LisaMCooper

Summer. The time of shorts, bikinis, water, fun in the sun, and explaining to Castiel why he needed to remove his beloved trench coat. Dean sighed as he tried, for roughly the hundredth time, to explain to Castiel that they were at the beach, and people did not wear trench coats and suits to the beach. Every time that he would try to remove the trench coat from his shoulders, Castiel would step away from him and ask him why he was undressing him in public. “I thought that my naked body was for only your eyes to see, Dean.” He would say in confusion; and Dean would blush and grit his teeth, not daring to look behind him at Sam, wh

Reality. Again. Groaning, I sit up and rub my temples, cursing the man in the dream and my subconscious mind. If not for that man, I would have been sleeping quite peacefully. Instead of sweating and writhing in my sleep and then waking to find the area between my thighs damp with want, with need. "Stupid," I mutter as I get ready for the day, secure that I am actually awake now and I won't go back to sleep anytime soon. Muttering about strange men and delightful, yet disturbing recurring dreams, I grab my bag and step out my door to face the day. Lifting a hand to shade my eyes against the sun's brightness, I look around and sigh, wishin

Crash! Something hits the wall in the kitchen, shattering into pieces. Words full of hatred are thrown around carelessly, looking for flesh and dreams to cut into. They're fighting again. "Shut up you bitch!" The voice is loud, angry and the words are sharp, like the edge of a knife. I cringe as I hear the sound of someone's palm landing on someone else's cheek. Did they really need to fight so much? Silence. Ears pressed back against my skull, knowing I shouldn't, I slowly slide off my bed and towards my bedroom door. Cautiously I peer out into the kitchen, not sure anymore if it was such a good idea to have chosen this room as my own. So

Name: Ely "Elijah" Jones Birth Date: 1838 Parents: Unknown Age: 27 Gender: Male Species: Human Personality: o Protective o Usually has a gentle manner towards most everyone Job: Ranch hand Appearance: o Blue eyes [think of a summer sky] o Deep, deep black hair [Black Irish] o Bruise on his left cheek o Dark tan [from many years in the sun] o Scar on the left side of his lip o 6'3" o Well muscled o Bruises and scratches on his knuckles o Scars on his chest from unfair fights Biography: Nothing about his childhood or family is known. Came to work at the ranch when he was sixteen and later disappeared for eleven years.

Skeletal hands grip a bright red, bleeding, beating heart. A voice, sweet as sugar and cold as December, whispers something in my ear. "Do you want this heart?" Fear wraps itself around my soul, squeezing painfully. What were the specifics of this contract again? What was the deal? I tremble and shake like a sapling in the wind. "Do you want this heart?" My lips move, but no words come out. Why can't I respond? Those skeletal hands squeeze the heart, eliciting a gasp of pain. Impatient, the voice speaks a little louder. "Do you want this heart?" I hear the words for what they are, but for some reason they translate into white noise in m