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ireneae
i am not resigned
amexcarsuae5675r
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shu-bullshit
How good it is to live tonight
0rime
( 折れ目 )
technicoloris
Techni.Coloris
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Reblog if you think a woman can be complete without children
Y’ALL HAVE TIME TO REBLOG THIS. IT TAKES LESS THAN FIVE SECONDS.
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OBX Rock Band AU (headcanon)
Characters:
jj maybank, john b routledge, pope hayward, kiara carrera, sarah cameron
Word Count:
~700
A/N:
i have no idea if this has been done before but the idea came to me the other night in the shower lol. i’m in a band so you can guess what i loosely based this on
JJ - Drums
is my opinion biased on this one? probably
my favorite band member and character
the one with the most problems
drinks a little too much, stoner
personal life in shambles most of the time
once he found the drums as an outlet he dove into it, eventually becoming an intensely devoted musician
that drum set has seen some things
jj lets his anger out on that poor, innocent drum set
all the different pieces have had to be replaced so many times because he beats the living shit out of them
the one that got john b into rock music and the rest was history
he's not one of the chill drummers who just shows up and does their thing, this man is a show-off
so many tricks
long solos whenever the chance arises for one
flirts with the entire band
music genres: rock, grunge, alt, metal
bands/artists: Sex Pistols, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard
John B - Lead Vocals/Rhythm Guitar
a no-brainer. this is practically canon
no i will not be hearing opposing opinions at this time
he's the frontman
the one most people's eyes are drawn to right away
controls the vibe in the room
him and jj put on a show
stoner
is naturally a gifted singer, but had a vocal coach for a little while to get some pointers
rhythm guitar because most rock songs need at least two guitars and he's played guitar since he was a kid just for fun
music genres: country, rock, alt, pop when jj isn't around
bands/artists: The Rolling Stones, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, Aerosmith, Taylor Swift, Johnny Cash
Pope - Lead Guitar/Band Manager
he's just there to vibe but also an incredibly skilled guitarist
the one that tries extremely hard to keep everyone on track, but can't because no one listens to him
also the one that found kiara and Sarah
he's classically trained, but he only did classical as a kid because that's what he thought the smart kids were supposed to do
he plays like Slash: relatively controlled body language, but his fingers fly back and forth on the frets
music nerd
everyone can tell he loves what he's doing
manager because who else would manage these fools?
music genres: rock, alt, indie rock
bands/artists: Falling in Reverse, Foo Fighters, Arctic Monkeys, Green Day, Hozier, The Killers, The 1975
Kiara - Bass
i will not be accepting arguments on this one
she 100% grew up on cello, but wanted to rebel against her parents as a teen and switched to rock but realized she fucked with it
this girl is hot as all hell and knows it, but has nothing to prove
she's one of the more responsible members of the group but also super laid-back
stoner
effortlessly keeps everyone in check
she just wants to vibe and play some songs
flirts with the entire band
weird, hippie, earthy screams bass player
music genres: indie rock, r&b, pop punk, anything from the '60s and '70s
bands/artists: Janis Joplin, The Strokes, Young The Giant, Hozier, Paramore, Joan Jett, Whitney Houston
Sarah - Backup Vocals
she was definitely an attention seeker in her young years and would've hated backup, but now she's perfectly content chilling in the background with some killer harmonies
she has a few songs she leads in the set when john b needs a rest
she absolutely KILLS them
but she loves playing with the melody and adding a harmony on something that you wouldn't expect
this girl has perfect pitch so harmonizing takes about 3% effort from her
if a song is too low for her or too high for john b, she transposes everything (perfect pitch and all)
she will. not. touch. an electric guitar with a 10-foot pole.
don't ask, i have no explanation for that one
on the occasion a song needs keys, she's the go-to
music genres: she's a retired theatre kid so she listens to just about everything under the sun except country
bands/artists: Taylor Swift, The Beatles, Queen, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Knicks, Amy Winehouse
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OBX Rock Band AU (headcanon)
Characters:
jj maybank, john b routledge, pope hayward, kiara carrera, sarah cameron
Word Count:
~700
A/N:
i have no idea if this has been done before but the idea came to me the other night in the shower lol. i’m in a band so you can guess what i loosely based this on
JJ - Drums
is my opinion biased on this one? probably
my favorite band member and character
the one with the most problems
drinks a little too much, stoner
personal life in shambles most of the time
once he found the drums as an outlet he dove into it, eventually becoming an intensely devoted musician
that drum set has seen some things
jj lets his anger out on that poor, innocent drum set
all the different pieces have had to be replaced so many times because he beats the living shit out of them
the one that got john b into rock music and the rest was history
he's not one of the chill drummers who just shows up and does their thing, this man is a show-off
so many tricks
long solos whenever the chance arises for one
flirts with the entire band
music genres: rock, grunge, alt, metal
bands/artists: Sex Pistols, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard
John B - Lead Vocals/Rhythm Guitar
a no-brainer. this is practically canon
no i will not be hearing opposing opinions at this time
he's the frontman
the one most people's eyes are drawn to right away
controls the vibe in the room
him and jj put on a show
stoner
is naturally a gifted singer, but had a vocal coach for a little while to get some pointers
rhythm guitar because most rock songs need at least two guitars and he's played guitar since he was a kid just for fun
music genres: country, rock, alt, pop when jj isn't around
bands/artists: The Rolling Stones, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, Aerosmith, Taylor Swift, Johnny Cash
Pope - Lead Guitar/Band Manager
he's just there to vibe but also an incredibly skilled guitarist
the one that tries extremely hard to keep everyone on track, but can't because no one listens to him
also the one that found kiara and Sarah
he's classically trained, but he only did classical as a kid because that's what he thought the smart kids were supposed to do
he plays like Slash: relatively controlled body language, but his fingers fly back and forth on the frets
music nerd
everyone can tell he loves what he's doing
manager because who else would manage these fools?
music genres: rock, alt, indie rock
bands/artists: Falling in Reverse, Foo Fighters, Arctic Monkeys, Green Day, Hozier, The Killers, The 1975
Kiara - Bass
i will not be accepting arguments on this one
she 100% grew up on cello, but wanted to rebel against her parents as a teen and switched to rock but realized she fucked with it
this girl is hot as all hell and knows it, but has nothing to prove
she's one of the more responsible members of the group but also super laid-back
stoner
effortlessly keeps everyone in check
she just wants to vibe and play some songs
flirts with the entire band
weird, hippie, earthy screams bass player
music genres: indie rock, r&b, pop punk, anything from the '60s and '70s
bands/artists: Janis Joplin, The Strokes, Young The Giant, Hozier, Paramore, Joan Jett, Whitney Houston
Sarah - Backup Vocals
she was definitely an attention seeker in her young years and would've hated backup, but now she's perfectly content chilling in the background with some killer harmonies
she has a few songs she leads in the set when john b needs a rest
she absolutely KILLS them
but she loves playing with the melody and adding a harmony on something that you wouldn't expect
this girl has perfect pitch so harmonizing takes about 3% effort from her
if a song is too low for her or too high for john b, she transposes everything (perfect pitch and all)
she will. not. touch. an electric guitar with a 10-foot pole.
don't ask, i have no explanation for that one
on the occasion a song needs keys, she's the go-to
music genres: she's a retired theatre kid so she listens to just about everything under the sun except country
bands/artists: Taylor Swift, The Beatles, Queen, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Knicks, Amy Winehouse
#outer banks#obx#obx headcanon#john b routledge#jj maybank#pope heyward#kiara carrera#sarah cameron#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#obx cast#obx fic#obx x reader#rock music#rockband au#alternate universe
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good things will happen 🧿
things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿
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Y'know, if a formerly well-behaved straight A student suddenly starts almost not passing their classes and crying all the time and getting into trouble, maybe the default conclusion from every authority figure should not be that they are lazy and simply need to pull themselves together. Maybe instead you should give them stimulants or HRT or let them kill their parents and see if one of those three things resolves the issue.
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unpopular opinion but the proliferation of wattpad fanfics-turned-movies has led me to the realization that we need to re-stigmatize fanfiction. it’s too mainstream now sorry we gotta rein it in before it’s too late.
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We're fanfic writers, we spend hours researching an incredibly niche topic we know nothing about so that we can have one sentence be factually correct
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There’s a fic on fanfiction(.)net that I’ve kept tabs on for years to see if it’s been updated or not. While I’m no longer even in the fandom it’s written for, it just has one of the greatest storylines I’ve ever read. Last time it was updated was 2011.
The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.
Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.
I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)
Please always remember to leave a review when reading fanfiction!!! It means a lot to a writer.
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“Is it okay if I draw fanart of your fanfic?👉🏼👈🏼”
My brother in Christ we shall have a spring wedding
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i am begging you all to stop treating this site like instagram if you dont want it to be content free by next year
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another request for finnick, just a lil bit of angst as him and her get into a fight and then they make up. angst and then some fluff
love letter to finnick. maybe this is like the before of this
It’s dark in the large bedroom you cave yourself in, and it seems even darker post argument.
Your eyes ache dully, even closed they beg to be soothed. You can’t believe the contents of the last hour, they play behind your eyelids as you pray for comfort. This is the worst. The worst. The watch sitting on your bedside table reads midnight when you pick it up gently.
“Fuck,” it’s cold in your hand, pulling you closer to the real world you’d tried desperately to escape with sleep.
At home in district four, you hear the waves of a homely sea outside your window. Finnick is out there, for sure, swimming in the seas he knows you don’t like him in after dark. Some of the things he said were hurtful, but he said them out of fear. Fear of what would happen to you, to the peace he’d created at the shoreline of district four.
It’s quiet until the creek of your door alerts you. It’s slow, obvious the person behind it wants you asleep, and you know it’s Finnick by the way his feet fall on the hardwood floor.
“Baby?” He whispers. The name feels good at a time like this. You hardly fight, and when you do, it isn’t even really an argument. More of a disagreement.
“Are you awake?”
You contemplate lying and the good that will come from it. Ultimately nothing, but you wait a second anyways, listening to the air in your room shuffle in his wake.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, voice cracking. You can hear him bring his hands up, rough palms pressing into his eyes, staving away the tears he knows bound to come.
You turn, hearing the crinkle of the crisp sheets as you face him. He flinches, he didn’t think you were awake.
“I’m sorry,” He says for a different reason now. “I thought you were asleep.”
“No,” You say quietly, for no reason other than a little shame. “can’t sleep alone.”
He steps closer daringly, pulling his shirt off before he crawls under your covers. His hair is wet and smells like salt. Any other day you’d fret over your clean sheets, but now you pull him closer, tangling your hands in his wet hair. You brush it away from his eyes, letting them roam over your face.
“We’ll be fine, Finnick.”
He lets out a strangled breath, burying into your chest. His shoulders shake miserably as he grasps you desperately.
“You heard Beetee,” You’re referencing the phone call you’d gotten after the announcement of the quarter quell. “he’s got a plan.”
You let him cry, never quieting the tears he wish he could quiet himself. It’s scary, definitely, and you can’t imagine how he feels going into the arena with you.
“It’s me and Mags.” You say definitively. “And I’m not letting her in that arena.”
He pulls up, glossy eyes terrified. “You can’t.”
She’s old, nearing the end he wants to say, but he knows it’s not right, he loves the woman.
“I’m not letting her in that arena,” you push slightly. “I can survive, see the plan through, but she’s old, Finnick, she can’t last the games again.”
He nods, defeated. “I’ll keep you safe.”
You say nothing, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. Then, “I know.”
He chases the feeling of your lips, kissing you softly. “Me and you.”
“And Beetee, and wiress.”
“Me and you.” He repeats.
“And katniss, and Peeta.”
He laughs quietly, nosing at your cheek. “Stop it.”
“I’m sorry,” you preen. “Me and you.”
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When the Sun Sets - Part 4
Adriadne
Characters:
adriadne/morgan winchester (OC), dean winchester, sam winchester
Summary:
adriadne finds out who she was before she went to hell. and the winchesters will not rest until they fix what their sister did all those years ago.
Warnings (for entire story):
SPN typical violence, so so much suppressing of emotions, vague mention of SA, depiction of torture, a very pro-torture main character, murder, vague mention of not eating for a while, parental abuse, slight suicidal ideation, SPN typical alcohol abuse, spoiler warning up to the end of season 10, following canon stops after the end of season 2 but things are sure to be mentioned
Word Total:
4k ~ roughly
A/N:
hi, so sorry its been so long, but i finally got the inspiration to continue writing this little mini series. i'm not convinced anyone is still interested in this story, but here's part 4. there's a little hatred towards blondes in this chapter - guys i actually love blonde hair i think its gorgeous - your girl is just a demon. my search history after writing this chapter, god help me.
this takes place loosely around season 10 and i kind of combined when sam tries to cure crowley with when he cures dean.
let me tell you, writing about a person who has no idea what's real is not easy to make good - its a 0/10 for me and i'm not convinced i even succeeded at that
italics = inner thoughts/memories
dean: 36, morgan: 35 (her body is 27), sam: 32
Adriadne vaguely remembered hating the moon coming up when she was human. For some reason, she detested nighttime and all that came with it. She had wanted to believe she wasn't as bad as the humans when she was one. But as she roamed the street of whatever bumblefuck town she was in, she remembered staring blankly at a street lamp once.
It was the only light she had seen for several miles. It illuminated a small bus stop with a bench and a pay phone attached to it. She was in some loud car, with even louder music playing, with her intolerably quiet family. The faces, names, and details of any of them had been long washed away. Somebody in her family needed to make a call, so they stopped, and she was left alone for a few minutes. The yellow beams that kept that area lit were the only thing keeping her from panicking. She had assumed she was only a child in the memory because, I mean, seriously? An adult scared of the dark?
If she had been an adult, Satan help her if she was, it would have been further proof of how weak humans are. Actually, regardless, it was proof. There was no light in Hell. Everything was dark, and only with the sight of a demon could anyone see. She bristled at the thought. Since being on Earth, she had no desire to go back downstairs.
The darkness of the night did give her a little sense of reminiscence, though. Of home, Alastair, Crowley, her tools. Where she could roam freely without having to cling to that damn sack of flesh. But the daytime was a close second, in her opinion. The sun, as bright and almost blinding as it was, was warm. And it felt…kind of nice.
Turned out, she was a natural blonde, a type of blonde that got even lighter when she lay in the sun. And that rubbed her the wrong way. Like, who was actually blonde nowadays? Every blonde Alastair assigned to her was quickly scalped. And when they were healed, she would do it again. Then, she'd make them drink anti-freeze because many of them had blue eyes. It really had been a fun game.
Watching them die slowly and painfully was always an excellent way to waste an hour. And when they were brought back to life, it was back to her regularly scheduled programming.
It sucked even more that she had blue eyes too. They were so light. Like the human fucking sky or some shit. She liked her black eyes. They were who she was, a dark and malevolent visitor on this planet of fluffy little bunnies.
At the sound of a whistle, a very loud one, she turned to find the source. "Damn, baby." The man said. He was some random guy on the corner of the street, watching her as she walked. "What's your name?"
She planted a demure little smile like she was so flattered by the attention. With a blush, she said, "Mary."
He smirked. "Are you a virgin, too?"
Imbecile, she groaned inside her head. She had heard that joke back home. It was usually the first thing a demon said when assigned someone with that name. After hearing it for the first time, she chuckled. The second time, she grinned. The fifty-seventh? She ignored it.
Come up with something new, people, will you?
She flashed some doe eyes at him and pretended to blush even more. "How did you know?"
"I tend to sense these things."
"Oh, do you?" She asked with a grin, flashing her natural eyes at him. But before he could scream, she was slitting his throat.
When the jugular veins are severed, there is a relatively low spray of dark red blood, accompanied by the sound of escaping air, and the human coughs it up. So, to get a forceful spray of bright red, Adriadne's favorite, she cuts the carotid. And usually aims to sever the trachea so they gasp and wither at her feet. And with this guy? She hit the nail on the head.
It only takes a few minutes, but it's such a satisfying death. Being in the land of the living, slitting throats quickly became one of her favorite forms of sending them exactly where they belonged.
When Sam and Dean Winchester caught wind of a case; six hundred sixty-four bodies across the country with a slit throat and the Latin symbol for "hellhound" carved over their right eyebrow, they got on it. They didn't want to let it get to that magic number.
And when they got to the most recent crime scene, Lena Franklin, a thirty-one-year-old female - mother of three - with the same injuries, they found who they were looking for, taking another victim. Only they weren't expecting to find their sister standing over the body.
After knocking her out and locking her up, they summoned Crowley as soon as possible. It was like their lives depended on it, or really, it was their sister's life that they were worried about.
And when he explained the situation to them, they knew what they had to do.
With a whine, Adriadne awoke in a strange room. Filled with walls of file cabinets and Enochian or Latin symbols. She tried to rub at her head, where that damn vase had been thrown at her, but she noticed she was chained down. Usually, she wouldn't have an issue with chains; she could break through steel, and they were so satisfying when some human tried to escape them. But not only were these not steel chains, they were iron. And they had warding signs carved in them.
Fucking hunters.
Surprisingly, if there was any human she didn't entirely detest, it was hunters. They were more robust than the rest and really knew what the real world was like. But they were after her, so now, they had to die. Slowly, bloody, painfully.
"Welcome back, jackass," A voice she recognized said. The same voice threw the vase at her however many hours ago. It was the shorter of the two, but he had the more resounding voice. They were tall for humans, but the other was way bigger. Gigantor also seemed like he was friendlier, the dumbass.
She had heard of the Winchester brothers in Hell. Sam and Dean, she believed their names were. Two brooding brothers with mommy and daddy issues that jumpstarted the apocalypse. Then they fixed it and sent Lucifer back into his cage with Michael. They'd been in and out of hell themselves a few times. The only humans to ever accomplish such feats.
Clearly, they weren't stupid, but goddamn, were they annoying.
Sam was younger but a bit more book-smart, and Dean was the older but sarcastic one. She vaguely knew they had a thing for dying for each other, but that only made her roll her eyes like she so often did at these creatures.
"Dean," Sam scolded.
"And what a warm one at that. You ever have people over?" She groaned. The boys didn't respond, both just shaking their heads. They started pulling stuff out of a cooler, and she read what it said on it with a scoff. "Human blood? You're seriously gonna try and cure me?"
"Yep," Dean deadpanned.
"Oh, please," Adriadne drawled as her head fell back on her shoulders. "Spare me."
"You're a demon, Mo," The youngest said, like it was the worst thing in the world she could be. "We're not just gonna leave you like this."
"Mo? Who the hell is Mo?"
"Morgan," Dean explained, his voice monotone but somehow angry at the same time. "Our sister. The human that you used to be. So we're doing what we should'a done years ago. And saving you. Even if it is from yourself."
"Your sister?"
"Yeah," Sam quipped, annoyed. "Crowley said you wouldn't remember."
"Crowley's the one that-"
"We know," Dean said. "Just shut up."
I didn't even know the Winchesters had a sister, Adriadne thought. But to hell if she wanted to become a damn human. Why would she even consider it? "Ever think maybe your sister wouldn't wanna be saved?"
"Doesn't matter." The oldest Winchester remarked, his voice flat. "You don't get a choice."
With a huff, Adriadne chuckled darkly. "Just let me go do what I wanna do. I don't bother you; you don't bother me. So what the hell do you care?"
"What do we care?" Sam asked, almost dejectedly. He shook his head, not dignifying her with a response, and started pouring holy water around the devil's trap. Reciting the Latin to start the ritual, he grabbed a needle, loaded it up with human blood, and handed it to Dean.
Adriadne looked at her supposed brothers, she didn't even know their birth order. She knew Dean was the oldest and Sam was the youngest. But where did she fit in the lineup? "You got anything stronger in there? Some heroin? Meth? Maybe it'd really make me feel somethin'."
"Don't worry, honey, you're gonna feel a lot."
And before she could fight it, he put the syringe in her arm and pumped the blood directly into her arm. She could feel it coursing through her veins, traveling through her bones, her arteries, her cells. Weaving its way throughout her body like an itch you can't scratch. Involuntarily, she let out a loud roar, a demonic roar, of pain. This damn human blood did not agree with her.
"Look," Sam said as both brothers backed away from her. "We've got a whole bunch more of these to go. You could make this a lot easier on yourself."
"And just in case some part of you gives a crap, we got your blood type."
"You wanna know something?" Adriadne asked, but a new wave of pain from the human blood cut her off. She groaned but wouldn't let it cut her off too long. She was a demon, after all, and pain had never been something she feared. It was something she admired, longed for, craved. "The part of your sister that cared died a long time ago."
Five times, the Winchester brothers had streamlined her with human blood. They didn't say anything when they came in this time, silently injecting her with round six. Like it was the only thing keeping them from breaking.
Adriadne was a demon; she knew that. But now things were becoming a little muddled. There had been small things, small tidbits of images popping in and out of her brain.
They weren't like dreams or nightmares. They were more like poorly done movies of being beaten by someone she was supposed to call her father. Dreams of fighting with her siblings, where even they'd beaten her - but also when she fought back, and they took the beatings themselves. She won and lost over and over, losing the fight when Sam left them for school, winning when Dean tried to get her to stop seeing her high school boyfriend, losing when Dean took away the knife he gave her, and winning when she eventually stole it back. She remembered watching their so-called father yell and scream, practically torturing who she was told were her brothers. She remembered not being able to do anything about it.
She saw herself hunting other creatures - not humans, but monsters. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, djinns, banshees, rugarus. She saw herself taking beatings from them, nearly dying from her injuries several times. She saw herself lose her virginity to a sweet guy from her high school at the time. She saw herself take that night and turn it into a string of drunken one-night stands.
She saw her father coming home drunk almost every night, beaten up. She saw herself patching him up, giving him stitches when necessary. She'd been the one to set her brother's bones when they were broken or dislocated. She'd have to be the one to reset her own because none of them were as good as she was at it. She saw the woman who was supposed to be her mother burn to death on a ceiling as her older brother - a toddler himself - pulled her and her little brother to safety.
And she remembered her father dying, making a deal with a demon to keep his oldest son alive and breathing. Then she remembered doing the same thing for her younger brother.
"You're the Winchesters," Adriadne drawled. "You're hunters. So am I an idiot to assume what you're gonna do once you realize this won't work? You think you got the stomach for that? Killing the girl you think is your sister?"
"We're not worried," Sam denied. "Because we've done this before."
It had been nine hours, nine injections of human blood in her veins, and she could name nine parts of her body she could barely move. She hadn't felt so useless since she was on the rack, and even then, she had a purpose. To postpone, to make it as long as she could. Alastair had given her a choice. Stay on, deal with the consequences, or get off, and then do it to someone else who deserved it too.
She had been at the end of her rope; her soul was already ripped to shreds. And then they healed her and broke it again.
The humans deserved it - that's what she was taught.
But then, why was I the one on the rack? I'm not human.
Yes, I am. Or...I was.
No. My name is Ad-Adria-
She had been having so many memories over the last several hours. But they had to be dreams; she didn't remember them belonging to her. Of the Winchesters, of growing up on Earth, of being a part of an admittedly screwed-up family.
My name is-
"How you doin', Mo?" That was Sam, her…younger brother, she had remembered. The memories were like a plague, keeping her sedentary in a time she had long forgotten. A time, she didn't know if she wanted to go back to or not. It was a time when she cared about them, about humans in general. A time when she had the ability to care.
Mo. Morgan.
She was confused when they called her that. She didn't know how to describe it. But something was weird about that name. These were people that she knew before she went to Hell. People she loved. People she would've sacrificed everything for. People she did sacrifice everything for.
"It doesn't feel right," She rasped, shaking her head as much as possible. Which, apparently, was not a lot.
"No, shit," And there's Dean.
"When you call me that," She explained, despondent, trying to blink away the new memory attempting to take hold of her reality. "It doesn't feel like my name."
"Well, what is your name?"
She didn't know. Adriadne was supposed to be her name. Morgan was supposed to be her name. How could someone not know their own fucking name? It was the most basic form of identification. Even demons had names. A new wave of pain hits her, and she grips the chair with all her strength. It wasn't a lot; she was so weak. But then another memory took over, and she wasn't even in that room anymore.
"What is your name?" He had asked, his voice cold and unemotional. The girl only shook her head in response, knowing what was coming with her answer. "You will answer me when I speak to you, girl.
"Morgan," She choked out, tears already rolling. "Morgan Winchester."
"You don't deserve my last name." Before she could blink, her cheek was stinging, and she was on the motel room floor. More tears fell involuntarily at the searing pain, at the blood dripping down her face from his ring. She flinched at the hand he rose again, but no hit came. Instead, he laughed - a heartless and calculating laugh. Like it was amusing watching his thirteen-year-old daughter cower at his feet. "You are no Winchester."
He was ready to strike a second time when someone got in the way.
"Get out of the way, Sam."
"No," his little voice announced. She could hear the emotion in his words as he continued. The little ten-year-old was scrawny, even smaller than she was. "She knows what she did. You don't have to hit her again."
Ignoring the boy, her father turned back to Morgan, practically looking through her little brother. "So this is what you've come to? Making little Sammy fight your damn battles for you?"
She looked him straight in the eyes; the green they usually held was almost black in the room's dim lighting. She had seen this so many times when he was angry, when a hunt didn't go his way, when his children disobeyed him. When she did something wrong.
"Boys," Her father called, ordering them to shut up and listen. Dean took his hands away from his face with a wince. Sam winced, too, backing away from his father. Nearly crashing into her. "Take this as a learning opportunity. We fight our own battles in this family. And we don't rely on other people to do it for us."
And with that, Sam was pushed out of the way, and he was on top of her.
"Dad," She gasped, finally back in the present but staring into space. Both brothers' heads shot up at the recall. "He was- he was mean."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, making her eyes lock on his. The whites of his eyes were red like the mention of his father had him holding things back. A storm was brewing behind his eyes, one he wouldn't let come to fruition. "He had his moments."
"He was so mad all the time," The girl croaked, her voice breaking even more. She was lost, not looking at them. Keeping her eyes down, they darted back and forth as she practically stared through the flesh and bone before her. "Watch out for Sammy. Make sure Sam's safe. Don't let anybody touch Sammy. If anything happens to him, I'll know whose fault it is." Her older brother only nodded, but Sam's eyes fluttered back and forth between his siblings. Like he was realizing something he hadn't before. "We were always watching out for Sammy. Who- who watched out for us?"
"Well, for one, Sammy watched out for us. And I watched for both of you, and you took care of us."
"I took care of you?"
"Yeah, Mo, you did," Sam said plainly.
"But I-I went to-" She denied, not entirely believing them. "I went to Hell, and now I don't know anything. You're my brothers? My family? My family tortured me. They-they're the ones that put me on the rack."
"Is that what they told you?" Sam asked, bewildered.
"I saw it!" She roared. Everything came back to her in waves, and not like a movie this time; these were memories. She knew it; she couldn't question it. "You hurt me- you- you touched me." She finally looked up at them, unable to hide the tears. She shook her head, trying to shake away the red, the blood, the screaming, the agony. "You- you- family isn't supposed to do that!"
Sam and Dean stared, their faces pale and drained. They didn't hide their emotions - like she remembered they did so often. They wore it plainly on their faces. Sam was a mixture of deep regret and sorrow. Dean wasn't just angry; he was simmering with rage.
"Now, you listen to me," Dean ordered, and she could almost hear a trace of their father in his voice. He leaned against the arms of her chair - her current prison - and gave her a stare that kept her captive in his gaze. "I went to Hell, too. They did the same thing to me. It. Wasn't. Us. And I know you don't believe that. But you will. Eventually."
When he finished, she nodded. He was wrong. Some part of her did believe him. The conviction in his words, the way he didn't bother to hide the angry tears in his eyes. Some part of her - a minuscule part - hoped he wasn't lying. That her family was still there for her. That maybe, even after everything that had happened, they would hold her when this was all over.
At her slight confirmation, he nodded, too, and stepped back, giving his younger brother room for the next shot. Sam came forward and quickly, without hesitation, put the syringe in her arm and pressed down.
"I don't even know my own name."
Sam didn't balk at her words. He just shook his head and gave her a small, barely there smile.
"You will."
"I don't wanna be human," She cried. Eleven injections in, she could feel the human blood becoming her own. Integrating into her bones, her DNA changed with every second that passed. Her power was draining, and she didn't like it. She was returning to who she was before Hell, the young girl with daddy issues, with two brothers who loved her - but could never get along with.
"Humans are weak, they- their emotions, it's too much," She continued, shuddering. "They feel too much, they don't see how useless they are. How- how small they are. There are eight billion of you, and all of you think you're the most important one. You all think you have some fucked up purpose, that there's something more you can do with your pointless little lives."
"No one here is gonna tell you that being human is a walk in the park," Sam said, his voice calm and steady as if he was expecting her to say this. "But it is better than being a demon. Than killing for no reason. Because even if you don't believe it, I believe we do have a purpose. Maybe it's a tiny one, maybe you're just supposed to be here to make someone else happy. Maybe you're here to teach someone a lesson. Maybe you're here to save the world." His words got light at that, like it was an inside joke, and Dean let out a small laugh. But just because you don't know what it is or can't see it doesn't mean you don't have one."
Before she could respond or give any words to the contrary, he put the needle in her arm and gave her the twelfth shot.
Morgan Winchester opened her eyes. And they were black. She could feel it, feel the remnants of Hell in her eyes. But as quickly as it came, it went. And as they cleared, she groaned. It was a strange feeling, but she felt lighter. Like there wasn't as much weight on her shoulders as before. Her eyes were blue again, like the sky people loved to stare at. Then she remembered she was human again. She was just a young girl again, not a demon, not a monster.
And then the weight returned. Only this time, it was even heavier, as if someone had tied an anvil around her neck and thrown her into the ocean. She remembered everything. Her life, her father, her mother, her brothers, Sam dying, her dad dying, her deal with a demon, Hell, being tortured, then turning around and doing the same, becoming a demon, becoming Adriadne, taking a joyride upstairs, murdering so many innocents. Then, being in here, the crowded but well-protected safe room in some place she had no knowledge of.
She could see her brothers a few feet away. Sam stood in front of Dean, holding a flask - their postures were identical. Tight and reserved, with their brows furrowed and their feet cemented into the floor.
Her face contorted into a question, and she greeted them with their names. She didn't know what else to say. But before she could speak again, Dean threw whatever was in the flask at her face.
Water. Water. Water.
And without needing a second to think about it, Morgan realized it was blessed. Holy water. They were putting her through one final test. To see if their work had paid off. When it didn't burn, sizzle, or boil her skin, her brothers let out a deep exhale of relief. Then, so did she.
"Welcome back, Morgan."
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