Blood will Flow

Title:  Keep your friends close, your enemies closer

BONUS: Yes

Word Count: 100

Rating: PG

Original/Fandom: Fandom; Supernatural.

Pairings (if any): Gen

Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc):  None

Summary:  Being a Winchester makes having friends problematic

For the Writerverse Prompt: just friends

Maybe having a ghost in the family wasn’t so strange.  After all, they’d talked to Mary when she was a spirit; their father too, after he’d escaped from the Hell Mouth.

In the Winchester scheme of things, friendly ghosts were small beer when you considered your relationships with Reapers, or bitch demons, or living-but-crazy twice- or thrice-resurrected seraphs.

Not forgetting chatting with Death over pop and pickle chips as if he was just a casual friend instead of an ancient force too terrifying to comprehend that you were attempting to bind.

Spirit-Bobby?  More heart-ache - just add it to the pile.

Title:  Keep your friends close, your enemies closer

BONUS: Yes

Word Count: 100

Rating: PG

Original/Fandom: Fandom; Supernatural.

Pairings (if any): Gen

Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc):  None

Summary:  Being a Winchester makes having friends problematic

For the Writerverse Prompt: just friends

Maybe having a ghost in the family wasn’t so strange.  After all, they’d talked to Mary when she was a spirit; their father too, after he’d escaped from the Hell Mouth.

In the Winchester scheme of things, friendly ghosts were small beer when you considered your relationships with Reapers, or bitch demons, or living-but-crazy twice- or thrice-resurrected seraphs.

Not forgetting chatting with Death over pop and pickle chips as if he was just a casual friend instead of an ancient force too terrifying to comprehend that you were attempting to bind.

Spirit-Bobby?  More heart-ache - just add it to the pile.

in writerverse

Elsa wasn’t stupid, but when the first flakes began to fall, she wished she was.  She wished that she didn’t know what this was, that she could believe, for one brief moment, that the first snowfall of the year had come early.

But Elsa wasn’t afforded the luxury of ignorance.  She’d walked past the barbed wire fence too often, saw the ovens being built, overheard guards talking about cleansing.

She couldn’t deceive herself into thinking those pale flakes were anything other than what they were.

Tiny fragile fragments of lives lost, loves brutally ended, children that would never be born.