everything’s about you to me

ellie williams x reader

prologue (masterlist for other parts) *✧･ﾟ: wc: 1.7k

summary: in the midst of the apocalypse, you and ellie find each other after you’ve both lost everything. what started out as a mere safety in numbers pairing, turns into something imperishable. however, after some time you get separated, leaving you both to believe the other is dead. four years later you find a commune in wyoming.

warnings: set in tlou universe. reader is 16 in the prologue but is 19+ for the rest of the story, weapons, gunshots, death, violence, no mention of ellie yet but all in due course cuties, is this going to be a slow burn? maybe… 18+ mdni

author’s note: this fic was originally inspired by the song everything by muna. i’m so excited for this, if you want to be added to the tag list lmk! i have no idea how many parts this will be but i expect it’ll be quite long. thanks for reading loves <3

♪ ‘cause the world could be burning, and all i’d be thinking, is “how are you doing, baby?”

˚ · • . ° .

You didn’t know it yet, but your time in the Pittsburgh QZ was wearing thin. You had lived there your entire life, sixteen years to be exact. For people who lived pre-outbreak, a military-controlled quarantine zone probably didn’t seem like much of a home, but it was all you knew. Your dad was a smuggler and whilst for the past few years had managed to keep you and your mom out of it, his current job was proving to be riskier than originally anticipated.

“You said it would be quick,” you heard his seething whisper whilst you backed yourself against the other side of the wall, listening in.

“It was supposed to be! look, man, I’m sorry,” another man’s voice said.

“Just–fuck, just make sure we get the stuff we need before we hand anything over, alright?”

“We’ll try.”

“No,” you could hear shoving, “you will, understand?”

“Yes,” you could tell the man was nervous despite trying to hide it.

“If this goes wrong, they’ll come after us, and my family. I know this is a fucked up situation and I should never have got involved with that fucking Aaron guy in the first place but here we are and I am not letting my wife and daughter die because of me, got it?”

Die? Your blood ran cold wondering what on earth your dad had gotten involved with this time. You heard the man mumble out a “yes” before the door shut and your dad sighed and banged his fist against the table. Not wanting to get caught, you creeped back to your room.

Once inside, you settled into the beat-up armchair that you had pushed against the window and stared out at the night sky. Stars twinkled and the moon shone a bright white. For a moment, you could pretend you were somewhere else. Somewhere where everything looked this beautiful. It was a stark contrast to the withered frame of dust and peeling paint.

You could hear muffled voices coming from your parent’s room. They sounded like they were arguing and said something about talking to this Aaron guy on the radio. They did that a lot these days. argue. You knew they still loved each other but after silently analysing their relationship over the years, you could see that something of a ‘spark’ had gone. Then again, what did you know, it’s not like you had ever been in love. The closest you had ever gotten to a connection with anyone had been with Amy. When her hair would get caught in her mouth as you both stood on a roof laughing at how the wind parachuted your coats, you wanted to reach out and untangle it for her. Sometimes she would give you this look where her eyes would soften and her dimples would make themselves known as she smiled. It would make your heart skip a beat and you would forget what you were supposed to be doing. You guessed that’s just how best friend’s felt about each other. Completely lost in a trance, you didn’t notice the sound of thundering footsteps down the hall until a rough hand grabbed your arm.

“What?”

“We’re leaving,” your dad’s voice was indignant and stern.

“Leaving? where?”

Your mom burst through the door, her face soaked in fear.

“Charlie, please,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm.

“I’m sorry but we have to go.”

“Go where?” you demanded. You could feel the goosebumps raise on your arms. He couldn’t be talking about escaping, could he?

“We’re leaving the QZ. Come on, grab your stuff.” You just froze.

“Come on!” he yelled before running a hand over his face. He collected his anger just enough to look you in the eye and speak clearly.

“I don’t have time to explain, but some guys have fucked me over and it is safer for us to escape and leave.”

“But we’ll be killed!”

“We will be if we stay here. Now please, grab your stuff.”

His last three words came out with a bite and you thought better of arguing further. You looked across the room to your mum and she made a poor attempt at giving you a comforting look. Tears stung against your waterline and you quickly wiped them away with your sleeve before grabbing your things together. Not everything of course. Not the Thelma and Louise poster you found once or the sketch Amy had drawn of the two of you before she died. But the essentials. Torches, jackets, guns, knives.

Your dad looked out the window, making a mental note of military whereabouts, before encouraging you and your mum out the door. You didn’t want to leave. You had never been outside the QZ and had only heard horror stories. Thoughts of where you would go once you got out, if you got out, clouded your mind. It scared you to think of what kind of trouble your dad had gotten himself into that needed such drastic action. You knew he did bad things but you knew he wasn’t the only one and there wasn’t much you could do about it. When he first started smuggling you had been afraid all the time, but over the years you became numb to it. That’s just what he did. But now all of those fears were resurfacing and you weren’t ready to face the high chance that you could die tonight.

The three of you were pressed against the outside wall, your dad in front holding his finger to his lips indicating you needed to be quiet. Your parent’s both held guns whilst you clutched your switchblade. It was dark but blinding lights from patrolling tanks occasionally illuminated the dank alleyways.

“We need to get over there, we move on my signal,” you could barely hear your dad’s whisper as he pointed at a metal fence on the other side of the road. You tried your best to be silent but couldn’t help the way your breath shook as you nodded.

After peering around the corner once more, he lifted his hand up, signalling for you to follow him. You had to be agile in order to make it across safely, which luckily was a strength of yours. You may not have ever been outside of the QZ but you had snuck around with Amy enough times to know how to go unnoticed. This was nothing like that though. Sneaking around and being teenagers didn’t feel like a death sentence.

You bumped into your mom’s back as you all suddenly stopped behind a parked truck. It started to rain and you were thankful that the splatters of water might cover up any sounds of laboured breaths and footsteps from you. A bright light casted over the truck as you strained to keep your head below the window. You were moving again and the fence was in sight. The closer you got the more you could make out a chained padlock on a gate. A menacing sign saying “UNAUTHORISED EXITS FROM A QUARANTINE ZONE ARE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH” was hung up next to your heads. Your palms began to sweat as your dad pulled a key from his pocket. You didn’t even want to know what he must have done to get that. He started to unlock and unwind the chains from the gate. You were so close. Maybe this insane plan would actually work.

“Drop your weapons.”

You all froze and slowly turned, initially to squint as a torch shone directly in your eyes. After a few blinks, your vision cleared to see a guard holding up a gun. You felt like you were choking and if anything the grip on your knife tightened instinctively.

“I said drop your weapons.”

You threw your switchblade to the ground. Your parent’s followed suit with their guns. The guard took a step closer.

“Let me exp–,” your dad attempted to reason but was cut off.

“On your knees and put your hands on your head.”

You glanced at your mom and she hesitantly nodded. You sunk to your knees, the cold, wet gravel soaking through your jeans to your skin. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your head. The guard, still aiming his gun at you, checked you all with the infection scanner before stepping back to his original spot.

“Sir, I’ve got three clean but armed people here by gate three. How would you like me to proceed?” he spoke into his handheld transceiver.

“Uh-huh… yes… yes sir.”

Before you could even think, two deafening gunshots went off in quick succession. Your head snapped round and you saw your dad pointing a gun at the guard, as well as a mass of blood soaking his shirt. You noticed the guard stumble and in a blind rush of adrenaline you snatched your switchblade from the floor. Your mom’s hand grabbed you, pulling you back from where the guard was aiming his gun again.

Another bullet fired. Your mom screamed. You grabbed her arm to support her and looked up at your dad for help.

“Go!” he yelled, firing again. You could hear more guards charging towards you.

“Dad,” your voice came out weak and strangled.

“I said go!” you had never heard his voice be this frightening. Fear carried your legs as you pushed your mom through the open gate. You shoved yourself through it as well, not knowing what lay ahead in the darkness before you. You could only focus on getting away from the constant gunshots. You didn’t stop moving but your movements had slowed as you looked back.

“Dad, please!” you yelled, tears making your cheeks hot.

He was being pushed against the fence by three, maybe four faceless guards. You could hear the struggle in his distant grunts as he fought against them. They were beating and shooting until his body went limp on the ground, next to the guard he shot.

“No,” your voice was a mere whisper to yourself. Shock and disbelief ringing in your ears.

“We have to go,” your mom pulled you away, she was crying too, “before they catch up to us.”

You both frantically ran whilst the adrenaline was still controlling you. Your mom groaned with each step. You didn’t even know where she had been hit but at least she was alive. You had got out and there didn’t seem to be anyone chasing you, but your dad was dead. Escaping seemed so futile now. It had been his idea. his plan. His doing that meant you needed to leave in the first place and yet it had ended like this. And now, to no avail, you had no protection. Nothing except what you carried on your back. You were out in the big wide world. A big, wide, terrifying world.

*✧･ﾟ: taglist: @bellasfavelesbo @ximtiredx @abbyily @heartzjules @gold-dustwomxn @sawaagyapong @aouiaa @pinkigirl @nil-eena @ucannotcompare @cherriesxinthespring @blvebanisters

The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 1

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: T (eventual E 18+ MDNI)

wc: 2.8k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, train robberies, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, period/genre/canon typical violence, alcohol, morally grey characters, assuming Ellie’s gender, reader has backstory, no use of y/n

authors note: it’s been a really long time since I’ve had the confidence to post a new series here. But these two have taken over my brain and I’m excited to share them with you. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for beta and generally cheering this idea on.

You’ve found yourself in some spots before but never one as tight as this. You’re seated in the passenger car of a train bound for Chicago. If you make it there, you’ll hang.

Your knee bounces anxiously. You’ve been wracking your brain for hours now. There’s got to be some way to escape but you’re fresh out of ideas. Unless you can smash the window and jump out of a moving train, you’re screwed.

“Quit that twitching or I’ll give you a real shiner,” Brown says from behind his newspaper. He’s sitting on the aisle, between you and freedom. There’s a holster on his hip, his fancy pistol a promise that you won’t get far if you try to run.

As you suck your teeth in response, he chuckles to himself, and you wish you could punch him again like you did back in Laramie. 

Six years in Wyoming and your luck has run out. It’s bad enough that you’re getting hauled back east but being pinched by a Pinkerton man in a silly bowler hat and that ridiculous tin badge is humiliating. He’s actually twirling his fucking mustache, the bastard. 

“I’m hungry,” you tell him as he neatly folds his paper. You’re not but you’re grasping at straws now, trying anything that might get him to give just an inch. 

“That’s too bad,” he says. He pulls a little paper bag of jelly beans out of his coat pocket and pops a few into his mouth.

Fucker. 

You chew on a hangnail, pressing your forehead against the window. Your best chance of getting off of this train is Brown dropping dead. You’ve been wishing for him to have a heart attack for the last 35 miles but no luck yet. When the train stops in Cheyanne, you might be able to make a break for it but it’s too risky. There aren’t a whole lot of elegant solutions left.

The landscape of the west rolls by as the train chugs along. Wide, churning rivers, thick forests, and mountains dusted with snow. It was beautiful back when this was your refuge. Now, it’s just something else to scowl at while you listen to Brown munch his candy. 

Your sigh fogs the glass. All you can do now is hope for a miracle. 

The train reduces speed to take a curve and all you can see are thick, tall trees with branches that shade the tracks. They go from a blur of green to clutches of pale, white trunks and you realize you’re seeing more and more details on each branch. The locomotive’s slowing. It’s huffing and puffing with effort, sparks flicking off from the wheels as the hulking thing crawls along. Soon it’s so slow that you could run faster. There’s no station in sight, you’re still deep in forest here. Something’s amiss. Maybe the train is broken, maybe they ran out of coal. How trains work is a mystery to you to begin with but they must break down sometimes. 

You chance a look at Brown. He’s all suspicion, sitting up a little taller, eyes searching around for the answer to the same question that’s on your mind. What’s going on here? 

Suddenly the train lurches to a halt. A hat box falls off of the overhead shelf and a few passengers brace themselves against the seats with grunts and complaints. 

“Are we stopping?” a man a few rows ahead of you asks no one in particular. 

The locomotive answers with a long, tired hiss. 

“You got something to do with this?” Brown asks you in a hushed tone. 

“How could I stop a train all the way back here?” you ask him. 

“Maybe one of your compatriots,” he says. 

You give a laugh. If there’s one thing you’ve never had in your life it’s scruples and if there’s two, it’s compatriots. You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen and there sure as hell isn’t anybody in the world that loves you enough to stop a train for you. 

You don’t feel sorry for yourself, never have. RIght now, in fact, you’re feeling pretty pleased. Any delay on this trip means more time to think. Hope blooms in your chest and you have to keep yourself from grinning so Brown doesn’t get the wrong idea.

The train is motionless for a while, murmurs of speculation from your fellow passengers. 

Then the car door slides open and in walks an outlaw with a pistol in each hand.

He’s slight. Short and scrawny and youthful, maybe sixteen years old. The bottom half of his pale face is covered by a dark red bandana, mousy brown hair under a worn hat.

“Ladies and gents, I regret to inform you that this here is a hold up,” he says, tone so cheerful, you’d think he was a carnival barker. But his voice isn’t as deep as you expected. In fact you’re skeptical that’s a boy under there. “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em and nobody gets hurt.” 

The other passengers gasp and whisper, nervous looks shared about the car. Your foot begins to bounce again as your mind races to figure a way to make this new wrinkle work in your favor. 

“That means you, too,” the kid says, sidling up to Brown. Now that she’s closer, you’re almost certain this outlaw is a girl. “No need for heroes here.” 

The Pinkerton man’s hand is laying on his revolver. 

“I suggest you move along to the others, young fella,” Brown replies. 

“Don’t be an idiot, buster,” the kid says. She cocks a pistol. 

There’s a long standoff between the two and nobody in the whole car dares to even breathe. 

The door slams open and you jump. 

A second outlaw enters. There’s a noticeable shift in the air. He’s imposing and dark, stalking in like a big dog, spurs jingling with each step. 

“What’s taking so long?” he asks. His voice is a cowboy drawl. He adjusts a canvas mail sack on his broad shoulder, no doubt stuffed full of money from the train’s safe. 

He’s dressed like any other outlaw, and you’ve seen your fair share. Shabby shirt, black waistcoat, a leather belt heavy with bullets around narrow hips. He’s got on a black hat and beneath it you spy dark curls threaded with silver, much older than the other robber. 

All you can see of his face are two brown eyes that flit between the standoff in front of him. He whips his colt 45 out of its holster with practiced ease. 

Brown’s outnumbered now. This is your chance. 

“You’ve got to help me, mister,” you say, rising from your seat with your hands up in surrender. 

Your sudden movement draws all of his attention. He points the barrel of his gun at your chest and your breath catches. There’s no point in being afraid, though. Odds are you’re going to die on the gallows anyway.  Maybe he’ll shoot you but at least you tried. Your heart’s thrumming in your ears.

“I ain’t on this train of my own free will,” you explain. 

“Quiet, you,” Brown growls.

“He’s a Pinkerton man. He’ll shoot you dead if you let him,” you say.   

You're sure Brown would love to glare at you if he didn’t have his attention trained on the man in front of him.

“Don’t worry about her,” Brown says. “I’ve got no quarrel with you, friend.”

The outlaw’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit.

“I’ve got a bounty on my head,” you say. All of your words are coming out fast.

“How much?” the outlaw asks.

“Enough,” Brown says. His hand stays on his gun. 

“He’s taking me to Chicago and I’m facing the rope,” you explain. “There’s a warrant in his breast pocket. It’s the god’s honest truth,” you say. 

The outlaw thinks for a moment and you tense. It never ends well for you when men think too much. 

“Take it off him. And the gun,” the outlaw says to his partner. Then he turns back to Brown and says, “Hands up.”

“I don’t intend to interfere with your business so long as you don’t interfere with mine,” Brown says.

“If you think you’ll have that gun up and shooting before I’ve put a bullet in you, you’re sorely mistaken. So I’ll give you one more chance to get your hands in the air,” the outlaw warns. His cold words light an exhilarating heat in your belly. 

Brown clenches his jaw but with two guns drawn on him he has no choice but compliance. You feel some vindication as he slowly raises his hands. 

With some fancy flips, the kid holsters one of her guns. Brown lets her take his pistol and pull the paper from his coat though he frowns all through it. 

You watch the outlaw skim the words on your warrant. His eyes bounce between you and the page. 

“She don’t look like the murdering type,” he says.

You suppose he’s right. You’re still rough around the edges but in your straw hat and prim, full skirt you might be mistaken for a school marm. That you certainly aren’t.

The kid looks at you with new interest.

“That’s up to the judge,” Brown says. “My job’s just to bring her to the law.”

“I’d be much obliged if you prevented that from happening,” you say. 

“Why should I?” he asks. 

You swallow. You’ve had to sing for your supper before but it’s never been a matter of life and death. 

“You’re going to steal her necklace and his wallet,” you say with a nod to the other passengers. “What’s the difference between that and little old me?” you ask. 

“Aiding and abetting is the difference—“ Brown begins indignantly. 

“You give her that black and blue?” the outlaw asks and there’s a new edge in his voice that thrills you.

You’ve almost forgotten about the mark on your cheek, when you and Brown came to blows that first encounter. He got you right in the under your eye where a big ugly welt remained. 

“She struck first,” Brown says with a smug little smile.

You want to knock his teeth out and it seems the outlaw has the same fancy. He whacks Brown right in the nose with his pistol. Brown wails and grabs his face, blood pouring between his fingers. Some of the other passengers gasp and a woman cries out in horror. 

You laugh so hard that it hurts the bruise.

As you step off the train you’re so flooded with relief. You’ve never been closer to catching a rope and your narrow escape, the pure fate of it all, is invigorating. The leaves look brighter than before and the air feels fresher even though coal smoke hangs all around you. 

You’ve got a second chance. Well, more like a hundredth chance. Anyone with an ounce of sense would see this divine intervention as a sign to change their ways, do things right. Not you. You just thank your lucky stars that you’ve put off meeting your maker by one more day. Whoever’s up there, you’ve managed to outsmart him so far and sometimes you’re arrogant enough to believe that you might avoid judgment day altogether. 

It takes you a moment to notice there are no other outlaws on standby. The tracks are obstructed by a pile of railroad ties which explains how such a small party could get aboard but other than that, it’s just deserted forest. The coal man and engineer must be tied up in the locomotive. An impressive feat for five men, let alone an aging cowboy and a teenage girl. 

“Keep moving,” the outlaw says and leads you away. 

He whistles uncommonly loud and two saddled horses— one the color of whiskey, the other nearly black— trot out of the tree line. 

A gun’s report echoes from the train. 

“Shit!” You duck. Brown and a Marshall stand on the caboose, aiming in your direction. 

The outlaw returns fire. A direct hit. He strikes the Marshall in the chest and his body topples over the rail onto the tracks with a great thud. 

“Come on!” The kid calls from the saddle of the brown horse. She’s got her hand out to you. 

You pull yourself onto its back behind her as more bullets whizz by. The kid shoots without taking time to aim. Her shots ping off the metal train car and Brown takes cover long enough for her partner to mount his horse. 

“Giddy up, Shimmer!” She kicks the horse and you’re carried off down the tracks, back west. 

The gunshots quiet and eventually stop and soon the train has disappeared from view when you’re around that bend. The horses take you off the gravel shoulder of the train tracks and into the trees, hooves picking carefully through the brush. They don’t stop until dusk is falling, miles away from where you started. Their hideout is a cave along the banks of a deep river. 

The kid hops out of the saddle south a celebratory holler and pulls the mask off to reveal delicate features removing her hat allows a long braid to tumble down her back. So you were right, that was a girl under there. 

“You see that shooting back there?” she asks her partner. 

He gives a gruff kind of chuckle but says no more. 

For the first time in days your whole body relaxes and you can’t help but giggle to yourself. You made it. 

“I’m Ellie,” the kid says after you’ve got your feet on the ground.“This here is Joel Miller.”

You’ve heard the name. The man notorious for robbing stagecoaches, banks, and trains stands before you. He tugs down his bandana revealing patchy stubble and a full set of lips that look like they’ve never seen a smile. It might be that he just saved your life but you can’t help but find him handsome. He’s rugged and square jawed, his neck dotted with beads of sweat. 

“As I live and breathe. I suppose I owe you one,” you say. 

You put out a hand for him to shake but instead your wrist is clamped in iron. He’s locked a handcuff around you. 

“God damn it!” you snap. You yank your arm back but he holds the other cuff in his fist. 

“Joel! What the hell?” Ellie says. 

He fixes his own wrist in the other cuff. You’re locked together with only about a foot of chain separating the two of you. 

“If you’re worth $10,000 I don’t need you wandering off on me,” he says and tugs back. 

All of the good will in you evaporates and you feel fire rise in your gut. You’ve never expected honor amongst thieves but this is more than treacherous. 

“You son of a bitch. You’d turn me into the law? I bet there’s a bounty on your head three times the size,”you gripe. 

“Four,” he tells you. 

Your face is hot and you’re ready to fight but Joel Miller isn’t just some city detective. 

“You’re a wanted man. How do you figure you can just waltz into the sheriff and ask for the reward?”

“You don’t worry about that, missy,” he says. 

The little moniker makes you want to slap him right in the face. 

“Joel, no,” Ellie says, features painted with disgust. 

“Don’t start with me,” he warns her. 

“We don’t need the money,” she protests. 

“Ellie.”

“Fuck you, you ugly lily-livered bastard!” you say. 

“Hey!” he barks, pulling the chain taught. “Listen here, missy. That handbill said ‘dead or alive.’ If you can’t be quiet, ain’t nothing stopping me from putting a bullet in ya.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine. There’s no reason for you to believe that’s an empty threat. Angry tears brim in your eyes but you’ll be damned if he sees you cry. You’re capable of violence, too, but unarmed, outnumbered, and imprisoned, you’ve got no choice but to shut up. 

You don’t go down easy, though. You spit at the ground between you and the frothy wad of saliva lands on Joel’s boot, then slips into the dirt. His nostrils flare and for a second you think he’s got mind to put you over his knee. You stand your ground, glaring into his dark eyes. 

There’s a twitch in his jaw and Joel turns away, working at the strap on his saddle, taking you with him. 

“Ellie, get that fire going,” he orders. “We’ll ride to the Boot tomorrow. Lay low for a week. Then we’ll go to Jackson and deal with her.” He nods at you. 

“You serious?” Ellie asks. She looks at you with apology in her expression. 

Joel tosses her the reins and she sighs. He shoves his saddle bags into your arms. 

“Make yourself useful,” he says. 

Your mind is already working again. You made it off of a moving train, you’ll find a way out of this new predicament. You’ve got one week to slip out of Joel Miller’s clutches. 

Chapter 2 - Series Masterlist

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Asks always open and I don't bite (much).

John’s Journal, Indian Missions and the Lesbian Nuns

January 16th, 2021

By @lateral-org​

Our staff had a lot of conversations about how to frame this topic. None of us are Native American so we wanted to make sure we didn’t spread any misinformation while still using our platform. Our compromise was to try to speak using sources for information rather than personal opinions.

TL:DR

It is our responsibility to educate ourselves on Native American history. Even moreso as Supernatural fans, since so much of the show’s mythology is derived from Native American beliefs. Native Americans are still forced to live under oppressive laws constructed by the people responsible for the deaths of millions of their forefathers. Raising awareness is the first step to combatting this injustice. Links to more resources and places to donate are at the end of this post. 

We’ve gotten a few confused asks about how this post relates to John’s Journal entry. In the post it makes some remarks connecting the journal entry to children being tortured. The aim of this article is to provide the missing context linking the two together and why it matters. 

Here’s the quote from John’s Journal:

January 24: Dean turns seventeen today. We went shooting. Then I sent him out on his first hunt. I’ve let him take the lead before, but I’ve always been there to back him up. This time he’s on his own. Partly it’s a test, and partly I wanted some time with Sammy. Should be no problem for Dean. Ghosts of two nuns haunting St. Stephen’s Indian Mission in Riverton, Wyoming. Simple salt-and-burn mission. Nuns in love with each other, then discovered. Killed themselves. We scoped the situation out, figured that something must be left behind that’s now a focus for the haunting. Bible, rosary beads, some small article that’s hidden somewhere in their room. I figured Dean would take care of it no problem, but I still stayed close by with Sammy... [Sam wants a normal life] … Dean took care of the nuns just like I thought he would, but I don’t think I’m going to be sending him on any more solos soon. That one was a little tense.

And that’s all she wrote. So why does this matter? It doesn’t talk about killing kids, just about lesbian nuns who were part of an indian mission. What’s the problem? Well, let’s start with the basics. 

What is an Indian mission?

Basically, an Indian mission is a reeducation camp for Native Americans. 

From an article published on History.com about indian missions in California:

The main goal of the California missions was to convert Native Americans into devoted Christians and Spanish citizens.

Spain used mission work to influence the natives with cultural and religious instruction.

Another motivation for the missions was to ensure that rival countries, such as Russia and Great Britain, didn’t try to occupy the California region first.

Why is that so bad? 

Indian missions contributed to the loss of hundreds of thousands of Native American lives. 

From the same article:

The mission era influenced culture, religion, architecture, art, language and economy in the region.

But, the missions also impacted California Indian cultures in negative ways. Europeans forced the natives to change their civilization to match the modern world. In the process, local traditions, cultures and customs were lost.

Some critics have charged that the Spanish mission system forced Native Americans into slavery and prostitution, comparing the missions to “concentration camps.”

Additionally, Spanish missionaries brought diseases with them that killed untold thousands of natives.

Prior to the California missions, there were about 300,000 Native Californians. By 1834, scholars believe there were only about 20,000 remaining.

Now back to the post that spawned this question: 

When OP (@fettcockfriday) says, 

spend some time thinking about why you latched onto “lesbian nuns” over “children being tortured and murdered.” did you not know what an indian mission was? did you think it was less interesting, or less important? sit with that for a while. 

To someone who doesn’t know the history of Indian Missions and wasn’t paying close attention to the journal entry, this feels like it's coming out of nowhere. With context, though, you can understand where this comes from. 

In the journal entry, the Indian mission only has the weight of any other convent nuns could reside in. This is a problem rooted in the american habit of erasing the ugly parts of its history. I highly doubt that Alex Irvine thought twice about the relevance of indian missions when he wrote that into the diary entry, which is the problem. 

From IllumiNative: 

American students learn some of the most damaging misconceptions and biases toward Native Americans in grades K-12. In fact, 87 percent of history books in the U.S. portray Native Americans as a population existing before 1900, according to a 2014 study on academic standards. For many Americans, we no longer exist.

With minimal mention of contemporary issues and ongoing conflicts over land and water rights or tribal sovereignty, Native Americans have become invisible and it can be argued that it makes it easier for non-Natives to take the lead on creating their own narratives about us. Our invisibility makes it easier to create and support racist mascots or over sexualize caricatures of Native women in everything from fashion to Halloween costumes.

For the well-being of Native peoples and future generations, these false narratives, the invisibility and erasure of Native peoples must end.

Native Americans are still disenfranchised, suffering under oppressive laws constructed by the people responsible for the deaths of millions of their forefathers. Attempts to reeducate native children are still happening to this day. The only way to move forward is to face the past and listen to the voices who have been kept quiet for so long. 

Resources:

Links for educating yourself:

The Traumatic Legacy of Indian Boarding Schools-The Atlantic

The Erasure Of Native America

History of Residential Schools- Indigenous People’s Atlas of Canada

We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee-TikTok

How this affects white Americans: 

Whose Land Are You On?

Did You Know... All These States Have Native Names!

UNIST'OT'EN | Background of the Campaign

Thanksgiving - Tumblr

Knowledge Center- First Nations 

Ways to Donate:

#settlersaturday, gofundmes for native people

Ways to Give- First Nations

Support Us - Native American Rights Fund

Support the Wet'suwet'en Hereditary Chiefs!

17 Organizations Providing Emergency Food Relief to Native Communities During COVID-19

Support Native American businesses: 

Birch Bark Coffee Company

Indigenous Cosmetics

Red Planet Books and Comics - Unleash Your Indigenous Imagination

Orenda Tribe Clothing

20+ Native American-Owned Businesses to Shop

Please tag, submit, or link any other accounts or resources related to this topic to us @destieldailynews​, we will reblog as much as we can.

Get to know me

Tagged by @guileandgall.  Hah!  After all this time, I doubt there’s much I can tell you that you don’t know! :)  (Thank you!)  Anyone else want to participate?  Consider yourself tagged!

Who were you named after? Two grandmothers (combined for first name), a great grandmother and a great aunt (both same name which is my  middle name)

Last time you cried? Um ... it’s been a while?  Although, I can cry at the drop of a hat - hormones, temper, frustration; you name it, it usually ends up in tears, so I may just not remember because it’s such a common occurrence. :P

Do you like your handwriting? Most days, yeah.  Days when arthritis is acting up (which I’ve had in my hands since age 13) not so much because it looks ... wobbly.

What is your favorite lunch meat?  what the heck kind of question is this???   Hmm ... rare roast beef, probably.  Cut very thin - not shredded, but deli sliced thin

Longest relationship? Only one, actually:  sixteen year marriage.

Do you still have your tonsils? Yes

What is your favorite kind of cereal? Apple & cinnamon oatmeal

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Pffft - what world does that EVER happen in?  These days, however, I usually rely on slip on sneaker/mule things.  Comfortable and no strings attached!  ;)

Do you think you’re strong-willed? Hell yeah - grow up the only girl (aside from mom) in a family of five and you have to be just to be heard.  (my son says he’s rather proud of me for that, too)

Favorite Ice Cream? oh god ... these days it’s Moose Tracks, but back in the day, Baskin’ & Robbins Chocolate Peanutbutter started it all! lol

What is the first thing you notice about a person?  what do you mean by ‘notice’?  Something I’m openly looking for?  Probably a sense of their ... vibe, I guess.  Shy, scared, mean, nice, etc.  I’m usually pretty good at figuring out if they’re open and welcoming vs. ‘get the fuck away from me!’

Football or baseball? Right now, ALL OF IT.  I LIVE for sports (don’t ask me why, I’ve no idea), especially when I’m knitting, and I’m really hurting through this pandemic ...  (that’s not a complaint, mind, just an observation).  But during normal times?  HOCKEY!  And football - both American and European (as well as Australian Rules though it’s been a long time since I was able to watch that).  Also college basketball ...  (glances over at @swaps55 )

Favorite donut? custard filled and covered in chocolate.  followed by apple fritters.

Last thing you ate? Nutty Bar by Little Debby

What are you listening to? Nothing - I’m at work.  Though, I’ve had “At the End of the Day” from Les Misearables going through my head.  Again.  MAKE IT STOP!

If you were a crayon, what color would you be? The bluest blue there is

What is your favorite smell? Roses

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? My Ex last night

Hair color? Good question as I haven’t colored in over six months!  lower portions sort of a mahogany brown, upper portions dark brown mixed with silvery grey.  Attempting to see just how much grey there is which, surprisingly, isn’t as much as I was afraid of

Eye color? Depends on mood - normal a golden brown.  Pissed off or emotionally charged in some way?  golden brown with green hints

Favorite food to eat? Pho

Scary movies or happy ending? Happy Endings.  I don’t do scary.

Last movie you watched in a theater?: Shit ... I havne’t been to a theater (including drive in) since before my divorce, for the most part.  Hmmm ...probably Star Wars Rogue One when a friend came to visit, though I don’t remember the year.

What color shirt are you wearing? light grey with white horizontal stripes

Favorite holiday?: Christmas

Beer or wine?: Neither, though I do like sake, and that’s a kind of wine?

Night owl or morning person? blargh ... whichever I need to get through the 24 hour period I’m awake.  I’m a mom and a former teacher - I can run on little or no sleep if necessary

Favorite day of the week? Friday or Saturday depending on the week - werewolf gaming day :P

Favorite animal? cats, dogs

Do you have a pet? Two cats (brothers) - Kaidan kitty and Cullen kitty.  I grew up with cats and dogs.

Where would you like to travel? A number of places.  New:  Ireland, Wales, more of England and Scotland, Australia, New Zealand, Hawaii    Places I’d like to revisit:  France, Austria, England, Scotland, WYOMING, Colorado

A Walk in the Park (drabble series)

Drabble #1

A/N: Here it is! The long awaited first drabble. It’s kind of long, so we’ll call it a mini chapter. I hope to do a couple of these a month because I really love this couple. This could be read as a stand alone, but it will make so much more sense if you read the series. Enjoy! 

Reblogs, comments, and likes are always adored.

“How much time do I have?” You asked Chris from your bedroom closet. He was either laying on the bed or in the bathroom. You were scrambling to throw together an outfit for a last-minute cocktail party. The party wasn’t last minute, but you boyfriend of nearly two years failed to tell you about it until a few hours ago. It’s a Hollywood party which by now you were used to attending. You both still stayed away from public events as you still weren’t comfortable with the attention. Lucky for you, your boyfriend was confident enough to attend such things solo.

“We should have left 10 minutes ago.” Chris hollered.

You let out a frustrated growl and walked into your shared bedroom, inserting an earring into your left earlobe. He was laying on the bed as you initially thought, dressed in dark jeans, a white button-down shirt with a maroon V-neck sweater over it. The sleeves were already pushed up.

“What are you wearing?” He asked. Eyebrows raised.

You looked down at yourself and then walked to the bathroom door where you had put up a full-length mirror when you first moved in. You looked fine. You had on a navy blue wrap dress that showed little to no cleavage. The length of the dress stopped at your knees. “What do you mean?”

Chris sat up and walked to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, nuzzling your ear. You patted his arm for him to stop and he laughed, pulling his face away. Anytime he kissed or nuzzled your neck and ears, it got your hot and bothered. If you were already 10 minutes late, he needed to stop.

“This is a little revealing.”

“It is?” Frown forming on your face.

His hands roamed up and down your hips. “Not normally, but this producer is very conservative. A little skin is too much skin. But I like this. You should wear it more often.” He leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Okay.” You sigh, walking back into your closet to change.

Forty minutes later, dressed in black pants, black kitten heels, and an eggplant silk blouse that’s tucked in, you’re pulling up to a large house in the hills. There isn’t parking, so a valet takes the car to be parked in another location. Chris, who is notorious for never having cash on hand, smirks at you when you pat your purse, knowing you’ll be the one tipping tonight.

Walking into the party, you notice no one is dressed conservatively. Most women are in short dresses and skirts, some with bare midriffs. He shrugs his shoulders and walks you both to the host to say hello.

Chris is handsier tonight, way more than usual. Together you’re a handsy couple. Little touches here and there, holding hands, that kind of thing. But tonight, he won’t let you out of his sight. He even walked you to the bathroom at one point and waited by the door. It was almost embarrassing. You don’t want people to think you had a leash on him.

He’s also constantly moving. One or the both of you would be in the middle of a conversation when he would grab your hand and walk away mid-sentence. You excused it the first time, but by the third time, you had enough.

Pulling him into the bathroom and shutting the door, you crossed your arms over your chest and give him the “look” as he liked to call it.

“Babe, I don’t think this is the time and place.” He says with a smirk.

You shake your head. “What’s going on with you tonight. You’re clingy, not that I don’t like it, but it’s different. You also keep moving around the room and it’s making me dizzy.”

“It’s nothing, I swear. I just want you all to myself tonight. Is that a bad thing?” He pulls your arms apart and pulls you into a hug, kissing your lips, soft and sweet. You sigh into it and pull away.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Why don’t we just leave soon?” You ask.

“Yeah, let me just say goodbye to a few people and we can go.”

You nod your head and check your appearance in the mirror as Chris opens the door.

“Oh fuck.” Chris practically whispers, but you hear it. You peer around him and see Sebastian Stan at the end of the hallway blocking any exit from the bathroom. You chuckle quietly to yourself and shake your head. Your boyfriend’s concern over your tiny crush on Sebastian years ago has really gone to his head.

Putting your hands against his shoulders you started to push him forward. “Let’s go babe. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can be home.”

The pushing caught him off guard and he not so elegantly stumbled forward. “Hold on. Hold on.” He whispered yelled over his shoulder.

You let out a loud chuckle. A large grin on your face told him he was busted.

All the commotion drew Sebastian’s attention to Chris. “Hey buddy!” He yells as the two of you are mere feet away. Chris arms go behind him as he tries to casually keep your body concealed. You aren’t having it and move your head to the side of his shoulder and wave.

“Is this Y/N?” He asks. Huge smile on his face. “I was getting worried you didn’t exist when I found out that nearly everyone has met you and I hadn’t.”

You shake your head and give him a smile, coming around Chris’ side to offer your hand to Sebastian. “In the flesh. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You look at Chris who is looking awfully sheepish. “Funny that we keep missing each other.”

Sebastian takes your hand but pulls you into a hug. You can’t see Chris’ face at the moment but you know he isn’t happy. You decide to play into it and hug him just a bit longer.

Chris and Sebastian greet each other with a little small talk, Marvel talk, and little bit about upcoming projects. Sebastian brings his attention back to you, asking about your career, but before you can get a word in, Chris is being pulled away. He reaches for your hand but you decline it. “I’ll be fine with Sebastian, go on.” You smirk. He nods and walks to join the group that called him.

You and Sebastian talk for a short while about your job, house projects, trips you’ve taken. He tells you about a resort he stayed in while in Wyoming and you promise to tell Chris about it. Sebastian is sweet, charming, and funny. It’s easy to see why Chris and he are friends. Chris meanwhile is not so subtly sneaking glances at the two of you. You don’t give away that you are noticing, instead you smile a little brighter, touch his arm a little more. Purely innocent things that are well deserved that you know will drive him nuts.

All too soon, Chris is pulling you away, saying goodbye to Sebastian, making sure there is no hug goodbye and pulling you to the door. His arm is wrapped around your waist as you wait for your car, but neither of you are speaking. You hand the driver a five dollar bill and get into the car.

The drive home is filled with silence. You’re thinking about how to bring up the “Sebastian incident” as you will forever call it, but decide to wait until you are both home.

Once you’re both in bed for the night you turn on your side and lay your head on Chris’ chest. He hums in relief and starts to rub your back with the arm that is around you.

“So, you didn’t want me to meet Sebastian huh?”

He groans and you can feel the vibration in his chest.  When he doesn’t speak, you continue. “He’s rather sweet. And funny. And much better looking in person.”

Chris squeezes you and you giggle. He kisses the top of your head. “It’s not that I didn’t want you to ever meet him, I just wanted to do it when he had a girlfriend.”

You swat at his chest and lift your head up to look him in the eyes. “Babe, I love you. Only you. You’re my best friend. We live together. I’ve adopted your dog son as my own. Please don’t be jealous about a FRIEND of yours who I had a crush on a million years ago.”

He gives you a sad smile and brings his lips to yours.

“I’m sorry. I’m glad you finally met and that you like him.”

You smile and lower your head back to his chest. “That’s a good thing because I’ll be spending a lot of time with him now that he’s hired me to do his mom’s birthday party.”

Chris bolts straight up knocking you off his chest and back onto your back on your side of the bed.

“What?!”

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Of Monsters and Men, and a Woman - Part II.

- Wine smells better than smoke. -

I was asked to write a sequel. I’m sorry it took me so long. Life, work, and a three-week-vacation in Scotland got in the way but here it is now. If you want to familiarize yourself with part I, you will find it here. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

————————–

Jackson didn’t know how long he had been looking outside lost in thought. Next to him in the back seat of the car, Dana was sleeping peacefully. Her head was tilted to the side so her face was turned to him. Jackson studied her face and recognized features he saw when he looked in the mirror: the freckles on her nose, the high cheekbones, the angular jaw. His hair had been reddish as a child but had become darker once he had hit puberty. The color resembled Mulder’s more now, who was sitting in the front steering silently. Jackson looked at the back of his birth father’s head and realized their hair was pretty much alike: dark brown, thick, shiny. He hadn’t shared any resemblances with his mama and pops. Of course not, they had been his adoptive parents, these were the parents whose genetic material he shared. 

Maybe he should stop talking about them like this, labeling them his adoptive versus his birth parents. Maybe it was time to accept he had two sets of parents. One that had raised him and had given him the best childhood he could think of, and one who had always been there and had always cared about him but only now had the ability to act as parents. It broke his heart when he thought about how cruelly the Van De Kamps had been murdered but it also filled him with immense relief to know that he wasn’t alone. And this Mulder-and-Scully duo (he still found it a bit weird that they called each other by their last names) gave him the impression they knew what they were doing. They seemed capable of standing up to his enemies. They sure stood up against that smoking jerk, especially Dana, no matter how hopeless their situation had appeared to be or that she was so much smaller physically.

The car was coming to a halt in front of a steel gate. Mulder turned around and looked at him. “Would you mind opening that gate for me, Jackson?" 

"Not at all,” Jackson said unbuckling his seat belt. “Do you see the input box at that pole over there? The code it 1013. And close it again behind us, please. Make sure it’s securely locked.” “Yes, sir,” Jackson couldn’t help replying to the more than explicit request. He jumped out of the car and pushed the gate open. It was heavy and creaked quite a bit. He wondered where they were. It was pitch dark, the headlights of the car were the only source of light, they hadn’t come by any sign of human habitation for the past half hour, and now these security measures. Jackson asked himself where they were taking him. Mulder drove slowly through the gate Jackson was holding and waited until he had pushed it back shut. The boy heard a click and rattled it a little to check if the bolt had latched completely. The light at the input pad, which had turned green when he had typed in the code, switched back to red. Everything seemed fine, so he hopped back in the car. “When Dana said you had a house in the countryside I didn’t expect it to be that far away from human civilization,” Jackson deadpanned while buckling up again. He had no idea how much longer the trip would be. Mulder chuckled. “Yeah, well, we’ve come to appreciate a certain quiet and isolation from the rest of the world. There was a time we didn’t want to be found. By anyone.”   Jackson let the words sink in. What was he to make of them? Had they been in a situation like this before? Having to flee and hide from people pursuing them? He didn’t have time to ponder about it much longer as a few minutes later a house came into view. A nice two-story building with gray roofing shingles, green wooden window frames, and a porch. A lamp illuminated the steps leading up to the front door. The place looked cozy and inviting. It actually reminded Jackson a bit of his first home, the Van De Kamp farmhouse in Wyoming, only that it had been much larger with stables for cattle and pasture lands surrounding it, but the place had evinced the same emotions in him: homecoming, comfort, safety. 

Mulder parked the car in front of the porch and cut the engine. He turned around in his seat, looked at Scully who was still sleeping, smiled, then squeezed her knee gently. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. We’re home.” It was inconceivable that she was able to sleep after what had happened, Jackson thought. She either had been totally drained or so full of trust for that Mulder guy. Said Mulder guy obviously knew what Jackson was thinking. “She can stay awake for more than 36 hours straight if need be, on a stakeout or at a patient’s bed in the hospital, but in a car when she’s not driving or reading a case file, she’s asleep in no time. It’s a gift. I wished I was able to do that. I am a notoriously bad sleeper.” Mulder got out of the car, opened the door in the back and bent down to pull her sleeping form out when she stirred. Her eyes opened abruptly, she lifted her head and straightened herself up. “Mmmm, I must have dozed off for a second,” she said, her voice a sleepy mumble. “Yes, sure, Scully. Just for a second, as always,” Mulder said. Jackson bit back a chuckle. This was obviously a well-known, recurring pattern in their lives. Scully shook her head a little to get rid of the last remnants of sleep and swatted Mulder’s hand away from her knee. “Now let me get out. You weren’t thinking of carrying me, were you?” Mulder put his hands up as if he had been told to freeze. He got up from his bent posture, stepped back and sighed. “No, of course not. Heaven forbid that you are not in charge for a split-second.”   Mulder was annoyed for a moment. Why was it so difficult for her to let him carry her, either figuratively or literally? She had allowed herself to be weak in his arms a few times lately: in the morgue after she had given her speech to what they had believed was their long-lost son in a body bag or in the motel when she hadn’t been able to sleep during that hangman case. She had even admitted her fear that he might find someone else one day. Someone else…what nonsense! As if there could ever be anyone else for Mulder than Scully.   Jackson noticed the slight tension between them but was distracted from thinking about it by a high-pitched barking. “You have a dog?” he asked, his memory going back to the dog he had as a child: Champ, a Golden Retriever who had followed his every step.

“Yes,” Mulder answered, “his name is Daggoo. He’s Scully’s actually. She stole him from a crime scene.” “I didn’t steal him. I saved him from the animal shelter,” Scully defended herself. “Secretly scheming to move him in with me because you weren’t allowed to have pets at your place.” “Oh come on, you’ve got so much more space and you can’t deny that walking him three times a day is doing you good.” “I’ve always loved how you’re able to manipulate people into thinking something’s good for them when it’s actually good for you,” Mulder said with a smile on his lips. “I don’t have to remind you what happened to Queequeg, Mulder, do I? You owed me.”   Mulder only sighed at Scully’s stern look. 

Jackson had followed their banter, glad on the one hand that the moment of tension had subsided, but also irritated that they had been talking of my place/your place. He had thought they were living together, that they were a couple. They had had him, made him ‘in an act of love’ as Dana had said, they had to have been together at some point. Had they ever been married? Their different last names left him guessing.   Mulder had opened the front door in the meantime. A white/brown terrier was jumping down the stairs yelping happily and wiggling his tail so much that his whole body was shaking heavily; as if he knew they were coming home from a dreadful endeavor and needed some cheering up. Jackson’s eyes lit up when he saw him and because dogs sensed instinctively who liked them and who didn’t he made toward the boy immediately and jumped up against his legs. “Daggoo, down!” Scully berated him but Jackson wasn’t minding the animal’s affection one bit. “It’s okay, I love dogs,” he said kneeling down petting him behind his ears. “Good boy,” he cooed, “you’re such a beauty, do you know that?” Daggoo licked his hand in return. It was love at first sight between them obviously. Mulder and Scully exchanged a short glance, relief written on their faces. Their dog (they could banter as much as they wanted about 'my dog/your dog’, he really and truly was theirs) had conjured a bright smile on their son’s face for the first time since they had been reunited and they enjoyed seeing him so cheerful. Each of them made a silent promise to themselves to do everything in their power to make Jackson’s life happy and carefree again. They watched the boy and the dog for a moment longer, then Mulder ushered everyone inside. Jackson looked around and felt instantly at home. The living room wasn’t tidied up, there were magazines lying around everywhere, a greasy pizza carton resided atop a coffee table and a blanket had been thrown haphazardly on the couch, but that was exactly what made the place homey. Scully saw it slightly differently though. “Goodness, when did you last clean this place up, Mulder?” Bang! Another sign she wasn’t living here. Jackson slowly familiarized himself with the idea that his birth parents - his parents - weren’t a couple. What would this mean for him? Would they take turns caring for him? Like his best friend Pete spent his weekends alternately at his mom’s and dad’s? Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to have called for them after all. But where would he be now without them? With the Smoking Man? Believing this asshole was his father? Jackson’s insides tied a knot. No, he was definitely better off with them than without, no matter what the status of their relationship was. In any case, they were on good terms with each other, that much was clear. They would have to join forces to make this work for him. They owed him that much after they had given him up for adoption, didn’t they? “I don’t mind the mess,” he came to Mulder’s rescue. “No, of course, you don’t,” Scully mumbled more to herself than to Jackson, “you’re also a man. I will never understand how one can live in such a mess. What has gone wrong in evolution to burden us with such a neglectful gender when it comes to housework?” She sighed deeply, picking up the pizza carton and throwing it into a trash can. She opened a cabinet, took a cleaning rag out, opened another one which contained the cleaning agents, soaked the rag with water and dishwashing liquid, wrung it out above the sink, then started wiping the coffee table. At least she knew her way around the place, Jackson thought. If she really didn’t live here, she was a frequent guest at least. She definitely moved around as if she was at home. She was folding the blanket now and placed it on the couch’s backrest before she took care of the throw pillows, shaking them out and arranging them in an orderly fashion. “See, this is something we men will never understand. What is the purpose of an exact arrangement of pillows on a sofa?” Mulder asked shedding his dirty jacket and throwing it carelessly on a chair. “Can you explain to me the scientific nature of pillow arranging, Dr. Scully?” “It looks nice and tidy, Mulder. It’s aesthetic. It makes the place appear maintained instead of neglected and run-down,” she explained slightly irritated. And as if to strengthen her point, she lifted the jacket off the chair with two fingers and left the room. A moment later a loud thud could be heard, most likely the door of the washing machine.  

Jackson threw Mulder a glance who only shrugged. This was all very familiar to the boy, he had witnessed interactions like this a million times between his parents. His other parents. Jeez, having four parents instead of two wasn’t easily put into words. Scully re-entered the living room where Mulder and Jackson were still standing at the same spot, only Daggoo had moved and was making himself comfortable on one of the cushions she had just arranged. She looked at him and sighed, “et tu, Brute?” Jackson didn’t know what that meant and he also didn’t care that much. He was hungry. He hadn’t had a decent meal in days having been on the run from his pursuers. “Uhm, you said we could have something to eat,” he reminded them. “Right, sure. I’m afraid the fridge isn’t well-stocked,” Mulder said and Scully chuckled loudly enough to strengthen her point about men and housekeeping. “But we can order something in. What would you like, Jackson? Italian, Thai? Or a burger maybe?” “A burger would be great. With bacon and cheese, if it’s possible.” “Sure. Fries?” Jackson nodded and watched how Mulder pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Wasn’t he going to ask what Dana wanted, he wondered. She didn’t seem to ask herself the same though. Uninvolved in the process of deciding on the food, she slipped out of her shoes, put her feet on the coffee table, reached over to Daggoo and started petting him gently. Jackson listened as Mulder placed his order. “Two deluxe double bacon cheeseburgers, please. Onion rings, two large orders of regular fries and one of the sweet potato fries. Make the sweet fries unsalted. A mixed salad with extra arugula instead of the radicchio, no onions but mushrooms, and the non-fat Italian dressing. …  Deliver, please. The name is Mulder. 227700 Wallace Road, Farrs Corner. …  Yes, I know how far out it is. Tell Pete to give me a call when he’s at the gate. I will meet him down there. He knows the procedure. … Thanks. Bye.” He winked at Jackson when their eyes met and added, “Pete knows he gets a generous tip.” It didn’t go unnoticed by Jackson that Mulder knew exactly what to order for Dana, and her choice wasn’t exactly mundane. The sweet potato fries were also for her, he presumed. Which real guy ate sweet potato fries? Unsalted, to top it. And if messy homes were typical for men, salads with non-fat dressings were typical for women. No wonder she was so tiny and thin. If her diet had consisted more of greens than anything since her youth, her body had simply lacked the nutrients to grow. At least that was what mama had always told him. “Eat your steak and potatoes, Jackson, so you grow up fit and strong!” He was glad he had inherited his height from Mulder and not from Dana. Small women were cute and evoked a man’s protective instinct (Jackson was sure though that she hated her stature had this effect on men) but small men were a target of mockery. He was even taller than Mulder, and he was only seventeen. Maybe he would still grow a couple of inches. When Mulder got back with dinner, Scully and Jackson had already laid the table. They ate mostly in silence, Mulder and Jackson eating with their hands gobbling down their food like hungry wolves, Scully picking listlessly at her salad with a fork. The unsalted sweet potato fries remained untouched but Jackson watched how delicate manicured fingers made their way into the box with the regular fries. She put a handful of the salty, greasy food into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, licked her fingers with relish, which was then followed by a satisfied hum. Mulder didn’t even look up as all of this happened, he registered it out of the corner of his eye and just smirked slightly. Jackson couldn’t help but think that they acted so much like a married couple; as if they had known each other for years and years. How could they not be living at this place together? Well, he would get more hints about their relationship once the sleeping arrangements were discussed. When they had finished their food and Scully got up to clear the table, Mulder grabbed her wrist and made her sit back down. “Nuh-uh, Scully, let the neglectful gender take care of this. How about you make yourself comfortable on the sofa with Daggoo?” “Nice idea, Mulder, but someone has to change the sheets in the guest room. I can’t see you taking care of this after my last sleepover.” With this, she vanished into the hallway and left Mulder and Jackson alone with a very uncomfortable silence. Finally, Jackson addressed the elephant in the room. He needed clarity anyway, he might as well ask. 

“I thought you guys were married.” “Uh, no, we’re not.” “So you’re divorced.” Jackson simply assumed they had to be divorced if they weren’t married. They had a child together, him, so they had to be married sometime in the past. He wasn’t prudish or anything, he knew people had sex without being married, but where he came from people got married when they wanted to have children. “No. We…erm, we never got married.” “Well, it makes sense then,” Jackson said. “What makes sense?” “That your last names are different.” “Our last names don’t have much to do with it, actually. Even if we had gotten married, I doubt we would ever have been Mr. and Mrs. Mulder. I guess we simply missed the right moment to tie the knot. I asked her once to marry me but she didn’t believe I was serious.” “Were you?” “Hmm…I don’t know. Maybe not a hundred percent. But if she’d said yes, I wouldn’t have regretted asking.” “And the topic has never come up again?” “No.” “Not even from her?” “No.” “Strange. I thought all women wanted to get married and have kids.” “Scully isn’t like other women. Her independence is very important to her. We weren’t any less committed to each other because we weren’t married, that’s for sure. Maybe that’s why. Our commitment to one another was so strong, we didn’t need a wedding certificate to prove it.” “Whatever, you spared yourselves an ugly divorce with your separation.” “What makes you think we’re separated?” “Well, you’ve been talking about 'mine’ and 'yours’ a lot, like separated people do. Daggoo is her dog that cannot stay at her place but needs to stay at yours. The mess we stumbled into also was yours, Dana made that clear. And she sleeps in the guest room. All of that cries out 'separation’. I have a good power of observation.” Jackson had seen it happening to a friend’s family. Everything that had belonged to the family before became branded with 'mine’ and 'yours’ all of a sudden. His friend’s mom even sawed through the leather couch with a chainsaw just to get even with her former husband who had cheated on her. “Hmm, you have a point but…uhm, how is the fact she’s called this our house when we were in the car fit into your theory?” “Freudian slip?” Mulder chuckled. “That would never happen to Scully.” Looking at Jackson’s puzzled face he added, “I’m sorry, pal, this must all be very confusing. This is our house, we bought it together and lived in it together. We lived like a married couple for many years and people mistook us as married many times but we never actually were married.” “Lived. Not live. Like in we did that in the past but not anymore.” Mulder sighed heavily before he answered. “Right, that’s over. Look, Jackson, our lives have always been…difficult and complicated. Due to our work. There was a time we thought we could leave it all behind us, at least Scully did. She wanted a restart so badly. She’d lost so much because of our work, most importantly you, and all she wanted was normalcy. A job, a home, a partner to share her life with. And I tried to give it to her, all of it, but I failed her. I couldn’t let go of my quest for the truth, and I ruined everything. So, one day the inevitable happened: she packed her things and left to save herself from being pulled underwater with me. She needed to get out of here to be able to breathe. But Scully wouldn’t be Scully if she left me to my fate. She still cared. She looked after me and helped me find my way again.” “And what’s your status now? I mean, you take care of her dog, you know exactly what food to order for her, she stays over…” “We’ve never stopped being friends. We’ve never stopped…caring deeply for each other. She just doesn’t live here anymore.”   Mulder felt a bit awkward talking to his son so openly about his romantic feelings for Scully, that they had never stopped loving each other, but the boy deserved to know, didn’t he? “I just don’t want to impose.” “Impose?” Mulder didn’t understand. His face apparently showed his puzzlement because Jackson explained, “I don’t want to force the two of you together, you know. I don’t want you to think you have to do all this,” he was fidgeting with his hands in the air making clear he meant what was happening at this very moment in this house, “just because of me.” “Just because of you?” Mulder parroted, disbelief threaded into his voice. “Are you crazy, Jackson? You are the best thing that ever happened to us. You’ve been our miracle. The time you were with us was the happiest time of our lives. It was much too short, especially for me, but neither of us ever wanted to miss it. We’ll figure this out. We’ll figure us out. You simply have to trust us. I know it’s not easy after what we’ve done but…” Mulder stopped abruptly when Scully’s purposeful steps could be heard on the floorboard. She was making her way back to them and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know of Jackson’s concerns about their relationship and his staying with them. “Your room is all set, Jackson,” she said entering the living room. “It’s upstairs on the right. I left a towel on the bed in case you’d like to take a shower. Is there anything else you need?” The delight in her eyes told Mulder how much she enjoyed doing this and the thought that their son felt uncomfortable about it clasped his heart with a cold fist. “Thanks,” was all Jackson mumbled. He didn’t even look at Scully. She either didn’t notice or didn’t want to acknowledge it. She continued undeterred, “if you need anything, we’ll be down here. Just ask.” He did ask, laying his finger right into the wound. “Where are you guys sleeping? Just in case I need something at night.” The question was dangling between them for a moment, both Scully and Mulder taken off guard by the directness of it. Jackson held his breath, quite aware it was a delicate issue. He wondered who would take the initiative and answer, and, of course, how. It was Mulder who was able to find his voice again. “The master bedroom is also upstairs, at the other side of the hallway,” he answered, avoiding the issue of who would be sleeping in there. He wasn’t sure what Scully’s sleeping arrangement would look like. They had shared a bed a few times recently - platonically and two times not so platonically - but she hadn’t moved back in. On her nights over she had always insisted they slept apart, Mulder in the master bedroom and her in the guest room. They were far from resuming their romantic relationship. He wasn’t even sure if they were in anything other than a relationship of friendly co-workers. Or co-working friends? Well, they were co-working best friends formerly lovers, if he was precise. To him, she was still his constant, his touchstone, that had never ceased to be the truth, but he wasn’t sure what she saw in him. Well, he could go around the status of their relationship over and over until he went mad, whatever it was, it was so them: complicated, in-flux, undefined. Mulder caught Jackson’s questioning look and held it, hoping he would leave it at that. He didn’t want Scully to feel obliged to explain or even defend herself. They were all exhausted from what had happened in the factory, now wasn’t the time to discuss their long-term future. They needed sleep and when they were replenished, they could have a talk. To Mulder’s immense relief, he watched how tiredness was overwhelming Jackson. His eyelids drooping, he yawned extensively. Mulder let the breath out he had been holding when Jackson finally acquiesced. “Okay, I think I should get some shut-eye.” With this, the boy turned around and headed for the stairs. Mulder and Scully looked after him. Their eyes remained trained at the top of the stairs until their son disappeared from their view. They listened to a door open and close and eventually to the shower being turned on. “Goodnight, my son,” Scully whispered to herself, hiccuping a sob which awakened Mulder from his trance-like state. He looked at her and realized she was shaking. The last few weeks were finally taking their toll on her. Mulder knew how much it took to make Scully break down. What had happened since she had realized her seizure was caused by her lost son who tried to communicate with her definitely was enough to make her falter. She was inches away from shattering into a million pieces, like a crystal glass bursting to a high note sung by an opera singer. Mulder turned toward her and pulled her into an embrace. The willingness with which she was giving in told him he had assessed the situation correctly. She melted into him, laying her head against his chest. She wasn’t wearing her heels anymore and their height difference was at its maximum expression. Mulder had always loved it when she was like that, bare of all the paraphernalia of Professional Scully. She allowed only a handful of people to see her without the makeup to hide her freckles and the sensual mole on her upper lip, the business suit to cover her feminine curves, and the heels to make her taller than she actually was. And he was lucky to be one of those few people. They stayed like this, mute and still, for a long time. Eventually, Scully took a deep breath and pulled back, a clear sign she had regained her strength. But she didn’t let go of Mulder completely. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “How about a glass of red wine, Mulder? I think I’m too stirred up to be able to sleep although I’m totally drained. Do you have a nice bottle somewhere?” “What about the one Skinner gave us when we signed the sales contract for this house?” “You still have that bottle?” “It’s a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, it needs to rest a long time. Wine of this quality gets better with age. Just like us,” he added with a smile. “I’ve waited for the right moment to open it and if this is not a good moment to have a first-class wine I don’t know what is. You make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’ll go and fetch it.” He knew exactly where the bottle was, where he had put it all those years ago when Skinner had handed it to him with a smile on his face. Their boss had been as happy and confident as them that settling permanently into a house would be the beginning of a new life for them. It hadn’t come quite as they all had hoped. With Mulder sliding into a depression and Scully thriving as a doctor in her new job they had slowly grown apart. Funny that a relationship so unique as theirs had been susceptible to a development so cliché. But that had been then and now was now. Their son was sleeping peacefully upstairs, they were on the right track repairing their relationship, this was the perfect moment to open this bottle. When he returned from the pantry where he had indeed found the 2008 Châteauneuf-du-Pape exactly where he thought it would be, Scully had already resumed her place on the couch next to Daggoo who was snoring slightly in his sleep. A corkscrew and two red wine glasses were waiting for them on the coffee table, most certainly placed on coasters. Scully hated stains on the table’s surface. Mulder placed himself next to her and leaned his back against the backrest. He was holding the bottle in his hands and looked at the label. Skinner had written something on it which had faded over time and was hardly legible anymore. He pulled his new glasses out - progressives, no bifocals - and tried to decipher the words. He had never been good at reading Skinner’s scribble, Scully was so much better at it. “Scully, can you read this?” he asked, passing the bottle to her. She looked at the label and squinted. “I think so,” she said. She didn’t even need glasses. “What does it say? Are you going to tell me?” “It says, 'Always remember who your friends are. Skinner.’ That’s it.” Mulder took the bottle back to open it. He carefully inserted the corkscrew, cautious not to damage the cork which could be brittle after such a long time. After he had pulled it out, he checked for a corky smell but it seemed fine. He poured some of the red liquid into their glasses, the rest into a decanter. The wine would need time to breathe to develop its full taste. He handed a glass to Scully, they clinked, then put the glasses to their lips. Scully only hummed when the liquid was running down her throat, Mulder clicked his tongue. “Jeez, this is good,” he said. “It sure is,” she agreed. “What he wrote on the label makes me think, Mulder.” “Think what?” “That Skinner has always been our friend. That we’ve been unfair to him probably, having thought he betrayed us. Remember when he came to the hospital after my seizure and you started a fight with him?” “He’d acted weird and he did smell like smoke.” “Yes, he did, but we should’ve given him credit instead of assuming he’d be working against us. Looking back at it now, I believe that he was indeed coming to us after a meeting with the Smoking Man, a meeting where he had probably been told about Spender’s deluded idea that he was Jackson’s biological father. Skinner tried to keep this information from us, Mulder. He tried to protect us from it. He has always been our friend, and we were too paranoid to see it.” “We weren’t paranoid, Scully. The threat was real. I had just stopped a man from suffocating you by cutting his throat and then Skinner came stumbling in after having been unreachable for hours, smelling like smoke and wearing a face so explicitly blank…what were we supposed to make of it?” “And still, we should’ve known that he would never switch sides. He’s an honest soul who’s covered our asses more than once.”

“That’s true enough, but when it comes to you, Scully, I will never risk trusting the wrong people.” “Trust no one, huh?” “That motto saved our lives a few times.” Some of the occasions he was referring to came to Scully’s mind. She put the glass to her lips with a sigh and took another sip. The wine had breathed enough already to develop some of the rich, red-fruit aroma and herbaceous note for which it was famous. Scully hummed delightfully. “This really is a good wine, Mulder. I’m glad you remembered you had this in your pantry. You’re not stocked as badly as I thought,” she teased him.   Under normal circumstances, Mulder would have taken her remark as the opening of one of their casual banters but the circumstances weren’t normal. His son was resting safely upstairs in the guest room, or rather the son he had always believed was his. He had heard things tonight that made him doubt his fatherhood. “Is it really true, Scully?” he asked abruptly without any adequate introduction. “Is what true, Mulder?” “That I am his father?” Scully took a sharp intake of breath. She set her glass aside, turned toward Mulder and looked him in the eye. She then took his glass out of his hand and placed it next to hers on the coffee table. Taking his hands in hers, feeling his slight tremor, she gave them a reassuring squeeze before she started speaking.   “Yes, you are his father. I’d been feeling it so strongly from the moment I was told that I was pregnant. You were missing, then gone, and for so many months I believed the baby growing inside me was to be my only connection to you. I knew it was yours.”   “But you ran multiple tests anyway.” “You know me, I seek proof of what I want myself to take as fact. And I got myself proof. I am a thorough scientist, Mulder, my proof is one hundred percent reliable. You are Jackson’s father, the DNA doesn’t lie. If you want, and if Jackson is okay with it, we can do another paternity test.” “No, I trust your scientific evaluation, Scully. I always have.” They smiled at each other briefly before Scully’s expression changed. Mulder’s face had been the one marked by worry a moment ago, now it was hers. “Do you think he will stay with us?” she voiced her concern. “I hope so.” “We just got him back,” Scully whispered close to tears, “I don’t want to lose him again.” “Me neither, but I guess him sleeping upstairs is a good sign. He trusts us. He protected me when he…erm, got rid of those Purlieu people coming after us.” “You mean when he made their bodies explode?” “Yeah, well, our son does have extraordinary abilities. Given all the weird stuff I’ve seen, this wins first prize but what I was getting at is that he made sure I wasn’t harmed. And today he also got us out of there. He wants us to able to be there for him.” “I hope you’re right. If I could be his mother again…” Scully hiccuped. “You have always been his mother, Scully. Maybe he isn’t aware of it, but I am.” “Thank you, Mulder.” They gazed at each other and Mulder’s heart was overflowing with compassion for Scully. How much had this woman had to endure? How come she was still sane and hadn’t gone completely mad after what life had burdened her with? He admired her so much for her strength.   “Jesus Christ, I so want to kiss you right now, Scully. May I?" 

Anxiety over possible rejection was creeping up Mulder’s spine when a tear started running down her cheek but he had to finish what he had started. When she nodded, more tears spilling, he brought his lips to hers and kissed her as softly as he could. This wasn’t about passion but about companionship, about a life lived together, about an unwavering feeling of love for her. 

"We will make this work, Scully. I am sure of it. You, me, and Jackson. We will make this…this family thing work. Maybe he will never call us mom and dad but somehow we will manage to be parents to him.”

Scully leaned into Mulder and put her head on his shoulder. She hummed silently and took another sip of wine. 

“This is nice, Mulder. You and me together here on this couch, this wonderful wine, our son upstairs in the room I had always thought would have been his if things had been different.” Mulder thought back to his earlier conversation with Jackson, how insecure the boy had been about their current relationship and how he fit in. 

“Let’s give it try, Scully. Let’s give Jackson a stable structure, something which comes close to what he had with his adoptive parents. He still is a kid, he shouldn’t have to doubt where he belongs. I want him to feel he belongs to us. Move back in.” His words echoed in the silence that followed. Mulder couldn’t see her reaction to his bold suggestion as Scully’s head was nestled against the spot where his shoulder met his neck. He already feared he had pushed too hard when he heard her whisper, “but there’s no extra room for me anymore.” “Do we really need an extra room? The guest room has always been intended to be his, not yours. Our bed is too big for me alone, it never felt good sleeping in it on my own. I wish for nothing more than us being together again. Not only as co-workers but as partners. Life partners. We could make it legal even, maybe adopt him back if we can. We could be a family. Officially, for everyone to see. The Mulders. Or the Scullys, if you want. I don’t care. I only care about us, us three being together.” Scully straightened and pushed herself back from Mulder. She looked at him with wide eyes. Putting her hand on his forehead, she stammered, “are…are you running a f-fever, Mulder?” “I’m in my right mind, and I am serious.” “Fox William Scully?” she offered, giving him her trademark arching eyebrow. “Mr. Dana Scully,” he replied with a boyish grin, “sounds good to me.” Scully brushed a tear off her cheek and laughed. “I’ll ask you again tomorrow when you’re down from your high; whatever caused it.” Mulder left it at that. He knew there was no use arguing now. She probably needed time to let his suggestion sink in, or rather his proposal. He had really and truly proposed to her! How many years had he waited now to pop the question a second time? What an irony that again she didn’t believe he meant what he said, that he was under the influence of something clouding his judgment. She couldn’t be further from the truth. He was as sober and clear in his head as humanly possible and he had no problems at all asking her again tomorrow. He would ask her as often as necessary until she considered his proposal to be credible. Scully nestled back into Mulder’s side and put her feet on the coffee table. He placed his long legs alongside hers, his thigh touching hers. When her head was back at its prior resting place on his shoulder he kissed her hair. This was exactly how it was supposed to be, he didn’t need more to be happy. Scully in his arms, hopefully, his wife-to-be, his son upstairs in the second bedroom, and the prospect of a family life. It almost ached physically to imagine a happy future was waiting for him around the corner. And then Scully said something that made his heart skip a beat. 

“You should ask Skinner to be your best man.” Now it was Mulder who dissolved their snuggling position. Sitting up straight with eyes wide as saucers and his heart in his mouth, he stammered, “what? Was…was that a yes, Scully? Do I have to check you for fever now?” She laughed wholeheartedly, a sound which had always made his heart swell. “If you could only see your face, Mulder! There’s terror written all over it. You haven’t seen this coming, have you, Mr. Scully?” “You always keep me guessing.” Mulder resumed his prior position next to her. He took her free hand which rested on her thigh and intertwined their fingers. “So? Are we engaged now?” he asked tentatively. “I think so,” Scully answered. “Wow.” “Yeah, wow.”  

On the landing at the top of the stairs, there was another person thinking the same: Wow! They are doing this for me! Jackson had been on his way down to get a glass of water when he had heard his name. He was touched by how anxious they were about him and how much they wanted to make this work. And suddenly they had been talking about marriage and Mulder had even suggested reinstating their parenthood by reversing the adoption. Jackson wasn’t sure what he thought about it, if it would feel like he betrayed the Van De Kamps if he became a Mulder. But no, wait a minute, if at all, he would become a Scully. Jackson Scully…it sounded unfamiliar but okay. Another idea sneaked itself into his mind on its own accord. What if…? No! That wasn’t really an option, was it? Maybe, it was. Maybe it was exactly the right thing to mark this new phase of his life. What if he took his old name? His birth name? If Mulder was willing to let go of his name to mark their family bond, he could do the same, William Scully didn’t sound so bad. William Jackson Scully. He let the name roll off his tongue in a whisper. Fox, Dana and William Scully. The Scullys. It would be the three of them against the rest of the world. It was a soothing thought that made Jackson smile. He abandoned his plan to get some water and retreated to his room. He didn’t want to disturb them downstairs. If they were to kiss again, he didn’t want to be ogling. Jackson had just left his observation post and was closing the door to the guest room behind him as Mulder was cupping Scully’s face and leaning in to kiss her. The boy had escaped his parents’ caresses for now but was doomed to witness them over and over in the time to come.

MFR #10 Minipost: The Elementalists, Nightbound, TC&TF and Not Choices

Another list of FanFiction and Art that you should read and look at!

The Elementalists

Nothing Between Us by @queen-among-writers

Devina (MC) is invited to dinner with Beckett’s family.  Beckett’s mother is a piece of work and lets her true colors show.  Beckett handles it.

 From the Bay Window by @the-writerly-night-owl

Beckett is getting married tomorrow.  Come see how his sister and wife-to-be support him.

A Twist of Fate (series) by @fluffy-marshmallow-heart

I’m actually a few chapters behind (I blame tumblr tags not working consistently). In chapter 24, Beckett and Oriana (MC) are engaged and talking about having children.  This leads to Beckett learning more about Oriana’s background with pregnancy scares and depression.  It’s tough stuff, but Beckett takes this news so well.

Learning to Love (series) by @whenyourheartskipsabeat

Come watch Beckett navigate his feelings for Alicia.  So far, it’s the cutest of fluff.

I Just Want to Be with You by @the-writerly-night-owl

Beckett and MC (Ellie) might just make things official …

20 Seconds of Courage (series) by @fluffy-marshmallow-heart

Beckett buys Oriana a drink and so begins the start of a relationship that is better than either of them could ever have imagined.  Come find out why these two are so good for each other.

Stolen (series) by @whenyourheartskipsabeat

When Alicia is abducted during a thief match, will Beckett be able to find her?

Marry Me?  TE Edition by @whenyourheartskipsabeat

Learn how Beckett proposes to Megs.

An Elementalists Wedding by @whenyourheartskipsabeat

Megs and Beckett get married!

Art:

https://raffsbaby.tumblr.com/post/186496651372/choose-your-night-time-beckett-if-you-wanna-be

https://raffsbaby.tumblr.com/post/186520331052/hmmmim-developing-a-crush-maxattack-powell

Shameless Promotion:

The Sum of All Magic by @whenyourheartskipsabeat and @mfackenthal

Clare and I are back with another collaboration.  This one about TE.  Megs X Beckett and Clare x Griffin are in a world where the sun is going out.  Can the ladies figures things out before all Sun Atts are wiped of all of their power?

 Nightbound

I’ll See You in My Dreams by @lizeboredom

Nik is there for Minah when she has a nightmare. Things get a hot when Nik still doesn’t want to quite say things out loud in words.

Insomnia by @queen-among-writers

Nik and Faith Rose (MC) are having trouble sleeping apart.  They find things get better when they sleep in the same better. *wink*

Snow White, Blood Red by @queen-among-writers

This is going to be an amazingly creative combination of Snow White and Nightbound.  Knowing Kass, this is probably already mapped out and it’s going to be fabulous!

Bare body, Bare Soul by @nazario-sayeed

Calling all Nik fans – you need to read this!  It’s infatuation, it’s NSFW, it’s HOT! 

Mr and Mrs. Ryder (series) by @whenyourheartskipsabeat

Our newlyweds are going to become a nighthunter family. 

The Search, Part 1 by @msjpuddleduck

Cal and MC (Isabel) search for something to help them find Cal’s brother.  The flirting is adorable.

Upstate Job by @ernestsinclairs

When a very dangerous but lucrative job crosses Nik’s desk.  He lets Carmen know where he is going next.  Things don’t start as Nik probably hoped …

 Art:

 https://raffsbaby.tumblr.com/post/186340335967/nik-and-cal-maxattack-powell-emerald-bijou

https://keepcreative.tumblr.com/post/186475336715/nik-and-his-rook

  The Crown and The Flame

Last Stand by @kennaxval

It’s the final battle and our queens are all who are left.  The writing is amazing – movie script quality!  In the midst of a battle, we get a proposal that brought tears to my eyes.

The Bet by @kennaxval

When the ladies make a bet – no matter what, everyone wins.  Oh, and Val can be spooked. ;)

Raydan interviews Val and Kenna by @choicecrossover

Really, you should never send a man in to do MFackenthal’s job … but it is a lot of fun to see Raydan squirm as his Queens gush about their love.

Art:

https://raviolicadet.tumblr.com/post/185989315567/a-commission-i-made-for-lifeof314universe-she

 Not Choices but READ IT

Read EVERYTHING by @something-tofightfor but specifically:

Hands to Yourself (2 part series) by @something-tofightfor

You and Logan are married … you bet your husband to go 10 days without sex with you (or himself).  Things aren’t as easy as you anticipated …

Red, White and Boom by @something-tofightfor

You are dating Ben Barnes, it’s the 4th of July, things are still very new … will you get to watch the fireworks together?

Just a Place by @something-tofightfor

You and Ryan Brenner are continuing to grow in each other’s lives.  It’s beautiful and tender.  We make each other better.

Christmas in Wyoming (series) by @something-tofightfor

A Hallmark Christmas in July inspired series where Logan comes to stay at a small resort that is your future.  It’s not nearly as cheesy as you may fear.  You get to feel brilliant and beautiful, experience a rivalry, and get kisses from this beautiful stranger you feel a strong connection with. 

Shameless Promotions:

The MFackenthal Show with Special Guest @eadanga

Come learn about wonderful choices author @eadanga.

The MFackenthal Show with Special Guest @queen-among-writers

Come get some amazing writing advice from @queen-among-writers.

Death Takes a Holiday- Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,709

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Come on you son of a bitch,” Dean muttered as he thumped the jukebox with his hand. Looking at Sam as he talked to your dad, but then shifted your gaze to see Dean getting his frustrations out on a jukebox. Getting up, you walked over to him before standing to the side of the juke.

“Having trouble?”

“This fucking thing won’t start,” Dean groaned.

“Check this out,” you grinned as your hands glowed a bright blue. Wiggling your eyebrows at Dean, you made sure no one was watching before placing both your hands to each side of the box. Almost immediately, it fired to life and music started playing softly over the speakers.

“You shouldn’t be using your magic in public,” Dean lightly scolded.

“If I have it, may as well enjoy it.”

“Weren’t you the one who told us you were scared shitless about the things you can do? You’re acting like this is no big deal.”

“It’s the only way I can cope with it, you know? I have to entertain myself somehow,” you sighed, looking over at Sam once he hung up. “Come on,” you and Dean walked back to Sam as soon as he started typing.

“What did my dad say?”

“He found something in Wyoming.”

“A job?”

“Maybe,” Sam said as Dean bit into his burger.

“Small town, no one's died in the past week and a half.”

“That’s so unusual?” you asked with a small smile.

“Well, it's how they're not dying. One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch,” Sam explained as he turned his laptop so you can Dean could read what is on screen. Each tab he had opened was for the Greybull Gazette with the top article that reads: Shooting victim walks away unharmed. Right underneath that, it reads: Police and medical authorities are struggling for an explanation as to why local resident Jim Jenkins was able to walk away from a point-blank shooting incident. After leaving Bison Bud's Bar, Mr. Jenkins and friend Pete Hensley were confronted by a mugger in a nearby alley. After a brief altercation, the mugger fired a shot from a 9mm Automatic, hitting Jenkins…

“Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot in the heart at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter,” Sam said as he turned the laptop back around.

“And he’s not a doughnut?” Dean asked with his mouth full.

“Locals are saying it's a miracle. It's got to be something nasty, right? I mean, people making deals or something.”

“You think so?” you asked.

“What else would it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright, get that to go,” Sam told his brother as he packed up. Dean gave you a look once before placing his burger down and brushes his hands together to get the crumbs off.

“And I know just the cover,” you grinned.

“Now, you three said you were bloggers?” Jim asked once you got there. He invited you into his home to talk about what happened to him. Thinking bloggers about the lord were better than FBI, the brothers gave your idea a shot.

“Yes, sir. Flooredbythelord.com,” you chuckled.

“All of God's glory fit to blog,” Dean grins, giving you and Sam a glance.

“Um. Some of the people around town are saying what happened to you was a miracle,” Sam started.

“It was. Plain as day.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How else do you explain it? The doctors can't. There's a bullet in my heart, and it's pumping like a piston.”

“How do you explain it?” you asked gently. Jim hesitated as he looked over at his daughter and wife in the next room as they colored together.

“Look, honestly, I was nobody's saint—not exactly father of the year, either. But when that guy shot me and I didn't bleed a drop? I just knew the Lord was giving me a second chance. I had this feeling—like angels were watching over me. I wouldn't expect you guys to understand.”

“We can try,” you shrugged lightly.

“You wouldn't have happened to have swung by a crossroads in the past week or so?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“Maybe you met someone? With black eyes? Or red?”

“Who'd you guys say you were again?” Jim asked suspiciously. Exchanging glances with the brothers, you got up since that was your cue to leave.

“Never mind. Thank you for your time.” Following your lead, the brothers walked to the car before getting inside. “Sam, you should check out the cancer guy. Dean and I can do some more research to find out who the last person to die was. We can go from there.”

“Sounds good,” both brothers agreed before Dean started the car. Once Sam found out where the cancer guy lived, Dean dropped him off before heading straight to the motel room. Once inside, you got to work on finding out who the last person to die was. It took all night, but the earliest you could find was ten days ago. As soon as you found the article, Sam entered the motel room.

“Find anything?” you asked.

“That cancer survivor? He was clinically dead, his wife pulled the plug, and now he's taking her out for their twentieth anniversary.”

“No sign of a deal?”

“None. What about you two? Found anyone dying around here?”

“Not since Cole Griffith,” Dean answered, enlarging the picture of the kid. “He dropped ten days ago. It was the last death we could find.”

“So, what are you thinking?” Sam asked once he saw the looks on yours and Dean’s faces.

“Eh, maybe it is what the people say it is,” Dean replied, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Miracles? In our experience, when do miracles just happen?”

“Well, there are no deals. There's, uh, no skeevy faith healers. I mean, these souls just ain't getting dragged into the light.”

“Maybe that’s because there’s no one around to carry them,” you thought out loud.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Remember that faith healer when you got electrocuted? As you were dying, you saw that man in the black suit and I saw him as well? He’s a reaper to take your soul away, but if there aren’t any in town, then no one’s dying. They have no guide to carry them away.”

“So, what? The local reaper's on strike? Playing the back nine? I don't know, Y/N.”

“Then we talk to someone who might. Cole is the last person to die, right? He should know where the reapers are, if not, where to find them. We just got to talk to him.”

“I love how matter-of-fact you are about that. Strange lives,” Dean chuckled as he sipped his coffee.

“Sam.”

“I’m already on it,” he said as he typed away. Grinning, you stole some of Dean’s coffee when he wasn’t looking.

Sam got the whole séance thing set up with five candles around a pentacle drawn on cloth that was spread over Cole’s grave. Sam placed a bunch of stuck in the middle of the pentacle while you and Dean watched from another grave nearby.

“You sure this is going to work?” Dean asked as he flipped through his dad’s journal.

“Yeah, Sam, it’s cold,” you shivered, watching your breath come out in short spurts.

“No, Dean, I’m not sure this will work, but if his spirit's around, this should smoke him out. And Y/N, this was your idea.”

“This job is jacked,” Dean sighed as he closed the journal.

“How so?”

“You want me to gank a monster or torch a corpse, hey, let's light it up, right? But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start dropping dead. Good people.”

“Dean, you can’t mess with the balance of life. If it’s their time to go, it’s their time,” you said.

“There is a natural order,” Sam agreed.

“You're kidding, right? You don't see the irony in that? I mean, you, me and Y/N, we're like the poster children of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death.”

“Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?” you chuckled.

“We're no different than anybody else.”

“I'm infected with demon blood. You've been to hell. Y/N is a witch for crying out loud. Look, I know you want to think of yourself as Joe the Plumber, Dean, but you're not. Neither am I or Y/N. The sooner you accept that the better off you're gonna be. So, you two gonna help me finish this?”

Groaning, you got up to help when you heard a man’s voice and a flash of light from behind.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Just take it easy,” Sam tried.

“What the hell is this?”

“Okay, this—this—this is not what it looks like,” Dean laughed.

“Really? 'Cause it looks like devil worship.”

“What? No! No, this is not devil worship. This—This is—this—this is, uh,” Dean shrugged with a shake of his head. “I don't have a good answer.”

“We’re leaving,” you said to the man.

“You're not going anywhere,” the man said as he took a few steps forward. “Ever again. Y/N, Sam, Dean.” Suddenly, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, showing off the white that his normal ones usually look like before going back to normal.

“Alastair. I thought you got deep fried, extra-crispy,” Dean said.

“Nah. Just the pediatrician I was riding. His wife's still looking for him. It's hilarious. Anyway, no time to chat. Got a hot date with death.”

Alastair flicked his hand, sending Dean crashing into a grave which knocked him unconscious. The demon went to do the same to you, but at the last second, your arm went up in a straight vertical line with your hand in a fist just as a shield-like forcefield half surrounded you.

“Oh, look who is getting stronger,” Alastair laughed. “Nor strong enough to beat me,” he crushed his hand into a fist which shattered your shield before he flicked you away, the same thing happening to you.

“Dean! Y/N!” Sam yelled, but you couldn’t do anything but lay there.

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Death Takes A Holiday

Part 1

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A/n: With Supernatural announcing it’s last season, I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m here if you need anyone to talk to. I know that this show means so much to a lot of us. And I’m gonna keep posting on here and updating the series even after the series ends because nothing really ends does it? ;)

The diner was minimally crowded while you were almost finished with your food, or what little of it you wanted. Your gaze was fixed on the plate when you heard thumping noises coming from the jukebox as Dean slapped its top a couple of times, trying to make it work. “Yeah, Bobby it definitely sounds weird...okay thanks.” Sam ended his phone call and turned towards you in his seat across from you while the older Winchester returned to the table and picked up his burger, asking Sam about the call before taking a bite. “Bobby found something in Wyoming.” The younger Winchester answered. Dean asked if it was a job and got an answer in ‘maybe.’ “Small town, no one’s died in the past week and a half.” “That’s so unusual?” Dean chewed and turned towards you where it seemed like you weren’t even listening to their conversation. “Well, its how they’re not dying.” Sam continued with his eyes fixed on his computer, “One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice; another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch. Police say, ‘Mr. Jenkins was shot in the heart at point blank range with a 9 mm.” “And he’s not a doughnut?” “Locals are saying it’s a miracle.” Sam answered before shutting his computer and placing his hands on it, “It’s gotta be something nasty right? Like people making deals or something?” His question was more directed to you this time but you didn’t know until Dean spoke up. “What do you think (y/n)?” hearing your name turned your attention towards the conversation. “Yeah, uh- I think this could be something.” You hurriedly replied while pushing yourself up from your seat, “You guys get done here and I’ll wait outside, gas the cars so we’re ready to go, yeah?” you didn’t really wait for them to answer as you left the small diner. The nightmares you had been having of your parents had only gotten worse and with everything going on, with Alastair seemingly knowing you and your drawing in Anna's notebook, everything just felt much for you. Their eyes followed you till you were out of sight. “What’s going on with her?” Dean asked, dropping his half eaten burger on the plate, suddenly not having any appetite. Sam scoffed at him, “You called her a freak and blamed her for her brother’s murder. I’m sure that’s enough reason.” Dean’s jaw clenched at his words, “I’ve already apologized for that and she knows that it was the siren talking. Not me.” “Was it though?” Sam leaned closer to him, “Because as I remember, you’ve never trusted her from the second we met her and the only reason you asked her to come with us was so that you could keep an eye on her.” The older Winchester’s stare was fixed on his brother’s for a while, mentally fighting himself for an answer before he finally did. “Well, it’s not my fault you get heart eyed for every girl who has something clearly wrong with her.” He breathed out, ending the conversation. He wasn’t proud of his answer, didn’t even know why he didn’t say anything else but this seemed to shut Sam up for the time being. The second you walked out of the diner, you remembered that if you were really gonna gas the cars, you’d need Dean’s keys. When you went back in to get them, you heard the boys talking, about you. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop but what you heard coming from them was hurtful, to say the least. And the fact that Dean didn’t deny what Sam said was worse. You wanted to confront them then and there but decided against it, storming back out of the place. Soon the boys were out too, you saw them walking towards you and you were quick to hide your expressions. You and the boys discussed the address and shortly you were driving to Greybull, Wyoming. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about just taking a wrong turn and not seeing the Winchesters again, but for some unknown reason, decided against it. “Now, you three said you were bloggers?” the guy that was mugged, Jim, questioned as he took a seat across from where you were sitting. His house was small, but neatly maintained. “Yes, sir. Flooredbythelord.com. All of God’s glory fit to blog.” Dean answered, earning a glare from his brother. You asked him about the supposed miracle that took place with him to which he agreed readily that it was, in fact, a miracle. “I was nobody’s saint. Not exactly father of the year either. But when that guy shot me, and I didn’t bleed a drop? I just knew it the lord giving me a second chance. I just had this feeling- that angels were watching over me.” The slight smile you had on your face was gone at the mention of angels. “I don’t expect you guys to understand.” “Well, we’ll just have to try.” Dean breathed out. “You wouldn’t have happened to have swung by any crossroads in the past week or so?” The man answered Sam’s question in a clear no. “Maybe you met someone...with black eyes? Or red?” Sam kept asking but the confused look on the man just increased. “Who’d you guys say you were again?” Jim leaned forward and you knew you had asked enough for him to answer without feeling suspicious. You thanked him for his time and left his house. You were back at the motel room that you had to share with the boys for the time being. You were on your computer looking at the town’s files, still visibly in an off mood when Sam entered, talking about how the cancer survivor was clinically dead but was now in perfect health and taking his wife to celebrate their 20th anniversary. Dean asked him if there were any signs of a demon deal but there were none. “What about you guys? Find anything?” he asked the both of you. “No one’s died here since Cole Griffith.” You spoke up without turning your gaze from your computer. “He died ten days ago. It was the last death I could find.” “So, what do you think it is?” The older Winchester asked you. “Maybe it is what the people say it is.” You answered as you rose from your seat and walked over to the small kitchenette. “Miracles?” Sam scoffed. “In our experience when have miracles just happened?” he said while you made yourself a cup of coffee. “Well, there’s no deals. There’s uh, no skeevy faith heelers.” Dean spoke up, “I mean these souls just ain’t getting dragged into the light.” “Maybe cause there’s no one around to carry them.” You muttered. Sam asked what you meant by that. “Well, grim reapers- that’s what they do, right? Shlepp souls?” you explained, “So if death ain’t in town...” “Then nobody’s dying.” Dean completed. “So, what? The local reapers on strike? Playing the back nine?” “I don’t know, (y/n).” Dean expressed. “Well then, let’s talk to somebody who might.” The younger Winchester suggested. You and Dean understood exactly what he meant and next you found yourselves at a cemetery, at Cole Griffith’s grave. Sam was arranging all the ingredients for the spell while Dean stood by your side holding the spell in his hands. “You sure this’ll work?” Dean questioned and Sam answered in a clear no, earning an eye roll from his brother. “If the spirit is out there, this should smoke him out.” You scoffed audibly at their conversation making a ‘what’ to fall out from Dean’s mouth. “This job is jacked, that’s what.” “How so?” Sam asked. A sigh left your lips before you answered him, “Look, if you want me to kill a monster or torch a corpse, I’m game. But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start dying again. Good people.” Dean seemed to agree with your thought but not Sam as he dusted his hands and got up, “I don’t them to die either, (y/n), but there’s a natural order.” He was interfered by his brother before he could say more, “You’re kidding, right?” Sam couldn’t understand what he meant so Dean explained himself, “You don’t see the irony in that? We’re like that the poster guys of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death.” “Yeah, but the natural rules don’t apply to us, do they?” Sam countered. Dean looked at him with distrust while you had the same expression, “We’re no different from anybody else.” Sam looked away for a second before getting back, “I’m infected with demon blood, you’ve been to hell,” he said motioning to Dean, “and you can heal people with your hands.” He gestured to you. You rolled your eyes at him but before anyone could say anything else, you heard a man’s yell directed to you three as he walked over to you with a flashlight in his hand. “What are you doing here?” he asked the three of you before his eyes moved to the spell you had set up on the grave. “What the hell is this?” “Okay, this—this is not what it looks like.” Dean stammered. “Really? Cause it looks like devil worship.” The man accused. “What? No! No, this is not devil worship. This—this is—this uh...” Dean stumbled over his words, not being able to come up with anything, “I don’t have a good answer.” “Look, we’re leaving.” You told the guy, trying to make the situation easy. “You’re not going anywhere...” He answered, shaking his head lightly, confusing the three of you with his words, “ever again...(y/n).” He completed as his eyes turned completely white, your posture straightening at once. “Alastair.” Dean acknowledged the demon. “I thought you got deep fried, extra-crispy.” “Nah.” He shook his head lightly, “Just the pediatrician I was riding. His wife’s still looking for him. It’s hilarious.” His words made anger rise in your body as you clenched your fist tight. “Anyway, no time to chat. Got a hot date with death.” Just as the words left him, he flicked his wrist in yours and Dean’s direction, having your bodies thrown away like rag dolls. Your head hit the side of a grave and you passed out.

Forever tags: @roonyxx @itslizabitch8021 @jessikared97 

21 Questions I was tagged by talented @shieldofrohan. Thank you!!  Rules: Answer 21 questions then tag 21 people you want to get to know better

Nicknames: just versions of my name. Zodiac: nah Height: 5′5″ Last movie i saw: The Death of Stalin. It was really good (if pretty dark). Last thing i googled: university of [my school] parking because it’s impossible to navigate the website from within and today they messed up my parking so I’m out eight bucks Favorite musician: Miranda Lambert Song stuck in head: Irreplaceable by Beyoncé Other blogs: @posiaeden Do i get asks: on occasion Following: 203 (I’m really selective) Amount of sleep: usually around 8 (i have insomnia so my sleep schedule is rigid and generous). Lucky numbers: what’s luck? What i’m wearing: charcoal turtleneck and black work leggings Dream job: housewife if I’m honest, if I’m not, freelance designer or writer working remotely from the mountains of montana or wyoming Dream trip: art historical tour of europe Favorite food: white chicken chili Play any instruments: I have no musical ability so I do not  Languages: just english, my brain isn’t so good with comprehending alternate grammar structures Favorite song: yikes so many! maybe Country Roads, Take Me Home by John Denver Random fact: I go through phases of obsession with random periods of history and right now it soviet russia Describe yourself as aesthetic things: clear mornings, starry skies, the sound of waves crashing on the shore, sack cloth, reclaimed wood, navy blue, warm food on a cold day, empty stretches of road, leather bound classics

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Part Two: You Can Bet on It. (What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?)

Episode Summary: Kevin Tran talks the Winchesters and the reader in checking on his mother. When they arrive and discover Crowley has surrounded her with demons, they rescue her and take her along their quest to find the demon tablet. However, they soon discover Mrs. Tran is a mother not to be tested after she tries to go up against the king of hell herself. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,097.

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It wasn't too hard to find the location of the pawn shop Dean threatened out of Clem to find out where he sold off the tablet he wrongfully stole, along with whatever else he managed to grab from those lockers. The shop was nestled into a row of others in town not too far from where the bus station was located. Dean parked the Impala against the sidewalk and right behind a fancy looking sports car that was probably worth way more than the house you hadn’t been to in years now that you thought about it. Personally, you were more of a fan to older model cars, but you had to admit the cherry red Ferrari was a sight to see. Especially in a small town like this one in Wyoming when one would expect to see them more in the Hollywood hills.

You let out a low whistle in appreciation at the model as Kevin found himself pulled into a trance at the sight of the car. He took a few steps forward to take a closer inspection out of it, Mrs. Tran called out to her son, pulling him back into reality as she nodded her head to the pawn shop. A car like this was like a beautiful woman; you could look all you want, but if you dare so touch it, there would be consequences. All of you headed into the pawn shop to see a man behind the counter. He was playing on his phone with his feet up on the counter, obviously hard at work.

“Hello, sir. Agents Neil, Sixx and Hill. FBI.” Sam introduced the three of you as he pulled out his fake badge to show the kid behind the counter. “We’re looking for a tablet.”

"About, uh, yea big," Dean gestured with his hands the rough size of the tablet to give the kid some idea of what all of you were looking for. "Got some hieroglyphic crap on it."

“Sold to you by a thief named Clem.” Sam added. “Ring a bell?”

The kid shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Nope.”

You rolled your eyes from his nonchalant behavior and how quick he was to answer you. It was obvious he didn’t want to think too much about giving all of you some information, thinking he could attempt and cover his ass. But Dean wasn’t in the mood. “Hey, Lyle, I’m had a really, really bad day today, so I’m not in the mood to dilly dally.” Dean said. He leaned forward and pressed his hand against the glass to appear somewhat threatening. “If you want to do this the rough way, I am happy to oblige.”

“Sure. We can do it that way, if you want to get famous.” The kid said. You furrowed your brow from what he meant. When he looked over his shoulder and nodded his head to the two security cameras around the store, you knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“That your car outside?” Mrs. Tran spoke up, asking the kid a simple question.

“What’s it to you, mail-order?” The kid’s response made your blood boil in anger.

"Hey, scumbag!" You slapped your palm against the glass counter, directing his attention over to you. "A few security cameras don't scare me. I'll break right them right after I break your jaw and arms. I mean, it would be kinda hard to tell the cops a girl beat your sexist and racist ass with your mouth wired shut.”

"I got it." Mrs. Tran said, stopping you from fulfilling your promise. She walked up to the counter, showing you and the boys that not every situation required threats to get what you wanted. Sometimes brains won in this kind of situation. "I noticed you're driving with expired tags, maybe because you just acquired it in a trade, and I'm guessing that means you haven't registered it yet, which means you haven't paid the tax. Is that correct?"

The kid kicked his feet off the table and pushed himself up to a standing position. You noticed he seemed surprised at what she said, even a little bit afraid  about how spot on she was. “None of your business.”

"Kevin," Mrs. Tran looked over her shoulder and asked her son a question. "Average blue book on a 2010 Ferrari F430 Spider?"

"Two hundred and seventeen thousand dollars." Kevin answered.

“And the five percent Wyoming tax?” She asked.

"Ten thousand and eight hundred fifty." Sam somehow made the calculation in his hand in the matter of seconds, answering the woman before her son could. You found yourself wincing at the intimidating amount of numbers flying around here, making you feel sorry for the reality the poor sucker was about to face if any of this spilled to the real FBI.

“Ten thousand dollars. Something tells me you’re the type of person who might balk at a tax bill that big.” Mrs. Tran said, the ends of her lips curling into a smirk.

“W-What is this,” The kid asked. “An FBI audit?”

“No. But my brother, who happens to work for the Wyoming tax assessor's office could arrange that if he thought something untoward was happening here.” Mrs. Tran said. She continued on speaking, not missing a beat to drag out the information from the kid from the question she asked him. “So what’s it going to be—the tablet or that piece of euro trash crap you call a car?”

You crossed your arms over your chest when the kid fell awfully silent. You raised your brow as he contemplated the choices he had that you given him, and what he could do to get out of them for the spite of it. But you could tell from the look on his face that he knew he was cornered with no way out.

“You heard the woman.” You said. “Cough up the location, punk.”

The kid unwillingly did so to save his ass from paying a fine you knew he couldn’t pay. You left the pawn shop with a friendly smile after you snatched the receipt out of his hands. Maybe having Mrs. Tran around wouldn't be so bad, after all. She didn't cower at the sight of that kid being a jerk to her, and she sure was smart enough to think quick on her toes. Not to mention, she saved you and the boys from getting yourselves in trouble from doing things the illegal way. All of you piled back into the Impala and headed to the location written on the receipt. You were getting a little bit more hopeful with the idea that you were getting closer to the tablet. And one step closer to closing the gates of hell forever.

+ + +

Motel room number one-twenty six. You stood on the parking lot with your arms crossed over your chest as you waited while Sam knocked on the front door of the room where the tablet was supposed to be located. You looked around the place to see it was fairly quiet for the afternoon, there was nobody around except for the five of you. Sam waited for a moment to see if he could hear any movement in the room as your attention lingered over to the window to see if you could spot a pair of eyes peeking out the curtain to see who was disturbing them. But all remained still and silent.

“Sure this is the right place?” Sam asked, seeming a bit skeptical at location the kid gave you.

“It’s what the pawn slip says.” You told him.

Sam still wasn't too sure about that being true, so he decided to see for himself what was inside the motel room. He slipped his hand inside his pocket to pull out his lock pick to grant all of you access inside. However before he could even get it out of his jacket pocket, you heard an unfamiliar voice speak from behind, grabbing your attention. "Kevin?"

You turned around in your spot to see an older gentleman wearing an ensemble that looked a little out of place for this kind of scenery. You narrowed your eyes on him when you noticed his pinstripe gray suit was paired with a matching colored top hat and wooden cane he used to talk with. You dropped your arms to your hips, placing them where you kept the demon knife tucked away, just in case if you might need it use it on him. The boys seemed just as cautious at the sight of a stranger showing up out of nowhere.

“Who wants to know?” Dean asked, stepping down from the sidewalk and to the parking lot.

“Oh, relax, Dean. I’m not going to steal your prophet.” The stranger reassured the man. But you had your doubts on that. He turned his attention away from the older Winchester and the woman standing next to Kevin. The man’s lips stretched into a smile at the sight of her. “Ah. And you must be Kevin’s mother. Beau. And it is my absolute pleasure.”

"God," You rolled your eyes in annoyance when you saw Beau introduced himself to Mrs. Tran in the most over the top way possible. He reached out to lift up her hand to give the top of her hand a light kiss. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"And Kevin, imagine my luck. Here I was, working so hard to look for you that I never stopped to think you might be looking for me."  Beau said. You narrowed your eyes when you saw him slip a hand inside his suit pocket, making you fear for the worst. You found yourself reaching for the demon knife out of habit. You asked him what it was. He pulled out what appeared to be a crisp white invitation with the prophet’s name written on it. “An invitation, dear lady, to an exclusive auction.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “Where you’ll be selling the tablet?”

“Well, when we acquire an item as hot as the word of God, it’s smart to unload it as fast a possible.” Beau explained himself to you and the boys’ judging glares “And we are in such desperate need of a headliner for tonight’s gala.”

“Well, I hope you have four extra tickets to your little eBay party, ‘cause the prophet’s with us.” Dean said, stopping the stranger from taking Kevin anywhere.

“Oh if you’re worried about the safety of your prophet, rest assured we have a strict ‘no casting, no cursing, no supernaturally flicking the three of you against the wall for the fun of it.’ policy” Beau reassured you and the boys.

“Is that right?” Sam asked. “How’d you manage that?”

"Well, I am the right hand of a God, after all—Plutus, specifically." Beau said, his lips stretching into a smirk as he bragged about his title to the five of you humans.

“Is that even a planet anymore?” Dean let out a scoff, thinking it was something much different from the sound of a name.

“It’s the god of greed.” Beau corrected the man. It seemed from the expression on his face he wasn’t the least bit amused. “And my liege has warned these premises against hell, heaven and beyond—quite necessary with some of the players we see. And incidentally, quite possibly the safest place your precious prophet could be. Mm. Well, since time is of the essence, perhaps I’ll just go ahead and add a plus-four to the prophet’s invitation. Copacetic?”

Beau flung the invitation straight into the air, letting his trick distract all of you long enough for him to vanish into sight before the envelope fell to the ground. You quickly looked up when you noticed that he was gone. He was a smooth talker, you'd give him that. "Well, thank you, Mr. Peanut!" Dean yelled out in frustration. You dropped your hands to your side and let out a sigh. "All right. What do we have to bid?"

"Let me brush off the other word of God I've got in the trunk." You said, pointing a finger over your shoulder. "Along with the other precious artifacts we don’t have.”

“We can’t just show up there empty-handed.” Dean said, his tone of voice showing you he wasn’t in the mood for your sarcasm right now.

“Dean, all we have to our names ia few hacked gold cards.” Sam said, bursting his brother’s idea of trying to go up against a few heavy hitters that were bound to have some items that were well worth the trade for the tablet.

“All right. Well, then, we’re gonna have to get creative.” Dean suggested. You thought to yourself for a moment about what could possibly be worth bidding. You thought about possibly bidding off the demon knife, as it was a one of a kind piece. However Sam had a suggestion for an item that was meaningful to all of you. The very thing that had been through a lot of things in her decades of existence. You noticed that he was staring at the Impala, prompting you to realize that he was about to suggest about auctioning the car. Dean promptly shook his head as he went straight over to Baby, defending her. “Nope. Mnh-mnh. Say it and I will kill you, your children and your grandchildren.”

"Okay, okay. Before you two idiots murder each other, I got an idea. Don't these auctions display the items to the bidders beforehand, right?" You wondered, Dean nodded his head. "So all we got to do is get Kevin close enough to memorize the spell."

“What do you think, Brainiac?” Dean asked the kid. “Think you can swing it?”

“Of course he can swing it.” Mrs. Tran said with confidence. “If the bumper stickers on my previa mean anything.”

The plan was worth a shot to try, as it was really the only one you had anymore at this point. Dean turned his attention over to the Impala as he rubbed his hand across the hood, as if he was trying to comfort the emotions of an inanimate object. "They didn't mean it, Baby."

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you love that car more than me." You said. Dean looked over at you to see that you were standing right next to him with an arched brow, waiting for him to say that you were being crazy. However Dean remained silent for a moment, prompting you to let out a sigh. "You know what—Don't answer that. Let's just go."

+ + +

You weren't sure what you were expecting the location of the supernatural bidding of the tablet would be held. Maybe something fancy, maybe even a decent space where you didn’t have to worry about what was crawling around the place or what kind of mold was growing between the cracks of the stones. Of course it had to be just that, downtown in an abandoned warehouse from the looks of it. Nothing could ever be nice and clean. You stepped into the warehouse after a man dressed in a black suit opened up the door for you.

It was then you discovered the metal detector all of you needed to step through in order to be granted access to the auction. You knew if you wanted to be apart of this you needed to come here without a single weapon on you. Not that you were exactly pleased with the idea. You were a little more concerned about setting it off with the metal pieces in your body. You still had the faint scar from the surgery you had to put your arm back together. All though Cas put you back together into one piece, you weren't sure if he got out everything. There was one way to find out. You stepped through the metal detector after Sam, waiting to hear the thing go off. But when you stepped out the other side, it beeped once, making you let out a sigh of relief.

Dean wasn’t lucky as you were. When the older Winchester stepped into the detector, he went with a slow and cautious step, as if doing so would help his case. But as he stepped out to the other side, the alarm went off, making you and the others realize he made the dumb decision of coming here with some extra accessories that weren't allowed. You let out a sigh of frustration as you shot him annoyed glare. Dean smiled slightly as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Now, now, Dean.” Beau stepped forward to greet the older Winchester and remind him of the rules that applied to all of you as well. “The system only works when everyone participates.”

Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of playing along with the rules of this place. Being stuck in a place crawling with monsters and no weapon to defend himself felt wrong. But if he wanted to stick around, he would have to give everything up. He unwillingly placed his pistol into the bin with other confiscated weapons and took out the demon knife from his jacket pocket. He held it for a moment, knowing out of all of the weapons you owned, this was the most powerful one. The guard grew impatient and reached out a hand to grab it from the man. Dean drew it back to give the man a warning that it was his, and his to keep.

“I’ll be back for this.” Dean told the man. And with those words, he set the knife into the bin with the rest of the weapons where it would remain until the end of the auction.

All of you headed into the auction now that you were cleared to do so. You looked around the place to see it was filled with all sorts of artifacts and items from mythology. People of all kinds gawked at the items at what soon would be up for grabs. You scanned the people with a bit of curiosity, wondering what kind of creatures you were surrounded with. Most of the time you were trying to kill them, it was sort of a nicer pace to be able to be in a place where they were fighting against each other for whatever item they were willing to get their greedy hands on. All you knew was that the tablet was yours. No matter how much it cost, you needed to get it back.

“How the hell are we supposed to know who’s who?” Dean quietly asked, looking around the room himself to see all sorts of people that appeared to be harmless. But there was more than meets the eye with these kind of folks.

“It’s pretty simple, Dean.” You said. “They’re all monsters.”

You focused less on the people you were surrounded with and now trying to find the tablet. You walked around the place and mindlessly spotted all sorts of different objects you would have loved to examine if the situation was different. Now you were focused on trying to find the tablet before time ran out. Dean was the one who spotted it. You saw the tablet in a glass display for anyone to see. However someone was one step ahead of you. You could feel your fist clench in anger when you noticed a black piece of board was covering each side of the tablet, making it near impossible for Kevin to read. There went your brilliant plan.

“I guess we’re not as original as we thought.” Kevin muttered in a defeated tone.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Sam said. “We just got to come up with a plan ‘b.’”

“And what, pray tell, could possibly have been plan ‘a’?” As if you thought this moment couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse, it could have. You flinched at the familiar accent ring into your ears and right behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see it was the king of hell himself, Crowley. Your lips stretched into a frown at the sight of him alone. “Bring the prophet to the most dangerous place on earth, memorize the tablet and then va-moose?”

"Crowley." You greeted the demon, speaking his name as if it was poison on your tongue. "Look what the cat dragged in."

The demon barely made an effort to acknowledge your presence before turning his attention over to the person he most wanted to see. "Kevin. What a pleasure to see you. Sorry about your little playdate. Her name...Well, if you're gonna make an omelet, sometimes you have to break some spines." Crowley said, excusing his previous behavior with a shrug of the shoulder. You scoffed at how easy it was for someone like him to wash the blood off his hands after killing an innocent person. But you didn't expect much out of something like him. Crowley turned his attention to Mrs. Tran, as she was a face he had never got to formally meet before. "And who is this lovely young thing? Must be your sister."

Mrs. Tran might have been a tiny woman for her height, but she sure knew how to pack a punch. You didn't realize what she had done until you saw Crowley's head turn into an unpleasant angle and he let out what sounded to be a bit of a groan. Your lips stretched into a smirk when you saw him tend to his bloody lip the woman had given the king of hell. "Stay away from my son." She warned him.

“Charming. Defiling he corpse has just made number one of my to-do list.” Crowley said. You narrowed your eyes on the demon at his subtle threat while Dean took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to give Crowley more than just a punch. But before he could do such a thing, his brother held him back. “Don’t mind a little love tap, but anything more, and our mookie pals here might just throw you out, and that would be a shame.”

"He's right, Dean." Sam unwillingly agreed with the demon. "It's not worth it."

“Listen to Moose, Squirrel.” Crowley said. You rolled your eyes from his remark alone as your attention was pulled away from him and to the front door when you heard it open and close. You noticed an older looking man wearing what seemed to be a white tracksuit passed you by. “Ah. Here comes our host.”

“That’s Plutus?” Dean asked, watching the man pass by all of you to take his spot at the front of the room. “What is he, God of the candy aisle?”

You had to admit he wasn’t what you were expecting to be when you heard he was the god of greed. You were thinking he’d be a little bit more flashy in flaunting his wealth and greed. Guess you were wrong on that one. Beau followed behind the man. “Gentlemen,” He reminded the five of you. “The auction is starting.”

“Good luck with the bidding.” Crowley said.

You forced yourself to give him a sarcastic smile before turning on your heels to walk over to the auction before things got started. When you saw the demon was far enough away from you, you looked over at Mrs. Tran and gave her a genuine smile at what she managed to do.

“Nice right hook.” You whispered.

Mrs. Tran seemed proud of herself at the compliment you gave her. The both of you headed off with Sam and Kevin to find a spot for all of you to take. You managed to find an empty row of chairs for all of you to take. However you noticed that Dean wasn't anywhere near all of you. You leaned over slightly while you stood over the chair you claimed as your own next to Sam, wondering where his brother was. You looked through the thinning crowd of people and spotted him talking to some kid wearing a red and white striped uniform. You furrowed your brow slightly at who he was talking to, wondering who it was.

The conversation seemed to drift to an end a moment later. You watched as the kid walked over to where the rest of the crowd to take a seat in the very back, but Dean remained where he was. You let out a sigh when you saw him lose himself into focusing on a spot in the room. The same look you had seen before in the interrogation room fell over his face, making you wonder if he was thinking about purgatory again.

[Next Part]

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Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

Tagged by:

@askvarian-alchemyisforstuds

Tagging: If you want to do it, consider yourself tagged.

1. What is you middle name? Jeanne

2. How old are you? 22 3. When is your birthday? July 10 4. What is your zodiac sign? Not into Zodiacs 5. What is your favorite color? Pink, blue and purple 6. What’s your lucky number? N/A 7. Do you have any pets? A husky mix named Olivia NJ after the singer and a budgie named Azul 8. Where are you from? Originally: Concord, California 9. How tall are you? 5′2.5” 10. What shoe size are you? 8 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Um... six I think? Probably another pair or two hidden somewhere in my closet. 12. What was your last dream about? My mom and I escaping some weird lady who was chasing us. At one point I was riding behind her on a motorcycle and she popped a wheelie. 13. What talents do you have? I've been told that I'm good at singing, art (painting, drawing, sculpting etc.) and writing (prose/poetry) 14. Are you psychic in any way? No, but I have had prophetic dreams of God just making me aware of what's currently going on in my life 15. Favorite song? A million songs is all it's gonna take, a million songs for the playlist I'm gonna make! 16. Favorite movie? Prince of Egypt, Coco 17. Who would be your ideal partner? The video is pretty cheesy but A Man of God like the one described in this one song 18. Do you want children? Yeah, someday 19. Do you want a church wedding? And I was my pastor to officiate it 20. Are you religious? Let me put it this way, Jesus died for me. How could I do anything less than live for Him? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? On a field trip 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Not to my memory, no 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? Define 'met' then define 'celebrity'. I've MET people who are well-known but not exactly celebrity status and asked a question at a Q&A with someone who I guess could be considered a minor celebrity? 24. Baths or showers? Showers and long ones 25. What color socks are you wearing? N/A 26. Have you ever been famous? Voted 'Most Artistic' freshman year at High School, does that count? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? HAHAHAHAHAHA no 28. What type of music do you like? Most kinds as long as it's not screamo or too folky and even then I may have an exception or two 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Maybe when I was a little kid? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? Lots 31. What position do you usually sleep in? On my stomach or curled up 32. How big is your house? My mom called it a 'cracker box' house 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Muffins, crepes or waffles 34. Have you ever fired a gun? I'm probably the only person in my family and the whole state who hasn't 35. Have you ever tried archery? In High School P.E. yeah 36. Favorite clean word? Shoot! 37. Favorite swear word? I generally don't swear. I could probably count the number of times on my hands. If you ever hear me swear... run 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 24-48 hours? I don't remember 39. Do you have any scars? Everywhere 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? Define 'secret' 41. Are you a good liar? I don't think so, I try to avoid lying as much as I can 42. Are you a good judge of character? I think so? Not if I have a crush on them though unfortunately 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? A few, I'm not sure how many 44. Do you have a strong accent? I guess? I tend to pronounce my Ts as Ds like people in the area do 45. What is your favorite accent? Scottish and French, maybe British as well 46. What is your personality type? ISFP last I checked 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? An outfit that my grandmother bought for my last Easter with a black boat-neck top and a poofy black and white skirt 48. Can you curl your tongue? Yup 49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie 50. Left or right handed? Right 51. Are you scared of spiders? I used to be very arachnophobic but I think I'm getting a little better. I think it would be a lot easier if they didn't bite or move so fast. I'm gonna have to get used to them because my mom now lives in a rural house and they have orb-weaver spiders EVERYWHERE 52. Favorite food? Honey-walnut shrimp, rotisserie hot dogs and pizza 53. Favorite foreign food? Ethiopian stew and call me weird, I like calamari and kim nori 54. Are you a clean or messy person? It fluctuates 55. Most used phrase? “LORD help me.” 56. Most used word? Cool 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? I am slow so it takes forever 58. Do you have much of an ego? I try not to? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? When I'm not just letting it sit in my mouth, I gnaw like an animal chewing on a bone 60. Do you talk to yourself? Of course I do. I have a lot to say and few people willing to hear me ramble 61. Do you sing to yourself? When I'm home alone 62. Are you a good singer? I got a four out of five score in my High School's solo and ensemble competition and I believe I have improved since then 63. Biggest Fear? Very venomous things 64. Are you a gossip? I really try not to but sometimes some nameless gossip slips out of me 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Besides Prince of Egypt, The Case for Christ actually had me crying through most of it 66. Do you like long or short hair? Both have pros and cons. Short hair doesn't get knotted or tangled but you can't do the braids you want and if you go to sleep with wet hair you will wake up to a monster on your head that you can't get rid of 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Here we go... California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, Colorado, Texas, Oklahoma, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Missouri, Ohio, Illinois, New York, Massachusetts, Georgia, Florida, North Carolina, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Alabama, Hawaii, Alaska, Maine, Maryland, Rhode Island, Nebraska, Virginia, West Virginia, Arkansas, Wyoming, Mississippi, Louisiana, Utah, Michigan, and here are the rest that I got from the Animaniac's song: Indiana, New Jersey, Delaware, New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, Kansas, Iowa, 68. Favorite school subject? Art and Creative Writing 69. Extrovert or Introvert? Usually an introvert but I have extroverted moments 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Nope 71. What makes you nervous? Public speaking 72. Are you scared of the dark? I was when I was a kid 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? ...I have a habit 74. Are you ticklish? Don't touch me 75. Have you ever started a rumor? If I have it was unintentional and I was unaware of it 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Does backstage security count? 77. Have you ever drank underage? Depends. Does that include church communion? 78. Have you ever done drugs? I drink a lot of caffeine 79. Who was your first real crush? Hunter from Kindergarten, he had curly hair and dimples and to this day that remains a weakness of mine 80. How many piercings do you have? I don't even have my ears pierced, not that I have anything against it, it just never happened 81. Can you roll your Rs? The ability comes and goes 82. How fast can you type? I took a whole class on typing and I have no clue 83. How fast can you run? I ran a mile in 12 minutes and I think that was me at my fastest 84. What color is your hair? Brown 85. What color are your eyes? Dark brown 86. What are you allergic to? I may have a slight allergy to the adhesive in band-aids depending on where I put them 87. Do you keep a journal? I've tried repeatedly but it always gets neglected 88. What do your parents do? My mom is a caretaker for the elderly and my dad is a retired under sheriff/paramedic who now drives the city bus and teaches driving 89. Do you like your age? I'm in the prime of life yo 90. What makes you angry? My brother taking a whole box of food, eating half of it and throwing the rest away without touching it... 91. Do you like your own name? Yeah 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? Not the most unique but I like Luke and Matthew for boys and maybe Akina for a girl? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? See above 94. What are you strengths? Spirit. 95. What are your weaknesses? *Opens book* *Ahem* chapter one... 96. How did you get your name? My name means hillside/slope and I was named after where my dad proposed to my mom... also a perfume company 97. Were your ancestors royalty? Not that I'm aware of 98. Do you have any scars? Didn't I already answer this one? 99. Color of your bedspread? Cream with gold stars 100. Color of your room? Way too light to be beige and dull? I'm not sure...

Come Back Down, Part 13

Title: Come Back Down Part 13

Rated: PG-13 for cussing, etc

Summary: Jensen and Y/N get an unwelcome, unexpected visitor.

A/N: Thanks for being patient with me. I finally saved enough to purchase a really cheap lap top and will hopefully be able to write and post a lot more efficiently for here on out. Thanks for reading my stuff! (Also, kind reminder that my views are not necessarily reflected here, but I needed a villain. Don't roast me please.)

Tagging: @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyxx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @wheresthekillswitch

Master List  (if you need to catch up)

The face that confronted me from Y/N's front door was definitely not one I'd been expecting. "Danneel?" Just saying her name made rocks grind around my insides. Judging by just her expression, this was not going to be good.

"Jensen, so not surprised to see you here." Her tone and expression were completely sardonic, one finger twisting rapidly around a piece of hair. She didn't pause before she pushed past me to slip through the doorway and into the living room. "Hm," she gave it a bored appraisal. "Kind of quaint, isn't it?"

"Who is it?" Y/N hobbled around the corner in a loose tank top and a pair of her tight yoga shorts. The ones that barely covered her perfectly round ass. The tank top that Y/N was wearing perfectly showcased the hickies I'd managed to give her the night before. Fresh bright red and deep purple bruises in the shape of my mouth. "Oh." Y/N appeared dumbstruck for a moment before she snapped back into a more confident one, a smile on her face.

Danneel spared me a look, probably seeing the strange guilt I felt for what I'd been up to for the past few weeks, before turning back. "You look like you're getting around better." She was feigning nonchalance, but I could tell there was anger just beneath the surface.

"Uh, yeah. Better than being in a ravine." She offered cheerfully with a shrug before motioning to the couches there. "Where are my manners, have a seat! Can I get you something to drink? I don't have any sparkling water, but I have some coke or orange juice?"

Y/N was taking charge and it was a sight to see as I still stood dumbstruck. Y/N had apparently remembered her Southern roots. Danneel seemed a little stunned herself as she followed the underlying command in Y/N's tone and took a seat.

"I'm fine, thank you." Danneel answered primly, visibly getting her confidence back. "I just need a moment with Jensen." The alone was implied but Y/N probably heard it loud and clear.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, I just need him to help me with something in the kitchen... Still a little gimpy." She motioned to her still cast encased arm. "Then he's all yours." Y/N seemed relaxed rather than having as hard a time as I was at having Danneel in Wyoming.

Danneel had never come here, it was always Y/N making the flight or drive to meet up with me. She'd never had any inclination of visiting a ranch. In fact, I could envision the way she'd handled walking in the gravel driveway in the heeled sandals she was wearing.

Danneel consented with a nod, but Y/N never saw it. She'd already began hobbling her way into the kitchen without even as much of a second glance in my direction.

I nodded once in approval before I quickly followed behind her, my eyes still wide from the original surprise. I immediately started to apologize, my voice a harsh whisper in the now silent house. "I had no idea she'd... oh my God what is she doing here?" I was about two seconds away from a panic attack.

"Hey, calm down. Take a few deep breaths, it's not so bad." She spoke calmly and clearly, her hands a welcome weight on my arms. "It's gonna be okay." Then, she smiled at me, a warm reassuring smile that warmed me down to my toes. She waited for me to take a few measured breaths, her right thumb running circles on the thin skin underneath my arm. "You good?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good." I finally breathed out, feeling my shoulders sag a little.

"Okay, so your ex wife shows up at your new piece on the side's house. No biggie. It's you're territory. You can make this go however you want, Jensen."

She smiled at the way my lips pursed, "Don't call yourself that."

"You're missing the point." She squeezed when she saw me lose focus again. It was like our relationship hadn't changed a bit. This was Y/N, my best friend no matter what and I couldn't be more thankful for that. "Do you want your Ativan?"

I nodded, "Okay," she grabbed me into a tight hug.

"Don't think too hard. You have nothing to hide. This is just between you and Danneel, okay?" She grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and an Ativan from the collection of prescription bottles on her counter. "Take your time." She soothed. Unscrewing the top of the water, she handed both to me with a steady hand.

Y/N was right, this was my territory. I could handle this. So what if I spent the first ten minutes just watching the hallway, waiting for Y/N to save me?

I nodded dumbly, not wanting to face Danneel alone. Which was strange because hadn't I spent a lot of alone time with her? We were married for fucks sake! I nodded again with more resolve and took my first steps into the den. I was a grown assed man, I could handle this.

"I guess you know why I'm here." Danneel began tentatively, turning her head to face me. There was not a thing out of place on her. She wasn't disheveled or in distress. In fact, she looked healthier than ever. It was obvious that the stress wasn't getting to her. But I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was doing here.

"Actually, I really don't, Danneel. What are you doing here?" I asked, not unkindly. Although, I really wanted to ask her what was so important that she'd be willing to make the drive now instead of when we were actually married.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, seeing Y/N checking on me from the kitchen doorway. I nodded, grateful for the reminder that I wasn't alone. She disappeared down the hall to her room and I ached to join her. To just curl up in her bed that had too many pillows. To feel her close to me and know that I wasn't being judged just for breathing. For my inability to father a child. For my inability to give up my dreams.

She didn't look so confident anymore. In fact, she looked livid. "Is that what this is about, Jensen? You finally get the balls to fuck your best friend? Did you finally get it out of your system? Lord knows it took you long enough!"

Sadly the first thought that popped into my head was 'not yet'. Then, her words finally smacked me right in the balls. "What the hell, Danneel?!" What did she mean by finally? Jesus!

"Tell me I'm wrong, Jensen. Tell me you didn't divorce me so that you could come down here and shack up with her!" Danneel was red in the face, her fists clenched so hard that her knuckles turned white. "You couldn't take time off to fix your marriage but you cancelled all of your conventions the minute Y/N gets a damn paper cut!"

"It wasn't a fucking paper cut, Danneel! She needed me." I was ashamed to admit that I was absolutely dumbstruck again, and it occurred to me a little late that I didn't need to fuel the fire by immediately jumping to Y/N's defense. "No, Danneel, our divorce has nothing to do with Y/N." I began again, calmly, though I really wanted to scream. "We went thru the proper channels. We separated. After the appropriate amount of time, we signed the papers. We handled this amicably and that part of our life is done. I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have Danneel, but it's been over. Way before we even thought about it."

"I think you mean I rolled over and gave you what you wanted!" She snapped, standing up now, towering over me in a way that she normally couldn't do. "I came here to talk this over like adults. To handle this outside of the courtroom, but I have to fight for what is right for my child, Jensen."

And just like that all the air was sucked out of the room and we were sitting in a damn black hole. "W-what?" I managed to stutter out, licking my lips because they suddenly felt numb.

"I'm pregnant, moron! So you better get this out of your system and get your sorry ass back home!" If I had been paying attention instead of dying a little inside, I would've noticed that she looked a little victorious about the absolute destruction she was causing me.

When I finally got my voice back it was shaky at best. I was going to need a lot more than just one damn Ativan to figure this shit out. "You're... How... I thought..."

"Yeah, four months. Big shock for me too. I thought I had a stomach bug or an anxiety problem. Turns out, I had an anxiety problem and the wrong kind of bug."

My head was spinning, my breath still getting stuck in my throat. "I've already- I've signed the-" God, I needed to get it together. Why was I so dumbstruck? I was happy, of course the universe wouldn't let me have that for long.

It was now that I noticed the gleam in her eyes, "I didn't." She smiled, getting dangerously close to my face. How could someone so small be so intimidating? "So, technically we're still married. Technically, you stepped out on me and I have the pictures to prove it. So, if you want to keep everything you've ever cared about and not hand over every cent you own for the care of me and this baby for the rest of your miserable life, you better end this. Now!"

Danneel left me frozen on the couch watching everything I'd ever worked hard to earn slipping away while she drove away in her rented Mercedes SUV. How in the hell, after all the times that we'd tried, had she finally managed to get pregnant? I was going to be sick. My stomach was flip flopping with the joy of finally being a father and absolute dread of the situation I found myself in.

I barely made it to the half bathroom off of the kitchen before everything I'd had to eat that day made a reappearance. It took a minute for my ears to stop ringing and my vision to clear before I realized Y/N was where she always was. Right beside me, her hand a reassuring weight on my back and a wet cloth in her hand.

What had I done? "Oh fuck. Oh fuck...  I... Shit."

"Shh..." Her fingers squeezed the back of my neck once before handing over a glass of water so that I could rinse out my mouth. She used the wet cloth to wipe my face with gentle, patient swipes.

"She's pregnant. There's a baby." I began haltingly, feeling like my chest might simultaneously squeeze into nothing or hollow out completely, leaving me a culled shell. I backed away from the toilet so that I could lean against the wall. It was soothingly cool on my skin.

"It's gonna be okay, Jay. A baby is good news, you wanted one of those, right?" There was something off about her voice, about how careful she was being but I lacked the brain cells to investigate it further.

"Of course. Of course... a baby. I mean, it's what we always hoped for, but..." I finally glanced up, finding Y/N awkwardly perched on the closed toilet seat. She was close enough that she could run her good hand soothingly through my hair.

"But, what?" She prompted after I'd been quiet for a few moments, her voice completely patient as she waited for my answer.

I felt terrible, that horrible deep ache lingering in my chest like a solid weight. All I wanted to do was rest, curled up with the woman I'd loved in one way or another for the majority of my life. "I just want to lay down with you. Can we do that?" Even to me I sounded pitiful, but I had no energy to reel it in. Y/N didn't need me to be anything else. She'd always been satisfied with whatever I could give her. I was always enough.

"Yeah, let's go." She patted my cheek affectionately.

I brushed my teeth quickly then followed Y/N to what I now considered our bed. It was bathed in soft light from the setting sun. This was where I had last been happy and I wanted to surround myself in it.

I let her get comfortable now that she was able to lay down without her brace for short periods of time, and wordlessly curled around her. My face was tucked into the back of her neck where I could inhale her scent,  which was like a balm.

Her hand took up a calming rhythm as she brushed soothingly across my arm that was circled around her waist.

"I love Danneel, I do, but it's not the same anymore." I know my voice was muddled by her hair, but I hoped she could understand me because I needed her to know everything now. "And I will love this baby with all my heart, but I still need you, Y/N."

"I'll always be here for you, you know that." She answered easily, never stopping her rhythm of comfort. But her words made something very clear to me. She didn't expect me to stay and that was unacceptable.

"No, I don't think you understand." I moved my arms so that my hand could cradle her face in my direction. Her eyes were glittering with moisture and wariness that I couldn't stand to see there. "I'm not leaving you. I can still love and raise that baby and keep you too. As far as I'm concerned I divorced Danneel, the only thing she will be to me is a mother to my child. But you, you are the love of my life. I can't lose that."

"And if you can't have both?" She asked quietly, her y/c/e eyes watching me carefully.

"I can have both. I'll make sure of it. I won't lose you, Y/N. Not now. Not like this, sweetheart." I kissed her nose, her cheeks and then finally her mouth, like I had every morning since the first morning I'd woken up in our bed. "I promise."

Fic Tag Game

I was tagged by the ever lovely and talented @lipstickandwhiskey and my wonderful twin @deanssweetheart23 (I think? You tagged me, right? Yes)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 10 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag some of your favorite authors

From “The Arrangement,” AU!Dean x Reader

You stifled a yawn behind your hand, glancing at the clock on your computer. How could it only be three? It felt like six... that third round of drinks the night before was definitely been a mistake, but it had certainly been fun. You pushed away from your desk and got to your feet, stretching your back before heading to your boss’s door.

“I’m going to get some coffee, Mr. Novak, can I get you anything?” Jimmy lifted his head from where he was studying some paperwork and smiled at you.

“Some coffee would be wonderful, Y/N,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.

“Absolutely, sir,” you replied with a chuckle, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

From “Angel in Blue Jeans,” Dean x Cowgirl!Reader

Dean hauled himself out of the impala with a grunt, muscles still protesting from the werewolf hunt a few days ago. The long drive probably hadn’t helped much, but it sounded like a pretty nasty shifter case so he and Sam had high-tailed it across the country to Wyoming. The most recent lead had them pulling onto a large farm to speak with a victim’s brother. It was mid-afternoon, the sky a brilliant blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. The sun was strong, but it was only May so it wasn’t too hot yet. Dean’s work boots kicked up dust as he and Sam made their way down a wide path flanked by fencing, heading towards a large barn.

From “Imagine: Benny Turning You,” Benny x Reader

Strangely enough, you didn’t feel anything. That hellhound had used you like a chew toy, leaving deep punctures and gashes all over your body. There was blood everywhere, so you knew something was horribly wrong... and yet, all you felt was cold.

“Y/N!” Benny exclaimed, hurrying to your side and falling to his knees. “Look at me darlin,” he pleaded, grabbing your face in his hands, “stay with me.” You dragged your eyes up to meet his crystal blue ones, and he looked so worried, so panicked. Probably because of all the blood. Shit, he shouldn’t be around you when you were bleeding like this. “Hey now, just take it easy,” he said as you struggled to move, pressing his hands over the worst wounds in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. “DEAN!” He bellowed over his shoulder before turning back to you. The look in his eyes scared you, and suddenly you knew you were dying.

From “Imagine: Dean Coming to Find You,” Dean x Reader

A lot of shitty things had happened during your life, but tearing your ACL was by far the worst. It was a freak accident on a wendigo hunt. You’d been running hard through the woods, feet pounding against the dirt-packed path. Of all the stupid plans, being bait was by far the dumbest, but you were the fastest out of the three of you. You’d even run track in high school. Unfortunately, pine needles weren’t the best footing. As you rounded the bend towards where the boys were waiting, you slid on the slippery surface, trying to turn right and get out of the way. But a shooting burning pain ripped through your knee, sending you smashing to the ground.

From “One of These Nights,” Benny x Reader

It had been a year. A whole year of searching. A year of driving around the country with Sam and occasionally Bobby, hoping desperately for any sign of Dean or Castiel.

"We’ve been there already Sam," you muttered tiredly, rubbing your eyes. You were poring over an old faded map, marked up with circles and crosses and other various notes. It was slowly becoming unreadable – yet another sign of your desperation.

"I know, I know…" Sam snapped, slamming a hand down on the table, "but we have to keep looking."

"What about where he came back from hell? Where had you buried him?" You asked, glancing back to the map.

"You really do think he's dead." Sam said, his voice hollow.

"I don't know what to think anymore, Sam! It's been a year with no sign of him at all. He vanished when Dick exploded - that's literally the only information we have." You exclaimed, pacing around the room. The bunker had become home for you, someplace to return to for rest and further planning, but it felt empty without Dean.

From “Imagine Taking Care of Sick Dean,” Dean x Reader

You had to suppress a giggle as Dean appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had the biggest frown you’d ever seen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and bare feet. He was still in his pajamas.

“Hey there sleeping beauty,” you said, still smiling at the sight of him. It was nearly noon, and he didn’t look very happy to be awake. The smile vanished from your face as Dean spoke.

“I don’t feel good,” he said miserably, voice hoarse and raspy. He certainly didn’t sound good. In fact, he sounded like he’d been gargling rocks. 

“Oh honey,” you exclaimed, pushing out of your chair to place a hand on his forehead, “you’re burning up.” You winced and took a step back as he began coughing, looking positively miserable. When he had finished, you took his arm and led him back down the hall to his room. “you need to stay in bed today, mister,” you said as he collapsed back onto the mattress, face down.

From “Just You and Me,” Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky turned, the smile fading from his face and giving you a concerned look as you froze on the stairs. The two of you were returning to your tiny apartment after grocery shopping, bags still clutched in your hands.

“Someone’s in there,” you whispered, heart hammering in your chest. Your heightened sense of hearing allowed you to pick up on the soft footsteps across the creaky floor, as well as the steady heartbeat from whoever was inside. 

“Ah shit...” Bucky muttered, “I should have known this would happen after that attack...” A bomb had gone off in Vienna at an important conference and news reports were blaming Bucky, despite him being in an entirely different country at the time. But people were dead. Important people. And it would have been naive to expect the world to leave the two of you alone.

From “Mistaken Identity,” Dean x Reader

You ducked into the bar, glancing around nervously. It was a nice enough place, with quiet music and low enough lighting that made just about everyone look attractive. You still weren’t sure why you’d let yourself be talked into a blind date of all things... You didn’t really care that you were single, but apparently your friends did. You couldn’t blame them much. Nearly all of them were married or engaged or on their way to it. They were in love and wanted you to find your happily ever after too. It wasn’t their fault you were a realist and didn’t really believe in it anymore.

From “Start of Something Good,” Benny x Reader

You’d only been going to the coffee shop for a few months, but already it felt like home. It was small and simple, but the coffee was strong and the food was phenomenal. It wasn’t one of those high end cafes, but rather it was simple, almost understated. It was quiet, relaxed, and something about it put you at ease. Within a few visits it became your favorite place, and you soon found yourself there every day. You would bring some work or more often, the most recent book you were reading, order the usual and sit at one of the worn wooden tables. People would filter in and out while you sat there, engrossed in your novel and savoring the quiet bustle, the heady coffee aroma and the good looking man behind the counter. His bright blue eyes had caught you the first time you’d visited, making you stammer, scrambling for words in your suddenly empty head. He’d smiled good-naturedly, perfect white teeth flashing in the light.

“What can I get for you, cher?” The smooth low voice accompanied by a gentle southern drawl made your knees weak.

**SNEAK PEAK** Untitled Frank Castle x Reader Fic

You didn’t really know much about your neighbor across the hall. You knew his name was Frank, and that more often than not he looked like somebody had been using him as a punching bag. Not that you ran into him much. Once in awhile you’d see him in the hall or the stairwell, and the two of you would say a quiet hello before moving about your business. He was a quiet neighbor, kept mostly to himself, and only occasionally made a hell of a racket in the hall coming home at an ungodly hour. Your German Shepherd Max wasn’t too fond of that part, but otherwise wasn’t particularly wary of Frank. You’d expected him to be more protective of you, since that seemed to be his main purpose in life: growling at anyone that was dumb enough to get too close. And yet for some reason he seemed to like Frank. He’d wag his tail when the two of you ran into Frank, and more often than not, Frank would glance down at your dog and you swore something would soften in his hard features.

**cough cough @atari-writes I swear it’s coming eventually**

Wow this is late but I was tagged by @atimeofwhichwehavenoknowledge, thanks pumpkin! Rules: answer these questions and tag 9 people! -Are you named after anyone? Yes. First name after the actress Hayley Mills and middle name after my dad's childhood best friend who's been close with my family for a long time 
-When was the last time you cried? Tuesday. I ended up having an existential crisis and spilling it all out to my Theories of Personality professor 
-Do you like handwriting? Yeah. It sucks but it's mine 
-What’s your favourite lunch meat? Turkey 
-Do you have kids? No 
-If you were another person would you be friends with you? Probably not 
-Do you use sarcasm? Sure 
-Do you still have your tonsils? Yeah 
-Do you bungee jump? Fuck no 
-What’s your favourite cereal? I don't have one 
-Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? No 
-Do you think you’re a strong person? Yeah 
-What’s your favourite ice cream flavor? Lately, chocolate salted caramel made with coconut milk 
-What’s the first thing you notice about people? I don't know 
-What’s your least favourite thing about yourself? How selfish and miserable I am 
-What colour pant and shoes are you wearing right now? Blue and white plaid pants, just socks, no shoes 
-What are you listening to right now? Classical music 
-If you were a crayon what colour would you be? Cerulean 
-What’s your favourite smell? Pumpkin 
-Who’s the last person you talked to on the phone? My mom 
-Favourite sport to watch? None 
-Hair colour? Light brown/dark blonde 
-Eye colour? Greenish greyish 
-Do you wear contacts? No, they make my eyes tired 
-Favourite food to eat? Potatoes 
-Scary movies or comedy? Scary movies I guess 
-Last movie you watched? Little Women 
-Colour of shirt you’re wearing? Black 
-Summer or winter? Winter 
-Hugs or kisses? Hugs 
-What book are you currently reading? I'm rereading Little Women and I'm also reading Make a Wish But Not for Money by Suzanne Strempek-Shea 
-Who do you miss right now? My mom 
-What’s on your mousepad? Don't have one 
-What’s the last TV show you watched? Switched at Birth 
-What’s the best sound? Music in general 
-Rolling Stones or the Beatles? Neither 
-What’s the furthest you’ve ever travelled? I've been to one corner of Wyoming 
-Do you have a special talent? Does writing count? 
-Where were you born? Baltimore, Maryland, USA I tag @free-winona @givemestrenghtnot2talkboutwinona @dadharbour @antisocial-wings @antniobanderas @promiseleven @obeydontstray @ghost-grantaire and whoever wants to do this!

Tag game

Rules: Complete the questions & say who tagged you in the beginning. When you’re finished, tag people to do this survey. Have fun and enjoy!

I was tagged by the wonderful @astrangegirlsmind

1. Are you named after someone? No, I’m actually named after a place. My mom always said everyone was convinced she was having a boy, so she came up with the name Taren Eric, which she thought she made up. If she did, by some misfortune, have a girl, she figured she’d just name me after her mother who had died several years before. So, surprise! After she was disappointed by me (only the first in a lifetime of disappointments to come lol), she ended up naming me after a place she’d visited. Although it has actually gained some popularity, I still hate my name.

2. When was the last time you cried? Like wrecked, uncontrolled sobbing? Probably a few months ago when everything was too overwhelming. Like tearing up and sobbing a bit and having to blow my nose repeatedly? Yesterday when I re-listened to the Deathly Hallows and got to the part with Dobby and you know… that part, you’d have to be made of stone not to cry at that.

3. Do you like your handwriting? When I take the time to make it pretty, I like it. Otherwise, it’s fine; it’s functional.

4. What is your favorite lunch meal? Like an old person which I am, I tend to eat my biggest meal at lunch so my ultimate favorite is when I splurge or have a coupon and take myself out to a nice meal like steak. I do try to have a healthy-ish mix of protein, potato and veg though.

5. Do you have kids? Nope.

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? Probably not, because I’m the type of person who is clingy and needy yet socially anxious and unreliable and disappears when overwhelmed and under stress and I never know what to say to those kinds of people.

7. Do you use sarcasm? Yes, probably more than I should. But my aunts, who are usually the only people I’m around, don’t grasp sarcasm so it’s really not fair of me.

8. Do you still have your tonsils? Nope, had them out as a young kid.

9. Would you bungee jump? You couldn’t pay me enough.

10. What is your favorite kind of cereal? Lucky Charms.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Not if I don’t have to; I’m lazy.

12. Do you think you’re a strong person? I think that a lifetime of anxiety disorder and OCD has made me strong in weird ways and prepared me for the big challenges in life because my daily existence is a overactive response to stress so I get lots of practice. xD

13. What is your favorite ice cream? Lactose intolerant so I try not to eat it, but when I was a kid, it was teaberry from a little soft-serve joint near my home.

14. What is the first thing you notice about people? Their smile or facial expression and height.

15. What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself? My belly. I’m sure that I have abs under there—somewhere—they are just tenderly swaddled and protected by the pudge.

16. What color pants and shoes are you wearing now? Black leggings and no shoes, just black socks.

17. What are you listening to right now? Rocktopia Live in Budapest: A Classical (R)evolution, it’s on PBS right now

18. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Wine purple

19. Favourite smell? The smell of fall where I grew up with the crushed leaves and a whiff of smoke from a wood fire.

20. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? My 83-year-old aunt

21. Favorite sport to watch? American football and real football

22. Hair color? Pastel Pink

23. Eye color? Brown

24. Do you wear contacts? Yes, when I can get them in. Otherwise, glasses.

25. Favorite food to eat? Potatoes, I could eat potatoes every meal in almost every way (but never, ever potato salad because that shit is nasty).

26. Scary movies or comedy? Comedy (but overall I prefer action flicks)

27. Last movie you watched? The Manchurian Candidate

28. What color of shirt are you wearing? White long-sleeved T-shirt advertising a snowboard company

29. Summer or winter? Winter—GIMME ALL THE COLD PLEASE

30. Hugs or kisses? Hugs unless I know you veeery well. ;D

31. What book are you currently reading? I’m re-listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and a non-fiction book called The Urban Monk: Eastern Wisdom and Modern Hacks to Stop Time and Find Success, Happiness, and Peace. I’m reading a manga titled Tactics Vol. 4 (this series is one of my favorites EVER).

32. Who do you miss right now? My dad and mom

33. What is on your mouse pad? I don’t use one

34. What is the last TV program you watched? This PBS special but before that, I caught half an episode of Monk while I was eating. Wait, Dragonball Z Super just came on, yay.

35. What is the best sound? My mom laughing when she’s happy

36. Rolling stones or The Beatles? Not a huge fan of either but of those two, Rolling Stones

37. What is the furthest you have ever travelled? Road trip to the West. Ha, I felt like I was quoting Saiyuki there for a sec. We drove from the midwestern uni I attended to western Colorado then up to Wyoming and around before heading back the northern route.

38. Do you have a special talent? I don’t think anything about me is special.

39. Where were you born? Northeast U.S.

I don’t usually tag people because I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, so if you read this bless you consider yourself tagged, if you wish. Just please @ me so I can learn more about you! :D