#and it was back before i lost all faith in the cops

[malfiora]

Characterization Compendium

Key

Star sign: (canon vs. inspiration) traits from that sign that fit with this character

Canon = this is the character's sign based off their official/generally accepted birthday

Inspiration = this is the sign that this character reminds me of, and here's why

Colors are based off the elements each sign could be:

Air • Water • Fire • Earth

Batfam

Bruce

Walks the razor's edge between light and dark and develops an unhealthy but necessary dependence on his kids (particularly Dick) to stay grounded in the light.

Loves his kids, loves being around them, will never say this to them unless he's on the brink of death but there are signs. Loves them all equally but treats them differently based on personality, age, and background, which is often mistaken as him playing favorites (it's not).

Pisces: (canon) works well with any other sign, creative, deeply emotional and intuitive, hates being inauthentic, shuts down when hurt or slighted, nonconfrontational (in relationships not in the field lol – he'd rather ignore the problem than have a difficult conversation about it)

Immutable personal moral code but demonstrates mental flexibility (or cognitive dissonance) toward others, especially his allies.

I go back and forth between Catholic, Jewish, and agnostic for him.

Dick

Extremely observant, which manifests as intuition. This means that both his deductive reasoning skills and ability to read others are par excellence. In social settings, he won't vocalize this process (depending on the context he may not even realize he's doing it) but will react to whatever he reads. Others read this as charm (or intimidation).

Talent for leadership despite working more efficiently alone. Both his charisma and experience make people naturally turn to him, and a deep seated compulsion to meet others' expectations means he often does take the lead.

Relationships: Barbara is one of his best friends before anything else; Jason is his (the one he gave the mantle of Robin to, the person who first shifted his identity toward mentor/big brother); Tim is the first he got to mentor; Damian is the son-brother (the one he raised and dotes on)

Scorpio: (canon? inspiration) [I will die on this hill] charismatic, manipulative, deeply and darkly emotional (some may say broody), fiercely protective of loved ones to the point of avenging them, holds grudges probably longer than he should, will lash out when hurt but feel bad about it

Barbara

Used to dealing with men who have strong feelings about everything (i.e. Dick and Bruce) and not being taken seriously (first year or so as Batgirl, then later dealing with people's perceptions of her while disabled) so nothing phases her. Still, she has some insecurities, which she overcomes with sheer force of will that projects strength. Ultimately, she'd rather suffer in silence.

Doesn't completely agree with all of Bruce's ideologies (leading to some friction between her and Dick), especially around killing since her father's a cop. But they align enough to be allies. She respects Bruce and believes in Batman.

Aquarius: (inspiration) Follows her own inner compass, pulls away the more someone tries to control her, enjoys engaging in mental exercises

Jason

As Robin, he was constantly caught in the tension of living up to Dick's example and wanting to be considered his own person. He always treated Robin with reverence and tried to do everything by the book. His own trauma and Bruce's guilt have convinced them both that Jason was a "problem" – he wasn't. He took school and his material comforts seriously because he never had them, so he was a tidy kid and a great student. Critical thinking skills that he honed from reading classic lit.

As Red Hood, he's now torn between living his own life/principles and begrudgingly wanting to regain Bruce's trust/faith if not his love. (He's never lost Bruce's love, but he has yet to accept this.)

When he came back to Gotham, he was pissed that his death seemed to change nothing: Joker was still alive, Batman had a new Robin, and crime was still everywhere. He took matters into his own hands. He still believes his way is better than Bruce's but recognizes that it's futile to pursue his vision with the Batfam still around. If he thinks he can get away with it, he'll kill someone he thinks deserves to be killed (e.g. someone who hurts children, sexual assault perp)

Leo: (canon) headstrong, charismatic leader who attracts people to him even if he doesn't try/want to/understand why, can be insecure about why people like him (are they just using him/wanting something from him, or so they genuinely like him?), protective of those closest to him, he'll talk a lot of shit but it actually takes a lot to provoke him to act, but when he does it's vicious and you'll feel like you deserved it

(Additional context)

Tim

Burnt out gifted kid who was adultified as a teenager because he had to basically raise an adult (i.e. help piece together again Bruce's mental health). Middle kid syndrome – used to being ignored and uses it to his advantage. Often manipulates (or tries to) the others to enact some plan. Pretty shameless

Libra: (inspiration) rigid sense of justice and morality, good judge of character

Knows a lot of random stuff because it's helpful for a case but kinda clueless about anything else, great at deductive reasoning. Lives to terrorize Dick (sometimes) and Jason (always), while genuinely trying to be a good big brother to Damian and Duke.

I usually envision Tim as middle/upper class east/southeast Asian, which comes with a few features: private tutors, attending a private or magnet school, expected to go to college; additionally, some cultural practices that Tim doesn't take too seriously since his family is multi-gen American. He def has a jade Buddha necklace somewhere at home.

Cassandra

Doesn't speak often, preferring to listen and use nonverbals. Has strong opinions about things. Protective of her adoptive family, enjoys participating in shenanigans if only because she's included.

I want to learn more about Cass and think harder about how I want to write her, doesn't stop me from trying.

Taurus: (inspiration) strong opinions that take a lot of energy to change, reliable, trustworthy, stoic

Steph

Keeps things lighthearted but doesn't forgive very easily. She and Bruce have a shaky relationship due to his (perceived) lack of trust in her but she keeps things positive due to her love and respect for Barbara, Cass, and Tim.

Extremely resourceful, solid investigative and deductive reasoning skills, dedicated to the mission, fiercely loyal but also independent.

It can't be overstated how much I respect Stephanie's ability to fill a role, on top of her creating her own.

Sagittarius: (inspiration) down for adventure, has her own set of principles and doesn't follow people who don't adhere to hers or at least have their own, impulsive, good with money, regrets nothing

Damian

Projects self confidence, which is mostly authentic, but he has some deep insecurities around living up to the expectations and examples of everyone who came before him. Extremely independent but protective of those who rely on him / he cares about.

Inevitably acts like a child when it comes to mature topics, feeling strong emotions, and wanting to form connections with others (particularly caretakers). Strict vegetarian due to his respect for life, was raised Muslim and maintains some of the cultural practices.

Leo: (canon) Very much an August Leo – somehow attracts others to him regardless of how he feels about it, no need for external validation (although it's nice to hear), respects competence

Duke

Simultaneously has a lot to prove and needs no one's approval. He cannot sit by when he has the power to do something. Exercises probably the most emotional intelligence and self awareness of the Batfam. Doesn't fully see himself as part of the Batfam, and definitely feels guilty about being "chosen" when his other WAR friends were discarded

Def uses his Black card when it makes life easier or funnier for him. Similarly, he plays up being a metahuman to garner sympathy or whatever from the others. Deep down, he's insecure about his powers because he doesn't know many other folks with powers who can help him train.

Leo: (canon) charismatic leader who attracts people to him, independent, doesn't care about what people think of him because he knows himself, knows exactly how to be annoying

[tittyinfinity]

Sometimes I forget about the time I was almost killed by a sniper because of a fight between two other people

[hexastitchimera]

Genuine observation, no sass and no disrespect, but being someone who is chronically OFFline & an active volunteer/activist for over a decade, and seeing what people say is "crucial discourse" online is... Quite the trip, honestly.

[yxxdel]

𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 FT. LEON KENNEDY 𖦹°‧ ** leon remember your first and last encounter

W/C : 650

C/W : mention of death/blood/zombies

𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟎, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟖. It was the day Leon Kennedy would never forget. The cop inside him died that day. His heart died that day. Because he lost faith in humanity.

Because he lost you.

Leon sighed as he leaned back against his couch, closing his eyes. It has been six years since that day, since your death.

At night, he did have nightmares of those monstrous creatures, but he also dreamed of you.

He dreamed of your smile when you first met; he dreamed of your light chuckle at his stupid joke, even though the hell you two were in, your lips softly kissing his…

He grinned sadly, alone in his apartment, putting his hands over his face. How pathetic he was, he thought, for still thinking of you even after all those years…

“Are you a cop ?”

Your voice echoed in the car as he showed you a little proud smile.

“Yeah, Leon Kennedy. And you ?”

You smiled at him, but you were still scared about what was happening in the city.

Leon thought your name suited you well- a lovely name for a lovely woman.

And your smile, God, he wished he knew you sooner because now he wanted to see it every day. But unfortunately, the situation didn’t give any hope to smile.

Grunting in pain, you fell to the ground as your hand held your stomach. Sensing you weren’t behind him anymore, Leon rushed by your side with a worried expression.

“No, no..”

He pressed his hands on your injury, his blue eyes scanning your face.

“Are you okay ? Can you walk ? Come on, we’re almost there.”

He said, he sounded desperate.

Because this was supposed to be his first day, and it turned out to be a hell. But at least he was with you, you, who were just a survivor. You who stuck by his side.

“Leon..”

You whispered with a soft smile, one bloody hand cupping his cheek. He shook his head; he didn’t want to believe it.

“It’s too late, go before it’s too late for you too. Please.”

He pressed harder, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Bullshit. I’m picking you up, there’s no way I’m leaving you here—“

You cut him off by pressing your lips gently against his, offering him a sweet kiss. His body froze, trying to understand what was happening.

Your tears mixed with his as you pulled away, your thumb caressing his cheek.

“I won’t forgive myself if you die, please, save yourself when you still can.”

He rested his forehead against yours at your words, closing his eyes.

“No, I-I must save you.”

The sounds of the groans of the contaminated people got closer, and you gently pushed him away.

“Leave, now.”

You stood up with difficulty, blood was still coming out of your injury as you paled even more. He watched you with his ocean eyes, whispering your name.

Then, when the zombies arrived where you two were, you jumped on them with open arms so they wouldn’t reach Leon.

You screamed in pain as you felt your skin be eaten, your eyes meeting his scared ones.

“Please, run away. For me.”

Those were your last words, before you closed your eyes. Leon wanted to scream, raising his gun. But deep inside, he knew it was too late.

So, with the heart heavy, he ran away. His blurry vision caused him to fall a few times, but he kept running.

For you. You gave your life for him, so he swore he would live for you.

Opening his eyes, he exhaled through his nose as he straightened on his couch.

He got a call today for a new mission. He was supposed to save the president’s daughter.

And he promised, to whom well, he himself didn’t know, that he would succeed in this mission in one piece.

Like he has sworn to do since your death.

For you.

[starshipsofstarlord]

JJ’s Sugar Mama Pays His Bail

Summary -> JJ’s sugar mama Y/N pays his bail, but he isn’t as grateful as she expected him to be. And so she makes him sorry (1.6k)

Warnings -> 18+ minors dni pleeeaassseeee, smut, oral sex (f receiving), angst, arrest, handcuff kink

jj maybank works other outer banks works masterlist

He was sat in the yellow tinted room, alone with his own wandering thoughts; he had done everything for his friends, and the one time he was selfish, this was where he ended up - in the slammer, just like his dad.He shouldn’t have spent that money, that much was obvious, that could have covered his backside to him being a free man, without a split lip and a debt hanging over his shoulders, but there was nothing that he could do to change his actions now.

This was his punishment, being all alone, and as much as he didn’t want it, he deserved it deep down, or so he thought.

If only he could ride away into the sunset with his bike beneath him, and drift away from the Maybank curse, then he most definitely would. The officers weren’t surprised to have him coiled up in their custody, they’d all boasted that they knew it was a matter of time, he was the most volatile pogue they had ever wanted to capture, and their wishes of taking him away in the back of their siren wailing car had eventually become true.

Nobody would resolve this consort of issues he had dug himself down into, even if they wanted to they were powerless to the bribed force that resides in the Cut. His friends could never afford to free him from the shackles that were this cell… though he had some faith in them when he heard the heavy foot falls of a man with a scrambled moustache whom was dressed in the unmistakable uniform.

JJ spoke no word to him, however the officer did to him, he made a statement, one he was not overly joyous about. “Your bails been paid Maybank, clearly someone has too much money on their hands to let you rot out in here for whatever reason.” The pogue wanted to bite back at his offender but he remained quiet as the barred door was unlocked, and like a lost child he mindlessly followed the cop, wishing he could defend John B, or Pope, or Kiara; whichever one paid for his freedom.

But none of them were in the cramped lobby, or waiting outside, however there was a familiar and sleek car without a scratch this glinted before his eyes, making it simple as to whom his saviour was. She was leant up against the vehicle, sunglasses shielding her eyes as she ignored the curious eyes of passers-by that dared to glance at her.

“Y/N.” He called out her name, slipping past the officers that suspiciously watched as he retreated to the woman that was awaiting on his behalf. “Why are you here? Did you..”

“You know I got you out of there JJ.” She sighed, finally slipping her black mirrored glasses from her face and folding them into her hands. “You don’t need to ask that, as soon as I heard I knew I had to get you released as quickly as possible. A place like that doesn’t deserve for you to be in there, you’re far too good.”

The blonde gulped as he took a step towards her so that their conversation could be on a more private level. “I’m not Y/N/N, I deserved to be in there.” And he believed it, far too much. “You shouldn’t have wasted your money, especially on me. In fact I think you should stop pitying me so much, I’m probably going to keep getting locked up and if you keep bailing me out then you’re going to be as broke as I am.”

He was trying to push her away, distance himself so that he could prove himself for once and for all. When he and his friends finally got that gold, he could make something of himself, and then, and only then, he might deserve her…

“Hey! I don’t pity you, I care about you, there’s a very distinct difference. I believe in you, JJ Maybank, and I wish you would too. Because you’re going to do great things, and I hope to always be one of the people witnessing them. And I don’t care about the money, it means nothing.”

JJ couldn’t help but release a pent up scoff. “Money might mean nothing to you Y/N, but you haven’t had to survive your whole life without it. Can you just take me to my shabby little home so that you can go back to your chic lifestyle and forget about me?" He was being surprisingly brash, he'd never spoken to Y/N that way. He'd always been grateful for the things that she had done for him, but this instance wasn't upon the ladder of his appreciation.

"I could never forget about you J, so will you shut up and get in the car, you're coming with a ride with me. And if you don't like that, it won't be the officers of the law putting you in handcuffs." Y/N saw his mouth about to open, and so she ensured it closed before he could get a sound out. "Don't be a damn brat and do as I say. Now."

She was strict, but she had to be. The line for confessing her feelings to her sugar baby had almost been crossed, and she had to enforce herself not to almost make that mistake again. But with truth, she'd rather survive without the luxuries that made her life what it was than without JJ. For she was just his human credit card, that came running in his times of need, nothing more and nothing less.

He would never be able to feel anything romantic for her, she was his opposite, and sometimes they didn't understand each other, however the tone of voice she had struck him with seemed to work, as he clambered into the passenger side of her vehicle and awaited for her to join him under its roof. "Seatbelt." She instructed him as she watched the pogue out of the corner of her eye, turning the ignition so that she could speed away from the place that he had been locked up.

He was all too familiar with the route of her home, and so he made his way into it, up to the bedroom that was tidy from the freshly made bed and cleaned carpet. "Considering how you spoke to me earlier, I might just put the cuffs on you anyways." They glittered sinfully beneath the light, blinding JJ with his shimmering desires. He willingly, and apologetically held out his hands, prepared to feel the metal scuff the skin around his wrists.

JJ despised being seen as vulnerable, but when he was in such a state he felt safe when Y/N was there, she looked after him, made him feel as though there was nobody that could hurt him. “I’m sorry.” He needed her to forgive him, he hated himself for ever speaking for her in the manner that he had, she was the last person in the world that deserved his attitude. With a loud click the handcuffs were secured onto him, and he realised, he was indeed guilty. He was terrible for speaking to Y/N like that, he was emitting his ravenous emotions, all because of his mistakes, one of which he found greater than the others.

It was never supposed to happen but he had started falling for her, but he didn’t want to drown in regret. If he were to express his feelings this charade that they played would no doubt come to an end, and so he could not allow that to happen. He couldn’t lose her, he had lost enough people in his life. His tongue swiped out from his mouth to collect the anxious sweat on his top lip, as he ogled up at the dominant beauty above him. She was perfect, and he was simply just a pogue. “You should be.” Y/N pressed, her brow arching in a sly rise of optimism. “But you’re going to make it up to me.” She dragged him onto the bed, her hand tangled in the roots of his blond hair, finding pleasure in his pained yet aroused whimpers.

“I will.” He nodded exasperatedly, desperate for her forgiveness, wishing he could claw at her back for comfort and a sense of solace. But she silenced her when she raised her hips over his face, her skirt riding up high on her thighs, and her lace covered mound suffocating any further sounds that wished to part from his lips. His moans were muffled as he instantly got to work, mouthing at the fabric that separated him from what he wished to be his last meal, he was so turned on, it wasn’t fair. This was his punishment and a gift all at once.

Y/N’s eyelashes fluttered as she lazily smirked to herself, a light moan falling from her lips as she rode his face. She wanted to get lost in him, or in this case, on top of him. He was all that she wanted, and this was the only way in which she could have him, and so she would settle for that at this time. She slipped her panties to the side, allowing him to taste the real thing without any obstacles blocking the path of his hungry tongue, because she wanted to feel good too.

And this was the only way. Because maybe JJ was right, her lifestyle was far different to his, she wasn’t a pogue like him, and she had money. But what she wanted with JJ was priceless, she would give it all up if she could do it all over again with him. She bit her lip, relishing in the feeling that her sexual loved was giving her rather than the painful thoughts that invaded her mind.

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: (Duo POV) After a hunt gone wrong Dean falls sick. Now on his death bed Sam and Y/N do whatever it takes to save him from the void that is death, even if that means running into trouble.

Warnings: Cannon violence, Ansgt, hospitals, talk about dying and death, illness, heart issues, talk of past deaths, grief, Dean may be OOC or at least his inner thoughts but let me know, Historical and religious talk of the Celts and Christianity if anything is incorrect/ inaccurate pls tell me so I may fix it, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for 100 followers, never thought this series would get so much love!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 15,139

Faith

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch)

I hate hospitals.

I hate hospitals, especially when it is someone you care about on the medical bed.

I hate hospitals, especially when you can’t be in the room with the person; when you have to sit in the waiting room with nothing but pure anxiety coursing through your veins, and everyone around you is in the same position.

At least Sam is with him, that must make both of them feel better. But it doesn't make me feel as better as it should, my leg bounces rapidly no distraction working for me. I tried reading and listening to music on my stupid iPod, but neither worked- not when my mind was going a hundred miles a minute on all the worst possibilities.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult hunt, going after a rawhead. Yet it all went wrong far too quickly, Dean yelled for Sam and I to get the children out of the basement while he stayed behind fighting the thing. It would be a single shot with a taser, easy to mess up on, truthfully, which is why I had given mine up for him to have as an extra one before I carried a young boy out. It was all wrong. So so wrong. He shot the thing but they both happened to be standing in a small puddle of water, and water conducts stupid electricity and he got hurt too.

Sam had found him. We called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, he was unconscious the whole time.

Sam had to talk to the receptionist for insurance and then the cops explaining what happened and then a doctor. But they wanted to talk privately and he wanted to see Dean alone first. Which only increased my anxiety, Sam wouldn’t have done that unless something was horribly wrong. Something was horribly wrong. I felt like I was going to vomit or shake myself out of existence, maybe the latter would be better. Everyone around me wasn't much better, looking the same shade of nervousness. Some were crying, pacing, or on the phone talking rapidly. Hospitals were a horribly depressing place.

I’m unsure how much time passes, minutes, hours, an eternity? Sam walks towards me, tears in his eyes some clearly having spilled over by the redness of his cheeks. No. No. No.

I stand up walking to him almost without noticing as if it was all just natural, tears fill my own eyes and I can feel my hands shaking. No. No. He wouldn't be crying if–

“Sam?” I said weakly, my voice wobbling horribly. I swallow down a knot in my throat, this couldn't be happening. No.

He drops his head down, his hair covering his face and likely more tears that spilled over. “Sam,” I say again my voice breaking. I couldn't lose someone else, couldn't lose anyone else. He finally lifts his head, barely being able to hold eye contact. He seems to wobble and all at once he falls into me, I hold him, his head dropping awkwardly into my neck, from the height difference, broken sobs leaving his mouth. He hugs me tightly, grasping desperately to the back of my shirt. Something is horribly wrong. I blink back my tears, I had to be strong for Sammy. This was his brother, I might have lost both my parents but I couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose my brother.

My neck grows damp but I ignore it. I hold the back of his head, holding him, no comforting words forming in my mind. “Sam” I breathe. I felt like I was going insane. He pulls himself away, keeping me in arm's distance. His face is red and blotchy from crying, and his hair is a mess. “Please” I begged one last time, my voice quivering.

He sniffles hard, but I do not expect him to be strong, “He has a month, at best” his voice is coarse and shaky but the words feel like they came out in slow motion. Everything freezes, turning into a buzz of white noise. I can feel tears spill down my cheeks but I can’t move. I can’t. No. He can’t be dying. No. No. He wasn’t allowed to. The world seemed to shatter, no, maybe that was my heart. I can feel it beating in my ears, everything else fading away. His mouth moves, he is saying something else but I cannot hear him over the sterile noise of the world crumbling. I don't understand. My throat is so tight I feel like I might just break right there. My knees feel weak and the floor seems closer than before.

Sam pulls me into him, holding me tightly once again, his hands cradling my head as a choked sob leaves my lips. Tears pour down my eyes, he promised. All those months ago he promised he wouldn’t leave me, it was a stupid and fruitless promise but I believed it.

He couldn’t die. He can’t, he can’t die. No one else. Not again.

All too soon Sam pulls back, his arms being the only thing that seems to be holding me up. I can barely make out his features behind my own teary eyes. “He wanted me to come get you, ‘wouldn’t talk without you there” he croaks. A whole new sob breaks through my lips, I wasn't strong enough for this. I went through this twice, I could not take another. Tear after tear passes down my face, my cheeks stiff with it. I shake my head, this can’t be happening again, but even so, I let him pull me down the halls to his room trying my best to blink away my never-ending tears. But it was useless, not when it felt like I was being torn in two.

I stopped at the threshold of the doorway, he looked so weak, he was so pale and he had dark circles under his eyes that were not there hours before. An IV sticks out of his arm along with various machines around him, including an EKG. New tears fall over the rim of my eyes and I have to force my hand to clasp my mouth to hide another sob. Sam enters the room, his face hard and rid of any of the emotions he showed just moments ago. How could he do that?

Dean’s eyes are focused on the TV, but even from where I was partially hiding I could see his green eyes had grown dull, “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible” he jokes but he sounded weak too, his voice rid of its usual playful tone and familiar gruffness. Sam shakes his head and sighs, his ability to not break down in front of his brother was impressive to the point of it being scary, “I talked to your doctor.” But Dean continues to ignore anything that wasn’t that stupid TV playing commercials, “That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down” he responds instead. I want to laugh and ask him what the cute laundry bear ever did to him but I could not find it within me to be humorous, “Dean” I plead weakly my voice betraying me with its cracking. That gets his attention.

His eyes snapped up to where I stood, leaning against the doorframe to prevent myself from crumbling to the floor. His face immediately fills with worry, his eyes softening which is ironic considering who’s in the hospital bed. Without looking away from me he turned off the TV, I could tell he was thinking and worrying over something as he stared at me but I could not look at him without new tears falling. “Yeah. All right, well, ‘looks like you're gonna leave town without me” he finally says, my eyes snap back to him but he has already turned his attention to his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?” I step into the room, my sadness mixing too closely with frustration over his stupid declaration. “We are not gonna leave you here” Sam adds in sternly. “Hey, you better take care of that car” he points at Sam, any hint of a joke void from his voice, “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, “what's wrong with you?” I accuse, “How are you just accepting this? You are young and have so much life ahead of you” For each word that passed my lips tears followed, my resolve too thin to exist. “You’re meant to grow old, and…and yell at kids to get off your lawn as you work on Baby and maybe other cars with a pet at your side and a lovely home. You’re meant to annoy your brother and me with stupid calls and the same old rock music.” I swallow roughly, ignoring the subtle shock on his face, “It’ll be beautiful and wonderful and we will all be there to watch it happen because you have to live.” My chest heaves, and I’m surprised I have any more tears to give. Life was too cruel before to allow me the opportunity to beg someone to stay as if that feat alone was enough to keep someone alive.

Silence envelopes the room, his eyes are wide and his lips are slightly agape. I don’t believe in God, but I would get on my knees right now and beg and plead and do anything he ever wanted if it meant Dean living. He sighs after what feels like forever, “Look, what can I say, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.” I don’t understand how he could just dwindle his life down to bad luck and a wrong straw. Tears well in my eyes and I have the urge to smack some sense into him. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options” Sam insists, his voice breaking slightly. “What options?” Dean asks, “Yeah, burial or cremation?” he pauses for a moment his “joke” not landing, “And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. How many people will I have to lose until it's enough to feed the glutenous wrath of death? First, it was my mother growing sick and dying, neither my brother nor I was allowed to see her in such a state not even to say goodbye. Then my Dad, who grew reckless in the wake of his only love's death, the coldness about him we had heard about only in stories returning to consume him completely until he drove himself into the ground. I always thought I was most like my mother, but now in the wake of this maybe I am my father's daughter.

I wipe away my tears roughly before clenching my hands, needing my nails to dig into my palms to ground me. “Let me try and heal you,” I say as firmly as my voice will allow. I've never done such a thing on a serious scale, it never got to the point where I felt desperate enough to toe the line of my own morals. But this, for him I would and I would not stay awake at night contemplating my selfishness.

Dean’s POV

Her face was red from crying, and her e/c eyes were filled with deep sadness. She looked shattered, and even so, she was beautiful.

I know I wasn’t being fair to her or Sam. But I always knew I’d die on a hunt, I long accepted it so her big glossy eyes would do nothing to change that fact. Even if it broke her, both of them, which I knew I was already doing. But I also know that sugar-coated truths would only hurt them more, I wasn’t going to allow them to get hopeful not when it would ruin them.

“Please?” she pleads quietly. My resolve breaks, my heart lurches as if it was trying to get closer to her and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the heart attack.

This was for the better, if they saw nothing would work early on they’d hopefully accept my death quicker. Plus I knew she’d stay up every night wondering what more she could have done for me, she’d obsess over it until it broke her all over again. I give her a sharp nod not trusting my voice, her eyes seem to light up a little, and that enough was all the excuse I needed.

She steps closer to my bed, careful not to trip over the wires connecting to me. She got close enough where I could smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery, and undeniably her, I felt warmer just from her closeness. She swallows roughly, “It works better if I can touch you…without the barrier of clothes.” Under any other circumstance I would most likely be flustered by her shy request, I mean this is what I’ve always wanted– to have her. But time was not on my side and I’d never get a chance to tell her, whenever it was I planned on doing so– to do so now with only a week to live would be too cruel. If she didn't like me back I’d die at least knowing and maybe I’d die with a broken heart or whatever crap people complain about. But if she did like me, which Sam insists she does, then a week wouldn't be long enough.

I lift the scratchy hospital shirt, hoping neither saw how much energy the simple action took. She looked nervous as she stared at my bare chest but I could see the hard look of determination in her eyes, she needed this. Carefully she places her hands on the center of my chest, her hands freezing as I suspected they would be but I don't cower from her gentle touch I lean into it further. I bask in it, small sparks igniting where she touched and it had nothing to do with her abilities. She looks up at me, watching my face for any warnings as her own e/c eyes turn to purple and pure warmth extends from her palm seeping into my skin. Maybe I should have been scared, but she was looking at me so gently and she's so beautiful that she must be an angel, and I'm only half the man she deserves.

I suck in a deep breath, clarity hitting me like an arrow, the grogginess and pain I felt melting into a puddle and being replaced with her. It felt like she was cradling my heart, caressing it gently like she would my face, her kindness and love seeping into the vessel, and truthfully I don't ever want it back. She could have my heart. She could have every part of me, and I'd never ask for it back. It's hers. I'm hers. My mouth fell agape, her hair fell onto her face, and I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders and it was like everything I'd been carrying was lifted away. I don't care if she was healing me or not, I want her hands on me, I want to feel her. Just her. She was the sun and I was a fool begging to be closer, even if it burned, even if it was impossible.

Her hands begin to shake violently, but she pushes on, she holds on to me. Her fingers look like they want to curl and dig into my skin and it's clear she's fighting against the instinct, she doesn't want to hurt me not that I would mind any marks she printed into my skin. She lets her head hang, closing her eyes, “Oh fuck” she whines quietly and I have to desperately keep my mind clean. ‘Not the time to have those thoughts or acknowledge how hot that was. I lift a hand pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear, keeping my hand there to hold her. Again I have to force away any ideas of what noises I could get her to make in a similar position. She looks up at me from her lashes as she bites down on her bottom lip hard, and I wonder how much longer I can keep my mind clean.

Suddenly deep crimson drips down her upper lip, and she begins to shake more. “Wait, wait Y/N” I breathe, looking from her over to Sam with concern. He pulls her off of me, she looks drained and paler than I know I am. She wipes at her nose, the blood has seemingly stopped, but she still shakes and wobbles. Sam pushes her down onto a nearby seat and I pull down my shirt, “How do you feel?” he asks me. “Peachy” I respond, smirking. He rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious. Did it work?”

“I feel better, not as weak” I answer truthfully. She nodded her head, her voice quieter than moments before, “Call for a nurse we should see if anything physically changed.”

“What about you? What was all that?” I ask. She shrugs, “‘Never really done it on a scale like this before, but it takes a lot out of you.”

Your POV

The doctor finally comes back, sifting through the papers on his clipboard, he looks shocked and confused which I hope is for the better because being lightheaded and on the verge of passing out would be worth it. “‘Looks like there has been some improvement, which would explain why you feel better,” he says, the room growing quiet with hope, “The difference is slight but well enough to know it wasn't a fluke” he looks up, “But I’d say it wasn't enough to change the outcome, I’m sorry.” Somehow the second time was worse. Hope was worse. “Thank you, Doctor” Sam replies sadly, and with a nod, the doctor leaves but does not take our sorrow with him.

“I can keep trying. Eventually, it will add up, and the more I do it the longer I’d be able to go” I offer, desperation clear on my tongue that it's almost embarrassing. “We can keep trying that but we should look at other options too” Sam adds. I nod my head vigorously in agreement. “You shouldn't get your hopes up, I’ve already accepted I’m gonna die you should too” Dean responds instead.

“Not happenin’” Sam retorts.

After we used up all our visiting hours we headed to the library, skipping out on eating to research for hours on both supernatural and not– just anything related to heart conditions and healing. I didn't ask why Sam didn't stay with his brother, he was family so he didn't have to follow visitation hours but I also figured he would rather spend his time trying to find a solution. Currently, Sam went the more “normal” route, pulling and printing articles on heart surgeries and other doctor stuff while calling several people. At the same time, I delved into the dark that is the unnatural.

Sam left a while ago, heading back to the motel with all his articles. I insisted on staying behind to “look for more,” in reality, I was going to make a call. The library closed in less than an hour and I already researched several Gods associated with healing, the side of my hand had turned dark with the ink stains. Though it was unsuccessful it was helpful for two reasons; one I at least looked, meaning it was one more thing I could check off, and two it pushed me to make a call I wasn't sure I was ready for.

What I needed was to be home, to look through many books on mythology and witchcraft, there I would find something but that was halfway across the country and each day that passed would be a day wasted. And teleporting books here wouldn't be helpful when there were so many of them and I wasn't sure where I would even begin.

I stare at my phone on the table, this shouldn't be a big deal. I call her all the time, well not as of late which I already got yelled at for. No, none of that mattered. She could lecture me a hundred times or resent me for months. I needed to help Dean. I swiftly pick up my phone, scrolling down to her contact, I don't hesitate to hit “call”, I’ve already hesitated too many times today.

The phone rings three times before she picks up, “Adeline” I start my voice already cracking with emotion. I can almost hear her jump to her feet, “Y/N?! What happened? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I did not think I had any more tears left but was proven wrong when another tear slipped down my cheek, “Dean he’s…” I couldn’t say it, couldn't make it more real than it already was. I swallow roughly, trying to cram down my emotions for the time being, I’ve cried enough today, “Dean he’s dying, and I don't know–” a strangled sob leaves my lips and I have to force myself together resting my head on my hand for support, “I don't know what to do” I finished weakly. I hear her suck in a deep breath and it only makes me feel worse, “I-I want help…I need help,” I add, “I tried healing him, the doctor said the effect was minor but I’m gonna keep doing it, even if it takes a lot out of me.”

She exhales, “I’m really sorry Y/N”. I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. I ignored her comment, there was nothing to be sorry for because he was going to be alright, “Do you have any ideas? Maybe I’m doing something wrong or could be doing it better?”

She goes quiet again and it is hard to hold on to hope, “please,” I say quietly hoping she can hear me. She clears her throat, her voice cold and serious, “I’d try some herbal tea, one with healing properties any one of it will help or at least make him more comfortable.” I hum picking up my pen again, writing ‘herbal tea’ on my arm, I didn’t want to risk forgetting.

She sighs again, but it isn’t disappointed or even exhausted, “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.” I shake my head vigorously again, “I’m not listening to this. I called for help cause you’re the only person I can think of who would know even a wisp of this. I’m desperate for help, not a lecture.” I know I was being cruel, ‘could hear it. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. “No, Y/N please listen. This isn’t an easy task, honestly, I’d like to say it’s impossible but I don’t want you to hang up on me. This doesn't come without great sacrifice.”

“And what if I’m okay with that?” I snap back, “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

“This is different,” she spits a hint of anger on her tongue, “I don’t mean just going against everything you believe in or against your mother's words. I mean making deals with demons, where you could lose your soul or your life or what makes you whole or maybe even worse.” I go quiet. I know she’s right, she always is. But I know my answer, I know what I’m willing to do, “I said I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“Are you?” she counters. And without hesitation, I answer, “I love him.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me, for not listening to her warning or taking her seriously even though I was. Of course, I know this is dark and messy territory, but that did not concern me. I can hear her swallow, her voice turning hard again, “What you would need to do would be more than love him.”

“Would it?” I counter.

“Yes,” she replies sternly, “And I won’t help you with that.” It was hard to be mad at her, she was just watching out for me trying to protect me. That was her job after all. But I wanted so desperately for him to be okay, he had to be. “Whether you help me or not, I will do everything in my power to fix this. He won't die.”

“I know you will. That’s what scares me.”

My eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never will,” she huffs out a breath, “I don’t want you to regret anything.” I couldn't vocalize it, did not even know how to make her understand what I felt–that even if I lost him now if I never saw him again. If I sat on his grave weeping for the man I loved with new flowers in my hand each day and each year. If I never got to hold his hand again. If I never got to see him smile again– that cocky smile. Even if I never got to tell him that I loved him…even then, I would never regret knowing him. Never regret the first time we met and never, never regret loving him. But I don’t say that, instead settling for, “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She turns serious once more, determined even, “You won’t. I’m on my way to your place now, I’ll go through your books, and I’ll call you back the second I find something.” She may not agree with my decisions all the time, and might even be upset that we don’t talk as much anymore but at the end of the day we’re best friends–more than that really, “Thank you, Adeline.”

“Of course, now don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she laughs lightly, “I love you, talk to you later.” I smile for the first time in hours, “I love you too, be safe.”

I let myself into the motel room. Sam doesn’t look up from his place on the bed, papers surround him, some in the garbage which I assume were ones that won't work out. I make my way to the small table in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at where Dean slept the night before. I take out my spellbook, my small journal, and my laptop. My eyes were killing me, most likely from crying so much before.

The next few days would follow a similar pattern, Sam would fall asleep but never for very long before getting coffee and a quick bite to eat before continuing his search. And I spent the nights awake, sleep could not find me at the edge of the void. At some point crumbled pieces of paper surrounded me and I felt like a college student again, I didn't want to do anything but look for an answer. Adeline called once that first night, but it didn't wind up leading anywhere.

The second morning I prepared tea for Dean, arriving at the hospital with the steaming cup and food that wasn't from the hospital. He looked happy to see me and complained about how bored he was there. He looked horrible, and it hurt my chest to see him like that so I just nodded to what he said. He drank the tea with nearly no complaint but instead curiosity, I explained I had boiled Sun water, before making homemade ginger tea adding cinnamon sticks, chamomile, and honey for taste. He asked me to explain to him why I chose each one, though I wasn't sure he truly cared and just wanted to hear me speak since he was relentless with his questions. I healed him again and laid with him when he asked. Then the rest of the while we talked as I did research.

Somehow being there, and watching him worsen was worse than not being there at all. I think I understand now why we weren't allowed to be there when my mom died. I would have rathered someone just stabbed me in the heart over and over then see his eyes grow duller. I healed him again before I was kicked out.

I felt hopeless. I wasn't going to give up but I felt hopeless. It was like I wasn't myself but watching myself go through the motions.

The second night wasn't much better. I slept for a couple of hours only to wake up crying. I didn't try to sleep after that. I prayed to God that night. I hadn't done that in years. I hadn't begged him for mercy since my mother died. I think I was on my knees for hours, the harsh carpet digging into my skin, but that didn’t matter. I barely felt it after a while. I apologized for not praying in years, for only praying when it benefited me which I knew was selfish. I asked for help, and begged for it. I needed him to help Dean. I said I’d do anything he wanted if he did that, even if it meant becoming a nun. I felt incredibly embarrassed begging like that, I didn't even believe in God yet there I was my hands pressed together and the carpet beneath my knees. I cried again that night, for everyone I've lost and how far I would go to save another.

Adeline was wrong, I decided. Sacrifice didn't come with the solution, it came with the search for the answer. Like I said, I didn't feel like myself. I knew I was losing myself each hour that passed and I knew it would only get worse if he did die.

On the third morning, I did the same thing I did the morning before. But after healing him for the first time that morning, I broke in front of him. “I don't want you to go,” I told him, sobbing. He just held me against him even though I knew it hurt him, but he just stroked my head anyway mumbling “I know, I know” into my hair. I could hear his voice breaking with each letter; somehow, that was worse than seeing him act as if he didn't care. Then very quietly he whispered, “I don't know how to comfort someone when I know I’m the source of their pain.”

They did more tests on him. He wasn't getting better, at least not fast enough. It seemed my healing was just halting its progress momentarily, in a sense slowing it down before it continued. I needed to stay on him longer but I wasn’t sure how and ‘could barely make it past 20 minutes before I began to shake so badly and feel so faint like my chest was being pulled open with the sharp nails of cold hands.

I went back to the motel dragging my feet. It had been three days and we had nothing to show for it but failed attempts which I suppose is better than no attempts though it didn’t much feel that way. When I got there I returned to my corner at the table, moving away my mess of “work” with a swipe of my arm. I crumble into the wooden chair, laying my forehead on the edge of the table, I didn’t know what to do. I’d keep looking no matter what, that would not change. I would search through every book on every myth, god, folklore, anything. I’d do whatever it took, I just hoped time would not beat us to the finish line.

With a huff, I pulled my latest book from the library closer to me, a book on Greek Gods. I pick up where I left off in the thick book on the God of healing and medicine Asclepius. I read the passage about him, and it seemed promising, “He was considered a symbol of medical knowledge, skill, and wisdom. Known for his ability to heal the sick and revive the dead, Asclepius played an essential role in Greek religious and medical traditions…He was known for his exceptional skill in diagnosing diseases and treating wounds. His abilities were so profound that he could even bring the dead back to life, a talent that eventually led to his downfall…The Asclepieia, healing temples dedicated to the god, were spread throughout Greece and were renowned centers of medical practice. Pilgrims would travel great distances to seek healing, engaging in purification rituals, sacrifices, and dream incubation, where they would sleep in the temple and receive divine guidance through dreams.”

The rest of the chapter contains no more info on the healing aspect but just more of his legacy and whatnot. I close the book sharply, pulling open my laptop to do more research on him. Maybe a temple still existed, and considering Pilgrims there might even be one in America somewhere. Just as I type the temple name into Google a knock sounds from the door.

For a moment I think Sam forgot his keys, but when I turned to where he always was he was there. He looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe it’s room service?” He answers by going to the door and opening it curiously. I watch from my seat, tilting my chair back to get a better look. But it is not room service, or someone knocking at the wrong door, it’s Dean. I almost fall backward, my chair slams forward back on all four legs I shoot up from my seat.

He leans on the doorframe, holding his side. He still has dark circles under his eyes and just looks sickly which is only accentuated by the black zip-up he wore, which was odd for him he never really wore sweaters. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam exclaims his voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Dean limps his way just a little bit further into the room, leaning on a dresser next to the door, “I checked myself out,” he responds placing all his weight on the thing. I didn't even know a sick patient could check themselves out like that. “What, are you crazy?” Sam exclaims.

Dean shrugs, “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He turns his head to wink at me and gives me that devilish smile. My jaw dropped, baffled wasn't even the word to explain it. This had to be the most Dean Winchester thing Dean could have ever done, I could not fathom it. I wanted to call him an idiot but I was too shocked to give any response. Sam huffs a laugh as he shuts the door, “You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-danger-thing? It’s crap. I can see right through it, we both can.”

Dean moves himself further into the room leaning on anything he could, “Yeah, whatever, dude. Have either of you even slept? You look worse than me.” Sam helps him to the bed, sitting him down, “We’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days.”

I sit back in my chair, scooting it so I can face them both, “I don't know how either of our laptops survived this. Late at night, I think I can hear it cry.”

Dean purses his lips, “Lack of sleep has made you crazy.” It was my turn to huff a laugh, and for that fraction of a second everything felt normal. But that moment of normalcy breaks as Sam adds, “I’ve also called every contact in Dad’s journal.” I was brought right back to the present, back to the reason we were doing all of this to begin with. “For what?” Dean asks.

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

“Wait, why didn't you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“He called back when you were with Dean,” he answers, “I was going to tell you when you came back but didn't get the chance before he decided to break out.” I hum an ‘oh’ in response. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean chimes in, hunched over.

“I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going” Sam says, end of discussion.

The Impala bumps along the gravel road, I was beyond happy we finally arrived. The sky was cloudy and grey with a thin layer of mist clinging to everything, it reflected the past couple of days and the ride quite perfectly. Dean rested in the back seat the entire time, his face scrunched in discomfort, we stopped a couple of times so I could jump back there and heal him for a short while.

The car comes to a full stop among others in a large green field, a large white circus tent stealing the show. A sign nearby reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle. I was skeptical, but like Sam said our options were low. I wasn’t religious and certainly hated when things like this existed, giving people false hope and feeding them lies, when they could be looking at real options and getting real help but I guess I was being a hypocrite considering how I spent my time kneeling to a God I didn't believe in. Many people walked towards it, all sick, some with canes, walkers, breathing devices, etc. I get out of the car slowly, eyeing the scene carefully. We’re all just desperate people, hoping a tent in the middle of nowhere will save our loved ones.

Sam gets out of the car, rounding the vehicle to help his brother get out of the car. Dean grimaces as he tries to lift himself, “I got ya” Sam tells him trying to grab him but Dean shoves him away, “I got it” he spits. He fixes himself, pissed off, but uses the car to hold himself up leaning on it, “Man, you are a lying bastard. ‘Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist” Sam corrects. I squint my eyes at him, “You’re not slick. But…” I say stretching out the word, “We should try, at the very least.”

“And this guy is supposed to be the real deal” Sam adds, nodding. Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes, “I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An old woman walks by holding a big black umbrella, “Reverend LeGrange is a great man” she declares. “Yeah, that’s nice” Dean sarcastically remarks. I hold back on batting his arm as I would normally, “Be nice” I mumble instead.

We walk away from the old lady and the car heading toward the tent, walking past an angry man who is struggling against an officers hold, “I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people of their hard-earned money.” I suck in a sharp breath, mumbling an “Amen, brother” underneath my breath. But the Sheriff seems to ignore the man's declaration, holding him back while trying to lead him away, “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go. Move it.” The man huffs, walking away with the Sheriff. “I take it he’s not part of the flock” Dean remarks.

Sam purses his lips, half shrugging, “When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

Dean stops short, getting our attention and making us stop too, “I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? And what about you Y/N you don’t believe in this crap.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, “You're right. I don’t. And I think making a whole religion out of it that smells more like a cult than anything, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a good chance this is legit,” I drop my hands back at my side, “He’s probably using magic like I was doing with you, it's just that he's, hopefully, more successful.” He pressed his lips together tightly, I got him there. “See, maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam adds.

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean exclaims, “Reality. And this won’t work. I mean do you really think this guy is a dude-witch.”

I purse my lips, “I’m pretty sure the term would be a wizard, but, uh, I don't know. I’d have to see it in action to know for certain along with anything around him while he works, rituals and stuff.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over, “I do hope he’s real and not an elaborate con artist, and I hope he’s better than me at the whole healing thing.” I was being blatantly honest. I hoped it would encourage Dean to not fight this version of help, and I truly did wish this guy could help. “And if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam chimes in, a hint of annoyance on his tongue. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Dean’s POV

I snapped in a moment of weakness and said too much. “Dean” she sighs, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm, stepping closer to me almost subconsciously. I didn’t want a lecture full of sappy nonsense and corny poetry. She must have known that because she smiled sadly, her lip curving up on one side, my eyes following the movement, “Good does exist, it has to,” she says simply ever the optimist. She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me through her curled eyelashes, her hand still on my arm, my knees feel weak. “I'm sure you can think of at least one good person. Of course, the terms good and evil are subjective…” she cuts her cute rambling off, “but you get what I mean.”

I guess she was right. Sammy’s a good person sometimes a total asshole but I guess that came with the territory of being brothers. And Y/N’s the definition of being a good person, she’s always been kind even to people who didn't deserve it, including me. I remember a couple of times I was cruel to her when we were kids, always about her being a witch, yet for some reason she accepted my apology and even wanted to keep being friends. For a long time, I didn’t understand her, ‘how she could be sweet and smile at a world filled with darkness. Sometimes I think I still don't get her. “Please just give it a try,” she pleads, “And if it doesn't work or turns out to be a con you can make fun of us the whole way back.”

I studied her again, she looked drained and I knew she hadn't been sleeping all because of me. “Fine” I huff. She bites back a smile and suddenly complying with this stupid faith healer was worth it.

“And who knows, maybe God works in mysterious ways” an unfamiliar voice butts in. I didn't care to look who it was, solely focused on the girl who still had her hand on me; a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in three days. “Maybe he does” I respond, half heartily, I look up briefly catching the eyes of an attractive blonde holding a black umbrella. I averted my eyes back to my girl, but she was already looking away at the woman who interrupted us, her hand slipped down my arm.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N” she introduces herself, holding out the hand that was touching me only moments ago. She accepts her hand, “Layla. And these two?” Layla says looking past her. “Sam,” he introduces himself before motioning to me, “Dean.” I give her a tightlipped smile in response.

She smiles at me, “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?” She was attractive, you’d have to be blind not to see it but my interest is elsewhere. I can't fool myself into thinking that'll work out. Hell, I'm probably gonna end up dead. And yeah, it's harsh, but I can't shake the feeling that I'd rather spend what time I've got with Y/N, not waste it chasing after other girls just to fill the gap she left without even knowing it. I’m self-aware enough to know that. “Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us” I muse. An older woman with blondish-gray hair walks over, putting an arm around the girl, “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” Both women smile at us before walking away.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Y/N starts, “We should get you inside.” Sam nods leading the way.

Your POV

The tent is packed, full of people trying to find seats, it smells of hope and despair if that’s possible. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” Dean remarks, nodding over to a camera in the corner. Did churches have cameras? “I guess it makes sense,” I try to reason, “‘probably get more people like that dude outside protesting, maybe even getting violent.”

Dean slips away sitting down on one of the foldable chairs. “Hey no,” I point at him, “You are not gonna be all brooding and hide in the back.” His shoulders slump, “Let’s sit here.”

“No” I answer simply, eyebrows scrunched. He opens his mouth in a retort but his brother steps in, putting an arm around him and practically dragging him from the seat and towards the front, “Oh, come, on, Sam” Dean growls. Mistaking his anger for pain Sam halts in his movements, “You alright?”

“This is ridiculous” Dean bites, slapping his brother’s hands away, “I’m good, dude, get off of me.” I roll my eyes at their behavior, even in public, and even with one of them being severely sick they could still act childish and make a scene. I look around the closer rows, looking for seats, “Look at that” I smile turning back to the boys, “seats” I point to three empty seats not only close to the front but right behind Layla, the girl from before. She seemed nice, maybe a little strange in randomly joining the conversation but it wasn’t a big deal. “Perfect” Sam agrees, lightly shoving his brother in that direction. “Yeah, perfect” Dean remarks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Take the aisle,” Sam tells his brother before moving into the row of seats, I move in after him taking the seat between them. Dean grumbles something, his face having ‘irritable’ all over it, but he sits quietly, arms crossed.

An old man with white hair and sunglasses steps onto the stage with the help of an older woman with brown hair tied back. He must be the famous Roy LeGrange, “Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” he says with a classic southern accent, the crowd muttering agreements, “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

“He could say that aga–'' I began to mumble. “Huh” I hum to myself, my eyes catching on a particular religious item, why would there be a Celtic cross? I mean the cross represented the blending of the Celts and Christians but there are many separations between the two from believing in multiple gods to human sacrifice–

“But, I say to you, God is watching,” he preaches, and if I wasn't so focused on that wooden cross I might have rolled my eyes forgetting my manners, especially when the crowd responded with “Yes he is.” It sounded very cultish, the hair on my arms standing up. Maybe it wasn’t that weird for there to be a Celtic cross, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I racked my brain for information on it, and I just couldn’t see it used in Christian churches anymore. Though of course, I could be wrong, it's not like I go to church every day or even once a week. But again it felt a little too weird to just brush off–

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt” Roy continued getting loud cheering and more murmuring. I look at the people around me strangely, I forget how powerful religion is…

Speaking of which, that damn Celtic cross again. Alright, think. The Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension, the vertical arm represents the life aspect while the horizontal arm signifies death, the circle acting as a portal to transformation. In simpler terms, the cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the Celtic cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. But what does that mean here? Okay, well he’s supposedly healing people which would be the life aspect and the death could represent the healing cheating death? No, that sounded like a stretch. Maybe this was all a stretch and the cross meant nothing. I’m just overreacting because I'm scared of what will become of this if this man was a con or whatever else. Yeah, that makes more sense—

“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 proclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers just loud enough for Sam and me to hear, “and into their wallets.” But it wasn’t quiet enough, “You think so, young man?” Oh, that was weird. The crowd falls dead silent, “Sorry” Dean apologizes. “No, no. Don’t be.” Roy shakes his head, “Just watch what you say around a blind man, we’ve got real sharp ears.” The crowd laughs but an unpleasant feeling worms itself into my stomach. It was innocent enough but something felt off and I don't think it has anything to do with Dean being scrutinized. “What’s your name, son?” Roy asks. He clears his throat, sitting straighter in his seat, “Dean.”

“Dean” Roy repeats nodding to himself, “I want…I want you to come up here with me.” My eyes widened, maybe God finally listened. “No, it’s okay” he shakes his head. “What are you doing?!” Sam whisper-yells, but his brother ignores him.

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t cha?” Roy inquires.

“Well, yeah, but, uh…maybe you should just pick someone else” Dean attempts to reason. And I hate the way he doesn't believe he is worthy of saving. The crowd claps loudly, “Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Had we been here for any other reason I might have been more disturbed by that proclamation, but this was a chance. The crowd roars in excitement, voices mixed in encouragement. Dean looks overwhelmed, I place a hand on his knee gaining his attention quickly, “Dean, this is good, go” I whisper to him even though I was unsure of this whole thing and that odd cross. He studies me for half a moment, something I couldn't recognize passing over his features before he reluctantly raises, my hand slipping from his leg.

The woman from before helps Dean to the stage, situating him next to the healer, “You ready?” he asks Dean. “Look, no disrespect, but, uh, I’m not exactly a believer,” Dean says, looking between the crowd and the old man. But Roy just smiles, “You will be, son. You will be,” he turns to the crowd arms raised, “Pray with me, friends.” Again, almost like a cult, the crowd joins hands as Roy moves his hands to place on Dean; one on his shoulder and the other to the side of his head. I hold my breath, I want this to work so badly, I hadn't even begun to think of a plan B if this didn't.

Suddenly Dean’s eyes glaze over, it was never like that when I healed him, and then he seems to wobble sinking to his knees. I gasped, I didn't think it would be so intense or that my heart would beat so fast. A deep chill runs up my spine seeping into my bones, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the Celtic cross comes into view again and I suddenly feel sick, a horrible feeling tangling itself in between my stomach. I don't know where to look the cross or Dean, my eyes flipping between the two rapidly all until Dean's eyes roll back and he crumbles down onto the stage floor. Sam manages to jump over me, using his long legs to his advantage he gets to the stage in seconds grabbing the front of Dean's hoodie. I catch up quickly, glad we were close to the stage, I kneel in front of Dean his head lulling back. The loud noise of the crowd cheering becomes nothing but background noise, as I check his pulse my fingers against the side of his neck the steady but fast beating of his heart thumping below my touch.

With a sudden gasp his eyes shoot open, eyes wide and mouth agape.

I tap my foot impatiently on the clean floors of the hospital, thankful that right after testing I was allowed to be in the room. Dean looked better, he moved normally and his color was back, but we all agreed we should check officially. Now we were waiting and although the room sparked with anxiety, the dark looming cloud had cleared up a lot, and once we knew for sure it would most likely be gone. I just wished the doctor would come quicker. “So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks for the hundredth time since Dean woke from being healed yesterday. Dean stares at him blankly, “I feel fine, Sam” he grumbles.

Finally, the Doctor walks in, reading from the charts on his clipboard, “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still strange things happen.” The cloud fades away, and I don’t hold back my beaming smile. “What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks, his face serious rather than elated. “Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack,” the doctor shares. Dean nods, giving the man a handshake, “Thanks, Doc.” The man leaves, closing the door behind him. “That’s odd,” Dean points out, referring to what the doctor said.

“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Sam shrugs, “People's hearts give out all the time, man.” I looked at him taken aback, what was he talking about, “Dude, what world are you living in?” He gives me a pointed look, annoyed with not only my response but also my not agreeing with him, “Do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life, Dean, and move on?”

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why” Dean bites back. I sigh, wishing we could just avoid this all, “Me neither.” Dean gives me a strange look, “You neither?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I just, I don’t know, when we sat down I recognized something which automatically made me suspicious. Then you know the whole thing was happening and, well, maybe it was just nerves but it got really cold and I felt sort of sick. Which really doesn't make sense, but I just had this weird feeling, I don’t know.”

“I felt cold too,” Dean answers, face scrunched, “When I was healed, I just...I felt wrong, ‘cold. And for a second...I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, it was a spirit.” Maybe it wasn’t nerves and I wasn’t crazy. Sam huffs, clearly trying to ignore the red flags here, “But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would've seen it, too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Alright, but he literally saw something and I felt something.” I reason, “You can’t deny two people saying something’s up, and whatever it was there’s probably a reason why you couldn’t see it.”

“You’re just gonna need a little faith on this one, Sam” Dean muses, using his own words against him. Sam sighs, finally giving in, “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

Dean steps into the leader role again, as if nothing had happened, “I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. Y/N, we’re gonna visit the reverend.”

I sit next to Dean on the nice leather couch, Roy sitting across from us. He and his wife had been very understanding and didn’t question our want to speak to him about yesterday, I figure he got this a lot. “I feel great,” Dean answers the reverend, “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann, Roy’s wife and the woman from before answered, “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.” I gave her a half-hearted smile and nod, maybe it was just me but that response came off a little weird. I was getting a bad vibe from her, “So, um, when did these miracles start?” I ask Roy. Any desire to possibly learn from him had been subdued, caution taking its place. “Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.'” He smiled sweetly at his wife before continuing, “I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” He takes off his black sunglasses, his eyes pure white, “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it.” He puts the glasses back on, it was a touching story and his eyes added a horrifying touch but it just left more questions.

He seemed genuine, and I don’t think he would lie about being in a coma. When you’re sick like that, and experience something like that, you don’t create lies about your experience, not when it was traumatic like that. And staying on that belief, there was no way he suddenly just stopped having cancer and was able to heal people. He couldn’t have been responsible for whatever caused his initial health change. Which would then mean someone else was involved. “So then, you could just…heal people?” I ask.

“I discovered it afterward, yes,” he nods, "God's blessed me in many ways.” It didn’t add up. I couldn’t get it to add up in my head. Besides the whole no more sickness ideal, how could he just suddenly heal someone? I mean, how do you even discover you can? Was it an accident? Did the hypothetical person who might have caused him to get better tell him too? Or, tell him to try? Whereas for me I knew it was something I was capable of in general as a witch, but I also had many spell books, history books, journals, and everything to learn from. And if my mother had lived longer she would have been able to teach me it too.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann added, her eyes full of endearment, “And this is just the beginning.” I study her for a moment, balancing on the thin line of suspicion and paranoia. There was nothing inherently wrong about her or what she said, and maybe it was my mind making up the fact that her last words were just a little aggressive.

“Can I ask you one last question?” Dean asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Of course you can,” Roy responded sincerely. He really does seem like a nice guy, genuine, and it could be my inherent lack of sleep that’s making me connect dots that might not even be there. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me?” My heart broke. Of course he didn’t feel adequate, especially when he tried convincing us for the last four days he wasn't worth saving, that we should give up and let him die. I place a careful hand on his knee, I don’t want to scare him away or clam up again, he never was very open. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me,” Roy answers, “I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Dean wets his lips, my eyes flickering up to the movement, he leans forward slightly, “What did you see in my heart?” I move my gaze away catching on Sue Ann’s innocent movement of picking up her glass of water, but as she leans over her necklace escapes from its place beneath her shirt. A small wooden Celtic Cross held by a thin silver chain, she catches my eyes, covering the cross with her hand and giving me an innocent smile. She assumes I would think it's just any ol’ cross, she does run religious ceremonies so such a simple totem shouldn’t mean anything else. Maybe there were dots to connect after all, and it was on full display ready to be fastened. I focused my attention back on the conversation, I left my bag in the car so I’d have to wait, and in the meanwhile, I did not wish for her to get suspicious of me either.

Roy smiles softly, “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.” I feel Dean tense beneath my hand, his face full of shock. Whether Roy did see something or not, it might have been the thing Dean needed to hear regardless.

I wanted to run back to the car and look through my spell book and journal, but Sue Ann was seeing us out and if I had easily become suspicious of her then it was possible she would grow suspicious of what I knew too. I could almost feel her gaze burning into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Dean's warm hand on the small of my back leading me down the short wooden stairs of their porch. But I had not expected to see Layla and the woman she was with before, I think her mother. “Dean, Y/N, hey,” she greets. “Hey,” Dean responds just as we reach ground level, his hand pressing further into my back before curling around my waist, his hand lying on my side before he pushes me closer against him. I don’t know why he was being so touchy, not that I was exactly complaining. I welcomed it and the warmth it brought.

“How ‘you feeling?” She asks him, tilting her head slightly, her face beaming in sincerity. “I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?” he responds.

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla nods toward the door prompting Sue Ann to step fully onto the porch rather than standing halfway between the screen door. “Layla?” she asks, probably not having seen her from where she stood. “Yes, I'm here again,” Layla answers softly.

“Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now.” Sue Ann informed, nodding sympathetically. Every word she said just made me want to turn around and head to the car, I was itching for it. I wondered if Dean could feel it from where he was touching me or just sensed it, giving me a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. But I couldn’t exactly say anything right now so I ignored his look.

“Sue Ann, please,” Layla’s mom pleads, “This is our sixth time, he's got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla's situation,” Sue Ann declares harshly, “And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” And with that, she goes back inside. I might not know exactly what’s going on but her continuous frustrated comments regarding the healing and her perhaps overly religious nature were enough to make me antsy. We should really go to the car, call Sam to see what he found, or even just head to the hotel. Layla’s mom turns sharply to Dean, glaring at him she spits, “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

“Mom. Stop” Layla insists, looking at us nervously.

“No, Layla, this is too much” her mom fumed, “We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.” I do feel bad for her, but it's not like we had control over any of this so she shouldn't be mad at us let alone Dean who was quite literally on his deathbed and might not have made it to the end of the week. I open my mouth to say exactly that, but Dean cuts me off before I get a chance, “Layla, what’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks everywhere but him, “I have this thing…”

“It's a brain tumor,” her mother cuts in bluntly, “It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say…” Layla cuts her mom off putting a hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was good Dean didn’t let me say what I wanted to, it would’ve been too cruel to do that to someone who was going to lose her daughter. It seemed like we were surrounded by death, more now than ever and I hadn’t thought that could be possible. I didn’t like death, or sickness though I suppose who does. “I'm sorry” Dean says, and I just nod in agreement not trusting my own voice. “It's okay” Layla responds softly. Her mother shakes her head slowly, “No. It isn't,” her sharp gaze is back on Dean, “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” Then she storms away, Layla hesitantly following. I know that woman was just upset and projecting her anger but it was not fair. Grief isn’t fair.

I look at Dean, his jaw clenched tightly, a slight furrow of his brow, his eyes a little far away in thought. I recognized that look. “Don’t listen to her” I declare, slipping from his hold to look at him straight on, “Death is not kind and it is not just, but you deserve to live. You deserve to live just as much as Layla or anyone else does. I know that look and I know you're thinking poorly of yourself, which I hate that you do so ‘cause you’re amazing and brave and kind and you care so much for others regardless of your gruff attitude.” His eyes are wide and written with shock but I continue, “So don’t think for one second that you don’t deserve to live.” I didn’t realize my chest was heaving, or that a lump had formed in my throat. I’ve watched too many people die, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of grief. I knew it well, it became a second skin. And I've watched someone run themselves into the ground because they didn’t feel like they deserved to live, or at least not when the love of their life was dead. I watched the evolution of that grief while dealing with my own and my brother’s. Death was not kind.

His jaw was slack with surprise and I know I said too much, I gave him a sharp awkward nod before turning around and heading for the car. I have something to look into.

Dean throws his keys on the bed the second we enter, the soft jingle of the metal ringing through the quiet room. I unzipped my sweatshirt, making my way towards Sam who sat at the small table to the side of the room. I take a seat next to him, putting my sweater behind me, “So what’d you find?” He seems hesitant to answer, his adam's apple bobbing, “Um, I’m sorry Dean” he says weakly looking up at his brother.

Dean takes his jacket off putting it on top of mine, his face written in confusion, “Sorry about what?” he asks, leaning on the back of my chair, his knuckles just barely brushing my back. Sam huffs out a breath, “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.” My eyes widened, I shouldn’t be surprised it was just another dot to be connected to whatever was going on with the damn cross. “The exact time I was healed” Dean adds solemnly, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits,” Sam explains, “Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“Oh frick” I mumble, apparently nothing is allowed to be easy for us. And I wasn’t exactly expecting that to be what we’re dealing with. “Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks for confirmation, even though it’s clear that’s what’s going on. “Somehow. LeGrange…” Sam sighs, “he's trading a life for another.”

Dean stands up straight backing away from the table, from Sam, “Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Sam shakes his head, “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here.” Dean declares, running a hand down his face.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life.” Sam reasons.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam answers quietly.

I stand up abruptly, “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about that now. What’s done is done.” This all got very complicated very quickly, maybe Adeline was right you can’t save someone from death without making difficult decisions and sacrifices. “But what we can do is stop this from happening again, before it gets worse” I add and I know I don’t sound so convincing. You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, and we had crossed that line whether intentionally or not, just wanting to save Dean from death was already putting a foot past that line. “That’s the thing I don't understand, how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?” Sam questions. “Oh, he’s not doing it,” Dean answers, “Something else is doing it for him.”

“Do you mean the thing with Sue Ann?” I ask with a tilt of my head, maybe he had picked up on it too. “What?” his face contorts in confusion, “No? What are you talking about?”

“Oh” I say, now I'm confused, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are both of you talking about?!” Sam exclaims looking between us. Dean sighs, pinching the space between his brows, “The old man I saw on stage” he explains, “I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew.” He pauses and I begin to wonder if it’s for dramatic affect. I motion my hand for him to continue and he does, “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a Reaper.”

“Pardon?” I say, my mouth agape. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, face just as shocked as I am, “You really think it's THE Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No no no, not THE reaper, A reaper.” Dean clarifies, taking the seat I once occupied, “There's reaper law in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names, it's possible that there's more than one of them.” My mouth still hangs open, it can never be something normal with us, ever. “But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam voiced.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing?” Dean countered, “You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you guys couldn't.”

“Oh my god,” I say, the realization finally hitting me, “That’s where it comes in!” Both boys stare at me confused, “Where what comes in?” Sam asks.

“Okay, remember I said I recognized something and thought it was a little strange,” I paused waiting for them to nod before continuing, “It was a Celtic Cross, which was all I could focus on the entire time ‘cause like what is it doing there. And then I started thinking of what it symbolizes, here’s the interesting part” I point out, “So basically, the Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension. The cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. Which now makes total sense with the whole Reaper thing.”

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not following here” Dean admits. I huff a laugh, “Right. Let me get to the point. So, as far as I know someone has to control the Reaper to, you know, dictate who lives and dies and to do that you need a spell. And I’ve seen it before…” I head over to my bag that I had just plopped down right next to the door when we walked in, I pull out my spell book holding it up, “This book has been in my family for generations. Now as you know my mother and her family didn’t see eye to eye, so when it eventually became my mothers and she ran away she changed a lot of stuff in here, crossing things out etc.” I open the book, flicking through the pages, “Basically there’s some pretty dark stuff in here, straight up black magic, some stuff even ancient,” finally I find the page, “Aha!” I turn the book around pointing at the page, “As you can see by the frowny face in the corner my mother did not appreciate this spell. Anyways, this is a binding spell for a Reaper where you create a black alter with bones and human blood etc, you get the point. You can then control it with a Celtic Cross, and before I saw Sue Ann with the necklace.”

“So you think Sue Ann is using dark magic to control a Reaper and kill people to save people because you saw a necklace?” Sam asks. I close the book, “Yeah, and it makes sense she was desperate when her husband was sick. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner.” I knew this page existed, I've seen it in passing multiple times, especially some time since Dean was in the hospital. I guess I did listen to Adeline’s warning because even though I was ready to go far to save him I had kept away from pages like this. “Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean points out. I shrug, “Money? She’s psycho? I don’t know, maybe there’s a connection with the victims.”

“How would we break it?” Sam voices.

“We gotta get that cross from her, the one around her neck” I answer, “And let me just add, that Reaper is gonna be pissed, I mean the second it gains back its control…” I don’t need to say it out loud for them to get what I mean.

The Impala bounces down the badly graveled and potholed road, passing a sign that says Service Today. Hopefully we will be just in time. Dean brings the car to a stop and wordlessly we exit, “How do we get Sue Ann alone?” Sam asks. I nervously tap the side of my legs as we approach the tent, some guy handing out leaflets stops us, “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer.” Dean accepts the paper, “Amen brother” he nods. “You keep up the good work” Sam points at the man and he looks taken aback, he probably didn’t get many if any people that agreed. “Thank you,” he says, surprised.

Focusing back on the task at hand I open my mouth about to say something about not knowing where she goes when she does the spell when I spot her near the side of the tent, “I see her” I say already moving in that direction, “Find her spell book and keep Roy distracted too in case this does not work.” I don’t wait to hear a response before I’m running off to catch up with the woman playing God, “Sue Ann!” I call as I approach. She turns, her eyes wide, the necklace peeking out from her blouse, “Hi Y/N, what are you doing back here?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh well you guys are doing such amazing stuff here, wanted to say thank you one last time before we had to head off” I answered hoping my lie was believable. “Don’t thank us, you just thank the Lord” She says pointing to the night sky. I nod, I had to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the necklace off, “I have to admit I always had a hard time believing in the man upstairs, but you and Roy really turned me around.”

“Oh I’m glad, it’s never too late to welcome Him into your heart,” she smiles, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must get going, the sermon is starting.” Uh oh, do I just rip it off of her? No, she’s already turning around, “One last thing!” I call out getting her attention again. This time when she turns around she looks annoyed, “Uh, um…”come on Y/N come up with a lie or something, “I saw your necklace earlier today, I think you caught me staring,” I laugh, “I was just…I was wondering where you got it from I’ve never seen something like that before.” She clasps her necklace, “It’s just an old thing, I don’t remember where I got it from.”

“Could I maybe take a closer look at it? Maybe I can find a replica, you know, for my new found belief.” I was practically begging her to just let this be easy, maybe I should ask Dean to give me a lesson on finessing cause this is not working. She clasps it tighter, “I’m sorry, maybe later I really have to help with the sermon now.”

“Right, right sorry” she begins to turn around again but I call out again, “I know you said to thank the Lord and I have and will, it’s just” that gets her attention, “I feel like you and Roy are also responsible and like I said I came to thank you again…I know it’s maybe unprofessional or what not, but, could I just give you a hug? You’ve really done so much for us.” God I was bad at this. Her face softens a fraction, hey maybe I wasn’t bad at this, “Of course.” She holds out her arms and I move closer to allow myself to be embraced, I wrap my arms near her neck hoping she couldn’t feel the tension in my body. “Thank you” I say softly, all the while sneaking my hand to the clasp of her necklace.

She pulls away abruptly, once more grasping her necklace, “What is wrong with you!” she exclaims. I back up, hands up in defense, “After everything we’ve done to help you, healing your boy” she glares at me with wide eyes, “I never expected this from you Y/N.” I stare at her blankly, do I jump her? “You get out of here, before I call over those officers. Looks like your boy is already in trouble too. Disappointing, both of you.”

I look over my shoulder, Dean’s being pushed away by two cops and there’s a large crowd surrounding the tent including Roy. Maybe they evacuated. I turn back to Sue Ann but she’s already pushing past me, heading to the crowd. Oh no. Layla walks up to him next and she seems to be upset with him. How much did I miss? I rush towards Dean, Layla walking away, “What did you do?” I whisper yell. “You said to distract Roy!” he argues.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with the police!”

“‘Don’t matter, did you get it?” Dean asks with a quirked eyebrow. “No,” I grumble, “She caught me in my attempt and started lecturing me, I was thinking of just jumping her before she pointed out your run in with the police.”

“You were gonna jump the woman?!” He exclaims.

“I didn’t know what to do!!” I hissed, “And it’s not like I did it!” I let out a frustrated sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, “We need a new plan, where’s Sammy?”

“‘Think he’s waiting by the car, ‘hope he’s got somethin’ Roy’s gonna do a private healing session with Layla tonight.”

“Great,” I mumble, “I really should have jumped her.”

I sit criss cross applesauce on the hard motel bed. For a hunt that I knew so much about I had royally blown it. She was right there. The necklace right there. “Please tell me you found something helpful in their home” I pleaded.

“I found the spell book, written by a priest who went dark side,” Sam answers, holding up the small book, “And she isn’t just killing random people. She’s forcing the Reaper to kill people she finds immoral, from some teacher who was openly gay to a woman who advocated for abortion rights.” The room fell quiet for a moment, there were more layers to this than we thought. “May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work” Dean muses.

“No seriously that’s messed up,” I add, shaking my head. “Yeah,” Sam nods, “I think you should hold onto this book Y/N.” He hands it over and I hold it cautiously in my hand, “How nice.” I’ll probably spend the next couple of days reading it over before ultimately sending it home, I did not need a spell book on dark magic with me, didn't even need to own it but rather me than get in the wrong hands.

“We should head back soon” Dean says, “Layla could be there any minute”

The Impala rolls over the graveled road for the second and hopefully final time today, this time with total darkness cloaking us no lights on. We roll to a stop, “That's Layla's car. She's already here,” Sam points out.

Dean nods slowly, “Yeah.” He was upset, “Dean…” Sam began. But Dean ignores him, looking out the window instead, “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla’ months.” I should’ve known my dramatic speech from before wouldn’t magically resolve him of his guilt, no one has that power. “What's happening to her is horrible,” Sam reasons, “But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself Dean, you can't play God.”

Dean goes quiet for a beat before getting out of the car, Sam and I following. We approach the tent, peeking inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of people including Layla and her mom, “Gather round, please everyone, gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where's Sue Ann?” Dean whispers. I tried to crane my neck to look around the tent, maybe she was off to the side somewhere… “House,” Sam answers simply.

We creep up to the small house, weary of making too much noise we couldn’t afford to get caught, “You guys go find Sue Ann, I'll catch up,” Dean orders. I look at him confused, “Wait, what are you gonna—“ But Dean’s already backing away from us yelling, “Hey!” to two figures in the distance. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” he yells out, of course he would be taunting the police. The officers drop what looks to be coffee cups before running after him, Dean taking off at full speed. Only he would do something so stupid. “Uh, anyways” I begin, “If she’s doing it at her house she’s probably by the altar, and considering the size and necessities of the thing and the fact her husband doesn't know it would have to be in an attic or basement.”

“I’ll offer you one better” Sam nods off to the side of the building, “a cellar.” He was right, that would be better. And on top of that definite light emerges from the metal doors. Sam leads the way opening up the heavy doors and propping it open as he makes his way down first. I follow suit immediately being hit with the sight that is the altar, a small table adorned with candle operas filled by tall burning candles, parts of dead animals, bones and blood sprawled out meticulously across the red table cloth. And right in the middle was a black and white surveillance photo of Dean before he was healed, the photo smeared in blood.

“I gave him life and I can take it back too” A familiar voice suddenly says. Sue Ann. I turn around hastily being met with cold eyes, behind me I hear a large crash and I don’t have to look to know Sam had flipped over the table. Her eyes flip to the scene and I use the initial shock to rush her, but she was already close to the stairs so it did not take her long to sweep up them slamming the cellar doors behind her. Something clicks and shifts, she must have locked us in here. Sam joins me at my side, pushing and fighting against the barred doors. “Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked,” she reasons, “And Dean is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Oh, so that twisted psycho thinks that’s how it is. Well she messed with the wrong witch. “You're gonna wanna back up” I tell Sam. I press my palms to the cold metal of the doors, I’m pissed now. No one gets to use magic, let alone dark magic, on either of my boys. The doors begin to rattle harshly, almost as if there’s an earthquake, “Goodbye Sam, Y/N” she says. I put more force on the door, my entire being focused on it until it burst open bits of chipped paint and screws flying away, a satisfying break of the wood she used to block us ringing in my ears as broken bits of the wood come crashing back down.

Sue Ann stands but a couple feet away, her eyes wide as she watches me exit the cellar with shock and fear. She backs up further and I follow after her like a predator trapping its prey. “I-I read about things like you” she says weakly, her voice shaking. She keeps backing up, “You’re a—You’re a—“ her back hits the wall of a nearby trailer house. “Witch” I finished for her, yanking off that necklace once and for all.

I throw it off to the side, far away, and back up from her. My job was done and the Reaper would come knocking for its own revenge. “My God, what have you done?,” she heaves, pressing a hand to where her necklace used to be. “He’s not your God” Sam says cooly. Her head snaps to something in the distance, her face falls growing pale she must be seeing the Reaper. Then all at once she takes off running, not making it very far before she falls to her knees, her body convulsing once, twice, before falling to the ground. “I think we have just aided in her murder” I muse.

“Yeah…” Sam nods, “We should probably…” This time I nod, not saying anything as we walk away from the crime heading back in the direction of the Impala. We intercept Dean on the way, meeting at the car. I give him a small thumbs up to say we did it this time and he nods solemnly. “You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Hell of a week” he answers.

I glanced up from my phone for the fifth time in the last minute. I was trying to text Adeline to update her on everything but kept getting distracted by Dean's blank face as he stared off at nothing while sitting in bed. I made eye contact with Sam, giving him a sad smile, we were thinking the same thing. He turns to his brother, watching him for a moment before speaking, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies gruffly. Sam looks back at me again and I give him an encouraging nod, “What is it?” he asks again this time more gently.

“We did the right thing here didn't we?” Dean asks, finally breaking. It was difficult to answer him, on one hand we stopped someone from playing God and killing people who they found immoral in which none of the victims were bad people, it wasn’t like they were criminals but to her they were still wicked (god forbid someone has a different opinion than you). But on the other hand it was saving people, except to pay one life for another wasn’t exactly gracious work. Yet, we were doing the same thing, trying to play God and cheat death. I had even admitted to being willing to make great scarface’s to do so, in that aspect I wasn’t so different from Sue Ann in the very beginning.

“Of course we did,” Sam answers, and he really does sound sure. Dean sighs, hanging his head, “It doesn't feel like it.” Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and the parallel from only earlier in the week is not lost on me, “I got it” Sam volunteers getting up from his seat to open the door, “Hey Layla. Come on in.”

Huh.

“Hey” she waves awkwardly. Dean quickly rises from his place on the bed, “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam...called. He said you...wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam and I join in on the glaring, he really needs to start telling me things sooner. But he just smiles sheepishly, “I'm gonna...grab a soda.”

I stand abruptly from my chair, Dean should have his time with Layla. Maybe he won’t feel as guilty, “I’m gonna join you” I declare, “A soda sounds great!” I follow Sam out the door, closing it behind me.

[theflyindutchwoman]

I've got her! I've got her!! Right there. Here. Come on! Here she is. Help me.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 2.11 - Day of Death

I can't express how much I love this episode. It is such a masterpiece that I know that anything I write will automatically pale in comparison… So I'm just going to gush over some of my favorite moments.

The way Tim's emotions are so palpable during the whole episode, but particularly here… For someone who's usually good at compartmentalising, it says a lot about his feelings that he can barely keep it together. The only time we saw him this feral and this distraught was over Isabel and she was his wife… The cinematography and music just enhance everything he is going through here : the golden lights that remind us that Lucy is running out of time… the haunting piano notes or silence that give an eerie atmosphere… the looming dead tree… All of this serve to heighten Tim's feeling of despair.

His distress when Angela announces that she can't tell from the video if Lucy's still alive, is written all over his face. So is the confusion that quickly changes to hope when he spots her moonstone ring… And how symbolic is it that he finds her ring. Or that Lucy threw it as a breadcrumb - for him specifically. He once told her that the most important thing she needed was her eyes - cop eyes - and she remembered it. She left something for him to find, knowing that he would, as she admitted to him later. Because he also taught her during the manhunt that she's never alone. But it goes beyond trust : what she had was faith in him. And the fact that he rapidly recognises her ring just shows how attuned he already is to her. As far as we know, she only wore it twice in his presence : when they won the roundup competition and when she gave him her "evaluation" of him. And yet, he remembered and knew that it wasn't just some random piece of jewellery. Granted, the odds that someone else lost a ring there were minimal. But as we've seen with his Valentine's day present, he was paying attention to her.

And then there's this mix of desperation and hope when he finds out where she's buried, calling the others frantically, digging her out with his bare hands, not even stopping for a shovel… Or when he opens the barrel, not knowing if she's merely unconscious or not breathing… When he breathes life back to her… Armstrong's look says it all : what's driving Tim is something far more powerful than just guilt. Or duty.

There's also this immense sigh of relief that can be heard once Lucy regains consciousness… The way he's gently putting one hand under her head to make her more comfortable and help her get her bearings, maintaining contact with her to ground her… It's such a contrast to how feral he was before. Or the way he holds her close to him at first when she starts crying, trying to comfort her before hugging her tightly, cradling her, swaying a bit, with his hand in her hair… The way her trembling hand is gripping Tim, holding onto him like a lifeline… How she's hiding in his embrace and he's giving her some sense of privacy when she breaks down… How he's whispering soothing words to her - and I love that we can't really hear what he's telling her, that everybody else are giving them time and space. It adds to this feeling of intimacy, to this idea of privacy he's giving her despite the fact that they're surrounded by their friends and colleagues - and commander. It's just the two of them in that moment. That hug was as much for her than for him. After the ordeal she went through, Lucy desperately needed to feel safe again - or as safe as possible. And Tim himself needed the reassurance that she was alive. To quote another show - he cares, a lot more than he's supposed to. And it was in full display in this episode.

[wheelie-sick]

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[five-rivers]

Cult Division 2

Part of the Exhumed series.

I am pleased to present the new chapter of Exhumed, in accordance with the poll. :D

Enjoy!

.

"Uh," said Danny, having already decided that this was his least favorite cult.  "So.  You summoned me.  Congrats."

“Lord Phantom,” intoned one of the cultists, voice artificially deep.  

Danny pegged him as the leader.  He was also, incidentally, the tallest one there.  Did this cult pick their leadership based on height?  Not important.  

“Do not wonder at our call, oh you of unequaled power,” continued the cultist, “for it is an auspicious night, and though this place may be foreign to you, your lost bones lie six feet beneath our woven circle.”

"Believe it or not," said Danny, coolly, "I do know where I am, thanks."

He shifted his glare from the cultists (who were sort of hard to look at, because they were all carrying stupidly bright flashlights) to the cloth beneath him.  It was white, with black, silver, and, regrettably, Fenton ecto-line green.  Apart from the weird symbols, the pattern of stitches was reminiscent of the Fenton Ghost Catcher.  

Not a good sign.  Danny would appreciate it if his parents would run better background checks on the people who bought their stuff.  Not that cult membership was generally a matter of public record, and even if it was, not all cults were like this.  

Danny caught himself sinking towards the ground and yanked himself up.  Doing so was oddly difficult.  He felt himself straining, as if he was carrying something heavy.  Trying to go sideways was worse, like trying to move a particularly stubborn Ghost Zone door.  

Yeah.  Not a good sign.  

“What do you want?” asked Danny.  

“We, your servants, wish to reunite you with your flesh, oh wonderful one.  For this purpose we have crafted this circle, to marry the spiritual divine with the physical divine, so you may lead us in all ways and for all time, and grant us the blessings we deserve as proclaimers of your might.”

“That’s… kind of gross sounding.  Plus, I knew this was here.  I could come get my stuff at literally any time.”

“Of course, oh puissant one, your power is vast and unmatched.  But we, your faithful servants, have long gathered knowledge with which to aid you, and it is by this that we have found this night, and this ritual, that shall truly wed you to your once-discarded flesh.”

One of the other cultists muttered something like ‘We’ve only been around for a year,’ before being elbowed in the gut and pushed to the back of the group.  Well, that narrowed which cult this was exactly down a bit.  A very little bit.  

Whatever.  Who these people were wasn’t currently the problem.  Getting away before they somehow turned him into a zombie or forced him to possess his own corpse was the problem.  

“Okay, so what if I don’t want to be reunited with my flesh?”

This seemed to baffle the cultists.  

“But of course you do!” said one of them.  “Everyone wants to be alive again!”

Danny rather doubted that these guys had figured out how to resurrect people, and didn’t particularly want to be resurrected in the first place.  What would that even look like for him?

Speaking of looking, weren’t Collins, Paterson, McGee, and Daily still watching?  Why weren’t they here, doing something?  He could use the backup.  

Almost as if summoned (ha) by his thoughts, Collins, Paterson, and McGee emerged from the decorative shrubbery.  

… Actually, if Danny squinted past the cultists (and their flashlights) he could see Daily making a slow jog towards the group as well, still carrying his computer.

“Freeze!” shouted Collins.  He did not have his gun out.  Danny wasn’t sure if cops in Amity Park even had traditional firearms, to be honest.  Several of the cultists raised their hands anyway.  “You’re under arrest!”

“For what?” demanded the leader.  

There was a beat of silence.  Danny dragged his palm over his face, exasperated.  Not only were they kind of late getting here, but they clearly hadn’t thought this through.  

“Trespassing?” suggested Paterson.  

“This is public property,” said one of the cultists.  The others nodded in agreement.  

“The park is closed,” tried Paterson.

“Mayor Masters passed a new ordinance to keep the park open all day to accommodate our undead and night owl citizenry!” 

“Wait, really?” asked Paterson, glancing at Collins.  

“Oh, yeah, he did do that,” said Collins, his face scrunched up as if he’d bitten into a lemon unexpectedly.  “Defacing public property?”

“With a blanket?” 

“Come on,” said Danny, “you guys have to do better than that!”

The cultists jeered.  The ones who had put their hands up had, for the most part, put them down.  

“Whose side are you on?” asked Paterson, crossly.

“The side of the faithful, of course!” proclaimed the lead cultist, waving his arms.  

“The side I’m on is the inside of this circle, that’s the problem,” said Danny.  “Maybe you could get them for, I don’t know, kidnapping?”

“Kidnapping only applies to people!” asserted a cultist.

“Oh, I see how it is.  At first, I’m the great and powerful Phantom, and now I’m not even a person.”

“Er,” said the head cultist.  “We’re only using the unjust law as our shield, great and powerful Phantom.”

Danny closed his eyes, feeling the strain of both the ludicrous conversation and staying afloat.  “Okay, look, I meant that title sarcastically, I don’t want you to actually use it.  What I want is for you to let me go.”

“Oh, most gracious and humble Lord Phantom, we wish only to free you from ignorance and the horror that is the division of soul and body!”

“Can we get them on conspiracy to commit a crime?” asked McGee, who looked almost as done with the situation as Danny.  

“What crime?” demanded the lead cultist.  “We are only exercising our right to practice our religion as we see fit!”

“Uh,” said McGee.  “Grave robbing?  Desecrating a corpse?  This reunion thing has to be one of those two, right?”

“We are not grave robbers!  We are merely returning what has been stolen!”

If only Danny had access to this kind of enthusiasm when his body had actually been stolen.  

Cameron Daily finally arrived, panting.  He doubled over, clutching his computer to his stomach, and raised one finger.  “I’ve got it,” he said finally.  “You’re in violation of Amity Park Municipal Ordinance 11042.”

“What.”

“Passed in nineteen eighty-four, APMO 11042 states that no spirits, demons, ghosts, or other similar beings are to be summoned on public property, on the penalty of fines, and confiscation of all related ritual paraphernalia.”

The cultists exchanged nervous glances.  

“You’ll never take us alive!” declared the leader, before absolutely booking it.  

The other cultists were flustered at first, but then they ran, too, scattering into the night.  

“Well,” said Daily, gesturing at his flabby and sweaty body, “I’m not going to be able to catch them.”

McGee swore and took off.

“Hey, wait!” shouted Paterson following.  Collins gave Danny an apologetic look before running as well.  

“Great,” said Danny.  “So, could you maybe get me out of this?”  It was becoming harder to keep his distance from the ground.

“I can try,” said Daily, starting to dither around the circle.  

“Maybe you can just–” The sharp party-popper sound of a taser being fired somewhere in the park made Danny flinch.  

His control slipped.  His foot hit the embroidered cloth.  

The symbols and lines sewn into the cloth flared and spasmed, swarming up Danny’s leg, crawling over the fabric of his suit as if they belonged there until they twined around his torso and arms as well.  

There was a flash of light.  Danny was human again, but the symbols were still there, stitched into his clothes and apparently inked into his skin, still glowing.  

“Oh,” said Daily, wide-eyed.  “I don’t, um.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually do that.”

Danny grunted in reply and turned his hands over, looking at the symbols that circled his wrists.  They tingled, both on his skin and in his eyes.  

“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to,” said Danny.  He folded his hands into fists and looked up.  “I can’t turn back.”

[elendsessor]

I think about a direct epilogue of desu overclocked (haru end) so much. Kayuza Yuzu Atsuro Keisuke Midori AMANE….. they all need to go back to their previous lives, if those lives are still available to them.

You show up to school after summer break and the trio of kids in ref back look like they just slept for 18 hours each and they’re really twitchy now

gin and haru’s is my other personal favorite because of how relatable gin’s motivation is and how it perfectly reflects things in retrospect but also is really depressing when you think about it. it’s the ptsd/survivor’s guilt ending.

the government keeps lying about what really happened during the lockdown which already lead to a lack of closure + permanent affects of societal collapse and (justified) distrust in authority, but it definitely would get personal. anyone who survived the lockdown who witnessed family and friends die would never be able to give them a proper farewell or at least not get some sort of revenge or compensation, trying to tell everyone outside of tokyo what happened could be arrested/killed/generally never believed, etc. if you lost your home or business you’re fucked financially. politicians likely wouldn’t be affected but tbh the soldiers that were thrown into the lockdown with nothing to go off of might feel like they should’ve done more despite never getting the chance to truly fight back against the demons. they were just being used.

on an individual standpoint that’s definitely the most fucky part. the gang saw a bunch of people die gruesome deaths, there’s definitely some sort of codependency between kazubel and cainoya that’s unresolved (you can’t tell me their relationship isn’t at least kinda toxic considering how many hoops naoya is willing to jump through to get his brother to fight their real dad), yuzu’s paranoid for life, atsuo would have a lot of trust issues especially when it comes to being around cops and soldiers (wouldn’t blame him don’t care if his ending contradicts that shit he clearly looked up to them before realizing how corrupt shit is), kaido losing his brother, keisuke has fucked up complexes, i’m sure mari would feel a lot of grief if kids at the school she worked at died, midori’s far too pure and likely lost innocence, gin likely didn’t get closure, haru’s probably still suicidal or otherwise in a deep depression bc that shit doesn’t easily go away + possible imposter’s syndrome, amane’s forever trapped in a crisis of faith and likely finally realizing her father only had her to be a mouthpiece so her life until that point meant nothing, and honda loses his son no matter what (despite not being part of the gang it’s something that also was a kick in the balls so he gets a mention).

they all probably have separation anxiety too bc lockdowns do that to a guy. kazuya, atsuo, and yuzu are probably hugging one another for dear life after school every day and can never go for long without checking in. everyone needs therapy.

[winderlylandchime]

I’m just gonna go ahead and say sorry in advance the man lost his mind with the next ep but 3x04 1/2 ‘He would make great marketing for durex. Remember their covid ads? Funny as shit. Why is she here? Why can’t she take the kid with her to the hospital? I thought i gave Brian permission to hit this fucking kid? Yeah! Eat the chips you little bitch.‘ we got to Mel and Linds picking donors ‘FRESH SPERM?! LINDSAY HE IS 19- What are the-THEY CANT GO TO A SPERM BANK? THEYRE GONNA PICK BETWEEN THEIR FRIENDS?! Girl, what makes you think any of them want a kid at all or better yet with you? There is no way Brian would let that kid get into the ‘vette. JUSTIN! WHY ARE THEY CASUALLY SAYING HEY TO EACH OTHER? oh Justin hates this kid (Mel and Linds pick Mikey) MICHAEL?! THEY ARE PICKING MICHAEL?! MICHAEL?! MIKE? MIKEY?! Because he invited a kid to a comic book store? THAT IS LITERALLY HIS JOB! Thank god the diner doesn’t have more male waiters because she would think someone wants a kid just cause they told her the specials’ ‘WHAT IS WITH THEM MOVING IN SO FAST? I THOUGHT THAT WAS A YOU PEOPLE THING *waves at me*’. ‘Have you noticed that whenever Lindsay and Melly want something from someone they make them a meal? (mikey and Ben are taking a shower and he actually fake gagged) The only shower scenes I like are Brian and Justin’ ‘he’s going through Brian’s stuf- he has a lot of dildos, why am i acting surprised..HE STOLE HIS BRACELET! How dare you, you little shit! BRIAN HE HAS YOUR BRACELET! HE DOES NOT OWE ANY OF YOU ANYTHING ESPECIALLY NOT MONEY! I know I said hit him but this *points to the toilet scene* is WAY fucking better! Do Ethan next!’ He is once again using Shazam to make his playlist even better. ‘Usually when people start doing drugs, they become fun before they ruin their lives, this dude is just hitting the gym? Boring. Oh he’s angry and jealous of Michael isn’t he? Well that’s not healthy’ he is once again using Shazam, this is getting ridiculous. ‘OKAY BRIAN!! Oh damn, I don’t remember him being all 6 packy before. Why is a cop there?’ ‘Why is he surprised that he wont have full rights? Dude, you’re a DONOR! But don’t worry they never hold their word, they force the donors to step up one way or the other. Make sure you have life insurance. THATS WHY THERES SPERM BANKS MELANIE!’ And thee scene is coming up (my cousin thankfully reminded me to record him here bc she knew he’d lose his mind and thank fuck she did. Usually i record him for big moments but i almost forgot here) ‘HE ACCUSED HIM OF WHAT NOW?! *pauses tv* OH FUCK HIM AND FUCK WHOEVER MADE HIM! That is such a horrible and serious accusation to make cause some people, HA, some people..good one (his name), GIRLS! WOMEN! aren’t believed! And boys! Oh don’t even get me started and i know it’s ironic because im yelling at a boy BUT DIFFERENT! WE DONT EVEN GET TO COME FORWARD CAUSE WE SHOULD BE HAPPY WE GOT LAID! And if it was done by a man? Well then we are forced to be quiet because we get mocked since apparently gay is worse than rape. But Brian is gay, so of course he did that and nobody would think otherwise. Because gay means predator in their peanut shaped brain! Meanwhile PRIESTS exist! Or those weird family friends that you have to change outfits for when they come over but nobody calls that out. HOW FUCKING DARE THEY? You know what? FUCK EVERYTHING AND ESPECIALLY FUCK THAT KID! His family better know better, i have no faith in them but they owe him that! Nobody will believe this, he literally hates kids!‘ He then got up and went outside to smoke. I forgot that when the whole Florida gay ban bullshit happened, this man FLEW to florida to protest (we are nowhere near florida) so I should’ve seen this coming tbh. And when he came back inside he just went ‘I do wish they showed him being interrogated because I know for a fact my man was giving sarcasm and anger and funny insults!’ ‘Well look at that, it’s almost as if you shouldn’t move in together after like a week!’

Melanie and Lindsay’s insistence on using known sperm over donor sperm baffles me and must be because for TV reasons because it’s so bananas. LOLing at them making someone a meal… that is so true!

Ben not becoming more interesting with a drug problem IS A MOOD. And true.

His reaction to this storyline is everything. Factually, false accusations are incredibly rare and yes, it’s a double-whammy for boys. The other part of this storyline I hate? Is that Claire is right to believe her kid. So rarely do parents believe their kids and go to the police, when they should. I hate hate hate this storyline with a passion. I get why it happens (Justin still believing in Brian and doing whatever needs to be done to clear his name) but FFS CowLip why why why do you have to create a narrative around a false accusation?

YOUR BROTHER FLEW TO FL TO PROTEST? He gets all the fist-ally’s in the world! I love him.

[invisibleraven]

19: Happy Tears. + Reggie, because I know you will make me cry if I prompt this =D

Reggie doesn’t have many warm and fuzzy Christmas memories. He was so young when they moved from Georgia, so all he has of MeeMaw and Pops is photos and the odd cheque on his birthday.

Those pictures show him happy, ripping open gifts in front of the tree, his family looking idyllic in the background.

The first few years in LA his parents make a token effort, do the whole shebang, but by the time he hits eight, they are tired of it. Tell him the truth about Santa, so it’s like his innocence is dashed upon the rocks of cruel harsh reality.

The next year they don’t do a stocking, and then after that the presents dwindle until by the time he’s twelve they don’t even bother to celebrate. Reggie tries to reassure himself that it’s fine. He’s probably too old for Christmas now anyways.

Only when he meets Luke, Alex, and Bobby, they all still celebrate the holidays with their families. Alex does lots of church stuff, Luke helps his neighbours put up the lumineria, Bobby helping his lola make the parol.

Reggie kind of clams up when they ask what he’s doing, deflecting and sidestepping the answer until they forget he never gave one.

He keeps it up for years, never admitting that the holiday lost all meaning for him ages ago.

But then Alex comes out and church becomes a series of condemnations over his sexuality and not a celebration of his faith.

And Bobby's lola has to go into a home, with his parents shipping him off to military school.

Luke ends up running away on Christmas Eve after one big blow up fight with his mom, spending the night shivering and sad in their studio.

So the next year none of them feel like celebrating.

Then the Molina family moves into the old Shaw residence, and don't think twice about the guys pretty much squatting in their new garage. Welcome them with open arms in fact. Rose loves their music, Ray loves their jubilant energy. Carlos loves having older brother figures. And Julie... Julie loves them all.

Julie makes their band better, rises them to a level above. Makes them get noticed. Makes them get interest from the industry.

Reggie is riding a high when he comes home after that meeting, a clear future set before him at last that he barely notices the glowing trees in everyone's windows. All except in his, where the only glow is that of the television.

There are no carols in the Peters home, just slurred words and admonishments. No presents except thrown bottles, punches, and kicks. There is no Christmas here, only the ads for the movies playing on the TV as Reggie loses consciousness.

When he wakes up, he's in the hospital, a bunch of concerned faces surrounding him. "W-what happened?" he slurs, his lip swollen, his eye equally so.

"Your neighbours called the cops. They found you..." Rose lets out a small sob.

"It was real bad suffice it to say," Ray continues, rubbing over his wife's back. "Anyways, they saw Julie's number in your phone under Family..." Reggie blushes, figuring out why the Molinas are here, and though he's a little embarrassed to have made that choice, he doesn't regret it. But then Ray continues, "Your dad... he's gone away for awhile Reggie. Your mom is at a shelter, where hopefully they can help her. But you..."

"They'll ship me back to Georgia. To MeeMaw and Pops," Reggie says, sounding crestfallen. He loves his grandparents, but he hasn't seen them in ages, only gets the card and an super rare phone call. He doubts they want to upend their lives with him at this point.

"Or..." Rose drawls. "You could come home with us. We're registered foster parents, there's a pre-existing relationship there. You do get a say in it Reggie."

"I want to go with you," he says, firm, decisive.

"Well then that's what we'll do," Ray replies. "As soon as you're discharged. There's going to be a lot of paperwork, but you can come home. Celebrate Christmas with us."

"We'll get you a stocking and whatever else you need. Plus something fun," Rose adds.

Reggie sniffles, and his vision blurs with tears. "It'll be my first family Christmas," he admits as he tries to swipe the tears away.

Ray and Rose exchange a look at that, and gently gather him into a hug, promising to make it the best ever.

It really is, full of love, laughter, and more feeling of belonging than Reggie has ever known.

However, it's topped the next year when his present is a swathe of adoption papers, with the option to finally be an official part of the Molina family, right down to his name. He signs them right then and there, and by the New Year, he's Reggie Molina, and every Christmas that follows is a happy one, surrounded by his friend and family.

It quickly becomes his favourite time of year, with good reason, and Reggie is forever grateful for the chance to create new memories, take new photos, and have those times to look back on. Even though the torrent of happy tears that stream down his face in every shot.

[luna-the-shark4254]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

more of these ig Faithful!au belongs to @buntsukim (also there's cool rp accounts @faithfuldummy@faithfulcashier)

Faithful!Cashier: My expectations were low but holy fuck.

Faithful!Player: Hey, Faithful!Cashier, have you thought about having children? Faithful!Cashier: ... Faithful!Cashier: Does looking over you and the others not seem like I already do? Because I promise you, it sure feels like it. Faithful!Player: But we're not childr- Faithful!Cashier, already distracted: FAITHFUL!DUMMY, PUT THE FIRE DOWN!

Faithful!Dummy: Guys where did Faithful!Player go? Faithful!Cashier: They got arrested. Faithful!Dummy: How the hell- Faithful!Player: *bursts in through the window* The cops are after me, I thought it would be fun to steal crackers and throw them at people.

Faithful!Dummy: I hope they've calmed down... Faithful!Player: Shut the fuck up you annoying ass pig.

Faithful!Dummy: Is there something you would like to say, Faithful!Player? Faithful!Player: Oh, there are SEVERAL things I would like to say.

Faithful!Dummy: Why are you doing this? Faithful!Cashier: Same reason I do everything, Faithful!Dummy. To get somebody to like me. (lmao it's funny cuz he's unlikable)

Faithful!Cashier, holding a fork: You know your talking a lot of shit for someone who has 2 perfectly good eyeballs each cost about $16,000 on the blackmarket. Faithful!Player: .... Faithful!Cashier: *lip smack*

Faithful!Cashier: Did you wash the dishes? Faithful!Player: I thought you wanted to do that... Faithful!Cashier: *chuckles* You were WRONG.

Faithful!Player: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

Faithful!Cashier: I feel awful about killing you. Faithful!Dummy: Faithful!Cashier: Even though technically you never even died, so I don’t know what you’re bitching about.

Faithful!Dummy: If I were a drink, I'd be Cherry Vanilla Coke. If you were a drink, what would you be? Faithful!Player: Bleach. Faithful!Cashier: Sewage. Faithful!Dummy: ...Please calm down, edgelords.

Faithful!Player: Don’t go picking a fight with me. I could make your life difficult. Faithful!Cashier, sarcastically: Wow. I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life.

Faithful!Player: What does a winner do when life gives them lemons? Faithful!Dummy: Um, make lemonade? Faithful!Player: No, they squeeze them right back into life’s eyes!

Faithful!Dummy: Wanna get out of here and grab a bite to eat. Faithful!Cashier: I don’t usually eat with losers. Faithful!Dummy: Neither do I but I asked you, didn’t I?

Faithful!Player: I can't believe you've done this..... Faithful!Dummy: I'm sorry I didn't know-! Faithful!Player, on the verge of tears: YOU CAN'T JUST BUY ME A GIFT OUT OF NOWHERE NOW I FEEL LIKE A HUGE ASSHOLE!

Faithful!Dummy: Well, Faithful!Cashier, is there anything you would like to say to Faithful!Player? Faithful!Cashier: How do I put this delicately? You’re a horrible roommate and nobody likes you. Faithful!Dummy: How about we frame our statement with “When you do this, it makes me feel this”? Faithful!Cashier: When you live here, it makes me angry. Because you’re a horrible roommate and nobody likes you.

Faithful!Player: Faithful!Cashier, gather the others. We need to have another Faithful!Dummy-is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.

Faithful!Cashier: All in all, a 100% successful trip. Faithful!Player: But we lost Faithful!Dummy. Faithful!Cashier: All in all, a 100% successful trip!

Faithful!Player: I’ll be famous one day, but for now I’m stuck in this house with a bunch of morons.

Faithful!Dummy: It’s funny how well you and Faithful!Cashier get along. Didn’t they hate you at first? Faithful!Player: Faithful!Cashier hates everybody at first. It’s their way of reaching out to people.

Faithful!Player: And here we see Faithful!Dummy and Faithful!Cashier in their natural habitat. Texting eachother variations of the word "garlic bread" to try to make eachother laugh. Faithful!Dummy: Gaelic bread. Faithful!Cashier: Grueling brad. Faithful!Dummy: Ha ha, glamorous beans.

*Faithful!Dummy is considering cancelling plans, and Faithful!Player and Faithful!Cashier are advising them on what to do* Faithful!Player: Just don't go. Faithful!Cashier: Say you’re ill! Faithful!Player: Pretend to break your leg. Faithful!Cashier: Really break your leg!

Faithful!Dummy: Here are two pictures. One of them is your bedroom, and the other is a garbage dumpster. Can you tell which is which? Faithful!Player: Faithful!Player: This one is the dumpster. Faithful!Dummy: They’re both your bedroom.

Faithful!Cashier: *eating a cinnamon roll* Faithful!Player: Cannibalism. Faithful!Cashier: *confused chewing noises*

Faithful!Dummy: What is everyone for Halloween? Faithful!Cashier: I’m superman. Faithful!Player: A clown. Faithful!Dummy: So I’m guessing we don’t need to get you a costume then?

Faithful!Cashier: YOU CHEATED! Faithful!Player: So did my dad, but hey, my mom knew it all and even sorted out their wedding, so what’s the problem? Faithful!Dummy: I… can confirm that that actually happened. Faithful!Cashier: …What.

Faithful!Player: When I met you I thought you were a real bitch. Faithful!Cashier: What changed your mind? Faithful!Player: Oh, I still think you’re a bitch, I’ve just grown to like that about you.

Faithful!Player, to Faithful!Dummy: You have room temperature IQ. Faithful!Dummy: What's room temperature IQ? Faithful!Cashier: 73°. Faithful!Dummy: Oh, okay. Faithful!Dummy: How much is that in IQ?

Faithful!Dummy: Did you have to stab them? Faithful!Cashier: You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what they said to me. Faithful!Dummy: What did they say? Faithful!Cashier: "What are you going to do, stab me?" Faithful!Dummy: That’s fair.

Faithful!Dummy: The best part of an oreo is the cookie part, not the frosting. Deal with it. Faithful!Cashier: Darkness without light is an abyss. Light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side. Faithful!Player: YO SOCRATES! IT'S A FUCKING COOKIE!

Faithful!Dummy: I did it! I memorized everything in the book! I'm gonna ace this test! Faithful!Cashier: Ok, Faithful!Dummy, I'll give you one more question before you go. What ended in 1918? Faithful!Dummy: 1917. Faithful!Cashier: ...You're ready.

[loominggaia]

How much does our each of the crew trust/distrust the government? On a scale between Tony Stark to Dale Gribble?

lol I love the scale!

All of the Freelance Good Guys are part of the crew because they just couldn't hack it in regular society for whatever reason, so I think all of them would be at least a little distrustful of authority.

Evan has little faith in any government. He's said in various stories that he hates the whole concept of taxes, bosses, and landlords. He may be the "leader" of the Freelance Good Guys, but in "Lost and Found" he mentions that he and his crewmen all own equal parts of the company. He doesn't get paid more than anyone else. He doesn't like the concept of kings and queens and believes that no one should hold more power than anyone else. That said, he's careful not to challenge any government either. When he's in kingdom territory, he plays by their rules the best he can and tries not to get in trouble.

Lukas has a little more faith in government than Evan does, believing that some are more competent than others. He complains about the Matuzan government quite a bit throughout the series, but often praises Folkvar Kingdom and even tried to convince Evan to move the FGG compound there on more than one occasion.

The only authority Glenvar answers to are his gods. He doesn't trust or even acknowledge any government because they are all ruled by peoples. According to his religion, nature is the ultimate authority. He hates the concept of taxes and money in general, believing that man only really owns what he can procure for himself and defend. He sees kings and queens as arrogant phonies with a bunch of fake power. In his eyes, country borders aren't real and neither is currency.

Alaine is the Dale Gribble of the crew. Not only does she not trust the government, she actively antagonizes it. She keeps picking fights with powerful factions because she just can't help herself. She hates all forms of authority, from cops to kings. She will screw with any government any chance she gets. She would die before she paid one coin in taxes, and you can fuck right off if you think she's joining anyone's military.

Jeimos certainly doesn't trust the Damijani government one single iota, but on a few occasions they have praised other kingdoms for various things. Jeimos grew up under one of the shittiest, most oppressive regimes on Looming Gaia, so their bar isn't exactly high. They are willing to pay taxes and play by the rules so long as they feel they're getting representation back. They have faith that there are good, competent leaders out there among the bad ones. They're not against the idea of living under some governments, like Matuzu or Folkvar.

Isaac doesn't understand any of this stuff. He's never lived under kingdom rule and couldn't care less about politics. All he knows is what he's heard from his crewmates. In "As Nature Intended", he thinks Damijana and Evangeline Kingdom "both lick sweaty buttcrack" because of how much he's heard Jeimos and Evan complain about them. He goes on to say he's glad he lives in Drifter's Hollow, so I imagine he's happier living out of the government's reach.

Linde is about as close to the Tony Stark side of the spectrum as it gets in this crew. She not only trusts most governments, she wants them to have more control than they already do. For example, she respects the strict control that Damijana has over its populace, and thinks it could be a perfect utopia if only their draconian laws fit her own ideals instead. Problem is, Linde's ideal paradise is surely someone else's Hell. She wouldn't mind living in Matuzu Kingdom again, except she believes people have too much freedom there and thinks people should be bullied harder by the government into behaving.

Balthazaar doesn't care. He just straight up doesn't give a shit what the government does, as long as long as it doesn't interfere with his ability to put food and beer on the table every day.

Skel has hope that there is competent leadership out there, but he hasn't found it yet. He'd be willing to live under kingdom rule, so long as he wasn't treated like a second-class citizen the way he's used to. As soon as he finds such a place, he's ditching mercenary work and moving there. He's only here because he has to be.

Javaan spent his whole life getting fucked over the Yerim-Mor government and it left a bad taste in his mouth. Now he has no faith in any government, and not only that, but he's compelled to fuck them over right back when he can. Committing fraud, stealing from rich leaders, fighting cops, all that fun stuff, he's all about it. If he ever pays a coin in taxes, he's stealing two coins back.

Elska is willing to live under a government, so long as its laws make sense to her. But as soon as she encounters any kind of corruption, she's going off the rails and beheading some people to "drain the swamp". Needless to say, Elska can't really function under any realistic government.

Mr. Ocean just wants free love and free weed, maaan. Actually he goes on a surprisingly deep spiel in "Supply and Demand" about how he believes power corrupts, and how no one is immune to it. There was a time when he believed in leaders, but since the events of "Troubled Tides", that time is over. Now he believes no one should have power over anyone else.

Zeffer, like Evan, doesn't trust any government. Except unlike Evan, he won't play by their rules either.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

[howaboutcastiel]

More find a new way word sludge

Xi’an is obviously played by a Spanish British lady in canon. I don’t see her as Natalia Tena (no offense to the legend herself) but for Find A New Way I see her more as Erin Kellyman (Karli Morganthau from TFATWS). That’s why I wrote her appearance the way I did.

I have a whole bunch of reasons for this that don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things? But Xi’an in my head is a black woman with type 3 albinism, who is treated differently because of it, and unlike Din, became a narcissist as a result of the discriminatory/abusive treatment. She’s extremely ambitious and aggressive, and the covert paired the two of them for marriage because they are both ‘defective’ in the eyes of the Watch.

Whereas Din delved into his own research of the Creed, became the most knowledgeable and most faithful and eventually led to him realizing the place was corrupt and he needed to deconstruct, Xi’an became more of a Peacher’s Pet, and became more devoted the way the Watch specifically instructed.

Din learned the Creed better than anyone else in the Watch, and it made him realize that they’ve all lost The Way.

Xi’an takes the words of the Elders as gospel, rather than learning the scripture herself. She needs the acceptance and validation more than she needs the genuine faith.

In the end though, it didn’t matter. The Watch ultimately betrayed her by insisting modern medicine wasn’t “the way” and leading to her death and Grogu’s premature birth.

Obviously I wanted this to be a direct parallel to fundamentalist Christianity. That’s kind of been my whole thing, even though I wanted the Mandalorian religion to have other influence because I don’t think they are The Christians of the Star Wars universe. In my mind, the Way is an ancient Native American religion that was slowly corrupted over time by Christian influences in American culture.

The Way as it exists in 2006, for the Watch in particular, is a bastardization of the original culture and religion, warped by the nature of cultism to become abusive, restrictive, and to prioritize reproduction even at the expense of religious values (because more children means more believers means the religion will survive longer and spread wider).

Also, I just have a vendetta against fundamentalist Christian’s. Cobb’s family is more of the “I am a southern Baptist who gets blackout drunk on Friday and goes to church on Sunday.” And Din’s cult is legitimately fundamentalist, to the point where faith comes before health and safety. Cover yourself from head to toe. Don’t interact with the outside world.

My dad and his side of the family is like Cobb’s family. Just genuinely evil people who use God as an excuse to hate everyone and not take responsibility for their actions. My mothers side of the family leans more fundamentalist (of course not barring any of the racism, sexism, or homophobia of the former side either) and believes that women should be submissive and have as many children as possible as soon as possible, etc. no drinking, no premarital sex, no swearing. Read your Bible every day and do NOT watch R-rated movies or pursue post-graduate education.

BUT ANYWAY. This is a love story so at the end of the day, fuck both sides of the family. Din and Cobb are queer and in love and happy in spite of the people who wish that they weren’t.

And maybe a little bit spiteful. Just a little. Because those people deserve to be humbled.

So yeah. Grogu is half Honduran and half black, and he’s so malnourished and forcibly reclusive that the cops thought he was white. But he’s not white and cops are dumb and racist. And by god Grogu will be full of color and life and energy as soon as Din and Cobb get him back. Not that Omera isn’t doing her part to jump start his recovery.

Bases are covered, emotionally (religiously) and physically. But they are only covered in the form of word soup inside of my brain.

[aminta]

I'm genuinely exhausted and more than a little angry that we have to keep dealing with people telling us that my family is already a lost cause. I'm trying to assume good faith on your part, but just know when I say Biden is killing my family that's not a metaphor.

I haven't told anyone else not to vote for him. I'm very, very clear that I won't be doing so.

That said...

Bluntly, I can't outline an electoral solution, because I don't believe electoralism provides a solution. I think we can mitigate some of the harms on the local level, and I do vote in local elections and encourage others to do so.

But electing Biden in 2020 didn't remove the specter of fascism. He refused to expand the Supreme Court, and more and more of our rights have been eliminated at that level. His justice department failed to prosecute Trump's attempted coup in a timely manner, and now Trump is running again. He hasn't curbed police violence--he increased funding for cops!--or violence against migrants at the border. He rolled back what little pandemic response we had, and people are still getting sick, dying or being left with permanent disabilities. Nothing you dislike about Trump is materially better under Biden, and Biden has not lifted a finger to prevent another Trump victory. And all of that was before Biden started committing genocide.

So. "Who should we vote for?" is not a very useful question. A better question, I think, is, what would you be doing if the fascists had already won? What actions could you take that would help members of your community survive? What resistance would you undertake?

It is not too soon to be doing those things right now.

There’s a reason why an old school segregationist who loves mass policing and imprisoning Black people, migrants and the poor was attached to a historic first Black President and it’s not because Obama or Biden are great guys who want the liberation of the oppressed. No, they were attached because they both represented the opposite.

By joining a Black activist with a white segregationist, they ensured that the inclusion of people of color into the American Empire didn’t threaten that empire or its ambitions. It’s why  Obama expanded the Forever Wars, the drone warfare program, and deported more people than any president before him combined. The Obama-Biden administration was put in place to reaffirm and cement liberal white supremacy in this country, not reject it. Trump was a white backlash to the notion that white supremacy could be expanded. It’s just two dueling brands of racism.

Kamala Harris made her career by locking up Black people in the Bay Area. Her track record consists of terrorizing Black communities through the prison industrial complex. She then became the top cop of California. Her track record consists of rampant anti-Blackness. Not only did she fight to maintain prison slavery, she also fought legislation that would require her to investigate the brutal executions of Black folks by the police. Kamala Harris is also anti sex work. She repeatedly sued backpage despite many sex workers advocating to keep backpage as it kept them safer than being on the streets. Kamala Harris is an example of a Black person weaponizing their Black identity to excuse the violence they have committed against the Black community. Take Kamala Harris’s race away from the equation, and judge her by her actions. Her actions are those of a white supremacist

Kamala is not a Feminist Badass.  She’s not a “future is female” moment.  She’s not a girlboss, she’s not “black girl magic”. 

SHE IS A ZIONIST, MARRIED TO A ZIONIST, WHO SUPPORTS ZIONIST POLICIES UP TO AND INCLUDING THE ANNEXATION OF PALESTINIAN LAND AND GENOCIDE.

She’s happy to help kill Palestinian women, denying them a future, keeping them from being successful and showing off their shine and spark and personality.  So I don’t wanna hear fuck all about how her presidency is a glass ceiling moment or #feminism. She’s a perpetuator of the status quo and a staunch supporter of genocide.  I mean for fucks sake she just met with AIPAC and enthusiastically spouted her commitment for their right to “self defense”, which is not a right they have as an occupying force - WHICH THE UN ACKNOWLEDGES THAT THEY ARE. 

There is literally no justification for these behaviors, actions, and violence.  Because those actions are not self defense … those actions are genocidal, murderous, and cruel.  But Kamala Harris has no conscience.  Anybody world leader who would still support Israel after 9 months is intentionally genocidal.  They know what these people are doing is wrong and they DO NOT CARE. 

Lastly.  And this is where I really lose my fucking shit.

YOU PEOPLE COULD’VE RALLIED BEHIND THIRD PARTY CANDIDATES.  YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT KAMALA.

YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HER POLICIES OR HER STANCE ON ANYTHING.

BUT JOE SAID “SHES IN MY PLACE NOW” AND ALL THE SUDDEN IT’S #SLAY #GIRLBOSS #IM WITH HER.  Fuck you.

ill be fr anon i have a life and shit to do today. could i get a tldr