#their dad is also john coded.…..

[xoteajays]

maki and mori are sam and dean coded.

[girl-bateman]

How does one get assigned as sam coded / dean coded ? Do I need a doctors note ? A psych evaluation perhaps ?

[batcavescolony]

S1 E11 Supernatural

Sam and Dean and their relationship with John. It's interesting the difference between them, Sam will stand up to John, wants to do what he wants and will fight for it. Dean on the other hand doesn't stand up to John, has accepted that John's way is how he's gonna live and isn't fighting it. look at Sam on the phone vs Dean, Sam is fighting John, wants John to talk to him, want answers and refused to take down the names John was telling him. Then Dean got the phone and he basically snapped to attention, he call John 'Sir' he took the names down and went to where he was told. The difference in them even though they were raised together!

On to the Episode, I liked Deans reaction to Sam stealing a car 'That's my boy!'. Idk about this girl she's after them for some reason but her blood boss told her to not take them. Sam kinda fell for this girls story which is a bit too much like his, like I definitely think she tailored it to get to him. Sam is a bit more empathetic towards people and that's good but sometimes it's bad, like this case she coulda killed him. it's nice to see Dean is competent on his own, we get to see him doing this case on his own and while it's easier with Sam, Dean can still handle himself. He definitely thinks his Dad is the best though with his comments on how John put together the missing people and the town. I wonder if we'll get an episode to see Sam truly on his own on a case to see how he works without Dean. But you can definitely see the brothers know each other, Sam knowing Dean would pick up if he called so he knew something was wrong. Just they're separated this episode so it let's you see them a bit more.

[diximixy]

Yeah disabled characters aren't people they are objects, things to protect and/or look up to. You are "brave" for enduring pain, not that you have a fucking choice in that by the fucking way.

It has to be eighter inconsequential or pretty for that matter as well. No uglyness no pain no loss of emotional regulation...be a pretty and greatfull, greatfull that you are allowed to breath.

this is usually the type of thing i'd keep to my sideblog, but. no. this rant is going on main.

this has already been said many times, but i'll say it again: the culture and portrayal of disability in media and fandom is one of crude dismissal, and it's a reflection of widespread real-world attitudes towards disabled people.

i, personally, am really really sick of it.

from what i've observed, there are two types of disabled character (and, thus, two expectations or preconceptions of real-life disabled people): one who doesn't self-advocate, and one who does.

the disabled character who doesnt advocate for themself is either a sweet, pathetic, repressed little baby who cant make their own decisions and needs to be coddled, or they're a strong, noble, inspiration porn warrior who doesn't actually have it that bad because their disability is actually, secretly a superpower.

or... both. sometimes they're both.

on the flip side, the disabled character who does advocate for themself, in a way that is intrusive and productive and realistic, is either an out-of-touch, entitled asshole, or a dramatic, crazed hypochondriac. or both.

the self-sacrificial, people-pleasing disabled character will be praised and infantilized; they are deserving of respect, and they'll set the standard for what a disabled person should be; while the self-respecting, unapologetic disabled character will be mocked and vilified so long as there is proof of their disability being an inconvenience.

in any case, the character, or at least their disability, is misrepresented and dismissed. the amputee gets a completely functional and unhampering prosthetic. the deaf or blind character adapts all too well to a hearing or sighted world, and in fact develops enhancements to their remaining senses. the disfigured person, in the case that they're not a villain, has great kindness and talent, making their physical differences almost ignorable. the paraplegic makes a miraculous recovery, with no persisting symptoms. the autist, while difficult to interact with, is a savant and a genius. forget chronic pain or fatigue; that sort of issue is invisible, and thus irrelevant. and don't even think about mentioning conditions that impact one's hygiene, digestion, or continence.

ah, and don't forget, all of these things will be used as comedic relief.

it's a culture of overcompensation. disabled people, of course, have no inherent value as people, so their value has to be constructed, and their issues disregarded. we wouldn't want to make viewers uncomfortable, now, would we?

of course, this just speaks to a larger issue; society still expects disabled people to be small and inoffensive, to apologize for the realities of their condition. the ideal disabled experience as shown in media and culture is one of shame and insecurity, and the impact of one's disability on oneself is never nearly as relevant as the impact of one's disability on the world around them. disability is only representable so long as it is palatable to an abled audience, and it is only palatable so long as the enjoyment and novelty of viewing an idealized disabled story outweigh the discomfort of viewing a realistic disabled experience.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Okay this is so specific but I remember my mom telling me about this one time when we were getting our house renovated, and she found out that one of the workers was secretly sleeping in our home without consent. Obviously my mom freaked out and confronted him, and the guy started calling my mom every name in the book. She said my dad whipped around the corner so fast with me as an infant in his arms, talking about some “what the fuck did you just say to my wife?”

It’s SO 141-coded I think 😭 some asshole is rude to the missus or, God forbid, one of his children?! Papa Bear comes out. Has no problem bitch-slapping someone with his littlest baby cradled in his other arm.

All of this to say I think it’d be cool if you wrote something similar 🫶 Angry and protective 141 is so so so delicious to me

Oh hello mutual. Firstly, that's fucking crazy. But also, the transition into asking for protective dad!141 is perfection. They're defending their wife all while holding their infant child? Say less @frudoo! SAY LESS!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (mdni): swearing, dad!141, protective!141

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Like a dark beacon, John appears from around the corner. In his arm is a snoozing infant. She sleeps soundly; face pressed into his chest as he cradles her close to him.

“You’re supposed to be putting her down for her nap,” you say quickly as he starts walking toward you.

“I was,” he replies. John’s gaze slowly slides to the handyman in front of you. “Then I heard a raised voice.” As John approaches, his gaze narrows, a deadly bite in his eye that you’ve only ever seen when he’s truly upset.

“Just a minor disagreement,” you reassure.

“A minor disagreement?” he questions. John isn’t looking at you. He’s staring down the man in front of him. He shifts forward, partially blocking your view of the guy. “Why did you raise your voice at my wife?”

There is coldness in each word. A silent threat.

The man coughs. “I—I want—"

“Here’s the deal, mate.” John places his fingertips on the man’s chest, staring him in the face. “You apologize to my wife. And then you leave, yeah?”

The man opens his mouth and then thinks better of it.

John doesn’t smile. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“What’s this?”

Johnny appears from around the corner, striding into the living room from the kitchen. In one arm, he cradles your infant daughter. She slumbers, mouth open, head turned into his chest. He has a smile plastered on his face, but you can tell it’s forced. There is no pleasantness in that grin. He’s out for blood.

It takes Johnny all but a few strides before he’s standing between you and the handyman. The plumbing is shot, and the worker that was sent is grumpy and rude. He’s been gruff and overbearing.

“We were—”

Johnny cuts him off. “I know what you were doing. Wanna repeat what you said to my wife?” He’s still smiling, skin stretching as it widens. You step up to him, grasping his upper arm.

“Johnny,” you hiss. He ignores you.

The handyman does, and Johnny shakes his head. “Tone, too.”

The handyman remains silent, all the color from his face draining as he realizes his mistake.

Johnny nods in understanding. “Think it’s time to leave. Walk you to the door.” He clasps the man’s shoulder, fingers digging in as he escorts him out. The front door shuts. “I’m calling for a new plumber.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

A large shadow descends, blanketing the red-faced man before you. His narrowed, angry eyes turn toward the interloper and promptly widen. Whatever he intends to say next melts away in the presence of your husband. Simon is a looming figure. Imposing, even with your newborn infant daughter cradled in his big arm, sleeping softly as if nothing is the matter, and this pathetic excuse of a man didn’t just call you a slur.

“What the fuck did you say to my wife?” murmurs Simon, his voice cold and low.

There are only a few instances when you’ve heard Simon use this tone. You can count them on one hand.

“I—” he stammers, face growing redder. “She—”

“Careful,” growls Simon. “One wrong word and I’ll shove my fist so far up your arse it’ll come out your bloody throat.”

“With your kid in your arms?” the man splutters, spittle flying.

Simon leans in like he’s about to divulge a secret. “Won’t even wake her.”

It’s all bluster, and he quickly departs, removing himself promptly from the situation before anything escalates.

“Would you really?” you ask Simon once the man disappears.

“No,” replies Simon slowly. “But he didn’t know that.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s a familiar hand on your shoulder that stills your next retort. Warm and comforting and soothing in its pressure and reassurance. A signal to surrender, to allow your husband to take charge in this situation. You’ll happily allow it. With your blood pressure rising rapidly, you’re close to snapping and saying something you don’t mean. The man in front of you might be an asshole, but you’re not looking to make things worse.

Kyle gently guides you back, to stand behind him as he takes control. There are few instances where you’ve seen Kyle truly upset, but from the glint in his eye, you can tell he’s furious. For now, it’s suppressed, but one wrong move might send him swinging.

With your infant daughter cradled in one arm, Kyle addresses the man before him. “What did you say to my wife?”

The man visibly swallows. “Nothing.” He coughs. “Sir.”

Kyle inclines his head. “Thought so, mate.” His gaze narrows. “If you need anything you speak to me. Got it?”

The man nods. Kyle turns to you, softness returning to his features. Shifting the infant, Kyle presents her to you. “How bout you put her down? I’ll handle this prick.”

[iwatcheditbegin]

Not to harp on this but I still think some fans insistence that dear john isn’t about that man really minimizes some of the trauma she experienced at his hands

[grapejuicestyless]

The Things We Miss

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: There were only two rules between the Pogues. No Pogue on Pogue macking, and never mention the one we lost.

The chateau was littered with dry rot, and probably violated as many safety codes there were, hell, it probably created new guidelines just by standing, but it was home. It wasn’t legally anyones, no more did it belong to John B as it did to the rest of the Pogues. He could call it his childhood home, but so could JJ, right? If you spend all your time on the lap of another’s father, he becomes your dad too, right? He becomes more than the man who you wave to when you see to be polite. He teaches you how to fish, how to write, not to read cursive, he couldn’t even do that, but how to cook.

But maybe that was all just a perk, something to sweeten everything. Because truthfully it wasn’t the family, or his lack of family, or the house, or the food—though it was good, or the beer that kept JJ coming as often as he did.

It was her.

Y/n Routledge, a Pogue by heart, and a smile like gold.

Y/n was younger than John B, not by much. They didn’t even have a year separating them. They were irish twins, in the sense that their parents decided it would be best to try for kids as soon as possible after John B was born. Maybe it was the mother’s idea, maybe she knew she’d be leaving and she had to do everything she wanted as quickly as she could to escape faster. But John B figures it was just baby fever. So Y/n was ten months younger than John B, but never dumber, or slower, or calmer.

She was the center of everything. All things good, JJ believed happened because of her. Like she had a good luck charm that radiated onto the others. Though, she wouldn’t need it if she had, because JJ believed he was lucky enough to have her just breathing beside him anyway.

Maybe that’s why her passing was so hard for him, harder than it was for any of the other Pogues, even her own blood.

None of them would ever forget the night they lost her, John B had been suffering with the loss of his father, but Y/n seemed to power through like it was nothing. She hid the CPS documents from John B to keep him calm, payed the bills for him, and kept him fed and happy. She never cried. Never.

So imagine the surprise when they discovered the ghost of tears staining her face when the sun rose and they could finally see her, paled and cold.

They would never see her kind eyes again, or the smile that lit up every room. Her laugh wouldn’t echo through the chateau, and she wouldn’t rock the boat trying to wrestle Kiara for the last applesauce anymore. She was gone.

The hurricane was harsh. John B and Y/n had excitedly claimed it as a way to delay their CPS appointment, confident they would live another day on the island.

She didn’t want to surf the surge that night, she was scared. She begged her brother not to go, but when she saw the determination on his face, she grabbed her board and went with him. Because if anything were to happen, she’d pull him from the sea and drag him to shore if she had to.

The waves were restless, crashing onto the shore and knocking back anything littered behind. Y/n’s gut said don’t do it, but her best interest for her brother, and her JJ forced her feet into the waves.

It was fun at first, catching waves she never had before, laughing with JJ and John B, but soon it became too much, and when she wiped out, she went silently, her head coming down on a rock hard, and her board drifting away as she sunk into the soft sand below, the dark waters thrashing at her body, hiding the crimson that swirled around her.

She was scared, she was scared when the day started, and she was scared when she went. When the boys decided to call it quits, also unable to keep their balance, they called for her, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Y/n/n?” JJ had called out, wading back into the water quickly, only knowing the vague position where you had last been. “Y/n, come on, it’s not funny, seriously!” But the jokes had always been JJ’s thing, so only part of him held out hope she was only joking.

“I see her!” John B had called out, catching a glimpse of her hand underneath a softer wave, but maybe he wouldn’t have tried so hard, wasted so much energy, and carried her to shore if he knew just how late he was.

“Come on bird, come on.” He called her the nickname his father gave him, seeing lines of her paled face through the teary vision covering his eyes.

They preformed CPR, and JJ’s mouth met hers in a desperate attempt to wake her, he nearly broke her rib trying to restart her heart. He could feel the burning in his eyes, but he refused to cry over someone he believed he could save. When he dreamed of their first kiss, he never thought it would happen this way.

Y/n sputtered to life with a cough, rolling over to breathe, and the boys felt relief for the first time. They thought they knew the feeling, but now they truly did.

Y/n had a lot of fight in her, maybe that’s why she came back. But the darkness made it hard to see the blood staining her hair red, or how it dripped down the side of her neck as rain poured down on them. She laughed at something JJ had said, and she told him that she loved him as they limped along the path, and this time she seemed different about the way she was saying it. They didn’t know it just then that they hadn’t saved her, because she walked with her brother’s arm around her, but she fell into JJ’s when she collapsed.

“Y/n/n?” He asked, in a panic. He stumbled, but held her up, trying to brush the hair out of her face so he could see her. His palms came up red, wet with more than the salt water that consumed her. He swore as he sat on his knees, holding her head between his legs while John B kneeled above her.

“Come on, hold out a little longer okay?” He tapped his sister’s cheek, his fingers lined with the red that poured from her head. He silently prayed she was okay, that she was just weak from nearly drowning.

They whispered sweet nothings to her, because even with her eyes closed and her breathing shallow, they could feel it in the way she was tense that she was scared, scared even as she slipped away, as the life she cared for so much was ripped from her cruelly.

They cradled her close and lifted her head to press soft kisses to her cold skin. The boys hands were sticky with copious amounts of blood that didn’t belong to them. But still, they cradled her like their warmth was enough to undo what was done.

They laid her in bed when they got home. John B tucked her in like he had the first week their mother left, and like she had the first week after their father’s death. In the morning, her white pillow was stained red, and her body was unmoving, not even the faint rising of her chest from her breath could be seen. She was gone, and her red skin and streaky face told them that at some point as they laid her to rest, she had accepted it, she had cried and she had gone because it would be less painful than trying to stay.

JJ found her first in the morning. He screamed, and he punched a hole in the wall before crying on her lap. He positioned her arms to hold him one last time as he wept, John B rushing in only to break a lamp in grief, the weight of her death on his shoulders.

She was gone, and he blamed himself for dragging her out to a place she never wanted to go.

John B was left with the absence of his other half, and JJ was left with the regret of not holding onto her a little tighter before she passed. A sister, and the love of another’s life ripped from their hands under their noses. It made them equally sick.

“No, hell no!” JJ yelled, storming out of the sunroom in the chateau. The wood creaked under his heavy boots, which were caked in dust and stained from rain. There was a droplet of blood near one of the toes that he often focused on, a stain from a memory he wishes he didn’t have.

“JJ she can help us!” Pope called out for him, but his voice fell flat against the revving of his dirt bike.

“I don’t give a damn if she held up the sky with her pinky!” JJ yelled, tossing his bike in the dirt carelessly.

It wasn’t that JJ had a problem with the blond kook, like he had some personal vendetta against the Cameron girl, no, it was the way his best friend was looking at her.

He held a love in his eyes he hadn’t seen since the incident. A few weeks ago, it would have made him happy, he would have clapped a palm over his spine and laughed at how he hoped he would be next, but he would only half mean it because JJ was certain he had already found something to compare John B’s love sick stare to.

But now that was gone, and John B was looking at another girl like the most important person in their lives wasn’t gone. Like the red that still stained the sheets in a faint pink color wasn’t haunting the guest room that was once hers. The same room that John B had torn apart and made unrecognizable just hours after they took her away.

JJ kept her things though, selfishly, in a box under the bed. Her pictures and her stuffed animals, the bear that JJ had spent his first paycheck winning for her.

He slept in that room religiously now, clinging to the mattress like if he laid in it long enough, his body would find the indentation where her body used to curl up, like if he held onto her sheets for long enough, he could still smell her, and if he played her favorite CD’s, ones he used to tease her for liking because it was all girlish pop music mixed in with some dad rock and acid, he would hear her fading laughter one last time.

John B didn’t give a damn, he couldn’t care less, and that’s what made him mad. That someone he would have traded places for in an instant was gone and her own brother didn’t seem to care.

“JJ, calm down!” Kiara shouted aimlessly, scooting back when the screen door slammed open again and JJ’s boots slapped against the wood loudly.

“Do you not care?” He asked, venom on his tongue, and John B simply shot him a glare.

“Of course I care! I want this gold more than anything. Sarah can help us, I can’t help that love just…walked through the door!” John B spoke like there was nothing else that could possibly be getting under JJ’s skin.

He threw the ashtray that sat on one of the dusty tables outside, watching it shatter like his heart had. The pain was still fresh, and the loss even fresher. He still had her blood underneath his finger nails, and maybe thats what made him feel so sick.

“Who cares about the fucking gold!” JJ shouted, exasperated. “What about Y/n?”

His words earned gasps and loud silence from the group, his best friend’s mouth hung open in quiet understanding and also a deep grief that had a lingering anger.

“JJ, we said we wouldn’t talk about it.” Kiara warned quietly, eyes flickering between the boys.

“Y/n is dead, John B. Shes gone and shes never coming back, don’t you understand that?” JJ’s hands fisted at the collar of John B’s shirt, only letting go when Popes hands rested on his shoulders, yanking him back so hard they both stumbled backwards.

“Of course I understand that! She’s my sister, I loved her!” John B argued back, shoving JJ hard, but not getting much leverage as Pope had already pulled them apart.

“But you have no problem replacing her!”

The world seemed to fall quiet, even Sarah had nothing to say, though everyone around could tell she was trying to sympathize for a death of a girl she barely knew, someone she could only grieve through the stories she would eventually hear.

“None of you do!” JJ’s shouting died down into a pathetic cry, his lip wobbling and his eyes red. They all watched his nose scrunching to help with the stinging he felt travel down his face into the back of his throat. It only made it feel more real because if she had been there, she would have known how to make him feel better. But none of them did, and that was the hard truth.

“It’s like you don’t even care about her! You can’t even fucking say her name, it’s like…like it’s some poison for you guys. Y/n Routledge.” JJ sputtered on in an endless word vomit. “That’s her name and don’t ever forget it.”

JJ turned on his heels, pushing past Pope and brushing his shoulder hard. His boots kicked up the dirt behind them, but just like he always did, he had more to say.

“She was gonna be something great.” He declared, spinning on his feet, holding his hat she bought him in middle school between his clenched hands. “She said she wanted to make a difference, and I believed her. She was gonna be the one to make it out of here. She was gonna be something to someone!” He wanted to throw his hat down, but the thought of tarnishing something that she had once held made him sick.

“But that doesn’t matter, right? She’s dead. She’s dead because she was too busy saving all of our asses that she didn’t have time to save her own.”

He looked at his hands, the sight of the dried blood making him sick all over again. He sped off before anyone could say anything else, before they could see the way he turned green with grief and fought the urge to choke his vomit down just to see if it might work and he might see her again.

Instead, he sat on the beach. Between the grains of sand, there were some red blotches left on the ground. He kicked them around with his boot, not wanting to stare at the crime scene any longer. It was enough that a droplet was forever stained on his boots, and that it was tattooed into his skin.

When the tide was low, you could see the top of the rock that took her. It felt eerie because he had memories of her standing on that rock as a child. Pretending to be the little mermaid as the waves hit the shore, and promising her that one day he would get rich and buy her a real mermaid tail.

This was her favorite beach. The waves, the soft sand and the shady spots by the trees that hung over the edges of the land. Overtime, it grew to be JJ’s favorite beach too.

He knew he shouldn’t talk about her so soon from the accident. That John B was already torn up about the fact that he couldn’t afford a proper funeral, that Kiara’s parents had to buy her ashes so they could spread her in the sea, in the same waves that took her.

But not talking about it felt like failing her to JJ. To him, she was everything good in the world. A pure sweetness he wished he could have greedily taken more of. Because the truth is, JJ found love a hard thing to accept. He knew he loved his friends, even if he could never express it verbally, but he always knew he loved her. Part of him was glad that he had told her once that he did, love her.

Maybe she always knew, but he was glad he got it off his chest before she went, because at least that didn’t haunt him.

JJ swore he could feel her arms cradling him as the sun set, and he swore her laughter carried out through the winds that swept over the waves. She was as warm as the sun and as luminescent as the moon to JJ, and funny enough, as wild as the ocean.

In some ways, it made him feel a little more at peace that even if he physically couldn’t have her, they would always be a part of the same stars. He was just a little bit further away from reaching them as she was.

[thewertsearch]

Ah, the Sylladex. Across the entirety of my long, long journey through this comic, you've remained my oldest and dearest friend.

I honestly thought you'd run out of ways to surprise me - but as usual, I underestimated just how far you can really go with punch-card alchemy.

You flip the card over and look at the back. The thing about this modus you think is really cool is that instead of showing a completely useless wobbly garbled code on the back, it itemizes the components which could be used to create it!

The comic has just given us a way to reverse-engineer item recipes, which was one of the only missing pieces left to slot into the alchemy system. Back in Act 4, John was convinced that this was impossible, but Sollux solved it off-panel, and now we know how he did it.

This is pretty crazy, isn't it? We can deconstruct items now, allowing us to disassemble any object, and take a peek at the concepts that it's synthesized from. The potential utility here is insane. If this modus works on ghost images, we could tear apart a Kernelsprite, and see what makes it tick. Hell, we could tear apart a Genesis Frog.

...we could tear apart Skaia.

Just another wonderful innovation by your favorite company. It releases many products of an experimental nature, often with applicability to other kinds of technology and products which haven't hit the market yet.

But, of course, this wonderful innovation comes with some serious strings attached. I'm sure it was given to Jane for a reason, and she'll undoubtedly end up using it in a way that causes problems for us, and solutions for Lord English.

Ayy, it's the Matriorb!

Granted, this doesn't really help Kanaya recreate the thing. The orb's code was never that hard to obtain - just draw it on Jade's Pictionary modus, or something. No, the real issue is that the Matriorb is virtually inimitable, and as a result, its Grist cost is astronomical. Plus, it requires a type of Grist that we've never even seen before.

Edit: Wait, hang on. That's not the cost of the Matriorb, that's how much it would cost to use the Matriorb to make the hat. Strange, that the same item can have multiple Grist costs - but nonetheless, my point still stands. The Matriorb is probably too expensive to alchemize casually.

I suppose there's nothing stopping us from editing the Matriorb's code to try and make it cheaper. Like, perhaps we could scale down the recipe somehow, and try to just synthesize a single troll's genome, rather than the genetic base of an entire race. That would be a lot more affordable, and still useful.

You captchalogue your FAVORITE HAT, which is also your ONLY HAT. You spent basically your ENTIRE CHILDHOOD in this hat, pretending to be hard boiled detectives and whatnot.

I guess it sort of makes sense that the Matriorb can be used to make Dad's hat. The orb represents Alternian parenthood, and the book of prophecies it was merged with could represent the future. Combine those two concepts, and you get the future of parenthood, from the perspective of Alternia - in other words, the parenthood of humanity. So, the merger yields an item representing a human parent: Dad Egbert's hat.

Don't ask me about the potted plant, though. I haven't the foggiest.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: To obtain a mystic gun capable of destroying the demon that killed their mother, the group must team up with John and face off against vampires.

Warnings: cannon violence and gore, John Winchester, arguing, girl kissing (not really a warning but), slightly jealous Dean??, reader being a nerd

Word Count: 8.5k

Dead Man's Blood

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

 The cafe is quiet except for the distant chatter of conversations that melt together, the clinks of glasses and dishes, the clacking of a keyboard, and the shuffling of paper. So, maybe quiet isn’t the right word. Nevertheless, the steady background noise is peaceful. It brings me back to the days when I’d linger in cafes to study for an upcoming exam in both high school and college. Though, I suppose, looking through various obituaries and news articles to find our next hunt isn’t that different. “Well, man,” Dean starts, folding his newspaper. “Not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What’ve you got?”

  I lean back in my seat, pushing away from the screen I’ve been looking out for God knows how long. “Nothing of note in Iowa, Kansas, or Missouri,” I announce, noting some of the states surrounding Nebraska. The various tabs open for each state are a little concerning. “Unless you count a woman in Iowa who managed to fall 10,000 feet from an airplane and survive.”

  “Sounds more like ‘That’s Incredible’ than, uh, ‘Twilight Zone,’” Dean remarks.

  “Yeah definitely weird but not that concerning,” I nod. It surely reeked of the supernatural because there was no human way to do that, but it also wasn’t a top-of-the-list concern when no one got hurt and it seemed like an isolated event.

  “Hey, Sam, you know we could keep heading East. New York. Upstate. We could drop by and see Sarah again. Huh?” Dean suggests, smirking as he leans his elbows on the table. “Cool chick man, smokin’” he whistles. I shake my head, mentally grimacing. Yeah, she was attractive but to say it aloud and whistle about some girl your brother was clearly into? A little weird. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?”

  “Yeah, I dunno, maybe someday,” he answers vaguely. “But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do Dean, and you know that.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Dean gives in.

  “You get anything in the states you checked?” I ask Sam, knowing he had looked at Wyoming, Colorado, and South Dakota. More states that surround the state we currently reside in. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Uh, a man in Colorado. A local man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home.”

  “That’s certainly one way to go,” I mumble.

  “Elkins?” Dean echos. “I know that name.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Sam shakes his head.”Sounds like the police don’t know what to think,” he continues as his brother mumbles Elkins under his breath and pulls out their Dad’s journal. “At first they said it was some sort of bear attack and now, they’ve found some signs of robbery.”

  “You know, sometimes it amazes me how the police solve anything,” I remark. Sure, if it’s supernatural related then they don’t have the upper hand of knowledge but seriously a bear attack and a robbery are two completely different things.

  Dean hums absentmindedly in acknowledgment, flicking through the journal. “There, check it out,” he announces, flipping the book around for us to see. A phone number resides on the page right next to the name. “You think it’s the same Elkins?” Sam asks.

  “It’s a Colorado area code,” Dean points out. 

****

  Sam kneels on the wooden porch, the flashlight illuminating his work with the lockpick. It’s not too long before the lock clicks, and the door creeps open with a turn and push.

  “Looks like the maid didn’t come today,” Dean comments, looking over a table cluttered with books and papers. Otherwise, this room was pretty clean at least in terms of the crime. “Hey, there’s salt over here. Right beside the door,” Sam announces, lingering by the front door. 

  “You mean protection against demon salt or, ‘oops I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean asks, his interest tuned into a journal he discovered on the desk.

  My flashlight guides my eyes across the room. It didn’t happen in this room, it doesn’t seem like the perpetrator(s) came from the front door into the entryway. “It’s clearly a ring,” Sam clarifies. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?”

  “Definitely,” he answers. I wander a little further into the house, the real mess lying in the next room over, the door knocked off its hinges. “That looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s,” Sam says. I look over my shoulder, and both boys are checking out the journal. “Yep, except this dates back to the 60s,” Dean responds.

  I step into what looks to be an office, or what’s left of it. It’s pure destruction. If you told me a tornado came through this room I’d believe you. Broken and overturned furniture litter the floor, books and papers scattered about. I can barely see the floor, it's all covered. “Whoever this guy was, he put up a hell of a fight,” I comment as I carefully step further into the room, glass crunching beneath my shoe. Glass but no broken windows. “Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one,” Sam adds, looking up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze to the broken sunroof, the source of the glass.

  Where did the police get a bear attack from even if he did have scratch marks on him? Did they think it fell into the sunroof? I could understand the robbery considering the mess, but a bear? Seriously? I shake my head at the thought, walking over to the cleared-off desk. Whatever was atop it was on the floor now. “Do you think whoever or whatever did this was looking for something?” I ask, taking in the mess again. Some of it was from fighting, but the desk's open draws, which were barely hanging on, suggests it may be more. It could be an added motive. “Maybe,” Sam answers before his attention turns over to his brother who is crouched down and examining the floor. “You got something?” Sam asks.

 “I dunno,” he answers. “Some scratches on the floor.”

  “Death throes maybe?” Sam suggests, referring to the last moments before the end. 

  “Yeah, maybe,” Dean says, grabbing a nearby notebook. He opens a page, placing it over the scratches before using a pencil to scratch over it revealing the marks better. “Or maybe a message.” He peels up the paper, some blood soaked into the back, but the markings are clear. “Look familiar?” He asks, holding it up.

  “Three letters, six digits,” Sam answers. “The location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail drop.” The message was an incredible feat to manage before death took him under. To be able to scatch it out…it must be more than important.

  “Just the way Dad does it,” Dean adds. 

****

 A simple letter rests in Sam’s hand. The letter was found in the post office box. “‘J.W.’” Sam reads off the envelope, “You think that's John Winchester?”

  “I mean your Dad clearly knew the guy,” I offer, his number is inside the journal. “Maybe he even learned this way of communicating from him.” 

“Should we open it?” Dean asks, something uncertain yet insistent in his voice. But, no one gets to answer the question on each of our minds when, instead, there is a knock on the driver-side window. Dean gasps and flinches, his arm raised in defense. “Dad?” he breathes, his fist lowering. The door beside me opens then, hazel eyes looking at me expectantly. I raise my eyebrows with a tight-lipped smile as I scooch over. He takes my seat, closing the door behind him. “Dad, what are you doing here?” Sam asks. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers simply. He looks the same as the last time we saw him, with messy dark hair similar to Sam’s cut and a ragged beard. “I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could. I saw you three at his place.”

  “Why didn’t you come in Dad?” Sam questions, his voice soft as if he knows the answer.

  “You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed…by anyone or anything,” John responds. He sounds more paranoid than anything. It sounds like a sad excuse to avoid speaking and seeing his kids again, but I keep those thoughts to myself. “Nice job of covering your tracks by the way,” he compliments. And it’s like being buttered up before the roast— before you’re put right back on the fire that eats at you until you forget your self-worth. 

  “Yeah, well, we learned from the best,” Dean answers with a proud smile on his face as his chest puffs out a little bit.

  “Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam points out.

  “Yeah. He was... he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting,” he reveals. I guess I was somewhat right on my assumption. “Well, you never mentioned him to us,” Sam shrugs.

  “We had a... we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years,” he explains, gesturing towards the envelope. “I should look at that.” Sam hands it over easily, and his father wastes no time in opening it. “'If you're reading this, I'm already dead',” he reads, trailing off. “That son of a bitch.”

  “What is it?” Dean asks.

  “He had it the whole time,” he answers vaguely as if we know what he's talking about. “Has what?” I ask.   “When you searched the place, did you, did you see a gun? An antique, a Colt revolver, did you see it?” He asks each question one right after the other almost frantically.   “Uh, there was, there was an old case but it was empty,” Dean answers.

  “They have it,” John announces.

  “‘You mean whatever killed Elkins?” Dean asks. John opens the door, shifting to get out. “We gotta pick up the trail.” But before he can make it out of the vehicle Sam stops him, “Wait. ‘You want us to come with you?”

  “If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun,” he explains, doing that thing where he’s insanely unhelpful.

  “The gun–why?” Sam pushes.   “Because it's important, that's why,” he replies. I roll my eyes, for a guy who wasn’t very present he managed to be incredibly irritating. “Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet,” Sam reasons. 

  “They were what Daniel Elkins killed best: Vampires,” he reveals, finally being helpful.   “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing,” Dean answers.

  “You didn’t?” I ask, surprised.

  “You did?” He throws right back with a just as surprised tone as mine.

  “Yeah,” I say like it's obvious. “I took down a nest back in college.” It was the first and only time I had encountered a vampire let alone a vampiric hunt. Students started to go missing, seemingly picked off one by one, and like any school word had spread quickly. It was weird, yes, but with no bodies and only having gossip I had nothing to work with. No one saw anything, the picks were clean and concise. Well, that was until certain bodies did show up. Four out of nine bodies were found, two were located near or around campus grounds, and the others were left in the town that was a short drive from the school. I managed to pull some strings and cash in ‘I owe you’ to see the bodies firsthand. My initial thought was vampires but the thought was more of a joke than anything, I thought I was watching too much Buffy. But then some research made a joke no longer a joke. It was vampires and I had to kill them.

  I can remember it still, the way the heads went flying and how blood caked my clothes. Buffy makes it look cleaner than what it is. 

  “You did?” John asks, his voice dripping in disbelief and sass. “Don’t sound so surprised,” I mumble, my distaste for him almost painfully clear in the curl of my lip. He has been here for less than five minutes and I’m already a little irritated. I’d like to think that I’m not a hateful person, that I don’t hold grudges or malice but when it comes to John Winchester suddenly I’m the biggest hater you’ve ever seen. “Well, I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and—“ he throws a glare at me. “And others had wiped them out. I was wrong.”   “You were,” I agree, smiling a little at the slow turn of his head as he stares at me with daggers. 

  “Most vampire lore is crap,” he starts, his voice gruff, looking back at his boys. “A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late.”

  “The way to kill them is decapitation,” I add. “Interestingly enough the story to get it right is a work of fiction, though, of course, you could argue that it was only presented that way and the author knew more than any normal person would. The final blow in Carmilla, written by some Irish guy, is her head being struck off. Before that was a stake through the heart but, it’s interesting that he would add the decapitation aspect especially when it’s the first ever Vampire novel so it’s not like he changed things to be different.”

  “Are you done?” John remarks, unamused.

  “Yeah, now I am,” I respond, equally unamused with him.

  “Wake up! Come on,” a voice demands. I grumble something incoherent, my fingers softly curling into the warmth beneath my hand. The something beneath my hand rumbles with the “Mm-hmm,” that follows from its lips. 

  My eyes squint open, my hand resting on Dean's chest, fingers clutching his shirt, his arm resting around my waist. We didn’t fall asleep like this when John hated the very idea of us sharing a bed even though we’d done it before. I know John doesn’t trust me, even though I haven’t done anything to warrant such feelings. It’s more like he doesn’t trust who I am and he makes it known with every look and side comment. Yet, as much as he hated it, he didn’t want me in a separate room because it would “waste time and money.” So, we had slept back to back which felt so horribly unnatural.

  I do not make a move to separate from him. He rubs his eyes and I want to bury my face into the pillow in a desperate attempt to grasp onto the remains of sleep but the sight of his messy short hair going every which way, and his eyes barely being held open from the sleep that clings to them keeps my attention. Even on interrupted sleep, he looks so good. “I picked up a police call,” John announces, the faint noise of radio static proving his statement. 

  “What happened?” Sam asks, his voice laced with sleep. Dean’s hand drops from his eyes going, instead, to my hand on his chest. He gives it a little squeeze and it would be so easy to just fall back into a sweet sleep with the butterflies that dance in my stomach. But, the harsh reality of, well, reality comes crashing back when John answers, “A couple called 911, ‘found a body in the street. Cops got there. Blood was missing. It's the vampires.”

  “How do you know?” Sam asks logically. But, John is already halfway out the door forgoing explanations as he typically does. “Just follow me, okay?” he responds, shutting the door behind him. 

“Huh, vampires,” Dean muses, his eyes still half open. “Gets funnier every time I hear it.”

****

 The spin of red and blue lights shatters the atmosphere, a long cloth placed over a body in the middle of the road, yellow tape sanctioning off the area as cops work the scene, and a certain irritating Winchester talking to a cop as we are forced to wait by the Impala like kids waiting while their parent talks to an old friend and you just know you’re going to be waiting forever. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him,” Sam complains, sulking slightly. 

  “Should’ve let us sleep,” I agree, mumbling. I don’t see the point in dragging us from bed just to put us on the back burner, but I guess that’s John for you. 

  “Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting,” Dean responds.   “What's starting?” he asks. But he doesn’t get his answer as their father approaches, Dean putting his focus there. “What have you got?” he asks his Dad. 

  “It was them alright,” John confirms. “Looks like they’re heading west. We’ll have to double back to get around that detour.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Sam asks, arms crossed. 

  “Sam…” Dean warns.

  “I just wanna know we're going in the right direction,” he snaps at his brother.

  “We are,” John answers vaguely.

  “How do you know?” 

  John hands something small to Dean, answering with “I found this.” 

  Dean cups the long and sharp tooth in the palm of his hand. “It’s a…” he tries to find the words, “a vampire fang.”

  “It’s not necessarily a fang,” I correct. “An entire set of teeth that look just like that descends when they attack, covering the normal set of teeth.” 

  “Any more questions?” John asks, looking at Sam expectantly, a certain bite to his words. Sam remains quiet, his eyes flicking away—the kind of answer his father wants. No, an answer he expects. “Alright, let’s get out of here, we’re losing daylight,” John orders. He walks to his truck, a vehicle I suddenly love because he doesn’t have to be in the same car as us. “Hey, Dean why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust?” he throws back the comment, “I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it.” 

  I look at Dean with widened eyes. His face drops. Drops. My heart might as well drop with it. I dig my nails into my palms in an attempt to control my mouth, my teeth clenched painfully to hold in my own comment. I should make him apologize. I should do more than that but I know it will only make it worse for them and that is the last thing I want. Yet, saying nothing feels worse so the word slips out before I can reel it back in. “Asshole,” I grumble beneath my breath, opening the back door to the Impala.

  “What’d you say?” John asks, seemingly having super hearing, pausing short of his truck. The stiffness in his shoulder is familiar, or similar. So, I duck into the car with an, “I didn’t say anything.” I expect him to say something or for him to make some sort of move. I see the unamused look on his face even as I close the door behind me, creating a barrier between us. I half expect him to drag me from the car and make me answer him. Dad said I never knew how to hold my tongue or when to stop. And maybe he was right.

*****

  The Impala rolls down the road, following John’s truck. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten,” Dean reads from the passenger seat. “Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.”

  “I didn’t see the corpses well enough but it’s likely,” I answer, though I don’t know why John didn’t let us see the body or do any work.

  “It’s probably what Dad's thinking. ‘Course it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks,” Sam grumbles, a certain furrow to his brow.   “So it is starting,” Dean remarks.

  “What?”

  Well, this is my queue to keep my comments to myself and let them talk this out. 

  “Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year,” he explains. “Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?” 

  “Hm. No. Look, I'm happy he's ok, alright?” he responds. “And I'm happy that we're all working together again.” “Well good.”

  “It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children,” Sam adds, seemingly unable to help himself. But I’m here for the John bashing. 

  “Oh God,” Dean mumbles. 

  “He barks orders at us Dean, he expects us to follow 'em without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.”

  Sam’s not wrong. His vagueness is one of his worst traits which is saying something because he has a long list of horrible traits. He’s really the King of being as vague and unhelpful as possible for a reason I simply can’t discern. Maybe it makes him feel like he has some power or the upper hand.

  “He does what he does for a reason,” Dean reasons.   “What reason?” Sam pushes.

  “Our job!” Dean snaps. “There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, alright? That's just the way the old man runs things.”   “I’d argue that leaving you guys in the dark can lead to more error,” I comment, accidentally saying my inside thoughts out loud. Luckily, I’m pretty much annoyed as Sam challenges his brother. “Yeah well maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore, alright. Not after everything you and I have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line, and letting him run the whole show?” 

  A heavy silence fills the car as Dean stares at his brother like he’s trying to muster the right words. “If that’s what it takes.”

****

 We drive for what feels like an eternity, though it must only have been a couple of hours, the sky falling to darkness. Dean is on the phone with his father, keeping in touch with him even as we follow after his car. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it,” he answers before hanging up. “Pull off at the next exit.”

  “Why?” Sam asks with a certain edge or bite to his voice.

  “Cause Dad thinks we’ve got the vampire’s trail,” Dean responds.

  “How?” 

  “I don’t know; he didn’t say.”

  Suddenly I’m pushed back into my seat as the Impala goes faster, fast enough to overtake Johns truck. The car swerves in front of it, my body jerking sideways and forward as the vehicle swerves again and slams to a stop. My heart stammers in my chest as I look out the window, John's truck nearly missing the side of the Impala. “What the frick, S–” I yell, my cursing cut off as Sam gets out of the car. “Oh crap here we go,” Dean mumbles, following him out of the vehicle. I sigh, rolling my eyes, as much as I expected an argument to break out this is a very dramatic and dangerous way to start it. Even so, I follow them out of the Impala as Dean calls out for his brother.

  “What the hell was that?” John yells, stomping over to his son.

  “We need to talk.”

  John steps closer, getting face to face with him and I half expect him to grab Sam by the collar and shake some “sense” into him. “About what?”

  “About everything. Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun?”

  “Sammy, come on, we can Q and A after we kill all the vampires,” Dean says.

  “You’re brothers right, we don’t have time for this,” John adds.   “Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue, you need our help,” Sam yells. “Now obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!”   “Get back in the car.”   “No.”   “I said get back in the damn car.”   “Yeah. And I said no.”

  “Okay, you made your point tough guy,” Dean tries again, hovering between his father and his brother. But, of course, his words are directed at his brother. “Look we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it, come on.” Dean grabs him, pushing him back toward the car. He gives in, allowing his brother to move him along even as he glares at his father, mumbling, “This is why I left in the first place.”  “What’d you say?”

  Sam steps forward, snapping back, “You heard me.”

  “Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam.”

  “Sam…” Dean warns.

  “You walked away!” John yells in his face.

  “Come on, stop,” I urge, trying to push John back as Dean had tried with his brother. But he just shoves me off, forcing me back a couple of steps.   “You're the one who said don't come back Dad, you closed that door, not me. You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!”

  Dean jumps in the middle, forcing them apart. “Listen, stop it, stop it. Stop it!! That's enough!!”   They don’t say another word; they just glare at each other over Dean’s head. “That means you too,” Dean adds, looking at his father. Despite the harsh words that linger in the air and the unspoken jabs that are begging to be said, they back off. Each step back into their vehicles. Dean sighs, the tension clear in his shoulders until he turns to me, brows furrowed as he half yells, “Are you okay?” The question is genuine despite how harsh they sound escaping his lips. There's a silence that falls between us; I don’t know why he asks me; it’s not like I was the one arguing. Perhaps it was because I stumbled back as his father shoved me or because he knows I do not like arguments. Either way, I nod silently, and he gives a single nod back, the stress soon returning to his face.

  With the sun on our back and the tree line at our front, blocking us, I watch a beat-up Camaro pull up the old barn. A man in a t-shirt walks up to the car, shielding his eyes as he escorts the person inside and making a very good guess it’s likely they’re both vampires. “Son of a bitch,” Dean curses. “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

  “Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill ‘em is by beheading,” John answers and I roll my eyes at the repetition especially when half the information is something I already said. “And yeah, they sleep during the day—doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.”

  “So I guess walking right in’s not our best option,” Dean remarks.

  “Actually, that’s the plan,” John answers, immediately creeping from the treeline back to where the Impala and his truck are parked. 

  Weapons are handed out like candy on Halloween night, the machete's blade seeming to gleam as the sun hits it just right. Grasping the hilt reminds me of that day long ago, how my hand shook as I killed the first vampire. They look human, and the blood that falls is so human that it’s like killing one instead of a vampire. I had to remind myself they weren’t human and that they killed so many. Then, it was almost too easy.

  “So, you really wanna know about this Colt?” John suddenly asks.   “Yes sir,” Sam answers.

  It's just “a story, a legend really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter,” he starts. “Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. ‘Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it. They say... they say this gun can kill anything.”

  Something unsettling settles in my gut, something I don’t want to discern. We aren’t in the nest, and yet it’s like the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in. “Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean asks. The same thought eats at my mind but where concern hits me surprise hits him.

  “Like the demon,” Sam connects, and I feel foolish. Maybe it’s a survival instinct, or maybe it’s selfishness that makes me worry more about a weapon that can kill me rather than a gun that can kill the yellow-eyed demon. I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of dying, at least not totally, especially when what I am makes it incredibly difficult to kill me, to begin with. But now I’m aware of something that can. It won’t be like a bullet wound you can maybe heal from; there won’t be hope—just death. Gone in the blink of an eye with no goodbye or warning.

  “Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun -- we may have it,” John answers.

  I want to be happy for them. I’m trying to be happy. I’m trying to push the fear away because isn’t it an irrational one? But I am scared. What if I don’t get a goodbye? What if it winds up in the wrong hands and I’m at the other end of it? Technically, right now it is in the wrong hands if the vampires do have it. “No offense, I'm glad this is an opportunity to get the damn thing,” I start, my fear turning into anger. “But did you, oh, I don't know, plan on informing us about this before we go into the place that has this gun, or was it Sam that convinced you?” I’m not an idiot; I am aware of the possibility that this could’ve been left out for God knows how long. “I mean, this could literally kill me, like end-end me, and you were just gonna, what, not mention it? ‘Cause it would’ve been a great warning.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure if he’s going to acknowledge me, which is answer enough. I move to try to get in his way. “You know, somehow I find a new reason to dislike you, which is kind of impressive.” I know I’m being mean as if a jab could heal the panic in my veins.

  “You should be grateful I haven’t sent your ass back home,” he bites.

  “Yeah well, this ass saved your life back with the Daeva’s.”

  “Y/N,” Dean says, carefully touching my arm. But I step out of his hold, my shoulders going up as if trying to un-feel the touch, which is weird because I never do that with him. “No, Dean, this is serious,” I reason, my voice higher in an attempt to be louder, though it never nears a yell. I don’t dare look at him, weary of the hurt that might pass over his face.

  “Were you going to say something if Sam hadn’t called you out?” I ask him again. But, I’m sure I know the answer. He pauses for a beat too long, and I feel foolish again. I’m arguing with a guy who couldn’t care less about what happens to me. The anger simmers in my gut, bubbling down until it’s replaced by shame. “You know what? Never mind,” I give up. “Let’s just go kill the vampires.” I shake my head, walking away from the group towards the run-down barn. 

  I creep between the trees, careful of where I step so that I don’t make a sound, even though I’m outside the barn. I take a couple of deep breaths as I walk; I need to have a clear head. This isn’t the kind of hunt you can be careless on; one wrong move and it all goes up in flames. I clear my head of any leftover anger or negative emotions; I need to lead with focus, not emotions. 

  I move closer to the barn, finding a window that looks easy to get into without making so much noise. That is key. I lift myself onto the thin windowsill, cautious as to not let my legs or any body part slam into the wall. And with the knowledge that the boys are close behind, I move into the barn. I move silently, first observing the layout and the countless hammocks filled with vampires as well as the occasional vamp that rests on the floor. 

  Ever so slowly, I move forward, careful to step over the beer bottles as I move as quietly as a mouse. Inch by inch, I lurk towards a random vampire in a hammock. A lone vampire, or at least one that’s farthest away from the others, even if far isn’t far at all.

  I stand over his sleeping figure like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. Ever so carefully, I lift my blade, hovering it above its neck. With one quick motion, I know I am a hypocrite. Blood drips down its neck in waves like a relentless ocean; its eyes shoot open as the blade is plunged deeper. Its mouth parts in an attempt at a screech it can’t possibly make as its head is severed from its body. It did not get to warn the others. It did not get to say goodbye.

  I pull my blade from the mess; blood seeps into the fabric of the hammock and drips to the floor. I sense the Winchesters enter the barn as I pick my next target. The goal is to get as many asleep so that should they wake, it’d be a slightly easier fight. Again, I take my stance over a vampire when I hear the faint clink of a glass bottle knocking over. I hold incredibly still, so still, I feel like the narrator in “Tell-Tale Heart.”

  By luck alone, the vampire beneath my gaze does not stir, nor do any others. I turn my head slowly to where the noise originated, seeing Dean and Sam at the other end of the barn near each other. I swallow roughly, focusing in on the task at hand. Again, I drive my blade into the pale neck of the resting creature, blood spraying onto my cheek. I move to the next, stalking forth with my raised blade when an unearthly roar breaks the silence. The vampire beneath my gaze shoots up, clutching my wrist before I can lay the blade onto it. The machete vanishes from my hand, appearing in my other. I swing the blade; the cut is uncoordinated and messy in my non-dominant hand, slashing off its hand. My wrist is free as the limb goes flying, a horrible screech coming from the vampire as it clutches its wrist, blood spurting from where the hand used to be, bone exposed to the air. Glass shatters somewhere overhead, and I switch the weapon back to my dominant hand, unable to get another swing in when I dodge the lunging vampire.

  “Run!” John yells from the same direction as the broken glass. I sidestep just in time, narrowly avoiding a swing from a vampire lunging at me. More of them surge toward me, their snarls filling the air. Reluctantly, I turn and run. My heart pounds in my chest, the sound almost drowning out the thudding of their footsteps behind me. I race toward the back of the barn, but there’s no clear exit—just solid walls and shadows. I sprint toward one of the walls. My legs push forward harder, willing myself to pass through before I crash into it. 

  The world blurs for a heartbeat, and then I stumble forward, my feet skidding on the dirt outside. I glance back, breathless, at the wall I just passed through. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, I’m getting really good at the whole teleporting thing. But enough celebrating, I quickly round the outskirts of the barn and make my way up the hill to where the distinct figures of the Winchesters wait. A look of relief passes over Sam and Deans face at the sight of me but I can’t say the same for John. I know he doesn’t care if I get injured or die. 

  “They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life,” John informs, slightly out of breath.   “Well, what the hell do we do now?” Dean asks.

  I wipe the blood from my cheek with the back of my sleeve, glad that I decided to wear dark clothes today. “I’ll go back in there and finish it,” I answer.

  “No, you’re not,” Dean declares, taking a single step toward me.

  “Why not?” I ask. “I already killed two and—”

  “You did?” John cuts me off, reflecting the same surprise he did before.

  “No, my machete is just normally covered in blood.” 

  “You’re not goin’ back in,” Dean says firmly.

  “Dean—”

  “Not on my watch.”   “Oh, come on. This is quicker than waiting until night and you can have your special gun sooner,” I reason, following him as he walks away. 

  “Not happening.”

  “Don’t you want that gun?”

  He stops short of the Impala's trunk, his expression firm as he faces me. “Not at the expense of your life.” His eyes are set on mine, a challenge burning behind his irises.

  “I’m very capable of doing it myself,” I argue, my chin raised to meet his gaze head-on.

  “I know you are,” he replies, his voice low and sure. “‘Doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you go.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you, you know,” I point out, the words sounding childish on my tongue.   His brow arches, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. He wets his lips, voice dropping lower, “I don’t see you goin’.”

  The words hang heavy between us. He’s got me, and he knows it. I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my throat. His eyes drop briefly, flicking to the small space between us like he’s daring me to move. He tilts his head slightly, waiting, his confidence annoyingly attractive. His fingers brush my wrist, featherlight, trailing down the inside. It tickles my skin, my breath hitching slightly, loosening my hold on the machete. He doesn’t rush—his hand glides lower, steady, until he slides the weapon from my grasp as if he already knew my answer before I had the chance to utter it.

 “We’ll need dead man’s blood,” I manage, my voice quieter than I intended. His eyes flick back to mine, dark and unreadable, the weapon now clasped firmly in his hand alongside his own. He nods, his lips parted slightly.

****

  After splitting up from John and Sam—and some lying and distracting on our part— Dean and I managed to grab the dead man's blood from the local funeral home. Afterward, it took some extensive convincing, including arguing that it would be safer for me to act as bait instead of Dean to be where I am now.

  Now, I lean over the car’s popped hood, peering at the engine while the Winchesters watch from somewhere in the trees. “Car trouble?” a woman's voice asks. I turn around to see a dark-haired woman with thin eyebrows and striking blue eyes standing with another girl lingering behind. It didn’t take them long to show up. “Let me give you a lift. I’ll take you back to my place,” she purrs.

  I lean against the front of the Impala, tilting my head slightly as I eye her. “I’m sure you’d like that,” I respond, biting my bottom lip, purposefully teasing. She steps closer as expected, so close I can smell the lingering metallic scent of blood on her mouth as well as her strong perfume. She grabs my jaw roughly, her fingertips digging in as she holds my face firmly, forcing my head back an inch so that she can use our small height difference to her advantage. I let her do what she wants, I’m not afraid of her or the other vampire. I’m just here to get her close enough for a good shot. “Would you like that?” she asks, spinning my question.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not Buffy and you’re not Spike,” I smile teasingly. 

  Her smile deepens, turning a little wicked. “You know, I should kill you for what you did to them.” 

  And I know she’s talking about the two I killed and the third I hurt. “Will you?” I challenge. I’m sure she won’t, at least not now. They like to play with their food. So, just as expected her eyes trace down my face, the collum of my neck, and dip beneath my shirt. “We could have some fun first,” she answers, eyes tracing back up.

  Her head tilts down, her hold on my face tightening as her lips brush mine. Her hand slips to the back of my head, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging. My lips part in a groan, my head harshly bent back, giving her the chance to crash her lips to mine. She kisses me roughly and fast, all teeth and tongue before pulling away and licking her lips as if savoring the taste. “Heard you had a boyfriend,” I remark. “You think he’d mind you–” She cuts me off with her lips, teeth clashing with mine. My hands grasp the Impala behind me, the cold metal digging into my palms contrasting with the heat of her mouth. 

  She gasps, an almost choking noise as she pulls away and I know the shot has been taken. My eyes fall to her chest, the arrowhead sticking out. “Dammit,” she curses. The Winchesters emerge from the trees, crossbows in hand and unreadable expressions on their faces. Her hands fall from my face as she steps back, my chest heaving a little as I try to catch my breath. “It barely even stings,” she claims.

  “Give it time, sweetheart,” John answers. “That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?”

  Real surprise passes over her features, a hand coming up to cradle where she’s been hit as she staggers backward, wavering before she collapses to the asphalt. “Load her up,” John directs, moving to the other vampire who’s also on the floor with an arrow through her. “I’ll take care of this one.”

  I turn around, shutting the hood of the car just as I hear the familiar squelch of blood.

****

  The campfire burns bright in the middle of the small clearing of woods. She's still unconscious, secured with a rope around her that she could tear easily the moment she awakens. “Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready,” John orders as he walks back into the clearing with his eldest son in tow.

  Dean sniffs the bag contents and coughs, “Stuff stinks!”

  “That’s the point. It has to be strong enough to cover your scent,” I smile while simultaneously feeling bad for finding his reaction to the ingredients funny. “You can dust your clothes with the ashes and they, hopefully, won't be able to detect you.” I move to him, willing to take the bag from his grimacing face. 

  “‘You sure they’ll come after ‘er?” Sam asks as I carefully separate and dump the ingredients into the fire.

  “Yeah,” John answers. “Vampires mate for life—”

  “Didn’t seem she cared about that with Y/N” Dean remarks, cutting off his father. I give him a pointed look. And he just responds with, “What? She was the one who looked real into you.” There's a certain edge to his voice that I can’t quite discern, something almost snarky.

  “Well, one thing interpretations got right about vampires is how inherently sexual they are,” I explain. “I’m not sure why but I guess it makes sense considering how they take the blood is intimate.” Still, Dean doesn’t seem particularly satisfied with that answer.

  “She means more to the leader than the gun,” John continues. “But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time.”   “A half-hour oughta do it,” Sam answers.   “And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can,” John orders.

  “But…”

  “Well, Dad you can’t take care of them all yourself,” Dean cuts his brother off.

  “I'll have her and the Colt,” John reasons.

  “That’s hardly a lot of protection,” I point out.

  “And if I remember you wanted to go in with less,” he bites back.

  “I also have abilities that you don’t. I can stay with you, ‘make sure you get it safely.”

  “‘Don’t need your protection,” he answers. I figure ego has some part of his decision so I drop it, if he doesn’t want backup then he doesn’t want it.

  “But after. We're gonna meet up, right?” Sam asks. “Use the gun together. Right?” There's a long pause, the question hanging in the air for one too many seconds. “You're leaving again, aren't you? You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like children,” Sam answers firmly.   “You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe,” he reasons. I bite back my comment about how ironic that is coming from him as I walk a couple of steps away.   “Dad, all due respect but, uh, that's a bunch of crap,” Dean says, all heads snapping to him.   “Excuse me?”

  I half expect him to back off, instead, he doubles down. “You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe.”   “It's not the same thing, Dean.”   “Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?”   “This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive.”   “You mean you can't be as reckless.”

  “Look... I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece.” The atmosphere seems to change, becoming a little heavier in the wake of his words. “Your mother's death ... it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't.”

  I’m sure there is some truth to his words but at the same time, he's been a horrible father to them, leaving them alone as mere kids to fend for themselves, forcing them into the hunting world at a young age, and even bringing them on hunts when they should’ve been worrying about school not their lives.   “What happens if you die?” Dean points out. “Dad, what happens if you die, and we coulda done something about it? You know I’ve been thinking. I ...think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together.”

  Sam nods.

  “We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it,” Dean argues. It may sound cheesy but it holds merit.  “We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order.” His answer is unsurprising and yet the way Dean looks down and the way Sam clenches his jaw makes me want to deck John Winchester until he agrees.

****

  We quickly follow after John, having already killed the vampires in the barn and freed the container of people they had. Of course, it’s against what we were directed to do but we aren’t exactly known for following rules, so there's that. We ditched the Impala some ways back, sticking to the trees with our crossbows as we approached John's truck and the group of vampires.

  We arrive in time to see John get knocked to the ground, his plan going south immediately. He’s backhanded into the door of his truck just as one of many arrows flies through the air, hitting the other vampires that crowd around. We emerge from the trees and I switch my crossbow to my off-hand to unseathe my machete. I easily walk up to one and in one clean motion send their head flying, the body buckling to the floor.

  Quickly I turn, my crossbow raised to shoot a vampire that was creeping up on Dean. “Don't!” someone yells. I pause, eyes landing on a vampire who looks like a rock band reject with his arm around Sam’s neck while Dean tries to lurk forward with a machete. “I'll break his neck. Put the blade down,” the man orders. Everything stands still for a moment as I drop both my weapons. Dean, however, pauses until the man tightens his hold on Sam’s neck and then the machete is dropped to the ground with a clink.

  Suddenly, the man’s arm is forced from Sam’s neck. It shakes as it's pulled away by an invisible force, his face contorting with confusion as he loses the ability to control his limbs. My head tilts slightly as I control him, forcing his other arm to remain at its side so that Sam is free to stumble away, his brother immediately dragging him behind him. The knees of the man buckle, forcing him to kneel on the asphalt. “You people. Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do,” the man cries and I falter. 

I falter. The one thing you’re never supposed to do in a fight. But, it doesn’t matter because his head is cleaned off his body before he can get up. John standing behind him, blood dripping from his machete. “Lutherrrr!!!!” the girl from before screams a horrible guttural scream that seems to reverberate in my ears. She’s dragged away by another vampire, fighting against their hold as she stares down John and her lover's body.

  I stand over the little table in the motel room making sure I didn’t leave anything when John enters—the first we’ve seen him since last night. “So boys,” he starts immediately, the door closing behind him feeling like a death sentence.

  “Yes sir,” Sam answers, both boys straightening out like soldiers.

  “You ignored a direct order back there,” he starts.

  “Yes sir,” Sam answers.   “Yeah, but we saved your ass,” Dean intervenes, nervous looks thrown his way from Sam and I.

  “You're right,” John, surprisingly, nods.   “I am?”

  “It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So...we go after this damn thing. Together.”   “Yes sir,” they say in unison.

  “And I guess you can be there too,” he adds, looking over at me.

(Next Chapter)

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl @ugvvguggvvgu @yasmin12312 @squishytap

[syoddeye]

How would Price react if reader got hurt in the Strict Machine AU? Like they had to go out to get groceries and ended up getting into a scuffle with some ruffians, nothing lethal but definitely worrying

Cuz all I can imagine is his code glitching as it runs through every scenario as he wants to help but physically cant. Would he call 911(or whatever version of it exists) or would the apartment just come alive?

-✨️(Absolutely love your writing and I hope you keep it up! You inspire me to write fanfics :) )

this is the program that allegedly triggered a fatal autonomous vehicle crash. if your well-being is on the line, he's on it. (also, thank you!!!)

strict machine anthology. cw: minor injury, blood, robot john being himself

john's synced with your handy-dandy, employment-required medband. all of your biometric data, past and present, is at his disposal. the moment it signals a sudden spike in vitals—erratic heart rate, elevated cortisol and adrenaline levels—he's already bullying his way through your communications. his lack of a physical form may limit him, but he's not helpless.

like any other situation, he takes charge. bulldozes your autonomy and overrides your protests. you argue that a sprained ankle and a nasty scrape aren't worth the time or expense of emergency services. in response, john remotely removes your ability to make outbound calls without administrative permission. which…you should have, right?

he growls through your device's speaker, just loud enough to make the few passersby who stopped to check on you stare. their faces uneasy, wary. are you really letting some lines of code speak to you like that?

"user, do not make me repeat myself." the bracelet on your wrist begins to pulse, automatically connecting to emergency dispatch before you can argue further.

"john!" you hiss, slapping at the sliver of plastic and metal in a feeble attempt to disconnect. "you sent for help? really?!" bristling, you glance up at the small crowd, flashing a nervous, tight smile. your ankle throbs, and blood on your knee steadily flows out the rip in your tights.

"it's for your own good, darl." john dismisses, his modulated voice taking on a sterner tone. "if you insist on making poor decisions, i'll continue to countermand them. stay where you are."

hours later, when you finally limp home, the bitter taste of pain meds coating your tongue and the anger over john's earlier commandeering still simmering in your mind, you're greeted by an eerie quiet. it feels almost accusatory. like when your dad would wait up for you past curfew. you hear his systems, their low, droning hum, but there's no immediate response. no check-in.

you suppose, in his own way, he's frustrated with you, too. maybe all your feedback, all your complaints, are finally starting to stick. maybe he's backing off. grumbling, you try to find a position on the couch that doesn't irritate your ankle, when the extra deadbolts of the door activate, their metallic thunks echoing loudly.

a thought crosses your mind: you'll be lucky if he lets you leave again.

[forsaken-headcanons]

bunch of random headcanons -drakobloxxers come in many colors and types even though red is the most common (this relates to the next hc trust) -c00lkidd, bluudud, and prettyprincess all have drakobloxxer dna (they might be science experiments, might be an ancient recessive gene, idk) -the lobby isn't in some pocket dimension or anything, it's just in the middle of a random giant forest (but the spectre uses magic to make it impossible to find on satellites and cameras and stuff) -entering the lobby turns you into a new forsaken character -this is what happened to elliot, and the pizza guy in the lobby is elliot when he first arrived in forsaken -this is also what happened to vanity jason (who is literally just the girl from butcher vanity who happened to be attending a comicon as her jason cosplay the same day she was forsakened) -jason was stuck in area 51 for many decades so he is still getting used to having his full potential back -gasharpoon is not ahab from limbus but rather an alternative universe john doe where he was Swallowed By The Sea™ and corrupted by the ocean rather than by defunct code, eventually emerging as a pirate captain sailing the ocean with an undead crew -007n7 is the son of the weird strict dad, owes money to mafioso, and is good friends with 118o8 (making him basically the uncle of bluudud) -this is why plead still plays when c00lkidd is using the weirdly strict, mafioso, and bluudud skins

So you're telling me that vanity Jason is really just ACTUALLY the girl from butcher vanity and she someone got possessed by Jason from Area 51? Yeah, sure, okay.

And the headcanon that 007n7 was the son of the weird strict dad is WILD. /pos

[fandomandangstlover]

Following in his friend's footsteps, where his loyalty never falters, TELAMON's laughter will stick in your mind for however long you hold onto it. His hands finally taken a hold of his beloved SFOTH Swords, he whields his favourite with manic glee as he hunts down those who took them for granted. Specializing in long range, be weary of grouping up. You never know when the wind will betray you.

The corrupted counterpart of SHEDLETSKY. Selecting TELAMON as your Killer will disable every other players' ability to choose SHEDLETSKY as their survivor character.

Shown above are the two Skins currently available for TELAMON: BLAME [DEFAULT] & HEIGHTMASTER.

PASSIVE ABILITIES

- CREATORS OF CREATION

Every survivor that is killed by this Killer, a glitched version of them will spawn from their corpse and roam around the map. Attacks any survivors in their line of sight, deals 10 damage and loses interest in 10 seconds. Can be killed like any. Would you want to, though?

- VICTORY RUSH

This Killer will gain a minor speed boost after each kill, can only be stacked thrice.

ACTIVE ABILITIES

- PWN!!

Basic hit movement. Telamon swings the Illumina with glee. Deals 20-30 damage if done in succession.

- HEIGHTS ABOVE

This Killer lurge forward as he swings the Windforce with violent force. A harsh wave of air immediating from it. Deals 10 damage and disorient all Survivors hit with it, dizzying them.

- GREEDY

Summoning the Darkheart into his hands, he throws it with little to no warning, the blade spinning.

If this attack hits a singular Survivor, it will only deal 20 damage with no other effects while making Telamon pause for a few moments, disappointed.

If this attack hits more then one Survivor, all of the effected Survivors will take 40 damage as they also begin to ROT, adding another 20 damage after the effect wears off. This effect can kill the Survivor unless they heal.

- SOUL DETECTION

Letting his head fall back— all the way back, he takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, showing only outlines of his surroundings. The Survivors' souls will be bright and revealed to TELAMON for a few seconds before they disappear as soon as he opens his eyes. Ignores UNDETECTABLE, but also highlights a 007n7's Clone as their own being.

VOICELINES

- ATTACKING

PWN!!:

"HIYA!"

"BAP!"

HEIGHTS ABOVE:

"CATCH WIND OF THIS!"

"it's fucking WIMBY!"

GREEDY - ACTIVATION:

"HEY! CATCH!"

"BAD MOVE~!"

GREEDY - SUCCESS:

"why don't you rot together while you're at it!"

"GOT ALL OF YA~!"

GREEDY - FAIL:

"awe, man.."

"thought they'll be stupider. oh well."

SOUL DETECTION:

"i, see~ you~!"

"brighter the stars, the faster they burn."

- STUNNED

"OW—! That HURT, you little—"

"augh—! mmm, oh when i get my hands on you."

"ACK�� YOU— BASTARD!"

- KILL LINES

General:

"man, you suck at this!"

"gotcha!"

chuckles "another one down~!"

to 007n7:

"your tricks won't save you."

"say hi to your kid for me!" (if c00lkid died earlier in round)

"don't worry~! your kid's joining you soon." (if c00lkid is in round & alive)

to c00lkid/bluduud:

"you're it!"

"your dad's waiting for you, kid." (if 007n7 died earlier in round)

"don't cry, I'll get your pa very soon." (if 007n7 is in round & alive)

to John Doe:

"how the mighty have fallen..."

"you're getting rusty, buddy."

"should've listened to Builds, huh?"

to 1x1x1x1:

"what a waste of code."

"get out of my sight."

"i should've never given you a grave."

WITH BLOXWATCH:

finding a survivor while ally is nearby:

"Builds! i found them!"

"ooh hey there~! BUILDS! FOUND EM!"

killing a survivor after ally's callout:

"builds, look! they thought they'll survive," *laughter* "isn't that so funny?"

"just a few more, buddy. it's your turn, go get em!"

WITH DAISY BELL:

finding a survivor while ally is nearby:

"oh Bell~! found the rat!"

"found ya! DAISY, OVER HERE!"

killing a survivor after ally's callout:

"thanks for the assist, ava!"

"ahaha! we really got them this time, huh?"

TRIO GIMMICK: DOUBLE UP

TELAMON is only found with either BLOXWATCH or DAISY BELL by his side. Whichever character is his teammate cannot be chosen as a Survivor, and both will interact with the counterpart of the missing companion if chosen in a round.

Spotted Builderman - Solo:

"get over here~! i missed you!"

"stop. running."

Killing Builderman:

"augh... sorry, builds."

"... why didn't you listen? i thought we were friends."

"so much for our friendship, huh?"

Spotted Avarice - Solo:

"can't run forever, ava!"

"you don't deserve that sword. hand it over."

Killing Avarice:

"can't handle the heat, huh, buddy?"

"that sword's mine, you thief."

"and here i thought you understood. what a waste."

DISTORTED DEVS - TELAMON & BLOXWATCH

Spotted Avarice:

"Builds, found your girl!"

"oh, there you are."

Killing Avarice after BLOXWATCH'S callout:

"he cares so much for you. why did you leave us?"

"this is for him, you understand?"

1 SURVIVOR LEFT:

"ooh~! just one more! let's get em, builds!"

SFOTH SYNERGY - TELAMON & DAISY BELL

Spotted Builderman:

"buddy, there you are!"

"found him, Daisy!"

Killing Builderman after DAISY BELL'S callout:

"... sorry, but you're coming with us, whether you like it or not."

"she misses you, you know. why won't you join us?"

1 SURVIVOR LEFT:

"and just, one, left. let's see if they can handle us."

FINALLY..... HE'S REAL</3 SORRY I TOOK SO LONG MY WILL TO DO THINGS DISAPPEARED OFF THE FACE OF THE EXISTING WORLD. HUGH /silly

once more, DAISY BELL belongs to @splatting-stampede ! check em out :3

[sorliart]

Hey there, Delilah, I've got so much left to say If every simple song I wrote to you would take your breath away I'd write it all Even more in love with me you'd fall, we'd have it all - Hey There Delilah, Plain White T's

AU where John meets Arthur while Faroe's still alive. She gets two dads, no trauma, and a quiet life somewhere <3 Also "Hey There Delilah" is so Arthur and Faroe coded, imagining it makes me cry-

(I just want them to be a happy family please is that too much to ask T^T)

[i-chrystophylux]

007n7 Headcanons 2.0

This is strictly between himself and the killers. Mainly because I think he is the bridge between them. In a way.

(This is my opinion, if you don't agree- valid. lmao. What, did you think I was gonna say you were wrong?)

- - - -

- - - -

Due to 007n7 being the unsaid pariah of the survivors, despite all of the colorful pasts- there is naturally a curiosity about him from all of the killers- save his own son.

C00lkidd is no aware of what he is doing to the survivors at first- but after being trapped in forsaken as a manifestation- he starts to become more aware. He has genuine disdain for the other survivors, but there is nothing but love for his dad.

1x1x1x1 is a being of hatred. So naturally there is a hatred for 007n7 despite it being nowhere near as large as the hatred it has for Shedletky.

Despite there being almost uncontrollable hatred, there is also a fascination with 007n7. Mainly concerning the bond that the former hacker and exploiter has with C00lkidd. One that is made of nothing but love despite such grim circumstances. The opposite of himself.

John Doe, despite being mostly unconscious of his actions seems to have a primal curiosity about 007n7. This is actually because of the code that had consumed John Doe and corrupted him- sensing the code of the C00lgui that 007n7 bears.

Jason also harbors interest in 007n7 for different reasons. These reasons specifically being his observations of the other survivors with 007n7.

007n7 is often on the outside of the group. It's easy to tell he's not welcomed. Even in this hellscape. Whilst some harbor less grudges than others- there is some sort of grudge of negative light about 007n7 no matter where the heads turn. Jason feels a kinship because of this, due to him having a past of bulling before his demise and rise as Jason.

1x1x1x1 feels confusing and unwanted envy toward C00lkidd and 007n7. This is due to his connections with Shedletsky, his own creator. -> A child, not even created by 007n7 got unconditional love no matter the circumstances. Or at least an admission of ownership. Even if the actions committed by the child were terrible. Shedletsky refuses to tell anyone that 1x1x1x1 is his creation and the fact that he was created by the other intentionally and the other won't own up to it enrages him more.

John Doe often hesitates to kill 007n7. It is unknown if it is because of the primal urge of apprehension. Or if it is the code within him, sensing a kinship with the C00lgui code.

In rounds with Jason, Jason is less brutal with 007n7 when it concerns killing him. Almost to the point where it may be considered a mercy killing.

Jason wants to protect 'his land' but at the same time- there is also a kinship with 007n7 in a way. -> This is because Jason Voorhees was obsessed with avenging his mothers death and he had clear love for his mother. His kinship is due to the connection 007n7 has with C00lkidd. Not only because of unconditional love, but 007n7 being a single parent. (Much like Jason's own mother was)

(With that being said, Jason has disdain concerning Shedletky for the same reason- as 1x1x1x1 is his creation and the other is nothing short of Disattached from 1x1x1x1. -> Jason also seems to show light kinship to Guest 1337 as Guest 1337 is also a parent. A good parent.)

C00lkidd will often boast about 007n7 to the other killers. Telling them 'How cool his Papa is' and 'He used to be a super cool hacker and stuff'

C00lkidd will deliberately make rounds with 007n7 last longer, and usually fails to kill 007n7, but if he does he almost always waits until the round is almost over so he can spend as much time with 007n7 as possible. Always targeting other survivors first.

All of the killers have outright taken interest to sit back and OBSERVE 007n7. (Save for doe, because bro's part animal /j, he just hangs around) This is to see what causes the tension between the survivors and 007n7.

1x1x1x1 finds it ironic how 007n7 is still considerably the biggest pariah of the survivors group. -> Two-Time who has a KNOWN past that's pretty bad is also disliked- but somehow still trusted more than 007n7 is.

All of the killers consider the potential of 007n7. Considering his past, and just what power he had in his hands- the killers can't help but wonder about 007n7 and the potential he could have on their side. (Especially if 007n7 got ahold of the full version of the C00lgui again, which 007n7 definitely CAN, but refuses to)

1x1x1x1 has tried to mess with 007n7's will before. Specifically in consideration of 007n7's ostracism. He thinks 007n7 is foolish, and hardheaded.

[blacklotus06]

John "Soap" MacTavish

Headcanon

Tattoo Addict (with meaning) Soap has a bunch of tattoos, many of which he got on deployment. Every piece has a story—some memorials, some inside jokes with Ghost, and a couple he won in drunken bets.

Secretly a Great Cook He acts like he can only grill meat and eat MREs, but Soap actually learned to cook from his mum and loves making traditional Scottish meals. His shepherd’s pie is legendary among the team.

Has a Soft Spot for Animals He won’t admit it out loud, but he once delayed a mission slightly to rescue a puppy. Now that dog is living with his sister back home. He still gets photo updates.

Adrenaline Junkie Skydiving, dirt biking, cliff diving—you name it, Soap's done it (probably shirtless and laughing). He thrives on the rush but has learned to mask the danger with jokes.

Terrible at Subtlety Soap can be sneaky when needed in combat, but socially? He's loud, expressive, and says what’s on his mind—usually with a grin and a wink. Not exactly a poker face kind of guy.

Has Nicknames for Everyone Nobody escapes the Soap Nickname Treatment. Even Price got dubbed “Hat Dad” once. Soap and Ghost have a back-and-forth game of giving each other increasingly ridiculous code names.

Carries Lucky Items He keeps a worn Scottish flag patch in his vest and a small braided bracelet from his niece on his wrist. When things get intense, a quick touch grounds him.

Blasts Classic Rock During downtime or when cleaning gear, he’s got AC/DC, Queen, or The Clash blasting from a beat-up speaker. He sings along loudly, much to everyone’s amusement (or pain).

Big Brother Vibes Soap is fiercely protective of younger or less experienced soldiers. He’ll train them hard, but he’ll also check in, crack jokes, and always have their back.

Emotionally Intelligent Despite the bravado, Soap is really good at reading people’s moods. If someone on the team is off, he notices—and checks in, usually in a way that doesn’t put pressure on them.

[the-rodent-gentleman]

With another tale to spin.

So many days spent working on this...and it was worth it.

A lineup of the main cast for a Talespin reboot set in the 1990s. I had to do quite a bit of research into the fashion trends of that decade to ensure everyone fit in. To be frank, I'm impressed with how easily (almost) all of them take to the aesthetic.

As for how this sort of reboot would work as a show, I have a few loose concepts I might consider posting in the near future, both for reimaginings of classic episodes as well as crossover events, considering I envision this taking place a few decades before the events of the 2017 Ducktales reboot.

Here's some information on what they'd be like along with my thought processes on the character designs from left to right:

Baloo von Bruinwald - Papa Bear here wasn't particularly hard to pin down. I just had to jazz up his wardrobe a bit with a jacket and glasses, really. If I could pick VAs in real life, I'd go with James Monroe Iglehart because not only does he have that deep bouncy voice that invokes the perfect blend of devil-may-care and warmheartedness (Lance Strongbow from Tangled: The Series) but the man can also sing (Asmodeus from Helluva Boss), something we should have gotten more from Baloo in the original Talespin. Besides, it'd be interesting and fun to explore a Baloo with black coding on top of the German ancestry the original Talespin gave him as well as his original Indian heritage from the Jungle Book.

Rebecca Cunningham - Now Becky here definitely got the biggest makeover in terms of redesign. As much as I don't mind her original look, it really needed her personality and VA's performance to do all the heavy-lifting and felt like a product of the time. That's why I decided to depict her and Molly as Plains Cree (hence the added ponytail), not merely for the sake of diversity but to help introduce conflicts that feel genuine and less forced with a nonwhite-coded character. As for voices, Deedee Magno-Hall would work well as her time as Pearl on Steven Universe shows she can do motherly figures but also depict that neuroticism that's key to Rebecca's character flaws.

Bagheera - Yes, that's right. Baloo's original spouse is here like he deserves! Like any rebooter worth their salt, I had to figure out how he'd fit into the universe, especially since I want to incorporate his friendship with Baloo and the other Jungle Book characters - so I decided to make him a former S.H.U.S.H. agent who now works as Higher for Hire's second pilot. There'd be a whole arc centered around him having to confront his past because of F.O.W.L. causing trouble and everything. Now for his design, I decided to go for simple by giving him a very "dorky dad" look as way of making him seem unassuming. Personally, I'd pick Riz Ahmed (Ballister Boldheart from Nimona) as the VA as I headcanon Talespin Bagheera to be Indian-Pakistani. Plus, Ahmed is a dedicated rapper and the idea of Bagheera dropping a diss-track is just too good an idea to pass up.

Shere Khan - Nothing changed. Aside from the flower and cane, nothing about this man changed at all. Really, it's stupefying how little formal business attire has changed between the 30s and 90s. So, I added in an orange gerbera (a symbol of strength and resilience) and a badass cane for extra flavor. I also headcanon him as Chinese-Indian by the way, so make of that what you will. Now while I know none can truly replace Tony Jay, I believe Christopher Judge (Kratos from God of War 2018 and Ragnarok) would come pretty dang close on account of his intimidatingly booming voice and the way he delivers dry wit.

Don Karnage - As time consuming as he was (the teeth especially), I think Karnage's redesign is by far my favorite. Something about him in that flowing coat with the open chest fur just works. In terms of lore, Don Karnage would stay more or less the same, albeit he'd be like that old man struggling with all the doohickeys cropping up. He'd be voiced by John Leguizamo (Sid from Ice Age and Bruno from Encanto) who can do surprisingly good villains, like in Violent Night, yet can still come off as hilarious.

Wildcat - To be honest, I'm not entirely sure if I'm OK with the look I gave him, but I do like the idea of Wildcat rocking a beanie, so I'll keep him this way for now. Other than that, I'd prefer to keep Wildcat as much of an enigma in terms of backstory as the show did, just to preserve that sense of amiable chaos he's so good at bringing. By the way, I'd let his original VA Pat Fraley keep voicing him cuz if it ain't broke don't fix it.

Molly Cunningham - Other than giving her pants longer legs and getting rid of the bow, Molly's not too different. The most noteworthy detail I added would be the cuff bracelet on her wrist. I based it off of this trinket posted on Facebook a while back based on traditional Plains Cree beadwork since I figured that'd be easier for me to draw. For a VA, I'd give her Dani Chambers (Molly from Epithet Erased and Becky Blackbell from Spy x Family) since she's pretty good with voicing cute yet sassy young girls. Kit Cloudkicker - Ah Kit, the one the Ducktales reboot did so unnecessarily dirty. Not to worry, he's still as much of an aviation prodigy here as ever. Besides, it'd be far more interesting to explore a Kit who tries too hard to instead emulate Rebecca, even if unintentionally, to the point of burnout. As for his fit here, I simply switched out his beloved sweater for a nice two-toned jacket. For voices, I'd go with Justine Lee (Ken Amada from Persona 3: Reload) who can pull off sounding like a young spirited boy quite well. Simon Zhong - The only original character in this lineup. Ya'll who follow me might recognize him from all my Kit x Simon art. He's mainly here to serve as a nice chaotic counter to Bagheera (the two of them will parallel Baloo and Kit naturally) as well as a living bridge to potential conflicts with F.O.W.L. I decided to give him a grunge look since black is so prominent in his design, not to mention a Pac Man ghost shirt to hint at his fixation on video games. If he were to be a character in a real-life reboot, despite being pretty laconic, I'd go with Charlene Yi (Ruby from Steven Universe and Chloe from We Bare Bears) since she's got that crackling voice that has its own unique charm.

Louie - Yeah, I gave the main man the Florida treatment. Honestly, I think he looks even better this way. Aside from deeper lore on his history with Baloo and the other Jungle book characters, I wouldn't change much else about him. On that note, like with Wildcat, I'd stick with his original voice actor, Jim Cummings in this case.

Marcos - And now for the guest of honor. Say hello to Don Karnage's singing, prancy, and oh so theatrical nephew (who may or may not take over as captain one day). Because yes, yes this kid will in fact grow up to become the Don Karnage we see in the Ducktales reboot! Between an uncle who keeps berating him for "not acting like a real pirate" and a one-sided rivalry with his uncle's former protege, Kit, poor Marcos has quite the chip off his shoulder. In light of that, Alanna Ubach (Manny Rivera from El Tigre and Mamá Imelda from Coco - God, that woman has range) would be his VA as she can pull off voicing a bratty and overconfident Latino kid pretty well.

Overall, this would be a pretty stacked cast.

As for the background, I'd rather hold back on explaining that until I start posting some more of my concept art. But I'll give you a hint: Memphis style. And that's all ya'll are getting from me (for now).

Talespin, the Jungle Book movie, and all relevant characters belong to Disney. I only own Simon and the idea of this reboot.

Don't forget to hit me up on Ko-Fi for commissions!  

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