#no offense but i hate that bitch (VAR)

[seddenostalgia]

Society if the Netherlands gets disqualified for creating the VAR and Ecuador takes their place in the round of 16

[bad-beats]

Bad Beets Ch. 3 (11/25-12/1)

Hello fellow degenerates, and welcome back to the Bad Beets Blog! For returning readers who obtain pure, unadulterated entertainment from my gambling misery, thanks for stopping by. If you are new to the Bad Beets Blog, here is how it goes: this is a space for me to rant about my horrible gambling losses of the week. Hope you enjoy the ride!

11/25/19

League: NBA

Bet: 76′ers vs Raptors 1H over 103.5 (-110)

Units: 1.1 to win 1

This one has a quick explanation. 62. No, I am not talking about Chicago Bears offensive lineman, Ted Larsen. 62 is the number of points these two teams scored in the first quarter. I needed a 42 (!!) point second quarter to win the bet. Some of the lowest scoring games in the NBA have quarters of about 50 points. I didn’t even think that this bet would be a sweat. 

Please explain to me how teams with Joel Embiid, Ben Simmons, Pascal Siakam, and Fred VanVleet only manage to score 38 points in a quarter. Not the way I wanted to start the gambling week. Bad Beet #1 was a real bitch.

Quick aside: There is very little I love more than mid-week, daytime European soccer. Anything and everything from the Champions League to the Belgium Juliper League gets me amped up on a Wednesday at 2:00pm. However, these games also come with great risk of Bad Beet that hurts far more than most. If you lose a heartbreaker on a stoppage-time goal at 3:45pm, you need to wait until at least 6:00pm to bet on any American sports in an effort to drown out that loss. That means that you are stuck at your desk for the last 75 minutes of work, staring at the clock until it hits 5, and the only thing you can think about is Cercle Brugge conceding a 90+7 minute goal to lose by 2 when you had them +1.5. Here are a few Bad Beets that ruined my Tuesday and Wednesday...

11/26/19

League: Champions League

Bet: PSG vs Real Madrid 1H over 1.5 (+106)

Units: 0.9 to win 1

No description needed for this one. FlashScore commentary is incredibly entertaining to read, and they could explain this Bad Beet far more eloquently than I could.

24 combined shots on goal, 1 penalty kick overturned by V.A.R, and a 1-0 score at halftime. Absolutely brutal. Bad Beet #2 of the week harvested my kidney and sold it on the black market.

11/27/19 and 11/28/19

League: Champions League and Europa League

Bet: Under 3.5 (-133) and Under 3 (-112)

Units: 1.7 to win 1.3 and 1 to win 0.9

Just another episode of “Life is too short to bet the under.” But seriously, I don’t know a single person that loses soccer unders due to stoppage-time goals as often as I do (granted, I don’t know anyone who gambles on as much European soccer as I do, but still). 

Pretty ridiculous that Leipzig scored two goals in the final 7 minutes of the game to equalize and send the game over 3.5. Dutch soccer team AZ Alkmaar decided to do the same just 24 hours later, and really made me contemplate never betting another under for the rest of my life. Life is too short to bet the under Bad Beets #3 and #4 of the week.

3/14/2011

Worst Beet of all time.

Bonus: Hero Win Section

League: Champions League and NHL

Bet: Genk vs Salzburg 1H over 1.5 (-110) and Penguins -1.5 (+155)

Units: 1.1 to win 1 and 0.5 to win 0.8

Genk and Salzburg were scoreless through 42 minutes of the first half. This bet was completely dead. Until...

Me looking at my Genk vs Salzburg 1H over 1.5 bet rise from the grave!

This is probably my craziest Hero Win of all time. Unfortunately, this bet was only for 0.5 units, but never have I seen a bet so dead come back to life and end up winning in such fashion. The Penguins took an early 2-0 lead against the Canucks, and the bet was looking remarkable to start the game. The Canucks scored the next 4 goals, taking a 4-2 lead, and the Penguins puck line bet had a heart rate of 6 bpm. The Guins got one back 1 minute into the 3rd period, but the Canucks countered with two of their own and it was goodnight moon for my bet. What happened next was pure insanity.

The Penguins scored 4 goals in 10 minutes to take a 7-6 lead. The dangerous thing about betting the puck line is that not only does your team need to win, but they need to win by at least 2 goals. Every puck line bettor’s best friend in a one-goal game is the few minutes at the end of the 3rd period when the losing team pulls their goalie. By the grace of Moses, with the fate of the game already decided, Evgeni Malkin slotted the puck in the Canucks’ empty net, and the Penguins won the game 8-6. Madness. Thoughts and Prayers to anyone that had Canucks +1.5 goals.

11/29/19

League: NCAAB

Bet: Long Beach St. vs Wake Forest 1H under _____ (guess the total, -110)

Units: 1.5 to win 1.4

Call me crazy, but I hate watching a game when I have action on the under. Rooting for teams to not score and play poorly, where is the fun in that? On this Friday evening, I opened my ESPN app and noticed that there were 20 seconds left in the first half of the Long Beach St vs Wake Forest game. I quickly proceeded to click the blue “Watch ESPN” icon that popped up next to the game score and was introduced to the stream with 8 seconds left in the half. Here’s what it looked like on my phone...

Normally, a player pulling up for a half-court shot with a few tenths of a second left in a half or game, you’re rooting for the ball to go in. However, when you bet an under, you are just infuriated with the player that they even took the shot. 

AND WHEN YOU BET THE 1H UNDER 68 AND ADRIEN WHITE MAKES A “THREE POINT JUMPER” THAT’S ACTUALLY A HALF COURT HEAVE WITH 0.4 SECONDS LEFT IN THE HALF TO SEND THE 1H FROM 66 TO 69, YOU ARE PUNCH-A-WALL FURIOUS! FUCK! BAD BEET #5 COMMITTED A TRIPLE HOMICIDE!

11/30/19

League: Italy Serie A and Turkish Super Lig

Bet: Under 3 (+105) and Under 3 (-110)

Units: 0.75 to win 0.8 and 1.1 to win 1

Just another few cases of the “Life is too short to bet the under” bug biting me in the ass on international soccer. Stoppage time goals are certified NOT FUN when you bet the under. 

Three Alanyaspor goals in the final 11 minutes to not only put the game at 3 total goals but push it over (and they added 1 for good luck). 

11/30/2019

League: Bundesliga

Bet: Bayer Leverkusen vs Bayern Munich over 3.5 (-115)

Units: 1.0 to win 0.85

Bayern Munich is an absolute UNIT. They score goals like it is their job. Well, I guess it technically is their job to score goals. Bayern has scored 20 goals in their 7 home games this season. I thought Leverkusen could add at least one and that the over would hit easily. I also took the 1H over 1.5 because I was so confident in my bet. Sure enough, Bayern and Leverkusen combined for 3 goals in the first 30 minutes of the game. EASY. MONEY. I needed just one more goal in the last hour of the game, and here’s the stat sheet from the 2nd half.

YOU’RE TELLING ME THESE TEAMS CAN COMBINE FOR 19 SHOTS WITH 10 ON TARGET IN JUST THE SECOND HALF ALONE AND ROBERT LEWANDOWKSI CAN’T SCORE ONE MORE MEASLY GOAL?!?!?! WHAT A FUCKING JOKE. Bad Beet #6 was Ted Bundy’s accomplice.

11/30/2019

League: NCAAF

Bet: Southern Miss vs Florida Atlantic 1H over 28 (-115)

Units: 5.75 to win 5

This isn’t the worst beet I’ve ever had in terms of the grandiose level of “sure-win” to “horrible-loss,” but it definitely hurt due to the sheer size of the bet. Lane Kiffin’s Florida Atlantic team has been known to put up some of the quickest scoring drives in the country, and this game was no different. Multiple times they drove down the field and scored a touchdown within minutes. With about 7 minutes left in the half, FAU was leading Southern Miss 17-10. Needing just one more point with half of the quarter remaining, I felt gooooood. I was about to make a profit of 5 units and buy myself a new pair of jeans, but then both offenses forgot they were collegiate football players and played more like Pop Warner football players. Missed FG’s and turnovers make for some quality Conference USA football. Bad Beet #7 was just really unfortunate.

Missed FG’s and turnovers make for some quality Conference USA football. Bad Beet #7 was just really unfortunate.

11/30/2019

League: Premier League

Bet: Everton +1 (-120)

Units: 1.2 to win 1

This is just a bonus Brutal Push for good luck and to end the block on a fun note. Everton +1 was a winning bet until literally the final kick of the game. For immediate release:

3 minutes of added time, 90+4 minute goal that survives a VAR check. Just brutal. But at least I didn’t lose the bet. A push is a win!

Bad Beet Count: 7 (with 1 brutal push and 2 hero wins) Bad Beet Unit Swing: 14.2 to win 12.5 (26.7 unit swing)

As always, thanks for reading this week’s rendition of Bad Beets! Please leave a comment, share with your friends, and stay tuned for more Bad Beets if you enjoyed! Let me know some of your Bad Beets of the week to get featured! See you next time.

[huntertales]

Part Two: This is All Your Fault. (Point of No Return S05E18)

Episode Summary: Dean begins to think the only way to stop Lucifer is to say yes to Michael, but the angels decide they don’t need him anymore. The Winchesters and Castiel are horrified at the angels’ new game plan and take on Zachariah to prevent an all out war on Earth. Meanwhile, the reader quickly learns making risky deals with Heaven and Hell have their consequences. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,988.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ function replaceAll(find, replace, str) { return str.replace(new RegExp(find, 'g'), replace); } function myHandler() { var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; document.body.innerHTML = replaceAll('Y/N', document.getElementById("inputTxt").value, document.body.innerHTML); } // ]]>

“The Devil told you in a dream, so you just believe him? That’s your big plan?!”

You sat on top of the desk with your feet dangling off the edge as you occupied yourself by reading the book you had been back in the kitchen, trying your hardest to ignore the three men and angel of the Lord. The emotion in the room was nothing but pure anger at what you’ve done. You told them about your entire plan—from selling yourself to the Devil and tricking Heaven into bringing back from the dead. Just for a little while. There was no point of trying to defend yourself as Dean took his time to yell on the top of his lungs about how stupid your idea was. He paced around the room with his arms flailing everywhere as he got red in the face about the kind of danger you were putting yourself in. Cas managed to squeezed in the remark that angels were tricky, not to mention all of you still didn’t know how to put Lucifer back in the cage.

Sam was nothing but disappointed at what he was hearing. He stood across the room with his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at you with that kind of expression that made him look like a bit of a puppy. It was the kind of look that he gotten when he could have done something to stop this, but failed. He was acting as if this was his fault. Sure, he was nothing but upset at what you had had, but he was more worried about the sort of plan that could easily backfire if Lucifer got his hands on you. This wasn’t your fight to take on head first without a bit of help. And just the idea of you sacrificing yourself to becoming the Devil’s vessel so he could be saved made his stomach tighten with anxiety.

But the thing you wouldn't dare talk about was why you had asked Adam to be brought back from the dead. Whenever they tried to ask, you would grow eerily silent with a look of guilt and look down at the floor. You knew they would eventually find out and get angry all over again for dragging the young man into this mess without thinking.

Adam had returned back from the bathroom in some new clothes when he cleaned himself up from being pulled out of the ground. He fixed himself a drink after being offered by Dean and headed for the cot again, deciding if they were going to get any sort of answers, the young man would do it. You shut your book and placed it down on the table, knowing you had to be present for this conversation to defend yourself when Adam spoke the truth. Dean pulled up a chair so he was now sitting on it backwards as Sam leaned himself against the desk and Cas remained at his spot previously. You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing things were only going to get worse from what he was about to admit.

“So, why don’t you just tell us everything?” Dean asked the younger man, eager to hear what he had to say. “Start from the beginning”

“Well, I was dead and in Heaven…” Adam began, painting a picture that was easy to believe as he started to describe what his personal afterlife was like with a bit more vivid details that you particularly could have done without. “...Except it—it, uh, kind of looked like my prom. And I was making out with this girl. Her name was Kristin McGee.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Heaven.” Dean said. His lips stretched into a smirk, knowing enough that his own personal trip upstairs had the same kind of memory when he first got up there. It was of a better time in your relationship when you had given yourself to him in the backseat of the Impala. Before he told you about what he did to you in Hell...Dean quickly shook the thought out of his head and asked a sly question to forget the thought. “Did you get to third base?”

Sam cleared his throat as his eyes shifted to his older brother for a second from how he was losing focusing on the point of this conversation. “Just, uh...just keep going.”

“Well, these angels, they popped out of nowhere, and they tell me I’m chosen.” Adam explained to the younger man. You felt your hands grip around the edges of the desk as your nails dug into the wood as Sam asked what the man meant by that. “To save the world.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Dean asked, you could feel his eyes shift over to you.

“Oh, me and some archangel named Michael are gonna kill the Devil. I’m his sword or vessel or something.” Adam said, his tone casual as if this topic was like discussing the weather. And not about the fate of the world that now rested in his hands. You could feel his eyes shift over to you as he continued on talking about the plan they had told him. “They told me that Y/N’s his vessel and the reason why he’s walking free. Supposedly she can help us swing the fight so Heaven can win. I don’t know. They didn’t tell me that much.”

Dean chuckled at what he was hearing, “Well, that’s insane.”

“Not necessarily.” Cas said. The angel began to think about how this could work and what sort of benefit could come of this from the plan. Dean looked over at his shoulder and gave the angel a confused look from what he meant by that. “Maybe they’re moving on from you. Perhaps Y/N’s plan could work. He’s John Winchester’s bloodline, Y/N is the figurative spawn of Satan. She could be strong enough to be his vessel if she becomes a demon. It’s not perfect, but it’s possible.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dean grumbled underneath his breath.

“Why would you do this, Y/N? You know what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in playing both sides like this?” Sam questioned you as he turned his head to look at you. It seemed that his little puppy dog expression had been changed to pure anger. You looked away from him when he started to treat you like a small child who had no idea of what they were doing. “Don’t get me started if they figure out what you’re doing. Cas, do you really think they’ll do it?”

The angel shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe they’re desperate.”

"Maybe they've wrongfully assumed this world was going to be saved by a couple of idiots who do nothing but screw up." You said, cutting off the angel before he could say anything else. Your lips stretched into a smirk when Dean looked over his shoulder and at you. "Sorry, Dean. Hate to make all that self-pity go to waste."

“All right, you know what? Blow me, Y/N.”

You scoffed at his insult, “Kiss my ass, you son of a bitch.”

“After everything’s that happened. All that crap about density, suddenly Y/N gives the angels a Plan ‘B’ and they run with it?” Sam asked. You looked over at him when be brought up another point that you had thought about. “What happens if we can’t find a way to stop the Devil? Then what, Y/N?”

"You know, this has been a really moving family reunion, but, uh, I got a thing, so—"

“Sit your ass down.” You ordered to the younger man. The tone of voice that you had used took everyone by surprise. Enough was enough. You pushed yourself off the desk and eyed all of the men in this room, wanting to make it clear you were taking charge of the conversation. You looked back at Adam and told him the truth. “Hate to break it to you kid, but the only reason why I asked you to be brought back because you’re a distraction to keep the angels busy trying to get everything together for a fight that’s never gonna be. Here’s really what going to happen. All of us are going to work together on finding a way to send Lucifer back to the cage. Neither you or Dean are going to say yes to Michael. And, if you sons of bitches have a problem with my plan, you can shove your opinions up your tight asses.” You waited a moment for anyone to respond, and when all you got was silence, your lips stretched into a smirk. “Thought so. Now, if you excuse me, I have some research to do. Far, far away from here.”

You made it a beeline for the doorway, but before you could make a single step, Sam lightly grabbed a hold of your arm and yanked you backwards. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Get back here, Y/N. Sit down. The both of you.” Sam said. He pulled you back to the desk as Adam sat back down on the cot, unwillingly. You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the desk in defeat. But the look on your face was anything but submission to his plan. “The angels are lying to you two. They’re full of crap. There’s got to be some other reason why they’re doing this.”

"Yeah. I don't think so." Adam disagreed with the plan. Sam scoffed as he asked him why that could be. "Uh, because they're angels.”

“They tell you they were gonna roast half the planet?” Sam asked, wanting to make sure the kid knew well enough of what he was about to get himself into.

“They said the fight might get pretty hairy, but it is the Devil and his freak, right? We got to stop them.” Adam said. He nodded his head at you, with a sarcastic tone, he tried not to make his jab at you not as intention. “No offense.”

“None taken. Besides, it won’t be long until you’re dead. Again.” You said. “There’s another way, buddy. You’re not gonna fight.”

“Great.” Adam replied as he slapped his thighs with his palms. “You gonna tell us what it is?”

“Well, we’re working on the power of love.” Dean answered before you could. You narrowed your eyes on him from his response when Adam asked how it was going. “Not so good. You see, it's kind of hard when her heart is cold and black—like her soul.”

“Look, Adam,” Sam threw his older brother a dirty look from the rude remarks that didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. He tried to focus back his attention to another family member that was about to get himself killed for what he might agree with. “You don't know me from a hole in the wall, I know, but I’m begging you. Please, just trust me. Give me some time.”

“Give me one good reason.” Adam said.

Sam let out a sigh, he tried to wrack his brain for any sort of response that was good enough for a man that he never really met until today. He went for something that was bold, but true. “Because we’re blood.”

Adam didn't seem to like that response, “You got no right to say that to me.”

“You're still John Winchester’s kid.” Bobby said.

“No, John Winchester was some guy who took me to a baseball game once a year. I didn't have a dad.” Adam corrected the older hunter. He looked at the brothers and you, wanting to make one thing clear. “So, we may be blood, but we are not family. My mom is my family, and if I do my job, I get to see her again. So, no offense, but she's the one who I give a rat’s ass about, not you.”

“Fair enough.” Sam agreed. “But if you have one good memory of Dad—just one—then you’ll give us a little more time. Please.”

Adam fell silent from the pleading that was coming from his older brother that had never met before until today. He looked at the five of you, just a bunch of strangers that were standing in his way to getting what he really wanted, but for some reason, he agreed.

+ + +

While Adam was being kept an eye on by Bobby, and Sam was following you around like your shadow, it only meant the two hunters and angel had one last person to put on lock down. Dean didn't like this new plan that everyone seemed to have agreed with behind his back and neglected to ask his opinion on the situation without asking. He circled the panic room, as if he was going to find a way out of here and make his grand escape. This place was a fortress. Walls made of iron and salt, the door locked from the outside, making Dean a prisoner for however long they were going to keep him here. But it seemed he had company. He turned his head to the door as he watched it slowly open. You and Sam stood on the outside to talk. But from the look on your face, you were unwillingly a participant in this. Either Sam brought you down to make nice, or you were just trying to start another fight. So, Dean decided to go first and attempted to get under your skin. He wanna gonna keep going until you hated his guts. "Well, sweetheart, not for nothing," Dean said, deciding to make a move on you, despite the tension. "But the last time time you looked at me like that...I got laid." "Oh, I know that. But it's been a long time since that happened between us." You replied back as you crossed your arms over your chest. “The only thing that's been screwing me good and on the regular has been life.”

“Why don't you go keep an eye on Adam?” Sam suggested to you. You looked over at the oldest Winchester for a second, he gave you a wink for your remark to push things further along. “I’ll be up in a second. I just want to talk to Dean alone.”

You nodded your head and reached to close the heavy iron door, leaving the brothers alone for a moment in the panic room. You were about to turn back and given them the privacy that Sam wanted, but you found yourself staying back, curious to see what he wanted to speak about.

“Is this really necessary?” Dean asked, gesturing to the panic room that was a bit of an overkill for the man.

“Well, I mean, we got a hands full, Dean—a houseful of flight risks.” Sam chuckled out, obviously not liking how the situation had unfolded. Dean shook his head as he mentioned something about not letting them do it, the younger Winchester had an assumption for what he was trying to say. “Who, Adam and Y/N? No, I’m not, either. We’ll find a way to stop it.”

“No, you’re not getting me.” Dean said. His voice echoed slightly as you pressed your ear to the iron door, you could hear footsteps tread across the floor, as if he was walking across the room and away from his brother.

“Oh, no, no, I ‘get’ you perfectly. You wanna make sure Y/N’s safe. I want that, too. It’s a stupid thing of what she did, but Adam’s under control. He won’t do it. Neither of them will.” Sam said, agreeing with his brother on that point. “But I’m not letting you do it, either.”

You heard a silence fall between the brothers, your eyes adverted around for a moment as you tried your hardest to hear what they said next. "That kid's not taking a bullet for me. And there's no way in Hell Y/N's throwing herself to the wolves." Dean said with a matter of fact voice. Sam spoke his older brother's name, but the man cut him off. "I mean, think about how many people we've gotten killed, Sam. Mom, Dad, Y/N's parents, Jess, Jo, Ellen. Should I keep going?"

“It’s not like we pulled the trigger.” Sam said, as if that argument would be strong enough to validate the lives they had lost over the past few years.

"We might as well have. And to mention the things we did to Y/N alone. You pumping her full with demon blood, me torturing her and acting like nothing was wrong. I can't let her sacrifice herself for us. That's not fair." Dean said. You could hear just in his voice of how much sadness he was carrying around from the things that he had done in his past that he could never change. He wanted to only help, but the man seemed to only give pain to the people he loved. "I'm tired, man. I'm tired of fighting who I'm supposed to be."

“Funny, you’ve been treating Y/N like crap since she got here. You wanna tell me what the hell happened between the two of you?” Sam wasn’t falling for his brother’s depression as he tried to get to the bottom of what was going on. Dean remained silent. “Whatever. Do you think maybe you could take a half a second and stop trying to sacrifice yourself for a change? Maybe if you and Y/N make up we can actually stick together and solve this problem.”

“I don’t think so.” Dean muttered.

“Why not?” Sam questioned his older brother, trying to find a straightforward answer. “Dean, seriously. Tell me. I wanna know.”

“I don’t believe...in you. Or the three of us.” Dean admitted what had been bothering him for all these long days. You pressed your ear closer against the iron, Sam wasn’t the only one who was taken back from the answer. “I don’t know whether it’s gonna be demon blood or some other demon chick or what, but...I do know they’re gonna find a way to turn you. Y/N’s not gonna be the one who takes your spot. But she's gonna be your reason. Like she’s mine.”

“So, you’re saying I’m not strong enough.” Sam said, wondering if that’s what he meant. His lips stretched into a smirk, as he was trying to move that he wasn’t weak. Or the man he was a little over a year ago. “I’m not gonna fall for whatever they throw my way.”

"You and Y/N always have been close. All she's ever done is baby you and sweep your problems under the rug. That's how it's been our entire life. And she would do anything for you. But she already did—and you’re pissed about it. You would rather take her spot than stomach the idea of her being the one who rots. And that’s how we say yes. It’s because of her.” Dean said. You felt like someone had thrown a weight on your shoulders and demanded you to hold it without making a sound. You bit the inside of your cheek from what you hearing that was a new confession that you never thought would come from Dean's mouth. “And don't forget about the demon blood, Sammy. If she turns, and you get a whiff—it's game over from there. I already seen before.”

“That was different, Dean.” Sam tried to defend himself at the harsh accusation being thrown against him. “It was famine that got me thinking that that way. I’m clean now.”

“You say that, but I can't trust you anymore. Not after Ruby, and going behind my back and starting this whole mess.” Dean said. He shifted the blame now on his little brother. It was either your or his fault, never would he admit himself that he was the one who had pushed the first domino. “You’re angry, you’re self-righteous. Lucifer’s gonna wear you to the prom, man. It’s just a matter of time until we do exactly what those sons of bitches want. If it's not the blood, then it's gonna be some attempt at saving Y/N. There’s no other way around it, man. You know it.”

“Don’t say that to me.” Sam hissed at his brother. He shook his head as he tried his hardest not to let his emotions the best of him. “Out of anyone...not you. We need you. Y/N needs you. And all you've been doing is putting her down. She doesn't know any better. None of us do!”

“I don't hate, Y/N. God knows I love the woman to death. She's always been the one who tried to keep us together. But...she's also gonna be the who tears us apart. It's the truth Sammy, and you know it." Dean told his brother. You tried your hardest to keep yourself from ripping down the door and telling him off. But you couldn’t do that. Because you knew there was truth into what he was saying. The three of you would do just about anything to save one another. Everyone knew that. That’s how it’s gonna end, because you were blinded by own your obsession to save one another. “And when Satan takes you over, there’s got to be somebody there to fight him, and it ain’t gonna be that kid. We don’t have any options to ice the Devil, so it’s got to be me. I have to be the one who saves this family.”

You stepped away from the door after listening to what Dean had said, suddenly overcome with several different emotions that you weren't sure which one was the right one to respond with. You didn't know If you wanted to scream, cry or tell someone off about what you were hearing. But the one thing you knew for sure was that you needed to get out of here. And quick. You managed to race up the basement stairs and back to the first floor of the house without Sam catching you. The only thought on your mind was trying to get some air. You quietly tried to walk to the front door, but you were stopped when Bobby managed to catch you just in time. You let out a frustrated sigh and looked at him, wondering what he was trying to accomplish here. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Bobby asked, you rolled your eyes. "I just need some air. Okay?" You told him the truth, quickly reaching a hand to wipe away a tear that escaped your eye without even realizing it. You managed to get your emotions under control for a moment when you noticed Bobby's expression softened slightly at what you had done. You rolled your eyes at his sympathy you really didn't want right now. "Look, I'm not going anywhere even if I wanted to. I promise you that’ll stay. I just need some space..away from here for five freaking minutes."

You unlocked the front door when Bobby looked away from you, making you believe that was enough permission to unlock the front door and step out to the cold night air that you hoped would be more of a comforting friend that the ones around you had been lately. Cas stepped out from the library to see a shadowy figure become lost in the rubble of the graveyard of scraps. He looked down at the older hunter, wondering why he would have done such a thing, Bobby shook his head, knowing that out anyone, you were all just talk. There was no way you would be leaving anytime soon. There was no reason why. Sam's footsteps echoed off the walls as his tall figure appeared out from the basement. The same look of defeat was settled in his expression. However the conversation had started with his brother, it wasn't hard to assume it didn't end well. Cas looked over at Adam, who had been sleeping peacefully on the cot for the past few hours, along with Dean in the panic room, showing no signs of escape. He turned his attention to the window that overlooked the yard, as his eyes narrowed, it appeared to the two hunters that the angel was trying to look for something. "Excuse me," The angel headed for the front door and stepped out to the porch. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The angel found himself walking out to the yard and trying to find where you were. If he had learned anything from the Winchesters and human emotions while he down on earth, it was that friends were there for one another during times of distress. Cas walked for a minute until he stopped in his tracks, the not too far distant sounds of someone's sobs caught his attention, he knew where they were coming from. The angel followed the noises until he rounded the back of the house, finding where you had ended up. You sat on the back steps of the house with your back turned to him and your knees close to your chest. You were trying your hardest not to let anyone hear you crying from inside the house to let them worry.

"Y/N?" You accidentally jumped a bit from the sound of someone's voice breaking your concentration away from what you had been doing. It was a moment of a few sniffles as you quickly wiped away the tears to look over your shoulder slightly, giving the angel a peek at your bloodshot eyes and face full of sadness. You told him to go away, but he had a feeling you wanted him to stay. "Would you like to talk?" You slowly put your guard down as you stretched out your legs and looked at him in the eye again, giving him a glimpse of what you had been doing. "Why? You here to tell me that my plan is stupid? That all of this is somehow my fault?" You asked him with a sarcastic tone of voice. "Trust me, I've heard it enough from everyone. I just wanna be alone, Cas." "I don't think you should be. I know you're sad. And I'm your friend. We listen to one another's problems when they're upset. That's what friends do, right?" The angel asked, almost seeming to be like a small child who had no clue. He seemed so nervous himself, but you could sense he was serious about this.  You looked at him with a bit of a surprise expression from what he had said. His lips stretched into a faint smile, you found yourself slowly being lifted from your thinking as you let out a bit of a chuckle from how he was behaving. You rolled your eyes and moved over slightly so he could take a seat next to you. Both of you sat there for a moment in silence, unsure of what to do next, so, Cas asked you again. "What's bothering you, Y/N?"

You kept silent for another few seconds. You tried not to let everything spill out all at once, but it did, you could feel another rush of tears suddenly come over you at his question. “Do you ever feel like everything's your fault? You ever think, ‘If I wasn't born, maybe this world wouldn't be so screwed after all.’” You asked someone who didn't know much about human emotions, but it showed when Cas had honestly answered with a no. He backed it up by saying that it must be hard, feeling like that burden being on your mind all day. “I mean, I understand that I’m not a good person. It's fine that God didn't create me. I screw up on the regular. I don't mean to. I’m honestly trying. But...I don't wanna be blamed for what's gonna happen. That's too much.”

Cas furrowed his brow, “Be blamed for what?”

“For being the reason why Sam and Dean say yes. That's not supposed to happen. Everything that I have been doing for them was so they didn't get to that point!” You admitted. You bit your bottom lip as you kept another sob from escaping. Dean’s words still replayed in your head like a bad tune that made you feel all sorts of emotions that were full of darkness and guilt. “The boys have always been there for me. From the second my mom passed away, to not making a big deal about me turning into a freaking demon. I was making those deals to help. So it could buy us some more time. Because, no matter what you wanna believe, there is a way to stop Lucifer. But....the thing that kills me the most is Dean. He doesn't believe his own family can stop this fate. And...And he thinks what I’m doing is just going to ruin things. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is all my fault.”

“No, it isn't.” Cas tried to reassure you. “This has been planned out before either one of you were put on this earth. We’ll find a way to stop this.”

“What if we can't?” You asked him. Your eyes were glazed over again when you looked at the angel, letting him witness a sort of vulnerability that he had never seen before in you before. You looked defeated and drained of any emotion, all because of what you had overheard Dean say, making you believe something that wasn’t true. “What if the fight really happens and all of this has been a waste?”

Cas didn't know what to say to make you feel better. He noticed from the fluorescent lights above that you looked exhausted from the lack of sleep you must have been getting over the past few day. Or maybe it's been months of restless nights with a mind that never stopped worrying about the people around her. Never in his thousands of years of living would he have been sitting outside, feeling sorry for a half-demon that was the spawn of the Devil. But you had been far different from his expectations of who you were becoming. For something that had so much anger and evilness, you were giving him a side of yourself that showed what being a human was all about--love, sacrifice. Over the past year alone, you and Cas had sacrificed so much to make sure the Winchesters wouldn’t say no. And that made the angel feel something that was all new to him. It was a sense of an emotion that would be felt if someone had hurt a person they were close with. It was what you might call protectiveness.

You looked away from him and let out a sigh, not knowing what he was about to do. The angel pressed two fingers against your forehead and watched as your eyelids slowly fluttered shut, the result of what he had done made you lean over him until you were resting on his shoulder. You would be in a deep sleep for the next few hours. The angel made sure to keep you in a comfortable position on the porch for a moment as he got up and headed back inside the house.

The angel peered inside the house to see Sam was occupied with getting himself a drink in the kitchen as Bobby sat at his desk once more, both of them were distracted. Cas walked forward to the basement doorway and headed downstairs. He quietly approached the panic room, deciding it would be best to have a talk with Dean. If anyone could talk some sense in the man, Cas might be lucky. As the angel approached the last step, his attention was quickly brought over to the iron door when he heard a crashing sound coming from inside the panic room.

Cas called out the oldest Winchester’s name as he walked forward with caution, wondering if this was some kind of trick, or he was hurt. He peered into the small slit in the door and peered into the room. The angel noticed the table was knocked over and a light bulb was broken, leaving fragments of broken glass. Cas did what he thought was right, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, wanting to make sure the man was okay.

The angel glanced around the room, wondering where Dean was, but when he spotted him next to the closet door with it open, blood smeared on the mental with a sigil that was all too familiar for Cas, he knew what this was. It was a trap. Cas tried to warn the man not to do this, but before he could, Dean pressed his hand against the door, a sudden burst of light made him shut his eyes for a moment before it faded. When it did, the oldest Winchester noticed that it worked, Cas was blown to somewhere else. He didn't really care. There was precious moments he had before someone noticed what he was doing.

Dean cautiously stepped out from the panic room and walked over to a rack that he tossed a coat of his after getting down here. He grabbed it and put it on, knowing it was chilly out there. As he slipped out his keys, Dean waited a moment to see if anyone had noticed what he’d done, all he had gotten was pure silence. The man walked to the small staircase that lead out to the backyard of the house. Quietly, he followed a path around the place, he passed by the back steps, not seeming to expect anyone would be here. But he stopped for a second when he noticed your body. He froze in his spot, waiting for you to move, yet you remained motionless for a few moments. Dean moved forward to see what was wrong with you.

A small smile spread across his lips at the sight of you passed out on the porch, your head resting on the side of the house. Your endless days of little sleep and countless hours of doing research for a way out had finally caught up to you. Instead of appearing frustrated, you looked so peaceful. Dean could feel his throat tighten at all the things he had said over the past few days. None of them which what he meant. For some reason, in his twisted plan of getting to that thing called paradise and the sweet offer that was waiting for the both of you, he lashed out at you. He wanted you to hate him for long as you were still alive. Because it would be easier to think the both of you could start all over again when the problems of the world would be over.

There would be no more monsters to fight, he could just focus on you. The idea of living in a perfect world where he could be with the people he loved was the reason why he was doing this. Maybe if he were younger he could keep on fighting. But at this stage in his life, after losing so many people, he was tired. There were too many hurdles standing in his way, and he was running out of effort to keep fighting.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” He whispered to your sleeping figure. He gave himself a moment to bend down and softly pressed his lips against your forehead, giving you a kiss goodbye. “But I gotta do this, sweetheart. Not you.”

Dean left you alone on the porch steps of Bobby's house, after he blasted Cas off to another part of the world, who really knew. But his head was clear for the first time in eight months. He knew what he was about to do, he was gonna say yes to Michael. And nobody was going to stand in his way of getting what he wanted.

@deansquirreljerkwinchester@lotsofspnshitposts@everything-i-tried-was-taken@starswirlblitz @albot-e @supernaturalismydrug @we-are-band-sexuals@angiewinchestercas@kaylinfayezink @owhatshername1 @kgbrenner @kartuziprincessofhorrors @cleo-is-my-doggy @eeyore1988 @dakota-dream (Message me if you would like to be added!)

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 5,087 (whoa...) Sam x Reader Warnings: language, mild violence, some creepy imagery Summary: Sam and Dean meet with Crowley to discuss Rowena and your condition, when a distressing situation only becomes worse. A/N: It's happening! PART 15, BITCHES! Hope you enjoy! This is part of a series! Read the other parts here! 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

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”No, no, no! You idiot! What do I even keep you around for? Those cells were due for their de-fleshing yesterday. Now we’re going to have to—“

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzz.

Crowley pulled his phone from the pocket of his suit coat, shifting a little in his throne chair. The room fell silent as he glanced down at the incoming call.

”Bollocks… Alright! Everyone out!” A few demons shuffled towards the door. “GET OUT!” Crowley roared. “I shouldn’t have to bloody say it more than once!” The heavy iron door swung closed in finality and Crowley answered the call.

”Can it, douchebag,” came Dean’s unmistakable voice from the other end. “We have precisely zero patience for your bullshit right now.”

”We? So Big & Tall is listening in too, is he? You two probably still use the buddy system for bathroom breaks, don’t you?”

”Crowley! Your royal bitch of a mother was just here,” Dean roared.

Silence stretched on the other end as Crowley decided how best to play his quickly diminishing hand. “And? Why should I care?”

”You should care because she told us she escaped from you, that she’s going to be running Hell soon, and that you have Y/N. Oh, and she tried to kill us.” The voice on the other end was Sam’s this time.

”Aloha, Moose. You can speak after all,” Crowley replied. Sam rolled his eyes and tightened his fists. “Well, I hate to burst your uninformed bubbles, but that witch certainly has and never will have anything to do with running Hell. I can agree with her on the point of Winchester extermination, though clearly she is as inept in that area as she is in many others.” There was clear tension in Crowley’s voice. He sighed and conjured himself a scotch. “As for Y/N… I might know something about that.”

”Yeah? And what do you know?” Dean growled. “You either tell us where you are right now and we come break in the door, or we conjure you here and hold you in a particular room I believe you are already quite familiar with. I think we left the chains set up, didn’t we, Sammy?”

”Yeah, it’s all ready to go,” Sam replied.

”There will be no need for that. You’re welcome to pop by. I’ll even leave the front door open, but I’m afraid you’ll be rather disappointed by the state Y/N is in.” Crowley hung up and finished off the remaining scotch in his glass. “Oi! Rodney!” he bellowed. A demon rushed in, clutching a notebook in trembling hands.

”Yes, sir.”

”Send the Winchesters our location and inform security that they are to be given access without any resistance.”

”You—you want me to tell the Winchesters where we are?”

”DID I BLOODY STUTTER?!” Crowley’s face boiled red. If there was anything he hated more than being helpful to the Winchesters, it was his manipulative shrew of a mother. And perhaps they would be able to discover what was wrong with you and fix it—then poof, his prophet would be all shiny and new again and he’d conveniently have Sam and Dean in his own house where he could easily order their terminations. He’d just have to cooperate with them in the short-term to get his way for the long-term. Sometimes, no matter how bad the taste it left in your mouth, you had to swallow the bitter pill…

_ _ _ _ _ _

”Well, that’s not extremely concerning… Crowley is just going to tell us where he is and let us walk in?” Dean said, giving Sam a nervous glance. Sam was staring down at the clenched knuckles of his right hand. “Sam?”

Sam’s eyes shot up. ”Hmm?”

”You okay?” Dean asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam nodded, a little wide-eyed. “Yeah. I mean… no, but—“

”I know,” Dean said. “Look, whatever this is… we’ll deal with it. Okay? Just like we always have.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he replied, and even as he said it, Sam was having flashbacks to a million messes they had been in before—Purgatory, Hell, fallen angels, Metatron, Dick and the leviathan, missing prophets, the apocalypse—and thinking that almost none of them had made him feel this helpless or left such a gaping hole in his chest or frozen pit in his stomach.

_ _ _ _ _ _

”So, Crowley’s current hideout on earth is an abandoned baseball stadium? Seriously?” Sam touched the knife at his side absently as they pulled up to the dilapidated building.

”That’s what his little minion said,” Dean replied, parking the Impala on the edge of the gravel lot. The asphalt was crumbling and Mother Nature was starting to reclaim the land. Weeds were towering through some of the cracks in the pavement and shaggy grass grew in swatches where all that remained of the blacktop was dust and loose rock. “I mean I guess I can kind of understand it. There’s probably a bunch of underground tunnels—high fences, out in the middle of nowhere...”

Sam and Dean climbed out of the car and looked up at the stadium. “This is definitely a trap,” Sam said.

”Yep,” agreed Dean.

”I don’t think I’ve ever cared less about something being a trap,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “Not like we have much choice. I have a feeling if we want to take down Rowena we have to play ball with the son of a bitch first...”

”Talking about me,” came Crowley’s voice from behind them suddenly. There he was in his usual jacket, tie, and dress shoes. He sipped from his glass of scotch. “Well don’t linger on the threshold. You’re the bloody Winchesters. You’ve probably got twelve other beings taking aim at targets on the back of your broad, obstructive shoulders at this very moment. Now, get in.” Crowley was gone the next moment.

With one final exchanged glance, Sam and Dean crossed the lot and stepped inside the dilapidated building and out of the sun. The metal door banged behind them with finality. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside, but the Winchesters found themselves at the top of a long flight of stairs descending downwards into near complete darkness. They started down cautiously.

”This feels so wrong,” Dean said, his hand resting on the handle of his knife. “Walking brazenly into a place full of demons and not going on the offensive. My skin is crawling more and more with each step.”

Sam nodded but said nothing. His face was dark. They reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around for some sign of where they were to go next. A demon with a leather portfolio approached them. “This way,” he said. “The King is waiting.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, we wouldn’t want to make ‘the king’ wait, would we?” But the brothers followed and were led into what was obviously Crowley’s throne room. He was near the front, pouring himself another scotch from a crystal decanter.

”Welcome to headquarters,” he said. “I have to say that this is one of my favorite earthly hideouts. It had to be further expanded of course before it was workable but so far it’s done the job quite nicely.”

Sam’s jaw clenched more tightly as they neared Crowley.

”We didn’t come here to chat real estate, jackass,” Dean snarled. “Now where’s—“ but before Dean could even finish his question Sam had wound up and punched Crowley across the face as hard as he could, crumpling him to the floor like a wet towel. In an instant there were six demons on Sam, restraining him.

“You son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you!” Sam roared, struggling against the many hands on him. “I’ll kill you!” Dean looked on in surprise.

Crowley picked himself up off the floor and righted his suit. He cracked his neck one way and then the other, and did the same with his jaw. He raised a hand to the demons holding Sam and they released him. Sam stood there panting with anger as Crowley removed the pocket square from his suit pocket and wiped away the trickle of blood coming from his lip.

”I’ll allow you that one, Moose. But only one,” he growled. “Don’t forget that I still have a hold of dear Y/N. And if you want her to wake up, you’re going to need me to help you get rid of the witch.”

Sam’s breathing staggered. He didn’t even notice the rivulets of blood running down the back of his hand from his split knuckles. “What do you mean ‘wake up’?”

”And now we come to the point,” Crowley said, sipping from his glass. He looked at the two brothers for a long moment, considering them carefully. “Let me be clear. You two need me to take on my mother. So if you have any thoughts of killing me just after I bring you to her you can abandon them right now. Not to mention that you’re in a building with literally hundreds of demons who would be more than happy to fillet you alive.”

”We don’t need anything from you,” Dean said. “This isn’t our first rodeo. We’ve cleaned up plenty of messes without cooperating with douche bags like you.”

”If you don’t need me, then why isn’t my mother already dead? According to you, that last encounter was almost the final page in the Book of Winchester. I assume your winged girlfriend Castiel was able to save the day just in time.”

Dean and Sam only scowled back at him.

”That’s what I thought,” Crowley said with satisfaction. “Follow me.”

Sam absently cupped his injured hand with the other as he and Dean trailed after Crowley through winding hallways lined with heavy metal doors. Faint screams echoed up from some corridors and Sam and Dean exchanged more than one uneasy look.

”Nice hit, Sam. But I thought I was supposed to be the impulsive one,” Dean muttered to his brother. Sam only gave him a sharp look in return and trailed stoically after Crowley, his throat tightening with each step, feeling like he couldn’t draw breath.

”Here,” Crowley said suddenly, stopping in front of a particularly fortified door, winged by a demon on each side.

Sam eyed the door uneasily, his heartbeat quickening. Dean felt the knot in his stomach tighten as he worried about what they would see on the other side... Crowley gestured to dismiss the two demons and took hold of the handle. He turned to face the Winchesters before he pushed it open.

”Just remember that I’m doing you a favor,” he said. The muscles in Dean’s jaw twitched and Sam’s eyes narrowed in dislike and distrust as he looked at the King of Hell. Finally, Crowley pushed open the door and the Winchesters crossed the threshold.

It was a surprisingly vast room they entered. The ceiling was so high it receded into the darkness and gave the brothers the feeling that they were only enclosed on all sides, and not from above. There was little light and it was cold and damp. Sam could see vapors of his breath in the air, heavy with moisture. The soft plink of dripping water in some unknown puddle was a lonely sound. Already Sam’s anger grew as he thought of you trapped here; cold, fearful, alone, possibly injured. As Sam’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he perceived something crumpled at the far end of the space and his heart stopped, completely stalled out with fear upon what he was seeing. “Y/N? Y/N!”

Dean tried to grab his brother, to hold him back in case—in case what? In case it was their worst fear? “Sam,” he roared, trying to calm him. But Sam tore from his grasp and hurtled through the dark space as fast as he could. Dean wasn’t far behind. Crowley simply let the heavy door slam menacingly behind him. As the Winchesters approached they could clearly see your figure, perfectly still, strewn on the ground on your side. Papers littered the floor near you and Dean puzzled at a single red rose that lay near one of your hands. He could see that your clothes were damp from the wet stone floor, the cotton of your jeans and shirt wicking up the chilled moisture. There were heavy chains connected to shackles on your wrists and Dean felt another swell of fury, but it was soon mixed with crushing dread as you showed no response to Sam’s calls.

Sam fell to his knees beside you, nearly paralyzed with terror that he would reach out and touch your skin and be met only with frost. “Y/N?” he choked out again, his hands hovering over you, shaky, not yet daring to make contact. Dean stood rigidly next to his brother, his stomach twisting horribly at the sight of you unmoving on the ground.

”Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. He couldn’t determine whether you were breathing or not due to the crumpled position you were in.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand against your outstretched arm. A split second of relief crashed over him; there was some semblance of life in you. But his relief was short-lived when he brushed a hand against your cheek and called to you again, met with only trembling silence. “Y/N!” he called more urgently, desperate to rouse you. Dean knelt down beside Sam, studying your face with a heavily darkened brow. He too reached a hand out to tentatively touch your shoulder, looking over at Sam, who refused to tear his eyes from you.

Crowley’s footsteps resounded more closely. “I’ll save you the trouble, Moose. She won’t wake,” he said, casually picking a bit of lint from the shoulder of his suit jacket. Dean stood and turned to face him, anger swelling in his chest.

Sam was brushing strands of hair away from your face tenderly, still hoping that his hands floating over your skin would revive you, that you would open your eyes and look at him with that spark he had become accustomed to. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen your eyes, since he had held you, kissed you.

”What the hell is this? What did you do to her?” Dean demanded.

”Me?” Crowley croaked. “What good is an unresponsive, comatose prophet to me? How exactly could that factor into my plan for dominion over all?”

”Then what is this?!” Dean yelled.

”You’ll have to ask my dear mother that question,” Crowley retorted, his lip curling at the mention of the witch.

”None of this would have happened if you hadn’t kidnapped her and brought that BITCH into your little plan!” Dean roared at him. “I should kill you right now!” His hand flew to the handle of his knife and he grabbed Crowley firmly by the collar.

”Uh, uh, uh, squirrel! Remember where you are,” Crowley said. He snapped his fingers and reappeared behind Dean, just next to Sam, leaving Dean clutching only air in his fist. Another snap of his fingers and around ten demons poured in through the door they had just entered to stare at the older Winchester threateningly.

Sam seemed to be largely oblivious to what was happening behind him. He finally turned his attention from your silent and still form and noticed the rose lying near your hand and the scattered papers.

Overcoming the waves of paralysis he was fighting he picked up the nearest piece of discarded paper. He only needed to read the first line before understanding dawned on him. ”The prick to her finger wounded her, and she fell down lifeless on the ground, into an unending sleep.”

”Dean,” Sam said softly, looking up at his brother with desperation in his eyes. “It’s the Grimm brothers.” He handed the paper to Dean while Crowley looked on with an expression of interest.

”Jesus,” Dean muttered, clutching a hand to the back of his head, at a loss.

”I’ll say one thing for mother…” Crowley began, “she certainly knows how to stay on theme.”

Dean scowled at the King of Hell. “Wait a second,” he said. “If this is the story of Sleeping Beauty or whatever, I thought she pricked her finger on a spinning wheel.”

”Right. That wouldn’t have been suspicious at all, if the witch just conjured up a spinning wheel. I’m sure dear Y/N would have gone right over to it, no questions asked,” Crowley said.

Sam was looking unwavering at your still form. “It would have been too obvious. There’s no way Y/N would have fallen for it.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “So, she substituted the rose.”

Sam nodded. ”Roses are a common theme in the Grimm stories. It was probably still a powerful spell, even if it didn’t quite match the original text,” Sam said sadly. “And where the hell were you when all this was happening?” he asked angrily, standing and facing Crowley.

”Where were you? Weren’t you two supposed to be protecting the prophet? Funny how everyone close to you two ends up dead or worse, despite the chiseled jaws and broad shoulders,” Crowley retorted with venom.

Dean hated how his stomach twisted again at Crowley’s words and he tried to push down the thought that he was right.

“Of course as soon as I knew something was amiss I tried to deal with it but—the woman is a menace,” Crowley finished.

“And you just left Y/N here?? You chained her up like an animal and then you just leave her lying here!” Sam yelled, reviving out of his stunned and devastated stupor, his eyes narrowed and fiery with anger. “You just left her here lying on a wet, cold floor?”

Crowley shrugged carelessly. “What was I suppose to do? Put her up in a five star hotel? What difference does it make whether she’s unconscious here or unconscious on a quilted mattress with a feather pillow?”

”You son of a bitch—“ Sam began to charge towards the demon but Dean intercepted him.

”Hey! Hey! Whoa—whoa! Alright! Slow down, Sammy!” He stopped him with an arm thrust out into his chest. Sam shook him off angrily and continued to scowl at Crowley, who only smirked back at the reaction he had elicited from the younger Winchester.

“I seem to have a touched a nerve,” Crowley said.

”Shut up, Crowley!” Dean snapped. “Now… we need to—to find some way to wake her up! Can’t you do anything useful?” he threw at the demon.

”Believe me, I’ve tried. You think I wanted to invite you and Lurch into my fortress of solitude?” Crowley said. “The spell is foolproof. It’s a clever little plan, isn’t it? As long as Y/N is still alive, she’s the prophet, so I can’t go and collect a new one. But with her off in la-la land, I can’t glean anything helpful from her, now can I? That vindictive tart seems to be smarter than I give her credit for.”

Sam suddenly looked at Crowley suspiciously. “…You tried to kill her,” he said suddenly.

Dean’s head snapped over so he could look at Crowley. “What?”

Sam drew himself up to his full height. “What he just said—‘as long as Y/N is alive.’ You tried to kill her. You were hoping that you could just get rid of her, and go find the new prophet. You motherf—” Sam cocked his fist back and punched Crowley across the face, for the second time, lunging at him again when he was on the ground.

The demons that had been near the door swarmed the Winchesters, pulling Sam from where he was standing over Crowley, looking like he was ready to strangle him, and holding onto Dean who tried to rush toward the King of Hell too.

”Get off of me!” Sam roared, attempting to shake Crowley’s underlings. “You son of a bitch! You’re dead! DEAD!”

Crowley drew himself up, his face red. “I said I would give you ONE, Moose!” He gestured to one of the demons holding onto Sam, who thrust a knee into Sam’s torso, doubling him over, and then slammed a fist across his jaw.

”Hey! Knock it off!” Dean roared, straining against the cloud of demons around him.

Sam remained doubled over, trying to draw breath with his paralyzed diaphragm, and a trickle of blood dripped to the floor from his split lip. He spat the blood from his mouth carelessly and resumed his fight to free himself.

“I’m a business man and the King of Hell! What did you expect?” Crowley growled. He straightened his tie. Sam was still struggling to get to him; not even knowing what he intended to do.

”Get off!” Dean roared at the demons holding him. “I knew this cooperative bullshit was too good to be true,” he barked, glaring at Crowley with such intensity that the demon almost staggered back.

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about! It didn’t work…” Crowley yelled back. “Now if you settle down perhaps we can come up with some way to restore said prophet!”

Sam’s fists were still clenched and he was heaving in deep breaths, anger boiling in his chest, but he suddenly stopped his struggling. “This isn’t over, Crowley,” he said. His words cut like cold steel. “I promise you—this isn’t over.”

Crowley suppressed a pang of unease. “I look forward to it,” he snapped back. “Let them go,” he ordered, and the swarm of demons released the brothers. Crowley ordered them from the room. “Now, can we get back to business? I’ve tried everything in the book and she’s not waking up.”

A thought suddenly struck Sam. “The book… The book! Where is the book, Crowley?” Sam demanded.

Crowley narrowed his eyes as he looked at Sam. “I don’t have it. You think the shrew was going to leave that lying around? The book is the whole reason this works. The book is everything!”

”Because it’s the original, right?” Dean said. “It’s the original copy, penned by the Grimm Brothers.”

“Very good, Squirrel. It’s the reason we were able to actually manifest physical components of the stories. Something about that book made the curse more powerful.”

Sam set his jaw. “So, we find the book and destroy it.” He looked at Dean. “We destroy the book and we break the curse. Y/N wakes up.”

Crowley let out a low laugh. “Yes, that should be easy considering my—“ Crowley broke off suddenly and froze.

Dean glanced around. “What?”

Sam thought he felt the ground shuddering slightly, like an aftershock from a distant earthquake.

In another moment, Dean perceived a rumbling sound and felt the stone beneath their feet quivering. “Crowley—you mind telling me what the hell that is?” he demanded.

”I was just about to ask you the same thing,” the demon replied.

Sam was glancing back at you and something in his heart told him that something was very wrong. The rumbling grew louder and louder until the Winchesters would have to yell to be heard over the noise. The stone beneath their feet began to shake more violently until it was tilting and cracking, threatening to throw them all to ground. “Dean!” Sam screamed over the noise. “We have to get Y/N out of here!”

Dean nodded to show he had heard and tried to keep his balance on the floor which was now tilting and crumbling into big slabs beneath their feet. A violent crack broke a chunk of earth free and threw Dean to the ground.

Sam’s heart dropped to his stomach. He looked back at you lying still as the earth moved around you and tried to run toward you, dodging cracks that were opening up everywhere he stepped.

Suddenly, something erupted out of the earth blocking his path as he struggled toward you. It shot upward and Sam fell backward to avoid being hit, hitting the ground hard flat on his back, the air knocked from his lungs. In another moment, identical somethings were bursting out of all the cracks in the room, soaring upwards into the darkness and the slabs of stone continued to shift and crumble violently.

”SAM!” Dean roared as he tried to climb upright and keep his footing. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Sam pulled himself up and tried to charge toward you again but every direction he went was spawning obstructions. Soon he could no longer see you through the darkness that was thick with barriers.

Crowley took one look at the destruction and crumbling ground and disappeared with a string of furious expletives.

”SAM!” Dean yelled again, barely avoiding another opening in the earth. He stared up at what was erupting all over the room, rushing upward, and realized they were vines covered in vicious-looking thorns. He made a run for it toward his brother and grabbed hold of his arm. “We have to go!”

“I’m not leaving, Y/N!” He pulled himself from Dean and made another run in the direction you had disappeared, but soon he found that the thorns were grappling at him, multiplying by the second. He felt his arm tear as he pulled away from one vine and tried to push through another.

“Sam! You’re going to kill yourself! We HAVE TO GO! NOW!” Dean urged, catching up to his brother again.

Sam only shook his head and kept pressing forward, his clothes tearing and thorns biting into his skin, drawing blood wherever they touched him. “Not without Y/N!”

Dean stumbled as the slab of stone they were on shifted again. “SAM!” He grabbed his brother violently by the shoulders and forced him to look at him. “We HAVE to go! Y/N can’t die, but we can! And she needs us ALIVE!”

Sam’s eyes tore away from Dean’s desperate eyes, to stare at the wall of barbs now between you and him. He was having trouble breathing and his feet felt rooted to the uneven floor.

Dean tugged on him. “Sam! NOW!” Another great hedge of thorns began to erupt beneath their feet, and finally Dean managed to heave Sam away.

The Winchesters burst into the sunlight to see Crowley looking at them from across the crumbling parking lot. The ground was shuddering beneath their feet as they ran back to the Impala. Every bit of Sam was scratched and bleeding freely, his jeans and shirt torn. The side of Dean’s face and neck were cut from the grappling spines, sending little droplets of blood running down to stain his collar.

Crowley stared in wonder and fury as his headquarters was devoured by tough vines of dark wood, wreathed in gnarly thorns the crimson color of spilled blood. “Bollocks…” he muttered, his lip curling.

Crowley withdrew his cell phone and pressed a button. “Rodney. Yes. Relocate everyone back to hell and—“

Suddenly Crowley’s head whipped back and to the side and his phone skittered down to the pavement. He quickly straightened himself up again and scowled at Dean with fury, who was standing there glaring at him with an expression of pure abhorrence and fire as he shook out the hand that had just made solid contact with Crowley’s face. “Would you two STOP BLOODY DOING THAT?!” he roared, his face going as crimson as the thorns in the background.

Sam stood silently facing the tangle of thorns, an impenetrable fortress of barbs, completely oblivious to the argument unfolding behind him.

”You deserve every bit of that and more, Crowley!” Dean howled. “How the FUCK are we going to get to Y/N, now?”

Dean and Crowley descended into angry bickering.

“We were so close,” Sam muttered. His quiet voice stalled Dean’s, and even Crowley’s yelling.

A lump formed in Dean’s throat. “We’ll get her back, Sam. Somehow.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You became suddenly aware and found yourself in the most peculiar space. Everything around you was black and the space was seemingly endless, cloaked in velvety darkness. “Hello?” you ventured. You were met with only the echoes of your own voice as an answer. Your feet were cold and you looked down to see that they were bare and that you were standing in six inches of frigid water. The surface was perfectly still except for the ripples you sent growing as you took a few cautious steps. Looking down at the water was like peering into a dark mirror; you saw only the reflection of your pale self surrounded by infinite night.

Turning your eyes away from the water you searched the darkness. For a moment you thought you had heard a faint voice saying your name. Your heart pounded and you strained your ears. “H-hello?” you called again.

There. There it was again; your name, like a whisper in the black space. And the voice was familiar and sent your head and heart reeling. “SAM!” you screamed. His name echoed back to you and you could hear the desperation in your own voice.

You heard your name faintly again and began to run. The uniform blackness made it hard to tell if you were even moving, but the cold water splashed around your ankles and the disturbance grew as you moved. “SAM!” you screamed again. The whisper of your name sounded again, now resonating behind you. You halted and spun around, panic beginning to take hold. Where were you?

You stood perfectly still, straining to hear his voice again. “Sam?” Your whisper sounded fragile and brittle as it echoed in the emptiness.

But the silence was broken in another instant. There was a splash somewhere in the distant space, as of something falling into the water, and you startled and gasped as you spun to face the direction that was the origin of the noise. Your heart pounded more assertively in your chest and you clenched your cold fingers into fists, straining your hearing to its limits.

There was now a faint rippling sound far off in the darkness and an overwhelming sense foreboding paralyzed you. You found yourself only able to draw tight, shallow breaths and wait as whatever was moving in the blackness wandered closer…

In another world, you slept on, now surrounded by a hedge of thorns of unknowable height and depth, ever-growing, the red rose at your fingertips now wilting and the text on sodden papers scattered underneath you fading.

[imagine-it-like-this]

Title: A Soul for a Life Characters: Rowena, reader Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Angst, Drama Warnings: Feels

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Laying your eyes upon the charred skeleton, your first reaction was to scream.

The smell of burned flesh lingered in the air; it melted into the copper one of blood, forming a repugnant mixture that made your stomach churn.

The only thing you could think of, as your eyes inspected the messy room, was that you needed to get out of here. The mere sight was making you uneasy. Add to that the smell and the realization that your girlfriend was gone for good this time…

You were going to go insane. You were already halfway there, with thoughts you couldn’t make sense of swirling through your head and images of all the times you’ve nearly lost her in the past flashing before your eyes. It was only a matter of time before you snapped.

As soon as you were out of the hotel, you let sobs overcome you. You leaned against a nearby tree for support and screamed. Screamed and shouted and cried and sobbed at the top of your lungs.

People on the streets stopped dead in their tracts and turned their heads in your direction. Other guests opened their windows and stared.

Everyone’s eyes were on you, observing you, no doubt silently judging you – for how dare someone be sad in public? The nerve! – but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything anymore.

Rowena was gone. There was nothing left for you anymore. What point was there in dignity when the one person worth having it for was gone for good?

You had to get her back. You didn’t know how – you just knew you needed her back among the living.

You needed her back in your life.

Needed her beautiful smile she only saved for you.

Needed her voice, rough around the edges, yet sweet and caring at times when you needed comfort.

Needed her arms around you, her fingers intertwined with yours.

Needed her. All of her.

But there were no spells you were aware of that could make that happen. Her Resurrection Seal was burned off, so you couldn’t count on that, either. From what you’ve seen, there wasn’t any of it left for you to try to repair.

The only thing that was left was…

You almost laughed. Rowena would have called you crazy. She’d have said you’ve lost your mind and probably proclaimed she’d rather stay dead than allow you to do that.

But she was gone now and you were grieving, and she really had no say in what you did.

Besides, it wasn’t even a choice at this point. You would rather have her hate you in life than love you in death.

Selfish? Maybe. But understandable.

And, given the circumstances, you were certain she would do the same for you. She would hate herself for it. She would never let herself live it down. But she would do it out of the same love you were doing it out of.

Gathering your remaining strength, you stood up, taking a deep breath to compose yourself. You reached for a tissue in your bag to wipe your eyes before walking away from this wretched place.

But not before flipping off all those who pointed and laughed at your misery and whispered things you were glad you couldn’t hear. Good luck with those boils, assholes! you thought, muttering a silent spell. Hope they were worth it.

You found the nearest crossroads and did the little ritual. You may not have been the best at magic, but you knew how to summon a demon.

This is the right thing to do, you told yourself over and over again. Rowena will understand. She will hate it, and possibly hate you a tiny bit, but she will understand why you had to do it.

You’d already killed for her. You’ve sacrificed yourself for her and almost died for her more than once. She was worried out of her mind and angry that you would go to such extremes for her, but she understood why you had to do it. She knew that you loved her.

And she will understand why you would sell your soul for her.

It wouldn’t last forever, as you’ve planned, but ten wonderful years was better than nothing. Besides, you could always come back to her as a demon. There was no doubt in your mind she would take the best care of your body until the time comes for you to return to it.

“What do we have here?” a smug voice said, startling you from your thoughts. The demon that stood before you was a tall, handsome man in his mid-twenties. He looked almost kind and innocent; if it weren’t for the eyes, you would’ve easily mistaken him for an ordinary human. “Why, hello there, little witch.”

“Cut the crap. I’m not in the mood,” you said in that no-nonsense tone you stole from Rowena. “I want to make a deal. You in or not?”

“Someone’s in a hurry,” the demon said, flashing you a grin.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t waste my time. I… I need this deal.” And just like that, the tears were back. Damn it! Couldn’t you stay composed for one fucking minute? “Please.”

“Wow, you’re desperate!”

Thank you for noticing, jackass!

“I am,” you admitted. “So are we gonna do it or not?”

The demon straightened himself, fixing his tie and shirt like a businessman preparing for an important meeting. “Depends. What do you need?”

“I need you to bring my girlfriend back to life.”

“Really?”

You ignored his nonchalant tone. “Her name’s Rowena. This is her.”

“I know who she is,” he said when you tried to show him her picture on your phone. “Ginger whore.”

“Don’t call her that!” you hissed, trying your hardest not to let your anger get the best of you. This demon was a jackass, but he was also the person Rowena’s life – well, second chance at life – depended on. If you screwed this up, you could never see her again.

The demon smirked. “Hit a nerve, haven’t I?” He chuckled. “There used to be a bounty on her head, you know? Can’t believe someone finally did her in.”

You swallowed. “Will you bring her back or not?” You made sure to lace every word with deadly poison.

“Sure,” he said with a wink. “For a price.”

“I know. My soul. I get ten years, then I’m yours.”

“Correct! But are you sure you want her back? No offense, but that one… Ugh!” He shuddered, making a disgusted face. “I remember when she was in Hell. Bossed the old boss around like a pro. A cunning bitch, she was. Very… manipulative. Perfect Hell material, but damn, was she annoying. Wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.”

You shot him your deadliest glare. “I’m good. Thanks.”

The demon clapped his hands like an excited child at a toy store. “Great! Glad that’s settled.” He gave you a vibrant smile. “Come, now. Give us a kiss!”

You carefully entered the hotel room, heart beating fast with anticipation. The smell of burning flesh was still there and it took all your willpower to refrain from gagging.

Your eyes fell to the floor, where the charred corpse used to lie; you breathed a sigh of relief when you found nothing there, a spark of hope flickering in your heart.

It was when you turned to the bed that your eyes welled up with tears. Rowena sat on its corner, clad only in a light purple bathrobe. You blinked a few times, praying to all deities you could think of, real and made up, that what you were seeing was real, that she was really back.

It was.

She was.

“Rowena!” you exclaimed, throwing yourself at her. She fell on her back, with you on top of her, your arms tightly wrapped around her. “You’re here! You’re alive!”

“Aye.” She couldn’t keep the laughter in anymore. “Though, if ye keep this up, I won’t be for much longer.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you said, crashing you lips into hers for a quick, hungry kiss. “I love you so much, baby girl!”

“Me, too, darlin’.” She brought a hand to your cheek to caress it. “Very much.”

You got off her, rolling to her right. She turned on her side so she could look at you, linking her hand with yours. It felt so good to be able to touch her again. To be able to kiss her and look into those beautiful eyes full of life. To hear her voice, tough yet delicate.

The world wasn’t ready to lose the perfection that was Rowena MacLeod.

And neither were you.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, stroking her hair.

“Good,” she replied.

“Just good?”

“I’m not dead, am I?” she countered, pulling on a playful smile.

You grinned. “Thankfully.” You pressed your forehead to hers, lowering your hand so you could take hold of hers once again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, sweetheart.”

Rowena’s face fell. You knew talking about her death was the last thing she probably wanted mere moments after coming back to life, but it had to be said. You needed her to know. “It wasn’t yer fault.”

“I never should’ve left you alone. Not with him on the loose.”

“Ye didn’t know. None of us did,” she said. “What happened, happened. It’s in the past now. Let it stay there.”

You could tell it was painful for her to talk about it. No wonder, you thought, remembering what the Winchesters told you Lucifer did. If that had been you, you would have been a sobbing mess the moment you came back to life.

The fact that Rowena could smile only hours after the worst moments of her life just proved how strong she was.

“I’m sorry,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. The last thing you wanted was to hurt her. “I won’t mention it again.”

“Thank ye,” she said. “How’d ye do it?”

“Do what?”

“Bring me back. What kind of spell was it?” She shot you a bright smile. “I know it wasn’t my Seal; that thing burned up along with…” She shuddered at the memory and your grip on her hand tightened. “With me. So what was it? What’d ye do?”

You sat up, locking your eyes with the wall opposite you. You couldn’t look her in the eyes. How do you tell someone you sold your soul for them? How do you tell the person you love most that your promised forever will not be forever after all, that you would be gone in ten years and leave them all alone?

How do you tell them that to get them back you will once have to lose them?

“Y/N?” Rowena called worriedly.

“It wasn’t a spell,” you finally said, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“What was it, then?”

“It…” You gulped. “Rowena, I need you to promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, blurring your vision. “Promise me!” Then, softening your voice, you added: “Please.”

“Y/N…”

Rowena sat up as well and you turned your head, avoiding her glance.

“Y/N, look at me.”

She cupped your cheeks with both hands, tilting your head back to meet your tear-filled eyes.

“What happened, darlin’? What’d ye do?”

Her voice was sweet and comforting, motherly even; it only worsened your guilt. Here she was, being so gentle with you when you were just about to break her heart.

“Ye can tell me,” she said.

“You’ll hate me,” you whimpered.

“I could never hate ye, darlin’.”

“You will,” you told her. “I know you will.”

“I won’t.” She pecked you on the lips. “I promise.”

“You won’t be mad?”

“No.”

You took a deep breath. You could do it, you told yourself. You could tell her the truth. Rowena may have seemed scary, but on the inside she was a sweetheart. She wouldn’t hurt you.

Much.

“I sold my soul,” you said.

Rowena stared, all color draining from her pale skin. “Ye what?”

“I sold my soul.”

“Ye-ye sold your soul?”

“Yes.”

She stared for a moment longer.

Then she got up and started pacing back and forth, breaths deep and shallow, arms nervously flailing about.

“Say something,” you begged, choking back the sobs.

“Tell me ye didn’t do it,” she said.

“I did,” you cried, wiping away your tears.

“No.” She shook her head. “No!”

“I did it, Rowena!” you exclaimed. “I sold my soul! It’s done.”

She looked you in the eyes. “How could ye be so stupid?” she exclaimed.

Her words stung, but you knew she was just upset. If roles were reversed, your reaction wouldn’t differ much from hers. “I did it for you.”

Her own eyes filled with tears. “Bloody hell, Y/N! Why? I didn’t ask ye to do it! Ye didn’t have to do it!”

“I did!” you retorted, getting to your feet and walking over to her. “I need you in my life, Rowena. I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you. You’re the only person I have left in this world and I couldn’t just let you go. I love you too much for that. I don’t care if you hate me for it. I don’t care if you leave. You’re here and you’re alive – that’s the only thing that matters!”

“What about ye? In ten years the hounds will rip ye apart and drag ye to Hell!”

“That’s ten more years with you than I would’ve had if I hadn’t done it!” you said. “You wanna punish me for loving you? Fine! Scream at me! Curse me out! Hit me!”

“I’m not goin’ to hit ye!” Rowena said, fazed that you’d think she’d ever stoop so low. She took your hands into hers and squeezed them. Anger faded from her face, replaced by sadness she rarely showed. “Goodness, Y/N! Ye honestly think I’d harm ye?”

She pulled you into a hug, wrapping her arms firmly around you.

“I love ye,” she said softly. “I didn’t think it possible, but I do. I would never, ever hurt ye. I’m just scared.”

You knew it took a lot of courage for her to admit it out loud. Rowena rarely showed her true feelings; when she did, it was a heartbreaking sight.

“I know, sweetheart,” you whispered. “I’m scared, too. But I don’t regret a thing. I got you back. That makes everything worth it. And if given a chance, I’d make the same choice all over again. I would do anything – anything – for you.”

“Ye’re an idiot. A bampot. A numbnut.”

“I am. All that and more.”

“I hate ye,” she said, voice breaking. “I hate ye so much. No – I loathe ye!”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed. “But I wish I did. It’d make this easier.”

“Since when has anything been easy with us, Wena?” You pulled back from the hug. “We’ll get through this like we always do. Just the two of us.”

“We’ll have to,” Rowena said. “For the next ten years, I don’t want ye out of my sight. Where I go, ye go. What I do, ye do. I don’t wanna waste a single minute. Are we clear?”

You smiled. “Crystal. And when…” You breathed. “When they take me, I won’t be gone for long. We’ll find our way back to each other.”

Rowena nodded. “I’ll take care of yer body until ye’re ready to inhabit it again.”

“And I will do my best to remember the love I feel for you! And if they manage to torture it out of me, I need you to make me remember.”

“I will,” Rowena said, tears sliding down her rosy cheeks. “I promise.”

“I love you, Rowena. I love you so, so much. That’s forever.”

“Forever,” she agreed, her lips connecting with yours in a sweet, gentle kiss.

Editor: @apritelleorai

[risingbricsam]

'America Alone' - A 'First Glance'

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My IR colleagues, and other IR experts are reeling from the actions of this President  at various summits – the G7 at Charlevoix and the Trump-Kim Summit in Singapore.  More than anything we now see the President’s actions in advancing the ‘America First’, I hate to call it this – but a so-called U.S. foreign policy strategy.

First our CFR colleague Stewart Patrick describing the personally offensive Presidential behavior in this post, “At G7 Summit, Trump Takes a Wrecking Ball to the West”  The Internationalist:

He is destined to be one of America’s most consequential foreign policy presidents. Fewer than seventeen months into his administration, Trump has already shaken the foundations of international order. He has abdicated U.S. global leadership, which he believes has bled the United States dry, and he has sidelined multilateral institutions (from NATO to the WTO), which he perceives constrain U.S. freedom of action. The G7 summit suggests he is just getting started. He seems prepared to abandon the transatlantic relationship, and even the concept of “the West,” as pillars of U.S. global engagement.

Increasingly, ‘America First’ now has t be understood as ‘America Alone.  Here is Patrick summing up: 

Under Trump, the United States is off the rails. Rather than debating the merits of his case maturely, the president vents at America’s closest allies. “We’re like the piggy bank that everybody’s robbing,” he cried over the weekend, while blastingTrudeau as “very dishonest and weak.”

  Kori Schake, our Stanford colleague, who is currently deputy director-general of IISS in London summed up in the  Sunday NYTimes the view of Trump actions following his recent summit exercises:

Such reckless disregard for the security concerns of America’s allies, hostility to mutually beneficial trade and willful isolation of the United States is unprecedented. Yet this is the foreign policy of the Trump administration. Quite explicitly, the leader of the free world wants to destroy the alliances, trading relationships and international institutions that have characterized the American-led order for 70 years.

Where are we at this moment?  Here is Schake’s take:

The administration’s alternative vision for the international order is a bare-knuckled assertion of unilateral power that some call America First; more colorfully, a White House official characterized it to The Atlantic as the “We’re America, Bitch” doctrine. This aggressive disregard for the interests of like-minded countries, indifference to democracy and human rights and cultivation of dictators is the new world Mr. Trump is creating. He and his closest advisers would pull down the liberal order, with America at its helm, that remains the best guarantor of world peace humanity has ever known. We are entering a new, terrifying era.

Trump’s actions are a dramatic attack on the multilateral economic system and an equally direct and a punishing undermining of the global security system with its allies, and frankly its adversaries.  Nothing good will come of this.   

Image Credit: Doug Mills/The New York Times

‘America Alone’ – A ‘First Glance’ was originally published on Rising BRICSAM

[chrismaverickdotcom]

On the new Mandingo...

My friend and former wrestling tag team partner Donté posted a link on Facebook to an article a little while ago. Before I share the article I want to share my initial reaction. This is what I commented to Donté: “ oh for…. you’re fucking kidding me…. I mean, wow…..” that was my initial reaction.

My second reaction was to hit the share button myself and not actually write a blog about it other than to say “I am just too annoyed and upset about the idea of this to even write a blog. So I’m just resharing it with a link to what Donté said.” And then I found that I was already automatically writing a paragraph of bitchiness.

Ok, so first, let me share what happened. It seems that because he joined in the NFL kneeling protests this weekend some 25,000+ (at the time of my writing this) Baltimore Ravens fans have signed a petition asking for the removal of Ray Lewis’s statue in front of the Baltimore Ravens’ stadium. Sigh…

To quote Donté, “So he was cool enough to have a statue when he was just alleged murderer.. But, he takes a knee nah dog. Smh.”

I’m going to stick with my “you’re fucking kidding me!”

Here’s the deal. I am not a Ray Lewis fan. I am a lifelong Pittsburgh Steelers fan. I grew up squarely in Cleveland Browns territory. It is fundamental to my identity to just be automatically predisposed to hating the Baltimore Ravens. And that’s even aside from other issues with Ray Lewis. Fuck Ray Lewis.

That said, if you think this is the reason to remove Ray Lewis’s statue… fuck you! Seriously… go fuck yourself. Fuck you so much more than fuck Ray Lewis. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you… and I’ll tell you why.

I’ve been pretty clear about my stance on Colin Kaepernick kneeling for the national anthem. I support it. It’s important. If you don’t understand why it’s important, well… you’re not going to. I get that. Keep not understanding and bringing more attention to the issue. For all the boneheaded dumbassness of the President, he did a net good thing by turning this from a protest of like 10 people to a protest of about 200 people. So awesome.

But that’s not why you should go fuck yourself.

No, you should go fuck yourself specifically if you think that THIS was the camel’s back for pulling down Lewis’s statue. See, for those of you who don’t follow sports, On January 31, 2000, four years into his seventeen year football career, Lewis and two of his friends got into a physical fight with two other black men that resulted in the other two men being stabbed to death at a nightclub during a Super Bowl party. Lewis eventually took a plea deal (obstruction of justice) and flipped on his friends, both of whom were tried and eventually acquitted for the murder. He went on to become Super Bowl MVP the next year and kept playing for another decade. In 2014, two years after he retired, the team put up a statue in his honor. Baltimore loves Ray Lewis.

Or loved him.

But no… apparently 25,000+ people think that kneeling down during the national anthem is a greater offense than being an alleged murder suspect. Remember, Lewis’s friends walked. Lewis pled guilty to obstruction. Literally, Ray Lewis is the only person on earth who has ever been convicted of a crime in relation to that murder. But that was forgiven because he was a hell of a football player.

But apparently he isn’t allowed to have a political opinion 5 years after retirement.

Look, I don’t care how you feel about kneeling during the national anthem. Ok, that’s not true. I do care… and if you have a problem with it, you’re a fucking idiot. But really, as I said before, it’s because of your idiocy that this is getting press. You are what makes this an effective protest.

But don’t pretend this is a moral outrage. It’s not. Ray Lewis played 17 years with the Baltimore Ravens. He is a two time Super Bowl champion, one time Super Bowl MVP, thirteen time Pro Bowler, and as much as it pains me to say, one of the greatest linebackers that ever played the sport. He is football royalty. He is an easy first round ballot pick for the NFL Hall of Fame. And because of that, he without a doubt deserves the statue in front of the stadium that frankly, he fucking built. That said, there is not a single fan in that city who doesn’t know that he was a suspect in a double murder. Even if he didn’t kill them himself, he was involved in the fight that led to their deaths. HE FUCKING ADMITS THIS! HE TESTIFIED TO IT!!! But I maintain that the two things are unrelated. No matter how awful a person he may or may not be outside of football, he is without a doubt one of the greatest to ever play.

But no, the petition to remove the statue stems from his protest, not his involvement in a double murder. The petition even says “I will not stand for that kind of disrespect towards our country, especially from a legend such as Ray Lewis.” In other words, the petition writer believes that Lewis has even less right to his opinion because of how good a football player he was.

And that’s the problem. You may not believe in Colin Kaepernick. You may not believe in #BlackLivesMatter. You may have a faulty understanding of what the flag represents or how long it has been a tradition to have the players stand for the national anthem (answer, eight years… in other words, only since the last three of Lewis’s career). You may have such conviction for your misled patriotism that you’re now willing to boycott the NFL (and I don’t believe you… you can say whatever the fuck you want, no football fan is missing their team in the playoffs over this). You may think that #BlackLivesMatter is a racist movement because “all lives matter.” You may think all of this is stupid and you may not understand any of it.

Understand this… if you are offended by Lewis’s statue BECAUSE of his kneeling and not because of the rest of his personal history, then you DO NOT believe “all lives matter” and specifically you think black lives don’t matter at all. What you believe is that you want to see a bunch of dumb giant black men crashing into each other for your entertainment. And you don’t care if they literally kill each other off the field. You just don’t want to think that they might have personal opinions that might differ from what you believe. You don’t want them to have opinions at all. You aren’t mad at Ray Lewis because he knelt. You’re mad at him because the nigger didn’t dance when you told him to dance. You’re mad at him because when you said jump, the nigger didn’t ask how high? You’re mad at him because the nigger reminded you that he might be more than an animal that fights other animals for your amusement.

I have on many occasions said that I completely support the rights of white supremacists to march, to carry their nazi flag, to fly the confederate battle flag. I stand by that. If a white player wants to scream “white power” as they take the field, I actually won’t try to stop him. I won’t be a fan. I might bitch about him. But I support his right to do it. And I mean this. I said before that Donté and I were tag team partners. We were part of a group that we called Affirmative Action, a reference to exactly what it sounds like. And if you’re a part of wrestling, then you need to just accept that there is going to be no shortage of white wrestlers with southern gimmicks wearing confederate flag inspired outfits. I might not agree with it, but I never had a problem with any of them. I STILL support their right to stand up for something I don’t believe in… even in the name of entertainment.

You might say “all lives matter” but if you’ve signed this petition… If you have ever said “they can protest on their own time” (something that clearly people also don’t REALLY believe)…if you have a problem with this at all… then you DON’T think all lives matter.  You DON’T think their lives matter. And you sure as hell don’t think black ones do. Or at least they don’t matter as much as your comfort level of being able to pretend you’re a patriot while stuffing your face with fucking nachos.

Go fuck yourself.

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On the new Mandingo… was originally published on ChrisMaverick dotcom