we-can-kill

Smile!
You deserve to smile.
You deserve to be happy.
Let the sun shine through your heart.
SMILE!

A quick doodle break from doujin work. Dedicated to friends who’s having a hard time. Please don’t forget there are people who’s there for you! Don’t forget to smile. Smile for yourself, for your friends. 

The Lord created us in His image and likeness, and we are the image of the Lord, and He does good and all of us have this commandment at heart: do good and do not do evil. All of us. ‘But, Father, this is not Catholic! He cannot do good.’ Yes, he can. He must. Not can: must! Because he has this commandment within him. Instead, this ‘closing off’ that imagines that those outside, everyone, cannot do good is a wall that leads to war and also to what some people throughout history have conceived of: killing in the name of God. That we can kill in the name of God. And that, simply, is blasphemy. To say that you can kill in the name of God is blasphemy.
  • Pietro:You didn't see that coming? *dies*
  • Wanda:*screams in agony*
  • All the twins in the theater:*glance at each other and immediately begin to sob because THAT WAS TOO CLOSE TO HOME*
6

Lesbian Movie Pitches Based on Real Queer Women

You can’t make this stuff up.

Lesbians: We can’t stop killing ourselves in movies. Straight women trip and act clumsy to quickly endear themselves to viewers; lesbians jump off a roof. Whoopsies! If you’ve seen a movie about lesbian or bisexual women, you are familiar with a couple basic yet oft-repeated storylines:

  1. Doomed love: Two very different girls connect vis a vis vagina, the world or themselves fear such taboo sexy love, back to dudes but will remember that snatch with nostalgia well into the closing credits. Coming of age or mid-life crises.
  2. Everyone hates a dyke: Look at the lesbian! KILL HER! Chase her! Isn’t everyone mean to the lesbian? Poor lesbian. People are terrible. Where shall we eat after the movie?    
  3. Unhappy straight girls: Men are so mean! Protagonists are so damaged! Oh, look it’s okay—they’ve found each other. Pity they couldn’t make it work with a man but better than nothing.

Enriching as tragedy, compromise, and melodrama are to the LGBT community, such plot lines are rather dreary and unenjoyable. We deserve to see ourselves in a movie and actually enjoy it—less crying, more laughing, less one-dimensional martyrs, more rad heroines. Since Hollywood is busy mining superhero sequels, I’ve whipped up a few pitches.

                              Model Through Her

Androgynous supermodel Penny Shizuoka evolves from lonely tomboy to International fashion it-girl and finds herself suddenly surrounded by lovestruck models. Penny traipses through two decades of stylish adventure while sifting through dozens of Mrs. Wrongs to discover Mrs. Right—and herself.

Inspired by Jenny Shimizu’s life and romances with Madonna, Angelina Jolie, Ione Skye, Rebecca Loos and Michelle Harper

Casting Suggestions: Rila Fukushima as Jenny, Amber Heard as Madonna andCara Delevingne as Angeline Jolie

                                            Golden

Our Chart meets the roaring 20s in this decadent epic drama that seamlessly weaves cinema history with the tumultuous and exciting lives of queer actresses. Prim Swedish starlet Ana (inspired by Greta Garbo) is only 19 when she meets Astrid (inspired by Marlene Dietrich), a scandal-courting wild child whose sexuality is an open secret. Astrid seduces then dumps Ana on set of a low-budget movie, and Ana vows to become a megastar, get revenge, and never let herself fall in love again.

On the path to stardom, Ana gets a lesson in fashion and finger banging from Lila (inspired byLilyan Tashman), courts comely co-stars Ella and Sasha (inspired by Eva von Berne and Salka Viertel), gets whisked away by a mysterious Baroness with criminal ties (inspired by SwedishCountess Wachtmeister), and U-hauls with a sensual writer (inspired by Mercedes de Acosta). Taking liberal justices with time and reality, this magnificent drama gives classic lesbian romances the Hollywood ending we deserve.

Casting Suggestions: Noomi Rapace as Greta Garbo, Lea Seydoux as Marlene Dietrich and Kristen Stewart as Mercedes de Acosta

                                             Cultivation

A zany romantic comedy about a couple, an apartment, and the creative scene of early 20th century Paris. Artsy American expats Alice B. Toklas and Gertrude Stein meet, fall in love, and move in together in the timeless style of lesbians throughout history. The bold young lovers write, fuck, and invite a cornucopia of brilliant minds into their apartment to eventually cultivate one of the finest creative salons this world has ever seen.

When an envious gaggle of wealthy conservatives attempt to sabotage Gertrude and Alice’s blossoming community, the women fight back with cunning and connections. Gertrude talksPicasso into splashing vaguely vaginal graffiti all over the coalition’s headquarters. He then declares it his greatest masterpiece. Matisse releases exotic insects into the villain’s plumbing. Gertrude writes scathing op-eds. Alice tricks one member into a compromising homoerotic position.

After lots of scheming, laughter, and sex, the ladies overcome and live happily ever after at 27 rue de Fleurus.

Casting Suggestions: Ellen Page as Gertrude Stein, Evan Rachel Wood as Alice Toklas.

Kink Pride Flags and why they are TERRIBLE

ok but like actually can we kill the “kink pride” because no you don’t have to admit to your fucking co-workers that you’re “into leather” or “into heavier people”.

Identifying kinks as a pride group is stupid in and of itself, because you can have multiple kinks and they can be expressed in multiple ways. Partaking in a kink is also usually something that you engage in by choice. No you can’t control what you like, but LITERALLY no one needs to know.

Being pansexual, or transgender, or aromantic , etc., requires a certain degree of openness about your identity and sexuality. If you’re invited to a work party and want to bring your same-sex significant other, that’s being outed. If you are at work and struggle to decide which restroom to use because you don’t want to get reported to the HR department, that is a real life problem.

I can think of literally no real world situations where it would be necessary to “out” yourself as kinky.

I am struggling with a real life actual fear of being beat up, fired, or ridiculed at my work place for being who I am. Talking about your sexual escapades has nothing to do with your identity as a person, and shouldn’t even arise in polite conversation.

8

anonymous asked:

Your lucky you arent saying this shit to our faces, we can kill you in a number of ways as well as cook you and serve you to your fucking family. nobody will even find your body and We will have a magnificent feast made out of you and eveyone else who insults us because we are intelligent killers and we WILL get you. Watch your fucking back.

you guys know you can always talk to me right? If you ever feel alone or depressed or anything I’m literally always on here I’m a piece of tumblr trash so just hmu and we’ll talk

For lonely-wolf-117 who was forced to deal with complete utter bullshit for a completely stupid reason that she should’ve never have to deal with. You’re awesome, Carter’s awesome and nothing will change that. 

 Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten. Which also means this: Fuck with an rper, you fucked with the entire community and NOTHING WILL SAVE YOU. Word to the wise.

anonymous asked:

why do you hate klaus?

I don’t hate Klaus. I am an Elijah stan first and foremost and due to Klaus being  a piece of shit Elijah is once again the one who suffers. I am pissed at Klaus but it will pass. It always does. However, the Elijah pain…..is forever. 

The Fires of Heaven Liveblog (Part 2)

(Part 1)

Chapters 13-30

I’ve read 500 pages. I’ve seriously read 500 pages already? There’s no way it’s been 500 pages. *double checks* Yeah. Page 504. Huh.

Keep reading

3

Loki: “I have an army. What could you or any of them possibly do against it?”

“We can kill them all.”

He is condemned as a war criminal in earth and will face trial and await punishment in Asgard. Know that Thor was banished from Asgard from nearly starting a war, what fate awaits someone who had waged a full out war upon a city filled with thousands of innocents.

“Told you.”

The kind of people who attend “freedom summits” by and large would prefer to be at war with three or four new countries by breakfast tomorrow, and think we’d have won in Iraq (or for that matter, in Vietnam) if we hadn’t “cut and run.”

If, however, “brains” in politics has any value at all, it should be aimed at informing these kind of people that the world is not a movie or a video game and we can’t just go kill anybody who annoys us and most of all, that “strength” is not defined as suspending all impulse control and behaving like a poorly socialized adolescent boy.

—  Ed Kilgore on the GOP presidential hopefuls’ smarts displayed at Saturday’s Freedom Rally in Greenville, SC.  
Lies and Something Stupid

WORD COUNT: 1051

Two weeks since we got engaged, two weeks since the accident. The bruises healing, the stitches removed. But the breaks still healing. Cas and Crowley haven’t had any luck. Dean is upset that I won’t let Cas heal me. I am too worried it will drain what little grace he has left before the fight. I refuse to let him die because of me.

We are still looking for a way to kill this demon. Lillian. We have a name. It was a step closer. Research was almost 21 or more hours a day. Although it was dwindling. We used ever resource we had. Every source, every informant. EVERYTHING and things were coming to a standstill. Our only hope right now was this damn ring. The Ring of Solomon, apparently it allows control over a demon. So what does this mean: a) we can get her to kill herself b) get her to jump into the pit or c) we can possibly drop kick the bitch back the purgatory.

I heard calling from downstairs, walking down I saw everyone round the table, with beer and pizza.
I was surprised to see the Jodie had also joined us. She came up and gave me a hug.
‘How ya feelin?’ I shrugged.
‘Been worse. Could have also been worse.’ I smiled. We sat down. I took a seat next to Dean, who smiled and me, kissing my hand.
‘Tonight’s rules. No mentioning of work! Tonight is for family. And celebration.’ Sam said smiling at us. ‘Happy Engagement.’ He said raising his beer. It was a chorus of well wishes and ball and chain jokes.
‘I’m sorry it isn’t a fancy Engagement party.’ Dean whispered. I gave him the biggest smile.
‘I’m glad it’s not. This right here.’ I looked around at the family surrounding us. ‘This is perfect.’ I kissed him, snuggling in as he put his arm around me.
‘Ok time for games.’ Charlie yelled jumping up.
‘Cake first!’ Jodie countered.
‘Omg you got us cake?’ I cried, Bobby walked in carrying a plate of Pie, with Happy Engagement written on it in icing pen. I laughed so hard. It was so us, so Dean.

We ate our Engagement Pie, and played games. It was truly amazing. We went long into the night, giving us all a much needed night of R n R.

Waking the next morning I headed down to the living room to do more research. I had gone through Father Gregory’s Journal a thousand times, I keep thinking I am missing something. I still had no idea who called in his place. I had no idea where he was. Despite all my efforts I couldn’t find him, or anyone who was associated with him. Which meant as far as I was concerned. He knew something.

Dean joined me an hour or so later, he kissed me passionately.
‘What would it take for you to come back to bed?’ he asked cheekily.
‘Less than you’d think.’ I winked. ‘First though, I want to let you know something.’ Dean looked at me, my smile gone. He knew it was serious. ‘I’m thinking of heading to South Caro-‘
‘No.’ he interrupted.
‘We never looked at the church Dean. I know that places has had rooms and-‘
‘You’re not going.’ He stated, firm, annoyed I suggested it.
‘We need to look at it. You know that.’ I said quietly.
‘I’ll send Cas.’ He remarked.
‘Cas is busy with Crowley.’
‘I am not risking you again.’
‘But you will happily play the suicidal maniac?’ I countered.
‘I don’t want to fight about this Y/N.’ Dean sighed.
‘Then don’t start one.’ I complained. He looked at me, his jaw tense. I looked to the ceiling and sighed. ‘We need to look at it.’
‘Then I’ll go.’ He stated
‘You’re not going alone.’ I told him.
‘You’re not coming.’ He growled ‘There is no way you can fight, your ribs are still busted baby, you cuts still healing. And since you wouldn’t let the angel heal you, you are benched until you are 150% ok.’ I glared at him.
‘You’re a pain in the arse.’ I snapped.
‘But I am your pain in the arse, and when this is done. I will be forever and there is nothing you can do about it.’ He chuckled peppering my face with kisses, I screwed up my face pretending to copy him before caving and laughing.
‘Argh fine, I’ll stay home and keep house. I suppose someone has to babysit Bobby and Charlie, Lord knows those two can’t survive alone.’ I said over dramatically. Dean chuckled. ‘BUT,’ I said putting my finger up, ‘if you do not check in regularly I will hunt you down. This demon will be the best issue you have. Am I clear?’ I smirked.
‘Perfectly.’ He muttered into my neck, as he stood, pulling me up. Dragging me back upstairs to our room. Covering me in kisses the whole way, still being gentle and cautious because of my injuries.

We came back down a couple of hours later to find the rest of the house awake. I watched as Dean explained to Sam and the rest what was happening. I sat back on the couch quietly, still not happy I wasn’t going. But conceding to Dean’s point about not being up to scratch. At this point I was more of a hazard than a help. I felt Charlie squeeze my arm, she knew I was nervous about this.

‘It will be fun. We can pretend we are teenagers, ignore Mum and Dad over there and sit in bed all day watching crappy TV, eating crappy food.’ She said excitedly. “And I found this awesome Comi-con hairstyles I want to try out on you for next year’s con.’ She babbled quietly. I couldn’t help but chuckled. Apparently this was at the wrong time, as I got shot a dirty look from Dean, which then changed to curious, and then a smile when he saw Charlie still going on about our girl’s weekend.

I smiled back at him. I wasn’t happy with this plan, he leaving. Putting himself in danger. It changed something in me. Things I didn’t even think of until this moment.

‘Actually Char,’ I said quietly. ‘I think I have other plans.’

Radioactive (Part Five)

Theme Songs:

- Warriors by Imagine Dragons

- Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons

Read Part One Here

Read Part Two Here

Read Part Three Here

Read Part Four Here

“Take them down?” Dean demands, scrambling to his feet to follow Y/n back down the hill. “What do you mean, take them down?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, Winchester,” she replies without looking at him, slinging her rifle onto her back. “It’s not rocket science.”

“It’s not exactly a cakewalk either,” Dean replies. “There were hundreds of them, Y/n. There’s no way we can kill them all. We don’t have the supplies and we sure as hell don’t have the numbers.”

“We don’t have the numbers because my people are trapped in a bunch of fucking animal pens,” Y/n snaps. “And you can damn well bet we’re going to get them out.”

Dean reaches out to catch her arm, jerking her to a stop. “Y/n, you don’t know if-”

“Don’t say it,” she cuts him off. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“You think I want to?” Dean sighs. “Y/n, look, I know you’re hoping that your people are in that camp, but - but you saw the compound. We all did.  It didn’t exactly look like the Zeeks were in a hostage taking mood.”

Some of them have to be there,” she insists, yanking her arm free. “They can’t - not all - not all of them are dead.”

“And if they’re alive we will find them,” Dean says just as earnestly, putting his hands on her shoulders and shaking her a little. “We will. I promise. But our chances are slim enough as it is. We can’t make it worse by - by picking a war with a fucking Zeek army.”

I can’t just do nothing,” she snaps. “I won’t just do nothing.”

“And I’m not asking you to!” Dean practically shouts the words. “I’m just asking you to think!”

This seems to get her attention. She freezes, chest still heaving a little, and then slowly the tension starts to drain out of her as she calms.

“You’re right,” she mutters. “I - I’m sorry.”

Dean nods. “I do understand. Don’t get me wrong. Hell, if our positions were reversed, I’d probably be doing the exact same thing.” He shakes his head a little at this, thinking back to his argument with Sam.

They’ve reached the bottom of the hill now, and Dean finds himself looking at a very confused - no, very scared - Jackson.

“What’s going on?” the boy asks quietly, hugging himself and looking at Y/n almost reproachfully. 

Y/n pauses when she sees him, and Dean can practically see the gears turning in her head as she decides how much she should tell him. Dean’s not sure what to make of the hardening in her gaze as she crouches down in front of the kid.

“Jackson,” she murmurs, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. Okay?”

He nods, eyes wide.

“Your mom? Your friends? The others from the compound? I think I know where they are.”

Jackson’s eyes widen even further, practically the size of dinner plates. “Where are they?”

“They’ve been captured by Zeeks.”

His breath hitches a little. “So we’re going after them?”

Y/n nods. “Yeah. We are. But it isn’t going to be easy. So I need you to promise me that you’re going to do what I tell you. You’re going to do what I say, and you aren’t going to argue with me. Can you promise me that?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Y/n straightens up, brushing her palms off on her jeans and turning to flash Dean a grin that is almost as confident as it would’ve been a couple of days ago. “And with a little luck? Maybe we can pull this off.”

#

They spend the day scouting.

Y/n leads them on a wide loop around the Zeeks encampment, monitoring patrols, checking out the set up of the pens, trying to find a more definite set of numbers. Dean follows her lead for the most part, letting her do her own thing while he keeps an eye on the kid. He thinks Y/n has calmed down some, at least enough to start coming up with a strategy instead of just barging in, but Dean is still wary.

Better to be safe than sorry.

What concerns Dean the most, and what he thinks is Y/n’s biggest problem, are the scouting patrols the Zeeks keep sending out. Groups of twenty or more leave the camp on a regular basis and patrol the immediate area. They’d seen more than a few come back with more hostages, but that isn’t what frightens Dean the most. What makes his stomach churn is the fact that there are patrols at all. Because that means - well. He’s not sure what it means.

What Dean thinks, and what he’s pretty sure Y/n is thinking as well, is that the Zeeks are getting smarter. From what Y/n’s told him, this isn’t normal behavior. Normally Y/n and her people were the ones playing games, the ones herding the Zeeks, monitoring them, controlling them as best they knew how. The Zeeks were a lot like rabid animals.

But these patrols. These patrols indicate organization, intelligence. It isn’t normal behavior for animals, and taking hostages sure as hell isn’t, either. No. The Zeeks are becoming more intelligent. They’re becoming more organized.

They’re working together.

“Y/n,” Dean says quietly when the sun is starting to sink beneath the horizon.

“What?” she asks without turning, pace barely even slowing.

Dean glances over at Jackson, giving the kid another push as he starts to lag behind a little. “Don’t you think we should stop soon?”

“We don’t have enough information.”

“We have plenty of information,” he replies.

“Dean-”

“Come on, Y/n. We’ve timed out the patrols, we’ve gotten the best estimate of the numbers we can get. The only thing left to do is actually storm the place, and there’s no sense in doing that without some sleep. There’s no sense in running ourselves into the ground.” Dean pushes Jackson forward again, unwilling to lose the kid. 

Y/n still shows no signs of slowing.

“Y/n, you can’t take on an army by yourself and with no sleep.” He pauses, smirking a little. “Maybe by yourself, but only if you rest up.”

She rolls her eyes, but he knows she’s relenting. “Alright,” she agrees. “Let’s find a spot to camp.”

They end up choosing a spot not too far from there, a copse of trees offering decent cover and well away from where the patrols would be looking.

“Alright,” Y/n begins, setting her pack onto the ground and digging through it. “No fire, it’s too risky. Everyone eat up, stay hydrated. We move in the morning. I’ll take first watch.”

“Maybe I should-” But Dean doesn’t get to finish his question.

“I’ll take watch,” Jackson cuts him off.

Y/n sighs. “Jackson-”

“You’re not going to let me fight,” he continues. 

Y/n looks up, surprised.

“You’re not, right?” he prompts. “We both know it. You won’t let me fight. You and Dean are going to go in alone and leave me behind. So the least I can do is keep watch while you guys get some rest.”

“Jackson, you need rest too,” Y/n replies.

“What I need is for you to save my mom.” He glares at them, chest heaving. “I need you to save my mom. I need you to bring her, and everyone else, back alive. Let me do this, Y/n. Let me do this for them.”

Dean keeps his gaze on Y/n, holding his breath.

She stares at Jackson for a long moment, biting her lower lip.

And then she nods. “Alright,” she agrees. “Alright, Jackson, you can take the first watch. But I want you to wake me in three hours, okay? No arguing.”

He nods. “I will.”

Dean watches as Y/n gives the kid her pistol, giving him a few instructions on how to use it before moving a few feet away and curling up on the ground with her back to a tree trunk.

Dean hesitates only for a moment before following, laying down next to her. She opens one eye, studying him.

“Is this okay?” he asks, watching her carefully.

She nods, closing her eyes again. A stray piece of h/c hair is hanging in front of her eyes and he has to fight the sudden urge to brush it away for her.

“Here,” he says after a moment, sitting up and shrugging out of his jacket before draping it over her. “It’s kind of cold.”

She stays still for a long moment before pulling the jacket a little tighter around herself. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“Yeah.” Dean lays on his back, peering up at the inky black sky peeking between the canopy of branches overhead.

“After this,” Y/n murmurs, resting her head on her arms. “After this is over, we’re going to figure out a way to get you back to your own time. I promise. I didn’t think it was going to take this long, but - well. Things happen, I guess.”

If he’s being honest, Dean almost forgot about his lesson. “You have other things to worry about,” he says in reply, voice pitched just as lowly as her’s was.

“True,” she replies, tilting her head to look at him. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. I will help you, Dean.”

He looks down at her, holding her gaze steadily. “Worry about your people, Y/n. I can wait.”

She’s quiet for a little while. “What happens if you die here?” she asks suddenly.

Dean props himself up on one elbow, surprised by her question. “Why would you ask that?”

She lets out a breathy little laugh that doesn’t have much humor in it. “Because tomorrow the two of us are trying to take down an army and we both know the odds aren’t good. So what happens? If you die here, are you just zapped back to your own time?”

He hesitates a little before shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s how it works. I think-” Dean swallows nervously. “I think if I die out here, I’m dead for good.”

She nods like she was expecting that. “Then why are you helping me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not from here. You don’t know them. There’s no reason,” she replies. “There’s nothing in it for you besides an increased chance of dying. Anyone else would’ve - would’ve walked away.” 

Dean shrugs. “I like a challenge.”

“Be serious with me.”

He sighs, laying back down and rolling to his side so that he’s facing her. “Honestly? I don’t know. This? Saving people? Hunting things? That’s my life. That’s what I do. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I walked away from this.”

“You can’t sleep anyway,” she mutters, and at his surprised expression a blush starts to creep into her cheeks. “You’re not exactly quiet, Dean. You sleep for a couple of hours and then you’re awake the rest of the night.”

He looks down, staring at a blade of grass in his line of sight. “That’s part of the job, too, I guess.”

“Be honest with me,” she says suddenly, and his gaze flicks up to her’s again. “Do you think we can do this? Do you think we can get them out?”

He searches her eyes for a long moment, neither of them sure what he’s looking for. “I think,” he says after a pause, “That if anyone can, it’s you.”

The corner of her mouth pulls up into some semblance of a smile, and he finds himself smiling back.

“Get some sleep, Y/n,” he murmurs. “You’re going to need it.”

She nods. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.” She looks at him then, a question lingering in her gaze, and then she slides closer to him, slinging an arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest. “I’m cold,” she mumbles as an excuse, pushing her face into the fabric of his shirt.

Dean wraps an arm around her and says nothing.

#

Dean wakes only when Y/n suddenly jerks out of his arms, squinting into the ever increasing sunlight.

“What?” he mumbles, still groggy, but the panic in her eyes pushes away the remaining vestiges of sleep. “What is it?”

“Where’s Jackson?” she snaps, scrambling to her feet. 

Dean looks over to the tree the kid had been sitting by earlier, seeing the spot is empty. “Bathroom?” he suggests.

“Jackson!” she shouts.

There’s no reply.

“Jackson!” Dean tries himself, wondering foolishly if his voice might somehow carry further.

“Where the hell is he?” Y/n demands. “Why the hell didn’t he wake me? Damn it, Jackson!”

“Y/n, look.” Dean points to a set of footprints, clearly visible in the exposed soil. “Jackson’s?”

“I don’t know who else it could be,” she replies. “Come on, they lead away from camp.”

They follow the trail several yards away from the camp, so far Dean can’t see where they were sleeping anymore, when things become more complicated. The trail becomes less distinct, showing scuff marks, and multiple sets of tracks. There was a struggle.

“Y/n-” he begins.

“Zeeks,” she cuts him off. “Freaking Zeeks. They took him. He went away from camp, probably to take a piss, and they fucking took him. Damn it, Jackson, why didn’t you wake me up?”

She races back to the camp, already on the move, already prepared to fight. 

“Where are you going?” Dean asks, following her.

“We’re going in,” she replies, scooping up her supplies and stuffing them into her pack.

“Y/n-”

“We’re out of time, Dean!” she snaps. “We waited too fucking long! And if we lose Jackson because of it, that’s on me. That blood is on my hands. And my hands are bloody enough as it is.” She turns on her heel, aiming for the hill, for the camp.

“We can’t just barge in there,” Dean argues. “We’ll be dead before we even find him.”

“Then what do you suggest?” she hisses, whirling around to face him.

But something has caught Dean’s eye, and, in spite of everything, he finds himself smiling. He raises his hand and points.

“That.”

She turns around, eyes going wide. “That?” 

He nods. “That.”

She’s starting to nod slowly. “I’ve heard worse plans.”

That is a scouting party, a group of Zeeks about fifty yards away from them and coming closer. That is ten Zeeks; ten growling, snarling, running, snapping, creepy as hell Zeeks.

That is their best bet.

Y/n already knows what he’s thinking.

“That’s disgusting,” she mutters, chasing down his train of thought. 

“You got a better idea?” Dean counters.

“No,” she sighs. “No, I do not.” She looks around, coming up with a strategy. “We’re low on ammo,” she mutters. “But if you decapitate them, knives still work. Let’s stay in the tree line. We can ambush them from above.”

“They don’t come this far out,” Dean replies. “How are we going to get them here?”

But Y/n is one step ahead of him, and as he watches, she pulls out her knife and makes a long cut across her palm, clenching her fist until the blood starts to drip.

“Move,” she orders, letting the crimson drop into the grass. “They’ll be on us soon.”

They run back to the trees, stopping every couple of feet to keep the trail strong. When they reach the trees, Y/n cuts a strip of fabric away from her shirt and ties it around her palm.

“Climb a tree,” she tells him. “This one.”

Dean looks at the tree in question, the lowest branch still a few feet above his head. “Here,” he says, crouching down and cupping his hands together. She steps into the foothold he’s made, resting her hand against the truck as he slowly stands until she can reach the branch.

She catches hold and swings herself up, straddling the branch while she waits for Dean. He takes a running start at the trunk and leaps, catching hold of the branch and taking Y/n’s offered hand gratefully as she pulls him up after her.

They crouch low within the branches, shrouded in the shadows.

“How are we going to-”

She shushes him, holding a finger to her lips and then pointing down below them. When Dean looks, he sees the scouting party, circling the area, searching, sniffing. 

Hunting.

He looks at Y/n, waiting for her signal, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

She is still holding up her hand, telling him to wait, eyes narrowing as she studies their prey.

What are you waiting for?

After a moment she holds up three fingers, looking to Dean and waiting for his nod to confirm that he’s ready. He nods.

Three.

The Zeeks are circling the base of their tree now. One of them, one with blue paint across its forehead, looks like the lead tracker.

Two.

Dean will go for him first. Then his friends. Y/n always seems to favor her left side, so he’ll let her take any targets on the left side of the clearing while he handles the rest.

One.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife and the trigger of his gun. His heart pounds a violent rhythm against his ribcage.

Now.

Their guns go off in unison, and two Zeeks lay dead on the ground. Dean fires off another shot, and then another, aiming for any of the monsters trying to separate from the group and flee.

After several moments of shooting Y/n’s gun starts to click uselessly and she tosses it aside, leaping out of the tree and landing on top of one of the Zeeks, slicing off its head in one clean strike.

Dean fires his two remaining shots before jumping down after her, stabbing one Zeek in the eye before pivoting and tackling its partner to the ground. It takes one slice to remove its head.

“Dean!” Y/n shouts above the fighting. “Dean, the scout!”

Dean whirls around, picking a smaller Zeek out from the remaining crowd as it breaks away from the group and starts to sprint toward the hill.

Dean gives chase.

The Zeek is fast, annoyingly so, but Dean is faster. His lungs burn and his feet ache as they pound against the hard ground but he’s closing the gap and after a few seconds of running he leaps forward and catches the creature around the legs.

It struggles, jaws snapping, spit flying as it snarls at him. Dean rolls away from the clawing hands and brings up his knife, plunging the blade into the beast’s throat and twisting violently. Blood - not red, but thick, purple sludge - smatters across his face, but he ignores it, jaw clenching in determination.

He gets to his feet, prepared to run back to Y/n and help her finish the fight, but when he turns he finds her already walking toward him, dragging a corpse behind her.

“Alright,” she says, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Let’s get this over with.”

They make quick work of things.

Using their knives, they make cuts in the Zeeks stomachs, cutting deeply until the rib cages are visible. A putrid odor, the scent of death and rot, rises up to meet them and Dean has to choke back a gag.

“That’s disgusting,” he groans.

“Zeeks hunt by scent,” Y/n replies. “That’s their strongest sense. This is our best shot.” She looks down at the remains, face paling a little. “Well. I guess we just - dive in.”

And with that, she crouches down, scoops up a handful of - guts, and starts to wipe it across her clothing. Dean groans, but he follows suit.

“Can you get my back?” Y/n asks after a few moments, voice a little strained from trying not to breathe through her nose.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, reaching for another handful and looking away as he smears it between her shoulder blades. “God, this is awful.”

“Don't think about it,” she advises, but she sounds like she’s going to be sick. “Let me get your back.”

Dean turns, trying to ignore the wetness creeping through the fabric of his T-shirt. He’s fairly certain he’ll never feel clean again. Or that he’ll get the stench out of his nose.

“Are we good?” he asks after a few more moments, not sure he can take much more. He turns to face her again, and the expression on her face says he’s going to resent whatever she says next.

“We should -” She swallows nervously. “We should - get our faces.”

“Oh, hell no.”

What other choice do we have?” She closes her eyes, steeling her resolve. “Just - just don’t think about it and work fast.”

They reach down, coating their hands once more.

“On three?” she suggests.

Dean nods.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “One. Two. Three.” 

He smears quickly, avoiding his eyes, his mouth, and his nose. The scent is so strong it nearly makes his knees buckle.

When he opens his eyes again, Y/n is looking at him in horror, and he knows he must look awful. Dean Winchester - recipient of the world’s worst facial.

“I’ve been covered in shit before, but this is the worst,” he says quietly. “This is the worst.”

“The sooner we move, the sooner we can get clean.”

And so they move.

#

They’re crouching behind a scraggly looking bush, looking nervously around the camp.

“Do you see him?” Y/n breathes, voice low in Dean’s ear.

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Alright,” she whispers. “I’m going to start opening the pens. You find Jackson. Tell people to head south. Hopefully they’ll find the town. Start from the outside, work your way in.”

Dean looks at her, at the fear she’s trying so hard to hide. He reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it once. “We’ll find him, Y/n.”

“We’d better.”

She looks at Dean, expression now unreadable as she shoves her emotion behind a mask. “See you on the other side.”

He watches her run to the nearest pen and open the gate silently. He watches the way she murmurs soothingly to the hostages within, how she tells them to run, how she urges them to stay low, to stay quiet, to not draw attention to themselves.

But he doesn’t look for long, because he has a job to do.

He starts to make his way into the camp, looking at the surrounding Zeeks as he tries to copy their movements. He drags his left foot behind him, making his movements jerky, shambling. He avoids getting too close, but at least being covered in guts isn’t for nothing, because no one gives him a second glance.

He opens as many pens as he can while he passes, murmuring quiet instructions and praying that they’ll have enough time.

For once, can he just have enough time?

And ten minutes later, he finds Jackson.

The boy, and at least fifteen other kids, is trapped not in a pen, but in a rusting metal cage. They’re packed inside like sardines, tear-stained faces pressed against the bars, but Dean picks out Jackson easily.

He makes his way over quickly.

“Jackson,” he hisses.

Jackson jerks back from the bars, but then his eyes go wide in recognition. “Dean?” the boy breathes. “How did you - where’s Y/n?”

“Helping the others,” Dean replies. “I need all of you to stay quiet. I’m going to get you out of there.”

He examines the door of the cage. Instead of the makeshift locks of the pens - twine and rope that he had to cut through - he finds himself looking at two heavy-duty padlocks.

What he wouldn’t give for Sam’s lock picking skills right now.

“Jackson,” he says urgently. “Think. Is there a key somewhere?”

The kid nods, but his eyes are welling up with tears. “Yeah, but - but I don’t know where it is. One of the Zeeks has it, and they all look the same, and-”

“Alright, alright, it’s okay,” Dean soothes, holding up his hand to placate him. “It’s fine. I’ll find another way.”

He glances around, looking for anything that might serve as a lock pick, but that’s when he starts to hear it. 

Screams. Lots of them. Coming from the pens.

He glances over one shoulder and his stomach seems to drop into his shoes at what he sees. The Zeeks have finally noticed something’s up; that their hostages are escaping, and now they’re on the hunt.

They’re running out of time.

Dean turns and slams the handle of his knife against the lock, wincing at the sharp clang. He hits the lock again, and then again, and then again.

Come on,” he mutters, sweat starting to drip down his brow. “Come on.”

“Dean,” Y/n seems to materialize out of thin air, standing just behind his left shoulder. “We have a problem.”

“Tell me about it,” he replies, not looking up from his task. “I’m almost there.”

“No, Dean, we have a bigger problem.” 

He glances up at her to find that her gaze is focused not on the cage, but on what’s behind him. He slowly turns around.

Zeeks. Twenty of them, at least. And every pair of glowing yellow eyes is locked on him.

Y/n’s hand twitches, and he sees her draw a pistol out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know where she found another gun, but now doesn’t seem like the time to ask.

“What’s your plan?” he whispers, hardly daring to move.

“Just get this cage open,” she murmurs.

“Y/n-”

Open the cage, Dean.” She draws a machete from the sheathe at her side. “I’ve got this.”

She charges into the fight.

Dean lets loose a string of curses, but he turns his attention back to the locks, attacking them with renewed vigor. It’s everything he can do to ignore the sounds coming from behind him; to stop from flinching every time the gun goes off or when Y/n cries out in pain.

Don’t think about her. Don’t worry about her. Worry about the kid.

He slams his knife into the lock again, a small glimmer of hope flaring to life when the first lock comes loose and clatters to the ground.

“Hurry, Dean,” Jackson whispers, the words more like a whimper.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Dean snaps.

The gun stops firing, and Dean’s heart almost stops with it as he risks a glance over his shoulder. Ten of the Zeeks are dead, but there are still ten left. For half a heartbeat he can’t find Y/n anywhere, but then he spots her a few yards away, the light glinting off of her machete as she repels the horde. 

Her eyes meet his for just a moment, just enough to see him frozen.

Dean! Open the fucking door!” she screams, dodging a Zeek’s attack and lobbing its head off.

Dean turns back to the lock. Three more blows and the lock breaks off. He wrenches open the door to the cage.

“Go south!” he shouts, pulling the frightened children out by their arms. “Go south and don’t stop running! Jackson, keep them safe!”

Jackson nods, looking at Y/n and Dean worriedly for just a moment before turning and starting to herd the other kids away from the camp. He whips around, ready to fight, ready to kill the Zeeks and grab Y/n and get out of there.

He’s just in time to see Y/n get bitten.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One minute she’s holding her ground, a whirlwind of flashing metal, and the next she’s screaming as a pair of jaws sinks into her left shoulder.

Y/n!” Dean goes sprinting toward her, watching her fall beneath the weight of the Zeek as if in slow motion. 

There are only five of the bastards left, now, and he’s screaming as he kills them. Stabbing and slicing and cutting again and again and again until the world goes still around him.

He spots her just a few feet away, on the ground, eyes closed, Zeek still collapsed on top of her.

“Y/n!” He runs to her side, sliding to his knees as he shoves the corpse away from her.

She’s gasping, bleeding from a dozen different places, and one pale, shaking hand clutching her shoulder.

“Dean,” she stammers, staring up at him, and he can feel his heart breaking at the fear in her gaze. “Did you - did you get them out?”

“I got them,” he replies. “They’re fine. Now let’s get you fixed up and we can get out of here.”

She shakes her head, a sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. “There’s nothing to fix,” she whispers.

Dean can feel tears welling up in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he says thickly. “You’re going to be fine.” He cuts away a strip of his shirt and presses it to the wound, shifting her until she’s propped up against his body, his arm supporting her. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Dean, I’m bitten.” She coughs once, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye and cutting a trail through the grime across her face. “It’s over. We both know it.”

“No it’s not,” he argues, shaking his head. “No it’s not. The town. Maybe - maybe there’s a cure at the town.”

“You know there’s not.” She reaches up with one shaking hand, cupping his cheek. “Dean. You have to kill me.”

“Y/n, no.”

But she’s nodding her head. “You have to kill me. I’ve - I’ve seen what the infection does. I’ve seen people suffer through it. I’ve seen them - turn on their families like - like rabid dogs.” She shakes her head. “Don’t make me, Dean. Don’t make me do that. Don’t let me become one of them.”

He lowers his head, touching his forehead to hers. “Don’t ask me this,” he begs. “Don’t ask me to do this.” He clutches her a little more tightly to his chest. “Damn it, Y/n, why didn’t you let me help you?”

She smiles, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “Because you don’t always get to be the hero.” She reaches out with one shaking hand and grabs the knife still strapped to his belt, pulling it free and pressing the handle into his grip. “Kill me, Dean. Please. I want to die a human. I want to die me.”

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut to block out the world. For a moment he’s just a kid again, closing his eyes to hide from the monsters. Counting to ten and hoping that it will all have disappeared when he dares to look again.

But the woman dying in his arms is still there.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, flipping the knife around and pressing the tip just above her breast. “Y/n, I’m so, so sorry.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

She covers the hand holding the knife with one of hers. Then she places the other on the back of his neck, drawing his face down to touch her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

Dean plunges the blade into her heart.

Sixth and Final Part Here