#the junkyard burning down do i need to spell it out

[dog-woman]

sorry but why has no one done a house edit to no children. house and cuddy and wilson and their stupid fucked up entanglement.

'and i hope i never get sober'

[calpurniatypes]

𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞; 𝐬𝐡

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

summary; when she’s thrown into a fight with a terrible monster that threatens her new town, Cordelia Silva must run like hell to make it out alive... and maybe find her heart in the mix.

chapter summary; Cordelia and Steve have an encounter with a redheaded menace while babysitting.

warnings; this story may be unsuitable for some audiences. Sexual content, anxiety, self harm, depression, abandonment, violence, blood, death, and cigarettes.

stranger things series masterlist ; calpurnia’s questionable writings

“You’ve opened this gate before, right?” Joyce pointed down at the letters spelled out on the table, looking to the girl. 

“Yes,” Eleven said. 

“Do you think that if we got you back there, that you could close it?” 

The answer of Eleven looking off into space, and her brief nod, was enough to make Cordelia feel some remote sensation of happiness. Standing against the wall, Steve next to her, she made eye contact with him. A gleam in his eyes made her understand that this could be the solution to their problem. 

From what had been explained to Cordelia, the gate determined everything. If she could close it, the rest of the monsters would die. And she’d go back to the junkyard, undisturbed. Alone. That place was where it seemed she best fit in. During the off season, when she wasn’t running or playing volleyball. When she didn’t have anyone wanting to know where she was, what she was doing. When she wanted to light the matches and watch them burn. 

She looked up to see Steve staring at her. He had an expression she couldn’t read upon his face, and Cordelia turned away. Something in the midst of trying to understand her. She nestled into the corduroy of her jacket, flexing her right leg — her bad leg — to see how it felt. 

“Its not like it was before,” Hopper was saying to the group, crowded around the kitchen table. “It’s grown. A lot. And I mean, that’s considering that we can get in there. The place is crawling with those dogs.”

“Demo-dogs,” Dustin interrupted. 

Sighing, Hopper looked at Dustin, “I'm sorry, what?”

“I said, uh,” Dustin spoke, “demo-dogs. Like demogorgon and dogs. You put them together, it sounds pretty badass—”

“How is this important right now?” Hopper questioned, annoyance in his voice. 

“It’s not, I’m sorry.” Dustin said. 

Glancing up, Eleven spoke, “I can do it.”

Hopper shook his head, “You're not hearing me.”

“I’m hearing you, I can do it.” Eleven reiterated. 

“Even if El can, there is still another problem,” Mike added. “If the brain dies, the body dies.” 

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max pointed out.

“It is,” Mike said, “but if we’re really right about this. I mean, if El closes the gate and kills the Mind Flayers army..”

“Will’s a part of that army,” Lucas told the group.

“Closing the gate will kill him, then.” Cordelia said, startling Nancy who stood in front of her. 

“Yes,” Mike responded. 

Cordelia watched Joyce. Her face was a mix of emotions. She couldn’t imagine having to lose a son in this way. Joyce moved into the bedroom, where Will lay.

“He likes it cold,” Joyce mumbled. 

“What?” Said Hopper.

“It's what Will kept saying to me,” Joyce’s face had realization all over it, “he likes it cold.”

She walked to the window and pulled it shut. “We keep giving it what it wants.” 

“If this is a virus, and Will’s the host, then…” Nancy said, trailing off.

“Then we need to make the host uninhabitable,” Jonathan finished. 

Nancy continued, “so if he likes it cold.” 

“We need to burn it out of him,” Joyce said.

“We have to do it somewhere he doesn't know this time.” Mike put in, voice loud. 

“Yeah,” Dustin agreed. “Somewhere far away.”

Outside, Cordelia stood again with Steve and Nancy. They removed pieces of trash from a large pile that Hopper had created when he’d cleared out the shed. In her hands lay a saw, large and rusted. She slammed it down in another pile. This would break under pressure — not a good weapon.

Steve held up a radiator and tossed it to the side, “you should go with him.” 

Nancy stared up at Steve, misunderstanding painting her face, “what?”

“With Jonathon,” Steve said.

“No,” she said, and Cordelia could see her cheeks flush against the pale beam of her flashlight. “I’m not just going to leave Mike.”

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve told her, getting up to stand side by side with Nancy across the trash pile. “I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend… but turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter.” 

Cordelia watched as Nancy absorbed the words. If Cordelia Silva was good at one thing, it was observing. Nancy looked up at Steve with big eyes, glassy eyes, as he held out a radiator to her. 

“Steve.” She said. Cordelia made the decision to leave, walking back to the house. This was not her business. She didn’t want to know about Steve and Nancy. She didn’t need to. She didn’t care. 

“It’s okay, Nance.” Steve told her, watching Cordelia move away and back into the Byer’s home. “It’s okay.”

Nancy waited for the porch door to slam shut. “So Cordelia.” She said, changing the subject. 

Steve stopped moving the trash around. “Yes?” “What’s with Cordelia, why is she here?” Nancy asked, kneeling to the ground. 

“She was in the junkyard and helped fight off the demo-dogs.” Steve told Nancy, who nodded, still staring at Steve. 

“No,” he shook his head, understanding her eyes. “No, we just met. She’s beautiful, yes, but I don’t know her at all.” He reiterated.

“So there is nothing happening? I saw you two leave the bathroom, Steve. The look that you gave her.” 

“The demo-dog got her leg, I was bandaging her up. Nothing is going on. We met four fucking hours ago!” Steve thrust his hands in the air. It wasn’t possible to like someone after four hours together. Even if they had been life or death ones. 

“Okay, Steve.” Nancy said, her voice making her words an obvious lie. “It just looked like you’d known her for a thousand years.”

He didn’t say anything to that, instead rummaging through the pile again. 

Cordelia stood on the front porch ten minutes later, watching as Jonathon, Nancy, Will, Hopper, Eleven and Joyce sped away in two different vehicles. Max was in front of her, and Cordelia could hear Mike sniffling. 

She straightened her jacket and turned to open the door as Steve waited for the kids to enter the Byer’s house. The air was cold and the November night was clear, stars straying through the sky above them. In St. Paul, there were too many lights and Cordelia couldn’t see the stars. Here there were so many above her that Cordelia thought it was overwhelming. 

In the kitchen, Dustin emptied the fridge’s contents out on the ground. The items lay around haphazardly, and Cordelia grabbed a glass of water as Steve shoved the dead creature in the fridge. 

She turned around as Steve rubbed the top of Dustin’s hat, panting slightly. “That was too gooey to be good.” He said.

In the living room, Cordelia heard Lucas speak, “Mike, would you just stop already!” 

“You weren’t in there, okay, Lucas.” Mike responded, tone thin and angry. “That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs.” 

“Demo-dogs!” Dustin shouted from his spot in the kitchen, and Cordelia followed the projection of his voice into the living room. 

Ignoring Dustin, Lucas continued, “the chief will take care of her.”

Max rolled her blue eyes, “like she needs protection.” 

Walking in, Steve opened his arms to the group, “listen dude, a coach calls a play in the game, bottom line, you execute it. All right?” 

“Steve’s correct.” Cordelia added. “We are not the starting team.”

“Okay first of all,” Mike said, “this isn’t some stupid sports game.”

“You watch professional volleyball and see who's saying that.” Cordelia spoke under her breath. 

“Yes,” Steve turned to Cordelia, stammering slightly, “right… So my point is…” Steve paused, looking for the words. “Right, yeah, we're on the bench, so, uh, there is nothing we can do.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Dustin said. “I mean, these demo-dogs, they have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away.” Cordeila gave Steve a pouty look, joking, “I thought me and Stevie scared them away.” Steve stared at her large brown eyes and his heart did something he did not want it to do. 

“No,” Dustin shook his head, curls flopping, “no they were called away.”

“So, if we get their attention…” Lucas said. 

“Maybe we can draw them from the lab.” Max added, a look dawning on her freckled face. 

 “And clear a path to the gate,” Mike finished. 

“Yeah, and then we all die.” Steve stated, hands crossed over his chest. 

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin noted. 

Cordelia smirked slightly, the right side of her mouth lifting upward, “yes, the most positive one.” 

“No, that’s not a point of view, man, that’s a fact.” Steve said. 

Pushing through Cordelia and Steve, Mike gasped, “I got it!” 

He led the group to the fridge, pointing at a drawing near the bottom. Scribbled out in large, unruly lines was an image of a tunnel. 

“This is where the chief dug his hole. This is our way into the tunnel, so…” Mike got up again, moving with quick steps back into the living room. 

“Here, right here, this is like a hub,” he motioned his hands at a group of the same style of drawing, the tunnels depicted again. “So you got all the tunnels feeding in here.” The boy kneeled down, and with some pain Cordelia followed suit. “So maybe if we light this on fire…”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked rhetorically, pointing down, “that’s a no.”

“The mind flayer would call away his army,” Dustin ignored Steve, who stood in the background, eyes wide. 

“They’d all come to stop us,” Lucas realized, excitement riddling his voice. 

“Then we circle back to the exit,” Mike said.

“Hey!” Steve told the group, “guys!” 

“By the time they realize we’re gone,” Mike continues, eyes big and round.

Max nodded, understanding, “El would be at the gate.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Steve yelled, “this is not happening!” He clapped his hands to prove his point. 

“But—” One of the kids argued. 

“No,no,no,no. No buts. We promised,” he motioned back and forth between him and Cordelia, his hands exaggerated, “we’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what we plan on doing. We’re staying here on the bench, and we’re waiting on the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand that?” Steve reiterated sternly. Mike immediately voiced his anger, “this isn’t some stupid sports game!” 

“I said, does everybody understand that?” Steve motioned to the kids, one by one, driving the point in by waving his hands, “I need a yes.”

Outside, interrupting their conversation, a vehicle revved. Cordelia sprang up, feeling her pocket for the gear shift, which was heavy, pulling the material off of her strong shoulders. 

Before Steve or Cordelia could stop the kids, Max and Lucas were at the window, peering outside to the driveway. “It’s my brother,” Max said, and Cordelia immediately looked to Steve. 

“He can’t know I’m here,” Max’s voice was quickly turning frantic, “he’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.” There was no jolly tone in her voice, only deep and serious truth. 

Dragging his gaze away from Cordelia’s eyes, Steve looked worried. The car outside revved loudly two times, and before Billy could do it again, Cordelia and Steve made a beeline toward the door. Their steps in sync. 

The tires squeaked outside, and Cordelia could tell he’d turned the car off through the window of the door, the headlights disappearing and painting darkness around them in their absence. 

Steve stepped outside of the door, opening it wide so Cordelia could join him under the porch. 

And there Billy was, a cigarette lit in his mouth. Though Cordelia often pretended to smoke, there was something so ugly about someone actually doing it. Actually tainting their lungs. But she supposed Billy was just as tainted already, no need for the cigarette. His voice was dreamy and rough, addressing the two teenagers on the porch, standing side by side. “Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington? And Cordelia Silva. What a surprise!”

Steve stared directly at Billy, not missing a beat, “yeah it’s us, don’t cream your pants.” 

Cordelia bit down on her tongue to hide the laugh that almost escaped. Steve Harrington, the boy not so good with comebacks, had one for the papers.

Billy’s car door slammed shut and he pulled off his jean jacket, exposing a red shirt halfway unbuttoned. The cigarette was loose in his mouth as Billy smirked, watching with ugly eyes as Steve stepped off the porch, nearing Billy.

“What are you doing here, amigo?” Billy asked, the smile still on his face. He walked toward Steve. 

“I could ask you the same thing… amigo.” 

“Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here,” Billy said. 

“Huh, that’s weird.” Cordelia responded loudly, still standing on the porch. 

“Yeah. We don’t know her.” Steve added, watching as Billy shook his head. 

Billy waved his hands up, “small, redhead, bit of a bitch.” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Cordelia told him, moving down the porch steps. She could see the anger growing slowly in Billy’s pupils. 

“Sorry.” Said Steve. 

Sighing dramatically, Billy shook his head, “you know, I don’t know, this… this whole situation, you know Harrington. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve responded, “why’s that?” Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, Billy explained, “my thirteen year old sister goes missing all day. And then I find her with you and Silva in a stranger's house, and you both lie to me about it.” 

Chuckling, Steve looked away, exasperated, “man, were you dropped too much as a child or what?” Billy ran his tongue along his teeth, smoke billowing from his mouth. “I don’t know what you don’t understand about what I just said.”

“We don’t know your stepsister.” Cordelia insisted. “She’s not here.”

“Most you’ve ever said in your life, Silva,” Billy said, then looked to Steve. “It’s always the quiet ones, ain’t it.” He ran his eyes over her body, pausing to stare at her chest and then down at her leg, where the bloodied jeans were dark against the night.

“What’s going on here, Silva? Got a little too feisty, huh?” Billy pointed with his cigarette to the bottom of her pants, to the blood. He pushed Steve’s shoulder playfully, “good job, Harrington.”

She glared at him roughly, “your sister isn’t here, buddy.” “It’s about time you left,” Steve added, stepping back slightly after Billy touched him.

“Then who’s that,” the redheads eyes made their way to the window, where Cordelia saw Max peering out of the broken glass, along with Mike, Dustin, and Lucas. 

“Ah, shit, listen,” Steve said, turning back to Billy, and as soon as he did, the redhead pushed Steve to the ground roughly. Corelia balled her fists up, ready to attack if Billy did anything more.

“I told you to plant your feet,” leaning over Steve, Cordelia watched ash from Billy’s cigarette land in Steve’s hair. Then, Billy kicked Steve right in the stomach, leaving him groaning on the ground. He stepped over Steve and made a break for the door. 

Cordelia spun on him, racing to block the doorway. She was quick, that was something about her. “Not so fast, Hargove.” She told him, and he eyed her up and down. 

“You know, Harrington didn’t choose a bad one,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. 

Before he could say anything else, she slapped his face, her skin hitting his cheeks loudly. He looked dazed for a moment before rage boiled on his face and he shoved her back against the door, tossing her to the side. 

Cordelia heard the door open and opened her eyes to see Steve getting up. Once he saw her against the porch, hunched over, he sprinted to Cordelia. 

“Are you okay?” He asked quickly, hearing yelling coming from the house. 

“Are you?” She asked, and before he could stop himself he was holding a hand out for her, pulling her up. 

“Yes,” he told her. She was stronger then he’d assumed, and he saw an odd burn mark against the side of her thumb, like someone had melted the skin on her fingers like wax. 

She nodded, and heard a shout coming from inside, and she rushed in front of him, pulling the door open and letting Steve enter. 

She moved to the kitchen, where she could see Lucas being cornered by Billy, who was red with anger. “You are so dead, Sinclair. So dead!” 

“No,” Cordelia said, pulling her fists out of her pockets. “You are.” Her fist contacted the side of his face as he turned, and she could tell Steve was beside her. She could feel his flesh under her knuckles as she beat upon his face, and then nose. Billy bent over with the force of one of Cordelia’s punches, laughing hysterically. 

She felt a hand brush her shoulder, and Steve had pushed her back, standing like a shield in front of Cordelia. 

“Looks like you’ve got some fire in you after all!” He shouted, a playful tone on his face. “I bet that’s what Steve likes the most about you.” He gave them a shit-eating grin. 

Steve’s voice was dark and husky, “get out.” He pushed Billy away with two fingers. 

Before she knew it, Billy’s arms were flying through the air at Steve. She pulled him down and he ducked, missing the punch. The two tripped over themselves and further into the kitchen, punches landing on Billy, who was driven against the countertop. Then, the redhead pulled a plate from the sink and dropped it onto Steve’s head, laughing as the ceramic shattered against his skull.. 

He followed Steve from the kitchen and the kids moved too, into the living room. Billy grabbed Steve’s shoulders and held him up, “no one tells me what to do!” He grunted loudly. Then, with one swift movement of his head, Steve’s own was hit and he landed down on the ground, sliding against the drawings of the tunnels and against the couch. Cordelia gave the kids a look signaling to stay where they were, and silently she approached Billy’s back. Rage boiled inside her. 

Punches fell like hail from Billy’s palms as he beat upon Steve, who lay on the floor, unconscious. Blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and Cordelia didn’t have time to think about what she was doing.

She reached and forcefully pulled Billy’s shoulders back, causing the redhead to lose his balance. He reached and tried to punch the air as he was flung onto his back. Cordelia quickly sat on his stomach, her strong legs pinning him down. He had to be double her weight, but the surprise gave her an extra couple of seconds. She held her hands against his neck, leaning down so that her elbows pushed his arms to the floor. She could almost taste his breath on her tongue, their faces were so close together. Her fingers tightened on his throat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max approach. Just as the redhead came into view, there was something jabbing out of Billy’s neck. He looked dazed, and Max pulled Cordelia upright. 

Billy stood slowly and stared at Cordelia, then Max. He reached into his neck, pulling a green tipped syringe out of his flesh. The needle was small, and delicate, and fearing he’d use it as a weapon, Cordelia held her arms out in front of the younger girl.

“The hell is this.” He said, glancing up and down at the syringe and then his sister. He moved several paces forward. “You little shit, what did you do?”

Then, he landed backwards, falling onto the carpeted floorboards with a loud thud. Out cold. 

“Shit,” Mike said. 

Max’s mouth was open as Billy started to laugh, and then Cordelia saw Steve. He was passed out on the ground, his eyes closed and face starting to swell. She moved gracefully over Billy’s body and kneeled next to Steve. 

“Steve?” She asked, watching his chest rise and fall. “Goddamn it.” She whispered, closing her eyes. She was alone now.

“Stay away from my friends, Billy!” Max growled at her brother several feet away, as Cordelia felt for Steve’s pulse, checking for irregularities. 

Cordelia turned around and rose as the hellish-bat hit the ground in between Billy’s legs, all the doing of Max. She pulled it out, the floorboards splintering. “Say you understand! Say it! Say it!” She screamed at her stepbrother. 

He lolled his head to the side, “I understand.”

“What?” Max asked. “I understand,” Billy mumbled again, this time slightly clearer and louder then the last. 

Max dropped the bat and retreated back to where Lucas stood. Looking down at Billy, Cordelia took in a breath when she saw the keys imprinted in his jeans pocket. She leaned down, and shook them in her fingers.

“I’m done with this,” Cordelia said, meaning the creatures and the fighting.“Let’s get the hell out of here and finish those bastards off.” 

taglist; @preciousbabypeter @earthtostory 

[hahahahahangst]

Carrefour zombies (Be The Young 11)

GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, self-h*rm, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of s*x, s*xual assault

All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will break canon (mostly from the S2 finale) but will try to get back into it for the sake of ✨ lore ✨ .

Summary: Emily's life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.

"After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [...] He’s your real father."

MASTERLIST

Carrefour Zombies

I just felt the need to do something good, something normal Rather than going home, where the guilt lives?

She did not cry. She did not freak out. She thought she was going to, but she never did. It was as if all her feelings were stuck somewhere in her throat, and couldn’t get unstuck. She saw how in pain her brothers were, but she could not get herself to match it. For hours, all she did was stare at her dad’s lifeless body. Waiting for a hint of sadness to pervade her.

They spent the days following their father’s death in an almost religious silence. They checked out of the hospital and did the whole ordeal of burning his body barely speaking to each other. Emily, especially, tried her best to stay out of the way of her brothers and just watched them from a distance.

After they had burnt the body, they drove back to Bobby's. 

Emily tried to keep herself occupied by being a bootleg copy of a stay-at-home mom because thinking about the fact that her dad had died and she wasn't feeling nowhere near as sad as she was expecting to was slowly consuming her. She cooked and she made beds, she cleaned around and did laundry. Bobby’s house had probably never been that clean in decades. For a while, there was no fighting, no screaming. Only some quiet talking and the sound of paper cutlery being used against paper plates. However, the atmosphere was not nice and relaxed. Emily felt like the smallest wrong step or word could break the entire card castle and slowly tumble all of them into a fight. Dean was busy working on restoring the Impala to its original state, even though there was little to salvage, and was in absolute denial about their recent loss. Emily had discovered a passion for baking and was momentarily taking the fourth pie of the week out of the oven. She had been trying different recipes she found lying around in Bobby’s house, sitting right next to some antique spells, using Dean as a taste tester. The presence of cooking books in Bobby's home tipped her off to a past where he led a normal life with someone else, but she was too shy to ask about it.

With Dean, it was like a silent agreement that as long as she didn’t bring up John, they would have lived in peace. So she baked for him -too much, according to Bobby- in an attempt to make him feel better. An attempt that was, of course, failing. 

Nonetheless, she cut a slice of pie, laid it on a plastic plate and made her way to the junkyard with the biggest smile possible and the best mood available to her. 

“How’s the car coming along?” She asked, sitting on another car’s hood. 

“Slow.” Answered Dean from under the car.

“I think you missed a spot.” Dean, surprised, came out of his hiding place and actually checked where she was pointing, just to find her smiling and pointing at the entire wreck. 

“Very funny.” He commented, rolling back under the car to hide a smile. 

“I brought you pie, I need feedback.” He immediately came out again and stood up. She gave him the slice of pie. He ate it all before giving any reactions. 

“This one came out good.” He said, cleaning his mouth and smiling at her, showing her a thumb pointing up. 

“The whole thing is in the kitchen if you want.” She said, coming down from the hood and leaning under the Impala to take a look. “What do you want for dinner?” She asked. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Emily, what are you doing?” 

“Asking you what you want for dinner?” She said, straightening back up, confused. 

”...And why are you doing that?” He insisted, suspicious.

“Because that’s what I am here for.“ she smiled. “To heal and recover, remember? Might as well help around in the meantime.” He looked at her even more suspiciously. 

“Did Sam put you up to this?” 

“What, you think this is pity?” She said, wandering around the garage and picking up a random tool. “It would be a bit hypocritical of me to ask you to talk about your feelings, right?” She put the tool down after Dean scowled at her.

“Yup.”

“See? So, what do you want? We can either have fried chicken sandwiches or we can have regular hamburgers.” 

“You already know my answer.” Said Dean, struggling to go roll back under the Impala, back to his job. 

“Alright, hamburgers and pie it is!” She stretched and turned back, almost tripping over Sam, who came from behind the corner. 

Back in the house, Bobby was putting away some books that had been lying in the room. 

“So, how’s he doing?” He asked her. “He loved my pie.” She said, happily bragging. “I even got a smile out of him.” 

“Good, good. What about…“ 

“I have not asked him about John, Bobby.” 

“Why not?” He insisted. She raised a finger, signaling him to wait. They heard Sam and Dean arguing just outside the building. 

“Hear that? That’s why. I am not going to bring that guy more misery, damn it.” 

Bobby muttered something under his breath as he kept tidying up the books. Emily went back into the kitchen and a little later, after the fight had calmed down, she heard the door close behind her. 

“Bobby, can we take one of your cars?” Said Sam’s voice.

“If you can find a working one, sure.” 

“Where are you guys going?” Intervened Emily. “We cracked dad’s voice code and we are checking out someone.” 

“Oh, so we are talking about him now?” She said, sarcastic. 

“Not now, Emily, we are kind of in a rush.” Answered Sam. 

“Of course, of course… But can you wait 20 minutes? I’ll pack you dinner for the road?” 

She already had a pan in her left hand while she said that. Sam made a weird face she chose to ignore, sighed and reluctantly agreed. She showed her biggest smile and started cooking the hamburgers and fries. She packed it all in two brown paper bags. 

They grabbed them and left soon after. Dean didn’t know yet, but she had added some surprise pie.

After they left, Emily sat on the couch. She covered her face with her hands and released a long, deep sigh.

“You done?” Asked Bobby, passing her a beer from over her head. 

“Doing what?” She opened the beer.

“Playing housewife. Pretending to not be as miserable as you actually are?” 

“I am not pretending.” She heard the man stop walking. 

“Right, so I guess it was not you I found drunk and crying in the bathroom yesterday night?” 

She didn't answer. She opened the beer and started drinking. 

“You know, you are allowed to feel bad about this.” Continued the man, resuming his pacing around, still putting books away. “You did lose your father after all.”

“What good would that do?” She sighed. 

“Not letting yourself feel things is exactly the way you ended up stuck here!” He said, putting away the final book. 

Emily stood up and threw away the empty beer bottle. “Cut it out, Bobby.” She said, before making her way upstairs and going back to her bed without waiting for his answer. 

She turned the key of her room and leaned on the door. 

It was not about her and how she felt anymore. All of a sudden, she felt the urge of tending to her brothers and she decided to not fight that urge. She was tired of fighting. She let it take over. 

She could not take away the image of Dean, one step away from death, from her mind. Of how much it reminded her of Alex. 

She could not stop thinking about Sam and what he had said. That she was just afraid of getting attached. 

Maybe he was right. 

Seeing Dean die reminded her that she felt some affection towards him, because after all, he was her brother. It reminded her of how much time she wasted fighting over small things, over a word said at the wrong time. 

If all of that was to die with Dean, what would she have left? The terrible memory of a brother who called her a bitch. All because she wanted to pretend she was tough and hard and needed no help. That she was not about to break. Until she broke and could not put her pieces back together herself. Until Dean had to dress her like a doll and wash her like a kid. Until it was, substantially, too late to fix her. 

That was her price to pay for not letting the hunting life make her cold, hard, angry. Her dad was right: it made her weak.

All she could think about was ways to make her brother feel better, new ways to keep herself occupied, to not have the time to think. 

Because whenever she thought, she would fall into a pit that smelled like suicide and tasted like iron in her mouth. 

That night was one of those nights. 

She slid her hand under the bed to reach for her backpack and took her knife out of it. 

The temptation was high. It could all be gone in a matter of seconds. 

All her mistakes, all the pain, it could disappear. All she had to do was cut in the right direction. 

Instead, she could cut in the wrong direction and inflict herself some pain to kick away the pain. It was a cowardly choice, but it was the one she made. And so she cut. Her knife was sharp, as it should have been since it was supposed to be used for hunting, so it was not difficult to start bleeding. She watched the blood running on her arm and wondered when she was going to start feeling bad for her father's death. 

Everyone seemed so devastated and she could not feel a damn thing about the man. She was hurting for all the wrong reasons. 

Her phone started ringing. She picked up without even looking at who was calling. 

“Hello?” She said, failing to hide a sneeze.

“Hey kid.” said Dean's voice. ”...wait, were you crying?” Emily rolled her eyes.

“No, of course not, I was… I’ve got a cold.” She stood up and started pacing around the small bedroom. 

“Right… listen I'm just calling to check-in, Sam had a bad feeling that something was wrong.” 

“What? Uh- no, no… all is fine.” She lied. Then it came to her that it was like the sixth time in a row that Sam knew exactly what she was thinking without her ever saying it. “Dean, can you… can you put Sam on?” 

Dean answered a quick “sure.” and a couple of crunchy sounds later, she was talking with Sam.

“Sam, I do not know what you are doing, but stop it.” 

“I- uh.” he stumbled while Emily heard gravel sounds. “So you finally noticed, uh.” He finally sighed a couple of seconds later. 

“Yes, and I would like you to stop!”

“I am not doing anything, Emily, you think too loud!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She almost screamed. 

“I mean, I thought I was crazy at first, but…“

“But what?!”

“Were you not thinking about calling it quits just about ten minutes ago?” 

Emily stopped pacing. “What, how-”

“I really can't help it, I am tuned in on Emily radio and can't turn it off.” 

And did this asshole never thought I wanted to know? Thought Emily. 

“No need to call me an asshole.” sighed Sam on the other side of the phone. 

“I swear to god if you-”

“Listen, can we talk about this as soon as we come back? I have not spoken with Dean about it yet, so-”

“Yeah.. Uh- yeah I guess he doesn’t need anything more to worry about.” 

“Right. I'll call you later, okay? Don't… Don't get too upset.” 

He closed the communication.

[peterpparkrr]

Drowning in the Light (3/?)

Chapter 3: Reawakening

Summary: The reader is a Jedi Padawan training under Luke Skywalker and is best friends with one Ben Solo. Unfortunately, just as soon as we meet her, it seems that her whole life flips upside down. Will the dark side succeed in destroying everything she holds dear?

A/N: We're in the action now! Next chapter will feature a confrontation with the man formerly known as Ben Solo, as well as the introduction (finally! I know it's taken forever) of a Mister Poe Dameron. (plus the link to a spotify playlist for this series is also coming soon!) (apologies for spelling and grammar)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader (slooooooow burn)

(Part 1) (Part 2) // (Part 4) (Part 5)

playlist for this series can be found here. you can also read this series on ao3.

“Chewie. We’re home.” Han says with a grin as the three of you walk through, onto the ship you’d just captured -- sorry, Han’s ship that you’d just rightfully taken back.

You couldn’t help but smile along with Han as you looked around, after years of Han and Chewie telling you stories about the Millenium Falcon and the “glory days” you were excited to finally see it yourself. Although the longer you looked around the more you realized that they had been even more hyperbolic than usual. The Falcon’s vintage, but she’d certainly seen better years.

You open your mouth to say something when you hear a noise and are quick to follow it to one of the grates in the floor. You and Chewie pulled it open only to see a girl, a boy, and a droid staring back up at you.

“Where are the others? Where’s the pilot?” Han asks the pair as you help pull them out of the crawl space.

“I’m the pilot,” The girl replied quickly.

Han and Chewie shared a look of disbelief. The two humans looked like they were about your age, but you could tell they had no idea what they were doing, just the two of them on a ship like this? You weren’t buying it either.

“No, it’s true, we’re the only ones on board,” The guy added.

Han looked them over before sighing, “Where’d you get this ship?”

“Niima outpost,” The girl responds quickly.

“Jakku? That junkyard?” Han asks in disbelief, “Told you we should’ve double-checked the western reaches. Who had it? Dukain?”

“I stole it, Unnkar Plutt, he stole it from the Irving boys who stole it from Dukain.”

“Who stole it from me! Well, you tell him Han Solo just stole back the Millennium Falcon for good,” Han tells her with a smug grin.

“This is the Millennium Falcon? You're Han Solo?” the girl asked with wide eyes.

Han’s face clouds over slightly, “I used to be.”

“Han Solo? The Rebellion General?” the guy asks as he turns to look at you curiously. You just shrug your shoulders in response.

“No, the smuggler!” his companion protests.

“Wasn't he a war hero?!” The man asks as he turns to you and Chewie.

"Yeah, I guess, kinda..." Chewie roars.

“Barely,” You add with a scoff.

You were all but ready to throw them in a pod when the pair drops a bomb.

“Wait! No -- we need your help!” She pleads

“Our help?” Han asks.

“This droid has to get to the Resistance base as soon as possible!” You look up at the girl curiously. What information could be so important that the resistance would need this desperately?

“He's carrying a map to Luke Skywalker.” The guy tells you.

You and Han both stop dead in your tracks as you glance over at each other. There was no way… right?

“You are the Han Solo that fought with the Rebellion. You knew him.” The guy offers as he looks past you, right at Han. You feel bad for him, sure he was your master, but he was Han’s best friend, his brother. You’d never actually talked about it, about what happened, Han never asked, and you’d never offered up that information. You’d both left your pasts behind the day he’d taken you along. And you had no intention of going back.

“Yeah, I knew him. I knew Luke,” Han tells the pair, a faraway look in his eyes.

Before you could ask any more questions you were all interrupted by a loud clunking coming from your cargo docks.

“Don't tell me a Rathtar's gotten loose.”

“Wait -- a what?! Did you just say Rathtars? Hey!”

You and the others all exit the ship and quickly move towards one of the control panels. But before you can try to get a handle on the Rathtar situation you see a ship docking.

“Oh great. It's the Guavian Death Gang -- they must've tracked us from Nantoon.”

You huff, “I told you we should’ve-”

“What's a Rathtar?” The girl asks you as one of the other screens shows a large tentacle dragging its way through another part of the ship.  

“They're big and dangerous…”

“Y'ever heard of the Trillia Massacre?!” Her companion asks, clearly concerned with the dangerous turn the current situation had taken.

“No.” She replies.

“Good.”

You quickly get the pair back below deck where they won’t be seen, keeping the BB droid up above with you. You knew this was gonna get ugly.

“Han Solo. You are a dead man.” Bala-Tik says as he stares you all down. Han smiles innocently. The droid at your feet looks back and forth between the gang and Han nervously.

“Bala-Tik. What's the problem?” Han asks innocently

“The problem is we loaned you fifty thousand for this job.” “I heard you also borrowed fifty thousand from Kanjiklub.”

“I never made a deal with Kanjiklub!”

“Tell that to Kanjiklub.”

You hear the familiar sound of a portal opening and you watch the life drain out of Han’s face as the Kanjiklub members appear on the other side of the corridor. Han smiles uncomfortably at the Kanjiklub members.

“It's over for you.”

Tasu cocks his weapon, everyone’s here for blood. The droid beeps nervously at your feet.

You put your hands up in surrender, “Boys, please, you're both gonna get what we promised! Have we ever not delivered for you before?”

“Yes,” Bala-Tik replies at the same time that Tasu growls, “Twice!”

“Nowhere left for you to hide. You and your little girlfriend are gonna have to pay.”

You gulp and glance over at Han, your plan to talk your way out of this wasn’t going to plan, and you’d already been cornered.

“That BB unit... the First Order is looking for one just like it. And two fugitives,” Bala comments as he looks at the droid cowering behind your legs curiously.

“First I've heard of it,” Han says with a noncommittal shrug as you try to figure out what kind of mess you’ve managed to get yourselves mixed up in.

But before anyone can move again there’s an angry growl as the once semi-contained Rathtars hurtle out of their corner of the ship and directly at the Guavian Death Gang.

Once the Rathtars are loose everything happens so quickly you can’t quite process it. You manage to lose both gangs (thanks to the Rathars which you’re pretty sure ate all of them) and get out of there alive with the others.

--

“You know, just once I’d like someone to assume I’m your daughter,” You huff as you and Han pull Chewie up the ram and into the Falcon.

“You’re telling me, kid.”

“Please, you come off great,” You reply with a dismissive pfft, “Like you could get with a young, hot-”

“You and the boy bandage Chewie up,” Han instructs as he moves on to the cockpit.

“So who are you exactly?” You ask the man as you motion for him to hold down Chewie as you bandage up his wound.

“My name is Finn,” He replies, “I’m with the resistance.”

You chuckle slightly at his horrible lie, “No you’re not, I know the resistance, maybe the girl’s naive enough to believe you-”

“Rey-”

“Well Finn, you and Rey are going to be in a lot more trouble when people figure out you’re not who you say you are,” You tell him before pressing down on Chewie’s wound, hard, causing him to howl in pain.

“I-I just-”

“Well you should start with telling the truth, where’d you find the droid?”

“I was with a resistance pilot, it’s his droid, we were going to look for it when I found BB-8 with Rey. We really do need to get it back to the resistance.”

“Hey, we’ll figure it out, Maz will get the droid to General Organa and then we can go back to our own lives,” You tell Finn with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry.”

--

“Han Solo! And (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” Maz shouts when your group enters the cantina. It’s packed, yet the entire place goes silent at the mention of your names. Shit.

“Oh boy,” Han mutters under his breath as you both smile at Maz.

“Hiya Maz,” You say with a smile as you hug the woman in front of you, “It’s good to see you.”

“Yes, yes, I assume you’re here on business,” She comments as she looks at the others curiously, “Well come! Sit!”

--

“A map to Skywalker himself? You’re right back in the mess,” Maz says with a cheeky smile. After you and Han explain your situation to her. About how you found Finn, Rey, and the droid.

“Maz, I need you to get this droid to Leia,” Han explained.

“Hmm. No. You've been running away from this fight for too long. Han, (Y/N), nyakee nago wadda. Go home! Both of you!” She shouts at you.

Han sighed and shook his head, “Leia doesn't want to see me.”

As the others continue to argue with Maz you tune out of the conversation.

As everyone breaks off you’re left sitting at the table with Maz. She stares at you intently as you sigh and try to think of something you can say to distract her from what you know she wants to ask you about.

“The place looks great Maz, really-” But stop dead in your tracks when you feel it. The force, pulling you down beneath the trading post. Master Skywalker’s Lightsaber.

Before you can stop yourself. Before you can remind yourself that you left that life behind you, you’re standing up and walking through the crowd.

“Rey? Are you...” You ask cautiously as you walk up to her. But she just mumbles something of an apology to Maz and pushes the lightsaber into her hands before running off, the droid close behind her.

“You can’t keep running from your destiny, my dear, you need to help her,” Maz tells you. Just as vague and mysterious as per usual.

“The girl -- Rey-- she’s…” You stammer out as you try to organize your thoughts. Realizing your suspicions from when you first met her were right. You thought you’d felt something, like the force pulling you towards her, but you were so out of practice, so removed from everything, that you hadn’t been sure.

“She’s like you,” Maz replies as she takes your hand, confirming your suspicions, you’d been able to feel something when you boarded the Falcon, something you hadn’t felt since your time training, “Just as powerful, but without your training.”

“Go to her. Help her, she’s going to need you now more than ever,” Maz urged you as you nodded grimly and took off after the younger woman.

But you didn’t get very far. As you stood in the doorway of the outpost and scanned the tree line for a hint of where the girl and the droid had run off to you were shocked by a large shock of blood-red light streaming across the horizon.

You watched in horror, along with the growing crowd as the beams of light flew across the sky. You felt a sharp pain in your core as they made an impact.

“Maz…” You didn’t even have to finish the sentence for her to know what you wanted to ask.

“The Hosnian System, my dear.” She replies sadly as she looks up at you.

“Oh my god.” You felt the life drain out of you at that moment. Your parents. You can’t look away from the sky, you can’t move, even as you hear the sound of ships approaching.

[vexxedvixxen]

The dark cavernous paths call out to my romanticizing, ethereal, Pisces mind

A siren song

with the promise of

love-everlasting

&

moody-melancholic, glamour

seduces my blinded soul

-down, down into its hollowed depths.

As if in a transcendental state

I go..

deep into the cool,

dirt-fragrant earth

dreaming of psyillocibin colored shamanic visions

Lit up by crystallized gemstones bejeweled & blinged out

stalagmites imprisoning me in a false embrace; as deceptive as a lullaby

The lullaby was death metal,

Or maybe Marilyn Manson,

or Kris Kross??

Oh but what I heard

What I imagined I heard

Was:

Ella Fitzgerald,

Tom Petty

Or

Lupe Fiasco

Maybe..Common

I sat under radiating sun-streamed cracks bathing in the glow of a sci-fi cozmonut’s Heaven’s Gate

in which the depths of this hell would burn lasting impressions upon my skin-blistering into my bones

And all the while I complacently …No…eagerly sat

starry eyed glazed over hopefulness at this new love

You

Bluebearded potions

poisoning my sensibilities

Preying on my sensitivities

My only antidote fading out into the cosmic field musical lyrical flow once stuck on repeat dissipates into the ether

“it ain't never easy

to do any type of maintaining cuz all this gaming and famin' from

entertainin' is hella straining to the brain and...” (1).

I rest,

I’m dehydrated by your cruelty breathless from being an isolated integer..I’m showing signs cracking..fractioning from the neglect- more accurate though reject-ion

Hyperventilating ozone thinned oxygen

Solo stoking a fire that I thought was meant for two.

I choke down cherry lipped kool-aid as lava orange glowing embers burn my irises into hypno-spirals

I nod and obey on cue

Ecstatic when thrown your bone ooh a treat.

I’m not worthy

No really though..that’s what I thought

That’s what I felt

It’s not what I rationalized

It was imprinted on me at birth.

My pain runs deep and I’m starved with a voracious hunger to be understood and I wolf down your treats- validation I’m ok, I am worthy…??? The question mark unfortunately remains

Resembling a junkyard junky-rabid-dog with a love starved soul paranoid it’s security gig at the wrecking yard, are numbered

a poisoned mind can make sense out of senseless beliefs

Best to blow the shit up than wait for the end

It always feels so near in the beginning.

Conditioning it was all I needed

Like a bastardized offspring of Pavlov

I could have learned to salivate AND Believe nourishment existed in our experimental lab

Ah but no you kept tabs

More tolerant than most…but then cruel biting a hand that only hoped to feed you- literally-figuratively-Innuendo-y

But at what cost would I sell @ ?

You must have not excelled at the mathematics

‘Cuz the figure offered was downright robbery

Robbery of my pussy and the palace it guards? for what?!

“What’s that?!”

Oh so I did hear you right

For Free

oh yes now I recall

that’s what it was…the fair price of free for you and nothing for me.

Free of commitment

Free of loyalty

Free of decency

Free of respectability

Free of choices..oh that one’s for me

I thought when I wrote in plain English that I’m not someone- like them-

That come a dime a dozen

Or a size-pence

I go deep- (& yes ‘clearing my throat’ deep there too)

I’m not built for shallow stuff

Complacently skimming along your surfaces- all shady and ice cold

No- I’m deep like deep pockets

Deep pockets in front of the neighborhood corner store

Deep pockets filled with coca-cola, flour, and Mona-Lisa’s

Expensive as my common sense/cents? Rare coins- made me no stranger to con’s

Was that you? Double sided coins at times- I found I changed minds about you- flip heads-flip tails…

But the lust had me dusted

brought upon me like a spell

Something Wicked this way did cum

It was poison & I got drunk off it.

I found myself shamed as I

stumbled over words

“I’m not worthy” I might as well have been slurring out my texts

Over apologizing

Over expressing

ingratiated-cravings of your “kindness”

Your tolerance of my ‘crazy’ crazy? Oh the emotional tidal waves that raged passion thru my veins and cloudy rain soaked skies made acid with reality

I hear my voice

Distant from the brainwashed, blood washed, skin-washed raw

Fantasy I twirled away in

But I can still hear it

deep, deep in the back rooms that whisper ‘silence’ with their darkness

But I can’t be silenced

Not when authenticity hangs in the balance

I will rise up covered in the wisdom

Of these damp & muddied sage colored hallowed grounds

The clay hardening a protective shell all around that which risked a fate of fading backwards into a semblance of old patterns- a shell of my truest self…

I can see the light thru the tunnel and now I realize the illusion

My disillusionment

You were but a mere allegory in my cave

A shadow that loomed larger than life from the fire

I

Set ablaze

Burning with only my passion

You stabbed at it

You killed the beast and set my running-with-scissors kind of imagination free

Your silence the map coaxing it back from where it had been lost in the wild

Wild abandonment

I’ve come full circle

This time the circle has closure the abandonment no longer can imprison me in Plato’s cave

A whole new world awaits me

“I ain’t mad at ya” (2)

Credits:

(1). The Pharcyde: Runnin’

Labcabincalifornia (1995)

Writer(s): James Dewitt Yancey, Tre Vant Jermaine Hardson, Maria Helena De Toledo Shermont, Romye Robinson, Emandu Wilcox, Derrick L. Stewart, Luiz Floriano Bonfa (https://www.azlyrics.com/p/pharcyde.html)

(2). 2Pak: I Ain’t Mad at You

All Eyez on Me Album (1996)

[mittensmorgul]

12.22:

Mary: It's not okay. Since I've been back, I know... I've been distant. Cold, even. Leaving you, working with them.. I was trying to make things right. Just from a distance, because.. being here with you was too hard. Seeing what I'd done to you and to Sam, I... Dean: Mom, what you did, the deal... everything that's happened since has made us who we are. And who we are? We kick ass. We save the world.

14.13:

SAM: Did you see them at dinner, the way they looked at each other? They just seemed happy, you know? It doesn’t feel fair to get all this and have to throw it away, and I know we have to. But it just feels like, you know… Once we send Dad back… it’s none of this ever happened. He – he just goes back to – to… to being Dad. DEAN: You saying you wish things would be different? SAM: Don’t you? Can you imagine – dad in the past, knowing then what he knows now? I… I think it would be nice. DEAN: Yeah. I used to think that, too. But, uh… I mean, look, we’ve been through some tough times. There’s no denying that. SAM: Yeah. DEAN: And for the longest time, I blamed Dad. I mean, hell, I blamed Mom, too, you know? I was angry. But say we could send Dad back knowing everything. Why stop there? Why not send him even further back and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world? But here’s the problem. Who does that make us? Would we be better off? Well, maybe. But I gotta be honest – I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is. And I’m good with who I am. I’m good with who you are. ‘Cause our lives – they’re ours. And maybe I’m just too damn old to want to change that.

but also:

12.23:

KELLY: God, please. I need help. SVEN [on phone]: I'm trying to help you, ma'am. KELLY: Are you, Sven? Because if you ask me if I have the quarter-inch Allen wrench one – one more time, I am going to come down there and burn your giant Viking junkyard of a store to the ground! Do you understand?! SVEN: Are you sure it wasn't in the box? KELLY: God! [she tosses the phone away in exasperation] CASTIEL: Kelly. I told you I'd put this together. I'm very good at following instructions. And you need to rest. KELLY: No, I don't. CASTIEL: Kelly – [Cas helps Kelly to her feet] KELLY: No, Cas, I don't. I can't. I don't know how long until... I don't know how long I have left. And I...I'm never gonna be able to teach him how to ride a bike or watch him get married or even look him in the eyes. But I can build him a stupid Swedish crib! I can do that. CASTIEL: Kelly, I know how hard this is. [Kelly gives Cas an incredulous look] That's a lie. I have no idea how hard this is for you. But I promise you... I will do everything. I will give my life for your son. And I will raise him. And I will make him someone you will be proud of.

(note that all their work on the nursery, all their preparations for Jack’s birth, building the crib and assuming they’d have a long road of raising a Smol Babby proved... to be a lie... everything they did was... pointless... in the end)

and 14.20:

JACK: You lied to me. CASTIEL: Jack. JACK: (yelling) You lied!

and

SAM: Well, it's like you said. (Chuckles) It's Celine Dion. Uh... I mean Celine Dion. It's Celi-- (Sam stammers) Dean, every time I try and say "Elvis," it comes out -- DEAN: The sad, horrible truth. Yeah. You know why? Because we can't lie.

and

MRS. KLINE: You lied to us. You said you worked with Kelly, but after you left, my husband and I, we made some calls, and no one knows who you are. JACK: I... I didn't.  MRS. KLINE: Yes, you did. Kelly's not away on some "secret mission." She... (Crying) They think she's dead. What did you do to my daughter?! (yelling) What did you do?!

and

DEAN: (looking at his phone) When people can't lie, the Internet gets real quiet.

and

WORKER #7 (in a singsong voice) I hate everyone! I hate everyone!  WORKER #5 (crying) I just want to be loved. WORKER #7: I hate everyone! I hate everyone!  OFF SCREEN: I just want a sweet life.  WORKERS #7: I hate everyone!  (Chuck and Castiel are watching the chaos) CHUCK: see, this is why people need to lie.  -I hate everyone! CHUCK: It's good. Keeps the peace, you know?

and

CASTIEL: Seems like an odd stance for...you.  CHUCK: Is it? I'm a writer. Lying's kind of what we do.

and

(Woman speaking Chinese dialect)- The state is a lie.

and

CAS: Can you fix it? CHUCK: (Sighs) Fine. (Snaps fingers) Fixed. SAM: Really? CHUCK: I'm God, Sam. Yeah, really. Go ahead. Try it out. DEAN:: Celine Dion rocks. Yeah. Yeah, we can lie again. CAS: And the rioting? CHUCK: Like it never happened.

and

CHUCK: Listen, you guys know me. I'm hands-off. I built the sandbox -- you play in it. You want to fight Leviathans? Cool. You got that. You want to go up against -- what was it? -- the "British Men of Letters"? Okay. Little weak, but okay. But when things get really bad, like the Apocalypse or the Other Apocalypse, that's when I have to step in. SAM: So you're saying Jack is Apocalyptic? CHUCK: The kid said, "Stop lying," and I don't know if you noticed, but the world kinda went insane.

and

SAM: So, Michael said that you create these worlds and you just toss them away like failed versions of some book.  CHUCK: And you believe him? SAM: Was he lying? Is that what you're doing to us? CHUCK: No. Sam... you and your brother, of all the Sams and Deans in all the multiverse, you're my favorite. You're just so interesting. I mean, like that thing that happened at the office earlier today -- that was crazy, right?

and

JACK: And I thought I could make the world a better place if people couldn't lie. CAS: Well, it didn't. JACK: It really didn't.

and

SAM: Wait. I thought Chuck said that the gun was the only thing that could... (indicating Jack, who is dead on the ground, eyes burned out) CAS: He's a writer. Writers lie.

and

BUT ALSO!

12.23:

SAM: Crowley...why did you do it? Save Lucifer– What did you want? CROWLEY: I wanted to win. I perverted mother's spell, put Lucifer in a vessel of my own making because I wanted to win. You have any idea how many people have made a play for my throne over the years? Lucifer, Abaddon, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Too damn many. I thought if I could put the Devil on a leash... my own personal nuke, no one would ever dare challenge me again. DEAN: Yeah. That worked out great. CROWLEY: All ended with me narrowly escaping death by hiding in a rat. MARY: Wait. In an...actual rat? CROWLEY: Wasn't too bad, really. Gave me time to think. You know, I've been focused for so long on keeping my job. Never realized I hate it. All those whining demons, the endless moan of damned souls, the paperwork! I mean, who wants that?

and

LUCIFER: Well... this is a fun surprise. I gotta hand it to you guys. You never give up, even when you should. Even when it would be so stupid not to. SAM: Look, whatever you're planning on doing, Chuck...God will stop you, just like he did last time. LUCIFER: You're right. What should I do? Oh, God! Don't strike me dead! Come on, Sam. You sound like a virgin in Jesus camp. "We can't. God is watching." No. Chuck "walked." He's gone. DEAN: So you're just gonna smash his toys? LUCIFER: Exactly. 'Cause every time I look at this sad trash fire of a world, you know what I keep thinking? I could do so much better. DEAN: So Apocalypse, take two. That's your plan? LUCIFER: When in doubt, go with the classics. That's what I always say. Well, boys, enough with the foreplay. Let's do this.

14.20

SAM: Do you watch us? When you're not here, are -- are you... watching us? CHUCK: Yeah. (Exhales deeply) I mean, you're my favorite show. SAM: Then why don't you do something? If I had your power -- CHUCK: Sam. We talked about this. Not the way it works. SAM: (Sighs) Wait a second. Why, when the chips are down, when the world is -- is failing, why does it always have to be on us?!  CHUCK: Because you're my guys. But right now, we need to focus on Jack. Ah, that kid. (Breathes deeply) Whew! SAM: Wait a second. You're scared of him.  CHUCK: Aren't you?

and

JACK: And you were right all along. I am a monster. SAM: (to Chuck) Do something. (he realizes with shock) You're enjoying this.  CHUCK: Shh.  (Dramatic music plays) (Dean cocks the gun. He looks Jack in the eye for several seconds and then slowly lowers the gun. At this point, Castiel also comes running towards the area) (Dean uncocks the gun and tosses it to the side) CHUCK: No. Pick it up! Pick it up.  DEAN: The hell, Chuck? CHUCK: This isn't how the story is supposed to end.  CAS: The story?  CHUCK: (frustrated) Lookit, the -- the -- the gathering storm, the gun, the -- the father killing his own son. This is Abraham and Isaac. This is epic! DEAN: Wait. What are you saying? SAM: He's saying he's been playing us. This whole time. CHUCK: Come on. SAM: Our entire lives. Mom, Dad -- everything. This is all you because you wrote it all, right? Because -- Because what? Because we're your favorite show? Because we're part of your story?

(because in the end Crowley’s spell did nothing, Cas’s self-sacrifice meant nothing, Lucifer’s destruction meant nothing because Michael wrought the same destruction as they were both trapped inside the same story and couldn’t even recognize themselves as Chuck’s characters who were just as “programmed” by Chuck as any of the angels who’d ever been subjected to Naomi’s reprogramming ever were... I mean they may have been partly right about Chuck, but they were still blind to the fact that even in their supposed “rebellion” they were always only ever Chuck’s pawns, enacting his favorite narrative for all time and unable to break free of it)

And the universe takes everything away from Sam and Dean again, and the beginning of another go-around of the narrative. Only this is the last go-around where Cas can be treated as someone that can be taken away from them and still continue to perform according to Chuck’s expectations within his story. This loss broke Dean. And Cas might not understand that yet, but it proved to the audience that Cas is integral to the Winchester Family. Chuck’s story can’t only revolve around Sam and Dean against the world. And by the end of 14.20, at least he’s learned that.

[theguineapig3]

Tales Whump Week Day 5: Sick

“Lost Artes”

Tales of Symphonia Words: 1738 Characters: Raine, Virginia, Genis Sage

Raine studied healing magic for her brother’s sake. It allowed her to heal cuts, scrapes, bruises, broken bones, and all manner of other wounds he might suffer. Unfortunately, healing spells couldn't do anything for infections. Long ago, she had trusted in a magic stronger than any other, one that could heal instantly and completely… but now she knew that it was a lie. That magic she’d once believed in had never existed in the first place, and there was no way it would help her or Genis now.

There was a knock on the door.

It was late, but the child’s bedroom was illuminated by candlelight, and it reflected off the long, silver hair of the woman who entered. She was a tall, elegant woman, carrying a tray with a steaming mug of tea and a tiny cup filled with a thick, reddish liquid. Her gaze moved across the floor, littered with books and dolls, and over to the bed where the little girl was curled up with her eyes closed. The woman smiled and approached the bed, sitting down at the foot and speaking softly to her daughter.

“I see that book you're hiding under the blankets. If you're awake enough to read, you're awake enough to take your medicine.”

The girl, no more than seven years old, opened her eyes and reluctantly pulled the book out. It was a thick, leather-bound tome that appeared far too advanced for a child her age, but the woman knew better. She waited until her daughter had marked her page and set it aside, and then placed the tray in front of her.

“Tea?” the girl asked in a hoarse voice. “Daddy lets me have sherbet with my medicine.”

The mother placed a hand over her mouth to conceal her amused smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Because, according to your father, you told him that I let you have sherbet with your medicine.”

The girl’s already flushed face turned an even deeper shade of red. “Th-the cold makes my throat feel better!”

“This tea has lemon juice and honey in it,” the woman answered, still smiling. “It will do far more to help your throat. Now take your medicine while it’s cooling down, okay?”

The girl sighed in defeat and picked up the little cup, examining its contents. She took a sniff of the red liquid and made a disgusted face, but her mother didn't say anything, so she steeled her nerves and swallowed it down in one quick gulp.

“That's my girl,” the woman said with a smile, taking the cup from her daughter and pushing the mug of tea towards her. The girl grabbed the mug and took a sip, her grimace mellowing back into a smile as the taste of lemon and honey washed away the echoes of that awful medicine. The tea not only tasted good, it soothed her sore throat, and she closed her eyes to relish the absence of pain for at least a moment.

That moment ended too soon, unfortunately, as she fell into a coughing fit. Tears stung her eyes as each heave of her lungs cut into her sore throat like knives, and she fumbled for the tea only to have her desperate gulp interrupted by another cough that sent tea sloshing all down the front of her nightshirt and across the tray. Her mother swooped in, grabbing the mug from her to prevent any further spills and setting it aside on the nightstand before returning to dab at her soiled nightshirt with a dry cloth.

“There, there, it’s alright. It didn't get on the blanket. Let's get you into a new shirt, and then you can go right back to bed, okay?”

The girl didn't answer, going limp and allowing her mother to pull her from bed and lead her across the room to stand beside the dresser. Once she was dressed in clean clothes, she followed her mother back to the side of the bed. But instead of crawling back under the blankets, she just stood by her mother’s side and clung to her dress.

“It… it hurts so much, Mommy…” The girl’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible, but her mother caught every word. She let out a sigh and scooped her daughter up in her arms, sitting down on the bed to let the girl rest in her lap.

“Oh, baby, I know. I know it hurts.” The woman leaned down, pressing her forehead against her daughter’s to feel the heat radiating from it. “I'm so sorry. So sorry.”

The little girl closed her eyes and leaned over to rest her head against her mother’s chest. “I wish…” she began through sobs, “...that you could use a spell and make it better.”

“I wish I could too. But you know why I can’t, don't you?”

The girl nodded. “It’s ‘cause the regenerative effects of the spell would affect the bacteria too, worsening the infection.”

“That's right. Healing magic can’t differentiate between host cells and parasites.” The woman placed her daughter back on the bed, arranging the blankets around her and putting the tray back in front so that she could continue drinking her tea. The girl looked up at her mother with a pensive frown.

“Why can't they make a spell that can differentiate the good cells from the bad?”

“Hm, I wonder. If someone hasn't made it yet, it must be very difficult. But you're smart enough that perhaps you could invent a spell like that yourself one day.”

The girl took another slow sip of tea. “I don't want it one day. I want it now.”

“Well, then…” The mother sat down on the bed, leaning over her daughter with a loving smile. She began to stroke the child’s hair as she continued. “...perhaps I'll teach you about a magic that’s strong enough to cure any disease.”

“Huh? What's that? How come I've never heard of it?”

“It's very, very special. Not everyone can do it.”

“Can I do it?”

“Hmm, not for a long time yet. But perhaps someday.” The woman leaned down and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You see, no matter what you might read in books or learn in school, a mother's love for her child is stronger than any magic in the world. And I love you so much, Raindrop. So you’ll get better soon, I promise.”

Raine sat up straighter and wrapped her arms around Virginia’s neck. “I love you too, Mommy,” she replied softly. “I feel better already.”

No, she hadn't been miraculously cured, but there was something different about the pain now. Somehow, it didn't hurt quite so much.

…

“It… it hurts so much, Raine…”

The little boy was almost four years old, but his tiny frame was so stunted from malnourishment that he didn't look his age. He was curled up in a pile of old, moth-eaten blankets in a dry corner of an old, abandoned barn, listening to the rain as it poured on the roof overhead. A girl, no more than fifteen, sat beside him pressing a cool, wet rag to his burning forehead.

“Oh, Genis, I know. I know it hurts.” Tears streamed down her face and she had to force her words between choked-back sobs. “I'm so sorry. So sorry.”

She knew it wasn't a serious illness, but it was still causing him pain, and that was reason enough for her to worry. Sylvarant didn't have the antibiotics that Tethe’alla did, and the medicine they did have, she couldn't seem to get to. Businesses refused to serve them, and the villagers kept their distance. People tended to avert their eyes, and the ones who were willing to look mostly gave judgemental scoffs when they saw a teenage girl carrying around a little toddler. Raine knew there was no point in trying to defend herself. These people had already made up their minds. The only person she needed to worry about now was her brother.

“Use the spell,” Genis pleaded, tugging at her sleeve. “Use the spell to make it stop hurting.”

“I can’t.”

“You gotta. You can always make it stop hurting.”

Raine shook her head and reached across the floorboards for the cup of water that was set aside to catch rainwater dripping through the holes in the roof. It was all she could give him now, since any potential kindling was too soaked through to make even a small fire for tea. “Not this time, Genis,” she answered, pushing the water towards him. He shoved it away- or at least, he attempted to. He was so weak by this point, all he really did was tap the cup with the side of his hand.

“I don’t wanna drink. It hurts too bad.”

“I know it does, but you need the water. Please, will you drink a little just for me?”

“Then make it not hurt!” Genis snapped, starting to sob as he continued. “You always, always make it not hurt! You always fix it! Why aren't you? Why do you hate me?”

The accusation was nothing more than the desperate ramblings of a pained and feverish toddler who didn't know better. Raine knew that he didn't mean it. But it cut deep nonetheless, and she briefly considered giving him a quick lesson in germ theory just to prove that she didn't hate him. Genis was smart- he could already read from the tattered books she’d managed to scrounge from junkyards and library discard piles, he could write his own name in the dirt with a stick, he could count up to one-hundred and add single-digit numbers with ease… but understanding the difference between wound healing and the immune response required to fight a pathogen was so far beyond even a four-year-old prodigy, Raine knew better than to stress him out with words he didn't understand. He needed reassurance now, not logic or explanations.

Raine didn't try to argue, didn't try to voice her internal protests of ‘I don't hate you; I could never hate you.’ Instead, she simply lay down in the blankets next to Genis and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her side. He initially started to squirm, but he seemed to lose the energy and went limp again. Tired and in pain, he buried his face in her chest and cried.

It was all she could do not to cry with him. “I love you, Genis,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love you so much.”

It didn't matter if he heard her or not. The words wouldn’t do anything to help. They hadn't done anything to prevent the two from ending up in this position, hadn't done anything to make their lives easier or provide for them in this strange, unfamiliar place. Those words she had treasured so long ago no longer held any meaning.

So… why did she feel compelled to speak them anyway?

[waywardrose13]

The Hunter Diaries- Chapter Eleven

Series Masterlist // Rose’s Masterlist

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester had been your best friends for as long as you could remember. Being Bobby Singer’s adoptive daughter, it was sort of inevitable to know the brothers. You knew you’ve had a crush on the elder brother for a long time, but you always thought nothing would happen between the two of you. You’re not the picture perfect model and you aren’t the image every girl strives to be. But maybe, just maybe, you were wrong, and he’d like you too.

This is a story of love, death and demons. A story about a girl who fell in love and hopes to survive long enough to act on it.

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: Language, blood, Aamon

A/N- Two? One? More chapter(s) left. I’m still not sure. This chapter is incredibly important and you may or may not find out what the fuck Aamon is.

TAGS ARE OPEN

I HAVE NOT GIVEN PERMISSION FOR MY FICS TO BE REPOSTED TO ANY OTHER ACCOUNT OR PAGE. IF YOU SEE MY WORK ON ANOTHER SITE OR ON HERE UNDER A DIFFERENT NAME, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. REBLOGS ARE OKAY, REPOSTS ARE NOT. THANK YOU.

Aamon was restless. The moon was to rise in a little less than two hours, which means that the ritual had to be prepped and ready to go by then.

It had been nearly a week and a half since he had taken you from your home. A week and a half of hearing your sarcastic and smart-ass remarks. He couldn’t hurt you, for he needed you for the ritual, so he simply ignored you. He brought you food that you left untouched for nearly five days before you got so hungry, you scarfed down anything you could. He locked you in a room, but it was suited to your comforts. A large canopy bed sat against one of the walls, a large bathroom with a jet tub was off to the right and the room was lit during the day by windows making up two of the walls, overlooking a deep valley of lush, green, snow topped trees and tall grasses. Blue mountains sat far in the distance, the sun waking you each morning by peeking over them, spreading its rose tipped fingers across the land and into the valley below. A tall bookshelf inhabited much of the east wall of the room by the locked door, full of various genres and languages, all ranging from different time periods. They were your only form of entertainment in your confinement to the room and you had already read close to a third of them.

A knock sounded on your door and you lept off your bed, standing straight and tall as Aamon walked in, his jet black hair moving like waves down his back and around his shoulders as he walked. “Hello, love.”

“Come to kill me yet?” You asked. He sighed, shaking his head.

“You ask me that everyday, yet the answer is all the same,” He said. “‘Not quite, but you just wait’. But, unfortunately for you, today is the day.” He smiled at you and held out his hand. You eyed it suspiciously, taking a small step forward.

Just as you had planned for the last week and a half, you brought the jagged piece of metal you had broken off your bed and jabbed it into his neck, pushing him down and sprinting from the room. He let out a growl of rage, a crimson fountain spouting from the side of his neck from where he pulled the metal from his flesh.

“You won’t get far, Y/N/!” He yelled. You panted as you sprinted down the twisting hallways, turning into corridor after corridor, desperately searching for a way out. You seemed to be in a castle almost, the walls cobblestone, torches lighting the your way.

A large wood door sat at the end of the hall and you sprinted as fast as you could, pumping your arms and breathing heavily as you ran. You smashed into it, pulling on the handle.

“Come on!” You yanked at the locked door as hard as you could, glancing behind your shoulder. Your impending doom was almost set in stone and your heart raced in your chest at the mere thought of it. You gave yourself up, yes, but the thought of you dying in merely two hours set fear deep within you. You weren’t ready to die, not without seeing Dean one last time.

Your thoughts were cut short when a hand tangled itself in your hair, yanking your head back, your throat exposed to the monster above you.

Aamon’s eyes burned like embers, his lips curling back over his teeth, multiple sets of dagger sharp canines breaking through his gums. Your eyes widened as you watched the new teeth peek through.

He bent down, latching his teeth into your flesh. You screamed at the searing pain, your skin breaking easily, your blood flowing hot into his awaiting mouth. He drank deeply before lapping at his fresh bite, throwing you to the ground. You brought your hand up and pressed it against your neck, backing up down the hall and away from him. He brought his hand up and wiped his mouth, smearing your blood across his lips and staining his ashen skin.

“Holy… Shit…” You croaked. He smiled down at you, his fangs retracting back into his gums.

“I’m anything but holy, love,” He said. He gripped your hair and tugged you up. You groaned and hit at his chest, but he only chuckled. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N, but you left me no choice. You disobeyed, which means you needed to be punished.”

“You’re… A demon-vampire? How the fuck?”

“We need to work on your language. I don’t want you using the last hours of your life letting filthy words spew from that beautiful mouth.” He smirked down at you as he dragged you down the hall, his hand tightly gripping your hair.

“This may work,” Bobby said. “But I’ve never done it before.”

“Just do it,” Dean snapped, his pacing beginning to annoy Sam. Bobby sighed and set the large spell book on his desk, flitting about the room gathering ingredients.

“You should have called your angel friend,” Bobby grumbled.

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” Dean hissed. “I screamed myself hoarse in the junkyard. The junkless bastard won’t get down here.”

“Excellent.” Bobby replied dryly. He placed his bowl in the center of the desk and layed the ingredients out. His stomach was clenched tightly with anxiety and he had to resist the urge to drink himself to a stupor. You were the apple of his eye, the only reason he hadn’t committed suicide years ago. He loved you with every inch of his being. You may not have been his biologically, but you were his daughter, the only thing keeping him sane. The only thing that brought him happiness and love.

He carefully measured each needed ingredient and poured them in carefully. It had taken him the whole week you had been gone to find a spell that had at least a fifty percent chance of working. Keeping his fingers crossed, he grabbed the map, pouring the potion over the parchment. Taking a match, he lit it, dropping it onto the corner. The map burst into flames, the orange blaze going around the edge of the map.

“Inveniet eam,” Bobby said. The flames roared, raising high and tall. The old hunter cringed from the heat, watching the map burn and flake away, leaving a small circle of wrinkled parchment. He glanced up at the boys before looking down at it.

“She’s in the state, somewhere in the Black Hills.”

“The mountains?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

Dean jumped up, automatically grabbing the small piece of map and heading towards the door. “Let’s find her. Let’s find my Y/N.”

“So I know what you are now,” You said. You sat in a metal chair, your hands cuffed to the arm rests and your ankles bound to the legs. Aamon stood a few yards from you, preparing for the spell. “You mind letting me know where I come in to all this?

Aamon sighed, his blue eyes flicking up to you. “If I must,” He muttered. “As you know now, I’m half vampire, half demon. A ‘Sato daevam’ if you please. We’re an incredibly rare species. I’m the only living one at the moment. But you… You are the key to unlocking my true potential.”

“How?” You asked shaking your head. “How can I possibly be the key.”

“The spell requires harvested angelic grace from an indirect source. One of many ingredients of the spell. You, my dear, have that. Have you ever wondered how you heal slightly faster than other people? How you have this… Spiritual feeling? How you make everyone around you happier? You’ve got angel grace in you, love. And I need it.”

“What will the spell unlock?” You murmured.

“Excellent question, my dear. As of now, I cannot create new Sato daevams. I can’t drink the copious amounts of blood I always crave, for the vampire part of me is still partly human, and I’ll get sick. That being said, the part of the vampire that is still human doesn’t have full power. I’m not as strong, I can be killed. But once I cast the spell… Oh, Y/N, you won’t believe what I’ll be capable of. I’ll be unstoppable. And once I become at full power and the spell is completed, one of the seals will be broken, inevitably taking us one step closer to freeing our rightful king.”

“Lucifer,” You breathed. Your heart clenched, tears welling in your eyes. Not only will you break a seal, you’ll be the key to unleashing an immortal creature into the world. One that will no doubt rein absolute terror on the world. And you’ll be at fault for it.

“So,” Aamon said, holding up a silver tipped knife, the moonlight gleaming through the skylight, shining perfectly on the silvery blade. “What do you say we get started?”

THD series tag list:

@volleyballer519

@francezka10

@anime-music-is-life

@super–dale

@diariesofthebeautyobsessed

@weirdoblogger69

@hardworkingmidgetartist

@superdeadlucilenatural

@wingedcatninja

@waywardnerd67

@donnanoblerocks

@thewaywardvalkyrie

@docharleythegeekqueen

@fralackles

@blonde-ambitions

@lovelyrocker

@gracefullcowgirl

@arses21434

@deangirl7695

@raining-murder

@rubynationwins

@sammedeansandwhich

@lunasage96

@jotink78

@ashleydivine

@amanda-marie-1997

@brewsthespirit-blog

@dammit-brii

@imagine-inc

@jendee05

@moonstar86

@toomuchtv95

@jo-l-ab

@katsanders

@ms-sith

@mystriee

@mirandaaustin93

@nessadominquez

@woodworthti666

@aimee-ginge

@xristina-gkika

@carryonmaywaywardstar

@allykat2108

@just-a-fiction-lover

@gh0stgurl

@jules12345678910

@angelsandwinchesters

@shamelesslydean

@leah2901

@tiquismiquis

@vickyfarley

@marilynnlew

@mirandaaustin93

@cookiechipdough

Forever tag list:

@jennalyncarrigan1230

@mogaruke

@kittyk26

@lurelarry

@luciferslucille

@cookiecakeslive

@wheres-my-cheese

@supernatural-strangerthings-1980

@sunnysaysbookreviews

@nyxveracity

@raining-murder

@just-a-supernatural-sister

@hi-my-name-is-riley

@thehufflepuffblog

@donnaintx

@pisces-cutie

@waywardnerd67

@waywardbaby

@alex-zeppelin

@jotink78

SPN tag lists:

@impatient-witch

@sandlee44

@blackcherrywhiskey

@ain-t-bovvered

Dean/Jensen tags:

@aubreystilinski

@whimsicalrobots

@dean-winchesters-bacon

@polina-93

[questionable-arts]

I’m going to post pictures of all the characters I have made so far. I’m also going to write the characters bios for them I’m going to put in the game. The descriptions are told from Rosemary’s perspective, since she is the character you would play as. Yes I got the character bio idea from Danganronpa Ultra Despair Girls no you can’t stop me. I will edit this when I draw more characters and add them. Long post incoming.

Name: Oliver (might change it later I dunno)

Likes: insects, painting and seashells Dislikes: mud, hot weather and bragging

Oliver serves as the mage and stat booster of his team, but he can’t do much damage on his own, or so I was told. Thanks to a deal he made with some kind of evil entity or something, he and his friend Silas gained some very lethal powers. Oliver can form huge crystals from the ground, but it seems like he isn’t very good at it yet. His hands get numb after a long time and he can’t make any more, so just try not to get impaled and when he’s vulnerable, a punch to the face or two should be enough. He has a very carefree attitude, and even if you do punch him in the face he will probably still be nice to you. He cares about his friends more than anything, but he does have some self esteem issues. He also makes most of the strategies for his friends.

Name: Silas

Likes: rain, novels and writing Dislikes: loud noises, horror stories and mosquitoes

Try to avoid fighting him, because if you don’t, you’ll be lucky to end up with just a few cuts, burns and nightmares after. He used to be the medic of his group, who would mainly use magic to make sure that him and his teammates wouldn’t get injured. He still had a dagger in case he had to do his own fighting, but otherwise he stuck to his role. One day Oliver tried making a deal with a demon that would give him powerful magic, so he could impress the team leader, Leon. Silas caught him making the deal, and wanted to stop being useless in most fights, so he sacrificed his own eye, giving the both of them new powers. He can now open voids to another dimension, with a horrific monster sealed inside. The creature can’t escape, but it can still attack you and grab you with it’s giant black tentacles. It attacks anything blindly except for Silas, I guess they’re friends or something. If you get touched by it at all, it might infect you with a virus that spreads black gooey stuff on your skin that burns. Wash it off as soon as you can and you should be okay. Silas himself is soft spoken and gentle, and he seems like a nice, caring dude, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little scared of him. He’s definitely the most responsible and mature of his team, kind of like a big brother to the other two.

Name: Leon

Likes: Fights, sweet things and comic books. Dislikes: Losing, fishing and vegetables

Leon is the leader of his team consisting of himself Silas and Oliver. Despite being a just a trio of kids who ran away from home to pursue a life of crime, thanks to Leon’s leadership they are organized and tough to beat. He may be pretty cocky and impulsive, but he can be pretty clever. So he doesn’t raise any suspicion, instead of using a sword or an axe he sharpened the edge of an electric guitar he found and uses that as his weapon instead. It is just as sharp so keep that in mind. Also, don’t steal or break his sunglasses, because they are his most prized possession and he will probably cry. He is a hopeless romantic, and flirts with almost everyone around him.

Name: Vivian

Likes: Myths, photography and abstract art Dislikes: Pests, young children and neon colors

Vivian seems very cold on the outside, but she is a little nicer on the inside. She doesn’t talk much and doesn’t seem to be very sociable. I think she likes me, though. Maybe. Her parents have a shop for potions and stuff. They leave Vivian home alone for days on end sometimes to get ingredients. I wish my parents trusted me that much. Well, maybe Vivian wasn’t able to eat whole jars of peanut butter and do nothing but play video games all day long. I wonder if maybe there’s some way I could show her all the fun stuff people could do before the world ended. Anyway, she collects stuff from before the apocalypse happened, and seems to like hearing me talk about them. She also can make plants grow and control them. That’s all I really know about her though.

S

Name: Rosemary

Likes: House plants, video games, and fiction Dislikes: Homework, reality, and heavy metal

Oh wait, this one’s about me. Should I make this in the third person like the other ones or would that be weird? Uh, whatever. I have fire powers! I can manipulate it, and stuff. I also can’t die ever. After I realized that, I had a few existential crises and sealed myself in a cave because I didn’t want to go insane or get really bored. But then Vivian woke me up and now we’re trying to figure out why the world ended, but I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t mostly doing it because I like fights and I have a crush on her. I’m questioning whether I’m satisfied out here, though. Sure, I get to be in a place with magic and spells and adventure, but all the fun things are all gone, most people are dead and all my favorite games and songs have all been long forgotten, and I can never hear or see them again. Everything I care about is just a bunch of burning memories. In the end, maybe I can just make the best of this, make a few friends, have little fun, and when I watch em all die again I can just go back into the cave. This really sounds shitty when I put it like that, huh?

Name: Lance

Likes: fall, birds, and meeting new people Dislikes: junkyards, centipedes, and insults

Lance is a robot that was built for helping his creator, who was a apparently a famous roboticist. He was the first and only robot to be able to think and have it’s own personality. Sadly after he was not needed anymore he was almost destroyed by his own father. Luckily, Lance was able to escape right before he was going to be killed. He loves talking to people and learning new things about them. He is very selfless and brave, but also very sensitive and gullible. He has a habit of taking things too seriously. He is on our side, so I don’t really need to write down how to beat him up, but I will anyway. He is fast and will not get tired unless it’s night time, since he runs on solar energy. He mainly uses the blades on his arms to attack, but he also can shoot a laser from his power core. It is very dangerous, and he doesn’t use it unless he is going to die. It kills almost anything, so if you’re looking to kill him and you see his core glowing, get ready to run for your life.

[blissfullylostinarabbithole]

Not Your Daddy (1/2)

Pairing: General//No Pairing

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: “Hi how are you? I know you haven’t written for The Walking Dead, but I was wondering if you can do an imagine where the reader finds John Winchester wandering around but it’s actually Negan?” -Anonymous

A/N: Ahhh! Sorry again for how long it’s taking me to get these requests out, guys!

You stared slack jawed at the laughing man in the cell. “John?”

“Ho ho! You fucked her up!” he cackled. “How did you do that? I shot her three times and the bitch just got right back up!”

“Hold out your arm,” you demanded as you reached into your pocket.

He chuckled, eyeing the knife you pulled out. “I don’t think so, Hotshot.”

“Suit yourself.” You aimed the gun at his head, wiping the smile off his face. “You won’t prove you’re human, you’re getting a bullet in your head.”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” he growled, “but ‘round these parts, I’m in charge. And honey, you don’t know how big a mistake you’re makin’.” He grew more annoyed at the confusion on your face, but he needed you to let him out, so he took a different approach. “Look, I get it, we all gotta watch out for ourselves. So if you let me out, I won’t hurt you. Hell, I’ll even give you a place at the Sanctuary. It’s safe and we’ve got food.”

“What?” None of what he said made any sense. “What’s my name?”

Taken aback by the question, he chuckled again. “Come on, I’d remember that face. We haven’t met.” He knew that was the wrong answer when you lifted the gun again and scowled. “Geez did I kill someone close to you or somethin’? No, you’d have shot me already…” he thought aloud. He watched you put your knife away and reach into a bag, pulling out a bottle. “What’s that for?”

You squirted the water in his face, and you could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “Your arm. Now.”

He could see you meant business now. With a sigh, he slipped one through the bars and hissed when you sliced the skin. “Happy? You gonna let me out now?”

“I don’t…” you looked at the witch’s body, then back to the man in the cell. “It should’ve broken.”

“What should’ve bro- where are you going?!” he shouted as you walked out the door.

“Chill! I’ll be back in a bit.”

He let out a frustrated groan, taking a seat on the floor. It wasn’t long until he was hearing a soft scraping sound followed by thuds. Looking back at the body, he wondered why she wasn’t turning, and why your bullet kept her down while his three did nothing.

An hour passed and you returned to the cabin. He watched as you grabbed the witch’s leg and dragged her out. I didn’t take a genius to figure the loud ‘thump’ was you dropping her into the hole you’d obviously dug, though the scratching and ‘thwip’ escaped him until he smelled burning flesh. His brows rose when you ran inside, a hopeful look in your eye.

“Who am I?” you panted.

“Are you alright?” he asked, genuinely beginning to grow concerned. “Is there anyone else here I can talk to?”

“Son of a bitch!” You kicked the stool beside you. After a few steadying breaths, you pulled out your phone and dialed Sam’s number.

“Is that a cell phone?” Negan stood abruptly. “How’d you get ’em to work?”

“Hey,” you spoke into the device, ignoring the man in the cell. “I’m fine, it’s done, but there’s a problem. You guys are gonna need to get down here… I don’t think you’re going to believe me… Hold on.” You turned the device on the man and snapped a picture, promptly sending it to Sam before stepping out.

He strained to try to make out your hushed conversation, but to no avail. After several long minutes, you reappeared, looking flustered.

“I’m gonna finish burying her, and then I’m gonna go get us some food, ok?” You didn’t wait for an answer before stepping out, leaving him to listen to the scraping sounds again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

He stared at the container you slid under the cell’s door, trying to fit yet another piece to a puzzle he knew shouldn’t belong.

“John? What’s wrong?” you asked, taking another fry into your mouth. “It’s just how you like it.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes were trained on your own food as you were eating it. “Did you go on some health kick or something? You’re a little leaner than I remember.”

“No,” he replied quietly, opening the container to reveal a fresh burger and a mountain of fries. He didn’t need to bring it to his nose to know it was the real deal, and it made his mouth water. “Where did you get this? You have a camp big enough to have cattle?”

You raised your brows at him. “What the hell kind of spell did that witch use?”

It was his turn to frown at you. “Excuse me?”

“The witch I just ganked,” you gestured to the blood stained carpet. “What’d she do to you? How’d she get the jump on you anyway? You losing your touch?”

“Will you cut that shit out already?!” he shouted. He still hadn’t touched his food. “My name’s Negan and I don’t know who you are!”

You sighed, setting your food down. “I’m Y/N Singer, and you’ve known me my entire life. You were friends with my dad. I grew up with your sons.”

“Hate to break to you, Kid,” he scoffed, “but I don’t have children, and I for damn sure don’t know any Singers.”

“That so? How do you explain this, then?” You walked over the corner of the room and picked up the barbed bat.

“Lucille? I made her.”

“At my house. You wandered around the junkyard after another night of hard drinking, and came back holding this. You didn’t wear gloves, and your hands were bleeding all over it,” you chuckled dryly at the memory. “Where’ve you been? How long have you been topside?”

He was about give a snarky response, but stopped himself when he saw the hurt in your eyes. “How long’s it been? Since you last saw John.”

“Just over ten years. God, so much has changed since then.” You remembered that before he died, he had asked you and Dean to do the unspeakable. You knew what would’ve happened had he been around to witness Dean taken over by the Mark. And Cas? He probably wouldn’t be around either. What would happen when they fixed whatever was wrong? How had John changed in the past decade? “Family or not, I will kill you if you try to hurt them.”

Negan snickered, leaning against the wall and finally taking the food. “You got fire in you, Kid. I like it.”

Permanent -  @melconnor2007 @ria132love @psychicwitchphilosopher @sireennotsiren  @silence--in--the--library  @thefridgeismybestie @hymnofthevalkyrie @abbybills22  @mvasquez492 @ek823 @nicky10876 @sophiealiice

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[huntertales]

Part Four: Misery Loves Company. (My Bloody Valentine S05E14)

Episode Summary: Castiel helps Sam, Dean and the reader hunt down Cupid on Valentine’s Day after people begin killing each other for love. But things become worse when each of them starts to be consumed with their own lust for hunger. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 2,207.

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You didn’t know where you were for a split second. As you slowly came back into consciousness, your entire body felt like someone threw you off a building. Your muscles haven’t ached this bad in a long time, and when you tried stretching out your fingers, you were suddenly hit with an overwhelming amount of pain, making you regret the move. It hurt when you tried to move on your side, and your wrist felt like someone broke it. You kept your eyes closed, not only did you start to psychically hurt, but your mind suddenly came flooding back with all these images of things that you had dreamed about while you were passed out. Horrible things that you hoped were just a nightmare created by the figment of your creative imagination. Ever so cautiously, you opened up one eye to inspect the damage of what you’ve done to yourself.

Your knuckles were the first thing you took notice of; they were severely bruised and bits of skin were torn. Someone tried their hardest to clean them best as they could, but they felt raw, like you fought someone. One wrist was bandaged up and the other had a strange bruise around it, you knew where both of them had come from. You looked away from the self inflicted wounds to the room you had been lying in. The familiar sight brought a sense of safety over you when you realized that you were at Bobby’s, lying in that ratty couch of his you always crashed on while the boys took the floor. You had managed to push yourself up into a sitting position, but the action caused you to not forget the gash on your side. You winced in pain as you leaned back in your seat, suddenly feeling out of breath from the excruciating psychical movement you put yourself through. For a second you tried to figure out what was going on, presuming all those memories that were cluttering your head were just fictional.  

You couldn't have done all those horrible, terrible things. Why would you attack a random stranger on the street because they bumped into you? And it didn't make it better that it happened to have been a demon. And you faking everything. But you knew that wasn't the worst of it. Your eyes glanced down to the bruised and bloody knuckles. All the blood that stained your clothes, the things you did to those people...Then what you allowed Sam to do. Your fingers tightly grazed the gauze around your wrist. You wanted, hoped...prayed that, out of anything you did, that was just a dream. There was no way you could have done that to him.

The pleads and shouting you heard coming from the basement told a different story. It told the truth.

You wanted to cry, but you couldn’t. You stared off into space with a tight knot in your throat. You attacked that stranger. You beat those demons up and used them like your own stress toy, a rage you never felt before in your life took over you, like a monster. You let Sam drink your own blood. Why? Because the Devil made you do it. Because he said it would make Sam strong.

 Funny thing...he only came to you when you were sleeping, He didn't have the ability to pop up whenever he desired. Maybe you hallucinated the entire thing. And it would make sense if you picked up on the things the boys wouldn't tell you. The real reason why Sam left all those months ago wasn't because he needed space. Of why he was becoming hungry for demon blood. Because he wanted to feed off of you. And, without fighting it, you let him.

 Footsteps coming up from the basements stairs made you flinch, knowing well enough of who it was going to be. You watched as Dean came up from hearing his brother go through withdrawal. It was painful the first time, but this...this was the real deal. All of you had to endure the entire process through. Withdrawing from demon blood can be nasty. Sam had to go through all the dizzy spells, hot flashes and chills, even those nasty little hallucination that crossed the poor man’s mind. All of this was happening because of you. You did did it to him.

Dean passed by the library. While you felt tempted to call out to him and apologize, the words remained at the tip of your tongue. They felt so wrong to say right “Sorry.” Sorry for what? Sorry for making your baby brother relapse. Sorry for crushing all your hopes for a better tomorrow. Sorry, for being the one who is supposed to be your better half, fail you miserably.

 You quickly wiped away a tear when you felt it roll down your cheek. The boys have done their worst deeds against one another. Dean tortured souls in Hell because of all his unhappiness and unworthy feelings to being alive at the sake of his father. Only he broke the first seal. Sam trusted Ruby and drank demon blood because thought it was the right thing to do. Turns out, he set Lucifer free without realizing the demon’s true motive. You lost yourself in the spell of Famine to see what you were going to become and pumped Sam full of demon blood. Because you thought it would make him stronger. All of you try so hard to do right. But you do the wrong thing every single time. You always do what everyone wants you to. Maybe there is no such thing as free will.

 “You look better.” You found yourself jumping out of your skin at the sound of a voice that broke you out of your personal thoughts. You looked away from the floor and to the doorway. The heaviness sitting in your chest only becomes worse when you see that it's Dean. You notice right away he was still in his clothes, a half empty liquor bottle hung loose in his grip as he leaned against the door frame. You kept yourself quiet, afraid you might say the wrong thing. But Dean keeps talking, wanting only to keep himself occupied. “You've been in and out for the past few days. You lost a lot of blood. Cas said you should be okay.”

 “Dean,” You couldn't help yourself when you went out right with it, the guilt too much for you to bare anymore. “I’m so sor—”

 “It wasn't your fault, Y/N.” Dean cut you off, saying four words that didn't make you feel any better. You stared at him with eyes glazed over as a hardening expression set across your face, wondering why he was doing this. He acted like this was his doing. Maybe it was the liquor he’d been drinking over the past few days, but his lips were loose, he spoke a secret that he didn't want to keep to himself anymore. “I failed you and Sammy. Like I always do. Maybe that son of a bitch is right.

 “Who was right?” You cautiously asked him, you sniffled a few times, trying to compose yourself for what he was about to tell you.

 "You were right. I've been keeping something from you since we got back. I didn't want to tell you. But I don't have a choice now, do I?" Dean let out a soft chuckle, but the pain in his eyes told a much different story. As the smile started to drift off his face, you could see the pain starting to settle in his face from what he was about to say. "Michael and I had a talk. He told me a few things. Went on about this woman named Katerina. She was some woman he loved. Didn't think much of it, that was, until he told me more about her. He said that he tried to keep her safe from his brother. And...And he couldn't. She went dark side."

You furrowed your brow in slight confusion, all though you didn't want to, you forced yourself to ask the question that started to burn in the back of your head. "Did she..."

 "Lucifer turned her into a demon. The first demon created, turns out. She ran off with him, and never looked back. Michael tried to save her...but he couldn’t protect the woman he loved. Not even his little brother.” Dean admitted everything about the story that the angel had told him to you. “Want to know why I got so pissed when Cupid told us we were soulmates, sweetheart? It’s not because I’m ashamed of you. Damn it, I love you. I do. I always have. Ever since we were little kids. And that’s never going to change. No matter what happens between us.” You watched as he walked into the library until he was hovering over you. He tried his hardest not to feel anything. But you could see the pain in fear in his eyes. He reached out his free hand, and ever so lightly, brushed a tear that escaped. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

 Dean left you alone with your own personal thoughts. He mumbled something about needing some air from everything that was going on. Maybe Famine was right when he said he was dead inside. He was, for a while. Dean felt a comfort with things. He didn’t need his usual crutches to get him through the day. There were no thoughts crushing him. He felt nothing. Until...that night in the diner when he’d seen the truth.

That was his moment of facing the future straight in the eyes. There was no more running, no more denying. All of it was possibility.

 The man walked through the junkyard with his thoughts and a half empty liquor bottle as his only company. For the first time in his life, Dean Winchester felt lost. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He couldn’t keep the people he loved, his only family, safe anymore. Dean was at a crossroads when he thought about you. What if he tried breaking up with you? Push you so far away from this disaster you wouldn’t get hurt. But that would risk the chance of hating him and running into the arms of the enemy. Dean could try his hardest to keep you close and safe as possible. What if that wasn’t good enough? He loved you, every single inch of you, there wasn't anything he would change about you. And the soul crushing reason why a man like him, a screwed up disaster, had someone like you in his life was because you were playing the part like his mother. Poor Mary. She was the nightmare fuel his father needed to get him and his brother out on the road and started hunting. Just like you were going to be if Lucifer got his hands on you.

 That wasn’t even the worst of it. His brother, his baby brother who he had practically raised, who always tried to do good and see things in a better light, might die at the hands of him. Because it was the right thing to do. Because it was what God commanded. Fathers are supposed to know what’s best. How was any of this right? How could God sit back and watch this happen?

 He wants to feel numb. He wants to be dead inside. But he can’t. Not anymore. Not after what he’d seen.

 Dean found himself stopping in his tracks near the Impala. The keys felt heavy in his back pocket as the idea of running from his problems crossed his mind. But he knew that there wasn’t enough space in this world to distant him from everything. Dean looked down at the bottle, contemplating if he should take another drink, he decided against it, knowing his old vices wouldn’t help him tonight. He poked his tongue between his teeth as his eyes glanced up to the cloudy night sky.

 He couldn't keep it together anymore. He could feel tears starting to fill his eyes as he stared off into the miles above him, hoping that this little human, the one who was just a vessel for His son, would take the chance just to listen. Just for one simple second.

 “Please…I can’t,” Dean found himself flooded with all his fears and anxiety just like that. The wall inside his went crumbling down, presenting himself fully to the big man upstairs. People say that God gives one that they can handle. And in times of distress, pray. “I can’t do this. Please?”

 Dean Winchester, the man who thought he could face just about anything, couldn't. He couldn't even get God himself out from his hiding place. How was he going to try and holding off Michael or stopping the apocalypse? Maybe they were right about all of this. Maybe there is no such thing as free will or true love. Perhaps we’re all just on this planet to play a part until we die. And there was nothing anybody could do about it.

Rewrite Taglist: @deansquirreljerkwinchester @lotsofspnshitposts@everything-i-tried-was-taken @starswirlblitz @albot-e@supernaturalismydrug @we-are-band-sexuals@cleo-is-my-doggy@eeyore1988@kaylinfayezink@owhatshername1@emilysimagenation  (Message me if you would like to be added!)  

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #135 - Race to Witch Mountain

Spoilers below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: Yes.

Was it a movie I saw since August 22nd, 2009: No.

Format: Blu-ray

1) This film, in a lot of ways, is a quintessential movie for me. I've discussed in the past (specifically on my Back to the Future post and Chicago post) how March 2009 was a very definitive time for me. Well this movie falls into that category. I was in Arizona with my parents and brother visiting my aunt, uncle, and grandma and the adults (save for grandma) went to see something like The Reader or some other adult movie. So my grandmother took my brother and I to see Race to Witch Mountain on opening day at like the Alamo theater or something like that. I have very clear/vivid memories about seeing this with them and the movie holds a special place in my heart because of that (even if it isn’t necessarily the BEST film ever made).

2) From the opening credits there is no question as to what is going on in this movie: it’s aliens. The opening features bits about space travel and Roswell and UFOs, etc. There is no doubt that this film is about aliens.

3) Ciaran Hinds in the film just gives off an aura of threat and villainy from his very first appearance. I love it!

You get a nice understanding of him as the film goes along. A part of Henry Burke (Hinds’ character) is his desire to protect his planet, but its more he’s greedy. He wants a win, he wants credit for a win, and he’s not willing to let any little thing like common sense or decency jeopardize that. A nice villain for the film.

4) As soon as we meet Dwayne (must not say “The Rock”) Johnson’s Jack Bruno we are given a lot of his character.

We see him look longingly at this nice red car, establishing a goal he is trying to accomplish. We see his impatience and distaste for the storm troopers in his backseat, giving off his rough and jaded character. But we also see his chemistry with Carla Gugino’s Alex which shows a kindness to him that he likes to hide as well as a bit of fun. And when we see him in his motel home at night, we understand that Jack is someone largely dissatisfied with where he is at the moment. Johnson and the writing are able to portray these things clearly and set up Jack’s journey through the rest of the film.

5) Meredith Salenger plays a reported named Natalie Gann in this movie. She also played the titular character in Disney’s The Journey of Natty Gann back in 1985.

I remember years ago watching a bonus feature on the blu-ray where the director said he really liked The Journey of Natty Gann as a kid and wanted this little wink at the film both for himself and other Disney geeks who may get it.

6) This line was very memorable for me as a 13 year old kid.

Mr. Wolf’s Goon: “You got a death wish?”

Jack: “I drive a cab in Vegas.”

7) AnnaSophia Robb as Sarah and Alexander Ludwig as Seth.

In contrast with the original theatrical Witch Mountain films, there is no attempt to establish these two characters as normal human children. We still end up relating to them on an emotional level, but from their syntax and lack of familiarity with certain Earth ways you can very easily tell that they’re aliens. The pair of young actors play the siblings well. Like the stars of the original film - Ike Eisenmann and Kim Richards - they are able to portray a true relationship through small moments of trust and understanding. They’re really siblings. They care for each other, they have each other’s backs, and that chemistry is packed down. They’re also able to give each character their own personality, with Sarah being the optimistic understanding one and Seth as the more aggressive stubborn of the two. They do a good job in the movie and play well with Johnson’s Jack, making for an interesting character dynamic to support the film.

8) Man, they really just wanted you to hate Burke didn’t they?

Burke [about Seth & Sarah]: “And no matter what they appear to look like, gentlemen, these are not children.”

Except they are, dude. They really are. How about you go club a baby seal too since apparently if it’s not a HUMAN child it’s not a child at all.

9) I always found the intro of Seth’s powers to be a powerful and memorable moment.

10) I always found the design on the Siphon alien very sleek and cool. It is reminiscent of Predator a little to me.

11) My biggest issue with the film that - while it is only 98 minutes - it’s a little muddled and messy. The dual antagonists of the Siphon and Burke both lead for some interesting scenes, but as a whole create pacing issues and never truly mesh together as cohesively as maybe I’d like them too. An example of this is after Jack and the kids escape the Siphon the first time it chases down their cab, but they seem to escape its grasp, only for it to come after them again almost randomly in the same scene. That cab chase definitely has some nice moments and tension to it, but as a whole is a bit messy.

12) I really like some of Jack’s lines in this film.

Jack [after the kids try to tell him they’re aliens]: “You can’t just drop the, ‘We’re aliens!’ bomb on someone like that!”

13) Hey, Cheech Marin is in this movie!

14) At one point in the film, the trio has to visit Stony Creek for a while. Stony Creek was the town just outside of Witch Mountain on Tia’s map in the original film. So it is only fitting that the stars of the original Escape to Witch Mountain make cameos during this scene. Kim Richards - who played Tia in the original - plays a waitress also named Tia in this movie. While Ike Eisenmann - who played Tia’s brother, Tony - plays Sheriff Anthony (which Tony is short for).

And - in reference to their heroic characters - both parts played by Richards and Eisenmann work to help the protagonists of this film escape from Burke in some pretty helpful ways.

15) I love the fact that Sarah stops the car for her new dog, Junkyard!

I really like dogs.

16) Alex’s conflict is spelled out very clearly when we meet her at the convention: she’s not taken seriously. She does a lot of work towards researching the legitimate possibility of life outside of earth and no one treats it as legitimate. But she is positive and optimistic and Carla Gugino plays the part very well (although I’ve yet to see a Carla Gugino performance I dislike).

17)

Sara [about her planet]: “Millennia of neglect have made the atmosphere unlivable.”

18) WHO THE HELL IS THIS WHITLEY GUY THAT ALEX SAYS, “Not now!” TOO AT THE UFO CONFERENCE!!!! IT HAS BUGGED ME FOR YEARS!!!

(Does a quick google.)

Okay, so Whitely Strieber is an American author best known for his horror novels and  and for Communion, a non-fiction account of his alleged experiences with non-human entities. Apparently his wife is somewhere in the film too.

19) Hey, it’s Garry Marshall!

Garry Marshall appears in a small yet memorable supporting role, giving the protagonists the information about Witch Mountain. Which, interestingly enough, has been changed from a community of alien refugees to a secret government base. Huh.

20) If you look very closely during the UFO conference scenes, you can see a cosplayer dressed like Tron.

21) In a nice wink to the original film, in the final act the heroes ditch the cab for a winnebago (which is the vehicle used to reach Witch Mountain in the 1975 film).

22) There is a nice character moment between Alex and Jack in the car where they both relate to their pasts and their dreams. It is small but appreciated, as it gives the characters just that extra layer they need.

23) So to sneak into the mountain after Sarah and Seth are kidnapped, Jack and Alex climb down this pipe which ends up being a furnace that nearly burns them alive. Except...it serves no practical purpose whatsoever. Like why does their furnace need to be so ridiculously elaborate and also have an entrance to the outside?

24) Also at one point in the film Jack and Alex dress in hazmat suits to free the kids, and I can’t help but wonder...why would they have a hazmat suit in Jack’s (aka: The Rock’s) size when there’s no one working there that big?

25) I live for jokes like this.

Seth [after Jack asks if they can fly a spaceship]: “How do you think we got here?”

Jack: “Well you crashed. Remember?”

26) The first time I saw the climactic battle between Jack and the Siphon on the flying saucer, when the Siphon’s mask came off and they were waiting to reveal its face to us, for some reason I thought that the Siphon would look like Dwayne Johnson.

Now that I’m older I realize this would’ve been a horrible choice as it doesn’t play into Jack’s struggles or the themes of the film AT ALL but I figured these are aliens that look human so why not have the Siphon look like Jack? In hindsight, I’m glad they went with this instead:

27) The goodbye the kids have with Jack is actually really heartfelt and feels more earned than you might initially think. They formed a real trust with this guy, he risked his life countless times to make sure they made it through alright. I really appreciate that.

As I said at the start, Race to Witch Mountain has a lot of personal significance for me. It’s hard for me to be objective about the film. I see what’s wrong with it, but I really enjoy it. It strikes a chord with me and therefore I’m going to recommend it to you. Even though it’s not necessarily as up to snuff as the more recent live action efforts from Disney, it is still a very entertaining (and not too long) film with some nice humor and good acting. I don’t think it’s a waste of your time, I think it’s quite enjoyable. But again, I can’t be objective really. Just know I recommend it nonetheless.