#and i hate even more the weird worship/respect they all have for dean that they completely lack for sam.

[emiliosandozsequence]

i'm such a bitter and angry sam girl

[prettyboykatsuki]

I am here… I am ready… What’s bully!Gojo like? How does he treat/bug you, what keeps him coming back to you, all that good stuff?

cw ;; 18+, dc ahead!!! bully!gojo, richboy!gojo, dubcon, dark content cw, gojo is a menace to society, manipulation, toxicity, gojo being a rich dickwad, obsessive!tendencies, fingering, squirting. this is darker than i usually write so pls be careful!!

of all the characters in my series, i think gojo pushes the boundary of being evil and nice probably more than anyone else, even bakugou. all of gojos bullying is like.. rooted in this desire he has to humiliate you and he just.. i have it all out in my head in such a specific way.

gojo satoru is campus richboy. but he's well-liked, and handsome and he has money and everyone loves him. he gets plenty of attention when he's on campus, and it doesn't help at all that gojo is good at practically everything. he's mostly on the swim team but he plays tennis and polo and soccer half-ass. gojo doesn't really need to do any of those things and he hardly attends practice.

but he's gifted by nature, you know? and he's more than used to having everyone's attention. gojo comes from old money mostly. his parents and grandparents and he'll be well-off for the rest of his life. and as much as he's grateful for some elements of it.. he certainly has a tendency to get bored.

that much is certain. gojo satoru doesn't really find himself easily entertained. he's gojo satoru, you know? the best at everything. the most likeable, most charming, most talented. most people on your private campus seem to worship him and he'd be a liar to say he hated it. he likes the attention, but it's boring. he finds the whole thing to be very, very boring.

naturally, this is where you come along. you're on scholarship and financial aid and your only goals ever are to get through the semester and make sure you survive. you're hard working albeit always exhausted. you just don't wanna get sent back home, something along those lines. you're not plain but you're not stand-out. your main personality trait is being busy.

i think the way gojo encounters you is unique. it's probably at your part-time but mostly full time job. you work a lot and he's always coming in with his little group of friends. most of the time it's getou, and sometimes nanami joins as an underclassmen and he hardly ever notices you.

but he does notice you, not him directly but getou (who is the nice one of the two of them. you're the one from ochem, you always look a little disheveled. you wave hi to getou, seemingly annoyed with his commentary. you're not exactly meek. he can tell that you're the headstrong type, and something about that intrigues him.

he tries to get your attention, but introducing himself as an heir. you seem bored by him, you give him a tight-lipped smile and ask what he would like today. and it's the first time gojos been.. told no before.

it's weird, yknow? because it partly excites him. gojo is so used to having everyone throw themselves at him so blindly. but you look like you're hard-working and earnest and something about that makes gojo excited. in the most evil and twisted way.

it starts small. you'd forgotten about gojo since that evening but he hasn't been able to get you out of his head. gojo has free reign over everything, so much money practically no rules apply to him. but he doesn't normally break them because he finds it to be classless. he understands authority though he hardly respects it. it's the first time in his life he's ever gone out of his way to break rules or bend them, at least.

it starts small. he gets your schedule from the dean and then he makes it his. and he pays for it with a hefty check and a little wink. when the money gets pocketed, you're suddenly plagued with the site of him. at first you think it's a coincidence, maybe. but then you see him constantly. in each class he's looking right at you, stares at you the whole time as you forcefully look away. at first you're just confused. wondering if you'd done something to upset the guy.

but then he approaches you one day, and from then forward it becomes very clear that gojo has no intent of leaving you alone.

he doesn't do anything at the start. you know what gojo likes about you? is that you hardly seem to be reactive to him. it's always small. stealing your pens or pestering you in class. whispering to you, playing footsie. it's small. not bullying so much as frustration.

but he likes how you force yourself to hold it together. the lengths you go to pretend he's not there. it's almost upsetting, but exciting too. he's working so hard to get your attention, shouldn't you be a little more grateful?

he starts to push his limits, just a little. spends more time with you out of class and follows you around. starts pushing his boundaries. touches you a little more than you like, and shows you how much stronger he is than you with purpose. he wouldn't do something so heinous, it's classless, remember but you should know how easy it is for him to overpower you. you should know that he could. if he really wanted.

it escalates. so much and so quickly and without your say. he ends up coming by your studio apartment, only to inform you he's your landlord now. he spends all of his free time with you, and doesn't let you study. doesn't even let you work, constantly putting you at risk of getting fired. touching you too close or too much.

one day you get frustrated with it. it's been pent up in you for so long and you snap. you get so angry, at your job. you slam your hand on the counter with pure rage in your eyes.

"why the fuck won't you leave me alone? i don't get it? what have i ever done to you?" and you sound like you're about to cry. you're practically fuming.

and gojo does the worst thing he could do, and laughs. laughs this amused and soft little laugh and then gives you a look through his sunglasses.

"ive been working hard to get your attention, yknow? i just wanted you to like me. this is good though," he grins, and it sends a chill down your spine because oh my god, he's being serious "it's progress."

he sounds ecstatic by your little outburst. it horrifies you. your voice gets a little quiet.

"why?" is your simple question. gojo shrugs and you know from then on that this is your life now.

one thing you've learned about gojo is that he really will do whatever you want.

in the months after that, it grows increasingly apparent to you that gojo is absolutely not going to stop until he is involved in every part of your life. on the days you're not absolutely aggravated with him, or show him the slightest bit of lenience - he's practically beaming. it's almost alarming. it starts to click for you that gojo has his own fucked up sense for liking you and that everything he does is to do what he thinks will win your approval.

or less than that, what he can do to make sure he's all you ever have time for. it occurs to you, in a spine-chilling moment of clarity that you're the apple of his eye. it's just that.. gojo satoru is a richboy and an asshole with no sense of boundaries. and you're his new favorite thing.

he's always been something of a hedonist and you're a high he has yet to come down from.

you tell yourself he'll tire himself out and grow bored with you but months pass and nothing like that happens remotely. it only gets worse. he starts inviting you to his friend groups and making you attend all these rich people events with the threat of buying your job.

he really does drive you up a wall.

it's one of those night where you're invited to his weird family gathering and all of his friends are in attendance. you're exhausted and you have work in the morning. you don't find yourself looking forward to anything about the night, especially not gojo's. you find solace in getou though.

of all of gojos friends, you find him to be the most tolerable. he's not great. still a dick but he's sociable and funny and subdued. a breath of fresh air. while gojo has family responsibilities, you mingle with him. you drink together and getou smiles every time he sees you laugh or genuinely enjoy yourself. he'd take you for himself if he didn't know gojo.

but he does. and gojo satoru seems frivolous but when it comes to the object of his affection - he can't help but feel a disparity. so when he comes back after a not-so pleasant conversation on family fairs to see you laughing and smiling and acting so carefree with getou, he's not pleased to say the least.

it was your mistake, really. after everything gojos done, shouldn't you know better? you're his, his, his.

it's not the first time gojos kissed you. but it's the first time he seems to ignore the pleaing in your voice. it's a little harsher, a little meaner. all teeth when he nips at your mouth and traces down your jaw with his hands sliding up your dress. you've let him touch you here and there but you've never gone this far before. not with him, not with anyone.

"g-gojo, wait!"

he pauses, stops. the look in his eyes is stormy and flat. it almost scares you.

"hm?"

in a weird, weird way - you're most concerned about him being mad at you. you get all squirmy, disappointed because up until this point gojo's only ever been happy with you. you can tell in hindsight that now would be the perfect time to put it all to bed.

but you don't, and your voice comes out as a half squeak.

"...are you mad at me?"

it's so.. small. so soft and small and submissive. and gojo pauses and whatever anger he did have disappears because this is the closest you've ever gotten to depending on him. ever. in the history of ever.

if he were a good man, he would tell you no. if he were a good and moral man he would wipe that little needy look off of your face and tell you he wasn't mad.

too bad though, really - gojo satoru has never once been a good man before.

"just disappointed," he says, trying to hide the excitement in his voice "but if you let me touch you, right here - then i wouldn't be."

you shake a little.

"......really?" you ask. he grins.

"really." he promises.

that's how you end up like this. with your dress pulled down just barely past your tits and your skirt pulled up over your thighs and with gojo fingering you until you get everything all messy on his good suit.

you're in his childhood bedroom with the door cracked up. anyone could walk in, you're certain but it's hard to think of anything other than gojo and his long fingers. they're so thick and so huge - they stretch you out so nicely. he's always been dexterous and now you can feel it as he curls against your gspot with a thumb softly on your clit and sparkles in his eyes.

he could fuck you but somehow this is so much better. so much more gratifying as your pussy gets so sticky and drips all onto his nice and expensive pants. you look so good when you get defiled. you sound so sweet when you scream his name - buried so nicely inside of your pretty little pussy.

it's established to him that gojo satoru would be dead before he even let someone else near you. and the way you're squirting in his lap and all over everything makes him hard out of his fucking mind. his mouth closes softly on your tits and your voice goes all warbly.

"g-gojo, 'm gonna - ! it's nghhh,"

and that's when it happens, and a rush of warm liquid spills on him and you convulse with your whole body. you whine his name so fucking pretty and you cum so hard you see stars. you cum and you cum and you cum.

you're so delirious as you ride your high, but you hear it. gojos voice against your throat.

"you're mine forever, yknow?"

you do know. you've sealed your fate.

[clairenatural]

i had a dream that sam and dean took cas to an art museum and showed him all these paintings of angels and it was like that scene in vincent and the doctor and cas said these paintings are beautiful because they depict the angels as human when a true angel could never be described as anything but monstrous and i woke up crying

anon i love this SO much. i love it so much i had to write it. this is 1.4k, destiel, human!cas

They’re making their way out of the city, monster killed and day saved, when Castiel sees a poster, pasted up on the side of the plywood wall of a construction site. It’s an angel—he doesn’t recognize the artist, but he’d guess late 19th century. Be Not Afraid: a History of Angels in Art, it proclaims, the logo of the city’s largest art gallery tucked into the corner.

Castiel stares at it. The angel on the poster stares back, wings spread and staff raised. Valiant. Something in his heart twitches, but it’s hard to place. He still has his blade, tucked safely into the trunk with the rest of their frequently used weapons, and he never had wings like that; even the shadows, the ones they showed to humans, were simply the closest representation to the real thing possible in this dimension (his back aches anyway, dimly, his human body reacting to the loss as if they were real severed appendages. He ignores it).

Dean notices, because of course he does. He stops, because of course he does, and flags Sam down before his long legs can carry him too far ahead. “Hey. You good?”

Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the poster, but it’s long enough that Dean is obviously concerned. “Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”

Dean nods but doesn’t move. He considers the poster. “Art gallery, huh?” he asks, avoiding the obvious elephant. Castiel appreciates it. He nods back.

“I’ve never been to one,” he offers, as explanation. It seems odd—he can remember the painting of the Sistine Chapel, he remembers watching with fascination as humans began collecting the smaller paintings into collections and museums, but he’d never been inside one. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Humans collect art in large boxes to remember their history, but Castiel has seen it all.

Dean seems surprised by this. “Seriously?” Castiel nods, and there’s a pause, and he’s about to turn and keep heading towards the car, and Kansas, and home, when Dean claps him on the shoulder and turns to call over his own.

“Sammy! How do you feel about seeing some art?”

“You want to go to an art gallery?” Sam sounds incredulous, and is closer behind him than Cas expected. He hadn’t noticed him retreat the half-block he’d managed to gain on them.

“Yeah, why not? Come on. What happened to ‘a little culture wouldn’t hurt, Dean?’”

"What happened to ‘I’ve got plenty of culture, eat your damn burger?’”

“It’ll be fun, Sam,” Dean counters. Something in his tone has changed. Cas doesn’t think too hard about it.

There’s a long pause, and Cas knows there’s some sort of communication happening he can’t hear or see. “…Okay,” Sam concedes. “Okay, sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”

So they do.

Dean makes a comment about “haven’t been in one of these since I was a kid,” before they all fall into the hushed silence of the museum floor. It’s nice—nicer than Castiel had expected. Not in aesthetics; the building is sleek, and modern, and the art is obviously beautiful. But it’s nice to be there. It feels almost Holy—humans, funny creatures they are, with their habit of treating their own culture with the respect of something divine. Creating houses of worship out of museums and libraries and living rooms. 

He wanders through the various exhibits but doesn’t really pay attention until he ends up in the exhibit from the poster. He’d managed to lose the Winchesters halfway through the photography exhibit, when both the brothers had gotten distracted. Castiel had continued onward anyway, on a mission, and by the time he finds himself walking into the angel exhibit he’s on his own.

He comes to a stop in front of one of the largest paintings in the room. It’s not the same angel as the poster. It’s several, actually, looking over what appears to be Mary and a baby Jesus. The angels are beautiful—smooth, flawless skin. They have long hair that looks soft, even in paint. They’re wearing white robes, and their wings are white and dove-like. None of these angels have several heads, rotating bands of fire, or thousands of eyes. They’re beautiful, but they aren’t angels. The human who painted this didn’t know that, of course—none of them did. Humanity was faced with the concept of divinity and conceptualized it as a version of itself.

“The real things ain’t as cuddly, huh?”

Dean’s voice startles him, which he hates, both because he hates being startled and because he’s still adjusting to Dean being able to sneak up on him.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, pretending he’d known Dean was there the whole time, “you paint us like we’re human.” Not ‘us’ anymore, he reminds himself, but he brushes that thought off. Not now.

Beside him, Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. If you’d told any of those Renaissance guys that the real angels are dickhead balls of celestial intent, they’d’ve arrested you for heresy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.” he pauses. “Well, yes. But that’s—” he turns to face Dean for the first time. He notices Sam over Dean’s shoulder, focusing intently on a painting a few feet away and obviously pretending not to listen.

“My father—God—Chuck,” he cycles through, which will never not be weird, “created us first, but not in his image. We weren’t worthy of that. Only you were. Humans, his perfect creation, modeled after their creator. But then—” he turns back to the painting and gestures to it. “You created us in your image. You thought about divinity and you couldn’t conceive anything more Holy than yourselves.”

Dean shifts. He tries for a laugh, but it comes out short. “Well, damn, Cas. Way to make a guy feel self-centered.”

Castiel turns back to him. He blinks. He frowns. That’s not what he means. “Most of my siblings thought so,” he agrees. “But I always thought it was an honor. Look,” He turns again and reaches out for the painting, only remembering a few inches from its surface to not touch it.  “This one has a lyre. You always paint us playing music. But music, art….these are human things, Dean.” He lets his hand fall, but keeps his eyes forward.  “We’re soldiers. They don’t teach us to play the harp in Heaven, they train us to fight. But these angels are…soft. Kind. Angels you trust to protect. The kind of angels people pray to, build churches to.” He looks back at Dean, who is staring at him with a frown. He holds his gaze, steady, and takes a deep breath before finishing. “I wish I was—that any of us were—worthy of being depicted this way. I wish we were the angels you paint us as.”

There’s a long pause while Dean searches his face, obviously trying to decide on the right reaction. If they were at home, Cas thinks Dean might reach out and hug him. Instead, Dean reaches out to clap a hand on his shoulder—he lets it linger there, and Cas knows what it means, so that’s okay, too. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, and his voice is softer than the last time he spoke. “You’re the closest thing to those angels that I’ve ever seen.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Cas smiles sadly as he turns back to the painting. “I’m not any kind of angel anymore,” he points out, and tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and tilts his head, trying to recapture Castiel’s gaze. “Hey. Look at me.” Reluctantly, he looks back over. “Your wings weren’t what made you a good angel, alright?” he brings his other hand up to poke into Castiel’s chest. “That was all in here.”

He sounds like he’s quoting the Wizard of Oz, and Cas wants to make a joke about that, but he’s also never wanted to kiss Dean more. He doesn’t, because they’re in a museum, and they’re still working up to that, but he makes a note to do it later. Instead, he reaches up and pulls Dean’s hand away from his chest, links it in his own, and squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s earnest, and it’s for everything.

Dean smiles. He understands. He squeezes back.

[sprnklersplashes]

Veronica decides it's time to have a certain conversation with her daughter and in doing so, take a trip down memory lane (post-canon)

“Mom?”

The minute she hears Lily’s voice and her key in the lock, Veronica considers throwing all of this out. Stuffing everything back in the box and stashing that at the back of her closet, underneath three coats she’ll never wear and more importantly, Lily will never touch. That way everything stays away from her and they can both go on as normal.

The urge is there, and it’s strong, but she resists it, leaning forwards on her elbows and looking through the photos laid out on her bed. She chose the best ones, the ones from the beginning. After Heather Chandler but before Kurt and Ram. Ones where she’s smiling and he looks normal, even with that damn trench coat. He looks normal, calm, relaxed, and it’s hard not to be hurt by it.

“Mom?”

“I’m up here,” she replies, her throat dry and her voice cracking. She’s doing this for Lily, she tells herself. There’s a list of things she won’t do for Lily, and it could fit on a post-it note. But that doesn’t make this any less terrifying. She feels like she’s standing on the middle of a railroad track, waiting for a train out of the blackness and ram into her.

“Hey.” her daughter swings around the doorframe, her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder and her jacket over her school uniform. And with her presence, Veronica only finds herself more afraid. But at least now that she’s here, she’s in too late to back out. Especially since she’s not-so-subtlety glancing at the photos spread out across the bed, craning her neck to see if she can make out a familiar face.

“Come here, kid,” she says, holding her arm out to her, a little laugh in her voice. Lily drops her bag and discards her jacket before jumping onto the bed, her chin resting on Veronica’s shoulder, giggling as the bedframe shakes under her weight. And oh, what that giggle does to Veronica, taking her breath away and breathing new life into her at the same time. Reminding her what it means to be here, why she still wants to be here. Her daughter is a marvel in more ways than one. She’s the most beautiful person Veronica has ever seen, which shouldn’t be surprising given how much she takes after her father. Her hair is the same shade as his, curling a little at the bottom and hanging below a chin that’s identical to his. There’s a similar scattering of freckles across her cheeks that Veronica loves and Lily hates, insisting they make her look younger than she is.

‘What’s wrong with looking younger?’ is what Veronica always asks when she complains about it.

She still takes after Veronica in some respects; she got her height and her face shape and her laugh (definitely a good thing). She has the exact same pickiness with her food that Veronica did at her age and the same lack of enthusiasm for math class.  While her mom is insistent that Lily is the absolute double of her when she was thirteen, in both body and spirit, Veronica’s not so sure. There’s a spark in her daughter that she could never imagine her having when she was thirteen. Strong-willed, and open mind and an open heart, funny and a little weird, she’s everything Veronica could have wished her to be.

Ever since Veronica first held her, she’s been equal parts in awe of and confused by her. Every time she smiles, or laughs, or dances, or makes a joke, she has to wonder how this happened. Every proud swell in her chest when she gets a good grade and every rush of love she feels when she holds her close makes her wonder how something this good came out of something that bad. How someone so beautiful and kind and brave and wonderful as her Lily came out of something so brutal and violent and ugly as her relationship with JD. It’s an eternal mystery to her. How she can love Lily with every ounce of her soul and yet have nightmares about what brought her into the world. How can she love her daughter’s eyes when they’re so like her father’s? If someone asked her ‘if you could erase JD from your past entirely, would you?’ she would never be able to give an honest answer to it and she’s the reason why.

“Oh my gosh, is that Aunt Heather?” Lily asks, picking up one of the photos. She and MacNamara grin back at the camera after a game of croquet in Chandler’s backyard. Veronica winces at the bittersweet-ness of it and tries to put her guilt in the corner. It’ll come back for her later, tonight most likely, and she’ll take it like she always does. Chest up, hands clenched. But now isn’t about her.

“Yeah,” she answers. “That’s us when we were 17.”

“Wow,” she breathes, hurriedly lifting another one and holding it up to the light. Veronica can’t blame her daughter’s excitement; trips down memory lane are few and far between for her. She’s looking to the future as much as she can and wants to push Lily to do the same. So when Lily gets these little glimpses into her past, she grabs them with both hands and a white knuckled grip.

She picks up another photo, one from after high school, of Veronica in the hospital, exhausted and elated, holding a sleeping baby Lily wrapped in a white blanket. Three days old. On the back, the day she got her name is written in marker.

“The day I got my name?” she echoes, looking over at Veronica with a raised eyebrow.

“It took a while,” she replies, her hand clenching into a fist. Like a lot of things she tells Lily, it’s a half truth. “But then your grandpa got me those flowers.” She points to the white flowers sitting on the windowsill. “And then I knew your name. Lily.”

“You had nine months to name me.”

“I kept putting it off,” she sighs. “Thought it would come to me naturally.”

Like she said, half true. The full truth is a little more dramatic. Maybe one day she’ll tell her that for months, she was planning on giving her up for adoption, that she crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s agreeing that she’d never have contact with her unless expressly permitted by the adoptive parents, and only on their terms. Maybe she’ll tell her about the sheer panic she felt coursing through her body as the doctors took her away, how she practically screamed for them to wait. And how once they put Lily in her arms, she became a different person.

Maybe one day she’ll tell that story. But for now she strokes her daughter’s hair as she looks through the pictures, her heart hammering against her ribs as she gets closer and closer to one in particular.

“And who’s this?”

There it is. The one that makes her hands tremble and an invisible noose tighten around her neck. No matter how many times she rehearsed this, she knew she’d never be ready. She could say the words over and over until they stopped sounding real, but that doesn’t change anything, not in her heart. It doesn’t stop the pain from crashing down on her, tearing at every scar until she’s bleeding.

“That’s your father.”

Of all the pictures of them, that one’s her favourite. They’re lying on their backs on his bed, her pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek, him laughing and in the middle of telling her something. Probably something about how much he loved her. Worshipped her. It’s funny; when it comes to remembering him, they’re either so sharp and clear that it’s like she’s still seventeen and it’s all happening for the first time, or they’re blurred and rough, the picture blurred and his words faded or entirely silent. But she loves the look on her face in this photo. High on bliss and falling further every day. Back then it didn’t feel like falling. It felt like flying; when he held her hand or whispered words of adoration to her, her feet left the ground and she danced on the air. The two of them danced together, and she was so dizzy she couldn’t see him for who he really was.

“My father,” Lily echoes in disbelief. She turns the photo over in her hands and after a moment’s hesitation, touches her finger to JD’s cheek. Out of every picture, this is the one he looks the most human in and that’s why she showed it to her. “Woah.”

“You have questions,” Veronica says, tucking Lily’s hair behind her ear. Her eyes have doubled in size since those words left her mouth, her lips parted in a never ending sigh.

“Yeah,” she says after a while, the word little more than a whisper. She clears her throat, breaking through the daze she’d fallen into, and lowers the photo. It doesn’t leave her hand though. She looks up at Veronica, excitement sparking in her brown eyes and tugging at her lips. “What was his name?”

“Jason.” His name feels wrong in her mouth, likely because it’s not his name. Not the name she knew anyway. “Jason Dean. I called him JD. We all did.”

“Jason Dean,” she repeats, testing it. She can see why he chose JD instead. Jason wasn’t the name for the rebel outcast, the one who sat above silly girls like her and dumb jocks like Ram and looked down on them with a contempt and self-pride. Jason isn’t the name for the one who saw through the world’s cracks and would built the new society. He chose JD for the same reason he chose his trench coat; to keep control over himself until he could find someone else to control.

Lily swallows heavily, the next question weighing heavily on her mind. Veronica’s hand instinctively runs down her back with a touch she only learned when Lily was born, telling her it’s okay. That she’s okay.

“And… he’s dead.”

“Yeah.” That’s the one thing Veronica has willingly told her about her father, and it’s at least true. She nods stiffly, her chest expanding as she takes a long, deep breath, her eyes shining. She looks at the picture of a long while, her gaze so intense it might burn a hole through the photo.

“Can I ask how he died?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“Yeah,” she repeats, her own voice weak. A heavy weight sits in her chest, crushing her lungs and her heart and making it almost impossible to speak. She closes her eyes tightly, wraps her hand tightly around her daughter’s, and battles through it. Just like she’s done for thirteen years. “He… he killed himself.”

“Oh, Mom.” Lily turns and wraps her arms around Veronica tightly, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Her body shakes against hers and she feels her tears warm on her shoulder. Veronica hugs her back, squeezing her shoulders and kissing her head, and for the first time in a while, doesn’t stop herself from crying. There’s a beautiful relief in crying in front of someone, even if that someone is Lily. She doesn’t feel so isolated anymore, even if she and her daughter are crying for two different reasons. “Mom I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she tells her, cupping the back of her head and tangling her fingers in her hair. Lily pulls back, her eyes still red. “Oh, sweetie.” Since becoming a mother, she’s discovered that there’s a sort of ache in her chest unlike anything she’s felt before that only comes around when she sees Lily hurt. One that feels like someone is hollowing out her insides with a dull knife. She wipes her tears with her hand, rubbing her cheeks gently. Lily looks down at the photo in her hands, her eyes conflicted and holding dozens of questions, ones that Veronica might not have the answer to. At least not the answer she needs to hear.

“Did he know?” she asks in a small voice. “Did he know that I was coming?”

“No.” She’s surprised at the amount of truths she’s telling. And unsurprised at how it’s way harder than lying. She prefers the latter for a reason. “No, he didn’t. Here, look-” She hands Lily another photo, one dated November 2nd, 1989. Her and JD on the couch, her half-asleep on his shoulder, unaware the photo is being taken. Her hair is a mess and her tall frame is folded and curled into a ball.  She knows now why she was so tired that day. “This was two weeks before he… before he died. And you were there.” She taps her stomach in the photo. “I just didn’t know yet.”

Lily nods, her hand clenched into a tight fist, her nails no doubt leaving marls on her palms. It’s a lot to take in, Veronica knows, so she sits with her hand on her daughter’s knee, gently stroking, waiting for her next question with anxiety ticking in her heart.

“What was he like?” she asks finally. “My dad?”

You don’t want to know she thinks.

But she’s prepared for this more than anything else. She’s picked the very best bits of the truth and all her favourite lies.

“Your dad,” she begins, pulling her closer and letting her drape her legs over her lap. “He was so smart. All the teachers hated him because he just gave such amazing answers in class. He could talk or write his way out of anything. And he did.” Lily’s eyes grow wide and gleam with excitement, her mouth falling open in awe and anticipation. Veronica strokes her hair, hiding the sharp pain in her chest. Behind Veronica’s own smile is memories of a draino-stained rug and two boys with bullets in their chests. There’s a bomb in a boiler room and a gun at her chest. Manic eyes and a deranged smile. “He could come up with an excuse for anything.” She clenches her jaw, the words turning from prickling and difficult to outright bitter. “He had all these ideas about how to make the world a better place.”

Just not the right methods. She thinks about it a lot now; how much of it was about making the world a better place and how much was about wanting to watch it burn?

“Tell me more,” Lily urges, biting her lip now. The bed creaks as she shifts onto her knees and bounces, looking up at Veronica expectantly with a tiny hint of an apology on her face. “I mean… if you want.”

“Well… he loved books,” she tells her. “He read all these books in class when he was meant to be working.”

“That’s just like me!” she gasps. Frankly, that’s news to Veronica, since she hasn’t seen her daughter read anything more than the Harry Potter book on her shelf and even that’s generous. There’s nothing she would change about her but she’d also do anything to come home on evening and see her reading instead of watching TV. But she can’t deny her this, not when her eyes are lighting up and she’s grinning so breathlessly and beautifully. Who can it hurt, really?

“The first time he got my attention,” she begins. “He quoted this poet at me. Baudelaire. He saw I had messed up and he told me ‘we’re all born marked for evil’. And then I was like ‘wow’.”

It was more than a wow. In over a decade, she still hasn’t felt anything like it, the rush of heat on her cheeks, the way her gut pulled her towards JD like a magnet. No, she wasn’t the magnet. He was, and she was caught in his field, helpless to beautiful eyes and crooked smiles. Before she even knew his name she was crafting him in her head, desperate to know more about the boy in the long coat who hid behind his books and who seemed to have no fear as he brawled with bullies and jocks. She’d soon learn that there was a lot he didn’t have.

“Baudelaire,” Lily repeats, no doubt saving the word to look up later. “Why did he say that to you? What did you do?”

“That’s a need to know basis,” she replies, tapping her nose lightly. Sure, trading her integrity for popularity is far from the worst thing she’s ever done, but she’ll still keep that as far away as possible. It somehow manages to make her just as ashamed as everything else does. “But once he said that to me I knew. I knew I wanted him.”

“Is that when he asked you out?” she presses. “Or did you ask him?”

“Not exactly,” she says. “I um… I was at this party. And I fell out with my friend. And I left and I was so, so pissed. So I went to his house. He let me stay over.” Her skin prickles with warmth, her mind going back before she can stop herself. His face, his hands on her body and in her hair, his lips on her neck.

“And then…”

“Again, need to know basis,” she tells her, chuckling as she pouts. She’s no doubt sharp enough to work it out for herself. “And that’s when… When it happened. We stayed together after that.” When she started falling and he started loving her.

That’s when everything went to hell.

As Lily leans against her, her head resting on her shoulder, Veronica feels the weight of her mistakes piling up inside her. Heather Chandler. Kurt. Ram. Martha. The whole school, nearly. He was ready to burn it all down, all in her name, out of his twisted kind of love. Sometimes she’ll be nice to herself and tell her it’s not her fault, she couldn’t have known what he was. Other times she’ll remind herself exactly how many people got hurt because of her and her teenage fantasies. Does it matter if she didn’t know?

“Do you still miss him?” Lily asks out of the blue. The question hits her like a bullet and buries itself right in the middle of her heart. Little does her daughter know she has asked herself that question every day since 1989 and she still doesn’t know the answer.

She misses the way he made her feel. She misses the way she’d shiver when he kissed her neck and how safe she felt when he held her, even with the irony. She misses the way he kissed her, desire in every touch and so much passion it made her head spin. She misses him smiling across from her in class and sitting outside at lunch, him rubbing her back while she complained about whatever had annoyed her that day. She misses leaning against him, her cheek on his shoulder as he played with her fingers, the two of them in a soft and comfortable silence where she could forget her problems. Even though he was the one who caused most of them. She misses feeling understood by him and no one else has managed to get close to it.

But she doesn’t miss being afraid. She’s doesn’t miss sitting at Kurt and Ram’s funeral with guilt slithering through her veins, nor does she miss him insisting they did something good. She doesn’t miss him trapping her in his arms in that cemetery, whispering ‘our love is god’. She doesn’t miss how empty and powerless she felt around him, how blindly she would follow him. She doesn’t miss how her mind stopped feeling like her own. She doesn’t miss walking on eggshells around him, every word tinged with anxiety and how scared she was the moment he was out of sight. And she certainly doesn’t miss when she looked in his eyes and saw that there was nothing there.

Most of all, she misses the girl she was before him. She misses the clean conscience and simple life. She misses being reckless and silly, happy without remorse, telling little white lies and daydreaming about a better world. All that died when he did and she’s left with the scars and lessons. She might be wiser but what good has that done her? Some might say it’s better and she might agree, but that doesn’t mean she has to be okay with it.

“Sometimes,” she replies, pressing a kiss to Lily’s head and rubbing her arm. “He’d be really proud of you, you know.”

“He would?” she asks, her face lighting up. She’s confused about almost everything in regard to JD, but she knows there’s one good thing about him being dead. As far as Lily is concerned, her father is whatever Veronica says he is. And if she says he’s the loving dad type whose heart would swell if he could see her now, then that’s exactly what he is.

“Of course he would,” she tells her firmly. “How could he not be?” She tucks her hair behind her ear, tilting her head up to make her look at her, stroking her cheekbones. “Because you, Lily Sawyer are an amazing, smart kid. How could he not be proud of you?” When Lily grins up at her, an excited joy radiating from her face, she can’t help smiling back, even if it doesn’t match what she’s feeling inside. It puts a lid on it for now.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, her face falling as she misses the father she never had. “I wish I could have met him.”

“Of course, baby,” she replies, narrowly avoiding the latter statement and the way it twists her gut. If she had a dollar for every time she wished something about JD, they wouldn’t be living in this little two bedroom apartment.

Lily looks down at the photo again, touching JD’s face, her eyes wide and searching for any likeness between herself and her father. The scene feels so intimate that Veronica feels bad for even being here. Ever since she started planning this, she had debated whether or not she was doing the right thing. And while she’s still not entirely certain she was, she’s as close as she’s ever going to get.

“Mom can I… can I hold onto this?” she asks delicately. “Or just… just one photo of him if I can’t have this one? I’m sorry, I just want something of him.”

“Of course you can, baby.” Lily slides the photo into her jacket pocket, taking more care than Veronica had ever seen before. She slides her arm around her shoulders and hugs her tightly, resting her cheek on the top of her head as she nuzzles into her neck. “I’m glad I told you. You deserve to know about him.”

“Can we talk about him?” she asks. “Like… later. Whenever.”

Her mind jumps to ‘no’. With a pit stop at ‘do you know how much I had to put in to be able to talk about him once’. And a detour to ‘trust me, the less you know about him the better’.

“Of course we can,” is what she says instead, squeezing her hand tightly. “Just… it might be a little hard sometimes.” Lily nods against her, her hair tickling the bottom of her face. Her hand wraps around Veronica’s and grips tightly, the beginnings of anxiety evident in her touch. Veronica kisses her head, her hand trailing up and down her back with a feather light touch.

In a weird, roundabout, stupid way, she’s jealous of Lily. She gets to live with the good version of JD in her mind, the charming and loving boyfriend who would have grown into a devoted dad. Everything she wished he’d been and maybe he could have been if only they had met before.

[bi-lullaby]

I loved your last rankings so much that I'm sending you another fun (?!) challenge! How would you rate all these male GA characters from your favorite to least favorite, no ties allowed? :) Alex, Derek, Richard, Mark, Owen, Jackson, Burke, George, Andrew, Linc and Ben? Good luck, and as always, feel free to include your reasons why because I love your answers!

Ohhh boy you give me life with those asks! Here we go:

1 - As no surprise to anyone: Alex. My baby had the best character development I’ve ever seen, really, brcaus ewhile it was huge, it was also paced and believable and stabilished and non-linear. He was a huge asshole with a concealed heart of gold in season one. In season 15, he’s a golden boy with a concealed asshole side, and the growth/diminishment of those sides weren’t always inversely proportionate, but adjusted to what each characteristic was brought out more by his surroundings/worked more on by himself. Also, he’s the person that has stuck with mer for the longest and through the most, which would put him in a high place in this list even if he wasn’t my favorite on his own. I also adore how, thematically, he’s so moved by the women in his life (bot just the romantic i terests while we are at it) for the betterment of himself and hsi ways. It’s not like Owen’s “I’ll need her to take care of me emptionally and shape herself to my desires so I can be in a good place, it’s recognizing those positive influences in his life and trying to emulate them/work with them/learn from them. Also about his theme, itms less the worn-out “guy is validated in being an asshole bc he had a tough life” and more “guy learns that his tough life doesn’t mean he gotta act like an asshole”. I love this character so much, ugh.

2 - Ben. A freaking Disney prince would be a sleeazy douche in comparison. I was so weirded out when Shobda decided to give so much focus to this random-ass character, then I was really turned off by his storyline with the cutting people open and all that (not necessarily because I thought he was wrong, I just felt the storyline was handled awkwardly and made him sound pelutant and irresponsible instead of a promissing, if stubborn, future surgeon. I’ve yet to watch Station 19, but this angel with a scalpel and a fire hose for wings deserves his own goddamn spin-off, for sure.

3 - My baby Andrew. Yeah, he is not that developed, has been inconsistent, his change from “freaking out over Maggie being his boss” to “marvellung at Meredith’s every movie even though she’s kinda even more his boss because she owns the hospital” was... A B R U P T. But I really enjoy this new Andrew - as a side note: I could not care less for him during the whole Sam storyline, he seemed like a toned down Jonhy Bravo - He’s smart and sweet and funny and worships Mer like the Wonder Woman she is. His relationships with Arizona, Amelia, Jo, Carina and now Alex need more screentime because they’re great (or have the potential to be so). He’s competent and brilliant and selfless (dropping the charges on Alex even if he was completely in the right, taking the blame for mer now) and so tender (his absolute gentleness in peds, taking care of Amy after the operation, being a moody, emotive boy because he lost his love instead of a macho men...). The future holds great things for him, and I’m excited to watch them unfold!

4 - Not on your list but I love: Tom. Boy is he nice. As I was figuring out this order, I realized he reminds me a lot of my favorite character (Dean Winchester) - or at least what I think Dean would be if he was older, richer and lived without the Supernatural World and so many traumas. His talk to April was so moving and I felt it really helped. He doesn’t stand on a moral high horse: He does what he thinks is right and damned be judgment. He’s empathetic, he’s romantic, he treats Teddy RIGHT. He deserves to have his own storyline and be more developed and show us kore of his awesomeness.

5 - Jackson. As I said in my ships rating answer, I’ve only started to care for him recently, but I really do care. He’s not a character I’d, like, write fic about, or long rants and meta, but I love his sibling-esque relationship with Mer and his relationship with Maggie and the way he connects with his mom and how this spoiled, immature transfer with something to prove became a respected, innovative surgeon and father who’s secure of himself and ready to explore different paths and ways and worldviews. I just wish him, and the Grey’s fandom, would be less defensive about the callout of his privileged life. Like. I’ve seen people write paragraphs upon paragraphs about how Maggie was a bitch for calling him privileged. And he is (for his hoards upon hoards of money growing up). That’s not too hard a concept to grasp. Plus, it’d be nice if he could treat Maggie as less of a consolation prize/second chance. Just because faith (or lack thereof) was a source of tension in his previous marriage, and he feels like changing that would have made everything better, doesn’t mean the same applies to his current relationship, or that Maggie is the one who should change -he learned, learned, and is back in square one seeing only his side of it - I really hope this season treats him more kindly and gives him happiness and peace!

6 - Richard. I love him for his parental-and-ish relationships, specially to Maggie, Mer and Jackson, but to Bailey and Callie too. That’s my favorite aspect of him, watching those gives me a nice, warm feeling in my tummy and puts a smile on my face. There’s some aspects of him I find either boring or unpleasant, and I think it’s kinda annoying how him retiring has been a theme/conflict since, like, season one, and fast-foward ten years and he’s basically an entity at the hospital. Like? What? Was the point? You’ve waisted my time? For nothing? But he’s a solid, reliable character you can’t really hate and who brings more good than bad to the show by far. As a side note: one day I will yell at him for his treatment of Maggie after she talked about HER OWN HISTORY and he basically called her a mistake (although he apologized pretty soon and she forgave him so so will I).

7 - Mark. He was great and all that, but never sparked that love some characters did. I was sad when he died, I loved his scenes and relationships, I just am not invested in him. Plus the immaturity in his relationship with Lexie pisses me off a bit, as does his “man whore” personality.

8 - Link. Genuinely love him, he’s been nothing but sweet and kind and fun and helpful this entire time! I cheered for Merlink sooooo much imat first, and I really wish their friendship will be developed! Him and Jo are everything I never knew I needed. He has no arguable flaws besides being so sculped it freaks me out a little bit, but he isn’t higher up in my rank because there isn’t much material for that yet, but expect a climb as he becomes more and more regular.

9 - Burke. He was kinda sweet and did a good thing for Cristina (the hospital). He was also manipulative and arrogant and voundary-crossing in their relationship. I might like him better if it was bot for Burktina, but we will never know.

10 - Owen. Toxic as fuck, annoying, controlling, disgusting. Those are all things that very much apply to Owen in a lot of situations. Screaming at Cristina for “murdering their baby”? YIKES. Big no no. He was not suited for romantic relationships at all and I wish the show would realize that and allow him that space and breathing time without being stuck in a complicated relationship with loads of baggage or a love triangle. Because that’s my whole thing about him: I believe he has room for growth. His relationship with April is pretty amazing, he was always so considerate and gentle with her, all the time, and I want to see more of that bond. He loves kids and can be really good with them, he has a lot of things to work out with the traumas of his father’s death + war + his sister’s story. Why not focus on that? Why not show him growing and processing and bettering himself and living up to the potential he has? I feel like they gave the all the wrong romantic storylines to the character who’s otherwise really good and that’s such a shame because I really enjoyed him at first. Lets see what happens from now on, and if he gets a dose of tv’s “heterosexual love and a nuclear biological family solve everything!” medicine or if this is a turning point for him.

11 - Derek. He never really had any appeal to me. Not his face, not his personality, not his storylines or plot points pr the actor. That’s reason enough for him to rank low, but I also think he had some really bad traits. He was arrogant and condescending and had a God complex and was sexist and pushy and just not great for the people around him. Exploiting Amy’s addiction being outed to steal surgeries? Refusing to give Mer credit on their clinic trial? Putting ultimatums on his girlfriend that she either has to be ready for a full, committed relationship or end things, then call her a slut when she sleeps with other guys after they broke up? Cheating on Addison after deciding to work things out? Stringing mer and addie along? Not saying he was married in the first place? Pushing Mer’s boundaries after she was clearly uncomfortable with having slept with her boss? Refusing to have an inch of empathy for Mer’s action regarding the trial despite her complicated history with the people she was trying to help (who were her friends, actually?)? Telling his depressed girlfriend that she should be concerned the happiest part of his day was flirting with another girl from the bar? Ratting out on Richard to the board because he wanted the spot? Not acknowledging Mer’s trauma after the shooting? Kissing nurse Rose while building the dream house? Kissing his student while being married in NY? Pushing his wife to move and saying his career was more important than his after he had compromised on letting her shine? All things that, isolated, can even be understood on context and “everyone makes mistakes”, but that when put together, make it pretty clear it’s a pattern of someone with very little regard to the people around him. Was he a good surgeon? Yeah. Great father as well. He also had some interesting relationships and iconic scenes, truly, I can recognize that. I hurt for the people he loved and left behind (and I genuinely think he loved them and meant well), but he himself I don’t miss at all.

12 - I think George is the clearest contrast between how old greys handled matters of sexism and gender and sexuality and how it does now. He was such a sleazy nice guy at times, it is unbearable to me. And he ranks lower than Derek because A) His relationships also bored me while Derek’s could pique my interest at times, B) There’s no talk about his mistakes. Remember when he (in his own words) took advantage of Meredith being on a terrible, delicate, vulnerable place (still hiding her mother’s Alzheimer’s and seeing a person be blown to pieces and being dumped by who she thought was the one and being rejected by her father for the second time after seeing him for the first time in tweenty years) and, knowing that she was not interested in him, pursued her, then after she started crying because of the literal pile of shit she was having to carry around (and still trying to preserve his feelings), got mad at her and everyone sided with him? It baffled younger me to bits that what Mer had “done” was so terrible, it has not stoped bafflinn me in the years that have passed since. Can you imagine any of the girls crying during sex because they’re so overwhelmed and feel like that’s a mistake, and the guy freaks out on them and they’re instantly ostracized by the narrative and characters? That’s essentially criticizing her for the right of saying no, of stopping when she doesn’t want to continue, of not giving away her time and feels just because a goofy guy who is her friend feels entitled to them. That’s the word: entitled. He literally says he “saw her first”. How’s that not Nice Guy 101? I would understand his ego being bruised, but the guilt tripping and the bitching and the fact none of that is treated as a fucking creepy thing? Yikes. Also how he treated Callie, who deserved so, so much better. And even Olivia who was perfectly lovely and did nothing wrong besides having sex with more than one guy without breaking either of their trusts because she wasn’t in a relationship with any of them. Did he do some good things? Sure did! Joey’s surgery costs being cut, helping Bailey give birth, some of his interactions with patients were really sweet, and he died giving his life for someone else. It’s just that consequence-less sexism and entitlement that never gets adressed and gets treated as not only valid, but right, that makes him go rom unappealing to downright hated for me. Better left in the past where people can misplacedly idolize him!

Thank you so much for asking, I love those thought-inspiring asks! <3

[basic-banshee]

large black coffee (part 5)

A Carry On Coffeeshop - AU/ College - AU | inspired by this beautiful art.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

I’d never really thought about what a date with Baz might be like, and while this is definitely not what I would have assumed, this is exactly what I would want.

Baz

“Simon, he’s here!”

Bunce is standing in the doorway in front of me and I swear her hair is a different colour than it was two days ago. I can’t see inside the flat because she’s blocking it, and her hands on one hip as she leans against the door. Her eyes are trained on me, going over my frame carefully as if she’s searching me for weapons.

“Is that food?” she asks curiously, eyeing the plastic bag in my hand. I nod.

“Smart man,” she grins, and steps back to grant me access.

Their flat is small but almost impossibly cosy, with a couch and overstuffed chairs pushed into the corner and almost every spare spot littered with books. Snow is on the couch in the corner, his eyes locked on to the TV, where it looks like he’s watching some baking show — or so I assume, until I see him glance sideways at me and then quickly glance back when I catch him.

I drop the food on their kitchen counter and shrug out of my coat. The movement is more difficult than I’d like to admit.

“What’s that?” Snow asks. He’s trying to pretend that he’s not interested.

“Take away,” I respond. “I figured we’d need fuel. There’s enough for you as well, Bunce.”

I shift uncomfortably from my kind gesture. Snow’s eyes are wide, and he’s staring between me and the bag with an expression of pure delight.

I’d expected some kind of reaction — I know Snow loves food, he spends all of class shoving snacks in his face — but I didn’t expect this level of adoration.

“Where are we setting up then?” I say stiffly. I’m deeply uncomfortable. I want to get this going, but this is Snow’s flat. He’s in charge. Normally that sentence would thrill me, but not tonight. I want to kill him. I want to destroy this PowerPoint. I want to burn this entire fucking project to the ground. I don’t even care that I’m here, with Snow, on a Friday night. I’m miserable and nauseated. And my nose is stuffed up.

“Oh, er,” he says. My eyes flick in annoyance. He hasn’t thought this through. 

“I’m going to Agatha’s,” Bunce announces. “The table is yours.” She quickly snaps her laptop closed and gathers up the mess of papers and books spread out in front of it. Suddenly my pulse ticks up. I wasn’t prepared to be alone in Snow’s flat with him. 

She’s out the door before Snow or I have a chance to say anything, and then, suddenly, we’re alone.

Snow is just staring at me. 

I suppose I’ll have to take charge, then.

I drop my bag, pull out my computer, and settle myself at the table. I pull up the ridiculous presentation we’re supposed to be working on, and turn to him.

“I’ve made the basic structure, and done the bibliography. All we really need to do is organise the slides and compile our research together.”

Simon

He showed up with takeaway.

I’d never really thought about what a date with Baz might be like, and while this is definitely not what I would have assumed, this is exactly what I would want.

Not that this is a date. We’re studying. It’s definitely not a date.

If this were a fantasy date, he’d be wearing those joggers. I bet he wears the joggers at home.

This is mental. I’ve got to snap out of this. It’s difficult though; ever since I caught myself admiring Baz, he’s all I can think about. I guess it’s not that different from before. I definitely thought about him a lot. I’d think about his hair that time he had it half up and half down, or how his eyes were the exact colour of a rainy day. 

But now I keep thinking about wanting to to run my hand through his hair. And I think I want to kiss him. That’s definitely new.

I’ve got to stop. He’s over there, half dead, pushing through to get our bloody project done, whilst I’m here, objectifying him. I hate this. I hate him. This is weird. He looks like shit, like he’s going to drop dead at any minute.

Baz

This was a bad idea.

I still feel too sick to take control of the situation. I shouldn’t have agreed to come here. I should have just told him to do his part and send it to me.

At least I managed proper trousers today. 

I still can’t believe I went out in those joggers. I never wear them. But I didn’t have the strength to button my real trousers, and when you’re that sick, you don’t have much capacity for self respect. 

I feel well enough to care today, but I almost wore them again. I spent all day sleeping in the damn things, and I was exhausted when my alarm went off, reminding me that I was to meet Snow, and the idea of putting on real clothing suddenly seemed impossible. And somewhere, in the back of my mind, was that fever-induced hallucination from the other day, wherein I was positive that Snow had checked out my backside.

I wish I had worn the joggers.

Simon

I’ve got to stop staring at him. I have to look absolutely mad. 

I grab my own laptop from the spot on the couch next to me and move to the table. I set up across from him and eye the takeaway. Would it be rude to crack into it first?

He’s already seated and typing away at his laptop, so I decide to go for it. Food calms me. 

“So why are you in this class?” I ask in between shoving three chips in my mouth. He doesn’t even look at me.

“Why are you?” he snaps back. I think he’s tired. He’s not as sharp today, and there are dark circles underneath his eyes.

I shrug.

“No one told me I had to take it first year. I sort of just found out.”

“Your advisor didn’t tell you about the mandatory first year seminar?” 

I shake my head.

“Nah, I ‘spose he had a lot on his mind at the time. Anyway, I only found out when Penny was talking to her younger sister about it, and I realised I hadn’t taken something like that, so, you know, here we are.”

“Your advisor had so much on his mind that he couldn’t do his literal job of telling you what classes you needed to take?”

Baz seems to be hung up on this point. His lip curls up. 

“Incompetent,” he mutters, still looking at his computer. “Who’s your advisor?”

“Professor Mage.”

Baz stops typing and turns to me. He looks seriously pissed.

“Mage? The dean? The dean of the college was too busy to tell you what classes to take.” He’s practically crackling with derision. “Typical. You should have put in for a transfer.”

My hackles go up. Yeah, I was pretty pissed at Mage for forgetting that detail — and I sometimes wonder if there’s anything else about my degree he’s forgotten to tell me — but I feel a bit protective of him. He’s really gone out on a limb for me. 

“Why would I do that? I like Mage. He’s done a lot for me.”

“Like almost cause you to delay your degree?” Baz spits out.

“No, he sponsored my application because I didn’t know any alumni.”

Baz’s fingers have frozen above his keyboard now, and he turns to stare at me.

My stomach drops.

Baz

Snow is the charity case.

I don’t know how I never put this together before. Now that I hear it, it’s obvious. Of course Snow is Mage’s pet project. Who else would be?

Ever since he took over as Dean after my mother’s death, Professor Mage has been on a reform kick. He’s petitioned to lower the graduation requirements to make them less difficult. He’s expanded scholarships, and been on a mission to open up acceptances. And these would be good reforms, if it weren’t for the fact that they were actively devaluing the prestige of the university and destroying the academic excellence that my mother worked hard to achieve.

I’d heard there was a charity case kid in my year, some kid that did not have the grades or scores to get into Watford, who the Mage had picked up in bumfuck London, “sponsored”, and pushed through. 

It was all my father would talk about for a summer, the kid who Mage was determined to push to the top of the class, who would give back to the community, who was going to show how much better Watford would be out of the hands of the wealthy elite.

When my mother was dean, the school was ruled by the elite, I’ll give him that. You needed an alumni connection or some kind of sponsor to get in. But my mother made sure every student deserved to be here based on merit. No one bought their way in.

“Mage sponsored you?” I repeat quietly. Simon shrugs.

“Yeah. He gave me a huge chance. I’m not going to give him grief for forgetting one class.”

“Is that why you’re an English concentration? Because Mage teaches English?”

Simon shrugs again.

“A bit. He suggested it, and it seemed like the most sensible route.”

“So why were you in Statistics last year?”

I can’t help myself, I know I’m interrogating him, but I’m just so unbelievably shocked by this turn of events. Snow is the charity case. The kid who doesn’t deserve to be here.

That isn’t even what pisses me off, honestly. It’s his dedication to Mage.

Professor Mage is a self-important prick who has spent years destroying my mother’s legacy, and Snow is practically licking his boots. Does Snow just do everything he’s told, even when he know it’s not in his best interest? Or does he just hero worship Mage?

And not to mention I’ve now let slip that I remember him from before the cafe, that I remember him from that class. No wonder he struggled in it.

He’s flushing though. His ears are turning red and he’s staring at the table, and he’s getting flustered because he’s starting to sputter.

“I... I had to take maths”

“Why not take the same entry level maths all the Humanities kids take?”

“Because, well, it was full, and—“

“Because Mage told you to.”

“So?”

“Because he wanted you to succeed outside your element and prove you deserve a spot here.”

“What’s wrong with wanting me to succeed?” He shouts. He’s pushed back from the table, and he’s breathing heavily.

Simon

This absolute prick. This complete, utter, absolute fucking prick.

I knew his mum was the dean here before; as soon as I heard his name I knew. Mage talks about his mum all the time, about how elitist and classist she was.

Penny thinks Mage is actually a bit sexist and racist, especially when he gets on those rants, but I’ve told her that he just wants to make the school more accessible. He’s not shutting people out, he’s helping people get in.

“So far our great ‘diversity champion’ is a white man who has thus far lowered our acceptance requirements, overloaded student housing, accepted students who can’t keep up, and replaced our one-on-one, analytical, research-heavy, tutor-based classes with huge lecture classes designed to teach kids how to make power points,” Penny snapped back. I know she was just quoting her mum though, because her mum has said the exact same thing.

Penny doesn’t like Mage, and it’s been a bit of a stressor in our relationship, but at least Penny believes in me. Even if he got me in as a test case, I’ve done well. I’ve done really well, even considering when I make a total muck of things. I dig in, and I always get myself out of my messes.

And now here’s fucking Baz, who got in on his name, who doesn’t know shit about me, who’s demeaning that success.

He’s gone quiet again, but his eyes are still burning.

“And did you succeed in Statistics?” He asks quietly. I flush. He knows I didn’t. He watched me flounder all term until Penny helped me squeak by.

“Why did you apply to Watford?” He asks suddenly. I don’t even have a chance to tell him off for making fun of my maths incompetency, because I’m so thrown.

“What?”

“Why Watford?”

“My... I was told to. Someone suggested it to me.”

“Do you always do what you’re told?” He sneers. “Your parents must have been very proud, to find a way to get you in here and then set you off. Did you choose this, or did they decide for you? Have they told you what you’ll be doing after graduation? Has Mage told you?”

I could kill him. My hands are shaking like they haven’t shook in years, and I’m ready to throttle him.

“I applied here because I aged out of the care home and wanted to go to uni, and my social worker said I had great scores and was a good candidate for a scholarship Watford was offering. I don’t know what I’m doing after graduation. I focus on things one step at a time.”

I meant to shout it, but it comes out quiet.

I’m glad I didn’t throttle him, because my even, level voice has shocked him far more than my fists ever could.

Baz

I’m an absolute prick. A complete, utter, absolute fucking prick.

Simon

He’s still staring at me, his grey eyes wide, and I just need him to say something. 

I see that he feels bad. I can tell, he’s realising he went too far, but then it’s shifting, and I know what’s about to come. I know his face is about to change to pity, and I won’t take pity, not from him.

Baz

“I got in here because my mum used to be the dean. I had perfect scores, but even if I didn’t, I would have gotten in.”

I don’t know why I’m saying this. But I feel like I have to do something, say something to show that I know I went too far. It would be better to just apologise, but I don’t know how to do that.

“I didn’t take this class because I thought it was stupid and I assumed I could get an exemption because of who I am, but Mage wouldn’t let me.”

Simon

I was not expecting this.

“You’re an elitist prick,” I say.

Baz

“Yes I am,” I say slowly. “And you speak like a Neanderthal.”

Simon

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” I have no idea what’s happening, but Baz nods.

“Yes, it is.”

“You can’t even say it,” I say. “You can’t even apologise without insulting me.”

Baz

“Do you want me to be nice to you? Do you want me to congratulate you on pulling yourself up through hard work, and apologise for making shitty assumptions about your background?”

He nods.

“Yeah, actually, that would be great.”

“I’m not going to apologise for not liking Mage. Sponsorship or no, he’s not doing you any favours by forgetting about your education until he needs to shove you into a difficult position to make him look good.”

“It’s just maths. It’s not like he asked me to go slay a dragon.”

“Simon, he pushed you into a class you had no business being in, which could have severely impacted your grades and kept you from graduating. Do you see me in a creative writing class? No. Because it’s outside of my skill set.”

Simon

“I bet you’d be good at it,” I say. It pops out before I can help it. This entire thing has been mental. We were supposed to be working on a project, and instead we shouted at each other about the academic prestige of a fucking university and then I told him I’m a fucking orphan, and now we’re arguing about maths. This is insane. This is so fucking insane.

“What?” He says. He sounds a bit dense. It’s not his usual reply.

I shrug.

“I’m just saying, you’d probably be good at it. You’re good at literally everything else.”

I flush a bit. I didn’t intend to compliment him.

“No I’m not,” he says. I laugh.

“What are you bad at?”

“Being nice.”

I blink. But then I shrug.

“I dunno, you’re pretty nice to me.”

Baz

What kind of world did Simon Snow grow up in if he thinks I’m a nice person?

“No, I’m not,” I say slowly. “I’m actually pretty terrible to you. You’re the one who’s nice to me.”

Simon looks stumped. His mouth is hanging open and I want to shove up out of this chair and bite it. I would jump him right this moment, if I wasn’t having a bit of disassociation from my overdose of cold syrup.

“How about we just try being nice to each other, then?” he says. 

And then he smiles. 

And he kisses me.

[harkasun]

Okayy so I recently ruined my life by watching like 14 years of a tv show in less than a month. So now, yes, I sold my soul to the one and only supernatural fandom (courtesy of @downworlderss)

I just got a couple of remarks for this show and none of it had any structure or order so here we go.

*MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ALL THE SEASONS*

This show fucking ruined me, binge-watched seasons 1-12 in about 4 weeks, my pinterest board had over 700 pins in like a week afterwards

It started off genuinely creepy and then kinda digressed and idk if I just got desensitised or what

John Winchester is a terrible father

Bobby Singer is an amazing father

I was really confused when season 5 ended because I still had 6 more dvds (and season 12 on amazon prime cause I couldn’t get the freaking dvd because being British sucks sometimes) and I thought it was ending at season 5 because DEAN WAS FINALLY HAPPY DAMNIT

It was about season 7 when I got a new pair of glasses ‘cause my eyesight got worse and made the realisation that JENSEN ACKLES HAS FRECKLES WHAT

Called it that Chuck was God from the moment I saw him- he literally fucking told them he was a god come onnn

Dean’s contact name for Castiel in season 11 or 12 or whatever better be a fucking joke because it’s Cas not Cass

I thought I couldn’t hate Metatron more and then he goes and spells his name with a double S and I decided he needed to die

The subtitles also say Cass (on amazon anyway) and.. just no, okay? It’s CAS

Cried when Cas killed Balthazar

Kevin’s life went to absolute shit and idk if it was terrifying or hilarious

THE FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN J2 AND MISH IRL YES

Naomi is actually the worst, why do more people not hate on her? She tortured Cas and I am not okay with that I was happier when she died than when Metatron did I’m not joking

Sam kinda breaks my heart

THE WINCHESTER RELATIONSHIP SAM AND DEAN HAVE SUCH BROTHERLY COMPASSION DIE FOR EACH OTHER ALWAYS

Gadreel was decent, okay? I think I genuinely liked him and I don’t care.

I mean I know he killed Kevin but still

CROWLEY OWNS THE FREAKING MOON

Cas, honey, you’re a wonderful person/angel but mannn do you fuck up sometimes, I mean seriously

Misha Collins is a fucking incredible human being and his acting skills give me goosebumps I’m deadly serious. What with Cas and Crazy!Cas and Castifer and Godstiel and Levi!Cas and MetaMisha I have so much respect for this man and he is a national treasure.. of America.. damnit

I threw something when Charlie died

Lucifer is actually really cute (mainly just when he’s in Sam’s head though) but yeah, I think I love satan is this an issue

Okay but sometimes it hits me that Jared and Jensen and Misha are just three middle-aged dads running around pretending to stab things and smite demons I think that’s beautiful

I think I cried when the angels fell I can’t remember

Fuck Adam, I don’t care about him honestly- if he comes back he’s gonna be a crazy bitch- we should all just forget about him like the boys did

I’m pretty sure Mary Winchester is actually a terrible mother

Jody Mills is a fucking incredible mother, she’s like mum bobby

Season 12 made me hate my own nationality because THE BRITISH MEN OF LETTERS CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES OKAY I was so happy when the freedomsquad rolled in with their whiskey and flannel and UGHH it was so good to see Britain fall, okay?

Apart from Mick, he was okay… before he died

Okay, but the season 12 finale

I WAS SOBBING FOR A SOLID 14 MINTUES

I HAD TO LEAVE MY HOUSE I WALKED UNTIL I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE I WAS

TURNED OUT I WALKED 6 MILES FROM MY HOUSE SO I HAD TO WALK 6 MILES BACK

12 MILES BECAUSE OF CAST-FUCKING-IEL

Dean’s reaction made me wanna throw myself off a bridge

I didn’t even care about the Nephilim by that point

Just Cas’s relationship w/ Dean (I am neutral ground between platonic and destiel atm) but whatever you think you cannot deny that these two fucking love each other and it’s just so damn beautiful

JIMMY NOVAK IS THE BEST FATHER IN THIS THING

The Novak storyline just makes me cry

Lucifer Cas was genuinely disturbing at times but this fucking line is now my life

Actually so many things Castifer says and just the way Misha portrays all of the alter egos. It’s just amazing.

When we’re introduced to Levi!Cas Misha freaking Collins wtf how do you do that crazy thing with your eyes that makes you look like a completely different person

When Dean calls Cas his brother and says ‘i want you to know that’ is so fucking important to me because this wonderful being has been hunted by his angel brothers and sisters and Dean Winchester does not idly throw around a word like brother this scene was so special

Assbutt

Castiel’s wings scorched onto the ground just hit me so fucking hard and goddamnit it I can’t deal with that because he’s actually dead

Just… Castiel

-I’ll probably think of a load more this show man…

UPDATE:

HOW THE FRICKATY FRACK DID I FORGET GABRIEL

The car scene with Gabe and Cas and the parallels between them and the Winchester boys

BITCH PLEASE YOU’VE BEEN GOD MORE OFTEN THAN DAD HAS

I don’t think I stressed Balthazar enough because his death and the fact that Cas did it killed me.. and him

Crowley crowley crowley crowley

These boys are frustrating as fuck sometimes get your damn feelings sorted out you are brothers for fucks sake love each other always

It’s just when they’re like ‘oh we can’t be brothers anymore how could you do that to me’ and I’m sat there thinking ‘YOU LITERALLY DID THE SAME EXACT THING TO HIM LAST FUCKING SEASON COME ON’

Alsooo when Cas is Castifer everyone just seems to forget that, hello, CAS IS BEING POSSESSED BY LUCFIER DO YOU WANNA KEEP HIM SAFE IS HE YOUR FRIEND OR WHAT. And then Dean goes ‘what about Cas’ and I’m marginally satisfied

This scene

LOVED THIS SCENE

I always love Lucifer until he goes after Cas and then I hate Lucifer and when he’s doing something else I love him again

This is not devil worship

Sam’s exasperation and the bitch face is honestly so funny to me I have no idea

SASSTIEL

The fact that Cas thinks so little of himself that the only way he believes he can be ‘of use’ to the boys is BY ENDLESSLY SACRIFICING HIMSELF

STOP CAS

YOU’RE FUCKING LOVED

Also the way Dean screams Cas’s name and how Sam has to drag him back through the portal to their side in the season 12 finale PFFFH don’t even get me started

So is Gabe alive or what?

So is Cas alive or what?

SO AM I ALIVE OR WHAT

UPDATEUPDATE

The storyline with Hannah and Cas was SO uncomfortable

Like, they’re literally siblings and the whole weird half-romantic subplot was just... ergh

I’m so fucking hyped for season 13, give me scooby-doo spn and I sure hope it’s Gabriel because, honestly, who else would put them in scooby-doo, pleaseeee give me richard speight jr

I’ve been reading a ton of fanfic, this has ruined me. There’s this wonderful author on fanfic.net called 29pieces who does amazing fics and they’re my life now

Cas’s eyes yes please give me the sky

Spn is creepy ass monsters and traumatizing characters and heartbreaking scenes

But sometimes they just throw in a crack episode and they keep me sane, honestly. I would be in a limitless pool of tears if not for the crack eps and the gag reels

THE GAG REELS

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITES HE GOES FROM CAS TO MISHA IN LIKE A SINGLE SECOND

Back to sadness

CAS’S FACE AFTER METATRON SAYS ‘he’s dead too’

And he sees dean’s blood on the angel blade

HEARTBREAKING NO THANK YOU

SEASON 9. MAKES. ME. SO ANGRY. HOW DARE SAM AND DEAN HUNT WHILE CAS IS HOMELESS AND COLD AND A L O N E

I’m so sad about Cas being homeless because Misha and oh my god

Future!Cas also makes me sad because I know it’s funny and all to see Cas high but thinking about the road that led him there is not

Thinking about Cas’s depression that led him to drug abuse keeps me up at night

I NEED CHUCK TO TELL CAS HE’S HIS FAVOURITE BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY PLEASE

My angel feels inadequate and I cannot handle that today 

Everything about Cas just makes me sad

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Faith- Part 2

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,337

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

Part One

The whole room was covered in pages upon pages upon pages of research about heart care. You were getting nowhere but you were by yourself in this. You decided to shut Sam out and be by yourself in one room while Sam was in another. You really needed help and even though he might not answer, you gave him a call.

This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. He’s with a woman named Y/N. 866-907-3235. They can help, they always help.

“John? I don’t know if you’ll get this but in the hopes that you do, please call me back. It’s Dean. He’s dying and I really need your help. The doctors say they can’t do anything for him but they obviously don’t know the things we know. John, I can’t lose him. I love him and I need him alive. Please, if you can help, call me back. If you can’t help, still, call me back. I really want you here. But I will make him better. I’ll do whatever it takes to make him better. I just thought that maybe you should know about this.”

The voicemail cut you off but you were done anyways. You sighed and hung up, too much in your thoughts to hear someone knocking. You were crying but you didn’t care if anyone saw.

“Sweetheart?” Your head popped up at the sound of Dean’s voice and you got up, opening the door. You let more tears fall because he wasn’t looking too good anyways. No matter the state Dean was in, he was always beautiful. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie and he never wears a hoodie.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” You looked behind him to see Sam not looking at you. You took Dean’s hand and pulled him inside the room you were in and pulled him into a hug, careful to not hurt him.

“I checked myself out.”

“What, are you crazy?” You pulled back and looked up at him.

“Well, I'm not going to die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot. Plus, you were here and I needed to see you.”

“Dean, I’m trying my best to help. I don’t know what Sam came up with but I couldn’t think of anything. I’m so sorry.” You looked down, letting more tears fall.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean said, wincing as he cupped both of your cheeks. “I am not going anywhere. Please don’t blame yourself on this. I wouldn’t want that on you.” He wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

“I don’t know what else to do.” You said, defeated.

“Uh, guys, I found something.” Sam said, knowing on the door. You held Dean’s hand and helped him out of the room where you helped him get seated. You wouldn’t leave his side.

“I've been scouring the Internet for the last three days. Calling every contact in Dad's journal.” Sam said, getting started.

“For what?” Dean asked.

“For a way to help you. One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“You're not going to let me die in peace, are you?” Dean sighed.

“We’re not letting you die, period. I don’t care if this is the craziest idea ever but we’re going.” You said, leaving no room for debate.

It was lightly raining when you arrived at your destination. The road was really gravelly, making every bump and turn painful for Dean. You were sitting in the back seat but you had a hand on Dean’s shoulder to let him know you were there and that you weren’t going anywhere. There was a small, white tent outside and people gathering around, going inside it. Whatever was inside was really important according to Sam and Joshua.

Sam was the one driving and once he parked, you were out of the car and opening the door for Dean. You paused, letting him look around and you took the opportunity to do the same.

“Sam, where are we?” Your eyes landed on a sign that read: The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle.

“A place where we can get help.” Sam said simply, coming around the car and starting to help Dean out of it.

“I got you.” Sam tried to help.

“I got it.” Dean said angrily, pushing his brother away. You frowned at Dean's tone because you knew Dean hated feeling helpless and useless. He hated having other people help him do things he could easily do himself.

“Here,” You said, walking over to Dean and holding out your hand for him to take. Dean looked at you and sighed, grabbing your hand and you helped him out of the car since he was really weak.

“Man, you are a lying bastard. Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.” Dean said. Apparently, he saw the sign you saw.

“I believe I said a specialist. Look, Dean, this guy's supposed to be the real deal.” Sam said, walking besides you and Dean.

“I can't believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.” Dean scoffed, looking around at the different people there. A woman passed, holding an umbrella and stopped in front of you.

“Reverend LeGrange is a great man.” She passed by without another word.

“Yeah, that's nice.” Dean said, pissed off. You sighed and held onto his arm. You walked past an angry man who was talking with a cop.

“I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud and he's milking all these people out of their hard-earned money.” The man said, frustrated. You wondered, by the different things people are saying, if this man is the real deal or not.

“Sir, this is a place of worship. Let's go. Move it.” You watched as they walked away and you sighed. You weren’t a believer of God but some people were and they took that very seriously.

“I take it he's not part of the flock.” Dean commented on the man.

“When people see something they can't explain, there's controversy.” Sam said, walking closer to the tent.

“I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer?” Dean said, skeptical.

“Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean.” Sam said, looking at his brother.

“You know what I've got faith in? Reality; knowing what's really going on.”

“Dean, please don’t say that.” You weren’t going to accept the fact that he will die. You had to do something.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? That I won’t die? That I don’t believe in some faith healer? This is all crap!”

“How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see every day?” Sam said. You weren’t a skeptic but you weren’t a believer. It was complicated.

“Exactly. We see them, we know there real.” Dean argued.

“But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too?” You asked gently. You didn’t want Dean yelling at you again.

“Because I've seen what evil does to good people.” Dean said sadly. He was talking about his mom and his dad. They were good people and they didn’t deserve the things that happened to them.

“Maybe God works in mysterious ways.” A mysterious woman said. You and the boys turned to her and she smiled.

“Maybe he does. I think you just turned me around on the subject.” Dean smirked. You looked at him to see him checking her out. You let go of him and sighed to yourself. What did last night and this morning mean to him? Apparently, nothing.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” The girl smiled knowingly.

“I'm Dean. This is Sam and that is Y/N.” Dean said, holding out his hand for her to shake. The same hand that you were holding.

“Layla. So, if you're not a believer, then why are you here?” She shook his hand and smiled at Sam and then at you.

“Well, apparently, my brother here believes enough for the both of us.” He didn’t mention you and you frowned at that.

“Come on, Layla. It's about to start.” You saw an older woman put an arm around Layla’s shoulder. The woman took her away and inside the tent. You followed them, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

“Well, I bet you she can work in some mysterious ways.” You heard Dean say. You grew angry at his words. What did those moments mean to him? Was he just waiting for someone better to come along and waste his time with you?

The tent was filled with a lot of people, taking seats all over. You saw seats in the back and was about to sit there when you saw a security camera in the corner of the tent. Yeah peace, love and trust all over.

“No, come on.” Sam pushed past you, dragging Dean behind him.

“Don't! What are you doing? Let's sit here.” Dean pleaded, looking to the back.

“We're sitting up front.” Sam said.

“What? Why?’ You whispered hastily and followed the boys to three empty seats behind Layla and the older woman who you assumed was her mom.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Dean growled out. “This is ridiculous.” You saw Sam trying to help his brother out, placing his hands all over Dean’s body.

“I'm good, dude, get off me.” Dean shrugged his brother off. You followed the boys and Sam got in first, and Dean let you go second so Dean had the aisle seat. You saw as a blind man made his way to the stage with his wife, smiling at the crowd.

You never met a blind person but heard once the eyesight was gone, all other senses were heightened. You assumed the blind man was Roy because that is who everyone was dying to see. No pun attended.

“Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it? Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act. But, I say to you, God is watching.” As he was talking, your eyes shifted over to the table onstage. It was filled with religious items. You noticed a weird looking wooden cross that is topped by a smaller cross in a circle. It was strange to look at but Roy talking brought you back to reality.

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt. It is the Lord who does the healing here friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts.” Roy smiled.

“Yeah, and into their wallets.” Dean whispered to you and Sam.

“You think so, young man?” Roy said to Dean. You and the rest of the crowd immediately fell silent. Everyone was staring at you and Dean. You hated attention.

“Sorry about that.” Dean said a little louder.

“No, no, don't be. Just watch what you say around a blind man, we've got real sharp ears,” Roy chuckled. “What’s your name, son?”

“Dean.” Dean said hesitantly. You had no idea what was going to happen.

“Dean. I want-I want you to come up here with me.” Your eyes widened as the crowd started cheering. Your eyes scanned all the happy faces in the crowd but stopped when you landed on Layla and her mother. Her mother seemed to be glaring at Dean and Layla sad.

“No, it’s okay.” Dean said.

“What are you doing?!” Sam whispered hastily to his brother.

“You've come here to be healed, haven't you?” Roy wondered.

“Well, yeah, but, uh, maybe you should pick someone else.” Dean said, not wanting the attention on him.

“Dean, maybe he might be able to do something.” You whispered to him.

“Oh, no. I didn't pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Roy smiled.

“Get up there!” Sam said excitedly. Dean reluctantly got up and he looked very unsure of this. Sue Ann helped him up to the stage and she was smiling. She helped Dean walk over to Roy and you couldn’t take your eyes off Dean. When Dean thought something was fishy, it usually was. You didn’t know why the alarm bells were ringing off but they were.

“You ready?” Roy smiled.

“Look, no disrespect, but uh, I'm not exactly a believer.” Dean said.

“You will be, son. You will be,” Roy said with a smile. “Pray with me, friends.” He said to the crowd. Everyone in the crowd lifted their arms up and you watched what would happen on stage. You bit your lip as Roy lifted his hands into the air and placed one on Dean’s shoulder and one on the side of his face.

“Alright now. Alright now.” Roy muttered. Dean’s eyes became glassy and his knees buckled underneath him. He fell to the ground on his knees but when Roy took his hand off his face, Dean closed his eyes and fell to the floor.

“No! Dean!” You yelled, running on stage and getting next to him. You heard another pair of footsteps and Sam was right next to you. You lifted Dean’s head and tears started streaming down your face.

“What the hell did you do to him?!” You cried, looking at Roy. The crowd wouldn’t stop clapping but you didn’t know what was happening to Dean. You looked back at Dean and touched his face, hoping he would wake up. Suddenly, Dean shot awake and he sat up.

“Dean!” You let out a relieved breath. You put your head on his chest and was thanking whoever that he was awake. You didn’t know if he would be better but he was awake and that was good. You pulled away and looked up at Dean who was looking behind you. You looked there but didn’t see anything. You needed the get him to a hospital and fast. You needed to know if he was okay or not.

Part Three

Masterlist // Series Rewrite Masterlist // Buy me a Coffee?

Series Rewrite tags:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging

Forever tags:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes

Dean tags:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie

Other tags:

@jensen-jarpad @notnaturalanahi @deathtonormalcy56 @27bmm