. So, shoot.”

Sam waits for Eileen to start, but she signs for him to go first. That’s a problem. Sam had put all his money on vainly hoping the ritual wouldn’t work and prepared nothing for this moment. 

“So, eh, how’s heaven?” More smalltalk it is.

Dean leans back into his chair with a sigh. “Busy.”

Sam frowns. “Busy how?” 

“Busy how could we possibly think a three year old would be able to come up with a good plan to restructure heaven. Don’t get me wrong, the kid’s trying his best, but he’s definitely not thinking long term. We’ve been trying to find a way to bust into heaven’s administration office and give the kid some pointers, but no luck for now. Guess my retirement has to wait.”

Dean pauses, giving Sam a moment to gather his thoughts. This is unexpected, but if anyone can raise hell in heaven and give God a good talking to it’s his older brother.

“If you need any help from down here, just ask.” Eileen offers, leaving both Sam and Dean somewhat startled.

“Eh, I don’t know. I’d have to discuss it with the others upstairs and then you’d have to summon me again...”

“Sure. Sounds good. Let’s check up on each other every couple of months or so.”

Sam stares at his girlfriend disbelievingly and turns to Dean.

“Is that even allowed?” 

Dean shrugs, clearly at as much of a loss as Sam is. “It’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but if we make sure I return to heaven after every séance, I don’t think it’s against the rules? There’s no retiring and being dead dead for me until heaven’s fixed anyway and unless you have any plans to leave the life behind any time soon, I don’t see why not.” Sam shakes his head. He wasn’t planning on retiring either. At least that’s what he’s trying to tell himself now that Dean asked. He’d talked with Eileen about rebuilding the Men of Letters from the ground up and creating a nation wide hunter network, but after Dean’s death Sam had rarely thought about it. In fact he hadn’t been thinking about anything that he wanted and only considered what Dean would want him to do. He had been certain Dean wanted him to become a civilian and leave everything behind, but now Sam’s not so sure anymore.

“Good, so okay. Unhealthy coping mechanism it is. At least for now. And if it turns bad-” “-we’ll figure it out. Our lives are so weird, man.” Sam chuckles, not having the heart to feel bad about their newest arrangement.   “That’s our lives and deaths to you. Don’t be life-ist, Sam.” Dean retorts, offended.

A comfortable silence settles around them, each getting lost in their own thoughts until Dean breaks it by shuffling awkwardly and looking anywhere but Sam and Eileen. “Of course I wouldn’t need any help breaking into heaven if Cas would just stop running away from me.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Cas is back? Wait why would he run away from you? Dean, what have you done?”

Dean scoffs. “I’ve done nothing. It’s Cas who decided to just assume things.”

Sam feels a headache coming up. Not this again.

“Dean. What. Happened?”

Dean’s form flickers and he turns to Eileen ignoring Sam’s question.

“So what did you want to ask me?”

“Dean, Sam is right you should tell us what happened. If fixing things with Cas can help you…” Eileen tries to reason, but it only agitates Dean further. The table starts to shake as Dean stands up and paces the room. “There’s nothing to fix, okay? Cas said he loves me, died and now I’m being ghosted.” 

Dean lets out a frustrated growl. “How am I supposed to tell him I feel the same if refuses to talk to me?” Dean finishes and slumps down in the chair again.

Sam blinks. He had been too preoccupied with translating Dean’s words for Eileen to register what Dean actually said until Sam saw Eileen’s eyes widen in surprise. Cas is in love with Dean and Dean feels the same? Okay, that’s- that’s huge. Sam knew there always had been something more going on between the two of them, but with everything going on in their lives, he had never really dwelled on it. It does make an awful lot of sense though. Of course Dean would fall in love with the angel and then spend however many years repressing all of it.

“Dean,” Sam starts but before he can find the right words to say, Dean blanches, clearly only now realising what he just confessed to and grows defensive. “Shut up. We’re never talking about this again, capiche?”

Sam has to force himself not to get annoyed by Dean’s unwillingness to talk and settles on what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Okay, whenever you’re ready then.”

Dean ignores him and turns to Eileen putting all his protective walls up again in the process. “So, your question?”

“Right.” She says with a nervous smile and stands up straight gesturing for Dean to do the same. Dean obeys hesitantly, just as confused about the whole thing as Sam is. Sam moves to stand up as well, but gets interrupted by Eileen. “You can stay down, Sam. This is between Dean and I.”

“Eh, okay?” Sam shifts in his seat feeling like a child watching the adults conduct some serious business he knows nothing about. Silence settles in the room as Eileen mentally prepares herself to ask her question. Sam has rarely seen his girlfriend this nervous about anything. It’s worrying and Sam has to tell himself to calm down. Eileen would’ve told him if it was something potentially dangerous and he has no right to be overprotective unless she wants him to. Still, he can’t help but feel a nervous squirming in his stomach.

“Sam has been having a lot of stupid thoughts recently about your wishes for him, so I want to ask you. Officially.”, Eileen finally states solemnly.

“Dean Winchester” 

“Yeah?” Dean arches an eyebrow.

“I want to ask for your brother’s hand in marriage. Will you give us your blessing?”

A beat. Dean blinks, opening his mouth to answer. Sam tries to jump up, but stumbles over his own two feet in his panic and crashes hard over the chair onto the floor.

“Eileen!” Sam sputters out.

Dean looks expressionlessly down at the mess that is Sam Winchester and deadpans.

“Are you sure you wanna marry that?”

“Yes.” Eileen replies with a smile so full of love, Sam doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, her.

“You know you could do so much better, right?”

“No.” She shakes her head resolutely. The “there is no one better” hanging unsaid in the air.

Dean looks at the both of them and if Sam wasn’t too preoccupied with staring at the amazing woman in front of him he would’ve sworn he saw tears forming in Dean's eyes.

“In that case,” Dean walks up to Eileen and places a kiss on her forehead. “You have my blessing. There’s no one else I would rather trust with Sammy. I know you’ll make him happy.”

“Thank you.” Eileen signs and offers her hand to Sam to help him up.

“Let’s get married. And no more drunken talks about Dean not approving, got it?”

Sam takes her offered hand, but instead of getting up he pulls her down into a tight embrace, her small but strong body fitting perfectly into his own. Sam doesn’t deserve her. After Dean died he’s been nothing but an ass to her, wanting to abandon her and the life they’ve been trying to build, because of some misguided duty towards his brother. She’s the best thing that happened to him in a long time and in his grieve he was ready to throw it all away. Eileen had every right to leave him wallowing in his own misery, but she stayed and Sam doesn’t know he’ll ever be able to thank her for that. He tells her as much. “Marrying me would be a good start.” She replies and Sam nods vigorously before kissing her to seal the promise.

Dean clears his throat interrupting the moment. Sam looks up and sees the flickering form of his brother fading in the candle light.

“It’s time for me to go. You better treat her right, or I’ll come down and haunt your ass, you hear me, Sammy?”

“Got it.” Sam nods and lets his tears fall freely.

Throwing the both of them a last grin Dean signs a quick “See you later” and disappears.

Sam closes his eyes and rests his head on Eileen’s shoulder, breathing in her scent. Even if they never manage to conjure Dean again, Sam thinks, for the first time since Dean died, that maybe he will be alright after all.

#spn #supernatual #saileen #destiel #time to sleep

[mishavacado]

SPN has so much spinoff potential and so much canon to work with, it's such a waste that none of it's getting used. This post is just all of my spinoff ideas, I'll apologize in advance because it is VERY long.

Wayward Sisters, obviously. There are so many possible storylines to work with, so many stories to tell. I'd really love to see some Charlie, Eileen, or Krissy Chambers cameos. I think that Charlie and Claire would get along really well (just read this post). Rowena is another character that I think could easily be worked into the canon. She could teach the girls all kinds of magic and be the fun wine aunt that spoils the girls on their birthdays. I don't think that Claire would like her very much, but, Rowena and Alex would probably get along just fine. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000/10 when I heard that this idea had been tossed out I was so angry. Why doesn't this exist?

Men of Letters prequel that's mostly set in the bunker. This show could really expand on the canon lore and give us some more background on the Men of Letters, as well as any other similar/rival organizations that were around before the main show's time. The Men of Letters have so much story potential for a spin-off; corrupt leadership, new monsters, other organizations, expanding the MoL to outside the U.S. Episodes could be in a monster-of-the-week (MOTW) format, starting and ending with the Man of Letters the case is assigned to making notes in his journal or case file or talking about the case, as well as the overall season arcs. Episodes would be titled by their case number, i.e S1 E1 Case No. 1925-4, etc How much I need this in my life: 1000000/10, the supernatural/historical drama combo would be absolutely stunning.

A series focusing on all of the alternate timelines and universes, both the ones mentioned in the main show and ones just randomly created for an episode. There are infinite possibilities. Each episode would be in a MOTW format, but with different versions of Sam and Dean. The HunterCorp universe, Jared and Jensen from the French Mistake, a universe where their names are switched, a universe where Dean went to college and was the one with the demon blood powers, a universe where they drive a Mustang instead of the Impala, a universe where Sam isn't scared of clowns. I could go on, but I'm going to stop myself here. How much I need this in my life: 9/10 I think it would be pretty funny, but it's not my best idea.

A Bobby and Rufus spin-off where they talk about cases they worked on together or with other hunters, but the stories are told similarly to Tall Tales. It's the same story but told from different points of view depending on who's talking. I wish we'd gotten to see more of Bobby and Rufus because I think those two are hilarious and really think that this could be funny, even if it was just a web series with twenty-minute episodes. How much I need this in my life: 10/10, I love Bobby and Rufus and I think that they have a lot of interesting hunting stories to tell.

GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS GHOSTFACERS. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000/10, I love the Ghostfacers. That's my whole idea.

A Jack-centric show that's almost a political drama. Jack is the ruler of heaven and is constantly being manipulated by angels, demons, and Death herself. He just wants to make an afterlife paradise, but power-hungry angels won't leave him alone. Remember that Jack is very young and trusting by nature, so there is a lot of potential for disaster if he gets goaded into doing something, like making new universes or ending existing ones. Cas is a main character and he does his best to protect Jack, but he has to be careful to not seem overprotective/like another manipulator or Jack won't trust him either. I have no idea if I'm making any sense, but shoutout to me if I am. For some reason, I've always thought that heaven would be an interesting setting for a spin-off, and those angels are pretty similar to power-hungry politicians. How much I need this in my life: 800/10, I would totally watch this.

A very short series that just destroys the canon finale. Twelve episodes, detailing the storylines that were ignored or destroyed by Carry On. E1: Rescuing Cas from the Empty and he and Dean have a long talk about their ~feelings~. They kiss, and for the first time, Dean’s mind is free of doubt about whether or not anyone could ever love all of him. E2: Eileen returns. She says nothing when she sees Dean and Cas holding hands, just raises her eyebrow and smiles knowingly. Some excellent movie night content. E3: 1 year later. Sam and Eileen’s wedding. Dean and Cas aren’t legally married, but their matching gold rings are very prominently shown. It isn’t mentioned. The wedding is almost canceled because of the rain, but with a wave of Jack’s hand the clouds disappear and the birds start to sing. E4: Sam and Eileen have moved out of the Bunker. Cas finally convinces Dean to downsize, so they find a little house in Lawrence and settle down. Cas works as a special ed teacher. Dean works as a mechanic. Miracle loves the backyard but makes sure to stay away from the beehives in the back corner. E5: Sam and Eileen’s twins, Mary and Maura, are born. Dean and Cas love their nieces, and Jack loves them too. He doesn’t know what to call himself, so they settle on Uncle and call it good. E6: Deaths. They all die old. Cas’s vessel has aged, but he can’t die, so when Dean finally passes away in his sleep, Cas scatters his ashes in the woods and disappears, ascending to heaven, to spend eternity with Dean. The closing scene is a dark screen, with the whoosh of wings and a soft “Hello, Dean.” OK. That was a long one. My apologies. How much I need this in my life: 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000/10. I would reach nerdvana thirty seconds into episode one.

Another spinoff of that idea is just...Dean and Cas living a normal life. Short episodes. Cas goes to the grocery store. Dean drags Cas to a horror movie fan convention. Cas meets a roomba. How much I need this in my life: I can’t type enough zeroes to express it.

Campbell prequel that focuses on Mary and her childhood. Mary being raised as a hunter but not being allowed on hunts. Mary rushing home to finish her chemistry homework so she can help her dad track a nest of vampires moving east. Mary missing her prom to help Samuel on a hunt. Mary trying to keep her real life secret from John, a man she knows loves the parts of her he knows about. Mary always being an outsider, the kindest and most beautiful girl in her class, but so slow to trust and quick to speak that everyone is afraid to be her friend. Mary is a character that has the potential a lot more development, for twelve seasons she’s the burning martyr in every Winchester’s imagined paradise. She deserves more. How much I need this in my life: 11/10, Mary isn’t my favorite character but I would die for her.

Gabriel spin-off. That’s it, that’s the idea. How much I need this in my life: 10000000/10, Gabriel is a character that we don’t know a lot about so there are so many possible directions for a story about him to go.

Show set in the SPN universe that doesn’t really interact with the main show’s canon. It’s about two cops in the 30s that become hunters by accident. After investigating the apparent suicide of a hunter in their small town, they become enthralled by her library, filled with books about ghosts and vampires. They pour over her journals on their own time, fascinated by what they’re reading. They get to know the hunter through her writings, her accounts of her hunts and travels. Eventually, a nest of vampires settles in the town and the two put their newfound knowledge to the test. This show would just be based on canon lore, there wouldn’t be any mention of the Winchesters or other main characters, although a few MoL team-ups is definitely a possibility. The two become quite a team, tracking werewolf backs on bulletin boards in their basements and hoarding rock salt. How much I need this in my life: 89/10, I think this could be really interesting and I am a sucker for historical hunters.

Speaking of historical hunters-Samuel Colt prequel. Cowboys, vampires, cowpires. Hunting in the wild west, galloping across the prairie chasing a pack of werewolves. This show could also tell us a lot about how different types of monsters spread across the U.S. Ghosts will go anywhere people go, but what about vampires? Shapeshifters? Ghouls? What was it like to hunt without technology to help with research? The hunters in this series would be the authors of the journals that modern hunters use every day. They’re the ones that tested tracking and trapping methods. Again, no idea if this is making sense, but I think that a supernatural western would be really awesome and would expand/substantiate the canon lore. How much I need this in my life: 1000000000000000000000000000000/10, I love cowboys and I love Supernatural. This is literally the best thing that could ever happen to me.

Crowley. I want to know more about him. A series that tells us all about Fergus Roderick MacLeod, starting with when he was born in Scotland and ending with his death in All Along the Watchtower. We know that Rowena was his mother, that he was a tailor, that he sold his soul for an extra three inches ~down there~, and that he was a terrible dad. I want to know more about his childhood, about the people he made deals with, about how he became king of the crossroads and of Hell. Crowley was a very interesting character that was abused by the story. I want to know more about him. How much I need this in my life: 10000000000000000000000000000000000000/10, I really do love Crowley and I would watch this a thousand times over.

Final idea: MOTW only. No season arc, no overall storyline. New hunters every episode, from all different times, from over the world. All kinds of monsters. One episode in Victorian England, the next in 1990s Los Angeles. Very few recurring characters, if any. The recurring characters would be the Bobby Singers of the world; the lore guys that you call when you need help. Each new character has their own style, own car, own music, own personality. The show could have some a m a z i n g guest stars because they’d only appear in a few episodes. There are so many possibilities for episodes, even if they weren’t full length. How much I need this in my life: 100000/10, I love MOTW episodes and would really like to get to know the characters. It would be very easy to write one-off fanfics for this show, and also very easy to introduce this show’s characters into Supernatural’s canon.

You made it to the end!!!!!!!! That’s all I have for now. Sorry for writing so much, I just can’t stop thinking about SPN and all of the wasted stories.

#al speaks #spn #spn spin-offs #my ideas #i worked hard on this #big brain time #do you like it?

[aetherwytch]

Drop Down (1.9k, destiel, rated M)

He could be anyone, anywhere, having a good ol’ fashioned fuck in the backseat of their car the way God intended. Why sweat the details?

Yes, I wrote almost 2k specifically to facilitate a Star Trek themed dick joke. In my defense, I think the joke is very funny. Also featuring: unfortunate sexual situations, Dean being repressed, and The Gay Angel (long may he reign). AO3 link in the notes.

The suspension in the Impala is creaking a little under their weight. It’s the only thing he can hear aside from their own unsteady breathing—the only thing that exists, maybe, ‘cause Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut. It’s just sensation this way: nails scraping at his cropped hair, a hand clutching possessively at the base of his spine, skin on sweat on skin. His jacket’s in the front seat somewhere, and both his shirts got shed onto the floor at some point, but he never quite managed to lose his pants, so they’re just sorta bunched around his knees. It’s making it hard to move, and it’s not even remotely sexy, but the little breathy noise he gets rewarded with when he twists his wrist just right is enough to reassure him that, hey, it probably doesn’t really matter. He presses his nose more firmly into the join between neck and shoulder, presses his lips against the jut of a collarbone and gets nails scraping helplessly against his back in return. It’s just bodies, that’s all it is. Bodies doing the things that bodies do. A ribcage compresses, a whine of pleasure hiccuping in and then stuttering its way out again. A thump as a work-booted foot slips and thuds into the closed door. There’s not quite enough space back here, but it’s his baby—leather and gun oil and the persistent smell of coffee from where a cup got spilled under the front seat and never got cleaned up right—and it’s… it’s…

He doesn’t have to look to know whose warm breath is fluttering against his ear, whose long fingered hand is pressed against his waist, thumb stroking the ridge of his lowest rib. Whose hips are lined up with his own, whose legs are tangled with his. Every so often, one of them will rock forward, and their chests will brush. And every time, the brief warm slide of skin is a shock that makes his heart try and crawl up the back of his throat. So no, he doesn’t have to look, but he can see it anyway, because it’s Cas spread out underneath him, that stupid trenchcoat flaring out like limp khaki wings. Doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the scene, it’s burned into his mind like a movie frame left paused on a tv screen just a bit too long. One of Dean’s hands is trapped between them, busy, but the other is braced on the seat to keep him from falling off the bench and onto the floor. Cas presses his head back against the leather, a few strands of his hair now tickling Dean’s wrist, and breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like Dean’s name. His face might be doing something too, like making expressions, but Dean isn’t—He’s not gonna—His eyes are shut. He shifts, drops down a little so he’s resting on his elbow instead of his spread palm, and then buries his hand in Cas’s hair. The tips of his fingers tease at the scalp. It gets a low groan out of the other man, the kind that echoes through Dean’s chest like a hit on a bass drum, and Cas arches up into him, a perfect angle, and—

“Dean, we need to—Ah. Hm.”

Dean’s eyes snap open. The body underneath him is no longer pressed up against him, tip to toe, and has stiffened in a very different way. Readiness. Wariness. Discomfort? Fuck. He peels his face away from where it had been pressed into Cas’s shoulder. He’s practically nose to nose with the angel this way, and Cas goes slightly cross eyed trying to meet his eyes. There’s still a flush of color high on his cheeks, and his hair is, honestly, fucked, just an absolute disaster. And oh, good, Dean’s still got one hand tangled in it, the strands soft between his fingers.

“Um,” Dean manages articulately.

Cas squints up at him, head cocked slightly to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to get out from underneath Dean. Doesn’t seem particularly concerned that Dean’s got his hand on Cas’s dick either, and oh shit, he’s got his hand on Cas’s dick. It had seemed like a great idea 30 seconds ago, but that was before Cas had started looking at him like he was a particularly perplexing mathematical proof that Cas has been tasked with solving.

“Oh,” Cas says, expression suddenly clearing as some vision of clarity reveals itself to him and bypasses Dean entirely on the way. “I see. This is a fantasy.”

Dream. It’s a goddamned dream, Dean can see it now in the way everything that isn’t Cas fuzzes out around the edges. Or it was a dream (not the first one, not since he saw Cas all rumpled at that brothel and his brain had extrapolated, shit happens, it doesn’t mean anything) but now it’s Angel Waiting Room. And that’s really Cas. And he’s really touching Cas’s dick. He jerks his hand away so fast that it smacks against the back of the front seat, and then he fumbles his way backwards, yanking his jeans up and then overbalancing and cracking his head hard against the window. Somehow it still hurts, but that’s probably just his brain punishing itself.  Cas watches the entire thing with mild interest, going so far as to prop himself up on his elbows. His hair’s still going every which way, and his shirt is mostly unbuttoned, gaping open across a muscular chest, and he still hasn’t made any effort to, you know, cover himself up at all, so his dick’s out too, still semi-erect like it’s as confused as Dean is about who’s supposed to be doing what in this particular scene.

“Cas,” he starts, desperate to regain control of the situation. “Buddy.” Oh, God. “Uh. What’s—?”

“I’ve… I believe I’ve found a lead on the Colt,” Cas says, blessedly interrupting him before some other dumbfuck thing comes out of his mouth. “But I had a question regarding warding that Bobby might have some insight on—”

“So why didn’t you ask Bobby?”

Cas blinks at him. “Your mind was more receptive.”

“My mind…” Oh, if he thinks about that too long, he’s gonna lose it. “Look, never mind, could you…?”

To his own utter humiliation, he follows that up with a vague gesture towards Cas’s crotch, and Cas glances down at his lap as well, brows ratcheting up, as if mildly surprised to find it attached to him. He looks back at Dean, a strangely assessing look in his eye.

“You’re sitting on my legs.”

Dean is, isn’t he. He’s not wearing a shirt either, but that seems like a lost cause at this point. Apparently this is just a conversation he’s gonna have to have shirtless. But he plants a hand on the backrest of the front seat and uses it to lever his hips up so that Cas can pull his legs in and swing around so that he’s sitting normally. And then, finally, Cas tucks himself away, although not without a fair amount of fumbling, like he’s never touched his own dick before. Except, shit, maybe he hasn’t. Vessels, right? It’s not like he’s ever seen Cas drink anything, and even if he did, maybe he can just magic the pee away. Seems like someone who can glory, glory, hallelujah shattered bones back together shouldn’t have to use his own hallowed hands to make sure the piss gets in the urinal. Plus, the whole brothel deal derailed long before the pants came off, so for all he knows, this is the first time Cas has had any dealings whatsoever with his dick. Maybe Dean really has just facilitated some kind of dick first contact like he’s the… the Zefram Cochrane of, well, cock.

“Warding?” He asks, normally, in a normal tone. Does he sound normal? Or can Cas tell, like he’s got the equivalent of a big sign over his head that just says I’m Thinking About Your Dick on it in big neon letters.

“Yes,” Cas says simply. And then, because God forbid any part of this situation goes Dean’s way, “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah.” It comes out a few octaves too high to be convincing. “I mean. It’s. No, it’s fine.” Cas frowns at him, unconvinced. “Ok, I mean, it’s a little weird. Right?”

“What is?”

Dean gapes at him, but Cas is just doing that cocked-head-blueyed routine that’s so goddamned earnest. Like he can’t even fathom what might be awkward about walking smack into the middle of one of Dean’s—what did he call it?—oh, actually, that’s another thing—

“This isn’t a fantasy.” He’s very certain about that. “It’s… I was just having a stupid dream.”

Cas stiffens, shoulders pushing back, and his hands, which had previously been resting loosely on his thighs, twitch up to straighten his shirt.

“I’m not sure I understand the differentiation you’re making,” he says, long fingers threading buttons back through buttonholes. “Humans often dream about sexual scenarios, and you are—” A pause that Dean can’t even begin to interpret. “Well, it’s perfectly natural to fantasize about objects of desire, and you find this… vessel attractive.”

“It’s not! I mean—” What the fuck does he mean. “You’re… It’s… fine. You look good.” Fuck. “For a guy.” Nailed it. “But I don’t— fantasize. I mean, c’mon, I don’t—I don’t. And it’s not like—I mean, I’ve got chicks practically lining up for me any time I roll up to a bar.”

When was the last time someone touched him any way that wasn't a friendly slap on the arm or a punch in the mouth? Bobby, when he was fresh out of hell? Anna, in this very back seat, her little hand splayed across the tender skin of the scar on his arm? He can't remember. It makes his palms itch, and he presses them shakily against his thighs. Maybe Cas knows it, too, ‘cause he’s giving Dean that look he gets sometimes. It’s not soft—he doesn’t think Cas can do soft—but it’s a lessening of intensity, like Cas has pushed the dimmer down on that fiery angelic aura of his, the thing that raises the hair on the backs of people’s necks even when he looks, for all intents and purposes, human. It’s the sort of look that makes Dean think that even if he were staring into a mirror right now, he wouldn’t see whatever it is that Cas does when the angel looks at him. It’s the sort of look that comes before things like, You don’t think you deserve to be saved. But all Cas does is drop his eyes to finish with his buttons, and when he speaks, it’s directed vaguely towards them.

“Of course, Dean.” The last button squared away, he folds his hands in his lap. “Companionship is a great kindness in a world not overly given to them. I will ask Bobby about the warding.”

And then Dean’s blinking awake, staring dazedly up at the water-damaged ceiling above his bed. He flops his head to the side. Across from him, the other bed is a tangle of abandoned sheets. On the highway, a semi leans on its horn, and the sound echoes hollowly off the walls of his shitty, deserted motel room.

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #fic #supernatural #spn #my fic

[goldenraeofsun]

would you have me, would you want me?

Part I

Part II

Cas chokes on his drink. 

Spluttering, he gasps for breath, his face reddening with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Dean says, his eyes laughing. “I guess this batch is stronger than the last one.” He gently guides Cas away from the punch bowl, towards an unoccupied corner of the kitchen. “Here,” he says, swapping out their cups. “I only got Jack and Coke in mine.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean sniffs the punch skeptically before taking a small sip. “Yeah, my standards are not high. Jesus Christ, they must’ve poured the whole bottle in there.”

Cas hides his own smile behind the rim of Dean’s cup.

“So, Cas,” Dean starts, “What’s up?”

“What’s up?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “It’s like I hardly see you now we’re done with Cicero.”

Cas takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

“‘Course I did!” Dean says, mock-outraged. He ignores a loud cheer from the crowd around the doorway at the other end of the room. “Tutoring was the best part of Thursdays.”

“You have double-period Latin and Ms. Abbadon back-to-back on Thursdays,” Cas says shrewdly, as he watches Gordon from Calculus brandish two full bottles of vodka. “There wasn’t much competition, as far our tutoring sessions went.”

“How’d you know that?” Dean asks, baffled.

“You complained of both frequently,” Cas says. Before he can stop himself, Cas tacks on, “I always listen when you tell me things, Dean.”

Dean smiles weakly at him before taking a large gulp of punch. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere quieter? I can barely hear myself think.”

Cas nods and lets Dean pull him out of the kitchen.

“So how’re you really doing?” Dean asks as they settle down on the first steps of the forbidden stairs to the second story of Tessa’s house. “Did your old man come through?”

Cas’s expression hardens. “He won’t be able to make it to graduation. I received his response in the mail a few weeks ago.”

Dean studies him, and Cas tries not to fidget under his gaze. “Let me guess, you’ve been skulking in the library ever since, your nose buried in a book.”

Cas bristles. “I do not skulk.”

“Dude, you so do,” Dean says, laughing. “With the face, and the eyes - trust me, you’ve sent freshmen running for the hills and you don’t even know it.”

Cas hunches in on himself. “I haven’t been in… the best of moods lately.”

“No shit,” Dean says as he reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder. “At least you’ll have Gabriel?”

“Small consolation.”

Dean bumps up against Cas reassuringly. “Come on, he’ll make enough noise for at least four relatives.”

Cas just shakes his head.

“At least you’ll be leaving all this behind,” Dean says, his face darkening. “You’ll be able to start new and shit.”

Cas turns to him, puzzled. “I’m barely going out of state. And it’s only for four years - less, if I can graduate early.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says, not looking convinced in the slightest. He swirls the terrible punch around in its cup before taking a large gulp.

* * *

Castiel swallows nervously.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells Dean.

“Same here,” Dean says. He glances at Charlie. “You know Charlie?”

“Cas teaches Latin and French at Carver Preparatory Academy,” Charlie pipes up. At Dean’s blank look, she explains, “A few years ago, Roman donated a bunch of tech to his alma mater. Yours truly was sent in to coordinate from Roman’s side of things, and Cas here drew the short straw at the high school.”

“I also chair the robotics club,” Castiel clarifies.

“You’re at Carver?” Dean asks, eyes widening. “Teaching those douche nozzles that stole Peppy the Pigeon?”

Castiel makes a face. “Those students were reprimanded and suspended. It was not an… authorized thievery.”

Dean snorts.

“And it’s not like your students’ hands are entirely clean either,” Castiel adds reproachfully. “Didn’t they sneak pot brownies into our bake sale for senior prom?”

“So what if they did?” Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “As far as I’m concerned, they got more bang for their buck. You can’t get a pot brownie for three dollars just anywhere.”

“The faculty bought them too! We were in the middle of midterms!”

Dean smirks. “Extra fun midterms, then.”

Castiel throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know why I even bother,” he says as he spins on his heel. “I need another drink.”

Dean hasn’t changed. Not one bit.

He gets halfway to the makeshift bar before Charlie waylays him. “Dude,” she says, her eyes huge.

“What?” Castiel jerks his arm to throw off her grip and makes as if to step past her.

“That was a disaster.”

“You’re telling me,” Castiel says sourly.

“Why’d you attack him like that?”

“He started it,” Castiel says, eyes flashing.

Charlie throws him a deeply skeptical look. “Are you really incapable of being in the same room for five minutes?”

Castiel sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Most likely.”

“At least nobody threw food,” Charlie says before perking up. “Although that last food fight was epic.”

“He started that one too.”

“You could’ve walked away, literal egg on your face or no,” Charlie says, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Castiel shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to walk away from Dean Winchester. You know that.”

“Sure,” Charlie says easily, “but he doesn’t.”

* * *

Cas swallows nervously. 

“I’ll come back for the holidays,” he offers boldly, the alcohol shoring up his resolve. He isn’t sure Dean would even care, but he needs to say something.

In the beginning, Dean needed help with Latin, so Cas was assigned as his tutor. After a rocky start - Dean kept ditching Cas for reasons unknown - Cas followed him to his car and refused to get left behind again. With Dean in the driver's seat, they picked up Sam at his middle school and drove him to soccer practice.

Cas tutored Dean right there on the bleachers overlooking the scrimmage game.

When it rained, Sam came with them to the library - as happy as a pig in shit, as Dean often said while ruffling Sam’s hair.

To celebrate their last tutoring session a month ago, Dean took Cas to the movies. A film had just opened about two demon hunting brothers. The trailer showed them saying a Latin exorcism, so it totally counted, according to Dean.

Dean and Cas are friends. Probably.

But Dean has a lot of friends. Cas has observed them across the cafeteria, over the pages of too many books to name. They make Dean laugh, far more than he ever has with Cas. They understand his jokes without explanations. Dean doesn’t meet their eyes for only a moment before ducking away.

After a small eternity, Dean speaks. “I’m glad you’re here, Cas.”

Warmth blooms bright in Cas’s chest. “Me too.” He fiddles with his cup before taking a reassuring swallow of liquid courage. “Why did you invite me?”

“I dunno.” Dean stares down at the drink between his hands. “Thought it would be nice.”

“Really?” Cas asks, his voice dripping with skepticism.

Dean screws up his face. “You seemed stuck in this funk, man. And you weren’t getting out of it on your own, so, I guess, I thought it was time to bring in the big guns.”

“A party?”

Dean grins. “Nothing like alcohol and bad decisions to loosen you up.”

Cas chuckles under his breath. “I almost didn’t come.”

“I figured it was a long shot. Why did you?”

Cas swallows down more of his drink. “You asked me to.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean drifts off, brow furrowed.

“You’ve asked me for exactly four things over the past year,” Cas says seriously, ticking them off on his fingers, “One, to let you drive Sam to soccer practice while we were supposed to have tutoring; two, to borrow my flash cards, which I was going to give you anyway; three, to go to the movies with you; and four, to come to Tessa’s house tonight. That’s it.”

Dean knocks back his cup, his eyes dark. “I guess I thought I was more of a drag for you these past few months.”

Cas’s mouth falls open in surprise. “A drag on what, my vibrant social life?”

Dean shrugs, staring out at the empty hallway. “You have this mysterious loner vibe going on. I didn’t think you wanted anyone to mess with that.”

Cas squints at him. “I have a vibe?”

“At first I thought you just thought you were better than the rest of us,” Dean continues as Cas’s heart sinks into the floor. “But I know better now.”

Cas tips back his drink, draining it. He croaks, “You do?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts into a half-smile. “Yeah, I do, Cas.”

* * *

Castiel’s stomach flips at the sound of his name.

Dean catches up with him right outside of the gym, calling again,  “Hey, Cas, wait!”

Castiel turns, dread curling in his gut. But he can’t flee - he still has some pride left. “What?”

“I think we need a do-over,” Dean says seriously.

Castiel bites back the, What gave you that idea? on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says, as evenly as he can, “I think so.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, wrongfooted in a way Castiel has never seen on him before. “Look, we’re not our students, obviously.”

“Or else I would know what ‘yeet’ meant,” Castiel says wryly.

“Mood,” Dean deadpans, before his face breaks out into a smile as Castiel squints at him, uncomprehending. “I heard down the grapevine you went into teaching a few years ago. Good for you, putting those tutoring skills to better use.”

“It seemed a logical choice.” He eyes Dean, biting his lip as he tries to convey his next thought without offending him. “But I was surprised to hear you went into teaching too.”

Dean snorts. “You and everybody else.”

“Why did you?”

Dean shrugs. “I had this teacher in community college, Missouri Moseley - she said it would be a good fit for me. She convinced me to transfer to a four-year university and get certified.”

Curious, Castiel asks, “Why did she say it was a good fit?” before he thinks better of it, and adds quickly, “Not that I think she’s wrong.”

“’Course you don’t,” Dean says with a lopsided grin. “She said I would come to the role from a position of empathy. That I would be able to reach the troubled kids who need the most help.” He averts his gaze, muttering, “Fancy words for saying I have a soft spot for the outcasts and loners, I guess.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“No?” Dean’s brow furrows as he takes in Castiel’s stony expression. “I told you my dad was never around. Not one teacher noticed,” he says, gesturing around them. “Our guidance counselor was a waste of space. I only went to community college to set a good example for Sammy.”

“Yes, but,” Castiel protests, “you were popular. You weren’t an outcast.”

“But you were,” Dean said, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Castiel grimaces. “I know that.”

“There you go.” Dean crosses his arms across his chest, satisfied.

But, Castiel is far from satisfied. He hasn’t been satisfied for ten years. “I don’t understand you,” Castiel grinds out, frustrated. “You’re saying you went into teaching to help kids like me?”

Dean’s confidence cracks the tiniest fraction. “Yeah?”

Castiel lets out a dark laugh. “I suppose you have changed.”

“I mean, it’s been ten years…” Dean drifts off.

Castiel could use another drink. Or five. He rubs a tired hand down his face.

“Look,” Dean says, “I know I was an ass to you in senior year.”

“Only the last few months,” Castiel says sharply. “For the vast majority of that year, you were my friend.”

* * *

Cas’s stomach flips at the sound of his name.

Cheeks flaming, Cas sneaks a peek at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Nobody called him ‘Cas’ before Dean. Teachers and classmates always used ‘Castiel.’ His relatives, his mother, all called him by his given name.

But Dean - Dean would sooner spend his valuable lunch money on the cafeteria salad than ever call him ‘Castiel.’ From day one, he claimed ‘Cas’ as his.

“I don’t mean to shut everyone out,” Cas says, the words spilling out of him before he can dwell too deeply on them. “I just don’t know how to let them in.”

“It’s not easy,” Dean says frankly. He tips back his cup of punch.

“You don’t seem to have the same difficulty,” Cas says in a low voice, trying not to sound accusatory.

Dean shrugs, his eyes troubled. “It’s all relative, I guess.”

Cas leans forward, resting one elbow on his knees as his other hand dangles uselessly at his side, clutching his mostly-empty cup. “I probably should have done more.”

“If you’re happy kicking it solo, who am I to tell you how to live your life?” Dean asks, and Cas cranes his neck to see him relaxing back, sprawling out so his arms take up the whole width of the stairs.

“But maybe I could have been happier if I had more friends.”

Dean shakes his head. “No way to know that for sure.”

“Really?”

Dean licks his lips. “I mean, I got a lot of people who like to listen to me run my mouth and make stupid jokes. I don’t have a lot of people who would put up with my idiot little brother for a twenty-minute car ride every week.”

“Sam’s not an idiot,” Cas says automatically.

Dean grins. “There we go.”

“I’m sure you have more than you think,” Cas says quietly.

“Leo would rather strip and sing the Macarena in front of the student body than spend one minute with Sam, and don’t get me started on Bela or Gordon,” Dean says derisively. “Look, ‘m pretty sure I got one dude who’s up for it, and I’m looking at him.”

Cas ducks his head, staring hard at the piece of carpet between his feet.

“You’re a good friend, Cas,” Dean’s voice says to his back. “If you want to fuck off after college and live like a hermit in the Rockies, be my guest. But it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s not your fault nobody else sees how awesome you are.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I told you, I’ll probably return after college. My family is here.”

“Fat lot of good they’ve been doing for you lately,” Dean snorts.

Cas turns to look at him. “I think I’ve managed fine on my own.”

“Yeah, but you deserve better than ‘fine.’” Dean sits up, his eyes dark and intense. “You deserve the goddamn world, man.”

Cas stares at him, his eyes wide.

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters before pressing their lips together.

Onto Part III

#destiel fanfic #destiel #fanfic #hs au #high school reunion #teacher castiel #teacher dean #popular dean #loner castiel #so many flashbacks #human au #would you have me would you want me #the story of us verse #rae writes fic

[deans-mind-palace]

Nähkästchenplauderei

For those who didn’t know, that’s German. Normally it would be “aus dem Nähkästchen plaudern” which literally translates to “to talk out of the sewing box”. It’s a common phrase in Germany. Means something like “to spill some beans” or “to catch up on all the gossip”or “to share private information”.

Reason why I’m telling you this?

It’s me, Elena. This is a new part of my blog now. I want to involve all of you more in my daily writing and and the related funny stories, problems or ideas and inspirations. Maybe that’s interesting for you. Maybe it’s just a therapeutic exercise for me, when I’m (not) in the mood to write. Not sure yet. xD

I’ll call it “Nähkästchenplauderei” because I talk about me and writing fanfic but not really about their content. I’ll give you some insider stories about the fanfics I wrote/will write. Funny things. What happened to me during writing it, what gave me inspiration and how I do my research or what is important to me about a certain story and why I’m writing it. The daily life (cough *and struggle* cough) of a writer. If you’re not interested in these pieces of information, then you’ll see just the heading and you’ll know ‘Aaaah, that’s not a story I can read so that’s not interesting for me’. So it’s easier for you to skip. But I thought this could be interesting for you. I want to get to know you more and you can always laugh with me or smack your forehead because of my craziness. This could be fun and I am encouraging you to discuss themes or to tell me your opinion or own experiences. Of course, I hope that many of you take part. ❤️

I’ll tag you all only in this part, afterwards you can tell me, if you want to be notified. If you don’t drop a comment, I’ll automatically take you off my taglist for “Nähkästchenplauderei”. I don’t know how many parts this will have. I’ll write one every time I’m in the mood for it.

*oOo*

Nähkästchenplauderei - A blog about my blog. 

A new passion - Or the story of me buying a guitar on Amazon at 1am

I always do a lot of research for my stories. I know some authors hate it, but I love doing research. It’s like playing detective and investigating while educating myself further. I always do Pinterest boards (I can share them with you, if you want) for my series because looking at the pictures and the links inspires me during writing. The ‘Simple Man Series’ is Set in an alternative universe where Jensen is a Country singer. I had no idea about country music, to be honest. I got all my knowledge about it from watching ‘Walk the line’ but that’s it. Obviously, I needed to do research! I created a Spotify playlist for the series (which I will link as soon as it’s uploaded).

When I wrote Suspirium or collected pictures for my Pinterest boards I always listened to it. Somehow I fell in love with this kind of music. I never played an instrument because I didn’t have the patience. I played to flute in fifth grade, because it was part of the Music class. We even got grades for playing it. Let me tell you, it was a disaster! Always got Ds. Although I got an A one time. Every time I practiced the flute, my dog started to howl. You see, it really was  awful. I believe that’s why I lost the interest in playing an instrument. I still went to the choir, though, because I loved singing (still do). I always said, if I had the patience I’d love to learn the piano or the guitar, because these are basic instruments and you can play everything on them.

Guess what? I sat there and was writing Suspirium when an idea started to from in my head. There are dozens of Corona online lessons for the guitar, beginner models of guitars aren’t that expensive and you can still sell them or use them as decoration. Normally, I overthink everything. I need ages to make an decision, normally weeks or months till I lost the interest. So I did my research. Which model? Acoustic, western or concert? Which size? Guitar scale? How do I identify a quality product? Best YouTube channels? Best apps?

Found a black one and I immediately fell in love with it. And guess what? It’ll arrive by tomorrow afternoon! :D I really did it and I’m a bit proud of myself for not overthinking it! I’m looking forward to learning every song of artists I love. Adele, Pink, Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Linkin Park, Train, Oasis, James Arthur, Tom Walker, Lewis Capaldi, James Blunt, Bruno Mars, Coldplay, Shawn Mendes, John Legend, Common Linnets, Lumineers and thousands more. Of course, some of my new Country faves, too. 

My first song will either be ‘Simple Man’ because the story was inspired by it and it was the first song that I’ve heard Jensen sing or ‘Hey there Delilah’ because I love that one right now. It’s my current catchy tune.

These will be followed by ‘The One that got away’ by Pink and ‘Bonfire heart’ by James Blunt. If these four aren’t too difficult, of course... I’ll keep you updated. :D

*oOo*

The story behind Suspirium - Or as I like to call it, the story of reviving a more than dead language.

I have that idea since I’ve started this blog some time ago. I wasn’t sure if I should make it a Dean, Sam or Cas story, so I brought my arguments up and you could decide which professor you want, remember? As soon as you chose Sam, I knew that he would be a Latin Prof. That’s based on the canon in the series and my preferences. Sam is the best in Latin in the entire series. And I am able to read, translate AND EVEN SPEAK Latin, so it’s something I can relate to. A great subject, although I know that the opinions on Latin are different. 

I can speak five languages (German - my mother tongue, English, Spanish, Dutch and Latin, I’d like to learn French soon) and I personally think Latin’s a beautiful language. Of course, it doesn’t sound as beautiful and elegant as French (although French has its origin in Latin). But a language is a lot more than the emphasis. In one of the first chaps of Suspirium Sam and Reader discuss the beauty of Latin.

“Latin is the language of law, architecture and engineering, the military, science, philosophy, religion and - of particular interest here - the language of a flourishing literature which for centuries served as a model for all Western literature. The Latin of literature speaks of love and war in hundreds of masterpieces, reflects on the body and soul, develops theories about the meaning of life and the tasks of man, about the fate of the soul and the nature of matter, sings of the beauty of nature, the meaning of friendship, the pain of losing all that is dear to one; and it criticizes depravity, ponders death, the arbitrariness of power, violence and cruelty. It creates inner images, puts emotions into words, formulates ideas about the world and social life. Latin is the language of the relationship between the one and everything.” Suspirium, Chapter 3

Roman poets are more than two millennia dead, BUT the themes they wrote about (Love, pain, friendship and braveness, also sex...) are still actual in our society. They stood the test of time. A language where no ‘thank you’ exists, just a ‘to be thankful’. This language is mysterious, its culture unbelievable nowadays. It’s like an enigma that wants to be solved - or not, depends on you and if you learn your vocabulary. Trust me, I had to learn that the hard way in seventh grade. ;) 

Sam is basically my old Latin teacher. He uses the same methods and tells the same things. He makes jokes, adds additional information and makes his students question the meaning behind the poems and stories.  Sometimes I even used words my teacher said to us. I looked up some of my Latin notes and use that for the lectures. It’s a lot of fun and that’s where I get my inspiration from. A big thank you to my teacher. This story would not work out without him always encouraging me and explaining everything to me, even if he had to do it three times. Gratiam habeo, magister. :D

Questions for you, only if you want to:

 Do you play an instrument? Which or would you like to play one?

What’ your favourite genre and who’s your favourite artist and which song?

How many languages do you speak? Which? Which would you like to speak (in addition)? 

Wanna tell me your name and origin? 

-> Next post will probably be about how I make my covers, choose GIFs, find inspiration on Pinterest and Spotify and my first friendship ever on Tumblr some years ago. And how I got in touch with SPN.

Tags beneath cut:

@ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @fortheentries @vexhye @traceyaudette @vicariouslythruspn @crazybutconfidentaf @zizzlekwum @outofnowhere82 @myopiamystical @vicmc624 @imaginationisgrowth @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @shypickleghostsuitcase @intoomuchfandoms @angeltardisbow @ayamenimthiriel @still-a-demon-very-ineffable-de @mimzy1994 @everyobsession9023 @tokiohearts483 @butterscotchseventeen @aberrant-annie @autumn-blessings @aberrant-annie @lust-for-pan @screechingartisancashbailiff @readsreblogsfics @akshi8278 @hobby27 @thewintersoldierswife @squirrelnotsam @transparentfestivaltiger

#about me #nähkästchenplauderei #my blog #fanfic writing #fanfiction #daily problems #the strugge is real #writers on tumblr #get to know the writer #get to know each other #fanfic authors #spn #supernatural

[seven-oomen]

Hi, Ben!  I hope your day is going well so far!  Are you still getting snow, or has the storm calmed a bit?  We’re supposed to be getting a potentially severe ice storm over the course of today.  There’s already a thin layer this morning, we’ll see how the rest of the day goes.  And temperatures are supposed to stay in about the -4 to -6C range the rest of the week.  I’m very glad that I’m off the next couple of days, and managed to get by the grocery last night after work.

I saw your post about writing and writing styles!  It was helpful because I’ve not really seen the different styles written out and explained before.  I’m still not 100% which I am, but probably either an intuitive plotter or a methodological pantser.  Usually there’s a scene or a line or two that I’m like “this needs to happen in this story” and everything else is fairly free-form.  I did try actually writing down an outline for IYWTD, but even then it’s more a list of beats/tropes and the order I want to include them in.  (And I’ve only just made it past halfway through, although a couple may need to be altered a bit, oh god, how did this get so long…)

It’s also always kinda of amusing to me how many of those writing advice lists are like “Don’t do this”, “Stop doing this”, “Never do that”, and then they’ll encourage you to find your own voice and style.  Like, bitch, you just told me not to ever do half the shit that makes up my style.  Which am I supposed to do?  Damn.  XD  (You will seriously pry adverbs and similar descriptors from my cold, dead, grasping hands.  Also the occasional epithet.  No, I’m not using a character’s name nine times in one paragraph, sorry, and pronouns don’t always help if the characters are the same gender.  The reader can deal. ;D )

And I feel ya on the tall, skinny, blue-eyed boys thing.  It doesn’t have to be just a white boy, but if he’s taller than me, slender, and has a pretty pair of baby blues, my higher brain functions tend to go into insta-lag.  I ain’t particularly proud, but I’ve long accepted this about myself (there are many reasons Luke became my forever BAE.)  That’s not to say a lack of any of those is a deal-breaker in the slightest, but it’s definitely going to immediately get my attention.

Speaking (vaguely) of Luke, I had a thought the other day of him and Din being off on some planet together (Grogu is staying with Aunt Leia and Uncle Han for a few days), and there’s a noise in the middle of the night, and Din refuses to accept Luke’s assurance that there’s nothing out there, and in true himbo fashion insists on going out to investigate having grabbed only the darksaber and his helmet to cover his face -but nothing else.  Luke just finds it a combo of hysterical and adorable (and kinda hot.)

I hope your novel is going well (whatever stage you happen to be at), and I’m always up for hearing whatever you feel like sharing about it.

I hope you’re still doing well with the whole eating and hydrating regularly thing (it’s also totally okay if you aren’t!), and I’m super proud of you for sticking to it as much as you can anyway.  That shit is hard.  (Also, ignore the 1500 calories thing, I swear that shit is designed for 130lb women trying to shed a few pounds, not people who need to safely and steadily lose larger amounts of weight.  But then I’ve also never fully understood making someone lose weight before surgery, either.  “We need you to get rid of some excess weight before we’ll okay this surgery to *checks notes* get rid of some excess weight."  Like, weird flex, but okay.)

Anyway, I’m rambling again, and should really eat some breakfast and try to write a little myself today, maybe.  Hope you’re feeling okay, and that things are going well overall.  I hope Mo is doing well, and enjoying his best cuddle buddy life.  Take care!  *Hugs!*

Okay, gonna try this this way so that I can refer back to the links on my phone if need be.  I couldn’t quite see the full entries for the physical descriptions, and when I tried clicking on them it kept asking for a login, but I think I saw enough to get the gist.  I’m not sure exactly what sort of feedback you’re interested in, if any, so this will mainly be my usual sort of rambling stream-of-consciousness type thoughts and questions.  Hope that’s okay.  Feel free to ignore if it’s not what you’re after right now!  :D

I think one of the first questions that popped to mind was where is/what happened to Ellie’s mom, and is that something that’s going to cause problems later in some way?  (I.e.- was she killed on a hunt, are they divorced, was it bitter or amicable [would she come after her daughter if she heard about his relationship?])  I guess technically similar questions could also apply to Nate (late husband, ex-husband, ex-boyfriend, one night stand, sperm donor?) it was just more noticeable with Ellie being so young still.  Although that could also be part of why he’s ended up in Wyoming, which was another question I had, although there I assume it’s hunt-related.

I also anticipate quite a bit of tension of all kinds when he and Nate first meet, because Faron strikes me from his descriptions as someone rather used to being able to get his own way either through the influence of who he is, or through his size (not necessarily in any kind of intentional or aggressive way, more in an unconscious privilege kind of way, if that makes sense?), and I don’t think Nate sounds like the type to give two shits about either of those things, and it would probably drive Faron up the proverbial wall that Nate isn’t intimidated by him in the slightest.  (I could be entirely wrong about all this, this is just the impression I get so far. :D )  And I think Nate being noticeably older than him would just make it that much more irritating at first, too.  Now, how long these impressions last will just depend on how quickly they get to know each other, and whether Bachelor #3 is helping or hindering things.  XD  The potential for just sitting back and watching the fireworks as “laid-back dad jokes with a quick temper” clashes with “quiet, reserved, and possibly takes themselves slightly too seriously” might prove too much for our last contestant for a while, depending on where his personality falls.  ;D  (Especially since Faron coming in and starting shit will likely come off as a direct threat to people and places Nate considers under his protection.)

Also, are any of these three going to have met before?  Will Nate already have some sort of relationship with the werewolf (Does he already know about the supernatural at all?)  Did he and Faron encounter each other on the trip to Europe you mentioned in the Life Highlights?  If he and the wolf already know each other, how does he get along with Cas, or Nate’s pets?  Is the werewolf also going to be native to the region?  Does he know anything about Faron’s family?  Does Faron already know he’s a werewolf, or is that going to be a bit of a crisis for him later?  A test of how well he’s learned not to judge?  If Nate doesn’t already know, how will he deal with both their secrets?  Do you plan for full-shift only wolves, partial-shift only wolves, or a mix of the two like TW?  Are there other supes in the area?

I think you mentioned maybe having him be of Native American descent?  I think that could be very interesting, but would require a LOT of research into which tribes are active in the Yellowstone area, and what their individual mythologies say about things like shapeshifters, and LGTBQ+ issues, etc., because there can be a fair amount of variance, I’m sure.  Also, I’m just overall curious how he’ll fit in with the other two size wise (get your mind out of the gutter, you know what I mean.  XD )  Also curious if any o them are going to have the slightest clue on the feelings front, or are they all going to be just absolute disasters?  Will the kids figure it out before they do?  Will the kids get along?  (Will BachelorWolf have any kids of his own, or just Nate and Faron?)  Will Nate’s coworkers have any clue about either the supernatural, or what’s going on with those three?  Because I suspect at least some of them will be way more obvious than they think they’re being.  XD

Uh… I think that was all that’s occured to me right now?…  I’m sorry you’re having a yucky day overall, and I hope tomorrow’s a bit better!  The ice storm has finally moved in here, and I can feel the temperature drop radiating off of the front door and windows.  It went from rain to freezing rain/hail and I’m not sure how long it’s supposed to last.  Hopefully only a little while.  Also, sorry your book was terrible.  I haven’t seen too many recent recommendations from friends, and I’ve been mostly reading “cozy” mysteries (Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, etc) as my comfort reading myself, lately, so I can’t really suggest anything in particular, unfortunately.  At least, nothing I think you wouldn’t already know.  Anyway, hope you’re getting some decent rest, and hope you have a better day tomorrow!  Take care!  *Hugs!*

Alright since this is going to be like a very long one, I’m break it down into a few things.

First full physical descriptions, cause I didn’t know Milanote would be a bitch about it.

Nate:

164 cm (5'4), 75 kg (166 lbs), Short slightly overweight trans man in his middle age. Nearly always the shortest man in the room, only standing around 5'4 and weighing in around 166 lbs. With kind moss green eyes that have permanent crow's feet in their corners and a polite but reserved smile always on his face. 

A face that's framed by faint freckles that are only visible in the sunlight. A neatly trimmed beard spices up his features and frames his pink lips. His thick but short eyebrows frame his eyes and create a short arc to his slim nose. 

A high forehead separates his brows from his wavy dark blond hair that's always tucked behind his ears. 

He generally wears the Superintendents' Park Ranger uniform while on duty. When he's not he wears comfortable jeans and t-shirts, usually a mono color like green, white, or black, plaid flannel shirts, socks with the weirdest patterns and colors, and hiking boots. He wears a steel ring on his right index finger and has a little steel Mjolnir on a necklace around his neck.

He's missing two fingers (his ring and little finger) on his left hand due to a childhood accident.

Faron:

185 cm (6'1 ft), 93 kg (205 lbs), Faron is a tall man with plenty of muscle from his time hunting. He can seem daunting and intimidating when you first meet him but there is a kinder, softer side to him. He has a warm light brown skin color, blue eyes, and black natural tight curly hair that he keeps very short. His full dark beard decorates his cheeks and chin, connects to his upper lip, and all the way up to his sideburns.

  He tends to wear dark clothing, leather jackets, no jewelry that could identify him, jeans, henley shirts, or V-neck shirts, and black, brown, or red jackets. He usually wears black combat boots or dark brown hiking boots. He's got knives and other weapons hidden all over his body and pockets and it might take him a good few minutes to unload every single knife from his body when he was to disarm.

There are also scars all over his body, including some scars on his neck that are visible from day to day life. He had the bad luck of being struck down by a vicious Wendigo but managed to escape. He survived thanks to his sister's quick thinking and first aid.

He covers some of those scars up with tattoos; he has one tattoo of a dragon laying down on his shoulder, with its head on his chest and its body curling over his shoulder and ending just below his shoulder blades. And one tattoo covers up some scars on his lower arm, it's a tattoo of a wolf's head that covers up a bite mark.

Dichali:

He’s 37 and has 4 siblings, and two children, Kajika & Kaniya (Jika & Niya, identical twins, but one of them identifies as male, he’s trans. Kajika is his chosen/reassigned name. They are 10.) Dichali grew up in Riverton, WY, which is the largest town of 10,000 in the largest Native Reservation in Wyoming. He’s also a dear friend to our Nate (who is also his boss technically) and has slowly been falling in love with him for the last few years. (Although he still hasn’t realized that he loves his friend.) 

Yena, his coworker and friend, who’s much younger at 25 has been watching her coworker and her boss joke and dance around each other. She has a betting pool with her girlfriend on who snaps first.

Not sure how I’ll connect him to Faron if it’s more fun/better to have him find out later or to already know him and keep it quiet. 

I’m still working on him, so I don’t have much of personality and other things written down yet. But I have made his physical description:

At 178 cm (5'8) and 83 kilos (182 lbs) Dichali probably isn't the tallest man you've met, he's also not the shortest. And while he's got some good muscle on him from working as a Park Ranger, and being a werewolf, he also has some softer sides. All the better to cuddle with. He has long straight brown hair that falls to his mid-back and deep brown eyes and a long nose that ends prominently. His eyebrows are thin and he has a high forehead. His skin is a light Tawny color, there's a hint of an orange brown with a cool undertone.

His skin is also relatively clear and youthful looking because of his lycanthropy.

He tends to wear pants and jackets made by native designers and always incorporates native fashion into his outfits. He has jackets of mostly gray, blue, brown, and black colors made of denim, cotton, wool, or brass that are lined with more traditional cloths and patterns like the designer brand Ginew. Usually he pairs them with dark jeans, either black, gray, or dark blue. He pairs it with white, blue, red, black, or printed band t-shirts (Metallica, Green Day, Marianas Trench). 

For shoes he has brown hiking boots that are part of the Ranger uniform, more western styled boots like black cowboy boots, and a pair of sneakers.He also wears a copper bracelet with lighting bolts etched into it.

-

Now this whole story got started because I had the question what if we had a DILF romance going on while/because the following happened?

What if a YouTube video that accidentally got uploaded shows the existence of a werewolf in Yellowstone park? Threatening to expose the entire supernatural world.

The werewolves right now are a mix, so half shift is like the classical half shift of a wolf head on a man’s body, but the full shift is more like a larger wolf. Almost the size of a black bear. Though I might change those ideas as the story progresses.

But that is how the Cryptid of Yellowstone is brought into the world. And that brings problems. Big problems.

Wendigos, vampires, djins, I plan to create a world where a lot of supernatural creates exist. From all sorts of cultures. I’m also toying with the idea of Kelpies and Griffins. That kind of stuff.

The supernatural world is hidden from ours, hidden in plain sight if you will. Most encounters are written off as really strange, sometimes a picture pops up, but with the coming of the internet, things have gotten more complicated. Also with deforestation and competition with regular wildlife has made some bigger supernatural creatures either extinct or thought to be extinct. They’re not sure what still lives in Australia, though.

Nate or his son don’t know about the supernatural world. Neither does Yena. Or much of the world. Dichali, his children (to some extent), Faron, and Faron’s family do know about this world.

-

Alright, as for your other post XD

Right now it’s no longer storming but due to the freezing temperatures the snow’s not going away and all public transport and delivery services are still not driving/delivering/running. So that’s neat. Not. 

I swear we get some snow and the country is just down. Upside, ain’t nobody going outside and this helps with lockdown.

I hope your snowstorm won’t be too bad and everything thaws down soon. Snow’s fun for a day but after that...

Make sure you stay warm alright? And bundle up.

Yes dad... alright XD

Honestly, I’m glad to hear you liked my advice too. I’m getting quite a bit of positive feedback on it and that just makes me really happy ^^. I’m definitely writing more writing advice from everything I’ve learned so far.

There’s honestly so many contradicting ones out there, it’s a matter of picking and choosing which ones work best for you and applying those. And that’s the real trick of advice.

Fun fact, a lot of famous writers are also pantsers. Steven King, Neil Gaiman, George RR Martin are examples of famous pantsers or gardeners as they are also called. 

John Grisham, JK Rowling, RL Stein fall into the plotter or architect category. 

Writers like Hank Green seem to fall in the in-between category of plantser (somewhere between a plotter and a pantser. Or the Intuitive plotter.)

Okay but the DinLuke things is really really kinda hot and cute and adorable and has me smiling <3

And I can’t remember what else I wanted to say since it is like 2 am and my meds are seriously kicking in now.

But I hope you’re doing alright and that the snowstorm isn’t too bad where you’re at.

I’ll be alright, my diet hasn’t been going so well the last few days and I can’t really exercise, but I did mostly get healthy groceries that will be delivered friday so there’s that. 

Fingers crossed I can pick it back up.

Okay I’m heading to bed XD 

I’ll talk to you later, B <3 

Hugs from me and Mo <3

#my ocs #please don't reblog #B #my convos with anon #ben writes original fiction #submission

[orionsangel86]

Hi! Love you. Wanted to pick your brain about these disaster boys. Who do you think is more clueless about their own feelings towards each other? Dean or Cas? Do you think either of them suspects how the other really feels?

Hi! Love you too! Heh these disaster boys. I like that. 

Well. This is a difficult question. The problem being that we are at a point in the show where both of them have had their feelings for each other made quite obvious due to various circumstances. 

Lets take Dean first of all.

Is Dean clueless about his feelings for Cas? I don’t think so. I think he is very much aware of how he feels:

He was perceptive of his feelings enough to admit to them in season 10 that’s for sure.

Plus he made Cas a mixtape which is the classic way a Winchester shows love (the way his father managed to win over his mother):

If he was still struggling to understand his own feelings after pouring all of his love into hours of mixing a tape eighties style he is way dumber than I thought.

If he really was that dumb, he wouldn’t have been after this though:

If there’s one way you recognise your feelings, its when you’ve lost someone. But if in Dean’s grief he was still not perceptive of his own emotions, he MUST have been after this:

Because Cas coming back made him do a complete 180 on his mood, brought subshine back into his life, and just generally made him a different person. There is no way Dean doesn’t know how he feels about Cas after all that. Oh no. Dean is well aware of his feelings, but he just simply feels like he can’t have what he wants. He won’t even allow himself to consider his own desire because he has suffered so much trauma, and so much loss, that allowing that makes him vulnerable. Dean Winchester couldn’t even fashion himself a truly happy dream world in his own mind, he could only manage mild contentment. That is the saddest part of all. 

Now lets take a look at Cas. 

Is Cas aware of how he feels for Dean? Yes of course he is. Cas has known how he feels for Dean since at least season 9 when he became human. Because as we all know, even the showrunner at the time told Misha that Cas was a “jilted lover” in 9x06. 

9x06 is our first clue, because the Rit Zien was going after broken hearted victims. 

This is not the face of a man unaware that the love of his life is standing in front of him shortly after breaking his heart. Cas knows.

Cas is far more perceptive than you may think. After all, he projects it all onto Hannah in 10x03:

(x)

So he is aware of his feelings at this point, but trying to ignore them.

Then in season 12 he is at the point where, at least whilst on his death bed, he’s not gonna ignore them anymore. Cas is aware of his feelings, and now he is confessing them too!

So yeah, this little love confession isn’t coming from someone who doesn’t know exactly how they feel about the object of their affections. 

Since then, for Cas at least, it has been less about understanding his feelings, and more about keeping them under control, and focusing his efforts elsewhere, as I am certain that Cas feels rejected by Dean. Following the pattern of miscommunication and “using words wrong” in season 13, my theory is that Cas is somewhat aware of how Dean feels for him, but thinks that Dean doesn’t actually want anything to happen. 

Cas also has the whole “permission to be happy” thing going on now, because the Empty entity also knows how Cas feels:

(x)

And as the Empty put it, Cas simply won’t allow himself to act on his feelings. 

As far as knowing how each other feels, I think they both have a vague idea. Though I think Cas has a better idea than Dean does, because even if Dean had his suspicions in earlier seasons simply due to how often Cas chose him and did everything for him, in later seasons, due to Cas keeping his distance, Dean may think he has lost his chance to ever have something more with him. Plus Dean is so self loathing he doesn’t think he deserves love from Cas, and I have no doubt that after than confession in 12x12 Dean just talked himself into thinking it was platonic. After all, 14x10 shows us just how little Dean allows himself in terms of happiness. 

So nonny, in conclusion, these disaster boys both probably know of their own feelings and have some suspicion that the other feels the same, but since they are both so utterly lacking in self worth and refuse to allow themselves even a smidgen of happiness, they are leaving each other infinitely unhappy. Its extremely infuriating and frustrating for all parties involved. 

On the plus side at least this way Cas won’t be dying anytime soon. Small positives and all. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

#destiel #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #the greatest love story ever told #9x06 #10x02 #10x16 #12x12 #12x19 #12x23 #13x01 #13x04 #13x05 #my opinions #my thoughts #asks #anon #Anonymous

[bamby0304]

Her Saviours- Ch.9

Series Masterlist

Summary: During an odd case, the Winchesters came across Y/N, a scared young Omega girl who had been used as a lure for a nest of vampires. After rescuing her from the monsters, John and his sons took her in knowing she was in no state to live among ordinary people. But three Alphas and one Omega is a mixture bound for disaster.

A/N: Thank your @sculptorofbeginnings for helping fix some stuff in this chapter :):)

Warnings: Explicit language. ABO dynamics. Angst. Fluff. Violence. Slight attempted/mentions of assault.

Bamby

“No, I haven’t heard from her, sorry boys,” Bobby sighed. “Yeah, of course. I’ll call you the second I know something. You two be careful,” he told them before hanging up. Shaking his head, Bobby turned to stare at you as you sat on the cot in his study. “Those boys are worried sick.”

“They’re only worried because they don’t know where I am. If they knew I was here, with you, they’d stop calling. They’d stop caring.” Slamming your book shut, you unfolded your legs and stood, moving into the kitchen. “I’m just extra baggage they have to lug around.”

He was hot on your tail, storming into the kitchen. “We both know that ain’t true. Those boys love you.”

“Sam tolerates me for Dean’s sake, and Dean likes the convenience of a nearby Omega,” you stated plainly, reaching into the fridge to pull out a beer.

When you’d shown up on Bobby’s doorstep almost a week ago, the old Beta had questions. Of course he had questions. You were an Omega and you were by yourself, which was odd enough, but the fact you’d been glued to a Winchester since they’d found you… he’d known something was wrong in an instant.

You’d had to admit a few truths. You had to explain that things were awkward now that Sam was back and John was gone. That having one Alpha replaced by another felt weird. You had to explain your relationship with Dean, and the toll it was taking on you. You had to explain the fact you were legally allowed to bond with someone, but no one was willing to do it.

“I can’t believe that boy has been using you like that.” Bobby shook his head. “I won’t believe it.”

“Don’t then.” You shrugged. “Doesn’t change the fact I’m not going anywhere,” you noted before starting towards the study again.

Before you could get far, Bobby reached over and snatched the beer out of your hand. As you spun around to glare at him, he cut off anything you might’ve said, “Those boys are worried about you, and they’re gonna keep worrying until you’re back by their side. So we’ve got two options here… either I call them and tell them you’re here, which will cut their case short and annoy both of them. Or you can get your bags and go find them.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kicking me out?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know that. I’m not kicking you out, I’m telling you to stop running from your problems,” he corrected.

Scoffing and shaking your head, you turned and continued towards the study. “No. No, I’m not going back. I can’t just go back. If I go back this has been for nothing. They would have learned nothing. If I go back now, I’m going back to what I left behind.”

“Left behind. Left behind,” he scoffed. “You say that like you’re done with them.”

“Maybe I am.” You shrugged as you dropped back onto the cot and grabbed your book again.

Marching into the room, he glared down at you. “Those boys are your family.” When you just looked up at him indifferently, he pushed, “Those boys have dragged you around all these years, because they care about you. They want you around. You just wanna turn your back on them? After everything they’ve done for you and you’ve done for them?”

“Yes,” you answered shortly.

“Bullshit.” He stood his ground. “I love you like you’re my own, Y/N, but I know you, too. I know you’re as stubborn as a Winchester, and as tough as one, too. You might be pissed, but you miss them.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything. Like I said, those boys are your family, you need each other. So, grab your things and get goin’.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. “I’m giving you an hour before I call Dean and let him know you’re here.”

Driving along, you were only half focused on the road as you headed in the direction Bobby had told you to go. Apparently, he’d been keeping up with the brothers’ whereabouts, waiting for you to ask where they might be so you could go to them. Instead, he used it to shoo you away.

It hurt, thinking he didn’t want you around, but deep down you understood. You didn’t want to understand, though. You wanted to be mad… it was easier.

He was right, which is why you’d feel guilty if you gave in. You did miss the brothers, and you knew they didn’t actually think you were extra baggage. You were all family, you’d just forgotten with all the drama going on.

Rolling down the road, you were pulled out of your thoughts as your car started sputtering.

“Shit,” you groaned.

You barely made it to the nearest gas station before the car stopped running.

Getting out and slamming the door, you stormed over to check the hood. Truth be told, though, you had no idea what you were looking at. Staring down at the engine, you had no clue where to start. Dean and John were always the ones to fix the cars.

“Need a hand?”

Spinning on your heels, you took in a deep breath and tried not to gag as the strong stench of stale cigarettes and Alpha filled your nose.

The man standing a few feet away from you was big and burly… you stood very little chance against him without a weapon. He stunk like he hadn’t had a shower in a week but had stuck his dick in at least three things since then. One look and you got the feeling any action he’d gotten hadn’t been consensual.

Unfortunately, you’d gotten out of the car empty handed, leaving you vulnerable.

His lips twitched up into a chilling grin as he took a step forward. “Why don’t you let me take a look under that hood of yours?” His eyes dragged over you, making it clear he wasn’t talking about your car.

“I’m fine, thanks,” you answered shortly, straightening your back.

That did nothing to deter him, though. In fact, he seemed more interested now. “Oh, don’t be like that. Pretty little Omega girl like you… you’ve gotta be real close to legal, huh? What are you doin’, all out here alone… looking for an Alpha to take real good care of you?”

The shudder that rolled through you just made his grin grow.

“I’ve got somethin’ that could help you.” His hand grabbed at his crotch as he adjusted the bulge growing there.

He was still moving closer, but you had nowhere to go. You were pressed against your car. One move and he would lunge for you, that was obvious, and by the size of him you wouldn’t get far. Out running an Alpha on the prowl was practically impossible.

Moving in closer, he left hardly a foot of space between you as he leered down, staring straight at your breasts. “Bend over, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You were shaking now. Despite the confident look on your face, and your tough posture, you were practically shitting yourself. There was nothing you could do, nowhere to go… your life was about to be ruined.

The sound of a shotgun being pumped had both of you whipping your heads over to the truck parked a little ways away.

A man stood by the truck, holding the shotgun. “You’re gonna leave her alone, or you won’t be walkin’ again,” he warned.

Huffing, the Alpha pulled away slightly. “This is none of your damned business.”

Keeping his eyes on the Alpha, the truck driver spoke to you, “Darlin’, you know this man?”

“N-no sir.”

“He botherin’ you?”

“Yes sir.”

He shrugged. “You heard the lady. Now get out of here, ‘fore I put you in a coffin.”

Quickly measuring his odds, the Alpha made the best decision he could and high tailed it out of there. You didn’t move a muscle until he was in his pickup and speeding down the road.

Once it was just the two of you, the man walked towards you. Still tense and waiting for something to happen, you jumped away from him.

He raised his hand- the one that wasn’t still holding his gun- to show you he meant no harm. “I’m a beta, darlin’, and I’m happily married with kids. I got no reason to hurt ya.” His eyes dropped to your open hood. “She doesn’t look good, and you ain’t gonna get any help ‘til morning.” Dragging his gaze back up to yours, he asked, “Where you headed?”

“Toledo. Ohio.”

“I can get you there if you don’t mind ditchin’ the car.”

Without missing a beat, you walked around to the back door, reached in, and pulled out your bag. When he looked at you, shocked, you shrugged. “It’s just a car. I’m not sentimental.”

Nodding, not having any reason to respond, he gestured for you to follow. “Come on, let’s get you outta here.”

Taking one last look at the car, you didn’t think twice before jogging after the man. He might be a stranger, but so far he’d shown you no reason not to trust him. To be honest, your odds were better with him than if you slept in your car by yourself all night.

Frank. Frank Thompson, that was the name of the man who had saved your life. The man married to a Beta woman who was waiting for him back home, which was somewhere in Oklahoma. He was headed to Detroit right now… well, after he dropped you off, of course.

The man seemed nice. You’d talked a little, mostly because he wanted to fill in the quiet moments with some chit chat, thinking it would put you at ease. He was polite, didn’t press for too much information, and let you just listen when that was all you wanted.

Mostly, you wanted to sit in silence. You were trying to figure out what you were going to do and say when you got to Dean and Sam. Were they going to be pissed, or relieved? Were you going to get defensive, or explode? There were a million this that could happen, a million things you could end up doing.

“So, you runnin’ to or from somethin’?”

You turned away from the window to Frank. “What makes you think I’m running?”

“Girl like you, and an Omega no less, doesn’t just get in a car and start drivin’ if she doesn’t have a reason. You’re runnin’, I just can’t figure out why.”

“And what makes you so sure you’re right?”

“‘Cause you remind me of my daughter… before she ran.”

Your heart sank and eyes went wide as you watched the man continue to focus on the road.

“She was headstrong and determined, like you are. Would kick anyone’s ass if she knew she could beat ‘em. My girl, she was an Omega, and her mama and me didn’t know what that would mean. Not really. Didn’t know how to raise her. So when a handsome Alpha boy came ‘round, she fell head over heels.”

“What happened next?”

“Her Daddy happened,” he sighed. “Didn’t understand her, all I knew was that I didn’t want my baby girl ‘round some hot headed Alpha, so I moved us out of town. Dragged her across states. Did whatever I could to keep my baby girl at home.”

“She ran back to him, didn’t she?”

He gave a short nod. “They’re married and got three pups, now.”

You weren’t expecting the happy ending, but then you weren’t used to happy anything. The short bouts of ease you experienced in life were laced with uncertainties and boundaries. Even being with Dean, or Sam, or John, while they might make you feel good, you never knew where you stood.

There was no happy ending in sight for you. None of the Alphas you loved were willing to commit. The life you led wasn’t exactly pup friendly. You were an Omega stuck in the least domestic life and it grated against your instincts like nails on a chalkboard.

“So, you runnin’ to, or from?” Frank asked again.

Pausing a moment, you gave it a thought before answering, “Both. I was taken in by a family of Alphas when I was a young teen, and I grew… attached to some of them. Thing is, none of them can claim me.”

Glancing in your direction, he gave you a quick once over before turning back to the road. “You even old enough to be claimed, yet?”

“By a few months, yeah. That’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The father, the head Alpha, he’s missing and without his permission his son won’t claim me.”

“Boy don’t have a thought of his own?”

You chuckled lightly, knowing Dean had plenty of his own thoughts but that he was also the perfect soldier. It was very contradictory. “He has his own thoughts, it’s just complicated. I’m guessing you don’t know much about Alphas?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Well, they’re headstrong and stubborn, but they’re loyal.”

“So what about the other one?”

“Huh?”

“You said you grew attached to some of ‘em, but then you said the son won’t claim you. One son, one person. So, what about the other one?”

“Oh…” you turned back to look out the window then, “he’s even more complicated.”

That was the easiest answer you had, and the only one you could actually say. Anything else would get caught in your throat. The thought and reminder of what you once had with Sam, and what he had with Jess, was still enough to cause a pain that brought tears to your eyes.

“You love ‘em?”

Tearing you eyes from the window one last time, you looked to Frank again. “Hmm?”

“Do you love ‘em? The boys?”

“I don’t know if it’s love... or habit. Or if I’m holding onto the hope of the young girl whose life they saved.”

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?” Frank asked as he looked down at you from up in the truck.

Tugging the strap of your bag on onto your shoulder, you gave a short nod. “I’ll be fine.”

Sighing, he looked at the dingy motel and shook his head. “I’m gonna trust you, darlin’, but if you change your mind and need another ride, you call me.” Reaching down, he offered you a piece of paper.

“Don’t you have a route you have to stick to?” you asked as you took the paper and looked down at the number.

“My boss is an Omega. They hear I’m takin’ a detour to help you out and I’ll probably get a raise.” He grinned and offered you a wink.

You chuckled lightly. “Thanks, Mr Thompson.”

“You take care, Miss Y/L/N.” Giving you a short nod, he then pulled himself back into the truck before starting down the road, leaving you standing there and watching him roll away.

Once there were no sign of the truck, you turned on your heels and headed towards the motel. It was the only one in town, which meant if Sam and Dean were still on the same hunt they’d be staying here. The Impala was nowhere to be seen, though, which meant you were going to have to wait for them to show up.

Taking a deep breath, you trekked towards the vending machines and wooden bench outside of the reception. Taking a seat, you dropped your bag next to you and settled in, keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the Winchesters.

When the Impala sped into the parking lot, you jumped to your feet and looked at it with wide eyes. Three doors opened, the brothers and a young girl stepping out. Sam was by the girl’s side in an instant as she kept her eyes squeezed shut and her fists clenched against them.

Dean, on the other hand, froze as his gaze landed on you.

Sam paused and followed his brother’s line of sight, spotting you as you stood there awkwardly. “I’m taking Charlie inside,” he told his brother before turning away from you.

Once Sam and the girl disappeared into their room, Dean was heading towards him as you did the same. You were tense, waiting for him to blow up as his jaw ticked and eyes glared into yours.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked, still on the other side of the parking lot. He practically had to yell for you to hear him.

“Bobby’s,” you answered honestly, not seeing any point in protecting the man considering he’d kicked you out.

Your answer just made Dean’s jaw clench harder. “He lied to us?”

“No, he lied for me,” you countered.

“Same thing.”

“What do you expect him to do? I show up on his doorstep, bawling my eyes out, and he’s just gonna call and lead you back to me. He’s a father to me, Dean, he would neve-”

Reaching you, finally, Dean grabbed your arm and pulled you to him, crashing his lip to yours. You fell silent and froze as he kissed you deeply, holding your arm with one hand and the back of your head with the other.

When he pulled back, you sucked in a breath your lungs had been screaming for.

“I was scared out of my brain, worrying about you.” His eyes bore into yours as he looked down at you. “Worried you might be dead in some ditch or claimed by some knothead.”

“I was at Bobby’s,” you repeated, still breathless and recovering.

“Why? Why did you leave?”

Looking into his eyes, seeing the truth fear in them, you knew nothing but the truth would fix your problems. “Because I didn’t think you’d care if I left.”

“How could you think I wouldn’t care?” A fire grew in his gaze, flickering amongst the fear. “You’re family, of course I’d care about you.”

“I know that. Which is why I knew that if you did care, you’d hurt… like I was.”

Searching your gaze, he frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I can’t do this for much longer, Dean.” Pulling away from him, you sighed and gestured to his room. “Who’s the girl?”

“If you think you can just change the subject like that-”

Knowing he wasn’t finished talking about the two of you, but also knowing there was a job to be done, you cut him off, “She’s freaking out and you left Sam all alone with her. You’re in the middle of the case. We can do the chick flick crap later. Who is the girl, Dean?”

The girl was Charlie, a high school Omega who was caught in the middle of a bloody Mary case. As in the real bloody Mary. You never thought the myth had any facts behind it, but according to what Sam and Dean had stumbled across, it was true.

Inside the motel room, you knelt in front of the whimpering and terrified Omega as the brothers worked on covering every reflective surface there was. When they were done, Sam came over to sit  next to her.

“Hey, hey it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie,” he assured her. “It's okay, all right?”

Slowly, she lifted her head away from her hands and looked around before her gaze fell on you.

“This is Y/N,” Sam started. “She’s our-”

“Sister,” you finished for him, with a slight bite to your tone.

It was a bitch move, but you still weren’t over that.

Flinching at the word slightly, Sam didn’t correct you before he moved on, “Now listen. You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever.” Charlie looked at him with scared eyes. “I'm gonna die, aren't I?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “No. Not anytime soon.”

Dean came over to kneel beside you and looked up at her. “All right Charlie. We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom. Donna said it,” she explained.

The brother shared a look before Dean tried again,  “That's not what we're talking about. Something happened, didn't it? In your life… a secret… where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

Charlie took a deep breath before telling him what he needed to know, “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said, ‘Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself’. And you know what I said?” She looked to each of you. “I said, ‘Go ahead’, And I left.” Tears began streaming down her face. “How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just… I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.”

Burying her face in her hands, she started crying. She sobbed so hard her shoulders shook. Instinct took over, and as the brothers watched, you reached up and wrapped your arms around her.

“We’re gonna take care of you,” you promised.

With your promise, she crumbled onto the floor and into your arms as she started crying harder.

Getting Charlie to let you go had been hard, but you weren’t about to let the brothers head off without you. They were a bit reluctant to let you join them in the first place, but one look at Dean and that’s all it had taken.

He knew then that if they left you behind you wouldn’t be there when they returned.

So, with the help of the brothers, you managed to get Charlie to calmed down and explained that you were going to help your ‘brothers’ help her. Eventually she let you go.

“You know her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault,” Dean noted as he drove down the road.

“You know as well as I do spirits don't exactly see shades of grey, Dean,” Sam countered. “Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary.”

Dean sighed, “I guess.”

“You know, I've been thinking,” Sam started. “It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.”

“Why, what do you mean?” Dean asked.

You watched Sam closely as a bad feeling started to tug on your stomach.

“Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

Shifting in your seat, you leaned forward and against the back of the seat, poking your head between the brothers. “I thought you said she only comes if you have a secret that led to a death. You said the first victim’s daughter was the one to say the words. What if we don’t have any secrets juicy enough for Mary?”

“She’s got a point.” Dean nodded. “We know some stuff, but I don’t think any of it counts.”

But Sam didn’t seem to agree. “She'll come after me.”

Everything in the car froze.

Dean looked from the road, to his brother, and then back before shaking his head.  “You know what, that's it.”

He pulled the car over, slamming on the brakes. You had to hold on to keep yourself from flying into the front seat with them.

Not missing a beat, Dean turned to glare at his brother. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow?”

Sam just ignore him, though, keeping his gaze on the window in front of him.

“Sam, this has got to stop, man.” Dean’s concern was growing with every word. “I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night, it's gonna kill you. Now listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

Sam shook his head. “I don't blame you. Either of you.”

“Well you shouldn't blame yourself,” Dean told him, “because there's nothing you could've done.”

Looking away from the window then, Sam turned to his brother. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, we mean I know all about it.” Dean gestured to himself and you. “It's not gonna work with Mary anyway.”

“No you don't.”

“I don't what?”

“You don't know all about it,” Sam answered simply. “I haven't told you everything.”

Your blood ran cold.

Dean’s eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”

“Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

Before you knew what you were doing, you threw your door open and stepped out of the car and into the rain.

Walking away from the car, shaking your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and looked up at the sky. Letting the rain fall on your face, you took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the panic raging inside of you.

“Y/N!”

Spinning on your heels, you turned to Dean as he hurried towards you. Sam stood by his door, watching with this look on his face that made you want to scream, cry, and punch him in the nose.

“Hey.” Dean stopped in front of you, searching your eyes worriedly. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t lose him again. I can’t lose anyone again. I can’t do it, Dean.”

“He’s not going anywhere. You think I’d let him go that easily?” he asked, trying to reassure you.

You shook your head, not trusting him. “You said that before. You all said you’d never leave. Everyone’s left,” your voice broke, and just like that he knew it wasn’t just rain rolling down your face.

Grabbing your arm, he pulled you to him. “I haven’t left, and I’m not going to.” Leaning back, he cupped the side of your face and tilted your head until your eyes met his. “Neither is Sam.” Running the pad of his thumb along your cheek, he held your gaze. “Do you trust me?”

Looking into his eyes, you quickly nodded. “I trust you.”

“Now come on, let’s get out of the run.” Letting his hand fall to yours, he intertwined your fingers before leading you back to the car. “Better not ruin the upholstery,” he grumbled under his breath as you slid back into your seat.

For the short second or two where it was just you and Sam in the car, the two of you met each other’s gaze in the rear view mirror. You were still worried, and he was still guilty, but neither of you said anything. You wanted to, though.

You missed being able to talk to Sam as easily as you talked to Dean, but things had changed over the years. Knowing he was about to put his life on the line, and every thought of his would be of Jess… you couldn’t deny that it hurt to think what you’d once had with him years ago was well and truly gone.

You were stuck in the car. The brothers had headed into the store while you were stuck in the car.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though. It was the middle of the night, in the middle of a case, and the brothers were breaking in. Somewhere in that store was the mirror Mary was connected to, and the plan was to end it all. With so many things that could go wrong, you really shouldn’t have been surprised when Dean ordered you to stay in the car.

Didn’t mean you couldn’t be pissed.

As you sat there, drumming your fingers on the front seat as you leaned against it, you suddenly sat up right as a car rolled into the parking lot beside the Impala.

It was the cops.

“Fuck.”

Two officers stepped out, one of which had spotted you in an instant. With their torch shining into the window of the Impala, they stepped up and gave the glass a knock.

“Come on out,” he ordered.

Swallowing the nothing that had gathered in your throat, you slid across the seat and did as he said, getting out of the car. Stepping to the side, you watched the two officers with wide eyes as they looked you over.

“Wanna explain what you’re doing here, sweetheart?” the one who had knocked on the window asked.

Before you could answer, the store’s door opened as Dean stepped out.

“Hold it!” the other cop ordered Dean.

He raised his hands in defense. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys. False alarm. I tripped the system.”

“Who are you?” the cop that knocked asked.

“I’m the boss’s kid,” Dean lied. “And that’s my girl. She was just waiting for me while I grabbed something from the office.”

“You’re Mr. Yamashiro’s kid?”

Crap…

Dean chuckled lightly. “I know, the resemblance isn’t really there. Got my mum’s looks,” he joked. When neither cop responded, he went on, “I was adopted.”

“Really?” the cops clearly didn’t believe him.

Glancing over at the store windows, Dean sighed, “You know, I just… I really don’t have time for this right now.” Before the officer in front of him could blink, Dean threw a punch and clocked him right in the jaw.

The other officer was quick to react, but you were faster and prepared. Reaching out, you snatched the flashlight from his hold. The officer rounded on you, but wasn’t prepared as you slammed the large, heavy, metal torch into his face. The sickening crack that sounded told you that his nose was well a truly broken.

Both officers fell to the ground like two sacks of potato.

“I was handling it,” Dean stated defensively.

Sighing, you stepped over the officer in front of you, and shoved the torch into Dean’s chest. “You’re welcome.” Without giving him a glance, you walked right by and headed into the store.

Dean was hot on your tail, grabbing the crow bar he’d ditched before heading outside. He led you through the store, even though you knew he’d prefer it if you were outside. But you were just as stubborn as he was, so there was no way you were going to to sitting on your ass and twiddling your thumbs.

As you rounded the corner you found Sam… kneeling on the floor and grunting in pain.

Hurrying forward, Dean threw the crowbar at the mirror his brother was in front of, smashing it to pieces.

“Sammy?” Dean reached down and grabbed his brother, lifting his face to look at him. “Sammy!”

“It's Sam,” he groaned back.

Dropping to your knees next to the brothers, you let out a sigh of relief as you took Sam’s face from Dean to check him over yourself. Taking in the sight of the blood rolling from his eyes, you choked on a sob.

“You scared the crap out of me.” Letting him go, you slapped at his chest. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’ll try.”

Dean took Sam’s face back. “God, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Come on.” Dean grabbed his brother and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.” He tossed Sam’s arm over his shoulder.

The three of you started to walk out when the sound of glass crunching had you all freezing on the spot.

Slowly, you all turned and what you found had fear coursing through your veins, thick and cold. Mary was crawling out of the broken mirror like something from a horror movie. Pulling herself to her feet, she took one look at the three of you, and you were falling to your knees.

It felt like your head was being squeeze. Like your brain was under so much pressure and the only way to ease it was to pop. Blood trickled from your eyes as you cried out in pain. Everything hurt, every bone, every muscle. What was going on in your head rippled through your body, making you curl into yourself as a pain like no other took over.

Then it was gone.

Dean let out a groan before you heard the sound of another mirror smashing.

“Hey. Hey, Y/N.” Sam was right there, reaching for you, turning you over onto your back until you were looking up at him. “You okay?”

Holding in a sob, you nodded. “I-I’m okay.”

“Guys?” Dean looked over his shoulder at you and his brother. “This has got to be like...what? 600 years of bad luck?”

Pulling yourself up so you were sitting, you looked around at the dozens of broken mirrors throughout the store. “I hate you so much right now.”

Sam chuckled lightly beside you.

Grinning, Dean got to his feet and turned to you, offering his hand. You took it and let him pull you to his feet. “Nice to have you back, sweetheart.”

“So this is really over?” Charlie asked from where she sat beside you in the Impala, which was now parked outside of her house.

Dean turned and rested his arm along the back of his seat before giving her a short nod. “Yeah, it's over.”

A wide smile spread across her face as she looked to the three of you “Thank you.” Taking a deep breath, she slid out of the car and started towards her home.

“Charlie?” Sam called before she could get far. When she turned back to him he went on, “Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

She simply gave a faint smile before turning back around and continuing on.

Once she was gone, Dean gave his brother a playful punching, making Sam turn to him. “That's good advice,” he noted before driving off. You were almost out of town when he spoke up again, “Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

You sunk down into your seat and turned to the window. Part of you wanted to know, you wanted Sam to let you back in. You wanted to be the one he turned to, the one he shared all his secrets with.

Another part of you didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think about him and Jessica, didn’t want to prolong his pain or cause yourself any more. Didn’t want to risk letting him back in when he could still leave you again.

Sam sighed, “Look...you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

You doubted you’d ever have Sam back… not completely… not truly.

Bamby

#alpha!dean fanfiction #alpha!dean fic #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean x omega!you #alpha!dean x omega!y/n #alpha!sam fanfiction #alpha!sam fic #alpha!sam x omega!reader #alpha!sam x omega!you #alpha!sam x omega!y/n #abo #abo dynamics #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #her saviours

[flowerflamestars]

How did Feyre and Rhysand meet in your Ivy Moon AU?

Yall know I love this backstory! 

Okay, so as established in Ivy Moon: the sister’s magically hidden home is in upstate new york. Elain very briefly attended Columbia- this is the fake degree she currently uses in the human side of her career. Nesta flat-out did not go: she had just been hired by Amren at the time, and was already rising as one of the most in demand curse-breakers around. She has No Time for human life.

But Feyre, the youngest and most curious about her human father, wanted a real human experience. She gets into NYU and studies in succession: poetry, theatre, photography, before settling on making gigantic, watercolor melded canvases. 

The older Archerons worry, of course. One of their Wild Hunt Uncles, Alaistair actually spends a semester posing as adjunct faculty to watch out for Fey. (It plays out like one long tweed cosplay and he leaves the avowed enemy of the history department.)

At twenty- one Feyre has been selling her art for just under a year. She’s about to graduate. But more stressful than that: she’s about to have her first solo show in the city.

A frantic spring of painting commences. Elain is on her yearly work trip to France- preforming alchemy and checking in on perfume production- but magically sending her little sister late night desserts, knowing damn well Fey isn’t sleeping. Only one batch is spiked with enough magic to make her take a break. 

A month out, Amren and Nesta get called to Russia for a job. 

While all this has been happening, Rhysand has been ruling the city. He does much of what his vampire father had taught him to: the magical world watches out for its own, but as the strongest, you have to be the watcher. (Nesta continually calling him a mob boss is not wrong).

He’s a respected leader, despite being the only dhampir alive. Helped along by the fact that Az had been living in witch territory for years and Cassian is the go to source of werewolf magic for the entire eastern seaboard. 

It’s all going well, until Feyre walks into Az’s old diner, paint-streaked and seeking chocolate chip pancakes. 

What Rhysand hadn’t admitted to either of his brothers, was that after meeting with a very concerned Columbia dean- and convincing him that no, one bronze age welsh immortal who wanted to teach the classics probably doesn’t mean faery invasion.- he’d wandered through a student exhibition. 

Typical photography, found object art, and there at the back, a canvas with color so skillfully blended that his vampiric sight couldn’t find brushstrokes. (Feyre does not admit she’d made it with magic until after they’re married.)

An hour later, he’d found the director of the program and pressed five hundred dollars into her hands before taking it off the wall himself. Star Nursery I.

It was followed by Daybreak, Star Nursery II, Orion, and Mist.

Azriel owns a handful of successful restaurants, for both human and supernatural clientele. But this diner was the first of them, now mostly a human establishment, and Rhys goes there on quiet days. It still smells like Cassian’s childhood.

This quiet is interrupted by a messy haired, tiny bombshell of a witch slamming into him.

(This is the incident that sparks one of the iconic Feyre-and-Nesta-boytalk conversations referenced in Ivy Moon. Elain is the sister you go to for emotional advice, but Nesta is the one you take the sexy disaster queries to.)

Feyre is too busy dying inside to apologize because Rhys is beautiful. Classic sculpture beautiful, with big purple eyes and dressed in a three piece suit that looks like sin and smells like money. Feyre thinks, as she tells Nesta, fuck, bench press me. And runs away.

Rhys is ALSO silent: because he knows her scent. This is painting girl: and she’s a witch.

Angst proceeds: Rhys thinks Feyre ran away because she knows who he is- she does not- Feyre is horrified for days she smashed into a man that gorgeous with unwashed hair and holding an armload of chocolate chip pancakes like a disaster child- he thinks she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

But Rhys has other things to deal with: a creepy old vampire acquaintance has been stalking around NYU and Rhys wants nothing more than to throw him out of the city. 

He follows Tamlins scent all the way across town and runs into Feyre again.  

Witches don’t believe in coincidence. She might not know who Rhys is, but he’s a powerful something- past the incredible hotness. But she’s also by far the nicest Archeron.

So she apologizes for the first run in. Says that she has nothing to do with the city magic, and if this is his territory she’s sorry again- but she had to go to three different stores to get the right shade of green and she’s leaving now anyway.

Rhysand, devoid of all charm because Feyre turns him into a puddle: BUT A VAMPIRE IS FOLLOWING YOU

Feyre, who literally just saw him flash fang and also was kidnapped by a demon a year ago: ARE YOU KIDDING ME. 

She pepper-sprays him with colloidal silver and runs away. 

Being a dhampir, this doesn’t work for more than to soak his hair. But in the meantime Feyre has run right into Cassian, who was helping with the Tamlin hunt. (Cassian calls him creepy vampire malfoy. He is not wrong)

Cassian, one of those dudes who despite being a sexy mountain has that chris-evans-I respect ALL women vibe: Are you okay??

Feyre, pissed as fuck because her bag broke and now she’s going to have to go to a fourth art store: A FUCKING VAMPIRE IS CHASING ME. NO. NOT OKAY

Rhysand, skidding around the corner human fast and dripping: I DIDN’T MEAN ME. I’m not chasing you, there’s another vampire!

Cassian, gamely not laughing: I don’t know dude, that looks like chasing. 

Rhysand: CAS

Cassian: Are you covered in silver spray? What the fuck, Rhys?

Feyre:

Eventually everything works out to the fact that Tamlin is straight up stalking Feyre. Rhys obviously vows to keep her safe no matter what. Having no time for any of it, Feyre says fine- not thinking AT ALL about how SEXY SEXY SEXY he is- but I’m not stopping work.

What proceeds is a month long extended shenanigan of one of the brothers being with Feyre at all times while she frantically makes art. Wanting to prove that she’s fine and can handle it all herself, she refuses to tell either of her sisters.

Somewhere, Cassian goes, WAIT, NESTA ARCHERON, CURSE-BREAKING GENIUS, SPEAKER OF THE DEAD, LEGENDARY HOTTIE, IS YOUR SISTER?

Cassian goes to Delaware to heal some werefox children, which is fine, because Rhysand is now seeing to Feyre’s around the clock protection personally. 

SEXY SEXY SEXY

The show comes! Rhysand sees Feyre all dressed up and lacking any trace of paint or glitter for the first time and bites through his own tongue. He resists the urge to buy the entire gallery only barely- but Az does buy a wall sized canvas.

SURPRISE Elain came home early to see the show! 

Cue Az summoning the courage to offer her a drink, all shy smiles.

Elain: Do you have any idea who the fuck that is with my baby sister?

Everyone meets. Feyre tackle hugs Elain, Elain congratulates her expansively. Az is charmed, Elain intimidates the FUCK out of Rhys, Az decides she’s his new best friend.

Feyre is called away to meet a buyer.

LO AND BEHOLD, the buyer is creepy Tamlin who tries to zoom her away at vampire speed. 

But Feyre is an Archeron, raised by the wild hunt. She’s got knives under that dress and NO VAMPIRE is going to ruin her special night!

Feyre stabs him. What she didn’t know was that Nesta- protective as ever, secretly charmed her baby sister’s entire arsenal to make it a little more lethal, knowing damn well Feyre hates violence and is extremely vulnerable in the human world. 

Fire magic and vampires don’t mix well.

Rhys wooshes to Feyre’s side around the time the wounds start to catch fire.

Tamlin: BUT I LOVE YOU. YOU COULD LEAVE THIS LITTLE HUMAN LIFE BEHIND.

Feyre: LITTLE? I worked for YEARS FOR THIS SHOW

Rhysand, taking in Feyre smeared in blood and ashes, with a dying vampire at her feet and still wearing that glittering black dress: Marry me

Feyre: THAT ART IS MY LIFE, YOU CREEPY, BLOODSUCKING ASSHOLE

Elain and Az arrive just in time for Tamlin’s final graphic wails. Az rushes forward to help, but Elain stops him. Hello, Elain’s seer gift. 

Feyre, shaky but okay drops the knife. Rhys holds out a hand to help and then lifts her clean over the ashes. Tucked against his chest, Feyre breathes. Impossibly, begins to laugh.

Rhys, thinking she’s going into shock and taking a step back to see her face: Feyre?

Feyre, reaching up to cup his face: Of course, I’ll marry you.

[emptywithout]

Since Yesterday

Words: 1042

Warnings: angst, depressed!sam, implied suicide

a short one-shot where Sam disappears and Dean reads a page in Sam’s journal and finds out why. Dean needs to hurry.

“Sam? Where are you, man? I’ve been looking everywhere! Call me back, dammit!” Dean hung up his phone and tried Sam’s room again. Sam had been gone since yesterday. Just fucking disappeared.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around the sparse room. Sam didn’t have much. Didn’t want much, either. No real decorations, not like his own room. Here, everything was neat and in its place, except for one flannel thrown over the chair. He frowned at the coldness of Sam’s space.

Moving quickly to the dresser, Dean went through some drawers. Nothing but neatly folded clothes. He turned to see what else he could find.  The bed was neatly made as always. Sam would probably be pissed that Dean had torn the sheets from his bed, but Dean didn’t care.

Sam was missing.

When Dean angrily pulled the pillow onto the floor, a small book fell, too. Dean picked it up and thumbed through it. It was a journal. Several hundred pages worth, completely filled. Dean paused, not wanting to invade Sam’s privacy, but also immensely curious.

He sat down slowly onto Sam’s firm (that has to be uncomfortable, thought Dean) mattress and flipped through the pages, not really reading the words, just in awe of how much was there. Every page was filled with dates and entries. Both sides of each page. Filled. He caught a few words here and there as his eyes skimmed the pages..

Alone.

Sad.

Brother.

Failure.

Can’t.

Disappointment.

Depressed.

Death.

Dean.

Scared.

Dean felt a twinge of guilt. Sam had been more withdrawn since – Dean had to think back – probably since Eileen died? What else had Sam been going through? Dean cursed himself for not thinking about his brother’s needs.

Dean thought for a moment. When was the last time his brother laughed? He couldn’t remember. He remembered Sam always excusing himself to be alone in his room. He was becoming careless on hunts, getting injured, and losing focus.

And Sam’s reaction when he discovered Dean was climbing into the box without saying goodbye tore at his heart. He hadn’t really thought about his brother’s feelings. Sam, who meant the world to him. Sam, who sacrificed for him. Sam, his baby brother, who he swore he would always protect.

Dean closed his eyes. Sam was feeling abandoned. Again.

“Fuck, Sam, I’m so sorry.” He wiped a tear from his eye. This was probably why Sam was gone. Trying to find a way to save him again. Sacrificing again.

Dean’s blood ran cold.

He turned to the very last entry to see if there were any clues there. Then he’d put the book back. He flipped past all the other entries, all written in the same colored pen, all very neat handwriting. Of course. Meticulous Sam. Always wanting things to be perfect.

The last entry was yesterday. Dean swallowed nervously and began reading.

**

It’s always the same. It doesn’t matter, really. Nothing does. Nothing I do ends well. It always ends in tragedy or death.

Always.

Everyone I’ve ever loved is gone. Dead because of me. Jess, Amy, Madison, Sarah, Eileen. All the things I try to fix end up breaking later anyway. I can’t even help my own brother. We always end up telling lies and keeping secrets from each other. Always for the greater good, right? Never turns out this way, though. Always something goes wrong. I can’t do this without him. If I lose him again, I won’t be able to go on.

He doesn’t know – can’t know – that I’m still evil. I know I am. Look at what I do. Look at what I did –I mean - look at what I keep doing. I still kill. And even though the demon blood is gone, I still feel that power. I want to use it again. I feel it coursing through me. That alone should be reason to end this. I’m dangerous. I can’t tell Dean. He would be so pissed. He would hate me.

And even when we aren’t hunting? I still see Lucifer. Not all the time, but he’s there. In my dreams, too.  But somedays he’s there, watching me. Laughing at me. Reminding me how evil I am and how I should accept my fate. See, Cas was right. I AM an abomination.

I know we’ve saved a lot of people. But many are dead because of me, too. I got Charlie killed and I killed Kevin with my own two hands. I killed that kid. I blame myself for Crowley’s death, too. Once he was an enemy. Hell, often he was an enemy. But I’m still sad that he’s gone. And he’s gone because of me.

I don’t see much point in trying anymore. I know I will never be happy. It will always be taken away from us. Why risk the hurt. If I’m never happy no matter what I do or how hard I try – why bother? Why try helping when it will eventually create even more pain?

Dean’s putting himself in the box soon. I can’t face it. I can’t I can’t bury my brother in a box in the ocean. I have to go before that happens. I think one more loss will break me. I’ll just snap.

Especially if it’s Dean.

I have to die first.

I can’t snap and become the evil monster I’ve been holding back for so long. I’ll lose my grip and he’ll take over.

I want to die in peace. It will be no one’s fault. I don’t want to die hunting. I don’t want pain. And if I have to watch Dean die again, I will die slowly. Pieces of me that keep me whole and human will disappear. I will either be a shell or become a monster. I don’t want Jack to see that. He’ll be ok, he’ll have Cas.

I hope Michael lets him die. I hope Dean joins me soon.

I don’t think I can do eternity alone.

**

Dean slammed the book closed and threw it on the bed.

Sam was gone.

So was his gun.

Dean grabbed the keys and ran to the Impala.

He knew where Sam would be. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

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#angst #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #sam's depressed #dean's going in the box

[mattzerella-sticks]

Unwritten (a Dean/Cas spec coda for 14x12)

(Link to fic - click here)

Dean's plan - the lone happy ending in all his books - didn't work. Spiraling in a depression, he is left adrift in the seas of destiny, feeling like they're pushing him towards a fate he cannot bear. What makes it worse is the lighthouse shining from across the way, acting as if he has any choice in stopping himself from hitting the rocky shore.

Why can't Castiel get the hint?

           Dean hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes yet. He slumped into the first chair he saw, ignorant to Sam’s cries. It didn’t matter to him, whether the seawater would stain the cushions like they might have done to the leather interior of his car. Or that he could catch a cold if he stayed dressed like he was. ‘Nothing matters now, since it didn’t work…’ His melancholy clung like to him like the salty sea spray, every deep inhale another reminder that his fate had been sealed – unlike his box.

           Sam retired for the night, promising to tackle the problem come morning. His inspiring speech didn’t have any effect; Dean’s mind stuck back with the Ma’lak Box as it slowly sank deeper and deeper into the dark ocean. Empty, with its door swung wide. Like how he was feeling. Like how his prison will soon be. ‘I should be there with it, like in the book.’

           It’d be easier to deal with, except people kept shining lights in his direction. Flashing them over, exposing the daunting bleakness that was inside. It was Castiel’s turn now. Castiel, who sat across from him, staring. Looking at him with eyes as blue as the ocean he tried drowning himself in. His hands folded over themselves in mock prayer. Dean couldn’t take it.

           “Hey,” he barked, “You got anything better to look at?” Castiel shrugged. His lack of response, only further angered Dean. “You’re not gonna say anything either?”

           “What is there to say?”

           “That you were right… and it didn’t work,” Dean said, “How it was hopeless to try and I shouldn’t have even attempted it because it was always going to fail because I’m a failure and nothing ever goes right –“

           “I’d never say that, Dean.”

           “But… But…” Head hung, he rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands, “But it’s true…”

           Castiel sighed. “Dean –“

           “No, Cas, I don’t… I don’t want to hear it.”

           “You have no idea what I was about to say.”

           “I know enough. I know you’re glad I’m here and not locked away with nothing but fish and Michael for company.”

           His angel huffed, pulling back. Dean knew he stabbed at a nasty wound, the memory of their conversation in the hospital still fresh for both of them. “And what if I am? Is that a terrible thing?”

           “Don’t know how it’s not.”

           “Maybe the fact we’re here talking is a good thing,” Castiel said, “That we have another chance to free you from Michael –“

           “There isn’t another chance, Cas!” Dean cried, “This was it! And now I get a front row ticket to watch Michael destroying the world and everyone I care about.”

           “You don’t know that –“

           “And where do you get off, anyway?” he asked, “Talking about chances. Seemed like you were pretty fine accepting that deal with the Empty – enough to not tell us about it.” He twisted the knife deeper, sickeningly enjoying the look of regret on Castiel. “If you didn’t catch me with the box, were you ever going to? Or were you just gonna disappear one day and leave us to wonder if you finally had enough of playing human?”

           “I… This isn’t the same thing, Dean.”

           “Bullshit. You make a promise with an all-powerful creature to sacrifice yourself for someone else – it’s like staring into a fucking mirror!”

           “Are you going to blame yourself for this, too?” Castiel asked, tone bitter and biting, “Use this to feel even worse? Dull the pain with even more pain until you just numb completely?”

           “Seems like all I’m good for these days…”

           “You… you…” Castiel slammed his fist down on the table, shaking it. He stood, shoving the chair back, scraping against the floor. His shoulders heaved with the righteousness of his anger. Dean shrunk under his powerful gaze, burning with his grace. “I am my own person who can make my own decisions. Not everything is about you or because of you. The world might be on your shoulders, Dean Winchester, but most of it finds you completely irrelevant. There are people around the globe who can go about their days without thinking ‘Is this what Dean Winchester would do?’ And there are people here who can do the same. Like me you… you wet, sad sack of flesh.”

           Dean was stunned. Castiel stilled, but poured his fury out around him, the raw emotion making the air around him crackle with intense electricity. Inside Dean’s own body, a rush of emotions fought for control. He wasn’t sure which won, too worn down by the nothing previously occupying his body to identify it. But he was laughing, and tears streamed down his face.

           His angle startled. “Why are you laughing?” Castiel asked, head skewed to the right, “Why are you… why are you crying?”

           Dean shook his head. “I have no idea, Cas,” he said, “I have no idea what I’m doing…” He dropped his face into his hands, shaking with the overwhelming weight crushing him, sweeping over him like a tidal wave. Michael pounded even harsher than before, and he felt the lock bend further than it has ever gone.

           In an instant, a strong set of arms enveloped him. “Shh, Dean… it’s okay…” Castiel whispered, stroking his hair back and forth. Dean snuck a peek out from between his fingers. Castiel kneeled beside him, all the anger gone, replaced with something even deeper: worry.

           “It’s not okay,” Dean said, “I’m going to lose my body and you’re going to disappear…”

           Castiel smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, the Empty wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking me if Michael kills me.”

           “That really doesn’t Cas…”

           Castiel nodded, lapsing back into silence. He continued petting his hair, the motion relaxing him. Dean leaned into it, humming. “You know,” Dean said after a while, “things were really starting to look up for us. That’s what makes this suck a whole lot more.”

           “Yes.” Castiel clucked his tongue, sighing. “You know I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

           “You weren’t wrong,” Dean said, “I am very irrelevant.”

           “Not to the people who care about you. Not to Sam or Jack or… or me,” Castiel told him, “I… didn’t want to burden you with this information. I know how much you already carry with you… seen how fractured your mind is. Who am I to add any unnecessary stress when you’re dealing with so many other things at the moment? Besides, this was something I chose to do, and when the time comes, it’ll be for me to handle.”

           “You’re not a burden Cas. Your problems are my problems. You shouldn’t have to face anything alone.”

           “Then why do you choose to do so yourself?”

           Dean looked away, hands fiddling with each other. “I…” He can’t lie to his angel, each untruth drying up in his mouth and turning to dust. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just… used to it. Old habits and all that…” He chuckled, the dark notes echoing in the empty room. “Maybe I’ll never learn… too broken to ever work normally.”

           “You’re not broken, Dean.”

           “I am,” he insisted, “You said it yourself – there are fractures! All in here!” Dean pointed to his head, jabbing at it. “It’s how Michael took control, how he’ll break out. There’s nothing holding my mind together but paperclips and rubber bands. And when he leaves… even that won’t work anymore.”

           He kept at his head, each harsh tap of his finger another painful reminder of his faults. Castiel grabbed at it, holding his hand, pulling it away and back towards his lap. “You misunderstand me, Dean. That’s not what I meant at all,” he explained softly, “Yes there are fractures but… they do not make you weak. Your mind is strong. In all those cracks of fear and sadness I saw thousands of happy memories filling their space. Keeping you whole, keeping you sane. The edges may have been roughed, but you managed to protect yourself from their sharpness. Your scars shone like gold; a testament to the beauty of the human spirit. It made me proud to see how well you hold yourself together, even through all the disasters you suffered through.”

           Dean kept his eyes on Castiel, his speech wrapping around his heart and filling it with warmth. Softness bloomed in him, almost like a wildflower in the spring. “You really think all that?”

           He nodded. “I know it’s scary having Michael in there, and things seem pretty bleak. But you can hold him there until we figure out another plan. And when he’s gone… you will still be here.”

           “I… I’m not sure,” Dean admitted, “I won’t give up but – but it’s hard, all alone –“

           “Then you won’t be alone, Dean,” Castiel said, “I’ll be here to help in any way. Let me show you that you don’t have to handle everything by yourself.” He squeezed Dean’s hand, and he repeated the gesture moments later.

           “Okay… but then you gotta let me do the same.”

           “Dean…”

           “No,” Dean frowned, “If we beat Michael… I want to know you’ll be here the next morning. The Empty ain’t taking you without a fight… and I can get pretty scrappy when people try taking things from me. Especially when it’s something – someone I care about.”

           Castiel laughed, his deep chuckle filling his chest like a deep lungful of fresh air. His angel agreed. “It would be awful when the moment I get to be happy, it’s all for naught.”

           “Well, the good thing about being us Cas is that we don’t get to be happy.”

           “…How is that a good thing?”

           “No, listen,” Dean continued, smiling, “It’s true. People like us don’t get happiness served up on a silver platter. We have to make it for ourselves. Had been for the… for the longest time. But whenever we tried it always seemed to just… fall apart. Knocked over like a stack of cards.” He tangled his fingers with Castiel’s, staring into his eyes. “Maybe because we kept trying alone?”

           “…What are you trying to say Dean?”

           “Say? Nothing,” Dean told him, “I’m just a man, holding back an archangel from destroying the world, asking an angel with the shadow of an ancient entity hanging over him if he’d like to work towards being happy… together?”

           “You want us to re-write our stories?” Castiel asked, “Defy fate?”

           “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

           It was a long pause before Castiel grinned; a gummy thing that made Dean’s engine run. “Of course,” he said, “I want nothing more than to be at your side.”

           “Well all right then.” Then, for a moment, Dean was unsure of what to do next. Castiel was fully occupied with Dean: stroking his hair, squeezing his hand, gazing at him as if he shone better than the brightest treasures on Heaven and Earth. It was the most comforting feeling, and Dean could not hold back the yawn that tore through him.

           “You should get some rest,” Castiel said, “It’s been a long day for you.”

           “For both of us.”

           “I don’t know what you mean?”

           “You could use some shut-eye, too?” Dean asked, hopeful, “And I… I don’t want to be alone.”

           Castiel understood. He helped Dean up, and while still holding hands, guided him to his room. Dean let Castiel take the lead, for once happy to be out of control. There wasn’t anything for him to be worried about if he let the tide pull him. He didn’t need to fight.

           Because – for the first time since he was locked away – Michael was quiet.

           Billie couldn’t catch a break. It happened while she was filling out paperwork, going over ledgers of all the people who passed that day, and building schedules for her reapers.

           Her dimension shook, as if their pocket was struck by lightning tossed down from God himself. Billie nearly fell out of her chair. In front of her, the shelves trembled from the strain. One quaked ferociously, as if it proving to be the source of the phenomena. Thankfully, everything stopped almost as soon as it began.

           Reapers flew to her, asking what had happened. She ignored them all, standing, striding over to that one bookshelf. The one marked ‘W’. The one where all the books end the same. During the event, a lone book dropped from the shelves, landing face down on the floor.

           She picked it up, leafing through its pages to make sure nothing bent. They were all still crisp, but something else made her worry. She flipped though it until she hit the end of the book. And when Billie did, she pulled out another one to do the same. Her reapers watched her do this for six more books before she stopped.

           Billie stepped back, unsure of what to do. “I… I can’t believe it…”

           “Billie?” one of her reapers asked, “What’s wrong? What did you read?”

           “…Nothing.”

           Death owned books that detailed the varying ways people would die. This had always been the case since the very first person was born, and Death sprung into existence. No one escaped Death, and the books proved it. Except, for the first time ever, the books were blank.

           Dean Winchester’s books were blank.

#supernatural #Spn #supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Spn 14 #14x12 #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Billie the Reaper #14x12 coda #Destiel #Destiel fanfiction

[bountyofbeads]

Trump’s Paradigm of the Personal https://nyti.ms/2NwK2xW

Excellent piece by @CharlesMBlow of the Times. Highly recommend, also the comments are interesting as well.

Trump’s Paradigm of the Personal

He confuses the way he thinks he is treated with the well-being of the country.

By Charles M. Blow, Opinion Columnist

Published Aug. 25, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 26, 2019 |

For Donald Trump, all is personal.

And in his view, he is not the executive of the company. He is the embodiment of the country. He runs the country the way he ran his business, as the curating and promotion of his personal brand.

The people who support him are customers — people to be sold a vision and a dream. The people who criticize or oppose him threaten the brand and must be dealt with.

For Trump, everything is image-based and rooted in the appearance of personal relationships. When the Danish prime minister rebuffed his overture about buying Greenland, calling the idea “absurd,” Trump threw a tantrum and canceled his visit to Denmark.

Trump discussed the episode at one of his press gaggles, calling the prime minister’s response “nasty’ and saying, “We can’t treat the United States of America the way they treated us under President Obama.” He went on to say: “She’s not talking to me. She’s talking to the United States of America. You don’t talk to the United States that way, at least under me.”

No, actually, she was talking to him.

America was not being dismissed or disrespected. This proposal, which sounded like a joke, was being laughed at. And this president hates being laughed at.

Everything in Trump’s view is about whether someone is nice or nasty to him. It’s not about the country at all. It’s not about historical precedent or value of continuity.

His dislike of his predecessors — Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton and even Jimmy Carter — is personal, not rooted in policy. He has a particular obsession with Obama, and has set about to undo everything Obama had done.

It’s petty and small and beneath the presidency, much like Trump himself.

I believe that Trump has had a longstanding belief about how China should be dealt with, but I believe that the current trade war is as much a personal beef with the Chinese president, Xi Jinping. Trump thought that he could play rough and that Xi would fold.

That was silly and shortsighted. The U.S. presidency is term-limited. China’s is not. The Chinese may experience pain from the trade war, but they can afford to wait Trump out.

The fact that Jerome Powell, chair of the Federal Reserve, won’t attempt to manipulate the economy in ways Trump thinks would be favorable, but is instead operating as an independent thinker, Trump takes as a personal slight. Trump appointed him. Trump demands loyalty and blind obeisance.

When China announced another round of retaliatory tariffs this week, Trump had a Twitter meltdown, tweeting “... My only question is, who is our bigger enemy, Jay Powell or Chairman Xi?” and sending the markets into a tailspin.

Trump hated North Korea’s Kim Jong-un before he loved him. Kim has played Trump like a fiddle. Kim has baited Trump into two summits, where Trump got nothing and Kim got a priceless public relations moment. Kim can just send Trump love letters and do what he wants and surrender nothing. In Trump’s paradigm of the personal, Kim likes him and is his friend.

Vladimir Putin is also exploiting Trump’s personal need to be liked — his weak man’s desire to be admired by strong men. Trump has a deep and mysterious affection for Putin. Yes, Putin helped to get him elected, but I’m not sure even that explains the way Trump genuflects for him.

Everyone around Trump knows his weakness: He is a bottomless pit of emotional need, someone who desperately wants friends but doesn’t have the emotional quotient to know how to make and keep them. So, they flatter him and inflate him.

They have all become major-league yes men and women.

None of this is good for the country. The presidency is not owned; it is occupied. It is bigger than any man or woman. Men have grown into it, but they have never subsumed it.

The presidency must have one eye on the past and one on the future. It must place national interest over personal interest. It has absolutely nothing to do with any one person’s feelings.

In George Washington’s farewell address of 1796, he said:

“The nation which indulges towards another a habitual hatred or a habitual fondness is in some degree a slave. It is a slave to its animosity or to its affection, either of which is sufficient to lead it astray from its duty and its interest.”

Trump is trying to embody the country and to lead it astray in the way that Washington warned against. Trump is a slave to his emotions, and this impulse is doing great harm to the nation, both internally and on the world stage.

I’m not sure that damage is irreparable. Our democracy, though fragile in many ways, has proved remarkably durable in others. But there is no doubt that the damage Trump is doing is deep and will take time and effort to undo.

Trump’s personal problems will leave a national scar.

COMMENTS FROM READERS, ADD YOUR THOUGHTS AS WELL:

""Trump’s personal problems will leave a national scar." More like an open wound that won't heal. 60 million citizens have succumbed to his bombast, and to date there seems to be no weakening of their support. That will take years if not decades to heal. It may never. Iraq and the Bush years were tragic, but with President Obama we started a recovery. Even with one of the deepest recession, we all pulled together, and we started the to build jobs again and pulled out of the recession quicker than the rest of the world. We lead the way. But literally within days of Trump taking office the country started it's tragic descent into the abyss. And there is no end in sight."

CHERRYLOG754, ATLANTA

"Because this president views himself a king, like Louis XIV, his actions and words smack of "l'etat c'est moi". Which is a fancy way of saying, what Charles just said, he thinks he embodies the nation, not leads it. Which is funny, because if you are the nation, wouldn't you have a better appreciation of its history, culture, mores, and values? One would think so. I watched the world leaders at G-7 and except for Trump, each shows a keen understanding of what their country represents and where it's headed. Even newbie Boris Johnson is well educated, even if his bombast often resembles that of Trump. More important, they know they are leading their entire countries, not just a small base of ardent supporters. Trump's problem is he can't grow his base, because he doesn't want to: the best part of his job is the one he shouldn't be doing on the taxpayers' dime: holding political rallies to boost his ego." CHRISTINE MCM, MASSACHUSETTS

" In other words Charles, Trump lacks the temperament to be President. Anyone who is honest with him/herself knows that. Even the Republicans in Congress know this. The problem is that neither they nor Trump's base care."

JAY ORCHARD , MIAMI FL

"It makes a sort of sense that Trump expected his "tough guy" act with President Xi would result in Xi giving in. Just as he thought his thrown down the papers and stamp out of the room would make Speaker Pelosi grovel for whatever he wanted. Trump, in the private sector, could choose his victims, and he made sure they would at least perceive he was far richer and more powerful, (whether he was or not) so he could, bluster and rage, doing as he pleased and demanding whatever he wanted. That doesn't work when you become a public employee, which the President is, and Trump has no other rabbits to pull out of that same tired stage hat. And he clearly can't figure out why it's not working any more."

1DCAce, LOS ANGELES CA

"There's nothing mysterious about the President's admiration for Mr. Putin. Putin has made Russia into exactly what Mr. Trump would like to make the United States: an authoritarian plutocracy where the super-rich can do absolutely anything they want — except dispute the legitimacy of the government — while everyone else is kept in line by voter suppression, state-controlled media and churches, and an intimidating security apparatus."

JL WILLIAMS, WAHOO NE

"From my understanding of Trump, his greatest fear, going back to his early days in NYC, is that he is not taken seriously. It's an old vs new money sort of thing, as far as I can tell. He tried to buy his way into big money society by assuming a false name and giving the media false numbers about his personal wealth he was so desperate to prove his real worth. He put gold plate on everything he touched, hoping that would show how wealthy he was. Still, no one took him seriously. And now he's finding that world leaders fail to take him seriously as well. You can almost hearing him thinking -- I'm in the White House, surely they'll take me seriously now. But alas, he's the poor little sort-of-rich boy that no one wants to play with. He doesn't care about the country. He only cares about himself. And he still finds that no one takes him seriously. Sad, as he used to like to say."

AVRDS, MONTANA

"Excellent observations as usual from Charles Blow. I would only add that Trump's form of mental illness is dangerous. It is not innocuous, rather it is pervasive and boundless. That renders him an immediate dangerous to our nation. Immediate. That means he must be removed office immediately. Failure to do so opens the door to sheer disaster and that is exactly what we are looking at everyday he remains office. Disaster." INDEPENDANT, ALABAMA

"After World War 2, our allies respected the United States. Mr Trump has destroyed this respect. Now, our once-firm allies are looking to go around the United States and put their countries first. This will result in a race to the bottom. Trump has diminished the US - and succeeded in making China and Russia great. However, it’s important to remember the this isn’t just Mr. Trump. The vast majority of Republicans like what Mr Trump does, not seeing the damage and reveling in his tough-guy rhetoric. When the damage becomes too obvious to ignore, they’ll say that Trump was’t really a Republican (as they did with George W Bush) They will also, of course, blame Democrats for the consequences of Republican policies. Pity that Republicans, including Mr Trump, seem incapable of taking responsibility for their own actions."JOHN M, OAKLAND

"For Trump, the sun rises and sets in himself. He cannot conceive of anything without inserting himself somehow. He cannot make any move without calculating how it will benefit him personally. The farthest from what a leader should be."NM, NY

"In my more than 60 years I have never experienced a President who truly believed the nation, the American people, excluded all who did not support him. Nor millions of my neighbors who were fine with that idea if they considered themselves as part of that group of supporters. This, to me, is among the most dangerous things which this man has unleashed. My disappointment in my neighbors goes very deep. We will get past Trump, but not the millions of our fellows who like him."DAGWOOD, SAN DIEGO

"Countries can tragically and suddenly head in the wrong direction. In the 1930s, Germans were the most educated in Europe with Berlin the leading city in Europe. Ten years later, the country and most of Europe was destroyed. 75 million dead. It can happen here." SOMEWHERE, AZ

"I have a hard time seeing where it is all personal with Trump. He is faithfully carrying out two agendas, one of the white nationalists and one of the extreme libertarians. It is hard to tell how much of his rolling back of Obama's accomplishments are personal and how much is agenda driven. There seems little question that Trump will have done permanent damage. Western countries will no long be able to trust the US again as they did in the past as another Trump could be elected in any future election. It cannot be quantified how much he has set back efforts to fight climate change but it would seem to be considerable. Can white nationalism be put back in the bottle? That seems unlikely. Trump has uncorked some of the worst stuff in the US population. It is anybody's guess whether the country can return to its previous level of civility." BOB, HUDSON VALLEY

"In the same address Washington also spoke about the three big threats that could destroy America: too much debt, influence of foreign interests and political partisanship. hmmmm" AERYS

"People keep trying to find rational explanations for Trump's behavior. I don't think he generally acts from anything more complicated than going with what makes him feel good. He, and those around him, often say that when he feels attacked, he punches back. That is consistent with a lot of the strange things he has done. Punching back makes him feel strong and he likes that feeling. The problem is that governing is complicated. If Trump's feelings are hurt, he seems to feel justified in throwing a temper tantrum. That tendency to bluster in an effort to intimidate may work for male gorillas, but leaders of governments ought to know better." BETTY S, UPSTATE NY

“The U.S. presidency is term-limited.” The US presidency was term-limited. Does anyone really think he’s joking when he talks about being in office another 10 or 14 years? He’s not going to leave willingly. The bottom line here might end up being whether the military will support his coup."

CLAIRE ELLIOTT, EUGENE OR

"Rather than making America great again, 45 has made America a second rate country. Our allies no longer trust us to keep our word. Our enemies see that our leadership is faltering. It will take years perhaps decades to regain the trust we once enjoyed throughout the world. People see that 45 has not thought out anything he says past the current news cycle. There is no vision for America, no grand plan, nothing."

PSCHWIMER

"Now that this "president" has decided that he has the authority to order America's private businesses to cease all operations in China (which would entail crippling a great many of them financially), it seems to me that the 25th Amendment truly needs to be invoked. Which is to say that the walking apparition named Mike Pence should visit the Oval Office along with the leaders of both houses of Congress and as many of Trump's cabinet members as can be rustled up and tell our delusional chief executive that he has no such authority over private industry and that he should immediately and publicly acknowledge this. He should also explain that the order he had delivered was intended only as a suggestion or a recommendation. Should he refuse to go along with this, it would be clear that he's fully entered the realm of madness (as his private obsession with China would already seem to indicate) and that his removal from office would thereby become necessary. If we weren't already at such a critical juncture we could spend a good deal of time discussing Trump's own business connections with Beijing and arguing that his preference for having his (and Ivanka's) branded merchandise produced there should dictate that he not impugn other American business executives for doing the same thing (let alone "order" them to cease doing so). It's too late for idle speculation, however. Mad King Donald really has to go." STU FREEMAN, BROOKLYN

"I have to think that Washington's words would be met by Trump with blank incomprehension, not merely because the language is hard (by comparison with Trump's own "cartoon-bubble" mode of communication) but because understanding it would require Trump to betray his own most firmly-held convictions." PORTLAND, OR

"Thank you, Mr. Blow, for another strong column. This president's bizarre behaviors have led to complete demoralization and discouragement for U.S. citizens. How can a powerful country be so feckless when it comes to getting him out? Someone commented that the 25th amendment wouldn't work because it's for cases of complete incapacity. I assume they mean physical incapacity. In the case of mental/emotional incapacity, does a President have to be drooling and catatonic, or fly into a rage on television? Is it not enough that he lies constantly, proposes buying another country, frequently insults allies, calls himself the chosen one, decrees that private businesses shall exit China, and flip-flops in divergent directions on important national policies during the same 24-hour period? If it were another president in another time, members of Congress would have taken Trump in hand and led him away to restore order and standing to our country. But no, Congress is on vacation and Trump golfs while the Amazon burns."GWOO, HONOLULU

"The Greenland episode is classic Trump: throw out a crazy initial offer and see what happens. But international politics is not pure business. Greenland was never up for sale by Denmark. Trump's behavior makes him look wholly irrational and by extension makes the American voting public look like a population of fools. Trump displays isolationism with "America First." Other countries should take this seriously. In fact, they should quarantine the United States. They should do so until America can figure out how to elect a sane president and a stable cast of supporting legislators in Congress. Indeed Trump has a penchant for calling those he dislikes "nasty," but that term is reserved for women in power, such as HRC and the prime minister of Denmark. Trump befriends ruthless dictators in countries like North Korea, Russia and Saudi Arabia -- leaders who actively torture and kill their people -- without referring to them in this way. Trump is also already backtracking on China. He will not let the economy crumble before the election: after all, it's his only real "selling point." Trump maintains a particular disdain for Obama because he is black and Trump is an overt racist, as demonstrated by violations of the Fair Housing Act in the 1970s to the Central Park Five to birtherism to Charlottesville to the Squad. The election next year is bound to be a close one. Do what you can to see that Trump does not win a second term."

BLUE MOON, OLD PUEBLO

#politics #trump news #trumpism #trump scandals #trump administration #president donald trump #greeland #impeachment inquiry now #impeach trump #impeachthemf #impeachtrump #u.s. news #u.s. presidential elections #g7 #g7biarritz #trump trade war

[stusbunker]

Known: Friends in a Fix

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader, Dean x Female Vessel OC

Series Masterlist

A/N: With the dates I let you know where the action falls in regards to air dates, I try not to repeat information you already know. Please ask if something doesn’t make sense! xoxo Stu

Not really any warnings this chapter, there will still be show level violence, possession, mental health concerns, and a reminder that it is a Slow Burn. Each Chapter will have its own warnings, because I am generous like that. xoxo Stu

The dark figured loomed in the doorway, an insipid strobe light shone from another room, effectively blinding her as she tried to make out a face or species to her capture. Chloe was pinned down to a wide table, unable to move any of her extremities and the maddening realization that she was going to die like some bitch in a horror movie caused her to taunt the bastard.

“Oh goodie, you’re here—” her voice came out flat, as if she had an accent or something shoved in her mouth. When she looked down at her surroundings, everything shifted. Her hands paled and thinned as she tried to figure out what was happening. Then his voice sent a shiver down her spine, it was familiar yet ominous. Her head snapped up to face him when suddenly she woke up.

The raggedy blanket she kept along the passenger’s seat back wedged beneath her head as a makeshift pillow.

Earth Date: October 8, 2013

Location: A Rest Stop Somewhere between Madison and Milwaukee

She never had nightmares, for a hunter it was a rare quality, one that she had prided herself on. That was until she started to, when exhaustion nor booze could quell the festering dreams that haunted her even in daylight. CC started to question her fortitude, trying to relive the past few weeks and see what would have triggered such elaborate horrors. It was like she had ingested someone’ else’s trauma, the unfinished memories at odds with her own strengths and fears. She quickly grew dismayed over the new, if unfounded, weakness.

CC sat up, rubbing her face with flat swipes of her palms, chasing away the barely two hours of sleep she had managed before the last episode. She stared at the clock on the dash before grumbling to herself and starting the engine. She had turned off her phone the night before after a landline had refused to stop calling and to leave a message with more information than a selfish urgency. There were only a handful of people Chloe Collins would answer after that kind of dramatics, and two of them were dead. She thought about calling Garth, but let the idea float out of her focus as quickly as the wind picked up over the moraines.

It was another day before she remembered to turn her phone back on, having driven mindlessly until she stopped in front of an overgrown gas station and convenience store that looked like it had survived a tornado or some other natural disaster that would have shattered its windows. There was a residue to the place, as if a spirit had led her there to clean up its mess. If there was a spook behind the numbing atmosphere, it remained perpetually silent and out of sight.

“Hey, look, I know things are probably bad out there, but if there is any chance you are near Colorado, call me. Sam’s laid up and, I, I can’t do this myself, not right now. Consider this calling in all my favors. Thanks, Chloe.” Dean Winchester’s voice dropped on her name, it was a plea, not a sign off. He never used her real name. And he rarely asked for help. She turned West before scrolling for his number in her contacts list.

Nothing seemed real anymore.

Location: Nebraska

Despite the bright sunshine and crisp air, Castiel was growing bitter towards his surroundings. He heard Hael’s warnings in his memory as he walked down the quiet two-lane road. Hoping he could do what he had to, in order to stay as far away from every other angel as possible. He had changed clothes, spending his last coins on vending machine nutrients and a bottle of water. The truck driver had been polite enough, dropping him off at the next stop without any agreed upon repayment. And so, he started walking, again, painfully hungry and alone.

The passing vehicles rumbled passed Cas in a blur, his arm held out awkward and listless as he glanced half-heartedly at the few potential rides. Suddenly a rusted pick up screeched along, failing to come to a complete stop as it blew through the shoulder and into the grassy ditch. Castiel instinctively chased after the seemingly out of control vehicle, worry cresting his brow. When he reached the passenger side window, his stomach pitched against its emptiness.

Demon.

The woman appeared frozen, knuckles white against the worn steering wheel. She was shaking either from the impact of the accident or from fighting the entity that was trying to control her. Once he spoke, she spun to face him, her heart shaped face familiar over the parasite’s sinister features.

“I know you—”

“Castiel?” The woman’s voice croaked out of her clenched jaw. The flash of her grey eyes and the charm hanging from her rearview mirror brought pieces of old conversations and images back into focus. Dean mentioning a friend who had made repelling talismans by combining Native American chants with hoodoo ingredients. Her grandfather was a master of petroglyphs, spellwork and runes while her mother had visions from an early age.

“Chloe? Chloe Collins? Did Dean send you?” Castiel’s voice was urgent, but the worry clouded his now human features.

“I tried to stop, but my foot, it’s like it wouldn’t--- am I okay?” She begged for reassurance, not being able to move more than an inch in either direction. Castiel pained for this woman, unaware and at the mercy of her attacker.

“You’re going to be fine,” Castiel walked around the truck, never taking his eyes off of the hunter. When he reached the driver’s side door, the demon took hold. Her head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes blackened as a horse-like huff flared her nostrils.

“Hello, thief. Long time.” The demon struggled back against her host, Chloe’s voice wavered as she pushed open the door, sending Cas flat on his ass. She leaped from the cab, nearly pouncing on him.

“What’s a-matter?” The demon continued to taunt him, “It seems if the jailbreaker has lost its wings?”

Castiel drew the Angel Blade from inside his stolen hoodie, the fear and humanity rolling towards the demon’s nostrils in intoxicating waves. The weapon got the demon’s attention, she snarled at him as worried voices came out of nowhere. Cas looked back to the road, a family had pulled over to check on the stalled vehicle. The mother’s voice beckoning to the father as he approached the struggling pair.

“Everybody okay over here?” The man’s large hands were gripped in front of his chest as if he was warming them before beginning a task.

Chloe’s eyes returned to normal as she leaned down to pull Castiel back onto his feet. He didn’t say anything but gave the demon/hunter a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, should be, I got caught rubbernecking this one, but he was kind of enough to see that me and my truck are square.” Chloe’s voice had returned, her thick hair drifting in the breeze as she shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans.

“You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost!” The concerned motorist chortled as Castiel thought about what the man meant.

“No, there are no restless spirits here.” Castiel’s confusion broke the man’s revelry.

“Alright, could you do me a favor and wave to the Missus? She wouldn’t believe me unless everyone’s smiling.” As if on cue, Chloe and the bystander turned and waved back at his minivan, his wife beaming with relief as Castiel tried to patch on a smile. As soon as the family was back on the road with another round of enthusiastic waving from Chloe, Castiel redrew his blade.

She froze with the deadly point pressing gently above her kidney, “You kill me, you kill the girl, Castiel. You might be a half-dead has-been, but you wouldn’t do that to the Winchesters. Not when Dean sent her to collect you.”

“What are you doing with her?” Castiel was unmoved by her rationality.

“Nothing you need to worry about, besides,” the demon spun, hard, landing a firm elbow to his temple. “We are too exposed out here, for both our sakes.”

***

Castiel woke in her passenger seat a few hours later, the sun igniting the horizon behind them in a burst of pink and lavender. Chloe smiled at him as she briefly took her eyes off the road. He sat up, hand twitching over his missing weapon.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hunt you Castiel.” Her voice was soft and genuine, he realized he was talking to the woman and not the demon now. “But, if you don’t believe me, the Angel Blade is under your seat. I didn’t want to accidentally stab you while I dragged your unconscious ass into the cab.”

Cas didn’t bother verifying her explanation, he had grown too distracted by the giant-sized soft drink in the cupholder. “May I?” He asked with an audible swallow over his parched throat.

“Be my guest,” CC hummed a melody after her offer, one in stark contrast to the radio commercial jingle playing. Castiel removed the thin plastic lid and poured the bubbly, icy liquid down his throat. He paused when the frigid temperature burned his chest, just as an obnoxious belch escaped his lips.

“Excuse you,” CC chuckled, handing him a fistful of napkins from the glove compartment, he hadn’t realized he had spilled down his front.

“Why are you helping me?” Cas’s question caught her off guard.

“Obviously, so I can hold you hostage and take advantage of you,” CC didn’t miss a beat, winking at the perplexed grimace on the Angel-man’s face. “I’m a friend of the Winchesters? Dean was freaking out because Sam was laid up, so he asked if I was near Colorado?”

She continued to end each sentence as if it were a question, hoping the connections would be made in his brain. “When did you last talk to Dean?”

“I haven’t, just started driving West. Got pretty lucky to have spotted you, too. You look half-dead. Everything alright?” She was leading him, but he didn’t feel threatened with her concern.

Castiel sighed, “I’m not up to my full power, thank you for your help, Ms. Collins.”

“CC, Cas. It’s, just, CC.”

***

Castiel felt their presence before he heard his name over the radio waves, the Angels were closing in on him. Traveling with a demon, even a somewhat accommodating one, had been too risky after all. They had stopped for gas and a quick meal, but he knew better than to lead his fallen brethren back to CC and whoever was possessing her. Before CC returned from the women’s room, Cas ducked out of the small convenience store and made his way across the highway to a fast food restaurant.

He slowly made his way up the frontage road and stuck his thumb out for a ride in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later, he was whisked away, hopefully drawing the Angels away from the confusing demon’s scent.

That night he called Dean from a borrowed cellphone at a group home.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas, what the hell?!” Dean barked over the line.

“I wanted to contact you because, well, I left CC at a truck stop in Nebraska.”

“Glad to know she got my message, why’d you split? Everything alright?”

“No, the Angels were trailing me, and I didn’t want to endanger her. Dean? How long has she—"

“Yeah, sorry about that, she can be a bit of a pistol sometimes,” Cas could hear the eye roll in Dean’s voice.

“That’s not what I mean, Dean. You do know that—”

“Oh, okay, right. Sorry, man, Sam was talking. Listen, you just get here asap. I’ll call Chloe before she burns half the corn fields looking for your ass.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“You sure you don’t want us to pick you up?”

“No, Dean, I think I can manage another state or two.” It was Cas’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Well, okay. But, uh, be careful out there, man.” Castiel hung up as his cover name was called out from the reception desk, announcing his bed assignment.

***

Earth Date: October 13, 2013

Location: Las Vegas, Nevada

Chloe kicked herself for showing up to the care facility on a Sunday afternoon. The residents were exhausted from an outing the day before and the staff was not the most enthusiastic to last minute visitors. An extremely tall blonde female resident frowned at CC as she approached the corner where her mother sat gossiping. With the practiced patience and subtly of her trade, she slid into a seat beside her mother and listened to the perceived drama around her.

One of the night nurses was a kleptomaniac, Doris, her mother’s companion was certain. It was all very mundane with a nostalgic level of neighborhood paranoia, drawing an easy curl to her closed lips. CC sat for ten minutes before the women looked up and realized they had company, her hands folded over her elbows as if holding herself together.

“Hey, Mama,” she leaned forward and patted her mother’s knee. Her mother watched her skeptically, following her hand as it retracted back to her lap as if Chloe’s had personally offended her.

“What’s the matter with you?” Her mother’s tone was blunt, but to be expected. “Your energy is all foggy.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” CC grumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear, her piercings sparkling in the pre-sunset glow that shown through the long windows behind them.

“Please tell me you didn’t bring something with you? I don’t have the means to expel spirits in here.” Her mother huffed, searching the area around their small square of chairs as if a ghost would jump out at the suggestion and attack them all. CC sighed, somethings never changed, mood disorder medicated or not. Her mother had dark eyes and kept her hair in a thick, meticulous plait down her back. Other than that, the women were nearly identical, barely a laugh line or forehead crease deeper on her mother’s smooth features versus her own.

“I’m clean, Ma’am, I know what I’m doing,” CC whispered adamantly now. “Can we talk in private?”

Her mother eyed Doris knowingly, “Like you’re going to rat us out, I swear.”

“Fine.” Chloe leaned back, sighing as the older women shared a look.

“Constance, I’ll be back, I’m going to tell our eavesdropper to mind her own damn business.” Doris and Constance snapped their heads back to land disapproving eyes on the woman that had given CC a very similar look when she first arrived. Soon, Doris was out of earshot.

“Do you hear them?” CC asked, looking at her mother’s shoes.

“Of course, I hear them, girl. They won’t shut the hell up. It’s like they think they’re the only ones to experience a change of address.” Constance Collins groaned, rubbing her temples against the broadcast of celestial communication.

“Yeah, well, moving pains are the least of our worries. It’s like a temper tantrum met turf warfare.” CC explained what she had figured out about the dispelled angels’ situation.

“What are you going to do about it?” Constance watched her daughter, noting the shadows that drooped into her usually full cheeks.

“See how it pans out for now, I guess. Not really something a single hunter can do about all of Heaven.” CC shrugged.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.” Her mother recited verbatim.

“Thanks, Margaret, didn’t realize I had stepped in to a Soc class.” CC rolled her eyes.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Chloe Cathleen. If you want to fix this mess; you can. Simple as that.”

“Thanks?”

“Anytime,” her mother smirked at her, until CC’s face pulled up and grinned back. “You in town?”

“Not really,” CC admitted, checking her phone for the time.

“Well, the night meds get distributed soon, better scoot before they added you to the queue, doll-baby.”

CC stood, rubbing her sweaty palms on the front of her fitted jeans. “Take care of yourself, Mama.”

Constance stood leaning up to place her cheek against her daughter’s, and with a short hum came a dark send off. “Don’t be too reckless out there. Come back to me.”

CC closed her eyes, “Of course, Mama.”

They broke apart and left with stuttering smiles on both of their lips.

Earth Date: October 17, 2013

Location: The Bunker

Dean woke to the frustrating buzzing of his phone against his nightstand, without a glance at the caller id he groaned a greeting.

“Go for Winchester.”

“Dean?” She sounded so small.

“Chloe, Christ, where have you been?! I’ve been calling for weeks.” Dean sat up, batting at the covers in order to free his bare legs, tossing them over the side.

“North Carolina, uh, just outside of Whittier.” She wasn’t sounding any better the longer she talked. “Uh, I don’t know how I got here, Dean. I remember looking into a case and then nothing.”

“Are you somewhere safe?” Dean rubbed his eyes, panic flooding his thoughts.

“I’m in a diner, but I don’t know where my truck is or—”

“Okay, well get a room, call me and I’ll give them my card. Got it?”

“Yeah, okay, right, first motel in the phonebook, right?”

“That’s my girl. Okay, sit tight. I’ll be there soon.” Dean waited for her sign off, throwing on pants with one hand to his ear.

“Okay, thanks, Dean.” Dean swallowed, exhaling tightly before ending the call. Everything from hex bags to Angel possession crossed his mind as he drove East in a fury. He could have called another hunter, he should have told Sam where he was going, but he didn’t. He just drove.

 My girl. Dean’s words flooded your thoughts as you sat hunched over your malt at the diner counter. Now the waiting began.

tags: @dontshootmespence @because-imma-lady-assface @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @dxr-supernatural-fanfic @supernaturalboi @dumbthotticus @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @forgettingthoughts @shokushuhime-stuff @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world @igotdressedthroughthemess 

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