#Bobby Sands Corner

[seachranaidhe]

Bobby Sands Corner

Bobby Sands grew up and went to school in Rathcoole but in 1972, when he was eighteen, the family home was attacked. They moved to Twinbrook, where Sands joined the IRA (Bobby Sands Trust | WP). A nearby installation on the footpath claims that Twinbrook is the “Home Of Bobby Sands“. This mosaic is near […]Bobby Sands Corner

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Eleven

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky deals with the fallout of Jake's bar kiss; Bob interrogates Jake and asks a big question

WC: 1.5K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You grabbed Natasha’s arm. “We have to go.” 

She frowned. “What’s going on?” 

You shook your head, trying not to alert anyone else. “I saw Jake in the hallway by the bathroom. Kissing some random girl.” 

Natasha’s brown eyes went hard. “I’ll kill him.” 

“Please, no,” you whispered. “Can I just stay at your place tonight?” 

“Of course.” 

“Also I’m going to piss my pants.” 

“Come with me.” She took your hand and led you out toward the back of the bar onto the deck. Your eyes automatically flocked to the place where you had stood the night you first met Jake. Instead, Nat pointed to the edge of the deck. “Pee on the sand.” 

You laughed. “You’re joking.” 

“It’s that or go back and risk seeing him again.” 

“I hate you,” you muttered, wobbling over to the edge of the deck and hiking up your dress, squatting down over the dunes. “This is a new low for me.” 

The door swung open and your mouth dropped in shock as Bradley barreled outside. “What’s going on?” 

“Oh my God!” you yelled, pee running down your leg. 

Bradley’s eyes went wide. “What the?” 

Natasha grabbed him and whirled him around until his back was to you. “Bradshaw, shut up. Y/N, finish your piss so we can get out of here.” 

“I hate my life,” you muttered. 

Bradley laughed. “So this is what girls do at bars? Pee outside.” 

“Only when Seresin is making out with random bitches by the bathroom,” Nat said. 

Bradley’s face pivoted into a frown. “What?” 

You stood up, stepping over the wet sand. “Let’s just not talk about it,” you whispered. “Can we go home now?” 

Natasha nodded. “Do you want to just leave?” 

“I need to say goodbye to Bobby or he’ll worry.” She nodded and you eased the side door open, shoving through the crowd to get to where Bob and Sena were sitting in the corner. “Bobby,” you whispered in his ear and he turned. “I’m not feeling great. Nat is going to take me home.” 

He frowned. “Do you want Jake to take you?” 

“I really don’t.” 

His eyes, ice blue, hardened. “What does that mean?” 

You sighed. “I just need to go home, it’s been a long night. I love you.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek then smiled at Sena and gave her a hug around the shoulders. “It was lovely meeting you.” 

“You too,” she said softly. The two of them watched as you walked out of the bar toward the front door. 

A moment later, Jake reappeared at the table. “Hey. Where did Y/N go?” 

Bob shook his head. “Home with Natasha.” 

“Why?” 

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, Hangman. Why?” 

Jake gulped. 

***

Natasha’s apartment was girlier than you had expected. Pink pillows on the guest bed, monogrammed towels in the bathroom, a gold french press in the kitchen. 

In the morning, you wandered into the kitchen, wet hair hanging down your back. “I didn’t peg you for a gingham bedspread.” 

She grimaced. “My mother decorated. Can you tell?” 

“Just a little.” You looked around. “It’s very … pink.” 

She sighed and sat down on the bar stool next to you. “Don’t remind me. Listen, about last night.” 

You shook your head. “Going to pretend it didn’t happen.” 

“And what about when he brings that girl home?” 

“I told him he could date,” you whispered. “I told him that he should.” 

“Are you on drugs?” 

“Yes, I’m high as a kite while five months pregnant.” 

Natasha took a sip of coffee. “I’m not saying it’s great but you might have to be the adult here.” 

“He’s thirty years old,” you countered. “He knows what he’s doing and he knows what he wants.” 

“What that man wants is you.” You turned to her, mouth hanging. Natasha nodded. “I mean it. I see the way he looks at you. He wants you, despite what he might do or say.” 

“Only because he thinks he has to.” 

“Jake Seresin has never listened to a word of advice that he didn’t want to,” she replied. “If he wants you, it’s because he really does, not because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.” Nat paused. “The only question is, do you want him, too?” 

***

The doorbell rang. Jake rushed out of his room, no shirt, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders and frowned. You had a key. If it was you, and he hoped it was, you would have let yourself in. 

Which could only mean it was someone else. And he didn’t want to see anyone else. He thought about ignoring it when there was a knock. Hard. 

He flung the door open. “What?” 

Bob stepped inside. “Hangman.” 

Jake frowned. “Floyd.” He paused. “She’s not here.” 

“I know she isn't. That’s why I’m here.” 

Jake felt his heart speed up. You were leaving. A part of him had dreaded it from the first moment you stepped through the doorway of the new apartment. That you would decide to leave him before the baby arrived, or even after. That you would see he wasn’t fit to be a dad. 

Bob paced in a tight circle before training his eyes on Jake. “I know you and I, we have a history. We don’t even really like each other. But you’re having a baby with my sister. My only sister. And she means more to me than anything.” Bob paused. “She means more to me than my own life. So trust me when I say, there’s nothing you could do that’s worse than hurting her in any way.” 

“I’m not going to–”

“You already have.” Bob cut him off. “This cat and mouse game or whatever the two of you have going on? It stops today. She’s hurt and you’re hurt and you’re both fucking stupid.” 

“I don’t know what your deal is Floyd, but–”

“Do you love her?” 

Jake stopped in his tracks. His eyes lifted to meet Bob’s. The two men stood in the middle of the living room, squared off. 

And then the door opened, and you appeared with Natasha right behind you. You frowned. “Bobby? What are you doing here?” 

His eyes lingered on Jake before crossing the room and looping his arm over your shoulder. “Came to get you, Duck. Thought we could grab some lunch.” 

“Um, sure.” You looked at Jake who had a pale sheen to his skin. Like he was going to be sick. “I’m going to change real quick. Wait for me by the car?” 

Bob nodded and slipped through the door. But not before you saw the glance he shared with Natasha. “Y/N? I’m going to head out, too.” 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said softly and she smiled, filing out behind Bob. 

You closed the door to your room, emerging a few minutes later in a fresh dress, hair twisted up in a bun and a pair of sunglasses over your tired eyes. Jake sat on the couch, staring at his feet. 

You walked past him, grabbing your bag off the table where Natasha had placed it. As you opened the door, Jake’s voice floated across the room. 

“Are you coming back?”

It was quiet. Too quiet. Practically a thin whisper. You resisted the urge to turn around and look at him. 

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, one hand on the door handle. “But it would be great if you weren’t here when I did.” 

And with that, you pulled the door shut behind you, putting a wall up between you and Jake. 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @withahappyrefrain @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @gigisimsonmars @xomrsalliej4787xo @myfaveficrecs @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel @shanimallina87

@rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @boiolay @sometimesanalice @na-ta-sh-aa @bobfloydsbabe @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @palepeanutponyshoe @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @mel119g @daggerspare-standingby @grxcisxhy-wp @mrsjobarnes @csmt-m @rockbottompunk-blog @joaquinwhorres @xoxabs88xox @spinning-away

[buddierecs]

angst buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

a leaf falls on loneliness (highly recommend this fic!!) by: iimpossible_things "buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “i’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. really, he doesn’t. the 118 has too many good, kind people for that. but every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to eddie or bobby or hen or chim, he hears eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.” —you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting— so each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence." word count: 11k important tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, happy ending, original male character catharsis by: rogerzsteven "it only takes one minor inconvenience for buck to have his long overdue breakdown" word count: 5.3k important tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mental/emotional breakdown, bobby nash as evan buckley parent, multiple pov still by: brewsrosemilk "for the first time, buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. dirt to dig at. a door to break through. something. there’s nothing. “your guess was correct, diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “you’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. don’t shift. when you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it." word count: 9.3k important tags: near death experience, love confessions, happy ending, first kiss august by: daisies_and_briar "buck, eddie, natalia, and marisol go on a beach vacation in august of 2023. It gets angsty and gay." word count: 40k important tags: vacation, eddie/mariol, buck/natalia, mariol/natalia, coming out, feelings confession, sexuality, everyone is queer listen to you breathing (is where i wanna be) by: yavilee "the one where buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone" word count: 41k important tags: presumed dead, major character injury, mutual pining, grief, panic attacks, friends to lovers all that we intend is scrawled in sand (and slips right through our hands) by: withmeornotatall "buck and eddie get trapped together, time is running out, and eddie doesn't want to die alone" word count: 6.9k important tags: near death experiences, major character injury, whump, love confessions, getting together, first kiss

actually, truly by: milenadaniels "helena (and ramon) tries to find a way back into eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding buck around every corner she turns." word count: 14k important tags: multiple pov, season 4/shooting, homophobia, internalized homophobia, recovering from injury, pre-relationship, getting together, team as family, supportive!isabel diaz, coming out i know you're hurting (but so am i) by: justhockey "eddie understands better than maybe anyone else ever could, how it feels to have everything unravel in the palm of your hands. he knows frustration - he knows fury. he’s painfully familiar with that burning rage that crackles in the tips of your fingers, that makes your skin hot and chest tight, and makes you want to punch anyone that dares to even look at you. but that doesn’t give chim the right to lay a damn hand on buck" word count: 3.7k important tags: hurt/comfort, ptsd, feelings realisation, protective!eddie diaz, communication, 5x04 coda i want to reach out by: orphan_account "buck was a very emotional and physically clingy person, he knew this, once he had someone, he held on tight, scared they'd one day leave them. a drunk ana points out that maybe everyone is tired of it, and buck realises: maybe they are." word count: 5.7k important tags: insecure!evan buckley, ana flores bashing, hurt/comfort, touch starved, abandonment issues, love confessions

the aftermath of liberation and love confessions by: elvensorceress "in which eddie comes out, sexuality is complicated but coffee is not, buck makes an excessive salad and is also roasted, everyone has a love confession, and December is the most dramatic time of year." word count: 17k important tags: pining!eddie diaz, idiots to lovers, coming out, love confessions, demisexual!eddie diaz, post 5.09 and this is his life by: shyaudacity "in late june of nineteen ninety-one, mere hours after losing her son to cancer, margaret buckley takes a baby out of the hospital nursery and decides to bring him home" word count: 26k important tags: established relationship, kidnapping, emotional hurt, panic attacks, flashblacks, comforting!eddie diaz mirror, lie to me, tell me you can see by: anonymous "buck struggles with food and his body. it's not new." word count: 20k important tags: TW: eating disorder, established relationship, hurt/comfort, protective!maddie buckley, marriage proposal, sibling love, caring!eddie diaz without you, i'll never be home by: the_forgotten_nobody "after the tsunami, eddie invites buck to stay with him and christopher." word count: 45k important tags: hurt/comfort, post-tsunami/season 3, anxiety, separation anxiety, pining, sharing a bed

[ruexsdrty]

Petty Thievery

Pairing: The Ghoul x Reader

Note: Mentions of the game Fallout 4 setting/gameplay because duh I played it too fucking much.

Gloved fingers gripped at the slicky thin bobby pin, twisting and turning gently just in the await of that sweet click. The wind was strong tonight but her overhanging hood saved her eyes from the unforgiving—and probably radioactive—sand. It was ironic that a radaway bag hanged on the inner side of her coat while she donned a gruesome ghoul mask on her face like second skin.

She had found it hanging alone on a wall shack in the corner of an empty costume house when she was seeking cover from the blazing raiders and mutants outside. There were a few of them until she had shot one with her .308 pipe revolver, awaiting a horde of sick grunts and snarls only to be met by silence. That was when she realised that it was no feral, just a harmless mask. Those were probably zombie masks but, well, there was nothing she couldn't fake.

‘Well, I had this idea...’ she narrates, her eyes catching the glimpse of a distant man coming towards her again through the sides of her vision. She wasn't mistaken, that silhouette was distinctively clear in her head. Only one man she knew held himself with grace and sickening danger altogether. The cowboy hat, the overhanging coat... ‘And when I thought I could handle lying about being a ghoul with wastelanders and other ghouls alike, I wasn't fucking counting him.’

Her fingers trembled as yet another bobby pin snapped, spitting curses under her breath that would make a sailor blush. She heard the familiar reload click of a shotgun a few feet away.

“Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you right now, sweetheart.”

Oh, yeah, that voice. She knew it, was familiar with it. She has had one too many run-ins with him whenever she played the role of a runaway vaultie, and she could recall none of them to be pleasant. She just hoped he won't recognize her voice.

The flickering neon board hung overhead, a few lights hanging off its hinges, it read, ‘Pharmacy’.

“Nothin' wrong with a woman trying to survive,” She grumbled with an intentioned rasp in her voice, deepening it. ‘We practised this,’ she told herself to take deep breaths, ‘Just don't overdo it.’

“Well, darlin',” His southern accent was strong, dripping off each syllable, “Ain't nothin' wrong with a man wanting it all to 'imself, eh?” The barrel of the shotgun dug into the sides of her forehead through her hood. Ofcourse he'd want the whole store. Who wouldn't?

She sucked in a deep, slow breath, quiet and shaky. “That's not nice.” At a loss of words, that was all that she could've come up. She wasn't particularly proud of it, especially when even he couldn't bite back a short laugh.

After a long pause of silence, she huffed, “If you kill me, you can't get it. The lock's pretty tight!”

“Yeah?” He drawled, she peeked through the edge of her hood to catch a glimpse of his uninterested eyes. “And what gives I don't just break the damned glass?”

Again, a silence befell them. “I'm fucked then.” She had stopped fumbling with the lock now, looking at him with distrusting eyes while the wind furled gently against her hood. His fingers repositioned around the trigger.

A guttural growl filled the air as heavy steps shook on the ground they stood on. Their gazes widened at each other. He hit the barrel on her head lightly to accentuate the tension, “Get to it,” he barked.

She returned to pick the lock, the nearing footsteps of the wasteland creature and the edge of the gun digging on her head pushing her hands to shake more. With an irritated groan he knocked the glass with his elbow before opening the lock from the inside. With heavy breathes they rushed inside and pushed the door close.

He turned to her with an exasperated frown. She huffed, a hand to her chest to contain her beating afraid heart. “Don't blame me for having performance anxiety!” He looked at her incredulously like she was crazy.

It was dark, her feet hitting some clutter or the other as she creeped closer to the wall for safety. She stumbled behind the counter and slid down the wall, sitting on the floor as she stared out the glasses in fear. The sudden ticking of radroaches' mantis caught her off-guard and she let out a yelp, fingers curling around the revolver in her holster and shooting the creature before it could close in on her. Silence befell and she collected her breath with a heaving chest. Her legs sprawled in front of her, back hitting the wall in exhaustion but her fingers stayed tightly clutched on her revolver.

The Ghoul clicked his tongue, “You don't sound much like a ghoul.” Was that a joke? A threat? An accusation or just an observation? Whatever it may be, she knew she didn't way to stay around him much longer than necessary.

The fucking Deathclaw outside was an absolute epitome of her bad luck.

Heavy footsteps neared her. It was The Ghoul this time. For some reason, she thought it'd be easier to take down a Deathclaw than this man. “Gun,” he demanded with an outstretched palm in front of her face. She glanced at it once.

“And why should I?”

His foot striked down her wrist, the gun falling out of her grasp to the floor. He stood over her, kicking the gun to the corner and out of reach. His boot planted on either side of her legs. There wasn't much she could to save herself in this situation... or, well, position.

“Smooth skin, soft voice...” He observed, “When did ya' start turning?”

She hasn't done her research. “Seven.” But she figured seven years might hit the sweet spot.

He hummed and leaned downwards, the barrel nudging against her shoulder. ‘Don't panic,’ she met his gaze. He tilted his head down at her, sighing heavily in thought. He laughed short, fingers tightening around the trigger. Gunshots don't kill ghoul, at least not until their brains paint the floor.

"Well, sweetie,” he drawled, his voice deep and ruthless, “Let's see how much of a liar you are, huh?”

Deafening gunshot filled the small store.

[delopsia]

Who do you think would be more of a mean dom?

I think Rhett would try but melt as soon as he saw tears in your eyes and would hand you off to Bob if he wants the punishment to stick.

But Bob? I think he would be ruthless when you’re naughty. He ignores your pleas when be pulls you over his knee, and gets harder when you cry. You think it’s over when he sends you to the corner but eventually he tells you to crawl back over, making you gag on his cock before spanking your tender flesh again. He definitely takes good care of you after though, so does Rhett who already got off once just from watching the two of you.

Rhett can manage as a mean dom if he really, really wants to, but it only comes about when he's stressed beyond belief. Even then, he's vulnerable to the puppy eyes and quiet pleas and starts getting lenient in letting you do certain things until he might as well not be punishing you at all.

You can't convince me that Bob isn't the biggest switch known to man; if he puts his mind to it, he can pull it off. He's unique in the way that he uses his silence to his advantage; his hardened gaze is enough of a correction on its own.

When he does speak, it's in short, firm commands. Never allowing himself the chance to say something he didn't carefully plan out beforehand. He got himself with that once, wound up taking pity on you and Rhett in the heat of the moment, and spent the next week kicking himself for it. One of the many curses of his naturally-sweet nature.

His biggest go-to is to have one of you choking on his cock, or something that shuts you up for the time being because, like Rhett, he's a little susceptible to some pleading.

Bobby's also very good at knowing when he's taking things too far and tapers back when he notices you or Rhett getting close to hitting your limits. Slowing down, cooing quietly as you come down from it, he doesn't entirely give up on the role, but he's mindful of the line drawn in the sand now that he knows where it is.

Both of them are so sweet when it comes to aftercare. Rhett's more of a snuggler. Comfort comes in the form of giggling kisses and tangled legs, basking in the warmth of each other's presence. If clean-up is needed, then he's insistent on a bath, cuddling beneath the bubbles until you're either too tired or the water gets too cold. Whichever comes first.

Bob's a smidgen awkward, torn between wanting to be present and wanting to bring snacks and water. He knows that Rhett's craving physical contact, but he also understands that you all could also use a good drink. Give him a minute, and he'll venture back into the bedroom with drinks and a small basket of snacks. Then he's content to let you two snuggle up on him, and he'll stay as long as you two wish 🌷

Send Miles, Rhett & Bob thoughts!

[impala-dreamer]

Tourniquet - Chapter Five

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works ~ Get A Custom Story

How To Lose Friends and Knock on Death’s Door

She hadn’t been far when he called, which was always strange. Strange to think that out of the entire country, they’d accidentally ended up in almost the exact same place at the same time. 

Y/N had just cleaned up a little ghost situation in Absecon, New Jersey and decided to treat herself to a little glitz and glamor down in Atlantic City. Sadly, she found none, but she did find a few really good margaritas which led her to relieve her wallet of a few bucks in Bally’s. 

That night, she hung out on the boardwalk, boots thumping gently on the slatted wood. She took her time, nowhere to go, nothing really to do. The moon was bright and its glow reflected on the ocean like a million diamonds sparkling in the swells.

The November wind was slow but cruel and she tugged her jacket around her a little tighter. 

Someday, she wanted to come back in the summer. To bring a book and sit on the beach under a rented umbrella and feel the sun burn her legs. To dodge the crowds on the boardwalk, walk through the casinos for a little air conditioning. Maybe she’d bring a friend. Maybe she’d bring Dean. She laughed at the thought of Dean lying next to her on the beach; his back red from the sun, his legs too long for the blanket, toes digging into the sand. 

Dean. 

She sighed and leaned against the wooden railing, staring off at the water. Her nose was freezing and she rubbed at it, deciding it was time to go. 

As she turned, her phone buzzed and she smiled. His ears must have been ringing. Maybe she could get him to come out right now. Despite the late autumn cold, New Jersey was beautiful. 

“I was just thinking about you,” she answered with a light laugh. 

“Y/N/N…” His voice was panicked and rough. 

Her heart sank. Another tragic call, another night of talking him off the ledge. Pushing away her smile and disappointment, Y/N squared her shoulders and focused. 

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” 

“No.” He stumbled as if his tongue wasn’t quite sure how to form the words. “You- it’s- Y/N/N, you gotta come here. Now.”

“OK.” His panic drifted through the phone into her. “Tell me what’s going on. Where are you?” 

Heavy breathing, a choked back sob. 

“It’s Bobby…”

Thirty-one miles wasn’t very far, but she felt every bump in the road like she was running barefoot on broken glass. Her stomach ached; her muscles tensed. Twice, she’d had to slow down in fear of retching, but she grit her teeth, gripped the wheel, and pushed on. 

The trauma rooms were on the main floor behind Emergency, and they were hesitant to let her in. 

“Please… He’s my father,” she lied, but not really. Bobby had been more of a father to her in those early years after her mother and sister died than her own had been. He was the only one she would listen to when reprimanded or given advice; his house buried in the junkyard was the only place she could truly call home. “Please.” 

The tears were real even if the genetics weren’t and they let her in; a short nurse pointing the way to the room in the corner. 

Doctors ran in and out, white coats and blue scrubs blurring as tears filled her eyes. 

She stood in the middle of the walkway, staring at the body in the bed, refusing to believe that it was Bobby. 

The patterned gown was too big, hanging off his shoulders and tucked under in weird places. Plastic tubes came out of his mouth, his chest, his arms. Bright blood leaked through the white gauze on his head.

Someone called her name, but she couldn’t hear it over the monitors beeping or the racing of her heart. 

“Y/N…” 

Sam touched her shoulder and she jumped back and away, hunter’s instincts taking over. 

“Whoa-” He held up his giant hands in surrender and leaned away. “It’s me. Sorry.” 

She sucked in a quick breath and looked up into his worried eyes. His hair was a bit longer than she’d last seen; his sideburns a ridiculous mess. He opened his arms and she fell into them, grabbing the front of his green jacket and twisting it in her fists. 

“What the fuck happened?” It came out in a wet sob, but the words were formed well enough. 

Sam was shaking and braced himself by wrapping his arms around her. “He… we were…”

Confusion choked her. “Who did this?”

He couldn’t answer, he just squeezed a little tighter. 

“What happened? What- I- Sam!” 

She pulled back and looked up. His face was creased with pain, his gaze sad and empty with shock. 

“Sam!” 

Hazel eyes flit from her face to Bobby and back again. Unable to speak, he shook his head.

She tore at his jacket, tugging him closer. Her body burned with anger, not at Sam, but he was the only one around that she could beat up on and not end up in cuffs. 

“Sam!” 

“I’m-” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “It just… happened. I don’t-” 

Y/N could tell how hard he was trying, how strong he was being. The simple act of standing there seemed to almost break him down, but he held himself together. She pushed aside her anger and pressed her hand to his chest in a calming gesture. 

He looked down with the tiniest ghost of a smile.

She softened her voice. “Has a doctor talked to you yet?” 

Sam nodded. “Just now.” 

“What did they say?” 

“He’s um… They have to wait for the swelling to come down and then-” 

He shrugged, it was all he could do. 

Y/N’s head was pounding, her arms felt like lead. She turned to look back at the bed, at the old man lying unconscious surrounded by machines. He looked pale, cold. The thin hospital blanket wasn’t enough. She wanted to run to her car and grab another, cover him up, hold him close, but her feet wouldn’t move. She was stuck in place, looking through the glass doors as Bobby clung to life.

Her whole world was shattering and autopilot took over. There were no more words, no more questions, there was only the eerie quiet between them and the constant mechanical beeping.

At some point, she and Sam found chairs and they sat stoically sharing their pain. He clung to her and she covered him the best she could with much smaller hands.   

“He’s gonna die,” she whispered. She was staring, unblinking at the base of the hospital bed, wondering what all the different pedals and levers did. “He’s gonna die.” 

Sam sucked in a shuddering breath. “Yeah. I think so.” 

“He ain’t dyin’. Not today.” 

Dean startled them both with his refusal to admit the truth and his sudden appearance. He towered over them and Y/N tore her eyes from Bobby and looked up at Dean. 

His eyes were wide and bloodshot, the skin dark beneath. He was trembling slightly but doing his best to hide it behind a clenched jaw and tight fists. 

She wanted to yell at him, to force him to see reality, but she was distracted by a drop of blood. It fell from his hand and struck the top of his boot, splashing like a raindrop onto pavement. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

He looked down and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were torn and bleeding. 

“It’s fine.”

Y/N stood up and grabbed his hand, looking it over. “It’s gonna get infected,” she sighed. “Come on…” 

They found an empty room down the hall that seemed unused. Most of the lights were off and the ones that were on were old and dim. They snuck in and Y/N forced Dean to sit on the edge of the bed. He was quiet but she could feel the anger pushing off of him. She could see it in his eyes; feel it in the tension of his fingers. 

“What’d you do, punch a wall?” 

Dean huffed and cleared his throat. “A- uh- glass window thing.”

Y/N sighed as she dug through a cabinet, plucking out alcohol swabs and gauze. “You think that was wise?” 

Dean tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, scared, and running from defeat. 

“Was that or the guy’s face.” 

She pulled up a stool and steel tray, laid out her instruments and sat across from him. 

“Then I guess you did the right thing.” 

He let her examine his cuts, winced as she pulled a piece of glass from the middle knuckle, hissed when the alcohol hit his open flesh. 

Y/N scoffed and hit him again with the cold fluid. “Baby.” 

He cocked his head and looked at her. “You know I love it when you call me that.” 

She met his eye and pursed her lips. “Of all the times, Dean. Now is not a good one.” 

He shrugged and offered half a smile in apology. 

“I’m glad you called.” She wrapped his hand up carefully, sure to make it tight but not too tight. “Thank you.” 

Dean licked his lips and dropped his head, staring at the old tiles covering the floor. They were dingy and the glaze was cracked. Just like him. 

“Thought you’d wanna be here,” he replied. 

“I do. Thanks.” She smiled sadly and patted his arm. “All done.” 

“You’re a hell of a nurse, Y/N/N.” 

“Don’t you know it.” 

She moved to stand, but Dean grabbed her. He pulled at her arms and tugged the stool forward until she was between his legs. She looked up in surprise and then blinked back a fresh swarm of tears. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, cupping her cheeks in his warm hands and brushing away a tear with his thumb. “You do that and I’ll do that and then where will we be?” 

“Crying in an ancient hospital room,” she teased. 

He laughed. 

She sighed. 

He’d be OK. 

“Dean, I-” 

His kiss was slow but desperate. He held her face, kept her locked to him as his lips pressed tight against her mouth. She was surprised but not really. This is what he did. He called when he needed her, kissed her when he felt hopeless, let his hands roam when he needed to feel alive and connected. 

It didn’t matter why, it just mattered that it happened. 

Y/N melted against him, parting her lips for his tongue, and breathed him in. He smelled like cheap cologne and smoke, like whiskey and three days without a shower. He stank. He was filthy. His stubble burned her lips. He felt like heaven. 

Dean seemed to find his breath again within her and he sucked at her lips, kissed across her jaw, sank his teeth gently into the crook of her neck. Y/N’s eyes were rolling, her skin burning, heart racing. 

“Dean, we shouldn’t-” 

He sat back, green eyes dark and wide as he looked her over. He ran his fingertips across the hem of her shirt, followed her collarbone across on each side. He was there but not; a mechanical body moving because it had to, but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was back in that room with Bobby. 

“Dean…” 

As much as she wanted his hands to move down a little further, to sneak up beneath her shirt, rip her clothing away, she knew she couldn’t do it. She placed her hands on his wrists and pulled them gently off of her shoulders. 

He startled, shoved back into himself. He blinked quickly and then stood up, pushing her back on the rolling stool. 

“I- I’m sorry, Y/N/N-”

Shaking his head, he wrenched the door open and escaped, leaving her alone in the dim light, surrounded by the ghost of a moment and bloody wrappings. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there picking at her cuticles and absorbing the night. She wanted to break down, to run away and scream as loud as she could until she couldn’t anymore, but that wasn’t her. She was the bedrock, the warm blanket, the calm in a stormy sea. If she wasn’t that, she wasn’t anything. 

After some time, she managed to stand. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and his kiss from her lips. 

She gathered up the mess she’d made and tossed it all in the bin. 

She shut the lights and walked back down the hall. 

A white coat flew past her, bumping her shoulder. She turned into the hit and watched the young doctor run towards an incoming trauma. 

Outside, sirens were blaring and nurses were shouting, but inside there was a steady ringing. A long buzz that Y/N slowly realized had replaced the beeping. 

She looked towards Bobby’s room, her vision blurred and her movements slow. 

Dean was at the foot of the bed, his hands on his head as he spun away. Sam was doubled over off to the side, slowly sliding to the floor. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

A nurse in bright blue scrubs and a white knitted sweater reached over the bed and shut off a monitor. The buzzing stopped. 

Bobby was dead. 

Anguish pumped through her system and Y/N broke into a run, screaming for help as she reached the room. 

“Please! Help him!” 

Dean tried to grab her, but she slipped through his arms. 

“Please! Why won’t you do something!” 

Her hands waved over his body, unsure where to land, unsure what to do. Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall, crashing down like a tidal wave onto the thin blanket. She pushed at his shoulders, trying to get him to move, but there was no response. 

“Please!” 

She cupped her hands over his heart and tried to push down with all of her strength, to force his heart to start again, but it was no use. 

“Bobby, please!” 

She climbed up onto the bed and beat on his chest; her cries growing more desperate, more pitiful. 

“Bobby-” 

When he couldn’t stand it any longer, Dean grabbed her by the waist and yanked her off of the bed. 

“Get off of me!” 

She struggled against his hold, kicking at him to get back to the bed, but his arms were too solid, his grip too strong. 

“Y/N, stop!” 

She hissed and slapped at the arm around her middle, but Dean wouldn’t let go. 

“Dean! Let! Go!”

She clawed at his hands and Dean pulled her closer. He dropped his head and pressed it against hers. His eyes fell closed. 

“Y/N/N, he’s gone. He’s gone.” 

Dean’s voice bounded off of every corner of her mind, echoed into the deepest parts of her. She stopped fighting and collapsed, legs giving out and sending them both to the cold floor. Dean fell with her and wrapped his arms around her, curling her into his chest. 

“He can’t go,” she sobbed, fingers climbing up his chest to find something to hold on to. “He can’t. He can’t. He can’t…” 

Dean cradled her head, rocked them both gently. “Shh… I’ve got you.”

“He can’t go, Dean… He can’t.” 

He shivered against her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ve got you.” 

She ran. As soon as the sun rose and she could see clear enough to drive, she was gone. She was broken and devastated and the worst part was, he hadn’t asked her to stay. 

So, she ran. 

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303   @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05 @mariekoukie6661  

[artzzyb00-27]

Jee-Yuns' Playtime

Jee-Yun centric cause she needs love! She's adorable😭, also I'm basing her personality off Lily from Modern Family and the stories of her going to daycare/pre-school and meeting kids whilst getting into mischief. No coherent storyline, just funny tidbits I think would happen when she ultimately goes to school.

After Jee-Yun turned four, Maddie and Chim decided she was ready for preschool(Hen convinced them too). The first few days had been great. The teachers and caretakers were super helpful and reported that she was on her best behavior. Wouldn't fuss when told no and wouldn't throw a tantrum when naptime was supposed to happen.

Everything was great. Till it wasn't. Which, okay, Maddie and Chim were dramatic, but to be fair they didn't expect her to be an imp this early. At least in front of others.

"She what?"

"She put a kid in time out." Mrs.Niamh answered smiling humorously.

"How?/Why?" The Buckley-Han parents wondered. Smiling brighter, trying not to laugh, Mrs.Niamh replied.

"He tried putting glitter on the floor and she caught him. Walked opposite of the room, yanked the glitter bottle out of his hands, and said, 'You'll get it back when you stop trying to sparkle the room! Go in the book corner!'." Makes sense. Jee-Yun hated glitter. It offended her to the core. One time Maddie tried putting some glitter in her fair for a small party with the firehouse crew and Jee ran to the garden hose and sprayed the glitter out of her hair. 

Other parents would be mad, obviously, but Maddie couldn't help but be impressed that she efficiently undid her tight hair and didn't get her clothes wet. Gotta recognize the tenacity I guess.

-------------------------------------------

"Mason was crying today."

"Oh no, how come?"

"Someone put sand in his hair." The dead tone in her voice was surprisingly enjoyable for the adults. Especially with something random or just outright sad. She was like Lily from Modern Family. Except, not a little bitch. No shade to her though, she's iconic.

"Awh, poor Mason. Did you help him get it out?" The silence was the only answer Maddie received. Raising a brow, Maddie turned slightly to her kid in the living room. Who was sitting on the floor drawing random things on the coffee table. "Jee?"

"I might have, been the one to put it in his hair." Not looking up but slowly coloring the mini poodle she drew. Pursing her lips, Maddie huffed through her nose trying not to break. She needed to set an example.

"Oh. Why?"

"He was in the way." Maddie has a few weaknesses. This was one of them.

-------------------------------------------

Dropping off Jee-Yun and Nia along with the boys at Athena and Bobby's was an idea. Whether it was a good idea was still up to debate between Chim and Buck. Anyway, Christmas was three weeks away and Athena liked to decorate early so they wouldn't stress about it later. So she got Harry, Christopher, Denny, and the girls to help out.

While the Denny worked on the garlands, Chris and Harry helped the girls put the ornaments on the lower part of the tree. Athena was working on the taller bits. Nia was being organized, moving some around if it didn't look proportional in her brain. Jee-Yun on the other hand couldn't care less for symmetry.

Looking down Athena laughed at the scene beneath her. Chris was handing Jee ornaments while she placed them where she wanted. And what she wanted was 9 ornaments on the same branch. Taking a quick picture, Athena sent it to the family group chat and was bombarded with 'awes'.

-------------------------------------------

During Spring the kids were able to go outside and enjoy nature in the backyard of their daycare. Jee-Yun was playing with ladybugs she found in the grass in the corner while the other kids were running around near the jungle gym and swings.

When she felt something hit her head, she rubbed the top of it and looked around. A branch had fallen from the tree in front of her. Looking up at it, Jee-Yun wondered what it would be like to be that high up. So she set out to find out.

Gripping the crevices of the tree as best she could she climbed up without letting any of her teachers notice. Once up to the top she looked around and saw the city buildings in the distance. Yawning, she realized she was tired and leaned backward on the tree closing her eyes. A small nap couldn't hurt, right?

It could be if your dad was a firefighter and your mom was a first responder. When the teacher noticed that the girl with purple shoes wasn't in her favorite corner of the classroom, she immediately informed someone. And that someone called 911. And the person who answered was May.

Who glanced over at Maddie enjoying her lunch peacefully. Yeah no, keep quiet for now till they get someone on it. And that they did, the 118 that is. Chim getting shot was less stressful than this. He was the one who convinced Maddie to leave his little girl at the daycare to relieve the stress on them and the team.

"Chim you gotta focus or you're staying near the truck," Bobby said firmly despite his worries building.

When arriving parents were already picking up their kids. Ignoring the children awing them, they walked over to the teacher who initially reported the missing girl.

"I only noticed till the last 30 minutes, how she slipped my view I don't know. She's always very outspoken!"

This was true. Jee-Yun was a force of nature that the world wasn't ready for.

"The last time I saw her was outside in the back near the jungle gym. I got distracted with other students." Chim didn't blame her, he didn't, but his dad mode was kicking up and he didn't want to be near her right now. Instead, he veered off with Ravi following him to look around the fence to ensure none of it was clipped or open.

As the others called out, Hen looked up at the rustle in the leaves. Getting directly underneath she looked up and saw little feet dangling.

"Jee!" She yelled out multiple times gathering the attention of her team.

"No sarang, ireona!" Chim yelled in Korean waking up the girl successfully. Rubbing her eyes, she looked down and saw her family beneath her.

"Hi, Daddy!"

Breathing out a sigh of relief, the team got the ladder and got her down.

"Wanna explain why you gave your teacher a heart attack by climbing a tree?"

"I wanted to know what it would be like to be a branch. And I was sleepy."

Laughing at her explanation, the teacher thanked them, farewelled the 2/3 Buckley-Han duo, and left. Putting Jee-Yun in the fire truck was a fun car ride back to the station.

When they told the story to Maddie back home, they all laughed while watching Turning Red. Chim couldn't help but compare the girl in overalls to his passionate and blunt daughter.

[spacedoutman]

【𝕻𝖞𝖌𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝕬 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆𝖚】

(𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 18)

Description: Kiss was the perfect name for the infamous bank robbers who kissed everything goodbye to go out in a blaze of glory. Wreaking havoc on 1930s America, what happens when the chase ends?

♥ Paul Stanley x Reader

Note: I actually got Paul's gun type wrong, it's an m1917, i have to go back and recorrect that. But the bank robbery's finally happening. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: hella anxiety and some violence

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 17 / 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 / 𝖆𝖔3

You pieced your fingers together over the steering wheel, peeing through the mirror. Gene’s coat swung like a red blotch on white as they strode into the bank. You gulped down your fears. Paul’s smile, laugh, face—all rang in your head—‘but he’ll be fine, right?’

Paul sighed deeply. A couple people laughed and chattered as they followed behind. He relaxed, but he knew his darting eyes weren’t helping anything. A man shoved something in his greatcoat pocket as he slumped out. Gene’s gaze followed. Bobby stepped up. Paul followed. His heart thudded in his tight throat. Cold sweat dripped down his temple.

“Long day at work?” The teller’s happy voice flooded their ears. “You look tired.”

The guy in front of them rambled about his day as the two went about their business. Bobby took a long, deep breath. Gene shifted his weight in the corner of Paul’s eye. Paul clutched his wrist.

“Have a good day!” The teller cooed. The man chuckled and pranced off.

The three stepped up. Paul fought himself not to glance over his shoulder. ‘God.. are they okay out there?’ He thought, fighting not to glance at the window. Pillars of sand gladly took his shaking leg’s place. The person behind them sighed harshly, leaning over. Paul’s gaze snapped to Gene—who shifted his weight again. He loosely crossed his arms, looking down and lightly scratching his elbow.

Paul’s lips pursed.

‘What is he doing?’ His own sharp voice pierced his head. ‘He’s going to get us caught!’

Paul swore he could hear Gene’s heart thudding in his ear. ‘I-’

Gene composed himself. “Why hello there!” The teller’s eyes smiled as Gene leaned over the counter, perching his elbow on it and peering like a hawk down through the golden fence. “How do you do?” Paul peered over Gene’s shoulder. Bobby casually looked over the crowd. The teller was a a round-faced older gentleman, straight out of a silent film. His grin was toxic enough to soothe Paul’s nerves.

Paul looked back. Ace swayed a little, lightly scratching his arm and looking at the ground like a television. Paul’s jaw clenched. His gaze veered off to the guard, who stood in the corner—this man was no older than he was. His gelled brown hair framed his pale face. His eyes were large and brown with a sparkle one would have after falling in love or getting their dream job.

He rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at the polished wooden floor.

“Wonderful weather, yeah.” Gene sounded a little too relaxed. “It’s a shame you can’t enjoy it to its full extent, sir.”

Every inch of friendliness in Gene melted ominous. Gene swallowed hard. The bank teller’s eyes widened, his brows pressing down.

“.. Because this,”

Bobby whipped open his coat, spinning to face the crowd, gun in hand. Gene yanked out his rolling block, tossing Paul and Ace their guns. Paul scrambled to catch his.

“Is a stick up.” Gene finished more shakily and sharply than he would’ve liked.

The teller threw up his hands, stepping back. Bobby crept to the crowd. “Put your hands where we can see em’ and no one gets hurt!” He commanded, booming through the smaller bank. The crowd, angry, horrified or straight-faced did as told. Ace’s eyes widened. Bobby loosely gestured for him to come over. Ace froze on trembling legs.

Paul pushed him reassuringly. Ace jogged. Gene barreled around. CRASH! The gate slammed into the fence. The teller grit his teeth. “Unlock it and no one gets hurt!” Gene snapped viciously, mounting his rolling block firmly on his shoulder. White crowded his irises.

“God—god, here.” The teller quickly muttered, jamming his trembling hand in his pocket.

“Hurry the fuck up!”

Ace’s heart banged in his tightening guts. The thought of a bullet splitting him open haunted like whispers as he dug through the crowd’s pockets. A woman held out a shiny pearl necklace. Ace snatched it, swallowing down an apology. Bobby narrowed his eyes. The alarm was clear as a freshly cleaned window. Paul raced around the counter, snatching anything that even looked of value.

Gene blinked back tears. Ace’s breaths went quick and shallow. Paul stopped, clutching his chest as his lungs refused to drag in any air. Ace stumbled to a stop. “Keep going.” Bobby pushed. Ace stormed to the next man, towering over him.

“Gimme’ what you got.” He growled in his best intimidating voice though he shook like a ship in a sea storm.

The man took a deep, rigid breath. He glared up into Ace’s eyes, straightening himself out. Ace looked down, frowning intensely. “Just fuckin’ do it, make it any harder on you and you’ll be on the ground.” Ace knew he didn’t mean that. Ace grit his teeth-The man spit in his face. “You fucking-”

Gene glanced as Ace shoved the man against the wall.

“Stop!” Bobby snapped.

You glanced in the rear view mirror. Tick. Tock. People bustled past the door. No one bustled out of the door. Your heart jumped. You clutched your chest, fighting a war with yourself for even a pinch of control. Your breathing sped up. You rubbed your temple, setting your elbow on the wheel. You’d long pulled off. Cold sweat trickled down your face.

“You wanna play those fuckin’ games?” Ace quietly questioned. “We’ll see who-”

The teller glanced up. His gaze shot knives into Gene, who clutched his gun. “Hurry up!” He thundered. The teller held his chin up as he strode over to the vault. Gene scowled. Paul shot up, racing around the counter. He swept the sweat off his forehead. Bobby glanced at him. Paul glanced at Ace, who muttered threats to the man.

Paul gave a ‘go ahead’ nod. Bobby rushed to pull them apart. Paul pointed his gun at the crowd. “Please, please don’t hurt them!” A man begged.

“Just don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine.” Paul firmly replied though his voice broke like glass being stepped on. His blood pumped like hell, pushing every thought from his head.

“What the hell are you doing??” Gene hissed. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“Have you ever opened a safe?” The teller snapped back before-

“I-I’m going to have to ask you to put that down, sir..” A small voice breaking with terror rang through the room.

Paul’s blood ran cold. The guard stood behind the gate, pistol pointed right at Gene’s back. Gene slowly turned around. The guard wobbled so badly he’d fall into himself. “In the name of justice, the law..” He strangled the words from his throat, taking one hell of a hesitant step closer. Saying his hand shook was an understatement.

Paul’s blood ran cold. His head fell off his shoulders. His vision smeared. His head settled for one last moment of peace before--

BANG!

Then it all went silent.

[oddlyunadventurous]

Dear wizard,

I can’t wait to log on the internet and find nothing of inherent value for the 700th day in a row. Maybe tomorrow a great conflagration of happiness and love will erupt out of my screen, like the volcano that annihilated the Pompeiian sodomites (or was that a different Bible story?), but most probably, if I am to reason inductively, I will receive, in my digital mailbox, yet another invitation to join the exclusive club of men who shave their balls with some overpriced, child labor gizmo or some-such affront to human decency. Recently, while on one of my regular psychotic breaks, I swore that if the inside of my brain didn’t look like the intro to Bobby’s World 24/7 all year round I might as well hang myself from the rafters and the further away I get from that moment the more I understand the truth of my sentiment. It’s not my fault, is it? Nobody is having any fun. I’d really do it too but I can’t die when there’s so much fucked up sex still left on the proverbial table, or kitchen countertop, or even on the floor if you’re not afraid of germs. You ever think about how everyone only talks of fucking online because it’s the only haven in a late capitalist world, like we’re all French legionnaires in Algiers and pussy is some oasis we’re all crawling towards through the desert sands? Sex is much like sleep in Proust’s novel, as noted by Walter Benjamin. It’s the only threshold experience we have left, that which separates the real us from the slavery of our social obligations. So much the worse for you if you don’t want to drink the water, then. Or perhaps that’s what you’re cornered into believing. Perhaps everything, really everything, is one big mirage. I think I am going to write my version of the unabomber manifesto and then drive a go-kart through an Amazon data center like it’s a Mario Kart power up. Nothing’s going to change, of course, but note that it will not be because of the sober reality I have to live in but rather because it’d be funnier if it didn’t. A goblin, a wizard, perhaps, dooms everything we do to failure because, when writing the script of our lives, he follows a simple rule of comedy: that ineffectual action amuses the onlookers. Well go on then, clap. At least reward me for all the clowning I’m not even attempting to perform. It’s the only recompense I get. Motherfucker. Piece of shit. Fuck you, wizard. I hate your stupid guts. You count your lucky blessings that I’m happy and content with how it’s going or there would be hell to pay. I might even break down crying over the inevitability of it all and fall asleep exhausted only to forget about it in the morning (at least till next time). So yeah. Watch out, you fuckin’ cunt. Pew pew pew!

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch20: Bobby

Summary: A new friend joins the fight... Referenced Episodes: mention S1 E21 "Salvation," S1 E22 "Devil's Trap" CW: Minor gore (Meg's exorcism). Word Count: 7862 Recommended Song: The Gambler -- Kenny Rogers Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

To my disappointment, Dean didn't stay with me for long. All he needed was a few moments to collect himself, and now he was ready to jump back in. He stormed back into the motel room and I followed close behind, wanting to know what exactly his plan was. Were we really going to go after John?

Sam was seated at the table when I entered and quickly jumped to his feet, his eyes following Dean as his brother marched towards his duffel bag. "What are you doing, Dean?" he questioned as Dean filled the bag and pocketed the Colt.

"We've got to go," he responded, turning to face Sam with a resolute expression. "The demon knows we're in Salvation, all right. It knows we got the Colt. It's got Dad – it's probably coming for us next," he clarified, pulling his coat on.

"We've still got three bullets left," Sam retorted. "Let it come."

My hackles rose. That demon was not something I ever wanted to see again, quite frankly, and I really didn't want to sit here and wait for it. This thing... it had been in my head twice, showing me things I could never imagine on my own. It made my skin crawl and sweat bead on my brow. To allow it to come to us was just going to set us up to be cornered and skinned.

"Sam, if we stay here we're sitting ducks," I snapped. Dean turned to face me with a quizzical expression. Perhaps he had expected me to side with Sam’s usual more careful perspective, rather than Dean’s favored sporadic charge. "Next time we fight the demon, it'll be on our own terms; otherwise, it's going to kill us.”. Sam glared back and I stared him down with a vicious look. I was not in the mood to deal with his idiotic guilt complex and the need for vengeance, not when facing something of this caliber – vampires were one thing, but this… we needed a plan.

"We're not ready to take it on," Dean chimed in. "We don't know how many of them are out there. Now, we're no good to anybody dead. We're leaving now," he ordered, slinging his pack over his shoulder and marching out to the Impala.

I cast Sam a nervous look and began silently packing my things. I was still shaking from my encounter with that demon... that thing it had shown me. Towering red wings that split the gray sky, ash covered ground, corpses buried in the sand. A vision, maybe? I didn't know, but I knew I never wanted to find out.

I hated not knowing. The demon clearly showed it to me for a reason, and I hoped I would never know why. I wanted nothing more than to never see those pale yellow eyes again. The scent of sulfur and ash still clung to my clothes and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"So what is the plan?" I questioned as I tossed the strap of my bag over my shoulder and moved to stand beside Dean. He hunched over his own duffel bag and wrenched the zipper shut in hurried frustration. "Please tell me you have at least some sort of plan."

"Sort of," Dean started. "We find dad and kill the demon. That's it."

A shiver ran up my spine. Maybe I should have sided with Sam after all. "That's your plan?" I spoke, my voice rising with terror. Dean cocked his head from where he hunched to look at my wide eyes, a stern expression set on his face. "Dean, we don't even know where to start looking!"

"We should stayed," Sam crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. Dean shook his head, hoisted his bag in his arms and made his way towards the door. I glanced worriedly over my shoulder at Sam, then chased after his brother. "We could take him!" Sam argued as he followed us, reluctantly hefting his own items.

"Like hell! If we stay we’re dead.

"You don't know that-" he started and I snarled. He clamped his mouth shut and glared from the corner of his eye, refusing to fully turn to face me.

"I saw it, Sam," I hissed through my teeth as we entered the parking lot, the motel door slamming shut behind us. "It spoke to me- I looked into its goddamn eyes! There's no fucking way we can kill it, at least, not on its terms. And I guarantee, if we had stayed we would have been exactly where it wanted us." I turned my back to him and marched after Dean, who popped the trunk and gestured hurriedly for me to stow my bags.

The three of us fell silent, the only noise being the sound of canvas bags scraping against each other as we packed. Finally, Dean spoke slowly and steadily, his brows pinched in concern.. "It spoke to you?" he questioned, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I nodded and fisted the hem of my shirt with a frown. "Yeah. Only a couple of words though. It commented on my eyes."

Sam scoffed and twisted in his seat, a sneer on his thin lips. "The demon complimented your eyes?"

My lips drew back to showcase an irritated grimace. "Its eyes are yellow, Sam- like mine. So yeah, it said 'nice eyes.'" I snapped and folded my arms tightly over my chest. "And... it showed me something."

At this the boys perked up, curiosity evident on their faces. "What kind of something?" Dean questioned, quirking a brow.

"Like... hell on Earth. It was a wasteland," I said softly, my voice dropping to just over a whisper. "There were bodies... everywhere. Humans and monsters," I gulped, my voice dropping as I let myself sink into my thoughts. "No one was spared."

Once again, the group fell silent. Dean’s hand rested on the trunk of the Impala, lost in thought in his preparation to close it. I stared quietly at my feet, my boots a mess, stained with blood, vomit, and whatever else. I had no clue what the vision meant, but I hoped to God it wasn't any sort of possible future.

The trunk slammed shut and I flinched with a sharp look at Dean. "Look, we can worry about dystopian visions later," he said, looking briefly at me in the rearview mirror. "Right now, what we need is a plan. They're probably keeping Dad alive, we just gotta figure out where. They're gonna wanna trade him for the gun-" Sam shook his head and chuckled darkly, drawing Dean's attention. "What?"

"Dean, if that were true, why didn't Meg mention a trade?" Sam countered. As much as I hated to admit it, Sam was right. I didn't think there was much chance of a trade. "For all we know, dad could be-"

"Don't!" Dean shouted, slamming his hand down on the trunk of the car. I jumped and took a partial step back.

"Look, I don't want to believe it any more than you!" Sam shouted back, struggling to reason with his erratic older brother. He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, looked around the parking lot, and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "But if he is, all the more reason to kill this damn thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job."

"Screw the job!" Dean argued. He rolled his shoulders and made his way around the Impala to the driver’s seat. Sam rolled his eyes and hurried to the passenger’s side, opening the door just as Dean slipped into his seat. I followed hesitantly. "We find dad, and then we take this son of a bitch out together."

"And what if that's not an option, Dean?" I prompted as I dropped to my seat. "Do you really think we can take this thing out on our own? Hell, we tried tonight and it evaporated! Like of a fucking cloud of mist!" I threw my hands in the air in frustration and pure bewilderment. "How do we fight something like that, Dean? How do we do that alone?"

"We won't be alone," he growled, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. "Everything stops until we get dad back, alright? Everything."

I bristled and glared at the back of his head, biting my tongue to keep from lashing out. I couldn't just drop everything, not when I had people waiting for me at home. If I didn’t come back, they would go on a manhunt. I shivered at the thought – there was no solace in my own home anymore, no privacy in my personal life. I bit the inside of my cheek and reminded myself that these were my friends, my family now. I didn’t need to be alone.

Right? 

Sam paused in thought, his mind racing trying to comprehend our next course of action. "So how do we find him? Lincoln?"

I scoffed. "You can't possibly think they'd still be there. They're demons, I doubt they'd even leave a trail to follow." Dean's narrowed green eyes caught mine in the mirror. They looked so similar to John's, full of authority and ice, dispelling their usual warmth. "Even if they were still there, we'd be walking in on God knows how many demons."

I rested my arms across the top of the seat and rested my chin on my folded arms, glaring out the large front window. Dean sat still for a moment, then wrenched the car into action. We backed quickly out of the parking lot and tore off down the road.

"You're right," Dean finally answered lowly, as though he hated to admit it. "We're going to need some help." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Frankly, I didn't want to drag anyone else into this mess, but he wasn't wrong. We would need help.

"Who're you thinking?" Sam asked, turning his head towards his brother, eyes full of curiosity.

"It's been a while since we've paid Bobby a visit," Dean offered, a grin rising on his cheeks. "And he knows dad better than anyone, aside from maybe us. If anyone can find him, Bobby can."

I leaned back in my seat and my heart thumped faster in my chest. Dragging a new person into this was a risk, both for that individual and for me. I knew by now that the boys would defend me if something went wrong. But, it wasn't worth risking for my safety and for the individual’s. I picked at my nails and drew my lips into a thin, tight line.

So much had happened in just one night... This was the second time I had a dream about that empty void. Before, I may have just simply considered that a dream. But now... I had seen that demon, right before it had arrived. It had generated such a strong reaction in me that I knew it couldn't be a coincidence. Was the demon the one prompting the dreams-? No, that didn’t make sense, right? And what about that wolf? It was massive and white as freshly fallen snow. Why was it there?

Just another dozen to add to my growing list of questions.

—

Bobby Singer’s property was a mess of old cars, scattered around a messy lot. Tires were half-submerged in mounds of dirt and the rust on old metal seemed to blend in with the reddish dirt of the ground. The occasional weed sprung up around the old cars, but other than that there was little to no color.

It was red and brown, and dirty, but it felt like home. It reminded me of when my uncle was alive, when he would have old cars scattered around the massive front lawn of our house. He would always spend his free time working on cars. Although he would never admit to it, I knew he liked the feeling of being able to fix something, to do something good after all the suffering he felt he had caused.

It seemed to be a common trait in hunters.

The Impala came to rest not far from a large wooden home that looked like it could topple in a strong enough gust of wind. Comically, it reminded me of the Three Little Pigs and the piglet that had chosen to build his home out of sticks. In this scenario, I hoped I wouldn't become the big bad wolf.

Dean parked the car between two other vehicles, one a much larger pickup and the other a battered, beaten old muscle car. I frowned as I stepped out of the car and ran my fingers lightly over the dented hood.The brother’s hushed voices fell on deaf ears and their footsteps eventually faded, on the hunt for their companion.

 Rusted, warped frame, forgotten in the shade of the trees that surrounded the hidden property. The car felt grimy under my fingertips. My gaze slipped from the metal towards the front porch when I heard a screen door slam. I buried my hands in my packets and stared down at the car, waiting for… what, exactly? An invitation to make someone else’s life miserable?

I shivered. Was that really all I did? My pack’s lives had turned to hell since their association with me. And Caeden, this odd bond… I brought a hand to the back of my neck. Perhaps they would all be better off without me. I certainly felt I might be better off with fewer mouths to feed. I never wanted this, never wanted a pack-

"You like that one, huh?" a gruff voice called from behind me, well-worn with age and raw as if the man frequently reveled in the burning flavor of cigarettes. I spun on my heel to face the man, a pleasant smile on his worn cheeks.

I placed my palm flat on the car's hood and smiled warmly at the man. "Just… just admiring," I answered, indirectly answering his question.

The man nodded and held out his hand for me. I grasped it tightly and shook it. "Bobby Singer," he said, introducing himself.

I responded with my own name. He nodded and retracted his hand, glancing at my flat palm against the car. "Where'd the boys go?" I questioned peering around the older man. I hadn't noticed them leaving, and now I had no clue where they had gone.

"Looking for me, I expect," he replied with a chuckle. "I was in the shop out back, working. Stepped out when I heard the car pull up and saw you out here." He patted the trunk of the Impala fondly. "I'd recognize the purr of this beauty anywhere."

I nodded and my grin widened. I too would have known it from a mile away- literally. The purr of the Impala's engine was unmistakable, and I felt confident that I would be able to pick it from a lineup of lookalikes.

"Well don't just stand there," Bobby teased, motioning for me to follow as he turned towards the house. "Come inside, have a seat. Let me get you a beer."

I followed him reluctantly. My eyes narrowed as the front door came into view, a rusted car sitting not far from the porch. Atop it was a muscled rottweiler, with beady eyes and a scarred snout. It lifted its head to look at me and rumbled, growling low in its chest.

"Don't mind him," he said, gesturing dismissively towards the growling dog with a wave of his hand and a limp wrist. "He doesn't like most people." The dog growled in response, rising in tone. I glared back, holding its gaze until it gradually fell silent.

I wasn't a fan of most dogs. They had a tendency to react poorly around me, either with territorial growls and barks, or snapping with the intention of biting. In fact, most animals seemed nervous or aggressive around me – horses especially. I couldn't get within ten feet of a horse without it panicking. My father had always assumed it was how we smelled – like a wolf, and yet we looked different. It frightened them. They didn't understand what we were, beyond predator.

The interior of Bobby's house was just as much of a mess as his yard, cluttered with stacks of books several feet high. How a hunter could have so many books and still find time to read them was beyond me. Bobby motioned for me to sit on a dusty old couch in the living room and I complied while he went to fetch a few beers.

The door in the kitchen was tossed open, squeaking on its old hinges in protest. The brothers stormed into the room, tracking dirt with them onto the tile floor of the kitchen.

"Nice of you to join us," Bobby said, pulling a beer from the fridge and offering it to Sam. "Your friend's waiting for you in the living room." The brother's eyes panned to mine and I gave them a meek wave.

Dean padded towards me, leaving a rapidly thinning trail of dirt behind. I smiled and patted the seat beside me, which he happily took after pushing some books aside. Sam took a chair near Bobby's desk, situated at one end of the room.

"It's good to see you boys," Bobby said gruffly as he waltzed into the room. "Pleasantries aside, you said your daddy was in some sort of trouble with demons?" he questioned, placing his own beer on a table with minimal space on it.

Dean nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "A demon we ran into a while ago's got him. We don't know where he's at, and don't know where to start looking," he summarized.

"We figured it would be best to get some help," I offered, placing my beer on the floor at my feet. "We're hunting something- something big. We need all the help we can get." Dean bumped my leg, a clear sign that I needed to stop talking. We wanted Bobby as uninvolved as possible.

Bobby nodded and nursed his beer, swirling the contents before setting it back down. "Right, that demon John was always going on about," he said, casting his glance down to a book with a large rune on the cover. "Last I heard, he had a pretty decent lead."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in. "And now he's got demons after him for it." He leaned back in his chair, as relaxed as he could be in this situation.

"Well then I guess you lot had better start studying up on how to deal with demons," Bobby said with a chuckle. He gestured with his beer in hand to a few stacks of books. "I'd suggest you look through those. They've got the majority of my demon lore."

I groaned. More reading. As suggested, I stood and began rifling through one of the piles of books while Sam took the other. I didn't understand how Bobby could have this many books and know where anything was.

My fingers skimmed over the covers of books, some about demon summoning, which I avoided, some about witchcraft. I could spend hours in just this room, combing through book after book. I wondered how much information I could soak up from just one sitting.

My fingertips skimmed over the leather-bound cover of a rather thin book, the title emblazoned in gold letters. The Creation of Monsters. My brows rose in curiosity as my eyes scanned the dusty cover. There was no author listed, although that didn't surprise me. The books looked much older than me, potentially even older than my father. My fingers gravitated towards the duty tome-

"Find something?" Sam questioned, looking up from his stack of books.

I looked up to meet his curious gaze and shook my head, running my fingers over the faded title once more before placing it back down on the desk. "No. Just something I might want to read later."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I'm getting plenty of that too," he said and held a book up with strange runes as the title. "Pretty interesting, but not exactly great reading material."

I laughed and returned to my stack of books, thumbing through the odd manuscript and reading a few pages here or there. My eyes shifted back to the old book on Bobby’s desk, curiosity itching at me. There was so much information just in one room. Would our house have looked like this if I had stayed with my uncle? He did have an affinity for collecting.

Eventually, I found a book that looked promising and sat on the couch to read. Dean had long since disappeared, likely to get supplies or prepare weapons. Sam had gone upstairs not too long before I found my book, taking a break from the monotony.

Bobby cleared his throat and spoke up from the kitchen as he prepared what I assumed was an early lunch. "How'd you end up traveling with the Winchesters?"

I laughed and lifted my eyes from the tattered page I had been reading. "We ended up working the same hunt. They've called on me a few times since then to help them out." My eyes fell back to the page, taking in the handmade drawings scrawled in the margins.

"You been hunting for long?" he questioned. "You don't strike me as much of a rookie."

I shrugged and finally placed my book down, turning my head to face him. "I'm probably more of a rookie than you think. I had hunted a bit in the past, but not as much as I do now." Bobby nodded slowly, placing something in his small oven and sliding his small oven mitts off. "I hunted with my uncle for a few years."

"What happened to him?" Bobby inquired, though I was sure he already knew the answer.

"Hunt gone bad," I said simply. "Wraith." I hung my head, hands in my lap and fiddled with my fingers. "It was about two years ago. I hadn't hunted until about... seven? Maybe eight months ago? A case showed up in my town, and so did the brothers. We just kind of clicked."

"I can tell," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "The way those boys look at you- it's like you're one of their own. People don't get that look from many hunters, you know?"

I smiled softly at my clasped hands. "The feeling's mutual," I mumbled, barely loud enough for Bobby to hear.

Once more the door was carelessly tossed open and Dean came sauntering into the room, effectively interrupting the conversation yet again. In his hands, he held several shopping bags, filled with what I assumed were supplies for dealing with demons.

I stood to my feet, placing my book aside and taking two of the bags from him. He thanked me and placed them on the small kitchen table, which was surprisingly barren compared to the mess of a living room. I opened one of my bags to see two paint cans and several brushes.

"Sam said he's looking for something to trap demons," he clarified before I even had a chance to ask. "Figured we could paint it somewhere, just in case Meg or anyone else shows up here."

I scoffed and pulled the paint and brushes from the bag. "You mean when she shows up. I have no doubt that she'll find us, especially if we stay here any longer."

Dean shrugged and smirked, emptying the contents of his own bags. Salt, and a lot of it. "I was trying to be optimistic," he teased and bumped my shoulder. I chuckled and helped him organize the supplies, tossing the bags in the trash as I did.

Bobby had left the kitchen, though I wasn't sure when. I assumed he had gone upstairs to check on Sam, who had been in Bobby's small library for quite some time. I hummed in thought as I closed the trash can, wiping my hands on my jeans, the cuffs and pockets frayed. "You really think we can take her, Dean?" I asked quietly, my back to him.

Dean fell silent, his methodical organization ceasing. I found it funny how obsessed he was with keeping his hunting equipment neat and organized, but not his personal belongings. Finally, after several long moments, he spoke.

"Of course, we can take her," he said, oozing confidence. I turned to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter with my palms on its surface. "We've got the gun and some dusty old books. We can take on anything," he joked with a wink.

I frowned and stared at my feet, brows furrowed and heart pounding with nerves. After that encounter with the demon... I was shaken, to say the least. My confidence had been drained, knowing how easily it could get in my head.

Dean's soft footsteps tapped across the tile floor as he padded over to me, stopping just in front of me. A finger was placed under my chin, and he lifted it gently until I was eye to eye with him.

"Optimism, remember?" he said, a worried look on his handsome features. "Don't worry about it, Fido. Everything'll be fine."

"And what if it's not?" I questioned, gripping his wrist in my hand. "Dean, I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong-"

"It's just nerves," he said, doing his best to reassure me. I frowned as he continued to speak. "Everyone gets them, and it always turns out fine-"

"Fine? Yeah, like it turned out fine for my mom? For my uncle? For your father? Dean, hunts don't always turn out fine," I snapped. His eyes went wide at my outburst and I dropped my gaze to the floor, loosening my grip on his wrist. "I'm sorry. I'm just... really nervous, you know? I feel like something really bad is going to happen. It's like a weight in the pit of my stomach. I can't shake it."

He fell silent, his eyes raking over my face. I could practically feel his gaze on my skin, my ears dusting red. "I get it," he said softly. "I'm worried too- I'm always worried before a hunt." He pulled his wrist back and my hand easily slid from his skin and to my side. He raked his fingers through his hair, spiking it up slightly.

"Just... promise me you won't get hurt?" I asked, raising my eyes to meet his.

He lifted a brow and smiled softly. "I promised you back in Colorado that I wouldn't-"

"You never actually promised," I pointed out, raising an accusing finger at him. "You just kind of shrugged it off."

He sighed and turned his head momentarily away from mine before meeting my stern gaze again. "OK," he said. "I can't guarantee something won't happen, but I promise not to do anything stupid." He raised an accusing finger, mimicking my earlier pose, "But only if you do the same."

I grinned and folded my arms over my chest. "OK," I agreed. "I can work with that." He smirked back but quickly looked confused as my smile fell. "I just... I don't know what I would do if any of you got hurt. Sam, my pack, you..." I frowned and dropped my gaze. "I think... I think I'd lose it, honestly. Like I did on the Bender case..."

I jumped as his hand slid to my cheek, raising my head to meet his tired gaze. His green eyes flickered between mine, sincere concern written in them. "No one's going to get hurt, Sparky," he said softly, sounding so sure of himself. "Not Sam, not your pack, and not me. Everyone's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," I whispered, sliding my hand up his arm to rest lazily on his wrist. "You don't know what's going to happen. No one does."

"I know I won't let anything bad happen," he whispered back, swiping the pad of his thumb reassuringly over my cheek. "I'd die before I let any of you get hurt."

I frowned. "And I'd kill anything in my way rather than let you die," I grumbled, glaring up at him. He chuckled and I tightened my grip on his wrist. "I'm serious, Dean."

His grin fell away to a look of surprise, that playful glint in his eyes disappearing. His jaw hung loose, and his lips parted slightly as his eyes scanned mine, a mix of emotions flickering in his green irises.

I hadn't realized just how close he was to my face until his breath fanned over my lips. A blush rose on my cheeks, but I don't think he noticed. He looked lost in thought, transfixed. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sound of someone racing down the stairs.

Dean sprung away from me and turned to face Sam, who was barreling into the living room, an excited look on his face and a book in his hands. "I've got it!" he shouted, thrusting the book into the air in triumph. "I found a symbol that can trap demons!"

I blush blossomed across my cheeks and I swallowed dryly. Perfect timing.

—

The symbol was rather intricate, with odd sigils and designs decorating its edges. There was very little empty space, and I had no doubt that one slip-up could ruin the effect it had on a demon. It baffled me that such a thing could physically immobilize a demon - it just sounded so... fake. How could a painting trap some biblical monster?

Sam had returned to Bobby's desk, his eyes scanning over a lore book with intense fascination. My fingers drummed over a stack of books, waiting impatiently for something to happen. Dean paced up and down the room, his hands buried deep in his pockets and a gun on his waist. He always seemed to have a weapon on him.

Bobby sauntered into the room, a flask in either hand. "Here you go," he said, handing one of the silver flasks to Dean, who inspected it with a curious gaze.

"What is this- holy water?" he questioned, meeting Bobby's gaze.

Bobby chuckled. "That one is," he said, pointing to the one Dean held. "This one's whiskey," he grinned and took a sip of it, then offered it to Dean. Dean took it and drank some of it, offering it back to Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "For everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure we should come."

I scoffed and leaned forward, glaring at the elder Winchester brother. "He wanted to head straight to Lincoln," I told Bobby, a teasing smile on my lips. "Like a dumbass." Dean twisted to shoot me a glare over his shoulder.

"If you ever need anything, feel free to ask me," Bobby said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his red beard. "'Specially if it means helping John."

"Well, yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean, you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything," Dean said with a laugh, turning from Bobby and making his way to the couch. I expected him to sit, but instead, he leaned against the armrest, avoiding my gaze.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people," Bobby replied, tipping his whiskey flask in acknowledgment. I grinned and dropped my gaze to my clasped hands. It was reassuring to know that a man who had known John far longer than I had felt the same way.

"Bobby, this book.... I've never seen anything like it," Sam called out from the desk, his voice dripping with awe. I looked up from my folded palms.

Bobby waltzed across the room and leaned on the desk, looking over Sam's shoulder. "Key of Solomon? It's the real deal, alright."

"And you're sure these protective symbols work?" Sam questioned, running his finger along a drawing on one of the tattered old pages. Bobby nodded.

"Hell, yeah. You get a demon in, they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a Satanic roach motel." Sam chuckled at Bobby's response and gently shut the book. "I'll tell you something else, too. This is some serious crap you boys stepped in." I frowned and looked up at him with curiosity - of course, this was a mess, but just how serious was it.

"How's that?" Sam questioned, mimicking my own thoughts.

"Normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops," he sighed and scratched his chin, ruffling his beard. "This year I heard of twenty-seven so far. You get what I'm saying? More and more demons are walking among us – a lot more."

Twenty-seven? It was only May, we weren't even halfway through the year yet! "Jesus," I whispered under my breath, wide-eyed and thoroughly concerned. Those were just the cases Bobby heard about, not necessarily how many there really were. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands across the globe.

"Do you know why?" Sam pushed, leaning back in his chair. Bobby shook his head.

"No, but I know it's something big. The storm's coming, and you boys, your Daddy – you are smack in the middle of it."

The rottweiler chained outside began barking erratically, and I jumped at the sudden noise. This wasn't simple bark that a dog would direct at a mailman. This was a violent, territorial bark. Like it was threatened. My hackles rose before I could stop them, my skin prickling.

"Bobby-" I started, standing to my feet as he marched across the room to peer out the window. He held a hand to silence me, his eyes scanning his dirty lot. I clamped my mouth shut, heart hammering in my chest. Something was wrong.

I could smell her before the door was thrown open, the scent of sulfur filling the air. Meg kicked the door open, breaking the lock and tossing it haphazardly into the wall. She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, eyes befalling each individual in the room before speaking.

"No more crap, OK?" she spat, her voice sickly sweet.

Dean charged forward with his flask of holy water at the ready, but before he could even uncap the flask, he was thrown across the room into a pile of musty old books. I snarled, eyes swelling with gold. Meg brightened, a smirk rising on her pale cheeks. "Down, puppy," she said and turned her gaze to Sam. "I want the Colt, Sam – the real Colt – right now."

Sam and Bobby took slow steps away from her and she followed with an ever-growing grin. I took a few small side steps to where Dean lay on the floor, clutching his head in pain.

"We don't have it on us. We buried it." Sam replied, his voice shaking.

Meg growled and drew her lips back in a sneer. "Didn't I say 'no more crap'?" she spat. "I swear- after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed," she scowled and began counting on his fingers. "First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lackluster, man. I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

I scampered towards Dean once her back was to me and helped to pull him to his feet, bracing him with a hand on his back. "Actually," he started slowly, his words slurred as he struggled to get his feet under him. "We were counting on it."

Meg whipped to face him, a confused glare on his pale features. She followed Dean's gaze to the ceiling, finally noticing the scarlet devil's trap painted on it. "Shit," she whispered.

It didn't take long to get her in a chair and tied down. She was defenseless now and likely didn't have enough physical strength on her own to defeat any of the four of us. So she sat quietly and watched as Dean tied ropes around her wrists, keeping her in place.

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask," she hissed, a teasing smirk on her thin lips. I scoffed and crossed my arms tightly, leaning against the edge of the couch. She cast her eyes briefly to mine and gave me a once over before returning her gaze to the brothers.

Bobby entered the kitchen with one of the large packages of salt Dean had bought. "I salted the door and windows," he began. "If there are any demons out there – they ain't getting in."

Dean nodded and returned his ferocious stare to Meg, a scowl etched on his lips. "Where's our father, Meg?" he questioned.

She giggled and glared up at him. "You didn't ask very nicely."

Dean frowned and held her gaze. "Where's our father, bitch?" My heart fluttered with worry. We knew very little about this symbol that had her trapped. What if it broke? Surely she'd attack Dean for his insolent comments.

"Jeez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" she hissed. Sam winced from beside me. "Oh wait- you can't."

Dean slammed his hands onto the arms of the chair, eyes wild with fury. "You think this is a fucking game!?" he shouted. "Where is he? What did you do to him!?"

Meg leaned forward, her face inches from him and a cocky smirk rising on her delicate features. "He died screaming," she whispered. "I killed him myself."

Dean struck her across the face. I jumped and pulled my jacket tighter around me, as though it could possibly shield me. She laughed, a thin trickle of blood staining the corner of her lips, and glared up at him. "That's kind of a turn-on – you hitting a girl." I grimaced in disgust and averted my eyes.

"You're no girl," Dean crumbled. Bobby called his name and all eyes turned to the older hunter, who motioned for Dean to follow him. He glanced once more at Meg and turned to follow Bobby to the next room with Sam not far behind him.

I frowned at the floor and stayed, keeping an eye on Meg. I didn't trust the trap - I didn't trust magic. How could I rely on something I couldn't see to keep me safe? It was nonsense. I scrunched my nose in disgust, the air stinking of sulfur. I understood now why she had practically bathed in perfume.

"Heard you had a bit of a run-in with old Yellow-eyes," Meg purred, leaning back in her seat. Her teeth were stained pink with blood. "How'd that work out for ya?"

I held her gaze for a long moment before looking back towards the hallway that the brothers and Bobby had disappeared down. "I'm still here, aren't I? Clearly, it didn't go too badly."

"Not yet, at least," she teased and shifted in her seat. "You know, it's almost a shame you won’t go to Hell. You and I could have had a lot of fun in the pit," a Cheshire cat grin spread across her face, the small cut in her lip pulling tight and cracking, releasing a small spurt of blood.

I did my best to ignore her, tuning out her syrupy voice. "I hope you know you're not leaving this room intact," I spoke, finally turning my steely gaze on her. "If the Winchesters don't find a way to kill you, I will."

At that moment, the brothers returned, a book clasped tightly under Sam's arm. He stopped beside Meg and rifled through the pages, his eyes scanning over the messily scrawled words until they settled on the incantation he needed.

"Are you going to read me a story?" Meg questioned. I raised a brow at Sam, who met my gaze with his own nervous expression. What exactly were they doing?

"Something like that," Dean said with a small twitch of his lips, the beginnings of a smile. "You ready Sam?"

Sam nodded and began reading out the Latin incantation. Meg turned to face Dean with an unamused scowl, her fingers twitching in their restraints. "An exorcism? Really?" My eyes widened in surprise. Did those really work?

"Oh we're going for it, baby – head spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards," Dean replied with a confident grin. A shiver crawled up my spine at the sight of that smile. It always brought a grin to my own cheeks, but this... this was an entirely new scenario to see that smile in. I wasn't as happy to see it this time.

Meg flinched as Sam continued, as though her muscles had spasmed. Sam glanced up at Dean for permission to continue, and his older brother nodded in response.

Meg snarled and clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "I'm going to kill you," she hissed. "I'm gonna rip the bones from your body!" I narrowed my eyes at her and pushed off the couch, moving to stand across from her, just outside the devil's trap.

"No, you're going to burn in hell," Dean whispered, towering over her with a hate-filled gaze. "- Unless you tell us where our dad is." When she didn't reply, he shrugged and motioned for Sam to continue with the exorcism.

Meg began shaking in her chair like she was shivering from the early stages of hypothermia. He twitched, her head rocking from side to side. It was sick to watch. Finally, she gasped and Sam paused his reading.

"He begged for his life with tears in his eyes," she groaned out, tears welling up in her own brown eyes. "He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat." She cackled and threw her head back, twitching madly. Sam nervously went back to his reading, and to my horror, she continued her wild laughter through her spasms.

Dean leaned forward, almost eye level with her, a snarl embedded on his features. "For your sake, I hope you're lying. Cause if it's true, I swear to God, I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God!"

I flinched and turned my gaze from him to Bobby who stood in the corner of the room, a helpless and horrified expression on his features. Meg groaned in pain and flinched away from Dean as Sam continued, lips pulled back in a pained grimace.

"Where is he?" Dean questioned.

"Dead!" Meg shouted, gripping into the armrests, nails digging into the dust-covered wood.

"No, he's not! He's not dead! He can't be!" Dean shouted back. Sam's eyes left the book, filled with concern for his brother. "What are you looking at?" Dean spat. "Keep going!"

Meg screamed as Sam continued and the chair moved slightly, dragging her away from the center of the circle. She screamed and flailed, tears slipping down her cheeks. I covered my mouth with my hand, watching in horror.

"He's not dead!" she screamed, and suddenly all movement stopped. Sam's eyes lifted from the page in shock. "But he will be," she snapped and spat on the ground.

"Where?" I asked before Dean could speak. He cast a glare over his shoulder and then turned back to the demon. "Where is he, Meg?"

"Jefferson City," she hissed out, clenching and unclenching her fists in pain. "Some building in Missouri."

"A building?" Dean questioned. "Where? What's the address?"

"I don't know," she groaned.

"What about the demon? Where is it?" Sam questioned, taking a step closer.

"I don't know!" she screamed. "That's all I know, I swear!"

The room fell silent as she heaved for breath and Dean contemplated what to do next. Dean straightened and took a step back. "Finish it," he muttered to Sam without looking at him.

Meg screamed in rage. "You son of a bitch!" she shouted, thrashing in her restraints.

"Sam, read!" Dean shouted. Sam shook his head and kept his eyes on Meg's thrashing form, clearly thinking.

"Maybe we can still use her-" he offered, but Dean cut him off.

"She said she doesn't know," he spat and glared at his brother with balled fists.

"She lied!" Sam shouted. Dean shook his head and motioned for him to keep ready.

"Dean, you're going to kill her!" I shouted, stomping forward to place a hand on his arm. "She fell off a fucking building, Dean, if she is still alive, she won't be for long!" I glared at Meg who had ceased her thrashing and instead stared at the symbol that kept her trapped. She smelled of blood and infection like she was rotting from the inside. The sulfur had been covering the scent of death on her. "She's human, she can't possibly survive this," I whispered, pleading with him to stop.

Dean stared, holding my gaze for several moments. Finally, he shrugged off my grip and returned his glare to Meg's broken body. "We'll be putting her out of her misery," he grumbled. "Finish it Sam."

My jaw dropped as Sam did just that, taking a deep breath and resuming his incantation. Meg screamed, her chair lurching around the circle as if dragged on invisible wires. She screamed and thrashed and shook violently, bloody spit dripping from her lips. After what felt like an eternity, she tipped her head back and screamed one last time, a billowing back cloud of smoke leaving her body.

Her head dropped and a trail of blood dripped from her parted lips. I gasped as her head struggled to raise.

"She's alive," Dean whispered out in shock. "Call 911! Get some water and blankets!" he shouted, motioning for Sam to help him pull her from the chair.

I raced down the hallway in search of blankets and pounded up the stairs to Bobby's second story. I peaked in each room and finally found one with a neatly made bed that looked as though it hadn't been touched in years. The guest room. Without pausing to think, I dragged the blankets from the bed and bundled them in my arms, stomping back down the stairs with them.

I heard whispers from the living room and watched Sam lift the girl's head urging her to drink. She struggled to do so and swallowed harshly, wincing as she did so.

"Where's the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked gently. I kneeled beside him and stuffed a soft blanket under her back and head, elevating her. She sighed in relief.

"Not there," she whispered out, her voice strained, as though she hadn't spoken on her own in a very long time. "Other ones... awful ones..."

"Where are they keeping our dad?" Dean questioned, a hand resting gently on her broken shoulder. "Do you know?"

"By the river..." she whispered her voice fading with each word. "Sunrise..." Her head lolled back and her heart ceased its erratic beating.

"Sunrise?" Dean questioned. "Sunrise, what does that mean? What does it mean?" he shook her gently, but she didn't respond.

She was dead.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Comfort at the Beach

Summary - Part 36 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure), Andre (OG Character) x Reader (best friends)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

After finishing your delicious breakfast Dean takes your hand and leads you out of the restaurant. You assume he’s leading you back towards the car until he makes an unexpected turn towards the esplanade.

“Babe, the car’s back that way,” you state pointing in the direction of the Impala.

“I know. I had something else in mind…unless you wanna go back to the hotel and continue what we started earlier?”

“As tempting as that is, lead the way.” You let him guide you along the street as you each look through the glass windows at the displays. Eventually, he stops and leads you into a store filled with beachwear and accessories. You look at him shocked. “But you hate the beach?”

“But you don’t. I saw you looking out the window earlier.”

“But I’m not gonna go to the beach on my own on our honeymoon, nor am I gonna force you to be subject to the whole laundry list of complaints you gave me last time I asked to go the beach. You’ll just be annoyed and then I’ll feel guilty and the day will just suck.” You turn to lead him back out onto the street but he pulls you close to his chest instead.

“I won’t bitch about it, I promise.” Dean spots a sexy red bikini out the corner of his eye and drags you over to the display picking out your size and handing it to you. “Trust me. Just go try it on.”

“You promise? Not a word about the sand? Or the salt water? Or-”

“Anything for you, now go try that on and give me a fashion show.” He pushes you towards the dressing room as he collects towels, sunscreen, and a new pair of sunglasses for each of you.

Once dressed in the slightly skimpy bikini you suddenly feel very self-conscious. You throw the flannel back on over the top and nervously peak out of the curtain for Dean. When you don’t see him you quietly call out for him. He pops up from around the corner almost instantly with an overflowing basket.

“Alright, let’s see it,” he says encouraging you. You step out but keep your arms folded across your chest to keep the flannel shut. “Hey, it’s just me. Don’t get all shy on me now.” He places the basket on the floor and pries your hands away from your chest and slips the flannel off your shoulders. His eyes glance over your body as he makes you spin for him. “Can’t believe I got such a sexy wife.” Sensing your unabating discomfort he pulls a light red, floral kimono from a nearby mannequin and slides it over your shoulders. “Better?”

You pull it closed in front for more coverage and nod. He kisses your cheek and pulls you close. “You’re never this shy in bed.”

“It’s different. It’s dark and you’re the only one there.”

“If anyone else tries to check you out or touch you they’re dead. This,” he gestures at your body, “is all for me.”

“Alright, Mr. Big Talk, your turn.” You venture into the men’s section a pick out a pair of simple black boardshorts.

“Sweetheart, you know I don’t do shorts.”

“Actually, I know for a fact you do.” You push them into his hands and lead him back towards the dressing room. “I’ve seen you cleaning Baby. Not to mention we share a room…I’ve seen your collection of short shorts in your drawer.” You push him into the dressing room and close the curtain. While you wait for him you pick out a pair of slip-on sandals.

“Nope. No. Nope. I don’t do shorts.” Dean complains from behind the curtain.

“You promised. No complaints. Now get out here.”

Dean awkwardly emerges while pulling at the bottom of the swim shorts which fall just above his knees. You walk around him, checking him out. The shorts fit perfectly, moulding to the shape of his sexy ass. You nod in approval, “Perfect. But you are losing at least a few of these top layers when we get on the sand,” you say tugging at the collar of his jacket.

“Can we just pay and get out of here already? And stop objectifying me while you’re at it.”

You roll your eyes and head for the checkout.

As you walk outside you slip on the knockoff Ray Bans Dean picked out for you. You stop by the Impala to drop off your clothes and boots before making your way onto the warm, golden sand. Once you find a secluded space Dean spreads out the towels on the sand. You each sit down on them as you start applying sunscreen to your face and arms. Watching you, Dean pulls out his phone and holds it up to get a sneaky photo but you turn at the last second and catch him. You smile nervously, not the biggest fan of photos, and he snaps it quickly before tossing his phone down beside him and reaching for the sunscreen and gesturing for you to turn around. He gently slides down the kimono to massage the cream into the skin on your neck and back, his fingers skiming under the straps of the bikini ensuring full coverage. As he finishes, he pecks just behind your ear and you lean back against him. He squirts on a little more cream and starts massaging it over your exposed chest and stomach. His hands linger on your stomach, his mind momentarily wandering back to the time when he was imagining it growing with your child.

Feeling his hands you know exactly where his mind’s at. Not wanting to fall down that rabbit hole with him you put your hands over his and sit up. “It’s your turn.” You lift his shirt off his torso and start massaging the suncream into his skin, feeling him relax under your touch.

“So far this isn’t so bad. You didn’t emphasize how much touching came along with a beach vacation.”

“There was never this much touching in any of the beach trips I went on with my family. We all just managed our own sun safety. My brother never would have wanted to touch me, nor would I want him to.”

“So, you had beach days often as a kid then?”

“Every summer my parents would rent out a beach house in L.A. Except for that last one when my brother insisted we go camping instead…I complained so much, I hated it, but my mom promised me that we’d still get to go to the beach for a week after we came back from camping. Of course that never happened ‘cause well, you know the rest…”

Your hands stop rubbing in the cream and he pulls you into his lap. “I’m sorry. So the beach..you feel-”

“Close to them. It’s the last happy memory I have of my family. It’s been years though. I’m okay.”

“I lost my mom when I was four, I’ve had my whole life to process it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. I wish I had known that’s why you wanted to come, I would’ve brought you here sooner.”

“After all your complaints it hardly seemed worth it, and then I also knew you’d just feel guilty for complaining. And I know you’re probably feeling that now, but that’s not why I told you. I just don’t want secrets from you, not that this was ever a secret per se, it’s just hard to talk about.”

He holds you close to his chest and kisses your head. You take a few moments to compose yourself and accept Dean’s comfort. Then you pull back slightly to look up at his face. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna go for a swim, clear my head.” He nods and starts to stand up with you. “You don’t have to come, it’s enough you brought me this far.” You lean down and kiss him as he sits back down. He watches as you descend towards the water.

You wade through the cool, salty water until it’s just past your waist and then splash some water on your face. After wiping your face you glance back up the beach at Dean. You can’t tell if he’s watching you through his dark shades but you smile at him anyway. The water provides you a comfort you didn’t know you needed. You turn around to go deeper where you can dive a little, when you come back up a little where you can stand comfortably you feel arms wrap around your waist. You scream out of shock as you quickly wipe your face and claw at the hands.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just me.” Dean spins you around in his arms just keeping a light grip on your waist. Feeling a sting under the water he pulls his right hand up to inspect the scratches. “I guess I really should know better than to sneak up on a hunter.”

“Sorry,” you say as you bring his hand up to your lips kissing the scratch.

“You always were feisty, it’s one of the things that made me attracted to you in the first place.”

“I generally know your touch, it’s just a little disorienting under the water, I was in my head a little.”

He puts his hand back on your waist, pulls you close and kisses you softly. “I was thinking, since we just splurged on all this, whenever we catch a case near a beach we’ll take an extra day, or we can just make the drive. You seem so relaxed and happy here, it’s a good look on you, I wanna see it more often.”

“I like the sound of that. I was also thinking…how about tonight we do something that’s more typically us? Let’s go to a bar, get some drinks, hustle some pool, maybe earn back some of the money we’ve spent?”

“You sure?”

“You gave me today, here, despite your aversions to the place. I just want to return the favour.”

“I can think of other ways you can do just that…but I’ll take a night at the bar with you, some darts and some pool.”

You both move along with the waves closer to the shore. A cool breeze blows past you causing you to shiver. “How about we pick up some takeout, head back to the hotel, share a hot shower to clean off all this salt and sand, and then cuddle up for the rest of the afternoon?” You ask.

“That sounds perfect,” he replies before kissing you and walking back up to shore with you. He shakes the sand off your towel and then wraps it around your shoulders before shaking out his own and drying himself off. Slightly drier, he pulls his t-shirt on and then holds out your kimono so you can slip it on for a little extra warmth and modesty. You walk back to the Impala together and Dean tosses all the stuff on the backseat and then joins you in the front before driving back to the hotel.

After sharing a hot shower and changing into comfortable clothes you and Dean find yourself snuggling up in bed watching some reruns of Dr. Sexy. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican, @fallenlilangel99, @heavenlyhopeful0, @nelachu2423, @ladysparkles78

[scarlet-doll-13]

Dulce Periculum - Danger Is Sweet

Lizzie Glass has been running from her family and their empire for many years. Upon hearing her baby brother was in a coma and the world has gone to shit, Bobby Glass drags her back into the chaos once more.

Prelude

Edward was surprised to see a woman with Bobby Glass in the birdcage. She looked a little like Susie from the back, with the same dark hair. But as he approached closer, he could tell the difference. This woman was of similar height but much broader across the shoulders, dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket Susie would never be caught dead in. 

“You got some bollocks, ain’t ya? Coming here. Giving my money to the man who battered my son?” Bobby feeds his pigeons. 

Eddie sighs, “I’m sorry about Jack.”

Bobby scoffs; Eddie was toeing a little close to the line in the sand.

“That had nothing to do with me. But I wanted out, so I went to Henry Collins, and that’s why I’ve gone to Mr. Stanley Johnston.”

That little fact intrigued Bobby, “To do what?”

Eddie stands relaxed, hands in his pockets. “To help him acquire your business by obtaining the names of the other lords in your stable so he can take them over. Whoever holds that list holds the keys to the kingdom.”

Bobby turns to face the Eddie, “So you’ve come here to tell me you’ve fucked me twice?”

Eddie tries and fails to hide the brazen look on his face, “Not exactly.”

Bobby turns, gesturing to the woman in the corner. “Eddie. This is my eldest, Lizzie.”

“Susie never said she had a sister.” Eddie held his hand out to shake. 

Lizzie took his hand, shaking with a firm grip. “Technically, I’m dead. But I heard about Jack, and Dad called me back.”

Bobby directed them outside to the table, “Now, tell me your plan.” 

~~~~

Lizzie was impressed by the speech the Duke had given. After some pause and thought, Bobby Glass had agreed to Eddie’s plan. Now the pair stood outside the prison. The clouds parted, and the spring sunshine shone down. Eddie couldn’t help but watch how Lizzie’s hair shone copper in the light. 

He watched her pull a cigarette from the carton with her teeth. “What you’re about to do could be accused of treason in Susie’s eyes. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I do.” 

She lights her cigarette with an aged Zippo, and Eddie catches a hint of menthol. She takes a deep breath, savouring the rush of nicotine, before exhaling. 

“Well, good luck, your grace.” Lizzie hands him a folded piece of paper, pulled from her jacket pocket, “my number if shit hits the fan.”

Just his luck, shit did hit the fan. Susie was far from amused to hear Eddie was dealing with Henry Collins. One phone call was all it took for his stroke of bad luck to start snowballing out of his control.

~~~~

You can also find it on A03: Dulce Periculum - Danger Is Sweet

A.N. - If anyone can help this old gal with story formatting, would be gladly appreciated. It's been awhile since I've posted on here.

Tag List

@alexa-rae-dreamz

@sabrinareno

[lonelychicago]

broadway buddie! (because i also have a broadway buddie wip lmao)

Eddie Diaz, right in front of him. Nodding to something Bobby is explaining to him like it's the most important thing in the world, hanging onto every word like his life depends on it. Eddie Diaz, a person Buck hasn't seen in years. Eddie Diaz, the man Buck spent most of his college years in love with. "H-hey?" He says after what feels like an eternity, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, as if he had just swallowed sand. "What's going on?" "Buck, this is—" "Eddie." He cloaks out. "I know." God, Buck can't stop staring. His heart is going mad inside his chest beating so hard and painfully against his ribs and he thinks he might die right there on the spot. (He's totally being melodramatic, sue him he's a Broadway actor after all.) "We went to college together." Eddie explains after a few minutes pass by with Hen, Bobby qnd Chimney looking curiously between them and Buck offering them no other words. "I heard you're Hades, right? That's a great part for you. Can't wait to see it." "Thanks," Buck says. His expression only falters for a second; his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then he’s smiling, polite. "Uh— I'm sorry, but what are you doing here?" "He's Orpheus understudy and also our new stage hand." Bobby claps him in the shoulder. "Ravi has been offered a part in a movie and he's debating if he should take it or not and we can't risk not having an understudy." "Enter Eddie." Chimney smiles and obnoxiously chews his gum. Any other day Buck wouldn't even think about it twice but now he feels exposed, backed into a corner. He feels too on edge and too— raw, fragile.

[talesofphantombandits]

Dagger to the Heart ~ Young Guns. Chapter 2

Summary: Bobbie 'Bo' Ryder had quite a simple life before she met Billy and his gang or Regulators, forced to ride with them on their mission for freedom and revenge she will become a loyal regulator herself and also find the best of friends in Doc Scurlock, but best of all? She gets her biggest wish of finding love again, until that too is cruelly ripped away from her again, forcing her to become someone she never thought she would be. A seeker of revenge.

Character Pairing: Chavez Y Chavez X Bobbie 'Bo' Ryder.

Masterlist Here! Part One here!

Taglist ~

Bobbie woke with a start.

Disoriented she tried the best she could to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. It was light but she could tell it was late morning, sitting up on her elbows all she could see was sand and weeds covering the ground in all directions, this wasn't home. Where the hell was she? It took her a minute or two to stop the panic that had set in, things started to come back to her, the regulators, the fire, her father laying dead in the stables. God her poor father. 

"Hey." Startled she whipped to her left. "You okay?" 

All she could do was stare at the blonde man that was stoking the fire in front of him, for the life of her she couldn’t think of his name. “What?”

It was only then she had noticed someone out the corner of her eye heading her way, when she looked up Chavez was just kneeling down to her eye line, his arm outstretched. She was honestly surprised that she’d been able to remember his name but not the other mans. She took him in for a moment, she noticed his eyes, brown almost hazel in colour but they held such intelligence. Safe to say she was mesmerised, when she had found herself back to reality she finally looked down at the battered metal cup in his hand, she'd been that distracted that she hadn't even noticed how parched she was, so she gratefully took the water. Chavez almost cracked a smile at her, admiring the way she gulped the liquid down but he made sure to hide it. 

"We only stopped for a rest, I'll get the horses ready." With that Chavez walked away, it took everything in Bobbie not to burn a hole into the back of his head, for she was sure he would be able to sense it.

"You didn't answer my question." She turned back to where blondie had been sat observing the entire encounter between her and Chavez.  Doc! that was his name! He was now fully focused on sharpening his blade.  

She just looked at him confused. "Sorry what?" 

Doc focused his gaze back to Bobbie. "I asked if you were okay, you look startled.” He gave the blade one last strike against the stone before burying the tip into the soft sand and chucking the stone aimlessly behind him. "but to be fair, can't say I at all blame you it's been a rough night."

She smiled at him, all that effort just to ask if she's okay. "I'm fine, I think. A little disoriented after every thing but I've been through worse plus, some of the company isn’t so bad.” Doc nodded in understanding. "I'll be fine, thank you though.” 

Just as he was about to say something else they both heard two people bickering, one of which sounded frantic. It was coming from just around the corner of a big rock to their right, both Doc and Bobbie stood up to see what was happening. Chavez had already beaten them there and was trying to calm the situation down but to no avail, Charley just kept walking in circles and ranting over and over again.

The only word Bobbie could make out was 'hanging', at this point she had no idea exactly what she'd gotten herself into but she sure was about to find out. Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse Steve brought over Billy which made Charley freak out more. She hadn't even been around Billy for more than a day but there was just something about him that she already detested. And she was right, straight away Billy was describing hangings that he'd been witness to and of course Charley was incredibly distressed and getting worse, Billy even went as far to tell him that he most likely would be caught and hanged, just to rub salt further into the wound he also started to laugh in his face.

Bobbie had, had enough. "Hey Billy, why don't you cool it down a bit huh?" He gave her a look, one that she didn't like at all, one that instilled fear into her.

"Why don't you just keep your mouth shut huh? You're not apart of this gang little girl." He started to move towards her but to her surprise Chavez stepped in front of her.

"Billy." Chavez warned in a low tone. He backed off, but not without glaring at Bobbie who was peaking over Chavez's very wide shoulder. 

“Why is she still here anyway? All she is is a bother, if anyone is going to get us killed it’s her!” Bobbie bolted past Chavez, determined to rip Billy’s face off, but Chavez’s reflexes where faster and he caught her by the waist and held her tight against his chest. 

To Bobbie’s surprise it was Doc that spoke up this time. “She lost everything because of us, what were we going to do? Just leave her in the middle of no where without family or a place to live?” 

Billy just scoffed. “She’s not our responsibility, if she slows us down or gets us in trouble I’ll kill her myself.” He seemed to drop it after that and walked over to Charley to continue their conversation.

It was only then that Bobbie realised that Chavez was still holding her, she couldn’t help but to notice how warm and comforting it was to be so close to him. But as soon as the thought entered her brain, he’d let go and started walking away.

They'd finally decided to treat Charley to one final good day, just incase they did get hung. Bobbie felt awkward at first walking into the bar, the girls walked around, shoulders exposed and low, very low necklines. She had sat down next to Doc, Chavez passing them, sitting down at the other table across from them with his back against the wall. A brunette rushed over to him, sitting behind him and immediately draping her hands all over his shoulders and chest. Bobbie tried her hardest to not look at them, she could feel something stirring in her but she tried to push it all down, she had no right to get possessive over him, they hadn't even known each other 24 hrs yet, what right did she have? What she didn't know was that Doc had clocked her stare at Chavez and smiled to himself, he knew exactly what that look meant.

Bobbie had been so distracted by Chavez and the lady hanging on to him that she hadn’t even noticed the tension rise in the room when Billy had walked himself over to the unknown man. Only realising the peril they could be in when Doc and Steve both took out their guns and laid them on the table, almost in sync. Doc as if sensing her discomfort did his best to give her a smile that was meant to calm her nerves, it did anything but.

“I would sure like to touch the gun that’s going to kill Billy the kid.”

Billy was going to get them all killed.

“I heard this Billy the Kid has a way with the woman.” She hadn’t meant to scoff out loud, in fact she only knew she had when all heads turned in her direction. 

Luckily for Bobbie, Billy didn’t like when the attention was taken away from him for too long and continued with his doomed teasing of the bounty Hunter.

But Bobbie found herself once again distracted by the man sitting opposite her. In order to concentrate on the escalating situation behind him, he’d finally shooed the letch from the tight grip she had on his shoulder, Bobbie’s vision of Chavez was blocked only for a moment while the female walked past her, no doubt to find another willing male to latch onto. But the moment her sight was cleared again she found Chavez was already staring at her, in those matter of seconds he’d lifted his head and their eyes had met, he lifted the glass up to his lips and took a swig of his drink, never breaking the contact until he heard the fatal words come out of Billy’s mouth.

“Hey! I see him!” He pointed to himself in the mirror. “There! There’s Billy the kid!” Bobbie couldn’t help but roll her eyes and lean back, defeated in her seat, if a bounty Hunter didn’t come and kill this stupid kid soon she had half the mind to do it herself.

The man wasn’t having it though, he just thought he was being a stupid kid and was teasing him, if only he knew. When Billy started to whistle that’s when she knew this was going to go sour, and she was right. Trying to shoot Billy the man didn’t succeed for Billy had taken out all his bullets when the man had stupidly handed Billy his gun to look at, he tried several times but all that was heard were clicks. Then Billy pulled his gun, Bobbie will never forget the look on the man's face when it dawned on him that he was about to die.

He shot him, and that was it for Bobbie. After everything she’d been through she couldn’t take it so she stormed out and hoped that no one would follow her. But she would be disappointed, she could hear Doc calling after her as she marched her way to the horses. When she turned to look at him she could see that not far behind him was Chavez who was also walking towards her but he was walking a lot slower and definitely stalling to catch up to her. 

“Let me guess, it was Billy that started all this in the first place?” Doc didn’t say anything but he stopped short in his tracks which was a dead give away. “How can you stand him? He’s so insurable.” 

Doc looked confused and lost for words. "He sometimes has a point though, they killed our mentor, at first I didn’t agree. In fact I’m not sure what I think and feel right now but it’s happening and all we can do is go along with it.” 

She was pacing in front of the horses now. "And that justifies killing more people? That just makes you as bad as them!"  

"Bo." His soft voice stopped her in her tracks, she looked over to where Chavez was now stood next to Doc. "It's gone too far now, we have to see this through. Me and Doc definitely agree with you, but we've done too much and Billy isn't going to stop until he's satisfied. Murphy's men are definitely not going to stop hunting us until they see us shot or hung." He then turned to Doc, putting his hand on his closest friends shoulder squeezing it to reassure him, he gave a nod which made Doc sigh and he began the walk back to the bar. 

Chavez watched until Doc was out of earshot. "I can take you to the nearest town if it'll make you feel safer, i'm sure we can find you a decent hotel." 

She thought about it deeply, she had nowhere to go, no friends, no family and no place to call home. If she had also been a target because they were with her in her house then she too was probably being hunted. "I have nothing." She dryly laughed. "You guys are kind of the only thing I know right now, they also burned my house down and killed my father, which probably means i'm also a target right?" 

"You are more than welcome to stay with us and i'll do my best, I mean me and Doc will do our best to keep you safe but you must know we can't promise your safety."  Bobbie's heart fluttered, maybe staying with them was the best thing, even if it would just be to stay close to Chavez and Doc. 

She never got to say what she wanted as Charley screamed for his life. “IT’S JOHN KINNEY!”

Chavez rushed past her to untie his horse, she was too shocked to move. Everything was moving too fast. He jumped up onto the horse seamlessly and reached his hand down to Bobbie. 

“You can ride with me.” 

[bisexualmorpheus]

I just remembered the corner shop in town that just has two massive printouts of Bobby Sands in the windows for no reason. nowehere near where he was born or anything, the shop has no like historical informatiaon or trinkets. just bobby sands plastered on the windows

[sarisinema]

Blog Post #4 - Hunger (2008) Review

Hunger (2008) is a movie about an IRA militan, Bobby Sands and his days in prision as a political prisoner. In the prision he stays, other prisoners have been practicing un-washing and blanket protests for years. When Bobby realizes that their resistance is not enough to convince the British, he goes on hunger strike. He dies at the 66th day of the hunger strike, while he was selected as a parlament member of IRA.

Hunger is a terrifying movie. It is true that Shame is an impressive film, but when I went back to watch the director's first feature, I thought that Shame made for a rather "easy" viewing experience. Hunger shocks you with its physical violence and bodily activities, which we usually see polished in cinema, starting in the first fifteen minutes. When the camera enters one of the cells, I couldn't believe my eyes, it was so hard to watch the traces of feces on the walls, the scraps of food piled up in a corner that wouldn't even be given to a dog, the miserable state of the political prisoners. Hunger is the story of men trying to resist with the only thing they have, their bodies, in an environment where there is no humanity - they are trying to get their rights with their urine, their feces, their skin, their vomit. The dialog between Fassbender's character and the man who comes to persuade him, a priest; the policeman who can't stand it and sobs on the sidelines while his colleagues beat the prisoners; Bobby's touching his ribs, which are now sharp as corners and seem as if they will break through his skin; the vulnerability of the people, and the camera's unflinching images as if it were a ghost walking around, Hunger is a very difficult film. I was very impressed by the director's success in portraying the "human condition" objectively in every aspect. Let me end this article with a sentence I saw in a review: "Beware, the facts you see in this movie may spoil your eyesight!