#considering church made a comment like ’you’re lucky her mother’s not here to hear you say that’

[fischiee]

the lack of communication in red vs blue drives me up the wall like what do you MEAN the reds and blues (and wash!!!) don’t know that the director is carolina’s dad!! they don’t know about tex’s history!! they don’t even know that epsilon tried to blow himself up in wash’s head!!!!!

[pertinax--loculos]

‘Dash’

So, for funsies I went through @yourocsbackstory to try to get myself in the writing mood again. This is what happened. I stopped at ‘Skills’ cuz I’ve already spoiled enough if you read close enough haha.

Come meet Dash.

Introduction

My name is Dash.

Or, well, it’s not really. That’s what everyone calls me. It circumvents the pain that comes with my first name, the questions that come from my last.

The knowledge that comes from my second.

I thought my life was pretty much mapped out from here. There was the beginning, that I barely remember. The next chapter, that I wish I could forget. The third, the honeymoon. And then now; not the best, far from the worst, an existence I was fairly certain I’d be able to bear, at least until the drugs or the alcohol overwhelmed me and my body gave out and I’d be buried in an unmarked plot under a false name with maybe three people to mourn me. If I was lucky.

Then that idiot fundie wandered into my life.

The Church is a fucking blight on society, the worst thing that’s happened since organised religion first got a foothold within civilised communities. It’s like they took all of the parts that made people unwilling to admit they were Christian in intelligent company and emphasised their importance until they were the only things that mattered.

To say nothing of what they think of the brainbent.

But unfortunately, what the old movies and books used to say is accurate. Give people a common enemy and they’ll unite under almost any flag.

The brainbent weren’t an enemy. But you consider the prospect of the barista at your local coffee place potentially being able to tell the future, or to read fucking minds, and tell me you would’ve stood against the Church.

I’m sure you will.

You’re lying.

Which is why Raleigh was such a surprise.

The Partners focus on the commoners, on people who know what the Church is about but haven’t been indoctrinated since birth. Members are basically written off as a lost cause. Even if, somehow, that person would’ve been a supporter if they’d been born in the right place, it’s not worth trying to convince them after years and years of brainwashing. They learn to suppress any thoughts, any opinions, that don’t jive with the company line. Trying to tell them otherwise is useless.

Which is why I don’t.

And still he came back.

I mean, Alec is probably right. He normally is. Odds are I’m being an idiot by even considering that this guy may be open-minded enough to accept that people exist that don’t believe the same as he does.

(And that’s not even going into all the other fucked-up facets of my existence.)

But for some reason, I’m willing to take that chance.

Even if it kills me.

Family I

There was always the memory of the Others.

It wasn’t a clear comparison; it wasn’t like he could look at Now and realise that it was different to Then. It was more like some weird false memory from early childhood buried deep within someone; a recollection of a room full of glass when apparently it had been an open-air market. A jar filled with blue that no one else remembered.

A loving mother and father. A melody without words.

There were other hints, of course. They never raised a hand at the child they insisted was his brother. They refused to acknowledge his grasp of genetics and never gave an explanation for the colour of his eyes. When he woke screaming for a mother he knew he no longer had the false one pretended, but she never offered the glass of milk, never pulled him onto her lap and stroked his hair and sung that song until he drifted off into gentler dreams.

Things got worse and worse as he got older. The more he could articulate the problems he had with the narrative they fed him the worse the punishments got. The first time he’d mentioned having another, a different, father they’d been too taken aback to respond; the reaction the second time had ensured he’d never bought it up again.

Every achievement, every failure, always framed within what he wasn’t and what he’d lost, what he lacked and how he disappointed.

One day, teenaged and trying to squirm his way into their good graces, he’d heard his brother mentioning the girl in class. He’d piped up as well, after seeing their indulgent responses, letting them know that there was someone in his class too, a boy who’d caught his eye. He’d been banned from school for a week after that.

His father told him people would ask questions about the bruises.

 Friends

He’d assumed that the confession that the intimacy bought him no pleasure would be enough to make her disappear. He’d lost acquaintances for less, many times before.

So when she turned up on his doorstep three days later he stopped, stunned, with the door open.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Letting in the cold?”

It was nearly a hundred degrees outside, and he was already sweating through the long-sleeved shirt he’d pulled on to open the door. He stepped back to let her in, still speechless, and followed her as she walked confidently through the rooms to his favourite.

He swallowed a few pills just for something to do. It was a stupid idea, his supply was already running low, but he hoped the kick would help him through whatever conversation was to follow.

She watched, her brows pulled together in disapproval, but didn’t break the silence.

“What do you want?” he said finally, his voice too rough, too apprehensive. He’d told her he couldn’t do it anymore, but he knew deep within himself that if she offered enough…

She shrugged, her face clearing. “I’m of the opinion that no one should be alone, today of all days.”

Dash just stared at her, utterly uncomprehending.

“Y’know,” she said, and then raised her eyebrows a little when his expression made it clear he didn’t, “Christmas?”

Oh, fuck, of course. He’d known the date was approaching but it meant less than nothing to him, except for the fact that most of the shops were closed. He really shouldn’t have had those pills, not if he was gonna have to last another two days before he could restock.

She kicked her legs out in front of her as she leaned back against the wall, eyes roving the spartan room. “So you got a tv or what?”

Which was how they ended up sprawled on his bed, fully clothed and above the covers, picking at the leftovers of a pizza he’d had in the fridge while a tiny voice in the back of his head insisted that this was what friends actually were.

 Education

He accepted the envelope with a sinking feeling. He knew what the letter inside was going to say.

Miss Phillips gave him an encouraging smile all the same.

“I know you struggle in some classes,” she said kindly. “But you really do excel in others. And really, all you need is a little extra help in English and I think you’ll be doing fine. I’ve explained that to your parents in your report.”

Like that’s gonna fucking help, Dash thought, but all he did was smile and nod. It wasn’t her fault he was stupid. It was his. He’d been told that many times.

He walked to his locker and gathered his things slowly. He could already hear his brother crowing in his ear, with his perfect scores and better comments. If he didn’t know better he’d think that the teachers were aware of the identify of their father and tailored their comments to suit.

But if that was the case why did they still throw him under the bus?

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to learn. He did, and he loved the stories, loved listening to what happened and even analysing why the author might have put certain characters and phrases in certain parts and why. But expressing that through writing was beyond him. Understanding why or where a comma went or why through was spelled o-u-g-h but throw was spelled o-w sent his head into a spin and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing his teachers could do about it either, as they spent their time with those that were better, those who had a right to their last names instead of a tenuous and fluctuating claim.

Mr Carr, in the workshop, was astonished by him. Said he was among the best students he’d ever had, was amazed by his ability with electronics and the way he could take apart and put together components without ever glancing at the instructions. He said he was a natural, that if he wanted he could certainly go places, because there was always a need for someone to fix those things that were broken.

But his parents assured him that he was what was broken, and the grades sent him into the dark. They never even read Mr Carr’s report.

 Family II

Family had always been a dirty word.

He was caught in a weird sort of limbo; there was that which he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to bring up, and then that which was current but which he was not really a part of. Intellectually, academically, he knew what a family was. Hell, even from observation he knew what a family was. If he took a step back, removed himself from the equation and simply watched Father and Mother and Brother interact, then he knew what a family was supposed to be.

But try to impose himself upon that and he was reprimanded, reminded that he was not a part of it, that the family he might’ve been a part of no longer existed, that he was Other, that he was Alien and unwanted and his duty was only to disappear and to cause no more problems than he already had.

So when he met his family he was overwhelmed.

They walked through the door and were suffocated in affection, enough that Dash had to get out of there; he found him later, hidden in the garden, his face concerned.

“We were wondering where you’d got to,” he said, quietly, gently, as he always did.

“They don’t need me there,” Dash replied.

His eyebrows tugged together in the beginning of a frown. “Maybe not, but we want you there.”

Dash’s laugh was bitter, a little too manic. “No you don’t.”

It took a while – way too long, he should’ve been back with his family – to coax Dash out of the greenery and into the bulk of the backyard. Waiting there was an elderly woman, older than anyone Dash had had reason to interact with.

“This him?” she’d said, but before either of them could react she’d grabbed Dash’s hand and yanked him forward.

Dash couldn’t help but flinch. It didn’t appear to affect her. Her eyes, bright and the same colour as his, searched his face.

“Ah, yes, very good,” she said. Dash glanced around wildly but he was just standing there, something that might’ve been embarrassment pinking his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied now?” he said.

The old woman grinned at him over Dash’s shoulder.

“Yes,” she said. Dash felt his fingers on his elbow; just before he towed Dash back into the anonymity of the rest of the garden they heard her speak again.

“I see what you say about his eyes.”

 Rivals

Fuck.

Dash had managed to avoid this dick for nigh on two months. Why the hell he was encountering him now, just as the oxy started to kick and make him loose and easy and happy, was anyone’s guess.

Probably the Members would say it was god’s work. Dash was pretty sure it was a punishment.

The guy stalked up to him, characteristic scowl twisting his features. He had to be six inches taller than Dash, but he didn’t back down.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

Dash stared into his dark eyes, tossing up a number of responses. Sarcastic, sardonic, flippant, honest; none of them seemed quite right.

He went with combative, in the end.

“I heard you’d be here,” he said, conversational. “Figured I might take the chance to learn your name.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. They were close enough that Dash could feel his breath on his face.

“What the hell would you need that for?” he said. “Seeing as you’re not supposed to be here, and all.”

Dash twitched his shoulders in a shrug. “Yeah, well. Sorry, but I’m not really good at taking orders.”

Something flickered behind the guy’s eyes, something that might have been amusement. “I get the feeling that you’re more likely to do the opposite of what the orders might suggest.”

Dash caught his eyes again and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. It’s almost like you know me.”

Pause. The guy’s breathing had evened out, but he hadn’t moved away.

“Are we having, like, a civil conversation right now?” he said.

Dash quirked his eyebrow again. “Certainly seems that way.”

Another couple of beats. “Is it just me, or does there seem to be an extraordinary amount of sexual tension involved?”

Dash couldn’t stop the grin from tugging at his lips, even as he leaned in closer.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “It’s not just you.”

 First Love

Despite the mistake of telling Father about him, Dash kept watching him.

Over the week it took for the bruises to fade he thought about him. When he first returned to school, his was the first face he looked for.

He didn’t seriously think it would lead to anything. How could it, given what everyone believed? But Connor was new to the city, and he wasn’t involved with the Church. That much Dash had figured out through rumour and innuendo. And he was left alone, during recess and lunch, all of the Members turning their noses up at him, to the point where Dash wondered why on earth his parents had sent him to this private school. After all, there were schools for commoners. They weren’t as good, but that was the sacrifice people made.

Not Connor’s parents, apparently.

And he was the only one who didn’t conceal his staring at Dash’s fading bruises.

He’d been staring beforehand, of course. That was what had made Dash first mention him to Father, the mistake that had led to him realising that he wasn’t the same as his brother and never would be. But it was he alone that continued to stare even after Dash’s absence. The others seemed to have been told not to.

Not Connor.

Dash cornered him after school one day, halfway across the green in the front of the school. Connor looked surprised but not alarmed, moving easily backwards as Dash stalked towards him. His ease crackled against Dash’s already strained nerves and he had to viciously curb the instinct to lash out, his learned impulse to beat down anything that stood against what he was trying to do.

They stopped when Connor’s back hit the wall of the gym. Dash was mere inches from his face, trying his best to channel the disgust and rage he’d seen so often on Father’s face.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” he demanded.

Connor hadn’t flinched like Dash would’ve under the violence of the question.

“I’m worried,” was all he said.

That threw Dash for a loop. Why the fuck would anybody be worried about him?

“You’re lying,” he said, suspiciously.

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”

Dash hesitated for a couple of seconds, made his voice even more strident to make up for it. “Because you’re trying to get me to admit it!”

“Admit what?”

Connor’s voice was still gentle, questioning without prying, and Dash found himself whirling away from him, knotting his fingers in his hair and pulling, focusing on the burn on his scalp and not on Connor’s placid, knowing words.

The touch on his elbow was foreign in its gentleness. “Whatever they’ve told you,” he murmured, barely audible over the shouts reverberating in Dash’s ears, “They’re wrong.”

When Dash’s fingers found his he felt like he was home for the first time he could remember.

[anonymousdior]

My Lived Experience

I’ve been silent the last few weeks, not because I don’t have a voice or an opinion on what’s happening in this world right now or even more specifically, in my home country. But, because there is just so many feelings of all kind of everything. But, I feel like it’s time to speak up and tell my story and my views. 

First off, If you are new here or need a reminder; I am Tri-Racial. My father is African American; my mother is Italian and Indigenous. Mix those three with being a medical anomaly; it can be confusing thing to divulge to people. Which is probably why I usually don’t. In fact, most people don’t know anything about me I would say. But, that’s about to change.

Let’s get real blunt.. I grew up within Racism. In fact, Racism is as much as my family as a brother and sister would be. How so? One family was so disgusted with my blackness that they administered burning liquids to my scalp to change the way my hair follicles grow. Yes, this was something the main culprit had researched. This family had called me every slur in the book, “The N word”, “Burrhead” were some to name a few. I was treated differently from my cousins because they were considered “pure” and I was “polluted and dirty.” That was just one family. My other family refuses to acknowledge me due to being mixed and insults are hurled on a regular basis in reference to my whiteness or indigenous side. In fact, some self hatred resides within my Father’s family as well. On another note, I was given away and sent away because of my blackness and how it would be easier if I was not nearby for the One side of the family.

Fast forward a few years, I was living with my meema and mooma, a strong Cameroonian woman and African man and my uncle C, an African American male. I am in a neighbourhood that was 96% African American and had a 92% crime rate. Racism was very much apart of this neighbourhood. The neighbourhood was fenced in, to not allow the residents inside venture out. In fact, there was a school, library and a shitty grocery store within this fenced area. It was expected that everyone residing within these buildings would stay within the fence and not “pollute” the rest of Atlanta. If you did get out, well expect to be hunted down and harassed. If you wanted a job, you would have to lie on your application of where you lived. The APD would roll in every day, with guns in hand, not even in the holster anymore. They would rough you up for no reason and if you fought back, you’re arrested on the spot and lucky if you made it to the precinct without needing medical attention. However, in the “white” neighbourhoods, no policing was needed and when you were arrested, you were treated as a human. This neighbourhood was treated as less than. Don’t think the APD are bad? Don’t understand why Atlantans are so suspicious of the APD?

Let’s get real again...I was walking home one night from my shift at T-Mobile. It was dark but I was dirt ass poor, not to mention my money had been taken from me (That will be discussed later on). I am minding my own business and all of a sudden, the APD with their cherries on pull over and draw their guns at me, I am 17 years old and alone, not to mention a girl. They yell at me to get on the ground only once, when I ask what is happening or why, I am lunged at and my face is pushed into the ground. With guns still drawn at my head and this heavy officer on me, I’m asked where I live and what am I? I answer the name of the neighbourhood and I am bi-racial. All of a sudden I’m told that I will do and I fit the description of an aggravated assault with a deadly weapon from a bar that was at least a 2.5-hour walk away. I was arrested and thrown into the back of the car, while wearing my T-Mobile uniform, the whole time I am pleading with them that I didn’t do this crime, that I was at work and to call my boss, he will tell them. I was told by an Officer to shut up and that all people from my neighbourhood are guilty and that anyone with “Black” is straight up wrong and guilty of being alive. AN OFFICER, someone who is supposed to serve and protect. They refused to listen to anything I had to say, didn’t allow me a call to notify anybody and threw me in jail and as they threw me in there, the arresting officer called me a “dirty ghetto N word.” I spent a month fighting charges that weren’t mine to begin with and that based off my registered ethnicity aka racism, I was automatically guilty. In the end, a judge was smart enough to actually read the whole case and discovered I actually DID NOT fit the description among other things.. However, I was still 1 hearing from going to prison for 10-20 years... all because I was bi-racial and one of those races was black.

I had a grandfather once, we called him mooma. He was an amazing man and one of my hero’s. He was amazing, respected anyone and everyone and would love to talk proverbs with you. A god-fearing man. When I was young, he had an “accident” that left him permanently blind. By accident I mean white supremacists thought it would be fun and an act of god to my mooma who was simply asking if there was biracial kid books within a bookstore. After he left the bookstore that’s when they jumped him. The APD did nothing and refused to file a police report and dropped my mooma off at a mental health area instead of a hospital.  Years from that incident, my mooma would leave for a work trip to Texas and would never return home. My mooma became just another black man gone missing. When we went to report it to the police, we waited 3 hours to file the report while other White families were served asap. When they got around to us, they never wrote anything down and said he probably had a 2nd family because he’s black.... My mooma was murdered by White people who thought they were better then my grandfather...Who didn’t care he had a family waiting for him and a granddaughter waiting for the next critter book. Someone deemed my mooma was not fit to live simply because he was a black man.

As I grew up, I took note how other kids would be treated compared to myself and the people within my neighbourhood. When my uncle would take me to the aquarium, we would be questioned for 5 minutes on the pricing of the aquarium and how there was no guns or drugs allowed. During this time, the white families were let through with no problems. The black families were always questioned and lectured. When I went to school I noticed the kids from my church had better books, their books went to Bill Clinton, my books went to Jimmy Carter. They were assigned homework and readings, I went to class with the lesson on the board with maybe only 4-5 kids in the classroom while our teacher read the newspaper or a book, the white kids teachers were invested in their future. 

As I went into high school, I started attending church with my meema at her request. In her words, “to pray the white devil out of you.” While my meema was busy praying for the white devil out of me, I was getting beat up every Sunday in the back of the church for being black by the pastor kids and their friends. They called me every name in the book, called me disgusting, ripped my shirt and spat on me. They always stole my money (as per for my comment a few paragraphs up, I was always broke because of it) In fact, one Sunday they beat me up so badly I went to the hospital. We tried to file a police report but the APD never came... That was the last time we went to that white church. From this moment on, I have only stepped in a church twice.

When I moved back to Canada, I was hopeful that it would be different and more peaceful. In fact, I have heard how not racist Canada is. I have to disagree; it’s just more behind your back, less in your face then back home. I once was told I need to calm down on the alcohol as I’ll fully turn into a “Drunken Savage.” Or not wanting to learn about the culture and mocking it at every moment someone has. Of course, a racist slur towards my Indigenous side.

Even from my Canadian city I reside in, Georgia still inflicts is racist ways on me. The black vote is suppressed to the point legal actions have been launched all around. The white adults can register easily and usually have a flawless voting process. That is not the case for the minority population and people who reside within low income neighbourhoods. To the point, the last election I was given a hard time to register saying my W looks like a V and that I was trying to defraud the voting process. After persistence, I was able to vote but was given 3 faulty ballots that were already filled out for the current president. When asked for new ones each time I was told why wouldn’t I vote for Donald Trump, he loves the poor. On top of that, this year’s voting process was no different and I was given a timeline that was not given to my white friends to register. I was given the run-around and every excuse to vote and was told the same excuse, that my paperwork was filled out with the wrong color pen, that there was problems with a computer system that they don't even use to register or that I was registered within a different state. None of this was an issue before they read where I was from and the ethnicity on file... 

The above is just a taste of the racism I have experienced/witnessed. It’s a daily battle within myself to love myself and embrace all that I am. The Black, the white and the indigenous. I still avoid mirrors, most photos and you will never catch me at the beach or the pool in fear my hair get’s wet and you see that little hint of curl come to light. 

So yes, these protests are justifiable. Yes, the Atlanta protests were the first turn to ugly and violent.. It’s because we are angry and it’s not just these few incidents, it’s a history of corruption, systemic and blatant racism. It’s years of oppression and anger bubbling it’s ugly head to the surface. I can assure you, it’s always been there..I end this blog with one of my favourite quotes from a movie “The Great Debaters” (If you have not seen it you should!) 

“Saint Augustine said, "An unjust law is no law at all," which means I have a right, even a duty, to resist -- with violence or civil disobedience...You should pray I choose the latter.”

[queen-of-deans-booty]

All Hell Breaks Loose Part Two- Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,071

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, language, ANGST!!!!, major character death, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. If you’re a junkie for this sort of thing, then a tag list is the right thing for you! If you want to be a Queen, I’ll add you to that list too! Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

This is it. This is the finale of Season 2. Wow, this season was a rollercoaster to write and this episode was intense! I would love to hear what guys thought about this one. Please. 

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Dean and Sam stopped arguing the minute they walked outside, pretending that everything was okay. You three got into the car and you huffed out when Dean pulled away.

“You know, something is going on here and you guys aren’t telling me. That’s fine but just know I will figure it out eventually and then you’ll both be in trouble.” You said and it was so quiet in the car, you could hear Dean gulping.

Dean got to Bobby’s house and you jumped out, ignoring the pain in your chest as you rushed to the front door. You knocked on it and Sam and Dean hurried to follow you. They needed to stop Bobby from saying anything to tip you off even more.

The door opened and Bobby’s face was in shock from seeing you.

“Y/N?” He asked in a whisper, not believing his eyes. He looked at Sam and Dean and while Sam looked away, Dean shook his head slightly, signaling to him not to say anything.

“Why are you staring at me as if I’m a ghost. I know I was hurt, but come on. I’m okay now.” You said with a smile, hugging Bobby who hugged you back tightly. You winced when he pressed into your wound from behind.

“Sorry,” Bobby said, letting you go.

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, thanks for patching me up.” You said, walking past him, going to the living room. It was a little messier than usual but you could understand it.

“Don’t mention it,” Bobby said after you. Bobby, when you were gone, gave Sam and Dean a very hard look. He knew something was up.

“So… she’s awake and better. What did you find out?” Dean asked, walking into the house to get away from Bobby’s glare. He felt like he was younger and Bobby was his dad with how similar their glares were.

“I found something but I’m not sure what it means,” Bobby said when everyone was inside the living room.

“What is it?” You asked, sitting on the couch. Bobby stared at you with a lot of emotion in his eyes before snapping out of it, taking a deep breath.

“Demonic omens like a fucking tidal wave. Cattle deaths and lightning storms skyrocketed from out of nowhere. It’s all happening around Wyoming except one: Southern Wyoming.

“Wyoming?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, there is one area that is totally clean. It’s almost as if the demons are surrounding the area.” Bobby said, thinking out loud.

“Look, if demons want something, they can get it easily. So, if they’re surrounding the area, then that means they probably can’t get into it. Like a huge ass demon trap or something like that.” You said, looking at the men who stared back at you.

“Look, my eyes are swimming right now so, Y/N, could you take a look at it?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, no problem.” You said with a smile.

“Sam, Dean, would you help me? I got some more books in the truck. Help me lug them in.” Bobby said, glaring at the boys who sighed, knowing they were in deep shit right now. It was when the men got to the car, did Bobby blow up.

“You stupid ass!! What did you do to her?” Bobby exploded, glaring at Dean who looked away but Bobby was pissed. He pushed Dean and Dean looked at Bobby with pain in his eyes. “What did you do to my daughter? You made a deal for her… Didn’t you? How long have you got?”

Bobby knew the Winchesters pretty well by now to know what moves they would make and what mistakes to fix.

“Bobby, please,” Dean said, sighing.

“How long?!”

“One year,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Dammit! What were you thinking? She doesn’t know, does she?”

“She won’t know. Bobby, you can’t tell her.” Dean immediately said.

“She will find out whether or not it’s from any of us. How do you think she’s going to feel when she finds out you have one year left to live? You didn’t see her when you were in that hospital after the crash. That ruined her. This is going to kill her!” Bobby said.

“Bobby, he knows that. Which is why he’s going to tell her himself.” Sam said, glaring at Dean.

“Look, I know what I did but it’s done now, okay? We have to find that yellow son of a bitch and I’m going to kill him myself.”

“With what? The Colt is gone, Dean.” Sam said, not knowing what to do. But Bobby wasn’t done talking about the major issue here.

“What is with you Winchesters? You and your dad. Why are you so willing to give up your life for others? I understand it’s Y/N and I’m glad she’s not dead but is this really the way to do things? I haven’t been there myself but I heard Hell is pretty… well… hellish.” Bobby said.

“That’s my point, Bobby! Dad brought me back! I’m not supposed to be here. At least this way, something good can come out of it, you know? It’s like my life could mean something.” Dean said, getting a little emotional.

“And it didn’t before?! Do you really think that low of yourself, boy? Are you that screwed in the head?!” Bobby said, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and shaking him slightly.

“I couldn’t let her die, Bobby,” Dean said, choking up. Sam stared at his brother, never seeing him act this way for a woman before. “I love her, Bobby.”

“And how do you think she’s going to feel when she knows you’re going to hell? Did you even consider that? How do you think Sam and I are going to feel? She’s going to find out and you know that.” Bobby said, getting tears and letting them fall.

Sam had tears already falling because he couldn’t bear to lose his brother. Bobby let go of Dean and Dean was about to say something when you came running out of the house and to them.

“Guys, I found something and it’s huge,” You said, noticing the tears on each of the men’s faces. “Okay, what the hell is going on? What aren’t you telling me?” Dean immediately looked away from you as did Sam but Bobby stared into your eyes.

He was about to say something when all four of you heard a clank from a different part of the junkyard. You looked in that direction and started to walk, the men behind you. You had to push the suspicion for now but you were far from over the topic. You were going to find out what was going on. You heard it again and realized that it was coming from behind a junk car.

You looked at Sam and Dean before reaching out to grab at whoever was there. You gasped when you saw it was Ellen.

“Ellen!” You smiled, bringing her into a hug. She started to cry, hugging you back.

“Oh, thank God,” Dean said in relief.

“Come on, let’s go inside.” You said, glad to know that Jo’s mother wasn’t dead. You really needed to talk to her and catch up. You and the men brought Ellen inside where Bobby gave her a shot of holy water.

“Is this necessary?” She asked, looking at Bobby.

“Just a belt of Holy Water. It shouldn’t hurt.” He said, not giving her anything else. She sighed and took the shot, it has no effect on her.

“Whiskey now, if you don’t mind.” She said and Bobby nodded, getting out the alcohol.

“Ellen, what happened? How did you get out?” Dean asked, referring to the fire.

“I wasn’t supposed to. I was supposed to be in there with everyone else. But we ran out of pretzels, of all things. It was just dumb luck,” She said, scoffing. She drank the whiskey that Bobby brought her and sighed deeply. “Anyway, that’s when Ash called with panic in his voice. He told me to look in the safe but then the call cut out. By the time I got back, the flames were sky-high and I knew everyone was dead. I couldn’t have been gone more than 15 minutes, tops.”

“I’m sorry, Ellen. Have you called Jo?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Yeah, she knows everything but she’s stuck in some case right now and can’t come down. A lot of good people died in there,” Ellen said, getting tears. “And I got to live. Lucky me.”

“You mentioned a safe?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, a hidden safe we keep in the basement,” Ellen said.

“Did the demons get what’s in it?” Sam asked.

“No,” She said, pulling out a map from her pocket, opening it up before setting it on the table. It had several black lines and X’s on it.

“Wait, Wyoming… Wait another minute! Let me tell you what I found!” You said, getting up and going to Bobby’s desk. You grabbed the book you were reading earlier and showed it to everyone.

“You see the X’s on Ellen’s map? Each of them represents an abandoned frontier church. They’re all mid-19th century and all of them were built by Samuel Colt.” You explained but you were only getting started.

“Samuel Colt? The demon-killing, gun-making Samuel Colt?” Dean asked.

“Yes! But wait, it's getting better,” You said, getting back to what you were saying. “He built private railway lines which represent the black lines on the map, that connect church to church.”

You set the book down and grabbed a marker, moving the map until it was facing you.

“Now, if you connect the churches together,” You said, connecting them with the marker. The shape it made was a star. “It happens to be this. Which proves my theory earlier: This is a giant ass demon trap and whatever is inside, preferably the middle, those demons want. And I have a feeling those demons are going to get it.”

“This is actually brilliant. The iron lines means demons can’t cross it.” Dean said, impressed by your work.

“I’ve never heard of anything that massive before,” Ellen said.

“And even after all these years, it still works?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, it’s railroad tracks. Those things aren’t going anywhere for quite a while. Plus, those omens that Bobby found, it’s the demons. They’re circling it, trying to find a way inside but they can’t get in,” You said, proud of yourself. “I feel so smart. Sam, is this what it’s like to be you?”

“Har har,” Sam said with a playful eye roll.

“Okay, so they can’t get in but what’s inside?” Ellen asked.

“That’s what I was looking for while you three were outside, talking about whatever it is you were talking about. Which, by the way, we are coming back to that so don’t think you’re off the hook.” You said with a huff.

“What are you talking about?” Ellen asked. The men stiffened up immediately.

“They won’t tell me. They’re acting weird and I have no idea why. Do you not trust me?” You asked Dean.

“Of course, I do, you know that,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Then what could you possibly want to keep from me?” You asked, defeated. No one said anything and that was bugging the shit out of you.

“Why don’t you tell us what you found? What’s in the middle?” Bobby said, changing the subject. You kept staring at Dean who looked guilt but you couldn’t figure out why he would be. You sighed and got back to what you were talking about.

“There’s nothing there but an old cowboy cemetery right in the middle. I know that whatever is there, they want it before we do. So, I suggest we get on the road before they manage to break those lines.” You said.

“But what’s Colt have to do with anything?” Ellen asked.

“Wait,” Dean said, thinking of something. “What if Colt wasn’t trying to keep something out. What if he’s trying to keep something in?”

“That’s a comforting thought.” Ellen scoffed.

“Could they do it? Could they get inside?” Sam asked.

“Sam, this devil’s trap is so powerful, you would probably have to have an A-bomb to destroy it. There is no way an even full-blooded demon is getting inside.” You said, crossing your arms.

“No… But I know who could.” Sam said, making eye contact with you.

“Jake.”

The Queens:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @supercalifragilistic26 @mishamigose @cobrakai1967 @essie1876 @wishedworld @crispychrissy @laqueus-ludovicus @nostalgic-uncertainty @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @potterhead1265 @starswirlblitz  @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @deans-fallen-angel-boy @scarletluvscas @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @stay-in--place @dreaminofdean @posiemax @donnaintx @mikey1822 @alexandriajanae4  @li-ssu @just-another-winchester @obsessivecompulsivespn @emoryhemsworth @newtospnfandom @mizzezm  @goldenolaf25 @jessikared97 @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @charliebradbury1104    @queen-of-moons-peace-out-bitches @becs-bunker  @atc74 @lemonchapstick​

The Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @carribear31 @tacklesackles @oreosatmidnight @not-naturalfangirl @missselinakitty @iam-a-cutiepie  @kristendansmith @milo-winchester-4ever @jensenackesl @codyshany316 @pheonyxstorm @helllonearth @juniorhuntersam @pouterpufftrain @ruprecht0420 @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @carriemichelle2012 @aubreystilinski @sandlee44​

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest @hadleymcallister2177 @destielsangels @spnhybrid @oreosatmidnight @valerieshubin @seninjakitey @flyonlittlewinchester @aubreystilinski @rocketqueeens  @emilygracespellins @earthtokace​

[itshillaryrodamn]

Domestic Billary

Okay so I’m not that great at writing fluff, but @alwayswithhillary and some others have mentioned wanting to read some lighter, happier billary to help cheer us all up, so this is for you :)

1975. Fayetteville, Arkansas. The warm glow of early autumn sunshine streamed steadily into the bedroom causing Bill to slowly stir awake. He blinked his eyes open and reached out to the other side of the bed expecting to find Hillary’s sleeping form laying next to him, but to his surprise her side of the bed was empty. He sat up and blinked, wondering where she could be, and it was then that he registered the faint sounds of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. Sniffing the air curiously, he realized he could smell cooking. But not the expected sweet and inviting smell of pancakes or coffee that one might expect at this early hour of the morning, it was something curiously rich and savory. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slipped into a pair of boxers and a t shirt before heading downstairs to investigate. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he found the kitchen door ajar, and he quietly pushed it open to reveal Hillary standing in the middle of quite an impressive amount of mess for only 8am in the morning, especially considering they had left the kitchen in an immaculately clean condition before going to bed the night before. Hillary had her back to the door, and so she wasn’t immediately aware of Bill’s presence. She was studying the back of a can of tomatoes and Bill ran his eyes down her body approvingly. She was wearing one of his pale blue shirts and had her hair pulled messily back into a ponytail. His shirt was considerably too big on her, and the hem reached almost midway down the creamy skin of her thighs. As she reached down into a lower cupboard he caught a glimpse of the navy lace of her underwear, the only other garment she was currently wearing. God she looks incredible. He felt so lucky that he got to see her like this, fresh faced and glowing with radiance first thing in the morning. He could hardly believe this gorgeous, amazing woman would choose to be with him. And now she was going to be his wife. Bill’s heart swelled with joy as he thought back to the previous week when he had finally won her over and convinced her to follow her heart and say yes to his proposal, bringing them here; to this little house. With it’s screened in porch where they so often sat together and watched the world go by, it’s traditional fireplace, and its large bay window letting the warmth of natural sunlight travel across the hall toward their little dining room and their tiny kitchen. The tiny kitchen that his soon-to-be wife was now making a truly remarkable mess of. “Um, honey what are you doing?” His voice finally made Hillary aware of his presence, and she turned to him with a smile on her lips. “What does it look like? I’m cooking!”

Bill walked over to where she was standing by the stove and slipped his hands around her slim waist from behind, kissing her on the cheek. “You know most people tend to prefer something a little lighter in the mornings,” he nodded at the pan of sizzling chicken and onions and the spicy aromas coming from it, “what are we out of eggs or something?” Hillary rolled her eyes and giggled. The sound of her laughter was always like music to Bill’s ears, and he could never pass up an opportunity to gently tease her if it meant he got to hear it. “I’m practicing.” Hillary explained, trying to refocus on the red peppers she was now slicing. “What, for tonight? Honey you really didn’t need to do that I’m sure whatever you do will be just perfect.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear gently. His mother was coming for dinner tonight, and they were planning on telling her about their engagement. Bill knew Hillary was nervous about it, and as this would be her first time cooking for her future mother in law she was eager to make the best impression possible. “You don’t need to impress her you know.” Hillary sighed, resting her knife on the chopping board for a moment and wiping her forehead. “I know…but it can’t hurt to be prepared. Practice makes perfect. I bought extra anyway and I think we both know cooking isn’t exactly my strongest skill set.” Bill smiled at that last comment, remembering some of her previous culinary disasters and the many calls for takeout he had made when her dishes hadn’t gone exactly to plan. “Well I don’t know about that,” Bill lowered his voice and leaned into her ear, “everything you’ve ever served up to me has tasted absolutely divine.” Hillary felt her cheeks flush, his breath tickling against her ear and the double meaning of his words sending a rush of heat between her thighs. She bit her lip and removed his hands from her waist, faking annoyance as she headed over to the sink to wash tomatoes. “William, if you aren’t going to help with anything useful I suggest you get out from under my feet.” He grinned but stepped aside, his eyes following her around the kitchen as she busied herself with washing, chopping, and stirring. He decided to start on the cleaning up while she cooked, as the worktop was now barely even visible beneath all the pots and pans she had pulled from the cupboards so far. “So what are you making anyway?” Hillary raised an eyebrow, “Is it really that unidentifiable?” Bill glanced into the pan and pretended to look mystified. Hillary watched his expression and swatted him playfully with the tea towel she was holding. “It’s chicken curry!” “Ow! I knew that, I’m just messing with you darlin’! It looks really…great.” Hillary frowned at his lack of enthusiasm and peered into her sauce anxiously, “do you think it needs more spices?” “I seriously doubt that,” Bill laughed, knowing her infamous tendency to over season things, “here let me try it.” He took the wooden spoon from her and dipped it into the sauce before raising it to his lips. He started launching into making a great show out of testing the flavor as though he was at some formal wine tasting, but the heat of the chilli suddenly hit him and cut his performance drastically short as he started coughing to keep himself from choking. “It’s not that bad is it?” Hillary quickly grabbed the spoon back from him and tasted it herself. “No, it’s perfect if you like having your taste buds numbed first thing in the morning.” She rolled her eyes, “it tastes okay to me?” “Well just remember not everyone has your impressive tolerance for spicy food honey.” He grinned. “Don’t tell me your mother shares the same tragically weak taste buds you have?” “Well…just maybe go a bit easier on the chilli tonight, okay?” He chuckled, before stepping in closer and wrapping his arms around her, “anyway, I don’t need to eat spicy food…just being with you is plenty hot enough for me.” She couldn’t stop herself from giggling at that, he always did manage to come out with the most hopelessly cheesy romantic lines. Bill cut off her laughter by leaning in and gently connecting their lips, and she sighed contentedly into the kiss. As her lips parted Bill tasted the hint of spice still on her tongue, and his hands wandered down her back as she threaded her fingers through his thick dark hair. They pressed themselves closer and closer together until Bill eventually broke the kiss, a sudden idea flashing into his head. “You know…there is something else we ought to be practicing, seeing as we are getting married in a few weeks.” Hillary raised an eyebrow suggestively, wondering what exactly he was referring to, “oh?” Bill caught her look instantly, “not that,” he laughed, before lowering his Arkansas drawl to the husky tone he knew absolutely melted her, “but don’t you worry, we’ll have plenty of time to get in practice for that later…Not that we need it of course.” “So what then?” She watched him curiously as he reached across the countertop and turned up the volume of the radio that had been humming pleasantly in the background. “Our wedding dance.” Her face broke into a warm smile as he offered her his hand and twirled her around, before resting his other hand on her back and leading her around the kitchen in a slow dance. They swayed to the music, fingers intertwined as they stepped across the gray kitchen tiles. As they danced, Hillary gazed lovingly up into Bill’s eyes and he gazed right back, their eyes locked onto each other, utterly captivated. Both were absolutely certain they had never felt this way about anyone before. This was undoubtedly the love of their life, and they couldn’t wait to stand up in that church and declare it in front of everyone. Neither were sure how long they had been dancing, but they were suddenly broken out of their trance by the sound of the smoke alarm piercing loudly through the kitchen. Hillary quickly turned around and gasped as she realized the chicken stock had boiled over out of the saucepan and onto the stove. “Shit!” She leaped into action grabbing a tea towel to move the pan off the heat and rescue what was left of the contents. Bill chuckled, even cursing somehow sounded endearing when it was coming from her lips. He reached up to the ceiling and switched off the smoke alarm before throwing open a window to help clear the foggy haze that had spread through the kitchen. “Maybe this practice run wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” he joked as he helped her clean up the mess on the stove, “at least you’re getting all the mistakes out of the way now, by tonight there’ll be nothing to left to go wrong!” She groaned in despair but couldn’t help but laugh at his logic. He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder and stilled her hand that was still scrubbing at the burnt mess on the stove. “Honestly honey it’s gonna be fine, don’t you worry.” He kissed her cheek and she rested her head on the space between his neck and his shoulder for a moment. “I hope so. And by the way you are so officially barred from the kitchen tonight if this is the kind of distraction you cause.” Bill bit his lip. “I’d say that’s fair.” He shifted back a little to give her space while she put the finishing touches to the dish, watching her delicate fingers sprinkle coriander into the saucepan before giving it a final stir. “So what are you actually planning on doing with all that darlin’?” He gestured towards the rather large steaming pan of food, “because as much as I love you I really don’t think my so-called tragically weak taste buds can handle your cooking twice in one day.” She rolled her eyes at him with a smile, “I’m giving it to Susan and Jake from next door. They’ve both gone down with the flu so I figured they’d be grateful not to have to cook.” “I love how thoughtful you are Hilly.” Bill ran his hands over her silky hair, threading his fingers through her ponytail. “I guess it’s a good job spicy food boosts the immune system.” She laughed, turning back from the stove to face him. “Well in that case they should be better in no time after one spoonful of this!” He grinned and pulled her closer toward him again, placing his hands on her waist and tugging playfully at the material of his shirt she had on. “You’re incredible, you know that right?” “You’re not too bad yourself.” She blushed slightly, unable to take her eyes off him and delighting in the way he looked at her as though she was the most precious valuable thing in all the world. “I can’t wait to marry you Miss Rodham.” She raised herself up on her toes and placed a single kiss on his lips before hugging him close. “I can’t wait to marry you too, Mr Clinton.”

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9673865

[ecotone99]

The Blue Eye

Hi, I’m Darla but everyone calls me red. So I guess you could call me that too, but this is just my story of how I died. It is not a very sad story, most people actually didn’t care that I died. There was no one to feel sorry for me, I have no other family then my mom and dad who died when I was 9. I lived alone for 6 years and no one really knew I even existed until I went to Crucimville. I died shortly after that trip. Well, feel free to read but my life that didn’t mean anything to anyone and it probably won’t mean anything to you. It all started here with me staring into a puddle.

I glared at my reflection in the ice cold puddle warping with every raindrop that hit it. My long red hair abnormally stood on end, while the wind harshly blew through my ripped jeans. Although not ripped for style, ripped because they are the only, not completely destroyed, pants I have. Some of the buttons on my dirty flannel had broken off last fall so it never closed properly and when the wind hit me, my chest turned cold. I guess that’s why I came down with four cases of the flu last winter. Besides the point, I saw my eyes in the puddle. It bothered me that one was blue and the other was brown. When my parents were alive, they tried to change my blue eye. They forced me to put a circular plastic sheet, with this small brown circle on it. I could never get it in and they beat me for it. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house until it was in, no one at the school church could see it, and at the home checks my parents would lock me in a closet and pretended I didn’t exist when the guard asked them the regular questions. I never understood why they said it was for your own good until the Crucimeville trip, and also weird things started to happen, like the rain.

Like I said, 3 weeks ago the rain started and hasn’t stopped it just gets worse and I think I might have found out why. See after my parents died, I cleared out their stuff from their room and the house and I found this book. It was an old black book that was held together, literally, by threads. There was this symbol drawn in gold that resembled an eye with a circle around it and 3 lines connecting the vertices of the triangle to the circle. This book was full of random letters jumbled up into ‘words’. I’m guessing it was written in Latin because I saw a book that read, “Latin for Dummies” on the front. I cautiously flipped through the pages trying not to break anything or damage the book. I saw pictures of people with one brown eye and one blue eye just like me. I didn’t understand anything so I put the book down on the foot of my bed. I went to get some water and I brought the glass back to my room. I opened the book again and took a sip of water, then I put the water on the broken side table. The wind harshly blew through the cracks in the window and knocked my water onto the book. 10 minutes after that, the rain started and hasn’t stopped.

After that incident I realized that my parents would always read and repeated words and chants from that book. So, I can only assume that the pictures of people with one blue eye and one brown eye were evil or dangerous or something worth keeping from security. I got curious so I decided that I would go outside to the nearest town, without my brown contact, and see what people think of me or what they say. So I packed my tiny bag and headed for Crucimeville, not gonna lie I was sweating bullets over what the people would think, but the rain covered it.

I walked 189 paces Northeast from the back of my house and then took the left exit at the fork in the road. I walked another 91 paces and with every step a weight was added to my chest. I knew this was a bad idea, yet I keep walking.I must see what happens, I have nothing to lose. I make it to Crucimeville and the second I stepped foot there I had an awful feeling like a voice in my head telling me to go back home this is not the place for you. Obviously I ignored that voice.

Anyways, I walked with pride throughout Crucimeville and looked at everyone in the eyes. People avoided eye contact, no one met my eyes for more than half a second. It was pathetic actually, a kid looked at me, got scared sprinted and cried all the way to the safety of his mother’s warm hug. Lucky kid. I walked with my head down, bad idea. My head popped up as I saw a giant shadow ahead of me, it really was a bad idea. I examined every part of the tall, creepy security guard (at least that's what his vest read) and decided that running was not the best option so I stood there and waited for him to arrest me, but he didn’t. Instead of arresting me, he struck me across the forehead with a nightstick.

I woke up and I felt my cold blood drip down the side of my forehead. I looked around slowly and with every movement, my head pounds more and more. I notice that there are tons of people circled around me, men, women and children. I suddenly get worried, I try to move my hand but I can’t. I turn my head quickly to see what is causing so much resistance and pain.

“Damn it” I scream out loud, my hands were tied to the post and so were my feet.

I hear whispers from the people surrounding me,

“This girl is insane I mean we haven’t done this ceremony since 1944” a reply, “look at her eyes, she is cursed”,

The crowd is silenced when a man with a long black robe covering his face walks near me but he keeps his distance,

“Why have you brought this upon us?”

I assumed he was talking to me,

”I’m so very sorry but what have I done other then walk into Crucimeville?”

“Oh you know what you have done, we haven’t seen one of your type since 1944. Why now?”

“Sir, like I said I don’t know what you mean. I am a 15 year old girl who came here to find out what my blue eye meant….what does it mean?”

He walked closer to me with a frustrated look on his face and asked me once more his tone getting more fierce, “what are you doing here why now?”

“I don’t know please tell me what is going on I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know” With every word my voice got heavy and I began to cry,”please tell me what is happening”

He got up and struck me across the face, it only made me cry more.

“You know” he said, “You're kind they only bring evil they are descended from demons”

“I don’t know what you mean” I wiped my tears, “My name is Darla both my parents died when I was 9, I am 15 years old and I live alone.”

He studied my face, “leave”

“Me…?”

“No not you, LEAVE” The crowd began to disappear one by one until everyone was gone. The man pulled his hood off his face, he was bald and it seemed he had 2 brown eyes.

“Look” he began to touch the surface of his left eye (my blue eye) and revealed that he had no left eye, “I was like you, I had a blue eye. You said that you don’t know what it symbolises well I’ll tell you but if I tell you, you must leave this town and never return”

“Yes I will not return but please tell me”

“Certainly” he began to talk. He told me that the blue eye symbolises the ability to clone certain people or resurrect from the dead. I looked at him, “so why is it such a big deal?”

“It's considered witchcraft here, but now that I have told you” he paused

“What”

“I have to kill you”

“Sir, please no I don’t even know how to use these abilities and I just figured out”

“Exactly my point, when you learn how to use them you will gain more abilities and you will not be able to control them”

“No please I promise I won’t” But before I could finish my sentence he had already impaled my chest with a wooden stake. My last few moments I heard him say “I will not let this town suffer again”

I wondered what he meant by again but my sight began to fade and I saw a glimpse of my mom and my dad. I was dead, they got closer and I saw that both my parents had one blue eye and one brown eye. Is that what he meant by again did my parents attack Crucimeville is that why we moved when I was 5. Everything makes sense now, no wonder they killed me they were afraid of the harm my family has caused them. They should have given me a chance to prove that because my parents were evil, I don’t have to be evil.

submitted by /u/scarletblack924 [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/brree1/the_blue_eye/ via Blogger http://bit.ly/2HurYkm