world imploding

scarletnightwalker  asked:

Hello, I was wondering if you could help me. Lately I've come across the healthy/unhealthy personality types. Though I know, that I'm an ENTP, I would like to learn, how you can tell whether they are healthy or not. Would be great if you would explain this. Thanks in advance PS.: I'm not sure, if this is the right place to ask my questions, so correct me if the 'question' section isn't the right one.

It’s the right place. All the mods are pretty chill coz we’re awesome. :)

Unhealthy NTP: never finishes anything or focuses on the details (zero follow through), uses their Fe to manipulate people (you’re soft, and a pansy, and making you fall for my BS is so fun, maybe I can even get you to cry by pointing out how stupid your ideas are!) or intentionally hurt them rather than forge genuine connections or take into consideration people’s feelings.

Healthy NTP: knows which ideas are better than others, in order to focus on bringing them into fruition and either commits to them long-term by selecting a creative partner (Ne/Fe) or giving their ideas away to others who can nail down the details. Is logical but gentle in correcting others, mindful that people’s feelings matter and it’s important for others to genuinely like you in life, in order to get things done (and because it’s the nice thing to do). Realizes they’re prone to hyperbole, short term interests, and exaggeration, and learns to laugh about it, but also acknowledge it and work on fixing it. Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy NFP: never finishes anything or focuses on details (zero follow through), follows their heart without regard for the consequences, using that to justify hurtful behavior (I don’t care what you think, I fell out of love with you, so I can cheat on you all I want, I’ve done nothing wrong, this is who I am, just deal with it or get out), refuses to take blame for their part of the problem, may intentionally offend others, and doesn’t care about anyone but themselves.

Healthy NFP: knows which ideas are better than others and seeks to bring the best ones into the world through healthy engagement of goals, deadlines, and process of elimination (Te). Sets personal deadlines for self, and beats them, in order to stay motivated. Understands what drives them most, slows them down, or angers them, and commits to doing something about it. Learns such things as “tact,” when dealing with others, but also when and where to defy social norms and stand up for oneself (does that really matter? is it worth a fight?). Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy NTJ: becomes obnoxious in pushing their “vision” on others or asserting they know everything (including your motives) while devaluing your feelings or beliefs, often sneers at people who make emotional decisions, and sometimes passive-aggressively attacks people’s ego or intelligence that they do not like (okay, stupid, I’m just going to make you look like an idiot, while correcting every damn thing you say, all day long, until you run away and cry).

Healthy NTJ: has a fair, balanced, and open-minded approach to life, is willing to listen to others’ ideas and offer practical thoughts on them, but is neither arrogant nor pushy about their knowledge, expertise, and logical detachment. Chooses when to correct others with care, and never does so to humiliate, only to educate. Respects others’ feelings even if they personally feel that the other person is making a mistake. Focuses on taking their ideas and goals and making them real. Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy NFJ: total detachment from reality, while stubbornly clinging to the belief that their irrational interpretation is “the truth” (and the ONLY truth) (It DOES make sense, you’re just too stupid to understand it!), and resorting to a “you’re either with us or against us” mentality, which manifests in creating a single universal (sometimes abstract) enemy and trying to recruit others to join their cause against them / you (bad Ni and Fe).

Healthy NFJ: has a fair, balanced, and open-minded approach to life, accepts their interpretation may be unrealistic, but is committed to bringing their ideas and visualizations to life, often by recruiting others to a positive common cause. Uses their understanding of others’ motives to uplift rather than tear down, and becomes a source of compassionate and guiding “wisdom” for friends (I worry about you choosing this path, and here’s why…). Never recruits others in any negative ways against someone who disagrees with them. Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy STP: irresponsible, reckless, and hedonistic, engaging in short-term behaviors that leave a wake of destruction behind (broken marriages, families, and violated responsibilities), often using Fe to manipulate people to get what they want (hey, I’m super hot and I’ve seen you ogling my backside, so I’m going to wear something that accentuates it so you’ll give me what I want in return one of these days; I don’t care how wrong it is) and then dumping them like hotcakes.

Healthy STP: knows life has much to offer and not only enjoys it but helps others loosen up and try new things, but commits to the people, beliefs, and jobs that are most important to them, for the long term. Understands and respects others’ feelings and seeks to connect to them through that, as well as develop their own ability to communicate. Learns the art of tact and when to use it (is it worth correcting this person or does it matter?). Tries to think about the long-term consequences of impulse, before engaging in it. Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy SFP: irresponsible, reckless, and hedonistic, going through jobs and romantic relationships like wildfire, abandoning people every time they get “bored” or feel unattached; justifies this behavior with selfish reasoning (I just don’t love you anymore, so I don’t have to treat you with respect); unable to be counted upon by other people, since they never show up or follow through; refuses to take responsibility through their actions and doesn’t mind offending others for no reason at all.

Healthy SFP: is good at self-entertaining and eager to try new things, and infects others with a similar excitement; is good at pushing people out of their comfort zones and encouraging them to aim high for their dreams. Has a strong sense of personal beliefs, and is willing to commit to other people, and prioritize them in relationships. Knows when it’s appropriate to defy social convention, and when it’s better to dial back the “but this is just who I am!” and chill. Sets personal goals, deadlines, and achievements, and sticks with things, so they have something tangible to show for their time (Te). Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy STJ: refuses to adapt or change even when their world implodes; may try and “force” or “strong-arm” others into their point of view. Has little interest or respect for people’s feelings and doesn’t mind crushing them on their way to success, but may also play the role of a martyr in the process (since NO ONE ELSE IS RESPONSIBLE AROUND HERE, I HAVE TO DO IT). May become irrational or paranoid with lower Ne, and turn into a pessimist.

Healthy STJ: uses their extensive past experience to figure out what will and won’t work when dealing with life and problems, but is also open to new ideas, trying out new things, and experiencing what “lies beneath the surface” (Ne). Tries not to shut down ideas until they have considered them. Is practical, efficient, and logical, but also respects people’s feelings and doesn’t intentionally try to hurt, shame, or control them. Becomes able to share what they need emotionally with others, rather than playing a martyr (I would like it if you would take the trash out; since I’m doing this other thing, it seems fair, and it would make me happy). Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes.

Unhealthy SFJ: refuses to change or adapt, while clinging stubbornly to their idea of “how things were,” while struggling to control their emotions; may resort to being “fake” in order to manipulate others, to “us vs them” thinking and overt moralizing (if you don’t agree with us, you’d better change your mind or face the consequences, because we can’t let you hold such a wrong point of view and will punish you for it).

Healthy SFJ: uses the past to form impressions about people and situations, but changes those perceptions based on new experience; is open to new ideas and beliefs, and willing to look beneath the surface (Ne), with the aim of making those things “useful and tangible” in the real world (how can this idea apply to life and improve our situation?). Learns the art of “polite affirming correction,” which helps others become better, while not shaming, humiliating, or insulting them for their behavior. Aware not everyone needs to agree, and comfortable with those who don’t; never recruits anyone against anyone else, or adopts a mentality of “let’s get that person, together.” Takes personal responsibility for their mistakes. 

- ENFP Mod

  • what she says: im fine
  • what she means: is yuzuru okay??? is he eating?? staying hydrated??? healthy???? i swear to god if he announces an injury after worlds i will,,,,,,implode???? what about shoma the Loco Child he says he's not going to add 4S but you never know with him??? i hope he's happy and lands his 4L and whatever happens i will love and cherish him....nathan??? is he ok?? pls don't injure yourself you're the only good thing in this shitstorm of a country don't break yourself and do your best at worlds!!!! and what abt boyangman i wish the best for him and his 5 quads (oh god) and i hope he does well and places high enough to do the ##iconic cowboyang program...i am not prepared we're all going to die oh my goodn
Punk (Chap. 6)

Originally posted by stuckwithbuck


Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 1842

Warnings: Same as always

A/N: Thank you for all of the feedback!  It honestly makes me so insanely happy and I love hearing your theories, outrages, and feelings! <3



He looked up.  Had he heard you gasp his name?  Of course.  Fucking supersoldier…  Bucky’s eyes found yours across the club.  Time seemed to slow down in that moment.  What the fuck is are you doing here?!

“Y/N?”  

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  • Max Landis: *introduces character named Sherlock*
  • Fandom: aw wat a nicey reference to -
  • Max Landis: *introduces character called John and/or Watson*
  • Fandom: um max wat are you do -
  • Max Landis: *gives you a knowing wink; re-dyes his hair rainbow*
  • Fandom: AHHH. MAMM. GET THE CAMERAAAA

anonymous asked:

I remeber you answered an ask about It so Fox!Alya/Nino "on a scale of one-ten how okay are you with making out/ kissing me right now" or just a kiss prompt.

Nino hadn’t been listening to anything when he heard her land on the balcony, but he pretended that he was. His headphones were on but nothing had been playing, but he guess he just didn’t want to admit to her that he had been waiting to see if she would come that night too. 

He waited to look up until she tapped on the glass door, rationalizing that it was a sharper sound so it worked with his excuse. When he did he saw one of the great heroines of Paris, smiling at him through the glass as she gestured for him to open the door. 

Man she made him so nervous…

“Hey DJ,” she said kindly, her tone seemingly to always have some kind of lilt to it, something he loved. Everything about her reminded him of music. If he had to pick a genre it would probably be Jazz; strong, winding and smooth but sassy. 

“Hey Fox,” he shot back, smiling too as he shut the door behind himself. “Back for another ‘civilian checkup’?”

“Oh right,” she said with a chuckle, her tail flicking around her legs as she settled her weight on her hips. “That’s the excuse I used last time I came here right?”

Nino stiffened, something electric shooting up his back. To his dismay Vixen noticed, grinning to herself at his reaction. 

Sure it had kind of felt like an excuse when she used it before, the first time was after an attack. The second was just ‘checking up’ but now she wasn’t even pretending. She admitted point blank she had just made it up.

“Excuse?” he clarified, still trying to smile but a bit thrown now, and the more she enjoyed it the more he found to need to defy it. Why did she have to have the upper hand? 

“Well its hard to work up reasons to keep coming back here,” she admitted with a shrug, watching his face the whole time with a smile. “But I still end up here anyways.”

“Why is that?” he asked, trying to look away to give himself some space but he was hanging on the answer. 

“Am I not welcome?”

“You know you are,” he chuckled, not even worrying that he might have upset her, he knew he didn’t. Her laugh a few moments later proved it. 

Nino walked to the balcony rail and let it take his weight, aware of her when she came up beside him to do the same. She was close enough that he could feel her body heat, and a shock went through him when he felt her tail absent-mindedly flick across the backs of his knees. 

They were quiet for a little while, but he felt her tail again curl around his legs and that same shock kept dominating him. When she came a little closer, so close their arms almost touched, that shock became a heat and he twisted his fingers together over the railing, trying to focus. 

Man she kept doing this, and he was getting worse with dealing with it and she knew it

It had taken a little while for him to admit to himself that the superhero had been flirting with him, because the concept itself was so entirely impossible it just refused to occur to him, no matter how transparent she was. It took Adrien literally going “DUDE you can’t be serious,” for him to even start to see it. And then even after that it took her literally coming to his house at night on her own for him to maybe maybe think that she was in to him.

Clearly she was getting impatient, but he still looked out over the city to hide how flustered he was. 

It just didn’t make any sense!? Why?! How had he even managed to capture her attention in the first place? He wasn’t anybody, he was just a random guy and maybe she might seem like she liked him or whatever but it- it just wasn’t- she-

“DJ?” she suddenly spoke up, seemingly aware of his silent breakdown judging by the smile in her voice. How he was seriously still denying it was probably the cutest thing about him, but damn it now she was kind of over it and she was pretty sick of waiting. She waited for him to look at her again with his agonized gold eyes before continuing, because he clearly needed her to be blunt. “One a scale of one to ten how on board are you with kissing me right now?” 

The poor guy stared, and stared a little more, his eyes wide and face completely flushed even in the dark before he finally said, “W-what?!”

“Right now,” she said again, looking up at him at not attempting to hide that she wanted him too, even though she had been transparent about it for ages now. “Right this second. Ten being the highest.” 

“I-! w- you-!!,” he tried to speak, but he looked down at her and the words fell apart, because she was very close now and waiting for him to answer. One thing he noticed though, even though his world was imploding, is that she had one foot back. Like she was completely prepared to back off if he said no, but was hoping that he wouldn’t. 

Hoping. Because she wanted him to kiss her.

“I- well-, ten!?” he finally managed, his arms clutched to his chest. To his surprise Vixen looked shock, and for the first time ever, she looked a little flustered too. 

“Really?” she couldn’t help but ask, “Ten?”

“That’s the highest number you gave me!” he shouted back, his embarrassment making him indignant even if there was no real anger in it. When he said it though she looked even more flustered, before a grin split across her face.

She looked like she was about to say something else, but hell, he was tired of being the one on the end of his rope here. He had been yelling into his pillow about this girl forever now and she took every chance she could to make him blush. In fights, while saving him, on his balcony, anytime they saw each other. Every time he was the one who was too afraid to make a move because it didn’t make any sense to him that it was even happening, but crap man, it had never been because he didn’t like her. It was because she couldn’t have liked him.

But now, screw it, seriously. He was going to have the upper hand here. So before she could speak or tease of flirt or do anything else anymore he reached out and slipped one hand around her back, using his size to pull her towards him. And with the other hand he reached out for her face and tilted it up, and stole the words from her lips himself.

Broken - 12x23 Coda Fic

Summary: He rubs a hand over his face, looking down at the angel again. In reality, he’d known. For a while. I mean, who makes a mixtape for a platonic friend? Of course Castiel hadn’t known the meaning of it, but… it’d made Dean feel better. Like he’d actually expressed himself. Of course he couldn’t do it with words. He’d only ever said those words to his mother in the last… however many years since all this shit started.

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Featherless. Bent. Broken.

Please, Chuck, please come back. I need you to bring him back. I need him.

“You stupid fucking son of a bitch. We told you the plan. We told you. We had it under control. And you waltzed right the fuck in there and got yourself killed. You fucking idiot, Cas. Damn it.” He ignores the breaks in his voice and the tears rolling down his cheeks, opting to focus his eyes on the sky again. He takes a few deep breaths, his eyes fluttering closed after a moment.

He was gone. Castiel was really and truly gone. Of course, it felt like that every time, but this time… This time was different. His wings were burned on the ground around Dean, and Chuck… Chuck flapped off to who knows where with Amara. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Chuck wouldn’t be of any help to them.

So this was it. This was the last time. Castiel’s final death. Hardly seemed fitting, him being stabbed in the back by Lucifer. The one problem they’d never managed to take care of. Of course that’s the thing that would come back to bite them in the ass. Things were too good. Mom was back and Cas… Cas was somewhat normal again.

Dean had gotten too happy. That was his mistake. He’d let himself believe after Ketch’s death that they would all come out of this okay. That somehow, they’d all make it back to the bunker and Lucifer would be iced and they could focus on the Nephilim problem. They’d put the Bunker back in order, and Castiel and Mary could move into their rooms permanently. Dean would cook and they would all hunt, and everything would be okay.

He shakes his head at his own foolishness, a broken sob escaping his lips. He’s surprised he can feel anything right now. He’d watched the blade rip through Castiel’s chest, watched Lucifer smirk at him as the lo- as his best friend’s grace burned out and his wings burned into the ground. He lets out a sigh, looking up at the sky again. Fuck it. He’s too damn old for this. Lucifer had smirked at him as the love of his life’s wings had burned into the ground.

He rubs a hand over his face, looking down at the angel again. In reality, he’d known. For a while. I mean, who makes a mixtape for a platonic friend? Of course, Castiel hadn’t known the meaning of it, but… it’d made Dean feel better. Like he’d actually expressed himself. Of course he couldn’t do it with words. He’d only ever said those words to his mother in the last… however many years since all this shit started.

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Imagine your OTP:

Person A: You know, I love everything about you. The arch in your back, your smile, your-

Person B: Hey don’t touch my butt!

Person A: What? I can kiss you but can’t squeeze your ass? What kind of world do we live in where squeezing asses is unacceptable?

Person B: My world…

Person A: aw well sorry man your world just imploded

I wish we could have seen what it was like when Dick first started getting zits. Like, this is the prettiest boy in Gotham we’re talking about. He’s also the son of a billionaire playboy, so he’s probably on the cover of every single magazine and newspaper out there, and he knows it. He knows that every teenage girl and boy swoons over him, and he knows that he’s a total catch. But then he gets a pimple, and his whole world implodes. He sends Alfred out for every acne wash and cream there is out there, and he just sits in front of the mirror for hours staring at his pretty face and knowing it’s all over. After a few hours and over fifteen different skin products his face is just as pretty as it was before, and crisis averted. But then he starts living in paranoia of the possibility of puberty ruining his face again and he starts washing his face three times a day with five different soaps just as a precaution. So whenever he finds even the teeniest zit he has a full out psychological breakdown because he loves how handsome he is and he’ll be darned if he lets puberty mess that up for him! 

But then when he’s an adult and his brothers start getting zits for the first time and freaking out because “but famous people can’t get acne!” Dick just laughs and tells them to suck it up, not telling them that this is nothing compared to the time when he broke his own foot so he wouldn’t have to go to a party when there was the slightest hint of a pimple on his chin.  

The wind blew through her ebony hair. The sun glowed in her deep brown eyes and he stared at the beauty before him. Stared in the disbelief that she was his. He watched as she turned from him and ever-so-slightly inhaled. She whispered as if it was painful,
“I’m breaking up with you.” He continued to stare at her. He had no physical reaction, no telltale sign that he was crumbling on the inside. But the truth was, his entire world imploded. A her-shaped dagger tore at his fragile heart. She sighed.
“It’s not you, it’s me.” That famous one-liner. That famous lie. How dare she pull that on him. She watched him, looking for any kind of reaction. The guilt was consuming her so wholly until she had to look away. She couldn’t lie any longer.
“I think… I think I’m in love with someone else.” Every word was another stab wound. He didn’t know what to say. With a final sentence, she disappeared forever.
“I’m sorry.” He watched her as she walked away, escaping his breaking hold on her. Another girl gone, another girl who didn’t love him, another failed relationship. Was he destined to live a loveless life? A lonely existence? Made to wander the earth forever in hopes that he’ll find the perfect companion to coexist with him until death? He finally crumbled when she was out of sight. His hollow mind collapsed. The dark thoughts of heartbreak crept in and no one was there to alleviate the torture. She was gone.
—  Excerpt from a book I will never write #1208
Afraid and Happy -- 5 times Ronan came out to the Gangsey, and 1 time Adam did.

hello!! i have been writing this fic for ao3 for the past few weeks now, and it is finally done!! i posted a teaser of it a little while ago and it did well on here, so i supposed i would upload the rest of it? fair warning: this is about 10k words, but it’s worth the read! if you prefer to read it on ao3 it is here

Part 1—Ronan had always known he was gay. He may not have known it in words, but the thought was always there, pressing somewhere in the back of his mind, waiting until Ronan was ready to fully reveal itself. When he did put words to the music playing dully in the back of his mind, he kept it to himself.  Ronan told himself that he wasn’t embarrassed, or ashamed. He pretended that he was just waiting for a better time to make himself known, if there ever was such a time. Ronan thought that maybe his life would always be too full of dead fathers and night terrors to have room for such nonsense ideas as sexualities. Whatever excuses he came up with for hiding himself, it was all the same: he was afraid.

Those were the thoughts that clouded Ronan’s mind as he sat at a Nino’s booth with Noah, Gansey, and Adam on a Wednesday evening. The three of them were all talking of a homecoming dance, Ronan excluded.

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How It Should Have Gone

So this is a sneak peak to the fic that I am writing, it’s basically The Final Problem redone how it should have occurred. If you’d like some real johnlock burns, see if you like it thanks!

“Where is he? I need to see him,” Sherlock pushed past the nurses and people in the crowded hospital hallway, “John!”

The clock slows, a second feels like a minute, and a minute feels like an eternity. His entire world implodes right before his eyes, the puzzle is undone. There is no where to go, his only home is lying right in front of him on a bed unconscious. The small crack in the mirror just shattered it all into a million pieces, there’s nothing he can do. The pieces are alienated to what they were before, they will never fit together again. His whole world is shattered into the bits that used to be his heart, it’s on fire now. Turning into ashes, never to be fixed again.

A hand grabs Sherlock by the shoulder, pulls him around, and braces him in a hug. The pieces aren’t together now, but at least they are all in one place.

“I need to see him, I-I need,” Whimpers and cries escape his lips as he extends his hand to point in front of him.

“I know, I know. It’s going to be alright, Sherlock,” Mycroft holds his little brother in his arms while trying not to feel the pain himself, this is a tragedy. This is menacing, the only person Sherlock Holmes has ever truly loved is about to be on a slab.

Mycroft lets Sherlock go as Lestrade arrives after running up the stairs and down the long hallway, he nods to Lestrade to seat Sherlock and watch him. It’s time to be the British Government.

Over all of the beeps and chatter of nurses and doctors, all Mycroft can hear are his own footsteps leading up to the room, and in that room, John Watson’s descending heartbeat. Even the shouting and demands of the doctors doesn’t make it fade away, because the most important thing to Sherlock Holmes is right there, nearly bleeding out and almost dead. It was by God an almost perfect shot, but that’s to expected from their little sister, never failing to succeed. And here she is, after all those years, still taking the most important thing from their brother dear.

It’s not in his agenda to watch John Watson die, Mycroft turns on his heels and marches outside. In an instant, his phone is to his ear and orders are being shot. The best surgeon, doctors, and every excellent medical person ever is to be at John’s side immediately. No, stupid secretary lady, he doesn’t care if it takes waking up the whole world, John Watson needs to live. One last shout, and it’s done. One last tear, one last fret from the broken boy’s heart, and the rest of the world will hear him cry. This is the love of Sherlock Holmes’ life on the line, and Sherlock can’t survive without him. Mycroft can’t survive without Sherlock.

“Bleed me dry, mark me up with the death’s of angels, let him live,” Mycroft whispers with his face in his hands, “Don’t do this to him again, he doesn’t deserve it,”

Just as Mycroft finishes breathing out that last word, a loud blare comes from inside John’s room, more shouting and cluttering noise. He’s flatlined, no heartbeat, and no life.

Sherlock jumps up from his seat and charges at the open doorway, but is stopped right in front of it by Mycroft’s arms holding him back. Sherlock crumbles to the floor in tears as he watches the nurses try to restart his heart. He cries, and begs for him to stay, but there’s nothing he can do.

Shurley’s Surprise - 12x23 Coda Fic

Summary:  He shakes his head at his own foolishness, a broken sob escaping his lips. He’s surprised he can feel anything right now. He’d watched the blade rip through Castiel’s chest, watched Lucifer smirk at him as the lo- as his best friend’s grace burned out and his wings burned into the ground. He lets out a sigh, looking up at the sky again. Fuck it. He’s too damn old for this. Lucifer had smirked at him as the love of his life’s wings had burned into the ground.

Read here on AO3


Featherless. Bent. Broken.

Please, Chuck, please come back. I need you to bring him back. I need him.

“You stupid fucking son of a bitch. We told you the plan. We told you. We had it under control. And you waltzed right the fuck in there and got yourself killed. You fucking idiot, Cas. Damn it.” He ignores the breaks in his voice and the tears rolling down his cheeks, opting to focus his eyes on the sky again. He takes a few deep breaths, his eyes fluttering closed after a moment.

He was gone. Castiel was really and truly gone. Of course, it felt like that every time, but this time… This time was different. His wings were burned on the ground around Dean, and Chuck… Chuck flapped off to who knows where with Amara. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Chuck wouldn’t be of any help to them.

So this was it. This was the last time. Castiel’s final death. Hardly seemed fitting, him being stabbed in the back by Lucifer. The one problem they’d never managed to take care of. Of course that’s the thing that would come back to bite them in the ass. Things were too good. Mom was back and Cas… Cas was somewhat normal again.

Dean had gotten too happy. That was his mistake. He’d let himself believe after Ketch’s death that they would all come out of this okay. That somehow, they’d all make it back to the bunker and Lucifer would be iced and they could focus on the Nephilim problem. They’d put the Bunker back in order, and Castiel and Mary could move into their rooms permanently. Dean would cook and they would all hunt, and everything would be okay.

He shakes his head at his own foolishness, a broken sob escaping his lips. He’s surprised he can feel anything right now. He’d watched the blade rip through Castiel’s chest, watched Lucifer smirk at him as the lo- as his best friend’s grace burned out and his wings burned into the ground. He lets out a sigh, looking up at the sky again. Fuck it. He’s too damn old for this. Lucifer had smirked at him as the love of his life’s wings had burned into the ground.

He rubs a hand over his face, looking down at the angel again. In reality, he’d known. For a while. I mean, who makes a mixtape for a platonic friend? Of course, Castiel hadn’t known the meaning of it, but… it’d made Dean feel better. Like he’d actually expressed himself. Of course he couldn’t do it with words. He’d only ever said those words to his mother in the last… however many years since all this shit started.

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anonymous asked:

May I prompt you with Director Sanvers first anniversary?

Ties in with this fic.

Read on AO3

“First time you all went rogue together,” Kara suggests from where she’s perched on the couch, licking ice cream off a spoon.

“I’m a calming influence, Danvers.” Lucy protests.

“She’s right,” Alex chimes in. She swipes the tub of ice cream from Kara and digs in with her own spoon. “It’s either me and Maggie, Maggie and Lucy or Lucy and me. Never all three of us at once.”

“Probably a good thing,” Maggie says. “The world would implode if we all went rogue together.”

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