#HIT THE GAS KILL EM ALL

[johnniescrossnecklace]

OH LEMME TELL YOU BOUT THE SAD MAN

SHUT UP AND LEMME SEE YOUR JAZZ HANDS

REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE A MADMAN?

THOUGHT YOU WAS BATMAN

AND HIT THE PARTY WITH A GAS CAN

KISS ME YOU ANIMAL

[ursa-arrowbreaker]

Jesus fuck. Chpt 3 of Hit the Gas just clocked in at over 4k words. That's as much as the previous two chapters combined.

[faggyv4mpire]

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

[citruslullabies]

Idea 3

Catnap x fox smiling critter reader

Reader originally sided with catnap but is now secretly helping player

catnap finds out and feels betrayed before trying to kill the player and accidentally killing reader

— I’m sorry I’m sending a lot I just can’t Get enough😭

No apologies sweetheart! Keep em coming!

Trigger warnings: death, blood

Romantic/platonic: unspecified

Requested by: yakufoku

Category: angst

Ship (romantic or platonic): catnap x fox!smiling critter!reader

Word count: 510

Accidents Happen

You had followed Catnap into believing the prototype would save you, it had to. Nothing else could in your eyes.

But you had started to lose faith, seeing how the prototype would just use you and catnap both. You believed that.. maybe someone else could help you instead. And they came, the player. You at first hunted them, but introduced yourself as a friend rather than a foe.

You came by at times, helping the player out however you could. Maybe this was it, maybe this would be your savior.

Your feline friend had eventually found out, and felt any emotion but glee. He felt infuriated, upset, and betrayed by your defiance. As you were quietly leading the player to a safe place, a loud yelp escalated your snout. You turned around thinking that your tail got caught in something, but to your absolute horror.. it was Catnap standing on your tail, growling and glaring. Your mangled ears went flat at the sight of him, trying to quickly calm him down.

You carefully pulled your tail away, approaching catnap - trying to seem low and weak so he'd take it easy on you but it backfired. You let out a yelp as he slashed you across the face, backing up and whimpering with tiny sobs. Catnap hissed at you and watched you back up and hit a wall with temporary blindness, before he started to approach the player. If he stopped the player, he could stop you. You could be redeemed and worship the prototype with him still, there was still hope for you. But not if an angel was in your way.

You finally took your paws away from your face, looking up at him with fuzzy sight as he approached the player with the aim to kill and destroy.

With the quickness, you stood and rushed over - grabbing onto him with paws bloodied with your own blood. The player started to run at the sight of two big bodies beasts fighting, catnap growling and swatting as you pounced back and forth and bit with your sharp teeth.

Catnap got away from you and started to chase after the player much to your dismay, your vocals chittered as you quickly called out. “CATNAP.” you yelled, quickly chasing after on all fours. You got there just in time, the player backed into a corner with Catnap starting to release a small dose of red gas, lifting his clawed paws up to end it once and for all. Only to be greeted with fur and tough skin rather than the soft skin of a human. You had quickly jumped in front of the player, hoping that catnap would stop before he killed anyone. But you fell instead of the angel you swore to protect.

Catnap was shocked, trying to nudge you with his head and paws. Too distracted by you rather than the player that escaped.. he was silent as he laid beside you. A croaky voice speaking up. “..(your name)?”

The thing that Catnap had sworn to protect had fallen instead.

Thanks for requesting!

[faeriekit]

This is the story of the road that goes to my house, and what ghosts there do remain

Phic Phight Fill for @moipale

“Thermos?”

“Got it.”

“Wrist rays?”

“Got ‘em.” 

“Ray guns?” 

“Nah,” Sam drawls, bare feet on Jazz’s driver seat’s shoulder. Her fingers are on her phone. Her socks and shoes are somewhere below her seat. “Forgot them at home.”

Tucker takes a look at her. Despite her insistence on their absence, there’s three ray gun handles bulging out of the pockets in her black daisy dukes. The purple-green-plaid flannel’s tied around her waist, hiding half of it, but they’re not not there. 

In her black tank and bare feet in the back of Jazz’s jalopy, she looks as overheated as the rest of them. 

Tucker doesn’t feel any better, sweating through his tank and board shorts and all that. At least he had the sense to wear sandals, and not black pleather combat boots. 

“Jazz, she’s lying,” Tucker snitches, groaning when Sam gives him a retaliatory slap to the ribs. He gropes at the spot where a bruise will no doubt be forming. “Ow.”

“Sam,” Jazz offers with the finite patience of older siblings, “Stop hitting Tucker.”

“...M’kay,” Sam mumbles, and slumps down into the hot cloth seats that only soak up more heat the longer they’re in this car. “Can we turn on the AC?”

“It’s already on full blast, Sam.” 

Sam retaliates by kicking a car seat. Thankfully, slumping over allows her to reach Danny’s seat, as opposed to Jazz, who is driving, and Danny is fast asleep with what’s probably early-onset heat exhaustion. He doesn’t even notice.

Tucker needs AC, a nap, and snacks, in that order. “Can we break from the road trip for a gas station?” he begs, not whining, because he’s almost an adult now and begging is far more mature. 

Jazz doesn’t even dignify him with a glare in the mirror. “No stops. If we want to make it to Tracy, tonight, we’re not stopping unless someone has an emergency pee break on the side of the road.”

Great. Just great. 

“Bazooka?” Jazz continues their list, looking just as wilted as everyone else in the car. There’s no head band today; her hair is piled up as high on her head as she can get it, wire sunglasses perched there from their drive to Chelsea this morning. 

“Trunk,” Sam offers listlessly. 

“Map?”

Danny doesn’t answer. Because he’s asleep. 

“Danny’s got it,” Tucker points out, since he was at least paying attention. 

Jazz grumbles something rude and swipes the map of of her brother’s lap. “The next time the three of you upset an Ancient spirit of the Wild, I’m not helping you run.”

“Noted,” Tucker and Sam chorus. Tucker’s pretty sure she’s over exaggerating. 

…Maybe. 

He swipes his hat off and shoves it into a pocket, wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of a hand. “Okay. We have…one night to get out to Tracy and find the body. The abandoned barge should actually be there this time.”

Jazz taps the brake, flicks on the turn signal, and takes a steep turn across the highway— superseding an additional three lanes of now-irritated traffic. “As opposed to…?”

Sam sighs. 

“As opposed to breaking into his haunted house and getting arrested,” Tucker admits wryly, just as slumped back as the girl herself. “Sam.”

“I paid bail. We’re fine,” Sam grumbles. Her arms cross. 

“We weren’t fine until Danny infected their computer to delete their records. I need to get to college, Sam! I can’t have an arrest on my record!” 

“Record, schmecord.”

“Sam!”

“As long as no one’s got a record,” Jazz intervenes loudly, the only college student in their car, “We’re good! Now, are we hunting the dead guy, or the guy who killed the dead guy?”

Tucker mentally debates whether or not rolling down the car window would give them some air, or just let more hot air into their already sweltering back seat. 

“Ghost who killed a dead guy, but who the dead guy probably summoned,” Sam clarifies with a sigh. 

“Oh, great. One of those.”

“And sending him back probably shot him back to the barge, though, so now…” Tucker leads the problem on, “And there’s a new moon tonight. So.”

Jazz sighs. Loudly. “Of all the months…it’s got to be the dog days of summer, huh?”

Sam tucks her legs in, finally too tired to pout about their circumstances. “More like hellhounds, honestly. Did you see the ghost in the lake last week?”

“Heard about it. There was a poltergeist in the old high school last night— the one before the move to Casper in the fifties. Mom and Dad went out there at midnight before they went to tackle the bog thing in the golf course pond this morning.” 

“So that’s what Dad was whining about,” Sam muses, tired and sweaty. “I’d assumed parks and recreation got mad at them for violating the water conservation order again.”

“Nah.” Jazz signals another turn, cutting around an Amazon delivery truck and zooming into a side road. “Bog monster thing. Enraged by all the golf balls hit at it.” 

“Goootcha.” 

Tucker throws his head back and groans. “Is this going to be all we do all summer break? Hunt ghosts? Get chased around the state by cops?” 

“Yeah/Probably,” Sam and Jazz agree, both exhausted at the prospect. 

Tucker gives in and rolls down the window. If he’s going to be stuck in the car with his two best friends and their adult supervision, he needs some moving air— even if it’s just as hot and twice as humid as inside the car. 

They’ll be in Tracy tomorrow. All they have to do is find an abandoned barge floating in a forgotten waterway. 

Easy. 

…And then all they have to do is fix the problem all over again the next time someone gets it in their head to go treasure-hunting this summer.

Tucker bangs his head against Danny’s headrest, waking the guy up in the process, and wishes he had agreed to go to comp-sci camp after all. 

“I hate July,” Jazz mutters. “All the crazies come out with the heat.”

Everyone agrees with a moan and a groan. 

Jazz clicks on the radio, finds something that isn’t entirely static, and the road continues onwards in front of them…and will for miles and miles of hot pavement more.

*

Complementary song accompaniment/title source for this fic: July, July by the Decemberists. Thanks for reading!

[vixenpen]

Hobie Brown loves black women (duh) but also (head canons)

because daddy is my latest obsession 🤭

Damn, I leave these tumblr streets for a year and yall out here wildin. It’s come to my attention that yall have the unmitigated gall, the glittering nerve to argue with black women about whether or not Hobie Brown likes black girls. Excuse me???? Does the black punk radical revolutionary from the SEVENTIES!!!! (Cuz yall keep forgetting he lives in 1970s London) like black women?!?!?!

Honey not only does he LOOOVE black women. He loves BLACK women. What do I mean when I say that?

Hobie loves soul sistas with sky high Afros, TWAs, shaved heads, close cut fades

The girls that can quote Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, bell hooks, and WEB Du Bois with equal conviction and knowledge

I’m talking fist to the sky, power to the people, say it loud I’m black and I’m proud, type tease

I’m talking they wearing all black, leather jackets with their black panther pins stuck to the lapel (and if you think I’m talking about the hero you ain’t black enough for this conversation)

I’m talking the black ladies with the barets that call all black men “my brotha” and all black women “my sistah”

The black women that keep that thang on em and ain’t ever gotta get ready

Hobie loves the loc’ed black girls and the turban wearing sisters

The girls who keep Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, or Langston Hughes on deck usually tucked into their woven knapsacks/leather messenger bags

The sage and incense burning girlies who cleanse their space and say a little prayer of protection on your journey

The orisha worshipping black girlies with alters in their windows and tarot cards on their bookshelf

The girlies that can guess your star sign based on your jaw line.

The girls that smell like cocoa butter with paint on their skirts

Hobie likes his fellow black fem punks with their spiked jewelry and shaved heads

The girlies pushing, shoving, and rioting during the mosh pits

The black girlies with the braid/Mohawk combos.

The girls stomping through the club in demonias with their piercings and black leather accessories

The girls with the drawn on angry eyebrows yet the kindest, gentlest smiles

The girls who prowl the record stores and flip off the shop owner that keeps following them.

The black girlies in the band who are front row and center wailing like Betty Davis and dancing like Tina Turner, a mic in hand or a guitar over her shoulder

Hobie loves the disco divas

The girlies in their sparkly bell bottoms killing it in the discos on Saturday nights

The girlies who think disco will never die

The funky divas and dance floor queens

The girls that audition for soul train every season and win.

The girls with the best record collection especially when it comes to party hits and speaking of parties

He loves the girls who are the first on the dance floor and the last to leave. The lives of the party and the queens of the kick backs

Hobie loves his pothead black girls that always have the good gas

His Mary Jane muses who are always a chill vibe and a good time

The black girls who always have snacks and gum on em cuz they’re always hungry and high.

With their red eyes and quick smiles.

He loves the black girls with a little dime bag and something “a little bit stronger if you need it”

And he loves his black girls black mixed with nothing but black. Two black parents, four black grandparents, the darker the berry the sweeter the juice. Yes he loves dark chocolate girls BUT he loves his black girls of all hues

Albino

Butter scotch

Mahogany

Blue-black

Hobie loves BLACK women

Yall please stop forgetting this man lived during the 70s and there is a very particular type of black woman that was around during the 70s

[thepupperino]

Hiiii, Keely! It’s been a while since I’ve found myself in the inbox of my mutuals with a thoughtful question about our boys. However, we’re preparing for the hurricane down this way and I’m looking for something to keep me occupied — like talking to all of my beautiful lovely friends!!

So what I want to discuss today is the love language of our boys. What love language(s) do you think they each excel at and which one(s) do they struggle with the most? Do you think their love language(s) have changed since the beginning? Do you think they still excel or struggle with a certain one(s)?

I would also like to pick your brain on your thoughts of how they protect one another — how they protect one another physically, how they protect one another’s peace, how they protect each other mentally, etc! 🩵

— Much love, Chey

Hi I almost accidentally deleted this instead of answering and my life flashed before my eyes

Anyway THANK YOU for asking this was very fun 😈

So I feel like it’s pretty universally believed that Mickey’s a big acts of service guy, but…can I be honest? I know the man loves a grand gesture, but I think that’s different than acts of service. Honestly the grand gestures almost feel like gift giving to me? Plus I love believing that Mickey grabs a Kind bar for Ian every time he stops at a gas station. I don’t know, especially growing up poor, it changes the way you think about material possessions, and I think he’d want to give everything he can to Ian

I think Mickey probably struggles with words of affirmation—at least receiving it. Like he’s probably more comfortable with it now, but I think for a long time he felt weird about Ian saying nice things to him and was pretty dismissive of any compliments

I 100% believe Ian is a physical touch man—he’s ALWAYS touching Mickey (hand on knee my beloved). I think he just loves being close to him. Plus obviously their sex life has always been…fulfilling and Ian was down bad from the start so I think that plays into it

I also love thinking of him as a words of affirmation guy because I really latch onto the fact that he tested out of English so I KNOW he’s good with words and I know he writes the cutest, sweetest little cards for Mickey on his birthday or their anniversary

Hmm what does Ian struggle with…? Ironically I think he might be a little resistant to gift giving because I think he’s the saver in the relationship, so Mickey keeps getting him these little “I’m thinking of you” gifts and Ian’s like stressing about rent (but also he loves it because that’s his HUSBAND and he’s thinking about him 🥹)

And I don’t know if love languages have changed since the beginning per se, but they’ve obviously both become more comfortable with expressions of love throughout their relationship and I’m having a lot of feelings about that

PROTECTION?! Well physically they will literally kill for each other if push comes to shove I am very confident in that. For some reason I like to think that Ian always tries to walk closer to the road so Mickey won’t get hit if a car swerves or something and Mickey thinks he’s dumb but lets him do it anyway. And Mickey wants to be facing the door on dates and stuff so he can size people up and assess any threats

Protecting each other’s peace I think they’re both willing to be the bad guy if they need an out. Like if Ian just can’t handle being around his family for some reason, Mickey’s like “tell ‘em I’m not in the mood”

MENTALLY I have a lot of feelings 😭 obviously canonically Mickey is great with Ian’s bipolar (we pretend Hall of Shame doesn’t exist) and I think that continues and grows (“I gotta worry, you’re my husband” my beloved). I think he’s VERY aware of potential triggers and warning signs and I think he’s supportive AND gives Ian space when he needs it because he likes his autonomy and independence

I think Mickey has a lot of unresolved trauma and I’m not like his therapist or anything but I’d want to assess for PTSD and generally unhelpful cognitions, and I love the idea that he goes to therapy some day (honestly I’d love if they both did), but I think Ian is really good at holding space for him to share what he’s thinking about AND I think he’s eventually willing to do that

Anyway I hope that answered your questions and PLEASE feel free to send me more, I love thinking about them

[nelliebachesneg]

I'm sorry y'all but if you think Jason Edgelord Todd wasn't blasting NA NA NA NA NA by My Chemical Romance *on repeat* while taking over Gotham’s underworld you're wrong.

Exhibit A:

Drugs, gimme drugs, gimme drugs, I don't need 'em but I'll sell what you got, take the cash, and I'll keep it

Eight legs to wall, hit the gas, kill 'em all

And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl

You'll be my detonator

[foxblogger]

hit the gas, kill em all! (click for best quality)

[underground-secret]

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

Description: The boys and reader come to the aid of Sam's old college buddy after he is accused of a murder he swears he didn't commit. They discover a shapeshifter is adopting the likenesses of others and murdering people.

Warnings: cannon violence, not my GIF, shapeshifters, teasing, tension 🤭, choking, kidnapping, mentions and usage of guns, being tied up, murder

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose, @ada--44

Word Count: roughly 8,000

(Not my GIF but we can still appreciate it)

Skin

(Master list, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

The Impala comes to a stop in front of a gas pump, the slightly warmer breeze of late February brushing through the car as Dean opens his door, half sitting out the door.

“Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” Dean announces. I hum in agreement with a little nod of my head, Dean looks back at me in acknowledgment and then at Sam, who has given no response or recognition.

He rolls his eyes, “Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy.” Sam shrugs his brother off, looking down at his PalmPilot.

“Busy doin’ what?” Dean shoots back.

“Reading e-mails.” Sam says simply, not even bothering to look up. Dean gets out of the car and rounds it, beginning to fill the tank with gas, “E-mails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford” Sam replies.

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean scuffs.

“Hey I don’t see anything wrong with that” I chime in truthfully.

“Well, what exactly does he tell ‘em?” Dean switches his gaze to Sam now, “You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

“Thank you Y/N.” Sam begins with before actually answering Dean's questions, “I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother and best friend. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.”

“Oh, so you lie to ‘em.” Den acknowledges.

“That’s not technically lying, he's just not giving all the details” I point out.

“Yeah, that’s still called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.” Dean responds.

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?” Sam asks, Dean shrugs, “You’re serious?” he adds.

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.” Dean states.

“Okay well, what about Y/N? We’ve known her for a long time but she’s not blood related, and I'd say you’re pretty close to her.” Sam brings up smiling to himself as if he knows he won, before quickly adding, “No offense Y/N.”

“Non taken” I answer, curious to hear Dean's response.

Dean goes quiet, just staring at his younger brother with big eyes and a tight jaw as if to tell him to stop. Finally he answers, mumbling, “That’s different.”

Without missing a beat Sam immediately follows up with, “How so?”

This time Dean really doesn't answer, just kind of looks awkwardly around. Realizing he won’t get an answer Sam adds, “Exactly.”

Dean rolls his eyes, half turning away to check how much longer he has to be there for.

Suddenly Sam speaks up again, except this time without his cocky smile and sassy attitude, “God….”

Dean turns back ‘round quickly, “What?”

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.” Sam begins.

“Is she hot?” Dean cuts in, getting a look from both Sam and I before going back to the real situation at hand.

Sam ignores him, continuing his explanation, “I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

“Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?” Dean exclaims, putting the pump back in its place and closing the tank he rounds the car again.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.” Sam assures as his brother gets back in the car.

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.” Dean offers.

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.” Sam orders.

Dean chuckles, “Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

“It is our problem. They’re my friends.” Sam shoots back.

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean says, looking through the rear view mirror. He meets my eyes and I give him a pleading, knowing look. He sighs as he pulls out of the gas station, he makes a U-turn now driving back the way we came.

“Oh my God, Sam!” Rebecca greets happily, the long haired blonde smiling brightly.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky.” Sam jokes bending down slightly with his arms open for a hug. She wraps her arms around him tightly, “You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.”

It’s odd but endearing to see Sam like this, being able to have a peek into what his life was like when he was away at college. When he was happy, things were a little bit simpler.

They break away and Sam turns serious, “I got your e-mail.” Her smile falters, “I didn’t think that you would come here.”

Dean steps forward and extends his hand, “Dean. Older brother.” She shakes his hand looking at him with a hint of confusion, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dean says back with his cocky smile.

Her eyes wander over to me, as if signaling it’s my turn to introduce myself with a little wave, “Hi! I’m Y/N a, uh, good friend of these two.”

“Nice to meet you” She smiles back.

Sam, rightfully, cuts in, “We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.”

“Come in.” She steps aside leading us further into the house, Dean being the one to close the door.

“Nice place.” Dean compliments looking around the cozy well loved home.

“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free.” She explains, as we follow her through the house.

“Where are your folks?” Sam asks.

“They lived in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial.” She answers as we enter the kitchen, “ Do you guys want a beer or something?”

Dean smiles, “Hey—“

“No, thanks. So, tell us what happened.” Sam cuts him off, definitely for the better. This isn’t the time nor the place for drinks.

She leans against the island as she begins, “Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Her voice gets all crackly, tears freely flowing, “So, he called 911, and the police—they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.” Sam offers.

“We could.” Dean adds

“Why? I mean, what could you do?” Rebecca asked.

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam clarifies, nudging his brother.

Dean laughs, “Detective, actually.”

“Really? Where?” Rebecca gushes.

Easily Dean shrugs, “Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.” It always amazes me how easily these two lie, well mostly on Sam’s part.

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just—I don’t know” She stammers

“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.” Sam explains, eyebrows scrunched together in seriousness.

“Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.” She leaves us alone in the kitchen, walking down the hall to get those keys.

“Oh, yeah, man, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends.” Dean comments, lightly shoving his brother.

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help” Sam pleads.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.” Dean shrugs.

“Oh come on Dean, it's the right thing to do.” I add, joining the pleading party. “Yeah and two places at once? We’ve looked into less.” Sam points out. Dean sighs but remains silent in defeat, he won’t win this one especially when it’s the both of us pleading with him. He didn’t stand a chance.

The Impala pulls up across the street from Zack’s house, the white building in contrast with the yellow crime scene tape plastered on its outside.

We get out of the car, Rebecca having rode with me in the backseat, “You’re sure this is okay?” She asks Dean. “Yeah. I am an officer of the law.” Dean says all nonchalant as he leads us to the house.

Opening the door to this taped off house revealed a mess of blood. There was blood smeared on the walls and the furniture, a table cluttered with fruit, playing cards and newspapers as if a life was interrupted. And it was. One life physically gone and never coming back and another life, who is potentially innocent, sits rotting away in a jail cell. Rebecca remains strigid just outside the constraints of the police tape. Sam turns back to her, “Bec, you wanna wait outside?”

“No. I wanna help.” With tears in her eyes she ducks underneath the tape.

Dean and I walk slowly around the house, observing the messy crime scene. And although neither of us are actual police officers or forensic scientists it doesn't take a genius to figure out there was a struggle, based on the upturned furniture and the blood splatter alone.

Meanwhile Sam stays with his friend,“Tell us what else the police said.”

“Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers—they’re already talking about plea bargain.” She looks around the room and begins to cry, “Oh, God…”

“Look, Bec, if Zack didn’t do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?” Sam asks her, over the loud noise of a dog barking nearby.

She shakes her head, “Um, there was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes—Zack’s clothes. The police—they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.”

Sam walks away from her with a nod. I then walk over to the half open front door, looking at the neighbors dog who hadn’t stopped barking the entire time we’ve been here.

I feel her come up behind me, “You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.”

“Oh, what happened to him?” I ask her, still looking at the black dog who bared its teeth as it barked relentlessly. If she hadn’t said anything I would think this dog was always aggressive, mean even.

“He just changed” She replies, half shrugging.

“Do you know when that change occurred?” I half turn to her.

“I guess around the time of the murder.”

I nod in confirmation, making a mental note, walking away towards the boys, a comforting hand on Rebecca’s shoulder.

The brothers stand in the hallway looking at a framed photograph of Sam, Zack, and Rebecca all together, talking over something I couldn’t quite catch. It’s bittersweet to think that even after Sam left for his “road trip” that his friends hadn’t forgotten him, had even kept up a photo of them all together.

“Apparently the neighbors dog suddenly became all aggressive around the time of Zack’s girlfriend's murder.” I retell the information I just gained. “Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal.” Sam adds.

“I was thinking the same thing” I nod along.

Sam turns to his brother, “So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

“No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.” Dean answers simply.

“Yeah.” Sam says

“Yeah.” Dean says back just as Rebecca walks over to us, “So, the tape. The security footage—you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.”

“I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of a cop.” She answers, causing Dean to laugh (a little uncomfortably), “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

“All right.” Dean says with the slightest hint of a smirk, leading us out just as he led us in.

After seeing the crime scene, Rebecca’s home stood as a total contrast. The clean cozy vibe of the home being completely absent of blood and the act of murder.

“Here he comes.” Rebecca turns her laptop towards us, pointing to the tape of Zack entering his house.

“22:04, that’s just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30.” Dean points out.

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.” She explains.

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?” Sam cuts in, and if I hadn’t known him. Hadn’t known it was probably because he’d seen something he couldn’t exactly say with her around then I’d say it was a jerkish move.

“Oh, sure.” She gets up from the couch.

“Hey.” He calls out, forcing her to turn around, “Maybe some sandwiches, too?”

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” She replies back as she leaves the room. If I hadn’t known if I liked her before this I definitely do now.

“I wish.” Dean muttered in a hushed tone. I lightly smack the back of his head in warning. His head snapped towards me, and his eyes widened with confusion. “Don’t give me that look; you know what that was for!” I whispered, my words sharp as I poked his chest. He seized my wrist, his grip tight enough to send a shiver down my spine. The room seemed to grow smaller as my mouth fell slightly agape, and I gazed up at him through my eyelashes. He peered down at me, his green eyes seemingly a couple shades darker, a cocky smile on his face.

"Guys!" Sam whisper-shouted, and the small moment between Dean and me shattered like fragile glass. Dean quickly dropped my wrist, the cocky smile vanishing as he was caught in the act. My head reluctantly turned towards the taller man, although all I wanted was to keep my eyes on Dean, to feel his attention solely on me, but now it was all disrupted.

"Check this out," Sam rewinds the tape, seemingly unfazed by what he just witnessed. I clear my throat, attempting to dispel the lingering, fuzzy feeling that Dean's touch had stirred within me. This wasn't the time or place for distractions. Shifting my focus back to the reality of the hunt at hand, I watch as Sam rewinds the tape once more. In one of the frames, Zack stares directly at the camera, his eyes an eerie shade of silver, far from anything normal. Sam pauses the tape once again.

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare.” Dean shrugs, skepticism lingering in his voice.

“That’s not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen. You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul.” Sam informs.

“Right.” Dean says, unamused.

“No! Sam’s right! The belief has deep rooted ties to certain Native American cultures, it stems from the idea that a photograph freezes a moment in time and can capture a person’s spirit or energy at that moment.” I explained with a beaming smile, happy to share the fact.

“Do I even want to know why you know that?” Dean asks me to which I just shrugged, “I love fun facts.”

“Anyway” Sam continued, “Remember that dog that was freakin’ out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him.”

“Like a Doppelganger.” Dean concluded.

“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was two places at once.” Sam finished.

As dawn broke, the persistent nudge of the boys broke me from my slumber, rousing me from a deep, cozy dream. With a groggy sigh, I realized it was just 5 a.m., way too early for me. Regret gnawed at my bones as I recalled having given them the spare key to my motel room for precisely these sort of moments.

Reluctantly, I rolled out of bed and slipped into the comforting embrace of leggings, a sports bra, and a thick zip up sweater to fend off the early morning chill. As we piled into the car and set out for Zack's home once more, the chill weather and the steady movement of the car nearly brought me back to the darkness of sleep.

The car was now parked discreetly behind the house, and we stepped out, greeted by the morning's biting cold that nipped at our cheeks. "Alright, so why are we here at 5:30 in the morning?" Dean inquired, as he nursed a cup of coffee. "Mmm, yeah, it's way too early for all of this," I mumbled groggily in agreement.

"I realized something. The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out," Sam explained, gesturing toward the house behind him. "So, he came out the back door?" Dean pointed out, leaning against the hood of his car, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue," Sam clarified, walking up to a large red garbage can. "Because they think the killer never left. And they caught your friend Zack inside. I still don't know why we're here at 5:30 in the morning," Dean grumbled, taking another sip from his coffee.

Sam walked away to scour the area only to stop near a telephone pole, noting, "Blood. Somebody came this way." Dean and I exchanged a perplexed look before joining Sam near the smeared blood. "The trail just ends...?" I inquired, glancing around to confirm what we were all seeing.

Suddenly the loud blaring of an ambulance sped past us, the red, white, and blue lights illuminating on the houses it passed. Once again, we exchanged a glance that balanced on the edge of caution and curiosity. With that unspoken understanding, we swiftly returned to the car and pursued the blaring ambulance.

Upon our arrival, a slightly older Asian man was being forcibly guided into a police car, his wrists cuffed tightly. Exiting the vehicle, we approached a woman nearby, clad in running wear. I asked her softly, "What happened?"

"He tried to kill his wife. Tied her up and beat her," the woman explained, causing my eyes to widen and my eyebrows to shoot up in shock.

"Really?" Sam inquired.

"I used to see him heading to work in the morning. He'd wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy," the woman sighed, her gaze fixed on the man being taken away.

Moments later we had split up, Sam and I together to semi-explore the crime scene, meaning the surrounding area since the police and a sizable forensic team were diligently at work. We were on the side of the house, scouring for any clues. Oddly enough, Sam sifted through garbage cans only to come up empty-handed. All we discovered was another trail of blood that suddenly terminated. We rounded to the front of the house.

"Hey," Dean called out, causing us to turn around. "Remember when I said this wasn't our kind of problem?"

"Yeah," Sam confirmed.

"Definitely our kind of problem," Dean nodded, sort of throwing his arm into it for emphasis.

"What caused the change of heart?" I inquired, stuffing my hands into my pockets to ward off the chill.

"Well, I just spoke to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex's story. Apparently, the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked," Dean elaborated, nodding towards a burly police officer standing nearby.

"So, he was in two places at once," Sam stated rather than asked.

"Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house; the police think he's a nutjob," Dean shot back without missing a beat.

"Two evil doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way, how sweet," I remarked sarcastically.

"Could be the same thing doing it, too," Dean suggested. Sam looked up in thought, "Shapeshifter? Something that can make itself look like anyone?"

"Well, you know, every culture all over the world has shapeshifter lore. All sorts of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or the other way around or even into other men, like skinwalkers, werewolves, nanaue, etcetera," I reminded.

"We've got two attacks within blocks of each other. I'm guessing we've got a shapeshifter prowling the neighborhood," Dean added.

"Let me ask you this Y/N—in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?" Sam asked me.

"Uh…no?" I answered.

He turned to Dean, leading the way, "Well then we picked up a trail here. Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way."

"Just like your friend's house," Dean confirmed.

"Yeah. And, just like at Zack's house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared," Sam explained as we followed the trail of blood all the way to an empty street at the back of the house.

"Well, there's another way to go—down," Dean replied. The three of us peered down at a manhole.

"How lovely," I mumbled, not particularly thrilled about having to go into the sewers.

Sam lifts the grate up, allowing Dean to go in first with a smile with me following next down. Surprisingly the ladder wasn’t sticky and full of muck like I thought it’d be, but still it was gross to be down here and I don’t think two showers would be enough after this.

The tunnels were dark and leaky, a constant dripping sound coming from somewhere. “I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too. The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.” Sam says, looking around.

“I think you’re right. Look at this.” Dean answers bending down in front of a glossy slimy pile of blood and skin. He takes out his pocket knife, pulling some of the skin up the slime of it glistening in the dim lights. I had to stop myself from gagging.

“Is this from his victims?” Sam inquires, a scrunched look of disgust on his face.

“You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.” Dean pointed out, letting the goop of the skin fall back to the floor.

“Why would you say that?” I cringe, my question more rhetorical than anything.

Dean opens the trunk of the Impala, taking out some bullets and entering them into the slots of the gun. “Well, one thing I learned from Dad, is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”

“Silver bullet to the heart.” Sam smiles, dimples on display.

“That’s right.” And as if on cue Sam’s phone rings.

“This is Sam.” He answers walking to the front of the car, remaining just in hearing range. And just as much as I hate to admit it, Dean and I stayed quiet to eavesdrop.

“We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out.

…

What are you talkin’ about?

…

Why would you do that?

…

Bec—

…

We’re tryin’ to help.

….

Bec, I’m sorry, but—“ His hand drops to his side, sighing as he looks down,

Dean walks over to his brother with a half frown, “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” He pauses before continuing, “You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked.” Again he pauses, “It’s just—it’d be easier if—“

“If I was like you.” Sam finished his sentence.

Dean breathes out looking around, “Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people.” He pauses for a third time, “But I’ll tell you one thing. This whole gig—it ain’t without perks.” He holds up a gun at hip level, Sam takes it with a sigh and begins tucking it into the back of his jeans. He begins to walk away leaving Dean and I behind.

Dean walks back over to me by the open trunk, he leans against the car as I hand him a flashlight. “What’s with that pout?” He asks me, tilting his head down to catch my eyes.

“I’m not pouting” I smile, nearly laughing. “I happen to know you quite well, you were definitely pouting sweetheart.” He smiles now too, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I closed the trunk, Dean taking another flashlight from me so I could tuck a small gun into the side of my leggings as I balanced my own flashlight. “I’m thinking that…this job is destructive” I look up at Dean who waits for me to continue, “Seeing Sammy with Rebecca and how happy he was just seeing a friend from college, or that photo with the three of them all together. It was bittersweet to see that really, knowing that he was and can be happy without all this” I motion to the flashlights and the guns neatly tucked away.

“I know” he sighs, “lasting relationships ain’t exactly part of the job description” he smiles sadly and I know he didn’t really know what to say to me.

I gave him a slow nod, giving his upper arm a squeeze as I walked past him, “We should go before Sam starts bugging us for taking so long.”

With guns and flashlights drawn, we cautiously treaded through the sewer, a squishy, unpleasant noise underfoot with each step. I’d definitely need to burn my shoes and clothes after this ordeal.

The sewer resembled a labyrinth, an intricate network of pipes and tunnels twisting and turning in every direction. Drips of who-knows-what fell from the ceiling. Despite our careful steps to avoid the puddles on the ground, I still felt utterly disgusted. There was not enough showering in the world to cleanse me of this event.

With Sam leading the way, his gun extended ahead of him, Dean broke the silence, "I think we're close to its lair."

"Why do you say that?" Sam murmured without turning back to acknowledge his brother. "Because there's another nauseating pile next to your face," Dean retorted, using his flashlight to reveal a slimy heap of skin clinging to a pipe. Sam leaped back, repulsed. "Oh, God!" He glanced down at his shoulder, which had been perilously close to the pile.

I moved my flashlight just past Sam, revealing a pile of discarded clothes. "I think it's lived here for a while."

"Who knows how many murders he's gotten away with," Sam added, turning to face us. "Dean!" He suddenly shouted. Both of us spun around to see the shapeshifter, still in its last victim's form, right behind us. The shapeshifter struck Dean, sending him crashing to the sewer floor, then sprinted away. Sam fired twice, the bullets whizzing just above my head. He missed.

I bent down to assist Dean, who clutched his left shoulder, grimacing. "Get that son of a bitch!" He grunted and nodded as Sam took off, leaning against the wall. Dean gestured for me to follow his brother.

Running in a sewer was just as challenging as walking, with overhead pipes requiring us to duck to avoid collision.

Sam reached a ladder and began ascending it, lifting himself up and out. I followed, feeling the cold night air surrounding me as I emerged. We stood in a park, a distance from where we had entered, scanning the surroundings. Dean struggled out of the manhole, still holding his shoulder.

"All right, let's split up," Sam suggested, concealing his gun within his jacket, out of sight from the passersby in the park. The fact that they hadn't noticed us emerging from a manhole was beyond me, but I didn't question it when it worked in our favor.

“All right, I’ll meet you guys around the other side.” Dean agreed.

“Copy” I answered in confirmation, I twirled to the left as Sam headed right, and Dean proceeded straight. Despite the cold air, I unzipped my thick sweater to conceal my gun while ensuring I could still draw it swiftly. Even though I was comfy I began to regret just wearing a sports bra beneath my sweater, my stomach and above my breasts open to the frigid air.

I walked cautiously, weaving through crowds, scanning both people and the shops that remained open. Yet, street after street, there was no sign of our quarry. No more than five to ten minutes passed before I spotted Sam standing by a crosswalk. I tucked my gun into my leggings, finally able to zip up my sweater. He must have caught sight of me approaching from the corner of his eye.

"Nothing?" he asked, even though he likely knew the answer. I nodded in confirmation.

"Hey," Dean's voice called out from behind us, prompting us to turn toward him. "Anything?" he inquired, arms outstretched. "No. He's gone," Sam replied as his brother approached.

"Alright, let's get back to the car," Dean ordered, and we complied, turning to cross the street.

“You think he found another way underground?” Sam asks, stopping at the side of the Impala.

“Yeah, probably. You got the keys?” Dean retorts.

“Hey, didn’t Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?” Sam turns around facing Dean.

“Oh, that was Austin. It turned out not to be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?”

“Oh, right. Here ya go.” He throws Dean the keys who catches it with his…left hand, he opens the trunk of the car. Sam walks off towards the front of the car but I hang back, maybe I'm overthinking it but this isn’t something that I can just let slip by.

“Hey, Dean” I call out my gun trained carefully on his back, “Yeah sweetheart” He answers turning around. I fight the urge to cringe hearing the usual endearing pet name curl off the lips of someone who wasn’t Dean, even more so a being who looked like him.

Sam sees my movements and swiftly moves to the right side of his brother, “Y/N! What are you doing”

“Yeah, chill. It’s me, all right?” ‘Dean shoots back his arms raised in defense.

“Sammy, he caught the keys with his left hand” I explained through gritted teeth. In my peripheral vision I see Sam’s eyes widen in realization, he mumbles, “Your shoulder was hurt.” His hand moved to the back of his waistband, searching for his gun. But before he could reach it, the shapeshifter swung a crowbar from the trunk, striking Sam down. My gun went off twice, the first bullet missing entirely, allowing the shapeshifter to hit Sam once more.

The second bullet nearly finding its mark, grazing his shoulder. He turned his head slowly toward me, glaring up at me through his lashes. A bullet grazing his shoulder didn't seem to slow him down. He stalked toward me, like a predator closing in on its prey. But before I could pull the trigger for a third time, he used the same crowbar to knock the gun out of my hand. The sharp metal sent the weapon tumbling, 'Dean' kicking it behind him, it sliding beneath the car.

He grinned at me, and my eyes widened with a mix of fear and determination. As he swung his arm back, ready to strike me with the crowbar, I grabbed hold of it, both hands clenching the cold metal. He was undeniably stronger than me, so I braced my feet even harder against the ground, bending my knees for added leverage and pushing up against the weapon.

His feet swept under me, sending me crashing hard to the ground, my back absorbing the brunt of the impact. I grunted, pushing myself up on my elbows, preparing to rise. But he quickly knelt over me, a knee on each side of my hips. 'Dean's' large, veiny hand closed around my throat, gripping it tightly. I used my hands to try and push him off, but it was futile. With his free hand, he seized my wrists, pinning them to my chest. My head lolled back against the concrete street.

My chest began to burn with the desperate need for air, and tears welled up in my eyes from the pain. Black spots started to invade my vision as I gazed up at 'Dean' through half lidded eyes. “Come on, baby," he growled, his voice raspy as his grip tightened even further. It was the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

In and out, voices sang in a disjointed melody. Dim lights blurred behind my closed eyes. Fragments of Sam's voice pierced through the darkness, the words struggling to piece together. "Where...he...?...Dean?"

I blinked slowly, my head swaying to the side and then back. With a deep breath, my eyes snapped open. We were in the sewer.

Sam sat directly across from me, tightly bound to a pole, a rope encircling his neck. Strangely, it wasn't a rope that constricted my neck but something cold. I lurched my shoulders forward, feeling the restrictive, itchy rope around my ankles, wrists bound behind my back, and right beneath my breasts. It was then that I noticed my sweatshirt was missing.

"I wouldn't worry about him. I'd worry about you," 'Dean' told Sam, seemingly unaware that I was also awake.

I attempted to move my bound hands, intending to use my magic to free myself from the ropes, but nothing happened. I couldn't sense my magic at all. Panic began to well up within me. I kicked my feet out in frustration, though beneath the surface, I was terrified. I couldn't feel my magic.

'Dean's' head snapped toward me, his gaze drawn to my soft whimpers of fear. "Are you wondering why you can't just...poof out of there?" I didn't answer. He crouched down in front of me, tapping the cold, constricting object around my neck, the sharp clicking of his nails against metal audible. "Iron," he whispered. He firmly grasped my chin, moving my face as though to savor what he'd done, offering me no chance to evade his touch. "From what I've learned from you guys, this has never happened to you," he murmured. He was right; while I was aware of what could inhibit a witch's powers, it had never been used against me

"Fuck you," I spat out, the curse word feeling alien on my tongue. I wasn't one to curse often.

"Oh, right back at you, sweetheart," he chuckled, rising from his crouched position and strolling over to a nearby table.

"What do you mean, 'learn'?" Sam asked him. The shapeshifter paused, gripping his head in pain and grimacing, then suddenly relaxed.

This time, he moved over to Sam, his voice laden with resentment. "He's got some serious issues with you. You went to college, and he had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home with Dad." He corrected himself, "You don't think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?"

Sam brushed aside his comment and pressed, "Where is my brother?"

The shapeshifter leaned in close to Sam, his words oozing with bitterness. "I am your brother. See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You have friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I'm a freak. Sooner or later, everybody's going to leave me." He retreated to another table, this time picking up a knife.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothing, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It's not without its perks," he laughed darkly. "I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky."

His gaze shifted to me now, his head tilted to the side in a taunt "You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance." I strained against my restraints, and he turned back to Sam. "Let's see what happens." He walked away, grabbing a bag on his way out.

As soon as the shapeshifter was out of sight, Sam and I began struggling against our restraints. "Damn it," Sam grunted.

I mirrored his efforts, but anxiety washed over me, and my breathing became rapid and shallow. Panic coursed through my veins, I couldn’t feel my magic. The unfamiliar absence of my powers only added to my distress. Leaning my head back against the pole, I hoped that somehow, it would rid me of the constricting iron collar around my neck.

"Y/N, you've got to breathe," Sam urged through gritted teeth as he continued to struggle against the bindings. I tried to listen to him, taking a deep breath that got caught in my throat as I attempted to swallow a sob, releasing a low whimper.

Suddenly, Sam ceased his struggles, and we both listened. We heard movement and coughing coming from somewhere behind him.

"That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature," Dean's voice called out from a corner his, also tied to a pole.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam chuckled. "He went to Rebecca's, looking like you," Sam added as he continued to struggle against his ropes.

"Well, he's not stupid. He picked the handsome one," Dean joked as he continued working on his own ropes. “Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you.” Sam explains further.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories.” Sam shrugs as well as he can in his confinement.

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?” Dean references, escaping his ropes. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. I mean, maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us.” Sam suggests.

Dean walks over to us, standing between the two of us. I urged him to release Sam first, my voice trembling. He nodded and moved behind Sam to undo the ropes. “Maybe he needs to keep us alive. Psychic connection.” Sam was quickly freed and stood up to stretch his neck and flex his hands. "Go see if you can find a drill or something for that," Dean ordered, pointing at the metal collar around my neck. Sam nodded and began searching the nearby tables.

Dean crouched next to me, undoing my restraints as he inquired, "What is that thing?"

"Iron," I mumbled, and his eyes widened in realization. He pulled out a pocket knife, I assume he picked up from the nearby table. I flinched slightly, even though I knew this was Dean, the real Dean who would never harm me.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm just using it for the ropes," he reassured me, raising his hands in defense and displaying the knife. He glanced at his brother across the room, and I couldn't decipher their exchanged looks. I felt silly.

Sam approached with the drill in hand, "I got it," he said, kneeling on the other side of me to begin unscrewing the collar. It seemed to be a rectangular piece of iron cut from a sheet and then drilled into the pole around me, creating this confining device. The whirring of the drill close to my ear did little to ease my anxiety.

The rope around which had rested just below my breasts, fell free. Dean quickly moved on to the one binding my wrists, which came apart more easily, and then to my ankles. I placed my hands on my lap, my wrists slightly bruised from the rope, and finger imprints marked into my skin. I now dreaded seeing what my neck looked like.

Dean's large hands cupped my wrists, gently massaging my sore skin. His movements faltered when he realized his hands and fingers matched perfectly with the bruises. The whirring of the drill stopped as Sam shifted the metal slightly, allowing me to slip free. I shuffled away from the collar, standing up quickly, nearly stumbling over myself. The sensation of my abilities returning enveloped me, offering a sense of comfort.

Both brothers stood up from their crouched positions, and Sam walked away to place the drill somewhere.

Dean approached me slowly, as if I were a frightened animal. He paused just inches in front of me, his eyebrows furrowing as he scrutinized my bruised form. His hand reached up slowly, giving me the chance to evade him, but I didn't. I allowed him to cup my cheek, his touch gentle and in stark contrast to the shapeshifter. I reminded myself that the shapeshifter wasn't him.

His gaze was soft as he observed me, carefully tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. He'd already seen the bruises, but his eyes dipped to my neck again, a touch of sorrow evident in his gaze. Just like my wrists, if he put his hand to my neck, it would match perfectly. I knew he would blame himself for this later.

With his hand still cradling my cheek, he brought my face closer to his. His lips pressed to the crown of my head, lingering there for a moment, and I melted against him. The urge to cry washed over me again, though this time it wasn't from fear, but rather from the overwhelming relief.

"Sorry to ruin the moment, but we've got to go," Sam's voice broke the silence from across the room. Dean didn't jump back or withdraw, instead his lips left my head as his hand slid from my face gently. His hand sought mine, and we followed Sam as he led us out.

Sam kicks open a grate, going out first into an alleyway. I crawl out after him, Dean following closely behind. The cold air nipped at us, our jackets nowhere in sight, and though that mixed with my bruising wasn’t the greatest fun in the world I at least got to see Dean in a tight light gray shirt. This probably shouldn’t have been on my mind at this moment but it was a nice distraction.

“Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.” Sam orders.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re gonna put an APB out on me.” Dean exclaims.

Sam shrugs, “Sorry.”

“This way.” Dean runs off down the street.

We stood in front of a store window, a bunch of little tvs broadcasting the same news channel.

The reporter announces, “An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.” A sketch of Dean appearing on screen, “

“Man! That’s not even a good picture.” Dean throws up his arms.

“It’s good enough” I answer, looking around at the passerby, “We should move somewhere more out of sight.”

“Agreed” Sam says walking off. “Man!” Dean complains following after his brother.

"Come on," Sam paused in the alleyway. "They said attempted murder. At least we know—"

"I didn't kill her," Dean cut him off.

"We'll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she's all right," Sam suggested. But I couldn't picture her wanting to see us.

"Alright, but first, I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him," Dean declared.

"We have no weapons. No silver bullets," Sam pointed out.

"Sam, the guy's walking around with my face. It's personal. I want to find him," Dean argued, crossing his arms.

"Okay. Where do we look?" Sam asked.

"Well, we could start with the sewers," Dean suggested.

"We have no weapons. He stole our guns. We need more," Sam reasoned.

"Oh," I laughed. "You want guns. I'll give you guns." I flicked my wrist, and a gray revolver appeared in my hand, just like when I produced the flare gun back during the wendigo hunt.

I handed the gun to Sam, adding, "How many do you want?"

“I don’t think I can wait, I'm gonna go check on Rebecca now.” Sam said as we walked around some back streets, near the person in question's house.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? No offense” I ask him.

“Yeah. You guys just wait for me don’t go into the sewers alone” Sam orders

“Sorry Sammy but do you really think i’ll be able to listen to that” Dean responds chuckling.

“Alright, fair point. Go, i’ll stay with Becca just don’t split up” Sam comprises, turning away to go to Rebecca’s.

Guns raised, Dean leads us across a ‘room’ in the sewer. The chamber filled candles and chains, more piles of disgusting skin and blood on the floor.

A muffling noise echoes through the halls, Dean and I share a look gripping our guns tighter as we approach a figure covered with a sheet.

Dean bends down to the figure, removing the sheet to see Rebecca beneath it. Her hands and feet were bound.

“Rebecca?” Dean and I ask at the same time.

“What happened?” I ask as Dean begins to undue her binds.

Rebecca begins to cry, “ I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay.” Dean finishes untying her, “Come on. Can you walk?” She nods, “Okay, we’ve gotta hurry. Sam went to see you.”

Even from outside her house you could hear the commotion and most likely fighting that happened inside. Dean crept the door open, gun drawn as he snuck in. I mimicked his movement falling after him into the living room.

The shapeshifter was on top of Sam, pinning him down.

“Hey!” Dean calls out to the shapeshifter. He gets off of Sam turning to the voice that beckoned it. Two shots ring out, through the heart and down the shapeshifter went.

Rebecca enters running over to her friend, “Sam!”

Meanwhile Dean went over to the shapeshifter that looked like him yanking back his necklace that was stolen, and it was probably bad that I hadn’t known it was gone till now.

I sat in my usual spot in the back seat of the Impala, cozied up with my halloween blanket regardless of the fact it was early March. It’s my favorite and I won’t accept any criticism.

The early morning sun shone through the windows, we hadn’t slept last night, spending the entire time busy with the hunt and by the time it was over morning was already breaking and we had to leave to avoid the police. We stopped at the motel for our bags but that was it, we were going to bid our goodbyes and then head to the next state over to rest up. I wasn’t even able to shower, which was okay in retrospect, I'd feel cleaner mentally once we drove away from here. I’d thrown a random t-shirt I had over the sports bra I had been running around in for hours. We eventually did find our coats but I hadn’t taken mine with me, memories I hadn’t wanted to keep sewn into its fabric.

Dean leaned on the outside of the car looking at a map while Sam talked to his friend. Neither boy bothered me or had talked to me much in the couple of hours since the end of our hunt, perhaps too afraid to ask if I was okay or maybe they didn’t know what to say.

I looked out the window watching the trees dance slowly in the wind after waving bye to Rebecca, listening to the boys talk in front of the car.

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asks now ignoring the map.

“ Cops are blamin’ this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder.” Sam jokes smiling, “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.”

Dean rolls his eyes, scuffing, before getting into the car.

We’ve only driven for a couple minutes before Dean brings back the subject of the hunt and everything that had unfolded, “Sorry, man.” Dean suddenly began.

“About what?” Sam responds.

“ I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be….Joe College.” Dean confesses.

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.” Sam admits too.

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak.” Dean smiles that charming sweet smile.

“Yeah, thanks.” Sam laughs.

“Well, I’m a freak, too.” Dean adds

“You already know I'm one!” I topple on.

“See, we’re right there with ya, all the way.” Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I know you are.” Sam looks between Dean and I as he speaks.

“Those who freak together, stay together?” I offer with a smile, the car falling into laughter. The kind of laughter that lasts in the air even after it was over with, it was stupid of course but it left a warmth in my heart that blanketed me with just enough comfort to last me till the next state over where I'd be safe.

The car fell silent, big smiles on all our faces, “You know, I gotta say—I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.” Dean announces randomly.

“Miss what?” Sam laughs lightly.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?”

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Things They Carried: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Cole is back in Dean's life, not to kill him but to ask for his help. A worm is making its way through people and eventually through Cole, giving you the perfect opportunity to get the chaos you're craving.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Cole tapped into his contacts for help, Sam looked into what might be causing men to get thirsty, and Dean went to get the food once it was ready.

"Listen, l got nothing on cattle deaths or freakish weather," Sam says once Dean comes back. "It's probably not a demon."

"Maybe it's just not your kind of thing at all," Cole says. He takes out his phone when it rings and pulls up an email he got from his friend. "Okay, here we go. I got an encrypted e-mail here from my friend at the M.I. Kit and Rick were sent to rescue an American P.O.W. being held in Iraq in the Najaf cemetery."

"Cemetery?"

"The bastards use 'em as a prison. I got some footage here from the camera on Willis' helmet during his last mission with Kit."

Cole scoots closer to the brothers and angles his phone so all three of them can watch it. Out of curiosity, you stand behind them so you can watch it, too. The video shows Rick and Kit enter a mausoleum where they find the soldier whom they were supposed to rescue. Instead of that happening, the soldier attacks them aggressively.

"I'm guessing that didn't have a happy ending," Dean says once the video ends.

"No, it did not. Mission failed, and that P.O.W. got shot by guards."

"Why do I have a feeling that's not what really happened?" you ask.

"Because it's not. That's the official story. I refuse to believe that's what happened."

Sam's phone rings and he looks at the notification that pops up on screen.

"What is that?"

"I set my phone to get local alerts."

"Is it bad?" Cole asks.

"It's bloody," Sam sighs.

"Alright, let's get out of here."

The notification is about another death at a gas station in town, so that's where you four head to next with you and Cole in the backseat and Sam and Dean up front. You stay outside while Sam and Dean head inside to ask what's going on. They come out with solemn looks on their faces and explain what they found out. Kit got so thirsty that he killed someone and licked their blood since he drank all the water.

"He licked the blood off the floor?" Cole sighs.

"Yeah, the soda jockey back there seemed pretty shaken up by it. Does this sound like it's not our kind of thing?"

Cole's phone rings and he takes the call off to the side. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and train your hearing on his phone conversation using your magic. Never did you think you'd be able to do this with your magic much less do anything else.

"Hey, Jem."

"Cole, the news said someone was killed at the Gas'n'Sip on Kenton."

"Yeah, I'm here right now."

"You are? What are they saying?"

"Not much. Look, I can't really talk right now. I'm sorry."

"Wait," she rushes out, "do you think that... do they think that Kit did this?"

"I don't know."

"If he did, he isn't in his right mind and you know that, Cole. You got to save him."

"I will."

"I know. That's the only thing keeping me sane right now. I was thinking, you know, sometimes when Kit wanted to be alone, he would head up north to his dad's old cabin. Maybe you could go check it out and l'Il stay here in case he comes home."

"Right," he whispers.

"Would you hurry up?" you call after Cole who flips you off.

"Jem, I got to go."

"So, what next?" Sam asks when Cole rejoins the group.

"We hit every cop shop within a ten-mile radius, put the word out, and see if we can't track him down."

"If you find him, what then? Kit needs help. He doesn't need a bullet, and he doesn't need a knife," Cole argues.

"Okay, you know what? Not everyone is good at this job, and you're clearly in no mindset to help. So, what you're going to do is go back to Jemma's house and play the concerned best friend while the adults are going to handle this one. Okay?" you grin.

"I wouldn't have put it like that but she's right. That's the job," Dean says.

"Fine, take me back to Jemma's." They do thinking that he is going to sit by and do nothing. "Thanks for the lift."

"It's better this way, alright? You keep her calm and we'll keep you posted. If he shows up, don't try and be a hero. Call us."

"You got it."

Cole gets out and heads up Jemma's driveway, watching as Dean pulls back onto the road.

"You know he's not going to drop this, right? All he needed was a ride back to his car. I overheard his conversation with Jemma earlier. Kit liked to go to his dad's cabin up north. If I know Cole, and I do, that's where he's going," you say. Dean pulls over into a small alcove off the side of the road and turns off the car so he's not idling. Twenty minutes later, Cole's car goes racing past Dean's heading North. "I love being right."

Dean rolls his eyes and starts the car before pulling back onto the road and following Cole. By the time you reach Kit's cabin, it's night. Sam and Dean don't want Cole to know they followed him so they try to be as quiet as they can while they get their weapons. You start walking toward the cabin with red magic swirling around your hands.

"Y/N! Stop!" Dean hisses.

You don't listen and open the front door quietly, listening carefully for either Kit or Cole.

"Kit? Hey, Kit? Are you here? It's Cole." You see a flashlight move throughout the house. "There are some real serious people looking for you, Kit, and they won't just want to talk. It's bad, Kit." You walk into the back room and see Kit huddling in the corner. Cole is inching toward him slowly. "Hey, Kit. It's me."

"I'm sorry. l can't stop."

Kit jumps up and attacks Cole just like what you assumed he did to Rick and the gas station employee. You watch with a grin at the chaos happening, and you don't do anything when something black jumps out of Kit and flies into Cole's mouth. Dean and Sam rush into the room and push past you to help Cole and Kit. Kit jumps away from Cole and throws Dean across the room to escape. He runs off into the night but you don't go after him. Old you would have. New you don't give a shit about it.

"Oh, god. Oh, God. Ew. Something went down my throat," Cole gags.

"Alright, just try and stay calm."

"Something moved. It's alive, Sam," he panics.

"We're going to get it out of you."

"How?!"

Man, that was a dumbass move coming here alone. You do know that, right?" Dean scoffs and turns to you. "Way to help... not."

"Always a pleasure to help," you smirk sarcastically.

"Oh, l'm sorry. l should have let the machete brothers cut my buddy's head off," Cole scoffs.

"Well, if you did, maybe you wouldn't be chokin' down a damn Khan worm right now!"

"What's a Khan worm?" Cole gasps.

"Do you think that's what it is?" Sam asks his brother.

"Or some sort of freak cousin."

"Freak cousin of what? Would someone tell me what the fuck is going on here?" Cole demands.

"A couple of years back, Dean, Y/N, and I worked a case. We got stuck in a cannery with this worm. It would get into people's bodies and... It was awful."

"How do we kill it?"

"Worst case is headshot the person it's in. The worm crawls out and we stomp it like a bug," Dean sighs.

"Is there a version where you don't cap me?"

"Electrocution seemed to do the trick last time," you say. Cole looks uneasy but you know it's better than dying. "Electrocution it is!"

"Alright, you two get to work," Sam says to you and Dean. "I'll go look for Kit."

"If we can fix me, we can save Kit, right?" Cole asks before the younger Winchester can leave.

"That's the idea."

Dean takes out tools he might need from the car so Sam can take the car and follow after Kit. Cole leaves and helps Dean bring in some supplies while you sit on the wooden fur throne in the middle of the room. With one leg crossed over the other, you watch the two men in silence. This is going to work out perfectly for you. If you can somehow get Dean away even for a moment, you can start to plant seeds of doubt in Cole's mind. Plant enough and he'll start to go crazy like Kit.

"You know that this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch?" Dean says once he brings in the last tool.

"l have a wife, a kid, and an upside-down mortgage to get back to. Whatever it takes, Dean."

"Okay."

Cole takes off his shirt and lays down on the couch while Dean connects jumper cables to a car battery.

"So, the last time you saw this thing, it turned people into killers?"

"Yeah, except that one did a mind-control number on us."

"Damn. Day in and day out, you, Sam, and Y/N are saving people from things they just can't wrap their minds around. Nobody even notices it. At least l get a medal for my efforts, but you... I tried to kill your ass."

"Good times," Dean scoffs.

"I almost took you off the map. Who would be saving me now?"

"Not me," you comment.

Dean glares at you. "Let's not get too sentimental about it. Alright, let's fire this puppy up."

"You say that like it's just another Tuesday."

"Oh, buddy, it's only Monday," Dean smirks and snaps the jumper cables together so they spark.

Dean removes his belt and folds it in half so Cole has something to bite down on. Cole grips the belt between his teeth and nods at Dean to do it. Dean looks at you as he takes a deep breath, and presses the jumper cable clamps to Cole's forearms. Cole jerks back from the shock but Dean only keeps the clamps on him for a few seconds.

"Anything?" Cole pants.

"Last time, it came out of our ears and I'm not seeing anything yet."

"Do it again."

Dean puts the belt back in his mouth and shocks him again, this time a few seconds longer.

"Alright, that sucker should have crawled out by now."

"Do it again," you smirk.

"Not helping," Dean glares.

"She's right. Do it again."

"If I keep going, this is gonna kill you."

"Again!"

"You heard the man," you chuckle.

Dean replaces the belt and shocks him again. This time, Cole's jaw goes slack and his eyes roll to the back of his head. Dean immediately pulls the cables away and slaps his cheek.

"Cole! Hey! Come on!" Dean looks at you with wild eyes. "Save him!"

"What are you going to do if I don't?" you smirk.

Dean growls in frustration and starts CPR on Cole. when that doesn't work, he starts slamming his fist into his chest in hopes it'll get his heart to restart.

"Cole! Damn it!!"

Cole gasps awake and you lean back with a sigh.

"Hey! Hey! Okay! Hey. Alright!" Cole pants. He grabs the belt and places it in his mouth. "Again."

"No. No, we're done playing 'Operation'. If I zap you again, you're toast. Just take a knee."

Cole spits out the belt and rests while Dean walks off to the side. He grabs his phone and dials his brother, and you use the same magic to tap into his conversation like what you did with Cole and Jemma.

"Dean. How did it go?" Sam asks.

"The worm was a no-show."

"That doesn't make any sense. Last time--"

"Well, this ain't the last time. I mean, maybe this is a whole new species, you know? All I know is that Sparky struck out."

"There's got to be something. I mean, everything has a weakness, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. What about you? Any luck?"

"I'm on my way to Kit's. I thought l'd check there first."

"Alright, well, hurry up."

"You got it." Dean steps back into the room and makes sure you haven't killed Cole yet. "Are you okay?"

"As good as I can be, I guess. So, this is what in over your head looks like."

"Just got to keep your head in the game. Okay, what do we know about this thing?"

"Has the thirst settled in yet?" you ask. "Feel a bit dehydrated?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Okay, it likes water. When that's not enough, it craves blood." You smirk as an idea pops into your head. "Maybe lack of fluids makes the thing hostile like a parasite. It wrings you dry, and then it moves on."

"So, if l dry myself out, the son of a bitch wouldn't like that very much, would he?"

"No, he'd want the hell out. You'd be a hostile environment, well, more than you already are," Dean chuckles.

"To be fair, you haven't seen my chiller side."

"What do you think about rapid dehydration?"

"Big fan. Just make sure you squash that sucker when it goes AWOL."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Alright, nothing like a sweat lodge in the woods, huh?"

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[slootpoot]

Longhorn - Chapter One

01 | Since the Beginning Longhorn Masterlist

You’ve been with the boys for… a while. 

You were with Dean when he tracked down Sam in Harvard; mainly because you couldn’t say no when he appeared on your doorstep, face drunkenly red, blubbering about how his father is gone. 

You were there when Sam lost Jessica, comforting him when Dean didn’t know how to. 

You were there every time they thought they were getting closer to finding John, only to be hundreds of miles farther. You were there when they felt abandoned. 

You’ve been there since the beginning. Since Dean was in high school, jumping from cheerleader to geek. He even tried with you one time, only to be shot down with a loud, thundering laugh to his face. 

So, yeah, you’ve been stuck with these two lumberjacks for a long, long time. 

You’re sat in the backseat of the Impala, back against the door and your legs stretched out in front of you (shoes off, of course. Dean would lose his shit otherwise). With a book comfortably on your lap, you’re sipping on your milkshake Sam bought for you while the boys chat about the case up front. 

You’re all stopped at a gas station to fill up while they talk. 

“Alright,” Dean starts, staring at the unfolded map in his hands. “I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” He looks over to see Sam staring at his PalmPilot, brows furrowed. Dean throws a playful glance at you through the rearview mirror. “Sam wears women’s underwear.” 

A smile curls your lip as Sam responds. “I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy.” 

“Busy doin’ what?” Dean scoffs, peering at the screen before he steps out of the Impala and begins filling up the tank. 

You adjust, placing your bookmark and closing the book. Your chin rests on the back of the front bench sit as you listen. 

“Reading emails.” 

“Emails?” you echo. “From who?” 

“Friends at Harvard,” he mumbles back. 

Dean scoffs. “You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies.” 

You shrug. “I still keep in touch with some people from high school.” 

“Johnny still want to get in them pants of yours?” 

“Yes, Dean, Johnny is still the same asshole.” 

“See?” Sam says, thumb jutting out in your direction. “Why wouldn’t I keep in touch with my friends from college?” 

“Well…” Dean slides back into the drivers’ seat, closing the door with a grunt. “What exactly do you tell ‘em, Sammy? You know, where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

Sam shrugs. “I tell them I’m on a roadtrip with my big brother and family friend. Say that I needed some time after Jess.” 

The atmosphere in the car dips, but Dean keeps going. “Oh, so you lie to ‘em.”

“No. I just don’t tell them everything.” 

“That’s lyin’, Sammy,” you chirp, leaning back into your seat. Your milkshake lays empty in your hand, but you don’t dare rest it on the ground or, god forbid, the seat. “I get it, though. Lying is better than telling the truth. I can’t tell you the last time I told a normie anything close to the truth.” 

That’s what you’ve always called them - normies. The people that don’t know the truth that lays lurking in the shadows. The people that have a peace of mind, can go to bed at night without nightmares of waking up with a blade to your throat or a gun to your head. 

The car goes silent for a second. You tap Dean’s shoulder with the cup to motion him to throw it away for you. He’s back in the car when Sam starts muttering. 

“What?” Dean queries, leaning closer to the passenger side despite Sam leaning farther and farther away. 

“There’s an email from a girl, Rebecca Warren, from college.” 

“Is she hot?” 

You smack Dean upside the head with your hardcover book. He yelps, ducking, when you ask, “What did she say?” 

“Her brother, Zack, who went to school with us, was charged with murder. He was arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.” 

“Dude,” Dean chortles. “What kind of people are you hangin’ out with?” 

“No, man,” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “I know Zach. He’s no killer.” 

“Sammy,” you start. “Maybe you don’t know Zach that well. It has been a while since you’ve seen him.” 

He ignores you. “They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.” 

Dean chuckles. “Look, man, I’m sorry about your friend and all, but this doesn’t sound like our kind of problem.” 

“No, Dean, it is. They’re my friends.” Sam gets that look on his face, the one that says the stubborn bastard isn’t going to back down. 

“Sam, St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us.” 

They exchange a look before Dean sighs and starts the ignition, rolling out of the gas station. 

“If we’re going to St. Louis,” you start. “I’m going in the arch. Sam is going with me, because I am not getting fondled in that elevator alone.” 

“Why the hell would I get fondled?” 

“Old ladies like tall men. Tall, young men, Sammy. Just imagine it; their wrinkly old lady hands, sliding up your shirt -”

“Just go back to reading your book, Y/N, please.” 

Chapter Two

[chinen-miya-official]

Before we begin, only a small percentage of viewers are subscribed to the channel

So please consider hitting that button if you end up enjoying this battle

Enough of the prattle, you and me in a 1v1?

I don't see much challenge, but it still seems fun

It's no Pet War but I'll beat ya in one verse and leave you like your dog, hit n' speedrun

Count em up, my WR Ws are more plentiful than all the wounds that you cut on your arms

You don't really set a high bar talking 'bout your fine art, my avatar's drawn more consistent than your sprites are!

You hopeless loner, glad you know your own worth

Don't need to dig down to know this stepping stone's below dirt

I know you wanna get Hinata, but your luck's not so grand

If you can't even boost the odds of you hunting your man

How'd you not hit Byakuya's imposter even with the pounds that that the dude sports? (George!)

Guess this rabid fan is only catching hands from transplants with Junko's corpse (George!)

Grab a bow and arrow for this ghost white barebones

You could grow a forest with that bone meal hair, bro

Check all the careers I'm settin' the stage for

While your lymphoma's set in the stage four!

What a grand display! With all the wars you struggle to bear

I'm mere trash in the way when compared to the Ultimate Square

But when it comes to despair (Ugh), I have none left to spare (Ha)

So make like that disc pair, give it up in this pair

I went through with one goal: exposing the traitor

While you got exposed exploiting the traders

Pursuing that dough, then toy with your players

Tom's suicide note is your kinda paper

And paired with your Stan audience? I've inhaled gas less toxic

He labels himself spotless, but I got it! Let me break it down...

Not a perfect roster your team crafted (Huh)

Ultimate Imposter of TeamCrafted (Huh)

Then it met the same end 'cause then Schlatt won (Huh)

And turned L'Manburg to a L'Manhunt

And normal's the only way to describe your catalog of bland songs

Tell that plastic CG ragdoll it's best to keep the mask on

Oh come on, I thought you toted bombs

With just a glance at your chances, your fans went "No, that's wrong!"

Ironic Clay lacks foundation with all the arguments he's built

And you're only blessed with fortune when it's from your parent's will (Ooh!)

You started your wooden arc sailing on a ship

That explains why on the microphone you failed to land a hit

You're numb as it gets, your luck must've gun to your head

But you're only firing blanks like it's Russian Roulette

Your franchise took the stage and ignited some flames

But I'll be snuffing you all out like a fire grenade

Call my fans creepy stanning every student around

But your only friends now are like George, not found!

Your hopes are shining through, but it's just a matter of time

'Fore the net treats you like Tommy and Wilbur (It's banishment time!)

You couldn't kill tracks but you still lack a clean record

Congrats, you're not the blackened, so what's your excuse for the n-word?

Every time drama comes up, you don't respond and let it be

All you can speedrun from is your responsibility

Luck's an awful talent, but you don't even share it

You're gaming's worst cheater on the scene since ProJared

So here's my statement: how fitting that Dream's your name as

You're to be quickly forgotten once your crowd of teens awaken

Your hopes for world renown and loving fans got to see the day but

We all know the dark path your DreamWasTaken

[chadillacboseman]

Summary: Just a quick intro piece for JJ, my newest OC. The SF is on a night mission to clear a weapons depot warehouse and Falcon Company provides air support. TY @bihanspookies for being my bestie and always reading my nonsense. And for screaming about JJ with me <3

--

The weapons warehouse is bathed in moonlight by the time Sonya and her squad reach it. It looms above them like a giant metal behemoth against the inky black sky.

Inside, she knows the space will be crawling with Black Dragon mercenaries; she's only brought a small strike team, they'll be relying on support from above if they intend to be successful.

The plan is simple- rappel in and drop teargas, push the ones they can't kill themselves out for Falcon Company to eliminate.

As if on cue, her earpiece comes to life.

"Blade, this is Falcon-01, we are on approach," Jeremiah Mitchell's grating southern drawl is unmistakable, even with the sound of the AC-130 thrumming in the background.

"Copy, Falcon, we have eyes on the warehouse. Wait for the laser before engaging."

"Copy."

Inside the roaring warplane, JJ strides down the center of the hold, his hands resting comfortably on the straps of his plate carrier. The rest of Falcon Company muddles around the interior, inspecting the ammunition as it's loaded into the side canons.

"Alright, Falcons, this is it!" he calls and they all look at him with rapt attention, "Tip of the spear, edge of the knife. We go in hot and loud, and we make these fuckers pay for every one of ours they put in the ground. Understood?"

A resounding 'HOORAH!' echoes back at him and he's satisfied. He makes his way up to the cockpit where the pilot team guides the warplane toward the warehouse.

"Keep eyes on the west side, thermals. Look for the infrared. Blade's strike team is gonna try'n force 'em out that way."

The pilots respond in the affirmative and he steps back, watching through the reinforced windows as they approach the site. JJ's heart is always banging out a rhythm like a wardrum when they're in the air- the ground team is in their hands for better or for worse.

Sonya's IR laser erupts to life and the AC-130 makes a sharp bank, pulling into a pylon turn to orbit the building. They're flying low, just 7k above the ground, enough to keep them safe from RPGs, but close to give his team a good visual.

JJ takes a seat at one of the CCTV monitors and watches as the 25MM gunner takes aim at the western set of doors. Below, Sonya and her team rappel in from the rooftop and drop tear gas that gives them an upper hand.

"Falcon, this is ground team," Sonya sounds out of breath as she radios in, "you've got hostiles incoming."

The AC-130 banks and gives the gunner a perfect view of the mercs as they exfil.

"Falcon-06, you have carte blanche authority," JJ glances down the hold and the soldier nods before returning his attention to the console.

The first burst of shots takes out a wave of mercs and he sees a few of them look skyward. Hello assholes. Some of them branch off and head for cover, while another group makes for the row of jeeps to the north.

"Switch to 105 Mike-Mike, take out those Jeeps."

Falcon-04 and 07 load a Howitzer into the tube and it fires, recoiling into the hold. Below, the missile hits ground and the jeeps erupt into balls of flame and bits of metal. The mercs that were closing in drop to the ground in heaps.

"That's how we do it, Falcons!" JJ shouts and another round of loud 'HOORAH's echoes around him.

"Falcon, watch your fire!" Sonya cries into his earpiece, "We don't want any structural damage."

JJ rolls his eyes, "Copy that, Blade. Boys, stick to 25."

The rest of the mercs have taken cover in a small building outside the warehouse; it doesn't look reinforced- the 25MM will punch through with ease. Falcon-06 aims the guidance system and sends a burst into the roof; JJ watches with satisfaction on his own monitor as the rounds tear through the metal and into the mercs beneath it. Dodge that.

Another wave of them erupts from the doors. By now, they've wised up to the air support, branching off in multiple directions for a better chance at scraping by with their lives.

God, he wants to send them to hell with the 105.

Instead, he watches as Falcon-06 expertly times his shots, peppering the asphalt with lead that shreds through half a dozen mercs, then pivots, and takes out another two. Next to him, the belt feeds into the gun and kicks out empties that clatter to the metal floor.

"No visual on the remaining mercs," Falcon-06 calls. There had been at least ten- the area was wooded, they were probably streaking through the trees as they speak.

Fuck it.

"Hit the treeline with the 105," JJ will deal with Sonya's ire later. Don't bring the big guns if you don't intend to fire them.

Falcon-04 and 07 kick out the empty Howitzer shell and load another before aiming the guidance system at the treeline. The canon kicks back and the missile hits ground with a blast that levels the first few rows of trees. He makes out the bodies of at least a few of the mercs as the trees burn. It's good enough for him, as long as the others make it back to base with PTSD.

"Blade, we're clear out here. How copy?"

The radio is silent for a moment and he knits his brows.

"Blade, how copy?"

"Clear, but no sign of Kano," Sonya sounds irritated. Whether it's with his actions or the lack of Kano, he has no idea. Her obsession with the Black Dragon clan leader is lost on JJ; it drives her as if she is captain Ahab and he the white whale.

"Rog. Falcon is pulling out, we'll see you on the ground," JJ makes his way to the cockpit once more and turns to face the crew, "Good work, boys. We'll be back in time for dinner."

"Let's get this bird home."

[p0is0n-is-th3-cur3]

I tried to find a specific post on your blog but got met with:

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

Rats, gimme rats, gimme rats I don't need it, but I'll sell what you got Take the cash and I'll keep it Eight rats to the wall Hit the gas, kill 'em all And we crawl, and we crawl, and we crawl You be rat

I’m cackling like a manic💀

[adiduck]

I believe in you Adi! Stay strong 💪

trope: space opera

first sentence: "I have everything under control."

Thank you, Brigit!!! I think you're gonna bring me over the minimum I had to hit today!

(Everyone else, thank you for your contributions! I'm definitely going to come back to them when I'm next stuck. So... probably tomorrow LOL)

"I have everything under control."

Ice looked over the smoking dashboard, the blaring red notifications on all of the screens, out to the Imperial star fighters bearing down on them.

"Really," he said -- not a question.

"Really," Mav snapped, as he started evasive maneuvers, barely avoiding blaster fire and diving down and under their pursuers -- too fast, and close, Ice knew, for the Imperials to pivot and follow them without slamming straight into them in the process.

Ice grit his teeth, very purposely did not unfold his arms. "You realize that the star destroyer we are trying to avoid is in that direction," he drawled, and Mav made a noise of frustration, reversed thrust to shoot backwards back in the direction they'd been fleeing in as the fighters managed to bank around to chase them. They scattered as Mav nearly smacked straight into them, giving Mav time to flip himself around and keep going, straight into the ring of the gas giant they'd been trying to lose pursuit around.

"You could try to help," he said, as he dodged a large body of ice and dust, sliding in between two more and diving further down towards the planet.

"I thought you had everything under control," Ice fired back. In front of him, the weapons system gave another buzz, electricity arcing around it. Behind them, their pursuers had also entered the ring. Mav took another graze to their right shield in order to dodge some more debris, swooping down close enough to the gas giant that yet another warning joined the chorus.

"If we get caught in this thing's gravity, it's going to kill us," Ice pointed out.

"I know that," Mav shouted. "I know what I'm doing!"

"Do you know what you're doing, or do you want help?"

"Ice!"

Another volley of blasterfire. Their right shield went down completely, the alarms screaming in warning as Mav weaved back up and into the ring, spun around the debris as gracefully as a dancer, cut straight past an imperial close enough it dodged straight into another fighter.

Ice relented.

"Fine," he said, and held out a hand, closing his eyes as he reached for the circuits beneath his fingers, searching for the wires that were cut and carefully, carefully grasping them, bringing them slowly together and wrapping them, carefully, in their own casings--

The weapons stopped fritzing.

"Finally," Mav snapped, and swung them back around again. "Do us both a favor and shoot these motherfuckers."

Ice opened his eyes, hands finding the controls without having to look. "Point me at 'em," he said.

And then the real fun began.