#optimistic dean

[qqueenofhades]

Going to hazard it's not a great sign for your obvious party nominee when a substantially non-zero portion of your own party's voters come out to make a point of informing everyone that they are not voting for you, even if they have done so multiple times previously, and pledge to support the incumbent president of the opposite party if/when you win the nomination.

[zmediaoutlet]

trying to articulate something here --

I dig the experience of reading meta that is coming from a well-reasoned place but I nevertheless fundamentally disagree with, and I think that comes down to a willingness to sift down and down and down until you come to an essential Thing about the text-genre-intent-characterization-whathaveyou. Like -- I can see how you got there, but wait, you didn't consider [xyz].

Top of mind example: Dean's masculine because he's trying to act like John. On the surface -- absolutely! He's trying very hard to mimic Dad because his universe centers around god Dad. He's also often operating in a world of trying to do what Dad would want, and making assumptions of his own about what those wants would be, which is a slightly different operating structure.

...But. What's actually driving that? Is it dad qua dad? Or is it -- Dean is essentially loyal-obedient-conformist? Is it that, in the cultural context of growing up in the '80s-'90s with a father who grew up in the '60s-'70s, this is what being a certain kind of man meant and so it is essential to lock into those tropes and characteristics?

We look to how Dean acted like a certain kind of boy when he was an 18 year old and then a 26 year old; we look to how that is updated by the time he's 40, and operating under what is the correct kind of man to be in 2020 vs 2005 (use of language, acceptable levels of nerdiness, fashion sense, etc). From there we can look to how he's not being John, he's being... a normie, more or less. And bless his heart for it. He just wants to Fit. If he were sticking with Acting Like Dad, he wouldn't cheerfully cosplay through a Panthro case, you know? So what's actually driving the behavior, when you look to the heart of it?

So then, if Dean were Deanna--

You can extrapolate. And this stuff is outside the text -- you have to decide What Dad Would Want from a girl-child (given cultural context and norms, given how the young version of John was characterized, given how John and Mary might have operated when they were 'safe' for those first 5 years, given how John might have then shifted his expectations and needs for his kids upon entering the hunting life), and then whether What Dad Would Want fits against a fairly normal conformist presentation (in the way that Dean is intensely normal, if a little wrong-side-of-the-tracks), or if John flips the script and for some reason decides that his kid should not fit in and have what's actually a much harder time, for a traditional gender presentation in the culture they live in, etc.

All of this boiling down to: what matters most in the meta consideration? What's key for characterization and universe structure? Does it actually matter? --no, not at all. But it's very fun to tease apart.

[mmaeeve]

daily dean quote #184/366:

“great. so, we go outside, we get ripped apart. we stay in here, what, starve to death?”

- season 15, episode 1, back to the future

[homoangel]

bold as fuck of him to assume they will be able to gather his ashes after he explodes as a bomb full of souls but i mean

[toothful]

John Powell’s coming back for the soundtrack, so... there’s that!

[heavenssexiestangel]

On a scale of 1 to 10 I think I'm a 3 at best... 😅

[help-me-find-a-name-please-lol]

.

[vaginadentatacas]

rotating the most evil fic idea in my mind rn....

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P1]

(Yandere × F!Reader)

[Series link]

[Warning: obssessive, workplace/academic discrimination, xenophobia, mention of SA, slowburn, dense plot, not even sure if its dark romance, not sure if its romance at all]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

You knew his type. Rich, spoiled, and never told no. In college, you would see them flocking down walkways in goofy polos, or if there were events, in color-coded suits and ties as if going to their first communion. They were never alone, stuck in bubbles of laughters and champagnes and vape vapors. You were not there besides them. You sat rooted in the library chair, dropping in and out of kickbacks of other students who also never fit into their puzzle of oxfords and high heels. You didn't resent them. You had your own little life. You found comfort in turning it up in the weekend with your fierce eyeliner and fishnet when your bank balance was full, or sitting in your friends' living room greening out on Mexican weed when you were broke.

So when you graduated side by side with them, ordered by names, you didn't feel as if you missed the school spirit. Your ex was chatting up with his crowd a couple rows down, arms in arms with a known rapist. In a sea of them you treaded in your scuffed heels and walked the stadium to your fine, leather-bordered diploma and took a half-hearted photo with the dean before sneaking out early, never to see any of them again. Sure, you missed your friends, but you could always call and catch flights (when your bank balance so permits). The rest of them slipped off your mind easily like vapor.

You moved country. That was the right move. Sure, you could stay in the States and try out a desk job, but you didn't find it in you to belong. Plus, with the recent development of AI  technology coupled with the impending economic recession, you weren't too optimistic about finding a position that lasts. So you packed up and left, missing barely anything. 4 years of your life remained in the tissues your cried into in the dingy airport toilet. You called your family to let them know your ambition. They scoffed, trying to talk you out of it for the last time yet, before their persuasion became discouragement. Before they told you that the corporation needed an heir, and that you were stubborn just like your father was. You turned off your phone and boarded. Your 20s seemed wide open, soaring with you, louder than the plane engine that roared even in your sleep.

3 years later, in your little cubicle in a Japanese high school, you didn't feel like you were soaring anymore. Perhaps your wings got caught somewhere, shredded in the engine just before you landed. You buried your head into piles of notebooks, your red pen gliding. The power to decide who passed and who failed was in your hands, and the soft-hearted nature you carried with you squirmed as you had to mark down zeros and ones. You found yourself smiling at your students and encouraging them, as well as enduring the resistance from the rebellious ones. Little by little, the spark of hope in you matured into a quiet resolution. You learnt to be calmer, to hang your head more, and to speak less of your opinions. In the mirror, you saw a new face.

You pushed on, narrowing your shoulders in the subway, cooking your dinner in your modest kitchen, and packing your own lunch at five in the morning. Sometimes you went out with your coworkers, sometimes you remained indoor. Settling in a monotony as Tokyo raged on with its flourescent storm, you feel, in your quiet moments, as if you were half asleep.

Then one summer morning just before another school year ended, the head of the foreign teacher department walked in. Walking by her was a face you didn't recognize.

"This is Mr. Lukas."

As customary, you stood up and greeted with a polite smile.

"Yes, good morning Mrs. Tahara. Good morning Mr. Lukas."

"I know this is late into the school year", Tahara said, "but Mr. Lukas is the perfect fit for our school. He has plans to stick with us for the next 2 years, so I was hoping he would get the training he needs by trying out at our summer program."

"That seems like a lovely idea", you acknowledged.

"Since you have the most experience in our department so far, and also the only one left since the rest of the team has taken an early vacation as customary for them", Tahara continues, finally building up to her point, "I was wondering if it is not much trouble for you to mentor him this summer. I know that you have said that you would take the summer off this year, but there is nobody else we would trust quite as much!"

You felt a knot of frustration in your chest. After 3 years of dedicating yourself to the summer program, you did finally decide to take the summer off to have some time for yourself. Truth was, you had found yourself growing weary of the monotony in your life which had lulled you into a state of daydream. This summer was supposed to be for you to travel and visit your family. Plus, with the money your had accumulated by pinching your purse, you were hoping to finally fly to LA to meet with a long-term friend you had been dying to see.

But you knew this was not a request. It was an order. Though Tahara was smiling, she was not going to take "no" as an answer. The woman did not climb to her position in this expensive international high school in the heart of Tokyo by being softhearted like you.

"I see", you nodded, the blank smile yet to leave your face, "Very well, then. I will do my best."

Tahara also did not let hers falter when she tried to soothe you, "I heard the staff vacation is to Thailand this year. How exciting, right? It is the 10th year anniversary of our school after all. Tell you what, I will lobby for you the best room there is!"

The pang in your heart did not go away as you chuckled, "Oh, there is no need at all. Please, I am happy to do this job."

"Nonsense", Tahara insists, "Best room there is! Please leave that to me. All you need to worry about is Mr. Lukas."

You bowed your head.

"Thank you very much. I will do my best."

With that, Tahara turns to the newcomer: "Your cubicle is right here next to her. Please get settled in, and she will show you around. You have her full attention for today- I checked, there are no classes today, right, Miss?"

You nodded at the last part. Tahara briskly walked away, leaving Lukas standing in front of you.

You finally turned your attention to him, getting a good look for the first time yet. Lukas was tall, black haired, with a strong nose and freckles. His defined body was complemented by his white button-up and slack pants. The way his body opens up by his wide shoulders and his face held up high told you that he was a stranger not only to this work environment, but to the country as a whole. He still seemed alert, yet to be lulled into sleep like you.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lukas", you held your hand out for him to shake. His hand was soft, and his grip was gentle. You could tell clearly now... he hadn't been a working man.

"Hi", he smiled, "I'm so excited to be here. I'm all yours now, so... lay it all on me!"

American, you mused in your head, noticing his accent and the loud, overly friendly manner. He reminded you of the people you knew from college.

"Of course. Let me give you a quick tour of the school before we get started!"

"Great! It's a beautiful school. Can't wait!"

The moment you and him exited the teacher lounge, Lukas couldn't help but immediately make small talks.

"So... how long have you been working here?"

"Oh, for 3 years now", you replied absentmindedly.

"Woah, that's a long time. To be honest, I just graduated college last December, so this is all totally new to me."

You hummed and pointed out to him the nurse's office, letting him know that he could find assistance there in case of student injuries. Finding it difficult to simply ignore his attempt at a conversation and partially feeling sympathetic at the assumption that he may feel alone in a new country, you picked up the small talk.

"I understand it may feel intimidating at first. I was just like you... moving from an American college to work here is a big change."

"Oh, you were in the States, too? Where at?"

His head turned toward you. He seemed intrigued.

"Yes. I was studying in Texas. X Univerisity."

"So you are smart, then. I was in T University. Your rival school."

"That's a good school, too. What did you major in?"

He sheepishly grinned.

"I was in their business program. What about you?"

You didn't want to divulge more information about yourself, so you directed the focus back on him: "Business? Then what makes you decide to teach here in Japan?"

"Well, I wanted a change of pace... My family, they have a job lined up for me already, and I can come back for it whenever I want. So right now I guess I'm just, like, trying to live my life, you know? Figuring myself out. I thought Japan would be a nice start."

A part of you felt that you could relate to him. Indeed ... if you wanted, you could simply go back to your own family company and work toward inheriting it. But from the way he was talking, it seemed he had a better relationship with his folks.

"That's a great way to challenge yourself", you nodded, now leading him to visit the indoor gym. Your indifference toward him left you with a lukewarm response.

"What about you? You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

It was your turn to look at him now, a bit bewildered. You didn't expect him to show interest in what you do. Most people usually got caught up in talking about themselves, especially with you who knew to ask more questions to evade the attention.

"Oh... well, I guess I've been interested in linguistics ever since high school. This place put me into curriculum development and researching, so I figured it would be a great addition to my CV."

He narrowed his eyes barely.

"So you have a plan?"

"I do."

"You wanna get a Master's?"

"Well, higher, if I can."

"Ahhh... so you are smart smart."

Uncomfortable now that the topic was you, you quickly looked away: "Not really. Tell me, what is the position your folks have lined up for you?"

He chuckled.

"Business consultant. It's nothing special, but it's steady."

"Where are they based?"

"New York."

Right. So they have money money.

"Are you perhaps a nepo baby?"

He laughed.

"Well, I guess you could say that. But I don't want to be defined by them. I want to create my own ... my values, you know?"

You almost felt yourself sympathizing with him, but the feeling of seperation came back. You remembered the looks you received and the empty seat next to you in classes filled with his type. You remembered being talked over and put aside when you wanted to speak on team projects. You remembered the blatantly perverted things you were told, the arms that linked with rapists, the lack of protection that you and your friends got from anyone when one of them had laid his hands onto a girl you knew.

"Anyway... would you be free for dinner sometimes this week? I'm totally new and alone here, and I could use someone to show me around, you know?"

You held back a sigh as you looked at him who had stopped in his track. He still was younger and, as he said, new and alone in Tokyo. When you were just like him, your coworkers indeed did you the same favor he was asking of you.

"Yes, I can arrange that."

"Does tonight work? If you don't mind, of course."

Against the strange aftertaste that lingered on your tongue, you agreed: "I can do that."

You knew that it wasn't in your nature to ignore someone who felt lost. But you decided that you would not be too close a friend with him. After all, you knew his type.

[tiktaalic]

i also think dean would get extremely weird about a temporary femcas vessel and NO ONE would enjoy it. i think by season. 10? 11? he would immediately bump cas into nonsexual platonic little sister territory even if it's a 40 year old woman. and he would resist all of cas's attempts to remind him that nothing has materially changed and he's the same person with "yeah but it's different." "how." "y'know." bad for hopeless romantic eternal optimist cas who is like. well maybe.... if it was ever going to happen this would be when...... because he is immediately shuttled into NOT SEXUALLY AVAILABLE by dean because (thought that cas has) he is SUCH a non prospect for dean in all ways shapes and forms. bad for dean who is dealing with the ever faster creeping realization that he might be gay for real.

[castiwls]

peter - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'Said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me’

Requested; anons

Notes; this is long (for me) and sad :( reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Dean Winchester was a man you’d never be able to understand. You’d only been 18 the first time you’d met him. You’d been bright-eyed and optimistic about the world, freshly out of high school and enjoying your newfound freedom when you’d stumbled into a dinner drunk on cheap vodka and craving some sort of food.

He’d caught your eye almost immediately. Your drunken confidence led to you finding yourself in the seat opposite him, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched you ramble almost incoherently before falling silent.

That meeting alone led to a six-year relationship. For a moment you’d believed that Dean may have been the one. That you’d been one of the lucky few to find your soulmate at a young age meaning you’d get to live your life out with him.

And then everything seemed to unravel right before your eyes and you were hopeless to do anything. Dean quickly went from someone you saw your future with, to someone you’d seemingly outgrown - even though you were two years younger.

By 25 you were ready to settle down, traveling around the country had been appealing when you were 18 yet it began to feel like a chore. You wanted a home, a place you could go back to after a long day and feel safe.

You’d argued about it until once you’d had enough. You’d left with nothing more than a note explaining yourself.

It had been years since you’d even thought about Dean Winchester yet now you found yourself face to face with a man you’d long since given up on.

Dean’s smile was the same. His eyes still held that sparkle that you’d loved yet it had dimmed slightly, his eyes more tired.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. You swallowed watching him. “Why are you here?”

“What. I can’t stop by and say hello?” He pushed off the door frame stepping slightly closer. He continued to smile yet you’d noticed it failed to reach his eyes. A small frown pulled at your lips as you placed a hand on his arm.

“Dean. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong.” He shook his head. “Dean, I’m not stupid. Somethings wrong, and where is Sam?” You ran your hand up his arm before placing it on his shoulder. His face dropped slightly at the mention of his brother. He sucked in a breath, his body seeming to deflate slightly.

Oh

“Dean i…I’m so sorry.” You sighed pressing your hand to his cheek. He stayed quiet simply leaning into your touch his eyes fluttering shut. 

You’d once promised yourself you’d never let Dean Winchester back into your life unless he finally agreed to grow up. Yet standing there in that moment you still saw that 18-year-old you’d met at the dinner.

Moving your hand from his cheek you stepped back. 

“I have a guest room.”

–

“He’s alive.” Your tone was dripping with disbelief as you stared at the man opposite you. Dean nodded his back against the counter. “Yeah.” He sighed running a hand through his hair. “He has been for a while.” Dean was talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world, he was using the same tone he’d use whenever you’d discuss dinner, or whose turn it was to take the trash out.

This was utterly insane. Even after he’d filled you in on everything that had happened since you left you still found the whole thing insane. Yet it was Dean so you’d believed him. You’d allowed him back in your bed and over the past year you’d fallen right back in love with him.

You’d finally got what you’d wanted. The life you dreamed of with him was a reality and you’d grown so comfortable that you’d almost forgotten what he’d told you years ago.

“I love you. But I can't leave hunting behind, It’s my whole life!”

The words had stung then and they stung more now as you stood opposite him in your kitchen. 

“So your going with him.” You crossed your arms and swallowed back the hurt which lay heavy in your chest. “You're going back.”

Dean watched you for a moment, his eyes downcast for a moment. “Sweetheart I have to-”

“No, you want to.”

Dean paused as you cut him off, taking a small step forward. He placed a hand on your arm. “I’m sorry.”

You looked at his hand for a moment before pulling back and turning around. In doing so you missed the look of hurt which flashed across Dean’s face before he followed you out of the room.

Walking into the living room you grabbed a blanket off the floor, folding it before turning back to him. “I know you're not sorry. I know part of you is glad, glad that you’ve finally got your get-out-of-jail card.” You placed the blanket down as he crossed his arms. “Thats no-”

“You don’t have to lie Dean. I know you well enough to know damn well that you could never walk away from hunting.” You let out a breath sitting down on the couch.

“I’m not mad. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair, leaning forward on your knees. “I really thought that maybe you’d finally grown up. That you’d realised that hunting isn’t a forever thing. But I guess I was wrong.” 

Dean sat beside you, his hand grasping yours in his. “That’s not true.” He shook his head. You turned to look out the window, your eyes closing for a moment as tears burned at your eyes.

Dean watched you for a moment before gently grasping your chin and turning you to face him. “This year…This year proved to me that maybe hunting isn’t my be-all and end-all. But I miss it.” He admitted quietly. “And I can’t let Sam do this alone, I couldn’t live with myself.”

Your eyes stayed on his as he cupped your cheek with his hand. “I love you.”

You sucked in a breath before swallowing. “Yet you still broke your promise.” 

Dean frowned, squinting slightly as he tried to figure out what you could mean.

“The note.” 

His eyes flashed with realisation before he opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I told you to come back when you had grown up and were ready to walk away, and only when.”

His face dropped. “When I came that was true. Sam made me promise that when it happened I would follow through on that promise and I did. I did for you and for him.” He moved closer stroking your cheek. “Sweetheart you have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. But you still broke that promise.” You took a breath to compose yourself. “And I can’t wait forever, Dean.”

[sammygender]

i actually. oh my god. it’s been so long that i’ve forgotten about the absolute insanity of s4. i’ve become acclimated to sam mistreatment by the show but i genuinely think s4 is SO fucking insane because like. it’s back when supernaturals good! and yet! sams narrative arc is INSANE! in a fascinating and yet genuinely awful and horrifying way!!! and like. is that intentional?? spn is a horror show surely it’s intentional but did they actually realise what they were doing can i realllly trust that? is it smart and meta because when you put thought into it it’s really fucking clever but did they actually or did they genuinely unconsciously think dean is the actual moral compass of the show and that disobeying him is blasphemy?? or is that an intentional writing choice a la family is hell a la god is a nuclear familial patriarch?? i like to think the latter but

like. supernatural is an experiment. an experiment in how many times you have to state something about a character, even if it’s directly Not What Happens and actually genuinely false, before a fandom will accept it as 100% true. an experiment in, well, if you never directly call out that your protagonist is an unreliable speaker and narrator, will your fans ever realise?

and the answer for the first is Pretty much you can just say it once - i think as soon as most people heard ‘dad said i have to save you or kill you’, they internalised it as Sam WILL go evil and Dean will have to save him or kill him and what’s more, Dean has the right to make these choices, because everything about Sam is obviously inherently Dean’s. nevermind that sam has always tried so hard to be good and his most ‘morally grey’ era in the show is during active manipulation and is still just because he is trying SO hard to do the right thing. and the answer for the second is They will never realise, because most fans still think that dean saying sam chose a demon over him means it’s what happened.

and i don’t even know if the writers knew what they were doing during any of that. i have to believe some did. hopefully most. but i don’t even know anymore late season sam writing has made me so much less optimistic. maybe they just believed dean was fucking correct

[lunaroserites]

Stunning

Pairing: Established Castiel x Winchester!Reader (Fem)

Summery: Based after Castiel became human, and loosely based off a post I seen about how after he became human he say Dean's face for the first time.

Words: 1365

Warning: Fluff, Kissing, a little sad with a happy ending, Canon Divergent (Canon is a suggestion). Not edited we die like Winchesters.

She sat comfortably on one of the plush couches in the library. Her coffee mug clutched between her hands, she was trying to absorb the heat from the ceramic mug. The bunker was cold in the mornings, the fans above that pulled fresh air in were noticeable in the quiet of the morning. 

Her morning tea brought her the heat she needed to get ready for the day. Her brothers had left her in a hurry last night after getting a frantic call from Castiel telling them the angels fell and he lost his grace. She wanted to go but her brothers said it would be best if she stayed home and manned the phone, hunters would be calling for assistance and she was best to answer their calls. 

Her job as a hunter was picking up for Bobby, she would spend days on end researching with him, learning from him, she took over for him when he passed. Her heart clenched thinking back to the elder hunter she viewed as a father.

Her brothers had called an hour ago to tell her they would be home soon and they had her angel in tow. Well he wasn’t an angel anymore she figured. Losing his grace meant he was pretty much human now. 

The bunker door banged open, making her jump as the peaceful quiet was shattered by the sound of heavy boots and grunts as three of the most important men in her life made their way to where she was curled up. One of Dean's flannels covered most of her upper body, the sleeves rolled up. She never slept well alone so she would wear one of Dean’s flannels and she would use Sam's blanket and pillow that Castiel would use during the night as she slept next to him. She would surround herself in their safety. 

She looked at her brothers, Dean was the first down the stairs he gave her a grim look, she searched his face for something to indicate what she should be prepared for. He gave her very little. Sammy was right behind him and his face was less grim but not much more optimistic looking. The last was Castiel, and he looked awful. He looked exhausted, he looked cold. He looked completely lost. He hadn’t looked at her yet, his face downcast as he made his way down the stairs, he gripped the rail harder than she had ever seen him grip it before. 

She stood before Castiel made it to the bottom of the stairs, she walked forward and stood just behind Dean, her hands wrapped around his arm, he brought his free hand up and rubbed soothing circles on her hand. Sammy stood beside her and put his hand on her shoulder, he leaned down, “he’s a little overwhelmed,” he whispered to her. 

Castiel was at the bottom landing still looking down but focused on his hands in front of him. She nodded at her brother and took slow steps forward before she stopped a couple paces from the former Angel. He still hadn’t looked up from his hands. She reached out and put her hand on his, she wanted to sooth his fidgeting fingers, ease his worries. Make him feel better. 

“Cas,” she said quietly, his heart fluttered at how softly she spoke to him. Her voice brought him some peace, it didn’t sound much different from while he was an angel. The brothers had sounded different. Much more gruff, not as smooth. Her voice was still like little bells that chimed in perfect harmony. Her voice was music to his ears. 

She moved closer to him, her other hand touching his cheek gently, she was trying to coax his face upwards so she could look at him fully. He leaned his cheek into her touch, her touch was feather light, gentle and soothing. Her skin felt like a warm blanket to him, her fingers trembling against his cheek. He could feel her worry roll off her in waves. She always wore how she was feeling on her sleeve, he always knew how she was feeling. She was always one of the easiest to understand even while he was Angel. 

“Castiel, look at me” she cooed gently at him, he lifted his face and had his eyes closed. He was afraid of her looking into his eyes and not seeing the Angel he was and only seeing the shell that was left. She ran her thumb across his cheek, a few of his tears slipped past his closed eyes. That was a sensation he was not going to get used to anytime soon. “Please love.” 

He opened his eyes and looked at her face. He truly looked at her face, for the first time he saw her face. She was beautiful. Her skin was speckled with years of living, laugh lines, crows feet. She looked like she truly lived. While an angel he had never seen her face for what it truly was. But now he sees every pore, every wrinkle, every freckle. Her eyes were a beautiful green like Dean’s, her lips a soft pink and her hair was a lovely mahogany color. 

He took his clenched hands from her and placed them on her face, inspecting her, feeling her skin for the first time. He had touched her before but never had it felt this real. It was so overwhelming, his heart was beating loudly in his ears as he stared deeply into her eyes. Her lips parted as she took a sharp breath when he touched her. 

Then she smiled at him, “Castiel.” 

“You are stunning,” Castiel said breathlessly. He brought her face towards his and kissed her gently. The feeling of her lips on his was almost too much for his mortal heart to handle. He hadn’t imagined what it would be like, to feel life like a human, he hadn’t imagined she would feel this perfect. 

Someone cleared their throat behind the two, Castiel reluctantly pulled back from her and she gave him a sweet smile. 

“So this my Castiel now?” She said softly, her eyes searching his face. 

“This is your Castiel now,” his voice sounded the same, he looked the same, a little rugged and his lips felt the same. The only difference was the lack of soft thumb she would feel buzzing under his skin. The thumbing would get stronger under her touch. That was the only thing that was gone. 

“Well I’m okay with that,” she pulled him to her side and wrapped her hands around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. She was just happy he was alive and he was here with her.

Dean looked between his baby sister and Castiel, when they first started dating he was against it. Hell he still didn’t like it. Castiel promised him he would protect her with his life. Something he truly meant as he had risked his life more than once to keep her safe. Now that Cas was human he didn’t know how protecting her would go, but he knew Castiel would do whatever it took to keep her safe. 

Sam had left the library and went to find some food for the four of them. He had noticed his blanket on the couch, knowing she stayed there the whole night, waiting for them to come home. Dean’s flannel hung loosely off her frame, and he figured the pillow that was next to his blanket was Castiel’s pillow. 

He hated leaving her here alone, she was never good with it, someone always stayed with her or she was with them. Ever since her Castiel got together he always made sure she wasn’t alone for long periods of time and he would constantly update her on his whereabouts. Something Sam appreciated greatly from the former Angel. He looked at the fridge, being held up with a piece of electrical tape, there was a picture of the four of them. They were all smiling, she insisted it be taped to the fridge, a reminder that no matter what they had each other and there was room for happiness in this fucked up world. 

[drulalovescas]

Listen. I'm not exactly optimistic about the canon reciprocation in the revival. Like NOT. AT. ALL. OPTIMISTIC. The CW show Supernatural burnt me wayyyy too many times. However.

Imagine that Jensen Ross Ackles actually brings the show back. even though the story seems to be finished???? Because they're all kinda permanently dead this time???? So. Storywise there is no point in bringing it back. The story is done. Unless…you wanna fix things??? So.

Imagine that Jensen Ross Ackles brings it back. After all the bad press the show got for burying their gays. for not letting Dean respond. With there currently being so many different, actually good shows that are doing the queer rep right. And getting tons of attention and praise for it. So again.

Imagine that Jensen Ross Ackles actually brings Supernatural back ... only to make Dean Winchester tell Cas "sorry buddie, I don't love you THAT way." Just to make Dean Winchester NOT reciprocate. Or. Just to NOT address the confession AT ALL. Lmao.

Like…

Who would do that in this economy???! And why????!!

So. what I’m trying to say is, if Jensen Ross Ackles didn’t wanna „go there,” didn’t wanna „open the Pandora Box” wouldn’t it be logical and most importantly wiser to just be like Elsa and let it go????

Obviously. who am I to assume that Jensen Ross Ackles actually wants to do the logical, wiser and more profitable thing. He might just wanna be Dean Fucking Winchester one more time, consequences be damned. which is fair. i get it.

It’s just… it would be REALLY TRULLY [redacted] [deleted] [omitted] to bring the show back in order to bury your gays even deeper and anger and/or alienate your HUGE queer fanbase even more. the fanbase that you still heavily profit off via conventions etc etc.

It would be REALLY TRULLY [redacted] [deleted] [omitted] to bring the show back and not let Dean Winchester kiss the angel of the Lord Castiel stupid.

[lonely-cowboy]

in memoriam ↠ coriolanus snow masterlist. main masterlist.

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader (brief coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird) summary: after being caught cheating in the hunger games, coryo comes to you for comfort. it's only then that you realize he may not be the best person for you. word count: 2.3k warnings: kinda manipulative and bitchy coryo :/ we are NOT hating on lucy gray here it's not her fault it's his

author's note: can y'all tell i've been listening to good luck babe! by chappell roan on repeat? anyway! i wanted to do this with lucy gray but decided she was too sweet (HAHA hozier reference) to do this to reader so now we get mean coryo rip

You were the first person Coriolanus had run to once his cheating in the 10th Hunger Games had been discovered. Dean Highbottom had confronted him with a choice: serve twenty years as a Peacekeeper or have this scandal revealed to the public. He chose the former, of course; to have such disreputable knowledge revealed to the public would only tarnish his efforts at presidency. So a Peacekeeper it was.

Distraught over being caught, Coriolanus sought immediate comfort: you. He didn’t run to you because your love was the only thing that could put him at ease. Of course not, he didn’t love you the same way you did him. Though that wasn’t to say he didn’t care for you. In his own twisted and possessive way, Coriolanus cared for you more than he could any other human being. But the reality– one that you refused to believe– stood that Coriolanus did not see a future with you. You were merely someone who gave him the attention he relished. You were a reminder that he could be adored by the people, a reminder that he deserved everything good in the world. A reminder that Snow lands on top.

And so it was you he sought comfort from, knowing you would not shame him and instead find some overly optimistic, symbolic meaning behind it all. It would help him understand the hardships of presidency, you would say. You would remind him that “President Snow” was not just a childish dream but a truth that could be seen in the near future.

Alone in your family’s penthouse, you were startled by the sound of an authoritative knock. When you opened the door, there stood Coriolanus with his intense gaze already locked on your own. To anyone else, Coriolanus might have looked like his usual self. His shoulders were back, adding height to his already towering frame. His chin was raised in a way that, even to someone taller than he, it seemed as if he was looking down at you. 

But you knew better. You could see the way he slouched just the tiniest bit, the way his seemingly relaxed fingers were tense with the desire to curl into fists. And that look in his icy stare… like he loved nothing in this awful world that had betrayed him so cruelly.

“Coryo, why–?”

“They’re sending me to the districts,” Coryo interrupted, slipping passed you and into your penthouse.

“Who?” you questioned with a furrowed brow. 

You ignored the irritation that bubbled deep in your chest at Coryo’s pompous behavior. Since the Reaping, it had been something you felt a lot around him, though you remained in denial. Surely you could never be annoyed with Coryo, that boy you loved so deeply you would continue to be by his side, even when he didn’t want you.

“Highbottom, Gaul, all of them,” he growled as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Seeing Coryo in such disarray, you were quick to turn to your nurturing nature. With a hand resting lightly on his shoulder, you guided Coryo to sit beside you on the couch. You kept your hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee to rub soothing circles. 

“Why?” you asked with obvious confusion, finding it weird that a victor should be celebrated by going to the districts.

“Highbottom…,” Coryo paused as he gathered the right words, lip pursed slightly in that calculative manner of his. “Didn’t appreciate my methods to win. He’s sending me away to serve twenty years as a Peacekeeper.”

You didn’t question what Coryo meant by his “methods.” You couldn’t comprehend his elusive answers, and you didn’t much care. Not when he was leaving the Capitol for twenty years.

“Twenty years, Coryo…” you murmured in disbelief, eyes glazing over as you processed what this could mean for you and him. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Coryo whispered, his jaw clenched so tightly you feared it might snap off. “Twenty years away from home… away from you…”

Your eyes focused on Coryo again, a small smile gracing your lips. To hear he was saddened over leaving you… there was something achingly heartwarming in that. You only hoped it meant he would think of you while he was away, every day.

“I’ll be here when you return,” you promised.

Coryo glanced at you then, his smile matching yours. There was a wicked glint in his eyes, feeling satisfied that, no matter what, you would always belong to him. He could marry another, but you would still be his. Maybe even you would marry another, but you would still be his. Though Coryo’s possessiveness would never allow you to marry another. You would always be his. Funny, that is: you were his, yet you could never have him.

Coryo turned to face you fully, his hand covering yours as it sat on his knee. His other hand slowly snaked its way up your arm to cradle your face. His face was so close, you could feel his warm breath on your lips.

“You’ll wait for me?” he asked.

“Of course,” you answered breathlessly.

A sly smirk crossed Coryo’s lips as he inched forward. His lips brushed against your own, but you dared not move.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Coryo breached the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. His kiss was uncharacteristically sweet, mouth moving slowly and lovingly against yours. But his hold on your face was tight, keeping you pressed close to him. You were his and his alone. 

When Coryo pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against yours. His grip remained firm; always such a powerful hold.

“I’ll miss you,” Coryo continued in that sweet voice, one he used so rarely. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you… Write to me, won’t you?”

“Of course, Coryo,” you mumbled with a nod. “I’d write to you every day if you asked me to.”

A breath of a laugh escaped Coryo’s lips. “Then write to me every day.”

You nodded again as a comfortable silence settled over the two of you, both smiling with warmth as you held each other tightly. It was a distraction to you both. Held in each other’s arms, you didn’t have to think of the next twenty long years that awaited.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do in District 12, but I’ll–”

“District 12?” you interrupted, pulling back so suddenly that it surprised Coriolanus, leaving him with a creased brow. “How do you already know your assignment? Peacekeepers aren’t given their assignments until the day of their deployment.”

Coriolanus paused for no more than a second, but it was enough. He was never one to pause. The few times he had given pause had always been in times where he was caught in a lie.

“Highbottom told me–”

“No, he didn’t,” you dismissed, shaking your head slowly as you studied Coriolanus suspiciously. “You don’t know your assignment. Why did you say District 12?”

Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest, not out of fear for his answer, but because you already knew it.

No matter how greatly Dean Highbottom hated Coriolanus, he had no control over his assignment. And no one in their right mind– unless they were interested in a public shaming– would choose to send someone as high-standing and self-righteous as Coriolanus to District 12, especially not after he was so widely celebrated as Victor of the Games. There was only one way Coriolanus could find himself in District 12: he chose to go.

At least, that was his plan. Tomorrow, you surmised, he would head to the train station where he would be assigned his district of deployment. It was unlikely he would get District 12, but if he asked oh-so-sweetly, he was sure to get what he wanted. Because Coriolanus Snow always got what he wanted. And what he wanted was Lucy Gray.

He was going to follow Lucy Gray to District 12.

You pulled further away from Coriolanus as the realization set in. There it was again, that bubbling anger in the pit of your stomach. 

Coriolanus didn’t care about you, nor did he care about Lucy Gray. He deluded himself into thinking he cared, but you knew it wasn’t true. If he really cared, he wouldn’t be following Lucy Gray all the way across Panem. If he really cared, he wouldn’t be pursuing the both of you.

You looked at Coriolanus with horror as you were consumed by anger and disappointment, at both him and yourself.

Coriolanus read the look on your face with ease. It was obvious you knew his plan now, there was no point in hiding it. He released a steady sigh, jaw twitching with frustration that he had been confronted with his failures twice in one day.

“Is this all some kind of game to you, Coriolanus?” you asked. Your voice was quiet and without malice, your disappointment outweighing any fury you felt. “What am I to you? Your pet?”

“Darling, you know I don’t think of you like that,” Coriolanus said firmly, reaching for your hand.

You yanked your hand back quickly as the anger began to boil over, standing quickly to put distance between the two of you. Coriolanus groaned in annoyance as he too stood, slowly and without much interest.

“Then how do you think of me?” you demanded. “Because you refuse to call me your girlfriend, but then you kiss me like… like that and expect me to think of this as only casual?”

Coriolanus grumbled your name, his patience obviously wearing thin. “I care about you, I always have. This is more than casual to me.”

“No, it’s not! You’re leaving me and following Lucy Gray to 12!”

Coriolanus stiffened at the sound of Lucy Gray’s name, his shoulders squaring and spine straightening. His lips were pressed thin, looking down his nose at you. That ever-present air of superiority.

“Go to Lucy Gray, Coriolanus,” you growled. “I pray to any god who will listen that she escapes you as I have. And if she is unlucky not to, I pray that my memory will haunt you instead. Every time you kiss her, think of my lips. Every time you hold her, think of my warmth. Every night, you’ll wake up with her beside you, but it won’t be her you think of. It’ll be me.”

Coriolanus said nothing as he watched you with those bright blue eyes. You met his stare with a hard gaze, allowing that boiling frustration to take over. Maybe you would regret your outburst the second he walked out the door, maybe you wouldn’t. Right now, you were too angry to worried about that.

“Alright then,” Coriolanus sighed nonchalantly, dusting off his coat. “I’ll take my leave. I hope to see you again, but it appears as though I won’t. I can only wish you the best.”

Coriolanus turned and strode toward the door, his presence drastically different from when he first came knocking on your door.

“I can only wish that you rot in hell for all you put me through,” you answered smugly. “Thank God for Lucy Gray. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be stuck with your manipulative ass forever.”

Pausing in the doorway, Coriolanus glanced at you over his shoulder. He looked troubled as though he had never expected such a response from you. Now was usually the time you would come running back into his arms, sobbing over how you could never live without him. But not this time.

“Goodbye, my dear.”

You said nothing.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was a hot summer evening, the kind of heat that made you inexplicably lethargic and sleepy. The Covey had journeyed to the lake for an afternoon swim, picking berries and eating them with their toes dipped in the cool water. The day was long, but fun was limited. There were still chores to be done in town. 

When the Covey began their trek home, Lucy Gray was napping soundly in Coriolanus’s arms, her pink patterned dress sprawled across the thin blanket. Not wanting to disturb her from her sleep, Coriolanus urged the Covey to continue home without them, they would catch up in time.

But as the August heat eased any of Coriolanus’s worries, he too was overtaken by sleep. Together, he laid with Lucy Gray with nothing but the crickets and mockingjays for company. It was a peaceful evening.

With a sleepy hum, Coriolanus turned so that he fully enveloped your frame. He buried his nose in your soft hair, inhaling your scent slowly. Another hum left his lips as he squeezed you tighter against his body, your warm skin sending an affectionate tingle down his spine.

He murmured your name in his languid state, the sound so sweet on his lips that it was clear he was nothing more than a boy in love.

Coriolanus’s eyes snapped open as his mind awakened, finding himself wrapped around Lucy Gray’s slender frame. He inhaled with a start as he quickly pried himself from Lucy Gray who made a drowsy sound of protest. She turned and reached for him in her sleep, though she did not wake. Coriolanus pulled himself further from her grasp, his jaw tensing.

The image of you still danced across his vision. He rubbed his eyes furiously in an attempt to make you leave, but you would not. You filled his every thought, his every breath. He could not escape you no matter how hard he tried. Coriolanus’s head fell into his hands as he let out a silent, strangled cry.

Oh, how he missed you. That girl with lips so sweet and skin so soft. That girl with the laugh of an angel and a touch so warm it eased all tension. That girl who he loved so dearly and had let escape from his grasp. That girl who would never again be his.

Forever, he was yours, yet he could never have you.

[yellowjackets96]

the way you do the things you do / angus tully x reader — part one

summary / chaos is only natural when barton's resident misfit strikes up a bond with the middle child of the school's most despised instructor.

warnings / none

word count / 1,300+

hii! this one goes out to the very wise anon who suggested a plot revolving around angus and mr. hunham's kid, which, i must say, is an utterly brilliant concept. however, it turned out to be a lot longer than just a mere one-shot like my first one had been, so it'll probably end up being two or three parts. i hope that's okay, lovely anon. thank you for sharing your brilliance with me!

Moreso than anything else, the relationship between the two of you started as an agreement. Well, an unspoken one, but an agreement nonetheless. Somebody had to look out for the two of you, on equal footing as outliers, as social rejects, as the odd men out. No one could be better for that role than you yourselves. 

To your utter dismay, ever since your parents made the decision to ship you off to Barton Academy in order to get you “the best education available” for high school (which was made possible by your father’s half-off tuition staff discount), you found yourself under a level of scrutiny that you never once faced at your old public junior high. It was not your intention to be perceived as the offspring of the most hated man there, either, but word travels quicker than a deer crossing the road at Barton. A concept introduced to the dean on a Sunday morning ends up widely-understood knowledge by a Monday evening. You’d already been written off as the ‘spawn of Satan’ before you even started your first class. Tough fuckin’ luck.

On the other hand, Angus’s isolation was entirely self-imposed. Following several years of what his mother had promised would be a “short-lived maintenance phase,” he became fed up with the entire process — the constant shifting and forced socialization and paperwork and meetings with headmasters. Lather, rinse, repeat, over and over until he felt utterly insane. He grew to resist society’s forced conditioning of him, lashing out the only way he knew how, through acts of adolescent rebellion. Due to how much you contrast from your stickler father, you eventually saw eye to eye with Angus on this. Once you had finally worn him down to the point of dragging a tragic backstory out of him, you understood why, because, of course no teenager could possibly be interested in the art of befriending their peers and engrossing themselves in a community at their third consecutive school. 

But it didn’t start off too swimmingly.

He entered your life on the strangest day of the week, during the least-interesting possible time of year — a Thursday in late February. You learned of his arrival through the grapevine, mere hours before you first saw him. Perched at a seat towards the very corner of the dining hall, you had become increasingly intrigued by the nearby nonstop chatter from a group populated by Georgie Jackson, Philip McNamara, Billy Wolfe, and Teddy Kountze, a rare sight in the seven o’clock breakfast setting, which was typically chock full of half-dead, completely exhausted teenagers.

“You wanna bet it’s gonna be another freak?” Teddy had grumbled, shaking his head dismissively at something optimistic Georgie must have said. “They’re half the school, at this point.”

He not-so-transparently nodded towards you, earning him in-sync laughs from the more agreeable Philip and Billy, and a halfhearted head shake from Georgie. “Christ, dude. And you wonder why we’re the only kids who tolerate you.”

Teddy threw his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m just sayin’! We could benefit from someone actually cool and fun.”

“God, could you imagine how cool a girl would be?” Billy daydreamed, practically drooling.

The shaggy-haired blonde smirked. “You’re telling me. That’s all I wanted since I first enrolled here. Would be nice if old man Woodrup would do what the student body actually wants, for once.”

“Instead,” Philip piped up, wearing a dejected pouty frown. “I’m hearing this guy got kicked outta three different schools.”

Your curiosity piqued, you finally jumped in, against your better judgment. “What could possibly get a teenage boy tossed from not one, not two, but three schools? That sounds utterly ridiculous.”

The energy sufficiently changed as Teddy shot you a poisonous glare, you watched the trio of his small-time henchmen sink into their seats, seemingly anxious at how angry you were about to make him. His scrunched-up face twisted into a confident smirk, like he was one-thousand percent confident he could ensure you would never speak to him again. “What’s it to you, Walleye Jr.? You think I’d lie about some shit like that? Would you tell your daddy if I did?”

A scoff escaping your throat, you leaned back into your seat, slightly dejected. “Well, no, but-”

“That’s what I thought,” Teddy said, his lackeys chuckling in unison, practically on cue. “And you wonder why you don’t have any friends, loser.”

Just like that, enforced unnecessary social hierarchy had left you right back where you were before, with more questions than you could ever get proper answers for.

Once lunch period rolled around, you figured you may as well not try your luck again. 

Wrapping a gentle fist against the surface of your father’s door, you barely had to stand by for more than a few moments before he greeted you, the smile that he saved for you and the rest of your family plastered across his cheeks as he slung an arm across your shoulder, pulling you into a casual hug. Due to the academy’s policy of teacher’s children not being allowed to take their parent’s classes to avoid favoritism, you no longer spent time with him every day as you typically did with your mother back home. The reunion was definitely something you had been yearning for since you last saw him, even though it must have been no less than a week ago last Sunday. For the first time in far too long, something at Barton brought joy back to you. 

“How have you been, sweetheart?” your father asked, his reading glasses bouncing slightly on the bridge of his nose as he sat back down at his desk. He pointed to the chair on the other end of it, offering it to you. You gladly accepted, tugging the seat out and sliding into it.

You shrugged at the question, trying not to pay Kountze and his gang of blockheads too much mind. “Fine. Haven’t really done anything too notable or special.”

“Well, hey,” he offered, sliding a sheet labeled roll call across the desk to you. “Maybe this’ll brighten your spirits, despite how much the prospect of it annoys me.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, you instantly know what he was referring to, your eyes catching on the highlighted name sandwiched between Neil Sweeney and Todd Wedderling, bearing an emboldened word next to it — Angus Tully (NEW). And then, like it were on cue, the door behind the two of you swung open, revealing the sight of an instantly-enrapturing bearer of deeply brown eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Tully,” your father remarked, rising from the desk to greet him. “What a coincidence. I was just introducing them to you.”

Angus snorted. “All good things, I hope.”

“You’ve yet to prove us otherwise,” the older man quipped, before quickly turning toward you. “This is my middle child, the one Dr. Woodrup told you about. They’re a sophomore like you, so even though you won’t be in my class together, I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

Picking up on the hint, you offer the other teenager a hand, which he casually shakes. “Pleasure to meet you, Angus.”

The brunette offered a crooked half-smile, enough to draw one out of you, too. “Nice to meet you as well.” Everything about him seemed natural — the way he didn’t force his grin, the warmth of his palm, the distinct waviness of his mud-shaded curls. This school left you perpetually surrounded by well-off jackasses, standing where they were currently placed via generational wealth, rather than strength and perseverance, working off of their own merits as your father had. Not to say that Tully was dissimilar in that manner, but he just felt so distinctly different, like he was not even trying to cultivate a phony persona in the effort of impressing others. If only everyone were like him. Maybe Barton would be bearable after all.