The police told me there was nothing down there. I know they’re lying.

(This story is very very long, be warned.)

I never wanted to be a mother. A child happened to me, I didn’t ask for it.

After you’ve had a child, you never get peace and quiet. I don’t mean that in a resentful way, just a fact. There’s the crying phase, the screaming phase, the yelling phase, the “NO!” phase, et cetera. And you never get time. You don’t have time for hobbies and distractions. Raising a child is two full-time jobs.

It’s not that I didn’t try to do everything I could for him. It’s not that I didn’t try and be a good parent. I did, I gave it everything I had. But deep down, I think he could tell that I didn’t want him. Kids know.

I had a part time job. I didn’t get paid very well, but it was enough. It was just office work, nothing exciting. My sister would look after him when I wasn’t around. I didn’t really have the money for daycare.

I knew that things weren’t working out like they should have. And I did what any self-respecting human being would do - I bought a book. I’d always heard that you should read to your child every night, and that doing so would make them smart and well-adjusted. Well, I had nothing to lose.

I’m not really an Amazon person, so I paid a visit to my local bookstore - a dark, slightly grubby independent place that shuns all but the most obsessive of bookworms. Standing in the narrow, dimly-lit aisles, surrounded by towering bookshelves jammed with volumes at every angle, I wondered, briefly - what do people normally buy for their kids?

The Very Hungry Caterpillar?

He was a bit old for that. Besides, I think that’s one of those books that parents buy because they think it’s kitschy, not because their kids will actually enjoy it.

Amongst the slightly destroyed second-hand Roald Dahl books and Dr. Seuss anthologies, I found a book that stuck out. It was old, and bound in what looked like real leather, but it was in surprisingly good shape. It wasn’t too long, but it proclaimed its suitability for for children aged 4-6 (he was five). It was called ‘The Trap Door’. No author, no other details. I picked it up and skimmed through the first few pages, and it seemed an ideal fit. It was written in an irregular rhyming meter, and it was festooned with colourful, scratchy illustrations that depicted a boy strikingly similar to my son. The picture was already forming in my head - we’d read it, we’d bond, and we’d smooth over the cracks.

I know it was just a book, but for the first time in my life, I realized I was excited to spend time with my son.

That night, after I’d tucked him into bed, I sat down on his shark duvet (he liked sharks), and I sprang the book upon him.

Once, long ago and far away

There lived a boy of five or so

With a rounded face and hair like hay

And a mind that yearned to learn and grow

The boy lived in a mud-flecked land

Of rolling hills and sheep and styles,

And brooks and trees and miles and miles

Of hinterlands and ranch hands

Long ago there was a war,

Of petty kings and border-lords

The earth did drink the blood of those

Who died for honor or a rose

The boy was happy as could be,

In the cottage on the hill

His mother his only company,

Who loved that boy with all her will

It’s challenging material for a five-year old. But it was educational, it was stimulating. I had only a faint idea of what the war of the roses was actually about, but I did a good job of pretending that I did.

We said our i-love-yous and I closed the door. Things were going to be okay.

Keep reading

Turning for the door, [Qui-Gon] continued, “The four of us had better get going to Esseles. Come, Obi-Wan—”

“Perhaps I was not clear, Qui-Gon,” Mace Windu interrupted. “A Jedi Master is missing. This mission could be extremely dangerous. As an apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not ready for such an assignment. Your Padawan should remain here at the Temple.”

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan, searching his face for any reaction. Obi-Wan wore a relaxed expression and wisely remained silent. But Qui-Gon sensed he was disappointed.

“Understood,” Qui-Gon answered Mace Windu. “Obi-Wan will help us prepare for departure.“


Turning from the hatchway, Qui-Gon looked to the hangar deck and called out to Obi-Wan. "Padawan! I want you to take a look at this hatch. I think it’s stuck.”

Wondering why Qui-Gon hadn’t requested a proper droid mechanic, Obi-Wan left the deck and stepped into the cruiser. As soon as Obi-Wan was inside, Qui-Gon quickly sealed the hatch.

“Ah!” Qui-Gon exclaimed. “It seems the hatch works after all. Now, Padawan, since you’re on board, you should find yourself a seat. We’ve a long trip ahead of us.”

“B-B-But, Master…“ Obi-Wan stammered. "Mace Windu said I should remain—”

"I know what Mace Windu suggested,” Qui-Gon interrupted, “but you’re my responsibility. If I’m going to Esseles, I want you where you belong: at my side!”

Search for the Lost Jedi by Ryder Wyndham

qui-gon is fucking incredible

tips for writing void and water navies

So, since I actually work around boats all day and also have a thing for blathering about the voidfaring life, here’s a few things I wanted to share that maybe other people might find helpful for adding some realism and believability to their own fictions involving the same things. 

Naming Conventions: 
Ships are often referred to incorrectly in fiction. A ship’s name does not have “the” in front of it, unless that is actually part of the name of the vessel. Example sentence: 

Correct: Vengeful Spirit was an exceptional vessel, the only Scylla variant-build ever constructed of the ancient and intimidating Gloriana pattern. 

Incorrect: The Vengeful Spirit awaited them, a hulking monstrosity cruising slowly just above atmos as she waited in low orbit.

Now, this is not a hard and fast rule. There is a time that you can call a ship “the -name-,” and that is if the ship has been destroyed/sunk/decommissioned, is a piece of history thought to be destroyed, etc. Examples of this: The Black Pearl, the Edmund Fitzgerald. Just be aware that, generally, if your ship in question is still in service and has not become a legend yet, she probably doesn’t have “the” in front of her name. However, you /can/ name a vessel The Fickle Female, or something like that,in which case “the” is part of the name and is fine. Also, pirate ships and privately-run vessels may have “the” in front of their names, though this can make them sound a bit hokey and corny. Another semi-exception is when using the vessel’s full name/title, example “the U.S.S. Enterprise” or “the H.M.S. Titanic” (although Titanic could also call under the “historical indicator from “the.” Passengers who are not familiar with shipfaring may also think of the vessel as “the Glorious Name,” but your crew, and most likely your omniscient narrator, would not. 

Long story short? If your vessel left for her maiden voyage ten or a hundred years ago and hasn’t yet left service… no need for “the”– especially if it’s a crewman doing the talking.

Ships have their own words for everything. Here’s a quick rundown: 

Berth/Berthing: places where crew or possibly passengers sleep.
Quarters: Same as above, but generally insinuating more luxurious accommodations.
Bow: The front/nose of the ship, as a noun
Stern: The rear/ass end of the ship, as a noun.
Prow: The very front of the bow, the “nose” of a ship.
Transom: The flat “ass” of a ship. 
Engines: Whatever makes your ship go. Boats may have motors, but ships have engines. 
Bulkhead: An interior wall of a ship. 
Gunwale: Pronounced “gunnel.” The outside “wall” of the ship as created by the hull.
Hatch: A door or doorway. You can close a hatch or walk through a hatch.
Hatchway: Doorway. You cannot “close” a hatchway, but only walk through it. 
Porthole: a window
Ahead: To engage the engines in a way that the ship moves forward, as in “full steam ahead.”
Astern: To engage the engines in such a way that the ship moves backward/in reverse.
Deck: Any “floor” in or on the ship. Stuff you walk on.
Topside/abovedecks: the “outside area” of a boat. Where you can stand and feel the air on your face.
Belowdecks: “inside” the ship’s hull. “below” is a shortening of this. 
Bilge: A pump that removes water (or whatever) from inside the vessel.
Scuttle: to trash something or throw it out.
Scuttlebutt: Rumors and gossip, trashtalking.
Galley: The kitchen.
Head: bathrooms
Bridge: The part of the ship where it is controlled.
Helm: Phrase for describing the person actually controlling the ship’s movements. The person “at the helm” is the person making the decisions, not the person with the wheel in their hands. If your captain tells his first mate, “Six degrees to starboard, steady on”, the captain is at the helm. If the first mate is making that decision himself because the captain can’t, he’s “at the helm.” 
Moorings: attachment to a dock. “moored” meaning attached in this way.
Flotsam: Stuff floating in the water, or in space.
Masts: Big posts that sails fly from.
Boom: Big post going across the mast that sails attach to.
Make fast: tie shit down
Eye: a round thing to tie to or pass a rope through. 
Cleat: a thing for tying shit to.
Lines: Ropes.
Hold: Any large space inside of a ship to put shit, or “stow” it.

There’s lots more, and lots if you want to get into sailing vessels involving the names for the different sails and masts and such, but this is enough to get you started.

Directions and time: 

Ships have their own way of designating the “directions” on  the ship. Aft and stern are not synonyms: aft is a direction, the stern is the actual physical part of the ship. Same with forward and bow. 

Forward: The “front” direction, anything from the middle of the ship to the very tip of the prow.

Aft: The ass end direction. Anything from the middle to the very farthest back part of the ship.

Port: If you are standing on the ship and looking forward, this is going to be on your left. It’s easy to remember because “left” and “port” both have four letters.

Starboard: Pronounced “starberd.” The “right” side of the ship, if you are standing on the ship, looking forward. Two R’s in starboard– “right.”

This is helpful in writing because you can use these words to describe how your characters move about their surroundings, IE, “She looked up, lost, heading what she assumed was aftward.”

Ships generally have their own clock and specific time. Even today in real life, submarines will have their own times and clocks, often with each crewmember on his own clock.

Summary: Idk people, talk about the cool shit in your spaceships more! Hope this helped.      

“Hasn’t this ship got a lifeboat?” said Cheery hurriedly. “I”m sure I saw one when we came on.”
“Yeah… lifeboat,” said Detritus.
“Anyone want a sardine?” said Cheery. “I’ve managed to get a tin open.”
“Lifeboat,” Detritus repeated. He sounded like someone exploring an unpleasant truth. “Like… a big, heavy thing which would’ve slowed us down…?”
“Yes, I saw it, I know I did,” said Reg.
“Yeah… dere was one,” said Detritus. “Dad was a lifeboat, was it?”
“At the very least we ought to get somewhere sheltered and drop the anchor.”
“Yeah… anchor…” mused Detritus. “Dat’s a big thing kinda hooks on, right?”
“Of course.”
“Kinda heavy thing?”
“Right. An’… er… if it was dropped a long time ago, on accounta bein’ heavy, dat wouldn’t do us much good now?”
“Hardly.” Reg shoe glared through the hatchway. The sky was a dirty yellow blanket, criss-crossed with fire. Thunder boomed continuously.
“I wonder how far the barometer’s sunk?” he said.
“All der way,” said Detritus gloomily. “trust me on dis.”

– but the ship is extra light now | Terry Pratchett, Jingo

See What I See

Title: See What I See

Word Count: 2,228

Warnings: Season 10 spoilers, plus-size!Reader, inappropriate and rude (body and other) comments, mentions of blood, mild swearing, slight angst, fluff

Summary: After Sam and the Reader find demon!Dean and bring him back to the bunker, the Reader is left alone with Dean for a little while. Dean enjoys taunting her while they’re alone together.

Pair: [plus-size!Reader, x Dean/demon!Dean]

Author’s Note: So, I got a request to write another plus-size!Reader imagine! Sorry I haven’t posted in a few days.. this week has just absolutely sucked. But, eh. Request things! x Also, I know that this one shot doesn’t really correspond with the scene of Dean being cured, but for the sake of fanfiction, oh well.

              Sam’s words echoed through your head. It’s not him. Don’t listen to anything he has to say. Just focus on the fact that he’s gonna be alright. Don’t listen. Don’t listen. Don’t listen. Don’t listen. It’s not him. You continued to repeat his words, over and over again, in hopes of yourself believing it. Truth be told, it was difficult for you. It was Dean talking… but it wasn’t him. He didn’t mean the things he was saying. No. He wouldn’t. Would he?

              You remained silent, fumbling with the syringe of purified blood left by Sam, counting down the moments until the next hour to plunge the needle into his neck. You desperately yearned for Dean to be himself once more. You missed him dearly. All of you did. Sam. Castiel.

              “Oh, Y/N, why don’t you just give it up already?” Dean grumbled, a long exhale falling his words. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be… cured.

              You inhaled slowly, still facing away from him. Your eyes narrowed at the weaponry in front of you, your eyes tracing the designs in the silver blades in hopes of distracting yourself. You gravely tried to block out his voice, though your mind disobeyed, allowing his statements float into your mind and brand themselves into your brain.

              “C’mon, Y/N, don’t you understand that I don’t want to be saved? That I like the disease,” Dean hissed, the sound of his chains clanging together as he struggled against them, an unsatisfied grunt following his unsuccessful attempts of breaking free.

              “Too bad,” you muttered, checking the timer on your phone, alerting you that there was only a few more minutes until second to final injection. Just one more hour.

              Dean sniggered, your nose crinkling in disgust at the menacing tone to his laughter. You slowly pivoted around on your heel, the timer on your phone alerting you that it was time. You approached Dean, positioning the needle to inject into his neck. You gripped tightly down onto the roots of his hair, tilting his head and plunging the tip into his skin. Dean hissed, attempting to jerk himself away from you, but failed. You withdrew the syringe from his flesh, stalking back over to the table and setting it down onto the wooden surface.

              Dean coughed and groaned, lolling his head and resting his chin against his chest. “I know why you want your old Dean back so badly.”

              Your gaze lifted to face the arsenal of weapons hitched to the wall, your eyes growing wide with sudden curiosity. Of course you wanted Dean back, but the way he tone of voice was suggested that he had more to say and that his words had deeper meaning to them.

              “Do you think I don’t hear you and Sam talking?”

              You bit the inside of your cheek, your facial features hardening at his choice of a statement. How could he know? You very secretive about your growing feelings for the oldest Winchester, always making sure that he was out of earshot when you discussed it with Sam. Or so you believed to.

              “About how a guy like me could never fall for a girl like you?” he continued. You could hear the smirk in his voice, knots beginning to form in the pit of your stomach. You were a hunter. You weren’t supposed to be nervous nor scared, especially over petty, romantic feelings towards another. But you were. God, you were.

You had had feelings towards Dean for quite some time now, at first ignoring the strange sensations that bubbled in your abdomen. You told yourself that it was truly nothing, but as time went on, you began to accept the idea of being together with Dean, though you knew for a fact that he would never love a girl your size. Though Sam assured you that Dean would love you no matter what, you pushed his comments off with a shrug and a sip of your beer, telling him that his assumptions were ridiculous.

“Well, you’re right.”

Your breath was hitched in your throat, your mouth gaping at his confession. Though you had always known that he would never love a girl your size, there was always a glimmer of hope that possibly he would look passed your appearance. You were wrong, though.

Don’t listen. Sam’s voice rattled in your head, though you couldn’t help yourself. He sounded so real. This was Dean. This was Dean speaking. Not the demon inside of him. Dean.

“I’d never have feelings for a fat, disgusting bitch like you,” he snarled, an evil chuckle rumbling through his chest.

You stiffened, straightening your posture and rolling your shoulders back. You bit the inside of your cheek harder, your flesh coaxed with raw sores and the metallic taste of blood on the tip of your tongue. You took a deep breath in hopes of composing yourself, though you knew that Dean’s words stung. Normally, whenever someone would make an inappropriate comment regarding your appearance, you simply would shrug it off and possibly slug the guy. But with Dean? You couldn’t quite contain yourself. You felt the tears brim within your eyes, your Y/E/C hues growing glassy and bloodshot. You dug your fingernails into the palms of your hands in hopes of distracting yourself from the hurtful words, though a single tear slipped passed your barriers and slid down your flushed cheeks.

“Oh, did I offend you?” Dean chortled, his chains clinging together as he huddled over in fits of laughter. “Sorry the truth hurts, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you mumbled, picking up your phone and slipping it into your pocket, beginning to make your way towards the exit.

“Oh, so I did offend you!” He laughed once more. “But there you go. Running away like you always do. God, whenever someone makes a comment about you, you run away. You cry. You’re weak, Y/N.”

His statement burned in your head, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath that lifted in your lungs. A large lump began to form in your throat, you desperately trying to push down the sob that threatened to pass, though your attempts were unsuccessful. He was digging himself into your head. He was manipulating you. That’s what demons did. But you couldn’t shake it. You couldn’t. This was Dean. Your best friend.

“See? There you go. Crying. God, how the hell did Sam and I even put up with you these last few years? We should have never started hunting with you. You’ve only brought us down. You’re too slow, Y/N. You can’t catch up. You’re a weak link. It’s your fault why so many people have died. You’re too slow to save them. You’re a failure.”

              “Shut up!” you roared, turning on your heel and marching towards him, retrieving Ruby’s knife from your pocket and pressing it to his neck.

              Dean’s cocky smirk caused a sneer to appear on your lips, your nose wrinkling. Dean’s tongue jutted out from his mouth, wetting his lips as his green eyes locked with yours. “Do it.”

              You applied more pressure to the blade, creating a small incision into his skin, but you immediately withdrew it once you realized what you were doing. You stared down at him for a brief moment, shaking your head before walking calmly to the door. You turned to face him once more, raising an eyebrow at him before pushing the cabinets together, blocking him from view.

“I heard shouting. What happened?” Sam frantically inquired as you stomped your way into the living room area, both Cas and Sam glancing up at you from their conversation on the couch.

              “It’s done. He only needs one more injection,” you informed rather harshly, making a beeline towards your room, slamming the hatchway shut. You sighed, replaying the previous events in your mind, the horror continuously repeating. Over and over again, the words that he spat at you caused a shiver to run down your spine, your jaw clenching tightly. You knew that he was a demon. You knew demons dug under your skin, but you couldn’t help but believe that what he hissed was true. Were you weak?

              You sighed heavily, plopping down onto your bed, burying your face within the comforter. He’ll be back to normal soon, you assured yourself, clutching down onto one of the pillows, reeling it into your chest. Soon.


              You hadn’t realized that you had fallen asleep until the sound of a knock brought you from your slumber. A groan seeped passed your lips as you lifted yourself up from your position, propping your elbow down onto the mattress. “Come in,” you hoarsely spoke, clearing your throat to awaken your vocal chords.

              The door slowly opened, revealing a small sliver of Dean’s tall frame, your eyes widening at the sight of him. He no longer carried himself as if he was superior over everyone. His shoulders were hunched a little, a guilty expression etched on his features.

              “Hey,” he murmured, walking fully into your room and shutting the door with a soft click. He cautiously made his way to the other side of your bed, your eyes following him with every step. The mattress sunk underneath his weight, his body shifting so he could face you properly. “I-”

              “Save it, Dean, you don’t need to apologize,” you mumbled, averting your gaze and allowing it to fall into your lap, your fingers fiddling together. “I know you didn’t know what you were saying.”

              “But that’s the thing, Y/N. I did know what I was saying.”

              You didn’t think that your heart could break any more than it already had, but clearly you were wrong. Your heart pace quickened in your chest, your stomach clenching at the sound of his words. He did know what he was saying. He did mean it. Of course he did. You knew that already.

              “But I couldn’t control myself. I tried so hard to stop, Y/N. God, I would never ever say that shit to you. But I couldn’t stop,” he whispered, pursing his lips to form a tight line. You felt his eyes still locked onto you, your gaze slowly flicking onto him once more, though you didn’t bother speaking. Dean noted your decision to be silent, his mouth disclosing to speak once more. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

              You slowly nodded, looking back down into your lap. Dean sighed, scooting his body closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You were startled at first, to say the least, but you relaxed into his grasp, burying your face into his shirt.

              “You’re wrong, though.”

              You peered up at him, your eyebrows knitted together into a line of confusion, cocking your head to the left slightly, indicating him to continue on with his thought.

              “You’re wrong. I could easily fall for a girl like you. Hell, I have.”

              Your eyes widening at his confession, your lips parting to speak, but his words beat you to it. “I know you have a horrible self-image of yourself, Y/N. But, God, I wish you could see what we see. What I see. I see a strong, confident, woman who can take down an entire vampire nest by herself. Who has saved many people. Who has saved this damned world. C’mon, Y/N. How can you be so blind?”

              You bit your bottom lip harshly, sighing quietly, though once again, you didn’t bother to answer. Dean breathed heavily, stroking your arm soothingly. “Because I see a beautiful, smart, hilarious, badass, curvy woman who should love herself no matter what has happened in the past. No matter what she looks like. No matter what anyone else ever says. You understand me?”

              You nibbled down harder, though you slowly nodded your head. You didn’t believe him, though. You’ve always had this image of yourself in your head that you weren’t good enough for anyone, especially Dean Winchester.            

              “You know I’m not the one to be all sappy and shit, but Y/N, I just want you to know who are you. You’re not weak. Not at all. We all make mistakes. We’re human. It’s how we are. It’s how we always will be. Please, believe me.”

              “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” you mumbled, fluttering your eyes closed momentarily. Dean sighed, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his calloused hand continuing to rub your arm comfortingly.

              “I have fallen for you, Y/N. I tried to deny it at first. Because who would have thought that Dean Winchester would actually get hooked on a girl? But, Hell, I have. God, have I. And I can’t help it. I can’t help myself when I’m around you.”

              You leisurely looked up at him, a tiny smile twitching onto the corners of your lips. You leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, Dean immediately returning the romantic gesture.

              You pulled away after a few moments, your lips still tingling from the previous sensation, your smile growing wider. “It’s good to have you back, Dean,” you murmured, collapsing your body into his.

              Dean wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you close to his chest and slowly rocking you back and forth, resting his chin on your head. “It’s good to be back.”

Master List.

I can work with this plan.“ Anakin turned to his astromech.
"You stay here, Artoo-”

The little droid interrupted him with a wheedling whirr.

“No arguments. Stay. I mean it.”

R2-D2’s whistling reply had a distinctly sulky tone.

“Listen, Artoo, someone has to maintain computer contact; do you see a datajack anywhere on me?”

The droid seemed to acquiesce, but not before wheeping what sounded like it might have been a suggestion where to look.

Waiting by the open hatchway, Obi-Wan shook his head. “Honestly, the way you talk to that thing.

—  Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith by You-Know-Who
  • What you think you should say to her: I love you.
  • What she REALLY wants you to say: The M4A3E2 Sherman "Jumbo" assault tank variant had a frontal armor of 102 millimetres (4.0 in) and was angled at 47 degrees from vertical, a "higher" angle than the original 56°-angle welded-design Sherman glacis was built with, which resulted in a glacis 150 millimetres (5.9 in) LOS thick and over 180 millimetres (7.1 in) effective, eliminating the pair of protruding armored "hatchways" of standard production Sherman hulls. Sponson sides had extra plate welded on to make them 76.2 millimetres (3.00 in), a significantly thicker transmission casing, a plate welded to the mantlet and a thicker cast turret for the main gun. Intended for the assault to break out of the Normandy beachhead, it was originally to be armed with the 76 mm but the 75 mm was preferred for infantry support and was used. The higher weight required regearing reducing speed to 22 mph. Built at the Fisher arsenal 254 of them were delivered and it arrived in Europe in the fall of 1944 and was employed throughout the remainder of the fighting. They were "considered highly successful". The Jumbo Sherman's 47°-angled glacis plate was adopted as standard for the M4A3 subtype late in World War II, and the later "Easy Eight" M4A3E8 Shermans also continued the Jumbo Sherman's 47°-angle glacis design, and also omitted the earlier protruding forward hatchways.
I am officially kind of a dungeon master

Alright so who wants to hear the story of the first Campaign I Ever Dm-ed Just tonight Over Dinner? Brace, it’s a lonnnnggg, ridiculous, and really quite brutal story under the cut.

We did all this shit, three people, one DM (me), one single d20, some spell list lookups, and whothefuckismydndcharacter.com for character creation

We set em at level 5, had an elf wizard, a tiefling paladin, and a dwarf fighter,

So, these guys, were supposed to rescue a princess

Pretty fuckin simple. They managed to burn down a castle. and heartlessly murdered a LOT OF PEOPLE. be warned.

Keep reading

Rassilon: [bragging about the amazing things he has stored away in the Foundry’s vaults]                                                                                                                                                                   
Eighth Doctor: [whistles] That’s some security; triple thick zybanium shielding on all these hatchways.  For keeping things in or keeping things out?  So, what have you got squirreled away in this one, hmm? The hair drier of Rassilon? The Hoover of Rassilon? The Rassilon Patent Trouser Press? ‘These creases last forever.’
—  Zagreus, Big Finish
I Get That A Lot

Title: I Get That A Lot

Word Count: 3,906

Warnings: plus-size!Reader, swearing, smut, wee bitof body shaming

Summary: Reader meets Winchesters on a hunt and the Winchesters invite her out for a drink.

Pairing: [Sam x Plus-size!Reader]

Author’s Note: I’m really new at writing smut. This was the second time I actually wrote it so I want to apologize if it’s written horribly. Sorry it took so long to get another one shot out! I just finished the musical at my school so hopefully I’ll have more free time on my hands which means more one shots! Request things!

Y/E/C- your eye color

Y/H/C- your hair color

              You studied the scenery surrounding you, your eyes narrowing at your target. You were currently on a vampire hunt in Columbus, Ohio, standing right before the nest. You had managed to lure in and kill two vampires during your stay and was able to track down the whereabouts of the nest. A small smirk toyed upon your pink lips as you admired the machete in your hand. Your eyes flicked from the blade to the abandoned building once more, beginning your stride towards the front door. If you were taught anything, it was why sneak in when you could make a grand entrance?

              You had been on your own for a while, left alone by your mother at age 17 and your father at age 11, both murdered by something of the supernatural. Your parents had vowed to never allow you to be a hunter like they had growing up, but as they all say, once in the family always in the family.

              You reached the entrance, straightening out your denim jacket and fluffing out your hair from behind the collar, allowing the locks of your Y/H/C hair slide down your shoulders. You gripped firmly onto the handle of the door, shifting your grasp on the machete to tighten it before ripping the hatchway open.

              The large room was dark. Eerily quiet. If you were just a person passing by, you would have sworn it was empty. But your hunter instincts kicked into high drive, raising the machete up into a killing position.

              “Sorry I didn’t knock!” you called out, your voice echoing through the hollow room. “Just thought I’d crash your party for a little while. So come on… let’s party.”

              Heavy footsteps sounded through the quarters—at least three pairs of them. Another smirk formed on your features, your eyes scanning the room until a figure appeared in your vision along with two others. The first one to attack was a female looking around the age of thirty, her teeth barred and ready to strike. Within a few seconds, you swung your blade with ease and chopped the head of the predator off. The other two vampires sneered evilly as they charged faster.

              A sound off in the distance—almost like a door softly shutting—distracted the two vampires for a split second, allowing you to make your attack. You reached into your back pocket and in a swift movement, retrieved a syringe filled with dead man’s blood. Within the few seconds you had, you plunged the needle into one of the vampires—a male who stood at the height of 5 feet and 10 inches—paralyzing him for the time being. He yelped out in pain, his partner darting his attention back onto you. But before he was able to pounce, your blade connected with his throat with a sharp force, his body falling limply along with his disconnected head. While the other one was stunned with pain, you took the opportunity to finish him off as well. Three down, about four more to go, you believed.

              You wiped away the splatter of blood that was smeared across your forehead, admiring your work for a quick second before snapping out of your trance. “Alright, you sparkly bitches! Let’s have some fun!”

              You had sworn you heard a distant murmur but took it as all in your head. You walked forward passed the corpses, your Y/E/C hues flicking around the scene. The soft tapping of footsteps sounding flooded your hearing as if someone—or something—was trying to sneak up to you. You whirled around on your heel, your arm reaching out to your prey with the machete at ready. But a grip was placed on your forearm, twisting your arm, causing you to stumble back and drop your blade. You gritted your teeth in slight pain, reaching in your back pocket for another syringe, only to release you had none left. You sneered at your attacker, ready to pounce when a voice stopped you.

              “Show me your teeth!” your attacker demanded, his grip tightening on your forearm.

              Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You stared down the man that was holding you tightly, studying his facial features before pushing your attention onto the man standing next to him. Your eyebrow arched as you hesitantly showcased your teeth. Your eyesight was still on the taller man of the two, his shaggy brown hair falling just below his ears. His face had a slight stubble to it. His hazel eyes were fixated on you.

              “Dean,” he spoke, causing the man holding you hostage to turn his head to face him. “She’s fangless.”

              The man known as Dean loosened his grip until he dropped it entirely. “Sorry,” he grumbled, leaning down and picking up your weapon before hesitantly handing it over to you. His eyes scanned your thick body, his eyebrows furrowed in a tight line. “Aren’t you… well… aren’t you a little too-”
              You smirked lightly, shaking your head. “Too fat to hunt? Oo, my personal favorite. Too weak? Yeah. I get that a lot.” You harshly ripped the blade from his grasp. You brushed passed the duo, making your way forward, farther into the warehouse. You recalled times on your previous hunts when other hunters claimed you had an innocent look to you. Too innocent. Therefore, you were far too weak to participate in such gruesome actions.

              You overhead a soft sigh behind you as two sets of footsteps followed in your direction. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

              “It’s alright. Like I said, I get it a lot,” you replied, lifting your weapon of choice into a kill stance once more.

              “They’re all dead,” the other man informed, causing you to slowly pivot around to face them once more.

              You lowered your machete. “You sure?”

              “Positive,” Dean assured. You nodded your head slowly.

              “Well, that’s it then.” You strutted towards the pair once more, halting your stride in front of the two. You reached your hand out to the taller one, him taking your gesture and shaking your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

              “Sam. That’s my brother, Dean.” Sam motioned his head slightly to the shorter one.

              Dean half-heartedly grinned, shaking your hand after Sam was done. “You sure know how to fight. Taking one three vampires alone and leaving without a scratch. That takes skill,” Dean complimented, bidding a nod towards you in approval.

              “Hmm,” you hummed, smiling sarcastically at him. “Well. I appreciate the help, boys. See ya.” And with that, you marched forward towards the exit.

              “Hey, wait!” Sam called after you. You stopped your gait, turning around to face them once more. “Wanna get a drink with us? I mean, you helped a lot on this case and the least we could do is thank you for it.”

              You contemplated on a decision for a moment, a soft smirk playing on your lips. “Yeah. Alright. There’s a bar about ten miles west of here. On the corner of St. James and Jacobs. I’ll let you guys… clean this mess up and meet you there.” And with your final words, you reached for the door handle, pulling the door open and stepping into the night air.


              You drummed your index fingers along the wooden surface of the table. You had picked out a booth in the back corner of the bar, waiting patiently for the two. You had ordered a few shots of bourbon for yourself, downing the drink the moment it was placed beside you. The three empty shot glasses were pushed off to the side, a beer currently in your grasp as you sat there.

              You began to grow impatient, looking down at your phone for the time. It had nearly been an hour since you left the boys. Your mind began to wander, believing that they would never show up. You figured it in the first place anyways. Why would a pair of attractive men want to catch a drink with you?

              You sighed quietly, pressing the brim of the glass to your lips, pondering whether or not you should just leave. You glanced down at your phone screen once more, studying the time. You shook your head, taking another long swig of your beer before beginning to push yourself up from the booth until the sound of heavy footsteps coming your way stopped you. You peered up to face Dean and Sam, a smug smile playing on Dean’s lips where a soft, genuine grin showcased itself on Sam’s.

              “I see you started without us,” Dean joked, sliding into the seat across from you. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

              “Bourbon. Aged thirty years,” you informed, motioning your head over to the empty shot glasses.

              “I like your style.” Dean winked playfully at you as Sam slid into the spot besides his brother. Dean waved down a waitress, ordering a round and a beer for everyone.  

              You gulped the rest of your beer down, setting the empty bottle besides the glasses. You pressed your elbows to the table, looking between the brothers. “Sam and Dean. Brothers.” You pursed your lips together, speculating your information. “Fairly attractive.” Dean chuckled at your comment, Sam merely blushing slightly. “You’re John Winchester’s sons, aren’t you?”

              Both brothers’ eyebrows knitted together in a tight line, Sam opening his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “My parents knew your dad. They used to hunt together when I was real little. Used to leave me with some of their hunting buddies.” The waitress returned with a tray full of your drinks, passing them around to the three of you before leaving, but not without a second glance from Dean. “They stopped huntin’ really when I was around eight or nine. That was until-” You stopped midsentence, regretting the conversation you had started. You clenched your jaw slightly, shaking your head. “Sorry. I don’t really want to bore you with my life story.” You reached for your new beer, pressing the rim of the glass to your lips, tipping it back.

              A small silence washed over the three of you, Dean breaking it by clearing his throat a few beats later. “So. You sliced n’ diced three vamps by yourself. That’s impressive.”

              You shrugged, setting the bottle down. “What can I say? I was trained to kill. Nothing’s in my way.”

              Dean’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, before opening and looking directly at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry about-”

              “No need to apologize for your opinion, Dean,” you interrupted, grasping down on the shot glass and downing it in one gulp. You set the tumbler down on the table, sliding it over to the rest of the glasses. You flicked your attention back onto Dean for a split second, before tearing it away and looking over at Sam. You halfheartedly grinned at the man, him returning the gesture.

              Sam opened his mouth to speak, but an unfamiliar voice halted his thought. You gazed up from Sam, looking at a man with a beer belly and a greasy muscle shirt. The man reeked of whiskey, the odor causing your nose to cringe in disgust.

              “Hey, pretty lady,” he slurred, leaning down towards you, his yellow smiling showcasing. You cleared your throat, hesitantly looking at him through your peripherals. “Why don’t you and I get out of here?”

              “Why don’t you get out of here and I’ll stay here?” you proposed, a slight, smug smirk appearing on your features.

              Clearly, the man did not appreciate your retort. He sneered down at you, clasping a hand down onto your shoulder, applying unneeded pressure. You hissed at him, tearing yourself away from him. “All you fat chicks think you’re better than me. I doubt you’ve never gotten laid before. Stupid bitch.”

              You watched Dean stiffen in his seat, Sam abruptly standing from his seat. You looked over at the boys, putting your palm up as if you’re saying ‘it’s alright. I got this.’ You turned your attention back onto the drunken man, smiling innocently towards him. “How nice of you to say.” The man opened his mouth to remark back, but you reeled your fist back, slamming it directly into his nose. He stumbled back, falling against an unoccupied table. He tumbled down onto the flooring, the table following his pursuit, landing on his puffy abdomen. You crossed your arms across your chest, watching as the scene unfolded.

              No one rushed to the man’s aid, all of them overhearing what he said to you. After a few minutes of watching the man struggle on his own, you simply slid back into your seat, grabbing your beer and taking a long sip. “Now. Where were we?”

              Dean gaped at you, his eyes widened and green irises reflecting impressive. You directed a tiny smirk at him.

              “Um. I’ve been meaning to ask you. I… Dean and I have another hunt lined up and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to look over some of the research we have? I mean… so we can get another perspective on it,” Sam requested, looking at you with a glint of hope in his eyes. You peered over at Dean, noting his confused stare, but brushed it off.

              “Yeah. Alright.” You took another sip of your beer, polishing it off.

              Dean caught on with what Sam was doing, smiling cheekily at his brother. “I’ll meet up with you two later.” he informed, stretching back in his spot, taking a swig of his beer.

              You nodded towards Dean, looking over at Sam. “We can take my car.”

              You and Sam stood from the booth, Sam ushering you through the maze of tables and people, his hand laying on the small of your back. You smiled slightly to yourself, a small hint of blush tinting your cheeks at the next comment Dean had made.

              “You kids have fun!”


              You followed Sam into his motel room, glancing around the unfamiliar surroundings. Sam threw off his jacket, tossing it onto one of the two beds, looking back at you with a soft smile. “Make yourself at home.”

              You took up on his offer, shedding your jean jacket and tossing your car keys onto the desk by the door. You ruffled a hand through your locks of hair. “So. What research do you wanna show me?” you inquired, plopping your weight down onto Sam’s bed.

              Sam paused his movements, peering over at you. “Can I confess something?” You simply replied with an arch of your eyebrow. “Um, I just said that there was research to get you over here.”

              You fake gasped, exaggerating it to the extreme by placing a hand over your mouth. “Really? Oh, I am appalled!” You stifled a laugh, removing your hand from your mouth and gently biting your bottom lip. “Well. You got me here.” You set your elbows down onto the mattress, leaning back.

              Sam looked over at you, pursing his lips together before waltzing over to where you were sitting, plopping himself down beside you. “That I did.” He smiled widely towards you. You returned the gesture, a bashful grin spreading across your features.

You both sat in silence for a few moments by simply staring at each other. You noted the way Sam’s eyes danced across your skin, admiring all your features from your angelic face to your thick thighs. He didn’t quite understand why he was so attracted to you, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of lust and loving that coursed through his veins. He scooted his body closer to yours, his legs pressing into yours. Sam’s hazel eyes were soft though a speckle of craving and desire sparkled within them. He reached a steady hand out to cup your cheek whereas the other hand soothingly rubbed your upper arm. Sam slowly leaned forward, his lips grazing yours slightly. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You crashed your lips upon the hunter’s, hungrily moving them against his. He playfully toyed with your bottom lip with his tongue before he forcibly slipped his tongue into your mouth. You sensed a smirk growing along his features as you pushed your tongue against his.  

He groaned in pleasure, breaking the kiss in order to trail a wet pathway of kisses down your neck. Sam snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You leaned your neck back to give him more access to your flesh, a satisfied moan passing through your lips.

Your instincts kicked into high gear as you straddled him, your legs wrapping around his torso. A low groan rumbled within his chest, his hands roaming your body. His right hand slipped up your shirt, trailing up your abdomen before finding your bra, slowly massaging your left boob with his massive hand. An immediate reaction to his actions, you quickly tore off your shirt, revealing your exposed flesh and a simple, black-laced bra. Sam stopped kissing you for a brief second, admiring your curves before a soft smile played on his lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, staring up at you before crashing his lips onto yours before you were able to reply.

Sam reached around your bust, easily removing the hooks of your bra, flinging it across the room with ease. You broke away from the kiss, hurriedly pulling his gray t-shirt over his head, unveiling his large muscles. You trailed your index finger up and down his torso, teasingly biting your bottom lip. You had a hard time containing yourself now. The heat within your core was becoming unbearable. You fumbled with the button of his jeans, noticing his bulge straining against the denim. You unbutton them, quickly unzipping the zipper and aiding him as he shimmied out of his jeans. His boxers were quick to follow his jeans’ pursuit. You flung the fabric into a pile of your discarded clothes, taking a sweet pause to admire his member. You lazily traipsed your gaze up his bare chest, arching your eyebrows flirtatiously when you reached his face. You stood from your position, unbuttoning your own jeans and pulling them down your legs along with your underwear. You viewed Sam as he studied you, the feeling of lust burning in his pupils.

Without warning, Sam reeled you into his long arms, shoving you down onto the dingy bed. His large frame loomed over yours as he leaned his head down into the crevasse of your neck in search for your sweet spot. He nibbled love bites against your skin, sucking down hungrily whenever he heard you moan his name. Sam blindly searched for a condom in the top drawer of the dresser. He cursed under his breath when his attempts failed him, realizing that Dean had taken the last one.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” you assured him breathlessly, arching your back and bucking your hips against his. He groaned loudly, placing two large hands against your hips, his nails digging into your soft flesh as he positioned his throbbing cock at your waiting lips. And without a single heads up, he slammed into you.

Your breath was caught in your throat. Your eyes widened in sheer pleasure, moaning loudly as he continued to thrust. Each movement of his brought an immense amount of bliss to your being.

“Fuck,” you mumbled breathlessly, arching your back and pressing your torso into his chest. One of your hands laid on his ass, your hand clawing up and down his spinal cord while the other hand fisted the cotton sheets.

Sam moaned in your ear, feeling your walls clench around his shaft. His thrusting became sloppy; no real rhythm to his movements. But his large member pushed against your spot every time, creating a wave of pleasure that coursed through your core.

“Shit, Y/N,” he grumbled in your ear, digging his nails deeper into your plush hips.

A rush of sensation flooded your lower area. Your body clenched and relaxed as the rush of your orgasm filled you. Your body felt numb with the electrifying feeling your orgasm left you. You felt breathless. You barely could overhear your own cries, let alone Sam’s moans as he rode out his orgasm. You felt Sam collapse down on top of you, both of your chests rising and falling rapidly as you both tried to inhale the oxygen you both desperately needed. Sam rolled off of you, his body resting in the spot beside you. You shifted your body to lay on your side, facing him. An angelic smile grew on your lips as you opened your mouth to speak. “That was the best time researching I’ve ever had.”


              You awoke lazily, your eyes squinting as the sun poured through the transparent curtains. You recalled the events that occurred last night, a large grin appearing on your lips. You turned your head to face the sleeping Winchester, sighing happily. Careful not to wake him, you wiggled from his gentle grasp, and hoisted yourself out of the bed. You felt the aftermath of his thrusting as you stood, laughing lightly to yourself. “Damn,” you whispered to yourself, looking back at Sam.

              You leisurely walked over to the heaping pile of clothes that was thrown from your urges. You picked through the pile, retrieving all your belongings and putting them on. You glanced around the motel room for a pad of paper and a pen, finding it on the top of the dresser. You waltzed over to it, picking up the pen and uncapping it, scribbling down your number along with If you ever need help with some more research, call me. ;)

              You took in one last glance of Sam’s sleeping figure, smiling to yourself as you picked up your keys to your car and draped your denim jacket along your forearm. Cautious not to wake him, you opened the door and stepped out into the morning air, gently closing the hatchway behind you. You pivoted around on your heel, almost colliding with a man you later recognized as Dean.

              A smug smile toyed on his pink lips as he saw your disheveled state; your hair was a tousled mess and your makeup was smudged. “I figured you spent the night,” he spoke. “So, I bought you this.” You noticed that he was carrying a cup holder that contained three styrofoam cups you presumed were filled with coffee.

              You picked out a cup, pressing the rim of the cup to your lips, tipping it back and allowing the hot liquid to slip down your throat. You slightly smiled at him, lifting your cup in the air, the gesture meaning thanks. “I hope to see you boys around.”

              And with your final words, you strutted out to your car, unlocking it and opening the driver side door. Your actions were halted by the sound of Dean’s voice. “I’m sure Sammy would love that!”

              You laughed quietly, waving goodbye to Dean with your freehand as you slid into your car. You shoved the key into the ignition, turning it and allowing the engine to roar to life. You put the gear shift into drive, pressing firmly down onto the gas pedal, zooming out of the parking lot.

              Little did you know, Sam would call you just an hour after you left, proposing the idea of hunting together for a lead they caught down in Illinois. And little did both you and Sam know, that one night sparked a wonderful relationship between the two of you.

I wasn’t really sure how I wanted to end it so I’m sorry for the weak ending! As stated before, I am very new at writing smut so again, I’m very sorry if the writing wasn’t too good. I really wanted to get this out there so I’m sorry if it seems rushed. Request things

A Place without Judgment

“Eventually, he goes up on deck. The cool rush of air is welcome after the close, dim below-decks, and the pitch and roll of the ship easier to ignore.

James is standing in the bow, looking out ahead, his long coat fanned behind him. William doesn’t move forward, just stands by the hatchway, his skirts whipping against his legs, the wind tugging at his wig. He closes his eyes and tips his face into the breeze and just breathes his relief at their escape.”

and later …

“The space is tiny, lit by a dim lantern. William sits on the cot and pulls his wig off, scratches his scalp in relief. Everything he has known is behind him now, left in the wake of their escape. Nothing will be the same, and he must remake himself — again. He unfastens his gown, steps out of it and leaves it on the floor. He lies down and tries to sleep. The pitch of the ship is oddly soothing.”

This story begins as the TV season of Taboo ends: James and Godfrey (William in this version) and a small band of others are aboard Good Hope making their escape …

It is quite long, but it is NOT A WIP. I will post two chapters at a time every couple of days.

My previous Taboo story is Exquisite Torture, which forms the backdrop to this one.

Tactical Advantages in Interpersonal Relationships, Part 8/?

Damn, this got long.


After a short hand-off with Salvara’s planetary dignitaries, Melee and General Skywalker are led away to begin their day of exciting political discourse. Rex accompanies General Kenobi back up into orbit, where the Resolute and the Negotiator hover in tandem over the southern continent.

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anonymous asked:

For the drabbles, maybe blion and Allura talking out an arrangement for a temp pilot while they look for shiro?

500 word stress drabbles: 
Word Count: 1020 
This one got away from me, and frankly just is mostly Lion being a bit bitchy to Allura. Grief can do that to a person, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

{I will not.}

 The machine before her was being disagreeable, and showing far more expression that Allura had ever seen, even though it was currently facing the wall, avoiding looking at anybody or anything that entered into the hangar. It made speaking to it all the more difficult. She took it at a good sign that the thing had not raised its barrier, but that was only a paltry consolation. Even if they wanted to do a manual override and enter through the castle chute or through the primary hatchway, neither were possible with the way it was sitting.

 “We need to-“

 {Princess, and I use this term loosely, considering-} 

Allura’s eyes narrowed, anger flaring up.

 {I have lost not one, but two of my paladins recently, both at the hands of each other. Losing one alone would leave any of us lions shaken. Losing two at once? It is like having your soul shredded and your psyche set alight. If I were you, I would not start any sentence with the pronoun ‘we’ nor the verb ‘need’. You have no-}

 “It does not matter what I comprehend, but what is necessary. There is a universe at stake! It must be protected.} Allura interrupted, raising her voice so loud that it echoed around the hangar, making the place seem so much larger than it actually was. Within ticks, the lion had whirled around, muzzle scant inches from her. Hot air vented around her, sending her hair and dresses flapping in the gale. Around her, the air was filled the noise of whirring machinery, the lion more alive in its anger than it had been for the week since Shiro’s disappearance, no matter who came down to visit.

 {The universe has existed long before Voltron, and it will continue to exist long after. It fended for itself before, and can fend for itself now. Five machines will not make much of a difference if it will not rise up in its own defense! I have no further desire to continue to continue fighting- the emperor is defeated, now let me grieve.}

 They stood, staring each other and waiting for the other to falter, to back down. Surprisingly, it was the lion that retreated first, turning slowly to face the wall again. It folded in on itself, partly like the subsiding of the earth after a heavy torrent and part like the weight of age herself was pressing down on the machine’s shoulders.

 “Lion, you cannot go unpiloted. The castle needs to be defended. The other lions-“

 {And my sisters need their pride-leader. The universe needs a figurehead. What then, do you propose? Yourself? As palatable as I find your strength of convictions, you are mentally bound to four mice. The interference alone would drive the two of us mad, at the very least.}

 “Keith has mentioned-“

{No. I will not upset my sister that way. Not unless we were to possibly rotate all of the cubs through my seat, although I am not thrilled at the idea of being treated like some merry-go-round. There is a reason my sisters and I chose who we did. I will not deny that each of them have the potential to be truly great leaders, they are too young for that burden just yet.}

Allura grimaced, considering the idea of a rotating- No. It wouldn’t work. The machine was right- they were too young for that to be a viable option. Too inexperienced. Still, Keith had been the one Shiro had suggested, although it had been a soft, almost muted suggestion. He was the readiest to assume command, Shiro had confided once. However, it seemed that, no matter the feelings of herself or those in the castle, the decision was still ultimately up to the lion. The lion, who, until now, had neither spoken nor shown any inclination towards action, no matter who appeared in its hangar.

 “One of the blades, perhaps?” While she was not inclined to have a Galra piloting the black lion again so soon, shiro had often spoken of her special inclinations towards the species. Additionally, the blades had goals that aligned with hers.

The lion remained silent.

“Kolivan, perhaps?”

{No. He is still grieving. He has lost many man, of them one of his closest companions. I would not ask anyone to bond so closely with others after such losses as those. The bond would be brittle and would shatter if he were to lose anymore, be it his own men or one of the cubs.}

The lion’s head moved from the wall it was facing, the barest glow of golden eyes being directed at Allura.

{Besides, he would not be a good choice, even though he is a good leader. Men cannot lead two groups at once, just as a man cannot ride two Sillath’s at once. I will not be the one to ask him to choose, and neither will you.}

 “If he offers?”

{Then I will consider it an act of duty, or guilt, or coercion and the answer would still be no. He brings baggage, much of it directed at one, possibly both of my recently destroyed paladins.}

Again they fell silent, and the princess sighed, wracking her mind as she tried to think of any other.

{Princess, the answer will not be pulled from thin air. There is no one on this ship that I would ask to act as pilot. Not as I am this way. It would do them a great injustice, and might do them irreparable harm. Let us grieve our losses. Let us mend and heal what we can. You and the cubs have lost a close friend and leader. The blades have lost as much, if not more. We need time. We cannot force this… I will… let you know when… When it is time to seek another.}

“The universe does not-“

{The universe can fend for itself. It will not suffer if we leave it unattended for a few months. It has survived ten thousand years. It can handle a few months unsupervised. It is not a small child.}

she who races the stars (and other tidbits);

some nursery ‘verse Solo Sibling facts:

·         Jaina and Jacen finish each others’ sentences. All. The damn. Time. Nik claims it drives him up the wall, especially when they’re older and mostly-adults and they’ll be rapid-fire spouting off information in little bursts between the two of them, finishing the whole thing with a conclusion, chorused, like they did when they were children and okay maybe then it was sort of cute but now you’re deliberately being shits to other people, please stop this but he’s mostly lying.

·         Very few beings in the galaxy outside of their immediate family actually have a damn clue what the twins are talking about when they go into rapid-fire-speech mode, whether it’s when they’re children or adults. Mom and Dad, obviously, always know immediately, and Uncle Luke doesn’t even have to watch their lips to know what they’re saying. (Mara Jade is one of the few non-immediate family members – at first, at least – who can claim Understanding of what in Force’s name they’re saying from roughly the same time they started talking. Later, the twins will solemnly claim to their Uncle that that’s one of the reasons they Knew Aunt Mara was The One all the way from the start.) (Luke half agrees with them.)

·         Due to the struggle of pronouncing “Millenium Falcon” in full when they were tiny wee things, the name “Millie” was created. Eventually, one of them – or all of them, Han doesn’t know – somehow turned that into “Aunt Millie”, and the damn name stuck.

·         (Most of the time, no one knows what they hell they mean when they talk about “good ole Aunt Millie”.)

·         (Most people are of the impression that they have a particularly crotchety old Aunt.)

·         (Well, they’re not wrong.)

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31 Days of Positivity. Day One: Princess

I wrote something else for this as you may have seen, but I don’t think it was quite positive enough, y’know? So instead I’m submitting this little canon divergence that I wrote back in February under the title ‘What Will Survive’, just lightly edited. Set post underworld, but written when we had very little clue what was going to go on there so totally AU in that respect. Also contains Liam alive, because that was my dearest wish. Sad face.

3k-ish. G for generally sappy.

The spring sunshine glints off of the millpond calm waters of Storybrooke docks, its warmth prickling at the back of Emma’s neck even as her expression promises storm clouds on the horizon, the clanging of buckets and the sound of raised voices increasing at she draws closer to her target.

One day. They only had to behave for one more day for god’s sake.

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Forever and Always

Title: Forever and Always

Word Count: 2,015

Warnings: PTSD, mild swearing, slight self-harm(digging nails into skin)

Summary: After Sam and Dean managed to pull Adam from the cage, they call up a long-term friend (The Reader) to watch over him while they head out on a hunt. Though the Reader is a little reluctant at first, she agrees. Little did she know, she and Adam have a history that she’s been trying to move on from for a long, long time.

Pairing: [Adam x Reader]

Original Request: Adam one-shot where Sam and Dean ask the reader for help as they’ve just pulled their brother out of the cage and he has PTSD and they ask the reader to look after him for a while as they have a case and when they arrive she recognizes him as her boyfriend who went missing and there’s lots of fluff?

Author’s Note: I tweaked the request a little bit… I hope that’s okay! Hope this was up to your expectations, anon! Request things!


              You gripped tightly on the gun in your hand, rounding the corner of an old alleyway, your eyes peeled for any movement. You saw a shadow slip by against the brick wall, your eyes narrowing. You flipped the safety off your gun, holding it up into a kill stance. You were about to pounce, when you felt a vibration in your back pocket. Your eyebrows furrowed but realization hit you when you realized you were wasting time. “Dammit,” you muttered, pulling your cellphone out of your pocket and answering it, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hello?” you hissed, keeping your voice down in hopes of not drawing attention to yourself. You were currently hunting a shape shifter and you were hot on its heels.

              “Y/N? Y/N, its Dean Winchester,” the voice spoke in the receiver.

              You stayed quiet for a moment, your breathing being the only way Dean knowing that you were still on the line. The Winchesters and you hadn’t parted on good terms the last time you saw each other. The last time you saw them was when the whole apocalypse was happening and your long-term boyfriend, Adam, jumped in Lucifer’s cage with Sam. You had known that Sam was released from the cage years ago, only to find out that they didn’t save Adam in the process. You immediately demanded them to lose your number. You knew they had done their best to free him, but that wasn’t enough in your eyes. You were still in deep depression over the whole ordeal. You mourned him every day. You tried everything to free him, but you knew it couldn’t be done.

              “Y/N?” Dean’s voice echoed through your eardrums.

              “Shut up!” you scolded in a whisper like tone. You saw the silhouette of the thing you were hunting glide along the brick wall once more, its footsteps sounding. You immediately took off into a run, your gun pointed with one hand up at the monster whereas your other hand gripped tightly onto the phone pressed to your ear.

              The shifter continued darting across alleyways, making it easier not to be seen by bystanders. You came to a steady halt when you saw that the shifter was trapped by a dead end. “Dumbass,” you muttered before aiming and firing three shots of your silver bullets into its chest.

              “What was that?” Dean questioned softly, concern leaking through his voice.

              “I’m multi-tasking, Winchester.” You flipped the safety switch on, slipping the gun into the waist of your jeans, fluffing your shirt and jacket over it to mask it. “What can I do for ya?”


              “This is so stupid,” you grumbled, tearing the keys from the ignition, opening the car door and slamming it shut. The gravel crunched beneath your boots as you walked from the secret spot the Winchester’s directed you to park your vehicle. You walked the decent distance to the entrance to the bunker, pounding against the door. Within seconds, it sprung open, Sam standing there to meet you.

              “Hey,” he greeted, opening the door wider for you. You stepped inside through the doorway, glancing around at the unfamiliar scenery, nodding your head in slight approval.

              “Nice place,” you commented. “Now, what research did you need me to look at?”

              Sam rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes away from yours. “Well… actually-”

              “Y/N, follow me,” a voice sounded. You recognized it as Dean’s. He stepped into your view, his arms crossed against his chest.

              You looked back at Sam, raising an eyebrow at him. He simply nodded encouragingly at you. You began to step towards Dean, folding your arms across your chest. Dean turned on his heel, stalking down a long corridor before stopping in front of a closed door. “Be gentle with him, alright? He’s been through a hell of a lot… I’m surprised he’s still in one piece.”

              “What are you talking about you?” you asked, flicking an eyebrow up for added effect.

              Dean licked his top lip, sighing quietly. “If I would have told you, I didn’t think you would believe me. So I told you there was research to look at to get you over here. Just… like I said, be gentle with him. He’s been through Hell… literally. I’ll give you guys some alone time.”

              And with that, he glided past you down the hallway and out of sight. You furrowed your eyebrows together. You hesitantly stepped to the door, placing your hand on the brass door handle, slowly turning it. You peaked inside, your eyes softening at the scene in front of you. Never in a million years would you have thought you would see this exact moment. Never. Your lips parted in attempt to say something, his name forming on your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

              Adam sat there, staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t make any movements to indicate that he acknowledged your presence. His head rested limply against the headboard. Bags hung under his eyes. Cuts and bruises coaxed his skin, you only guessing he had inflicted the injuries onto himself. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, as if he hadn’t had any sleep for a few days. A tray of food was placed on his bedside table, though it was untouched. His fingernails pierced the skin of his forearms. He flinched every so often at an unknown cause.

              It pained you to see him like this. It pained you to see the man you once loved—still loved—in such agony. All you wanted to do was comfort him, but Dean’s words echoed through your head. Be gentle with him. He’s been through Hell. You couldn’t begin to imagine what he had endured all those years in the cage with both Michael and Lucifer.

              “Adam?” You were finally able to bring yourself to speak, though it came out as barely above a whisper. It seemed to not have affected him though because he still continued to stare up at the ceiling. He seemed to be mouthing something, but you were unable to decipher what he was saying. You noticed how his nails dug deeper into his skin, the crimson liquid being to trickle down his arms and onto the bedsheets in small droplets.

              You pushed the door open fully, cautiously stepping inside and shutting it behind you with a soft click. You stayed put by the door, unable to take a step towards your lost love. Adam was muttering something to himself. His eyes squeezed shut in hopes of blocking something out.

              “Adam?” you murmured once more, taking a small step towards him. To your surprise, his head snapped down to face you. His face was streaked with wet tears. His nose was crinkled and his eyes were narrowed towards you.

              “It’s not real,” you heard him whisper to himself. “It’s not real.”


              “It’s not real! None of it is real!” he shouted. His nails dug deeper into his flesh. Tears continued to pour down his face. Adam’s body shook violently, his teeth barred and breathing shallow and rapid.

              You weren’t sure what to do. Do you approach him? Do you leave? But before you were able to contemplate on a decision, your feet instructed you forward. You stepped closer to the bed, setting your weight down onto the mattress. “I’m real, Adam. I’m right here and I’m real.” You placed a gentle hand on his knee, staring directly into his eyes with a soft expression. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

              You noticed his grip loosen on his arms, his fingers now lying limply on his skin. His eyes softened, his irises swimming in a pool of remembrance and safety. You scooted your weight closer to him, swinging your legs onto the bed. You carefully moved your hand up to brush his cheek, your nimble fingertips grazing his unshaved face. His eyelids fluttered shut at your touch to your surprise. He leaned his body into yours, inhaling your scent.

              “Y/N,” he croaked, burying his face within the crevasse of your neck. Adam’s breathing steadied and he body began to calm itself. You felt his tears prickle against your skin. Despite you begged yourself not to, salty tears began to well within your Y/E/C irises.

              “You’re safe,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his head. “I’m not letting anything happen to you ever. You’re never leaving my side, you got that? Ever.”

              “I missed you. It felt like centuries…”

              “You don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay. I’m here now. It’s all over,” you soothed, slowly running a hand through his blonde hair in hopes of comforting him. You felt his body relax further into you, his hand droopily wrapped itself around your waist, his fingers curling along your hips.

              “I love you,” he breathed. His breaths phased into deep, longing ones and the softness of a snore echoed through the room.

              You heard a miniscule knock sound through the hatchway, the door creaking open. Dean peered inside, noting his brother’s sleeping figure along with you. Dean halfheartedly smiled when he stepped fully into the room, leaning his weight against the dresser along the wall. “We’ve been trying for days to get him to sleep.”

              “Days? How long has he been out?” you interrogated, slight anger boiling inside you. The Winchesters knew how much Adam meant to you. They knew how much you suffered without him when he died… both times.

              “About a week,” Dean simply answered. You could sense the sorrow in his voice. The guilt. But you ignored it.

              You shook your head, prying your eyes away from him and onto Adam’s slumbering form. “You should have called me immediately.”

              “We know. We know that now,” Dean defended, a soft sigh following his words. “We weren’t sure how he would react to you. Hell, when he first got back he attacked Sam. We wanted to make sure you weren’t in any danger. But we heard him calling your name out for about the hour of sleep he got last night… so Sam and I decided to call you. We just didn’t want you or him to get hurt, that’s all.”

              “It doesn’t matter now.” You blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, turning your attention back onto the eldest Winchester. “I’m here now and that’s all that does.”

              Dean pursed his lips tightly together, nodding his head. “It’s good to see you again.”

              “You, too,” you replied, turning your head to gaze down at your love once more. You grazed your thumb along his cheek bone, a soft smile on your lips. You didn’t even notice Dean had left you both until the door clicked shut. You felt a small grin grow on Adam’s features against your neck, a wider smile phasing on yours. “I’m gonna keep you safe. Never will ever, ever happen to you as long as I am around, you got that? I love you, too, Adam. I love you, too.” You leaned your head on top of his, fluttering your eyes closed. A sense of security you felt with him washed over you. You had always believed you would never feel this way again. But here you were, feeling safe and secure within a broken man. A broken man whom you vowed to pick up the pieces forever and always. You silently promised to him, as well as yourself, that you would never leave him through this time. You would never leave him. As he told you before he went to say yes to Michael, despite your protests and pleads, for you knew what it would mean, I’m with you forever and always.

              Though you were still irritated with the Winchesters, you mentally thanked them. They had freed Adam and brought him back to you. You weren’t sure how they did it. Hell, you didn’t even care. But you thanked them for their courage to bring their brother home. You thanked them from freeing him from his Hell. You thanked them for bringing your own broken self back together. Forever and always.


The first 2000-ish words of a Blue Pearl fic, plenty more to come…

She’s named Blue’s by analogy with Offred in The Handmaid’s Tale. Goodness knows why I gave her a stammer, I’m sure that’ll be jossed soon enough, it just… happened. 

Pearlshipping status: currently unrequited epic crushing on the Terrifying Renegade Pearl, getting more epic by the moment.



It was only a quiet voice, a pearl’s whisper, but so close behind her that Blue’s flinched and clasped her hands tighter. She still wasn’t used to this. She kept facing forward, kept walking, no sudden movements that might draw the eyes of real Gems. But she subtly slowed her pace so whoever was behind her could catch up.

Two low-end pearls fell into step on either side of her, one indigo and one peach. ‘I’m Tanzanite’s,’ said the indigo, ‘this is Carnelian’s. Is it true you’ve seen her?’

‘Yes,’ Blue’s whispered, smiling faintly. ‘I’ll show you in the c-c-’ Why did the only half-safe rendezvous place have to begin with a C? ‘In the c-cleaning c-c-c… storeroom.’

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Khan being tackle hugged by his son and daughter on Father's Day.

“Today, we train,” Khan decreed, pulling the sparring sticks from the rack and tossing one to Keera, the other to Jax. “Just like any other day.” He stood upright, spinning his own stick expertly and glowering down at his offspring.

“But, Father,” Keera said, catching the stick neatly before glancing at the hatchway that led to their living quarters. “Mother told us it’s a special day. Father’s Day.” She raised her pale face and sniffed at the fine aroma wafting into the ship’s training hall. “She even hunted a targ on that last planet—”

“What your mother chooses to cook is none of your concern at this moment, Keera,” Khan told his daughter. “You are a princess, and you must learn to fight like one. Now. Come at me, fifth combination. Move your feet!" 

"Get him, Keera!” yelled little Jax, clutching his stick and staring at his big sister with worshipful blue eyes. 

The girl snapped her stick upright, then leaped toward her father. His stick rapped hard against hers, and she let out a yell, twisted in the air, and brought her stick down on her father’s skull. 

“Excellent,” Khan roared, falling to one knee, just as if the slender girl’s blow had actually affected him. “Now, Keera, your enemy is down. The sixth combi—”

“Aaaarrgh!” the two children howled together, rushing Khan. Four small hands slammed against broad, black-clad shoulders, pushing Khan off-balance. Down they all went onto the floor, the children clutching at their father, and Khan’s face split into a rare, deep laugh. 

“Lunch is ready,” came their mother’s sweet voice from the hatchway. “Oh!” Molly stepped through, saw the three of them on the floor, and laughed loud and long, dropping the bloody knife she’d held.

“Molly, my love,” gasped Khan, as Keera’s strong little arms locked around his neck, and little Jax latched around one broad thigh like a bear trap. “Help…?”

Something I'll Probably Regret Posting Later...

A Visit From St. Nicholas Starscream

T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the base

came the snoring from Bulkhead, asleep on his face.

Arcee was curled up all snug in her berth

And for once all was at peace here on Earth

The children were home celebrating the season.

Bee was crusing their streets for that very reason.

Prime was patrolling far across the state

And I considered some recharge. It was getting late—

When the proximity alarm made such a clatter

I sprang from my post to see what was the matter.

Away to the mesa I snuck like a scout,

Tore open the hatchway and heaved myself out

The moon on the crest of sand dunes below

Gave a lustre not unlike some newfallen snow.

When, what do my wondering optics fall on,

But a rather large sleigh, and eight small vehicons.

With hooked-taloned driver, so wickly lean,

I knew in a moment it must be Starscream.

More rapid than Seekers his coursers they came,

And he whipped them, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now, Mike! Now, What’s-Your-Name! Stay in formation!

We must make the best of this damned situation!

Now, idiots, bank left - NOT THAT WAY, FRED!

Fail me this time and I’ll have your head!”

As Decepticons before a mad Megatron fly,

When they try to escape his wrath, mount to the sky.

So up to the mesa his coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of… something,… in glittering blue.

And then noting the vector in which they had flown,

Hearing stamping and clanking of pedes on the stone,

I opened the hatch, and was turning around,

Right in front of me Starscream appeared with a bound.

He was decked out for war, from his head to his feet

And his plating was polished impeccably neat.

He was standing right here, on the roof of our base,

And he had a missle aimed right at my face.

His eyes-how they twinkled! What was he up to?

And besides all that, what the Pit was I to do?

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And I braced myself for the swift killing blow.

He lowered his weapon, as I was unarmed

Saying, “Be at ease, Autobot. I mean you no harm

–for now. A condition that’s not here to stay.

But haven’t you heard? It’s a new holiday!”

“I regret” , said the con, “Your emotional strain

—Not as much as I regret this PR campaign—

but morale on both sides of this war is quite low

and with it my chances for leadership, so…”

He reached in his sleigh, rooted round in a sack

And pulled out a package of energon snacks.

“Take this. It’s for you. Tell them Starscream has sent it.

And … Merry Christmas.”, he muttered (and possibley ment it).

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team snarled an order,

And away they all flew toward Nevada’s border.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

“Merry Starscream to all! And to all a good flight!!”

Ours (Part One)

Title: Ours (PartOne)

Word Count: 3,788

Warnings: pregnant!reader, minor swearing, argument, slight angst.

Summary: The Reader becomes pregnant with Dean’s child. She knows how he feels about children, so she decides to leave the bunker with Sam’s help.

Pairing: [Dean x pregnant!reader] [Sam/Castiel x pregnant!reader Friendship]

Author’s Note: Sorry if your home state isn’t a night’s drive from Kansas… but I hope you guys liked it! Request things! Part two should actually be out by tonight! And sorry the title sucks but yeah.

Y/E/C—Your Eye Color

Y/F/I—Your First Initial

Y/H/S—Your Home State

T/S—Town in State

Y/H/T—Your Home Town

It had been six months. Six amazing months since you both had confessed your feelings for each other. Your and Dean’s relationship had grown romantically, though you both were in-denial of what they felt was indeed love. You both knew you felt it, but dared not to speak it. Everything was absolutely perfect for you two, until one mistake. One simple mistake, and it was time to go.

              You picked at your nails absentmindedly, humming a tune to your favorite musician, which normally calmed you down. Normally. Your knees bobbed as nerves coursed through your veins. Everything was fine. Everything always was. It would all work out.

              Your thoughts racked your brain, though you felt empty, as if you were not thinking at all. As if the nerves wiring through your veins did not exist. You felt nonexistent.

              But you did exist; along with the nerves and thoughts and emotions. It was all real. You only realized that when your mind snapped back into reality when your name was called out.

              “Y/N? Hey… you alright?” Sam inquired, sitting down beside you on the sofa, resting a gentle grip you’re your shoulder.

              You chewed on your bottom lip, staring toward at the blank TV screen. You could not avoid him forever. You could not avoid the problem forever. You would have to face it. Your attention turned its focus onto the younger Winchester, your head bowing in shame as it slowly shook in response.

              Sam hunched forward more, stooping his head down to look into your eyes, bringing your focus upright. “What’s the matter?”

              “Where’s Dean?” you murmured softly, frantically looking about the living room, Sam’s eyebrows furrowing.

              “Don’t you remember? He just left to go get food…” Sam replied slowly.

              “Oh… oh right,” you spoke, avoiding Sam’s confused stare. “I’m just… I’m not really in the right mindset right now.”

              “Well, what’s the matter? You haven’t seemed like yourself ever sense we got back from hunting that pack of werewolves. Did something happen?”

              “Not on the hunt,” you mumbled a soft response, bloodshot eyes growing glassy. You turned your gaze onto the rug, your hand covering up your mouth in hopes of suppressing the upcoming sob. The heap of cries sounded, your body falling limply into Sam’s, his eyes wide with fear.

              “You’re scaring me, Y/N…” He slowly rubbed your arms, his eyes looking down upon his best friend. “What’s the matter?”

              Your eyes flew up to face Sam, your lip quivering. You sat into an upright position, blinking a few times to compose yourself. “You have to promise not to tell Dean.”


              “Promise me,” you interrupted, your tone of voice stern.

              “I promise,” Sam replied, though his response was hesitant. His hand rested on your knee in a hopes of comforting you, his eyes soften and sincere as he glanced at you with concern swimming in his irises.

              “Dean’s never been the one to settle down… yo-you and I both know that,” you stammered out, swallowing the large lump formed in your throat.

              “He’s diff-”

              “Don’t tell me he’s different with me, Sam. You and I both know that he will one day run away. It just took me this long to realize it.”

              “Y/N, he lov-”

              “Sam I’m pregnant.” You grew the confidence boost you needed, your statement causing Sam to clamp his mouth shut, his eyes widening.

              “Seriously?” was the only response Sam could murmur out.

              “Seriously,” you repeated, slowly nodding your head. “You can’t tell me that it’s different with me. That I’m not like other girls to him. That he loves me. You can’t, Sam, because honestly you would just be making it more difficult for me to leave.”

              “Leave?!” Sam spoke a little louder than expected, his mouth falling open and eyes wide.

              “I have to, Sam!” The dynamics of your voice matched his, your body standing up abruptly to showcase your viewpoints. Sam stood a splint second after you, his frame towering over you, though you did not back down. “I can’t raise a baby in this kind of environment!”              

              “Yes you can! Dean loves you with all his heart and he would never leave you! You’d have me a-and Cas. We would all help you!”

              “I can’t just tie your brother down like this, Sam! And even if he does love me, I can’t raise a baby here! The amount of weapons in this damn bunker is ridiculous and I wouldn’t want the baby getting hurt! And I don’t want the baby to be brought up in a household of hunters! I don’t want the baby to end up like us!” you bellowed, your body fuming with anger and sadness subsided. Your hands gripped your hips, your body shifting onto your right foot.

              Sam crossed his arms across his broad chest, his lip forming into an angry pout. Before he could retort to your words, the garage door burst open and Dean walked through, carrying a bag full of food. “I’m home!” he called out, the sound of bags rustling and keys being thrown onto the counter sounded, Dean soon appearing into the living room. He looked between his brother and you, his eyebrows furrowing.

              “I think I’m going to skip dinner,” you muttered, pivoting around on your heel, only to be halted by a hand grasping your wrist. You whirled around, glaring daggers at Sam.

              “No,” he replied sternly, though his facial expressions were soft and sincere.

              “Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted, attempting to break from his grip.

              “I care about you, Y/N.”

              “Yeah? Well maybe you should start caring about how I feel.” You broke free from his hold, stalking to your room in a rage, your bedroom door slamming shut.

              “What’d I miss?” Dean inquired quietly, Sam shaking his head.


              You lied on your bed, your focus on the ridges in the ceiling above. Your jaw clenched and unclenched, the previous conversation—well argument—between you and Sam replaying in your thoughts. You deeply desired to be alone. Dean had come and knocked on your door a few moments after you stormed away, but she ordered him away. You could not face the brothers, with your secret baring deep into your thoughts. You would never be able to face Dean with the truth. You loved him, truthfully. But you could not tie him down like this. You would never let your child grow up in a hunter’s home. You wanted a normal life for your child, whether if it was with Dean or not.

              Knock, knock. The soft tapping on your door caused you to sit up, staring at the hatchway in front of you. Before you could respond, it slowly creaked open, a sliver of Sam’s tall frame coming into view. You went to stand from your bed to push him out of your room, but he was too quick for you. He slipped inside your quarters, gently shutting the door behind him. Sam turned on his heel to face you, his facial features soft and genuine. “Y/N-”

              “Get out,” you demanded forcefully, your Y/E/C hues swirling in a pool of anger. “Now.”

              “Hear me out,” Sam spoke reasonably, slowly approaching the bed. The mattress sank as he sat, Sam twisting his body to face you. “I’ll help you leave.”

              You stared at Sam for a few beats, your eyebrows knitted together and lips pursed in a tight line. “You will?” you inquired after a few seconds of silence.

              “Yes,” he answered, swallowing hard. “I don’t want you to leave, but you’re my best friend… and you’re right. A hunter’s home is no place to raise a child. If you think it’s the right thing to leave, then you should leave. You’re the mother of this child, you should make the decisions, not the extremely-sorry-dumbass- of an uncle.” Sam grinned sadly at you, a small laugh erupting past your lips.

              “I love you, Sam.” You scooted your body to Sam, leaning your head down onto his shoulder.

              His shoulders rose and fell with each breath he took. “I love you, too.” He paused for a moment. “I have an idea.”


              You’re sure this will work?” you murmured softly, looking up at Sam as you hurriedly packed your last duffle.

              Sam nodded in response. “I got the car all checked out and running for you. The tank is full so you shouldn’t have to fill it up for at least 300 miles. I went to the ATM and took all the money out of the debit cards you had and checking accounts so Dean doesn’t follow your credit card history… all your cards have been shredded, by the way.” You bobbed your head as a nod, Sam proceeding on. “The hunt I told him and Cas about is out of state, so there’s no way you would be running into us as you leave. I’ll text you when we’re at least out of the county. You have the number to all my phones and I have your number for your burner phone. Everything is going to work out.” He gripped his hands around your upper arm, stooping his head down to look into your eyes. “I promise.” He broke away from his grasp, fishing something out of his back pocket. “But just in case you run out of cash-” he showcased two new credit cards, both with a new alias by the names of Roberta Cardwell and Meredith Hopkins. “Both with new aliases. There’s no way he could trace them.”

              “I can’t thank you enough for this, Sam,” you exclaimed, burying your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Honestly. I’m in great debt to you.”

              “You don’t owe me anything,” he murmured, leaning his head down onto yours, sighing quietly. “Nothing at all.” He released the embrace.

              “I owe you everything. Because of you, the baby has a chance at living a normal life and I can’t thank you enough.”

              “Why don’t you thank me by taking care of yourself, yeah? Eat healthy. Take your vitamins. No driving at night. Don’t get tied up into this monster stuff. And be careful.”

              You laughed lightly at your friend’s farewell. “Always.”

              “And don’t you dare forget to call me and check in. I want to make sure you’re safe. I know, I know, I’m going to be annoying like that… it’s just… you’re a huge part of my life and I don’t want to cut you out entirely. I’ll make sure Dean never finds out we’re talking. I promise.”

              “Just don’t get yourself in trouble with him, okay? Don’t let him find out that you helped me leave.”

              Sam slowly bobbed his head, fluttering his eyes shut as he wrapped you into one more tight hug. “Be very careful, okay?”

              You smiled into his chest at his concerning manner. “Always am.”


              You doubled over, holding onto your stomach helplessly for extra effect as you entered into the living area, frowning. “Guys… I don’t think I can come on the hunt,” you mumbled, your hair falling loosely in front of your face.

              Dean looked up from what he was doing, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he rushed over to your, placing a hand on your back. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

              “I don’t really feel well. I think food I had last night didn’t agree with me,” you muttered your lie, trying your hardest not to let the tears slip down your cheeks.

              “Maybe I should stay with you…” Dean suggested softly.

              “No!” Both Sam and you shouted, Dean fixing his posture and looking over at his brother, eyebrow raised.

              “I mean, you guys got this big hunt and everything. I’ll be fine, really. I can take care of myself. You need to go save the world, okay?” You smiled sadly a your her boyfriend, your lip quivering despite your pleads for your emotions to stop. Thankfully, Dean did not notice the sudden action.

              “Alright,” he answered, drawing out his response in a slow manner. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He turned back to face you.

              “I always am.”

              Dean exhaled lazily, nodding his head in agreement. “Take care of yourself. And don’t eat my leftovers,” he joked, gently kissing you on the lips. But you had something different in mind. You fisted his shirt, pulling him close to your body, kissing him deeply. When the kiss departed, Dean smirked to himself, trying his hardest not to break out in a wide grin. He stalked over to the table to finish packing his bag, Cas stepping up to bid farewell to you.

              Cas stared at you for a few moments, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and eyes filled with concentration. His expression soon softened up, his head nodding. “Congratulations.”

              Both Sam and your eyes widened in fear, Dean turning his head to look at the angel. “Excuse me?” you squeaked out, your body twitching in paranoia.

              “On the b-”

              “Oh!” You cut him off, trying your hardest not to make it obvious that your voice was shaky. “On the book I finished! Thanks, Cas!”

              Cas parted his lips to speak, but noted the way your facial features were positioned to tell him to stop. “Uh… you’re welcome,” he mumbled out, stepping aside and walked over to Sam. Sam leaned down to whisper something in his ear, Cas’s head slowly nodding.

              “I’ll go get the car started,” Dean informed, picking up the keys from the table. He walked over to you, kissing you gently on the lips once more, pulling away seconds afterwards. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

              “I will,” you spoke, your voice barely over a whisper.

              Dean smiled slightly, your body easing at the sight of his grin. “I’ll see you soon.” And with that, he grabbed his duffel and marched out the door, Cas following behind him.

              “What did you say to him?” you inquired to Sam after the door closed, your arms folding against your chest.

              “I just told him that the situation was to be held quiet. Don’t mention it. And he nodded. If he asks more about it, I’ll cover for you. I promise.”

              You sighed slowly, nodding your head. “I’m gonna miss ya, Sammy.”

              Sam waltzed over to you, engulfing you into a final hug. “And I’m gonna miss you.”

              “Keep him safe, alright?” You pulled away from the embrace, Sam nodding. “Get out of here so they won’t get suspicious.” Sam grabbed ahold of his bag, walking over to the door. He turned to face you one final time.

              “You keep my niece or nephew safe too, okay?”


You walked around the bunker for a final time, admiring all things, large and small. From the small crack on the wall above the stove to the beautiful interior. You loved it all, and you hated leaving it.

              You grabbed the rest of your belongings, putting them in the vehicle Sam had prepped for you. You climbed into the driver’s seat, sighing quietly. Your fingers danced along the steering wheel, looking around one final time at the garage, sighing quietly. You put the car in reverse, turning on your hip to view out the back windshield. You eased your foot onto the gas pedal, the car backing up out of the garage. You placed the car in drive, your foot still pressed onto the brake as you gazed at the bunker’s exterior. Before you could stop herself from backing out of the plan, you turned your head to face the front windshield, pressing your food down onto the gas pedal, speeding down the road.              


[Sam’s POV]

“I thought it was something!” Sam defended as they entered into the garage, Dean putting the car in park.

              “Clearly you were wrong. Left Y/N for nothing,” he grumbled, taking the keys out of ignition, turning his head for a split second to his right, his eyebrows furrowing. “Where’s the Lincoln?”

              Sam pursed his lips together, climbing out of the Impala without responding. His head bowed as he hurriedly went to the door, stepping into the bunker. He made a beeline for his room, closing the door after him and sitting down onto his bed, sighing. She was gone. He turned his head to look to the left of him, a piece of paper sitting beside him. Sam sat up into a sitting positon, grasping onto the letter, his eyes scanning the script.


              I know I have already bid you farewell, but I feel as if it wasn’t enough. You helped me through my time of need as well as my child’s, and I cannot thank you enough. You have been there for me for years, and I you. Though I have been with you boys for years, I want more. I’m sorry.

              I ask of one more favor of you. I understand I have asked so much of you, and I’m sorry. Just one more tiny task…

              Help him move on. Help him realize there was a version of himself before we were together. I fell in love with that man. Help him become him once more if he becomes someone he’s not. Tell him it’s for the best. Tell him to forget. I ask of you to please aid him. Do not let him drink himself into oblivion. Make sure he’s okay.

              It pains me to leave. I hate knowing that I will never wake up to Dean anymore. I hate knowing that I will never watch old films with you boys. I hate knowing that that it’s all over. I hate it all. But I must think of what is best for my child. I wish I could say our, but you and I both know that Dean never wants children. He told me once. He told me he never wanted to bring a child into this damned world. I don’t blame him.

              Please, Sam, I beg of you. Help him. Do not let him see this… not until he’s ready. Hell, maybe never. I will let you decide. Just be safe. Both of you.


                                                                                                        I love you,



              “Sammy!” a voice bellowed, Dean busting into his bedroom, a piece of paper in his hands as well. “Where is she?!” Hot, angry tears rushed down his cheeks, his jaw clenched tightly. His brother looked up onto Dean, composing himself to make a reply.

               “What do you mean?” he questioned, trying to play himself coolly, slipping his letter underneath the pillow without his brother noticing.

              Dean thrust the paper into his hands, Sam’s eyes scanning the world on the page.


              Sorry I stole some of your cassette tapes, your music is too good to pass up. Time for me to start a new book. I’m sorry.

              Sam pursed his lips together, handing the letter back to Dean whose body was fuming. “She’s gone?” Sam asked, looking up at his older brother.

              “Yeah, she’s gone! I think she took one of my Metallica tapes, too!” Dean threw the paper down onto the ground, stomping his foot down on it. “Why would she leave?!” His anger alternated into sadness, his head banging up against the wall. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, his body falling limply onto the floor. “I love her, man. Why would she leave?”

              Sam crawled out of the bed, sitting down on the floor next to his brother, his back leaning against the bed. “Maybe she had a reason…”

              Dean dismissed his brother’s comments with a shake of his head, his face burying into his hands. “Things were looking good for us, man!” His words were muffled by his tears and hands. He looked back up Sam. “I was gonna tell her I love her. I was planning this huge surprise…” Dean chuckled pathetically at himself, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I know. Dean Winchester planning a romantic surprise. It’s ridiculous. No. It’s pathetic.”

              “I don’t think it’s pathetic,” Sam murmured.

              “Yeah? If it wasn’t so damn pathetic, where is she?”

              Sam stayed quiet, averting his eyes away from his brother’s fallen figure. Moments had silence had washed onto them, but was soon broken when Sam’s phone began to vibrate. Sam reached into his pocket, fishing out his phone and looking at the caller I.D. Y/F/I. Sam glanced over at his brother, Dean staring intensively. “Who is it?” he questioned, knowing that only him, Cas, and a few other hunters had their numbers—most of them dead.

              “Uh. Wrong number,” Sam answered mumbling, declining the call, but making a note in his brain to call her back as soon as he could.

              Dean’s brows were raised in suspicion. They two sat in silence yet again, Dean’s emotions slowly subsiding, the feeling of numbness engulfing his state of mind. “Um… I’m gonna head to bed,” he informed, leisurely standing from his position. He glanced down at the note from his past lower, stooping down and taking it into his grasp. His brother watched his closely, Dean brushing off the boot print that he had imprinted into it. Dean peered down to his brother, and without another word, slipped out of his brother’s quarters.

              As the door came to a shut, Sam reached for his phone and quickly dialed your number, pressing the device to his ear. It rang a few times before a familiar voice sounded.

              “Hey, Sam.”

              “Sorry I didn’t answer before,” he apologized, standing up with support from his mattress, sitting down on the plush bed. “Dean was in here.” There was a silence on the other end, Sam only assuming that she nodded in response. “Where are you?”

              ”I’m actually already in Y/H/S. T/S to be exact. I have about four or more hours until I get to Y/H/T.”

              “Wait you drove all night?!” Sam questioned urgently, knowing that the drive from Kansas to Y/H/S was at least night’s drive.

              “Yeah,” you replied coolly, not seeing what the harm was. “I’ve driven all night before. I’m fine.”

              Sam sighed. “Are you still driving or did you stop?”

              “Like I said, only four more hours. Why should I stop?”

              “Because it’s the safe thing to do.”

              ”You’re here to lecture me on safety when we… you hunt monsters and shit like that? Sam, I’m fine. I just wanted to call and check in… are you guys home from your… uh… hunt?”

              “Yeah we are.” Sam paused. “He didn’t take it very well.”

              Sam overhead you sigh slowly on the other end. “It had to be done.” The two of you sat in silence, the only sound was the echo of wind on your end of the conversation. “I’ll call you when I get to the house I’m leasing, alright?”

              “Okay… be careful.”

              “Always am.”

Read Part Two Here!