#Sheriff Badge oc

[thatfeelingwhentheshowisover]

Eight's Contest

The Pink Pals

Pom-Pom

Sunflower

Milk Carton

Masquerade Mask

Flip Phone

The Failures

Hockey Stick

Sheriff Badge

Glasses

Teddy Bear

Ball'n'Chainy

[inkedintothepaper]

writing my funny little characters like hehe. if this were a show these characters would be shipped. little would they know that this other, would be popular ship, is real. hehe.

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 30

Tightrope

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Grayson nor Bone get what they want.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.1K

Grayson tossed the most recent Enforcer reports onto her desk in a haphazard flourish. Leaning back in her chair, her wide hand roughly scrubbed at her face.

Things were a fucking mess.

Somehow, despite increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity, the Children of Zaun were yet to be ferreted out. It was as if their adversaries were not just a few dangerous malcontents, but the whole of the Underground. Not one Undercity citizen had come forth to relay any information. Not even a monetary reward was enough to persuade them.

How were they supposed to cull a terrorist group if a whole section of Piltover’s population was involved?

And things were only getting worse.

Since Council’s most recent crackdown, Enforcer-issued skips had been vandalized. Enforcers attempting investigations were met with even more resistance and vitriol: garbage and rocks thrown at them from the dark shadows of alleyways. Business owners refused to serve any officer who crossed their threshold. Some Trenchers had taken to skulking around the Undercity’s side of the Bridge. A sneering, intimidating, spiteful version of the attendance hut and barricade on Piltover’s side of the River. While those leering and cat-calling any who passed through, no one had been physically assaulted. Yet. But it had discouraged Piltovans from venturing into the Undercity.

The worst development came from the Undercity’s shoreline, and from the murk of their narrow alleys.

For several weeks, Enforcer squads tasked with tailing suspicious activity were found beaten and bleeding. Their weapons, masks, and badges missing. Once retrieved and treated for their injuries, none of the officers could give useful information, but all the squads’ stories were the same: They’d be following a group of suspicious-acting Trenchers. Their quarry would weave and loop through the labyrinth of streets and alleys, moving in a nonsensical fashion, thoroughly disorienting the Enforcers. When a backtrack was attempted, they would be rushed. No one could say how many there had been, nor where they’d come from. From behind, from above, from the very shadows themselves. The assault would be fast and furious and unforgiving. They would fight with their fists and metal.

The skips that hadn’t been damaged were being shot at. One Enforcer had been killed thus far. LeDaird had turned parts of the Undercity upside down looking for whoever was storing such weaponry. His efforts produced nothing. Piltover’s foreign relations began to strain as they wondered if some nation was supplying the Undercity with an arsenal.

And all of this made it near impossible for Grayson to tend to her deal with Councilor Bone. She hadn’t even seen him since before Snowdown. A combination of her Captain duties and his illness had kept them apart. She had heard, though, when in Chambers he was fighting tooth-and-nail to curb Council’s discipline of the Undercity.

The situation was a powder keg.

There was a knock at Grayson’s office door. She jolted in her seat, the wood creaking as the chair swiveled side-to-side.

“Come in,” she called, righting herself and spinning back to the desk.

LeDaird opened the door, looking angry and haggard. It had been his most common expression since the airship crash. Grayson stood up from her seat.

“Sheriff.”

“At ease, Dora. I am not hear to deliver news. Nor give official orders.”

This did not put Grayson at ease, but she returned to her seat all the same. LeDaird tiredly placed himself in the one in front of her desk. He eyed the papers on it, and sighed heavily.

“This is a bloody fucking mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

She opened a low desk drawer and took out the heavy bottle of scotch that lived there. LeDaird managed a smirk, but shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

Grayson looked at the bottle, considered, and then rehomed it. They sat in silence for a minute before she broke it.

“What is it you need to ask me?”

LeDaird sat back in his seat, a large hand swiping down his face.

It was a long moment before he said, “I need you to speak with Councilor Bone.”

“Sir?”

“I need you to speak with Councilor Bone,” he repeated. Leaning forward, he braced his large forearms on his knees. “I need you to convince him to stop stymying Council’s efforts. It is making our job impossible.”

“Sir – “

“I do not know what he wished to speak with you about all those weeks ago, but he sought you out. Perhaps you may be able to talk some sense into him.”

Grayson grimaced, and sat back in her seat, rubbing at her eyes. She knew Council was being pushed by aristocrats, nobles, and other Piltovans to be even harsher with their treatment of the Undercity. They wanted to beat their citizens into compliance. It would go against the promise she made Bone all those weeks ago.

After a moment, she reached for the top righthand drawer of her desk, and withdrew the reports Bone had given her. She placed them next to the ones about the Children of Zaun.

“What is this?”

“When Councilor Bone asked for that audience with me,” she began, opening the files, “he wanted my help and support in his endeavors to curb Enforcer brutality within the Undercity. He presented me with all these reports and evidence that shows a distinct disparity between legislative and judicial inequity when it comes to its citizens.”

LeDaird sat up, spine straightening. He eyed the files Grayson had put on her desk suspiciously.

“What does this have to do with what I am asking you?”

Grayson’s heart thumped against her breastbone.

“Sir, after going over the reports he provided, I believe there is cause for concern. And now, what with the Children, tensions between Enforcers and Undercity citizens has only become worse. Asking Bone to back down will not work. And pressing any harder on the Undercity will not either.”

“The Undercity is not leaving us much of a choice. Leniency is not an option anymore – “

“Leniency was never attempted.”

“Politics are not our job, Captain,” LeDaird barked. Out of habit, Greyson’s spine snapped straight at his tone. “Our job – your job – is to enforce the Council’s will.”

“Our job is to protect our citizens.”

“Whose safety is ensured by our laws.”

“And what happens when those laws do not apply to everyone? Or when our laws prevent certain of our citizens from thriving?”

LeDaird pinned her with a fiery stare. It was a look she’d never been on the receiving end of, and it sent her heart thundering. Despite that, she held it.

“The Children of Zaun got the Undercity into this mess, and no one from the Underground seems keen on getting themselves out,” LeDaird grit. “Leniency can come once justice is served. Go to Bone, and do your job, Captain. I will not entertain this nonsense.”

The Sheriff rose, posture and movements militant. Lethal. He paused at her office door, and glanced over his broad shoulder.

“You’re a good Enforcer, Dora. Your father would be proud to see where you are sitting. Don’t jeopardize it.”

The cold season had not been kind to Bone. The freezing temperatures had seized his lungs, near stilling any attempts for breath. He had visited the Council physician with the intention of getting stronger medication. But, after an examination, he was told that little could be done. The blight in his lungs was too pervasive. Even increasing his dosage of decongestant was unlikely to do much of anything. The doctor had looked at Bone somberly, and apologized. At this point, the only means for relief would be morphine.

Bone refused.

He wouldn’t be able to do his job under the influence. And with the Council, Enforcers, and Rynweaver squeezing the Undercity, his presence in Chambers was needed more than ever.

He arranged a temporary living space for himself within the Council Building so he would not have to travel in the whipping winds and snow. His Council peers – save for Heimerdinger – whispered and hissed about it.

If Bone was so ill that he could not venture outside, should he not resign?

Unfortunately for them, Bone’s body was failing; not his fortitude. And since he was lucid, and could still get to and participate in assembly, there were no grounds to remove him.

Every day, when Bone sat in the small apartment he had carved out in the Council Building, he stared out the window at the Promenade across the river. He watched his home, the city he was fighting for.

The city that was desperately, dangerously fighting for itself.

From his seat, Bone could make out some of the larger graffiti emblazoned on Promenade buildings.

FREE ZAUN

FUCK TOPSIDE

WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY

He thought about that day in the café. Of the owner and that customer mentioning The Last Drop in a way that left his weak heart pattering. When the warm came, he told himself, he would travel down to the Entresol and pay The Last Drop a visit.

The warm came.

Bone moved back into his loft on the Promenade after the first full week of consistent above-freezing temperatures. He shuffled about his space, wiping down the dust that had accumulated on the surfaces. He tossed away the old food in the icebox, wincing at the waste. He vomited several times into the toilet, and sputtered bloody globules into the sink. The warmer weather did not ease Bone’s breathing. It kept him from fully choking, but it did not relax his lungs like it had in the past.  

Bone blotted his clammy forehead with a handkerchief, staring down at the sizable, glistening wad of blood, mucus, and tissue in the sink. His hands were shaking, but not only from the effort of keeping himself upright.

Fear sluiced through his veins. Not for death itself. Fear that he would not be able to temper the conflict boiling between the Underground and Piltover. People had already died.

He had to try.

Despite being told it would do little good, Bone took a double dose of the decongestant, wrapped a long scarf around his neck, mouth, and nose, grabbed his cane, and set out for The Last Drop.

It had been a long while since Bone had traveled low into the Undercity. For no other reason than time and his health. But as he stepped off the conveyor car and hobbled down the lanes, a jabbing pang of regret prodded his heart.

For one, the Undercity was beautiful and impressive. A testament to the tenaciousness of her citizens.

Two: His constituents – those that recognized him, anyway – regarded him aloofly. A thin veil of suspicion clouding their eyes when they looked at him, and were tight-lipped if they spoke to him.

He wanted to be able to comprehend their distrust. Logically, he could arrive at an understanding: even though he was from the Undercity, he was still a Councilmember. And Council was notorious for their abuse and neglect. And despite what Bone had been able to accomplish during his time on Council, it was barely a stitch in the gaping, festering wound.

But he couldn’t help but feel a small slice of anger and sadness at his peers’ recoil. Hurt that his work and love of their home was not acknowledged, or believed in.

Hurt that they were lumping him in with them.

The Lanes were a kaleidoscope of color covered in a miasma of grey mist. The Enforcer presence was heavy, but that did not seem to stop anyone from going about their evening. People crowded around food stalls, meandered in and out of brothels, haggled at trader stands. Trenchers had always kept a wide berth around Enforcers, but now the air between them was charged to dangerous levels.

An Enforcer wiped away Zaun propaganda from the side of a building, and nearby Trenchers fixed them a look so hateful it took away what little breath Bone had. The minute the Enforcer stalked on, a young street urchin popped out of the alley shadows. Armed with a chunk of chalk, they redrew the Zaun graffiti. Bone frowned deeply behind his scarf and carried on.

It had been years since Bone had been to The Last Drop. When the establishment came into view, he felt a bittersweet wave of nostalgia. In his youth, he and the crew of miners he worked with would gather there after a too-long shift. They would be tired, battered, and filthy. Perhaps they should’ve just gone home, but they would fill the chairs around a table, and drink ale anyway. The togetherness relieved them in a way that sleep could not.

Bone’s heart ached as he neared. They were all dead now. And soon he would be, too.

The inside of the tavern was as he remembered it. Clunky mismatched tables and chairs, swaths of warm orange, yellow, and green light, large barrels of Fissure Froth tucked right behind the bar. The young man behind the counter was robust-looking, built broad and tall.

Belatedly, Bone realized some of the patrons nearest the door were eying him carefully, whispering amongst themselves. He shored up the grip on his cane and pressed forward. His gait was slow, but purposeful. His jaw grit with determination. As he continued, the cheerful chatter dwindled. The young barmaid – a slip of a thing with loose indigo plaits – held her serving tray to her chest before whisking back to the bar.

The customers there – all young folk themselves – spun at her sudden appearance. The barkeep leaned over as she hurriedly whispered to them. Then, they all looked in Bone’s direction. Varying levels of shock, concern, and irritation covered their faces. But Bone pressed forward. He sidled up to the bar with confidence only age brought.

“I am here,” he said in a light croak, “to inquire about The Children of Zaun.”

The barkeep’s face vacillated between tightening and softening, as if he were unsure to deal with Bone coolly or openly.

“Go lock the door, Annie,” one of the other men growled.

Bone glanced over to him: young, lean and made of angry angles, with a mop of wavy dark hair. His nose . . .

Bone’s mind guttered to a halt and his feeble heart skipped a beat. But he kept his face schooled. Now was not the time. His light eyes tracked over the man’s shoulder and his heart stuttered again.

Viktor’s sister.

“I don’t work for you!” the barmaid spat.

“Go lock th’door, Annie,” the barkeep said.

The barmaid – Annie – huffed, and swept away. The other patrons, who had quieted to a low hiss, watched her trajectory before turning their heads back to the bar.

“Can I get’cha something, Councilor?” the barkeep asked, setting massive, bruised hands on the counter.

“Information.”

The barkeep smirked. The thin young man sneered. Viktor’s sister grimaced, her pretty face turning pink.

“Aye. I got that. Anything t’go with? Ale? Schnapps? Tea?”

“Water is fine.”

The barkeep nodded, rising back to his full height. “Benzo, clear your table fer the Councilor.”

Behind Bone, another swarthy-built young man rose, and shooed away the others sitting with him. They readily scattered, taking their drinks, and stationing themselves nearby to watch and listen to whatever was about to happen.

Bone only hesitated a moment before stepping over, and stiltedly took the proffered seat. He kept it to himself, but his knees and hips groaned in thanks. It had been a long time since he had traveled so far on foot in one go.

The foul-faced young man slipped from his barstool, a freshly lit cigarette between his lips, and prowled over. The Councilor searched him, looking for any other signs of Rynweaver. Physically, there was nothing else but his nose, and perhaps the color and texture of his hair. Bone did not recognize his other features, but they were striking. He wondered how many more illegitimate children of Rynweaver’s were hidden in the crags and crevasses of the Undercity. How many of its women and girls he had terrorized in more ways than one?

He wondered if the young man knew. He wondered if it would be a tactical advantage to mention it.

Moving like smoke, he slipped into the chair to Bone’s left. A tall glass was suddenly plunked down in front of him, and the barkeep lowered his enormous body into the chair on the right. The rest of the tavern had turned to face them, the weight of hundreds of eyes settling heavily on Bone’s chest. The only sound left was the occasional uneasy tap of a tankard on a table’s surface.

“We were wonderin’ if you’d show up eventually,” the barkeep hummed, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“It is difficult to show up when one does not receive an invitation.” Bone looked around the room. “Is this everyone?”

“Your even more of a fool than I thought if you think this is everyone,” the blade-nosed man spat.

Bone’s upper lip twitched. He looked between the two. “You’re the leaders then, are you? What’re your names?”

A stream of smoke shot from the thin one’s mouth. “Like I said: Fool.”

“You are foolish if you think my purpose in coming here is only to turn you in to the Enforcers. I could’ve come here with Enforcers. I did not.”

The silence in the space quivered, uncertain and precarious.

“What’d’ya want then?” the barkeep asked.

“To talk,” Bone said. And then: “To reason.”

The silence broke into sharp, angry hisses and whispers. The barkeep waved a massive hand in the air, instructing the crowd to settle.

Once they did, he fixed the Councilor with firm, earnest eyes and said: “Name’s Vander.”

Vander glanced across the table to his compatriot, who did not look back. He kept his glare firmly fixed on Bone. After a several-second stare down, he sat back in his seat.

“Silco.”

Bone nodded, eyes flitting between the pair. Then around the room. They landed on Viktor’s sister for a beat longer than anyone else. He turned back to Silco and Vander.

“Where is the money from the airship crash?”

Silco snorted, shaking his head.  The cherry end of his cigarette glowed persimmon-orange as he took a long drag.

“That’s all Topside cares about. Their money.Their ego. Their status quo.” Rumbles of agreement rippled around the room. “Even if we could give them their coin back, it won’t keep them from punishing us.”

“They are punishing us now,” Bone reminded. “The trade blocks and inspections. The Bridge. The increasing number of Enforcers in the Underground.”

“And whose fault is that?” Silco’s voice was a low, predatory growl. It seemed to be another thing he’d inherited from Rynweaver.

Bone frowned. “I am the only one managing to hold them back right now. I have been keeping Piltover’s fist loose enough that we can still breathe. They will not back off until the threat of the Undercity seceding is terminated.”

“Maybe the tactic should be cuttin’ off their hand,” Vander said with a shrug. “Instead of tryin’ to loosen it.”

Bone sighed, and ran a hand over his head. After a moment, he took a sip of water. The cool trickles seared his ravaged throat.

“You’re not the first, you know,” he rasped, “to dream and ache about such things. Years ago, my friends and I would sit in this very bar, and listen to others talk about independence – “

“But that’s all it was: talk,” Silco said. “Talk gets one only so far. To see a dream through, it requires action. Fighting – “

“You will get people killed – “

“People have already been killed,” Vander countered.

“And will continue to be massacred, whether the Children of Zaun disband or not. There is nowhere to move but forward. Toward our freedom.”

Bone’s lips pulled tight. He looked around the room again. At the angry and hopeful faces of his fellowman. He’d seen glimmers of those expressions in every person he’d ever heard speak about independence from Piltover. It was only ever a flicker, not enough to nestle into the lines on their faces; not enough to become fully imbued with the dream they were concocting. Because they knew –

“The Undercity will not survive a war with Piltover,” the Councilor said lowly. There was no defeat in his voice. Just the flatness of fact.

Silco’s eyes flared. Vander frowned deeply.

“We lack the funds and supplies,” he continued. He spoke with the grounded authority of a parent, and The Children bristled under him. “Piltover and the Undercity rose up from the same place. From Oshra Va’Zaun. They are sisters. They’re meant to be together. They will be stronger, safer together. That is what I have been working on in Chambers – “

“Fat lotta good it’s done!” a voice deep in the crowd cried. A roil of agreement swelled through the Drop.

“All due respect, Councilor,” Vander said, and his tone matched the sentiment, “Topside has had plenty o’ time to pull the Undercity up. They’ve no interest. An’ despite yer heart-felt efforts – “ Silco scoffed at this – “we’re still livin’ n’ dyin’ in squalor. Bodies covered in soot, lungs full o’ Grey, barely two cogs to rub together despite all the work we do.”

“We deserve more,” Silco growled.

“We do,” Bone agreed.

“So work with us,” interrupted Vander. “Like I said, we were wonderin’ if ya’d ever come knockin’. It’s clear ya love the Undercity, but Topside won’ listen.”

“They’ve thrown you placating crumbs,” Silco sneered. “Just enough to think that your agenda for equitability is possible. And you’ve gobbled them up.”

Bone glared at him. After a long beat, he addressed the room quietly, “Your anger is righteous, real, and well-founded. But freedom is too costly a thing. For both the Undercity and Topside. Our people will be decimated. They will get further away from their humanity.” His eyes settled on Viktor’s sister. “Lives will be ruined.”

She stiffened under his stare, and he was glad the message landed.

Silco leaned into his eyeline, redirecting Bone’s attention back onto him and Vander. There was a wild sharpness to his eyes now, like they’d been cut from ice. Cold and deadly. The back of Bone’s neck prickled. This one was dangerous. Like his father, he’d run the Undercity into the ground if let loose. So, Bone turned his attention back to the other revolutionary.

“I understand that it is not what you want. So often what is best is not the thing we want. Peace arguably requires more work. Requires humbleness and a swallowing of pride. From both sides. It requires forgiveness. But it preserves life. That is what we should be working towards.”

“You’re a stark raving, idealist fool,” Silco hissed.

Agreements slithered around them. Vander’s lips flattened. He smashed his cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

“We have to try, Councilor.”

Bone’s heart tapped an agitated, uneven rhythm. Heat bloomed beneath his collar, frustration and grief gripped his throat. He coughed, pulling the scarf back over his nose and mouth, turning away from the table.

He felt defeated. Like the blight in his chest, there was nothing to be done here either.

He would have to contact Grayson. He would have to do as much work in Chambers as he possibly could before his illness finally choked him out.

When the fit passed, Bone braced himself onto the strength of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet. No one stepped forward to offer a hand. The inkling of alienation that had been brushing up against his insides since before Snowdown became a scythe that gutted him.

“Thank you for the water. I will keep doing what I need to do to protect the Undercity.”

“So will we,” Silco volleyed.

Slowly, the tap of his cane filling the room, Bone rounded the table. Before he began the journey to the door, he paused in front of Viktor’s sister. She held his gaze, but he saw the muscles in her jaw flutter manically with anxiety.

“You should be ashamed,” he whispered.

A chair shrieked behind him as Silco shot to his feet, but he did not react. Bone watched doubt flicker in the young woman’s eyes before they glazed over defensively.

“Get out.”

Bone heeded her and limped toward the front door. The crowd parted with each hobbled step. Annie unlocked the door, and opened it for him. Despite his better judgement, Bone looked back over his shoulder at the angry and hopeful faces he recognized so well. Guilt hung heavy on his heart.

“Good luck,” he said, and stepped out back into the Lanes.

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Coming Up Next: The Children reel after Bone's visit

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[macadoodlewrites]

Dangerous Love - Part Twenty-One (Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Reader)

Summary: Avery Routledge is John B's cousin, and she has just moved to the OBX - just in time for a treasure hunt. But with John B keeping secrets in order to protect her, he pushes her into the arms of the Kook King. She becomes tangled with none other than Rafe Cameron, but will she realise how damaged he is before it is too late, or will he ruin her before she can get away?

Warnings: death, smut, dub-con, non-con, toxic behaviour, abuse, kidnapping

Ships: Rafe Cameron x OC, minor!JJ x OC

Main Masterlist

Dangerous Love Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Ward slowed down at precisely the right minute, and the plane stopped before it could hit John B. I completed the distance between us, running to my cousin as he hopped out of the van. Ward did the same, jumping down from the plane, fury evident on his face.

"Sarah!" John B screamed. She was slowly coming down the steps of the plane behind her father.

"What are you trying to do? Kill her?" Ward yelled.

John B had an arm out behind him, telling me to stay back as Ward got in his face. I took his hand in mine.

The two men were yelling at each other, screaming about the gold, and I was sure that Ward was going to attack him when Sarah got in the way. Her dad tried to pull her back.

"Don't touch me!"

John B backed away, his hand still clutching mine and his other arm wrapped around Sarah, taking us away from Ward. Faintly, I could hear sirens approaching, and wanted to scream at my cousin to run, that we could get the gold another day, but one look at his face told me to stay quiet. He wasn't just fighting for the gold now. This was personal with Ward. This was for his father.

And then a cop car was on the tarmac, racing towards us. I flinched at the relief on Ward's face, at how happy he seemed to see the police officer. I wanted to pull him and Sarah away - John B couldn't get arrested!

A women was walking towards us in the Kildare County police uniform and I could just see her name badge read 'Peterkin.' So this was the women that John B had spoken so highly of to me over the years. She walked over slowly, hand resting on her gun.

"Oh thank God you're here," Ward called to her.

I was expecting for Sheriff Peterkin to be staring at John B, Sarah and I, but she wasn't. She was only focused on Ward.

"Put your hands on your head," she said, her voice carrying in the wind. Ward stared at us all.

"I'd do as she said."

John B was calmer than I expected him to be; far too calm for someone who was about to go to jail. Was I missing something...?

"She's talking to you, Ward."

I looked up at John B, but his eyes were only focused on Ward. Sarah and I exchanged a glance but it was clear that she was just as confused as I was. We turned, watching as Ward slowly twisted to look at Sheriff Peterkin, who now had a gun pointed at him.

"You're under arrest for the murder of "Big John" Routledge."

My breath caught in my throat. She believed us? Believed John B? Was this really happening? Ward was going to be arrested and we could get the gold? Sarah sagged against John B, tears pouring down her pretty cheeks. I stepped forwards, John B's grip still on me.

"Are you kidding me?!" Ward screamed, but it was obvious that Peterkin was deadly serious. Her gun was steady, her aim straight at Ward's chest.

I listened as the Sheriff started to read Ward his rights, watched as Ward got to his knees with his hands behind his head.

"I don't like being used," I heard her hiss as she clipped the handcuffs tightly onto one of his wrists. When had Ward used her?

I wanted to gloat at him, scream that he clearly did not have the police as far into his pocket as he believed, just as he turned, clearly intending to fight her off.

And then the gun shot went off.

I looked at Ward, but he was standing still, staring.

And then Peterkin fell to the ground, her eyes wide and hands shaking. The gun slid from her grip.

Rafe was there. Within one moment and the next, he had ducked under the tail of the plane, gun in hand, pointing it at the Sheriff.

I sobbed at the sight of him, of the gun in his hand. And then he looked up, eyes locking onto mine and I flinched away. He noticed, his eyes narrowing. John B now had one of his arms around Sarah and the other around me, as if trying to shield us both from the image in front of us.

Even Ward was panicking. "What did you do?" he spat at Rafe.

Rafe smiled at his father, one full of adoration for him. "I saved you, Dad."

Sheriff Peterkin was now on the floor coughing, blood dripping from her lips. John B broke from both of us, rushing over to the fallen Sheriff and trying anything to stop the bleeding. I heard him muttering apologies over and over again. Sarah was right behind him on her knees, sobbing.

I was frozen, watching as my cousin pulled his precious bandana over his head, trying to staunch Peterkin's bleeding. He achieved nothing. I rushed forwards, trying to join Sarah and John B, but someone stopped me.

Rafe. He moved to stand in front of me, gun still in hand.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered. Everything about him was as perfect as it had been the first time I had seen him. Cornflower blue eyes that were bright and gleaming down at me as the sun caught the lighter strands of his dirty blonde hair. He was smiling but I could find no warmth in it. Nothing from the Rafe I had known only a few nights ago.

I watched as he took in my face, bringing his hand up - the one that was not holding the gun - to run his fingers over the cheek that he had hit yesterday. He stared, and I had no idea what he was thinking. Was he disgusted with himself? Or happy to see a mark on my skin thanks to him?

"I missed you. Why did you run off?"

"You hurt me," I snapped. His eyes narrowed and he brought the gun up and ran it down my jaw. I couldn't see the others behind him, too focused on the metal that was trailing my skin. He could pull the trigger at any second, end my life at any second. Did he want to? Was he that mad at me? Yesterday, he had told me repeatedly that he loved me and wanted to protect me, even if that protection meant pain for me. But that was before I had ran off.

I gulped heavily as he brought the gun down my neck. The hand on my cheek went with it and popped the top button of my flannel top open. I wanted to run, wanted to scream out, but fear had taken my voice away.

But then someone was behind Rafe, pulling him away heavily. Rafe spun but hardly moved, his stance too steady. He was far more in control than he had been yesterday when he had been on drugs. I stepped backwards, wanting to get away from him.

"Do not touch her," John B spat. Sarah was next to him, staring at her brother incredulously.

"Rafe, put the gun down!"

Behind them, Ward was leant over Peterkin, yelling into a walkie talkie, asking for help. I absently noted that the handcuff that had been on his wrist was now on the floor. I moved to stand next to Sarah and John B, seeing the blood on both of their hands. Sheriff Peterkin's blood.

Rafe watched me move, before looking at my cousin and raising the gun to him.

"Rafe, no!" Sarah screamed. "Let him go! Let us all go!"

He didn't seem to hear his words as he cocked the trigger, aiming it straight into John B's face.

Ward was now standing, having disregarded the walkie talkie and was yanking Sarah away. Ward may not have cared for much, but it was clear that he loved his daughter and wanted to keep her from harm’s way. She fought him but he only dragged her back, leaving Rafe, John B and I.

"Do it," John B taunted, and I sobbed, staring at him. He was expressionless, staring down at the gun.

"I should," Rafe spat. "You keep getting in the way of things. You want to break my family apart, want to have my Dad arrested." He pointed a long finger at me. "You want to take her away from me!"

"She is my cousin, Rafe, and she is free to make whatever decisions she wants!" John B's voice was calm but I still hear the tremor in it.

"No, you little Pogue. She is mine, she belongs to me! She loves me. And when you go to prison, she will be with me."

I ducked in between the two of them, the fun now aimed at my forehead. "Don't do this, Rafe, please. I told you everything. He is the only family that I have left."

"You have me now, Avery."

"But you don't have me."

"If I kill him, then I will."

Rafe made no move, but if he only lifted the gun slightly and fired, it would kill my cousin. John B, the only living member of my family that loved me and would never hurt me. The one who had taken me in each summer when my mother had chased me away. I needed to protect him. I would do anything for him to live.

"I will never forgive you if you kill him," I whispered, and this got his attention. His blue eyes focused on me, roaming my face.

Somewhere in the distance, Ward and Sarah were still struggling but all I could see and hear was Rafe. I knew that deep down I still loved him, despite all that he had done in the past day. But somehow I needed to tell him this.

"You're already mad at me," Rafe stated. From behind, John B had wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me tightly against him. I knew he wanted me gone, away from Rafe, but I wanted him safe and alive far more.

"I am mad. But I can forgive you for everything. I will forgive you for hitting me, for tricking me, for it all. But if you kill John B, I will never forgive you. I will hate you."

Something shifted in his eyes, and he lowered the gun ever-so-slightly. His gaze drifted down to John B's arm, and then back up to my face. "You'll forgive me?"

I nodded.

"Do you still love me?"

Despite everything; the threats against my friends, his possessive behaviour and the marks he had left on my skin; despite John B standing behind me, I nodded. "I do."

He focused on me, taking in everything. And I knew what I was showing him. Although there were tears on my cheeks and I was trembling, I could still see past the fear and see Rafe from before yesterday, the Rafe that I had spent the night with and run to when I had felt alone.

"You do," he confirmed and finally he smiled.

"Now let John B go," I whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere without you and Sarah."

I turned, letting my cousins arm drop from me and looked at him. "Ward would never hurt Sarah." And to seal the deal, I glanced over my shoulder at Rafe. "And Rafe wouldn't hurt me. But he will kill you."

"Avery, he will hurt you! Look at your face."

This set Rafe off again, and he pointed the gun at John B again.

"I'm giving you one chance to leave, Pogue," he spat.

John B didn't move, but behind him I could see Ward. He had shoved Sarah into his car and was coming back towards us, Peterkin's gun in his hand. I screamed. "John B, go!"

He looked behind him, and seeing what was about to happen, that two men might shoot him, he looked at me and I saw tears on his cheeks. "I love you."

Before I could say it back, he was running, and I was throwing myself at Ward, trying to tug the gun from his grip. He fought me, but it was too late.

John B was gone. Rafe was then behind me, wrapping an arm around me as I cried, thanking whoever was listening that John B had gotten away.

Ward only looked on at me murderously before he lashed out, smacking his gun into the side of my head. I sagged against Rafe, letting him hold me up.

"Dad!" Rafe screamed.

Everything was going dark, as I felt Rafe lean down to slide his arms under me, picking me up. I let him, all of the fight in me gone.

"He will tell them what happened, Rafe. You let him go because of her."

"No, Dad. I have a plan, okay? We will be fine."

The world spun one more time as my head fell back, and I finally blacked out with only the thought that John B was safe running through my mind. His life was worth whatever the Cameron's were going to do.

PREVIOUS // NEXT

Tagged -

@miniaturenightmagazine @zombicupcake3 @flossiewrites  @harringtonstudios  @annellie  @steveharringtonswifey09  @hockeybabe87 @shikamaruscumrag  @urmomssidehoesposts @namelesssav  @www-interludeshadow-com @gh0stgirl33 @belcalis9503 @thebuttofcaptainamerica  @im-julessssss @screechingeggslovershepherd @okayyiamjade @dforever15 @belcalis9503  @iridescentimagines @sarahlizzie @magnificantmermaid @inspiredleonie @angrypeachtyrant @wishfulwithwine @lavenderhue @magnificantmermaid

[crashcookie28]

Oc content 🙏

Some doodle requests over on the Dandy's Block server 💕

Credits:

Only Gunner (Sheriff badge) belongs to me!

Stellar (angry girlie) belongs to @alex_fujioka60 (insta)

Blu (Macaroon bear) belongs to @woofle_senpai (insta)

Connor (Coffee mug) belongs to @rye-enjoying-things

Ivan (Ice cube) belongs to @ShroomieArts (Bluesky)

[sitialia123]

My latest art for independence day w/ my favourite cartoons?! I'M MALAYSIAN RAAAAH🇲🇾🔥🔥🔥🔥

Fts: Chuck 🇲🇾(Chuck Chicken), Danger Mouse 🇬🇧(Danger Mouse 2015), and Mao Mao 🇺🇸(Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart) + my redesign for their clothes!

Chuck: Represented Fire Phoenix cape w/ his tradition family clothes

Danger Mouse: New black and yellow clothes instead all white one w/ UK flag colour palette + no eyepatch!

Mao Mao: Following his eyes colour to red cape and wearing a adventure clothing w/ Pure Heart Valley's sheriff badge

My OCS!

CC'S OC: Lee Shang, 30 years old (Indonesian-Chinese)

DM'S OC: Daniel 'Max' Mullard, 18 years old (British-Malaysian)

MMHOPH'S OC: Shin Xiao Mao, 40 years old (Chinese-Japanese-American)

Plus: Chuck's 9th anniversary of his TV series first debut!

Fts: Chuck, Charles (CC'S OC), Dan (CC'S OC), Little Phoenix, Little Dragic (CC'S OC) and Drifinix (CC'S OC)

[the-plagueis-crew]

OC: Blonde Busty and Skilled hands~

NAME: Bess Big tits~ (it's actually Big Horn, she's just slutty)

AGE: I won't tell~ (She's 22)

RACE: I'mma Minotaur! (Recessive genes, so she's right...on a technicality)

HEIGHT: I'm a sweet lil' thing~ (She means 4'11")

CLASS: Gunslinger! (Arcane Archer, but uses guns and bullets instead)

STR 10 (+0) INT 10 (+0)

DEX 20 (+5) WIS 12 (+1)

CON 15 (+2) CHA 17 (+3) Mostly my tits to be candid~

BACKSTORY:

"Sheriff" of her own little frontier town, Bess was born and raised in a warrior dynasty named the Bighorns, having Minotaur in their blood, they've been protecting the frontier and cattle for close to 200 years. Bess, however, grew up on tales of adventure and comradery, knight dragons, the whole shebang. So she decided to leave when she was 18 and was supposed to be sworn in as sheriff, she even has the badge!

Now, Bess or Bessy as I prefer, walk t' world meetin' fellas who dunno what a gun is, fightin' dragons and beasties, and meetin' studs and sluts ta fill mah needs~

...Gotta go home and talk to Ma and Pa someday, though...

[deathdetermineslife]

Hi! I love your imagines so much, I was wondering if you could do something for if your f/o is in law enforcement? Cop/sheriff/detective anything would make my day so much 🥰

yes! i have a detective list so I will post this as a sheriff list

if they dont have a badge, make one! if they do, print one out to carry with you!

watch those cop cam videos. especially ones of police chases

speaking of, have they ever been in a high speed chase? write a drabble about it

learn police code! like all those numbers n things

I added this on my criminal list, but get those like, handcuff necklaces! the like matching ones

learn what police offers keep on them during the job. like a gun and a taser n stuff

look into what they do to train cops. maybe you could write a drabble about their experience in training!

as the head sheriff, I would assume they've been on the job for a long time. what's some of their craziest experiences on the job?

do they have a playlist they listen to when they're chilling in their cruiser? make one!

stereotypical, but draw them with a box of donuts. feet kicked up on the desk just goin to town on them dunkin

idk shit about cops, I probably should, considering I'll need to write them for my OC universe... hmm... okay that's all the lists for tonight it's bedtime

[jedipoodoo]

Love Knows No Season (Sergeant Hunter x OC, Wild West AU)

@queenquazar @dilpickledd @the-shadow-of-atlantis @themaridenstationchronicles @allwhoponder

Word Count: 5066 (H O W ? ? ?) Notes: Hypothermia, sickfic(ish), pining but they're too obtuse to realize that the other is pining too. Crosshair 110% says "y'all" y'all are just cowards.

Saachi was quite surprised to find the Sheriff was at the door when Missus Secura asked her to answer it. She was quite embarrassed that she hadn't put more effort into making sure her hair was brushed, but it had snowed heavily the night before and she wasn't expecting any of the ranch hands to show up.

"Is everything alright, sir?" She asked.

Sheriff Hunter floundered for a moment, "Is that how you greet everyone?" He asked.

"It's the badge, Hunt," Echo gave Hunter a meaningful nudge as he wheeled himself around his brother and into the house.

Hunter glanced down at the lapel of his dark overcoat, with the golden star pinned just over his heart, and quickly took it off, shoving it in his coat pocket.

"Well come on in! Don't let all the heat out!" Mister Secura chuckled good-naturedly, and Saachi stepped out of the way to let Echo and Hunter into the kitchen

"Echo, Sheriff, this is a pleasant surprise," Missus Secura smiled, offering them the plate of cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven.

"Didn't mean to interrupt anythin', ma'am," Echo nodded, and gratefully accepted the pastry, "We just wanted to invite Yulia and Saachi to come skating with us this morning."

"That sounds wonderful," Yulia gasped and took Saachi's hand. Despite standing over the stove for the past hour, her fingers were still freezing, "Have you ever been skating before?"

"No, I-I don't believe I have," Saachi tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"No need to worry," Echo gave Hunter's arm a solid whack, "Hunter can teach you plenty!"

"Would it just be the four of you, then?" Missus Secura asked, mindful as always.

"No ma'am," Echo sat up straight, "the rest of our brothers will be there too. We're teaching Megan how to skate today as well."

Saachi and Hunter on their own would be an appropriate pair to chaperone Yulia and Echo as they pursued their courtship, but no one would question the integrity of the local doctor in addition to the Sheriff's vow of honor.

"Come on, let's go get ready!" Yulia, still grasping Saachi's hand, pulled her from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. It was like she knew her parents were going to day yes. Saachi's father and stepmother back home would have required several more rounds of interrogation before possibly considering Saachi being around four men all day, even if they were more friends than strangers.

The Fett boys, however, were no strangers. Saachi had been staying with the Securas in Pabu Creek for the last five months, traveling around Marauder Valley helping any women in need of a midwife or any kind of medical care. In doing so, she'd gotten to know Pabu Creek's Doctor Tech, Yulia's sweetheart Echo, and their brothers quite well. Not to mention their little sister, Megan. Megan was well-versed in medicine, and had helped Saachi and Yulia once or twice. Sheriff Hunter had also escorted them all over the valley, and helped them out of a sticky situation more times than Saachi would care to admit.

"Here, wear this," Yulia handed Saachi a fluffy red scarf.

"What, why?" Saachi wrapped it around her neck anyway, she needed the warmth.

"It matches the one the Sheriff was wearing. Plus, it's a good color on you," Yulia winked.

Saachi hushed her quickly, "He could hear you!" Yulia just laughed all the louder, and brushed Saachi's hair, pulling it back into a smooth bun that could easily fit under a bonnet.

Saachi rolled her eyes. Yulia's attempts at playing matchmaker were getting more and more overt, and Saachi didn't know what to do about it. It had been six months. If the sheriff was going to make a move on her, he would have done so by now. But Saachi didn't mind, not one bit. She was happy simply to spend time with Yulia and the others.

They came back downstairs, bundled tightly. and Yulia took their thicker bonnets from the coat pegs to tie below their chin.

Saachi fumbled with the strings for a moment, trying not to tie her mittens in a knot.

"Let me," The sheriff offered. He took the strings from her hands, tying them in a secure knot just below her chin.

"Thank you, Sher- Hunter." Saachi corrected herself.

"Anytime," Sheriff Hunter held out his arm to her, escorting her down the stairs of the Secura's porch to the sleigh he and Echo had ridden in. The two horses, Havoc and Maudie, waited patiently, delicately pawing at the snow as Hunter helped Echo down the stairs in his wheelchair.

Havoc was a dark gray stallion, with gruff neighs and whinnies. Maudie was a mare with soft yellow fur and mane, and she kept blinking at the brightness of the sun reflected on the bright white snow.

Hunter and Yulia helped Echo into the back of the sleigh with some blankets, and hung his wheelchair off the back of the sleigh. Hunter slipped into the front bench next to Saachi. With a click of his teeth, he urged the horses forward, and theytook off at a brisk trot down the road towards the Fett Family Ranch.

Saachi watched the snow around them, watching it sparkle in the morning sun against a clear blue sky.

"No one ever talks about how bright the snow is. Just how it's always cold, and wet," Saachi spoke quietly, trying not to interrupt Yulia and Echo's conversation. They were adults, they could talk about whatever they wanted.

Hunter grunted, and Saachi thought that would be the end of their conversation as the sleigh hissed across the top of the icy drifts.

"Sometimes it takes seein' something for yourself to see the beauty in it," He said.

Saachi felt the inner urge to keep the conversation going, but she had no idea of what to say next.

"What's your home like?"

"What, the ranch?"

"No no, not your house here, but, you said once that your family came from the Maori islands, right?"

Hunter nodded. "Rotura. New Zealand."

"When I came to America, we stopped in Auckland on the way over. It was pretty small."

"Auckland is not New Zealand," Hunter shook his head, "That's the British New Zealand."

"Right," Saachi gave a deep exhale, watching her breath frost on the crisp air with the awkwardness.

Fortunately, the Fett Home came into view as they rounded a copse of naked trees. Wrecker was outside, chopping wood, and little Megan was helping him, hollaring and waving as the sleigh came up the hill.

"Wrecker, what's she doing out without her coat on?" Hunter sighed and climbed out of the sleigh. But before he went over to give Megan a little push back inside, he offered Saachi a hand out from under the blankets and furs that cushioned the seats.

Wrecker shrugged, and tossed some more logs on the wood pile, "She seemed fine! She was having fun making the snowballs." He pointed to the piled next to the front door.

"She's a kid, Wrecker, she'll get sick faster than we will," Echo explained patiently. Wrecker helped him out of the sleigh and into his wheelchair, helping him through the tracks left by his chair from earlier in the morning.

"How are you going to skate with us, Echo?" Saachi asked, walking alongside Echo's chair.

A loud clattering from the barn, followed by a prolonged moo from the cow, Lulabelle, answered her question. Tech stumbled out, carrying another big, bulky chair in his arms.

"I believe this one will suit our needs rather well!" He proudly announced, holding it up as high as he could with the bulky shape.

Megan threw open the door to the house, now wrapped up in a long, woolen overcoat, with a scarf, gloves, and a thick bonnet like Saachi's and Yulia's.

"Who's ready for ice skating!" She whooped and grabbed Saachi's hand, taking off at a sprint down the hill from the house to the lake.

Omega skid to a stop at the lake's edge, and Saachi nearly crashed into her, both of them studying the ice in great detail.

"So how do we do it?" Omega asked, gasping for breath.

Saachi shook her head, "I don't know."

Still holding Saachi's hand for good luck, Megan stretched out her booted foot, placing it solidly on the ice. Nothing happened. Megan leaned forward, placing her second foot on the ice with it. She gave a little bounce to see if something would happen, and her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed on her rear.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and Saachi watched Crosshair, the last and most aloof of the brothers, approach with two pairs of shoes with blades attached to the bottom.

"I think this will make it more fun for y'all."

"What's that?" Megan groaned, pushing herself back on her feet and rubbing her bum.

Crosshair waved the smaller pair of skates at her, and Saachi noticed a third pair slung over his shoulders, "This, kid, is the 'skate' in 'ice skate'."

Saachi helped Megan off the ice again, and Crosshair showed them how to lace up the skates as Wrecker and Tech helped Echo down the hill with his new chair.

The seat was the same wicker frame as Echo's wheelchair, but instead of the wheels, the framework beneath the seat was attached to two handles, much like the brake in a railroad engine, so that Echo could steer the ice skates at the bottom of the framework.

Yulia laced up her own pair of skates and was the first one on the ice after Echo. While he figured out the mechanics of his new chair, Yulia took Megan's hands and led her out on the ice. Megan's feet almost slipped out from under her, but Yulia kept a firm hold on her, showing her how to position her feet and keep her balance.

"Where's Hunter?" Saachi glanced around, but couldn't see the Sheriff who had brought them there.

"He's puttin' the horses in the barn to stay warm," Crosshair winked at her, "You're welcome to wait for 'im if you want 'im to show ya a few moves..."

Saachi's face flushed with warmth from her chin to the tip of her nose, despite the cold. Did everyone know that she was sweet on the Sheriff?

"Wrecker! Can you show me how to skate?"

"Me?" Wrecker was momentarily confused, but it was quickly replaced with a grin as big as the Grand Canyon, "Sure thing!"

Keeping her hand on Wrecker's arm, Saachi carefully pulled herself to her feet. She could balance a sword on her fingertip, she could balance her body on a single blade. She placed her feet on the ice just as Yulia had told Omega, and let Wrecker lead her across the ice.

Her legs wobbled a bit, “How do you move on these?” she asked. 

“Like this!” Wrecker shot forward, yanking Saachi with him. Saachi squealed and hung on to Wrecker’s arm for dear life as she was dragged across the ice with him, her feet flying out from under her as she tried to get a semblance of balance.

Yulia laughed as Wrecker skated past with Saachi and tow. She was skating lazily, using Echo’s chair like a cane to keep her balance. Saachi caught a glimpse of Crosshair’s smirk and turned to shoot a rude comment in his direction, only for her grip to slip from Wrecker’s arm and send her tumbling face first into a thick leather jacket.

Hunter caught her under the elbows, holding her steady until she got her feet under her. Wrecker didn’t seem the least bit apologetic for his shenanigans.

"Thanks, Wreck," Hunter said, his voice low and his eyes never leaving Saachi's, "I got it from here.”

Wrecker laughed, “If you say so, boss!” He skated over to Megan, much more gracefully than one would expect of a man his girth.

Hunter took Saachi’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. His arms weren’t as big as Wrecker’s, but they were firm and warm, and it kept her hand tucked up against his warm chest. Saachi tried to place her second hand there for a more secure grip, but Hunter gently pushed it away.

“You’ll need that to keep your balance. Here,” He gave a little push with his skates, and he almost pulled away from Saachi before she pulled herself after him.

“Start with smaller strokes, it’s easier to keep yourself from fallin’ over. Watch me,” He pointed down at their feet. Though his feet moved almost diagonally as they pushed against the ice, his body kept moving in a straight line. Saachi matched her steps to his, slowly but surely gliding across the ice. Now she was starting to see why this was enjoyable. 

Hunter led Saachi around the perimeter of the lake, helping her get accustomed to the movement and letting her find her balance.

“You know how to dance, right?”

Saachi blinked up at him, “Do you?” She demanded.

Hunter chuckled and spun himself in front of Saachi. Still holding her hand, he was skating backward as he led her in a lazy Figure Eight.

“C’mon now, you didn’t think we’re that uncultured out here did ya?”

Well, the Secura’s did host a dance from time to time,but Saachi couldn’t think of a time she’d seen the Sheriff dancing at one.

Before she could come up with a witty retort, Hunter gently pulled her in closer, holding her hand in his and placing his free hand on her waist. Saachi fell into dance position easily, and without missing a beat Hunter glided through the waltz steps– one, two, three, one two three –and spun Saachi under his arm.

Like any upper-crust lady who’d been taught how to dance, Saachi anticipated the move, lifting her right foot just above the ice, and rising to the tip of the blade of her skates. She wobbled on such a small area, but Hunter held her firmly, and kept her from falling.

Saachi landed with her back against Hunter’s chest, both his hands clutched in her, and the others applauded their show.

“Well done,” Hunter whispered in her ear. Unable to do anything but giggle childishly, Saachi gave a curtsy to her dance partner.

Megan laughed, more than confident enough in her own abilities as she skated by, grinning at Saachi and Hunter, like she knew something that they didn’t.

The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, and everyone paused for a moment. When no one reported any injuries, they all relaxed, but Megan stayed frozen.

It turned out Saachi was warmed by more than just the movement required for skating. The ice was getting thinner, creating a spider-web of cracks beneath Megan's feet.

"Help me," She whimpered.

"Wrecker, you and Echo get off the ice," Hunter said. Everyone began talking at once, Wrecker protesting trying to say that he could help, Yulia trying to make her way over to Echo, Crosshair skating towards Megan as fast as he could, and Tech drawing closer as he tried to tell Megan how she should avoid falling through the ice.

"Everyone shut up and stop moving!" Hunter barked. His voice sent the birds scrambling away in the trees.

"Wrecker, you're too heavy. We need as many of us off the ice as possible."

Wrecker and Yulia helped Echo get his chair off the ice, and slowly Tech made his way to the edge of the lake.

“You too Cross,” Hunter said. Crosshair tried to move closer to where Omega was, but he was still halfway across the lake, and Saachi and Hunter were already closer to Megan. Finally, he gave up, and joined the others on the snow.

"Yulia, get us a stick or something!" Hunter waved a hand at the woods. Yulia stumbled through the snow, growing slushier with each passing second, and Crosshair was right being her, trying to find a stick the perfect length to reach Megan.

"Just stay right there, Megs, it's gonna be okay," Saachi smiled at her, trying to ease Megan's racing nerves as well as her own.

"Spread out your body weight, Megan, it will keep the ice from cracking faster!" Tech said.

Megan was balanced precariously already. The more she stared at her feet, the faster the cracks seemed to appear.

"Here!" Wrecker passed a stick as tall as Crosshair to Hunter. Hunter tossed it over to Saachi who held the stick out to Megan.

"Grab on, kid," He nodded urgently. Saachi held on to the other end of the thick stick, providing a counterbalance for Megan's weight and lifting her off the ice just slightly.

"Now what?" Saachi asked.

Hunter scrambled for a bit, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"We've got to swing her over to the edge of the lake, or at least off the weak part of the ice,"

Saachi nodded, wondering if she had the strength to do that on her own. She and Hunter were both too scared to move, any movement could make the ice crack faster and send them all into the frozen water below.

Strength, she almost certainly had. She'd picked up Megan and stacks upon stacks of encyclopedias at the library dozens of times before. It was her balance that was in question.

Saachi's breath frosted in the air, clouding her glasses as she gathered her strength. As best she could, Saachi swung the stick like a cricket bat, launching Megan at the lakes edge. She let go of the stick in the process, stumbling forwards and landing on her hands and knees.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief as Tech caught Megan under her arms, helping her to her feet.

Saachi braced her hands on the ice to stand up, only to realize that this patch of ice was much darker than the rest.

She fell face-first into the freezing water without a chance to gasp for air.

"Saachi!" She heard everyone screaming her name, but all she could see was the dark water around her. She tried not to scream and lose what precious air she had left, kicking and searching for the surface as her fingers began to grow numb and the cold stabbed at her skin.

A stick jabbed her in the stomach and she grabbed it on instinct, trying to push away the offending object, but instead it tugged her upward, into the biting wind.

Saachi gasped for breath. By some miracle her glasses were still on her face, though her thrashing had pushed them down the tip of her nose. She could make out a clump of blurry shapes with Hunter's orange coat and the red knit hat and scarf Omega had made him. He was crawling towards her on his belly, across the ice, a death grip on the stick they'd used to save Megan.

"Take my hand!" He yelled. Megan and the others were also yelling, asking if Saachi was okay or what they could do to help.

Hunter shoved his hand in Saachi's face so she wouldn't miss it. Her fingers fumbled, unable to quite bend around his hand in a firm grip. Hunter gave a small tug, pulling her a bit farther out of the ice, allowing him to grip her wrist tightly.

"Wrecker! Grab my feet!" Hunter called over his shoulder.

Wrecker cautiously made his way across the ice, only stepping on the solid white parts as before he leaned forward, grabbing Hunter by the ankles.

The ice held beneath Saachi as the biting cold became slightly less cold as she was carefully pulled out of the hole in the ice.

"Good, good, keep going!" Hunter said, though the encouragement didn't feel directed at anyone in particular. Saachi reached for him with her free hand, digging her fingers into the leather of his coat as best she could. As her fingers slipped, Hunter seized her other wrist.

"Hang on, sweetheart, just a bit farther," He gasped, glancing over his shoulder. Wrecker had reached the lake's edge, giving Hunter the confidence he needed to move a bit more freely and pulled Saachi closer, wrapping her up in his coat and placing his had on her head. The laces of her bonnet still hung around her throat, like an icy necklace, and her waves had slipped from her bun, freezing against her bare skin.

"I'm getting her inside," Hunter was on his feet before Wrecker could offer to carry Saachi, following their footprints back to the door of the cabin.

Saachi blinked her eyes, trying to get rid of the icicles that were starting to form on her eyelashes.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Hunter said. It was almost the same tone that he used with the horses when they were acting up, but this sounded much more worried.

"Don't fall asleep on me, keep your eyes opened," He urged. His warm breath fanned across her face. It was a pathetic breeze compared to the snowfall, but it kept Saachi's nose from freezing.

Hunter kicked open the door and set Saachi in the rocking chair closest to the fireplace. The fireplace itself was down to the embers

"Karking hells-!" a mixture of all his sibling's names poised at the tip of his tongue, but he settled for growling instead. He tossed three logs on the embers, only to snuff out what was left of them.

He cursed again and grabbed the matches from the mantle. He tried once, twice, three times before the flame caught, and he pressed it up against the wood.

The fire spread slowly, too slowly for Hunter's liking. He yanked the blanket off of Megan's trundle bed and went to wrap it around Saachi, only to realize that she was still shivering in her wet clothes.

Yulia finally caught up.

"Do you have any spare clothes she could use? We need to get her things dried off."

Hunter climbed up the ladder to the loft, tossing down another blanket and his nightgown, thick linen for the cold months.

Yulia drew the curtain that gave Megan's little bed some privacy as the others made their way inside.

"Which one of you was dumb enough to let the fire go out in the middle of winter!?" Hunter snapped.

Tech huffed, offended, "Well, you are the one who said we should always be careful to put out a fire before leaving it unattended."

Megan giggled as Hunter floundered like a fish out of water.

"Hey Hunter, you still have your skates on." Wrecker pointed out.

"How'd you make it up the hill like that?" Echo murmured what Saachi was thinking.

Yulia helped Saachi peel her frozen things off her body, rubbing her hands against her arms and legs every so often.

"You alright?" Yulia asked, "That was a bit of a shock."

Saachi shook her head and pulled on the nightgown, "Und-d-ders-t-tatment of th-the cent-t-ury."

Saachi was quickly settled in the rocking chair in front of the fire and wrapped up in a pile of blankets. Echo and Tech escorted Yulia back to the Secura’s farm so she could grab some of Saachi’s things and explain that they needed to stay with the Fetts until Saachi was better, and Crosshair and Wrecker were seeing to the cows and the other animals on the ranch.

Megan, having been assured that it wasn’t her fault that Saachi had fallen through the ice, was asleep on Saachi’s lap, since Saachi was using her blankets. Hunter poured some water from the kettle into a bucket for Saachi’s feet, and used the rest to make some tea.

“Thank you,” Saachi whispered.

“Nothing like Indian tea, to be sure,” He joked, “But it’ll warm ya up.”

Saachi smiled up at him, and he quickly glanced away to hide his own smile.

“What was that for?” She asked, trying not to jostle Megan.

“Nothin’,” Hunter waved it off and sat on Megan’s bed with his own cup of tea.

Saachi wasn’t sure she wanted to take the man at his word. He had run up the hill in skates to get her to safety, and the water in the bucket was already warm before he added more.

If she wanted to find out if the Sheriff was sweet on her, like Yulia and Crosshair insisted, it was now or never.

“Sheriff, are you trying to court me?”

Hunter was quiet for a moment, then a chuckle echoed in his tin cup, “Have been for the last six months, but I was beginnin’ to think you weren’t interested.”

“Not interested?” Saachi asked.

He shrugged and set his cup aside. His winter things were hanging up to dry, leaving him in his suspenders and the work shirt that hugged his toned muscles from years of riding and hard work. He took Megan from Saachi’s arms and placed the girl in her bed with a blanket from one of their brothers.

“I thought you were trying to let me down easy, all polite and stuff.”

“Let you down, for what?”

“Well, escortin’ you to the carriage and walkin’ you around the town, makin’ sure you had the things you needed for your work, tryin’ to invite you to all the dances and stuff that Echo takes Yulia to, things like that.”

Hunter ran a hand through his hair and tucked the blankets around Megan a little tighter so she wouldn’t shiver in her sleep, “Maybe I wasn’t bein’ bold enough, like Cross said. But Wrecker said he thought I was doin’ good.” He sat on the floor next to Saachi’s chair and added another log to the fire.

"I thought you were just being nice! All the men back east do those things for women all the time."

"And you never thought they were flirtin' with ya?"

Saachi felt a heat in her cheeks that wasn't from the fire and laughed lamely, "Well, not really."

“Don’t worry,” Hunter tucked one of her curls into her braid, brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb as he did so, “I still think you’re smart.”

Saachi glared up at him, her nose scrunching in a way that made him chuckle, the opposite of her intended effect.

Hunter pushed himself up onto one knee so that he could rest both his hands on the arm of the chair, next to where Saachi clutched her cooling cup of tea.

“Miss Saachi, I would be honored if you let me court you properly. Once you’re all better that is.”

Saachi felt the warmth from her cheeks soaking into every muscle in her body, almost as if she’d never fallen into the freezing water.

“I’d be honored, Sheriff Hunter.”

He smiled, sitting back on the floor. “I promise, once the snow starts to melt, I’m gonna pick you the most colorful bundle of wildflowers you ever saw.”

“Now that’s a high bar to reach, Sheriff,” Saachi teased, “I’ve yet to see any wildflowers on the Western Frontier that can match the lotuses of India.”

“Oh really?”

Saachi chuckled, "Tell me about your New Zealand, and I'll tell you about my India."

Hunter smiled wistfully. “Well, one of my oldest memories is of rotten eggs.”

“Rotten eggs?” This was not nearly as romantic as Saachi thought it would be.

Hunter laughed, letting his head roll back as he stretched out his legs, “Rotura is built on an old volcano. The sulfur and gasses eek out, and make the city smell worse than the British do.”

Saachi slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her own laughter. The British had left their fair share of trash all over Saachi’s beloved home too.

“At least most of the British don’t want to settle there because of the smell, and those who are born there are used to it.

“And it’s not all bad. There’s lakes everywhere, more than I knew how to count as a kid. And the hot springs too, like Yosemite.” 

“Did you ever visit them?”

“All the time.” Hunter pulled one leg to his chest, resting his arm on his knee, “I definitely miss them during the winter months.”

“I could use a hot spring myself,” Saachi said, “During the monsoon season, it never stops raining, but it never got this cold.”

“So you’re a good swimmer, then?”

Saachi gave Hunter a glare as playful as the twinkle in his eye. “I’m good at swimming when I’ve not been taken by surprise. And the floods in India don’t chill you to the bone like the snow does here.”

“Fair enough.”

“I much prefer the summer, when the mangoes ripen and you can sit in the branches and eat your full without moving an inch.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hunter said.

Saachi looked into his eyes. The heat from the fire dried out her eyes, but Hunter’s bright brown eyes carried that same glow of warmth without the searing pain. She wanted more of that warmth, of that glow.

He almost seemed to be getting closer, or at least he would have, if the door hadn’t been thrown open with a chilling gust of wind as Yulia burst in, Echo and Tech in tow.

Yulia froze in the doorway, noting Megan asleep on the bed, and Saachi and Hunter leaning conspicuously towards each other.

“Are we interrupting anything?” She asked, a musical lilt in her voice.

“Nope.”

“No ma’am.” Saachi and Hunter both insisted.

“Well good,” Tech pushed past Yulia with Echo’s chair, “Because Missus Secura sent us home with enough stew that even Wrecker should go to bed full.”

“Well that’s good,” Hunter said, trying not to sound embarrassed.

Echo and Yulia were not as easily deterred, and both of them watched Saachi and Hunter with knowing looks. 

Saachi refused to dignify their teasing, and bent over her tea, which had gone cold.

“Here, let me get that for ya,” Hunter offered before she could even ask. 

His finger brushed against hers as he slipped the cup from her hand, and Saachi’s heartbeat stuttered in her chest.

So this was what it felt like to be courted by the Sheriff.

[mrbexwrites]

Smash or Pass

Tagged here by @winglesswriter - Thank you!

Rules: pretty self-explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

I'm currently procrastinating going back to edit Memento Mori and I've been thinking a lot about Ted and how to improve his story arc. I love him, and just wanted an excuse to share some of the love!

Theodore 'Ted' Ward is a Millennium Citizen who is unable to tell a lie. He also knows when you're lying which has helped out in many an investigation as his career as a Deputy in the Halo Rock Sheriff's Department. Although he's a cop, he signed up because he wants to serve his community and do the right thing, rather than be a bully with a badge.

Whilst he wants to see the best in everyone, he isn't naive. He loves to cook, and will constantly offer you some of his home baking. He lives alone, apart from Arty, his blue-roan cocker spaniel who is his best friend.

Ted has brown hair, brown eyes, and a mustache. He has a soft Texas drawl, and will utilise his southern charm to his full advantage. I don't have any art etc, but the closest resemblance I can find to him would be Davis Schneider- the baseball player!

No pressure tagging: @sarahlizziewrites @queen-tashie @cowboybrunch @clearcloudlesssky & open tag

[iheartpeppino]

I made a Vigilante recolor OC for funsies after wondering who might replace his boss fight if he were playable.

Edited one of The Vigilante's sprites to make this concept. So far, this guy's name is The Sheriff, a.k.a. Sharif Bluecheese. The thing is about The Vigilante, we know he's all about justice, but he's a vigilante. A vigilante might go after innocent people (like Peppino), which is why vigilantism is usually illegal. A sheriff is supposed to punish people for vigilantism...

I gave The Sheriff white clothes to enforce the idea of him being a force of good. The blue tint is inspired by blue cheese as well as The Vigilante's Megaman roots. I also gave him a gold badge and a gold gun.

Admittedly, a blue and white-clad cowboy is something I did for a Toy Story OC many years ago... that guy was far more laid-back and chill than this blue cheeseslime, who pretty much hates The Vigilante for breaking the law and not giving a damn about the reason. The Vigilante would likely try and reason with The Sheriff, as both of them want justice in the end, but The Sheriff is too obsessed with the letter of the law. The Vigilante has to remind him of the spirit of the law and show him what true justice means in order to defeat him.

I admit, this guy is kinda boring-looking so far, but it's a start for a concept, I suppose...

[thsillystringbeanscribbler]

Bunny Slippers: Chapter Eight

Summary: Sam, Dean and Julia take on Louisiana to investigate a case, when they reunite with one of Julia's old friends. The four get to dress up in some snazzy clothes for a gala they fandangled their way into.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader [ OC: Julia Blackburn ]

Warnings: Mostly flirting and a decent amount of disappointment

Word Count: 5, 039 words

Author's Note: I dont know what New Orleans is like but this is just on vibes. Also hope everyone enjoys it. Kinda made myself sad if thats even possible.

Chapter Six; Chapter Seven

As the trio ventured into New Orleans, they found themselves enveloped by the city's vibrant tapestry. The streets buzzed with energy, a mix of historic charm and lively contemporary culture. Colorful buildings with wrought-iron balconies lined the streets, and the air carried the tantalizing scents of Creole cuisine, intermingled with the distant melody of jazz and the buzz of lively conversations. Sam directed Dean through the bustling streets towards the French Quarter, the heart of the city's ancient allure, where Julia was scheduled to meet Chelsea.

Pulling up in front of a quaint restaurant nestled among the vibrant tableau of the Quarter, Julia leaned forward to address both Sam and Dean. "I'll catch up with you guys at the Four Seasons Hotel this afternoon. Have fun doing your detective thing," she quipped, her voice light but laced with a hint of anticipation for the day ahead. Without thinking, she pressed a quick kiss to Dean's cheek, a spontaneous gesture of affection.

Realizing the intimacy of her action, Julia swiftly turned to Sam, mirroring the gesture with a kiss on his cheek as well, her face flushed with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment at her own boldness. Sliding out of the car, she paused before closing the door, a playful seriousness taking over her tone. "Oh, and don't forget—we need you two looking sharp tonight, so make sure you've got your suits ready," she reminded them, then quickly turned and disappeared into the restaurant to meet Chelsea.

Dean, momentarily stunned by Julia's kiss, watched her leave with a mix of amusement and a hint of something deeper. As the door closed behind her, he turned to Sam, a smirk slowly forming on his lips, his earlier surprise morphing into his usual confident demeanor. "Well, looks like we've got orders to dress to impress tonight," he said, the smirk evident in his voice as well. "Better make sure those suits of ours are up to the gala standard, huh, Sammy?" His tone was teasing, yet there was a clear undercurrent of excitement about the evening's potential. The day in New Orleans was shaping up to be anything but ordinary, and Dean was ready to embrace whatever the city had in store for them.

Sam and Dean made their way into the heart of the vibrant city, their mission leading them to the local sheriff's office. Inside, they were greeted by the sheriff, a man whose weary eyes spoke volumes of the mysteries and burdens that came with his badge. He briefed them on the recent string of disappearances, noting the victims were all from wealthy, high society backgrounds, yet the details of their vanishings remained elusive, shrouded in uncertainty.

"Do any of these disappearances have a connection to the Cartwrights?" Sam inquired, his tone serious and probing. He leaned forward slightly, indicating his keen interest in finding a link that could unravel the mystery they were diving into.

The sheriff sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice as he responded, "Most likely. The Cartwrights are an old, wealthy local family. Been around for centuries." It was clear from his tone that the influence of the Cartwright family was both well-known and pervasive, a constant undercurrent in the town's social fabric.

Dean, picking up on the lead, pressed further. "Any idea where we can dig up more on the Cartwright family history?" he asked, his question sharp and direct, aiming to uncover any information that could lead them closer to understanding the family's potential involvement.

"The local library has a section on the old families around here, including the Cartwrights. That's probably your best bet," the sheriff explained, his tone indicating resignation to the fact that the Cartwrights, like many of the town's elite, remained an enigma to those outside their circles. "They don't really mingle outside their high society groups," he added, underscoring the challenge Sam and Dean faced in penetrating the closed world of New Orleans' upper echelon.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, a silent communication that spoke of their next move. They offered their thanks to the sheriff, their minds already racing with the possibilities that awaited them at the library. As they stepped out of the sheriff's office and back into the bustling streets of New Orleans, the weight of their task loomed ahead. Yet, the prospect of uncovering secrets hidden within the pages of history invigorated them, propelling them forward in their quest to unravel the mystery surrounding the Cartwright family and the shadowy disappearances.

* * *

The Impala glided to a halt in front of a charming, somewhat antiquated library. Its facade, adorned with the gentle wear of time, whispered tales of the countless souls who had passed through its doors in search of knowledge. Sam and Dean exited the car with a purpose, their strides full of the confidence that came from years of navigating the unknown.

Approaching the library, they pushed through the heavy doors and were greeted by the quiet, sacred hush that envelops all such repositories of wisdom. Their boots echoed softly on the polished wood floor as they made their way towards the front desk, where an elderly librarian sat, her presence as much a part of the library as the books themselves.

Dean took the lead, leaning slightly on the desk with a disarming smile. "Excuse me, ma'am, but could you point us towards the section on the history of the local area's old families?" he inquired, his voice carrying a blend of respect and charm, the latter honed to perfection over years of dealing with all manner of people.

The librarian peered up at them through her glasses, a flash of curiosity crossing her features before she rose from her seat. Without a word, she led them into the heart of the library, navigating the labyrinth of bookshelves with a quiet assurance. Eventually, she halted before a specific shelf, her hand waving gently towards the collection before she retreated, leaving Sam and Dean to their investigation.

The brothers scanned the titles, their focus narrowing as they sought anything related to the Cartwrights. When they finally located the book they needed, they exchanged a glance of silent understanding and moved to claim a table in a secluded corner.

As they settled down, the pages of the book open before them, the library around them seemed to close in, the outside world fading away. They were now fully immersed in the task at hand, piecing together the puzzle of the Cartwright family's history and its potential connection to the mysterious disappearances. The quiet rustle of pages turning was the only sound that accompanied their research, a testament to their unwavering determination to uncover the truth hidden within the library's serene confines.

In the hushed confines of the library, Sam and Dean pored over the ancient tome they'd found, its pages heavy with the weight of history and secrets untold. As they delved deeper into the legacy of the Cartwright family, a series of aged, grainy photographs caught their attention. Each photo depicted individuals who bore a striking resemblance to each other, yet the captions indicated they were generations apart.

"Dean, look at this," Sam said, his finger tracing the lineage of faces that seemed to defy the passage of time. "These photos... these people look identical, but they're supposedly from different centuries."

Dean leaned in, his eyes scanning the images skeptically before realization dawned on him. "That's not normal. You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, the gears turning in his head.

Sam nodded, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. "Vampires. It's the only explanation that makes sense. The Cartwrights could be an old vampire family, hiding in plain sight, using their wealth and status to cover their tracks."

The idea seemed far-fetched, yet the evidence before them was compelling. Dean flipped through more pages, finding references to lavish parties thrown by the Cartwrights that coincided with mysterious disappearances in the area.

"Look at this," Dean pointed out, his finger landing on a passage describing a grand ball from the late 1800s, after which several prominent guests were never seen again. "History's repeating itself. The Cartwright galas... it's like they're hunting grounds."

Sam's expression grew grim. "And with another gala happening soon, they could be planning to feed again. We need to stop them before it's too late."

The brothers shared a look of determination, the kind forged in countless battles against the dark. In the silence of the library, surrounded by the musty scent of old books, they found a new resolve. The Cartwright mystery was unraveling, revealing a sinister truth that had been hidden for centuries. Now, armed with knowledge and a sense of urgency, Sam and Dean were ready to confront the ancient evil lurking within the Cartwright lineage. The hunt was on.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, the Winchester brothers found themselves once again navigating the vibrant streets of New Orleans. Their mission had taken them to a tailor shop, where they'd picked up gala-ready suits, a necessary armor for the night's impending confrontation. Now, they were on their way to the Four Seasons Hotel, a luxurious accommodation arranged by Julia's friend Chelsea, signaling the next phase of their plan.

Pulling up in front of the hotel, Dean faced a moment of reluctance as a valet approached, his instinctive protectiveness over the Impala kicking in. It took some persuasive coaxing from Sam, but eventually, Dean surrendered his beloved car keys, albeit with a wary glance back at his cherished vehicle.

Duffel bags and suit bags in tow, they strode into the hotel's lavish lobby, exuding the quiet confidence of men on a mission. Dean led the way to the front desk, his demeanor shifting to one of effortless charm as he addressed the receptionist. "We have a reservation under Ms. Blackburn," he said, flashing a smile that had disarmed more than its fair share of adversaries.

The receptionist, momentarily caught off guard by Dean's charm, quickly regained her composure, cheeks tinged with a blush as she handed over the room keys. "Your rooms are ready. Enjoy your stay," she managed, her professionalism intact despite the fluttering in her chest.

As they made their way to the elevators, Dean's phone buzzed with a new message from Julia, instructing them to get ready in Sam's room. She explained that she had the room key for the room she was sharing with Dean but was currently with Chelsea getting ready. Understanding the logistics of their preparation, Dean pocketed his phone, a sense of anticipation building.

"Looks like we're bunking with you for the prep, Sammy," Dean remarked, a grin spreading across his face at the thought of their makeshift dressing room scenario. "Let's hope your room's got enough mirrors for all of us."

The brothers continued towards the elevators, their steps synchronized, a silent testament to the countless times they'd faced challenges together. Today, the challenge was not monsters or demons, but the social battlefield of a gala filled with the city's elite—and possibly, a coven of ancient vampires. Yet, the Winchester resolve remained unshaken, their readiness undimmed by the setting sun over New Orleans.

* * *

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Sam and Dean stood poised in the opulent lobby of the Four Seasons, their black tuxedos and bow ties epitomizing classic elegance. The anticipation was palpable between them, a silent acknowledgment of the night's significance.

The moment the golden elevator doors glided open, their attention was captured by the emergence of a statuesque blonde. Her hair, styled in an immaculate French twist, added to her high fashion allure. Unlike Julia's gentle curves and softness, this woman was all sharp angles and striking presence. Her gown, a masterpiece in dusty pink, whispered against the marble floor as she approached.

Her smile was both confident and enigmatic as she extended a hand adorned with pink manicured nails towards Dean, mistakenly addressing him, "You must be Sam, I'd recognize tall, dark, and handsome anywhere. I'm Chelsea," her voice rich with the melodious lilt of a Louisiana accent.

Dean's response came with a cheeky grin, an easy charm that had disarmed many. "Actually, I'm Dean. And this," he said, stepping slightly to the side to introduce his brother with a flourish, "is Sam, your tall, dark, and handsome date."

Chelsea's momentary surprise was quickly masked by a practiced smile of excitement, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes as she corrected her assumption. The brief falter in her confidence was a rare sight, quickly smoothed over by her poise.

The exchange, brief as it was, set the tone for the evening, hinting at the layers of intrigue and performance that awaited them at the gala. As they prepared to step into a night of high society and hidden dangers, the Winchesters and their companions were fully aware of the roles they had to play, their outward appearances just the first layer of their elaborate masquerade.

The lobby of the Four Seasons held a wealth of opulence, but all of it paled in comparison when the elevator announced its arrival with a soft ding. Dean turned, his gaze immediately captured by the vision that emerged. It was Julia, her auburn curls masterfully gathered into a low bun, with delicate tendrils caressing the contours of her face, adding a softness that contrasted with the grandeur of her attire.

She stood there for a moment, framed by the golden elevator doors, and then stepped forward. Dean's breath caught as she moved gracefully across the floor, her gown a statement of elegance and boldness. The dress was a striking emerald green, its fabric flowing like the cascading waves of a verdant sea. The bodice clung to her in all the right places, its strapless design accentuating the graceful line of her shoulders and the gentle curve of her neck. The skirt was a masterpiece, cinched at the waist and flaring into a full silhouette, with a daring slit revealing a glimpse of her leg with each step she took. The dress's structure was both timeless and daring, much like the woman who wore it.

Her eyes, a mesmerizing green to match her dress, were fixed on Dean's, and in that instant, the bustling lobby seemed to dissolve into nothingness. Time stretched, elongated by the intensity of their connection. She glided toward him, her presence commanding the room without a word, each step a note in the symphony of the moment.

Dean, usually so guarded and poised, found himself at a loss, his usual quips and banter silenced by the vision before him. He could only watch, utterly captivated, as Julia approached, the world around them fading into a blur—all noise, all movement, all thoughts secondary to the woman who held his undivided attention.

Julia halted her approach mere inches from Dean, her fingers deftly pushing up her glasses with a delicate touch to her cheek. “I would've gone for contacts, but I’m pretty much blind without these,” she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability as a blush crept into her cheeks under Dean’s intense gaze.

Dean, who had been momentarily breathless at her entrance, let out a silent exhale. His hand found its way to the small of her back, a gesture both protective and tender. “Sweetheart, you could wear ski goggles, and you'd still look stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere, eyes never leaving her face.

Julia's blush deepened, her delicate hands rising to straighten Dean’s bow tie, her touch light but full of affection. “And you’re not looking too shabby yourself,” she replied, her eyes lifting to meet his, a soft smile dancing on her lips.

Their intimate bubble was gently burst by Sam’s voice, clearing his throat to signal his presence. “Alright, it’s time to head out. Wouldn’t want to miss the grand entrance,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed the pair.

Chelsea, who had been quietly observing the exchange, felt a fleeting shadow of envy pass over her before she brightened up with a practiced socialite’s smile. “And to make our night even more special, I've arranged a limo for us," she chimed in, her cheeriness as polished as the evening ahead.

With a roguish tilt to his smile, Dean offered his arm to Julia, bending it with a flourish of old-world gallantry. "Shall we? Your chariot awaits, m'lady," he quipped, the tease in his voice softened by the warmth in his eyes.

A giggle, light and genuine, bubbled from Julia as she looped her arm through his, her touch feather-light against the strength of his arm. Together, they made their way to the sleek black limo that stood poised to whisk them away into the night.

Reaching the limo, Dean's movements were smooth and practiced as he held the door open for her. He extended his hand to assist her, a silent testament to his ever-present protective nature. Julia gathered the rich emerald folds of her gown with grace and ease, her fingers brushing against Dean's as she settled into the plush limo seat.

After ensuring Julia was comfortably seated, Dean slid into the space beside her, the soft leather welcoming them both. Across from them, Sam opened the door for Chelsea, who, with a nod of polite indifference, opted to glide into the limo unassisted, the light from the setting sun catching the highlights in her blonde hair.

* * *

The limousine whisked them away from the city’s heart, toward a realm that seemed untouched by time. The road unraveled like a ribbon through an ethereal tunnel formed by ancient trees. Their heavy boughs, veiled in the soft glow of fairy lights, arched above, creating a celestial canopy that twinkled like a sky of stars just within reach. The fairy lights cast a gentle luminescence that danced across the vehicle’s sleek surface, imbuing the journey with a sense of enchantment.

As the limo proceeded down the enchanting path, the awe-inspiring sight that awaited them at the end of this verdant aisle took their breath away. The house, grand and imposing, stood as a sentinel at the road's end, its white facade a striking contrast against the deep greens and the twilight's gold. The elegance of the classical architecture, with its stately columns and expansive porches, was accentuated by the setting sun, which bathed the entire scene in a warm, golden light.

"The Cartwrights sure know how to pick a location," Dean remarked, his voice low, filled with a mix of admiration and the hunter's ever-present vigilance.

"It's like something out of a storybook," Julia whispered, her face alight with the beauty of it all, yet shadowed by the knowledge of what might lurk within.

Sam nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a strategic mind. "Perfect for a gala... or hiding secrets," he mused, his thoughts already racing ahead to the night's mission.

As the limo glided to a stop, the quartet readied themselves, each aware that the night would be as much about wits and courage as it was about waltzes and wine. The house before them was more than just a venue; it was a chessboard, and they were about to make their opening move.

* * *

The limo's gentle purr subsided, giving way to the evening's quiet splendor as it halted at the gala's entrance. Dean was the first to emerge, stepping out with the ease of a man both sure of himself and alert to his surroundings. He then reached back into the limo, offering his hand to Julia. Her fingers slipped into his like the final piece of a puzzle, the luxurious fabric of her dress whispering secrets as she rose from the car, the color of deep forest leaves after rain.

Sam and Chelsea joined them, rounding the vehicle to unite as two pairs ready to face the night’s intrigue. Together, they made their way toward the imposing front doors of the mansion, their steps synchronized on the red carpet that welcomed them.

The gala greeter, poised in a tuxedo that mirrored the event's elegance, offered a smile that was both professional and warm as they drew near. Chelsea stepped forward, her confidence echoing the grandeur of their surroundings. "We're with Blackburn and Sterling," she announced with the clarity of someone accustomed to these events.

With an acknowledging nod, the greeter ushered them inside, extending the hospitality of the Cartwrights. "Welcome, please enjoy the evening," he said, his voice a smooth melody over the soft buzz of conversation that escaped from within.

As they crossed the threshold, the gala unfolded before them like a scene from a gilded age. Crystal chandeliers cast a constellation of light across the room, their brilliance reflected in the polished marble floors. Waiters in crisp uniforms glided through clusters of guests, offering flutes of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres on silver trays. The air was alive with a string quartet's lilting harmony, the music weaving through the laughter and chatter of the assembled elite.

Opulence dripped from every corner, from the ornate moldings on the walls to the lavish floral arrangements that adorned every table. The guests themselves were a swirl of silks, satins, and sparkling jewels, each moving in the intricate dance of socialite pageantry. As Dean, Julia, Sam, and Chelsea joined the flow, they were swept up in the spectacle, their senses attuned to both the beauty and the hidden dangers of the Cartwright gala.

As a waiter navigated the throng of guests, Julia deftly plucked two flutes of champagne from the passing tray and turned to Dean with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Dean accepted the glass, his eyebrows arching playfully as he caught the mirthful sparkle in her gaze.

"What's the game plan, huh? Trying to get me tipsy so you can take advantage of me?" he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into his trademark smirk.

Julia's giggle was a light counterpoint to the rich timbre of the string quartet filling the room. "No, just embracing the role of a gala attendee," she quipped back, a mock-serious bob of her head punctuating the words 'gala attendee' as if they were a title she had studied for.

Dean, his glass poised halfway to his lips, took a deliberate step closer. His free hand found the small of her back, resting there with familiar ease. "Oh, is that so? And what exactly does the role of 'gala attendee' entail?" he inquired, his tone laced with flirtation and a hint of challenge, inviting her to continue their playful banter amidst the grandeur of the gala.

Julia's smile was an upward curve of shared secrets as she regarded Dean. "Well, they discreetly uncover where the Cartwrights whisk away their 'special guests'," she whispered, her hand lightly touching his chest as though to anchor herself in the whirlwind of their covert operation.

Dean was about to respond, the words forming with the ease of a man who lived on the edge of danger, "Sounds like a perfec–," when Chelsea's voice cut through, diverting their course.

"Come on, let's blend in. We can start with a dance, maybe? Anything's better than just loitering here," Chelsea proposed, her fingers lightly pressing against Dean's upper arm, urging him into the flow of the gala.

Dean glanced at Sam, who seemed content to observe from the sidelines, before turning back to Chelsea with a nod. "You heard the lady. Let's see if the Winchester charm works on the dance floor," he said, a playful note in his voice, ready to slip into the night's rhythm, where every step was a measure of their investigation.

As the evening wove its way through laughter and clinking glasses, Sam leaned in toward Dean and Julia, seizing a moment when Chelsea was drawn away by the swirl of the gala.

"I'm going to take a look around while everyone's distracted," Sam murmured, his voice a low frequency meant only for his brother and Julia. Without waiting for a response, he slipped away, merging with the sea of guests as he vanished into the mansion's grandiose interior.

Dean and Julia continued to converse, their dialogue an effortless tennis match of wit and insight, until the distinct vibration of a phone interrupted their rally. Julia's expression shifted as she reached into the hidden pocket of her dress, a testament to its practicality. She pulled out her phone, and her forehead creased with concern.

"Uh–" She locked eyes with Dean, a silent apology in the look. "I need to take this," she said, her voice threaded with urgency. With a fluid grace, Julia threaded her way through the crowd, leaving Dean to watch her go, a slight crease of concern mirroring hers as she sought a sliver of solitude for her call.

Dean's gaze followed the trail of Julia's auburn hair as she weaved through the gala's crowd, disappearing from sight. He took the opportunity to survey the room, a hunter's instinct to always be aware of his surroundings. Suddenly, he felt the familiar pressure of a hand on his arm. Turning, he found Chelsea standing closer than before, her presence insistent.

"Where did Julia and Sam wander off to?" Chelsea inquired, her voice carrying a note of curiosity, almost too close for casual conversation.

Dean kept his cool, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Sam's off doing his mingling magic, and Julia had to take a call," he explained, his attention briefly following the trail of Chelsea's hand as it drifted from his arm to rest against his chest.

"So, that leaves just us... alone together," Chelsea intimated, her voice lowering, eyes locked on his.

Dean glanced around at the sea of people, the hum of conversation surrounding them. "Not really alone, we've got about a hundred chaperones," he quipped, gesturing to the guests around them, trying to maintain a light-hearted atmosphere.

Chelsea hummed, a sound that seemed to hold more than mere agreement. She leaned into Dean, her body language shifting as she guided him with gentle pressure, away from the crowd and toward a secluded part of the wall, her hands exploring his chest with an unspoken intention.

A flicker of discomfort crossed Dean's face, his brows knitting together as he tried to navigate the situation with diplomacy. "Chelsea, I think we should–" But his attempt to diffuse the advance was interrupted when Chelsea, bold and unyielding, placed her hands on his face and drew him into a kiss.

Caught off guard, Dean's first instinct was to pull away, but he also knew the importance of keeping up appearances. He had to handle the situation without causing a scene that could jeopardize their mission, all while maintaining the respect and boundaries he held for Julia. It was a delicate dance, even for a seasoned hunter like Dean Winchester.

* * *

The brisk Louisiana winter air wrapped itself around Julia as she stepped outside, its chill a stark contrast to the warmth of the gala inside. As the call ended, leaving her with a tangle of emotions and unanswered questions, she let out a sigh that mingled with the night. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tucked her phone away, and she removed her glasses to press weary fingertips against her eyelids, willing strength into her resolve.

In that quiet moment, she allowed herself to feel the weight of the call, to acknowledge the ripple of distress it had sent through her. But she knew she couldn't let it consume her—not tonight. With a fortifying breath that turned to vapor in the cool air, she replaced her glasses, her vision clearing along with her determination. She was ready to return to Dean, to let the night's earlier enchantment wash over her once more.

As Julia re-entered the opulent mansion, she wove through the throng of guests, their conversations a distant hum in her ears. Her gaze scanned the room, seeking the familiar form of Dean, craving the comfort his presence promised. But when her search finally ended, the sight that greeted her was a piercing jolt to her heart.

Dean was pinned against the wall, ensnared in an unexpected embrace with Chelsea, whose hands cradled his face, lips pressed to his in a kiss that stole Julia's breath. A sharp pain clawed at her chest, a mixture of shock and an inexplicable sense of betrayal. She had no claim over Dean, no vows had been exchanged, but the sting of seeing him with another was undeniable.

Turning away, Julia forced herself to refocus on the mission. There were clues to be found, secrets to unearth—this was no time for the distractions of the heart. With a swipe at the tears that dared to spill, she started her silent quest through the mansion, each step a message to herself that she was more than what she felt in this moment. She was a hunter, and tonight, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Dean's reaction was immediate, his voice a low, controlled growl that barely concealed his shock and discomfort. "Chelsea, what the hell?" he demanded, the firmness in his tone not quite masking the undercurrent of confusion. His eyes darted around, conscious of the eyes and ears that might be privy to this unintended scene.

Chelsea retreated a step, her expression faltering into one of wounded pride as she absorbed the rejection. Looking up at Dean, she saw the residual crimson mark her lipstick had left on him, a vivid contrast to the pale annoyance etched across his face.

As the realization dawned on her, her voice took on a bitter edge, tinged with jealousy. "It's Julia, isn't it? I mistook your charm for something... less serious. But you're actually in love with her," Chelsea accused, her disappointment morphing into a disdainful sneer.

Dean fixed his gaze on her, the lines of his face hardening. "This isn't the time or place. Let's just get back to the party," he said, his tone final, leaving no room for further discussion. He sidestepped her, putting physical distance between them as he reoriented himself toward the throng of guests, eager to put the discomfort of the moment behind him.

To Be Continued...

Tag List: @deanwinchestersgirl87

[orange0884]

Said I’d post my OSC stuff here so I’m gonna hold myself to that! It won’t be any really new stuff for now but none of it’s been posted so where’s the harm? I’ll try and get 2 out a week, it entirely comes down to me remembering to post.

Anyways, the art. Situation context is irrelevant and nonexistant. It’d probably be a bit funnier if people knew the characters but thaaaaat isn’t the case. To at least introduce them, these are 2 of my main Object OCs, Cactus and Sheriff Badge. I could ramble about them for so long I have a 6000+ word, 18 (i think) page google doc about them and the story surrounding them. Recently I’ve started to recreate it, adding a bunch of new content for what I needed to expand on and it’s about to be MASSIVE. Like, from what I have so far, it’s shaping up to be around 8x longer at the very least!

Thats it for this post though, I’ll be back maybe like sunday to post. I’m probably gonna try and set a schedule to post on certain days. Maybe thursdays and sundays idk. I could post daily but I don’t have enough ideas for stuff to draw.

[jades-typurriter]

Copper Badge/Robber Stripes

A commission for @totalcudgel, who was my first customer outside of my group of friends and very enthusiastic for the whole process! Her sona gets her gender transed and her species swapped by one of her OCs. Hope you enjoy!

CW: TGTF, weight gain, some slightly more visceral descriptions of changes

“Nine-one-one, what is the location of your emergency?”

“Sheriff Sam? Oh, thank God I got someone who actually knows what they’re doing! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called in and been told to try Animal Control instead?”

“Well, I’m the only one at the station-house at this hour.”

“With overtime, I hope. You’re about to do some real good!”

“Good one. Location of your emergency?”

“Okay, listen. You know the dirt road that forks off from main street? The one everyone uses during game season, goes straight into the woods—”

“Please don’t tell me another deer-headed hiker didn’t get shot by a hunter.”

“No, this is bigger, MUCH bigger! I set up some trail cams just a ways off the trail, and—”

“Sir, I’m not going to tell you to call Animal Control, but I am going to remind you that Bigfoot is a citizen of the United States, and that I cannot arrest him for walking around in his own backyard.”

“It’s not—”

“Kidnapping is kidnapping, even if it’s ‘an anthropological breakthrough’, sir—”

“IT’S NOT BIGFOOT! If you can believe it, it’s weirder than Bigfoot!”

“…Weirder how?” The sheriff sighs, kicking his feet up on the table.

He wasn’t lying—the station was totally dead this late at night, and he most certainly was not paid enough to stay this late and field false alarms all night. Someone had to keep an eye on the town overnight, and none of the other cops were willing to do the job most nights. They were either much younger than himself and had social lives to attend to—plenty of them were fresh out of college and still had drinking buddies, or were looking for someone to settle down with—and those his own age had already done so. As the most senior officer—And the only one with nobody to go home to, he thought, before pushing the self-directed jab out of his mind—he volunteered for the job most nights.

Of course, there were plenty of people whose biological clocks inclined them toward night work, but if they’re more alert at night, they’re better suited to working the beat than to waiting around playing operator. Sam himself was a human, but the station was fairly diverse; no owls, but they’re just the most obvious choice. Coyotes and foxes were plenty active after sunset, and mountain lions were comfortable working before opening and after closing. There were plenty of raccoons around town, as well, though none happened to be on the force. Sam lamented this, in passing. He’d always had a soft spot in his heart for raccoons.

“Soft spot” might be putting it a little bit lightly: most of his crushes and romantic flings had been with raccoon women, and he’d always wondered at the dexterity and agility of the wild, four-legged kind. Something about leaping over fences and scurrying up walls, slinking through the grass just out of sight… His office was littered with knickknacks and decorations that evoked the stripey little critters, which he had always played off as being cops-and-robbers-themed decor to add a little levity to the station-house, but it was fairly safe to say that what he had was a little bit of a fixation. Nothing wrong with that, though—everybody was more interested than usual in something. 

“I, look, I don’t know how to explain it, exactly,” stammered the caller, “but I need you to just bear with me. I’ve been called crazy plenty of times, and I know that telling you about all these weird, indistinct linear shapes I saw moving past the trail cam isn’t gonna help much, but BECAUSE it’s on the trail cam, you can just come see it for yourself!” Sam heaved another sigh, looking around at the empty office.

“Fine,” he grumbled into the receiver. It had been a slow night. “Am I going out to the camera itself, or am I meeting you at your—”

“SHIT, it’s back!” the caller cried. Sam could hear him frantically tapping at his keyboard—taking screenshots, maybe, or zooming in, or posting to a forum for conspiracy theorists. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Don’t you think they’ve seen plenty of those photos, bud? He groaned, internally. You splurge on the good trail cam, or are we gonna have another grey smudge to show for your triumphant discovery? He wondered, briefly, if the town really needed a night guard; it was always something ridiculous like this. But I’ll go even crazier without something like this to keep me busy, and worst case? It’ll be good for a laugh.

“It’s, Sam, I’m telling you—are. Are you laughing?”

“No, no,” the sheriff replied, pretending to clear his throat. “What’re you seeing?”

“You’re not gonna believe it ‘til you see it with your own eyes! It’s just this, this mass of zig-zags and odd angles as it goes by the camera, I—I can’t tell if I’m even looking at something solid! It’s dark, and then light again, in a way that doesn’t quite make sense, somewhere between tendrils and, and some kind of—”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go straight to the camera and tell you what I see.”

“Just don’t hang up! I want to hear every little detail about this crazy thing.”

Begrudgingly, the sheriff obliged, calling him back on his personal cell phone and answering his constant stream of requests for updates during the uneventful drive down main street and to the hunting trail. The camera wasn’t too far into the woods, according to the caller; Sam could just park on the trail and walk a few dozen yards to get there.

“SAM!” shouted the caller. “BE. CAREFUL. I haven’t seen the thing in a little while, but the camera just went black—I think it might’ve broken it, and it’s still nearby!”

“Did you consider that shouting into the phone might be bad for my health, if there’s some unknown creature prowling around?”

“I—”

“Just keep quiet a minute, ‘kay?” Sam muttered, crouching low and turning off his flashlight. The trees were thin here; he was able to navigate by the moonlight, quickly spotting its glint on the metal shell of the camera. It sat nestled into the edge of a bush in the middle of a clearing. It was shoddy camouflage, but at the very least, there were no Bigfoots, Abominable Snowmen, or any other undiscovered form of folk gallivanting around. What he did see, however, was a bushy, striped tail scampering out of the clearing at his approach.

“Well, I hate to be the most recent man to call you crazy,” Sam spoke into his cell, suppressing a pang of distaste for the descriptor—”man”, not “crazy”. “But it seems like we’ve got a false alarm. I just saw a raccoon running away as I walked up.”

“A raccoon?” Spluttered the caller. “But—but the shapes on the camera! They—”

“The shapes were black and white, weren’t they? ‘Dark and light’ all over, lots of squiggly lines?”

“Well, yes, but—but I couldn’t make out any concrete shapes!”

“That’s the point of the stripes, pal. They break up the silhouette so they’re harder for predators to see. Like zebras.”

“Like… zebras?”

“My guess is, it just got too close to the camera for you to make ‘em out clearly,” he continued as his boots crunched across the grass. “Either one raccoon was playing ring-around-the-rosie with your little setup, or a mama was passing by with a line of her kids.” He crouched down again when he was close enough to see the culprit for the camera’s blackout: a cheap little mask, probably fished out of the garbage by one of the little guys. He waved into the camera at the concerned citizen on the other end of the line dangling it up for him to see. “They didn’t break anything, either—just left you a little gift!”

“I… Man, this is a letdown.”

“You’d rather send me alone to fend off some kind of formless alien yeti?”

“Hey, you’re the one who signed up for the dangerous job, aren’t you? It’d be for the greater good of science!”

“Yeah, well, like I told you earlier: kidnapping’s kidnapping, even for science. You have a good night, now.” He heard the beginnings of a huffy retort before he clicked his phone closed, and turned to hike back to his car. He’d keep the mask, he thought; it’d be a cute little keepsake of a funny story like this, and the black eye-ring shape of it would make a perfect addition to his collection. He wondered why a raccoon would be so interested in a camera to begin with.

Maybe it thought it was a can of food? Wouldn’t be the first time someone left trash out here and attracted a wild animal. He scowled. There were signs all over the hunting trail reminding people not to get the wildlife hooked on table food. It would just get him more panicked calls about harmless critters! Well, he shrugged, any night I get to see one of those little guys is a good night. Maybe the hunters being lazy litterbugs isn’t that bad.

He walked back into his office not long after, already thinking of good places to hang his “new” domino mask. His keys were still practically jangling in his pocket when he heard a voice from the—now-open—doorway.

“You really do love raccoons, don’t you?” said the stranger, toward whom Sam immediately wheeled around, letting out a yelp that was decidedly unbefitting of a cop of his stature. His hand flew to his belt for the bear spray he’d brought with him; suddenly, he was glad to have given credence to the town kook, and to have prepared accordingly. Even more than being followed into the building, he was taken aback by the intruder’s appearance: they were a roughly person-shaped mass of light, like a sunbeam stood up from the window it poured in through and started walking around.

“Oh, silly me,” they interrupted themself, “this might be a bit much for a first impression. Sorry for straining your eyes like that!” Sam blinked the light out of his eyes, as reflexive as when one’s eyes pass over the sun, and when he opened them again, he was instead looking at a raccoon person. He didn’t recognize them from town.

“Who… who the Hell are you?”

“Well, we just met a few minutes ago! I know my manners haven’t been at their best tonight—not introducing myself, not knocking—but surely you wouldn’t forget so soon. Maybe you’ll recognize me more easily like this!” Sure enough, the next time Sam blinked, the figure was again replaced, this time by a wild raccoon. “How’s this? Better?”

“Are you—did that guy actually pick up something supernatural on his camera?”

“I’m flattered that you think I’m ‘super’! I think you’re wonderful too, Sam,” the being cooed. “My name is Vello, by the way. Sorry again about that!”

“How do you know my name? How do you—” The sheriff did a double take, gesturing at his office behind him. “—How do you know about the raccoon thing?”

“Word gets around fast in a small town like this, don’t you know?” The critter winked before scampering around the doorframe, out of sight. The glowing figure from before stepped back into view, dimmer this time.

How considerate, Sam grumbled to himself, brow furrowing in both confusion and consternation.

“Why don’t you tell me more about it?” Vello prompted him. Sam felt oddly… exposed, by the request. Awkward. Like someone had stumbled upon a sketchbook, or a journal of poetry drafts, and wanted to see more. Not to mention, a total stranger was doing the asking—but the being seemed so genuine, approached it so gently. “Couldn’t be the weirdest thing you do tonight, could it?”

“Why the interest, anyway?”

“It seems to me that you’ve got some tangled feelings about it!” Sam scowled. Dead to rights. Not like the other officers hadn’t caught him stammering for an excuse about it; he was just pissed that it was so obvious. Hell, though, he reasoned, If God or some shit is in my office, I’d better just roll with it. I doubt the bear spray would actually do anything.

“Well…” The sheriff looked back and forth between the stranger and the stash. He scratched the back of his neck, almost anxious. “I dunno, I’ve always just liked them. It feels like it’s deeper than that, somehow, but… that’s weird, right? I try not to talk about it too much, try not to think about it too much. I don’t wanna creep anybody out—there are raccoons all over town, right? I try to just enjoy them in a… in a normal way. I guess.”

“Normal? You say ‘normal’ like you mean ‘good’, dear. ‘Acceptable’. What makes you think that your feelings aren't acceptable?” Sam winced.

“Well, pal, the fact that I have to try not to talk about it too much. I, uh…I think about raccoons a lot.”

“Oh, I know you do!”

Sam blinked, then blinked again. At first, he thought that he’d been stalked the old-fashioned way. Vello was real cozy talking about all this, though, including stuff that even a stalker couldn’t figure out. Given what he’d just done to show off, he might literally know his thoughts. Not that that’s any more comfortable, he groused.

“I really don’t mean to intrude,” Vello apologized, “but—”

“Then what the Hell are you doing it for right now?”

“Oh, no, I could tell just by looking at your face! The raccoons, though—that I could tell just being near you. There’s a reason it was my first choice of disguise earlier!”

“So that was you on the trail cam.”

“Well, I hadn’t realized there was a camera. I hope I didn’t cause the one who called you too much discomfort; looking at me when I’m not decent tends to… give people a headache.”

“Didn’t seem any crazier than usual to me,” Sam shrugged.

“Wonderful! Enough about your friend, then,” he said as Sam rolled his eyes, “What could be wrong with thinking often about something you love?” Sam’s cheeks grew warm at the choice of words—was affection even the right way to describe the way he felt about raccoons?

“Well, like I said, I don’t want to make anybody else uncomfortable. You hear about cat people all the time, sure, but raccoons are certainly more… out there, as an animal to associate yourself with. Not to mention all the people around town who happen to be raccoons.”

“Are you afraid they’ll think you have…” Vello’s voice took on a conspiratorial hush, like a father giving their thirteen-year-old a talk about how to stay safe while dating. “...a ‘thing’ for raccoons?”

“I don’t want to make them feel objectified,” Sam replied bluntly, rehearsedly.

“Have you ever dated a raccoon, Sam?” The heat in Sam’s cheeks intensified, and he looked away from Vello again.

“...I’ve only dated raccoons.”

“And did you ever treat them like objects?”

“Of course not!” He snapped, whipping his head back around to face the glowing shapes “I gave ‘em all the world, when I had ‘em! But…” Vello waited patiently for him to find his words, finally offering some when it seemed like none were coming.

“But it just never felt right?”

“...No.”

“And what about it didn’t feel right about it?”

“Me, if I’m being honest. I was happy as could be with those ladies, but… I dunno. I guess I never felt good enough for them, or… like I couldn’t be myself around them?”

“How so?”

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about it, since you seem to be able to be anybody you want,” Sam began. Vello cocked his head at the remark, but continued listening. “But being ‘me’ feels sort of like an act. Not like I’m pretending, really—I’m not trying to lie to anybody—but I feel like I’ve got a mask on around them all the time.”

“What are some things that you feel are part of that mask, Sam?”

“That right there, for one. Never felt too strongly about my name. But who the Hell am I without it, right? Can’t just decide to be somebody else.”

“Whyever not? People change their names all the time. For fun, for marriage, for a fresh start.” Sam grunted in acknowledgment, thoughtful. Vello prodded him further: “Do you have a name you’d prefer?”

“Hmm,” he grunted again. His lip curled—not out of contempt for the idea, but reluctance to dig deeper.

“Anything at all come to—”

“Sally.”

“Sally?”

“Sally.”

“A lovely choice,” Vello beamed. Literally. “May I ask—”

“I don’t really know. It’s just a name my brain keeps coming back to, same way it comes back to raccoons. I figured, if it’s so special to me, that I’d name my daughter that someday, but if you’re asking what other name I’d pick for myself… this is the closest one to feeling like a part of me.”

“As good a reason as any!”

“Shame I couldn't use it.”

“Oh? Why would that be?”

“Because I’m not a woman?” Sam said plainly, turning up a palm and quirking an eyebrow at Vello.

“Do you wish you could be called Sally?”

“What is this, some genie shit?” 

“Of course not!” Vello laughed at that, a good-natured, from-the-belly kind of laugh. “I mean, I grant wishes, but there’s no need for that kind of formality!”

“Right,” Sam muttered, skeptical.

“I’m just curious about what it is that you want! If calling yourself Sally would make you happier, then why shouldn’t you? Actually, don’t answer that—I don’t think it’d be very productive to go back and forth about names being fake and all that.”

“Fake?”

“What, do you think I was born with a name you folk from around here could pronounce? I picked it myself!”

“Why Vello, then?”

“I liked the ring of it,” he chirped.

“Huh. That simple?”

“That simple.” Sam crossed his arms, looking at the floor in thought for a moment. Before he could convince himself out of that promising, tantalizing train of thought, Vello pushed further. “May I ask what else you wish you could change about yourself?”

“I don’t know where I’d start, bud.”

“May I make a suggestion.”

“Sure,” the sheriff scoffed. “Shoot.”

“If you’re envious of a feminine name, is it possible that you’re envious of other feminine traits? Or perhaps even, the traits you find admirable in raccoons?”

“Envious? No, no, it’s sorta like what other people describe when they talk about love. The butterflies, the nerves, the excitement. When You talk about jealousy, especially from girls wishing they were ‘as pretty as hose other girls’, it always comes off… bitter. Angry, sometimes. I’ve never felt that way looking at one of my exes, and definitely never when I look at a wild raccoon.”

“Ah,” begins Vello, “but that isn’t quite true, is it? Even with the wild ones, don’t the stripes seem lovely? Don’t you find their faces cuter than any other animal—haven’t you wondered what a snout like that would feel like? How you would look if the rings around your eyes were natural, instead of from exhaustion? Haven’t you ever thought, just once, that a tail like that would suit you nicely?”

“...I wouldn’t say it’d suit me,” he began hesitantly, then reluctantly added: “But I have thought, on occasion, that it might be fun to have.”

“And when you were with those women, wasn’t there something more than the attraction?”

“I don’t see what you mean. Wouldn’t that just mean… loving them very strongly? That wasn’t the issue; I said earlier, my problem was that I didn’t feel like myself around them, even if they made me happy.”

“Think about why you didn’t feel like yourself, dear. When you were near them, wasn’t there a nagging feeling of wishing you could be even closer than skin-to-skin? Didn’t you wish you could see what they saw, feel what they felt? Perhaps you thought of it in terms of… wondering what made them seem so genuine, compared to what made you feel so artificial?”

Sam crossed his arms. Once again: dead to rights. He didn’t like the feeling.

“I know I promised I wouldn’t keep poking around in there,” Vello acquiesced, keeping his hands where the sheriff could see them, “but it seems like you need a little help connecting those dots, friend.”

“So what are you suggesting? That, because I’m always coming back to this… obsession, with raccoons, that it’s like the name I picked out?” His heart quickened as he brushed closer and closer to those feelings—ones he had spent a long time trying to ignore, out of concern for appearances or out of cold practicality for his unfortunate, but immalleable, reality.

It was like feeling a statue under a tarp—acquainted, almost by heart, with all the shapes underneath, but being afraid to pull the fabric away. Afraid that he would lay eyes on it, and never be able to forget its beauty, never be able to stop longing to bask in its beauty. Afraid that he would have to leave it behind anyway. It had been better to leave it, covered, in the corner of his mind where he could safely ignore it; the gentle, knowing tilt of Vello’s head told him that he wasn’t the only one aware of its presence.

Maybe, with someone else who could appreciate the work of art for what it was, he could bear to tear away the tarp.

“Maybe you’re onto something, then,” Sam continued, shakily. “I lay awake thinking about my exes, thinking about all these tacky striped clothes and pelt hats and everything. I think about them, and while I love them—I cared a lot about those girls, and I think the critters are a wonderful part of nature—love isn’t the only thing I feel. It’s like when you think about your hobby, or how I used to get when I thought about graduating from the police academy. There’s a passion. Like I’m the starring kid in a musical, and they’re playing the number about all his hopes and dreams on my heartstrings.”

“Now I think you’re starting to get it,” Vello encouraged him; he had waited patiently while Sam mulled it over, and nodded along as he finally opened up. “So, Sam—”

“Sally,” the sheriff blurted out, eyes fixed on the being like a lost sailor watches the North Star. “Please.”

“Sally, dear,” Vello corrected himself. Something about hearing the name directed at her made her head swim a little; it was like receiving applause after one’s first time playing onstage. Did she just feel recognized? Seen? How did just a taste of being treated like a woman feel so… right? “What is it that you want?”

“You said you grant wishes?” Sally choked.

“I can help you, yes!”

“No monkey’s paw nonsense? No ironic genie rules?”

“Heavens, no. I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you—or have had this conversation with any others like you—if I didn’t want to help. No ifs, ands, or buts, no strings attached.”

“Can you do it for me? Can you… Can I try being like them?”

“Just tell me what you want to try first,” Vello said, a smile palpable on his featureless face.

“Let’s start… let’s start with the tail,” she resolved.

“Would you do me just one favor, first?”

“You said no strings,” Sally said, warily.

“It’s not a string, per se. Just something I think will be fun! Help you get into the experience, maybe.” The sheriff sighed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Why don’t you put this on?” Vello grinned, holding up the little domino mask. Sally patted her pockets—she hadn't set it down anywhere, but she didn’t have it anymore. It was the same one. What the Hell was with this guy? If she weren't in the makings of a great mood, she’d have snatched it out of his glowing hands. “C’mon. Worst case, it’ll be good for a laugh.”

“Pfft. Fine,” she said, cracking a begrudging smile. She snatched it—playfully—from him and reached up to tie it around the back of her head. “Is it working? Do I look like a raccoon yet?”

“You tell me! Do you feel any different?” She opened her mouth to tell him no, of course not, you wingnut, but all that came out was a surprised little yip. The small of her back felt strange, like there was pressure under the skin. Her belt was suddenly uncomfortably tight, and her shirt, tucked neatly into her waistband like it normally was, began to rumple and come loose as though something were snaking its way out of her pants. She could feel—could move—something, though the sensation was indirect, sort of foreign, like wiggling her ears. It wasn’t long enough for her to see yet, even if she tugged her shirt up and craned around to look down over her shoulder.

“Lord, this thing is itchy,” she griped.

“Oh, careful! Don’t scratch that while it’s still growing in,” Vello cautioned. “That would be, uh, your spine.” She winced and endured the sensation, a growth spurt pushing out instead of up. Her tailbone gave a downright strange crunching sensation as it stretched, then split, into a new vertebra; her skin pulled like taffy as it slid further away from the base of her spine, making way for the next new disc, then the next, then the next. A shudder shot through her each time, hammering against the base of her skull.

She felt the unmistakable sensation of a five o’clock shadow all along the new limb, followed by prickles all over, like a million tiny blades of grass tickling her skin. For each new vertebra, a new ring around her tail. Soon enough, she had a brand-new, puffy little appendage sitting just above her rear, long enough for her to wrap around her waist and examine firsthand. It was surreal, flicking around in her hands, like one of those demonstrations she’d seen of robots being controlled by their inventor’s thoughts. To reach out and touch it, to see something so fluffy and cute and feel both the fur between her fingers and the fingers in her fur—something clicked into place in her brain. This was hers. It was her.

“This is…” Sally fumbled, awestruck and frankly so overwhelmed—so surprised that she was overwhelmed, that this felt so good—that she struggled for the words. “This is really something. You, uh, you said that was my spine stretching out?”

“Mhm!”

“So you can’t just, y’know, poof a tail onto me?”

“No ma’am,” he explained, shooting more sparks right into her brain. “I can only really move things around. It looks like I change instantly when I do it because I don’t have your anatomical concerns. You, I have to be more careful with! Don’t want to hurt you, now do we?”

“And here I thought having your bones twisted and moved around like that would’ve hurt like Hell.”

“I’m being very careful,” he beamed.

“Right.” She was well past questioning anything Vello said, at this point. The results spoke for themselves.

“So?”

“Uh, so?”

“So what’s next?” He pushed, excitedly.

“Oh! Oh um, shit, let’s see,” she searched her thoughts frantically, so swept up in the thrill of everything that she nearly forgot to be flustered at her next proposition. “Can we try making me more… ah, shit,” she said, rubbing her face with her hands, bracing to spit it out. “More ladylike?”

“Certainly! Any specific requests?”

“Well, all the girls I’ve had eyes for have been on the heavier side. Maybe if I like having a soft tail so much, I’ll like being a soft woman too!” she said, half-joking, full of enthusiasm. “Do I have to, y’know, do something else like the mask, or…?”

“Oh, no. I can just—” Vello began, trailing off with a vague gesture in Sally’s direction.

“Woah.” Immediately, she began to feel changes: her hips creaked as they widened, and her once-broad shoulders groaned as they pinched inward toward her spine, narrowing and sloping downward. Her legs lengthened a few inches, snapping and squeaking like rhubarb or bamboo as her bones warped under Vello’s guidance, and her torso shortened by a few more inches than that. She was smaller overall, and a touch more slender, but much leggier in comparison. Her legs began to fill out as well. Her thighs, at first, merely brushed against each other as she shifted her weight around, her eyes darting from limb to body and back in wonder; within moments, they were like pillows stuffed in a bag from a furniture store, straining against the confines of her work pants and pressed firmly against each other, even with her feet slightly apart.

The changes progressed further and further up her body, testing her pants’ limits even more harshly as her rear softened and grew. If she hadn’t just sprouted a tail, she’d have found the weight in the area to be an unfamiliar sensation; even with her five whole minutes of experience, she quickly had to learn to adjust her balance. Finally, the button gave way, and the zipper was torn open by the force of her growing hips. Even so, the garment was stuffed taut and drawn tight as a suspension bridge,  and even so, her butt bounced slightly when she moved. She knew that if she were in the nude, it’d be wobbling outright—rippling, even.

Next was her shirt’s turn to be put through its paces. Her tummy changed gradually at first: the outline of the bottom of her ribs softened, then faded away entirely; her flat stomach grew to a bit of a bump, then began to squish down the tiniest bit under its own weight; a muffin top began to spill over the waist of her pants. Quickly, rolls started forming—her belly had grown soft enough to fold, to pool on top of itself. When she moved, her stomach took half a second to catch up to her, and its weight was palpable as she turned to admire her burgeoning figure. The way it stretched her button-up looked almost like an over-stuffed plushie: pulled tight in a way that seemed like you could sink your hand into it, and like it would make for an excellent pillow.

Her chest grew in much the same way, starting out as a single extra layer of padding and becoming larger, more rounded, bound more strongly by gravity as they expanded. Perky at first, they quickly became heavy enough to squish down onto themselves, though, supported by her tummy as they were, they still seemed plenty bouncy. Her nipples puffed up beneath her shirt, becoming broader and softer—right up until her chest filled out the top of her button-up, and they were pressed to tightly against the fabric as to be plainly visible through it. Another button gave, zipping right past Vello, and then another. Her face grew flushed at the sight of her own cleavage; the way she was enraptured by every little bounce with her breathing, by the way her shirt cupped and supported them, it was like she was a teenager seeing her first pair in person all over again. Except these, she got to keep!

A few final changes happened above her shoulders: her brows thinned, her cheeks filled out, and her Adam’s apple just about disappeared with one flustered gulp. She tested her new voice, shaky from excitement though it was:

“Listen, Vello,” she began, face burning. Her voice still carried years of wear, exhaustion, but it was a bit higher itched; a raspy contralto instead of her old gravelly grumble. “I know you have a real good read on the things I enjoy—and please don’t mistake me, I am enjoying this—but I don’t think this much of a figure is… office-appropriate.”

“No? But, dear, you aren’t too encumbered by the new changes, are you? You can still run well enough, especially with legs like those, and—”

“No, trust me when I say that this is… exceptionally curvy, for us mere mortals. Maybe it’s just me, another one of those things I was worried about being creepy over, but… can we just dial it back a little with the body fat?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you want. I can’t say I understand, though. You seemed thrilled about it just a second ago!” Vello waved again, and Sally lost a cup size, two waist sizes, and a few inches off her inseam. She breathed a sigh of relief, and her clothes finally stopped screaming for mercy.

“There’s such a thing as too excited about a body, Vello.” He looked at her blankly—even more than you would expect for someone without a face.

“I guess I just wouldn’t get it.”

“Maybe not,” she said, fiddling with her tail, “but get this!” She turned around, having wrapped her new raccoon rings ‘round her neck like a boa. “Isn’t this cute?”

“Oh, that’s an excellent idea! If you like your new fur so much, we could cover the rest of you in it!” Sally’s heart began to pound again at the suggestion.

“Yes. Let it rip, mister genie, make that my third wish! I think I know the answer already, but I wanna find out for sure if what I liked about those ladies really did run deeper than skin-to-skin!”

“Silly,” Vello chuckled, “I already told you I’m no genie! But your wish is my command,” he obliged her, dramatically waving his fingers around as though he was casting the final part of some grand spell.

First, her skin began to tingle—all over, just like when Vello started to grow her tail, she felt the ticklish, pokey sensation all over. Goosebumps formed on her skin, running from the base of her skull all the way to her toes, and from each little bump erupted a thick, strong follicle of fur, cascading along her body in bands of black, white, and all the shades of gray in between.

Her toes themselves also began to change: she felt a dull pressure in her feet, like the kind she had felt after a long car ride without a chance to stretch her legs. Along the bottoms of her feet, the skin thickened into paw pads; when she looked down at her hands, she saw much the same thing, and likewise felt pressure building there, like she had gone too long without cracking her knuckles. She extended her fingers, gently, and then flexed them—one by one, they crunched and popped, becoming thicker, rounder as they curled. The bones in the delicate joints slid past each other, shortened, grew stouter, and by the time they were done, they were a cute little pair of paws, each digit topped with a retractable claw.

The changes in her legs were more extensive than that, however; they would continue all the way up her legs and up into her hips. Her ankles cracked, tarsal bones gnashing against each other as they began to borrow length from her shins, and they strained as more and more of her weight was slowly forced forward onto her toes. Thankfully, as if to help her maintain her balance in real-time, much of the mass of her calves (and a little from her thighs) shifted to her rear end, the muscle there bulking up to help support the weight on her new digitigrade legs. She bent her knees—now considerably higher on her leg than she was used to—one at a time, shivering with relief as her bones cracked through the last tremors of reorganization, then popped up. She tentatively put one paw in front of the other, strutting around in a little circle, testing the limits of her new legs and ecstatic to find how nicely she bounced across the floor on them.

Her face, once again, was the site of the finishing touches. Her nose elongated into view of her eyes, and the end became wet and cold in the still air of the office, even in the warmth of Vello’s glow. Her teeth shifted—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she got her braces off in high school—and the ligaments in her jaw snapped and stretched as it realigned itself, struggling to keep up with the sprouting of her snout. Whiskers shot out from the fur near the end of her nose, each one with an accompanying pinch, like it had been plucked by a tweezer and pulled out to its proper length; her ears migrated along the sides of her head, rounding out as they went and coming to rest at the top of her head. She reached up, feeling the shape of her new features with her equally-new paws, and realized she could no longer feel the mask. It struck her that she must have an all-natural mask now, and she suddenly felt like a child on Christmas morning.

“Vello,” she cried, whirling around to face him again, “we gotta find a mirr—oh.”

“A mirror?” He asked coyly, peeking out from behind a full-length vanity mirror. It was another impressive magical maneuver on his part, but she was distracted: the sight of herself in the mirror was enough to move her nearly to tears. It was really herself! The first time she had looked in the mirror and felt more than apathy, than resignation, than “acceptance of the luck of the draw”. She liked what she saw. She loved it! Her paws covered her snout, overcome with emotion; after a moment collecting herself, she watched it move in the mirror, still unable to believe that what she was seeing was real. Eventually, she stepped around the mirror and threw her arms around Vello—something she now had to reach slightly up to do.

“This is wonderful,” she mustered, trying not to sob into his shining shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You’ll be happier this way, won’t you, dear?”

“Happier than I knew i could be!”

“That’s all the thanks I need.” She pulled away to look at him; he could tell by her face that she was unsatisfied with the answer. “Maybe look out for other people like yourself?”

“Who want to change their gender, or who want to change their species?”

“Either!” he replied, eagerly. “And both! Just be willing to hear them out, you see. And if they aren’t sure how to say it quite yet, don’t be afraid to give them a nudge in the right direction.”

“Pay it forward,” she mused. “I can do that, for sure. Looking out for the people in this town is my job anyway, right?” She paused for a moment before a realization set in: “Ah, shit. My job. I’m gonna have to answer so many questions…”

“A perfect opportunity to reintroduce yourself then, my dear!”

“Hah. I guess so!”

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I take off, Sally?”

“Vello, I think I’m better than I’ve ever been. Thank you.”

“You’re very, very welcome. See you around!”

“See—” she blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, Vello was gone, mirror and all. “—you.” Huh. That’s that, she supposed. She glanced out the window; the sun was nearly up, which meant that her shift was about to be over, and that the station-house was about to be flooded by her coworkers. She decided it'd be best to get the Hell out of there for now; she could figure out an excuse for everything that had happened after getting some proper rest. She fiddled with her badge—surely, they’d believe it was her as long as she had it, right? The glint of the early light on its polished metal distracted her as she walked out to her truck. It took until the sky started changing color around her to snap her out of her admiration. The sheriff laughed to herself.

Guess some of these changes really do go further than skin-deep, she mused. Figures that I’d go straight from collecting stripey things to collecting shiny things. If she was honest with herself, something felt right about that, too. A lot felt right, now. More right than it ever had.

[saiacross]

Bonds Unveiled

Supernatural FanFic : 10,593 Words : First Work : OC

Chapter 5:

First the Children, Now the Winchesters

Heading to the kitchen of the bunker to find Dean and Saia, Sam rounds the corner carrying his laptop, eager to share the details of the case he has discovered. As he enters the kitchen, he finds Dean sitting at the table, engrossed in his breakfast, and Saia leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Guys, I found something! You won't believe what's been happening in Shadowbrook, Georgia." Sam’s voice hold disbelief in itself.

Dean looks up from his plate, his interest piqued, while Saia turns her attention fully towards Sam. "Alright, Sammy, spill it. What's going on in Shadowbrook?"

Sam sets his laptop down facing Dean with the article open that displays  the disturbing events that have plagued the town.

"Reports of giant spiders, knife-wielding clowns, and other terrifying creatures and events have been flooding the town of Shadowbrook. Every night, something new and horrifying emerges, and then it disappears by morning."

Saia's eyes widen as she takes in the details, clearly intrigued by the strange occurrences. "That sounds too weird even for us. So, what are we dealing with here? Some kind of demonic circus?"

Sam shakes his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's hard to say for sure, but the people are terrified, and the authorities have been unable to find a logical explanation for what's happening."

Examining the article closely, Dean finishes his breakfast. “Well, sounds like it's our kind of party. Let's suit up and hit the road, see what's really going on in Shadowbrook."

After a grueling 15-hour drive, the group finally arrives in Shadowbrook, Georgia, just as the sun begins to rise, casting an ethereal glow on the small town. Saia stretches her arms, feeling the stiffness from the long journey, while Dean adjusts his tie and Sam straightens his jacket. Dressed in their signature suits, they prepare to blend in as FBI agents to gain access to crucial information.

"Man, I can't believe we made it. I don't think my back has ever been so sore." Saia would say as she stretched.

"You'll survive, Saia. A little road trip never hurt anyone." Dean smirked.

 "Alright, guys, the local police station is just a few blocks away. Let's head there and speak to the sheriff. Hopefully, he'll have some insights into these strange occurrences." Sam put his phone away after checking it.

The group makes their way through the quiet streets of Shadowbrook, observing the town awakening to a new day. As they approach the police station, they can see activity inside, officers going about their duties.

 "Alright guys, I’ll do the talking. Just follow my lead and act professional." Dean said as he adjusted his sunglasses

"Act professional? That's asking a lot from you, Dean." Saia would smirk.

 "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to scare anyone with your Kitsune charm." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Let's focus, guys. We're here to gather information and find a way to stop these weird events from terrorizing the town." Sam was always the ref with a smile.

They enter the police station, and as they approach the front desk, the receptionist looks up, curious. "Can I help you?"

Dean flashes his FBI badge with confidence, while Sam and Saia follow suit. "Agent Smith, here to speak with Sheriff Anderson. We're investigating the recent unusual events in Shadowbrook."

"I'll let the sheriff know. One moment please." The receptionist spoke nervously.

The group takes stood in the waiting area, scanning the room and taking note of the officers' reactions to their presence.

“They are staring pretty hard.” Saia would whisper to Sam.

"We've done this countless times, Saia. Just stay calm and follow Dean's lead." Sam would reassure her.

After a few minutes, Sheriff Anderson emerges from his office, walking towards them with a friendly smile.

"Agents, welcome to Shadowbrook. What can I help you with?" Sheriff Anderson greet the three of them with his hand held out.

"Sheriff Anderson, we're here to investigate the recent series of strange events that have been occurring in town. We're hoping you can provide us with any relevant information or leads." Dean spoke as he shook the Sheriff’s hand.

"Of course. I've compiled all the reports and evidence we have so far. Let's head to my office, and I'll brief you on everything."

As they settle into Sheriff Anderson's office, the room is adorned with maps, case files, and a whiteboard filled with notes and diagrams. The sheriff takes a seat behind his desk, while Sam, Dean, and Saia position themselves in front of him, ready to absorb every detail.

"Alright, here's what we know so far. These strange events started happening about a month ago. Each night, the townsfolk report encounters with bizarre creatures and terrifying phenomena. We've had reports of giant spiders, knife-wielding clowns, and even sightings of ghostly apparitions."

"Any pattern to these occurrences? Do they happen in specific areas or at certain times?" Sam had a small notepad out and pen, ready to take notes as they asked questions.

"The events are random and unpredictable. They don't seem to follow any pattern. Some incidents occur in residential areas, others in parks or public spaces. But they always happen after dark."

“Any injuries or signs of foul play?" Dean took his turn in questioning.

"Fortunately, no serious injuries have been reported. Most of the incidents have left people frightened or shaken, but no one has been harmed. Some folks think it's just kids playing tricks, while others believe it's something more paranormal. I'm not sure what to think." The sheriff shook his head and leaned back in his chair, he looked at a lost.

“We're here to investigate and help, Sheriff. We've dealt with similar cases in the past. We'll look into the reports, talk to witnesses, and see if we can uncover any hidden connections or explanations."Saia felt the need to comfort the poor man.

"I appreciate your assistance, folks. If there's anything I can do to support your investigation, just let me know. I want to ensure the safety and peace of mind of our town's residents."The Sheriff stood the shake everyone hand once again before they headed out.

Leaving Sheriff Anderson's office, they set out to gather more information, interview witnesses, and explore the town's history, working towards unraveling the mysterious occurrences plaguing Shadowbrook.

The group, weary from their unsuccessful attempts to solve the mysteries of Shadowbrook, finds themselves seeking solace and respite at a local bar. The dimly lit establishment is filled with the chatter of patrons and the clinking of glasses, creating a comforting ambiance amidst the chaos they've been facing.

Sam, Dean, and Saia find a table seeking a momentary escape from the weight of their failed investigations. They sit together, nursing their drinks, each lost in their own thoughts. The weariness is evident on their faces, lines of exhaustion etched upon their brows.

  "I can't believe we're hitting dead ends at every turn. These creatures keep appearing, causing havoc, and then vanishing without a trace. It's like chasing shadows." Saia sighed heavily.

"Tell me about it. We've been on our toes all week, barely getting any sleep." Dean ran his hand down his face.

“There must be some underlying pattern or connection that we're missing. We need to think outside the box and approach this from a different angle." Sam was resting his head on his hand that was propped at the elbow on the table.

Saia throws back her shot of whiskey, trying to drown her frustration. The taste of the alcohol briefly eases her tension, but the mystery of Shadowbrook looms over her like a dark cloud. "I just wish we could find something, anything that could point us in the right direction. It feels like we're running in circles."

As they continue to share their frustrations and thoughts, the atmosphere in the bar begins to lighten. Laughter and friendly banter fill the air, momentarily pushing aside the weight of their mission.

Dean raises his glass, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "To finding the truth, no matter how elusive it may be." Sam and Saia raise their glasses in unison, the clink of glass resonating with a sense of camaraderie and resilience.

After a while Saia would raise from her seat and make her way over to the bar for refills on their drinks. It hadn’t taken long, though while she was waiting she noticed the guys each talking to a woman who had appeared by their sides. Thanking the bartender Saia would take up their drinks and return to their table, though as she did so Saia now realized that both Sam and Dean have vanished in the blink of an eye. She takes a seat, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation at their sudden disappearances. As she scans the bar, her eyes catch Dean making his way towards the exit with the woman he had been talking to earlier.

"Typical Dean." Saia rolled her eyes as she watches as Dean meets her gaze, and without a word, he gestures with his hands that he will contact her later. Saia raises an eyebrow in response, silently questioning his actions. But before she can react, Dean is already out the door, leaving her alone at the table.

Saia takes a deep breath, trying to brush off her frustration. She leans back in her chair and scans the bar once more, hoping to spot Sam. And there he is, engrossed in a conversation with a stunning woman, a departure from his usual focused demeanor. "Well, this is unexpected." She muttered to herself.

She watches for a moment, observing Sam's uncharacteristic charm. A mix of amusement and concern washes over her. With a shake of her head, Saia decides to give them their space and enjoy her own company for the time being. "Well, looks like it's just me and my thoughts tonight." She would sigh.

The morning sunlight casts a warm glow over the motel parking lot as Sam and Dean find themselves standing face to face in front of their shared room. Both of them appear slightly disheveled, their hair tousled and their clothes wrinkled, indicative of a night spent away from the motel.

“Dean? Wait are you just getting back?” Sam asked with a raise eye brow.

"You caught me, Sammy. Had a good time, if you know what I mean." Dean was grinning mischievously.

Sam's face flushes with embarrassment as he realizes that Dean is well aware of his own nocturnal activities.

"So hanging out, huh? With a lady friend, I presume?" Dean poked fun at Sam.

"Yeah, something like that." Sam tried to look anywhere else but at Dean.

Dean slapped Sam on the back "That's my boy! I'm proud of you, Sammy. Finally living it up a little."

 "Dean, can we not... talk about this?" Sam would ask uncomfortably.

Dean would chuckle "Don't worry, little brother. Your secret is safe with me. Just remember, always make sure to lock the door. Wouldn't want to accidentally interrupt anything, right?"

Sam rolls his eyes, trying to hide his amusement at Dean's teasing. Despite the embarrassment.

Just as Dean went to open the door Sam would place a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait… uh Dean..” Sam suddenly realized something.

Dean turned to Sam, confusion written across his face as he seen Sam’s eyes wide for some reason.

“If you were out, and I was out... that means we both ditched Saia at the bar last night." Sam’s voice was filled with concern.

A sinking feeling hit Dean stomach "Son of a... We left her alone? She's gonna kill us, Sam."

The weight of their actions settles heavily upon them as they begin to anticipate the repercussions of their thoughtless behavior. The thought of facing Saia's wrath sends a shiver down their spines.

"You think she's in there? Waiting for us?" Sam asked nervously.

 "Knowing Saia, she's probably plotting our demise as we speak. We better brace ourselves, Sammy." Dean ran a hand through his hair.

As they looked to the door, Dean takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what's to come.

Bracing himself Dean would ask "Ready, Sammy?"

Sam sighed "As ready as I'll ever be, Dean."

Sam and Dean enter their motel room, their footsteps heavy with the weight of their guilt. They exchange glances, silently acknowledging the gravity of their mistake. As they close the door behind them, their eyes fall upon Saia, who sits at the small table with her laptop open, a pistol within reach, and a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Her posture is tense, her expression a mix of anger and disappointment.

"Morning, Saia! Slept well?" Dean ask in a cheery tone though his voice a bit shaky.

Saia's eyes narrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, just peachy. How about you two? Did you have a nice night gallivanting around town with the Ladies? Ditching me at the bar?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably, his bravado deflated. "Look, Saia, we didn't mean to... things just got a little out of hand. We lost track of time, you know how it goes."

"We are in the middle of a case, Dean. We are suppose to be working this as a team. But it seems like I'm just an afterthought."

Sam, feeling the weight of Saia's words, finally speaks up. "Saia, we messed up, and we're sorry. It was thoughtless of us to leave you alone like that. We understand if you're angry."

“Angry doesn't even begin to cover it, Sam!” Saia's fury fills the room as she glares at them both. “I mean are you two out of your minds? Random creatures are popping up in the middle of the NIGHT, causing havoc! And what do you do? You follow the first nice ass that looks your way out the door, without even considering the possible dangers they could have posed!"

“Well to be fair I wasn’t really looking at her ass ya know?” Dean would chuckle with a smile as though he were proud of himself while looking to his brother and motioning with his hands the ladies other rather well endowed area.

Saia and Sam looked to Dean with disbelief; did he really think what he just said helped his case?

Dean cleared his throat after noting their stares and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Saia, look we didn't—"

Saia cut him off, her voice sharp "No, Dean! You didn't think! You didn't consider the consequences. What if those women were involved in whatever is happening in this town? You could have put yourselves, me, and others at risk."

Sam remorseful "Saia, you're right. We should have been more cautious. We let our guard down, and it was a mistake."

Dean was nodding solemnly "You're right, Saia. We should have been more focused. We let our personal desires cloud our judgment."

Saia doesn’t say another word as she watches the to brothers. She sighs as she rubs her eyes with one hand, then pinches the bridge of her nose before looking back to her laptop.

“I think I may have found something.” She would address the guys. “While looking over the new letters again it seems along with the strange occurrences every night, there have been reports of children at the local school falling ill."

 "Falling ill? What kind of illness?" Sam would question as he moved to stand behind her to look over her shoulder.

"The doctors are calling it extreme fatigue. The kids suddenly become incredibly tired, to the point where they can't even stay awake during the day. It's affecting a significant number of students, and the cause is unknown."

"Extreme fatigue? At an elementary? That doesn’t sound normal. It could be related to whatever is happening in this town." Dean would pounder.

"That's what I'm thinking too. It seems too coincidental to ignore.” Saia would nod her head as she sat back.

"Alright, let's look into it. We'll need to visit the school, talk to the teachers, and gather more information. It could give us some clues about what we're dealing with." Sam would pat Saia shoulder before he headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

“Good work.” Dean would praise Saia, shooting her a smile as he followed Sam. Saia would just shake her head and roll her eyes.

Sam, Dean, and Saia stood outside the principal's office at the local elementary school, dressed in their FBI suits, waiting to meet with him. Saia's eyes wandered to the colorful artwork hanging on the walls, created by the young students. Each drawing had the child's name and the date it was made.

"These drawings are so adorable. It's nice to see their creativity on display." Saia looked closer at some of the art.

"Yeah, they're not bad. But I've seen better." Dean scrutinized the drawings after a glance.

"Dean, they're just kids." Sam would remind him with a chuckle.

Saia to would  let out a soft laugh at their banter, acknowledging the different view of the Winchester brothers. Just then, the principal emerged from his office, extending a welcoming hand.

"Good morning, officers. I'm Principal Anderson. Thank you for coming."

"Good morning, Principal Anderson. We're here to discuss the recent cases of extreme fatigue among the students and investigate any possible causes." Saia would greet. The trio followed Principal Anderson into his office, where they found a desk piled with paperwork and a cozy seating area.

 “We've been working closely with medical professionals to find answers, but it's been a challenge. Most of the cases seem to be concentrated among the younger children. We're trying to determine if there are any common factors, but it's been elusive so far." He would explain.

As Sam, Dean, and Saia exited the principal's office, Principal Anderson handed them a list of names of the children who had been affected by extreme fatigue. Saia scanned the list, her brows furrowing in concentration.

"Wait a minute... These names... They look familiar." Saia paused mid stride.

"What do you mean? Have you come across them before?" Dean questioned.

Saia's eyes widened with realization, and a spark of excitement ignited within her. "I think I have. I saw these names on the artwork hanging in the hallway." Saia walked back towards the hallway where the children's artwork was displayed. Dean and Sam followed closely behind, their curiosity piqued.

"Are you saying the kids who made those drawings are the ones falling ill?" Sam voice voice try to remain hushed but carried in the empty hall.

Saia began removing the artwork that matched the names, creating a growing stack in her arms.

"Saia, what are you doing?" Dean whispered and looked around as though they would be caught.

Saia carefully gathered the artwork, holding the pieces in her hands. With a sense of urgency, she turned to face Sam and Dean, her eyes filled with a mix of astonishment and concern. "Guys, look at this. Each of these drawings, created by the children who have fallen ill, depicts one of the creatures that has been terrorizing the town at night."

"Wait, you're saying these kids somehow drew the monsters into existence?" Dean’s voice was filled with doubt. But Saia nodded.

"It's not just a coincidence. Each piece of art corresponds to a specific creature we've encountered. The clown with the knife, the giant spider, the ghost girl on a horse, the army of lawn gnomes.” Saia would pull out each picture as she listed off the events the town had experienced.

“That one was weird.” Dean huffed remembering putting each gnome with a base ball bat in the middle of the town square until drawn when they all disappeared.  

Sam's brows furrowed, “Hey look. All these kids are in the same class.” Sam pointed to the grade level that was listed on each drawing and the teachers name. His mind racing to make sense of the information. "So, it's not just random attacks. There's a connection between the children, their drawings, and the creatures manifesting in reality."

Dean, Sam, and Saia followed the room numbers down the hallway until they reached the door corresponding to the teacher's name on the children's artwork. Dean knocked on the door, but before there was a response he entered the room, flashing his FBI badge.

"Morning, ma'am. We're Special Agents investigating the recent illness and unusual events in town. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

The woman, a young and beautiful teacher, looked up from her desk, surprised by their sudden entrance. She composed herself quickly and greeted them with a polite smile. "Oh, of course. Please come in, my kids are currently at lunch. I'm Miss Wilson."

As they stepped further into the room, Saia rolled her eyes at Dean's instinctive flirtatious behavior. Sam caught her gaze and offered an apologetic smile, silently acknowledging his brother's tendency.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wilson. I'm Agent Smith, and these are my colleagues, Agent Thompson and Agent Anderson." Dean beamed a charming smile at the teacher.

Saia and Sam flashed their badges as well, emphasizing their official role in the investigation.

"Nice to meet you all. How can I assist with your investigation?"

Sam took the lead, while Saia observed the conversation, ready to interject if necessary. "We're investigating the recent illness that has affected several students in this school. Have you noticed any changes or unusual behavior among the children?"

“Do you have any idea what might be causing this fatigue? Any unusual circumstances or events that could be related?" Sam would press.

Miss Wilson thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. "To be honest, I'm not sure. It could just be a combination of factors, like the change in seasons or the stress of schoolwork. I've been trying to provide them with a supportive environment and encourage rest."

Dean leaned against a desk, observing the teacher with a skeptical gaze. "You haven't noticed anything else out of the ordinary, strange occurrences, or any connections between the illnesses and other events in town?"

Miss Johnson shook her head, genuinely unaware of any additional details.

"Alright well we appreciate your cooperation, Miss Wilson. If you notice anything unusual or have any new information, please don't hesitate to reach out to us." Sam would hand the teacher one of his contact cards

Miss Johnson expressed her gratitude and promised to keep them informed if she came across any relevant information.

As they left the office, Saia turned to the brothers with a concerned expression.

As the group left the school, Saia's demeanor appeared contemplative, her mind clearly preoccupied with something. Dean and Sam noticed her distant expression and exchanged a concerned look before Sam spoke up.

"Hey, Saia, you seem lost in thought. Is everything alright?"

Saia’s behavior unwavering "I'm not sure... Something didn't feel right in there. I caught a familiar scent, but I couldn't quite place it.."

Dean furrowed his brow, curious about Saia's heightened senses and the potential significance of her observation. "What kind of scent are we talking about here?"

Saia paused for a moment, contemplating how to describe it. "It's hard to explain, but it was something... alluring. Like I've encountered it before but I just can’t seem to figure it out."

Sam nodded, understanding the feeling. Dean pondered for a moment before making a decision.

“Alright, here's what we'll do. Sam and I will visit the homes of the affected children, talk to the parents. Saia, you can head off to do some research, see if you can find any information about creatures that have the ability to bring art to life. Let's meet back at the motel in a few hours."

Sam and Saia nodded in agreement. “Oh and let us know if that nose of yours remembers where they sent came from.” Dean would holler as he and Sam jumped into the Impala and Saia starting walking in the opposite direction for the motel. Saia simply gave a wave as a reply.

As the evening sky grew darker, Sam and Dean found themselves parked outside the last house they had visited. Dean reached for his phone and dialed Saia's number, putting it on speaker for both him and Sam to listen in on the conversation.

After a few rings, Saia's voice came through the phone. "Hello?"

 "Hey, Saia. We just finished talking to the last of the parents. A few of them mentioned that their kids have been having nightmares, and it's been affecting their sleep." Dean was loosening his tie as he spoke.

Sam's brows furrowed as he listened, intrigued by the potential connection between the nightmares and the creatures they had encountered. "Nightmares... Could it be that the creatures are somehow manifesting from the children's dreams rather than the artwork itself?"

There was a moment of silence as Saia absorbed the new information and adjusted her perspective on the situation. "You might be onto something, Sam. If the nightmares are indeed connected to these manifestations, it would explain why the creatures disappear after they're defeated and the ones who aren’t disappear by morning. I'll adjust my search criteria accordingly and see if I can find any thing associated with dream manipulation."

Dean nodded, impressed by Sam's insight and eager to learn what Saia would uncover in her research. "Alright, we'll head back to the motel soon, but we're going to grab some food first. We'll be there in about thirty minutes."

Saia acknowledged their plan with a determined tone. "Alright, I'll continue my search. Stay safe, and don't forget the barbecue sauce for my burger."

Dean chuckled, knowing Saia's love for the sweet-tangy flavor, and Sam joined in with a light laugh.

"You got it, Saia. See you soon." Sam would assure her of her request.

With their conversation concluded, Dean ended the call stuffing his phone into his pocket. He started the engine, and the Impala roared to life, its headlights cutting through the darkness.

As Sam and Dean sat in the car, waiting for their food at the drive-thru, Sam couldn't shake off the nagging thought that had been bothering him. He had observed a pattern in their group dynamics that he couldn't ignore any longer.

“Hey Dean, we need to talk about something. It's been bothering me for a while now."

Dean glanced at Sam, sensing the seriousness in his voice. "What's on your mind, Sammy?"

"It's about Saia. Have you noticed that whenever we split up, you always make sure you're not paired up with her? Even if it means going solo."

Dean's eyes darted to Sam, a defensive expression briefly crossing his face. "What are you talking about, Sam? That's not true. We split up all the time."

Sam scoffed at his brothers blatant lie. "No, Dean, think about it. Whenever we divide the tasks, you always find a way to avoid being with Saia. It's been happening for a while now. Saia noticed it too. Remember when we were helping Angelique? She pointed it out then"

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he looked away, avoiding Sam's gaze. “Look, I've been doing this for a long time. I know how to divide and conquer. It's not about not trusting Saia. It's about strategy.”

Sam's frustration was building, and he couldn't hold back any longer. "Strategy? Come on, Dean! We should be looking out for each other, especially Saia. She's proven herself time and again. Why do you always keep your distance?"

Dean's jaw clenched, his voice tinged with annoyance. "It's not about trust, Sam. It's... It's just different with Saia.” Dean stopped himself from speaking any further.

Sam's eyes widened, realizing what Dean was implying. Sam scoffed again, louder, and was astonished. "Are you serious? That's the reason? You're uncomfortable with her not being human? Dean, you have the literal King of Hell on speed dial!"

Dean's frustration was plainly written as he defended his stance. "It's not that simple, Sam. We've dealt with so much demon crap, but Saia is on a whole different level. It's hard for me to wrap my head around it sometimes."

Sam shook his head disappointment mixing in his voice. "Dean, you welcomed her to our family. You can't let that be a barrier between us. Saia deserves better than that."

The tension between the brothers escalated, their voices rising in an intense argument. "I'm just trying to protect her, Sam!”

"From what Dean? You? Because she has proven herself to be just as tough as either of us. She's strong, and she's chosen to be with us.” Sam’s words oozed with spite on Saia’s behavior; despite that Sam knew what he said about his brother wasn’t true, but it still stung.

The argument reached its peak, both brothers frustrated and exhausted from their conflicting perspectives. They fell into a strained silence, their emotions weighing heavily on them.

As they finally arrived at the motel, Sam and Dean got out of the car without uttering another word. The tension hung in the air, unresolved and lingering between them. They each grabbed a bag of food and headed to their room, where Saia awaited them.

As Sam and Dean stepped into the motel room, their expressions strained and their voices carrying an undertone of tension, Saia's eyes immediately fixated on them. She noticed the rough atmosphere enveloping the brothers, sensing that something had gone awry. With genuine concern in her voice, she approached them.

 "Hey, what's going on? Did something happen? You both look... tense."

Sam and Dean exchanged a fleeting glance, knowing they couldn't hide the evidence of their recent disagreement. Sam, always the peacemaker, took a step forward, trying to ease Saia's worries. "It's nothing, Saia. Just a minor disagreement. We're fine now, really."

Saia's eyes moved from Sam to Dean, who remained silent, his focus on arranging the food on the table. She could sense that something significant had transpired between the brothers, despite their attempts to downplay it but Dean’s silence spoke volumes.

"Are you sure? It seems like something more... serious.”

Sam stepped forward, trying to reassure her with a reassuring smile, hoping to alleviate Saia's concerns. "Honestly, it was just one of those brotherly arguments. We'll sort it out. What about you? Did you find anything on the case?"

Saia, still uneasy from the tense aura radiating from the brothers, nods her head. “I think we might be dealing with a Dreadspawn. It's an entity that feeds on fear and manifests nightmares into reality."

Dean finally spoke up, his voice calm but tinged with lingering tension. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“They're ancient creatures, rare and extremely dangerous. Are you sure about this?" Sam was standing with his arms crossed, his face scrunched in concern.

Saia took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before explaining the nature of the Dreadspawn to Sam and Dean. The weight of the situation was evident in her voice as she spoke.

"Guys, the Dreadspawn is actually manifesting creatures directly from the children's nightmares. Those drawings are representations of what they have been experiencing in their dreams."

Sam furrowed his brow, trying to process the information. "So, the nightmares the kids have been having are becoming real? That's why they're exhausted?"

Saia nodded, her eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. “The Dreadspawn feeds off the essence of the children while manifesting these creatures, draining their energy and leaving them exhausted. That's what the familiar smell was in the classroom. It was the essence the Dreadspawn was consuming."

Dean leaned forward, a mix of concern and confusion on his face. "But why these kids? And how does the Dreadspawn even find them?"

“According to this The Dreadspawn preys on the vulnerable and the innocent, especially children. Their active imaginations and fears provide a rich source of monsters and nightmares for the Dreadspawn to exploit. It feeds on their essence and grows stronger with each manifestation." Saia reads from her source on the laptop.

Sam's eyes widened as he began connecting the dots in his mind. "Wait a minute... If the Dreadspawn is manipulating the nightmares of the children, wouldn't it make sense that it would want to be close to them? Gain their trust?"

Fear filled Saia’s voice after hearing what Sam had said, but her eyes never left the laptop. “Sam… It can adopt a charming demeanor to gain the trust of its victims.” Saia finally looks up to the boys.

“And who would have more access to all these children than their own teacher?" Sam would ask, though it was more of a statement then a actual question. Sam motioned to Saia for the laptop which she passed over to him. Sam took it to the table and began typing away.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he considered the possibility. "You think the teacher is this Dread- thing?”

“All the children that have fallen ill and whose nightmare’s according to their art have been seen in town, are from the same class. The manifestations started about 3 weeks ago.” Sam paused and spun the laptop around for Dean and Saia to see. On the screen was the school web page welcoming Miss Sarah Wilson to the staff as a new teacher, 3 weeks ago. “Right around the times Miss Wilson showed up.”

Dean leaned back, his expression turning grim. "Alright, let's not waste any more time. How do we kill it?"

“The usual Iron, and off with her head.” Saia informed them.

The trio gathered their belongings and prepared to face the Dreadspawn disguised as the teacher.

They arrived at the school under the cloak of darkness, their weapons prepared and determination etched on their faces. They stepped out of the impala, the cool night air sending a shiver down their spines. Saia couldn't help but voice her skepticism as they prepared for their confrontation with the Dreadspawn.

"Dean, why do you think the Dreadspawn would just be hanging out at the school? It seems too risky."

Dean glanced at Saia, a smirk playing on his lips. "Call it a gut feeling. Sometimes my instincts lead us in the right direction, Saia."

Saia raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of Dean's gut feelings. "A gut feeling, huh?"

Sam interjected with a chuckle, offering a small defense of his brother. "Hey, let's not underestimate Dean's gut feelings. They've gotten us out of some pretty tight spots before."

Dean grinned at Sam's support, as he closed the Impala’s trunk. "See, even Sam knows I'm usually right."

Saia rolled her eyes but couldn't hide a slight smile at the banter between the brothers. She knew that despite Dean's penchant for relying on his instincts, they had proven reliable in the past.

With their weapons loaded with iron bullets and blades at the ready, the trio approached the school's entrance. The dim glow of the moon provided just enough light for Sam to pick the lock to the door. As they crept through the halls, their senses heightened, they knew that the Dreadspawn was lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to strike.

As the group silently maneuvered through the dimly lit halls of the school, they reached a junction where they had to split up. Dean, using hand signals, directed Saia to proceed forward and explore the upper floors, while Sam was tasked with searching the right wing. Dean himself ventured towards the left wing, each of them focused on their assigned area.

Saia carefully followed Dean's instructions, her Kitsune senses attuned to any sign of danger or the presence of the Dreadspawn. As she ascended the stairs, a distinct scent filled her nostrils; essence. The smell sent a shiver down her spine.

Saia moved stealthily, her steps barely making a sound as she followed the trail of essence. She navigated the corridors, her keen senses guiding her through the labyrinthine layout of the school. The scent grew stronger, indicating she was getting closer to her target.

Saia's heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of excitement and apprehension filling her. She knew the Dreadspawn could be dangerous, cunningly lurking in the shadows. As she turned a corner, Saia's eyes widened. There, standing at the end of the hallway, was a figure bathed in darkness. The Dreadspawn had revealed itself, and Saia prepared herself for the impending confrontation.

As Saia stealthily approached the Dreadspawn, her grip tightening on her machete, a chilling laughter echoed through the hallway. The Dreadspawn's taunting voice filled the air, piercing through the tension.

“Did you really think you could catch me off guard, little Kitsune? Oh, how naïve of you.”

Saia froze in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she realized her attempt at surprise had been futile. The Dreadspawn turned to face her, a sinister smile spreading across her face. It was the same woman they had encountered earlier, the one posing as the teacher.

“I've known who you truly are from the moment we met. And I've been aware of your presence in my town since you first set foot here. It's amusing how long it took you to piece everything together.”

Saia clenched her jaw, a mixture of anger and frustration burning within her. The Dreadspawn's arrogance was palpable, reveling in the knowledge that she had manipulated the situation to her advantage. “You won't get away with this. We know what you're doing to the children.”

“Oh, dear Kitsune, the children are merely pawns in my game. Their fears and nightmares are the fuel that sustains me. And now, it seems I have you and your hunter friends right where I want you.” As the Dreadspawn's words hung in the air, a sudden eruption of gunfire shattered the silence of the school halls. Echoing through the corridors, the sound of multiple shots reverberated, accompanied by the shouts and cries of both the Winchester brothers and unknown voices.

Saia's heart raced as panic washed over her, her immediate instinct to rush towards the source of the commotion and aid her friends. But before she could take a single step, the Dreadspawn materialized in front of her, blocking her path with a wicked grin plastered across her face. In that moment, realization struck Saia like a bolt of lightning.

“You set this all up... ”

“Very perceptive, Kitsune. I needed to isolate you, to remove you from the hunters.” The evil glint in the Dreadspawn's eyes sent a shiver down Saia's spine. She could feel the weight of the situation pressing upon her, the gravity of the danger they were all facing. But Saia refused to succumb to fear.

“You may have orchestrated this, but I won't let you succeed. You underestimate what I'm capable of.”

The Dreadspawn's laughter filled the air once again, mocking and cruel. “Oh, my dear Kitsune, you truly think you are the target here? I’m afraid not my dear.”

As the confrontation between Saia and the Dreadspawn escalated, the creature's confident demeanor remained unshaken. Saia, her Kitsune abilities awakening, could feel the power surging through her veins as her eyes glowed with an ethereal red hue. With a series of graceful and precise movements, she launched herself into a fierce battle against the Dreadspawn, who fought with a reckless and aggressive style.

Their clash echoed through the hallways, the sound of metal meeting flesh and the hiss of supernatural forces colliding. Saia's machete sliced through the air with deadly accuracy, while the Dreadspawn retaliated with vicious strikes, leaving deep gouges in the surrounding walls.

Despite Saia's prowess, the Dreadspawn's words lingered in her mind. Confusion mixed with her anger, fueling her determination to uncover the truth. With a surge of adrenaline, Saia seized the moment and managed to overpower the Dreadspawn, pinning her to the ground. Hovering above the defeated creature, her blade pressed against its throat, Saia demanded answers.

“Why are you targeting the Winchester brothers? What do you want with them?”

The Dreadspawn's wicked grin twisted into a sneer, the arrogance in her eyes still evident even in her vulnerable position. “Ah, dear Kitsune, you are but a pawn in a larger game. The Winchester blood holds secrets and they are a threat to our kind, and I am merely the instrument that delivers them. Tell me why do you side with them?”

Saia's grip tightened on her machete. “Tell me who sent you, who is pulling the strings!” Saia refuses to play her games.

The Dreadspawn's laughter filled the air, and a haunting echo reverberated through the hallway. “You're already too late, little Kitsune.” A grin spread across the Dreadspawn's face as she whispered. “The Alpha has them now, they are already gone.”

Saia suddenly realized that the commotion from below was gone, other then her own breathing the building was once again silent. With one swift motion Saia plunged the blade threw the Dreadspawn’s neck, allowing her head to roll away from it’s body.

Saia's heart raced as she hurried through the corridors of the school, the weight of her victory against the Dreadspawn still fresh on her mind. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, urging her onward as she desperately searched for any sign of Sam and Dean. Panic mingled with determination as she called out their names, her voice echoing through the empty halls.

“Sam! Dean! Where are you?”

But the only response she received was the eerie silence that enveloped the school. The absence of the brothers' voices and the sound of their footsteps sent a shiver down Saia's spine. She rushed from one empty classroom to another, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a mix of fear and frustration.

Saia's thoughts raced as she considered the possibilities. Had the brothers been captured or injured? The unknown fueled her determination to find them, to ensure their safety.

As she reached the final corridor, a chilling breeze brushed against her face, sending a shiver down her spine. The sense of dread intensified, and Saia's steps quickened. Her Kitsune senses heightened, allowing her to detect the faintest traces of whiskey, gun powered and blood in the air.

“They were here... I can still smell them.”

Saia cautiously followed the lingering scent of whiskey, gunpowder, and blood, her Kitsune senses guiding her through the dimly lit corridors of the school. With each step, the scent grew stronger, mingling with the musty air of the abandoned building. Her heart raced in anticipation, her mind focused on finding Dean and unraveling the mystery that surrounded him.

As she rounded a corner, Saia's sharp eyes caught sight of a lifeless body on the ground. It was a vampire, beheaded with precision. Recognition flashed in her eyes as she knelt down to examine the remains. The distinct scent that had mixed with Dean's became clearer. It was the scent of the vampire, the one who had posed a threat to her friend. The pieces of the puzzle began to come together as Saia recalled the Dreadspawn's mention of an Alpha.

She knew the danger that lay ahead, facing an Alpha vampire would be no easy task. Yet, with a resolute expression on her face, Saia pushed forward, following the trail of Dean's scent.

“Dean? Dean? You still with me?” Sam would call to his brother though he was struggling to speak. “Hold on, Saia will find us.” His voice lower in volume as he spoke.

“Damn right.” Dean had to pause to take a deep breath. “We’ve been through worse.”

As they speak, the sound of footsteps echoes through the underground chamber, indicating the approach of the vampires. The brothers brace themselves, their battered bodies tensing in preparation.

“Still holding on to hope, Winchesters? Your little friend won't find you. Our wards have kept her and  your angel buddy at bay.” The vampire would laugh as he entered the room lined with angel and demon wards. As the brothers hang in the dimly lit cell, their bodies battered and weakened, their spirits remain unyielding. The chains digging into their wrists, the pain from the countless injuries, and the draining of their blood only fuel their determination to survive.

Saia drove the Impala with determined focus, the engine purring beneath her as she crossed the Georgia state line into Tennessee. The scent of Dean's whiskey, gunpowder, and blood still lingered in the air, guiding her on her mission to rescue the Winchester brothers from the clutches of the vampires and their Alpha leader.

As she neared the vampire's nest, Saia's mind worked tirelessly, formulating a plan to ensure the safety and success of the rescue mission. She knew she couldn't take on the vampires alone, especially not the formidable Alpha. She needed backup.

“Cas, I need your help.” Saia would speak into her phone giving Cas the short of it all before planning to meet up.

Finally, after two days of relentless pursuit and planning, Saia arrived at the vampire's nest. The scent of danger and the presence of malevolence hung heavy in the air. She parked the Impala nearby, keeping her senses sharp and her weapons within easy reach.

Saia cautiously steps into the dark forest, her senses heightened as she moves through the shadows. The sound of rustling leaves and distant howls fill the air, adding an ominous atmosphere to her mission. As she navigates deeper into the forest, her eyes catch a glint of moonlight reflecting off a glass dome lying flat to the ground.

Curiosity piqued, Saia approaches the glass dome and kneels down to get a closer look. Her heart skips a beat as she peers inside, her eyes widening at the sight before her. Sam and Dean are chained to a wall, their battered forms evidence of the torment they've endured. Relief washes over Saia, knowing that her intel was accurate.

A sudden sound cuts through the night air. It is the unmistakable fluttering of wings, coming from her left. Saia's glance to the side, her eyes catching the sight of the angel Castiel standing there, his expression calm and unreadable. His presence alone carries a sense of power and purpose.

Another sound breaks through the night, this time from her right. It is a swooshing sound, the unmistakable arrival of Crowley, the King of Hell. He stands there with an air of nonchalance, his hands casually tucked away in his pockets, but there is a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.

The presence of these two powerful beings, one an angel and the other the King of Hell, sends a shiver down Saia's spine. She knows they have arrived to lend their assistance, though their motivations may differ. It is a delicate balance between the forces of Heaven and Hell, united in their common goal to aid the Winchesters.

Saia, standing tall and determined, turns to face both Castiel and Crowley. The weight of the plan they have devised hangs heavy in the air. With a mix of concern and determination, she voices her question, "Are you sure this plan will work?"

Crowley, the King of Hell, smirks confidently as he responds, "Rest assured, darling. This plan is foolproof. The vials in your hands contain summoning for both the Angel and myself. Breaking them will allow us to bypass the wards and enter the cell."

Castiel, the angel, nods in agreement, his expression stern and determined. "Indeed. The wards will be rendered useless. Once inside, we will grab Dean and Sam, fly to the Impala, ensuring the their safety."

Saia nods. “Thankfully it doesn’t seem as though the vamps included holdings for either of you so you should have no trouble leaving.” Thinking it all over again as she turns to the glass dome. "Alright. I'll proceed into the nest and make my way to the brothers. Once I break the vials, you two will handle the extraction while I hold off any vampires attempting to interfere."

Castiel places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Stay strong, Saia. We will be right behind you."

Saia stands before the glass dome, her eyes focused and determined. She rotates her neck and shoulders, loosening up her muscles as she prepares for what lies ahead. Crowley watches her with curiosity, intrigued by her next move. He can't help but ask, "And how do you plan on entering the nest and find Squirrel and Moose?"

Saia smirks confidently, her grip tightening around the grip of her pistol. "Simple," she responds, her voice filled with conviction. "I'm taking the most direct path."

As she speaks, Saia raises her weapon and points the barrel at the glass dome. Without hesitation, she pulls the trigger, the gun shot shattering the glass into a thousand fragments. The shards cascade down, creating an opening for Saia to jump into.

In a swift motion, Saia leaps into the now open hole, disappearing into the darkness below. Crowley watches in awe, impressed by her audacity and skill. He chuckles and remarks, "Well, well, well, not bad, my dear. Not bad at all."

Castiel's expression remains unchanged, his focus unwavering. He observes silently, understanding the risks involved but trusting in Saia's capabilities.

As the sound of the gunshot echoes through the air, Sam and Dean's attention is immediately drawn upward. Their eyes widen in surprise as they witness the glass dome above them shatter into a cascade of falling shards. Instinctively, they close their eyes and turn their heads away, shielding themselves from the rain of glass that follows.

Gradually, the sensation of falling glass subsides, and Sam and Dean cautiously open their eyes. Before them, in the midst of the shattered glass, stands a figure, poised in a striking and familiar "superhero" landing pose. As their eyes adjust, the features become clearer, and Sam and Dean's expressions morph into a mix of disbelief and relief. With her swaying tails and twitching ears, Saia raised herself from the "superhero" pose, standing now tall and confident, her eyes filled with determination. The weariness and pain etched on Sam and Dean's faces begin to dissipate, replaced by a glimmer of hope.

“Saia..” Sam beaths a sigh of relief.

"About time you showed up," Dean jokes, a hint of gratitude lacing his words.

As Saia stands tall and confident, her back turned to Sam and Dean, her gaze fixated on the five vampires that stand before her. The realization dawns upon her that the situation is far more challenging than she initially anticipated. She knows she must act swiftly and decisively.

Ignoring Dean's joke, Saia remains focused on the imminent fight that is about to unfold. With a determined expression, she readies herself for the oncoming battle. Gripping her twin sai tightly, she feels the weight of the blades in her hands, reassuring her of the power she possesses.

As the vampires rush towards her, Saia's eyes narrow, and a faint red glow begins to emanate from within. With swift movements, she dodges their lunges, demonstrating an exquisite display of agility and grace. Her every strike is precise, aiming for the vulnerable spots, always targeting their necks.

Saia's movements are fluid, her body in perfect sync with her weapons. With each calculated strike, a vampire falls, their life force extinguished. Her skills as a fighter shine through as she dances through the fray, her focus unwavering.

As Dean and Sam watch Saia fiercely battling the vampires, their eyes widen with astonishment. At first, they are captivated by her incredible agility and skill, but soon their focus shifts to the subtle changes in her appearance.

The room is dimly lit, and as Saia moves with fluidity, her eyes catch the brothers' attention. A crimson glow emanates from within them. It's a sight they have never witnessed before in her.

Dean's gaze narrows, his curiosity piqued, as he notices the sharpness of Saia's canine teeth. They seem more pronounced than usual, resembling fangs ready to sink into prey. He exchanges a quick glance with Sam, who shares his brother's astonishment.

The brothers' attention then shifts to Saia's hands, which have morphed slightly. Her nails appear elongated and pointed, resembling sharp claws capable of inflicting serious damage. It's a striking visual transformation, one that speaks of the latent power dwelling within her.

As Saia continues to fight, her Kitsune heritage becomes more evident. The brothers catch glimpses of her true nature emerging, a fusion of human and supernatural prowess. The Kitsune features blend seamlessly with her determined countenance.

Sam's eyes widen with a mix of awe and concern, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of what he is witnessing. They knows that her heightened abilities come with their own set of challenges and dangers; though what they are has yet to be determined.

As the last vampire falls, Saia stands victorious, her Kitsune features fully revealed, a moment of hesitation washes over her. She can feel the weight of Dean and Sam's gaze upon her, and a flicker of uncertainty lingers in her heart. She wonders how they will react to this unveiling of this side of her, fearful that it may alter their perception of her. Hesitant to face them fully, she steals a quick glance from the corner of her eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of their reaction.

In that fleeting moment, Saia observes a range of emotions flickering in Sam and Dean's eyes. Caution, confusion, and astonishment dance across their faces, intertwining with the awe they feel towards what they just witnessed. Their silence speaks volumes, leaving Saia on the edge of uncertainty. Doubt lingers in her mind, overshadowing the exhilaration of her unleashed power.

Sam and Dean notice her hesitation but neither can pull their eyes away. In Saia's eyes, they see the glow of her Kitsune essence, a mesmerizing crimson hue that reflects the depth of her hidden power. Her canine teeth, now sharper and more pronounced, hint at the otherworldly nature residing within her. The elongated claws on her fingertips speak of the fierce strength and agility she possesses.

Dean, known for his quick tongue, struggles to find the right words to articulate his thoughts. His brows furrow as he tries to make sense of what he's witnessing, attempting to reconcile the extraordinary with the familiar. His guarded expression reveals a mixture of caution and curiosity.

Sam gazes at Saia with an intensity that could cut glass. A hint of concern blends with his astonishment.

Neither Sam nor Dean utter a word, their silence stretching as they process the extraordinary scene before them. Their eyes remain fixed on Saia, unable to tear away from the sight that both captivates and confounds them.

Just as it seemed Dean was about to speak the sound of clapping hands echoes through the cold cell, Saia, Dean, and Sam immediately snap their attention towards the source. Emerging from the shadows with a theatrical flair, a dark skinned man dressed in an impeccably tailored suit stands before them, his presence exuding an air of authority. The Winchester brothers recognize him immediately—the Alpha Vampire.

The room grows tense as the Alpha Vampire continues to applaud Saia for her prowess in defeating his offspring. The trio's expressions harden, their resolve undeterred by the presence of their formidable adversary.

The Alpha Vampire offers a sarcastic apology, his voice dripping with venomous amusement, acknowledging the prolonged captivity of the Winchesters. His words strike a nerve, provoking a heightened sense of defiance within the trio.

With a condescending smile, the Alpha Vampire reveals his true motivation for keeping them alive—their blood. He explains that their countless experiences, from Dean's demonic transformation to Sam's angelic possession and their myriad deaths and resurrections, have made their blood a highly sought-after commodity in their world.

The gravity of the situation sinks in as the Alpha Vampire underscores the value placed on their blood by various factions and entities. His explanation serves as a chilling reminder of their vulnerability and the reason why their captor refuses to release them.

Saia's eyes remain locked on the Alpha Vampire, her stance unwavering as she prepares to make her move. In a swift motion, she throws two small vials towards Sam and Dean's feet, the glass shattering upon impact. A blinding flash of light accompanies the arrival of Crowley, who materializes next to Dean with a cocky grin on his face. While Castiel materializes beside Sam, his expression stoic as ever.

“Took you long enough.” Crowley hollered to Saia.

Dean, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected appearance of the King of Hell, raises an eyebrow.   

"Cas?” Sam's eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the angel.

The Alpha Vampire's expression twists into one of displeasure as he witnesses his captives being freed. Saia's gamble to summon their allies is paying off. Crowley & Castiel wastes no time, efficiently unchaining Dean & Sam while providing support to their weakened state.

“She’s going to regret that.” Crowley’s voice seemed to carry genuine concern as he watched Saia. With a swift blink, Crowley and Dean vanish from the cell, reappearing in the safety of the Impala, ready to make their escape. Following suit, Castiel grabs Sam's arm and vanishes, leaving Saia with the Alpha Vampire seething with frustration.

Saia remains in the cell, standing her ground against the enraged Alpha Vampire. Her eyes lock with his, a silent challenge in her gaze. She knows that she must ensure he doesn't interfere with the escape of Crowley, Castiel, Dean, and Sam. Her determination radiates from her every fiber as she stands tall, ready to face whatever may come.

In the blink of an eye, the scene shifts to the Impala, where Crowley, Castiel, Dean, and Sam materialize. Dean and Sam, still weakened and visibly concerned, waste no time in demanding that they go back for Saia. Their worry for her safety is evident in their voices as they lean against the Impala.

"Now, now, boys. Let's not be foolish. You're in no shape for a rescue mission." Crowley’s tone was filled with practicality as he interjected.

Castiel, his expression unreadable as ever, watches the brothers closely. Castiel places two fingers on each of Dean and Sam's foreheads, his angelic power surging through them. In a matter of seconds, their wounds are fully healed, their strength restored. They exchange grateful glances, as they check over themselves with pats to their bodies.

"And why, pray tell, would you do that NOW? They are just going to run off and play Heroes thanks to you." Confusion fills Crowley's face as he looks at Castiel, questioning his sudden intervention, his voice seething with annoyance.

 "Damn right we are.” Dean would speak up with conviction before Castiel could reply, all while moving around the side of his car to the trunk for weapons.

"Look, boys, I understand your concern for Kitten, but returning to the vampire nest is walking right into the Alpha's trap. He wants you there, and it's not for a friendly chat." Crowley tries to speak to Dean and Sam as they move about the car.

“Crowley has a point, his interest in your blood is cause for concern." Castiel would nod agreeing with Crowley.

"I don't care what his intentions are. We can't leave her behind. We'll figure it out when we get there." Dean's resolve remains unwavering.

“How did you two even get down there in the first place?" Sam, pausing for a moment, interjects with a thoughtful expression.

Crowley smirks, leaning against the Impala as he begins to explain. "Kitten  was very persuasive over the phone. So I provided summons for both me and the Angel. Kitten created the vials  that allowed us to bypass the wards and enter the cell."

Dean raises an eyebrow, not entirely surprised by Saia's resourcefulness. "And how did she manage to convince you, Crowley?"

Crowley, rolling his eyes playfully, retorts, "Let's just say her argument had a certain flair, and I have a soft spot for you boys."

Sam chuckled and shook his head in amusement and amazement, there aren’t a lot of people who could convince the King of Hell to work with an Angel to save the Winchesters.

“Let’s move Sammy.” Dean walks by.

“That wont be necessary Dean.” Castiel intervenes, causing them to stop in their tracks. The confusion evident on their faces, they turn to look at Castiel, awaiting an explanation. However, before Castiel can say a word, he disappears in a flutter of wings, leaving the brothers momentarily perplexed.

But their confusion quickly dissipates as Castiel reappears, Saia draped over his shoulders. Dean and Sam's eyes widen in astonishment and relief as they see their exhausted friend in Castiel's arms. Carefully, Castiel sets Saia down against the rear wheel of the Impala, her body visibly marked with bloody cuts and bruises. The Kitsune features that had previously been on display have receded, leaving only her ears and tails visible.

Sam's eyes widen with concern as he rushes to Saia's side, kneeling beside her. He carefully supports her and assesses her condition. Saia appears worn-out, the exhaustion etched on her face is evident.

Dean remains rooted to his spot, his expression a mix of confusion and uneasiness. He struggles to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

"What just happened, Cas?" Dean, unable to contain his curiosity, breaks the silence as he glances at Saia who is fighting to stay awake.

"Saia used one of the vials to call me to her. When I arrived back in the cell, the Alpha Vampire was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a colossal vampire, unlike anything I have ever encountered before. Something entirely unknown." Castiel, his expression calm yet weary, begins to explain. Concern and anxiety fill his voice.

 Dean's brow furrows, concern etched across his face. "That doesn’t sound good…"

Sam, realizing the toll the recent events have taken on Saia, speaks up, concern lacing his voice. "Cas, can you heal Saia? She isn’t doing to good over here."

 "I'm afraid my vessel is greatly drained at the moment. Healing Saia now would be risky. I have pushed it to its limits; gather the necessary ingredients for the summoning, bringing both you and Saia back, and healing the two of you." Castiel's weary eyes meet Sam's, a hint of regret in his voice.

Crowley steps forward, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Well, if I'm no longer needed here, I suppose I'll be on my way," he announces, preparing to leave.

However, Dean quickly interjects, blocking Crowley's path. "Hold on a second, Crowley. What did Saia promise you in exchange for your help?" Dean's eyes narrow, his voice holding a hint of suspicion.

Crowley feigns innocence, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Now, now, Dean. I have no idea what you're talking about. I simply offered my assistance out of the goodness of my own heart. No need for promises or bargains."

Dean refuses to back down, his voice firm and direct. "Cut the crap, Crowley. We both know you don't do something like this without getting something in return. So spill it."

Crowley's smile widens, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable. "Oh, Dean, always so perceptive. But I'm afraid I can't reveal the details of our arrangement. Let's just say it's an exchange that benefits both parties involved."

With that, Crowley winks at Dean and in a blink of an eye, he disappears, leaving Sam and Dean exchanging a concerned glance. Dean's suspicions linger as they contemplate the hidden motives behind Crowley's actions. They know better than to fully trust the King of Hell, but for now, they can only wait and see what repercussions may arise from their mysterious arrangement with Crowley.

End Chapter

[doodloos]

New Oc Alert!

Me and my friends were joking around and we all ended up making werewolf-cowboy ocs, so here's mine! His name is Felix "Bullet-Tooth" Edwards, and I adore him.

backstory and alt-pic under the cut :)

Backstory

Felix was once the Sheriff of a small town in Missouri as well as a husband and father. Beloved by his family and town, he was known for getting the job done and keeping his town safe, that is, until one man came to town. Edwards' town was a common passing town for many people heading west, so he was used to seeing new faces fairly often including the odd outlaw. More often than not, they were thieves, conmen, and debtors on the run for crimes they had committed further east. He could usually tell they were outlaws because they avoided him and his deputies like the plague and were gone sooner after they arrived. On occasion, he had to arrest one or two, but for the most part they kept their heads down and left pretty quickly, so he let them be. On first glance, this man was no different, but Felix would soon find out that he was more trouble than he seemed. 

For one, the man never seemed to leave like others passing through, and Felix and his deputies eventually began to notice people going missing. After a couple months of searching, Edwards had finally gotten enough evidence to pin this unwelcome traveler for the disappearance and murder of several people. However, when they finally stood off he began to realize he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Werewolves were not unheard of in Missouri, but certainly not near as common as they were out west. And now here was one in the flesh, completely transformed under the light of a full moon. Felix originally had no intention of killing the man, but given the circumstances, he drew his gun. 

The fight was dangerous and difficult, but Felix managed to win, killing the beast, but not before being bitten himself. Disoriented and fairly maimed, he managed to hobble home, but when he woke up, he was met with the horrific sight of his entire family dead. He didn’t remember anything after getting home, and he barely remembered that, but he did remember the fight beforehand, and realizing he had been bitten, he came to the conclusion that it must have been him who killed his family. It only made sense. There had been a full moon, and considering he was newly bitten and badly wounded, he wouldn’t have been able to control himself. Realizing this, he sobbed over the bodies of his family; his wife, his beloved Clara, his teenage daughter, Suzanne, and his son Henry who had only just turned seven. 

He knew that his deputies would be by any minute to check on him after the night before, so he needed to act fast and leave as quickly as possible. He wasn’t sure where he would go or what he would do, but one thing was for sure; he couldn’t stay there. Quickly, he packed his things, taking only a few pairs of clothes, some food to hold him over to the next town, and the gold locket his wife wore containing a family portrait of the four of them. After he was packed, he buried his family, leaving a handful of flowers and his sheriff’s badge at the foot of their graves. After that night, Felix Edwards was never heard of in the state of Missouri again. 

Where is He Now

Felix fled as far as he could before stopping in the panhandle of North Texas. In his travels, he often asked farmers if he could stay the night in their barn and possibly work the next day or two for a little money before leaving further west. However, he reached what seemed to be his final destination after coming to a farm run by an old cattle rancher. The old man was having trouble with some of his cattle turning up dead under “mysterious circumstances” and told Edwards if he was able to figure out what was happening, he was welcome to stay in his barn and work for him as a ranch-hand full time. Felix, unable to turn the man down, did some investigating and found that some local vampires had been running off with the man’s cattle in the night and draining them of their blood. As a sheriff, Felix had seen his fair share of vampires, as they were also much more common up east, but now that he was a werewolf, he was also much more equipped to handle them. He went back to the old man and offered to work night shifts watching over the cattle, and that’s exactly what he does (he’s basically a giant cattle dog). The old man was also the first and one of the only people he ever told about him being a werewolf.

Buck Bailey

A few months after first arriving at the ranch, the old farmer hired a new ranch hand to “work the night shift.” Felix quickly learned that this new co-worker was a young man by the name of Buck Bailey, another werewolf that had recently turned and left his home after losing his father. Felix was originally skeptical of the new hire. He didn’t necessarily hate all werewolves, but after his experiences, he was wary to work with others like him. However, over the coming weekend, he grew fond of Buck, despite Buck also being really annoying to him. He was endearing in a way though, and in certain aspects, reminded him of the two kids he had lost. He would never tell Buck this directly, but he admires him, and enjoys having him as someone to work with.

“Bullet-Tooth” Edwards

Felix received the nickname “Bullet-Tooth” Edwards after a close encounter with an outlaw passing through his new hometown. The story goes that the man was a murderer. He saw Edwards and immediately challenged him to a shoot-off. He turned him down, however, the man drew his gun anyway and shot him straight in the mouth, but instead falling dead, Felix caught the bullet between his teeth and spit it out on the ground before shooting the killer between his eyes. 

Whether this story is true or not is up for speculation. Buck likes to spread the story like wildfire, and while Felix usually tells him to stop, he also doesn’t deny anything. Whether it’s because the story is true or just because it keeps people from talking to him is up for interpretation.