#anti blonde Dean

[antiblondewinchester]

Cas was pretty good so I didn’t fix him but I made Deans expression more easily read and adjusted his hair colour and removed the hand print since with your SFS (same face syndrome) it wasn’t needed since I fixed it simply by changing the nose. I also made the pupil area a bit darker to make it more distinctive. If you’re looking for a pretty blonde protagonist to draw Arthur Pendragon from BBC’s Merlin is #1 on that list!

and won't you please give me some decency?

[demxters]

—𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄

frat!bradley bradshaw x f!reader

dagger squad college!au

summary: bradley meets the girl he believes to be his good luck charm at a party. the only problem is, he doesn't have a clue who she is or how to find her again.

wc: 2.1k

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname clover), a wild jake and ace appears, explicit swearing, alcohol, college parties, slight nudity, tattoos

the lucky one masterlist || find on ao3

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌��𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

You hated your ex with a passion. You knew what he was doing the second you saw his arm around Allison freaking Simpson. Not only was she the dean’s daughter, but she was also one of the top students of their class. 

In other words, she was everything you were not. Your ex was trying to prove a point and you hated that it was working.

Deep breathes, you remind yourself, thinking back to the meditation classes you took over the summer. 

Your eye twitches at the sound of Allison’s obviously over exaggerated giggles. Tyler Jacobs was not that funny. 

“He’s not worth your time,” a soft voice from beside you interrupts your glaring.

It was a girl you recognized from your classes over the years. Quiet, yet incredibly smart and snarky when need be. You’ve never actually talked to her much, but she was thoughtful and much more tolerable than a majority of your peers. 

“You used to date Tyler Jacobs, right?” Apparently, she was also very observant. 

You cringe at that. “Unfortunately.”

She hums, before returning her gaze to her notes. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you could do much better.” 

Now that makes you laugh. “Thanks,” you send her a genuine smile. 

You knew she was right. You could do so much better. Tyler was all you’ve known. Dating since high school, prom king and queen, the whole cliche. You just needed to expand your horizons. 

After another grueling hour and a half of listening to your professor talk about god knows what, you’re more than relieved to finally be released from class. 

The girl beside you packs up with haste, almost like she has somewhere to be. 

“Hey, Ace, tell that boyfriend of yours that he can suck my dick!” Tyler yells after her. 

“Go screw yourself, Jacobs,” she replies with a flash of her finger. 

You wrap your arm around her, noticing the tension in her shoulders as you deliberately announce, “I’ve seen it and trust me, your boyfriend would not be impressed.” 

The people around you snicker, making Tyler’s face turn red, and you smirk in satisfaction. 

The girl, who you remember was called Ace, is laughing as you guide her out of the lecture hall. 

“His face was priceless!” Ace says between laughs. 

You shrug with a smile. “I only said what’s true!” 

Ace shakes her head. “Amazing.”

A call of her name distracts her, and you both turn to see a tall, blond man jogging toward the both of you. 

You won’t lie. He was incredibly good looking. But the way his gaze was set on Ace told you all you needed to know. “The boyfriend, I’m assuming?” 

He wraps Ace up in his arms and she playfully rolls her eyes at his display of affection. 

“The one and only,” he grins. “Jake Seresin, pleasure to meet you. It’s so nice seeing you branch out, Ace. She is so anti-social, I swear,” he murmurs from the side of his mouth. 

She scoffs, smacking her boyfriend on the arm. “Shut up!” 

You laugh along with the duo, your heart aching at how in love they were. Even if they didn’t know it yet, you could tell they would be together for a long time. You had a knack for noticing those kinds of things–relationships that were meant to last and matchmaking. You take pride in the fact that you were the one to set up your old high school math teacher with your favorite art teacher. Now, they were happily married and had two kids with one more on the way. 

The one person you were unable to help in the love department, however, was yourself. How absolutely ironic. 

You used to think Tyler Jacobs was the one. You imagined the two of you growing old together, having kids, and telling them the stories of how the two of you fell in love. Being with him since your freshman year of high school and knowing him since kindergarten made you truly believe that he was the love of your life. 

Up until a month ago, when everything came crashing down and everything you thought you knew turned out to be a lie.

“Hey, you should come to the Delta Chi party this weekend,” Jake offers, noticing the sudden lull in conversation. 

Ace nods with a smile. “Yeah, something to take your mind off that ex of yours.” 

You eye Jake, unable to contain your growing grin. “A frat party?” 

Jake winks. “Only the best frat on campus.” 

Ace was right, you needed to take your mind off Tyler. You wanted to prove that you didn’t need him–that you never did. Besides, when did you ever say no to a party? “Alright, I’ll be there.” 

»»————- ♣︎ ————-««

You’ve been to so many parties, the sweaty bodies and loud music no longer deter you. 

Pushing your way through the crowd, you say hi to some familiar faces as you make your way to the drinks. 

One of the Delta Chi guys gives you a cup full of cheap beer, which you gladly accept. You continue to wander around the house, only being there once before. With Tyler. 

Just even thinking of him makes you nauseous. Downing the rest of your cup, you go back to the keg, desperate for another drink. 

Two becomes three. 

Three becomes four. 

Until, eventually, you’ve lost count and the only thing you can feel is the warmth of the alcohol and the beating of the bass in your chest. 

You hardly remember Tyler and Allison nor the aching heartbreak you’ve been going through for over a month now. 

It was just you and the dance floor. And maybe a few frat guys and sorority girls you didn’t know the names of but danced with anyways. 

Your cup was empty again and you groaned at the realization. You stumble your way back to the drink station, no longer able to control your heavy footsteps and swinging limbs. 

Your vision is so hazy that you don’t see the body you haphazardly bump into. 

“Holy shit!” the person says as you catch yourself on the table. 

He turns around with wide, doe-like eyes. Even through the horribly lit area and hue from the alcohol, you could tell that the guy in front of you was hot. His slightly curly hair was plastered to his forehead through the sheen of sweat that glistened on his skin. You could tell he was muscular, even under the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. And his eyes… you couldn’t pinpoint the exact color they were due to the poor lighting, but they were what you would describe as kind. 

He gapes at you like a fish out of water. You catch yourself giggling at his flustered state. 

“Are you some kind of good luck charm or something?” He blurts out. 

“What?” you slur. You boldly grab his forearm in order to steady yourself from swaying too much. You bite your tongue to hold back a sigh as the smell of cinnamon and faint cologne floods your senses. 

“I said, are you some kind of good luck charm or something? Because I just won that shit!” He gestures sloppily to the table where a game of beer pong was set up. 

“No way!” You bounce on your toes, feeling giddy from the excitement oozing off the guy in front of you. 

He nods vigorously. “I was about to make that shot, but then you bumped into me and I still got it in. That was awesome. You are a good luck charm! You’re like a… like a…”

Your eyes light up as he continues to think. “Like a four leafed clover?” 

He snaps his fingers. “Yeah!” 

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips while your fingers tug your shirt upwards. Rolling the loose tee you have on so it’s resting just right above your bra, you turn. “You mean like this?” 

His gaze zeroes in on the image inked below your right breast, on the edge of your rib cage. There lies a delicately etched four leaf clover. 

The tug in your chest is palpable. The pull this guy has on you is strange, yet welcomed. It was unlike anything you’ve felt before, even with Tyler. You wanted to beckon him closer. You wanted him to take his fingers on his large hand and delicately trace the outline of where you are most vulnerable. 

Your grip on your shirt loosens as it rolls back down your chest to your abdomen, suddenly feeling self conscious of how forward you were. Great, you just met the guy and now you’re gonna scare him away.  

He opens his mouth to speak, gaze glancing back up to meet yours, clearly rendered speechless by the unexpected action before him. 

“Yo, Rooster! Come on, someone’s trying to beat your time on the keg!” 

He’s interrupted by another guy who shakes his shoulders and pulls him away without another word. 

He gives you one last look over his shoulder, one apologetic and full of longing before you lose him in the crowd. 

Rooster. What a strange nickname. 

You just hope your sober self remembers it tomorrow. 

»»————- ♣︎ ————-««

Bradley can’t tell if the pounding is in his head or coming from his bedroom door. His head feels like a bowling ball and he can barely open his eyes without feeling like he was getting stabbed through his skull. 

He rolls over, throwing his pillow over his head. He prays that whoever is on the other side of the door gets the hint and leaves him alone. 

Much to his dismay, the person ends up inviting themself in anyway. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty! Welcome back to the land of the living,” Jake’s irritating Texas drawl rings through his ears. 

Bradley groans, tossing his pillow lamely at him. “Go. Away.” 

“No can do, Bradshaw. Up! Up! Up!” He shouts, clapping his hands in front of Bradley’s face like a drill sergeant. 

Bradley wishes it were Jake in his place right now. In another time, it was Jake that was in his place. Bradley would be the one ushering him and his latest fling out of bed. When he started dating Ace, Jake changed. She straightened him up—made him lose the fuck boy act and be more respectful. Now it was time for Jake to have his fun. He hates how much Jake is enjoying Bradley being on the other end of the stick. 

“Go away before I rip your dick off,” Bradley threatens with narrowed eyes. 

Jake doesn’t take Bradley’s comment the way he wanted him to. His cackle and the rush of sunlight that enters the room makes Bradley whine pathetically. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the light from outside was burning through his eyelids. 

“Reuben cooked breakfast. Hurry up if you want to eat anything other than bread crusts,” Jake announces before, not so softly, shutting his bedroom door. 

Bradley throws his pillow back over his head to block out all the light and sighs. Every time they host a party, he swears that he won’t drink too much. And every time without fail, he ends up blackout drunk and in bed with a sorority girl. Which is why he’s surprised that, for once, he can actually remember the night before. There wasn’t much significance to last night. Just like any other Friday, Delta Chi was throwing another rager. All his friends were there as well as the usual sororities. However, last night at the beer pong table was embedded into his mind. 

He could still smell the perfume of the girl he recalls being his good luck charm. He could see her bright smile and the tattoo she willingly flashed at him. A dopey smile tugs at his lips as he reminisces about last night. 

His euphoric haze is cut short when he realizes he never even got your name. Bradley didn’t know who you were or who you were with. He finds himself getting more of a headache trying to remember if he has ever seen you at any of the Greek life events on campus. He doubts you were in a sorority. He’s sure he would’ve remembered seeing a face like yours. 

The best thing he could do is ask if anyone knew a girl with a clover tattoo, but even that would probably get him nowhere. 

The pounding in his chest didn’t settle as he continued to relive the interaction from the night before. If only he hadn’t been pulled away by Omaha, he probably would’ve mustered up enough courage to get your name and number. He maybe would have even asked you out on a date. But he was whisked away in an instant. After the fiasco at the keg, Bradley wandered around the house trying to find you, with absolutely no luck. He didn’t understand what it was, but he was convinced that he needed to see you again. He had to. 

Even in his hung over state of mind, Bradley was on a mission. First, he was going to sober up and shower. Then was going to find his four leafed clover. 

this one is dedicated to @blue-aconite for this fic and clover wouldn’t exist without you, ily <;3

a/n: i hope you’re all as excited for bradley and clover as i am. im super stoked to introduce them into the ‘loving you universe’ and for you all to see where their story leads them. as always, the inbox is open and comments and reblogs are encouraged and appreciated.

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom @kmc1989 @percysaidnever @thestarspangledcaptain

[retromotherfuckers]

When the Sun Sets - Part 4

Adriadne

Characters:

adriadne/morgan winchester (OC), dean winchester, sam winchester

Summary:

adriadne finds out who she was before she went to hell. and the winchesters will not rest until they fix what their sister did all those years ago.

Warnings (for entire story):

SPN typical violence, so so much suppressing of emotions, vague mention of SA, depiction of torture, a very pro-torture main character, murder, vague mention of not eating for a while, parental abuse, slight suicidal ideation, SPN typical alcohol abuse, spoiler warning up to the end of season 10, following canon stops after the end of season 2 but things are sure to be mentioned

Word Total:

4k ~ roughly

A/N:

hi, so sorry its been so long, but i finally got the inspiration to continue writing this little mini series. i'm not convinced anyone is still interested in this story, but here's part 4. there's a little hatred towards blondes in this chapter - guys i actually love blonde hair i think its gorgeous - your girl is just a demon. my search history after writing this chapter, god help me.

this takes place loosely around season 10 and i kind of combined when sam tries to cure crowley with when he cures dean.

let me tell you, writing about a person who has no idea what's real is not easy to make good - its a 0/10 for me and i'm not convinced i even succeeded at that

italics = inner thoughts/memories

dean: 36, morgan: 35 (her body is 27), sam: 32

Adriadne vaguely remembered hating the moon coming up when she was human. For some reason, she detested nighttime and all that came with it. She had wanted to believe she wasn't as bad as the humans when she was one. But as she roamed the street of whatever bumblefuck town she was in, she remembered staring blankly at a street lamp once.

It was the only light she had seen for several miles. It illuminated a small bus stop with a bench and a pay phone attached to it. She was in some loud car, with even louder music playing, with her intolerably quiet family. The faces, names, and details of any of them had been long washed away. Somebody in her family needed to make a call, so they stopped, and she was left alone for a few minutes. The yellow beams that kept that area lit were the only thing keeping her from panicking. She had assumed she was only a child in the memory because, I mean, seriously? An adult scared of the dark?

If she had been an adult, Satan help her if she was, it would have been further proof of how weak humans are. Actually, regardless, it was proof. There was no light in Hell. Everything was dark, and only with the sight of a demon could anyone see. She bristled at the thought. Since being on Earth, she had no desire to go back downstairs. 

The darkness of the night did give her a little sense of reminiscence, though. Of home, Alastair, Crowley, her tools. Where she could roam freely without having to cling to that damn sack of flesh. But the daytime was a close second, in her opinion. The sun, as bright and almost blinding as it was, was warm. And it felt…kind of nice.

Turned out, she was a natural blonde, a type of blonde that got even lighter when she lay in the sun. And that rubbed her the wrong way. Like, who was actually blonde nowadays? Every blonde Alastair assigned to her was quickly scalped. And when they were healed, she would do it again. Then, she'd make them drink anti-freeze because many of them had blue eyes. It really had been a fun game.

Watching them die slowly and painfully was always an excellent way to waste an hour. And when they were brought back to life, it was back to her regularly scheduled programming.

It sucked even more that she had blue eyes too. They were so light. Like the human fucking sky or some shit. She liked her black eyes. They were who she was, a dark and malevolent visitor on this planet of fluffy little bunnies. 

At the sound of a whistle, a very loud one, she turned to find the source. "Damn, baby." The man said. He was some random guy on the corner of the street, watching her as she walked. "What's your name?"

She planted a demure little smile like she was so flattered by the attention. With a blush, she said, "Mary."

He smirked. "Are you a virgin, too?"

Imbecile, she groaned inside her head. She had heard that joke back home. It was usually the first thing a demon said when assigned someone with that name. After hearing it for the first time, she chuckled. The second time, she grinned. The fifty-seventh? She ignored it. 

Come up with something new, people, will you?

She flashed some doe eyes at him and pretended to blush even more. "How did you know?"

"I tend to sense these things."

"Oh, do you?" She asked with a grin, flashing her natural eyes at him. But before he could scream, she was slitting his throat.

When the jugular veins are severed, there is a relatively low spray of dark red blood, accompanied by the sound of escaping air, and the human coughs it up. So, to get a forceful spray of bright red, Adriadne's favorite, she cuts the carotid. And usually aims to sever the trachea so they gasp and wither at her feet. And with this guy? She hit the nail on the head.

It only takes a few minutes, but it's such a satisfying death. Being in the land of the living, slitting throats quickly became one of her favorite forms of sending them exactly where they belonged.

When Sam and Dean Winchester caught wind of a case; six hundred sixty-four bodies across the country with a slit throat and the Latin symbol for "hellhound" carved over their right eyebrow, they got on it. They didn't want to let it get to that magic number.

And when they got to the most recent crime scene, Lena Franklin, a thirty-one-year-old female - mother of three - with the same injuries, they found who they were looking for, taking another victim. Only they weren't expecting to find their sister standing over the body.

After knocking her out and locking her up, they summoned Crowley as soon as possible. It was like their lives depended on it, or really, it was their sister's life that they were worried about.

And when he explained the situation to them, they knew what they had to do.

With a whine, Adriadne awoke in a strange room. Filled with walls of file cabinets and Enochian or Latin symbols. She tried to rub at her head, where that damn vase had been thrown at her, but she noticed she was chained down. Usually, she wouldn't have an issue with chains; she could break through steel, and they were so satisfying when some human tried to escape them. But not only were these not steel chains, they were iron. And they had warding signs carved in them.

Fucking hunters.

Surprisingly, if there was any human she didn't entirely detest, it was hunters. They were more robust than the rest and really knew what the real world was like. But they were after her, so now, they had to die. Slowly, bloody, painfully.

"Welcome back, jackass," A voice she recognized said. The same voice threw the vase at her however many hours ago. It was the shorter of the two, but he had the more resounding voice. They were tall for humans, but the other was way bigger. Gigantor also seemed like he was friendlier, the dumbass.

She had heard of the Winchester brothers in Hell. Sam and Dean, she believed their names were. Two brooding brothers with mommy and daddy issues that jumpstarted the apocalypse. Then they fixed it and sent Lucifer back into his cage with Michael. They'd been in and out of hell themselves a few times. The only humans to ever accomplish such feats.

Clearly, they weren't stupid, but goddamn, were they annoying.

Sam was younger but a bit more book-smart, and Dean was the older but sarcastic one. She vaguely knew they had a thing for dying for each other, but that only made her roll her eyes like she so often did at these creatures.

"Dean," Sam scolded.

"And what a warm one at that. You ever have people over?" She groaned. The boys didn't respond, both just shaking their heads. They started pulling stuff out of a cooler, and she read what it said on it with a scoff. "Human blood? You're seriously gonna try and cure me?"

"Yep," Dean deadpanned.

"Oh, please," Adriadne drawled as her head fell back on her shoulders. "Spare me."

"You're a demon, Mo," The youngest said, like it was the worst thing in the world she could be. "We're not just gonna leave you like this."

"Mo? Who the hell is Mo?"

"Morgan," Dean explained, his voice monotone but somehow angry at the same time. "Our sister. The human that you used to be. So we're doing what we should'a done years ago. And saving you. Even if it is from yourself."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah," Sam quipped, annoyed. "Crowley said you wouldn't remember."

"Crowley's the one that-"

"We know," Dean said. "Just shut up."

I didn't even know the Winchesters had a sister, Adriadne thought. But to hell if she wanted to become a damn human. Why would she even consider it? "Ever think maybe your sister wouldn't wanna be saved?"

"Doesn't matter." The oldest Winchester remarked, his voice flat. "You don't get a choice."

With a huff, Adriadne chuckled darkly. "Just let me go do what I wanna do. I don't bother you; you don't bother me. So what the hell do you care?"

"What do we care?" Sam asked, almost dejectedly. He shook his head, not dignifying her with a response, and started pouring holy water around the devil's trap. Reciting the Latin to start the ritual, he grabbed a needle, loaded it up with human blood, and handed it to Dean.

Adriadne looked at her supposed brothers, she didn't even know their birth order. She knew Dean was the oldest and Sam was the youngest. But where did she fit in the lineup? "You got anything stronger in there? Some heroin? Meth? Maybe it'd really make me feel somethin'."

"Don't worry, honey, you're gonna feel a lot."

And before she could fight it, he put the syringe in her arm and pumped the blood directly into her arm. She could feel it coursing through her veins, traveling through her bones, her arteries, her cells. Weaving its way throughout her body like an itch you can't scratch. Involuntarily, she let out a loud roar, a demonic roar, of pain. This damn human blood did not agree with her.

"Look," Sam said as both brothers backed away from her. "We've got a whole bunch more of these to go. You could make this a lot easier on yourself."

"And just in case some part of you gives a crap, we got your blood type."

"You wanna know something?" Adriadne asked, but a new wave of pain from the human blood cut her off. She groaned but wouldn't let it cut her off too long. She was a demon, after all, and pain had never been something she feared. It was something she admired, longed for, craved. "The part of your sister that cared died a long time ago."

Five times, the Winchester brothers had streamlined her with human blood. They didn't say anything when they came in this time, silently injecting her with round six. Like it was the only thing keeping them from breaking.

Adriadne was a demon; she knew that. But now things were becoming a little muddled. There had been small things, small tidbits of images popping in and out of her brain.

They weren't like dreams or nightmares. They were more like poorly done movies of being beaten by someone she was supposed to call her father. Dreams of fighting with her siblings, where even they'd beaten her - but also when she fought back, and they took the beatings themselves. She won and lost over and over, losing the fight when Sam left them for school, winning when Dean tried to get her to stop seeing her high school boyfriend, losing when Dean took away the knife he gave her, and winning when she eventually stole it back. She remembered watching their so-called father yell and scream, practically torturing who she was told were her brothers. She remembered not being able to do anything about it.

She saw herself hunting other creatures - not humans, but monsters. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, djinns, banshees, rugarus. She saw herself taking beatings from them, nearly dying from her injuries several times. She saw herself lose her virginity to a sweet guy from her high school at the time. She saw herself take that night and turn it into a string of drunken one-night stands.

She saw her father coming home drunk almost every night, beaten up. She saw herself patching him up, giving him stitches when necessary. She'd been the one to set her brother's bones when they were broken or dislocated. She'd have to be the one to reset her own because none of them were as good as she was at it. She saw the woman who was supposed to be her mother burn to death on a ceiling as her older brother - a toddler himself - pulled her and her little brother to safety.

And she remembered her father dying, making a deal with a demon to keep his oldest son alive and breathing. Then she remembered doing the same thing for her younger brother.

"You're the Winchesters," Adriadne drawled. "You're hunters. So am I an idiot to assume what you're gonna do once you realize this won't work? You think you got the stomach for that? Killing the girl you think is your sister?"

"We're not worried," Sam denied. "Because we've done this before."

It had been nine hours, nine injections of human blood in her veins, and she could name nine parts of her body she could barely move. She hadn't felt so useless since she was on the rack, and even then, she had a purpose. To postpone, to make it as long as she could. Alastair had given her a choice. Stay on, deal with the consequences, or get off, and then do it to someone else who deserved it too.

She had been at the end of her rope; her soul was already ripped to shreds. And then they healed her and broke it again.

The humans deserved it - that's what she was taught.

But then, why was I the one on the rack? I'm not human.

Yes, I am. Or...I was.

No. My name is Ad-Adria-

She had been having so many memories over the last several hours. But they had to be dreams; she didn't remember them belonging to her. Of the Winchesters, of growing up on Earth, of being a part of an admittedly screwed-up family.

My name is-

"How you doin', Mo?" That was Sam, her…younger brother, she had remembered. The memories were like a plague, keeping her sedentary in a time she had long forgotten. A time, she didn't know if she wanted to go back to or not. It was a time when she cared about them, about humans in general. A time when she had the ability to care.

Mo. Morgan.

She was confused when they called her that. She didn't know how to describe it. But something was weird about that name. These were people that she knew before she went to Hell. People she loved. People she would've sacrificed everything for. People she did sacrifice everything for.

"It doesn't feel right," She rasped, shaking her head as much as possible. Which, apparently, was not a lot.

"No, shit," And there's Dean.

"When you call me that," She explained, despondent, trying to blink away the new memory attempting to take hold of her reality. "It doesn't feel like my name."

"Well, what is your name?" 

She didn't know. Adriadne was supposed to be her name. Morgan was supposed to be her name. How could someone not know their own fucking name? It was the most basic form of identification. Even demons had names. A new wave of pain hits her, and she grips the chair with all her strength. It wasn't a lot; she was so weak. But then another memory took over, and she wasn't even in that room anymore.

"What is your name?" He had asked, his voice cold and unemotional. The girl only shook her head in response, knowing what was coming with her answer. "You will answer me when I speak to you, girl.

"Morgan," She choked out, tears already rolling. "Morgan Winchester."

"You don't deserve my last name." Before she could blink, her cheek was stinging, and she was on the motel room floor. More tears fell involuntarily at the searing pain, at the blood dripping down her face from his ring. She flinched at the hand he rose again, but no hit came. Instead, he laughed - a heartless and calculating laugh. Like it was amusing watching his thirteen-year-old daughter cower at his feet. "You are no Winchester."

He was ready to strike a second time when someone got in the way. 

"Get out of the way, Sam."

"No," his little voice announced. She could hear the emotion in his words as he continued. The little ten-year-old was scrawny, even smaller than she was. "She knows what she did. You don't have to hit her again."

Ignoring the boy, her father turned back to Morgan, practically looking through her little brother. "So this is what you've come to? Making little Sammy fight your damn battles for you?"

She looked him straight in the eyes; the green they usually held was almost black in the room's dim lighting. She had seen this so many times when he was angry, when a hunt didn't go his way, when his children disobeyed him. When she did something wrong. 

"Boys," Her father called, ordering them to shut up and listen. Dean took his hands away from his face with a wince. Sam winced, too, backing away from his father. Nearly crashing into her. "Take this as a learning opportunity. We fight our own battles in this family. And we don't rely on other people to do it for us." 

And with that, Sam was pushed out of the way, and he was on top of her.

"Dad," She gasped, finally back in the present but staring into space. Both brothers' heads shot up at the recall. "He was- he was mean."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, making her eyes lock on his. The whites of his eyes were red like the mention of his father had him holding things back. A storm was brewing behind his eyes, one he wouldn't let come to fruition. "He had his moments."

"He was so mad all the time," The girl croaked, her voice breaking even more. She was lost, not looking at them. Keeping her eyes down, they darted back and forth as she practically stared through the flesh and bone before her. "Watch out for Sammy. Make sure Sam's safe. Don't let anybody touch Sammy. If anything happens to him, I'll know whose fault it is." Her older brother only nodded, but Sam's eyes fluttered back and forth between his siblings. Like he was realizing something he hadn't before. "We were always watching out for Sammy. Who- who watched out for us?"

"Well, for one, Sammy watched out for us. And I watched for both of you, and you took care of us."

"I took care of you?"

"Yeah, Mo, you did," Sam said plainly.

"But I-I went to-" She denied, not entirely believing them. "I went to Hell, and now I don't know anything. You're my brothers? My family? My family tortured me. They-they're the ones that put me on the rack."

"Is that what they told you?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"I saw it!" She roared. Everything came back to her in waves, and not like a movie this time; these were memories. She knew it; she couldn't question it. "You hurt me- you- you touched me." She finally looked up at them, unable to hide the tears. She shook her head, trying to shake away the red, the blood, the screaming, the agony. "You- you- family isn't supposed to do that!"

Sam and Dean stared, their faces pale and drained. They didn't hide their emotions - like she remembered they did so often. They wore it plainly on their faces. Sam was a mixture of deep regret and sorrow. Dean wasn't just angry; he was simmering with rage.

"Now, you listen to me," Dean ordered, and she could almost hear a trace of their father in his voice. He leaned against the arms of her chair - her current prison - and gave her a stare that kept her captive in his gaze. "I went to Hell, too. They did the same thing to me. It. Wasn't. Us. And I know you don't believe that. But you will. Eventually."

When he finished, she nodded. He was wrong. Some part of her did believe him. The conviction in his words, the way he didn't bother to hide the angry tears in his eyes. Some part of her - a minuscule part - hoped he wasn't lying. That her family was still there for her. That maybe, even after everything that had happened, they would hold her when this was all over. 

At her slight confirmation, he nodded, too, and stepped back, giving his younger brother room for the next shot. Sam came forward and quickly, without hesitation, put the syringe in her arm and pressed down.

"I don't even know my own name."

Sam didn't balk at her words. He just shook his head and gave her a small, barely there smile.

"You will."

"I don't wanna be human," She cried. Eleven injections in, she could feel the human blood becoming her own. Integrating into her bones, her DNA changed with every second that passed. Her power was draining, and she didn't like it. She was returning to who she was before Hell, the young girl with daddy issues, with two brothers who loved her - but could never get along with.

"Humans are weak, they- their emotions, it's too much," She continued, shuddering. "They feel too much, they don't see how useless they are. How- how small they are. There are eight billion of you, and all of you think you're the most important one. You all think you have some fucked up purpose, that there's something more you can do with your pointless little lives."

"No one here is gonna tell you that being human is a walk in the park," Sam said, his voice calm and steady as if he was expecting her to say this. "But it is better than being a demon. Than killing for no reason. Because even if you don't believe it, I believe we do have a purpose. Maybe it's a tiny one, maybe you're just supposed to be here to make someone else happy. Maybe you're here to teach someone a lesson. Maybe you're here to save the world." His words got light at that, like it was an inside joke, and Dean let out a small laugh. But just because you don't know what it is or can't see it doesn't mean you don't have one." 

Before she could respond or give any words to the contrary, he put the needle in her arm and gave her the twelfth shot.

Morgan Winchester opened her eyes. And they were black. She could feel it, feel the remnants of Hell in her eyes. But as quickly as it came, it went. And as they cleared, she groaned. It was a strange feeling, but she felt lighter. Like there wasn't as much weight on her shoulders as before. Her eyes were blue again, like the sky people loved to stare at. Then she remembered she was human again. She was just a young girl again, not a demon, not a monster. 

And then the weight returned. Only this time, it was even heavier, as if someone had tied an anvil around her neck and thrown her into the ocean. She remembered everything. Her life, her father, her mother, her brothers, Sam dying, her dad dying, her deal with a demon, Hell, being tortured, then turning around and doing the same, becoming a demon, becoming Adriadne, taking a joyride upstairs, murdering so many innocents. Then, being in here, the crowded but well-protected safe room in some place she had no knowledge of. 

She could see her brothers a few feet away. Sam stood in front of Dean, holding a flask - their postures were identical. Tight and reserved, with their brows furrowed and their feet cemented into the floor.

Her face contorted into a question, and she greeted them with their names. She didn't know what else to say. But before she could speak again, Dean threw whatever was in the flask at her face.

Water. Water. Water.

And without needing a second to think about it, Morgan realized it was blessed. Holy water. They were putting her through one final test. To see if their work had paid off. When it didn't burn, sizzle, or boil her skin, her brothers let out a deep exhale of relief. Then, so did she.

"Welcome back, Morgan."

[soleminisanction]

Hi :D i loved your sticks and stones work! Amazing! Anyways id been going back through the robin 1993 and other era-related comics and realized what was bugging me about some fanon characterization of steph being the 'popular social one'. They get her's and tim's social life completely swapped. Steph isn't a team player and the one willing to work with everyone. Could just be because Steph's a supporting member but I realized she focused mostly on crime fighting and was much more of a loner. She didn't do team ups pretty much till she was Batgirl. Tim, however, had an active civilian social life and constantly teamed with other vigilantes. Idk if thats just my interpretation though. Anyways :)))

God yes! You are so right! That has frustrated me for years, especially in the recent canon when they've been having every teenager with a cape suddenly go "OMG haiiiii Stephanie :) :)" for no fucking reason when it makes ZERO sense! She's a weird loner who does not know any of these people!!

And that's doubly true when it comes to her civilian friends. Steph's civilian life as a whole is weirdly under-developed given how much attention she's gotten over the years, especially since she, y'know, had her own series. Yet they still couldn't be bothered to give her much of anything to work with. It's so frustrating.

Seriously, here is, I'm pretty sure, a full list of the friends Steph was shown having pre-Flashpoint who aren't members of the Bat-clan:

These two Black girls from Robin #61 who only exist so Stephanie can yell at them about how stupid their friend is for keeping her baby and how stupid they are for thinking it's cute of her to do that, and then later she talks about how dumb and immature they are compared to her, and they're never seen again.

Her baby-daddy Dean, who's only shown once outside of Robin during the Cataclysm event, and then only shows up again 2 years after her pregnancy has been resolved so Stephanie can beat him up for no reason. (Seriously, this is the only page he's on before she kicks him in the nuts and knocks him around, he doesn't say or do anything else to her, she just wails on him for no reason)

Two randos from the Robin/Spoiler Special who exist to make a plot happen by inviting her to a warehouse party that she drags Tim to and are never seen again. Their existence also makes no sense in Steph's personal timeline because she's been "dead" for a year and will be in college in like two months so why the hell would she enroll in high school again??

Effa, the little African girl also from the Robin/Spoiler Special, who only exists to make Stephanie look good by sucking up to her.

Jordanna Spence and Francisco Garcia from her Batgirl run, supposedly. In practice they're actually just two people that Stephanie doesn't like and whom she calls "friends" in quotation marks and has no idea why she keeps hanging around them, and yet she keeps bothering them because the plot said she's gotta.

Supergirl, as forced and one-sided as that relationship was.

Wendy Harris, even though "Proxy" only really lasted for a grand total of 5 issues.

A nameless rando she's shown playing ping-pong with, once.

...and that's it! That's all the friends Stephanie has ever had who weren't members of the same extended anti-crime family, and two of them are people she only met because of those connections.

Compare that to Tim, who has dozens of civilian friends and at least twice as many caped ones, and yeah, it's absolutely ridiculous that people pretend Stephanie is the """social""" one.

But y'know, she's the perky-happy blonde girl, so people just assume she must be popular. Because she's written almost entirely in stereotypes and cliches since 2008.

[castiels-babydoll]

Welcome my loves

This blog is dedicated for my story Divine Devotion, a Castiel fanfic, and for Castiel fics in general. There will be smut so under 17 dni with those posts. This account is primarily for Castiel fanfic and Supernatural but I will probably post the occasional ask games to interact with my followers and moots. Further information will be below the cut, please read.

About Me

My name is Cassius and I'm 18 years old. I am a huge lover of Castiel, Misha Collins in general, and celestial beings. I especially love angels and demons. My stories will contain some extreme topics so if you do not like paraphilias and extreme kink do not interact and do not read my smut. I will divulge into that in the themes for my story and fics in the next paragraph. No hate will be tolerated whatsoever so do not come here on my blog spewing it. I will not respect you if you do not respect me. I do not mind asks and moots, I would love them in fact. I hope to make friends within the Supernatural fandom, if you want to know more about me feel free to ask through asks! ^-^ My Wattpad account is Celestial_Lover which is where my story, Divine Devotion, has been and will be originally uploaded. I could not use the same username since someone else has already taken "Celestial_Lover" here on tumblr. I will probably post more frequently here on tumblr than I will on wattpad.

About My Writing

I, as obviously stated before, will only be writing for Castiel, maybe even Jimmy Novak occasionally. EVERYTHING will be x my OC, if you do not like that then do not read my writing. Due to everything being x my OC I do not know if I'll be taking requests but as of right now I will not be so DO NOT send any requests in. They will be ignored and deleted. Please do not hound me about when I will be releasing the next chapter as I have a job and am unmedicated for adhd, it is hard for me to focus/find the time at times. I have a life outside of tumblr so I will not always be posting chapters or fics regularly. I am fictosexual / a fictophile and have a parasocial relationship with Castiel. I love him deeply, truly and intimately, he means the world to me. He's my Celestial Doll.

As for the themes in my story and fics, anything and everything practically. I will be writing smut, romance, fluff, angst, crack, kink, etc. The kinks will more than likely be on the more taboo side and I will also be writing about paraphilias as well. With this in mind, anyone under the age of 17 DO NOT INTERACT, I know I cannot control what you chose to do but I have stated it here and I will on every post that has smut for anyone under the age of 17 to dni. I can't think of anything else at the moment for my writing or content warnings ahead of time but I will add themes and content/trigger warnings to every chapter and fic I post. They will always be at the beginning of the post so you will not be able to miss it unless you purposely chose to ignore it.

With it in mind that I will be writing about paraphilias, DO NOT INTERACT if you are anti para and anti kink. I will not tolerate it. As I have tons of paraphilias myself.

My Supernatural OC

Her name is Cassius Marie Winchester and she is 19 years old. She is 5'2 with green eyes and dirty blonde hair to the top of her shoulders, with a chubby body build. She has a tom boy style and takes after both Sam and Dean, Sam's smart, book worm, history buff side with Dean's attitude, sass and chaos. She likes reading, 80s rock, history and PIE. Her hyperfixation/obsession/quirk are angels and she loves them as well. She is always snacking on candy, and snacking in general, and reading. She has bad anger issues, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and her love interest is Castiel. She is Sam and Dean's younger sister, as she is also their half-sister; they all share the same father but have different mothers. She is a very deep, true lover and comes off as "crazy" due to her possessive and obsessive tendencies. Like the two boys she has abandonment and daddy issues, Cassius also has Good Girl Syndrome and BPD, in short she has mental health issues along with self harm and alcohol issues.

To know more about her, stay tuned and read the story and fics

I will not be posting links so if you want to find stuff for my story look up "Divine Devotion Chapter *whatever number you're looking for*" on my blog and it will pop up. For fics it will probably be similar just with the title of the fic instead, I am not sure yet. In short, I will be tagging my story chapter by chapter with the story name in the tags and I will probably be doing the same for fics. If you want to find something just look it up through the search on my blog.

[rottencaniness]

// forever trusting who we are, and nothing else matters //

— for bastiel, @derailedangel —

rating: teen & up || word count: 1.5k+ || ao3 link

tags: samjess, christmas, swearing, weirdcest, dean coded jess, kissing, Stanford era

It’s their first Christmas together, Sam’s all but shaking with nerves for how the night will go, Jess had to drive down to her parents place for Christmas Eve and is just now getting back to their apartment. They moved in together only a month ago, supposedly way quicker than they should’ve according to Brady, but Sam and Jess both knew it’s what they wanted.

And now, sitting in the apartment that’s freshly decorated to the best of Sam’s ability, hearing the lock jingle open, Sam’s really happy to have the space for just him and Jess. He knows Brady would’ve been making things ten times more chaotic and none of the decorations would’ve been up as neatly as they are now. Sam took his time placing things prettily around the apartment, a small Christmas tree by their couch, garlands draped over their mantle and tops of their cabinets in the kitchen, Christmas lights hung in almost every room, a pine scented candle burning, and Jess’ present wrapped neatly and placed next to the couch.

“Sam? I’m home.” He watches with a smile how the blonde kicks her converse off and drops her duffle bag to the floor— it’s actually Sam’s duffle bag, the same one he moved to Stanford with, the same one with anti-hex bags sewed into the pockets and sigils embroidered onto the bottom— which Jess blissfully ignored and just thanked him for letting her use it for her trip.

“You decorated.” The delighted smile Jess has as she walks over to where Sam is makes his whole chest feel warm.

“Thought it’d be nice for our first Christmas.” She hums along, coming to press a soft kiss to Sam’s lips before turning back to the door to grab something out of the duffle bag. It’s hidden behind her back before Sam can get a good look at it.

“I know we said gifts weren’t necessary since we spent so much money on the apartment, but, I wanted to get you something anyways.” A small box gets handed to Sam once Jess sits beside him on the couch, her eyes briefly flicking to the box wrapped by his feet with a small laugh. They both broke the ‘no gifts’ rule, to no surprise.

Sam pauses looking down at the present, it’s wrapped in newspaper. Just like Dean would when they were growing up— given Jess’ wrapping job is a lot more meticulous and there’s sparkly red twine tied in a bow around the box— so it’s different, but the same. His fingers twitch over the twine, part of him doesn’t want to unwrap it and ruin how nice it is, the other part of him is telling him to unwrap it before he starts to think about Dean too much.

“Sorry, the newspaper is kinda janky but I didn’t have any wrapping paper.” A hand reaches to rub at the back of Jess’ neck as she grimaces before Sam’s shaking his head as fast as he can.

“No, no, it’s beautiful. I um- I actually used to get presents wrapped in newspaper growing up.” Something he thought he left behind in that mildew smelling motel room he walked out of before catching a bus to California, the yells of his name that Dean let out before he left ringing in his head the entire drive, the burn of anger he felt towards John for not supporting him, the ache in his chest when he looked back at Dean one last time— fuck. He left that all behind, he has Jess and Brady, they’re his family now.

“Oh thank god, I was worried you were one of those people that had extravagant Christmas’s growing up.” Sam laughs, he’s shared enough about his family with Jess that she can’t have actually thought that. He told her how he moved around a lot as a kid, sleeping in hotel rooms and in the back of cars, how his brother was his parent for the most part, he never tells her what type of work John did that required them to move so much but Jess never pushes. Ever, on anything, she’s perfect.

“Please I was lucky to get an extra can of Spaghettio’s for Christmas.” And that was a stretch some years.

“Well it’s not canned goods but I hope you like it.” He gets the hint and starts to untie the twine, peeling the paper back to reveal a cardboard box that’s filled with— cassettes. Metallica, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Kansas, and Van Halen. It’s all of Dean’s favorite tapes, Sam’s whole chest goes tight as his mouth falls open only to close without saying a word.

“You’re always humming Metallica and I overheard you talking to Noah about what the best rock band was. Don’t worry I went through all your tapes to make sure you didn’t already have them.” The heated discussion with Noah from psych class about rock bands had been one of the only times Sam consciously took time to think about that genre of music, he hadn’t realized Jess had heard him, or that he’s been- apparently- humming Metallica just like Dean.

“Th-thank you, I don’t know what to say. I haven’t listened to this stuff since getting to Stanford.” He’s purposely avoided that station on the radio and the old playlist still sitting in the files of his laptop.

“Well we should listen to some.” Jess grins and plucks the Metallica tape from the box, walking over to the radio they keep on the mantle and turning the volume almost all the way up.

Her head bobs to the music the second it starts, face scrunching the same way Dean’s does when the guitar gets heavier, green eyes nearly closed and hand coming to play air guitar. God she looks like a girl version of Dean. The loose gray t shirt, the mannerisms, her jeans are worn down on the knees like Dean’s always were, blonde hair shining under the Christmas lights, even the lopsided smile she gives reminds Sam of Dean. His heart beats two times too fast with the thought, quickly grabbing the box he wrapped for Jess and holding it out towards her. Just desperately trying not to think about how his girlfriend is an odd half-clone of his brother.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” What the gift he got her hits Sam all at once— it’s a necklace. On a black rope, with a gold pendant. Jesus Christ he’s going to hell for this shit.

“Sam it’s gorgeous!” It’s a simple gold heart locket with a picture of them in it, it’s one Brady took, Jess is laughing while Sam looks at her with an absolute lovestruck expression. It’s his favorite picture of them.

“Let me.” His hands ties the black rope of the necklace around Jessica’s neck from the front, face suddenly blushing red when he realizes how close they are and how beautiful Jess looks like this.

“I love this song.” She says softly, Enter Sandman filling their apartment, Sam’s heart skipping a beat for what feels like the millionth time today.

“You usually listen to Fleetwood Mac, I didn’t know you liked rock.” Jess loops her arms around Sam’s shoulders and settles into his lap, pushing them both farther into the couch.

“Lot you still don’t know about me Sammy.” The thick swallow he does might’ve been audible to Jess— Sam can’t help it, not when Jess has that tone of voice, and that grin, and that look in her eye, and that fucking nickname.

“I love you.” It falls from Sam’s mouth before he can think it over for even half a second.

They’ve never said that to each other before, sure they live together but Jess didn’t have the most loving parents and Sam sure as hell didn’t either so they’ve been taking it slower when it comes to things like pda and words of affirmation. He can’t believe he just said that without any build up, he had planned on saying it over a nice dinner, making it memorable, not sitting in their apartment on Christmas with his brothers music playing and half of Sam’s mind distracted thinking about his brother.

“I love you too.” No hesitation in Jess’s voice and she leans to press a small kiss to Sam’s lips to almost solidify the moment.

“And just so you know, I grew up with this type of rock. My dad and me would sing it in his car before he’d drop me off at my mom’s, she was the Fleetwood Mac fan.” Part of Sam briefly wonders if his mom would be a Fleetwood Mac fan too, maybe he would’ve listened to them before meeting Jess if Mary was still around. It’s a dumb thought, a useless one, he brushes it off as quick as possible. Thinking about his family never leads to anything but him feeling guilty over leaving and missing Dean.

“We should order takeout, for a Christmas feast of course.” Jess’s voice takes Sam from his thoughts and he nods, opening his mouth to reply but-

Before Sam can respond the guitar solo of Enter Sandman starts to play and Jess leans back in his lap to strum her fingers to the music and he can’t suppress his bright laugh. He really does love her, he thinks he wants to marry her. Maybe Dean will show up for the wedding, maybe him and Jess will get close, maybe he can have them both.

[salomeapologist]

spn <3

funnily enough we have some similar answers!

favorite female character: i have to say ruby right? but then by that logic i should like blonde ruby more bc im also blonde and named ruby, but i like the second ruby more. sorry feminism but it is just bc i dont think the first ruby was pretty and we gotta rep the name well. ive been keeping that in for a decade 🫢

favorite male character: dean. i used to go to school dressed as him. i think were similar, except i wouldnt do anything for my younger brother, so were different in a very fundamental way!

favorite season: probably 1

favorite episode: on the head of a pin absolutely. i also like weekend at bobbys

favorite cast member: idk…i dont really keep track of them outside of the show. i might be forgetting someone but ill say i do go hey! him! if i see jim beaver or mark shepard in something else

favorite ship: maybe megstiel? i miss meg sometimes

character you would die defending: it’s not that serious but i like ash and his mullet

character you just cant sympathize with: castiel or sam, but i can also see where theyre coming from. their ways of thinking about whats right just dont align with mine

character you grew to like: unpopular opinion i think and i didnt see the last 5 seasons but chuck. hes funny!

anti otp: im not like against any ship. i dont see destiel personally though

give me a fandom and ill answer these for it!

[reigningqueenofwords]

Bride to Be

Word count: 1,785

Read on AO3

Part 5 of Hello There

As you sat there, something felt wrong. Like you shouldn’t be there, but that couldn’t be right, could it? You were supposed to be here. Your love had told you so, but why couldn’t you remember his name. Shaking your head, you stood up and sighed. It would all work out. Hearing the door open, you turned to see one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. She had long blonde hair, green eyes, and an amazing smile. “Hello, I’m Calista.” She told you. “Jasper told me to bring you something to drink and help you get ready.”

“Ready for what?” You asked.

“Well, your wedding, of course.” She coo’d, handing you a drink.

You looked down in it. Something in your gut yelled at you. Jasper wasn’t who you loved. Was it? No. You loved Crowley, but he didn’t want you. Licking your lips, you raised the drink to your lips. As you drank, your doubts started to fade. “When is the wedding?” You asked, setting the goblet down.

Calista looked pleased with herself. “Sundown, dear.” She told you. “We have to get you a dress, get your hair done. Oh, this shall be so much fun!”

Back at the hotel, the boys were doing their best to stay composed. Judging by Crowley’s reaction, he hadn’t dropped her off because he didn’t care. So, what the hell was going on with him? Dean groaned, looking down at the map of the area. “What should we do?” He asked Sam, who shrugged.

“Looks like our best bet is to just charge in. What else could we do?” He was out of ideas. “Think Cas could get us in there?”

Dean’s head shot up. “That’s it! CAS! Get your feathery ass down here.” He hollered, hoping that the angel was listening.

“What seems to be the problem?” Cas asked, not even fully greeting the brothers.

“Did you put that anti angel symbol crap on Y/N?” Dean asked, his voice rushed.

Cas shook his head. “She wouldn’t allow it. Said if I did she’d shove an angel blade up my ass.” Sam had to smirk at Cas’s expression and tone with that. It was like he had to emotional response to that. “I thought it wise not to anger her.”

Dean grinned. “Good. She was kidnapped. Think you can spring her?” He asked.

“Kidnapped by who?” Cas asked, tilting his head.

“The witches that we’re hunting.” Sam sighed. “Her and Dean were checking the place out. Dean came back. She didn’t.”

Cas nodded. “I see.”

“So, can you pop in and get her?” Dean asked impatiently. Without answering, he was gone. Dean groaned, really hating when he did that.

You jumped when Cas appeared next to you. “Cas? Are you here for the wedding?” You asked, smiling. Calista looked pissed. Cas flung her with ease into a wall. “What the hell, Cas?” You snapped.

“You’re coming back to the motel, Y/N.” He said, his voice slightly rough. Before you had time to protest, his arm was around your waist and you were no longer in your room.

Looking around, you furrowed your brows. “Cas! Bring me back.” You poked him in the chest. “I have to pick out my dress.”

Dean was the first to speak. “Dress?” He asked.

“For my wedding, silly.” You were speaking like this was old news. Dean’s eyes shot to Sam, and then Cas. “Jasper will be waiting. The wedding is at sundown.”

“Dean, I suggest you get ahold of Crowley.” Sam warned.

At his voice, you looked angry. “Why would you want to see him? He dropped me off like an unwanted pet.” You crossed your arms. They stood between you and the door, and you were smart enough to know you wouldn’t get past the Winchesters, let alone an angel. You watched as the brothers shared that look. The one that you swore meant they could read each other’s minds.

Sam moved towards you while Dean grabbed a chair. You fought the best you could, but you were no match for the strong hunter. As you were held down, they cuffed your hands and tied your feet to the chair. Glaring, you pulled at your restraints.

Your eyes never left Dean as he summoned Crowley. You couldn’t decide what you were feeling. One minute you were angry at them, the next you were anxious to get back to Jasper, then you were glad to be back, and so much more. It felt like the worst hangover you’d ever had. Clenching your eyes shut, you groaned.

“This had bloody be good.” Crowley snapped. Dean nodded to you with his chin. Turning, Crowley let out a sigh of relief.

Looking up, you raised an eyebrow. “Why is he here?” You asked Sam. Bruce came over, rubbing against your leg.

“Because he was pissed when he found out you were kidnapped, Y/N.” Sam said gently. That look on his face that made it impossible to stay angry with him.

You let out a sick chuckle. “Why?” You snapped, your eyes moving to Crowley. “Like I said, he dropped me off like an unwanted pet.” Crowley’s eyes seemed to sadden a bit.

“She loves you, Crowley.” Dean said quietly in Crowley’s ear, his back to you. “I don’t know what they did to her, but she was talking about marrying some guy named Jasper.” He filled him in. “We had to get Cas to zap over and get her.”

Crowley’s look darkened. “We’ll be in hell, boys. I suggest you off these bloody witches. They’re lucky I can’t get my hands on them.” Your eyes didn’t leave Crowley’s. Your anger and hurt filling them. Why would you want to go back to hell with him? He had made it clear that he wanted you gone. Hadn’t he?

“I shall assist them. There were too many for just the two of them to take them on. If I can disrupt the wards, will you send help?” Cas asked Crowley. They didn’t get along, but they could tolerate each other when they had a common goal.

He looked to the angel. “You get those wards down and there won’t be a bloody witch left within twenty miles.” Crowley responded, venom in his voice. It sent shivers down your spine. When his hand touched your shoulder, you jumped slightly. “I’ll be waiting, boys.” He said, snapping his fingers.

Your stomach lurched when you had made it to hell. For such a short trip, literally instant, you got wicked motion sickness. At least this time. Normally it wasn’t too bad. Looking around, you didn’t recognize the room you were in. It wasn’t your room, but you’d figured that you technically didn’t have a room anymore. Seeing your confusion, he stood a couple feet in front of you. “We’re in my room, love.” He said.

“Why would you bring be here?” You snapped, extremely annoyed that you were still tied up.  "You didn’t want me here before. Jasper wants me with him. Why would you deny me that?“

“You think I didn’t want you here?” He snapped. “You think that I want you off marrying some witch?” You could tell you’d made him extremely angry. “He doesn’t want you, Y/N! He just picked you because you’re gorgeous.” Crowley sighed.

You swallowed. “You made me leave. Acted like you didn’t care. Jasper took me in. He loves me.” Your voice was soft, and barely above a whisper. You felt like you wanted to cry…but couldn’t.

Crowley moved closer to you and leaned so his hands were on the arm rest, his face mere inches from yours. “Don’t you dare presume to know how I feel towards you.” He said, his voice hitting you deeply. “You think I’d give just anyone one of my hounds? One bred from the finest bloodline?” You’d never actually thought of hellhounds breeding. For some reason you were just sure that they…happened. Who knew. “Jasper doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even know you.” He damn near growled.

Your mind was battling itself. The more he spoke, the more your head hurt. It felt like it would split in two at any minute. Snapping your eyes shut, you let out a scream. Crowley’s eyes widened as he watched you. What was wrong with you? He stood up straight, zapping your restraints off. It wasn’t like you could go anywhere. You were in hell. As soon as your hands were free, they shot to your head. “Where’s Jasper?” You gasped.

Crowley moved to you, actually worrying now. He had hoped that you would just snap out of it. Lifting you in his arms, he set you in his bed. You started to cry, not knowing what you needed. All you knew was that Jasper was the one that could make it stop. Snapping his fingers, he was back in the motel room. “We have a problem, boys.” The anger had faded just a bit towards them, worry taking over.

“What?” Dean asked, wondering what else could possibly go wrong.

“He’s given her something. She’s in excruciating pain. If we don’t find the cure soon, I fear her body will shut down.” He told them, swallowing.

Sam’s face fell. “What do we need?” He asked.

Crowley shook his head. “Until we know what they gave her, I won’t know. I’ll have my best men look into everything they can. If they can’t find it, I’ll need you to find what they gave her. Chances are, it’s what they’re giving everyone.” He explained. “I’m not leaving her side. Unless the wards are down, or you have what I need, do. Not. Summon. Me.” The boys nodded.

Back in hell, you had curled under the blankets in Crowley’s bed. He sat next to you, moving a strand of hair from your face. You were sleeping at the moment, but he could tell that it wasn’t peaceful. His heart broke for you. Before he returned to you he had ordered his men to work non-stop to find out anything they could. They knew anyone who failed him would end up hellhound chow. Bruce had been left in the motel for the time being. Hellhounds were very protective of their owners, and the last thing he needed was an over protective puppy on his hands. Sighing, he continued stroking your hair. “We’ll figure this out love. Or they’ll be hell to pay. I can promise you that.” He knew that there were ways around this, ways to bring you back, but you were a hunter. What hunter would want to be brought back as a demon?

If that’s what it came to, he’d deal with your wrath.

[waldorph]

A bit of a thing I’m working on, aka First Son Dean Winchester, the story no one has asked for but you’re gonna get.

The first thing Dean thought, when the rage cleared enough for him to unclench his jaw and sit back, was that they were going to have to call his parents.

The second was that he just broke the cardinal rule of being a president’s kid: don’t be the story.

“Dean, come on—Dean,” Sam said, pulling him off of Robbie Walters. Robbie scrambled back fast, cupping a hand under his bleeding nose. He seemed like maybe it was hurting to breathe through it. Good, Dean thought savagely.

“I knew you were a fag!” Robbie’s friend, Teddy Sharpe sneered. He was gathering Robbie close with what Dean felt was some truly homosexual tenderness. Dean took one single step towards them before he suddenly had Sammy in full octopus mode all over him.

“Dean Winchester!” Mr. Trafton yelled.

“It wasn’t Dean’s fault!” Sam yelled back, which was a great sentiment but not screamed right into Dean's ear. At the same time Teddy leapt up to shout,

“Well it wasn’t Robbie’s! Dean just came at him.”

“He called Sam a fag,” Dean argued. “And then threw a punch.”

“Mr. Winchester, language,” Mr. Trafton said, because teachers were good at sorting out the important shit.

Everyone, all 1103 students at Sidwell Friends, knew that Robbie Walters thought he was hot shit because his dad was House Minority Whip, and despite the school’s oft-repeated and avowed anti-bullying stance, well. There were things that slipped through the cracks.

“All four of you, come with me,” Mr. Trafton said, gesturing for Robbie to stand up. He made a big show of how painful it was to even stand, and Dean rolled his eyes because he hadn’t even broken anything, but next time he might so Robbie had a real point of comparison. Dean was a giver like that.

The principal sent Teddy away since he clearly had nothing to do with it except trying to score points with Robbie, and then he called Mary Winchester and Cindy Walters. Dean dutifully told his side, and Robbie told his, and then Sammy shouted his, righteous fury pinking his cheeks, and Dean was too far away to kick him to sit down and shut up.

Mary Winchester was a tall woman, with honey blonde hair that she usually tucked up, and Dean was still convinced there was nobody more beautiful in the world. She came into the room and shook the the principal’s hand, looked at Sam and Dean and Robbie and said, “I think they can wait outside, don’t you?”

Which was how they ended up sitting across the hall from Robbie, Sam kicking his feet and Dean slouching, ignoring his sweaty palms and the weird twisting in his gut.

“Mom’s not gonna be mad,” Sam said, trying to peek past the blinds. “Robbie’s a jerk, she’s not gonna be mad at you.”

Which was true, but two years as the president’s son, and eight years as the Governor of Kansas’s son before that have taught Dean that his actions have consequences that are far-reaching and often unintended.

Dean knew how this was going to go, anyway. Robbie would be spoken to about his trend of bullying behavior, and how it was unacceptable, as was his use of hate speech. Robbie would then come back on Monday morning and call the first kid he saw a cocksucker. It was a well-established pattern, the only deviation this time was that the kid Robbie’d picked on had been Dean’s little brother. Dean would get in-school detention and a verbal warning, and Sam would get off scott free, which Dean was fine with.

Anyway, that was best case scenario. Worst case scenario, Representative Edward “Stretch” Walters would go on Fox and Friends to talk about how the President’s son was one of those violent, dangerous homosexuals. About how it was John Winchester eroding family morals right out from underneath them. God, Dean hadn’t even told his parents. Hard to sit down with anyone when your dad is running the free world.

Dean pulled out his phone. Eighteen missed texts, all of them from Charlie Bradbury.

Charlie: DID YOU REALLY BEAT ROBBIE WALTERS TO SHIT Charlie: I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT YOUR PRETTY FACE SERIOUSLY DID YOU KILL HIM Charlie: I’LL HELP YOU HIDE THE BODY I KNOW SOME PEOPLE. Charlie: by which obviously i mean that i have the internet Charlie: how much trouble are you in be straight with me Charlie: i’m taking this silence as proof of your death Charlie: omg will your dad send you to gitmo Charlie: so i don’t want to alarm you but apparently you’ve been outed Charlie: Sunita told me. so you know everyone knows Charlie: dean Charlie: dean Charlie: shit are you in serious trouble Charlie: look if your dads a dick you can stay with me Charlie: my parents are obviously chill but there will be a lot of veganism involved and i know how you feel about meat Charlie: omg that wasn’t even a joke but Charlie: HOW WILL YOU LIVE WITHOUT SAUSAGE Charlie: seriously assface don’t make me call you that is not what god wanted from phones. Dean snorted and texted back: calm down i’m not dead and not disowned, outside principal’s Charlie: say the word and we attack at dawn Dean: is it everywhere? Charlie: Drudge has it. Not perez though, which is Charlie: idk is that good or bad? Charlie: he’s probably just pissed you’re underaged and he can’t draw jizz on your face Dean: awesome Charlie: :( Charlie: :(((((( Charlie: I could buy you a dragon dick dildo to celebrate

Dean put his phone back in his pocket, because it was only going to escalate from there.

[jc-lambert]

Of Spics

I was just psychostalked through a stripmall by a goddamn stupid motherfucking wetback rude as shit fucking spic.

He opened his fucking mouth and yelled at me from a distance of over 10 feet. He demanded to know if I was carrying a bible or what my book was (a journal), and told me that Jesus loved me.

Said spic: fallowed me to the workforce center, and attempted to pass out fliers about keeping people off drugs, namely Fentenol. 

Could someone please drop more funding into boarder patrol in California and Texas and remind the spic populations that they might want to return to Mexico, prior to everyone white just opening fire when and where they are found anywhere north of the Rio Grande. We want all outfits equipped and paid to kill everyone with black hair, and replace them with blondes, as part of an Equal Opportunity Grant. Never do you see a blonde, muslim, buddhist, or a satanist working for Boarder Control. At best, you will find anti-semetic butffucking q-balls who masturbate and call that "satanism". 

this is becoming FAR TOO FUCKING EXCESSIVE that Christians as irritating and horrible and cuntish that they are feel they have a single fucking right to continue to pester, harrass, psychostalk, or demand JACK SHIT of me, even if it's my time or energy. They need to be reminded, that when someone wears as much black as I do: they might find their faith and their methods of control, abuse, and systems of governance to be perfectly unlikable, in ways that results in an open fire.

Im still in Kansas. Im still kidnapped.

Kate Brown... is officially a dingle berry hanging from the asshole of a Delano bum. This makes her the personification of a turd: moreso than Hankey the Christmas Poo.

have a nice day...

J.C. Lambert # Anurean

Ms. Gwen...

is the Dean of the University, she may not say the word "nigger" and must adhear to anti-american business policies.

So we aint related at all at this time.

But she should hold the escrowed family gold, moreso than Karen.

Gwen...

Gimme yo pistol woman, and whatever money in yo purse. That or go feed your babies something at Freddy's Custard or wherever it is you farm folk go for fast food (and it better not be Chickfilet, they have decided to join the GMO boycott and enforce through subliminal messaging and control to chant "Hell No GMO")

We have wetback spics that need killed, moreso than them there wild injuns who just succeeded the whole state of Colorado and bitchslapped a few folk at Elway Motors until everyone's stolen mini coopers are returned home to mamma in Kansas.

[fr0gg13-io]

okay so im 9 seasons into supernatural and this is what i understand about it’s universe:

young blond women = hot

young brunette women = evil

older blonde women = evil

older brunette women = good

black women = not real

bald black men = anti hero’s opposing sam and dean

fat people = bad

lesbians = good

gays = not real unless they’re the butt of a joke

incest = funny

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Disinter

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/dFSfnU0 by JeffyGermaine Sam Winchester, moody cog in the worldwide military machine, is sent up north on a rather shady rescue mission. His dad sucks, his brother sucks, he hates people. But the freezing-your-tits landscape threatens to change his entire outlook on life. There's fuckery afoot, secrets unearthed, and a tall blonde creature that keeps "eating" his way into Sam's heart. Words: 9585, Chapters: 5/19, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M, Other Characters: Lucifer (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), John Winchester, Benny Lafitte, Real Human Meg Masters | Demon Meg's Host, Ruby's Host (Genevieve Cortese), Charlie Bradbury, Michael (Supernatural), Bobby Singer (Supernatural) Relationships: Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Lucifer Possessing Nick (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Military Inaccuracies, Alternate History, Michael Possessing John Winchester, Everyone Has Issues, Sarcasm, Bad Humor, Bad Parenting, Bad Flirting, Blood and Gore, Gun Violence, Fucked Up, Sassy Sam Winchester, Sassy Lucifer (Supernatural), Bad Parent John Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Protective Lucifer, POV Sam Winchester, POV Lucifer, Human/Monster Romance, Parasites, Alternate Universe - Future, Anti-Hero, Body Horror, Not Beta Read, Heavy Petting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Morally Ambiguous Character read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/dFSfnU0

[project1939]

Day 23- Film: My Son John 

Release date: April 8th 

Studio: Paramount 

Genre: Drama 

Director: Leo McCarery 

Producer: Leo McCarey 

Actors: Helen Hayes, Van Heflin, Robert Walker, Dean Jagger 

Plot Summary: Dad and Mom are as wholesome as apple pie with ice cream, and their two young blonde football playing sons are shipping off to fight in Korea. But oldest son John, dark haired and intellectual, sets off his father’s internal communist detector. I mean, he’s got degrees, uses big words, and doesn’t totally believe in the Bible anymore, so he’s gotta be a commie! 

My Rating (out of five stars): * ½ 

Are you a liberal? Do you enjoy reading non-fiction? Do you have a college degree? Would people say you’re an intellectual? Did you not play football in high school? Do you question the inerrancy of the Bible? Do you think it’s wrong to talk about god in public schools? Do you use words like “humanity,” “downtrodden” and “minorities?” Then you are a dirty rotten communist spy!! 

End of movie. 

This movie was so hysterically anti-leftist, that if you colorized it, it could air on Fox News as a contemporary show. Every sorry cliché about anyone with the slightest liberal tendencies being a communist was there. Along with every sorry cliché of who makes the bestest Americans ever: simple, not highly educated, sheltered, god fearing ‘Muricans who compete with each other to see who can salute the flag the hardest. 

The performances of Helen Hayes as the mother and Robert Walker as John are literally the only good things I can say about the film. It helps to know that even at the time of its release, some critics were shredding it to pieces as the worst kind of propaganda. 

I’ll just wrap this up by giving you some of the best/worst quotes in the film: 

“The doctor wants me to take two tablets? Well, what about Moses and his two tablets? And the prescription on them?” 

“I always got my strength from two books, both very nourishing in their own way- the Bible and the Cookbook.” 

“I got the kimono you sent me, but where’s the opium pipe?” 

“A communist specialty is breaking up homes.” 

“The lower you sink, the higher you rise in your party, don’t you, John?” 

“Use whatever free will you have left, and make a decision to get over here!” 

"Even now, as college students, Soviet agents are focused on you."

“Discovering new knowledge and questioning authority is stimulating. But stimulants lead to narcotics!” 

[harmonybarmy]

The fact that there is a slightly meta character on supernatural who is a Dean girl, has dark hair with a blonde streak and got an anti possession tattoo on her ass for the gag of it….

[shallowseeker]

Jack looks hilarious.

It’s early morning, and the gentle wave of his hair has transformed into a magnificently disheveled cowlick.

Despite the pain of missing Mary and the weight of hopeless Mia Vallen’s words had brought to the reality of their situation, Sam feels a laugh bubble up his throat. Trying to stifle it feels like choking on water, so he lets it out in a rush of nasally air.

Jack stiffens, defensive. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sam smiles, about to offer up advice on the proper use of a hairbrush.

“Sam—?”

“Oh, for chrissake—!”

It’s Dean, looking awful but alive.

At least he kind of looks like a person again, rather than a dead man walking…or high school blackout drinker.

Sam recalls their late night talk about keeping the faith, and something uneasy settles in his stomach. Maybe Dean’s still not okay. What if he never will be?

Dean’s clearly just gotten out of the shower, like he cares about hygiene again. It’s probably the first time he’s showered in days. There’s even a toothbrush hanging halfway out of his mouth.

Still, Sam braces for impact, for whatever awful barb Dean is about to lob Jack’s way.

Instead, Dean fishes in the front pocket of his dead guy robe, withdrawing something he immediately shoves at Jack’s swoopy hair.

“Ow!”

The air buzzes with energy, not unlike when they’d taken Jack to get his first anti-possession tattoo.

Oh, god. Dean’s about to get blown into the wall.

Or worse.

“Holy shit,” Dean grumbles, like he doesn’t feel the sudden rise of static, busy working the comb through Jack’s blond locks. “You need some fuckin No More Tangles.”

Abruptly, the buzzing stops. “What’s…No More Tangles?”

Slowly, roughly, Dean gets the comb moving more easily through Jack’s hair.

Jack, for his part, sits ramrod straight, like Dean’s about to hurl an arm round his neck and try to twist it. His eyes dart to Sam and around the room, terrified at this turn of events.

It goes quiet. Sam’s not sure what to say either.

“Somethin at Walmart,” Dean continues, like there hadn’t been any awkward silence at all. “Didn’t you and Sam get some last time?”

Sam’s hackles raise, not up for stupid, nonsensical criticism this early in the morning.

“No.” Jack looks apologetically to Sam, like he’s sorry for outing Sam’s serious shopping error. Like Sam’s seriously committed a grave sin by forgetting to buy whatever-the-fuck No More Tangles is. “No, but the Walmart’s was…big. It was the Super kind.”

“Well. Sam’s hair is thinning,” Dean scoffs, like he means it to be a light-hearted joke. It lands cruelly and flat, a facsimile of Dean’s old teasing style. Dean either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He soldiers on: “So, he don’t need No More Tangles.”

Sam yanks out his phone and types, plugging in No More Tangles and getting pages and pages of Johnson’s baby shampoo. He scowls, “This’is baby shampoo, Dean.”

The comb makes a sudden movement, getting out the last tangle, before roughly smoothing and parting Jack’s hair to the side.

“Well. Whatever works. Kid’s hair’s kinda coarse compared to yours. We’ll need it if he starts flying.” Dean gruffly returns the comb to his pocket and spins to go for coffee.

Jack’s whale-eyed expression falls on Sam, and Sam shrugs. Not sure what to tell him. Frankly, this whole interaction is bizarre. At least today, Dean’s getting coffee instead of beer.

Jack innocently tilts his head and squints. “I don’t really like the taste of coffee,” he murmurs, more to himself than to either of them.

Sam watches as the wisps of whatever veneer of cheer Dean had summoned seem to evaporate. Dean’s face falls, his eyes darken, and he glares at the floor.

Great.

Still walking on eggshells then.

Dean’s head snaps back up. “So, kid. You finish Clone Wars?” His voice is still too hard, like it brooks no argument.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack stammers, eyes swiveling to Sam in a panic. “Y-you can have it if you want it.”

Sam knows for a fact that Jack hasn’t finished it. He’s just offering it up because he thinks Dean wants it.

“Good.”

Jack starts to get up. “Okay. It’s in my room. I can go get it now?”

“No, no. We don’t need Sam’s stinkin sci-fi DVDs.”

Jack’s face scrunches, clearly confused. “Uhm. The DVDs don’t really have a strong smell?”

Sam watches as Dean’s face does something odd again, his throat working like someone’s got him in a headlock.

“Nah, we’re watching The Walking Dead today. From the beginning.”

Huh?

Jack seems to take Dean’s about-face in stride. “Oh. What’s that about?”

“Zombies,” Dean says, and that almost looks like a smile on his face now. “Dead rising from their graves.”

Jack looks to Sam, like for permission. Sam gets his act together.

“I don’t think that’s a great choice, Dean. I mean, it’s kinda violent.”

At that, Jack tries and fails to look a little thrilled. Fuck.

Dean frowns, “And you deciding to take him on an actual Shifter case isn’t?”

Sam’s hackles raise again. “That’s different.”

“Damn straight it’s different,” Dean cuts, “it’s actually worse. Now come on, kid.”

Jack scrambles out of his chair so fast that he nearly trips. “O-okay.”

“Dean, wait—”

Jack stares hard at Sam, and it almost looks like his gaze is saying, Don’t ruin this for me, Sam. “I want to find out what zombies are, Sam.”

Sam sighs.

Crap.

“Okay. Then, I’ll come along—”

“Nope, you got shopping to do.”

That brings Sam up short. “What?”

Then, Dean is shoving a tiny crumpled list into his hand, and Sam is so shocked that he reads the scrawl aloud: “Macaroni and cheese? Ground beef? Buns, pickles, ketchup. Popcorn?”

“Don’t forget beer,” Dean adds rudely. Then, a little more thoughtfully: “and No More Tangles.”

Okay.

No way is Sam leaving Jack alone with him.

“Sam.” It’s Jack, looking serious and a little hopeful. “It’s fine.” What he stage-whispers next is part-hilarious, part-heartbreaking: “I think Mia’s therapy worked.”

Of course Dean hears it. Of course he looks as if he’s been struck by lightning. Sam’s sure he looks the same.

Dean clears his throat loudly and pretends he hadn’t heard. “When you get back, I’ll make burgers.”

“But—”

“I said I’ll make burgers, Sam.”

Jack smiles a little. It’s wobbly and tentative. He talks to Dean like he’s a spooked horse: “I thought only restaurants had those?”

Dean’s expression shutters again, but he seems to be trying to recover. “Well. What I make ain’t something you get in a damn Happy Meal.”

Sam finds himself nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Jack’s face blooms.

“You know what? Okay. I’ll be back soon. You have my number. Jack, you remember how to text, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so. Text me for anything, okay? Anything at all.”

Jack looks at Dean, then back to Sam. “Sam, stop being a buzzkill and go to The Walmart’s.”

Dean looks so delighted at the dig that Sam doesn’t even say anything back.

[unhinged-tellings]

Jaime Morgan - Supernatural OC

(picrew)

"I'm not just nobody. I am somebody, a somebody who cares very much about people. I also like beating the brains out of assholes who get in my way. I am someone who cannot handle being alone, yet I strive to put distance between myself and everyone. I am a puzzle, an enigma, a riddle to be solved. Have a go, if you'd like. No one has figured me out yet."

GENERAL DESCRIPTION

(full name)

Jaime Bethany Morgan

(nicknames)

Jame; Jay; Beth

(age)

29 years old (as of s4, 2009)

(birthdate)

08 / 18 / 1980

(gender)

genderqueer

(pronouns)

he/him; she/her on certain occasions

(sexuality)

omnisexual

(species)

human

APPEARANCE

(height)

5ft, 5in (165.1 cm)

(weight)

128 lb

(skin tone)

fair

(hair color)

blonde

(hair length)

short; typical masculine cut

(eye color)

blue

(scars)

one from the right corner of mouth stretching to the bottom of the right jawline

(wardrobe)

plaid flannels, band t-shirts, self-ripped crop-tops, cargo pants, blue jeans, combat boots; everything is faded or worn-out to some degree.

PERSONALITY & TRAITS

(mbti type)

ENFP-T

(alignment)

chaotic good

(overall personality)

outgoing, self-reliant, sociable, stubborn, emotional, rebellious, steadfast. sometimes seen as irrational. not afraid to talk back or undermine authority.

(likes)

insects and arachnids, drawing, music, tattoos, traveling

(dislikes)

cops, tedious tasks, silence, dark chocolate, serious arguments

(fears)

losing the ones he loves, heights, airplanes/flying

FAMILY & FRIENDS

(mother)

Jacqueline Morgan ✟

(father)

Joseph Morgan ✟

(other family members)

Jackie Morgan, cousin. Benjamin Morgan, uncle. Marilyn Morgan, aunt

(friends)

Sam Winchester; Bobby Singer

(love interests)

Dean Winchester; Castiel

FUN FACTS

Jaime has several tattoos all across his body, mainly depicting different insects and arachnids. He also has an anti-possession symbol tattooed on the upper right side of his chest.

Jaime's parents were hunters, much like the Winchesters. However, Jaime was raised without knowledge of this; he grew up never learning about the supernatural or his parents' involvement with it.

Jaime owns a metal baseball bat he named Caroline (after his first girlfriend), which he brings with him almost anywhere.

Jaime spent over ten years traveling across the country while trying to round up information to solve his parents' mysterious murders, which happened when Jaime was fifteen. For most of that time, he traveled in a '83 Ford Bronco that he bought when he was eighteen.

Jaime cannot sleep in a normal position; he says it comes from sleeping in his truck for about 7 years of his life. He's been caught sleeping while laying halfway off the bed, upside-down on a couch/armchair, spread-eagle across the floor, etc.