#Vestige!Sammy

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: The Making of Another Major Motion Picture Masterpiece by Tom Hanks

American Mermaid by Julia Langbein

Penelope Schleeman, a consistently broke Connecticut high school teacher, is as surprised as anyone when her sensitive debut novel, "American Mermaid"—the story of a wheelchair-bound scientist named Sylvia who discovers that her withered legs are the vestiges of a powerful tail—becomes a bestseller. Penelope soon finds herself lured to LA by promises of easy money to co-write the "American Mermaid" screenplay for a major studio with a pair of male hacks.

As the studio pressures Penelope to change "American Mermaid" from the story of a fierce, androgynous eco-warrior to a teen sex object in a clam bra, strange things start to happen. Threats appear in the screenplay draft; siren calls lure people into danger. When Penelope’s screenwriting partners try to kill Sylvia off entirely in a bitterly false but cinematic end, matters off the page escalate. Is Penelope losing her mind, or is Sylvia among us?

Antkind by Charlie Kaufman

B. Rosenberger Rosenberg, neurotic and underappreciated film critic (failed academic, film-maker, paramour, shoe salesman who sleeps in a sock drawer), stumbles upon a hitherto unseen film made by an enigmatic outsider—a film he's convinced will change his career trajectory and rock the world of cinema to its core. His hands on what is possibly the greatest movie ever made—a three-month-long stop-motion masterpiece that took its reclusive auteur ninety years to complete—B. knows that it is his mission to show it to the rest of humanity. The only problem: The film is destroyed, leaving him the sole witness to its inadvertently ephemeral genius.

All that's left of this work of art is a single frame from which B. must somehow attempt to recall the film that just might be the last great hope of civilization. Thus begins a mind-boggling journey through the hilarious nightmarescape of a psyche as lushly Kafkaesque as it is atrophied by the relentless spew of Twitter. Desperate to impose order on an increasingly nonsensical existence, trapped in a self-imposed prison of aspirational victimhood and degeneratively inclusive language, B. scrambles to recreate the lost masterwork while attempting to keep pace with an ever-fracturing culture of "likes" and arbitrary denunciations that are simultaneously his bete noire and his raison d'etre.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

Joe Kavalier, a young Jewish artist who has also been trained in the art of Houdini-esque escape, has just smuggled himself out of Nazi-invaded Prague and landed in New York City. His Brooklyn cousin Sammy Clay is looking for a partner to create heroes, stories, and art for the latest novelty to hit America - the comic book. Drawing on their own fears and dreams, Kavalier and Clay create the Escapist, the Monitor, and Luna Moth, inspired by the beautiful Rosa Saks, who will become linked by powerful ties to both men. With exhilarating style and grace, Michael Chabon tells an unforgettable story about American romance and possibility.

Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter

A #1 New York Times bestseller, this is the story of an almost-love affair that begins on the Italian coast in 1962 and resurfaces fifty years later in Hollywood. From the lavish set of Cleopatra to the shabby revelry of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival to the back lots of contemporary Hollywood, this is a dazzling, yet deeply human roller coaster of a novel.

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO EXO COSMIA, KASQUE. 🌑

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: Sam/Sammi age: 27 pronouns: commonly they/she but any are fine ooc contact: @ sorunort on twitter other characters in xc: Elizabeth Afton, Vanessa A.

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Kasque age: Physically 24 | 880 pronouns: She/They series: Tales of Crestoria canon point: Chapter 10 part 2 (before the game EOS’d haha <-PAINED) app triggers: [scratches head] just a brief mention of humanity's extinction.

personality: Kasque is a self described “half-assed God.” Even before her ascension, Kasque was lazy and didn’t put much effort into things, despite being smart and having the capabilities required of her. However her love makes up for her lazy attitude. Kasque became a God in the first place to spare the one she loved from taking on that fate. All in all she’s very laid back and easygoing, preferring to do things the easy way and groaning if she has to put in any more work than she has to. She also has a bit of a flirtatious side, and enjoys telling men and women if they’re cute or hot or nice to look at. Good for her!

something your muse struggles with: Her lazy ways. 80 years prior to the main story, Kasque suddenly decided to retire from Godhood and let humanity decide who was a sinner and needed to be punished for their transgressions so she wouldn’t have to do anything anymore (however before the game EOS’d, it’s implied that she was being manipulated and something was prompting her to act this way). When she descended to personally take care of a few transgressors, Kasque forgot how to summon her powers for a good while and kept tanking hits until she remembered. If she doesn’t have to do a thing, she won’t.

your muse’s greatest strength: Her love. As stated before, Kasque became a God in order to prevent Milla, someone she cared for deeply, from becoming God. to Kasque, there was nothing worse than imagining her beloved toiling away for eternity and never knowing a moment's peace and inevitably losing herself to loneliness. It hurt Kasque so deeply that she took on God’s power, knowing she may never see Milla again. But that was fine with her if it meant Milla could live happily in this world she wanted to protect.

history / background: Prior to the main story of Tales of Crestoria, humanity was being ravaged by a bestial race of ruinous monsters known as Dreadfangs. Humanity was on the brink of extinction, so their last resort was to create a God to fight off this enemy and save the world. In the end, there were two options: Kasque, and Milla. While they were evenly matched, Milla was the best candidate, and she was fully prepared for the role. However Kasque couldn’t bear the thought of Milla trying to live with the crushing loneliness of Godhood, so she took on the role instead, convinced and dead set on being a “half-assed God.” With her newfound power, she defeated the Dreadfangs and created a barrier to protect the last vestiges of humanity from the barren, toxic parts of the world she couldn’t save.

800 years passed. Out of nowhere Kasque suddenly decided to retire as a God and she created a new system of justice for the world: Vision Orbs. Everyone would be granted one from birth and with it someone could record a crime then broadcast it to Vision Centrals placed in towns and cities alike. If enough people voted to condemn the accused, then they would be labeled a transgressor and Enforcers (white cloaked constructs) would take shape and essentially erase the transgressor from existence. After she set everything in place, Kasque ascended to the heavens and wasn’t heard or seen from again.

(Meanwhile that same loneliness she needed to save Milla from was eating away at her, and Kasque began trying to contact Milla through dreams and reach out to her.)

…Until 80 years later we come to the main story of Crestoria, where Kasque has seen the plot unfold and she decides things are getting too messy. The main party wants to tear down her justice system and if they do that she has to come out of retirement. Lame! However after an altercation with the party, Kasque see’s that the system is flawed and she needs to do something about it and make the world a beautiful place again. And the best option for that is… killing humanity? Oh, no.

powers / abilities: 

It’s easier to describe Kasque’s powers as “what can’t she do?” given how she erased a world ending monster species and then saved the last of humanity with magic barriers and magic trees. However, to restrict it to her fighting style only…

Enforcer Construction: Kasque can create Enforcers, white cloaked monsters, at will. Look out, transgressors!

Light elemental mana: Projectiles, missiles, blasts, beams, you name it, she’s got it. 

Final Order: Kasque’s special, her mystic arte. Kasque flies upward and summons a giant glyph. After waving her free hand three times, she strikes the glyph with her rod, sending a barrage of lasers that slowly merge together, creating an explosion.

inherent abilities: 

Mana manipulation. Think of this as simple magic tricks a wizard could do, but elemental based. Start a fire, make some flowers grow, and so on.

Levitation / Flying. She’s a God.

items / weapons: A giant silver rod with a large Vision Orb eye at the top.

starting ability: Light elemental mana

starting item: Her silver rod.

extra: 

It’s very much highly implied that there is some external force manipulating Kasque into killing humanity, however we don’t find out what, so I’m choosing to play Kasque as being freed from this force when she arrives in Xara and not knowing why she thought that was a good idea

She put the bi in nonBInary WOOHOO!!!!

I think she invented the word himbo in crestoria universe.

She’s only 5’3’’, please point and laugh at her for being the smallest artificial God.

discord id: final_order (this is vicious’s old account, i dont know if that will mess anything up?)

[cagedmenace]

Bloody and desperate, that was kind of Sam's default look down in the cage. Lucifer reeeeaaaally misses him. Even the shred of influence by extension, that now terrorizes the hunter as super vivid illusion. All the same package. Waiting for the boy to sort his thoughts -which he obviously does, doing this squinty eye thing and all- the archangel bites his own bottom lip. Twisting his face into another comical grimace of expectation. Well, here he was about to slip his hands into the pockets of his jeans as Sam decides to get physical. Lucifer releases a surprised gasp before almost cheering: " OooOooh! Stage two? "

That's when he snorts, as if ignoring Sam's verbal attack or taking it as a joke, soon falls into a giggle-fit. He doesn't fight back. Pursing his lips, the devil merely heaves his shoulders and hands with a slow shrug and bats his lashes in fake innocence. Still snickering. " I mean, am I? " Cue Lucifer beaming at Sam about a blink later. " Imagine! That'd be so, so funny! You would really be clutching and shouting at... what now? " More chuckles follow. " Dean comes in: Hey, what's up, brother? Why are you screaming at the books? "

Suddenly, his mien blanks and he locks gazes with the hunter again; not even a vestige of amusement left in his voice either. " So maybe hold your breath for a second here, alright? Think, Sammy. " Rolling his head back against the shelf into which Sam slammed him, Lucifer blinks up at the ceiling and sighs. " I can't. " Can't leave him alone. Literally. He dips his chin once more, attention dropping to the hunter's chest into which he pokes a pointer finger.

" Part of you never left the cage, you know. And a part of me... " His face inching closer to Sam's, Lucifer's own growing irritation emphasizes each slowly spoken word after: " Never. Left. Youuu. " Canting his head to one side, eyes flaring red, he cracks a thin smile which visibly lacks joy. " Your friends screwed with the prophecy and kind of made us partners in crime. It's you and me against the world, man. " An 'it is what it is' sort of defeated frown later, Lucifer lightly pats Sam's chest. Say deal with it sans saying deal with it.

standing above all the broken pieces of his former radio, PURPOSEFULLY oblivious to the dancing and shimmying that lucifer sauntered about the room with til a solid crash brought the loud music to a deafening silence--sam gasps for breath. hair a mess that's fallen to hide him behind strands of wild chestnut brown. tears of frustration and ANGER well up in his eyes. coat long lashes. threaten to break free and it's only sheer determination not to that they don't. his hands are trembling, clutched towards their palms like claws. uneven and wobbling in the lengths of curled fingers.

without raising his head, his gaze lifts to focus on lucifer as he draws closer. no longer clapping. no longer doing anything but staring at him with so much nerve grating amusement in his light eyes. sam's frozen. one beat. two beats. the study he's under traps him. the round eyes that soon gaze at him as if looking for sympathy or understanding or a fucking treat take his gut and tie it into knots. rapid flicks of his gaze dart it back and forth over THE STARE that's digging into every piece of him he's trying to keep sealed away. tucked back into the dark. somewhere lucifer can't touch.

but no place in him like that exists. the archangel manages to dig into every cranny he's shoved what pieces of himself he's managed to keep ALL HIS and try to pluck it out. twist it up. remake it in his image. into what he wants. into what he claims sam is. sam bites into his bottom lip and his front teeth come away red. the taste of blood fills his mouth and when he bears his teeth that slick blood-laced grimace shines dark crimson as his hands grab onto lucifer's shirt and ball it up into tight fists.

the younger winchester starts driving him backwards, growling out the words lucifer was so demanding that he let go. "you aren't real. you're still in a god damn cage where we locked you." oh he sounds so desperate to believe it. so panicked to lay out the words in hopes of making them real and SOLID. make them STICK. "you're just in my head. what do you WANT from me?! no bullshit. no jokes," but they both already know the answer to that--don't they? denial is such a tempting lure. they both jar to a stop against the wall. faces inches from one another. sam's gaze full of anger and something deeper than that. pleading. but to who? lucifer? himself? oh he wants to believe all of this is justified. all of this is because he escaped somewhere he wasn't SUPPOSED TO BE. it's all wrong. it's all wrong. "why won't you leave me ALONE?"

[superaskthebatimocsandfriends]

The Beginning Part 1 Side 1

Part 1 Side 1 to my The Story of the Two Vestiges Au here is Sammy’s side of the story.  

             Sammy walked down the streets of his home humming to himself as he passed the merchants selling their goods. The bard singing their songs for those who would listen to them as they weaved their tales for the masses of the marketplace. He stopped for a moment to listen to them before dropping a couple of gold pieces into the nearby wooden bowl for them. Before he moved on stopping when a woman in a cart called him over asking for his help as the male stopped and walked over to see what was wrong. The young Breton male listened to her explain that her master was looking for someone to help them. And not one to pass up on helping others in need he told her he’d go find her master and talk to them. Grateful the woman gave him the location of where they were at “you can find them in a house just down the road,” she tells him pointing toward it. Sammy gave a nod as he started to walk his way to the house walking up to the door knocking a few times before walking in. The door opened to the room only dimly lit by candles a bit off but nothing new most people like the lighting to be like this. Thinking nothing about it the male went further in and over to a table nearby where someone sat at a table facing away from him “hello?” he called to them as he walked over. Getting no reply making the male wonder if the other was lost in their work and didn’t hear him making him move closer to the other. Reaching out he put a hand on the other's shoulder when he did so the other faced him revealing a bound and gagged Redguard.  Before the male could do anything he felt something hit him in the back of the head causing him to collapse on to the ground everything going dark. 

            Everything after was a blur his time in a cell followed by him being put in line with other shackled prisoners. Being pulled along down a flight of stairs as the faces of the other prisoners and captors went by. He along with the other prisoners were brought to a room that smelled of death and rot filled his nostrils making him want to gag. Sammy heard the sound of a knife against skin followed by death groans and bodies being moved to another corner of the room. He looked to see a tall man at the head of the room holding a strange gem in his hand muttering something stabbing the person on the slab. Causing him to flinch as he watched the life of the other on said slab to leave their body before they dragged them off. They pulled Sammy forward laid down on his back against the wet and sticky cold slab looking up at the other male seeing that the other was an Imperial wear strange garb. He watched and listen as the other muttered a few words as he held the crystal then watched as the other raised the knife. Before he felt it plunge deep into his chest causing him to gasp coughing up a bit of blood as he felt the life leave his body. Felt as his very soul was pulled into the strange gem the other held before everything went dark around him.  

        Sammy felt as if his body was just falling going further and further down a large hole. Around him what looked to be a swirl of ink from an inkwell all around him a face showing up before him. One that looked to be that of a demon with a wide smile before it roared opening its mouth wide swallowing him. Darkness overtaking him once more before the male opened his eyes sitting up with a groan as he looked at his strange surroundings. Trying to make head or tales of where he was at that moment and what was going on trying to gather his memories up of the previous few hours. 

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

True Heaven

Summary: Dean wakes up from a dream about heaven. As he goes about his day, he realizes what his true heaven looks like.

AO3

The sun was beating down on him but he felt no heat, just warmth. Everything was warm here.

The trees were tall and green. The sky was the bluest he had ever seen. The water trickling down the stream was as clear as glass.

It was heaven… or so they say.

Dean smiled to himself as he gazed at the view from the bridge in his memories. There was only one thing that could make this heaven truly his.

“Hey, Sammy,” he greeted, as he turned his head to see his smiling brother.

Sam stepped forward, arms open and Dean didn’t even hesitate to pull him into a hug.

Together, the two brothers looked out into their heaven, side-by-side, as they always have been.

It should feel right. His head was telling him it should be right. That this was his true heaven.

The sky.

The trees.

The bridge beneath his feet.

His baby brother by his side.

Yet, something still felt missing.

And there was a strange buzzing sound blaring in his ear.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to block it out. But, the sound kept going, refusing to stand down and give him peace.

Heaven shouldn’t be so loud like this...

With a gasp, Dean opened his eyes, heaving as the alarm on his phone continued to buzz him awake.

He was in bed. At home. Lying on soft sheets and pillows. The sun streaming in from the curtained windows.

He was okay. He wasn't dead. He was alive. Living. Breathing. Blood running through his veins.

His hand reached out to tap the ‘snooze’ button, silencing the buzzing for at least another ten minutes.

Still in a daze, Dean continued to lay in bed, blinking at the ceiling as he tried to hold on to the last vestiges of his dream.

He had died. He went to heaven, apparently. And heaven was different.

Bobby was there. Apparently, everyone else he knew and loved was there, too, though he didn't see them. He went for a long drive with Baby. Then, Sam had joined him. They were on a bridge, that same bridge from their first hunt together after Dad went missing.

Was that what heaven was like now? He wouldn’t know. Jack wouldn’t tell him – secretive kid.

“Dean! I heard your alarm! You better not still be in bed! We have plenty to do today!”

Dean smiled, shaking his head before sitting up and stretching. He could feel his muscles popping, his back twinging in that familiar ache.

Damn, he was getting old.

“I’m awake!” he called back as he moved the blankets aside.

He could smell the eggs and bacon.  

Castiel was making breakfast.

Without wasting any more time, Dean slipped into comfy slippers and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.

As a habit, his eyes roamed the simple beige wallpaper, the framed photos, the snug carpets, and the random pieces of furniture that didn’t match because they found them at different online listings.

Damn, he loved his house.

Lazily running a hand through his fair to give it some semblance of order, Dean entered the kitchen with a loud yawn.

“Morning, Cas,” he greeted, settling himself at the table where a mug of coffee already waited.

Their dog, Miracle, raised her head from her own breakfast to bounce up to him with a happy bark. He ran a hand through her fur, fondly scratching her favorite spots. Her tail wagged even faster in delight. She was getting on in years but was still the same beautiful and affectionate dog she was when Dean first found her.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Castiel turned his head away from the stove to flash him a smile before turning back to finish cooking.

With one hand still on Miracle’s fur, Dean lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip, letting out a contented sigh when he tasted the slightly bitter coffee. It warmed him up from his head to the tips of his toes as the caffeine woke his brain up.

He needed it today. Sam and Eileen were coming over tonight and there was a lot to get done around the house.

Plates of eggs and bacon were laid in front of him as well as an empty dish and a fork. Castiel passed him the salt and pepper shakers before sitting down across from Dean.

“Thanks.” Dean stabbed into the eggs and grabbed a couple of pieces of bacon.

Castiel hummed in response as he did the same.

Silently, the two men ate.

The forks clanged against the plates accompanied by the sounds of chewing. Every now and then, Miracle would whine, hoping to get a piece of bacon. (Dean snuck her a few when Castiel went to refill his coffee mug.)

Outside, birds sang their morning song and the squirrels chattered as they went about their business. Castiel said there was a nest of robins residing in the tree by their porch.

(He didn’t want Dean to cut the tree, even though it would give them plenty of space for a nice front garden.

“It’s their home, Dean!” he had insisted when Dean tried to argue his stance.

He had looked so distraught that Dean ended up giving in and leaving the tree alone.)

It had been five years since Castiel returned to the Winchesters from the Empty, graceless and human. Even if he was technically God now, Jack still had to make a deal – and the cost was Castiel’s grace. Castiel was no longer an angel and never would be again, even if he stole another angel’s grace. He was fully human, would live a mortal life, and would return to heaven as a human soul when he died.

After a close call with a vampire nest and almost dying from a nail in the back in Ohio (Sam managed to clear out the bodies, call 911, and get him to the hospital in time), Dean had decided, right there and then, that he was done hunting. He wanted stability.

He had his Free Will back and he was going to use it to create a new life for himself and Castiel. So, after looking around the area, he got a job as a mechanic at the town garage – he was always pretty good at fixing up cars. The money wasn’t much but at least it was legal this time. No more stealing credit cards and identity theft for him.

Not wanting to be a burden, Castiel applied for a part-time job at a convenience store. They had to forge his papers and create a new identity (Castiel insisted on taking Jimmy’s last name “Novak”, to honor his vessel) but that was the easy part. Because even though he had lived as a human before, the former angel still struggled with basic human needs. He’d forget that he needed to eat and would only be reminded if his stomach was growling and tightening in protest. And he’d forget to sleep until he lost consciousness while on his feet, wherever he was. But, soon, he got used to it, even if he found bathroom breaks so inconvenient.

For the first two years, Dean and Castiel continued to live at the bunker with Sam and Eileen, helping the couple with finding, researching, and solving cases.

Dean’s brother never truly left the hunting life. Sam was good at it and loved it more than Dean ever did. Besides, he had Eileen as a partner, this time, in more ways than one. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, Dean was loathed to admit. But, Sam was happy and Eileen took good care of him and always had his back – that was enough for the older Winchester.

Dean found the old farmhouse for sale at a cheap price three years ago. It was practically falling apart but still held a certain charm. Dean fell in love at first sight and when he showed it to Castiel, the former angel loved it, too. They bought it and fixed it up, renovating where they could. It took a year and all their manpower just to repair the roof, the front and back porch, and the kitchen.

When the farmhouse was ready and livable, Dean and Castiel officially moved out of the bunker and into their new home.

Dean continued to work as a mechanic, doing the best work for his clients and impressing the garage owner so much that he showed Dean the ropes of running the business. And he was an attentive student. Dean may not have graduated high school and gone to college like Sam but it didn’t mean he was uneducated. And he had even made friends with the other mechanics, learning their techniques and sharing his own. And, maybe someday, when he saved up enough, he could open his own garage.

Meanwhile, Castiel quit the convenience store when he discovered a Honey Farm nearby. He learned how to be a beekeeper – the bees always did fascinate him. He was good at it. He talked to the bees like he talked to people. Whether he could actually understand them or simply made up their conversations, it didn’t matter. He was a hoot among the older ladies and the kids.

(Sam and Eileen still lived at the bunker, finding it more convenient with all the resources they needed for hunts. When they weren’t on the road, they would come to dinner.

And, sometimes, even Jack popped in to say “hello.” Castiel always kept a box of Cookie Crunch cereal for him in the pantry.)

Their house was small. Their jobs were mundane. They had an everyday routine.

Their life was simple. But, it was theirs. Finally theirs.

“I’m going to the store after breakfast,” Castiel finally spoke up as he cleared his plate. “Do you have the list of things you need for dinner?”

“Yeah, it’s upstairs, I can grab it.”

“No need.” Castiel stood up to put his plate in the sink. “I’m going to get dressed so I'll get it. Where did you put it?”

“Dresser.”

Dean continued to eat while Castiel headed out of the kitchen, pausing for a few beats to fondly scratch behind Miracle’s ear. When he disappeared down the hallway, Dean tossed the last of the bacon to the dog before getting up and doing the dishes.

As he placed the last plate on the rack, Castiel returned to the kitchen, dressed in a polo shirt, jeans, sneakers, and a tan leather jacket. He had stopped wearing the trench coat a while ago, but the sight of him without still made Dean pause.

“I’ll be back in half an hour,” Castiel said.

Dean flicked the last of the water away before wiping his hands on a rag. “Okay. I’ll walk Miracle while you’re out.”

Castiel nodded. Then, he smiled shyly before leaning in and planting a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips.

“I’ll see you later.”

Dean squeezed his hand, offering a loving smile of his own. “See you later, Cas.”

Just like their life, their relationship was simple. Mundane, sometimes. But, if Dean was honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Gone were the days of one night stands and denials of how he felt. He was getting too old for all that. He had gone through hell and back (quite literally) plus purgatory. He deserved this, damnit.

Sure, Dean still had trouble expressing his feelings (thanks for that, Dad). He rarely even said the words that Castiel freely expressed. But, the advantage of them having their so-called profound bond was that he didn’t need to really say anything for his partner to know how he truly felt about him.

Castiel already knew. He had always known. And he didn’t expect Dean to change.

Besides, Dean was more of a man of action, anyway.

Miracle barked, looking up at him with excited puppy dog eyes. She was anxious to get out and walk and chase squirrels and get the occasional pets from excited kids.

“Alright, alright, give me a sec.”

Dean took one last sweep of the kitchen to ensure everything was fine before bounding up the stairs to the bedroom. He swapped his pajama pants for sweatpants and tugged on his worn brown leather jacket over his sleep shirt. (He could shower later.)

Downstairs, he grabbed his house keys, clipped Miracle’s leash to her collar, and led her out of the house, locking the door behind him.

Baby was still parked in her usual spot so Castiel must have taken the Corolla to the store. (He wouldn’t take the Impala out without Dean’s permission, anyway.)

The air was chilly but the sun was out and bright, making their walk pleasant. Miracle led the way, her head swiveling around as she sniffed the familiar surroundings. She chose a spot under a tree to do her business and Dean cleaned up after her. He tossed the bag into a nearby trash can before continuing on their way.

“Morning, Dean!”

He lifted a hand to greet their neighbor who was out on a morning walk. “Morning, James.”

He stopped for a few seconds to chat about the weather (“Nice weather we’re having”), about James’ wife and kids (“The missus told me Castiel gave her a large discount on a crate of honey. Thanks for that, it really means a lot”), and what Dean and Castiel’s plans were for the holidays (“It’s always nice to see family”).

Miracle began to whine and tug on her leash so Dean said his goodbyes and went on his way.

They stopped two more times, both for the neighborhood kids who were Miracle’s regular admirers. Little 5-year-old Emma who Miracle would stay still for as the little arms hugged her right. Then, there were the Ross triplets, who always had a treat for their furry friend. (This was why Castiel had been trying – but failing – to put her on a diet. She kept getting spoiled with treats!)

Once they made it to the end of their usual route, Dean gently tugged on her leash, signaling that it was time to return home.

The Corolla’s spot was still empty so Castiel hadn't returned yet.

Dean released Miracle from her leash and she immediately padded over to her pillow by the fireplace. Meanwhile, Dean went back upstairs and finally jumped into the shower.

By the time he was finished cleaning up and getting dressed, noises downstairs and a cooing of Miracle’s name indicated that Castiel was back from the store.

Dean made his way to the kitchen, pausing for a moment at the entrance to watch his partner put away the groceries. But, never one to miss a thing, Castiel turned to him and smiled.

“Hello, Dean. There was a sale on pie so I got you two.” He gestured to the kitchen table where two boxes sat.

Dean whistled, finally entering the kitchen to take a look. One box was labeled “apple” and the other “blueberry.”

“A man after my own heart, Cas!”

He took the few steps towards his partner, who was putting the meat in the freezer, and pecked his cheek in appreciation.

Castiel blushed, simply replying, “You’re welcome.”

With a happy grin, Dean helped put the rest of the groceries away. He didn’t need to start cooking until after lunch.

“By the way, Jody called while I was at the store,” Castiel said, putting a box of cereal away in the pantry. “She’s asking what we’re bringing to Thanksgiving.”

“I was thinking mac and cheese,” Dean replied as he folded up the grocery bags to be re-used for later.

“Claire’s cooking this year.”

“On second thought, maybe we should just bring the bird.”

“Dean.” Castiel was scolding but it was in a fond tone.

“The last time Claire cooked, Alex got to practice her nursing skills on us.”

“That was years ago.”

“My stomach has never forgotten, Cas.”

“It was her first time cooking, Dean. I’m sure she’s improved since then.”

Castiel always made good points.

“Fine. But we’re bringing our own Pepcid.”

Castiel simply chuckled in response.

After finishing with the groceries, they both went upstairs to get the guest room ready. Sam and Eileen always stayed the night. Castiel dusted while Dean changed the sheets to fresh ones and sprayed some air freshener to get rid of the dusty smell.

When that was done, they went back downstairs. Dean retreated to the living room to catch up on some of his shows. Meanwhile, Castiel picked up his book from the coffee table and went outside to the back porch to read the morning away. At some point, Miracle got up from her pillow to follow him outside.

At 11am, Castiel went back in and settled on the couch next to Dean.

“What should we have for lunch?” he asked, snuggling to his side.

“Maybe something light since we’re having a big dinner.” Dean placed an arm over his shoulder as he pursed his lips in thought. “PB&J?”

Castiel’s eyes practically sparkled at the suggestion of his favorite food in the entire world.

After lunch, Dean went back to his show and Castiel to his book. This time, both were in the living room. Miracle interrupted them at some point, begging Dean to play, to which he obliged and they played a half hour’s worth of fetch. Then, it was back to his show.

At 4 o’clock, Dean shut the T.V. off, Castiel marked his book, and Miracle napped, still exhausted from playtime.

The next two hours were a flurry of activity in the kitchen. Pasta simmered in the pot. Chicken baked in the oven. And leaves and veggies were chopped for a salad (because Sam would complain if there wasn’t some kind of healthy food on the table).

Dean liked cooking. And, don’t tell Sam, but he especially liked cooking for his brother. At the end of the day, Dean was still a big brother who wanted to take care of his baby brother, no matter how old they both were now. (But, even if he had a gun pointed at his head or was back at Hell’s gates, he would never confess to it.)

It was a little past six when the rumble of a car outside alerted them to their visitors. The table in the dining room was already set and the warm food arranged neatly by Dean.

Castiel opened the door and was immediately greeted with a hug from Eileen followed by Sam. Dean went out to meet them, practically jumping on his giant of a brother to receive a hug.

“Heya, Sammy!”

“Hi, Dean. The food smells great! I’m starving!”

They wasted no time settling into their respective seats and passing the food around. Sam and Eileen had brought a bottle of sparkling cider, which was opened and poured into everyone’s glasses.

“When did you guys get back?” Dean asked, passing the basket of dinner rolls to Castiel.

“Yesterday,” Sam answered, helping himself to a generous amount of salad. “We were pretty beat so we ended up sleeping until noon.”

“What was the case?” Castiel asked as he tore into his roll.

“Wendigo,” Eileen answered, pausing in cutting her chicken to sign. “In Iowa. It was luring kids from a small village to the forest. Took us three days.”

“Nice!” Dean signed. “Those bastards don’t stand a chance against Sam Winchester and Eileen Leahy!”

Everyone cheered, toasting to the success of the two hunters.

The conversation continued.

Dean shared updates on his work at the Garage and how he might be up for a promotion pretty soon. Castiel talked about his bees and how smart his co-workers were for their ideas of honey flavors.  

As they finished up dinner, Sam loudly cleared his throat as he took Eileen's hand in his.

“So, uh, we have some news,” he began, flashing his girlfriend a look. She nodded at him, in encouragement. “And we wanted you two to be the first to know.”

Dean frowned. “This sounds serious. Is someone sick?”

The couple laughed.

“No, no, this is good news,” said Eileen.

Sam cleared his throat. “So… We wanted to tell you… that… we... well, Eileen… is… pregnant.”

The couple beamed while Dean almost choked on his wine.

“For real?!”

“Congratulations!” Castiel exclaimed.

Hugs were exchanged and Dean broke out a bottle of wine to celebrate his new status as Uncle.

“You should name it after me, Sammy!”

“Not a chance!”

Dean tried to act offended but he was much too happy to really argue.

Sam deserved this. He had a woman he loved, a job he was passionate about, and now a kid on the way. There was no doubt that he was going to be an amazing father. And Dean and Castiel would definitely be the favorite uncles.

After partaking in the apple pie for dessert, Sam volunteered to help Castiel with the dishes while Eileen spent quality time with Miracle.

Feeling stuffed and full of dinner and happiness, Dean took the opportunity to grab a beer and go out into the back porch for some fresh air. He leaned against the wooden column of the front porch, just taking it all in.

It was a peaceful night. The cicadas were loud, as always. An owl hooted from somewhere. Above, the clear evening sky was littered with bright stars, as if the heavens, too, were celebrating the addition of another Winchester in this world. Maybe they were. Jack would be aware of the news by now. Dean hoped he would come to visit soon. It had been a while and Castiel missed the kid. (Dean did, too, but don’t quote him on that.)

The door behind him opened and, soon, familiar arms wrapped around his waist.

“Hi.”

“Hey, angel.”

Castiel tucked his head on top of his shoulder. He was warm and Dean savored the feeling.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“How happy I am.”

Castiel hummed. “It is indeed happy news to find out you are having a nephew. A new addition to your family.”

“Our family, Cas,” he corrected, squeezing the hand at his stomach.

“Our family,” Castiel agreed.

Dean lifted the hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the knuckles. “I had a weird dream last night. I just remembered it again.”

“Weird in what sense?”

“It was… heaven, I think. But, it also… wasn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well… for one… you weren’t there.”

Damn, that was so cheesy. The apple pie life was making Dean soft.

But, then Castiel pressed an affectionate kiss to his temple and Dean was reminded why he didn’t mind the occasional softness so much anymore. (But, again, he wouldn’t admit it, even with a gun to his head.)

“But, I think my dream got it wrong,” he continued. “That wasn’t heaven. Not to me. My heaven is down here. With Sam. Eileen. Miracle. And everyone we found along the way.” He turned his head, meeting Castiel’s pretty blue eyes. “And, you, of course. There’s no heaven without you, Cas.”

“Dean…" Castiel's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You are getting better at expressing your feelings.”

Dean laughed, softly. “Yeah, well, it only took five years and the news that I’m gonna be an Uncle. So, don’t get used to this, Cas.”

Castiel’s arms tightened around him. “I’m sure Jack has turned heaven into a wonderful place again. But, promise me, Dean, that you won’t go there yet. Not until your hair turns gray and your skin turns wrinkly.”

Dean patted his hand. “I’ll do my best if you do the same for me.”

Castiel chuckled and kissed his cheek before pulling away. “Come inside, Dean.”

“Give me a few more minutes.”

“Okay.”

Dean kept his gaze on the sky as Castiel left.

It didn't take long for him to have company again.

“So, why are you out here and not in there?”

Dean laughed. “Heya, Sammy.”

Sam leaned on the column opposite him, clutching his own bottle of beer.

“Just thinking,” Dean repeated his answer. “Just… did you ever think we’d be this happy, Sam?”

“Honestly? No. But… we deserve it… right?”

“Yeah, we do!”

For a moment, they were silent, simply listening to the night sounds and enjoying the warmth in their stomachs brought by the beer.

Then, Sam broke the silence.

“So, I was also thinking…”

Dean met his brother’s gaze, curious.

“Since Eileen is pregnant, we’re probably gonna take a break from hunting.”

Dean’s brows rose. “Yeah? That’s good. Focus on the health of the mom and baby and all that jazz.”

Sam hummed. "We talked about moving out of the bunker and getting a house and everything. Maybe get married, officially.” Sam took another sip of beer. “But, cases don’t end just ‘cause a hunter takes a break, right?”

“Yeah…”

His baby brother wanted to get married. Dean couldn't be happier.

“So, remember one time when we talked about creating a Hunter’s Network out of the bunker? You know, to help other hunters. Provide them with resources they don’t need to literally sell their soul for?”

Dean nodded, recalling a conversation they had about it a long time ago, right around the time he decided to retire.

Sam’s eyes flickered with hope.

“Well, maybe we could get started on that… if you’re willing to still be a part of it, I mean. I get that you have a different life now and you don’t want to hunt anymore, but you’ll be mostly hands-off in the cases. And Cas has some angelic and holy knowledge that maybe we can write down and turn into some kind of guide… if he’s willing to help out. You don’t even have to come to the bunker, I can just come here and we can work on plans and-.”

“Sammy.”

Sam broke off, taking a sip of his beer and avoiding looking at Dean, as if he was afraid of the answer.

And, to be quite honest, Dean hadn’t thought about being involved in hunter life. But, it wasn’t like he was out of touch with it. He still listened to Sam’s stories of his hunts. He had conversations with Jody when she called to ask for advice on dealing with some creature. He and Castiel still had some books on the supernatural on the bookshelf in their bedroom. And, he can’t forget about the guns and knives and other hunting apparel stored in a box under their bed and in Baby’s trunk. Heck, he and Castiel still carried a flask of holy water with them!

Hunting would always be in his blood.

He may no longer want to be directly involved but, maybe he could still help.

“Sure, why not?” Dean finally answered.

Sam’s head jerked towards him in surprise. “Really?”

Dean shrugged. “I may not be holding the gun anymore but I can tell another hunter how to kill a vampire in ten different ways.”

“Dean…” Sam looked like he was about to start crying.

“Saving people, hunting things, that’s the family business, right?”

He held out his beer bottle again.

Sam smiled and met it with his own. “Yeah.”

The brothers drank to that promise.

And Dean coulnd't help but think that, in his own way, he had found his own heaven on earth.

[arcticfox007]

The Yeti, the Witch, and the Angel

Hi everyone - this is a continuation from days 2&3 which you can find under the same series as this one on AO3.

It will continue with Day 5. I had a great time writing this, it has more action than ther previous ones. Some fluff, some angst, general audiences.

I’m happy to add and/or remove people from my tag list, notes/comments/kudos on AO3 are all appreciated and I’m always open to feedback!

Destiel December 2020

Day 4: Sledding

Sam and Dean were running for their lives – again. Dean noted, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was much more difficult to accomplish this in knee-high snow. Unfortunately, the Yeti, yes, an actual goddamn Yeti because their lives weren’t bizarre enough, anyway - the Yeti was much better at running through the deep snow. They were hoping to make it to the abandoned park station up ahead, maybe they could barricade themselves against the creature long enough to figure out a plan.

“Dean, c’mon already!” Sam had less trouble in the snow with his stupid giraffe legs. Dean had resorted to running by basically leaping as far as he could to try and stay above the wintery fluff trying to get him killed. Thankfully, the station was now in sight.

The brothers managed to make it before the snow monster had caught up with them. The station was right by a rather steep hill and was surrounded by trees on most sides. Dean quickly accessed the area as Sam reloaded his handgun. Dean started to push the bookshelf over to help block the door.

“I don’t think that’s gonna kill it man. We’ve already unloaded two clips into that thing, just made it madder.” Dean looked around for anything else to barricade the door but there wasn’t a whole lot in here and he doubted the Yeti would be slowed down by much.

“Do you have a better idea?” Dean was about to snap back sarcastically at his brother when his eyes fell on the massive trash and recycling bins that must have been pulled aside when the station was shut down for the worst of winter.

“Well, no, but I do have a crazier idea.”

Dean knocked over one of the bins and started working the lid off of the top. “Come help already!” Sam and Dean together popped off one of the massive plastic lids just as the door shook with the Yeti’s weight. The thing screeched in rage and pounded harder.

“Shit Dean, what good will these do against that thing??”

“Just shut up and get the other one!” The second lid was wrenched off and Dean shoved it into Sam’s arms. He took a second to reload his gun which made him feel slightly better, even if the bullets hadn’t phased the monster. Then Dean picked up the other lid in his free hand. When he glanced over at Sam, his overly tall brother was looking at Dean like maybe he had finally lost it for real. Dean just shoved Sam towards the back of the building.

The Yeti screeched again and Dean thought that maybe it was part banshee. He was starting to wonder if his ears would ever work properly again. Dean threw open the back door just as he heard the front one start to shatter. The sight of its prey escaping seemed to give the Yeti a burst of energy and Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the door and walls being ripped away as if they were nothing more than paper.

“Dean! We could use that plan anytime now!” Dean ran out the back door pulling Sam with him towards the hill. It was steeper than he remembered but he only hesitated for an instant. He threw the lid on the ground in front of him.

“This is the plan Sammy, we’re going sledding!” Sam’s jaw dropped.

“What kind of plan is – shit!” They both turned to see the Yeti barreling towards them and Sam stopped arguing about Dean’s questionable plan as they both turned to throw themselves down the tree speckled drop off. Sam started yelling something about Dean’s plan being terrible as Dean just tried to steer the trash bin lid enough to avoid the trees, which was getting harder as he picked up speed.

“Fuck!” This was a terrible plan; the service road was coming up on them fast as Dean spotted a car turning the corner. He wasn’t sure if crashing into a tree, getting mauled by a Yeti, or hit by an incoming car was a better way to go out. Meanwhile the Yeti was still chasing them.

“Dean, it’s right behind you!” Impulsively, Dean spun his lid around so he was now speeding down towards the road backwards. Hoping he didn’t hit a tree he managed to pull his gun out and shoot at the rampaging monster. Not that he managed to hit it more than once.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Before Dean had time to spin back around, he felt as if the bottom of the lid dropped from under him as he heard it crunch on gravel. With the last vestiges of his adrenaline he managed to throw himself off of the lid and roll – right into the Yeti. Dean only had a moment to stare up into the face of the vicious spitting creature before hearing a pop-pop noise and then the hairy snarling thing tipped over. Onto Dean. Dean felt his head crack on the ground. “Ermph!”

“Sorry, Dean.” Dean gasped for air as his guardian angel rolled the creature off of him. Dean looked up at Cas still trying to catch his breath, and damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. Cas crouched down and briefly checked Dean over for injuries. When he seemed satisfied that there was nothing immediately wrong with the hunter, he glowered at him. Dean had no idea what he had done to piss Cass off, but honestly even his glower was fucking beautiful. Dean continued to stare at Cas but the angel turned to look in the other direction.

“Are you alright Sam?” Dean heard his brother let out a high-pitched laugh that was just shy of sounding manic.

“Yeah, Cas, I’ll survive. Is Dean okay? What did you shoot the Yeti with?” Dean could see Cas’ mouth turn down into a frown. So pretty, Dean just wanted to touch his face.

“Dean will be fine, but there are no such things as Yetis, Sam. It was a witch that transformed itself, I used the witch killing bullets.” Dean heard Sam’s boots in the snow as he approached them but Dean stayed on the ground staring at Cas as he reached his hand up and started pushing his fingers into Cas’ face. Cas swung his attention back to Dean as the older Winchester started pinching Cas’ cheek between his fingers.

“Dean. What are you doing?” Dean smiled hazily at the angel.

“You’re so pretty Cas. I just want to squish your face.” Dean let out a breathy giggle. Cas gazed more closely at Dean. All of a sudden Dean could see Sam as his younger brother came to stand by Cas.

“Did you hit your head Dean?” Cas’ voice was so gravelly and sexy. He tried to move Cas’ chin to make him say more. Cas just caught Dean’s arm and looked up at Sam. “I think he has a concussion, give me a moment.” Sam nodded and went to check out the Yeti. Meanwhile Dean was enraptured by Cas’ eyes, they were just so blue.

“Blue is my favorite color Cas. Blue, blue, blue.” Cas ignored Dean in favor of pushing his grace into Dean’s bruised head. Dean felt warm and a soothing feeling spread through him. He sighed and then felt the world snap back into place. Cas continued to cradle Dean’s head making sure there wasn’t any other injury he needed to heal. Dean just lay still until Cas looked into his eyes. He was vividly aware of Cas holding his face with one hand and his forearm with the other.

“Better?”

“Yeah Cas, thanks. Um, could you help me up?” Cas raised an eyebrow, and all Dean could think of was how hot that was. Crap, maybe he still had a concussion? No, his head was fine, he’d known for a while now that he was attracted to him best friend, he was just usually better at shoving those feelings down. While Dean was struggling with his thoughts Cas had stood up and pulled Dean up with him. Dean staggered for a moment and Cas helped steady him. As soon as Dean seemed stable on his own two feet Cas resumed scowling at him.

“What?”

“What? What? You just text me to say you and Sam found the trail of a YETI, and then refuse to answer your phone? What if I couldn’t find you in time? What if I hadn’t already figured out it was a witch? I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU IT WAS A WITCH IF YOU HAD ANSWERED YOUR PHONE. Instead I make it just in time to see the two of you throwing yourself off of a mountain!” Dean was all ready to get angry and defensive but found himself defusing as the whole “it was just a witch” thing sunk in. Crap. Cas seemed to have run out of words and was now just glowering intensely at him.

“Uh – sorry? My bad man.” If possible, this seemed to make Cas even madder. He turned his back on Dean and went over to Sam and the Yeti corpse. Dean just stood there for a moment feeling like an idiot. Then he headed over to help the two of them get rid of the body.

***

Later that night Castiel was still unhappy with Dean and had left them at the motel to return the car he had borrowed when he had frantically scrambled to get to Dean and Sam in time. He mumbled something about the Impala not having snow tires and that they were lucky the local deputy was generous. Dean hoped Cas would cool off while he was out, Dean hated feeling like he was in the dog house which he mistakenly mentioned to his brother.

“He’ll calm down. You could try a more sincere apology though.” Little brothers were obnoxious, especially when they were right, thought Dean. He frowned at Sam but couldn’t keep it up as he sat on one of the beds with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not great at apologies, but he’s right, I should have answered the phone. I was just so caught up tracking the Yeti-witch thing, I dunno, I just didn’t think.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“So, tell him that.” Dean nodded and stared at his feet, thinking. Sam must have assumed the conversation was over because by the time Dean looked up, he was absorbed in his laptop.

“Sammy. I need to do better than that. Cas, well, he’s important. He’s my best friend and I feel like I always, um, take him for granted or something. I want to do something really great for him for our Christmas present thing. But I ain’t got a single damn idea of what.” Sam turned back towards Dean and smiled at him.

“I think that’s a great idea Dean. You can’t think of anything? I mean, I’ve had a hard time thinking of something too, but I don’t have as much to apologize for.” Sam smirked and Dean was already regretting asking his brother for help.

“No. I mean I know some things he likes – like bees.” Sam snorted. “But I want to show him that I really do, er, value his friendship, y’know?” Dean was skirting around the idea that he wanted to show Cas that he valued him, just his presence in his life. Who was he kidding? He wanted to show Cas he was loved, but without actually saying it. Dean wasn’t even sure angels could be in love. There was a reason Dean kept his feelings buried, and it wasn’t just because he couldn’t imagine an angel, an actual freaking angel, loving someone like him. Sam just looked thoughtful.

“You know, that reminds me of something Mom told me.” Sam watched his brother carefully, but Dean had seemed calmer about Mom leaving since Cas had come back. “She told me she asked Cas how long it had taken him to feel like he belonged here – I guess because technically, she and Cas both had to experience adjusting to Earth after being in Heaven. Anyway, Cas told mom he still wasn’t sure he belonged. She said he seemed, uh, sad about it. Lost.” Dean felt like he had been stabbed through the heart. Cas felt like he didn’t belong?

“Why… why would he say that? He’s always chosen us over Heaven, chosen humans.” Dean started to internally panic at the idea of Cas deciding to leave one day.

“No Dean, he’s chosen you over Heaven.” Sam wasn’t right, was he? Dean felt a massive headache starting, he was drowning in thoughts. “Dean. Pay attention.” Dean’s head snapped back up and looked at Sam.

“What do I do Sam?” Sam looked at Dean, the exasperation clear on his face.

“You need to do something to show him he belongs here Dean.” Sam said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And of course, it was. Dean’s head partially cleared and he started thinking, thinking back to when Cas was the happiest, when he seemed to fit in here on Earth the most, and then Dean knew what present to get his goddamn angel on Earth.

“Sam, I know what I’m going to do for him.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Well that’s good, Dean, because you only have eight days left until Christmas.”

***

@jellydeans, @galaxycastiel, @nguyenxtrang, @my-favourite-hellatus

[lady-wallace]

Missing (Supernatural)

Doing a throwback ficlet to Season 2 because I’m rewatching the show with my brother and decided I needed an angsty missing scene one-shot for between All Hell Breaks Loose Parts 1&2

Dean couldn’t think of anything else as he held his dead brother in his arms than the missing piece of a soul that hadn’t even been taken yet. (Missing scene between All Hell Breaks Loose Parts 1&2)

Read on FF.net

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t feel the cold or the wet ground under him, he could barely care at that point that he was existing at all. Because in a way, he wasn’t existing. Not anymore.

           The only thing he knew was Sam. Sam slumped against him, unmoving. Sam’s blood seeping from the hole in his back, bleeding both his life and his warmth. Sam’s cold face lolling against his neck, the smell of his damp hair against Dean’s cheek.

           Dean could only clutch his brother tighter, as if that would somehow make him stay. He didn’t breathe, so that he could better feel his brother’s next breath. A breath that never came. And never came.

           Dean gasped out a choked sob, teeth gritting together, as his fingers dug into Sam’s coat, and he pulled his brother impossibly closer, feeling the last vestiges of heat seep from Sam’s body into his, as Dean’s will bled from him like the scarlet strand of his brother’s life that covered his hands.

           “Sam,” he whispered brokenly. “God, please…”

           “Dean!”

           Footsteps pounding through the mud. Dean could feel that through the ground but it wasn’t the pounding he was looking for. Not the pounding of his brother’s heart.

           He didn’t move as Bobby skidded to a halt next to them and crouched down, a hand on Dean’s shoulder, another on Sam’s as he tried to move the younger brother, see what could be done.

           “How is he? Dean, dammit, son, can you let go of him for a second?”

           Dean couldn’t move, he couldn’t look at Bobby, he was still staring at the mud, his gaze trained down Sam’s back to the blood and the hole in his back, and Dean’s own hands gripping so tightly that his fingers had turned white.

           “Dean!”

           Bobby slapped him across the face, not hard, just enough to get his attention, and that startled Dean enough that his grip on Sam loosened, allowing the younger brother to slip to one side into Bobby’s arms, deadweight, limbs sprawled unnaturally.

           Bobby knew the instant he caught Sam in his arms. The older man’s shoulders stiffened and his breath stuck in his throat.

           “Dammit,” he breathed. “Oh hell. Sam…”

           He looked up, eyes haunted and met Dean’s eyes, seeming to realize which brother really needed the help right now. After all, one was already past saving.

           Dean was numb, barely recognizing the gesture when Bobby reached out and cupped his cheek, his hand sliding down to his shoulder, gripping tightly, obviously trying to board up his own emotions. Dean just knelt there, limp, still staring at his dead brother’s face.

           Sam was dead.

           Sam was dead.

           Dean’s gun was still lying in the mud where he had dropped it. His gaze shifted to it for a long moment until Bobby caught his look and dug his fingers into Dean’s shoulder hard enough to hurt.

           “Don’t you dare,” he snarled. “Don’t even think of it.”

           Dean slumped further and Bobby pulled him in to fall against his shoulder for a brief moment before he shook Dean.

           “We need to get out of here. Dean, you hearing me? We need to stop that demon!”

           Dean couldn’t care less.

           “Leave us,” he said. “I’m done.”

           Bobby gripped the front of his shirt tightly, shaking him. “Now you listen to me, son. You’re not done until I say you are! Now get up, get the car, and we’re getting out of here!”

           Dean still didn’t move. Bobby cursed and gently deposited Sam onto the ground before he stood, grabbing Dean’s gun and reaching into the elder brother’s pocket for the keys, before he stormed off for the Impala.

           Dean stared at Sam the entire time until the Impala’s headlights illuminated them. Bobby hopped out and bent to pick up Sam. “Help me with him,” he demanded.

           Dean was almost reluctant to touch his brother again. He didn’t want to be reminded that he was really gone. That he was…

           He turned aside quickly as his stomach rebelled and threw up. Bobby cursed again and grabbed the back of Dean’s coat so he didn’t faceplant, then rubbed his back gently.

           “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get in the car.”

           Dean grabbed his arm and looked up at him frantically as Bobby tried to get him to his feet.

           “Don’t leave him,” he snarled. “Don’t leave him here.”

           Bobby glanced between the brothers, one dead, the other dead in everything but body, and sighed. He let go of Dean and turned back to Sam, simply throwing the limp body over his shoulder. He grunted, but made it happen, moving Sam to the backseat of the Impala. Then he went back for Dean.

           The elder brother was just standing there, staring at the mud and Bobby ushered him to the car.

           “Come on, son,” he said gently.

           Dean somehow made it to the car, sitting down as Bobby got behind the wheel. He didn’t look in the back, but he could feel the emptiness coming from Sam’s corpse. His body was there, but Dean’s little brother was gone and he didn’t know how to feel because he was just hollow. He had been carved clean and there was nothing left in his chest.

           They found an old cabin not too far away and Bobby pulled up in front of it. Dean reluctantly got up and together they slid Sam’s body from the backseat and carried him into the place.

           There was a filthy mattress in the back room and they laid him down. Dean slumped on the side of the mattress and with shaking hands, arranged his brother’s limbs so he looked more comfortable, peaceful. Dean pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to wipe some of the blood and mud from Sam. But it reminded him too much of cleaning his little brother’s face when he was just a toddler and he folded, his chest heaving as a sob broke out.

           Bobby moved over to him and settled a hand on Dean’s back, pulling the younger man against his side.

           “Why’d it have to be him, Bobby?” Dean whispered. “I wish to god it was me. What the hell am I gonna do?”

           Bobby didn’t say anything. He knew well enough there weren’t words. He just held Dean close and let him work it out.

           It was a long time before he left and Dean slumped, moving to a spot where he could face his brother. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know if it made it worse to see him or not. But he couldn’t seem to stand the thought of losing sight of Sam either. As if he were still hoping that at some point Sam would just start breathing again and open his eyes.

           He didn’t know how long it had been when Bobby came back to him, leaning against the doorway. “Dean, I’m gonna run out for some food. Do you want anything?”

           “No,” Dean said.

           Bobby sighed, and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” he nearly pleaded.

           Dean didn’t reply. He just stared at his brother’s still face.

           When Bobby left, Dean folded over his knees, head in his hands as tears slid down his cheeks.

           “What am I supposed to do? Sammy, what am I supposed to do?”

           But he knew. He had known all along what he was going to do. Because the only certainty in Dean’s life was that there was no life without his brother.

           So, as he saw it, he had two options, and he decided to go with the one that would leave his brother alive.

           He forced himself up, new determination aiding strength to his limbs, and grabbed the keys to the Impala where Bobby had left them.

           It wasn’t long before he found a crossroads.

***

The deal was done. He had a year, and he couldn’t care.

           The only thing he cared about was when he walked into that cabin and saw Sam standing there, confused and looking all kinds of lost.

           Dean stopped, breath catching, almost not sure if he should believe it.

           “Sammy,” he whispered.

           Sam met his eyes and Dean knew it was really him. “Hey,” his little brother said in greeting.

           Dean was already moving forward and he pulled Sam into his arms, holding him tightly. His brother, alive, warm. He held his breath. Dean could feel the beat of Sam’s heart against his chest, the swell of his lungs, his familiar scent that was not tainted by death. Sammy was back, and as Dean held him so tightly he wondered if he could ever let go, he felt himself start to be repaired. The hollowness filled. The piece of him that was missing returned.

           He could breathe again.

           And he didn’t care about the deal, he didn’t care about anything. He had his brother back, and that was all that mattered.

           It was always the only thing that mattered.

[rubyredsiren]

Good Ending!

[Send "good ending" to see what an ideal ending to my muse's story would look like]

..And as the final vestiges of light dripped and were sapped away from the vault’s opening, the temptress now defeated, crumbled up and broken like old stone. The scouts had done it, they’d opened the vault, they’d fought a vault monster, and they had loot to show for it.

But instead of rushing for their spoils of war, the remaining group of vault hunters broke for the tiny sliver of light that led to the fallen firebug. She sat against one of the larger pieces of detritus left from the beast, holding herself. And as the scouts, her friends, her family, rushed over to assess her health, Sammy became aware of two things.

One, she felt...stronger? No, centered was more accurate. Being imbibed within The Temptress allowed her more clarity, finally breaking the lock and giving her memories of the previous sirens who shared her gift. And Two, her marks now mirrored one another, the thick red lines tapering and blossoming into abstract shapes along her skin and surprisingly, onto the metal of her artificial limbs. She could even feel the heat emanating off of another tear mark running down her left cheek.

Delta was the first to declare excitement at Sammy’s new “upgrade”, ecstatically spouting off ideas for training and sparring- Tostor, who’d immediately tended to the siren’s scrapes and grazes, glared at the assassin. Or as much of a glare as one could produce through a glass toaster oven door. Butcher wasted no opportunity in picking up the tiny woman and hugging her like his life depended on it, and Sammy reciprocated it.

[clumsybookworm18]

and my burden to bear is a love (i can’t carry anymore) | pt.3

Jossam + Ghost AU

Summary: Sam thinks she’s crazy and Josh is... Josh.

[Read on AO3], Moodboard, part 1 / 2 / 4

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when it came to Josh. And yet she couldn’t believe it. When people die, they tend to stay dead. These sorts of things didn’t happen. People did not see their dead friends. 

But there he was. 

Draped over her bed was Joshua Washington, a person who was officially declared dead (if the headless body was any indication), his black clothes a stark contrast with her ivory duvet.  

She didn’t know- couldn’t even begin to fathom what to say or do other than gawk at him. The pounding in her heart too distracting, along with some other emotion she didn’t want to make out. 

Josh angled his head, a half smile playing on his lips. “Dreadful etiquette, I apologize.”

He looked anything but sorry. 

“You’re here,” Sam heard herself say, far way, the words somehow coming out resigned and shocked- not processing she had spoken at all. She wasn’t entirely sure she was breathing either.  

“Hello to you too, Sammy.” 

She blinked. Then blinked once more. Nope, he was still there. 

What. The. Hell.

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Most people would consider staring rude, ya kn-”

Without thinking, she hurled at him the first thing at her reach. Which turned out to be her diary. 

Josh let out a curse, ducking in vain as it flew through him. Both of them watched as it landed with a muffled thump on the plush carpet. 

He turned to look at her, muttering, “Pacifist my ass.” Though his face was serious, something like amusement glinted in his eyes. “Is this going to be a thing now? You throwing something at me every time I scare you?”

No no no no no. This wasn’t happening. She must’ve fallen asleep and was dreaming right now. She was having some kind of fever dream. Yup. That was totally it. There absolutely wasn’t a dead person sitting on the foot of her bed. Nope. 

Looking to avoid the presence in front of her, Sam threw the covers off her and got up, walking over to where her diary had landed. As she bent to pick it up, out of the corner of her eye she saw Josh smoothly sit up, bracing his hands on his thighs, watching her. Always watching her. Like he used to do. 

A shiver went through her. It was just the cold. Nothing else. 

That's what happens when you leave the comfort of your blanket burrito to step into a freezing room.

Sam closed her eyes and took a single deep breath, trying not to let the eeriness of it rattle her (keyword being trying), before turning to face him. “You’re not real.”

Josh snorted. “Oh, I’m real alright,” he said, and- yep, that was definitely amusement glittering in those eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for one of you fuckers to finally see me?” 

“No,” she refuted, shaking her head. “This is just my subconscious showing me what I want to see. Or don’t, more specifically.” 

He gave her a lazy grin that once would’ve made her heart flutter. “I’m flattered Sammy. Really. But no imaginary doppelganger of mine can have my wit and charm-”

“And can’t be as aggravating as you,” she said dryly. “You know what? I’m actually inclined to believe this is all true. You haven’t been here five minutes and you’re already getting on my nerves.”

Josh put a hand to his chest. “Aw Sammy, you wound me. After all those late night talks we had together.” 

She glared at him. 

Josh stalked towards her, stopping less than a foot away, and she could’ve sworn a whisper of warmth grazed her skin. “What? Did you actually think you were crazy talking to a voice inside your head?” He gave her a knowing smirk. “Oh honey, you’re not delusional, trust me.”

Flashes of them in the mines raced through her mind, clamping down on her heart. Josh muttering to himself. Mike hitting him. Sam asking for the cable car key. Josh giving it to her. Their last conversation (she’d lost count of how many times she’s replayed it in her mind). The last time she saw him, alive and bleeding. 

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Fiercely shoving the memories away, Sam refrained from curling her fingers around the chain that rested around her neck, curling them into fists instead. She didn’t miss how his eyes flickered down to her hands as if he knew, but didn’t comment on it.

Wise move.

“How?” She demanded. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

He shrugged. “Never said I wasn’t.” 

Her blood chilled at his words- ignoring the doubt churning beneath her skin, trying to untangle the certainty of what she’d known all along but kept pushing into the back of her mind, like every irrational thought. She took a few steps back, putting some much needed space between them. For her sake.

“You mean to tell me... that the voice I’ve been hearing all this time was a vestige of you and not my imagination,” she said, not entirely a question.

Josh smirked. “What do you think?”

“So all those terrible wisecracks and irritating quips… that was you?”

“I’m pretty sure you mispronounced the word genius.”

A short, incredulous laugh escaped her. “This is insane. I’m fucking insane.”

“No, you’re not,” Josh said flatly.

“I have to be, otherwise I’m talking to a ghost.” Which, as far as she was concerned, were only supposed to haunt graveyards and old houses, not a tired twenty year old. 

He lifted a hand as if he were going to touch her but stopped when Sam yielded a step. Josh’s mouth tightened, hurt flickering in his eyes. “Sam, listen to me. I’m real. This is happening.”

“You can’t be here,” she insisted. “You can’t.” 

“Yet here I am. Standing right in front of you. Talking to you,” he said, crossing his arms. “You know it. You can feel it. You have for a while. Admit it.”

“You can be a brain tumor, for all I know,” she snapped, making way to get away from him. 

Josh’s moved swiftly, snarling softly and blocking her path. “You weren’t this upset when I was a faceless voice ‘inside your head’ but now I’m a problem?” 

Sam ignored him, stepping around him and walking away. 

Josh didn’t let her get far, immediately materializing in front of her. “Is it that hard for you to even look at me?”

This time she didn’t even bother trying to pass by him, but strode right through him instead which seemed to piss him off the whole more. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. 

Sam jolted at the feel of something cold sliding over her neck. She whirled to him, a hand rising to the back of her neck. “Stop that!” 

“Then stop being so stubborn,” he said simply, any leftover amusement fading from his face. 

She debated on throwing the diary to his face again, but knowing her luck, the ruckus it would cause wouldn’t be worth it and she’d probably end up waking her mother. And Sam really wasn’t in the mood to explain why she was up at two in the morning arguing like a lunatic with a ghost- hallucination- fuck. Jury’s still out. “What do you want from me?”

Josh crossed his arms. “What I want is for you to stop freaking out and talk to me.”

“How can you expect me to be calm about this,” she hissed, motioning a hand in his direction.  

“Considering the situation we were in the last time we saw each other, Samantha, you could at least look happy to see me.”

Sam stiffened. The last thing she needed was a reminder of what happened down at the mines. “I don’t want you here.” 

“Tough shit.” he snapped, coming closer, making it harder to ignore the warmth seeping off from him. “You think I enjoy watching you wallow around everyday, mourning my sisters? The past?” The Me? went unspoken between them but the look in her eyes told him she heard it altogether. “Fading away, day after day, watching as your grief and despair eat you alive. Literally.” 

Sam didn’t answer him but if he wasn’t already dead, she would’ve killed him with the glare she sent his way. 

“Whether you hate me or love me, you’re stuck with me,” Josh went on, not balking from that hazel gaze. His eyes were clearer now, more focused. “But I’m also stuck with you. So you see, kind of a lose-lose situation.” 

She watched him for a heartbeat longer before asking, “So what? I’m supposed to be ecstatic you’re here to make my life a living hell? Haunt me for the rest of my miserable days?”

His face darkened. “Is that what you think?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me given all your yapping.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind during our nightly tête-à-têtes.” 

“Prick.” 

Josh let out a wry, low laugh, looking her over. “As for whatever reason you’re seeing me…” he trailed off, bringing a hand up to his jaw. “Well, it makes sense, of course, since you have been the only one that’s been talking back to me- that could hear me in the first place.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “We had a…” 

Connection. 

Sam scoffed. 

“Right,” she said, drawing the word out. 

She was definitely sleep deprived. 

Josh watched her walk over to her bed, furiously stuffing some pillows under her arms. He raised an eyebrow. “...What are you doing?”

“Going over to my mom’s room,” she said, not looking at him, “I need to think, and you’re obviously not gonna leave anytime soon...”

He leans against the wall, frowning. “What makes you think I won’t follow you?”

“You won’t,” Sam says, and almost laughs at the sureness of her tone. If tonight has taught her anything, is that she doesn’t know jack-shit. She could already feel a headache forming.

What a mess. 

Once she’s in front of her mom’s door, she lets out a shuddering breath, looking back to make sure there was no other presence but her own. Her heartbeat slows when her eyes find nothing.

Careful not to wake her mom, Sam climbs into the fluffy bed, the sheets warm and welcoming. As she drifts off, she hears his voice like a whisper in the wind,

 “Night Sammy.”

[cbnfvrr]

Les héros du peuples sont immortels - le jeu de lumière chez Ferrara

Le 19 septembre 1990 sortait au cinéma les Affranchis de Martin Scorsese, jalon de marque dans la carrière du réalisateur, tant sur le plan critique que publique (depuis 2000, le film est conservé à la bibliothèque du congrès américain pour son importance « culturelle, historique, et esthétique »). Marty y peint la fresque baroque d’une honorable société à l’agonie, figeant un pan de la culture italo-américaine sur pellicule. Un long-métrage façon testament en somme, dernier coup d’oeil dans le rétro avant la mise en bière d’une culture trop enracinée dans l’histoire du XXème siècle pour espérer voir l’aube du troisième millénaire. Joie de la synchronicité, une semaine plus tard sortait aux États-Unis le King Of New York d’Abel Ferrara, film post-punk et cocaïné résolument tourné vers l’avenir (et qui aura coûté moins d’un quart du budget alloué au Scorsese magnifique), officiant dans un registre entre neiges éternelles et abysses pré-apocalyptique.

Christopher Walken qui adresse la caméra d’un regard avant de sortir de la douche, d’enfiler un costume sombre entouré de sexy sicaires calibrées, dans une suite luxueuse modèle de narco-architecture. Tout ça avant qu’une bande de jeunes noirs aux silhouettes clinquantes (donc menaçantes) n’interrompent la renaissance de ce Lazare païen dans une scène qui se révèle en fait n’être que retrouvailles et joies exacerbées, on ira même jusqu’a y danser. Art antique et signes de gangs, sommets et trottoirs. On ne s’y trompera plus, Ferrara est un rôdeur à l’oeil aiguisé, passé maître dans l’art du clair-obscur. À l’entendre, King Of New York naît d’un vendredi soir passé devant Terminator (premier du nom, évidemment) à une époque où Sammy The Bull n’as pas encore signé la fin du Dapper Don, John Gotti. La folie des années 80 n’est pas encore dissipée et les mafiosos de tous bords semblent avoir fait voeu d’hybris. L’heure est au spectacle, on déifie les show-man, brûles des cierges sur l’autel du libéralisme total. La face cachée de cette orgie électro-luminescente, ce sont les gamines qui tapinent, les hôpitaux qu’on ferment, l’infra-monde dont se repaît Frank White derrière les vitres de sa limousine : il apparaît dès lors dans un halo de lumière blafarde, véritable vampire qui aurait bu le sang vicié de sa ville jusqu’à l’écoeurement, comme on s’inocule un poison pour y être immunisé. Gotham a besoin d’un sauveur, mi-Joker mi-Batman, Frank incarne la providence. Startuper avant la mode et en prise avec son temps, il théorise l’air de ne pas y penser un capitalisme rédempteur puisque né dans une cité qui se lit en négatif : les armes, la drogue, l’influence, et les corps … tout s’achètent alors autant arroser l’arroseur en devenant le maître d’un jeu distordu. Ceux qui se perdront sur l’échiquier, c’est les flics à ses trousses. Persuader de faire le bien, ils sont en fait des agents de l’ordre véreux qui est en place. Pour eux, White est le grand sorcier sur la montagne, une obsession rampante. Chaque personnages du film est en proie à une frénésie mortelle, comme si tous se savaient acteurs d’une tragédie urbaine et salissante, alors les policiers deviennent escadron insubordonné, vestige du vieux monde : « I thought we were what’s right » dira l’un d’entre eux, mais right is wrong lorsque la pièce est truquée, magic happens. Comme souvent chez Ferrara et St. John (son scénariste d’alors), il n’est sans doute question que de rédemption au final. Frank White ne verse pas dans le divin, pourtant, il se sait en mission. Le compte à rebours est lancé, par qui et depuis quand ? Chacun aura sa version des faits.

D’aucuns auraient rêvé à voir Frank disparaître dans la foule, à la sortie du métro où il a abattu Bishop, vieux de la vieille honorable mais malheureux dommage collatéral. Pour autant, Abel Ferrara sait qu’une utopie n’est rien de plus que « ce qui ne se rencontre en aucun lieu », alors lui et Nicholas St-John se doivent de faire mourir leur champion, dans un haïku couleur néons en forme de taxi jaune bravant les eaux du Styx. New York New York.

[go-redgirl]

Chamber of Commerce’s Political Chief Resigns After Democrat Endorsements

The United States Chamber of Commerce’s chief political strategist has resigned from the business group after its endorsement of 23 House Democrats in swing districts across the country.

Scott Reed, the Chamber’s longtime senior political strategist, has resigned, according to the New York Times‘ Maggie Haberman.

“Scott Reed, who’s been the top political strategist at the US Chamber for years, tells me he has resigned, amid a perceived drift to the left at the Chamber on heels of nearly two dozen endorsements of House Dems,” Haberman posted online.

Sources familiar with the matter told Breitbart News that Reed’s decision to resign came after he was not allowed by executives to spend money helping vulnerable Senate Republicans in their races, such as Senators Joni Ernst (R-IA), Martha McSally (R-AZ), and Thom Tillis (R-NC).

The Chamber, a source described, has become a McCarthy-esque environment where Republicans supportive of President Trump are purged.

“It’s been difficult to watch what was once the gold standard for influence and advocacy slowly decline over the last few years and now it appears the last vestige of relevance has just walked out the door,” National Republican Senatorial Committee (NRSC) Executive Director Kevin McLaughlin told Breitbart News of Reed’s resignation.

Reed had been at the Chamber for roughly 20 years but seemingly grew frustrated with the group’s recent endorsement of 23 House Democrats against Republicans in swing districts that are vital to the GOP winning back the House.

“Scott Reed is the Michael Jordan of Republican operatives — the greatest of all time,” former Republican leadership staffer and lobbyist Sammy Geduldig said.

Since the endorsement, the Chamber is already fighting off the Democrat agenda of candidates they endorsed.

The Chamber recently sent out an alert to its members urging opposition to Rep. Abby Finkenauer’s (D-IA) amendment to the “Clean Economy Jobs and Innovation Act.” Finkenauer was endorsed by the Chamber.

In an exclusive report, Breitbart News noted the Chamber’s recent political turmoil.

One insider called the Chamber “an elitist organization,” while another said their Democrat endorsements were “what happens when the Washington swamp and Wall Street get together in Nancy Pelosi’s conference room and make a deal.”

The number of small businesses paying dues to the Chamber stands at less than 7,000 today, according to sources with knowledge. In its heyday, the Chamber had about 130,000 small businesses paying dues.

In response, Trump and Vice President Mike Pence reportedly criticized the Chamber in a phone call. House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) has publicly said he does not want the Chamber’s endorsement, characterizing the group as sell-outs.

[superaskthebatimocsandfriends]

Me: *sitting here having to work more on the other character info for the Story of the Two Vestiges and write Sammy’s (Cal’s) Side for his starting part of the Au but not knowing how* 

[kevinwritesstuffsometimes]

92 Truths About Me

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 92 truths about you. At the end choose 25 people to be tagged.

I was tagged by: @edgeoffire (Thanks!)

LAST: Last drink: Fruit Punch Gatorade Last phone call: My mummy Last text message: My mummy Last song you listened to: “Not If I See You First” by Good Weather For Airstrikes Last time I cried: May 1st. I remember because I looked up when the video for “No Halo” by Sorority Noise came out, and it was on that day when I learned one of my friends had died (suicide) and that video hit me so hard and I watched it on repeat all day until my roommates took me to a pizza buffet and I ate 23 slices of pizza in an attempt to eat my feelings.

HAVE YOU EVER: Dated someone twice: Yes (and never again) Been cheated on: Not that I’m aware of Kissed someone and regretted it: Kinda Lost someone special: Yes Been depressed: Yes Been drunk and thrown up: Yeah, but not anymore

IN THE PAST YEAR HAVE YOU: Made a new friend: Yeah Fallen out of love: If letting the last vestiges of the connection to someone draining out me counts, then yes. If not, then I was out long ago. Laughed until you cried: Pretty sure Met someone who changed you: TBD Found out who your true friends were: Some, yes. Found out someone was talking about you: Sort of?

GENERAL: How many people on tumblr do you know in real life?: I think two Do you have any pets?: Nope. Struggling to keep me fed and sane. Adding to that would be much too much Do you want to change your name?: Nah What time did you wake up this morning?: 1:34pm. What were you doing last night?: Watching Foo Fighters interviews to figure out if I have Dave Grohl hair. Name something you cannot wait for: Turtles All The Way Down by John Green. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yeah, a guy I knew in school who was super good at graffiti/art. What’s getting on your nerves rn?: My boss’ blatant disregard for my schedule requests and the lack of action when it comes to gun control laws in the U.S. Blood type: Don’t remember and my Red Cross card is illegible now. Nickname: Those are earned and not freely given out. Relationship status: Perpetually Single by Choice Zodiac sign: Leo Pronouns: he/his Favorite tv show: Boy Meets World College: Michigan State University’s Residential College in the Arts & Humanities (RCAH). Hair colour: Brown Long or short: Just past my shoulders, so long I guess. Do you have a crush on someone: I’ve quit putting myself in the position to get crushes as they only lead to pain and misery. What do you like about yourself: I’ll have to get back to you on that.

FIRSTS: First surgery: Other than little dental stuff, I think it’d be when I broke my leg (femur, specifically) when I was 16. First piercing: None. First best friend: Maybe my brother before he started hating me when we were little? We’re good now though. I was friends with kid named Keith in daycare, but I bit him, so maybe not him? But for sure, Jeff was my first best friend in school. First sport you joined: Either football, basketball, or baseball. Unsure, I was too young to know for sure. First vacation: Probably Fairfield Glade in Tennessee First pair of sneakers: That I picked for myself - A pair of navy blue Airwalks in 4th Grade Eating: Last night I had a bunch of mini candy bars and some Pringles. Drinking: Water now. I’m about to: make breakfast Listening to: “To Have Our Hearts Emptied, To Be Left As We Came” by Good Weather for Airstrikes. Want kids: No thank you. Uninterested in fucking up another human life. Get married: See above. Career: I want to be a novelist/songwriter/poet/screenwriter/comedian/actor/creative person/vagabond/bard/artist of sorts.

WHICH IS BETTER: Lips or eyes: Eyes forever Hugs or kisses: I lean towards hugs Shorter or taller: No preference Older or younger: Older means more responsibilities, but also more freedom so I guess Older. Romantic or spontaneous: Never spontaneous. I’m very surprise-averse. I used to be overly romantic, so I guess that. Sensitive or loud: Preferably both. Hook up or relationship: Hook up by default. Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant to the point of total inaction.

HAVE YOU EVER: Kissed a stranger: Yeah, fortunately. Drank hard liquor: Yeah, unfortunately. Lost glasses/contacts: Fortunately, no. Sex on first date: Define date... So probably yes. Broken someone’s heart: Probably and it eats me up inside to have done that to someone else. Been arrested: Nope! Turned someone down: Yeah Fallen for a friend: Yeah...

DO YOU BELIEVE: In yourself: Sometimes. More than I used to. Miracles: Eh... Love at first sight: Not for me. Hopefully for others though. Heaven: Not really. Santa Claus: To quote Sammy Markus from “Heavy Metal And You” by Christopher Krovatin: “I’d like to”.

I tag: @sarahmariepardy @smakka--bagms @vasilinaorlova @somehowletters @flairsbanks @the-geekgoddes @@planetahmane @heressomeshitreadit @blackbirdpoetess @ladybirdhill

[one-girly-geek]

Oh look, John Winchester's A+ parenting makes an its first (chronological, because lbr there was some less than great stuff the last 17 episodes) appearance!

It's almost like 9 year olds aren't parents, and shouldn't be expected to act like them. What a novel concept. And maybe, if you're hunting something that attacks children, make sure your own children are somewhere safe first?

And then don't treat your kid different the rest of his life because he messed up once. When he was 9. And yeah, it was a bad mistake- but ultimately, you're the parent and looking out for your children is your responsibility. Because your 9 year old child is still a child. He's not going to act like a responsible parent, because he's a child. And ultimately, the blame and responsibility should lie with you, the parent.

And something always felt skeevy to me about John sending Dean to kill the stringa as a sort of 'unfinished business' thing. Like he silently hung it over Dean's head for years. Idk how to describe it, but it almost has a flavor of 'now's your chance to fix that screw up I treated you differently for since you were 9, so maybe now I'll finally forgive you for it' I can't put it into words, but it's just something that's tickled me since I first watched....

At the end of the flashback you can basically see any vestiges of Dean having a childhood crumbling before his eyes, and it breaks my heart. (And hate John a little more...)

It hurts too, the way Dean tries so hard to reassure Michael that it's not his fault. Dean's so quick to reassure others like that, but he can't even listen when Sam (rightfully) tells him he was a child and it wasn't his fault.

In more random thought-

The purple dog shirt!!

Baby Sammy and his puppy dog eyes!!

Michael might have been a Dean mirror, but he sure was a sassy little shit like Sam.

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 20 - The Reckoning

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader, AU!CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1697

Summary: When it comes down to the heart of it, AU!Castiel and Cas really are the same. Pre-warning for the next chapter, 21 - Eisodos, it contains smut not necessarily relevant to the plot and should be skipped by anyone not 18 years of age or older.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Charlie’s chilling scream piercing through the crackled tempered glass and boarded window slats of the derelict building and into the dusky night means there’s no time for pep talks; but it doesn’t mean, however much the desperate cry gets their adrenaline pumping, they don’t need a hastily assembled plan going in.

Dean grabs Jack roughly by the shoulder as the Nephilim attempts to continue the charge ahead after destroying an angel posted as guard outside with an explosive gold burst of grace. “Jack, you stay put. Anyone with a halo comes out that door, you put ‘em down, got it?”

“But-” The boy’s lips press together and pop open to utter the pretty unconvincing single syllable argument.

Throat rumbling incoherently in a manner suggesting any and all further protests Jack might make in this moment are moot, Dean spins his green eyes and the angel blade poised in his grip upward. “Sammy, you’re with me. Mom, Cas, you go left.” The hunter crouches and stealthily bolts right toward a side entrance.

“We know you can help, and you are.” Sam pats reassurance into the boy’s back before ducking and darting off in his brother’s footsteps.

Jack accepts his assignment with a begrudging bob of the head.

Fingertips clamped across his brow, weapon clenched in his white-knuckled fist, Cas struggles – bleary eyed and brained – to focus through the deafening plea of your prayers at this proximity. You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in the bunker; it’s not necessarily the safest place in that world what with being a bridge for the rift, but it’s safer than this world, and safer still since Lucifer is here now and not there. Torn by an unflagging loyalty to his friends and surrogate son, he’s not certain with the stakes of the situation changed and his loved ones scattered and exposed to different degrees of duress, who to protect when you all need protection. Your beseeching howls for help, though, do resonate loudest in his head and heart.

Mary lays a palm to the angel’s sleeve to cement his attention; the concerned gleam of her gaze and the twist of her body in the direction indicated by Dean silently ask if he’s okay, and if he’s coming.

Thus conflicted, Cas nearly misses the whimper of his name emanating from the far end of the overgrown gas-n-sip parking lot. You’re not praying anymore, you’re petitioning aloud.

Mary hears you and, Dean must take after her when it comes to giving direction with zero room for a democratic vote, she whispers, “Go!” Hurtling herself on an opposite trajectory to the left side door, she’s not about to let her boys barge into that building without backup.

Blind to anything else, Cas stalks toward the sound of your voice, ignorant of the angel Jack smites as he moves to the perimeter.

*   *   *   *   *

Releasing Charlie, an amalgam of frustration and fear flashing over his features, Castiel spins. Striding toward the exit, self-preservation prompting a swift departure, he hauls you up by the arm as he retreats and drags you along with him. He left you behind once, before he knew what you were to him, or at least the other of him. A compulsive longing for that drives him; perhaps a smidge of jealousy, too. After all, this is your world, and you are his.

Vestiges of the angelically-induced nap wearing thin, you fight to find footing on numb feet and claw at where his fingers fasten firmly around your bicep. “Let me go!” you shout.

“Stop it, little one,” he scoffs over his shoulder at your scuffle for freedom. His fist cinches tighter into muscle as he slogs you across the threshold into the open air.

The pinch of pain hits you as a wave of nausea. Swallowing a rise of bile, you continue to resist. “Where are you taking me?” you spit and try to kick, unable to get enough purchase on the ground to mount a meaningful attack.

Dirt gone airborne in your wake coats the black of his coat. He doesn’t know where, only away – away from here. Away from angels and men. He barely comprehends the why. He doesn’t answer.

“Castiel!” you screech. “Cas!” It seems the more defiant you are, the more hardened his hold.

Halting suddenly, he swings you boorishly round to face him. “I said,” –his mouth spasms as he leans nearer, laboring to stay in control– “stop it.” His gaze drifts backward, perceiving some sound of pursuit too subtle for you to hear – Sam, Dean, maybe even your Cas. Jaw gnashing, he shoves you ahead, pushing you to keep moving.

Planting your feet firmly in the gravel, you resolve on a different tactic. Appealing to the buried part of him that revealed itself to you in the burnished blue, you say his name again, persuasively softer, “Castiel, please. You’re hurting me.”

His fractious handling gentles somewhat at the soothing tone. He looks warily to wood’s edge.

“Castiel,” you repeat in a whispered exhalation. Fingers reaching up, you caress the tips tentatively to his cheek, garnering his rather astonished scarred regard – it’s evident the tactile tenderness is new to him. “You-you tried to help us once – humanity, didn’t you?” His skin starts and skips beneath your touch.

He glances back once more; a blur of beige movement emerges from the treed outskirts.

You keep talking, distracting, gambling words to win time, hitting on the truth. “And they punished you for it – clipped your wings, forced you to serve their will, didn’t they?”

A harsh hum catches in his throat, a half-hearted effort at denial. “What you say,” –he wags his chin– “it didn’t happen. I am a soldier. I serve willingly. I-I volunteered for this assignment.” A severe judder quakes his vessel; his lashes lower in a wince. The more he tries to suppress who he really is – an angel with too much heart, an angel who once put humanity first, and angel cruelly manipulated by Naomi to wage battle on wrong side of the war – the greater his loss of control.

You flex your fingers to cup his cheek. “It did happen. You don’t remember because they took your memories too, manipulated you into someone else, a shell – just like you do to us. They turned you into a machine to do their bidding.”

Wiring of reason and recollection rerouted in a chaos of crossings and cuts to bypass his empathetic heart, minute muscles misfiring as his control falters in affront to the gentleness of your touch and accuracy of your supposition, he refuses even as tilts into the curl of your palm to concede to a possibility too painful to consider. “Little one . . . you don’t know anything about me.”

“I do. Castiel, you have a choice.”

Doubting, his eyes open to lock on yours. “Choice? What choice? There is no choice.”

You make a final daring last ditch bid. “Angel, what does your heart tell you?”

They’re the wrong words; words so repulsive to Naomi’s reprogramming his automatic answer is as immediate as it is self-protective. “There is only duty, to suggest otherwise is” –he’s too close, features a maelstrom of motion, for you to see the angel blade slip from his sleeve– “disobedience.” He centers the lethally tapered tip of celestial metal directly over your heart. “And there is only one remedy for disobedience” –you feel a prickled warmth of blood when you shallowly gasp and your ribcage expands– “death.”

Lids heavy, your eyes shut, prepared for the fatal plunge. In those stretched seconds of stillness, you’re sorry for what happened to him. Sorrier you didn’t go to Sioux Falls to stay safe like Cas wanted. You worry he’ll find a way to blame himself. You offer up a prayer of gratitude for these few borrowed weeks with him and, despite the rough patches, the happiness, love, and hope highlighting them you thought you lost forever.

The reverberating ring of metal bouncing on stone prompts you to blink.

The dropped blade lies lolling on the ground between you. His heart heard you, and in choosing life – your life – Castiel’s countenance, no longer churning, is a sea of calm.

You have a mere instant to process what happened before he leaves, fleeing toward the armored truck a dozen yards off.

Dumbstruck, you watch Cas, weapon wielded, rush the vehicle and haul the unarmed Castiel out by the coat collar. Limply pinned against a column, the latter doesn’t attempt to mount a defense. They speak in hushed unhurried tones until Cas’ elbow swings backward to stab his mirror through the heart.

You stumble forward, a shriek lodged in your throat meant to stop him, to stay his hand, to tell him Castiel isn’t who you thought he was, who Cas thinks he is, that somewhere deep inside they are the same, but it’s too late. You sink to your knees at the lifeless angel’s side in an emblazoned shadow of broken wings.

Cas crouches beside you, sliding a palm across your back and hooking a finger beneath your chin to pivot your tearful gaze to him. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head no and lunge into his arms, weeping into the hollow of his neck. “You-you killed him. Cas, he-” You trail off in a tumult of tears.

Burying his nose into your hair, wrapping his arms securely around you, his eyes settle on the peaceful face of the fallen. “No, Y/N – I saved him from a worse fate. Killing him was more merciful than what would have befallen him once the angels learned he let you go.”

Sniffling, you nod into his shirt to indicate you understand – no place exists in this world for an angel sympathetic to humanity. He never had a chance.

“Come on” –straightening, he encourages you to stand, supporting your swaying figure around the waist– “let’s go home.”

“Home,” you exhale in echo. For so long the word held no tangible meaning – four empty letters with nothing except regret to occupy the void. Now there’s Cas, the bunker, a whole new world with him. “Yes,” you repeat in a wondering whisper, “let’s go home.”

Next: Ch. 21- Eisodos

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Trio of rookie receivers could be fantasy difference-makers down stretch

By Matt Kelley (@Fantasy_Mansion) Special to Yahoo Sports

Remember the 2014 NFL draft’s receiver class? Odell Beckham Jr.! Mike Evans! Brandin Cooks! Jarvis Landry! Allen Robinson! Sammy Wat… oh. Kelvin Benja… ugh. Martav… never mind.

Recent busts aside, the 2014 draft class featured the most prolific rookie receiver group since the 1996 draft that airdropped Marvin Harrison, Eric Moulds, Muhsin Muhammad, Joe Horn, and Terrell Owens onto NFL fields. Moreover, those 2014 rookie WR seasons were particularly impressive in retrospect:

Odell Beckham Jr.: 1,305 yards

Mike Evans: 1,051

Kelvin Benjamin: 1,008

Sammy Watkins: 982

Jordan Matthews: 872

Jarvis Landry: 758

For the last three years, fantasy enthusiasts have been chasing those rookie year highs, only to slink away in disappointment at a Breshad Perriman lost season or Corey Coleman’s squandered potential. 2017 has been trending on the same downward trajectory as top-10 picks, Mike Williams and John Ross, struggle just to get on the field.

As the last vestiges of 2014 vanish from the fantasy community’s collective conscience, this year’s rookie receiver class is initiating a subtle ascent. JuJu Smith-Schuster, Corey Davis, and Kenny Golladay are not dead yet.

JuJu Smith-Schuster, Pittsburgh Steelers

Smith-Schuster’s role is steadily expanding. Over the last three weeks, his snap share climbed from 44.1% to 78.3% to 82.0%, and his routes run escalated from 17 to 28 to 30. Smith-Schuster also scored a touchdown each week over that span. After putting Martavis Bryant in witness protection, he is quickly becoming the ying to Antonio Brown’s yang in Pittsburgh’s passing game.

Metric Value Rank  Completed Air Yards 386 #2  Yards Per Target 12.1 #2  Production Premium +52.0 #2  Target Premium +69.5% #2

JuJu Smith-Schuster Advanced Efficiency Metrics on PlayerProfiler.com

Smith-Schuster’s increased usage parallels an efficiency spike. Though he just turned 21 years old, Smith-Schuster is now the most efficient receiver in the NFL. In fact, he is the only NFL receiver who ranks in the top-3 in completed air yards as well as PlayerProfiler.com’s signature advanced efficiency metrics: Target Premium and Production Premium.

Looking ahead, Smith-Schuster’s next two opponents are the Titans and Packers, both top-10 in fantasy points allowed to opposing receivers. Get Smith-Schuster lineups in all fantasy formats for the foreseeable future. 

Kenny Golladay, Detroit Lions

While Smith-Schuster loudly announced his arrival to the sports world with buzzworthy touchdown celebrations, Golladay is quietly surging. Recall that Golladay, not Smith-Schuster, was the fantasy world’s most buzzworthy rookie receiver over the summer after numerous preseason splash plays.

After Detroit drafted Golladay in the third round, fantasy gamers zoomed in on his prospect profile, which revealed an exceptional talent. According to some analytical models, Golladay was the best receiver in the 2017 NFL Draft. Golladay is one of a select few receivers with both an 80th percentile College Dominator Rating and Speed Score on PlayerProfiler.com.

Kenny Golladay Advanced Prospect Profile on PlayerProfiler.com

Shortly after a monster two-touchdown performance in Week 1 of the regular season, Golladay suffered a serious hamstring injury. He returned in Week 10 after a six-week absence and posted an astronomically efficient 8 yards per route run. More importantly, despite running less than 10 pass routes, Golladay out-targeted Marvin Jones last week.

2017 Golladay Plays Golladay OUT Fantasy Points Per Game 7.5 17.5

Marvin Jones-Kenny Golladay 2017 Splits

Jones’ splits with and without Golladay on the field are striking. Golladay’s snap share and routes should continue to rise. As a superior downfield playmaker, he will continue to cannibalize Jones’ target share as the second half progresses. Be sure to add Golladay in leagues where available. 

Corey Davis, Tennessee Titans

Don’t forget Corey Davis, perhaps the most exciting rookie receiver. Davis was a mega-producer all four years at the college level, posting a mind-bending 5,278 receiving yards and 52 touchdowns before the Tennessee Titans selected him with a top-10 draft pick.

Like Golladay, he battled hamstring strains throughout the NFL preseason and regular season. Yet, Davis already has two 10-target games on his rookie résumé. This volume is even more impressive in the context of the run-oriented Titans offense.

Week Snap Share Routes Targets 9 77.6% 24 5 10 91.2% 44 10

Corey Davis Recent Role Expansion

As with Smith-Schuster, Davis’ role continues to expand. Last week, he officially relegated Eric Decker strictly to a slot role in three-receiver sets and led the team in targets. Decker logged a 37.5% snap share while Davis was on the field for 91.2% of the Titans offensive plays. Davis also ran more than twice as many pass routes as Decker in week 10.

Looking toward the fantasy playoffs, Davis faces four of the NFL’s most receiver-friendly defenses over the next six weeks.

Week Opposing Defense 11 Steelers 12 Colts 13 Texans 14 Cardinals 15 49ers 16 Rams

Titans Schedule Through the Fantasy Football Playoffs

The 6-3 Titans playoff surge coincides with Davis’ ascendance. If Marcus Mariota continues to establish radar lock on his rookie playmaker, it’s wheels up for Davis in fantasy.

While the 2017 rookie receiver class may not end up with huge numbers because of injuries and slow starts, this trio could end up deciding league titles down the stretch.

More fantasy advice from Yahoo Sports