#1st person POV

[astarioffsimpmain]

I'm sick, I feel terrible, and I'm having Halsin thoughts.

This is self indulgent, don't look at me.

○ I want to curl up against this man's chest and purr like a cat. I feel like death warmed over so maybe, just maybe, being so close to his strong and consistent heartbeat will make me feel a little bit closer to life

○ I just know he'd play with my hair, even just absent-mindedly. Braid it, un-braid it, braid it again, run his fingers through it, pet it (I'm gonna purr again, just you wait), etc. Honestly, if Halsin playing with my hair for hours didn't put me to sleep, I don't DESERVE to sleep

○ He'd find healing herbs to reduce my symptoms and help me get through my sickness a little easier. "Here you are, my heart. Do not drink it quickly, the effects will last much longer if you sip. Good, my dove."

○ If I felt a little better one day, he'd convince me to take a walk with him in the woods because "nature can heal all ailments." But he'd feel guilty for taking me out so soon when, by nightfall, I was wheezing again, my head aching so badly I couldn't keep my eyes open. "It's alright," I'd tell him. "Nature is just taking its time with me." He would still feel responsible, but he would know I didn't blame him, and that would ease his mind

○ In the evenings, he would insist on cradling me to his chest as he slipped into trance, not wanting to delve too deep and possibly miss something I might need upon waking. I would try to tell him I'd be alright for a few hours without monitoring, but he wouldn't have it, gathering me up against his bare chest. I wouldn't complain either, curling closer to his warmth as his strong arms surrounded me and protected me

○ When the fever struck and no amount of layers could warm me, he would wildshape into a bear and wrap his furry body around me like a living heated blanket, and only then would the ice in my bones abate enough to stop shivering and rest. When he sensed that my fever had broken, and I had started sweating into his fur, he would nudge me gently with his snout until I awoke, then would transform back into an Elf to pat down my glistening skin with a cloth

○ Once I showed improvement over the course of several days, we would step outside once again. I'd be able to tell how much he'd missed being amongst the trees, and I'd feel guilty for keeping him from it. But he would see it in my eyes and admonish me tenderly. "I chose to be beside you, my heart, and I do not regret it. Nature will always be there when I return, but I may not always be lucky enough to have your beautiful eyes looking upon me. I cherish every moment that they are."

○ I would promise him quietly, later on that evening when all was quiet and still, and we were wrapped up in each other with myself on the mend, that I would always do the same for him should anything - even something as seemingly trivial as a cold - should ever befall him. He would hum against the flushed skin of my chest and pull me closer, his lips pressing his answer straight into my heart.

[mycwows]

Very very messy and filthy sketching of the previous fit I drew p dude in 😬😬

probably won't continue this??

[1000roughdrafts]

another request here! could i please request a fic with pregnant!reader (writer's choice for which winchester brother is the dad!) where the three are en route to a new case and are in the middle of nowhere when reader goes into labor and ends up giving birth in the impala? 😊

Warnings: pregnancy, birth, swearing, canon-level arguing between the Winchesters

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Full disclosure, I've never given birth so please forgive anything that doesn't make sense lmao

Having spent the last few weeks on the road, case after case with no space from each other, I had to admit that the three of us were starting to go a little crazy. Sam and Dean had been at each other's throats over the pettiest things since my six month mark in this pregnancy.

Sam would yell at Dean to get his feet off our bed, and Dean would yell at Sam to lighten up. Or they'd argue about who takes what role in hunts. Tonight, I try to just ignore them to focus on packing, but it proves difficult when my name keeps getting brought into the mix.

"I said no, Dean! We're not taking the case," Sam growls, slamming his book shut. "It's at least a days drive from here, if not two and with Y/N so deep into this pregnancy," he lets out a breath, glancing over at me with wide eyes, as if the realization of my quickly approaching due date has just hit him. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

Dean tries to shake the frustration out of his body by punching a pile of clothes into his bag. He aggressively grips onto the next pile and looks up at Sam, face tight, "so we make a couple of stops along the way to make sure everything is alright," he chides with a shrug, the bag ripping slightly as he shoves that pile into it. "Damn it," he says under his breath.

Sam scoffs with a glare in his eyes, "do you even know how many hospitals we pass to get there? None! Not a damn one!"

Dean shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "we'll take the scenic route then."

Frustrated, I raise my voice about theirs, "okay! Can you both please stop talking about me like I'm not here!" I shout, my voice shaking with anxiety. They both spin around, shock in their eyes as they meet mine, as if they completely forgot I was still in the room with them. Dean bows his head, "I should be allowed to have a say in this considering… oh, I don't know," I say, pretending to be amused, then raise my voice, "I'm carrying the baby! And I'll be damned if I spend the next 4 weeks of this fucking pregnancy being treated like I need to be bubble wrapped!"

"I'm just trying to protect you," Sam says sheepishly.

"And I'm telling you I don't need protection," I snap. His eyes widen, and head hangs slightly. He takes a few careful steps my way. Softening my voice, I add, "Sam, I'm tired of all the fighting, and I'm tired of being treated like I can't do anything for myself."

He lets out a long, almost unwilling, sigh of agreement. "I get it," he says softly. "I guess I wasn't thinking… we were… he-" he stutters, letting air bounce between his lips when he knows there's really only one thing he should be saying, "I'm sorry. You're right."

"Thank you," I sigh, ignoring Dean's smug smile.

"Oh, don't act like you're any better, Dean!" Sam sneers.

"Stop!" I say as Dean rolls his eyes. He grabs his bag to head for the door, muttering that he’ll be in the car before slamming the door shut behind him.

Sam scoffs, looking around the room with a blank stare. "He's been such a jerk lately," he says, looking back at me.

"He's probably just scared, Sam," I say, brushing the hair out of his face. "I mean, you know how he is. And our lives are about to drastically change. Who knows what hunting will look like when we have a child to take care of. I mean, life is already so dangerous for us, and now we have to protect something so defenseless. That’s terrifying."

---

The cramping starts a few hours away from our destination when we stopped at a gas station for fuel and food. They were mild at first, going away as soon as they started, giving me a long enough break in between pangs to forget about the last.

"Okay, so apparently the victims all have missing hearts," Sam says in a long sigh, scrolling through news articles on his phone. He looks up with a puzzled expression, "we thinking werewolves?"

I grit my teeth as another pang hits. It's almost like I could feel every groove and line in the road. Clearing my throat, I add, "but it wasn't a full moon, was it?"

"No," Sam says in a soft whisper, "but maybe-" a shout rips through me from a cramp, interrupting Sam and he turns to look at me.

The last thing I see before clenching my eyes shut are Dean's eyes flashing back at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah," I lie, my breathy voice giving me away and I yell out again when Dean drives over a bump. I throw a hand to my belly, rubbing the area that hurts. But it's all hurting now, and then nothing again. I take quick breaths. Anxiety riddles me. Did something happen to my baby? I wonder. My eyes open and my heart just pounds.

Dean pulls the car off to the side of the road with a screech when I yell out again, my hand gripping tight to seat in front of me. The second the car has slowed enough, Sam jumps out to get into the backseat with me.

Dean uses the steering wheel to push from to turn my way, "what's happening? Are you okay?" Dean asks while Sam races to unbuckle my seat belt.

"Of course she's not okay, Dean!" Sam growls, his eyes full of worry. I can hear them bickering with “I told you so” and “yeah well if you’re so smart” in the distance. My ears ring, and I'm too tuned into the frogs croaking in the swaying trees.

A tight ache hits me again and my body jerks forwards as a scream lets itself out of me.

"I think the baby is coming," Sam whispers to Dean with wide eyes.

"No shit," Dean mutters, throwing his door open to come to the backseat. He opens the door, using it to prop up his arm as he looks in.

"No, no, no," I cry, shaking my head. "It's gotta be Braxton-Hicks, it has to be-" I plead, tears streaming down my face. "It's too soon," I say anxious as all hell until another wave of pain takes over, and Sam grabs my hands in his.

"It's gonna be okay, Y/N," Sam says, gently squeezing my hands. His eyes pan up to Dean, getting his attention, "we gotta get her pants off her," Sam says quietly, and I groan.

Dean rushes into action, taking my back in his arms to lay me down on the seat. Sam works fast to get my clothes removed, but slows when the ache hits again.

Sam’s eyes widen when he realizes how close we are to holding our baby, and he rushes to remove his jacket, placing it on the seat between my legs. I prop myself up on my elbows, bringing my feet onto the seat to bend my knees and open my legs. Never in my twenty-nine years of life did I expect to be pregnant, let alone give birth in Dean’s car with the damn Winchester brothers delivering my baby, but here we are.

The cold hair nips at my naked skin, but it’s easy to push past the discomfort of that when it feels like a fucking fire was started on my lower half. Sam holds his hands on my thighs as he encourages me, reminding me to breathe and push. The irritability in me adds to the fire, and I want to tell him to shut up, but I don’t. I can’t see Dean, but I know he’s probably as scared as I feel right now, given how out in the open we are. He keeps a firm, but comforting hand on my shoulder as I push, offering words of encouragement here and there, his focus more on the world around us, scanning for danger. 

Dropping my head against Dean’s arm, I let out a groan as I push, the pain almost unbearable now. I could feel the pressure and burning of each one, and after what feels like hours the pressure increases to the worst pain I’ve felt yet.

I squeeze Dean’s hand probably harder than I should have, but suddenly a weight feels like it’s been lifted from me, and I’m washed with relief of the sweet sound of my baby crying. My arms fail to hold me any longer and I fall back against Dean. 

Sam chuckles as he holds our baby, wrapped up in his jacket, close to his chest. With Dean's help I'm able to sit up, still using him as a back rest.

"It's a girl," Sam says with a big smile, tears welling in his eyes. He hands her to me, and I'm overwhelmed with love, joy and exhaustion.

"Shh, shh," I coo before kissing her on her small forehead. "It's okay, we've got you," I whisper. Tears fill my eyes and I can't help but to sob as I look down at her beautiful face. I rock her in my arms, and her cries quickly calm, turning into whimpers. Tracing the features on her soft face I'm mesmerized at how beautiful she is.

Looking up at Sam, my tears continue to fall, but I wear a smile, "we just had a baby!" I say, almost in disbelief. I continue to rock her for a while, as if it were just me and her. Then I feel Dean's hand tap my arm.

I turn to look at his red eyes, then back at my baby, "do you wanna meet your uncle?" I say in a baby voice before looking up at Sam with a silent request to help me hand Dean our baby.

Dean strolls around the Impala to stand next to Sam, taking my daughter in his arms so carefully. He holds her tightly against his chest, eyes crinkling at the corners as he sways with her. He holds his hand over her head to protect her from the wind, bringing his lips down and plants a kiss on the top of her head. "Well, aren't you just a little cutie," he says, then looks over at Sam, "must not take after your daddy," he jokes. "Ha, ha, very funny," Sam says flatly, but smiles. Dean clears his throat after a pause, "do you know what you're gonna name her yet?" Dean asks, and I glance at Sam hesitantly. "Well, I was thinking Mary Y/M/N?" I suggest, and their jaws drop, but their faces light up. Sam takes a few steps towards me to kiss me hard. "It's perfect," Sam says.

~~~ A/N: Y/M/N = either your mom's name or whatever name you want to put here :)

If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

Everything Tags <3

@waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday @flamencodiva @roseblue373

Sam <3

@fangirlxwritesx67 @tlovescoffee @immafangirlmess @cluz1babe @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl @sizekinkshawty @chaospossum

[writing-oof]

Mouthwashing Drabbles - What If #A

CW: mentioned Jimmy, past/implied sexual assault, pregnancy mention

------

You don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's the look on his face, soft and eager and so desperate for the approval of everyone on the ship. It's a weeping wound of vulnerability you recognize, and it's one Jimmy can smell like a shark.

You don't think he would do anything to Daisuke. Or, at least, you don't think he would do what he did to you to Daisuke. It wouldn't really make sense. Jimmy went for you specifically, because you're beneath him and because you're a woman. Hell, you're beneath him because you're a woman.

But, Daisuke's beneath Jimmy too.

You've gotten a pretty good feel for the hierarchy of the ship, over the past few weeks. Swansea's a beast Jimmy's too afraid to touch, and for good reason. The man isn't friendly with anyone, but making an enemy out of him isn't something anyone wants to do, not even Jimmy.

Curly…the Captain is Jimmy's friend--he's made that clear--and he's the Captain. He's at the very top of the pecking order, and you're at the very bottom. Still, Daisuke is only just above you, and he's decidedly below Jimmy.

You don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's the fact that even thinking of Jimmy alone in a room with someone who can't see what he could do makes your gut twist with nausea. You don't know what Jimmy could do; you never know what Jimmy could do.

It doesn't really matter why you do it. The fact is, Daisuke tells you Jimmy's going to teach him a bit of piloting, looking like he thinks the man hung every star in the sky, and the truth puddles on the floor by your feet like blood.

This isn't the first time you've been here, crying in the medbay with the truth on display. It isn't even the second.

"Anya," Daisuke says, stricken. He's visibly shaken and almost…enraged, on your behalf. "You have to tell the Captain."

Just like that, all the air rushes from your lungs. Daisuke; sweet, stupid Daisuke. He sounds so sure of himself, is the worst of it. He sounds as if every wrong in the world can be set to rights if only the Captain is made aware.

You swallow the bitterness like a pill, rough and painful as it slides down your throat.

"Anya?" Daisuke tries. Your hands twist the sides of your shirt in a white-knuckle grip. Your uniform wrinkles beneath your fingers, but creases are easier to wash out than other things.

"...Anya?" Daisuke asks, his voice as quiet as the air blowing through the vents. Your pulse beats in your throat, a steady reminder of life. Thump, thump, thump. If you're still, you swear you can feel it in your gut.

"I did," you say, your voice even quieter than his. You're barely a whisper on this ship. "He knows."

Daisuke's face twists. 'No,' you can see he's thinking, the truth incompatible with the image he's built in his head, 'No, that can't be true.'

You wish it weren't.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Augusnippets Day 7: Choking

CW: 1st person pov, Gothic whump, chains, choking, breath whump

Bound in chains and nearly speechless with terror, I knelt on the stone floor and peered desperately into the shadows. My tormenter hid there; in the dim light I caught a glimpse of deeper blackness, the suggestion of a face, the movement of a hand. But I couldn’t see him. I saw only a length of chain stretching back into the dark.

“What…what do you want with me?” I managed to whisper.

In answer, the chain jerked taut, tightening around my neck. I choked and dropped to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. My useless throat spasmed. My pinioned body tensed and struggled, fighting for air.

“If you must ask, you don’t deserve my mercy,” came the voice from the shadow. Familiar. Something about it felt familiar. For a moment, I froze, stilled by the horrible realization that this voice was one I had heard before.

Then my terrified struggle resumed. I felt myself fading, strangled into unconsciousness. Whether I would wake from it, I didn’t know.

“It should be obvious,” came the voice slowly, dimly. “I want you to suffer. I want to torture you until you beg for death but find only terrible, excruciating life.”

@augusnippets

[whumpsmith-participates]

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 29 - Ownership, Branding

Tags/CW: female whumper, intimate whumper, 1st person, whumper POV,

How do you make sure that the people you care about never leave you?

It's quite simple.

You give them a permanent reminder of where they belong.

It took a lot of planning and effort on my part to get him back to where I wanted after he was taken from me, and kept from me. Moving to New York, then Massachusetts, and back again... Restraining orders, no social media, lying to his so-called friends about me.

How ungrateful could a person get?

That ungratefulness was one of the first things I was forced to beat out of him. I didn't want to hurt him, that was never part of the plan, but his attitude and actions gave me no choice.

Did I like to club him over the head in a dark alley and drag his unconscious body into my car?

Me?

Of course not! But he gave me no other choice... he knows better now, though. He hasn't tried to run for a couple of days. Though that probably also has to do with me finally finding the balance between keeping him exhausted enough to not fight, yet fit enough to still be able to dance.

After all, if he can't dance, I can't exactly call him my Star anymore, can I?

And I've been calling him that for years, ever since I first noticed his talent. I spent hours upon hours training him, teaching him, making sure he maintained the proper weight and physique, and my Star delivered time and time again.

He had such a bright future ahead of him...until his parents decided I was pushing him too hard and they took him away from me. I thought that was the end of it, but imagine my delight when I found out he continued to dance.

Even without me there, he still delivered. And I longed to be a part of that.

I deserved to be a part of that.

So I planned, and I prepared, and I performed, and I prevailed. I took back what was rightfully mine, and I trained him, and I tested him, and I taught him. I made him my Star again.

But it wasn't enough.

I couldn't help but to feel that there would still be a chance that he would want to get away from me again. Perhaps even succeed. So I had to make sure, that no matter what happened, he would never forget where he truly belonged.

I entered the studio where I was letting him stay, turning on the—admittedly—horrid lights, illuminating the dirty and drap interior. I'm sure it might have been a decent dance school once, but now the only echoes that remained of that past were the grand, floor to ceiling mirrors, and a barre so sturdy it put modern manufacturers to shame.

It was sturdy enough to hold my Star even, seated on the floor, his back resting against the mirror as his hands were cuffed to the barre above him. He stirred slowly as the harsh light roused him from his sleep, though he seemed fully alert by the time I stood before him.

I looked him over as I placed down my bag of carefully selected items, watching as he quickly straightened his back and sat up properly, looking up at me in case I had any instruction to give.

"Good," I said.

Praise should be given where it is due, after all.

"T-thank you..." he quietly responding, glancing away for a second.

That won't do at all.

"Thank you, who?" I asked.

"....t-thank you, M-mistress Joy..."

"That's better," I said, "but I can't help but feel disappointed that you still need a reminder."

"I-I'm sorry, Mistress," he quickly said.

I could tell he was desperate to please me, probably fearing punishment. Either way I couldn't blame him.

"I know you are, dear." I said, "You always needed a little extra help. Dancing has always been your strong suit. Thinking, however..."

He looked down again. He knew I was right. But as I'd already told him years ago: There was nothing wrong with him. And it was okay to simply...leave the thinking to the better able.

We worked best that way. With me doing all the planning and choreographing, and he just had to keep up with the pace. Count his steps, watch his lines, smile, and make it all look effortless.

"Don't worry, though. I thought of the perfect way to always remind you, even when I'm not around to do so," I said, crouching down to open the bag.

My Star stayed quiet. He knew better than to question me. Besides, he would find out very soon. I pulled a box from the bag, only the shipping label mentioning in a small section that it contained a "custom hot stamp."

It was an electric leather-working tool that allowed one to mark their work with their own logo, or in my case, initials. A self-heating pen with a little metal plate at the end with my custom design etched in. All I had to do was plug it in and wait for it to heat up. Luckily I had remembered to bring an extension cord.

The nearest plug was on the other side of the floor, by the window. The extension cord easily reached far enough, and whilst I fiddled with the electric logistics and tried to figure out how I was supposed to know it was hot enough, my Star could no longer contain his curiosity.

"M-mistress?" he piped up, "w-what do you have there?"

"You'll see," I replied, "don't you like surprises~?"

He didn't reply, allowing me to focus back on the manual and find I just had to wait ten minutes, give or take, for the device to reach the correct heat.

While I waited, I looked at the mirrored design on the plate at the end. It was a little star shape with my initials in it. It really couldn't be more perfect. Surely this would forever remind him where he belonged.

With me, as my Star.

When the stamp had finally heated up and I turned around to get it over with, my precious dumb little start seemed to finally catch up with what I was planning. His eyes widened, his face paled, and he began feverishly shaking his head, pressing further back against the mirror, while his feet slipped and squeaked uselessly over the floor in an attempt to get away, even if the he cuffs and the barre itself would never move an inch unless I wanted it to.

"P-please, wait..." he said breathlessly, "M-mistress please— No! Mistress Joy, please! Don't do it, please! Please! Please please please please please!"

As much as it pained me to hear him beg so desperately, I knew I had to go through with it. I knelt down, sitting down on his legs to stop him from kicking. My free hand weaved into his hair, grabbing a tight hold to stop him from wildly shaking his head. He wasn't perfectly still, but it would have to do.

"Please Mistress!" he sobbed, "Please no— AAAAAGH!!!"

The resulting scream when I pressed the stamp against his shoulder rattled my eardrums painfully, but I was willing to tough it out. This was for his own good. I wanted only the best for him.

"Hush..."

I pulled the stamp away, making sure to turn it off so it wouldn't burn too much of a hole in the floor. I stroked his face as he took deep, gulping breaths, still sobbing as I wiped the tears off of his cheek.

"It's over," I assured him, "you did so great."

He couldn't bring himself to reply, still gasping for air between sobs and coughs. I let it slide, just this once. I knew the mark hurt him. I could tell he was trembling from the way his cuffs rattled against the barre. The poor thing was so upset.

"Come."

I shifted my position, sitting on the floor next to him and guiding him to rest his head on my shoulder, but holding him to keep his shoulder straight. If he smudged the mark before it could heal, I would have to go through all of that again.

"I'm so sorry I had to do that," I said.

I really was. To see him so upset brought me no pleasure whatsoever, but unfortunately a permanent reminder was necessary. At least the worst was over now.

"Since it hurt so much, why don't we skip practice tonight?" I suggested, "You get some well-deserved rest for doing so well. We'll dance again tomorrow."

He didn't respond with words, but instead he just muffled another sob in my shoulder as he turned his head to bury his face against me. I could only gently stroke his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

"That's it...that's my Star..."

@ailesswhumptober

Masterlist Main account

Joy Adair is Xander's old and abusive dance teacher, as you can hopefully tell she's incredibly entitled and very desperate to regain control.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 27

27 VOICELESS | Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 700

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: lab whump, ptsd, magic suppression, muzzled

----------

I don't remember a lot from that period of my life. My body remembers more than my mind, which tried its best to block out the horrors of those weeks and months spent trapped inside that sterile prison. 

Many a dream has ended with screaming, clutching at my mouth and throat for a muzzle that is no longer there. Most of the dreams fade within moments of waking. And for that, I am grateful.

Silence was preferred. Forced. The muzzle was to keep me from speaking, from pleading with my captors for freedom, respite, comfort. For compassion.

I almost forgot how to use my voice. Even after my escape from that wretched place, I would rarely speak aloud, preferring hand signs, gestures, and written words. I am told I was stealthy too, although I'm not sure when that particular response came about.

I don't doubt your surprise. But I will remind you it has been many years since my time there. That is one of the reasons I chose to speak about it now. Another reason is because it's you, and my history, no matter how… horrific… needs to be told to those who deserve to know.

Those who are in danger of suffering the same thing.

Interesting, how once you become the victim of a home invasion, nowhere ever feels truly safe. Not even a coffin buried in the ground will soothe my paranoia that they will find me and bring me back to that horrible, horrible place. It was night when they came for me. I’m not sure how they found out about me, my mother, ever the worried sort as was common in that era, drilled into me at an early age to hide my true self.

Hiding wasn’t difficult, I was allowed to express myself freely within the safety of home, so I was never as careful as I should have been. Because of the measures my mother took to keep me safe, I never felt as though the danger actually existed. So I must have slipped up.

That night is a blur in my memory. Honestly I couldn’t even tell you when it even happened, my sense of time got so fucked up I only have an estimation of my age. I remember a loud crash, and yelling. I rarely heard my mother raise her voice, so her shouts stuck with me even as most other details faded away.

After that was the facility. I was kept in a cell, with metal bracelets around both wrists and the muzzle over my mouth. The bracelets always quietly hummed with some sort of energy that I am now certain suppressed my abilities. The first weeks were incredibly disorienting as I got used to the loss of something that I had possessed all my life. It was difficult to think, let alone focus on all the fucked up tests they ran on me.

I suppose, in a twisted, bitter way, I am grateful for that.

The stink of rubbing alcohol is always prevalent in my dreams, so I assume it accompanied much of my waking moments. The taste of the leather muzzle, and the blood in my mouth were also constants. Bruises on my arms, my legs, my face…

To this day I can’t stand the sight of needles. Can’t stand the touch of any fabrics that remind me too much of the simple loose clothing forced upon me. You can see the scars from the bracelets. I… I can’t sleep in silence, or in darkness.

And I couldn’t even speak.

I got away, yes, but it took months, and I cannot pretend that I escaped on my own. I do not know what happened to the guard who pitied me enough to let me out. I can only hope that he was able to slip away as well. Insubordination within their own ranks was sure to be met with severe consequences.

I hope you understand the severity of what I am trying to convey. I do not know how I have gone for so long without being found a second time. This is why we hide. This is why we must remain the world’s little secret. Some humans may accept us yet. But for now, the danger is too great.

You understand?

We’ll see.

[cherrychiplip]

@illarian-rambling @mysticstarlightduck @mysticstarlightduck @cedar-sunshine @ray-writes-n-shit

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 88: Survivors Guilt

TWs in the tags (be safe!)

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Puppy can't help but feel responsible as she hears Bunny scream downstairs. It's silly, because there are times where she really is responsible for him getting hurt, and this isn't one of them. Bunny chose all on his own. Still, she feels guilty.

She's learned, of course, to push the guilt away. It's a useless emotion here; like anger, like grief, like hope. It just makes things harder. Guilt is supposed to push you to make changes and she can't change anything, so it's useless. She imagines guilt as another wound on her body, or another scar that acts up sometimes. It hurts, but it won't kill her, and if there's one skill she's learned from living this way for so long, it's disconnecting from pain.

When she's done with her chores, she heaps attention on her bunny plushie, telling it in her mind how much she loves it, how wonderful it is, how glad she is that it's safe. It's silly, but less embarrassing than plenty of things Jane has had her do. Embarrassment is another useless emotion here.

Kitty is crying in their room. She wants to help, even if she doesn't know how, even if she might make it worse. She sets down her bunny and comes to sit next to them on their bed, tapping a rhythm into their sheets. If they want her to leave, they'll say so, but for now she'll assume the best way to help is to just… be present.

Stay in the present for me Puppy, don't drift off just yet. We're not done

She shudders at the intrusive memory, but manages to shove it down, down where she keeps her guilt and anger and grief and hope and embarrassment, where she'll hopefully never see it again. 

She tries to focus on her hands patting a gentle rhythm and hey, speaking of guilt, she never washed Jared's blood off. Her hands are sticky. She leaves Kitty alone for a minute to change her clothes and wash her hands and arms thoroughly. 

When she comes back, they've fallen asleep. Good, that's good - one of the benefits of them being drugged, since she knows they wouldn't be able to sleep right now if they were in full possession of their faculties.

She paces around their room to keep herself awake (she hasn't been given permission to sleep) and allows her mind to drift off. She'll snap back to reality if they start having a nightmare of some sort, but for now… for now she can escape.

Living in the apartment with her roommates isn't perfect *all* the time. Sometimes there are problems.

Not someone-screaming-from-the-basement type problems, or someone-being-drugged-constantly-against-their-will type problems. Just normal problems. Stress about work. Miscommunications. Things like that.

Today, Charlie is particularly distressed about a patient of theirs committing suicide-

no. Too dark. Just a nightmare, maybe? Everyone has nightmares sometimes, right?

Today, Charlie is particularly distressed about a nightmare. Puppy can comfort them, can speak to them and tell them that everything will be alright, that it's not real, that they're safe. And they do calm down, slowly becoming grounded in reality (which is good because reality is good). There is nothing to be afraid of, for any of them. They fall back asleep because they feel safe, not because they're drugged out of their mind.

And Liam… Liam is okay. No one is hurting him. He's not continuously throwing himself into danger, he's not trying to kill a little girl. He's okay. She holds him close and plays with his hair and he's safe and free and happy and that's all that matters.

She has nightmares too, sometimes. She gets held and comforted too.

She has nightmares about another world where she's forced to torture Charlie and Liam and strangers and kill strangers and tonight it was about this person named Jared-

But it's okay, because Liam and Charlie can hold her and tell her it's not real, she's safe, she's done nothing wrong, she's a good person. No one's hurt because of her. No one's dead because of her. She can feel joy without it causing pain to other people.

"And even if it was real, you'd have nothing to feel guilty over." Liam says. "You were forced, it's not your fault."

Just a tool in her master's hands…

"So many people have died because of me." She sobs.

"No, no one's died because of you, it was just a dream." Charlie soothes. "And Liam is right. Does that help? Does it help more to treat this like real survivors guilt, even though it didn't happen, or does it help more to remind you it's not real?"

"I don't know… both?"

"It's not real, and even if it was it wouldn't be your fault. Your only real choices are to be obedient and lessen the pain for everyone, or be disobedient and get others hurt. People have died because of you, yes, but you staying alive has spared so many more people pain. And it's not real anyway, and you're safe, and we're here for you. C'mon, let's do something fun, get your mind off things."

Charlie guides her out of her bed and into the living room, and the three of them play Mario Kart. Everything is okay. The flare-up of guilt is getting better. She can feel, for just a moment, as if the world is better because she's alive. As she plays video games with her roommates. As she paces to the soundtrack of Bunny's screaming in the background.

She does what she has to. She has nothing to feel guilty for.

~~

It's worth it it's worth it it's worth it-

You repeat this to yourself over and over. It's worth it. You learned some things. You're closer to killing Jane. It's worth it. It's worth it. The information you got is worth being tortured for.

That doesn't make it hurt any less to be whipped and burned and beaten and suffocated and-

"I have something for you, Bunny. Are you hungry?"

…you're not. Or at least hunger isn't strong enough yet to be noticeable over all the other pain you're in. As much as it feels like this has been going on forever, it hasn't been very long at all, a few hours at most (you try not to think about how 'a few hours' is a short torture session here). She normally only offers food in the basement when it's been long enough she risks accidentally killing you if she doesn't feed you. Something is wrong. You shake your head.

She laughs. "I don't actually care. You're going to be a good boy and eat what I give you, right?"

"...yes master." Something is wrong. Something is wrong in a very familiar way.

She sets a plate of steaming meat in front of you. You close your eyes.

"Please. Please, I can't-"

"You can and you will. Eat."

She's not forcing you. She could so easily force you, through threats or through physically forcing it down your throat, but she doesn't. She wants you to choose. She wants you to choose to eat someone.

"...who?" You don't want to know. You can't bear to not know.

"A bit of all three of them."

She doesn't have to say who she's talking about. You know. "Please, no-"

Jane immediately slaps your face, harder than someone of her size should ever be able to. You crumple from your kneeling position to lying on the ground and try to breathe through the pain. The slap hurt, but collapsing hurt more, stretching and putting pressure on wounds you'd just started to to be able to ignore.

"You will not say no to me. You know better than that, Bunny. Eat."

They wouldn't want you to wait until you're starving and the mystery meat (it's not a mystery meat it's their flesh it's them) is rotting. They would want you to be safe, and being safe means obeying Jane right now so…

Tears stream down your face and you open your eyes. The meat is still there, of course. There are no utensils. You'll have to use your hands.

"...do I have to eat all of it?"

"Yes. You wouldn't have had to before, but saying no to me has consequences."

You sob. This is worth it. This is worth it. They would agree this is worth it, they'd just want you to be safe.

This is all your fault. If you'd just been good, they'd still be alive and happy. You ruined their lives. It should've been you that died, not them.

You pick up a piece of the 'mystery meat' (you can't think of what it actually is or you'll throw up) and put it in your mouth.

~~

Jane let Bunny up out of the basement within the same day as she brought him down. Kitty doesn't understand it at all. Maybe she's had her fill of torture for today with the stranger? But even then, surely she would keep Bunny in solitary or something until she was bored again, right?

They don't know, and they can't figure it out. Their brain is mush. What they do know is that Bunny has been crying and shaking in Puppy's arms for a long time now.

They want to comfort him, but… their brain is mush. They don't know how to comfort him, and they can't figure it out. 

They're glad he's out, though. That his punishment is probably over. Even if it doesn't make sense and Kitty doesn't know how to comfort him, it's good that he's upstairs and collared. That they're all upstairs and collared.

Jane is sitting next to them on their bed. They're not sure how long she's been there. She pets their hair and they want to scream, but they don't even tense up. They think… maybe she upped their dose of whatever drug she gives them. When was the last time she gave it to them? They don't remember.

"I think we should have a movie night tonight." She says. 

Bunny cries harder. Puppy guides him out of the room. Jane pets, pets, pets Kitty's hair.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" They want to bite her. "So relaxed… do you think you can get to the living room?"

It takes a while to process her words, and even longer to force their body up and out of bed, but they do it. They stumble to the living room, half leaning on the wall the whole way. Every movement makes them so, so dizzy…

They kneel on the ground in front of the couch. That’s where Jane will want them, they know. It’s easier to start there than to have to move after sitting on the couch and have their head spin more times than it has to.

She’s petting their hair again. Fuck, they hate that.

“Don’t the drugs make it easier to be good for me?” She coos.

She turns on the TV, and they’re screaming.

Not right now. Not out loud. But the Kitty on the screen is screaming and begging for the pain to stop.

“Eyes open, Bunny.” Jane says.

All of Jane’s taste in movies is violent. Usually movie night means watching a gorey horror movie (or something the three of them pretend is just a horror movie because holy fuck they don’t want it to be a snuff film). This isn’t surprising. If anything, Kitty’s surprised she hasn’t done this before. Used the footage she has as a ‘movie night’ instead of a punishment.

They don’t really feel all that horrified, though that might be the drugs dampening their emotions. Bunny is crying a lot, but that could still be about whatever Jane did to him in the basement. Puppy is as silent as ever.

And then the movie changes, and it’s Bunny screaming.

They force themself to keep their eyes open. She didn’t tell them to, but she would want them to, and they need to be compliant, not just obedient, unless they want to be put in sensory deprivation again.

They hate watching Bunny get hurt. But he’s safe right now, he’s upstairs and collared and safe, it’s just a video. It’s just a video.

Next is Puppy. She’s safe, she’s upstairs, she’s collared, it’s just a video, it’s just a video-

Now it’s the stranger being hurt. Hurt and hurt and hurt until they stop breathing. 

And the entire time, Jane is petting Kitty’s hair. They want to die.

The thought slips away as quickly as it came. They hate not being able to think, they hate being Jane’s empty-headed little pet, even if the thoughts hurt they want them, they want to feel something about the stranger dying for longer than a moment, they want to feel anything other than numb or frustrated with being numb.

Jane wipes something off their face. Oh… they’ve been crying. They want to pull away so badly, but it’s better than sensory deprivation.

“Look at you.” She murmurs. “My sweet little Kitty. And you thought you were incapable of being good. Silly~”

And then the movie changes again, and Kitty is screaming in the present and Jane is laughing and tugging on their hair and saying “Shhh, it’s just a movie, you’re okay.”

Kitty hasn’t seen Erik, Alison, and Zoe in a long, long time. They didn’t know- when would she have been recording, they don’t remember her recording- they wail as they watch their old rescuers be tortured all over again.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? If you’d been good like this before, they never would’ve died.”

Apparently they can feel things besides numbness and frustration with the numbness. This grief, this guilt is overpowering.

Fortunately, the movie ends quickly after that. Why is Jane picking on them?? They’d prefer it to her picking on Bunny or Puppy of course, but it doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. They can’t think!

They hate this. She shouldn’t be able to make them feel guilty, she’s the one who tortured and killed them! Why do they feel guilty?

They want to scream. Maybe they do, they aren’t sure if the screaming is in their head or not. She can control their actions, but she can’t control their mind. She shouldn’t be able to control their mind. But she does. She makes them feel numb and afraid and guilty and all sorts of things and it’s because she wants them to feel that way, and they don’t get any control over it.

They’re so tired. They miss Erik and Alison and Zoe, and they miss being able to think, and they miss being able to be obedient but not compliant. They don’t know how much more of this they can take. But they can’t not take it, they don’t have a choice!

They’re just an empty husk. Going through the motions to avoid pain, but not really even a person.

That thought alleviates the guilt a bit. There’s no point to survivor’s guilt if you’re already dead.

~~

"I haven’t felt guilt in a long, long time. I miss it, or at least the intensity of it, but I can't get myself to feel it again no matter what I do. The closest I can get is watching my pets feel it.

"I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to be alive. Isn't it funny, how me and my pets are thinking the same things for different reasons? I don't deserve to be alive because I deserve better, I deserve to rest. I shouldn't have survived any of the things I've survived because I deserve better. And I'm a horrible person! No one could ever deserve to go through what I've gone through, no matter what. I have like, the opposite of survivor's guilt. Survivor's… pride? Shamelessness? Jealousy? Ooh, I like that, survivor's jealousy. I'm jealous because I survived and they didn't. Over and over and over again, with everyone I've ever known."

Peyton sighs. "Jane, I have a client coming in ten minutes, can you please leave? I'll happily talk to you any other time, but I made a commitment to be here for my clients and I can't prioritize you above that. I thought you were mad at me anyway."

"I was. But now I'm almost bored. I'd like to be angry again." I peek at her paperwork, and she tries to shield it from my view. It's so funny when she does that, as if I couldn't teleport it away from her to read it, or watch the client's entire session from my void.

"Hmm… anger isn't super common for you, right? I've been thinking about that, how me asking what makes boredom different from other negative emotions triggered something so intense when intense emotions rarely come up for you. Do you think it's something about the question itself, or was it that you felt misunderstood and ignored when I didn't accept your answer of 'it just is'? Why don't you think on that while I see my client, maybe you'll be able to work yourself back up again."

"I could kill your client."

"I know, Jane. Are you going to? Cause if not I really need to review my notes before he gets here."

She's not actually apathetic towards the idea, but she's learned by now that getting upset over the things I say will only encourage me.

Do I want to kill her client? Maybe it'll stave off the boredom, but I just killed Jared and that didn't really help…

"Do you get survivor's guilt?" I ask. "Do you feel guilty for surviving knowing me this long? Do you feel guilty knowing that everyone else who knows me is either in a constant state of pain or dead? Do you feel like you don't deserve it? Like if I'd picked a different therapist I'd be fixed by now? Like you're a failure?"

She tries very hard not to react, but I see the way she pales ever so slightly, the way her grip on her pencil tightens. 

"No." She says simply. She's lying.

Seeing her squirm, I feel a bit less bored. "That's great." I tease. "It sure would suck if you did feel that way, wouldn't it?"

"Yep."

I giggle. "How about we play a game? I'll watch your client's session from my void, and if you say the word 'feeling' I kill your client in his sleep tonight! Let's get you some survivor's guilt, since you're apparently free from it."

She takes a deep breath, but I see the small tremors in her hands before she manages to calm herself down. She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.

"Your client is here. Enjoy your session."

I slip into my void. I deserve to die, but at least this'll keep my mind off it for an hour.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

[1000roughdrafts]

Fic request!: Dean and Reader have been engaged for a long time and are waiting for the perfect time to finally get married. On what should have been an easy hunt with the brothers and Cas, reader is mortally wounded and in their last moments together, Cas marries them (I mean, angels should have that authority right? lol) as Reader dies in Dean's arms?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: slight violence, dying!reader, blood, slight gore, angst

Dean X FemReader

We round the corner of an abandoned building, and not even this fierce wind could break the dark, thick fog of tension that sits among the three of us. Neither I nor the Winchesters have a clue what we're up against, or if they do, they haven't filled me in. I just know it's demonic and killing innocent people.

We haven't exactly been getting along lately, and if not for the danger that constantly looms around us, I'd have made a joke to Dean about acting like a married couple before we could even tie the knot. But the worst part about the frustration that we feel is the impulsivity that comes with it. The pissing contest of heading into hunts we know we're not prepared for, but are too damn prideful to say so. And somehow the anger leads us to believe we're stronger than we actually are.

I want to convince them to turn around and leave, but I realize that it's too late when Dean kicks down the door, his gun aiming every which way before his foot could even land back on the ground. Leaves rustle under Sam's quick steps as he follows behind Dean like a dutiful soldier. I'm told to stay close, but I'm immediately distracted by the smell of something rotting and the graffiti on the wilting walls. There are words like 'kill', 'die' and 'run' written in red and the hair on the back of my neck stands.

“Y/N!" Dean quietly shouts.

I jolt to look in his direction. He motions with furrowed brows and two fingers for me to move in, and I reflexively roll my eyes. I realize I'd been absentmindedly twisting my engagement ring around my finger.

We shouldn't be here. I know it, so why don't they? Or do they and they just don't care? I stare at Sam internally begging him to turn my way, for him to see the fear in my eyes and help me convince Dean that we should leave, tell him that something just doesn't feel right, but when he does look my way he only shoots a sympathetic smile. I roll my eyes again.

Anxiety clouds me. My chest feels tight, and air feels thin. My vision gets blurry, and I can feel the anger inside of me trying to claw it's way to the top, but all the while I can feel myself weaken, my guard down. I carry on, walking towards where the brothers are and I can smell my threat before I see it. Sulfur. I quickly turn to attack, but feel a piercingly sharp pain in my side.

With a yelp, I instinctively place my hand over the area that burns to hold pressure on it, but it scares me how wet my hand feels, and when I pull my it up I can see that it's drenched in blood.

I manage to croak out Dean's name before I fall to my knees, collapsing on the ground. The last thing I see before my world goes black is Dean kneeling down next to me, repeatedly and terrifyingly shouting my name as Sam fights off whatever it was that attacked me.

Laughter echoed in the halls of the bunker as Dean chased after me. We ended the game in our room, and trapped between Dean and the wall I had no choice but to succumb to him. Roping me in his arms, he tickled me until I begged through tears and a smile to be let go.

When I could catch my breath, my eyes met his gaze, and the whole world stopped around me. I took a few steps back to drop onto the bed, watching Dean as he plopped down next to me. I felt warmth throughout my entire body as he leaned to kiss me.

I could just explode I was so overwhelmed with love for him and for this moment, that when he pulled away I couldn't control my voice. "Marry me, Winchester." And my eyes widened when he quickly sat up.

He propped himself up on his arm, "what?" he said with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm serious, Dean," I chuckled, sitting up to turn my body towards him. I placed my hand on his leg, feeling him relax under it, "I have never felt the way that I do about you, for anyone. We have no idea when our last days are going to be, and in this line of work it could be tomorrow for all we know. I can't bear the thought of dying without you as my husband."

---

I hear my name in Dean's voice from a distance, but I'm surrounded by total darkness. I try so hard with all of my might to tell him I'm here, that it's okay, but the words don't come. It takes all of my strength to open my eyes, but they burn. Everything burns. I don't even try to suppress the scream that bellows out of me.

Taking as deep of a breath as I can, I'm scared for myself when it sounds and feels like I'm breathing a water and air mixture. "What's happening?" I manage to say, but Dean puts a finger to my lips.

"No, no," he soothes, "no, don't talk. It's okay," he says so gently, and as he maneuvers me into his lap I cry out in agonizing pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, then his voice switches into a shaky, fear filled command at Sam to call 911 followed by a yell for Castiel that hurts my heart almost as much as my wound hurts.

I feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, but I'm brought back every time by Dean shaking my body in his arms, "hey, no! Stay with me, Y/N!" I feel his arms twitch around me, and I know he's frantically trying to figure out his next move. "Hey, stay with me," he pleads.

"Maybe we should get her talking," Sam's voice suggests from the other side of me. I keep my eyes shut. "So we know she's still here," he says.

Dean's hot breath hits my face as he lets out a heavy sigh, and I sway with him in his arms as he shakes his head no.

"Cas! Finally," Dean's voice is excited, but hesitant as Cas remains quiet. "Cas! Heal her!" Dean grunts, and what follows is more silence. "Cas!"

"Dean, you know I can't do that," Cas says somberly, a cold brush of air hitting me as Cas walks over to our side.

"Why the hell not?" Dean shouts with enough force to rattle me in his arms. I grunt from the jolt of pain it sends through my body, but he ignores me.

"I'm limited on my powers," Cas whispers. “Heaven, they-“ but he’s cut off by a scoff from Dean.

I feel myself weaken more and more with every second that they bicker around me, and I don't even have the strength to contest it. They're voices grow distant, and my muscles relax as I'm brought back to unconsciousness.

"I know you're not the marrying type, Dean, but-" I said, losing confidence in myself, and as if he realized this, Dean quickly straightened himself out to hold his palms up at me.

"No, no, it's not that. I'm just... I'm just a little surprised is all." Without letting me respond, he walks to his dresser and the drawer creaks as he opens it, the smell of old wood filled my nose as he rummaged around in it.

He turned to face me, and in his hands was a small, black box. His eyes softened, and he knelt down to one knee, "Y/N, I have been wanting to ask you this, maybe since the day we met," he chuckled. "And I had a whole speech prepared, but I think you got me beat," he laughed again, "and left me nearly speechless. So, Y/N, yes, I will marry you," he said.

--

The terrified shouts of the men around me brings me back to them, and thank God for that. My eyes still burn, and I clench them even tighter, forcing a tear I didn't know was there down and over the bridge of my nose.

I try to clear my throat to speak, but it's like it gets caught on something, and I cough to get it out. Dean quickly raises me up to a sitting position, which is excruciatingly painful.

"Y/N," Dean's voice shakes.

I take a few deep breaths in to clear my airway, and fight to open my eyes. They only open to a squint, but I take what I can get. I glance at Sam, then Cas who keep their eyes on the floor in front of them. My head tilts back as I look up at Dean. His eyes are trained to mine, his eyebrows pressed tightly together, as are his lips.

"Marry me, Winchester," I squeak, and I can see his face instantly relax.

"What?" he says, then the corners of his lips curl down. He nods gently and the tears he had been holding back come pouring down. He looks up at Cas, who immediately understand and kneels down next to us.

"Allow me," he offers, placing his hand under my cold fingers, and his other on Dean's shoulder. "Y/N, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony," Cas begins, and my lips quiver at the words 'live together' because it finally hits me that this is the end of that.

Cas continues, voice a little louder to overshadow the sobs that break through Dean's chest. "To love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"And even longer," I say, my eyes, even blurry, moving to Dean's in time to see tears slip down his cheek.

Cas turns his attention to my other half, "Dean, do you take-"

"I do," Dean eagerly states when he notices my breathing has slowed exponentially. "Skip to the end," Dean pleads.

"By the virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the Lord, I now pronounce you husband and wife". Cas sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly. "You may kiss the bride."

Dean brings me closer to him, and his lips are hot and quivering against mine. I pucker to kiss him, but I know my lips don't move by the way his press deeper into mine to accommodate it. My breaths are even slower now, and I can feel myself slipping away again, no matter how hard I try to fight it.

I draw in a long, cold breath, trying to hold on as long as I can. "I love you, Dean," I say and as the breath escapes me, so does my light.

"I love you, t-"

----

If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

Everything Tags <3

@waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday @flamencodiva @roseblue373

Dean <3

@akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @cluz1babe @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone @idksupernaturl @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl @chaospossum

[yurizinmaster]

Man Of medan Ship 💖

Charlie/Joe = Chorlie? jarlie?

Joe p.o.v

My Life Never Seems So Interesting, The Only Thing That Really Made Me Happy Was My Son,but looking at you now i feel something besides friendship i feel my heart beating faster every time i see you i know i shouldn't feel this i know its wrong but i'll make it worth it,Even if you don't know it, but we are destined to always be together no matter where,Sometimes I feel like you've cast a spell on me Even if it doesn't make sense, I just want you to fall Under my Spells...

Fuck, look at the situation I'm in, sometimes I look at you and think "You're too perfect to exist" I allowed myself to fall into temptation, You, Only you, Nobody else, The only thing I want is To be alone with you,Your hair, Your smile It's the only thing I Want and I can't stop thinking about how I want you in my life

"Charlie Anderson" is a name I will never forget.... I know you don't know me But I just want you to know that I love you more than anything (almost anything) You are the only thing keeping me alive

"hello how are you man? My heart raced so fast When you looked into my eyes and said With your pretty lips...Your eyes are so beautiful, your hair I never thought this would happen If this is really a dream I hope I never wake up...

If I had a reason to live, now I have a hundred! and now i know that it's okay, i'll do anything for you to like me,Hearing your voice is the only thing that keeps me from going crazy here...

But even if I have it, with you here I don't need anything else,"You know Roberts you are a great Colleague Want to be my friend?" What could I say? "but of course! why not?"

I took a picture of you, It was so worth doing this, It was worth every moment With you It was worth coming here after all..

”nothing else matters but the fact that you are my destiny”

Today was the best day of my life, The night was so starry and bright That sometimes I even feel jealous, Even though the drink has already had an effect on you but hearing you say "I love you" was the best thing i had ever heard in my whole life

I could have just swallowed it and kept drinking but I said just what I always wanted to say "I love you too Charlie Anderson"

Could have stopped there, he smiled back at me as his eyes slowly closed from the alcoholism.your smile always makes me think "fuck if i had to choose between heaven and hell i would choose you"

Watching him put his head in his arms and then bending down to the table, sometimes I wonder why I didn't go talk to you sooner we could be here longer,"I finally got what I wanted from the start, to be alone with you,I have to make it last longer!"

"if I took you somewhere else far from here?"

It's gonna be alright Anyway, You'll be with me and that's all you need,"you don't have to worry nobody will interfere, i'll never let my love for you Die"

"I will love you forever"

"even if we die, i'll find you, we're chosen, it's inevitable"

That's why this was the best night ever,"There are no Barriers to Love"

"Sometimes a happy ending is good among So many broken hearts Don't you agree?"

____________________________________________

Song References - 🎵

infinity - Jaymes young🎵

melting - kali uchis 🎵

Only Love can hurt like This - Paloma Faith 🎵

____________________________________________

[blackrosesandwhump]

Sword of the Half-Human, Part 5

June of Doom Day 5: “It’s not as bad as it looks.” | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration

Part 4

CW: blood, wounded whumpee, gothic whump

As the dungeon door closed with a heavy, resounding thud, I pressed a hand over my left shoulder. The wound was still oozing blood, though the flow had thankfully slowed. Bandages would soon be necessary. But not yet. I had experienced much, much worse, after all.

The men, panting a little after wrestling the monster into its cell (his cell, I corrected myself; he was partly human), glanced at me with something like fear.

“His Lordship will be pleased,” one of them said, not bothering to stop as he spoke.

“That’s good,” I said, as a wave of pain radiated down my arm. The grooves dug by the creature’s claws burned hot and cold, one moment nearly numb, the next moment alive with agony. Further words failed me, and I followed the others in silence, teeth clenched. Another scar to add to my growing collection, and this one would be particularly disfiguring.

Master, that wound needs attention, the sword urged.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

That is a lie. You know you cannot lie to me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” We passed through the door leading down to the dungeons and back into the brightly-lit hall. I squinted against the sudden glare. “Perhaps we should return to the—”

“Sir,” gasped a serving boy, appearing suddenly at my elbow, “His Lordship has summoned you. Immediately.”

Now? I was covered in blood, damp with melted snow, and half my shoulder had been torn open. I said as much, but the boy only shook his head.

“He’s insisting, sir.” He produced a pocket handkerchief and dabbed at my clothing in an attempt to be helpful. I appreciated the gesture. The handkerchief didn’t and instantly turned red with absorbed blood.

The serving boy sighed in defeat. “He will be very disappointed if you refuse.”

By disappointed, he meant angry. I copied his sigh (for reasons of my own, of course) and rested a bloodstained hand on my sword hilt.

Do we have to do this?

Yes, master. Sadly, we do.

“Then lead me to him.” I addressed the serving boy with feigned goodwill. The truth was, my goodwill was rapidly seeping out through the claw marks in my shoulder. “And please, if you could, find some bandages.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. He pulled something that looked useful from his coat pocket. “My apologies, sir, but if you would please blindfold yourself.” He thrust the object into my hand.

Blindfold myself? I hesitated, considering my options. There were none. I had to obey. But as I tied the blindfold around my eyes, plunging myself into abrupt darkness, unease niggled at my gut, worming its way into my mind. What did his lordship want to hide? And why?

Something is not right, master.

No, it’s not. But the serving boy was already taking my hand, bloody though it was, and leading me somewhere unknown. I followed, stumbling slightly. My shoulder throbbed.

As the noise of the masquerade grew distant then vanished entirely and our footsteps continued, a new sensation crawled over me. One I hadn’t felt in a long time. I was blinded, deeply injured, and reliant solely on a strange boy to take me where I was supposed to go.

I was vulnerable.

@juneofdoom @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @tildeathiwillwrite

[gummybugg]

Do you have any advice on switching between perspectives in a story?

How often is too often, how many perspectives is too many, and how to make feel less jarring when you're suddenly following an entirely different character? Any other tips?

Thanks for the ask! I'll slap a large title here to condense things:

How to Swap Between Perspectives: A Mini Writing Guide

Hmm, advice on swapping perspectives... I don't think there's a "jarring" way to swap between perspectives as long as you do it for a Reason.

I would say, "Oh, nah, there's never too many POVs!" But I feel like there can be to some extent. There's no clear Number I can place as a cap, but I just want you to keep in mind Why you have all these perspectives.

It's worth noting that POV swapping occurs in both 1st Person and 3rd (both I am currently writing). I can use my WIP Crater City as an example for the sake of simplicity. Now Onwards we go!

Ok, I want you to ask yourself this: "Is there something I would Gain by swapping characters?" I personally don't use multiple perspectives for the fun if it, I do it because

The character's emotions/experiences are an important storytelling component. For example: Frasier's perspective is the most reliable when it comes to explaining the ins and outs of Crater City when compared to Blair/Elijah. Only Frasier knows how he feels, and he has very important feelings I'd like to highlight. Otherwise, we would never know because he's typically very reserved. It really comes down to weighing whose perspective is the most Significant for that scene. Sometimes, you can even include more than one perspective for a scene, but that can easily become overwhelming/redundant*.

It can offer a crucial character-building moment. Flashbacks, dream sequences, etc. These can be slipped in between scenes/diaogues (but be careful it's relevant and doesn't break the mood) or put in their own chapters. I'm probably not the best person to ask how to write these scenes, but I can tell you to Write with a Purpose!

Speaking of mood, perhaps you think the scene would sound better in another character's POV due to their personality or what have you. There doesn't always need to be a reason, but I try to be intentional in what/how I write. Example: Blair is lackadaisical, and a scene where he's stuck in an elevator would be much funnier than if it were in Elijah's POV, even though they're both in the same scene together. Alternatively, Elijah’s serious perspective could be used to highlight more serious scenes later on, as opposed to Blair. It's kind of like swapping filters on a stage light. Use your characters' traits to your story's advantage!

Or Sometimes, we need to know what's happening behind the scenes. I would swap to Frasier's POV when I need the audience to know something our heroes do not. Perhaps Frasier is on the phone with Darcy, reporting that he's found something incriminating about Blair. And now we understand why bots were sent out to arrest Blair and Elijah! Oh, the magic of dramatic irony!

*My idea of overwhelming would be too many different POVs for the same scene (in 1st person), unless the perspectives each serve a purpose. Or even too much ping-ponging between perspectives in 3rd person [omniscient]. You want to hone your perspectives, not confuse your readers! Perspectives are a very important part of storytelling and definitely have the power to make or break a scene!

As for making the swap less jarring:

I had to Google this one, and there's no shame in that! From what I gathered, some people like to Establish a Pattern to rotate through perspectives so readers know who to anticipate. Well, I've also seen others Not do that, and instead, follow a Linear Storyline, swapping POVs out when they see fit. Another great tip would be to make it abundantly Clear who is speaking in the chapter/scene. Slap their name at the top, or what have you!

At the end of the day, one of the best ways to know if a swap is jarring/confusing is to have someone else Read your work.

And when swapping between perspectives, always ask yourself, "Why am I using this perspective? What will I gain?" But also: "What will I lose?" Very important things to keep in mind!

And of course, I'm sure I missed some things. But we're all here to Learn, so feel free to Add on!

[delyth88]

Decided to read the Hunger Games again.

Remember how much I hate first person pov! 😅

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 93: Normalcy 

TWs in tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

"How did you become immortal?" No reason to beat around the bush.

Jane smirks. "Why would I tell you that?"

"You want to die. I want you to die. We can work together here, I just need all the information."

"And you think that you can come up with something in your mortal lifetime that I couldn't come up with in tens of thousands of years?"

"Yes. Have you even been trying lately? Maybe it's a matter of new technology, or the number of times you try. Maybe the 100,000th time you slit your throat it'll work." 

She rolls her eyes. "I've certainly tried any new technologies that have come about since I first became immortal. I'm always trying. I'm always starved or dehydrated or sleep-deprived enough that a mortal would be dead in my position."

"Let me help. Tell me how you became immortal."

"I already told you. I got my powers the same way you got yours."

"That doesn't make sense. You're not a mage. You don't follow the rules of magic."

"That's true. I still got my powers the same way you got yours."

"I didn't get anything, everyone has magic they're able to harness. I learned magic, I didn't get it from something. Did you learn immortality somehow?"

Her eyes narrow. "No. It was completely out of my control."

"Then we didn't 'get' magic the same way!"

"We did." She sighs. "If you can't figure it out from there, then there's no way you can figure out a way to kill me. Fucking idiot."

She vanishes. Off to torture Kitty, probably. Fuck.

You'll figure it out. This is better than nothing… assuming she's not just fucking with you. You'll have to ask Puppy about that possibility.

You do your best to ignore Jane pulling Kitty downstairs. It'll only be a couple hours, then you can comfort them. Just a couple hours.

From there, it's an unfortunately very normal day. Kitty screams from the basement. Puppy cries for a while longer, but then she starts her chores, and things are as normal as they could be. You wait until she looks a bit more calmed down before talking to her.

"Jane said she got her powers the same way I did." You tell Puppy. She freezes for just a moment, then continues wiping the window she's working on.

"Does that match with what you know?"

She nods ever so slightly.

"Thank you." At least there's that. Jane was probably telling the truth. From there, surely you can figure something out…

Jane is much, much older than you. You didn't exist when she became immortal, so how could you have gotten your powers the same way she did? She didn't learn immortality, so was her specific set of powers innate in the same way that magic is innate to everything? But why would her magic work differently from everything else? Does she not know? No, she must, because Puppy nodded when you asked if she knew how Jane became immortal, and there's no way she would know if Jane didn't know…

You think about it until your head aches too badly to think deeply anymore, without coming to any conclusions. You're close though, you're positive you're close. Every day you get a little closer to-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the basement door opening. Kitty collapses at the top of the steps.

You and Puppy rush to their side, careful to not touch them without permission..

"Do we need to bandage anything? Will you need stitches?"

Kitty groans and shakes their head. They're twitching all over. Just the shocks, then… but you can't imagine that getting shocked for hours a day is safe, why is Jane willing to risk their life like that??

The thought is gone as soon as it arises. You need to focus on helping Kitty right now.

"Can you walk?"

"In… in a minute. Don't help me." Tears stream down their face. "I want- I want things to go back to normal! When I wasn't drugged all the time and Puppy wasn't muzzled all the time and you weren't- you had some semblance of self-preservation!" 

Their sobs sound agonizing, and they probably are. Their throat must be torn to pieces from screaming, and their whole body must be so sore that any movement hurts. Your heart breaks for them.

"Or, or the normal from before you went into the basement! Why'd you do that? Why'd you run away?? You just make things worse!"

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Whether this anger is genuine or not, now is not the time to have any tough discussions. "I'm sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No!" They sob and sob and sob. "Someday it'll get worse! Someday this'll be the normal I want to get back to! It just gets worse and worse and I can't take it but I don't have a choice!"

"I'm going to get us out of here. Things won't go back to normal, and this won't become our new normal. I'm so close, I can't talk about it very much for obvious reasons, but I promise this won't go on for much longer. You have to trust me."

Kitty just cries. They don't trust you, at least not right now.

"It'll be okay. You only have to deal with this for a bit longer. Just hold on."

"I can't not hold on! I don't have a choice! There's no getting out of this!"

"There is, there is, please just trust me-" You're getting nowhere. "Just breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four…" You repeat the mantra until Kitty can follow along fairly easily. "There you go. Wanna play go fish?"

They sniffle and nod slowly. This whole situation is so painfully normal for the three of you. How many times have you done this exact thing? How many times have you comforted Kitty through a breakdown and offered them a distraction in the form of a game? How many times has Puppy been near while you do that, wanting to help but being unable to?

It won't be normal for much longer.

~~

I admire Peyton's commitment to maintaining a fairly normal life. It's silly, and it means I can hurt her so much worse than if she just isolated herself, but I admire it. It's gutsy. 

She has a girlfriend now. It's a new relationship, a week or two old at most. I had to find out through following her around, of course. She would never volunteer that kind of information, she's not that stupid. But trying to hide something from me was never going to work.

It would be fun to make her girlfriend's life a living hell. It would be fun to make everyone associated with Peyton suffer and suffer endlessly- she'd feel so guilty! I still get some entertainment from our current relationship, though, so I should wait until it's boring to start adding new stuff. Still, it's fun to think about.

She has a date with her girlfriend tonight. Maybe we should play that game where if she says a certain word I kill someone… what words do people usually say a lot on a date? Or maybe I could have it be something like having her make sure every sentence she says has an even number of words. As long as she has to think about it all night, as long as she can't pretend she has a normal life, anything will work.

I want to see her scared again. I want her to have more nightmares about me. Usually purely psychological torment like this takes too much work to be fun, but as long as I have my pets at home as an easy source of entertainment, I can have a longer-term project too. I want to ruin her life without ever touching her. I want to change her, make her into a shell of herself, and then, when that gets boring, take her home and see how she reacts to physical torture.

But I have to be patient. Slowly strip the normalcy from her life, bit by bit.

She and her girlfriend are going bowling tonight, so I am too. I'm really good at bowling, with so many years of practice, so I focus on trying to knock over exactly 3 pins every round. It takes her a while to notice me a few lanes down, but when she does her face is priceless.

I slip in and out of my void throughout the night, since I can't hear her without its help. Bowling alleys are loud. If anyone besides her notices me vanishing and reappearing, they don't point it out. She tries so hard to act like it's still a normal date, but both I and her girlfriend see through her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah of course. I'm on a date with you!"

Her girlfriend frowns and keeps bowling.

Peyton can't get me out of her head. Can't stop thinking about what I might do to her, or her girlfriend, or any of the strangers in the bowling alley. Oh, this was a great idea!

When the game is done, she drives her girlfriend home and then heads home herself. The moment she's alone in her car she speaks.

"Is there something you need, Jane?"

I don't answer.

"I know you're there. Do you want to talk about it? What did you get out of following me around tonight?"

I don't answer. Peyton just sighs.

When she gets home, she does her normal bedtime routine without acknowledging me again, even though we both know she knows I'm still watching. I was kind of hoping for a breakdown, for her to beg me to appear and explain my behavior to her, but whatever. There'll be plenty of other opportunities for that.

"Goodnight, Jane."

She turns out the lights and goes to sleep. She better savor any hint of normalcy she can get- it'll only get worse from here.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list! Four more chapters before the start of season 4 :)

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole