#reblog to give blade a chicken tender

[shepherds-of-haven]

had a dream that Blade was in his feels, but then he tried a chicken tender for the first time and he felt a little better. (he specifically rated it a 7/10)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XIX

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, violence, attempted assault, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader finds herself at an impasse.

Note: Things are heating up and we're starting to go full force over here <3

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Days passed in idle anticipation. You kept Elina locked up with you and she grew more restless by the hour. When Lord Zemo came at night, she was happier but your sense of dread and impatience only grew. When the retinue arrived, you only wanted them to leave, but knowing who was roaming just floors below, you were anxious to strike first.

The baron was ever the voice of sense. Zemo was no beacon of morality, you knew that, but his honesty made him respectable. You considered how blatant he was in his intentions as compared to those other noblemen who painted their bad deeds as gifts. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely trustworthy but he didn’t trying to make you think otherwise.

You did your best to keep your daughter occupied with her many toys and quiet songs hummed out of tune. You bounced her on your hip as best you could with your cane in your other hand and crawled around with her like a dog. She was only calm when she slept as she longed for the sunlight that taunted her through the window.

You began to wonder how long the men would stay; how long you would be expected to stay hidden. Zemo mentioned vengeance and you dreamt of it every night. It was the only thing that kept you from quaking in fear and panic.

Tess brought your dinner and you placed it on the low table and sat on the floor with Elina and ate. You gave her tiny morsels to chew on or toss back at you. She was an energetic kid, stubborn and strong, and seemed to find fun in even the most dull tasks. You hoped she would grow up to be happier than you. Surely, she’d be more bold and more blessed.

As you chewed on some chicken, you heard that familiar knock on the door. Tess always gave a tiny tap and called through the wood but Zemo always gave that rhythmic beating. It was the latter, he was early that day. It made you worry as you left Elina to squeeze a piece of sweet potato and stood with your can dug into the wood.

You crossed to the door and turned the latch slowly. You opened the door and leaned heavily on the wooden stick, “well, you are earl--” your voice hung in the air as you stared at the familiar face, though it wasn’t Zemo.

You pushed the door but the man caught it and kept it two inches from the frame as he came closer. Peter’s hand trembled as he clung to the wood and gaped at you. He shook his head and blinked dumbly. The two years had given his face character and his shoulders a little more width.

“You’re alive?” he breathed.

“You can’t-- you have to go,” you pushed the door with a grunt, “please, go.”

“I thought… I thought you were dead,” he croaked, “I thought I--”

“Go away. Please!” you begged, “I can’t talk to you.”

“Or you won’t talk to me?” he challenged as he shoved his foot between the door and the frame, “how--”

“How did you find me?” you gasped.

He lowered his eyes and guiltily and clamped his lips shut. He sniffed and looked at you again, “I thought Zemo was hiding something from us. I followed him last night and listened… I couldn’t hear anything, I only saw him come here and knock.”

“No one else can know,” you said, “you can’t-- please go and don’t tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t but-- I want to talk to you,” he insisted.

“You can’t. It’s too dangerous,” you argued, “you must go. If Zemo discovers you--”

“I don’t care if he does. Don’t you understand, I--I-- I thought I killed you.”

You were silent as you stared into his face. You saw the pain in his eyes, the shock laced with relief. But it was all tinted with the guilt he’d carried since that day. The false guilt you’d given him.

“I’m sorry, Peter, it was the only way out--”

“My aunt cried everyday for you and she never let me forget what you said to me. I never could forget,” he hissed.

“I know, but you have to--” Elina made a noise as she came over and clung to your leg, smearing food down your skirt. Peter looked at her and his lips parted in surprise, “no one can know about her.”

He nodded and gulped. He looked up and down the corridor. “I wouldn’t tell but I can’t go until we talk, I…” his voice cracked, “I need to tell you I was wrong. I lied.”

“El,” you bent to wipe her face and lifted her, “please, stay here,” you bid Peter as you turned and hobbled across the room.

You placed her in her cot, thought she only began to fuss, but you shoved a stuffed caribou into her hands and left her to poke its eyes. You went back to the door and found Peter staring at your cane.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “that’s my fault,” he nodded to the cane, “and that,” he looked to the scar down your face, “I saw it. I tried to follow you that day but I wasn’t fast enough and you were--”

“No, it wasn’t you. I said it was because I could. I couldn’t tell the man who made me do this so I told you instead. That was unfair and unkind,” you blinked away tears, “and I hurt more than just myself.”

He mulled your words and picked at his sleeve. He dressed finer than the last you’d met, “I didn’t mean what I said to Barnes. You were sweet to me and my aunt told me what you were, he told me you were worse, but I didn’t truly care. I only knew he was hurting you and I was making that worse so I thought if I stayed away, he’d stop.”

“No one can stop him. No one. Those men, they cannot be stopped. They are evil in the flesh, they are borne to greed and cruelty. They only see what they can get, not what they can give because they won’t ever be denied--”

You heard a clamor, the pounding of footsteps from the stairway, and the frantic breathing of whoever was approaching. You opened the door further and pulled Peter inside. You shut the door and leaned against it with him as you listened and watched through the crack.

“Away, away,” you heard Melinda’s airy pleas as she swept past your door, “please, sir, away!”

“I just want to play a little game,” the deep voice made your blood curdle then the realisation of what he was doing made it boil even hotter. You gripped your cane as Peter frowned at you, “come here, pet, I don’t bite.”

Melinda squeaked as Lord Rogers’ footsteps slowed and you heard the struggle that followed. The muffled collision of her body against the wall, the small girl’s broken breath as it was knocked from her, and his lewd growl as he pounced.

You pushed Peter away from you and tore open the door. They were closer than you thought. Just against the wall opposite your room. Lord Rogers’ body shielded the girl’s body almost entirely. You raised your cane without a second thought and brought it down on his shoulders.

As he exclaimed and staggered, you hit him again, the time in the back of the head. You swooped your cane down and banged his knees so that he fell onto the stone. You hit him again in the side as he wheezed and you stood over him.

“Bastard! Bastard!” you hit him as the young maid and the other lord watched in shock, “how dare you? You beast!”

Peter grabbed your arm and stopped you as Rogers rolled onto his back and coughed. He groaned as he reached to his head and you were pulled away from him. You struggled with Peter as you wanted badly to hit him again.

“Melinda,” you said as you struggled, “go fetch the baron. Now!”

She skittered off like a mouse, careful to tiptoe around Rogers as he sat up and gripped his right shoulder where you’d hit him. He chuckled as he looked up at you. He grinned beneath the trickle of blood on his lips.

“Oh, well, what a treat this is,” he mocked, “the whore lives.”

“You’re vile,” you snarled, “I should bash you like the snake you are.”

“Parker,” he spoke to the man at your side, “hold her for me.” He grunted as he pushed himself up and stumbled a little on his feet, “let us remind her of who she is… oh, Barnes might come out of his rooms for this.”

He reached to his belt but Peter let you go. You looked over at him and he crossed his arms and shrugged. You gripped your cane tight and swung it again. The strike caught Lord Rogers across his chin and the next in the tender flesh of his side. You jabbed his chest so he was again on his back but he could barely get his arms up to keep away the storm of blows.

When he was limp and prone before you, you slowly lowered the cane. You quivered as you stared down at what you’d done. His breaths came in rattles. You leaned on your right leg as your left shook and you lifted the carefully carved stick.

You pulled the silver topper until it dislodged and revealed the long silver blade. Peter caught your wrist as you raised the dagger.

“Don’t, it’ll change you. It’ll make you as bad as him,” he whispered.

You looked at him and your hand shook. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks and you heard Elina murmuring, louder and louder as she wondered where you were. You sheathed the knife and plunked your cane down on the stone.

Footsteps drew you back to the end of the corridor as Zemo appeared from the stairwell. His face dropped as he saw you standing over Rogers. He took a breath but did not look angry.

“Well, I did hope to delay this a little longer,” he said as he approached, “but that Rogers was ever the petulant pest.”

“I’m sorry, he--”

“Oh, I can guess at it,” he nodded to Melinda as she followed meekly behind him, “I’d have done it myself if I had the displeasure of witnessing his lechery.” He came up to Peter and stopped, “but I will do what I must.”

“He won’t hurt us,” you said, “Peter… isn’t like them.”

“But he is loyal to his kingdom,” he pointed at Peter’s chest harshly.

“I am a viscount. Not a duke or earl even. I serve men like that on the floor because I have to, not because I want to,” Peter countered, “I have no lealty to the men who leave women like this.” He looked at you and bowed his head, “but I will admit I am not innocent of it.”

Zemo looked at you and stilled your hand as it was still shaking. "Do you vouch for him, lady?"

"He is a good man. If anything, I have drawn him unjustly into this mess," you said, "I knew you wanted to wait longer--"

"No use in apologies," Zemo grasped your shoulder and squeezed, "this stalemate would not have lasted forever. I am not entirely unprepared."

Elina began to bawl and Zemo brushed past you. He returned with her in his arms, rocking her until she quieted. He cradled her cheek with a mournful gaze and his lips curved for just a moment.

"Be quick, we must leave before the moon. We will move the lord out of the corridor and be away before they can discover him," he said, "by the morning, the castle should be empty but for our foreign visitors and it will take them some time to return to their home with news of such catastrophe."

"Is he dead?" you asked as you looked at Rogers' boots.

"An ox like him? Not yet, just annoyingly on the precipice," Zemo replied, "if we're fortunate, he'll have some lingering detriment but we cannot kill him. That would be an unforgivable mistake."

You heard a grumble and a croaky chuckle. Zemo turned and you looked down on the dazed duke.

"That is a beautiful girl," Lord Rogers rasped, "looks like her father."

Zemo's pupils turned to pinpoints and he handed you Elina. He bent and knocked Rogers across the cheek so that his head bounced off the stone. The baron shook out his hand as he stood straight and his nostrils flared.

"Lord Parker, was it?" He looked to Peter, "help me move him. We haven't time to spare."

[rebelwrites]

Chapter Four: Red Put The Knife Down - Lola

As this is an original fic it is hard to tag, so I’d really appreciate it is you reblogged and shared with your friends and followers 🖤

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Falling For Red Masterlist

This Months Writing

“Maddox I swear on everything that is holy” I shouted “if you don’t get your fat ass off me I will shove the controller where the sun doesn’t shine and it won’t be pleasant”

“I don’t know Red, he might enjoy it” Nix smirked.

“Still not moving, she’s in my spot and she knows it” Maddox huffed. “It’s the best spot in the house”

“I don’t care, I'm not moving. I’m comfy now piss off” I smirked digging my elbow into his back making him growl.

My mood instantly dropped as Jacob strolled into the living room. The moment I saw his face I wanted to punch him, shoot him, stab him. He got under my skin and he fucking knew it. I think that’s why he was around so much because he was sick and twisted and more than likely got off to seeing me suffer.

“Blade what the fuck is your brother doing here?” I snapped, trying so hard not to reach for one of the many guns or knives hidden in this house.

“He is staying with us tonight” he said walking out the room.

“Did he just say what I think he said?” I asked, not to anyone in particular.

“I think he did Princess” Axel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew things would end in blood. It always did.

“Maddox get off me” I snapped, shoving him off me, causing him to land on the floor with a thud. He knew what was good for him so he stayed silent.

“Why do you do this to me Blade?” I growled following him into the kitchen. Yes take him to the places with all the knives

“You know I don’t like him” I spat trying to remain calm.

“You used to be nicer Lola” Jacob sighed.

The boys could hear everything from the living room. But they were talking so loud I could hear them.

“Please tell me I just didn’t hear him call her Lola?” Maddox said, his eyes were proballybudging out of his head right now and Axel and Phoenix were already on their feet. Either way this was the distraction I needed to grab a large and extremely sharp butchers knife from the block.

“She is so gonna kill him” Axel sighed as they ran into the kitchen.

“Red put the knife down” Phoenix roared. “I don’t wanna have to clean blood out of the grout again”

I didn’t say anything, I just smirked just taking a step forward, twirling the knife in my hand.

“Fuck it” Axel mumbled as his body slammed me into the ground. “Princess, give me the knife god damn it”

“No” I snapped “why should I?” Just let me stab him!

“Because you are gonna stab him” Axel snapped.

Well duh!

“Damn right I am” I snarled, thrashing about under his body weight, but he was twice my weight so it was a struggle, however I didn’t stop, I knew I could overthrow his power, especially when I was this angry.

“Guys, a bit of help here” Axel shouted over his shoulder.

I knew Axel was strong but when I was enraged this much it alway took at least three of them to restrain me.

Within minutes I was being pinned down, by Axel, Nix and Maddox as they prised the knife out of my grip.

“Now Princess if we get off you, you promise not to do anything stupid” Axel whispered brushing his knuckles across my cheek, trying to calm me down. Normally it would work but not today.

“Define stupid?”

“Nix grab her” Maddox nodded as he got off me.

The moment I wasn’t being pinned down, Nix threw me over his shoulder.

“Put me down asshole” I screamed as he carried me through the house and to my room. I didn’t stop thumping his back, and I knew I would be leaving bruises, not that you would ever see it through the amount of ink he had. It wasn’t until I was thrown onto her bed Istopped screaming.

“Right get changed” Nix growled, throwing some clothes at me.

“Why?”

“Just do as I say and I won’t punch you” he said biting his tongue. “Please” he whispered.

“Fine where are we going?” I asked quickly, changing into the clothes he tossed in my face.

“To blow off some steam in a way other than sex” Nix said more calmly tossing my running trainers at my face.

“So a run then” I said, shoving my feet into the shoes without untying the laces.

“Yuup” Nix nodded “don’t worry I won’t get you up at five am tomorrow”

Without saying a word I stormed out of the room, and stomped downstairs, growling with each step I took, they all needed to know how pissed off I was.

“He best not fucking be here when I get back” I shouted pulling the front door open “if he is you will have a body to dispose of”

The front door slammed behind me, leaving the house in a deathly silence.

As soon as I got home, I stormed downstairs to the basement. I was still extremely pissed off and needed to punch someone or something. So I did the next best thing and was going to beat the shit out of a punch bag.

“Fucking piece of shit”

“No one calls me Lola”

“Lola was weak”

“Lola was pathetic”

“Lola is fucking dead”

“Princess” Axel whispered standing behind me.

“What” I growled, spinning around, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Brought you a drink” Axel smiled holding the bottle of water in the air.

“Thanks babe” I nodded, taking the bottle from him.

Axel didn’t say anything as he wrapped his arms around me placing a tender kiss on the top of my head.

“Stop it” he whispered “stop thinking of the past. It’s just gonna make you angrier”

“I can’t Ax” I mumbled resting her head against his shoulder. “It just reminds that I can’t run from the feeling of being weak and pathetic”

“We shall have less of that thank you” Axel said lifting my chin so he was looking into my green eyes. “You are far from weak and definitely not pathetic. Princess you are one of the best agents in this house and you give us all a run for our money”

“But-“

“Nope, not listening” he smirked “now come on come back upstairs, you know it’s movie night”

“Is he still here?” I asked.

“No, he and Blade have gone out” Axel smiled.

“I don’t want to, I want to stay down here,” I nodded. I knew I was acting like a child that had just been told no, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to leave the home gym. At least I could punch things down here.

“Not even if I’ve told you I’ve ordered a Chinese?” He smirked, raising his brow at me knowing full well I would never turn down a Chinese.

“Did you order that crispy shredded chicken I like?” I asked, dropping my guard, reconsidering my options.

“I ordered three boxes of it” he smirked. “So are you coming back upstairs?”

“Do I get cuddles?” I pouted making him laugh.

“Yes Princess you get cuddles” Axel smiled.

“Deal”

Axel couldn’t help but smirk as he threw his arm around my shoulder as they headed back upstairs.

Yes I am a trained killer, I was deadly and a complete badass. But I also lived for cuddles off my boys and only they got to see the softer side of their Red.

@chibsytelford @everyhowlmarksthedead @talicat713 @little-diable @band--psycho @mrsmarvelous1995

[flightofaqrow]

Favorite Musings Challenge!

As writers, we’re usually our own worst enemy. However, there are times where we just read over something we wrote and acknowledge “Oh…that’s good.” and you may or may not end up restructuring the whole reply to fit that one line just cause it was so good, and you spend hours trying to make it work haha…ha.

Anyways, go through a few of your threads/replies/drabbles/any piece of writing you got. Pick out 5 of your favorite lines that you’ve written for your character(s), and in turn tag 5 (or however many others you want) to do the same!

Repost, don’t reblog. And I’m linking my threads to where these lines came from but you don’t have to do that!

tagged by: @caeloservare ( ty sm ;w; )

tagging: @scatterose​  @veritasqui​ @brokenclockwork​ @esperhuntress​ @sundragcn​ @littleblackqrow​

I’m doing more because I wanted different facets displayed and I couldn’t choose, and I actually really like a lot of what I put out or I wouldn’t be here, so let me have a moment to promo myself I guess.

1

he doesn’t deserve to live.

but he never has. not really. a curse to himself and everyone around him.

and yet live he does.

qrow branwen. the huntsman.

since before Ruby and before Yang and before Ozpin and STRQ and despite Raven and anybody else, qrow has always lived and always survived, and always tried to outweigh the good he does in the world with that life from the bad, even if he makes a mess of it at times. he will fight to the bitter end to protect people, because that’s his job, and that’s who he is.

he gets up when knocked down. he builds things knowing they may fall. he takes flight when things feel too heavy. he reaches out for hope when sky is full of flames and clouds. he makes himself more capable when the odds stack against him. he insists on remaining motivated by compassion when the world is cruel.

2

Yang has been accepted to beacon. Ruby will be joining her in early acceptance.

they’re going to huntresses. they’re going to join the war against Salem, under Oz, and they don’t even realize exactly what they’re signing up for besides some vague notion of, heh… making the world better.

in some ways he believes it’s not even possible. in some ways it must be, because those girls sure as hell make his world better at least.

this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel.

his head yells loudly that this shouldn’t be a surprise, he taught them for this very reason; he taught them well; he did all he could to prepare them, and it’s fine, it’s probably fine; he should be proud, encouraging. his heart knows the more they’re built up the more there is to lose; the better they are the more dangerous the whole world becomes, and that world has more to lose too, and it’s not fine, it’s not fine at all when beautiful children born on a beautiful, peaceful island have to take up arms as if they should have to earn their place in this life with violence. if he’s being honest, he wants better for them. always has.

truth hits him via the throb of vasodilation. pounding him from inside out like a headache, like a heartache.

there is no soothing burn in his throat like anger he can turn into a weapon to point at threats, other than what he’s already been fighting. there is only love for his nieces, his family, fear of history repeating itself as rose petals drift away in the wind, never to return. and there is every reason he fights clawing in the pit of his stomach trying to tear apart every shred of hope he has left like his own personal grimm. he can love all he wants, but he cannot protect them from choosing their own path, even it follows all of his generation in bloody footprints.

he can barely claim allowance to feel this way. he’s not their father. and he’s too chicken shit to even go to the man who is and talk this out and commiserate.

he can only watch.

at least that’s something he’s good at.

watching.

3

qrow stretches himself out in the corner of a great big wooden frame at the top of beacon tower. work done, report given, he sinks into the windowsill to stay awhile. he watches the students coming and going down in the courtyard (happy and giggling under a cloudless sky - helping each other and teaching each other); listens to the scratch of Ozpin’s pen on paperwork; smells and tastes the whiskey from his flask; basks in the burn of it and the sun’s rays streaming in.

everything is beautiful, so beautiful from up here, in a place doing so much good. 

it’s terrifying.

peace. a fragile thing, holding steady for now, like the glass he leans on.

but, oh, how easy it would be for one wrong move to make it shatter.

he scoots just the tiniest bit away and frowns, long limbs carefully curling in around themselves.

4.1

somehow even when Clover can see it, he’s not nearly as harsh of a judge as qrow is on himself. he struts right up and into that darkness with him, unafraid, unashamed, eyes never breaking their lock with his own. his gaze is not piercing like a point into his soul; no, it is worse. it is open and wide and forgiving, like the full spread of a hot meal on a dinner table after a cold night; it does not intrude, but beckons, calls qrow out and asks for him to step into the offered space all on his own.

...

Clover reminds him how to be seen, and how to be close, and how to balance strength and weakness. even as he holds him, he still watches him. like the man casts some damn sort of spotlight, or a searchlight in the night qrow couldn’t ever outrun even if he wanted to.

qrow can’t stand those scrutinizing eyes.

…because it means Clover cares.

he is not used to that much light in his life.

he is very used to lights going out around him.

he somehow always chooses to hold on to that light as long as he can, as he does now - head resting in the curve of Clover’s shoulder, spine straight in his embrace, pressure on his feet lighter. he will follow it, and fight for it, and dare himself to hope the world can be better if people can just

work

together.

4.2

Clover could do it. he had every capability, desire, and permission. he could do it over, and over, and deeper and deeper, and qrow would become every bit as addicted to it as his tendencies would have him cling. qrow wouldn’t stop him. not keep him from running into a burning, collapsing building ill-equipped to build a home of, if that is what he chose to do.

but qrow is a vagabond, even if no longer a spy. he is chaotic weaponry, cheap tactics, feral feathers, meant to be unbound and unburdened. he cannot invite him in. he cannot, in good faith, make tender promises to the poster child of the atlas military.

5

his mind is already a pinwheel, calculating and recalculating based on the briefest of interactions. how to not ask too much of this person. how to keep Ruby safe while still trying to get help or at least information for her. he knows how to pluck gently at small pieces until they come together, drop pebbles into a glass carefully until the water rises to the top.

6

it’s not raven’s hands that give her away, but her eyes. eyes so familiar in appearance and expression he may as well be looking in a mirror. that’s how it had always been. had been.

...

all the barbed wire around his heart squeezes, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s another trap.

but no matter the anger, no matter how he wants to turn and run himself, to fly off into the distance and just forget her forever, that would also fly in the face of everything he stands for - everything Oz fought for, and Oscar promotes in his stead: sit down and talk.

…and if he’s honest, carrying around the hole in his heart where his sister belongs hurts worse than letting her fill it right back up with blades of betrayal ever could.

7.1

qrow finds comfort in some change right about now, meandering the streets, satiating wanderlust in his down time, with few other idle desires left to choose fulfillment from. distraction through exploration.

...

he notes more bars than bookstores around these blocks.

qrow hangs his head, holds onto the familiar weight of Harbinger on his back, and newly-shined black boots kick an empty bottle on the sidewalk out of his way.

just keep walking, qrow. obstacle by obstacle, step by step.

keep moving forward.

7.2

qrow cries because there’s nothing left to do, and nowhere left to hide, and this is what life is like. thinking. feeling. caring. crawling out from his hiding places and into an intensity he’s never known. like he’s been dim-witted his whole forty years on this planet and only now understands what it means to be bright. so bright it burns more than any whiskey or abrasion or scathing look or cruel name he’s ever had.

nothing slows and it doesn’t stop, and he can’t keep the tears from falling just like his heart sinks. he cries like he’s trying to fill that broken bottle right back up, but that’s not possible now, there’s no structure, no end point for that pain, and sometimes you just have to let the broken parts go.

[super-not-naturall]

Dine and Dash

SPN Fanfic

-In an attempt to find a connection, Y/N and Sam have a conversation over lunch but run into some trouble along the way.-

(Eventual) SamxReader

2,706 Words

Warnings: Canon Supernatural violence, some jealousy, a mean waitress, some judging of John Winchester’s parental capabilities.

A/N: This is part 5 of Poisonous Soul! I cannot believe I’ve already posted 4 parts to this story. It’s insane the amount of love and support I’ve been given by you guys and I just want you to know that it does not go unseen. I see you every time you like something, or reblog it, or add a tag or comment - and I am so thankful for each and every one of you. (Okay, I’m done being an emotional mess.) As always, feedback is appreciated!

*I do not own any supernatural character and/or gifs I use

The drive to the Diner is filled with comfortable silence as Sam focuses on the street signs. Classic rock floats through the car’s speakers at a low volume and every once in a while, Sam will speak up to get further directions.

“Is this it?” His voice pulls my eyes away from the passing trees to the small diner sitting on the corner of the street.

“Yeah, this is it.”

Brother’s Diner is quiet today, there are only two other cars in the parking lot and none of them from this century. Dean’s Impala fits in nicely.

The bell rings above my head as I open the door, signaling mine and Sam’s entrance to the waitress.

A woman diverts her attention from an elderly couple and gives us a wide smile, “You can sit wherever you’d like, sweetheart.”

Her gaze lingers on Sam longer than I’d like, and I begin to wonder if the sweetheart was for him or me.

Grabbing Sam’s elbow, I lead him to a small booth on the other side of the dining room where we would have a little bit of privacy.

“Is it always this empty?”

I shrug my shoulders and slide into the booth, ignoring how the lumpy cushion beneath me does nothing to make my seat more comfortable.

“I don’t come very often.” I reply, picking a menu up off the table, “I’m usually too busy with school and work.”

I scan through the lunch options, but the only thing that sounds good to me right now is a plate of French fries.

“Hi, my name is Kathy, and I’ll be serving you today.” The waitress’ chipper voice announces from beside me. “What can I start you off with today?”

I look up to find that her eyes are focused on Sam who is still looking through the laminated menu in front of him.

“Sam?” I prompt, giving his leg a slight nudge from underneath the table.

He glances up and gives the waitress the most adorable smile I have ever seen, “Uh, sorry. I’ll just have a water for right now.”

I wish I could roll me eyes at the way Kathy is swooning, but seeing Sam flustered is cute as all hell and I’m practically melting into the cracked, pleather seat across from him.

“What about you, Y/N?” Sam asks, obviously trying to take the attention away from him.

“Oh, I’ll have a Mountain Dew.” I smile at Kathy, but I don’t get as nice of a look as Sam did.

She sashays away from our table, obviously putting more sway in her hips than I would think is comfortable.

“So tell me about yourself.”

“What?” I turn my attention back to the beautiful man in front of me.

Sam is smirking, seemingly amused with the way I can’t focus on anything for more than two seconds.

“Tell me your story. I figure the best way to find some type of connection is to see if any part of our lives matches up.”

“That makes sense,” I nod, trying not to laugh at how this feels like an awkward first date. “Well, my life is really boring. I grew up in a small town in upstate New York where the cows outnumber the people. Went to the same high school with all the same people, graduated and haven’t spoken to them since.” I pick at the nail polish on my thumb while trying to think of something more to say, “Uhh, my parents are still together, living their happily ever after as a maintenance supervisor and a social worker.”

“Social worker?” Sam saves me from trying to think of something else to add to my uneventful life, “Is that why you’re getting your social work degree?”

“Partly.” I shrug, “I mean, I guess it was probably a huge factor on how I was raised and how I turned out, but even if my mom was a plumber, I think I’d still feel this huge need to help others.”

Sam’s lips curl up into a bright smile, “I understand that. A lot of what Dean and I do is to help people.”

I open my mouth to respond, but am interrupted by the clanging of glasses as Kathy sets down our drinks, followed by a not-so-subtle glare in my direction.

“So what can I get for you, Sammy?” Kathy twirls her black locks around her finger and pouts her lips slightly.

Sam clears his throat, looking as awkward as I’m feeling right now. “It’s Sam,” He informs her with a tight smile, “and I’ll just get a salad.”

“What type of dressing?” She leans in forward, making sure to give Sam every opportunity to stare at her chest.

If there wasn’t a small pit in my stomach filled with jealousy, I might be laughing at the ridiculousness of our situation.

“Doesn’t matter,” He says, clearly looking uncomfortable.

“I’d like the chicken tenders and French fries with honey mustard sauce,” I say, trying to distract her from Sam for a couple seconds. “And make sure there are a lot of fries; I love fries.”

Her blue eyes assess me for a second before muttering, “Obviously.”

I feel my jaw physically drop as she walks away from our table.

“Well, she’s not getting a tip,” Sam speaks up, his eyes shining a tiny bit brighter than normal.

There’s a silent beat between us before we both crack up laughing.

It takes a couple minutes for us to settle down, and I have to wipe the tears from my eyes before saying anything else.

“Does this happen to you often?” I ask, looking towards the waitress who is now leaning against the counter giving me the stink eye.

“What? Rude waitresses?” Sam takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs, “Doesn’t it happen to everybody?”

“That’s not what I meant, Sammy,” I smirk, but he just rolls his eyes in response.

“It happens sometimes, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable again. I can’t help but find that sheepish grin of his so damn attractive, making me wonder if I’m just as bad as the waitress.

I decide to save Sam the embarrassment and steer the conversation away from the waitress ogling him from afar.

“So what about you? What’s your story, Sam Winchester?” I stir the ice in my drink; a habit I formed when I was younger and haven’t been able to shake. Whenever someone sets a cup down in front of me, my hands instantly go to the straw for something to play with; it’s probably a bit unsanitary if I’m being honest with myself.

“I was born in Kansas, but I don’t remember much of it. Our mom was killed when I was a baby and Dad became obsessed with finding the thing that killed her, so Dean and I grew up hunting.” Sam had mentioned before that he had been raised as a hunter, but he never went into detail; not like this.

“It was too dangerous to settle down somewhere, so we practically lived in cheap motels and the Impala.” Sam lets out a bitter laugh and shakes his head. He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

I hesitantly reach out and place my hand over his; when he doesn’t pull away, I let my fingers intertwine with his.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I say with a grimace, trying to imagine what it would be like not having a stable place to live. I’ve lived in the same house for 21 years, my parents always providing me with a safe place to stay and food to eat; I couldn’t even begin to understand what Sam went through as a child.

He gives me a sad smile and shrugs, “It wasn’t all bad; I had Dean. He basically raised me, actually.”

But he shouldn’t have had to, I want to say, but I just nod and take a sip of my soda.

I don’t know Sam well enough to start pointing fingers at his father, especially when I don’t know the whole story.

I look towards the jealous waitress in search of our food but find that she isn’t anywhere in sight. Instead, a lanky redhead stands in her place, blowing a pink bubble and keeping her eyes trained on our table.

I want to believe that maybe this new waitress has taken over Kathy’s tables and is scoping out her customers, but her stare is too intense and I’ve learned not to ignore the feeling in my gut.

“Sam,” I turn to the hunter and smile as if nothing is wrong, “that waitress is freaking me out.”

He doesn’t even glance in her direction, just nods.

“I noticed her too,” He informs me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a twenty-dollar bill, “I think it’s time to leave.”

He leaves the money on the table and begins scooting out of the booth, but before he can stand to his full height, the redhead is there.

“Leaving so soon, sugar?” She has a thick, southern drawl and is smiling just a bit too much to be normal.

“My friend is sick.” He points at me, not too far off from the truth.

My chest is tight and my stomach is twisted in knots; I may actually end up vomiting on the tile floor.

She wouldn’t attack us in front of other people, would she?

Her cherry red lips curl into a smile that does more to set me on edge than comfort me.

I look back over to Sam whose jaw is set tight in defiance, his body rigid and yet ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.

Her eyes dart between Sam and me, seemingly weighing her options in her mind: let us go or attack.

Her decision is made as the black in her pupils bleed out, spreading to make even the whites of her eyes the same color as tar.

She reaches her hand out as if to touch me, but Sam is on her, already anticipating her actions.

The patrons of the diner turn their heads in time to see the red-headed demon rake her nails across Sam’s face, breaking open the skin and drawing blood.

Sam’s lips lift slightly as he lets out a snarl, drawing a blade out of his pocket and lunging toward her.

Her high-pitched laugh fills the diner as she flicks her hand, sending Sam flying into a booth across the way.

The wooden tabletop snaps in half from the force of his body landing, producing a loud crack.

Sounds begin surrounding me: silverware clattering, screams, chairs hitting the floor, the bell ding-ding-dinging as innocents flee the scene, and yet I’m frozen in place.

“Did you really think you could beat me, Winchester?” The demon asks in an amused tone, “You? A human?” She barks out another laugh; I flinch at the sound.

Sam grunts, trying to fight whatever invisible force is pinning him to the ground. “What is this about?” He asks her, “Why are you here?”

“Oh, me?” She points to herself, strutting closer to him with a smile, “I’m just here for observation. Technically, Azazel said I shouldn’t come, but I’ve always been a rebel.”

Something flashes in the corner of my eye, dragging my attention away from the disaster unfolding before me and to a small, metal flask on the floor. The silver glints in the light, showcasing an engraved cross on the front of it.

Did that fall out of Sam’s pocket?

I bite my lip, looking back over to where the demon has Sam still under her control.

Will she notice me if I move?

I watch as she crushes the air in her fist, but Sam let’s out a guttural scream, sending all hesitation out the window.

Either she doesn’t notice me or doesn’t see me as a big enough threat to waste her time on, because I’ve got the flask in my hand and am unscrewing the cap.

I look inside, but it just looks like water to me.

What the hell, Sam?

Maybe the water will cause enough distraction that Sam can do something. . .

Fuck it, there’s nothing left to lose.

I face the demon, who has her back to me, and splash the water on her.

Smoke fills the air as if I’ve burned her with acid; she lets out a shrill scream and turns in my direction. I suddenly wonder if I may have made the wrong decision.

What the hell is in that water?

“YOU BITCH!” She snarls, but I just whip more water at her, hoping the first time wasn’t a fluke.

More smoke and screaming, this time I hear Sam reciting something in Latin from behind her.

She looks like a wild animal with her teeth bared and eyes wide; whatever Sam is doing must be working because she shudders and falls to her knees.

“WAIT!” She yells, turning her head to Sam, “I have information-”

Sam’s hazel eyes lift to meet mine, questioning whether he should continue or not.

I widen my eyes and hold up my hands in a gesture I hope translates to Don’t look at me, what do I know about this shit?

“What information?” His eyes drift back to the demon, stopping whatever Latin voodoo magic he was performing on her.

“I know what she is,” She gasps, looking towards me. “I know what she is to you.”

My heart stops.

This is it. This is proof.

This wasn’t a mistake. They don’t have the wrong girl.

I can’t hide anymore.

“What do you mean?” I speak up, earning a warning glance from Sam.

I ignore the bitch-face he is directing towards me and step forward, “What do I have to do with any of this?”

Her lips turn up in a cool smile, “What don’t you have to do with this?” She asks me, “You’re the most important pawn in this game . . .”

Sirens echo from outside, getting louder by the second.

Sam and I look at each other with matching panicked expressions; I cannot get arrested.

I’m about to say something along the lines of Hey, let’s get out of here before we get our asses thrown in jail for assault when the demon’s head tilts back at a sickening angle.

She opens her mouth wider than I would think is humanly possible, and I watch as thick, black, smoke forces itself from her body and toward the ceiling.

A soft thud pulls my attention to the waitress who slumped forward after expelling the last of the smoke, and has landed on her stomach.

“Sam?” I look up at him with wide eyes, worried that we might have just witnessed this woman’s murder.

Without saying a word, he crouches down and puts his fingers to her throat. His bangs obstruct my view of his face, but his body seems to relax just the tiniest bit before looking up at me and saying, “She’s still alive.”

Within seconds, he’s standing and his long legs are crossing the distance between us.

“We need to go. Now.” His hand takes mine and he leads me out of the diner and to the Impala, but I practically have to run to catch up with his stride.

It’s only after we have sped out of the parking lot and made it a safe distance away from the diner that I feel safe enough to speak up.

“Sam?” I ask him quietly, wary of the way his jaw is locked tight; barely resembling the soft and kind man who had sat in my room and held my hand earlier.

I reach out and softly touch his shoulder. He looks over at me in surprise, but I think I may be even more shocked than he is at my act. I have no clue what’s possessed me to do that, but for some reason, it just feels . . . right.

His features soften and he gives me a small smile, “Yeah, Y/N?”

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure what I could say right now that could fully explain everything I’m feeling.

I’m exhausted, scared, relieved, confused, and somewhere inside of me, there’s excitement as well.

I don’t tell him this, though. Instead, I just say the first thing that pops into my head.

“We never got those French fries.”

-Part 6-

Forever Tags:

@energeticallyem @27bmm @impala-dreamer @lipstickandwhiskey @jotink78 @babypieandwhiskey @wheresthekillswitch @notnaturalanahi @mysteriouslyme81  @mrswhozeewhatsis @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @keepcalmandcarryondean @sammy-moo @my-favorite-fiction67 @trexrambling @a-strange-world @mogaruke @keelzy2 @morganwinchester79

Poisonous Soul Tags:

@halfwaytoneptune @curlyblondexoxo @deaths-damn-fruit-basket  @messy-buns-and-shotguns @oneshoeshort